Every year the village held a festival on summer's last night. Lantern boats were set on the water, the band played on the pier, and Nia's grandfather sold grilled corn from a cart. This year the storm arrived early. The generator failed, the string lights went dark, and the band packed up. People stood on the sand with their phones glowing like unhappy stars.
每年夏天最后一晚，村子都会举办节日。灯笼船被放到水面上，乐队在码头上演奏，妮娅的爷爷推着车卖烤玉米。今年暴风雨来得早。发电机坏了，彩灯灭了，乐队也收起了乐器。人们站在沙滩上，手机发出微光，像一片不太开心的星星。
Her grandfather did not pack up. He lit two oil lamps and set them on the cart, then handed Nia a bucket. “Come,” he said. “The sea is not waiting for electricity.” They walked to the water's edge, where the waves broke without light. Nia heard the festival behind her going quiet, one voice at a time, and she felt embarrassed for the bucket.
爷爷没有收摊。他点起两盏油灯放在车上，然后递给妮娅一个水桶。“来吧，”他说，“大海可不会等电来。”他们走到水边，浪在黑暗里拍打。妮娅听见身后的节日一点点安静下来，一个声音接一个声音地消失，她为自己手里的水桶感到难为情。
At first she saw nothing. Then her grandfather stirred the water with his hand, and a thin blue line appeared, bright as a struck match, and faded. He stirred again. The line came back, wider, and spread into a cloud of tiny lights that drifted and sank. Nia gasped and stepped back. “What is it?” she whispered. “Something small,” he said.
起初她什么也看不见。然后爷爷用手搅动海水，一条细细的蓝线出现了，亮得像划着的火柴，又暗了下去。他又搅了一下。蓝线回来了，更宽了，散成一小团漂动、下沉的微光。妮娅倒吸一口气，往后退了一步。“那是什么？”她小声问。“很小的东西，”他说。
She knelt and touched the water, and the blue light ran around her fingers. The waves began to glow where they broke, a pale, steady shimmer along the whole curve of the bay. Nia looked up. The people on the sand had stopped talking. Someone walked toward the water, then someone else, and soon the shore was full of quiet figures watching the sea.
她跪下来，把手伸进水里，蓝光绕着她的手指流动。浪花拍过的地方开始发光，沿着整个海湾的弧线，铺开一层淡淡的、稳定的微光。妮娅抬起头。沙滩上的人不再说话了。有人朝水边走来，接着又有人，很快岸边站满了安静的人影，看着大海。
The band came back with a drum, then a fiddle. Someone found paper lanterns in the boathouse and passed them out. Nia's grandfather lit the lamps again, and people queued for corn. “You knew,” she said. “You knew about the water.” He shook his head. “I hoped. My mother hoped. Some nights it happens. That is why we come down to look.”
乐队回来了，先是一面鼓，然后是一把小提琴。有人从船库里找出一箱纸灯笼，分给大家。妮娅的爷爷又点亮了灯，这一次人们排起了队买玉米。“你早就知道，”她说，“你知道水会这样。”他摇了摇头。“我是希望。我母亲也这样希望。有些夜晚会发生，所以我们才要下来看看。”
Nia set a lantern on the water and pushed it away. It floated out among the blue lights and became one more glow. She stood in the cold water until the drumming ended and the beach emptied. On the walk home, her grandfather gave her the bucket. “Next year,” he said, “you carry the lamps.” She carried it as if it were full.
妮娅把一盏灯笼放到水面上，轻轻推出去。它漂进蓝色的光里，变成又一点亮光。她站在冰凉的水里，直到鼓声停下、沙滩空了。走回家的路上，爷爷把水桶递给她。“明年，”他说，“你来提灯。”她小心地提着水桶，好像里面装满了东西。