By Julia Stuart

伦敦塔里的集雨人巴尔萨泽·琼斯开始收集雨水没多久，就分辨出了六十四种雨，并将每一种都记录在案；他还买来成堆的香水瓶保存雨水，记录下雨的时间和日期，以及雨水的确切种类；他去大英图书馆，寻找一切有关雨的记载；他发现了一种不同的雨，这种雨只是1892年在科伦坡下过一次，是世上最罕见的一种雨。最后，一个装满雨水标本的手提袋出现在了伦敦地铁失物招领处的柜台上……

伴着一丝雨水的气息，故事在琼斯夫妇俩的工作地点——伦敦塔内的动物园和伦敦地铁失物招领处展开了。文中一群有趣的出场人物和他们的故事渐渐勾勒出夫妇俩的生活与情感问题：儿子死后，丈夫一滴眼泪也没流，只是无法控制地收集起雨水并继续塔内的日常工作。这个男人是不是根本不爱儿子，不爱她？作者朱莉娅·斯图亚特（Julia Stuart）以细腻、奇异、幽默的笔调和视角将这对日渐冷漠相对的夫妇带回了彼此身边。

Standing on the 1）battlements in his pajamas， Balthazar Jones looked out across the Thames where Henry IIIs polar bear had once fished for salmon while tied to a rope. The 2）Beefeater failed to notice the cold that pierced his dressing gown with deadly precision， or the wretched damp that crept round his ankles. Placing his frozen hands on the ancient 3）parapet， he tilted back his head and 4）inhaled the night. There it was again.

The undeniable 5）aroma had fluttered past his capacious 6）nostrils several hours earlier as he lay sleeping in the Tower of London， his home for the last eight years. Assuming such wonderment was an oasis in his usual gruesome d r e a m s ， h e scratched at the hairs that covered his chest like freshly fallen ash and descended back into ragged slumber. It wasnt until he rolled onto his side， away from his wife and her 7）souk of competing odours， that he smelt it again. Recognising instantly the exquisite scent of the worlds rarest rainfall， the Beefeater sat 8）bolt upright in the darkness， his eyes open wide like those of a baby bird.

巴尔萨泽·琼斯身穿睡衣杵在塔顶垛口上，远眺泰晤士河。多年前，亨利三世的北极熊身上系着绳子，曾在这河中捕过三文鱼。夜晚寒意袭人，冷风无孔不入，阴湿的潮气已经爬上脚踝，但这位守塔人浑然不觉。他将冻僵了的双手撑在古老的墙垛上，仰头深深吸气，又是这股气息。

八年来，伦敦塔就是他的家。几小时前，他还在塔里躺着睡觉，这芬芳气息，悠悠然飘过他硕大的鼻孔，真真切切。但他以为这只是无数梦魇中的短暂慰藉，抬手挠了挠胸口，那儿的胸毛似新落的一层灰。很快，他又昏昏入梦，但依旧睡不安稳。直到翻转身，背对着妻子，远离了浓郁的女人香，他才再次感受到刚才的气息。守塔人立刻辨认出来，那是雨水的细腻味道，还是世界上最少见的一种雨。他在黑暗中猛地坐起身，瞪大眼睛，像只雏鸟。

The sudden movement of the mattress caused his wife to undulate for several seconds like a body drifting at sea， and she muttered something incomprehensible. As she turned away from the disturbance， her pillow fell into the gap between the head of the bed and the wall， one of the many irritations of living within circular walls. Balthazar Jones reached down into the dusty nomans-land and groped around. After carefully retrieving the pillow， he placed it gently next to his wife so as not to disturb her. As he did so， he wondered， as he often had throughout their marriage， how a woman of such beauty， the embers of which still glowed fiercely in her fifty-fifth year， could look just like her father as she slept. For once， he didnt feel the urge to poke her awake in order to rid himself of the 9）harrowing illusion of sharing his bed with his Greek father-in-law， a man whose ferocious looks had led his relatives to refer to him as a good cheese in a dogs skin. Instead， he quickly got out of bed， his heart tight with anticipation. Forgeting his usual 10）gazelles step at such times， he crossed the room， his bare heels thudding on the 11）emaciated carpet. He peered out， nose and white beard against the pane， which bore the 12）smudges of numerous previous occasions. The ground was still dry. With mounting desperation， he scanned the night sky for the approaching rain clouds responsible for the undeniable aroma. In his panic not to miss the moment for which he had been waiting for more than two years， he hurried past the vast stone fireplace to the other side of the bedroom. His stomach， still 13）bilious from the previous evenings hogget， arrived first.

