《渺小一生》:他想念你。我也想念你。

　 “Sì,” I said, and was suddenly sad.

“是啊?！蔽乙灿靡獯罄Z回答，忽然覺得好哀傷。

　 He looked sly, then, and asked, or rather stated, “Tua moglie deve essere molto bella, no?” and then grinned to show me he meant it in fun, that it was a compliment, that if I was a plain man, I was also a lucky one, to have such a beautiful wife who had given me such a handsome son, and so I couldn’t be offended. I grinned back at him. “She is,” I said, and he smiled, unsurprised.

那老人露出狡猾的表情，問我，或者比較像是陳述句：“你太太一定是個大美女吧？”隨即咧嘴一笑，表示他在打趣，或是個恭維，因為我長相這么平凡，卻很幸運能有個美麗的太太，幫我生了一個這么俊美的兒子，所以我不可能被得罪。我也對著他笑，說：“沒錯?！彼３治⑿?，一點都不驚訝。

　 The man had already left by the time he returned—nodding at me as he went, leaning on his cane—with a cone for me and a container of lemon granita for Julia. I wished he had bought something for himself, too, but he hadn’t. “We should go,” he said, and we did, and that night he went to bed early, and the following day—the day you died—we didn’t see him at all: he left us a message with the front desk saying he had gone for a walk, and that he would see us tomorrow, and that he was sorry, and all day long we walked too, and although I thought there was a chance we might see him—Rome is not such a large city, after all—we didn’t, and that night as we undressed for bed, I was aware that I had been looking for him on every street, in every crowd.

他回來時，那個老人已經離開了（離開時跟我點了個頭，拄著拐杖）。他買了一個裝在甜筒里的冰淇淋給我，還買了一杯檸檬冰沙要帶回去給朱麗婭。我真希望他也買了一份給自己，但他沒有。“我們該走了。”他說，于是我們起身離開。那天夜里他很早就去睡了，次日，也就是你的忌日，我們完全沒看到他，他在柜臺留了張字條，說他出去散步了，明天再跟我們碰面，說他很抱歉。于是我們也出去走了一整天，我以為有機會在路上碰到他，畢竟羅馬這個城市不大，但結果沒有。那一夜我們更衣就寢前，我想到自己一整天都在經過的每條街道、每堆人群中尋找他。

　 The next morning there he was at breakfast, reading the paper, pale but smiling at us, and we didn’t ask him what he’d done the day before and he didn’t volunteer it. That day we just walked around the city, the three of us an unwieldy little pack—too wide for the sidewalks, we strolled in single file, each of us taking the position of the leader in turn—but just to familiar places, well-trafficked places, places that would have no secret memories, that held no intimacies. Near Via Condotti Julia looked into the tiny window of a tiny jewelry store, and we went inside, the three of us filling the space, and each held the earrings she had admired in the window. They were exquisite: solid gold, dense and heavy and shaped like birds, with small round rubies for eyes and little gold branches in their beaks, and he bought them for her, and she was embarrassed and delighted—Julia had never worn much jewelry—but he looked happy to be able to, and I was happy that he was happy, and that she was happy, too. That night we met JB and Richard for a final dinner, and the next morning we left to go north, to Florence, and he to go home.

次日早晨，他出現(xiàn)在餐桌旁，看著報紙，臉色蒼白，但對我們露出微笑，我們沒問他前一天做了什么，他也沒主動說。那天我們只是在市區(qū)里閑逛，三個人很不好控制，走在人行道上太寬，于是我們排成一列，每個人輪流當領隊，但我們只去有名的地點、人多的地方，不會有隱秘的回憶、不曾發(fā)生親昵的舉止的景點?？斓剿苈窌r，朱麗婭望著一家小珠寶店的小窗，我們走進去，三個人把那家小店塞滿，每個人輪流把她在窗外看中的耳環(huán)拿起來細瞧。那耳環(huán)非常精致：純金，密實而沉重，形狀像鳥，眼睛處鑲了圓形的小紅寶石，鳥喙叼著金枝。他買下那對耳環(huán)送給她，她不好意思，但又很開心，朱麗婭向來不太戴首飾。但他看起來很高興能送她禮物，我看他高興也跟著開心，朱麗婭也很歡喜。那天晚上，我們跟杰比和理查德會合吃最后一頓晚餐，次日早晨我們離開，北上去佛羅倫薩，他則回紐約。

　 “I’ll see you in five days,” I told him, and he nodded.

