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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
“Did he say anything in the ambulance?” Roosevelt asks, eyeing the other
“Not much,” I say, lowering my voice. “He told the medics he was coming
out of that dump bar on Third Street when some Hispanic kid with big ears
pulled a gun and asked for his wallet. When he refused, the kid took the
wallet, pulled the trigger, shoved him into a red Jeep Cherokee, and dumped
him in the park where we found him.”
“Okay, so that’s a story. He’s not homeless. He just got robbed.”
I shake my head, still staring at the shirt’s snazzy black label. “People with
three-hundred-dollar shirts and four-hundred-dollar shoes don’t go into lowlife
bars on Third.”
“What’re you talking about? This is Florida. We got stupid rich people
everywhere. Besides, even if he’s out of place, doesn’t mean he’s out to—”
Roosevelt cuts himself off, watching me carefully. “Oh, you think this is like
Miss Deirdre, don’t you? No, no, boy. This is not Miss Deirdre.”
I’ve known Roosevelt for nearly six years. I first met him back when I was an
government’s Immigration and Customs Enforcement). I guarded the ports,
stopped terrorist and drug shipments from coming in, and, at least during my
jeans. Until I opened myself up, helped someone I shouldn’t have, and in one
trapdoor in my life.
“Cal, what happened with Miss Deirdre—”
“Can we please go back to my father’s shoes?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I know you, Cal. And I know it’s easier to
drive around with a van full of strangers where there’s no risk of any
emotional investment, but just because you got burned once by letting your
guard down doesn’t mean it’ll be the same here. Not everyone you care about
will eventually screw you.”
Back during my leap from grace, every newspaper reporter, community
leader, and government colleague took me out of their Rolodex. Roosevelt,
when he heard the story, invited me in. For that alone, I love him like a
brother. And while he knows what it’s like to be excommunicated from your
kingdom, unlike Roosevelt, I’m no longer waiting for someone to bring me
back inside.
Within a minute, I’ve combed through my dad’s shirt and pants pockets. All it
Nothing revealing. That is, until I toss the shirt and pants into the plastic
chair on my left and get my first good look inside his other shoe. I notice a
a stamp, but the way it’s tucked in there catches my eye, as if it’s hidden
under the leather.
I yank the insole. It comes right out, revealing what’s tucked underneath—
“What? Is it bad?” Roosevelt asks as I pull out a folded-up yellow sheet of
paper. As I go to unfold it, a small laminated card drops and clicks against the
floor. He hid this here instead of in his missing wallet. It’s got a photo of my
materials,” I say, reading from the back of the license.
but when I spot the familiar letterhead up top — Aw, crap.
He’s lucky they took away my gun.
7
“I don’t get it. He’s bringing in a shipment?”
“Not just a shipment. A four-ton metal container — y’know, like those ones
you see on the backs of trucks.”
“And that’s bad because . . . ?”
“Have you read this?” I say to Roosevelt, waving the yellow sheet of paper
that—
Roosevelt grabs my wrist and shoots me a look, which is when I notice that
half the emergency waiting room is staring our way. A cop in the corner, the
teenager on crutches . . . and a creepy older man with a moon chin, who’s
holding his arm like it’s broken but showing no signs of pain.
Roosevelt quickly stands up, and I follow him outside, under the overhang of
the emergency room’s main entrance. The sky’s still black, and the December
wind whips under the overhang, sending the yellow sheet fluttering back and
“We call them hold notices,” I explain, reading from the first paragraph. “
‘. . . wish to inform you that your shipment may experience a short delay.
This doesn’t indicate there are any problems with your shipment . . .’ ”
“Doesn’t sound so bad — they’re just saying it’s delayed.”
away. That’s also why they say there are no problems.”
“But there are problems?”
“Look at the letterhead on top — U.S. Customs and Border Protection.”
“That’s where you used to work, right?”
“Roosevelt, I’m trying hard to not be paranoid. I really am. But now my
long-lost father just happens to be bleeding in the one park that just happens
to be on the homeless route of his long abandoned son, who just happens
to’ve worked at the one place that just happens to be holding on to the one
package that he just happens to be trying to pick up? Forget the designer
shoes — that’s a helluva lotta happenstance, with an extra-large order of
coincidence.”
“I don’t know. Separated all those years, then bringing you together —
sometimes the clichés get it right: The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Not for me. And not with my—”
“Cal?” a deep voice calls out behind me as the emergency room’s glass doors
slide open.
I turn around just as Dr. Paulo Pollack joins us outside. Like most doctors,
he’s got the God swagger. I just happen to know this one, which made it
easier to call him from the ambulance.
“How’s he doing, Paulo?” I ask.
“He’s fine. Luckily, the bullet didn’t hit anything organwise. Looks like it went
in on an angle and got trapped under the skin, right above his liver. In this
case, it’s good he had a little bit of chub on him.”
“But you got the bullet out?”
Two years ago, Roosevelt and I picked up a homeless girl who had done so
niece. From then on, he’s waited to return the favor.
