Bod looked at his mother. “But it’s cold out there,” he said.
伯蒂看着自己的母亲，说：“可外头很冷。”
Mistress Owens pushed him out of the Owenses’ little tomb. “Get along with you,” she said. “I’ve got business to attend to.”
欧文斯太太把伯蒂推出欧文斯一家的墓穴，说：“你一边玩去，我有事要忙。”
“Rich man, poor man, come away. Come to dance the Macabray.”
富人穷人齐齐聚，一起来跳亡灵舞。
“I should hope so,” she said, “it being winter. That’s as it should be. Now,” she said, more to herself than to Bod, “shoes. And look at this dress — it needs hemming. And cobwebs — there are cobwebs all over, for heaven’s sakes. You get along,” this to Bod once more. “I’ve plenty to be getting on with, and I don’t need you underfoot.”
“冷就对了。现在是冬天，冬天就该是这样。”欧文斯太太接下来的话更像是对自己而不是对伯蒂说的，“鞋子。瞧瞧裙子——裙边得缝一缝，还有蜘蛛网——全是蜘蛛网，看在上帝的份上，你一边去。”她再次赶伯蒂走，“我有很多事要忙，我不想你在一旁碍手碍脚的。”
Something was going on, Bod was certain of it. It was there in the crisp winter air, in the stars, in the wind, in the darkness. It was there in the rhythms of the long nights and the fleeting days.
要发生什么大事了，伯蒂很笃定，这种感觉潜藏在星星、风、黑暗和清新凉爽的冬日空气中，暗含在漫长的夜晚和飞逝的白天相互交替的节奏里。
And then she sang to herself, a little couplet Bod had never heard before.
接着她自顾自唱起歌来，两句押韵的歌词，伯蒂从没听过。
“What’s that?” asked Bod, but it was the wrong thing to have said, for Mistress Owens looked dark as a thunder-cloud, and Bod hurried out of the tomb before she could express her displeasure more forcefully.
“什么意思？”伯蒂问。可他不该问，因为欧文斯太太的脸阴了下来，趁她还没大动肝火，伯蒂赶紧跑出坟墓。
“Blossom? In winter?”
“开花？在冬天？”
“Your eyes are younger than mine, young man,” she said. “Can you see blossom?”
“小伙子，你年轻，眼神比我好。”屠杀之母说，“你看到花开了吗？”
“Time to work and time to play, Time to dance the Macabray. Eh, boy?”
“工作时间，玩乐时间，现在到了亡灵舞时间。你不知道吗？”
It was cold in the graveyard, cold and dark, and the stars were already out. Bod passed Mother Slaughter in the ivy-covered Egyptian Walk, squinting at the greenery.
坟场里很冷，又冷又黑，群星已经浮现。伯蒂走在长满常春藤的埃及路上，从屠杀之母身边走过，她正眯眼看着冬日的绿意。
“How odd,” said Bod, aloud. He sought warmth and company in the bustling Bartleby mausoleum, but the Bartleby family — seven generations of them — had no time for him that night. They were cleaning and tidying, all of them, from the oldest (d. 1831) to the youngest (d. 1690).
“故弄玄虚。”伯蒂大声说。他又去了向来热热闹闹的巴特比一家的陵墓，去寻找温暖和陪伴，可那一夜，七世同堂的巴特比一家根本没空搭理他。从最老的（1831年去世）到最年轻的（1690年去世）巴特比，每个人都在忙着大扫除。
“Don’t you look at me with that face on, young man,” she said. “Things blossom in their time. They bud and bloom, blossom and fade. Everything in its time.” She huddled deeper into her cloak and bonnet and she said,
“别用那种表情看我，小伙子。花开花落自有其时节，发芽，开苞，盛放，凋零，一切顺其自然。”屠杀之母往自己的披肩和礼帽里缩了缩。
But Mother Slaughter had pushed into the ivy and was gone from sight.
可屠杀之母已经步入一丛常春藤，从伯蒂的视野里消失了。
Fortinbras Bartleby, ten years old when he had died (of consumption, he had told Bod, who had mistakenly believed for several years that Fortinbras had been eaten by lions or bears, and was extremely disappointed to learn it was merely a disease), now apologized to Bod.
波林格·巴特比向伯蒂道歉，他在十岁时去世。（他告诉伯蒂自己因“吞食”[1]而死，好几年来，伯蒂一直误以为他是被狮子或熊给吃了，在日后得知那个词的意思不是吞食而仅是一种疾病时，他大失所望。）【注：[1]原文为consumption，既有消耗、饮食之意，又指肺结核、痨病。】
“I don’t know,” said Bod. “What’s the Macabray?”
“我不知道。”伯蒂问，“什么是亡灵舞？”
“We cannot stop to play, Master Bod. For soon enough, tomorrow night comes. And how often can a man say that?”
“我们没空和你玩，伯蒂先生，因为明晚马上要到了，非常难得。”
“Every night,” said Bod. “Tomorrow night always comes.”
“哪里难得了？”伯蒂说，“每一天，明晚都会来临。”
“Not this one,” said Fortinbras. “Not once in a blue moon, or a month of Sundays.”
“这次不一样。”福丁布拉斯说，“不是蓝月亮升起时的节日，也不是连着一个月都是礼拜日时的节日。”
“It’s the best day,” said Fortinbras, and Bod was certain he would have continued but his grandmother, Louisa Bartleby (who was only twenty) called him over to her, and said something sharply in his ear.
“明晚是最棒的日子。”福丁布拉斯说。伯蒂正想听他说下去，可福丁布拉斯的祖母，路易莎·巴特比（她仅有二十岁）把他叫了过去，在他耳边厉声说了几句话。
“It’s not Guy Fawkes Night,” said Bod, “or Hallowe’en. It’s not Christmas or New Year’s Day.”
“这不是篝火之夜。”伯蒂说，“也不是万圣节，不是圣诞也不是新年。”
Fortinbras smiled, a huge smile that filled his pie-shaped, freckly face with joy.
福丁布拉斯笑了，灿烂的笑容堆满了他那张形如馅饼、布满雀斑的脸。
“None of them,” he said. “This one’s special.”
