We do not remember days; we remember moments.
~Cesare Pavese, The Burning Brand
我们记住的不是日子，而是瞬间。
——切萨雷·帕韦塞《燃烧的品牌》
My last argument with Daddy was the one about his funeral. He didn’t want one. “What’s the point of a funeral?” he wanted to know. “It’s a big waste of money. When the time comes, here’s what you do.”
我和爸爸最后一次争吵，是关于他的葬礼。他不想要葬礼。“葬礼有什么意义？”他反问，“纯粹浪费钱。等那天来了，你们就这么办。”
He pulled out a plain white sheet of paper with instructions. Neatly typed, of course: “Cremation, minimum container, no memorial service.” He’d drawn it up himself.
他抽出一张白纸，上面整整齐齐地打印着指示：“火化，最便宜的骨灰盒，不办追悼会。”当然，是他自己起草的。
Tanned, seemingly healthy, he looked like he should be out on the golf course, not at the breakfast table making funeral pronouncements to my mom and me. But he started out quiet that day, more subdued than usual. Facing heart surgery in a month and a detail man, he was going to leave nothing to chance.
他皮肤黝黑，看起来健康得很，本该在高尔夫球场上挥杆，而不是在早餐桌旁对我和妈妈宣布葬礼安排。但那天的他格外安静，比平时低沉。一个月后要接受心脏手术，他是个讲究细节的人，不肯留一点疏漏。
“Life,” he said, “is like a stock portfolio. It needs to be well-planned.”
“人生，”他说，“就像股票组合，得好好规划。”
That was his style. Facing his possible end, he was obsessed with the details. Mama was used to his obsessions, but I was impatient.
这就是他的风格。面对可能的终点，他执着于细节。妈妈早已习惯，我却焦躁不已。
I took one look at the paper and started right in. “First, you’re not going to die. And even if you were, this is a terrible idea!” I said. “People need a way to say goodbye.”
我扫了一眼那张纸，立刻开火：“首先，你不会死。就算真有那么一天，这主意也糟透了！大家需要一个告别的仪式。”
“Not to the tune of thousands of dollars,” he said.
“花几千块就免了。”他说。
“But people need closure,” I told him. “A funeral wouldn’t be for you. It would be for the people you leave behind.”
“可大家需要‘ closure ’（释怀），”我争辩，“葬礼不是为你，是为留下的人。”
He was unconvinced. In fact, the debate seemed to enliven him.
他不为所动，争论反倒让他来了精神。
“You know what else,” he said, voice rising. “All those clothes in there, you ought to get rid of them when I go. Give them to charity or whoever wants them. Don’t be saving stuff when I’m gone.”
“还有，”他提高嗓门，“我走后，衣柜里的衣服全处理掉。捐给慈善机构，谁要就给谁，别留着。”
Unchallenged on the clothes, he rushed to have his customary last say.
衣服的话题没人反驳，他赶紧抛出惯用的压轴句。
“A funeral,” he said, “should reflect the way you live your life. Remember that. I’m not about to pay top dollar for mine.”
“葬礼，”他说，“得反映你活着的方式。记住，我可不想为自己的死花大钱。”
When the conversation resumed, a month later in the hospital on the eve of surgery, he pulled out the paper again. I was grateful this time there was no time to talk.
一个月后，手术前夕，病房里，话题重启。他又掏出那张纸。这次我庆幸没时间争论。
The hospital TV vendor arrived, and Daddy turned his attention to telling her how he wasn’t interested in paying $6.00 a day. When she disappeared around the corner, he sneaked over to the TV hanging by the vacant bed beside him, to see if they’d forgotten to shut it off.
医院电视推销员来了，爸爸立刻转向她，声明绝不掏每天六块钱。等她拐过墙角，他溜到隔壁空床的电视机前，想看看对方有没有忘关机。
If the evening news had appeared, it would have been his last little bargain. But the only free ride turned out to be a dull in-house video on low sodium diets.
要是能蹭到晚间新闻，就算他最后捡到的便宜。可惜屏幕上只有一段乏味的低钠饮食宣教片。
Sadly, his luck ran no better with the surgery. Complications set in the very first night, and the paper that had been such a lively topic for theoretical debate suddenly took center stage in a real-life drama. With Mama, I now read it over and over as we planned for his funeral, or non-funeral, and struggled to find ways to say goodbye. Without wasting too much money.
