《渺小一生》:杰克逊的确是混蛋

　 His friends hated Jackson, and as it became clear that Jackson and his own group of friends—lonely rich girls like Hera and sort-of artists like Massimo and alleged art writers like Zane, many of them Jackson’s classmates from the loser day school he’d gone to after failing out of every other private school in New York, including the one that JB had attended—were in his life to stay, they all tried to talk to him about Jackson.

他的朋友很讨厌杰克逊，但显然后来杰克逊和他那帮朋友会继续待在他的生活里，他们都设法跟他谈杰克逊——比如埃拉那样的寂寞富家女、马西摩之流的半吊子艺术家，还有像赞恩那样自称是艺术作家的人，其中许多都是杰克逊被纽约的每一家私立学校（包括杰比读的那所）踢出来后，最后才去读的那家烂学校的同学。

　 “You’re always going on about what a phony Ezra is,” Willem had said. “But how, exactly, is Jackson any different than Ezra, other than being a total fucking asshole?”

“你总是抱怨埃兹拉是冒牌艺术家，”威廉曾说，“可是杰克逊除了是个彻头彻尾的混蛋之外，到底跟埃兹拉有什么不同？”

　 And Jackson was an asshole, and around him, JB was an asshole as well. A few months ago, the fourth or fifth time he’d tried to stop doing drugs, he had called Jude one day. It was five in the afternoon, and he’d just woken up, and he felt so awful, so incredibly old and exhausted and just done—his skin slimy, his teeth furry, his eyes dry as wood—that he had wanted, for the first time, to be dead, to simply not have to keep going on and on and on. Something has to change, he told himself. I have to stop hanging around with Jackson. I have to stop. Everything has to stop. He missed his friends, he missed how innocent and clean they were, he missed being the most interesting among them, he missed never having to try around them.

杰克逊的确是混蛋，跟他在一起，杰比也成了混蛋。几个月前，他第四次或第五次决定停止嗑药，某天他打电话给裘德。当时是下午5点，他才刚醒来，就感觉糟糕透顶，觉得自己不可思议的苍老又疲倦，整个人完蛋了——他的皮肤黏糊糊的，牙齿上像长满了舌苔，眼睛干涩得像木头。他生平第一次想死，觉得不必再没完没了地拖拉下去。我一定要做些改变，他告诉自己，不能再跟杰克逊鬼混了，我得停止，一切都得停止。他想念他的好友，他想念他们那么纯真、那么干净，他想念跟他们在一起时从来不必勉强自己。

　 So he had called Jude (naturally, Willem wasn’t fucking in town, and Malcolm couldn’t be trusted not to freak out) and asked him, begged him, to come over after work. He told him where, exactly, the rest of the crystal was (under the loose half-plank of wood under the right side of the bed), and where his pipe was, and asked him to flush it down the toilet, to get rid of it all.

于是他打电话给裘德（那是当然，因为威廉他妈的不在纽约，马尔科姆又说不定会吓得慌了手脚），拜托他、哀求他下班后过来。他告诉他剩下的冰毒收在哪里（就在他床铺右侧下方那块松掉的木板底下），还有他的大麻烟斗，要他扔进马桶里冲掉，全部扔光光。

　 “JB,” Jude had said. “Listen to me. Go to that café on Clinton, okay? Take your sketch pad. Get yourself something to eat. I’m coming down as soon as I can, as soon as this meeting’s over. And then I’ll text you when I’m done and you can come home, all right?”

“杰比，”裘德说，“听我说。你去克林顿街的那家小餐馆，好吗？带着你的素描本。去吃点东西。我会尽快赶过去，等我这个会一开完就动身。等我弄好了，会发短信给你，你就可以回家了，好吗？”

　 “Okay,” he’d said. And he’d stood up, and taken a very long shower, hardly scrubbing himself, just standing under the water, and then had done exactly what Jude had instructed: He picked up his sketch pad and pencils. He went to the café. He ate some of a chicken club sandwich and drank some coffee. And he waited.

“好。”他说。于是他站起来，冲澡冲了很久，几乎没刷洗自己，只是站在莲蓬头下面冲水。接着他完全遵照裘德的指示做：他拿了素描本和铅笔，去那家小餐馆，点了一个鸡肉三明治，又喝了咖啡。等待着。

　 And while he was waiting, he saw, passing the window like a bipedal mongoose, with his dirty hair and delicate chin, Jackson. He watched Jackson walk by, his self-satisfied, rich-boy lope, that pleased half smile on his face that made JB want to hit him, as detached as if Jackson was just someone ugly he saw on the street, not someone ugly he saw almost every day. And then, just before he passed out of sight, Jackson turned, and looked in the window, directly at him, and smiled his ugly smile, and reversed direction and walked back toward the café and through the door, as if he had known all along that JB was there, as if he had materialized only to remind JB that JB was his now, that there would be no escaping from him, that JB was there to do what Jackson wanted him to do when Jackson wanted him to do it, and that his life would never be his own again. For the first time, he had been scared of Jackson, and panicked. What has happened? he wondered. He was Jean-Baptiste Marion, he made the plans, people followed him, not the other way around. Jackson would never let him go, he realized, and he was frightened. He was someone else’s; he was owned now. How would he ever become un-owned? How could he ever return to who he was?

