一個人的朝聖
by Rachel Joyce
這是一個值得你在某個孤單的夜晚，靜下心來細細品讀，靜靜思考的故事。
主人公哈羅德·弗萊，六十歲，在釀酒廠默默幹了幾十年，然後又默默退休，沒有升遷，也沒什麼朋友。他跟隔閡很深的妻子住在英國的鄉間，生活平淡，感情麻木。一天早上，他收到一封來自二十年未聯係的老朋友奎妮的來信。她患了癌症，寫信告別。震驚、悲痛之下，哈羅德寫了回信。在去寄信的路上，他由奎妮想到了自己的人生，不斷走過一個又一個郵筒，越走越遠。最後，他從英國的最西南一路走到了最東北，橫跨整個英格蘭，僅憑著一個“unlikely”信念：隻要他走，老友就會活下去！從他腳步邁開的那一刻起，與他六百多英裏旅程並行的，是他穿越時光隧道的另一場旅行。
人生應該怎麼過？或許沒多少人會好好思考這個問題。特別是在退休的年齡，隨隨便便地打發時間，直至壽終正寢的那天，似乎無可厚非。甚至有些人，在三四十歲的年紀，就已經守著一個自己並不怎麼熱衷的崗位，扳著手指算起退休日期了，日複一日，甘心過著一成不變的日子。偶然看到這個故事的時候，我匆匆瀏覽了第一章，之後卻忍不住追看了第二章、第三章……然後陷入一陣恐慌，仿佛看到自己正慢慢落入無數人都走不出的陷阱，即將麻木平庸地度過自己的餘生。生活的磨礪或許已然殘酷地展示了一個現實：我們資質平庸，無法成為偉人。但即便如此，我們還得試著去主宰自己的人生：隻要敢嚐試，我們總能活得跟以往不一樣！
Harold Fry took several sheets of 1）Basildon Bond from the sideboard drawer and one of Maureen’s rollerball pens. What did you say to a dying woman with cancer？ He wanted her to know how sorry he felt， but it was wrong to put In Sympathy because that was what the cards in the shops said after， as it were， the event； and anyway it sounded formal， as if he didn’t really care. He tried Dear Miss Hennessy， I sincerely hope your condition improves， but when he put down the pen to inspect his message， it seemed both stiff and unlikely. He 2）crumpled the paper into a ball and tried again. He had never been good at expressing himself. What he felt was so big it was difficult to find the words， and even if he could， it was hardly appropriate to write them to someone he had not contacted in twenty years. Had the shoe been on the other foot， Queenie would have known what to do.
It was time to stop worrying about expressing anything beautifully. He would simply have to set down the words in his head： Dear Queenie， Thank you for your letter. I am very sorry. Yours， Best wishes— Harold （Fry）. It was 3）limp， but there it was. Sliding the letter into an envelope， he sealed it quickly， and copied the address of St. Bernadine’s 4）Hospice onto the front. “I’ll nip to the postbox.”
It was past eleven o’clock. He lifted his waterproof jacket from the peg where Maureen liked him to hang it. At the door， the smell of warmth and salt air rushed at his nose， but his wife was at his side before his left foot was over the threshold.
“Will you be long？”
“I’m only going to the end of the road.”
She kept on looking up at him， with her moss-green eyes and her fragile chin， and he wished he knew what to say but he didn’t； at least not in a way that would make any difference. He longed to touch her like in the old days， to lower his head on her shoulder and rest there.“5）Cheerio， Maureen.” He shut the front door between them， taking care not to let it slam.
Spotting Harold， the next-door neighbor waved and steered his way toward the adjoining fence. Rex was a short man with tidy feet at the bottom， a small head at the top， and a very round body in the middle， causing Harold to fear sometimes that if he fell there would be no stopping him. He would roll down the hill like a barrel. Rex had been widowed six months ago， at about the time of Harold’s retirement. Since Elizabeth’s death， he liked to talk about how hard life was. He liked to talk about it at great length. “The least you can do is listen，”Maureen said， although Harold wasn’t sure if she meant“you” in the general sense or the particular.
“Off for a walk？” said Rex.
Harold attempted a 6）jocular tone that would act， he hoped， as an intimation that now was not the time to stop. “Need anything posted， old chap？”
“Nobody writes to me. Since Elizabeth passed away， I only get 7）circulars.”
Rex gazed into the middle distance and Harold recognized at once the direction the conversation was heading. He threw a look upward； puffs of cloud sat on a tissue-paper sky.“Jolly nice day.”
“Jolly nice，” said Rex. There was a pause and Rex poured a sigh into it. “Elizabeth liked the sun.” Another pause.
“Good day for mowing， Rex.”
“Very good， Harold. Do you 8）compost your grass cuttings？ Or do you 9）mulch？”
“I find mulching leaves a mess that sticks to my feet. Maureen doesn’t like it when I tread things into the house.” Harold glanced at his yachting shoes and wondered why people wore them when they had no intention of sailing.“Well， must get on. Catch the midday collection.”Wagging his envelope， Harold turned toward the pavement.