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For Florence and Sam, it really was "'til death do us part."
With Sam right beside her, Florence quietly passed away in the bed they had shared for 59 years. It was Valentine's Day.
We asked Sam, after she died, what kept their relationship fresh, what kept them happily and eagerly bound, what made them want to sit down together every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Family and friends wanted these answers, wanted in on their secret. We with our splintered marriages, commitment phobias and blurry gender roles. We wanted a formula or a diagram we could follow. We wanted to know exactly what kind of sparks had gone off when they met, each at the age of 22, at a temple dance. We were ready to take notes.
When Sam couldn't drum up an answer, we began searching their lives for clues. Was it the little things? That she served him cherry vanilla ice cream every night and picked out his clothes every morning? Was it her alluring, powder-blue eyes? Or was it that during the Depression he grew fresh vegetables for her on a tiny plot of dirt in their driveway and listened patiently to his radio while she shopped (for hours sometimes) at Abraham and Strauss?
These things helped. But we decided that what kept them from losing interest -- from getting bored, straying or giving up -- was that they both relished small freedoms. They let themselves go -- apart from, but not in violation of, their relationship. They both were shameless, unapologetic, gifted flirts.
They made time, every day, for flirting. It was their favorite pastime. Florence had her "boyfriends" and Sam his "lady friends," most of whom lived in their Brooklyn neighborhood. Ladies on the block called Sam in emergencies. "Sam," Regina would say breathlessly into the phone, "I forgot to grease my pan before I put it the oven. Can you come over and help me get the cake out?" And Florence let him go, never asking why Regina's husband Stanley couldn't do the job. Sam would amble down the street and delicately chisel the pastry from the pan. Regina would marvel at his ingenuity, then make him sit for a cup of coffee and a few cookies. They would laugh together about the stuck cake, relay news of the children, then Sam would be on his way. When he got home he would mention to Florence that Regina's cookies were a little burnt on the bottom. Another neighbor, Marty, once asked for Florence's hand in marriage after a bite of her rice pudding. Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes shyly. "You know, " she said, "I couldn't do that." After that, she made Marty rice pudding every chance she got.
Florence turned her daily shopping rounds into opportunities for stealing glances. She had a thing for the man at the fruit stand. He liked her gumption, he told her, because she insisted he weigh her fruit with the stems off. They would stand for a few moments, softly squeezing melons and poking at peaches together until they agreed on the ripest ones. The fruit man would tell a joke, Florence would giggle. Then she'd go home to cut up the fruit for Sam's breakfast.
Florence also had an eye for the butcher. While he wielded his cleaver, his shirtsleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his muscles, she would pose questions about the cuts of meat, the business, anything to linger for a few moments of shared conversation. Sometimes he would wink and add an extra slab of beef to her order. I would guess that they -- Florence and the butcher -- made each other's days. The smiles, the acknowledgment, the shared interest in meat.
Proper flirting, as exemplified by Florence and Sam, is about playing, not scoring. Had the butcher one day put down his veal chop and said, "Mrs. Brownstein, why don't you meet me after work tonight?" the spell would have vanished, their secret world would have evaporated, all the shared moments would have instantly turned to shards of glass.
Flirting expands our fantasy life and, I would argue, makes our actual romances better. Flirting tests our guile, allows us to practice clever turns of phrase and cool, calculated indifference. Like snacking between meals, flirting keeps us fueled and often makes us hungrier for the main meal -- the person we have real things to talk about with, the person with whom we share our real selves.
After Florence died, Sam started spending a lot of time with his daughter in Boston. He could no longer drive, so he took the shuttle. Flight attendants were more challenging than the neighborhood ladies. "When was the last time you were home with your family?" he would ask sweetly. "How does the airline treat you?" Sam's pillows would be fluffed and his tomato juice replenished. "Guess how old I am," Sam would tease the attendants. They always guessed on the low end, flirting right back at him. At the end of the flight, Sam would ask for the names of their supervisors. "I want to write a nice letter to go in your folder." And he would.
For Sam's 86th birthday there was a party, the last one before he died. Not surprisingly, all the guests except one were female, most of them Sam's partners in flirtation. Everybody was asked to write on a large piece of paper what they wished for Sam in the coming year. Betty, a friend, wrote: "Dear Sam, I hope this year you find a girlfriend in her late fifties with blue eyes and black hair." Betty just happened to fit that description.
