Red Paint

For a moment nobody answered. Ana stood behind the counter with a paper bag in her hand and felt her face go hot. It was Walter who spoke, from the kitchen doorway, in the flat, steady voice he used for customers who complained about the price of bread.

红油漆

“She’s working,” he said. “I asked her to come back. We had forty rolls last night, Jess, and half of them looked like they had been sat on. I need a baker. She’s the best one I’ve had.”

片刻之间，没有人回答。Ana手里拿着纸袋站在柜台后面，感到自己脸红了。是Walter在厨房门口开了口，用的是他应对抱怨面包价格的顾客时那种平淡、沉稳的语调。

Jess looked at him as if he had started speaking a foreign language. “Four days ago you threw her out for lying to us. Now she’s back behind the counter with your keys. Did I miss something?” She waited. Nobody said anything. Walter looked at the floor, and Ana understood that he had not yet found a single one of the words he had promised to find.

“她在工作，”他说，“是我叫她回来的。昨晚我们做了四十个小面包，Jess，其中一半看起来就像被人坐过一样。我需要一个面包师。她是我遇到过最好的。”