The notice was posted next to the tenants'1 mailboxes in the apartment building I'd just moved into in Brooklyn, New York. “A Mitzvah2 for Mrs. Green,” it read. “Sign up3 to drive Mrs. G in #3B home from her chemotherapy4 treatments twice a month.”
Since I wasn't a driver, I couldn't add my name, but the word mitzvah lingered5 in my thoughts after I went upstairs. It's a Hebrew6 word that means “to do a good deed”.
And according to my grandmother, it also had another meaning. This was the one she was always pointing out to me because she'd noticed how shy I was about letting people do things for me. “Linda, it's a blessing7 to do a mitzvah for someone else, but sometimes it's a blessing to let another person do something for you.”
Grandma would be shaking her head at me right now. Several of my friends had offered to help me settle in8 after the moving men left, but I'd said I could manage. Letting them help would have interfered with9 my image of myself as a capable and independent woman of 21.
Snowflakes had been falling past my window for several hours when it came time10 to leave for class. I pulled on two sweaters, a coat, a wool hat and boots, making for11 the bus stop. In this December storm it was a hard journey. As I tied around my neck the blue scarf that Grandma had knitted12 for me, I could almost hear her voice: “Why don't you see if you can find a lift?”
A thousand reasons why came into my mind: I don't know my neighbors; I don't like to impose13; I feel funny asking for favors. Pride would not let me knock on a door and say, “It's a 10-minute ride by car but a long wait for the bus, and it's a 30-minute bus ride, so could you possibly give me a lift to school?”
I labored14 to the bus stop, reaching it just as a bus went by.
Three weeks later, on the night of my final exam, the snow was falling steadily. I made my way to the bus stop. For an hour, I stretched15 my neck, praying desperately16 that a bus would come. Then I gave up. The wind at my back pushed me toward home, and I prayed, Dear God, how can I get to school? What should I do?
As I pulled Grandma's scarf more tightly around my neck, again I seemed to hear that whisper: Ask someone for a lift! It could be a mitzvah.
That idea had never really made sense17 to me. And even if I wanted to ask someone for a good deed, which I did not, there wasn't a soul18 on the street.
But as I pushed the door of my apartment building open, I found myself face to face with a woman at the mailbox. She was wearing a brown coat and had a set of keys in her hand. Obviously she had a car, and just as obviously, she was going out. In that split second19, desperation overcame pride, I blurted20, “Could you possibly give me a lift?” I hurriedly explained, “I never ask anybody for a lift, but . . .”
An odd look crossed the woman's face, and I added, “Oh! I live in 4R. I moved in recently.”
“I know,” she said. “I've seen you through the window.” Then, without hesitation, “Of course, I'll give you a lift. Let me get my car key.”
“Your car key?” I repeated. “Isn't that it in your hand?”
She looked down. “No, no, I was just going to get my mail. I'll be right back.” And she disappeared upstairs, ignoring21 my “Ma'am! Please! I don't mean to put you out22!” I was terribly embarrassed.
But when she came back, she spoke so warmly that I stopped feeling uncomfortable. “You know the way better than I,” she said. “Why don't you drive?”
“I can't,” I said. Now I felt uneasy again.
She just laughed and patted me on the hand, saying, “It's not so important,” and then I laughed, too.
“You remind me of my grandmother,” I said.
At that, a slight smile crossed her lips. “Just call me Grandma Alice. My grandchildren do.”
When she dropped me off23, I thanked her again and again and stood there waving as she drove away. My final exam was a piece of cake24 compared with the difficult experience I'd gone through to get to it, and asking Grandma Alice for help had loosened me so that after class I was able to ask easily, “Is anyone going my way?” It turned out25 that while I'd been waiting for a bus every night, three fellow students passed my apartment house. "Why didn't you say something before?" they chorused26.
Back home as I walked up the stairs, I passed Grandma Alice leaving her neighbor's apartment. “Good night, Mrs. Green. See you tomorrow,” the neighbor was saying.
Mrs. Green, the woman with cancer. “Grandma Alice” was Mrs. Green.
I stood on the stairs, my hand covering my mouth: I had asked a person struggling with cancer to go out in a snowstorm to give me a lift to school. “Oh, Mrs. Green,” I stammered27, “I didn't realize who you were. Please forgive me.”
I forced my legs to move me up the stairs. In my apartment, I stood still, not taking my coat off. How could I have been so insensitive28? In a few seconds, someone tapped 29 on my door. Mrs. Green stood there.
“May I tell you something?” she asked. I nodded slowly, motioning30 her toward a chair, sinking down onto my couch. “I used to be so strong,” she said. She was crying. “I used to be able to do things for other people. Now everybody keeps doing things for me, giving me things, cooking my meals and taking me to places where I want to go. It's not that I don't appreciate it, but I don't have chances. Tonight before I went out to get my mail, I prayed to God to let me feel like part of the human race again. Then you came along ...”
