A few years ago Anita surprised me with a suit. It was handsome and fashionable, and believe it or not, I looked pretty elegant in it. At least, I did—until I started bleeding on it. 

　　It happened one Sunday when my young friend Tommy and I were visiting with Rosa, a member of our church congregation. Our conversation had been delightful, and as Tommy and I left through Rosa’s garage hey, she had one of those big dogs out front, and I wasn’t about to get paw prints on my new suit we were doing some good-natured teasing back and forth. Which is probably why I didn’t notice the garage door opener that hung low in Rosa’s garage, or that my head was within range of the metallic box at the precise moment I decided to lunge at Tommy. 

　　Suddenly I knew what a baseball felt like after Hammerin’ Hank Aaron got through with it. The blow to the top of my head 7)staggered me. I stumbled around like a punch-drunk heavyweight with only one thought in my suddenly numb head: “If you fall down you’ll get your new suit dirty.” I regained my balance and struggled to regain my composure—or to at least remember who I was, where I was, and what I was doing wearing such fine 10)threads. 

　　That’s when the blood started 11)trickling off the end of my nose and landing on my pants. Still )groggy, I tried to dodge the staining droplets. But to my horror I discovered that the dripping blood followed me everywhere I moved. Finally Tommy grabbed me and started wiping the blood from my face with a washcloth that Rosa had given him. 

　　“Are you OK?” he asked. 

　　For all I knew I was headed (if you’ll pardon the expression) for a coma. My career could be over. My family could be on its way to the 14)poor house (er, poorer house). Life as we knew it could be over. But all I could think of was... 

　　“My suit!” I said. “I think I got some blood on my suit!” 

　　“I think your suit is going to survive,” Tommy said. “But I’m not so sure about you.” 

　　As it turned out, I did survive with a slight 15)concussion. No coma.No 16)indigence. Just some dizziness, 17)light-headedness, and a little confusion now and then. In other words: normal. 

　　And as for my suit... well, to tell you the truth, it was a long time before I could 18)bring myself to look at it. A scar on my head for the rest of my life was one thing. But blood stains on my beautiful new suit? I wasn’t sure I could handle that. You know what I mean? 

　　Of course you do. We all get a little 19)flaky about our possessions from time to time. Sometimes their accumulation becomes our obsession and their maintenance becomes our passion. We forget that a house is just shelter, a car is just transportation, and new suits—even smart-looking, 20)double-breasted, 21)charcoal gray ones with 22)unobtrusive 23)pinstripes—are just clothes. While there’s nothing 24)inherently wrong with having nice things, there is something wrong if those “things” become more important than the people or principles in our lives.

　　My Dad used to say that he’d never want to own a suit that was so expensive that he had to think twice about getting down on the floor to play with one of his grandchildren. I guess the same principle applies to any other possession. If what we own enhances our relationships and our ability to help other people, that’s great. But if it gets in the way of who we are and how we relate to others, maybe it isn’t worth it—whatever “it” is. Even if we’ve spilled blood over it.

几年前,安妮塔送给我一套西装,让我惊喜了一番。这套西装好看又时尚,不管你相信与否,穿着这套衣服让我看起来非常帅气潇洒。至少,在我把鲜血染在它上面之前,确实如此。 

　　事情发生在一个周日,当时我和一位年轻朋友汤米正在拜访我们教堂会众的成员之一罗莎。我们相谈甚欢,当汤米和我离开罗莎家的车库(嘿!她家车库门口有一只大狗,我可不想我的新西装沾上狗的爪印)时,我们还毫无恶意地打打闹闹。或许正因如此,我没有留意到罗莎家车库的电动门装置悬得比较低,就在我打算扑向汤米的那一刻,我的头一下子撞上了那个金属盒。 

　　我当即明白了被“铁锤”汉克·亚伦击打之后的“棒球”是什么感觉了。头顶遭受的重击使我的身体摇摇晃晃。我脚步蹒跚,如同一个被打得头晕眼花的最重量级拳击手,我突然变得麻木的脑子里只有一个想法:“如果摔倒,就会弄脏这套新西装。”我慢慢站稳,努力冷静下来——或者至少要记起自己是谁,现在何处,穿着如此好看的衣服的我正在做什么。 

　　这时,鲜血开始顺着我的鼻尖流下,滴落到我的裤子上。仍然有些头晕眼花的我试图去避开那些弄脏西装的血滴。然而令我惊骇不已的是,我发现,我去到哪里,那些血滴就“跟”到哪里。最终,汤米抓住了我,并用罗莎递给他的一条毛巾帮我擦拭脸上的鲜血。 

　　“你还好吗?”他问道。 

　　我只知道自己快要一头“栽进”昏迷(如果你不介意这个说法的话)。我的事业生涯可能会结束。我的家人可能要搬去“贫民救济院”(呃,其实我想说的是“条件差一点的房子”)。我们熟悉的生活可能要结束了。然而,我所能想到的却是…… 

　　“我的西装!”我说,“我想我的西装沾上了一些血迹!” 

　　“我想你的西装会没事的,”汤米说道,“我倒不知道你能不能熬过来。” 

　　结果是,我还活着,但有些轻微的脑震荡。没有陷入昏迷,没有变得穷困潦倒。只是不时会头晕眼花、晕眩,有些迷糊。换句话说:一切正常。 

　　而至于我的西装……好吧,跟你说实话,过了好长时间,我才能够面对它。头上的那道伤痕会伴随我的余生,这是一回事。但是,我那套帅气新西装上的血迹?我不确定我能否承受得了。你明白我的意思吗? 

　　你肯定明白我的意思。对于我们拥有的物品,我们都不时会有一些怪癖。有时候,我们会着魔于积累这些心头好,沉溺于对其保养护理。我们忘记了,房子只是一处安身之所,汽车只是一种交通工具,而新西装——即使是那些有着低调的细条纹、看上去帅气的双排扣炭灰色西装——也不过是衣服而已。拥有一些美好的东西本无可厚非,但是如果那些“东西”变得比我们生命中的一些人或者某种准则更重要的话,那就有些不妥了。 

　　我父亲过去常说,如果有这么件昂贵的衣服,穿上了,会让他再三犹豫能不能坐在地板上和孙子玩耍,那他决不要这衣服。我想,这一准则同样适用于其他任何物品。如果我们所拥有的,促进了我们彼此之间的关系,提高了我们帮助他人的能力,那好极了。但是,如果它妨碍了我们认识自我以及我们与他人建立起联系,那么,或许它并不值得我们去拥有——不管“它”是什么。即使我们曾在它上面洒染了鲜血。