第四章 有一种真情叫关爱（3）
《世界上最温情的故事》作者：吴文智 2017-04-14 12:57
第四章 有一种真情叫关爱（3）
“I said you got the wrong number!” came the voice. Once more the phone clicked in my ear.
How could he possibly know I had a wrong number? At that time, I worked for the New York City Police Department. A cop is trained to be curious—and concerned. So I dialed a third time.
“Hey, c’mon,” the man said. “Is this you again?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I answered. “I was wondering how you knew I had the wrong number before I even said anything?”
“You figure it out!” The phoned slammed down.
I sat there awhile, the receiver hanging loosely in my fingers. I called the man back.
“Did you figure it out yet?” he asked.
“The only thing I can think of is ... nobody ever calls you.”
“You got it!” The phone went dead for the fourth time. Chuckling, I dialed the man back.
“What do you want now?” he asked.
“I thought I’d call ... just to say hello.”
“Hello? Why?”
“Well, if nobody ever calls you, I thought maybe I should.”
“Okay. Hello. Who is this?”
At last. I had got through. Now he was curious. I told him who I was and asked who he was.
“My name is Adolf Meth. I’m 88 years old, and I haven’t had this many wrong numbers in one day in 20 years!” We both laughed.
We talked for 10 minutes. Adolf had no f***ly, no friends. Everyone he had been close to had died. Then we discovered we had something in common: he’d worked for the New York City Police Department for nearly 40 years. Telling me about his days there as an elevator operator, he seemed interesting, even friendly. I asked if I could call him again.
“Why would you wanna do that?” he asked, surprised.
“Well, maybe we could be phone friends. You know, like pen pals.”
He hesitated.“I wouldn’t mind... having a friend again. ” His voice sounded a little tentative.
I called Adolf the following afternoon and several days later. Easy to talk with, he related his memories of World War I and II, the Hindenburg disaster and other historical events. He was fascinating. I gave him my home and office numbers so he could call me. He did—almost every day.
I was not just being kind to a lonely man. Talking to Adolf was important to me, because I, too, had a big gap in my life. Raised in orphanages and foster homes, I ne
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“I said you got the wrong number!” came the voice. Once more the phone clicked in my ear.
How could he possibly know I had a wrong number? At that time, I worked for the New York City Police Department. A cop is trained to be curious—and concerned. So I dialed a third time.
“Hey, c’mon,” the man said. “Is this you again?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I answered. “I was wondering how you knew I had the wrong number before I even said anything?”
“You figure it out!” The phoned slammed down.
I sat there awhile, the receiver hanging loosely in my fingers. I called the man back.
“Did you figure it out yet?” he asked.
“The only thing I can think of is ... nobody ever calls you.”
“You got it!” The phone went dead for the fourth time. Chuckling, I dialed the man back.
“What do you want now?” he asked.
“I thought I’d call ... just to say hello.”
“Hello? Why?”
“Well, if nobody ever calls you, I thought maybe I should.”
“Okay. Hello. Who is this?”
At last. I had got through. Now he was curious. I told him who I was and asked who he was.
“My name is Adolf Meth. I’m 88 years old, and I haven’t had this many wrong numbers in one day in 20 years!” We both laughed.
We talked for 10 minutes. Adolf had no f***ly, no friends. Everyone he had been close to had died. Then we discovered we had something in common: he’d worked for the New York City Police Department for nearly 40 years. Telling me about his days there as an elevator operator, he seemed interesting, even friendly. I asked if I could call him again.
“Why would you wanna do that?” he asked, surprised.
“Well, maybe we could be phone friends. You know, like pen pals.”
He hesitated.“I wouldn’t mind... having a friend again. ” His voice sounded a little tentative.
I called Adolf the following afternoon and several days later. Easy to talk with, he related his memories of World War I and II, the Hindenburg disaster and other historical events. He was fascinating. I gave him my home and office numbers so he could call me. He did—almost every day.
I was not just being kind to a lonely man. Talking to Adolf was important to me, because I, too, had a big gap in my life. Raised in orphanages and foster homes, I ne