The Wedding-Band in the Leaves

For the last ten years of her life, my grandmother wore two wedding bands on her finger: hers and my grandfather’s. After he died, she carried his memory always warm against her soft, wrinkled hand. This special link of love—gold touching gold—came late in life for them. It happened much earlier for Roe and me, and best of all, it was something we could share.

Following our summer wedding, Roe and I moved into our first home in the late fall. I remember standing on the lawn and thinking, wonderful things will happen here in the year to come. I also thought about the 17 tall oak trees that covered the small yard.

Soon we learned that once a year the township vacuums up and trucks away the leaves raked to the side of the road. But that first year Roe and I, both busy teaching school, missed the collection date. So we would have to rake and bag the leaves, then carry them to the town dump. The leaves were wet and covered with ice by the time we had a chance to gather them. Roe held the bags open as I scooped up and dropped in the leaves. I didn’t have gloves and had to blow into my cold hands. We raked and raked. One bag, five bags, 15 bags. By the end of the day we had 40 large, leaf-filled plastic bags leaning against the garage.

We entered the house laughing, talking about supper. We walked over to the kitchen sink to wash our hands. That’s when I noticed my wedding ring was missing.

“When was the last time you remember having it on?” Roe asked.

“When we were raking the leaves. It must have slipped off then,” I answered, feeling very troubled.

Roe and I spent more than an hour bent over the lawn like chickens looking for bits of corn. We glanced at the 40 bags that now seemed like huge wedding-ring-eating elephants.

“We’ll have to look through the bags,” Roe announced. “We can’t take them to the dump today.”

“Let’s have supper and worry about it tomorrow.” I suggested. Deep down, we were concerned and growing more so. Maybe the ring wouldn’t turn up in the bags.

The next day was even colder, and the bitter chill spilled into the next week and month. We kept saying, “Tomorrow we’ll go through the bags.” Life can be like that, tugging us away from what’s important.

After three months, the bags were under a foot of snow. One afternoon, when I was still in school, Roe decided to search them for the ring. She lifted the first bag and dragged it across the snow and into the porch at the side of the house. She opened the bag. Leaves left inside a plastic garbage bag for three months rot. They smell. They turn into a wad of ooze. Roe now picked up a clump of fermenting leaves and sprinkled them around her to sift through the mess. Pebbles, acorns and sticks bounced against the wood floor. Each time something fell from her hands, she thought, Perhaps the ring! No ring.

Roe continued her search. Bag No. 2. No luck. Bag No. 3. No luck. Then, after she had jiggled the leaves again and again in bag No. 4, my wedding ring miraculously popped onto the floor before her startled gaze.

When I came home from work that evening, Roe didn’t tell me at first. She simply asked how my day had gone. I asked about hers. We spoke. We laughed. Not until we were preparing dinner together did I finally notice she was wearing an extra ring on her finger.

“You found it!” I shouted. “I can’t believe it!”

Roe took my hand in hers and whispered, “With this ring I thee wed,” and she once again slipped it onto my finger—this gold that had now touched gold.

橡叶中的婚戒

在祖母的最后十年，她在手指上戴过两枚结婚戒指：她自己的戒指和祖父的戒指。祖父去世后，她总是将对他的回忆贴在她柔软起皱的手上，感到暖呼呼的。这种特殊的爱恋--—金金相亲--—对他们来说在一生中姗姗来迟。对我和罗来说则早就发生了，而且最精彩的是，那是我们能够共同分享的东西。在我们的夏日婚礼之后，晚秋时节我和罗搬进了我们的第一个家。我现在仍然记得，我当时站在草坪上，想象着在来年会发生什么奇妙的事情。我同时也想到了覆盖着小院的那17棵高大的橡树。

不久，我们得知镇里每年要用真空吸尘车把每家每户耙到路边的树叶吸到卡车上运走。但第一年，我和罗都忙着在学校教书，错过了收集期。因此，我们不得不把树叶耙起来装到袋子里，然后再将他们运到镇里的垃圾回收站。树叶很湿，到我们有时间收集它们时，树叶上已经结了一层冰。罗撑着口袋，我装树叶。因为没戴手套，我不得不时时吹吹自己被冻得冰冷得手。我们不停地耙啊耙。1袋、5袋、15袋。到一天结束时，我们已经装满了40大塑料袋树叶，并将它们靠在车库旁。

我们大声笑着走进房间，谈论着晚饭吃什么。当我们走到厨房水池边洗手时，我注意到自己的戒指不见了。

“你记得最后一次看到它戴在你的手上是什么时候吗？ ”罗问道。

“在我们耙那些树叶的时候。一定是那个时候滑下来的。 ”我回答说，不由感到心烦意乱。

我和罗花了一个多小时像小鸡找玉米粒一样弯腰在草坪上寻找。我们瞥了一眼那40包树叶—那40包树叶就好像是巨大的吃结婚戒指的大象一般。

“我们必须把那些袋子翻找一遍，”罗说， “我们今天不能把它们送到垃圾站去了。”

“我们吃饭吧，明天再去操心。”我建议。我们的内心深处不禁有一点担心，而且越来越担心，也许那枚戒指根本就不会出现在那些袋子里。

第二天更冷了，我们在严寒中又度过了下一周、度过了下一个月。我们总是说：“明天我们就翻那些包。”可能生活就是这样，总是把我们从重要的事情上拖开。

三个月后，那些包都被埋在一英尺深的雪下。一天下午，当我还在学校时，罗决定从那些包里寻找那枚戒指。她拎起第一个包，将它拖过雪地，走进了房子一边的门廊。她打开那个包。在塑料垃圾袋重装了三个月之后，叶子已经发霉了。它们已经变成了一滩稀泥，闻起来臭烘烘的。罗拿起一团发酵的树叶，将它们撒开在周围，仔细翻找。小石子、橡子和小棍儿在木地板上跳动。每一次有什么东西从她的手里滑落，她心里就想，也许是那枚戒指吧！但是没有戒指。

罗继续寻找着。第二包，没有。第三包，没有。随后，她在第四包里一遍又一遍地轻轻抖动那些树叶，我的婚戒突然奇迹般地蹦到她面前的地板上。她吃惊地瞪大了眼睛。

我那天傍晚下班回家，罗开始没跟我说。她只是问我这一天过得怎么样。我也问了她一天的情况。我们说笑着，知道我们一起准备晚饭时，我才注意到她的手指上多戴了一枚戒指。

“你已经找到了那枚戒指！”我大声说，“我简直不敢相信！”

罗将我的手握在她的手中，低声说：“戴上这枚戒指，我嫁给你。”随后，她又一次将它戴在了我的手指上--—这枚金戒指现在仍然贴着那枚戒指。