Essay
The Shop That Has Not Been Renovated
三十年没装修的车铺
The shop is eleven square metres and has not been renovated since 1994, which was already the second renovation. The counter is a door resting on two crates. There is a radio that receives one station and a wall of drawers labelled in a hand that is not mine. I took the lease from a man who went back to Liège, and I have never changed the labels.
The customers are the same families. A boy who came in with his father now comes in with his son. I have trued spokes for three generations of the same bicycle, and I do not keep track of who pays late. People turn over slowly on this street, slowly enough that you begin to think you are one of the things that was left behind.
The drawers are not mine
The tools hang on the wall and they were the previous man's. There is a spanner older than I am, its handle wrapped in black tape, wrapped carefully. I work with another man's tools in a room he built; it would be rude, in here, to be original.
Another man's tools, another man's room. Originality is a kind of rudeness here.
The building was sold last year. The new owner is polite and has not said a word about the rent, which is a way of saying something. I have started writing things down — which drawer holds what, which customer pays late, which bolt takes which thread — as though a list could be handed over to somebody.
What I would hand over
People bring me things that are not worth repairing and I repair them anyway. This is bad business and I do not care. A bicycle lock with the key lost. A bell that belonged to a grandfather. There is no money in a bell. But a person whose bell you have saved comes back for everything else, and I have been here long enough to be that person.
Two wheels and a spanner. The rest is mostly staying open.
I close at six. Before I go home I wash in the alley with the cold water, hands and forearms, and the oil goes grey but does not leave. Then I put on my coat and walk up the hill. From the top of the street you can see the whole neighbourhood, and at that hour it looks like something worth keeping.
中文译文
铺子十一平方米，一九九四年以后没再装修过，而那年已经是第二次装修了。柜台是一扇门搁在两个木箱上。有一台只收得到一个台的收音机，一整墙抽屉，上面的字迹不是我的。我从一个回列日的男人手里接过租约，那些标签我一张也没换。
客人是同一批人家。有个男孩小时候跟父亲来，现在带着自己的儿子来。我给同一辆车的辐条校过三代人，谁家付钱晚我也不记。这条街上的人换得慢，慢到你以为自己也是被留下来的东西之一。
抽屉不是我的
工具挂在墙上，是前一个主人的。一把扳手比我还老，柄上缠着黑胶布，缠得很仔细。我用别人的工具，待在别人搭起来的屋子里；在这里搞原创，多少有点失礼。
别人的工具，别人的屋子。在这里谈原创，是一种失礼。
去年楼卖了。新房东很客气，一个字没提租金——这本身就是一句话。我开始写东西：哪个抽屉放什么，哪个客人付钱晚，哪颗螺栓配哪种螺纹，像一份随时能交到别人手里的单子。
如果要交出去
有人拿来根本不值得修的东西，我照样修。这生意做得不好，我不在乎。丢了钥匙的车锁。祖父留下的车铃。车铃上赚不到钱。可你要是替人救回一只铃，他往后什么都来找你——我在这里待得够久，久到可以成为这样一个人。
两个轮子加一把扳手。剩下的，多半只是别关门。
六点打烊。回家前我在后巷用冷水冲手和前臂，油迹变灰，但不走。然后穿上外套，走上坡。从街顶能看见整片街区，那个钟点看过去，它像是值得留下的东西。
