Chapter 06

鸡蛋

无花果树被砍倒以后，似乎一切都分崩离析了。“冠军”死了，然后我发现了关于鸡蛋的真相。“冠军”到了该离开的时候，虽然我很想它，但是对我来说，接受“冠军”的离去比接受鸡蛋的真相还要来得更容易些，我仍然不敢相信鸡蛋的事。

在这个事件当中，鸡蛋比鸡来得更早，而狗要比它们两个都早。我六岁的一天晚上，爸爸下班回来，卡车车厢里拴着一条已经完全长大的狗。有人在十字路口中间打它，爸爸停下来查看它的伤势。他发现这个可怜的小东西瘦得像根铁轨，没带任何证明身份的东西。“它饿极了，完全迷了路。”他告诉我妈妈，“你能想象有人这样抛弃他们的狗吗？”

全家人都聚在门廊上，我几乎挤不进去。一条小狗！

一条美妙的、快乐的、棒透了的狗狗！现在我明白了，“冠军”长得一点儿也不漂亮，但在你六岁的时候，任何一条狗——不管它有多脏——都是漂亮的、讨人喜欢的。

对哥哥们来说，它也非常好，不过从妈妈那纠结的表情来看，我知道她在思考。丢掉这条狗？哦，没错。我肯定她是这样想的。但是，她只是简简单单地说：“家里没有地方养动物。”

“特瑞纳，”爸爸说，“这不是养不养的问题。这是同情心的问题。”

“你不是在对我说想养它当……宠物吧？”

“绝对不是这个意思。”

“那你是什么意思？”

“给它好好地吃一顿饭，洗个澡……然后我们也许可以打个广告，给它找个家。”

她隔着门槛注视着他：“没有‘也许’。”

哥哥们说：“我们不能养它？”

“没错。”

“可是，妈——妈。”他们抱怨着。

“没什么可讨论的。”她说，“给它洗个澡，吃点东西，在报纸上登广告。”

爸爸一只手搂着马特，另一只手搂着麦克：“总有一天，孩子们，我们会养条小狗。”

妈妈已经转身向屋子里走去，听到这里又回过头：“除非你们先学会让自己的房间保持整洁，孩子们！”

一周之内，狗狗被起名为“冠军”。第二个星期，它的领土从后院延伸到厨房。没过多久，它就完全跑到屋子里活动了。看来没人想要一条已经长大的、快乐地叫个不停的狗。嗯，除了贝克家五个人中的四个。

妈妈发现了一种味道。一种来源不明的神秘味道。我们也都承认自己闻到了，但不同意妈妈说这是“冠军”的味道。她要求我们那么频繁地给它洗澡，所以这不可能是它身上的味道。我们每个人都认真地闻过它，那是完美的玫瑰香味。

我私下里怀疑是马特和麦克没有好好洗澡，但我可不想靠近去闻他俩。由于无法确定“冠军”是不是味道的来源，我们只好把这味道称为“神秘的气味”。整个晚餐时间，我们都在谈论这个“神秘的气味”，哥哥们认为这很好玩，而妈妈可不这么想。

有一天，妈妈解开了这个谜。要不是爸爸出手营救、把狗儿赶跑，妈妈没准儿会打破“冠军”的头。

妈妈气得发疯：“我说过一定是它。‘神秘的气味’原来都是来自‘神秘小便’！你看见没有？看见没有？它刚才就尿在了茶几上！”

爸爸拿着一卷手纸冲向刚才“冠军”待过的地方：“在哪儿？在哪儿呢？”

三滴液体正顺着桌子腿流下来。“那儿，”妈妈说，颤抖的手指对准那片潮湿，“就在那儿！”

爸爸把它擦干净，检查着地毯：“这里一滴都没有。”

“没错！”妈妈叉着腰说，“这就是为什么我从来都找不到。从现在起，狗只能待在外面。听见没有？它再也不准进屋了！”

“车库怎么样？”我问，“它可以睡在里面吗？”

“让它给里面所有东西都尿上标记？没门！”

麦克和马特相视而笑：“神秘小便！我们可以拿它当成乐队的名字！”

“是的！酷毙了！”

“乐队？”妈妈问，“等等，什么乐队？”但他们已经飞身下楼，跑向自己的房间，嬉笑着讨论Logo（徽标或商标）的设计去了。

那天剩下的时间里，爸爸和我四处嗅着，捣毁一切犯罪证据。爸爸拿着一瓶氨水喷雾，我拿着消毒剂紧随其后。我们本来想叫上哥哥们，但他们很快开始用喷雾瓶打起水仗，结果都被关了禁闭，当然，对他们来说也没什么不好。

从此，“冠军”成了一条养在室外的狗，而且有可能成为我家唯一的宠物，直到五年级的科技展览会为止。

我身边人人都想出了好点子，可我还什么想法都没有。这时候，我的老师布鲁贝克夫人把我叫到一边，说她的一个朋友有几只小鸡，还说她能给我拿到一个受精的鸡蛋来做项目。

“可我对孵蛋一窍不通啊。”我告诉她。

她笑了，把手放在我的肩膀上：“你不用对什么事情都那么精通，朱莉。学习新东西才是目的。”

