佚名/Anonymous
The promise was a long time keeping. But then, so was the dream.
In the early 1950s in a small Southern California town, a little girl hefted yet another load of books onto the tiny library's counter.
The girl was a reader. Her parents had books all over their home, but not always the ones she wanted. So she'd make her weekly trek to the yellow library with the brown trim, the little one-room building where the children's library actually was just a nook. Frequently, she ventured out of that nook in search of heftier fare.
As the white-haired librarian hand-stamped the due dates in the ten-year-old's choice, the little girl looked longingly at "The New Book" prominently displayed on the counter. She marveled again at the wonder of writing a book and having it honored like that, right there for the world to see.
That particular day, she confessed her goal.
"When I grow up," she said, "I'm going to be a writer. I'm going to write books." The librarian looked up from her stamping and smiled, not with the condescension so many children receive, but with encouragement. "When you do write that book," she replied, "bring it into our library and we'll put it on display, right here on the counter." The little girl promised she would.
As she grew, so did her dream. She got her first job in ninth grade, writing brief personality profiles, which earned her $1.50 each from the local newspaper. The money palled in comparison with the magic of seeing her words on paper. A book was a long way off.
She edited her high-school paper, married and started a family, but the itch to write burned deep. She got a part-time job covering school news at a weekly newspaper. It kept her brain busy as she balanced babies. But no book. She went to work full time for a major daily. Even tried her hand at magazines. Still no book.
Finally, she believed she had something to say and started a book. She sent it off to two publishers and was rejected. She put it away, sadly. Several years later, the old dream increased in persistence. She got an agent and wrote another book. She pulled the other out of hiding, and soon both were sold.
But the world of book publishing moves slower than that of daily newspapers, and she waited two long years. The day the box arrived on her doorstep with its free author's copies, she ripped it open. Then she cried. She'd waited so long to hold her dream in her hands. Then she remembered that librarian's invitation, and her promise. Of course, that particular librarian had died long ago, and the little library had been razed to make way for a larger incarnation.
The woman called and got the name of the head librarian. She wrote a letter, telling her how much her predecessor's words had meant to the girl. She'd be in town for her thirtieth high school reunion, she wrote, and could she bring her two books by and give them to the library? The librarian called and said, "Come." So she did, clutching a copy of each book.
Inside the big new library, the librarian welcomed her warmly. She introduced a reporter from the local newspaper—a descendant of the paper she'd begged a chance to write for long ago. Then she presented her books to the librarian, who placed them on the counter with a sign of explanation. Tears rolled down the woman's cheeks.
Then she hugged the librarian and left, pausing for a picture outside, which proved that dreams can come true and promises can be kept. Even if it takes thirty-eight years. The ten-year-old girl and the writer she'd become posed by the library sign, right next to the reader board, which said: WELCOME BACK, JANN MITCHELL.
