老大恐怖小說又一則

                                      Chessboard

It was sitting in the corner of the room, covered in a fine layer of dust and
perched on a stool.
Careful not to knock down any of the precariously-stacked cardboard boxes in the attic, I made my way slowly across the attic, arriving at last at the chessboard.
The colors were muted, the pieces blocky and large. Yellow and brown squares
criss-crossed their way across the board, meeting the solid dark-brown border at the edges. A row of pawns sat neatly in front, save for one. The pawn in front of the white king had been moved two spaces up.
As a child, I had always loved chess. I used to challenge anyone who came near
the chessboard set up neatly on the desk in my room. The adults that came would sit down with me and play a few moves, then pretend to give up and hurry on their way.
Although I always enjoyed winning, there were times when I’d get frustrated at their lack of interest.
There was one person that would always play round after round with me, though.
Grandfather never tired of playing chess with me; he and I would sit outside on a
sunny afternoon, under the shade of the giant oak tree in our backyard, and play game after game. I never won a single one.
Without realizing it, I’d made a move on the board in front of me. I only realized
once my hand was off the piece--another pawn on the board moved, and it was again white’s turn. I stared at it for a second; then, realizing what a childish idea I had been entertaining, chuckled and shook my head. I’ll save this for last, I told myself. For old times’ sake. 
The next day, I came back to that dusty, cobweb-filled attic. The ladder creaked
as I made my way up slowly.
I tried to focus on cleaning it; by the end of the afternoon, I’d finished sorting all
of the odds and ends scattered on the floor, and labeled the boxes that were now
neatly stacked against the wall. But time and time again, I’d find my eyes wandering to that corner where the chessboard lay, and there would be an overwhelming urge to go look. But I’d never been one to be easily distracted by the task at hand, and so I held out until lunch break to go.
Even before I saw it, I already knew. The feeling that had been creeping up on me
all morning had been confirmed. A piece had been moved on the board. All other
pieces seemed to be untouched--all except for the knight, which was now on the third row. 
I just stood there, staring at it. All logical explanations ran through my mind and
were discarded, as were the illogical ones. Feeling faint-hearted, I leaned against the wall as the room spun beneath me.
It was a while before I gained the confidence to stand upright again. It was
another while before I approached the chessboard, which was still perched atop that stool covered in scratches and with peeling paint. It was even more time until I dared, with a shaking hand, to push a piece forward. And just like that, I was put under a spell.
I was obsessed. Convinced that this was a sign, I wasted away my time on the
couch, immersed in chess books and lost in my own pretty world. Every day, I’d go back to that attic, spending hours at a time sitting near the board and basking in the nostalgia of it all.

It was a startling moment when I finally saw it. The sequence that would give me
the victory. All at the same time, it hit me. The overwhelming feeling of relief,
happiness, sadness, loneliness, grief. I looked sadly at the board, where the pieces
looked back at me with empty expressions. 
The last few days went by in a blur. I delayed making moves as long as I could,
sometimes avoiding the attic for days on end. Eventually, though, I’d always find
myself climbing the steps of the ladder, and mindlessly moving the pieces that would eventually win me the game.
One day, it happened. The familiar sight of the board greeted me once again, but
it was different. The memories had left, and so had the warmth that the chessboard had always granted me. So when I saw the white king laying in the middle of the board, unmoving, I wept. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. He had resigned, he had given up. Finally, after more than a decade, I had managed to win.
A gentle hand on my shoulder jolted me out of my anguish. It was my mom,
dressed in all black, looking at me with an expression of both immense sorrow and of a vast resilience. “It’s time to go,” she said softly. Wordlessly, I followed her.
As I closed the door, I looked back at the chessboard one more time.
Thank you, Grandfather, for one last memory.

