“I do,” he said. It was what he had always told Malcolm: “Of course your dad loves you, Mal. Of course he does. Parents love their kids.” And once, when Malcolm was very upset (he could no longer remember why), he had snapped at him, “Like you’d know anything about that, Jude,” and there had been a silence, and then Malcolm, horrified, had begun apologizing to him. “I’m sorry, Jude,” he’d said, “I’m so sorry.” And he’d had nothing to say, because Malcolm was right: he didn’t know anything about that. What he knew, he knew from books, and books lied, they made things prettier. It had been the worst thing Malcolm had ever said to him, and although he had never mentioned it to Malcolm again, Malcolm had mentioned it to him, once, shortly after the adoption.
“我知道。”他说。他也总是这么告诉马尔科姆：“马尔，你爸当然爱你了。父母当然会爱小孩。”有回马尔科姆非常沮丧（他已经不记得是为了什么），听到他这么说就凶巴巴地回嘴：“不要讲得一副你懂这种事情的样子，裘德。”接着两人沉默了一会儿。这时马尔科姆吓坏了，开始跟他道歉。“对不起，裘德，”他说，“对不起。”他无话可说，因为马尔科姆说得没错：这种事他真的一点也不懂。他所知道的，全是书上读来的，而书本会撒谎，会把事情美化。那是马尔科姆跟他讲过最残忍的话。他从来没再跟马尔科姆提起，但马尔科姆后来又跟他提过一次，就是在他被收养后不久。
“I will never forget that thing I said to you,” he’d said.
“我永远无法忘记我跟你说过的那件事。”马尔科姆曾说。
“Mal, forget it,” he’d told him, although he knew exactly what Malcolm was referring to, “you were upset. It was a long time ago.”
“马尔，算了吧。”他告诉他，他完全知道马尔科姆指的是什么，“你当时心情很不好，而且都过去那么久了。”
“But it was wrong,” Malcolm had said. “And I was wrong. On every level.”
“可是那样说是不对的。”马尔科姆说，“而且我错了。大错特错。”
As he sat with Mr. Irvine, he thought: I wish Malcolm could have had this moment. This moment should have been Malcolm’s.
他跟欧文先生坐在一起时，他心想：我真希望马尔科姆拥有这一刻。这一刻应该是马尔科姆的。
And so now he visits the Irvines after visiting Lucien, and the visits are not dissimilar. They are both drifts into the past, they are both old men talking at him about memories he doesn’t share, about contexts with which he is unfamiliar. But although these visits depress him, he feels he must fulfill them: both are with people who had always given him time and conversation when he had needed it but hadn’t known how to ask for it. When he was twenty-five and new to the city, he had lived at the Irvines’, and Mr. Irvine would talk to him about the market, and law, and had given him advice: not advice about how to think as much as advice about how to be, about how to be a curiosity in a world in which curiosities weren’t often tolerated. “People are going to think certain things about you because of how you walk,” Mr. Irvine had once said to him, and he had looked down. “No,” he’d said. “Don’t look down, Jude. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a brilliant man, and you’ll be brilliant, and you’ll be rewarded for your brilliance. But if you act like you don’t belong, if you act like you’re apologetic for your own self, then people will start to treat you that way, too.” He’d taken a deep breath. “Believe me.” Be as steely as you want to be, Mr. Irvine had said. Don’t try to get people to like you. Never try to make yourself more palatable in order to make your colleagues more comfortable. Harold had taught him how to think as a litigator, but Mr. Irvine had taught him how to behave as one. And Lucien had recognized both of these abilities, and had appreciated them both as well.
