文字难度：★★★
He was visibly relaxed, using his heels to rock the porch swing back and forth. Observing the 1)antics of squirrels in a cluster of 2)pecan trees. 3)Gauging the weather with squinting eyes. Watching time stroll by.
他显然很放松，时而用脚后跟蹬地，坐在门廊的秋千上来回摆动，时而注视着那些松鼠在一丛山核桃树上的滑稽举动，时而眯着眼预测天气。看时光流淌而过。
My husband, Stephen, had been on the job a few days now, watching his customer. It was the same thing everyday. The man sat on a double swing suspended from the ceiling of the back porch, and the only breaks away from his post were lunch and 4)calls of nature.
我丈夫斯蒂芬已经开始工程好几天了，据他的观察，他那客户每天都做着同样的事，就坐在一个悬挂在后廊天花板上的双人秋千上，只有在午饭和上洗手间时才会离开那位置片刻。
Henry Foster was in his late eighties. A slight man in 5)coveralls with soft blue eyes and 6)wispy hair. He lived roughly an hour from us in a small community, and Stephen was tasked through his company to paint the exterior of Henry’s two-story home. At first, Stephen figured he had an anxious customer who wanted an excuse, as odd as it was, to oversee his work without being 7)overt about it. He had had customers in the past that hovered over his every brush 8)stroke, but this one 9)took the cake, candles and all.
亨利·福斯特年近90岁，身材瘦弱，穿着连身裤，有一双温柔的蓝眼睛，头发纤薄。他住在一个小社区里，距离我们家大概一小时路程。斯蒂芬从公司那接到任务，为亨利那栋两层高的房子粉刷外墙。一开始，斯蒂芬以为遇到了一个疑心过重的客户，想监视他工作又不想弄得太明显，于是找了这么个奇怪的藉口。过去，他也曾遇过一些客户真的会每刷一下都盯着他看的，但这位，确实是一举一动全不放过。
Stephen couldn’t stand it anymore.
斯蒂芬再也无法忍受了。
“Why do you stay out here all day?” he asked.
“你为什么整天都待在这里？”他问。
Henry’s smile vanished. He rose from the swing, leaned against the post, and cast his eyes skyward as if he would find the answer there. Stephen was startled to see tears forming in the old man’s eyes.
亨利的微笑骤然消失。他从秋千上起来，斜靠着柱子，目光投向天空，仿佛他能从那里得到答案。当看到那个老人眼里涌出的泪水时，斯蒂芬吓了一跳。
“I can’t stand to stay inside the house for long.” Seeing the puzzled look on Stephen’s face, he continued, “My wife died over a year ago, and everything in the house reminds me of her.”
“我无法忍受长时间待在屋子里面。”看到斯蒂芬一脸的疑惑，他继续说道：“我妻子一年前去世了，屋子里的每一件东西都使我想起她。”
“Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” Stephen said. He resisted the temptation to hug this sweet man.
“噢，听到你这么说，我很难过。”斯蒂芬说道。他克制住想拥抱这位和蔼的老人的冲动。
Henry motioned with his hand for Stephen to come closer.
亨利动了动手，示意斯蒂芬靠近一些。
“Do you have a minute?” he asked, opening the back door. “I’ll show you what I mean.”
“你有空吗？”他边问，边打开后门，“我慢慢解释给你听。”
“Uh...sure.”
“嗯……好啊。”
Henry proceeded to give a tour of the house, pointing out one prized possession after another, his voice quavering as he relived each moment.
接着，亨利带着斯蒂芬在屋子里逛了一圈，指着一件又一件宝贝物品，用颤抖的声音忆述着每个珍贵时刻。
“My wife and I bought this lamp when we were on vacation at...”
“这盏灯是我和妻子在度假时买的，那是在……”
The tour ended up on the back porch where they sat down on the swing, sipping iced tea. Henry 10)divulged his entire life to Stephen. His wife’s cancer. The children he had outlived. The grandchildren who never wrote. When the shadows grew long, it was time for Stephen to go.
参观完房子，他们来到后廊，坐在秋千上，啜着冰茶。亨利向斯蒂芬讲述了自己一生的故事，毫无保留。妻子患癌，孩子比自己早死，孙子们从不给他写信。黄昏，影子都拉长了，斯蒂芬差不多要离开了。
That night, Stephen related his experience to me. With tears in my eyes, I scanned the living room, staring at our antique collection 11)garnered from years of 12)canvassing small, dusty towns for that perfect bargain. Antique-ing was our shared passion. I had never thought about it that much before, attaching significance of an item to a time or place that Stephen and I had visited.
晚上，斯蒂芬把那天的所见所闻告诉了我。泪盈满眶的我环视客厅，凝望着我们收藏的古董，都是我们多年来逛遍不少古老的小镇淘回来的物美价廉的宝贝。收藏古董是我和斯蒂芬的共同爱好。这方面，我之前从没想太多，没想过藏品的价值会与某段时光或者我俩曾游之处相联。
Stephen stretched out the job longer than normal, taking his sweet time with the details. Henry didn’t seem to mind. There were days when Henry cut Stephen’s work short so they could sit on that back porch swing together. Just sipping lemonade and watching time stroll by.
