第5章 The Gift of the Magi

One dollar and eighty-seven cents.That was all.And sixty cents of it was in pennies.Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied.Three times Della counted it.One dollar and eighty-seven cents.And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl.So Della did it.Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs,sniffles,and smiles,with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second,take a look at the home.A furnished flat at $8 per week.It did not exactly beggar description,but it certainly had that word on the look-out for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go,and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name “Mr.James Dillingham Young.”

The “Dillingham” had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.Now,when the income was shrunk to $20，the letters of “Dillingham” looked blurred,as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D.But whenever Mr.James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called “Jim” and greatly hugged by Mrs.James Dillingham Young,already introduced to you as Della.Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard.To-morrow would be Christmas Day,and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present.She had been saving every penny she could for months,with this result.Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far.Expenses had been greater than she had calculated.They always are.Only $1.87.to buy a present for Jim.Her Jim.Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him.Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room.Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat.A very thin and very agile person may,by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips,obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks.Della,being slender,had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass.Her eyes were shining brilliantly,but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds.Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now,there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride.One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's.The other was Della's hair.Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft,Della would have let her hair hang out of the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts.Had King Solomon been the janitor,with all his treasures piled up in the basement,Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed,just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her,rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters.It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her.And then she did it up again nervously and quickly.Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket;on went her old brown hat.With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes,she cluttered out of the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read:“Mme Sofronie.Hair Goods of All Kinds.”One Eight up Della ran,and collected herself,panting.Madame,large,too white,chilly,hardly looked the “Sofronie.”

“Will you buy my hair?”asked Della.

“I buy hair,”said Madame.“Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it.”

Down rippled the brown cascade.

“Twenty dollars,”said Madame,lifting the mass with a practised hand.

“Give it to me quick,”said Della.

Oh,and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings.Forget the hashed metaphor.She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last.It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.There was no other like it in any of the stores,and she had turned all of them inside out.It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design,properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do.It was even worthy of The Watch.As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's.It was like him.Quietness and value—the description applied to both.Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it,and she hurried home with the 78 cents.With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company.Grand as the watch was,he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason.She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love.Which is always a tremendous task dear friends—a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny,close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy.She looked at her reflection in the mirror long,carefully,and critically.

“If Jim doesn't kill me,”she said to herself,“before he takes a second look at me,he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl.But what could I do—oh!what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?”

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late.Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered.Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight,and she turned white for just a moment.She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things,and now she whispered:“Please,God,make him think I am still pretty.”

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it.He looked thin and very serious.Poor fellow,he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family!He needed a new overcoat and he was with out gloves.

Jim stepped inside the door,as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail.His eyes were fixed upon Della,and there was an expression in them that she could not read,and it terrified her.It was not anger,nor surprise,nor disapproval,nor horror,nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for.He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

“Jim,darling,”she cried,“don't look at me that way.I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present.It'll grow out again—you won't mind,will you?I just had to do it.My hair grows awfully fast.Say ‘Merry Christmas!’Jim,and let's be happy.You don't know what a nice—what a beautiful,nice gift I've got for you.”

“You've cut off your hair?”asked Jim,laboriously,as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet,even after the hardest mental labour.

“Cut it off and sold it,”said Della.“Don't you like me just as well,anyhow?I'm me without my hair,ain't I?”

Jim looked about the room curiously.

“You say your hair is gone?”he said,with an air almost of idiocy.

“You needn't look for it,”said Della.“It's sold,I tell you—sold and gone,too.It's Christmas Eve,boy.Be good to me,for it went for you.Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,”she went on with a sudden serious sweetness,“but nobody could ever count my love for you.Shall I put the chops on,Jim?”

