苏珊·福塞特/Susan Fawcett
Reflexively I reached to turn on my car radio, preset to KGBX, the soft-rock station I always listen to on my early-morning drives to my job at the post office. Then I glanced at my 14-year-old daughter in the passenger seat and thought better of it. Liz wore a dress. That in itself bespoke the seriousness of the occasion. We were on our way to the Springfield, Missouri, district wide music competition, where Liz would be playing a flute solo, her very first. I knew from my own competition days back in Minnesota that it messed with your concentration to hear any music besides the piece you were planning to play.
“Dad said he might come,”Liz said. Her father hadn't been a big part of her life since our divorce 10 years earlier, and she sounded both excited and scared.
Boy, did I know that feeling-wanting to impress your father and at the same time, being terrified of letting him down?Suddenly I was 12 years old again, sitting onstage at the Minnesota state music competition, fingers poised on the keyboard of my shiny black Panltalia accordion. I looked out at the audience of proud parents. Then I saw him. My dad. He sat at the end of a row, arms folded, crew cut bristling. His piercing blue eyes narrowed behind his black-rimmed glasses and focused unwaveringly on me.
I completely choked. I'd practiced my contest piece for months until I knew it by heart, inside and out. But my fancy accordion might as well have been a cardboard box that afternoon. I forced out some semblance of a tune and fled the stage in tears.
No consolation came from my father, a World War II veteran who epitomized authority. He didn't say a thing to me. He just took the wheel of our station wagon, his mouth a grim line as we set off on the 150-mile drive back to Duluth. I didn't say anything either. What could I say, really, after what I'd done?I knew how hard Dad worked to scrape together enough money for my accordion and lessons. But the one time he was able to come to a competition, I let him down.
The farther we drove, the more the silence in our station wagon grew until it stood like an impenetrable wall between Dad and me. It seemed an especially cruel punishment considering music had been our deepest connection.
By the time I came along, the last of five children, my father was worn out from the demands of supporting a large family. My brothers and sisters and I tiptoed around him when he came home from his shift at Jeno's Pizza factory. But on Sunday afternoons, Dad would sit back in his recliner and ask me to play for him. He loved the music of the Big Band era, and none more than the song Twilight Time. I taught myself the tune from the sheet music, just for him. It didn't seem to matter that my rendition was lacking in style. My father would hum along, his eyes closed, tears escaping from the corners as if I'd transported him to some magical, heavenly place.
Dad never said a word the entire way home, never again attended one of my competitions. I never got over the hurt of having disappointed the one person I'd most wanted to make proud. I'd lost more than my composure that afternoon. I felt as if I'd lost the key to my father's heart, and he died before I could find it again.
Why did you let me fail my father?I'd often wondered to God in the years since. Couldn't you at least have given me a chance to make it up to him?“Mom, this is it.”My daughter's voice snapped me back to the present. I parked in the lot at Central High.“Good, I have time to warm up.”Liz said as we walked into the school.
In the practice room, Liz took her flute out of its case, unfolded her music and ran through her piece flawlessly. Just before we stepped into the recital hall, I gave her a hug.“Relax,”I said.“You're going to do great.”
Liz laughed nervously.“Maybe you should wait till the competition's over before you decide that.”One after another, the soloists scheduled before Liz played. The clock clicked ominously close to her 11：05 performance time.“Dad's here,”Liz whispered to me.“I can hear him in the hallway.”Her father trooped in, carrying a video camera. I felt a flutter of anxiety for Liz. The next thing I knew she was no longer in the seat next to me but standing stiffly onstage beside the piano. Mr. Hillme, her social-studies teacher and accompanist, winked at her.“Hey, not as bad as one of my tests, is it?”Liz chuckled, the tension easing from her face, and lifted the flute to her lips. Lord, please let her play her best.
Liz took a deep breath and launched into her solo. Her fingers danced along the silver keys. The melody floated out of the instrument, sweet and pure and honest. I closed my eyes, letting myself be carried away by my daughter's song.
I forgot about the competition. I forgot about Liz's nervousness at performing in front of her father.
All at once I pictured my own father, patiently enduring my nightly accordion practice sessions though he must have yearned for peace and quiet after his long days at the pizza factory. My practical dad, adamantly opposed to any kind of debt, conceding to make payments on a top-of-the-line, full-size accordion when I'd outgrown my second-hand student model. My stern, serious dad, cranking up our Lowrey organ, picking out the notes of a swingy Big Band tune and getting the whole house jumping. My unsentimental, overworked father leaning back in his recliner, his burdens chased away by tears of joy at hearing his youngest child play his favorite song.
My dad, who must have felt so awful knowing his presence prevented me from playing well onstage that he hadn't known what to say or do to comfort me-except to stay away and not upset me at my subsequent5 competitions. Dad, I'm sorry I thought you were disappointed in me. I know you loved me even more than you loved music. I wish you could know how much I love you too. I wish I could play Twilight Time for you again.
