克雷街的夏天

We moved to Clay Street in 1953 when I was two years old. Clay Street was an unpaved dead-end street， ending to the west. It was also a small 1）county island.

At the end of the street， blocked off by a 2）cyclone fence and wide gate， was the property of Mr. Kaiser and family. They had a large house and a two-car garage. Mr. Kaiser was an important man with lots of money and his own business and wanted nothing to do with us or any working man on the block.

On the south side of the street next to the Kaisers lived Elmer and Margie Gates from Mississippi and their two daughters. He was a security guard for 3）Gallo Winery and they raised Rhode Island Red chickens.

Next to them was our small two-bedroom house. My dad Tom Reese was from Texas and drove a truck. My mom Viola was from Wisconsin，and cooked and worked at Kline’s 4）Truck Stop and the Eagle Café. My brother Dallas was three， and I was eight. We were the same ages as the Gates girls， Dorothy and Shirley， our best friends. We raised ducks and Mom sold the eggs to local restaurants.

On the street behind us lived Mr. Green， who had a field with two brown horses， Rosie and her family the Manzettis from New York， the O’Reillys from Chicago， the Johnsons from Louisiana， the Hernandez family， A Japanese family whose names I couldn’t pronounce， and Mr. and Mrs. Wong （they owned a restaurant）. It was a diverse and wonderful group of people. And though we kids sometimes quarreled and 5）tussled with each other， I never knew on any occasion the adults quarrelling， other than spats between husbands and wives. In fact， the only violence that occurred was the night Mrs. Kaiser shot Mr. Kaiser. He lived through the incident， but we were never told why she had done it.

The summers on Clay Street were a paradise for us kids. It was continually hot， and the houses were equipped with swamp coolers， so we kids spent the entire season running like naked savages clad in swim suits or our underwear.

We tore through the neighborhood playing pirates and cowboys， tag， and hide and seek， through the alley and in every yard. We drank from garden hoses， we foraged from the fruit and nut trees and knocked at each door， where the moms of the houses would stuff us with sandwiches of boloney or peanut butter or toasted cheese. They gave us plastic glasses of milk， 6）Kool Aid， Nestle’s Quick chocolate milk. What a life！

When trouble hit the neighborhood everyone pitched in， no one went hungry or unclothed. Whether it was sickness， being out of work， or death， we took care of each other. The men worked on each other’s cars， they mended things. My dad and some of the other fathers would sand， 7）whittle， and make wagons， little trucks， wooden animals so that no child would go without toys for Christmas. We all raised ducks， chickens， rabbits， and such. So there was always meat and eggs. Everyone had vegetable gardens and fruit and nut trees， and the women baked and canned.

Our mothers and grandmothers prepared all kinds of treats， and when the cooking was done they also knitted and 8）crocheted and sewed. They’d pack blankets and clothes that were made or mended and donated them to the church. This wasn’t just for our neighborhood and church， but for anyone they could find that needed a little help. There was never any pity， only compassion. The adults never used the words“poor” or “broke.” They would just explain that this person or that one was having some “hard luck.”

But for us kids it was a worry-free summer of food， games， baby kittens and pups. We even pushed the new born chickens and ducks in our baby carriages until we were told to put them back. But the finest part of summer were the special weekends， when the moms would make goodies.

Mom made homemade spiced doughnuts， Margie Gates made lemon 9）meringue pies， and our Japanese neighbors brought festive sweet honey rice balls.

Mr. Johnson would put his huge BBQ wagon in the empty field and crank it up. Tables would be set up， and dishes， napkins， and silverware made ready along with the mustard， ketchup， pickles， 10）relish， and of course salt and pepper. Then when the coals were ready， Mr. Johnson， who was a big happy man， would get down to work. Thick sauce coated ribs 11）sizzled on the grill， filling the air with spicy scented white smoke， as fat and juicy hamburgers， and plump hot dogs squealed out to be bitten into.

Margie Gates fried up a mess of catfish that her husband Elmer had caught and stuffed in the freezer a couple of days before. She also accompanied the crisp golden fish with sweet 12）coleslaw， hot buttered corn on the cob， and mountainous mashed potatoes.

Mom piled up fried chicken， green salad with buttermilk dressing and mile-high biscuits so light we almost had to nail them down. She also made honey butter to coat them with （such a good mother）.

