|Written By Ann Beattie（P286)
|How many love stories do you have in your
mind ? And does each of them have a specific
word that brings a clear memory of it back
to you ? For the heroine in this story, the
word "snow" has everything about
her love in a certain winter. Just one word....
Living in countryside, just two of us, seemed
like a scene from a poem. You brought in
a pile of logs, a chipmunk was running around
us. We spent the first week on interior decorating.
You looked a crazy king of snow with a towel
turban when shoveling the walk to get rid
of heavy snow. Many people visited us and
the fireplace tempted them into telling amazing
happy stories. I remember the night when
everything surrounding us was in white. Snow
was knee-deep and the world looked as if
it had been turned upside down.
However you remember the winter entirely
opposite way. For you it seemed that a small
curve of light had been shaved from the moon
night after night and finally the sky went
black. Peoples stories weren't amazing at
all but cliches.
I visited the place again in April. (not
winter) Our neighbor Allen had died, who
had been on my side in bad times unlike all
the visitors. Black plastic covering his
pool in the backyard remained in my mind.
On the way back I drove past the house we
used to live in and found a few crocuses
but not snow of course
The snow.... Even now the word reminds me
of the special winter I spent with you in
|Snow is Our Love Symbol
|We moved to a house in a country side and
stayed a winter. My memories of our love
related to snow, maybe you don't think so
:a chipmunk jumped down from the logs you
brought when it was snowing, you were in
the white towel turban while scraping snow,
looking up at the black sky in the night
it was snowing, and so on.
People who visited us seemed to think of
us weird or amazing, alothough you don't
think so. You think things simpler than I.
I drove back in spring. Allen, next door
had died. I sat with his wife and coudn't
help looking out at the pool covered with
black plastic. It was raining, the cover
collected water. Later I saw crocuses blooming
in front of the house used to be our house.
I embarrassed because the flowers were just
blooming no matter who care about them.
People forget details of their lives so do
I. Snow symbolizes our love I think.
Alothough we couldn't find the other's truth.
This is a certain love story.
Leaving the city, "I" stayed with
her lover in the snowy country. They spent
a winter in the deep snow and that ended
by the time the snow is gone.
The life there seemed like kind of dramatic
for visitors as well as "I" though
the lover says any life would seem dramatic
if you omit details.
It is impossible for people to place an event
precisely as if it were a sequence of scenes
in a film. When you recall a certain event,
you remember only some impressive moments
and symbols and assemble them just like a
And the days she spent with her lover is
all symbolized by "snow" in her
memories. The word "snow" still
reminds her of just that love. The memory
from the word was more dramatic for her than
a barest story told the way that her lover
In spring she visited the place where she
stayed with her lover. Her good friend had
died, his pool still covered with BLACK plastic,
and some crocuses were blooming just like
a few dots of white on the ground, which
could not compare with snow white. It was
no longer a world covered with white snow
so that she realized her love was over.
If I describe that winter, it is the snow.
I exactly remember one night we spent together,
a chipmunk jumped and ran through the house.
Most of the time of our first week we spent
was scraping snow, at that time you put a
towel turban like a king of snow, and finding
some secrets in the house. A lot of people
visited us, we all gathered around fireplace
and told their amazing stories. But amazing
stories is not amazing anymore because they
always told the same stories. One night you
gave me a lesson how to tell a story dramatically.
Then, I drove back that house in April. I
heard Allen had died next door. Allen was
the good friend in my bad times. He had a
pool in the backyard, covered with black
plastic. When I drove through in front of
our house, just a few dots of white crocuses
I could see. I was embarrassed. The flowers
remanded me of that winter nevertheless there
was no snow.
The winter I spent with my lover in countryside
was my memory. It became a word but I remember.
You and I fell in love, left the city and
spent one winter together in the country.
What I remember about that winter and what
you remember about it are far different,
and so are the ways that we told about it.
I remember the details and moments that makes
the whole story dramatic. I remember the
chipmunk, the pattern of wallpaper, the white
towel which you wore on your head and the
amazing stories told by the many visitors
we had there. I remember the night knee-deep
in snow. I felt like that the world had been
You remember it too, but not in a dramatic
or romantic way. You thought that our visitors
told the same stories people always tell
and you said “ Any life will seem dramatic
if you omit mention of most of it.”
I drove back there not long ago in April.
Allen, next door, who always had been the
good friends even in bad times, died. When
I sat with his wife in their living room
I saw Allen’s pool covered with black plastic.
When I drove past the house we used to live
in, I found a few dots of white which are
crocuses and no field of snow. I felt embarrassed.
People remember seconds and symbols: the
black shroud over the pool and the white
field of snow. The symbol of that winter
and the love for me is the snow. So even
now the word “snow” brings me a special
feeling and reminds me of the love in that
winter. The snow disappeared and so did our
I remember clearly the sweet days I spent
one winter with you and a lovely chipmunk.
We decided to live together in the countryside,
and our first week in the house was spent
making the rooms comfortable. The day of
the big snow, when you had to shovel the
walk, you looked like a crazy king of snow
in white towel turban. A lot of people visited
and told us amazing stories. I enjoyed them,
but did they think any of them would come
true? No, it was as hopeless as giving a
child a matched cup and saucer, I think now.
I also remember the night, knee-deep in snow.
It seemed that the world had been turned
upside down, and looked as if we were looking
into an enormous field of white flowers.
However, you remember it differently. I found
you to be a realist, but I might be a romantic.
Then our love was over.
In April, I drove back to the house when
I knew Allen, next door, had died. In spite
of all the visitors, he had been the good
friend in bad times. Sitting with his wife
in their living room, I saw Allen’s pool
still covered with black plastic for winter.
When I let that day, I found some crocuses
bloom in front of the house where we used
to live. Just a few of dots of white, no
field of snow.
This is my love story. What I remember about
all that time is one winter … "The
snow". Even now, snow reminds me of
my lovely days with you. Though neither of
us could have said where the heart was, an
アン・ビーティ、他の作品、読んだことないけど、たくさん翻訳（燃える家―ほか15の短篇など） も出ているし、他のもの（The Burning House: Short Stories）も読んでみようかな・・・
Dictionary of Contemporary English /American
Heritage College dictionary/Colins
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