English Original
When I was young, I went looking for gold in California. I never found enough to make me rich, but I did discover a beautiful place called "the Stanislau." It was like Heaven on Earth, with bright green hills and deep forests.
Years before, other gold seekers had built a town there, but the gold ran out, and the people left. When I arrived, the town was empty. Grass grew in the streets, and wild rose bushes covered the little houses. The only sound was the hum of insects.
Then I saw a man smiling at me in front of one house. Unlike the others, it was well-kept, with a garden of flowers and white curtains at the windows. He invited me inside.
After weeks in rough mining camps, the interior felt like a miracle. A bright rug, pictures on the walls, seashells, books, and vases of flowers filled the cozy room. "It is all her work," the man said, his eyes shining. "Everything here has felt the touch of her hand."
He straightened a picture on the wall with a gentle pat. "She always does that," he explained. As we talked, he guided my gaze to a corner near the fireplace, where a small picture sat on a black shelf. It showed the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
"That's her," he said, his voice full of love. "She's nineteen. She's away visiting her parents and will be back Saturday evening." I felt regret, saying I'd be gone by then. He held her picture before me. "Tell her to her face you chose not to stay."
Looking at the picture again, I changed my mind and decided to stay. His name was Henry.
We talked mostly about her. The next evening, an old miner named Tom visited. "Any news?" he asked. Henry produced a yellowed letter from his pocket, full of loving messages. As Henry read it, Tom began to cry. "I always cry when I hear from her," Tom said.
The same happened with another visitor, Joe, on Friday. By Saturday, Henry grew anxious, frequently checking the time. As sunset approached, Tom and Joe returned with guitars, flowers, and whiskey. They played lively songs and kept giving Henry drinks.
Near midnight, two glasses remained. When I reached for one, Tom stopped me. "Take the other one!" he whispered. He gave the last glass to Henry, who drank it as the clock struck twelve. Henry turned pale, said he felt sick, and fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.
His friends carried him to bed. As they prepared to leave, I stopped them. "She won't know me. I'm a stranger."
They exchanged a look. "His wife has been dead for nineteen years," Tom said quietly.
"Dead?"
"She was captured by Indians on her way home one June, not six months after their marriage. No one saw her again. Henry lost his mind. He believes she's still alive, away visiting her parents, and will return each June."
"We come every June," Joe added, picking up his hat and guitar. "We let him read the old letter, and on the Saturday she was due back, we stay with him. We put a sleeping drug in his drink so he sleeps through the night. Then he's calm for another year. The first year, twenty-seven of us came. Now, it's just the two of us left."
They walked out the door and disappeared into the darkness of the Stanislau.
中文翻译
年轻时，我去加利福尼亚寻找黄金。虽然从未因此致富，却发现了一个叫“斯坦尼斯劳”的美丽地方。那里宛如人间天堂，有翠绿的山丘和幽深的森林。
多年前，其他淘金者在那里建起了一座小镇，但黄金采尽后，人们便离开了。当我到达时，小镇空无一人。街上长满野草，野玫瑰丛覆盖着小屋。唯一的声响是昆虫的嗡鸣。
接着，我看到一个男人在一所房子前对我微笑。与其他房子不同，这所房子维护得很好，窗前有花园和白色的窗帘。他邀请我进去。
在简陋的矿营生活数周后，屋内的景象宛如奇迹。明亮的地毯、墙上的画、贝壳、书籍和插满鲜花的花瓶，让房间充满温馨。“这都是她的功劳，”男人说，眼里闪着光。“这里的每一样东西都留有她手的触感。”
他轻轻拍了拍，扶正墙上的一幅画。“她总是这样做，”他解释道。交谈中，他将我的目光引向壁炉附近角落的一个黑色小架子，上面放着一张小照片。那是我见过的最美丽的女子。
“那就是她，”他充满爱意地说。“她十九岁。她去探望父母了，周六晚上回来。”我感到遗憾，说我那时已经离开了。他把她的照片举到我面前。“你当面告诉她，你选择不留下来。”
我再次看向照片，改变了主意，决定留下。他叫亨利。
我们聊的大多关于她。第二天晚上，一位名叫汤姆的老矿工来访。“有消息吗？”他问。亨利从口袋里掏出一封泛黄的信，里面满是充满爱意的话语。亨利读信时，汤姆哭了起来。“每次听到她的消息，我总会哭，”汤姆说。
周五，另一位访客乔也发生了同样的事。到了周六，亨利变得焦虑，频繁看时间。日落时分，汤姆和乔带着吉他、鲜花和威士忌回来了。他们弹奏着欢快的歌曲，不停地给亨利倒酒。
临近午夜，桌上剩下两杯酒。当我去拿其中一杯时，汤姆拦住了我。“拿另一杯！”他低声说。他把最后一杯酒给了亨利，亨利在钟敲响十二点时喝了下去。亨利脸色变得苍白，说他感觉不适，几乎瞬间就陷入了沉睡。
他的朋友们把他抬到床上。他们准备离开时，我叫住了他们。“她不认识我。我是个陌生人。”
他们交换了一个眼神。“他的妻子已经去世十九年了，”汤姆平静地说。
“去世了？”
“他们结婚不到六个月，一个六月的周六，她在回家路上被印第安人掳走了。再也没人见过她。亨利精神失常了。他相信她还活着，只是去探望父母了，每年六月都会回来。”
“我们每年六月都来，”乔拿起帽子和吉他补充道。“我们让他读那封旧信，在她预定回来的那个周六，我们陪着他。我们在他的酒里下安眠药，让他睡过那一夜。然后他就能平静地度过下一年。第一年，我们来了二十七个人。现在，只剩下我们两个了。”
他们走出门，消失在斯坦尼斯劳的夜色中。