“万一我把它养死了呢？”

“没关系。用科学的方法记录你的工作，还是能得到一个A，如果你担心的是这个。”

得到一个A？我问的是一只雏鸡的死——而她以为这是我最关心的问题。突然间，我觉得自己还不如去做个人造火山、制造合成橡胶，或者演示几个传动装置算了。

可惜，对于布鲁贝克夫人来说，一旦开始就停不下来了，她不再跟我讨论，从书架上抽出《养鸡初学者指南》递给我。她说：“阅读人工孵化的章节，今天晚上做好准备。我明天就把鸡蛋拿来。”

“可是……”

“别太担心了，朱莉，”她说，“我们每年都这么做，它总是科技展上最好的作品之一。”

“可是……”我还想说些什么，但她已经走了，去替其他学生解决犹豫不决的问题了。

那天晚上我比之前还要焦虑。我至少把人工孵化的章节读了四遍，仍然不知道从何入手。我手边根本就没有恰好存着一个旧水族箱！我们也没有一支孵化温度计！不知道烤箱用的温度计合适不合适？

我还得控制湿度，否则小鸡就要遭殃了。太干了，小鸡无法破壳而出；太湿了，小鸡可能会死于蔫雏病。蔫雏病？

作为一个通情达理的人，妈妈对我说，只要简单地告诉布鲁贝克夫人，我没办法孵出小鸡就行了。“你有没有考虑过种豆子？”她问我。

不过，另一方面，爸爸理解我为何不能拒绝老师的分派，而且答应我一定帮忙。“孵化箱不难做。吃完晚饭，我们就去做一个。”

爸爸竟然能在我家车库里准确地找到每一件东西，这实在是个宇宙的奇迹。看到他在一块旧有机玻璃上钻出一英寸的洞，我才知道，他真的会做孵化箱。“上高中的时候，我曾经孵出过一只鸭子，”他咧嘴笑着，“也是科技展的项目。”

“鸭子？”

“是啊，不过家禽孵化的原理都一样。保持稳定的温度和湿度，每天把蛋翻转几次，过几个星期你就会孵出一只叽叽喳喳的鸟儿了。”

他递给我一个灯泡，还有一个连在插座上的延长线。“把这个穿进有机玻璃上的洞里。我来找几支温度计。”

“几支？我们需要不止一支？”

“我们还需要做个湿度计。”

“湿度计？”

“为了检查孵化箱里的湿度。就是在一支温度计的球泡上缠上湿纱布。”

我笑了：“不会得蔫雏病？”

他也笑了：“绝对不会。”

第二天下午，我已经拿到了不是一个，而是六个鸡蛋，躺在舒适的38.9摄氏度的孵化箱里。“不是每个鸡蛋都能孵出小鸡，朱莉，”布鲁贝克夫人告诉我，“希望能孵出一只。最好成绩是三只，那个成绩已被记录在案了。做个小科学家。祝你好运。”说完她就走了。

记录在案？这跟我有什么关系？我必须每天翻动鸡蛋三次，调节温度和湿度，但是除此之外还有什么要做的？

那天晚上，爸爸从车库拿出一个硬纸管和一只手电筒。他把两样东西捆在一起，让光线从管子中间直射过去。“我来教你怎么检查鸡蛋。”他边说边关上车库的灯。

我在布鲁贝克夫人的书里看到有对光检查鸡蛋的内容，但还没来得及读。

“为什么管这个叫‘烛光检查’？”我问爸爸，“你为什么要检查它们？”

“从前，在用上白炽灯之前，人们点燃蜡烛检查鸡蛋，”他捡起一只鸡蛋，贴在管子上，“光线能帮助你透过蛋壳看到胚胎的发育，剔除那些发育不良的蛋，如果有必要的话。”

“杀了它们？”

“剔除掉。拣走那些发育不良的。”

“可是……这还是会杀了它们呀？”

他看着我说：“留下发育不良的蛋，可能对其他健康的蛋造成毁灭性的打击。”

“为什么？它们只是孵不出来而已啊？”

他继续用光线照射着鸡蛋：“它们可能会爆开，把细菌沾染到其他鸡蛋上。”

爆开！蔫雏病、鸡蛋爆炸、剔除坏蛋，现在这个项目变成了最差的选择！然后爸爸说道：“看这儿，朱莉安娜。你能看到里面的胚胎。”他把手电筒和鸡蛋拿出来，让我也能看到。

我向鸡蛋里面看去，爸爸说：“看到那个小黑点了吗？在中间，所有脉络汇集的地方。”

“那个像豆子似的东西？”

“就是它！”

