The Frost Night Greenhouse

The frost was not supposed to arrive until the following week. Federica had read the forecast twice that afternoon, and both times it had promised a mild night. At ten o'clock, however, the thermometer outside the greenhouse showed three degrees and was still falling.

霜冻本不该在下个星期之前到来。费德丽卡那天下午把天气预报看了两遍，两次都说今晚气温温和。然而到了十点，温室外的温度计显示三度，而且还在往下掉。

She was not worried yet. The old gas heater had been running since sunset, humming in its corner between the tomato trays. Then, at a quarter past eleven, it coughed twice and went silent.

她还不担心。那台旧燃气取暖器从日落起就一直开着，在番茄育苗盘之间的角落里嗡嗡作响。然后，到了十一点一刻，它咳了两声，就没了动静。

Federica tried the switch, the valve and, finally, a kick. Nothing worked. Inside the greenhouse stood eleven hundred tomato and pepper seedlings, all of them promised to the Saturday market. If the glass reached freezing, a season's work would be lost by morning.

费德丽卡试了开关，试了阀门，最后还踹了一脚。什么办法都不管用。温室里有一千一百株番茄和辣椒幼苗，全都已经许给了星期六的集市。要是玻璃降到冰点，一整季的辛劳到早上就会化为乌有。

She phoned her neighbors, and within twenty minutes Lavinia and Leandra were standing at the door in coats over pajamas. Lavinia had brought a box of candles. Leandra had brought two sleeping bags and a large thermos.

她给邻居们打了电话，二十分钟内，拉维妮娅和莱安德拉就站在了门口，睡衣外面套着大衣。拉维妮娅带来了一盒蜡烛。莱安德拉带来了两个睡袋和一个大保温瓶。

"Candles won't heat a greenhouse," Leandra said.

“蜡烛可没法给温室供暖。”莱安德拉说。

"Not by themselves," said Federica. "But a candle in a metal bucket, with a clay pot turned upside down on top, warms the pot. The pot keeps giving out heat for hours. My grandmother did it every spring."

“单靠蜡烛不行，”费德丽卡说，“但是把蜡烛放进金属桶里，上面倒扣一个陶盆，就能把陶盆烘热。陶盆能连着放好几个小时的热。我奶奶每年春天都这么做。”

They worked in a line. Lavinia lit the candles and carried the buckets under the benches. Leandra boiled kettles on Federica's stove and filled the barrels along the north wall, so that the water would release its warmth through the night. Federica draped blankets over the most delicate trays, tucking the edges as if she were putting children to bed.

她们排成一线干起活来。拉维妮娅点燃蜡烛，把桶搬到长凳底下。莱安德拉在费德丽卡的炉子上烧水壶，把北墙边的水桶灌满，好让水在整夜里释放热量。费德丽卡把毯子盖在最娇弱的育苗盘上，把边角仔细掖好，就像哄孩子睡觉一样。

By one o'clock, the thermometer inside read four degrees. Meanwhile, outside, the grass had turned white and stiff.

到凌晨一点，温室里的温度计读数是四度。与此同时，外面的草地已经变得雪白僵硬。

"It should have been checked before winter," Lavinia said, nodding at the dead heater. "You must have known it was old."

“冬天以前就该检查的，”拉维妮娅指着那台报废的取暖器说，“你肯定知道它旧了。”

"I did," Federica admitted. "I kept telling myself it would last another year."

“我知道，”费德丽卡承认，“我一直对自己说，它还能再撑一年。”

At three, a cold draft found a crack in the door, and one barrel began losing its heat faster than expected. They stuffed the gap with a rolled towel and refilled the barrel with fresh kettle water. After that, they took turns at the kettle every half hour. The tea was so strong that nobody could have slept anyway.

三点钟，一阵冷风钻进门上的一道裂缝，有一个水桶散热的速度比预期的快。她们用卷起的毛巾塞住缝隙，又用刚烧开的水把桶重新灌满。此后，她们每隔半小时轮流守着水壶。茶浓得谁也睡不着。

Around four, the reading dipped to one degree. Federica stood in front of the thermometer with her arms crossed, as if she could argue it upward. Nobody spoke. Leandra quietly lit two more candles.

四点前后，读数降到了一度。费德丽卡抱着双臂站在温度计前，仿佛能靠争辩让它往上升。没人说话。莱安德拉悄悄又点了两支蜡烛。

Slowly, the glass above them turned from black to grey. A thin line of orange appeared over the hedge, and the frost on the grass began to shine.

渐渐地，头顶的玻璃从漆黑变成了灰色。树篱上方出现了一道细细的橙色，草地上的霜开始闪闪发亮。

Federica walked along the benches with a flashlight she no longer needed. A few basil leaves had turned dark, and one tray of peppers was lost. The rest, nearly all of them, were standing up, green and unharmed.

费德丽卡拿着一支已经用不着的手电筒，沿着长凳走了一遍。几片罗勒叶子变黑了，有一盘辣椒苗没保住。其余的，几乎全部，都挺立着，翠绿完好。

Lavinia was asleep on an upturned crate, her chin on her chest, still holding a candle stub. Leandra was already rinsing the cups. Federica took a pen and wrote a card for the market stall: "Frost-tested. Ask us how."

拉维妮娅睡在一只倒扣的板条箱上，下巴抵着胸口，手里还握着半截蜡烛。莱安德拉已经在冲洗杯子了。费德丽卡拿起笔，为集市摊位写了一张牌子：“经受过霜冻考验。问问我们是怎么做到的。”