英语美文：矶鹞带来欢乐

　　Sandpipers to Bring Us JoyShe 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 JOYTears 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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