It was almost two in the afternoon when Willem finally woke, and the first thing he remembered was his resolve from earlier that morning. Certainly things had been realigned to discourage his sense of initiative: Jude’s bed was clean. Jude was not in it. The bathroom, when he visited it, smelled eggily of bleach. And at the card table, there was Jude himself, stamping circles into dough with a stoicism that made Willem both annoyed and relieved. If he was to confront Jude, it seemed, it would be without the benefit of disarray, of evidence of disaster.
威廉終于醒來時,已經(jīng)快下午2點,他想到的第一件事就是稍早清晨時下的決心。當(dāng)然,情勢又有了變化,讓他的積極心態(tài)因而動搖:裘德的床很干凈。他不在上頭。威廉去浴室,聞到漂白過的淡淡腥味。廚房里的那張牌桌前,裘德坐在那里,正用茶杯的杯口把生面團(tuán)壓成一個個小圓餅,那堅忍的態(tài)度讓威廉心煩的同時又松了一口氣。如果他現(xiàn)在去正面質(zhì)問裘德,似乎就少了前一夜混亂及大災(zāi)難的證據(jù)了。
He slouched into the chair across from him. “What’re you doing?”
他跨坐在他對面的椅子上:“你在干嗎?”
Jude didn’t look up. “Making more gougères,” he said, calmly. “One of the batches I made yesterday isn’t quite right.”
裘德沒抬頭:“多做一些法式咸味奶酪泡芙?!彼届o地說,“我昨天做的有一批不太成功?!?
“No one’s going to fucking care, Jude,” he said meanly, and then, barreling helplessly forward, “We could just give them cheese sticks and it’d be the same thing.”
“他媽的沒有人會在乎,裘德?!彼麅窗桶偷卣f,然后失控地繼續(xù)暴發(fā),“給他們吃奶酪條就好了,對他們來說是一樣的。”
Jude shrugged, and Willem felt his annoyance quicken into anger. Here Jude sat after what was, he could now admit, a terrifying night, acting as if nothing had happened, even as his bandage-wrapped hand lay uselessly on the table. He was about to speak when Jude put down the water glass he’d been using as a pastry cutter and looked at him. “I’m really sorry, Willem,” he said, so softly that Willem almost couldn’t hear him. He saw Willem looking at his hand and pulled it into his lap. “I should never—” He paused. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me.”
裘德聳聳肩,威廉感覺自己的不耐煩轉(zhuǎn)為憤怒。在經(jīng)過可怕的一夜之后,裘德就坐在面前,即使包著繃帶的手無力地放在桌子上,還是擺出一副什么事都沒發(fā)生過的樣子。他正要開口時,裘德把用來切面團(tuán)的玻璃水杯放下,看著他:“我真的很抱歉,威廉?!彼f,聲音輕得威廉幾乎聽不到。他看到威廉盯著他的手,于是縮回去放在膝上。“我實在不該……”他暫停了一下,“對不起。別生我的氣?!?
His anger dissolved. “Jude,” he asked, “what were you doing?”
威廉的怒氣消失了?!棒玫?,”他問,“你昨天晚上做了什么?”
“Not what you think. I promise you, Willem.”
“威廉,我跟你保證。不是你想的那樣?!?
Years later, Willem would recount this conversation—its contours, if not its actual, literal content—for Malcolm as proof of his own incompetence, his own failure. How might things have been different if he spoke only one sentence? And that sentence could have been “Jude, are you trying to kill yourself?” or “Jude, you need to tell me what’s going on,” or “Jude, why do you do this to yourself?” Any of those would have been acceptable; any of those would have led to a larger conversation that would have been reparative, or at the very least preventative.
幾年后,威廉將把這段談話轉(zhuǎn)述給馬爾科姆聽(就算不是逐字的內(nèi)容,也是大致的狀況),作為自己無能、失敗的證據(jù)。要是當(dāng)時他能多說一句,事情可能會有什么不同?那句話可以是“裘德,你想自殺嗎?”“裘德,你得告訴我到底是怎么回事?!被蚴恰棒玫拢銥槭裁匆钭约??”任何一句都可以過關(guān),任何一句都會導(dǎo)向更深入的談話,這樣就會有一些修復(fù)作用,至少有預(yù)防作用。
Wouldn’t it?
會嗎?
But there, in the moment, he instead only mumbled, “Okay.”
