The Twelfth Tuesday We Talk About Forgiveness

"Forgive yourself before you die. Then forgive others."

This was a few days after the "Nightline" interview. The sky was rainy and dark, and Morrie was beneath a blanket. I sat at the far end of his chair, holding his bare feet. They were callused and curled, and his toenails were yellow. I had a small jar of lotion¹, and I squeezed some into my hands and began to massage² his ankles.

It was another of the things I had watched his helpers do for months, and now, in an attempt to hold on to what I could of him, I had volunteered to do it myself. The disease had left Morrie without the ability even to wiggle his toes, yet he could still feel pain, and massages³ helped relieve it. Also, of course, Morrie liked being held and touched. And at this point, anything I could do to make him happy, I was going to do.

"Mitch," he said, returning to the subject of forgiveness. "There is no point in keeping vengeance⁴ or stubbornness. These things"-he sighed-"these things I so regret in my life. Pride. Vanity. Why do we do the things we do?"

The importance of forgiving was my question. I had seen those movies where the patriarch of the family is on his death bed and he calls for his estranged⁵ son so that he can make peace before he goes. I wondered if Morrie had any of that inside him, a sudden need to say "I'm sorry" before he died?

Morrie nodded. "Do you see that sculpture?" He tilted⁶ his head toward a bust⁷ that sat high on a shelf against the far wall of his office. I had never really noticed it before. Cast in bronze, it was the face of a man in his early forties, wearing a necktie, a tuft of hair falling across his forehead.

"That's me," Morrie said. "A friend of mine sculpted⁸ that maybe thirty years ago. His name was Norman. We used to spend so much time together. We went swimming. We took rides to New York. He had me over to his house in Cambridge, and he sculpted that bust of me down in his basement. It took several weeks to do it, but he really wanted to get it right."

I studied the face. How strange to see a three-dimensional Morrie, so healthy, so young, watching over us as we spoke⁹. Even in bronze, he had a whimsical look, and I thought this friend had sculpted a little spirit as well.

"Well, here's the sad part of the story," Morrie said. "Norman and his wife moved away to Chicago. A little while later, my wife, Charlotte, had to have a pretty serious operation. Norman and his wife never got in touch with us. I know they knew about it. Charlotte and I were very hurt because they never called to see how she was. So we dropped the relationship.

"Over the years, I met Norman a few times and he always tried to reconcile, but I didn't accept it. I wasn't satisfied with his explanation. I was prideful. I shrugged¹⁰ him off. "

His voice choked.

"Mitch . . . a few years ago . . . he died of cancer. I feel so sad. I never got to see him. I never got to forgive. It pains me now so much . . ."

He was crying again, a soft and quiet cry, and because his head was back, the tears rolled off the side of his face before they reached his lips.

Sorry, I said.

"Don't be," he whispered. "Tears are okay."

I continued rubbing lotion into his lifeless toes. He wept for a few minutes, alone with his memories.

"It's not just other people we need to forgive, Mitch," he finally whispered. We also need to forgive
ourselves."

Ourselves?

"Yes. For all the things we didn't do. All the things we should have done. You can't get stuck on the regrets of what should have happened. That doesn't help you when you get to where I am.

"I always wished I had done more with my work; I wished I had written more books. I used to beat myself up over it. Now I see that never did any good. Make peace. You need to make peace with yourself and everyone around you."

I leaned over and dabbed¹¹ at the tears with a tissue. Morrie flicked¹² his eyes open and closed. His breathing was audible, like a light snore.

"Forgive yourself. Forgive others. Don't wait, Mitch. Not everyone gets the time I'm getting. Not everyone is as lucky."

I tossed the tissue into the wastebasket and returned to his feet. Lucky? I pressed my thumb into his hardened flesh and he didn't even feel it.

"The tension of opposites, Mitch. Remember that? Things pulling in different directions?"

I remember.

"I mourn my dwindling¹³ time, but I cherish the chance it gives me to make things right."

We sat there for a while, quietly, as the rain splattered against the windows. The hibiscus plant behind his head was still holding on, small but firm.

"Mitch," Morrie whispered.

Uh-huh?

I rolled his toes between my fingers, lost in the task.

"Look at me."

I glanced up and saw the most intense look in his eyes.

"I don't know why you came back to me. But I want to say this . . .

He paused, and his voice choked.

"If I could have had another son, I would have liked it to be you."

I dropped my eyes, kneading the dying flesh of his feet between my fingers. For a moment, I felt afraid, as if accepting his words would somehow betray my own father. But when I looked up, I saw Morrie smiling through tears and I knew there was no betrayal in a moment like this.

All I was afraid of was saying good-bye.

"I've picked a place to be buried."

Where is that?

"Not far from here. On a hill, beneath a tree, overlooking a pond. Very serene¹⁴. A good place to think."

Are you planning on thinking there?

"I'm planning on being dead there."

He chuckles¹⁵. I chuckle¹⁶.

"Will you visit?" Visit?

`Just come and talk. Make it a Tuesday. You always come on Tuesdays. "

We're Tuesday people.

"Right. Tuesday people. Come to talk, then?"