Liz put down her flute and took a bow to thunderous applause（well, thunderous to a proud mother, anyway），“Mom, I didn't even see the music,”Liz exclaimed in the car on the way home.“I mean, I was looking at it, but I didn't have to read it. I just played and let it take me away.”I knew what she meant.
Monday morning after Liz's competition, I set out for my 4：30 A.M.shift at the post office. I clicked on my car radio. Silence. Then instead of KGBX's soft rock, out of the speakers came the unmistakable brassy sounds of a 1940s-era Big Band. Where did this station come from?
A woman's smoky contralto crooned words I'd never heard sung, though they were printed on the tattered sheet music in my old accordion case.“Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time/Out of the mist, your voice is calling, it's twilight time/When purple-colored curtains mark the end of day/I'll hear you, my dear, at twilight time.”
Tears trickled out of the corners of my eyes. The music of God's love had bridged the years and the silence between my dad and me at last.
我下意识地打开了车上的收音机，频段是我预先调好的KGBX。在每天早上去邮局上班的路上，我总会收听软摇滚音乐台的节目。我看了一眼坐在乘客座位上的14岁的女儿莉斯，便把收音机关了。莉斯穿了一件礼服裙，从着装上就可以看得出是要去出席一个重要的场合。我们正在赶往密苏里州斯普林菲尔德的路上，去那里参加莉斯第一次长笛独奏的比赛。从自己以前在明尼苏达州参加比赛的经验中，我知道，除了自己参赛时将要演奏的曲子，听到的任何音乐都会使你的注意力变得混乱。
莉斯兴奋又害怕地说：“爸爸告诉我，他可能会来看比赛。”自从10年前离婚以来，她的父亲已经不是她生活中的重要角色了。
噢，我是否熟悉那种心情：想给父亲留下一个好印象，同时又害怕他失望。我一下子仿佛又回到了12岁那年，我坐在明尼苏达州音乐比赛的舞台上，手指放在又黑又亮的Panltalia手风琴的键盘上。我向台下的家长观众看了一眼，他们一脸自豪的表情。然后，我看到了父亲，他坐在最后一排，两只胳膊交叉于胸前，一头短平的头发竖立着。透过黑框眼镜，我看到了父亲那双敏锐的蓝眼睛专注地看着我。
这使我呼吸困难。几个月以来，我一直练习参赛曲子，直到熟记于心。然而，那天下午，我精致的手风琴好像变成了一个纸盒子。在艰难地弹出一些肤浅调子后，我哭着从舞台上逃开了。
父亲——一个“二战”老兵权威的缩影——他没有安慰我，甚至连一句话也没有说。我们在返回150英里外的德卢斯时，他的双唇冷酷地闭着，我也是没有说一句话。在比赛中这样表现后，我还有什么可说的吗？因为我知道，为了支付手风琴和手风琴课的费用，父亲是那么辛苦地工作才凑够这些钱。然而，他唯一一次来看我的手风琴比赛，我却让他失望了。
车子越行越远，车内的气氛也变得更加寂静，这种寂静最终变成了阻隔在我与父亲之间的一堵无法穿透的墙。一想到音乐是父亲和我之间最深切的联系时，这种寂静就显得更加残忍。
家中一共有五个孩子，我是最后一个来到这个家庭的，我出生时，父亲已经为养活这个大家庭而累得疲惫不堪了。当父亲从杰诺比萨厂下班回来时，我和哥哥姐姐们就会踮着脚尖把他围起来。父亲喜欢听大爵士乐队时代的音乐，对于《黄昏时分》那首歌更是情有独钟。于是，我自学了这首曲子，就是为了弹给他听。每到星期日的下午，他就会坐卧在躺椅上，让我给他演奏曲子听，虽然我弹出的曲子毫无风格，可他似乎一点儿也不在意，他会闭着眼睛跟着哼唱，泪水从眼角悄悄滴落，好像我的曲子把他带到了魔幻天国。
在那天回家的路上，父亲没有说一句话，从此以后，再也没有参加过我的音乐比赛。在这个世界上，我最想让他为我感到自豪的人就是父亲，然而我让他失望了，这成为我一生也无法挣脱的痛苦。那天下午，我不仅失去了沉着，还失去了打开父亲心灵之门的钥匙。在我还没有重新找回那把钥匙前，他就去世了。
