《渺小一生》:裘德，就只剩我们两个了

　 Two years ago, when he was healing from his surgery and so tired, so tired that Willem had to lift him in and out of bed, he and Willem had been talking one morning. It must have been cold outside, because he remembers feeling warm and safe, and hearing himself say, “I wish I could just lie here forever.”

两年前，他正在截肢手术后的复原期，成天都很疲倦，上下床得靠威廉抱他。有天早上他和威廉在谈话，那时外头一定很冷，因为他记得当时自己觉得温暖而安全，不自觉地说：“真希望我可以永远躺在这里。”

　 “Then do,” Willem had said. (This was one of their regular exchanges: his alarm would sound and he would get up. “Don’t go,” Willem would always say. “Why do you need to get up anyway? Where are you always rushing off to?”)

“那就躺啊。”威廉说。（这是他们的例行对话之一：他那边的闹钟响了，他会起床。“别走。”威廉总是说，“你为什么要起来？你总是忙着出门去哪里啊？”）

　 “I can’t,” he said, smiling.

“我没办法。”他微笑着说。

　 “Listen,” Willem had said, “why don’t you just quit your job?”

“听我说，”威廉当时说，“你为什么不干脆辞职呢？”

　 He had laughed. “I can’t quit my job,” he said.

他大笑。“我不能辞职啦。”他说。

　 “Why not?” Willem had asked. “Besides total lack of intellectual stimulation and the prospect of having me as your sole company, give me one good reason.”

“为什么不行？”威廉问他，“除了缺乏知识的刺激，还有每天只有我一个人给你做伴，再给我一个好理由吧。”

　 He had smiled again. “Then there is no good reason,” he said. “Because I think I’d like having you as my sole company. But what would I do all day, as a kept man?”

他又微笑。“那就没有好理由了，”他说，“因为我想我愿意只有你做伴。这样的话，我成天要做什么？当你包养的小白脸？”

　 “Cook,” Willem said. “Read. Play the piano. Volunteer. Travel around with me. Listen to me complain about other actors I hate. Get facials. Sing to me. Feed me a constant stream of approbations.”

“做菜。”威廉说，“阅读。弹钢琴。当义工。跟我一起去拍片。听我抱怨其他我讨厌的演员。保养脸部。唱歌给我听。成天不断附和我。”

　 He had laughed, and Willem had laughed with him. But now he thinks: Why didn’t I quit? Why did I let Willem go away from me for all those months, for all those years, when I could have been traveling with him? Why have I spent more hours at Rosen Pritchard than I spent with Willem? But now the choice has been made for him, and Rosen Pritchard is all he has.

他当时又大笑起来，威廉也跟着一起笑。但现在他心想：为什么当时我没有辞职？为什么这些年来，我要让威廉离开我那么多个月，而我明明可以陪他一起去拍戏的？为什么我花在罗森·普理查德的时间比花在威廉身上的还要多？但现在他没得选择了，他唯一有的只剩罗森·普理查德了。

　 Then he thinks: Why did I never give Willem what I should have? Why did I make him go elsewhere for sex? Why couldn’t I have been braver? Why couldn’t I have done my duty? Why did he stay with me anyway?

然后他心想：为什么我从来不给威廉我该给的？为什么我要他去找别人上床？为什么我不能更勇敢一点？为什么我不能尽我的责任？为什么他无论如何还是要跟我在一起？

　 He goes back to Greene Street to shower and sleep for a few hours; he will return to the office that afternoon. As he rides home, his eyes lowered against the Life After Death posters, he looks at his messages: Andy, Richard, Harold, Black Henry Young.

他打算回格林街冲个澡，睡上几小时，下午再回办公室。开车回家的路上，他的目光一路躲着《死后的生活》的海报，另外也查了他收到的信息，分别是安迪、理查德、哈罗德、黑亨利·杨发的。

　 The last message is from JB, who calls or texts him at least twice a week. He does not know why, but he cannot tolerate seeing JB. He in fact hates him, hates him more purely than he has hated anyone in a long time. He is fully aware of how irrational this is. He is fully aware that JB is not to blame, not in the slightest. The hatred makes no sense. JB wasn’t even in the car that day; in no way, even in the most deformed logic, does he bear any responsibility. And yet the first time he saw JB in his conscious state, he heard a voice in his head say, clearly and calmly, It should have been you, JB. He didn’t say it, but his face must have betrayed something, because JB had been stepping forward to hug him when suddenly, he stopped. He has seen JB only twice since then, both times in Richard’s company, and both times, he has had to keep himself from saying something malignant, something unforgivable. And still JB calls him, and always leaves messages, and his messages are always the same: “Hey Judy, it’s me. I’m just checking in on you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I’d like to see you. Okay. Love you. Bye.” And as he always does, he will write back to JB the same message: “Hi JB, thanks for your message. I’m sorry I’ve been so out of touch; it’s been really busy at work. I’ll talk to you soon. Love, J.” But despite this message, he has no intention of talking to JB, perhaps not ever again. There is something very wrong with this world, he thinks, a world in which of the four of them—him, JB, Willem, and Malcolm—the two best people, the two kindest and most thoughtful, have died, and the two poorer examples of humanity have survived. At least JB is talented; he deserves to live. But he can think of no reason why he might.

