《渺小一生》:“我真的不知道啊！”

　 “But I honestly don’t know!”

“我真的不知道啊！”

　 “The things I’ve done,” he said, “the diseases I have from them.” He stumbled on, hating himself. “It’s disgusting; I’m disgusting.”

“我做过的那些事。我因此染上的疾病。”他结巴了，非常恨自己，“那太恶心了，我太恶心了。”

　 “Jude,” Andy began, and as he spoke, he paused between every few words, and he could feel Andy picking his way across a mine-pocked lawn, so deliberately and slowly was he going. “You were a kid, a baby. Those things were done to you. You have nothing, nothing to blame yourself for, not ever, not in any universe.”

“裘德，”安迪再度开口，每说几个字就停下来，他可以感觉到安迪谨慎地挑选着字眼，像在一片布满地雷的草坪，极其谨慎缓慢地往前走，“你当时年纪很小，是个小孩。那些事情是别人对你做的。你没有什么可以怪自己的，完全没有，从来没有，绝对不可能有。”

　 Andy looked at him. “And even if you hadn’t been a kid, even if you had just been some horny guy who wanted to fuck everything in sight and had ended up with a bunch of STDs, it still wouldn’t be anything to be ashamed of.” He sighed. “Can you try to believe me?”

安迪看着他：“就算你当时不是小孩，只是个精虫上脑的男人，看到什么都想上，结果得了一大堆性病，那也没有什么好羞愧的。”他叹了口气，“你能不能试着相信我？”

　 He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

他摇头：“我不知道。”

　 “I know,” Andy said. They were quiet. “I wish you’d see a therapist, Jude,” he added, and his voice was sad. He couldn’t respond, and after a few minutes, Andy stood up. “Well,” he said, sounding determined, “let’s see them,” and he took off his sweater and held out his arms.

“我明白。”安迪说。他们沉默下来，“裘德，我真希望你去做心理咨询。”安迪又补了一句，声音好忧伤。他无法回答。过了两分钟，安迪站起来。“好吧，”他说，口气很坚定，“我们来看看那些割伤吧。”于是他脱掉毛衣，伸出双臂。

　 He could tell by Andy’s expression that it was worse than he had anticipated, and when he looked down and tried to view himself as something unfamiliar, he could see in flashes what Andy did: the gobs of bandages applied at intervals to the fresh cuts, the half-healed cuts, with their fragile stitchings of still-forming scar tissue, the one infected cut, which had developed a chunky cap of dried pus.

根据安迪的表情，他看得出状况比他预期的更糟。当他视线往下移，试图客观地看自己的手臂时，在几个短暂的瞬间，他瞥见安迪所看到的：每隔一段距离就有一团隆起的绷带贴着新的割伤，而半愈合的割伤，脆弱的缝线底下是尚未完全成形的疤痕组织，还有一个感染的割伤，上头干掉的脓已经结成厚厚的一块。

　 “So,” Andy said after a long silence, after he’d almost finished his right arm, cleaning out the infected cut and painting antibiotic cream on the others, “what about your extreme weight loss?”

“那么，”安迪沉默许久才开口，此时他几乎检查完了他的右手臂，清理了那个感染的割伤，又在其他割痕上擦了抗生素药膏，“你的体重一下子减轻是怎么回事？”

　 “I don’t think it’s extreme.”

“我不认为是一下子。”

　 “Jude,” said Andy, “twelve pounds in not quite eight weeks is extreme, and you didn’t exactly have twelve pounds to spare to begin with.”

“裘德，”安迪说，“不到八周瘦了十二磅[1]，这就叫一下子。而且你原本就没那么多体重可以减。”

　 “I’m just not hungry,” he said, finally.

“我只是不饿。”最后他终于说。

　 Andy didn’t say anything else until he finished both his arms, and then sighed and sat down again and started scribbling on his pad. “I want you to eat three full meals a day, Jude,” he said, “plus one of the things on this list. Every day. That’s in addition to standard meals, do you understand me? Or I’m going to call your crew and make them sit with you every mealtime and watch you eat, and you don’t want that, believe me.” He ripped the page off the pad and handed it to him. “And then I want you back here next week. No excuses.”

