門一推開，茶的味道先出來。 不是很濃的那種， 比較像早上第一壺，還在醒的茶。 阿品伯已經坐在窗邊了。 他沒有看你，只是把杯子往旁邊挪了一點， 那個位置，像是早就留好的。 「坐。」 他說。 Koala 把背包放下，動作很熟。 這個家沒有什麼迎賓的儀式， 進門就是進門。 桌上放著一把舊茶壺， 壺身有點暗，像是被很多下午用過。 旁邊是一疊杯子，不是成套的， 有的厚，有的薄。 阿品伯慢慢倒茶。
水聲很輕， 像是在告訴人：這裡不用講話。 窗外是芭樂村早上的聲音。 有人推著菜車經過， 有人在巷口喊了一聲，又沒說完。 阿品伯終於抬頭。 他看了你一眼，沒有多問， 只是點了點頭。 那種點頭不是「你好」， 比較像是—— 我知道你會來。 「這裡啊，」 他把茶杯推過來， 「先喝了再說。」 Koala笑了一下，沒有接話。 他知道，在阿品伯這裡， 話從來不是第一件事。
茶有一點澀， 但過一下，會回甘。 阿品伯看著窗外，像是在看什麼， 又像只是讓時間過去。 「外面很吵吧？」 他忽然問。 Koala搖頭。 阿品伯嗯了一聲， 像是早就知道答案。 「那就好。」 桌上的茶慢慢少了。 沒有人提捷運， 沒有人提村莊有多大。 這個早上，只做一件事—— 讓人坐下來。如果你沒有立刻懂芭樂村， 也沒關係。 阿品伯會說： 慢慢來。 因為在這個家裡， 故事從來不是用追的。
When the door is pushed open, the scent of tea comes out first. Not a strong kind— more like the first pot of the morning, still waking up. Uncle Apin is already sitting by the window. He doesn’t look at you. He simply shifts a cup slightly to the side, as if that seat had been kept ready all along. “Sit,” he says. Koala sets his backpack down, the movement practiced and familiar. There is no welcoming ritual in this house. Stepping inside is already enough. An old teapot sits on the table. Its surface is a little dull, as if it has been used by many afternoons. Beside it is a stack of cups— not a matching set. Some are thick, some thin. Uncle Apin pours the tea slowly. The sound of water is soft, as if to tell you: there’s no need to talk here. Outside the window are the morning sounds of Guava Village. Someone pushes a vegetable cart past. Someone calls out from the alley, then leaves the sentence unfinished. At last, Uncle Apin looks up. He glances at you, asks nothing, and simply nods. That nod is not a “hello.” It’s more like— I knew you would come. “Here,” he slides the teacup toward you, “drink first, then we’ll talk.” Koala smiles slightly and says nothing. He knows that in Uncle Apin’s place, words are never the first thing. The tea is a little bitter at first, but after a moment, it turns sweet. Uncle Apin gazes out the window, as if watching something, or perhaps just letting time pass. “It’s noisy outside, isn’t it?” he asks suddenly. Koala shakes his head. Uncle Apin hums, as if he already knew the answer. “That’s good.” The tea on the table slowly runs low. No one mentions the metro. No one talks about how big the village is. This morning, only one thing is done— letting someone sit down. If you don’t understand Guava Village right away, that’s all right. Uncle Apin would say: take your time. Because in this house, stories are never meant to be chased.
