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在父親的手提箱里英語作文
two years before his death, my father gave me a small suitcase filled with his writings, manuscripts1 and notebooks. assuming his usual joking, mocking2 air, he told me he wanted me to read them after he was gone, by which he meant after he died.
a week after he came to my office and left me his suitcase, my father came to pay me another visit; as always, he brought me a bar of chocolate (he had forgotten i was 48 years old). as always, we chatted and laughed about life, politics and family gossip3. a moment arrived when my father’s eyes went to the corner where he had left his suitcase and saw that i had moved it. we looked each other in the eye. there followed a pressing silence. i did not tell him that i had opened the suitcase and tried to read its contents, instead i looked away. but he understood. just as i understood that he had understood. just as he understood that i had understood that he had understood. but all this understanding only went so far as it can go in a few seconds. because my father was a happy, easygoing4 man who had faith in himself: he smiled at me the way he always did. and as he left the house, he repeated all the lovely and encouraging things that he always said to me, like a father.
as always, i watched him leave, envying5 his happiness, his carefree and unflappable6 temperament. but i remember that on that day there was also a flash of joy inside me that made me ashamed. it was prompted by the thought that maybe i wasn’t as comfortable in life as he was, maybe i had not led as happy or footloose7 a life as he had, but that i had devoted it to writing —you’ve understood... i was ashamed to be thinking such things at my father’s expense. of all people, my father, who had never been the source of my pain — who had left me free. all this should remind us that writing and literature are intimately linked to a lack at the centre of our lives, and to our feelings of happiness and guilt.
but my story has a symmetry8 that immediately reminded me of something else that day, and that brought me an even deeper sense of guilt. twenty-three years before my father left me his suitcase, and four years after i had decided, aged 22, to become a novelist, and, abandoning all else, shut myself up in a room, i finished my first novel, cevdet bey and sons;
with trembling hands i had given my father a typescript of the still unpublished novel, so that he could read it and tell me what he thought. this was not simply because i had confidence in his taste and his intellect: his opinion was very important to me, because he, unlike my mother, had not opposed my wish to become a writer. at that point, my father was not with us, but far away. i waited impatiently for his return. when he arrived two weeks later, i ran to open the door. my father said nothing, but he at once threw his arms around me in a way that told me he had liked it very much. for a while, we were plunged9 into the sort of awkward silence that so often accompanies moments of great emotion. then, when we had calmed down and begun to talk, my father resorted to highly charged and exaggerated language to express his confidence in me or my first novel: he told me that one day i would win the prize that i am here to receive with such great happiness.
