Warm in the Heart

佚名/Anonymous

这是丹佛一个非常寒冷的早上。这样的天气，人们应该整天都待在家里，或者感冒了在家里休息，等妈妈端来一碗热汤，应该是这样度过。

而我得去丹佛大会中心给几百人做演讲，他们和我一样没感冒，不可能待在家里等妈妈端来热汤。我们聚在大会中心，对于这样的天气除了说几句之外，再也无计可施。

我的无线麦克风需要电池，而我没有带。我确实需要一块备用电池，没有其他办法了。我只好竖起衣领，低着头，穿着皮鞋，向寒风中走去。

我在一个拐角处看到一块指示标，上面不远处有一个711便利店。假如我快点走，步子迈大，就能进到商店里，避开凛冽的风和干燥的空气。住在丹佛的人对城外的人开玩笑说，丹佛的冬季能让你感受到愉悦的寒冷。当他们的亲戚问他们住在海拔这样高的城市感觉如何时，他们回答说：“那是一种更干燥的寒冷。”干燥，胡说八道。天气冷得足以让那只著名的黄铜制的猴子移动。

在711便利店里有两个人，站在柜台后面的人佩带着一个有她名字的胸牌，她叫罗伯塔。从她的表情可以判断，她大概还是希望待在家里哄孩子，给孩子准备热汤。但现在她却在寒冷的几乎没有什么人的丹佛市区的一个小商店里服务。对于那些在这么冷的天里还傻乎乎地跑到街上逛的人来说，她似乎是一个归航信标，看到她们就不再惧怕和躲避寒冷了。

便利店里另一个人是一位躲避寒冷的高个子的老人。但是，他好像在店里待得很舒服，不想走出商店，再回到大风里，走在结冰的人行道上。我不禁想，他可能是疯了，也可能是迷路了。在这样冷的天气里出来逛7-11便利店，这人真是愚蠢。

我没有时间去理会这个失去理性的老人。我要买一个电池，几百名有重要事要做的重要人物在会议中心等着我呢。我来这儿是有目的的。

可是，这位老人在我之前来到柜台前，罗伯塔笑着，老人没说话。罗伯塔拿起他挑选的商品，把商品的价钱逐个输入计算器。老人在这么冷的天气里出来，就为买几个松饼和香蕉，真不值得。

就为买松饼和香蕉，一个正常的人是会等到春天来临，街道恢复正常，逛街的时候顺便买的。而这位老人却没有这样做，他拖着衰弱的身体在这样寒冷的早晨出来，让人感觉好像是没有明天了。

可能真的没有明天了，他已经很老了。

当罗伯塔算出总额，老人把僵硬的、干枯的手伸进大衣兜里，摸出一个像老人一样老的装硬币的钱包。几个硬币和皱巴巴的一美元散落在柜台上，而罗伯塔收起这些钱就像拿到宝贝一样兴奋。

松饼和香蕉被装进塑料袋里后，接下来发生的事使我震惊了。老人没说话，他僵硬干枯的手慢慢地伸过柜台，他的手在颤抖，接着稳定下来。罗伯塔把塑料袋的手柄撑开，套到老人的手腕上，他伸在空中的手指长满了说明他年龄的老人斑。

罗伯塔笑得更亲切了。

她握起老人另一只僵硬干枯的手，接着她把老人的双手捧在她褐色的脸颊前，她上下左右地暖和着老人的手。他的围巾几乎从他宽阔、弯曲的肩膀上掉下来了，她帮他围在脖子上，但他仍然没说话，他站在那儿，好像是在把刚刚发生的一切装进自己的记忆里，而这种记忆至少要持续到明天。当然，明天他还会冒着严寒来这儿。罗伯塔为他扣上了被他忽略的扣子，她看着他的眼睛，竖起一根纤细的手指，开玩笑地责怪他，“约翰逊先生，我希望你以后多注意哟。”接着为了强调，她稍稍停顿了一下，很认真地说：“我明天还要在这儿看到你。”

罗伯塔说的最后一句话在他耳边回响，他记下了叮嘱。犹豫了一下，转过身，他前脚紧挨着后脚，挪动着，向寒冷的丹佛的早晨走去。这时，我意识到他不是来买香蕉和松饼的，他来这儿，是为了获得心灵上的慰藉。

It was a bitterly cold Denver morning. This was a day for staying home， for having a cold and waiting for mom to bring a cup of soup. That was the way the day was supposed to be.

