雙語·返老還童：菲茨杰拉德短篇小說選 五一節(jié) 十
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MAY DAY X
Mr. In and Mr. Out are not listed by the census-taker. You will search for them in vain through the social register or the births, marriages, and deaths, or the grocer's credit list. Oblivion has swallowed them and the testimony that they ever existed at all is vague and shadowy, and inadmissible in a court of law. Yet I have it upon the best authority that for a brief space Mr. In and Mr. Out lived, breathed, answered to their names and radiated vivid personalities of their own.
During the brief span of their lives they walked in their native garments down the great highway of a great nation; were laughed at, sworn at, chased, and fled from. Then they passed and were heard of no more.
They were already taking form dimly, when a taxi cab with the top open breezed down Broadway in the faintest glimmer of May dawn. In this car sat the souls of Mr. In and Mr. Out discussing with amazement the blue light that had so precipitately colored the sky behind the statue of Christopher Columbus, discussing with bewilderment the old, gray faces of the early risers which skimmed palely along the street like blown bits of paper on a gray lake. They were agreed on all things, from the absurdity of the bouncer in Childs' to the absurdity of the business of life. They were dizzy with the extreme maudlin happiness that the morning had awakened in their glowing souls. Indeed, so fresh and vigorous was their pleasure in living that they felt it should be expressed by loud cries.
“Ye-ow-ow!” hooted Peter, making a megaphone with his hands—and Dean joined in with a call that, though equally significant and symbolic, derived its resonance from its very inarticulateness.
“Yo-ho! Yea! Yoho! Yo-buba!”
Fifty-third Street was a bus with a dark, bobbed-hair beauty atop; Fifty-second was a street cleaner who dodged, escaped, and sent up a yell of, “Look where you're aimin'!” in a pained and grieved voice. At Fiftieth Street a group of men on a very white sidewalk in front of a very white building turned to stare after them, and shouted:
“Some party, boys!”
At Forty-ninth Street Peter turned to Dean. “Beautiful morning,” he said gravely, squinting up his owlish eyes.
“Probably is.”
“Go get some breakfast, hey?”
Dean agreed—with additions.
“Breakfast and liquor.”
“Breakfast and liquor,” repeated Peter, and they looked at each other, nodding. “That's logical,”
Then they both burst into loud laughter.
“Breakfast and liquor! Oh, gosh!”
“No such thing,” announced Peter.
“Don't serve it? Ne'mind. We force 'em serve it. Bring pressure bear.”
“Bring logic bear.”
The taxi cut suddenly off Broadway, sailed along a cross street, and stopped in front of a heavy tomb-like building in Fifth Avenue.
“What's idea?”
The taxi-driver informed them that this was Delmonico's.
This was somewhat puzzling. They were forced to devote several minutes to intense concentration, for if such an order had been given there must have been a reason for it.
“Somep'm 'bouta coat,” suggested the taxi-man.
That was it. Peter's overcoat and hat. He had left them at Delmonico's. Having decided this, they disembarked from the taxi and strolled toward the entrance arm in arm.
“Hey!” said the taxi-driver.
“Huh?”
“You better pay me.”
They shook their heads in shocked negation.
“Later, not now—we give orders, you wait.”
The taxi-driver objected; he wanted his money now. With the scornful condescension of men exercising tremendous self-control they paid him.
Inside Peter groped in vain through a dim, deserted check-room in search of his coat and derby.
“Gone, I guess. Somebody stole it.”
“Some Sheff student.”
“All probability.”
“Never mind,” said Dean, nobly. “I'll leave mine here too—then we'll both be dressed the same.”
He removed his overcoat and hat and was hanging them up when his roving glance was caught and held magnetically by two large squares of cardboard tacked to the two coat-room doors. The one on the left-hand door bore the word“In”in big black letters, and the one on the right-hand door flaunted the equally emphatic word“Out.”
“Look!” he exclaimed happily—
Peter's eyes followed his pointing finger.
“What?”
“Look at the signs. Let's take 'em.”
“Good idea.”
“Probably pair very rare an' valuable signs. Probably come in handy.”
