When I was a child growing up in the Netherlands, I often begged my mother to tell me this story about an experience her family had at the end of World WarⅡ. 

    During the terrible last winter of the German occupation, food was very scarce in the Netherlands. People were so desperately hungry, they began to eat small animals and many things not normally considered edible, including tulip bulbs. People discovered the bulbs could be cooked like potatoes or turnips, or even eaten raw. 

    For centuries my mother’s family, the Van der Veldes, had owned a highly successful tulip business, which provided jobs for many in our village of Ridderkerk. Their bulbs were popular throughout Europe and abroad, and the family name was known far and wide. But the war shut their business down, and during the winter of hunger, my grandfather, Arnoldus, donated all his tulip bulbs to feed the hungriest villagers. 

    All, that is, except for a few irreplaceable bulbs. For years, Arnoldus had been trying to cultivate a black tulip, something no gardener had ever been able to do. He was now very close. By careful selection, he had created a dark-purple tulip. These few bulbs he guarded vigorously to prevent people from stealing them for food. He did not even give them to his family to eat, because they would make just one meager meal, and eating them would destroy his chance of restarting his business and restoring his village after the war. 

    One day, underground Radio Orange announced that the war was over. There was great rejoicing, but more hardships were still to come. The German forces that had occupied and terrorized our country for five long years started to withdraw, battalion by battalion. But as they pulled back, some soldiers deserted and fled toward Germany, sacking and looting as they went. There was much destruction, and the Dutch people still faced grave dangers. 

    My grandfather, Arnoldus, looked at his pale, thin children and realized that the hunger could continue for a longtime as the war left poverty in its wake. He wondered if it might be time to feed his precious bulbs to his children. Certainly it would be better than losing the bulbs to the marauding bands of fleeing German soldiers. After hours of agonizing, he made his decision. He seized a shovel and went into the garden. There he found my mother, Albertha, then just seven, 1ooking flushed and agitated. 

    “Papa! Papa! I must tell you something,” Albertha said. Over her shoulder, Arnoldus saw a band of drunken, looting Germans coming toward them down the street. He whispered to Albertha to run inside the house and frantically began digging for his bulbs. Over and over his shovel came up empty. He was too late. Someone had already stolen them. 

    Crazed with grief and rage, he ran toward the street screaming, “They have stolen my tulip bulbs!” Albertha, watching from the doorway, cried out and ran to stop him. Before she could reach Arnoldus, a German soldier raised his pistol and shot him. Although the German surrender had been signed, a curfew was still technically in effect, and my grandfather had violated it. 

    Arnoldus survived his wounds and mended slowly. When he could finally leave his bed, he sat by the window staring out into the garden. He so regretted that he hadn’t given the bulbs to his family sooner. The war was over and spring was coming, but life remained very hard. Many houses had been bombed. There was little food and jobs were few. 

    Finally the weather warmed, and Arnoldus was able to sit outside. Albertha stayed close to him, attending to his every need, rarely leaving him even to play with her friends. She had become quiet and reserved, although she had been a happy, bubbly child before the war. Sometimes she would try to cheer her father by pointing to the pile of rubble next door, all that was left of their neighbors’ bombed house. She reminded her father that at least their family still had each other and a roof above their heads. Arnoldus realized the truth in her words and often glanced over at the ruins to remind himself of how lucky they had been. 

    One day, he noticed something sprouting among the broken bricks and concrete. He pointed out the green leaves to Albertha. Suddenly, all her reserve left her. She began to cry hysterically. Between convulsive sobs, she told him that these were his black tulip bulbs. He held her close and listened with amazement as she told her story. 

    Just before her father was shot. Albertha had been in the garden when a friendly German soldier had approached her. Carl Meier was stationed in the family’s neighborhood during the German occupation. He had Van der Veldes bulbs in his own garden back home in Germany. and he appreciated their value. Carl had watched as Arnoldus gave away the precious bulbs to feed his neighbors, and he suspected that there were more hidden away. The soldier warned Albertha that a band of German looters was on its way down the street. He urged her to hide the remaining bulbs away from the yard, which would surely be searched. And he begged her not to mention his name to anyone because he could be court-martialed for his warning. 

    Just then the laughing and shouting of drunken soldiers could be heard coming down the road. Carl Meier fled. With no time to summon her father, Albertha scrabbled in the dirt with her bare hands, scooped up the bulbs from their hiding place, and reburied them in the rubble next door. 

    As she clambered back over the fence into her own garden, she found her father digging with a shovel. She tried to tell him what she had done but he was so intent on his work that he ignored her. 

