Unit 1 Never Say Goodbye
When I was ten I was suddenly confronted with the anguish of moving from the only home I had ever known. My whole life, brief as it was, had been spent in that big old house, gracefully touched with the laughter and tears of four generations.
When the final day came, I ran to the haven of the small back porch and sat alone, shuddering, as tears welled up from my heart. Suddenly I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. I looked up to see my grandfather. "It isn't easy, is it, Billy?" he said softly, sitting down on the steps beside me.
"Grandpa," I replied through my tears, "how can I ever say goodbye to you and all my friends?"
    For a moment he just stared off into the apple trees. "Goodbye is such a sad word," he said. "It seems too final, too cold, for friends to use. We seem to have so many ways of saying goodbye and they all have one thing in common: sadness".
    I continued to look into his face. He gently took my hand in his. "Come with me, my friend," he whispered.
    We walked, hand in hand, to his favorite place in the front yard, where a huge red rosebush sat conspicuously alone.
    "What do you see here, Billy?" He asked.
    I looked at the flower, not knowing what to say, and then answered, "I see something soft and beautiful, Grandpa."
    Kneeling, he pulled me close. "It isn't just the roses that are beautiful, Billy. It's that special place in your heart that makes them so."
    His eyes met mine again. "Billy, I planted these roses a long, long time ago—before your mother was even a dream. I put them into the soil the day my first son was born. It was my way of saying thank-you to God. That boy's name was Billy, just like yours. I used to watch him pick roses for his mother."
    I saw my grandfather's tears. I had never seen him cry before. His voice became hoarse.
    "One day a terrible war came, and my son, like so many sons, went away to fight a great evil. He and I walked to the train station together ... Three months later a telegram came. My son had died in some tiny village in Italy. All I could think of was that the last thing I said to him in this life was goodbye."
    Grandpa slowly stood up. "Don't ever say goodbye, Billy. Don't ever give in to the sadness and the loneliness of that word. I want you to remember instead the joy and the happiness of those times when you first said hello to a friend. Take that special hello and lock it away within you—in that place in your heart where summer is an always time. When you and your friends must part, I want you to reach deep within you and bring back that first hello."
    A year and half later, my grandfather became gravely ill. When he returned from several weeks in the hospital, he wanted his bed next to the window, where he could see
his beloved rosebush.
    Then the family was summoned and I returned to the old house. It was decided that the oldest grandchildren would be allowed to say their goodbyes.
    When it came to my turn, I noted how tired he looked. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and hard.
    I took his hand as gently as he had once taken mine.
    "Hello, Grandpa," I whispered. His eyes slowly opened,
    "Hello, my friend," he said, with a brief smile. His eyes closed again and I moved on.
    I was standing by his rosebush when an uncle came to tell me that my grandfather had died. Remembering Grandpa's words, I reached deep within me for those special feelings that had made up our friendship. Suddenly, and truly, I knew what he had meant about never saying goodbye—about refusing to give in to the sadness.
     
永远不要说“再见”
十岁时，我突然面临着搬家的痛苦，要搬离我自小认识的、唯一的家。到那个时候为止，我简短的人生都是在那个古老的大房子里度过的。在那里，我们四世同堂，有过欢声笑语，也有过悲伤的印记。
那天终于到来的时侯，我跑到屋子后面的小门廊下——这里是我的避难所——独自一人坐在那里颤抖着，泪水从内心深处涌出。突然间，我感到有一只手放到我的肩上。我抬起头，看见了祖父。“不是那么容易啊，是不是，比利？”他柔声说道，坐在了我旁边的台阶上。
shudder“爷爷，”我流着泪答道，“可是，我怎么能够跟你，还有我所有的朋友说再见啊？”
他一直注视着远处的苹果树，“再见是多么令人悲伤的字眼，”他说，“对朋友们用这个词似乎太绝对、太冰冷了。好像我们有很多不同的道别方式，但他们有一个共同点，那就是悲伤。”
我继续看着他的脸，似乎想要从他的脸上读出些什么。他轻轻地把我的手放到他的手心里。“我的朋友，跟我来。”他轻声说。
我们手牵手走进前院里他最喜欢的地方，在那儿独自种着的一大丛红的玫瑰十分显眼。
“在这儿你看到了什么，比利？”他问道。
我看着那些花儿，不知道该说些什么。然后答道，“我看见了柔和美丽的东西，爷爷。”
他跪了下来，把我拉得更近，说道，“不仅仅是因为这些玫瑰本身的美丽，比利，是你内心的某个特别的地方，使得他们如此美丽。”
他的目光再次接触到我的。“比利，我很久很久以前就种下了这些玫瑰——那个时候甚至还没有你妈妈呢。在我的第一个儿子出生的那天，我把它们种到了土里。这是我在用自己的方式对上帝表达我的感激。那个男孩的名字叫做比利，和你一样。过去我常常看着他给他妈妈摘玫瑰花。”
我看见了祖父的眼泪。以前我从未见过他流泪。他的声音开始变得有些沙哑。
“有一天，可怕的战争爆发了。我的儿子，象许多其他人的儿子们一样，去与邪恶作战。他和我一起走到火车站。。。。。。三个月后，来了一封电报说，我的儿子战死在意大利的一个小村庄里。我所能想起的只有在他的生命中我跟他讲的最后一句话——再见。”

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