the marco polo project: Ein herzzerreißendes 菜市场之歌

2007年3月我刚到北京，租的房子 Nähe 有一个很大的批发菜市场，从家里 gemütlich 走过去得二十分钟，entlang des Weges 经过小区后面 heruntergekommen 的商业街，一叠叠大饼堆在 Schau-窗里，窗子因为太久没有 abgewischt，Staub 自动排列出各种任由想象的图案，我总是把右边 Randbereich 比较小的一块想成 knuddelig 的熊猫，我 besonderen Grund 觉得它愿意 festhalten das einfache 大饼一口口吃下去。再往前走是一段依然在使用的 Eisenbahnschienen，很远就能听到火车 Klackern 接近的声音，让人 ohne beonderen Grund nervös werden，即使 das Überqueren der engen Schienen 只需要五秒，Schienen 边有个铁皮亭，里面 anscheinend 应该坐着一个人，但我却从来没有真的见过，生活可以把最 unbedeutend 的细节同样 formt es in ein spannendes 剧，而且终生都没有获得 das Rätsel zu lösen。那个时候北京还没有 Staubstürme，冬天冷得分外真切，我有时候会 schmerzhaft 决心花三块钱坐三轮车过去，但大部分三轮车总是四处透风，所以我总是全身 steif 走进批发市场，肉味扑面而来，让人 zweifeln 自己也应该从中 aufschneiden，被挂在永不 verrosten 的铁 Haken 上。

市场太大了，牛羊肉一个厅，水产品和鸡鸭一个厅，猪肉交易厅和猪肉批发厅分开，蔬菜批发和零售 separiert 老远的距离，穿着高跟 Schuhe 好像永远都走不到头。我不过是一个人，租的房子里没有 Gasherd，只能用 Elektroherd，scharf anbraten 的时候总是觉得有气无力，做一次 "doppelt gekochtem Schwein" 要吃两顿，最后 übriggeblieben 一点 Knoblauch 苗作料还能再煮碗面。去那里不过是为了省一点点的钱，我其实讨厌那个批发市场，走了老远路，最后只 trug 一块小小的五花肉回家，要是一时 impulsiv 多买了一只开 Brust 破肚的土鸡，我就得喝整整一周的鸡汤，喝到最后一个人坐在 leerem 的房间里恶心，终于把 auf den Boden gesunken 的那点 Reste 倒了，混着鸡肉鸡皮，以及几块完全 durchgekochtem 的老 Ingwer。

后来我不那么缺钱，就开始去超市买菜，结婚前在一个硕大的家乐福，结婚后在一个小小的京客隆。家乐福每天早上会有一些特价排骨，有两次我 schmerzhaft 决心要去买到，八点五十到门口发现已经排着长长的 Gruppe，老头老太太们 trugen 环保袋以备战 Zustand 等着开门，我觉得自己全无胜算，就在一楼的麦当劳高高兴兴吃了 Frühstück。京客隆里只能买到最基本的猪牛羊肉，gelegentlich 有几条鱼，还通通 gefrohren, so dass sie geworfen 有声的样子，他们生意总是不好，却 seltsamerweise 一直没有 geschlossen，我喜欢他们家有切成薄片的五花肉，用来做梅菜 gedämpftes Schweine-肉或者 Reismehl mit feingeschnittenem 肉正好合适，还有一盒盒大小正好合适做成炸酱的肉丁，所以夏天的时候我们老在中午吃炸酱面，一海碗炸酱能吃一周，nachdem sich die geschmorte 洋葱 sich化了，显得酱里满是肉丁，特别直接地给人 tief 的 Überfluß 感，即使我只是 beliebig viel 吃炸酱面的时候想有多少肉就有多少肉。有时候面条吃 satt hatten，我们会去买一块大饼 zum dippen in 炸酱吃，现在住的小区里同样有一排 heruntergekommen 的商业街，一叠叠大饼同样堆在 voller Staub 的 Schau-窗里，厨师戴着 dreckige 的高帽子站在大饼前 und rauchen，然后拿出一把看起来很 stumpf 的大刀, wischen es ab und 把饼切成八块，一直到回家，饼还是 dampfend heiß 的，每次都是回家我才 plötzlich 想到刚才忘记 Notiz zu nehmen vom Schau-窗上的 Staub，但是没有关系，北京到处都是任由想象的 Staub，你可以连续剧一般地想下去。

从美国回来后有一段时间我 zynisch 地讨厌中国超市，或者说 dachte ständig an und 想念纽约的华人超市，我开始在 Taobao 上买菜，前一天晚上下单，第二天下午也就到了，鱼头 wird mißhandelnd 裹在 Plastik-袋里，小白菜嫩绿嫩绿的 gleitenden 水光，晚上我们就吃 gewürzten 鱼头，以及小白菜汤。那家 Taobao 店主每次都送我一包Farn-根-pulver，所有现在我的 Wandschrank 里有好多包没有开封的 Farn-根-pulver，我 bezweifle, dass 我永远不会打开它，生命里的 Geschenke 总是这样，并非全无 Wert，只是全无用处。

