The power went out at nine minutes past eight, and the whole building seemed to take a breath. The refrigerators stopped humming. The lift groaned and went silent between two floors. Somewhere below, a baby began to cry, and a man's voice shouted that it was only a power cut, as though shouting would help.
停电发生在八点零九分，整栋楼仿佛吸了一口气。冰箱的嗡嗡声停了。电梯呻吟了一声，在两层楼之间安静下来。楼下某处，一个婴儿哭了起来，一个男人的声音喊着说只是停电而已，好像喊几声就能有用似的。
Rui stood in the middle of the flat with his camera in his hands and grinned in the dark.
瑞站在屋子中央，双手拿着相机，在黑暗里咧嘴笑了。
"This is it," he said. "This is exactly what I needed."
“就是现在，”他说，“这正是我需要的。”
Safiya, who lived across the corridor, had known Rui since they were both small enough to share a paddling pool. She had warned him for years that a grin like that usually ended in trouble, and she had said it in many different ways. She came through his front door now, lit from below by her phone, and gave him a long look.
住在走廊对面的萨菲娅从小就认识瑞，那时他们小得还能共用一个戏水池。多年来她一直警告他，这样的笑容通常以麻烦收场，用的还是各种各样的说法。此刻她穿过他家的前门，手机的光从下方照亮了她，她久久地看了他一眼。
"You have your photography face on," she said.
“你摆出摄影脸了，”她说。
"The competition closes on Friday," Rui said. "The theme is The City at Rest. I have one photograph left on this roll, and I have been waiting a month for a night this dark."
“比赛周五截止，”瑞说，“主题是‘沉睡的城市’。这卷胶卷我还剩一张，我等一个这么黑的夜晚等了一个月。”
The camera was old and heavy, a metal film camera he had bought at a market for the price of a pizza. It had no screen and no way to take back a mistake. He had used thirty-five of its thirty-six frames on a school trip and on the cat. The last one was the only one that mattered now.
那台相机又旧又沉，是一台金属的胶片相机，他在集市上花一个披萨的价钱买来的。它没有屏幕，拍坏了也没法撤回。三十六格里，他已经在一次学校旅行和给猫拍照时用掉了三十五格。最后一格才是现在唯一重要的。
"A whole city with its lights out," Safiya said slowly. "You could see the stars from the roof."
“一整座城市熄了灯，”萨菲娅慢慢地说，“从屋顶上能看见星星。”
"That is the plan. A tripod, a long exposure, the skyline and the sky together. Twenty seconds should be enough."
“这就是计划。三脚架，长曝光，天际线和天空同框。二十秒应该够了。”
"Then I am coming with you," she said. "Somebody has to hold the torch."
“那我跟你一起去，”她说，“总得有人拿手电筒。”
They climbed the stairs by phone light, nine flights, with the sound of other people's doors opening and closing above and below them. The roof door was stiff, and Rui had to lean his whole body on it. When it finally swung open, the night poured in, cool and enormous.
他们借着手机的光爬楼梯，爬了九层，上上下下传来别人家开门关门的声音。屋顶的门很涩，瑞得整个身子靠上去推。门终于被推开时，夜晚涌了进来，清凉而辽阔。
Safiya gasped. Neither of them said anything for a while.
萨菲娅倒吸了一口气。有好一会儿，他们谁也没说话。
The city lay below them like a map that someone had forgotten to light. Where there were usually rivers of white and orange, there were only soft shapes. Here and there a candle moved behind a window. Above it all, wider than Rui had ever seen it, the sky was full of stars.
城市在他们脚下展开，像一张有人忘了点亮的地图。平时那些白色和橙色的光河，现在只剩下柔和的轮廓。这里那里，有蜡烛在窗后移动。在这一切之上，天空缀满了星星，比瑞见过的任何时候都要辽阔。
"Set it up," Safiya whispered.
“架好吧，”萨菲娅小声说。
Rui unfolded the tripod, a thin aluminium one he had borrowed from the school photography club. He had checked it twice that afternoon. He screwed the camera onto the top, pointed it at the skyline, and reached into his jacket pocket for the cable release. It was a small plastic button that opened the shutter without touching the camera.
瑞展开了三脚架，那是一支细细的铝制三脚架，他从学校摄影社借来的。那天下午他检查了两遍。他把相机拧在顶上，对准天际线，伸手到夹克口袋里去拿快门线。那是一个小小的塑料按钮，不用碰相机就能打开快门。
His pocket was empty.
