The Drive That Crossed the Queue

At two in the morning, the radio station on Mercer Street is the quietest place in the city. Hamza likes it that way. He sits in the glass studio with a mug of hot chocolate and a stack of requests. On the other side of the glass, a bright sign says ON AIR.

凌晨两点，默瑟街上的电台是全城最安静的地方。哈姆扎就喜欢这样。他坐在玻璃隔出的播音室里，手边一杯热巧克力，一叠听众点歌。玻璃的另一边，一块明亮的牌子写着“直播中”。

He has hosted the late show for six years. Tonight it is a special one. At four o'clock, tickets for a famous band's only local concert go on sale. The sale starts at the station's front desk. Hamza will announce the start of the sale live. Then the station will give away the first hundred tickets to the people at the front.

他主持这档深夜节目已经六年了。今晚的节目很特别。四点钟，一支著名乐队在本地唯一一场演唱会的门票开始发售。发售从电台的前台开始。哈姆扎会在直播里宣布开售。然后电台会把前一百张票送给排在最前面的人。

Those people have been waiting since yesterday afternoon. Through the studio window, Hamza can see how many of them there are. The queue starts at the front door. It runs along Mercer Street, turns the corner, crosses the car park and disappears under the railway bridge. People sit on camping chairs and sleeping bags. Some of them hold small radios to their ears.

那些人从昨天下午就开始等了。透过播音室的窗户，哈姆扎能看到到底有多少人。队伍从前门开始，沿着默瑟街延伸，拐过街角，穿过停车场，消失在铁路桥底下。人们坐在露营椅和睡袋上。有些人把小收音机贴在耳边。

"Hamza," says a voice behind him. "I have a problem."

“哈姆扎，”身后有个声音说，“我有麻烦了。”

It is Tobin, the young sound engineer who works the night shift. He stands in the doorway, white as paper. In his hands is a dead black box with a cable hanging out of the back.

是托宾，那个上夜班的年轻音响师。他站在门口，脸白得像纸。他手里捧着一个死机的黑盒子，后面还拖着一根线。

"That is the playlist computer," Hamza says slowly.

“这是播放列表电脑，”哈姆扎慢慢地说。

"It was the playlist computer," Tobin says. "It has just died. Everything on it is gone. The songs, the jingles, the ad breaks, all of it."

“刚才还是播放列表电脑，”托宾说，“它刚刚死了。上面的东西全没了。歌曲、台标音乐、广告时段，全都没了。”

Hamza looks at the clock above the door. It is 3:12. "How long can we play from the live desk?"

哈姆扎看了看门上的钟。三点十二分。“我们用直播台能放多久？”

"One CD player and one record," Tobin says. "That is two songs. About eight minutes."

“一台CD机，一张唱片，”托宾说，“就是两首歌。大概八分钟。”

"And the law says we cannot be silent."

“而且法律规定我们不能冷场。”

"For more than a minute, yes. If we go off the air, the station loses its licence for the night. And there are four thousand people outside waiting for us to say the word."

“超过一分钟就不行，没错。如果停播，电台今晚的执照就保不住了。外面还有四千个人在等我们开口。”

Hamza puts down his mug. "Is there a backup?"

哈姆扎放下杯子。“有备份吗？”

Tobin's face changes. "There is a backup drive," he says. "It has everything. But it is in my van."

托宾的脸色变了。“有一块备份硬盘，”他说，“里面什么都有。可是它在我的面包车里。”

"Where is your van?"

“你的车在哪儿？”

"In the old loading yard behind the car park." Tobin points through the window. "On the far side of the queue."

“在停车场后面那个旧装卸场。”托宾指向窗外。“在队伍的另一头。”

Hamza looks at the long line of people. It is two streets long and four people wide in some places. A person can walk along its edge, but the edge is full of chairs, bags and sleeping legs. In the daytime, the walk from the van to the station takes four minutes. Tonight, in the dark, it may take twenty.

