The Guitar Behind the Cough Syrup

The back room of the pharmacy smelled of cardboard and mint. Anand had worked there for three weeks, and in that time he had learned that nobody ever tidied it properly. Shelves of cough syrup and bandages climbed to the ceiling, and between two of them, wrapped in a faded blanket, stood a guitar.

药店的后屋里有一股纸板和薄荷的味道。阿南德在这里工作了三个星期，这期间他发现，从来没人好好收拾过这间屋子。装满止咳糖浆和绷带的架子一直堆到天花板，在其中两个架子之间，裹着一条褪了色的毯子，立着一把吉他。

He found it on his second day. The wood was scratched, one tuning peg was missing, and on the lower curve of the body someone had carved a name with a knife. The letters spelled NELLY. They were deep and a little crooked, as if the carver had been laughing.

他是第二天发现它的。琴身的木头满是划痕，缺了一个弦钮，琴身下方的弧线上有人用刀刻了一个名字。那几个字母拼成NELLY，刻得很深，也有点歪，仿佛刻字的人当时正在笑。

"Don't touch her," said Jovan from the doorway. He was the senior technician, a broad, calm man who ate one apple at exactly the same time every afternoon. "She isn't ours."

“别碰她，”约万在门口说。他是资深技师，一个身材宽阔、沉着冷静的男人，每天下午都在同一个时刻准时吃一个苹果。“她不是我们的。”

"Whose is she?" Anand asked.

“那她是谁的？”阿南德问。

Jovan told him the story while they counted boxes of painkillers. Twelve years earlier, a young musician had rushed in with a ruined voice and a concert that night. The venue had paid her late, and she had no money for the medicine. She left the guitar as a deposit.

他们一边清点成箱的止痛药，约万一边给他讲了这个故事。十二年前，一位年轻的音乐人冲进店里，嗓子哑得不成样子，而那天晚上她有一场演出。演出场地迟迟没有付她钱，她买不起药。她把吉他留下作抵押。

"The pharmacist told her to come back when she could pay," Jovan said. "He promised the guitar would be waiting. She never came."

“药剂师叫她等有钱了再来，”约万说，“他答应吉他会一直等着她。她再也没来过。”

"Is Nelly her name, or the guitar's?" Anand said.

“内莉是她的名字，还是吉他的名字？”阿南德问。

"Nobody knows. Nobody ever asked the right person." Jovan shrugged and bit into his apple. "The pharmacist retired, the owner changed twice, and Nelly stayed behind the cough syrup. That is how things work here."

“没人知道。从来没人问对过人。”约万耸耸肩，咬了一口苹果。“药剂师退休了，老板换了两任，内莉就一直待在止咳糖浆后面。这里的事就是这样。”

Anand ran his thumb along the carved letters. The wood felt warm and smooth, like something that had been held by many hands before it was forgotten. He had played in a school band for one terrible year, and he knew what it meant to leave an instrument alone in the dark.

阿南德用拇指顺着刻出的字母摸过去。木头摸上去温暖光滑，像是被许多双手握过、而后被遗忘的东西。他在学校乐队里度过了糟糕透顶的一年，知道把一件乐器独自留在黑暗里是什么滋味。

The next morning the owner called everyone into the shop for a meeting. The pharmacy was moving to a bigger building at the end of the month, and the old back room had to be empty by Friday. A cleaning crew would arrive at nine to clear whatever was left.

第二天早上，老板把所有人召到店里开会。药店月底要搬进一栋更大的楼，旧后屋必须在星期五之前腾空。九点钟会有一支保洁队来清走剩下的一切。

"Anything unclaimed goes into the skip," the owner said, looking at a list. "Old shelves, broken chairs, that guitar. I am sorry, but we cannot carry everything with us."

“凡是没人认领的东西都进垃圾箱，”老板看着一份清单说，“旧架子、坏椅子，还有那把吉他。很抱歉，但我们不可能把所有东西都带走。”

Jovan said nothing, but Anand saw his jaw tighten. Afterwards, in the back room, Jovan took his coat from its hook and sighed.