“我們五天后見了。”我告訴他，他點點頭。

　 “Have a good time,” he said. “Have a wonderful time. I’ll see you soon.”

“好好玩?！彼f，“祝你們玩得愉快。我們很快就會再見了?！?

　 He waved as we were driven away in the car; we turned in our seats to wave back at him. I remember hoping my wave was somehow telegraphing what I couldn’t say: Don’t you dare. The night before, as he and Julia were talking to JB, I asked Richard if he would feel comfortable sending me updates while we were away, and Richard said he would. He had gained almost all the weight Andy wanted, but he’d had two setbacks—one in May, one in July—and so we were all still watching him.

我們的汽車開走時，他站在那揮手；我們坐在后座，回頭跟他揮手。我還記得當時希望揮手能傳達我說不出口的訊息：不準你亂來。前一夜，趁他和朱麗婭跟杰比聊天時，我問理查德這幾天我們不在期間，能不能麻煩他發(fā)短信隨時告訴我們狀況？理查德答應了。他幾乎恢復到了安迪希望的體重，但中間有兩度倒退，一次在五月，另一次在七月，所以我們還在持續(xù)監(jiān)視他。

　 It sometimes felt as if we were living our relationship in reverse, and instead of worrying for him less, I worried for him more; with each year I became more aware of his fragility, less convinced of my competence. When Jacob was a baby, I would find myself feeling more assured with each month he lived, as if the longer he stayed in this world, the more deeply he would become anchored to it, as if by being alive, he was staking claim to life itself. It was a preposterous notion, of course, and it was proven wrong in the most horrible way. But I couldn’t stop thinking this: that life tethered life. And yet at some point in his life—after Caleb, if I had to date it—I had the sense that he was in a hot-air balloon, one that was staked to the earth with a long twisted rope, but each year the balloon strained and strained against its cords, tugging itself away, trying to drift into the skies. And down below, there was a knot of us trying to pull the balloon back to the ground, back to safety. And so I was always frightened for him, and I was always frightened of him, as well.

有時，感覺我們的父子關系好像是倒退著走，隨著他年紀漸長，我對他的擔心沒有減少，反而增加；隨著每一年過去，我都更加意識到他的脆弱，也對自己當父親的能力更沒信心。雅各布還是嬰兒時，我發(fā)現(xiàn)每過一個月，我就更有把握一點，好像他待在這個世界越久，就能扎根扎得越深，好像光是活著，就宣示他擁有這個生命。當然，這個想法很荒唐，而且以最可怕的方式被證明是錯的。但我忍不住想：活下去會產生牽系的力量。然而在他人生的某一個點（如果非得指出的話，我想是在凱萊布之后），我感覺他像是搭上了熱氣球，被一根長長的繩子固定在深入地面的木樁上。但每一年，那個氣球一直扯緊那根繩子，想要掙脫，飄向天空。在底下的我們就設法把那氣球扯回地面，回到安全的狀態(tài)。所以我總是為他擔驚受怕，同時也很怕他。

　 Can you have a real relationship with someone you are frightened of? Of course you can. But he still scared me, because he was the powerful one and I was not: if he killed himself, if he took himself away from me, I knew I would survive, but I knew as well that survival would be a chore; I knew that forever after I would be hunting for explanations, sifting through the past to examine my mistakes. And of course I knew how badly I would miss him, because although there had been trial runs for his eventual departure, I had never been able to get any better at dealing with them, and I was never able to get used to them.

