Polly på markedet

Berta holdt sit løfte. Klokken ni om morgenen bankede hun allerede på den grønne dør med kurven i poten, og turen til pladsen, hvor lørdagsmarkedet åbner, blev gået sammen. Gaden duftede af appelsiner og varmt brød. »Godmorgen!« råbte Polly ved den første bod, og hele rækken af markiser så ud til at svare på én gang.

Berta kept her promise. At nine in the morning she was already knocking at the green door, basket in paw, and they walked together to the square where the Saturday market opens. The street smelled of oranges and fresh bread. "Good morning!" Polly called out at the first stall, and the whole row of awnings seemed to answer at once.

Ved frugtboden stablede en ged i stribet forklæde æbler i en perfekt pyramide. Polly pegede med en vingespids på noget grønt med pigge. »Hvad er det her? Jeg har aldrig set den frugt før.« Geden lo, skar en tynd skive af og rakte den frem. Sådan lærte Polly, at man i dette kvarter smager først og bestemmer sig bagefter. »Jeg vil gerne have to æbler og en af dem, for at smage.«

At the fruit stall a goat in a striped apron was stacking apples into a perfect pyramid. Polly pointed at something green and spiky. "What is this? I have never seen this fruit." The goat laughed, cut a thin slice, and held it out. That is how Polly learned that in this neighborhood you taste first and decide later. "I want two apples and one of those, to try it."

»Hvad koster det hele tilsammen?« Geden nævnte en pris, Berta nikkede for at bekræfte, at den var rimelig, og Polly talte mønterne op én ad gangen med glæde over hvert eneste tal. »En pose, tak. Jeg skal bære det hele hjem.« På vejen tilbage, med posen dinglende under en vinge, besluttede Polly, at markedet skulle blive en lørdagsvane. Der er lektioner, der smager bedre, end de lyder.

"How much is it all together?" The goat named a price, Berta nodded that it was fair, and Polly counted out the coins one by one, proud of every single number. "A bag, please. I have to carry everything home." On the walk back, with the bag swinging under one wing, Polly decided that the market would be a Saturday habit. Some lessons taste better than they sound.