Short Story｜Shirabe（6）

6-1 "

She kept expecting there to be more people here.  她期望着能在这里见到其他人。 She wasn't sure why. All around her was a white wasteland, filled with nothing but faded, ruined buildings, bereft of all life—all except for her.  她不知道自己为何这么想。她的周围是一片白色的荒芜，只有褪色已久的废墟，却毫无生灵的迹象——她自己则是个例外。 In these few days since waking up in this place, without any recollection of what happened before,  自苏醒于此处之后已经过去了几天，她却无法找回任何的记忆。 she walked quite far and explored what she could.  从前，她曾行走于天涯海角，探索力所能及的未知。 The tattered structures did little to answer her questions.  眼前的这片破败的建筑并没有办法为她解惑。 Each of them was empty... and while she found the architecture itself familiar, she seemed to have no memory of when she'd learned their names, their shapes, their functions.  所有的建筑都空无一物……虽然她觉得这些建筑本身看着眼熟，却无法回忆起她究竟在何时得知了它们的名字、形状和作用。 Time and again, that was the idea she'd come back to: knowing "what", but not "why".  她一次又一次地遇到这种状况：知道"是什么"，却不知"为什么"。 It could be the idea was just a distraction for her, something to ponder in favor of the more obvious, weightier things regarding this world—and inside herself.  这对她来说倒也只是个烦恼，毕竟关于这个世界——以及她本身——还有更加明显、更加重大的事情需要去思考。 She had to say, though: this was certainly a bizarre and bewildering place.  不过必须得说的是：这可真是个令人抓狂的怪地方呀。 She pulled her guitar's strap tightly over her shoulder, and the questions returned.  她紧紧地抓住肩膀上的吉他背带，于是问题来了： Where had she gotten it? Why in the world was it with her?  她是在哪儿拿到它的？她到底为什么要带着它？ Despite having woken up alongside it, she couldn't answer those questions.  虽然醒来时它就在她的身边，她却无法解答这些问题。 She only knew to pluck the strings to make sounds, to hold the strings over the frets to create others.  她只知道拨动琴弦、奏响旋律、在音品上方按住琴弦、作出更多旋律。 To strum them in time, to create rhythms, melodies, chords, harmonies.  要适时地弹奏它，创作出节奏、音调、和弦、和声。 More than that, it was almost... comforting, when she held in her hands.  更重要的是，当她握着它的时候，感觉非常的……安心。 But why? No, she did not know why.  但为什么？不，她不知道为什么。 Why didn't she?  为什么她不知道呢？ The sand around her—eroded over eons by water.  她陷入了一片沙漠中，这是亘古岁月中的水流侵蚀所形成的。 No water here. No liquid, even.  然而周围并没有水，甚至连液体都不存在。 How was there sand?  这里怎么会有沙漠？ Walking. She knew how to do that.  行走，她知道如何行走。  Why? She had no answer.  为什么？她不知道答案。 She never had any answers.  她从来就没获得过答案。 For what it was worth, was any of this knowledge even "memory" at all?  这些知识，甚至是"记忆"，真的有哪怕一丝的价值吗？ Was she "remembering" these things? Had she "forgotten" other things?  她真的"记得"这些东西吗？她是否已经"忘却"了别的东西？ It seemed to her she had amnesia, but was amnesia this... selective?  她似乎失忆了，但失忆怎么会是这么的……有选择性？ Knowing things, but not knowing why that knowledge existed within her, had her deeply and fundamentally upset.  拥有知识，却不清楚知识的由来，这种情况让她陷入了深深的失落。 It made her feel like an incomplete person. Like someone had removed her skin and muscles and bones and placed them into some false container, but had forgotten to put in all the other important things, leaving her hollow, forgotten.  这让她显得不完整。就好像有人剥去了她的皮肤、肌肉和骨骼，然后组装到了另一个不相称的容器中，还忘记了放入其它重要的东西，把空虚的她丢在了这里。 She hated not knowing.  她讨厌无知。 A kaleidoscope of questions shifted and rotated in her mind.  她的脑海中有无数的疑问如万花筒般流转不息。  She forced herself to focus on all the sudden and overwhelming turns and angles.  她强迫自己把注意力放在突然出现的、数不胜数的拐角上。 But answers? Again, no. There were no answers.  但答案呢？还是没有。这里没有答案。 During her barefooted expeditions (she decided early on to keep her shoes looped around her neck, since the large heels were inconvenient for the terrain) she'd learned next to nothing.  在她的赤足探险中（她一开始就决定把鞋挂在脖子上，因为硕大的鞋跟在这样的地形中不方便），她几乎毫无收获。 