忽然间，我体会到一种真实感。这个鸡蛋是有生命的。我迅速地检查了剩余的蛋。它们全部都有一个小小的豆子似的宝宝在里面！它们当然都要活下来。它们当然都能做到！

“爸爸，我能把孵化箱拿进屋子吗？你觉得晚上外面会不会太冷？”

“我正想这么说。你可以去把门打开吗？我帮你搬出去。”

接下来的两个星期，我把时间全用在孵小鸡上面。我给鸡蛋标上A、B、C、D、E和F，可是没过多久它们就有了自己的名字：艾比、邦妮、克莱德、德克斯特、尤尼斯和佛罗伦斯。我每天给它们称重，透光检查，给它们翻身。我甚至认为它们应该听听鸡叫声，有一段时间我真的这样做了，但是鸡叫声太烦人了！还不如给我的安静的小小鸟群哼歌呢，于是我用唱歌取代了鸡叫。很快，我就会不假思索地对着它们唱起歌来，因为在这些蛋周围，我很开心。

我把《养鸡初学者指南》从头到尾读了两遍。为了我的项目，我用图表的形式画出胚胎发育的不同阶段，做了一张巨大的小鸡海报，记录下每天温度和湿度的波动，用一张曲线图表示每只鸡蛋失去重量的情况。鸡蛋们从外面看来很乏味，但我知道里面正在发生什么！

科技展前两天，我对光检查那只叫邦妮的鸡蛋时，发现了某种情况。我把爸爸叫到我房间：“看，爸爸！看看这个！这是不是心跳？”

研究了一会儿，他笑了，说：“叫你妈妈过来。”

我们三个人挤在一起，观察着邦妮的心跳，连妈妈也不得不承认，这实在太神奇了。

克莱德是第一个出壳的。当然，它选择在我马上要去上学的时候。它小小的喙啄穿了蛋壳，当我屏住呼吸等待下文的时候，它开始休息了，休息了很久。终于，它的喙又戳了出来，但是它几乎同时又缩回去休息了。我怎么能扔下它去学校呢？如果它需要我帮忙怎么办？这是个多么正当的待在家里的理由，至少可以多待一会儿！

爸爸试图向我保证，出壳的过程可能会持续一整天，我放学以后还能看到很多东西，但我完全不想听。哦，不——不——不！我想亲眼看着艾比、邦妮、克莱德、德克斯特、尤尼斯和佛罗伦斯它们中的每一只来到这个世界。“我绝不能错过出壳！”我对他说，“一秒钟都不能！”

“那你把它们带到学校去吧，”妈妈说，“布鲁贝克夫人不会介意的。不管怎么说，这是她的主意。”

有时候，有个通情达理的妈妈还是值得的。我只当是早点为科技展做准备就行了，我能做到！我收拾起所有的设备、海报、图表什么的，然后坐上妈妈的车直奔学校。

布鲁贝克夫人一点儿也不介意。她正忙着帮别的孩子准备他们的项目，所以我几乎有一整天时间来观察小鸡孵化的过程。

克莱德和邦妮是最早出壳的。一开始，我有点失望，因为它们只是湿漉漉、乱糟糟地躺在那里，样子又累又丑。

但是等到艾比和德克斯特破壳的时候，邦妮和克莱德的羽毛已经蓬松起来，蠢蠢欲动了。

最后两只小鸡等了很久都没有动静，但布鲁贝克夫人坚持不准我帮忙，最后收到了很好的效果，因为它们正是在科技展的当天晚上才孵出来的。全家人都出席了，虽然马特和麦克只看了两分钟就跑去了别的展位，但爸爸妈妈留下来看完了全过程。妈妈甚至把邦妮捧在手里，拿脸去蹭了蹭它。

展览结束之后，我收拾东西准备回家，这时妈妈问我：“这些是不是要送回给布鲁贝克夫人？”

“把什么送回给布鲁贝克夫人？”我问她。

“这些小鸡，朱莉。你不是想自己养着它们吧？”

说实话，我还从来没想过孵化以后的事情。我的注意力一直集中在怎么把它们带到这个世界上。但妈妈说得对——现在它们出生了。

六只毛茸茸的可爱小鸡，每只都有自己的名字，以及——我几乎可以预见到——自己独特的个性。

“我……我不知道，”我结结巴巴地说，“我去问问布鲁贝克夫人。”

我去找布鲁贝克夫人，可我打心眼里希望她不需要把小鸡还给她的朋友。不管怎么说，是我孵化了它们，是我给它们起了名字。是我保护它们远离蔫雏病！这些小鸡是属于我的！

布鲁贝克夫人说，它们当然是属于我的，全都是我的。这让我松了口气，却成了妈妈的噩梦。

“祝你养得开心。”说完，她就急匆匆地跑去帮海蒂拆除她的伯努利定律实验装置了。

回家的路上，妈妈一直很沉默，我能看得出来——她不想要这些小鸡，就像她不想要一台拖拉机和一只山羊。“妈妈，求你了，”当车停下来的时候，我小声央求道，“好不好嘛？”

