Oona runs the tourist stop at the edge of the salt flat. It has a tin shed and a postcard stand. It also has a painted line in the salt. The line is white on white, and only Oona sees it.
乌娜经营着盐滩边上的旅游停靠点。这里有一间铁皮棚屋、一个明信片架，盐地上还画着一条线。那是白底上的白线，只有乌娜自己看得见。
Every day is the same. At ten o'clock, Hal brings the first van. At two o'clock, he brings the second. In between, Oona sweeps the shed and counts the postcards.
每天都一模一样。十点钟，哈尔开来第一辆面包车。两点钟，他开来第二辆。中间的时候，乌娜打扫棚屋，清点明信片。
She knows the visitors well. They step out of the van and say "wow". They say it all together, like a song. Then they take off their sunglasses and put them on again.
她很了解这些游客。他们从车上下来，说一声“哇”。他们一起说，像唱歌一样。然后他们摘下墨镜，又戴上。
After that, they want the photos. Oona keeps a wooden box of toys behind the shed. There is a giant bottle. There is a plastic shoe and a small green truck. People hold them close to the camera. A friend stands far away. In the photo, the truck looks as big as a real one. The friend looks tiny beside it.
之后，他们就想拍照。乌娜在棚屋后面放着一只木箱，里面装着玩具：一个巨大的瓶子，一只塑料鞋，还有一辆小小的绿色卡车。人们把玩具举到镜头跟前，让朋友站得远远的。在照片里，卡车看上去和真的一样大，而朋友站在旁边，小得像个玩偶。
It is an old trick, and the white ground makes it perfect. There are no trees and no hills. There is nothing to show how far or how near anything is.
这是个老把戏，而白茫茫的大地让它显得完美无缺。这里没有树，没有山丘，没有任何东西能显示什么远什么近。
Oona loves the green truck most. She bought it on her first day, nine years ago. It has a wide yellow door and four black wheels. The paint is worn at the corners.
乌娜最爱那辆绿色卡车。九年前，她上班第一天就买了它。它有一扇宽宽的黄色车门和四个黑轮子，车身边角的漆已经磨旧了。
Today is an ordinary day. At ten o'clock, Hal parks the van by the shed. He opens the door. Twelve people climb out. They say "wow".
今天是普通的一天。十点钟，哈尔把面包车停在棚屋旁边，打开车门。十二个人爬下车来，说了声“哇”。
"Morning, Oona," says Hal. He is a large, slow man with a hat. He drinks from a flask. "Twelve today. Good people, I think."
“早上好，乌娜，”哈尔说。他是个高大、动作缓慢的男人，戴着一顶帽子，手里拿着一只水壶喝着。“今天十二个人，我看都是好人。”
"They all say wow," Oona says. "So yes."
“他们都说了‘哇’，”乌娜说，“所以没错。”
Hal laughs. He walks off to sit in the shade. He reads his newspaper.
哈尔笑了。他走开去，在阴凉处坐下来看报纸。
Oona opens the box. She sets out the bottle, the shoe and the truck. She stands near the line with her arms folded. She watches the tourists play.
乌娜打开箱子，把瓶子、鞋子和卡车摆了出来。她抱着胳膊站在那条线附近，看着游客们玩耍。
A small boy in a yellow cap takes the green truck. He is about seven. He holds it up high. "Look, Mum, I have a monster truck!" he shouts.
一个戴黄帽子的小男孩拿起了绿色卡车。他大约七岁，把卡车举得高高的。“妈妈你看，我有一辆怪兽卡车！”他喊道。
"Be careful with it," Oona says.
“拿的时候小心点。”乌娜说。
"I will," says the boy. He turns the truck over in his hands. He pushes down hard on the roof.
“我会的。”男孩说。他把卡车翻来翻去，还用力按了按车顶。
There is a small snap. A wheel falls off the truck and lands on the ground. It does not stop. It starts to roll.
啪的一声轻响。一个轮子从卡车上掉下来，落在地上。它没有停下，而是滚了起来。
It rolls over the line. It rolls past the mother. It rolls past the van and the last wheel marks. The salt is smooth as glass. The wheel does not slow down at all.