In fact, the more she saw, the less she felt that she knew.  实际上，她看到的越多，就越是感受到自己的无知。 She hated not knowing. She knew so many things about what was around her, and yet she felt like she knew nothing of herself.  她讨厌无知。她知道自己周围的很多东西，却感觉对自己一无所知。 So much of what she saw was baffling nonsense—not least of all the glass wandering through the air for seemingly no reason.  她看到的大多数东西都令人迷惑、毫无意义——尤其是那些莫名奇妙地飞舞在空中的玻璃。 Glass that showed her other people, other times, other worlds.  那些玻璃向她展现了其他的人、其他的时代、其他的世界。  Reflections, resonating in the oddest ways.  这些镜像激起了最为古老的共鸣。 Reflections, she thought, which were undoubtedly familiar.  这些镜像，她觉得无疑是自己熟悉的东西。 Yet the familiarity was but a feeling. The glass never showed her in their reflections.  不过，所谓的熟悉终究也只是一种感觉。玻璃展示的镜像中从来没有她自己的身影。 These were not scenes of a remembered past. These were not memories... or, at least, they were not hers,  这些场景并不是她所记得的过去。它们并不是回忆……至少并不是她的回忆。 these Arcaea. Nothing was hers.  这些Arcaea，都不属于她。 Deep down, her emotions shifted. With that shift came a growing sense of concern, of being out of place, of confusion, of faint loneliness, of something crucial being missing somewhere inside her. And she didn't like it one bit.  她的情绪陷入消沉。这种消沉逐渐催生出担忧、疏离、迷惑和孤寂，并让她感觉自己的内心缺失了某个重要的东西。她一点儿也不喜欢这种感觉。 She started walking again. Walking always seemed to help. It let her focus on what was around her instead. On what was outside.  她又开始了行走。行走好像总是能缓解她的情绪。这让她能够转而关注自己周围的东西，或者说，外界。

6-2 "

But she could only ignore that creeping feeling for so long.  不过对心中盘踞着的那种感觉的忽视也只能到此为止了。 Eventually, she sat down on a relatively smooth chunk of stone and anxiously ran a hand through her hair.  最终，她坐在了一块稍显平整的岩石上，有些焦虑地用手梳理了一下秀发。 Looking back, she could see a long set of footprints through the faded sand, stretching all the way to the horizon.  她转过头，看到一长串足迹渐渐消失在沙尘中，蜿蜒通向远方的地平线。 How was it possible there was this much sand? She was starting to get sick of it.  这里怎么可能会有这么大一片沙漠？她开始有些感到厌恶了。 After a moment's thought, she brought her guitar around and held it, again, in her hands.  在片刻的思绪之后，她拿起了自己的吉他，再次抱在了怀里。 And there it was again, instantly: that comfort. It was like... a reassuring parent, or a friend.  那种安心的感觉瞬间回归了，就好像……来自父母或者友人的安慰。 She sighed. Really, that was all that she needed to keep going.  她叹了口气。说实话，她能够继续前行的动力完全来自于此。 Without thinking, she began to hum a tune.  她不假思索地开始了弹奏。 Her fingers strummed the strings, their quiet, tinny chords adding that precious harmony to her melody. 她的指尖抚过琴弦，安静而细微的和弦为旋律赋予了一丝难得的和谐。 She could remember how to walk, and she could remember how to play. It brought a momentary smile to her lips: how both of these acts came about as natural as breathing.  她记得如何行走，记得如何弹奏。一丝微笑闪过她的嘴角：这两种行动对她来说就像是呼吸一样自然。 Her lips turned down again a moment later, however, losing their humor.  然而片刻过后，她的嘴角再次垂下，失去了笑意。 Words were coming to her tongue, her teeth, her lips, wanting to be added to this song.  已经有歌词涌到了她的唇齿之间，想要加入到这首歌曲当中。 At first they were scattered, whirling, trying to form a complete, sensible picture.  它们起初是断断续续、吐露不清的，但在试着描绘一幅完整而有意义的景象。 And so, dressed in black and scarlet, she sang—in this world of white: this colorless and seemingly infinite cage.  于是，身着红黑礼服的她唱起了歌——在这个白色的世界里，在这个看似单调而无尽的牢笼里。 Gradually, her words gained volume. Her feelings roiled within her, wild, building in intensity.  逐渐地，她的歌声不再虚妄。感情在她的心中激荡、变得愈发地猛烈。  These instinctive words weren't new, nor were they old and forgotten.  这些发自本能的歌声并不新奇，但也不属于被遗忘的过去。 They were always with her, and now they were clawing, screaming their way out of her chest.  它们一直都在她的心里，只是现在开始了涌动，想要冲出她的胸膛。 