The roof of the community centre is Ulrich's favourite place in the whole city. It has a flat gravel floor and a wall of old chimney pots. In the far corner stand two white wooden hives that hum all evening like a distant engine.
社区活动中心的屋顶，是乌尔里希在整座城市里最喜欢的地方。那里的地面是平整的碎石，还有一排旧烟囱管帽围成的矮墙。最远的角落里立着两只白色的木蜂箱，整个傍晚都像远处的发动机一样嗡嗡作响。
Every Thursday at dusk he climbs the metal ladder with the same three things: a smoker, a hive tool and a torch. The torch is a dented metal tube from a market stall. Its beam is so weak that it lights a circle the size of a plate. People have offered him better ones for years. He has refused every single one.
每个星期四黄昏，他都带着同样三样东西爬上那架金属梯子：一只喷烟器、一把起刮刀，还有一支手电筒。那手电筒是从集市摊子上买来的，凹了几处的金属管。它的光束弱得只能照亮盘子大的一圈。这些年来不断有人要送他更好的，他一一回绝了。
Tonight he is not alone. Nami follows him up the ladder with a notebook under her arm. She joined the beekeeping club two weeks ago, and she is the first person his age who has stayed longer than a month. She asks good questions and writes down the answers, sometimes before he finishes giving them.
今晚他不是一个人。娜美夹着一本笔记本，跟在他后面爬上梯子。她两周前加入了养蜂俱乐部，是第一个和他年纪相仿、待了超过一个月的人。她问的问题很好，会把答案记下来，有时他的话还没说完她就记上了。
Ulrich reaches the top first. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he steps away from the hatch to answer it.
乌尔里希先到了顶上。他口袋里的手机嗡嗡震动，他走开几步离开舱口去接。
"Yes, I am on the roof," he says quietly. "No, I will do the left hive on my own. She stays behind me. I mean it. Please do not ask me to explain it tonight."
“对，我在屋顶上，”他低声说，“不，左边那箱我自己来。她留在我后面。我是认真的。今晚请别让我解释。”
Below him on the ladder, Nami stops climbing.
梯子下方，娜美停住了脚。
She stands there with one hand on the cold rung and the other around her notebook. She has heard exactly five sentences, and she has already built a story around them. Ulrich has hardly let her touch a frame in two weeks. He holds the lid himself, he lifts the boxes himself, and he gives her little jobs like counting the dead bees on the landing board. Now she knows why. He thinks she is clumsy, or worse, a nuisance, and he has been waiting for someone to tell him he is allowed to say so.
她站在那里，一只手扶着冰凉的梯级，另一只手攥着笔记本。她只听到了五句话，却已经编出了一整个故事。两周来，乌尔里希几乎没让她碰过一块巢框。盖子是他自己拿，箱子是他自己抬，只给她派些小活儿，比如数一数起降板上死去的蜜蜂。现在她明白了原因。他觉得她笨手笨脚，或者更糟，是个累赘，他一直在等着有人对他说，他可以把这话说出口了。
She climbs the last rungs and steps onto the gravel with a very straight back.
她爬完最后几级，踏上碎石，背挺得笔直。
"Everything all right?" Ulrich asks.
“都还好吗？”乌尔里希问。
"Perfectly," Nami says.
“好得很，”娜美说。
It is the wrong kind of word, and he knows it, but he does not understand it. He fetches the smoker. She walks beside him towards the hives with her notebook closed, and for the first time since she arrived she asks no questions at all.
这个词用得不对劲，他听得出来，却不明白是为什么。他去拿喷烟器。她合着笔记本，走在他身旁朝蜂箱去，自她来到这里之后，头一回一个问题也没问。
The silence is almost louder than the bees.
那份沉默几乎比蜜蜂的嗡嗡声还响。
At the right hive, Ulrich lights the smoker and puffs a thin grey cloud over the entrance. He lifts the lid slowly and points the dim torch into the box. The bees shift in the soft yellow circle, calm as sleepers turning over in bed.
走到右边那箱前，乌尔里希点燃喷烟器，朝入口喷了一缕稀薄的灰烟。他慢慢掀起箱盖，把那支昏暗的手电筒对准箱子里面。蜜蜂在柔和的黄色光圈里微微挪动，安稳得像床上翻身的睡客。
"You can see them better in a weak light," he says. "A strong beam feels like a thunderstorm to them. Then they get angry."
“光弱一点，才看得清它们，”他说，“强光对它们来说就像雷暴。那样它们会发怒。”
Nami does not write it down.
娜美没有把这话记下来。
"Do you want to hold the frame?" he asks, because he suddenly wants to hear her say yes.
“你想拿一下巢框吗？”他问，因为他忽然很想听她说一声好。
"No," she says. "You should do it. You never trust anyone else with it anyway."
“不用了，”她说，“你来吧。反正你从来不放心把它交给别人。”
Ulrich looks up from the hive. "What does that mean?"
乌尔里希从蜂箱上抬起头。“这话什么意思？”
"Nothing." She takes out her phone to check the time, and the screen lights up bright white, directly above the open box.
“没什么。”她掏出手机看时间，屏幕亮起刺眼的白光，正好在敞开的蜂箱上方。
The hum changes at once. It rises by a whole note, sharp and tight, and a dozen bees lift off the frame. Ulrich does not shout. He puts his hand over her phone, covers the screen completely, and steps between her and the hive in one movement. The lid goes back down. The bees circle once, twice, and then drift back to their entrance, still complaining.
