到肉铺买肉、到药房买药、去食品杂货店买食品,这都很平常。可那年夏天我呆在纽约州沃里克镇奶奶家时,情况则不一样。她写了一张购物清单叫我到一家乡村杂货店买东西。杂货店里的货架横七竖八地塞满各式商品,想找到要买的商品可让我伤脑筋。
我走近柜台,柜台后面有一位我从未见过如此长相的女人。一副镶有假宝石边框的眼镜摇摇欲坠地架在她的鼻尖上,满头灰发。
“打扰一下。”我说。女人抬起了头。
“你就是克莱门特家的小孩吧,”她说,“我是蜜蜂小姐。过来让我好好看看。”蜜蜂小姐把眼镜向鼻子上扶了扶说道,“如果商店失窃,我好向治安官描述你的外貌特征。”
“我又不是小偷!”我有些吃惊。我才7岁啊!怎么可能当小偷呢!
“在我看来,你只是个黄毛丫头,可我觉得你有这方面的潜质。”蜜蜂小姐说着就回过头看报纸去了。
“我要买这些东西,”我说着,举起手里的购物单给她看。
“那又怎样?去取啊。” 蜜蜂小姐用手指了一下纱门上的一块牌子。“这里就我们俩,我不是你的佣人,所以我建议你最好到那一摞篮子那儿拿一个,找到要买的东西就往里面放。如果幸运的话,你在天黑之前可以赶到家。”
离天黑还有五个小时,我不知道来不来得及。
我从离我最近的货架开始逐层寻找购物单上第一件商品:猪肉和菜豆。我来来回回找了三次,才在一堆面包和麦片里发现一听猪肉。第二件是一卷手纸,在一份新闻报纸下找到的;创可贴——我在哪儿看到的?哦,对了,在面霜旁。这家商店就像一座迷宫,然而里面却充满惊喜。我在花生酱后面还发现一本新的超人漫画!
那年夏天,我每个星期都要到蜜蜂小姐的店铺几趟。有时,蜜蜂小姐少找我钱;有时,她多收我钱。更甚的是,她还把前一天的报纸当作即日的报纸卖给我。我到她店里买东西,感觉就像上战场一样。手里攥着购物单,脑中牢记商品名,我离开奶奶家向蜜蜂小姐的杂货店挺进,这阵势就像当年巴顿将军征战北非一样。
“那听菜豆只要29美分。”一天下午,我纠正蜜蜂小姐道。我紧盯着收款机上的数字变化,蜜蜂小姐入账时记的是35美分。被我察觉多收了钱后,蜜蜂小姐毫无难堪之色,她越过镜框瞥了我一眼,然后把价格改了过来。
她从不让我宣告胜利。整个夏天,她想尽办法来捉弄我。我刚记住小苏打的发音以及它在货架上的位置,她就调整了商品的排列,害得我又一顿好找。暑假快结束了,以前耗时要一小时的购物之行,现在十五分钟就完事了。在我要返回布鲁克林的那天早上,我到蜜蜂小姐杂货店买一包口香糖。
“好了,潜能小姐,”她说,“这个夏天你都学到了什么?”你是个十分刻薄的人!我双唇紧闭。令人惊奇的是,蜜蜂小姐大笑起来。
“我知道你是怎么看我的,”她说,“但你不会想到:我并不在意!人生于世,各得其所。我相信我的任务是教会我遇到的每一位小朋友人生的十个教益。随便你怎么想,潜能小姐。当你长大后,就会发现我俩的相遇其实是一件值得庆幸的事。”庆幸遇见蜜蜂小姐?哈!这想法有够荒唐的……
直到有一天,女儿拿着作业来到我的身边。
“这些数学题太难了。你能替我做吗?”她说。
“如果妈妈替你做了,那你自己如何能学会呢?”我说。这时候,我突然想起那时在蜜蜂小姐杂货店的情景:我吃力地核对着收款机里的数目。自那时起,我有被多收过钱吗?
当我的女儿回过头继续做作业时,我在想:蜜蜂小姐真的在多年前就向我传授了若干人生之道吗?我随手拿起了纸,开始动笔记录。
确实,我学到了整整十条人生教益:
1. 学会仔细倾听。
2. 不要想当然——事物每天都在变化。
3. 生活充满惊喜。
4. 大声说出你的问题。
5. 不要以为身临困境总会有援手。
6. 并不是每一个人都像你一样诚实。
7. 不要急于评判他人。
8. 凡事要竭尽全力,即使任务似乎超出自己的能力范围。
9. 仔细复核每个环节。
10. 最好的老师并不只在学校。
You went to the butcher’s for meat, the pharmacy for aspirin, and the grocery store for food. But when I spent the summer with my Grandmother in Warwick, N.Y., she sent me down to the general store with a list. How could I hope to find anything on the packed, jumbled shelves around me?
I walked up to the counter. Behind it was a lady like no one I’d ever seen. Fake-jewel-encrusted glasses teetered on the tip of her nose, gray hair was piled on her head.
"Excuse me," I said. She looked up.
"You’re that Clements kid," she said. "I’m Miss Bee. Come closer and let me get a look at you." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "I want to be able to describe you to the sheriff if something goes missing from the store."
"I’m not a thief!" I was shocked. I was seven year too young to be a thief!
"From what I can see you’re not much of anything. But I can tell you’ve got potential." She went back to reading her newspaper.
"I need to get these." I said, holding up my list.
"So? Go get them." Miss Bee pointed to a sign on the screen door. "There’s no one here except you and me and I’m not your servant, so I suggest you get yourself a basket from that pile over there and start filling. If you’re lucky you’ll be home by sundown."
Sundown was five hours away. I wasn’t sure I would make it.
I scanned the nearest shelf for the first item on my list: pork and beans. It took me three wall-to-wall searches before I found a can nestled between boxes of cereal and bread. Next up was toilet paper, found under the daily newspaper. Band-Aids—where had I seen them? Oh, ye next to the face cream. The store was a puzzle, but it held some surprises too. I found a new Superman comic tucked behind the peanut butter.
I visited Miss Bee a couple of times a week that summer. Sometimes she short-changed me. Other times she overcharged. Or sold me an old newspaper instead of one that was current. Going to the store was more like going into battle. I left my Grandma’s house armed with my list—memorized to the letter—and marched into Miss Bee’s like General Patton marching into North Africa.
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