我现在知道，35年前那个炎热夏夜和我坐在破旧的木楼梯上的老人并不高大，但对一个5岁的孩子来说，他却是一个巨人。我们并排坐着，看着太阳落在繁忙的街对面那个老德克萨克加油站的背后。除非有大人或至少一个哥哥或姐姐陪着，我从未被允许穿过那条街。
从祖父烟斗里喷出的白色烟雾在我们脑袋周围上下旋绕，它们散发的樱桃香味使贪婪的蚊子不敢靠近。他不时地喷出一串烟圈，在我试着将手指插入烟圈时他放声大笑。我穿着凉爽的小睡衣，祖父穿着他的无袖T恤，坐在那儿观看繁忙的交通。我们数着过往的车辆，并猜想着下一辆拐过街角的汽车的颜色。
我又一次陷于两头都够不上的中间境遇，作为6个孩子中的老四，很多事情对于我来说不是因为年龄太小，就是太大而不合适。那天夜里就是这样。我的两个小兄弟在屋里睡觉，我的另外3个长兄和姐姐在拐角与小伙伴们玩，而我是不允许去那里的。我与祖父呆在一起，这也挺好，正是我想呆的地方。在父母和祖母外出时，祖父就在家看孩子。
"渴吗？"祖父烟斗不离口地问我。
"是的。"我回答说。"跑到街对面的加油站去给你自己买瓶可乐怎么样？"
我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵，我没有听错吧？他是在跟我说话吗？就我们家微薄的收入来说，可乐不是我们家庭开销的一部分。我只是迫不及待地啜过几小口，从来没有自己喝过一瓶。
"好的。"我害羞地回答说，已经在想着该怎样穿过马路，祖父当然会跟我一块。
祖父将他的长腿伸直，把他的大手伸进口袋。我能听到零钱相碰而发出的熟悉的丁当声，他总是把这些零钱带在身上。他张开手，露出了一堆宝贝似的银币。那里面一定有100万美元！他让我拿出一个1角的硬币。把零钱放回口袋后，他站了起来。
"好吧，"他说，帮着我下楼梯到马路沿儿那儿去，"我站在这儿，听着屋里的两个孩子有没有动静，什么时候穿过马路安全，我会告诉你的。你到对面的可乐机那儿买到你的可乐后再走回来。等着我告诉你什么时候过马路安全。"
我的心砰砰地跳着，紧紧地用汗手攥着那枚1角的硬币，兴奋地喘不上气来。
祖父紧紧地拉着我的手，我们一块看了看大街的前后左右。他走下马路沿儿，告诉我现在可以过去了。他放开我的手，我跑了起来。我从没有跑得这么快过。街道似乎很宽，我怀疑自己是否能跑到对面。跑到对面后，我回头寻找祖父，他正站在我离开他的地方，为我自豪地微笑着。我朝他挥了挥手。
"接着走，快点。"他喊道。
我的心砰砰乱跳着走进昏暗的修车站。我以前曾和父亲一块来过这里，对周围的一切都很熟悉。甚至在看见可口可乐机之前就听到了其马达发出的嗡嗡声。我径直走向那台红白相间的巨大的老自动售货机。我知道该往哪儿插硬币，我曾看人做过并曾多次幻想有一天我也能亲身试一试。
那个老巨人贪婪地吞下我的硬币，我听见了瓶子移动的声音。我踮起脚尖伸手摸索着打开了它厚重的门。它们就在那儿！一排整齐的深绿色瓶子，瓶颈一个挨一个地凝视着我，冰箱里散发出冰冷的气息。我用肩膀顶着门，伸手抓住一个，迅速一拉，将它从捆绑中拉了出来，另一个立即占据了它的位置。瓶子在我汗浸浸的手中显得格外冰凉，我永远忘不了冰凉的瓶子接触我皮肤时的感觉。我两手抓住瓶子，将瓶颈放在固定的墙上的厚铜开瓶器下，瓶盖立即掉在一个老木箱里，我伸手将它捡了出来，感觉好凉，中间已经弯曲，但我知道我需要拥有这个纪念品。手拿可乐，我自豪地走回到外面，已是黄昏时分。祖父正耐心地等待着，并面带微笑。
"停在那儿，"一两辆车在我面前飞驶而过，祖父再次走下马路沿儿，"现在过来，"他说，"跑过来！"我跑了起来，冰凉的棕色泡沫溅在我的手上。"别再一个人独自过马路！"他警告我。我紧紧地抱着可乐瓶，生怕他让我把可乐倒在杯子里，毁掉我的梦想。他没有。我咕噜噜长长地吞下一口冰凉的可乐，冒汗的身体顿觉清爽无比。我认为自己再也没有过当时那样的自豪。
Promise
诺言
My grandfather had a small farm where he raised beef and some grain1 for feed. He also worked diligently2 as a factory laborer and country pastor3. He was a good neighbor and well respected for honoring his word.
