《渺小一生》:“嘿！你知道，我嘴巴里有针。”

　 “My god, Harold, how many shirts did you buy?” he asked. Harold had an unvarying wardrobe of blue shirts, white shirts, brown corduroys (for winter), linen pants (for spring and summer), and sweaters in various shades of greens and blues.

“老天，哈罗德，你到底买了多少衬衫？”他问。哈罗德的服装很固定，蓝衬衫、白衬衫、褐色灯芯绒长裤（冬天穿）、亚麻长裤（春天和夏天穿），还有各种绿色和蓝色的毛衣。

　 “Quiet, you,” said Harold.

“少啰唆。”哈罗德说。

　 Inside, Harold went off to find a salesperson, and he waited, running his fingers over the ties in their display cases, rolled and shiny as pastries. Malcolm had given him two of his old cotton suits, which he’d had tailored and had worn throughout both of his summer internships, but he’d had to borrow his roommate’s suit for the Sullivan interview, and he had tried to move carefully in it the entire time it was his, aware of its largeness and the fineness of its wool.

进了店里，哈罗德去找一名店员，他则等着，手指抚过装在陈列盒里的那些领带，一条条卷起来发着亮光，像甜点似的。马尔科姆把自己的两套棉料旧西装给了他，他改过之后，撑过了这两年夏天的实习。但是他去沙利文法官的面试时，就只好跟室友借西装了，而且穿上后，他从头到尾都小心翼翼的，感觉西装太大，毛料还非常精致。

　 Then “That’s him,” he heard Harold say, and when he turned, Harold was standing with a small man who had a measuring tape draped around his neck like a snake. “He’ll need two suits—a dark gray and a navy—and let’s get him a dozen shirts, a few sweaters, some ties, socks, shoes: he doesn’t have anything.” To him he nodded and said, “This is Marco. I’ll be back in a couple of hours or so.”

这时，他听到哈罗德说：“就是他。”于是他转身，看到哈罗德身旁站着一个小个子男人，一条皮尺像蛇似的挂在脖子上。“他需要两套西装：一套暗灰色、一套海军蓝，另外给他一打衬衫，两三件毛衣、几条领带、袜子、鞋子，他什么都没有。”然后对着他点头说，“这位是马可，我过两个小时再回来。”

　 “Wait,” he said. “Harold. What are you doing?”

“等一下，”他说，“哈罗德，你这是干什么？”

　 “Jude,” said Harold, “you need something to wear. I’m hardly an expert on this front, but you can’t show up to Sullivan’s chambers wearing what you’re wearing.”

“裘德，”哈罗德说，“你需要一点像样的衣服。我不是这方面的专家，但是你不能穿这身衣服去沙利文那里工作。”

　 He was embarrassed: by his clothes, by his inadequacy, by Harold’s generosity. “I know,” he said. “But I can’t accept this, Harold.”

他很尴尬，因为他的衣服，因为他的贫穷，也因为哈罗德的慷慨。“我知道，”他说，“但是哈罗德，我不能接受这个。”

　 He would’ve continued, but Harold stepped between him and Marco and turned him away. “Jude,” he said, “accept this. You’ve earned it. What’s more, you need it. I’m not going to have you humiliating me in front of Sullivan. Besides, I’ve already paid for it, and I’m not getting my money back. Right, Marco?” he called behind him.

他还要说下去，但哈罗德走到他和马可中间，拉着他转身。“裘德，”他说，“接受吧，这是你努力工作赢得的。而且你非接受不可，我才不会让你在沙利文面前丢我的脸。何况，我已经付钱了，不能退款。对吧，马可？”他回头问。

　 “Right,” said Marco, immediately.

“对啊。”马可立刻说。

　 “Oh, leave it, Jude,” Harold said, when he saw him about to speak. “I’ve got to go.” And he marched out without looking back.

“啊，裘德，别争了。”哈罗德说，看到他又要开口，“我得离开了。”然后就大步走出去，没再回头。

　 And so he found himself standing before the triple-leafed mirror, watching the reflection of Marco busying about his ankles, but when Marco reached up his leg to measure the inseam, he flinched, reflexively. “Easy, easy,” Marco said, as if he were a nervous horse, and patted his thigh, also as if he were a horse, and when he gave another involuntary half kick as Marco did the other leg, “Hey! I have pins in my mouth, you know.”

