At four in the morning, the flower market is already louder than a school hall. Lorries beep as they back into the loading bays. Men shout prices across the aisles, and buckets of lilies clatter on the wet stone floor. Karim stands behind his mother's stall with a bunch of white roses in each hand. A flute case sits on a crate beside him, wrapped in a plastic flower sleeve.
凌晨四点，花卉市场已经比学校礼堂还要吵。货车倒进装卸区时嘟嘟作响。男人们隔着过道喊着价钱，一桶桶百合在潮湿的石头地面上哐啷作响。卡里姆站在母亲的摊位后面，两只手各拿着一束白玫瑰。一只长笛盒放在他身旁的板条箱上，外面裹着一个塑料花套。
Today is the day of his audition for the city youth orchestra. It starts at six o'clock, in the concert hall at the far end of the market district. The judges lock the doors at six exactly. A late player does not get a second turn.
今天是他参加市立青年管弦乐团试奏的日子。试奏六点开始，在市场区尽头的音乐厅。评委六点整就锁门。迟到的演奏者没有第二次机会。
"You should leave by five," his mother says. She is counting stems and does not look up. "I can manage the stall with the new boy."
“你应该五点就走，”他母亲说。她正在数花枝，头也没抬。“摊位我和新来的男孩能应付。”
"The delivery for the hotel isn't ready yet," Karim says. "I'll finish it first. Then I'll go."
“酒店的订单还没准备好，”卡里姆说，“我先做完它。然后再走。”
He always says this. Karim is the kind of person who thinks every job is his job. He does not like to ask for help. He does not like to leave a task half done. So he ties the hotel's flowers into forty neat bunches, and he checks each one twice.
他总是这么说。卡里姆就是那种认为每件活都是自己的活的人。他不喜欢求人帮忙。他不喜欢把一件事做到一半就丢下。于是他把酒店要的花扎成四十束整整齐齐的花束，每一束都检查了两遍。
At twenty past five, he finally lifts the flute case. Wilf is waiting at the end of the aisle with an empty hand trolley. He is sixteen and works for the biggest wholesaler in the market. He knows every corner of the building.
五点二十分，他终于拿起长笛盒。威尔夫在过道尽头等着，推着一辆空的手推车。他十六岁，在市场里最大的批发商那里干活。他熟悉这栋建筑的每个角落。
"You look terrible," Wilf says. "Did you sleep at all?"
“你看起来糟透了，”威尔夫说，“你睡过吗？”
"No time to talk," says Karim. "I have forty minutes to cross the market. I'll take the main aisle."
“没时间说话，”卡里姆说，“我只有四十分钟穿过市场。我走主过道。”
Wilf laughs. "The main aisle? Have you looked at it today?"
威尔夫笑了。“主过道？你今天看过它吗？”
Karim turns round. The main aisle is a river of vans, carts and shouting people. A delivery lorry has stopped across the middle, and fifty florists are trying to squeeze past it. Nothing moves. A man is arguing with a driver who has locked his doors and gone for coffee.
卡里姆转过身。主过道成了一条由货车、推车和吵嚷的人组成的河。一辆送货卡车横停在中间，五十个花商正试图从旁边挤过去。什么都动不了。一个男人正跟一个司机争吵，那个司机锁了车门，去喝咖啡了。
Karim's stomach drops. He tries the side aisles, one after another, but every one is full of crates. He climbs over a stack of empty buckets and runs along the wall. Ten minutes later he is back where he started. He has a wet shoe and a cut on his thumb. The clock above the fish stall says five forty.
卡里姆的心沉了下去。他一条接一条地试了侧边的过道，可每一条都堆满了板条箱。他爬过一堆空桶，沿着墙跑。十分钟后，他又回到了原地。他的一只鞋湿了，拇指被划破了。鱼摊上方的钟指着五点四十分。
"It is not possible," he says, breathing hard. "Twenty minutes, and the hall is half a kilometre away."
“这不可能，”他喘着粗气说，“二十分钟，而音乐厅在半公里外。”
"On the roads, yes," Wilf says. "But we are not going by the road."
“走马路的话，是的，”威尔夫说，“可我们不走马路。”
Karim frowns. "Where else is there?"
卡里姆皱起眉。“还有别的路吗？”
"Come with me. And hold your flute high."
“跟我来。长笛举高点。”
Wilf pushes the trolley to a grey metal door behind the cold rooms. The market keeps its cut stems cool in there. The door is marked STAFF ONLY. Karim hesitates, because he has never broken a rule in his life. Then he sees the clock again. He follows Wilf inside.
威尔夫推着手推车来到冷库后面的一扇灰色金属门前。市场把切好的花枝存放在里面保鲜。门上标着“员工专用”。卡里姆犹豫了，因为他这辈子从没违反过规定。然后他又看见了钟。他跟着威尔夫走了进去。
The corridor is cold and white, and it smells of wet leaves. Rows of lilies stand in silent buckets on both sides. At the end of the corridor, a long line of flat carts waits beside a rubber belt. Every morning, the market sends the empty buckets along this belt to the washing yard behind the building.
走廊又冷又白，带着湿树叶的气味。两边一排排的百合立在无声的桶里。走廊尽头，一长列平板车停在一条橡胶传送带旁。每天早上，市场都会把空桶沿这条传送带送到建筑后面的清洗场。
"The belt runs the whole length of the market," Wilf explains. "It stops at the yard, and the yard has a back gate. That gate opens right onto the loading door of the concert hall. I have seen musicians carry their cellos through it."
