第2部分(第3/6 頁)

nced　by　a　young　child；　pleasure　is　the　main　one　to　register。

This　innocent；　infantile　inclination　to　acknowledge　only　the　positive　may　be　a　protective　mechanism　designed　to　build　up　our　morale　as　a　bulwark　against　difficulties　ahead。

Or　else　these　impressions　are　part　of　a　myth　created　by　ourselves；　saying　more　about　us　than　about　our　childhood。

Even　so　–　they　have　to　emanate　from　somewhere。

I　recall　–　or　believe　that　I　recall　– lying　in　my　pram；　being　wheeled　through　a　forest；　watching　high　above　the　sun…lit　tops　of　giant　fir…trees　standing　out　deep　green　against　a　clear　blue　sky　dotted　with　cotton…wool　clouds。　Birds　are　singing；　brooks　are　babbling；　the　air　has　the　fresh　tang　of　earth　and　conifers。

Closer　to；　my　mother’s　face：　her　eyes　sad；　lost　in　the　distance。　I　call　out　to　her；　and　she　smiles。　I　smile　back。　Now　we　are　both　happy。

And　I　have　a　cosy　recollection　of　her　in　middle　of　the　night；　ing　to　lift　me　out　of　my　cot；　taking　me　to　her　bed；　where　we　curl　up　together。　I　go　back　to　sleep　in　her　soft　warm　embrace；　clutched　by　her　like　a　teddy　bear。

Giving　fort；　though　I　know　nothing　about　grief；　have　no　way　of　prehending　the　meaning　of　despair。

“But　I　had　a　happy　childhood！”　protested　the　man；　to　whom　I’d　tactfully　suggested　that　his　chronic　health　problems　might　be　somehow　related　to　the　traumas　I　knew　had　overshadowed　his　early　years。

We　were　close　enough　for　me　to　gently　challenge　his　assertion：　“But　with　your　mother　dying　so　early…　And　not　having　a　father…That　must　have　been　difficult。”

Childhood　童年（3）

“Oh　I　don’t　know…　I　was　lucky to　have　an　aunt　who　took　me　in。　That　was　a　lovely　place。　She　was　very　good　to　me。”

“Well　her　husband　wasn’t。　I’ve　been　told that　he　used　to　e　home　d