《渺小一生》:“唱一首给我听听吧。”

　 Harold snorted. “Trust me,” he said. “You are.”

哈罗德嗤之以鼻，“相信我，”他说，“你够。”

　 But when he went to Washington for his interview the following year, Sullivan had talked about the law—and political philosophy—with much less vigor and specificity than he had anticipated. “I hear that you sing,” Sullivan said instead after an hour of conversation about what he had studied (the judge had attended the same law school), and his position as the articles editor on the law review (the same position the judge himself had held), and his thoughts on recent cases.

但是次年，当他去华盛顿跟法官面谈时，沙利文谈起法律和政治学，却远远不如他预料的那么热心或明确。法官一开始问了有关他的求学过程（法官也读同一所法学院）、他在法学评论学报担任的论文编辑的职位（法官也担任过同样的职位）的问题，还有他对最近几个案子的看法。大约一小时后，沙利文说：“我听说你爱唱歌。”

　 “I do,” he replied, wondering how the judge had learned that. Singing was his comfort, but he rarely did it in front of others. Had he been singing in Harold’s office and been overheard? Or sometimes he sang in the law library, when he was re-shelving books late at night and the space was as quiet and still as a church—had someone overheard him there?

“是的。”他回答，很纳闷法官怎么会知道。唱歌带给他安慰，但他很少在别人面前唱。是他在哈罗德办公室唱的时候被别人听到了吗？他在法学院图书馆打工，夜里将书重新上架时，就会在静寂如教堂的空间里唱起来——当时有人听到了？

　 “Sing me something,” said the judge.

“唱一首给我听听吧。”法官说。

　 “What would you like to hear, sir?” he asked. Normally, he would have been much more nervous, but he had heard that the judge would make him do a performance of some sort (legend had it that he’d made a previous applicant juggle), and Sullivan was a known opera lover.

“您想听什么，法官？”他问。通常状况下他会很紧张，但之前他已经听说这位法官会要他表演特殊才艺（传说他还曾逼一名申请者表演抛接杂耍），而且沙利文是出了名的歌剧爱好者。

　 The judge put his fat fingers to his fat lips and thought. “Hmm,” he said. “Sing me something that tells me something about you.”

法官的胖手指放在胖嘴唇上，思索着。“嗯。”他说，“唱一首能代表你这个人的歌吧。”

　 He thought, and then sang. He was surprised to hear what he chose—Mahler’s “Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen”—both because he didn’t even really like Mahler that much and because the lied was a difficult one to perform, slow and mournful and subtle and not meant for a tenor. And yet he liked the poem itself, which his voice teacher in college had dismissed as “second-rate romanticism,” but which he had always thought suffered unfairly from a poor translation. The standard interpretation of the first line was “I am lost to the world,” but he read it as “I have become lost to the world,” which, he believed, was less self-pitying, less melodramatic, and more resigned, more confused. I have become lost to the world / In which I otherwise wasted so much time. The lied was about the life of an artist, which he was definitely not. But he understood, primally almost, the concept of losing, of loosing oneself from the world, of disappearing into a different place, one of retreat and safety, of the twinned yearnings of escape and discovery. It means nothing to me / Whether the world believes me dead / I can hardly say anything to refute it / For truly, I am no longer a part of the world.

他想了想，然后开始唱。他有点惊讶自己选了马勒的《我已被世界遗弃》（Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen），因为他不是那么喜欢马勒，而且这首德语独唱曲并不好唱，缓慢、悲伤又微妙，不适合男高音。不过他喜欢歌词，他大学的声乐老师曾不屑地说那歌词是“二流的浪漫主义”，但他一直觉得是翻译不好的关系。一般把歌词的第一句翻译为“我已被世界遗弃”，但他认为应该是“我逐渐被世界遗弃”，他相信这样比较没那么自艾自怜、没那么感伤，也比较认命、困惑一点。我逐渐被世界遗弃／我已在其中浪费了太多光阴。这首独唱曲是关于一个艺术家的人生，他当然不是艺术家。但他几乎是出于本能地了解迷失，以及被世界遗弃的概念，也了解消失后会进入另一个隐秘又安全的地方，了解那种逃避和被发现的双重渴望。这世界是否相信我已死去／对我了无意义／我难以出言辩驳／因为我的确再也不属于这世界。

　 When he finished, he opened his eyes to the judge clapping and laughing. “Bravo,” he said. “Bravo! But I think you might be in the wrong profession altogether, you know.” He laughed again. “Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

等到他唱完睁开眼睛，法官拍手大笑。“唱得太好了，”他说，“太好了！你知道吗，我想你根本选错行了。”他又笑，“你是在哪里学唱歌的？”

　 “The brothers, sir,” he’d replied.

