英语沙龙：带来欢乐的鹬（在线收听）

A Sandpiper to Bring You Joy

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. 

She was building a sand castle or some thing and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. “Hello, ”she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. “I’ m building, ”she said. “I see that. What is it？”I asked, not caring. “Oh, I don’t know. I just like the feel of the sand. ”That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by. “That’s a joy, ”the child said. “It’s what？”“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy. ”The bird went glissading down the beach. “Good-bye, joy, ”I muttered to myself, “hello, pain,”and turned to walk on. I was depressed；my life seemed completely out of balance. “What’s your name？”she wouldn’t give up. “Ruth, ”I answered. “I’m Ruth Peterson. ”“Mine’s Wendy. And I‘m six. ”“Hi, Wendy. ”She giggled. “You’re funny, ”she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. “Come again, Mrs. P, ”she called. “We’ll have another happy day. ”

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others：a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother. 

The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwasher. “I need a sandpiper, ”I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The never-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared. “Hello, Mrs. P, ”she said. “Do you want to play？”“What did you have in mind？”I asked, with a twinge of annoyance. “I don’ t know. You say. ”“How about charades？”I asked sarcastically

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. “I don’t know what that is. ”“Then let’s just walk. ”Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. 

“Where do you live？”I asked. “Over there. ”She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter. “Where do you go to school？”“I don’ t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation. ”She chattered little-girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Windy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to greet Windy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home. “Look, if you don’ t mind, ”I said crossly when Windy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today. ”She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. 

“Why？”she asked. I turned on her and shouted, “Because my mother died.”――and thought, My God, why was I saying this to a little child？“Oh, ”she said quietly, “then this is a bad day. ”“Yes, and yesterday and the day before that and ――oh, go away.”“Did it hurt？”“Did what hurt？”I was exasperated with her, with myself. “When she died？”“Of course it hurt.”I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off. 

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn-looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door. “Hello, ”I said, “I’m Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was. ”“Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in. ”“Wendy talked of you so much. I ‘m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies. ”“Not at all――she’s a delightful child, ”I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. “Where is she？”“Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia

Maybe she didn’t tell you. ”Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught. “She loved this beach；so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks she declined rapidly. . . . ”Her voice faltered. “She left something for you. . . if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look？”I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues――a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed：

A Sandpiper to Bring You Joy

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m sorry, I‘m sorry, I‘m so sorry, ”I muttered over and over, and we wept together. 

The precious little picture is frame d now and hangs in my study. Six words――one for each year of her life――that speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand――who taught me the gift of love.

带来欢乐的鹬

我在离我住处不远的沙滩上第一次碰见她时, 她才６岁。每当这个世界让我感到苦闷压抑时, 我就开上三四英里车来到这片沙滩。

她在用沙子盖城堡或是别的什么。她抬起头来, 眼睛跟大海一样蓝。“你好, ”她说。我点头回答, 说实在的, 我没有心思管一个小孩子。“我在盖东西, ”她说。“我看见了。那是什么？”我漫不经心地问道。“啊, 我不知道。我只是喜欢沙子的感觉。”那听上去不错, 我自忖, 然后我把鞋子脱掉。这时一只鹬滑翔而过。“那是一种欢乐, ”那孩子说道。“那是什么？”“那是一种欢乐。我妈妈说鹬给我们带来欢乐。”那鸟沿着海滩滑降。“再见吧, 欢乐, ”我喃喃自语, “你好, 痛苦。”说完就转身继续往前走去。我情绪低落；我的生活彻底失去了平衡。“你叫什么名字？”那女孩就是不放过我。“鲁思, ”我回答说。“鲁思?彼得森。”“我叫温迪, ６岁。”“你好, 温迪。”她咯咯地笑了。“你挺逗乐, ”她说。尽管我情绪忧郁, 我也笑了。

随后, 我走开了。她那音乐般的笑声从背后传来。“彼得森太太, 下次再来, ”她叫道。“我们还会有快乐的一天。”

