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 prehended what had happened； she disappeared into the dormitory。
How many times have there been moments like that； moments of such enpassing 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。
书包 网 。 想看书来
爱的约会（1）
佚名
在纽约地铁中心总站，咨询处上方的时钟显示的时间是5点54分。年轻高大的陆军中尉抬起黝黑的脸庞，眯着眼睛看上面的时间，一颗心激动得怦怦直跳，6分钟后，他就要见到那个女人了——在过去的13个月里一直占据着他心灵某个特殊位置的女人。虽然他们素未谋面，但她的信却一直是他的精神支柱。
布兰福德中尉记得那天，战斗最艰苦的时刻，他的飞机被敌机重重包围。他曾在一封信里对她坦言，他常会感到畏惧。就在战斗打响的前几天，他收到了她的回信：“你当然会畏惧……勇士们都会那样，下次在你不自信时，我希望你能听到我为你朗诵的声音：‘啊，是的，尽管我要走过死亡之谷，但我将勇往直前，因为你与我同在。’……”他记得，正是那封信使他重新振作。
此时，他就要听到她真实的声音了，还有4分钟就6点了。
一个女孩走近他，布兰福德中尉一惊。她戴着一朵花，但不是他们约好的那种红玫瑰。这个女孩只有18岁左右，而霍丽丝？梅内尔告诉过他，她已30岁。“有什么关系呢？”他还回信说，“我32岁”，其实他只有29岁。
他又想到了在训练营时看过的一本书——《人性的枷锁》，书里有一个女人写的批注。他难以相信，一个女人竟能如此透彻地读懂男人的心。书签上有她的名字：霍丽丝？梅内尔。于是他找来一本纽约市电话簿，查到了地址，给她写信，并收到了回信。因为执行任务，第二天他就坐船离开了，但他们仍然保持通信。
13个月里，她始终诚挚地给他回信，通常是他的信还未到，她的信就来了。因此，他深信，他们彼此深爱着。
然而，她拒绝送他照片，并解释说：“如果你真心对我，我的外表并不重要。如果我长得很漂亮，我会认为，你是爱我的外貌，那样会令我很反感。如果我长相平凡（你必须承认这个更有可能），就会担心，你和我通信，是因为内心孤独，无人倾诉。别向我要照片。你来纽约时就可以看到我了，可以在那时作出某些决定。”
还有1分钟就6点了……布兰福德猛抽了一口烟，心跳更加快了。
一位年轻的女士向他走来，她身材苗条，金黄的卷发拢在小巧的耳后，双唇红润，下巴精致，眼睛深蓝动人。她穿着淡绿的西装，浑身散发着青春的活力。
他开始向她走去，根本没注意她是否戴着玫瑰花，他走近，看到她嘴角浮起动人的微笑。
“问路吗，军人？”她轻轻地说。他又走近一步，接着，他看到了霍丽丝？梅内尔。
霍丽丝？梅内尔就站在这姑娘的身后，一个40多岁的女人，灰白的头发塞在破旧的帽子下面，很胖，厚实的双脚穿着低跟鞋。
可在她那皱巴巴的外衣上别着一朵红玫瑰。
绿衣女孩匆匆离去。
布兰福德心碎了，他多想跟着那女孩啊，然而他又真切地渴望见这个女人，是她的精神一直陪伴他，激励他；她就站在那里，苍白丰满的面庞，温柔而理性；灰色的眼睛里闪着温和的光芒。
布兰福德没有犹豫，他紧抓着那本破旧的《人性的枷锁》，它是向她证明身份的依据。尽管这不会是爱情，但是一种珍贵的东西，是他曾经拥有并要感激的友情……
尽管因深深的失望而感到痛苦，布兰福德仍摆正双肩，敬了个礼，然后把书递给那个女人，“我是约翰？布兰福德，您——您是梅内尔女士吧，我可以——可以请您吃饭吗？”
女人微笑着。“孩子，我不明白这是怎么回事，”她说道，“那位穿绿衣服的年轻小姐请求我戴上这朵玫瑰，她说如果你请我一块出去，就告诉你，她在街对面的餐厅等你。她说这是一种考验。”
■ 心灵小语
爱情之花需要甘露的沐浴才能绽放。如果你是一个向往爱情的人，那么开始用美好的品质来浇这盆爱之花，这样它才能成长，才能长出蓓蕾，才能美丽绽放。
爱的约会（2）
Appointment with Love
Anonymous
Six minutes to six； said the clock over the information booth in New York’s Grand Central Station。 The tall； young Army lieutenant1 lifted his sunburned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time。 His heart was pounding with a beat。 In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 months； the woman he had never seen； yet whose written words had sustained2 him unfailingly。
Lieutenant Blandford remembered one day in particular； during the worst of the fighting； when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy planes。 In one of his letters he had confessed3 to her that he often felt fear； and only a few days before this battle he had received her answer，“Of course you fear。。。 all brave men do。 Next time you doubt yourself； I want you to hear my voice reciting to you，‘ Yeah； though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death； I will fear no evil： for thou art with me。’。。。” He had remembered； and it had renewed his strength。
Now he was going to hear her real voice。 Four minutes to six。
A girl passed close to him； and Lieutenant Blandford started。 She was wearing a flower； but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon。 Besides； this girl was only about 18； and Hollis Meynell had told him she was 30。 “What of it？” he had answered。 “I’m 32。” He was 29。
His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp。 Of Human Bondage it was； and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s handwriting。 He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly； so understandingly。 Her name was on the book plate： Hollis Meynell。 He had got hold of a New York City telephone book and found her address。 He had written； she had answered。 Next day he had been shipped out； but they had gone on writing。
For 13 months she had faithfully replied。 When his letters did not arrive； she wrote anyway； and now he believed that he loved her and that she loved him。
But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph。 She had explained， “If your feeling for me has any reality； what I look like won’t matter。 Suppose I’m beautiful。 I’d always be haunted4 by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that； and that kind of love would disgust me。 Suppose I’m plain （and you must admit that this is more likely）； then I’d always fear that you were only going on writing because you were lonely and had no one else。 No； don’t ask for my picture。 When you e to New York； you shall see me and then you shall make your decision。”
One minute to six 。。。 he pulled har