楼下（下）
Downstairs (part 2)
Name: ________________ Date: ________
那天晚上，小远睡不着。雨还在下。他给妈妈发了一条消息：“我到了。外婆很好。”过了很久，妈妈只回了一个字：“好。”
外婆在门外问：“你妈妈……还好吗？”
“她很忙。”
“嗯。”外婆没再问。
第二天早上，雨已经不下了。本子已经不湿了，变厚了一点，可是还能打开。第一页上画着一个小蒸笼，里面有几个包子。蒸笼下面的词已经看不出来了，旁边只有两个小字还在：楼下。
“楼下？”小远问。
外婆笑了：“楼下的包子啊，我吃了十几年了。去吧，买早饭。”她给了他二十块钱。
楼下的包子店很小，只有一张桌子。门口的人很多，蒸笼一层一层地放着，看着就好吃。大家说话都很快：“两个肉包！”“豆浆，不要糖！”“快点，我要上班了！”卖包子的阿姨手很快，嘴也很快，一边给包子，一边收钱，一边跟每个人说话。
小远站在最后面，心里一遍一遍地练：一个肉包，一个菜包子，一碗豆浆。一个肉包，一个菜包子，一碗豆浆。
排在前面的人越来越少。到他了。
“我要……一个肉包，一个……菜包子，还有一碗……”
那个白色的、喝的东西，叫什么来着？刚才还在嘴边，现在一下子没了。
“一碗……那个……”他用手比了比，“那个白色的……”
身后有人笑了一下。有人说：“快点啊。”小远的脸热得不行，他真想马上跑回楼上去。
卖包子的阿姨看了看他，没有笑。她把手放下来，声音也放慢了：“别急，慢慢来。”
慢慢来。
这三个字，小远听懂了。每个字他都认识。很奇怪，他好像在什么地方见过它们。
他想起来了。他从衣服里拿出本子，打开第一页。小蒸笼下面，那个看不出来的词，有三个字。第一个字和第二个字是一样的。
慢，慢，来。
“豆浆。”他说，“一碗豆浆。谢谢阿姨。”
阿姨笑了：“对了嘛。你是三楼的那个孩子吧？加拿大来的？你外婆天天说你。”她把包子放好，又多放了一个，“这个送你，第一次来。”
小远拿着包子，坐在门口的小椅子上。他拿出笔，在第一页上，一笔一笔地写那三个字。纸上还有一点点旧的蓝色，他就跟着那个蓝色写。写完了，那个词又回到了纸上。
慢慢来。
回家的路上，一只小狗一直跟在他后面。它是黄色的，有点儿瘦，耳朵一只上一只下。小远往前走，它也往前走；小远一站住，它也站住。它的眼睛一直看着他手里的包子。
“你也饿了？”小远给了它一个。小狗一口就吃完了，然后坐在地上，看着他。
“没有了。”小远说。小狗还是跟着他，一直跟到了三楼。
外婆打开门，先看见了小狗，又看见了小远手里的本子。
“找到了？”她问。
“找到了。”小远打开第一页，“慢慢来。”
外婆看着那三个字，没说话。过了一会儿，她把手放在那一页上，放了很久，就像见到了一个很久没见的人。
然后她看着门口的小狗：“它吃了你的包子？”
“吃了一个。”
“那就叫它包子吧。”
包子好像听懂了，跑进门，在桌子下面找了个地方，睡了。
小远打开第二页。上面画着一条鱼，鱼的旁边还有一把菜，下面的词一个字也看不清了。
还有十九页。
Key words
| Word | Pinyin | Meaning |
|---|---|---|
| 条 | tiáo | strip; slip (as in 纸条) |
| 久 | jiǔ | long (time) |
| 变 | biàn | to change; to become; change; transformation |
| 只有 | zhíyǒu | only; only if; unless |
| 张 | zhāng | surname Zhang |
| 层 | céng | layer; stratum |
| 放 | fàng | to put; to place |
| 嘴 | zuǐ | mouth |
| 一边 | yìbiān | at the same time; while (as in 一边吃一边说) (as in pairs) |
| 心里 | xīnli | in one's heart; in one's mind |
| 练 | liàn | to practice; to train; to drill |
| 碗 | wǎn | bowl |
English (for the teacher)
That night, Yuan couldn’t sleep. It was still raining. He sent Mum a message: “I’ve arrived. Grandma’s fine.” A long time later, Mum replied with just one word: “OK.”
