"I'll never forget you," he said.
"You'll forget."
"I'll find a way of never forgetting you," he said. 

我以为我再看不到这篇小说，但是竟然有机会再见到它——这篇从看完后便开始影响我的小说。记忆里它是一个美妙的小说，漫长的成长里，我念念不忘。直到今天我重读它，才明白原来它对我的影响有多深。
我只是无奈，老天让我12岁时看到它，并深深记住，到了17岁，我却逆天而行。我想我再也不会了。

安. 泰勒来到绿城中央国民学校教书那年夏天，她过了二十四岁生日，而那年夏天，鲍勃.斯波丁就要满十四岁了。她是那样的一位教师，使所有的儿童都想要送她大甜橙或粉红色的鲜花。在橡树和榆树结成的华盖下绿荫低垂的日子里，仿佛总可以看到她的倩影经过。 她是冬雪中美丽的夏桃， 是六月初炎热早晨倒入麦片中的清凉牛奶。一年之中少见的几天日丽风和，气候恰到好处，就像在微风荡漾中暂歇片刻的树叶那样凑巧。这样的日子就像安. 泰勒，日历上真应该用她的名字命名。

至于鲍勃.斯波丁，则是个小堂弟，十月的黄昏，你可以看见他在镇上踽踽独行，身后卷起一批飘零的落叶就像一群万圣节的耗子跟着他。或是看见他在狐山溪冰冷的水里，像一条白鱼缓缓地游着，一身晒得黝黑。或是听见他从风声啸啸的树顶传来的声音，双手交替地爬下树，鲍勃.斯波丁常常独坐在那里观赏世界了。

安. 泰勒小姐第一天早晨走进教师，在黑板上写了她的名字时，教室仿佛突然充满了阳光，就像房顶向后推开了似的。鲍勃.斯波丁本来手里握着一个嚼碎了的纸团打算扔过去，现在却让它掉到了地上。下课后，他提了一桶水进来动手洗黑板。

“你做什么？”她正坐在讲台前改拼音作业，回过头来问他。
“这黑板脏兮兮的。也许我应先问你才开始，”他说，局促不安地停手。
“就算你已经问过我好了，”她说着嫣然一笑。给她这么一笑，他便飞快地洗完黑板，拼命地拍打黑板擦，粉末像雪花般在教室里飞舞。

第二天早晨，她从食宿的住所出来，正要走到学校去，他碰巧经过那里。
“嗯， 我来了，”他说。
“你知道，”她说，“我并不感到奇怪。”
“让我替你拿着那些书好吗？”他问她。
“喔，谢谢你，鲍勃。”

他们走了几分钟，他没有出声。她转头稍微朝下瞥了他一眼，只见他非常自然，看来
很快乐。 等他们走到校园边上，他说：“我最好就在这里和你分手。别的孩子们不会明白的。”

“连我都不知道自己明不明白，” 泰勒小姐说。
“那有什么， 咱们是朋友嘛，” 鲍勃说，一副天真坦率的神情。
“鲍勃----”她欲言又止。“算了。”她说着就走了。

此后两个星期，上课时他在那里，放了学他也在那里，从不说话。她做事，他就静静地洗刷黑板，太阳静静地从天空慢慢西沉，只有纸张沙沙响和钢笔刮擦的声音。有时寂静一直维持到将近五点钟。那时泰勒小姐就发现鲍勃坐在最后一个座位上，等着她。

“啊，该回家了，” 泰勒小姐总是这样说。他就跑去拿她的帽子和外衣。然后他们走过空无一人的院子，谈天说地。
“鲍勃，你长大了做什么？”
“做个作家，”他说。
“啊，志向可不小。”
“我知道，但我要尽力一试，”他对她说，“我看过好多书。”
他想了一会，说道：“泰勒小姐，求你一件事好吗？”
“那要看是什么事。”
“我星期六都沿着狐山溪走到湖边去。那里有许多蝴蝶和小龙虾。你也来走走，也许你会喜欢。”
“恐怕不行。我有事。”
他想问她什么事，但没问下去。“我带些三明治和汽水。希望你能来。”
“多谢，鲍勃，以后再说吧。”
“我不该问你要不要去的，是不是？”他说。
“你想问什么都可以问，”她说。

