站无虚席 Standing Room Only

作者：Daniel Couts

祖安和皮城对彼此唱着歌。副歌里反复唱着旧伤和不公和痛苦。我猜只有我能听得到，但所有人都能感受得到，那是每日生活背景中的低鸣，把祖安人和皮城人推向刺耳的失谐。

Zaun and Piltover sing to one another. The refrains are full of old wounds, and injustice, and pain. I think it's just me that can hear it, but we all feel it, a hum at the back of everyday life, pushing both Zaunites and Piltovans into strident discord.

我很清楚他们是可以合唱的。我曾听到过。零碎的乐句，伴着简单的和弦时不时地初选，让我为那些未能成真的机会感到心痛。曾经，还有过一股优美、澎湃的音浪，带来和谐与希望。也就是在那一刻，我第一次听到了这枚海克斯水晶的声音。

I know they can sing together. I've heard it. Scraps of it—once in a while—little chords that make my heart ache with possibility. And once, a beautiful, crushing tidal wave of harmony and hope. It was the same moment I heard my hextech crystal for the first time.

那个声音同时唱出了以前首颂歌。每一首都像是雪崩中的一颗石子，如同零散的音符一般难懂。那个声音能听到我说话——而我渴望着继续聆听。然而当祖安和皮城的合奏戛然而止，它的温润低鸣也消失了。

The voice sang a thousand hymns at once. Each of them was a pebble in an avalanche, impossible to understand beyond scattered notes. The voice could hear me—and I wanted so badly to keep listening—but it fell back to a fuzzy hum the instant Zaun and Piltover ended their symphony.

我正躲在舞台后方的暗处，在这里，在中层广场，两座城市的二重奏应该是最嘹亮的。祖安之顶，皮城之底。灰霾在这里萦绕，往皮城的铜料表面涂上泥垢。祖安特有的炼金路灯透过皮城的彩玻璃罩映出层层色彩，照亮了祖安的石子街路，展现出皮城机械的施工工艺。

Here in the Entresol, where I hide in the dark behind the stage, that duet should ring clear. The top of Zaun; the bottom of Piltover. The Gray lingers, smearing grime across hammered Piltovan bronze. Zaunite chem-lamps scatter the colors of Piltovan stained glass across Zaunite cobbled streets carefully engineered with Piltovan tools.

两座城市的居民正在向这里聚拢，带来了那首只有我听得到的销魂之歌。祖安人如潮水般涌上来，上千种乐器随意弹拨着热情的节拍。孩童相互讥笑嘲弄，年长一些的人把他们轻轻推开，只想求得片刻安宁。皮城人的脚步声像雨点般落下，充满好奇和乐观和自豪。他们或乘坐升降机直达，或沿着楼梯和坡道下到舞步走廊——中层广场正上方的孪生城区，那里光鲜的模样更接近于皮城。他们谈笑风生，指着我们的临时露天剧场啧啧称奇。

And folk from both cities make their way here, bringing that rapturous soul-song only I can hear. Zaunites pour in from below, a thousand different instruments strummed with tuneless enthusiasm. Kids taunt and jeer, while older folks usher them along, searching for a moment’s peace. Piltovans march down in trumpeting waves, inquisitive and bright and proud. They come by descender, or by the stairways and ramps connecting to the overhead Promenade, the Entresol’s posh Piltovan twin. They laugh and joke together, gesturing appreciatively at the quaintness of our makeshift open-air theatre.

一开始感觉很激动。他们都来了我很高兴。我闭上双眼，感知我的水晶，请求它开口说话。

It’s exciting, at first. I’m so happy they’re all here. I close my eyes and tune to my crystal, pleading for it to speak again.

