《渺小一生》:他笑了：“你真这么觉得？”

　 He laughs. “You really think so?”

他笑了：“你真这么觉得？”

　 “I know so. He was really, really happy, Jude. He loves you.”

“我非常肯定。裘德，他真的非常、非常高兴。他爱你。”

　 He smiles into the dark. He wants to hear Willem say such things over and over, an endless loop of promises and avowals, but he knows such wishes are self-indulgent, and so he changes the subject, and they talk of little things, nothings, until first Willem, and then he, fall asleep.

他对着黑暗微笑。他想听威廉一次又一次说着这样的话，不断地保证与确认，但他知道这样的愿望太自我耽溺了，于是改变了话题，两人聊起了一些琐碎小事，直到威廉睡着，接着是他。

　 A week later, his giddiness has mellowed into something else: a contentment, a stillness. For the past week, his nights have been unbroken stretches of sleep in which he dreams not of the past but of the present: silly dreams about work, sunnily absurd dreams about his friends. It is the first complete week in the now almost two decades since he began cutting himself that he hasn’t woken in the middle of the night, since he’s felt no need for the razor. Maybe he is cured, he dares to think. Maybe this is what he needed all along, and now that it’s happened, he is better. He feels wonderful, like a different person: whole and healthy and calm. He is someone’s son, and at times the knowledge of that is so overwhelming that he imagines it is manifesting itself physically, as if it’s been written in something shining and gold across his chest.

一个星期后，他的晕眩感转变成了一种满足的宁静。过去一周，他每晚都一觉到天亮，梦到的不是过去，而是现在：有关工作的蠢梦，关于朋友的可笑荒唐梦。自从他学会割自己，这是将近二十年来，他头一次整整一个星期没在半夜醒来，头一次觉得他不需要刮胡刀片，于是他有勇气这么想：或许他痊愈了，或许他一直需要的就是这个；现在发生了，他就好转了。他觉得很棒，自己像是变了一个人：完整、健康又冷静。他是某人的儿子，有时这件事太难以抗拒了，他想象这件事是有形的，会显现出来，仿佛有金黄发亮的东西写在他的胸膛上。

　 He is back in their apartment. Willem is with him. He has brought back with him a second statue of Saint Jude, which they keep in the kitchen, but this Saint Jude is bigger and hollow and ceramic, with a slot chiseled into the back of his head, and they feed their change through it at the end of the day; when it’s full, they decide, they’ll go buy a really good bottle of wine and drink it, and then they’ll begin again.

他回到了他们的公寓，威廉跟他在一起。他带回来的第二尊圣裘德像放在厨房里，但这个圣裘德比较大，是中空的瓷制塑像，后脑勺有一道窄窄的开口。他们每天回家都会把零钱塞进去；他们决定，等到满了，就要去买一瓶很好的葡萄酒来喝，然后再从头开始存。

　 He doesn’t know this now, but in the years to come he will, again and again, test Harold’s claims of devotion, will throw himself against his promises to see how steadfast they are. He won’t even be conscious that he’s doing this. But he will do it anyway, because part of him will never believe Harold and Julia; as much as he wants to, as much as he thinks he does, he won’t, and he will always be convinced that they will eventually tire of him, that they will one day regret their involvement with him. And so he will challenge them, because when their relationship inevitably ends, he will be able to look back and know for certain that he caused it, and not only that, but the specific incident that caused it, and he will never have to wonder, or worry, about what he did wrong, or what he could have done better. But that is in the future. For now, his happiness is flawless.

此时他还不知道，接下来几年他会一次又一次地测试哈罗德对他宣称的种种关爱，会不惜拼上性命去考验他的种种承诺，看这些承诺有多么坚定。他甚至不会意识到自己在这么做。反正他就是会，因为一部分的他永远不会相信哈罗德和朱丽娅；就算他很想相信他们，而且觉得自己相信，但他就是不会，他永远认为他们最终会厌倦他，有一天会后悔收养他。所以他会挑战他们，因为当他们的关系无可避免地终止时，他就可以回顾过去，确定是自己造成的，不仅如此，连造成的确切事件都清楚。这样他永远不必好奇或担心他做错了什么，或是该如何做得更好。不过那是未来的事情了，眼前，他的幸福完美无瑕。

　 That first Saturday after he returns from Boston, he goes up to Felix’s house as usual, where Mr. Baker has requested he come a few minutes early. They talk, briefly, and then he goes downstairs to find Felix, who is waiting for him in the music room, plinking at the piano keys.

从波士顿回来的第一个星期六，他如常去菲利克斯家当家教，贝克先生请他提早几分钟来。他们短暂谈了一下，然后他去音乐室，菲利克斯正在里头等他，一边叮咚弹着琴键。

　 “So, Felix,” he says, in the break they take after piano and Latin but before German and math, “your father tells me you’re going away to school next year.”