Grandma asked from outside the door, “Your mum… is she all right?”
“She’s busy.”
“Mm.” Grandma didn’t ask any more.
By the next morning the rain had stopped. The notebook had dried, a little fatter than before, but it still opened. The first page showed a small bamboo steamer with a few buns inside. The word under the steamer could no longer be read; beside it, just two small characters had survived: 楼下, downstairs.
“Downstairs?” Yuan asked.
Grandma smiled. “The buns downstairs: I’ve been eating them for more than ten years. Go on, get us some breakfast.” She gave him twenty yuan.
The bun shop downstairs was tiny, with only one table. There was a crowd at the door, and the steamers were stacked layer on layer; just looking at them made you hungry. Everyone talked fast: “Two pork buns!” “Soy milk, no sugar!” “Hurry up, I’ve got to get to work!” The auntie selling buns had quick hands and a quicker mouth: handing out buns, taking money and chatting to everyone, all at once.
Yuan stood at the very back, practising over and over in his head: one pork bun, one veggie bun, one bowl of soy milk. One pork bun, one veggie bun, one bowl of soy milk.
There were fewer and fewer people in front of him. It was his turn.
“I’d like… one pork bun, one… veggie bun, and a bowl of…”
That white thing you drink, what was it called again? It had been on the tip of his tongue a moment ago, and now it was suddenly gone.
“A bowl of… that…” He gestured with his hands. “That white…”
Someone behind him laughed. Someone said, “Come on, hurry up.” Yuan’s face burned; he really wanted to run straight back upstairs.
The bun auntie looked at him and didn’t laugh. She put her hands down and slowed her voice too: “No rush, take your time.”
Take your time.
Yuan understood those three words. He knew every one of the characters. Strangely, he felt he had seen them somewhere before.
Then he remembered. He took the notebook out of his shirt and opened it to the first page. Under the little steamer, the word that could no longer be read had three characters. The first and the second were the same.
慢, 慢, 来.
“Soy milk.” he said. “A bowl of soy milk. Thanks, auntie.”
The auntie smiled. “That’s it. You’re the kid from the third floor, aren’t you? The one from Canada? Your grandma talks about you every day.” She bagged his buns and slipped in one extra. “This one’s on me, for your first time.”
Yuan took the buns and sat on the little stool by the door. He took out a pen and, on the first page, wrote the three characters stroke by stroke. There was still a trace of old blue on the paper, so he followed that blue as he wrote. When he finished, the word was back on the page.
慢慢来: take your time.
On the way home, a little dog followed close behind him. It was yellow and a bit skinny, with one ear up and one ear down. When Yuan walked, it walked; when Yuan stopped, it stopped. Its eyes never left the buns in his hand.
“Are you hungry too?” Yuan gave it one. The little dog finished it in one bite, then sat down on the ground and looked at him.
“That’s all.” Yuan said. But the little dog kept following him, all the way up to the third floor.
Grandma opened the door; first she saw the little dog, then she saw the notebook in Yuan’s hand.
“You found it?” she asked.
“I found it.” Yuan opened the first page. “慢慢来.”
Grandma looked at the three characters and said nothing. After a while she laid her hand on the page and kept it there a long time, as if she were seeing someone she hadn’t seen in years.
Then she looked at the little dog at the door. “Did it eat your bun?”
“One of them.”
“Then let’s call it Baozi.”
Baozi seemed to understand; it ran inside, found a spot under the table and went to sleep.
Yuan opened the second page. It showed a fish with a bunch of greens beside it; not one character of the word underneath could be made out.
Nineteen pages to go.