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 sandcastle or something 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 really caring.
“Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.”
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided1 by. “That’s a joy, ” the child said.
“It’s a what? ” I asked.
“It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.” The bird went gliding2 down the beach.
“Good-bye joy, ” I muttered to myself, “hello pain, ” and turned to walk on. I was depressed3; my life seemed completely out of balance.
“What’s your name?” She wouldn’t give up.
“Robert, ” I answered. “I’m Robert Peterson. ”
“Mine’s Wendy... I’m six.”
“Hi, Windy.” She giggled5. “You’re funny, ” she said. In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle4 followed me.
“Come again, Mr. P, ” she called. “We’ll have another happy day.”
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts6, PTA meetings, and an ailing7 mother.
The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. “I need a sandpiper, ” I said to myself, gathering8 up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly9, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity10 I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.
“Hello, Mr. P, ” she said. “Do you want to play?”
“What did you have in mind? ” I asked, with a twinge of annoyance11.
“I don’t know, you say. ”
“How about charades12?” I asked sarcastically13.
The tinkling14 laughter burst forth15 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 pointed16 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 chattered17 little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy 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 even greet Wendy. 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 Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today. ” She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
“Why? ” she asked.
I turned to 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, ” I said, “and yesterday and the day before and — oh, go away! ”
“Did it hurt? “ she inquired.
“Did what hurt?” I was exasperated18 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 drawn19 looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was. ”
“Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke20 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 delightful21 child,” I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said. “Where is she?”
“Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you. ” Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.
“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 faltered22.
“She left something for you ... if only I could find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?”
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing23 for something, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared24 envelope, with “MR. P ” printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues25 — a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath26 was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY
Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, ” I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words — one for each year of her life — that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand — who taught me the gift of love.
|
我第一次和她在那个海滩上相遇时 ，她整六岁 。这个海滩离我的住处约有三、四英里 。每当我心情压抑 ，感到烦恼时，就驱车上那儿去。当时她正在用沙子堆积一个城堡似的东西 。看到我来 ，她抬起头来望着我 ，那双眼睛像大海般深邃 、湛蓝 。
“您好!”她说。我点了点头作为回答，说实在的 ，我没有心思跟一个小女孩费神 。“我在盖房子呢！ ”她又说 。
“我看见了。这盖的是什么房子呢？ ”我心不在焉地问道 。
“噢 ，我不知道，我就是喜欢摸沙子的感觉 。”
这倒有意思 ，我边想边脱掉鞋子。蓦地 ，一只矶鹞从一旁滑翔而过。孩子见了说：“那是欢乐 。 ”
“是什么？ ”
“是欢乐，矶鹞能给人们带来欢乐，妈妈说的 。” 那只矶鹞顺着海滨飞走了。
“再见了 ，快乐 ， ”我自言自语道，“痛苦来临了 。 ”并转身走开 。我很沮丧 ，因为我现在的生活一团糟。
“您叫什么名字啊？”她还不罢休 。
“罗伯特 ，”我回答，“我叫罗伯特·彼得森 。 ”
“我叫温迪 ， ”──听上去却像Windy（风的意思）。“我六岁了 。”
“你好 ，大风， ”我叫道 。“您真逗! ”她咯咯地笑了。尽管心绪不佳 ，我也不由得笑了起来 ，一边往前走着 。她那清脆悦耳的笑声依然追随着我 。
“您下次再来，彼先生。咱们再快乐地玩一天！”她喊着。
那以后的好几个星期 ，我忙得不可开交 ，没有一点闲暇：负责一群调皮捣蛋的童子军，参加家长教师联谊会；还要照顾生病的母亲 。
一个阳光明媚的上午，我洗完碗碟 ，心想：“我需要一只矶鹞 。 ”于是穿上外套向海滩走去。
海岸不断变化的芳香依然在等着我 。微风有点刺骨 ，但是我依然大步走着，我多么渴望能重新处于安静宁谧之中啊！我早已忘掉了那个孩子 ，所以当她出现在我面前时 ，不免吃了一惊 。
“您好，彼先生! ”她说。“你想玩吗？”
“你想玩什么？ ”带着一丝厌烦 ，我反问她 。
“我不知道 ，您说吧 。 ”
“猜字谜怎么样？”我挖苦地问。
“我不知道那是什么， ”她说着 ，又发出一阵银铃般的笑声 。
“那么 ，咱们一块儿走走吧 。 ”我望着她，看到了娇嫩而皙白的脸色。“你住在哪儿？”我问她 。
“那边！”她用小手指着远处一排夏季避暑的小别墅 。我感到纳闷。现在是冬天啊。
“你在哪儿上学呢？ ”
“我不上学 ，妈妈说我们在度假 。 ”我们漫步走上海滩 ，她一路上叽叽喳喳地说着小姑娘们的话 。 可是，我却心事重重。当我要回家时，温迪说这是快乐的一天 。奇怪的是 ，我的心情也感到舒坦多了 。于是 ，我同意的报以一笑。
三星期后的一天，我神思恍惚 ，几乎是疯狂似地冲向我的海滩 。我根本不想理睬温迪 。 |
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