“Mom, tell me the story about the black bull (公牛), ” I said when we were driving to my grandparents’ farm.

“You know it better than I do. Besides, you can’t be too careful when driving,” she answered.

“Yeah, but it’s your story and I think that story can remind me to drive slowly.” When she didn’t respond, I touched her arm gently.

“I’ll start it for you: It was a late Friday afternoon, and you were rushing home from work because you, Dad, Shelby and I were going to Dad’s parents’ farm, and it was a four-hour drive.”

Mom carried on from there.

“Once I got home,” she began, “we loaded up and headed out. It took about a half hour to get through the rush-hour traffic, but finally we reached the interstate and headed east. Because I was tired and eager to get to the farm and sleep, I drove as fast as the speed limit allowed—70 miles an hour.”

I rolled my eyes. Mom never drove the posted speed limit; she always went at least five miles over. But if I reminded her of that story, time would come to a stop.

“Time passed, and it got dark. You girls fell asleep in the back, and Dad nodded off next to me. Seat belts weren’t mandatory (强制的) at the time, so no one tied the belts. Hours later, I exited the interstate onto the little state road. The speed limit was 50, but I kept going70. There was no traffic after all, and I knew your grandparents were waiting up for us.”

I’d spent summers with my grandparents as a kid, and they did indeed go to bed early, as farmers do.

“At last, I reached the turn that would take us to the farm. The road was a narrow, less maintained farm-to-market road that locals used. It was completely dark, and the only light was from my headlights. I pressed the pedal (踏板) harder and sped up.”

This was the point in the story that always turned my blood cold.

“Suddenly, a large, black shape appeared in your headlights,” I cut in.

“Luckily, the car stopped but the sudden action awoke all of you,” Mom smiled.

In 1940, I worked in the checkroom of the railway station. I saw everybody that came up the stairs.

Harry was a young man who came to the station and waited at the head of the stairs for the passengers from the 9:05 train.

I remembered seeing Harry that first evening. He wasn’t much more than a thin, anxious kid then. He was all dressed up and I knew he was meeting his sister, who he hadn’t seen for many years.

Well, the passengers came up and I had to get busy. I didn’t look toward the stairs again until nearly time for the 9:18 and I was very surprised to see that the Harry was still there. His sister didn’t come on the 9:18 either, nor on the 9:40, and when the passengers from the 10:02 had all arrived and left, Harry was looking pretty upset. Pretty soon he came close to my window so I called out and asked him what his sister looked like.

“She’s small and dark. She is nineteen years old and very neat in the way she walk,” he said. “She has a face that has lots of spirit. I mean she can get mad but she never stays mad for long, and her eyebrows come to a little point in the middle. She’s got a brown fur, but maybe she isn’t wearing it.”

“I couldn’t remember seeing anybody like that,” I told him.

He showed me the telegram he’d received: ARRIVE THURSDAY. MEET ME AT THE STATION. MAY. It was from Omaha, Nebraska. “Well,” I finally said, “why don’t you phone to your home? She’s probably called there if she got in ahead of you.”

He gave me a sick look. “I’ve only been in the town for two days. We were going to meet and then drive down to the south of the city where I’ve got a job. She doesn’t have my address.”

When I came on duty the next day, Harry was still there and I asked more about his sister.

One day, after about two weeks, I thought I could say something encouraging to him.

Buried in the snow

Snow was falling across Canadian Rocky Mountains in March, lasting for days. From his home, Allen watched the weather with concern. He and his wife, Lucy, had planned to go out for holiday, but now he wondered whether they should go. After phoning the hotel, they decided to make the trip. By the time they neared the hotel six hours later, they were caught in a snowstorm. When they finally arrived, they were both cold and tired out. They checked into their room and went to bed early.

When they awoke the next day, they found the snow had continued overnight. The cars in the parking lot were hidden under the snow. While they were having breakfast, the hotel began to shake．An earthquake with a magnitude (震级) of 5.7 had struck the mountain. “Let’s get out of here!” Allen shouted to his wife. They made their way to the parking lot, where others were digging out their cars.

With most cars freed by noon, the guests set off down the driveway. But when they reached the main road, the path was blocked by a two-meter-high wall of snow. Allen climbed out of his car to check. There was no road in sight. “We’re trapped!” he told his wife. With no other choice, they made their way back to the hotel.

They managed to get back to the hotel before dark. That was when the snow on the mountain began to slide. They heard the avalanche (雪崩) before they saw it. The avalanche gathered speed, taking away rocks and trees and anything else in its way as it flowed down the mountain, tearing the hotel from its foundation. When the avalanche came to a stop, those trapped inside the hotel were buried in the icy ruins.

When Allen became conscious(苏醒), he found himself caught in the dark.

It was not until the next morning that the rescuers finally arrived.