谭恩美——两种.docVIP

Two Kinds By Amy Tan My mother believed you could be anything you wanted to be in America. You could open a restaurant. You could work for the government and get good retirement. You could buy a house with almost no money down. You could become rich. You could become instantly famous. Of course, you can be a prodigy, too, my mother told me when I was nine. You can be best anything. What does Auntie Lindo know? Her daughter, she is only best tricky. America was where all my mothers hopes lay. She had come to San Francisco in 1949 after losing everything in China: her mother and father, her home, her first husband, and two daughters, twin baby girls. But she never looked back with regret. Things could get better in so many ways. We didnt immediately pick the right kind of prodigy. At first my mother thought I could be a Chinese Shirley Temple. Wed watch Shirleys old movies on TV as though they were training films. My mother would poke my arm and say, Ni kan. You watch. And I would see Shirley tapping her feet, or singing a sailor song, or pursing her lips into a very round O while saying Oh, my goodness. “Ni kan, my mother said, as Shirleys eyes flooded with tears. You already know how. Dont need talent for crying! Soon after my mother got this idea about Shirley Temple, she took me to the beauty training school in the Mission District and put me in the hands of a student who could barely hold the scissors without shaking. Instead of getting big fat curls, I emerged with an uneven mass of crinkly black fuzz. My mother dragged me off to the bathroom and tried to wet down my hair. You look like a Negro Chinese, she lamented, as if I had done this on purpose. The instructor of the beauty training school had to lop off these soggy clumps to make my hair even again. Peter Pan is very popular these days the instructor assured my mother. I now had bad hair the length of a boys, with curly bangs that hung at a slant two inches above my eyebrows. I liked the h