Breakfast the next morning was served in a great hall. It was like eating in a church, the ceiling was cavernous, and I felt under scrutiny, as if the hall knew I was there and I shouldn’t be. I’d chosen a long table full of other students from BYU. The women were talking about the clothes they had brought. Marianne had gone shopping when she learned she’d been accepted to the program. “You need different pieces for Europe,” she said.
第二天一早，早餐在一间大礼堂供应。天花板像洞穴一样空旷，让人感觉像在一座教堂里吃饭，我感到自己在他人的审视之下，仿佛整个大厅的人都知道我在，而我本不该在那里。我选了一张长桌，周围坐满了来自杨百翰大学的其他学生。女生们在谈论她们带来的衣服。玛丽安一得知自己被这个项目录取后，便去购物了。“到了欧洲，你需要不同的款式。”她说。
The first time I saw King’s College, Cambridge, I didn’t think I was dreaming, but only because my imagination had never produced anything so grand. My eyes settled on a clock tower with stone carvings. I was led to the tower, then we passed through it and into the college. There was a lake of perfectly clipped grass and, across the lake, an ivory-tinted building I vaguely recognized as Greco-Roman. But it was the Gothic chapel, three hundred feet long and a hundred feet high, a stone mountain, that dominated the scene.
剑桥大学国王学院第一次映入眼帘时，我并没觉得自己是在做梦，但这只是因为我的想象从来不曾创造出如此宏伟壮观的东西。我的目光落在一座石雕钟塔上。我被带到钟塔前，然后穿过它进入学院。一大片修剪完美的草坪环绕着湖泊，湖对面是一座象牙色的建筑，我隐约认出是希腊罗马式风格。但它是一座哥特式教堂，长三百英尺，高一百英尺，宛若一座石山，主导了全部的风景。
I was taken past the chapel and into another courtyard, then up a spiral staircase. A door was opened, and I was told that this was my room. I was left to make myself comfortable. The kindly man who’d given me this instruction did not realize how impossible it was.
我被领着穿过教堂，进入另一个庭院，然后上了一段螺旋阶梯。门开了，我被告知这就是我的房间。让自己舒服些。带领我的好心人这样告诉我，但他不知道这有多么不可能。
I thought about rushing to my room to change out of the sweatshirt and Keds I was wearing, but I had nothing to change into. I didn’t own anything like what Marianne and Heather wore — bright cardigans accented with delicate scarves. I hadn’t bought new clothes for Cambridge, because I’d had to take out a student loan just to pay the fees. Besides, I understood that even if I had Marianne’s and Heather’s clothes, I wouldn’t know how to wear them.
我考虑跑回我的房间，换掉身上的运动衣裤和帆布鞋，但我没有什么可换的。我没有一件像玛丽安和希瑟身上穿的衣服——色彩艳丽的羊毛衫，搭配精致的围巾。我没有为来剑桥添置新衣服，因为单单付学费我还得申请学生贷款。此外，即便我有玛丽安和希瑟那样的衣服，我也不知道怎么穿。
Dr. Kerry appeared and announced that we’d been invited to take a tour of the chapel. We would even be allowed on the roof. There was a general scramble as we returned our trays and followed Dr. Kerry from the hall. I stayed near the back of the group as we made our way across the courtyard.
克里博士来了，他宣布我们被邀请参观教堂，甚至还可以登上屋顶。大家乱作一团，端回餐盘，跟随克里博士走出大礼堂。我待在人群后面，穿过庭院。
Heather agreed. Her grandmother had paid for her plane ticket, so she’d spent that money updating her wardrobe. “The way people dress here,” she said, “it’s more refined. You can’t get away with jeans.”
希瑟表示同意。她的祖母为她付了机票钱，所以她把钱都花在了更新衣柜上。“这儿的人穿的衣服更讲究，”她说，“穿牛仔裤可不行了。”
When I stepped inside the chapel, my breath caught in my chest. The room — if such a space can be called a room — was voluminous, as if it could hold the whole of the ocean. We were led through a small wooden door, then up a narrow spiraling staircase whose stone steps seemed numberless. Finally the staircase opened onto the roof, which was heavily slanted, an inverted V enclosed by stone parapets. The wind was gusting, rolling clouds across the sky; the view was spectacular, the city miniaturized, utterly dwarfed by the chapel. I forgot myself and climbed the slope, then walked along the ridge, letting the wind take me as I stared out at the expanse of crooked streets and stone courtyards.
