In summer, the ski lift carries nobody. The chairs hang still on the cable. Yellow flowers grow on the slope under them.
夏天，缆车不载一个人。座椅静静地挂在缆绳上，下面的山坡上开着黄色的小花。
Valerio climbs the stairs to the top station at seven every morning. He carries a bag of tools and a bottle of hot coffee. The air up here smells of cold stone and warm grass.
瓦莱里奥每天早上七点爬楼梯上到山顶站。他带着一袋工具和一瓶热咖啡。这里的空气里有冰凉石头和温暖青草的气味。
His work is a list, and he knows it by heart. First, he checks the motor. Next, he oils the big wheels. Then he writes numbers in a black book. At the end, he cleans the cup.
他的工作是一张清单，他早已背得滚瓜烂熟。先检查电机，再给大轮子上油，然后在黑色的本子上记下数字，最后擦拭那只奖杯。
The cup sits on a shelf above the kettle. It is a small silver cup with two handles. On one side there is a dent, as deep as a thumb. Valerio won the cup in a downhill race when he was twenty. The same night, he dropped it on a stone step. He never fixed the dent.
奖杯放在烧水壶上方的架子上。那是一只带两个把手的小银杯，一侧有一个拇指那么深的凹痕。瓦莱里奥二十岁时在一场速降比赛中赢得了这只杯子。当天夜里，他把它掉在了一级石阶上。凹痕他一直没有修。
Cosmo is the new helper. He is nineteen, and this is his first summer on the mountain. He carries the grease can and asks too many questions.
科斯莫是新来的帮手。他十九岁，这是他在山上度过的第一个夏天。他提着润滑油罐，问个不停。
"How did the cup get its dent?" Cosmo asks on Monday.
“这只杯子的凹痕是怎么来的？”星期一，科斯莫问。
"A goat sat on it," says Valerio.
“一只山羊坐在上面了，”瓦莱里奥说。
On Tuesday, Cosmo asks again. "A judge dropped it," Valerio says. "He was angry about the result."
星期二，科斯莫又问。“一位裁判摔了它，”瓦莱里奥说，“他对比赛结果很生气。”
On Wednesday, the answer is a bat. On Thursday, it is a very small earthquake. Cosmo writes each story in a notebook. He believes none of them, but he loves them all.
星期三，答案是一只蝙蝠。星期四，是一场很小很小的地震。科斯莫把每个故事都记在笔记本里。他一个也不信，却每个都喜欢。
Today is Friday, and nothing special happens until ten. Valerio kneels by the third wheel. Cosmo holds the light. The motor hums. Down in the valley, a dog barks. The sound travels up the mountain.
今天是星期五，十点之前什么特别的事也没有。瓦莱里奥跪在第三只轮子旁，科斯莫举着灯。电机嗡嗡作响。山谷里有一条狗在叫，声音顺着山传了上来。
Then Cosmo lifts his head. "Do you hear that?"
这时科斯莫抬起头。“你听到了吗？”
"I hear the motor."
“我听到电机的声音。”
"No. Voices."
“不是。是人声。”
Valerio listens. Far below, someone blows a whistle. Then another one blows. Then many feet hit the grass at once.
瓦莱里奥仔细听。很远的下方，有人吹响了哨子，接着又有一声。然后许多脚步同时踏在草地上。
They go to the window. A line of people climbs the slope under the empty chairs. They wear numbers on their shirts. Some run, and some walk with their hands on their knees. At the front, a thin girl in a yellow shirt runs fast.
他们走到窗边。一队人正沿着空座椅下的山坡往上爬。他们衬衫上都别着号码。有的在跑，有的双手撑着膝盖走。跑在最前面的是个穿黄衬衫的瘦姑娘，跑得飞快。
"A race," Cosmo says. "Why is there a race here?"
“是一场比赛，”科斯莫说，“为什么这里会有比赛？”
"Nobody told me," says Valerio. "Nobody ever tells the mechanic."
“没人告诉我，”瓦莱里奥说，“从来没人会告诉修理工。”
A white van bounces up the service road. It stops by the door. A man jumps out with a list. His shirt is wet, and his hair stands up in all directions. "Sorry, sorry," he says. "The finish line is here this year. We sent a letter to your office."
