“在他看来，这座养老院只是一座空壳，根本比不上监狱。付达信怀念监狱，可他已经73岁了，他实在没有把握，还有没有体力，回到那个”安乐窝“。”
2008年，湖南农村老人付达信为了养老，故意抢劫被捕。在如愿度过一年半“牢”有所养的美好时光后，养老问题，再次现实地摆在他面前。
73岁的付达信坐在只铺了一张席子的硬床板上，弯曲起一条腿。眼睛微闭的时候，他又想起了监狱里的生活。“有馒头和稀饭，不用劳动，生病了有人看。”如果还能让他一天抽上几支烟，这就是他对“好生活”的全部想象。
2008年9月，付达信在北京站广场抢劫未遂，被判处2年有期徒刑。宣判的时候，付达信恳求法官：“判得太轻了，你再好好审审。”他的想法只有一个，进了监狱，就不必再为吃饱饭而四处奔波。
一年半后，付达信提前出狱，住进了湖南省衡阳市祁东县灵官镇敬老院。
“这里的生活赶不上监狱。”付达信光着脚走到柜子前，他想找一件相对体面的衣服。在两个干瘪的行李包里摸索了一会儿，付达信无功而返地坐回床边。面对《中国周刊》记者，付达信说：“我不想减刑。”
抢劫
在灵官镇敬老院，付达信是个“见过世面”的老人。他去过北京，还在年三十儿的晚上吃过甜酒冲鸡蛋。这样的待遇其他老人想都不敢想。尽管村里人告诉他不要讲抢劫入狱的事，付达信还是经常讲给敬老院的老人听。
这一次，付达信站起身，和身边的一个老人模拟起当初抢劫的场景。“她背着包，我从旁边扯她的包，包还挂在她胳膊上，我就拿出了刀，让她喊抢劫。”
“刀多长？”敬老院的老人明知故问。
“不长嘞。”付达信用双手比划着刀的大小。“我削苹果的嘛。”每次说到这里，都会引起一阵哄堂大笑。
“没有办法，我不到万不得已不会走这一步。”这句话让整个房间安静了下来。
2008年9月8日下午，北京站广场人流熙攘。身无分文的付达信又感觉到胃里饿得一阵阵痉挛。用手擦了把汗，他终于下定决心——抢劫。
摸了摸兜里的水果刀，付达信焦灼地寻找着抢劫目标。远处，一个警察在买矿泉水。“去抢警察，他就可以把我直接带进监狱。”可他的如意算盘没打成，年纪大腿脚慢，付达信还没走到跟前，警察已经转身离开了。
售票处，二十多个人在排队买票。其中一个四五十岁的中年妇女手里举着300块钱，眼睛盯着售票窗口一步步往前移动着。付达信觉得机会来了。他凑过去，用力一抻，扯下了100元钱。妇女回头一看，只见瘦小枯干的付达信站在她的身后，手里攥着缺了一个角的百元钞票。付达信拿出一把小水果刀，笑着对她说：“你喊抢劫。”
“神经病！”中年妇女认为碰上了病人，自认倒霉嘟囔着转身继续排队。
“我当时这个气啊，想她怎么不喊啊，如果一喊，警察来了不就行了嘛。”付达信说。
付达信决定要抢个拿包的。在北京站广场西侧的花坛边，一个背双肩包的女大学生引起了付达信的注意。“把包给我。”付达信跟在女大学生身后喊了几声，对方都没有理睬。付达信只能小跑几步赶到跟前，拉扯女大学生的背包。背在后边的双肩背包被拉得滑落在手臂上。女学生抓着自己的包不放，付达信也使劲往怀里拉。争抢了一会儿，付达信体力不支渐渐落了下风。
他再次拿出小水果刀，让女孩儿喊抢劫。这次，女大学生喊来了警察。付达信心满意足地笑了。
经鉴定，仅被抢的一个挎包就价值几千元，包里还有其他物品，被抢物品共价值9000多元。付达信不管包里是现金还是卫生纸，他只希望办案民警把自己的罪行写得严重些，“希望能够多判几年”。
2008年11月24日，北京铁路运输法院审理后认定，付达信的抢劫行为由于意志以外的原因未能得逞，属犯罪未遂。鉴于其归案后认罪态度较好，判处其2年有期徒刑、处6000元罚金。付达信没交那笔罚金，“我哪有钱”。
“一块六，你说能吃啥？”
不止一次有人问付达信，为什么要抢劫？“冰冻三尺非一日之寒。”付达信说，自己的日子实在是过不下去了。
付达信是湖南省衡阳市祁东县灵官村的农民。在村里同龄人中算是个“秀才”。1957年高小毕业后，他考上了县里的林业中学，当时这个学校是免费的，上午读书，下午劳动。但是只上了一年，学校停办了，付达信回到了村里。当时正好赶上招工，付达信的户口还在学校没有转回来，于是错过了招工，最后只好在家务农。
