司氏姐妹 第18章：入侵者

此时，法妈正以最快的速度跑向塔玛尼弄的自家房子。在花园里还有三三两两的人群，法妈把挡在她路上的人一一推开，她跑得如此之快，几乎不能看到她的双脚触地。黄昏变成了黑夜，路灯亮了起来，好奇的乡亲们从自家窗户看到一个黑色的模糊影子飞行在街道上。冷风吹来，他们关上百叶窗，点亮蜡烛，端着热汤，一家人暖洋洋地围坐在厨房的餐桌边。

“玛丽！”法妈喊道，猛地冲过前门。整所房子又黑又静。 “摩根！米娜！快回答我！“

她飞跑上了楼梯，快速穿过每个房间，房间里的灯也随着亮了起来。她锐利的黑眼睛扫遍了房间的各个角落旮旯。她检查每间卧室，厨房，客厅，阁楼，地下室。她用尽她肺里全部的空气叫喊着她的女儿。她内心自责着，因为她失去了女儿们的踪影，因为自己陷入了记忆的沉思，因为自己是一个糟糕的母亲，她的眼睛闪耀着黑色的光泽。她努力平息自己不断增加的恐慌，她知道自己具有法术能找到她的女儿们，而只有自己心情平静时， 法术才会更有效。她深吸了一口气，走到一楼，苦烈的寒风从象张开大嘴的门口吹来——她一定是在匆忙中忘了将门关闭。

她关上门，给自己倒了一杯水。她在心中清晰而有条不紊地一一盘算着她可以使用的法术。她的这种专心致志和刻苦耐心的特点在玛丽那儿得到了继承——这种工作美德在一个中国童话故事中得到了最好的体现——它赋予一个老太太把铁棒磨成绣花针的能力。玛丽正是因为利用了这个遗传特征让她能远远的超过她的姐妹们完美地运用她的法术，虽然她的法术不一定是最强大的。想到她的其他女儿们会与玛丽在一起，法妈内心变得平静，因为玛丽也是在所有女儿中在压力下能表现最好的，她也掌握了法妈的佛教脱离术。当然其他姐妹有自己各自不同的长处。想到她们，她的心脏再一次因悲伤和担忧而一阵收缩。不要担忧！她对自己说。不管怎样，她很好地培养了她们。他们能够照顾自己，直到她赶到她们那里。她很肯定。

是的，她不断地安抚自己，一一数落着每个女儿的长处。玛拉继承了荣誉感，一种与生俱来的忠诚于家族，光宗耀祖的荣誉感。就是这同样的荣誉感，让法妈在第一时间逃离中国，因为她意识到她已经无可弥补地沾污了自己家族的荣誉，唯一的方法是在一篇新的土地上重新为自己建立起名誉。虽然对于玛拉来说，她的孝心和忠诚让她放弃中国文化去融合于主流文化——嫁给一个传统的美国家庭，法妈还是从心底里了解和理解，这一切的根源是因为玛拉对整个家族的深深的爱。

然后是摩根，她有一个燃烧的灵魂和战斗的意志，与一个真正的女斗士相匹配。就是这种燃烧的求生火焰让法妈在来到新大陆的途中克服千辛万苦——那茫茫一片庞大而愤怒的海洋，潮汐和狂风，似乎都联合起来与她作对。在她到达目的地后，也帮助她生存和适应这陌生而奇诡的新环境。摩根这种爆烈和燃烧的脾气也让她想起自己的母亲，她被叫做铁兰——钢铁的兰花，由传说中的女战将花木兰而得名。

最后，还有米娜。小米娜，她甚至不会伤害一只脚下的蚂蚁。米娜的个性是最安静的，但也是最有价值的：她善良，大度，谦虚。有一个古老的中国寓言，讲得是一个有12名男孩的家庭，有一天他们的父亲带回家一袋共12个梨子。最小的儿子，是一个叫李的小不点，因为他的兄弟们宠爱他，就让他先挑一个梨子。然而，李没有捡那最大的，最有水分的，或最新鲜有光泽的梨，而是立即捡了一个最小最丑的梨子。当他的兄弟们抗议时，他列着大嘴微笑着说，“这个大小对我正好合适。”对，法妈想，米娜就象这个小弟弟。在一个具有强烈个性的家庭，有时发生冲突是难免的，米娜总是那一位沉默的调解员，对每个人都大度而无私。

想到甜美，乖巧，无辜的米娜（她的法力甚至还没有形成），法妈的决心更加坚定。她一一思量了可能帮她找到女儿们的不同的法术。最简单的一个方法需要她寻找的人身上的一样东西：一根头发，一片指甲，或更怪异的，一块肉。这个法术让她心灵的眼睛象一片云一样飞在小镇上空，然后用穿透性的望远视力和磁场来寻找失踪的人。她想她需要花太长时间在女儿们的房间里找到头发。但是，她知道，这个法术还有一个变种。作为母亲，法妈可以用自己的一汤匙血液，这些血液也流动在女儿们的血管里。

