English Original
In this small town, my family and I lived in several places before settling in a house on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a quiet neighborhood, and my parents quickly made friends with everyone around.
An elderly woman named Lucy lived in the house to our left. She and my parents got along splendidly. Her husband had died about two years prior, and with no family nearby, we became a sort of surrogate family for her. Lucy and her husband had bought their house in the 1940s. Her husband loved to tinker around the house and yard, but the yard was his true passion. He gave it meticulous care year-round, while Lucy would type letters to distant relatives, updating them on their life.
Lucy's husband transformed the yard into a thing of beauty, admired by all. When he died, Lucy thought it fitting to spread his ashes in the backyard—the place where he had spent countless hours. However, after some time, Lucy became convinced that her husband had returned to his yard. She grew especially frightened of the now-sprawling backyard where he had spent so many days. She told us of hearing footsteps on the grass or feeling a tap on her shoulder. She began to avoid the area, saying simply, "It just spooks me out."
The following years were lonely for Lucy. We often invited her to our house for family gatherings, but it couldn't fill the void left by her loss. She spent most of her time typing letters to family and friends on an old typewriter. In the spring and summer, with our windows open, we could hear the steady sound of her typing.
After Lucy passed away, her house remained vacant for a long time. Before the new owners moved in, my father did some repairs inside. He often said he heard footsteps on the old hardwood floors. But we all knew something was truly happening when we heard the unmistakable striking of typewriter keys. Lucy had returned to type her ghostly letters. I suppose you could say that neither Lucy nor her husband was willing to give up the things they loved most.
中文翻译
在这个小镇上，我们家搬过好几个地方，最后在宾夕法尼亚大街的一所房子里安顿下来。这里邻里安静，我的父母很快和周围的人交上了朋友。
我们左边住着一位名叫露西的老太太。她和我的父母相处得特别好。她的丈夫大约两年前去世了，附近又没有其他亲人，我们家就成了她某种意义上的替代家庭。露西和她的丈夫在20世纪40年代就买下了这所房子。她的丈夫喜欢在房子和院子里修修补补，但院子才是他真正的热情所在。他一年到头都给予院子精心的照料，而露西则会给远方的亲戚打字写信，讲述他们的生活近况。
露西的丈夫把院子打理得美不胜收，人人都赞叹不已。他去世后，露西认为将他的骨灰撒在他度过无数时光的后院是合适的。然而，一段时间后，露西确信她的丈夫回到了他的院子。她对那个如今变得杂草丛生的后院感到特别害怕，她的丈夫曾在那里度过许多白昼。她告诉我们，她听到草地上有脚步声，或者感觉有人或什么东西拍了拍她的肩膀。她开始避开那个地方，只是简单地说：“那里让我心里发毛。”
接下来的几年对露西来说是孤独的。我们经常邀请她来我们家参加家庭聚会，但这无法填补她失去爱人后的空虚。她大部分时间都在用一台旧打字机给家人和朋友写信。春天和夏天，我们开着窗户，总能听到她持续不断的打字声。
露西去世后，她的房子空了很长时间。在新主人搬进来之前，我父亲进去做了一些修缮工作。他常说听到老旧的硬木地板上有脚步声。但当我们听到那确凿无疑的打字机敲击声时，我们都知道确实有事情发生了。露西回来打她幽灵般的信件了。我想你可以说，无论是露西还是她的丈夫，都不愿放弃他们最爱的事物。