他的口袋是空的。
He checked the other pocket, and then his back pocket, and then every pocket again in a kind of slow panic. Safiya held the torch while he emptied his bag onto the roof.
他查了另一个口袋，又查后裤袋，然后又把每个口袋翻了一遍，带着一种缓缓升起的恐慌。萨菲娅举着手电筒，他把包里的东西全倒在了屋顶上。
"It was on my desk," he said at last. "I put it on my desk so I would not forget it."
“它在我的书桌上，”他终于说，“我特意放在书桌上，免得忘记。”
"Can you press the button on the camera yourself?"
“你自己能按相机上的按钮吗？”
"Any shake at all blurs a twenty-second exposure. The stars would turn into little scratches."
“二十秒的曝光，只要有一点点晃动就会模糊。星星会变成一道道小划痕。”
Safiya chewed her lip. "Then we use the self-timer."
萨菲娅咬着嘴唇。“那我们用自拍定时。”
"The self-timer lasts ten seconds, and the shutter only stays open for a split second after that. It is the wrong kind of camera." He sat down heavily on the gravel. "I carried this thing up nine floors."
“自拍定时是十秒，之后快门只会开一瞬间。这台相机不是那种。”他重重地坐在碎石上。“我把这玩意儿扛上了九层楼。”
For a minute they said nothing. Then Safiya stepped forward to straighten the tripod, because she could not bear to watch it stand there looking pointless. One of its legs folded in half with a small, sad crack.
有一分钟，他们谁也没说话。然后萨菲娅走上前去扶正三脚架，因为她受不了看着它毫无用处地立在那儿。它的一条腿对折了，发出一声小小的、可怜的脆响。
The camera slid. Rui caught it a few centimetres above the roof, with both hands and a sound that was not quite a word. The tripod lay on the gravel like a broken umbrella.
相机滑落。瑞在离屋顶几厘米的地方用双手接住了，嘴里发出一个不太像词的声音。三脚架躺在碎石上，像一把折断的雨伞。
"I am so sorry," Safiya said.
“真对不起，”萨菲娅说。
"It was always going to break," said Rui, breathing hard. "It belongs to the club. It has been broken for three years. I think I knew."
“它迟早会断的，”瑞喘着粗气说，“它是社团的。已经坏了三年了。我想我早就知道。”
He stood there holding the camera against his chest, the last frame still waiting inside it, and for a second he honestly considered going home. Then Safiya started walking along the edge of the roof, looking at things.
他站在那儿，把相机抱在胸前，最后一格还在里面等着，有那么一秒，他认真地考虑回家去。然后萨菲娅沿着屋顶边缘走了起来，打量着各种东西。
"What is the problem?" she said, mostly to herself. "You need the camera to stay still. You need the shutter to open and close without you touching it. Those are two different problems."
“问题是什么？”她说，多半是在对自己说话。“你需要相机保持不动。你需要快门不用你碰就能打开和关上。这是两个不同的问题。”
"Thank you. That is a clear summary of my evening."
“谢谢。这是对我今晚的清晰总结。”
"So we solve them one at a time." She tapped the low brick wall that ran around the edge of the roof. It was about knee height, flat on top, and covered in a thin layer of cold dust. "Here is a tripod that has never been broken in its life."
“所以我们一个一个解决。”她拍了拍绕着屋顶边缘的矮砖墙。墙大约齐膝高，顶面平整，铺着一层冰凉的薄灰。“这是一支一辈子都没坏过的三脚架。”
Rui looked at the wall. He took off his jacket and folded it into a thick pad, and he laid the pad on the bricks. When he put the camera on top, it pointed too far at the ground. Safiya dug a coin out of her pocket and slid it under the front of the lens. The camera tilted up to meet the skyline as though it had been waiting for this all along.
瑞看着那堵墙。他脱下夹克，叠成厚厚的一块垫子，放在砖上。他把相机放上去时，镜头对着地面太低了。萨菲娅从口袋里掏出一枚硬币，塞到镜头前端下面。相机抬起来迎向天际线，仿佛它一直就在等这一刻。
"One problem down," said Safiya. "Now the shutter."
“解决一个问题，”萨菲娅说，“现在是快门。”
"This dial has a T setting: one press opens the shutter, and a second press closes it. But every press moves the camera."
