疯狂英语精选辑 Big Willy

He stood six feet, nine inches tall and weighed in at 310 pounds.
Rumor had it that he’d killed a man just with his bare hands - just squeezed the life out of him.
It was the kind of reputation that gained respect in the rough city where he grew up.
At fifteen, Willy was already a legend. Willy and I had played together since we both wore diapers, although we were the unlikeliest of pairs.

He was a massive black giant and I was a pudgy little redhead. We both worked at the factory in town-I am in the office, Willy on the dock. Even the hardened men who worked alongside Willy feared him. He saw me home safely from work and I kept his secret that each night, instead of cruising the city streets, beating people up, he went home and lovingly lifted his elderly grandmother out of the chair she was confined to and placed her in bed. He would read to her until she fell asleep, and in the morning, he would comb her thin, gray hair, dress her in the beautiful nightgowns he bought with the money he made at the can company, and place her back in the chair. Willy had lost both his parents to drugs, and it was just the two of them now. He took care of her, and she gave him a reason to stay clean. Of course, there wasn’t an ounce of truth to the rumors, but Willy never said otherwise. He just let everyone believe what they believed, and although everyone wrote him off as just another street hood, no one hassled him either.

One day, in Western Civilization class, our teacher read aloud an excerpt from Machiavelli’s The Prince: "Since love and fear cannot exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved." I look at Willy and winked. "That’s you," I mouthed. He just smiled. The next day, I lingered a few minutes longer than usual at school and Willy went on without me. Just around the corner from the can company, fire trucks lined the street and a thick blanket of smoke covered the sky. A small child lay wrapped in a familiar red - and - black checkered flannel shirt, held by a tearful woman. She was talking to a fireman and a reporter form the evening news. "This big guy heard the baby crying, and came right in and got us," she said through joyful tears. "He wrapped his shirt around the baby, and when the sirens came, he ran off down the street." "Did you get his name?" the reporter asked. "Yes, sort of," the woman replied. "He said it was Machiavelli." That evening, the paper ran the story offering a reward to anyone with information about the identity of the Good Samaritan.

No one came forward.

大个子威利
他身高六英尺九英寸，体重三百一十磅。

有传言说他曾经徒手杀过一个人——光用手就把那人捍得三魂出窍。

在他生活的乌糟城市里，这种传言多少给他增添了一些名声，赢来尊敬。

年仅十五岁，威利就已经是个传奇了。尽管在外形上极不相衬，威利和我却是打从系尿布时就玩在一块了。

他是个大黑块头，而我是个红头发的小矮胖子。我们都在城里的工厂工作——我在办公室，威利在码头上。同在一起工作的哪怕是最强硬的人都对威利心存畏惧。下班后他送我安全到家，我则为他保守秘密：每天晚上，他不是在城里的街上晃荡，痛殴他人，而是回到家中，把年迈的祖母从锢坐的椅子上充满爱心的抱起来，安顿好在床上。他会给她念书，直到她入睡。早晨他为她梳理稀疏、灰白的头发，给她穿上漂亮的睡衣——那是他用在罐头公司赚来的钱买的，然后再把她放回椅子上。威利的父母因吸毒而双亡，现在就只剩下他和祖母俩人了。他照顾着她，而她则是他保持整洁的原因。当然，流言蜚语不过是流言蜚言，威利却从没有声明过什么。他只是让人们相信着他们所相信的，尽管每个人都认为他是个无药可救的街头混混，可也没人敢惹他。

一天，在西方文化课上，老师大声朗读了马基雅维思的《王子》：“既然爱与怕不能并存，如果我们必须选择其一，选择被人怕要比选择被人爱更安全。” 我看着威利眨眨眼。“你就是，”我做着嘴形说。他只是微微一笑。第二天，我在学校逗留了比以往较长一些的时间，威利没等我就走了。就在罐头公司外的拐角处，消防车在街上排开，天空笼罩着一片浓烟。一个小孩给裹在一件看起来很眼熟的红黑格子法兰绒衬衫里，被一个泪流满面的妇女抱着。她在向消防员和晚间新闻的记者诉说。“这个大个子听到孩子的哭声，就冲进来救出了我们，”她淌着欢喜的眼泪。“他用身上穿的衬衫包着孩子，消防车的鸣笛一响，他就沿着街道跑走了。”

“你知道他和名字吗？”记者问道。“似乎知道，”妇女笑道。“他说他叫马基雅维里。”

晚上，报纸刊登了这个故事，提供酬金寻找这位做好事的人的消息。

没人前去领取酬金。