The Keys

Marco gave me a crowbar at eight on Wednesday morning, and we started on Mr Pike’s hut before the market opened.

星期三早上八点，Marco给了我一根撬棍，我们在市集开门以前就开始拆Pike先生的木屋。

He had said he would do it with one of his kitchen men, and I had said I would rather do it myself. He had looked at me for a moment, the way he had looked at me when I dropped my first beam, and then handed me the crowbar. It took us three hours. The old beams came apart in our hands like wet cardboard, and the snow on them went down our collars. Under the counter we found a tin of candle ends from about 1980 and a child’s glove. Mr Pike stood and watched the whole time, in his soldier’s scarf, with his hands behind his back. When the last board was down he walked into the empty space and stood in the middle of it.

他说过他会和厨房里的一个人来做，我说我宁愿自己做。他看了我一会儿，就像我掉下第一根横梁时他看我那样，然后把撬棍递给了我。我们做了三个小时。旧木梁在我们手里像湿纸板一样散开，木梁上的雪落进了我们的领子。柜台下面我们找到一个大约1980年的蜡烛头铁盒，还有一只小孩的手套。Pike先生一直站着看，围着他的军人围巾，两手放在背后。最后一块木板拆下来时，他走进空出来的地方，站在中间。

“Fifty years,” he said. “My father built that.”

“五十年，”他说。“这是我父亲盖的。”

“I’m sorry.”

“我很抱歉。”

“You’ve said that. Don’t say it again.” He looked at the space a while longer. “Next year we build a new one. Oak, this time, not pine. Oak lasts. You’ll help.”

“你说过了。不要再说。”他又看了那块空地一会儿。“明年我们盖一间新的。这一次用橡木，不用松木。橡木耐用。你来帮忙。”

“I’ll help,” I said, and I didn’t stop to think whether I would be there to do it.

“我会帮忙的，”我说，没有停下来想我那时还会不会在这里。

Father Tom lent him a long table from the church hall, and Ruth lent him a red cloth to put over it. By four o’clock the lights were on and the carousel was turning again. Mr Pike was selling candles from a borrowed table next to the fire, and he sold more than he had ever sold in an afternoon. People had heard what had happened, and they came on purpose.

Tom神父从教堂大厅借给他一张长桌子，Ruth借给他一块红布盖在上面。到四点，灯亮了，旋转木马又转起来了。Pike先生在火堆旁边一张借来的桌子上卖蜡烛，卖得比他任何一个下午都多。人们听说了发生的事，是特意来的。

Earlier, at one, my sister had come down to the shop, where I was behind the till, because my father had gone to sleep for an hour. She had her phone in her hand and a face I couldn’t read.

早些时候，一点钟，我妹妹下来到店里，我在收银机后面，因为我父亲去睡一个小时。她手里拿着手机，脸上的表情我看不懂。

“My editor’s printing something of mine tomorrow,” she said. “A column. Six hundred words, no names. It’s not the story I came home for.” She put the phone in her pocket. “And my name stays on the January list. So that’s that.”

“我的编辑明天要登我的一篇东西，”她说。“一篇专栏。六百个字，不写名字。这不是我回家来要写的那个故事。”她把手机放进口袋。“而且我的名字还在一月的名单上。就是这样。”

“You’re losing your job.”

“你要失去工作了。”

“In January. Like you, only slower.” She leaned on the counter, where customers stand. “You’re not going to ask me why.”

“一月。和你一样，只是慢一点。”她靠在柜台上，就是顾客站的地方。“你不会问我为什么。”

“No,” I said. “You didn’t ask me.”

“不会，”我说。“你也没问我。”

She looked at me for a long moment, and then she laughed. She took a chocolate coin from the box by the till and didn’t pay for it, the way she used to when she was eight. “Dad will be delighted,” she said. “Two of us to feed.” Then she took off her coat and started putting out the newspapers. We worked side by side all afternoon without talking about anything, which in my family is a kind of love.

她看了我很久，然后笑了。她从收银机旁的盒子里拿了一枚巧克力金币，没有付钱，就像她八岁时那样。“爸爸会很高兴的，”她说。“要养两个人了。”然后她脱掉大衣，开始摆报纸。我们整个下午并排工作，什么也没说，这在我们家就是一种爱。