蝴蝶拟态的真谛：母女一场，是彼此映照的共生共舞

发布时间：2025-11-15 10:11:26  浏览量：46

养育，从来都是一场双向的奔赴和共同的成长。就像《养育成就自我》的作者单丽红说的那样，我们弯曲了自己，像一张弓，不是为了被耗尽，而是为了和孩子一起，飞向更辽阔的远方。

单丽红生育了两个女儿，2017年秋，正值青春期的女儿们去到万里之外的波士顿，开启了她们在美国私立高中格罗顿学校的求学之旅。

单丽红很早就意识到要让青春期的孩子觉得“家长很酷”，几乎是一项不可能的任务。信息爆炸、瞬息万变的时代里，互联网让孩子们无所不知。与其试图在她们熟知的领域比她们更懂，不如将有限精力投入到能产生共鸣的行动中。

单丽红的二女儿Amelia曾写过的一篇作文《Two Butterflies in a Celestial Tango》（《两只蝴蝶在空中的探戈》），文中Amelia将自己与妈妈的关系比作总督蝶和帝王蝶的互相拟态，虽然带着几分犀利的调侃，却形象得令人动容。借着新书《养育成就自我》问世的契机，单丽红再次找到这篇原文。重读之后，她才终于完整地理解了女儿。她说：“其实孩子们早就在用他们的独特视角独立思考，孩子们眼中的父母跟我们自己以为的不一样，也许孩子们比我们更懂得养育是一个双向滋养、彼此照亮的过程。”

彼此为镜 螺旋共舞

单丽红、Amelia Lee｜文

四年前读高中的小女儿Amelia写了篇作文《Two Butterflies in a Celestial Tango》，我看了很喜欢，很感动。四年后我的处女作《养育成就自我——耶鲁母女成长记》出版，在附录母女对话关于“我们Women”中我有提及。这周新书上架，我重新找到原文，对照着DeepSeek翻译的中文版又看了一遍，才终于完整地理解了她。

没想到我花了300页20万字试图表达的主题，妹妹在高中用三页纸描述得如此生动透彻。原来她一直在默默地影响着我。如文中帝王蝶和总督蝶的相互拟态，自然界早已给出了生命的真谛。

🛒 点击上图，将《养育成就自我》加入购物车

再看Amelia的文章，我更加笃定新书的主题“养育成就自我”。养育是父母与孩子彼此为镜、双向滋养、螺旋起舞、共同绽放的美妙经历。

2022年5月看Amelia高中毕业最后赛季网球比赛

苍穹共舞的双蝶

Amelia Lee｜文

2021年11月10日

【Deepseek译文｜2025.11.01｜单丽红修改】

三年前的一个秋天，我在一片马利筋草丛中，看见了一只帝王蝶。它在花荚间翩跹起舞，那耀眼的橙黄色翅膀和黑色脉络，在如同海滩玻璃般淡蓝色的天穹下，显得格外醒目。当它飞离我踮起脚尖也够不着的地方，我凝视着它那不知疲倦的、在空中悸动震颤的翅膀。尽管由于珍贵马利筋栖息地的丧失，这个物种在全国范围内的数量都在减少，但这只盘旋飞舞的美丽生灵仍在尽情舞蹈。

帝王蝶的毛毛虫在准备蜕变成蝶之前，会经历五个阶段，或称龄期。在第一龄期，它体色苍白，身长不及小指的宽度，头部像一颗微小的黑色弹珠。到了第二龄期，身体上开始出现环绕的白、黄、黑三色条纹。等到第五龄期，它已长到小指的长度。此时，它准备化蛹，在其中休眠两周，然后长出美丽的、带翅膀的成虫身体。之后，蝴蝶啜饮甘甜的花蜜，茁壮成长，直至仲秋来临。它会迁徙到墨西哥或佛罗里达的温暖地带，在那里停留，直到春回大地。

我母亲的童年很简单。六岁时，她进入小学，住在内城北京的一个大杂院里，与其他四户人家同住。十三岁时，在物资配给制和政治宣传的环境中，她玩耍、学习和成长。在她少女时期的一张老照片里，她垂着及胸的辫子，脸上洋溢着璀璨的笑容——我在那笑容里看到了自己的影子。十八岁生日前后，她进入了人民大学，主修金融。二十五岁时，她在康涅狄格州纽黑文赢得了一席之地，为了教育的提升飞越了半个地球。她在美国各地落脚，直到一颗种子在她腹中萌芽，那是我姐姐的花蕾。

