Karl'sGarden卡尔的花园
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The sight of him walking alone down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp1 from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that, although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown2 neighborhood with its ever-increasing random3 violence, gangs4, and drug activity.
宝宝海报
When he saw the flyer5 at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister’s residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming6 manner. Without fanfare7, he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened.He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate8 him, he simply asked, “Would you like a drink from the ho?”
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The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, “Yeah, sure,” with a malevolent9 little smile. As Carl offered the ho to him, the other two grabbed Carl’s arm, throwing him down. As the ho snaked crazily10 over the ground, dousing11 everything in its way, Carl’s assailants12 stole his retirement watch and his wallet, then fled. Carl tried to get himlf up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg.
He lay there trying to gather himlf as the minister came running to help him. Although the minister had witnesd the attack from his window, he couldn’t get there fast enough to stop it. “Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?” the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet.
Carl just pasd a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. “Just some punk13 kids. I hope they’ll wi-up someday.” His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the ho. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.
Confud and a little concerned, the minister asked, “Carl, what are you doing?”
“I’ve got to finish my watering. It’s been very dry lately,” came the calm reply. Satisfying himlf that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel14. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
数字的故事 A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before, their threat was unchallenged15. Carl again offered them a drink from his ho.
This time they didn’t rob him. They wrenched16 the ho from his hand and drenched17 him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation18 of him, they sauntered19 off down the street, throwing catcalls20 and curs, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity21 of what they had just done.
餐桌礼仪三字经
万径人踪灭 Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his ho, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some
evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing22, he turned to e his summer tormentors’ 23 tall leader reaching down for him.
He braced24 himlf for the expected attack. “Don’t worry, old man. I’m not gonna hurt you this time.” The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed25 and scarred hand to Carl.
As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled26 bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
“What’s this?” Carl asked.
“It’s your stuff,” the man explained. “It’s your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.”
“I don’t understand,” Carl said. “Why would you help me now?”
The man shifted his feet, eming embarrasd and ill at ea27. “I learned somet
hing from you”, he said. “I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you becau you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn’t hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate.” He stopped for a moment. “I couldn’t sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back.”白菜豆腐炖粉条的做法
He paud for another awkward28 moment, not knowing what more there was to say. “That bag’s my way of saying thanks for straightening me out29, I guess.” And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly30 opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride who still smiled back at him from all tho years ago.
Carl died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular, the minister noticed a tall young man he didn’t know sitt
ing quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl’s garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed31 tears, he said, “Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.”
