刻在树上的爱情

by Bill Bryson

I was puzzled！ Why was this old woman making such a fuss about an old 1）copse which was of no use to anybody？ She had written letters to the local paper， even to a national， protesting about a projected by-pass to her village， and， looking at a map， the route was nowhere near where she lived and it wasnt as if the area was attractive. I was more than puzzled， I was intrigued.

The enquiry into the route of the new bypass to the village was due to take place shortly， and I wanted to know what it was that motivated her. So it was that I found myself knocking on a cottage door， being received by Mary Smith and then being taken for a walk to the woods.

“Ive always loved this place，” she said， “it has a lot of memories for me， and for others. We all used it. They called it ‘Lovers lane. Its not much of a lane， and it doesnt go anywhere important， but thats why we all came here.

To be away from people， to be by ourselves，” she added.

It was indeed pleasant that summer day and the songs of many birds could be heard. Squirrels gazed from the branches， quite bold in their movements， obviously few people passed this way and they had nothing to fear. I could imagine the noise of vehicles passing through these peaceful woods when the by-pass was built， so I felt that she probably had something there but as I hold strong opinions about the needs of the community 2）over-riding the opinions of private individuals， I said nothing. The village was quite a dangerous place because of the traffic especially for old people and children， their safety was more important to me than an old womans 3）whims.

“Take this tree，” she said pausing after a short while. “To you it is just that， a tree. Not unlike many others here.” She gently touched the bark.“Look here， under this branch， what can you see？”

“It looks as if someone has done a bit of carving with a knife，” I said after a 4）cursory inspection.

“Yes， thats what it is！” she said softly. “There are letters and a lovers heart.”

I looked again， this time more carefully. The heart was still there and there was a suggestion of an arrow through it. The letters on one side were indistinct， but on the other an “R” was clearly visible with what looked like an “I” after it. “Some 5）budding romance？” I asked， “did you know who they were？”

“Oh yes， I knew them”， said Mary Smith， “it says ‘RH loves MS.”

I realised that I could be getting out of my depth， and longed to be in my office， away from here and this old lady， snug， and with a mug of tea in my hand.

She went on， “He had a penknife with a spike for getting stones from a horses 6）hoof， and I helped him to carve my initials. We were very much in love， but he was going away， and could not tell me what he was involved in the army. I had guessed of course. It was the last evening we ever spent together， because he went away the next day， back to his 7）Unit.”

Mary Smith was quiet for a while， then she sobbed. “His mother showed me the telegram.‘8）Sergeant R Holmes ... Killed in action in the invasion of France.”

“‘I had hoped that you and Robin would one day get married，she said， ‘He was my only child， and I would have loved to be a Granny， they would have been such lovely babies—she was like that！

“Two years later she too was dead. ‘9）Pneumonia， following a chill on the chest was what the doctor said， but I think it was an old fashioned broken heart. A child would have helped both of us.”

There was a further pause. Mary Smith gently 10）caressed the wounded tree， just as she would have caressed him. “And now they want to take our tree away from me.” Another quiet sob， then she turned to me. “I was young and pretty then， I could have had anybody， I wasnt always the old woman you see here now. I had everything I wanted in life， a lovely man， health and a future to look forwards to.”

She paused again and looked around. The summer breeze gently moved through the leaves with a sighing sound. “There were others， of course， but not a patch on my Robin！” she said strongly.“And now I have nothing—except the memories this tree holds. If only I could get my hands on that awful man who writes in the paper about the value of the road they are going to build where we are standing now， I would tell him. Has he never loved， has he never lived， does he not know anything about memories？ We were not the only ones， you know， I still meet some who came here as Robin and I did. Yes， I would tell him！”

I turned away， sick at heart.

