赠送礼物的那天终于到了。在交换礼物时我们为对方亲手做的小礼品不停地欢呼叫好。而整个过程,她只是安静地坐在那儿看着。我为她做的小袋很特别,红绿相间还镶着白边。我非常想看到她笑一笑。她打开包装,动作又慢又小心。我等待着,但是她却转过了身。我还是没能穿过她在自己周围树起的高墙,这堵墙将她与大家隔离了开来。
After school the children left in little groups, chattering about the great day yet to come when long-hoped-for two-wheelers and bright sleds would appear beside their trees at home. She lingered, watching them bundle up and go out the door. I sat down in a child-sized chair to catch my breath, hardly aware of what was happening, when she came to me with outstretched hands, bearing a small white box, unwrapped and slightly soiled, as though it had been held many times by unwashed, childish hands. She said nothing. "For me?" I asked with a weak smile. She said not a word, but nodded her head. I took the box and gingerly opened it. There inside, glistening green, a fried marble hung from a golden chain. Then I looked into that elderly eight-year-old face and saw the question in her dark brown eyes. In a flash I knew -- she had made it for her mother, a mother she would never see again, a mother who would never hold her or brush her hair or share a funny story, a mother who would never again hear her childish joys or sorrows. A mother who had taken her own life just three weeks before.
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