原文
My daughter Zara was long and lanky that spring, just beginning the slow shift away from childhood, adrift in those years that lie between 10 and 20. If adolescence were a place on the map, it would surely be just a place of gusty winds and sudden storms, where even a compass could lose its bearings.
Once, my husband and I would load our two children in the back of the car and go where we wanted, decanting them hours later while a little hailstorm of broken crayons rattled on the road. I would look back at them asleep in a tangle of books and bears, as the highway unrolled behind us, and think this small universe was all I wanted, that voyaging together was a journey made up of more than the miles covered.
But suddenly Zara was 13, all knobby knuckles and knees, full of silences and sighs. The last place she wanted to be was the back seat, with a little sister who, as she reported furiously one day, “was letting her skirt touch me.” In the aggrieved silence that followed, I thought of the two who had once flopped together like puppies.
It was our second year in Munich, when I hesitantly broached the subject of Lake Como. We were to meet friends, children and all, at a hotel there. Zara’s eyes flicked upward, then returned to the book in her lap, hair flopped to cover her face. “I’m not wearing a dress,” she said. “And don’t expect me to talk to them.” A page flipped, emphatically. A sigh, and she went off, I guessed to fill her diary with more purple ink.
参考译文
那年春天，我的女儿扎拉已经长得又瘦又高，开始慢慢褪去稚气，进入青春期的躁动岁月。倘若青春期是地图上的一个区域，那肯定是要么狂风大作，要么暴雨倾盆，即使是罗盘针，在那里也找不到北。
曾经，我和丈夫只要把两个孩子放在车后座上，便可想去哪儿就去哪儿。几小时后下车时，她们身上全是断成一截一截的蜡笔头，掉在地上，像冰雹一样噼啪直响。车子在公路上飞奔，坐在前排的我常会回过头去，看着熟睡的她们躺在凌乱的书籍和玩具熊中，心中暗想，这小小的世界便是我想拥有的一切，与家人一起出行的意义，又岂是走过的路程所能丈量的。
然而，扎拉一转眼便长到13岁，全身的每一处骨骼都开始发育，不是沉默不语，便是唉声叹气，再也不愿和妹妹一起坐在后座上。一天她怒气冲冲地向我告状说：“她总是用裙子蹭我。”随后便是无言的委屈，在沉默中我不禁回忆起她们曾在车上嬉戏玩耍，玩累了便依偎着睡着了，就像两只小狗一样。
我们住在慕尼黑的第二年时，我迟疑地提议去科莫湖旅行，在那里的酒店去见一些朋友和他们的子女。扎拉向上瞟了一眼，接着继续盯着放在膝上的书，头发飘落下来，挡住了整个脸庞。“我可不穿裙子，”她说，“也别指望我和他们说话。”说完便“哗啦”翻了一页书，叹了一口气，起身走了，我猜她当天的日记里又少不了惆怅的色彩。