The night before she left for university, Itzel could not sleep. Her bags stood by the door, and her train ticket was on the kitchen table. Downstairs, her father was repairing a lamp that did not need fixing.
去上大学的前一夜，伊茨尔怎么也睡不着。行李靠在门边，火车票放在厨房的桌子上。楼下，她爸爸正在修一盏本来不用修的台灯。
He had been quiet all week. He had driven her to buy a winter coat and carried her heavy boxes. He had even checked the tires on the car twice. But he had not said a word about her leaving. Itzel had not known how to start the conversation either.
这一周他一直很沉默。他开车带她去买了冬天穿的大衣，帮她搬了沉重的箱子，甚至把车胎检查了两遍。可是对于她要离开这件事，他一个字也没提。伊茨尔也不知道该怎么开口。
She went down in her socks and stood in the doorway. "Dad," she began. He looked up, his glasses low on his nose, and waited. "Dad, I…" Nothing else came. "Never mind. Good night."
她只穿着袜子走下楼，站在门口。“爸爸，”她开口说。他抬起头，眼镜滑到了鼻尖上，等着她说下去。“爸爸，我……”再也说不出别的了。“算了。晚安。”
"Good night," he said, and went back to his screwdriver.
“晚安。”他说完，又低头摆弄他的螺丝刀。
Back in her room, Itzel felt ashamed. She had been brave enough to apply to a school five hours away. She was not brave enough to say thank you. So she took a sheet of paper from her notebook and began to write. She told him that she remembered the Sundays he taught her to ride a bike. She knew he had worked extra shifts for her tuition. She was afraid, but also excited, and she would call every week.
回到自己的房间，伊茨尔觉得很惭愧。她有勇气申请一所五个小时车程之外的学校，却没有勇气说一声谢谢。于是她从笔记本上撕下一页纸，开始写信。她写道，她记得那些星期天，他教她骑自行车；她知道他为了她的学费加了很多班；她既害怕，也很期待，而且她每周都会打电话回家。
She folded the letter into a small square. At dawn, while her father showered, she slipped it under the lid of his old green toolbox. That was where he kept the things he never lost.
她把信折成一个小方块。天刚亮，趁爸爸在洗澡，她把信塞到他那只旧绿色工具箱的盖子下面。那里放着他从来不会弄丢的东西。
At the station, he hugged her stiffly, as he always did, and handed her a bag of oranges. "Eat these on the train," he said. That was all.
在车站，他像往常一样，僵硬地拥抱了她，递给她一袋橙子。“在火车上吃吧。”他说。就这么一句。
For three weeks, Itzel heard nothing. She called twice, and he answered in short sentences about the weather and the car. She decided that he had never opened the toolbox. Or perhaps he had read the letter and wished she had not written it.
整整三个星期，伊茨尔没有收到任何消息。她打过两次电话，他只用简短的句子回答她，说说天气和那辆车。她认定他根本没有打开过工具箱。又或者，他读了那封信，却希望她从来没有写过。
Then, on a Tuesday evening, her phone rang. The screen said Dad. In eighteen years, he had never called her first.
后来，在一个星期二的傍晚，她的手机响了。屏幕上写着“爸爸”。十八年来，他从来没有先给她打过电话。
"Hello?" she said carefully.
“喂？”她小心翼翼地说。
There was a long pause, and she could hear him breathing. "I found it," he said.
电话那头沉默了很久，她能听到他的呼吸声。“我找到了。”他说。
