《渺小一生》:他不知道自己有什么想法。

　 “You, of course,” said Harold. “You and your big-pharma spoils.”

“当然是你啊。”哈罗德说，“你和你从那些大药厂赚来的钱。”

　 But now he worries that this won’t happen after all. Don’t leave me, Harold, he thinks, but it is a dull, spiritless request, one he doesn’t expect will be answered, made more from rote than from real hope. Don’t leave me.

但现在他担心这样的状况不会发生了。别离开我，哈罗德，他心想，但这是个迟钝、冷淡的请求，不期待有回应，只是习惯性地讲一声，并不是真正抱着期望。别离开我。

　 “You’re not saying anything,” Harold says now, and he refocuses himself.

“你都不说话。”哈罗德这会儿说。他重新打起精神。

　 “I’m sorry, Harold,” he says. “I was drifting a little.”

“对不起，哈罗德。”他说，“我有点恍神了。”

　 “I can see that,” Harold says. “I was saying: Julia and I were thinking of spending some more time here, in the city, of living uptown full-time.”

“看得出来。”哈罗德说，“我刚刚在说：朱丽娅和我考虑要多花点时间在这里，住在上城的那间公寓。”

　 He blinks. “You mean, moving here?”

他眨眨眼：“你的意思是搬来这里？”

　 “Well, we’ll keep the place in Cambridge,” Harold says, “but yes. I’m considering teaching a seminar at Columbia next fall, and we like spending time here.” He looks at him. “We thought it’d be nice to be closer to you, too.”

“唔，剑桥市那边的房子还是会留着。”哈罗德说，“不过没错，我考虑秋天在哥伦比亚大学开一门专题研讨课，我们喜欢纽约。”他看着他，“而且我们也想住得离你近一点。”

　 He isn’t sure what he thinks about this. “But what about your lives up there?” he asks. He is discomfited by this news; Harold and Julia love Cambridge—he has never thought they would leave. “What about Laurence and Gillian?”

他不知道自己有什么想法。“但你在那边的生活呢？”他问。他被这个消息弄得很困惑，哈罗德和朱丽娅很爱剑桥市，他从没想过他们会离开，“那劳伦斯和吉莉安呢？”

　 “Laurence and Gillian are always coming through the city; so is everyone else.” Harold studies him again. “You don’t seem very happy about this, Jude.”

“劳伦斯和吉莉安常常来纽约，其他人也是。”哈罗德又打量着他，“裘德，你听到这个消息，好像不太高兴。”

　 “I’m sorry,” he says, looking down. “But I just hope you’re not moving here because—because of me.” There’s a silence. “I don’t mean to sound presumptuous,” he says, finally. “But if it is because of me, then you shouldn’t, Harold. I’m fine. I’m doing fine.”

“对不起，”他说，低头看着，“我只是希望你们不要——不要因为我而搬来这里。”两人沉默了一下。“我不想太自以为是，”他终于说，“但如果真的是因为我，那哈罗德，你们就不该搬家。我很好。我过得很好。”

　 “Are you, Jude?” Harold asks, very quietly, and he suddenly stands, quickly, and goes to the bathroom near the kitchen, where he sits on the toilet seat and puts his face in his hands. He can hear Harold waiting on the other side of the door, but he says nothing, and neither does Harold. Finally, minutes later, when he’s able to compose himself, he opens the door again, and the two of them look at each other.

“是吗，裘德？”哈罗德问，非常小声。他忽然站起来，走到厨房旁的浴室里，坐在马桶座上，脸埋进双手里。他听到哈罗德在门外等着，但他什么话都没说，哈罗德也没说。几分钟后，他终于镇定下来，把门打开，两个人看着彼此。

　 “I’m fifty-one,” he tells Harold.

“我51岁了。”他告诉哈罗德。

　 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Harold asks.

“这表示什么？”哈罗德问。

　 “It means I can take care of myself,” he says. “It means I don’t need anyone to help me.”

“这表示我可以照顾自己，”他说，“表示我不需要任何人帮我。”

　 Harold sighs. “Jude,” he says, “there’s not an expiration date on needing help, or needing people. You don’t get to a certain age and it stops.” They’re quiet again. “You’re so thin,” Harold continues, and when he doesn’t say anything, “What does Andy say?”

