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EveryChristmasshouldbeginwiththesoundofbells,andwhenIwasachildminealwaysdid.Buttheyweresleighbells,notchurchbells,forwelivedinapartofCedarRapids,Iowa,wheretherewerenochurches.Mybellswereonmyfather’steamofhorsesashedroveuptoourhorse-headedhitchingpostwiththebobsledthatwould3takeustocelebrateChristmasonthefamilyfarmtenmilesoutinthecountry.MyfatherwouldbringtheteamdownFifthAvenueatasmarttrot,flickinghiswhipoverthehorses’rumpsandmakingthebellsdoubletheirlight,thinjanglingoverthesnow,whoseradiancethrewbackabrilliancelikethesoundofbells.每一个圣诞节都是由铃铛声拉开序幕的，我童年记忆中的圣诞节总是如此。但那不是教堂里的铃铛，而是雪橇上的铃铛，因为我们家居住在爱荷华州的细达河洛佩兹的一个地区，那个地区没有教堂。我的铃铛在我父亲拉雪橇的马队里。我家有一个马头形的拴马桩，父亲会把马儿们赶到拴马桩那儿把大雪橇套在马身上，带着我们到10英里以外的乡下农场去庆祝圣诞节。当父亲驾着马车轻快地驶过第五大街，轻轻地舞动着马鞭时，清脆悦耳的铃声便跳跃在我的耳畔。地上辉映着的雪光使铃声更加清脆动听。Therearenosuchdeparturesanymore:thewholefamilypilingintothebobsledwithafootofgoldenoatstrawtolieinandheavybuffalorobestolieunder,thehorsesstampingthesoftsnow,andateverymotionoftheirhoofsthebellsjingling,jingling.Myfathersattherewiththereinsfirmlyheld,wearingalongcoatmadefromthehideofafavoritefamilyhorse,thedeepchestnutcolorstillglowing,hismittensalsofromthesamehide.Italwaystroubledmeasaboyofeightthatthehorseshadsoindifferentaviewoftheirlatefriendappearingasawarmovercoatonthebackofthemanwhoputtheironbitintheirmouths.如今再也没有那样的出发场景了：一家人挤上大雪橇，身下是金黄的燕麦草，身上盖着厚厚的水牛皮长袍；拉雪橇的马儿踩着柔软的雪，系在它们脖子上的铃铛随着马蹄的节奏叮当作响。父亲坐在那里牢牢地握着缰绳，他穿的长大衣是用家里人都非常喜欢的一匹马的皮毛做成的。那深红棕色的皮毛仍然闪着光泽，他戴的手套也出自同一张马皮。那时8岁的我总是很纳闷，不知道为什么那些马眼见着它们刚刚故去的朋友变成了把衔铁塞在它们嘴里的人身上温暖的大衣而熟视无睹，毫无反应。Therearenostreetslikethoseanymore:thesnowsensiblyleftontheroadforthesakeofsleighsandeasytravel.Wecouldhopoilandridetheheavyrunnersastheymadetheirhissing,tearingsoundoverthepackedsnow.Andalongthestreetswemetotherhorses,sothatwemovedfromonesetofbellstoanother,fromthetinytinkleoftheindividualbellsontheshaftstothesilvery,leapingsoundofthelongstrandshungovertheharness.Therewouldbeanoccasionalbrass-mountedautomobilelaboringonitsnarrowtiresandasoftenasnotpulleduptheslipperyhillsbyahorse,andwewouldpassitwithatriumphantshoutforanawkwardnuisancewhichwasobviouslynotheretostay.如今再也没有那样的街道了：为了让雪橇能够顺利驶过，路面上的积雪被有意地保留了下来。我们的雪橇跳跃着在铺满雪得路上狂奔，沉重的划板摩擦着地面发出嘶嘶的声音。在街上，我们会遇到其他的马匹，当我们驶过时可以挺大一串串各不相同的铃铛声。有的马车车辕上挂着单个铃铛，发出轻微的叮当声；有的马具上则挂着一长串铃铛，发出清脆悦耳、忽高忽低的响声。在路上，偶尔我们会遇上坐着镇上官员的小汽车，窄窄的车轮在积雪的路上吃力地行驶着，而且经常不得不用一匹马拉着才能驶上溜滑的山坡。每当这时我们就会发出胜利者的欢呼快速驶过，嘲笑那个钢铁家伙的蠢笨和不合时宜。