你能跟一個你害怕的人真正發(fā)展出感情嗎？當然可以。但他還是令我恐懼，因為他擁有力量，我卻沒有。如果他自殺了，如果他把自己從我手上奪走，我知道我還能活下去，但我也知道那種人生很乏味；我知道之后我會永遠糾結著想找到解釋，不斷仔細檢視過去，想找出自己哪里犯了錯。當然，我知道自己會多么想念他，盡管之前他嘗試過，他也終將離開，但我始終沒能變得更能面對，也永遠無法習慣。

　 But then we came home, and everything was the same: Mr. Ahmed met us at the airport and drove us back to the apartment, and waiting for us with the doorman were bags of food so we wouldn’t have to go to the grocery store. The next day was a Thursday and he came over and we had dinner, and he asked what we had seen and done and we told him. That night we were washing the dishes, and as he was handing me a bowl to put in the dishwasher, it slipped through his fingers and broke against the floor. “Goddammit,” he shouted. “I’m so sorry, Harold. I’m so stupid, I’m so clumsy,” and although we told him it wasn’t a problem, that it was fine, he only grew more and more upset, so upset that his hands started to shake, that his nose started to bleed. “Jude,” I told him, “it’s okay. It happens,” but he shook his head. “No,” he said, “it’s me. I mess up everything. Everything I touch I ruin.” Julia and I had looked at each other over his head as he was picking up the pieces, unsure what to say or do: the reaction was so out of proportion to what had happened. But there had been a few incidents in the preceding months, ever since he had thrown that plate across the room, that made me realize, for the first time in my life with him, how truly angry he was, how hard he must work every day at controlling it.

接著我們回到紐約，一切如常：艾哈邁德先生來機場接我們，載我們回公寓，門房那兒已經有幾袋食物，這樣我們就不必去雜貨店采買了。次日是星期四，他過來跟我們一起吃晚餐，問起我們這幾天旅行看到什么、做了什么，我們告訴他。那天晚上我們一起洗碗，他遞給我一個碗要放進洗碗機時，手一滑在地板上摔破了。“該死！”他大吼，“真是對不起，哈羅德。我太蠢了，太笨手笨腳了?！蔽覀兏嬖V他沒關系，沒事的，但他只是越來越生氣，氣到雙手開始顫抖，氣到開始流鼻血。“裘德，”我告訴他，“沒關系的。這種事難免的?！钡麚u頭。“不，”他說，“都是我。我搞砸了一切。我碰到的一切都會毀掉。”他低頭撿起碎片時，朱麗婭和我隔著他的頭面面相覷，不知該說什么、做什么才好：他的反應太小題大做了。但自從那回他把盤子摔到餐廳對面的墻上后，之后幾個月還發(fā)生了幾次這樣的事件，讓我從認識他以來第一次明白，他心中原來有那么多憤怒，他每天要多努力去控制這股怒氣。

　 After that first incident with the plate there had been another, a few weeks later. This was up at Lantern House, where he hadn’t been in months. It was morning, just after breakfast, and Julia and I were leaving to go to the store, and I went to find him to ask what he wanted. He was in his bedroom, and the door was slightly ajar, and when I saw what he was doing, I for some reason didn’t call his name, didn’t walk away, but stood just outside the frame, silent and watching. He had one prosthesis on and was putting on the other—I had never seen him without them—and I watched as he sank his left leg into the socket, drawing the elastic sleeve up around his knee and thigh, and then pushed his pants leg down over it. As you know, these prostheses had feet with paneling that resembled the shape of a toe box and a heel, and I watched as he pulled on his socks, and then his shoes. And then he took a breath and stood, and I watched as he took a step, and then another. But even I could tell something was wrong—they were still too big; he was still too thin—and before I could call out, he had lost his balance and pitched forward onto the bed, where he lay still for a moment.