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Li Jingrui blog.tianya.cn

Übersetzung

A sad song to the food market

I had just arrived in Beijing in March 2007. Located a twenty-minute stroll away from my rented house was a very large wholesale food market. Along the way I passed a dilapidated commercial street behind the neighbourhood. A shopwindow displayed stacks of large round flatbread. As it had not been wiped for too long, the dust on it had arranged itself into every imaginable pattern. I would always imagine a relatively small patch of dust on the right fringe to be a chubby panda. For no particular reason, I would imagine that it wanted to hold on to the flatbread and eat it up one mouthful at a time. Walking ahead brought me to a still functioning railway track. From a distance, the sound of the approaching trains clattering down the track would somehow make people tense, even though it took a mere five seconds to step across the narrow track. Beside the track was a metal-roofed shelter with could seat one person, but I had never really seen anyone in it. Life can similarly mould the most insignificant details into a suspenseful drama, and it may also not be able to resolve the mystery of this drama. Beijing was not hazy from dust back then. When the cold of winter was particularly acute, I would sometimes make the painful decision to spend three dollars for a trishaw ride; but because most trishaws expose their passengers to the wind, I was stiff from the cold when I entered the food market. The smell of meat assaulted the senses so much that I wondered if I should also have been cut open, and hung from the rust-free iron hooks.

The wholesale food market was simply too big. Beef and mutton were in one hall, seafood and poultry in another, pork retail and wholesale sections were separate from each other, and vegetable wholesale and retail stalls were some distance apart; it seemed as if I could never walk to the end of the marketplace in my high-heeled shoes. I lived alone, and without a gas stove in my rented house, I had to use an electric hotplate which I always felt was too weak for stir-frying. I could finish one portion of double-cooked pork only over two meals. The last bit of leftover garlic sprout could still be cooked with a bowl of noodles. I would go to the wholesale food market for the sake of saving some money, even though I actually disliked that place. After walking all that distance, I would end up carrying home only a very small piece of streaky pork. When I impulsively bought a ready-cut, whole free-range chicken, I had to drink chicken soup for exactly one week. After finally finishing all the soup, I would sit alone, feeling nauseous in an empty, desolate room. Finally, I would pour away the dregs containing a mixture of chicken meat and skin and the pulp of a few slices of old ginger .

When I was better off, I started buying food from supermarkets. I patronised a huge Carrefour supermarket before I was married, and a very small JKL supermarket after I was married. Carrefour had pork spare ribs at specially discounted prices every morning. On two occasions, I set my mind on buying some. I arrived at about 8.50, only to find that long queues had already formed. Elderly men and women held environmentally-friendly shopping bags, appearing poised for battle while waiting for the doors to open. Without a winning strategy, I happily ate breakfast at MacDonald’s on the first floor instead. JKL Supermarket sold only the most basic cuts of pork and mutton. Occasionally there were a few fishes that appeared frozen hard. JKL Supermarket’s business was always poor, but miraculously it did not close down. I liked the thinly sliced streaky pork which was such a matching complement when steamed with preserved mustard greens or ground glutinous rice. There were also large and small boxes of handy, ready-cooked fried bean sauce with diced meat. That was why in summer we always had noodles cooked with fried bean sauce for lunch. A very big bowl of fried bean sauce could last one week. After the stewed onion had disintegrated, the sauce seemed to be chock-full of diced pork. In a special way, this directly gave one a deep feeling of abundance, even though my feeling came from being able to have however much pork as I wanted in my noodles. Sometimes, when we were tired of eating noodles, we would buy a piece of flatbread to dip in the fried bean sauce. Now, as before, there is a dilapidated commercial row in my neighbourhood. Layers of flatbread are piled behind the very dusty display window. Cooks wearing dirty tall hats stand and smoke in front of the flatbread. Afterwards they take out big, very blunt knives to cut up the bread into eight portions. The flatbread stays piping hot when we reach home. It dawns on me each time when we reach home that I forgot to look out for the dust on the display window. It does not matter though because every imaginable form of dust pervades Beijing. You can, as you would for a serialised drama, stretch your imagination.

After returning from America, I went through a cynical phase when I detested China’s supermarkets. I kept thinking about and missed New York’s Chinese supermarkets. I began to buy food online from Taobao. Orders placed the previous night were delivered the following afternoon. The badly mangled fish head was wrapped in a plastic bag, and the soft green leaves of the small Chinese cabbage were covered with sparkling water droplets. We had spicy fish head and small Chinese cabbage soup for dinner that night. The Taobao branch proprietor gave us a free pack of fern root powder with every delivery. That is why my kitchen cabinet has many packs of unopened fern root powder now. I doubt I will ever open them. Such are life’s gifts: not totally worthless, just totally useless.

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Julien Leyre website