《渺小一生》:“对，看起来就像科学怪人。

　 But despite these disappointments, things have also not been horrible with Caleb, either. He likes Caleb’s slow, thoughtful way of speaking, the way he talks about the designers he’s worked with, his understanding of color and his appreciation of art. He likes that he can discuss his work—about Malpractice and Bastard—and that Caleb will not only understand the challenges his cases present for him but will find them interesting as well. He likes how closely Caleb listens to his stories, and how his questions show how closely he’s been paying attention. He likes how Caleb admires Willem’s and Richard’s and Malcolm’s work, and lets him talk about them as much as he wants. He likes how, when he is leaving, Caleb will put his hands on either side of his face and hold them there for a moment in a sort of silent blessing. He likes Caleb’s solidity, his physical strength: he likes watching him move, likes how, like Willem, he is so easy in his own body. He likes how Caleb will sometimes in sleep sling an arm possessively across his chest. He likes waking with Caleb next to him. He likes how Caleb is slightly strange, how he carries a faint threat of danger: he is different from the people he has sought out his entire adult life, people he has determined will never hurt him, people defined by their kindnesses. When he is with Caleb, he feels simultaneously more and less human.

尽管有这些失望之处，跟凯莱布在一起也有种种不可怕的一面。他喜欢凯莱布用缓慢、深思的说话方式，谈起共事的时装设计师，谈起他对色彩的了解以及对艺术的欣赏。他喜欢可以跟他谈自己的工作这一点（有关“弊端加混蛋”），而且凯莱布不光了解那些案子的挑战，也觉得很有趣。他喜欢凯莱布专注地听他讲事情，提出的问题也显示了他有多么专注。他喜欢凯莱布欣赏威廉、理查德、马尔科姆的作品，而且和他尽情地谈起这些老友。他喜欢凯莱布离开时，总会用双手捧着他的脸，暂停一会儿，像是某种沉默的祝福。他喜欢凯莱布的结实，他身体的力量；他喜欢看他的动作；他就跟威廉一样，对自己的身体感到那么自在。他喜欢凯莱布睡觉时，偶尔会霸道地把一只手臂横到他的胸前。他喜欢在凯莱布身边醒来。他喜欢凯莱布有点奇怪、带着一种淡淡的危险与威胁：他完全不同于他成年后会挑选的那种人——那些他判定永远不会伤害他、非常善良的人。和凯莱布在一起时，他觉得更像个人，同时也更不像个人。

　 The first time Caleb hit him, he was both surprised and not. This was at the end of July, and he had gone over to Caleb’s at midnight, after leaving the office. He had used his wheelchair that day—lately, something had been going wrong with his feet; he didn’t know what it was, but he could barely feel them, and had the dislocating sense that he would topple over if he tried to walk—but at Caleb’s, he had left the chair in the car and had instead walked very slowly to the front door, lifting each foot unnaturally high as he went so he wouldn’t trip.

凯莱布第一次打他时，他惊讶也并不惊讶。那是七月底，他半夜12点左右离开办公室去凯莱布家。那天他用了轮椅（最近他两脚不太对劲，他不知道是怎么回事，但两只脚几乎都没了感觉，像脱臼似的，他一试着走路就会摔倒），但是到了凯莱布家，他把轮椅留在车上，缓慢地走向前门，每走一步都得把脚抬得异常的高，免得绊倒。

　 He knew from the moment he entered the apartment that he shouldn’t have come—he could see that Caleb was in a terrible mood and could feel how the very air was hot and stagnant with his anger. Caleb had finally moved into a building in the Flower District, but he hadn’t unpacked much, and he was edgy and tense, his teeth squeaking against themselves as he tightened his jaw. But he had brought food, and he moved his way slowly over to the counter to set it down, talking brightly to try to distract Caleb from his gait, trying, desperately, to make things better.

他一进公寓，就知道自己不该来。他看得出凯莱布心情很糟，感觉得到空气因为他的怒火变得闷热又污浊。之前，凯莱布终于搬到了花店区的一栋大楼，但是东西大半还没拆箱。此时他整个人烦躁又紧绷，牙齿磨得嘎吱响。他带了吃的去，于是缓缓地走到料理台放下来，故作轻松地讲话，想转移凯莱布的注意力，免得他注意到他的步态，绝望地试图让情势好转。

　 “Why are you walking like that?” Caleb interrupted him.

“你干吗那样走路？”凯莱布打断他。

　 He hated admitting to Caleb that something else was wrong with him; he couldn’t bring himself to do it once again. “Am I walking strangely?” he asked.

他真不愿意向凯莱布承认自己还有其他毛病，他无法再一次鼓起勇气了。“我这样走路很怪吗？”他问。

　 “Yeah—you look like Frankenstein’s monster.”

