现代大学英语精读3课文电子版

v1.0可编辑可修改PAGE\*MERGEFORMAT#LessonFour:WisdomofBearWoodMichaelWelzenbachWhenIwas12yearsold,myfamilymovedtoEngland,thefourthmajormoveinmyshortlife.Myfather'sgovernmentjobdemandedthathegooverseaseveryfewyears,soIwasusedtowrenchingmyselfawayfromfriends.Werentedan18th-centuryfarmhouseinBerkshire.Nearbywereancientcastlesandchurches.Lovingnature,however,Iwasmostdelightedbytheendlesspatchworkoffarmsandwoodlandthatsurroundedourhouse.Inthedeepwoodsthatvergedagainstourbackfence,anetworkofpathsledalmosteverywhere,andpheasantsrocketedoffintothedenselaurelsaheadasyouwalked.Ispentmostofmytimeroamingthewoodsandfieldsalone,playingRobinHood,daydreaming,collectingbugsandbird-watching.Itwasheavenforaboy—butalonelyheaven.KeepingtomyselfwasmywayofnotformingattachmentsthatIwouldonlyhavetoabandonthenexttimewemoved.ButonedayIbecameattachedthroughnodesignofmyown.WehadbeeninEnglandaboutsixmonthswhenoldfarmerCrawfordgavemepermissiontoroamabouthisimmenseproperty.Istartedhikingthereeveryweekend,upalong,slopinghilltoanalmostimpenetrablestandoftreescalledBearWood.Itwasmysecretfortress,almostaholyplace,Ithought.Slippingthroughabarbed-wirefence,I'dleavethebrightsunandthetwitterandrustleofinsectsandanimalsoutsideandcreepintoanotherworld—avaultedcathedral,withtreetrunksforpillarsandyears'accumulationoflongbrownneedlesforasoftlycarpetedfloor.Myownbreathingranginmyears,andtheslighteststirringofanywoodlandcreatureechoedthroughthisprivateparadise.OnespringafternoonIwanderednearwhereIthoughtI'dglimpsedapondtheweekbefore.Iproceededquietly,carefulnottoalarmabirdthatmightloudlywarnothercreaturestohide.PerhapsthisiswhythefrailoldladyInearlyranintowasasstartledasIwas.Shecaughtherbreath,instinctivelytouchingherthroatwithherhand.Then,recoveringquickly,shegaveawelcomingsmilethatinstantlyputmeatease.Apairofpowerful-lookingbinocularsdangledfromherneck.“Hello,youngman,”shesaid.“AreyouAmericanorCanadian”American,Iexplainedinarush,andIlivedoverthehill,andIwasjustseeingiftherewasapond,andfarmerCrawfordhadsaiditwasokay,andanyhow,Iwasonmywayhome,sogood-bye.AsIstartedtoturn,thewomansmiledandasked,“Didyouseethelittleowlfromthewoodovertheretoday”Shepointedtowardtheedgeofthewood.SheknewabouttheowlsIwasamazed.“No,”Ireplied,“butI'veseenthembefore.Neverclosethough.Theyalwaysseemefirst.”Thewomanlaughed.“Yes,they'rewary,”shesaid.“Butthen,gamekeepershavebeenshootingthemeversincetheygothere.They'reintroduced,youknow,notnative.”“They'renot”Iasked,fascinated.Anybodywhoknewthissortofstuffwasdefinitelycool——evenifshewastrespassinginmyspecialplace.“Oh,no!”sheanswered,laughingagain.“AthomeIhavebooksonbirdsthatexplainallaboutthem.Infact,”shesaidsuddenly,“IwasabouttogobackforteaandjamtartWouldyoucaretojoinme”Ihadbeenwarnedagainstgoingoffwithstrangers,butsomehowIsensedtheoldwomanwasharmless.“Sure,”Isaid.“I'mMrs.Robertson-Glasgow,”sheintroducedherself,extendingherfinehand.“Michael,”Isaid,takingitclumsilyinmyown.Wesetoff.Andaswewalked,shetoldmehowsheandherhusbandhadmovedtoBerkshireafterhe'dretiredasacollegeprofessorabouttenyearsearlier.“Hepassedawaylastyear,”shesaid,lookingsuddenlywistful.“SonowI'malone,andIhaveallthistimetowalkthefields.”SoonIsawasmallbrickcottagethatglowedpinklyinthewesteringsun.Mrs.Robertson-Glasgowopenedthedoorandinvitedmein.Igazedaboutinsilentadmirationatthebookshelves,glass-frontedcasescontainingfiguresofivoryandcarvedstone,cabinetsfulloffossils,traysofpinnedbutterfliesand,bestofall,adozenorsostuffedbirds—includingaglass-eyedeagleowl.