第125期：《阿比琳的夏天》——爱是隐藏最深的秘密

介绍: 想成为我们的主播，欢迎加微信 xdfbook 投稿。 一段美文，一首英文歌，或是一点生活感想，全由你做主。 《阿比琳的夏天》——爱是隐藏最深的秘密 Moon Over Manifest “一个货真价实的间谍！”莱蒂喊出声来，此时我们三个蹲在五金店门前的印第安人木制雕像后。“就在这里，就在曼尼菲斯特！哎呀，我还从来没有听说过这么刺激的事儿呢！” 我把其他的小纪念品藏在雪茄盒里，不过给她们看了第一封信和那张间谍地图。我这样或许有点自私，但我想在给莱蒂和露丝安妮看之前先自己读一下其他几封信。说不定那些信里会提到我爸爸(吉迪恩)呢。 “响尾蛇，这听起来和镇上的鬼影一样神秘。”莱蒂换上了一副周日晚上电台广播里广为人知的那种低沉、夸张的嗓音。“谁知道在人类的内心隐藏着怎样的邪恶呢？鬼影知道。” 露丝安妮翻了个白眼。 “其实，”莱蒂继续说道，“这很像几个月前的那件事。一个女人，她收到了亡夫的神秘来信——噢，它们都算不上是信，而更像是便条，因为它们不是邮寄来的，而是就被人放在了她的枕头下，而且是就在她快要精神失常之前——” “现在别说这个了，莱蒂，”露丝安妮说，“这个响尾蛇，不管他是谁，有可能还在这儿，而且就在这会儿都还在秘密地监视我们。” “都过了这么久了还在这儿？写这封信的时间是”——莱蒂在心里算了一下——“18年前。而且我看不出这张地图会对我们有什么帮助。”她查看了一下那张纸。“这就是一张曼尼菲斯特地图，或者说是1918年的曼尼菲斯特地图。看这里，那家马特诺普洛斯肉店早就关门了。” 这对表姐妹的争论还在继续。露丝安妮说：“那么，或许这是一张关于可能的间谍嫌疑人以及间谍可能会经常出没的场所的地图。” “也许他现在已经死了。这家马特诺普洛斯肉店还在那儿，但马特诺普洛斯先生已经死了。” “也许你不应该这么死脑筋。走吧，让我们四处侦察一番。” 我们都站起身来，我猜这一次露丝安妮赢了。从莱蒂在我们身边蹦蹦跳跳走着的样子来看，我想她并不介意自己这次输了。 我们在主街上瞅瞅下看看，敏锐地观察着那些店主和过往的行人。 那边是屠夫，他正把一大块肉挂到店外风干。他把挂肉的钩子扯了下来，在自己已经血迹斑斑的围裙上擦了擦。送冰人将他那长而尖的钳子朝一大块冰猛地一插，然后把那块冰提出了他的卡车。理发师将他的围裙抖干净，将剃刀刀片擦得干干净净。因为脑袋里一直在想间谍和发疯的人，这让每个人看起来都有一点可怕。 他们——屠夫、送冰人和理发师——就像是一首吓人的儿歌里的无名氏，直到莱蒂认出他们是西蒙先生、皮克尔顿先生和库珀先生。 我们进进出出走了几家店，问有没有谁听说过“响尾蛇”。没有人看上去想对这件事进行任何说明。 “响尾蛇可能是他们中间的任何一个，”莱蒂低声说，“可我还是认为响尾蛇现在可能已经死了，埋土里了。” “或者也有可能不是这样的，”露丝安妮很权威地说，“瞧。” 是那个承办丧事的人，他穿着一身黑，正拖着一块花岗石板往“好日子”殡仪馆里走呢。 “也许响尾蛇就是昂德希尔先生，”露丝安妮小声说，“他成天都特别想给谁刻一个墓碑。也许他甚至自己就杀过几个人呢。” “信里根本没提杀人的事儿。我们只是在找一个间谍，是吧，阿比琳？”莱蒂问。 “是的，不过……” “不过什么？”露丝安妮问。 “好吧，假如说当时是有这么一个间谍。你们觉得他在暗中监视什么呢？” 我和莱蒂看着露丝安妮。她翻了个白眼，然后发出了一声叹息，就好像她讨厌非得解释这么简单的东西似的。我认为她只不过是在拖延时间，直到她能想出个答案来。 “曾经发生过一场战争，你们知道吧。”露丝安妮说。 我们依然盯着她。 “在打仗的时候，总会有需要向敌人隐瞒的秘密。” 我们还在盯着她。 “那你们凭什么觉得曼尼菲斯特没有属于它自己的一些秘密，是某位间谍可能想要打探出来的呢？”露丝安妮问。 因为我和莱蒂都想不出一个更好的解释，我们便耸了耸肩，将视线转回到昂德希尔先生身上，这时他已经从殡仪馆出来了。他擦了擦脑门上的汗，抬头看着万里无云的天空。 “看看他，”露丝安妮说，“他在闻空气里死亡的味道。” 一丝微风拂过，当昂德希尔先生穿过马路、朝我们这边走过来时，我心里认定他会从我们当中拽走一个去和刚才那块新墓碑相匹配。我们退进一条小巷子，看着他走了过去。他弓着背向前走着，走路时两个胳膊一动不动，就那么僵硬地垂在身体的两侧。 …… “An honest-to-goodness spy!” cried Lettie as the three of us crouched ) behind the wooden Indian in front of the hardware ) store. “Right here in Manifest! Why, I’ve never heard anything so exciting.” I kept the mementos ) hidden away in the cigar box, but showed them the first letter and the spy map. It might’ve been a little selfish of me, but I wanted to read the other letters by myself before letting Lettie and Ruthanne see them. Maybe there would be some mention of Gideon in those. “The Rattler. That sounds as mysterious as the Shadow.” Lettie took on the deep, dramatic voice everyone knew from the Sunday-night radio broadcast. “Who knows what evil lurks ) in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.” Ruthanne rolled her eyes. “In fact,” Lettie continued, “it’s just like that episode ) a few months ago. A lady, she gets mysterious letters from her dead husband—well, they’re not letters really, they’re more like notes, because they don’t come in the mail, they’re just left under her pillow, and right before she goes insane )—” “Not now, Lettie,” Ruthanne said. “The Rattler, whoever it was, could still be here, spying on us at this very minute.” “After all this time? The letter was written”—Lettie did the calculating in her head—“eighteen years ago. And I don’t see how this map is going to help us.” She