This was a day when ladies， and children，s clothes were very often made at home. My mother cut out all the dresses and her little boys， rompers， and a sewing woman would come and spend the day upstairs in the sewing room fitting and stitching them all.This was Fannie. This old black sewing woman， along with her speed and dexterity， brought along a great provision of uptothe minute news. She spent her life going from family to family in town and worked right in its bosom， and nothing could stop her. My mother would try， while I stood being pinned up. “Fannie， I，d rather Eudora didn，t hear that.” “That” would be just what I was longing to hear， whatever it was. “I don，t want her exposed to gossip” - as if gossip were measles and I could catch it. I did catch some of it but not enough. “Mrs. O，Neil，s oldest daughter she had her wedding dress tried on， and all her fine underclothes featherstitched and ribbon run in and then - ” “I think that will do， Fannie，” said my mother. It was tantalizing never to be exposed long enough to hear the end.
Fannie was the worldliest old woman to be imagined. She could do whatever her hands were doing without having to stop talking， and she could speak in a wonderfully derogatory way with any number of pins stuck in her mouth. Her hands steadied me like claws as she stumped on her knees around me， tacking me together. The gist of her tale would be lost on me， but Fannie didn，t bother about the ear she was telling it to； she just liked telling. She was like an author. In fact， for a good deal of what she said， I daresay she was the author.
Long before I wrote stories， I listened for stories. Listening for them is something more acute than listening to them. I suppose it，s an early form of participation in what goes on. Listening children know stories are there. When their elders sit and begin， children are just waiting and hoping for one to come out， like a mouse from its hole.
It was taken entirely for granted that there wasn，t any lying in our family， and I was advanced in adolescence before I realized that in plenty of homes where I played with schoolmates and went to their parties， children lied to their parents and parents lied to their children and to each other. It took me a long time to realize that these very same everyday lies， and the stratagems and jokes and tricks and dares that went with them， were in fact the basis of the scenes I so well loved to hear about and hoped for and treasured in the conversation of adults.
