本·奧馬拉

I exercised as the sun rose， on grassy smelling fields. I walked through the salty air on a warm， sandy beach. It was the best Christmas present I could give myself.太陽(yáng)升起，在氤氳著青草味道的田野上鍛煉身體;海風(fēng)拂面，在溫暖的沙灘上信步閑游。這是我贈(zèng)予自己最好的圣誕禮物。

Im no Scrooge1， but this December， I kept my fake， plastic smelling Christmas tree and all its baubles boxed up in a drawer under my bed.

I inherited the tree from my grandfather. The tree is fibre optic and when its turned on twinkles red， green， purple， white and blue. If you lean in close， you can smell its branches—they have a faint but strange tangy odour and remind me a little of rubber， and glue.

When I smell plastic things like my Christmas tree， I think of my grandfather， and how I struggled to talk with him towards the end of his life. Sometimes， I tell myself that the emphysema made breathing and talking difficult for him and awkward for us both. But most of the time， normally when Im putting up my fake little tree， I find myself wishing Id had the guts to say more.

Real Christmas trees like pines release hydrocarbons into the air that help create a sharp and sweet smell. Its a scent beloved by many， associated with the fun of decorating its feathery green branches with tinsel， or placing gifts around its trunk.

Of course， the smell of a pine tree is only one scent in the rich aromatic experience of Christmas. Many foods eaten at Christmas have distinctive scents. There is the meaty and fruity smell of honey glazed ham. Fresh lobster has a strong， fishy odour. And the smell of gingerbread is powerful and spicy.

The smells of Christmas trees and food reflect some of the best things about Christmas—of celebrating with loved ones as another year draws to a close， and of giving to others without expecting anything in return.

Not everything smells like Christmas cheer when Santa comes to town， however. In fact， many smells of December are downright rank. Like the acrid pungence of vomit from a drunk train passenger who had too much booze at a work Christmas party. Or the fetid stink released from garbage cans filled with large amounts of rotting leftover food. Just waiting in a shopping centre queue on a hot day can have its own oppressive odour as the heavy stink of sweating human bodies mixes together in the air. And few smells are more abrasive than the stinging whiff of urine soaked alleyways and gutters in the city after a night of Christmas partying.

Many smells of Christmas are on the nose2， and they are visceral reality checks for when the forces of commercialisation overtake a time of celebration. Comfort and joy are not found with others， but in consumer goods， and sometimes to excess.

The world is filled with scents that might be doing us more harm than good， a phenomenon which Kate Grenville writes about in her book， The Case Against Fragrance. Grenville traces the business interests driving the development of products like air fresheners， scented candles and incense， and the health risks associated with these products， noting that：

“Aromatherapy has a lot to answer for3： theres a vague assumption that any kind of scent in the air must be good for you.”

Christmas has its own aromatherapy of sorts4， one created from food and drink， decorations and presents， a smellscape that， when indulged too much， is all about money， and not the people close to us.

As trite as this sounds， this December I tried to buy less and spend more time outdoors， away from the smells of Christmas cheer.

I avoided the mouthwatering aroma of cookies and cakes baking in the oven. I missed out on catch-ups5 at the pub and drinking those citrus-smelling craft beers.

Instead， I exercised as the sun rose， on grassy smelling fields near my home. I walked through the salty air on a warm， sandy beach. And I went bushwalking with someone I love.

We walked through the giant trees of the dense bush， up rocky paths， and to the top of a tall hill. The air was crisp and carried a warm hint of eucalyptus. We sat down and in silence stared at the tiny streets and buildings of the city far below us. I forgot about work， whether my family would like the presents Id bought them， and my worries about money. The best and the worst things of a manic year seemed to fade away.

I felt grateful for my time in the rough beauty of the Australian bush with its refreshing， earthy aromas， and to simply be alive and present with someone who cared for me. It was one of the best Christmas presents Id ever given myself.

I broke a tradition this year by not putting up my grandfathers fibre optic plastic-smelling Christmas tree. But I know he would understand that I needed more than a scent-inspired， nostalgic connection to the past.

Christmas is over now， but I wish I could have just one more day with my grandfather spent walking in the bush. We wouldnt need presents， or a Christmas tree， real or fake. Just each other.

我并非吝嗇鬼斯克魯奇，但是今年12月，我將散發(fā)著塑料味兒的假圣誕樹(shù)和樹(shù)上的裝飾球都裝箱收進(jìn)了床下的抽屜里。

這棵圣誕樹(shù)是祖父留給我的，光纖材質(zhì)，一通電就會(huì)閃起紅、綠、紫、白和藍(lán)色的光。俯身靠近能聞到樹(shù)枝的氣味——不甚濃烈但卻怪異刺鼻，使我想起橡膠和膠水。

一聞到我家圣誕樹(shù)那般的塑料制品的味道，我就會(huì)想起祖父，還有在他生命即將走到盡頭時(shí)我想盡辦法只為和他多說(shuō)幾句話的日子。有時(shí)，我會(huì)告訴自己，祖父得了肺氣腫，呼吸和說(shuō)話都有困難，我倆交談起來(lái)也有諸多不便。但多數(shù)時(shí)候，通常是擺出這棵小小的假圣誕樹(shù)時(shí)，我真希望自己當(dāng)時(shí)能勇敢點(diǎn)兒，和祖父再多說(shuō)些什么。

