佚名/Anonymous

我還沒有睜開眼睛，就知道下雪了。我可以聽到鏟雪的鐵鍬撞擊人行道的聲音。當大雪覆蓋了整個城市，空氣中便有了一種特殊的寧靜。我跑到前屋的窗邊，看了看這個街區——我的地盤。天一定還早，我的朋友們都還沒到街上來，只有看門人在齊膝深的雪里走著。看來我沒有錯過什么，這讓我放心了。我發現哥哥姐姐們這時也都醒了。不能再浪費時間了。如果我快一點兒，就能趕在其他朋友之前出去玩了。

我穿上半新的羊毛衣褲，但卻沒有保暖的手套。初冬時我把它們弄丟了。我也不知道該穿什么鞋子，因為我的鞋子已經無法套上橡膠套鞋了。我只能穿鞋子，或只穿橡膠套鞋，但不能同時穿兩個。我決定穿兩雙襪子和雨靴出門。

我扣好鞋子時，感覺到有人站在我面前。是大哥萊尼。他問我想不想去麥迪遜廣場公園的室內滑冰場滑冰。我馬上放棄了其他的計劃。我13歲的哥哥居然會邀請他9歲的妹妹去滑冰。去嗎？當然要去。但是錢從哪兒來呢？萊尼說進場和租溜冰鞋要花1美元。我們面臨著兩個障礙：1948年的暴風雪和1美元。暴風雪是可以克服的，但這1美元才是目前的難題。

我們開始籌錢，還了一些牛奶瓶，向媽媽要了5分錢，又跟爸爸討來2角5分，在上衣口袋里搜集到一兩分，又在床底下找到兩個硬幣，并在6個房間當中一間的角落里找到了丟失在那的1角錢。

最后，為了增強體力，我們喝了熱乎乎的燕麥粥，然后將來之不易的硬幣裝進口袋便出發了。我們要走20個街區——大約一英里。

冬風驅趕著雪花，粘在萬物的表面。在爬過堆在路邊3英尺高的雪堆時，我和萊尼就假設正在攀登阿爾卑斯山。現在，這里是我們的世界——覆蓋著整個城市的漫天雪花讓大人們都待在了家里。摩天大廈也隱形在白色的雪花紗帳后，我們完全可以想象紐約因我們而變小了。我們可以走在第三大道中央，而不怕被撞倒。我們無法抑制心中的喜悅，以及在雪中感受到的難以置信的自由感。

到49街的12個街區并不難走，但穿越城區的長街道時卻很冷。凜冽的西風從哈得孫河上吹來，讓人步履維艱。我跟不上哥哥了。頑皮的想象被雙腳刺骨的寒冷所代替。我沒戴帽子，沒戴手套的手在口袋里緊緊握著，套鞋的扣子也松開了。我開始輕聲抱怨，但不愿讓人感到厭煩，因為我害怕萊尼下次去哪里都不帶我了。

到第五大街附近時，我們在一家門口躲避風雪。我怯怯地告訴萊尼我的鞋扣開了。萊尼把他那凍得通紅的手從口袋里伸出來，俯下身子扣上那沾滿雪花的冰冷的金屬扣。萊尼還得照顧我，為此我感到很羞愧。我盯著前方，看到一個男人的身影，正穿過薄紗般的雪簾朝我們走來。

我說不出他年紀多大——在我看來，所有的大人年紀都差不多——但是他又高又瘦，面容文雅帥氣。他沒有戴帽子，圍著一條圍巾，外套上跟我們一樣，也落滿了雪花。

他是否跟我說過話，我不記得了。我唯一記得的就是他在我面前蹲下來，與我的臉相對著。我盯著他那溫柔的深色眼睛，茫然地說不出話來。當他離去時，從他緊緊圍在我脖子上的那條柔軟的深紅色圍巾上，我感受到了他的溫暖。

我不記得那天滑冰的情況，也記不清是如何回 家的。我只記得那天的雪，那位好心的陌生人，還有我的哥哥萊尼。

I knew it was snowing before I opened my eyes.I could hear the sounds of shovels scraping against the sidewalks，and there was that special quiet in the airthat comes when the city is heavily blanketed with snow.I ran to the windows in the front room to have a look at the block-my domain.It must have been very early.None of my friends had made it to the street；only janitors were moving about in the knee-deep snow.Relieved that I hadn’t missed anything，I became aware that my sisters and brothers were now awake.I had no time to waste.If I hurried，I could be out there before any of my friends.

I dressed myself in an assortment of hand-me-down winter woolens，but there would be no mittens to keep my hands warm.I had lost them earlier in the season.I was in a real dither as to what to put on my feet；my shoes no longer fit into my rubber galoshes.I could wear shoes or galoshes，but not both.I decided to go with two pairs of socks and the galoshes.

As I was buckling them，I felt the presence of someone standing over me.It was my big brother，Lenny.He asked me if I wanted to go ice-skating at the indoor rink in Madison Square Garden.I immediately scrapped my other plans.My thirteen-year-old brother was actually asking me，his nineyear-old sister，to go ice-skating with him.Go？Of course I would go.But where would we get the money？Lenny said it would cost a dollar to get in and rent the skates.Only two obstacles stood between me and going skating with my brother—the blizzard of 1948 and one dollar.The blizzard I could handle—it was the dollar that presented the problem.

The quest began.We returned some milk bottles，asked our mother for a nickel，begged our father for a quarter apiece，collected a penny or two from coat pockets，discovered two coins that had rolled under the beds，and spotted a rare stray dime nestled in a corner of one of the six rooms in our cold-water railroad flat.

Eventually，fortified with a bowl of hot oatmeal and jamming the hardearned coins into our pockets，we set out on the twenty-block journey—a city mile.

The wind-driven snow clung to every surface.Lenny and I pretended that we were in the Alps as we climbed over the three-foot mounds of snow that had been shoveled to the curbs.It was our world now—a myriad of tiny snowflakes had shut down the city and kept the adults indoors.The skyscrapers were invisible behind a white veil of snow，and we could almost imagine that New York had been scaled down for us.We could walk right down the middle of Third Avenue with no fear of being run over.It was hard to contain our joy，the incredible sense of freedom we felt out there in the snow.

The twelve blocks to Forty-ninth Street weren’t difficult，but the long cross town streets proved to be chilling.The harsh west winds blowing off the Hudson River made it almost impossible to push forward.I could no longer keep up with my brother.My playful imaginings were replaced by the gnawing cold of my feet.My head was uncovered，my bitterless hands were clenched in my pockets，and a few of the clasps on my galoshes had workedloose.I began to complain gently，not wanting to make a nuisance of myself because I was afraid that Lenny wouldn’t ask me to go anywhere with him again.

Somewhere near Fifth Avenue，we stopped in a doorway to take refuge.I timidly told Lenny that my clasps were open.Lenny took his bare red hands out of his pockets and bent down to refasten the snow-crusted，icy metal clasps.Ashamed that Lenny had to take care of me，I stared straight ahead and saw the image of a man walking toward us through the chiffon curtain of snow.

I was unable to tell how old he was—all adults seemed the same age to me—but he was tall，thin，and had a gentle，handsome face.He wore no hat.There was a scarf around his neck，and his overcoat，like ours，was caked with snow.

I don’t remember if he spoke to me or not.What I do recall is that he kneeled down before me，his face level with mine.I found myself gazing into soft brown eyes，feeling bewildered and mute.When he was gone，I felt his warmth in the soft，wine-colored scarf that he wrapped tightly around my head.

I don’t remember ice-skating that day，or how we got home.All my memory holds is the snow，the kindness of a stranger，and my big brother，Lenny.