芒果街上的小屋

头发
我们家里每个人的头发都不一样。爸爸的头发像扫把，根根直立往上插。而我，我的头
发挺懒惰。它从来不听发夹和发带的话。卡洛斯的头发又直又厚。他不用梳头。蕾妮的头发
滑滑的——会从你手里溜走。还有奇奇，他最小，茸茸的头发像毛皮。
只有妈妈的头发，妈妈的头发，好像一朵朵小小的玫瑰花结 ，一枚枚小小的糖果圈儿，
全都那么拳曲，那么漂亮，因为她成天给它们上发卷。把鼻子伸进去闻一闻吧，当她搂着你
时。当她搂着你时，你觉得那么安全，闻到的气味又那么香甜。是那种待烤的面包暖暖的香
味，是那种她给你让出一角被窝时，和着体温散发的芬芳。你睡在她身旁，外面下着雨，爸
爸打着鼾。哦，鼾声、雨声，还有妈妈那闻起来像面包的头发。
Hairs
Everybody in our family has different hair. My Papa's hair is like a broom, all
up in the air. And me, my hair is lazy. It never obeys barrettes or bands. Carlos'
hair is thick and straight. He doesn't need to comb it. Nenny's hair is
slippery--slides out of your hand. And Kiki, who is the youngest, has hair like fur.
But my mother's hair, my mother's hair, like little rosettes, like little candy
circles all curly and pretty because she pinned it in pincurls all day, sweet to put
your nose into when she is holding you, holding you and you feel safe, is the warm
smell of bread before you bake it, is the smell when she makes room for you on her
side of the bed still warm with her skin, and you sleep near her, the rain outside
falling and Papa snoring. The snoring, the rain, and Mama’s hair that smells like
bread..

大流士和云
你永远不能拥有太多的天空。你可以在天空下睡去，醒来又沉醉。在你忧伤的时候，天
空会给你安慰。可是忧伤太多，天空不够。蝴蝶也不够，花儿也不够。大多数美的东西都不
够。于是，我们取我们所能取，好好地享用。
大流士 ，不喜欢上学的他，有时很傻，几乎是个笨人，今天却说了一句聪明的话，虽然
大多数日子他什么都不说。大流士，喜欢用爆竹，用碰过老鼠的小棍子去追逐女孩，还以为
自己很了不起的他，今天却指着天空，因为那里有满天的云朵，像枕头样的云朵。
你们都看到那朵云了，那朵胖乎乎的云了？大流士说，看到了？哪里？那朵看起来像爆
米花的旁边的那朵。那边那朵。看，那是上帝。大流士说。上帝？有个小点的问道。上帝。
他说。简洁地说。
Darius
& the Clouds
You can never have too much sky. You can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky,
and sky can keep you safe when you are sad. Here there is too much sadness and not
enough sky. Butterflies too are few and so are flowers and most things that are
beautiful. Still, we take what we can get and make the best of it.
Darius, who doesn't like school, who is sometimes stupid and mostly a fool, said
something wise today, though most days he says nothing. Darius, who chases girls with
firecrackers or a stick that touched a rat and thinks he's tough, today pointed up
because the world was full of clouds, the kind like pillows.
You all see that cloud, that fat one there? Darius said, See that? Where? That
one next to the one that look like popcorn. That one there. See that. That's God,
Darius said.God? somebody little asked. God, he said, and made it simpl.

猫皇后凯茜
她说，我是法兰西皇后的远远远房表亲。她住在楼上，那边，那个“捉小孩的人”乔的
隔壁。离他远点，她告诉我说，他很危险。街角那家小店是宾尼和布兰卡的。他们还蛮好，
可只是靠在糖果柜台上时才对你好。两个像老鼠一样邋遢的女孩住在街对面。你不会想去认
识她们的。埃德娜是你家隔壁房子的主人。她过去有幢大得像鲸鱼的房子，可她弟弟把它卖
了。他们的妈妈说，别，别呀，千万别卖。我不会的。可后来她一闭眼，他就卖了它。阿莉
西娅自从上了大学就傲气起来了。她过去挺喜欢我，可现在不了。
猫皇后凯茜养了好多好多好多猫。猫宝宝、大个猫、瘦猫、病猫。睡姿像个面包圈的猫。
爬到冰箱顶上的猫。在餐桌上散步的猫。她的房子就像个猫天堂。
你想要个朋友。她说，好的，我会做你的朋友，可只能做到下星期二，那时我们就得搬
走了，不得不搬了。然后，她似乎忘了我才搬进来，说，这个社区的人越来越杂了。
凯茜的父亲有一天会要飞到法国去，找到远方的、她父亲那边的远远远房表亲，去继承
家宅。我是怎么知道这些的呢？是她告诉我的。同时，他们要从芒果街向北面搬迁，离开这
里一点路，在每次像我们这样的人家不断搬进来的时候。
Cathy Queen of Cats
She says, I am the great great grand cousin of the queen of France. She lives
upstairs, over there, next door to Joe the baby-grabber. Keep away from him, she says.
He is full of danger. Benny and Blanca own the corner store. They're okay except don't
lean on the candy counter. Two girls raggedy as rats live across the street. You don't
want to know them. Edna is the lady who owns the building next to you. She used to
own a building big as a whale, but her brother sold it. Their mother said no, no,
don't ever sell it. I won't. And then she closed her eyes and he sold it. Alicia is
stuck-up ever since she went to college. She used to like me but now she doesn't.
Cathy who is queen of cats has cats and cats and cats. Baby cats, big cats, skinny
cats, sick cats. Cats asleep like little donuts. Cats on top of the refrigerator.
Cats taking a walk on the dinner table. Her house is like cat heaven.
You want a friend, she says. Okay, I'll be your friend. But only till next Tuesday.
That's when we move away. Got to. Then as if she forgot I just moved in, she says
the neighborhood is getting bad.
Cathy's father will have to fly to France one day and find her great great distant
grand cousin on her father's side and inherit the family house. How do I know this
is so? She told me so. In the meantime they'll just have to move a little farther
north from Mango Street, a little farther away every time people like us keep moving
in.
---------------------------------------------------.