There were also 13）root beer floats， fruit juice， milk， sweet iced tea and Coca Cola. And for dessert there was fudge and homemade banana ice cream. Wow！ What a feast！

Everyone had a good time， and as we lay on our pillows along the dead-end street we stared at the stars， pulsing like white drips of fire. We sipped root beer floats and shivered as the cold beverages slid down our throats.

It was cooler to sleep outside， for occasionally a breeze would 14）slither through the cottonwood trees and offer some relief.

Such were the summers on Clay Street in Fresno， California. And such were the good neighbors and close friends whose faces still linger in my memory.

In 1991 there were only three original neighbors left…my dad and the Japanese neighbors we had known and loved for forty years. My father died in April of that year， and while I was at the house clearing it out I looked up and was surprised to see my dad’s friend， our Japanese neighbor， the last one left. He was sad to hear of Dad’s passing and hugged me with tears in his eyes. He told me in that gentle voice I had always liked， “I lost my best friend and my wife on the same day.”

We hugged again and sat talking of old times. He quietly returned to his home， but a short time later he moved away to live with his children.

Dad’s house was sold， there were difficulties with the estate， and for a very long time I didn’t want anything to do with Clay Street.

But lately memories of the sounds of children laughing， echoes of friendly familiar voices and root beer floats on velvet nights， have restored to me the innocent times， dispelling thoughts of darker events.

I guess there will always be a part of me running barefoot and half-naked through the summer nights on Clay Street.

1953年，我们住进了克雷街，那时我两岁。克雷街是一条还未铺上柏油的死胡同，路的尽头在西边。这里也是一个未被纳入任何辖区的小地方。

在街道的末端，被一片防风栅栏和一扇大铁门拦着的，是凯撒先生及其家族的房产。他们有一所很大的房子和能容下两台轿车的车库。凯撒先生是一位重要人物，很富裕，经营着自己的生意，他不希望与我们或者街区内的任何一个工薪阶层有一丝关联。

在街道的南端、凯撒一家的隔壁，住着来自密西西比州的埃尔默和玛吉・盖茨，以及他们的两个女儿。埃尔默是嘉露酒庄的保安，他们还饲养罗德岛红鸡。

他们家的隔壁，就是我们那所小小的双卧室房子。我的父亲汤姆・里兹来自德克萨斯州，是一名卡车司机。我的母亲维奥拉来自威斯康辛州，在克莱恩司机餐馆和猎鹰咖啡厅当厨子和帮工。我的弟弟德拉斯三岁，我八岁。我们跟盖茨家的女儿们――桃乐茜和雪莉一样大，她们是我们最要好的朋友。我们饲养了鸭子，母亲会把鸭蛋卖给当地餐馆。

格林先生住在我们后面的那条街道，他拥有一片草地，养了两匹棕色的马；住在那儿的还有来自纽约的罗西・曼泽提斯和她的家人、来自芝加哥的欧莱利斯一家、来自路易斯安那州的约翰逊一家、赫尔南德兹一家、一户名字我不懂如何发音的日本家庭，以及王先生和王太太（他们开了一家餐馆）。这是美妙而多元化的一众人物。虽然我们这些孩子有时候会斗斗嘴、打打架，但是我从未听见大人们吵架，除了夫妻之间的小口角。实际上，这里发生的唯一一起暴力事件，就是那晚凯撒太太开枪射伤了凯撒先生。凯撒先生逃过了这一劫，但是我们从未听说她为什么要这么做。

克雷街的夏天对于我们这些孩子来说简直是天堂。那时天气持续炎热，每家每户屋里都会配备空调扇，我们小孩子们整个夏季都会像穿着泳衣或内衣裤的小野人那样跑来跑去。

我们在邻里间穿来穿去，扮演海盗和牛仔，玩捉人游戏，玩躲迷藏，穿梭于巷子和每一个后院。我们从花园的水管里喝水，我们从水果和坚果树上找吃的，我们敲每一扇门，门后那一家的妈妈们会塞给我们大红肠、花生酱或者烤奶酪三明治。她们会给我们用塑料杯子装的牛奶、“酷爱”饮料和雀巢速溶巧克力牛奶。多么惬意的生活啊！