他第一次摔盤子之后，過了幾星期又有一次。那是在燈籠屋，他已經好幾個月沒去了。當時是早上，才剛吃過早餐，朱麗婭和我要出門買東西，我去找他，想問他有沒有什么想買的。他在臥室里，門開了一條縫，我看到他在做什么之后，基于某個原因就沒喊他，也沒有走開，只是站在門外悄悄觀察。他已經戴上一邊的義肢，正要戴上另一邊，我從來沒看過他沒戴義肢的樣子。然后我看著他的左腿伸進托架內，把彈性襪套拉起來套住膝蓋和大腿，再將褲管拉下蓋住。你也知道，這些義肢上的腳仿造了腳趾和腳跟的形狀，我看著他穿上襪子，接著穿鞋。他吸了一口氣站起來，我看著他走了一步，再一步。但就連我都看得出哪里不大對勁，那些義肢還是太大，而他依舊太瘦。我還來不及喊他，他就失去平衡往前摔在床上，有好一會兒都沒動。

　 And then he reached down and tore off both legs, one and then the other, and for a second—they were still wearing their socks and shoes—it appeared as if they were his real legs, and he had just yanked away a piece of himself, and I half expected to see an arcing splash of blood. But instead he picked one up and slammed it against the bed, again and again and again, grunting with the effort, and then he threw it to the ground and sat on the edge of the mattress, his face in his hands, his elbows on his thighs, rocking himself and not making a sound. “Please,” I heard him say, “please.” But he didn’t say anything else, and I, to my shame, crept away and went to our bedroom, where I sat in a posture that mimicked his own, and waited as well for something I didn’t know.

然后他伸手脫掉義肢，先脫一邊，再脫另一邊。有那么片刻，那兩根還穿著襪子和鞋子的義肢看起來就像他的真腿，他仿佛硬是扯斷了自己的小腿，我還半期待地會看到一道血噴出來。結果他只是拿起一根義肢朝床上打，打了又打，用力得發(fā)出悶哼，再把義肢摔在地上，坐在床沿，臉埋進雙手，手肘撐在大腿上，無聲地前后搖晃著?！鞍萃?，”我聽到他說，“拜托?！钡又裁炊紱]再說，我很羞愧地靜靜溜掉，回到我們的臥室，模仿他的姿勢坐在床邊，等待著我不知道的狀況。

　 In those months I thought often of what I was trying to do, of how hard it is to keep alive someone who doesn’t want to stay alive. First you try logic (You have so much to live for), and then you try guilt (You owe me), and then you try anger, and threats, and pleading (I’m old; don’t do this to an old man). But then, once they agree, it is necessary that you, the cajoler, move into the realm of self-deception, because you can see that it is costing them, you can see how much they don’t want to be here, you can see that the mere act of existing is depleting for them, and then you have to tell yourself every day: I am doing the right thing. To let him do what he wants to do is abhorrent to the laws of nature, to the laws of love. You pounce upon the happy moments, you hold them up as proof—See? This is why it’s worth living. This is why I’ve been making him try—even though that one moment cannot compensate for all the other moments, the majority of moments. You think, as I had thought with Jacob, what is a child for? Is he to give me comfort? Is he for me to give comfort to? And if a child can no longer be comforted, is it my job to give him permission to leave? And then you think again: But that is abominable. I can’t.

那幾個月，我常常想著自己嘗試在做的事情，想到要讓一個不想活的人繼續(xù)活下去有多困難。首先你得嘗試講道理（你有那么多值得活下去的理由），然后嘗試利用罪惡感（你欠我），再嘗試用憤怒、威脅、懇求（我老了；不要這樣對待一個老人）。但接著，一旦他同意，你這個哄騙的人必然會進入自我欺騙的狀態(tài)，因為你看得出他很吃力，他多么不想活下去，光是存在這件事都讓他耗盡心力，于是你每天就得告訴自己：我做的是正確的。讓他做他想做的事是違背自然法則及愛的法則的。你會利用每個快樂的時刻，抓緊它們當成證據(jù)，看到沒？這就是人生為什么值得活，這就是為什么我一直逼他嘗試，即使那一刻無法抵消其他大部分的時刻。你會想，就像我以前對雅各布的想法，子女是要用來做什么？是要撫慰我嗎？還是我撫慰的對象？如果撫慰對你的子女再也沒有用，那么我的責任是不是允許他離開？然后你會再想：可是那太惡劣了，我做不到。

　 So I tried, of course. I tried and tried. But every month I could feel him receding. It wasn’t so much a physical disappearance: by November, he was back at his weight, the low side of it anyway, and looked better than he had perhaps ever. But he was quieter, much quieter, and he had always been quiet anyway. But now he spoke very little, and when we were together, I would sometimes see him looking at something I couldn’t see, and then he would twitch his head, very slightly, like a horse does its ears, and come back to himself.