因为家里穷，付达信一辈子都没有娶过亲。年轻的时候，在云南放过6年的鸭子，鸭子被人毒死了，他开始常年在广西、广东打工。
年纪大了，付达信再也干不动活，只能回到村里。三十多年前修建的泥砖房已经塌了半边，村民经常看到付达信蹲在田埂上，米饭泡上凉水，便是一餐。近年因为年岁大了，干不动田里的活，付达信将村里分给他的八分地退了回去，也由此走上了“食不果腹”的艰难道路。前两年付达信身体还好，可以干些活，收入刚刚够养活自己。近些年他得了病，再加上岁数大了，挣的钱很少。入狱前，付达信已经两年没有吃上肉了。
为了养活自己，付达信在附近批发一些烤烟、干鱼和虾子，一个扁担、两个筐，挑到集市上去卖。年纪大腿脚慢，付达信总是落在同去的村民后面。平均下来，每天可以挣两三元钱。要是卖不掉，还要亏了成本。
原先付达信家还通电，后来村里给各家安装了电表，付达信拿不出600元装电表的钱，他家再也没有通电，晚上黑乎乎的，没有急事根本不点蜡烛。“那东西太贵，比吃饭还贵。”付达信说。
由于生活太艰难，2003年付达信找到县民政办反映情况，才知道自己是五保户，可以拿到补助。
在祁东县，像付达信这样的“五保”老人（即指无赡养人、无劳动能力的老人）有一万人。九成以上都在村里自己生活，无人照顾。
付达信生病后没有钱去医院治，只有躺在床上挨着。村里人说：“再见到他时，他就是一个干枯的壳了。”
付达信找过村里、镇里，甚至市政府，但都没有钱给他。因为国家在五保老人的医疗，尤其大病问题上，也没有实质性的措施。
从2003年起，他领到了一年300元的补助，到2007年涨到了600元。付达信说，一年600元平均下来一天也就1.6元，根本不够生活的。“我们这里米1.5元一斤，肉13元一斤。一块六，你说能吃啥？”
2008年8月，已经69岁的付达信在同乡的带领下到广西柳州收废品。人生地不熟，付达信骑着三轮车转了三天，没有收到一点废品。他也发觉自己骑不动三轮车了。无奈，付达信回了祁东县。实在活不下去，付达信想起自己在捡来的报纸上看过的一则新闻：一个病人为了治病，犯罪入狱，监狱竟然给他看病。想想自己，“死都不怕了，还怕进监狱吗？”付达信决定到北京抢劫。一来解决自己的吃饭问题，二来也想反映一下自己的生活状况。
付达信用捡破烂的钱买了一张去河南郑州的火车票。到了当地继续捡破烂，有钱就买票，没钱便逃票，辗转到天津，又到了北京，整整用了十天的时间。
抢劫后，付达信终于如愿以偿地进了监狱。
“牢”有所养
和其他人不同，付达信进了看守所便喜上眉梢。见到馒头，付达信更是欢喜得不得了。“馒头，我最喜欢吃了。”付达信脸上露出灿烂的笑。因为上世纪八十年代做过胃部手术，付达信的胃肠一直不好。馒头可以综合他过多的胃酸，让他舒坦许多。
看守所里的犯人很少见到这么能吃的老头。他什么都吃，并且绝不浪费。别人吃不完的饭菜，付达信也会一一代劳。三个月，付达信胖了10斤。
在看守所呆了三个半月，付达信被转到天河监狱。这里是送服刑人员回地方监狱的中转站。付达信发现这里的生活更好了。不仅天天有馒头吃，老年人每天早晨还有一个鸡蛋。
在监狱里，付达信两年来，第一次吃到了肉。他一小口一小口地吃，生怕把肉片很快吃完。付达信把肉放在嘴里反复咀嚼，发出吧唧吧唧的声音，被同囚的狱友笑话了好半天。
三个半月后，付达信被转回到湖南省长沙监狱服刑。监狱发给他夏服、春秋服、冬装各两件，鞋子两双。被子发了两床，一床铺，一床盖。不仅有被套床单，夏天还有席子发。热水瓶、桶子、杯子一应俱全。
付达信觉得长沙监狱吃得更好了。一日三餐按时吃饭，不仅馒头管够，午饭的时候还会有西红柿炒鸡蛋、海带炖排骨、玉米炖排骨。开水是统一供应，不限量。年三十儿晚上过了12点，监狱还会给犯人送来甜酒冲鸡蛋。
每年600元的五保户补助依然在发放。村里的会计把钱邮寄给付达信，他还偶尔在监狱里买些面条来当做早餐。
