As I held the container of pills，the scene of Dad struggling to remove the cap and in desperation trying to break it with the brick flashed painfully before my eyes.With deep anguish I knew why those big hands had lost in their struggle with death.For there，imprinted on the cap，were the words：“Childproof cap—Push down and twist to unlock.”The druggist later confirmed that he had just started using the new safety caps.
I knew it was not a rational act，but I went right downtown and bought a leatherbound pocket dictionary and a gold pen set.I bade Dad goodbye by placing them in those big hands，once so warm，which had lived so well，but had never learned to write.
父亲的双手
父亲的双手粗糙却非常有力。他修剪起果树来轻松自如，给烈性子的马上马具时也是不慌不忙、稳稳当当的。让我难以忘怀的是，当他抓着我的肩膀，指着猝然下落的老鹰或在洞穴里熟睡的兔子给我看时，从他那双手传来的那种特殊的温暖。他的这双坚实的手让他生活得很好，但美中不足的就是这双手从来就没学会写字。
我的父亲没受过教育。在我们国家文盲的人数在不断下降，但是只要还有文盲存在我就会感到难过，因为这会让我想起我的父亲，想起不会写字给他带来的痛苦。在他上一年级的时候，如果回答问题不正确的话，老师就会用戒尺在他的手掌上打10下。不知道什么原因，当时只有6岁的父亲就是不能正确记住那些形状、数字还有字母什么的。几个月后他的父亲就让他退学了，并把他安置在农场里干成人的活。
多年之后，他的上过四年学的妻子打算教他读书。再后来就是我用我的一双小手握着他的那只大拳头，非常吃力地帮助他写他的名字。这种情况只持续了很短的一段时间，不久他就显得不耐烦了，并且宣称他已受够了。
一天晚上，当他确信没人看见他时，拿着我二年级的课本走了出去，并且费劲地读着上面的字，直到感到太难了无法再读下去。他把脸埋在书里哭了起来。从此以后，无论怎样劝说都无法让他再坐下来学习写字了。但是他仍然喜欢听母亲和我给他朗读文章，他特别喜欢我们给他读《圣经》。
有一年庄稼歉收，父亲无法偿还银行的抵押借款，不得不让银行占有了他大部分的农场。他只保留了他的那间小农舍所在的一英亩地。
无论是干农活、修建公路还是后来到工厂工作，他的这双手让自己受益匪浅。他头脑敏捷，工作意识无人可比。他的工作热情及效率使他有机会当上了工头，直到有一天他被要求参加资格考试。
几年以后，母亲去世了，我想让他过来和我们一起生活，但是他坚持要自己住在那间带有小花园的农舍里，附近还养了一些家禽、家畜。他的健康状况开始越来越糟了，曾两次因犯轻微的心脏病而住进医院。格林老大夫每周都来看他并给他开一些药品，其中包括硝酸甘油片，让他在感到要犯病时放在舌下以缓解病情。
最后一次感受父亲的慈爱是上次在家乡，看着他把他那双温暖的大手放在我的两个孩子肩上，带他们走过牧场的那座小山坡，然后停了下来，指给孩子们看那个前几年我和父亲一起挖成的池塘时的情景，我心里暖融融的，但这却成了永远的记忆了。那天晚上，我和家人回到了自己的家里，三个星期后，因心脏病发作父亲离开了人世。
我赶回老家参加了父亲的葬礼。格林大夫告诉我他为父亲的去世感到难过。事实上，他感到有些困惑，因为他刚刚给父亲开了新药方，而且药剂师也按药方给父亲拿了药，但是在父亲的身上并没找到那瓶药。格林大夫认为只需一粒药就足以让他能坚持到叫人来救他。
我来到父亲的花园，父亲就是在这里被一个邻居发现的。我非常难过，弯下身用手抚摸着这块土地，父亲就是在这儿去世的。我的手触摸到了一个半埋在地里的砖块，我下意识地把它拿了起来，看到在砖块下有一个被砸得变了形的、但却仍然完好的药瓶深陷在软软的泥土里。
我手握这个药瓶，父亲拼命想打开瓶盖、在绝望中试图用砖块把它砸碎的场面浮现在我眼前，我终于痛苦地了解到父亲的那双大手为什么在与死神搏斗中就失去了作用，那是因为在瓶盖上印有“儿童安全保护盖——向下推然后拧开”的字样。药剂师后来对我说，他也刚刚开始使用这种安全瓶盖。
我知道我这样做很不理智，但我还是直奔县城，在那里买了一本皮面袖珍词典和一支金笔。我向父亲的遗体告别时把词典和笔放在父亲的那双大手里，那双手曾经是那样温暖，那双手曾经让他生活得很美满，但却从来没有学会写字。
爱情与家
Hungry for Your Love
It is cold，so bitter cold on this dark winter day in 1942.But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp.I am almost dead，surviving from day to day，from hour to hour，ever since I was taken from home and brought here with tens of thousands of other Jews.Will I still be alive tomorrow？Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight？
Back and forth next to the barbed wire fence trying to keep my emaciated body warm.I am hungry but I have been hungry for loner than I want to remember.I am always hungry.Edible food seems like a dream.Each day，as more of us disappear，the hungry past seems like a mere dream，and I sink deeper and deeper into despair.
Suddenly，I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire.She stops and looks at me with sad eyes that seems to say that she understands，that she too cannot fathom why I am here.I want to look away，oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this，but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.
Then she reaches into her pocket，and pulls out a red apple.Oh，how long has it been since I have seen one！She looks cautiously to the left and to the right and then with smile of triumph quickly throws the apple over the fence.I run to pick it up，holding it in my trembling frozen fingers.In my world of death this apple is an expression of life，of love.I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day I cannot help myself—I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence.
And again she comes.And again she brings me an apple and flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.
This time I catch it and hold it up for her to see.Her eyes twinkle.
For seven months we meet like this.Sometimes we exchange with words.Sometimes just an apple.
One day I hear frightening news：we’re being shipped to another camp.
The next day when I greet her my heart is breaking and I can barely speak as I say what must be said：“Don’t bring me an apple tomorrow.”I tell her.“I am being sent to another camp.”Turning before I lose all my control I run away from the fence.I cannot bear to look back.
Months pass and the nightmare continues.But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror，the pain，and the hopelessness.Over and over in my mind，I see her face，her kind eyes，I hear her gentle words，I taste those apples.
And then one day just like that the nightmare is over.The war has ended.Those of us who are still alive are freed.I have lost everything that was precious to me including my family.But I still have the memory of this girl，a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.
Years pass.It is 1957.I am living in New York City.A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady of his.Reluctantly，I agree.But she is nice，this woman named Roma，and like me she is an immigrant so we have at least that in common.
“Where were you during the war？”Roma asks me gently in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.
“I was in a concentration camp in Germany，”I reply.
Roma gets a far away look in her eyes，as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.
“What is it？”I ask.
“I am just thinking about something from your past，Herman，”Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft.“You see，when I was a young girl I lived near a concentration camp.There was a boy there，a prisoner and for a long while I used to visit him every day.I remember I used to bring him apples.I would throw the apple over the fence and he would be so happy.”