“Wow”wasallIcouldsay.“Doesyourmotherexpectyouhomeataparticulartime”sheaskedassheranthewaterfortea.“No,”Ilied.Then,glancingattheclock,Iadded,“Well,maybebyfive.”Thatgavemealmostanhour,notnearlyenoughtimetoaskabouteverysingleobjectintheroom.ButbetweenmouthfulsofteaandjamtartIlearnedallsortsofthingsfromMrs.Robertson-Glasgow.Thehourwentbymuchtooswiftly.Mrs.Robertson-Glasgowhadtopracticallypushmeoutthedoor.Butshesentmehomewithtwolargetomes,onefullofbeautifulillustrationsofbirds,andoneofbutterfliesandotherinsects.Ipromisedtoreturnthemthenextweekendifshedidn'tmindmycomingby.Shesmiledandsaidshe'dlookforwardtothat.Ihadmadethebestfriendintheworld.WhenIreturnedthebooks,shelentmemore.SoonIbegantoseeheralmosteveryweekend,andmywellofknowledgeaboutnaturalhistorybegantobrimover.Atschool,Iearnedthenickname“Prof”andsomerespectfrommyfellowstudents.Eventheschoolbullybroughtmeadeadbirdhehadfound,orprobablyshot,toidentify.DuringthesummerIspentblissfullylongdayswithmyfriend.Idiscoveredshemadethefinestshortbreadintheworld.WewouldexploreBearWood,munchinghappilyanddiscussingthebooksshehadlentme.Intheafternoonswewouldreturntothecottage,andshewouldtalkaboutherhusband—whatafinemanhe'dbeen.Onceortwicesheseemedabouttocryandlefttheroomquicklytomakemoretea.Butshealwayscamebacksmiling.Astimepassed,Ididnotnoticethatshewasgrowingfrailerandlessinclinedtolaugh.Familiaritysometimesmakespeoplephysicallyinvisible,foryoufindyourselftalkingtotheheart——totheessence,asitwere,ratherthantotheface.Isuspected,ofcourse,thatshewaslonely;Ididnotknowshewasill.Backatschool,Ibegantogrowquickly.Iplayedsoccerandmadeagoodfriend.ButIstillstoppedbythecottageonweekends,andtherewasalwaysfreshshortbread.OnemorningwhenIwentdownstairstothekitchen,therewasafamiliar-lookingbiscuittinonthetable.IeyeditasIwenttotherefrigerator.Mymotherwasregardingmewithastrangegentleness.“Son,”shebegan,painfully.AndfromthetoneofhervoiceIkneweverythinginstantly.Sherestedherhandonthebiscuittin.“Mr.Crawfordbroughtthesethismorning.”Shepaused,andIcouldtellshewashavingdifficulty.“Mrs.Robertson-Glasgowleftthemforyou.”Istaredoutthewindow,tearsstingingmyeyes.“I'msorry,Michael,butshediedyesterday,”shewenton.“Shewasveryoldandveryill,anditwastime.Mymotherputherarmaboutmyshoulder.“Youmadeherveryhappy,becauseshewaslonely,”shesaid.“Youwereluckytobesuchagoodfriendforher.”Wordlessly,Itookthetintomyroomandsetitonmybed.Then,hurryingdownstairs,Iburstthroughthefrontdoorandrantothewoods.Iwanderedforalongtime,untilmyeyeshaddriedandIcouldseeclearlyagain.Itwasspring——almostexactlyayearsinceI'dmettheoldwomaninBearWood.IlookedaroundmeandrealizedhowmuchInowknew.Aboutbirds,insects,plantsandtrees,thankstoherhelp.AndthenIrememberedthatbackinmybedroomIhadatinofthebestshortbreadintheworld,andIshouldgoandeatitlikeIalwaysdidonweekendsatMrs.Robertson-Glasgow'scottage.Intime,thatoldroundtinfilledupwithdriedleaves,fossilsandbitsofcolorfulstone,andcountlessotheroddsandends.Istillhaveit.ButIhavemuchmore,thelegacyofthatlong-agoencounterinBearWood.Itisawisdomtutoredbynatureitself,abouttheseenandtheunseen,aboutthingsthatchangeandthingsthatarechangeless,andaboutthefactthatnomatterhowseeminglydifferenttwosoulsmaybe,theypossessthepotentialforthatmostprecious,rarething—anenduringandrewardingfriendship.