Peter removed the left-hand sign from the door and endeavored to conceal it about his person. The sign being of considerable proportions, this was a matter of some difficulty. An idea flung itself at him, and with an air of dignified mystery he turned his back. After an instant he wheeled dramatically around, and stretching out his arms displayed himself to the admiring Dean. He had inserted the sign in his vest, completely covering his shirt front. In effect, the word“In”had been painted upon his shirt in large black letters.
“Yoho!” cheered Dean. “Mister In.”
He inserted his own sign in like manner.
“Mister Out!” he announced triumphantly. “Mr. In meet Mr. Out.”
They advanced and shook hands. Again laughter overcame them and they rocked in a shaken spasm of mirth.
“Yoho!”
“We probably get a flock of breakfast.”
“We'll go—go to the Commodore.”
Arm in arm they sallied out the door, and turning east in Forty-fourth Street set out for the Commodore.
As they came out a short dark soldier, very pale and tired, who had been wandering listlessly along the sidewalk, turned to look at them.
He started over as though to address them, but as they immediately bent on him glances of withering unrecognition, he waited until they had started unsteadily down the street, and then followed at about forty paces, chuckling to himself and saying, “Oh, boy!” over and over under his breath, in delighted, anticipatory tones.
Mr. In and Mr. Out were meanwhile exchanging pleasantries concerning their future plans.
“We want liquor; we want breakfast. Neither without the other. One and indivisible.”
“We want both 'em!”
“Both 'em!”
It was quite light now, and passers-by began to bend curious eyes on the pair. Obviously they were engaged in a discussion, which afforded each of them intense amusement, for occasionally a fit of laughter would seize upon them so violently that, still with their arms interlocked, they would bend nearly double.
Reaching the Commodore, they exchanged a few spicy epigrams with the sleepy-eyed doorman, navigated the revolving door with some difficulty, and then made their way through a thinly populated but startled lobby to the dining-room, where a puzzled waiter showed them an obscure table in a corner. They studied the bill of fare helplessly, telling over the items to each other in puzzled mumbles.
“Don't see any liquor here,” said Peter reproachfully.
The waiter became audible but unintelligible.
“Repeat,” continued Peter, with patient tolerance, “that there seems to be unexplained and quite distasteful lack of liquor upon bill of fare.”
“Here!” said Dean confidently, “l(fā)et me handle him.” He turned to the waiter—“Bring us—bring us—”he scanned the bill of fare anxiously. “Bring us a quart of champagne and a—a—probably ham sandwich.”
The waiter looked doubtful.
“Bring it!” roared Mr. In and Mr. Out in chorus.
The waiter coughed and disappeared. There was a short wait during which they were subjected without their knowledge to a careful scrutiny by the head-waiter. Then the champagne arrived, and at the sight of it Mr. In and Mr. Out became jubilant.
“Imagine their objecting to us having, champagne for breakfast—jus' imagine.”
They both concentrated upon the vision of such an awesome possibility, but the feat was too much for them. It was impossible for their joint imaginations to conjure up a world where any one might object any one else having champagne for breakfast. The waiter drew the cork with an enormous pop—and their glasses immediately foamed with pale yellow froth.
“Here's health, Mr. In.”
“Here's same to you, Mr. Out.”
The waiter withdrew; the minutes passed; the champagne became low in the bottle.
“It's—it's mortifying,” said Dean suddenly.
“Wha's mortifying?”
“The idea their objecting us having champagne breakfast.”
“Mortifying?” Peter considered. “Yes, tha's word—mortifying.”
Again they collapsed into laughter, howled, swayed, rocked back and forth in their chairs, repeating the word“mortifying”over and over to each other—each repetition seeming to make it only more brilliantly absurd.
After a few more gorgeous minutes they decided on another quart. Their anxious waiter consulted his immediate superior, and this discreet person gave implicit instructions that no more champagne should be served. Their check was brought.
Five minutes later, arm in arm, they left the Commodore and made their way through a curious, staring crowd along Forty-second Street, and up Vanderbilt Avenue to the Biltmore. There, with sudden cunning, they rose to the occasion and traversed the lobby, walking fast and standing unnaturally erect.
