The Watsons Go to Birmingham-1963 沃森一家去伯明翰 1996年纽伯瑞银奖小说 ISBN 9780440228004 下载 pdf 百度网盘 epub 免费 2025 电子书 mobi 在线

　　Enter the hilarious world of 10-year-old Kenny and his family,

the Weird Watsons of Flint, Michigan. There's Momma, Dad, little

sister Joetta, and brother Byron, who's 13 and an "official

juvenile delinquent." When Momma and Dad decide it's time for a

visit to Grandma, Dad comes home with the amazing Ultra-Glide, and

the Watsons set out on a trip like no other. They're heading South.

They're going to Birmingham, Alabama, toward one of the darkest

moments in America's history

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　　Christopher Paul Curtis was born in Flint, Michigan, and grew

up there. Bud, Not Buddy, his second novel, winner of the

2000 Newbery Medal and the Coretta Scott King Author Award, is

available in a Delacorte hardcover edition.

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　　And You Wonder Why We Get Called the Weird Watsons

　　It was one of those super-duper-cold Saturdays. One of those days

that when you breathed out your breath kind of hung frozen in the

air like a hunk of smoke and you could walk along and look exactly

like a train blowing out big, fat, white puffs of smoke.

　　It was so cold that if you were stupid enough to go outside your

eyes would automatically blink a thousand times all by themselves,

probably so the juice inside of them wouldn't freeze up. It was so

cold that if you spit, the slob would be an ice cube before it hit

the ground. It was about a zillion degrees below zero.

　　It was even cold inside our house. We put sweaters and hats and

scarves and three pairs of socks on and still were cold. The

thermostat was turned all the way up and the furnace was banging

and sounding like it was about to blow up but it still felt like

Jack Frost had moved in with us.

　　All of my family sat real close together on the couch under a

blanket. Dad said this would generate a little heat but he didn't

have to tell us this, it seemed like the cold automatically made us

want to get together and huddle up. My little sister, Joetta, sat

in the middle and all you could see were her eyes because she had a

scarf wrapped around her head. I was next to her and on the outside

was my mother.

　　Momma was the only one who wasn't born in Flint so the cold was

coldest to her. All you could see were her eyes too, and they were

shooting bad looks at Dad. She always blamed him for bringing her

all the way from Alabama to Michigan, a state she called a giant

icebox. Dad was bundled next to Joey, trying to look at anything

but Momma. Next to Dad, sitting with a little space between them,

was my older brother, Byron.

　　Byron had just turned thirteen so he was officially a teenage

juvenile delinquent and didn't think it was "cool" to touch anybody

or let anybody touch him, even if it meant he froze to death. Byron

had tucked the blanket between him and Dad down into the cushion of

the couch to make sure he couldn't be touched.

　　Dad turned on the TV to try to make us forget how cold we were

but all that did was get him in trouble. There was a special news

report on Channel 12 telling how bad the weather was and Dad

groaned when the guy said, "If you think it's cold now, wait until

tonight, the temperature is expected to drop into record-low

territory, possibly reaching the negative twenties! In fact, we

won't be seeing anything above zero for the next four to five

days!" He was smiling when he said this but none of the Watson

family thought it was funny. We all looked over at Dad. He just

shook his head and pulled the blanket over his eyes.

　　Then the guy on the TV said, "Here's a little something we can

use to brighten our spirits and give us some hope for the future:

The temperature in Atlanta, Georgia is forecast to reach . . ." Dad

coughed real loud and jumped off the couch to turn the TV off but

we all heard the weatherman say, ". . . the mid-seventies!" The guy

might as well have tied Dad to a tree and said, "Ready, aim,

fire!"

　　"Atlanta!" Momma said. "That's a hundred and fifty miles from

home!"

　　"Wilona . . . ," Dad said.

　　"I knew it," Momma said. "I knew I should have listened to Moses

Henderson!"

　　"Who?" I asked.

　　Dad said, "Oh Lord, not that sorry story. You've got to let me

tell about what happened with him."

　　Momma said, "There's not a whole lot to tell, just a story about

a young girl who made a bad choice. But if you do tell it, make

sure you get all the facts right."

　　We all huddled as close as we could get because we knew Dad was

going to try to make us forget about being cold by cutting up. Me

and Joey started smiling right away, and Byron tried to look cool

and bored.

