与人为邻的艺术

I used to believe in the American dream that meant a job， a mortgage， cable， credit，

1）warranties， success. I wanted it and worked toward it like everyone else， all of us separately chasing the same thing. One year， through a series of unhappy events， it all fell apart. I found myself homeless and alone. I had my truck and $56.

I scoured the countryside for some place I could rent for the cheapest possible amount. I came upon a shack in an isolated hollow， four miles up a winding mountain road over the 2）Potomac River in West Virginia. It was abandoned， full of broken glass and rubbish. When I pried off the plywood over a window and climbed in， I found something I could put my hands to. I hadn’t been alone for 25 years. I was scared， but I hoped the hard work would distract and heal me.

I found the owner and rented the place for $50 a month. I took a bedroll， broom， rope， a gun and cooking gear and cleared a corner to camp in while I worked. The locals knew nothing about me. But slowly they started teaching me the art of being a neighbor. They dropped off blankets， candles， tools and canned deer meat. And they began sticking around to chat.

They asked if I wanted to meet cousin Albie or go fishing， maybe get drunk some night. They started to teach me a belief in a different American dream， not the one of individual achievement but of neighborliness. Men would stop by with wild berries， ice cream， truck parts and bullets to see if I was up for courting. I wasn’t， but they were civil anyway.

The women on that mountain worked harder than any I’d ever met. They taught me the value of a 3）whetstone to sharpen my knives， how to store food in the creek and keep it cold and safe. I learned to keep enough for an extra plate for company.

What I had believed in， all those things I thought were the necessary 4）accouterments for a civilized life， were nonexistent in this place. Up on the mountain， my most valuable possessions were my relationships with my neighbors.

After four years in that hollow， I moved back into town. I saw that a lot of people were having a really hard time， losing their jobs and homes. With the help of a real estate broker I chatted up at the grocery store， I managed to rent a big enough house to take in a handful of people. We’d all be in shelters if we hadn’t banded together.

The American dream I believe in now is a shared one. It’s not so much about what I can get for myself； it’s about how we can all get by together.

我以前信奉美国梦就是指有一份工作，有一套按揭房，装上有线网络，有信用，有各种保修单，同时事业有成。我希望如此，并且像其他所有人一样为之而努力，我们所有人都分别追求着同样的目标。有一年，经历了一连串不幸事件后，梦碎了。我发现自己无家可归，孤身一人。只剩下我的卡车和56美元。

我走遍乡村，寻找能够以最低价钱可以租到的容身之所。在一个偏远的山谷里，我找到了一间小屋子。这个地方位于西弗吉尼亚，在距离波拖马可河四英里的一条蜿蜒山路上。那是一间废弃的屋子，里面满是碎玻璃和垃圾。当我撬开一扇窗户上的夹板爬进屋里时，我发现了一些我能做的事。我已有25年没有形单影只过了。我很害怕，但我希望艰苦的劳动能转移我的忧思，为我疗伤。

我找到屋主，并且以每月50美元的价格租下了这个地方。我拿出一个铺盖卷、一把扫帚、一柄枪和一个煮食炉，我还边干活儿，边清理出了一个角落以便居住。当地人对我一无所知。但慢慢地，他们开始教给我与人为邻的艺术。他们放下毯子、蜡烛、工具和腌制的鹿肉。他们开始常来看我，跟我聊天。

他们问我是否想见艾尔贝表亲或者去钓鱼，或是某天喝个酩酊大醉。他们开始教给我另一种美国梦的信念，并不是那种关乎个人成就的哲学，而是关乎邻里友善。男士们会带着野浆果、冰激凌、卡车部件和子弹来看我有没有这些需要。我也不怎么需要这些东西，但不管怎样，他们都会有礼相赠。

那座山上的妇女比我曾经见过的其他女性工作得更努力。她们教会我一块磨石的价值，让我把刀子磨利，教会我如何在小溪里储藏食物，既具冷冻效果也安全保险。我学会了为同伴多留一份足量的饭菜。

我曾信奉的一切――那些我认为在文明世界的生活中所必需的装备，在这个地方却不存在。在这座山上，我最有价值的财富就是我与邻居们的关系。

在那个山谷生活了四年后，我搬回镇上。我看到许多人过着十分艰难的日子，失去了工作和家园。在一位地产经纪的帮助下――我曾跟他在一个杂货店闲谈过，我成功租来了一所足够大的房子来接纳一些人。若是我们没有团结在一起，我们现在全都已经住在庇护中心了。

如今，我信奉的美国梦是一个与人分享的梦。它更多的不是在于我能为自己争取到什么；而是在于我们所有人如何一起好好生活下去。