四棵细瘦的树
他们是唯一懂得我的。我是唯一懂得它们的。四棵细瘦的树儿长着细细的脖颈和尖尖的
肘骨，像我的一样。不属于这里但到了这里的四个。市政栽下充数的四棵残次品。从我的房
间里我们可以听到它们的声音，可蕾妮只是睡觉，不能领略这些。
他们的力量是个秘密。他们在地下展开凶猛的根系。他们向上生长也向下生长，用它们
须发样的脚趾攥紧泥土，用它们猛烈的牙齿噬咬天空，怒气从不懈怠。这就是它们坚持的方
式。
假如有一棵忘记了他存在的理由，他们就全都会像玻璃瓶里的郁金香一样耷拉下来，手
挽着手。坚持，坚持，坚持。树儿在我睡着的时候说。他们教会人。
当我太悲伤太瘦弱无法坚持再坚持的时候，当我如此渺小却要对抗这么多砖块的时候，
我就会看着树儿。当街上没有别的东西可看的时候。不畏水泥仍在生长的四棵。伸展伸展从
不忘记伸展的四棵。唯一的理由是存在存在的四棵。
Four Skinny Trees
They are the only ones who understand me. I am the only one who understands them.
Four skinny trees with skinny necks and pointy elbows like mine. Four who do not belong
here but are here. Four raggedy excuses planted by the city. From our room we can
hear them, but Nenny just sleeps and doesn't appreciate these things.
Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow
up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and bite the sky
with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep. Let one forget
his reason for being, they'd all droop like tulips in a glass, each with their arms
around the other. Keep, keep, keep, trees say when I sleep. They teach.
When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against
so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is nothing left to look at
on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do not forget to
reach. Four whose only reason is to be and be..

