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by Quentin Reynolds
Montreal is a very lage city. Like all Large cities, it has
small streets. Streets, for example, LikePrince Edward
Street-only four blocks Long. No one knew Prince Edward
Street as well as Pierre Dupin. He had delivered milk to the
families on the street for thirty years.
For the past fifteen years. a large white horse pulled his
milk wagon. In Montreal, especially in the French part of
the city, animals and children are often given the names of
saints. Pierre's horse had no name when it first came to the
milk company. Pierre was told he could use the horse. He
moved his hand gently and lovingly across the horse's neck
and sides. He looked into the animal's eyes.
"This is a gentle horse," Pierre said. "I can see a
beautiful spirit shining out of its eyes. I will name him
after Saint Joseph, who also was a gentle and beautiful
spirit."
After about a year, the horse, Joseph, got to know every
house that received milk, and every house that did not.
Every morning at five, Pterre arrived at the milk company's
stables to find his wagon already filled with bottles of
milk and Joseph waiting for him, Pierre would call,
"Bonjour, my old friend," as he climbed into his seat, while
Joseph turned his head toward the driver.
The other drivers would smile. They said that the horse
smiled at Pierre.
Then Pierre would softly call to Joseph, "Avance, mon ami."
And the two would go proudly down the street. Without any
order from Pierre, the wagon would roll down three streets.
Then it turned right for two streets, before turning left to
Saint Catherine Street. The horse finally stopped at the
first house on Prince Edward Street. There, Joseph would
wait perhaps thirty seconds for Pierre to get down off his
seat and put a bottle of milk at the front door. Then the
horse walked past the next two houses and stopped at the
third. And without being told,Joseph would turn around and
come back along the other side. Ah yes, Joseph was a smart
horse.
Pierre would talk about Joseph. "I never touch the reins. He
knows just where to stop. Why, a blind man could deliever my
milk with Joseph pulling the wagon."
And so it went on for years-always the same. Pierre and
Joseph slowly grew old together. Pierre's huge walrus
mustache was white now and Joseph didn't lift his knees so
high or raise his head quite so much. Jaeques, the bossman
of the stables, never noticed that they both were getting
old until Pierre appeared one morning carrying a heavy
walking stick.
"Hey, Pierre," Jacques laughed. "Maybe you got the gout,
hey?"
"Mais oui, Jacques," Pierre said. "One grows old. One's legs
get tired."
"Well, you should teach that horse to carry the milk to the
front door for you," Jacques told him. "He does everything
else."
The horse knew every one of the forty families that got milk
on Prince Edward Street. The cooks knew that Pierre could
not read or write; so, instead of leaving orders in an empty
milk bottle, they simply sang out if they needed an extra
bottle. "Bring an extra bottle this morning, Pierre," they
often sang when they heard Pierre's wagon rumble over the
street.
"So you have visitors for dinner tonight," Pierre would
happily answer.
Pierre also had a wonderful memory. When he arrived at the
stable he always remembered to tell Jacques, "The Pacquins
took an extra bottle this morning; the Lemoines bought a
pint of cream..."
Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and
collect the money, but Jacques, liking Pierre, never asked
him to do this. All Pierre had to do was arrive at five in
the morning, walk to his wagon, which always was in the same
place, and deliver his milk. He returned about two hours
later, got down from his seat, called a cheery "Au voir" to
Jacques, then walked slowly down the street.
One day the president of the milk company came to inspect
the early morning milk deliveries. Jacques pointed to Pierre
and said, "Watch how he talks to that horse. See how the
horse listens and how he turns his head toward Pierre? See
the look in that horse's eyes? You know, I think those two
share a secret. I have often felt it. It's as though they
both sometimes laugh at us as they go off Pierre...Pierre is
a good man, Monsieur President, but he is getting old. Maybe
he ought to be given a rest, and a small pension."
"Oh but of course," the president laughed. 'I know Pierre's
work. He has been on this job now for thirty years. All who
know him, love him. Tell him it is time he rested. He'll get
his pay every week as before."
But Pierre refused to leave his job. He said his life would
be nothing if he could not drive Joseph every day. "We are
two old men," he said to Jacques. "Let us wear out together.
When Joseph is ready to leave, then I too will do so."
There was something about pierre and his horse that made a
man smile tenderly. Each seemed to get some hidden strength
from the other. As Pierre sat in his seat, with Joseph tied
to the wagon, neither seemed old. But when they finished
their work-then Pierre walked lamely down the street,
seeming very old indeed, and the horse's head dropped and he
walked slowly to his stall.
Then one cold morning Jacques had terrible news for Pierre.
It was still dark. The air was like ice. Snow had fallen
during the night.
Jacques said, "Pierre, your horse, Joseph, didn't wake up.
He was very old, Pierre. He was twenty-five and that is like
being seventy-five for a man."
"Yes," Pierre said slowly. "Yes. I am seventy-five. And I
cannot see Joseph again."
"Oh, of course you can," Jacques said softly. "He is over in
his stall, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him."
Pierre took one step foward, then turned. "No... no ... you
don't understand, Jacques."
Jacques patted him on he shoulder. "We'll find another horse
just as good as Joseph. Why, in a month you'll teach him to
know all the homes as well as Joseph did. We'll...." The
look in Pierre's eyes stopped him. For years Pierre had worn
a large heavy cap that came down low over his eyes. It kept
out the bitter cold wind. Now, Jacques looked into Picrre's
eyes and he saw something that shocked him. He saw a dead,
Lifeless Lookin them.
"Take the day off, Pierre," Jacques said But Pierre was gone
limping down the street. Pierre walked to the comer and
stepped into the street. There was a warning shout from the
driver of a big truck. There was the screech of rubber tires
as the truck tried to stop. But Pierre... Pierre heard
nothing.
Five minutes later a doctor said, "He's dead... kilted
instantly."
"I couldn't help it," the truck driver said, "He walked in
front of my truck. He ... he never saw it, I guess. Why, he
walked as though he were blind."
The doctor bent down. "Blind? Of course the man was blind.
See those growths? This man has been blind for five years."
He turned to Jacques, "You say he worked for you? Didn't you
know he was blind?"
"No ... no .. ." Jacques said softly. "None of us knew. Only
one... only one knew--a friend of his, named Joseph ... It
was... it was a secret, I think, just between those two."
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人和馬分享著一個祕密、相依為命，甚至連不可能完成的任務也被完成了。約瑟芬死後，皮爾驚呼「我不能再見約瑟芬了」，此時連親近如傑克斯者，尚不知皮爾已目盲多時，真的是再也不能見約瑟芬了，椎心之痛化為一聲驚呼，令人感同身受涕泣不已。 |
A SECRET FOR TWO