她抚着额头：“我们在哪儿养鸡，朱莉？养在哪里？”

“后院？”我不知道还有什么地方。

“那‘冠军’怎么办？”

“它们能和平相处，妈妈。我会教它的，我保证。”

爸爸轻声说：“它们都是些独立的动物，特瑞纳。”

可是哥哥们又跳出来捣乱：“‘冠军’会在它们身上撒尿，妈妈。”他们忽然之间得到了灵感，“没错！可是你根本不会发现，因为它们本来就是黄色的！”“哇！黄毛——好名字。”“真的！但是，等等——别人会以为这是说我们的肚子上长出了黄毛！”“哦，好吧——忘了它吧！”“是啊，让狗杀掉小鸡吧。”

我的哥哥们瞪大了眼睛瞧着对方，突然又喊了起来：“杀死小鸡！就用这个名字吧！怎么样？”“你是说我们成了小鸡杀手？或者是我们杀了小鸡？”

爸爸扭过头：“出去。你们两个，下车。去别的地方想名字去吧。”

他们走了，只剩下我们三个坐在车里，小鸡们发出细小的吱吱声不时打破平静。终于，妈妈重重地叹了口气，说：“养它们花不了多少钱，对吧？”

爸爸摇摇头：“它们吃虫子，特瑞纳。还要添一点儿饲料。它们很省钱。”

“虫子？真的吗？什么虫子？”

“地蜈蚣、毛毛虫、牛屎虫……也许还有蜘蛛，如果它们能抓到的话。我想它们也吃蜗牛。”

“你确定？”妈妈笑了，“好吧，如果是这样的话……”

“哦，谢谢，妈妈。谢谢你！”

就这样，我们开始养鸡了。我们没有想到的是，六只小鸡捉起虫来不仅清除了家里的害虫，也顺带毁掉了草坪。半年之内，我家院子里就什么也不剩了。

我们也没有想到，鸡饲料不仅招来了老鼠，还招来了猫、野猫。“冠军”很擅长把猫赶出院子，可是它们就在前院和侧院附近徘徊，等“冠军”一打盹，就悄悄潜入院子，扑向软软的鼠灰色小点心。

哥哥们开始捉老鼠了，一开始我以为他们是在帮忙。直到有一天，我听见妈妈在房间里撕心裂肺地尖叫。谜底揭晓，原来他们养了一条大蟒蛇。妈妈疯狂地跺着脚，我猜她想把我们，连带蟒蛇，一股脑儿地全扔出去，但是后来我有了一个惊人的发现——鸡开始下蛋了！美丽、晶莹、奶白色的蛋！一开始，我在邦妮身下发现了一个，然后是克莱德——我当即把它的名字改成了克莱蒂特——佛罗伦斯的窝里还有一个。它们下蛋了！

我奔回屋里拿给妈妈看，她惊愕地看了一会儿，瘫倒在椅子上。“不，”她轻声说，“不要更多的鸡了！”

“它们不是鸡，妈妈……这是鸡蛋！”

她仍然苍白着脸，不说话，我在她旁边的椅子上坐下。她说：“我们没养公鸡啊……”

“嗯。”

她的脸上又有了血色：“确实没养？”

“我从来没听见打鸣的声音，你听到过吗？”

她笑了，“上帝保佑，我忘了数数了，”她直起身，从我手里接过一个鸡蛋，“鸡蛋，哈，你猜它们能下多少蛋？”

“我不知道。”

结果，我的母鸡们下的蛋，我们根本吃不完。一开始我们试着把蛋存下来，可是没过多久，大家就吃腻了各种煮蛋、腌蛋和炒蛋，妈妈抱怨说这些免费的鸡蛋反而成本更高。

一天下午，我去捡鸡蛋的时候，邻居斯杜比太太靠在围栏上对我说：“如果你有多余的蛋，我很愿意买一点儿。”

“真的？”我问。

“当然。散养的鸡蛋是最好的。你觉得两美元一打怎么样？”

两美元一打！我笑了：“没问题！”

“好，那就说定了。什么时候有多余的蛋，就给我送过来。昨天晚上我和赫尔姆斯太太在电话上讨论过，不过我想先来问问你，这样就能保证你优先把蛋给我了，好吗，朱莉？”

“当然可以，斯杜比太太！”

多亏斯杜比太太和隔着三座房子的赫尔姆斯太太，我家的鸡蛋过剩问题得以圆满解决。我本来应该把钱交给妈妈，作为毁掉后院的赔偿，但她只是说：“没用的，朱莉安娜，钱你留下吧。”于是我就理所当然地开始偷偷存私房钱了。

有一天我在去赫尔姆斯太太家的路上，罗斯基太太刚好开车经过。她冲我微笑挥手，我怀着负疚意识到，也许在鸡蛋的问题上，我表现得不像个好邻居。她还不知道赫尔姆斯太太和斯杜比太太向我买鸡蛋的事。也许她以为我只是出于好心才把鸡蛋送给她们。