哈罗德叹气。“裘德。”他说，“需要帮助，或是需要他人，是没有截止期限的。你不会到了某个特定的年龄就停止需要。”他们又沉默了一会儿。“你好瘦。”哈罗德接着说，看他没吭声，便问，“安迪怎么说？”

　 “I can’t keep having this conversation,” he says at last, his voice scraped and hoarse. “I can’t, Harold. And you can’t, either. I feel like all I do is disappoint you, and I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry for all of it. But I’m really trying. I’m doing the best I can. I’m sorry if it’s not good enough.” Harold tries to interject, but he talks over him. “This is who I am. This is it, Harold. I’m sorry I’m such a problem for you. I’m sorry I’m ruining your retirement. I’m sorry I’m not happier. I’m sorry I’m not over Willem. I’m sorry I have a job you don’t respect. I’m sorry I’m such a nothing of a person.” He no longer knows what he’s saying; he no longer knows how he feels: he wants to cut himself, to disappear, to lie down and never get up again, to hurl himself into space. He hates himself; he pities himself; he hates himself for pitying himself. “I think you should go,” he says. “I think you should leave.”

“我没办法继续跟你谈这些。”他最后终于说，声音刺耳又沙哑，“我没办法，哈罗德。你也没办法。我觉得自己好像只会让你失望，我很抱歉，我对这一切都很抱歉。但我真的在尝试。我在尽我最大的努力。如果我做得还不够好，那很抱歉。”哈罗德想插嘴，但他大声压过去，“我就是这个样子。没什么好说的，哈罗德。我很抱歉我对你是这么大的问题。我很抱歉我破坏了你的退休生活。我很抱歉自己没有更快乐一点。我很抱歉我没办法把威廉抛开。我很抱歉我的工作无法让你尊敬。我很抱歉我是个这么没用的人。”说到最后，他根本不知道自己在讲什么，也不知道自己有什么感觉：他想割自己，想消失，想躺下来再也不要起身，想往空中跳下。他恨自己，也可怜自己。他因为可怜自己而恨自己。“我想你该走了。”他说，“我想你该离开了。”

　 “Jude,” Harold says.

“裘德。”哈罗德说。

　 “Please go,” he says. “Please. I’m tired. I need to be left alone. Please leave me alone.” And he turns from Harold and stands, waiting, until he hears Harold walk away from him.

“请你走吧，”他说，“拜托。我累了。我想自己静一静。拜托让我一个人清静一下。”他转身背对哈罗德站在那里，等着，直到他听见哈罗德的脚步声远去。

　 After Harold leaves, he takes the elevator to the roof. Here there is a stone wall, chest-high, that lines the perimeter of the building, and he leans against it, swallowing the cool air, placing his palms flat against the top of the wall to try to stop them from shaking. He thinks of Willem, of how he and Willem used to stand on this roof at night, not saying anything, just looking down into other people’s apartments. From the southern end of the roof, they could almost see the roof of their old building on Lispenard Street, and sometimes they would pretend that they could see not just the building, but them within it, their former selves performing a theater of their daily lives.

哈罗德离开后，他搭电梯来到楼顶。大楼四周有一圈围墙，高度到胸口，他靠在上头，大口吸着冰冷的空气，双手放在围墙上，以平息颤抖。他想着威廉，想着他和威廉以前夜里常常站在这里，什么都不说，光是望着下头其他人的公寓。从屋顶的南边几乎可以看到他们利斯本纳街那栋旧居的屋顶，有时他们会假装不光是看得到那栋大楼，还可以看到里头的自己，以前的他们像在演一出日常生活的戏。

　 “There must be a fold in the space-time continuum,” Willem would say in his action-hero voice. “You’re here beside me, and yet—I can see you moving around in that shithole apartment. My god, St. Francis: Do you realize what’s going on here?!” Back then, he would always laugh, but remembering this now, he cannot. These days, his only pleasure is thoughts of Willem, and yet those same thoughts are also his greatest source of sorrow. He wishes he could forget as completely as Lucien has: that Willem ever existed, his life with him.

“时空连续体里一定有个皱褶。”威廉会以他动作片英雄的声音说，“你站在我身边，但是——我可以看到你在那个破烂狗窝里走动。老天，圣弗朗西斯，你知道这是怎么回事吗？！”当时他听了总是大笑，但现在回想，他却笑不出来。现在，他唯一的喜悦就是想到威廉，但这些思绪同样是他最大的哀伤来源。他真希望自己可以像吕西安那样彻底遗忘：忘掉威廉曾经存在过，忘掉有威廉的人生。