Flowers on the Bus 那溢滿鮮花的巴士

We were a very motley crowd of people who took the bus every day that summer 3 years ago. During the early morning ride from the suburb, we sat drowsily with our collars up to our ears, a cheerless and taciturn bunch.

One of the passengers was a small grey man who took the bus to the centre for senior citizens every morning. He walked with a stoop and a sad look on his face when he, with some difficulty, boarded the bus and sat down alone behind the driver. No one ever paid very much attention to him.

Then one July morning he said good morning to the driver and smiled short-sightedly down through the bus before he sat down. The driver nodded guardedly. The rest of us were silent.

The next day, the old man boarded the bus energetically, smiled and said in a loud voice: “And a very good morning to you all!” Some of us looked up, amazed, and murmured “Good morning,” in reply.

The following weeks we were more alert. Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie. The thin hair had been carefully combed. He said good morning to us every day and we gradually began to nod and talk to each other.

One morning he had a bunch of wild flowers in his hand. They were already dangling a little because of the heat. The driver turned around smilingly and asked: “Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Charlie?” We never got to know if his name really was “Charlie”, but he nodded shyly and said yes.

The other passengers whistled and clapped at him. Charlie bowed and waved the flowers before he sat down on his seat.

Every morning after that Charlie always brought a flower. Some of the regular passengers began bringing him flowers for his bouquet, gently nudged him and said shyly: “Here.” Everyone smiled. The men started to jest about it, talk to each other, and share the newspaper.

The summer went by, and autumn was closing in, when one morning Charlie wasn’t waiting at his usual stop. When he wasn’t there the next day and the day after that, we started wondering if he was sick or ― hopefully ― on holiday somewhere.

When we came nearer to the centre for senior citizens, one of the passengers asked the driver to wait. We all held our breaths when she went to the door.

Yes, the staff said, they knew who we were talking about. The elderly gentleman was fine, but he hadn’t been coming to the centre that week. One of his very close friends had died at the weekend. They expected him back on Monday. How silent we were the rest of the way to work.

The next Monday Charlie was waiting at the stop, stooping a bit more, a little bit more grey, and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence akin to that in a church. Even though no one had talked about it, all those of us, who he had made such an impression on that summer, sat with our eyes filled with tears and a bunch of wild flowers in our hands.

參考譯文：

三年前的那個夏天，我們還是一群素不相識的人，每天都乘坐巴士。在從郊區開往市區的早班車里，我們都昏昏欲睡地坐著，衣領直豎到耳朵。整個車廂里鴉雀無聲。

其中一位乘客是一位頭發灰白的小個子老頭，每天早上，他都乘車去老年活動中心。微微有些駝背，每次艱難地上車后，他都獨自坐到司機后面，并且臉上總帶著一副悲傷的表情。沒人過多地注意過他。

然而，在七月的一個早晨，他先對司機說了聲“早上好”，并對車廂里的人報之以微笑，然后才坐下。司機隨意地點點頭。而我們仍保持沉默。

第二天，這位老人精力充沛地上了車，微笑地大聲說：“諸位，早上好啊!”有些人吃驚地抬起頭來，低聲答道：“早上好。”

接下來的幾個星期，我們對他更加留意了。我們這位朋友現在穿著一件好看的舊西裝，打著一條寬松的過時領帶。稀疏的頭發也精心梳理過了。他每天都對我們說早上好，而我們也逐漸開始點頭致意并互相交談。

一天早上，他手里拿著一束野花，由于天氣炎熱，有些已經凋零。司機微笑著轉過頭去問：“查理，是不是有女朋友了啊?”我們都不知道他是否真叫查理，但他羞澀地點頭承認了。

其他乘客都吹著口哨為他鼓掌，查理鞠了個躬，晃了晃手中的鮮花，然后坐下了。

從那以后，每天早上，查理都會帶一支鮮花，有些老乘客也開始為他帶些花，輕輕地碰他一下，羞澀地說：“給你的。”每個人都面帶微笑。人們開始開玩笑，互相聊天，分享報紙。

夏天過去了，秋天快要到了。那天早上，查理沒在他通常等車的那一站等車，并且接連幾天都沒有出現，我們猜測他是否生病了，但更希望他是去某個地方度假了。

當我們的車逐漸行駛到老年活動中心時，其中一位乘客讓司機停車等一下，她走到車門時我們都屏住了呼吸。

是的，工作人員說，他們知道我們說的那個人。那位老先生身體很健康，但那個星期他沒有來活動中心。上周末他的一位十分要好的朋友過世了。他們估計下周一他能回來。接下來的路上，我們一直沉默不語。

下個周一，查理在車站等車。他看上去腰彎得更厲害，頭發愈加蒼白，也沒有系領帶。他仿佛又恢復了原樣。車廂像教堂一般肅靜。盡管沒人說話，但我們所有人，他曾經在那個夏天留下美好回憶的這群人，每人手里都拿著一束鮮花，眼里噙滿了淚水。