于是，现在他去看过吕西安之后，就来看欧文先生，两次探访没有什么不同。两个人都在缅怀过去，两次都是老人在跟他讲他并未参与的回忆，讲的背景脉络他都不熟悉。尽管这些探视让他沮丧，他却觉得非去不可：这两个人都曾在他需要、但不知道如何请求时，花时间和他谈话。他25岁刚搬来纽约时，曾住在欧文家一阵子。欧文先生会跟他谈金融市场、法律，给他建议，主要不是针对如何思考，而是如何处世，如何在一个不太容忍奇特人物的世界里继续做自己。“人们会因为你走路的方式，对你产生一些既定的想法。”欧文先生有回跟他说，他听了垂下眼睛。“不要，”欧文先生说，“不要低头看，裘德。这没什么好羞愧的。你很优秀，你会有光明的前途，你的优秀会得到回报。但如果你表现得一副你不配的样子，如果你表现得好像你对自己感到遗憾，那么人们也会开始用那样的方式对待你，”欧文先生深吸一口气，“相信我。”尽量摆出你想要的强硬姿态，欧文先生曾跟他说。别想讨人喜欢。绝对不要为了讨好同事而变得亲切。哈罗德曾教他如何像一个诉讼律师那样思考，但欧文先生教了他一个诉讼律师该有的举止。而吕西安看得出他这两种能力，也非常欣赏。
That afternoon his visit at the Irvines’ is brief because Mr. Irvine is tired, and on his way out he sees Flora—Fabulous Flora, of whom Malcolm was so proud and so envious—and they speak for a few minutes before he leaves. It is early October but still warm, the mornings like summer but the afternoons turning dark and wintry, and as he walks up Park to his car, he remembers how he used to spend his Saturdays here twenty years ago: more. Then he would walk home, and on his way he would occasionally stop by a famous, pricey bakery on Madison Avenue that he liked and buy a loaf of walnut bread—a single loaf cost as much as he was willing to spend on a dinner back then—that he and Willem would eat with butter and salt. The bakery is still there, and now he veers west off Park to go buy a loaf, which somehow seems to have remained fixed in price, at least in his memory, while everything else has grown so much more expensive. Until he began his Saturday visits to Lucien and the Irvines, he couldn’t remember the last time he was in this neighborhood in daytime—his appointments with Andy are in the evenings—and now he lingers, looking at the pretty children running down the wide clean sidewalks, their pretty mothers strolling behind them, the linden trees above him shading their leaves into a pale, reluctant yellow. He passes Seventy-fifth Street, where he once tutored Felix, Felix who is now, unbelievably, thirty-three, and no longer a singer in a punk band but, even more unbelievably, a hedge fund manager as his father once was.
那天下午他去欧文先生家的拜访非常短暂，因为欧文先生累了，正要出门去看弗洛拉——非凡的弗洛拉，马尔科姆以前以她为荣，也很羡慕她。于是他们只谈了几分钟，他就离开了。现在是十月初，还很温暖，上午像夏天，但下午就变得昏暗，而且寒冷得像冬天。当他走向公园大道回到停车的地方时，想起二十多年前的星期六，他总是经过这一带。他会走回家，路上偶尔在麦迪逊大道上一家他很喜欢、知名而昂贵的面包店停一下，买一条核桃面包，回去和威廉配着奶油和盐吃——当时一条面包就要花掉他一顿晚餐钱。那家面包店还在，这会儿他过了公园大道往西走，要去买一条面包，二十几年来各种物价都上涨好多，但那面包不知怎的价钱还是一样，至少就他记忆所及是如此。直到他星期六开始拜访吕西安和欧文夫妇，他都不记得上回白天来这一带是什么时候的事了——他和安迪的约诊都在晚上。现在他缓缓往前走，看到漂亮的儿童奔跑在宽阔而干净的人行道上，他们漂亮的妈妈漫步跟在后头，头上高大的椴树叶渐渐不情愿地转成一种苍白的黄。他经过75街，想到自己以前就在那当菲利克斯的家教。现在菲利克斯33岁了，真是难以置信，而且没在朋克乐团当主唱了，更难以置信的是，他成了对冲基金经理人，跟他父亲一样。
At the apartment he cuts the bread, slices some cheese, brings the plate to the table and stares at it. He is making a real effort to eat real meals, to resume the habits and practices of the living. But eating has become somehow difficult for him. His appetite has disappeared, and everything tastes like paste, or like the powdered mashed potatoes they had served at the home. He tries, though. Eating is easier when he has to perform for an audience, and so he has dinner every Friday with Andy, and every Saturday with JB. And he has started appearing every Sunday evening at Richard’s—together the two of them cook one of Richard’s kaley vegetarian meals, and then India joins them at the table.
回到公寓后，他把面包切片，也切了几片奶酪，然后把盘子拿到餐桌上，瞪着它看。他现在很努力好好吃东西，重拾生活中的种种习惯和常规。但吃东西不知怎的对他来说变得很困难。他的胃口消失了，任何东西吃起来都像糨糊，或像以前他在少年之家吃的那种干粉调成的洋芋泥。但是他还是继续努力。吃给别人看的时候，会比较容易，于是他每周五和安迪吃晚餐，每周六和杰比吃晚餐。而且他开始每个周日晚上都去理查德家——他们两个会一起用羽衣甘蓝做一道素食，然后跟印蒂亚一起吃。
He has also resumed reading the paper, and now he pushes aside the bread and cheese and opens the arts section cautiously, as if it might bite him. Two Sundays ago he had been feeling confident and had snapped open the first page and been confronted with a story about the film that Willem was to have begun shooting the previous September. The piece was about how the movie had been recast, and how there was strong early critical support for it, and how the main character had been renamed for Willem, and he had shut the paper and had gone to his bed and had held a pillow over his head until he was able to stand again. He knows that for the next two years he will be confronted by articles, posters, signs, commercials, for films Willem was to have been shooting in these past twelve months. But today there is nothing in the paper other than a full-page advertisement for The Dancer and the Stage, and he stares at Willem’s almost life-size face for a long, long time, holding his hand over its eyes and then lifting it off. If this were a movie, he thinks, the face would start speaking to him. If this were a movie, he would look up and Willem would be standing before him.