以后的几天, 甚至几周是属于别人的：一群闹哄哄的童子军、家长教师联谊会的会议, 还有我那有病的妈妈。

一天早上我把手从洗碗机里拿出来时, 阳光明媚。“我需要一只鹬, ”我自语着拿起上衣。等待我的是来自漫步海边沙滩时持久不变的慰藉。微风略有寒意, 可我阔步前进, 试图重新获得我需要的宁静。我已经把那女孩忘了, 她出现时吓我一跳。“你好, 彼得森太太, ”她说道。“你想玩吗？”“你想玩什么？”我问道, 口气里显露出厌烦。“我不知道。你说吧。”“玩字谜游戏怎样？”我讥讽地问道。她又发出了那清脆的笑声。

“我不知道那是什么。”“那就让我们散步吧。”我看着她, 注意到她纤弱的白皙脸色。“你住在哪儿？”我问道。“那边。”她手指着一排避暑小屋。奇怪, 我心想, 怎么会在冬天住在避暑的小屋里。“你在哪儿上学？”“我不上学。妈妈说我们在度假。”我们一边在沙滩上往前走, 她一边喋喋不休地说着女孩子气的话, 但是我却在想别的事。我要回家时, 温迪说那一天过得很愉快。我感觉出奇地好, 朝她笑了笑表示同意。

三个星期之后, 我近乎惊慌地奔向我常去的海滩。我没有心思去同温迪打招呼。我觉得我看见她的母亲在前廊上, 我有点想要求她别让她的孩子出来。“哎, 如果你不介意的话, ”温迪追上我时我气恼地说道, “今天我愿意单独一个人。”她显得特别苍白, 上气不接下气。“为什么？”她问道。我冲着她叫喊道, “因为我妈妈去世了！”可是一说完, 我就想, 上帝啊, 我为什么跟一个小孩子说这个？“啊, ”她轻声说道, “那么今天是个坏日子。”“是的, 还有昨天、前天, 还有---哦, 你走开！”“痛苦吗？”“什么痛苦吗？”我跟她发火, 也跟自己恼怒。“她死的时候痛苦吗？”“当然痛苦！”我厉声说道, 她的话我理解错了。我心目中只有自己。随后, 我大步走开。

一个月左右之后, 我再次去海滩时温迪不在那儿。我感到内疚和羞耻, 我承认我想念她。散完步后, 我走到她家的小屋, 敲了门。一位蜜黄色头发、面容憔悴的年轻女人开了门。“你好, ”我说, “我是鲁思?彼得森。今天我没见到你家小姑娘, 不知道她在哪儿。”“啊, 是的, 彼得森太太, 请进来。”“温迪谈论你很多。我恐怕让她打扰了你。如果她讨你嫌的话, 请接受我的歉意。”“一点也没有---她是个招人喜欢的孩子, ”我说道, 顿时感到我说的是真心话。“她在哪儿？”“彼得森太太, 温迪上个星期死了。她有白血病。也许她没有告诉你。”

我愣住了, 伸手摸了一把椅子。我喘不过气来。“她爱这片海滩；所以每当她要来, 我们无法说‘不’。在这儿她显得好得多, 她过了许多她叫作愉快的日子。但是上几个礼拜, 病情急剧恶化……”她颤抖地说。“她给你留下了点东西……如果我能找到的话。我去找找, 你能等一会儿吗？”我傻乎乎地点了点头, 我思绪万千, 急着想找出跟这位可爱的年轻女人说的话, 任何话。她给了我一个弄脏了的信封, 上面端端正正用孩子笔迹写着粗体字---彼得森太太。里面是一幅用鲜艳颜色笔画的画---一片黄色的海滩、蓝色的大海、一只棕色的鸟。下面端端正正写着：

带来欢乐的鹬

我眼睛里饱含着泪水, 几乎忘却了如何表示爱的心扉, 又敞开了。我把温迪的母亲抱在怀里。“抱歉, 很抱歉, 我真的很抱歉, ”我一遍又一遍地悄声说道, 我们俩抱头痛哭。

如今那幅珍贵的画已经镶框, 挂在我的书房里。６个字--一个字代表她一年的生命--告诉我什么是内心的和谐、勇气和不求回报的爱。这是来自一个有着海蓝般眼睛和沙黄色头发的小孩的礼物, 是她教我懂得了爱的本能。