生辰不吉(1)
很可能我会去地狱，很可能我该去那里。妈妈说我出生的日子不吉利，并为我祈祷。露
西和拉切尔也祈祷。为我们自己也为相互之间……为我们对卢佩婶婶做的事情。
她的全名叫古尔妲卢佩 。她像我妈妈一样漂亮。暗色皮肤。十分耐看。穿着琼?克劳馥
式的裙子，长着游泳者的腿。那是照片上的卢佩婶婶。
可我知道她生病了，疾病缠绵不去。她的腿绑束在黄色的床单下面，骨头变得和蠕虫一
样软弱。黄色的枕头，黄色的气味，瓶子勺子。她像一个口渴的女人一样向后仰着头。我的
婶婶，那个游泳者。
很难想象她的腿曾经强健。坚韧的骨，劈波分浪，动作干净爽利，没有像婴儿的腿那样
蜷曲皱缩，也没有淹滞在黏浊的黄光灯下。二层楼背面的公寓。光秃的电灯泡。高高的天花
板，灯泡一直在燃烧。
我不知道是谁来决定谁该遭受厄运。她出生的日子没有不吉利。没有邪恶的诅咒。头一
天我想她还在游泳，第二天她就病了。可能是拍下那张灰色照片的那天。也可能是她抱着表
弟托奇和宝宝弗兰克的那天。也可能是她指着照相机让小孩们看可他们不看的那一刻。
也许天空在她摔倒的那天没有看向人间。也许上帝很忙。也许那天她入水没入好伤了脊
椎是真的，也许托奇说的是真的，她从高高的梯凳上重重地摔了下来。
我想疾病没有眼睛。它们昏乱的指头会挑到任何人，任何人。比如我的婶婶，那天正好
走在街上的婶婶，穿着琼?克劳馥式裙子，戴着缀有黑羽毛的、滑稽的毡帽，一只手里是表弟
托奇，一只手里是宝宝弗兰克。
有时你会习惯病人，有时你会习惯疾病，如果病得太久，也就习以为常了。她的情况就
是这样。或者这就是我们选择她的原因。
那是一个游戏。仅此而已。我们每天下午都玩的游戏，自从某天我们中的一个发明了它。
我不记得是谁，我想那是我。
你得挑选一个人。你得想出大家都知道的一个人，一个你可以模仿，而别人都能猜出来
的人。先是那些名人：神奇女侠 、披头士、玛丽莲?梦露……后来有人认为我们稍稍改变一
下，如果我们假装自己是宾尼先生、或者他的妻子布兰卡，或者鹭鸶儿，或者别的我们认识
的人，游戏会好玩点。
我不知道我们为什么挑选了她。也许那天我们很无聊。也许我们累了。我们喜欢我们的
婶婶。她会听我们讲故事。她经常求我们再来。露西、我和拉切尔。我讨厌一个人去那里。
走六个街区才到那昏暗的公寓，阳光从不会照射到的二层楼背面的房子，可那有什么关系？
我婶婶那时已经瞎了。她从来看不见水池里的脏碗碟。她看不到落满灰尘和苍蝇的天花板。
难看的酱色墙壁，瓶瓶罐罐和黏腻的茶勺。我无法忘记那里的气味。就像黏黏的胶囊注满了
冻糊糊。我婶婶，一瓣小牡蛎，一团小肉，躺在打开的壳上，供我们观看。喂，喂。她好像
掉在一口深井里。
我把图书馆借的书带到她家里。我给她读故事。我喜欢《水孩子》 这本书。她也喜欢。
我从来不知道她病得有多重，直到那天我想要指给她看书里的一幅画，美丽的画，水孩子在
大海中游泳。我把书举到她眼前。我看不到。她说。我瞎了。我心里便很愧疚。
她会听我念给她听的每一本书，每一首诗。一天我读了一首自己写的给她听。我凑得很
近。我对着枕头轻轻耳语：
我想成为
海里的浪，风中的云，
但我还只是小小的我。
有一天我要
跳出自己的身躯
我要摇晃天空
像一百把小提琴。
很好。非常好。她用有气无力的声音说。记住你要写下去，埃斯佩朗莎。你一定要写下
去。那会让你自由，我说好的，只是那时我还不懂她的意思。
那天我们玩了同样的游戏。我们不知道她要死了。我们装作头往后仰，四肢软弱无力，
像死人的一样垂挂着。我们学她的样子笑。学她的样子说话，那种盲人说话的时候不转动头
部的样子。我们模仿她必须被人托起头颈才能喝水的样子。她从一个绿色的锡杯里把水慢慢
地吮出来喝掉。水是热的，味道像金属。露西笑起来，拉切尔也笑了。我们轮流扮演她。我
们像鹦鹉学舌一样，用微弱的声音呼喊托奇过来洗碗。那很容易做到。
可我们不懂。她等待死亡很长时间了。我们忘了。也许她很愧疚。也许她很窘迫：死亡
花了这么多年时间。孩子们想要做成孩子，而不是在那里洗碗涮碟，给爸爸熨衬衫。丈夫也
想再要一个妻子。
于是她死了。听我念诗的婶婶。
于是我们开始做起了那些梦。
Born Bad
Most likely I will go to hell and most likely I deserve to be there. My mother
says I was born on an evil day and prays for me. Lucy and Rachel pray too. For ourselves
and for each other... because of what we did to Aunt Lupe.
---------------------------------------------------
生辰不吉(2)
Her name was Guadalupe and she was pretty like my mother. Dark. Good to look at.
In her Joan Crawford dress and swimmer's legs. Aunt Lupe of the photographs.
But I knew her sick from the disease that would not go, her legs bunched under
the yellow sheets, the bones gone Limp as worms. The yellow pillow, the yello
w smell, the bottles and spoons. Her head thrown back like a thirsty lady. My aunt,
the swimmer.
Hard to imagine her legs once strong, the bones hard and parting water, clean
sharp strokes, not bent and wrinkled like a baby, not drowning under the sticky yellow
light. Second-floor rear apartment. The naked light bulb. The high ceilings. The light
bulb always burning.
I don't know who decides who deserves to go bad. There was no evil in her birth.
No wicked curse. One day I believe she was swimming, and the next day she was sick.
It might have been the day that gray photograph was taken. It might have been the
day she was holding cousin Totchy and baby Frank. It might have been the moment she
pointed to the camera for the kids to look and they
wouldn't.
Maybe the sky didn't look the day she fell down. Maybe God was busy. It could
be true she didn't dive right one day and hurt her spine. Or maybe the story that
she fell very hard from a high step stool, like Totchy said, is true.
But I think diseases have no eyes. They pick with a dizzy finger anyone, just
anyone. Like my aunt who happened to be walking down the street one day in her Joan
Crawford dress, in her funny felt hat with the black feather, cousin Totchy in one
hand, baby Frank in the other.
Sometimes you get used to the sick and sometimes the sickness, if it is there
too long, gets to seem normal. This is how it was with her, and maybe this is why
we chose her.
It was a game, that's all. It was the game we played every afternoon ever since
that day one of us invented it. I can't remember who. I think it was me. You had to
pick somebody.
You had to think of someone everybody knew. Someone you could imitate and everyone
else would have to guess who it was. It started out with famous people: Wonder Woman,
the Beatles, Marilyn Monroe... But then somebody thought it'd be better if we changed
the game a little, if we pretended we were Mr. Benny, or his wife Blanca, or Ruthie,
or anybody we knew.
I don't know why we picked her. Maybe we were bored that day. Maybe we got tired.
We liked my aunt. She listened to our stories. She always asked us to come back. Lucy,
me, Rachel. I hated to go there alone. The six blocks to the dark apartment,
second-floor rear building where sunlight never came, and what did it matter? My aunt
was blind by then. She never saw the dirty dishes in the sink. She couldn't see the
ceilings dusty with flies, the ugly maroon walls, the bottles and sticky spoons. I
can't forget the smell. Like sticky capsules filled with jelly. My aunt, a little
oyster, a little piece of meat on an open shell for us to look at. Hello, hello. As
if she had fallen into a well.
I took my library books to her house. I read her stories. I liked the book The
Water Babies. She liked it too. I never knew how sick she was until that day I tried
to show her one of the pictures in the book, a beautiful color picture of the water
babies swimming in the sea. I held the book up to her face. I can't see it, she said,
I'm blind. And then I was ashamed.
She listened to every book, every poem I read her. one day I read her one of my
own. I came very close. I whispered it into the pillow:
生辰不吉(3)
I want to be
like the waves on the sea,
like the clouds in the wind,
but I'm me.
One day I'll jump
out of my skin.
I'll shake the sky
like a hundred violins.
That's nice. That's very good, she said in her tired voice. You just remember
to keep writing, Esperanza. You must keep writing. It will keep you free, and I said
yes, but at that time I didn't know what she meant.
The day we played the game, we didn't know she was going to die. We pretended
with our heads thrown back, our arms limp and useless, dangling like the dead. We
laughed the way she did. We talked the way she talked, the way blind people talk without
moving their head. We imitated the way you had to lift her head a little so she could
drink water, she sucked it up slow out of a green tin cup. The water was warm and
tasted like metal. Lucy laughed. Rachel too. We took turns being her. We screamed
in the weak voice of a parrot for Totchy to come and wash those dishes. It was easy.
We didn't know. She had been dying such a long time, we forgot. Maybe she was
ashamed. Maybe she was embarrassed it took so many years. The kids who wanted to be
kids instead of washing dishes and ironing their papa's shirts, and the husband who
wanted a wife again.
And then she died, my aunt who listened to my poems.
And then we began to dream the dreams..

