He gives a single, terse nod. “But not anymore?” Harold asks, and he shakes his head. “Good,” Harold mutters. And then, very softly, “Did he hit you?”

他只点了一下头。“那现在呢？”哈罗德问，他摇摇头。“很好。”哈罗德咕哝道，然后声音很轻地说，“他打了你吗？”

　 He has to wait and control himself before he can answer. “Only a few times,” he says.

他不得不先控制好自己，才有办法开口回答。“只有几次。”他说。

　 “Oh, Jude,” says Harold, in a voice he has never heard Harold use before.

“啊，裘德。”哈罗德说，他从来没听过哈罗德这种口气。

　 “Let me ask you something, though,” Harold says, as they edge down Fifteenth Street, past Sixth Avenue. “Jude—why were you going out with someone who would treat you like that?”

“不过让我问你一个问题吧。”哈罗德说。此时他们沿着第15街往前开，经过第六大道，“裘德，你为什么要跟一个会对你这样的人交往？”

　 He doesn’t answer for another block, trying to think of what he could say, how he could articulate his reasons in a way Harold would understand. “I was lonely,” he says, finally.

他又沉默地开过一个街区，想着该怎么说，该怎么清楚表达他的理由，让哈罗德了解。“我很孤单。”最后他终于说。

　 “Jude,” Harold says, and stops. “I understand that,” he says. “But why him?”

“裘德，”哈罗德说，然后停了一下，“这个我明白。但是为什么是他？”

　 “Harold,” he says, and he hears how awful, how wretched, he sounds, “when you look like I do, you have to take what you can get.”

“哈罗德，”他说，他听到自己的声音是多么可怕、多么凄惨，“要是你长得像我这样，你就没得挑了。”

　 They are quiet again, and then Harold says, “Stop the car.”

他们又沉默下来，哈罗德说：“停车。”

　 “What?” he says. “I can’t. There are people behind me.”

“什么？”他说，“不能停，后面还有车啊。”

　 “Stop the damn car, Jude,” Harold repeats, and when he doesn’t, Harold reaches over and grabs the wheel and pulls it sharply to the right, into an empty space in front of a fire hydrant. The car behind passes them, its horn bleating a long, warning note.

“裘德，停下这辆该死的车。”哈罗德又说了一次。看他没停，哈罗德就伸手抓住方向盘猛地往右扭，开进消防栓前的一个空位。后面的车子超车过去，一路猛按喇叭警示。

　 “Jesus, Harold!” he yells. “What the hell are you trying to do? You nearly got us into an accident!”

“天啊，哈罗德！”他喊道，“你到底想干吗？你差点害我们出车祸！”

　 “Listen to me, Jude,” says Harold slowly, and reaches for him, but he pulls himself back against the window, away from Harold’s hands. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met—ever.”

“你好好听着，裘德。”哈罗德缓缓说，朝他伸手，但他往后缩，紧贴着车窗，避开哈罗德的手，“你是我这辈子见过最美的人。”

　 “Harold,” he says, “stop, stop. Please stop.”

“哈罗德，”他说，“别说了，别说了，拜托你别说了。”

　 “Look at me, Jude,” says Harold, but he can’t. “You are. It breaks my heart that you can’t see this.”

“看着我，裘德。”哈罗德说，但他没办法，“是真的。你自己看不出来，让我太伤心了。”

　 “Harold,” he says, and he is almost moaning, “please, please. If you care about me, you’ll stop.”

“哈罗德，”他说，几乎是呻吟了，“拜托，拜托。如果你在乎我，就别再说了。”

　 “Jude,” says Harold, and reaches for him again, but he flinches, and brings his hands up to protect himself. Out of the edge of his eye, he can see Harold lower his hand, slowly.

“裘德。”哈罗德说，然后再度伸手，但他又瑟缩了起来，举起手保护自己。透过眼角，他看得到哈罗德缓缓垂下手。

　 He finally puts his hands back on the steering wheel, but they are shaking too badly for him to start the ignition, and he tucks them under his thighs, waiting. “Oh god,” he hears himself repeating, “oh god.”

最后他终于把手放回方向盘上，但颤抖得太厉害了，没办法重新发动车子，于是他把双手塞在大腿底下等待。“啊老天，”他听到自己一遍又一遍地说，“啊老天。”

　 “Jude,” Harold says again.

“裘德。”哈罗德又说。

　 “Leave me alone, Harold,” he says, and now his teeth are chattering as well, and it is difficult for him to speak. “Please.”

“别烦我了，哈罗德，”他说，现在连他的牙齿也格格打战，要讲话都很困难，“拜托。”

　 They sit there in silence for minutes. He concentrates on the sound of the rain, the traffic light turning red and green and orange, and the count of his breaths. Finally his shaking stops, and he starts the car and drives west, and north, up to Harold’s building.

他们静静坐了几分钟。他专注地聆听雨声，看着红绿灯从红色转成绿色再变为橙黄色，数着自己的呼吸。最后他的颤抖终于止住，于是他发动车子，往西行驶，然后转往北，来到哈罗德的公寓。