I was puzzled! Why was this old woman making such a fuss about an old copse which was of no use to anybody? She had written letters to the local paper, even to a national, protesting about a projected by-pass to her village, and, looking at a map, the route was nowhere near where she lived and it wasn’t as if the area was attractive. I was more than puzzled, I was intrigued.
The enquiry into the route of the new by-pass to the village was due to take place shortly, and I wanted to know what it was that motivated her. So it was that I found myself knocking on a cottage door, being received by Mary Smith and then being taken for a walk to the woods.
"I’ve always loved this place", she said, "it has a lot of memories for me, and for others. We all used it. They called it ’Lovers lane’. It’s not much of a lane, and it doesn’t go anywhere important, but that’s why we all came here. To be away from people, to be by ourselves " she added.
It was indeed pleasant that day and the songs of many birds could be heard. Squirrels gazed from the branches, quite bold in their movements, obviously few people passed this way and they had nothing to fear. I could imagine the noise of vehicles passing through these peaceful woods when the by-pass was built, so I felt that she probably had something there but as I hold strong opinions about the needs of the community over-riding the opinions of private individuals, I said nothing. The village was quite a dangerous place because of the traffic especially for old people and children, their safety was more important to me than an old woman’s whims.
"Take this tree", she said pausing after a short while. "To you it is just that, a tree. Not unlike many others here". She gently touched the bark. "Look here, under this branch, what can you see?"
"It looks as if someone has done a bit of carving with a knife" I said after a cursory inspection.
"Yes, that’s what it is!" she said softly. "There are letters and a lover’s heart".
I looked again, this time more carefully. The heart was still there and there was a suggestion of an arrow through it. The letters on one side were indistinct, but on the other an ’R’ was clearly visible with what looked like an ’I’ after it. "Some budding romance?" I asked, "did you know who they were?"
"Oh yes, I knew them", said Mary Smith, "it says RH loves MS".
I realised that I could be getting out of my depth, and longed to be in my office, away from here and this old lady, snug, and with a mug of tea in my hand.
She went on …"He had a penknife with a spike for getting stones from a horse’s hoof, and I helped him to carve my initials. We were very much in love, but he was going away, and could not tell me what he was involved in the army. I had guessed of course. It was the last evening we ever spent together，because he went away the next day, back to his Unit. "
Mary Smith was quiet for a while, then she sobbed. "His mother showed me the telegram. ’Sergeant R Holmes ….. Killed in action in the 9)invasion of France’".
"’I had hoped that you and Robin would one day get married" she said, "He was my only child, and I would have loved to be a Granny, they would have been such lovely babies’- she was like that! "
"Two years later she too was dead. ’Pneumonia, following a chill on the chest’ was what the doctor said, but I think it was an old fashioned broken heart. A child would have helped both of us."
There was a further pause. Mary Smith gently caressed the wounded tree, just as she would have caressed him. "And now they want to take our tree away from me." Another quiet sob, then she turned to me. "I was young and pretty then, I could have had anybody, I wasn’t always the old woman you see here now. I had everything I wanted in life, a lovely man, health and a future to look forwards to".
She paused again and looked around. The breeze gently moved through the leaves with a sighing sound. "There were others, of course, but not a patch on my Robin!" she said strongly. "And now I have nothing - except the memories this tree holds. If only I could get my hands on that awful man who writes in the paper about the value of the road they are going to build where we are standing now, I would tell him. Has he never loved, has he never lived, does he not know anything about memories? We were not the only ones, you know, I still meet some who came here as Robin and I did. Yes, I would tell him!"
I turned away, sick at heart.
