I glanced at the kitchen table and sureenough-right under a small， frameddrawing on the wall-was a freshly bakedpeach pie.
I heard her sing when I opened thedoor but did not want to interrupt thebeautiful song by yelling I had arrived， so Ijust tiptoed to the living room. I looked athow her still-lean body bent beautifully，her arms greeting the sunlight that waspouring through the window. And herlegs…...Those legs that had stiffly walked，aided with a cane， insensible shoes aslong as I could remember. Now she waswearing beautiful dancing shoes and herlegs obeyed her perfectly. No limping. Nostiffness. Just beautiful， fluid motion. Shewas the pet of the dancing world. And thenshed had her accident and it was all over. Idelicious peach pie.
“So...” I blurted， “How did your leg heal？”
“To tell you the truth-my legs have beenwell all my life，” she said.
“But I dont understand！” I said， “Yourdancing career...I mean...You pretended all theseyears？”
“Very much so，” Grandmother closed her eyesand savored the peach pie， “And for a very goodreason.”
“What reason？”
“Your grandfather.”
“You mean he told you not to dance？”
“No， this was my choice. I am sure I wouldhave lost him if I had continued dancing. Iweighed fame and love against each other and lovewon.”
She thought for a while and then continued.
“We were talking about engagement when yourgrandfather had to go to war. It was the mosthorrible day of my life when he left. I was soafraid of losing him， the only way I could staysane was to dance. I put all my energy and timeinto practicing-and I became very good. Criticspraised me， the public loved me， but all I couldfeel was the ache in my heart， not knowing whetherthe love of my life would ever return. Then I wenthome and read and re-read his letters until I fellasleep. He always ended his letters with You are myJoy. I love you with my life and after that he wrotehis name. And then one day a letter came. Therewere only three sentences： I have lost my leg. Iam no longer a whole man and now give you backyour freedom. It is best for you to forget me. ”
had read that in an old newspaperclipping.
She turned around in a slowpirouette and saw me standing inthe doorway. Her song ended， andher beautiful movements with it，so abruptly that it felt like beingshaken awake from a beautifuldream. The sudden silence rangin my ears. Grandma looked somuch like a kid caught with herhand in a cookie jar that I couldnthelp myself， and a slightly nervouslaughter escaped. Grandma sighedand turned towards the kitchen.
I followed her， not believing myeyes. She was walking with nodifficulties in her beautiful shoes.
We sat down by the table andcut ourselves big pieces of her“I made my decision there and then.
I took my leave， and traveled away fromthe city. When I returned I had boughtmyself a cane and wrapped my leg tightlywith bandages. I told everyone I had beenin a car crash and my leg would nevercompletely heal again. My dancing dayswere over. No one suspected the story-I had learned to limp convincingly beforeI returned home. And I made sure thefirst person to hear of my accident wasa reporter I knew well. Then I traveledto the hospital. They had pushed yourgrandfather outside in his wheelchair.
There was a cane on the ground by hiswheelchair. I took a deep breath， leaned onmy cane and limped to him.”
By now I had forgotten about the pieand listened to grandma， mesmerized.
“What happened then？” I hurried her whenshe took her time eating some pie.
“I told him he was not the only onewho had lost a leg， even if mine was stillattached to me. I showed him newspaperclippings of my accident. So if you thinkIm going to let you feel sorry for yourselffor the rest of your life， think again. Thereis a whole life waiting for us out there！ Idont intend to be sorry for myself. But Ihave enough on my plate as it is， so youdbetter snap out of it too. And I am notgoing to carry you-you are going to walkyourself. ” Grandma giggled， a surprisinglygirlish sound coming from an old lady withwhite hair.
“I limped a few steps toward himand showed him what Id taken out of mypocket. Now show me you are still a man，
I said， I wont ask again. He bent to takehis cane from the ground and struggled outof that wheelchair. I could see he had notdone it before， because he almost fell onhis face， having only one leg. But I was notgoing to help. And so he managed it on hisown and walked to me and never sat in awheelchair again in his life.”
“What did you show him？” I had toknow. Grandma looked at me and grinned.
“Two engagement rings， of course. I hadbought them the day after he left for thewar and I was not going to waste them onany other man.”
I looked at the drawing on the kitchenwall， sketched by my grandfathers handso many years before. The picture becamedistorted as tears filled my eyes. “Youare my Joy. I love you with my life.” Imurmured quietly. The young woman inthe drawing sat on her park bench andwith twinkling eyes smiled broadly at me，an engagement ring carefully drawn on herfinger.
爱只是一根线
有时候，我真的很怀疑父母之间是否有真爱存在。每天他们都忙着赚钱，缴纳我和弟弟的高额学费。他们从没有像我在书上读到，或在电视里看到的那样有些浪漫的举动。在他们的观念中，“我爱你”这样的话太过矫情，难以说出口，更别说在情人节这样的日子互送玫瑰花了。我爸爸的脾气不好，繁重的工作使他非常疲惫，也很容易失去耐心。
一天，我妈妈正在缝被子，我静静地坐在她身边，看着她。
“妈妈，我想问你个问题。”不久后，我问道。
“什么？”她没有停下手里的活儿，回答道。
“你和爸爸之间有爱情吗？”我轻声地问道。
妈妈停下手里的活儿，抬起头，一脸诧异的表情。她没有马上回答，只是低下头，继续缝被子。
我担心这句话伤害了她，正满心愧疚，不知道该怎么办。这时，我听见妈妈认真地说道：
“苏珊，你看看这些线。有时候它会显现，但大多数时候它都隐藏在被子里。这些线使得被子变得持久耐用。如果说，生活就像一床被子，那么爱情就是这根丝线。它不会随时随地地显现，但它却真真切切地存在着。爱是内在的。”
我仔细地聆听着，却没有懂得她的真意，直到第二年春天。那个时候，我的爸爸突然病得很严重，妈妈只好在医院里照顾他。一个多月后，他们从医院里回家来，脸色都显得很苍白，好像两人都得了一场重病。
他们回来后，每天清晨或黄昏，妈妈都会搀着爸爸，漫步在那条乡间小路上。爸爸似乎从来没有这么温和过，他们像一对最和谐的夫妻，沿着那条满是漂亮野花、绿草和树木的小路行走。阳光穿过树叶的罅隙，映射在地面上。这一切组成了世界上最美好的画面。
医生说，爸爸应该能在两个月后康复，但两个月后，他仍然无法独立行走。我们都很担心他。
“爸爸，你现在感觉怎么样？”一天，我这样问道。
“苏珊，别担心我。”他温和地对我说，“我告诉你真相吧，我只是喜欢和你妈妈一起散步而已，我喜欢这种生活。”我从他的眼睛里，看到了他对妈妈最深沉的爱。
我曾经以为，爱就意味着鲜花、礼物和甜蜜的吻。但从这个时候起，我懂得了，如果说生活如被子，爱便如其中的丝线，爱是内在的，让我们的生活更加温暖而美好。
Love Is Just a Thread