在监狱里，60岁以上的老人是不需要劳动的。付达信每天早晨6点30起床，洗漱、整理内务，把被子叠成豆腐块。吃过早餐，别人出工后，付达信便回到监舍内休息。长沙监狱里有花园、篮球场，放风的时候付达信可以随便溜达。“只要不出了四面高墙电网的大院子就行。”付达信说。
闲来无事付达信就看书看报，背唐诗，写字。有时候跟狱友下下棋，每天都要收看新闻联播。付达信在监狱做了有生以来的第一次体检。“脑血管硬化、骨质增生、双肾结石、前列腺炎。”和以前生病硬扛着不同，付达信在监狱生病，中午和晚上都会有人来看望。每天均有医生来巡诊，有急病随时到狱内医院就诊，病得重了还会有专人来照顾。付达信前列腺炎发作，监狱里的医院看不好，还由四个警察陪同着去监狱外面的社会医院诊治。“他们扶着我，从来都没跟我说大话（大声呵斥）。”
在监狱里，付达信感受到了久违的温暖。他总希望时间过得慢些，再慢些。但是，好景不长，付达信被减刑了。
提起减刑，付达信满脸的不高兴。“上过报纸、上过照片的犯人都会被减刑半年。”付达信不接受减刑，减刑要写悔过书，付达信不肯写。“我敢作敢当，没有什么好后悔的。”
最终，其他犯人为付达信代写了悔过书，付达信提前半年出狱。“吃了睡，睡了吃。除了吃饭就是看病。不干活，监狱也不愿意要你。”
付达信拿起一支烟卷，嗅了嗅说：“我以前在监狱里，别人请我抽10块钱一包的香烟。现在1.8元一包的，还不一定能抽上。”
敬老院的生活
2010年3月7日，村里为付达信的侄儿出了500元路费，将付达信从长沙监狱接了出来。没有耽搁，付达信被送到了灵官镇敬老院。这是2009年新落成的敬老院。砖混结构四合院式，有两栋共32间住房，工作人员三名。过了两天，灵官镇民政办的彭主任便来看望了付达信。因为“入狱养老”的事情，当地的民政部门颇为紧张。
入狱前，付达信并没有住在敬老院。村长付发月在接受媒体采访时曾说，付达信住进敬老院，村里需要每年给他缴纳600斤口粮。因为付达信没有把房屋抵押给村里，才迟迟没有住进敬老院。
在农村，五保供养的主要责任人是村委会和村民小组。可在日益空心的农村，集体没有足够的钱供养贫困老人。在祁东县，有9成以上的五保老人未能住进敬老院。“要不是进了监狱全国人民都知道，我还住不进敬老院。”付达信说。
然而，付达信对敬老院还是非常不满意。在他看来，这座养老院只是一座空壳，根本比不上监狱。
出狱三天后，付达信就发现了敬老院的问题：二楼的平台高于房间，下雨便往房间里灌。房间的墙上裂了一条条口子，食堂后面的水泥平台已经全部塌陷。一年600元的补助取消了，取而代之的是每月300元的伙食费，算下来一天10块钱。说是伙食费，其实一个月的所有开销都在这里面。付达信因为胃肠不好，早晨要自己煮面条、还要偶尔抽包烟。这些钱扣除后，付达信只能少去食堂吃几顿。
自来水爆裂已经多天，负责煮饭的工作人员懒得去挑水，便花钱雇佣敬老院的老人去担水。“一桶水两元钱，这些钱也是从伙食费里出。”老人们为了零花钱争先恐后地去挑水。
付达信刚住进来的时候是两人间。最近，对床的老头瘫了，拉屎拉尿实在太臭，付达信只能搬了出来。敬老院没有负责卫生的工作人员。付达信说，去年一个叫胡建国的老人病死在房间里。
中午将近，一位下肢瘫痪的老人拄着两个板凳缓慢地挪向饭堂。付达信坐在老人的条凳上试图攀谈几句。“烦得很！”老人向付达信吼起来。付达信讪讪：“能活着就不错了，谁也管不了谁。”
敬老院的棋牌室里放了一口棺材，是院里的其他老人备下的。棋牌桌上布满了灰尘，蜘蛛正在一台严重损坏的电视机上专心地织网。付达信说，院里本来两台电视机，坏了一台，大家就只能凑在一起看电视。他保持着监狱里的习惯，坚持看新闻联播。除了了解国家大事，还可以收听到春节国家民政部和中央财政给全国五保户发补助的消息。每次他都拿着本子记下来，比如：“2010年，中央发给全国五保户每人100元红包钱；2011年中央补助全国五保户物价差价8个月；2011年，全国五保户每人200元慰问金；2012年2月4日，中央为全国五保户每人补助200元。”
“我只是想发些补助，买面条吃。”付达信拎起桌上仅剩的半扎面条。
付达信怀念监狱，可他已经73岁了，他实在没有把握，还有没有体力，回到那个“安乐窝”.