当我步入教堂，我屏住了呼吸。房间——如果这样一个空间可以被称为房间的话——太大了，仿佛能容纳整个海洋。我们被指引着穿过一扇小木门，然后上了一段狭窄的、石阶不计其数的螺旋楼梯，最后抵达屋顶。屋顶倾斜得厉害，呈倒V形，被石护栏围住。风在呼啸，连绵的云朵掠过天空；景色颇为壮观，在教堂的衬托下，整座城市显得十分渺小。我忘乎所以地爬上斜坡，然后迎风走在屋脊上，望着弯曲的街道和石砌的庭院，一片壮阔的景象。
“You’re not afraid of falling,” a voice said. I turned. It was Dr. Kerry. He had followed me, but he seemed unsteady on his feet, nearly pitching with every rush of wind.
“你不害怕摔下去。”一个声音说。我转过身，是克里博士。他一直跟在我后面，但他似乎站不稳，身体随着阵阵大风摇晃。
I raised my hand and gripped the wall.
我抬起手，抓住墙壁。
“We can go down,” I said. I ran down the ridge to the flat walkway near the buttress. Again Dr. Kerry followed but his steps were strange. Rather than walk facing forward, he rotated his body and moved sideways, like a crab. The wind continued its attack. I offered him an arm for the last few steps, so unsteady did he seem, and he took it.
“我们可以下去了。”我说。我顺着屋脊跑到靠近扶壁的平坦的走道上。克里博士再次跟了上来，但他的脚步很奇怪。他不是朝前走，而是转动身体，像螃蟹一样侧身而行。风继续肆虐。他看上去那么站不稳，于是最后几步时我向他伸出手臂，他扶住了。
“I meant it as an observation,” he said when we’d made it down. “Here you stand, upright, hands in your pockets.” He gestured toward the other students. “See how they hunch? How they cling to the wall?” He was right. A few were venturing onto the ridge but they did so cautiously, taking the same ungainly side steps Dr. Kerry had, tipping and swaying in the wind; everyone else was holding tightly to the stone parapet, knees bent, backs arched, as if unsure whether to walk or crawl.
“我观察过了，”我们下来后，他说，“你笔直地站着，双手插在口袋里。”他指了指其他学生，“看见他们是怎么耸肩弓背，紧贴墙壁的吗？”他说得对。有胆量登上屋脊的寥寥几人都小心翼翼，像克里博士那样笨拙地侧身前行，在风中倾斜摇晃；其他人都紧抓石头护栏，屈膝弓背，好像不知道是走还是爬。
“You don’t need to do that,” he said. “It’s not a criticism.”
“你不需要那样做，”他说，“这不是一种批评。”
“I’ve roofed my share of hay sheds,” I said finally.
“我给干草棚盖过屋顶。”最后我说。
He paused, as if unsure he should say more. “Everyone has undergone a change,” he said. “The other students were relaxed until we came to this height. Now they are uncomfortable, on edge. You seem to have made the opposite journey. This is the first time I’ve seen you at home in yourself. It’s in the way you move: it’s as if you’ve been on this roof all your life.”
他停顿了一下，仿佛不确定该不该说下去。“每个人都发生了变化，”他说，“其他学生都很放松，直到我们来到这么高的地方。现在他们很不自在，很紧张。而你似乎正相反。这是我第一次发现你很放松。你走动时的样子，就好像你一直住在这个屋顶上。”
A gust of wind swept over the parapet and Dr. Kerry teetered, clutching the wall. I stepped up onto the ridge so he could flatten himself against the buttress. He stared at me, waiting for an explanation.
一阵狂风扫过护栏，克里博士摇晃起来，抓住墙壁不放。我走上屋脊，好让他靠在扶壁上。他盯着我，等着我解释。
“So your legs are stronger? Is that why you can stand in this wind?”
“这么说你的腿更有力？就是因为这个你才能稳稳地站在风里吗？”
I had to think before I could answer. “I can stand in this wind, because I’m not trying to stand in it,” I said. “The wind is just wind. You could withstand these gusts on the ground, so you can withstand them in the air. There is no difference. Except the difference you make in your head.”
