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lisa416金虫 (著名写手)
文字的媒婆
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[交流]
a love story...
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Hungry for your love Herman and Roma Rosenblat It is cold, so bitter cold on this dark winter day in 1942. but it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having and I am no longer one of them. Instead I am almost dead, surviving from home and brought here with tens of thousands of other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight? Back and forth walk next to the barbed wire fence trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each days, as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she too cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers. Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls ort a red apple. A beautiful shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right and then with smile of triumph quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling frozen fingers. In my world of death this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl is appearing into the distance. The next day I cannot help myself—I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it. And again she comes. And again she brings me an apple flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile. This time I catch it and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps , I do not care though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long I feel my heart move with emotion. For seven months we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow I know I am feeding hers as well. One day I hear frightening news: we`re being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend. The next day when I greet her my heart is breaking and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: “ I am being sent to ano0ther camp. We will never see each other again.” Turning before I lose all control know she would see me standing there with tears streaming down my face. Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Her gentle words, I taste those apples. And then one day just like that nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start an new life. Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice this woman named Roma, and like me she is an immigrant so we have at least that in common. “ Where were you during the war?” Roma asks me gently in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years. “I was in a concentration camp in Germany,” I reply. Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet. “What is it?” I ask. “I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman.” Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. “You see, when I was a young girl I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner and for a long while I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence and he would be would be so happy.” Roma sighs heavily and continuers. “It is hard to describe how we felt about each other—after all we were young and we only exchanged a few words when we could —but I can tell you there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together.” With my heart pounding so loudly ii think it will explode I look directly at Roma and ask, “And did that boy say to you one day ‘Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp’?” “Why yes.” Roma responds, her voice trembling. “But Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?” I take her hands in mine and answer, “Because I was that young boy, Roma.” For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering. Finally, I speak: “Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don`t ever want to be separated from you again. Now I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me ?” I see that same twinkle in her eyes that I used to see as Roma says, “Yes, I will marry you,” and we embrace, the embrace we us. Now, nothing ever will again. Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope, and now it mow it had reunited us to fulfill that promise. Valentine`s Day 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day: “Darling you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of :I am only hungry for your love.” |
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2楼2006-04-12 22:30:54