Floyd Dell
Petey hadn’t really believed that Dad would be doing it—sending Granddad away. “Away” was what they were calling it. Not until now could he believe it of Dad.
But here was the blanket that Dad had that day bought for him, and in the morning he’d be going away. And this was the last evening they’d be having together. Dad was off seeing that girl he was to marry. He’d not be back till late, and they could sit up and talk.
It was a fine September night, with a silver moon riding high over the gully. When they’d washed up the supper dishes they went out on the shanty porch, the old man and the bit of a boy, taking their chairs. “I’ll get me fiddle,” said the old man, “and play ye some of the old tunes.” But instead of the fiddle he brought out the blanket. It was a big, double blanket, red, with black cross stripes.
“Now, isn’t that a fine blanket!” said the old man, smoothing it over his knees. “And isn’t your father a kind man to be giving the old fellow a blanket like that to go away with? It cost something, it did—look at the wool of it! And warm it will be these cold winter nights to come. There’ll be few blankets there the equal of this one!”
It was like Granddad to be saying that. He was trying to make it easier. He’d pretended all along it was he that wanting to go away to the great brick building—the government place, where he’d be with so many other old fellows having the best of everything.... But Petey hadn’t believed Dad would really do it, until this night when he brought home the blanket.
“Oh, yes, it’s a fine blanket,” said Petey, and got up and went into the shanty. He wasn’t the kind to cry, and, besides, he was too old for that, being eleven. He’d just come in to fetch Granddad’s fiddle.
The blanket slid to the floor as the old man took the fiddle and stood up. It was the last night they’d be having together. There wasn’t any need to say, “Play all the old tunes.” Granddad tuned up for a minute, and then said, “This is one you’ll like to remember.”
The silver moon was high overhead, and there was a gentle breeze playing down the gully. He’d never be hearing Granddad play like this again. It was as well Dad was moving into that new house, away from here. He’d not want, Petey wouldn’t, to sit here on the old porch of fine evenings, with Granddad gone.
The tune changed. “Here’s something gayer.” Petey sat and stared out over the gully. Dad would marry that girl. Yes, that girl who’d kissed him and slobbered over him, saying she’d try to be a good mother to him, and all.... His chair creaked as he involuntarily gave his body a painful twist.
The tune stopped suddenly, and Granddad said: “It’s a poor tune, except to be dancing to.” And then: “It’s a fine girl your father’s going to marry. He’ll be feeling young again, with a pretty wife like that. And what would an old fellow like me be doing around their house, getting in the way, an old nuisance, what with my talk of aches and pains! And then there’ll be babies coming, and I’d not want to be there to hear them crying at all hours. It’s best that I take myself off, like I’m doing. One more tune or two, and then we’ll be going to bed to get some sleep against the morning, when I’ll pack up my fine blanket and take my leave. Listen to this, will you? It’s a bit sad, but a fine tune for a night like this.”
They didn’t hear the two people coming down the gully path, Dad and the pretty girl with the hard, bright face like a china doll’s. but they heard her laugh, right by the porch, and the tune stopped on a wrong, high, startled note. Dad didn’t say anything, but the girl came forward and spoke to Granddad prettily: “I’ll not be seeing you leave in the morning, so I came over to say good-by.”
“It’s kind of you,” said Granddad, with his eyes cast down; and then, seeing the blanket at his feet, he stopped to pick it up. “And will you look at this,” he said in embarrassment, “the fine blanket my son has given me to go away with!”
“Yes,” she said, “it’s a fine blanket.” She felt of the wool, and repeated in surprise, “A fine blanket—I’ll say it is!” She turned to Dad, and said to him coldly, “it cost something, that.”
He cleared his throat, and said defensively, “I wanted him to have the best...”
The girl stood there, still intent on the blanket. “It’s double, too,” she said reproachfully to Dad.
“Yes,” said Granddad, “it’s double—a fine blanket for an old fellow to be going away with.”
The boy went abruptly into the shanty. He was looking for something. He could hear that girl reproaching Dad, and Dad becoming angry in his slow way. And now she was suddenly going away in a huff.... As Petey came out, she turned and called back, “All the same, he doesn’t need a double blanket!” And she ran up the gully path.
Dad was looking after her uncertainly.
“Oh, she’s right,” said the boy coldly. “Here, Dad”—and he held out a pair of scissors. “Cut the blanket in two.”
Both of them stared at the boy, startled. “Cut it in two, I tell you, Dad!” he cried out. “And keep the other half!”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Granddad gently. “I don’t need so much of a blanket.”
“Yes,” said the boy harshly, “a single blanket is enough for an old man when he’s sent away. We’ll save the other half, Dad; it will come in handy later.”
“Now, what do you mean by that?” asked Dad.
“I mean,” said the boy slowly,” that I’ll give it to you, Dad—when you’re old and I’m sending you—away.”
There was a silence, and then Dad went over to Granddad and stood before him, not speaking. But Granddad understood, for he put out a hand and laid it on Dad’s shoulder. Petey was watching them. And he heard Granddad whisper, “It’s all right, son—I knew you didn’t mean it....” And then Petey cried.
