The first box arrived at the Elm Street School library on a Monday in October. Aoife found it on her desk, wrapped in brown paper, with no note, no invoice and no return address.
第一个箱子是十月里的一个周一送到榆树街学校图书馆的。伊法在自己的桌上发现了它，外面裹着牛皮纸，没有留言，没有发票，也没有寄件地址。
Inside were twelve brand-new paperbacks. They were not the prize-winners she would have chosen. They were short novels in large print, graphic stories, a thin mystery with chapters only two pages long, and a book about trains.
里面是十二本崭新的平装书。它们不是她会挑的那种获奖作品。有大字号的短篇小说、漫画故事、一本每章只有两页的薄薄的推理小说，还有一本讲火车的书。
She shelved them anyway. By Friday, nearly every one had been borrowed, mostly by students who had never taken anything home before.
她还是把它们上了架。到周五，几乎每一本都被借走了，大多是从没往家里拿过书的学生。
The next box came on the first Monday of November, and another followed in December. The principal knew nothing about them, and neither did the parents' association. Aoife began to wonder who had been watching her shelves so carefully.
下一个箱子在十一月的第一个周一来了，十二月又来了一个。校长对此一无所知，家长协会也不知道。伊法开始琢磨，是谁一直这样仔细地留意着她的书架。
The only clue was the delivery slip. It had been stuck to the paper with a strip of tape, and it showed a courier stamp, a reference number and a sender code. One evening, after the children had gone home, she phoned the courier company and read out the code.
唯一的线索是投递单。它用一条胶带粘在包装纸上，上面有快递公司的章、一个参考编号和一个寄件人代码。一天傍晚，孩子们都回家以后，她给快递公司打了电话，把代码念了出来。
"That account belongs to a small joinery," the clerk said. "On Ridge Road, behind the old cinema. I'm afraid I can't give you a name."
“那个账户属于一家小木工坊，”接线员说，“在山脊路，旧电影院后面。恐怕我不能告诉您名字。”
On Saturday, Aoife walked there. The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish. A man of about thirty-five was sanding a table leg, and he looked up at her with an expression that was not quite surprise.
周六，伊法走路去了那里。作坊里弥漫着锯末和清漆的味道。一个三十五岁上下的男人正在打磨桌腿，他抬头看她，神情不完全是惊讶。
"You must be the librarian," he said.
“您一定是那位图书管理员，”他说。
"I am. And you are…" She hesitated, because she knew his face from somewhere, and then the years slid away. A boy at the back of the library, eating his lunch behind the atlases, every single day for two winters.
“是我。那你是……”她迟疑了，因为她觉得这张脸在哪里见过，接着岁月一下子滑走了。图书馆最后面有个男孩，躲在地图册后面吃午饭，整整两个冬天，天天如此。
He had been unable to read aloud in class without his stomach hurting. The canteen had been too loud, and the playground had been worse. So she had written him a pass in pencil that said "Lunch in the library," and she had never asked why.
他曾经在课堂上一大声朗读就会肚子疼。食堂太吵，操场更糟。所以她用铅笔给他写了一张条子，上面写着“午餐在图书馆”，而且她从来没问过为什么。
"I still have it," the man said. He took out his wallet and, from behind a bank card, unfolded a small square of paper, soft as cloth. Her own handwriting looked back at her.
“我还留着呢，”那个男人说。他拿出钱包，从银行卡后面展开一小方纸，软得像布一样。她自己的笔迹回望着她。
"I couldn't read a menu until I was fifteen," he explained. "The first book I ever finished was a thin one with short chapters. I thought, if I ever could, I'd send those to the next kid."
“我十五岁以前连菜单都读不了，”他解释道，“我读完的第一本书，就是一本每章很短的薄书。我当时想，要是哪天我能做到，我就把这样的书寄给下一个孩子。”
"They are the most borrowed books in the building," Aoife said.
“它们是馆里借阅次数最多的书，”伊法说。
"Please don't tell anyone it's me. I'd rather they think it's magic."
“请别告诉任何人是我。我宁愿他们觉得这是魔法。”
She kept her promise. On the first Monday of the next month, a new box appeared on her desk. She shelved all twelve books and slipped a small card inside each cover. It said, in her careful pencil: "A gift from a reader."
她信守了诺言。下个月的第一个周一，她桌上又出现了一个新箱子。她把十二本书全部上架，并在每本书的封面内侧塞了一张小卡片。上面用她工整的铅笔字写着：“来自一位读者的礼物。”