“菲利克斯，”他说，此时他们刚上完钢琴课和拉丁语，要休息一下再学德语和数学，“你父亲跟我说，你明年要离家去住校了。”

　 “Yeah,” says Felix, looking down at his feet. “In September. Dad went there, too.”

“是啊，”菲利克斯说，低头看着自己的双脚，“九月。我爸以前也读那个学校。”

　 “I heard,” he says. “How do you feel about it?”

“我听说了。”他说，“你觉得怎么样？”

　 Felix shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, at last. “Dad says you’re going to catch me up this spring and summer.”

菲利克斯耸耸肩：“不知道。”他沉默了一会儿才说，“我爸说你今年春夏会帮我补课，让我赶上进度。”

　 “I will,” he promises. “You’re going to be so ready for that school that they won’t know what hit them.” Felix’s head is still bent, but he sees the tops of his cheeks fatten a little and knows he’s smiling, just a bit.

“没错。”他保证，“我会帮你准备得很好，吓得他们都不明白是怎么回事。”菲利克斯还是垂着头，但他看到他的脸颊上方微微鼓起，知道他笑了，只是微微地笑。

　 He doesn’t know what makes him say what he does next: Is it empathy, as he hopes, or is it a boast, an alluding aloud to the improbable and wondrous turns his life has taken over the past month? “You know, Felix,” he begins, “I never had friends, either, not for a very long time, not until I was much older than you.” He can sense, rather than see, Felix become alert, can feel him listening. “I wanted them, too,” he continues, going slowly now, because he wants to make sure his words come out right. “And I always wondered if I would ever find any, and how, and when.” He traces his index finger across the dark walnut tabletop, up the spine of Felix’s math textbook, down his cold glass of water. “And then I went to college, and I met people who, for whatever reason, decided to be my friends, and they taught me—everything, really. They made me, and make me, into someone better than I really am.

他不知道是什么促使他说了接下来的话：是他希望的移情作用，或者只是在炫耀、刻意地宣告他人生过去一个月来所经历的难以置信并且奇妙的转折。“菲利克斯，你知道，”他说，“我以前也没有朋友，很长一段时间都没有，直到我比你大好几岁的时候。”他看不到菲利克斯，但可以感觉到他警觉起来，而且在认真听，“当时我也一直想交朋友，”他继续说着，而且说得很慢，因为他想确保他正确传达了自己的意思，“而且我一直很好奇自己会不会找到朋友，会怎么找到、什么时候找到。”他的食指抚过深色的胡桃木桌面，往上划过菲利克斯数学课本的书脊，再往下停在装了冷水的玻璃杯上，“然后我去上大学，碰到一些人。不论出于什么原因，他们决定当我的朋友，而且他们教了我所有的事——真的，他们让我成为更好的人，到今天还是如此。

　 “You won’t understand what I mean now, but someday you will: the only trick of friendship, I think, is to find people who are better than you are—not smarter, not cooler, but kinder, and more generous, and more forgiving—and then to appreciate them for what they can teach you, and to try to listen to them when they tell you something about yourself, no matter how bad—or good—it might be, and to trust them, which is the hardest thing of all. But the best, as well.”

“你现在不会了解我的意思，但有一天你会懂的。我想友谊的唯一诀窍，就是找到比你更好的人——不是更聪明、更酷的人，而是更善良、更慷慨，也更宽容的人——然后为他们能教你的一切而感激他们。当他们建议你做一些事情，无论是坏是好，都要认真听，同时要信任他们。这是最难的，但也是最棒的。”

　 They’re both quiet for a long time, listening to the click of the metronome, which is faulty and sometimes starts ticking spontaneously, even after he’s stopped it. “You’re going to make friends, Felix,” he says, finally. “You will. You won’t have to work as hard at finding them as you will at keeping them, but I promise, it’ll be work worth doing. Far more worth doing than, say, Latin.” And now Felix looks up at him and smiles, and he smiles back. “Okay?” he asks him.

他们两个人都沉默了好一会儿，听着节拍器的滴答声；这个节拍器有点毛病，有时关掉后，还是会随时动起来。“菲利克斯，你会交到朋友的。”最后他终于又开口，“你会的。你不必太努力去寻找，不像日后要维系那么努力。不过我跟你保证，这是值得付出的努力。比很多其他事都更值得努力，比方拉丁语。”此时菲利克斯抬头看着他，露出微笑，他也对他笑。“好吗？”他问他。

　 “Okay,” Felix says, still smiling.

“好。”菲利克斯说，还在微笑。

　 “What do you want to do next, German or math?”

“那接下来你要先学什么，德语还是数学？”

　 “Math,” says Felix.

“数学。”菲利克斯说。

　 “Good choice,” he says, and pulls Felix’s math book over to him. “Let’s pick up where we left off last time.” And Felix turns to the page and they begin.

“选得好。”他说，然后把菲利克斯的数学课本拉过来，“看上回教到哪里，我们接着上吧。”于是菲利克斯翻到那一页，他们开始上课。