“One cleaned-off slug at your service,” Paulo says, handing me a small
plastic bag with an old copper-jacketed bullet. “You know the rules, Cal — it’s
your dad’s property, but if the cops come asking . . .”
half. I don’t recognize the make and model, but it’s definitely got a unique
shape. Won’t be hard to find out.
“When he came in, I could touch his stomach and feel the bullet right under
no pain medication, just some anesthetic20 by the wound — but even as I
“All those years in prison. He’s lived through worse,” I say.
Roosevelt stares me down. So does the doctor. It’s so damn easy to judge.
But as Paulo knows from his niece, no matter how much you want someone
back in your life, sometimes it’s the letting-them-back-in part that hurts the
most.
“So how long you keeping him for?” I ask.
“Keeping him?” Paulo asks. “You watch too many cop shows. I sliced it out,
gave him his grand total of five stitches, and let him borrow some hospital
scrubs so he wouldn’t have to wear his own blood home. You should be
careful, though — he’s overweight, high blood pressure, and although he
won’t admit to any chest pains, he’s got the beginnings of myocardial
ischemia. Wherever he’s going next, he needs to watch his heart. Otherwise,
he’s yours.”
and the twisted Irish nose. Dressed in a fresh pair of blue hospital scrubs, my
us.
8
Roosevelt cuts in front of me and motions back to the yellow sheet in my
and pants.
Like kids watching fireworks, Roosevelt and I crane our necks up. My dad’s six
foot two. In all the carrying and rushing from the ambulance, this is the first
moment he looks it. He’s got a face that reminds me of an egg, made wider
at the bottom by his gray-speckled beard, which is trimmed and neat. For a
second, it looks like the pain in his side is too much. But when he sees us
watching, he takes a deep breath, brushes his fine gray hair from his
forehead, and squares his shoulders into a near perfect stance. No question,
appearances still matter.
“Cal, I’m inside if you need anything,” Paulo says, and quickly excuses
himself.
Roosevelt stays right where he is. By my side.
My father clears his throat, taking a long look at Roo-sevelt, but Roosevelt
doesn’t take the hint. I expect my dad to get annoyed . . . maybe even lose
his temper the way he used to. But all he does is glance back toward the
hard with it.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to Roosevelt, motioning him inside. There’s no
“I . . . uh . . . I’ll be inside pretending to get coffee,” Roosevelt announces as
he heads back through the sliding doors.
We stand silently outside the emergency room entrance. On both sides of the
overhang, the rain continues its prickly tap dance. My father lowers himself
onto a metal bench and looks my way. I’ve practiced this moment for years.
How, depending on the mood I was in, I’d tell him off, or ask him questions,
follow my ruthless verbal assault. But as I sit down next to him, the only
thing I notice is the gold U.S. Navy military ring on his right hand. As far as I
know, he was never in the military. And as much as I try to make eye contact,
he won’t stop staring at the pile of designer clothes and shoes I’m still
holding.
“Calvin—”
“Cal,” I correct him. “I go by Cal now.”
“Yeah . . . no . . . I . . . Here’s the thing, Cal—” He cuts himself off. “I’m glad
you’re the one who found me.”
It’s a perfect line, delivered with as much polish and determination as my own
preplanned speech. The only problem is, it doesn’t answer the only question
that matters.
“Y’mean with the park? I told you: I was at the bar, then got jumped . . .” He
studies me, reading my anger all too well. “Ah. You mean for the past few
years.”
“Yes, Lloyd. For the past nineteen years. You left me, remember? And when
you went to prison—” My voice cracks, and I curse myself for the weakness.
But I’ve earned this answer. “Why didn’t you come back for me?”
Staring over my shoulder, my dad anxiously studies both ends of the Ushaped
driveway, then scans the empty sidewalk that runs in front of the
hospital. Like he’s worried someone’s watching. “Calvin, is there anything I
can possibly say to satisfy that question?”
“That’s not the point. Y-You missed everything in my—” I shake my head.
“You missed Aunt Rosey’s funeral.”
I wait for his excuse. He’s too smart to make one. He knows there’s no
changing the past. And the way he keeps checking the area, he’s far more
worried about the future.
“The doctor told me you drive around and pick up homeless people,” he
offers, eyeing the parking garage on our right. “Good for you.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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acronym
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| n.首字母简略词，简称 | |
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confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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plummeted
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| v.垂直落下，骤然跌落( plummet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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peeking
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| v.很快地看( peek的现在分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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9
hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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invoice
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| vt.开发票；n.发票，装货清单 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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12
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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13
cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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14
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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15
deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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18
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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incision
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| n．切口，切开 | |
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anesthetic
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| n.麻醉剂，麻药；adj.麻醉的，失去知觉的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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whoosh
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| v.飞快地移动，呼 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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shuffles
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| n.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的名词复数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的第三人称单数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mentoring
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| n.mentoring是一种工作关系。mentor通常是处在比mentee更高工作职位上的有影响力的人。他/她有比‘mentee’更丰富的工作经验和知识，并用心支持mentee的职业（发展）。v.（无经验之人的）有经验可信赖的顾问( mentor的现在分词 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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blurt
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| vt.突然说出，脱口说出 | |
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