白蝴蝶
浏览: 3482发布: 2012-08-30
每当我在途中遇到骤雨，我就会想起那只美丽的白蝴蝶。
那一年，妈妈来电说，外婆病重，将不久于人世。想起她平日对我的疼爱，不禁悲人中人，挟了个小钱包就神色匆匆地出门去。
没料到半路会遇上一场骤雨，把我、两位马来妇女和两个小孩，全赶进一幢私人房子侧面的矮檐下。我不知道这两个妇女是婆媳还是母女关系，萍水相逢又何必知道呢！
雨，越下越大，挟着风势，短窄的屋檐根本挡不住风雨，衣服一点点的湿了。行人撑伞的、遮纸皮的、穿雨衣的，似流星般从眼前一晃而过，谁也不愿停留。那真是场天昏地暗的大雨呵，一阵一阵落在我心头，正如我心中的忧戚。只见那对马来妇女和小孩瑟缩在一处，于寒风吹袭下不停地颤抖，我也好不了多少。
一个白点撑着把花伞，像只白蝴蝶翩翩掠雨而过，渐行渐近。
我想，要是她能遮我一程那该多好，但，可能吗？我和她素味平生。
她，果真停了下来，一个穿白衣裙校服的女中学生。她是来遮我的么？
“我遮你们过去对面组屋骑楼下避雨吧！”
于是，她把夹在腋下的一支黑布伞掏给年老的马来妇人，老妇人怀中抱着一个约一岁大的幼儿，一手撑起伞，颤巍巍地随她走到对面组屋骑楼下。
之后，女生再倒回头，把黑布伞转给那年轻的妇女，她连走道谢，牵着小男孩也走了。女生示意我与她共遮一把伞随后。
安顿了我们，她撂一下长发，抖落发上雨珠，再度撑起花布伞，一手拎着黑布伞，回眸一笑：
“雨很快就停了，你们在这儿歇着，我要去遮我哥哥了！”
她那浅浅的酒窝，像雨中一杯热酒，暖了我们。
终于，她走出我人们的眼帘，走进了雨幕。然而她美丽欣长的身影却像只白蝴蝶别在我心上，每当骤雨便漫翩飞舞！
她使我深深地领略到：人生的旅点，不是每个人都能雨中送伞的。
The White Butterfly
Qian Hua
Translated by Zhu Botong & Xia Yihu
I cannot help but think of that white butterfly whenever I am caught in a heavy rain.
It happened years ago when Mother called me saying that Grandma was dying. Instantly, all the memories of her affection for me flashed into my mind; sorrow surged up within me. I grabbed my small purse and hurried out, wishing I could fly to her side right away.
Unexpectedly I was caught in a downpour on the way. I had to take shelter with two Malaysian women and their two children the two ladies were mother and daughter, or mother and daughterin-law. Why should I care? We were and would remain strangers.
It was raining harder and harder, even worse, with such a wind that the narrow eaves could no longer provide any protection, and our clothes were gradually getting wet. People hurried past like shooting stars; no one would care to stop for us. Some were dressed in raincoats, and some covered themselves with umbrellas or something over their heads. What a downpour! Sorrow seemed to be pouring from my heart, and I grew more and more anxious about my granny. Beside me, the Malaysian ladies and their kids huddled together, shivering from the cold wind, and I was no better.
A white figure under a colorful umbrella was approaching us, like a white butterfly dancing gracefully towards us in the rain. If only she would share her umbrella with me ,I said to myself. How could she? She didn’t know me at all. Why, she stopped in front of us, graceful in the white school dress. Would she offer help to me?
“Why not take shelter in the arcade over there? You can share the umbrellas with me,” she suggested, and handed the spare black umbrella to the old lady, who followed her into the arcade with the baby in her arm. Then the student returned with the black umbrella and gave it to the young mother. The mother thanked her and took her little boy to join the old lady. Meanwhile, the girl beckoned me to share the colorful umbrella with her. When we all had settled in the arcade, she shook the raindrops off her long hair and said to us with a smile, “Wouldn’t it be better to wait here until the rain stops? It won’t last long. Oh, excuse me. My brother needs the umbrella; I have to run now.” Then she walked into the rain again with the unfolded, colorful umbrella in one hand and the black one in the other.
The little dimples on her cheeks warmed our hearts as a glass of wine would do in the cold rain. She was soon out of sight behind the misty curtain of the rain. Yet her graceful, slender figure was deeply stamped as a white butterfly in my memory. Now each cloudburst never fails to remind me of the gracefully fluttering white butterfly.
I have come to realize that, along the journey of life, there is always someone ready to share his or her umbrella with those caught in the rain.
