他找到了圣诞节
大卫·多依格 著 李雪顺 译
火车向北驶出密尔沃基后，迈克尔·史蒂尔才发现，天上开始下雪了。天气预报提前发出过预警，说圣诞节前后要下一场大雪，所以他才决定不驾车回家。父母留给他的乡间小房子没有车库，而且，他也不想刨雪取车。
他用手挠了挠自己的卷曲短发。当然，他也不想一个人孤零零地呆在城里。自从他和玛丽安一致认为，他们的关系终将无果之后——他提醒自己，或者说，其实是玛丽这么认为——好心的朋友们就邀请他参加各种晚宴和鸡尾酒会，他的日程表因此总是排得满满的。他只得逃离即将到来的宴会堆。不管孤独与否，他至少可以回到一个还算是小镇的地方，去感受一下老式的圣诞气息。
他从火车站步行到了乡间小房子。小房子有一间宽敞的客厅、两间小卧室和一间大餐室。他的脚踩在厨房的地砖上，发出铃铛一样响亮的声音。
他打开温控器后，看了看冰箱的冷冻室，现成的东西提不起他的任何兴趣。在那间以美食著称的康巴斯餐馆，他或许能碰上某个熟人。他如果出现在那个地方，他们将会感到非常开心，而且会见到很多熟面孔。
他去木柴棚子抱了些木棍，准备回家后好好地生一堆火。等他朝着餐馆的方向出发时，雪已经停了。一轮满月正在冉冉升起，月光照在光秃秃的树枝上，充满了神秘的气息。他想起小时候，这样的景象让他这个小男孩感到欣喜若狂，好像那个月亮和那些亮闪闪的积雪就是圣诞魔法的揭幕人。可现在，对年届三十的他来说，圣诞魔法只是一种记忆。
康巴斯餐馆里很暖和，人也很多，不过，立体声音响里传出的是舒缓的莫扎特乐曲。他吃完了羔羊排，正准备结账，一位年迈的尊者蹒跚地走到了迈克尔的桌子边上。“你又从大城市回来啦！”他手里端着一杯白兰地，坐下来问道。“还在卖报吗？”
“没卖报了，”迈克尔回答道。“我专门给其中一家撰稿。他们给我放了圣诞假。”
“好呀，这儿总比那个交通拥挤的城市要好。”
老人还在说些什么，不过，几分钟后，迈克尔离开了餐馆。
他走出餐馆才发现，月亮已经躲到了云层背后，零零星星的雪花正在不停地撒向路面。他听见了远处传来的圣诞合唱。声音来自商业区背后那座灯火通明的教堂。迈克尔走近时，看见了一块用小泛光灯照着的告示牌，上面写道：“圣诞颂歌仪式。学校唱诗班。12月23日晚7:30。欢迎光临。”
他停下脚步，拿不定主意。他已经有很长时间没进过教堂了。圣诞颂歌预示了就要到来的圣诞魔法，就像他很小的时候看见过的那片穿过树林的月光。他走上了铺着石板的小路。教堂很小，一多半的座位上都有人坐着——他估计，坐着的主要是唱诗班那40多个孩子的父母亲。
The man who found Christmas
By David Doig
There’s a magic to going home again and sometimes, if you’re lucky, a promise of new love...
After the train headed north out of Milwaukee, Michael Steel saw it was beginning to snow. The weather forecast had warned of a heavy fall for Christmas and he had decided against driving. The cottage his parents had left him had no garage and he didn’t relish the idea of digging out a buried car.
he ran his fingers through his short curly hair. He certainly hadn’t relished the idea of staying in the city either. Since he and Marianne had decided their relationship really wasn’t going anywhere—or rather, he reminded himself, she had decided—well-meaning friends had invited him to more dinners and cocktail parties than anyone’s calendar could accommodate. He had to escape the approaching riot of holiday parties, and, lonely or not, he would at least be savoring an old-fashioned Christmas in what still remained a small town.
He walked from the station to the cottage, which consisted of a spacious living room, two small bedrooms, and a large dining room. His feet seemed to ring loudly on the tiled kitchen floor.
He turned the thermostat up and examined the contents of the freezer but had no heart for anything on hand. Perhaps some kindred company could be found at The Compass, a restaurant well-known for its attractive food. They would be glad to see him there and there would be familiar faces.
He went to the woodshed and brought in more logs for a cheerful fire when he got home. It had stopped snowing by the time he set off for the restaurant. A full moon was rising and its light shone mysteriously between the bare tree branches. He remembered how this had excited him as a small boy, as if the moon and the glistening snow were a curtain-raiser for the magic of Christmas. Now, almost 30, he had only a memory of that magic.
The Compass was warm and crowded, but there was the gentle sound of Mozart on the stereo. He had finished his lamb chop and was paying the check when an ancient worthy limped over to Michael’s table. “So you’re back from the big city again!” He was holding a brandy glass and sat down. “Still selling newspapers?”
“Not selling them,” Michael replied. “Just writing for one of them. I’m taking a break for Christmas.
“Well, better here than down there in all that traffic.”
The man went on, but after several minutes’ conversation Michael took his leave.
Outside, the moon had gone behind clouds and a few lazy snowflakes were settling on the road. He could hear some distant choir singing. It was coming from a brightly lit church set back from the shopping area. As Michael approached he could see a notice board lit by a small floodlight. It read, Carol Service. School choir. December 23rd 7:30 P.M. All Welcome.
He stopped, undecided. It was a long time since he had been in a church. But carols exuded some hint of impending magic, like the moonlight through the trees when he was very young. He walked up the flagstone path. It was a small church and most of the pews were full—mainly, he guessed, with parents of the 40 or more children who made up the choir.