The night market opened at six. By seven, the food row was full of smoke and noise. Lamps hung over every stall. People walked slowly and smelled everything.
夜市六点开张。到了七点，美食街上已经烟雾腾腾，人声鼎沸。每个摊位上方都挂着灯。人们慢慢地走着，什么都要闻一闻。
Stellan worked at the third stall from the corner. It sold fried noodles and small sweet buns. The owner was Gabor. He was loud, kind and always in a hurry.
斯特兰在从街角数起的第三个摊位工作。那个摊位卖炒面和小小的甜包子。老板是加博尔。他嗓门大，心地好，总是匆匆忙忙的。
It was Stellan's second week. He was nineteen. He washed pots, carried bags of rice and wiped the counter. He wanted to learn how to cook. Gabor promised him one real lesson on Friday.
这是斯特兰上班的第二个星期。他十九岁。他洗锅、扛米袋、擦柜台。他想学做菜。加博尔答应周五给他上一堂真正的课。
On the end of the counter stood a flower pot. It was round and blue, with little white birds painted on it. A green plant grew inside. Gabor called it his lucky plant.
柜台的尽头摆着一只花盆。盆是圆的，蓝色，上面画着小小的白鸟。里面长着一株绿色的植物。加博尔管它叫他的幸运草。
"This pot came from my first stall," he said that evening. "Ten years. Please never move it."
“这只花盆是从我的第一个摊位带来的，”那天傍晚他说，“十年了。千万别挪动它。”
"I won't," said Stellan.
“我不会的，”斯特兰说。
But an hour later, a big delivery came. A man pushed a cart of boxes along the row. Stellan stepped back to make space. His elbow hit the pot.
可是一小时后，来了一大批货。一个男人推着一车箱子沿着街走过来。斯特兰往后退了一步，想腾出地方。他的胳膊肘撞到了花盆。
The pot fell off the counter. It hit the stone floor with a sharp sound. Stellan froze. Nobody looked. The market was too loud.
花盆从柜台上掉了下去，砸在石头地面上，发出尖锐的一声响。斯特兰僵住了。没有人看过来。市场太吵了。
He knelt down. The pot was not in pieces. But a long crack ran from the edge to the middle. Dark soil slid out of it, and a few small stones.
他跪下去。花盆没有碎成片。但是一道长长的裂缝从盆沿一直裂到中间。黑色的泥土和几颗小石子从里面滑了出来。
His stomach felt cold. He looked up. Gabor was at the stove with his back to him. Smoke rose around him, and he shouted an order to the cook.
他觉得胃里一阵发凉。他抬起头。加博尔正背对着他站在炉灶前。他身边烟雾缭绕，他正朝厨师大声报着单子。
Stellan did a bad thing. He picked up the pot and pushed the soil back inside. He put the pot on the counter again. He turned the crack to the wall.
斯特兰做了一件不好的事。他捡起花盆，把泥土推回去，又把花盆放回柜台上，并把裂缝转向了墙壁。
From the front, it looked perfect. The white birds still flew across the blue. The green plant still stood tall.
从正面看，一切完好无损。白鸟依然飞过蓝色的盆身。绿色的植物依然挺立着。
"Stellan! Two portions of noodles for table four!" Gabor shouted.
“斯特兰！四号桌，两份炒面！”加博尔喊道。
"Coming!" said Stellan. His voice sounded thin.
“来了！”斯特兰说。他的声音听起来很虚。
The next hour was busy. Stellan ran between the stove and the tables. He carried plates and cups. He smiled at customers. But his mind stayed with the pot. Every time he passed it, his chest felt tight.
接下来的一个小时很忙。斯特兰在炉灶和餐桌之间跑来跑去，端盘子，送杯子，对顾客微笑。可他的心思还留在那只花盆上。每次经过它，他都觉得胸口发紧。
Around nine, a small girl came to the counter with her mother. She looked at the plant. She had big, curious eyes.
九点左右，一个小女孩跟着妈妈来到柜台前。她看着那株植物，一双大眼睛里满是好奇。
"The birds are pretty," she said. Then she walked around the end of the counter. "Why is the back broken?"
“小鸟真好看，”她说。然后她绕到柜台的尽头。“后面为什么破了？”
Stellan's heart jumped. "It is an old pot," he said fast. "Old pots get cracks."
斯特兰的心猛地一跳。“那是只旧花盆，”他飞快地说，“旧花盆都会裂的。”
The girl touched the crack with one finger. A thin line of water ran down the blue side. It dripped onto the floor.
小女孩用一根手指碰了碰那道裂缝。一条细细的水线顺着蓝色的盆身流下来，滴到地上。
"It cries," she said.
“它在哭，”她说。
Her mother laughed and took her hand. They walked away with their buns. But Stellan stayed where he was. He looked at the small wet circle on the stone.
她妈妈笑了，拉起她的手。她们拿着包子走开了。可斯特兰还站在原地，看着石头地面上那一小圈湿印。
He knew that the plant needed water. He knew that the crack grew bigger. By morning, the pot might fall apart. And Gabor could find out in the worst way.
他知道那株植物需要水。他知道裂缝会越来越大。到早上，花盆可能就散架了。到那时，加博尔可能会以最糟糕的方式发现这件事。
He thought about the pot. It came with Gabor from his first stall. He thought about ten years of nights like this one. His hiding place was only a small lie. But the lie grew.
他想着那只花盆。它是和加博尔一起从他的第一个摊位来的。他想着十年里像今晚这样的无数个夜晚。他的藏匿只是一个小小的谎，可这个谎越滚越大。
There was a quiet moment at ten, between two groups of customers. Gabor stood by the counter and drank a glass of water. Stellan took a breath.
