《渺小一生》:他其实不知道凯莱布会说什么

　 Caleb nodded, but continued pinching the bridge of his nose. He wouldn’t look at him. “Look,” he said at last, “I don’t think we should have dinner after all. You’re obviously not feeling well, and I’m tired. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

凯莱布点点头，但是继续捏着鼻梁，不肯看他。“听我说，”凯莱布最后终于说，“我想我们还是不要吃晚餐了。你显然不太舒服，我也累了，我得回去睡个觉才行。”

　 “Oh,” he said, dismayed. “That’s all right. I understand.”

“啊，”他说，很气馁，“没关系，我了解。”

　 “Okay, good,” said Caleb. “I’ll call you later.” He watched Caleb move down the street with his long strides until he disappeared around the corner, and then had gotten into his car and driven home and cut himself until he was bleeding so much that he couldn’t grip the razor properly.

“好吧，很好。”凯莱布说，“我再打电话给你。”他看着凯莱布迈着长长的步伐越走越远，直到转弯消失。然后他自己上车开回家，割自己割到流了好多血，直到抓不稳刮胡刀片了才停下来。

　 The next day was Friday, and he didn’t hear from Caleb at all. Well, he thought. That’s that. And it was fine: Caleb didn’t like the fact that he was in a wheelchair. Neither did he. He couldn’t resent Caleb for not being able to accept what he himself couldn’t accept.

次日是星期五，凯莱布没联络他。好吧，他心想，就这样了，也好：凯莱布不喜欢他坐轮椅的事实。他也不喜欢。他不能因为凯莱布不能接受这件事而怨恨他，因为连他自己都不能接受。

　 But then, on Saturday morning, Caleb called just as he was coming back upstairs from the pool. “I’m sorry about Thursday night,” Caleb said. “I know it must seem heartless and bizarre to you, this—aversion I have to your wheelchair.”

但星期六上午，凯莱布打电话给他。当时他刚去楼下游泳回来。“星期四晚上的事情很对不起。”凯莱布说，“我知道你一定觉得我无情又古怪，对你坐轮椅这么——这么反感。”

　 He sat down in one of the chairs around the dining-room table. “It doesn’t seem bizarre at all,” he said.

他坐在餐桌旁的椅子上：“其实一点也不古怪啊。”

　 “I told you my parents were sick for much of my adult life,” Caleb said. “My father had multiple sclerosis, and my mother—no one knew what she had. She got sick when I was in college and never got better. She had face pains, headaches: she was in a sort of constant low-grade discomfort, and although I don’t doubt it was real, what bothered me so much is that she never seemed to want to try to get better. She just gave up, as did he. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of their surrender to illness: first canes, then walkers, then wheelchairs, then scooters, and vials of pills and tissues and the perpetual scent of pain creams and gels and who knows what else.”

“我以前跟你提过，我父母亲在我成年后的大半时间里都在生病。”凯莱布说，“我父亲是多重硬化症，而我母亲——没人知道她得了什么病。我大学时代她生病了，从此没好过。她有脸痛、头痛，长期有各式各样的、不严重的不舒服。虽然我相信是真的，但让我非常困扰的是，她好像从来不想好转，她就是放弃了，我父亲也是。家里到处都是他们向疾病投降的证据：第一根拐杖，然后是助行器、轮椅，再来是电动车，还有各种药瓶、卫生纸、缓解疼痛的药膏气味，天晓得还有什么。”

　 He stopped. “I want to keep seeing you,” he said, at last. “But—but I can’t be around these accessories to weakness, to disease. I just can’t. I hate it. It embarrasses me. It makes me feel—not depressed, but furious, like I need to fight against it.” He paused again. “I just didn’t know that’s who you were when I met you,” he said at last. “I thought I could be okay with it. But I’m not sure I can. Can you understand that?”

凯莱布停下。“我想继续跟你交往，”最后他终于说，“但是，但是我没办法面对这些跟软弱、疾病有关的附加对象。我就是没办法。我讨厌这些。那会让我很不安，让我觉得——不是沮丧，而是狂怒，觉得自己必须奋力抵抗。”他又停了一下，“只是我当初认识你的时候，真的不知道你是这样。”末了他又说了，“我本来以为我可以接受，但现在不确定我做得到。你可以理解吗？”

　 He swallowed; he wanted to cry. But he could understand it; he felt exactly as Caleb did. “I can,” he said.

他咽下口水，很想哭，但他可以理解，他的感觉就跟凯莱布一模一样。“可以。”他说。

　 And yet improbably, they had continued after all. He is astonished, still, by the speed and thoroughness with which Caleb insinuated himself into his life. It was like something out of a fairy tale: a woman living on the edge of a dark forest hears a knock and opens the door of her cottage. And although it is just for a moment, and although she sees no one, in those seconds, dozens of demons and wraiths have slipped past her and into her house, and she will never be able to rid herself of them, ever. Sometimes this was how it felt. Was this the way it was for other people? He doesn’t know; he is too afraid to ask. He finds himself replaying old conversations he has had or overheard with people talking about their relationships, trying to gauge the normalcy of his against theirs, looking for clues about how he should conduct himself.

