Teo sits on an upturned crate at the far end of the fishing pier. The light is low, and the water under the boards looks like melted copper. Across his knees lies a battered guitar.
特奥坐在钓鱼栈桥最远一端的一只倒扣的板条箱上。光线很低，木板下的水面像熔化的铜。他的膝上横着一把破旧的吉他。
The guitar has seen better years. A long scratch runs across the front. There is a dent near the neck, and one tuning peg is newer than the others. Teo loves every mark on it, but tonight he wants it to shine.
这把吉他经历过更好的年头。琴面上有一道长长的划痕。琴颈附近有一处凹陷，有一个弦钮比别的新。特奥喜爱它身上的每一处痕迹，可今晚他想让它亮起来。
The guitar belongs to Gaspar. Three months ago, Gaspar put it into Teo's hands. "Keep it until you can buy your own," he said. Tomorrow Teo gets his first pay from the fish market. On Saturday he plans to buy a guitar and give this one back.
吉他是加斯帕尔的。三个月前，加斯帕尔把它放进了特奥手里。“留着吧，直到你买得起自己的，”他说。明天特奥就能从鱼市领到他的第一份工钱。星期六，他打算买一把吉他，把这把还回去。
A friend like that deserves a guitar that looks new. That is what Teo tells himself, anyway.
这样的朋友，值得拥有一把看起来崭新的吉他。至少，特奥是这样对自己说的。
The woman from the bait shop leans over the rail beside him. She has a folded sheet of sandpaper in one hand and a tin of wax in the other.
饵料店的那个女人倚在他身边的栏杆上。她一只手拿着一叠折起来的砂纸，另一只手拿着一罐蜡。
"Your back is a mess," she says, looking at the guitar. "The old varnish is cracked. Take these. Go slowly, and your friend will never know."
“你这琴背可真糟，”她看着吉他说，“旧漆都裂了。拿着这些。慢慢来，你朋友绝对看不出来。”
"Thank you," Teo says. "I will bring them back tomorrow."
“谢谢你，”特奥说，“我明天还给你。”
"Keep them," she says, and walks away with her bucket.
“留着吧，”她说完，提着水桶走了。
Along the pier, the lamps click on one by one. Men and women sit in a long row with their fishing lines hanging into the dark. The air smells of salt and bait and cold metal. Somewhere behind Teo, a radio plays very quietly.
栈桥上，灯一盏接一盏地啪地亮起。男男女女坐成长长的一排，钓线垂进黑暗里。空气里有盐、鱼饵和冰冷金属的气味。特奥身后某处，一台收音机在轻轻地放着。
He turns the guitar over and starts on the back. The old varnish comes off in a fine, pale dust. Under it the wood is warm and yellow, like the inside of a lemon. Teo sands in long strokes, as the woman showed him, and blows the dust away every minute.
他把吉他翻过来，从琴背开始。旧漆化作一层细细的淡色粉末掉了下来。底下的木头温暖而发黄，像柠檬的内瓤。特奥按那个女人教的，长长地一下一下打磨，每隔一分钟就把粉末吹掉。
The deepest scratches take the longest. They run across the middle of the back in a rough, wobbly line. Teo does not think about them much. They look like damage to him, so he sands them until they disappear.
最深的划痕花的时间最长。它们沿着琴背中央，是一条粗糙、歪歪扭扭的线。特奥没有多想。在他看来，那是损伤，所以他就一直磨，直到它们消失。
When he finishes, the back is as smooth as a plate. He rubs in the wax with his thumb and holds the guitar up to the lamp. It shines. He feels proud for the first time all week.
磨完时，琴背平滑得像一只盘子。他用拇指把蜡揉上去，把吉他举到灯下。它亮闪闪的。这一周来，他第一次感到骄傲。
He plays a chord. It sounds exactly the same as before, with a little buzz on the lowest string. Teo frowns. A new back does not change a sound, he realises. Only practice does that.
他弹了一个和弦。听起来和以前一模一样，最低的那根弦还带着一点嗡嗡声。特奥皱起眉。他意识到，新琴背改变不了声音。只有练习能。
"Hey, look at you," says a voice behind him. "A man at work."
“嘿，瞧瞧你，”背后有个声音说，“干活的男人。”
Gaspar walks out of the half dark with two fishing rods over his shoulder. He carries a paper bag of hot chips. He is grinning, and the smell of vinegar follows him along the boards.
加斯帕尔从半明半暗中走出来，肩上扛着两根鱼竿。他拎着一个装着热薯条的纸袋。他咧着嘴笑，醋的气味顺着木板一路跟着他。
"I wanted to surprise you," Teo says. "Look. I fixed it up. No more scratches."
“我想给你个惊喜，”特奥说，“看。我把它修好了。再也没有划痕了。”
Gaspar puts down the rods. He takes the guitar and turns it over to admire the back. Then he stops smiling.
加斯帕尔放下鱼竿。他接过吉他，翻过来欣赏琴背。然后他不笑了。
He runs his thumb slowly over the smooth wood, from one end to the other. He does it a second time, more slowly. Teo watches his friend's hand and feels something cold begin in his stomach.
他用拇指缓缓抚过光滑的木头，从一端到另一端。他又抚了第二遍，更慢了。特奥看着朋友的手，感到一股凉意从胃里升起。
"What is wrong?" Teo asks.
“怎么了？”特奥问。
"My name was here," Gaspar says quietly.
“我的名字原来在这儿，”加斯帕尔轻声说。
"Your name?"
“你的名字？”
"I carved it when I was eight, with a bent nail." Gaspar's voice is flat. "My dad had just let me hold the guitar for the first time. I was so excited that I scratched my name on the back. He was angry for about a minute."