“那些全不是。这次的很特别。”
“Nothing,” said Fortinbras. Then to Bod, “Sorry. I have to work now.” And he took a rag and began to buff the side of his dusty coffin with it. “La, la, la, oomp,” he sang. “La la la, oomp.” And with each “oomp,” he would do a wild, whole-body flourish with his rag.
“没什么。”福丁布拉斯对伯蒂说，“抱歉，我得去干活了。”他拿起一块抹布，开始擦拭自己那积满灰尘的棺木。“啦，啦，啦，吼！”他边擦边唱，“啦，啦，啦，吼！”每发出一声“吼”，他全身都会一阵狂抖。
“What’s it called?” asked Bod. “What happens tomorrow?”
“那明晚的节日叫什么？明晚会发生什么事？”
“Aren’t you going to sing that song?”
“你不唱那首歌吗？”伯蒂问。
“No time for that,” said Fortinbras. “It’s tomorrow, tomorrow, after all.”
“还没到时候。要到明天，明天唱才对。”
“One and all will hear and stay, Come and dance the Macabray.”
富人穷人齐齐聚，一起来跳亡灵舞。
“The one everybody’s singing?”
“每个人都唱的那首。”
“What’s in there?”
“袋子里有什么？”
“What song?”
“什么歌？”
His guardian returned in the small hours of the morning; he had a large plastic bag with him.
凌晨时分，他的监护人回来了，手里提着一个大塑料袋。
And in her sweet, clear voice, she sang,
接着她用甜美、清亮的歌喉唱道：
Bod walked down to the crumbling little church. He slipped between the stones, and into the crypt, where he sat and waited for Silas to return. He was cold, true, but the cold did not bother Bod, not really: the graveyard embraced him, and the dead do not mind the cold.
伯蒂向山下残破的小教堂走去。他灵巧地穿过墙面，进入地下室，坐在那里等赛拉斯回来。他感到冷，真挺冷的，可这对他来说也没什么大不了的：坟场环绕着他，死人并不在意寒冷。
“You mean, apart from wearing? Well, firstly, I think you’re old enough — what are you, ten years old now?– and normal, living people clothes are wise. You’ll have to wear them one day, so why not pick up the habit right now? And they could also be camouflage.”
“你是问，除了穿以外有什么用？嗯，首先，我想你已经挺大了。你多大了？十岁了吧？一般来说，活人穿衣服比较讲究。既然你总有一天要像活人一样穿衣服，为什么不从现在起就养成习惯呢？而且这些衣服也可用作伪装。”
“Clothes. For you. Try them on.” Silas produced a grey sweater the color of Bod’s winding sheet, a pair of jeans, underwear, and shoes — pale green sneakers.
“衣服，给你的，穿上试试。”赛拉斯拿出一件与伯蒂身上的裹尸布同色的灰色汗衫、一条牛仔裤、一套内衣和一双淡绿色的运动鞋。
“What are they for?”
“这些有什么用？”
“No time,” said Louisa, who had died in childbirth, giving birth to twins. “Be about your business.”
“没时间了。”在生双胞胎时去世的路易莎说，“忙你自己的事去吧。”
“What’s camouflage?”
“什么是伪装？”
“When something looks enough like something else that people watching don’t know what it is they’re looking at.”
“让一样东西在别人看来是另一样东西。”
“Silas. What’s a Macabray?”
“赛拉斯，什么是亡灵舞？”
“Oh. I see. I think.” Bod put the clothes on. The shoelaces gave him a little trouble and Silas had to teach him how to tie them. It seemed remarkably complicated to Bod, and he had to tie and re-tie his laces several times before he had done it to Silas’s satisfaction. Only then did Bod dare to ask his question.
“哦，原来如此。”伯蒂穿上鞋，却被系鞋带难住了，赛拉斯只好教他。这对伯蒂来说似乎太过复杂，他反反复复系了好多遍才让赛拉斯满意。在这之后，他才敢向赛拉斯提问。
Silas’s eyebrows raised and his head tipped to one side. “Where did you hear about that?”
赛拉斯扬起眉毛，头歪向一侧：“你从哪里听来的？”
“All must dance the Macabray,” said Bod, remembering. “Have you danced it? What kind of dance is it?”
“所有人要一起跳亡灵舞。”伯蒂边回忆边说，“你跳过吗？那是一种怎么样的舞？”
“It’s a dance, “said Silas.
“一种舞蹈。”赛拉斯说。
His guardian looked at him with eyes like black pools and said, “I do not know. I know many things, Bod, for I have been walking this earth at night for a very long time, but I do not know what it is like to dance the Macabray. You must be alive or you must be dead to dance it — and I am neither.”
赛拉斯用黑色池水般的眼睛看着他，说：“我不知道。我知道很多事，伯蒂，因为我长久以来夜行于这片大地，但我不知道跳亡灵舞是什么感受。要想跳这种舞，你必须是个活人，或是个死人——而我都不是。”
“Everyone in the graveyard is talking about it. I think it’s something that happens tomorrow night. What’s a Macabray?”
“坟场里的人都在说，我想这是明晚要发生的事。亡灵舞是什么呀？”
His guardian inspected Bod thoughtfully, a boy in his new clothes. “You’ll do,” he said. “Now you look like you’ve lived outside the graveyard all your life.”
赛拉斯若有所思地看着伯蒂，看着这个换上新衣的男孩。“好了。”他说，“现在你看起来就像从来没在坟场生活过一样。”
“Everything in its season,” said Silas, and he said no more that night.
“一切自有其时节。”赛拉斯说。这一夜，他没再说一句话。
Bod shivered. He wanted to embrace his guardian, to hold him and tell him that he would never desert him, but the action was unthinkable. He could no more hug Silas than he could hold a moonbeam, not because his guardian was insubstantial, but because it would be wrong. There were people you could hug, and then there was Silas.
伯蒂颤了颤。他想拥抱赛拉斯，紧紧抱住，告诉他自己永远不会弃他而去，可这种行为不可想象。他无法拥抱赛拉斯，就像他无法抓住月光，这并不是因为赛拉斯是虚幻的，而是因为这本身是错的。世上有你可以拥抱的人，其中也包括赛拉斯。
Bod smiled proudly. Then the smile stopped and he looked grave once again. He said, “But you’ll always be here, Silas, won’t you? And I won’t ever have to leave, if I don’t want to?”
