手機(jī)版
For Florence and Sam, it really was "'til death do us part."
With Sam right beside her, Florence quietly passed away in the bed they had shared for 59 years. It was Valentine's Day.
We asked Sam, after she died, what kept their relationship fresh, what kept them happily and eagerly bound, what made them want to sit down together every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Family and friends wanted these answers, wanted in on their secret. We with our splintered marriages, commitment phobias and blurry gender roles. We wanted a formula or a diagram we could follow. We wanted to know exactly what kind of sparks had gone off when they met, each at the age of 22, at a temple dance. We were ready to take notes.
When Sam couldn't drum up an answer, we began searching their lives for clues. Was it the little things? That she served him cherry vanilla ice cream every night and picked out his clothes every morning? Was it her alluring, powder-blue eyes? Or was it that during the Depression he grew fresh vegetables for her on a tiny plot of dirt in their driveway and listened patiently to his radio while she shopped (for hours sometimes) at Abraham and Strauss?
These things helped. But we decided that what kept them from losing interest -- from getting bored, straying or giving up -- was that they both relished small freedoms. They let themselves go -- apart from, but not in violation of, their relationship. They both were shameless, unapologetic, gifted flirts.
They made time, every day, for flirting. It was their favorite pastime. Florence had her "boyfriends" and Sam his "lady friends," most of whom lived in their Brooklyn neighborhood. Ladies on the block called Sam in emergencies. "Sam," Regina would say breathlessly into the phone, "I forgot to grease my pan before I put it the oven. Can you come over and help me get the cake out?" And Florence let him go, never asking why Regina's husband Stanley couldn't do the job. Sam would amble down the street and delicately chisel the pastry from the pan. Regina would marvel at his ingenuity, then make him sit for a cup of coffee and a few cookies. They would laugh together about the stuck cake, relay news of the children, then Sam would be on his way. When he got home he would mention to Florence that Regina's cookies were a little burnt on the bottom. Another neighbor, Marty, once asked for Florence's hand in marriage after a bite of her rice pudding. Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes shyly. "You know, " she said, "I couldn't do that." After that, she made Marty rice pudding every chance she got.
Florence turned her daily shopping rounds into opportunities for stealing glances. She had a thing for the man at the fruit stand. He liked her gumption, he told her, because she insisted he weigh her fruit with the stems off. They would stand for a few moments, softly squeezing melons and poking at peaches together until they agreed on the ripest ones. The fruit man would tell a joke, Florence would giggle. Then she'd go home to cut up the fruit for Sam's breakfast.
Florence also had an eye for the butcher. While he wielded his cleaver, his shirtsleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his muscles, she would pose questions about the cuts of meat, the business, anything to linger for a few moments of shared conversation. Sometimes he would wink and add an extra slab of beef to her order. I would guess that they -- Florence and the butcher -- made each other's days. The smiles, the acknowledgment, the shared interest in meat.
Proper flirting, as exemplified by Florence and Sam, is about playing, not scoring. Had the butcher one day put down his veal chop and said, "Mrs. Brownstein, why don't you meet me after work tonight?" the spell would have vanished, their secret world would have evaporated, all the shared moments would have instantly turned to shards of glass.
Flirting expands our fantasy life and, I would argue, makes our actual romances better. Flirting tests our guile, allows us to practice clever turns of phrase and cool, calculated indifference. Like snacking between meals, flirting keeps us fueled and often makes us hungrier for the main meal -- the person we have real things to talk about with, the person with whom we share our real selves.
After Florence died, Sam started spending a lot of time with his daughter in Boston. He could no longer drive, so he took the shuttle. Flight attendants were more challenging than the neighborhood ladies. "When was the last time you were home with your family?" he would ask sweetly. "How does the airline treat you?" Sam's pillows would be fluffed and his tomato juice replenished. "Guess how old I am," Sam would tease the attendants. They always guessed on the low end, flirting right back at him. At the end of the flight, Sam would ask for the names of their supervisors. "I want to write a nice letter to go in your folder." And he would.
For Sam's 86th birthday there was a party, the last one before he died. Not surprisingly, all the guests except one were female, most of them Sam's partners in flirtation. Everybody was asked to write on a large piece of paper what they wished for Sam in the coming year. Betty, a friend, wrote: "Dear Sam, I hope this year you find a girlfriend in her late fifties with blue eyes and black hair." Betty just happened to fit that description.
