006

Sometimes I really doubt whether there is love between my parents. Every day they are very busy trying to earn money in order to pay the high tuition for my brother and me. They don’t act in the romantic ways that I read in books or I see on TV. In their opinion, “I love you” is too luxurious for them to say. Sending flowers to each other on Valentine’s Day is even more out of the question. Finally my father has a bad temper. When he’s very tired from the hard work, it is easy for him to lose his temper.

One day, my mother was sewing a quilt. I silently sat down beside her and looked at her.

“Mom, I have a question to ask you,” I said after a while.

“What?” she replied, still doing her work.

“Is there love between you and Dad?” I asked her in a very low voice.

My mother stopped her work and raised her head with surprise in her eyes. She didn’t answer immediately. Then she bowed her head and continued to sew the quilt.

I was very worried because I thought I had hurt her. I was in a great embarrassment and I didn’t know what I should do. But at last I heard my mother say the following words:

“Susan,” she said thoughtfully, “Look at this thread.Sometimes it appears, but most of it disappears in the quilt. The thread really makes the quilt strong and durable. If life is a quilt, then love should be a thread. It can hardly be seen anywhere or anytime, but it’s really there. Love is inside.”

I listened carefully but I couldn’t understand her until the next spring. At that time, my father suddenly got sick seriously. My mother had to stay with him in the hospital for a month. When they returned from the hospital, they both looked very pale. It seemed both of them had had a serious illness.

After they were back, every day in the morning and dusk, my mother helped my father walk slowly on the country road. My father had never been so gentle. It seemed they were the most harmonious couple. Along the country road, there were many beautiful flowers, green grass and trees. The sun gently glistened through the leaves. All of these made up the most beautiful picture in the world.

The doctor had said my father would recover in two months. But after two months he still couldn’t walk by himself. All of us were worried about him.

“Susan, don’t worry about me.” he said gently. “To tell you the truth, I just like walking with your mom. I like this kind of life.” Reading his eyes, I know he loves my mother deeply.

Once I thought love meant flowers, gifts and sweet kisses. But from this experience, I understand that love is just a thread in the quilt of our life. Love is inside, making life strong and warm..

Six minutes to six, said the clock over the information booth in New York’s Grand Central Station. The tall young Army lieutenant lifted his sunburned face and narrowed his eyes to note the exact time. His heart was pounding with a beat. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled such a special place in his life for the past 13 month, the woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had sustained him unfailingly.

Lieutenant Blandford remembered one day in particular, during the worst of the fighting, when his plane had been caught in the midst of a pack of enemy’s planes. In one of his letters he had confessed to her that he often felt fear, and only a few days before this battle he had received her answer: “Of course you fear…all brave men do. Next time you doubt yourself, I want you to hear my voice reciting to you: ‘yeah, though I walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will hear no evil: for thou art with me.’…” He had remembered, and it had renewed his strength.

Now he was going to hear her real voice. Four minutes to six.

A girl passed close to him, and Lieutenant Blandford started. She was wearing a flower, but it was not the little red rose they had agreed upon. Besides, this girl was only about 18, and Hollis Meynell had told him she was 30. “What of it?” he had answered. “I’m 32.” He was 29.

His mind went back to that book he had read in the training camp. Of Human Bondage it was; and throughout the book were notes in a woman’s handwriting. He had never believed that a woman could see into a man’s heart so tenderly, so understandingly. Her name was on the book plate: Hollis Meynell. He had got hold a New York City telephone book and found her address. He had written; she had answered. Next day he had been shipped out, but they had gone on writing.

For 13 months she had faithfully replied. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, and now he believed that he loved her and that she loved him.

But she had refused all his pleas to send him her photograph. She had explained:” If you’re feeling for me has any reality, what I look like won’t matter. Suppose I’m beautiful. I’d always been haunted by the feeling that you had been taking a chance on just that, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I’m plain ( and you must admit that this is more likely), then I’d always fear that you were only going on writing because you were lonely and had no one else. No, don’t ask for my picture. When you come to New York, you shall see me and then you shall make your decision.”

One minute to six…he put hard on a cigarette. Then Lieutenant Blandford’s heart leaped.

A young woman was coming towards him. Her figure was long and slim; her blond hair lay back in curls over her delicate ears. Her eyes were as blue as flowers, her lips and chin had a gentle firmness. In her pale-green suit, she was like springtime come alive.