The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking.
It is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark and not to turn.
—— from “The Testing-Tree,” by Stanley Kunitz
But answer me this: how can a story end happily if there is no love?
Edward looked up at the stars. He started to say the names of the constellations, but then he stopped.
“Bull,” his heart said. “Lucy.”
How many times, Edward wondered, would he have to leave without getting the chance to say goodbye?
A lone cricket started up a song.
Edward listened.
Something deep inside him ached.
He wished that he could cry.
Day after day, the door to the shop opened and closed, letting in early morning sun or late afternoon light, lifting the hearts of the dolls inside, all of them thinking when the door swung wide that this time, this time, the person entering the shop would be the one who wanted them.
Edward was the lone contrarian. He prided himself on not hoping, on not allowing his heart to lift inside of him. He prided himself on keeping his heart silent, immobile, closed tight.
I am done with hope, thought Edward Tulane.
The old doll said, “I wonder who will come for me this time. Someone will come. Someone always comes. Who will it be?”
“I don’t care if anyone comes for me,” said Edward.
“But that’s dreadful,” said the old doll. “There’s no point in going on if you feel that way. No point at all. You must be filled with expectancy. You must be awash in hope. You must wonder who will love you, whom you will love next.”
“I am done with being loved,” Edward told her. “I’m done with loving. It’s too painful.”
“Pish,” said the old doll. “Where is your courage?”
“Somewhere else, I guess,” said Edward.
“You disappoint me,” she said. “You disappoint me greatly. If you have no intention of loving or being loved, then the whole journey is pointless. You might as well leap from this shelf right now and let yourself shatter into a million pieces. Get it over with. Get it all over with now.”
“I would leap if I was able,” said Edward.
“Shall I push you?” said the old doll.
“No, thank you,” Edward said to her. “Not that you could,” he muttered to himself.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing,” said Edward.
The dark in the doll shop was now complete. The old doll and Edward sat on their shelf and stared straight ahead.
“You disappoint me,” said the old doll.
Her words made Edward think of Pellegrina: of warthogs and princesses, of listening and love, of spells and curses. What if there was somebody waiting to love him? What if there was somebody whom he would love again? Was it possible?
Edward felt his heart stir.
No, he told his heart. Not possible. Not possible.
Next to Edward, the old doll let out a sigh. She seemed to sit up straighter. Lucius came and took her off the shelf and handed her to Natalie. And when they left, when the girl’s father opened the door for his daughter and the old doll, a bright shaft of early morning light came flooding in, and Edward heard quite clearly, as if she were still sitting next to him, the old doll’s voice.
“Open your heart,” she said gently. “Someone will come. Someone will come for you. But first you must open your heart.”
The door closed. The sunlight disappeared.
Someone will come.
Edward’s heart stirred. He thought, for the first time in a long time, of the house on Egypt Street and of Abilene winding his watch and then bending toward him and placing it on his left leg, saying: I will come home to you.
No, no, he told himself. Don’t believe it. Don’t let yourself believe it.
But it was too late.
Someone will come for you.
The china rabbit’s heart had begun, again, to open.引自第1页
