Priya’s Part

Ana did not go back to Daniel’s flat that night. She walked straight from the canal to Bridge Street and rang the bell of the small flat above Shah’s. It was nearly ten. Priya opened the door in her dressing gown, with a cup of tea in one hand and the television talking loudly behind her.

那天晚上，安娜没有回丹尼尔的公寓。她径直从运河走到桥街，按响了沙阿家楼上那套小公寓的门铃。当时快十点了。普里娅穿着睡袍开门，一手端着茶，身后的电视声音很大。

One look at Ana’s face was enough. Priya turned off the television without asking anything and put the kettle on again. Her flat was small and warm and full of photographs: weddings, babies, a young Priya in a yellow sari standing in front of the shop on its first day, thirty years ago, with a very proud man beside her.

只要看一眼安娜的脸就足够了。普里娅什么也没问就关掉了电视，又把水壶烧上。她的公寓狭小而温暖，摆满了照片：婚礼、婴儿，还有三十年前第一天开店时穿着黄色纱丽站在店门前的年轻普里娅，身边站着一个非常自豪的男人。

Ana told her about Helen’s visit to the boat, about the envelope and the number with all its zeros, and about Michael’s decision. When she said the words for Jess, Priya put her cup down on the table so carefully that it did not make a sound.

安娜把海伦去船上的事、信封和那一串零的数字，还有迈克尔的决定都告诉了她。当安娜说到“为了杰丝”这几个字时，普里娅小心地把茶杯放在桌上，一点声音也没发出来。

“That stupid, stubborn, beautiful boy,” she said quietly. “He is going to give away his mother’s bakery to buy his daughter’s forgiveness. And she won’t even know why he needs forgiving.” She looked at Ana for a long time, as if she was deciding something. Then she sat down heavily in her armchair. “Sit down, my dear. I’m going to tell you something I have never told anyone. Not my husband, God rest him. Not my own children.”

“那个又笨又倔又漂亮的男孩，”她轻声说，“他打算卖掉母亲的面包店，来买女儿的原谅。可她甚至不知道他为什么要被原谅。”她看了安娜很久，仿佛在做什么决定。然后她在扶手椅上沉沉地坐下来。“坐下吧，亲爱的。我要告诉你一件我从没告诉过任何人的事。没告诉我死去的丈夫，也没告诉我自己的孩子。”

Ana sat down. Priya held her cup in both hands, although it was empty, and looked at the dark window. Across the road the bakery was dark too. Walter would be asleep by now, until half past two.

安娜坐下了。普里娅双手捧着茶杯，虽然杯子已经空了，她看着漆黑的窗户。马路对面的面包店也是黑的。沃尔特现在应该睡着了，直到两点半才会醒。

“You know that I saw the fire from my window,” Priya began. “That I phoned the fire service and ran across the road in my nightdress. That Walter came out of the front door first, carrying Jess in a blanket. All of that is true. I have told it a hundred times.”

“你知道我是从窗户看到起火的，”普里娅开口道，“也知道我打电话报了火警，穿着睡衣跑过马路。沃尔特最先从正门跑出来，用毯子裹着杰丝。这些全都是真的。我已经说过上百遍了。”

“What I have never told anybody is this. When Walter came out, I ran to him and took the baby from his arms, because he was shaking so much I was afraid he would drop her. And when I was close to him, I smelled it. On his breath, on his clothes. Whisky. A lot of it. Not the smell of a man who has had one glass to keep warm.”

“我从没对任何人说过的是接下来这件事。沃尔特出来时，我跑向他，把孩子从他怀里抱了过来，因为他抖得很厉害，我很怕他把孩子摔了。当我靠近他时，我闻到了那股味道。在他的呼吸里，在他的衣服上。威士忌。很多威士忌。绝不是那种为了暖身子只喝了一杯的人身上的味道。”

Ana did not move. Priya nodded slowly, as if Ana had said something. “You knew already,” she said. “I can see it. He told you. Good. Then I don’t have to explain everything.”

安娜一动不动。普里娅慢慢地点点头，仿佛安娜说了什么一样。“你早就知道了，”她说，“我看得出来。他告诉你了。太好了。那我就不用全解释一遍了。”

“I had seen the bottles in his bin for years,” she went on. “I take out the bins for half the street on Tuesdays, my dear, I see everything. After Mary died, there was a bottle every week, then two. I said nothing. Walter was my friend, and he was grieving, and a man’s bin is his own business.” She closed her eyes. “And the next morning, Michael stood in front of my shop and told the whole street that he had left the oven on. And I knew. I knew immediately that it wasn’t true.”

“多年来我一直看到他垃圾桶里的酒瓶，”她继续说，“我星期二替半条街的人倒垃圾，亲爱的，我什么都看在眼里。玛丽死后，每周都会有一个酒瓶，后来变成了两个。我什么都没说。沃尔特是我的朋友，他在伤心，而且一个男人的垃圾桶是他自己的私事。”她闭上了眼睛。“第二天早上，迈克尔站在我店门前，告诉整条街的人是他忘了关烤箱。我当时就明白了。我立刻就知道那不是真的。”