I stood amidst the shattered remnants of the World Trade Center, passing buckets of rubble hand to hand along a chain of volunteers and emergency responders.
我伫立于世贸中心的残垣断壁之间,沿着一列由志愿者与急救人员组成的队伍,接力传递着一桶桶瓦砾。
It was mere hours after the attacks of September 11, 2001.
那是2001年9月11日袭击发生后的数小时。
A small white object emerging from the gray ash caught my eye.
一个从灰色灰烬中显露出来的白色小物件攫住了我的目光。
It was battered and filthy, and was indisputably a golf ball.
它磨损斑驳、污秽不堪,毋庸置疑是一枚高尔夫球。
In that instant, it came to symbolize a loss that defied comprehension, one whose resolution might take years, or might never come at all.
在那一瞬,它象征着一种无从索解的损失,其消解或许需历经数载,甚或永无可能。
A person whose name I could no longer recall, and whom I had in all likelihood never met, instructed me not to discard it.
一个我既无从忆起其名、亦极可能素昧平生的人,嘱我不要将它丢弃。
We both understood, without needing it spelled out, precisely what it signified to come upon a personal effect amid acres of pulverised concrete and twisted steel.
我们都心知肚明,在数英亩被碾碎的混凝土与扭曲的钢铁之间发现一件私人物品,究竟意味着什么。
I set it down beside a heap of shredded metal — metal believed to be the wreckage of the aircraft that had struck the Twin Towers.
我把它搁在一堆 shredded metal 旁边——那些金属被认为是撞向双塔的飞机残骸。
During those first chaotic hours, people laboured tirelessly, digging with something close to frenzy into what would later come to be known as "the Pile", searching for any sign of life.
在那最初几个混沌的小时里,人们不知疲倦地劳作,近乎癫狂地在日后被称作“堆”的所在掘进,搜寻任何生命的迹象。
We stood shoulder to shoulder with fellow New Yorkers, digging, doing whatever we could think of that might help, and every so often freezing abruptly when someone shouted "Quiet!" — a cry that pierced the hum of the site.
我们与 fellow New Yorkers 并肩而立,挖掘着,竭尽所能做任何自觉能有所助益之事,偶尔因有人高喊“安静”而戛然驻足——那一声呐喊刺穿了现场的嗡鸣。
The initial optimism swiftly gave way to despair.
最初的乐观旋即让位于绝望。
Identifiable remains are exceedingly scarce, so that whenever one encounters some trace testifying that someone once laboured here — a torn photograph, a paperweight, a single shoe — it lands like a physical blow.
可资辨识的遗存寥若晨星,是以每当邂逅某种昭示着曾有人在此劳作过的痕迹——一帧撕裂的照片、一方镇纸、一只鞋履——便宛如一记重击。
Each relic that surfaces speaks of a story belonging to someone now gone, a story that can never be recovered.
每一件浮现的遗物,都在诉说着某个已然逝去之人那永远无从被发掘的故事。
Every object, however unremarkable it may appear today, has become part of American history.
每一件物品,无论于今看来何等平淡无奇,皆已成为美国历史的一部分。
To me—an ardent golf devotee at the time—this ball was especially poignant.
于我——彼时一名狂热的高尔夫拥趸——而言,这颗球尤令人扼腕。
I pictured it resting in the jar on the table alongside all the others, each stamped with a different corporate logo.
我遐想着它与其余诸球一并静置于桌上的罐中,每一颗皆印有各异的公司标识。
This ball enshrined a moment, and I would rather believe that it had once brought someone a flicker of joy—a deal finally sealed, an inclusion in a delightfully chaotic scramble, or perhaps precisely that one stroke that kept a man still convinced that breaking 90 was no idle fantasy.
这颗球承载着一个瞬间,而我宁愿相信,它曾为某人带来过一缕欢愉——一桩尘埃落定的生意,一场妙趣横生的 scramble 中被纳入其中,抑或恰是那一杆,令其人依旧笃信破90杆并非妄念。
For a golfer of mediocre ability, golf is by and large a profoundly frustrating pursuit.
对于技艺平庸的高尔夫球手而言,高尔夫大抵是一项令人倍感挫败的运动。
Yet it is also about longing, friendship, and camaraderie.
然而,它亦关乎渴望、友谊与同袍之谊。
In those days, all three were sorely needed.
在那个年代,此三者皆为亟需之物。
It is precisely for this reason that finding a single ball amid the still-smoldering ruins stirs the heart even now, though five-and-twenty years have slipped away.
正因如此,于余烬未熄的废墟中觅得一颗球,纵使二十五载光阴流转,依然令人心有戚戚。
Howie Rumberg was among the first journalists to reach the World Trade Center site in the aftermath of the September 11, 2001 attacks.
Howie Rumberg 系2001年9月11日袭击事件后率先抵达世贸中心现场的记者之一。
This article forms part of "American Objects," a series commemorating the 250th anniversary of the founding of the United States.
本文乃纪念美国建国250周年系列专题“American Objects”之组成部分。
To view more American Objects, click here; to view more anniversary-related coverage, click here as well.
欲览更多 American objects,请点击此处;欲览更多周年纪念相关报道,亦请点击此处。