作者：暖小昕
出版社：宁波出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
每天读点好英文：时光会记得试读：
心中的暖流 Warm in the Heart
佚名/Anonymous这是丹佛一个非常寒冷的早上。这样的天气，人们应该整天都待在家里，或者感冒了在家里休息，等妈妈端来一碗热汤，应该是这样度过。
而我得去丹佛大会中心给几百人做演讲，他们和我一样没感冒，不可能待在家里等妈妈端来热汤。我们聚在大会中心，对于这样的天气除了说几句之外，再也无计可施。
我的无线麦克风需要电池，而我没有带。我确实需要一块备用电池，没有其他办法了。我只好竖起衣领，低着头，穿着皮鞋，向寒风中走去。
我在一个拐角处看到一块指示标，上面不远处有一个7-11便利店。假如我快点走，步子迈大，就能进到商店里，避开凛冽的风和干燥的空气。住在丹佛的人对城外的人开玩笑说，丹佛的冬季能让你感受到愉悦的寒冷。当他们的亲戚问他们住在海拔这样高的城市感觉如何时，他们回答说：“那是一种更干燥的寒冷。”干燥，胡说八道。天气冷得足以让那只著名的黄铜制的猴子移动。
在7-11便利店里有两个人，站在柜台后面的人佩带着一个有她名字的胸牌，她叫罗伯塔。从她的表情可以判断，她大概还是希望待在家里哄孩子，给孩子准备热汤。但现在她却在寒冷的几乎没有什么人的丹佛市区的一个小商店里服务。对于那些在这么冷的天里还傻乎乎地跑到街上逛的人来说，她似乎是一个归航信标，看到她，人们就不再惧怕和躲避寒冷了。
便利店里另一个人是一位躲避寒冷的高个子的老人。但是，他好像在店里待得很舒服，不想走出商店，再回到大风里，走在结冰的人行道上。我不禁想，他可能是疯了，也可能是迷路了。在这样冷的天气里出来逛7-11便利店，这人真是愚蠢。
我没有时间去理会这个失去理性的老人。我要买一个电池，几百名有重要事要做的重要人物在会议中心等着我呢。我来这儿是有目的的。可是，这位老人在我之前来到柜台前，罗伯塔笑着，老人没说话。罗伯塔拿起他挑选的商品，把商品的价钱逐个输入计算器。老人在这么冷的天气里出来，就为买几个松饼和香蕉，真不值得。
就为买松饼和香蕉，一个正常的人是会等到春天来临，街道恢复正常，逛街的时候顺便买的。而这位老人却没有这样做，他拖着衰弱的身体在这样寒冷的早晨出来，让人感觉好像是没有明天了。
可能真的没有明天了，他已经很老了。
当罗伯塔算出总额，老人把僵硬的、干枯的手伸进大衣兜里，摸出一个像老人一样老的装硬币的钱包。几个硬币和皱巴巴的一美元散落在柜台上，而罗伯塔收起这些钱就像拿到宝贝一样兴奋。
松饼和香蕉被装进塑料袋里后，接下来发生的事使我震惊了。老人没说话，他僵硬干枯的手慢慢地伸过柜台，他的手在颤抖，接着稳定下来。罗伯塔把塑料袋的手柄撑开，套到老人的手腕上，他伸在空中的手指长满了说明他年龄的老人斑。
罗伯塔笑得更亲切了。
她握起老人另一只僵硬干枯的手，接着她把老人的双手捧在她褐色的脸颊前，她上下左右地暖和着老人的手。他的围巾几乎从他宽阔、弯曲的肩膀上掉下来了，她帮他围在脖子上，但他仍然没说话，他站在那儿，好像是在把刚刚发生的一切装进自己的记忆里，而这种记忆至少要持续到明天。当然，明天他还会冒着严寒来这儿。罗伯塔为他扣上了被他忽略的扣子，她看着他的眼睛，竖起一根纤细的手指，开玩笑地责怪他，“约翰逊先生，我希望你以后多注意哟。”接着为了强调，她稍稍停顿了一下，很认真地说：“我明天还要在这儿看到你。”他来这儿，是为了获得心灵上的慰藉。
罗伯塔说的最后一句话在他耳边回响，他记下了叮嘱。犹豫了一下，转过身，他前脚紧挨着后脚，挪动着，向寒冷的丹佛的早晨走去。这时，我意识到他不是来买香蕉和松饼的，他来这儿，是为了获得心灵上的慰藉。
It was a bitterly cold Denver morning. This was a day for staying home, for having a cold and waiting for mom to bring a cup of soup. That was the way the day was supposed to be.