“这条传送带贯穿整个市场，”威尔夫解释，“它到清洗场就停，而清洗场有一道后门。那道门直接通向音乐厅的装卸口。我见过音乐家扛着大提琴从那儿过。”
"Is that safe?" Karim asks.
“安全吗？”卡里姆问。
"If you lie flat and keep your head down, it is," says Wilf. "Climb on."
“只要你躺平，低着头，就安全，”威尔夫说，“上去吧。”
Karim stares at the belt. Every part of him wants to find a safer plan. But the only other plan is to arrive late. He has already tried that one in his head. He climbs onto a flat cart and lies on his back. The case lands on his chest. Wilf jumps on the next cart and presses a green button.
卡里姆盯着传送带。他整个人都想找一个更安全的办法。可唯一的另一个办法就是迟到。这个办法他已经在脑子里试过了。他爬上一辆平板车，仰面躺下。笛盒落在他胸口。威尔夫跳上下一辆车，按下一个绿色按钮。
The belt starts with a jerk. Karim slides through a rubber curtain into a tunnel full of fans and pipes. Buckets rattle past on both sides. Somewhere above them, he can hear the market, a loud, muffled sound like a crowd in another room. It is the strangest ride of his life, and for a moment he almost laughs.
传送带猛地一抖就动了。卡里姆穿过一道橡胶帘，滑进一条满是风扇和管道的隧道。两侧水桶哗啦啦地掠过。头顶某处，他能听见市场的声音，一种响亮而沉闷的声响，像另一间屋子里的人群。这是他一生中最奇怪的一次乘坐，有那么一刻他几乎笑出声来。
Then the belt slows. A line of buckets blocks the exit, and the cart stops with a bump.
接着传送带慢了下来。一排水桶堵住了出口，平板车颠了一下停住了。
"The yard is washing the last load," Wilf says from behind him. "We cannot get through this way. Not in time."
“清洗场正在洗最后一批，”威尔夫在他身后说，“我们从这边过不去了。来不及了。”
"What do we do?" Karim whispers. He looks at his watch. It says five fifty-two.
“怎么办？”卡里姆低声问。他看了看手表。五点五十二分。
Wilf thinks for a few seconds. "The hose room. Follow me and keep your case dry."
威尔夫想了几秒钟。“软管房。跟我来，别让你的笛子沾水。”
They crawl off the carts and squeeze between two machines. The hose room is full of steam and noise, and the floor is a lake of soapy water. Karim holds his flute above his head with both hands. Water runs down his sleeves and into his collar. He thinks about asking Wilf to go ahead, then stops. For the first time that morning, he understands that nobody is asking him to do this alone.
他们爬下平板车，从两台机器之间挤过去。软管房里满是蒸汽和噪音，地面成了一片肥皂水的湖。卡里姆用双手把长笛高举过头。水顺着他的袖子流进领口。他想过让威尔夫先走，然后打住了。这天早上，他第一次明白，没有人要求他一个人做这件事。
"Take my arm," says Wilf. "Left foot, then right."
“抓住我的胳膊，”威尔夫说，“先左脚，再右脚。”
They wade across together. At the far end, a small green door stands half open, and daylight comes in under it. Wilf kicks it wide. The back gate of the yard is just ahead. Behind it Karim sees the tall glass wall of the concert hall.
他们一起蹚过去。在远处的尽头，一扇小小的绿门半开着，日光从门下透进来。威尔夫一脚把它踢开。清洗场的后门就在前面。门后，卡里姆看见了音乐厅高高的玻璃墙。
They run. Karim's shoes squelch on the pavement, and the flute case bangs against his leg. A man in a black jacket stands at the loading door with a key in his hand. He is already turning the lock.
他们跑了起来。卡里姆的鞋在人行道上吱吱作响，笛盒撞着他的腿。一个穿黑夹克的男人站在装卸口的门前，手里拿着钥匙。他已经在转动锁了。
"Wait, please," Karim shouts. "I am here for the audition!"
“请等一下，”卡里姆喊道，“我是来试奏的！”
The man looks at him for a long moment. He takes in the wet clothes, the cut thumb and the petals stuck in Karim's hair. Then he steps aside and holds the door. The clock in the hallway says five fifty-nine.
那个男人看了他很久。他打量着湿透的衣服、划破的拇指，和粘在卡里姆头发上的花瓣。然后他让到一边，扶住了门。门厅里的钟指着五点五十九分。
Inside, Karim dries his hands on his shirt and takes the flute out of its sleeve. It is perfectly dry. He wipes his face, breathes in slowly and walks onto the stage. Three judges sit at a long table. One of them looks up from her papers and smiles at the petals.
里面，卡里姆在衬衫上擦干手，把长笛从套子里取出来。它完全是干的。他擦了擦脸，缓缓吸了一口气，走上舞台。三位评委坐在一张长桌后。其中一位从文件上抬起头，看着花瓣笑了。
Karim lifts the flute to his lips. Then he lowers it again and turns to the judges. "Shall I start with the slow piece or the fast one?"
卡里姆把长笛举到唇边。随后他又放下，转向评委。“我先吹慢的那首，还是快的那首？”