Grabbing his dressing gown， its pockets bearing the guilty 14）crumbs of 15）clandestine biscuits， the Beefeater pulled it across his pajamas and， forgetting his 16）tartan slippers， opened the bedroom door. He failed to notice the noise the 17）latch made and the subsequent incomprehensible babble it produced from his wife， a 18）slither of hair skimming her cheek. Fingers sliding down the 19）filthy rope handrail， he descended the corpsecold spiral stairs clutching in his free hand an Epyptian perfume bottle in which he hoped to capture some of the downfall. Once at the bottom of the steps， he passed his sons bedroom， which he had never brought himself to enter since that terrible， terrible day. Slowly， he shut behind him the door of the Salt Tower， the couples quarters within the fortress， and congratulated himself on a successful exit. It was at that precise moment that his wife woke up. Hebe Jones ran a hand along the bed sheet that had been a wedding present all those years ago. But it failed to find her husband.

Balthazar Jones had been collecting rain for almost three years， a 20）compulsion that had started shortly after the death of his only child.

突然的作用力让床垫上下起伏，妻子的身体也跟着波动起来，像在大海上漂浮。她喃喃不清地说了些什么。这一搅扰，让她翻了个身，枕头随即掉进了床头和墙壁的空隙里。在弧形墙壁的房间里生活，烦心事真不少，这算其中一件。巴尔萨泽·琼斯把手伸进灰扑扑的真空地带，四下摸了摸，小心翼翼地拾回了枕头，轻轻放到妻子身旁，没去打扰她熟睡。此时，他不禁又好奇起来，结婚以来他就一直在想，如此美丽的一个女人，五十五岁了依旧风韵犹存，怎么睡着时看起来会像极了她父亲呢。尽管一想到和自己希腊岳父同床共枕的画面，他就觉得浑身不自在，惟恐避之不及——那个男人样子凶神恶煞，连亲戚们都认为，他是个面恶心善的人。但这一次，他没顾上生出推醒她的冲动，而是匆忙下了床，心里紧张却又期待。往常这时候，他通常会踩着轻盈的羚羊步，这一次他早已忘得一干二净，裸露的脚后跟砰砰踏在塌陷的地毯上，径直穿过房间。他在窗前向外观望，鼻子和花白的胡茬都贴在了窗玻璃上，那上面还有以前数次张望后留下的痕迹。地面是干的。他心中升起一丝绝望，抬头扫视夜空，不远处有些积雨云越来越近，正是那股难以忽视的气息的源头。为这一刻，他已等了两年，不想再错失机会。他慌忙走过巨大的石砌壁炉，去到卧房的另一侧，他的肚子，还在消化晚餐的乳猪肉，先一步到达。

守塔人一把抓过长袍，披在睡衣外，长袍口袋里还有他偷吃饼干留下的尴尬碎屑。他忘了穿上那双格子呢拖鞋，就匆匆打开了卧室门。他没有注意到门闩的响动和妻子含糊的抱怨，她脸颊上有一缕垂落的发丝。他走下旋梯，台阶冰凉僵硬。他一只手的手指沿着楼梯边脏兮兮的扶手绳往下滑，另一只手攥着个埃及香水瓶，他希望用它接住一些雨滴。一走下楼梯，他就从儿子卧室前闪过，自从那个可怕至极的日子过后，他就没再让自己进过那个房间。走出盐塔，他慢慢关上身后的大门，这座要塞是他和妻子的住处。他庆幸自己越狱成功。而就在此时，他妻子醒了过来。赫碧·琼斯伸手摸摸床单，这是他们当初的结婚礼物。但是她没有摸到她丈夫。

巴尔萨泽·琼斯收集雨水差不多有三年了。惟一的孩子去世后不久，他就患上了这种收集强迫症。

译文参考自上海人民出版社版本，有改动任梦 译