《渺小一生》:他闭上眼睛又睁开

　 “What do you mean, ‘stripped’?” I asked him.

“什么意思，‘有脱皮’？”我问他。

　 He looked impatient. “Flayed,” he said. “He was whipped, probably with a belt, but he wouldn’t tell me. I bandaged them, but I’m giving you this antibiotic ointment and you’re going to need to keep the wounds cleaned and change the dressings starting tomorrow. He’s not going to want to let you, but it’s too fucking bad. I wrote down all the instructions in here.”

他一脸不耐，“破皮。”他说，“他被鞭打了，大概是用皮带抽的，不过他不肯告诉我。我帮他包扎了，我会给你一种抗生素药膏，你得保持伤口干净，明天开始每天换药。他不会想让你换，不过他妈的没办法。所有的注意事项我都写在这里了。”

　 He handed me a plastic bag; I looked inside: bottles of pills, rolls of bandages, tubes of cream. “These,” said Andy, plucking something out, “are painkillers, and he hates them. But he’s going to need them; make him take a pill every twelve hours: once in the morning, once at night. They’re going to make him woozy, so don’t let him outside on his own, don’t let him lift anything. They’re also going to make him nauseated, but you have to make him eat: something simple, like rice and broth. Try to make him stay in his chair; he’s not going to want to move around much anyway.

他交给我一个塑料袋，我看着里头：几瓶药丸、几卷绷带、几管药膏。“这些，”安迪说，拉出里面的一样东西，“这是止痛药，他很讨厌止痛药，但是他会需要的。每十二小时让他吃一颗：早上一次，晚上一次。这种药会让他有点糊涂，所以别让他自己一个人出门，别让他拿重物。这种药也会让他想吐，但一定要逼他吃东西：一些简单的食物，比方炖饭或高汤。尽量让他坐轮椅，反正他这个样子也别想到处跑了。

　 “I called his dentist and made an appointment for Monday at nine; he’s lost a couple of teeth. The most important thing is that he sleeps as much as he can; I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon and every night this week. Do not let him go to work, although—I don’t think he’ll want to.”

“我打过电话给他的牙医，帮他约了星期一早上9点；他掉了两颗牙。最重要的是尽量让他多睡觉。我明天下午会过去看他，这星期每天晚上都会过去。别让他去上班，不过我不认为他会想去。”

　 He stopped as abruptly as he’d started, and we stood there in silence. “I can’t fucking believe this,” Andy said, finally. “That fucking asshole. I want to find that fuck and kill him.”

他忽然停下来，就跟之前开始时一样突然。我们沉默不语地站在那里。“我他妈的真不敢相信。”安迪最后终于说了，“那个他妈的混蛋。我真想找到那个浑球杀了他。”

　 “I know,” I said. “Me too.”

“我知道。”我说，“我也是。”

　 He shook his head. “He wouldn’t let me report it,” he said. “I begged him.”

安迪摇摇头，“他不肯让我报警，”他说，“我求过他了。”

　 “I know,” I said. “Me too.”

“我知道。”我说，“我也是。”

　 It was a shock anew to see him, and he shook his head when I tried to help him into the chair, and so we stood and watched as he lowered himself into the seat, still in his same clothes, the blood now dried into rusty continents. “Thank you, Andy,” he said, very quietly. “I’m sorry,” and Andy placed his palm on the back of his head and said nothing.

进入检查室看到他，又是一次新的震惊。我想帮他坐上轮椅，但是他摇摇头，于是我们沉默地看着他坐上去，仍穿着同样的衣服，血已经干成生锈的大片污渍。“谢谢你，安迪。”他说，非常小声，“对不起。”安迪一手放在他的后脑上，什么也没说。

　 By the time we got back to Greene Street, it was dark. His wheelchair was, as you know, one of those very lightweight, elegant ones, one so aggressive about its user’s self-sufficiency that there were no handles on it, because it was assumed that the person in it would never allow himself the indignity of being pushed by another. You had to grab the top of the backrest, which was very low, and guide the chair that way. I stopped in the entryway to turn on the lights, and we both blinked.