阁楼上的流浪者
我想要一所山上的房子，像爸爸工作的地方那样的花园房。星期日，爸爸的休息日，我
们会去那里。我过去常去。现在不去了。你长大了，就不喜欢和我们一起出去吗？爸爸说。
你傲起来了。蕾妮说。我没告诉他们我很羞愧——我们一帮人全都盯着那里的窗户，像饥饿
的人。我厌倦了盯着我不能拥有的东西。如果我们赢了彩票……妈妈才开口，我就不要听了。
那些住在山上、睡得靠星星如此近的人，他们忘记了我们这些住在地面上的人。他们根
本不朝下看，除非为了体会住在山上的心满意足。上星期的垃圾，对老鼠的恐惧，这些与他
们无关。夜晚来临，没什么惊扰他们的梦，除了风。
有一天我要拥有自己的房子，可我不会忘记我是谁我从哪里来。路过的流浪者会问，我
可以进来吗？我会把他们领上阁楼，请他们住下来，因为我知道没有房子的滋味。
有些日子里，晚饭后，我和朋友们坐在火旁。楼上的地板吱呀吱呀响。阁楼上有咕咕哝
哝的声音。
是老鼠吗？他们会问。
是流浪者。我会回答说。我很开心。
Bums in the Attic
I want a house on a hill like the ones with the gardens where Papa works. We go
on Sundays, Papa's day off. I used to go. I don't anymore. You don't like to go out
with us, Papa says. Getting too old? Getting too stuck-up, says Nenny. I don't tell
them I am ashamed--all of us staring out the window like the hungry. I am tired of
looking at what we can't have. When we win the lottery...Mama begins, and then I stop
listening.
People who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who
live too much on earth. They don't look down at all except to be content to live on
hills. They have nothing to do with last week's garbage or fear of rats. Night comes.
Nothing wakes them but the wind.
One day I'll own my own house, but I won't forget who I am or where I came from.
Passing bums will ask, Can I come in? I'll offer them the attic, ask them to stay,
because I know how it is to be without a house.
Some days after dinner, guests and I will sit in front of a fire. Floorboards
will squeak upstairs. The attic grumble.
Rats? they'll ask.
Bums, I'll say, and I'll be happy.
---------------------------------------------------.