也许我根本就不应该卖掉鸡蛋，可我还从来没有过一笔稳定的收入呢。

零花钱在我家从来都是随意发放的。爸爸妈妈通常会忘记这事。卖鸡蛋挣钱让我有种隐秘的快感，我可不想让良心破坏掉这种感觉。

但是，我越想越觉得，罗斯基夫人理应得到一些免费的鸡蛋。

她是个好邻居，在我家没钱的时候借我们生活费，在妈妈需要开车出门而车子发动不起来的时候，宁愿自己上班迟到也要送妈妈一程。送她一点儿鸡蛋……虽然微不足道，但这是我力所能及的报答。

毫无疑问，这还给我提供了一个遇到布莱斯的绝好机会。在清晨寒冷的阳光下，他的眼睛一定比平时更蓝。他看着我的样子——脸上的微笑和害羞——那是和我在学校里遇到的完全不同的布莱斯。学校里的布莱斯看上去把自己隐藏得更深。

第三次去罗斯基家送鸡蛋，我发现布莱斯在等我。

他会等在门口为我开门，然后说：“谢谢，朱莉，”再加一句，“学校见。”

一切都是值得的。即使赫尔姆斯太太和斯杜比太太后来提高了购买鸡蛋的价格，我仍然觉得值得。因此，六年级、七年级和几乎整个八年级，我都给罗斯基家送鸡蛋。那些最好、最晶莹的鸡蛋被直接送到他家，作为回报，我有机会和全世界最闪亮的眼睛独处几分钟。

这真划算。

后来，无花果树被砍倒了。两个星期之后，“冠军”死了。它大部分的时间都在睡觉，虽然我们不知道它具体的年龄，但是当某天晚上爸爸出去喂它，却发现它已经死了的时候，没有人感到惊讶。我们把它埋在后院，哥哥们为它竖了一个十字架，上面写着：

这里安葬着“神秘小便”

愿它安息

有一段时间我心情低落，头晕目眩。那时候经常下雨，因为不愿意乘校车，我骑自行车上学，每天放学回到家里，我就躲进房间，躲进小说的世界，基本上忘记了捡鸡蛋。

是斯杜比太太让我重新回到正常生活。她打来电话，说在报纸上看到无花果树的新闻，她对此感到遗憾，但是过了这么久，她开始怀念那些鸡蛋，并且担心我的鸡是不是不再生蛋了。“悲伤会使鸟类褪毛，我们不愿意看到这个景象！到处都是羽毛，却看不到一个鸡蛋。要不是对羽毛过敏，我也想养一群鸡呢，不过这没有关系。等你好一些了再把蛋送来吧。我打电话过来只是想告诉你，对于那棵树，我感到很遗憾。还有你的狗。你妈妈说它去世了。”

于是，我回到工作状态。我清理了之前被忽视的鸡蛋，恢复每天捡蛋和清理鸡窝的工作。收集到一定数量，我又开始挨家挨户送鸡蛋了。先是斯杜比太太，然后是赫尔姆斯太太，最后是罗斯基家。站在罗斯基家门口，我意识到自己已经很久没见过布莱斯了。当然，我们每天都在同一所学校里，但我沉浸在其他事物当中，几乎可以算作没看见他。

我的心跳开始加速，当门咯吱一声开了，他的蓝眼睛望向我的时候，我准备好的话全都不见了。我只好说：“拿去。”

他接过半箱鸡蛋，说：“你知道，你其实不用送给我们……”

“我知道。”我低下头。

我们沉默地站在那儿，时间是破纪录的长。最后，他说：“那么，你会回来坐校车上学吗？”

我抬头看着他，耸耸肩：“不知道。我从那之后就没有到过那里……你知道的。”

“那里现在看上去没那么糟了。全清理干净了。可能很快就会开始打地基。”

对我来说，实在是太可怕了。

“呃，”他说，“我得准备去学校了，一会儿见。”他笑着把门关上。

不知道为什么，我又在那里站了一会儿。感觉很奇怪，心情莫名地低落。我觉得自己和周围的一切都失去联系了。我是不是应该回到克里尔街等车？我最后还是得去，至少妈妈是这么说的。我是不是在把事情弄得越来越复杂？

门突然打开了，布莱斯匆匆地从屋里出来，手里拿着一个装得满满的厨房垃圾桶。“朱莉！”他说，“你还在这儿干什么？”

他也把我吓了一跳。我也不知道自己在这儿干什么。我慌张得恨不得马上跑回家去，要不是他开始翻弄垃圾，把里面的东西使劲塞进去的话。

我走近了一点儿，“需要帮忙吗？”他看起来都快把垃圾弄得溢出来了。这时，我看到了装鸡蛋的盒子从中露出一角。

那不是随便什么盒子。那是我拿来的盛鸡蛋的盒子。是我刚刚拿给他的。透过小小的蓝色纸板的缝隙，我看到了鸡蛋。

我看看他，又看看鸡蛋，然后说：“怎么了？你把它们扔掉了？”