等我们回到格林街，天已经全黑了。他的轮椅，你也知道，是那种非常轻、非常精致的轮椅，设计上是要让轮椅主人能独立自主，根本没有把手，因为设计者假设轮椅主人自尊很强，永远不可能让别人推他。于是我只能抓着轮椅靠背的顶端，位置非常低，就这样推着轮椅前进。我进入公寓后，停下来打开灯，我们两个都眨了眨眼。

　 “You cleaned,” he said.

“你打扫过了。”他说。

　 “Well, yes,” I said. “Not as good a job as you would’ve done, I’m afraid.”

“唔，是啊。”我说，“恐怕没办法像你自己打扫的那么彻底。”

　 “Thank you,” he said.

“谢谢你。”他说。

　 “Of course,” I said. We were quiet. “Why don’t I help you get changed and then you can have something to eat?”

“没什么。”我说，我们又沉默了一下，“我来帮你换衣服，然后你吃点东西吧？”

　 He shook his head. “No, thank you. But I’m not hungry. And I can do it myself.” Now he was subdued, controlled: the person I had seen earlier was gone, caged once more in his labyrinth in some little-opened cellar. He was always polite, but when he was trying to protect himself or assert his competency, he became more so: polite and slightly remote, as if he was an explorer among a dangerous tribe, and was being careful not to find himself too involved in their goings-on.

他摇头：“不，谢了。我不饿。而且我可以自己来。”现在他变得抑郁、自制。我之前熟悉的那个人消失了，他再度把自己关在心底那个只有小小开口的地下迷宫里。他向来很有礼貌，但当他试着要保护自己，或是要强调自己有能力时，他就会变得更加有礼貌：客气而疏远，好像他是个进入危险部落的探险家，留意着不要太介入部落里的异常活动。

　 I sighed, inwardly, and took him to his room; I told him I’d be here if he needed me, and he nodded. I sat on the floor outside the closed door and waited: I could hear the faucets turning on and off, and then his steps, and then a long period of silence, and then the sigh of the bed as he sat on it.

我在心底叹气，然后推他到房间里，我告诉他如果需要的话，我就在外面，他听了点点头。我关上门，坐在门外的地板上等。我听得见水龙头打开又关上，然后是他的脚步声，接着是一长段沉默，然后是他坐上床发出的轻响。

　 When I went in, he was under the covers, and I sat down next to him, on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?” I asked.

我进去时，他已经躺着盖好被子了。我坐在他旁边的床沿。“你确定不想吃点东西？”我问。

　 “Yes,” he said, and after a pause, he looked at me. He could open his eyes now, and against the white of the sheets, he was the loamy, fecund colors of camouflage: the jungle-green of his eyes, and the streaky gold-and-brown of his hair, and his face, less blue than it had been this morning and now a dark shimmery bronze. “Harold, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you last night, and I’m sorry I cause so many problems for you. I’m sorry that—”

“确定。”他说，然后顿了一下看着我。他现在可以睁开眼睛了，在白色床单的对照下，他成了一片肥沃、丰饶的迷彩：他的眼睛是丛林绿，头发是金色和褐色的条纹，而他的脸，已经不像早上那么蓝，转为一片微微发亮的铜褐色。“哈罗德，我真的很抱歉。”他说，“很抱歉我昨天晚上吼你，很抱歉我给你惹了这么多麻烦，很抱歉……”

　 “Jude,” I interrupted him, “you don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry. I wish I could make this better for you.”

“裘德，”我打断他，“你不必抱歉。我才应该说对不起。我真希望我可以让你好过一点。”

　 He closed his eyes, and opened them, and looked away from me. “I’m so ashamed,” he said, softly.

他闭上眼睛又睁开，然后别开目光。“我觉得好羞愧。”他轻声说。