Thecountryroadranthroughalandscapeoflittlehillsandshallowvalleysandheavygrovesoftimber,includingoneofgreattoweringblackwalnuttreeswhichwereallcutdownayearlatertobemadeintogunstocksfortheFirstWorldWar.Thegreatmomentwaswhenwelefttheroadandturnedupthelonglaneonthefarm.Itranthroughfieldswherewatermelonswerealwaysplantedinthesummerbecauseofthefinesandysoil,andIcouldgooutandbreakoneopentoseeitsChristmascolorsofgreenskinandredinside.MygrandfatherhadbeengivensomeofthatfarmasbountylandforserviceasacavalrymanintheCivilWar.乡间公路穿过一片小山丘，那里有很多浅浅的山谷，到处长满了郁郁葱葱成片成片的树林。其中有一大片高耸入云的黑胡桃树一年后都被砍倒，制成了在第一次世界大战中使用的枪支的枪托。最令人兴奋的时刻是我们的雪橇离开乡村公路驶上通往农场的长长的小路的时候。雪橇驶过片片田地，那里是优良的沙质土壤，夏天种满了西瓜。在西瓜成熟的季节，我总会好奇地跑去地里打开一个，看看墨绿的瓜皮里红红的瓜瓤，那是圣诞的颜色。那片土地是我祖父因在南北战争中服过役当过骑兵而得到的奖赏。Nearthelowhouseonthehill,withoaksononesideandappletreesontheother,myfatherwouldstandup,flourishhiswhip,andbringthebobsledrightuptothedoorofthehousewithaburstofspeed.在快要接近小山上那座低矮的、一边种满橡树、一边种满苹果树的房子时，父亲总会从雪橇座位上站起来，用力挥舞着手中的马鞭，以风驰电掣般的速度把雪橇驶到房门口停下。Therearenosucharrivalsanymore:theharnessbellsringingandclashinglikefarawaysteeples,thehorseswhinnyingatthehorsesinthebarnandreceivingagreat,trumpetingwhinnyinreply,thedogsleapingintothebobsledandburrowingunderthebuffalorobes,asquawkingfromthehenhouse,ayellingof“Whoa,whoa,”attheexcitedhorses,boyandgirlcousinshowlingaroundthebobsled,andthedescentintothesnowwiththeChristmasbasketcarriedbymymother.如今再也没有那样的到达时的热闹景象了：车辕上的铃铛清脆响亮，就像远处的尖塔一样优美绚丽；马儿们朝着马厩里的马嘶鸣，马厩里的马儿们也以热烈响亮的嘶鸣作答，狗儿们牛皮毯子下钻来钻去；母鸡窝里传来咯咯的鸡叫声；为了让兴奋的马儿们安静下来的“喔！喔！”声；堂兄弟姐妹们在雪橇周围欢闹着追逐着；一家人走下雪橇，踏入雪中，妈妈提着的篮子里装满了圣诞节的东西。Whilemymotherandsisterswentintothehouse,theteamwasunhitchedandtakentothebarn,tobecoveredwithblanketsandgivenalittlegrain.Thatwinterodorofabarnisawonderfullycomplexone,richandwarmandutterlyunlikethesmellofthesamebarninsummer:thebodyheatofmanyanimalsweighingathousandpoundsandmore;pigsinonecornermakingtheirdark,brown-soundinggrunts;milkcattlestillnuzzlingthemangerforwispsofhay;horseseyeingthenewcomersandrollingtheirdeep,ovaleyeswhite;oats,hay,andstrawtangystillwiththeliveAugustsunlight;themanuresteaming;thesharpodorofleatherharnessrubbedwithneat’s-footoiltokeepitsupple;themolasses-sweetodorofensilageinthesilowherethefodderwasalmostfermenting.Itisasmellfromstrongandlivingthings,andmyfatheralwayssaiditwasthesecretofhealth,thatitscouredoutaman’slungs;andhewouldstandthere,breathingdeeply,onehandonahorse’srump,watchingthesteamcomeoutfromundertheblanketsastheteamcooleddownfromtheirrapidtrotupthelane.Itgavehimabetterappetite,heargued,thanplainfreshair,whichwasthinandhadnobodytoit.母亲和姐妹们走进房子。马儿们从雪橇上被解下来，带到了马厩里，披上了毯子，喂上了饲料。冬天马厩里的那种气味是一种令人陶醉的混合味道，浓郁而温暖，完全不像夏天里的味道：许多重达上千磅甚至更重的大牲畜身上散发出的体温；几头猪在角落里发出阴郁低沉的哼哼声