介绍:
Miguel followed Hector down a steep stairway. "So why the heck would you want to be a musician?" asked Hector.
米格跟着埃克托沿着陡峭的台阶向下走。"真见鬼，你怎么会想做音乐家呢？" 埃克托问。
Miguel was offended. "My great-great-grandpa was a musician."
米格听了有些不快。"我的曾曾爷爷就是一位音乐家。"
"Who spent his life performing like a monkey for complete strangers. Blech, no thank you, no," Hector said.
"像只猴子一样为陌生人表演了一辈子。 呃，还是算了吧。" 埃克托说。
"Whadda YOU know?" asked Miguel. "How far is this guitar, anyway?"
"你懂什么！" 米格大吼着问道，"还有多远才能看到吉他？"
"We're almost there." Hector jumped from a stairway to the ground, and his bones scattered, then reassembled. "Keep up, chamaco, come on!"
"快到了。"埃克托从台阶上跳到地上，他的骨头落了一地，随即又自行重新拼在了一起。"跟上，小孩儿，快走！"
The stairway in front of them opened up to a small section of town covered in dust. The shimmering brightness that lit up the Land of the Dead seemed to have skipped this area. Miguel gazed at passersby.
他们面前的这部台阶通向小镇上一个尘土飞扬的地方。这个地方像是被点亮亡灵之地的万千灯火遗忘了。米格观察着路上的行人。
They were dusty and drab like Hector, lacking the bright decorations and clothing of the Rivera ancestors. A group of dingy skeletons huddled around a burning trash can and laughed raucously. They saw Hector.
他们都像埃克托一样满身灰尘、了无生趣，不像里韦拉家的先辈们那样戴着好看的饰品，穿着鲜亮的衣服。一群脏兮兮的骷髅围在一个正在燃烧的垃圾桶旁边，粗声谈笑着。他们看见了埃克托。
"Cousin Hector!" the group hollered.
"埃克托表弟！" 那群人大喊。
"Ay! These guys!" Hector said with a big smile. He nodded to a man playing a jaunty tune on a violin made of coffee cans, twine, and other scraps. "Hey, Tío!" Hector called to the man playing the violin.
"嘿！ 伙计们！" 埃克托扬起笑脸。他朝其中一个人点了点头，那个人正在用小提琴弹奏一首欢快的乐曲，而他的小提琴是用咖啡罐、麻绳和其他一些废料做成的。"嗨，舅舅！" 埃克托和那个拉小提琴的男人打招呼。
"These people are all your family?" asked Miguel.
"这些都是你的家人？" 米格问。
"Eh, in a way. We're all the ones with no photos on ofrendas. No family to go home to. Nearly forgotten, you know?" Hector said with a hint of sadness. "So we all call each other cousin, or tío, or whatever."
"呃，算是吧。 我们都是灵坛上没有照片的人，是无家可归的人，差不多已经被人遗忘了，你懂吗？"埃克托的语气里带着一丝伤感，"所以我们都叫对方表弟，或是舅舅，或者别的什么。"
Hector and Miguel approached three old ladies playing cards around a wooden crate.
另一边，有三位老太太正围着一个木制货箱打牌。 埃克托和米格朝她们走了过去。
"Hector!" one called out.
"埃克托！" 其中一位老太太叫他。
"Tía Chelo! Hey, hey!" Hector greeted the old woman. "Is Chicharrón around?"
"谢洛姨妈！ 嗨，嗨！" 埃克托向她问好，"猪皮哥在吗？"
"In the bungalow. I don't know if he's in the mood for visitors," Tía Chelo said.
"在小屋子里。 我不确定他现在想不想见人。" 谢洛姨妈说。
"Who doesn't like a visit from Cousin Hector?" Hector teased as he entered a tent. He held the curtains open for Miguel and Dante to enter. Inside, it was cramped, dark, and quiet.
"谁不想见埃克托表弟呀？"埃克托开玩笑地说道，走进了一个帐篷里。他拉起帘子让米格和丹丹进来。帐篷里十分狭窄，又黑又静。
There were stacks of old dishes, a drawer full of pocket watches, and piles of magazines and records stacked high. Miguel stumbled and almost knocked one stack over.
许多旧盘子堆在一起，抽屉里塞满了怀表，杂志和唱片堆得像小山一样高。米格踉踉跄跄地走着，险些撞倒一堆东西。
Hector spotted a hammock piled with old trinkets and a dusty hat. He lifted the hat and found the grumpy face of his friend Chicharrón.
埃克托看到一张堆满旧饰品的吊床，上面还有一顶落满灰尘的帽子。他把帽子拿起来，看到了帽子下面他的朋友猪皮哥那张愤怒的脸。
"Buenas noches, Chicharrón!"
"晚上好，猪皮哥！"
"I don't wanna see your stupid face, Hector!" "C'mon, it's Día de los Muertos! I brought you a little offering!"
"我不想看到你这张愚蠢的脸，埃克托！""哎呀，今天是亡灵节！ 我带了点祭品给你！"
"Get out of here … "
"快出去……"
"I would, Cheech, but the thing is … me and my friend here, Miguel, we really need to borrow your guitar."
"我会走的，猪皮，但是……我和我的朋友米格，我们想借用一下你的吉他。"
"My guitar?" Chicharrón shifted in his hammock. "I promise we'll bring it right back," Hector said.
"我的吉他？"猪皮哥在吊床上挪了挪身子。"我保证用完就还你。" 埃克托说。
Chicharrón sat up, incensed.
猪皮哥非常恼怒地坐了起来。
"Like that time you promised to bring back my van?"
