A Tree, a Rock, a Cloud

It was raining that morning, and still very dark. When the boy reached the streetcar café he had almost finished his route and he went in for a cup of coffee.The place was an all-night café owned by a bitter and stingy man called Leo.After the raw, empty street, the café seemed friendly and bright：along the counter there were a couple of soldiers, three spinners from the cotton-mill, and in a corner a man who sat hunched over with his nose and half his face down in a beer mug.The boy wore a helmet such as aviators wear.When he went into the café he unbuckled the chin-strap and raised the right fap up over his pink little ear；often as he drank his coffee someone would speak to him in a friendly way.But this morning Leo did not look into his face and none of the men were talking.He paid and was leaving the café when a voice called out to him：

“Son！Hey Son！”

He turned back and the man in the corner was crooking his fnger and nodding to him. He had brought his face out of the beer mug and he seemed suddenly very happy.The man was long and pale, with a big nose and faded orange hair.

“Hey, Son！”

The boy went towards him. He was an undersized boy of about twelve, with one shoulder drawn higher than the other because of the weight of the paper-sack.His face was shallow, freckled, and his eyes were round child eyes.

“Yeah, Mister?”

The man laid one hand on the paper-boy's shoulders, thengrasped the boy's chin and turned his face slowly from one side to the other. The boy shrank back uneasily.

“Say！What's the big idea?”

The boy's voice was shrill；inside the café it was suddenly very quiet.

The man said slowly.“I love you.”

All along the counter the men laughed. The boy, who had scowled and sidled away, did not know what to do.He looked over the counter at Leo, and Leo watched him with a weary, brittle jeer.The boy tried to laugh also.But the man was serious and sad.

“I did not mean to tease you, Son，”he said.“Sit down and have a beer with me. There is something I have to explain.”

Cautiously, out of the corner of his eye, the paper-boy questioned the men along the counter to see what he should do. But they had gone back to their beer or their breakfast and did not notice him.Leo put a cup of coffee on the counter and a little jug of cream.

“He is a minor，”Leo said.

The paper-boy slid himself up on to the stool. His ear beneath the upturned fap of the helmet was very small and red.The man was nodding at him soberly.“It is important，”he said.Then he reached in his hip pocket and brought out something which he held up in the palm of his hand for the boy to see.

“Look very carefully，”he said.

The boy stared, but there was nothing to look at very carefully. The man held in his big, grimy palm a photograph.It was the face of a woman, but blurred, so that only the hat and the dress she was wearing stood out clearly.

“See?”the man asked.

The boy nodded and the man placed another picture in his palm. The woman was standing on a beach in a bathing suit.The suit made her stomach very big, and that was the main thing you noticed.

“Got a good look?”He leaned over closer and finally asked：“You ever seen her before?”

The boy sat motionless, staring slantwise at the man.“Not so I know of.”

“Very well.”The man blew on the photographs and put them back into his pocket.“That was my wife.”

“Dead?”the boy asked.

Slowly the man shook his head. He pursed his lips as though about to whistle and answered in a long-drawn way：“Nuuu—”he said.“I will explain.”

The beer on the counter before the man was in a large brown mug. He did not pick it up to drink.Instead he bent down and, putting his face over the rim, he rested there for a moment.Then with both hands he tilted the mug and sipped.

“Some night you'll go to sleep with your big nose in a mug and drown，”said Leo.“Prominent transient drowns in beer. That would be a cute death.”

The paper-boy tried to signal to Leo. While the man was not looking he screwed up his face and worked his mouth to question soundlessly：“Drunk?”But Leo only raised his eyebrows and turned away to put some pink strips of bacon on the grill.The man pushed the mug away from him, straightened himself, and folded his loose crooked hands on the counter.His face was sad as he looked at the paper-boy.He did not blink, but from time to time the lids closed down with delicate gravity over his pale green eyes.It was nearing dawn and the boy shifted the weight of the paper-sack.

“I am talking about love，”the man said.“With me it is a science.”

The boy half slid down from the stool. But the man raised his forefnger, and there was something about him that held the boy and would not let him go away.

