莫里现在整天坐着轮椅,他已经习惯了让助手把他像沙袋一样从轮椅上搬到床上,从床上搬到椅子上。他吃东西的时候也会咳嗽,嚼咽食物成了件困难的事。他的两腿已经死了,再也无法行走。然而,他不想因此而沮丧。相反,他的思维比以前更加活跃。他把自己的思想随手写在纸簿,信封、文件夹或废纸上。用片言只语地写下了自己在死亡的阴影下对生活的思考。当我那辆租来的车子拐上莫里在波士顿一个僻静的郊区西纽顿的那条街时,我手里握着一杯咖啡,肩膀和耳朵间夹着一部手机。突然,那幢房子跃入了我的眼帘。我踩下刹车,咖啡晃出了杯子。车停下后,我瞥见了车道上的那棵日本大槭树和它旁边坐着的三个人。坐在两边的是一个年轻人和一个中年妇女,中间是一个坐在轮椅上的 Morrie is now in a wheelchair all day, and he is accustomed to letting his assistant move him out of his wheelchair onto a bed like a punching bag and onto a chair from his bed. He coughed when he ate, and chewing food was a difficult task. His legs are dead and can no longer be walked. However, he did not want to be frustrated. On the contrary, his thinking is more active than before. He wrote his thoughts on paper books, envelopes, folders or waste paper. In a nutshell, he wrote his thoughts on life under the shadow of death. As my rented car turned up on Morley’s side street in Secaucus, a secluded suburb of Boston in Newtown, I had a cup of coffee in my hand and a cellphone between my shoulders and my ears. Suddenly, that house jumped into my sight. I stepped on the brakes and the coffee shook the cup. After the car stopped, I caught a glimpse of the big Japanese maple tree in the driveway and the three people sitting next to it. Sitting on either side is a young man and a middle-aged woman in the middle is a wheelchair