所以我還是繼續(xù)嘗試，那是當然。我試了又試。但每個月我都可以感覺到他越退越遠。不太是外貌的關系；到了十一月，他恢復到原來的體重，總之是理想體重的最低標準，而且氣色從來沒有那么好過。不過他變得安靜了許多，雖然他向來很安靜，但現(xiàn)在他很少講話。我們在一起時，我有時會看到他盯著某個我看不到的東西，腦袋輕輕一扯，像馬在抽動耳朵似的，然后又回過神來。

　 Once I saw him for our Thursday dinner and he had bruises on his face and neck, just on one side, as if he was standing near a building in the late afternoon and the sun had cast a shadow against him. The bruises were a dark rusty brown, like dried blood, and I had gasped. “What happened?” I asked. “I fell,” he said, shortly. “Don’t worry,” he said, although of course I did. And when I saw him with bruises again, I tried to hold him. “Tell me,” I said, and he worked himself free. “There’s nothing to tell,” he said. I still don’t know what had happened: Had he done something to himself? Had he let someone do something to him? I didn’t know which was worse. I didn’t know what to do.

有個星期四，我們照例一起吃晚餐，我看到他臉上和脖子上有瘀青，仿佛他傍晚站在一棟建筑物旁邊，太陽照射的陰影落在他身上。那些瘀青是深紅褐色的，像干掉的血，我看了猛吸一口氣?！鞍l(fā)生什么事？”我問?！拔宜さ沽?，”他只說，“別擔心。”我當然還是會擔心。下回我看到他時又有瘀青，就設法抓著他問個清楚?！案嬖V我?！蔽艺f，但是他掙脫了?！皼]什么好說的?！彼f。我至今不明白到底發(fā)生了什么事：是他自己弄的嗎？還是他讓別人對他這樣？我不知道哪一個更糟。我不知道該怎么辦。

　 He missed you. I missed you, too. We all did. I think you should know that, that I didn’t just miss you because you made him better: I missed you for you. I missed watching the pleasure you took in doing the things you enjoyed, whether it was eating or running after a tennis ball or flinging yourself into the pool. I missed talking with you, missed watching you move through a room, missed watching you fall to the lawn under a passel of Laurence’s grandchildren, pretending that you couldn’t get up from under their weight. (That same day, Laurence’s youngest grandchild, the one who had a crush on you, had made you a bracelet of knotted-together dandelion flowers, and you had thanked her and worn it all day, and every time she had spotted it on your wrist, she had run over and buried her face in her father’s back: I missed that, too.) But mostly, I missed watching you two together; I missed watching you watch him, and him watch you; I missed how thoughtful you were with each other, missed how thoughtlessly, sincerely affectionate you were with him; missed watching you listen to each other, the way you both did so intently. That painting JB did—Willem Listening to Jude Tell a Story—was so true, the expression so right: I knew what was happening in the painting even before I read its title.

他想念你。我也想念你。我們全都很想念你。我想你應該要知道，我想念你不光是因為你讓他更好，我想念你是因為你。我想念看著你做喜歡的事情時得到的那種愉悅，無論是吃東西或追著網(wǎng)球跑或跳進游泳池里。我想念跟你談話，想念看著你在一個房間里走動，想念看著你倒在草皮上被勞倫斯的一群孫子孫女壓著，假裝你被他們壓得起不來（同一天，勞倫斯年紀最小的孫女，暗戀你的那個，曾把蒲公英綁在一起做了手環(huán)送給你。你謝謝她，戴在手上一整天，那天她每回看到你手腕上的手環(huán)，就沖向她父親，把臉埋在他背部——這個我也想念）。但我最想念的，就是看著你們兩個在一起；我想念看到你望著他，他望著你；我想念你們對彼此那么體貼，想念你和他在一起時那種出自直覺、誠摯的關愛；我想念看著你們傾聽對方說話，兩人都那么專注。杰比的那幅畫作《威廉聽裘德說故事》太真實了，那表情太準確了。還沒看到畫名，我就知道畫中的你在聽他講話。

