说出心里话
Words from the Heart
Most people need to hear those "three little words" I love you. Once in a while, they hear them just in time.
I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospice1 ward, where I worked as a volunteer. Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby as she was transferred from the gurney2 to the hospital bed. Although Connie was in the final stages of her fight against cancer, she was alert and cheerful. We got her settled in. I finished marking her name on all the hospital supplies she would be using, then asked if she needed anything.
"Oh, yes," she said, "would you please show me how to use the TV? I enjoy the soaps so much and I dont want to get behind on whats happening." Connie was a romantic. She loved soap operas, romance novels and movies with a good love story. As we became acquainted, she confided how frustrating it was to be married 32 years to a man who often called her "a silly woman."
"Oh, I know Bill loves me," she said, "but he has never been one to say he loves me, or send cards to me." She sighed and looked out the window at the trees in the courtyard. "Id give anything if hed say ‘I love you, but its just not in his nature."
Bill visited Connie every day. In the beginning, he sat next to the bed while she watched the soaps. Later, when she began sleeping more, he paced up and down the hallway outside her room. Soon, when she no longer watched television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer time with Bill.
He talked about having worked as a carpenter and how he liked to go fishing. He and Connie had no children, but theyd been enjoying retirement by traveling, until Connie got sick. Bill could not express his feelings about the fact that his wife was dying.
One day, over coffee in the cafeteria, I got him on the subject of women and how we need romance in our lives; how we love to get sentimental1 cards and love letters.
"Do you tell Connie you love her?" I asked (knowing his answer)， and he looked at me as if I was crazy.
"I dont have to," he said. "She knows I do!"
"Im sure she knows," I said, reaching over and touching his hands rough, carpenters hands that were gripping the cup as if it were the only thing he had to hang onto "but she needs to hear it, Bill. She needs to hear what she has meant to you all these years. Please think about it."
We walked back to Connies room. Bill disappeared inside, and I left to visit another patient. Later, I saw Bill sitting by the bed. He was holding Connies hand as she slept. The date was February 12.
Two days later I walked down the hospice ward at noon. There stood Bill, leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor. I already knew from the head nurse that Connie had died at 11 A.M.。
When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms for a long time. His face was wet with tears and he was trembling. Finally, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep breath.
"I have to say something," he said. "I have to say how good I feel about telling her." He stopped to blow his nose. "I thought a lot about what you said, and this morning I told her how much I loved her.。. and loved being married to her. You shoulda2 seen her smile!"
I went into the room to say my own good?bye to Connie. There, on the bedside table, was a large Valentine card from Bill. You know, the sentimental kind that says, "To my wonderful wife.。. I love you."
大多数人需要听到那“三个小字”——我爱你。有时他们就会在最需要的时候听到。
我在康尼住进收容所病房的那天见到了她。我在那儿当义工。把她从轮床抬上病床时，她的丈夫比尔焦虑不安地站在旁边。虽然康尼处于和癌症搏斗的晚期，但她仍然神智清醒，精神愉快。我们把她安顿好。我在医院提供给她使用的所有用品上标上她的名字，然后问她是否需要什么。
“啊，是的，”她说，“请告诉我怎么用电视好吗？我非常喜欢肥皂剧，想随时跟上进展情况。”康尼是个浪漫的人。她酷爱肥皂剧、浪漫小说和讲述美好爱情故事的电影。随着我们越来越熟，她向我吐露说，跟一个经常叫她“傻女人”的男人生活了32年有多么沮丧。
“唉，我知道比尔爱我，”她说道，“可是他从来不说他爱我，也不给我寄贺卡。”她叹了口气，朝窗外庭院里的树望去。“如果他说声‘我爱你’，我愿意付出一切，可这根本不是他的性格。”
比尔每天都来探望康尼。一开始，康尼看肥皂剧，他就坐在床旁。后来，她睡的时候多了，比尔就在屋外走廊里踱来踱去。不久，康尼不再看电视了，醒的时候也少了，我开始花更多的义工时间和比尔在一起。
他谈到他一直是个木工，他多么喜欢钓鱼。他和康尼没有孩子，但他们四处旅游，享受着退休生活，直到康尼得病。对他妻子病危这一事实，比尔无法表达他的感受。
一天，在自助餐厅喝咖啡时，我设法和比尔谈起女人这个话题，谈到生活中我们多么需要浪漫，多想收到充满柔情蜜意的卡片和情书。
“你跟康尼说你爱她吗？”我明知故问。他瞧着我，就好像我有神经病。
“我没有必要说，”他说道。“她知道我爱她！”
“我肯定她知道，”我说。我伸出手，触摸着他那双木工粗糙的手。这双手紧握着杯子，似乎它是他需要依附的惟一东西——“可是她需要听到它，比尔。她需要听到所有这些年来她对你意味什么。请你考虑考虑。”
我们走回康尼的房间。比尔进了屋，我走开去看望另一个病人。后来，我看见比尔坐在床边。康尼入睡了，他握着她的一只手。那天是2月12日。
两天后的中午时分，我顺着收容所病房过道向前走着。比尔站在那里，靠着墙，凝视着地面。护士长已经告诉我，康尼在上午11点故去了。
比尔看见我后，让我拥抱了他许久。他满脸泪水，浑身颤抖。最后，他向后靠在墙上，深深地吸了一口气。
“我有话非说不可，”他说道。“我得说，对她说出来，感觉真是好极了。”他停下来擤鼻子。“你说的话我想了很多；今天早上我对她说我多么爱她……我多么珍惜和她结为夫妻。你真该看看她的笑容！”
我走进康尼的房间，亲自去和她告别 。我看见，床头桌上放着一张比尔给她的大大的情人节贺卡——就是那种充满柔情蜜意的贺卡，上面写着：“给我出色的妻子……我爱你。”
爱情的见证
Loves Witness
Slight unpremeditated Words are borne
By every common Wind into the Air;
Carelessly utterd, die as soon as born，
And in one instant give both Hope and Fear：
Breathing all Contraries with the same Wind
According to the Caprice of the Mind.
