This was the feeling I took to my diary that night as well: I called it the “swoon.” Why had I swooned? And could it happen so easily—just let him touch me somewhere and I’d totally go limp and will-less? Was this what people meant by butter melting?
And why wouldn’t I show him how like butter I was? Because I was afraid of what might happen then? Or was I afraid he would have laughed at me, told everyone, or ignored the whole thing on the pretext I was too young to know what I was doing? Or was it because if he so much as suspected—and anyone who suspected would of necessity be on the same wavelength—he might be tempted to act on it? Did I want him to act? Or would I prefer a lifetime of longing provided we both kept this little Ping-Pong game going: not knowing, not-not knowing, not-not-not knowing? Just be quiet, say nothing, and if you can’t say “yes,” don’t say “no,” say “later.” Is this why people say “maybe” when they mean “yes,” but hope you’ll think it’s “no” when all they really mean is, Please, just ask me once more, and once more after that?
 
這也是我當晚日記里所描繪的感覺，我稱之為“意亂情迷”。我為什么意亂情迷？這種情感來得如此輕易嗎？只要他輕輕一碰我，我就雙腳發(fā)軟，神魂顛倒？這是大家所說的“如奶油般融化”嗎？
我為什么不愿意讓他知道我多容易軟化？因為害怕隨之而來的后果？怕他笑我？怕他四處宣揚？怕他拿我太年輕、不知道自己在做什么為借口，因而置之不理？或者他有那么點起了疑心，他或許會想要因此采取行動？我希望他行動嗎？或者我寧可一輩子渴望，只要雙方繼續(xù)這種你來我往的猜謎游戲：不知道、知道、不知道？保持沉默就好，什么都別說；如果你不答應，也別拒絕，就說“回頭再說”吧——大家不都這么做嗎？即使同意，也要來句模糊的“或許吧”，表面看來像是拒絕，隱藏的真意卻是：拜托，請再問我一次，再多問一次。
 
I look back to that summer and can’t believe that despite every one of my efforts to live with the “fire” and the “swoon,” life still granted wonderful moments. Italy. Summer. The noise of the cicadas in the early afternoon. My room. His room. Our balcony that shut the whole world out. The soft wind trailing exhalations from our garden up the stairs to my bedroom. The summer I learned to love fishing. Because he did. To love jogging. Because he did. To love octopus, Heraclitus, Tristan5. The summer I’d hear a bird sing, smell a plant, or feel the mist rise from under my feet on warm sunny days and, because my senses were always on alert, would automatically find them rushing to him.
 
回顧那年夏天，我不敢相信在我費盡心機思考如何與“火”或“情迷意亂”共存之時，猶能注意到生活中的美好時刻。意大利的夏季。午后一兩點鐘的嘈雜蟬鳴。我的房間。他的房間。把全世界隔絕在外的陽臺。微風追隨花園里的水汽，沿樓梯往上吹進我的房間。那年夏天我愛上釣魚，因為他愛。愛上慢跑，因為他愛。愛上章魚、赫拉克利特、《特里斯坦》。那年夏天我聽鳥歡唱，聞百草香，感覺霧氣在陽光燦爛的日子里從腳下升起，而我警醒的感官總是不由自主全涌向他。

《請以你的名字呼喚我》