麦琪的礼物
一块八毛七分钱。全在这儿了，其中六毛钱还是铜子儿凑起来的。这些铜子儿是每次一个、两个从杂货铺、菜贩和肉店老板那儿死乞白赖地硬扣下来的；人家虽然没有明说，自己总觉得这种掂斤播两的交易未免太吝啬，当时脸都臊红了。德拉数了三遍，数来数去还是一块八毛七分钱，而第二天就是圣诞节了。
除了扑在那张破旧的小榻上号哭之外，显然没有别的办法。德拉就那样做了。这使一种精神上的感慨油然而生，认为人生是由啜泣、抽噎和微笑组成的，而抽噎占了其中绝大部分。
这个家庭的主妇渐渐从第一阶段退到第二阶段，我们不妨抽空儿来看看这个家吧。一套连家具的公寓，房租每星期八块钱。虽不能说是绝对难以形容，其实跟贫民窟也相去不远。
下面门廊里有一个信箱，但是永远不会有信件投进去；还有一个电钮，除非神仙下凡才能把铃按响。那里还贴着一张名片，上面印有“詹姆斯?迪林厄姆?扬先生”几个字。
“迪林厄姆”这个名号是主人先前每星期挣三十块钱的时候，一时高兴，加在姓名之间的。现在收入缩减到二十块钱，“迪林厄姆”几个字就显得有些模糊，仿佛它们正在郑重考虑，是不是缩成一个质朴而谦逊的“迪”字为好。但是每逢詹姆斯?迪林厄姆?扬先生回家上楼，走进房间的时候，詹姆斯?迪林厄姆?扬太太——就是刚才已经介绍给各位的德拉——总是管他叫作“吉姆”，总是热烈地拥抱他。那当然是很好的。
德拉哭完之后，在脸颊上扑了些粉。她站在窗子跟前，呆呆地瞅着外面灰蒙蒙的后院里，一只灰猫正在灰色的篱笆上行走。明天就是圣诞节了，她只有一块八毛七分钱来给吉姆买一件礼物。好几个月来，她省吃俭用，能攒起来的都攒了，可结果只有这一点儿。一星期二十块钱的收入是不经用的，支出总比她预算的要多，总是这样的。只有一块八毛七分钱来给吉姆买礼物，她的吉姆。为了买一件好东西送给他，德拉自得其乐地筹划了好些日子。要买一件精致、珍奇而真有价值的东西——总得与吉姆所拥有的东西相称才成呀。
房间的两扇窗子中间有一面窗间镜。诸位也许见过房租八块钱的公寓里的窗间镜。一个非常瘦小灵活的人，从一连串纵向条状的映像里，也许可以对自己的容貌得到一个大致不差的概念。德拉全凭身材苗条，才精通了那门技艺。
她突然从窗口转过身，站到穿衣镜面前。她的眼睛晶莹明亮，可是她的脸在二十秒钟之内却失色了。她迅速把头发解开，让它披落下来。
且说，詹姆斯?迪林厄姆?扬夫妇有两样东西特别引以为自豪，一样是吉姆三代祖传的金表，另一样是德拉的头发。如果示巴女王住在天井对面的公寓里，德拉总有一天会把她的头发悬在窗外去晾干，使那位女王的珠宝和礼物相形见绌。如果所罗门王当了看门人，把他所有的财富都堆在地下室里，吉姆每次经过那儿时准会掏出他的金表看看，好让所罗门妒忌得吹胡子瞪眼睛。
这当儿，德拉美丽的头发披散在身上，像一股褐色的小瀑布，奔泻闪亮。头发一直垂到膝下，仿佛给她铺成了一件衣裳。她又神经质地赶快把头发梳好。她踌躇了一会儿，静静地站着，有一两滴泪水溅落在破旧的红地毯上。
她穿上褐色的旧外套，戴上褐色的旧帽子。她眼睛里还留着晶莹的泪光，裙子一摆，就飘然走出房门，下楼跑到街上。
她走到一块招牌前停住了，招牌上面写着：“莎弗朗妮夫人——经营各种头发用品。”德拉跑上一段楼梯，气喘吁吁地让自己定下神来。那位夫人身躯肥大，肤色白得过分，一副冷冰冰的模样，同“莎弗朗妮”
这个名字不大相称。
“你要买我的头发吗？”德拉问道。
“我买头发，”夫人说，“脱掉帽子，让我看看头发的模样。”
那股褐色的小瀑布泻了下来。
“二十块钱。”夫人用行家的手法抓起头发说。
“赶快把钱给我。”德拉说。
噢，此后的两个钟头仿佛长了玫瑰色翅膀似的飞掠过去。诸位不必理会这种杂凑的比喻。总之，德拉为了送吉姆礼物正在店铺里搜索。
德拉终于把它找到了。它准是专为吉姆，而不是为别人制造的。她把所有的店铺都兜底翻过，各家都没有像这样的东西。那是一条白金表链，式样简单朴素，只是以货色来显示它的价值，不凭什么装潢来炫耀——一切好东西都应该是这样的。它的确配得上那只金表。她一看到就认为非给吉姆买下不可，它简直像他的为人。文静而有价值——这句话拿来形容表链和吉姆本人都恰到好处。店里以二十一块钱的价格卖给了她，她剩下八毛七分钱，匆匆赶回家去。吉姆有了那条链子，在任何场合都可以毫无顾虑地看看钟点了。那只表虽然华贵，可是因为用了一条旧皮带来代替表链，他有时候只是偷偷地瞥一眼。
德拉回家以后，她的陶醉有一小部分被审慎和理智所替代。她拿出卷发铁钳，点着煤气，着手补救由于爱情加上慷慨而造成的灾害。那始终是一件艰巨的工作，亲爱的朋友们——简直是了不起的工作。
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Selected Short Stories of O. Henry
The Gift of Magi
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty centsof
it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time bybulldozing
the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher untilone’s cheek
burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that suchclose
dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar
andeighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the
shabbylittle couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the
moralref lection that life is made up of sobs, sniff les, and
smiles, withsniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from thefirst
stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at$8
per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly
hadthat word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter
wouldgo, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could
coax aring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name
‘Mr.James Dillingham Young.’
The ‘Dillingham’ had been flung to the breeze during a formerperiod
of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.Now,
when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of
‘Dillingham’looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously
of contractingto a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James
DillinghamYoung came home and reached his flat above he was called
‘Jim’ andgreatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already
introducedto you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with thepowder
rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a greycat
walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. To-morrow would
beChristmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim
