第1章 没有汽车的老洛杉矶 / Chapter 1: Los Angeles Before Cars

1920年6月的洛杉矶，风里还裹着太平洋的咸湿气，莉娜攥着奶奶玛格丽特给的半块烤玉米饼，踩在回声公园草坪上碎金似的阳光里，脚边堆着半盒从街角杂货店买的太妃糖。七岁的她刚跟着奶奶从圣莫尼卡的海边回来，帆布鞋沾了沙子，发梢还沾着海盐的碎末，眼睛却亮得像装了星星——刚才在海边，她捡到了一枚刻着奇怪红色电车图案的旧铜币，奶奶说那是她小时候坐电车的车票钱。

In June 1920, the wind over Los Angeles still carried the damp, salty breath of the Pacific Ocean. Seven-year-old Lena clutched half a grilled corn tortilla her grandma Margaret had given her, standing on the Echo Park lawn where sunlight spilled like shards of gold on the grass. A half-box of toffees bought from the corner grocery store sat at her feet, and her sneakers were still dusted with sand from the trip to Santa Monica beach earlier that day, salt crystals clinging to the ends of her hair. Her eyes sparkled like they were stuffed with stars — she’d found an old copper coin etched with the strange red streetcar pattern on the shore, and Grandma said it was the fare for a streetcar ride when she was a little girl.

奶奶玛格丽特坐在旁边的旧木长椅上，解开洗得发白的棉布围裙，露出膝盖上磨得发白的蓝色棉布裙。她打开腿上放着的一个磨掉漆的铁皮饼干盒，盒盖内侧还贴着一张褪色的红色电车贴纸，除了莉娜捡到的铜币，里面还躺着三张泛黄的老照片：一张是穿蕾丝蓬蓬裙的小女孩站在红色有轨电车车头，脚边摆着一篮沾着露水的白玫瑰；一张是穿牛仔背带裤的小男孩骑在高轮自行车上，笑得缺了颗门牙；还有一张是灰蒙蒙的平原上立着几座低矮的木头房子，远处是覆盖着终年积雪的圣加布里埃尔山。

Grandma Margaret sat on the old wooden bench beside her, untying her faded white cotton apron to reveal a blue skirt worn thin at the knees. She opened a dented tin cookie box on her lap, its inner lid still stuck with a faded red streetcar sticker. Alongside the copper coin Lena had found, the box held three yellowed old photos: one of a little girl in a lace frilly dress standing in front of a red streetcar, a basket of dewy white roses at her feet; one of a boy in denim overalls riding a high-wheel bicycle, grinning with a missing front tooth; and one of a flat gray plain dotted with low wooden houses, the snow-capped San Gabriel Mountains visible in the distance.

“我小时候呀，洛杉矶根本没有这么多汽车。”奶奶摸了摸莉娜的头发，指尖带着烤玉米饼的暖香，“那时候是1895年，我刚好10岁，住在邦克山的一座小木屋里，整个洛杉矶才5万人，比现在回声公园这个社区的人口还少。我们出门要么走路，要么骑马，要么坐红色有轨电车，汽车？那是只有最有钱的富翁才买得起的新鲜玩意儿，一年在洛杉矶也卖不了10辆。”

“When I was your age, Los Angeles didn’t have all these cars at all.” Grandma stroked Lena’s hair, her fingertips still warm with the scent of grilled corn. “That was 1895, I was exactly 10 years old, living in a little wooden cottage on Bunker Hill. The whole city only had 50,000 people — fewer than the population of the Echo Park neighborhood today. We got around by walking, riding horses, or taking the red streetcars. Cars? Those were a fancy new toy only the richest millionaires could afford. They sold fewer than 10 cars a year in all of Los Angeles back then.”

奶奶说的1895年的洛杉矶，小得像一颗放在沙漠里的玻璃弹珠。城市边界西边到圣莫尼卡的沙滩，东边到阿尔罕布拉的果园，南边到长滩的渔船码头，北边到圣费尔南多谷的入口，整个城市横着走一遍，连走带歇只要一个半小时，要是骑快马，半个钟头就能从城东跑到城西。那时候的街道大部分是压实的土路，只有市中心的主街用整齐的木块铺成，下雨天泥泞得能陷到脚踝，晴天一有马车跑过就扬起半人高的灰，大家都穿着长筒雨靴出门，裤脚总是沾着泥点。

The Los Angeles Grandma was talking about was as small as a glass marble set in the desert. Its western border reached the beaches of Santa Monica, its eastern edge stopped at the citrus orchards of Alhambra, its southern edge touched the fishing docks of Long Beach, and its northern edge ended at the entrance to the San Fernando Valley. You could walk from the eastern edge of the city to the western edge in an hour and a half with rests, or ride a fast horse from east to west in just half an hour. Most streets were packed dirt back then, only the downtown main street was paved with neat wooden blocks. On rainy days the mud was deep enough to sink to your ankles, and on sunny days, a passing horse-drawn carriage would kick up dust half a person’s high. Everyone wore tall rain boots when they went out, and their pant cuffs were always stained with mud.

