English Original
After 20 years as a full-time wife and mother, I decided to find a part-time job to keep busy now that my children were grown. I chose to drive a school bus.
Charlie began riding my bus in September of my fourth year. He was eight years old, with blond hair and crystalline gray eyes. While other children chattered about their summers, Charlie ignored me completely, not even answering when I asked his name.
From that day on, Charlie was a constant challenge. If a fight broke out or spitballs flew, I knew Charlie was likely involved. No matter how gently or firmly I spoke to him, he remained silent, staring at me with his large gray eyes.
I learned that Charlie's father had passed away and he didn't live with his mother. Believing he deserved patience, I mustered all I could. My cheerful greetings were met with silence; my holiday wishes with sneers. I often wondered how to reach him, but remained convinced he needed warmth. I'd ruffle his hair or pat his arm when he passed by.
Near the year's end, the children gave me a small trophy inscribed "To the Best Bus Driver Ever." I propped it on the dashboard and hung above it a small tin heart a girl had given me, painted with the words: "I love Polly and Polly loves me."
On the penultimate school day, I was delayed speaking to the principal. Upon returning to the bus, I noticed the tin heart was missing. "Does anyone know what happened to the little heart?" I asked. For once, the bus of 39 children fell silent.
A boy spoke up: "Charlie was first on the bus. I bet he took it." Others joined in: "Yeah! Charlie did it! Search him!"
I asked Charlie if he had seen it. "I don't know what you're talking about," he protested, standing to show a few pennies and a small ball from his pockets. "See, I don't have it."
"Check his pockets!" insisted the girl who had given me the heart.
Charlie glowered as I asked him to come forward. His gaze burned into mine. I reached into one pocket—nothing. Then, in the other, I felt the familiar outline of the small tin heart. Charlie stared at me, his eyes showing no tears, no plea for mercy, only the weary expectation of the world's judgment. I was about to pull it out when I stopped. Let him keep it, a voice seemed to whisper.
"It must have fallen off before I got here," I told the children. "I'll probably find it back at the depot." Without a word, Charlie returned to his seat. He didn't glance at me when he got off. That summer, he moved away.
Years later, I had retired. A dozen years after retirement, while in a Kansas City department store, I heard a tentative voice say, "Polly?" I turned to see a balding man approaching middle age. His face was unfamiliar until I noticed his big gray eyes. It was Charlie.
He told me he was living in Montana and doing well. Then, to my surprise, he hugged me. After letting go, he pulled something from his pocket: an old, bent key chain with faded lettering. It was the little tin heart that read, "I love Polly and Polly loves me."
"You were the only one who kept trying," he explained. We hugged again and went our separate ways. I was so happy I had done a good job.
中文翻译
做了20年全职妻子和母亲后，孩子们都长大了，我决定找一份兼职工作让自己忙碌起来。我选择去开校车。
在我开校车的第四个年头，九月，查理开始坐我的车。他八岁，金发，有着水晶般清澈的灰眼睛。当其他孩子叽叽喳喳讲述他们的暑假时，查理完全不理我，甚至我问他名字时也不回答。
从那天起，查理就成了一个持续的挑战。如果有打架或有人扔纸团，我知道很可能与查理有关。无论我对他说话多么温柔或坚定，他都保持沉默，只是用他那双灰色的大眼睛盯着我。
我了解到查理的父亲去世了，他也不和母亲住在一起。我相信他值得我的耐心，于是尽我所能地保持耐心。我愉快的问候遭遇沉默；我的节日祝福换来嗤笑。我常常思索如何能触及他的内心，但始终坚信他需要温暖。当他经过时，我会弄乱他的头发或拍拍他的胳膊。
临近学年结束时，孩子们送给我一个小奖杯，上面刻着“致有史以来最好的校车司机”。我把它支在仪表盘上，并在上面挂了一个小女孩给我的小锡心，上面用红漆写着：“我爱波莉，波莉爱我。”
在学期倒数第二天，我和校长谈话耽搁了几分钟。回到车上时，我发现那个锡心不见了。“有人知道那个小心脏怎么了吗？”我问。这一次，载着39个孩子的巴士陷入了寂静。
一个男孩大声说：“查理第一个上车的。我打赌是他拿的。”其他孩子也附和：“对！是查理干的！搜他身！”
我问查理是否看到了。“我不知道你在说什么，”他抗议道，站起来从口袋里掏出几枚硬币和一个小球，“看，我没有。”
“检查他的口袋！”送我心形饰物的女孩坚持道。
当我让查理上前时，他怒目而视。他的目光灼烧着我。我把手伸进他一个口袋——什么都没有。然后，在另一个口袋里，我摸到了那个小锡心熟悉的轮廓。查理盯着我，眼中没有泪水，没有求饶，只有对世界审判的疲惫预期。我正要把它拿出来时，停住了。让他留着吧，一个声音似乎在低语。
“它一定是在我来之前就掉下来了，”我告诉孩子们，“我可能能在车场找到它。”查理一言不发地回到座位。下车时，他看都没看我一眼。那年夏天，他搬走了。
多年后，我退休了。退休十几年后，在堪萨斯城的一家百货公司，我听到一个试探的声音说：“波莉？”我转身看到一个头发稀疏、接近中年的男人。他的脸很陌生，直到我注意到他那双灰色的大眼睛。是查理。
他告诉我他住在蒙大拿州，过得很好。然后，令我惊讶的是，他拥抱了我。松开后，他从口袋里掏出一样东西：一个旧的、变形的钥匙链，上面的字迹已经褪色。正是那个写着“我爱波莉，波莉爱我”的小锡心。
“你是唯一一个不断尝试的人，”他解释道。我们再次拥抱，然后各奔东西。我为自己做了一件好事而感到无比欣慰。