"就像你上次说会还我的货车？"
"Uh," Hector said. "Or my mini fridge?"
"呃。" 埃克托说。 "还有我的小冰箱？"
"Ah, you see … uhhhh … "
"啊，你知道……呃……"
"Or my good napkins? My lasso? My femur?"
"还有我好看的餐巾呢？ 我的套索呢？ 我的大腿骨呢？"
"No, not like those times."
"不，我不会像以前那样的。"
"Where's my femur? You — " Chicharrón raised a finger to give Hector a tongue-lashing, but then he weakened and collapsed on his hammock, a golden flicker flashing through his bones.
"我的大腿骨呢？ 你这个——"猪皮哥竖起一根手指想好好训斥埃克托一顿，但是他突然没了力气，跌倒在吊床上，一点金色的亮光在他的骨头之间闪烁。
"Whoa, whoa, you okay, amigo?" Hector said, rushing to his friend's side.
"哇哦，哇哦，你还好吗，朋友？" 埃克托冲到他的床边。
Chicharrón let out a long sigh. "I'm fading, Hector. I can feel it." He gazed over at his guitar. "I couldn't even play that thing if I wanted to."
猪皮哥发出一声长长的叹息。"我快不行了，埃克托。 我能感觉到。"他注视着他的吉他，"我就算是想弹那东西也弹不动了。"
Hector's eyes darted from Chicharrón to the guitar. "YOU play me something," said Chicharrón.
埃克托的目光从猪皮哥身上落到吉他上。"你给我弹一首吧。" 猪皮哥说。
"Oh, you know I don't play anymore, Cheech," said Hector. "The guitar's for the kid."
"噢，你知道我不弹琴了，猪皮。" 埃克托说，"吉他是给那个小孩儿的。"
"You want it, you got to earn it."
"如果想要，就得自己争取。"
Hector reluctantly reached for the guitar. "Only for you, amigo. Any requests?"
埃克托不情愿地拿来吉他："只弹给你听，朋友。 想听什么？"
Chicharrón smiled. "You know my favorite, Hector."
猪皮哥笑了："你知道的，我的最爱。 埃克托。"
Hector grinned and began strumming away on the guitar, playing a lovely, lilting tune. Chicharrón smiled, seeming suddenly at peace. As Hector played, Miguel was amazed. He'd had no idea Hector was a musician — and a good one!
埃克托咧嘴一笑，开始拨动琴弦，弹起一首好听而轻快的曲子。猪皮哥笑了，他的心情好像一下子平静了下来。一旁的米格万分惊讶，他真没想到，埃克托竟然是个音乐家，还是个出色的音乐家！
The skeleton began to sing a silly song about a woman named Juanita whose knuckles dragged on the floor.
转而，埃克托开始唱起一首傻气的歌，说的是一个叫胡安妮塔的女人在地板上跪着走。
"Those aren't the words!" Chicharrón protested.
"不是这样唱的！" 猪皮哥抗议。
"There are children present," Hector said calmly, and continued to sing. He ended the song with a soft flourish.
"有孩子在场呢。" 埃克托镇定地说完，继续唱歌。他用一个柔和的装饰颤音结束了整首歌。
"Brings back memories," said Chicharrón. "Gracias." Then his eyes closed. Suddenly, the edges of Chicharrón's bones began to glow with a soft, beautiful light. Hector looked sad. Then they watched as Chicharrón dissolved into dust.
"回忆满满啊。" 猪皮哥说，"谢谢你。"他闭上了眼睛。突然，猪皮哥的骨头边缘开始发出柔和而美丽的光芒。埃克托看起来很伤心。他们看着猪皮哥逐渐化为尘埃。
"Wait, what happened?" Miguel asked, concerned.
"等等，这是怎么回事？" 米格担心地问。
Hector picked up a glass, raised it in honor of Chicharrón, and drank. He put it down next to Chicharrón's glass, which remained full.
埃克托拿起一个玻璃杯，举过头顶，以此悼念猪皮哥，他将杯中的酒一饮而尽，把它放在猪皮哥的杯子旁边，那杯酒还是满的。
"He's been forgotten," Hector said. "When there's no one left in the living world who remembers you, you disappear from this world. We call it the final death."
"他被忘记了。" 埃克托说，"如果活人的世界里没人记得你，你就会从这里消失。我们称为最后一死。"
"Where did he go?" asked Miguel. "No one knows," said Hector.
"他去哪儿了？" 米格问。"谁也不知道。" 埃克托说。
Miguel had a thought. "But I've met him. I could remember him, when I go back."
米格想了想："但是我见过他。 等我回去，我就能记得他。"
"No, it doesn't work like that, chamaco. Our memories, they have to be passed down by those who knew us in life. In the stories they tell about us. But there's no one left alive to pass down Cheech's stories …"
"不，不是这样的，小孩。我们的回忆，必须被认识我们的、活着的人传递下去。他们讲述我们的故事。但是已经没有活着的人去讲猪皮的故事了……"
Miguel fell silent, in deep thought about his family's shrine and keeping their memories alive.
米格陷入了沉思，他想到家里的神龛和记忆的传承。
Hector put a hand on Miguel's back, suddenly cheerful. "Hey, it happens to everyone eventually," he said. He gave the guitar to Miguel. "C'mon, de la Cruzcito. You've got a contest to win." Hector slung open the curtain, and Miguel followed Hector out of the tent.
埃克托又恢复了往日轻松的语调，他把手放在米格的背后，说："嗨，每个人最后都会这样的。"他把吉他递给米格，"好了，未来歌神。 你还有一场比赛要赢呢。"埃克托拉开帘子，米格跟着他走了出去。
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