美丽英文（故事卷）

    爱的时刻（1）

    佚名

    第一次见到她时，她正在校园的操场上漫步。我站在那里，目光追随着她的倩影，呆住了。她就是我的至爱，我对自己说。

    开学的第一天，我向同学问起她，他们说她已经有男朋友了，让我忘了她。

    几个月后，我听说她跟男朋友分手了。但是，至少过了半年后，我才约会她。我打电话到她寝室，紧张得吐字不清，甚至把她名字的前后音节都说反了。“周六晚上请你吃晚饭，好吗？”提议完，我尴尬极了，害怕遭她拒绝。“很高兴。”她似乎很开心地回答。

    星期六，我去宿舍接她，她的美丽再次深深地打动了我。我在30里外的餐馆预订了晚餐。开车去那儿时，却迷路了，在乡间小路上漫无目的地转了一个多小时。我越来越焦躁，她却一直兴致高昂，她说，她读过这些乡村的历史，很高兴能来游玩。

    我们最终没能找到那家餐馆，汽油也快用完了。10点时，我们才吃了点汉堡和油炸食品，算是晚餐。她美丽的花裙，金黄的直发，娇好的面容，站在当地孩子中间显得更加光彩照人。

    回到学校后，我正要为那个夜晚道歉，但感觉到她温暖的手，抓住了我的手，然后迅速地在我脸上吻了一下，温柔地说道：“谢谢你让我度过了一个快乐的夜晚。”我还没回过神来，她已跑进寝室，在我眼前消失了。

    曾有多少这样的时刻啊——充满了包容、优雅与爱意，我几乎不敢相信。记得婚礼那天，在太平洋海滨，那个清新的星期天早晨，她挽着父亲的手步入教堂，我站在旁边凝视着她即将成为我妻子的时刻；或是我们的两个孩子出生，她经历了旁人无法体会的分娩痛楚后，脸上因欣喜而光彩四溢的时刻。

    但是1993年10月15日，情形却完全不同。那天，在度过了一个难眠之夜后，我们早上5点钟就起床了。当手术刀即将划开你心上人的血肉肌肤时，你又怎能安然入眠呢？她吻了吻我们两个熟睡的孩子，但他们却没有醒来对她说“祝您好运”或者“我爱您，妈妈”。到了医院，签完一些文件后，我看她换上一件褪了色的棉袍和一双袜子，似乎手术室最大的伤害是寒冷。

    她扑到我怀里哭着说不做手术。我握着她的手，注射器扎进她的手臂，泪水很快停住了，那原本清澈，机灵的双眼，现在满是恐惧，慢慢地合上了。

    我痛苦而慌乱地与她吻别，然后，看着她穿过那道无情的门，被推进手术室。我整天待在候诊室，用校对稿子来分散我的焦虑。

    快傍晚了，她才回到病房，胸前缠着一大片绷带，我想她会喜欢那个外科医生精心而巧妙地给她缠的绷带。我想起我们的孩子还是婴儿时，她为他们的摇篮缝制床单。这些绷带看起来亲切又安全可靠——不像我想的那么粗糙。

    灯光昏暗的房间里，充斥着强烈的消毒水味儿。我坐在她旁边，感到我们的生命是如此息息相关。我，也是病人，茫然地盯着窗外灰粉色的云彩掠过午后的天空，感到心力交瘁。

    差不多快七点了，她微微动了一下，听到她的呻吟，我移到床边，从桌子上的水罐里拿出一点冰片，轻轻触了一下她的嘴唇，拂开她额前被汗水沁湿的灰白头发。

    “我爱你。”我说。

    听到这些话，她慢慢地睁开眼睛，目光开始很模糊，没有焦点，很快，她敏锐地认出我来，嘴角浮现出一抹温柔的笑。

    “我也爱你。”她呢喃道，眼睛又闭上了。我几乎筋疲力尽。回想起第一次见到她的情景。仿佛又回到了年轻时代，那个阳光灿烂的早上。她就是我的至爱。我再一次发自内心地说道，她就是我的至爱。

    Moments of Love

    Anonymous

    When I first saw her, she was walking across the med-school quad. I stood motionless Anonymous as if stunned, following her with my eyes. She is the one, I said to myself.

    爱的时刻（2）

    It was the first day of school. When I asked a classmate about her, he told me to forget it. She has a boyfriend, he said.

    A few months later I heard she’d ended her relationship. But I waited at least half a year to ask for a date. When I telephoned her dormitory and asked nervously for her, I transposed the syllables of her first and last names into ludicrous garble. “Dinner on Saturday？” I proposed, embarrassed and expecting rejection. “I would enjoy that,” she answered, sounding pleased.

    On Saturday I greeted her at the dorm and was again entranced by her loveliness. I had made reservations at a restaurant 30 miles away. I lost my way and drove aimlessly on rural roads for an hour as my exasperation mounted. She remained good-humored happy, she said, to tour villages whose histories she had read about.

    We never located the restaurant, and then almost ran out of gas. We finally ate at 10 , hamburgers and fries at a dinner. In her floral dress, with her straight blond hair and classic features, she stood out among the local kids.

    Back at school, I was ready to apologize for the evening. But I felt her warm hand take mine, and then she quickly kissed my cheek. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” she said softly. Before I comprehended what had happened, she disappeared into the dormitory.

    How many times have there been moments like that, moments of such encompassing grace and love that I doubted their actuality？ Moments like the day of our marriage, when on a crisp Sunday morning on the Pacific coast she entered the church on her father’s arm and I gazed down the aisle at my soon-to-be wife. Or the moments when our two children were born and her face became radiant as she emerged from the unreachable realm of labor into exaltation.

    But October 15, 1993, was different. That day, we arose at 5 a. m., having a hard slept. How can you rest when a blade will soon sever flesh so dear？ She kissed both of our children as they slept, but they never stirred or said “Good luck” or “I love you, Mommy.” In the hospital, after we signed the papers, I watched her change into a faded cotton gown and two pairs of socks, as if the worst injury that day would be the chill of the operating room.

    She cried in my arms and said she didn’t want the surgery. I held her hand as an I. V. was inserted into her arm. In a few seconds her tears stopped and she closed those eyes that had always seemed so clever and clear, but now looked so fearful.

    Feeling frantic and disconnected I kissed her, and then she was wheeled away through the unforgiving doors of the operating suite. I spent the day in the waiting room polishing a manuscript whose only significance was its power to distract.

    When she returned to her room late that afternoon, on her chest was an expanse of billowing white bandage placed by a surgeon’s hands with a precision and delicacy she would have admired. I was reminded of the coverlet she had appliqued for our children’s cradle when they were infants. The bandage looked gentle and protective-reassuring and not as harsh as I had expected.

    Sitting beside her in a dimly lit room that smelled sharply of disinfectant, I realized that because my life was so intertwined with hers, I, too, was a patient. I felt depleted and wrecked as I stared blankly out the window at pink-gray clouds slowly traversing the afternoon sky.

    It was almost 7 p. m. before she stirred. I heard her moan, and moved to the edge of the bed. I lightly touched her lips with an ice chip from the pitcher on her bedside table, and brushed the gray-flecked hair across her sweaty brow.

    “I love you, ”I said.

    At these words, her eyes opened hesitantly. At first her gaze seemed confused and unfocused, but for an instant her eyes sharpened with recognition, and a gentle smile lifted the edges of her mouth.

    “I love you too, ”she whispered, and then her eyelids shut. I was close to exhaustion and dislocated in time as I recalled the moment I first saw her. It was as if I was young again and the sun was resplendent in the morning sky. She is the one, I said once more in my mind’s voice. She is the one.