She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on2 me.
She was building a sand castle or something and looked up; her eyes were blue as the sea.
“Hello,”she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood3 to bother with a small child.
“I'm building,”she said.
“I see that. What is it?”I asked, not caring.
“Oh I don't know, I just like the feel of the sand.”
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided4 by.
“That's a joy,”the child said.
“It's what?”I asked, uncaring.
“It's a joy! My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.”
The bird went glissading5 down the beach. “Good-bye joy,”I muttered to myself, “Hello, pain...”and turned to walk on. I was depressed6; my life seemed completely out of balance7.
“What's your name?”she wouldn't give up.
“Ruth,”I answered. “I'm Ruth Peterson.”
“Mine's Wendy... and I'm six.”
“Hi, Wendy,” I offered.
She giggled8. “You're funny,”she said. In spite of my gloom9 I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. “Come again, Mrs. P,”she called. “We'll have another happy day.”
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly10 Boy Scouts11, PTA12 meetings, an ailing13 mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.
“I need a sandpiper,”I said to myself, gathering up14 my coat.
The never-changing15 balm16 of the seashore awaited17 me. The breeze was chilly18, but I strode19 along, trying to recapture20 the serenity21 I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.
“Hello, Mrs. P,”she said. “Do you want to play?”
“What did you have in mind?”I asked, with a twinge22 of annoyance23.
“I don't know. You say.”
“How about charades24?”I asked sarcastically25.
The tinkling26 laughter burst forth again. “I don't know what that is.”
“Then let's just walk.”Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness27 of her face. “Where do you live?”I asked.
“Over there.”She pointed toward a row of summer cottages28. Strange, I thought, in winter.
“Where do you go to school?”
“I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation.”
She chattered29 little girl talk as we strolled30 up the beach, but my mind was on other things. “When I left for home,” Wendy said, “it had been a happy day.”
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic31. I was in no mood to greet even Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch32 and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.
“Look, if you don't mind,”I said crossly33 when Wendy caught up with me, “I'd rather be alone today.”She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
“Why?” she asked.
I turned on34 her and shouted, “Because my mother died!”and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?
“Oh,”she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.”
“Yes, and yesterday and the day before that and—oh, go away!”
“Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?”I was exasperated35 with her, with myself. “When she died?”
“Of course it hurt!”I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in36 myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn-looking37 young woman opened the door.
“Hello,”I said. “I'm Ruth Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in.”
“Wendy talked of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance38, please accept my apologies.”
“Not at all—she's a delightful child,” I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. "Where is she?"
"Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson. She had leukemia39. Maybe she didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped40 for a chair. My breath caught.
"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called 'happy days'. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly ..." Her voice faltered41.