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake.He enfolded his Della.For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction.Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference?A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer.The magi brought valuable gifts,but that was not among them.This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

“Don't make any mistake,Dell,”he said,“about me.I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less.But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper.And then an ecstatic scream of joy;and then,alas!a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails,necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs—the set of combs,side and back,that Della had worshipped for long in a Broadway window.Beautiful combs,pure tortoise-shell,with jewelled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair.They were expensive combs,she knew,and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession.And now,they were hers,but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom,and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say:“My hair grows so fast,Jim!”

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried,“Oh,oh!”

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present.She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm.The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

“Isn't it a dandy,Jim?I hunted all over town to find it.You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now.Give me your watch.I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying,Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,”said he,“let's put our Christmas presents away and keep'em a while.They're too nice to use just at present.I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs.And now suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi,as you know,were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger.They invented the art of giving Christmas presents.Being wise,their gifts were no doubt wise ones,possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house.But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest.Of all who give and receive gifts,such as they are wisest.Everywhere they are wisest.They are the magi.

麦琪的礼物

一块八角七分。就这么多。其中六十美分还是一块一块的铜板。这些零钱是从杂货店老板、菜贩子和肉店老板那里软磨硬泡一美分两美分抠下来的，直到自己满脸通红，深感这种斤斤计较的交易实在让人难堪。黛拉数了三次，都是一块八角七分。而第二天就是圣诞节了。

除了扑倒在破旧的小睡椅上大哭之外，显然无可奈何。黛拉这样做后，一种精神上的感慨油然而生；生活就是由哭泣、抽噎和微笑组成的，并以抽噎居多。

当这个家庭主妇的状态逐渐平静下来时，还是让我们来看看她的家吧。一套带家具的公寓房，每周租金八美元。尽管不能说是绝对难以形容，但其实和贫民窟差不多。

楼下门道里有个信箱，但从来没有装过信；还有一个电钮，也从来没有人按响过电铃。那里还贴着一张名片，上面印着“詹姆斯·迪林汉姆·杨先生”。

“迪林汉姆”这个名号是主人先前春风得意时一时兴起加上去的，那时他每星期能挣三十美元。如今，当收入缩减到每星期二十美元时，他们正在认真考虑是否将其缩写写成朴实谦逊的“迪”为好。不过，每当回家，詹姆斯·迪林汉姆·杨走进楼上的房间时，他的太太——就是前面说到的黛拉——总是称他为“吉姆”，再给他一个热烈的拥抱。这都很好。

黛拉停止哭泣，往面颊上抹了些粉。她站在窗前，呆望着灰蒙蒙的后院里一只灰猫正在篱笆上行走。明天就是圣诞节，她只有一块八角七分给吉姆买一份礼物。这些钱是她花了好几个月，尽可能一分分攒下来的。一星期二十美元实在经不住花。支出总比预算多。总是如此。只有一块八角七分给吉姆买礼物。她的吉姆。为了给他买一件像样的东西，她兴致勃勃地筹划了好多天。一件精致珍奇、货真价实的礼物——至少应该够得上被吉姆拥有。

房间的两扇窗之间有一面壁镜。你也许见过每周租金八美元的公寓里的穿衣镜吧。通过观察一连串纵向的影像，一个瘦小灵巧的人就会对自己的容貌得出一个差不多精确的判断。黛拉身材苗条，早已掌握了这门艺术。

突然，她旋风般从窗口转过身，站到穿衣镜前。她的眼睛晶莹闪烁，但她在二十秒内花容失色，飞快地披头散发，将它完全散落开来。

现在，詹姆斯·迪林汉姆·杨夫妇俩拥有两样特别引以为自豪的东西。一件是吉姆家传三代的金表，另一件就是黛拉的一头秀发。要是示巴女王住在天井对面的公寓，总有一天黛拉会把头发披散下来，露在窗外晾干，让女王的珍珠和礼品黯然失色；要是所罗门王当了守门人，他所有的金银财宝都堆在地下室，吉姆每次从那里走过，准会摸出金表看看，好让所罗门王忌妒得要死。