    For some time, it was uncertain whether Arnoldus would survive his gunshot wound. When he began to recover, Albertha went to retrieve the bulbs, knowing that seeing them would raise his spirits. She climbed over the fence and gasped with horror. An unstable wall had collapsed on the spot, covering the bulbs. It seemed impossible to the little girl that anyone could ever move the heavy slab. Overwhelmed with sorrow, Albertha decided not to tell anyone what she had done. 

    However, during the last cruel days of winter, ice must have formed in the cracks of the wall, gently forcing them apart. With the warmth of spring, the ice had melted and the tender shoots had made their way up toward the sun. 

    Arnoldus had survived, and so had his bulbs. Now father and daughter stood looking at the young green leaves. 

    It took some time, but my grandfather rebuilt his business, starting with those few bulbs. The rare dark-purple tulips eventually became an enormous source of income for the people in Ridderkerk and provided many much-needed jobs. The recovery of Ridderkerk persuaded its people that there could again be happiness after so much misery and new life after much death. As the tulips rose from the ruins and came to bloom again, so did the Netherlands. 

    Although the Van der Veldes tried to locate Carl Meier, he was never found. But the family did find a way to honor his courage and kindness. When my mother’s little brother was born the following year, the grateful family named him Karel, the Dutch version of “Carl.”

    我是在荷蘭長大的，小時候時常要母親給我講二戰(zhàn)末期她家族的故事。 

    在那遭透了的德軍占領(lǐng)下的最后一個冬季里，食物在荷蘭極其匱乏。人們餓得發(fā)慌，開始吃小動物和許多通常情況下被認為不能食用的東西，這包括郁金香球根。人們發(fā)現(xiàn)郁金香球根可以象土豆或蘿卜那樣煮著吃，生吃也行。 

    幾個世紀(jì)以來，我母親的家族，萬德韋爾德家族就在郁金香行業(yè)很成功了。她們還為里德柯克村提供了很多工作。母親家里的郁金香根在整個歐洲和海外都很受歡迎，她們家族也名揚四海。但戰(zhàn)爭讓她們停業(yè)了，在饑餓的冬季，我祖父，阿諾爾德斯，把所有的郁金香根都贈送給饑餓的村民食用。 

    只留下幾株特殊培育的郁金香根。多年以來，祖父試著培育一種沒有人培養(yǎng)的黑郁金香。他已經(jīng)快成功了。經(jīng)過謹(jǐn)慎的挑選，他種出了一株紫黑色的郁金香。他警覺地守衛(wèi)著這幾株郁金香球根，以防有人把它們偷走吃掉。他甚至也沒有給自己家里人吃，因為這些球莖只能做出那么一小口飯菜，而吃掉它們將喪失重操舊業(yè)和戰(zhàn)后重建家鄉(xiāng)的機會。 

    有一天，地下橙色電臺宣告戰(zhàn)爭結(jié)束了。大家都欣喜若狂，但更多的苦難還是接踵而至。占領(lǐng)祖國實施高壓恐怖長達5年之久的德軍開始大批大批地撤退。撤退過程中，一些開小差的德國兵往國內(nèi)逃亡，沿途搶劫掠奪。這造成了更大的破壞，荷蘭的人民始終要面對嚴(yán)峻的危險。 

    我祖父，阿諾爾德斯，看著面色蒼白身形消瘦的孩子們，他意識到戰(zhàn)后留下的貧窮會使饑荒持續(xù)很長一段時間。他不知道是不是該把那些珍貴的郁金香球根給孩子們充饑。當(dāng)然，吃了總比讓那些潰逃的德國兵搶去了強。經(jīng)過幾個小時的思想斗爭，他做出了決定。他抓起一把鐵鏟走進花園這。在花園里，他見到了母親，當(dāng)時只有7歲的阿爾韋塔，滿臉通紅怒氣沖沖。 

    “爸爸！ 爸爸! 我必須告訴你件事！”阿爾韋塔嚷道。越過母親的肩頭，祖父看見一隊醉醺醺的德國兵沿街朝他們走來。他輕聲叫阿爾韋塔進屋去，并開始瘋狂地挖掘那些郁金香球根�？梢淮未�，他的鏟子總是什么也沒刨到。他出手晚了。有人已經(jīng)把他們偷走了。 

    祖父的悲傷和忿怒讓他發(fā)瘋似地跑上街頭高叫著，“有人偷了我的郁金香！”阿爾韋塔在門口看到后，呼喊著跑去阻止祖父。在她能夠到祖父之前，一個德國士舉起手槍朝祖父開了一槍。雖然德國政府已經(jīng)簽署了投降書，但當(dāng)時的宵禁令在法律上仍然有效。 