芒果有时说再见
我喜欢讲故事。我在心里讲述。在邮递员说过这是你的邮件之后。这是你的邮件。他说。
然后我开始讲述。
我编了一个故事，为我的生活，为我棕色鞋子走过的每一步。我说，“她步履沉重地登上
木楼梯，她悲哀的棕色鞋子带着她走进了她从来不喜欢的房子。”
我喜欢讲故事。我将向你们讲述一个不想归属的女孩的故事。
我们先前不住芒果街。先前我们住鲁米斯的三楼，再先前我们住吉勒。吉勒前面是波琳
娜。可我记得最清楚的是芒果街，悲哀的红色小屋。我住在那里却不属于那里的房子。
我把它写在纸上，然后心里的幽灵就不那么疼了。我把它写下来，芒果有时说再见。她
不再用双臂抱住我。她放开了我。
有一天我会把一袋袋的书和纸打进包里。有一天我会对芒果说再见。我强大得她没法永
远留住我。有一天我会离开。
朋友和邻居们会说，埃斯佩朗莎怎么了？她带着这么多书和纸去哪里？为什么她要走得
那么远？
他们不会知道，我离开是为了回来。为了那些我留在身后的人。为了那些无法出去的人。
Mango Says Goodbye Sometimes
I like to tell stories. I tell them inside my head. I tell them after the mailman
says, Here's your mail. Here's your mail he said.
I make a story for my life, for each step my brown shoe takes. I say, "And so
she trudged up the wooden stairs, her sad brown shoes taking her to the house she
never
liked."
I like to tell stories. I am going to tell you a story about a girl who didn't
want to belong.
We didn't always live on Mango Street. Before that we lived on Loomis on the third
floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, but what
I remember most is Mango Street, sad red house, the house I belong but do not belong
to.
I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much. I write it down
and Mango says goodbye sometimes. She does not hold me with both arms. She sets me
free.
One day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One day I will say goodbye to
Mango. I am too strong for her to keep me here forever. One day I will go away.
Friends and neighbors will say, What happened to that Esperanza? Where did she
go with all those books and paper? Why did she march so far away?
They will not know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind.
For the ones who cannot out.
---------------------------------------------------.