Once in the dining-room they repeated their performance. They were torn between intermittent convulsive laughter and sudden spasmodic discussions of politics, college, and the sunny state of their dispositions. Their watches told them that it was now nine o'clock, and a dim idea was born in them that they were on a memorable party, something that they would remember always. They lingered over the second bottle. Either of them had only to mention the word“mortifying”to send them both into riotous gasps. The dining-room was whirring and shifting now; a curious lightness permeated and rarefied the heavy air.
They paid their check and walked out into the lobby.
It was at this moment that the exterior doors revolved for the thousandth time that morning, and admitted into the lobby a very pale young beauty with dark circles under her eyes, attired in a much-rumpled evening dress. She was accompanied by a plain stout man, obviously not an appropriate escort.
At the top of the stairs this couple encountered Mr. In and Mr. Out.
“Edith,” began Mr. In, stepping toward her hilariously and making a sweeping bow, “darling, good morning.”
The stout man glanced questioningly at Edith, as if merely asking her permission to throw this man summarily out of the way.
“'Scuse familiarity,” added Peter, as an afterthought. “Edith, good-morning.”
He seized Dean's elbow and impelled him into the foreground.
“Meet Mr. In, Edith, my bes'frien'. Inseparable. Mr. In and Mr. Out.”
Mr. Out advanced and bowed; in fact, he advanced so far and bowed so low that he tipped slightly forward and only kept his balance by placing a hand lightly on Edith's shoulder.
“I'm Mr. Out, Edith,” he mumbled pleasantly. “S'misterin Misterout.”
“'Smisterinanout,” said Peter proudly.
But Edith stared straight by them, her eyes fixed on some infinite speck in the gallery above her. She nodded slightly to the stout man, who advanced bull-like and with a sturdy brisk gesture pushed Mr. In and Mr. Out to either side. Through this alley he and Edith walked.
But ten paces farther on Edith stopped again—stopped and pointed to a short, dark soldier who was eying the crowd in general, and the tableau of Mr. In and Mr. Out in particular, with a sort of puzzled, spell-bound awe.
“There,” cried Edith. “See there!”
Her voice rose, became somewhat shrill. Her pointing finger shook slightly.
“There's the soldier who broke my brother's leg.”
There were a dozen exclamations; a man in a cutaway coat left his place near the desk and advanced alertly; the stout person made a sort of lightning-like spring toward the short, dark soldier, and then the lobby closed around the little group and blotted them from the sight of Mr. In and Mr. Out.
But to Mr. In and Mr. Out this event was merely a particolored iridescent segment of a whirring, spinning world.
They heard loud voices; they saw the stout man spring; the picture suddenly blurred.
Then they were in an elevator bound skyward.
“What floor, please?” said the elevator man.
“Any floor,” said Mr. In.
“Top floor,” said Mr. Out.
“This is the top floor,” said the elevator man.
“Have another floor put on,” said Mr. Out.
“Higher,” said Mr. In.
“Heaven,” said Mr. Out.
