Seven years before, he had come to the house in Truro in early May. It had been a spontaneous visit: I was up there trying to write, there were cheap tickets, I told him he should come, and to my surprise—he never left the offices of Rosen Pritchard, even then—he did. He was happy that day, and so was I. I left him chopping a head of purple cabbage in the kitchen and took the plumber upstairs, where he was installing a new toilet in our bathroom, and then on his way out asked him if he could come take a look at the sink in the downstairs bathroom, the one in Jude’s room, which had been leaking.

七年前的五月初，他来特鲁罗的别墅玩。当时是临时起意，我去那里想写点东西，刚好有便宜的机票，我跟他说他应该来玩，结果出乎我预料，他真的来了，即使是当时，他也很少离开办公室。他那天很开心，我也是。我留下他在厨房里切一颗紫甘蓝，我则带着水管工上楼，要在浴室里装一个新马桶。装好之后，我问水管工离开前能否帮忙看看楼下浴室，裘德房间里的那间，里头的水槽会漏水。

　 He did, tightened something, changed something else, and then, as he was emerging from the cabinet, handed something to me. “This was taped under the basin,” he said.

他帮我看了，把不晓得什么东西弄紧，又换了个零件。然后，他从浴室出来时，递给我一个东西。“这个在水槽底下。”他说。

　 “What is it?” I asked, taking the package from him.

“这是什么？”我问，接过那个袋子。

　 He shrugged. “Dunno. But it was stuck there pretty good, with duct tape.” He repacked his things as I stood there dumbly, staring at the bag, and gave me a wave and left; I heard him say goodbye to Jude as he walked out, whistling.

他耸耸肩：“不知道，不过粘在那里，用防水胶带粘得很牢。”我愣愣地站在那里，瞪着那个袋子。水管工收拾好工具，跟我挥个手就离开了。我听到他吹着口哨走出去，中间还跟裘德说再见。

　 I looked at the bag. It was a regular, pint-size clear plastic bag, and inside it was a stack of ten razor blades, and individually packaged alcohol wipes, and pieces of gauze, folded into springy squares, and bandages. I stood there, holding this bag, and I knew what it was for, even though I had never seen proof of it, and had indeed never seen anything like it. But I knew.

我看着那个袋子，那是一般的透明塑料袋，里头有一包十片装的刮胡刀片、小片装的酒精棉片、几块折成方形的纱布，以及绷带。我站在那里，拿着那个袋子，我知道那些东西是用来做什么的，虽然我从来没看到证据，也的确没看过类似证据的东西。但是我知道。

　 I went to the kitchen, and there he was, washing off a bowlful of fingerlings, still happy. He was even humming something, very softly, which he did only when he was very contented, like how a cat purrs to itself when it’s alone in the sun. “You should’ve told me you needed help installing the toilet,” he said, not looking up. “I could have done it for you and saved you a bill.” He knew how to do all those things: plumbing, electrical work, carpentry, gardening. We once went to Laurence’s so he could explain to Laurence how, exactly, he could safely unearth the young crabapple tree from one corner of his backyard and successfully move it to another, one that got more sun.

我走到厨房，他在里头，正在洗一盆小马铃薯，还是开开心心的，甚至小声地哼着歌。他只有在非常满足的时候才会这样，就像一只独自晒太阳的猫发出满足的呼噜声。“你要找人装马桶，该早点告诉我。”他说，没抬头，“我可以帮你安装，让你省一笔钱。”这些事情他全都会：水管工程、电工、木工、园艺。他有一回去劳伦斯家，跟劳伦斯解释他可以安全地把那棵野生酸苹果幼苗从后院一角挖出来，成功移植到能晒到太阳的角落。

　 For a while I stood there watching him. I felt so many things at once that together, they combined to make nothing, a numbness, an absence of feeling caused by a surplus of feeling. Finally I said his name, and he looked up. “What’s this?” I asked him, and held the bag in front of him.

有好一会儿，我站在那里看着他，感觉到好多事情突然一口气发生，加起来却什么都没有，只有一种麻木，因为感情过剩造成的空白。最后我终于喊了他的名字，他抬头。“这是什么？”我问他，把那个袋子举到他面前。

　 He went very still, one hand suspended above the bowl, and I remember watching how little droplets of water beaded and dripped off the ends of his fingertips, as if he had slashed himself with a knife and was bleeding water. He opened his mouth, and shut it.

他整个人僵住不动，一手悬在盆子上方，我还记得小水滴凝成水珠，从他的指尖滑落，好像他用刀子割了自己，流出水来。他张开嘴巴，然后又闭上。

　 “I’m sorry, Harold,” he said, very softly. He lowered his hand, and dried it, slowly, on the dish towel.

“对不起，哈罗德。”他说，声音很轻柔。他垂下手，缓缓在抹布上擦干。

　 That made me angry. “I’m not asking you to apologize, Jude,” I told him. “I’m asking you what this is. And don’t say ‘It’s a bag with razors in it.’ What is this? Why did you tape it beneath your sink?”

这让我很生气。“我没要求你道歉，裘德。”我告诉他，“我是问你这是什么。不要跟我说：‘那是装了刮胡刀片的袋子。’这是什么？你为什么要把它粘在你的水槽底下？”

　 He stared at me for a long time with that look he had—I know you know the one—where you can see him receding even as he looks at you, where you can see the gates within him closing and locking themselves, the bridges being cranked above the moat. “You know what it’s for,” he finally said, still very quietly.

他看了我好久，用那种特有的眼神，我知道你明白是哪种。你看得出他虽然望着你，却在心底一直往后退。你看得出他心里的城门关上锁起，护城河上的桥也拉了起来。“你知道那是用来做什么的。”他终于说，还是很小声。

　 “I want to hear you say it,” I told him.

“我要听你说出来。”我告诉他。

　 “I just need it,” he said.

“我就是需要它。”他说。

　 “Tell me what you do with these,” I said, and watched him.

“告诉我，你用这些东西做什么。”我说，看着他。

　 He looked down into the bowl of potatoes. “Sometimes I need to cut myself,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry, Harold.”

他低头看着那盆马铃薯。“有时候我需要割自己。”他最后说，“对不起，哈罗德。”

　 And suddenly I was panicked, and my panic made me irrational. “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked him—I may have even shouted it.

忽然间我恐慌起来，而我的恐慌使我更加失去理性。“他妈的这什么意思？”我问他，可能还是吼出来的。

　 He was moving backward now, toward the sink, as if I might lunge at him and he wanted some distance. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry, Harold.”

此时他往后退，退向水槽，想拉开距离，好像生怕我会扑过去。“我不知道。”他说，“对不起，哈罗德。”

　 “How often is sometimes?” I asked.

“有时候是多常发生？”我问。

　 He too was panicking now, I could see. “I don’t know,” he said. “It varies.”

我看得出来，他也恐慌了。“不知道。”他说，“不一定。”

　 “Well, estimate. Give me a ballpark.”

“那就估计一下，告诉我大概的。”