He wanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions of anything he wasn't familiar with. 他想知道我想念着家里的什么事物，坚持要我描述出任何他不熟悉的部分。

We sat in front of Charlie's house for hours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a sudden deluge. 我们坐在查理的房子前，坐了好几个小时，直到天黑下来，骤然泛滥的雨水笔直地落在我们周围。

I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote—bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant— 我试图描述出一些根本没法形容的食物，像是木馏油的香味——发苦的，有点像树脂，但还是很亲切——

the high, keening sound of the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the very size of the sky, 七月里尖锐凄厉的蝉鸣，柔软如鸿毛的无叶树（仙人掌），广阔无垠的天空，

extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barely interrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. 那种发白的蓝色从一侧的地平线一直延伸到另一侧的地平线，极少被覆满了紫色火山岩的低矮的山丘阻断。

The hardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me— 最难解释的事情是为什么我会觉得它们如此美丽——

to justify a beauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that often looked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape of the land, 定义一种并非基于稀稀落落的，多刺的，经常看上去半死不活的植被的美丽，一种与大地裸路的形状，

with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, and the way they held on to the sun. 与崎岖的山谷间浅浅的有如碗状的山谷，与他们在太阳底下绵延的方式毫无关系的美丽。

I found myself using my hands as I tried to describe it to him. 当我努力向他解释时，我发现自己常常得用上手势。

His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in the dim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing the conversation. 他安静的，尖锐的提问让我自由自在地说着话，在暴风雨中微弱的光线里，完全忘记了要为自己垄断了所有的对话而窘迫不安。

Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room at home, he paused instead of responding with another question. 最终，当我描述完我在家里的那个乱糟糟的房间以后，他停了下来，没有再提出下一个问题。

"Are you finished?" I asked in relief. “你问完了？”我如释重负地问道。