    阿諾爾德斯的槍傷沒有要了他的命，傷口慢慢好了起來。當(dāng)他能下床的時候，他站在床前兩眼瞪著花園。他真后悔沒把那些郁金香球根交給家里人。戰(zhàn)爭結(jié)束了，春天也來了，但生活還是極其艱難。許多房屋都被炸毀了。沒有什么事物，工作也幾乎沒有。 

    終于，天氣轉(zhuǎn)暖，阿諾爾德斯也能到戶外坐坐了。阿爾韋塔就守在他身旁，留心他的每一個要求，和小朋友們玩也不離他左右。雖然戰(zhàn)前她是一個快樂活潑的小孩子，但如今她變得從容謹(jǐn)慎。有時她指著鄰居家房子的廢墟里的碎石堆，哄祖父開心。她提醒祖父，至少他們家人都在而且頭頂上的天棚還在。阿諾爾德斯明白女兒言語中的事實，也常常瞥一眼廢墟，提醒自己已經(jīng)夠幸運了。 

    一天，注意到在瓦礫和水泥塊中萌發(fā)出什么東西。他把綠葉指給阿爾韋塔看。突然，阿爾韋塔所有的謹(jǐn)慎一掃而光。她開始號啕大哭。在抽噎間，她告訴祖父這些就是黑郁金香球根。祖父緊緊抱著她，驚訝地聽完她的故事。 

    就在祖父被射中前，阿爾韋塔正在花園里。這時走過來一個善良的德國兵。在德軍占領(lǐng)期，卡爾邁耶住在母親家隔壁。他在德國家中的花園里種有萬德韋爾德的郁金香。而且他了解這些花的價值。卡爾看到阿諾爾德斯把這些珍貴的球根給鄰里們食用，他懷疑還有許多郁金香根被藏了起來。于是，卡爾警告阿爾韋塔有一隊德國兵沿著大街來了。他敦促阿爾韋塔把剩下的郁金香根藏到別處去，因為這個院子必定要接受檢查。他還告訴她，不要向任何人提及他的名字，否則他可能會因為告密而接受軍事法庭審判。 

    就在能聽見沿街而下的醉酒德國兵的笑聲和叫喊聲時，卡爾邁耶跑開了。沒時間召喚父親，阿爾韋塔用雙手在泥土中拔出郁金香根，鏟起它們，并把它們埋在鄰居家的瓦礫中。 

    當(dāng)她再次爬過墻頭回到自家花園的時候，她發(fā)現(xiàn)父親正在用鏟子挖尋郁金香根。她試圖告訴父親自己挖走了郁金香，但父親當(dāng)時太專心沒有注意到她。 

    在相當(dāng)長的一段時間，都不能確定祖父的槍傷是否致命。當(dāng)祖父開始恢復(fù)，阿爾韋塔回去尋找那些郁金香根，希望這些球根能讓祖父打起精神。她翻過圍墻，嚇得大喘氣起來。一堵坍臺的墻壓倒在埋郁金香的地方，覆蓋住了那些球根。小姑娘看來，似乎任何人都不可能移動那沉重的混凝土板。遭受沉痛悲傷的阿爾韋塔決定不把自己的所作所為告訴任何人。 

    然而，去年嚴(yán)寒的冬季，墻體上的裂縫中結(jié)了冰，把墻脹裂了。春天的溫暖又讓冰融化，嫩芽便朝著陽光生長開來。 

    阿諾爾德斯活了下來，他的郁金香根也活了。如今，父女倆站在那里看著郁金香那清新的綠葉。

    經(jīng)過一段時間，祖父用這幾株郁金香得以重新開業(yè)。最終，珍貴的紫黑色郁金香為里德柯克人民帶來了巨大的財富，還提供了許多急需的工作崗位。里德柯克的復(fù)蘇讓人們相信苦難過后幸福同樣可以到來，死亡過后新的生命依然茁壯。隨著郁金香從廢墟中長出又綻放出花朵，整個荷蘭也復(fù)蘇了。
雖然萬德韋爾德試著找到那個德國人卡爾邁耶，但始終沒有找到。但是，萬德韋爾德家族找到了一個稱頌他勇氣和友愛的途徑。次年，當(dāng)母親的小弟降生時，心存感激的一家人把他命名為卡雷爾，荷蘭語即，“卡爾”。