序言：回忆是实体的更高形式
陆谷孙
起先看到译文，文字清通，读来亲切。我又架不住此书责编的穷追猛打，只好请她把原
文寄来看看。越一日，果有快递上门，把Sandra Cisneros 的The House on Mango Street
寄达，薄薄的40 页文字，附前后两幅插图，第一幅以黑白色调为主，上有尖顶旧屋，有东倒
西歪的庭院护栅，有矮树，有月亮，有黑猫，有奔逃中回头的女孩，清澈的大眼睛，表情羞
涩中略带惶惑；后一幅跃出大片亮黄，俯角下的女孩身影不成比例地拖长到画面之外，画的底
部是小朵孤芳，一样拖着阴影。被插图所吸引，我开卷读文字，那原是个“愁多知夜长”的
日子，本不想读书写字，可一口气读完这位美墨女作家的中篇，如一川烟草激起满城风絮，
竟不由自主地跳出肉身的自我，任由元神跃到半空中去俯察生活：童年、老屋、玩伴、亲人、
“成长的烦恼”、浮云、瘦树、弃猫、神话……
我喜欢这部作品，首先是因为Cisneros 女士以日记式的断想形诸真实的稚嫩少女文字，
诗化了回忆。就像黑格尔所言，回忆能保存经验， 回忆是内在本质，回忆是实体的更高形式。
当我读着作品，感到元神跃出肉身时，应验的正是黑格尔的这些话。近年来，随着反对欧洲
中心主义思潮的蔓延，美国文坛另类少数族裔作家（尤其是女作家）的话语空间已远非昔日
可比，重要性日渐凸现。开始时，他/她们的回忆或多或少无不带有一种蓄积已久的愤懑；渐
渐地，正如米兰?昆德拉所言，“在夕阳的余晖下，所有的一切，包括绞刑架，都被怀旧的淡
香所照亮”，多元文化业已是一个文化既成事实，少数族裔作家的作品里也开始渗入丝丝的温
馨暖意，可以说是以一种mellowness 在化解最初的bitterness。我读过也教过美籍华裔的
《女武士》、《唐人》、《喜福会》等作品，拿这些作品与Cisneros 的《芒果街小屋》作一个比
较，上述趋势可以看得比较明白——当然在美华人与墨人的移入方式、人数、作为、地位、
对母国文化的认同感等等不尽相同。但回忆成为悲怆中掺加了醇美，从审美的角度看，似更
接近“实体的更高形式”，把场景从麻将桌移到户外，视界也扩展了。
我喜欢这部作品的另一个原因是，正像插图中女孩的眼神，始而回眸，最后怯生生地仰
望，作品糅合了回忆和等待。美墨聚居区的少女带上她的书远行了，据她说“我离开是为了
回来。为了那些我撇下的人。为了那些不能出去的人。”（见小说最后三短句）我说“等待”，
不说“展望”，是因为像《等待戈多》一样，前一用词拓启了一个开放性的不定阈：忧乐未知，
陌阡不识，死生无常，人生如寄；不像“展望”那样给人留下一条光明的尾巴。非此，经验
性的回忆无由升华到形而上的哲理高度。笔者渐入老境，虽说一生平淡，也渐悟出“我忆，
故我在”和“我等，故我在”的道理。当然，等待什么，那是不可知的。
作品中少数族裔青少年的英语让人耳目一新，本身就是对主流话语的一种反叛。但是，
“超短式”的句法（如以“Me”代“As for me”）、不合语法的用语、屡屡插入的西班牙语专
名和语词，可以说是族裔的专用符号。除此外，书中英文由音部抑扬和偶押的散韵而产生的
韵律之美，简短上口的句子而带来的记诵之便，却使得阅读的过程，同时也可是培养英语语
感的一次轻松训练。无怪乎作品会被选作教材，而且受到传统主义文评家的褒评。.

芒果街上的小屋
这是一本优美纯净的小书。一本“诗小说”，一个关于成长，关于在写作中追求现实和精
神家园的故事。美国当代最著名成长经典。
生于贫乏与卑微的少女，富于对弱的同情和对美的感觉力，淡淡哀愁中蕴涵着爱与希望
的成长讲述。在美销量已达500 万册，另以十余种文字世间流传，此书曾获1985 年美国国家
图书奖，1989 年被收入权威的《诺顿美国文学选集》，2004 年，西方最著名文学评论家哈罗
德·布鲁姆为其编撰导读书，与《哈姆雷特》、《红字》等十余部传世经典同在一个系列中。
《芒果街上的小屋》是一本优美纯净的小书。一本“诗小说”，一个关于成长，关于在写
作中追求现实和精神家园的故事。
它由44 个短篇组成，一个短篇讲述一个人、一件事、一个梦、几朵云，几棵树、几种感
觉，语言清澈如流水，点缀着零落的韵脚和新奇的譬喻，如一首首长歌短调，各自成韵，又
彼此钩连，汇聚出一个清晰世界，各样杂沓人生。所有的讲述都归于一个叙述中心：居住在
拉丁裔贫民社区芒果街上的女孩esperanza。生就对他人痛苦的同情心和对美的感觉力，她
用清澈的眼打量周围的世界，用美丽稚嫩的语言讲述成长，讲述沧桑，讲述生命的美好与不
易，讲述年轻的热望和梦想，梦想着有一所自己的房子，梦想着在写作中追寻自我，获得自
由和帮助别人的能力。
在很多方面，《芒果》都给人一种看似简单却不可貌相的感觉。它用简单日常的儿童语言，
写出了诗情，写出了人生的沉抑悲辛，同时却又给人向上和充满希望的感觉。从体裁上说，
它那些短短的篇目，因其灵动气质而难以被归类，它们是惜字如金的小说，也是隽永的诗篇。
对此人们只有用一些新鲜的格式来定义之，比如 “诗小说”加成长小说。从作品本身对文学
传统的衔接和对文化背景的反映上来说，这本薄薄的小书也不可小觑。从大处的主题和风格，
所咏之物，所述情怀，到小处的人物取名和细节暗合，作者都十分用心。“云”、“树”等篇目
里对自然之灵性予人的抚慰和净化力量的赞美，不免让人想起wordsworth，而esperanza（希
望）、guadalupe（受难为世人赎罪的墨西哥圣母）、darius（自命不凡的波斯大帝）、minerva
（智慧神）、three sisters（月神）等人物的命名，或取抽象概念，或从神话或历史人物，
既点明了背景，也烘托了主题。“猫皇后凯茜”、“一所自己的房子”等篇则通过题名和细节暗
合表达了对前辈大师的致礼，同时延伸了作品的内涵。.

