The Leak in Tray Nine

Arvid carries a bucket of warm water across the greenhouse. He walks like a waiter in a very bad restaurant. The glass roof is black above him. Only the grow lamps shine, long purple lines over the benches.

阿尔维德提着一桶温水穿过温室。他走路的样子，像是一家糟糕透顶的餐厅里的服务生。头顶的玻璃屋顶一片漆黑，只有植物生长灯亮着，在长凳上方拉出一道道紫色的长线。

"You are spilling," Nuri says.

“你洒出来了。”努里说。

"I am not spilling. I am carefully spreading."

“我没有洒。我是在小心地铺开。”

Nuri laughs and writes a note on the clipboard. She keeps the logbook, and she never forgets a number. Arvid keeps everything else.

努里笑了，在记录板上写下一条备注。记录本归她管，她从不会忘记任何一个数字。其余的一切都归阿尔维德管。

The greenhouse sits on the roof of the college science block. But the back corner, behind a plastic curtain, holds twelve small trays of moss. The moss is not ordinary. Its spores came back from the Moon last year in a research capsule. The science club is the first school group allowed to grow them.

温室建在学院理科楼的楼顶。但是在后面的角落里，塑料门帘后面，放着十二个装着苔藓的小托盘。这些苔藓可不普通。它们的孢子去年搭乘一个研究舱从月球带了回来。科学社是第一个获准培育它们的学校团体。

The moss is also very fussy. It needs a temperature between twenty-two and twenty-six degrees, day and night. This week, the old heating pipes are broken. The repair team comes on Friday. Until then, the club has to keep the trays warm with nothing but hot-water bottles and blankets.

这种苔藓还非常挑剔。无论白天还是夜里，它都需要二十二到二十六度的温度。这周，旧的暖气管道坏了。维修队星期五才来。在那之前，社团只能靠热水袋和毯子让托盘保持温暖。

"Twelve trays, twelve bottles," Nuri says, counting on her fingers. "We fill them at six in the evening and again at seven in the morning."

“十二个托盘，十二个热水袋，”努里掰着手指数着说，“我们傍晚六点灌一次，早上七点再灌一次。”

"And the water must never be hotter than forty degrees."

“而且水温绝对不能超过四十度。”

They work as a team. Arvid pours, and Nuri checks the thermometer. Each bottle goes under a small towel, and each towel goes beside a tray. Then they pull a thick blanket over the whole bench, like putting twelve very small people to bed.

他们配合默契。阿尔维德负责倒水，努里负责查看温度计。每个热水袋都裹进一条小毛巾里，每条毛巾都放在一个托盘旁边。然后他们拉过一条厚毯子盖住整张长凳，就像给十二个很小很小的人盖被子哄睡觉。

Tray Nine is the last one. Its bottle is the oldest, a faded blue rubber thing that somebody found in a cupboard. Arvid holds it up to the light.

九号托盘是最后一个。它的热水袋最旧，是一个褪了色的蓝色橡胶玩意儿，是有人从柜子里翻出来的。阿尔维德把它举到灯光下看了看。

"This one looks tired," he says.

“这个看起来累坏了。”他说。

"It looked tired yesterday, and it worked. Fill it."

“它昨天看起来也累坏了，可还是管用。灌吧。”

Here is the mistake, though neither of them knows it yet. The bucket water has cooled by now. Arvid goes to the kettle in the staff room and fills the bottle there. He does not stop to measure. He is hungry, and the football match starts soon. He tells himself that the water is probably forty degrees.

错误就出在这里，不过他们俩谁也还不知道。桶里的水这时已经凉了。阿尔维德去教工休息室的电水壶那里灌热水袋。他没有停下来量水温。他饿了，而且足球赛马上就要开始了。他对自己说，水大概就是四十度。

It is not forty degrees. It is nearly boiling.

那水不是四十度。它几乎已经烧开了。

The old rubber goes soft. Arvid feels the bottle sag in his hands. He puts it down on its towel without a second look. Nuri signs the logbook, and they both walk out into the cold corridor. The blanket stays over the bench. The lights stay on.

旧橡胶变软了。阿尔维德感觉到热水袋在他手里往下塌。他连看都没再看一眼，就把它放在毛巾上。努里在记录本上签了字，两个人一起走进了寒冷的走廊。毯子仍然盖在长凳上。灯也仍然亮着。

Arvid goes home and falls asleep in front of the match.

