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An Extra Ten Minutes
On Monday afternoons at two o’ clock, Beau and I would arrive at the Silver Spring Convalescent1 Center on Milwaukee’ s northeast side of town for an hour of pet therapy with the seniors who lived there. We’ d walk the hall-ways greeting everyone on our way to the hospitality room, where residents would come to pet Beau and bask in2 the adoration3 of this beautiful, happy, ten-year-old, ninety-nine-pound Doberman4 pinscher.You’ d never know this was the same dog that arrived at my doorstep eight years earlier so beaten, scarred and scared5 that as soon as he made eye contact with you, he’ d lie down on his back with his feet up in the air and pee6 until you petted and soothed him into feeling safe.On our first visit, as we walked through the canary7-yellow Hallway One, I heard an elderly man’ s excited voice, thick with a German accent, streaming8 out of room 112. “ Ma, Ma, the German dog is here! The German dog is here!”
No sooner did I hear the voice than a wrinkle-faced,six-foot? tall,white-haired pogo stick9 of a man was greeting us at the door, swooping10 his big, open hand and strong arm across the doorway, inviting us in. “ I’ m Charlie. This is my wife,Emma.Come in, come in.”
When Beau heard Charlie’ s friendly, enthusiastic voice, his entire body went into his customary wagging frenzy11 and lean?
Against-your-thigh position, waiting for a petting, which was immediately forthcoming12 from Charlie. As we walked into the room, a frail but lively eightyish, violet-haired Emma sat in bed, smiling, patting her hand on the bed. All she had to do was pat once, and Beau, leashed13 and always obedient14, was up on the bed lying down beside her, licking her face. Her eyes teared up as Charlie told us that he and Emma had immigrated to the United States from Germany during World War II and had to leave their beloved Doberman, Max,behind. Max, according to Charlie, was the spitting image15 of Beau.
The next door, room 114,was home to Katherine, a woman in her seventies who had stopped talking for a few months earlier and had been living in a catatonic16 state in her wheelchair for the past month. No amount of love, hugs, talking or sitting had been able to stir her.When Beau and I walked into her room, a small light was on next to her bed and the shades were pulled. She was sitting in her wheelchair, her back toward us, slouched17 over, facing the viewless window.
Beau was pulling ahead of me with his leash. Before I could get around to kneel down in front of her, he was at her left side, with his head in her lap. I pulled a chair up in front of her and sat down, saying hello. No response. In the fifteen minutes that Beau and I sat with Katherine, she never said a word and never moved. Surprising as that may be, more surprising was that Beau never moved either. He stood the entire fifteen minutes, his long chin resting on her lap.
If you knew Beau, you#39;d know that even ten seconds was an eternity18 to wait for a petting. Not here. He was as frozen as Katherine, head glued to her lap. I became so uncomfortable with the lack of life in this woman that, much as I wished I felt differently, when the clock chimed19 2： 30 P.M., I rushed to say good-bye, stood up and pulled the reluctant Beau out.
I asked one of the nurses why Katherine was catatonic. “ We don#39;t know why. Sometimes it just happens when elderly people have family who show no interest in them. We just try to make her as comfortable as possible.”
All the wonderful people and animals who blessed my life flashed in front of my eyes, and then they were gone.I felt what I imagined Katherine must be feeling:lonely,lost and forgotten.I was determined to find a way through to her.
Every Monday thereafter, Beau and I made our rounds20 to the hospitality room, stopping to make special visits in room 112 to visit Charlie and Emma, and in room 114 to sit with Katherine. Always the same response--Charlie waving us in and Emma patting the bed, waiting for Beau#39;s licks, both so alive. And then on to Katherine, sitting desolately21, no sign of life except for her shallow22 breathing.
Each visit I attempted to engage Katherine in conversation. No response. I grew more and more frustrated with Katherine, not content with just “ being” with her. Yet here was Beau, meditative23 dog-monk, teaching me how to “ be” and love quietly, assuming24 “ the position” for the fifteen minutes we sat at each visit.
On our fourth visit, I was ready to bypass Katherine#39;s room, but Beau had other plans. He pulled me into Katherine#39;s room and took his familiar pose on her left side,head on lap. I acquiesced25, but since I had a business meeting later in the afternoon with which I was preoccupied, I decided to cut short26 our usual fifteen minutes with Katherine to five. Instead of talking, I remained quiet, focusing inwardly27 on my upcoming meeting. Surely she#39;d never notice or care. As I stood up to walk out and began to pull Beau away, he wouldn#39;t budge28.
And then the most miraculous thing happened. Katherine#39;s hand went up to the top of Beau#39;s head and rested there. No other movement, just her hand. Instead of Beau#39;s customary response of nose nuzzling29 and increased body wagging, he continued to stand like a statue, never moving from his spot.
I sat back down in silent shock, and for the next ten precious minutes, reveled in the stream of life flowing between Katherine#39;s hand and Beau#39;s head. As the clock chimed half? past two, marking the end of our fifteen minutes, Katherine#39;s hand gently slid30 back into her lap, and Beau turned to walk out the door.
It#39;s been ten years since that visit and eight years since Beau died in my arms from a stroke. Love has many ways of showing its face. Each time I am ready to walk away from a person on whom I#39;ve given up, I am reminded of the power of Beau#39;s loving persistence with Katherine and with me. If Beau can give an extra ten minutes, surely I can too.