哈姆扎望着那条长长的人龙。它有两条街那么长，有些地方有四个人那么宽。人可以沿着队伍边上走，但边上全是椅子、包和睡着的人伸出来的腿。白天，从车到电台走一趟要四分钟。今晚，黑灯瞎火的，可能要二十分钟。

"We have eight minutes," Hamza says.

“我们有八分钟，”哈姆扎说。

"I know. I will run." Tobin is already pulling on his jacket. "If I run all the way, maybe I can do it in twelve."

“我知道。我跑过去。”托宾已经在套夹克。“如果一路跑，也许十二分钟能搞定。”

"Then we lose four minutes of airtime."

“那我们就有四分钟的空白。”

"Yes. But we only lose the licence if you cannot fill them."

“对。可只要你能把它们填上，我们就不会丢执照。”

"Four minutes of me talking," Hamza says. "In the middle of the night. Alone. With nothing to say."

“四分钟，我一个人说，”哈姆扎说，“在半夜里。没有任何话可说。”

"You will find something."

“你会找到话说的。”

Tobin runs. Hamza starts the first song, a slow one. He watches through the window as Tobin jumps over the first sleeping bag. He apologises to a man with a guitar. He hurries past a family with a thermos. Then the crowd grows thicker, and Tobin slows. At the corner, a cluster of tall teenagers blocks the whole pavement. They are asleep on each other's shoulders, and Tobin has to stop, step carefully, and go around.

托宾跑了出去。哈姆扎放起第一首歌，一首慢歌。他透过窗户看着托宾跳过第一只睡袋。他向一个抱着吉他的男人道歉。他匆匆越过一家拿着保温壶的人。接着人群越来越密，托宾慢了下来。在街角，一群高个子少年挡住了整条人行道。他们互相靠着肩膀睡着了，托宾只好停下来，小心地迈步，绕过去。

Hamza's heart sinks. He can see it already. Tobin is moving at the speed of a man in a swimming pool.

哈姆扎的心沉了下去。他已经看得明明白白。托宾的速度像是在游泳池里行走的人。

The song gets to its last chorus. Hamza reaches for the CD player and starts the second track. Six minutes left. Then five.

歌唱到了最后一段副歌。哈姆扎伸手去按CD机，放起第二首。还剩六分钟。接着是五分钟。

Far away, Tobin climbs out of his van with the drive in his hand. Now he must cross the same crowd again.

很远的地方，托宾拿着硬盘爬出了他的面包车。现在他必须再穿过同一片人群。

He walks to the window and presses his hand against the glass. In the queue, the little radios glow. All those people are listening to the same song as he is. All of them are awake.

他走到窗边，把手按在玻璃上。队伍里，那些小收音机亮着。所有这些人听的都是和他同一首歌。他们全都醒着。

Then he stops, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

然后他停了下来，脸上慢慢浮起一个微笑。

He turns to the desk. He sits down. He pulls the microphone close and presses a button on the panel.

他转向调音台。他坐下。他把麦克风拉近，按下面板上的一个按钮。

"Good morning, night owls," he says. "This is Hamza. I have a favour to ask, and I need every one of you for it."

“夜猫子们，早上好，”他说，“我是哈姆扎。我有个忙想请你们帮，而且我需要你们每一个人。”

"Somewhere at the far end of Mercer Street, a man in a jacket is carrying a black box. The box has the whole station inside it. If it does not reach the front door in four minutes, we go silent."

“在默瑟街最远的那一头，有个穿夹克的男人正抱着一个黑盒子。盒子里装着整座电台。如果它四分钟之内到不了前门，我们就要陷入沉默。”

Hamza leans forward. He can feel his pulse in his neck.

哈姆扎身子前倾。他能感觉到脖子里的脉搏在跳。

"So here is my idea. You do not need to leave your places. You only need to turn your heads. If you see a black box, take it from the person next to you and pass it forward. Hand to hand. Gently, please. Think of it as a very, very important sandwich."