“Twelve years ago I married the woman in the photograph. She was my wife for one year, nine months, three days, and two nights.I loved her.Yes……”He tightened his blurred, rambling voice and said again：“I loved her.I thought also that she loved me.I was arailroad engineer.She had all home comforts and luxuries.It never crept into my brain that she was not satisfed.But do you know what happened?”

“Mgneeow！”said Leo.

The man did not take his eyes from the boy's face.“She left me. I came in one night and the house was empty and she was gone.She left me.”

“With a fellow?”the boy asked.

Gently the man placed his palm down on the counter.“Why naturally, Son. A woman does not run off like that alone.”

The café was quiet, the soft rain black and endless in the street outside.Leo pressed down the frying bacon with the prongs of his long fork.“So you have been chasing the foozie for eleven years.You frazzled old rascal！”

For the first time the man glanced at Leo.“Please don't be vulgar. Besides, I was not speaking to you.”He turned back to the boy and said in a trusting and secretive undertone.“Let's not pay any attention to him.O.K.?”

The paper-boy nodded doubtfully.

“It was like this，”the man continued.“I am a person who feels many things. All my life one thing after another has impressed me.Moonlight.The leg of a pretty girl.One thing after another.But the point is that when I had enjoyed anything there was a peculiar sensation as though it was laying around loose in me.Nothing seemed to fnish itself up or ft in with the other things.Women?I had my portion of them.The same.Afterwards laying around loose in me.I was a man who had never loved.”

Very slowly he closed his eyelids, and the gesture was like a curtain drawn at the end of a scene in a play. When he spoke again his voice was excited and the words came fast-the lobes of his large, loose ears seemed to tremble.

“Then I met this woman. I was fifty-one years old and she always said she was thirty.I met her at a flling station and we weremarried within three days.And do you know what it was like?I just can't tell you.All I had ever felt was gathered together around this woman.Nothing lay around loose in me any more but was fnished up by her.”

The man stopped suddenly and stroked his long nose. His voice sank down to a steady and reproachful undertone：“I'm not explaining this right.What happened was this.There were these beautiful feelings and loose little pleasures inside me.And this woman was something like an assembly line for my soul.I run these little pieces of myself through her and I come out complete.Now do you follow me?”

“What was her name?”the boy asked.

“Oh，”he said.“I called her Dodo. But that is immaterial.”

“Did you try to make her come back?”

The man did not seem to hear.“Under the circumstances you can imagine how I felt when she left me.”

Leo took the bacon from the grill and folded two strips of it between a bun. He had a gray face, with slitted eyes, and a pinched nose saddled by faint blue shadows.One of the mill workers signaled for more coffee and Leo poured it.He did not give reflls on coffee free.The spinner ate breakfast there every morning, but the better Leo knew his customers the stingier he treated them.He nibbled his own bun as though he grudged it to himself.

“And you never got hold of her again?”

The boy did not know what to think of the man, and his child's face was uncertain with mingled curiosity and doubt. He was new on the paper route；it was still strange to him to be out in the town in the black, queer early morning.

“Yes，”the man said.“I took a number of steps to get her back. I went around trying to locate her.I went to Tulsa where she had folks.And to Mobile.I went to every town she had ever mentioned to me, and I hunted down every man she had formerly been connected with.Tulsa, Atlanta, Chicago, Cheehaw, Memphis……the better partof two years I chased around the country trying to lay hold of her.”

“But the pair of them had vanished from the face of the earth！”said Leo.

“Don't listen to him，”the man said confidentially.“And also just forget those two years. They are not important.What matters is that around the third year a curious thing begun to happen to me.”

“What?”the boy asked.

The man leaned down and tilted his mug to take a sip of beer. But as he hovered over the mug his nostrils fluttered slightly；he sniffed the staleness of the beer and did not drink.“Love is a curious thing to begin with.At frst I thought only of getting her back.It was a kind of mania.But then as time went on I tried to remember her.But do you know what happened?”

“No，”the boy said.

“When I laid myself down on a bed and tried to think about her my mind became a blank. I couldn't see her.I would take out her pictures and look.No good.Nothing doing.A blank.Can you imagine it?”

