Basma ran the little hut at Willow Putt. It was a minigolf course by the river.
芭丝玛经营着柳树迷你高尔夫球场的小木屋。那是一座河边的迷你高尔夫球场。
The course had one famous rule. Anyone who sank the last hole in one shot won a crown. The crown was made of cardboard and gold paint. The winner wore it for a photo. A camera hung by the door. The photo went on the hut wall.
球场有一条著名的规矩。谁要是一杆把最后一个洞打进去，就能赢得一顶王冠。王冠是用纸板和金漆做的。赢家戴着它拍一张照片。门边挂着一台相机。照片会贴在小屋的墙上。
Basma looked at that wall every morning. It was full of happy faces. A boy with no front teeth smiled at her. A woman in a long white dress waved a golf club. A man hugged his dog.
芭丝玛每天早上都要看那面墙。上面全是快乐的脸。一个掉了门牙的男孩对她笑着。一位穿白色长裙的女士挥舞着球杆。一个男人抱着他的狗。
But the newest photo was three summers old. Nobody won now. The last hole was too hard.
可是最新的一张照片已经是三个夏天以前的了。现在没有人赢了。最后一个洞太难了。
It had a high slope and a wooden windmill. The ball had to pass under the blades. Then it had to find a tiny tunnel. Most balls flew past or hit the wall.
那里有一道高高的斜坡和一架木头风车。球必须从风车叶片底下穿过去，然后还得找到一条很小的隧道。大多数球不是飞过头，就是撞到墙上。
"Why did we build it so hard?" asked Tomas. He was the new helper. He swept the paths and painted the fence.
“我们当初为什么要把它建得这么难？”托马斯问。他是新来的帮工，负责扫路和刷篱笆。
"A good prize needs a good game," said Basma.
“好的奖品需要一场好的游戏，”芭丝玛说。
"But nobody wins it."
“可是没有人赢得了。”
"I know." Basma touched the empty space on the wall. "I want one more face up there before the season ends."
“我知道。”芭丝玛摸了摸墙上空着的那块地方。“我想在赛季结束前，让那里再多一张脸。”
Tomas said nothing. He looked at the old crown on its hook. It was thin and soft. One point was bent.
托马斯没有说话。他看着挂在钩子上的那顶旧王冠。它又薄又软，有一个角还弯了。
That night he stayed late. He cut a new crown from a big cardboard box. He made ten sharp points. He painted them gold and left them to dry on the fence.
那天夜里，他留到很晚。他用一个大纸板箱剪出一顶新王冠。他做了十个尖尖的角，涂上金漆，放在篱笆上晾干。
In the morning, Basma stopped at the gate. The crown shone in the early sun.
早晨，芭丝玛在大门口停住了脚步。王冠在清晨的阳光下闪闪发亮。
"It is beautiful," she said. "Now we only need a winner."
“真漂亮，”她说，“现在我们只缺一位赢家了。”
"The season ends on Sunday," said Tomas.
“赛季星期天就结束了，”托马斯说。
"Then we have two days, Saturday and Sunday."
“那我们还有两天，星期六和星期天。”
Saturday was busy. The path was full of children. Parents carried ice cream and bags. Clubs clicked, and balls rolled, and the river was bright.
星期六很忙。小路上全是孩子。家长们拿着冰淇淋和袋子。球杆咔嗒作响，球在滚动，河水闪闪发亮。
At noon, a tall young man came to the last hole. He wore a loud yellow shirt. He had a loud voice too.
中午，一个高个子年轻人来到最后一个洞前。他穿着一件鲜黄的衬衫，嗓门也很大。
"Watch this," he told the crowd. "I never miss."
“看好了，”他对人群说，“我从不失手。”
He hit the ball hard. It struck the windmill with a crack and flew into the bushes. He hit another. It jumped over the fence. The third one went into the river.
他用力一击。球砰的一声撞在风车上，飞进了灌木丛。他又打了一个。球跳过了篱笆。第三个掉进了河里。
"Bad luck," he said at last. "Your hole is broken."
“真倒霉，”他最后说，“你们这个洞是坏的。”
"It is not broken," said Tomas.
“它没有坏，”托马斯说。
"Then it is a trick."
“那就是个骗局。”
"No trick," said Tomas. "You just hit it too hard."