最后一则讯息是杰比发的。杰比每星期至少会打电话或发短信给他两次。他不知道为什么，但他受不了看到杰比。事实上他痛恨看到他，他好久没对任何人有过那种绝对的恨意了。他完全知道这有多么不理性。他完全知道不能怪杰比，一丁点都不能。他的恨意毫无道理。那天杰比根本就不在车上；无论是怎么扭曲的逻辑，事故的责任半点都不能算在杰比的头上。然而，他回到清醒状态后第一次看到杰比，脑袋里就听到一个声音冷静、清晰地跟他说，应该是你的，杰比。他没说出来，但他的脸一定泄漏了什么，因为杰比本来走上前来要拥抱他，却忽然停下。此后他只见过杰比两次，两次都有理查德在场，而且两次他都得忍着不要说出什么恶毒、不可原谅的话。但杰比还是继续打电话给他，总是会留话，而且内容都一样：“嘿，小裘，是我。我只是打电话来看你是不是还好。我常常想到你，很想跟你碰个面。好吧。爱你，再见。”而他一如往常，会写同样的短信回复杰比：“嗨，杰比，谢谢你的留言。很抱歉最近都没接电话；工作太忙了。再联络。爱你的裘德。”写是这样写，其实他并不打算跟杰比谈话，或许永远都不会了。这个世界实在错得太离谱了，他心想，他、杰比、威廉、马尔科姆四个人里头，其中最好的两个人，最善良、最体贴的两个人，死了；另外两个性格比较差的却还活着。至少杰比还有才华，应该要活着。但他想不出任何理由让自己幸存下来。

　 “We’re all we have left, Jude,” JB had said to him at some point, “at least we have each other,” and he had thought, in another of those statements that leapt quickly to mind but that he successfully prevented himself from voicing: I would trade you for him. He would have traded any of them for Willem. JB, instantly. Richard and Andy—poor Richard and Andy, who did everything for him!—instantly. Julia, even. Harold. He would have exchanged any of them, all of them, to have Willem back. He thinks of Hades, with his shiny Italian brawn, swooning E. around the underworld. I have a proposition for you, he says to Hades. Five souls for one. How can you refuse?

“裘德，就只剩我们两个了。”中间有一度杰比跟他说，“至少我们还有彼此。”而他心里立刻冒出种种想法，只是设法不要说出来：我愿意拿你换他回来。他会愿意拿任何人换威廉。杰比，他毫不犹豫。理查德和安迪（可怜的理查德和安迪，他们为他做了一切！），他也毫不犹豫。甚至朱丽娅，甚至哈罗德。他愿意拿任何一个人，拿所有的人，去换威廉回来。他想到冥界之神哈迪斯，一身发亮的意大利人肌肉，在阴间被欧律狄刻迷得神魂颠倒。我想跟你做个交易，他对哈迪斯说。五个人换一个。你怎么有办法拒绝？

　 One Sunday in April he is sleeping when he hears a banging, loud and insistent, and he wakes, groggily, and then turns onto his side, holding the pillow over his head and keeping his eyes closed, and eventually the banging stops. So when he feels someone touch him, gently, on his arm, he shouts and flops over and sees it is Richard, sitting next to him.

四月的一个星期天，他正在睡觉，忽然听到敲门声，响亮又坚决。他迷迷糊糊醒来，翻身抱着枕头盖住头，不肯睁开眼睛，最后敲门声停止了。所以当他感觉有人轻轻碰他的手臂时，他大叫着翻过身来。原来是理查德，坐在他旁边。

　 “I’m sorry, Jude,” says Richard. And then, “Have you been sleeping all day?”

“对不起，裘德，”理查德问，“你睡了一整天吗？”

　 He swallows, sits up halfway. On Sundays he keeps all the shades lowered, all the curtains drawn; he can never tell, really, whether it is night or day. “Yes,” he says. “I’m tired.”

他咽下口水，半坐起身。星期天他会把所有遮光帘拉下、把所有窗帘拉上；所以他搞不太清楚现在是白天还是晚上。“是的，”他说，“我很累。”

　 “Well,” says Richard after a silence. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. But you weren’t answering your phone, and I wanted you to come downstairs and have dinner with me.”

“唔，”理查德沉默了一会儿，说，“很抱歉这样闯进来。不过你没接电话，我想找你到楼下跟我一起吃晚餐。”

　 “Oh, Richard, I don’t know,” he says, trying to think of an excuse. Richard is right: he turns off his phone, all phones, for his Sunday cocooning, so nothing will interrupt his slumber, his attempts to find Willem in his dreams. “I’m not feeling that great. I’m not going to be good company.”

“啊，理查德，我不知道，”他说，设法找借口推辞。理查德说得没错：每个星期天在家里睡一整天时，他都会关掉手机和所有的电话，免得有人打扰他去梦中找威廉，“我不太舒服，不会是个好同伴。”

　 “I’m not expecting entertainment, Jude,” Richard says, and smiles at him a bit. “Come on. You have to eat something. It’s just going to be you and me; India’s upstate at her friend’s this weekend.”

“裘德，我不期待有人娱乐我，”理查德说，然后朝他微微一笑，“来吧，你得吃点东西。只有你跟我两个人；印蒂亚这个周末去纽约州北边的朋友家了。”

　 They are both quiet for a long time. He looks about the room, his messy bed. The air smells close, of sandalwood and steam heat from the radiator. “Come on, Jude,” Richard says, in a low voice. “Come have dinner with me.”

两个人都沉默许久。他看着房间，看着他乱糟糟的床。空气很闷，有檀香和散热器发出的蒸汽味。“来吧，裘德，”理查德低声说，“来陪我吃晚餐吧。”