The notice on the community board said: SWAP MARKET, SATURDAY, NO MONEY ALLOWED. Shi Tou read it three times and thought of the telescope in the secondhand shop. He had wanted it for a year. At home he emptied his drawers and made a pile: a skateboard, four comic books, a torch that flickered, and a chess set missing one knight.
社区公告栏上写着：交换集市，星期六，不许用钱。石头读了三遍，想起二手店橱窗里的那架望远镜。他想要它已经一年了。回家后他把抽屉清空，堆出一堆东西：一块滑板、四本漫画、一只手电筒，还有一副少了一个马的象棋。
His mother added a box of jars and a scarf she had knitted twice. 'You cannot swap for something you only want,' she said. 'You have to bring something someone else needs.' Shi Tou thought this was unfair but carried everything to the square. By nine o'clock the tables were full, and the air smelled of bread and rain.
妈妈又添了一箱玻璃罐和一条她织了两遍的围巾。“你不能只拿自己想要的东西去换，”她说，“你得带别人需要的东西。”石头觉得这不公平，还是把东西搬到了广场。九点时，桌子都摆满了，空气里有面包和雨的味道。
The telescope was there, on a blanket beside a man with a grey beard. Shi Tou offered the skateboard. The man shook his head. He wanted a working radio, or good boots, or someone to fix the broken lens cap. Shi Tou had none of those. He traded the comics for a plant, then the plant for oranges, and felt himself drifting further away.
望远镜就在那里，摆在一个灰胡子男人的毯子上。石头递上滑板。男人摇摇头。他想要一台能用的收音机，或者一双好靴子，或者有人能修好裂了的镜头盖。这些石头都没有。他用漫画换了一盆植物，又用植物换了一袋橘子，觉得自己离目标越来越远。
Near noon he sat on the steps, discouraged. An old woman stopped in front of his chess set. 'One knight missing,' she said. 'My husband played chess. He died in March, and I cannot bear to look at his board.' Shi Tou did not know what to say. He gave her the pieces and refused the oranges she offered.
快到中午时，他沮丧地坐在台阶上。一位老奶奶在他的象棋前停下。“少了一个马，”她说。“我丈夫爱下棋。他三月走了，我一直不敢看他的棋盘。”石头不知道该说什么。他把棋子给了她，也没要她递过来的橘子。
The woman came back an hour later with a small wooden box. Inside were chess pieces, old and heavy, with a knight carved so finely that Shi Tou could see the horse's ears. 'Take them,' she said. 'They should be played with.' He tried to refuse. She closed his fingers around the box and walked away before he could argue.
一小时后，老奶奶回来了，拿着一个小木盒。里面是一副旧棋子，沉甸甸的，那只马雕得很细，石头连马耳朵都看得清。“拿去吧，”她说，“棋子就该有人下。”他想推辞。她把盒子按在他手里，没等他争辩就走开了。
He never got the telescope. But when the market closed, the man with the grey beard came over and asked whether Shi Tou would like to look through it anyway, on clear nights, from the roof of the community center. Shi Tou said yes. Walking home with the chess box under his arm, he decided his mother had been right, though not in the way she meant.
他始终没换到望远镜。可集市散场时，那个灰胡子男人走过来，问石头愿不愿意在晴朗的夜里，到社区中心的屋顶上用那架望远镜看一看。石头说愿意。他夹着棋盒往家走，觉得妈妈说得对，虽然并不是她原本的意思。