“不是骗局，”托马斯说，“你只是打得太用力了。”
The young man laughed and walked away. A few people clapped. Others tried the hole after him. They were strong, and they were fast, and every ball missed.
年轻人笑着走开了。有几个人鼓了掌。其他人在他之后也试了这个洞。他们力气大，动作快，每个球都打偏了。
Basma watched from the hut. She did not say a word. But in her head, she made a wish.
芭丝玛在小屋里看着。她一句话也没有说。可是在心里，她许了一个愿。
Let someone win today, she thought. Let it be a clever player. Someone who knows what to do.
让今天有人赢吧，她想。让那是个聪明的选手，一个知道该怎么做的人。
She pictured a tall champion with a steady arm. She pictured the photo on the wall.
她想象着一位手臂稳稳的高个子冠军。她想象着墙上的那张照片。
The afternoon grew slow. The shadows grew long. Tomas swept the same path three times.
下午变得缓慢起来。影子越拉越长。托马斯把同一条小路扫了三遍。
Then a very small girl walked up to the last hole. She was about five. Her club was taller than she was. Her father stood behind her and held a pink bag.
这时，一个非常小的女孩走到最后一个洞前。她大约五岁。她的球杆比她还高。她爸爸站在她身后，拿着一个粉色的球袋。
The girl did not know the rule. She did not know about the crown. She only knew it was the last hole. She wanted to finish.
小女孩不知道那条规矩，也不知道有王冠这回事。她只知道这是最后一个洞，她想把它打完。
She put her ball down. She looked at the windmill for a long time. Then she tapped the ball, very gently.
她把球放好。她盯着风车看了很久。然后她轻轻地敲了一下球。
It rolled up the slope like a sleepy beetle. Everyone stopped to watch. Halfway up, the ball almost stopped. It crept to the top. It waited there.
球像一只睡意蒙眬的甲虫，沿着斜坡滚了上去。所有人都停下来看。滚到半坡，球几乎停住了。它慢慢爬到了顶上，在那里等着。
"Come on," whispered Tomas.
“加油，”托马斯小声说。
The ball rolled forward. The windmill blade lifted just in time. The ball slid under it and turned toward the tunnel.
球向前滚去。风车的叶片正好及时抬了起来。球从底下滑过，转向了隧道。
It went in.
它进去了。
For one second, nobody moved. Then, from inside the tunnel, came a small sound.
有那么一秒钟，没有人动。接着，隧道里传来一个小小的声音。
"Clunk."
“咚。”
The crowd shouted. The girl's father dropped the pink bag. A boy jumped on the bench. Somebody whistled, and the whole course cheered.
人群欢呼起来。小女孩的爸爸把粉色的球袋掉在了地上。一个男孩跳上了长椅。有人吹起了口哨，整个球场都在喝彩。
The girl looked at her ball in the hole. "Is that good?" she asked.
小女孩看着洞里的球。“这样好吗？”她问。
"That is very good," said Basma. Her eyes were wet, and she laughed. "That is the best thing that happened here in three years."
“非常好，”芭丝玛说。她的眼睛湿了，却笑着。“这是三年来这里发生的最棒的事。”
Tomas ran to the hut. He came back with the new crown. It was far too big. He placed it on the girl's head. It slid down to her nose.
托马斯跑回小屋。他拿着那顶新王冠回来了。它实在太大了。他把它戴在小女孩的头上，它一下子滑到了她的鼻子上。
She pushed it up with both hands. It slid down again. Everyone laughed, and the girl laughed loudest of all.
她用双手把它推上去。它又滑了下来。大家都笑了，小女孩笑得最响。
Basma stood and looked at her. She wished for a tall champion with a steady arm. She got a small girl with a tiny tap.
芭丝玛站在那儿看着她。她曾盼望一位手臂稳稳的高个子冠军，得到的却是一个轻轻一敲的小女孩。
It was better. She knew it at once.
这样更好。她立刻就明白了。
"Smile," said Tomas. He lifted the camera.
“笑一个，”托马斯说着，举起了相机。
The girl pushed up the crown again. She held it with both hands.
小女孩又把王冠推了上去，用两只手扶着。
The camera flashed, and the crown stayed where it was.
相机闪了一下，王冠就留在了那里。