回答之前，我思考了片刻。“我能在风中站稳，是因为我不是努力尝试站在风中，”我说，“风就是风。人能受得了地面上的阵阵狂风，所以也能禁得住高空的风。它们没有区别。不同的是头脑中怎么想。”
“The way it is nothing to you,” he said.
“这对你来说没什么。”他说。
“I’m just standing,” I said. “You are all trying to compensate, to get your bodies lower because the height scares you. But the crouching and the sidestepping are not natural. You’ve made yourselves vulnerable. If you could just control your panic, this wind would be nothing.”
“我只是站着，”我说，“你们却都降低身体，试图弥补，因为高处让你们害怕。但蹲着走和侧身走并不自然，这样反而让自己变得脆弱。如果能控制住恐慌，这风就不值一提了。”
He stared at me blankly. He hadn’t understood.
他茫然地看着我，不明白我的话。
I wanted the mind of a scholar, but it seemed that Dr. Kerry saw in me the mind of a roofer. The other students belonged in a library; I belonged in a crane.
我想要一个学者的头脑，但克里博士似乎看穿我长了一个屋顶工人的头脑。别的学生属于图书馆；我属于起重机。
The first week passed in a blur of lectures. In the second week, every student was assigned a supervisor to guide their research. My supervisor, I learned, was the eminent Professor Jonathan Steinberg, a former vice-master of a Cambridge college, who was much celebrated for his writings on the Holocaust.
第一周在一连串的课程中稀里糊涂地过去了。第二周，每个学生都被指定一位导师来指导研究。我得知，我的导师是著名的乔纳森·斯坦伯格教授，他曾任剑桥大学副校长，是大屠杀方面的知名学者。
My first meeting with Professor Steinberg took place a few days later. I waited at the porter’s lodge until a thin man appeared and, producing a set of heavy keys, unlocked a wooden door set into the stone. I followed him up a spiral staircase and into the clock tower itself, where there was a well-lit room with simple furnishings: two chairs and a wooden table.
几天后，我跟斯坦伯格教授首次会面。我在传达室等着，一个瘦削的男人出现，他掏出一串沉重的钥匙，打开嵌在石头里的一扇木门。我跟着他爬上螺旋楼梯，来到钟楼，里面有一间光线明亮、陈设简单的房间：只有两把椅子和一张木头桌。
I could hear the blood pounding behind my ears as I sat down. Professor Steinberg was in his seventies but I would not have described him as an old man. He was lithe, and his eyes moved about the room with probing energy. His speech was measured and fluid.
坐下来时，我能听到耳后的血液在跳动。斯坦伯格教授已经七十多岁了，但我不会将他描述为一位老人。他动作轻盈，目光在房间内来回扫视，充满探索的能量。他的谈吐清晰而流畅。
“I am Professor Steinberg,” he said. “What would you like to read?”
“我是斯坦伯格教授，”他说，“你想看什么书？”
I mumbled something about historiography. I had decided to study not history, but historians. I suppose my interest came from the sense of groundlessness I’d felt since learning about the Holocaust and the civil rights movement — since realizing that what a person knows about the past is limited, and will always be limited, to what they are told by others. I knew what it was to have a misconception corrected — a misconception of such magnitude that shifting it shifted the world. Now I needed to understand how the great gatekeepers of history had come to terms with their own ignorance and partiality. I thought if I could accept that what they had written was not absolute but was the result of a biased process of conversation and revision, maybe I could reconcile myself with the fact that the history most people agreed upon was not the history I had been taught. Dad could be wrong, and the great historians Carlyle and Macaulay and Trevelyan could be wrong, but from the ashes of their dispute I could construct a world to live in. In knowing the ground was not ground at all, I hoped I could stand on it.
我含糊地说想看一些史学方面的。我已下定决心不研究历史，而是研究历史学家。我想我的兴趣来自学习了大屠杀和民权运动之后的无据可依之感——意识到个人对过去的了解是有限的，并将永远局限于别人所告诉他们的。我知道误解被纠正是什么感觉——改变重大的误解便是改变了世界。现在，我需要了解那些伟大的历史看门人是如何向自己的无知和偏见妥协的。我想如果我能接受他们所写的东西不是绝对的，而是一种带有偏见的话语和修正过程的结果，也许我就可以接受这样一个事实：大多数人认同的历史不是我被教导的历史。爸爸可能是错的，伟大的历史学家卡莱尔、麦考利和特里维廉也可能是错的，但从他们争论的灰烬中，我可以构建一个世界，生活在其中。当我知道了地面根本不是地面，我希望自己能站在上面。
The air was immediately sucked from the room.
