A Second Chance第二次机会

瑞安·金塞拉

The sun glaring through the window woke me up. I got out of bed and got dressed. I proceeded into the kitchen where I ate cold cereal for breakfast， just like every morning for the past 3 years.

It was time to go to work. I stepped outside and walked at a leisurely pace down Madison Ave. It was the best time of year for my line of work： the summer when all of the tourists came to New York.

I got to the city square， and as usual， the very same cliques2 were there， and in numbers today.  “It looks to be a very good day，” I thought as I smiled to myself. I saw a white man in his late 30’s. Guessed he looked kind of lost. “Perfect，” I thought to myself. “Time to work.” I calmly and confidently stepped up to the man.

“Hello， sir. Can I help you？”

“Yes. I am looking for the Madison Hotel.”

“Yes， yes... Oh， okay. Go three blocks down， and take a right. It will be on your left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good day sir.”

I walked away with not only a smile on my face， but with the man’s wallet in my pocket. I opened it up to see 48 dollars， a Discover 3， and a MasterCard. A couple of hours and 4 wallets later， I decided to get lunch. So far， I had acquired 6 credit cards， 726 dollars， and several patent leather， hand-made Italian billfolds4.

I decided to go to my favorite place a little bistro called daVinci’s. They have the best pizza. But then， I saw the man. He was about 6 feet tall， with a dark chocolate complexion. He was actually walking in circles—even an amateur could easily recognize that he was lost. Perfect.

I cautiously approached him， like a lion stalking his prey.

“Hello， sir. Can I help you？”

“Yes. Do you， by any chance， know where the movie theater is？”

“Ah， yes. No problem. Go down 52nd Ave. and take a left. It’ll be right there. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you， so much.”

“No problem， sir. My pleasure.”

I was practically bouncing up the street as I opened up the man’s wallet. I found three hundred dollars and three credit cards. I glanced at the name on one of the cards.

“Mr. Johnson，” I thought. “Thank you very much， Mr. Johnson.” I arrived at the restaurant feeling very good indeed. After my 4-course meal Italian feast， I privately made a toast to Mr. Johnson. “May he increase his own happiness like he has mine.”

I decided I was done for the day， and started on my way home. Little did I know， something was about to happen that would change my life forever.

On my way back， I passed through a small alley. As I got to the end of the small alley I saw him， I saw my gracious benefactor. A little white girl had fallen down， and Mr. Johnson was kindly helping her up. The mother saw what was going on， and started to scream and yell for help. The mother started to hit Mr. Johnson with her bag and continued to scream. Mr. Johnson tried to explain to her that he was just trying to help， but she would not listen， and incessantly panicked.

A few men heard the noise， and came barreling out of a house carrying a couple of bats. The 3 men， who were all white and each about 5 or 6 feet， started yelling at Mr. Johnson. One of the white men hit Mr. Johnson across the face. They all started punching him and hitting him with the bats. They just would not stop. They kept swearing at him， and spitting on him.

I wanted to scream： “Stop！ Stop！ What are you doing？” But I could not. I just stood there， frozen， and was unable to say anything. He was only trying to help—only trying to help a little girl up off of the street.

Then， one of the white men pulled out a knife and proceeded to stab Mr. Johnson several times. Then， the three white men ran away， dropping the bats as they ran.

There， he was the man I had stolen from， laying dead in his own pool of blood—alone in a dark alley.

It was unfair I had stole from this man when he was looking for my help， and because of this， he is dead. Then it hit me： I killed him. He probably came looking for me when he was killed. I was responsible.

I heard the sirens and I ran. I just ran. I realized that I had not only stolen his wallet—I had stolen his life. Tears streamed down my face as I ran.

God had given me a second chance to realize what I had done. Yes， God had given me a second chance， and Mr. Johnson had paid for it.