再待10分钟
每星期一下午两点钟，我和博要去密尔沃基东北方向的银泉康复中心，为住在那里的老年人进行一小时宠物治疗。我们穿经过道来到接待室，一路上和每个人打招呼。在接待室，休养的人来抚摸博，沉浸在对这只漂亮幸福、10岁大、99磅重的德国种短毛猎犬的爱慕中。你们怎么也想不到，8年前就是这只狗被打得遍体鳞伤，出现在我家门阶上，吓得一见人就仰卧着，翘起腿撒尿，直到人们摸摸它，轻声细语地安慰它，它才感到安全。
我们初次访问康复中心，经过淡黄色的1号走廊时，我听到从112号房间传出一位老人带有浓厚德国口音的激动的声音。“玛，玛，那德国狗来了!那德国狗来了!”
话音未落，一位满脸皱纹、6英尺高、白发瘦长的老人出现在门口欢迎我们，在门道他张开有力的臂膀，伸出大手，请我们进去。“我叫查利，这是我妻子，埃玛。进来，进来。”
博听见查利友好、热情的声音，它的身子立刻激动地习惯性地晃个不停，摆出要贴靠你大腿的姿势，等着人们去抚摸它。查利立时满足了它的'愿望。我们进了屋，看见80多岁、紫色头发的埃玛坐在床上，瘦弱但充满活力；她面带微笑，用手拍着床。她只需拍一下，拴着皮带、向来顺从的博就会跳上床，躺在她旁边，舔她的脸。第二次世界大战期间，他们俩从德国移民来美国时，不得不把心爱的德国种短毛猎犬马克斯留在德国。查利对我们说这话的时候，埃玛的眼中满含泪水。据查利说，博长得简直和马克斯一模一样。
隔壁114号房间住的是70多岁的凯瑟琳。几个月以前她就开始不跟人说话了，近一个月坐在轮椅上，一直处于紧张性精神分裂状态。对她的任何关心、搂抱、谈心或坐着陪伴都打动不了她。我和博走进她的房间时，床边的小灯亮着，遮阳窗帘拉着，她背朝着我们，低头垂肩坐在轮椅上，对着看不到任何景色的窗子。
博套着皮带拽着我走在前面。我还没有来得及蹲在凯瑟琳身前，博已站在她的左侧，头搁在她膝上。我拖过来一把椅子，坐在她跟前，向她问好。她没有反应。在我和博坐在那儿的15分钟里，她一言不发，纹丝未动。这已经令人感到意外，可更使我吃惊的是博也一动不动。它站了整整一刻钟，长下巴搁在她膝上。
你要是了解博，就会知道期待着爱抚的它哪怕10秒钟也像了无尽头。可这回不是这样。它跟凯瑟琳一样僵在那儿，头粘在她膝上。与这个没有生气的女人在一起，我觉得很不舒服，希望这种尴尬场面快点结束。两点半到了，钟一报时，我匆忙说声“再见”，站起身来，拉着不愿意离开的博走了出去。
我问一个护士为什么凯瑟琳会得了紧张性精神分裂症。“我们不知道原因。有时候老年人的家人嫌弃他们时，他们会一下子得这种病。我们只能尽力使她感到舒适。”
我眼前中闪现着所有使我生活幸福的好人和奇妙的动物，他们一闪而过。我能感受到凯瑟琳现在的心情：孤单、烦乱绝望、被人遗忘。我决心寻找通往她心灵深处的途径。
自那以后，每个星期一我和博照例去接待室外，还专门探视112号的查利和埃玛，去114号房间陪凯瑟琳坐着。每次情况都一样——查利挥手请我们进屋，埃玛用手拍拍床等待博去舔她，两个人总是那么高兴。然后去凯瑟琳屋，她垂头丧气地坐着，除了浅弱的呼吸声外，没有一点生机。
每一次我都试着让凯瑟琳聊天，可她始终没有反应。我越来越觉得沮丧，不满足于只是跟她待在一起。可是还有博，每次探访，这只狗“和尚”就摆出姿势“坐禅”一刻钟，教我如何“陪”凯瑟琳及表示无声的爱。
第四次去康复中心，我准备绕过凯瑟琳的房间，可是博另有想法。它拽着我进了凯瑟琳屋，跟前几次一样，在她左边待着，头搁在她膝上。我默许了，可是我心里想着当天下午晚些时候的商务会谈，因此我决定把陪凯瑟琳的时间从往常的15分钟缩短到5分钟。我没开腔，只是静静地坐着，思想集中在即将开始的会谈上。凯瑟琳肯定不会注意我们提前结束，也不会介意。可是我起身要拽博走的时候，它却动也不动。
然后最不可思议的事发生了。凯瑟琳的手抬到博的头顶就放在那儿了。没有别的动作，就是她的手。博既没像平常那样用鼻子蹭，也没有越来越使劲地晃动身子，仍然纹丝不动，像塑像似地站在那儿。
我暗自惊讶，又坐了下来。随后的10分钟我感受着凯瑟琳的手和博的头之间那种生命之源的流淌。时钟敲响两点半，说明我们的15分钟到了，此时凯瑟琳的手慢慢滑落到膝上，博转身走出房间。
那次探访已经过去10年，8年前博因中风死在我怀里。爱有多种表现形式。每一次当我想要从我已对其绝望的人的身旁走开时，我就想起博对凯瑟琳和对我那始终如一的爱的力量。如果博能耐心再待10分钟，那么我也能。