此刻，黛拉的秀发散落在身上，像褐色瀑布一般闪着光亮，一直垂到膝盖下，简直像给她披上了一身长袍，接着又神经质般快速把头发梳起来。她迟疑了一会儿，静静地站在那里，一两滴眼泪溅落在破旧的红地毯上。

她穿上那件褐色旧外衣，戴上那顶褐色旧帽子，眼睛里闪着晶莹的泪花，裙子一摆走出房门，下楼来到街上。

她来到一块招牌前停下，只见上面写着：索弗罗妮夫人——专营各种头发。黛拉奔上一段楼梯，气喘吁吁地定了定神。那位夫人身材高大，脸色苍白，冷若冰霜，和“索弗罗妮”的名字几乎不配。

“你要买我的头发吗？”黛拉问。

“我买头发，”夫人说，“摘掉帽子，让我看看样子。”

褐色瀑布般的头发飞泻而下。

“二十美元。”夫人一边说，一边内行地抓起头发。

“快给我钱。”黛拉说。

噢，接下来的两个小时犹如长了玫瑰色翅膀一样飞逝而过。请不要理会这胡乱的比喻。黛拉为了送吉姆礼物正逐家店铺搜寻。

她终于找到了。那肯定是专为吉姆特制的，绝不是为别人。她把各家商店找了个遍，哪里也没找到这样的东西——一条并不花哨、刻有花纹的白金表链。优质的东西都是这样，只以货色见长，从不以装饰来炫耀。它配得上吉姆那只金表。黛拉一见到这条表链，就知道它一定是吉姆的。它就像吉姆的人一样，文静珍贵——这种形容对两者都恰如其分。她花二十一美元把表链买下了，匆匆赶回家，手里只剩下八角七分钱。金表配这条链子，无论在任何场合，吉姆都可以大大方方地拿出来看时间了。尽管这只表华丽珍贵，但一直是用旧皮带代替表链，吉姆有时只是偷偷地瞥上一眼。

到家后，黛拉的陶醉变得有点儿审慎和理智。她找出烫发铁钳，点燃煤气，开始修补因爱情和慷慨而带来的破坏。亲爱的朋友们，这永远是一项极其艰巨的任务——了不起的任务。

不到四十分钟，她的头上便布满了紧贴头皮的一绺绺小卷发，使她看上去活像一个逃学的小男孩。她在镜子里久久地、仔细地、挑剔地盯着自己。

“假如吉姆看上一眼，不把我杀掉的话，”她自言自语说，“肯定就会说我看上去像科尼岛合唱队的卖唱姑娘。可我能怎么办呢——噢！只有一块八角七分，我能怎么办呢？”

七点钟，咖啡已经煮好，煎锅放在炉子后面热着，准备做肉排用。

吉姆回家一贯准时。黛拉将表链紧握在手里，坐在离吉姆进门最近的桌角上。随后，她听到楼下的楼梯上响起了吉姆的脚步声，脸色一阵惨白。她有一个习惯，常常为了最简单的日常事务而默默祈祷。此刻，她心里默念着：“求求上帝，让他觉得我还漂亮吧。”

门开了，吉姆走进来，随手关上门。看上去他瘦削而严肃。可怜的人，他才二十二岁——就挑起了家庭重担！他需要添件新大衣了，连手套也没有。

吉姆在门口站住，像猎犬嗅到了鹌鹑的气味一样纹丝不动。他紧盯着黛拉，眼神让她无法理解、大惊失色。那神情既不是愤怒，也不是惊讶，又不是不满，更不是厌恶，是一种她无论如何都没有料到的神情。他仅仅是面带这种神情死死地盯着她。

黛拉起身沿着桌子向他走过去。

“吉姆，亲爱的，”她喊道，“别那样盯着我。我把头发剪掉卖了，因为不送你一件礼物，我无法过圣诞节。头发会再长起来的——你不会介意，是吗？我非这么做不可。我的头发长得快极了。吉姆，说‘圣诞快乐’，高兴起来。你肯定猜不着我给你买了一件多么好、多么美丽精致的礼物！”