过了几天她送了他一本狄更斯著的《远大前程》。他通宵没睡地读，后来两人讨论这本书。鲍勃每天都去接泰勒小姐。有许多次她想告诉他不要再来，但始终说不出口。

他在来回学校的路上跟她谈狄更斯、吉百龄和爱伦坡的作品。不过她发现要在班上叫他背诵却很难办到。想叫他的时候，总是踌躇起来，结果叫了旁人。他们走路时她也从不看他。但有几个傍晚，他高举臂膀用海绵擦去黑板上的算术符号时，她不禁瞥他几眼，一瞥几秒钟。

后来有个星期六早晨，他穿着工作服，裤脚卷到膝盖，站在溪里弯腰抓小龙虾，抬起头来看见了她。
“嗯， 我来了，”她笑着说。
“你知道，”他说，“我并没有感到奇怪。”
“小龙虾和蝴蝶在哪里？”她说。

他们朝下走到湖边，坐在沙滩上，和风轻轻地掠过他们身边，吹动了她的头发和她衬衣上的边，他坐在她身后几米处，他们沉默地吃火腿泡菜三明治，喝桔子水。
“我没想到我会来这样的野餐，”她说。
“跟一个孩子，”他说。
那天下午他们再没有说什么。

“这样不对，”鲍勃后来说道，“但是我也想不出为什么。只是走来走去地捉蝴蝶和小龙虾，吃三明治。可是如果爸妈知道了，他们会笑我。同学们会开我的玩笑。别的老师也会嘲笑你吧？”
“恐怕会的。我也不十分明白我为何要来的，”她说。

