《渺小一生》:“今年会做什么主菜？”

　 It was his opinion (shared by Julia) that Harold had a tendency to make Thanksgiving more complicated than it needed to be. Every year since he’d first been invited to Harold and Julia’s for the holiday, Harold promised him—usually in early November, when he was still full of enthusiasm for the project—that this year he was going to blow his mind by upending the lamest of American culinary traditions. Harold always began with big ambitions: their first Thanksgiving together, nine years ago, when he was in his second year of law school, Harold had announced he was going to make duck à l’orange, with kumquats standing in for the oranges.

他认为哈罗德总有把感恩节搞得太过复杂的倾向（朱丽娅也赞同）。自从他第一次受邀到他们家过感恩节起，每年哈罗德都跟他保证（通常在十一月初，此时他还对计划充满热忱），今年他要彻底翻转美国最逊的烹饪传统，让他大吃一惊。哈罗德一开始总是野心十足：九年前他们共度的第一个感恩节，也就是他读法学院的第二年时，哈罗德宣布他要做法式橙汁煎鸭，不过要用金桔来取代柳橙。

　 But when he arrived at Harold’s house with the walnut cake he’d baked the night before, Julia was standing alone in the doorway to greet him. “Don’t mention the duck,” she whispered as she kissed him hello. In the kitchen, a harassed-looking Harold was lifting a large turkey out of the oven.

但是他带着前一晚做的核桃蛋糕抵达哈罗德家时，只有朱丽娅来门口迎接他。“别提鸭子的事。”她低声说，然后亲吻他的脸颊来打招呼。厨房里，愁眉苦脸的哈罗德正把一只大火鸡从烤箱里拿出来。

　 “Don’t say a word,” Harold warned him.

“一个字都不准说。”哈罗德警告他。

　 “What would I say?” he asked.

“说什么？”他问。

　 This year, Harold asked how he felt about trout. “Trout stuffed with other stuff,” he added.

今年，哈罗德问他觉得鳟鱼怎么样。“在鳟鱼里塞其他馅料。”他补充。

　 “I like trout,” he’d answered, cautiously. “But you know, Harold, I actually like turkey.” They had a variation on this conversation every year, with Harold proposing various animals and proteins—steamed black-footed Chinese chicken, filet mignon, tofu with wood ear fungus, smoked whitefish salad on homemade rye—as turkey improvements.

“我喜欢鳟鱼。”他小心翼翼地回答，“但是你知道，哈罗德，我其实喜欢火鸡的。”他们每年的对话都大同小异，哈罗德会提议把各种肉类和蛋白质主菜作为火鸡的改良菜色，有蒸乌骨鸡、菲力牛排、豆腐木耳、熏白肉鱼自制黑麦沙拉。

　 “No one likes turkey, Jude,” Harold said, impatiently. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t insult me by pretending you do because you don’t think I’m actually capable of making anything else. We’re having trout, and that’s it. Also, can you make that cake you made last year? I think it’d go well with this wine I got. Just send me a list of what you need me to get.”

“裘德，没人喜欢火鸡啦。”哈罗德不耐烦地说，“我知道你想干吗。别假装你喜欢火鸡，因为你不认为我有本事做别的，那是侮辱我。我们要吃鳟鱼，就这样。另外，你可以做去年做的那种蛋糕吗？我觉得跟我准备的这种葡萄酒很搭。把你需要的材料开清单给我就是了。”

　 The perplexing thing, he always thought, was that in general, Harold wasn’t that interested in food (or wine). In fact, he had terrible taste, and was often taking him to restaurants that were overpriced yet mediocre, where Harold would happily devour dull plates of blackened meat and unimaginative sides of gloppy pasta. He and Julia (who also had little interest in food) discussed Harold’s strange fixation every year: Harold had numerous obsessions, some of them inexplicable, but this one seemed particularly so, and more so for its endurance.

他总想，最令人不解的是，大体上哈罗德对食物（或葡萄酒）不是那么有兴趣。他的品位其实很糟糕，常常带他去价钱很贵的二流餐厅，还开开心心地大吃烧黑的肉，吞下缺乏想象力、黏糊糊的意大利面。他和朱丽娅（同样对吃的兴趣不大）讨论过哈罗德每年感恩节这种奇怪的执迷：哈罗德迷过的东西很多，有些难以理解，但感恩节大餐尤其如此，能持续这么久更是诡异。

　 Willem thought that Harold’s Thanksgiving quest had begun partly as shtick, but over the years, it had morphed into something more serious, and now he was truly unable to stop himself, even as he knew he’d never succeed.

威廉觉得哈罗德会展开感恩节挑战，一开始有点为了耍宝，但经过这么多年，他变得更加认真，他现在真的停不下来了，即使知道自己从来不会成功。

　 “But you know,” Willem said, “it’s really all about you.”

“可是裘德，你知道，”威廉曾说，“这都是为了你。”

　 “What do you mean?” he’d asked.

“什么意思？”他问。

　 “It’s a performance for you,” Willem had said. “It’s his way of telling you he cares about you enough to try to impress you, without actually saying he cares about you.”

“他在表演给你看。”威廉说，“他用他的方式告诉你他很关心你，才会试着让你刮目相看，只是没有说出来而已。”

　 He’d dismissed this right away: “I don’t think so, Willem.” But sometimes, he pretended to himself that Willem might be right, feeling silly and a little pathetic because of how happy the thought made him.

他立刻摒弃这说法：“威廉，我不认为是这样。”有时，他会假设威廉说的可能有道理。这个想法让他乐坏了，觉得自己又傻气又有点可悲。

　 Willem was the only one coming to Thanksgiving this year: by the time he and JB had reconciled, JB had already made plans to go to his aunts’ with Malcolm; when he’d tried to cancel, they had apparently been so irked that he’d decided not to antagonize them further.

今年感恩节，威廉是唯一陪他去过节的朋友。因为等到他和杰比和好时，杰比已经说好要带马尔科姆去他阿姨家；他试着取消，但两个阿姨非常不高兴，他只得放弃反抗。

　 “What’s it going to be this year?” asked Willem. They were taking the train up on Wednesday, the night before Thanksgiving. “Elk? Venison? Turtle?”

“今年会做什么主菜？”威廉问。感恩节前夕的星期三，他们搭上北上的火车，“驼鹿肉？鹿肉？龟肉？”

　 “Trout,” he said.

“鳟鱼。”他说。

　 “Trout!” Willem replied. “Well, trout’s easy. We may actually end up with trout this year.”

“鳟鱼！”威廉回答，“唔，鳟鱼很简单。今年我们说不定真能吃到鳟鱼。”

　 “He said he was going to stuff it with something, though.”

“不过他说他打算塞一些馅料。”

　 “Oh. I take it back.”

“那收回刚刚讲的话。”

　 There were eight of them at dinner: Harold and Julia, Laurence and Gillian, Julia’s friend James and his boyfriend Carey, and he and Willem.

晚餐席上总共有八个人：哈罗德和朱丽娅夫妇、劳伦斯和吉莉安夫妇、朱丽娅的朋友詹姆斯和他的男友凯里，以及他和威廉。