伯蒂自豪地笑了笑，接着他收起笑容，又变得郁郁寡欢。“可是，赛拉斯，你会一直在这里吗？如果我不想离开，我也能一直待在这里吗？”
Bod woke early the next day, when the sun was a silver coin high in the grey winter sky. It was too easy to sleep through the hours of daylight, to spend all his winter in one long night and never see the sun, and so each night before he slept he would promise himself that he would wake in daylight, and leave the Owenses’ cozy tomb.
第二天，伯蒂早早醒来，这时太阳还不过是挂在冬日灰色天空中的一枚银币。日照很短，一不留神就会睡过白天，让整个冬天变成长长的夜，一次也看不见太阳。因此，每晚睡觉前，伯蒂都会立誓要在太阳升起时醒来，离开欧文斯一家温暖的墓穴。
The perfume was heaviest there, and for a moment Bod wondered if snow might have fallen, for there were white clusters on the greenery. Bod examined a cluster more closely. It was made of small five-petaled flowers, and he had just put his head in to sniff the perfume when he heard footsteps coming up the path.
这儿香味更浓。有那么一瞬，伯蒂以为不久前刚下过雪，因为常春藤上有星星点点的白色。他凑近一丛常春藤，细细观看，原来那白色是一朵朵五片花瓣的小花。他把头凑过去，想近距离嗅一嗅花香，这时传来了上山的脚步声。
There was a strange scent in the air, sharp and floral. Bod followed it up the hill to the Egyptian Walk, where the winter ivy hung in green tumbles, an evergreen tangle that hid the mock-Egyptian walls and statues and hieroglyphs.
空气中飘着一种奇异的香味，浓烈而芬芳。伯蒂循着香味上山，来到埃及路上。路边的常春藤在冬日仍密密匝匝，这不变的绿意掩映着仿埃及风格的墙壁、雕塑和象形文字。
“Yes, Mrs. Caraway,” said one of the men — chubby and white-haired and short of breath. Like each of the men, he carried a large, empty wicker basket.
“没错，卡尔韦女士。”一个胖乎乎的白发男人气喘吁吁地说。和其他男人一样，他也挎着一个空空的大柳条筐。
Bod Faded into the ivy, and watched. Three men and a woman, all alive, came up the path and into the Egyptian Walk. The woman had an ornate chain around her neck.
伯蒂潜入常春藤，向外窥探。来者是三个男人和一个女人，都是活人，他们沿着山路走上来，踏上埃及路。女人的脖子上戴着一条华美的项链。
She seemed both vague and puzzled. “Well, if you say so,” she said. “But I cannot say that I understand it.” She looked up at the flowers. “What do I do now?”
女人看上去既茫然又困惑。“好吧，就听你的吧，虽然我没太懂。”她看向那些花，“现在我要做什么？”
“Is this it?” she asked.
“是这个吗？”她问。
“Perfectly ridiculous,” said Mrs. Caraway, but she continued to cut the white blossoms and drop them into the wicker baskets. When they had filled the first basket, she asked, “Isn’t that enough?”
“荒谬至极。”卡尔韦女士嘴上虽这么说，手上的动作却没停。白花被一朵朵剪下来，放入柳条筐。当第一个柳条筐装满时，她问：“还不够吗？”
“It is,” said the fat man, “a tradition.”
“这是一项传统。”胖胖的男人说。
The smallest of the men reached into his wicker basket and brought out a tarnished pair of silver scissors. “The scissors, Lady Mayoress, “he said.
个头最小的男人从柳条筐里拿出一把锈迹斑斑、失了光泽的银剪刀，对她说：“市长女士，剪刀。”
She took the scissors from him and began to cut the clumps of blossom, and she and the three men started to fill the baskets with the flowers.
女市长接过剪刀，开始剪下一簇簇白花。三个男人把白花收入柳条筐。
“This is,” said Mrs. Caraway, the Lady Mayoress, after a little while, “perfectly ridiculous.”
“这呀，”过了一会儿，女市长说，“实在太荒谬了。”
“We need to fill all four baskets,” said the smaller man, “and then distribute a flower to everyone in the Old Town.”
“我们得装满四筐，”小个子男人说，“给老城区的每个人都分一朵。”
“And what kind of tradition is that?” said Mrs. Caraway. “I asked the Lord Mayor before me, and he said he’d never heard of it.” Then she said, “Do you get a feeling someone’s watching us?”
“这是什么传统？我问了上任市长，他说他从没听说过这回事。”女市长接着说，“你们有没有感觉有人在看我们？”
“What?” said the third man, who had not spoken until now. He had a beard and a turban and two wicker baskets. “Ghosts, you mean? I do not believe in ghosts.”
“啊？”从未开过口的第三个男人说，他留着络腮胡，包着头巾，挎着两个柳条篮，“你是说鬼吗？我不信世上有鬼。”
“Not ghosts,” said Mrs. Caraway. “Just a feeling like someone’s looking.”
“不是鬼，就是感觉有人在看我们。”
Bod fought the urge to push further back into the ivy.
伯蒂强忍住躲进常春藤深处的冲动。
“Everyone in the Old Town gets a flower,” said the small man. “Man, woman, and child.” Then he said, slowly, as if he were trying to remember something he had learned a very long time ago, “One to leave and one to stay and all to dance the Macabray.”
“老城区的每个人都会分到一朵花。”小个子男人说，“无论是男人、女人还是小孩。”他接下去说得很慢，像是在回忆很久很久以前得知的事，“有人离去，有人留下，大家都跳起亡灵舞。”
“It’s not surprising that the previous Lord Mayor did not know about this tradition,” said the chubby man, whose basket was almost full. “It’s the first time the winter blossoms have bloomed in eighty years.”
“上任市长不知道这项传统并不奇怪。”胖乎乎的男人说，他的篮子几乎满了，“这是八十年来，白色的花第一次盛开。”
The man with the beard and the turban, who did not believe in ghosts, was looking around him nervously.
