He had never seen Caleb drunk in their time together, but he can tell instantly that he is, and in a dangerous mood. “Your secretary told me where you were,” Caleb says to him. “You must be Harold,” he says, and extends his hand to Harold, who shakes it, looking bewildered.

他们在一起时，他从没看过凯莱布喝醉，但这会儿他立刻看出他喝醉了，而且处于一种危险的状态。“你的秘书告诉我你在这里。”凯莱布对他说，“你一定是哈罗德。”他说，朝哈罗德伸出手。哈罗德跟他握了手，一脸困惑。

　 “Jude?” Harold asks him, but he can’t speak.

“裘德？”哈罗德问他，但他说不出话来。

　 “Caleb Porter,” says Caleb, and slides into the semicircular booth, pressing against his side. “Your son and I are dating.”

“我是凯莱布·波特。”凯莱布说，然后滑进他们半圆形的卡座里坐下，紧贴着他，“你儿子正在跟我交往。”

　 Harold looks at Caleb, and then at him, and opens his mouth, speechless for the first time since he has known him.

哈罗德看看凯莱布，又看看他，张开嘴巴，但说不出话来。他认识哈罗德以来，这还是头一次。

　 “Let me ask you something,” Caleb says to Harold, leaning in as if delivering a confidence, and he stares at Caleb’s face, his vulpine handsomeness, his dark, glinting eyes. “Be honest. Don’t you ever wish you had a normal son, not a cripple?”

“我问你一件事。”凯莱布对哈罗德说，同时身体前倾，好像要表达自信。他则盯着凯莱布狐狸似的俊美脸庞，还有他发亮的深色眼睛，“老实说，你难道从没想过要一个正常的儿子，而不是瘸了腿的？”

　 For a moment, no one says anything, and he can feel something, a current, sizzle in the air. “Who the fuck are you?” hisses Harold, and then he watches Harold’s face change, his features contorting so quickly and violently from shock to disgust to anger that he looks, for an instant, inhuman, a ghoul in Harold’s clothing. And then his expression changes again, and he watches something harden in Harold’s face, as if his very muscles are ossifying before him.

一时之间没人说话，他可以感觉空气中有种电流。“你他妈的是谁？”哈罗德咬牙道。他看到哈罗德的脸色变了，五官扭动得迅速又剧烈，从震惊转为厌恶又转为愤怒，有一瞬间看起来甚至不像人类，像穿着哈罗德衣服的食尸鬼。然后哈罗德的表情再度改变，他看到哈罗德脸上有个什么变得坚硬起来，仿佛他的肌肉就在自己的面前硬化。

　 “You did this to him,” he says to Caleb, very slowly. And then to him, in dismay, “It wasn’t tennis, was it, Jude. This man did this to you.”

“他是被你打。”他非常缓慢地对凯莱布说，然后惊慌地对他说，“根本不是网球，对不对，裘德？是这个人打的。”

　 “Harold, don’t,” he begins to say, but Caleb has grabbed his wrist, and is gripping it so hard that he feels it might be breaking. “You little liar,” he says to him. “You’re a cripple and a liar and a bad fuck. And you’re right—you’re disgusting. I couldn’t even look at you, not ever.”

“哈罗德，不要。”他开口，但凯莱布抓住他的手腕，他觉得手腕快要骨折了。“你这个撒谎精。”凯莱布对他说，“你是个瘸子、撒谎精，还是个烂货。另外你说得没错——你很恶心。我连看你都没办法，没办法。”

　 “Get the fuck out of here,” says Harold, biting down on each word. They are all of them speaking in whispers, but the conversation feels so loud, and the rest of the restaurant so silent, that he is certain everyone can hear them.

“你他妈的滚出去。”哈罗德说，咬着牙吐出每个字。虽然都是用气音说的，但感觉很大声，整个餐厅忽然很安静，他觉得每个人都听到了。

　 “Harold, don’t,” he begs him. “Stop, please.”

“哈罗德，不要。”他哀求着，“别闹了，求求你。”

　 But Harold doesn’t listen to him. “I’m going to call the police,” he says, and Caleb slides out of the booth and stands, and Harold stands as well. “Get out of here right now,” Harold repeats, and now everyone really is looking in their direction, and he is so mortified that he feels sick.

