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于是那个女人打开皮包，掏出一迭航空邮件。“读读……请为我大声念念吧！”
这些信是那个女人的儿子写的，他是一名士兵，身在欧洲。他有一头红色的头发，妈妈还记得曾经看到他与他的兄弟们坐在我们家前面的台阶上。妈妈依次念着这一封封信，并把它们从英语转述为意大利语。泪水滚出了那个女人的眼眶。“现在我也要给他写信，”她说道。可是她又如何办得到呢？
“Make some coffee，Octavia，”mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her at the table.She took the fountain pen，ink and air mail notepaper and began to write.When she had finished，she read the letter aloud to the woman.
“How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say？”
“I often sit and look at my boys‘letters，just like you，without a clue about what to write.”
A few days later，the woman returned with a friend，then another one and yet another one—they all had sons who fought in the war，and they all needed letters.Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town.Sometimes she would write letters all day long.
“煮些咖啡，奥克塔维亚，”妈妈在客厅里对我喊道，这时她把那个女人带进了厨房，让她坐到了那张桌子前面。她拿出了钢笔、墨水和航空邮件的信纸，然后开始写信。写完后，她还把信大声地念给那个女人听。
“你怎么知道我正是想说这些？”
“我也经常坐下来看我孩子的信，就像你这个样子，对写些什么脑子里没有一点儿头绪。”
几天后，那女人带了一个朋友又回来了，再往后，带了一个又接另一个——所有这些人都有儿子在战场上打仗，她们都需要写信。于是妈妈便成了我们镇上的通信员，时常要写上一整天的信。
Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters，and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to teach her how to do it.“I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it.”Then mum held the woman’s hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without her help.
After that day，when mum had written a letter for the woman，she signed it herself，and her face brightened up in a smile.
妈妈总是坚持要人们给自己的信签名，于是那个白头发的矮小女人请妈妈教她怎么签。“我太希望自己能够动手签名了，好让我的儿子看看。”于是妈妈便握住那个女人的手，推着她的手在纸上移动，这样反反复复直到她不需要帮助就可以做到为止。
从那天起，每当妈妈为她写完一封信，那个女人便自己签名，这时她脸上便会浮现出灿烂的笑容。
One day she came to us，and mum instantly knew what had happened.All hope had disappeared from her eyes.They stood hand in hand for a long time without saying a word，then mum said，“There are certain things in life so great that we cannot comprehend them.”When mum came back home，she couldn‘t get the red-haired boy out of her mind.
有一天，当她又来到我们家的时候，妈妈立刻意识到发生了什么。所有希望都从她的眼中消失了。她们手握着手，伫立了许久都没有说一句话。后来妈妈开了口：“生活中总会有一些大事是我们无法理解的。”回家后，那个红头发的男孩让妈妈念念不忘。
After the war was over，mum put away the pen and paper.“Finito，”she said.But she was wrong.The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy.
On one occasion，mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel.Why didn’t she？I asked.
“All people in this world are here with one particular purpose，”she said.“Apparently，mine is to write letters.”She tried to explain why it absorbed her so：
战争结束后，妈妈便把那些笔和纸束之高阁。“结束了”，她说。可是她错了。那些曾经过来找她帮忙为儿子写信的女人们，现在又带着意大利亲戚的来信来找她了。
偶然有一次，妈妈透露说她一直有一个不为人所知的梦，就是写本小说。为什么不呢？我问道。
“天生我材必有用，”她说道，“显然，我的使命就是写信。”她试图解释为什么热衷于写信：
“A Letter unites people like nothing else，it can make them cry，it can make them laugh.There is no caress more lovely and warm th******ove letter，because it makes the world seem very small，and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms.My dear，a letter is life itself！”
Today all mum‘s letters are lost.But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of he r letters in their hearts.
“信是一种联系人们感情的独特方式。它让人流泪，也让人欢笑。充满爱的一封信是最美好和温馨不过的，它让这世界显得非常渺小，而写信人和收信人就像是主宰了自己那个国度的国王。我的天啊，信是有生命的！”
如今妈妈写的信都不见了踪影，但那些让她帮写过信的人仍在谈论着她，并在她们的心中珍藏着她写信的回忆。（未完待续）