English Original
I know now that the man who sat with me on the old wooden stairs that hot summer night over thirty-five years ago was not a tall man. But to a five-year-old, he was a giant. We sat side by side, watching the sun go down behind the old Texaco service station across the busy street. A street I was never allowed to cross unless accompanied by an adult.
Cherry-scented smoke from Grampy's pipe kept the hungry mosquitoes at bay while gray, wispy swirls danced around our heads. Now and again, he blew a smoke ring and laughed as I tried to target the hole with my finger. I, clad in a cool summer nightie, and Grampy, in his sleeveless T-shirt, sat watching the traffic, counting cars and guessing the color of the next one to turn the corner.
As the fourth of six children, I was often caught in the middle—too young or too old for things. That night, while my baby brothers slept and my older siblings played out of sight, I stayed with Grampy. And I was perfectly content.
"Thirsty?" Grampy asked, pipe still in mouth.
"Yes," I replied.
"How would you like to run over to the gas station and get yourself a bottle of Coke?"
I couldn't believe my ears. On our modest income, Coke was a rare luxury. I'd only ever had a few tantalizing sips, never my own bottle.
"Okay," I replied shyly, already wondering how I'd cross the street alone.
Grampy reached into his pocket, and I heard the familiar jangling of loose change. He opened his fist to reveal a mound of silver coins. He instructed me to pick out a dime.
"Okay," he said, helping me to the curb. "I'll stay here. I'll tell you when it's safe to cross. You go get your Coke and come back. Wait for my signal to cross back."
My heart pounded. I clutched my dime tightly.
Grampy held my hand. We looked up and down the street. He stepped off the curb. "It's safe. Go." He let go, and I ran faster than ever. The street seemed so wide. Reaching the other side, I turned to see him standing right where I'd left him, smiling proudly.
"Go on, hurry up!" he yelled.
Inside the dark garage, the Coca-Cola machine motor was humming. I walked directly to the big old red-and-white dispenser, inserted my dime, and heard the bottles shift. On tiptoes, I opened the heavy door. There they were: a neat row of thick green bottles, icy cold. I grabbed one, pulled it free, and felt the cool glass in my sweaty hands.
I positioned the bottleneck under the heavy brass opener bolted to the wall. The cap dropped into an old wooden box. I retrieved it—a cold, bent souvenir. Coke in hand, I marched back out into the dusk. Grampy was waiting, smiling.
"Stop right there!" he yelled. A car or two sped by. He stepped off the curb again. "Come on, now. Run!"
I did. Cool brown foam sprayed my hands.
"Don't ever do that alone," he warned. I held the bottle tightly, afraid he'd make me pour it into a cup. He didn't. One long swallow of the cold beverage cooled my sweating body. I don't think I ever felt so proud.
中文翻译
如今我知道，三十五年前那个炎夏夜晚，和我一起坐在老旧木楼梯上的男人个子并不高。但对一个五岁的孩子来说，他宛如巨人。我们并肩坐着，看着太阳在繁忙街道对面老旧的德士古加油站后面落下。那是一条我从未被允许独自穿越的街道。
爷爷烟斗里飘出的樱桃味烟雾驱赶着饥饿的蚊子，缕缕灰白的轻烟在我们头顶缭绕。他不时吐个烟圈，然后笑着看我试图用手指戳中那个圈。我穿着凉爽的夏夜睡衣，爷爷穿着无袖T恤，我们一起看着车流，数着汽车，猜着下一辆拐过街角的车会是什么颜色。
作为六个孩子中的老四，我常常处于尴尬的中间位置——对很多事情来说，不是太小就是太大。那晚，我的两个小弟弟在屋里睡觉，三个哥哥姐姐在远处玩耍，而我则和爷爷待在一起。我心满意足。
“渴吗？”爷爷问道，烟斗仍叼在嘴里。
“是的。”我回答。
“想不想跑到对面加油站，给自己买瓶可乐？”
我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵。以我们家微薄的收入，可乐是一种难得的奢侈。我只尝过几口诱人的滋味，从未拥有过一整瓶。
“好的。”我害羞地回答，心里已经开始盘算如何独自过马路。
爷爷把手伸进口袋，我听到熟悉的零钱叮当声。他摊开手掌，露出一小堆银币。他让我挑出一个一角硬币。
“好了，”他边说边扶我走到路边。“我待在这儿。我会告诉你什么时候可以安全过街。你去买你的可乐，然后回来。等我信号再穿回来。”
我的心怦怦直跳。我把硬币紧紧攥在汗湿的手心里。
爷爷牵着我的手。我们来回看了看街道。他走下路缘。“安全了，去吧。”他松开手，我以从未有过的速度奔跑起来。街道显得如此宽阔。到达对面后，我转身看到他仍站在原地，正自豪地微笑着。
“快去，抓紧！”他喊道。
走进昏暗的车库，可口可乐贩卖机的马达正在嗡嗡作响。我径直走向那台红白相间的老式大贩卖机，投入硬币，听到瓶子移动的声音。我踮起脚，打开沉重的门。它们就在那儿：整齐的一排墨绿色厚玻璃瓶，冰冷彻骨。我抓出一瓶，猛地把它拽出来，冰凉的玻璃瓶握在我汗湿的手中。
我将瓶口对准固定在墙上的沉重黄铜开瓶器。瓶盖掉进一个旧木盒里。我把它捡起来——一个冰凉、弯曲的纪念品。手拿可乐，我昂首阔步走回暮色中。爷爷正等着，面带微笑。
“就停在那儿！”他喊道。一两辆车疾驰而过。他再次走下路缘。“快，现在，跑过来！”
我照做了。冰凉的棕色泡沫溅到我的手上。
“千万别自己一个人这么做，”他告诫道。我紧紧抓着瓶子，生怕他让我把可乐倒进杯子里。但他没有。长长地喝下一口冰凉的饮料，我出汗的身体顿时凉爽下来。我想我从未感到如此自豪过。