但哈罗德不理他。“我要打电话报警。”他说，然后凯莱布滑出卡座站起来，哈罗德也站起来，“你马上给我滚出去。”哈罗德又说了一次。这回每个人真的都朝他们这看了，他无地自容得简直想吐。

　 “Harold,” he pleads.

“哈罗德。”他又恳求道。

　 He can tell from Caleb’s swaying motion that he is really very drunk, and when he pushes at Harold’s shoulder, Harold is about to push back when he finds his voice, finally, and shouts Harold’s name, and Harold turns to him and lowers his arm. Caleb gives him his small smile, then, and turns and leaves, shoving past some of the waiters who have silently gathered around him.

从凯莱布摇晃的动作，他看得出他真的醉得很厉害。他推了一下哈罗德的肩膀，哈罗德正要推回去时，他终于能发出声音，喊了哈罗德的名字。哈罗德转向他，放下手臂。凯莱布朝他微微一笑，然后转身离去，挤过了几个静静围过来的侍者。

　 Harold stands there for a moment, staring at the door, and then begins to follow Caleb, and he calls Harold’s name again, desperate, and Harold comes back to him.

哈罗德又站了一会儿，瞪着餐厅门，想跟着出去。他又绝望地喊了哈罗德的名字，哈罗德这才回到他身边。

　 “Jude—” Harold begins, but he shakes his head. He is so angry, so furious, that his humiliation has almost been eclipsed by his rage. Around them, he can hear people’s conversations resuming. He hails their waiter and gives him his credit card, which is returned to him in what feels like seconds. He doesn’t have his wheelchair today, for which he is enormously, bitterly grateful, and in those moments he is leaving the restaurant, he feels he has never been so nimble, has never moved so quickly or decisively.

“裘德……”哈罗德说，但他摇摇头。他很生气，气疯了，他的羞辱感跟他的怒火比起来，简直不算什么。在他们周围，他听到人们又开始谈话。他朝侍者挥手，给了自己的信用卡，几秒钟后侍者回来还给他。他今天没坐轮椅，此刻他非常后悔。在他离开餐厅的短短几秒钟，他觉得自己从来没有这么灵活、走得这么快，又这么果决。

　 Outside, it is pouring. His car is parked a block away, and he shuffles down the sidewalk, Harold silent at his side. He is so livid he wishes he could not give Harold a ride at all, but they are on the east side, near Avenue A, and Harold will never be able to find a cab in the rain.

外头正下着倾盆大雨。他的车停在一个街区外，他沿着人行道往前，哈罗德默默陪在他旁边。他气得真不想开车送哈罗德，但此时他们在市区东端，靠近A大道。现在又下着雨，哈罗德绝对叫不到出租车。

　 “Jude—” Harold says once they’re in the car, but he interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the road before him. “I was begging you not to say anything, Harold,” he says. “And you did anyway. Why did you do that, Harold? You think my life is a joke? You think my problems are just an opportunity for you to grandstand?” He doesn’t even know what he means, doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

“裘德……”他们上车后，哈罗德就开口了，但他打断他，眼睛只看着前面的路。“哈罗德，我一直求你什么都别说，”他说，“结果你还是说了。你为什么要那样做，哈罗德？你认为我的人生是一场笑话吗？你认为我的问题只是让你跃上大舞台的机会吗？”他甚至不明白自己讲这些话是什么意思，不明白自己想这些做什么。

　 “No, Jude, of course not,” says Harold, his voice gentle. “I’m sorry—I just lost it.”

“不，裘德，当然不是。”哈罗德说，他的声音轻柔，“对不起，我气得失去理智了。”

　 This sobers him for some reason, and for a few blocks they are silent, listening to the sluice of the wipers.

出于某些原因，这句话让他清醒过来。接下来几个街区，他们保持沉默，听着雨刷的声音。

　 “Were you really going out with him?” Harold asks.

“你之前真的在跟他交往吗？”哈罗德问。