“Say, Mac！”Leo called down the counter.“Can you imagine this bozo's mind a blank！”

Slowly, as though fanning away fies, the man waved his hand. His green eyes were concentrated and fxed on the shallow little face of the paper-boy.

“But a sudden piece of glass on a sidewalk. Or a nickel tune in a music box.A shadow on a wall at night.And I would remember.It might happen in a street and I would cry or bang my head against a lamp-post.You follow me?”

“A piece of glass……”the boy said.

“Anything. I would walk around and I had no power of how and when to remember her.You think you can put up a kind of shield.But remembering don't come to a man face forward-it corners around sideways.I was at the mercy of everything I saw and heard.Suddenly instead of me combing the countryside to find her shebegun to chase me around in my very soul.She chasing me, mind you！And in my soul.”

The boy asked fnally：“What part of the country were you in then?”

“Ooh，”the man groaned.“I was a sick mortal. It was like smallpox.I confess, Son, that I boozed.I fornicated.I committed any sin that suddenly appealed to me.I am loath to confess it but I will do so.When I recall that period it is all curdled in my mind, it was so terrible.”

The man leaned his head down and tapped his forehead on the counter. For a few seconds he stayed bowed over in this position, the back of his stringy neck covered with orange furze, his hands with their long warped fngers held palm to palm in an attitude of prayer.Then the man straightened himself；he was smiling and suddenly his face was bright and tremulous and old.

“It was in the ffth year that it happened，”he said.“And with it I started my science.”

Leo's mouth jerked with a pale, quick grin.“Well none of we boys are getting any younger，”he said. Then with sudden anger he balled up a dish-cloth he was holding and threw it down hard on the foor.“You draggle-tailed old Romeo！”

“What happened?”the boy asked.

The old man's voice was high and dear：“Peace，”he answered.

“Huh?”

“It is hard to explain scientifcally, Son，”he said.“I guess the logical explanation is that she and I had feed around from each other for so long that fnally we just got tangled up together and lay down and quit. Peace.A queer and beautiful blankness.It was spring in Portland and the rain came every afternoon.All evening I just stayed there on my bed in the dark.And that is how the science come to me.”

The windows in the streetcar were pale blue with light. The two soldiers paid for their beers and opened the door-one of thesoldiers combed his hair and wiped off his muddy puttees before they went outside.The three mill workers bent silently over their breakfasts.Leo's clock was ticking on the wall.

“It is this. And listen carefully.I meditated on love and reasoned it out.I realized what is wrong with us.Men fall in love for the frst time.And what do they fall in love with?”

The boy's soft mouth was partly open and he did not answer.

“A woman，”the old man said.“Without science, with nothing to go by, they undertake the most dangerous and sacred experience in God's earth. They fall in love with a woman.Is that correct, Son?”

“Yeah，”the boy said faintly.

“They start at the wrong end of love. They begin at the climax.Can you wonder it is so miserable?Do you know how men should love?”

The old man reached over and grasped the boy by the collar of his leather jacket. He gave him a gentle little shake and his green eyes gazed down unblinking and grave.

“Son, do you know how love should be begun?”

The boy sat small and listening and still. Slowly he shook his head.The old man leaned closer and whispered：

“A tree. A rock.A cloud.”

It was still raining outside in the street：a mild, gray, endless rain. The mill whistle blew for the six o'clock shift and the three spinners paid and went away.There was no one in the café but Leo, the old man, and the little paper-boy.

“The weather was like this in Portland，”he said.“At the time my science was begun. I meditated and I started very cautious.I would pick up something from the street and take it home with me.I bought a goldfsh and I concentrated on the goldfsh and I loved it.I graduated from one thing to another.Day by day I was getting this technique.On the road from Portland to San Diego—”

“Aw shut up！”screamed Leo suddenly.“Shut up！Shut up！”

The old man still held the collar of the boy's jacket；he wastrembling and his face was earnest and bright and wild.“For six years now I have gone around by myself and built up my science. And now I am a master, Son.I can love anything.No longer do I have to think about it even.I see a street full of people and a beautiful light comes in me.I watch a bird in the sky.Or I meet a traveler on the road.Everything, Son.And anybody.All stranger and all loved！Do you realize what a science like mine can mean?”