那个留胡子、戴头巾且不信鬼的男人正忐忑不安地四下张望。
Mrs. Caraway sniffed. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said, and kept on snipping the blossoms.
卡尔韦女士嗤之以鼻。“一派胡言。”说罢她继续剪起白花来。
Dusk fell early in the afternoon, and it was night by half past four. Bod wandered the paths of the graveyard, looking for someone to talk to, but there was no one about. He walked down to the Potter’s Field to see if Liza Hempstock was about, but found no one there. He went back to the Owenses’ tomb, but found it also deserted: neither his father nor Mistress Owens was anywhere to be seen.
黄昏降临得很早，下午四点半时已夜色满天。伯蒂在坟场的小路上漫步，想找个聊天的伴儿，可一个人也没找到。他走到山下的陶工之地去找丽萨，也不见一个人影。他又回到欧文斯一家的坟墓，照样空无一人：欧文斯先生和欧文斯太太都不知去了哪儿。
Silas did not come.
赛拉斯没有来。
“Perhaps I missed him,” thought Bod, but he did not believe this. He walked up the hill to the very top, and looked out. The stars hung in the chilly sky, while the patterned lights of the city spread below him, streetlights and car headlights and things in motion. He walked slowly down from the hill until he reached the graveyard’s main gates, and he stopped there.
“也许我和他错过了。”伯蒂这么想，却不相信。他登上山顶，极目远眺。星星悬挂在寒凉的夜空中，城镇的灯光如图画般在山下铺展开：街灯、车灯，还有不断移动的光点。他又慢慢走下山，来到坟场大门口，停下脚步。
Panic started then, a low-level panic. It was the first time in his ten years that Bod could remember feeling abandoned in the place he had always thought of as his home: he ran down the hill to the old chapel, where he waited for Silas.
恐慌忽然袭来，虽然只是轻微的恐慌。这是十年来第一次，伯蒂觉得这个一直被自己当成家的地方抛弃了他。他跑向山下的老教堂，等候赛拉斯。
Bod had listened to all kinds of music: the sweet chimes of the ice-cream van, the songs that played on workmen’s radios, the tunes that Claretty Jake played the dead on his dusty fiddle, but he had never heard anything like this before: a series of deep swells, like the music at the beginning of something, a prelude perhaps, or an overture.
伯蒂听过各种各样的乐音：冰激凌车那甜甜的铃声、工人的收音机里播放的歌曲，还有克拉里蒂·吉克用他积满灰尘的小提琴拉出的过时曲调。可他从没听过这样的音乐，一连串涌动的深沉旋律，渐渐由弱变强，如同一节前奏，或一段序曲。
He slipped through the locked gates, walked down the hill, and into the Old Town.
门上了锁，他从门缝钻出去，走下山，进入老城区。
He could hear music.
他听到了乐声。
“Ah,” he said, and he pushed his chest out, displaying the little white flower to the world, and walked off, proud as Punch.
“这样啊。”男人说着挺起胸膛，向世界展示胸前的小白花，神气十足地走远了。
“It’s not for charity,” said Mrs. Caraway. “It’s a local tradition.”
“这不是为了慈善。”卡尔韦女士说，“这是当地的一项传统。”
“Wossit for?” she asked suspiciously, as the Mayoress approached.
“这是要干什么？”见女市长走近，她狐疑地问。
“One for you, one for the little one,” said the Mayoress. She pinned the flower to the young woman’s winter coat. She stuck the flower for the baby to its coat with tape.
“一朵给你，一朵给小不点。”女市长将一朵花别在女人的冬衣上，将另一朵用胶带粘到宝宝的衣服上。
“I don’t make personal charitable donations,” said the man. “I leave that to the office.”
“我不做个人名义的慈善捐赠。”男人说，“这种事我通通交给办公室处理。”
He passed the Lady Mayoress, standing on a corner, and as he watched, she reached out and pinned a little white flower to the lapel of a passing businessman.
他从站在拐角处的女市长旁路过。女市长正拿起一朵小白花，别到一个过路商人的上衣翻领上。
A young woman pushing a baby buggy was the next to go past.
下一个路过的是一个推着婴儿车的年轻女人。
“But wossit for?” asked the young woman.
“可这是要干什么呢？”年轻女人问。
Bod walked on. Everywhere he went he saw people wearing the white flowers. On the other street corners, he passed the men who had been with the Lady Mayoress, each man with a basket, handing out the white flowers. Not everyone took a flower, but most people did.
伯蒂继续前行，他走到哪儿，都会见到别着白花的男女老少。在另外几个拐角，他见到了和女市长一起采花的几个男人，每人都提着一个篮子在分发白花。每个人谈不上，但大多数人都收下了。
“It’s an Old Town thing,” said the Lady Mayoress, vaguely. “Some sort of tradition.”
“这是老城区传下来的，”女市长含糊其词，“一种传统。”
“Sorry,” said Bod. “Can I have a flower as well?”
“抱歉。”伯蒂说，“你能给我一朵花吗？”
And there was an oddness, thought Bod, as he watched the people heading home. They were walking in time to the music.
伯蒂还发觉了一件古怪的事：人们都踩着乐点在往家的方向走。
The music was still playing: somewhere, at the edge of perception, solemn and strange. Bod cocked his head to one side, trying to locate where it was coming from, without success. It was in the air and all around. It was playing in the flapping of flags and awnings, in the rumble of distant traffic, the click of heels on the dry paving stones…
音乐仍在耳边，不知从何处飘来，似有若无，庄重而奇异。伯蒂侧耳倾听，想找出音乐从哪儿来，却怎么也找不到。音乐就在空中，无处不在，在飘扬的旗子和抖动的遮阳棚里，在远处隆隆的车流里，在踩上干燥石板路时后跟的嗒嗒声里…
“Excuse me,” said Bod.
“不好意思。”
The man with the beard and the turban was almost out of flowers. Bod walked over to him.
留胡子、戴头巾的男人差不多要把花分光了。伯蒂向他走去。
The man started. “I did not see you,” he said, accusingly.
男人突然一惊，语气略带戒备：“我从没见过你。”
The man with the turban looked at Bod with suspicion. “Do you live around here?” he asked.