“是的，”他迅速答道，“是的，我很抱歉。”

他想阻止我把盒子从垃圾里拿出来，却没有拦住。我问：“全都扔了？”我打开盒子，喘着气。六个完整的、完美的鸡蛋，“你为什么要扔掉它们？”

他推开我，绕过屋子走到垃圾箱旁边，我一路跟着他，希望找到一个答案。

他把垃圾倒掉，然后转身面对我：“你对‘沙门氏菌’这个词没有概念吗？”

“沙门氏菌？可是……”

“我妈妈认为我们不能冒这个险。”

我跟着他回到门廊上：“你是说，她不吃这些鸡蛋是因为——”

“因为她不想中毒。”

“中毒！为什么？”

“因为你家的后院就像——嗯，到处都是鸡屎！我是说，看看你住的地方，朱莉！”他指着我家的房子说，“看看吧。那里就像个垃圾场！”

“它不是垃圾场！”我叫道，但是街对面的房子清清楚楚地摆在那儿，让人无法抵赖。我的嗓子忽然堵住了，哪怕说一句话都让我痛苦不已，“你……一直都把它们扔掉吗？”

他耸耸肩，眼睛看着地上：“朱莉，听着。我们不想伤害你的感情。”

“我的感情？你知不知道斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太付钱从我这里买鸡蛋？”

“你在开玩笑。”

“没有！她们付我两美元买一打鸡蛋！”

“不可能。”

“这是真的！我给你的这些鸡蛋，完全可以拿去卖给斯杜比太太和赫尔姆斯太太！”

“哦。”他别开目光，然后，他瞪着我说，“好吧，那你为什么白送给我们？”

我强忍着泪水，但是这很难。我哽咽着说：“我只想对邻居友好一些……”

他放下垃圾桶，然后发生的事让我大脑停止了运转。他搂着我的肩膀，看着我的眼睛，说：“斯杜比太太也是你的邻居，对不对？还有赫尔姆斯太太也是。为什么只对我们友好呢？”

他想说什么？我对他的感觉还不够明显吗？如果他知道，为什么又对我这么狠心，周复一周、年复一年地扔掉我送的鸡蛋？

我不知道该说些什么，一句话也说不出来。我只是望着他，望着他清澈湛蓝的眼睛。

“对不起，朱莉。”他轻声说。

我跌跌撞撞地跑回家，满心尴尬与困惑。我的心已经碎成了片。

Chapter 06

The Eggs

JULIANNA

After they cut down the sycamore tree, it seemed like everything else fell apart, too. Champ died. And then I found out about the eggs. It was Champ's time to go, and even though I still miss him, I think it's been easier for me to deal with his death than it has been for me to deal with the truth about the eggs. I still cannot believe it about the eggs.

The eggs came before the chickens in our case, but the dog came before them both. One night when I was about six years old, Dad came home from work with a full-grown dog tied down in the back of his truck. Someone had hit it in the middle of an intersection, and Dad had stopped to see how badly it was hurt. Then he noticed that the poor thing was skinny as a rail and didn't have any tags. "Starving and completely disoriented,"he told my mother. "Can you imagine someone abandoning their dog like that?"

The whole family had converged on the front porch, and I could hardly contain myself. A dog! Awonderful, happy, panty dog! I realize now that Champ was never much of a looker, but when you're six, any dog — no matter how mangy — is a glorious, huggable creature.

He looked pretty good to my brothers, too, but from the way my mother's face was pinched, I could tell she was thinking. Abandon this dog? Oh, I can see it. I can definitely see it. What she said, though, was simply, "There is no room for that animal in this house."

Trina, my dad said, "it's not a matter of ownership. It's a matter of compassion."

You're not springing it on me as a ... a pet, then?

That is definitely not my intention.

Well, then what do you intend to do?

Give him a decent meal, a bath ... then maybe we'll place an ad and find him a home.

She eyed him from across the threshold. "There'll be no 'maybe' about it."

My brothers said, "We don't get to keep him?"

That's right.

But Mo-om, they moaned.

It's not open to discussion, she said. "He gets a bath, he gets a meal, he gets an ad in the paper."

My father put one arm around Matt's shoulder and the other around Mike's. "Someday, boys, we'll get a puppy."

My mother was already heading back inside, but over her shoulder came, "Not until you learn to keep your room neat, boys!"

By the end of the week, the dog was named Champ. By the end of the next week, he'd made it from the backyard into the kitchen area. And not too long after that, he was all moved in. It seemed nobody wanted a full-grown dog with a happy bark. Nobody but four-fifths of the Baker family, anyway.

Then my mother started noticing an odor. A mysterious odor of indeterminate origin. We all admitted we smelled it, too, but where my mother was convinced it was Eau de Champ, we disagreed. She had us bathing him so often that it couldn't possibly be him. We each sniffed him out pretty good and he smelled perfectly rosy.