一辆白色面包车颠簸着开上了维修道，停在门边。一个男人拿着一份清单跳下车。他的衬衫湿透了，头发向四面八方竖着。“对不起，对不起，”他说，“今年终点设在这里。我们给你们办公室寄过信。”
"My office is a shelf," says Valerio. "Nobody reads it."
“我的办公室是一块架子，”瓦莱里奥说，“没人读那些信。”
The man laughs in a worried way. He runs to a pole by the stairs. He ties a ribbon to it. A small crowd gathers. Cosmo carries water out in paper cups.
男人焦急地笑了一下，跑向楼梯边的一根柱子，系上一条彩带。一小群人聚拢过来。科斯莫用纸杯端出水来。
The girl in the yellow shirt crosses the ribbon first. She does not shout. She stands very still with her hands on her hips. Her chest goes up and down. Then she smiles at the sky. The crowd claps. A boy blows his whistle again.
穿黄衬衫的姑娘第一个冲过彩带。她没有喊叫，只是一动不动地站着，双手叉腰，胸口一起一伏。然后她对着天空笑了。人群鼓起掌来，一个男孩又吹响了哨子。
The man with the list turns pale. He looks at his van. He looks at his list. "The prizes," he says quietly. "The prizes are in the other van. It has a flat tire at the bottom of the hill."
拿清单的男人脸色发白。他看看他的车，又看看他的清单。“奖品，”他轻声说，“奖品在另一辆车上。那辆车在山脚下爆胎了。”
Nobody speaks. The girl looks at her shoes. She is very young. She climbed a whole mountain, and now there is nothing to hold.
没人说话。姑娘低头看着自己的鞋。她还很年轻。她爬了整整一座山，现在手里却空空如也。
Valerio watches her for a long moment. Then he goes inside and stands in front of the shelf. The cup waits there, small and silver. He takes it down. He rubs it on his sleeve until it shines.
瓦莱里奥看了她好一会儿，然后走进屋里，站到架子前。那只奖杯就在那里等着，小小的，银亮亮的。他把它取下来，在袖子上擦到发亮。
Cosmo follows him in. "That is your cup," he whispers.
科斯莫跟了进来。“那是你的奖杯，”他低声说。
"A shelf is a poor place for a cup," says Valerio. "It should be in somebody's hands."
“架子是个不好的位置，”瓦莱里奥说，“它应该在某个人手里。”
"But you love it."
“可是你爱它啊。”
"I do. That is why I know where it belongs today."
“是的。所以我才知道它今天该归谁。”
He walks out into the bright air. The crowd goes quiet. He stops in front of the girl. He holds out the cup with both hands.
他走进明亮的空气里。人群安静下来。他在姑娘面前停下，双手捧出奖杯。
"First across the line gets the cup," he says. "That is the rule up here."
“第一个冲过终点线的人得到这只杯子，”他说，“这是山上的规矩。”
The girl stares at him. Then she takes it. The silver catches the sun. It throws a bright spot onto the ribbon. The people cheer so loudly that a bird jumps from the cable.
姑娘盯着他，然后接了过去。银杯映着阳光，在彩带上投下一块亮斑。人们欢呼得那样响，吓得缆绳上的一只鸟都蹦了起来。
She turns the cup around slowly. She finds the dent. She puts her thumb into it, and her thumb fits exactly. Her eyes grow wide.
她慢慢地转动着奖杯，找到了那处凹痕，把拇指放进去，拇指正好嵌得进去。她的眼睛睁得大大的。
The man with the list whispers to Valerio. "I can pay for it. I can bring you a new one tomorrow."
拿清单的男人对瓦莱里奥小声说：“我可以赔。明天我给您带个新的来。”
"No need," Valerio says. "This one knows the job already."
“不用，”瓦莱里奥说，“这只已经懂得这份工作了。”
Cosmo stands at the door with his notebook open. His pen is ready. He looks like a boy who wants the best story ever.
科斯莫站在门口，笔记本摊开着，笔已握好。他看起来就像一个想要听到世上最好故事的男孩。
The girl lifts her face. "What happened to it?" she asks. "How did it get this dent?"
姑娘抬起脸。“它是怎么回事？”她问，“这个凹痕是怎么来的？”
Valerio looks at Cosmo. Cosmo looks at the sky and tries not to smile.
瓦莱里奥看着科斯莫。科斯莫望着天空，努力不笑出来。
"Well," says Valerio. "Which story do you want?"
“嗯，”瓦莱里奥说，“你想听哪个故事？”
