我们刚刚结束了13公里的雪山远足，人人筋疲力尽。在回新英格兰的路上，我们全身肌肉酸痛。前往机场那段拥挤的车程加上随后两小时的飞行让我们的腿倍受煎熬，比刚下山时的情况更糟。
当听说下一班机的头等舱有两个位，只需加一点升级费就可以享受时，我欣喜若狂。我们同意增加预算，付钱升级机票。我们的心情顿时好了起来—至少这次探险将有个舒适、有品位的结尾。
我们的旅行费用一向紧张，所以坐头等舱对我们来说是个全新的经历。登机的时候我们感觉自己成了精英中的一员。我们坐下来，很高兴能加入其他少数几个能享受此等豪华的乘客行列，和他们坐在一起真让我们很自豪。
当我们谈到此次远足的经历、瀑布和大熊时，我听到周围的人讨论的是他们繁忙的日程安排和商务会议。很快我就意识到，这些人早已对奢华的飞行习以为常，我想他们都是些大人物。
我们注意到空姐一直在忙碌着，以保证这些头等舱的乘客享受舒适的行程。每走过一个座位都有乘客向她提出各式要求。我想她一定非常热爱她的工作，因为每次为乘客服务时她都会友好地微笑。
在飞行快要结束时，这位空姐走过我们的座位。我看着她说：“谢谢你，祝你晚安。”她一脸疑惑地停在我们座位旁边，弯下身看着我，问道：“抱歉，您刚才说什么？”我重复了一遍，她有点尴尬地笑了，好像我问了一个她不知道如何回答的问题。
过了一会，空姐回到我们座位旁边，问我们是哪家公司的。她说：“我看得出你们从事服务业的。”“为什么你会这么想？”我问。她轻声地说：“因为您是今晚这里唯一一个对我说谢谢，并表示友善的乘客。非常感激您的好意。”
她这么一说，我们那种头等舱精英的归属感顿时消失了。这次豪华飞行不仅带给我们一次舒适的享受，更让我们记住，如果没有善心，级别也将失去意义。
Black Tulips
When I was a child growing up in the Netherlands， I often begged my mother to tell me this story about an experience her family had at the end of World WarⅡ.
During the terrible last winter of the German occupation， food was very scarce in the Netherlands. People were so desperately hungry， they began to eat small animals and many things not normally considered edible， including tulip bulbs. People discovered the bulbs could be cooked like potatoes or turnips， or even eaten raw.
For centuries my mother’s family， the Van der Veldes， had owned a highly successful tulip business， which provided jobs for many in our village of Ridderkerk. Their bulbs were popular throughout Europe and abroad， and the family name was known far and wide. But the war shut their business down， and during the winter of hunger， my grandfather， Arnoldus， donated all his tulip bulbs to feed the hungriest villagers.
All， that is， except for a few irreplaceable bulbs. For years， Arnoldus had been trying to cultivate a black tulip， something no gardener had ever been able to do. He was now very close. By careful selection， he had created a dark-purple tulip. These few bulbs he guarded vigorously to prevent people from stealing them for food. He did not even give them to his family to eat， because they would make just one meager meal， and eating them would destroy his chance of restarting his business and restoring his village after the war.
One day， underground Radio Orange announced that the war was over. There was great rejoicing， but more hardships were still to come. The German forces that had occupied and terrorized our country for five long years started to withdraw， battalion by battalion. But as they pulled back， some soldiers deserted and fled toward Germany， sacking and looting as they went. There was much destruction， and the Dutch people still faced grave dangers.
My grandfather， Arnoldus， looked at his pale， thin children and realized that the hunger could continue for a longtime as the war left poverty in its wake. He wondered if it might be time to feed his precious bulbs to his children. Certainly it would be better than losing the bulbs to the marauding bands of fleeing German soldiers. After hours of agonizing， he made his decision. He seized a shovel and went into the garden. There he found my mother， Albertha， then just seven， 1ooking flushed and agitated.
“Papa！ Papa！ I must tell you something，” Albertha said. Over her shoulder， Arnoldus saw a band of drunken， looting Germans coming toward them down the street. He whispered to Albertha to run inside the house and frantically began digging for his bulbs. Over and over his shovel came up empty. He was too late. Someone had already stolen them.
Crazed with grief and rage， he ran toward the street screaming， “They have stolen my tulip bulbs！” Albertha， watching from the doorway， cried out and ran to stop him. Before she could reach Arnoldus， a German soldier raised his pistol and shot him. Although the German surrender had been signed， a curfew was still technically in effect， and my grandfather had violated it.
