渡轮靠岸时，Clay 看见码头上正在举行一场葬礼。
As the ferry drew alongside, Clay saw a funeral taking place on the pier.
他原本打算等人群散了再下船。Miso 却已经闻到什么，猛地拽紧牵绳，把他拖过铺着海藻的踏板。他只好一手提旅行包，一手护住怀里的纸袋，侧着身体挤过舷梯。
He had meant to wait until the crowd dispersed before going ashore. But Miso had already caught a scent. The dog pulled the leash taut and dragged him across the seaweed-strewn gangplank. With his travel bag in one hand and a paper bag held against his chest, Clay had to squeeze sideways down the gangway.
“慢一点。这是我们最后两个面包。”
“Slow down. These are our last two rolls.”
狗没有听。
The dog paid no attention.
码头尽头站着十来个人，黑衣服被海风吹得鼓起来。棺材很小，漆成一种难看的蓝色。Clay 认得那种漆。以前灯塔的维修预算只够买它，镇上的长椅、信箱和他的厨房门，因此全是同一种颜色。
A dozen or so people stood at the far end of the pier, their black clothes billowing in the sea wind. The coffin was small, painted an ugly blue. Clay knew that paint. It had once been all the lighthouse maintenance budget could afford, which was why the town's benches, mailboxes, and his kitchen door were all the same color.
七年了，居然还没用完。
Seven years, and they still hadn't used it up.
他把旅行包放在系船柱旁，准备从送葬的人身后绕过去。一个戴着黑纱的女人回头看了看他。她的目光停了一瞬，似乎要开口，最后只往旁边挪出半步。
He set his bag beside a bollard and started around the back of the mourners. A woman in a black veil glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes lingered on him; she seemed about to speak. In the end, she merely moved half a step aside.
有人在念悼词。
Someone was reading a eulogy.
“他是一个可靠的人。”
“He was a reliable man.”
Clay 停了一下。
Clay paused.
“有时不太准时，但总体而言，可靠。”
“Not always punctual, but reliable on the whole.”
他继续往前走。
He walked on.
“他修好了西岸的雾钟。尽管修好以后，那口钟每天都会早响十一分钟。”
“He repaired the fog bell on the west shore. Though afterward it rang eleven minutes early every day.”
Clay 站住了。
Clay stopped.
“那是潮汐表的问题。”他说。
“That was the tide table,” he said.
念悼词的鸭嘴兽抬起头。
The platypus reading the eulogy looked up.
人群安静下来。Miso 趁机钻到供桌下面，叼走了半块黄油饼干。Clay 下意识收紧牵绳，却没有把它拉出来。
The crowd fell silent. Miso took the opportunity to slip under the table of offerings and steal half a butter biscuit. Clay tightened the leash without thinking, but did not pull him out.
他看清了棺材旁边的照片。
He could now see the photograph beside the coffin.
照片里的他比现在年轻，穿着旧工作服，左边袖口烧了一个洞。拍照那天太阳刺眼，他要求再拍一次。负责拍照的人说胶卷不够了。
In it, he was younger, wearing his old work coat with a hole burned through the left cuff. The sun had been in his eyes that day. He had asked for another picture, but the person holding the camera had said there wasn't enough film.
他们竟然留了这张。
They had actually kept that one.
“我想，”Clay 说，“你们弄错了。”
“I think,” Clay said, “you've made a mistake.”
鸭嘴兽看看照片，又看看他，把悼词折好，放进胸前的口袋。他戴着一副细框眼镜，镜腿修补处缠着红线。
The platypus looked from the photograph to him, folded the eulogy, and put it in his breast pocket. He wore thin-framed glasses, one repaired arm bound with red thread.
Clay 认得那根线。眼镜是他修的。
Clay recognized the thread. He had repaired those glasses.
“你收到信了。”鸭嘴兽说。
“You got the letter,” the platypus said.
“你们把谁放进去了？”
“Who have you put in there?”
Clay 指着棺材。
Clay pointed at the coffin.
没人回答。戴黑纱的女人往后退了半步，鞋跟碰倒一只盛花的玻璃瓶。水慢慢淌进木板缝里，她低头看着，没去扶。
No one answered. The woman in the black veil stepped back, knocking over a glass jar of flowers with her heel. Water seeped into the gaps between the planks. She watched it without picking up the jar.