“跟修士们学的，法官。”他回答。

　 “Ah, a Catholic boy?” asked the judge, sitting up fatly in his chair and looking ready to be pleased.

“啊，你是天主教徒？”法官问，胖胖的身躯在椅子里坐直了，看起来很容易开心的样子。

　 “I was raised Catholic,” he began.

“我小时候是。”他说。

　 “But you’re not now?” the judge asked, frowning.

“但现在不是了？”法官问，皱起眉头。

　 “No,” he said. He had worked for years to keep the apology out of his voice when he said this.

“不是了。”他说。他已经努力了好几年，让自己在说这件事时不带着歉意的口吻。

　 Sullivan made a noncommittal grunting noise. “Well, whatever they gave you should have offered at least some sort of protection against whatever Harold Stein’s been filling your head with for the past few years,” he said. He looked at his résumé. “You’re his research assistant?”

沙利文发出一个态度不明的咕哝声：“好吧，不管他们给了你什么，至少提供了某种保护，好对抗哈罗德·斯坦过去几年塞在你脑袋里的那些玩意儿。”他看着他的履历，“你是他的研究助理？”

　 “Yes,” he said. “For more than two years.”

“是的，”他说，“两年多了。”

　 “A good mind, wasted,” Sullivan declared (it was unclear whether he meant his or Harold’s). “Thanks for coming down, we’ll be in touch. And thanks for the lied; you have one of the most beautiful tenors I’ve heard in a long time. Are you sure you’re in the right field?” At this, he smiled, the last time he would ever see Sullivan smile with such pleasure and sincerity.

“一个美好的心灵，就这么糟蹋掉了。”沙利文说（但是没讲清楚是他的心灵，还是哈罗德的），“谢谢你赶来，我们会再跟你联络。另外谢谢你那首独唱曲，我好久没听到过这么美的男高音了。你确定你没入错行？”说到这里，他露出微笑，那是他最后一次看到沙利文这么开心而诚挚的微笑。

　 Back in Cambridge, he told Harold about his meeting (“You sing?” Harold asked him, as if he’d just told him he flew), but that he was certain he wouldn’t get the clerkship. A week later, Sullivan called: the job was his. He was surprised, but Harold wasn’t. “I told you so,” he said.

回到剑桥市，他告诉哈罗德这次面试的过程（“你爱唱歌？”哈罗德问他，好像他刚刚跟他说自己会飞似的），又说他很确定他应征不上。一星期后，沙利文打电话来：他被录用了。他很惊讶，但哈罗德并不惊讶。“我早就告诉你了。”他说。

　 The next day, he went to Harold’s office as usual, but Harold had his coat on. “Normal work is suspended today,” he announced. “I need you to run some errands with me.” This was unusual, but Harold was unusual. At the curb, he held out the keys: “Do you want to drive?”

次日，他如常去哈罗德的办公室上班，但哈罗德穿上大衣。“正常工作今天先暂停。”他宣布，“我要你陪我去办点小事。”这很不寻常，但哈罗德这个人本来就不太寻常。来到人行道边缘，他递出车钥匙。“你想开车吗？”

　 “Sure,” he said, and went to the driver’s side. This was the car he’d learned to drive in, just a year ago, while Harold sat next to him, far more patient outside the classroom than he was in it. “Good,” he’d said. “Let go of the clutch a little more–good. Good, Jude, good.”

“好啊。”他说，然后走到驾驶座那一边。一年前，他就是用这辆车学会开车的。当时哈罗德坐在旁边教他，他在教室外远比在教室里有耐心。“很好，”他会说，“离合器再稍微放松一点点。很好，很好，裘德，很好。”

　 Harold had to pick up some shirts he’d had altered, and they drove to the small, expensive men’s store on the edge of the square where Willem had worked his senior year. “Come in with me,” Harold instructed him, “I’m going to need some help carrying these out.”

哈罗德说他得去拿一些他送去改的衬衫，然后他们开车到广场边那家小小的、昂贵的男装店，威廉大四时在那打过工。“跟我进去吧。”哈罗德跟他说，“我需要你帮我搬出来。”