looked over the paper. “It’s just a map of Manifest, or at least Manifest as it was back in 1918. See here, that Matenopoulos Meat closed down forever ago.” The cousins’ debate continued. Ruthanne said, “So, maybe it’s a map of likely suspects and places the spy might frequent.” “Maybe he’s dead by now. The Matenopoulos place is on there and Mr. Matenopoulos is dead.” “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a stick-in-the-mud ). Come on, let’s scout ) around.” As we all got up, I figured Ruthanne had won. And from Lettie’s skipping along beside us, I gathered ) she didn’t mind. We looked up and down Main Street, taking in ) store owners and passersby. There was the butcher, hanging up a big hunk of meat to cure ) outside his store. He pulled the fleshy meat hook and wiped it on his already bloody apron. The iceman whacked ) his spiky ) tongs ) into a block of ice and hoisted ) it out of his truck. The barber shook out ) his apron and wiped his razor blade clean. Thinking of spies and people going insane made everyone seem a little frightening. They were like nameless men in a scary nursery rhyme )—the butcher, the iceman, and the barber—until Lettie identified them as Mr. Simon, Mr. Pickerton, and Mr. Cooper. We made our way into and out of a few stores, asking if anyone had heard of the Rattler. No one seemed inclined to shed any light on ) the matter. “The Rattler could be any one of them,” Lettie breathed. “But I still say the Rattler could be dead and buried by now.” “Or maybe not,” Ruthanne said with authority. “Look.” It was the undertaker ), all dressed in black, hauling a slab ) of granite ) into the Better Days Funeral Parlor ). “Maybe it’s Mr. Underhill,” Ruthanne whispered. “He’s always itching ) to carve somebody a grave marker ). Maybe he even killed a few bodies himself.” “The letter didn’t say anything about murder. We’re just looking for a spy, right, Abilene?” Lettie asked. “Yes, but …” “But what?” Ruthanne asked. “Well, say there was a spy. What do you think he was spying on?” Lettie and I looked at Ruthanne. She rolled her eyes and gave a sigh, like she was disgusted to have to explain something so simple. I figured she was just stalling ) till she could think up an answer. “There was a war going on, you know,” Ruthanne said. We kept staring. “And in wartimes there’s always secrets that need keeping from the enemy.” Still staring. “So what makes you think Manifest didn’t have a few secrets of its own that some spy might want to find out about?” Ruthanne asked. Since Lettie and I couldn’t come up with a better explanation, we shrugged and turned our eyes back to Mr. Underhill, who’d come outside. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked up at the cloudless sky. “Look at him,” Ruthanne said. “He’s sniffing for death in the air.” A breeze picked up and when Mr. Underhill crossed the street, walking in our direction, I thought for sure he’d pluck ) one of us for that new grave marker. We backed into an alley and watched as he passed by. He hunched ) forward and his arms didn’t move as he walked. They just hung stiff by his side. …… 文章摘自：《新东方英语·中学生》杂志2016年6月号