很快就要进行对新小路的调查了，我想了解一下她反对的原因。于是我敲响了小屋的门，一位叫玛丽·史密斯的女士接待了我，然后她带我去树林中走走。
“我一直深爱这个地方，”她说，“这里珍藏了我和其他许多人的回忆。我们都曾在这个地方呆过。人们称它为‘情人路’。它其实并不能算是什么路，也不通往什么重要的地方，但这正是我们来这里的原因。远离他人，只有我们自己。”她补充说道。
那天林间实在迷人，小鸟唱着歌，松鼠在树枝间张望，很自在地活动，显然这里人迹罕至，它们一点都不害怕。我能想象得出，在小路修好后，汽车通过这片宁静的树林将会是怎样的喧闹，因此我猜这对她来说可能意味着些什么。但我坚持认为社区的需要重于个人的意见，所以我没说什么。村里目前的交通，特别是对于老人和小孩来说，尤其危险，所以对我来说他们的安全比这个老年女士的怪念头更重要。
“拿这棵树来说吧，”她停了一会儿说，“对你来说它只是一棵普通的树，与这里其它的树没什么区别。”她轻轻地摸着这棵树的树皮说：“看这，在这个枝条下面，你看见了什么？”
“好像有人用小刀在这里刻过什么东西。”我略略看了一下后说。
“是的，正是这样！”她轻轻地说，“是一些字母和一颗爱人的心。”
我又看了一下，这回看得认真了一些。刻的那颗心还在那，此外还依稀可以看见有支箭穿心而过。心一边的字母已无法辨认了，但在另一边，字母“R”清晰可见，后面还有个像是“I”的字母。“初恋罗曼史？”我问道，“你知道他们是谁吗？”
“唔，我知道。”玛丽·史密斯说，“写的是‘RH爱MS’。”
我意识到我可能涉入太深了，真希望自己身在办公室，远离这个地方和这个老年女士，手里还端着杯茶，舒舒服服地。
她继续讲着，“他拿着一把袖珍折刀，折刀上嵌有长钉，那种长钉可以用来挖出夹在马蹄上的石块，我们一起刻了我名字的第一个字母。我们深深相爱，但他却要离开了，而且不知道他将在军队里干什么。当然我也曾猜想过。那是我们在一起的最后一个夜晚，因为他第二天就回部队去了。”
玛丽·史密斯停了一会儿，接着抽泣起来，“他母亲给我看了那封电报。‘R·荷尔姆斯军士……在解放法国的战役中牺牲。’”
“‘我本来希望你和罗宾会结婚的。’她母亲说，‘我只有他一个孩子，我本希望能做祖母，有非常可爱的小宝宝。’她真是那么说的！”
“两年后她也去世了。医生说是‘肺炎，胸部着凉造成的’，但我认为这是典型的伤心过度。如果有个孩子那我们俩就都不会这样了。”
玛丽·史密斯又停了会儿没说话。她轻柔地抚摸着那棵刻过的树，就像她曾经抚摸他一样。“现在他们想把我们的树夺走。”她又轻轻地抽噎了一下，然后她转过身来对着我，“当时我年轻漂亮，我爱嫁给谁都可以，我当时可不是现在这么老的。我拥有生命里所要的一切，一个值得爱的男人、健康的身体和充满梦想的未来。”
她顿了顿，朝四周看了一眼。微风轻轻吹拂着树叶，发出叹息般的沙沙声。“当然， 那时还有其他人，但他们连罗宾的一丝一毫都比不上！”她肯定地说，“现在我一无所有——只剩下残留在这棵树上的记忆。那个可恶的家伙竟建议把路修在我们所站的这个地方，我真希望掐死他，我会对他说：你从没爱过吗，你活过吗，你从不知道什么叫记忆吗？你知道，不仅仅是我们，现在我仍能看见些男男女女像当年的我和罗宾那样到这儿来。是的，我一定要对他说！”
我转过身去，心里感到很难过。
She Left Her Shoes爱的遗鞋
She left her shoes; she took everything else, her toothbrush, her clothes, and even that stupid little silver vase on the table we kept candy in. Just dumped it out on the table and took the vase. The tiny apartment we shared seemed different now, her stuff was gone, and it wasn’t much really, although now the room seemed like a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing, incomplete. The closet seemed empty too; most of it was her stuff anyway. But there they were at the bottom, piled up like they usually were every single one of them. Why did she leave her shoes? She couldn’t have forgotten them, I knew too well that she took great pride in her shoe collection, but there they still were, right down to her favorite pair of sandals. They were black with a design etched into the wide band that stretched across the top of them, the soles scuffed and worn; a delicate imprint of where her toes rested was visible in the soft fabric.
