佚名/Anonymous
我还没有睁开眼睛，就知道下雪了。我可以听到铲雪的铁锹撞击人行道的声音。当大雪覆盖了整个城市，空气中便有了一种特殊的宁静。我跑到前屋的窗边，看了看这个街区——我的地盘。天一定还早，我的朋友们都还没到街上来，只有看门人在齐膝深的雪里走着。看来我没有错过什么，这让我放心了。我发现哥哥姐姐们这时也都醒了。不能再浪费时间了。如果我快一点儿，就能赶在其他朋友之前出去玩了。
我穿上半新的羊毛衣裤，但却没有保暖的手套。初冬时我把它们弄丢了。我也不知道该穿什么鞋子，因为我的鞋子已经无法套上橡胶套鞋了。我只能穿鞋子，或只穿橡胶套鞋，但不能同时穿两个。我决定穿两双袜子和雨靴出门。
我扣好鞋子时，感觉到有人站在我面前。是大哥莱尼。他问我想不想去麦迪逊广场公园的室内滑冰场滑冰。我马上放弃了其他的计划。我13岁的哥哥居然会邀请他9岁的妹妹去滑冰。去吗？当然要去。但是钱从哪儿来呢？莱尼说进场和租溜冰鞋要花1美元。我们面临着两个障碍：1948年的暴风雪和1美元。暴风雪是可以克服的，但这1美元才是目前的难题。
我们开始筹钱，还了一些牛奶瓶，向妈妈要了5分钱，又跟爸爸讨来2角5分，在上衣口袋里搜集到一两分，又在床底下找到两个硬币，并在6个房间当中一间的角落里找到了丢失在那的1角钱。
最后，为了增强体力，我们喝了热乎乎的燕麦粥，然后将来之不易的硬币装进口袋便出发了。我们要走20个街区——大约一英里。
冬风驱赶着雪花，粘在万物的表面。在爬过堆在路边3英尺高的雪堆时，我和莱尼就假设正在攀登阿尔卑斯山。现在，这里是我们的世界——覆盖着整个城市的漫天雪花让大人们都待在了家里。摩天大厦也隐形在白色的雪花纱帐后，我们完全可以想象纽约因我们而变小了。我们可以走在第三大道中央，而不怕被撞倒。我们无法抑制心中的喜悦，以及在雪中感受到的难以置信的自由感。
到49街的12个街区并不难走，但穿越城区的长街道时却很冷。凛冽的西风从哈得孙河上吹来，让人步履维艰。我跟不上哥哥了。顽皮的想象被双脚刺骨的寒冷所代替。我没戴帽子，没戴手套的手在口袋里紧紧握着，套鞋的扣子也松开了。我开始轻声抱怨，但不愿让人感到厌烦，因为我害怕莱尼下次去哪里都不带我了。
到第五大街附近时，我们在一家门口躲避风雪。我怯怯地告诉莱尼我的鞋扣开了。莱尼把他那冻得通红的手从口袋里伸出来，俯下身子扣上那沾满雪花的冰冷的金属扣。莱尼还得照顾我，为此我感到很羞愧。我盯着前方，看到一个男人的身影，正穿过薄纱般的雪帘朝我们走来。
我说不出他年纪多大——在我看来，所有的大人年纪都差不多——但是他又高又瘦，面容文雅帅气。他没有戴帽子，围着一条围巾，外套上跟我们一样，也落满了雪花。
他是否跟我说过话，我不记得了。我唯一记得的就是他在我面前蹲下来，与我的脸相对着。我盯着他那温柔的深色眼睛，茫然地说不出话来。当他离去时，从他紧紧围在我脖子上的那条柔软的深红色围巾上，我感受到了他的温暖。
我不记得那天滑冰的情况，也记不清是如何回 家的。我只记得那天的雪，那位好心的陌生人，还有我的哥哥莱尼。
I knew it was snowing before I opened my eyes.I could hear the sounds of shovels scraping against the sidewalks，and there was that special quiet in the airthat comes when the city is heavily blanketed with snow.I ran to the windows in the front room to have a look at the block-my domain.It must have been very early.None of my friends had made it to the street；only janitors were moving about in the knee-deep snow.Relieved that I hadn’t missed anything，I became aware that my sisters and brothers were now awake.I had no time to waste.If I hurried，I could be out there before any of my friends.
I dressed myself in an assortment of hand-me-down winter woolens，but there would be no mittens to keep my hands warm.I had lost them earlier in the season.I was in a real dither as to what to put on my feet；my shoes no longer fit into my rubber galoshes.I could wear shoes or galoshes，but not both.I decided to go with two pairs of socks and the galoshes.
As I was buckling them，I felt the presence of someone standing over me.It was my big brother，Lenny.He asked me if I wanted to go ice-skating at the indoor rink in Madison Square Garden.I immediately scrapped my other plans.My thirteen-year-old brother was actually asking me，his nineyear-old sister，to go ice-skating with him.Go？Of course I would go.But where would we get the money？Lenny said it would cost a dollar to get in and rent the skates.Only two obstacles stood between me and going skating with my brother—the blizzard of 1948 and one dollar.The blizzard I could handle—it was the dollar that presented the problem.
The quest began.We returned some milk bottles，asked our mother for a nickel，begged our father for a quarter apiece，collected a penny or two from coat pockets，discovered two coins that had rolled under the beds，and spotted a rare stray dime nestled in a corner of one of the six rooms in our cold-water railroad flat.
Eventually，fortified with a bowl of hot oatmeal and jamming the hardearned coins into our pockets，we set out on the twenty-block journey—a city mile.
The wind-driven snow clung to every surface.Lenny and I pretended that we were in the Alps as we climbed over the three-foot mounds of snow that had been shoveled to the curbs.It was our world now—a myriad of tiny snowflakes had shut down the city and kept the adults indoors.The skyscrapers were invisible behind a white veil of snow，and we could almost imagine that New York had been scaled down for us.We could walk right down the middle of Third Avenue with no fear of being run over.It was hard to contain our joy，the incredible sense of freedom we felt out there in the snow.
The twelve blocks to Forty-ninth Street weren’t difficult，but the long cross town streets proved to be chilling.The harsh west winds blowing off the Hudson River made it almost impossible to push forward.I could no longer keep up with my brother.My playful imaginings were replaced by the gnawing cold of my feet.My head was uncovered，my bitterless hands were clenched in my pockets，and a few of the clasps on my galoshes had workedloose.I began to complain gently，not wanting to make a nuisance of myself because I was afraid that Lenny wouldn’t ask me to go anywhere with him again.
Somewhere near Fifth Avenue，we stopped in a doorway to take refuge.I timidly told Lenny that my clasps were open.Lenny took his bare red hands out of his pockets and bent down to refasten the snow-crusted，icy metal clasps.Ashamed that Lenny had to take care of me，I stared straight ahead and saw the image of a man walking toward us through the chiffon curtain of snow.
I was unable to tell how old he was—all adults seemed the same age to me—but he was tall，thin，and had a gentle，handsome face.He wore no hat.There was a scarf around his neck，and his overcoat，like ours，was caked with snow.
I don’t remember if he spoke to me or not.What I do recall is that he kneeled down before me，his face level with mine.I found myself gazing into soft brown eyes，feeling bewildered and mute.When he was gone，I felt his warmth in the soft，wine-colored scarf that he wrapped tightly around my head.
I don’t remember ice-skating that day，or how we got home.All my memory holds is the snow，the kindness of a stranger，and my big brother，Lenny.