He has grown so weak so fast.

"Look at me," he says.

I'm looking.

"You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"

My problems?

"Yes.'

And you'll give me answers?

"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"

I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see mysef sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.

It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk.

"Ah, talk . . . "

He closes his eyes and smiles.

"Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen."

   "临死前先原谅自己，然后原谅别人。"
   这是"夜线"专访的几天以后，天空中阴霾密布。莫里盖着毯子，我坐在他那张躺椅的另一头，握着他裸露的脚。脚上长满了硬皮，而且呈拳曲状，脚趾甲呈黄颜色。我拿着一瓶润肤液，挤一点在手上，然后按摩他的脚踝处。
   这是几个月来我看见那些助手们常替莫里做的事情之一，我现在自告奋勇地要做这事，为的是能更多地接触他，疾病甚至剥夺了莫里扭动脚趾的功能，然而他却依然有疼痛感，而按摩可以缓解痛楚，再说，莫里喜欢有人去触摸他。在这个时候，只要是能使他开心的，任何事我都愿意去做。
   "米奇，"他又回到了原谅这个话题。"记恨和固执都是毫无意义的。这种情绪--他叹了口气--这种情绪让我抱憾终身。自负。虚荣。我们为什么要这么做呢？"
   我想问的是原谅有多重要。我在电影里常看到一些大亨式的人物临终前把疏远的儿子叫到床前，然后才平静地死去。我不知道莫里是否也有这种念头：在他临终前突然想说声"对不起"？
   莫里点点头。"看见那尊雕像吗？"他斜了斜头，指向靠着对面墙的书橱上的一个头像。它放在书橱的昏层，我平时从来没有注意到。雕像是铜的，塑的是一个四十出头的男子，系着领带，一绺头发飘落在额前。
   "那是我，"莫里说，"一个朋友大约在三十年前雕刻的。他叫诺曼。我们以前常在一起。我们去游泳，我们搭车去纽约。他把我带到他在剑桥①的公寓，在他的地下室里为我雕刻了这尊头像。这花了他好几个星期，可他干得一丝不苟。"
   ①哈佛大学所在地。
   我望着那张脸，真有一种异样的感觉：那个三维形的莫里是那么健康，那么年轻，他看着我们交谈。虽然是铜像，但仍透出几许活泼的神态。我觉得那位朋友确实刻出了莫里的一些内在气质。
   "咳，令人不快的事情发生了，"莫里说。"诺曼和他妻子去了芝加哥。过后没多久，我妻子夏洛特动了一次大手术。诺曼和他妻子始终没跟我们联系，但我知道他们是知道这件事的。他们伤了我和夏洛特的心：竟连一个电话都不打。于是我们就中断了关系。
   "后来，我只见到诺曼一两次，他一直想同我和解，但我没有接受。他的解释不能使我满意。我很自负。我拒他于千里之外。"
   他的声音有些哽咽。
   "米奇……几年前……他死于癌症。我感到非常难过。我没有去看他。我一直没有原谅他。我现在非常非常的懊悔……"
   他又哭了起来，那是无声的哭泣，泪水流过面颊，淌到了嘴唇。
   对不起，我说。
   "没关系，"他低声说，"流泪有好处。"
   我继续在他坏死的脚趾上涂抹润肤液。他默默地哭了几分钟，沉浸在对往事的回忆里。
   "我们不仅需要原谅别人，米奇，"他又说道，"我们也需要原谅自己。"
   原谅自己？
   "是的，原谅自己应该做而没有做的事。你不应该陷在遗憾的情绪中无法自拔，这对你是没有益处的，尤其是处在我这个阶段。
   "我一直希望自己工作得更出色些，希望能多写几本书。我常常为此而自责。现在我发现这毫无帮助。跟它和解。跟自己和解。跟你周围的人和解。"
   我探过身去用纸擦去了他的眼泪。莫里睁了睁眼睛又闭上了，他的呼吸又粗又重，像打鼾似的。
   原谅自己。原谅别人。不要犹豫，米奇，不是每个人都能像我这样可以拖一段时间的。有的并不那么幸运。
   我把擦过的纸扔进废纸篓，继续为他的脚按摩。幸运？我用拇指用力地按他变硬的肌肤，他一点感觉都没有。
   "反向力，米奇，还记得吗？事物朝两个方向发展。"
   我记得。
   "我哀叹时间在无情地逝去，但我又庆幸它仍给了我弥补的机会。"
   我们静静地坐在那里，雨水打在窗上，他身后的那棵木槿小而挺拔，依然生命旺盛。
   "米奇，"莫里低声说。
   嗯？
   我神情专注地揉动着他的脚趾。
   "看着我。"
   我抬起头来，看见了他非常严肃的眼神。
   "我不知道你为什么回到我身边来。但我想说……"
   他打住了话头，声音有些哽咽。
   "如果我还能有个儿子，我希望他是你。"
   我垂下眼睛，搓揉着他坏死的肌肤。一时间我感到有些害怕，似乎接受了莫里的感情就意味着背叛自己的父亲。可当我抬起头来，看见莫里噙着泪水的笑容时，我知道这时候是没有背叛的。
   我真正害怕的是跟他说再见。
   "我已经选好了墓地。"
   在哪儿？
   "离这儿不远，在山坡上，傍着一棵树，可以俯视到一个水池，非常宁静。一个思考的好地方。"
   你准备在那儿思考？
   "我准备在那儿死去。"
   他笑出声来，我也笑了。
   "你会去看我吗？"
   看你？
   "来和我说说话。安排在星期二。你总是星期二来。"
   我们是星期二人。
   "对，星期二人。你会去吗？"他的身体虚弱得真快。
   "看着我，"他说。
   我看着他。
   "你会去我的墓地吗？告诉我你的问题？"
   我的问题？
   "是的。"
   你会回答我吗？
   "我会尽力的。我不是一直这么做的吗？"
   我想象着他的墓地：在山坡上，俯视着一片水塘。人们把他安葬在九英尺见方的土地里，上面盖上泥土，树一块碑，也许就在凡个星期后？也许就在几天后？我想象自己独自坐在那儿，双手抱膝，仰望着天空。
   不一样了，我说，没法听见你的说话。
   "哈，说话……"
   他闭上眼睛笑了。
   "知道吗？我死了以后，你说，我听。"