                                            棋盤

它就躺在房間的角落裏，放在一張凳子上，上麵落滿了一層薄薄的灰塵，。

我小心翼翼地走過閣樓，避免撞倒任何一個堆放不穩的紙板箱。

我慢慢走過閣樓，最後來到棋盤前。

棋盤的顏色很暗淡，棋子是塊狀的，很大。黃色和棕色的方塊在棋盤上縱橫交錯，在邊緣處與堅實的深褐色邊框相接。一排棋子整齊地坐在前麵，隻有一個棋子例外。白王前麵的卒子被移到了兩個位置。

自孩提時代，我就喜歡國際象棋。我央求周圍的人來挑戰我。

在我房間的桌子上整齊地擺放著棋盤。來的大人會和我一起坐下來，走幾步，然後假裝放棄，匆匆上路。

雖然我總是喜歡贏，但有時也會因為他們缺乏興趣而感到沮喪。

不過，有一個人總是和我下了一盤又一盤。那是我的祖父。

祖父從不厭倦與我下棋；他和我會在一個陽光明媚的下午坐在外麵的樹蔭下。下了一盤又一盤。我從未贏過一局。

在不知不覺中，我在麵前的棋盤上走了一步。隻有當我的手離開棋子時，我才意識到。

一旦我的手離開棋子--棋盤上的另一個卒子移動了，又輪到了白棋。我盯著它看了一會兒；然後意識到我的想法多麽幼稚，就笑著搖了搖頭。我告訴自己，我要把這個留到最後。看在過去的份上。

第二天，我又來到了那個布滿灰塵、蜘蛛網的閣樓。梯子吱吱作響

我慢慢往上爬。

我試著集中精力打掃；到下午結束時，我已經完成了對所有散落在地板上的零碎物品，並給現在整齊地堆放在牆上的箱子貼上標簽。

整齊地堆放在牆邊。但是，我一次又一次地發現我的眼睛徘徊在棋盤所在的那個角落，有一種壓倒性的衝動想去看看。但我從來不是一個容易被手頭的工作分心的人，所以我一直堅持到午休時間才去。

甚至在我看到它之前，我已經知道了。整整一個上午，我的感覺一直在悄悄地發生變化

整個上午的感覺得到了證實。棋盤上有一顆棋子被移動了。所有其他棋子似乎都沒有被動過--除了騎士，它現在在第三行。

我隻是站在那裏，盯著它。所有符合邏輯的解釋都在我腦海中閃過，並被拋棄。

都被拋棄了，不符合邏輯的也被拋棄了。我感到心慌意亂，靠在牆上，房間在我腳下旋轉。

過了一會兒，我才有信心再次站直。又過了一會兒，我才走近棋盤，棋盤仍然放在凳子上，上麵布滿了劃痕和剝落的油漆。又過了一段時間，我才敢用顫抖的手將棋子推向前。就這樣，我被施了魔法。

我被迷住了。我確信這是一個征兆，於是我在沙發上虛度光陰，沉浸在象棋中。

沙發上，沉浸在象棋書中，迷失在自己的美麗世界裏。每天，我都會回到那個閣樓，每次花幾個小時坐在棋盤附近，沉浸在對這一切的懷念中。

當我終於看到它時，那是一個令人震驚的時刻。將給我帶來勝利的那一串勝利。所有這些都是在同一時間發生的，它擊中了我。鋪天蓋地的解脫感。

幸福，悲傷，孤獨，悲痛。我悲傷地看著棋盤，那裏的棋子以空洞的表情回望著我。

過去的幾天在模糊中過去了。我盡可能地推遲了行動。

有時一連幾天都在躲避閣樓。但最終，我總是發現自己爬上了梯子的台階，無意識地移動著最終會讓我贏得比賽的棋子。

有一天，事情發生了。棋盤上熟悉的景象再次出現在我麵前，但它是不同的。記憶離開了，棋盤一直給予我的溫暖也離開了。所以當我看到白王躺在棋盤中間，一動不動時，我哭了。我哭了，直到我再也哭不出來。他已經放棄了。終於，在十多年後，我成功地贏得了勝利。

一隻溫柔的手放在我的肩膀上，把我從痛苦中驚醒。那是我媽媽。

她穿著一身黑色的衣服，看著我，表情既有巨大的悲痛，又有巨大的堅強。"我們該回家了。"她輕輕地說。我無言地跟著她。

當我關上門的時候，我又回頭看了一眼棋盤。

謝謝你，祖父，為了最後的記憶。

（係機器翻譯）