海倫‧凱勒著  東年 譯 

大約這個時候我發現鑰匙的用處。有一個早上，我母親到儲藏室去拿食物，被我鎖在裡面關了三小時。那時家裡的僕人都有差遣而不在家，她持續的用力敲打門板，我則坐在門廊入口處的階梯上；每每感覺那種拍門的震動，我就會嘻嘻哈哈的笑。我父母看我這次這樣極度胡鬧的惡作劇，認為我必須盡快受教育才好。我的老師蘇利文小姐來了，我就一直找機會要盡快把她鎖在她的房間。我帶著母親指示我送蘇利文小姐的禮物上樓去，給了她禮物，我立即啪咑一聲關上門，鎖了，並把鑰匙藏在大廳裡的衣櫃裡。無論怎樣勸誘我都不肯說出鑰匙所在，我父親只好拿梯子從窗口救出蘇利文小姐；這讓我非常的自得其樂。幾個月後我才交出鑰匙。 

大約我五歲的時候我們搬離那間攀滿爬藤的小屋，換了一間新的大房子。這個家庭包括我父母、我父親前妻生的兩個哥哥、我和妹妹蜜德莉。我對於父親最早期的鮮明記憶是，走過堆積如山的紙堆去那一頭找他；他會獨自坐在那裡抓著一張紙攤開在面前。我非常困惑他這樣是幹什麼，好多年中常模仿他的姿態，甚至於戴上他的眼鏡，以為這樣可以幫助我解謎。後來，我因為就學了才明白那些紙堆是報紙，而且那些報紙中有一種是我父親主編的。 

我父親對於家庭非常忠誠、寬容和溺愛；他虔誠奉獻，除了打獵季節很少離開我們。我聽說他是一個打獵好手，槍擊精準也是出名的。次於家庭，他愛他的幾隻狗和槍。他也非常好客，好到像是毛病；他很少回家時一個客人也沒帶。他特別自豪的是那個大果園，他在那裡種植的西瓜和草莓，據說是全郡最好的；我所知道的，他總是給我園裡最先收成的醇美葡萄和精選漿果。我記得他引導我走過一棵棵樹或一架架葡萄藤時擁抱我的感覺，他對於任何事物都熱烈的喜愛，也讓我覺得愉快。 

我父親是有名的作家。在我學會語言和文字後，他愛在我手心拼寫；這工作笨拙且費力，但是他總是不厭其煩的為我拼寫有關他的機智趣聞。我能夠在適當的時刻也講這些趣聞，是他最高興的事。 

十七歲的時候，我在北方；聽到父親過世的消息，我正在享受那年夏天最後的美好數日。他是突然生病，同時，也短暫的忍受過劇烈的痛苦，然後一切就結束了。這是我一生中初次感受異乎尋常的悲痛和遺憾──我初次體驗有關自己的死亡。 

About this time I found out the use of a key. One morning I locked my mother up in the pantry, where she was obliged to remain three hours, as the servants were in a detached part of the house. She kept pounding on the door, while I sat outside on the porch steps and laughed with glee as I felt the jar of the pounding. This most naughty prank of mine convinced my parents that I must be taught as soon as possible. After my teacher, Miss Sullivan, came to me, I sought an early opportunity to lock her in her room. I went upstairs with something which my mother made me understand I was to give to Miss Sullivan; but no sooner had I given it to her than I slammed the door to, locked it, and hid the key under the wardrobe in the hall. I could not be induced to tell where the key was. My father was obliged to get a ladder and take Miss Sullivan out through the window–much to my delight. Months after I produced the key.  

When I was about five years old we moved from the little vine-covered house to a large new one. The family consisted of my father and mother, two older half-brothers, and, afterward, a little sister, Mildred. My earliest distinct recollection of my father is making my way through great drifts of newspapers to his side and finding him alone, holding a sheet of paper before his face. I was greatly puzzled to know what he was doing. I imitated this action, even wearing his spectacles, thinking they might help solve the mystery. But I did not find out the secret for several years. Then I learned what those papers were, and that my father edited one of them.  

My father was most loving and indulgent, devoted to his home, seldom leaving us, except in the hunting season. He was a great hunter, I have been told, and a celebrated shot. Next to his family he loved his dogs and gun. His hospitality was great, almost to a fault, and he seldom came home without bringing a guest. His special pride was the big garden where, it was said, he raised the finest watermelons and strawberries in the county; and to me he brought the first ripe grapes and the choicest berries. I remember his caressing touch as he led me from tree to tree, from vine to vine, and his eager delight in whatever pleased me.  

He was a famous story-teller; after I had acquired language he used to spell clumsily into my hand his cleverest anecdotes, and nothing pleased him more than to have me repeat them at an opportune moment.  

I was in the North, enjoying the last beautiful days of the summer of 1896, when I heard the news of my father's death. He had had a short illness, there had been a brief time of acute suffering, then all was over. This was my first great sorrow-my first personal experience with death.