不幸的是，手术也没给他好运气。第一晚就出现并发症，那张曾被热烈理论的纸，瞬间变成现实剧本。我和妈妈一遍遍读着它，筹划“葬礼”——或者说“非葬礼”——绞尽脑汁想好好告别，又不让钱花得心疼。
Calling hours—no service, no flowers—was the final compromise. There were no speeches, other than the private stories about a birdied hole or the fish that got away, and the flowers that came over the deceased’s objections were quickly dispensed to my mother’s list of “shut-in friends.”
最终妥协：仅设接待时间——无仪式、无鲜花。没人致辞，只有人小声聊起他最后一次抓鸟（birdie）或那条跑掉的大鱼。违令送来的花束被妈妈火速分发给她的“居家不能出门”的朋友名单。
But the unexpected memorial unfolded over the next couple of weeks when Mama, trying to honor his wishes, started inviting some of his golfing buddies to come try on a few of Daddy’s shirts.
然而，接下来的两周，一场意外的纪念悄然展开。妈妈为遵他遗愿，开始邀请他的球友上门，试穿爸爸的几件衬衫。
“You know he would not want these to go to waste,” she said. “Now you just come see what you’d like before I ship them all off to the church.”
“你们知道，他绝不想这些东西浪费，”她说，“趁我还没捐给教会，先过来挑喜欢的。”
Mama was a quiet and sensitive woman. No sooner had she said it, than she was worried she might be leaving someone out. So she quickly began to figure who else would be interested in his closet cleaning, and issued invitations to the rest, in order of their family relation and their closeness to my dad. First, she approached my sons.
妈妈向来安静细腻。话一出口，她就担心漏了谁。于是她按亲疏远近，把“清仓”名单迅速扩充，首先瞄准我的两个儿子。
“They’ll never go for this,” I thought. “They’ll think it’s morbid to wear them.” I was wrong.
“他们肯定不干，”我心想，“穿外公的衣服？多晦气。”结果我错了。
One morning, I looked up from breakfast to catch the cuff of Daddy’s PJs walking by. My eyes traveled up the full length of the six-foot frame.
一天早餐时，我抬头看见爸爸的睡衣袖口从眼前晃过，视线顺着那六英尺的挺拔身材往上移。
“Morning!” said the older one. They fit perfectly. With his back turned, he looked just like Daddy the year he put Grecian Formula over his gray.
“早啊！”大儿子打招呼。睡衣合身极了。他背过身时，活像那年用染发膏遮白发的爸爸。
Then the younger one padded in wearing Daddy’s huge white athletic shoes.
接着，小儿子踢踏踢踏地进来，脚上是爸爸那双大白运动鞋。
“I think they’ll bring me luck,” he said, in a surprising show of sentimentality.
“我觉得它们会带给我好运，”他罕见地流露感性。
The parade went on, with Mama calling cousins and friends to come up to the house and see what they could use. After I flew back home and called to check on her, I heard a nightly report on the diminishing inventory.
“ parade ”持续上演，妈妈陆续召唤堂表亲、老友上门。我飞回家后，每晚打电话，都能听到库存报告：又少了什么。
Golf shirts, jackets, dress shoes. There was something for everyone. With each bit of clothing that went out the door, there was a “thank you” and a story about Daddy. Golfing buddies told how ecstatic he’d been to shoot his last birdie, and how they’d always counted on him to bring the crackers in case anyone got hungry before the turn.
高尔夫衫、夹克、皮鞋，人人有份。每送出一件，就伴一句“谢谢”和一段爸爸的故事。球友们说他最后一次抓鸟时多得意，还总记得带饼干，怕大家打到第九洞就饿。
Invariably, they’d say, “I’ll think of him whenever I wear this.” One added, “When I put on his sweater, I can hear him laugh.”
他们总会说：“穿上这件，我就想起他。”有人补一句：“套上他的毛衣，我就能听见他的笑声。”
He was right about the laughter. It was real. It was Daddy’s new way of getting in the last word.
关于笑声，他说对了。笑声是真的，那是爸爸用另一种方式，做最后的总结陈词。
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