Clay 把纸袋放到供桌上，伸手推棺盖。盖子没有钉死，下面垫着一块麻布。鸭嘴兽过来帮他托住另一端。
Clay put the paper bag on the table and reached for the lid. It had not been nailed down; a piece of sacking lay beneath it. The platypus came over to help him lift the other end.
里面是一件叠好的工作服。
Inside lay a folded work coat.
左边袖口有一个洞。
There was a hole in the left cuff.
Clay 碰了碰衣领。衣服洗过，硬得像纸，口袋里还插着他以前用的那支短铅笔。他离镇时翻过整个工具间都没找到。
Clay touched the collar. The coat had been washed stiff as paper. His old stub of a pencil was still in the pocket. Before leaving town, he had searched the entire workshop for it.
“你们可以写信问我要一件。”他说。
“You could have written and asked me for a coat,” he said.
说完他才意识到，这句话听上去不太对。
Only after saying it did he realize how strange it sounded.
鸭嘴兽扶着棺盖，没催他。
The platypus held the lid and let him take his time.
“上个月我们念过一次名单。那时候还有二十三个人说得出你做过什么。今天来了十二个。”
“We read through a list last month. There were still twenty-three people who could say what you'd done. Twelve came today.”
“这不是理由。”
“That's no reason.”
“不是。”鸭嘴兽说，“但目前它有一点用。”
“No,” said the platypus. “But for now, it does help a little.”
“什么有用？”
“What helps?”
“大家站在一起，说同一个人的事。”
“People standing together, talking about the same person.”
戴黑纱的女人突然抬起头。
The woman in the black veil suddenly looked up.
“屋顶。”她说。
“The roof,” she said.
Clay 看向她。
Clay turned to her.
“我家的屋顶。有个地方，台风一来就……”她用两只手比了一个角，手指停在半空，脸色渐渐涨红，“对不起。我刚才明明知道。”
“My roof. There was a place where, whenever a typhoon came…” She made an angle with her hands, then held them motionless in the air. Her face slowly reddened. “I'm sorry. I knew a moment ago.”
Clay 认出了她。东坡的艾达，屋里养了三只猫，总说只是暂时收留。他修过她家的烟囱，爬下来时后衣领塞满了煤灰。
Clay recognized her. Ada, from the east slope. She kept three cats and always insisted they were only staying temporarily. He had repaired her chimney and climbed down with the back of his collar full of soot.
他本想替她说出来。可她看着他的眼神，和看着一个愿意帮忙的陌生人没有区别。
He wanted to finish for her. But she was looking at him exactly as she would at a stranger willing to help.
“没关系。”他说。
“It's all right,” he said.
女人点点头，终于弯腰扶起了瓶子。
She nodded, then finally bent to pick up the jar.
身后传来渡轮收踏板的铁链声。Clay 回头，船员正在解开靠近船尾的那根缆绳。船长隔着舷窗冲他举了举手，指向挂钟，提醒他中午返航。
Behind him came the rattle of the ferry's gangplank chains. Clay turned. A crewman was untying the line near the stern. Through the wheelhouse window, the captain raised a hand and pointed at the clock, reminding him of the noon return trip.
Clay 也举起手。他买的是当天往返的票。
Clay raised his hand too. He had bought a same-day return.
他原以为一上午足够：上岸，找出寄信的人，确认是不是哪位老朋友的恶作剧，再吃一碗热的东西。信封没有寄件地址，他只认得邮戳上那座歪斜的灯塔。
He had thought a morning would be enough: come ashore, find out who had sent the letter, establish whether an old friend was playing a joke, and eat a bowl of something hot. There had been no return address. All he recognized was the crooked lighthouse on the postmark.
他从大衣里掏出信。
He took the letter from his coat.
海水浸软了折痕。为了防止纸碎掉，他在渡轮上用面包袋里多余的油纸包了两层。
Seawater had softened its folds. On the ferry, he had wrapped it in two spare layers of greaseproof paper from the bread bag to keep it from falling apart.
信上只有一句话：
There was only one line:
请在星期四以前回来。我们不知道还能记住你多久。
Please come back before Thursday. We don't know how much longer we can remember you.
鸭嘴兽接过信，只碰着纸边。他读得很慢，拇指无意识地抚摸眼镜上的红线。
The platypus took the letter by its edges. He read slowly, his thumb absently rubbing the red thread on his glasses.
“今天是星期三。”Clay 说。
“Today's Wednesday,” Clay said.
“在船上是。”
“On the boat, it is.”
Clay 盯着他。
Clay stared at him.
“镇上呢？”
“And in town?”
