Essay
Mangoes, Fifty Kilos, Before Seven
七点前，五十公斤芒果
The alarm goes at four forty and I don't argue with it. There is a version of me that used to hit the snooze button four times; she sold nothing and slept badly. Now the phone is across the room, and by the time I reach it I am awake enough to keep going. The kettle is already set from the night before.
The road to the wholesale market is empty and cool. Dogs lift their heads as the motorbike passes and then decide I am not interesting. I drive slower than I need to. This is the only hour of the day when nobody wants anything from me — no plate, no change, no smile. I take it.
Choosing without squeezing
You do not press a mango in front of the person selling it. You hold it, weigh it in the palm, put your nose near the stem. Nam Dok Mai smells like a flower left in a warm room. If the skin gives a little at the shoulder, it is ready for tonight. If it is firm, it is for Thursday.
A mango that is perfect today will be worth nothing on Thursday. Buy for today.
The woman who sells me coconut milk has known me since I was twenty-two and bad at this. She still charges me the same as everyone else and I still pretend to argue. It is a small performance we both enjoy. Then fifty kilos go onto the back of the motorbike and I tie them down like I am going to war.
The rope work matters. Two sacks of mangoes and a crate of coconuts on a small scooter is not a sensible load, and every wet season I see someone lose theirs at a corner. I take the back roads, go slowly, and stop once to check the knot even though I know it is fine.
The kitchen before the heat arrives
Home by six. The kitchen faces east, which means there is a narrow window of cool air and I have to use it. Rice into water. Coconuts opened on the metal spike — which is where this scar on my thumb came from, a moment of not paying attention, three years ago.
By nine the work is done and the house is hot. I sleep two hours in front of the fan with my feet up on a plastic chair. People think a night market stall is an evening job. It is a morning job, an afternoon job and an evening job, with a nap in the middle that I guard like money.
The day is not that long. It just starts before it gets light.
中文译文
闹钟四点四十响，我不跟它商量。以前有个版本的我，会按四次贪睡；那个我什么也没卖出去，觉也没睡好。现在手机放在房间另一头，走过去的时候人已经醒得差不多了。水壶是前一晚就备好的。
去批发市场的路又空又凉。狗听见摩托声抬起头，又判断出我没什么意思。我开得比需要的还慢。这是一天里唯一一个钟头，没有人向我要东西——不要一盘，不要找零，不要笑脸。这个钟头归我。
不用捏的挑法
你不能当着卖芒果的人的面去捏。要捧起来，在掌心掂一掂，把鼻子凑到蒂那里。金煌芒闻起来像一朵被留在暖房里的花。肩部稍微有点软，那是今晚的；还硬着，那是周四的。
今天刚刚好的芒果，到了周四就一钱不值。只买今天的。
卖椰浆给我的那位阿姨，从我二十二岁还什么都不懂的时候就认识我。她照样收我跟别人一样的价，我照样假装还价。这是我们俩都乐意演的一出小戏。然后五十公斤上摩托后座，我绑得跟要去打仗一样。
绑绳这件事不能马虎。两袋芒果加一箱椰子在那么小的一辆车上，本来就不合理，每年雨季我都能看见有人在拐角翻车。我走小路，开得慢，半路还停下来检查一次绳结，明知它没问题。
热气来之前的厨房
六点到家。厨房朝东，意思是凉风只有很窄的一段时间，我得赶在那里面把活干完。糯米下水。椰子磕在铁尖上开——我拇指上这道疤就是这么来的，三年前，一秒钟没留神。
九点活干完，屋子已经热了。我在电扇前面睡两个钟头，脚搭在一把塑料椅上。大家以为夜市摊子是晚上的工作。它其实是早上的工作、下午的工作和晚上的工作，中间夹一觉，我看得跟钱一样紧。
一天并没有多长。只是天还没亮就开始了。
