The houses were close enough that neither neighbor could pretend the other did not exist. In summer, when the nights were warm and bedroom windows remained open, Mrs. Vale became acquainted with a particular aspect of her neighbor Martin's morning routine. At first, she thought the sound was a faulty pipe. Then she considered an animal. Eventually, at 6:30 one morning, after being awakened for the fourth consecutive day, she understood. Martin was farting in bed. Not discreetly, either. The sound crossed the narrow space between the houses with surprising clarity, followed by a period of silence in which Mrs. Vale lay awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering why her life had come to include this information. She began sleeping with her window closed, but the summer heat made her room unbearable. So she bought a large fan. The fan drowned out traffic, birds, and almost everything else. Almost.
两栋房子近到谁都无法假装对方不存在。夏夜温暖、卧室窗户敞开时，维尔太太了解了邻居马丁(Martin)晨间流程的一个特别侧面。起初她以为那是水管出毛病。然后她猜是动物。最终，在连续第四天被吵醒后的一个早晨 6 点 30 分，她明白了：马丁在床上放屁。而且毫不遮掩。那声音惊人清晰地穿过两楼之间的窄缝，随后是一段寂静——维尔太太醒着躺着，盯着天花板，想不明白自己的人生为何要包含这条信息。她开始关窗睡，但暑热让房间难忍。于是她买了台大风扇。风扇盖过了车流、鸟鸣和几乎所有声音。几乎。
The second solution was diplomatic. Mrs. Vale wrote Martin a note explaining, as carefully as possible, that certain early-morning sounds were traveling unusually well between their open windows. She did not use the word *farting*. Martin replied with a note of his own, saying he understood completely and would "take reasonable measures." For three days, there was peace. Mrs. Vale slept until nearly eight and began to feel that civilization had prevailed. Then, on the fourth morning, at 6:42, a tremendous report shook her awake. The sound was followed by Martin saying, from somewhere inside his bedroom, "Oh, come on." Mrs. Vale sat upright in bed. The third solution was more elaborate: she rearranged her bedroom, moved her bed to the opposite wall, installed a white-noise machine, and hung heavier curtains. She even considered weather stripping for a window that was not supposed to make noise.
第二个方案是外交式的。维尔太太给马丁写了张字条，尽可能委婉地说明：某些清晨的声音在两人敞开的窗户之间传播得出奇地好。她没用“放屁”这个词。马丁回了张字条，说他完全理解、会“采取合理措施”。三天相安无事。维尔太太几乎睡到八点，开始觉得文明占了上风。然后，第四天早晨 6 点 42 分，一声巨响把她震醒。声音之后是马丁从卧室某处传来的一句：“哦，得了吧。”维尔太太在床上坐直了。第三个方案更精细：她重排卧室、把床挪到对墙、装了白噪音机、挂上更厚的窗帘。她甚至考虑给一扇本不该发声的窗贴密封条。
None of it worked. The fan helped, the note had helped briefly, and the white-noise machine produced a soothing rainfall that made the situation feel, if anything, more ridiculous. Martin's body remained indifferent to architecture, diplomacy, and modern sleep technology. Some mornings it began at 6:30; other mornings she was granted the luxury of 7:15. Mrs. Vale never mentioned it again, and Martin never apologized again. They continued to wave politely when passing outside, both maintaining the strained dignity of people who shared a property line and far too much knowledge of one another's private lives. By August, Mrs. Vale had reached a point of resignation. She no longer woke up wondering what the sound was. She simply opened one eye, checked the clock, and thought, with deep irritation, *Of course.*
全都没用。风扇有帮助，字条短暂有效，白噪音机播着舒缓的雨声，反而让局面显得更加荒谬。马丁的身体对建筑学、外交术和现代睡眠科技一概无动于衷。有时 6 点半开始，有时她被恩赐到 7 点 15。维尔太太再没提起这事，马丁也再没道歉。两人路过时依旧礼貌挥手，都维持着那种共享一条地界线、却对彼此私生活知道得太多的紧绷尊严。到八月，维尔太太已到了认命的地步。她不再醒来时纳闷那是什么声音。她只是睁开一只眼、看一眼钟，带着深深的恼怒想：*果然。*