但在那一刻,他只是咕噥說:“好吧。”
They sat in silence for what felt like a long time, listening to the murmur of one of their neighbors’ televisions, and it was only much later that Willem would wonder whether Jude had been saddened or relieved that he had been so readily believed.
他們不發(fā)一語對坐了好久,聽著某個鄰居家里電視機(jī)的沙沙聲。一直要到很久以后,威廉才會想到,自己這么容易就買賬,不知道裘德會不會覺得難過,還是松了口氣。
“Are you mad at me?”
“你在生我的氣嗎?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. And he wasn’t. Or, at least, mad was not the word he would have chosen, but he couldn’t then articulate what word would be correct. “But we obviously have to cancel the party.”
“沒有?!彼辶饲迳ぷ?。他的確沒生氣。至少,生氣不是他會選擇的字眼,但他也無法確切說出哪個字眼才正確。“顯然我們得取消派對了?!?
At this, Jude looked alarmed. “Why?”
裘德一聽就警覺起來:“為什么?”
“Why? Are you kidding me?”
“為什么?你在開玩笑吧?”
“Willem,” Jude said, adopting what Willem thought of as his litigatory tone, “we can’t cancel. People are going to be showing up in seven hours—less. And we really have no clue who JB’s invited. They’re going to show up anyway, even if we let everyone else know. And besides”—he inhaled sharply, as if he’d had a lung infection and was trying to prove it had resolved itself—“I’m perfectly fine. It’ll be more difficult if we cancel than if we just go forward.”
“威廉,”裘德說,換了一種口吻,威廉聽起來像是在訴訟,“我們不能取消。不到七個小時,大家就會跑來了。我們實在不知道杰比邀請了誰。即使我們通知其他人取消,杰比邀請的那些人還是會來。何況……”他用力吸了口氣,好像他得了肺炎,想證明自己已經(jīng)康復(fù),“我完全沒問題。派對取消了反而麻煩,倒不如照常舉行吧?!?
Oh, how and why did he always listen to Jude? But he did, once again, and soon it was eight, and the windows were once again open, and the kitchen was once again hot with pastry—as if the previous night had never happened, as if those hours had been an illusion—and Malcolm and JB were arriving. Willem stood in the door of their bedroom, buttoning up his shirt and listening to Jude tell them that he had burned his arm baking the gougères, and that Andy had had to apply a salve.
啊,他怎么總是聽裘德的話?但那回他還是聽了。接下來很快就8點了,窗子再度打開,廚房再度因為烘焙食物而變得熱烘烘的,好像前一夜的事沒發(fā)生過,只是一場幻夢。然后馬爾科姆和杰比來了。威廉站在臥室門邊,扣著襯衫扣子,一邊聽裘德告訴另外兩人,他因為烤那些奶酪泡芙燙傷了手臂,安迪幫他搽了藥膏。
“I told you not to make those fucking gougères,” he could hear JB say, happily. He loved Jude’s baking.
“我早就叫你不要烤那些該死的奶酪泡芙了?!彼牭浇鼙乳_心地說。他很愛裘德的烘焙料理。
He was overcome, then, with a powerful sensation: he could close the door, and go to sleep, and when he woke, it would be a new year, and everything would be wiped fresh, and he wouldn’t feel that deep, writhing discomfort inside of him. The thought of seeing Malcolm and JB, of interacting with them and smiling and joking, seemed suddenly excruciating.
然后,一種強(qiáng)烈的感覺排山倒海而來:他可以關(guān)上門,去睡覺,等到他醒來,就是新的一年,一切都會從頭開始,他不會再感覺到心底那種深刻、煎熬的不安。想到要面對馬爾科姆和杰比,想到要跟他們交談、微笑、開玩笑,這些忽然間讓他痛苦不堪。
But, of course, see them he did, and when JB demanded they all go up to the roof so he could get some fresh air and have a smoke, he let Malcolm complain uselessly and halfheartedly about how cold it was without joining in, before resignedly following the three of them up the narrow staircase that led to the tar-papered roof.
但是當(dāng)然,威廉還是出去跟他們碰面,接著杰比吵著要他們四個人全部到屋頂去透透氣,同時讓他抽根煙。馬爾科姆徒勞且不太認(rèn)真地抱怨外頭有多冷,說不要去,但最后又放棄了,跟著他們?nèi)齻€爬上窄窄的樓梯,來到鋪有柏油紙的屋頂。
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