The announcement comes on a Monday: the company will trial a four-day week for three months. Dragan claps politely with everyone else, then goes back to his desk and wonders what he will do with a free Friday.
公告是在星期一宣布的：公司将试行为期三个月的每周四天工作制。德拉甘和大家一起礼貌地鼓了掌，然后回到座位上，琢磨着多出来的星期五该做什么。
By the first Friday, he has been checking his email since eight o'clock. There is nothing urgent. Nothing is ever urgent on Fridays, which he now realizes is the whole point. He answers a message that could easily have waited until Monday and feels faintly ridiculous.
到了第一个星期五，他从八点起就在查看邮件。没有什么紧急的事。星期五从来没有什么紧急的事，他现在才明白，这正是关键所在。他回复了一封完全可以等到星期一再回的邮件，隐隐觉得自己有点可笑。
"You're supposed to rest," his sister tells him on the phone. "Do something with your hands, not your inbox."
“你应该休息，”姐姐在电话里对他说，“做点用手的事，别老盯着收件箱。”
"Like what?" he asks.
“比如什么？”他问。
"Like anything. Didn't you use to draw on everything when we were kids? Mum had to hide the wallpaper from you."
“随便什么。我们小时候，你不是什么东西上都要画吗？妈妈还得把墙纸藏起来不让你碰。”
He had forgotten that. After lunch, he climbs into the attic and finds a box his grandfather left him. Inside are a flat tin of pencils, worn down to different lengths, and a sketchbook with half its pages still empty. The full half is street scenes: a tram stop, a market awning, a man asleep on a bench with his hat over his face.
他已经忘了这件事。午饭后，他爬上阁楼，找到了爷爷留给他的一个盒子。里面有一个扁扁的铁盒，装着长短不一、都已磨短的铅笔，还有一本素描本，一半的纸页还是空白。画满的那一半是街景：一个电车站，一个集市的遮阳篷，一个脸上盖着帽子、在长椅上睡觉的男人。
The second Friday, he sits at the kitchen window with the tin open and tries to draw the bakery across the road. The result looks like a bakery that has been in an accident. The roof slopes the wrong way, and the door would only fit a child. He borrows a library book on perspective and learns that he has been drawing what he expects to see, not what is actually there.
第二个星期五，他坐在厨房窗边，打开铁盒，想画对面的面包店。画出来的结果像一家出过事故的面包店。屋顶的坡度反了，门只有小孩才进得去。他从图书馆借了一本讲透视的书，才知道自己一直画的是他以为会看到的样子，而不是真正在那里的样子。
At work, his colleagues swap stories. One of them has been sleeping until ten. Another has repainted a bedroom. Dragan says he is "learning something," and when they ask what, he finds he doesn't want to explain. It feels too private, like admitting that he enjoys it.
在公司，同事们互相交换着经历。有人一直睡到十点。有人把卧室重新刷了漆。德拉甘说他在“学点东西”，他们问学什么，他发现自己不想解释。这太私人了，就像承认自己乐在其中。
By the third Friday, he has stopped looking at his phone. He pushes it into a kitchen drawer at eight o'clock and forgets it. He draws the bakery four more times. The roof straightens. He shades the shadows under the awning with the side of the pencil. Judging by the smudges on every page, his grandfather must have done the same.
到了第三个星期五，他已经不再看手机了。八点钟，他把手机塞进厨房抽屉，然后就忘了它。他把那家面包店又画了四遍。屋顶变直了。他用铅笔的侧面给遮阳篷下的阴影上了色。从每一页上的污迹来看，爷爷当年一定也是这样画的。
On the last Thursday of the month, his manager stops by his desk. She says the trial is going well. Productivity hasn't dropped, and several people have reportedly never felt so rested. "Anything you'd change?" she asks.
这个月的最后一个星期四，经理走到他的桌旁。她说试行进展顺利。工作效率没有下降，据说还有好几个人从来没有这么精神饱满过。“你有什么想改的吗？”她问。
"If it were up to me," Dragan says, "I'd make it permanent."
“要是由我决定，”德拉甘说，“我会把它定为长期制度。”
The next morning, he sits at the kitchen window with the phone shut away in its drawer. The baker comes out to lower the awning, as she does every Friday at nine. She stands for a moment with her hands on her hips. Dragan draws her quickly, before she can move.
第二天早上，他坐在厨房窗边，手机锁在抽屉里。面包店的老板娘走出来放下遮阳篷，就像她每个星期五九点钟做的那样。她叉着腰站了片刻。德拉甘抢在她动身之前，飞快地把她画了下来。
When he has finished, he opens his grandfather's sketchbook at the first empty page. He copies her in carefully, next to the man asleep on the bench.
画完后，他把爷爷的素描本翻到第一页空白处。他仔细地把她临摹了进去，就在那个睡在长椅上的男人旁边。
