[美]达芙娜.勒南/Daphna Renan
我和迈克尔坐在离纽约市繁华的第三大道的一家小熟食店里，当服务员把盘子端到了我们桌上，我们几乎没注意到。
也许我们的交流算不上深刻，但却很生动。我们笑谈前晚看过的电影，对文学讨论课上文章中所表达的内在含义提出异议。他对我说，当他从少年步入成年之后，便拒绝别人再叫他“米奇”，成为真正的迈克尔时，是12岁还是14岁，他记不清了，但他的确记得母亲曾嚷着嫌他长得太快。我们开始吃蓝莓薄饼卷时，我把我和妹妹去乡下看表姐妹时摘蓝莓的故事讲给他听。记得我总是在回 家前把我摘的那些都吃光，而姑姑总告诫我说，那样会肚子疼。当然，我肚子从来都没疼过。
我们的畅谈仍在继续，我环顾了一下餐馆，一对老年夫妇吸引了我的目光，他们坐在一个靠墙角的小餐桌旁。她的那条花裙子和她身后的椅垫一样褪了色，而她的旧手提包就放在椅垫上。老头有着有光泽的头顶，就和他正细嚼慢咽的糖心蛋一样闪闪发亮。
她不紧不慢地喝着麦片粥，让人感到单调乏味。
他们不受外界干扰的静默吸引了我的注意。在我眼里，他们那个小小的角落被一种令人忧郁的空虚浸透了。
我和迈克尔继续交谈着，时而欢笑，时而低语，时而表白，时而品评，而我却被这对老夫妇透彻的静寂深深触动了。太可悲了，我想，难道真的无话可说了，难道彼此的故事里再也没有未敞开的新篇章了吗？倘若我们遇到这样的情景又会怎样呢？
我和迈克尔埋单后起身离开餐馆。我们经过老夫妇就坐的角落时，我的钱包刚好掉到地上。我弯下身去捡钱包，却发现他们的另一只手温柔地在餐桌下握在一起。他们的手始终这样握着！
我站起身，亲眼目睹的朴素而真挚的相依之情，不禁让我感到自惭形秽。老人温柔地爱抚妻子那疲惫的手指时所流露出的柔情，不仅填补了我曾以为是情感空白的角落，也充溢着我的内心。他们的静默并非那种初次约会时一句妙语或一段趣闻之后那种沉默。他们的沉默反而令人感到很惬意，是一种无需语言表达的温柔之爱。
或许，很长时间以来他们一直这样共同分享早上的时光，今天与昨天相比，并没有什么差别，可他们却用一种平和的心态对待一切，彼此以诚相待。
我与迈克尔走出餐馆时，我不禁想，或许有一天，我们也会这样，那未必是件坏事，兴许会是件好事。
Michael and I hardly noticed when the waitress came and placed the plates on our table.We were seated in a small deli tucked away from the bustle of Third Street，in New York City.Our exchange was lively，if not profound.We laughed about the movie that we had seen the night before and disagreed about the meaning behind the text we had just finished for our literature seminar.He told me about the moment when he had taken the drastic step into maturity by becoming Michael and refusing to respond to“Mickey”.Had he been twelve or fourteen？He couldn’t remember，but he did recall that his mother had cried and said he was growing up too quickly
.As we bit into our blueberry blintzes，I told him about the blueberries that my sister and I used to pick when we went to visit our cousins in the country.I recalled that I always finished mine before we got back to the house，and my aunt would warn me that I was going to get a very bad stomachache.Of course，I never did.As our sweet conversation continued，my eyes glanced across the restaurant，stopping at the small corner booth where an elderly couple sat.Her floral-print dress seemed as faded as the cushion on which she had rested her worn handbag，The top of his head was as shiny as the soft-boiled egg on which he very slowly nibbled.She also ate her oatmeal at a slow，almost tedious pace.But what drew my thoughts to them was their undisturbed silence.It seemed to me that a melancholy emptiness permeated their little corner.As the exchange between Michael and me fluctuated from laughs to whispers，confessions to assessments，this couple’s poignant stillness called to me.How sad，I thought，not to have any thing left to say.Wasn’t there any page that they hadn’t yet turned in each other’s stories？What if that happened to us？Michael and I paid our small tab and got up to leave the restaurant.As we walked by the corner where the old couple sat，I accidentally dropped my wallet.Bending over to pick it up，I noticed that under the table，each of their free hands was gently cradled in the other’s.They had been holding hands all this time！I stood up and felt humbled by the simple yet profound act of connection I had just been privileged to witness.
This man’s gentle caress of his wife’s tired fingers filled not only what I had previously perceived as an emotionally empty corner，but also my heart.Theirs was not the uncomfortable silence whose threat one always feels just behind the punch line or at the end of an anecdote on the first date.No，theirs was a comfortable，relaxed ease，a gentle love that knew it did not always need words to express itself.They had probably shared this hour of the morning with each other for a long time，and maybe today wasn’t that different from yesterday，but they were at peace with that，and with each other.Maybe，I thought as Michael and I walked out，it wouldn’t be so bad if someday that was us.Maybe，it would be kind of nice.