I had a job speaking at the Denver Convention Center to a couple hundred other people who, like me, were unable to have the sniffles and stay home for Mom to bring us soup. Instead, we gathered at the Convention Center, unable to do more about the weather than to talk about it.
I needed a battery for my wireless microphone. I had failed to pack a spare.There was no choice, really. I needed a battery. So I headed into the wind, head bowed, and collar up, shuffling in too-thin dress shoes.
Around the corner, I spotted a small sign announcing that a 7-Eleven convenience store was within sight. If I walked quickly and lengthened my stride, I could reach the front door and shelter from the brisk wind without drawing a breath of lung-burning air. People who live in Denver like to play with outsiders by telling them that winter in Denver means enduring a pleasant kind of cold.“It's a much drier kind of cold, ”report the Denver folks, when their relatives ask how they like life in the mile-high city. Drier, my foot! It's cold enough to give the famous brass monkey reason to move.
Inside the 7-Eleven were two souls. The one behind the counter wore a name badge saying she was Roberta. Judging by her appearance, Roberta probably wished that she were home bringing hot soup and soothing words to her own little ones. Instead, she was spending her day manning an outpost for commerce in a nearly abandoned, downtown Denver. She would be a beacon, a refuge for the few who were foolish enough to be out and about on a day so cold.
The other refugee from the cold was a tall, elderly gentleman who seemed comfortable with his surroundings. He was in absolutely no hurry to step back through the front door and risk sailing through town at the mercy of the wind and ice-covered sidewalks. I couldn't help but think that the gentleman had lost his mind or his way. To be out on such a day, shuffling through the merchandise of a 7-Eleven, the man must be completely daft.
I didn't have time to be concerned with an old man who had taken leave of his senses. I needed a battery, and there were a couple hundred important people who had things left to do with their lives waiting for me back at the Convention Center. We had a purpose.
The old man somehow found his way to the counter ahead of me. Roberta smiled. He said not a single word. Roberta picked up each of his meager purchases and entered each amount into the cash register. The old man had dragged himself into the Denver morning for a lousy muffin and a banana. What a sorry mistake it was!
For a muffin and a banana, a sane man could wait until spring and then perhaps enjoy the opportunity to saunter the streets when they had returned to reasonableness. Not this guy. He had sailed his old carcass into the morning as if there were no tomorrow.
Perhaps there would be no tomorrow. After all, he was pretty old.
When Roberta had figured the total, a tired, old hand fished deep into the trench coat pocket. His fishing hand caught a change purse as old as the man himself. A few coins and a wrinkled dollar bill fell onto the counter. Roberta treated them as though she were about to receive a treasure.
When the meager purchases had been placed into a plastic bag, something remarkable happened. Not a word had been spoken by her elderly friend, an old tired hand slowly extended over the counter. The hand trembled, and then steadied. Roberta spread the plastic handles on the bag and gently slipped them over his wrist. The fingers that dangled into space were gnarled and spotted with the marks of age.
Roberta smiled larger.
She scooped up the other tired, old hand and in an instant, she was holding them both, gathered in front of her brown face. She warmed them. Top and bottom. Then sides. She reached and pulled the scarf that had flown nearly off his broad but stooped shoulders. She pulled it close around his neck. Still he said not a single word. He stood as if to cement the moment in his memory. It would have to last at least until tomorrow, When he would once again shuffle through the cold. Roberta buttoned a button that had eluded the manipulation of the old hands. She looked him in the eyes and, with a slender finger, mockingly scolded him.“Now, Mr. Johnson. I want you to be very careful.”She then paused ever so lightly for emphasis and added sincerely, “I need to see you in here tomorrow.”
With those last words ringing in his ears, the old man had his orders. He hesitated, and then turned, and one tired foot shuffling barely in front of the other, he moved slowly into the bitter Denver morning. I realized then that he had not come in search of a banana and a muffin. He had come in to get warm in his heart.