The House on Mango Street～1
　　We didn't always live on Mango Street. Before that we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keeler. Before Keeler it was Paulina, and before that I can't remember. But what I remember most is moving a lot. Each time it seemed there'd be one more of us. By the time we got to Mango Street we were six —— Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, my sister Nenny and me.
　　The house on Mango Street is ours, and we don't have to pay rent to anybody, or share the yard with the people down stairs, or be careful not to make too much noise, and there isn't a landlord banging on the ceiling with a broom. But even so, it's not the house we'd thought we'd get.
　　We had to leave the flat on Loomis quick. The water pipes broke and the landlord wouldn't fix them because the house was too old. We had to leave fast. We were using the washroom next door and carrying water over in empty milk gallons. That's why Mama and Papa looked for a house, and that's why we moved into the house on Mango Street, far away, on the other side of town.
　　　　　　 　　　　　　
　　我们先前不住芒果街。先前我们住Loomis的三楼。再先前我们住Keeler.Keeler 再往前是Paulina，再前面，我就不记得了。我记得最清楚的是，搬了好多次家。似乎每搬一次，我们就多出一个人。搬到芒果街是，我们有了六个——妈妈、爸爸、卡洛斯、奇奇，妹妹蕾妮和我。
　　芒果街上的小屋是我们的，我们不用交房租给任何人，或者和楼下的人合用一个院子，或者小心翼翼别弄出太多的声响，这里也没有拿扫帚猛敲天花板的房东。可就算这样，它也不是我们原来以为自己可以得到的那样的房子。
　　我们得赶紧搬出Loomis的公寓。水管破了，房东不愿意修理，因为房子太老。我们得快快离开。我们借用着邻居的卫生间，用空的牛奶壶把水装过来。这就是为什么爸妈要找房子，这就是为什么我们搬进了芒果街上的小屋，远远的，从城市的那一边。.

The House on Mango Street2
　　They always told us that one day we would move into a house, a real that would be ours for always so we wouldn't have to move each year. And our house would have running water and pipes that worked. And inside it would have real stairs, not hallway stairs, but stairs inside like the house on T.V.And  we'd have a basement and at least three washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't have to tell everybody. Our house would be white with trees around it, a great big yard and grass growing without a fence. This was the house Papa talked about when he held a lottery ticket and this was the house mama dreamed up in the stories she told us before we went to bed.
　　他们一直对我们说，有一天，我们会搬进一所房子，一所真正的大屋，永远属于我们，那样我们就不用每年搬家了。我们的房子会有自来水和好用的水管。里面还有真正的楼梯，不是门厅台阶，而是像电视上的房子里那样的楼梯。我们会有一个地下室和至少三个卫生间，那样洗澡的时间就不用告诉每个人。我们的房子会是白色的，四周是树木，还有一个很大的原子，草儿生长着，没有篱笆吧他们圈起来。这是爸爸手握彩票时提到的房子，这是妈妈在给我们讲睡前故事里幻想着的房子。.

The House on Mango Street～3
　　But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all. It's small and red with tight steps in front and windows so small you'd think they were holding their breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no front yard, only four little elms the city planted by the curb. Our back is a small garage for the car we don't own yet and a small yard that looks smaller between the two buildings on either side. There are stairs in our house, but they're ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one washroom. Everybody has to share a bedroom—Mama and Papa, Carlos and Kiki, me and Nenny.
　可是芒果街上的小屋全然不是他們講的那樣。它很小，是紅色的，門前一方窄臺階，窗戶小得讓你覺得它們像是在屏著呼吸。幾處墻磚蝕成了粉。前門那么鼓，你要用力推才進得來。這里沒有前院，只有四棵市政栽在路邊的小榆樹。屋后有個小車庫，是用來裝我們還沒買的小汽車的，還有個小院子，夾在兩邊的樓中間，越發顯得小了。我們的房子里有樓梯，可那只是普通的門廳臺階，而且房子里只有一個衛生間.每個人都要和別人合用一間臥室——媽媽和爸爸、卡洛斯和奇奇、我和蕾妮。.

The House on Mango Street
　　Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my school passed by and saw me playing out front. The Laundromat downstairs had been boarded up because it had been robbed two days before and the owner had painted on the wood YES WE'RE OPEN so as not lose business.

　　Where do you live? She asked.　
　　There, I said pointing up to the third floor.　
　　You live there?

　　There. I had to look to where she pointed –—— the third floor, the paint peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on the windows so we wouldn't fall out. You live there? The way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I lived there. I nodded.