但水晶只是一如既往地发出微弱的声响，听上去遥不可及，若有若无。而就连这个声音也开始模糊消散，因为两个城市的歌声开始碰撞，从合奏变成了决斗。皮城人的笑声重叠成了嫌恶的嘲讽。祖安人的叫嚷压低成了怒吼。随后，就像商量了好了一样，人群自动分成了界限分明的两半。

But the crystal emits that same warbling, distant hum, a presence there and not there. Even that fades to a murmur as the songs clash, turning duet into duel. Piltovan laughter lapses into sneering discomfort. Zaunite shouts quiet into indignant scowls. And, almost as if they’d planned it, the crowd organizes into two perfect, separate halves.

这就是祖安和皮城居民所要面对的。中层广场让人们来到一起交流，但却难以交心。它的存在只是因为这两座城市必须有接触，毕竟它俩紧挨着。我看到一个皮城人不小心摔倒，差点就跨过了两群人之间的完美沟壑，结果两个同伴把他拽住，护着他回到自己的群体中。

This is what it means to live in Zaun and in Piltover. The Entresol’s a place to come together, sure, but not to connect. Only because the cities have to touch, somewhere. I watch as one Piltovan trips, nearly crossing that perfect gap between them, only for two of his fellows to catch him and bring him protectively back into the fold.

哎！他们来这里的目的是一样的！为什么就不能放下戒备，彼此共处呢？ 一小会儿都不行？

Ugh! They’re all here for the same reason! Why can’t they put their guards down for, like, one moment and just be with each other?

我为什么总以为会有改变？我只是一个人。只是萨勒芬妮。一个好几年都没怎么出过家门的小窝囊。我要怎样才能让他们看到别样的可能？我哪来的自信？

Why do I always think it’ll change? I’m just one person. Just Seraphine. Who could barely even leave her house for how many years? How am I supposed to make them see that it could be different? Why do I think I can?

我一直都在想什么？

Why did I ever think I could?

灯光照下来，突如其来的惊讶让我意识到自己一直在屏着一口气。我感到手臂发凉，紧握麦克风的手在颤抖。我望向人群。下面传来几声欢呼，但多数人都在注意与另一群人保持距离。我喘了口气。

The lights come on, and the shock makes me realize I’ve been holding my breath. I feel the chill on my forearms, the mic in my shivering grip. I look at the crowd. There are a few appreciative whoops, but mostly they’re focused on keeping separate from the other side. I take a breath.

一个熟悉的灵魂音符从皮城观众之中响起，传到我耳畔。我看过去，发现夏拉疲惫的笑容，她正投来热切的目光，我被她的歌声裹挟着，她周围的人群渐渐弱化成背景。夏拉去我父母店里的时候会对我讲述她的论文，抑扬顿挫的口吻就像是给小孩子读故事书。她会介绍自从上次被大学拒绝以后又有哪些改进。我们上次聊的时候她说“成功总在第七次”。但即使是那个时候，我也能听出她乐观中挤进去的疑虑。六次被拒绝，但他依然在勇往直前。只不过这一路上笼罩着迟疑的阴云：她的生活是不是应该用来做些别的事？

A pure, familiar note of soul-music rings out to me from the Piltovan audience. I look over and see Schala’s tired smile, beaming up at me from a crowd that melts for a moment into the background as I’m swept up in her song. During visits to my parents’ shop, Schala would tell me about her thesis, reading dramatically from it like an eager parent would a storybook. She’d tell me what had changed since the last time it had been rejected by the college. “Seventh time’s the charm” was what she said the last time we talked. But even back then, I could hear the doubt edging into her optimism. Six rejections, and she was still facing forward. But it was through a cloud of doubt: Should she maybe be doing something else with her life?

她的惆怅与我的彷徨依偎到了一起，我的喘息变得容易了一点。

Her self-doubt nestles into mine, and the next breath comes a little easier.

