夏日散记 散记

　　he air was dry, tasted like a burnt 1)tortilla. The sun blazed white across a 2)bleached out sky. There would be no relief from the heat, not for weeks to come.
　　It was summer. In Phoenix, summer meant average temperatures of 110 degrees, with no rain. The
　　population went into 3)hibernation, hiding from the intense heat inside air-conditioned concrete caves.
　　I was no different, 4)scuttling to my car armed with oven mitts and bottled water.
　　The oven mitts would keep my hands safe from the hot steering wheel until the air conditioning cooled the interior of my car. The water bottle ensured 5)hydration. Everyone carried a water bottle. It is the first line of defense against heat exhaustion, heat stroke, 6)dehydration.
　　In the summer, water is our god, 7)Freon our 8)lord and master.
　　Driving along Thunderbird Road, I gazed at the urban scenery. The sidewalks were empty, and the glare from their concrete surfaces made my eyes 9)sting. I stopped for a red light. There was an empty lot on the corner, fenced in by chain link. A sign was attached, directing interested buyers to contact a local 10)realtor. I wondered what sort of business would 11)sprout up on this 12)weedy, rocky lot, nearly 13)barren except for a sad 14)ironwood tree, its branches 15)scraggly and weakened from the lack of rain.
　　It offered little shade to the old man curled up beneath it.
　　A car horn pierced the air, and I realized the light had changed. I made my way along the 16)asphalt 17)strip until I reached my destination.
　　The doctor’s office was cool, the lights in the waiting room 18)dim. The walls were painted a reassuring green, pale and comforting. The chairs were padded with sandy colored fabric, coordinating well with the earth-toned carpet. The waiting room was an oasis from the harsh summer light outside.
　　“You’re doing very well,” the doctor said, her Indian accent barely 19)discernable. “Remember, you are very 20)susceptible now to 21)bronchitis. Just because it is summer does not mean you can’t get sick. I see you have your water bottle with you. Good.” She smiled. “Don’t leave home without it! See you in two months.”
　　I stepped outside and felt the sting in my chest of dried air entering my tired lungs. I took a deep 22)gulp of water, tried not to breathe in too deeply as I made my way to my car. I put on my oven mitts and began to drive.
　　I was stopped again at the intersection with the empty lot, only this time it was opposite and to my left. I looked over to the corner and saw the old man standing there. He was holding up a cardboard sign. “Homeless 23)vet,” it read. He held out his other hand toward the stopped cars. His shoulders were 24)hunched as he bent, trying to make eye contact. I knew everyone was looking straight ahead, or in the other direction.
　　“They’re like stray kittens,” my neighbor had said once. “If you give them money, they’ll stay on that corner, and then you have to give them money every time.”
　　The homeless vet stepped back from the cars. I saw him raise his fist to his mouth and his body began to shake. He was having a 25)coughing fit; I recognized the body language from my own 26)bout with bronchitis.
　　He went around the corner pole and pulled at the fencing. He slid through a hole in the chain link and crawled to the 27)meager shade beneath the tree.
　　The light changed, and I drove on. There was a 28)Circle K and I pulled in. I bought two bottles of water and two apples. I made a left and made my way back toward the street corner with the empty lot.
　　He was there, with his sign, with his hand out. Quickly, I slid over to the passenger side and rolled down the window. I held out the bag with the water and fruit. I yelled out. “Hey,” I said, and waved the bag a bit.
　　The homeless vet 29)staggered over, and took the bag. He looked into my car. When he smiled, I saw he had very few teeth left. His eyes were watery, his skin leathery, his fingers scratched and 30)arthritic. “Bless you,” he said.
　　The light changed and I drove on, through the 31)shimmering heat and past the cooled concrete caves until I made it to my own 32)sanctuary. The 33)drapes were drawn, keeping out the damaging UV rays from the sun. The air in my home was conditioned, the artificial breeze flowing from the 34)vents, letting me breathe deeply.
　　It would be two months before I passed that corner again. In two months, the temperatures would be at their highest. The empty lot would be an island of heat, the skinny tree 35)wilted. The fence would be too hot to touch. The homeless vet would need to move on before then. He would probably go downtown. There were shelters. He could find some 36)refuge there. At summer’s end, the 37)monsoons would come. The winds could knock a man down, the rains flood the streets up past the sidewalk.
　　The next day, in the early morning, I got a plastic bag and filled it with two water bottles, a peanut butter sandwich, an orange, and a small bottle of skin lotion. I got my own water bottle and oven mitts and drove down Thunderbird Road. I reached the corner with the empty lot.
　　The homeless vet wasn’t there. A man in a short-sleeved shirt and 38)khaki pants was showing another man in jeans and a T-shirt the hole in the fence. The man in jeans was nodding. His T-shirt had a slogan on the back. “Keep It Safe Fencing,” it read.
　　The light changed. I drove on. I drove home, having nowhere else to go.
