英語(yǔ)美文:An Inch of Kindness
It was the Sunday after Christmas and the seven o"clock Mass was beginning. Chilled latecomers hurried up the side steps and the rear seats were filling up with stragglers, who welcomed the warmth of the radiators that backed the last pews.
The assistant pastor had begun the age-old celebration and the parishioners were very quiet, hardly participating. Each was in his or her own world. Christmas was two days ago and it had taken its toll. Even the children were still. It was a time of rest from the season"s whirl, and all were inclined to sit back and rest. As Father John began his sermon, he looked over a most subdued crowd. He began with a pleasant introduction about the holiday time and its true meaning. Then he carried his sermon a little further and talked about charity and love and being good to others all the time. He said we couldn"t go wrong by being nice. It was a talk we had all heard before, and we each felt smugly that we had done our part. Then there was a pause, and Father John added a new thought for his flock to contemplate, and we were startled and roused from our reveries.
He talked about the vagrants, the "trolls," the bums and the homeless that were walking the streets of the city and giving testimony to the new poverty. In quiet tones he said that they needed care most of all. Some of us squirmed in our seats and exchanged glances. It was
obvious we had some reservations about his statements. Most of us were thinking about the influx of wanderers into the city. Vagrants inhabited the parks, the shopping malls and the downtown area. Most of the petty crime seemed to be blamed on them, and they certainly weren"t viewed with charity.
Mrs. Scupp was terrified by their looks and grimy appearance. Last week a dingy stubble-faced man with a blanket wrapped around him had asked her for money. Startled and scared, she dropped all her packages as she squealed, "No." He stooped and helped her pick up her gifts. Then she did find some money in her purse and gave it to him. The experience had unnerved her, and now she shuddered at the thought of repeating it.
Joe Walden"s puffy face twisted with a grimace. Yeah, sure, he thought. Show these people an inch of kindness and they"ll ruin your business. At first he hadn"t complained about the groups playing violins and guitars in front of his store and asking for donations for their entertainment. But prospective buyers were uncomfortable and passed the shop by. His sales had dropped, and he blamed the street people. What was this priest suggesting? He snorted to himself.
Margaret was so horrified by the ragged-looking bunch down in the grocery store parking lot that she hated to go shopping there, and she cringed at the thought of even being near the homeless. But the store was the closest place to home, so she went at noon when there were plenty of other shoppers.
Al sat back in his pew and was lost in this part of the message. He was deeply involved in reviewing his career as a cop and how it applied. It was his job to round up those that disturbed the peace or interfered with others. The terrible antagonism aroused between the citizens and these wanderers had led to many arrests and "move on" orders. Were they justified? One thought came to mind. Is there a little extra I could do? Al pulled his head into the warmth of his coat, stuck his hands into his pockets and dismissed the thoughts.
The priest continued with the sermon, touching on many sore spots. He ended by asking people to be kinder to the less fortunate, to be fair, and to treat everybody the way Christ would treat them. He left the pulpit to continue Mass, leaving everybody in a ruffled mood.
The Mass continued, and at the same time a noise assaulted the solemnity. A cross between a groan and a whistle, it sounded again and again. A snicker ran through the church. It was a snore . . . a mighty one. Anxious looks at the altar proved that Father was unaffected by the noise, but others were. A lady in front with a big red hat was turning one way and then the other, seeking its originator. Three children were giggling. Their father tried to quiet them and at the same time scanned the congregation. Halfway up the middle aisle, to the right, was a hunched-up figure covered with a blanket - the source of the noise. Each time a chord was struck, the gray covering vibrated as the snore escaped its confines.
The snorer was obviously not a member of the church. Maybe he was one of those wanderers on his way south, or somebody who came in from the cold. Maybe he was a bum. One thing was certain, his snoring was offensive. People coughed nervously and then waited for the next sound.
"Do you think he had a nice Christmas, too, Mommie?" Whispers and hugs identified a little girl in a new pink jacket.
"God loves him too, doesn"t he?" Another flurry followed as her father, nodding, picked her up in his arms. She rested her chin over his shoulder and was looking at the inert man. The people moved in their seats. This was a member of the poor that the sermon was about. What an uncomfortable thought!
Father John was saying the final prayers when the little girl spoke to her father in a stage whisper that carried from one end of the church to the other. "Daddy, can"t we share our Christmas with him? Can I have some money? I won"t wake him up. Promise." There was quiet rustling and movement as she crossed the aisle and laid some bills on the blanket. Al rose to his feet and did the same. Joe Walden strode up with his offering. As Father John finished the Mass, other bills were dropped on the sleeping figure. He watched Mrs. Scupp gingerly place a five-dollar bill on the gray blanket that was now heaped with money. Margaret met Father John"s grin as she left her offering.
It was a strange crowd who greeted Father John after services. The man in the blanket had made an impression, and while few words were said, everyone greeted the priest with a special heartiness. It comes with the satisfaction of giving, he thought privately.
When Father John returned to the empty church and walked up the aisle to the man, he saw the green bills nestled in the folds of the gray blanket. There was more money on the floor around the man. Father John gently shook him. The snoring man raised his head and looked vacantly at the priest for a moment. "Oh, I fell asleep, I guess. What"s this?" The money cascaded around him as he rose and dropped the blanket. The priest looked with surprise into the face of Chris Gregory, a fireman and paramedic he had known for years. "Gee, Father John, I"m awfully sorry." As Chris gently scooped up and counted the wealth, Father John explained what had happened. Then Chris told his story.
His department had received three calls for fires down in the lagoon and along the railroad tracks. He had been out all night. The last call included a girl who was about to give birth. She was one of those who had sought the warmth of a fire that got out of hand. Before she could be taken to the hospital, he delivered her baby, a boy. Chris went to the hospital and stayed longer than he expected. It had been a long night, and he had stopped to make early-morning Mass before going home to sleep.
There was $600.60 altogether. Father John said, "Suppose we divide it. I"ll use my share for the soup kitchen and you take the rest for the new mother. She"s going to need it. Now, let"s get some breakfast. And fold up that blanket - I don"t really think the parishioners want to know who the man in the gray blanket was."
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