房间内的空气立刻被吸走了。
“How marvelous,” he said, smiling. “It’s as if I’ve stepped into Shaw’s Pygmalion.”
“太不可思议了，”他微笑着说，“我好像走进了萧伯纳的《卖花女》[17]。”【注：[17]Pygmalion，是爱尔兰剧作家萧伯纳的戏剧，描写了一名教授训练一名贫苦的卖花女，并最终成功让她被上流社会认可。后来好莱坞据此翻拍了电影《窈窕淑女》。】
“I grew up in Idaho,” I said.
“我在爱达荷州长大。”我说。
I doubt I managed to communicate any of this. When I finished talking, Professor Steinberg eyed me for a moment, then said, “Tell me about your education. Where did you attend school?”
我怀疑自己能否把这些都表达出来。等我说完后，斯坦伯格教授盯着我看了一会儿，然后说：“谈一谈你的教育背景吧。你在哪儿上的学？”
For two months I had weekly meetings with Professor Steinberg. I was never assigned readings. We read only what I asked to read, whether it was a book or a page.
两个月来，我每周都与斯坦伯格教授会面。他从不给我指定阅读书目。我只读自己想读的内容，不管是一本书还是书中的一页。
None of my professors at BYU had examined my writing the way Professor Steinberg did. No comma, no period, no adjective or adverb was beneath his interest. He made no distinction between grammar and content, between form and substance. A poorly written sentence was a poorly conceived idea, and in his view the grammatical logic was as much in need of correction. “Tell me,” he would say, “why have you placed this comma here? What relationship between these phrases are you hoping to establish?” When I gave my explanation sometimes he would say, “Quite right,” and other times he would correct me with lengthy explanations of syntax.
我在杨百翰大学的教授们没有一个像斯坦伯格教授那样检查过我的写作。没有逗号、句号、形容词或副词都会引起他的兴趣。语法和内容、形式和实质对他而言同等重要。在他看来，一个写得不好的句子是想法构思欠佳，但语法逻辑同样需要修改。“告诉我，”他会说，“你为什么要在这里用逗号？你希望在这些短语之间建立什么关系？”当我给出解释，他有时会说“完全正确”，有时会对句法进行冗长的解释来纠正我。
“And you attended school there?”
“所以你在那儿上的学吗？”
It occurs to me in retrospect that someone might have told Professor Steinberg about me, perhaps Dr. Kerry. Or perhaps he perceived that I was avoiding his question, and that made him curious. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t satisfied until I had admitted that I’d never been to school.
回想起来，我想到有人可能把我的事告诉了斯坦伯格教授，也许是克里博士告诉他的，也许是他觉察到我在回避他的问题，这让他感到好奇。不管什么原因，直到我承认了我从没上过学，他才满意。
After I’d been meeting with Professor Steinberg for a month, I wrote an essay comparing Edmund Burke with Publius, the persona under which James Madison, Alexander Hamilton and John Jay had written The Federalist Papers. I barely slept for two weeks: every moment my eyes were open, I was either reading or thinking about those texts.
在与斯坦伯格教授会面一个月后，我写了一篇论文，将埃德蒙·伯克与普布利乌斯进行比较，后者是詹姆斯·麦迪逊、亚历山大·汉密尔顿和约翰·杰伊撰写《联邦党人文集》[18]时用的笔名。我几乎有两周没怎么睡觉：睁着眼睛的每一刻，我不是在阅读，就是在思考这些文字。【注：[18]The Federalist Papers，亚历山大·汉密尔顿、约翰·杰伊和詹姆斯·麦迪逊三人为争取批准新宪法在纽约报刊上以“普布利乌斯”为笔名发表的一系列的宪法论文，首次整理结集出版于1788年。】
From my father I had learned that books were to be either adored or exiled. Books that were of God — books written by the Mormon prophets or the Founding Fathers — were not to be studied so much as cherished, like a thing perfect in itself. I had been taught to read the words of men like Madison as a cast into which I ought to pour the plaster of my own mind, to be reshaped according to the contours of their faultless model. I read them to learn what to think, not how to think for myself. Books that were not of God were banished; they were a danger, powerful and irresistible in their cunning.
