《渺小一生》:安迪喜歡甜食

　 “What’d you think?” Andy finally asks.

“你覺得怎么樣？”安迪最后終于問了。

　 “He kind of looks like Willem,” he says.

“他長得有點(diǎn)像威廉?！彼f。

　 “Does he?” Andy says, and he shrugs.

“是嗎？”安迪說，聳聳肩。

　 “A little,” he says. “The smile.”

“有一點(diǎn)?！彼f，“他的微笑?！?

　 “Ah,” Andy says. “I guess. I can see that.” There’s another silence. “But what did you think? I know it’s sometimes hard to tell from one meeting, but does he seem like someone you might be able to get along with?”

“啊，”安迪說，“我想是吧，是有點(diǎn)像?！眱扇擞殖聊艘粫?huì)兒?！翱墒悄阌X得怎么樣呢？我知道有時(shí)見一次面很難說，但你覺得你跟他會(huì)合得來嗎？”

　 “I don’t think so, Andy,” he says at last, and can feel Andy’s disappointment.

“安迪，我不認(rèn)為?！彼詈笳f，感覺到安迪的失望。

　 “Really, Jude? What didn’t you like about him?” But he doesn’t answer, and finally Andy sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I hoped you might feel comfortable enough around him to at least consider it. Will you think about it anyway? Maybe you’ll give him another chance? And in the meantime, there’s this other guy, Stephan Wu, who I think you should maybe meet. He’s not an orthopod, but I actually think that might be better; he’s certainly the best internist I’ve ever worked with. Or there’s this guy named—”

“真的，裘德？你不喜歡他哪一點(diǎn)？”但他沒回答，最后安迪嘆氣了。“對(duì)不起，”他說，“我本來希望你跟他相處得夠自在，至少愿意考慮一下。你能不能想一想？或許再給他一次機(jī)會(huì)？還有另一個(gè)人，叫史蒂芬·吳，我覺得你們或許應(yīng)該認(rèn)識(shí)一下。他不是整形外科醫(yī)生，不過我認(rèn)為這樣可能更好；他絕對(duì)是我共事過最好的內(nèi)科醫(yī)生。還有一個(gè)叫……”

　 “Jesus, Andy, stop,” he says, and he can hear the anger in his voice, anger he hasn’t known he had. “Stop.” He looks up, sees Andy’s stricken face. “Are you so eager to get rid of me? Can’t you give me a break? Can’t you let me take this in for a while? Don’t you understand how hard this is for me?” He knows how selfish, how unreasonable, how self-absorbed he is being, and he is miserable but unable to stop himself, and he stands, bumping against the table. “Leave me alone,” he tells Andy. “If you’re not going to be here for me, then leave me alone.”

“天啊，安迪，別再說了?！彼f，聽得出自己聲音中的憤怒，他原先不知道自己有這股怒氣?！皠e說了?！彼ь^，看到安迪苦悶的臉，“你就這么急著要擺脫我嗎？你不能讓我先消化一下嗎？你難道不明白這對(duì)我來說有多辛苦？”他知道自己這樣有多自私、多不理性、只顧自己，而且很可悲，但他就是忍不住。他站了起來，撞到桌子?！皠e煩我了?！彼嬖V安迪，“如果你不想照顧我，就別煩我吧?！?

　 “Jude,” Andy says, but he has already pushed past the table, and as he does, the waitress arrives with the food, and he can hear Andy curse and see him reach for his wallet, and he stumbles out of the restaurant. Mr. Ahmed doesn’t work on Fridays because he drives himself to Andy’s, but now instead of returning to the car, which is parked in front of Andy’s office, he hails a taxi and gets in quickly and leaves before Andy can catch him.

“裘德?！卑驳险f，但他已經(jīng)擠出座位。此時(shí)，侍者剛好端著菜過來，他聽到安迪詛咒，連忙掏出皮夾，同時(shí)踉蹌著走出餐廳。艾哈邁德先生周五休假，因?yàn)樗际亲约洪_車去安迪的診所，但現(xiàn)在他沒去安迪的診所前取車，而是招了一輛出租車，趕緊鉆進(jìn)去，趁安迪追上來之前就離開了。

　 That night he turns off his phones, drugs himself, crawls into bed. He wakes the next day, texts both JB and Richard that he’s not feeling well and has to cancel his dinners with them, and then re-drugs himself until it is Monday. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. He has ignored all of Andy’s calls and texts and e-mails, all of his messages, but although he is no longer angry, only ashamed, he cannot bear to make one more apology, cannot bear his own meanness, his own weakness. “I’m frightened, Andy,” he wants to say. “What will I do without you?”

