The Man with No Shoes 不穿鞋的人

Maddiesg

Shoes can tell you a lot about a person. Winston was a firm believer in this， being someone who looked at many shoes himself. Although he had grown up hearing that eyes were “the windows to the soul”， he was always quite confused by this expression. Eyes were simply holes in ones head that allowed them to see. Winston couldnt find anything remotely1 revealing about them， just a sense of awkwardness2 when he had been caught staring into someone elses for too long. On the other hand， staring at someones shoes rarely ever became a socially uncomfortable interaction3. Most people hardly noticed a small man in the corner intently4 watching their feet， and Winston liked it that way.

High school queen， skateboarder， bored businessman， tired housewife， Winston was able to fit most people into basic categories5 such as these simply by the brand， color， and condition of whatever was on their feet. Not to toot his own horn6， but Winston felt that he had figured just about everybody out. At this point， the world couldnt surprise him anymore， he believed that he had seen it all.

Winston was seated in his regular spot， a bench in the back corner of the Alewife train station， watching the usuals pass by. A pack of polished7， black loafers8 shuffled9 past after getting off the 7 oclock train， a pair of Louboutins clacked10 against the dusty floor tiles， two pairs of scruffy11 Converse shifted as they waited on the platform. All of this left a clear impression on Winston. He noted that a pair of knee-length boots were missing among the group， as well as several Nike sneakers. He sighed， a bit bored with the predictability12 of the station， the way the same people always stood on the same platform and waited for the same train to take them away at the same time every day. This order was ordinarily calming to him， but today he felt different.

Thats when he noticed something different. Two bare feet walked past， making an unfamiliar slapping sound as they made contact with the floor. Strange. Winston looked closer， studying the leathery skin and the overgrown toenails with great interest. In all his years sitting at the train station， he had seen many strange feet， but at least those people had enough sense to cover them in flip-flops13 or sandals14. This stranger before him did not seem to obey the social rules， sticking his bare feet out for all to see. Their nakedness troubled Winston. He wondered what kind of a man couldnt afford to buy himself shoes. A dangerous man， perhaps. A man who was of questionable intelligence. An unpredictable， rash man with a temper. Certainly not the kind of man Winston wanted to be anywhere near.

He shifted over on the bench and curled in on himself， turning his eyes downward and his shoulders in toward his body to prevent any possible social interactions. The man， however， took the space made free by Winstons shrinking.

“Sorry， it has been a rough day，” the shoeless person offered apologetically， placing a plastic bag down in the small remaining stretch of bench separating them. “A really rough day.” He seemed to be speaking to no one in particular. “I had to sell my shoes， had to sell them away. Can you believe that？” He scuffed his bare feet against the stations dingy15 floor tiles.

“Its my little girls birthday. Shes seven. I can barely believe it，” he shook his head. “Said all she wanted this year was a birthday cake. A real one， with sprinkles16 and frosting17 and her name spelled out nice and pretty on the top. So thats what I went and got her.”

He gestured to the bag. Winston peeked18 through the clear cellophane19 case to see the cake. It was a small， white circle， with the name “Amelia” written in fancy cursive20 frosting on the top. “It sure is pretty， isnt it？” the man said， noticing Winstons interest. “I just had to get it for her. But I had to sell my shoes for it...it was worth it， of course.” He seemed to think this over for a while. “Still， thats not a decision that any parent should have to make， it just isnt.”

There was a crack in his voice like he was about to cry and Winston did something he rarely ever did. He looked up and met the strangers eyes. They were kind eyes， sad， sweet and beautiful eyes， sharply contrasting his bare and dirty feet. Winston stared at them， not allowing himself to pull away.

While staring at the man， a sense of shame washed over Winston. He was ashamed that he had judged the man， ashamed that he had assumed this stranger was a bad person simply for his lack of footwear， when in fact this man beside him was a more generous person than Winston had ever been. Slowly， Winston reached down and took off his dirty， white sneakers one at a time， exposing his socked feet to the harsh cold of the station. He picked up the shoes and handed them to the stranger beside him.

（英語原文選自：teenink.com）

鞋子能告訴你關于一個人的很多事情。溫斯頓對此深信不疑，因為他自己看過很多鞋子。雖然他從小就聽人說眼睛是“心靈的窗戶”，但他總是對這種說法感到困惑不解。眼睛只是人腦袋上能讓人看見東西的洞。溫斯頓無法從中發現任何一點點關于他們的內在，只會有當被發現盯著別人看太久時的尷尬。另一方面，盯著別人的鞋子看幾乎不會成為社交上令人不舒服的舉動。大多數人幾乎沒有注意到角落里有個小個子男人在專心地看著他們的腳，而溫斯頓喜歡這樣做。

高中女王、滑板手、無聊的商人、疲勞的家庭主婦，溫斯頓能夠把大多數人簡單地按照他們腳上東西的品牌、顏色和狀況，歸入這些基本的類別。不是自吹自擂，但溫斯頓覺得他幾乎把每個人都弄明白了。在這一點上，世界上再也沒有什么能給他驚喜了，他相信他已經看過形形色色的人了。

溫斯頓正坐在他常坐的地方——埃爾威夫火車站背角處的一張長凳上，看著普通人從他身邊經過。一雙擦亮的黑色休閑皮鞋從7點鐘的火車上下來后拖著腳步走過，一雙魯布托高跟鞋在塵土飛揚的地磚上噠噠作響，兩雙邋遢的匡威鞋移來移去，在月臺上等待。所有這些都給溫斯頓留下了清晰的印象。他注意到一雙及膝的長靴和幾雙耐克運動鞋都不見了。他嘆了口氣，有點厭倦了車站的可預測性。每天同一時間，同樣的人們總是站在同一個站臺上，等待同一列火車載著他們離開。……