真正的朋友 RealFriends
佚名/Anonymous第一次世界大战期间，当一位士兵眼睁睁地看着自己相知相伴的朋友倒下时，恐惧顿时遍布全身。尽管他身处战壕中，头顶上子弹来回穿梭，士兵还是去请求中尉允许他去战壕间的“无人区”，把倒下的伙伴带回来。“可以，”中尉答道，“不过我认为不值得。要知道，你的朋友可能已经死了，你想白白送死吗？”
士兵并没有听从中尉的话，义无反顾地去了。他竟奇迹般地靠近了伙伴，并用肩膀将他扛回了战壕。中尉检查了那名战士的伤势后，和蔼地望着他的这位朋友说：“我说过，这不值得，他已经死了，而你也伤得很严重。”“尽管这样，我这么做还是值得的，长官。”士兵答道。“值得？你知道自己在说什么吗？”中尉反驳道，“你的朋友已经死了！”“是的，是值得的，长官。因为当我找到他时，他还活着。而且，我很欣慰地听到他对我说：‘吉姆，我知道你会来的。'”士兵回答道。
人生中，很多时候对于一件事情是否值得去做，取决于你如何去评判它的价值。鼓起勇气，做你内心指引你做的事情，这样，日后你就不会为没有行动而后悔。
愿天下每个人都有真正的朋友相伴左右。※愿天下每个人都有真正的朋友相伴左右。
Horror gripped the heart of the World War I soldier, as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle. Caught in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his lieutenant if he might go out into the“No Man's Land”between the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.
“You can go, ”said the lieutenant, “but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your own life away.”
The lieutenant's words didn't matter, and the soldier went anyway. Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring him back to their company's trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend.
“I told you it wouldn't be worth it, ”he said, “your friend is dead, and you are mortally wounded.”
“It was worth it, though, sir.”the soldier said.
“How do you mean, ‘worth it' ? ”responded the lieutenant.“Your friend is dead ! ”
“Yes, sir, ”the private answered, “but it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and I had the satisfaction of hearing him say, ‘Jim, I knew you' d come.'”
Many times in life, whether a thing is worth doing or not really depends on how you look at it. Take up all your courage and do something your heart tells you to do so that you may not regret not doing it later in life.
May each and every one of you be blessed with the company of real friends.
情暖今生 The Gift
茹涅·吉尔 / Junie Girl我是纽约医院的老病号了。午夜早已过去，我站在九楼病房的窗前，身上裹着暖和的羊毛大衣，默默地凝视着窗外的第59街大桥。它如同圣诞树般闪烁着美丽光芒。对我而言，纽约城永远都是那么特别，有百老汇大剧院、音乐以及形形色色、不同档次的餐馆。“这个城市本就应该是这样。”我想着，早晨的到来和其伴随的未知状况使我惊恐不安。然而早晨终究来临，那天是3月17日，上午九点，我被推进手术室。等我再次被推回疗养室时，已经过去11个小时45分钟了。没过几个小时，我就被送回自己的病房。我发现自己居然可以站起来，并可以在家人和医疗器械的帮助下行走。遵医嘱，我要在医院的长廊里走上一个往返。
那是我第一次见到他。由于药物和疼痛的影响，我看着他，感觉一切模糊而毫无真实感。他站在一间病房门口。我虚弱如一个垂垂暮年的老人，在我蒙眬的视线中，他更像一个神灵而不是一个实实在在的人。然而，不知何故，我还是从这个身影的肢体语言中感受到了他对我的同情和鼓励。
接下来的三周，在走廊里行走成为我每日的例行功课。我的力气稍微恢复后，每次在一两个家人的帮助下穿过走廊时，他都会站在那里，微笑着向我点头。第四周时，我可以独立在走廊中走了。当我走过他的房间时，我看到那位忠实的朋友就站在门口。他肤色较暗，身材瘦削。我停下来与他攀谈起来。他向我介绍了他的妻儿，他的儿子正虚弱地躺在病床上。次日，我照常做练习，他走出病房，陪我走到我房间。他解释说，他和妻子带着年轻的孩子从伊朗充满希望地来到这家医院。他们依然充满希望，但情况并未好转。他告诉我，在我手术后的那个难熬的夜晚，我努力行走的情形，深深地鼓舞了他，他也在默默地支持我。之后的三周里，我们常常聊天，相互关心鼓励。他说看到我的家人都在关心支持我，感到很开心。而每当我想到他们这个小家庭远离家乡的孤独时，总会悲伤不已。
难以置信的是，有一天，医生对我说，明天就可以出院了。晚上我把这个消息告诉了我的朋友。次日早晨，他来到我的房间。其实，那天我起得很早，并换好了衣服。鲜亮的黄色衣服给了我希望，看起来总算有了人样。我们聊了一会儿。我告诉他我会为他的儿子祈祷。他谢过我，却满是绝望地耸了耸肩。我们都明白永远不会再见到对方了。悲伤的他也为我感到开心。我感受到了他的这份关爱。他握着我的手说：“你就像是我的妹妹。”我回答说：“你就像是我的哥哥。”之后，他转身离开了。像孩子般无忧无虑，并满怀感激地接受爱。