他也恢复了看报纸的习惯。这会儿他把面包和奶酪推到一旁，小心翼翼地打开艺文版，好像那会咬他似的。两周前的星期日，他信心十足、利落地打开艺文版的第一版，就看到一篇报道，是关于去年九月威廉准备开拍的电影。那篇报道谈到电影如何重新选角，目前初步的影评非常正面，而且剧中主角的名字改为威廉以资纪念。他合上报纸，回到床上倒下，拿枕头盖住头，直到有办法再站起来。他知道接下来两年，他还会看到威廉过去十二个月本来要拍的电影的相关文章、海报、广告牌、电视广告。但今天报上没有这类报道，只有一个《舞台上的舞者》的满版广告，他看着上头几乎跟真人一样大的那张脸，看了好久好久，一手抚过那双眼睛，然后把报纸举得远一些。他心想，如果这是一部电影，那张脸就会开始跟他说话。如果这是一部电影，他抬起眼睛，威廉就会站在他面前。
Sometimes he thinks: I am doing better. I am getting better. Sometimes he wakes full of fortitude and vigor. Today will be the day, he thinks. Today will be the first day I really get better. Today will be the day I miss Willem less. And then something will happen, something as simple as walking into his closet and seeing the lonely, waiting stand of Willem’s shirts that will never be worn again, and his ambition, his hopefulness will dissolve, and he will be cast into despair once again. Sometimes he thinks: I can do this. But more and more now, he knows: I can’t. He has made a promise to himself to every day find a new reason to keep going. Some of these reasons are little reasons, they are tastes he likes, they are symphonies he likes, they are paintings he likes, buildings he likes, operas and books he likes, places he wants to see, either again or for the first time. Some of these reasons are obligations: Because he should. Because he can. Because Willem would want him to. And some of the reasons are big reasons: Because of Richard. Because of JB. Because of Julia. And, especially, because of Harold.
有时他心想：我现在好一些了。我逐渐好转了。有时醒来时，他觉得自己充满勇气与活力。就从今天开始，他心想。今天会是我真正好转的第一天。今天开始，我会比较不想念威廉。接着就会发生某些事，往往不过是走进衣柜间，看到威廉那一排衬衫孤单地等待着，再也不会被穿上，于是他的野心、他的满怀期望就会溶解，整个人再度被抛入绝望之中。有时他心想：我可以做到。但现在他越来越明白：我做不到。他答应自己每天要找个新的理由活下去。有些理由很微小，比方他喜欢的味道、他喜欢的交响曲、他喜欢的画作、他喜欢的建筑物、他喜欢的歌剧和书籍、他想去看的地方，无论是重访或初次造访。有些理由是应尽的义务或责任：因为他应该活下去。因为他可以活下去。因为威廉会希望他活下去。而有些理由则是很重大的：因为理查德。因为杰比。因为朱丽娅。尤其是，因为哈罗德。
A little less than a year after he had tried to kill himself, he and Harold had taken a walk. It was Labor Day; they were in Truro. He remembers that he was having trouble walking that weekend; he remembers stepping carefully through the dunes; he remembers feeling Harold trying not to touch him, trying not to help him.
他自杀未遂将近一年后，有一回他和哈罗德在散步。那是劳动节假期，他们在特鲁罗。他记得那个周末他走路有困难；他记得自己小心翼翼地走过那些沙丘；他记得他感觉到哈罗德试着不要触摸他、不要帮他。
Finally they had sat and rested and looked out toward the ocean and talked: about a case he was working on, about Laurence, who was retiring, about Harold’s new book. And then suddenly Harold had said, “Jude, you have to promise me you won’t do that again,” and it was Harold’s tone—stern, where Harold was rarely stern—that made him look at him.
最后他们终于坐下来休息，望着大海聊天。谈到他目前进行的一个案子，谈到劳伦斯在办退休，谈到哈罗德的新书。哈罗德忽然说：“裘德，你得答应我不能再这样做了。”哈罗德的口气难得非常郑重，让他转过去看着他。
“Harold,” he began.
“哈罗德。”他开口了。
“I try not to ask you for anything,” Harold said, “because I don’t want you to think you owe me anything: and you don’t.” He turned and looked at him, and his expression too was stern. “But I’m asking you this. I’m asking you. You have to promise me.”
“我试着不要求你任何事，”哈罗德说，“因为我不希望你认为你欠我什么，你本来就不欠，”哈罗德转过来望着他，脸上的表情也很郑重，“但是我现在要求你这件事。你一定要答应我。”
He hesitated. “I promise,” he said, finally, and Harold nodded.