五一節(jié) 十
進先生和出先生的名字沒有被戶口調查員登記在戶口簿上。要是想通過社交名人錄或是出生登記、婚姻登記、死亡登記或雜貨店老板的客戶信譽表來調查他們的信息，一定是白費功夫。他們被人遺忘，證明他們活在世上的材料都模糊不清，無法確認，法庭無法認定。而我能夠以最權威的證據(jù)證明，進先生和出先生曾經(jīng)短暫地生活過，呼吸過，回應過他們的名字，而且因為鮮明生動的人格魅力而閃耀著光芒。
在他們的有生之年，他們穿著自己國家的服裝走在一個偉大民族的一條偉大的公路上，被人恥笑、辱罵、追逐、厭棄。然后，他們就失蹤了，再也聽不到關于他們的消息了。
當一輛敞篷出租車在五月黎明的微光中輕輕駛過百老匯大街的時候，他們蒙蒙眬眬地有了意識。車上坐著進先生和出先生的靈魂，他們吃驚地議論著藍色的光這么快就涂滿了克里斯托弗·哥倫布雕像后面的天空，疑惑地議論著早起的人們那滄桑、灰暗的臉龐，他們蒼白無力地沿著街道輕輕移動，仿佛紙片飄飛在黯淡的湖上。無論什么事情，從蔡爾茲飯店里那個門衛(wèi)的荒唐行徑到人生事業(yè)的荒誕不經(jīng)，他們都能一拍即合。晨光驚醒了他們發(fā)燙的靈魂，他們被這脆弱的幸福弄得暈頭轉向。的確，生活中的快樂是那么新奇，那么生機勃勃，因此他們覺得應該大喊大叫地表達出來。
“耶——噢——噢！”彼得用手當擴音器，扯著嗓子大叫——迪恩也跟著大叫，盡管他的叫聲非常含糊，卻也同樣不同凡響且具有象征意義。
“喲——嗨！耶！喲嗨！喲——嘣啪！”
五十三大街上有一輛大巴，上面坐著一位膚色黝黑的短發(fā)美人；五十二大街上有個清潔工，他身子一閃躲開了，同時氣惱、痛心地大叫一聲：“瞧瞧你們這是要往哪兒奔呢！”第五十大街上，一幢雪白的大樓前雪白的人行道上，有一群男人扭過頭來在他們的身后大聲喊：
“搭個伴吧，小伙子們！”
在四十九大街上，彼得扭頭看著迪恩，瞇著嚴肅的眼睛，一本正經(jīng)地說：“美麗的早晨。”
“也許如此。”
“哎，吃早餐去吧？”
迪恩同意了——并做了補充。
“早餐和酒?！?/p>
“早餐和酒?！北说弥貜土艘槐椋麄兛粗鴮Ψ?，點點頭?！坝械览怼！?/p>
然后，他們倆爆發(fā)出一陣狂笑。
“早餐和酒！哦，天哪！”
“早餐沒有酒?！北说么舐曅肌?/p>
“他們不賣？不要緊，我們強迫他們賣，我們給他們施加壓力。”
“我們給他們講道理。”
出租車迅速駛離百老匯大街，沿著和百老匯大街交叉的一條街道行駛，然后在第五大街上的一個巨型墳墓般的建筑物前停了下來。
“什么意思？”
出租車司機告訴他們，這是戴爾莫尼科酒店。
他們有點疑惑不解，不得不花幾分鐘時間把注意力集中起來進行思考，因為如果他們下達了這樣的命令，就必定是事出有因。
“有人把外套落這兒了。”出租車司機說道。
是這么回事，彼得的外套和帽子，他把它們遺失在戴爾莫尼科酒店了。他們發(fā)現(xiàn)事情的原委后，就從出租車上下來，挽著胳膊向酒店門口走去。
“喂！”出租車司機喊道。
“啊哈？”
“你們最好把錢付給我?！?/p>
他們搖搖頭，生氣地予以否定。
“等會兒再說，現(xiàn)在不行——我們命令你等著。”
出租車司機不干，他想馬上拿到錢。兩個人懷著屈尊的不屑神氣，費了九牛二虎之力控制住自己的情緒，把錢付給了出租車司機。
彼得徒勞地在酒店里面黑咕隆咚、空無一人的衣物寄存處摸索著，尋找他的外套和圓頂禮帽。
“丟了，我想，被人偷走了。”
“是謝菲爾德學院的學生?！?/p>
“絕對有可能?！?/p>
“沒關系，”迪恩慷慨地說，“我把我的也扔到這兒——這樣，我們倆就穿得一模一樣了?！?/p>