陽光透过窗子照进来， 唤醒了我。我迅速起床，穿好衣服，走进厨房，吃了点冰冷的麦片权当是一顿早餐。过去三年来，每天早晨我都是这么过的。

现在该去上班了。我走出家门，在麦迪逊大街上悠闲地逛着。对于干我这一行的人来说，现在正是一年当中最佳的时机：旅游者大都在夏天前来纽约观光。

我来到了城市广场，和往常一样，今天这里又是游人如织，成群结队。“看来，今天日子不错。”想到这儿，我暗自笑了笑。这时候，我看见一个年近40岁的白人男子。看他的样子像是迷路了。“棒极了！”我心里暗想，“该出手了。”我镇静而又自信地朝那人走去。

“你好，先生。需要帮忙吗？”

“对。我在找麦迪逊酒店。”

“哦，哦……好的。往前走过三个街区，然后再向右转。麦迪逊酒店就在你的左边。你肯定会找到的。”

“谢谢你！”

“不用谢。祝你过得愉快，先生。”

我带着微笑走开了，顺手也带走了那人的钱包。我打开钱包，发现里面有48美金，1张发现卡，还有1张万事达卡。之后的几个小时，又偷到了4个钱包，于是，我决定去吃午饭。到现在为止，我已经得到6张信用卡，726美金，几个意大利手工制作的名牌真皮钱夹。

我决定去一家叫达·芬奇的小餐厅，我平时就喜欢去那儿。那里有全城最好的比萨。可就在这时，我看见了那个人。他身高大约六英尺，肤色如巧克力般黝黑。其实，他一直在那里绕圈子——显然，这人也迷路了。这连一个门外汉也能看出。太棒了！

我小心翼翼地向他靠近，就像一头狮子一样悄悄地跟上了它的猎物。

“你好！先生，需要帮忙吗？”

“是的。你知道电影院在哪儿吗？”

“嗯，知道。我當然知道。顺着第52号大街一直往前走，再往左拐就到了。你肯定会找到的。”

“多谢了。”

“不用谢，先生。我很乐意为你效劳。”

说着，我走上大街，一边打开那人的钱包。我发现里面有300美金和3张信用卡，我瞥了一下其中一张卡上的署名。

“多谢了，约翰逊先生。”我心中默念道。我到了那家餐馆，感觉相当不错。吃完了四道菜的意大利大餐后，我举杯暗自为约翰逊先生干杯。“祝愿他和我一样一天比一天快乐。”

今天收获不小，我决定收工。于是，我踏上了回家的路。可我没有料到，一件意外的事情就要发生了，它永远改变了我的生活。

在回家的路上，我穿过一条小巷。走到小巷的尽头，我看见那位仁慈的大恩人。突然，一位白人小女孩摔倒了，约翰逊先生正要好心地扶她起来，恰好被女孩的母亲看见。她尖叫了起来，高声呼救。与此同时，那位母亲还用挎包击打约翰逊先生。约翰逊先生竭力向她解释，他只是想帮助女孩，可她听不进去，反而更加恐慌。

很快，几个男子从一座房子里循声鱼贯而出，每个人手里握着一根短棍。三个身高约有五六英尺的白人男子开始朝约翰逊先生怒吼起来。其中，一个白人男子朝约翰逊先生的脸上猛击了一拳。随后，他们纷纷用短棍朝他猛砸。他们不停地辱骂他，朝他的身上吐着口水。

我想大喊：“住手！住手！你们要干什么？”可是，我不能。我只是站在那里，束手无策，也无话可说。他只是想帮忙——只是想将一个女孩从地上扶起来。

这时候，一个白人男子拔出一把刀子，向约翰逊先生狠狠地捅了几下。随后，那三个白人扔下了手中的短棍跑了。

在那里，在那条幽暗的小巷，被我偷了钱包的约翰逊先生，躺在血泊之中，孤独地死去了。

当他向我寻求帮助时，我却偷走了他的钱包，这不公平！正是因为这，他死了。是我杀死了他。他可能是因为回来找我而被人杀了。我有责任。

这时候，警笛声响了，我跑开了。我就这么跑了。我意识到，我不仅偷走了他的钱包，我还偷走了他的性命。跑着跑着，我的眼泪顺着面颊流了下来。

上帝给了我第二次机会，让我认识到自己的所作所为。是的，上帝给了我第二次机会，而约翰逊先生却为此付出了沉重的代价。