另一首歌加入了这段旋律，这一次是从祖安人群中传来的。我望过去，看到了罗兰，他是银匠中绝对的艺术家。我最开始被他的工坊吸引，是因为从里面传出了音乐。他把木箱和备品全都堆到了工坊的一侧，给几个孩子腾出一片地方，让他们在角落里进行类似乐队练习的活动。他说这种吵闹声能让他更专心，他们制造的声音比这块空间更重要。还说他需要提前适应在狭小空间中工作，如果他的下一款设计不能大卖，就得挪地方了。

Another song joins the melody, this time from the Zaunite crowd. I look over and see Roland, an absolute artist of a silversmith. I’d first been drawn to his little workshop by the sound of music. He’d piled crates and supplies all on one side of the shop to make room for a handful of kids who were using the corner for what looked like band practice. He said that the ruckus made it easier to focus, that he needed the sound more than the space. That he might need to get used to such a small room if his next design didn’t sell.

罗兰和夏拉的歌声在我脑海中交错缠绕，一个是鼓点和低音和砂砾感，另一个是轻风和号角和悄声细语。两种声音全然不同，然而却因为某种原因配合到了一起。一首歌充满着自我怀疑，而另一首歌则是对未来的恐惧。

Roland’s song twists with Schala’s in my head, one drums and brass and gravel, one wind and horns and hushed vocals. They couldn’t sound more different, but something just makes it work somehow. One song full of self-doubt, the other, fear for the future.

但是还有别的东西。一个坚定、低沉、不知疲倦的节奏让他们的歌声分而不离，没有各自孤立、消散。这是两首歌里共同的节奏。夏拉喜欢自己的研究，罗兰也喜欢自己的创作。

But there’s something else. A sturdy, rolling, endless beat that keeps their songs from spinning out into singular, dying notes. It’s the same beat in both songs. Schala loves her work, and Roland his.

他们的决心找到了我的决心，把我从黑暗深渊的下坠中拯救。

Their determination finds mine, snatches it from a fall into darkness.

下一口呼吸是香甜的。

The next breath is sweet.

我不需要解决一切问题。我不是来解决问题的，他们也不是，所以不必纠结。我寻找水晶的声音，它平稳的节奏开始加强加重，虽然有些朦胧但不会听错。我想要抓住那个声音，而我只知道一个方法能够做到。

I don’t need to solve everything. I’m not here for that. Neither are they, and that’s okay. I listen for the crystal, and its steady rhythm builds and rumbles, indistinct but there. I want to reach out, and I only know one way how.

我闭上双眼，让夏拉和罗兰的歌声将我填满。我想象着他们的挣扎。夏拉，她咬着笔杆，突然两眼放光，灵感乍现，为她的论文写下完美的结论。罗兰，一只眼紧闭，手上轻轻地给白银框架添加最后的细节，然后后退一步，露出笑容，发出满意的叹息。微小的火花在我耳边爆发，冲上我的脊背，进入我的脑海，音乐点燃了我的全身。

I close my eyes and let myself be filled with Schala’s song and with Roland’s. I imagine their struggles. Schala, chewing on a pen until her eyes widen in epiphany and she writes the perfect conclusion to her thesis. Roland, one eye closed tight as he gently, gently, shapes the last detailing into an ornate silver frame, then stands back with a grin and a sigh when he knows it’s perfect. Tiny explosions crawl across my shoulders, up my spine, into my head, and music lights my whole body on fire.

我放声歌唱。

I sing.

或许我们单独每个人的声音很小。或许我自己的声音很小。但我并不孤单。我们不孤单。我抛开了一切顾虑，因为我知道他们也都抛下了。惊慌、恐惧、自我怀疑。我把它们倾注到歌声里，如暴雨滂沱，我的心也跟着涕泗咽泣。我们的歌是打在窗格上的雨点。夏拉的歌卷进来，我们汇聚成溪流。我们找到了罗兰，他欣然地被我们的流水吞没。我们一起找到了整个人群，小雨点彼此汇聚了一次又一次，最后我们成为了歌曲和感受的洪流。

Maybe our voices are quiet alone. Maybe mine’s quiet alone. But I’m not. We’re not. I don’t hold anything back, because I know they don’t either. The panic, the fear, the self-doubt. I pour it all into the song, heaps of it, so much that I want to cry. Our songs are droplets of rainwater on a windowpane. Schala’s swirls itself into mine, and we become a little stream. We find Roland, happy to be caught up in our motion. Together, we find the crowd, each droplet gathering another and another and another until we’re a flood of song and feeling.