他犹豫了一下。“我答应你。”最后他终于说。哈罗德点点头。
“Thank you,” he said.
“谢谢你。”哈罗德说。
They had never discussed this conversation again, and although he knew it wasn’t quite logical, he didn’t want to break this promise to Harold. At times, it seemed that this promise—this verbal contract—was the only real deterrent to his trying again, although he knew that if he were to do it again, it wouldn’t be an attempt: this time, he would really do it. He knew how he’d do it; he knew it would work. Since Willem had died, he had thought about it almost daily. He knew the timeline he’d need to follow, he knew how he would arrange to be found. Two months ago, in a very bad week, he had even rewritten his will so that it now read as the document of someone who had died with apologies to make, whose bequests would be attempts to ask for forgiveness. And although he isn’t intending to honor this will—as he reminds himself—he hasn’t changed it, either.
他们后来再也没有讨论过这段谈话。他知道这不合逻辑，但他不想打破对哈罗德的这个承诺。有时，仿佛唯一真正阻止他再尝试的，就是这个承诺、这个口头契约。他知道如果自己再试一次，就不会是未遂了：这回，他会成功的。他知道自己要怎么做，知道怎么样可以成功。自从威廉死后，他几乎每天都想到自杀的事。他知道自己该照什么时间表进行，知道该怎么安排让自己被发现。两个月前，有个星期他状况非常糟糕，他甚至重写了一份遗嘱，现在看起来像是满怀歉意死去的人所写下的文件，他留给人们的遗赠则是试图要求他们原谅。他提醒自己，他不打算执行这份遗嘱，但他也没有更改。
He hopes for infection, something swift and fatal, something that will kill him and leave him blameless. But there is no infection. Since his amputations, there have been no wounds. He is still in pain, but no more—less, actually—than he had been in before. He is cured, or at least as cured as he will ever be.
他希望自己能感染，迅速而致命地死掉，这样就没有人会怪他了。但他没有感染。自从截肢之后，他再也没长那些难以愈合的疮了。他还是会感到疼痛，但并没有比以前严重，事实上还减轻了。他痊愈了，至少已经痊愈到他所能达到的极限。
So there is no real reason for him to see Andy once a week, but he does anyway, because he knows Andy is worried he will kill himself. He is worried he will kill himself. And so every Friday he goes uptown. Most of these Fridays are just dinner dates, except for the second Friday of the month, when their dinner is preceded by an appointment. Here, everything is the same: only his missing feet, his missing calves, are proof that things have changed. In other ways, he has reverted to the person he was decades before. He is self-conscious again. He is scared to be touched. Three years before Willem died he had finally been able to ask him to massage the cream into the scars on his back, and Willem had done so, and for a while, he had felt different, like a snake who had grown a new skin. But now, of course, there is no one to help him and the scars are once again tight and bulky, webbing his back in a series of elastic restraints.
所以他没有理由每星期都去安迪那看诊，但他还是去，因为他知道安迪很担心他会自杀，连他自己都很担心。每个星期五，他都去上城找安迪。这些星期五他大都只跟安迪约晚餐，只有每个月的第二个星期五例外，他们吃晚餐前会先看诊。一切都跟往常一样：只是他的脚不见了、小腿不见了，证明事情还是有所改变。在其他方面，他回复到了二十年前的老样子。他又变得很害羞，很怕被碰触。威廉死前三年，他总算提起勇气开口要威廉帮忙用药膏按摩他的背部，于是威廉开始帮他。有一阵子，他感觉不一样了，好像一条蛇开始长出新皮。但现在，当然没人帮他按摩，那些疤再度回复到了紧绷笨重的状态，像一条条缠在他背部的橡皮绳。
He knows now: People don’t change. He cannot change. Willem had thought himself transformed by the experience of helping him through his recovery; he had been surprised by his own reserves, by his own forebearance. But he—he and everyone else—had always known that Willem had possessed those characteristics already. Those months may have clarified Willem to himself, but the qualities he had discovered had been a surprise to nobody but Willem. And in the same way, his losing Willem has been clarifying as well. In his years with Willem, he had been able to convince himself that he was someone else, someone happier, someone freer and braver. But now Willem is gone, and he is again who he was twenty, thirty, forty years ago.
现在他明白了：人是不会变的。他无法改变。威廉一直以为自己因为协助他复原的经验而改变；他很惊讶自己能够如此克制、宽容。但他和其他人一直都知道，威廉本来就有这样的个性。那几个月可能让威廉自己也明白了，但他发现的特质对其他人而言并不意外，只有威廉自己感到惊讶。同样地，他也逐渐明白自己失去威廉了。和威廉在一起的那几年，他一直可以说服自己他是另一个人，一个比较快乐、比较自由、比较勇敢的人。但现在威廉走了，他再度回到二十年、三十年、四十年前的自己了。
