Zuri opens the workshop doors at ten. The furnace is already hot. A line of visitors waits on the pavement.
祖里十点打开作坊的门。熔炉已经烧热。人行道上排着一队参观者。
The workshop is her whole life. It has one big furnace and two long benches. A rope keeps visitors back. Every day, people come to watch her make glass.
作坊就是她的全部生活。里面有一座大熔炉和两条长工作台。一根绳子把参观者拦在外面。每天，都有人来看她制作玻璃。
On a shelf by the window sits an old tin. It is round and dented. It is full to the top with buttons. Big ones, small ones, brown ones, silver ones.
窗边的架子上放着一只旧铁盒。它是圆的，上面有凹痕。里面装满了纽扣，一直满到顶。大的，小的，棕色的，银色的。
Today, forty visitors stand behind the rope. Zuri takes a long steel pipe and puts it in the fire. The glass at the end glows like orange honey.
今天，四十位参观者站在绳子后面。祖里拿起一根长长的钢管，放进火里。管端的玻璃像橙色的蜂蜜一样发光。
"How hot is it?" a boy asks.
“有多热？”一个男孩问。
"Hotter than your oven," she says. "About a thousand degrees."
“比你家的烤箱还热，”她说，“大约一千度。”
"How long does it take to learn this?" asks a woman.
“学会这个要多久？”一位女士问。
"Many years," Zuri says. "And many burned fingers."
“很多年，”祖里说，“还要烧伤很多次手指。”
She turns the pipe. She blows a soft breath through it. A bubble grows at the end, round and clear. The visitors say "ooh" together.
她转动钢管。她通过它吹出一口轻轻的气。管端鼓起一个气泡，又圆又透明。参观者们一起发出“哦”的一声。
This is the same every day. The visitors ask about heat. They ask about price. They ask if the glass is safe to touch. Nobody asks about the tin.
每天都是这样。参观者们问温度。他们问价格。他们问玻璃摸起来安不安全。没有人问起那只铁盒。
Zuri looks at it sometimes. Twenty years ago, Zuri opened this workshop. Nobody asks the one simple question. It sits there on the shelf, full of buttons. Everyone looks past it.
祖里有时会看看它。二十年前，祖里开了这间作坊。没有人问那个最简单的问题。它就放在架子上，装满了纽扣。人人都从它旁边看过去。
At noon, the last group leaves. Zuri sits down and drinks some cold water. The tin hums a little. It is a soft, low sound, like a fridge in another room. It hums only a little. It hums only when a lost button's owner is near.
中午，最后一组人离开了。祖里坐下来，喝了点凉水。铁盒轻轻地嗡鸣着。那是一种柔和的、低低的声音，像另一个房间里的冰箱。它只是嗡鸣一点点。它只在丢失的纽扣的主人靠近时才嗡鸣。
"Not today," she tells it. "Nobody asks."
“今天不行，”她对它说，“没有人问。”
The next day is the same. And the next. A school class comes, then a family from far away. A man takes fifty photos of the furnace. No one looks at the shelf.
第二天也一样。第三天也一样。一个学校的班级来了，接着是一家从远方来的人。一个男人对着熔炉拍了五十张照片。没有人看那个架子。
On Thursday, a woman comes in late. Her name is Hiba. She wears a long green coat. She stands at the back, behind everyone else. She does not take photos. She just watches Zuri's hands.
星期四，一位女士来得很晚。她叫希芭。她穿着一件长长的绿外套。她站在后面，躲在所有人后头。她没有拍照。她只是看着祖里的双手。
Zuri makes a small blue bowl. She turns it and shapes it. A quick tap cuts it free. The visitors clap.
祖里做了一只蓝色的小碗。她转动它，塑它的形。轻轻一敲，把它从管上敲下来。参观者们鼓起了掌。
Then they leave, one by one. Soon the room is empty. Only Hiba stays.
然后他们一个接一个地离开了。很快，屋里就空了。只有希芭留了下来。
"You are very good at this," Hiba says.
“你做得真好，”希芭说。
"Thank you."
“谢谢。”
Hiba walks slowly around the room. She looks at the benches. She looks at the furnace. Then she stops in front of the shelf.
希芭慢慢地绕着屋子走。她看了看工作台。她看了看熔炉。然后她在架子前停住了。
The tin hums. It is louder now. Zuri holds her breath.
铁盒嗡鸣着。现在声音更大了。祖里屏住了呼吸。
"What is this?" Hiba asks. "Why are there so many buttons?"
“这是什么？”希芭问，“为什么有这么多纽扣？”
For a moment, Zuri cannot speak. Twenty years, she thinks. Twenty years of waiting for this.
有那么一会儿，祖里说不出话来。二十年了，她想。等这一刻等了二十年。
"Do you really want to know?" she asks.
“你真的想知道吗？”她问。
"Yes. I think so." Hiba smiles a little. "It hums. Is that normal?"
“想。我想是的。”希芭微微一笑。“它在嗡嗡响。这正常吗？”
"Not for a normal tin." Zuri stands up. She takes the tin from the shelf. It feels warm in her hands, like a living thing. "Please sit."
“对一只普通的铁盒来说，不正常。”祖里站起身。她把铁盒从架子上取下来。它在她手里是温热的，像一个活物。“请坐。”
Hiba sits on a stool. Zuri puts the tin on the bench between them.
希芭在一张凳子上坐下。祖里把铁盒放在她们之间的工作台上。
"Every button here fell from a visitor's coat," Zuri says. "Over twenty years. People stand close to the furnace, and they lean over the rope. Buttons come loose. They roll on the floor, and I find them in the evening."