我十分困惑！为什么这位老妇人对那片毫无用处的老灌木林如此大惊小怪？她写信给当地的报社，甚至是给国家报社也写了信，抗议将在她们村子里修建小路的方案。但是，从地图上看，这条小路离她家甚远，而那个地方的风景也并不吸引。我不仅感到困惑，我还很好奇。

对村子里修建小路方案的咨询调查即将要开始，而我想了解是什么原因让她一直持反对的意见。于是，我敲响了小屋的门，玛丽·史密斯女士开了门，然后她带我去那片树林散步。

“我一直深爱着这个地方，”她说，“对我来说，这珍藏了我和其他人许多的回忆。我们都曾在这个地方流连过。人们称之为‘情人小径。这并不算是什么路，也不会通往什么重要的地方，但是，那正是我们都会来这里的原因。

远离喧嚣人群，只有二人世界，”她补充说道。

那的确是一个愉快宜人的夏日，随处听得到小鸟歌唱。松鼠探头窥视，自由自在地穿梭在树枝间，显然，这里人迹罕至，小动物们丝毫不害怕。我可以想象得到，以后小路修建后，汽车行驶过这片静谧的树林，将打破这种寂静。所以，我觉得这对于她，可能存在特殊的意义，不过，我仍觉得社区的需要比个人意见重要得多，所以我什么也没说。这个村庄的交通相当危险，尤其对老人和孩子来说，我认为他们的安全远比一位老妇人的奇怪念头重要。

“就拿这棵树来说，”她停顿了一会儿说，“对你来说，这只是一棵普通的树，和其他的树没什么区别。”她轻柔地抚摸着树皮，说道，“瞧这里，在这个树枝的下面，你看见什么了吗？”

“看起来像是有人用小刀在上面雕刻了什么似的，”我草草地看了一眼，说道。

“是的，正是如此！”她轻声说道，“是一些字母和一颗爱心。”

我又看了一次，这回看得认真了些。那颗爱心还在那儿，此外还依稀可以看到有支箭穿过那颗爱心。爱心一边的字母已经模糊不可辨认，但是另一边，可以清晰地看见字母“R”，后面似乎是个“I”字母。“是关于刚刚萌发的浪漫爱情吗？”我问道，“你知道他们是谁吗？”

“是的，我知道，”玛丽·史密斯说，“上面刻的是‘RH爱MS。”

我开始意识到自己可能陷得太深，真希望自己身在办公室，远离这里和这位老妇人，舒舒服服地坐着，手里端着杯茶。

她继续讲道：“他拿着一把袖珍折刀，上面嵌着可以为马蹄剔除石块的剔刀，我们一起刻下了我名字的首字母。我们深爱着彼此，但是他将要离开，而且不告诉我他在军队里是做什么的，当然我曾猜想过。那是我们共度的最后一个夜晚，第二天他就起身回军队去了。”

玛丽·史密斯沉默了一会儿，然后啜泣起来。“他母亲给我看了那封电报。‘R·荷尔姆斯中士……在攻打法国的战役中牺牲了。”

“‘我原本希望你和罗宾有一天会结婚，她说，‘他是我唯一的儿子，我多么希望当祖母，你们的孩子肯定都是可爱的小宝宝——她当时是这么说的！

“两年后，她也去世了。‘肺炎，肺部感染风寒造成，这是医生的诊断，但是我认为是典型的伤心过度。如果我和罗宾有个孩子，他母亲和我都会好过得多。”

接着是更久的沉默。玛丽·史密斯轻柔地抚摸着那棵刻过的树，就像是抚摸她的恋人一样。“现在他们要夺走我们的树。”她又轻轻地啜泣了一下，然后她转身对我说，“当时我年轻貌美，我本可以选择别人，当时的我可不是现在你眼前的老妇人。我拥有生命中渴望得到的一切：一个值得爱的男人、健康的身体和值得期盼的未来。”

她又停顿了片刻，朝四周看了看。夏日的微风轻轻地穿过树叶，发出沙沙的叹息声。“当然，那时有许多其他人追求我，但是他们远比不上罗宾！”她肯定地说道。“然而，现在我一无所有——除了存留在这棵树上仅剩的记忆。要是我能找到那个可恶的家伙，他竟提出建议把小路修在我们现在所站的这个地方，我会质问他：你从没爱过吗，你活过吗，难道你自己没有回忆吗？不仅仅是我和罗宾，你要知道，我还遇到过许多像我们一样到这儿来的人。是的，我一定会这么跟他说的！”

我转过身去，心里很不是滋味。