戴头巾的男人将信将疑地看着他，问：“你住在附近吗？”
“Oh yes,” said Bod.
“没错。”
A bead of crimson was coming up on Bod’s thumb. He sucked at it while the man pinned the flower to Bod’s sweater. “I’ve never seen you around here,” he told Bod.
伯蒂的大拇指上沁出一滴血珠，他把血吮吸掉。男人一边把花别到他的毛衣上，一边说：“我从没见过你。”
“You pin it to your coat,” said the man. “Watch out for the pin.”
“别到你的衣服上。”男人说，“小心别针。”
The man passed Bod a white flower. Bod took it, then said, “Ow,” as something stabbed into the base of his thumb.
男人递给伯蒂一朵白花。伯蒂接过。“哎呀。”他的大拇指指根被扎到了。
The music was louder now. Bod wondered if he could hear it better because he was wearing the flower — he could make out a beat, like distant drums, and a skirling, hesitant melody that made him want to pick up his heels and march in time to the sound.
耳边的乐声变响了，也许是因为佩戴上了花吧。伯蒂能感受到节奏，如同遥远的鼓点。风笛般的乐音，悠扬婉转的旋律，让他不由自主地想跟随音乐跃动起来。
Bod had never walked anywhere as a sightseer before. He had forgotten the prohibitions on leaving the graveyard, forgotten that tonight in the graveyard on the hill the dead were no longer in their places; all that he thought of was the Old Town, and he trotted through it down to the municipal gardens in front of the Old Town Hall (which was now a museum and tourist information center, the town hall itself having moved into much more imposing, if newer and duller, offices halfway across the city).
伯蒂从未作为一个观光者四处走动过。他忘了不能离开坟场的规定，忘了今晚坟场里的死人都不见了，满脑子全是老城区。他一路小跑，来到老城区市政厅前的市政花园。老城区市政厅现在是个博物馆，兼旅客资讯中心。真正的市政厅已经搬到城市另一边更富丽堂皇、更现代也更无趣的地方了。
“It was a tradition in the Old Town,” said the man, “before the city grew up around it. When the winter flowers bloom in the graveyard on the hill they are cut and given out to everybody, man or woman, young or old, rich or poor.”
“这是老城区的一种传统。”男人说，“在城镇扩展前就有了。当冬天来临，山上坟场里的花儿绽放时，他们就要把花剪下，分发给每个人，无论男女老少，无论贫富贵贱。”
“I live here, all right,” said Bod. “What are the flowers for?”
“我的确住在这儿。”伯蒂说，“这些花是用来做什么的？”
There were already people around, wandering the municipal gardens — now in midwinter, little more than a large grassy field with, here and there, some steps, a shrub, a statue.
有人早已到来，他们在市政花园里信步漫游。隆冬已至，市政花园更像是一片大大的绿地，有几处台阶，一丛灌木和一座雕塑。
The young woman he had seen earlier pushing a baby buggy stood beside him, holding her baby, swaying her head to the music.
先前那个推着婴儿车的年轻女人站在伯蒂边上，抱着婴儿，随着音乐轻轻晃头。
Bod listened to the music, entranced. There were people trickling into the square, in ones and twos, in families or alone. He had never seen so many living people at one time. There must have been hundreds of them, all of them breathing, each of them as alive as he was, each with a white flower.
伯蒂听音乐听得入了神。越来越多的人如细流般汇入广场，或三两成群，或携家带口，或独自前来。伯蒂从没同时见过这么多活人。这儿想必有上百人，都在呼吸，都同他一样是活人，都戴着一朵白花。
Is this what living people do? thought Bod, but he knew that it was not: that this, whatever it was, was special.
这就是活人平常做的事吗？伯蒂心想，但又立即否决。这次不同，无论这是什么活动，它无疑很特别。
“How long does the music go on for?” Bod asked her, but she said nothing, just swayed and smiled. Bod did not think she smiled much normally. And only when he was certain that she had not heard him, that he had Faded, or was simply not someone she cared enough about to listen to, she said, “Blimmen ‘eck. It’s like Christmases.” She said it like a woman in a dream, as if she was seeing herself from the outside. In the same not-really-there tone of voice, she said, “Puts me in mind of me Gran’s sister, Aunt Clara. The night before Christmas we’d go to her, after me Gran passed away, and she’d play music on her old piano, and she’d sing, sometimes, and we’d eat chocolates and nuts and I can’t remember any of the songs she sung. But that music, it’s like all of them songs playing at once.”
“音乐会放多长时间？”伯蒂问。可女人没回答，依然面带微笑，跟随音乐摇摆。伯蒂觉得她的笑容不太寻常，直到听到她说“哎呀，这就像圣诞节一样”，才明白女人根本没听到他说的话，也许是因为他隐身了，也许是因为女人根本没在意他。女人说话的样子仿佛沉浸在梦中，游离到体外，在外界看着自己。她用同样身处异处的语气说：“这让我想起了奶奶的姐姐克拉拉。在奶奶过世后，每年圣诞节前夜我们都会去看望她，她会弹奏她那架老旧的钢琴，有时还会唱歌。我们会吃巧克力和坚果。我已经忘记她唱过什么歌，可从这音乐中，我仿佛听到了她唱过的每一首歌。”
The baby seemed asleep with its head on her shoulder, but even the baby was swaying its hands gently in time to the music.
婴儿靠着她的肩膀，像是睡着了，可连小婴儿都在随着音乐轻轻晃动小脑袋。
They walked down the hill in a slow procession, all stepping gravely, all in time, filling the road, five abreast. Bod knew them or knew most of them. In the first row, he recognized Mother Slaughter and Josiah Worthington, and the old earl who had been wounded in the Crusades and came home to die, and Doctor Trefusis, all of them looking solemn and important.
他们列队从山上缓缓走下，五人一排，步伐庄重整齐。伯蒂认识他们，或者说认识其中的大多数人。走在第一排的人中，他认出了屠杀之母，约西亚·沃辛顿，曾在十字军东征中负伤、回乡后死去的老伯爵，还有特里富西斯医生。每个人都庄严而肃穆。
And then the music stopped and there was silence in the square, a muffled silence, like the silence of falling snow, all noise swallowed by the night and the bodies in the square, no one stamping or shuffling, scarcely even breathing.