安迪没再说别的，默默检查完两只手臂，叹了口气再度坐下来，开始在笔记本上写字。“裘德，我要你每天吃完整的三餐。”他说，“外加这个清单上的每一样，每天吃。这个是标准三餐外要补充的，懂了没？否则我就要打电话给你的组员，叫他们在每一段用餐时间陪着你，看你吃。相信我，你不会想要这样。”他从笔记本撕下那张纸递给他，“另外，我要你下周再来这里。不准有借口。”

　 He looked at the list—PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH. CHEESE SANDWICH. AVOCADO SANDWICH. 3 EGGS (WITH YOLKS!!!!). BANANA SMOOTHIE—and tucked it into his pants pocket.

他看了一下清单——花生酱三明治、奶酪三明治、牛油果三明治、三颗鸡蛋（要有蛋黄！！！！）、香蕉冰沙——然后折起来塞进长裤口袋。

　 “And the other thing I want you to do is this,” said Andy. “When you wake up in the middle of the night and want to cut yourself, I want you to call me instead. I don’t care what time it is, you call me, okay?” He nodded. “I mean it, Jude.”

“另外我还要你做一件事。”安迪说，“你睡到半夜醒来、想割自己的时候，我要你改成打电话给我。我不在乎几点，反正打给我就是了，好吗？”他点点头。“我是说真的，裘德。”

　 “I’m sorry, Andy,” he said.

“我很抱歉，安迪。”他说。

　 “I know you are,” said Andy. “But you don’t need to be sorry—not to me, anyway.”

“我知道你很抱歉。”安迪说，“但你不必觉得抱歉，总之不必对我抱歉。”

　 “To Harold,” he said.

“对哈罗德吧。”他说。

　 “No,” Andy corrected. “Not to Harold, either. Just to yourself.”

“不。”安迪纠正他，“也不必对哈罗德抱歉，只要对你自己。”

　 He went home and ate away at a banana until it turned to dirt in his mouth and then changed and continued washing the living-room windows, which he had begun the night before. He rubbed at them, inching the sofa closer so he could stand atop one of its arms, ignoring the twinges in his back as he climbed up and down, lugging the bucket of dirtied gray water slowly to the tub. After he’d finished the living room and Willem’s room, he was in so much pain that he had to crawl to the bathroom, and after cutting himself, he rested, holding his arm above his head and wrapping the mat about him. When his phone rang, he sat up, disoriented, before groaningly moving to his bedroom—where the clock read three a.m.—and listening to a very cranky (but alert) Andy.

他回家后吃了一根香蕉，觉得像在吃泥巴。然后换了衣服，继续刷洗客厅的窗子。他是前一夜开始洗的，他刷着，把沙发拖到窗前，这样就可以站在沙发的扶手上，也不管爬上爬下时背部的阵阵剧痛。接着，他把那桶灰色的脏水缓缓拖到浴缸倒掉。等他清理完客厅和威廉的房间，已经痛到只能爬到浴室。割完自己之后他打算休息一下，一只手臂举到头上，把地垫拖过来盖住自己。手机铃响时，他坐起身，茫然不知身在何处，接着才呻吟着移向卧室——里头的钟显示是上午3点，然后听到安迪非常暴躁（但警觉）的声音。

　 “I called too late,” Andy guessed. He didn’t say anything. “Listen, Jude,” Andy continued, “you don’t stop this and I really am going to have you committed. And I’ll call Harold and tell him why. You can count on it.” He paused. “And besides which,” he added, “aren’t you tired, Jude? You don’t have to do this to yourself, you know. You don’t need to.”

“我太晚打了。”安迪猜，他什么都没讲，“听我说，裘德。”安迪继续，“你再不停止，我就得把你强制送医了。而且我要打电话给哈罗德，告诉他为什么。我说到做到。”他暂停一下，“除此之外，裘德，你不累吗？你知道你不必对自己这样。你不必的。”