你可能讀了滿滿一書架關(guān)于日本的書，但依然沒有找到一個清透地反映該國靈魂的“窗口”。而在某天大雨傾盆的東京成田機場，就在飛機起飛前，透過那些地勤人員儀式化的動作，我找到了。

By Mark Gottlieb

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It had been a day of tedious trudging to bus stops and train stations through miserable Tokyo weather: temperatures in the low 40s, icy rain, and a gusty wind that penetrated even the multiple layers of clothing I wore.[1] The nasty conditions only intensified as evening descended, but by then I was at last warm and dry inside Narita Airport and making my way to the gate to board the plane that would take me home.[2]

I seldom have an opportunity to look out of an airplane window because when traveling by air I always choose an aisle seat (long legs)[3]. This time, however, the remainder of my row was unoccupied, so once the cabin door was shut I slid over to the porthole to see what I had been missing.[4]

Scurrying here and there on the concrete apron of the gate were the members of our ground crew—all of them men, and all of them wearing neatly appointed uniforms and the plastic hard hats that are standard issue in Japan for just about everyone engaged in any sort of manual labor.[5] (I have even seen them on restaurant cooks.)

Within a few moments, one crew member who had apparently finished his assigned task walked to an area just to the right of the plane’s fuselage where painted lines on the ground indicated a spot out of harm’s way.[6] I expected him to make a beeline for shelter indoors, but instead he turned to face the plane and then adopted a posture that the military calls “parade rest”—legs straight, feet about shoulder-width apart, arms crossed behind the back.[7]

He was joined shortly by another crew member, who I assumed would begin the sort of conversation that is customary among workers the world over—good-natured grousing about this and that.[8] To my surprise, however, the second man assumed the same parade-rest stance next to his colleague, and both stood unmoving and in complete silence.

One by one the rest of the ground crew eventually strode into view, each of them taking up positions in line with their fellow workers. And there they stood, minute after minute, without rain gear or even coats to keep them warm, silent and unflinching as the wind-driven downpour pelted them without mercy.[9]

At last the plane’s engines roared to life and we began our push back from the gate. And at that moment, the ground crew performed what was clearly an oft-repeated ritual.[10]

First, they snapped[11] to attention.

Then, in perfect unison[12], they bowed.

This was a formal bow—arms at their sides, torsos[13] bent forward at a 30-degree angle, the position held for a good three seconds. It was not, in other words, an afterthought[14]. Rather, it was a meaningful gesture directed toward the passengers on the plane (“Thank you for visiting Japan”), toward the plane’s flight crew (“We respect your expertise[15] and dedication”), and, ultimately, as recognition of their own commitment to service (“We have fulfilled our duties to the best of our abilities”).

At least one passenger on the plane was stunned by what he saw. But the show at the gate apron was not yet over. Because when the ground crew straightened up after its bow, the men performed one more ceremonial act.

They waved.

Despite the wind, the rain, and the cold, all of the men smiled broadly and waved goodbye, like friendly uncles bidding farewell to[16] a planeload of nieces and nephews. That they did not know the passengers and likely never would did not matter. We had been guests in their homeland, and they wanted us to know that we had been welcome.

You could read a shelf full of books about Japan and still not be granted so transparent a window onto the soul of that astonishing country.[17] There on the airport apron I had seen firsthand the character of the Japanese, as played out by a half-dozen hardworking fellows for whom responsibility, respect, loyalty, self-discipline, honor, tradition, and a degree of stoicism to rival that of the Spartans were all normal components of daily life.[18]

It was a moment so revelatory and so touching that even a seasoned, cynical old traveler could find himself doing something that he typically would not do.[19]

I waved back.

Vocabulary

1. 在東京這惡劣的天氣下，從公交站走到汽車站是段乏味的跋涉之旅：華氏40度的低溫（相當(dāng)于攝氏4.4度左右）、冰冷的雨水，還有穿透我身上層層衣服的強風(fēng)。

2. intensify: 增強，加劇；Narita Airport: 東京的成田機場；board:登（飛機、船等）。

3. aisle seat (long legs): 通道座位（可以伸腿）。

4. 然而，這次我這排里面的座位沒人坐，所以一等機艙門關(guān)上，我馬上移到舷窗那兒看看我以前都錯過了什么。porthole: 舷窗。

5. scurry: 快步疾走；apron: 停機坪；ground crew: 地勤工作人員；standard issue: 標(biāo)準(zhǔn)裝備；manual: 手工的。

6. fuselage: （飛機的）機身；out of harm’s way: 在安全的地方。

7. 我料想他會徑直跑入室內(nèi)的保護所，但相反，他轉(zhuǎn)身面對飛機，接著做出了軍人稱之為“士兵檢閱時的稍息姿勢”——雙腿挺直、兩腳距離和肩膀同寬、兩臂在背后交叉。make a beeline: 迅速直奔，徑自前往。

8. good-natured: 和善的，脾氣好的；grousing: 抱怨，牢騷。

9. 沒有雨具甚至雨衣來保暖，他們沉默而堅定地矗立著——任憑狂風(fēng)暴雨無情地直瀉到他們身上。

10. roar: 咆哮，怒吼；oft-repeated ritual: 經(jīng)常重復(fù)的慣例或儀式。

11. snap: 敏捷地動作，突然地行動。

12. unison: 協(xié)調(diào)，一致。

13. torso: （人體的）軀干。

14. afterthought: 事后添加的東西（想到的事物）。

15. expertise: 專業(yè)知識或技能。

16. bid farewell to: 向某人告別。

17. 你可能讀了滿滿一書架關(guān)于日本的書，但依然沒有得到一個可以如此透明地反映這個令人吃驚的國度的靈魂的窗口。

18. play out: 履行，完成；stoicism to rival that of the Spartans: 可與（古希臘）斯巴達(dá)人相比擬的堅忍。stoicism: 禁欲主義，堅忍淡泊。

19. revelatory: 啟示性的；seasoned: 成熟老練的。

（來源：英語學(xué)習(xí)雜志）