《渺小一生》:那天很冷，但是没刮风

　 “It might take me a while,” he said.

“可能要花一阵子。”他说。

　 “That’s fine,” I said. “You’ll take as long as you need.” A long time was a good thing, I thought: it meant years, years of him trying to figure out what he wanted to say, and although they would be difficult, torturous years, at least he would be alive. That was what I thought: that I would rather have him suffering and alive—than dead.

“没关系，”我说，“花多少时间都无所谓。”写很久是好事，我心想：这表示他得花好几年搞清楚自己要说什么。尽管这几年对他而言很困难、很折磨，但至少他还会活着。这是我当时所想的：我宁可要他活着受苦，也不希望他死掉。

　 But in the end, it didn’t take him much time at all. It was February, about a year after our intervention. If he could keep his weight on through May, we’d stop monitoring him, and he’d be able to stop seeing Dr. Loehmann if he wanted, although both Andy and I thought he should keep going. But it would no longer be our decision. That Sunday, we had stayed in the city, and after a cooking lesson at Greene Street (an asparagus-and-artichoke terrine) we went out for our walk.

但到头来，他根本没花多少时间。那是二月，大约就是我们介入、把他强制送去住院的一年后。如果他的体重可以保持到五月，我们就会停止监控他，他也可以决定不再去娄曼医生那里，虽然安迪和我都觉得他应该继续去看娄曼医生。不过之后就不能由我们做主了。那个星期天，我们待在纽约市区。在格林街上完烹饪课之后（做了芦笋和洋蓟的法式蔬菜冻），我们出门散步。

　 It was a chilly day, but windless, and we walked south on Greene until it changed into Church, and then down and down, through TriBeCa, through Wall Street, and almost to the very tip of the island, where we stood and watched the river, its splashing gray water. And then we turned and walked north, back up the same street: Trinity to Church, Church to Greene. He had been quiet all day, still and silent, and I prattled on about a middle-aged man I had met at the career placement center, a refugee from Tibet a year or so older than he, a doctor, who was applying to American medical schools.

那天很冷，但是没刮风。我们沿着格林街往南，直到那条路变成教堂街，又继续往南走，走过翠贝卡区，走过华尔街，几乎要走到曼哈顿岛的最南端，停下来看着微微起伏的灰色河水。然后我们回头往北走，沿着同样一条路：三一街接教堂街，教堂街接格林街。他一整天都很安静，平静而沉默，我聊着我当义工那个职业介绍所的一个中年人，比他大一岁左右，是名医生，正在申请就读美国的医学院。

　 “That’s admirable,” he said. “It’s difficult to start over.”

“真是了不起，”他说，“要重新开始很困难。”

　 “It is,” I said. “But you’ve started over too, Jude. You’re admirable, too.” He glanced at me, then looked away. “I mean it,” I said. I was reminded of a day a year or so after he had been discharged from the hospital after his suicide attempt, and he was staying with us in Truro. We had taken a walk then as well. “I want you to tell me three things you think you do better than anyone else,” I had told him as we sat on the sand, and he made a weary puffing noise, filling his cheeks with air and blowing it out through his mouth.

“没错，”我说，“但是你也重新开始了，裘德。你也很了不起。”他看了我一眼，然后别开目光。“我是认真的。”我说。我想起他自杀未遂出院后大约一年，他跟我们去了特鲁罗。那天我们也出去散步。“我要你告诉我三件事，是你觉得做得比任何人都好的事。”我们坐在沙滩上，我这样对他说。他发出一个厌倦的吐气声：两颊鼓满气、再一口吹出来。

　 “Not now, Harold,” he had said.

“现在不要，哈罗德，”他说。

　 “Come on,” I said. “Three things. Three things you do better than anyone, and then I’ll stop bothering you.” But he thought and thought and still couldn’t think of anything, and hearing his silence, something in me began to panic. “Three things you do well, then,” I revised. “Three things you like about yourself.” By this time I was almost begging. “Anything,” I told him. “Anything.”

“别这样嘛，”我说，“说出三件你做得比任何人都好的事，然后我就不烦你了。”但他想了又想，什么都想不出来。看他不吭声，我也开始着急。“那就讲三件你做得不错的事。”我修改一下，“或是你对自己满意的三件事。”修改到这个时候，我几乎在乞求了。“任何事情，”我告诉他，“什么都行。”

　 “I’m tall,” he finally said. “Tallish, anyway.”

“我长得高，”他终于说，“总之算高吧。”

　 “Tall is good,” I said, although I had been hoping for something different, something more qualitative. But I would accept it as an answer, I decided: it had taken him so long to come up with even that. “Two more.” But he couldn’t think of anything else. I could see he was getting frustrated and embarrassed, and finally I let the subject drop.

“长得高是好事。”我说，虽然我希望是别的，有关性格的。不过我决定接受这个回答。就连这个，他都花了那么多时间才想出来。“还有两个。”但他再也想不出来了。我看得出他懊恼又难为情，最后我终于算了。

　 Now, as we moved through TriBeCa, he mentioned, very casually, that he had been asked to be the firm’s chairman.

这会儿，当我们走过翠贝卡区时，他漫不经心地提起，事务所里问他是否愿意接任主席。

　 “My god,” I said, “that’s amazing, Jude. My god. Congratulations.”