“对，看起来就像科学怪人。”

　 “I’m sorry,” he said. Leave, said the voice inside him. Leave now. “I wasn’t aware of it.”

“对不起，”他说，“我自己都没注意到。”离开，他心里的声音说，马上离开。

　 “Well, stop it. It looks ridiculous.”

“唔，别再那样走了，看起来很可笑。”

　 “All right,” he said, quietly, and spooned some curry into a bowl for Caleb. “Here,” he said, but as he was heading toward Caleb, trying to walk normally, he tripped, his right foot over his left, and dropped the bowl, the green curry splattering against the carpet.

“好吧。”他低声说，把咖喱舀到一个大碗里要给凯莱布。“来吧。”他说，但是他走向凯莱布时，因为想走得正常点，结果却绊了一下，右脚绊到左脚，碗掉了，绿咖喱泼溅在地毯上。

　 Later, he will remember how Caleb didn’t say anything, just whirled around and struck him with the back of his hand, and he had fallen back, his head bouncing against the carpeted floor. “Just get out of here, Jude,” he heard Caleb say, not even yelling, even before his vision returned. “Get out; I can’t look at you right now.” And so he had, bringing himself to his feet and walking his ridiculous monster’s walk out of the apartment, leaving Caleb to clean up the mess he had made.

稍后，他会想起凯莱布一言不发，冲过来反手给了他一耳光，打得他往后摔倒，后脑撞在铺了地毯的地板上。“快点滚出去，裘德。”他视力恢复之前就听到凯莱布说，甚至没有怒吼，“滚出去，我现在没办法看你。”于是他照做，努力站起身，走着可笑的科学怪人步伐离开那间公寓，让凯莱布清理他制造的混乱。

　 The next day his face began to turn colors, the area around his left eye shading into improbably lovely tones: violets and ambers and bottle greens. By the end of the week, when he went uptown for his appointment with Andy, his cheek was the color of moss, and his eye was swollen nearly shut, the upper lid a puffed, tender, shiny red.

次日他的脸开始变色，左眼周围出现一片奇异的优美色调：堇菜紫、琥珀褐和酒瓶绿。等到那个周末，他到上城跟安迪约诊时，脸颊已经转成了苔绿色，左眼肿得几乎睁不开，上唇是肿胀、柔软的亮红。

　 “Jesus Christ, Jude,” said Andy, when he saw him. “What the fuck happened to you?”

“老天啊，裘德，”安迪一看到他就说，“你他妈的出了什么事？”

　 “Wheelchair tennis,” he said, and even grinned, a grin he had practiced in the mirror the night before, his cheek twitching with pain. He had researched everything: where the matches were played, and how frequently, and how many people were in the club. He had made up a story, recited it to himself and to people at the office until it sounded natural, even comic: a forehand from the opposing player, who had played in college, he not turning quickly enough, the thwack the ball had made when it hit his face.

“轮椅网球赛。”他说，还咧嘴笑。他前一夜在镜子前练习过这个笑容，脸颊被扯得发痛。他已经做过功课：在哪里打球、多常打、有多少人参加。他编了一个故事，自己先练习，在办公室里也讲给其他人听，直到听起来很自然，甚至很滑稽：对方球员大学时代是名高手，一个正手拍轰过来，他转身不够快，球就砰一声打中了他的脸。

　 He told all this to Andy as Andy listened, shaking his head. “Well,” he said. “I’m glad you’re trying something new. But Christ, Jude. Is this such a good idea?”

他把这一切告诉安迪，安迪边听边摇头。“好吧，裘德，”他说，“我很高兴你尝试新的东西。不过老天，你觉得打网球是个好主意吗？”

　 “You’re the one who’s always telling me to stay off my feet,” he reminded Andy.

“你不是总叫我少用脚？”他提醒安迪。

　 “I know, I know,” said Andy. “But you have the pool; isn’t that enough? And at any rate, you should’ve come to me after this happened.”

“我知道，我知道。”安迪说，“可是你有那个游泳池，这样还不够吗？而且无论如何，你刚被打到的时候，就该来找我。”

　 “It’s just a bruise, Andy,” he said.

“安迪，这只是个瘀青。”他说。

　 “It’s a pretty fucking bad bruise, Jude. I mean, Jesus.”

“这瘀青他妈的很严重，裘德。我的意思是，天啊。”

　 “Well, anyway,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned, even a little defiant. “I need to talk to you about my feet.”

“好吧，总之，”他说，装出漫不经心的口气，甚至有点挑衅，“我得跟你谈谈我的脚。”

　 “Tell me.”

“说吧。”