The boy held himself stiffy, his hands curled tight around the counter edge. Finally he asked：“Did you ever really fnd that lady?”

“What?What say, Son?”

“I mean，”the boy asked timidly.“Have you fallen in love with a woman again?”

The old man loosened his grasp on the boy's collar. He turned away and for the frst time his green eyes had a vague and scattered look.He lifted the mug from the counter, drank down the yellow beer.His head was shaking slowly from side to side.Then fnally he answered：“No, Son.You see that is the last step in my science.I go cautious.And I am not quite ready yet.”

“Well！”said Leo.“Well, well, well！”

The old man stood in the open doorway.“Remember，”he said. Framed there in the gray damp light of the early morning he looked shrunken and seedy and frail.But his smile was bright.“Remember I love you，”he said with a last nod.And the door closed quietly behind him.

The boy did not speak for a long time. He pulled down the bangs on his forehead and slid his grimy little forefnger around the rim of his empty cup.Then without looking at Leo he fnally asked：

“Was he drunk?”

“No，”said Leo shortly.

The boy raised his clear voice higher.“Then was he a dope fend?”

“No.”

The boy looked up at Leo, and his fat little face was desperate, his voice urgent and shrill.“Was he crazy?Do you think he was a lunatic?”The paper-boy's voice dropped suddenly with doubt.“Leo?Or not?”

But Leo would not answer him. Leo had run a night café for fourteen years, and he held himself to be a critic of craziness.There were the town characters and also the transients who roamed in from the night.He knew the manias of all of them.But he did not want to satisfy the questions of the waiting child.He tightened his pale face and was silent.

So the boy pulled down the right fap of his helmet and as he turned to leave he made the only comment that seemed safe to him, the only remark that could not be laughed down and despised：

“He sure has done a lot of traveling.”

树，石，云

那天早上下着雨，天色仍然很昏暗。男孩来到街车咖啡馆[29]时该派送的报纸都快送完了，他想进去喝一杯咖啡。那是个通宵营业的咖啡馆，老板是个刻薄小气的人，名叫利奥。从阴冷、空旷的街上进来，这咖啡馆倒显得友好而明亮了。柜台旁有两个大兵、三个棉纺厂里来的纺纱工，角落里还弯身坐着一个人，鼻子和半张脸都埋在了一只盛啤酒的大玻璃缸子里。男孩头戴一顶飞行员用的那种款式的头盔。他走进咖啡馆时松开了下巴底下的扣子，将右边的耳罩翻到他粉红色小耳朵的上面。他喝咖啡时经常会有人友好地跟他聊上几句。可是今天早上利奥都没正眼看他一眼，其他的人也没在聊天。他付了钱正要离开咖啡馆，这时有个声音叫住了他。

“小子！嗨，小子！”

他转过身子，在角落里的那个人勾起手指并朝他点点头。这人已经把脸从啤酒缸子里伸了出来，似乎一下子变得非常快乐。那人身量高高的，脸色苍白，鼻子很大，头发是淡褪的橙红色。

“嗨，小子！”

男孩朝他走去。他是个大约十二岁、没长够个儿的男孩，因为经常背沉重的报纸口袋，一只肩膀总挺得比另一只略高一些。他的脸扁扁的，长有雀斑，他的眼睛是小孩子通常会有的那种圆眼睛。“怎么啦，先生？”

那人将一只手按住报童的双肩，接着又捏住孩子的下巴颏，把他的脸缓慢地从一边扭到另一边。男孩不安地往后退缩。

“嗨！这算啥个名堂嘛？”

男孩的声音很尖，咖啡馆里突然变得格外安静。

那人慢条斯理地说：“我爱你。”

所有在柜台边上的人都大笑起来。男孩怒目圆睁往边上退缩，不知道该怎么办才好。他把目光投向柜台上方去看利奥，利奥只是带着漠然、疲惫的冷笑回看他。孩子倒也想一笑置之。可是那个人很认真而且很忧郁。