“我八岁的时候用一根弯钉子刻的。”加斯帕尔的声音平平的。“我爸刚让我第一次抱着吉他。我兴奋得不得了，就在琴背上划了我的名字。他气了大概一分钟。”
He gives a short laugh with no happiness in it. "Then he said, if you put your name on it, you have to learn to play it. I never did. I just kept the guitar in the cupboard for six years."
他短促地笑了一声，毫无喜悦。“然后他说，你把名字刻在上面，就得学会弹它。我一直没学。我只是把吉他放在柜子里放了六年。”
Teo cannot speak. He remembers the rough wobbly line across the middle of the back. He remembers a crooked letter at one end, shaped like a fishing hook. He did not read it as a letter. He read it as damage.
特奥说不出话来。他想起琴背中央那条粗糙歪斜的线。他想起一端有个弯弯的字母，形状像鱼钩。他当时没把它当成字母读。他把它当成了损伤。
"Gaspar, I am so sorry," he says at last. "I thought it was only scratches. I thought I was helping."
“加斯帕尔，我真的很抱歉，”他终于开口，“我以为只是些划痕。我以为我在帮忙。”
"I know you did." Gaspar sits down on the boards with his back against the rail. He holds the guitar on his knees and says nothing for a long time.
“我知道你是这么想的。”加斯帕尔坐在木板上，背靠着栏杆。他把吉他放在膝上，很久都没有说话。
The radio behind them goes on playing. A fisherman at the next post reels in his line and puts it out again. The lamp above them hums.
他们身后的收音机还在响。隔壁钓位的渔夫收起钓线，又把它甩了出去。头顶的灯嗡嗡作响。
"I should have told you what the marks were," Gaspar says. "It was never your fault. It is just that I did not know I cared until it was gone."
“我该早点告诉你那些痕迹是什么，”加斯帕尔说，“这绝不是你的错。只是我自己都不知道，原来我那么在意，直到它没了。”
Teo kneels in front of him. His hands are still covered in pale dust. "Tell me how to fix it," he says. "Please. I will do anything."
特奥跪在他面前。他的手上还沾满淡色的粉末。“告诉我怎么补救，”他说，“求你了。我什么都愿意做。”
"You cannot put wood back." Gaspar rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "It is gone."
“木头是补不回去的。”加斯帕尔用手掌根揉了揉眼睛。“它没了。”
"I cannot put it back," Teo agrees. "But I can carve it again. Deeper this time, so nobody can sand it away by accident."
“我补不回去，”特奥承认，“但我可以再刻一遍。这次刻深一点，这样就没人会无意中把它磨掉了。”
Gaspar looks at him for a long moment. Then, to Teo's surprise, he pulls a small tin from his jacket. It is full of hooks and weights and bits of line. At the bottom lies a bent nail, black with age.
加斯帕尔看了他很久。然后，出乎特奥意料，他从夹克里掏出一只小铁盒。里面装满了鱼钩、坠子和零碎的钓线。盒底躺着一根弯钉子，因年岁而发黑。
"This is the same nail," Gaspar says. "I kept it. Silly, right?"
“这就是那根钉子，”加斯帕尔说，“我留着呢。傻吧？”
"Not silly," says Teo.
“不傻，”特奥说。
They move under the nearest lamp. Gaspar takes a pencil from behind his ear, which makes Teo laugh in spite of everything. He draws the six letters on the smooth wood. They are large and a little crooked, the way he remembers them. The G has its hooked tail.
他们挪到最近的一盏灯下。加斯帕尔从耳朵后面取下一支铅笔，这让特奥不由得笑了，尽管心情如此。他在光滑的木头上画出那六个字母。字母又大又有点歪，和他记忆中的一样。那个G带着它钩子般的尾巴。
"Now you," he says, and hands Teo the nail.
“现在轮到你了，”他说着，把钉子递给特奥。
Teo takes a deep breath. He presses the point into the wood on the first line of the G. It is harder than it looks. The nail slips, and Gaspar puts his hand over Teo's to hold it steady.
特奥深吸一口气。他把尖头按在G的第一笔上。这比看上去难。钉子滑了一下，加斯帕尔把手覆在特奥的手上帮他稳住。
"Slowly," Gaspar says. "Let the nail do the work."
“慢慢来，”加斯帕尔说，“让钉子自己去做。”
They go from letter to letter, one stroke at a time. The pier grows quieter around them. A few of the fishermen glance over, then look back at their lines. When Teo reaches the last R, his arm aches, but the letters are clean and deep.
他们一个字母接一个字母，一笔一笔地刻。栈桥在他们周围渐渐安静下来。几个渔夫瞟了一眼，又回头看自己的钓线。刻到最后那个R时，特奥的胳膊发酸，但字母清晰而深。
"One more thing," Gaspar says. He takes the nail and holds it out. "Underneath, a little smaller. Put your name."
“还有一件事，”加斯帕尔说。他拿起钉子，递出去。“下面，小一点，刻上你的名字。”
"It is your guitar."
“这是你的吉他。”
"Not any more," Gaspar says. "Rule number one in my house. If your name is on it, you play it. So play it, Teo. You do not need to buy another one."
“现在不是了，”加斯帕尔说，“我家的第一条规矩：名字刻在上面，你就得弹它。所以弹吧，特奥。你不需要再买另一把了。”
Teo cannot say anything. He carves three small letters under the big ones, slowly and carefully. Then he blows the dust from the wood and turns the guitar over. He places his fingers on the strings.
特奥一个字也说不出来。他在大字母下面刻了三个小小的字母，缓慢而小心。然后他吹掉木头上的粉末，把吉他翻过来。他把手指放在琴弦上。
He plays the first chord, and the sound runs out across the dark water.
他弹出第一个和弦，琴声越过黑暗的水面传了出去。
