The Corridor

Daniel drove the N7 up the hill to the hospital as if it were an ambulance, which, Ana thought afterwards, it more or less was. He did not stop at a single bus stop. A man in a reflective jacket waved at him from the shelter outside the swimming baths and watched, open-mouthed, as the big green bus thundered past with its interior lights blazing and only two passengers on board.

Daniel开着N7路公交车一路往上山开向医院，开得像辆救护车似的——事后Ana心想，它其实也差不多就是了。他一个公交车站也没停。游泳池外候车亭里一个穿着反光夹克的男人向他招手，目瞪口呆地看着那辆绿色大巴呼啸而过，车厢内灯火通明，而车上却仅仅载着两位乘客。

Jess sat in the front seat with her knees drawn up and her grandfather’s folded pages held flat against her chest, as though someone might try to take them from her. She had not looked at them. She had not said a word since Bridge Street. Ana sat beside her and watched the town slide past in the grey half-light: the market square, the dark town hall, the poster in the newsagent’s window with its green door and its warm square of light. KEEP THE LIGHT ON.

Jess坐在前排座位上，蜷起双膝，将外公折好的那些纸页平贴在胸口，仿佛生怕有人会试图从她手中抢走一样。她一直没有看它们。从Bridge Street出发后，她就一句话也没说。Ana坐在她身边，看着小镇在灰暗的晨光中滑过：集市广场、黑漆漆的市政厅，还有文具店橱窗里的那张海报，带着它绿色的门和那方温暖的方块灯光。KEEP THE LIGHT ON。

At the hospital entrance Daniel opened the doors before the bus had properly stopped. “Go,” he said. “I’ll take the bus back to the depot and come straight here in the car. Phone me. Whatever it is, phone me.” He looked at Jess, and for once there was no joke anywhere in his face. “He’s a tough old man, Jess. The toughest I know.”

在医院门口，车还没完全停稳，Daniel就把车门打开了。“快去，”他说，“我把车开回车库，然后马上开车过来。给我打电话。不管发生什么，都给我打电话。”他看着Jess，脸上一反常态地全无笑意。“他是个硬朗的老头子，Jess。是我认识的人里最硬朗的。”

They found Michael on the second floor, at the end of a long corridor that smelled of disinfectant and burnt coffee. He was sitting on a plastic chair outside a closed door, still in the clothes he had worn on the river path, with flour on the knees of his trousers and his long coat folded on the seat beside him. When he saw them he stood up too quickly and had to put a hand on the wall.

他们在二楼找到了Michael，就在一条弥漫着消毒水和咖啡烧焦味的幽长走廊尽头。他正坐在紧闭的房门外的一把塑料椅上，身上还穿着在河边小道上穿的那身衣服，裤子的膝盖处沾着面粉，长外套叠好放在身旁的座位上。一见到她们，他猛地站起身来，动作太急，不得不伸手扶住了墙壁。

“He’s alive,” he said, before either of them could ask. That was the first thing, and he said it the way a man throws a rope. “He’s alive, he’s asleep, they’ve done a scan. They’re going to talk to us properly when the consultant comes in at eight.”

“他还活着，”还没等她们开口问，他便抢先说道。这是最重要的第一件事，他说得就像溺水时向人抛出一根救生绳。“他还活着，睡着了，他们给他做了扫描。等八点钟主治医生来的时候，会好好跟我们谈谈。”

Jess stood very still in the middle of the corridor. For a moment Ana thought she might go to him; there was something in the angle of her shoulders that leaned, very slightly, towards the tall grey-bearded man by the wall. Then it passed. She sat down on the chair furthest from him, put the pages on her knee, and stared at the closed door.

Jess在走廊中央定定地站着。有一瞬间，Ana以为她会走向他；她双肩的微倾姿态，极轻微地朝着靠墙站着的那位留着灰白胡子的修长身影倾斜。但那种冲动转瞬即逝。她在离他最远的一张椅子上坐了下来，把那些纸页放在膝头，凝视着那扇紧闭的门。

The consultant arrived at ten past eight: a brisk, grey-haired woman with reading glasses on a cord and the faintly apologetic manner of someone who has given a great deal of bad news and has never got used to it. She took them into a small room with a box of tissues on the table, and Ana, who had learned in three months to read English rooms, understood at once what the tissues meant.

主治医生在八点十分到了：一位步履利落、满头银发的女士，老花镜挂在一根细绳上，带着一种传递过无数坏消息却始终未能习以为常的人所特有的淡淡歉意。她把他们带进一间小房间，桌上摆着一盒纸巾，而在这三个月里已学会读懂英国房间陈设的Ana，立刻就明白了纸巾的用意。