Just speaking them wouldn't be enough. They needed to be shouted, roared so that they resounded in the furthest corners of this dead world.  光是唱出来还不够，必须要叫出来、吼出来，才能让它们响彻在这个死寂世界的每个角落。 She yelled them as loud as she possibly could.  她竭尽全力地高喊着。 It just seemed like the right thing to do.  似乎这就是她最该做的事情。 She shouted about confusion. She shouted about the unknown, about the bleak landscapes,  她朝着迷惑的心绪咆哮，朝着未知咆哮，朝着黯淡的景象咆哮， about the bounteous memories in tiny glass shards flitting past for brief moments before disappearing again.  然后朝着小小的玻璃碎片中转瞬即逝的多彩回忆咆哮。 She shouted about— 她用咆哮宣泄着—— Fear.  恐惧。 For that one critical moment as she played, she realized what she'd been feeling, deep down.  在弹奏中的那个瞬间，她终于明白了自己心中的那个感觉是什么。  This empty world, her empty memories...  这个空虚的世界，她那空虚的记忆…… They terrified her.  让她感到害怕。 Who was she? What was this quiet place?  她是谁？这个寂静的地方是哪里？ What was going to happen to her? What HAD happened to her?  她的身上将会发生什么？她的过去曾经发生过什么？ But she already knew that she might never know. Not here.  不过她已经知道，自己大概永远也没法知道答案了。至少在这里不行。 Her voice broke for a note, but she pushed past and forced her lungs, should they exist, to their limits.  她的声音出现了些许的嘶哑，但她催促着喉咙、压迫着心肺，想要突破它们不知是否存在的极限。 Her fingers flew madly across the six strings.  她的手指在六根琴弦上疯狂地舞动。 She could hear it vividly in her mind, the power, the weaving together of rumbles, screeches, and vibrations.  她能在脑中清晰地聆听到空气的轰隆、尖啸与震荡，感受到其中蕴含的力量。 A storm of her soul and of music—a tumultuous undercurrent rushing beneath her lyrics along with the simmering dread, growing into a powerful heat, which reached her eyes as well.  这是一股灵魂和音乐的风暴——在她的歌词下涌动着的是澎湃的暗流和沸腾的恐惧，随后又变为强劲的热浪，从她的双眼奔流而出。 But somehow, in some way she couldn't pinpoint, it made her feel a little better.  但不知为什么，出于某种她无法道明的原因，这让她稍微好受了一些。 A little less confused, a little less afraid. 不再那么迷惑，也不再那么恐惧。 After a time, the echoes of her shouting faded out.  一段时间后，吼叫的回声终于淡去。 A few final plucks with her right hand, and she dropped it from the strings,  她的右手最后拨动了几下，随即从琴弦上垂下。 her work finished.  她的作品完成了。 Her song vanished into the bright sky, the evidence it had ever happened now residing within her near-empty memories.  她的歌声消逝在明亮的天空中，能证明刚才发生的事情的就只有她心中近乎空虚的记忆。 She put her other hand to her eyes and rubbed them, shivering, refusing to look at the heavens that had taken her song away.  她用另一只手擦了擦双眼，一边颤抖着，一边拒绝望向那带走了歌声的天空。 But then she gave a laugh. It surprised her.  但她随后就笑了。这让她自己也很惊讶。 It was an honest laugh—and the smile of a job well done.  这是发自内心的笑容——是实现成就后的笑容。 She wiped her hand on her dress and sighed to herself.  她用裙子抹了抹手，又自顾自地叹了口气。 Man, she hated this place.  老天啊，这鬼地方真是太讨厌了。

6-3 "

The world was no less confusing now—no less intimidating, no less empty, no less merciless.  这个世界还是那么令人迷惑——那么可怕、空虚而冷漠。 But now, she felt like she could deal with it.  但现在，她觉得自己已经能够承受它们了。 She couldn't be sure, but she could have sworn that fear was something she was familiar with.  她的心里并没有底，但可以肯定，那种恐惧也是她熟悉的东西。  She knew things about it—how it could make your legs weak, how it could make you run away, how it could prevent you from making decisions, how it could control you.  她了解这种东西——它会让你双腿打颤、让你吓得跑开、让你无法做出决定、让你成为被它掌控的傀儡。 The fear of the unknown. The fear of failure.  那是对未知的恐惧，是对失败的恐惧。 And she could only assume it had been instinct that had led her to play that song.  她现在只能假设，弹奏这首歌是自己的本能。 Maybe she'd done it before. Maybe she'd shouted through her fear before, in much the same way.  也许她以前就弹奏过，也许她以前就用咆哮宣泄过恐惧，就用这相同的方式。 Maybe she had.  也许她以前也这么做过。 At least, now she felt like she could handle it.  至少现在，她觉得自己能应付恐惧了。 She had a firmer grip on that twisted little emotion now.  