红苹果奇缘Hungry for Your Love
1942年冬季的一天，天空昏暗阴冷，寒风刺骨。在纳粹集中营里，天天都是这种日子。自从我和无数犹太人一起被迫离开家园，来到这里以后，每天我就如同行尸走肉一般，活一天是一天，活一小时是一小时。明天，我还能活着吗？今晚，我会不会被带到毒气室呢？
沿着铁丝网，我来回地走着，想暖和一下我瘦弱的身体。我很饿，很久没有吃东西了。每天都会有很多人从我们当中消失，幸福的往昔犹如南柯一梦，我也日渐陷入更深的绝望之中。
突然，一个小女孩从铁丝网那边走来。经过我面前时，她停了下来，忧伤的眼睛注视着我，似乎是在说她理解我的感受，但不知道我为什么会在这里。被一个陌生人如此凝视，我感到非常不好意思，我想移开目光，但视线却无法从她身上移走。这时，她把手伸进口袋，掏出一个红苹果。噢，我有多久没见过这样的苹果了！她谨慎地左右看了看，然后面带着胜利的微笑，一下子把它抛过铁栅栏。我跑过去将它捡起来，用冻得发抖的手捧着它。在这个充满死亡的世界中，苹果无疑是生命和关爱的表达。我抬起头来，发现那女孩已经消失在远处了。
第二天，我鬼使神差地在同一时间又来到靠近铁丝网的同一地点。她真的又来了。她再次给我带来了苹果，并且带着同样甜蜜的笑容把它抛过铁栅栏。这一次我接住了苹果，捧着让她看，她眼里闪烁着光芒。接下来的七个月，我们每天都这样相见。可是有一天，我听到了一个骇人的消息：我们将被押往另一个集中营。
第二天，我见到她时，难过得说不出话来，但又不得不说：“明天，不要给我带苹果了！”我告诉她，“我将被押往另外一个集中营。”在我还能控制住自己的感情时，我转身从铁丝网旁跑开了。我实在不忍心回头。
一晃数月过去了，噩梦依然。但对小姑娘的思念，一直支撑着我度过了那些恐怖、痛苦和无望的日子。噩梦终结，战争结束的这一天终于来临。幸存下来的人获得了自由。我失去了一切珍贵的东西，包括我的家庭。但我仍然惦记着那个小女孩，并把对她的记忆一直珍藏在心底。在我移居美国开始新的生活后，这段回忆始终激励着我好好活下去。
岁月流逝，转眼到了1957年。我定居美国后，一个朋友想撮合我和他认识的一位女士约会，我勉强答应下来了。她叫罗玛，人很好，跟我一样，也是移民，因此，至少在这一点上，我们有着共同之处。
“战争期间，你在哪儿?”罗玛柔声细语地问道，以移民之间相互问及那段岁月所特有的体贴的方式。
“我在德国的一个集中营。”我答道。
罗玛陷入遐思，似乎想起了某些痛苦而又略带甜蜜的事情。
“你怎么了?”我问道。
“我只是想起了过去的一些事，赫尔曼。”罗玛解释道，声音突然变得无比温柔，“你知道吗？小时候我住在一个集中营附近。那儿有一个男孩，一个小囚犯，很长一段时间，我每天都去看他，我常常给他带苹果。我把苹果抛过铁栅栏丢给他，那时他是多么的开心啊。”
罗玛重重地叹了一口，又接着说：“很难描述当时我们对彼此的感觉——毕竟，那时的我们很小，情况允许时，我们也只是相互谈上几句而已——但我可以告诉你，里面包含着很多爱。我猜测他可能被杀害了，跟其他无数人一样。但我实在不愿这么想，所以老想起和他相处的那几个月里他的样子。”
我的心猛烈地跳动起来，我直视着她问：“是不是有一天，那个男孩对你说‘明天不要给我带苹果了，我将被押往另外一个集中营’？”
“嗯，是啊。”罗玛颤声应道。
“但是赫尔曼，你怎么会知道这件事呢？”
我握住她的手答道：“罗玛，我正是那个小男孩。”
It is cold, so bitter cold on this dark winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands of other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow?Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?
Back and forth next to the barbed wire fence trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, I have been hungry for long. Each day, as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair.
Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she too cannot fathoms why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers. Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right and then with smile of triumph quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling frozen fingers. In my world of death this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day I cannot help myself—I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. And again she comes. And again she brings me an apple flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile. This time I catch it and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. For seven months we meet like this. One day I hear frightening news:we’re being shipped to another camp.
The next day when I greet her my heart is breaking and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: “Don’t bring me an apple tomorrow.” I tell her: “I am being sent to another camp.” Turning before I lose all my control I run away from the Fence. I cannot bear to look back.
Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. And then one day the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.
Years pass. It is1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady of his.Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma, and like me she is an immigrant so we have at least that in common.
“Where were you during the war? ” Roma asks me gently in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.
“I was in a concentration camp in Germany. ” I reply.
Roma gets a faraway look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.
“What is it? ” I ask.
“I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman,” Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft, “You see, when I was a young girl I lived near a concentration camp. Where was a boy there, a prisoner and for a long while I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence and he would be so happy.”
Roma sighs heavily and continues,“It is hard to describe how we felt about each other—after all we were young and we only exchanged a few words when we could—but I can tell you there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others.But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together.”
With my heart pounding so loudly, I look directly at Roma and ask, “And did that boy say to you one day ‘Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp’ ? ”
“Why, yes.” Roma responds, her voice trembling.
“But Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that? ”
I take her hands in mine and answer, “Because I was that young boy, Roma.”
……
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