从父亲那里我学到，书籍要么被崇拜，要么被摒弃。上帝的书——摩门教先知和开国元勋们写的书——不是用来好好研究的，而是用来好好珍惜的，因为它们堪称完美。我被教导，像麦迪逊那样的人的话，要被视为模板，我应当把自己思想的石膏倒进这个模子，按照它们完美无瑕的模型轮廓重塑自我。我读这些书是为了学习该思考什么，而不是如何自己思考。与上帝无关的书则被驱逐，它们是一种危险的存在，不可抗拒地强大而狡猾。
To write my essay I had to read books differently, without giving myself over to either fear or adoration. Because Burke had defended the British monarchy, Dad would have said he was an agent of tyranny. He wouldn’t have wanted the book in the house. There was a thrill in trusting myself to read the words. I felt a similar thrill in reading Madison, Hamilton and Jay, especially on those occasions when I discarded their conclusions in favor of Burke’s, or when it seemed to me that their ideas were not really different in substance, only in form. There were wonderful suppositions embedded in this method of reading: that books are not tricks, and that I was not feeble.
为了撰写论文，我不得不换一种方式读书，不让自己陷入恐惧或崇拜。伯克捍卫过英国君主制，因此父亲会说他是暴政的代理人，他不会允许家里有这样一本书。信任自己，去阅读这些文字，让我感到一阵激动。读麦迪逊、汉密尔顿和杰伊的作品时，我也感受到类似的兴奋，尤其是在我放弃他们的结论而支持伯克的观点，或者是在我看来他们的观点并无本质上的不同，只是形式的不同而已。这种阅读方法中植入了一些奇妙的假设：书并非儿戏，我也并不软弱。
I finished the essay and sent it to Professor Steinberg. Two days later, when I arrived for our next meeting, he was subdued. He peered at me from across the table. I waited for him to say the essay was a disaster, the product of an ignorant mind, that it had overreached, drawn too many conclusions from too little material.
写完这篇论文后，我把它发给了斯坦伯格教授。两天后，又到了我们见面的时间。他隔着桌子盯着我，一言不发。我等着他开口说这篇论文是一场灾难，是一种无知的思想的产物，说它不自量力，引用的材料太少，得出的结论太多。
“I have been teaching in Cambridge for thirty years,” he said. “And this is one of the best essays I’ve read.”
“我在剑桥教了三十年书，”他说，“这是我读过的最好的论文之一。”
Professor Steinberg must have said more about the essay but I heard nothing. My mind was consumed with a wrenching need to get out of that room. In that moment I was no longer in a clock tower in Cambridge. I was seventeen, in a red jeep, and a boy I loved had just touched my hand. I bolted.
斯坦伯格教授一定对这篇文章作了更多的评论，但我什么也没听到。我脑海中充满了一个痛苦的需求：离开那个房间。那一刻，我不在剑桥大学的钟塔里。我重返十七岁，坐在一辆红色吉普车里，而我爱的男孩刚刚碰了我的手。我落荒而逃。
I could tolerate any form of cruelty better than kindness. Praise was a poison to me; I choked on it. I wanted the professor to shout at me, wanted it so deeply I felt dizzy from the deprivation. The ugliness of me had to be given expression. If it was not expressed in his voice, I would need to express it in mine.
比起仁慈，我更能容忍任何形式的残忍。赞美对我来说是一种毒药，我被它噎住了。我期望教授对我大喊大叫，他没有这样做反而让我头晕目眩。我的丑恶一面必须得到表达。如果不是用他的声音来表达，我就需要用自己的声音来表达。
I was prepared for insults but not for this.
对侮辱我有备而来，但我没有准备好接受这个回答。
I don’t remember leaving the clock tower, or how I passed the afternoon. That evening there was a black-tie dinner. The hall was lit by candlelight, which was beautiful, but it cheered me for another reason: I wasn’t wearing formal clothing, just a black shirt and black pants, and I thought people might not notice in the dim lighting. My friend Laura arrived late. She explained that her parents had visited and taken her to France. She had only just returned. She was wearing a dress of rich purple with crisp pleats in the skirt. The hemline bounced several inches above her knee, and for a moment I thought the dress was whorish, until she said her father had bought it for her in Paris. A gift from one’s father could not be whorish. A gift from one’s father seemed to me the definitive signal that a woman was not a whore. I struggled with this dissonance — a whorish dress, gifted to a loved daughter — until the meal had been finished and the plates cleared away.
