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[24] By the time we were settled in a Red Cross tent, we were worn out. Father had gone off to care for sick people, and Mother sat on my cot with her arm around my shoulder. She smiled at me, if you can call it that. Then I reached under my pillow and took out the gravy boat.

[25] She looked at it, then at me. Then she took it in her hands and held it for a long time. She was very quiet, just sitting, gazing at the gravy boat. She seemed both close to me and also very far away, as though she was remembering. I don't know what she was thinking, but she pulled me into her arms and held me tight.

[26] We lived in the tent for weeks, cold and often hungry. As the flood crested, an oil slick caught fire and burned our house down to the waterline. We never went back. Instead, we moved to a house near Cincinnati, far from the river.

[27] By Easter we were settled in, and we celebrated that special Sunday with a feast. While Dad carved the lamb, Mother went into the kitchen and returned with the gravy boat. She held my gift for a moment as though it was something unspeakably precious. Then, smiling at me, she placed it gently on the table. I said to myself right then that nothing would ever happen to that gravy boat as long as I lived.

[28] And nothing ever has. Now I use the gravy boat just as she had, taking it carefully from the shelf and filling it just as she did with dark, rich turkey gravy for family dinners and other special occasions. When guests ask about the curious old dish, I sometimes tell the story of how I fished it from the river in our house.

[29] But beyond the events of the flood, the gravy boat is a treasure that connects me to the people and the places of my past. Mother tried to explain, and now I understand. It is not the object so much as the connection that I cherish. That little porcelain boat, chipped and worn with age, keeps me in touch--just as she said it would--with her life, her joy and her love.

汽艇带上我们往高地方向驶去。天又开始下雨，我第一次真正感到了害怕。河水也许会涨个没完，淹没整个山谷、树林甚至山丘。

我们在红十字会的帐篷里安顿下来，全都精疲力竭。爸爸照看病人去了；妈妈坐在我的帆布床上，搂着我的肩头。她对着我微笑——如果那能称为微笑的话。这当儿，我把手伸到枕头下面，拿出了那只船形肉卤盘。

她先看了看盘子，然后看着我。接着她把盘子拿过去握了很久。她十分平静，就那样坐着，凝视着这件珍品。她离我很近，却又仿佛非常遥远，好像陷入了某种回忆。我不知道她在想什么，但她将我拥入怀里，紧紧地抱着。

我们在帐篷里住了几个星期，常常忍饥耐寒。洪峰到来时，水面上的一层油膜不幸着火，把我家的房子吃水线以上部分全部烧塌。我们再也没有回去，而是举家迁往离河很远的辛辛那提附近的另一幢房子。

复活节那天，我们住进了新家，举行盛宴庆祝那个特别的星期日。趁爸爸在切羊肉，妈妈走进厨房拿出那只船形肉卤盘。好一阵子，她捧着我的这份礼物，仿佛这是一件无法用言语形容的最宝贵的器皿。然后，她一边微笑着望着我，一边轻轻地将盘子放到餐桌上。就在那时我对自己说，只要我活着，我决不会再让这只盘子出事。

的确上直没有出事。如今我就像妈妈当年一样使用着这只盘子，小心翼翼地从碗柜的搁板上拿下来，在家庭晚宴上和其他特别的节日里盛上黑色而肥美的火鸡肉汁。当有客人问起这只奇特而古老的盘子时，我偶尔也会讲讲这个故事，告诉他们我是如何从淹入我家的河水里捞出来的。

但是除了那场洪水的经历之外，这只船形肉卤盘还是一件将我同我过去的亲人和住处紧密相联的珍奇之物。妈妈曾努力解释过这一点，如今我真正感悟到了。我珍惜的与其说是这件器皿本身，还不如说是通过它而建立起来的那种联系。这只小小的船形瓷器，年深日久，伤痕累累，却将我同妈妈的人生、妈妈的欢乐和妈妈的慈爱永远相联——正如她曾经说过的那样。

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