　 And I don’t want you to think that there weren’t happy moments as well, happy days, after you left. They were fewer, of course. They were harder to find, harder to make. But they existed. After we came home from Italy, I began teaching a seminar at Columbia, one open to both law school students and graduate students from the general population. The course was called “The Philosophy of Law, the Law of Philosophy,” and I co-taught it with an old friend of mine, and in it we discussed the fairness of law, the moral underpinnings of the legal system and how they sometimes contradicted our national sense of morality: Drayman 241, after all these years! In the afternoon, I saw friends. Julia took a life-drawing class. We volunteered at a nonprofit that helped professionals (doctors, lawyers, teachers) from other countries (Sudan, Afghanistan, Nepal) find new jobs in their fields, even if these jobs bore only a tangential resemblance to what they had done before: nurses became medical assistants; judges became clerks. A few of them I helped apply to law school, and when I saw them, we would talk about what they were learning, how different this law was from the law they had known.

而且我也不希望你以為你走了之后，我們沒有快樂的時刻、快樂的日子。當然是減少了，比較難出現(xiàn)，比較難引發(fā)，但還是有的。從意大利回紐約后，我開始在哥倫比亞大學教一門專題研討課，兼收法學院學生和所有研究生。那門課叫“法律的哲學，哲學的法律”，由我跟一個老朋友合作授課。我們討論法律的公平性、司法系統(tǒng)的道德基礎，以及有時法律會如何抵觸我們國家的道德觀。教室就在錐蒙大樓241室，過了這么多年以后！下午，我會跟朋友碰面。朱麗婭去上裸體素描課。另外我們在一個非營利組織當義工，專門協(xié)助其他國家（蘇丹、阿富汗、尼泊爾）的專業(yè)人員（醫(yī)生、律師、教師）在各自的領域找到新工作，即使這些工作跟他們之前在本國做的只略微相關：護士變成醫(yī)療助理，法官變成法律助理；其中我?guī)瓦^的幾個人后來去讀法學院，我碰到他們時，就會聊聊他們現(xiàn)在學的，以及美國的某些法律跟他們原先所知的有多么不同。

　 “I think we should work on a project together,” I told him that fall (he was still doing pro bono work with the artist nonprofit, which—when I went to volunteer there myself—was actually more moving than I had thought it would be: I had thought it would just be a bunch of untalented hacks trying to make creative lives for themselves when it was clear they never would, and although that was in fact what it was, I found myself admiring them, much as he did—their perseverance, their dumb, hardy faith. These were people no one and nothing could ever dissuade from life, from claiming it as theirs).

“我想我們應該一起做一個項目計劃?！蹦莻€秋天我告訴他（他還在那個藝術家非營利組織做公益服務，我后來也去當義工，發(fā)現(xiàn)那個組織比我原先想的更令人感動。我原本以為那只是一群沒有才華的文人想要創(chuàng)作，但顯然永遠不會成功。盡管事實上的確是如此，但我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己跟他一樣，都很佩服這些藝術家，佩服他們的堅持，他們傻氣、勇敢的信念。沒有任何人、任何事可以勸阻他們不要過這樣的生活，不要當個藝術家）。

　 “Like what?” he asked.

“比方說？”他說。

　 “You could teach me to cook,” I told him, as he gave me that look he had, in which he was almost smiling but not quite, amused but not ready to show it. “I’m serious. Really cook. Six or seven dishes I could have in my arsenal.”

“你可以教我做菜?！蔽腋嬖V他，他用那種表情看了我一眼，就是要笑不笑、覺得很樂還不想表現(xiàn)出來的表情?！拔沂钦f真的。真正做點菜，讓我多學六七道料理?！?