随后音乐停下，一片寂静降临广场，镇住了天地，如同落雪时的肃静。一切声音被夜色吞没，广场上无人跺脚，无人躁动，似乎连呼吸也停止了。
A clock began to strike somewhere close at hand: the chimes of midnight, and they came.
钟声响起，仿佛近在耳边，那是午夜的钟声。他们来了。
There were gasps from the people in the square. Someone began to cry, saying, “Lord have mercy, it’s a judgment on us, that’s what it is!” Most of the people simply stared, as unsurprised as they would have been if this had happened in a dream.
广场上，有些人倒吸了一口凉气。有个人大喊：“主啊！可怜可怜我们吧，这是对我们的审判，对我们的审判！”而大多数人只是注视着来者，并不惊讶，仿佛在看一幕梦中的场景。
The dead walked on, row on row, until they reached the square.
死人们继续向前走，一排又一排，来到广场上。
She reached out a hand. As her fingers touched Josiah Worthington’s, the music began once more. If the music Bod had heard until then was a prelude, it was a prelude no longer. This was the music they had all come to hear, a melody that plucked at their feet and fingers.
卡尔韦女士伸出一只手，在她与约西亚·沃辛顿指尖相触的一刹那，音乐再次奏响。如果说之前是序曲的话，那现在就进入了主题乐章。所有人相聚此地，就是为了倾听这样的音乐，美妙的旋律弹拨着每一个人的脚步和指尖。
Josiah Worthington walked up the steps until he reached Mrs. Caraway, the Lady Mayoress. He extended his arm and said, loud enough that the whole square could hear him, “Gracious lady, this I pray: Join me in the Macabray.”
约西亚·沃辛顿走上台阶，来到女市长卡尔韦女士面前。他伸出手，用响亮到能让整个广场的人听见的声音说：“敬爱的女士，我诚邀您做我的舞伴，与我共舞亡灵之舞。”
They took hands, the living with the dead, and they began to dance. Bod saw Mother Slaughter dancing with the man in the turban, while the businessman was dancing with Louisa Bartleby. Mistress Owens smiled at Bod as she took the hand of the old newspaper seller, and Mr. Owens reached out and took the hand of a small girl, without condescension, and she took his hand as if she had been waiting to dance with him her whole life. Then Bod stopped looking because someone’s hand closed around his, and the dance began.
死人和活人牵起彼此的手，一同起舞。伯蒂看到屠杀之母在和那个缠着头巾的男人共舞，路易莎·巴特比在与那个商人共舞。欧文斯太太在执起年迈的卖报者的手时冲伯蒂笑了笑，而欧文斯先生则向一个小女孩伸出手，毫无居高临下之意，小女孩自然地握住了他的手，仿佛此生都在等待与他共舞一曲。伯蒂不再四下张望，因为有人牵住了他的手。亡灵舞正式开始。
Mrs. Caraway hesitated. She glanced up at the man beside her for guidance: he wore a robe and pajamas and slippers, and he had a white flower pinned to the lapel of his robe. He smiled and nodded to Mrs. Caraway. “Of course,” Mr. Caraway said.
卡尔韦女士有些迟疑，她望向身旁的丈夫。卡尔韦先生穿着睡袍和拖鞋，睡袍上别着一朵白花。他微笑着向卡尔韦女士点点头，说：“当然可以。”
“Step and turn, and walk and stay, Now we dance the Macabray.”
“踏步旋身复停驻，一起来跳亡灵舞。”
Then she sang, to the tune of the dance,
随后她合着舞曲的旋律唱起歌来：
He danced with Liza Hempstock, and then, when that measure ended, he found his hand taken by Fortinbras Bartleby, and he danced with Fortinbras, stepping past lines of dancers, lines that parted as they came through.
当音乐的这一小节结束后，福丁布拉斯·巴特比接过他的手，成了他的新舞伴。两人一同越过了一排又一排舞者，人群自然开合，一丝不紊。
Liza Hempstock grinned at him. “This is fine,” she said, as they began to tread the steps of the dance together.
丽萨冲他粲然一笑，两人踩着乐点迈开舞步。“真好。”丽萨说。
The music filled Bod’s head and chest with a fierce joy, and his feet moved as if they knew the steps already, had known them forever.
伯蒂的脑海中满是乐声，胸腔中满是狂喜。他的脚跟随音乐而动，仿佛早已知晓舞步。
Bod saw Abanazer Bolger dancing with Miss Borrows, his old former teacher. He saw the living dancing with the dead. And the one-on-one dances became long lines of people stepping together in unison, walking and kicking (La-la-la-oomp! La-la-la-oomp!) a line dance that had been ancient a thousand years before.
伯蒂看到，阿巴纳泽·博尔杰的舞伴是他曾经的老师伯萝丝小姐。一个活人对一个死人，执起彼此的手翩然起舞。随后，双人舞变为齐舞，一排排人一同踏步，走动，踢腿（啦，啦，啦，轰！啦，啦，啦，轰！）。这是一支传承千年的古老舞蹈。
She shrugged.
丽萨耸耸肩。
“Who’s making all this happen?”
“是谁让这一切发生的？”
Now he was in the line beside Liza Hempstock. He said, “Where does the music come from?”
伯蒂的身边正巧是丽萨，他便问：“音乐是从哪儿来的？”
Bod had never seen a real horse before, only in the pages of picture books, but the white horse that clopped down the street towards them was nothing like the horses he had imagined. It was bigger, by far, with a long, serious face. There was a woman riding on the horse’s bare back, wearing a long grey dress that hung and gleamed beneath the December moon like cobwebs in the dew.
伯蒂从未见过真正的马，他只在图画书中见过马长什么样，可伴随嗒嗒马蹄声沿路而来的灰马与他想象中的马全然不同。这匹马要大得多，马脸长而沉肃，光溜溜的马背上骑着一名女子。她身穿灰色长裙，垂坠的裙子在十二月的月光下闪闪发亮，如同沾着露珠的蛛网。
She reached the square, and the horse stopped, and the woman in grey slipped off it easily and stood on the earth, facing them all, the living and the dead of them.
