They were going to Fort Lauderdalethree boys and three girls and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches as the gray cold of New York vanished behind them.
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 some personal cocoon of silence.
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.
“We're going to Florida,” she said brightly.“ I hear it's really beautiful.”
“It is, ” he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.
In the morning, they awoke outside another Howard Johnson's,and this time Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he told 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 asking questions, if it hurt too much, well, she could just forget me, I'd understand. Get a new guy, I saidshe‘s a wonderful woman, really something and forget about me. I told her she didn't have to write me for nothing. 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 her 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'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 was 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. The bus acquired a dark, hushed mood, full of the silence of absence and lost years. Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face into the ex-con's mask, as if fortifying himself against still another disappointment.
Then Brunswick was ten 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 handkerchiefs20 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 rose and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.
几年前我第一次听到这故事，是在纽约格林尼治碰到的一个女孩子说的。她说当时那些人里有她。此后别人听我提起这件事，便说他们记不起是在哪本书上看到过大致相同的故事，或说听熟人讲过，是那位熟人的朋友的亲身经历。这故事很可能就是那种深藏在人们心底的神秘民间传说，每隔几年，就以不同的说法流传一次。尽管故事中的人物不同，寓意却始终如一。我倒愿意相信某时某地真有其人其事。
他们到佛罗里达去，3个男孩，3个女孩。他们用纸袋带着夹肉面包和葡萄酒，上了长途公共汽车，梦想着金黄色的海滩和海潮。灰暗寒冷的纽约，在他们后面消失了。
长途汽车隆隆南驶，温哥引起了他们的注意。他坐在他们的前面，身穿一套不称身的褴褛衣服，动也不动，灰尘蒙面，使人看不出年纪。不断地咬嘴唇内部，寡合得仿佛处身愁茧，默无一言。
长途汽车深夜驶抵华盛顿郊外，停在路旁一家餐馆门外。大家都下了车。只有温哥没下，像在座位上生了根似的。这批青年觉得奇怪，就猜想他究竟是何等人物：也许是船长，是抛妻别家的人，是解甲归田的老兵。他们回到车上，有个女孩就在他旁边坐下，向他自我介绍。
“我们是到佛罗里达去的，”她爽朗地说，“听说那儿风景很美。”
“不错。”他淡然回答，仿佛勾起了想忘却的事。
“要喝点酒吗？”女孩问。他露出笑容，喝了一大口。然后谢谢女孩，又闷声不响了。过了一会儿，女孩回到自己一伙人那里，温哥在点头冲盹。
早上，大家醒来，车已开到另一家餐厅外面，这一次温哥进去了。女孩一定要他一道吃。他好像很难为情，叫了杯不加牛奶的咖啡，那群年轻人闲谈着露宿沙滩的事，他却紧张地抽烟。再上车，女孩又和温哥同坐，不久，他不胜辛酸地慢慢说出了自己的沧桑。他在纽约坐了4年牢，现在获释回家。
“你有太太吗？”
“不知道。”
“你不知道？”女孩问。
“说来话长，我在牢里写信给妻子，”他说，“告诉她我要很久才能回家，要是她受不了，要是孩子老在问这问那，要是觉得太丢脸，就忘掉我吧。我会理解她的。她是个了不起的女子，真好的女子，我说另找个男人，忘掉我吧。我告诉她不必给我写信，她没来信。3年半没有消息。”
“你现在回家，还不知道情形怎么样吗？”
“不知道，”他很腼腆地答，“是这样的，上周我确知可以假释了，又写了封信给她。镇口有棵大橡树。我告诉她，假如还要我的话，就在树上挂条黄手帕，我就下车回家。假如不要我，就不必了——没有手帕，我就不下车，一直走下去。”
“喔唷，”女孩叫了起来，“喔唷。”
她告诉了别人，不久大家全知道了，快到温哥故乡时都紧张起来，看温哥拿出的几张照片，照片中是他的妻子和3个孩子，他妻子自有一种朴实的美，孩子还很小，照片抚弄得太多，满是裂痕。
他们离镇只有20里了，年轻人都在车右边靠窗而坐，等着看那棵大橡树出现。车厢里气氛沉郁，寂静无声，想到生离之苦，青春虚掷，大家都默然无语。温哥不再眺望，沉着脸，重又流露着出狱犯的神情，像是怕会再遭挫折，先在心理上加强准备似的。
还有10里，还有5里。接着，突然之间，所有的年轻人都离座起立，狂喊狂嚷狂叫，雀跃不已。只有温哥例外。
温哥坐在那里惊得呆了，目望着橡树。树上挂满了黄手帕——20条，30条，也许好几百条，就像旗帜迎风招展欢迎他。在年轻人欢呼声中，这个刚出狱的人离座起身，走到前面，下车回家。