等到一半，他看到一个身影经过，一头肮脏的头发和精巧的下巴，是杰克逊。他看着他走过去，那种得意、富家公子的轻快步伐，还有那愉快的隐隐微笑，让杰比很想打他，不带感情地，仿佛杰克逊只是他在街上看到的一个丑八怪，而不是他几乎每天见到的人。然而，就在即将走出视线时，杰克逊转头看着窗内，直直看着他，露出那个丑陋的微笑，随即转身回来，走进那家小餐馆，仿佛他一直知道杰比在那里，仿佛他这回突然出现只是要提醒杰比：杰比现在属于他，别想逃出他的手掌心，而且他要杰比做什么，杰比就得随时乖乖去做，他的人生再也不会是他自己的了。认识至今头一次，他害怕杰克逊，而且恐慌起来。发生了什么事？他纳闷。他是让·巴蒂斯特·马里昂，向来都是由他做计划，别人乖乖地服从他，而不是反过来。他忽然明白，杰克逊永远不会放过他，而他很害怕。现在他得听从别人的，被别人控制了。他怎么有办法不被控制？他要怎么找回原来的自己？

　 “ ’Sup,” said Jackson, unsurprised to see him, as unsurprised as if he had willed JB into being.

“嗨。”杰克逊说，看到他一点都不惊讶，好像杰比是他用念力变出来的。

　 What could he say? “ ’Sup,” he said.

他能说什么？“嗨。”他说。

　 Then his phone rang: Jude, telling him that all was safe, and he could come back. “I’ve got to go,” he said, standing, and as he left, Jackson followed him.

然后他的手机响了：是裘德发短信跟他说现在安全了，他可以回来了。“我得走了。”他说。站起来往外走时，杰克逊跟着他。

　 He watched Jude’s expression change as he saw Jackson by his side. “JB,” he said, calmly, “I’m glad to see you. Are you ready to go?”

他来到公寓前，看到裘德发现杰克逊就站在他旁边，表情瞬间变了。“杰比，”他冷静地说，“很高兴看到你。你准备要走了吗？”

　 “Go where?” he asked, stupidly.

“走去哪里？”他愚蠢地问。

　 “Back to my place,” said Jude. “You said you’d help me reach that box I can’t get?”

“去我那里。”裘德说，“你说过要帮我搬那个我够不到的箱子？”

　 But he was so confused, still so muddled, that he hadn’t understood. “What box?”

但他太困惑了，脑袋还是一团混乱，因而没听懂：“什么箱子？”

　 “The box on the closet shelf that I can’t reach,” Jude said, still ignoring Jackson. “I need your help; it’s too difficult for me to climb the ladder on my own.”

“就是放在橱架上的箱子，我够不到的那个。”裘德说，还是不理杰克逊，“我需要你帮忙，要我自己爬梯子上去搬实在太困难了。”

　 He should’ve known, then; Jude never made references to what he couldn’t do. He was offering him a way out, and he was too stupid to recognize it.

那时他就该听懂的，裘德从来不会提到自己无法做什么。他是在为他提供一条出路，而他蠢得看不出来。

　 But Jackson did. “I think your friend wants to get you away from me,” he told JB, smirking. That was what Jackson always called them, even though he had met them all before: Your friends. JB’s friends.

但是杰克逊看出来了，“我想你的朋友是要你离开我。”他嬉皮笑脸地告诉杰比。即使他明明见过他们，但他向来都这么称呼他们：你的朋友，杰比的朋友。

　 Jude looked at him. “You’re right,” he said, still in that calm, steady voice. “I do.” And then, turning back to him, “JB—won’t you come with me?”

裘德看着他，“你说得没错。”他说，还是用那种冷静、平稳的声音，“我的确这么打算。”然后又转头看着他，“杰比，你不想跟我走吗？”

　 Oh, he wanted to. But in that moment, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t know why, not ever, but he couldn’t. He was powerless, so powerless that he couldn’t even pretend otherwise. “I can’t,” he whispered to Jude.

啊，他想。但在那一刻，他做不到。他不懂为什么，永远不懂，但他就是做不到。他毫无力气，虚弱到连装都装不出来。“我没办法。”他低声跟裘德说。

　 “JB,” said Jude, and took his arm and pulled him toward the curb, as Jackson watched them with his stupid, mocking smile. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay here. Come with me, JB.”

“杰比，”裘德说，抓住他一只手臂，把他拖向人行道边缘，杰克逊带着一脸嘲弄的愚蠢笑容站在那里看，“跟我走吧，你不必待在这里。跟我走，杰比。”