安.泰勒小姐和鲍勃.斯波丁的野餐聚会仅此而已：两三只桔黄与黑色丛斑蝶、一本狄更斯的小说、一打小龙虾、四份三明治和两瓶桔子水。

下个星期一，虽然鲍勃等了好久，并未见泰勒小姐出来上学，她早就走了。那天下午，她因为头痛，提早离开了学校。

可是星期二放学后，他们俩又在那间静静的教室里---他高高兴兴地用海绵擦黑板，她平静地批改学生的作业。突然间，法院大楼的钟响了五下。当当的铜钟声使身体震颤，教人觉得一分钟一分钟地老去。泰勒小姐放下笔。
“鲍勃，”她说，“过来。”
“是的，老师。”他放下海绵。
她逼视他一下，最后他避开她的目光。“鲍勃，我不知道你是否晓得我要跟你讲什么。”
“晓得，”他最后说，“讲你我的事。”
“你今年几岁，鲍勃？”
“就快十四了。”
“你知道我多少岁？”
“知道，老师，我听人说过。二十四。再过十年我也二十四了，差不多十年，”他说，“有时我觉得已经二十四了。”
“不错，有时你似乎也有那么大。”
“真的吗！”
“现在静静地坐下。最要紧的是我们得明白我们的处境。首先，我们得承认我们是世上最要好的朋友。我从没有过像你这样的学生，也从没对任何男孩有对你这样的好感。”听到这里他脸红了。她继续说下去：“让我替你说一句------你觉得我是你认识的老师中最好的一个。”
“啊，不仅如此，”他说。
“也许不仅如此，但我们得面对现实------小镇和小镇上的人，还有你和我。我仔细想过了，鲍勃。不要以为我不知道我的感情。在某些情况下，我们的友谊看起来很特别。但你不是个平凡的孩子。而我也知道自己在身心两方面都很健全，不管我们之间发生了什么事，那都是因为我确实欣赏你的品格和好心。不过这些都不是我们在这世上所要考虑的东西，除非你已经达到某一年龄。我不知道我的意思表达得对不对。”
“如果我年长十岁，再高四十厘米，那就完全不同了，”他说。
“我知道，那仿佛很愚蠢，”她说，“你觉得你很成熟、正直、又没有什么值得羞愧的。也许将来有一天。人们可以正确地判断一个人的心智，能说：‘虽然这人在体型上还只是十三岁，可是他是个大人，具有大人对于责任的观念。’但在这一天来临之前，我们得遵守一般社会对年龄和身材所定的标准。”
“这个我不喜欢。”他说。
“我相信我也不喜欢，不过 对于我们的情形真的没什么办法可想。”
“是的，我知道。”
“我们必须决定怎么办，”她说，“我可以请求调职，离开这个学校……”
“那你不必，”他说，“我们要搬家了，我们全家要搬到麦迪逊去住。”
“那和这件事没关系吧？”
“没有，没有，我父亲在那边有了一份新工作。离这里只有八十公里，我可以来看你，可以吗？”
“你认为这样好吗？”
“不，我想不，”他回答。
他们在寂静的教室里坐了一会。
“这一切是何时开始的？”他无可奈何地问。
“我不知道，”她说，“从没人知道。几千年来都没有人知道。有时不应该互相喜欢的两个人喜欢上了，我没法解释。”
“有一件事我要你记住，”她最后说，“你能在生活中找到补偿。你现在觉得难过；我也不好过。但是以后发生的事会把这个弥补过来，你相信吗？”
“我愿意相信，假如你肯等我的话。”他不假思索地冲口而出。
“等你十年？”
“那时我就二十四岁了。”
“可是我却已三十四。人可能完全变了。不行，我认为这个办法不行。”

他在那里坐了好久。“我永远不会忘记你，”他说。
“你会忘记的。”
“我要想办法永远不忘记你。”他说。
她去擦黑板。
“我来帮你，”他说。
“不要，不要，”她急忙说，“你回家去吧。”

他离开教室，回头一望，从窗子里看见泰勒小姐慢慢擦着黑板上的粉笔字。

下一周他搬走了，一走就是十六年。虽然他住的地方距离绿城只有八十公里，他从没回来过。等他回来时，他已年近三十，而且结了婚。一年春天，夫妇俩驾车到芝加哥去，路过绿城，停了一天。

鲍勃把妻子留在旅馆里，在城里到处走了一阵，最后问起安.泰勒小姐。
“啊，是的，那个美丽的女教师。她一九三六年就死了，在你走后不久。”
“她有没有结婚？”
“没有，你这一问我倒想起来了。她从没结过婚。”

他到墓地去找她,墓碑上刻着，“安.泰勒， 一九一零年---一九三六年。”他心想，泰勒小姐，你才二十六岁。我现在几乎要比大四岁了。

那天下午，镇上的人看见鲍勃.斯波丁的太太在榆树和橡树下面溜达着来迎接他。 她是冬雪中美丽的夏桃，是炎热初夏之晨倒入麦片中的清凉牛奶。 那是无论什么时候都少见的日丽风和的一天，气候恰到好处，就像在微风荡漾中暂歇片刻的树叶那样凑巧。这样的日子，大家都同意，应该用罗伯特. 斯波丁的名字命名。
 

A Story of Love

 

That was the week Ann Taylor came to teach summer school at Green Town Central. It was the summer of her twenty-fourth birthday, and it was the summer when Bob Spaulding was just fourteen.

Everyone remembered Ann Taylor, for she was that teacher for whom all the children wanted to bring huge oranges or pink flowers, and for whom they rolled up the rustling green and yellow maps of the world without being asked. She was that woman who always seemed to be passing by on days when the shade was green under the tunnels of oaks and elms in the old town, her face shifting with the bright she’s as she walked, until it was all things to all people. She was the fine peaches of summer in the snow of winter, and she was cool milk for cereal on a hot early-June morning. Whenever you needed an opposite, Ann Taylor was there. And those rare few days in the world when the climate was balanced as fine as a maple leaf between winds, that blew just right, those were the-days like Ann Taylor, and should have been so named on the calendar.