“老天，”我说，“太棒了，裘德。老天。恭喜啊。”

　 He nodded, once. “But I’m not going to accept,” he said, and I was thunderstruck. After all he had given fucking Rosen Pritchard—all those hours, all those years—he wasn’t going to take it? He looked at me. “I’d have thought you’d be happy,” he said, and I shook my head.

他点了一下头。“但我不会接。”他说。我大吃一惊。在他为那个他妈的罗森·普理查德律师事务所付出这么多，花了那么多个小时、那么多年之后，他居然不接任主席？他看着我。“我以为你会很高兴的。”他说，我摇摇头。

　 “No,” I told him. “I know how much—how much satisfaction you get from your job. I don’t want you to think that I don’t approve of you, that I’m not proud of you.” He didn’t say anything. “Why aren’t you going to take it?” I asked him. “You’d be great at it. You were born for it.”

“不，”我告诉他，“我知道你从这份工作中得到多少满足感。我不希望你觉得我不认同你、不以你为荣。”他什么都没说。“你为什么不接呢？”我问他，“你会做得很好的，你天生是这块料。”

　 And then he winced—I wasn’t sure why—and looked away. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I would be. It was a controversial decision anyway, as I understand it. Besides,” he began, and then stopped. Somehow we had stopped walking as well, as if speech and movement were oppositional activities, and we stood there in the cold for a while. “Besides,” he continued, “I thought I’d leave the firm in a year or so.” He looked at me, as if to see how I was reacting, and then looked up, at the sky. “I thought maybe I’d travel,” he said, but his voice was hollow and joyless, as if he were being conscripted into a faraway life he didn’t much want. “I could go away,” he said, almost to himself. “There are places I should see.”

他皱了一下脸（我不确定为什么），然后别开头。“不了。”他说，“我不认为我会接。据我所知，找上我的这个决定其实也有些争议。何况……”他说到一半停下来。不知怎的，我们已经停下来了，好像讲话和走路这两个活动不能并存，我们就在这冷天中站了一会儿。“何况，”他继续说，“我想我再过一年就会辞职了。”他看着我，仿佛在等我的反应，然后他抬头看着天空，“我想或许我会去旅行。”他说，但他的声音空洞、毫无喜悦，好像他要被征召、派驻到一个他不太想去的遥远地方。“我可以离开。”他说，几乎是自言自语，“有好多地方我该去看看。”

　 I didn’t know what to say. I stared and stared at him. “I could come with you,” I whispered, and he came back to himself and looked at me.

我不知道要说什么，只是一直瞪着他。“我可以跟你去。”我低声说，他回过神来看着我。

　 “Yes,” he said, and he sounded so declarative I felt comforted. “Yes, you could come with me. Or you two could come meet me in certain places.”

“没错。”他说，一副宣告的口吻让我安心了，“没错，你可以跟我一起去。或者你们两个可以跟我约在某些地方会合。”

　 We started moving again. “Not that I want to unduly delay your second act as a world traveler,” I said, “but I do think you should reconsider Rosen Pritchard’s offer. Maybe do it for a few years, and then jet off to the Balearics or Mozambique or wherever it is you want to go.” I knew that if he accepted the chairmanship offer, then he wouldn’t kill himself; he was too responsible to leave with unfinished business. “Okay?” I prompted him.

我们又往前走。“我不想太耽误你当世界旅人的第二人生。”我说，“但是我真的觉得，你应该再考虑一下罗森·普理查德提议的职位。或许做个几年，然后搭私人喷射机到西班牙的巴利阿里群岛、莫桑比克，或任何你想去的地方。”我知道如果他接受了主席职位，就不会自杀了；他太有责任感了，不可能留下没完成的摊子给别人收拾。“好吗？”我鼓励他。

　 He smiled, then, his old, bright, beautiful smile. “Okay, Harold,” he said. “I promise I’ll reconsider.”

他笑了，那种熟悉、开朗、美丽的微笑。“好吧，哈罗德，”他说，“我保证我会再考虑。”

　 Then we were just a few blocks from home, and I realized we were coming upon Lispenard Street. “Oh god,” I said, seeking to capitalize on his good mood, to keep us both aloft. “Here we are at the site of all my nightmares: The Worst Apartment in the World,” and he laughed, and we veered right off of Church and walked half a block down Lispenard Street until we were standing in front of your old building. For a while I ranted on and on about the place, about how horrible it was, exaggerating and embroidering for effect, to hear him laugh and protest. “I was always afraid a fire was going to go ripping through that place and you’d both end up dead,” I said. “I had dreams of getting phoned by the emergency technicians that they’d found you both gnawed to death by a swarm of rats.”

我们离家只剩几个街区了，我才发现我们刚好走到利斯本纳街。“啊老天。”我说，想充分利用他的好心情，让我们两个都保持高昂的情绪，“来到我所有噩梦的基地了：全世界最丑的公寓。”他大笑起来，我们右转离开教堂街，沿着利斯本纳街走了半个街区，直到站在你们以前那栋公寓大楼前。有好一会儿，我一直大声抱怨着这个地方，讲个不停，说这里有多恐怖，为了效果夸张又渲染，好听他大笑抗议。“我老担心会发生火灾，把你们那户烧光光，害得你们两个被烧死。”我说，“我还梦到自己接到急救人员的电话，说他们发现你们两个被一堆老鼠咬死。”