"She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something42, anything, to say to this lovely young woman.
She handed me a smeared43 envelope, with MRS. P printed in bold44, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues45—a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY
Tears welled up46 in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten how to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.
The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. The six words—one for each year of her life—speak to me of inner harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand—who taught me the gift of love.
我第一次在住所附近的沙滩上遇到她时，她才6岁。每当我与这个世界自我隔绝时，我就会开车来到这片距住所三、四英里的沙滩上。
她当时正在用沙堆砌一座类似城堡之类的东西，抬头看我时，我发现她的眼睛碧蓝如海。
“你好，”她打着招呼。
我点了点头以示回答，并没有心情去为一个孩子费神。
“我在砌房子，”她说。
“我看到了。砌的什么？”我漫不经心地问。
“噢，我也不知道，我只是喜欢沙子的感觉。”
沙子的感觉听起来不错，于是我脱掉鞋子。一只矶鹞悄悄飞过。
“那是一只快乐鸟，”孩子说。
“是什么？”我还是漫不经心地问。
“快乐鸟。妈妈说矶鹞给我们捎来快乐。”
鸟儿向下掠过沙滩。“再见了，快乐，”我独自嘀咕，“嗨，痛苦……”然后转身继续走。我很沮丧，生活似乎完全乱了套。
“你叫什么名字？”她穷追不舍。
“露丝，”我答道，“我叫露丝·比德森。”
“我叫温蒂……我6岁了。”
“嗨，温蒂。”我主动打了一声招呼。
她哈哈笑起来。“你真有趣，”她说。尽管很郁闷，我也跟着笑起来，继续向前走。身后传来她银铃般的笑声，她喊道：“再来啊，比太太，我们又可以快乐一天了。”
接下来的几天和几个星期都属于别人：督促一帮难以管教的童子军，主持家长——教师协会会议，照顾生病的母亲。一天早上我把双手从洗碗水里抽出来，太阳正是光芒万丈。
“我需要一只快乐鸟，”我自言自语，同时拾起了外套。
海滨以它不变的慰籍等候着我。微风带着一丝寒意，我大步流星地走着，试图重新捕捉我所需要的宁静。我完全忘记了那个小孩，所以她的出现令我吃了一惊。
“你好，比太太，”她说：“你想玩儿吗？”
“你想干什么？”我问，心里有点儿烦。
“我不知道。你说呢？”
“打哑谜怎么样？”我挖苦道。
又爆发出一阵清脆的笑声：“我可不知道什么是打哑谜。”
“那就让我们走走吧。”我看着她，注意到她的脸蛋儿白净又秀气，便问：“你家住哪儿？”
“在那儿。”她指着一排避暑用的小别墅。奇怪，我想，居然冬天来这儿。
“你在哪儿上学呢？”
“我没上学。妈咪说我们在度假。”
我们一边沿海滩漫步，她一边喋喋不休地说些孩子气的话，但我的思绪全在别的事情上。“上次回家时那一天真快乐。”
令人惊讶的是，我的感觉好多了，我朝她笑了笑表示同意。
三个星期后，我近乎恐慌地赶到沙滩。我甚至没有情绪理睬温蒂。我想我看到了走廊上她的妈妈，感觉很想要求她把孩子关在家里。
“瞧，要是你不介意，”温蒂追上我时，我没好气地说，“今天我想自个儿呆着。”她看上去很苍白，还有点上气不接下气。
“为什么？”她问。
我对她怒气大发，大声叫道：“因为我妈妈去世了”。心想，天哪，我为什么对一个小孩子说这些？
“噢，”她平静地说，“那今天是个伤心的日子。”
“对，还有昨天、前天以及——噢，走开！”
“很伤心吗？”
“什么伤心不伤心的？”我激怒了，因为她，也因为自己。
“妈妈的去世啊？”
“当然伤心拉！”我误解了她，沉浸在自我的世界里，径直大步走开了。
一个月左右后，我再次去那一片海滩，海滩上没有她。
我承认很想她，带着负疚和惭愧，我来到那幢小别墅前敲起了门。一个神色憔悴的年轻女人开了门。
“您好，我是露丝·比德森。今天我很想念你的女儿，能告诉我她在哪儿吗？”
“哦，比德森太太，请进。”
“温蒂经常谈起您。恐怕我没管教她，让她打搅您了。要是她惹您生气了，请接受我的道歉。”
“哪里，她很可人，”我说，突然意识到这是我的真心话。“她在哪儿？”
“温蒂上星期死了，比德森太太。她得了白血病。也许她没有告诉您。”
我惊呆了，伸手去扶椅子。我的呼吸一时困难起来。
“她喜欢这片海滩，所以她要求来这儿时，我们拗不过她。在这儿她似乎好多了，度过了许多她称为‘快乐’的日子。但最后几个星期，她情况迅速恶化……”她的声音颤抖起来。
“她给您留了一件东西……我得找到它。要能找到就好了，您能等一会儿吗？”
我傻乎乎地点了点头，脑子里在拼命找词儿，想对这个和蔼的年轻女人说点什么。
她交给我一个涂有字迹的信封，上面的“比太太”字母粗大、充满了孩子气。里面是一幅明亮的蜡笔彩画——一片黄色的沙滩、蓝色的大海和一只棕色的小鸟。画的下面小心翼翼地写着一行字：矶鹞带给你快乐。
我的眼泪夺眶而出，那颗几乎遗忘了什么是爱的心豁然敞开。我双手抱住温蒂的妈妈。“对不起，对不起，对不起，”我一遍又一遍地低语，俩人哭成一团。
那张宝贵的小画片如今被我装裱起来挂在书房里。“矶鹞带给你快乐”这几个字——每个字代表她生命的一个年轮——对我诉说着她内心的和谐，勇气和没有任何索求的爱。这是一个孩子送我的礼物，一个有着海洋一般的蓝眼睛、沙滩一般的金黄头发的小女孩——她教会了我什么是爱的赠与。
1． sandpiper n． 矶鹞（一种鸟）
2． close in on sb． 将…包围／封闭起来
3． be in mood to do sth． 有心情／情绪干…
4． glide [glaid] v． 悄悄地走，滑翔
5． glissade v． 下滑
6． depressed adj． 沮丧的
7． out of balance 失去平衡
8． giggle v． 哈哈地笑
9． gloom n． 阴沉；忧伤
10． unruly adj． 不受拘束的，不守规矩的
11． Boy Scouts [skauts] 童子军
12． PTA＝Parent－Teacher Association 家长教师协会
13． ailing adj． 生病的
14． gather up 合拢
15． never－changing 不变的
16． balm n． 安慰物；慰藉
17． await v． 等候
18． chilly adj． 寒冷的
19． stride [straid] v． 大步走过
20． recapture v． 夺回，拿回
21． serenity n． 平静
22． twinge n． 一阵剧痛，刺痛
23． annoyance n． 烦恼，可厌之事
24． charade n． 看手势猜字谜的游戏
25． sarcastically adv． 讽刺地
26． tinkle v． 使发出清脆的声音，丁当作响
27． fairness n． 美好，漂亮
28． summer cottage 避暑用的小别墅
29． chatter v． 喋喋不休地说
30． stroll v． 闲逛，漫步
31． panic n． 恐慌，惊慌
32． porch n． 门廊，走廊
33． crossly adv． 故作为难地
34． turn on sb． 对…发怒
35． exasperate v． 激怒
36． be wrapped up in 完全沉浸于
37． drawn－looking 神情憔悴的
38． nuisance n． 讨厌的人或东西
39． leukemia n． 白血病
40． grope v． 摸索
41． falter v． （声音）颤抖
42． race for sth． （此处）拼命找…
43． smear v． 涂上，抹去
44． bold n． 粗体字
45． crayon n． 蜡笔
hue n． 色彩，颜色
46． well up 涌出