apresent. She had been saving every penny she could for months,
withthis result. Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had
beengreater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to
buy apresent for Jim.Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent
planningfor something nice for him. Something fine and rare and
sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the
honour of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room.Perhaps you
have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and veryagile
person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence
oflongitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his
looks.Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before theglass. Her
eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its
colourwithin twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and
let it fallto its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngsin
which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watchthat
had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was
Della’shair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the
airshaft,Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day
to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King
Solomonbeen the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the
basement, Jimwould have pulled out his watch every time he passed,
just to see himpluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and
shininglike a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee
and madeitself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up
again nervouslyand quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and
stood still while a tearor two splashed on the worn red
carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. Witha
whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes,
shefluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the
street.
Where she stopped the sign read: ‘Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goodsof All
Kinds.’ One flight up Della ran, and collected herself,
panting.Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the
‘Sofronie.’
‘Will you buy my hair?’ asked Della.
‘I buy hair,’ said Madame. ‘Take yer hat off and let’s have a
sightat the looks of it.’
Down rippled the brown cascade.
‘Twenty dollars,’ said Madame, lifting the mass with a
practicedhand.
‘Give it to me quick,’ said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget
thehashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s
present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and noone
else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she
hadturned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain
simple andchaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by
substance aloneand not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good
things should do.It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she
saw it she knew thatit must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness
and value—the descriptionapplied to both. Twenty-one dollars they
took from her for it, and shehurried home with the 87 cents. With
that chain on his watch Jimmight be properly anxious about the time
in any company. Grand asthe watch was, he sometimes looked at it on
the sly on account of theold leather strap that he used in place of
a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little
toprudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted
thegas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity
addedto love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a
mammothtask.
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