All week the valley had been still. Ayan's kite lay on the grass like a tired bird, and the red ribbon on his grandfather's weather vane hung straight down. “No wind,” Grandfather said, tapping the glass. “The valley is holding its breath.”
整整一个星期，山谷里一点风也没有。阿岩的风筝躺在草地上，像一只疲倦的鸟；爷爷风向标上的红丝带笔直地垂着。“没有风，”爷爷敲了敲玻璃说，“山谷在屏住呼吸。”
Ayan did not like the silence. The air felt thick, and even the wheat hardly moved. On Saturday the village would hold its kite festival, and every child had spent months building dragons, swallows and paper fish. Without wind, the sky would stay empty. Ayan decided that if the wind would not come to him, he would go and find it.
阿岩不喜欢这种安静。空气沉甸甸的，连麦子也几乎不动。星期六村里要办风筝节，每个孩子都花了好几个月做龙、燕子和纸鱼。没有风，天空就会空着。阿岩决定，既然风不肯来找他，他就自己去找风。
He climbed the path to the old watchtower, carrying his grandfather's small wooden windmill. The tower had been closed for years, its windows covered with heavy shutters. Inside, the air was cool and smelled of dust. Far above him, he heard a soft knocking, as if someone were tapping the walls.
他沿着小路爬上那座旧瞭望塔，手里拿着爷爷的小木风车。塔已经关闭多年，窗户都被厚重的百叶窗遮住了。塔里很凉，空气里有灰尘的味道。在他头顶很高的地方，他听见轻轻的敲击声，好像有人在敲墙壁。
One by one, Ayan pushed the shutters open. Light poured in, and with it came a breath of air that lifted the dust into golden circles. The windmill in his hand spun so fast it hummed. Below, the wheat began to sway, and the weather vane in the village turned toward the hills.
阿岩一扇一扇地推开百叶窗。阳光涌了进来，随之而来的还有一股气流，把灰尘托成金色的圆圈。他手里的风车转得飞快，发出嗡嗡声。山下，麦子开始摇摆，村里的风向标转向了群山。
By Saturday the wind was so strong that the festival flags snapped like small sails. Ayan's kite leaped from his hands and pulled until the string burned his fingers. Grandfather took the line too, and together they let the kite climb until it was a blue speck above the valley.
到了星期六，风大得让节日的旗子像小帆一样啪啪作响。阿岩的风筝从他手里猛地窜起，拉得线把他的手指都勒疼了。爷爷也握住线，他们一起放线，让风筝一直升到山谷上空，变成一个小小的蓝点。
“You opened more than a window,” Grandfather said. Ayan looked down at the village, where kites rose from every field. The wind smelled of pine and rain. He did not tell anyone about the tower. Some discoveries, he thought, are better kept as a secret you can hear whenever the wheat moves.
“你打开的不仅仅是一扇窗。”爷爷说。阿岩俯瞰村庄，每一块田里都有风筝升起。风里有松树和雨的气味。他没有把塔的事告诉任何人。他想，有些发现最好留在心里，变成只要麦子一动就能听见的秘密。