《渺小一生》:我已經(jīng)打過(guò)了，試了又試，電

　 But I had been. I called and called and the phone rang and rang.

我已經(jīng)打過(guò)了，試了又試，電話響了又響，就是沒(méi)人接。

　 That night I lay awake alternately worrying and having the kinds of fantasies men have: guns, hit men, vengeance. I had waking dreams in which I called Gillian’s cousin, who was a detective in New York, and had Caleb Porter arrested. I had dreams in which I called you, and you and Andy and I staked out his apartment and killed him.

那天夜里我躺在床上睡不著，一下子擔(dān)心，一下子又有那種男人會(huì)冒出來(lái)的幻想：槍、殺手、復(fù)仇。我還幻想要打電話給吉莉安那位在紐約當(dāng)警探的表親，要他去逮捕凱萊布·波特。我幻想要打電話給你，然后你、安迪和我埋伏在他家公寓外頭，殺了他。

　 The next morning I left early, before eight, and bought bagels and orange juice and went down to Greene Street. It was a gray day, soggy and humid, and I rang the buzzer three times, each for several seconds, before stepping back toward the curb, squinting up at the sixth floor.

次日早晨我很早就出門(mén)，不到8點(diǎn)就買(mǎi)了貝果和橙汁去格林街。那是灰蒙蒙的一天，泥濘而潮濕，我按了三次他家門(mén)鈴，每次持續(xù)好幾秒鐘，然后又退到人行道邊緣，瞇起眼睛往上看著六樓。

　 I was about to buzz again when I heard his voice coming over the speaker: “Hello?”

我正打算再按，便聽(tīng)到他的聲音從對(duì)講機(jī)傳來(lái)：“哈嘍？”

　 “It’s me,” I said. “Can I come up?” There was no response. “I want to apologize,” I said. “I need to see you. I brought bagels.”

“是我?！蔽艺f(shuō)，“我可以上去嗎？”他沒(méi)回應(yīng)。“我想道歉?！蔽艺f(shuō)，“我得見(jiàn)你，我?guī)Я素惞麃?lái)?！?

　 There was another silence. “Hello?” I asked.

他又沉默了一會(huì)兒?！肮D？”我問(wèn)。

　 “Harold,” he said, and I noticed his voice sounded funny. Muffled, as if his mouth had grown an extra set of teeth and he was speaking around them. “If I let you up, do you promise you won’t get angry and start yelling?”

“哈羅德?！彼f(shuō)，我注意到他的聲音怪怪的，像被悶住了，好像他嘴里多長(zhǎng)出兩排牙齒，而他正隔著那些牙齒講話，“如果我讓你上來(lái)，你能答應(yīng)我你不會(huì)生氣吼我嗎？”

　 I was quiet then, myself. I didn’t know what this meant. “Yes,” I said, and after a second or two, the door clicked open.

輪到我沒(méi)回應(yīng)了，我不明白這話是什么意思?！昂冒伞！蔽艺f(shuō)。過(guò)了一兩秒鐘，門(mén)開(kāi)了。

　 I stepped off the elevator, and for a minute, I saw nothing, just that lovely apartment with its walls of light. And then I heard my name and looked down and saw him.

我出了電梯，有一分鐘，我什么都沒(méi)看到，只看到那間漂亮的公寓和滿屋子的光線。然后我聽(tīng)到有人喊我的名字，往下看到了他。

　 I nearly dropped the bagels. I felt my limbs turn to stone. He was sitting on the ground, but leaning on his right hand for support, and as I knelt beside him, he turned his head away and held his left hand before his face as if to shield himself.

我手上的貝果差點(diǎn)落地，我覺(jué)得自己的四肢變成了石頭。他坐在地上，但用右手撐著地。我跪在他旁邊時(shí)，他別開(kāi)頭舉起左手遮臉，好像要擋住自己。

　 “He took the spare set of keys,” he said, and his face was so swollen that his lips barely had room to move. “I came home last night and he was here.” He turned toward me then, and his face was an animal skinned and turned inside out and left in the heat, its organs melting together into a pudding of flesh: all I could see of his eyes were their long line of lashes, a smudge of black against his cheeks, which were a horrible blue, the blue of decay, of mold. I thought he might have been crying then, but he didn’t cry. “I’m sorry, Harold, I’m so sorry.”

