It happened on a Tuesday in late November, nine years after Nazira had stepped off the train with two suitcases and a dictionary she had never needed to open twice. She woke at ten to five with the dream still around her like the warmth of the bed. In it she had been standing at a bus stop, talking to the neighbour from the flat below about the delay, the cold, and a parcel delivered to the wrong building. Not a word of it had passed through her mother tongue on the way. The neighbour had spoken, and she had answered, quickly and a little wittily, in the language of the country.
那是十一月下旬的一个星期二，距娜齐拉带着两只行李箱和一本从来不需要翻第二遍的词典走下火车，已经过去九年。她四点五十分醒来，梦还像被窝的暖意一样围绕着她。梦里她站在一个公交站，同楼下的邻居聊着晚点、寒冷，以及一个送错了楼的包裹。整场交谈，没有一个字经过她的母语。邻居开口说，她回答，说得又快，又带着一点机智，用的是这个国家的语言。
For years she had imagined this moment as a victory. Her teachers had called it the finish line: the day you dream in it, they had said, you will know it belongs to you. Lying in the dark with the radiator ticking, Nazira waited for the pride to arrive. What came instead was a quiet, sinking sensation, as if she had put her foot on a stair that was not there.
多年来，她一直把这一刻想象成一场胜利。老师们管它叫终点线：他们说过，等你有一天用它做梦，你就知道它属于你了。她躺在黑暗中，听着暖气片嗒嗒作响，等着自豪感到来。来的却是一种安静的、下沉的感觉，像是一脚踩在了一级不存在的台阶上。
Not until that moment had it occurred to her that a mind has only so many hours of night. If she had been told at the start that the new language would one day take over her sleep, she might well have studied less hard. But then she would not have this job, this narrow flat, or the neighbour who had never once guessed how much effort lay under her polite small talk. She could not decide which loss to mourn first, so she mourned neither, and got up.
直到这一刻，她才想到，一个人的头脑，一夜只有那么多个小时。要是一开始就有人告诉她，这门新语言有一天会占据她的睡眠，她也许就不会学得那么用功。可那样的话，她就不会有这份工作，这间狭窄的公寓，也不会有那位邻居，对方从来没有猜到过她那些客气的寒暄底下花了多大的力气。她不知道该先为哪一种失去而哀悼，于是哪一种也没有哀悼，起了床。
Having made tea she did not want, she sat at the kitchen table and called her mother. It was nearly noon there. Her mother always picked up on the second ring and never the first, so as not to seem eager, and the small delay had become one of the most familiar sounds in Nazira's life.
泡好了并不想喝的茶，她坐在厨房桌边，给母亲打了电话。那边已近正午。母亲总是在响第二声时接电话，从来不在第一声，免得显得太心急，而这一点小小的延迟，已经成了娜齐拉生活中最熟悉的声音之一。
"Are you eating?" her mother said, in the old language, without a greeting.
“你吃饭了吗？”母亲用故乡的语言说，没有寒暄。
"Yes."
“吃了。”
"Properly?"
“好好吃了吗？”
"Properly." Nazira turned the cup between her palms. "Mama, I dreamed in it. The whole dream. Nothing in ours."
“好好吃了。”娜齐拉在掌心里转着杯子。“妈妈，我用它做梦了。整个梦。我们的话，一个字都没有。”
The silence that followed was the long kind, with the faint hiss of distance in it. She could hear, behind it, a kettle and the radio her mother kept on for company. She waited to be congratulated. She was not sure she wanted to be.
接下来的沉默是那种长长的沉默，带着远距离淡淡的嘶嘶声。她能听见沉默的背后，有一只水壶的声音，还有母亲为了作伴一直开着的收音机。她等着被祝贺。她不确定自己是否想被祝贺。
"Who was in it?" her mother asked at last.
“梦里有谁？”母亲终于问。
"The neighbour. We were waiting for a bus."
“那位邻居。我们在等公交车。”
"And what did she call you?"
“那她怎么叫你？”
It was an odd question, and it took Nazira a moment to find the answer. In the dream the neighbour had said her name the way the country said it, with the weight on the wrong part, flattening the middle, and Nazira had answered to it without a flicker. In the waking world she still winced, a little, every time.
这是个古怪的问题，娜齐拉花了一会儿才找到答案。梦里，邻居是按这个国家的叫法念她的名字的，重音落错了地方，把中间压平了，而娜齐拉毫不犹豫地应了。在清醒的世界里，她每次听到，仍然会微微皱一下眉头。
"She said it wrong," she said slowly. "And I answered anyway."
“她念错了，”她慢慢地说，“我还是答应了。”
"Hm," her mother said. It was impossible to tell whether it was a comfort or a verdict. "Well. Eat something. It's cold there, you said."
“嗯，”母亲说。分不清那是一种安慰，还是一种裁决。“好吧。吃点东西。你说过那边很冷。”
"It is."
“是的。”
"Then I'll ring on Sunday."
“那我星期天再打给你。”
After the call, Nazira sat without moving until the tea had stopped steaming. Outside, the first grey of morning was finding the windows of the building opposite. Then she said a word aloud into the empty kitchen, the old, soft one her mother had used for the room where the family ate, not the country and not the house. She said it once, and waited, as one presses a bruise to find out whether it is still there.
通话结束后，娜齐拉一动不动地坐着，直到茶不再冒热气。窗外，清晨的第一缕灰色正落到对面楼的窗户上。然后她对着空荡荡的厨房，大声说出了一个词，那是母亲曾经用来称呼一家人吃饭的那个房间的，古老而柔软的词，不是指国家，也不是指房子。她说了一遍，然后等着，就像人按一块淤青，想知道它是不是还在。