“我可没有想耍弄你的意思，小子，”他说，“坐下来陪我喝杯啤酒嘛。我有些事情要解释。”

报童用眼角余光小心翼翼地去询问柜台上的那些人，想知道自己应该怎么办。可是他们都已重新低下了头，自顾自地喝啤酒吃早餐，一点儿也不注意他。利奥往柜台上放了一杯咖啡和一小缸奶油。

“他是张小牌。”利奥说。

报童悄悄地坐到高脚凳上去。在翻起的耳罩下，他那只耳朵很小也很红。那人很清醒地对他点了点头。“这很重要。”他说。接着他把手伸到后面裤兜去摸出一样东西，放在手心里举起给男孩看。

“你认真好好看看。”他说。

男孩瞪大眼睛，可是也没觉得有什么值得细看的。那人捏在他脏兮兮大手掌里的是一张照片。里面是张女人的脸，可是已经模糊了，只有她戴的帽子和穿的衣服显得很清楚。

“看到了吧？”那人问道。

男孩点点头，那人又往掌心里放了另外一张照片。那个女的穿了游泳衣站在沙滩上。游泳衣使她的肚子显得很大，那正是会惹人注意的主要之处。

“好好看过了吧？”他把身子靠过来，终于问道，“你见到过她没有？”

男孩坐着一动不动，眼睛斜斜地瞥向那个人，“我一点印象都没有。”

“很好。”那人对着照片吹了口气，把它们放回到兜里去，“是我原来的老婆。”

“死啦？”男孩问。

那人慢慢地摇了摇头。他噘起了嘴，仿佛是要吹口哨，不过仅仅是拖长了声音说：“不噢——我会解释的。”

那人面前柜台上的啤酒是盛在一只棕色大玻璃缸子里的。他不把缸子端起来喝，却是低下头，让脸悬在缸子上空，在那里停留了一阵子。接着他用双手托住缸底，翘起一点点，啜饮起来。

“总有一个晚上，你会把你那只大鼻子浸在缸子里睡过去淹死的，”利奥说，“大名鼎鼎的流浪爷们儿让啤酒憋死。这倒算得上是一种绝妙死法呢。”

报童试着给利奥递眼色。他趁那人没在看的时候做了个怪脸，用嘴不发声地问道：“醉了吧？”可是利奥仅仅是扬了扬眉毛，旋即便转过身在铁烤架上放了几片粉红色的咸肉。那人把啤酒缸从面前推开，坐直身子，在柜台上对握起自己那双松松散散有点走形的手来。在看着报童的时候他的脸很忧郁。他眼睛倒是不眨，可是时不时，他的眼帘会自然而然无力地垂下来，盖住他那双灰绿色的眼睛。天快亮了，男孩把报袋的分量从一个肩膀转移到另一个肩膀。

“我此刻在讲的是爱情问题，”那人说，“对我来说那是一门科学。”

男孩的半个屁股已经从高脚凳上滑下。可是那人举起了一根食指，他身上自有一种气势，吸引住了男孩，使得他无法走开。

“十二年前我娶了照片里的那个女人。她当我老婆当了一年，九个月，三天和两个晚上。我爱她。是的……”他清了清他那模糊不清和越来越语无伦次的嗓子，又开始说道，“我爱她。我以为她也爱我。我是个铁路工程师。但凡家庭里所有的舒适与奢华她都能享受到。我脑子里从来都没想到她会感到不满足。你知道出了什么事吗？”

“呃哼呃！”利奥的嗓子眼里发出了这样的声音。

那人眼睛一刻也没有离开男孩的脸，“她离开了我。有一天晚上我回到家里，屋子里空空如也，她跑了。她离开我了。”

“跟了一个男人？”孩子问道。

那人轻轻地把手掌放在了柜台上，“那是自然，小子。一个女人是不会独自一人那样跑掉的。”

咖啡馆里很安静，外面街上，霏霏细雨在黑暗中无休无止地下着。利奥用他长叉子的尖齿去压了压烤架上的咸肉，“这么说你追寻这骚娘们都追了有十一个年头了。你这没头苍蝇似的老流氓！”