When the harvest-time came， he’d piece together his old one-row corn picker and oil it up for the season. He pulled it behind a little Ford tractor with a wagon hooked4on the back. It was a noisy contraption5unlike the modern machines you see these days devouring6 the golden armies of grain in wide gulps. His whole operation was like that. Ba－sic. In fact， his life was like that， too. He worked hard， helped others and you could count on7 him to keep his promises. That’s what made it so hard one autumn when difficult cir－cumstances closed in on him.
He had promised to harvest a few ribbons8of corn that wound around the hills on a friend’s farm， but after harvesting his own corn， grandpa’s little corn picker coughed， sputtered9 and quit. It would be out of commission until a partic－ular part could be ordered， but that would take far too long to help this year. Then the odds of being able to help out his neighbor got even worse； the factory where grandpa worked began to require overtime. In order to keep his job there， he had to leave the farm before dawn and didn’t get home until well after sunset.
One autumn night， while harvest time was running out， he and his wife sat at the kitchen table sipping10 bit－ter black coffee trying to figure a way out of their dilem－ma11. “There’s nothing you can do，” said my grandma.“You’ll just have to tell him that you can’t help with the corn this year.” “Well that just doesn’t sit well with me，” said my grandpa. “My friend is depending on me. I can’t exactly let my neighbor’s harvest rot12 in the field， can I？” “If you don’t have the equipment， you just can’t do it，” she said. “Well， I could do it the way we used to do it. I could harvest it by hand，” he said. “When do you think you’d have time to do it？” She asked. “With the overtime you’ve been working you’d be up all night...besides it’d be too dark.” “I know one night that I could do it！” he said running to the bookshelf. He grabbed13 the Farmer Almanac14 and started flipping15 through the pages until he found what he was looking for.“Aha！ There’s still one more full moon in October.” As it happened， the harvest moon had not yet to pass. They say it’s called the harvest moon because it gives farmers more light and more time to collect their crops.“If the Lord gives us clear weather， I think I can do it.” he said.
And so a few days later， after a long shift16 at the factory， my grandpa made his way to the field where my grandma met him in the truck with dinner and a steaming17 thermos18 of strong， black coffee. The weather was cold but clear， and the moon was brilliant. He worked through the night to keep his word.
I know this story well， because I’ve spent hours on that old tractor’s fender19 talking with my grandpa. We’ve even suffered through some of that same bitter coffee to－gether. I’m proud to say that my parents named me after him.
Sometimes， when I’m tempted20 to cut corners or to put off responsibilities， I think of my grandfather with his scythe21 cutting wide arcs of corn in the light of the harvest moon. I hear the ears of corn hit the floor of the wagon and the music of geese cross－ing the cold October sky. The chill autumn morning darkness envelopes22 my mind and I see my grandpa， his work finally done， crawl－ing23 into the seat of the old tractor and making his way home. Behind him in the pale moon－light， row after row of corn shocks stand at at－tention in respect for a man who keeps his word.
我爷爷有一个小农场，他在那里养牛，也种一些粮食。同时他还是一家工厂的工人和一个乡村牧师。无论做什么他都兢兢业业。他和邻里的关系处得很好，由于信守诺言而很受人尊敬。