阿尔维德回到家，对着球赛睡着了。

At three in the morning, his phone buzzes. The sound wakes him, and he stares at the screen with one eye open. It is the greenhouse app, the one the club built last term. Every tray has a small sensor, and the app sends an alert if anything strange happens.

凌晨三点，他的手机嗡嗡震动。声音把他吵醒了，他睁着一只眼睛盯着屏幕。那是温室的应用程序，是社团上学期做的。每个托盘都装有一个小传感器，一旦出现异常情况，应用就会发出警报。

The message says: TRAY NINE. HUMIDITY 100%. TEMPERATURE 31.

消息上写着：九号托盘。湿度100%。温度31度。

Arvid sits up. He reads the message three times. Then he calls Nuri, who answers on the second ring.

阿尔维德坐了起来。他把消息读了三遍。然后他打电话给努里，她响了第二声就接了。

"Tell me it's a joke," she says.

“告诉我这是个玩笑。”她说。

"It's tray nine. It's too hot and too wet."

“是九号托盘。又热又湿。”

"The bottle."

“那个热水袋。”

"I think the bottle."

“我想就是那个热水袋。”

"I'm coming," Nuri says. "Bring the keys."

“我马上来，”努里说，“把钥匙带上。”

Twenty minutes later, they stand in the greenhouse with their coats over their pyjamas. The blanket on the bench is dark and heavy. When Arvid lifts it, a cloud of steam rolls out into the cold air. The old bottle lies on its side, split along one seam like a broken sausage. Warm water has run across the tray and onto the floor.

二十分钟后，他们站在温室里，睡衣外面套着外套。长凳上的毯子又黑又沉。阿尔维德一掀开，一团蒸汽就涌进了冷空气里。那个旧热水袋侧躺在那里，沿着一条接缝裂开了，像一根爆开的香肠。温水流过托盘，淌到了地上。

"No, no, no," Nuri says.

“不，不，不。”努里说。

She kneels beside the tray. Half the moss is pale and soft, almost grey. The other half, near the wall, still looks green. In the light of her phone, the line between the two parts is sharp as a ruler.

她跪在托盘旁边。一半的苔藓变得苍白而松软，几乎成了灰色。靠墙的另一半看上去仍然是绿的。在她手机的光里，两部分之间的分界线像用尺子画出来的一样笔直。

"I did this," Arvid says. "I used the kettle. I didn't check."

“是我干的，”阿尔维德说，“我用了电水壶。我没有测水温。”

"We both signed the log. We both said it was fine."

“我们俩都在记录本上签了字。我们俩都说没问题。”

"You didn't fill the bottle."

“灌热水袋的不是你。”

"I didn't ask if you measured. That is also my fault."

“我没问你有没有量过水温。这也是我的错。”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Water drips on the tiles.

有那么一会儿，两个人都没有说话。水滴在地砖上。

Then Nuri stands up and pushes her hair out of her face.

然后努里站了起来，把头发从脸上拨开。

"Okay," she says. "We can be sorry later. Fix it now."

“好了，”她说，“抱歉可以以后再说。现在先补救。”

They make a list, because Nuri always makes a list. First, move Tray Nine away from the wet bench. Second, mop the floor before anyone slips. Third, save whatever moss is still alive. Fourth, find a better way to keep the tray warm.

他们列了一张清单，因为努里总是要列清单。第一，把九号托盘从湿漉漉的长凳上挪开。第二，在有人滑倒之前把地拖干。第三，抢救还活着的苔藓。第四，想一个更好的办法让托盘保持温暖。

Arvid carries the tray to a dry table by the door. Nuri brings a clean towel and a pair of long tweezers from the lab drawer. She works slowly, lifting the pale clumps one at a time and placing them on a plate. The soft ones fall apart in her fingers. The ones near the wall stay firm.

阿尔维德把托盘搬到门边一张干燥的桌子上。努里从实验室抽屉里拿来一条干净的毛巾和一把长镊子。她干得很慢，一次夹起一块苍白的苔藓团，放到一只盘子里。软的那些在她指间散开了。靠墙的那些依然结实。

"Eight clumps are still green," she whispers. "Maybe nine."

“有八团还是绿的，”她低声说，“也许是九团。”

"Then we have eight. Eight is not zero."

“那我们就有八团。八团不是零。”

"Eight is not twelve."