当帝王蝶的毛毛虫啃食有毒的马利筋叶子时，它将有毒的糖苷类物质储存在体内，这些毒素会一直保留到成虫期。如果有鸟吃了帝王蝶，它会生病、呕吐，但不会死。而这只鸟将成为一个范例，让其他鸟类再也不敢捕食帝王蝶。因此，帝王蝶橙色的翅膀警告着它的捕食者：切勿触碰。

在自然界中，模仿是最真诚的自我保护尝试。十九世纪初，亨利·沃尔特·贝茨前往亚马逊雨林，在那里研究了十一年昆虫。通过工作，他发现某些对鸟类来说更可口的蝴蝶物种，已经进化成模仿其他与它们完全无关、但鸟类不喜食的物种。这种“拟态者”与“被拟态者”的进化现象被命名为“贝氏拟态”，而总督蝶——因其橙翅黑脉与帝王蝶相似——成了此现象的典型例证。总督蝶是拟态者，而有毒的帝王蝶是被拟态者。但总督蝶以黄花菖蒲为食而非马利筋，并且它们的后翅上多了一条黑色脉络，就像打印机复印得不太精确，黑色墨盒喷了稍多的墨。

总督蝶（上）与帝王蝶（下）

在我成长过程中，我曾很排斥母亲那独特的商务休闲风格。虽然她常穿黑色西装外套和白衬衫，但她真正喜欢在视频会议和午餐会上穿的，是色彩鲜艳的印花连衣裙。一件蓝绿格纹重复出现在化纤面料上的连衣裙，一件炽橙色的短袖裹身裙。当她挑选当日着装时，我总把她想象成一只蝴蝶，在选择当天要穿戴哪双翅膀。或许我讨厌她的风格，是因为我将那些明亮的色调视为某种有毒成分的警告信号。所以，当她把那件橙色连衣裙塞进我行李的最后一条缝隙，让我带去麻州格罗顿的寄宿学校时，我知道它们只会皱巴巴地躺在衣柜深处。

我曾想，现在远离了她唠叨的声音和劝诱的假笑，我可以在自己的花园里自由飞翔了。她在宣传自己的志愿工作时太过自夸，过于有条理，总是提前为我规划该做什么来增加课外活动经历或强化我最终的大学申请。但当我穿着她亮橙色的连衣裙参加正式晚宴，当我参加社团会议而脑海深处隐约带着对大学的渴望时，我有一种不安的似曾相识之感。我渴望谱写自己的旋律，却发现自己只是母亲洪亮声音的回响。

今年八月，妈妈带我和姐姐与她的一位高中好友共进午餐，这位朋友现在纽约曼哈顿工作和生活，带着她三岁的儿子。当我坐在卡座里，等着我的鸡肉三明治和红薯条时，我听着母亲闲聊。她们关于夏日见闻和老同学八卦的谈话从我左耳进右耳出，我处于一种恍惚状态，声音模糊，视觉却异常清晰。妈妈对听到的老朋友新生活的每一段琐事都用力点头，带着一种感觉有些造作的、轻声的响亮笑声附和着。

“我家小女儿最近刚和学校参加了一个环保竞赛。”妈妈用胳膊肘碰了碰我。“嘿，你来解释一下？”

我从恍惚中惊醒，开始描述我如何学习和准备，读了多少页关于生态系统的资料，如何前往麻州与团队一起完成比赛。讲述时，我感到自己在频频点头，面对每一句赞美，我都出于礼貌发出轻笑。突然间，我像是在观察自己，就像我曾研究母亲的言行举止一样。

自从八月的那个午饭后，我回顾了自己对于无意中模仿母亲的那种不适感。我曾觉得那种点头太过刻意，现在却意识到它对肯定说话者至关重要。她的自夸与其说是自负，不如说是一种愿意展示自身技能、为自己创造机会的意愿。她那令人难忘的组织能力，在她提醒我那些我已忘记的截止日期、将我从延误的绝望中拯救出来时，成了一种祝福。她对非虚构类书籍的热爱——我曾因觉得她矫饰而鄙夷——也成了我多读书的动力。

1878年，德国博物学家弗里茨·缪勒提出了另一种关于拟态的理论。贝氏拟态描述的是可食物种与不可食物种之间的进化动态，而缪氏拟态则解释了两个有毒物种如何为了互利而相互模仿。学会了避开一种警告机制的捕食者会避开所有其他相似生物，因此这种进化策略使得两个猎物物种都能抵御来自对方物种的捕食者。当缪勒的理论被更仔细地研究，关联到如帝王蝶和总督蝶这类现有的被拟态者与拟态者对时，生态学家意识到总督蝶对鸟类而言也是不可口的。实际上，帝王蝶并非被拟态者，而是协同拟态者。永恒地处于进化的拉锯战中，帝王蝶与总督蝶彼此环绕，如同两颗星辰在宇宙中跳着探戈，螺旋共舞。