家人来接我时，医生和护士们都向我道别并反复叮嘱出院后的注意事项。一切都很顺利。七个半星期前，我惶恐不安地走进了医院的病房，而如今，我终于离开了这里。
沿着走廊向电梯走去时，我的“哥哥”就站在病房门口，微笑着向我点点头，传达着他的祝福。
14年前的今天，也就是1990年3月17日，我走进了手术室。而自从我和我的哥哥最后一次见面后，世界发生了翻天覆地的变化。但我依然常常想起他，我相信我一直在他心里，而他也永远在我的心中。我仍记得他那充满热情的深褐色眼睛，以及我们曾许下要成为兄妹的诺言。那一瞬间，我深信圣灵就徘徊在我们身边，微笑着点头，将祝福赐予我们，因为他明白我们不分彼此。
这些年来，多少次，我都在深思，为什么人在最脆弱时所认识的朋友总是最亲密的，或是会与对方有如此紧密的联系。我想那是因为当我们面临失业、危及生命的疾病或无论多大的灾祸时，都会放弃所有的自负，向身边的人敞开心扉，接受他人的关爱和善意——就像孩子般无忧无虑，并满怀感激地接受爱。这种爱无种族、肤色、信仰之分，因为它，那双深褐色的眼睛与这双蓝色的眼睛相遇，并许下了永远相互关爱的诺言。
It was well after mid-night, wrapped in my warm fleecy robe, I stood silently staring out the ninth floor window of the daunting New York hospital. I was staring at the 59th Street Bridge. It was as sparkling and beautiful as a Christmas tree. New York city has always been special to me; the Broadway theatre, the music, the restaurants—from the deli's to the Tavern-On-the-Green.“This is what the city is supposed to be about, ”I thought, dreading the morning to come and all the uncertainty it held. But the morning did come and at nine a.m. on that March 17th, I was wheeled into an operating room. Eleven hours and forty-five minutes later I was wheeled into a recovery room, and a very few hours after being returned to my own hospital room, I found myself actually on my feet, half walking, half propelled by medical equipment and members of my family. The orders were to walk the length and back of the long hospital corridor.
It was then that I first saw him. I saw him through a haze of drugs, pain and the dreamy unreality that could be happening to me. He was standing in the doorway of a hospital room. In my twilight, unfocused state I saw him almost as a spirit shape rather than a full blown person. Yet the body language of this shape was somehow sending out sympathy and encouragement to me.
This became my daily routine for the next three weeks. As I gained a little more strength the man would be standing in the doorway, smiling and nodding as I would pass with one or more members of my family. On the fourth week I was allowed to solo up the corridor. As I passed his room, there was my faithful friend in the doorway. He was a slender dark complexioned man. I stopped a minute to chat. He introduced me to his wife, and his son who was lying listlessly in a hospital bed. The next day as I made my scheduled walk, he came out and walked with me to my room. He explained that he and his wife had brought their teenage son to this hospital of hope from Iran. They were still hoping, but things were not going well. He told me of how I had encouraged him on that first dreadful night's walking tour and how he was rooting for me. For three more weeks we continued our conversations—each giving the other the gift of caring and friendship. He told me of how he enjoyed seeing my family as they rallied around me and I was saddened by the loneliness of that small family so far from home.