这次的工程，斯蒂芬花了比平常要多的时间来完成，他不紧不慢地尽心于细节。亨利似乎也不介意。有些时日，亨利会打断斯蒂芬的工作，这样他们就能一起坐在后廊的秋千上，喝着柠檬汁，看着时间悠悠流逝。
About a month following the completion of the job, I overheard Stephen on the phone, “I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”
“Who was that?” I asked when he hung up.
“That was Henry Foster.”
“I thought you were finished with his job.”
“Well, not exactly,” he answered with a sly smile. “I pretended to forget a few things at his house. I just wanted an excuse to go back. See how he’s doing and all.”
I gave him a 13)crushing hug.
“You are just the sweetest thing.”
“Oh, hush.”
工程结束大约一个月后，我无意中听到斯蒂芬在电话里说，“我大概一小时后到那儿。”
“你在和谁讲电话？”他挂电话时，我问道。
“和亨利·福斯特呢。”
“我以为你已经完成他那里的工作了。”
“噢，还不算。”他狡猾地笑着说道，“我假装落了一些东西在他屋子里。只是想找个借口回去看看他怎么样了。”
我给他来了一个紧紧的拥抱。
“你是世界上最最善良的人！”
“噢，小声点儿。”
Stephen continued making excuses to visit Henry until he ran out of excuses. He began visiting his friend just for the sake of visiting. Not long after his last visit to Henry, the early arrival of our first baby steered our lives in a different direction, then another baby ten months later 14)eclipsed our social calendar. Everything outside our home became secondary, including a sweet old man named Henry Foster.
斯蒂芬继续找各种借口去看亨利，直到没什么借口可找了，于是他开始光明正大地为看朋友而去看他的朋友。他最后一次去看亨利之后不久，我们的第一个孩子提早到来，我们的生活重心从此改变。10个月后，另一个孩子也出生了，更是让我们没有了任何的社交活动。我们家以外的所有东西都成了次要的，包括一个名叫亨利·福斯特的友善的老头。
As we immersed ourselves into our family, the years rolled by. We had two more babies, and our house demanded our full attention to accommodate our burgeoning family. Our priorities shifted. Guilt bubbled up every now and then when we took a moment to inventory our collection and reminisce about the time we bought a particular piece. Stephen would sigh and say, “I wonder how the old guy is doing.”
我们完全沉浸在家庭生活的同时，年月也在一点一点流逝。我们后来又有了两个孩子，家里人丁兴旺，我们得全副心思考虑怎么改装房子才能住得舒舒服服。我们的生活重心转移了。每当我们花些时间盘点我们收藏的东西，回忆买下每件特别物品的那些时光时，内疚感就会不时地涌上心头。斯蒂芬总会叹息地说：“不知道那老头怎么样了。”
One Sunday we filled up our gas tank and took to the 15)back roads, soaking up the scenery. Stephen took a sudden turn.
一个周日，我们给车加满了油，开到乡村小路上，欣赏着沿途的景色。斯蒂芬忽然急转弯。
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
“我们要去哪儿？”我问。
“你等会就知道了。”
He navigated 16)a myriad of streets unfamiliar to me, then slowed down in front of one particular house, a two-story structure with plastic toys littering the front yard and Christmas lights, one month out of season, still stapled to the 17)eaves. Several pecan trees arched up from behind the home, the winter sun streaming through their bare branches.
他驶过无数我全然陌生的街道，然后在一栋很特别的房子前面慢慢停了下来。那是一栋两层的建筑物，前院杂乱地堆放着一些塑料玩具，过时一个月的圣诞灯依然钉在屋檐上。几棵山核桃树从房子后面呈拱形伸展出来。冬日的阳光在它们光秃秃的枝间涌动着。
“Who lives here, Daddy?” one of our boys 18)piped up.
Stephen swallowed hard.
“I knew a man who used to live here. His name was Henry Foster.”
“Was he a nice man?”
“Yes, Cody, he was a nice man. A very nice man.”
“Where is he?”
Stephen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he finally replied, his eyes misting. “I believe he went on a long vacation with his wife.”
Pulling from the curb, I noticed two squirrels chasing each other up one of the pecan trees.
“爸爸，谁住在这儿？”我们的一个儿子尖声问道。
斯蒂芬强抑情绪。
“我认识一个人，之前一直住在这里。他的名字叫亨利·福斯特。”
“他是一个好人吗？”
“嗯，科迪，他是一个好人。很友善。”
“他去哪儿了？”
斯蒂芬深吸了一口气，然后慢慢呼了出来。
“这个，”他终于回答了，眼里闪着泪水。“我相信，他是和妻子一起去度长假了。”
开车走的时候，我留意到两只松鼠互相追逐着，爬上了其中一棵山核桃树。