她咕噜一下喝完杯中剩余的水，从厨房抓起一把锋利的刀，向楼上的阁楼走去，那里的密室里藏着她的魔法经书和能找人的魔碗。她打开阁楼密室咯吱作响的门，踢开象云一样布满地板的灰尘，伸开一只手臂去点燃放在一个桌子中央的蜡烛。只有在她走进密室，关上身后的小门后，她才意识到并不是只有她一个人在这儿。

在桌子旁的竹椅上，坐着一个头戴连衣帽的身影，弯着身子在及其认真地钻研法妈魔法经书里的外国字符。

Chapter 18: The intruder

Meanwhile, Fa Switch had raced back to her house on Tamany Lane at top speed, pushing stragglers in the garden aside and running so fast that her feet almost looked as if they were not touching the ground. Evening pushed into night, streetlamps clicked on, and curious townsfolk looking out their windows saw a black blur flying through the streets. A cold wind blew and they drew their shutters closed, lighting fires and candles and huddling around their kitchen tables with warm bowls of soup.

“Marie!” Fa shouted, bursting through the front doors. The house was dark and still. “Morgan! Mina! Answer me now!”

She flew up the flights of stairs. Rooms lit up as she passed them, scouring their corners and crooks with her sharp black eyes. She checked every bedroom, the kitchen, the living room, the attic, and the basement, shouting for her daughters with all the air in her lungs. Her eyes glowed darkly as she cursed herself inside for losing track of her girls, for being a terrible mother, for falling into the trap of memory. She tried to quell the growing panic, knowing that she had the powers to find her girls, and that the spell would work better if she were calm. She took a deep breath and walked to the first floor, where a bitter cold wind blew through the mouth of the open door. She must have forgotten to close it in her haste.

She shut the door then poured herself a glass of water, going over the spells she could use, clearly and methodically, in her mind. This was the focus and assiduousness that Marie had inherited—the steady work ethic that in one Chinese tale had given an old woman the power to sand an iron rod into a needle. And it was because Marie utilized this inheritance that she was able to perfect her powers far beyond any of her sisters—though she was not necessarily the most powerful. It calmed Fa to know that her other daughters were most likely with Marie, because Marie was also the daughter who performed best under pressure, having mastered like Fa the art of Buddhist detachment. The other sisters had their strengths too, of course, and as Fa thought of them her heart shrank in sorrow and worry again. No, she told herself. After everything, she had raised them well. They would be able to take care of themselves until she got there, she was sure.

Yes, she continued to assuage herself, going over each daughter’s strengths. Mara had inherited that sense of honor, an innate loyalty to bring brilliant light to the family name. It was that same sense of honor that led Fa to flee China in the first place, when she realized she had tainted her own family’s reputation beyond repair, that the only way to restore it would be to make a name for herself in a new land. Although in Mara, the filial loyalty had led her to forsake her Chinese culture in order to blend in—to try to marry into a traditional American family—Fa still understood in her heart that the root of everything was Mara’s deep love for her family.

Then there was Morgan, with a fiery soul and fighting spirit to match a true woman warrior. This hot flame of survival was what had allowed Fa to survive the hardships of coming to a new land—a vast and angry ocean, tides and winds that seemed to all be united against her. When she finally arrived, it had helped her survive and adapt to the strange new circumstances. This burning temper in Morgan reminded Fa so much of her own mother, who had been named Tielan—steel orchid—after the legendary woman warrior Mulan.  

And finally, there was Mina. Little Mina, who wouldn’t hurt even an ant in her path. Mina personality was the quietest but yet the most valuable: she was kind, generous, and humble. There is an old Chinese fable about a family of twelve boys whose father comes home one day with a bag of twelve pears. The youngest son, a tiny child named Li, is allowed to pick first because all his brothers love him and wish to spoil him. Instead of picking the biggest, juiciest, or brightest pear, however, Li immediately picks out the smallest, ugliest pear. When his brothers contest, he smiles wide and says, “This is just the right size for me.” Well, Fa thought, Mina was like this brother. In a family of strong personalities that sometimes clashed, Mina was always the silent mediator, generous to everyone and never asserting selfishness.

A firm resolve hardened inside of Fa as she thought about her sweet, innocent Mina, who hadn’t even yet developed her powers. She thought through the different spells that would help her locate them. The simplest one required a part of the person that you were trying to locate: a hair, a fingernail, or more grotesquely, a piece of their flesh. This spell would allow her mind’s eye to fly above the town as if on a cloud, and then use a piercing telescopic and magnetic vision to find the missing person. It would take too long to find a hair in each girl’s room, Fa decided. She knew, however, that there was a variation of the spell. As their mother, Fa could use a spoonful of her own blood, which also ran in her daughter’s veins.

She gulped down the rest of her water, and grabbing a sharp knife from the kitchen, walked upstairs to the attic, where her scroll of spells and looking bowl were kept. She opened the creaky door of the attic, kicking up clouds of dust, and waved an arm to light the candle at the center of the table. It was only after she stepped inside and closed the door behind her that she realized she was not alone.

In the bamboo chair beside the table, a hooded figure bent over Fa’s scroll of spells, examining the foreign characters with utmost care.