Every summer morning, An'an walked to the beach before breakfast. The sand was cool and smooth, and the sea breathed slowly, like a sleeping animal. One morning she noticed a tiny crab near the boardwalk. It carried a pale shell on its back and moved sideways with great dignity, as if it owned the whole shore.
每个夏天的早晨，安安都会在早饭前走到海边。沙子又凉又细，大海慢慢地呼吸着，像一只熟睡的动物。一天早上，她注意到木栈桥附近有一只很小的螃蟹。它背着一个浅色的壳，非常庄重地横着走，仿佛整个海滩都是它的。
An'an crouched down and watched. When she moved too close, the crab froze, then vanished into a hole. She waited, and after a long moment one thin leg appeared, then another. “You are shy,” she whispered. She decided to bring no net and no bucket, only her eyes and her patience.
安安蹲下来看着它。当她靠得太近时，螃蟹一动不动，接着就消失在洞里。她等着，过了好一会儿，一条细腿探了出来，然后又是一条。“你真害羞。”她轻声说。她决定不带网，也不带桶，只带上自己的眼睛和耐心。
That night a storm crossed the bay. Rain drummed on the roof, and the sea rose until it touched the boardwalk. An'an thought of the crab and could not sleep. At dawn she ran outside. The beach looked rearranged: seaweed lay in dark ribbons, and the little hole was gone.
那天夜里，一场风暴掠过了海湾。雨点敲打着屋顶，海水涨上来，一直漫到木栈桥边。安安想着那只螃蟹，怎么也睡不着。天一亮，她就跑了出去。海滩像被重新布置过：海草像深色的带子铺在地上，那个小洞不见了。
She searched until her pockets were full of wet sand. Then her grandfather called her back. “Crabs are clever,” he said. “When the water climbs, they walk to higher ground and wait.” An'an stopped digging. She sat on the steps instead, hands still, and let the shore tell her what had happened.
她一直找到口袋里装满了湿沙子。这时，爷爷把她叫了回来。“螃蟹很聪明，”他说，“水涨上来的时候，它们会走到高处去等。”安安不再挖了。她坐到台阶上，双手安静地放着，让海滩自己告诉她发生了什么。
Three mornings later, something tapped against a stone near her feet. The crab was back, wearing a larger shell with a spiral on its back. Behind it came a second crab, smaller and brighter, like a follower on a parade route. An'an laughed out loud.
三天后的早晨，她脚边的一块石头被什么东西轻轻敲了一下。那只螃蟹回来了，背着一个更大的壳，壳上有一圈螺旋。它身后还跟着另一只螃蟹，更小，颜色更亮，像游行队伍里的跟随者。安安笑出了声。
She drew a wide line in the sand with her heel to keep careless feet away, then left without touching them. From the boardwalk she watched the two crabs test the morning air. The sea had taken a door away, and the crabs had simply built another. Her patience, she understood, had been a kind of shelter too.
她用脚跟在意在沙子上划出一道宽宽的线，让粗心的人别踩过来，然后没有碰它们就离开了。她从木栈桥上看着两只螃蟹试探清晨的空气。大海拿走了一扇门，螃蟹就自己又造了一扇。她明白了，自己的耐心也是一种庇护。