The train was old and green, and it stopped at every station, even the ones with no name on the sign. Xiaozhou pressed her forehead to the window and watched fields turn into hills and hills turn back into fields. Her mother slept with a scarf over her face. The afternoon stretched out long and slow.
火车又旧又绿，每一站都停，连站牌上没有名字的小站也停。小舟把额头贴在车窗上，看田野变成山，山又变回田野。妈妈用围巾遮着脸睡着了。午后被拉得很长，很慢。
Across the aisle sat an old man with a canvas bag and a hat that had lost its shape. He was folding paper: a crane, then a boat, then something with wings that did not look like any bird Xiaozhou knew. He set each one on the empty seat beside him. 'For the journey,' he said, when he caught her watching. 'A train should never arrive empty-handed.'
过道对面坐着一位老人，带着帆布包和一顶走了形的帽子。他在折纸：一只鹤，然后是一只船，接着是一个有翅膀、却不像小舟认识的任何鸟的东西。他把它们一个个排在旁边的空座上。“为这趟旅程，”他发觉她在看，便说，“火车到站时不该空着手。”
The old man asked where she was going, and Xiaozhou told him about her cousin's wedding and the dress she had been saving for. He nodded as if this were the most important news he had heard all year. Then he told her about a winter on a fishing boat, when the harbor froze and the nights were very long.
老人问她去哪里，小舟就讲起表姐的婚礼，还有她一直留着的那条裙子。他点着头，好像这是他一年里听到的最重要的消息。然后他讲起在渔船上过的那个冬天，港口结了冰，夜很长很长。
'Was it lonely?' Xiaozhou asked. The old man smoothed the wings of a paper bird. 'Sometimes,' he said. 'A friend taught me to fold paper so the nights would pass faster. He moved south years ago, and we write twice a year. A letter is a slow thing, but it arrives.' He handed her the bird. 'Keep this.'
“那你不孤单吗？”小舟问。老人抚平一只纸鸟的翅膀。“有时候会，”他说。“有位朋友教我折纸，好让夜晚过得快些。他很多年前搬去了南方，我们一年写两次信。信是很慢的东西，但它总会到。”他把鸟递给她。“留着吧。”
When the train slowed for her stop, Xiaozhou gathered her bag and the paper bird. The old man stood to help her down, though the aisle was narrow and he had to hold the seat for balance. 'Thank you,' she said. 'For the bird. And the stories.' He touched the brim of his shapeless hat and sat down again among his paper animals.
火车为她的站减速时，小舟收拾好包和那只纸鸟。老人站起来要帮她下车，虽然过道很窄，他得扶着座椅才站稳。“谢谢您，”她说，“为了这只鸟，也为了那些故事。”他碰了碰那顶走了形的帽子的帽檐，又在他的纸动物中间坐下。
On the platform, Xiaozhou opened her notebook to write the date and found a line in careful pencil that she had not written herself: 'The slow road teaches the longest lessons.' She looked back at the green train, but the windows were bright with sunset and she could not tell which one was his. Her mother took her hand.
站台上，小舟打开本子想写日期，却发现一行不是她写的、用铅笔写得工工整整的字：“慢的路，教人最长的道理。”她回头望向那列绿皮火车，可车窗映着夕阳，她分不清哪一扇后面是他。妈妈牵起她的手。