I felt guilty for having doubts, but sometimes, I thought as I turned into our driveway, faith is so hard.
Suddenly I slowed, stopped and stared at the lawn. Muddy grass and small gray mounds of melting snow. And there, bravely waving in the wind, was one pink crocus.
How could a flower bloom from a bulb more than 18 years old, one that had not blossomed in over a decade? But there was the crocus. Tears filled my eyes as I realized its significance.
Hold on, keep going, light is coming soon. The pink crocus bloomed for only a day. But it built my faith for a lifetime.
那是一个秋日的早晨，全家刚搬进我们第一处住宅不久。孩子们在楼上从包果里往外拿东西。我望着窗外，见父亲正神秘地在屋前的草地上打转。父母住在附近，父亲已到我家来过几次了。我向他喊道：“您在外边干什么呢?”
他笑着抬起头来说：“我要给你一个惊喜。”我了解父亲，他会做出点事来的。他是个体手艺人，总是用零星东西做些小玩艺儿。当我们还是孩子的时候，有一次他用几个轮子和滑轮装配了一个攀登架。有一次万圣节，他为我做了个电南瓜，还把它装在一个扫帚把上。客人到我家门前时，他就把点亮藏在树丛中的南瓜灯，在他们走到跟前突然伸出来。
不过今天爸爸却不愿多说什么，况且我们新生活的还有千头万绪要理，结果我也就忘了他的什么惊喜了。
第二年三月的一天，我感到潮湿阴冷于是朝窗外望了望，外面阴沉沉，灰蒙蒙的，草坪上到处是一堆堆不“化”的污雪。难道冬天就不会走了吗?
可是...这该不是幻觉吧?我瞪大眼睛看，似乎有粉色的什么东西从吹积成的雪堆中神奇地冒出来。那是院子那头的一个小蓝点，是这郁闷压抑的阴霾中的一个快乐的小音符吗?我抓起外衣向外奔去，我要去看个究竟。
是番红花，在屋前草坪上星罗棋布到处都是。淡紫色、蓝色、黄色和我钟爱的粉色——一个个小脸在凛冽的寒风中摇曳着。
爸爸。我笑了，想起了他去年秋天他偷偷种下的球茎。他知道，在万物凋零的冬天我总是情绪低落。还有什么比番红花更适合时宜的呢？还有什么比番红花更合我的需求呢?我好幸福，因为有了这些花，更因为有这样的爸爸。
以后的四五年中，父亲种的番红花年年在竞相吐艳，每逢花开都给我带来同样的信心：艰难时刻就要结束。坚持不懈，继续努力，光明就会来临。
一年后的春天，开的花只有以往的一半。有过一年，一株花也不见了。我思念番红花，可我的妻子比平时更加忙碌而我又不擅长养花弄草。本想叫爸爸过来再种些球茎，可我一直也没付诸行动。
有一年十月的一天，他突然仙逝了。全家人都沉浸在悲痛之中，我们靠信念支撑着。我深深地怀念他，我知道他将永远和我们在一起。
四年过去了，这年春天的一个下午，天气阴沉郁闷，我外出办事感到心情压抑。难道你又犯冬季无聊症了，我心里想。你年年犯这个毛病。
这天是爸爸的生日，我不由得想到了他，这并不奇怪——家里人经常谈起他，回忆他在生活中实践自己的信念的件件往事。有一次，我曾见他把自己的外衣送给一个无家可归的人。他常和陌生人聊天，要是听说他们处于困顿饥饿之境，他会把他们请到家里吃上一顿饭。而今，坐在汽车中我不禁自问：他现在怎样了?他在哪儿?真有天国存在吗?
我为有此疑惑而感到内疚，可有时，我认为坚守信念太难了。此时，我把车拐进了我家的车道上。
我猛地放慢了速度，停下车注视着草坪。草上粘满泥污，一个个灰色小雪堆正在溶化。就在这里，有一株粉红色的番红花却在不屈地迎风摇曳着。
18年前种下的已有10多年未曾生长开花的球茎，如今怎会从新开放呢?可那确是番红花。当我认识到其深刻含义时，不禁热泪盈眶。
坚持不懈，继续努力，光明就会来临。这株粉色番红花只开了一天。但却为我的一生树立了信念。
The Blanket
一床双人毛毯
Petey hadn’t really believed that Dad would be doing It — sending Granddad away. “Away” was what they were calling it.Not until now could he believe it of his father.