Miraculously, there did come a day when the doctor told me I would be discharged the following morning. That night I told my friend. The next morning he came to my room. I had been up and dressed since dawn. My bright yellow dress gave me hope and I almost looked human. We talked a bit. I told him I would pray for his son. He thanked me but shrugged his shoulders, indicating the hopelessness. We knew we would never see each other again, in this world. This man in his sorrow was so happy for me. I felt his love. He took my hand and said, “You are my sister.”I answered back and said, “You are my brother.”He turned and left the room.
My family came to retrieve me. Doctors and nurses, to say their goodbyes and give orders. All business had been taken care of. After seven and a half weeks I was leaving the hospital room I had walked into with so much trepidation.
As I turned to walk down the corridor to the elevator, my brother stood in the doorway, smiling, nodding and giving his blessing.
It was 14 years ago today on March 17th 1990 that I entered that operating room and much has happened to the world since my brother and I said our last farewell. Yet I think of him often and he is always in my heart as I feel I am in his. I remember his intense, dark brown eyes as we pledged ourselves as brother and sister. At that moment, I knew without a doubt that the Spirit of God hovered over us smiling, nodding and blessing us with the knowledge that we are all one.
Many times I have pondered over the years why we humans meet our dearest friends or bond so deeply with another person when we are most vulnerable. I think it is because when we face a life threatening illness, job loss, whatever the catastrophe may be; we are left completely without any pretension and our hearts and souls are open to those around us and we are able to accept the love and kindnesses of others—almost as freely and thankfully as children accept love. This kind of love is blind to race, color and creed and leads to a pair of dark brown eyes seeking a pair of very blue eyes and pledging a love that will last through time.
不经意的邂逅 An Unexpected Insight
佚名/Anonymous当时我正在一家商场购物，刚踏上自动扶梯，就看到一位年约65岁的女士正站在扶梯旁。她的表情告诉我她有些害怕，于是我转过身问她：“需要帮忙吗？”扶梯仍在继续下移，我听到她小声地回答：“我害怕。”从话语中可以听出她有些迟疑，我便大声对她喊道：“要我回去帮你吗？”她点了点头。
但当我到她身边的时候，我突然意识到事情远比想象的要复杂得多。因为她又开始重新考虑了，她说：“我想我不行。”“我知道我们可以的，”我说，“我会扶着你的。”她低头充满疑虑地看了看扶梯，然后又看看我，说道：“这东西我从来没有乘过。”像是自言自语又像是在对我说。我想可能是因为自动扶梯是机械的，而且毫无安全感，因此给她造成了突然的恐惧。“没什么，我很高兴能帮到你。”
我搀着她的胳膊，说：“我们可以走了吗？”尽管走上扶梯时她又轻微地惊叫了一下，但踏上扶梯的我们已经不能回头了。随着扶梯的下移，她也渐渐放松下来了。她说：“我根本不了解这东西。”她紧张的神经在扶梯接近底部时又有些绷紧了，但我们走下扶梯时很顺利。她开口说道：“真是太感谢你了。”我说：“没什么，我很高兴能帮到你。”
的确，我很开心。整天忙于工作和照顾家庭的我很少去帮助别人。而在这短暂的一刻，我瞬间领悟到为什么有人愿意去做护士、社会工作者或牧师。几周以来，这是我最开心的时刻。因为我觉得在我帮助这位女士的那一刻，生活变得纯洁、完整、更有意义了。
I was shopping at a department store and had just boarded the down escalator when I noticed a woman standing to the side. She looked about 65, and her expression told me she was scared. I turned toward her and asked, “Do you need help? ”As the escalator continued moving I heard the woman reply softly, “I'm afraid.”There was a hint of incredulity in her voice.“Want me to come back and get you? ”I called to her. She nodded.
But by the time I reached her, the woman had reconsidered.“I don't think I can do it, ”she said. I was suddenly aware that I had made a far greater investment than I expected.“I know we can do it, ”I said.“I can hold on to you.”She looked down at the beast. Then her eyes came back to mine, looking doubtful.“This has never happened to me before, ”she said, as much to herself as to me. I felt that her sudden fear had to do with the escalator's mechanical nature, its basic inhuman untrustworthiness.