约万没说话，但阿南德看见他的下巴绷紧了。后来在后屋里，约万从挂钩上取下外套，叹了口气。

"I would fight for her, but I leave tomorrow for a week of training in another city. I will not be here on Friday."

“我会为她争一争的，但我明天要去另一座城市培训一个星期。星期五我不在。”

"Then I will make sure she doesn't go in the skip," Anand said. The words came out before he had thought about them. "I promise."

“那我来保证她不会被扔进垃圾箱，”阿南德说。这话没经大脑就脱口而出。“我保证。”

Jovan looked at him for a long moment. "Then she is your problem now," he said, and he almost smiled.

约万久久地看着他。“那她现在就是你的问题了，”他说，差点笑了出来。

Anand soon discovered how heavy a promise could be. On Monday he searched the old ledger from the shelf above the sink and found a line dated twelve years earlier. It read: guitar, deposit, throat medicine, and a phone number. He called it that evening. A recorded voice told him the number no longer existed.

阿南德很快就发现，一个承诺可以有多沉重。星期一，他翻出水槽上方架子里的旧账本，找到了十二年前日期的一行记录，上面写着：吉他，抵押，喉咙药，还有一个电话号码。当天傍晚他拨了过去。一个录音告诉他，这个号码已不存在。

On Tuesday he tried the address beside the number. It was a hairdressing salon, and the young woman at the desk had never heard of anyone called Nelly. She suggested he try the music shop two streets away. The music shop owner listened politely, looked at the photo Anand showed him, and shook his head.

星期二，他试着去找号码旁边的那个地址。那是一家美发沙龙，前台的年轻女子从没听说过什么叫内莉的人。她建议他去两条街外的乐器行问问。乐器行老板礼貌地听完，看了看阿南德给他的照片，摇了摇头。

"A battered guitar with a name carved in it," the man said. "I could name you fifty of those, and not one of them is looking for its owner."

“一把破旧的吉他，上面刻着一个名字，”那人说，“这样的我能给你数出五十把，没有一把在找它的主人。”

On Wednesday Anand wrote a notice and taped it inside the shop window. It said: A guitar called Nelly has been waiting here for twelve years. If she is yours, please come and collect her. The owner read it at lunchtime and took it down again.

星期三，阿南德写了一张告示，贴在店里的橱窗内侧。上面写着：一把叫内莉的吉他在这里等了十二年。如果她是您的，请来取走。午饭时老板看到了，又把它揭了下来。

"We cannot have strange notices in the window while customers are coming in for medicine," the owner said, not unkindly. "And we cannot keep her either. The new shop has no space for a guitar."

“顾客来买药的时候，橱窗里可不能贴着奇怪的告示，”老板说，语气并不严厉，“而且我们也不能留着她。新店没有地方放吉他。”

That left Thursday, and a plan Anand was not proud of. He carried Nelly out through the loading door after closing time, wrapped in her blanket, and hung her from the handlebars of his bicycle. The ride home took twenty minutes. Twice she bumped against the wheel with a deep, hollow note that made a passing dog stop and stare.

这就剩下星期四了，还有一个阿南德并不引以为荣的计划。下班后，他用毯子裹着内莉，从装卸门把她带出去，挂在自行车的车把上。回家的路骑了二十分钟。有两次，她撞在车轮上，发出低沉空洞的一声，让一条路过的狗停下来盯着看。

His flatmate opened the door and looked at the guitar. "You have stolen an instrument," she said.

室友开门，看着那把吉他。“你偷了一件乐器，”她说。

"I have rescued an instrument," Anand said. "It is different."

“我是救下了一件乐器，”阿南德说，“这是不同的。”

"Not legally," she said, but she let him in.

“从法律上讲不是，”她说，但还是让他进了门。

That night he sat on his bed and tried to understand what he had actually promised. He had not promised to find the owner. He had not promised to keep Nelly forever. He had promised that she would not go into the skip. If he kept her in his bedroom for the rest of his life, he would keep the promise. It would be a poor sort of keeping, because no one would ever hear her again.

