《渺小一生》:“我爸妈很喜欢你。”

　 THE ELEVENTH APARTMENT had only one closet, but it did have a sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony, from which he could see a man sitting across the way, outdoors in only a T-shirt and shorts even though it was October, smoking. Willem held up a hand in greeting to him, but the man didn’t wave back.

十一号公寓里只有一个衣柜，不过倒是有一道玻璃拉门通向小阳台，威廉从阳台可以看到一名男子坐在对面抽烟，尽管是十月，那人却只穿了T恤和短裤。威廉抬手跟那人打招呼，对方却没反应。

　 In the bedroom, Jude was accordioning the closet door, opening and shutting it, when Willem came in. “There’s only one closet,” he said.

在卧室里，裘德把衣柜的折叠式拉门打开又关上，这时威廉进来。“只有一个衣柜。”裘德说。

　 “That’s okay,” Willem said. “I have nothing to put in it anyway.”

“没关系，”威廉说，“反正我没有东西可放。”

　 “Neither do I.” They smiled at each other. The agent from the building wandered in after them. “We’ll take it,” Jude told her.

“我也没有。”两人相视微笑。公寓管理人跟在他们后头走进来。“我们决定租了。”裘德告诉她。

　 But back at the agent’s office, they were told they couldn’t rent the apartment after all. “Why not?” Jude asked her.

但是回到公寓管理人的办公室，她说他们不能租这间公寓。“为什么不行？”裘德问她。

　 “You don’t make enough to cover six months’ rent, and you don’t have anything in savings,” said the agent, suddenly terse. She had checked their credit and their bank accounts and had at last realized that there was something amiss about two men in their twenties who were not a couple and yet were trying to rent a one-bedroom apartment on a dull (but still expensive) stretch of Twenty-fifth Street. “Do you have anyone who can sign on as your guarantor? A boss? Parents?”

“你们的收入不够交六个月的房租，而且你们的存款太少。”那管理人说，讲话忽然精简起来。她查了他们的信用状况和银行账户，总算明白这两个男人哪里不对劲，他们才二十来岁，不是一对，但是打算在25街一个冷清（但还是很贵）的地段租下一间公寓。“你们能找谁签字当保证人吗？上司？父母亲？”

　 “Our parents are dead,” said Willem, swiftly.

“我们的父母亲都过世了。”威廉立刻说。

　 The agent sighed. “Then I suggest you lower your expectations. No one who manages a well-run building is going to rent to candidates with your financial profile.” And then she stood, with an air of finality, and looked pointedly at the door.

那管理人叹了口气：“那我建议你们把期望降低。以你们的财务状况，任何管理良好的公寓，都不可能租给你们。”然后她站起来，带着一种斩钉截铁的意味，同时意有所指地看着房门。

　 When they told JB and Malcolm this, however, they made it into a comedy: the apartment floor became tattooed with mouse droppings, the man across the way had almost exposed himself, the agent was upset because she had been flirting with Willem and he hadn’t reciprocated.

但是后来他们把这事告诉杰比和马尔科姆时，却改编成了笑话版：公寓地板上到处黏着老鼠屎，对面阳台上的男子差点“春光”外泄，管理人很不高兴，因为她一直在跟威廉放电，他却没反应。

　 “Who wants to live on Twenty-fifth and Second anyway,” asked JB. They were at Pho Viet Huong in Chinatown, where they met twice a month for dinner. Pho Viet Huong wasn’t very good—the pho was curiously sugary, the lime juice was soapy, and at least one of them got sick after every meal—but they kept coming, both out of habit and necessity. You could get a bowl of soup or a sandwich at Pho Viet Huong for five dollars, or you could get an entrée, which were eight to ten dollars but much larger, so you could save half of it for the next day or for a snack later that night. Only Malcolm never ate the whole of his entrée and never saved the other half either, and when he was finished eating, he put his plate in the center of the table so Willem and JB—who were always hungry—could eat the rest.

“总之，谁想住在25街和第二大道交叉口啊。”杰比说。此时他们在唐人街的越乡餐馆，这里是他们四个人每月两次聚会吃晚餐的老地方。越乡餐馆不是太好——河粉甜得莫名其妙，酸橙汁像肥皂水，而且每回吃过，他们至少会有一个人不舒服——不过他们还是照样跑去，出于习惯，也是不得已。越乡餐馆的浓汤或三明治都不会超过五元，主菜也只有八到十元，可是分量很大，即使剩下一半还是可以打包回家第二天吃，或是当夜宵。只不过马尔科姆向来不把他的主菜吃完，也从不打包，每回他吃饱了，就把自己那一盘放在餐桌中央，于是威廉和杰比就可以把它吃掉（他们总是很饿）。

　 “Of course we don’t want to live at Twenty-fifth and Second, JB,” said Willem, patiently, “but we don’t really have a choice. We don’t have any money, remember?”

“我们当然不想住在25街和第二大道交叉口，”威廉耐心地说，“可是杰比，我们其实也没别的办法。别忘了，我们根本没钱啊。”

　 “I don’t understand why you don’t stay where you are,” said Malcolm, who was now pushing his mushrooms and tofu—he always ordered the same dish: oyster mushrooms and braised tofu in a treacly brown sauce—around his plate, as Willem and JB eyed it.

“我不懂你们干吗不住在原来的地方。”马尔科姆说。这会儿他把蘑菇和豆腐挪到盘子边缘（他总是点同样的菜：有浓稠褐色酱汁的蘑菇红烧豆腐），威廉和杰比同时瞪着他的盘子看。

　 “Well, I can’t,” Willem said. “Remember?” He had to have explained this to Malcolm a dozen times in the last three months. “Merritt’s boyfriend’s moving in, so I have to move out.”

“唔，没办法啊。”威廉说，他过去三个月来已经跟马尔科姆解释过十几次，“你又忘了？梅里特的男朋友搬进来了，所以我得搬出去。”

　 “But why do you have to move out?”

“可是为什么要你搬出去？”

　 “Because it’s Merritt’s name on the lease, Malcolm!” said JB.

“因为当初签租约的是梅里特啊，马尔科姆！”杰比说。

　 “Oh,” Malcolm said. He was quiet. He often forgot what he considered inconsequential details, but he also never seemed to mind when people grew impatient with him for forgetting. “Right.” He moved the mushrooms to the center of the table. “But you, Jude—”

“喔。”马尔科姆轻声说。他总是忘记这些他认为不重要的细节，而且其他人对他的健忘不耐烦时，他好像也从不在意。“对了，”他把那盘蘑菇推到桌子中央，“可是你，裘德……”

　 “I can’t stay at your place forever, Malcolm. Your parents are going to kill me at some point.”

“我不能永远住在你那，马尔科姆。你爸妈早晚会杀了我。”

　 “My parents love you.”

“我爸妈很喜欢你。”