嗡鸣声立刻变了。它整整升高了一个音，尖锐而紧绷，十几只蜜蜂从巢框上飞了起来。乌尔里希没有喊叫。他一只手捂住她的手机，把屏幕完全遮住，同时一个动作就挡在了她和蜂箱之间。盖子盖了回去。蜜蜂绕着飞了一圈，两圈，然后飘回它们的入口，嘴里还在抱怨。
For a long moment neither of them moves.
好一阵子，两人谁也没有动。
"I am sorry," Nami says. Her voice shakes a little. "I know you did not want me here. I heard you on the phone. You said I had to stay behind you."
“对不起，”娜美说。她的声音有点发抖。“我知道你不想我在这儿。我听到你打电话了。你说我必须留在你后面。”
Ulrich stares at her. Then something very clear and slightly ridiculous crosses his face.
乌尔里希盯着她。接着，一种非常清楚、又有点荒唐的神情掠过他的脸。
"That was the chairwoman," he says. "She wanted me to give the left hive to the club's senior beekeeper tonight. I said no, I would do it myself, and that you would stay behind me."
“那是会长，”他说，“她想让我今晚把左边那箱交给俱乐部的资深养蜂人。我说不行，我自己来，还说你会留在我后面。”
"Because I am clumsy."
“因为我笨手笨脚。”
"Because that hive is vicious! Last month it stung three people through their gloves. I would rather take the stings than watch you take them." He rubs the back of his neck. "I have not let you touch the frames because every beginner does something stupid with a frame in their first month. I did it too. I wanted you to learn on the calm hive first. That is all."
“因为那箱蜜蜂凶得很！上个月它隔着手套蜇了三个人。我宁愿自己挨蜇，也不想看着你挨蜇。”他揉了揉后颈。“我一直没让你碰巢框，是因为每个新手头一个月都会在巢框上闹出点蠢事。我也这样过。我想让你先在温顺的那箱上学。就这么回事。”
Nami looks at the closed lid and at the angry bees still circling. She looks at the dim torch in his other hand.
娜美看了看合上的箱盖，又看了看还在盘旋的恼怒的蜜蜂。她看了看他另一只手里那支昏暗的手电筒。
"And the torch?" she asks. "Why does everyone say you are stubborn about it?"
“那手电筒呢？”她问，“为什么大家都说你在这件事上特别固执？”
He laughs, a little embarrassed. "People think it is broken. It is not. I wrapped three layers of tape over the lens last spring, because the original beam was too strong. It is the only torch that never makes them angry."
他笑了，有点难为情。“人们以为它坏了。其实没坏。去年春天，我在镜片上缠了三层胶带，因为原来的光束太强了。它是唯一一支从来不会惹恼它们的手电筒。”
"You made it weak on purpose."
“你是故意把它弄暗的。”
"On purpose," Ulrich says. "It is the best torch on the roof."
“故意的，”乌尔里希说，“它是屋顶上最好的手电筒。”
She laughs too, and the sound is so sudden that a few bees lift off the gravel as if they have heard a joke. Nami covers her mouth. Ulrich covers his. They stand there like two people caught in the wrong church, shaking with quiet laughter, until the hum settles again.
她也笑了，笑声来得这么突然，几只蜜蜂从碎石上飞起来，好像听见了笑话。娜美捂住嘴。乌尔里希也捂住了嘴。他们站在那里，像两个闯错了教堂的人，无声地笑得发抖，直到嗡嗡声重新平息。
"I thought you did not trust me," she says at last.
“我还以为你不信任我，”她终于说。
"I thought you were bored with me. You stopped talking."
“我还以为你嫌我烦了。你不说话了。”
"I was being dramatic."
“我是在演戏。”
"A little."
“有一点。”
"A lot," Nami admits.
“很多，”娜美承认。
The sun goes down behind the chimney pots, and the sky above the roof turns the colour of warm honey. Down on the street, someone switches on a row of lamps, but up here the gravel is dim and warm.
太阳落到烟囱管帽后面，屋顶上方的天空变成了温暖蜂蜜的颜色。下面的街上，有人打开了一排路灯，但这里的碎石地依旧昏暗而温暖。
Ulrich holds out the dented torch with the handle towards her. "Take it. The person who holds the torch decides when we stop. That is my oldest rule. I have never given the torch to anyone."
乌尔里希把那支凹了的手电筒递过去，手柄朝着她。“拿着。拿手电筒的人决定我们什么时候收工。这是我最老的规矩。我从来没把手电筒交给过任何人。”
"Not even the chairwoman?"
“连会长也没有？”
"She would use it like a hammer."
“她会把它当锤子用。”
Nami takes the torch and turns it over in her hands. She tests the weight of it, as if it were a rare tool. Then she crouches by the right hive and points the weak yellow circle at the wooden lid. She holds it low, exactly as she has seen him do.
娜美接过手电筒，在手里翻转着。她掂了掂分量，仿佛那是一件稀罕的工具。然后她蹲在右边的蜂箱旁，把那一圈微弱的黄光对准木头箱盖。她握得很低，正如她见他做过的那样。
"Ready?" she asks.
“准备好了吗？”她问。
Ulrich nods, and she lifts the lid.
乌尔里希点点头，她掀开了箱盖。