As for Bob Spaulding, he was the cousin who walked alone through town on any October evening with a pack of leaves after him like a horde of Halloween mice, or you would see him, like a slow white fish in spring in the tart waters of the Fox Hill Creek, baking brown with the shine of a chestnut his face by autumn. Or you might hear his voice in those tree-tops where the wind entertained; dropping down hand by hand, there would come Bob Spaulding to sit alone and look at the world, and later you might see him on the lawn with the ants crawling over his books as he read through the long afternoon alone, or played himself a game of chess on Grandmother's porch, or picked out a solitary tune upon the black piano in the bay window. You never saw him with any other child.

That first morning, Miss Ann Taylor entered through the side door of the schoolroom and all of the children sat still in their seats as they saw her write her name on the board in a nice round lettering.

'My name is Ann Taylor,' she said, quietly. 'And I'm your new teacher.'

The room seemed suddenly flooded with illumination, as if the roof had moved back; and the trees were full of singing birds. Bob Spaulding sat with a spitball he had just made, hidden in his hand. After a half hour of listening to Miss Taylor, he quietly let the spitball drop to the floor.

That day, after class, he brought in a bucket of water and a rag and began to wash the boards.

'What's this?' She turned to him from her desk where she had been correcting spelling papers.

'The boards are kind of dirty,' said Bob, at work.

'Yes, I know. Are you sure you want to clean them?'

'I suppose I should have asked permission' he said halting uneasily.

'I think we can pretend you did,' she replied, smiling, and at this smile he finished the boards in an amazing burst of speed and pounded the blackboard rubbers so furiously that the air was full of snow, it seemed, outside the open window.

'Let's see,' said Miss Taylor. 'You're Bob Spaulding, aren't you?'

'Yes'm.' 'Well, thank you, Bob.' 'Could 1 do them every day?' he asked.

'Don't you think you should let the others try?' 'I'd like to do them,' he said. 'Every day.' 'We'II try it for a while and see,' she said. He lingered.

'I think you'd better run on home,' she said, finally.

'Good night.' He walked slowly and was gone.

 

The next morning he happened by the place where she took board and room just as she was coming out to walk to school.

'Well, here I am,' he said.

'And do you know,' she said, 'I'm not surprised.'

They walked together.

'May I carry your books?' he asked. 'Why, thank you, Bob.'

            'It's nothing,' he said, taking them.

They walked for a few minutes and he did not say a word. She glanced over and slightly down at him and saw how at ease he was and how happy he seemed, and she decided to let him break the silence, but he never did. When they reached the edge of the school ground he gave the books back to her. 'I guess I better leave you here,' he said. 'The other kids wouldn't understand.'

'I'm not sure I do, either, Bob,' said Miss Taylor.

'Why we're friends,' said Bob earnestly and with a great natural honesty.

            'Bob-' she started to say.

'Yes'm?'

'Never mind.' She walked away.

'I'll be in class,' he said.

And he was in class, and he was there after school every night for the next two weeks, never saying a word, quietly washing the boards and cleaning the rubbers and rolling up the maps while she worked at her papers, and there was that clock silence of four o'clock, the silence of the sun going down in the slow sky, the silence with the catlike sound of rubbers patted together, and the drip of water from a moving sponge, and the rustle and turn of papers and the scratch of a pen, and perhaps the buzz of a fly banging with a tiny high anger against the tallest clear pane of window in the room. Sometimes the silence would go on this way until almost five, when Miss Taylor would find Bob Spaulding in the last seat of the room, sitting looking at her silently, waiting for further orders.

'Well, it's time to go home,' Miss Taylor would say, getting up.

