电话里的朋友A Friend on the Line（1/2）

金尼斯·迈克尔·比奇/Jenngs Michael Birch

Life without a friend is death without a witness.

—Spanish proverb

Before I even fished dialg, I sohow knew I’d ade a istake.The ph once, ice—then soone picked it up.

“You got the wrong nuber!”a hky ale voiapped before the le went dead.Mystified, I dialed aga.

“I said you got the wrong nuber!”ca the voice ore the phone clickedy ear.

How uld he possibly know I had a wrong nuber? At that ti, I worked for the New York City Police Departnt.A p is traed to be curio—and ned.So I dialed a third ti.

“Hey, ,”the an said.“Is this you aga?”

“Yeah, it’s ,”I answered.“Iyou knew I had the wrong nuber before I even said anythg?”

“You figure it out!”The phoned sd down.

I sat there awhile, the receiver hangg looselyy fgers.I called the an back.

“Did you figure it out yet?”he asked.

“The only thg Ithk of is ...nobody ever calls you.”

“You got it!”The pho dead for the fourth ti.Chucklg, I dialed the an back.

“What do you want now?”he asked.

“I thought I’d call ...jt to say hello.”

“Hello? Why?”

“Well, if nobody ever calls you, I thought aybe I should.”

“Okay.Hello.Who is this?”

At st.I had got through.Now he was curio.I told hi who I was and asked who he was.

“My na is Adolf Meth.I’ 88 years old, and I haven’t had this any wrong nubersone day20 years!”We both ughed.

We talked for 10 utes.Adolf had no faily, no friends.Everyone he had been close to had died.Then we disvered we had sothgon: he’d worked for the New York City Police Departnt for nearly 40 years.Tellgabout his days there as aor operator, he seed terestg, even friendly.I asked if I uld call hi aga.

“Why would you wanna do that?”he asked, surprised.

“Well, aybe we uld be phone friends.You know, like pen pals.”

He hesitated.“I wouldn’t d...havg a friend aga.”His voice sounded a little tentative.

I called Adolf the follog afternoon and several days ter.Easy to talk with, he reted his ories of World War I and II, the Hdenburg disaster and other historical events.He was fascatg.I gave hi y ho and offiubers so he uld call .He did—alost every day.

I was not jt beg kd to a lonely an.Talkg to Adolf ortant to , becae I, too, had a big gapy life.Raisedorphanages and foster hos, I never had a father.Gradually, Adolf took on a kd of fatherly iportao .I talked about y job and llege urses, which I atte night.

Adolf ward to the role of unselor.While discsg a disagreent I’d had with a supervisor, I told y new friend,“I thk I’ve had it with hi.”

“What’s the rh?”Adolf cautioned.“Let thgs ol down.When you get as old as I a, you fd out that ti takes care of a lot.If thgs get worse, then youtalk to hi.”

There was a long silence.“You know,”he said softly,“I a talkg to you jt the way I’d talk to a boy of y own.I always wanted a faily—and children.You’re too young to know how that feels.”

No, I wasn’t.I’d always wanted a faily—and a father.But I didn’t say anythg, afraid I wouldn’t be able to hold back the hurt I’d felt for so long.

One eveng, Adolf ntioned his 89th birthday was g up.After buyg a piece of fiberboard, I designed a 2×5 greetg card with a cake and 89 dles on it.I asked all the ps and y Office Coissioo sign it.I gathered nearly a hundred signatures.Adolf would get a kick out of this, I knew.

We’d been talkg on the phone for four onths now, and I thought this would be a good ti to et face to face.So I decided to deliver the card by hand.

I didn’t tell Adolf I was g; I jt drove to his address oneand parked the car up the street fro his apartnt hoe.A postan was s ailthe hallway wheered the buildg.He nodded as I checked the ailboxes for Adolf’s na.There it artnt 1H, so 20 feet fro where I stood.

My heart pounded with ext.Would we have the sa cheistryperson that we had on the phone? I felt the first stab of doubt.Maybe he would rejectthe way y father rejectedwhen he went out of y life.I tapped on Adolf’s door.When there was no answer, I knocked harder.

The postan looked up fro his s.“No ohere,”he said.

“Yeah,”I said, feelg a little foolish.“If he answered his door the way he answers his phohis ay take all day.”

“Are you a retive or sothg?”

“No, jt a friend.”

“I’ really sorry,”he said quietly,“but Mr.Meth died the day before yesterday.”

Died? Adolf? For a ont, I uldn’t answer.I stood thereshod disbelief.Then, pullg yself together, I thahe postan and stepped to the te- sun.I walked toward the car, isty-eyed.

Then, roundg the rner, I saw a church, and a le fro the Old Testant leaped to y d: A friend loveth at all tis.And especiallydeath, I realized.This brought a ont nition.Often it takes so sudden and sad turn of events to awakento the beauty of a spelose friend.Slowly, I felt a warth surgg through .I heard Adolf’s growly voice shoutg,“Wrong hen I heard hi askg why I wao call aga.

“Becae you attered, Adolf,”I said aloud to no one.“Becae I was your friend.”

I pced the unopened birthday card on the back seat of y car and got behd the wheel.Before startg the enge, I looked over y shoulder.“Adolf,”I whispered.“I didn’t get the wrongall.I got you.”

没有朋友的人生就如同没有见证的死亡。

——西班牙谚语

没拨完号码，我就发现自己拨错了。电话铃响了一声，两声——然后有人接起来了。“你打错了！”一个沙哑的男声说道。之后是电话挂断的声音。我很迷惑，于是又拨了过去。

“我说你打错电话了！”那个声音回答道。电话又一次在我的耳边挂断。

他怎么知道我打错了？当时，我正在纽约市警署工作。一个警察通常被训练地充满警惕性和好奇心。于是我第三次拨了那个电话。

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