美国故事 SENEWS-2006-0923-Feature

The snow kept coming down, quietly, ghostlike, covering the land deeper and deeper. It seemed as if it would go on forever. It was the first snowfall of the year. Billy looked through the kitchen window. He felt like diving into the snow and burying himself in its softness.
"Billy," his mother shouted, she was standing 1 at his side but had to raise her voice because he was not listening.
"Do you have to call me Billy?"
"I meant Bill," his mother answered quickly, "I forgot how close you're to being a man. Go help pa with the fence 2."

Billy started out toward 3 the fence. That was the story of his life, fixing this, fixing that. He walked slowly. The falling snow had a strange power, a power that did not seem real. It was like magic. Billy wanted to keep going, wishing there was no fence to reach or to fix. And then suddenly, out across the fields he went, he did not know what he was doing, he liked to help his father, but he kept thinking that at home he would never be more than a boy with small jobs to do. He crossed the frozen 4 creek 5 and then walked up into the hills when he came down into the flat lands. He began to run, racing 6 against the whole world.

Then he saw his friend Joey standing near his father's barn 7 with a pail 8 in his hand.
"What's gotten into you?" Joey asked.
"I just feel good. That's all."
"You look kind of funny," Joey said. Billy wiped his hot face with snow. "I don't think I ever feel so good."

Joey said he was going to the town hall for music and dancing. Billy went with him. The town hall was on a hill, between two long valleys. As they drove 9 up, they heard music coming out of the hall. Inside the hall, the air was sweet and warm. Some of the girls smiled at Billy in a funny way. He could not tell if the smiles were friendly or not. He turned back to the door and decided 10 to stand there for a moment and then go, there was too much noise inside.
"You're standing right in the cold." Someone said to him. It was one of the Joey's cousins Sheila. Sheila something or other, she lived in the next town. Billy didn't even know her last name.
"Oh," he said, his face getting red. He moved a little.
"You're still in it." She said. Bill looked at her. She was sort of pretty with long black hair and blue-green eyes. But Billy wished she would go away.

"It's only fresh air," he said, "go pick on somebody else."
"I'm not picking on you. I'm trying to help you. That's what."
"Too many things they're helping 11 when there're none." Billy said.
She studied him. "Well," she said, "that's true." Then, she smiled. "You don't like it in here, do you?"
"I feel better outside," he answered. Without thinking Billy said, "Look! Would you like to go out just for a few minutes?"
She turned her head away then said, "I'll get my coat."

Outside, they stood in the snow looking at the lighted windows of the hall. She walked quietly beside him, a stranger in white coat, shoes and gloves. He could still hear the music from the hall, but it was part of the snowfall. It seemed to be made not for dancers but for walkers. It seemed strange and wonderful that there should be someone so near him.

Suddenly he asked, "Did you say something?"
"No," she said, "did you?"
He shook his head.
"What do you think about when you walk like this?" she said.
"Oh, different things. What I like to do and never can, it's daydreaming 12 I guess."
"Yes," she said, "I do that, too."
The snow seemed to be falling faster now and the music from the hall was gone. From far below came the sound of bells followed by a few coughs from an old car. Then there was just silence as if the snow had cut off all the sounds of the world. Billy looked at her white coat and hat beside him. They belong to that world of wonder, that world of magic that was born with the first snowfall. He touched her hat.

"What're you doing?"
"I don't know," he said, "I just…", he stopped.
There was nothing real but the snow. Even the whiteness of her coat and hat seemed to come from the snow. He turned around; all signs of the world were gone.
"We are the only two in the world left," he said.
"Is that why you touched my hat?"
He said nothing. But then in a rush of words, bravely he said, "Maybe I wanted to kiss you."
She laughed. "I wouldn't let you," she said, "I don't like kissing."
"I don't either," he said.
"Oh, well, that's a good thing, because she wouldn't really be able to."
"Why not?"
"I'm too strong for you," she said.
"So that's what you think. You're wrong. If I really wanted to, I guess I could do alright."
"Dreamer!" She gave him a push and ran back toward the hall, before he knew it he was after her, he had caught her. Laughing she pushed him and down they went into the snow. He expected her to let him kiss her now. That's what often happened in the stories he read. Why would she laugh if her struggle against him were real? But she did not let him. She fought him as if she wanted to hurt him, wanted to make him feel small.

"You're a child," she said, pulling away from him.
I should let her go, he thought. But he held on to her until he felt that he could hold on forever. He wanted to hold on forever. It was really a simple thing to hug a girl he thought. Her hat had been pushed off and the snow shining on her dark hair, he now felt a strange gentleness for her. As she looked angrily at him, her face red and full of fight, he told himself that it was not the right moment to kiss her. However, he tried to kiss her anyway, more in pride than anything else but he missed her mouth. He still held on as the snow light and cool as a fresh white sheet began to cover them. She was getting tired. She was looking at him differently now with less anger. And he tried to kiss her again. This time he did not miss her mouth and met hers fully 13. Had she moved to meet him? He did not know. In his daydreams 14, success had always lifted him up. People cheered him. But being able to kiss her was a different kind of success. He did not feel lifted up, there were no cheers 15 and there was no fire in his blood as some of his dreams made him believe there would be, instead he felt something else. He looked at the small hat in the snow, and that the small wet face of one who was not strong enough. He felt sorry for her. This feeling was new to him. He wondered how such a feeling could be part of another feeling that seemed so good. Very gently, Billy kissed her a third time. Then he let her go and they stood up. He picked up her hat and put it on her head. They began to walk back toward the hall.

The music came to them again as light as the snow that had covered down. As they walked, her hand touched his. She didn't mean to do it. Her touch was just another part of what now seemed to be a world of light and gentle things.

"Do you want to go back in the hall?" she asked, her voice was low. She no longer looked so strong.
"I guess not," he answered, "are you going in?"
"I'd better," she answered, "I came with friends. I'll see you again, won't I? "
Her question surprised him, he had not thought about seeing her again, he was still lost in a dream thinking of the day's happenings, feeling the wonder and excitement of newborn things, like the first snowfall, the first spring flowers, the first feelings of growing up becoming a man.

Billy heard her asked again, "I'll see you again, won't I?"
He shook his head.
"You mean I won't?" she asked.
"I mean you will." he answered.
She smiled and went inside.
He began walking along the road toward the valley. The snowfall seemed to be stopping but he believed that it would last until he got home.

You have just heard the American story "Light and Gentle Things". It was written by William S for the New England magazine called Yankee. Our narrator 16 was Shep O'Neal. For VOA Special English, this is Susan Clark.