'Yes'm.'

And he would run to fetch her hat and coat. He would' also lock the schoolroom door for her unless the caretaker was corning in late. Then they would walk out of the school and across the yard, which was empty, the caretaker taking down the chain swings slowly on his stepladder, the sun behind the umbrella trees. They talked of all sorts of various things.

'And what are you going to be, Bob, when you grow up?'

'A writer,' he said.

'Oh, that's a big ambition; it takes a lot of work.'

 'I know, but I'm going to try,' he said. 'I've read a lot.'

'Bob, haven't you anything to do after school?'

'How do you mean?'

'I mean, I hate to see you kept in so much, washing the boards.'

 'I like it,' he said. 'I never do what I don't like.'

'But nevertheless.'

 'No, I've got to do that,' he said. He thought for a while and said, 'Do me a favor, Miss Taylor?'

 'It all depends.'

'I walk every Saturday from out around Buetrick Street along the creek to Lake Michigan. They're a lot of butterflies and crayfish and birds. Maybe you'd like to walk, too,'

 'Thank you,' she said.

'Then you'll come?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Don't you think it'd be fun?'

'Yes, I'm sure of that, but I'm going to be busy.'

 He started to ask doing what, but stopped.

'I take along sandwiches,' he said. 'Ham-and-pickle ones. And orange pop and just walk alone, taking my time. I get down to the lake about noon and walk back and get home about three o'clock. It makes a real fine day, and I wish you'd come. Do you collect butterflies? I have a big collection. We could start one for you.'

'Thanks, Bob, but no, perhaps some other time.'

 He looked at her and said, 'I shouldn't have asked you, should I?'

'You have every right to ask anything you want to,' she said.

 

A few days later she found an old copy of Great Expectations, which she no longer wanted, and gave it to Bob. He was very grateful and took it home and stayed up that night and read it through and talked about it the next morning. Each day now he met her just beyond sight of her boarding house and many days she would start to say, 'Bob-' and tell him not to meet her any more, but she never finished saying it, and he talked with her about Dickens and Kipling and Poe and others, coming and going to school. She found a butterfly on her desk on Friday morning. She almost waved it away before she found it was dead and had been placed there while she was out of the room. She glanced over the heads of her other students, but he was looking at his book; not reading, just looking at it.

It was about this time that she found it impossible to call on on Bob to recite in class. She would hover her pencil about 'his name and then call the next person up or down the list. Nor would she look at him while they were walking to or from school. But on several late afternoons as he moved his arm high on the blackboard, sponging away the arithmetic symbols, she found herself glancing over at him for seconds at a time before she returned to her papers.

And then one Saturday morning he was standing in the middle of the creek with his overalls rolled up to his knees, kneeling down to catch a crayfish under a rock, when he looked up and there on the edge of the running stream was Miss Ann Taylor.

'Well, here I am,' she’ said, laughing.

'And do you know,' he said, 'I'm not surprised.'

 'Show me the crayfish and the butterflies,' she said.

They walked down to the lake and sand with a warm wind blowing softly about them, fluttering her hair and the ruffle on her blouse, and he sat a few yards back from her and they ate the ham-and-pickle sandwiches and drank the orange pop solemnly.'

'Gee, this is swell,' he said. 'This is the swellest time ever in my life.'

'I didn't think I would ever come on a picnic like this' she said. . '

'With some kid,' he said.

'I'm comfortable, however,' she said.

'That's good news.' They said little else during the afternoon.

'This is all wrong,' he said, later. 'And I can't figure why it should be. Just walking along and catching old butterflies and crayfish and eating sandwiches. But Mom and Dad'd rib the heck out of me if they knew, and the kids would, too. And the other teachers, I suppose, would laugh at you wouldn't they?'.

'I'm afraid so.'

'I guess we better not do any more butterfly catching, then.'

'I don't exactly understand how I came here at all ' she said. '.

And the day was over.