尽管不太可能，他们还是继续交往下去。凯莱布迅速而彻底地渗透到他的生活里，让他一直处于震惊状态。那就像童话故事的情节：一个住在黑暗森林边缘的女子听到敲门声，打开小屋的门。就算只是片刻，就算她没看到任何人，但就在那短短几秒钟，几十个恶魔和鬼魂就从她身旁溜过，进入屋内。从此她再也无法摆脱他们，永远被纠缠不放。有时他的感觉就是如此。其他人也是这样吗？他不知道，他害怕得不敢问人。他发现自己脑袋里面一直努力回想着自己跟朋友的谈话，或是偶尔偷听别人谈论他们的伴侣关系，设法衡量自己碰到的状况是否正常，寻找各种蛛丝马迹，以便判断自己该怎么做。

　 And then there is the sex, which is worse than he had imagined: he had forgotten just how painful it was, how debasing, how repulsive, how much he disliked it. He hates the postures, the positions it demands, each of them degrading because they leave him so helpless and weak; he hates the tastes of it and the smells of it. But mostly, he hates the sounds of it: the meaty smack of flesh hitting flesh, the wounded-animal moans and grunts, the things said to him that were perhaps meant to be arousing but he can only interpret as diminishing. Part of him, he realizes, had always thought it would be better as an adult, as if somehow the mere fact of age would transform the experience into something glorious and enjoyable. In college, in his twenties, in his thirties, he would listen to people talk about it with such pleasure, such delight, and he would think: That’s what you’re so excited about? Really? That’s not how I remember it at all. And yet he cannot be the one who’s correct, and everyone else—millennia of people—wrong. So clearly there is something he doesn’t understand about sex. Clearly he is doing something incorrectly.

然后是性爱的部分，结果比他想象的更糟糕：他都忘了那有多么痛苦、多么糟蹋人、多么讨厌，而自己又有多不喜欢。他讨厌那些姿势、那些体位，每一种都是屈辱，让他觉得自己很无助、很软弱；他讨厌那些滋味和气息；最严重的是，他痛恨性交的声音：那种肉类拍打的声音、受伤动物的呻吟和闷哼，这些状况或许应该让他兴奋起来，但他只觉得倒胃口。他领悟到，有一部分的他总以为成年后会比较好，仿佛光是年龄增加，就能把这类经验变成某种绝妙而令人愉快的事情。上大学时，二十来岁时，三十来岁时，他会倾听别人带着无比的欢欣和愉悦谈论性爱。他心想：那个居然让你们兴奋成这样？真的吗？我记得的根本不是这样。但是他也没办法纠正别人，说其他千千万万个人都是错的。所以显然性爱里有些东西他没搞懂，显然有些地方他做错了。

　 That first night they had come upstairs, he had known what Caleb had expected. “We have to go slowly,” he told him. “It’s been a long time.”

他们上楼的第一个夜晚，他就知道凯莱布期望什么。“我们得慢慢来。”他告诉他，“我已经很久没做了。”

　 Caleb looked at him in the dark; he hadn’t turned on the light. “How long?” he asked.

凯莱布在黑暗中望着他，他还没开灯。“多久？”他问。

　 “Long,” was all he could say.

“很久。”这是他唯一说得出口的。

　 And for a while, Caleb was patient. But then he wasn’t. There came a night in which Caleb tried to remove his clothes, and he had pulled out of his grasp. “I can’t,” he said. “Caleb—I can’t. I don’t want you to see what I look like.” It had taken everything he had to say this, and he was so scared he was cold.

于是有一阵子，凯莱布很有耐性。但接下来就没了。有天夜里，凯莱布还想脱掉他的衣服，他硬拉开他的手。“我没办法。”他说，“凯莱布……我没办法。我不想让你看到我的样子。”他鼓起所有勇气才说出这句话。他惊恐得全身发冷。

　 “Why?” Caleb had asked.

“为什么？”凯莱布问。

　 “I have scars,” he said. “On my back and legs, and on my arms. They’re bad; I don’t want you to see them.”

“我身上有疤。”他说，“在背上和两腿上，还有手臂。很难看，我不希望你看到。”

　 He hadn’t known, really, what Caleb would say. Would he say: I’m sure they’re not so bad? And then would he have to take his clothes off after all? Or would he say: Let’s see, and then he would take his clothes off, and Caleb would get up and leave? He saw Caleb hesitate.

他其实不知道凯莱布会说什么。他会说：我很确定没有那么糟糕？然后非得脱掉他的衣服不可？或者他会说：我们来看看，硬是脱掉他的衣服，然后站起来离开？他看到凯莱布犹豫着。

　 “You won’t like them,” he added. “They’re disgusting.”

“你不会喜欢的。”他又说，“真的很恶心。”

　 And that had seemed to decide something for Caleb. “Well,” he said, “I don’t need to see all of your body, right? Just the relevant parts.” And for that night, he had lain there, half dressed and half not, waiting for it to be over and more humiliated than if Caleb had demanded he take his clothes off after all.

这句话似乎帮凯莱布下了决定：“好吧。”他说，“我不必看到你身体的每个部分，对吧？重要部位就够了。”然后那一夜，他躺在床上，身上衣服半穿半脱，等着事情结束，同时想着万一凯莱布逼他脱光，那就更屈辱了。