“你把头发剪掉了？”吉姆吃力地问道，似乎他绞尽脑汁也没弄明白眼前这明摆的事实。

“剪掉卖了，”黛拉说，“你还和从前一样喜欢我，不是吗？没了长发，我还是我，对吗？”

吉姆好奇地环顾了一下房间。

“你是说你的头发没有了？”他近乎白痴似的问道。

“你不必找了，”黛拉说，“告诉你吧，我已经卖了——卖掉了，没有了。今天是圣诞前夜，亲爱的。对我好点，这都是为了你呀。也许我的头发数得清，”她突然带着严肃的温柔说下去，“可我对你的恩爱是没人能数得清的呀。我该去做肉排了吗，吉姆？”

吉姆好像从恍惚中醒来，把黛拉紧紧地搂在怀里。现在，别急，先让我们花十秒钟从另一角度审慎地思索一下某些无关紧要的事儿。每星期八美元或一年一百万美元——那有什么区别呢？数学家或才子会给你错误的答案。麦琪带来了宝贵的礼物，但就是缺少了那件东西。这句晦涩的话下文将有所交代。

吉姆从大衣口袋里掏出一个小包，扔在桌子上。

“黛尔，别误会我的意思，”他说，“无论剪发、修面，还是洗头，世上没有任何东西能减少一点点我对你的爱。不过，你只要打开那包东西，就会明白刚才你为什么让我无所适从。”

白皙的手指灵巧地解开绳子，打开纸包。紧接着是欣喜若狂的尖叫，随后迅速变成了女性神经质的泪水和哭泣，急需男主人千方百计的慰藉。

摆在眼前的是发梳——全套的梳子，两鬓用的，后面用的，样样俱全。那是很久以前黛拉在百老汇的一个橱窗里见过、羡慕已久的东西。这些美妙的发梳是纯玳瑁做的，边上镶着珠宝，颜色正好和她失去的头发相配。她知道，这套发梳实在太贵了，她仅仅是羡慕渴望，从来没有想到要拥有。现在，这一切竟然属于她了，但那头有资格佩戴这渴望已久的美丽饰品的长发已经无影无踪了。

不过，她依然把发梳搂在胸前，过了好一阵子才抬起泪水模糊的眼睛，微笑着说：“我的头发长得飞快，吉姆！”

随后，黛拉活像一只被烫伤的小猫，跳了起来，嚷道：“噢！噢！”

吉姆还没有瞧见她为他买的美丽的礼物呢。她迫不及待地把手摊开伸到他面前。那没有知觉的贵重金属似乎闪烁着她的欢快和热忱的神采。

“漂亮吗，吉姆？我找遍了全城才找到。现在，你每天可以看一百次时间了。把手表给我，我要看看它配在表上是什么样子。”

吉姆没有按她的吩咐办，而是躺倒在睡椅上，两手枕在头下，微微发笑。

“黛尔，”他说，“让我们把圣诞礼物放在一边，保存一阵子吧。它们实在太好了，现在用了可惜。我把金表卖了，换钱给你买了发梳。现在，你该去做肉排了。”

大家知道，Magi是麦琪——了不起的麦琪——他们把礼物带来，送给出生在马槽里的耶稣。他们首创了送圣诞礼物的技巧。因为他们有智慧，毫无疑问他们的礼物也是聪明的礼物，要是碰上收到的两样东西完全一样，说不定还附有交换的权利。在这里，我已经蹩脚地给你们介绍了住在公寓里的两个傻孩子不足为奇的平淡故事，他们极不明智地为了对方而牺牲了家里最宝贵的东西。然而，让我们对如今的聪明人说最后一句话，在一切馈赠礼物的人当中，那两个人是最聪明的。在一切馈赠又接收礼物的人当中，像他们这样的两个人也是最聪明的。无论在任何地方，他们都是最聪明的人。他们就是麦琪。