My personal suspicion was that Matt and Mike were the ones not bathing enough, but I didn't want to get close enough to sniff them. And since our camp was divided on just who the culprit or culprits were, the odor was dubbed the Mystery Smell. Whole dinner time discussions revolved around the Mystery Smell, which my brothers found amusing and my mother did not.

Then one day my mother cracked the case. And she might have cracked Champ's skull as well if my dad hadn't come to the rescue and shooed him outside.

Mom was fuming. "I told you it was him. The Mystery Smell comes from the Mystery Pisser! Did you see that? Did you see that? He just squirted on the end table!"

My father raced with a roll of paper towels to where Champ had been, and said, "Where? Where is it?"

All of three drops were dripping down the table leg. "There," my mother said, pointing a shaky finger at the wetness. "There!"

Dad wiped it up, then checked the carpet and said, "It was barely a drop."

Exactly! my mother said with her hands on her hips. "Which is why I've never been able to find anything. That dog stays outside from now on. Do you hear me? He is no longer allowed in this house!"

How about the garage? I asked. "Can he sleep in there?"

And have him tag everything that's out there? No!

Mike and Matt were grinning at each other. "Mystery Pisser! That could be the name for our band!"

Yeah! Cool!

Band? my mother asked. "Wait a minute, what band?" But they were already flying down to their room, laughing about the possibilities for a logo.

My father and I spent the rest of the day sniffing out and destroying criminal evidence. My dad used a spray bottle of ammonia; I followed up with Lysol. We did try to recruit my brothers, but they wound up getting into a spray-bottle fight, which got them locked in their room, which, of course, was fine with them.

So Champ became an outside dog, and he might have been our only pet ever if it hadn't been for my fifth-grade science fair.

Everyone around me had great project ideas, but I couldn't seem to come up with one. Then our teacher, Mrs. Brubeck, took me aside and told me about a friend of hers who had chickens, and how she could get me a fertilized egg for my project.

But I don't know anything about hatching an egg, I told her.

She smiled and put her arm around my shoulders. "You don't have to be an immediate expert at everything, Juli. The idea here is to learn something new."

But what if it dies?

Then it dies. Document your work scientifically and you'll still get an A, if that's what you're worried about.

An A? Being responsible for the death of a baby chick — that's what I was worried about. Suddenly there was real appeal in building a volcano or making my own neoprene or demonstrating the various scientific applications of gear ratios.

But the ball was in motion, and Mrs. Brubeck would have no more discussion about it. She pulled The Beginner's Guide to Raising Chickens from her bookshelf and said, "Read the section on artificial incubation and set yourself up tonight. I'll get you an egg tomorrow."

But ...

Don't worry so much, Juli,she said. "We do this every year, and it's always one of the best projects at the fair."

I said, "But... ," but she was gone. Off to put an end to some other student's battle with indecision.

That night I was more worried than ever. I'd read the chapter on incubation at least four times and was still confused about where to start. I didn't happen to have an old aquarium lying around! We didn't happen to have an incubation thermometer! Would a deep-fry model work?

I was supposed to control humidity, too, or horrible things would happen to the chick. Too dry and the chick couldn't peck out; too wet and it would die of mushy chick disease. Mushy chick disease? !

My mother, being the sensible person that she is, told me to tell Mrs. Brubeck that I simply wouldn't be hatching a chick. "Have you considered growing beans?"she asked me.

My father, however, understood that you can't refuse to do your teacher's assignment, and he promised to help. "An incubator's not difficult to build. We'll make one after dinner."

How my father knows exactly where things are in our garage is one of the wonders of the universe. How he knew about incubators, however, was revealed to me while he was drilling a one-inch hole in an old scrap of Plexiglas. "I raised a duck from an egg when I was in high school."He grinned at me. "Science fair project."

A duck?

Yes, but the principle is the same for all poultry. Keep the temperature constant and the humidity right, turn the egg several times a day, and in a few weeks you'll have yourself a little peeper.

He handed me a lightbulb and an extension cord with a socket attached. "Fasten this through the hole in the Plexiglas. I'll find some thermometers."

Some? We need more than one?

We have to make you a hygrometer.

A hygrometer?

To check the humidity inside the incubator. It's just a thermometer with wet gauze around the bulb.

I smiled. "No mushy chick disease?"

He smiled back. "Precisely."

By the next afternoon I had not one, but six chicken eggs incubating at a cozy 102 degrees Fahrenheit. "They don't all make it, Juli," Mrs. Brubeck told me. "Hope for one. The record's three. The grade's in the documentation. Be a scientist. Good luck." And with that, she was off.

Documentation? Of what? I had to turn the eggs three times a day and regulate the temperature and humidity, but aside from that what was there to do?

That night my father came out to the garage with a cardboard tube and a flashlight. He taped the two together so that the light beam was forced straight out the tube. "Let me show you how to candle an egg,"he said, then switched off the garage light.

I'd seen a section on candling eggs in Mrs. Brubeck's book, but I hadn't really read it yet. "Why do they call it that?" I asked him. "And why do you do it?"