我實(shí)在不明白!為什么這個年老女士會對一片毫無用處的老灌木林如此緊張呢?她給當(dāng)?shù)貓蠹垖懥诵牛踔两o全國性的報紙也寫了信，對擬將在她們村子里修建小路的方案表示抗議。但從地圖上看，這條擬建的小路離她家并不近，那一帶也并非風(fēng)景優(yōu)美。這不僅使我感到迷惑，還激起了我的好奇心。
很快就要進(jìn)行對新小路的調(diào)查了，我想了解一下她反對的原因。于是我敲響了小屋的門，一位叫瑪麗·史密斯的女士接待了我，然后她帶我去樹林中走走。
“我一直深愛這個地方，”她說，“這里珍藏了我和其他許多人的回憶。我們都曾在這個地方呆過。人們稱它為‘情人路’。它其實(shí)并不能算是什么路，也不通往什么重要的地方，但這正是我們來這里的原因。遠(yuǎn)離他人，只有我們自己。”她補(bǔ)充說道。
那天林間實(shí)在迷人，小鳥唱著歌，松鼠在樹枝間張望，很自在地活動，顯然這里人跡罕至，它們一點(diǎn)都不害怕。我能想象得出，在小路修好后，汽車通過這片寧靜的樹林將會是怎樣的喧鬧，因此我猜這對她來說可能意味著些什么。但我堅持認(rèn)為社區(qū)的需要重于個人的意見，所以我沒說什么。村里目前的交通，特別是對于老人和小孩來說，尤其危險，所以對我來說他們的安全比這個老年女士的怪念頭更重要。
“拿這棵樹來說吧，”她停了一會兒說，“對你來說它只是一棵普通的樹，與這里其它的樹沒什么區(qū)別。”她輕輕地摸著這棵樹的樹皮說：“看這，在這個枝條下面，你看見了什么?”
“好像有人用小刀在這里刻過什么東西。”我略略看了一下后說。
“是的，正是這樣!”她輕輕地說，“是一些字母和一顆愛人的心。”
我又看了一下，這回看得認(rèn)真了一些。刻的那顆心還在那，此外還依稀可以看見有支箭穿心而過。心一邊的字母已無法辨認(rèn)了，但在另一邊，字母“R”清晰可見，后面還有個像是“I”的字母。“初戀羅曼史?”我問道，“你知道他們是誰嗎?”
“唔，我知道。”瑪麗·史密斯說，“寫的是‘RH愛MS’。”
我意識到我可能涉入太深了，真希望自己身在辦公室，遠(yuǎn)離這個地方和這個老年女士，手里還端著杯茶，舒舒服服地。
她繼續(xù)講著……“他拿著一把袖珍折刀，折刀上嵌有長釘，那種長釘可以用來挖出夾在馬蹄上的石塊，我們一起刻了我名字的第一個字母。我們深深相愛，但他卻要離開了，而且不知道他將在軍隊里干什么。當(dāng)然我也曾猜想過。那是我們在一起的最后一個夜晚，因?yàn)樗诙炀突夭筷犎チ恕?/p>
瑪麗·史密斯停了一會兒，接著抽泣起來。“他母親給我看了那封電報。‘R·荷爾姆斯軍士….在解放法國的戰(zhàn)役中犧牲。’
“我本來希望你和羅賓會結(jié)婚的。”她母親說，“我只有他一個孩子，我本希望能做祖母，有非常可愛的小寶寶。”――她真是那么說的!
“兩年后她也去世了。醫(yī)生說是‘肺炎，胸部著涼造成的’，但我認(rèn)為這是典型的傷心過度。如果有個孩子那我們倆就都不會這樣了。”
瑪麗·史密斯又停了會兒沒說話。她輕柔地?fù)崦强每踢^的樹，就像她曾經(jīng)撫摸他一樣。“現(xiàn)在他們想把我們的樹奪走。”她又輕輕地抽噎了一下，然后她轉(zhuǎn)過身來對著我。“當(dāng)時我年輕漂亮，我愛嫁給誰都可以，我當(dāng)時可不是現(xiàn)在這么老的。我擁有生命里所要的一切，一個值得愛的男人、健康的身體和充滿夢想的未來。”
她頓了頓，朝四周看了一眼。微風(fēng)輕輕吹拂著樹葉，發(fā)出嘆息般的沙沙聲。“當(dāng)然， 那時還有其他人，但他們連羅賓的一絲一毫都比不上!”她肯定地說。“現(xiàn)在我一無所有——只剩下殘留在這棵樹上的記憶。那個可惡的家伙竟建議把路修在我們所站的這個地方，我真希望掐死他，我會對他說：你從沒愛過嗎，你活過嗎，你從不知道什么叫記憶嗎?你知道，不僅僅是我們，現(xiàn)在我仍能看見些男男女女像當(dāng)年的我和羅賓那樣到這兒來。是的，我一定要對他說!”
我轉(zhuǎn)過身去，心里感到很難過。
