the notebook-恋恋笔记本(英文版)- 第25部分

〃It's　good　to　talk　to　you。　I　find　that　I　miss　it；　even　when　it　hasn't　been　that　long。〃　I　am　sincere　and　she　knows　this；　but　she　is　still　wary。　I　am　a　stranger。

〃Is　this　something　we　do　often？〃　she　asks。　〃Do　we　sit　here　and　watch　the　birds　a　lot？　I　mean；　do　we　know　each　other　well？〃

〃Yes　and　no。　I　think　everyone　has　secrets；　but　we　have　been　acquainted　for　years。〃

She　looks　to　her　hands；　then　mine。　She　thinks　about　this　for　a　moment；　her　face　at　such　an　angle　that　she　looks　young　again。　We　do　not　wear　our　rings。　Again；　there　is　a　reason　for　this。　She　asks：　〃Were　you　ever　married？〃

I　nod。　〃Yes。〃

〃What　was　she　like？〃

I　tell　the　truth。　〃She　was　my　dream。　She　made　me　who　I　am；　and　holding　her　in　my　arms　was　more　natural　to　me　than　my　own　heartbeat。　I　think　about　her　all　the　time。　Even　now；　when　I'm　sitting　here；　I　think　about　her。　There　could　never　have　been　another。〃

She　takes　this　in。　I　don't　know　how　she　feels　about　this。　Finally　she　speaks　softly；　her　voice　angelic；　sensual。　I　wonder　if　she　knows　I　think　these　things。　〃Is　she　dead？〃

〃My　wife　is　alive　in　my　heart。　And　she　always　will　be；〃　I　answer。

〃You　still　love　her；　don't　you？〃

〃Of　course。　But　I　love　many　things。　I　love　to　sit　here　with　you。　I　love　to　watch　the　osprey　swoop　towards　the　creek　and　find　its　dinner。　I　love　to　share　the　beauty　of　this　place　with　someone　I　care　about。〃

She　is　quiet　for　a　moment。　She　looks　away　so　I　can't　see　her　face。　It　has　been　her　habit　for　years。　〃Why　are　you　doing　this？〃　No　fear；　just　curiosity。　This　is　good。　I　know　what　she　means；　but　I　ask　anyway。

〃What？〃

〃Why　are　you　spending　the　day　with　me？〃

I　smile。　〃I'm　here　because　this　is　where　I'm　supposed　to　be。　It's　not　plicated。　Both　you　and　I　are　enjoying　ourselves。　Don't　dismiss　my　time　with　you—it's　not　wasted。　It's　what　I　want。　I　sit　here　and　we　talk　and　I　think　to　myself；　“What　could　be　better　than　what　I　am　doing　now？〃

She　looks　me　in　the　eyes；　and　for　a　moment；　just　a　moment；　her　eyes　twinkle。　A　slight　smile　forms　on　her　lips。　〃I　like　being　with　you；　but　if　getting　me　intrigued　is　what　you're　after　you've　succeeded。　I　admit　I　enjoy　your　pany；　but　I　know　nothing　about　you。　I　don't　expect　you　to　tell　me　your　life　story；　but　why　are　you　so　mysterious？〃

〃I　read　once　that　women　love　mysterious　strangers。〃

〃See；　you　haven't　really　answered　the　question。　You　haven't　answered　most　of　my　questions。　You　didn't　even　tell　me　how　the　story　ended　this　morning。〃

I　shrug。　We　sit　quietly　for　a　while。　Finally　I　ask：　〃Is　it　true　that　women　love　mysterious　strangers？〃

She　thinks　about　this　and　laughs。　Then　she　answers　as　I　would：　〃I　think　some　women　do。〃

〃Do　you？〃

〃Now　don't　go　putting　me　on　the　spot。　I　don't　know　you　well　enough　for　that。〃　She　is　teasing　me　and　I　enjoy　it。

We　sit　and　watch　the　world　around　us。　This　has　taken　us　a　lifetime　to　learn。　It　seems　only　the　old　are　able　to　sit　next　to　one　another　and　not　say　anything　and　still　feel　content。　The　young；　brash　and　impatient；　must　always　break　the　silence。　It　is　a　waste；　for　silence　is　pure。　Silence　is　holy。　It　draws　people　together　because　only　those　who　are　fortable　with　each　other　can　sit　without　speaking。　This　is　the　great　paradox。

Time　passes；　and　gradually　our　breathing　begins　to　coincide。　Deep　breaths；　relaxed　breaths；　and　there　is　a　moment　when　she　dozes　off；　like　those　fortable　with　one　another　often　do。　When　she　wakes；　a　miracle：　〃Do　you　see　that　bird？〃　She　points　to　it；　and　I　strain　my　eyes。　It　is　a　wonder　I　can　see　it；　but　I　can　because　the　sun　is　bright。