那天晚上他關(guān)掉電話，吃了安眠藥爬上床。次日醒來，他發(fā)短信給杰比和理查德說他不舒服，要取消跟他們的晚餐，然后又吃了安眠藥，一路睡到星期一。星期一，星期二，星期三，星期四。他都沒理會(huì)安迪的電話、短信和電子郵件，還有所有的留言。他不再憤怒，只是羞愧，但他也受不了再一次道歉，受不了自己的刻薄、自己的軟弱?！拔液煤ε拢驳?，”他很想說，“沒有你，我會(huì)怎么樣？”

　 Andy loves sweets, and on Thursday afternoon he has one of his secretaries place an order for an absurd, a stupid amount of chocolates from Andy’s favorite candy shop. “Any note?” his secretary asks, and he shakes his head. “No,” he says, “just my name.” She nods and starts to leave and he calls her back, grabs a piece of notepaper from his desk, and scribbles Andy—I’m so embarrassed. Please forgive me. Jude, and hands it to her.

安迪喜歡甜食。于是星期四下午，他找了一個(gè)秘書，替他去安迪最喜歡的糖果店訂了一大批多到荒謬的巧克力?！耙阶謼l嗎？”秘書問。他搖搖頭。“不用了，”他說，“寫我的名字就好。”秘書點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭正要離開，他又叫她回來，抓了辦公桌上的一張便條紙，匆匆寫下安迪——我太羞愧了。請(qǐng)?jiān)徫?。裘德。然后遞給她。

　 But the next night he doesn’t go to see Andy; he goes home to make dinner for Harold, who is in town on one of his unannounced visits. The previous spring had been Harold’s final semester, which he had failed to register until it was September. He and Willem had always spoken of throwing Harold a party when he finally retired, the way they had done for Julia when she had retired. But he had forgotten, and he had done nothing. And then he remembered and he still did nothing.

但次日晚上他沒去找安迪，而是回家?guī)屯蝗慌軄砑~約的哈羅德做晚餐。哈羅德今年春季學(xué)期結(jié)束后就退休了，但他直到九月才想起。以前他和威廉老在說，等哈羅德終于退休時(shí)，要幫他辦個(gè)派對(duì)，就像之前幫朱麗婭辦的退休派對(duì)。但他忘了，結(jié)果什么都沒做。之后他想起來了，但還是什么都沒做。

　 He is tired. He doesn’t want to see Harold. But he makes dinner anyway, a dinner he knows he will not eat, and serves it to Harold and then sits down himself.

他很累。他不想見哈羅德。但他還是做了晚餐，知道自己不會(huì)吃，只是端給哈羅德，然后自己坐下來。

　 “Aren’t you hungry?” Harold asks him, and he shakes his head. “I ate lunch at five today,” he lies. “I’ll eat later.”

“你餓嗎？”哈羅德問他，他搖搖頭?！拔医裉?點(diǎn)才吃午餐的，”他撒謊，“我晚一點(diǎn)再吃。”

　 He watches Harold eat, and sees that he is old, that the skin on his hands has become as soft and satiny as a baby’s. He is ever-more aware that he is one year older, two years older, and now, six years older than Harold was when they met. And yet for all these years, Harold has remained in his perceptions stubbornly forty-five; the only thing that has changed is his perception of how old, exactly, forty-five is. It is embarrassing to admit this to himself, but it is only recently that he has begun considering that there is a possibility, even a probability, that he will outlive Harold. He has already lived beyond his imaginings; isn’t it likely he will live longer still?

他看著哈羅德吃飯，看到他老了，手上的皮膚變得像嬰兒般柔軟而光滑。最近幾年他越來越意識(shí)到，自己比當(dāng)年認(rèn)識(shí)的哈羅德要老一歲、老兩歲，現(xiàn)在是老六歲了。然而這些年過去，在他頑固的認(rèn)知里，哈羅德始終只有45歲。唯一改變的是對(duì)他而言，45歲有多老。他很不好意思向自己承認(rèn)這一點(diǎn)，但直到最近，他才開始想著他有可能，甚至非?？赡?，活得比哈羅德更久。他已經(jīng)活得超過他原先的種種想象，不也有可能活得更久？

　 He remembers a conversation they’d had when he turned thirty-five. “I’m middle-aged,” he’d said, and Harold had laughed.

他想起自己滿35歲時(shí)和哈羅德的一段談話?！拔抑心炅恕！彼f，哈羅德大笑。

　 “You’re young,” he’d said. “You’re so young, Jude. You’re only middle-aged if you plan on dying at seventy. And you’d better not. I’m really not going to be in the mood to attend your funeral.”

“你還年輕，”哈羅德說，“太年輕了，裘德。如果你打算70歲死掉的話，你現(xiàn)在才算中年。不過你最好不要只活到70歲，我屆時(shí)可沒心情參加你的葬禮?！?

　 “You’re going to be ninety-five,” he said. “Are you really planning on still being alive then?”

“到時(shí)候你就95歲了?！彼f，“你真認(rèn)為你會(huì)活到那個(gè)時(shí)候？”

　 “Alive, and frisky, and being attended to by an assortment of buxom young nurses, and not in any mood to go to some long-winded service.”

“不但活著，而且活蹦亂跳，還有各種豐滿的年輕護(hù)士照顧我。我才不想去參加那種又臭又長的告別式?！?

　 He had finally smiled. “And who’s paying for this fleet of buxom young nurses?”

他終于露出微笑：“那誰要幫你出錢雇這些豐滿的年輕護(hù)士？”