The continuous knock on the door brought me quickly from my kitchen. I hurried to answer.

We had just moved into the neighbourhood and I couldn’t imagine who it would be. Opening the door, I saw an old man dressed in dirty clothing. From his hand hung a torn plastic (塑料制的) bag.

“Can I help you?” I asked, hoping he had the wrong address.

“Would you like to buy some fresh garden vegetables?” he said.

“Are they from your garden?” Looking inside his bag, I saw mostly dirt, with several carrots.

“Yes.” His voice was soft. “And I can get some apples from a tree in my yard. Would you like some of those too?”

My heart softened, and I wondered if he really needed the bit of money he was asking for his produce.

I asked him in. “Please step inside and I’ll get my wallet.”

The next day, he knocked at our door again. This time, my little four-year-old Heidi got there first. “Oh, hello. Would you like to come in for tea?”

Without hesitating, the old man stepped inside and held out a broken basket with several apples resting at the bottom.

“You might like to make a pie,” he said.

There was no mistaking the wistful (渴望的) look in his eye.

We sat at the kitchen table and drank our tea. Great excitement at hosting a visitor was obvious in my three children’s never-ending stream of questions. “What is your name? Where do you live? Why are your clothes so dirty?”

The homeless-looking man laughed as he answered each question. His name was Mr. Locket and he lived around the corner. His wife had passed away several years before, and his children lived far away. He was lonely. His need for companionship ( 交往) had sent him door to door under the ruse (计策) of selling fruit and vegetables. Ours was the only door opened to him that day.

Finally, the cookies were gone and he rose to his feet. On his way to the door, he turned and offered us a cheerful smile and a wave goodbye. He had promised to return tomorrow, and I knew what I wanted to do.

The next day, the children excitedly waited for his visit.

The next day, we found a basket sitting on the step.

The whole class burst out laughing as Mohi rushed into the classroom. He was a strange sight. His half-buttoned white shirt revealed a red striped pajama(睡衣), and instead of white school shoes, he had on a pair of bright green sandals(凉鞋) that were two sizes too big.

Mohi said in a low voice, “Sorry, teacher,” and ran hurriedly to his seat. Mr. Tan glared at the rest of the students. The laughter quickly died down. Mohi’s classmates always looked forward to Mondays. They would be entertained by Mohi’s late arrival and his odd appearance which usually included inappropriate clothing.

Mohi lived just a street away from the school. He walked to school daily. Students passing by in buses would yell his name together just to see him jump and stop in his tracks. When he spotted the merry bunch in the bus, he would wave good-naturedly. Although Mohi was likable, he was too lost in his own thoughts to make friends. His classmates found him amusing but they ignored him most of the time. Only Hamed, who sat next to Mohi, tried to be his friend.

The following Monday, Mohi did not turn up at school. His classmates were a little disappointed but quickly forgot about him. After school, Hamed decided to walk over to Mohi’s house to check on him. As he approached the gate, he could hear violin music. Mohi must be listening to music, he thought. The gate was not locked. Hamed let himself in. He called Mohi’s name a few times but there was no response. The music played on. Hamed looked in through a window. His eyes widened in surprise. In the middle of the living room, Mohi was playing the violin. His eyes were closed in concentration as he drew the bow over the strings expertly. He played perfectly, so much so that it sounded like a recording. Hamed left quietly. When Teacher’s Day came around, Hamed had a plan.

The e-mail request came in to Ekiben restaurant in Baltimore late on a Thursday afternoon in March: tempura broccoli(天妇罗花椰菜). The man who sent the e-mail didn't actually want the food itself. He was writing on behalf of his mother-in-law, who adored the dish. He went on to explain that she was now in the final stages of lung cancer at her home in Vermont and that he was hoping to get the recipe to make it for her there.

Steve Chu, one of the Asian restaurant's co-owners, read the e-mail and quickly replied with an alternative suggestion. "Thanks for reaching out." he wrote. "We'd like to meet you in Vermont and make it fresh for you."

Brandon Jones, the son-in-law, was shocked. He e-mailed back, saying, "You do know that this is Vermont we're talking about, right?" said Brandon. But Steve responded, "No problem. You tell us the date, time, and location and we'll be there."

For the past six years, every time Brandon's mother-in-law visited Baltimore, the first place she wanted to go was Ekiben so she could have that broccoli. "I really wanted her to have it one more time," Brandon said.

"She had always told us, 'When I'm on my deathbed, I want to have that broccoli,'" recalled Brandon's wife. Rina Jones.

That Friday after work, a day after receiving Brandon's e-mail, Chu and his team were ready to set off. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

As soon as the door was opened, the mother recognized the amazing smell as well as Chu and his coworkers.   ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________