On Rua das Flores, every window kept its own opinion about time. The bakery opened at four, the hospital shift ended at seven, and the old clock above the pharmacy had stopped at 2:14 years ago. Nobody repaired it, because everyone used it differently: as a meeting place, a bird perch, an excuse. Mira, twelve, liked it because it never told her to hurry.
在花街，每一扇窗对时间都有自己的看法。面包店四点开门，医院的夜班七点结束，而药房上方那座老钟多年前就停在两点十四分。没人修它，因为每个人都以不同方式用它：约会地点、鸟儿的落脚处、一个借口。十二岁的米拉喜欢它，因为它从不催她快点。
Her mother worked nights; her best friend’s father opened the bakery. They lived thirty steps apart and sometimes did not speak for three days. Mira began to wonder whether the street was less a place than a stack of separate days, each household sleeping and waking in a private weather. Then the bakery’s new delivery van arrived at midnight, and the whole street learned how loud one schedule could be.
她妈妈上夜班；她最好朋友的爸爸开面包店。两家相隔三十步，有时却三天不说话。米拉开始想，这条街也许不是一个地方，而是一叠各自分开的日子，每户人家在自己的天气里睡去、醒来。后来面包店的新货车半夜到货，整条街都领教了，一个时间表能有多吵。
Mira started asking questions with a notebook. She asked the nurse when she ate dinner, the baker when he slept, the twins when they did homework, and the retired teacher when she watered her plants. She wrote each answer on a paper circle, then colored the hours people were awake. The circle looked like a patchwork quilt with almost no clean edges. There was no single noon on Rua das Flores.
米拉拿着一个笔记本开始提问。她问护士几点吃晚饭，问面包师几点睡觉，问双胞胎几点写作业，问退休教师几点给植物浇水。她把每个回答写在一个纸圆上，然后给人们醒着的小时涂色。那个圆看起来像一床几乎没有整齐边缘的拼布被。在花街，不存在一个统一的“正午”。
At school she showed the circle to her geography teacher, who said maps usually show where things are, not when people are there. Mira added a second ring for sounds: the clatter of crates, the nurse’s door, the piano at six, the van at midnight. When she hung it in the bakery window, the baker studied it for a long time and said, quietly, “I didn’t know we were this crowded.”
在学校，她把圆拿给地理老师看。老师说，地图通常显示东西在哪里，而不是人们什么时候在那里。米拉又加了一圈表示声音：板条箱的碰撞声、护士的门、六点的钢琴、午夜的货车。她把它挂在面包店的窗户上，面包师盯着看了很久，然后轻声说：“我不知道我们这么拥挤。”
The street meeting was held beside the stopped clock. Mira’s map was taped to a crate. People argued about the van, then about the piano, then about whose fault the arguing was. The retired teacher suggested an experiment: one shared hour each evening when engines rested and voices softened. Nobody had to change their whole life, she said; they only had to lend one hour to the street.
街道会议在停摆的钟旁举行。米拉的地图用胶带贴在一个板条箱上。人们先为货车争吵，然后为钢琴争吵，最后为“到底该怪谁吵架”争吵。退休教师提议做个实验：每天傍晚留出一个共享的小时，让引擎休息、说话声放轻。她说，没有人需要改变整个生活，只需要把一个小时借给这条街。
For a week, the hour felt strange. Then the baker left warm bread on a bench, the nurse sat down for once, and the twins taught the retired teacher a clapping game. The clock still said 2:14. But Mira noticed that people now glanced up at it and smiled at whoever stood nearby, as if the old hands were measuring something the map had missed.
头一个星期，那个小时让人不习惯。后来，面包师把热面包留在长椅上，护士难得坐下来，双胞胎教退休教师一个拍手游戏。钟仍然指着两点十四分。但米拉注意到，人们现在会抬头看它，并对站在旁边的人微笑，仿佛那副旧指针正在测量地图遗漏的东西。