那天晚上我没睡好，就连哭完之后也没睡好。房顶上扫过的风雨声，嗖嗖地一阵紧似一阵，根本就没有减弱成背景音的意思。我把褪了色的旧棉被拽上来蒙住了脑袋，后来又在上面加了个枕头。可我还是直到后半夜，等雨好不容易减弱成了毛毛小雨时才入睡。

 

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

 

早上醒来，睁眼一看，窗外除了浓雾还是浓雾，我能感觉到幽闭恐怖症正在向我慢慢袭来。在这里，你根本就看不到天空;就像一个笼子一样。

 

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me.

 

与查理共进早餐是一件静静悄悄的事。他祝我上学好运，我谢了他，知道他祝了也是徒劳。好运总是会躲着我。

 

 

Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.

 

查理先出了门，去了警察局，那里才像是他的家。等他走了之后，我在破旧的橡木方桌边上坐下，坐在三把不配套的椅子中的一把上，端详起查理的小厨房来：墙上嵌着深色的护墙板，有几个鲜黄色的橱柜，地上铺着白色的油毡。什么都没有变。

 

My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was arow of pictures.First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by theprocession of my school pictures up to last year's.

 

橱柜上的漆是我母亲18年前刷的，她想给房子里面引点儿阳光进来。隔壁巴掌大的家庭娱乐室的壁炉上方挂着一排照片，第一张是查理和我妈妈在拉斯维加斯的结婚照，然后一张是我出生后我们一家三口在医院的合影，是一个乐于助人的护士帮忙照的，接着的一连串全都是我在学校里的照片了，最晚的一张是去年才照的。

 

Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

 

这些照片可寒碜了——我得想想办法，看怎么能够让查理把它们挪到别的地方去，起码我住在这里的时候不能挂着。

 

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

 

在这栋房子里，谁都不可能看不出查理从来都没有真正把我妈妈忘掉过。这令我很不自在。

 

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.

 

我不想太早去上学，可我没办法在这个房子里多袋了。我穿上了外套——给人的感觉有点儿防毒服的味道——一头冲进了雨里。

 

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up.

 

仅仅是还在下着一点儿毛毛小雨，我取下钥匙再把门锁上这么短时间，是淋不透我的。房子的钥匙一直藏在门边的屋檐下面。

 

The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch ofgravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

 

我的新防水靴溅起的泥水很恼人，听不见一般情形下脚底砾石发出的嘎吱嘎吱声。我不能像心里希望的那样，停下来欣赏欣赏我的卡车。我着急着呢，恨不能赶紧从这盘绕在我脑袋周围，缠住帽兜下面的头发不放的雾霭中摆脱出来。

 

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but thetan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.

 

卡车里面倒是很干爽。显然，不是比利，就是查理，已经把车清洁过了，不过装了软垫的皮座椅还是能闻到些许的烟草、汽油和薄荷油的味道。

 

The engine started quickly,to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume.Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

 

令我感到安慰的是，发动机一打就着，不过声音很大，刚发动时突突作响，空转时更是达到了最大音量。嗨，这么老的一辆车肯定有一两处缺陷的。嘿，那老掉牙的收音机还响呢，这可是一笔意外收获呀。