“这个转盘有T档：按一下打开快门，再按一下关上。可每按一次，相机都会动。”
"Then press it only twice, very gently, and keep the lens cap on for both. Press once now, while the cap is on." She held up the black plastic cap. "Then we take the cap off. We count to twenty. We put it back, and you press again. The cap is your shutter."
“那就只按两次，非常轻，而且两次都盖着镜头盖。现在盖着盖子按一次。”她举起那个黑色塑料盖。“然后我们把盖子拿开。数到二十。再把它盖回去，你再按一次。镜头盖就是你的快门。”
"That is not how professionals do it."
“专业人士不是这么干的。”
"No," she said. "It is how two people on a roof do it."
“不是，”她说，“可两个人在屋顶上就是这么干的。”
It was ridiculous. It was also, he realised, exactly the kind of idea that people write down in books. Rui pressed the button with one finger as softly as he had ever done anything, and the camera clicked. The lens was still dark behind the cap. Safiya took her position with the cap in her fingers, and Rui crouched beside the wall and held his breath.
这太荒唐了。他也意识到，这恰恰是那种会被人写进书里的主意。瑞用一根手指按下按钮，轻得像他做过的任何事一样，相机咔哒一声。镜头仍然藏在盖子后面，一片漆黑。萨菲娅手指捏着镜头盖站好位置，瑞蹲在墙边屏住呼吸。
"Ready?" she whispered.
“准备好了吗？”她小声问。
"Ready."
“好了。”
She lifted the cap away, and the lens drank in the night. Safiya began to count, quietly, in a voice made of nothing but air. "One. Two. Three."
她把镜头盖拿开，镜头吞下了整个夜晚。萨菲娅开始数数，轻轻地，声音仿佛只由空气做成。“一。二。三。”
At nine, something happened to the horizon.
数到九的时候，地平线上出现了变化。
A line of light appeared in the far distance, thin as a hair, and began to spread. It ran along the river, jumped a bridge, and bloomed across an entire district in a single trembling wave. Streetlamps lit up in rows. The city was waking up, one neighbourhood at a time, and the wave was heading straight for them.
远处出现了一道光线，细得像一根头发，开始向四周蔓延。它沿着河奔去，跳过一座桥，在一阵颤抖的波浪中绽放在整个街区之上。街灯一排排亮了起来。城市正一个街区一个街区地苏醒，而这道波浪正直奔他们而来。
"The power," Safiya breathed, still counting. "Rui, the lights will ruin it. Should I cover the lens?"
“电来了，”萨菲娅屏着气说，还在数着，“瑞，灯光会毁了它。我要盖住镜头吗？”
For a long moment Rui could not speak. He thought of the stars, which would fade as the glow rose. He thought of the empty, honest darkness he had waited a month for. Then he thought of a line of light running across a sleeping city like a spark along a fuse.
有好长一会儿，瑞说不出话。他想到了星星，随着光亮升起它们就会变淡。他想到了他等了一个月的、空旷而诚实的黑暗。然后他想到了一道光线越过沉睡的城市，像火花沿着导火索飞跑。
"Do not cover it," he said. "Keep going."
“别盖，”他说，“继续。”
"Ten," said Safiya. "Eleven. Twelve."
“十，”萨菲娅说，“十一。十二。”
The wave crashed into the streets below them. The building shuddered, and the lift, nine floors down, began to hum. The stars were still there, but fainter now, framed by a skyline that glowed.
波浪冲进了他们脚下的街道。楼房震颤了一下，九层楼下，电梯开始嗡嗡作响。星星还在，但此刻更淡了，被一条发光的天际线框了起来。
"Eighteen," Safiya whispered. "Nineteen. Twenty."
“十八，”萨菲娅小声说，“十九。二十。”
She slid the cap back over the lens. Rui pressed the button a second time, so gently that the camera did not tremble. The shutter closed. The last frame was finished, and somewhere in the dark of the metal box, the whole glowing city was waiting to be developed.
她把镜头盖盖回镜头上。瑞第二次按下按钮，轻得相机都没有颤动。快门关上了。最后一格拍完了，在这只金属盒子的黑暗深处，整座发光的城市正等着被冲洗出来。
Rui let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a month. Then he picked up the broken tripod, tucked it under one arm, and followed Safiya toward the stairs, where the lights were already coming on.
瑞呼出一口气，他似乎已经屏了一个月。然后他拾起那支坏掉的三脚架，夹在一只胳膊下面，跟着萨菲娅朝楼梯走去，那里的灯已经一盏盏亮起来了。