十点钟，在两拨顾客之间，有了片刻的安静。加博尔站在柜台边喝着一杯水。斯特兰深深吸了口气。
"Gabor, I need to tell you something."
“加博尔，我得告诉你一件事。”
"Tell me while I drink," said Gabor. "It is the only quiet minute I have."
“趁我喝水的时候说吧，”加博尔说，“这是我唯一安静的一分钟。”
"I broke your lucky pot," said Stellan. The words came out fast. "I hit it with my elbow. It fell. I turned the crack to the wall so you could not see."
“我把你的幸运花盆弄坏了，”斯特兰说。话一下子冲了出来。“我用胳膊肘撞到了它。它掉下去了。我把裂缝转向了墙，这样你就看不见了。”
Gabor put down his glass. He picked up the pot with both hands and turned it around. He looked at the long crack. He said nothing for a while.
加博尔放下杯子，双手捧起花盆，转过来。他看着那道长长的裂缝，好一会儿没有说话。
Stellan waited. He expected a loud voice. He expected to lose his job. He kept his eyes on the floor.
斯特兰等着。他以为会听到大吼大叫，以为自己要丢掉工作。他的目光一直盯着地面。
"Why did you hide it?" Gabor asked. His voice was low.
“你为什么要藏起来？”加博尔问。他的声音很低。
"I felt too bad," said Stellan. "You said never to move it."
“我心里太难受了，”斯特兰说，“你说过千万别挪动它。”
"I am a little angry," said Gabor. "But not about the pot."
“我是有点生气，”加博尔说，“但不是因为花盆。”
Stellan looked up.
斯特兰抬起头。
"Pots break," Gabor said. "Everyone breaks something here. Last month I broke three plates and a big pan. But you waited more than three hours to tell me. That part is hard for me."
“花盆会破，”加博尔说，“在这儿，每个人都会打碎东西。上个月我打碎了三只盘子和一口大平底锅。可是你等了三个多小时才告诉我。这一点，我心里不好受。”
"I'm sorry," said Stellan. "I was afraid to say it."
“对不起，”斯特兰说，“我不敢说。”
"I know." Gabor put the pot down gently. "But you told me. Many people never do."
“我知道。”加博尔轻轻放下花盆。“可你还是告诉我了。很多人从来不会说。”
He turned and looked down the row. A man at the next stall sold glue, tools and lamps. Gabor pointed at the stall.
他转身望向街的那一头。隔壁摊位上有个男人在卖胶水、工具和灯。加博尔指了指那个摊位。
"Go to the tool stall. Buy a tube of strong glue. And ask him for a piece of thin wire."
“去工具摊。买一管强力胶。再向他要一小段细铁丝。”
Stellan ran. He came back with the glue and the wire in two minutes. His hands shook a little.
斯特兰跑了出去。两分钟后，他拿着胶水和铁丝回来了，手有点发抖。
Gabor cleared a corner of the counter. He took out the plant. He set it in a bowl of water. Then he held the two sides of the pot together. "Put the glue on the crack," he said. "A thin line. Not too much."
加博尔把柜台的一角清理出来。他把植物取出来，放进一只盛水的碗里。然后他把花盆的两半合拢。“把胶涂在裂缝上，”他说，“薄薄的一条，别太多。”
Stellan did it slowly. He pressed the edges together and held them for a long minute. Gabor put the wire around the pot three times, like a belt. The pot looked a little strange, but it was strong.
斯特兰慢慢地涂好，把两边压在一起，足足按了一分钟。加博尔把铁丝绕着花盆缠了三圈，像一条腰带。花盆看上去有点怪，但很结实。
"Now we wait one hour," said Gabor. "The glue needs time. It will not be pretty."
“现在等一个小时，”加博尔说，“胶水需要时间。它不会好看的。”
"I can buy you a new pot," said Stellan.
“我可以给你买个新花盆，”斯特兰说。
"I don't want a new one," said Gabor. "This one has ten years in it. Now it also has this night."
“我不要新的，”加博尔说，“这只盆里有十年的日子。现在它还有了今晚。”
They sold noodles for another hour. Then Gabor put the plant back in the pot. He set it on the counter. This time the crack faced the front. The wire shone under the lamp.
他们又卖了一个小时的面。然后加博尔把植物放回花盆里，摆回柜台上。这一次，裂缝朝向前面。铁丝在灯下闪着光。
"Some people mend pots with gold," Gabor said. "They say a mended thing is worth more. I only have wire. It will do."
“有些人用金子来修补陶器，”加博尔说，“他们说，修补过的东西更值钱。我只有铁丝。凑合用吧。”
Stellan laughed, and the tight feeling left his chest. He wiped his hands on his apron. The market was loud again. The smell of noodles filled the air.
斯特兰笑了，胸口那种发紧的感觉消失了。他在围裙上擦了擦手。市场又喧闹起来，炒面的香味弥漫在空气里。
A man walked up to the stall. He looked at the menu on the wall. Then he looked at the pot.
一个男人走到摊位前。他看了看墙上的菜单，然后又看了看那只花盆。
"Nice plant," he said. "Is it lucky?"
“这株植物不错，”他说，“它带来好运吗？”
"Very lucky," said Stellan.
“非常有好运，”斯特兰说。
Gabor smiled. "And on Friday," he said, "you still get your cooking lesson." He reached over and tapped the old brass bell on the counter. It always called new customers to the stall.
加博尔笑了。“周五，”他说，“你的烹饪课照上不误。”他伸手敲了敲柜台上那只旧铜铃。它总是用来招呼新来的顾客。
Ding.
叮。