－－－－－－－－－
中国这个国家，整个都是一所大监狱；共惨王朝现状即是：普天之下莫非监狱，率土之滨莫非囚徒。
我们这些被小强照看的老人，何尝不都是在入狱养老啊！
我们这些被小强照看的老人，何尝不都是在入狱养老啊！
最近一次回老家，街上大部分都是老人，有些鄉村的挑著擔子賣菜、賣桔子、擦皮鞋，收入一天下來也就是十幾二十塊。當時就在想，這還是健康的情況下，要是生病起來，那真是怎麼辦啊。老無所依。。。。。。等等問題，最基本的生活保障不了，談什麽夢？如同經常掛在嘴上的世界第二大經濟體，就算是宇宙第二大经济体，又有什麽用呢？
使我想起美国小说家欧 亨利的短篇小说“警察与赞美诗”。
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警察与赞美诗苏比躺在麦迪逊广场的那条长凳上，辗转反侧。每当雁群在夜空引吭高鸣，每当没有海豹皮大衣的女人跟丈夫亲热起来，每当苏比躺在街心公园长凳上辗转反侧，这时候，你就知道冬天迫在眉睫了。
一张枯叶飘落在苏比的膝头。这是杰克·弗洛斯特①的名片。杰克对麦迪逊广场的老住户很客气，每年光临之前，总要先打个招呼。他在十字街头把名片递给“露天公寓”的门公佬“北风”，好让房客们有所准备。
苏比明白，为了抵御寒冬，由他亲自出马组织一个单人财务委员会的时候到了。为此，他在长凳上辗转反侧，不能入寐。
苏比的冬居计划并不过奢。他没打算去地中海游弋，也不想去晒南方令人昏昏欲睡的太阳，更没考虑到维苏威湾去漂流。他衷心企求的仅仅是去岛上度过三个月。整整三个月不愁食宿，伙伴们意气相投，再没有“北风”老儿和警察老爷来纠缠不清，在苏比看来，人生的乐趣也莫过于此了。
多年来，好客的布莱克威尔岛②监狱一直是他的冬季寓所。正如福气比他好的纽约人每年冬天要买票去棕榈滩③和里维埃拉④一样，苏比也不免要为一年一度的“冬狩”作些最必要的安排。现 在，冬狩时候到了。昨天晚上，他躺在古老的广场喷泉和近的长凳上，把三份星期天的厚报纸塞在上衣里，盖在脚踝和膝头上，都没有能挡住寒气。这就使苏比的脑海里迅速而鲜明地浮现出岛子的影子。他瞧不起慈善事业名下对地方上穷人所作的布施。在苏比眼里，法律比救济仁慈得多。他可去的地方多的是，有市政府办的，有救济机关办的，在那些地方他都能混吃混住。当然，生活不能算是奢侈。可是对苏比这样一个灵魂高傲的人来说，施舍的办法是行不通的。从慈善机构手里每得到一点点好处，钱固然不必花，却得付出精神上的屈辱来回报。正如恺撒对待布鲁图一样⑤，真是凡事有利必有弊，要睡慈善单位的床铺，先得让人押去洗上一个澡；要吃他一块面包，还得先一五一十交代清个人的历史。因此，还是当法律的客人来得强。法律虽然铁面无私，照章办事，至少没那么不知趣，会去干涉一位大爷的私事。
既然已经打定主意去岛上，苏比立刻准备实现自己的计划。省事的办法倒也不少。最舒服的莫过于在哪家豪华的餐馆里美美地吃上一顿，然后声明自己不名一钱，这就可以悄悄地、安安静静地交到警察手里。其余的事，自有一位识相的推事来料理。
苏比离开长凳，踱出广场，穿过百老汇路和五马路汇合处那处平坦的柏油路面。他拐到百老汇路，在一家灯火辉煌的餐馆门前停了下来，每天晚上，这里汇集着葡萄、蚕丝与原生质的最佳制品⑥。
苏比对自己西服背心最低一颗纽扣以上的部分很有信心。他刮过脸，他的上装还算过得去，他那条干干净净的活结领带是感恩节那天一位教会里的女士送给他的。只要他能走到餐桌边不引人生疑，那就是胜券在握了。他露出桌面的上半身还不至于让侍者起怀疑。一只烤野鸭，苏比寻思，那就差不离——再来一瓶夏白立酒⑦然后是一份卡门贝干酪⑧，一小杯浓咖啡，再来一支雪茄烟。一块钱一支的那种也就凑合了。总数既不会大得让饭店柜上发狠报复，这顿牙祭又能让他去冬宫的旅途上无牵无挂，心满意足。
可是苏比刚迈进饭店的门，侍者领班的眼光就落到他的旧裤子和破皮鞋上。粗壮利落的手把他推了个转身，悄悄而迅速地把他打发到人行道上，那只险遭暗算的野鸭的不体面命运也从而得以扭转。
苏比离开了百老汇路。看来靠打牙祭去那个日思夜想的岛是不成的了。要进地狱，还是想想别的办法。
在六马路拐角上有一家铺子，灯光通明，陈设别致，大玻璃橱窗很惹眼。苏比捡起块鹅卵石往大玻璃上砸去。人们从拐角上跑来，领头的是个巡警。苏比站定了不动，两手插在口袋里，对着铜纽扣直笑⑨。
“肇事的家伙在哪儿？”警察气急败坏地问。
“你难道看不出我也许跟这事有点牵连吗？”苏比说，口气虽然带点嘲讽，却很友善，仿佛好运在等着他。
在警察的脑子里苏比连个旁证都算不上。砸橱窗的人没有谁会留下来和法律的差役打交道。他们总是一溜烟似地跑。警察看见半条街外有个人跑着去赶搭车子。他抽出警棍，去追那个倒霉的人。苏比心里窝火极了，他拖着步子走了开去。两次了，都砸了锅。
街对面有家不怎么起眼的饭馆。它投合胃口大钱包小的吃客。它那儿的盘盏和气氛都粗里粗气，它那儿的菜汤和餐巾都稀得透光。苏比挪动他那双暴露身份的皮鞋和泄露真相的裤子跨进饭馆时倒没遭到白眼。他在桌子旁坐下来，消受了一块牛排、一份煎饼、一份油炸糖圈，以及一份馅儿饼。吃完后他向侍者坦白：他无缘结识钱大爷，钱大爷也与他素昧平生。
“手脚麻利些，去请个警察来，”苏比说，“别让大爷久等。”
“用不着惊动警察老爷，”侍者说，嗓音油腻得像奶油蛋糕，眼睛红得像鸡尾酒里浸泡的樱桃，“喂，阿康！”
两个侍者干净利落地把苏比往外一叉，正好让他左耳贴地摔在铁硬的人行道上。他一节一节地撑了起来，像木匠在打开一把折尺，然后又掸去衣服上的尘土。被捕仿佛只是一个绯色的梦。那个岛远在天边。两个门面之外一家药铺前就站着个警察，他光是笑了笑，顺着街走开去了。