“这里的每一颗纽扣，都是从参观者的外套上掉下来的，”祖里说，“二十年来。人们站得离熔炉很近，还探身越过绳子。纽扣就松掉了。它们滚到地上，我晚上才发现。”
"That is normal," says Hiba. "Buttons fall off."
“这很正常，”希芭说，“纽扣会掉的。”
"Yes. But they do not stay lost." Zuri touches the tin. "When its owner comes back to this room, a button hums. Only that one. It calls to them."
“是的。但它们不会一直丢着。”祖里碰了碰铁盒。“等它的主人回到这间屋子，那颗纽扣就会嗡鸣。只有那一颗。它在呼唤主人。”
Hiba looks at the tin. Her eyes are wide. "That is not possible."
希芭看着铁盒。她睁大了眼睛。“这不可能。”
"I know. But it happens." Zuri smiles. "The problem is simple. A button cannot go home unless someone asks about the tin. That is the rule. I cannot give it back. Someone must ask first."
“我知道。但它就是会发生。”祖里笑了。“问题很简单。除非有人问起这只铁盒，否则纽扣回不了家。这是规矩。我不能把它还回去。必须有人先开口问。”
"Nobody ever asks?"
“从来没有人问吗？”
"Nobody. In twenty years." Zuri shrugs. "People look at the fire. They look at the glass. A tin of old buttons is not interesting."
“没有。二十年来一个也没有。”祖里耸了耸肩。“人们看火。他们看玻璃。一盒旧纽扣没什么意思。”
Hiba smiles. Then she stops. She looks down at her coat. The left sleeve has a loose thread at the end. It has no button.
希芭笑了笑。然后她停住了。她低头看自己的外套。左袖口末端有一根松掉的线头。那里没有纽扣。
"I lost a button ten days ago," she says softly. "A big green one. It matched the coat. I looked everywhere."
“十天前我丢了一颗纽扣，”她轻声说，“一颗绿色的大纽扣。跟这件外套配的。我到处都找遍了。”
"Was it a big green button with a gold ring?"
“是不是一颗绿色的大纽扣，带一圈金边？”
"Yes!" Hiba says. "How do you know that?"
“是的！”希芭说，“你怎么知道？”
Zuri opens the tin. She puts her hand inside. The humming gets louder and louder. The whole bench seems to shake. She moves past the brown buttons and the silver ones. She passes a pile of tiny white ones.
祖里打开铁盒。她把手伸进去。嗡鸣声越来越响。整张工作台似乎都在震动。她越过棕色的纽扣和银色的纽扣。她越过一堆小小的白色纽扣。
At the bottom, she finds it. It is large and green. A thin gold ring runs around the edge. It hums in her palm like a small bird.
在盒底，她找到了它。它又大又绿。边缘有一圈细细的金环。它在她的掌心里嗡鸣，像一只小鸟。
"It fell here last Monday," says Zuri. "I did not know whose it was. I only put it in the tin."
“它是上星期一掉在这里的，”祖里说，“我不知道是谁的。我只是把它放进了铁盒。”
Hiba stares at it. "You waited for me to ask."
希芭盯着它。“你一直在等我开口问。”
"No, I waited for anyone to ask." Zuri puts the button in her hand. "It is lucky that you came on Thursday."
“不，我是在等任何一个人开口问。”祖里把纽扣放进她的手里。“幸好你星期四来了。”
The button stops humming. It lies still and quiet. The tin goes silent, too, for the first time in many days.
纽扣不再嗡鸣了。它安静地躺着，一动不动。铁盒也安静了，这是许多天来的头一回。
Zuri's hands shake. After twenty years, a button goes home.
祖里的手在发抖。二十年后，一颗纽扣回家了。
"Thank you," says Hiba. She holds the button up to the light. "I do not know what to say. Do all of them do this?"
“谢谢你，”希芭说。她把纽扣举到光下。“我不知道该说什么。它们都会这样吗？”
"All of them. Every single one." Zuri looks at the tin. It is still half full. "So many people come back to this town. I think they all want to see the glass again. But nobody asks."
“都会。每一颗都是。”祖里看着铁盒。里面还有一半满。“有那么多人回到这座小镇来。我想他们都想再看一次玻璃。但是没有人问。”
"Then I will tell my friends," Hiba says. "I will tell them to ask you about the tin."
“那我会告诉我的朋友们，”希芭说，“我让他们来问你那只铁盒的事。”
"Please do." Zuri laughs. "I am tired of sitting here with a humming box."
“请一定要说，”祖里笑了，“我坐在这里守着一只会嗡嗡响的盒子，已经烦透了。”
Hiba looks at her sleeve again. "Do you have a needle?"
希芭又看了看自己的袖子。“你有针吗？”
"There is one in the drawer, with some green thread." Zuri points. "I keep it for days like this."
“抽屉里有一根，还有一点绿线，”祖里指了指，“我就是为这种日子留着的。”
Hiba stands up and opens the drawer. She takes out the needle and the thread. She sits down on the stool again. She threads the needle on the first try.
希芭站起来，拉开抽屉。她拿出针和线。她又在凳子上坐下。她一下子就把线穿进了针眼。
Zuri puts the tin back on the shelf. She turns up the furnace, and picks up her steel pipe. Outside, the doors open and the next group of visitors comes in.
祖里把铁盒放回架子上。她把熔炉烧得更旺，拿起她的钢管。外面，门开了，下一组参观者走了进来。
