The old locust tree had fallen in the summer storm, and now its stump sat in the yard like a low table. Ahe's grandmother put a cup of tea on it and said nothing for a long while. Ahe traced the rings with one finger. They ran outward in uneven circles, some wide, some narrow, some so close they looked like one dark line.
那棵老槐树在夏天的暴风雨里倒了，如今树桩像一张矮桌立在院子中央。阿禾的奶奶把一杯茶放在上面，很久没有说话。阿禾用手指描着年轮。它们一圈圈向外，粗细不一，有的宽，有的窄，有的紧挨在一起，看上去像一条黑线。
'Each ring is a year,' Grandma said at last. 'The wide ones were good years, with rain and long summers. The narrow ones were years when the tree had to be patient.' Ahe counted forty-one rings before he lost his place. He started again, pressing a fingernail into the wood, greeting each year by name.
“每一圈都是一年，”奶奶终于说。“宽的是好年，有雨水和长长的夏天。窄的那些年，树只能耐心等着。”阿禾数到四十一圈就乱了。他重新开始，用指甲按进木头里，这次数得很慢，好像在一年一年地打招呼。
Near the edge, Ahe found a ring so thin that his fingernail could almost cover it. Grandma leaned closer and was quiet. 'That was the year your great-grandfather walked north to find work,' she said. 'He sent one letter, and then nothing for eleven months. Your great-grandmother kept the lamp lit in the window.'
靠近边缘的地方，阿禾发现一圈很细的年轮，指甲几乎能盖住它。奶奶凑近看了看，沉默不语。“那一年，你太爷爷往北边去找活干，”她说。“他寄过一封信，之后十一个月没有消息。你太奶奶一直让窗前的灯亮着。”
Ahe looked at the thin ring and then at the wide one beside it. 'And this one?' he asked. 'That was the year he came home,' Grandma said. 'It rained for a week, the wells filled, and your grandfather was born in the autumn.' Ahe put his hand flat on the stump. The wood was warm, and the yard felt crowded with people he had never met.
阿禾看看那圈细纹，又看看旁边那圈宽的。“那这一圈呢？”他问。“那是他回来的那年，”奶奶说。“雨下了一个星期，井都满了，你爷爷在秋天出生。”阿禾把手平放在树桩上。木头被太阳晒得温暖，院子里仿佛挤满了他从未见过的人。
In October the family planted a young locust tree a few steps from the stump. Ahe dug the hole, and Grandma held the trunk straight while his father filled it in. They watered it from a bucket, and Ahe tied a strip of red cloth to a low branch. 'It will be small for a long time,' his father warned. 'Good,' said Grandma. 'We have time.'
十月，一家人在离树桩几步远的地方种下一棵小槐树。阿禾挖坑，奶奶扶直树干，爸爸填土。他们用桶浇水，阿禾在低低的枝条上系了一条红布，好记住它站在哪里。“它会小很久，”爸爸提醒说。“很好，”奶奶说，“我们有时间。”
That evening Ahe brought paper and a pencil to the stump. He drew the rings as carefully as he could, labeling the thin year and the year of rain. Then he folded the paper into the family book, beside the photograph of the man who had walked north. In the dark garden, the new tree was already beginning its first ring.
那天傍晚，阿禾带着纸和铅笔来到树桩旁。他尽力仔细地画出那些年轮，标出细细的那一年和多雨的那一年。然后他把纸折好，夹进家庭相册，放在那位往北走的男人的照片旁边。昏暗的花园里，小树已经开始长它的第一圈了。