参考译文：
“只有死亡才能让我们分开”，这句话放在福劳伦斯和山姆身上再合适不过了。
在山姆的陪伴下，福劳伦斯躺在见证了他们59年幸福婚姻的床榻上，平静的离开了人世。那一天是情人节。
福劳伦斯去世后，我们问山姆，是什么让他们的爱情总能保持新鲜？让他们快乐的结合在一起？让他们每天坐在一起吃早饭、午饭和晚饭？家人和朋友都想知道这些问题的答案，知道他们幸福婚姻的秘诀。我们这些婚姻生活不和谐，或者不愿承担婚姻责任，不知道应该在婚姻中扮演怎样角色的家伙，我们想要的是一个公式，或者是示意图，能够明确的告诉我们应该怎么做。我们想知道他们22岁在庙堂之舞相遇时，是怎样天雷勾动地火。我们已经准备好笔和本子了。
山姆无法给出答案，于是我们开始从他们的生活中寻找答案。是那些生活小细节吗？是因为福劳伦斯每天晚上都给山姆准备樱桃香草冰激凌？是因为她每天早上都为山姆挑选搭配今天的衣着？是因为她迷人深邃的蓝色眼眸？还是因为山姆在车道边的小块洼地里为福劳伦斯种下的新鲜蔬菜？亦或是在她外出购物的几小时里，山姆听着收音机耐心等待她的归来？
这些都很好。但是我们相信，真正让他们保持爱情新鲜，永远不会厌倦或背叛彼此的原因是，他们都十分享受婚姻中的小自由。可以脱轨但是不会出轨。他们都是没羞没臊的，天生的调情高手。
每天，他们都得闲调情。调情是他们最爱的消遣。福劳伦斯有一帮“男朋友”，山姆有一帮“女朋友”。这些异性朋友大都是他们在布鲁克林的街坊。有什么急事，山姆的女朋友们都会想到他。“山姆，”瑞吉娜气喘吁吁的打来电话，“我烤蛋糕的时候忘了在托盘上刷油了，能过来帮我把蛋糕从上面弄下来吗？”福劳伦斯总会给山姆放行，从来不会呛一句：她老公史丹利干嘛去了？用得着你？山姆不慌不忙走到街区那头的瑞吉娜家，小心翼翼的把蛋糕从托盘上铲下来。瑞吉娜会称赞他心灵手巧，然后请他坐一会，喝喝咖啡，吃吃点心。调笑那些烤焦的蛋糕，说些子女的闲话，然后山姆就该回家了。等他回到家，他会向福劳伦斯提到那些烤焦的蛋糕。另一位邻居，马迪，有一回跟福劳伦斯说，你做的八宝饭真好吃，你的手愿意嫁给我吗？福劳伦斯两颊绯红，低眉赧道：“你啊，想得倒美。”从那之后，她时不常就会给马迪做八宝饭。
福劳伦斯把每天的购物变成了幽会。她对卖水果的那个小贩有意思。小贩跟福劳伦斯说，他喜欢她的拗劲，因为她坚持要把果子上带着的茎叶都揪下来才称重。他们在那儿站一会，摸摸甜瓜，扒拉桃子，一直挑到满意为止。小贩讲一个笑话，福劳伦斯会咯咯笑起来。然后她会回家用这些水果给山姆准备早餐。
福劳伦斯对那个卖肉的也有意思。他操起剁刀的时候，挽起的袖子下就露出健美的肌肉。福劳伦斯总要没话找话的多聊几句，里脊好还是后座好？买卖怎么样？有时候，卖肉的会对她眨眨眼，给她额外添上一大块牛肉。我猜，他俩都很享受一天中这样的时刻。笑容，感谢，还有共同的对肉的兴趣。
福劳伦斯和山姆这样的调情，享受的是过程，而不是结果。如果有一天，卖肉的放下排骨，对福劳伦斯说：“夫人，今晚跟我困觉吧？”那他们的关系就走到头了。他们秘密的二人世界也将不复存在，那些共同的回忆也就不用再提了。
调情能丰富我们的绮想生活，而且，我认为，调情能让现实中的爱情更甜蜜。调情考验我们的急智，话分两说、甜言蜜语抑或假扮冷酷、漠不关心。调情就跟饭间零食一样，让我们不至于饿着，而且有时候让我们更馋正餐——那个值得我们真心相待，坦诚相对的他（她）。
福劳伦斯去世后，山姆常去波士顿他女儿那里。他的年龄不适合再开车，所以他都乘飞机去波士顿。比起邻家女，跟空姐调情更有挑战性。“多长时间没陪陪家人了？”山姆善解人意的问道。“航空公司对你还好吗？”山姆的靠枕被拍的蓬蓬松，果汁也续满了。“猜猜我多大岁数？”山姆会跟空姐打趣。她们总是猜他还很年轻，然后和他调笑起来。飞机落地前，山姆会问空姐她们领班的名字，“你的服务这么好，我一定要写进你的评价档案里。”他的确会这么写的。
在山姆的86岁生日派对上（那是他的最后一次庆祝生日），除了他自己，其他出席的全都是女士，她们大部分都是山姆的调情对象。每个人都在一大张纸上写下给山姆的新年寄语。其中一位女士，贝蒂，是这么写的：“亲爱的山姆，希望新的一年，你能找到一位50多岁的女朋友，她有蓝色的眼睛，黑色的头发。”贝蒂自己恰好符合这些条件。