But here was the blanket that Dad had bought for Granddad, and in the morning he’d be going away. This was the last evening they’d be having together. Dad was off seeing that girl he was to marry. He would not be back till late, so Petey and Granddad could sit up and talk.
It was a fine September night, with a silver moon riding high. They washed up the supper dishes and then took their chairs out onto the porch. “I’ll get my fiddle,” said the old man, “and play you some of the old tunes.”
But instead of the fiddle he brought out the blanket. It was a big double blanket, red with black stripes.
“Now, isn’t that a fine blanket!” said the old man, smoothing it over his knees. “And isn’t your father a kind man to be giving the old fellow a blanket like that to go away with? It cost something, it did—look at the wool of it! There’ll be few blankets there the equal of this one!”
It was like Granddad to be saying that. He was trying to make it easier. He had pretended all along that he wanted to go away to the great brick building—the government place. There he’d be with so many other old fellows, having the best of everything. . . . But Petey hadn’t believed Dad would really do it, not until this night when he brought home the blanket.
“Oh, yes, it’s a fine blanket,” said Petey. He got up and went into the house. He wasn’t the kind to cry and, besides, he was too old for that. He’d just gone in to fetch Granddad’s fiddle.
The blanket slid to the floor as the old man took the fiddle and stood up. He tuned up for a minute, and then said, “This is one you’ll like to remember.”
Petey sat and looked out over the gully. Dad would marry that girl. Yes, that girl who had kissed Petey and fussed over him, saying she’d try to be a good mother to him, and all. . . .
The tune stopped suddenly. Granddad said, “It’s a fine girl your father’s going to marry. He’ll be feeling young again with a pretty wife like that. And what would an old fellow like me be doing around their house, getting in the way? An old nuisance, what with my talks of aches and pains. It’s best that I go away, like I’m doing. One more tune or two, and then we’ll be going to sleep. I’ll pack up my blanket in the morning.”
They didn’t hear the two people coming down the path. Dad had one arm around the girl, whose bright face was like a doll’s. But they heard her when she laughed, right close by the porch. Dad didn’t say anything, but the girl came forward and spoke to Granddad prettily: “I won’t be here when you leave in the morning, so I came over to say good-bye.”
“It’s kind of you,” said Granddad, with his eyes cast down. Then, seeing the blanket at his feet, he stooped to pick it up. “And will you look at this,” he said. “The fine blanket my son has given me to go away with.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a fine blanket.” She felt the wool and repeated in surprise, “A fine blanket—I’ll say it is!” She turned to Dad and said to him coldly, “That blanket really cost something.”
Dad cleared his throat and said, “I wanted him to have the best. . . .”
“It’s double, too,” she said, as if accusing Dad.
“Yes,” said Granddad, “it’s double—a fine blanket for an old fellow to be going away with.”
17 The boy went suddenly into the house. He was looking for something. He could hear that girl scolding Dad. She realized how much of Dad’s money—her money, really—had gone for the blanket. Dad became angry in his slow way. And now she was suddenly going away in a huff. . . .
As Petey came out, she turned and called back, “All the same, he doesn’t need a double blanket!” And she ran off up the path.
Dad was looking after her as if he wasn’t sure what he ought to do.
“Oh, she’s right,” Petey said. “Here, Dad”—and he held out a pair of scissors. “Cut the blanket in two.”
Both of them stared at the boy, startled. “Cut it in two, I tell you, Dad!” he cried out. “And keep the other half.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Granddad gently. “I don’t need so much of a blanket.”
“Yes,” the boy said harshly, “a single blanket’s enough for an old man when he’s sent away. We’ll save the other half, Dad. It’ll come in handy later.”
“Now what do you mean by that?” asked Dad.
“I mean,” said the boy slowly, “that I’ll give it to you, Dad— when you’re old and I’m sending you—away.”