〃Caspian　stern；〃　I　say　softly；　and　we　devote　our　attention　to　it　as　it　glides　over　Brices　Creek。　And；　like　an　old　habit　rediscovered；　when　I　lower　my　arm；　I　put　my　hand　on　her　knee　and　she　doesn't　make　me　move　it。

SHE　IS　RIGHT　about　my　evasiveness。　On　days　like　these；　when　only　her　memory　is　gone；　I　am　vague　in　my　answers　because　I've　hurt　my　wife　unintentionally　with　careless　slips　of　my　tongue　many　times　these　past　few　years；　and　I　am　determined　not　to　let　it　happen　again。　So　I　limit　myself　and　answer　only　what　is　asked；　to　limit　the　pain。　There　are　days　she　never　learns　of　her　children　or　that　we　are　married。　I　am　sorry　for　this；　but　I　will　not　change。

Does　this　make　me　dishonest？　Perhaps；　but　I　have　seen　her　crushed　by　the　waterfall　of　information　that　is　her　life。　Could　I　look　myself　in　the　mirror　without　red　eyes　and　quivering　jaw　and　know　I　have　forgotten　all　that　was　important　to　me？　I　could　not　and　neither　can　she；　for　when　this　odyssey　began；　that　is　how　I　began。　Her　life；　her　marriage；　her　children。　Her　friends　and　her　work。

The　days　were　hard　on　both　of　us。　I　was　an　encyclopedia；　an　object　without　feeling；　of　the　whos；　whats　and　wheres　in　her　life；　when　in　reality　it　is　the　whys；　the　things　I　did　not　know　and　could　not　answer；　that　make　it　all　worth　while。　She　would　stare　at　pictures　of　forgotten　offspring；　hold　paintbrushes　that　inspired　nothing；　and　read　love　letters　that　brought　back　no　joy。　She　would　weaken　over　the　hours；　growing　paler；　being　bitter　and　ending　the　day　worse　than　when　it　began。　Our　days　were　lost　and　so　was　she。

So　I　changed。　I　learned　what　is　obvious　to　a　child。　That　life　is　simply　a　collection　of　little　lives；　each　lived　one　day　at　a　time。　That　each　day　should　be　spent　finding　beauty　in　flowers　and　poetry　and　talking　to　animals。　That　a　day　spent　with　dreaming　and　sunsets　and　refreshing　breezes　cannot　be　bettered。　But　most　of　all；　I　learned　that　life　is　for　sitting　on　benches　next　to　ancient　creeks　with　my　hand　on　her　knee　and　sometimes；　on　good　days；　for　falling　in　love。

〃WHAT　ARE　you　thinking？〃　she　asks。

It　is　now　dusk。　We　have　left　our　bench　and　are　shuffling　along　lighted　paths　that　wind　their　way　around　this　plex。　She　is　holding　my　arm　and　I　am　her　escort。　It　is　her　idea　to　do　this。　Perhaps　she　is　charmed　by　me。　Perhaps　she　wants　to　keep　me　from　falling。　Either　way；　I　am　smiling　to　myself。

〃I'm　thinking　about　you。〃

She　makes　no　response　to　this　except　to　squeeze　my　arm；　and　I　can　tell　she　likes　what　I　said。　Our　life　together　has　enabled　me　to　see　the　clues；　even　if　she　does　not　know　them　herself。　I　go　on：　〃I　know　you　can't　remember　who　you　are；　but　I　can；　and　I　find　that　when　I　look　at　you　it　makes　me　feel　good。〃

　She　taps　my　arm　and　smiles。　〃You're　a　kind　man　with　a　loving　heart。　I　hope　I　enjoyed　you　as　much　before　as　I　do　now。〃

I　think　about　this　as　we　walk　in　silence；　holding　each　other；　past　the　rooms；　past　the　courtyard。　We　e　to　the　garden；　mainly　wild　flowers；　and　I　stop　her。　I　pick　a　bundle—red；　pink；　yellow；　violet。　I　give　them　to　her；　and　she　brings　them　to　her　nose。　She　smells　them　with　eyes　closed　and　she　whispers；　〃They're　beautiful。〃　We　resume　our　walk；　me　in　one　hand；　the　flowers　in　another。　People　watch　us；　for　we　are　a　walking　miracle；　or　so　I　am　told。　It　is　true　in　a　way。

By　the　time　we　reach　the　doorway；　I　am　tired。　She　knows　this；　so　she　stops　me　with　her　hand　and　makes　me　face　her。　I　do；　and　I　realize　how　hunched　over　I　have　bee。　She　and　I　are　now　level。　Sometimes　I　am　glad　she　doesn't　know　how　much　I　have　changed。　She　turns　to　me　and　stares　for　a　long　time。

〃What　are　you　doing？〃　I　ask。

〃I　don't　want　to　forget　you　or　this　d