不一樣的音符
“很好，那麽這道題呢？” 我手裏拿著另一張色彩鮮豔的卡片問道，語氣有些疲倦。荷西一邊掰著手指一邊思索著。
“12、14、16、18！” 他驕傲地宣布。
我重重地歎了口氣。“不，荷西，答案是24。看見沒有？2、4、6……”我跟荷西解釋著，他張大了嘴巴兩眼直勾勾地盯著卡片。每堂課都這樣一遍遍地重複著。荷西的自閉症使得他根本學不好數學，這好像是在教一個兩歲的孩子學微積分一樣。“他什麽都做不好的。”我腦袋裏一個細小的聲音在責罵道。我連忙趕走那個聲音，又舉起另一塊卡片說道：“我們來試試這個問題，準備好了嗎？”
隨著輔導課的進行，荷西變得越來越不耐煩，因為他老是答不對問題。我決定不時地給他一些簡單的題目，好讓他平靜下來。荷西發起脾氣來，就像一頭憤怒的公牛一樣難以製服，更別提他弄的那一片狼藉了。下課鈴響了，走廊裏傳來嘈雜的腳步聲。
“今天做得不錯，荷西，”我打起精神說到。“課間玩得開心，我們明天見！”我看著他跑出教室，心裏感到一絲的悲哀。由於來到一個新的學校，又身帶殘疾，荷西沒有朋友，也可能永遠不會交到朋友。
休息時我從走廊穿過，我聽到儲藏室裏傳來一陣天使般快樂的樂曲聲。困惑中，更是出於好奇，我走過去輕輕地推開了那扇門。屋裏，在一大堆發黴的紙板箱和破桌子中間，有一台老式的舊鋼琴，坐在那兒彈奏的，正是荷西。
【注】 這是我翻譯的兒子8年級時寫的作文。他的一位同學，也是我們的鄰居患有自閉症，卻彈得一手好鋼琴，在他發作的時候，唯有音樂才能使他安靜下來。 這個孩子平時看上去溫文爾雅，很有禮貌，但是發病時就換了一個人，滿地打滾撒潑，調戲女生甚至放火破壞學校設施……。
從這個眼前的個例我感覺，自閉症的病因目前雖沒有定論，但是一定與大腦神經發育有關，從家族遺傳上也能看出一些蛛絲馬跡。通過精神科醫生治療，結合藥物孩子的病情得到控製，生活能自理，但是智力和認知水平與常人有一定的差異。自閉症孩子往往有某些天賦，荷西就能彈一手好鋼琴，黑管也吹得十分專業，音樂是他心靈的港灣。
中文的“自閉症”有很大的誤導，即使在西方，現在臨床上已不用“autism”一詞，而是ASD （autism spectrum disorder），因為，病兒不是單單的“自閉”或僅僅性格孤僻，有的孩子甚至很健談，滔滔不絕，主動熱情的與人搭訕，這個spectrum跨度很大，不能用一個“閉”字簡單概括。
現在自閉兒童越來越多嗎？恐怕因為現在診斷技術提高，而且診斷標準越來越細，很多過去被認為調皮搗蛋，好動的孩子在今天都會屬於某種“自閉”或ADHD，不幸的是，這些孩子一旦過早的被貼上一個標簽，“mental illness”的心理暗示加上學校，家長和老師的“特別關照”會給孩子帶來很多負麵影響，一般華人家長也不太願意承認自己孩子有任何心理或精神疾患。一方麵，有些症狀在青春期可能消失，另一方麵，如不及時幹預又可能日益加重，如何把握這個度，何時幹預，如何幹預治療，就需要家長，學校和專業醫生密切配合。
A Different Tune
“Very good. Now, how about this one?” I asked in a tired tone, holding up another brightly-coloured flash card. Jose considered this while counting on his finers.
“12, 14, 16, 18!” he exclaimed proudly.
I sighed heavily. “No Jose, this answer is 24. See? 2,4,6…” As I explained to him, he gazed at the card with his open-mouthed stare. Just a repeat of what happened every lesson. With his autistic manner, he would never be good at math; it’s like trying to teach calculus to a 2-year old. He will never be good at anything, a small voice in the back of my head chided. Shaking it away, I took up another flash card.“Let’s try this one. Ready?”
As the lesson carried on, Jose became increasingly frustrated at his inability to answer the questions correctly. I opted to give him an easy question occasionally to keep his temper down. When he had a tantrum, he was as hard to constrain as a raging bull, not to mention the mess he would make. The recess bell rang, followed by the blatant sound of feet trampling the hallway.
“Good job today Jose,” I cheerfully said to him. “Have fun at recess, and I’ll see you tomorrow!” As I watched him run off, I felt a tinge of sadness. He had no friends, being at a new school, and with his disability, it was unlikely that he’d make any.
As I walked down the hall during the break, I heard a jovial tune come from the old storage room. Perplexed, and even more curious, I went up to the door, and slowly opened it. Inside, surrounded by a mass of musty old cardboard boxes and worn tables, was an ancient-looking piano. Seated at the piano, playing it, was Jose.