這個諾言被長久地遵守著，而這個夢想也同樣如此。
20世紀50年代初，在加利福尼亞州南部的一個小鎮上，一個小女孩把一摞書放在小圖書館的櫃台上。
這個女孩是一位讀者，她父母有很多書，但沒有一本是她想看的。因此她每個星期都會去一次圖書館。這個圖書館是一幢棕色鑲邊的黃色單室建築，兒童閱覽室隻在隱蔽的一角。女孩常大膽地走出這個角落，尋找更大部頭的圖書。
當白發蒼蒼的圖書管理員在這個10歲小讀者借的書上蓋期戳時，小女孩看著陳列在櫃台上醒目的“新書上架”告示牌，眼中滿是羨慕的光芒。她吃驚地看了又看，自己思量著也寫一本書，像這樣展現在人們麵前。
也就在這天，她說出了自己的理想。
“長大後，”小女孩說，“我要當一名作家，我要寫書。”正蓋著戳印的圖書管理員抬起頭來衝她笑了笑，那種笑並不是一種敷衍遷就小孩子的笑，相反，笑裏滿含著鼓勵與支持。“等你寫出書時，”管理員說，“就把它帶到圖書館來，我們就把書展示在櫃台上。”小女孩許諾她一定會寫本書出來。
女孩慢慢地長大，夢想也日趨成熟。上九年級時，她得到了她的第一份工作，即為當地的一家報紙撰寫名人小傳，每篇文章1.5美元。她所寫的東西變成一排排鉛字，沒有比這更令人驕傲的了，稿費與之比起來，顯得微不足道。但寫書的事還是遙遙無期。
她在高中校報做過編輯，然後結婚生子，但她對寫作仍**不減。後來，她找了一份兼職，為一家周報采編校園新聞。這讓她在照顧幾個寶寶的同時，腦子一刻也沒有停歇，但她還是沒寫書。之後，她在一家大型日報社做過全職，還在雜誌社上過班，可還是沒寫書。
最後，她相信是該傾訴的時候了，於是，她就寫了一本書。寫完後，把書寄給兩家出版社，但均遭拒絕，她傷心地把書稿收了起來。數年後，她出書的欲望日益強烈。於是，她找了一個經紀人，又寫了一本書。她把先前的那本書也拿了出來，連同後一本一起寄給了出版社。不久，兩本書稿都賣了出去。
然而，書的出版要比日報慢得多。作者樣書送到她家的那天，她迫不及待地撕開了包裝，要知道，她等這一天等了兩年。隨後，她哭了，她的夢想終於實現了。同時，她也記起了那位管理員的邀約和她自己的承諾。當然，那位管理員已去世很多年了。為了建一座更大的圖書館，原先那個小的圖書館早就被夷為平地了。
這個女人打電話查到了圖書館負責人的名字。接著，她給這位負責人寫了一封信，告訴她，前任負責人的話是如何影響了一個小女孩的一生。她還寫道，她要回小鎮參加高中畢業30周年聚會，還問管理員她能否順便帶上自己的兩本書送給圖書館。管理員打來電話說：“帶來吧。”於是，她帶著那兩本書回到了久別的小鎮。
走進大而新的圖書館，管理員熱情地接待了她，還將她引見給當地報紙的一名記者——這家報紙就是她多年前曾懇求給機會寫點文章的那家。然後，她把書贈給了管理員，管理員將這兩本書擺在櫃台上，還附加了一些額外的注解。女人激動得熱淚盈眶。
擁抱過管理員後，她就離開了。離開前，她在圖書館外停下來，拍了一張照片，作為夢想和諾言實現的見證，盡管實現的過程耗費了38年之久。當年10歲的小女孩，也就是現在的這位作家，在圖書館牌匾旁照了張相。隻見圖書館牌匾旁邊的讀者留言板上寫著：詹恩·米切爾，歡迎你歸來。
When the fight begins within himself, a man's worth something.
—Browning
當一個人內心開始鬥爭時，他就有了價值。
——布郎寧
heft[heft]v.舉起試重量；舉起
Influence will increase along with economic heft.
影響將隨著經濟實力的增強而增加。
trek[trek]v.艱苦跋涉；緩慢地行進
It took us a week to trek to the foot of the mountain.
我們花了一星期才跋涉到山腳。
marvel[?mɑ:v?l]v.驚異；驚奇；驚訝
I marvel why she should want to marry him.
我覺得奇怪，為什麽她要嫁給他。
raze[reiz]v.消除；抹去；破壞
The bombs razed the building to the ground.
炸彈把那座建築夷為平地。
這個諾言被長久地遵守著，而這個夢想也同樣如此。
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正蓋著戳印的圖書管理員抬起頭來衝她笑了笑，那種笑並不是一種敷衍遷就小孩子的笑，相反，笑裏滿含著鼓勵與支持。
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她所寫的東西變成一排排鉛字，沒有比這更令人驕傲的了，稿費與之比起來，顯得微不足道。
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In the early 1950s in a small Southern California town, a little girl hefted yet another load of books onto the tiny library's counter.
a load of：許多；大量；一大堆
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The money palled in comparison with the magic of seeing her words on paper.
in comparison with：與……比較起來
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