 

That was about all there was to the meeting of Ann Taylor and Bob Spaulding, two or three monarch butterflies, and a copy of Dickens, a dozen crayfish, four sandwiches and two bottles of Orange Crush. The next Monday, quite unexpectedly, though he waited a long time Bob did not see Miss Taylor come out to walk to school. But later that she had left earlier and was already at school. Also, Monday night, she left early, with a headache, and another teacher finished her last class. He walked by her boarding house but did not see her anywhere, and he was afraid to ring the bell and inquire.

On Tuesday night after school they were both in the silent room again, he sponging the board contentedly, as if this time might go on forever, and she seated, working on her papers as if she, too, would be in this room and this particular peace and happiness forever, when suddenly the courthouse clock stuck. It was a block away and its great bronze boom shuddered one’s body and made the ash of time shake away off your bones and slide through your blood, making you seem older by the minute. Stunned by that clock, you could not but sense the crashing flow of time, and as the clock said five o'clock, Miss Taylor suddenly .looked up at it for a long time, and then she put down her pen.

'Bob,' she said.

He turned, startled. Neither of them had spoken in the peaceful and good hour before.

'Will you come here?' she asked.

He put down the sponge slowly.

'Yes,' he said.

'Bob, I want you to sit down.'

'Yes'm.'

She looked at him intently for a moment until he looked away. 'Bob, I wonder if you know what I'm going to talk to you about. Do you know?'

'Yes.'

'Maybe it'd be a good idea if you told me, first.'

'About us,' he said, at last.

'How old are you, Bob?'

'Going on fourteen.'

'You're thirteen years old.'

He winced. 'Yes'm.'

            'And do you know how old I am? '

            'Yes'm. I heard. Twenty-four. '

            'Twenty-four.'

            'I'll will be twenty-four in ten years, almost,' he said.

            'But unfortunately you're not twenty-four now.'

            'Not, but sometimes I fell twenty-four. '

            'Yes, and sometimes you almost act it.'

            'Do I, really! '

            'Now sit still there: don't bound around, we've a lot of discuss. It's very important that we understand what is happening, don't you agree? '

'Yes, I guess so.'

'First, let's admit we are the greatest and best friends in the world. Let's admit I have never had a student like you, nor have I had as much affection for any boy I've ever known.' He flushed at this. She went on. 'And let me speak for you -you've found me to be the nicest teacher of all the teachers you've ever known.'

'Oh, more than that,' he said.

'Perhaps more than that, but there are facts to be faced and an entire way of life to be examined, and a town and its people, and you and me to be considered. I've thought this over for a good many days, Bob. Don't think I've missed anything, or been unaware of my-own feelings in the matter. Under some circumstances our friendship would be odd indeed. But then you are no ordinary boy. I know myself pretty well, I think, and I know I'm not sick either mentally or physically, and that whatever has evolved have has been a true regard for your character and goodness Bob' but those are not the things we consider in this world' Bob unless they occur in a man of a certain age, I don't know If I'm saying this right.'

'It's all right,' he said.

'It's just if I was ten years older and about fifteen inches taller it'd make all the difference and that's silly,' he said, 'to go by how tall a person is. '

'The world hasn't found it so.'

'I'm not the world,' he protested.

'I know it seems foolish,' she said. 'When you feel very grown up and right and have nothing to be ashamed of. You have nothing at all to be ashamed of, Bob, remember that. You have been very honest and good, and I hope I have been, too.'

 'You have,' he said.

'In an ideal climate, Bob, maybe someday they will be able to judge the oldness of a person's mind so accurately that they can say, This is a man, though his body is only thirteen; by some miracle of circumstance and fortune, this is a 'man, with a man's recognition of responsibility and position and duty; but until that day, Bob, I'm afraid we're going to have to go by ages and heights in the ordinary way in an ordinary world.'

'I don't like that,' he said.