那人头一次把眼光转向利奥，“别这么庸俗好不好。而且我也没在跟你说话。”他又回过头来和孩子说话，用的是一种推心置腹和保守机密的低声，“咱们别理他。好不好？”

报童疑虑重重地点了点头。

“情况是这样的，”那人继续往下说，“我是个对许多事情都很敏感的人。在我的一生里，一件接着一件的事都让我很有感触。月光啦。一个漂亮姑娘的腿啦。一件接着一件。可是问题是：当我喜欢上一样东西的时候就会有一种特殊的感觉，仿佛它在我身体内部分崩离析似的。没有一件是自己走向终结或是结合到别的东西里去的。女人吗？我也并不是没有我的份额的。但是都一样。到后来就在我心中瓦解了。我曾是一个从来没有过爱的人。”

他非常缓慢地合上眼帘，那动作很像是戏演完了一场大幕一点点垂下来似的。等他重新开口说话时他的声音变得很激动，字句吐出来也很快——他两只大大、松松的耳朵的耳垂似乎都颤动了起来。

“后来我遇到了这个女人。我当时五十一岁，她呢，总说自己三十岁。我是在一个加油站遇到她的，没过三天，我们就结婚了。你知道那是什么感觉吗？我真是没法跟你说。我唯一的感觉就是整个人被吸引在这个女人的周围。我心中再也不是分崩离析的了，而是让她给拾掇得服服帖帖的了。”

那人突然停住话头，抚摩起自己的长鼻子来。他的声调降落下来，成为一种恒定、埋怨的陪衬音：“这件事我还是没有解释清楚。所发生的事情是这样的：我以前心中总有些美好的感情和小小的放荡情趣。这个女人对我的心灵来说有点儿像是一条装配线。我的一个个小部件从她那里通过，结果我就变成了一个整体。你现在明白我的意思了吧？”

“她叫什么名字？”男孩问道。

“哦，”他说，“我是管她叫多多的。不过这是不相干的。”

“你就没有想法子把她弄回来吗？”

那人似乎没有听见，“在这样的情况下，你可以想象得出，她一出走我会有什么感觉了。”

利奥把咸肉从炉架上拨出来，将两片肉夹进一只小圆面包。他有一张灰灰的脸，一双细眼睛像是用刀在脸上划出来的，鼻翼夹得很紧，还泛出浅浅的蓝色阴影。一个纺织工人做了个手势要添加咖啡，利奥便给他续上。这一续可不是免费的。这纺纱工每天都在这儿吃早餐，利奥对他的顾客了解得愈透，便对他们益发刻薄。他咬了一小口自己的夹肉面包，仿佛是把一股怨气往自己肚子里咽似的。

“这么说你再也没能逮住她？”

男孩不知道该怎么看这个人，他那张孩子脸显露出在好奇与怀疑之间难以确定的那种表情。他接手这条送报路线还不太久，在黑暗古怪的拂晓时分进入市区，对他来说还是件很陌生的事。

“是的，”那人说道，“我采取了一系列的措施让她回来。我到一些地方去转了转，想找到她的踪迹。我去了塔尔萨，那儿有她娘家的亲人。又去了莫比尔。我去了她向我提到过的每一个市镇，我也追踪过以往跟她有过关系的每一个男人。塔尔萨、亚特兰大、芝加哥、奇霍、孟菲斯……差不多有两年，我走遍全国以便找到她这个人。”

“可是一对狗男女就是生生从地球表面上消失了！”利奥说。

“别听他的，”那人很机密地对男孩说，“而且也干脆把那两年的事忘掉。那不重要。重要的是在第三年上我开始遇上了一件奇怪事儿。”

“什么事儿？”男孩问。

那人把身子朝前弯了弯，侧起酒缸，准备吸一口啤酒。可是当他的脸俯临缸子时他的鼻孔轻轻地翕动起来，他闻出啤酒已经走气，便不喝了。“首先，爱是一件奇异的事情。起初我一心想的仅仅是要把她找回来。那是一种狂热。可是时间一点点过去，我试着去记起她。你知道发生了什么事？”

