两个饭团
The old man who buys two rice balls
Name: ________________ Date: ________
饭团爷爷是我给他起的外号。他就是第一天晚上那个穿旧军大衣的老人。他满头白发，说话慢，走路也慢，可是每天一点钟，一分钟都不会晚。他每次都买两个饭团。
他有老花眼，看不清包装上的小字，每次都要问我：“这个是什么味的？”
“金枪鱼的。这个是鸡肉的。”
我念给他听，他就点点头，好像老师在听学生背课文。
他坐在窗前，望着马路对面，一口一口慢慢吃完一个。吃的时候，他一句话也不说，好像对面有什么特别好看的东西。另一个，他放进大衣口袋，从来不在店里吃。
我在心里给他编了一个故事：奶奶去世了。以前每天晚上，两个人一人一个饭团，奶奶最喜欢鸡肉的。现在只剩他一个人，可他还是习惯买两个。我越想越难过，差点把自己感动哭了。
那天，我端了一杯热豆浆给他：“爷爷，外面冷，这杯我请您。”
“为什么请我？”
我看了看他的口袋，小声说：“另一个饭团，是给奶奶留的吧？”
爷爷愣了一下，接着笑得直咳嗽：“傻孩子，饭团第二个半价！”他拍拍口袋，“这个，我三点再吃。我老伴在家睡得好好的，她要是听见你这么说，非骂你不可。”
原来，根本没有什么悲伤的故事，只有一个会算账的老头。我的脸一下子红到了耳朵。爷爷喝完豆浆，把杯子扔进垃圾桶，又加了一句：“你们年轻人啊，就是想得太多。”
两点五十，我把这件事讲给小梅听，她笑得差点把面条吃进鼻子里。
三点，纸条照样来了：“今天的‘欢迎光临’只慢了半秒。可是故事编得不好。七十分。”
我盯着纸条想了很久。这件事，只有两个人知道：饭团爷爷和小梅。饭团爷爷连饭团上的字都看不清，怎么可能写纸条？那就只能是小梅了。
Key words
| Word | Pinyin | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 点头 | diǎntóu | to nod |
| 背 | bèi | back (of the body) |
| 窗 | chuāng | window |
| 另 | lìng | other; another |
| 剩 | shèng | to remain; to be left over |
| 感动 | gǎndòng | moved; touched; to move; to touch (emotionally) |
| 留 | liú | to keep; to retain |
| 接着 | jiēzhe | next; then; after that |
| 咳嗽 | késou | to cough; cough |
| 好好 | háohǎo | perfectly good; in good condition |
| 要是 | yàoshì | if; in case |
| 扔 | rēng | to throw; to toss |
English (for the teacher)
Rice Ball Grandpa is my nickname for him. He’s the old man in the army greatcoat from my first night. His hair is completely white, and he talks slowly and walks slowly, but at one o’clock every night he isn’t a minute late. He always buys two rice balls.
He’s long-sighted and can’t read the small print on the packets, so every time he asks me: “What flavour is this one?”
“Tuna. And this one’s chicken.”
When I read them out to him, he nods, like a teacher listening to a pupil recite.
He sits by the window gazing across the road and slowly eats one of them, bite by bite. He doesn’t say a word while he eats, as if there’s something especially lovely to look at over there. The other one goes into his coat pocket; he never eats it in the shop.
In my head, I made up a story about him: his wife had died. Every evening they used to have one rice ball each, and chicken was her favourite. Now he’s on his own, but he still buys two out of habit. The more I thought about it, the sadder I got, until I nearly moved myself to tears.
That night I took him a cup of hot soy milk: “It’s cold out, Grandpa. This one’s on me.”
“Why are you treating me?”
I glanced at his pocket and said quietly: “The other rice ball is for Grandma, isn’t it?”
Grandpa froze for a moment, then laughed so hard he started coughing: “Silly boy, the second rice ball is half price!” He patted his pocket. “I’m having this one at three. My wife’s at home sound asleep, and if she heard you say that, she’d give you a piece of her mind.”
So there was no sad story at all, just an old man who knows a bargain. I blushed right up to my ears. Grandpa finished his soy milk, threw the cup in the bin and added: “You young people, you just think too much.”
At ten to three I told Xiaomei the story, and she laughed so hard she nearly got noodles up her nose.
At three, the note came as usual: “Today’s ‘welcome’ was only half a second slow. But the story was badly made up. Seventy.”
I stared at the note for a long time. Only two people knew about this: Rice Ball Grandpa and Xiaomei. Rice Ball Grandpa can’t even read the labels on rice balls, so how could he write notes? So it could only be Xiaomei.