到广场后，灰马停了下来。女子轻盈地滑下马背，站到地面上。她行了一个屈膝礼，面对所有人——活人和死人。
“It always happens,” she told him. “The living may not remember, but we always do…” And she broke off, excited. “Look!”
“这总会发生的。活人可能不记得，但我们记得…”丽萨话说到一半忽然兴奋地说，“瞧！”
She curtseyed.
她行屈膝礼。
“Now the Lady on the Grey Leads us in the Macabray,” sang Liza Hempstock, before the whirl of the dance took her off and away from Bod. They stomped to the music, and stepped and spun and kicked, and the lady danced with them, stepping and spinning and kicking with enthusiasm. Even the white horse swayed its head and stepped and shifted to the music.
“现在骑着灰马的女子要领舞了。”丽萨说。话音刚落，旋动的舞蹈便将她带离了伯蒂的身边。大家随着音乐跺脚，踏步，旋转，踢腿。女子与大家一起热烈地踏步，旋转，踢腿。连白马也跟随旋律摇头晃脑，踏动马蹄。
And, as one, they bowed or curtseyed in return, and the dance began anew.
所有人一同回以鞠躬或屈膝礼。舞蹈再次开始。
Everyone, thought Bod, everyone is dancing! He thought it, and as soon as he thought it he realized that he was mistaken. In the shadows by the Old Town Hall, a man was standing, dressed all in black. He was not dancing. He was watching them.
每个人，他心想，每个人都在跳舞！可他随即意识到自己错了。在老市政厅洒下的阴影中，一个男人站在那里，一身黑。他没有跳舞，只是静静地看着大家。
The dance sped up, and the dancers with it. Bod was breathless, but he could not imagine the dance ever stopping: the Macabray, the dance of the living and the dead, the dance with Death. Bod was smiling, and everyone was smiling.
舞曲的节奏逐渐加快，舞者的舞步也随之加速。伯蒂上气不接下气，可他无法想象这支舞会有终结的那一刻：亡灵舞，活人和死人的舞蹈，与死亡共舞。伯蒂在微笑，所有人都在微笑。
He caught sight of the lady in the grey dress from time to time, as he spun and stomped his way across the municipal gardens.
当随着音乐旋转踏步，游走于市政花园时，他时不时会看见那位灰裙女子。
Bod wondered if it was longing that he saw on Silas’s face, or sorrow, or something else, but his guardian’s face was unreadable.
伯蒂看不透赛拉斯脸上的表情，不知那是向往，是悲伤，还是别的情绪，可赛拉斯的表情永远叫人看不透。
He called out, “Silas!” hoping to make his guardian come to them, to join the dance, to have the fun they were having, but when he heard his name, Silas stepped back into the shadows and was lost to sight.
他大声喊：“赛拉斯！”想让他加入他们，一起来跳舞，共享这份欢欣喜悦。可当听到有人叫自己的名字时，赛拉斯却退入阴影，消失不见了。
“Last dance!” someone called, and the music skirled up into something stately and slow and final.
“最后一曲！”有人大喊。乐声陡然一转，变得庄重沉肃，进入终章。
“I promise.”
“说话算话。”
A clock somewhere began to strike the hour, and Bod counted along with it. Twelve chimes. He wondered if they had been dancing for twelve hours or twenty-four or for no time at all.
一座钟楼敲钟报时，伯蒂边听边数。十二声。他们到底是跳了十二个小时，还是二十四个小时，还是根本没有跳呢？他完全不知道。
“One day,” she told him, and her cobweb skirts shimmered. “One day. Everybody does.”
“有朝一日。”女子的蛛网裙闪闪发亮，“有朝一日，每个人都能骑上它。”
Each of the dancers took a partner, the living with the dead, each to each. Bod reached out his hand and found himself touching fingers with, and gazing into the grey eyes of, the lady in the cobweb dress.
每位舞者找到最后一位舞伴，活人和死人，一对一，面对面。伯蒂伸出手，发现手指所触、目光所及之人是那位身着蛛网般的灰裙的女子。
She smiled at him. “Hello, Bod,” she said.
女子冲他温柔一笑：“你好，伯蒂。”
“He is gentle enough to bear the mightiest of you away on his broad back, and strong enough for the smallest of you as well.”
“它非常温和，温和到能用宽阔的背载起最威猛狂傲的你；它又非常强大，强大到能载起最低微渺小的你。”
“I love your horse. He’s so big! I never knew horses could be that big.”
“我喜欢你的马，它好高大啊！我从没见过这么大的马。”
“Promise?”
“说话算话？”
“Names aren’t really important,” she said.
“名字没有那么重要。”
“Hello,” he said, as he danced with her. “I don’t know your name.”
“你好。”伯蒂与她跳起舞来，“我还不知道你的名字。”
And with that, the dance was done. Bod bowed low to his dancing partner, and then, and only then, did he feel exhausted, feel as if he had been dancing for hour after hour. He could feel all his muscles aching and protesting. He was out of breath.
约定立下，舞蹈落幕。伯蒂向女子深深鞠了一躬。下一刻，独独这一刻，他感到浑身的力气被瞬间抽空，仿佛他已一刻不停地跳了好几个小时，胸闷气短，全身的肌肉都在酸疼，以示抗议。
“Can I ride him?” asked Bod.
“我可以骑它吗？”
When Mistress Owens got up, Bod said, “That was amazing last night!”
当欧文斯太太起床时，伯蒂说：“昨晚真是让我大开眼界！”
Bod woke the next afternoon in the Owenses’ tomb feeling like he knew a huge secret, that he had done something important, and was burning to talk about it.
第二天下午，伯蒂在欧文斯夫妇的坟墓里醒来，感觉自己知道了一个惊天大秘密，还干了一些了不得的事。他迫不及待地想说出来。
He straightened up, and looked around him. The dead had gone, and the Lady on the Grey. Only the living remained, and they were beginning to make their way home — leaving the town square sleepily, stiffly, like people who had awakened from a deep sleep, walking without truly waking.
