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A group of Haitians make a tricky connection with our bus 15 blocks away from the station. Their cross-town bus invariably arrives at the changeover point later than we do. But our Haitian friends have such a sense of fun -- even early on Sunday morning -- that we hate to leave the meeting point without them. When they are all aboard, we chuckle and nod. Who needs words -- or names -- when you can speak from the heart?
一群海地人要在离车站有15个街区远的地方转乘我们的汽车。他们乘坐的穿越市区的公共汽车总是比我们晚到换乘地点，但我们的海地朋友们实在是太有意思了——甚至在周日清早也是如此——所以我们都不愿意不等他们就离开集合地点。等他们全都上车了，我们都含笑点头。当你能发自内心地交流时，难道谁还会需要语言——或者姓名吗？
For many months, our only sadness lay in our inability to establish the same rapport with the silent woman at the front of the bus. Then, one evening, we went to a fish restaurant located on our bus route. We were shown to a table alongside someone sitting alone, huddled in an overcoat that we recognized before we saw the owner's face. It was the woman from the bus.
好多个月的时间，我们唯一伤心的事是不能和坐在车前部的那个沉默的女人建立起同样的融洽关系。后来，一天晚上，我们去了一家在公车路线上的鱼餐厅。侍者领我们到了一张桌子旁，旁边的桌子有一个人独坐着，蜷在外套里。我们还没看到外套主人的脸就认出了那件外套。这正是公共汽车上的那个女人。
We greeted her with the friendly familiarity we had shown all year, but this time -- like ice floes unlocking in April -- her face softened into a gleam of recognition, then a shy smile. When she spoke, the words escaped awkwardly from lips stiffened by a speech impediment. All at once we realized why she hadn't spoken to us before. Talking was hard for her.
我们跟她打招呼，用我们一整年来表现出的那种友好和亲切，但这一次——像冰原在四月间融化一般——她的脸色变得柔和，因为认出我们而发出光彩，然后羞涩地微笑了一下。她开口说话时，话语从因为言语障碍而绷得紧紧的嘴唇里笨拙地流出来。突然之间，我们明白了她以前为什么不跟我们说话：说话对她而言是件难事。
Over dinner, we learned the story of a single mother with a disabled son who was receiving special care away from home. She missed him desperately, she explained.
在用餐的过程中，我们得知了一位单身母亲和一个离家接受特别护理的残疾儿子的故事。她想他，想得要命，她解释说。
I love him ... and he loves me, even though he doesn't express it very well, she murmured haltingly. "Lots of us have that problem, don't we? We don't say what we want to say, what we should be saying. And that's not good enough."
“我爱他……他也爱我，虽然他表达得不太好，”她结结巴巴地小声说。“我们很多人都有这个问题，不是吗？我们不说想说的话、该说的话。这样可不够好。”
On Sundays she rode the bus all morning -- same seat, same route, in and out -- simply for the companionship of the driver whose name she didn't know, but who appreciated the hot drinks she unfailingly provided.
星期天，她整个上午都坐在公共汽车上——同样的座位，同样的路线，反反复复——只为司机的陪伴，她甚至都不知道司机的姓名，但司机很感激她一如既往从不落空提供的热乎乎的饮料。
The bus ride was the best thing she did all week, she said. An occasional visit to the fish restaurant was a close second. "And this time I'm sharing it with f-f-f-friends," she added.
坐这趟公交车是她整个星期里最美好的一件事，她说。其次就是偶尔光顾一下鱼餐厅。“而这次，我是和朋——朋——朋友们一起分享。”她加了一句。
The candles flared on our tables, which were close enough to be one. Our fish had never tasted better. The night lengthened and grew cozy, and when we parted as friends -- we shared names.
烛光在我们桌上摇曳着，两张桌子紧挨一起，简直就像一张。我们的鱼吃起来从来没有这么美味可口。这个夜晚持续了很久，变得很温暖，我们告别时已成了朋友——这一次我们交换了姓名。