he said this not because he was trying to convince me of his good opinion, or to set this prize as a goal; he said it like a turkish father, giving support to his son, encouraging him by saying, ‘one day you’ll become a pasha10!’ for years, whenever he saw me, he would encourage me with the same words.
my father died in december of xx.
today, as i stand before the swedish academy and the distinguished11 members who have awarded me this great prize — this great honour — and their distinguished guests, i dearly wish he could be amongst us.
在父親去世的兩年前，他給了我一個小小的手提箱，里面裝滿了他的作品、手稿和筆記本。他用平常那種搞笑調侃的口吻要我在他走后再看，這個“走”當然說的是他永遠走了以后。
在父親把箱子留到我辦公室一個星期后，他又來看我了；和以往一樣，他給我買了巧克力（他忘了我都48歲了）。亦如以往，我們笑談生活、政治和家庭瑣事。后來他的目光落到了他曾放箱子的那個角落，發(fā)現箱子被我移動過了。我們四目相對，陷入了令人壓抑的沉默。我并沒有告訴他我打開了箱子，去看里面的內容，而只是把視線移開了。然而他明白了一切。就像我明白他明白了一樣。就像他明白我明白他明白了一樣。但所有的明白就在幾秒鐘之內明白了。因為父親是一個快樂、隨和、心懷信念的人——他只是照例沖我笑了笑。當他離開時，沒忘記把他作為父親該說的那一席親切的鼓勵之詞又重復了一遍。
我也同往日一樣，注視著他的離開，無比羨慕他的快樂，他的無憂無慮和他處世不驚的脾氣。然而，那天曾閃現在我心頭，令我自愧無比的片刻的竊喜依舊記憶猶新。那是由我的這種感覺引起的——可能我沒有過父親那樣舒適愜意的生活，也沒有他那如此快樂、無拘無束的生活，但我獻身于寫作了——你明白……想到父親為這一切所付出的代價，我慚愧極了。在所有的人中，父親從來不曾給我?guī)硗纯唷耆屛易杂砂l(fā)展。所有這些都應該讓我們記住寫作和文字都與我們生活中心所缺失的東西緊密相聯，與我們的幸福感與負疚感息息相關。
我的故事同時也相應地提醒我那天還有讓我更加內疚的一件事。在父親留給我他的手提箱的二十三年前，在我從22歲開始決心成為一名小說家而放棄其它一切，把自己關在房間里寫作之后的第四年，我完成了第一部小說《杰夫德貝伊與其子》。我用顫抖的手將未出版書的打印稿拿給父親看，想聽取一點他的讀后感言。這并不僅僅是因為我對他的品位和智慧深信不已，他的看法對我如此重要，也是因為他不像母親那樣，反對我成為一名作家。在這一點上，父親比我們看得更遠。我迫不及待的等著他的回答。兩個星期之后他來了，我跑過去開門。父親沒有說任何話，只是張開手臂給了我一個擁抱，用這種方式告訴我他非常非常喜歡這部作品。一時之間，我們陷入了那種令人尷尬的沉默中，那種時常伴隨著重大情緒或起或落的沉默。后來，等我們平靜下來開始說話，他用了一種情感激蕩而夸張的語言對我和我的小說表達了他強烈的信心：他告訴我，終將會有一天，我會像在此時此地一樣，帶著如此巨大的喜悅接受獎項。
他說這話并不是為了試圖要我相信他對我的好評，或是把這個獎項作為我的目標；他說這翻話就像一位土耳其父親那樣給予兒子支持，并鼓勵我說：“總有一天，你會成為帕夏的！”許多年來，無論何時，他看到我都以同樣的話語鼓勵我。
xx年12月，父親永遠的走了。
今天，我站在瑞士文學院，站在給予我這無尚光榮獎項的各位尊敬的院士面前，我衷心地希望此刻我的父親就在我們中間。
詞匯表：
1. manuscript n. 手稿
2. mocking a. 取笑的，嘲弄的
3. gossip n. 閑言碎語
4. easygoing a. 易相處的，隨和的
5. envy v. 羨慕，嫉妒
6. unflappable a. 臨危不亂的，鎮(zhèn)定的
7. footloose a. 自由自在的，無拘無束的
8. symmetry n. 對稱，勻稱
9. plunge v. 使事物突然陷入
10. pasha a. 帕夏（舊時奧斯曼帝國和北非高級文武官的稱號）高級文武官
11. distinguished a. 著名的，高貴的
父親的教導是我一生的指南。有時對父親的教誨毫不在意，卻嘗了不在意的苦頭；有時不服氣，可事實總是叫我五體投地，；有時常因自己的聰明才智去輕視，沒想到中了自己的詭計。也許人就這樣，可憐的鼻子碰不了壁就領悟不出一定的道理。...
沙沙的春雨漸漸地停了，它灑在校園里，也灑在我的心里。我推開教室的窗戶，一股馨香的空氣撲了進來。梧桐樹葉上還掛著的水珠，閃閃爍爍。那條通往校門的大路被春雨浸潤后，再經行人一踏，留下了一行行清晰的腳印。
窗外，鴉雀無聲，樹木們無精打采地蹲著。一片悶氣籠罩著整個宿舍，大家都光著膀子，不敢輕舉妄動。這鬼天氣，只要稍微動一下就會一身大汗。但我卻一點都不覺得悶，得意得傻笑著。
那天，無意中翻到一張老照片，泛黃的畫面上，父親抱著年幼的我，臉上的笑容是那么的燦爛！猶記得那時的父親，是那么年輕，高大挺拔，充滿了活力。為人和善又很有風趣，他幽默的話語，常常逗得我們哈哈大笑。
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初中學英語family這個單詞時老師跟我說：爸father和and媽mother我i愛love你you爸媽我愛你=家庭爸爸是排第一位的把一個單詞拆開來講，解釋的有板有眼，家--包含了我爸爸媽媽．家是休息的港灣。而爸爸是我的導航。
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