他脫掉外套和帽子，要把它們掛起來的時候，釘在兩扇衣帽間門上的兩大塊硬紙板引起了他的注意，牢牢地吸引了他那飄忽不定的目光。左邊門上用黑體大字寫著“進”，右邊門上同樣寫著醒目的大字“出”。
“快看！”他開心地大叫。
彼得的目光順著他手指的方向看過去。
“什么？”
“快看那兩塊牌子。我們把它們摘下來吧。”
“好主意。”
“這兩塊牌子也許非常稀有，非常珍貴，可能會派上用場呢。”
彼得摘掉左邊門上的牌子，試圖把它藏在身上。牌子太大，這樣做有點困難。他想到了一個好主意，要把它背到背上，于是，他莊嚴而神秘地轉過身子。過了一會兒，他又夸張地把身子轉了回來，伸出兩只胳膊，把自己展示給贊賞的迪恩看。他已把牌子塞進背心里，用襯衫的前襟將它完全蓋住。實際上，“進”這個黑體大字是印在他的襯衫上的。
“喲呵！”迪恩興奮地說，“進先生。”
他把自己的牌子以相同的方式塞進去。
“出先生！”他打了勝仗似的宣布，“進先生和出先生?！?/p>
他們走近對方握了握手，爆發(fā)出陣陣笑聲，高興得前仰后合、渾身打戰(zhàn)。
“喲呵！”
“看來，我們要吃一頓豐盛的早餐?！?/p>
“我們走吧——去科莫多爾飯店?！?/p>
他們挽著胳膊出了門，向東轉到四十四大街上，朝科莫多爾飯店走去。
他們出來的時候，一名又矮又黑的士兵扭頭看著他們。士兵臉色蒼白，精疲力竭，一直沿著人行道無精打采地晃悠。
他走過來，仿佛要跟他們打招呼，然而當他們立刻目不轉睛地向他投來令人難堪的、陌生的目光時，他不吭聲了。等著他們歪歪扭扭地沿著街道走了大約四十步遠時，才跟在他們身后，呵呵地笑著，小聲地自言自語道：“哦，天哪！”他開心地重復了一遍又一遍，好像期待發(fā)生點什么似的。
與此同時，進先生和出先生客氣地告訴對方接下來的打算。
“我們要喝酒，我們要吃早餐。不喝酒就不吃早餐，吃早餐就必須喝酒。兩者是一個整體，缺一不可。”
“我們兩樣都要。”
“兩樣都要。”
天已經(jīng)大亮，路人開始好奇地仔細打量這兩個人。顯然，他們在討論，討論給他們帶來極大的樂趣。他們的胳膊仍然互相挽著，時時爆發(fā)出一陣狂笑，笑得頭都要觸到地面了。
到了科莫多爾飯店，他們和睡眼惺忪的門童互相爆了幾句粗口，費力地推著十字形旋轉門，然后穿過大廳。大廳里的顧客稀稀落落，看到他們都很吃驚。他們來到餐廳，一名困惑的侍者把他們領到角落里一張不起眼的餐桌旁。他們研究了一番菜單，無可奈何地彼此報著聽不懂的菜名。
“沒看到酒?！北说秘煿值卣f。
侍者聽見他們在說話，既聽不清又無法理解他們說的是什么。
“我再重復一遍，”彼得耐心而寬容地繼續(xù)說，“菜單上沒有酒，似乎說不過去，而且很令人不快。”
“看我的！”迪恩信心十足地說，“讓我去收拾他。”他扭頭對侍者說，“給我們拿——給我們拿——”他緊張地掃視著菜單，“給我們拿一夸脫香檳和一個……一個……大概是火腿三明治。”
侍者一臉茫然。
“去拿??！”進先生和出先生異口同聲地吼道。
侍者咳嗽一聲消失了。他們等了一小會兒，這個時候，一名領班在他們渾然不覺的情況下，仔細地觀察著他們。接著，香檳就送來了。看到香檳，進先生和出先生高興起來。
“想想看，如果他們反對我們把香檳當早餐——想想看?！?/p>
他們倆都專心致志地想象著可能出現(xiàn)的可怕后果，但這對他們來說太難了。他們兩人的想象力合在一起，也想不出一個人反對另一個人把香檳當作早餐的世界會是什么情形。隨著“砰”的一聲巨響，侍者拔出了瓶塞——他們的杯子里立即冒出了淺黃色的泡沫。
“祝你健康，進先生。”
“也祝你健康，出先生。”
侍者走開了；時間在流逝；酒瓶里的香檳在減少。
“真是——真是丟臉?！钡隙魍蝗徽f道。
“什么丟臉？”
