Flowers on the Bus

佚名/Anonymous

那是三年前的一个夏天，我们这些互不相识的人每天乘坐早班车。在郊区开往市里的巴士上，人人都竖起衣领遮住耳朵，昏昏欲睡。整个车厢了无生气。

有一个小个子老头每天早上乘车去市里的老年活动中心，他头发灰白、微微驼背、面容忧郁，每次他艰难地上车后，就独自坐到司机后面。谁也没有过多地注意他。

令人感到突然的是，七月的一个早晨，他对司机说了声“早上好”，并冲车厢里的人微微笑了一下，然后坐下来。司机随意地点了点头，而我们都沉默着。

第二天，这位老人精神抖擞地上了车，微笑着大声说：“大家早上好啊！”我们中一些人吃惊地抬起头，低声回应道：“早上好。”

接下来的几个星期，我们对他更加关注了。他穿着一件质地很好的旧西装，打着一条宽松过时的领带，稀疏的头发显然被精心地梳理过。每天早上他都向我们问好，渐渐地我们开始向他点头致意，并相互交谈。

一天早上，他手里拿着一束野花。因为天气炎热，它们已经有些凋零了。司机转过头来，微笑着问：“是不是找女朋友了，查理？”我们都不知道他是不是叫“查理”，他羞涩地点了点头，承认了。

其他的乘客吹着口哨，为他鼓掌。查理鞠了一个躬，挥挥手中的花，坐下了。

从那以后，查理每次都会带一枝花，有些老乘客也开始带些花给他，温柔地递过去，腼腆地说：“给你的。”每个人都微笑着，大家开始一起开玩笑聊天，一起看报纸。

夏天将逝，秋天快到了。那天上午，查理没有出现在他以往等车的那个站，从那以后，他很久都没有再出现。我们开始猜测他是不是生病，或是去什么地方度假了，当然我们更希望是后者。

当我们的车快要到达老年活动中心时，一个乘客让司机停车。当她走到门口时，我们都屏住呼吸，她说：“是的，工作人员都知道我们说的那个人，那位老先生身体很好，但那个星期他没有来活动中心。上周末，他的一个好朋友去世了，他们说下周他一定能来。”余下的路程，人人都沉默不语。

接下来的那个星期一，查理在车站等车，他的背弯得更厉害，头发更灰白了，也没有系领带。他好像又缩回了以前的样子。车厢像教堂般肃静。尽管任何人都没有谈论过，但我们都不约而同地拿着一朵花，眼里噙满了泪水。那个夏天，他给我们留下了美好而深刻的印象。

We were a very motley crowd of people who took the bus every day that summer 3 years ago. During the early morning ride from the suburb， we sat drowsily with our collars up to our ears， a cheerless and taciturn bunch.

One of the passengers was a small gray man who took the bus to the center for senior citizens every morning. He walked with a stoop and a sad look on his face when he， with some difficulty， boarded the bus and sat down alone behind the driver. No one ever paid very much attention to him.

Then one July morning he said good morning to the driver and smiled short-sightedly down through the bus before he sat down. The driver nodded guardedly. The rest of us were silent.

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 Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie.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 pushed him and said shyly："Here." Everyone smiled. The men started to joke 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 center 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 center 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 gray， and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence like 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.