你可能读了满满一书架关于日本的书，但依然没有找到一个清透地反映该国灵魂的“窗口”。而在某天大雨倾盆的东京成田机场，就在飞机起飞前，透过那些地勤人员仪式化的动作，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. 在东京这恶劣的天气下，从公交站走到汽车站是段乏味的跋涉之旅：华氏40度的低温（相当于摄氏4.4度左右）、冰冷的雨水，还有穿透我身上层层衣服的强风。

2. intensify: 增强，加剧；Narita Airport: 东京的成田机场；board:登（飞机、船等）。

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

4. 然而，这次我这排里面的座位没人坐，所以一等机舱门关上，我马上移到舷窗那儿看看我以前都错过了什么。porthole: 舷窗。

5. scurry: 快步疾走；apron: 停机坪；ground crew: 地勤工作人员；standard issue: 标准装备；manual: 手工的。

6. fuselage: （飞机的）机身；out of harm’s way: 在安全的地方。

7. 我料想他会径直跑入室内的保护所，但相反，他转身面对飞机，接着做出了军人称之为“士兵检阅时的稍息姿势”——双腿挺直、两脚距离和肩膀同宽、两臂在背后交叉。make a beeline: 迅速直奔，径自前往。

8. good-natured: 和善的，脾气好的；grousing: 抱怨，牢骚。

9. 没有雨具甚至雨衣来保暖，他们沉默而坚定地矗立着——任凭狂风暴雨无情地直泻到他们身上。

10. roar: 咆哮，怒吼；oft-repeated ritual: 经常重复的惯例或仪式。

11. snap: 敏捷地动作，突然地行动。

12. unison: 协调，一致。

13. torso: （人体的）躯干。

14. afterthought: 事后添加的东西（想到的事物）。

15. expertise: 专业知识或技能。

16. bid farewell to: 向某人告别。

17. 你可能读了满满一书架关于日本的书，但依然没有得到一个可以如此透明地反映这个令人吃惊的国度的灵魂的窗口。

18. play out: 履行，完成；stoicism to rival that of the Spartans: 可与（古希腊）斯巴达人相比拟的坚忍。stoicism: 禁欲主义，坚忍淡泊。

19. revelatory: 启示性的；seasoned: 成熟老练的。

（来源：英语学习杂志）