People used candles to do this before they had incandescent lighting. He held an egg up to the cardboard tube. "The light lets you see through the shell so you can watch the embryo develop. Then you can cull the weak ones, if necessary."

Kill them?

Cull them. Remove the ones that don't develop properly.

But ... wouldn't that also kill them?

He looked at me. "Leaving an egg you should cull might have disastrous results on the healthy ones."

Why? Wouldn't it just not hatch?

He went back to lighting up the egg. "It might explode and contaminate the other eggs with bacteria."

Explode! Between mushy chick disease, exploding eggs, and culling, this project was turning out to be the worst! Then myfather said, "Look here, Julianna. You can see the embryo." He held the flashlight and egg out so I could see.

I looked inside and he said, "See the dark spot there? In the middle? With all the veins leading to it?"

The thing that looks like a bean?

That's it!

Suddenly it felt real. This egg was alive. I quickly checked the rest of the group. There were little bean babies in all of them! Surely they had to live. Surely they would all make it!

Dad? Can I take the incubator inside? It might get too cold out here at night, don't you think?

I was going to suggest the same thing. Why don't you prop open the door? I'll carry it for you.

For the next two weeks I was completely consumed with the growing of chicks. I labeled the eggs A, B, C, D, E, and F, but before long they had names, too: Abby, Bonnie, Clyde, Dexter, Eunice, and Florence. Every day I weighed them, candled them, and turned them. I even thought it might be good for them to hear some clucking, so for a while I did that, too, but clucking is tiring! It was much easier to hum around my quiet little flock, so I did that, instead. Soon I was humming without even thinking about it, because when I was around my eggs, I was happy.

I read The Beginner's Guide to Raising Chickens cover to cover twice. For my project I drew diagrams of the various stages of an embryo's development, I made a giant chicken poster, I graphed the daily fluctuations in temperature and humidity, and I made a line chart documenting the weight loss of each egg. On the outside eggs were boring, but I knew what was happening on the inside!

Then two days before the science fair I was candling Bonnie when I noticed something. I called my dad into my room and said, "Look, Dad! Look at this! Is that the heart beating?"

He studied it for a moment, then smiled and said, "Let me get your mother."

So the three of us crowded around and watched Bonnie's heart beat, and even my mother had to admit that it was absolutely amazing.

Clyde was the first to pip. And of course he did it right before I had to leave for school. His little beak cracked through, and while I held my breath and waited, he rested. And rested. Finally his beak poked through again, but almost right away, he rested again. How could I go to school and just leave him this way? What if he needed my help? Surely this was a valid reason to stay home, at least for a little while!

My father tried to assure me that hatching out could take all day and that there'd be plenty of action left after school, but I'd have none of that. Oh, no-no-no! I wanted to see Abby and Bonnie and Clyde and Dexter and Eunice and Florence come into the world. Every single one of them. "I can't miss the hatch!" I told him. "Not even a second of it!"

So take it to school with you, my mother said. "Mrs. Brubeck shouldn't mind. After all, this was her idea."

Sometimes it pays to have a sensible mother. I'd just set up for the science fair early, that's what I'd do! I packed up my entire operation, posters, charts, and all, and got a ride to school from my mom.

Mrs. Brubeck didn't mind a bit. She was so busy helping kids with their projects that I got to spend nearly the entire day watching the hatch.

Clyde and Bonnie were the first ones out. It was disappointing at first because they just lay there all wet and matted, looking exhausted and ugly. But by the time Abby and Dexter broke out, Bonnie and Clyde were fluffing up, looking for action.

The last two took forever, but Mrs. Brubeck insisted that I leave them alone, and that worked out pretty great because they hatched out during the fair that night. My whole family came, and even though Matt and Mike only watched for about two minutes before they took off to look at some other demonstration, my mom and dad stuck around for the whole thing. Mom even picked Bonnie up and nuzzled her.

That night after it was all over and I was packing up to go home, Mom asked, "So do these go back to Mrs. Brubeck now?"

Do what go back to Mrs. Brubeck? I asked her.

The chicks, Juli. You're not planning to raise chickens, are you?

To be honest, I hadn't thought beyond the hatch. My focus had been strictly on bringing them into the world. But she was right — here they were. Six fluffy little adorable chicks, each of which had a name and, I could already tell, its own unique personality.

I... I don't know, I stammered. "I'll ask Mrs. Brubeck."

I tracked down Mrs. Brubeck, but I was praying that she didn't want me to give them back to her friend. After all, I'd hatched them. I'd named them. I'd saved them from mushy chick disease! These little peepers were mine!

To my relief and my mother's horror, Mrs. Brubeck said they were indeed mine. All mine. "Have fun," she said, then zipped off to help Heidi dismantle her exhibit on Bernoulli's law.

Mom was quiet the whole way home, and I could tell — she wanted chickens like she wanted a tractor and a goat. "Please, Mom?"I whispered as we parked at th