那次比赛后的很多年里，我经常问上帝：“你为什么让我使父亲感到失望呢？难道你就不能给我一个机会来弥补他吗？”“妈妈，就是这里。”女儿的声音一下子让我回到了现实，我把车停在了中央高中的停车场。莉斯走进学校说：“太好了，我还有时间作作准备。”
在练习室里，莉斯拿出了长笛，将乐谱展开，把曲子吹了一遍，演奏得完美极了。在莉斯走进演奏厅前，我给了她一个拥抱，并告诉她：“放松，你一定会吹得很好的。”
莉斯紧张地笑了，她说：“或许，你应该在比赛结束后再下结论。”排在莉斯前面的独奏选手一个接一个地完成了演奏，时钟的指针带着不祥的预兆走近了她的演奏时间——11：05分。莉斯低声对我说：“爸爸来了，我听到他在走廊里。”莉斯的父亲带着一台摄像机，跟随人群走了进来，我为莉斯感到一阵担忧。在我回过神后，才发现她离开了我旁边的座位，矜持地站在舞台上的钢琴旁。“嘿，总不会像我那次比赛时那么糟糕吧？”莉斯的社会课老师兼伴奏希尔米先生，向她眨了眨眼睛示意。莉斯痴痴地笑了，脸上紧张的神情慢慢地消失了，然后她把长笛举到了唇边。上帝，祈求您让她发挥出自己的最佳水平。
莉斯深深地吸了一口气后，开始了独奏。她的手指在银色的键盘上起舞，甜美、纯净、朴实的旋律从乐器中流淌出来。我闭上双眼，让思绪跟随着女儿弹出的乐曲飘**。
我忘记了比赛，忘记了比赛前莉斯在父亲面前表现出的紧张。
忽然，我想到了自己的父亲，他在比萨厂工作一天下班后，尽管很渴望安静和闲适，却仍耐心地忍受我每天晚上练琴的那段时间。父亲是一个很实际的人，他反对任何形式的借债，然而，当我长大无法再使用二手的学生手风琴时，父亲退让了，为我买了一台最高级的标准尺寸手风琴。一向严厉认真的父亲拉开了Lowrey手风琴，弹了一首节奏强劲的爵士乐，一家人为之欢呼雀跃。父亲是一个不苟言笑的人，工作操劳过度的他卧在躺椅上，听着他最小的孩子弹奏着自己最喜欢的歌曲，喜悦的泪水带走了他的一切负担。
当父亲知道自己的在场令我在舞台上无法正常演奏时，他一定非常伤心，以至于都不知道说什么来安慰我。只是为了在以后的比赛中不打扰我，就不再来观看比赛了。对不起，爸爸，我原以为您是对我失望了。我懂得了，您爱我胜过音乐，我希望您能知道，我是多么爱您，希望能再为您弹奏一次《黄昏时分》。
莉斯放下了长笛，向报以雷鸣般掌声的观众鞠了一躬（对于一个自豪的母亲来说，无论如何，那掌声就如雷鸣一般）。在回家的路上，莉斯坐在车里喊道：“妈妈，我甚至都没看乐谱，我的意思是，我只是看着它，并没有去读，只是跟随着演奏出的音乐。”我明白她的意思。
莉斯参加音乐比赛之后的周一，我上凌晨4：30的早班。我开车出发了，打开了车上的收音机，先是一阵寂静，然后传来了典型的20世纪40年代的大型爵士乐队的铜管乐，而不是KGBX的软摇滚。这是哪个电台播出的节目呢？
一名女低音低声吟唱着，歌声仿佛袅袅青烟，虽然曾经在破烂的乐谱上见过这些歌词，却从没听到过这样的歌曲：
夜幕正在降临，已是黄昏时分/你的声音从薄雾中传来，已是黄昏时分/当紫色的天幕降临，一天都已结束/亲爱的，我将在黄昏时分听到你的声音。
泪水从我的眼角一滴一滴地落下。终于，上帝之爱演奏出的音乐在我与父亲之间架起了一座桥梁，这座桥梁跨越了多年来的沉默。
心灵小语
女儿心中的一段心结，多年之后以这样的一种方式打开。那首《黄昏时分》，隔着多年的岁月袅袅响起，那是爱的声音。
词汇笔记
piercing['pi?si?]adj.刺骨的；刺穿的；讽刺的
All of a sudden a piercing scream broke the silence.
突然，刺耳的尖叫声打破了寂静。
semblance['sembl?ns]n.类似；外观；假装
Has the unique semblance and the delightful sound!
拥有独特的外表和悦耳的声音！
epitomize[i'pit?maiz]v.摘要；概括
He epitomizes everything I dislike.
我讨厌的一切都在他身上体现出来了。
composure[k?m'p?u??]n.镇静；沉着
I do my best to regain composure.
我尽了最大的努力恢复镇静。
小试身手
在每天早上去邮局上班的路上，我总会收听软摇滚音乐台的节目。
译____________________________
然而，他唯一一次来看我的手风琴比赛，我却让他失望了。
译____________________________
泪水从我的眼角一滴一滴地落下。
译____________________________
短语家族
Then I glanced at my 14-year-old daughter in the passenger seat and thought better of it.
think of：考虑；关心；想起；提出；记得
造____________________________
She sounded both excited and scared.
both……and……：两者都；兼容并蓄
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