One day, many years ago, when I was working as a psychologist (心理学家) in England, David was brought into my office. His face was pale and he stared at his feet.
David had lost his father when he was two years old and had lived with his mother and grandfather ever since. But the year before he turned 13, his grandfather died and his mother was killed in a car accident. His teacher told me that he refused to talk to others from then on.
How could I help him?
David didn't say a word. As he was about to leave, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Come back next week if you like," I said.
He came, and I suggested we play a game of chess. He nodded. After that we played chess every Wednesday afternoon-in complete silence. Usually, he arrived earlier than agreed. It seemed as if he enjoyed my company. But why didn't he ever look at me?
"Perhaps he simply needs someone to share his pain with," I thought.
Months later, when 1 was staring at his head, he suddenly looked up at me. "It's your turn," he said After that day, David started talking. He finally got friends in school and he even joined a bicycle club. He wrote to me a few times. Now he has really started to live his life.
Maybe I gave David something. But I learned a lot from him. I learned how time makes it possible to overcome (克服) what seems to be so painful. David showed me how one—without a. word—can reach out to another person. All it takes is a shoulder to cry on, a friendly touch and an ear that listens.