它滚过了那条线，滚过了男孩的妈妈，滚过了面包车和最后的几道车辙。盐地像玻璃一样光滑，轮子一点也没有慢下来。
"Oh no," says the boy. His face falls. "I broke it. I am sorry."
“哦，不。”男孩说，脸一下子垮了下来。“我弄坏了。对不起。”
"It is not broken," says Oona. "It is only a wheel."
“没有坏，”乌娜说，“只是掉了个轮子。”
But her voice sounds strange to her. She stands still and watches the wheel get smaller. It is black on white, like a dot of ink.
可是，她自己听着自己的声音都觉得怪怪的。她站着不动，看着那个轮子越来越小。它是白底上的黑色，像一个墨点。
Nine years, she thinks. Nothing ever leaves the line.
九年了，她想。从来没有什么东西越过过那条线。
The visitors go quiet. Even Hal puts down his newspaper. He looks at the wheel, and then he looks at Oona.
游客们安静了下来。连哈尔也放下了报纸。他看看轮子，又看看乌娜。
"Go on," he says.
“去吧。”他说。
"What?"
“什么？”
"Go and get it. I will watch the group." He waves his hat toward the flat. "It will not stop by itself."
“去把它捡回来。我看着这群人。”他把帽子朝盐滩的方向挥了挥。“它自己不会停的。”
Oona opens her mouth to say no. She has a stand to run and postcards to sell. She never goes past the line, not even to look.
乌娜张开嘴想拒绝。她还有摊子要照看，有明信片要卖。她从来没有越过那条线，连看一看都没有。
"Go," says Hal again, very gently.
“去吧，”哈尔又说了一遍，语气十分温和。
So she goes.
于是她去了。
The first steps feel odd. The salt crunches under her shoes. It is a dry little sound. She walks past the first wheel marks and past the last ones.
最初的几步感觉很奇怪。盐在她的鞋底下嘎吱作响，是一种干干的小小的声音。她走过了第一批车辙，又走过了最后一批。
After ten minutes, she does not look back. After twenty, she does not want to. The sky is huge and pale. The ground is just as pale. There is no line between them. She walks in the middle of a white page.
十分钟后，她没有回头。二十分钟后，她不想回头了。天空辽阔而苍白，大地也同样苍白，两者之间看不到一条线。她走在一页白纸的中间。
The wheel keeps rolling for a long time. Then, at last, it leans, shakes and falls flat. Oona reaches it and kneels beside it. She picks it up. It is warm from the sun. A thin dust of salt covers it.
轮子滚了很久。最后，它终于歪了一下，晃了晃，平平地倒了下来。乌娜走到它跟前，跪下来把它拾起。它被太阳晒得暖暖的，上面盖着一层薄薄的盐末。
She holds it in her hand. It weighs nothing at all.
她把它握在手里，它轻得几乎没有分量。
Then she stands up and turns around.
然后她站起身，转过头。
She almost laughs. The stop is tiny. The shed is the size of a matchbox. The van is a white bean. The people are small dark commas.
她差点笑了出来。那个停靠点小得可怜，棚屋只有火柴盒那么大，面包车像一粒白豆子，人们是一个个小小的深色逗号。
It looks exactly like a toy.
看上去，就和玩具一模一样。
She stares at it for a while. Every day, she holds the toy truck up for the camera. She makes small things look big. Now she stands here. Her own life is the big thing, and it looks small.
她盯着它看了好一会儿。每一天，她都把那辆玩具卡车举在镜头前，让小东西看起来很大。现在她站在这里，自己的生活才是那个大东西，看上去却那么小。
Far away, a tiny person raises an arm. It is Hal, she knows. He holds his hat high. He waves it slowly from side to side.
远远地，一个小小的人影举起了手臂。她知道那是哈尔，他把帽子举得高高的，缓缓地左右挥动。
Oona lifts her arm and waves back. Then she puts the wheel in her pocket. She stays where she is, in the white. She watches her small shed shine far away.
乌娜抬起手臂，也向他挥了挥。然后她把轮子放进口袋。她留在原地，留在一片白色之中，望着远处她那间小小的棚屋闪着光。
