芒果街上的小屋吉爾的舊家具買賣

吉爾的舊家具買賣

　　那裡有家舊貨店。一個老人開的。我們有次從他那裡買過一台舊冰箱。卡洛斯的一箱子雜誌賣了一塊錢。那鋪面很小，只有一格髒兮兮的窗戶透光。他從來不開燈，除非你帶了買東西的錢。於是我們，我和蕾妮，在昏暗中張望，看見各種各樣的物什。幾張腳朝天的桌子、一排排的圓角冰箱、你一捶它就會向空中噴吐灰塵的沙發和一百台看不大起來的電視。一樣東西摞在另一樣上面，形成了店裡一條條細長的甬道。你很容易就迷失了方向。

　　店主是個黑人，他不太說話。如果你不太熟悉的話，可能在裡面過好長時間，才會注意到有一副金色眼鏡在黑暗中遊動。自以為聰明的蕾妮會和所有的老人交談，她問他許多問題。我呢，從來沒和他說過什麼，除去那次花一角錢買了一個自由女神像。

　　可是蕾妮，我有次聽到她問，這裡這個是什麼，老人說，這個，是音樂盒。我飛快地轉身，以為他在說一個漂亮的盒子，上面印著花朵，裡面有個芭蕾舞小人的那種。但老人指的地方沒有那樣的東西。那只是一個舊木盒，裡面有一張大的黃銅錄音片，上面有些小洞洞。接著他啟動了它，忽然間響起來千百樣的聲音。好像被他這一弄，有一百萬隻飛蛾從蒙灰的家具上，從天鵝頸狀的陰影中，從我們的骨頭裡翻飛出來。又好像是一骨碌兒水滴。或是木琴，輕輕地一撥弦，發出如同手指滑過金屬梳齒的聲音。

　　然後我不知道為什麼，不得不背過身去，裝做我不是那麼在意那個盒子，免得蕾妮看到我有多傻。可是蕾妮更傻，已經在問價錢，我看到她的手指伸到褲袋裡摸錢去了。

　　這個，老人說著合上蓋子，這個不賣。

　　There is a junk store. An old man owns it. We bought a used refrigerator from him once, and Carlos sold a box of magazines for a dollar. The store is small with just a dirty window fht. He doesn't turn the lights on unless you got moo buy things with, so in the dark we look and see all kinds of things, me and Nenny. Tables with their feet upside-down and rows and rows of refrigerators with round ers and couches that spin dust in the air when you punch them and a hu. V.'s that don't work probably. Everything is on top of everything so the whole store has skinny aisles to walk through. You get lost easy.

　　The owner, he is a black man who doesn't talk mud sometimes if you didn't know better you could be in there a long time before your eyes notice a pair of gold glasses floating in the dark. Nenny who thinks she is smart and talks to any old man, asks lots of questions. Me, I never said nothing to him except once when I bought the Statue of Liberty for a dime.

　　But Nenny, I hear her asking oime how's this here and the man says, This, this is a music box, and I turn around quick thinking he means a pretty box with flowers painted on it, with a ballerina inside. Only there's nothing like that where this old man is pointing, just a wood box that's old and got a big brass record in it with holes. Thearts it up and all sorts of things start happening. It's like all of a sudde go a million moths all over the dusty furniture and swan-neck shadows and in our bones. It's like drops of water. Or like marimbas only with a funny little plucked sound to it like if you were running your fingers across the teeth of a metal b.

　　And then I don't know why, but I have to turn around and pretend I don't care about the box so Nenny won't see how stupid I am. But Nenny, who is stupider, already is asking how mud I see her fingers going for the quarters in her pants pocket.

　　This, the old man says shutting the lid, this ain't for sale.

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