My instinct - the dramatic instinct - was to lead me， eventually， on the right track for a storyteller： the scene was full of hints， pointers， suggestions， and promises of things to find out and know about human beings. I had to grow up and learn to listen for the unspoken as well as the spoken - and to know a truth， I also had to recognize a lie.
倾听
在那逝去的往昔日子里，我所熟悉的小镇杰克逊的夫人太太，也就是我左邻右舍的小朋友的母亲们，大都在热心社交时最为忙碌。每到下午，在住宅区街道构成的小方格中，走人家的访客人来人往。人人都有名片，甚至有些小孩子也有。新生儿的雕版印制的小名片用粉红或蓝色的蝴蝶结和父母的名片系在一起送往各家，郑重宣告他们的降生。送给高中毕业生的礼品常常是名片盒。在任何一家门厅的桌台上你首先看到的是一只银盘上散乱地堆满了名片，仍恭候着更多的名片的到来。来访者的名片从来不被扔弃。
我母亲认为这些是虚掷光阴，她从不让自己和这些事沾边。她我行我素，不管什么名片不名片的，虽说她喜欢朋友，朋友们也爱她，可她没空闲扯家长里短。起先我不知道自己的损失有多大。
等我们终于买了第一辆汽车，每逢星期日下午我们常请一位邻居一起去乘车兜风。在杰克逊镇，如果开车出门而车上剩有空座位，就被认为是对邻居的冒犯。我母亲和她的朋友坐在后座上。人们告诉我，小时候，我常常要求坐在她们中间，等车一开，就说“聊吧。”
那位女士对我妈讲述的故事里充满了对话。“我说”……“他说”……“我听见她直截了当地讲”……“直到大半夜他们才听到消息，你猜是怎么回事？”
我喜欢她的故事，因为场景栩栩如生。我可能不大搞得清麻烦事的来龙去脉，不过我的耳朵听出故事挺有戏剧性。她常常说：“这下到了紧要关头。”
这位太太还是爱给妈妈打长电话的女士之一。如果我妈打电话时不时地说“是的”，“是嘛”，或“当然不啦”等等，我准知道来电话的是谁。妈会站在壁装电话机前，不情愿地听着，而我坐在她跟前的楼梯上。我家的电话手柄上有一按键，通话时需掀下才能保持线路畅通。等妈的朋友说了再会，她的手早已麻木，需我帮忙把指头从按键上搬开来。“她说了些什么？”我问。
“她什么也没说，”妈妈叹息道，“她只是想讲话，仅此而已。”
我母亲说得没错。多年以后，以短篇《我为什么在邮局过活》为起点，我写作中常常采用一种独白形式，即说话人不由自主地说个没完。而这独白的方式包含着多少言外之意！
这位太太用它甜美、惊叹的声音娓娓叙谈，而且满心诚意，字字当真。说不定她欢迎我在场做伴，甚于喜欢我的妈妈。她请我去捉蚁蛉幼虫，她家后院里树下虫穴多着呢。你把一根笤帚草苗伸进洞里，并喊道：“虫儿，虫儿，你家的房子着火了，你家的娃子烧着了，”她真相信虫子是因此从洞里跑出来的。所以我喜欢招她家的虫子出来，而对我们自己家的虫子兴趣索然。
我妈从来不给我讲故事，我那时虽小，也已猜到了其中的缘故：她不相信这些故事。而我可以整天听那位太太喃喃地讲个不休，她相信自己听到的一切，象蚁蛉虫似的。我也像她一样。
那时女人和孩子们的衣服常常是在家里缝制的。我妈妈裁出所有的裙衣和小男孩门的连身裤，然后会有一名缝衣妇上门，在楼上缝纫室里呆上一天，把所有的东西都拼合缝好，那就是范妮。她是一个年老的黑人缝衣妇，不但心灵手快，而且满肚子的最新新闻。她一辈子在城里走家串户，深谙其机要秘闻，而且什么也挡不住她说话。我妈会试图阻止她，而我站在那儿正在试衣服：“范妮，我不愿让由多拉听到那个。”可“那个”正是我急巴巴想知道的，不管它是什么。“我不想让她接触那些流言蜚语，”就好像街谈巷议是麻疹，我会传染上似的。我是多少得到了点流短飞长闲话的，不过还差的远呢。“奥尼尔夫人的大女儿试她的结婚礼服，还有她镶有羽状绣花和缎带的漂亮内衣，这时——”“够了，范妮，”我妈妈说。接触流言不能长久，每每听不上结尾，实在叫人心痒难熬。
范妮是人能想象出来的最有世俗经验的老女人。她可以做任何事，一边不停嘴地讲话；而且她能口含好多支别针，同时吐出种种绝妙的诽谤之词。当她跪下来围着我笨重地挪来挪去，为我量体裁衣时，她时时用利爪般的手扶持着我，我不大抓得住她的故事的要旨，不过范妮并不在乎说给谁听，她只是爱讲述。就像作家。我敢说，她讲的种种事情中实际上确有不少是她自己创作出来的。
我先是倾听并找寻故事，很久以后，才开始写故事。较之单纯的听，找寻谈话中的故事是更令人刻骨铭心的活动。我想这是参与讲故事的一种初级形式。倾听的孩子知道故事就在那儿，当长辈们坐下来并开始说话，孩子们等待着，希望出来一个故事，就像耗子钻出洞穴一样。
我们家里不许撒谎，这被看作是理所当然的事。直到我长成了一个少女，我才知道，我的同学——我曾经去他们家玩耍，参加聚会——中有不少人家里孩子们骗家长，父母向子女说谎，并互相欺瞒。过了很久我才明白，这些日常的谎言，以及伴随它们的谋略、笑话、诡计和刺激，乃是我在大人言谈中所如此喜爱，如此期盼，如此珍视的种种场景的基础。
我的直觉——戏剧的直觉——最终引导我走上了说故事人的正道：场景充满了各种可以有所发现并增进了对人类了解的暗示、标记、提醒和许诺。我还有待长大，才能学会不但听懂说出的话，而且听出弦外之音——而且，为了认识真实，我还得会识别谎言。