'Perhaps I don't like it, either, but do you want to end up far unhappier than you are now? Do you want both of us to be unhappy? Which we would certainly be. There really is no way to do anything about us -it is so strange even to try to talk about us.'

'Yes'm.'

'But at least we know all about us and the fact that we have been right and fair and good and there is nothing wrong with our knowing each other, nor did we ever intend that it should be, for we both understand how impossible it is, don't we?'

'Yes, 1 know. But 1 can't help it.'

'Now we must decide what to do about it,' she said.

'Now only you and 1know about this. Later, others might know. I can secure a transfer from this school to another one. '

'No! '

'Or I can have you transferred to another school. '

'You don't have to do that, ' he said.

'Why? '

'We're ,moving. My folks and I, we're going to live in Madison. We're leaving next week.'

'It has nothing to do with all this, has it?'

'No, no, everything's all right. It's just that my father has a new job there. It's only fifty miles away. I can see.zou. can't I, when I come to town?'

'Do you think that would be a good idea?'

'No, I guess not.' They sat a while in the silent schoolroom.

'When did all this happen?' he said helplessly.

'I don't know,' she said. 'Nobody ever knows. They haven't known for thousands of years, and I don't think they ever will. People either like each other or don't, and sometimes two people like each other who shouldn't. I can't explain myself, and certainly you can't explain you.'

'I guess I'd better get home,' he said.

'You're not mad at me, are you?'

'Oh, gosh no, I could never be mad at you.'

'There's one more thing. I want you to remember, there are compensations in life. There always are, or we wouldn't go on living. You don't feel well, now; neither do I. But something will happen to fix that. Do you believe that?'

'I'd like to.'

'Well, it's true.' 'If only,' he said.

'What?'

'If only you'd wait for me,' he blurted. '

Ten years?'

'I'd be twenty-four then.'

'But I'd be thirty-four and another person entirely, perhaps. No, I don't think it can be done.'

'Wouldn't you like it to be done?' he cried.

'Yes,' she said quietly. 'It's silly and it wouldn't work, but I would like it very much. '

He sat there a long time.

'I'll never forget you, ' he said.

 

'It's nice for you to say that, even though it can't be true, because life isn't that way. You'll forget.'

'I'll never forget. I'll find a way of never forgetting you,' he said.

She got up and went to clean the boards.

'I'll help you,' he said.

'No, no,' she said hastily. 'You go on now, get home, and no more tending to the boards after school. I'll assign Helen Stevens to do it.'

He left the school. Looking back, outside, he saw Miss Ann Taylor, for the last time, at the board, slowly washing out the chalked words, her hand moving up and down.

 

He moved away from the town the next week and was gone for sixteen years. Though tie was only fifty miles away, he never got down to Green Town again until he was almost thirty and married, and then one spring they were driving through on their way to Chicago and stopped off for the , day.

Bob left his wife at the hotel and walked around the town and finally asked about Miss Ann Taylor, but no one remembered at first, and then one of them remembered.

'Oh yes, the pretty teacher. She died in 1936, not long after you left.'

Had she ever married? No, come to think of it, she never had.

He walked out to the cemetery in the afternoon and found her stone, which said, 'Ann Taylor, born in 1910, died 1936.' And he thought, Twenty-six years old. Why, I'm three years older than you are now, Miss Taylor. Later in the day the people in the town saw Bob Spaulding's wife strolling to meet him under the elm trees and the oak trees, and they all turned to watch her pass, for her face shifted with bright shadows as she walked; she was the fine peaches of summer in the snow of winter and she was cool milk for cereal on a hot early-summer morning. And this was one of those rare few days in time when the climate was balanced like a maple leaf between winds that blow just right, one of those days that should have been named, everyone agreed, after Robert Spaulding's wife.

我12岁读到这篇文章 似懂非懂 ，后来少年情事，开始明白得不到的不能被永恒的爱情，恍然若失。大学学英语，决定把英文版扒出来。。。