Pavel is twenty-two, and tonight is his first show alone. He sits in a small studio on the top floor. The building is old and quiet. The microphone hangs in front of his face like a question.
帕维尔二十二岁，今晚是他第一次独自主持节目。他坐在顶楼一间小小的播音室里。大楼又旧又安静。麦克风悬在他的脸前，像一个问号。
Olive sits on the other side of the glass. She volunteers at the radio station, and she answers the request phone. She gives him a thumbs-up. He gives her a weak smile.
奥利芙坐在玻璃的另一边。她是电台的志愿者，负责接听点歌电话。她朝他竖起大拇指。他回给她一个勉强的微笑。
"Good evening," he says. His voice is too high. He clears his throat and tries again. "Good evening, night people. This is Night Harbor Radio, and I'm Pavel."
“晚上好，”他说。他的声音太尖了。他清了清嗓子，又试了一次。“晚上好，夜晚的听众朋友们。这里是夜港电台，我是帕维尔。”
The first hour goes well. He plays music. He reads the news from his notes. He says one wrong word, and nobody notices.
头一个小时很顺利。他放音乐，照着笔记念新闻。他说错了一个词，没有人发现。
At midnight, the sound changes. A soft crackle runs under the music. It grows louder. Soon the songs sound like eggs in a hot pan.
午夜时分，声音变了。音乐底下传来一阵轻轻的噼啪声，越来越响。很快，歌曲听起来像热锅里的煎蛋。
The phone rings. Olive listens and writes on a card. She holds the card against the glass. It says: "THE SOUND IS BAD. FIX IT?"
电话响了。奥利芙听着，在一张卡片上写字。她把卡片贴在玻璃上，上面写着：“声音很糟。能修吗？”
Pavel's stomach drops. He knows what to do. The manager left a note on the wall. It says: "If it crackles, check the antenna rope."
帕维尔的心一沉。他知道该怎么办。经理在墙上留了张字条，写着：“如果有噼啪声，检查天线绳。”
He starts a long song, so he has time. Then he takes a flashlight and runs up the back stairs.
他放了一首很长的歌，好争取时间。然后他拿起手电筒，跑上后楼梯。
The roof is dark and quiet. The city lights spread out below. In the middle stands a tall metal pole. The antenna wire hangs from a small wheel at the top. A rope runs through the wheel and holds the wire. When the rope is loose, the wire hangs low. Then the sound gets bad. Pavel must pull the rope to lift the wire tight.
屋顶又黑又静。城市的灯火在脚下铺开。中间立着一根高高的金属杆。天线线缆挂在杆顶的一个小轮子上，一根绳子穿过轮子，吊着线缆。绳子松了，线缆就会垂得很低，声音就会变差。帕维尔必须拉绳子，把线缆拉紧提高。
Then he sees the rope. It has knots in it. Not three or four. He counts fourteen, from the wheel down to his feet. Some are small and some are as big as apples.
然后他看到了绳子。绳子上有结，不是三四个，他数了数，从轮子到他的脚边一共有十四个，有的很小，有的有苹果那么大。
"Who did this?" he says to the night.
“这是谁干的？”他对着夜色说。
He takes the rope in both hands and pulls. It moves a little. Then the first knot hits the wheel and stops. He pulls harder. The rope bites his hands. The knot does not move. The wire stays low.
他双手抓住绳子拉。绳子动了一点。接着第一个结撞到轮子，卡住了。他用力拉。绳子勒得他的手生疼。结纹丝不动，线缆还是垂得低低的。
He tries to untie the knot now. His fingers slip. The rope is old and hard as stone. After five minutes, one knot is loose and thirteen are left.
他又试着解结。他的手指打滑。绳子又老又硬，像石头一样。五分钟后，松开了一个，还剩十三个。
He holds his phone to his ear and listens to the station. The crackle is worse now. Then the long song ends, and there is only silence.
他把手机贴在耳边，听电台的声音。噼啪声更严重了。接着那首长歌放完了，只剩下一片寂静。
Pavel sits down on the cold roof. His hands hurt. He thinks of the manager, the listeners and the empty microphone. He thinks about going home.
帕维尔坐在冰冷的屋顶上。他的手很疼。他想起经理，想起听众，想起空荡荡的麦克风。他想回家了。
"I can't do this," he says. "I'm not ready."
“我做不到，”他说，“我还没准备好。”
Behind him, the door of the stairs bangs. Olive comes out in a thick sweater. A big blue book is under her arm.
他身后，楼梯的门砰地一响。奥利芙走了出来，穿着一件厚毛衣，腋下夹着一本蓝色的大书。
"Who is on the air?" Pavel asks.
“现在谁在播？”帕维尔问。
"Nobody talks. I put on a long song, and then another one. We have forty minutes of music." She sits down next to him. "Why didn't you ask me for help?"
