每當(dāng)我在途中遇到驟雨，我就會(huì)想起那只美麗的白蝴蝶。

      那一年，媽媽來(lái)電說(shuō)，外婆病重，將不久于人世。想起她平日對(duì)我的疼愛(ài)，不禁悲人中人，挾了個(gè)小錢(qián)包就神色匆匆地出門(mén)去。

      沒(méi)料到半路會(huì)遇上一場(chǎng)驟雨，把我、兩位馬來(lái)婦女和兩個(gè)小孩，全趕進(jìn)一幢私人房子側(cè)面的矮檐下。我不知道這兩個(gè)婦女是婆媳還是母女關(guān)系，萍水相逢又何必知道呢！

      雨，越下越大，挾著風(fēng)勢(shì)，短窄的屋檐根本擋不住風(fēng)雨，衣服一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)的濕了。行人撐傘的、遮紙皮的、穿雨衣的，似流星般從眼前一晃而過(guò)，誰(shuí)也不愿停留。那真是場(chǎng)天昏地暗的大雨呵，一陣一陣落在我心頭，正如我心中的憂(yōu)戚。只見(jiàn)那對(duì)馬來(lái)婦女和小孩瑟縮在一處，于寒風(fēng)吹襲下不停地顫抖，我也好不了多少。

      一個(gè)白點(diǎn)撐著把花傘，像只白蝴蝶翩翩掠雨而過(guò)，漸行漸近。

      我想，要是她能遮我一程那該多好，但，可能嗎？我和她素味平生。

她，果真停了下來(lái)，一個(gè)穿白衣裙校服的女中學(xué)生。她是來(lái)遮我的么？

     “我遮你們過(guò)去對(duì)面組屋騎樓下避雨吧！”

      于是，她把夾在腋下的一支黑布傘掏給年老的馬來(lái)婦人，老婦人懷中抱著一個(gè)約一歲大的幼兒，一手撐起傘，顫巍巍地隨她走到對(duì)面組屋騎樓下。

      之后，女生再倒回頭，把黑布傘轉(zhuǎn)給那年輕的婦女，她連走道謝，牽著小男孩也走了。女生示意我與她共遮一把傘隨后。

      安頓了我們，她撂一下長(zhǎng)發(fā)，抖落發(fā)上雨珠，再度撐起花布傘，一手拎著黑布傘，回眸一笑：

     “雨很快就停了，你們?cè)谶@兒歇著，我要去遮我哥哥了！”

      她那淺淺的酒窩，像雨中一杯熱酒，暖了我們。

      終于，她走出我人們的眼簾，走進(jìn)了雨幕。然而她美麗欣長(zhǎng)的身影卻像只白蝴蝶別在我心上，每當(dāng)驟雨便漫翩飛舞！

      她使我深深地領(lǐng)略到：人生的旅點(diǎn)，不是每個(gè)人都能雨中送傘的。

The White Butterfly

Qian Hua

Translated by Zhu Botong & Xia Yihu

I cannot help but think of that white butterfly whenever I am caught in a heavy rain.

It happened years ago when Mother called me saying that Grandma was dying. Instantly, all the memories of her affection for me flashed into my mind; sorrow surged up within me. I grabbed my small purse and hurried out, wishing I could fly to her side right away.

Unexpectedly I was caught in a downpour on the way. I had to take shelter with two Malaysian women and their two children the two ladies were mother and daughter, or mother and daughterin-law. Why should I care? We were and would remain strangers.

It was raining harder and harder, even worse, with such a wind that the narrow eaves could no longer provide any protection, and our clothes were gradually getting wet. People hurried past like shooting stars; no one would care to stop for us. Some were dressed in raincoats, and some covered themselves with umbrellas or something over their heads. What a downpour! Sorrow seemed to be pouring from my heart, and I grew more and more anxious about my granny. Beside me, the Malaysian ladies and their kids huddled together, shivering from the cold wind, and I was no better.

A white figure under a colorful umbrella was approaching us, like a white butterfly dancing gracefully towards us in the rain. If only she would share her umbrella with me ,I said to myself. How could she? She didn’t know me at all. Why, she stopped in front of us, graceful in the white school dress. Would she offer help to me?

“Why not take shelter in the arcade over there? You can share the umbrellas with me,” she suggested, and handed the spare black umbrella to the old lady, who followed her into the arcade with the baby in her arm. Then the student returned with the black umbrella and gave it to the young mother. The mother thanked her and took her little boy to join the old lady. Meanwhile, the girl beckoned me to share the colorful umbrella with her. When we all had settled in the arcade, she shook the raindrops off her long hair and said to us with a smile, “Wouldn’t it be better to wait here until the rain stops? It won’t last long. Oh, excuse me. My brother needs the umbrella; I have to run now.” Then she walked into the rain again with the unfolded, colorful umbrella in one hand and the black one in the other.

The little dimples on her cheeks warmed our hearts as a glass of wine would do in the cold rain. She was soon out of sight behind the misty curtain of the rain. Yet her graceful, slender figure was deeply stamped as a white butterfly in my memory. Now each cloudburst never fails to remind me of the gracefully fluttering white butterfly.

I have come to realize that, along the journey of life, there is always someone ready to share his or her umbrella with those caught in the rain.