“所以我的主意是这样的。你们不用离开自己的位置。只需要转过头来。如果你们看到一个黑盒子，就从旁边的人手里接过来，往前传。一手传一手。请轻拿轻放。把它当成一块非常非常重要的三明治。”

Through the window, he watches. For a second, nothing moves. Then the first radio goes down. A girl near the corner stands up and looks along the line. She shouts something that Hamza cannot hear, and the shout runs back along the queue like a wave.

他透过窗户看着。有那么一秒钟，什么都没有动。然后第一台收音机放了下来。街角附近一个女孩站起身，沿着队伍望去。她喊了一句哈姆扎听不清的话，那声呼喊像浪一样顺着队伍向后传去。

Tobin is at the railway bridge now, almost out of breath. He hears the shout and stops. Then he hears the voice of the nearest person, and it is a surprise. "Here," says a woman in a yellow coat, and she holds out both hands. "Give it to me."

托宾现在到了铁路桥，几乎喘不上气。他听到了那声呼喊，停住脚步。接着他听见离他最近的人的声音，让他吃了一惊。“这儿，”一个穿黄大衣的女人说着，伸出双手。“给我。”

Tobin hesitates for half a second. Then he puts the drive into the woman's hands.

托宾犹豫了半秒钟。然后他把硬盘放进了那个女人的手里。

She holds it above her head and passes it on. The little black box travels faster than any runner. It goes over shoulders and across sleeping bags and under the arms of people who are laughing. It crosses the car park. At the corner, the teenagers wake up, confused, and then they understand and pass it on. The family with the thermos takes it next, and then the man with the guitar. Hamza starts a countdown on the air, and the people in the queue shout the numbers with him.

她把它举过头顶，传了下去。那只小小的黑盒子比任何一个跑步的人都快。它越过一个个肩膀，穿过一个个睡袋，从笑着的人们腋下钻过去。它穿过了停车场。在街角，那几个少年迷迷糊糊地醒来，随后明白过来，把它传了下去。拿保温壶的那一家接过去，然后是抱吉他的男人。哈姆扎在直播里开始倒计时，队伍里的人跟着他一起喊数字。

"Two minutes."

“还有两分钟。”

"One minute."

“还有一分钟。”

The record is nearly finished. Hamza reaches for the volume knob, ready to fill the silence with his own voice.

唱片快放完了。哈姆扎伸手去摸音量旋钮，准备用自己的声音去填补静默。

Then the studio door opens. The night guard rushes in with the black box held high. It is covered in fingerprints, and a smear of chocolate runs across the front. Tobin comes in a few seconds behind him, breathing hard.

就在这时，播音室的门开了。值夜的保安高高举着黑盒子冲了进来。上面布满了指纹，前面还抹着一道巧克力。托宾落后他几秒钟，也进来了，大口喘着气。

"The queue brought it all the way to the door," the guard says.

“是队伍把它一路送到门口的，”保安说。

"Plug it in," Hamza says. "Quick."

“插上，”哈姆扎说，“快！”

Tobin plugs it in. A green light blinks, and the next song begins to play. It is the right song. It is exactly the song Hamza picked at midnight. The meters on the desk jump, and the studio fills with sound.

托宾把它插上。一盏绿灯闪了闪，下一首歌响了起来。是对的那首歌。正是哈姆扎午夜时挑的那首。调音台上的音量表跳动起来，播音室里充满了声音。

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Through the glass, Hamza hears a long, low roar of cheering from the street. It sounds like four thousand people who have just scored a goal.

有那么一会儿，两人谁也没说话。隔着玻璃，哈姆扎听到街上传来一阵绵长低沉的欢呼声。听起来就像四千人刚刚进了一个球。

He leans to the microphone for the last time that night. "Thank you, Mercer Street," he says. "You are the best queue in the world."

他最后一次凑近麦克风。“谢谢你们，默瑟街，”他说，“你们是全世界最棒的队伍。”

Tobin wipes his hands on his jacket and drops into the chair beside him.

托宾在夹克上擦了擦手，一屁股坐进他旁边的椅子。

"Next time," he says, "I am parking the van at the front door."

“下次，”他说，“我要把车停在前门口。”