The next day, the old man boarded the bus energetically, smiled and said in a loud voice: “And a very good morning to you all!” Some of us looked up, amazed, and murmured “Good morning,” in reply.
The following weeks we were more alert. Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie. The thin hair had been carefully combed. He said good morning to us every day and we gradually began to nod and talk to each other.
One morning he had a bunch of wild flowers in his hand. They were already dangling a little because of the heat. The driver turned around smilingly and asked: “Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Charlie?” We never got to know if his name really was “Charlie”, but he nodded shyly and said yes.
The other passengers whistled and clapped at him. Charlie bowed and waved the flowers before he sat down on his seat.
Every morning after that Charlie always brought a flower. Some of the regular passengers began bringing him flowers for his bouquet, gently nudged him and said shyly: “Here.” Everyone smiled. The men started to jest about it, talk to each other, and share the newspaper.
The summer went by, and autumn was closing in, when one morning Charlie wasn’t waiting at his usual stop. When he wasn’t there the next day and the day after that, we started wondering if he was sick or — hopefully — on holiday somewhere.
When we came nearer to the centre for senior citizens, one of the passengers asked the driver to wait. We all held our breaths when she went to the door.
Yes, the staff said, they knew who we were talking about. The elderly gentleman was fine, but he hadn’t been coming to the centre that week. One of his very close friends had died at the weekend. They expected him back on Monday. How silent we were the rest of the way to work.
The next Monday Charlie was waiting at the stop, stooping a bit more, a little bit more grey, and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence akin to that in a church. Even though no one had talked about it, all those of us, who he had made such an impression on that summer, sat with our eyes filled with tears and a bunch of wild flowers in our hands.
三年前的那个夏天，我们还是一群素不相识的人，每天都乘坐巴士。在从郊区开往市区的早班车里，我们都昏昏欲睡地坐着，衣领直竖到耳朵。整个车厢里鸦雀无声。
其中一位乘客是一位头发灰白的小个子老头，每天早上，他都乘车去老年活动中心。微微有些驼背，每次艰难地上车后，他都独自坐到司机后面，并且脸上总带着一副悲伤的表情。没人过多地注意过他。
然而，在七月的一个早晨，他先对司机说了声“早上好”，并对车厢里的人报之以微笑，然后才坐下。司机随意地点点头。而我们仍保持沉默。
第二天，这位老人精力充沛地上了车，微笑地大声说：“诸位，早上好啊！”有些人吃惊地抬起头来，低声答道：“早上好。”
接下来的几个星期，我们对他更加留意了。我们这位朋友现在穿着一件好看的旧西装，打着一条宽松的过时领带。稀疏的头发也精心梳理过了。他每天都对我们说早上好，而我们也逐渐开始点头致意并互相交谈。
一天早上，他手里拿着一束野花，由于天气炎热，有些已经凋零。司机微笑着转过头去问：“查理，是不是有女朋友了啊？”我们都不知道他是否真叫查理，但他羞涩地点头承认了。
其他乘客都吹着口哨为他鼓掌，查理鞠了个躬，晃了晃手中的鲜花，然后坐下了。
从那以后，每天早上，查理都会带一支鲜花，有些老乘客也开始为他带些花，轻轻地碰他一下，羞涩地说：“给你的。”每个人都面带微笑。人们开始开玩笑，互相聊天，分享报纸。
夏天过去了，秋天快要到了。那天早上，查理没在他通常等车的那一站等车，并且接连几天都没有出现，我们猜测他是否生病了，但更希望他是去某个地方度假了。
当我们的车逐渐行驶到老年活动中心时，其中一位乘客让司机停车等一下，她走到车门时我们都屏住了呼吸。
是的，工作人员说，他们知道我们说的那个人。那位老先生身体很健康，但那个星期他没有来活动中心。上周末他的一位十分要好的朋友过世了。他们估计下周一他能回来。接下来的路上，我们一直沉默不语。
下个周一，查理在车站等车。他看上去腰弯得更厉害，头发愈加苍白，也没有系领带。他仿佛又恢复了原样。车厢像教堂一般肃静。尽管没人说话，但我们所有人，他曾经在那个夏天留下美好回忆的这群人，每人手里都拿着一束鲜花，眼里噙满了泪水。
Seattle's Rain西雅图的雨
I’ve got a deep secret few people understand and even fewer will admit to sharing. It's time to tell the truth: I love the rain, deeply and passionately and more than the sun. At least I live in the right place, famous for its damp weather and spawning its own genuine rainforest. I can't imagine living anywhere else than the Pacific Northwest. The sun shines so infrequently that my friends forget where they put their sunglasses. Gloomy clouds cause many people around here to suffer from seasonal affective disorder. Yet I welcome the rain.
Seattleites will say they like how rain keeps the city green, how clean the air tastes afterwards. My real reason for enjoying the rain is steeped in pure selfishness when it’s mucky outside, I don’t have to do anything. I can spend the afternoon curled up reading, build a fire and make a big pot of spiced tea. I can sleep in late, waking up occasionally to hear soothing patter on the roof, water racing down the gutter. Nobody expects me to leave my house or do anything overly productive. Maybe I'll invite a few friends over to watch an old movie or play a board game. Friends’ expectations are low and easy to meet.
Summer in Seattle is beautiful but exhausting. The sunny, gorgeous weather and blue skies draw Seattleites from their cozy little homes, ready to dry out and have fun. People go hiking, biking, canoeing. Folks work in their gardens, wash their cars and attend outdoor concerts in the park all in the same day! The effort involved to throw a party ratchets up several notches, as people host barbecues and picnics and water-skiing parties.
It’s a sin around here to not thoroughly enjoy every moment of every golden day. It’s embarrassing to answer, “Did you get out and enjoy the sunshine this weekend?” with “No, I stayed inside.” Co-workers frown and exchange suspicious looks; apparently I’m one of those rain-loving slugs. I tried lying, but my pale complexion gave me away.
Another mark in rain’s favor is that my body doesn't betray me when it’s cold and damp outside. Throughout the winter, people wear several layers, with perhaps several extra pounds here and there. In June I dig out my shorts to discover my thighs resemble cottage cheese. I dread buying a swimsuit, as consecutive horror and humiliation make me cringe in the dressing room.