那天晚上，他坐在床上，试图弄明白自己到底承诺了什么。他没有承诺找到主人。他没有承诺永远留着内莉。他承诺的是，她不会被扔进垃圾箱。如果他把她放在卧室里度过余生，他就算守住了承诺。但那是一种糟糕的守法，因为再也没有人能听到她的声音了。

He found a video of a teacher showing four simple chords. He bought a new tuning peg and a set of strings at the music shop. The owner of the shop, who now seemed interested in spite of himself, showed him how to fit them. By midnight Anand could play one song badly. By Friday morning he could play it a little less badly.

他找到一段视频，一位老师在演示四个简单的和弦。他去乐器行买了一个新弦钮和一套琴弦。乐器行老板如今似乎不由自主地来了兴致，教他怎么装。到半夜，阿南德能弹一首歌，弹得很差。到星期五早上，他弹得没那么差了。

On Friday the cleaning crew arrived at nine and found the back room empty, except for the broken chairs. The owner arrived at ten, in a hurry, and found Anand waiting at the door with a guitar that was not his.

星期五，保洁队九点到了，发现后屋空了，只剩下那些坏椅子。老板十点匆匆赶到，发现阿南德守在门口，抱着一把不属于他的吉他。

"I need five minutes," Anand said. "Please. Then I will not trouble you again."

“我需要五分钟，”阿南德说，“求您了。然后我不会再打扰您。”

The owner glanced at the clock, sighed, and followed him into the shop. It was nearly empty, because the last customers were leaving with their bags, and Anand stood beside the counter and played his one song.

老板瞥了一眼钟，叹了口气，跟着他走进店里。店里几乎空了，因为最后几位顾客正提着袋子离开，阿南德站在柜台旁，弹起了他会的那一首歌。

It was not a good performance. He missed a chord in the second verse and played the last one twice by mistake. But the woman waiting for her prescription turned around, and two children stopped pulling at their father's sleeve, and the whole shop went quiet.

这算不上一场好的演出。第二段他漏了一个和弦，最后一个和弦又错弹了两遍。但是那位等着取药的女士转过身来，两个孩子不再拽爸爸的袖子，整个店里安静了下来。

When he finished, someone clapped. It was the owner.

他弹完时，有人鼓了掌。是老板。

"I did not know she could sound like that," the owner said slowly. "Twelve years behind the cough syrup, and nobody ever played her." Then, after a pause: "The new shop has a long wall by the door. It is empty. A guitar can hang there."

“我不知道她能发出这样的声音，”老板缓缓地说，“在止咳糖浆后面待了十二年，从来没人弹过她。”停了一下，他又说：“新店门边有一面长墙，是空着的。可以把吉他挂在那里。”

"As decoration?" Anand asked.

“当装饰吗？”阿南德问。

"As the oldest member of staff," said the owner. "With a card beside her, saying that she is still waiting for her owner. Let people see her. If the musician is out there, perhaps she will walk past one day."

“当最资深的员工，”老板说，“旁边放一张卡片，写明她还在等她的主人。让大家都看见她。要是那位音乐人还在世上，也许哪天她会路过。”

So Nelly moved to the new pharmacy in a taxi, wrapped in her blanket. Anand held her on his lap like a very important patient. By the following Monday she hung on the long wall, polished and restrung, under a small card that Anand had lettered himself.

于是，内莉裹着她的毯子，乘出租车搬进了新药店。阿南德把她抱在腿上，像抱着一位非常重要的病人。到下个星期一，她已经挂在那面长墙上，擦得锃亮，换上了新弦，下面是阿南德亲手写的一张小卡片。

Jovan came back from his training course that morning. He walked into the new shop, put down his bag, and stood in front of the wall for a long time. Then he read the card out loud.

约万那天早上培训回来了。他走进新店，放下包，在那面墙前站了很久。然后他大声念出了卡片上的字。

"Nelly. Staff member since twelve years ago. Senior technician." He turned around slowly. "Senior technician? I am the senior technician."

“内莉。十二年前起任职员工。资深技师。”他缓缓转过身来。“资深技师？我才是资深技师。”

"She has been here longer than you," Anand said.

“她在这儿比你待得久，”阿南德说。

Jovan looked at the guitar and sighed. "In that case," he said, "she can count the boxes."

约万看着那把吉他，叹了口气。“既然这样，”他说，“那她可以去清点箱子了。”