I had a job speaking at the Denver Convention Center to a couple hundred other people who， like me， were unable to have the sniffles and stay home for Mom to bring us soup. Instead， we gathered at the Convention Center， unable to do more about the weather than to talk about it.

I needed a battery for my wireless microphone. I had failed to pack a spare.There was no choice， really. I needed a battery. So I headed into the wind， head bowed， and collar up， shuffling in too-thin dress shoes.

Around the corner， I spotted a small sign announcing that a 7-Eleven convenience store was within sight. If I walked quickly and lengthened my stride， I could reach the front door and shelter from the brisk wind without drawing a breath of lung-burning air. People who live in Denver like to play with outsiders by telling them that winter in Denver means enduring a pleasant kind of cold. "It's a much drier kind of cold，" report the Denver folks， when their relatives ask how they like life in the mile-high city. Drier， my foot！ It's cold enough to give the famous brass monkey reason to move.

Inside the 7-Eleven were two souls. The one behind the counter wore a name badge saying she was Roberta. Judging by her appearance， Roberta probably wished that she were home bringing hot soup and soothing words to her own little ones. Instead， she was spending her day manning an outpost for commerce in a nearly abandoned， downtown Denver. She would be a beacon， a refuge for the few who were foolish enough to be out and about on a day so cold.

The other refugee from the cold was a tall， elderly gentleman who seemed comfortable with his surroundings. He was in absolutely no hurry to step back through the front door and risk sailing through town at the mercy of the wind and ice-covered sidewalks. I couldn't help but think that the gentleman had lost his mind or his way. To be out on such a day， shuffling through the merchandise of a 7-Eleven， the man must be completely daft.

I didn't have time to be concerned with an old man who had taken leave of his senses. I needed a battery， and there were a couple hundred important people who had things left to do with their lives waiting for me back at the Convention Center. We had a purpose.

The old man somehow found his way to the counter ahead of me. Roberta smiled. He said not a single word. Roberta picked up each of his meager purchases and entered each amount into the cash register. The old man had dragged himself into the Denver morning for a lousy muffin and a banana. What a sorry mistake it was！

For a muffin and a banana， a sane man could wait until spring and then perhaps enjoy the opportunity to saunter the streets when they had returned to reasonableness. Not this guy. He had sailed his old carcass into the morning as if there were no tomorrow.

Perhaps there would be no tomorrow. After all， he was pretty old.

When Roberta had figured the total， a tired， old hand fished deep into the trench coat pocket. His fishing hand caught a change purse as old as the man himself. A few coins and a wrinkled dollar bill fell onto the counter. Roberta treated them as though she were about to receive a treasure.

When the meager purchases had been placed into a plastic bag， something remarkable happened. Not a word had been spoken by her elderly friend， an old tired hand slowly extended over the counter. The hand trembled， and then steadied. Roberta spread the plastic handles on the bag and gently slipped them over his wrist.The fingers that dangled into space were gnarled and spotted with the marks of age.

Roberta smiled larger.

She scooped up the other tired， old hand and in an instant， she was holding them both， gathered in front of her brown face. She warmed them. Top and bottom. Then sides. She reached and pulled the scarf that had flown nearly off his broad but stooped shoulders. She pulled it close around his neck. Still he said not a single word. He stood as if to cement the moment in his memory. It would have to last at least until tomorrow， When he would once again shuffle through the cold. Roberta buttoned a button that had eluded the manipulation of the old hands. She looked him in the eyes and， with a slender finger， mockingly scolded him. "Now， Mr. Johnson. I want you to be very careful." She then paused ever so lightly for emphasis and added sincerely， "I need to see you in here tomorrow."

With those last words ringing in his ears， the old man had his orders. He hesitated， and then turned， and one tired foot shuffling barely in front of the other， he moved slowly into the bitter Denver morning. I realized then that he had not come in search of a banana and a muffin. He had come in to get warm in his heart.