Flowers on the Bus 那溢满鲜花的巴士

　　We were a very motley crowd of people who took the bus every day that summer 3 years ago. During the early morning ride from the suburb, we sat drowsily with our collars up to our ears, a cheerless and taciturn bunch.

　　One of the passengers was a small grey man who took the bus to the centre for senior citizens every morning. He walked with a stoop and a sad look on his face when he, with some difficulty, boarded the bus and sat down alone behind the driver. No one ever paid very much attention to him.

　　Then one July morning he said good morning to the driver and smiled short-sightedly down through the bus before he sat down. The driver nodded guardedly. The rest of us were silent.

　　The next day, the old man boarded the bus energetically, smiled and said in a loud voice: “And a very good morning to you all!” Some of us looked up, amazed, and murmured “Good morning,” in reply.

　　The following weeks we were more alert. Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie. The thin hair had been carefully combed. He said good morning to us every day and we gradually began to nod and talk to each other.

　　One morning he had a bunch of wild flowers in his hand. They were already dangling a little because of the heat. The driver turned around smilingly and asked: “Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Charlie?” We never got to know if his name really was “Charlie”, but he nodded shyly and said yes.

　　The other passengers whistled and clapped at him. Charlie bowed and waved the flowers before he sat down on his seat.
　　
　　Every morning after that Charlie always brought a flower. Some of the regular passengers began bringing him flowers for his bouquet, gently nudged him and said shyly: “Here.” Everyone smiled. The men started to jest about it, talk to each other, and share the newspaper.

　　The summer went by, and autumn was closing in, when one morning Charlie wasn’t waiting at his usual stop. When he wasn’t there the next day and the day after that, we started wondering if he was sick or — hopefully — on holiday somewhere.

　　When we came nearer to the centre for senior citizens, one of the passengers asked the driver to wait. We all held our breaths when she went to the door.

　　Yes, the staff said, they knew who we were talking about. The elderly gentleman was fine, but he hadn’t been coming to the centre that week. One of his very close friends had died at the weekend. They expected him back on Monday. How silent we were the rest of the way to work.

　　The next Monday Charlie was waiting at the stop, stooping a bit more, a little bit more grey, and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence akin to that in a church. Even though no one had talked about it, all those of us, who he had made such an impression on that summer, sat with our eyes filled with tears and a bunch of wild flowers in our hands.

参考译文：

　　三年前的那个夏天，我们还是一群素不相识的人，每天都乘坐巴士。在从郊区开往市区的早班车里，我们都昏昏欲睡地坐着，衣领直竖到耳朵。整个车厢里鸦雀无声。
　　其中一位乘客是一位头发灰白的小个子老头，每天早上，他都乘车去老年活动中心。微微有些驼背，每次艰难地上车后，他都独自坐到司机后面，并且脸上总带着一副悲伤的表情。没人过多地注意过他。
　　然而，在七月的一个早晨，他先对司机说了声“早上好”，并对车厢里的人报之以微笑，然后才坐下。司机随意地点点头。而我们仍保持沉默。

　　第二天，这位老人精力充沛地上了车，微笑地大声说：“诸位，早上好啊！”有些人吃惊地抬起头来，低声答道：“早上好。”

　　接下来的几个星期，我们对他更加留意了。我们这位朋友现在穿着一件好看的旧西装，打着一条宽松的过时领带。稀疏的头发也精心梳理过了。他每天都对我们说早上好，而我们也逐渐开始点头致意并互相交谈。

　　一天早上，他手里拿着一束野花，由于天气炎热，有些已经凋零。司机微笑着转过头去问：“查理，是不是有女朋友了啊？”我们都不知道他是否真叫查理，但他羞涩地点头承认了。

　　其他乘客都吹着口哨为他鼓掌，查理鞠了个躬，晃了晃手中的鲜花，然后坐下了。

　　从那以后，每天早上，查理都会带一支鲜花，有些老乘客也开始为他带些花，轻轻地碰他一下，羞涩地说：“给你的。”每个人都面带微笑。人们开始开玩笑，互相聊天，分享报纸。

　　夏天过去了，秋天快要到了。那天早上，查理没在他通常等车的那一站等车，并且接连几天都没有出现，我们猜测他是否生病了，但更希望他是去某个地方度假了。

　　当我们的车逐渐行驶到老年活动中心时，其中一位乘客让司机停车等一下，她走到车门时我们都屏住了呼吸。

　　是的，工作人员说，他们知道我们说的那个人。那位老先生身体很健康，但那个星期他没有来活动中心。上周末他的一位十分要好的朋友过世了。他们估计下周一他能回来。接下来的路上，我们一直沉默不语。

　　下个周一，查理在车站等车。他看上去腰弯得更厉害，头发愈加苍白，也没有系领带。他仿佛又恢复了原样。车厢像教堂一般肃静。尽管没人说话，但我们所有人，他曾经在那个夏天留下美好回忆的这群人，每人手里都拿着一束鲜花，眼里噙满了泪水。