The Number Between Two Raindrops- 適合中高級的英語短篇故事

A fogged window, a stubby pencil, and an open logbook waited on the indoor table, their edges glowing amber beneath the kitchen lamp. Beyond the glass, Basil zipped his raincoat and stepped from the covered porch toward the gauge; warm ochre light followed him until the porch roof ended. The sandstone stepping stone gripped his boots, yet the next glossy slate square slid under thin water, so he slowed. A row of damp broccoli plants bordered the path, rain beads clinging like tiny caramel beads. Reaching the wooden post, he crouched. A single mote of soil floated on the pale surface, and the curved meniscus met the 18-millimetre line—or so it looked from this height. The cylinder had been placed on the post years earlier, and its tilt was almost invisible. He copied the number, hurried back through sharp green scents, and the pencil left a fat, smudgy mark across the logbook margin.

The shower returned with steady rust-coloured drops under the tree canopy, then paused again. Basil’s grandfather rustled a newspaper on the porch and murmured, “Rain eases for a moment.” Basil nodded, wiped the window’s new mist with his sleeve, and hurried out once more. This time he circled the gauge, stepping onto the downhill side where dark soil formed a narrow ledge. The same water line now touched 20 millimetres. The mismatch set a clear dilemma: which reading belonged in the book? He straightened, shifted his stance, then lowered his eyes until they matched the faint shine of the glass rim. From that level, the mark sat halfway between the two earlier numbers. If another burst arrived sooner, he would need to finish before new drips skewed the level, so he recorded 19 and drew a thin circle around it.

Wind carried a toasty scent from the pantry window, hinting at supper already warming inside. Basil placed the pencil back in the spine crease; the page that had been dry now showed a widening graphite smear across the ochre paper fibres, and the clock’s brass hand ticked on the wall above.

一扇起霧的窗、短短的鉛筆和攤開的記錄本在室內桌上等待，在廚房燈下泛著溫暖的琥珀色光。玻璃外，巴茲爾拉好雨衣拉鍊，從有頂的門廊走向雨量計；門廊盡頭的暖黃光一路送他。砂岩跳石穩穩抓住他的鞋底，但下一塊光滑的板岩因薄水膜而滑溜，他放慢了腳步。小徑旁一排濕漉漉的綠花椰菜，雨珠像焦糖珠一樣黏在葉上。他蹲到木柱前；淡水面上漂著一粒細小土塵，彎月形水弧碰到 18 毫米刻度——至少從這個高度看是如此。這支玻璃筒多年前就被裝在柱上，微微傾斜幾乎察覺不到。他把數字抄下，帶著濃烈的青草味快步回到屋裡，鉛筆在記錄本邊緣劃出一條粗糊的痕。

雨又落，樹冠下的棕紅色水珠連續敲打，隨後再度停歇。門廊上，祖父翻動報紙，低聲道：「雨又小了。」巴茲爾點頭，用袖口抹去窗上新起的薄霧，再次快步出門。這回他繞到雨量計下坡一側，深色泥土形成狹窄踏腳處。相同水位此刻卻碰到 20 毫米線。數值不一帶來明顯難題：哪個該寫進本子？他站直身子，調整姿勢，再慢慢把視線與玻璃邊緣平齊。從這個角度，水面落在兩組數字之間。他估量若下一陣雨太快來到，新的水滴又會干擾讀數，於是記下 19 並在旁畫了圈。

風把儲藏室窗縫透出的烤香送來，暗示晚餐已在加熱。巴茲爾把鉛筆重新插回書脊；那張先前還乾燥的頁面此刻在赭色紙纖維間擴散出一片石墨暈痕，而牆上銅色時鐘的指針繼續滴答前行。