他站起身，四下张望。死人已经离开，灰裙女子也已离开，广场上只剩下活人。他们纷纷动身回家——迷迷糊糊，步态僵直，如同刚从深沉的睡眠中醒来，还未完全清醒。
“Did we indeed?” said Mistress Owens, with a snort. “Dancing is it? And you know you aren’t allowed down into the town.”
“真的吗？”欧文斯太太轻声一哼，“跳舞了？你知道的，你不能离开这里去镇上。”
The town square was covered with tiny white flowers. It looked as if there had been a wedding.
广场上覆满了小白花，仿佛刚举办了一场婚礼。
Mistress Owens said, “Oh yes?”
欧文斯太太说：“哦，是吗？”
Bod knew better than even to try to talk to his mother when she was in this kind of mood. He slipped out of the tomb into the gathering dusk.
伯蒂知道当欧文斯太太处在这种心情状态时，还是不和她说话为妙。他识趣地溜出坟墓，来到渐渐暗沉的黄昏中。
He walked up the hill, to the black obelisk, and Josiah Worthington’s stone, where there was a natural amphitheater, and he could look out at the Old Town and at the lights of the city around it.
他走上山坡，向着那个黑色方尖碑，向着约西亚·沃辛顿的墓碑，向着那个天然的环形剧场。在那里，他能将老城区和环绕老城区的城市灯火尽收眼底。
“We danced,” said Bod. “All of us. Down in the Old Town.”
“我们跳舞了！所有人都跳了，就在老城区。”
Josiah Worthington was standing beside him.
约西亚·沃辛顿站在他的身边。
Bod said, “You began the dance. With the Mayor. You danced with her.”
伯蒂说：“是你领的舞，和那位女市长，你和她一起跳舞了。”
“But I’m one of you.”
“可我是你们的一分子啊。”
Josiah Worthington looked at him and said nothing.
约西亚·沃辛顿看向伯蒂，一言不发。
“You did,” said Bod.
“你的确和她跳舞了。”伯蒂说。
“Not yet, boy. Not for a lifetime.”
“现在还不是，孩子，在有生之年，你不是我们的一分子。”
And Bod realized why he had danced as one of the living, and not as one of the crew that had walked down the hill, and he said only, “I see… I think.”
伯蒂这才意识到，他是作为活人参与了这场集体舞，而不是从山上走下来的那群人中的一员。“我想…我明白了。”
Josiah Worthington said, “The dead and the living do not mingle, boy. We are no longer part of their world; they are no part of ours. If it happened that we danced the danse macabre with them, the dance of death, then we would not speak of it, and we certainly would not to speak of it to the living.”
约西亚·沃辛顿说：“孩子，死人和活人没有交集。我们不再属于他们的世界，他们也不属于我们的世界。如果我们与他们跳了亡灵舞——死亡之舞，我们就再也不会说起这件事，对活人就更不会提了。”
He went down the hill at a run, a ten-year-old boy in a hurry, going so fast he almost tripped over Digby Poole (1785-1860, As I Am So Shall You Be), righting himself by effort of will, and charged down to the old chapel, scared he would miss Silas, that his guardian would already be gone by the time Bod got there.
他，一个十岁男孩，一路匆匆小跑下山。他跑得太急，差点被迪格比·普尔（1785—1860，我如此，你必如此）的墓碑绊倒。他努力稳住身子，冲向老教堂，生怕错过与赛拉斯的会面，担心赛拉斯在他赶到前就走了。
Bod sat down on the bench.
伯蒂坐在长凳上。
“Yes,” said Silas.
“没错。”
“But you’re speaking about it right now. We’re talking about the Macabray.”
“可你不正在说这件事吗？我们正在谈论亡灵舞啊。”
“You were there last night,” said Bod. “Don’t try and say you weren’t there or something because I know you were.”
“你昨晚来了。”伯蒂说，“别说你没来，我看到你了。”
“You saw it! You watched us! The living and the dead! We were dancing. Why won’t anyone talk about it?”
“你看到了！你看到我们俩了！活人和死人在一同跳舞！可为什么没人谈论这件事呢？”
“Did you?”
“真的？”
“I danced with the lady, Silas!” exclaimed Bod. His guardian looked almost heartbroken then, and Bod found himself scared, like a child who has woken a sleeping panther.
“我和那位女士跳舞了，赛拉斯！”伯蒂大声说。看着赛拉斯深沉的样子，伯蒂忽然害怕了，如同一个孩子惊醒了睡觉的黑豹。
Silas said only, “I don’t know what I saw.”
“我不知道自己看到了什么。”
Bod might have said something — there were a hundred things he wanted to say, unwise though it might have been to say them — when something distracted his attention: a rustling noise, soft and gentle, and a cold feather-touch as something brushed his face.
伯蒂还有事想说，他肚子里有一百件事想说，可说出来不见得是明智的选择。思来想去之时，一个声音吸引了他的注意：沙沙沙，柔软温和。有什么东西拂过他的脸颊，冰冰凉的，就像羽毛一样。
“I have not danced it,” said Silas.
“我没有跳舞。”赛拉斯说。
“Because there are mysteries. Because there are things that people are forbidden to speak about. Because there are things they do not remember.”
“因为有些事是秘辛，因为有些事是人们谈论的禁忌，因为有些事他们不记得了。”
“I danced with her. With the lady on the white horse.”
“我和那位骑着灰马的女士跳舞了。”
“You saw it, though.”
“可你看到了啊。”
There was a movement beside him, although he heard nothing move, and his guardian said, “Good evening, Bod.”
身边的空气无声地波动了一下，赛拉斯的声音响了起来：“晚上好，伯蒂。”
But all Silas said was, “This conversation is at an end.”
“这次谈话到此为止。”赛拉斯说。
All thoughts of dancing were forgotten then, and his fear was replaced with delight and with awe.
一切关于舞蹈的思绪随之淡忘，恐惧之情被喜悦和敬畏所替代。
It was the third time in his life that he had seen it. “Look, Silas, it’s snowing!” he said, joy filling his chest and his head, leaving no room for anything else. “It’s really snow!”
这是他一生中第三次见到雪。“看，赛拉斯，下雪了！”他欢呼道，胸怀和脑海中满满的都是喜悦，再也容不下别的东西，“真的下雪了！”
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