But Billetdoux are constant Witnesses，
Substantial Records to Eternity;
Just Evidences，who the Truth confess,
On which the Lover safely may rely；
Theyre serious Thoughts，digested and resolvd；
And last，when Words are into Clouds devolvd.
不加思索的轻率话语，
被每一次平凡的呼吸载入空气；
随便说说，刚出口即消失，
一瞬间给人希望和恐惧：
同一气息呼出万般矛盾心肠，
追随心灵无常的遐想。
但情书则是恒常的见证，
直至永恒的实体记录；
公道的证物，它道出真诚，
恋人能在其上安心依附；
它们是严肃的思想，经过深思熟虑；
当话语在云外消失，它们还将延续。
Remember, my son, you have to work. Whether you handle a pick or a pen, a wheel-barrowor a set of books, digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing an auction bell or writing funnythings, you must work. If you look around you will see the men who are the most able to livethe rest of their days without work are the men who work the hardest. Don't be afraid of killingyourself with overwork. It is beyond your power to do that on the sunny side of thirty. They diesometimes, but it is because they quit work at six in the evening, and do not go home until twoin the morning. It’s the interval that kills, my son. The work gives you an appetite for yourmeals; it lends solidity to your slumbers, it gives you a perfect and grateful appreciation of aholiday.
The Sleeping Beauty - 睡美人
Sleep on ，and dream of Heaven awhile-----
Tho shut so close thy laughing eyes,
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile
And move and breathe delicious sighs!
Ah ，now soft blushes tinge her cheeks
And mantle oer her neck of snow;
Ah,now she murmurs, now she speaks
What most I wish--------and fear to know!
She starts ，she trembles ，and she weeps!
Her fair hands folded on her breast;
-------And now ，how like a saint she sleeps!
A seraph in the realms of rest!
Sleep on secure! A bove control
Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee;
And may the secret of thy soul
Remain within its sanctuary!
Rush 匆匆--朱自清
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? - If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?
燕子去了，有再来的时候；杨柳枯了，有再青的时候；桃花谢了，有再开的时候。但是，聪明的，你告诉我，我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢？——是有人偷了他们罢：那是谁？又藏在何处呢？是他们自己逃走了：现在又到了哪里呢？
I dont know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
我不知道他们给了我多少日子；但我的手确乎是渐渐空虚了。在默默里算着，八千多日子已经从我手中溜去；象针尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在时间的流里，没有声音也没有影子。我不禁头涔涔而泪潸潸了。
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come keep coming; yet in between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus--the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal, and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withho www.baihuaw en.lding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.
去的尽管去了，来的尽管来着，去来的中间，又怎样的匆匆呢？早上我起来的时候，小屋里射进两三方斜斜的太阳。太阳他有脚啊，轻轻悄悄地挪移了；我也茫茫然跟着旋转。于是——洗手的时候，日子从水盆里过去；吃饭的时候，日子从饭碗里过去；默默时，便从凝然的双眼前过去。我觉察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽时，他又从遮挽着的手边过去，天黑时，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地从我身边垮过，从我脚边飞去了。等我睁开眼和太阳再见，这算又溜走了一日。我掩着面叹息。但是新来的日子的影儿又开始在叹息里闪过了。
What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to the world, stark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing!
在逃去如飞的日子里，在千门万户的世界里的我能做些什么呢？只有徘徊罢了，只有匆匆罢了；在八千多日的匆匆里，除徘徊外，又剩些什么呢？过去的日子如轻烟却被微风吹散了，如薄雾，被初阳蒸融了；我留着些什么痕迹呢？我何曾留着象游丝样的痕迹呢？我赤裸裸来到这世界，转眼间也将赤裸裸地回去罢？但不能平的，为什么偏要白白走这一遭啊？
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
你聪明的，告诉我，我们的日子为什么一去不复返呢？