By late morning, friends and neighbors from adjoining houses frequently dropped in. Everyone would gather in our garden and then head out together to the beach below. Our house was the closest to the water, and all you needed was to open the tiny gate by the balustrade, take the narrow stairway down the bluff, and you were on the rocks. Chiara, one of the girls who three years ago was shorter than I and who just last summer couldn’t leave me alone, had now blossomed into a woman who had finally mastered the art of not always greeting me whenever we met. Once, she and her younger sister dropped in with the rest, picked up Oliver’s shirt on the grass, threw it at him, and said, “Enough. We’re going to the beach and you’re coming.”
每到近午时刻，友人或邻居常常顺路来访，在我家花园集合，然后一起走到下方的海滨。我家离海最近，只要打开栏杆旁的小门，沿着狭窄的阶梯走下峭壁就到礁石了。奇亚拉，一个三年前还比我矮、去年夏天一直粘着我的女孩，如今已是成熟的女性，总算熟谙不必每次见面都要跟我打招呼的艺术。有一次，她跟她妹妹还有其他人顺道过来时，捡起奥利弗扔在草地上的衬衫，丢到他身上说：“够了。我们要去海边，你也得一起来。”
He was willing to oblige. “Let me just put away these papers. Otherwise his father”—and with his hands carrying papers he used his chin to point at me—“will skin me alive.”
“Talking about skin, come here,” she said, and with her fingernails gently and slowly tried to pull a sliver of peeling skin from his tanned shoulders, which had acquired the light golden hue of a wheat field in late June. How I wished I could do that.
“Tell his father that I crumpled his papers. See what he says then.”
奥利弗很乐意效劳。他手里拿着稿子，朝我扬扬下巴示意道：“等我把稿子收起来，不然他老爸……会活活剥了我的皮。”
“说到皮，过来。”她说完，翘起指头温柔地、慢慢地从奥利弗晒成六月底的麦田那般金黄色的肩膀上，拉起一条细长、剥落掉的皮。我多希望我也能这么做。
“告诉他爸爸是我弄皱他的文件，看看他怎么说。”
Looking over his manuscript, which Oliver had left on the large dining table on his way upstairs, Chiara shouted from below that she could do a better job translating these pages than the local translator. A child of expats like me, Chiara had an Italian mother and an American father. She spoke English and Italian with both.
奥利弗把手稿留在他上楼经过的大餐桌上。奇亚拉大致翻过以后，从楼下大声喊着她肯定能比那名本地译者翻译得更好。奇亚拉跟我一样是混血儿，母亲是意大利人，父亲是美国人，她在家里总是双语并用。
“Do you type good too?” came his voice from upstairs as he rummaged for another bathing suit in his bedroom, then in the shower, doors slamming, drawers thudding, shoes kicked.
“I type good,” she shouted, looking up into the empty stairwell.
“As good as you speak good?”
“Bettah. And I’d’a gave you a bettah price too.”
“I need five pages translated per day, to be ready for pickup every morning.”
“Then I won’t do nu’in for you,” snapped Chiara. “Find yuhsef somebuddy else.”
“你也很会打字吗？”奥利弗的声音从楼上传来时，他正忙着在卧室翻找另一件泳裤，然后又到浴室找；门砰然关上，抽屉又是轰隆一声，还有踢鞋的声音。
“我很会打字！”奇亚拉大喊，抬头望着空荡荡的楼梯口。
“跟你讲的一样厉害吗？”
“更好，而且我算你更便宜。”
“一天要翻译五页，我每天早上要去取。”
奇亚拉厉声说道：“那我不做，找别人吧。”
每到近午时刻，友人或邻居常常顺路来访，在我家花园集合，然后一起走到下方的海滨。我家离海最近，只要打开栏杆旁的小门，沿着狭窄的阶梯走下峭壁就到礁石了。奇亚拉，一个三年前还比我矮、去年夏天一直粘着我的女孩，如今已是成熟的女性，总算熟谙不必每次见面都要跟我打招呼的艺术。有一次，她跟她妹妹还有其他人顺道过来时，捡起奥利弗扔在草地上的衬衫，丢到他身上说：“够了。我们要去海边，你也得一起来。”
He was willing to oblige. “Let me just put away these papers. Otherwise his father”—and with his hands carrying papers he used his chin to point at me—“will skin me alive.”
“Talking about skin, come here,” she said, and with her fingernails gently and slowly tried to pull a sliver of peeling skin from his tanned shoulders, which had acquired the light golden hue of a wheat field in late June. How I wished I could do that.
“Tell his father that I crumpled his papers. See what he says then.”
奥利弗很乐意效劳。他手里拿着稿子，朝我扬扬下巴示意道：“等我把稿子收起来，不然他老爸……会活活剥了我的皮。”
“说到皮，过来。”她说完，翘起指头温柔地、慢慢地从奥利弗晒成六月底的麦田那般金黄色的肩膀上，拉起一条细长、剥落掉的皮。我多希望我也能这么做。
“告诉他爸爸是我弄皱他的文件，看看他怎么说。”
Looking over his manuscript, which Oliver had left on the large dining table on his way upstairs, Chiara shouted from below that she could do a better job translating these pages than the local translator. A child of expats like me, Chiara had an Italian mother and an American father. She spoke English and Italian with both.
奥利弗把手稿留在他上楼经过的大餐桌上。奇亚拉大致翻过以后，从楼下大声喊着她肯定能比那名本地译者翻译得更好。奇亚拉跟我一样是混血儿，母亲是意大利人，父亲是美国人，她在家里总是双语并用。
“Do you type good too?” came his voice from upstairs as he rummaged for another bathing suit in his bedroom, then in the shower, doors slamming, drawers thudding, shoes kicked.
“I type good,” she shouted, looking up into the empty stairwell.
“As good as you speak good?”
“Bettah. And I’d’a gave you a bettah price too.”
“I need five pages translated per day, to be ready for pickup every morning.”
“Then I won’t do nu’in for you,” snapped Chiara. “Find yuhsef somebuddy else.”
“你也很会打字吗？”奥利弗的声音从楼上传来时，他正忙着在卧室翻找另一件泳裤，然后又到浴室找；门砰然关上，抽屉又是轰隆一声，还有踢鞋的声音。
“我很会打字！”奇亚拉大喊，抬头望着空荡荡的楼梯口。
“跟你讲的一样厉害吗？”
“更好，而且我算你更便宜。”
“一天要翻译五页，我每天早上要去取。”
奇亚拉厉声说道：“那我不做，找别人吧。”