　　"Kids," Dad said, "I almost wasn't your father. You guys came

real close to having a clown for a daddy named Hambone Henderson. .

. ."

　　"Daniel Watson, you stop right there. You're the one who started

that 'Hambone' nonsense. Before you started that everyone called

him his Christian name, Moses. And he was a respectable boy too, he

wasn't a clown at all."

　　"But the name stuck didn't it? Hambone Henderson. Me and your

granddaddy called him that because the boy had a head shaped like a

hambone, had more knots and bumps on his head than a dinosaur. So

as you guys sit here giving me these dirty looks because it's a

little chilly outside ask yourselves if you'd rather be a little

cold or go through life being known as the Hambonettes."

　　Me and Joey cracked up, Byron kind of chuckled and Momma put her

hand over her mouth. She did this whenever she was going to give a

smile because she had a great big gap between her front teeth. If

Momma thought something was funny, first you'd see her trying to

keep her lips together to hide the gap, then, if the smile got to

be too strong, you'd see the gap for a hot second before Momma's

hand would come up to cover it, then she'd crack up too.

　　Laughing only encouraged Dad to cut up more, so when he saw the

whole family thinking he was funny he really started putting on a

show.

　　He stood up in front of the TV. "Yup, Hambone Henderson proposed

to your mother around the same time I did. Fought dirty too, told

your momma a pack of lies about me and when she didn't believe them

he told her a pack of lies about Flint."

　　Dad started talking Southern-style, imitating this Hambone guy.

"Wilona, I heard tell about the weather up that far north in Flint,

Mitch-again, heard it's colder than inside an icebox. Seen a movie

about it, think it was made in Flint. Movie called Nanook of the

North. Yup, do believe for sure it was made in Flint. Uh-huh,

Flint, Mitch-again."

　　"Folks there live in these things called igloos. According to

what I seen in this here movie most folks in Flint is Chinese.

Don't believe I seem nan one colored person in the whole dang city.

You a 'Bama gal, don't believe you'd be too happy living in no

igloo. Ain't got nothing against 'em, but don't believe you'd be

too happy living 'mongst a whole slew of Chinese folks. Don't

believe you'd like the food. Only thing them Chinese folks in that

movie et was whales and seals. Don't believe you'd like no whale

meat. Don't taste a lick like chicken. Don't taste like pork at

all."

　　Momma pulled her hand away from her mouth. "Daniel Watson, you

are one lying man! Only thing you said that was true was that being

in Flint is like living in an igloo. I knew I should have listened

to Moses. Maybe these babies mighta been born with lumpy heads but

at least they'da had warm lumpy heads!

　　"You know Birmingham is a good place, and I don't mean the

weather either. The life is slower, the people are

friendlier--"

　　"Oh yeah," Dad interrupted, "they're a laugh a minute down there.

Let's see, where was that 'Coloreds Only' bathroom downtown?"

　　"Daniel, you know what I mean, things aren't perfect but people

are more honest about the way they feel"--she took her mean eyes

off Dad and put them on Byron--"and folks there do know how to

respect their parents."

　　Byron rolled his eyes like he didn't care. All he did was tuck

the blanket farther into the couch's cushion.

　　Dad didn't like the direction the conversation was going so he

called the landlord for the hundredth time. The phone was still

busy.

　　"That snake in the grass has got his phone off the hook. Well,

it's going to be too cold to stay here tonight, let me call Cydney.

She just had that new furnace put in, maybe we can spend the night

there." Aunt Cydney was kind of mean but her house was always warm

so we kept our fingers crossed that she was home.

　　Everyone, even Byron, cheered when Dad got Aunt Cydney and she

told us to hurry over before we froze to death.

　　Dad went out to try and get the Brown Bomber started. That was

what we called our car. It was a 1948 Plymouth that was dull brown

and real big, Byron said it was turd brown. Uncle Bud gave it to

Dad when it was thirteen years old and we'd had it for two years.

Me and Dad took real good care of it but some of the time it didn't

like to start up in the winter.

　　After five minutes Dad came back in huffing and puffing and

slapping his arms across his chest.

　　"Well, it was touch and go for a while, but the Great Brown One

pulled through again!" Everyone cheered, but me and Byron quit

cheering and started frowning right away. By the way Dad smiled at

us we knew what was coming next. Dad pulled two ice scrapers out of

his pocket and said, "O.K., boys, let's get out there and knock

those windows out."