于是，他发现自己站在一道三面式镜子前，看着镜中的马可忙着量他的脚踝。当马可的手往上要量胯下到裤脚的内接缝长度时，他反射性地往后缩。“放心，放心。”马可说，好像他是一只紧张的马，然后拍拍他的大腿，也像在对待一只马。当马可量另一条腿时，他又不自觉地半踢了一下。“嘿！你知道，我嘴巴里有针。”

　 “I’m sorry,” he said, and held himself still.

“对不起。”他说，留意着不敢再动。

　 When Marco was finished, he looked at himself in his new suit: here was such anonymity, such protection. Even if someone were to accidentally graze his back, he was wearing enough layers so that they’d never be able to feel the ridges of scars beneath. Everything was covered, everything was hidden. If he was standing still, he could be anyone, someone blank and invisible.

马可完成后，他看着镜中穿着新西装的自己：这样的无特色、这样的受保护。就算某个人意外轻擦过他的背部，他也穿得够厚，对方绝不会感觉到他衣服底下隆起的疤痕。一切都盖住了，一切都藏好了。如果他站着不动，就可以成为任何人，成为某个空白而隐形的人。

　 “I think maybe half an inch more,” Marco said, pinching the back of the jacket in around the waist. He swatted some threads off his sleeve. “Now all you need’s a good haircut.”

“我想或许再收个半英寸。”马可说，捏起西装外套背后的腰部，又拍掉袖子上的一些线头，“现在你唯一需要的，就是好好剪个头发。”

　 He found Harold waiting for him in the tie area, reading a magazine. “Are you done?” he asked, as if the entire trip had been his idea and Harold had been the one indulging his whimsy.

他发现哈罗德在领带区等候，正在阅读一本杂志。“弄完了？”他问，仿佛来西装店是他的主意，哈罗德只是配合的人。

　 Over their early dinner, he tried to thank Harold again, but every time he tried, Harold stopped him with increasing impatience. “Has anyone ever told you that sometimes you just need to accept things, Jude?” he finally asked.

那天他们提早一起吃晚餐。他设法再感谢哈罗德，但每回他开口，哈罗德就阻止他，而且愈加不耐烦。“裘德，有人跟你说过，有时你只要接受就好了吗？”他最后终于问。

　 “You said to never just accept anything,” he reminded Harold.

“你说过绝对不要凭空接受任何东西。”他提醒哈罗德。

　 “That’s in the classroom and in the courtroom,” Harold said. “Not in life. You see, Jude, in life, sometimes nice things happen to good people. You don’t need to worry—they don’t happen as often as they should. But when they do, it’s up to the good people to just say ‘thank you,’ and move on, and maybe consider that the person who’s doing the nice thing gets a bang out of it as well, and really isn’t in the mood to hear all the reasons that the person for whom he’s done the nice thing doesn’t think he deserves it or isn’t worthy of it.”

“那是在课堂上和法庭里，”哈罗德说，“不是在生活中。你知道，裘德，在生活中，有时好人会碰上好事。你不必担心，因为发生的概率其实不够高。不过一旦发生了，好人只要说声‘谢谢’，就过去了。或许这么想吧，做好事的人也会从中得到满足感，真的没兴趣听对方讲一堆理由，说自己不配或不值得。”

　 He shut up then, and after dinner he let Harold drive him back to his apartment on Hereford Street. “Besides,” Harold said as he was getting out of the car, “you looked really, really nice. You’re a great-looking kid; I hope someone’s told you that before.” And then, before he could protest, “Acceptance, Jude.”

因此他就闭嘴了。晚餐后，他让哈罗德开车送他回赫里福德街的公寓。“何况，”他下车时，哈罗德说，“你穿新衣服真的很体面。你是个很帅的小伙子，希望有人这样告诉过你。”他还来不及抗议，哈罗德又说了，“接受吧，裘德。”

　 So he swallowed what he was going to say. “Thank you, Harold. For everything.”

于是他咽下他本来要说的。“谢了，哈罗德，谢谢你所做的一切。”