疫情开始后，妈妈、姐姐和我三人独自住在哈德逊河畔的一间公寓里。我利用了楼里的健身房。为了逃避大学申请以及将自我压缩进650个词的恐惧，我让跳绳、二十五磅的哑铃和腿举机占据了我一天中三分之一的时间。我围绕着锻炼来安排日程，妈妈认为我的自律值得效仿。当她看到我在镜子前弯曲手臂、眯眼查看进展时，她会站到我身边，绷紧她自己的肱二头肌。当我离开公寓去地下二层的健身房时，她会拿着自己的水瓶和运动服跟在我后面。我曾以为自己是进化回响中唯一的拟态者，但我意识到妈妈一直与我同在，与我共舞，如同帝王蝶与总督蝶。

上周，妈妈发给我一张她求学时代在纽约市的照片。她坐在一栋灰色混凝土建筑的窗台上（那地方我还不认得），她抱起一个膝盖，头歪向一边。她穿着一件森林绿的外套，我看见她食指上有一枚戒指闪闪发光。她留着和现在一样的波波头发型，自我认识她以来，发型一直如此。

我看了看镜中的自己。我在六月剪了头发，现在长度和她的一样。我的食指上戴着她为我生日买的银戒指。我穿着一件去年春天在二手店淘来的绿色法兰绒衬衫。我让一抹微笑在脸上绽开，如同总督蝶在黄花丛中起舞时展开的翅膀。

全家参加大女儿Annabel的耶鲁大学毕业典礼，2025年 从左到右：《养育成就自我》作者单丽红、作者的母亲、大女儿Annabel、小女儿Amelia

#英语原文

Two Butterflies in a Celestial Tango

Amelia Lee

Nov 10, 2021

I spotted a monarch butterfly three autumns ago, dancing in a field of milkweed. Twirling from one flower pod to another, its electric orange flutter and black veins stood out against the pale sky, a ceiling painted with a beach glass blue. As the monarch flew out of the reach of my tiptoed fingers, I watched its tireless wings beating, palpitating in the air. Threatened by the loss of precious milkweed habitats, the species was decreasing in population across the country. Yet this hovering beauty danced on.

The monarch caterpillar goes through five stages, or instars, before it prepares to bloom as an adult butterfly. In the first instar, it is pale white, and its length is less than a pinky’s width, with a tiny black marble for its head. By the second, it develops white, yellow, and black stripes that wrap around its body. By the fifth, it has grown to a pinky’s length. Now it prepares for pupation, where it hibernates for two weeks before sprouting its beautiful, winged body. Then, the butterfly drinks sweet nectar and flourishes until mid-autumn rolls around. It migrates to the warmth of Mexico or Florida, where it will stay until spring has sprung.

My mom’s childhood was simple. At six years old, she entered elementary school, living in a small courtyard in inner Beijing with four other families. At thirteen, in the midst of government rations and party propaganda, she played and studied and learned. In an old photo of her teen self, she has braids down to her chest, and she sports a sparkly smile that I see myself in. By her eighteenth birthday, she entered Renmin University as a finance major. At twenty-five, she earned herself a spot in New Haven, Connecticut, flying halfway across the world for the security of education. She settled in different parts of the country until a seed sprouted in her belly, the bud of my sister.

When the monarch caterpillar munches on the leaves of poisonous milkweed, it stores toxic glycosides in its body that stay there throughout adulthood. If a bird eats the monarch butterfly, it will get sick, it will vomit, but it won’t die. And that bird will serve as an example, to never prey on the monarch again. And so, the monarch’s orange wings warn its predators that it is not to be touched.

In nature, imitation is the sincerest attempt at self-protection. In the early 1800s, Henry Walter Bates traveled to the Amazon rainforest and studied insects there for eleven years. Through his work, he found that certain butterfly species that are more palatable to birds have evolved to mimic other completely unrelated species that are distasteful to birds. This evolutionary phenomenon of the “mimic” and the “model” was named Batesian Mimicry, and the viceroy butterfly, which resembles a monarch with its orange wings and black veins, became a prime example of it. The viceroy was the mimic, and the poisonous monarch was the model. But viceroys fed on goldenrods and not milkweed, and they had one extra black vein runningacross their hind wings, like when a printer doesn’t get the copy quite right because its black cartridge expelled a bit too much ink.