　　We moaned and groaned and put some more coats on and went outside

to scrape the car's windows. I could tell by the way he was pouting

that Byron was going to try and get out of doing his share of he

work.

　　"I'm not going to do your part, Byron, you'd better do it and I'm

not playing either."

　　"Shut up, punk."

　　I went over to the Brown Bomber's passenger side and started

hacking away at the scab of ice that was all over the windows. I

finished Momma's window and took a break. Scraping ice off of

windows when it's that cold can kill you!

　　I didn't hear any sound coming from the other side of the car so

I yelled out, "I'm serious, Byron, I'm not doing that side too, and

I'm only going to do half the windshield, I don't care what you do

to me." The windshield on the Bomber wasn't like the new 1963 cars,

it had a big bar running down the middle of it, dividing it in

half.

　　"Shut your stupid mouth, I got something more important to do

right now."

　　I peeked around the back of the car to see what By was up to. The

only thing he'd scraped off was the outside mirror and he was

bending down to look at himself in it. He saw me and said, "You

know what, square? I must be adopted, there just ain't no way two

folks as ugly as your momma and daddy coulda give birth to someone

as sharp as me!"

　　He was running his hands over his head like he was brushing his

hair.

　　I said, "Forget you," and went back over to the other side of the

car to finish the back window. I had half of the ice off when I had

to stop again and catch my breath. I heard Byron mumble my

name.

　　I said, "You think I'm stupid? It's not going to work this time."

He mumbled my name again. It sounded like his mouth was full of

something. I knew this was a trick, I knew this was going to be How

to Survive a Blizzard, Part Two.

　　How to Survive a Blizzard, Part One had been last night when I

was outside playing in the snow and Byron and his running buddy,

Buphead, came walking by. Buphead has officially been a juvenile

delinquent even longer than Byron.

　　"Say, kid," By had said, "you wanna learn somethin' that might

save your stupid life one day?"

　　I should have known better, but I was bored and I think maybe the

cold weather was making my brain slow, so I said, "What's

that?"

　　"We gonna teach you how to survive a blizzard."

　　"How?"

　　Byron put his hands in front of his face and said "This is the

most important thing to remember, O.K.?"

　　"Why?"

　　"Well, first we gotta show you what it feels like to be trapped

in a blizzard. You ready?" He whispered something to Buphead and

they both laughed.

　　"I'm ready."

　　I should have known that the only reason Buphead and By would

want to play with me was to do something mean.

　　"O.K.," By said, "first thing you gotta worry about is high

winds."

　　Byron and Buphead each grabbed one of my arms and one of my legs

and swung me between them going, "Woo, blizzard warnings! Blizzard

warnings! Wooo! Take cover!"

　　Buphead counted to three and on the third swing they let me go in

the air. I landed headfirst in a snowbank.

　　But that was O.K. because I had on three coats, two sweaters, a

T-shirt, three pairs of pants and four socks along with a scarf, a

hat and a hood. These guys couldn't have hurt me if they'd thrown

me off the Empire State Building!'

　　After I climbed out of the snowbank they started laughing and so

did I.

　　"Cool, Baby Bruh," By said, "you passed that part of the test

with a B-plus, what you think, Buphead?"

　　Buphead said, "Yeah, I'd give the little punk a A."

　　They whispered some more and started laughing again.

　　"O.K.," By said, "second thing you gotta learn is how to keep

your balance in a high wind. You gotta be good at this so you don't

get blowed into no polar bear dens."

　　They put me in between them and started making me spin round and

round, it seemed like they spun me for about half an hour. When

slob started flying out of my mouth they let me stop and I wobbled

around for a while before they pushed me back in the same

snow-bank.

　　When everything stopped going in circles I got up and we all

laughed again.

　　They whispered some more and then By said, "What you think,

Buphead? He kept his balance a good long time, I'm gonna give him a

A-minus."

　　"I ain't as hard a grader as you, I'ma give the little punk a

double A-minus."

　　"O.K., Kenny now the last part of Surviving a Blizzard, you

ready?"

　　"Yup!"

　　"You passed the wind test and did real good on the balance test

but now we gotta see if you ready to graduate. You remember what we

told you was the most important part about survivin'?"

　　"Yup!"

　　"O.K., here we go. Buphead, tell him 'bout the final exam."

　　From the Trade Paperback edition.

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