“他拿了備用鑰匙?！彼f(shuō)，整張臉腫得幾乎連嘴唇都沒(méi)辦法動(dòng)了，“我昨天晚上回家，他就已經(jīng)等在這里?！彼D(zhuǎn)向我，整張臉就像一只動(dòng)物被剝了皮、體腔往外翻，留在熱氣中腐爛，各種器官軟糊成一攤爛肉：眼睛只剩兩排黑睫毛，臉頰是可怕的藍(lán)色，腐爛的藍(lán)，發(fā)霉的藍(lán)。我以為他在哭，但結(jié)果沒(méi)有?！皩?duì)不起，哈羅德，對(duì)不起。”

　 I made sure I wasn’t going to start shouting—not at him, just shouting to express something I couldn’t say—before I spoke to him. “We’re going to get you better,” I said. “We’re going to call the police, and then—”

我先確定我不會(huì)開(kāi)始大吼——不是對(duì)他，而是要表達(dá)某種我說(shuō)不出的東西——然后才開(kāi)口?！拔視?huì)照顧你的?！蔽艺f(shuō)，“我會(huì)打電話報(bào)警，然后……”

　 “No,” he said. “Not the police.”

“不行，”他說(shuō)，“不要報(bào)警?！?

　 “We have to,” I said. “Jude. You have to.”

“一定要。”我說(shuō)，“裘德，你一定要報(bào)警啊。”

　 “No,” he said. “I won’t report it. I can’t”—he took a breath—“I can’t take the humiliation. I can’t.”

“不行?！彼f(shuō)，“我不會(huì)報(bào)案的。我不能……”他吸了口氣，“我不能承受那種羞辱。我沒(méi)辦法。”

　 “All right,” I said, thinking that I would discuss this with him later. “But what if he comes back?”

“好吧?！蔽艺f(shuō)，心想這個(gè)稍后再來(lái)討論，“如果他再回來(lái)呢？”

　 He shook his head, just slightly. “He won’t,” he said, in his new mumbly voice.

他輕輕搖了一下頭：“不會(huì)的?！彼f(shuō)，用那種含糊的聲音。

　 I was beginning to feel light-headed from the effort of suppressing the need to run out and find Caleb and kill him, from the effort of accepting that someone had done this to him, from seeing him, someone who was so dignified, who made certain to always be composed and neat, so beaten, so helpless. “Where’s your chair?” I asked him.

我開(kāi)始覺(jué)得腦袋發(fā)暈，因?yàn)榈靡恢迸θ套∨艹鋈フ业絼P萊布、把他殺掉的沖動(dòng)，努力接受居然有人這樣對(duì)待他，看著像他這么有尊嚴(yán)、向來(lái)鎮(zhèn)靜而整潔的人，居然被打得這么慘、這么無(wú)助?！澳愕妮喴卧谀睦铮俊蔽覇?wèn)他。

　 He made a sound like a bleat, and said something so quietly I had to ask him to repeat it, though I could see how much pain it caused him to speak. “Down the stairs,” he finally said, and this time, I was certain he was crying, although he couldn’t even open his eyes enough for tears. He began to shake.

他發(fā)出一個(gè)羊叫般的咩咩聲，說(shuō)了句話，但聲音小到我只好請(qǐng)他再說(shuō)一次，我看得出來(lái)他講話有多痛。“在樓梯下頭。”他終于說(shuō)。這回我很確定他在哭，雖然他根本睜不開(kāi)眼睛讓淚水流出來(lái)。他開(kāi)始發(fā)抖。

　 I was shaking myself by this point. I left him there, sitting on the floor, and went to retrieve his wheelchair, which had been thrown down the stairs so hard that it had bounced off the far wall and was halfway down to the fourth floor. On the way back to him, I noticed the floor was tacky with something, and saw too a large bright splash of vomit near the dining-room table, congealed into paste.

這時(shí)我自己也在發(fā)抖。我把他留在那里，坐在地上，然后自己走下樓去拿他的輪椅。那輪椅之前被丟下樓梯，砸到對(duì)面的墻，往下落到通往四樓的半途。我拿著輪椅回來(lái)時(shí)，注意到地板上黏著東西，然后看到餐桌附近一大片發(fā)亮的嘔吐物，凝結(jié)成糊。