But it didn’t matter—because they were all three crying together.
译文：
一床双人毛毯 （美） 弗罗伊德•戴尔
晴朗的九月的夜晚，银色的月光洒落在溪谷上。此时，十一岁的彼得没有观赏月亮，也没感觉到微微的凉风吹进厨房。他的思绪全在厨房桌上那条红黑相间的毛毯上。那是爸爸送给爷爷的离别礼物。他们说爷爷要走。他们是这么说的。
彼得不相信爸爸真会把爷爷送走。可是现在离别礼物都买好了。爸爸今天晚上买的。今晚是他和爷爷在一起的最后一个晚上了。
吃完晚饭，爷孙俩一块洗碗碟，爸爸走了，和那个就要与他成亲的女人一起走的，不会马上回来。洗完碗碟，爷孙走出屋子，坐在月光下。
“我去拿口琴来给你吹几支老曲子。”爷爷说。一会儿，爷爷从屋里出来了，拿来的不是口琴，而是那床毛毯。
那是条大大的双人毛毯。“这毛毯多好！”老人轻抚着膝头的毛毯说，“你爸真孝，给我这老家伙带这么床高级毛毯走。你看这毛，一定很贵的。以后冬天晚上不会冷了。那里不会有这么好的毛毯的。”
爷爷总这么说，为了避免难堪，他一直装着很想去政府办的养老院的样子，想象着，离开温暖的家和朋友，去哪个地方与许多其他老人一起共度晚年。可彼得从没想到爸爸真会把爷爷送走，直到今晚看到爸爸带回这床毛毯。
“是床好毛毯，”彼得搭讪着走进小屋。他不是个好哭的孩子，况且，他已早过了好哭鼻子的年龄了。他是进屋给爷爷拿口琴的。
爷爷接琴时毛毯滑落到地上。最后一个晚上了，爷孙俩谁也没说话。爷爷吹了一会儿，然后说，“你会记住这支曲子。”
月儿高高挂在天边，微风轻轻地吹过溪谷。最后一次了，彼得想，以后再也听不到爷爷吹口琴了，爸爸也要从这搬走，住进新居了。若把爷爷一个人撇下，美好的夜晚自己独坐廊下，还有什么意思！
音乐停了，有那么一会儿工夫，爷孙俩谁也没说话。过了一会儿，爷爷说，“这只曲子欢快点。彼得坐在那怔怔地望着远方。爸爸要娶那个姑娘了。是的，那个姑娘亲过他了，还发誓要对他好，做个好妈妈。
爷爷突然停下来，“这曲子不好，跳舞还凑合。“怔了一会儿，又说，”你爸要娶的姑娘不错。有个这么漂亮的妻子他会变年轻的。我又何必在这碍事，我一会儿这病一会儿那疼，招人嫌呢。况且他们还会有孩子。我可不想整夜听孩子哭闹。不，不！还是走为上策呀！好，再吹两支曲子我们就**睡觉，睡到明天早晨，带上毛毯走人。你看这支怎么样？调子有些悲，倒很合适这样的夜晚呢。“
他们没有听到爸爸和那个瓷美人正沿溪谷的小道走来，直到走近门廊，爷孙俩才听到她的笑声，琴声嘎然而止。爸爸一声没吭，姑娘走到爷爷跟前恭敬地说：“明天早晨不能来送您，我现在来跟您告别的。“
“谢谢了，“爷爷说。低头看着脚边的毛毯，爷爷弯腰拾起来，“你看，”爷爷局促地说，“这是儿子送我的离别礼物。多好的毛毯！”
“是不错。”她摸了一下毛毯，“好高级呀！”她转向爸爸，冷冷地说，“一定花了不少钱吧。”
爸爸支吾着说，“我想给他一床最好的毛毯。”“哼，还是双人的呢。”姑娘没完地纠缠毛毯的事。
“是的，”老人说，“是床双人毛毯。一床一个老家伙即将带走的毛毯。”彼得转身跑进屋。他听到那姑娘还在唠叨毛毯的昂贵，爸爸开始慢慢动怒。姑娘走了，彼得出屋时她正回头冲爸爸喊“甭解释，他根本用不着双人毛毯。”爸爸看着她，脸上有种奇怪的表情。
“她说得对，爸爸，”彼得说，“爷爷用不着双人毛毯。爸爸，给！”彼得递给爸爸一把剪刀，“把毛毯剪成两块。”
“好主意，”爷爷温和地说，“我用不着这么大的毛毯。”
“是的，”彼得说，“老人家送走时给床单人毛毯就不错了。我们还能留下一半，以后迟早总有用处。”
“你这是什么意思？”爸爸问。
“我是说，”彼得慢腾腾地说，“等你老了，我送你走时给你这一半。”
大家都沉默了。好半天，爸爸走到爷爷面前呆呆地，没有一句话。爷爷望着儿子喃喃地说：“没关系，孩子，我知道你不是这么想的……我知道……”这时，彼得哭了。
但没什么，因为爷爷，爸爸都哭了，哭成了一团……