苏比一直过了五个街口，才再次鼓起勇气去追求被捕。这一回机会好极了，他还满以为十拿九稳，万无一失呢。一个衣着简朴颇为讨人喜欢的年轻女子站在橱窗前，兴味十足地盯着陈列的剃须缸与墨水台。而离店两码远，就有一位彪形大汉——警察，表情严峻地靠在救火龙头上。
苏比的计划是扮演一个下流的、讨厌的小流氓。他的对象文雅娴静，又有一位忠于职守的巡警近在咫尺，使他很有理由相信，警察那双可爱的手很快就会落到他身上，使他在岛上冬蛰的小安乐窝里吃喝不愁。
苏比把教会女士送的活结领带拉挺，把缩进袖口的衬衫袖子拉出来，把帽子往后一推，歪得马上要掉下来，向那女子挨将过去。他厚着面皮把小流氓该干的那一套恶心勾当一段段表演下去。苏比把眼光斜扫过去，只见那警察在盯住他。年轻女人挪动了几步，又专心致志地看起剃须缸来。苏比跟了过去，大胆地挨到她的身边，把帽子举了一举，说：
“啊哈，我说，贝蒂丽亚！你不是说要到我院子里去玩儿吗？”
警察还在盯着。那受人轻薄的女子只消将手指一招，苏比就等于进安乐岛了。他想象中已经感到了巡捕房的舒适和温暖。年轻的女士转过脸来，伸出一只手，抓住苏比的袖子。
“可不是吗，迈克，”她兴致勃勃地说，“不过你先得破费给我买杯啤酒。要不是那巡警老盯着，我早就要跟你搭腔了。”
那娘们像常春藤一样紧紧攀住苏比这棵橡树，苏比好不懊丧地在警察身边走了过去。看来他的自由是命中注定的了。
一拐弯，他甩掉女伴撒腿就走。他一口气来到一个地方，一到晚上，最轻佻的灯光，最轻松的心灵，最轻率的盟誓，最轻快的歌剧，都在这里荟萃。身穿轻裘大氅的淑女绅士在寒冷的空气里兴高采烈地走动。苏比突然感到一阵恐惧，会不会有什么可怕的魔法镇住了他，使他永远也不会被捕呢？这个念头使他有点发慌，但是当他遇见一个警察大模大样在灯火通明的剧院门前巡逻时，他马上就捞起“扰乱治安”这根稻草来。
苏比在人行道上扯直他那破锣似的嗓子，像醉鬼那样乱嚷嚷。他又是跳，又是吼，又是骂，用尽了办法大吵大闹。
警察让警棍打着旋，身子转过去背对苏比，向一个市民解释道：
“这是个耶鲁的小伙子在庆祝胜利，他们跟哈德福学院赛球，请人家吃了鸭蛋。够吵的，可是不碍事。我们有指示，让他们只管闹去。”
苏比怏怏地停止了白费气力的吵闹。难道就没有一个警察来抓他了吗？在他的幻想中。那岛已成为可望不可即的阿卡狄亚⑩了。他扣好单薄的上衣以抵挡刺骨的寒风。
他看见雪茄烟店里一个衣冠楚楚的人对着摇曳的火头在点烟。那人进店时，将一把绸伞靠在门边。苏比跨进店门，拿起绸伞，慢吞吞地退了出去。对火的人赶紧追出来。
“我的伞。”他厉声说道。
“噢，是吗？”苏比冷笑说；在小偷小摸的罪名上又加上侮辱这一条。“好，那你干吗不叫警察？不错，是我拿的。你的伞！你怎么不叫巡警？那边拐角上就有一个。”
伞主人放慢了脚步，苏比也放慢脚步。他有一种预感：他又一次背运了。那警察好奇地瞅着这两个人。
“当然，”伞主人说，“嗯……是啊，你知道有时候会发生误会……我……要是这伞是你的我希望你别见怪……我是今天早上在一家饭店里捡的……要是你认出来这是你的，那么……我希望你别……”
“当然是我的。”苏比恶狠狠地说。
伞的前任主人退了下去。好警察急匆匆地跑去搀一位穿晚礼服的金发高个儿女士过马路，免得她被在两条街以外往这边驶来的电车撞着。
苏比往东走，穿过一条因为翻修而高低不平的马路。他忿忿地把伞扔进一个坑。他嘟嘟哝哝咒骂起那些头戴钢盔，手拿警棍的家伙来。因为他想落入法网，而他们偏偏认为他是个永远不会犯错误的国王⑩。
最后，苏比来到通往东区的一条马路上，这儿灯光暗了下来，嘈杂声传来也是隐隐约约的。他顺着街往麦迪逊广场走去，因为即使他的家仅仅是公园里的一条长凳，他仍然有夜深知归的本能。
可是，在一个异常幽静的地段，苏比停住了脚步。这里有一座古老的教堂，建筑古雅，不很规整，是有山墙的那种房子。柔和的灯光透过淡紫色花玻璃窗子映射出来，风琴师为了练熟星期天的赞美诗，在键盘上按过来按过去。动人的乐音飘进苏比的耳朵，吸引了他，把他胶着在螺旋形的铁栏杆上。
明月悬在中天，光辉、静穆；车辆与行人都很稀少；檐下的冻雀睡梦中啁啾了几声——这境界一时之间使人想起乡村教堂边上的墓地。风琴师奏出的赞美诗使铁栏杆前的苏比入定了，因为当他在生活中有母爱、玫瑰、雄心、朋友以及洁白无瑕的思想与衣领时，赞美诗对他来说是很熟悉的。
苏比这时敏感的心情和老教堂的潜移默化会合在一起，使他灵魂里突然起了奇妙的变化。他猛然对他所落入的泥坑感到憎厌。那堕落的时光，低俗的欲望，心灰意懒，才能衰退，动机不良。这一切现 在都构成了他的生活内容。
一刹那间，新的意境醍醐灌顶似地激荡着他。一股强烈迅速的冲动激励着他去向坎坷的命运奋斗。他要把自己拉出泥坑，他要重新做一个好样儿的人。他要征服那已经控制了他的罪恶。时间还不晚，他还算年轻，他要重新振作当年的雄心壮志，坚定不移地把它实现。管风琴庄严而甜美的音调使他内心起了一场革命。明天他要到熙熙攘攘的商业区去找事做。有个皮货进口商曾经让他去赶车。他明天就去找那商人，把这差使接下来。他要做个烜赫一时的人。他要——
苏比觉得有一只手按在他胳膊上。他霍地扭过头，只见是警察的一张胖脸。
“你在这儿干什么？”那警察问。
“没干什么。”苏比回答。
“那你跟我来。”警察说。
第二天早上，警察局法庭上的推事宣判道：“布莱克威尔岛，三个月。”
文章注释
①杰克·弗洛斯特（jack frost）：“霜冻”的拟人化称呼。
②布莱克韦尔岛（blackwell）：在纽约东河上。岛上有监狱。
