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I first heard this story a few years ago from a girl I had met in New York's Greenwich Village. Probably the story is one of those mysterious bits of folklore that reappear every few years, to be told anew in one form or another. However, I still like to think that it really did happen, somewhere, sometime.
我是在几年前，从在纽约格林威治村碰到的一个女孩子那里第一次听到这个故事的。这故事很可能是那些每隔几年就会重新出现，以一种新的说法再被讲述一遍的神秘的民间传说中的一个。然而，我依然愿意相信这故事确实曾在某个地方、某个时间发生过。
Going Home
回家
They were going to Fort Lauderdale — three boys and three girls — and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches and sea tides as the gray, cold spring of New York vanished behind them.
他们要去洛德代尔堡——三个男孩子和三个女孩子。他们用纸袋装着夹心面包和葡萄酒上了公共汽车。当纽约灰暗寒冷的春天在他们身后消失时，他们正梦想着金色的海滩和大海的潮水。
As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He kept chewing the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into complete silence.
公共汽车驶过新泽西州时，他们开始注意到了文戈。他坐在他们前面，穿着一套不合身的便服，一动也不动。他风尘满面，让人看不出他有多大岁数。他不停地咬着嘴唇内侧，表情冷淡，默默无言。
Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson's, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.
深夜，公共汽车驶抵华盛顿郊外，停进了霍华德·约翰逊餐馆。所有人都下了车，只有文戈除外。他像生了根似地坐在座位上，几个年轻人开始诧异起来，试图想像出他的身世：他或许是位海船船长，或是一个抛下妻子离家出走的人，再不就是一个回家的老兵。当他们回到车上时，一个女孩子便坐到他身边，作了自我介绍。
We're going to Florida, she said brightly. "I hear it's really beautiful."
“我们要到佛罗里达去，”她兴高采烈地说。“听说那儿的确很美。”
It is, he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.
“是的，”他轻声说道，仿佛想起了他一直想忘却的什么东西。