“八团不是十二团。”

While she sorts the clumps, Arvid goes to the supply shelf. He finds a glass jam jar with a metal lid and fills it from the tap. This time, he stands next to the thermometer and waits until the water shows exactly thirty-eight degrees. He screws the lid on tight and wraps the jar in an old sock. Then he puts it beside the tray.

她在整理苔藓团的时候，阿尔维德走到物资架前。他找到一个带金属盖的玻璃果酱罐，在水龙头下灌满了水。这一次，他站在温度计旁边，一直等到水温正好显示三十八度。他把盖子拧紧，用一只旧袜子把罐子裹起来。然后他把它放在托盘旁边。

"A bottle breaks," he says. "A jar doesn't. We should have thought of this on Monday."

“热水袋会破，”他说，“罐子不会。我们星期一就该想到这一点。”

"We should have tested the bottles on Monday," Nuri says. "Every single one."

“我们星期一就该检查那些热水袋的，”努里说，“每一个都要检查。”

"All twelve?"

“十二个全部？”

"All twelve. Tomorrow, before school. I'll make a new checklist."

“十二个全部。明天，上学前。我会做一份新的检查表。”

They wipe the floor until it shines. They check the other eleven trays and find nothing wrong. By half past four, the greenhouse is calm again. The wall screen shows a steady twenty-four degrees.

他们把地擦得锃亮。他们检查了另外十一个托盘，没有发现任何问题。到四点半，温室又恢复了平静。墙上的屏幕显示着稳定的二十四度。

Arvid looks at the clock. "We should tell our teacher before she finds the bottle herself."

阿尔维德看了看时钟。“我们应该在老师自己发现那个热水袋之前告诉她。”

"We tell her at eight. With the logbook open and the whole story written down."

“八点钟告诉她。摊开记录本，把整件事从头到尾都写下来。”

"Even the part about the kettle?"

“连电水壶那部分也写？”

"Especially the part about the kettle."

“尤其是电水壶那部分。”

Nuri opens the logbook on her knee and starts to write. She writes the time, the temperature, and the exact words of the alert. She writes that the mistake was Arvid's. Then she crosses it out and writes that the mistake was theirs.

努里把记录本摊在膝盖上，开始写。她写下时间、温度和警报的原话。她写下这个错误是阿尔维德犯的。然后她把这句划掉，改写成这个错误是他们俩的。

When she finishes, they sit side by side on two upside-down buckets, tired and a little cold. Outside the glass roof, the sky begins to turn the colour of a grey pearl.

写完以后，他们并肩坐在两只倒扣的水桶上，又累又有点冷。玻璃屋顶外面，天空开始变成灰珍珠的颜色。

Arvid looks at the rescued moss on the dry table. The eight green clumps sit under the small lamp, quiet and ordinary. But next to them lies the plate of pale, ruined pieces, which they have not yet thrown away.

阿尔维德看着干桌子上抢救下来的苔藓。八团绿色的苔藓躺在小灯下面，安静而平凡。可是它们旁边放着那盘苍白的、被毁掉的碎块，他们还没有扔掉。

"Nuri," he says slowly. "Turn off the big lights."

“努里，”他慢慢地说，“把大灯关掉。”

"Why?"

“为什么？”

"Just do it."

“你照做就是了。”

She walks to the wall and flips the switch. The greenhouse falls into soft shadow, with only the little lamp still glowing. And there, on the plate of grey moss, something shines.

她走到墙边，拨下开关。温室陷入柔和的阴影之中，只剩下那盏小灯还亮着。就在那里，在那盘灰色的苔藓上，有什么东西在发光。

It is a faint blue light, no bigger than a grain of rice. It glows for three seconds, then fades. Ten seconds later, it glows again.

那是一点微弱的蓝光，不比一粒米大。它亮了三秒钟，然后消失。十秒钟后，它又亮了起来。

"Is that a reflection?" Nuri asks.

“那是反光吗？”努里问。

"There is nothing here to reflect."

“这里没有任何东西可以反光。”

Nuri takes her phone and films the plate. On the screen, the blue point appears again. It blinks twice and then waits, as if it heard them talking.

努里拿起手机，对着那只盘子录像。屏幕上，那个蓝色的光点又出现了。它闪了两下，然后停住等待，仿佛听见了他们在说话。

Neither of them has an answer. They only know that the light comes from moss that should be dead. The logbook has no page for it yet.

他们俩谁也答不上来。他们只知道，这光来自本该已经死去的苔藓。记录本上还没有留给它的那一页。