学进去

Twenty years ago, I drove a taxi for living. One night, I took a fare (出租车乘客) at 2:30 AM. When I arrived to collect, sanding on the side way was a small woman in her 80s with a big suitcase.

After I helped her into the taxi she gave me an address and asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It is not the shortest way,” I answered quickly. “I don’t mind,” She said, “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice (临终安养院).” I looked in the rear-view mirror (后视镜). Her eyes were wet. I quietly reached over and shut off he meter (计价器). “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newly married. She had me stop in front of a shabby house, where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she asked me to slow in front of a particular building and sat staring into the darkness, saying nothing. At last, she said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the destination. It was a grey low building.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked, reaching into her purse. “Nothing,” I said. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held on to me tightly and whispered a “Thank you”. I squeezed her hand and walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers, but drove aimlessly, lost in thought. What if that woman had come across an impatient driver? What if I had refused to drive through downtown? Great moments often catch us unaware, beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.