真正的圣誕樹(shù)，比如松樹(shù)，會(huì)釋放碳?xì)浠衔锏娇諝庵?，散發(fā)出濃烈的辛香。許多人都喜愛(ài)這香氣，它讓人聯(lián)想到用金箔裝飾圣誕樹(shù)羽狀綠色樹(shù)枝的快樂(lè)，或在樹(shù)干周圍放置禮物的樂(lè)趣。

當(dāng)然，圣誕節(jié)的芬芳千千 萬(wàn)，圣誕樹(shù)的松香不過(guò)是其中一種。許多圣誕美食都有獨(dú)特的氣味。蜜糖火腿有肉香味和水果味，新鮮龍蝦有濃濃的海鮮味，姜餅有嗆人的辛辣味。

圣誕樹(shù)和食物的氣味可以反映出圣誕節(jié)最美好的一些東西——比如臨歲末與家人同慶，比如慷慨給予不求回報(bào)。

然而，當(dāng)圣誕老人造訪小鎮(zhèn)時(shí)，那里的氣味卻不盡如圣誕氛圍那般令人愉悅。實(shí)際上，12月的許多氣味著實(shí)難聞，比如公司圣誕聚會(huì)喝多了的醉酒乘客留在車廂里的嘔吐物的惡臭，或者塞滿腐爛剩菜的垃圾桶散發(fā)的餿臭。甚至稍熱的日子在購(gòu)物中心排隊(duì)等候也會(huì)聞到令人不適的味道，那是空氣里混雜著人們身上濃重的汗臭。還有徹夜的圣誕聚會(huì)結(jié)束后，城市的小巷和溝渠里熏得人眼痛的尿騷味，簡(jiǎn)直沒(méi)什么比這更讓人難以忍受了。

圣誕節(jié)的很多氣味是刺鼻的，當(dāng)商業(yè)化的力量主宰了節(jié)慶時(shí)刻，這些氣味就是對(duì)現(xiàn)實(shí)的真切反映。慰藉和喜悅來(lái)自消費(fèi)品而非與他人相處，這勢(shì)頭有時(shí)甚至過(guò)度了。

這世上如今四處彌漫對(duì)人或許弊大于利的香氣，凱特·格倫維爾在《反對(duì)香水的理由》一書中提及了這一現(xiàn)象。格倫維爾追查了空氣清新劑、香薰蠟燭和熏香等產(chǎn)品開(kāi)發(fā)背后的商業(yè)利益，以及與這些產(chǎn)品相關(guān)的健康風(fēng)險(xiǎn)，她指出：

“芳香療法要承擔(dān)很大的責(zé)任：該療法籠統(tǒng)地假設(shè)空氣中的任何氣味都絕對(duì)有益于身體健康。”

圣誕節(jié)勉強(qiáng)算有自己的芳香療法，治療氣味來(lái)自食物和飲品、裝飾品和禮物。若過(guò)分沉迷其中，這些氣味便全與金錢而非我們親近的人有關(guān)。

聽(tīng)起來(lái)有點(diǎn)兒俗套，今年12月，我盡量減少購(gòu)物，增加戶外活動(dòng)時(shí)間，遠(yuǎn)離了圣誕狂歡的那些氣味兒。

我避開(kāi)了烤箱烤制餅干和蛋糕時(shí)令人垂涎欲滴的香氣。我放棄了在酒吧和朋友敘舊、喝柑橘味精釀啤酒的機(jī)會(huì)。

反之，日出時(shí)分，我在家附近的田野里聞著草香鍛煉身體;迎著海風(fēng)，我在溫暖的沙灘上漫步。我還與所愛(ài)之人一起去叢林遠(yuǎn)足。

我們穿過(guò)巨樹(shù)林立的茂密叢林，沿著多石的小徑向上攀爬，登上了高高的丘頂。空氣清新干冷，帶有絲絲溫暖的桉樹(shù)味。我們坐了下來(lái)，在靜默中凝視著遠(yuǎn)在腳下的城市里那小小的街道和建筑。我忘卻了工作，忘卻了家人是否會(huì)喜歡我買的禮物，也忘卻了對(duì)金錢的思慮。這忙亂的一年里最美妙和最糟糕的事似乎都就此消失不見(jiàn)。

我十分感恩能享有這樣一段時(shí)光，沉浸于澳大利亞叢林的原始之美，呼吸著清新的泥土芬芳，簡(jiǎn)簡(jiǎn)單單地活在世間，與在乎自己的人相伴。這是我迄今給予過(guò)自己最好的一份圣誕禮物。

今年，我打破了傳統(tǒng)，沒(méi)有把祖父那塑料味兒的光纖圣誕樹(shù)擺出來(lái)。但是我知道他會(huì)理解，我需要的絕不僅僅是靠氣味激發(fā)的對(duì)過(guò)去的懷念。

圣誕節(jié)已經(jīng)過(guò)去，但我真希望能再和祖父一起在叢林中漫步，哪怕一天也好。無(wú)需禮物，也無(wú)需或真或假的圣誕樹(shù)。只需彼此相伴。

（譯者為“《英語(yǔ)世界》杯”翻譯大賽獲獎(jiǎng)?wù)?單位：中南大學(xué)）