那时候的商店都挤在步行可达的范围内，奶奶家楼下拐角处就有一家面包店，老板每天早上六点就起来烤面包，香味能飘半条街，莉娜后来穿越过去的时候，还吃到过刚出炉的葡萄干面包，比现在任何一家高级面包店的都好吃。街角还有一家杂货店，卖酱油、盐、糖果，还有刚从附近果园摘的橙子，走路两分钟就能到，根本不需要开车。大家晚上都不锁门，吃完晚饭就端着盘子到街边和邻居聊天，小孩在街上跳房子、捉迷藏，不用怕被车撞，因为全城的汽车加起来还没有现在一个大型停车场的车多。

All the shops were clustered within walking distance back then. Right around the corner from Grandma’s cottage was a bakery, whose owner got up at 6 a.m. every day to bake bread, the scent drifting half a block away. When Lena traveled back in time later, she ate a freshly baked raisin bread there that was better than anything from any fancy bakery today. There was also a grocery store around the corner selling soy sauce, salt, candy, and oranges picked from nearby orchards — only a two-minute walk away, no car needed at all. No one locked their doors at night; after dinner, people would carry their plates to the street to chat with neighbors, and kids played hopscotch and hide-and-seek right on the road, no need to worry about getting hit by cars — the whole city had fewer cars than a single large parking lot has today.

奶奶记得她10岁生日那天，太奶奶带她去圣莫尼卡海边玩。她们先步行10分钟到主街的有轨电车站，花5美分买了车票，跳上叮叮当当作响的红色有轨电车。电车里的铜扶手被磨得发亮，夏天有工人摇动手动风扇吹风，冬天座位下面有炭炉取暖，车上的人都互相认识，上车的时候会和司机打招呼，聊两句家常，比如谁家的番茄长得特别好，哪里的花展下周要开了，整辆电车就像个移动的社区聊天室。电车开了40分钟到圣莫尼卡，她们在海边玩了三个小时，捡了满满一篮子贝壳，还花了1美分买了个香草冰淇淋，奶香味浓得化不开，比现在加了各种添加剂的冰淇淋好吃100倍。回来的时候电车在半路上坏了，她们走了三个小时才回家，路上遇到卖花的小贩送了她们一朵康乃馨，卖热狗的推车给了她们半根热狗，大家互相打招呼，说“祝你生日快乐”，一点都不觉得累，反而开心得不得了。

Grandma remembered her 10th birthday, when her own mother took her to Santa Monica beach. They walked 10 minutes to the main street streetcar stop, bought a 5-cent ticket, and hopped on the clanging red streetcar. The copper handrails inside were polished smooth by years of use; in summer, a worker would turn a hand crank to blow air through the car, and in winter, there was a charcoal stove under the seats to keep people warm. Everyone on the streetcar knew each other; they’d greet the driver when they got on and chat about small things — who had especially good tomatoes growing in their garden, which flower show was opening next week. The whole streetcar was like a moving community chat room. The ride took 40 minutes to reach Santa Monica, where they played on the beach for three hours, filled a whole basket with shells, and spent 1 cent each on vanilla ice cream so creamy and rich it melted on your tongue, 100 times better than the additive-filled ice cream you can buy today. On the way back, the streetcar broke down halfway, so they walked for three hours to get home. On the road, a flower seller gave them a carnation, and a hot dog vendor gave them half a hot dog. Everyone said “happy birthday” to them as they passed, and they didn’t feel tired at all — they were so happy they could barely contain their excitement.

那时候的好莱坞，根本不是现在闪着金光的电影圣地，只是一片种着冬青树的荒凉牧场。1887年，一个叫哈维·威尔科克斯的地产商买下了这块长着冬青树的荒地，建了个小农场，养了几头奶牛，种了一片葡萄园，雇了几个牧羊人骑马放羊，给这块地方起名叫“好莱坞”，就是“冬青树林”的意思。那时候的好莱坞到洛杉矶市中心要坐40分钟有轨电车，或者骑马

走一个钟头，路上全是野草和野花，偶尔能碰到扛着猎枪的猎人，还有赶着羊群的牧羊人，连个像样的饭馆都没有，更别说电影院和明星了。 It took an hour to ride or walk there, the road lined with wild grass and flowers, and you’d occasionally run into hunters carrying shotguns or shepherds driving flocks of sheep. There wasn’t even a decent restaurant, let alone movie theaters or stars.

奶奶说着，指尖轻轻敲了敲铁皮饼干盒上的红色电车贴纸，那贴纸边角已经磨得起毛，颜色却还艳得扎眼。“我12岁那年，第一次跟着爸爸去好莱坞玩，那时候的威尔科克斯农场里还有个小木屋酒吧，卖自己家酿的葡萄酒，5美分一杯，我们坐在木屋外面的台阶上喝，看着奶牛在旁边的草地上吃草，太阳落下去的时候，整个天都是粉红色的，连风里都是葡萄的甜香味。那时候谁也没想到，几十年后那里会变成全世界最有名的地方，到处都是拍电影的人，比洛杉矶市中心的人还多。” Grandma tapped the edge of the faded red streetcar sticker on the tin box with her fingertip; the edges were frayed from years of handling, but the color still popped. “When I was 12, I went to Hollywood with my dad for the first time. Back then, the Wilcox Farm had a little wooden cabin bar that sold homemade wine for 5 cents a cup. We sat on the steps outside drinking it, watching cows graze on the grass next to us. When the sun set, the whole sky turned pink, and the wind even smelled like sweet grapes. No one could have imagined back then that a few decades later, that place would become the most famous spot in the whole world, full of movie people, even more crowded than downtown Los Angeles.”

莉娜听得入了迷，手里的旧铜币在阳光下亮得晃眼，她指尖摩挲着铜币上凹凸的电车图案，突然觉得指尖发麻，铜币猛地烫得像刚出炉的玉米饼，她“呀”地叫了一声松开手，铜币“当啷”掉在草地上，却并没有弹起来，反而像磁铁一样吸住了什么，半空中突然冒出一团橘色的光，光里滚出来一个圆滚滚的小东西，咚地砸在莉娜脚边的草地上，把她的帆布鞋都震歪了。 Lena was so captivated she didn’t notice the old