我感到好奇而兴奋。在过去的几年里，我没有挂念过她，她突然在一个早晨给我打了电话，这令我很惊讶，就要跟她见面了，我又感到很震惊。这位坐在餐桌前头发花白的女人就是我梦寐以求的雷切尔吗，那个照片上柔美的美人鱼吗？
因为很久不见，我们互相寒暄，谈了共同关心的话题，我们就像老朋友那样聊天，很快发现我们已经是祖父母了。
“你还记得这个吗？”她递给我一张破旧的纸，那是我在学校时为她写的一首诗，我仔细看了这首节奏粗糙、韵律苍白的诗。她望着我的脸，从我的手里把信抢走并装进了包里，好像很怕我会毁掉它。
我告诉她有关相片的事，在整个战争中我是如何携带它的。
“就算我们结婚了，也不会幸福，这你是知道的。”她说。
“你为何如此确定？”我反问她，“哦，姑娘，我的爱尔兰道德感和你犹太人的责任心，那一定非常和谐！”
我们的笑声惊动了旁边的人。离开前，我们都偷偷摸摸地看了对方一眼。我想，那是因为我们从对方身上看到我们一直保留在心中的形象破灭了。
在我送她上出租车之前，她转向我说：“我只是想再看你一眼，告诉你一些事情。”她的双眼凝视着我，“我想谢谢你曾经那么爱我。”我们吻了一下，她离开了。
我在商店的橱窗里看见了自己：灰白的头发在傍晚的微风中拂动，我决定步行回家。她的吻还在我的唇上燃烧，我感到有点晕，于是坐在公园的一张长凳上，让夕阳下熠熠发光的花草树木将我包围，某种东西从我的心中消失了，完全消失了，此时的景色是如此之美，为了此时的欢愉，我想大叫，想唱歌跳舞。
初 恋（2）
一切很快就过去了，好像一切都是注定的，不一会儿，我起身回家了。
初恋通常是美好的，可是本文主人公的初恋则有些让人无奈，也有些让人惋惜。可是时光荏苒，当年的爱如今已经成为一种深深的情谊。在深深的临别亲吻中，蕴含的是祝福与欣慰。初恋时的那份情让我们永藏于心，偶尔回味起来，也是一份感动。
First Love
John Walters
I remember the way the light touched her hair。 She turned her head； and our eyes met； a momentary awareness in that raucous1 fifth…grade classroom。 I felt as though I’d been struck a blow under the heart。 Thus began my first love affair。
Her name was Rachel； and I mooned my way through grade and high school； stricken at the mere sight of her； tongue…tied in her presence。 Does anyone； anymore； linger in the shadows of evening； drawn by the pale light of a window—her window—like some hapless summer insect？
I would catch sight of her； walking down an aisle of trees to or from school； and I’d bee paralyzed。 She always seemed so poised2； so self…possessed。 At home； I’d relive each encounter； writhing at the thought of my inadequacies。 Even so； as we enterd our teens。 I sensed her affectionate tolerance3 for me。
“Going steady” implied a maturity we still lacked。 Her Orthodox Jewish upbringing and my own Catholic scruples imposed acelibate grace that made even kissing a distant prospect； however； fervently desired。 I managed to hold her once at a dance—chaperoned； of course。 Our embrace made her giggle； a sound so trusting that I hated myself for what I’d been thinking。
At any rate； my love for Rachel remained unrequited。 We graduated from high school； she went on to college； and I joined the Army。 When World War II engulfed us； I was sent overseas。 For a time we corresponded4； and her letters were the highlight of those grinding； endless years。 Once she sent me a snapshot of herself in a bathing suit； which drove me to the wildest of fantasies。 I mentioned the possibility of marriage in my next letter； and almost immediately her replies became less frequent； less personal。
The first thing I did when I returned to the States was to call on Rachel。 Her mother answered the door。 Rachel no longer lived there。 She had married a medical student she’d met in college。 “I thought she wrote you。” her mother said。
Her“Dear John” letter finally caught up with me while I was awaiting discharge。 She gently explained the impossibility of a marriage between us。 Looking back on it； I must have recovered rather quickly； although for the first few months I believed I didn’t want to live。 Like Rachel； I found someone else； whom I learned to love with a deep and permanent5 mitment that has lasted to this day。
Then； recently； after an interval of more than 40 years； I heard from Rachel again。 Her husband had died。 She was passing through town and had learned of my where abouts through a mutual friend。 We agreed to meet。 。 想看书来
初 恋（3）
I felt both curious and excited。 In the last few years； I hadn’t thought about her； and her sudden call one morning had taken me aback。 The actual sight of her was a shock。 This white…haired matron6 at the restaurant table was the Rachel of my dreams and desires； the supple mermaid of that snapshot？
Yet time had given us a mon reference and respect。 We talked as old friends； and quickly discovered we were both grandparents。
“Do you remember this？” She handed me a slip of worn paper。 It was a poem I’d written her while still in school。 I examined the crude meter and pallid rhymes。 Watching my face； she snatched the poem from me and returned it to her purse； as though fearful I was going to destroy it。
I told her about the snapshot； how I’d carried it all through the war。
“It wouldn’t have worked out； you know。” she said。
“How can you be sure？” I countered。 “Ah； colleen； it might have been grand indeed—my Irish conscience and your Jewish guilt！”
Our laughter startled people at a nearby table。 During the time left to us； our glances were furtive； oblique。 I think that what we saw in each other repudiated what we’d once been to ourselves； we immortals。
Before I put her into a taxi； she turned to me。 “I just wanted to see you once more。 To tell you something。” Her eyes met mine。“I wanted to thank you for having loved me as you did。 ” We kissed； and she left。
From a store window my reflection stared back at me； an aging mall； with gray hair stirred by an evening breeze。 I decided to walk home。 Her kiss still burned on my lips。 I felt faint； and sat on a park bench。 All around me the grass and trees were shining in the surreal glow of sunset。 Something was being lifted out of me。 Something had been pleted； and the scene before me was so beautiful that I wanted to shout and dance and sing for joy。
That soon passed； as everything must； and presently I was able to stand and start for home。
。。
家
佚名
我与一位路过的陌生人相撞了。我赶忙说声：“对不起！”他却说：“我也很抱歉……我没有注意到你。”我们彼此都彬彬有礼——陌生人和我。之后我们道别，各自上路。
但是，在家里的情况却完全不同。我们是怎样对待自己的爱人、孩子和老人呢？之后，当我在厨房做饭时，我的女儿蹑手蹑脚地进来，静悄悄地躲在我的背后。当我转身时差点撞倒了她。“让开！”我皱着眉头咆哮。她怏怏地离开，带着破碎的小小心灵。我没有意识到自己说得多严厉。
那晚，我躺在床上，上帝轻声地对我说：“与陌生人打交道，你沉着冷静、彬彬有礼。但与亲人相处，你却很容易激动……现在，去看看厨房的地上，你会看到门边的一些花。那些美丽的花朵是她带绐你的。她亲手采摘下来的——粉色的、黄色的，还有蓝色的。她悄悄地站在那里，是想给你一个惊喜。你都没看到她眼中的泪水。”
到现在，我感觉自己很悲哀、很渺小，此刻，我的泪水开始奔涌。我悄悄地来到她的床前，跪在床边：“醒醒，小甜心，醒一下，”我轻声地唤着她，“那些花是你采给我的吗？”自豪的笑容浮上她的嘴角，“我在外面的榆树旁发现的。我用一张餐巾纸包起来，就是为了送给你。我知道你一定会喜欢，尤其是蓝色的。”我感动地说：“对不起，宝贝，我今天没