当麻烦找上邻里时，大家都会伸出援手，不会有人饿肚子或缺衣少裤。无论是生病、失业甚至是死亡，我们都会互相照顾。男人们互相帮忙维修车辆，修理东西。我的父亲和其他父亲们会用砂纸磨光、削木头，制作手推车、小卡车和木头动物，好让所有孩子都能收到圣诞礼物。我们家里都养了鸡、鸭、兔子之类的动物。因此我们总能吃上肉和蛋。每家每户都有菜地，种有水果树和坚果树，女人们则会烘烤面包，腌制食物。

我们的母亲和祖母们会准备各种各样的美食，做完饭后，她们会编织、钩织、缝纫一番。她们会把缝制或者修补好的毛毯、衣服打包，捐赠给教会。这不仅仅会送给我们的邻里和教会，还会送给每一位他们能找到的、需要一点帮助的人。这里没有任何的同情，只有慈悲。大人们从来都不会使用“贫穷”、“破产”等字眼，他们只会解释说这个人或那个他现在“不太走运”。

但是，对于我们这些孩子来说，那是个无忧无虑的夏季，我们有美食、游戏、小猫和小狗的陪伴。我们甚至把初生的小鸡小鸭放到我们的婴儿车里推，直到大人叫我们把它们放回去才消停。不过夏日里最美妙的部分是那些特别的周末，妈妈们会做一些好吃的食物。

妈妈会制作自制五香甜甜圈，玛吉・盖茨制作柠檬蛋白霜馅饼，而我们的日本邻居则会带来一些充满节日气氛的蜜糖汤圆。

约翰逊先生会把他那个巨大的烧烤推车推到空旷的草地上，把烤炉点着。桌子会被摆放好，碗碟、餐巾、银制餐具准备就绪，还有芥末、番茄酱、腌制品、调味品，当然盐和胡椒粉都会被摆放出来。当煤炭烧好，约翰逊先生这位大块头乐天派就会开始忙乎起来。裹着浓厚酱汁的排骨在烤架上嘶嘶作响，带着香料香味的白烟盈满了空气，而丰厚的汉堡包和圆鼓鼓的热狗仿佛尖声呼唤着你以齿颊相拥。

玛吉・盖茨煎了好多鲶鱼。这些鲶鱼是前几天她的丈夫埃尔默抓回来后塞到冰箱里保存起来的。她还给香脆的黄金鱼伴上香甜的卷心菜沙拉、热气腾腾的黄油玉米棒和堆成小山的土豆泥。

母亲准备了一大碟的炸鸡块、奶油蔬菜沙拉和千层松饼，那些蓬松轻盈的松饼仿佛得使劲压扁才能放入口中。她还会做蜜糖黄油给我们蘸着吃（真是一个好妈妈）。

饮料会有冰激凌沙士、果汁、牛奶、甜冰茶和可口可乐。甜品则有软糖和自制香蕉冰激凌。哇！多么丰盛的大餐！

每一个人都乐在其中，当我们沿着这条死胡同铺上枕头躺下时，我们凝望着星星，它们就像白色的火滴一般闪闪跳动。我们小口啜饮着冰激凌沙士，冰凉的饮料沿着我们的喉咙流入身体，我们的身体也随之一震。

在外面睡觉要凉快些，因为不时会有一阵微风吹来，滑过杨木树林，带来一些抚慰。

这就是加州夫勒斯诺市克雷街的夏日时光。而这些友好邻居和亲密朋友的面孔，至今依然萦绕在我的记忆中。

1991年，我们原来的邻居只剩下三人了……父亲和那对我们认识的并且相亲相爱了四十年的日本邻居。那年四月，我父亲去世了，我在家里整理物件时，一抬头，惊讶地看到了父亲的朋友，我们的日本邻居――最后一位住在这里的邻居。听说了父亲的离世，他深感悲伤，两眼含泪地拥抱了我。他用那个我一直都很喜欢的温柔声音说道：“我在同一天失去了妻子和最好的朋友。”

我们再次拥抱，并坐下来畅谈旧时光。他静静地走回他的家，但是不久之后，他就搬去和他的儿女们一起住了。

父亲的房子被卖掉了，房产的处理上出了些状况，有很长的一段时间，我不想和克雷街再有任何瓜葛。

然而最近，孩提时代的笑声、熟悉亲切的声线的回响以及丝绒般午夜里的冰激凌沙士，有关这一切的回忆，再次让我忆起那些纯真的岁月，驱散掉关于阴暗事件的思绪。

我想，永远都会有一部分的我依旧光着脚丫、半裸着身子，在克雷街的夏夜里尽情奔跑。