理解的赠品（2）
《穿过爱的时光》作者：杨柳青 2017-01-24 02:12
理解的赠品（2）
等我回到店里，妻子正站在凳子上，将胳膊伸入水缸中重新整理水草，水一直没到她的肘部。“介不介意告诉我这是怎么回事？”她问，“你知不知道刚才你给了他们多少条鱼呀？”
“有30块钱的吧，”我回答，“可是我不能不给啊。”
当我给她讲完老威格顿的故事后，她的眼睛湿润了，她从凳子上走下来，在我的脸上轻轻地吻了一下。
“如今，我仍然能闻到那种软糖的香味。”我叹了叹气，我确定在擦着最后一只鱼缸的时候，听到了威格顿先生在我的身后发出了轻轻的笑声。
The Gift of Understanding
Paul Villiard
I must have been around four years old when I first entered Mr. Wigden’s candy shop, but the smell of that wonderful world of penny treasures still comes back to me clearly more than a haft-century later. Whenever he heard the tiny tinkle of the bell attached to the front door, Mr. Wigden quietly appeared, to take his stand behind the candy case. He was very old, and his head was topped with a cloud of fine, snow- white hair.
Never was such an array of delicious temptations spread before a child. It was almost painful to make a choice. Each kind had first to be savored in the imagination before passing on to the next. There was always a short pang of regret as the selection was dropped into a little white paper sack. Perhaps another kind would taste better? Or last longer? Mr. Wigden had a trick of scooping your selection into the sack, then pausing. Not a word was spoken, but every child understood that Mr. Wigden’s raised eyebrows constituted a last-minute opportunity to make an exchange. Only after payment was on the counter was the sack irrevocably twisted shut and the moment of indecision ended.
Our house was two blocks from the streetcar line, and you had to pass the shop going to and from the cars. Mother had taken me into town on some forgotten errand, and as we walked home from the trolley Mother turned into Mr. Wigden’s.
“Let’s see if we can find something good. ” she said, leading me up to the long glass case as the old man approached from behind a curtained aperture. My mother stood talking with him for a few minutes as I gazed rapturously at the wonderful display before my eyes. Finally, mother picked out something for me and paid Mr. Wigden.
Mother went into town once or twice a week, and, since in those days baby-sitters were almost unheard-of, I usually accompanied her. It became a regular routine for her to take me into the candy shop for some special treat, and after that first visit I was always allowed to make my own choice
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等我回到店里，妻子正站在凳子上，将胳膊伸入水缸中重新整理水草，水一直没到她的肘部。“介不介意告诉我这是怎么回事？”她问，“你知不知道刚才你给了他们多少条鱼呀？”
“有30块钱的吧，”我回答，“可是我不能不给啊。”
当我给她讲完老威格顿的故事后，她的眼睛湿润了，她从凳子上走下来，在我的脸上轻轻地吻了一下。
“如今，我仍然能闻到那种软糖的香味。”我叹了叹气，我确定在擦着最后一只鱼缸的时候，听到了威格顿先生在我的身后发出了轻轻的笑声。
The Gift of Understanding
Paul Villiard
I must have been around four years old when I first entered Mr. Wigden’s candy shop, but the smell of that wonderful world of penny treasures still comes back to me clearly more than a haft-century later. Whenever he heard the tiny tinkle of the bell attached to the front door, Mr. Wigden quietly appeared, to take his stand behind the candy case. He was very old, and his head was topped with a cloud of fine, snow- white hair.
Never was such an array of delicious temptations spread before a child. It was almost painful to make a choice. Each kind had first to be savored in the imagination before passing on to the next. There was always a short pang of regret as the selection was dropped into a little white paper sack. Perhaps another kind would taste better? Or last longer? Mr. Wigden had a trick of scooping your selection into the sack, then pausing. Not a word was spoken, but every child understood that Mr. Wigden’s raised eyebrows constituted a last-minute opportunity to make an exchange. Only after payment was on the counter was the sack irrevocably twisted shut and the moment of indecision ended.
Our house was two blocks from the streetcar line, and you had to pass the shop going to and from the cars. Mother had taken me into town on some forgotten errand, and as we walked home from the trolley Mother turned into Mr. Wigden’s.
“Let’s see if we can find something good. ” she said, leading me up to the long glass case as the old man approached from behind a curtained aperture. My mother stood talking with him for a few minutes as I gazed rapturously at the wonderful display before my eyes. Finally, mother picked out something for me and paid Mr. Wigden.
Mother went into town once or twice a week, and, since in those days baby-sitters were almost unheard-of, I usually accompanied her. It became a regular routine for her to take me into the candy shop for some special treat, and after that first visit I was always allowed to make my own choice