[27] By Easter we were settled in, and we celebrated that special Sunday with a feast. While Dad carved the lamb, Mother went into the kitchen and returned with the gravy boat. She held my gift for a moment as though it was something unspeakably precious. Then, smiling at me, she placed it gently on the table. I said to myself right then that nothing would ever happen to that gravy boat as long as I lived.

[28] And nothing ever has. Now I use the gravy boat just as she had, taking it carefully from the shelf and filling it just as she did with dark, rich turkey gravy for family dinners and other special occasions. When guests ask about the curious old dish, I sometimes tell the story of how I fished it from the river in our house.

[29] But beyond the events of the flood, the gravy boat is a treasure that connects me to the people and the places of my past. Mother tried to explain, and now I understand. It is not the object so much as the connection that I cherish. That little porcelain boat, chipped and worn with age, keeps me in touch--just as she said it would--with her life, her joy and her love.

汽艇带上我们往高地方向驶去。天又开始下雨，我第一次真正感到了害怕。河水也许会涨个没完，淹没整个山谷、树林甚至山丘。

我们在红十字会的帐篷里安顿下来，全都精疲力竭。爸爸照看病人去了;妈妈坐在我的帆布床上，搂着我的肩头。她对着我微笑如果那能称为微笑的话。这当儿，我把手伸到枕头下面，拿出了那只船形肉卤盘。

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