I took her arm, “Shall we? ”She made a little sound of alarm as we stepped on, but we'd passed the point of no return. She relaxed slightly as the stairs moved us downward.“ I don't understand this at all, ”she said. As we neared the bottom, her grip tightened again, but we did fine.“I'm so grateful.”She said.“It was nothing, ”I said, “I was happy to do it.”
Happy yes. I do very little to help others. I am busy caring for a family and working full time. For a brief moment, I had a flash of insight into why someone would become a nurse or a social worker or a minister. When I helped the woman, I felt pure and whole, purposeful. It was a happier moment than I'd had in weeks.
电话里的朋友 A Friend on the Line
金尼斯·迈克尔·比奇 / Jennings Michael Birch没有朋友的人生就如同没有见证的死亡。——西班牙谚语
号码还没拨完，我就发现自己打错了。电话铃响了一声，两声——然后有人接起来了。“你打错了！”一个沙哑的男声说道，之后是电话挂断的声音。我很迷惑，于是又拨了过去。“我说你打错电话了！”那个声音回答道。电话又一次在我的耳边挂断。
他怎么知道我打错了？当时，我正在纽约市警署工作。一个警察通常职业性地充满警惕性和好奇心。于是我第三次拨了那个电话。“嗨，伙计，”那个人说，“又是你吧？”“是的，又是我，”我回答说，“我很奇怪，我还没说话，你怎么就知道我打错了呢？”“你自己想去吧！”电话猛地被挂断了。
我坐了一会儿，漫不经心地拿着电话筒，又打了过去。“你弄明白了吗？”他问。“我唯一能想到的原因就是……从来没人给你打过电话。”“你说对了！”电话第四次被挂断。我咯咯地笑着，又拨通了那个电话。“你现在还想干什么？”他问。“我觉得我应该打个电话……跟你问个好。”“问好？为什么？”“因为如果从来没人给你打过电话，我想或许我应该这么做。”“好吧。你好，你是谁？”
终于，我打通了这个电话。现在他充满了好奇。我告诉他我是谁并问他是谁。“我叫阿道夫·梅斯，今年88岁。20年来，我还没在一天内接过这么多打错的电话呢！”我们都笑了。
我们聊了十分钟。阿道夫没有家庭，也没有朋友。曾经和他关系亲密的人都已离开了人世。后来发现，我们有一个共同点：他在纽约市警署工作了将近40年。他告诉我他当时是电梯操作员。他似乎很有趣，也很友好。我问是否可以再给他打电话。
他很诧异地问：“你为什么还想打电话呢？”“因为，我们可以成为电话里的朋友。你知道的，就像笔友一样。”
他犹豫了一下。“我不介意……再有一个朋友。”他试探性地说。没有朋友的人生就如同没有见证的死亡。
次日下午和几天后，我又给阿道夫打了电话。他很健谈，跟我讲了他关于一战和二战、兴登堡灾难和其他的历史事件的一些记忆。他很吸引人。我把家里及办公室的电话都给了他，以便于他可以给我打电话。他这样做了——几乎每天都打。
我并不只是在对一个孤独的人表达善意。与阿道夫聊天对我来说也很重要。因为在我的生命中，也有一大片空白。我从小在孤儿院长大，后来被一个家庭收养，从未有过父亲。渐渐地，阿道夫对我的重要性就像父亲一样。我跟他讲我的工作和夜大的课程。
阿道夫也渐渐担当起顾问的角色。当讨论到我和上司的意见不同时，我对我的新朋友说：“我想应该和他谈一谈。”“干吗这么着急？”阿道夫提醒我说，“先冷处理一下。当你到我这个年纪时，就会发现时间可以解决一切。如果事情越来越糟糕，你再去跟他谈。”沉默了很长时间后，他温柔地说：“你知道吗，我跟你说话就像是在跟我自己的孩子说话一样。我一直想有一个家庭，有些孩子。你还年轻，还无法理解这种感受。”
不，不是的。我一直都想有个家，有个父亲。但我什么也没说，我害怕无法抑制住心中压抑已久的伤痛。
一天晚上，阿道夫提到他89岁的生日就要到了。我买了一块纤维板，将它设计成一个生日卡，并在上面画上了插着89支蜡烛的生日蛋糕。我请所有的同事及办公室的顶头上司在上面签名，收集了将近100个签名。我相信，阿道夫肯定会喜欢的。
在电话中，我们已经聊了4个月了，我觉得这是个见面的好机会。因此我决定亲自把贺卡送去。
我没有告诉阿道夫我要来。一天早上，我直接开车去了他住的地方，然后把车停在他公寓前的街上。我走进那座楼时，一个邮递员正在走廊里分邮件。我找阿道夫的邮箱，他对我点了点头。一楼H座就在那儿，离我站的地方不过20英尺。
我激动得心跳不已。我们还会有在电话中的那种感觉吗？这种猜疑让我的心有些刺痛感。也许他会拒绝我，就像当年父亲抛弃我一样，走出我的生活。我敲了敲阿道夫家的门。没有人回答，我又用力敲了敲。
整理邮件的邮递员抬起头，说：“那里没人。”“是的，”我自觉有些愚蠢地说，“如果他像接电话那样应门的话，那可能得敲上一天。”“你是他的亲戚吗？”“不是，只是一个朋友。”“我很难过，”他平静地说道，“梅斯先生前天过世了。”
去世了？阿道夫？那一刻，我不知道说什么好。我站在那里，震惊又怀疑。之后我回过神来，谢过邮递员，走进已近正午的阳光里。我朝车子走去，双眼已经湿润。