③棕榈滩（palm beach）：美国佛罗里达州东南部城镇，冬令游憩胜地。
④里维埃拉（the riviera）：南欧沿地中海一段地区，在法国的东南部和意大利的西北部，是假节日憩游胜地。
⑤恺撒（julius caesar）：（100—44bc）罗马统帅、政治家，罗马的独裁者，被共和派贵族刺杀。布鲁图（brutus）：（85—42bc）罗马贵族派政治家，刺杀恺撒的主谋，后逃希腊，集结军队对抗安东尼和屋大维联军，因战败自杀。
⑥作者诙谐的说法，指美酒、华丽衣物和上流人物。
⑦夏布利酒（chablis）：原产于法国的Chablis地方的一种无甜味的白葡萄酒。
⑧卡门贝（carmembert）干酪（cheese）：一种产于法国的软干酪。原为Fr．诺曼底一村庄，产此干酪而得名。
⑨指警察，因警察上衣的纽扣是黄铜制的。
⑩阿卡狄亚（Arcadia）：原为古希腊一山区，现 在的伯罗奔尼撒半岛中部，以其居民过着田园牧歌式的淳朴生活而著称，现指“世外桃源”。
小说的英文原文：
The Cop and the Anthem by O 。Henry
On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild goose honk high of nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and whenSoapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may knowthat winter is near at hand.
A dead leaf fell in Soapy’s lap. That was Jack Frost’s card.Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, andgives fair warning of his annual call. At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to theNorth Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may makeready.
Soapy’s mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolvehimself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour. Andtherefore he moved uneasily on his bench.
The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them were noconsiderations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies or drifting in the VesuvianBay. Three months on the Island was what his soul craved. Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence ofthings desirable.
For years the hospitable Blackwell’s had been his winter quarters. Just as his more fortunatefellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapyhad made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island. And now the time wascome. On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about hisankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurtingfountain in the ancient square. So the Island loomed large and timely in Soapy’s mind. Hescorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city’s dependents. In Soapy’s opinionthe Law was more benign than Philanthropy. There was an endless round of institutions,municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordantwith the simple life. But to one of Soapy’s proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered. If notin coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands ofphilanthropy. As Cesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, everyloaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition. Wherefore it is better to be aguest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman’sprivate affairs.
Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire. Therewere many easy ways of doing this. The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensiverestaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to apoliceman. An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.
Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt,where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together. Up Broadway he turned, and halted at aglittering café, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, thesilkworm and the protoplasm.
Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward. He was shaven,and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to himby a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day. If he could reach a table in the restaurantunsuspected, success would be his. The portion of him that would show above the table wouldraise no doubt in the waiter’s mind. A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about thething—with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar. One dollar forthe cigar would be enough. The total would not be so high as to call forth any suprememanifestation of revenge from the café management; and yet the meat would leave him filledand happy for the journey to his winter refuge.
But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter’s eye fell upon his frayedtrousers and decadent shoes. Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him insilence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.
Soapy turned off Broadway. It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be anepicurean one. Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.
At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glassmade a shop window conspicuous. Soapy took a cobble-stone and dashed it through the glass.People came running round the corner, a policeman in the lead. Soapy stood still, with his handsin his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons.
“Where’s the man that done that?” inquired the officer excitedly.
