I have heard it during dinner parties, as well as at quiet Friday night meals, exhaling from the week. I have heard it when I am alone, working the soil in the garden or reading on the sofa. Increasingly, I hear it in the middle of the night, rising up against the hum of my husband’s sleeping breath. The cry of a baby, loud enough to wake me, which doesn’t exist.
我在晚宴上听到过它，也在安静的周五夜晚用餐、舒缓一周疲惫时听到过它。我独自一人时，无论是在花园里翻土，还是在沙发上读书，也会听到它。如今，我越来越常在深夜听到它，在丈夫平稳的呼吸声中响起。那是婴儿的哭声，响亮到足以把我惊醒——可实际上，这个婴儿并不存在。
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