The young girl walked into the Waffle House, alone, at 3 A.M. on a Thursday morning. We all looked up from our coffee and cigarettes, waffles, sausage and hash browns. She stood on her tiptoes to take a seat on a counter stool, picked up a menu and held it close to her face, like one of the 6 A.M. retirees without his bifocals.周四凌晨 3 点，一个年轻女孩独自走进了华夫饼屋。我们正吃着华夫饼、香肠，配着土豆煎饼，喝着咖啡、抽着烟，这时都抬起头来。她踮起脚尖，坐到柜台前的一张凳子上，拿起一份菜单，把它凑近脸，活像那些没戴双光眼镜、早上 6 点就来吃饭的退休老人。 Sandy, the night shift waitress, looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I knew the look; she gave it to me four or five times a week. It meant, Do you think I should call the cops?上夜班的女服务员桑迪看了看我，扬了扬眉毛。我明白她那眼神的意思；她每周都会这样看我四五次。那眼神的意思是：你觉得我该报警吗？ I considered the idea. The girl looked no more than twelve, black, slim, but composed. Her hair was plaited so tight I wondered if they tugged at her eyebrows. Her perfume, spicy with a hint of sandalwood, cut through the onion and batter odors of the diner. She wore clean, well-fitted jeans, a pink fuzzy sweater over a lime green top, and new-looking Nikes. Gold chain, oversized plastic watch. Not enough clothes for February.我琢磨了一下这个主意。这女孩看起来顶多 12 岁，是个黑人，身材苗条，但举止沉着。她的头发编得紧紧的，我都怀疑会不会扯到她的眉毛。她身上的香水带着一丝檀香的辛辣味，盖过了餐厅里洋葱和面糊的气味。她穿着干净合身的牛仔裤，一件粉色毛绒毛衣套在浅绿色的上衣外面，脚蹬一双看起来很新的耐克鞋。戴着金链子，还有一块超大号的塑料手表。在二月天，穿的衣服有点少。 She displayed no fear or uncertainty, which struck me as odd. Twelve-year-olds are always uncertain around adults.她没有表现出丝毫恐惧或迟疑，这让我觉得很奇怪。十二岁的孩子在大人面前总是会有些不自在。 I turned to look outside. The day manager had finally replaced the broken lights in the lot, so our cars were brightly lit. There were none I didn’t recognize, and I would recognize a new one. I’d been running into the same people at the same hour of the night for almost three years, and had come to know them by their cars, the sound of their nasal congestion, and their bathing habits. We rarely spoke.我转头望向窗外。白班经理终于把停车场里坏掉的灯修好了，所以我们的车都被照得亮堂堂的。没有一辆车是我不认识的，要是有新车来我肯定能认出来。近三年来，我几乎每个晚上的同一时间都会在这里碰到同样的人，我甚至能通过他们的车、擤鼻涕的声音，还有他们的洗澡习惯认出他们。我们很少交谈。 “What you doing here this time of morning?” Sandy asked the girl.“你大早上这个时候来这儿干什么？” 桑迪问女孩。 “I’m here for the atmosphere,” the girl said, keeping her nose in the menu. The sarcasm in her voice sounded bitter as a fifty-year-old’s.“我来感受这儿的氛围。” 女孩眼睛盯着菜单说道。她话里的讽刺味儿，听起来就跟五十岁的人一样尖酸。 Sandy looked at me again. This time she was asking me if it would be okay if she dumped a pot of hot coffee on the girl’s head. Sandy’s skin got pretty thin by 3 A.M.桑迪又看了我一眼。这次她的眼神在问我，她能不能把一壶热咖啡倒在这女孩头上。凌晨 3 点的时候，桑迪的耐心可所剩无几了。 I shook my head. “The lady’s just trying to be friendly,” I said to the girl. “No need to be rude.”我摇了摇头。“这位女士只是想表示友好，” 我对女孩说，“没必要这么没礼貌。” The other regulars stared at their plates and cups, but I could tell their ears were locked in, the same way they had been a couple of weeks before when the place was held up.其他老顾客都盯着自己的盘子和杯子，但我能看出来他们都竖着耳朵在听，就跟几周前这里遭抢劫时一样。 “Mind your own business, old man.” The girl pronounced it bidness.“老头，少管闲事。” 女孩把 “闲事（business）” 说成了 “bidness”。