“Don’t you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?” said Soapy, notwithout sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.
The policeman’s mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue. Men who smash windows donot remain to parley with the law’s minions. They take to their heels. The policeman saw a manhalfway down the block running to catch a car. With drawn club he joined in the pursuit. Soapy,with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.
On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions. It catered tolarge appetites and modest purses. Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and naperythin. Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and tell-tale trousers without challenge. At atable he sat and consumed beefsteak, flap-jacks, doughnuts, and pie. And then to the waiter hebetrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers.
“Now, get busy and call a cop,” said Soapy. “And don’t keep a gentleman waiting.”
“No cop for youse,” said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherryin a Manhattan cocktail. “Hey, Con!”
Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy. He arose, jointby joint, as a carpenter’s rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest seemed but arosy dream. The Island seemed very far away. A policeman who stood before a drug store twodoors away laughed and walked down the street.
Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again. Thistime the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a “cinch.” A young womanof a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightlyinterest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a largepoliceman of severe demeanour leaned against a water-plug.
It was Soapy’s design to assume the rule of the despicable and execrated “masher.” Therefined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious copencouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm thatwould ensure his winter quarters of the right little, tight little isle.
Soapy straightened the lady missionary’s ready-made tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs intothe open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young women. He made eyes at her,was taken with sudden coughs and “hems,” smiled, smirked, and went brazenly through theimpudent and contemptible litany of the “masher.” With half an eye Soapy saw that thepoliceman was watching him fixedly. The young woman moved away a few steps, and againbestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs. Soapy followed, boldly stepping to herside, raised his hat and said: “Ah there, Bedelia! Don’t you want to come and play in my yard?”
The policeman was still looking. The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a fingerand Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven. Already he imagined he could feelthe cosy warmth of the station-house. The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand,caught Soapy’s coat sleeve.
“Sure, Mike,” she said joyfully, “if you’ll blow me to a pail of suds. I’d have spoke to yousooner, but the cop was watching.”
With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oakSoapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom. Heseemed doomed to liberty.
At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran. Hehalted in the district where by night are found the lighteststreets, hearts, vows, and librettos. Women in furs and men ingreatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air. A sudden fear seizedSoapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered himimmune to arrest. The thought brought a little of panic upon it,and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatrehe caught at the immediate straw of “disorderly conduct.”
On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice. Hedanced, howled, raved, and otherwise disturbed the welkin.
The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen: “’Tis oneof them Yale lads celebratin’ the goose egg they give to the Hartford College. Noisy; but noharm. We’ve instructions to lave them be.”
Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket. Would never a policeman lay hands onhim? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia. He buttoned his thin coat againstthe chilling wind.
In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light. His silkumbrella he had set by the door on entering. Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella andsauntered off with it slowly. The man at the cigar light followed hastily.
“My umbrella,” he said sternly.
“Oh, is it?” sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny. “Well, why don’t you call apoliceman? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don’t you call a cop? There stands one on the corner.”
The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luckwould run against him. The policeman looked at the two curiously.
“Of course,” said the umbrella man—“that is—well, you know how these mistakes occur—I—if it’s your umbrella I hope you’ll excuse me—I picked it up this morning in a restaurant—If yourecognise it as yours, why—I hope you’ll—“
“Of course it’s mine,” said Soapy viciously.
The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an operacloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away.
Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements. He hurled the umbrellawrathfully into an excavation. He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs.Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemed to regard him as a king who could dono wrong.
At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil wasbut faint. He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives evenwhen the home is a park bench.
But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill. Here was an old church, quaintand rambling and gabled. Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, nodoubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbathanthem. For there drifted out to Soapy’s ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixedagainst the convolutions of the iron fence.
The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrains were few; sparrowstwittered sleepily in the eaves—for a little while the scene might have been a countrychurchyard. And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for hehad known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses andambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.
The conjunction of Soapy’s receptive state of mind and the influences about the old churchwrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul. He viewed with swift horror the pit intowhich he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties, andbase motives that made up his existence.
And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood. An instantaneousand strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He would pull himself out of themire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had takenpossession of him. There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his oldeager ambitions and pursue them without faltering. Those solemn but sweet organ notes had setup a revolution in him. Tomorrow he would go into the roaring down-town district and find work.A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver. He would find him to-morrow and ask forthe position. He would be somebody in the world. He would—
Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked quickly round into the broad face of apoliceman.
“What are you doin’ here?” asked the officer.
“Nothing’,” said Soapy.
“Then come along,” said the policeman.
“Three months on the Island,” said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.
