Essay
The Hour Before My Shift Starts
上班前的那一个小时
The alarm goes at ten to five and I'm out of the flat by twenty past, board on the roof, the streets still dark enough that the traffic lights are working for nobody. In summer there are already people walking home. In winter it's me, a few runners, and the bakery van. The car park at the beach is empty at that hour, and I have never once managed to take that for granted.
The water before sunrise is the only quiet there is. The regulars are out then: two women who swim from the flags to the rocks and back, a man with a yellow dog that waits on the sand and complains softly. Nobody talks much. Everyone is doing the same arithmetic about where the sets are breaking and whether it's worth the paddle out.
Salt in the hair, apron on
By seven I'm across the plaza with wet hair and salt crusted at my hairline, tying the apron behind my back. Machine on first, then the grinder, then the pastry tray. The first customer of the morning is always a man in a cycling jersey who wants a long black and does not want to talk, which at that hour suits me exactly.
I've tried sleeping in. Same number of hours, none of the good part.
People assume I'm a tourist because I'm pale. Nineteen years on this beach and I have never really darkened — I go pink, I peel, I'm back where I started. Around fifteen it bothered me, when everyone else turned brown by October. Now it's useful. I can pick the people who need sunscreen before they've taken their shoes off.
The hours in between
The middle of the shift is the good part. A woman comes in most mornings with a pram, orders the same thing, and we have a conversation that lasts exactly as long as the milk takes to steam. There's a man who reads the same folded newspaper every day and is always surprised when I remember his order. I'm nineteen. I'm not above being pleased about that.
The shift ends at one. I hang the apron up, drink a flat white standing next to the bins, and walk back down to look at the water before I go home. It's a stupid habit — I've already been in it once that day — but I like seeing what the wind did while I was inside making coffee for other people.
中文译文
四点五十闹钟响，五点二十出门，板子绑在车顶，街上还黑着，红绿灯在为一个不存在的人工作。夏天这个点已经有人往家走；冬天只剩我、几个跑步的，还有送面包的车。海滩停车场那时是空的，这一点我到现在都没法当成理所当然。
日出前的水里最安静。常来的都在：两个从旗子游到礁石再游回来的女人，一个带黄狗的男人，狗在沙上等着，偶尔小声抱怨两句。大家话都不多，心里算的都是同一笔账——浪在哪儿成型，值不值得划出去。
头发上有盐，身上系围裙
七点我穿过广场，头发还是湿的，发际线结着盐，围裙在背后打个结。先开机器，再开磨豆机，然后摆出酥皮盘。每天第一个客人总是穿骑行服的男人，要一杯长黑，不想说话——那个钟点正合我意。
我试过睡到自然醒。睡眠时间一样，最好的那部分没有了。
因为我白，大家总当我是游客。在这片海滩十九年，我就是晒不黑——先红，再脱皮，然后回到原点。十五岁那年这事让我难受，因为别人到十月都成了棕色。现在反而有用：鞋还没脱，我就看得出谁需要涂防晒。
中间那几个小时
中间那段才是好时候。有位推婴儿车的女士几乎每天早上都来，点一样的东西，我们的对话长度刚好等于打奶泡的时间。还有个男人每天读同一份折起来的报纸，每次我记住他的单，他都显得很惊讶。我十九岁，还不到不为这种事高兴的年纪。
一点下班。围裙挂回去，站在垃圾桶旁边喝完一杯平白，再走回海边看一眼水才回家。这习惯挺傻的——那天我已经下过一次水了——可我想知道我在里面给别人做咖啡的时候，风把海弄成了什么样。
