The Notebook Under the Floorboards- 適合進階的英語短篇故事

Every morning before the wheel began its slow labor, Kira swept the narrow walkway beside the sluice. Today, a single damp boot print pressed into the layer of pale flour on the boards, its edges already cooling under the draft from the open mill door. Water thudded against the paddles just as always, yet that print pulled her attention away from the rhythm. The shape looked too broad for her own shoe and too recent for the mill hands who usually arrived after sunrise. Not once did she glimpse another soul nearby. Chill air drifted up through a gap between planks, misting her knuckles when she brushed the mark with the back of her glove.

Her broom paused mid-stroke, the bristles already dusted white, and she lifted the plank a finger’s breadth to peer into the darkness beneath. Warmth from the grain-fed stove lingered behind her knees, yet the space below breathed cool steam toward her face. A scrap of twine hung there, stained purple—as though it had rolled through a vineyard vat before drying brittle. Yesterday’s delivery barrels had come from the valley estate, but none carried such cord. What she noticed first was the steady tick of dripping water, matching the wheel’s pulse. If the boards were any weaker, the floor would give way long before tomorrow’s harvest grinding began; still, the walkway needed sweeping before the foreman appeared.

She nudged the loosened plank back into line, hoping the swelling wood would reseat; instead, the movement shook flour from the loft above and freed another board beside it. Only after the second plank shifted did a thin notebook slide into view, edges warped by spray. A traveling scholar had once stood here, copying wheel ratios; the cramped handwriting on the cover, though blurred, looked like his. Water kept slapping the paddles; the more she pressed the plank down, the more the notebook threatened to tumble into the pit. She halted, heartbeat hammering against the damp wool of her coat, then steadied the soggy book with her elbow.

Her palms warming against the coarse rope, she looped it around the notebook and hoisted the dripping bundle onto the walkway, splashes cooling her knuckles. The rescued pages felt heavier than their size, as though the moisture had added weight along with something quietly valuable. Yet the lifted plank now leaned upright, exposing a darker cavity; forcing it back would choke the wheel’s spray against the joists and leave the boards to rot again. Eventually she propped the plank with a spare flour sack and tucked the notebook beneath her vest, intending to dry it near the stove later. She set the broom aside and traced fresh chalk around the loosened board.

每天清晨，在水輪開始緩慢轉動之前，琪拉都會打掃水槽旁那條狹窄的走道。今天，麵粉薄薄覆在木板上，卻多了一枚溼漉漉的靴印，邊緣在打開的磨坊門口冷風下迅速變涼。水仍舊重擊槳葉，但那個靴印讓她無法再隨節奏工作。印痕比她自己的鞋寬，也比通常日出後才到的工人留下的更新。她環顧四周，一個人影也沒有。冰涼的氣流從木板縫隙竄上來，當她用手背拂去印記時，水氣沾濕了指節。

掃帚停在半空，刷毛已覆上白粉，她把木板撬起一指寬，探看下方黑暗。穀火爐的餘溫仍包住她的膝蓋，板下卻送來帶霧的冷氣。一截被紫汁染過的麻繩垂掛其間，好像曾在葡萄園的釀桶裡翻滾後乾裂。昨晚送來的酒桶並沒有這種繩子。她首先聽見的是滴水與水輪脈動一致的節拍。若板子再脆弱些，收穫季明天要磨的穀物前，這地板就會塌；可磨坊主管快到，走道還得打掃。

她試著把鬆動的木板推回原位，盼膨脹的木頭能重新卡緊；沒想到這個動作震落閣樓上的麵粉，又松開旁邊另一片板。第二塊板剛移開，一本被水霧浸泡的薄冊滑出，書角捲曲。曾有個行腳學者站在這兒抄寫齒輪比例；雖然封面字跡模糊，仍像是他的筆畫。水持續拍擊槳葉；她越是壓板，冊子就越想掉進輪坑。她停下來，濕羊毛外套下的心跳急促，隨後用手肘穩住那本浸水的書。

手掌因粗繩摩擦而發熱，她繞繩套住冊子，將滴水的小捆拉回走道，濺起的水珠冰涼地拍在指節。被救出的頁面比想像中沉重，彷彿水分除了重量還帶來了某種不可言說的價值。然而豎起的木板露出更深的空隙；若強行壓回，水花會反噴至橫梁，木板遲早再爛。她終於用備用麵粉袋支住木板，把冊子塞進背心，打算稍後在爐邊烘乾。她把掃帚放到一旁，拿起粉筆在鬆動的板邊畫上新的標記。