The envelope had no stamp, only my name in careful blue ink. Inside, one sheet of paper folded twice.
信封上没有邮票，只有用蓝色墨水工整写着的我的名字。里面是一张折了两折的纸。
"I am writing from a village where the winter lasts six months," my brother wrote. "The lake freezes so hard that people drive across it. At night the sky is green and violet, and the cold makes the air feel clean."
“我是在一个冬天长达六个月的小村庄里给你写信，”我哥哥写道，“湖面冻得很结实，人们能开车从上面过去。夜里天空是绿色和紫色的，寒冷让空气闻起来很干净。”
He described his small house, the stove, the neighbour who taught him to fish through the ice. He wrote about silence, and how strange it is to miss noise.
他描述了他的小房子、炉子，还有教他在冰上捕鱼的邻居。他写到寂静，写到想念喧闹是一件多么奇怪的事。
I read the letter three times, then put it on the table next to the window. Outside, the rain fell without any hurry. Our city looked grey and crowded, and yet I could not imagine leaving it.
我把信读了三遍，然后把它放在窗边的桌子上。外面，雨不紧不慢地下着。我们的城市看起来灰暗又拥挤，可我还是无法想象离开它。
That evening I wrote back. I told him about our mother's garden, the broken lift in my building, the new café on the corner. Ordinary things, mostly. I wanted him to know that nothing had changed, and that it would be here when he came home.
那天晚上我写了回信。我告诉他母亲的花园、我楼里坏掉的电梯，还有街角新开的咖啡馆。大多是些平常的事。我想让他知道，什么都没有改变，等他回家时，这一切还会在这里。