　　
　　空气很干燥,有一股烧焦的墨西哥玉米饼的味道。炙白的骄阳在褪色的天空中肆意燃烧,即使再过上几个星期,这热度也不会有所缓解。
　　正值炎炎夏日。在凤凰城,夏日就意味着平均气温达到华氏110度(43.3摄氏度),而且滴雨不下。人们都会进入休眠期,窝在开着空调的混凝土小窝里躲避
　　炙热。
　　我也不例外,戴着烤箱手套,拎着瓶装水,快步冲向我的小车。
　　在空调冷却车内的空气之前,烤箱手套能保护我的手不被滚烫的方向盘烫伤,水瓶则能确保我获取充足水分。每个人都带着一个水瓶,这是预防热衰竭、中暑和脱水的
　　首要法则。
　　在夏日,水就是我们的上帝,而氟利昂就是我们的主人。
　　沿着雷鸟路一路前行,我凝视着城市街景。人行道上空无一人,混凝土路面反射的强光刺痛了我的眼睛。我停了下来等红灯。街角处有一小块空地,被勾连的锁链围了起来,还附了一块广告牌,指点感兴趣的买家与当地一位房地产经纪人联系。我不禁想,在这样一块杂草丛生、乱石密布,除了一棵枝条凌乱、因缺乏雨水滋润而蔫巴巴的硬木树外几近荒芜的地方,什么样的生意能生根发芽。
　　那棵树几乎不能为树下蜷伏的老人提供多少荫蔽。
　　空气中响起了一声刺耳的喇叭声,我才意识到交通灯已经变了。我沿着窄窄的沥青路继续前行,直至到达我的目的地。
　　医生的办公室里很凉爽,候诊室里灯光朦胧。墙壁被漆成了令人安心的绿色,淡淡的,舒适宜人。椅子上垫着淡茶色的织物,与土色系的地毯很相衬。与屋外刺眼的夏日阳光相比,这个候诊室真是一片绿洲。
　　“你的身体状况非常不错,”医生说,几乎听不出她带有印度口音。“记住,你现在很容易感染支气管炎。虽然现在是夏天,但并不意味着你不会生病。我看到你随身带了水瓶。非常好。”她微笑着。“每次出门都要带着它!两个月以后再见吧。”
　　我走到门外,感觉到干燥的空气进入了我疲惫的肺部,刺痛了胸膛。我喝了一大口水,然后向我车子走去,一路上尽量不去深呼吸。我带上烤箱手套,发动了汽车。
　　我在那块空地旁的十字路口再次停了下来,只不过,这一次停在了街对面,空地在我左边。我向街角望去,看见那个老人正站在那里。他手里拿着块硬纸板,上面写着“无家可归的退伍老兵”。他对那些停着的汽车伸出了另一只手。他耸着肩膀,弯下腰试图用眼神与人交流。我知道每个人都直视着前方,或是看着别的方向。
　　“他们就像流浪猫,”我的邻居曾经这样说。“如果你给他们钱,他们就会继续在街角停留,然后你每次都不得不给他们钱。”
　　这个无家可归的退伍老兵离开车流往回走。我看见他抬起拳头靠近嘴边,全身开始颤抖。他的咳嗽发作了――我从自己与支气管炎较量的经验中认出了他的身体语言。他在街角的柱子处走来走去,用力拉着栅栏。他从锁链间的一个小洞滑了进去,向树下稀疏的树荫爬去。
　　交通灯转了,我向前开去。路边有一间OK便利店,我开过去停下车,买了两瓶水和两个苹果。我向左转,又开回那片空地边的街角。
　　他还在那里,拿着他的牌子,伸着他的手。我很快把车驶进行人道上,摇下车窗。我把装着水和水果的袋子伸了出去,大声叫道:“嗨!”我边说边晃着袋子。
　　那个无家可归的退伍老兵步履蹒跚地走过来,接过袋子。他朝我的车里看了看。当他微笑时,我见到他的牙齿已经几乎掉光了。他双眼泛着泪光,皮肤像皮革一样粗糙,手指上满布刮痕,还有关节炎。“愿上帝保佑你,”他说。
　　交通灯转了,我继续向前开去,穿过耀眼的高温,经过凉爽的混凝土小窝,直到回到我自己的庇护所。窗帘都被放了下来,以抵御阳光中伤人的紫外线。我的房间里开了空调,人工产生的微风从排风口飘拂而出,让我深深地吸了几口气。
　　还要过两个月我才会再次经过那个街角。在这两个月,气温会达到最高点。那块空地会变成酷热的小岛,那棵瘦骨伶仃的树也会枯萎,那里的围墙,滚烫得无法触摸。那个无家可归的退伍老兵需要在那之前换个地方。他也许会去市区,那里有庇护所,他会在那里得到帮助。夏季结束时,季风就要来临。狂风大得可以把人吹倒,雨水会越过人行道漫过大街。
　　第二天一大早,我带上一个塑料袋,装了两瓶水、一份花生酱三明治、一个橘子和一小瓶润肤露。我拿起自己的水瓶和烤箱手套,沿着雷鸟路一路下行,到了那块空地边的街角。
　　那个无家可归的退伍老兵已经不在那里了。一个穿着短袖衬衫和卡其布裤子的人正把那片栅栏上的洞指给另一个穿着牛仔裤和T恤衫的人看。那个穿牛仔裤的人点着头,他的T恤衫背后印着一句口号,写着 “安全使用围栏” 。
　　交通灯转了。我启动小车,朝着家的方向开去,也没有别的地方能去了。