她现在能更好地掌控自己扭曲的小情绪。 If she wanted to stay sane in this baffling world, she needed to keep it in check, keep it from controlling her.  如果她希望在这个令人困惑的世界中保持理智，就需要时刻注意情绪，防止自己被恐惧所掌控。 But it would always be there.  不过，恐惧总是如影随形。 She exhaled, then turned in her seat and carefully put her guitar aside, laying it onto the stone.  她呼出一口气，然后调整了一下坐姿，将吉他小心地放在身边，靠在了岩石上。  Then she heard a soft clink.  然后，她听到了一声轻轻的叮当声。 A small cloth bag had fallen out of her inside pocket to the stone sticking out above the sand.  一个小布包掉出了她衣服内侧的口袋，落在了从沙中刺出的岩石上。 In it were several needles, a little pair of scissors, a thimble, a few spools of thread, and a measure.  里面是几根针、一把小剪刀、一个顶针、几卷纺线以及一个卷尺。  A sewing kit. 这是一个针线包。 It had been with her when she'd first woken up.  她在刚苏醒时身上就带着它。 She could only assume it was hers.  她只能猜测这个东西是属于自己的。 When she'd first found the pouch, it had just confused her.  她刚发现这个包的时候，心中充满了迷惑。 She knew what it was for, but had no clue why she was carrying it.  她知道它是干什么用的，但不知道为什么自己会带着它。  Each of the accoutrements within was, of course, "known" to her, but like the guitar she carried with her... it hadn't come with any helpful little notes explaining where it came from.  当然，她"知道"里面的所有东西，但就像自己带着的吉他那样……并没有什么有用的线索能指出它的由来。 But now, when she reached down to retrieve the pouch, upon seeing her sleeve, she froze.  不过现在，当她伸出手想要捡起包时，她看到了自己的袖口，然后身形一凝。 She... knew, didn't she?  她……是知道的，不是吗？ How that sleeve was made.  她知道怎么织出这样的袖口。 She knew the stitches, she knew all of the folds. 她知道该如何落下针脚。她知道每一个褶皱的做法。 She knew the exact colors. 她知道这些颜色具体叫什么。  She knew those threads were in the sewing kit.  她知道这些衣线就来自于这个针线包。 But any further connection escaped her.  但除此之外就没有然后了。 She could easily draw conclusions based on logic, but her mind still felt closed.  她可以轻松地根据逻辑得出结论，但她的回忆仍然被封锁着。 That cruel disconnect between knowledge and experience... It was agonizing.  知识与记忆之间存在着残酷的断层……这简直是一种折磨。 Now, though... Now she wouldn't let herself be overwhelmed by the fear caused by that disconnect.  不过现在……她不会让这种断层所造成的恐惧席卷自己的内心了。  She would recognize it, use it.  她会承认它，利用它。 So what if she didn't remember? What mattered was that she knew.  就算不记得了又怎样呢？重要的是她知道这些东西。 A concrete goal would certainly help, though.  但是，有一个切实的目标总归是好的。 She didn't have one yet, but maybe, in time, she could find one.  她目前并没有目标，但也许到了某个时候，她也会找到目标。 A grin crossed her face as she started off again, still thinking of the kit which had just made her shiver.  她重新动了起来，露出一个发自内心的笑容，一边还在想着这个刚才让她整个人都僵住的针线包。 Pretty convenient, huh? She could at least keep her clothing intact on this inane journey.  这还挺便利的不是么？至少在这空虚的旅行中，她能保持最佳的着装状态了。 And with that thought... her outfit certainly wasn't practical, but it was hers, and she wouldn't give it up for the world.  想到这里……她的外套并不是很实用，但这是属于她的，她也不会因为这个世界而抛弃它。 Yes. It was hers.  对，这是属于她的。 That, her guitar, and her sewing kit—in this wasteland of memory, they were all hers.  它，还有吉他、针线包——在这片记忆的荒原，这些都是属于她的。 Knowing that helped a little, and a little help could go a long way.  知道这些并没有什么大用，但足够她走过很长一段旅途了。 ...A few steps later, something below her caught her eye. ……走过一段路之后，身下的某个东西吸引了她的注意。 Footprints in the sand...  沙中的足迹…… But they didn't belong to her.  但它们并不属于她。 Crossing her path, leading off to the left, they were definitely a few sizes off. 足迹穿过了她的路线，向着左边延伸，尺码显然要小上几号。 She stared the way they headed, and saw that they disappeared behind a few gentle hills.  她开始沿着足迹走去，然后看到它们消失在一个小坡后面。 Another genuine, familiar grin crossed her face.  她的脸上又露出了一个发自内心的笑容。 Huh...  哈…… Maybe she'd had an audience after all.  到头来，自己好像还真有一个观众哎。