參考譯文：
“只有死亡才能讓我們分開”，這句話放在福勞倫斯和山姆身上再合適不過了。
在山姆的陪伴下，福勞倫斯躺在見證了他們59年幸�；橐龅拇查缴希届o的離開了人世。那一天是情人節(jié)。
福勞倫斯去世后，我們問山姆，是什么讓他們的愛情總能保持新鮮？讓他們快樂的結(jié)合在一起？讓他們每天坐在一起吃早飯、午飯和晚飯？家人和朋友都想知道這些問題的答案，知道他們幸�；橐龅拿卦E。我們這些婚姻生活不和諧，或者不愿承擔(dān)婚姻責(zé)任，不知道應(yīng)該在婚姻中扮演怎樣角色的家伙，我們想要的是一個(gè)公式，或者是示意圖，能夠明確的告訴我們應(yīng)該怎么做。我們想知道他們22歲在廟堂之舞相遇時(shí)，是怎樣天雷勾動(dòng)地火。我們已經(jīng)準(zhǔn)備好筆和本子了。
山姆無法給出答案，于是我們開始從他們的生活中尋找答案。是那些生活小細(xì)節(jié)嗎？是因?yàn)楦趥愃姑刻焱砩隙冀o山姆準(zhǔn)備櫻桃香草冰激凌？是因?yàn)樗刻煸缟隙紴樯侥诽暨x搭配今天的衣著？是因?yàn)樗匀松铄涞乃{(lán)色眼眸？還是因?yàn)樯侥吩谲嚨肋叺男K洼地里為福勞倫斯種下的新鮮蔬菜？亦或是在她外出購物的幾小時(shí)里，山姆聽著收音機(jī)耐心等待她的歸來？
這些都很好。但是我們相信，真正讓他們保持愛情新鮮，永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)厭倦或背叛彼此的原因是，他們都十分享受婚姻中的小自由�？梢悦撥壍遣粫�(huì)出軌。他們都是沒羞沒臊的，天生的調(diào)情高手。
每天，他們都得閑調(diào)情。調(diào)情是他們最愛的消遣。福勞倫斯有一幫“男朋友”，山姆有一幫“女朋友”。這些異性朋友大都是他們在布魯克林的街坊。有什么急事，山姆的女朋友們都會(huì)想到他。“山姆，”瑞吉娜氣喘吁吁的打來電話，“我烤蛋糕的時(shí)候忘了在托盤上刷油了，能過來幫我把蛋糕從上面弄下來嗎？”福勞倫斯總會(huì)給山姆放行，從來不會(huì)嗆一句：她老公史丹利干嘛去了？用得著你？山姆不慌不忙走到街區(qū)那頭的瑞吉娜家，小心翼翼的把蛋糕從托盤上鏟下來。瑞吉娜會(huì)稱贊他心靈手巧，然后請他坐一會(huì)，喝喝咖啡，吃吃點(diǎn)心。調(diào)笑那些烤焦的蛋糕，說些子女的閑話，然后山姆就該回家了。等他回到家，他會(huì)向福勞倫斯提到那些烤焦的蛋糕。另一位鄰居，馬迪，有一回跟福勞倫斯說，你做的八寶飯真好吃，你的手愿意嫁給我嗎？福勞倫斯兩頰緋紅，低眉赧道：“你啊，想得倒美。”從那之后，她時(shí)不常就會(huì)給馬迪做八寶飯。
福勞倫斯把每天的購物變成了幽會(huì)。她對賣水果的那個(gè)小販有意思。小販跟福勞倫斯說，他喜歡她的拗勁，因?yàn)樗龍?jiān)持要把果子上帶著的莖葉都揪下來才稱重。他們在那兒站一會(huì)，摸摸甜瓜，扒拉桃子，一直挑到滿意為止。小販講一個(gè)笑話，福勞倫斯會(huì)咯咯笑起來。然后她會(huì)回家用這些水果給山姆準(zhǔn)備早餐。
福勞倫斯對那個(gè)賣肉的也有意思。他操起剁刀的時(shí)候，挽起的袖子下就露出健美的肌肉。福勞倫斯總要沒話找話的多聊幾句，里脊好還是后座好？買賣怎么樣？有時(shí)候，賣肉的會(huì)對她眨眨眼，給她額外添上一大塊牛肉。我猜，他倆都很享受一天中這樣的時(shí)刻。笑容，感謝，還有共同的對肉的興趣。
福勞倫斯和山姆這樣的調(diào)情，享受的是過程，而不是結(jié)果。如果有一天，賣肉的放下排骨，對福勞倫斯說：“夫人，今晚跟我困覺吧？”那他們的關(guān)系就走到頭了。他們秘密的二人世界也將不復(fù)存在，那些共同的回憶也就不用再提了。
調(diào)情能豐富我們的綺想生活，而且，我認(rèn)為，調(diào)情能讓現(xiàn)實(shí)中的愛情更甜蜜。調(diào)情考驗(yàn)我們的急智，話分兩說、甜言蜜語抑或假扮冷酷、漠不關(guān)心。調(diào)情就跟飯間零食一樣，讓我們不至于餓著，而且有時(shí)候讓我們更饞正餐——那個(gè)值得我們真心相待，坦誠相對的他（她）。
福勞倫斯去世后，山姆常去波士頓他女兒那里。他的年齡不適合再開車，所以他都乘飛機(jī)去波士頓。比起鄰家女，跟空姐調(diào)情更有挑戰(zhàn)性。“多長時(shí)間沒陪陪家人了？”山姆善解人意的問道。“航空公司對你還好嗎？”山姆的靠枕被拍的蓬蓬松，果汁也續(xù)滿了。“猜猜我多大歲數(shù)？”山姆會(huì)跟空姐打趣。她們總是猜他還很年輕，然后和他調(diào)笑起來。飛機(jī)落地前，山姆會(huì)問空姐她們領(lǐng)班的名字，“你的服務(wù)這么好，我一定要寫進(jìn)你的評價(jià)檔案里。”他的確會(huì)這么寫的。
在山姆的86歲生日派對上（那是他的最后一次慶祝生日），除了他自己，其他出席的全都是女士，她們大部分都是山姆的調(diào)情對象。每個(gè)人都在一大張紙上寫下給山姆的新年寄語。其中一位女士，貝蒂，是這么寫的：“親愛的山姆，希望新的一年，你能找到一位50多歲的女朋友，她有藍(lán)色的眼睛，黑色的頭發(fā)。”貝蒂自己恰好符合這些條件。