It seemed funny to me, she walked out of my life without her shoes, is that irony, or am I thinking of something else? In a way I was glad they were still here, she would have to come back for them, right? I mean how could she go on with the rest of her life without her shoes? But she’s not coming back, I know she isn’t, she would rather walk barefoot over glass than have to see me again. But Christ she left all of her shoes! All of them, every sneaker, boot and sandal, every high heel and clog, every flip-flop. What do I do? Do I leave them here, or bag them up and throw them in the trash? Do I look at them every morning when I get dressed and wonder why she left them? She knew it, she knows what’s she’s doing. I can’t throw them out for fear she may return for them someday. I can’t be rid of myself of her completely with all her shoes still in my life, can’t dispose of them or the person that walked in them.
Her shoes, leaving a deep footprint on my heart, I can’t sweep it away. All I can do is staring at them and wonder, stare at their laces and straps their buttons and tread. They still connect me to her though, in some distant bizarre way they do. I can remember the good times we had, what pair she was wearing at that moment in time. They are hers and no else’s, she wore down the heels, and she scuffed their sides, it’s her fragile footprint imbedded on the insole. I sit on the floor next to them and wonder how many places had she gone while wearing these shoes, how many miles she walked in them, what pair was she wearing when she decided to leave me? I pick up a high heel she often wore and absently smell it. It’s not disgusting I think. It’s just the last tangible link I have to her. The last bit of reality I have of her. She left her shoes; she took everything else, except her shoes. They remain at the bottom of my closet, a shrine to her memory.
她把鞋子留在了这里，其他的她统统都带走了，包括她的牙刷、她的衣服，甚至我们摆放在桌上装糖果的银色小瓶子，她直接把糖果倒在了桌上，然后把瓶子拿走了。这个二人世界的小蜗居看上去已经和以前大不一样了，属于她的东西虽然不是特别多，可都给搬得干干净净，这间房子现在就如同一幅残缺的拼图，不再像以前那样完整。衣柜也变得空空如也，里面的东西本来都是她的。然而就在柜子的底层，也和往常一样堆积在那里，她的鞋子却给留了下来，一只也不少。她为什么要把鞋子留下来呢？她绝对不可能是忘了拿，我知道她向来很宝贝她的鞋子收藏。可是，这些鞋子真的就躺在那里，还包括那双黑色的凉鞋，她的至爱凉鞋宽宽的鞋面，上面还镂刻有花纹，鞋底已经磨损破旧，她的脚趾印还依稀可见于鞋内软皮上。
这可真让我百思不得其解，她既然选择离开我，却又不带走她的鞋？这是一种讽刺吗？还是我想歪了？从某种角度说，我又暗自高兴，鞋子既然给留了下来，那么她总有一天会回来拿的，对吗？我是说没了这些鞋子，她以后日子怎么过啊？可是，她不会再回来了。我知道她不会的，她宁愿光脚踩玻璃也不愿意回来看我的。可是，老天！她怎么就把鞋子给留下来了呢？所有的鞋，包括全部的球鞋、靴子、凉鞋、高跟鞋、木屐、人字拖……我该怎么办啊？任它们放在这儿，还是打包扔掉呢？我是不是要每天打开衣柜就看见它们，然后冥思苦想她留下鞋子的目的呢？她一定是有意这样做的，她很清楚自己在做什么。这些鞋子我不能扔，因为我怕有一天她会回来拿。她的鞋就这样留在我生命里，彻底摆脱对她的思念是不可能的，无论是鞋子还是它们的主人我也无法舍弃。
她的鞋子在我心中留下的深印实在难以抚平，我只能痴痴地看着她的鞋，看着那些鞋带，然后傻傻地把鞋扣系好。这些鞋子将我和她连结在一起，虽然方式是那样滑稽可笑。回想起和她在一起的快乐时光，想着她在那时那刻穿着哪双鞋子。鞋子是她的，不是别人的，鞋跟磨短了，鞋边磨破了，鞋内是她纤纤的足印。我席地坐在她的鞋子旁边，想着她穿着这些鞋子到过多少地方，走了多少的路？她最后下定决心要离开我时穿的又是哪双鞋呢？我拿起了一只她常穿的高跟鞋，心不在焉地嗅了一下，我一点也不觉得恶心，因为属于她而实实在在能让我拥有的就只剩那气息了，这也是回忆以外她留给我的最后一丝真实存在。她把鞋子遗留在这儿；其余一切都带走了，除了鞋子之外。它们躺在衣柜的底层，那个属于她的，属于回忆的神圣角落。