“不知道。”孩子说。

“当我在一张床上躺下，试着去想起她的时候，我的脑子变得一片空白。我看不到她。我也曾取出她的照片来看。没有用。什么用处都没有。一片空白。你能想象这样的情况吗？”

“嗨，麦克！”利奥朝柜台的另一头喊道，“你能想象这傻瓜蛋的脑袋会成为一片空白吗！”

慢慢地，仿佛是在扇走苍蝇似的，那个人挥动起了他的一只手。他绿眼珠的视线凝聚起来，集中在报童的那张扁平的小脸上。

“可是人行道上突然出现的一片玻璃或是投币唱机里播放的一段通俗音乐、夜晚墙上的一个影子，这些，我倒能够记得。它可能发生在一条街道上，我会哭喊，会用头去撞路灯柱子。你懂我的意思吧。”

“一片玻璃……”孩子说。

“任何东西。我会四下乱转，却控制不住自己如何与何时能想起她。你以为你能树立起一道防护罩，可是回忆不是面对面朝一个人走来的——它是从侧边绕过来的。我听从我见到与听到的一切东西的摆布。突然，不再是我在全国上下左右篦梳那样地细细查找她，而是她开始在我的心灵里追逐我了。是她在追逐我，你可听好了！而且是在我的心灵里。”

男孩终于提出了一个问题：“你当时是在美国的哪个地方？”

“哦唷，”那人呻吟起来了，“我那时是个病人。得的很像是天花。我承认，小子，我酒喝得很凶。我跟人私通。我犯下了种种对我有吸引力的罪恶。我承认这些，连自己都很看不起自己，可是我还是必须承认。我回忆起那个阶段的时候，这一切都在我脑子凝结起来了，那真可怕。”

那人把头低下，在柜台上磕碰他的脑门。有几秒钟，他一直采取这样低着头的姿势，他青筋毕露的后脖颈上满是红荆豆色的头发。他那双有着扭曲的长手指的手，掌心紧贴着对握在一起，姿势很像是一个祈祷者。接着那人伸直了身子，他在微笑。突然，他的脸变得明亮了，颤抖着，显得苍老了。

“那件事发生在第五个年头，”他说，“而我的科学就是由此开始的。”

利奥的嘴扭出了一个淡淡的转瞬即逝的微笑。“行了，咱们这拨当年的小伙子谁也不会重新变得年轻了。”他说。他心中蓦地起了无名火，便把手里那块抹布揉成一团，狠狠地往地上一扔。“你这肮脏邋遢的老罗密欧！”

“究竟发生了什么事嘛？”男孩问道。

老头的声音既高亢也很清晰。“平静。”他回答道。

“什么？”

“很难科学地解释清楚，小子，”他说，“我想合乎逻辑的解释是，长时期以来她和我都想逃离对方，到头来两人竟缠结在了一块，于是便都停下来不动了。于是便是平静。一种奇特而美丽的空白。那是在波特兰，春天时分，每天下午都下雨。整个夜晚我仅仅是在黑暗中躺在床上。科学就是那样降临到我的身上的。”

街车咖啡馆的窗子让拂晓的天光映得蓝幽幽的。两个大兵付了啤酒钱，推开了门——两人离开之前其中的一个梳了梳自己的头发，擦了擦自己的绑腿。三个纺织工人一声不吭，闷头吃自己的早餐。利奥的钟在墙上发出嘀嗒嘀嗒的声音。

“情况是这样的。好好给我听着。对于爱我作过思考，也理清了思路。我弄明白了我们之间有什么不对头。男人初次堕入爱河。那么他们爱上的是什么呢？”

男孩柔软的嘴唇稍稍张开了一些，但是他没有回答。

“一个女人，”那个老人说，“男人不懂科学，没有任何思想可以依靠，便按照这片土地上最最危险和神圣的经验行事。他们爱上了一个女人。是不是这么回事，小子？”

“可不是吗。”男孩含混地应答了一句。

“他们从错误的一头开始爱恋。他们在高潮时开始。你能想象那有多么悲惨吗？你知道男人应该怎样爱恋吗？”