Growing up, I was repelled by my mother’s distinctive business casual style. Although she wears black blazers and white blouses quite often, what she truly enjoys donning to zoom calls and luncheons are bright patterned dresses. A blue-and-green grid dress repeating on synthetic fabric, a blazing orange short-sleeve wrap dress. As she picks her outfit for the day, I envision her as a butterfly, choosing which wings to wear that day. Perhaps I hated her style because I took the bright hues as a warning signal for some sort of toxic component. So when she stuffed the orange dress in the last crevice of my luggage to bring to boarding school in Groton, Massachusetts, I knew they’d sit crumpled in the back of my closet.

Now, away from her naggy voice and persuasive smirk, I’d fly free in my own garden, I thought. She was too boastful when she promoted her own volunteer work, too overly organized that she always thought ahead about what I should do to add to my extracurriculars or strengthen my eventual college application. But as I wore her bright orange dress to sit-down dinner, as I attended club meetings with a hint of college greed in the back of my mind, I felt a disconcerting déjà vu. I yearned to create my own melody, but I was an echo of my mother’s resounding voice.

This past August, my mom brought my sister and me to lunch with her high school friend who now worked and lived in Manhattan with her three-year-old son. As I sat in a booth, waiting for my chicken sandwich and sweet potato fries, I listened to my mother’s small talk. As summaries of their summers and gossip about their old classmates entered one ear and left the other, I was in a state of limbo, with sounds hazy yet vision so clear. My mom was noddingvehemently to every snippet she heard of her old friend’s new life, chuckling with a quiet loudness that felt artificial.

“My younger daughter actually attended an environmental competition recently with her school.” My mom elbowed me. “Hey, why don’t you explain it a bit?”

Snapped out of my limbo, I started to describe how I studied and prepared, how many pages I’d read about ecosystems, how I travelled to Massachusetts to complete the competition with the rest of my team. As I spoke, I felt myself bobbing my head, and with each compliment, I chuckled out of courtesy. All of a sudden I was watching myself, just as I had studied the mannerisms of my mother.

Since that brunch in August, I have looked back at my discomfort with unintentionally mimicking my mother. The nodding that I felt was aggressive, I now realized was incredibly important in affirming whoever was speaking. Her boastfulness was not so much egotism, but a willingness to put her own skills out there, to create opportunities for herself. Her unforgetting organizational skills were a blessing when she reminded me of deadlines I’d failed to remember and saved me from delayed despair. Her love for nonfiction books, which I used to disdain because of her pretentiousness, became my motivation to read more.

In 1878, German naturalist Fritz Müller put forth an alternate theory for mimicry. While Batesian mimicry described the dynamic of evolution between an edible species and an inedible one, Müllerian mimicry explained how two toxic species mimicked each other for their mutual benefit. Predators that have learned to avoid one warning mechanism avoided all other similar organisms, so this evolutionary strategy allowed both prey species to ward off predators of the other species. When Müller’s theory was studied more closely in relation to existing model-and-mimic pairs such as the monarch and the viceroy, ecologists realized that the viceroywas also distasteful to birds. In reality, the monarch was not a model but a co-mimic. Eternally in an evolutionary back-and-forth, the monarch and the viceroy revolved around each other, spiraling like two stars in a celestial tango.

After the pandemic started and my mom, sister, and I lived together alone in an apartment along the Hudson, I took advantage of the gym in our building. In an effort to avoid college and the dread of condensing myself into 650 short words, I let jump ropes, twenty-five pound dumbbells, and leg press machines take up a third of the hours in my day. I blocked my day around exercise, and my mom considered my discipline something worthy of emulation. When she caught me flexing my arm in the mirror and squinting to see my progress, she stood beside me and tensed up her own bicep. When I left the apartment to go down to Basement Level 2, she trailed behind me with her own water bottle and gym clothes. I thought I was the sole mimic in an evolutionary echo, but I realized my mom was there with me, dancing with me, a monarch with a viceroy.

Last week, my mom sent me a photo of her in New York City from her university years. She sits on the ledge of a gray concrete building, one that I do not yet recognize, and she holds one knee up and tilts her head to her side. She wears a forest green coat, and I see a ring shimmering on her index finger. She has the same bob haircut that she has today, the same hair she’s had for all I’ve known her.

I take a look at myself in the mirror. I got a chop in June and now my hair is the same length as hers. On my index finger is the silver ring she bought me for my birthday. I’m wearing a green flannel that I thrifted last Spring. I let a smile spread across my face like the wings of a viceroy as it dances in a field of goldenrod.