　　I knew then I had to have to house. A real house. One I could point to .but this isn't it. The house on Mango Street isn't it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go.　　　　　　我们住在Loomis时，有一回学校的嬷嬷经过那里，看到我在房前玩。楼下的自助洗衣店被用木板封了起来，因为两天前刚被洗劫过。为了不走掉生意，主人在木头上涂抹了几个字：“是的，我们在营业。”

　　“你住哪里呀？”她问。　
　　那里。我说，指了指三楼。　
　　你住在那里？
　那里。我不得不朝他指的地方看去——三层楼上，那里墙皮斑驳，窗上横着几根木条，是爸爸钉上去的，那样我们就不会掉出来。你住在那里？她说话的样子让我觉得自己什么都不是。那里，我住在那里。我点头。
      于是，我明白，我得有一所房子。一所真正的大屋。一所可以指给别人看的房子。可这里不是。芒果街上的小屋不是。目前就这样，妈妈说。这是暂时的，爸爸说。可恶知道事情是怎样的。.

The boys and girls (1)
　　The boys and the girls live in separate world. The boys in their universe and we in ours. My brothers for example. They've got plenty to say to me and Nenny inside the house. But outside they can't be seen talking to girls. Carlos and Kiki are each other's best friend…not ours.
　　Nenny is too young to be my friend. She's just my sister and that was not my fault. You don't pick your sisters, you just get them and sometimes they come like Nenny.
　　男孩和女孩生活在不同的世界。男孩在他们的天地里，我们在我们的天地里。比如我的弟弟们。在家里，他们有很多话跟我和蕾妮说。可是到了外面，他们就不能被人家看见和女孩说话。卡洛斯和奇奇是彼此最要好的朋友…… 不是我们的。
　　蕾妮还很小，做不了我的朋友。她只是我的妹妹，这不是我的错。你不能挑选妹妹，你只是就那么得到了她们，某些时候他们就像蕾妮一样到来。.

The boys and girls (2)
　　She can't play with those Vargas kids or she'll turn our just like them. And since she comes right after me, she is my responsibility.
　　Someday I will have a best friend all my own. One I can tell my secrets to. One who will understand my jokes without my having to explain them. Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.
　　她不能去和法加斯家的孩子们玩，要不然，她会变得和他们一样。既然她跟在我后面来了，她就是我的责任。
　　有一天，我会有一个我自己的、最要好的朋友。一个我可以向她吐露秘密的朋友。一个不用我解释就能听懂我的笑话的朋友。在那之前，我将一直是一个红色气球，一个被泊住的气球。.

My name （1）
　　In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing.
　　It was my great-grandmother's name and now it is mine. She was a horse woman too, born like me in the Chinese year of horse—which is supposed to be bad luck if you're born female—but I think this is a Chinese lie because the Chinese, like the Mexicans, don't like their women strong.
　　My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it.
　　在英语里，我的名字的意思是希望。在西班牙语里，它意味着太多的字母。它意味着哀伤，意味着等待。它就像数字九。一种泥泞的色彩。它是没到星期天早晨，爸爸刮胡子是播放的墨西哥唱片，呜咽的歌。

　　它过去是我曾祖母的名字，现在是我的。她也是一个属马的女人，和我一样，生在中国的马年——如果你生为女人，这会被认为是霉运——可是我想，这是个中国谎，因为，中国人和墨西哥人一样，不喜欢他们的女人强大。
　　我的曾祖母。要是我见过她多好，女人中的野马，野得不想嫁人。直到我的曾祖父用麻袋套住她的头把她扛走。就那样扛着，好像她是一盏华贵的枝型吊灯。那就是他的办法。
　　*英文单词“letter”既可以是作“字母”解，也可以作“信”接。太多的信，意味着等待。通过这次隐义，句子前后意义得以贯通。
　　*作者说，9是10之前的那个数字，是变化之前的数字。她选用这个数字来传达一种等待的意味，因为“我”，是一个即将成年的孩子，在等待改变，等待成熟和绽放。.

My name （2）
　　And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she dory because she couldn`t be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window.
　　At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth. But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something, like silver, not quite as thick as sister`s name—Magdalena—— which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at least can come home and become Nenny. But I am always Esperanza.
　　I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody see. Esperanza as Lasiandra or Maritza or Zeze the X.Yes. something like Zeze the X will do.
　　后来，她永远没有原谅他。她用一生向窗外凝望，像许多女人那样凝望，胳膊肘之前忧伤。我想知道她是否随遇而安；是否会为做不成她想做的人而伤怀。埃斯佩朗莎。我继承了她的名字，可我不想继承她在窗边的位置。
　　在学校里，他们说我的名字很滑稽，音节好像是铁皮做的，会碰痛嘴巴里的上颚。可是在西班牙语里，我的名字是更柔和的东西做的，像银子，没有的妹妹的名字那么浑厚。他叫玛格达蕾娜，这名字没我的美。玛格达蕾娜回到家里可以叫蕾妮。可我总是埃斯佩朗莎.