我刚搬进纽约市布鲁克林区的一幢公寓楼，看见一张布告贴在住户的邮箱旁，上面写着：“对格林夫人的善举：愿意每月两次去接住在3栋、做完化疗的格林夫人回家者，请在下面签名。”
因为我不会开车，就没有签名，然而上楼后，“善举”一词一直在我脑海里盘旋。这是希伯来语，意思是“做好事”。
按照祖母的理解，它还有另一层含义。因为她发现我总是羞于请别人帮忙，就常对我这样说：“琳达，帮助别人是一种幸福，但允许别人帮你有时候也是一种幸福。”
这会儿祖母又该对我摇头了：搬运工走后，几个朋友主动提出帮我安置好家当，但我说自己能对付。让他们帮忙会破坏我的形象，让人觉得21岁的我不是一个能干、独立的女性。
窗外的雪花纷纷扬扬下了几个小时，上课时间到了。我穿上两件毛衣和外套，头戴帽子，脚穿棉靴向公交车站走去。在12月份这种暴风雪天气里，这是一段艰难的路程。我用祖母为我织的蓝色围巾把脖子围紧，耳边似乎响起了她的声音：“为什么不看看是否能搭个便车呢？”
一千个不这么做的理由跳进我的脑海：我不认识我的邻居，我不喜欢打扰别人，我觉得请人帮忙很可笑。自尊心不允许我敲开别人家的门说：“搭便车只需10分钟行程，但等公汽就要很久了，而且行程要30分钟，所以我能搭你的便车去学校吗？”
我艰难地向公交车站走去，到达车站时，一辆公交车刚刚离开。
三周后，我们要举行期终考试的那天晚上，雪仍然下个不停。我一路走到车站。整整一个小时，我伸长脖子，拼命祈祷公共汽车的到来，最后我放弃了。身后的狂风将我往家里推，我祈祷着：上帝，我怎么去学校呢？我该怎么办？
我把围巾拉得更紧，仿佛又听到祖母在说：求人搭个便车，那不是什么坏事！
祖母的话对我不曾有任何意义。何况，即使我想请人帮忙——其实我并不想那么做——街上一个人影儿也没有。
然而，当我推开公寓楼门时，差点和站在邮箱旁的一位夫人撞个满怀。她穿了件褐色大衣，手里拿了一串钥匙。显然，她有车，而且正准备出门。就在那一刹那，绝望战胜了自傲，我脱口而出：“您能让我搭个便车吗？”我赶忙解释，“我从没向别人这样要求过，可是……”
一种奇特的神情从夫人的脸上一划而过。我补充说：“噢，我住在4号房间，刚搬来。”
“我知道，我从窗户里见过你。”然后，她毫不犹豫地说，“当然，我愿意让你搭车，我去拿车钥匙。”
“您的车钥匙？”我重复一遍，“您手里拿的不是吗？”
她低头看了看。“啊不，我是来取信的。我马上回来。”说完她消失在楼道里，没有理会我在下面叫：“夫人！请等等！我没想要麻烦您出门！”我窘迫极了。
但她返回后，温暖的话语让我感觉自在下来。“这条路你比我熟，为何不自己开车呢？”
“我不会开车，”我说，感觉又开始不自在了。
她笑了笑，拍拍我的手说，“不会开车也没什么关系。”我也跟着笑了。
“您使我想起了我的祖母。”我说。
听完我的话，她嘴角露出了一丝微笑：“就叫我艾莉丝奶奶吧，我的孙子都这么叫我。”
她把我送到了学校，我一再地谢她，站在那儿向她挥手直到她开车走远。期终考试和我这段艰难的经历比起来，简直就是小菜一碟。而且，请艾莉丝奶奶帮忙的经历是一次突破，所以下课后我能轻松发问：“有人和我同路吗？”原来每晚我等公汽时，有三个同学开车从我住的公寓楼经过。“为什么你不早说呢？”他们几乎是异口同声地问。
回到公寓楼，我在楼梯上碰到正从邻居家出来的艾莉丝奶奶，“晚安，格林夫人。明天见。”邻居说。
格林夫人——那个患了癌症的女人！“艾莉丝奶奶”就是格林夫人！
我站在楼梯上，手掩着嘴说不出话来：我竟然要一个身患癌症的病人冒着暴风雪开车送我去学校！“噢，格林夫人，”我结结巴巴地说，“我不知道您就是格林夫人。请原谅我！”
我拖着沉重的脚步上了楼。我一动不动地站在房子里，连外套都没脱。我感觉怎么这么迟钝呢？过了一会儿，有人敲门。格林夫人站在门外。
“我可以跟你说件事吗？”她问。我轻轻点了点头，示意她坐下，自己一屁股跌坐在沙发上。“我以前身体也很好，”她说，然后哭起来，“过去我也能帮助别人。而现在，大家总是来帮我，送东西给我，为我做饭，送我去我想去的地方。不是我不想感激，而是没有机会。今晚，下楼取信时，我在心中祈祷上帝，让我像正常人那样去帮助别人，感受助人的快乐吧。然后，你走了过来……”
1. tenant n． 房客，租客
2． mitzvah n． 德行，善举
3． sign up＝sign in 签字
4． chemotherapy n． 化疗
5． linger v． 逗留，徘徊
6． Hebrew adj． 希伯来人的，希伯来语的
7． blessing n． 幸福；恩赐
8． settle in 搬入，定居
9． interfere with 妨碍，干扰
10． when it came time＝when the time came
11． pull on 穿，戴（袜子，手套等），make for 走向
12． knit [nit] v． 编织
13． impose v． (on／upon) 强加于; 硬要(某人)帮忙，打扰
14． labor v． 费劲，艰难地做……
15． stretch v． 伸展，伸长
16． desperately adv． 拼命地; 失望地
17． make sense [sens] 有意义，有道理
18． soul n． 心灵，此处代表“人”。
19． in a split second 一眨眼的时间，不到一秒钟 split [split] adj． 裂开的，分离的
20． blurt v． 未加思索地冲口说出，突然说出
21． ignore v． 不理睬，忽视
22． put out 打扰，麻烦
23． drop off 让……下车
24． a piece of cake 轻松的事
25． turn out 结果（是），原来
26． chorus v． 异口同声地说
27． stammer v． 口吃，结结巴巴地说
28． insensitive adj． 感觉迟钝的
29． tap v． 轻叩
30． motion v． 打手势; 摇[点]头示意