1 lotion   

n.洗剂

参考例句：

• The lotion should be applied sparingly to the skin.这种洗液应均匀地涂在皮肤上。
• She lubricates her hands with a lotion.她用一种洗剂来滑润她的手。

2 massage   

n.按摩，揉；vt.按摩，揉，美化，奉承，篡改数据

参考例句：

• He is really quite skilled in doing massage.他的按摩技术确实不错。
• Massage helps relieve the tension in one's muscles.按摩可使僵硬的肌肉松弛。

3 massages   

按摩，推拿( massage的名词复数 )

参考例句：

• At present the doctor is giving him daily massages to help restore the function of his limbs. 目前医生每天在给他按摩，帮助他恢复腿臂的功能。
• His father massages his nose and chin. 他爸爸揉了揉鼻子和下巴。

4 vengeance   

n.报复，报仇，复仇

参考例句：

• He swore vengeance against the men who murdered his father.他发誓要向那些杀害他父亲的人报仇。
• For years he brooded vengeance.多年来他一直在盘算报仇。

5 estranged   

adj.疏远的，分离的

参考例句：

• He became estranged from his family after the argument.那场争吵后他便与家人疏远了。
• The argument estranged him from his brother.争吵使他同他的兄弟之间的关系疏远了。

6 tilted   

v. 倾斜的

参考例句：

• Suddenly the boat tilted to one side. 小船突然倾向一侧。
• She tilted her chin at him defiantly. 她向他翘起下巴表示挑衅。

7 bust   

vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部

参考例句：

• I dropped my camera on the pavement and bust it. 我把照相机掉在人行道上摔坏了。
• She has worked up a lump of clay into a bust.她把一块黏土精心制作成一个半身像。

8 sculpted   

adj.经雕塑的

参考例句：

• a display of animals sculpted in ice 冰雕动物展
• The ladies had their hair sculpted by the leading coiffeur of the day. 女士们的发型都是当代有名的理发师做的。

9 spoke   

n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说

参考例句：

• They sourced the spoke nuts from our company.他们的轮辐螺帽是从我们公司获得的。
• The spokes of a wheel are the bars that connect the outer ring to the centre.辐条是轮子上连接外圈与中心的条棒。

10 shrugged   

vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式）

参考例句：

• Sam shrugged and said nothing. 萨姆耸耸肩膀，什么也没说。
• She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. 她耸耸肩，装出一副无所谓的样子。 来自《简明英汉词典》

11 dabbed   

（用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）…

参考例句：

• She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. 她轻轻擦了几下眼睛，擤了擤鼻涕。
• He dabbed at the spot on his tie with a napkin. 他用餐巾快速擦去领带上的污点。

12 flicked   

（尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等）

参考例句：

• She flicked the dust off her collar. 她轻轻弹掉了衣领上的灰尘。
• I idly picked up a magazine and flicked through it. 我漫不经心地拿起一本杂志翻看着。

13 dwindling   

adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• The number of wild animals on the earth is dwindling. 地球上野生动物的数量正日渐减少。 来自《简明英汉词典》
• He is struggling to come to terms with his dwindling authority. 他正努力适应自己权力被削弱这一局面。 来自辞典例句

14 serene   

adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的

参考例句：

• He has entered the serene autumn of his life.他已进入了美好的中年时期。
• He didn't speak much,he just smiled with that serene smile of his.他话不多，只是脸上露出他招牌式的淡定的微笑。

15 chuckles   

轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 )

参考例句：

• Father always chuckles when he reads the funny papers. 父亲在读幽默报纸时总是低声发笑。
• [Chuckles] You thought he was being poisoned by hemlock? 你觉得他中的会是芹叶钩吻毒吗？

16 chuckle   

vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑

参考例句：

• He shook his head with a soft chuckle.他轻轻地笑着摇了摇头。
• I couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at the thought of it.想到这个，我忍不住轻轻地笑起来。