老人把手伸过去，一把揪住男孩皮夹克的领子，将他轻轻摇晃了几下，那双绿眼睛一眨不眨，很严肃地朝底下盯看。

“小子，你可知道爱应该怎么开始吗？”

男孩蜷缩着身子坐着，倾听着，一动也不动。他慢慢地把头摇了摇。老人把身子朝他靠得更紧，用耳语说道：

“一棵树。一块岩石。一朵云。”

外面街上还在下雨，那种灰蒙蒙无休无止的细雨。工厂发出汽笛声，召唤工人去上六点钟的班，三个纺纱工付了账离开了。现在咖啡馆里除了利奥、老人与小报童再也没有别人。

“在波特兰，天气跟现在这儿的差不多，”他说，“就在这个时候我的科学开始出现了。我苦苦思索，小心翼翼地开了个头。我会在街上捡到点儿什么把它带回家。我买了一条金鱼，于是便集中注意力研究金鱼，我爱上了金鱼。我研究透了一件东西又去研究另外的一件。一天一天过去，我技术上也一点点地熟练了。在从波特兰去圣迭戈的路上——”

“哦，别说了！”利奥突然尖声叫起来，“别说了！别说了！”

老人仍然捏住孩子夹克的衣领，他整个人都颤抖起来，他的脸很一本正经，变得熠熠生辉和野气十足。“到现在已经有六个年头了，我一直是单独旅行，并且建立起我的科学体系。现在我是一位大师了，小子。我可以爱任何东西了。现在我甚至都想也不用想了。我见到一条街上挤满了人，于是一道美丽的光便进入我的心中。我看着一只鸟飞行在空中。或者是我在路上遇见一个旅人。一切东西，小子。还有任何一个人。所有的陌生人他们全都为我所爱！你可明白我的这种科学意味着什么吗？”

男孩僵僵地支撑着，他的两只手紧紧地抵在柜台的边缘上。最后他问道：“你最后真的找到那位太太了吗？”

“什么？你说什么哪，小子？”

“我是说，”男孩怯生生地问道，“你有没有重新爱上一个女人？”

老人松开了紧紧捏在男孩衣领上的那只手。他的身子转开了去，那双绿眼睛头一回出现了蒙眬与不集中的神色。他把放在柜台上的缸子举起来，把黄色的啤酒喝了下去。他的脑袋在慢慢地从一边抖动到另一边。接下去他终于回答道：“不，小子。你明白吧，这是我的科学里最后的一个步骤。我往前推进时是非常小心的。再说我也没有完全准备好呢。”

“好嘛！”利奥说，“真有你的呀！”

老人站在开着的门口。“记住了。”他说。在充满曙色那灰暗潮湿光线的门框前，他显得特别枯瘦、邋遢和衰老。不过他的笑容却很灿烂。“记住了，我是爱你的呀，”他说，同时还最后一次点了点头。门在他身后轻轻关上了。

好久好久男孩都没有开口说话。他把额上的刘海往前压压直，又把一只脏兮兮的细细的食指在空杯子内沿刮了一圈。接着他问道，眼睛并没有在看利奥：

“他方才是喝醉了吧？”

“没有。”利奥生硬地说道。

男孩把他清脆的嗓音提高了一些，“那么他是个吸毒的？”

“不是的。”

男孩抬起眼睛看着利奥，他那张扁扁的小脸狠巴巴的，声音又急又尖。“那他是疯了吧？你说他是不是一个疯子？”报童的声音里突然之间充满了疑惑，“利奥？是还是不是？”

可是利奥无意回答他。利奥经营通宵咖啡馆都有十四个年头了，他已把自己看成是判断疯癫的专家了。黑夜里流入到咖啡馆来的既有本地人也有外来的流浪汉。什么怪人他不曾见过？可是他不想搭理这咄咄逼人的小毛孩子。他把那张苍白的脸一板，连一声都不吭。

男孩只好把帽盔的右耳罩放下来，在转身走开时他扔下了一句话，在他看来这是唯一不会遭到嘲笑和轻视的那句：

“他走过的地方肯定不会少。”