后来，绕过街角，我看到了一座教堂，《旧约全书》中的一行字映入我的脑海：朋友永远相爱。我觉得特别是在朋友去世之后。这让我有了更多感悟。生命中总会有一些意外悲伤的变化，提醒我们生命中特别存在的美丽。现在，我第一次感觉到我和阿道夫是多么亲密。与他亲近是这样容易。我知道我和下一个朋友会更容易走近。渐渐地，我感到一股暖流穿过全身。我听到阿道夫用缓慢的声音喊道：“打错了！”接着，又听到他问我为什么还想打电话。“因为你对我很重要，阿道夫，”我对着空气大声说，“因为我是你的朋友。”
我坐回驾驶座，把没有打开的生日贺卡放到了汽车后座。发动车子之前，我回头看了看，轻声说道：“阿道夫，我没有打错电话，我找的就是你。”
Life without a friend is death without a witness.——Spanish proverb
Even before I finished dialing, I somehow knew I'd made a mistake. The phone rang once, twice—then someone picked it up.
“You got the wrong number! ”a husky male voice snapped before the line went dead. Mystified, I dialed again.
“I said you got the wrong number! ”came the voice. Once more the phone clicked in my ear.
How could he possibly know I had a wrong number? At that time, I worked for the New York City Police Department. A cop is trained to be curious—and concerned. So I dialed a third time.
“Hey, demon, ”the man said.“Is this you again? ”
“Yeah, it's me, ”I answered.“I was wondering how you knew I had the wrong number before I even said anything? ”
“You figure it out! ”The phoned slammed down.
I sat there awhile, the receiver hanging loosely in my fingers. I called the man back.
“Did you figure it out yet? ”he asked.
“The only thing I can think of is ... nobody ever calls you.”
“You got it! ”The phone went dead for the fourth time. Chuckling, I dialed the man back.
“What do you want now? ”he asked.
“I thought I'd call ... just to say hello.”
“Hello? Why? ”
“Well, if nobody ever calls you, I thought maybe I should.”
“Okay. Hello. Who is this? ”
At last, I had got through. Now he was curious. I told him who I was and asked who he was.
“My name is Adolf Meth. I'm 88 years old, and I haven't had this many wrong numbers in one day in 20 years! ”We both laughed.
We talked for 10 minutes. Adolf had no family, no friends. Everyone he had been close to had died. Then we discovered we had something in common: he' d worked for the New York City Police Department for nearly 40 years. Telling me about his days there as an elevator operator, he seemed interesting, even friendly. I asked if I could call him again.
“Why would you wanna do that? ”he asked, surprised.
“Well, maybe we could be phone friends. You know, like pen pals.”
He hesitated.“I wouldn't mind... having a friend again.”His voice sounded a little tentative.
I called Adolf the following afternoon and several days later. Easy to talk with, he related his memories of World War I and II, the Hindenburg disaster and other historical events. He was fascinating. I gave him my home and office numbers so he could call us. He did almost every day.
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