“一想到他們不讓我們把香檳當作早餐就覺得丟臉。”
“丟臉嗎？”彼得想了想，“沒錯，就是這個詞——丟臉?！?/p>
他們又笑起來，號叫著，搖擺著，坐在椅子里前仰后合，對著彼此絮叨著“丟臉”這個詞——每絮叨一遍仿佛都只會將這件事變得更加離奇古怪。
又過了美妙的幾分鐘，他們決定再要一夸脫酒。他們那位心急如焚的侍者趕緊和他的上司商量，這個謹慎的人下了一道含蓄的指示：不再給他們喝香檳了。他們的賬單來了。
五分鐘后，他們挽著胳膊離開了科莫多爾飯店，穿過好奇、盯著他們看的人群走在四十二大街上，再經(jīng)范德比爾特大街到巴爾的摩酒店。在那里，他們突然靈機一動，臨時起意，飛快地穿過大廳，然后又直挺挺地站著不動。
一到餐廳，他們就又舊調重彈。一會兒爆發(fā)出痙攣般的笑聲，一會兒又突然大談特談政治、大學以及他們的性格是如何陽光燦爛。他們的手表告訴他們，現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)九點鐘了，他們模模糊糊地記得，他們參加了一個值得紀念的舞會，有些東西他們會銘記不忘。他們又沉迷于第二瓶酒里，他們倆只要誰提到“丟臉”這個詞，兩個人就會笑得喘不過氣。餐廳在旋轉，在晃動，一種奇妙的輕松感彌漫開來，也凈化了渾濁的空氣。
他們結了賬，走進大廳。
就在這時，在這個上午，外面的門轉到第一千次的時候，大廳里走進一位臉色蒼白的妙齡佳人。她眼圈發(fā)黑，穿著皺皺巴巴的晚禮服。她由一個相貌平平的胖男人陪同，顯然他是個不合適的護花使者。
這兩個人在樓梯的最上面遇到了進先生和出先生。
“伊迪絲，”進先生欣喜若狂地朝她走過去，一陣風似的鞠了一躬說道，“上午好，親愛的?！?/p>
胖男人用詢問的目光看著伊迪絲，仿佛只要征得她的許可，他就會立刻把這人扔到路邊。
“請原諒，這樣說有點太隨便，”彼得補充道，作為事后諸葛亮式的補充，“伊迪絲，早上好。”
他抓住迪恩的胳膊肘，把他推到前面。
“見見進先生，伊迪絲，我最好的朋友。形影不離的進先生和出先生?！?/p>
出先生走上前鞠了一躬；實際上，他走得太近了，腰彎得太低了，因此他朝前栽了一下，把手輕輕地放在了伊迪絲的肩膀上才算找著了平衡。
“我是出先生，伊迪絲，”他愉快地咕噥著說，“我們是進先生和出先生。”
“我們是進先生和出先生。”彼得驕傲地說。
伊迪絲被他們直勾勾地盯著，不過她的眼睛看著走廊上面那無數(shù)個黑點。她輕輕地朝胖男人點點頭，他像公牛似的走上前，猛然用力地把進先生和出先生一人推到一邊，他和伊迪絲從這兩個人中間穿了過去。
但是，走了十來步遠，伊迪絲又站住了——她指著一名又矮又黑的士兵，他正漫無目的地看著這群人，有點疑惑又有點吃驚地看著進先生和出先生構成的獨特畫面。
“那兒，”伊迪絲大叫一聲，“看那兒！”
她提高了嗓門，聲音變得十分尖銳，手指伸著，微微顫抖。
“那個士兵打斷了我哥哥的腿?！?/p>
十幾個人大叫起來；一個身穿燕尾服的人從餐桌旁站起來，機警地走過去；胖子像閃電一樣撲向又矮又黑的士兵。接著，大廳里圍了一小群人，擋住了進先生和出先生的視線。
但是，對于進先生和出先生而言，這件事在千變萬化的大千世界中只是色彩斑斕的一個碎片而已。
他們聽到吼叫聲，看到胖子跳起來；畫面突然模糊不清了。
接著，他們進了向上運行的電梯。
“請問去幾樓？”開電梯的工人問道。
“隨便?！边M先生說。
“頂樓。”出先生說。
“這就是頂樓?！遍_電梯的工人說。
“再加一層。”出先生說。
“加得更高點?！边M先生說。
“去天堂?！背鱿壬f。
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