“没有人说话。我放了一首长歌，接着又放了一首。我们有四十分钟的音乐。”她在他旁边坐下。“你为什么不来找我帮忙？”
"I thought I had to fix it alone."
“我以为我得一个人解决。”
"It's a roof with fourteen knots," says Olive. "Nobody fixes that alone."
“这是一条有十四个结的屋顶绳子，”奥利芙说，“谁也不可能一个人解决。”
She opens the blue book on her knees. It is the old book of the station. The pages are soft and full of small, messy writing. She finds a page near the end. She holds the light over it.
她把那本蓝色的书摊在膝盖上。那是电台的老记事本，书页发软，写满了细小凌乱的字。她翻到接近末尾的一页，把手电光照在上面。
"Read this," she says.
“读读这个。”她说。
Pavel reads: "The knots are steps. Pull, lift, pass. Do not fight them. Stop where the sound is clean. Nine is good for cold nights."
帕维尔读道：“结是台阶。拉，抬，过。不要跟它们较劲。在声音清晰的地方停下。九个结，适合寒冷的夜晚。”
He looks at the rope again. He looks at the wheel. Then he laughs, a short, surprised laugh.
他又看了看绳子，看了看轮子。然后他笑了，短促而惊讶的一笑。
"The old engineer made them on purpose," he says.
“是老工程师故意打的。”他说。
"Each knot is a height for the wire," says Olive. "He tied one for every kind of night. He just never told the new people."
“每个结是线缆的一个高度，”奥利芙说，“他为每一种夜晚都打了一个。只是从来没告诉过新来的人。”
"I tried to untie them!"
“我还想把它们解开呢！”
"I know. Now we try it his way."
“我知道。现在我们照他的办法来。”
Olive holds the flashlight. Pavel stands close to the wheel and takes the rope. He pulls it up until the first knot touches the edge. He lifts the rope a little, over the edge of the wheel. The knot slips through and the rope slides on.
奥利芙握着手电筒。帕维尔站在轮子旁边，抓起绳子。他把绳子拉上去，直到第一个结碰到轮缘。他稍稍抬起绳子，越过轮缘。结滑了过去，绳子顺着滑动。
"One," says Olive.
“一。”奥利芙说。
He pulls again. The next knot comes. He lifts and passes it.
他又拉。下一个结来了。他抬起，让它过去。
"Two."
“二。”
It is slow work, but it does not hurt this time. The knots do not stop him anymore. They are a ladder. He climbs it one step at a time.
活儿很慢，可这一次不疼了。结不再挡住他，它们是一架梯子，他一步一步往上爬。
At the fifth knot his arms shake. Olive gives him the light and takes the rope. She is small, but she pulls well. She passes three knots, and then Pavel takes the rope back again. They work in turns, and the wire slowly rises into the dark.
到第五个结时，他的胳膊在发抖。奥利芙把手电筒给他，接过绳子。她个子小，可是拉得很好。她让三个结过去，然后帕维尔又接过绳子。他们轮流干，线缆慢慢升进黑暗里。
Pavel holds his phone to his ear again. The crackle gets softer at the seventh knot. It gets softer at the eighth. At the ninth knot, it is almost gone.
帕维尔再次把手机贴在耳边。到第七个结，噼啪声轻了。到第八个，更轻了。到第九个结，几乎听不见了。
"Stop," says Olive. "The book says nine."
“停，”奥利芙说，“书上说九个。”
They tie the rope around a metal hook on the pole. Pavel steps back and listens. Through the phone he hears a clean guitar. There are no eggs in the pan.
他们把绳子系在杆子上的一个金属钩上。帕维尔退后一步，听着。透过手机，他听到了清晰的吉他声。锅里没有煎蛋了。
He lets out a long breath. "It works," he says. "It really works."
他长长地呼出一口气。“好了，”他说，“真的好了。”
"Of course it works," says Olive. "He was an engineer."
“当然好了，”奥利芙说，“他是工程师啊。”
Back in the studio, Pavel sits down at the microphone. His hands are rough and black with dust. Olive stands behind the glass and points at the clock. Thirty seconds are left in the song.
回到播音室，帕维尔在麦克风前坐下。他的双手粗糙，沾满了黑灰。奥利芙站在玻璃后面，指着时钟。歌曲还剩三十秒。
He thinks of the people in kitchens, in cars and in rooms. They are still listening. He takes a deep breath.
他想到了厨房里、汽车里、房间里的那些人。他们还在听。他深深吸了一口气。
"Good evening again, night people," he says. "Sorry about the noise. We had some knots to deal with."
“夜晚的听众朋友们，再次晚上好，”他说，“抱歉刚才有杂音。我们有几个结要处理。”
