大学英语精读-1 Unit Ten ：Going Home -2

When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he began go tell his story.

He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home.

"Are you married?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" she said.

"Well, when I was in jail I wrote to my wife," he said. "I told her that I was going to be away a long time, and that if she couldn't stand it, if the kids kept askin' questions, if it hurt her too much, well, she could jus forget me.

I'd understand. Get a new guy , I said -- she's a wonderful woman, really something -- and forget about me.

I told her she didn't have to write me. And she didn't. Not for three and a half years."

"And you're going home now, not knowing?"

"Yeah," he said shyly. "Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote the again.

We used to live in Brunswick, just Before Jacksonville, and there's a big oak tree just as you come into town,

I told her that if she didn't have a new guy and if she'd take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I'd get off and come home.

If she didn't want me, forget it -- no handkerchief, and I'd go on through."

"Wow," the girl exclaimed. "Wow."

She told the others, and soon all of them were in it, caught up in the approach of Brunswick, looking at the pictures Vingo showed them of his wife and three children -- the woman handsome in a plain way, the children still unformed in the much-handled snapshots.

Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and the young people took over window seats on the right side, waiting for the approach of the great oak tree.

Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face, as id fortifying himself against still another disappointment.

Then Brunswick was 10 miles, and then five. Then, suddenly, all of the young people were up out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances of joy. All except Vingo.

Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was covered with yellow handkerchiefs -- 20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome billowing in the wind.

As the young people shouted, the old con slowly rose from his seat and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.