这股洪流的声势逐渐逐渐壮大，人群虽然安静，但他们的灵魂却对音乐敞开了怀抱。曾几何时，我会在这声音的风暴中迷失方向。但我有罗兰，我有夏拉，还有我自己，我们能感受到他们的感受。他们也知道我们的动力，我的动力。我充满感激。我也会让他们收到这份感激。我把这种感觉嵌入每一个音符中，而在那一刻，我知道我们一起制作出的音乐能刺破天界。

That flood grows louder and louder as the crowd, silent but for the swell of their souls, opens to the music. Once, I would have gotten lost in this storm of sound. But I have Roland, and Schala, and myself, and we feel what they feel. They know what drives us, what drives me. I’m so grateful. I’ll make sure they know that, too. I push that feeling into a single note, and in that moment, I know the music we’re making could pierce the heavens.

曲终歌毕，我睁开双眼望向人群。我看到的只有一个身份，吵闹着、欢呼着，一起冲向舞台。石子地面已经彻底看不见。赐予我灵感的人们在人群中间找到了彼此，我已经分不清哪边是哪边了。

The song ends, and my eyes open to the crowd. A single entity greets me, raucous and cheering and surging together toward the stage. Not a cobble in sight. My muses have found one another in the center of the crowd, and I can’t tell anymore which side is which.

中层广场是一个优美的地方。我给自己选了一个最好的座位，在街角处一张不起眼的桌子，可以让幸运的看官安静地藏在这里，抿一口热茶，看着世界从眼前经过。

The Entresol’s a beautiful place. I’ve got the best seat in the house, a hidden little corner table where a lucky patron can sit in secret silence, sip a hot cup of tea, and watch the world pass by.

我的演唱早在几个钟头以前就结束了，但人们依然留在这里，一起有说有笑。当地的商贩很快就抓住了商机，店铺纷纷开张，在门口摆出桌椅。我的舞台已经关闭，被推到了一旁，成为了临时的游乐场，皮城和祖安的孩童正在互相挑战做出各种怪诞举止。我能感受到空气中的能量，那种激动和赞叹和清透的感觉让你永远都不想失去。

My show ended a few bells ago, but the crowd stuck around, talking and laughing together. Local businessfolk took quick advantage, opening up shop and ferrying out tables and chairs. My stage, powered down and pushed off to the side, has become a makeshift playground, where Piltovan and Zaunite kids are challenging one another to various antics. I can feel the charge in the air, excitement and wonder and that airy feeling you get on days you never want to end.

我靠在椅背上，双手捧着温热的茶杯，闭上双眼，露出微笑。他们能谱出这么奇妙的音乐。皮城和祖安继续着它们的二重奏，短暂但却动听。

I sit back, put both hands around my steaming mug, close my eyes, and smile. They all make such wondrous music. Piltover and Zaun continue their duet, if only for a little while.

一个熟悉的声音震彻我全身，微弱但急促。我的灵魂开始翱翔，心脏开始猛跳。我不知道我将听到的是什么，不知道我们两个能否理解彼此，也不知道我们有多长时间。我只知道这个声音必须有人听。

A familiar voice rumbles through me, faint but urgent. My soul soars even as my heart starts to pound. I don’t know what I’ll hear, whether we’ll understand each other this time, how long we have. I only know that it needs to be heard.

在高扬的交响伴奏中，它的歌声响起来了，我准备好心情迎接浩荡的雪崩。它有太多歌要唱，而听众只有我一个。

Its song lifts in an orchestral swell, and I brace for the avalanche. It has so much to sing, and just me to hear it.

为了再次听到它的声音，我将不懈努力。

But I won't ever stop trying to listen.