Four o'clock. Five. Six. At six we were supposed to go to his parents' house. To plant potatoes. It's forty kilometers from Pripyat to Sperizhye, where his parents live. Sowing, plowing—he loved to do that. His mother always told me how they didn't want him to move to the city, they'd even built a new house for him. He was drafted into the army. He served in the fire brigade in Moscow and when he came out, he wanted to be a fireman. And nothing else! [Silence.]
四点钟了。五点。六点。我们本来六点要去他爸妈家种马铃薯,普利彼特离他爸妈住的史毕怀塞大约四十公里。他很喜欢播种、犁地。他妈妈常说,他们多不希望他搬到城里。他们甚至帮他盖了一栋房子。他入伍时被编入莫斯科消防队,退伍后就一心想当消防员!(沉默)
Sometimes it's as though I hear his voice. Alive. Even photographs don't have the same effect on me as that voice. But he never calls to me...not even in my dreams. I'm the one who calls to him.
有时我仿佛听到他的声音在我耳边回响,即使相片对我的影响力都比不上那个声音。但他从来没有呼唤我……连在梦里都没有,都是我呼唤他。
Seven o'clock. At seven I was told he was in the hospital. I ran there, but the police had already encircled it, and they weren't letting anyone through. Only ambulances.
到了七点,有人告诉我他被送到医院了。我连忙赶去,但警察已经包围了医院,除了救护车,任何人都进不去。
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