鸭嘴兽抬起手腕。表带上贴着一小条纸，写着星期四。纸的一角翘了起来。
The platypus raised his wrist. A narrow strip of paper was stuck to his watch strap. It said Thursday. One corner had begun to curl.
“为什么要贴这个？”
“Why do you need that?”
鸭嘴兽还没回答，Miso 从桌下钻了出来。
Before the platypus could answer, Miso emerged from under the table.
它没有吃掉饼干，只把饼干含在嘴里，耳朵向前竖着。Clay 顺着它的方向望过去，看见码头边缘的水正在向下缩。不是退潮。水面像一块被人从底下按住的玻璃，四周仍平，中间缓缓凹了下去。
He had not eaten the biscuit. He held it in his mouth, ears pricked forward. Clay followed his gaze and saw the water beside the pier sinking inward. It was not the tide going out. The surface was like a sheet of glass being pressed from underneath: flat at the edges, slowly hollowing in the middle.
船长在敲窗。
The captain was banging on the window.
Clay 看见他的嘴动了。没有声音。
Clay saw his mouth move. There was no sound.
他跨过系船柱，伸手去够最近的缆绳。绳子突然松了，擦过他的指尖，啪地甩在木板上。
He stepped over the bollard and reached for the nearest line. It went slack, grazed his fingertips, and slapped onto the planks.
那声闷响来得太迟。
The dull sound arrived too late.
渡轮不见了。
The ferry was gone.
没有向前驶走，也没有下沉。船长刚才站着的地方，剩下一片灰绿色的水。两根缆绳垂进海里，绳头缓慢旋转，波纹只到系船柱下面，再远一些就消失了。
It had neither sailed away nor sunk. Where the captain had stood was a patch of gray-green water. Two mooring lines trailed into the sea, their loose ends slowly turning. The ripples reached the foot of the bollard and vanished just beyond it.
Clay 跪下抓住绳子，向上拉了两把。
Clay dropped to his knees, seized a rope, and hauled twice.
没有重量。
There was no weight on it.
“船上还有人。”他说。
“There are people on that boat,” he said.
鸭嘴兽把信折回油纸里，蹲到他身旁。
The platypus folded the letter into its greaseproof paper and crouched beside him.
“我看见了。”
“I saw.”
Clay 又拉了一把。麻绳在掌心磨出一条红痕。海面离他只有一臂，却让他想起没有点灯的井。
Clay pulled again. The hemp scored a red line across his palm. The sea was only an arm's length away, yet it made him think of an unlit well.
“以前发生过吗？”
“Has this happened before?”
“后街断过。船是第一次。”
“The back street broke away. Never a boat.”
“他们去哪儿了？”
“Where did they go?”
鸭嘴兽没有回答。
The platypus did not answer.
Clay 转头看他，第一次发现那副细框眼镜下面的眼睛在发抖。
Clay turned toward him and noticed, for the first time, that the eyes behind those thin-framed glasses were trembling.
Miso 嘴里的饼干掉在木板上。
The biscuit fell from Miso's mouth onto the boards.
远处，灯塔亮了。
In the distance, the lighthouse came on.
光束越过海面，扫过码头。花瓶投下的影子掠过 Clay 的手，棺盖上积着的灰尘亮了片刻。随后光不再转动。
Its beam crossed the water and swept the pier. The flower jar's shadow slid over Clay's hand; dust on the coffin lid shone for an instant. Then the light stopped turning.
它停在 Clay 身上。
It rested on Clay.
他站起来，光也随着他的身体抬高了一点。
He stood, and the beam rose a little with him.
码头上的人陆续转向他。刚才认不出他的女人抬手遮住眼睛，朝棺材旁的照片看了一眼。
One by one, the people on the pier turned toward him. The woman who had failed to recognize him raised a hand against the glare and glanced at the photograph beside the coffin.
主灯的转动机构没有这样的功能。Clay 给它上过十七年的油，换过两次轴承。无论海上有没有船，它都会转完一整圈。
The main light's turning mechanism could not do this. Clay had oiled it for seventeen years and replaced its bearings twice. Whether or not there was a ship at sea, it always completed its circle.
鸭嘴兽拾起掉在地上的饼干，放回供桌。
The platypus picked up the fallen biscuit and put it back on the table.
“先离开码头。”他说。
“Let's get off the pier first,” he said.
Clay 没动。
Clay did not move.
他看着高处的灯室，试着向左走了一步。
Looking up at the lantern room, he tried one step to the left.
光跟了过来。
The light followed.