我不记得是怎么离开钟塔的，也不记得那个下午是怎么度过的。那天晚上有一个正式的晚宴。大礼堂被烛光照亮，很美，但我感到开心还有另一个原因：我没有着正装，只穿了黑衬衫和黑裤子，我以为在昏暗的烛光下人们可能不会注意到这一点。我的朋友劳拉姗姗来迟。她解释说她的父母来看望她，带她去了法国。她刚回来。她穿了一条深紫色的百褶裙，裙摆在她膝盖上方几英寸处。一时之间，我觉得这条裙子很淫荡，直到她说这是她父亲在巴黎给她买的。父亲送的礼物不可能淫荡。在我看来，父亲送的礼物是一个明确的信号，意味着自己的女儿不是妓女。我在这种不协调的矛盾中挣扎纠结——淫荡的裙子，送给心爱女儿的礼物——直到晚餐结束，盘子都被撤走。
At my next supervision, Professor Steinberg said that when I applied for graduate school, he would make sure I was accepted to whatever institution I chose. “Have you visited Harvard?” he said. “Or perhaps you prefer Cambridge?”
下一次跟导师会面，斯坦伯格教授说，如果我申请研究生院，无论选择哪所大学，他都会确保我被录取。“你去过哈佛吗？”他说，“或者你更喜欢剑桥？”
“I can’t go,” I said. “I can’t pay the fees.”
“我不能去，”我说，“我付不起学费。”
I imagined myself in Cambridge, a graduate student wearing a long black robe that swished as I strode through ancient corridors. Then I was hunching in a bathroom, my arm behind my back, my head in the toilet. I tried to focus on the student but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture the girl in the whirling black gown without seeing that other girl. Scholar or whore, both couldn’t be true. One was a lie.
我想象自己是一个身着黑色长袍的剑桥毕业生，大步穿过古老的走廊时，长袍沙沙作响。接下来的画面是我蜷缩在卫生间，手臂拧向背后，头伸进马桶。我试着把注意力集中在毕业生的画面，但我办不到。我无法只去想象那个身穿黑袍的女孩的画面，而对另一个女孩视而不见。学者与妓女，不可能都是真的。其中一个是谎言。
“Let me worry about the fees,” Professor Steinberg said.
“让我去操心费用的问题吧。”斯坦伯格教授说。
At dinner I listened to the cheerful chatter of my friends while longing for the isolation of my room. Professor Steinberg was seated at the high table. Each time I glanced at him, I felt that old instinct at work in me, tensing my muscles, preparing me to take flight.
吃饭时，我一边听着朋友们愉快地聊天，一边盼望回到自己的房间独处。斯坦伯格教授坐在高桌旁。每一次我瞥到他，就会感到一种古老的本能在起作用，让我肌肉绷紧，随时准备逃跑。
In late August, on our last night in Cambridge, there was a final dinner in the great hall. The tables were set with more knives, forks and goblets than I’d ever seen; the paintings on the wall seemed ghostly in the candlelight. I felt exposed by the elegance and yet somehow made invisible by it. I stared at the other students as they passed, taking in every silk dress, every heavily lined eye. I obsessed over the beauty of them.
八月下旬，我们在剑桥的最后一个晚上，大礼堂里举行了一场告别晚宴。我从未见过桌上摆着那么多刀叉和高脚杯；在烛光的映照下，墙上的油画光影错落。我既感觉暴露在优雅的环境中，又感觉自己仿若无形。其他学生经过时，我盯着他们，看着每一条丝质连衣裙、每一只浓妆艳抹的眼睛。它们的美丽让我迷醉。
It was dark. The lawn was black, the sky blacker. Pillars of chalky light reached up from the ground and illuminated the chapel, which glowed, moonlike, against the night sky.
外面一片漆黑。草坪是黑的，天空更黑。白垩色的光柱从地面升起，照亮了教堂，让它在夜空的映衬下，像月亮一样闪闪发光。
I left the hall the moment dessert was served. It was a relief to escape all that refinement and beauty — to be allowed to be unlovely and not a point of contrast. Dr. Kerry saw me leave and followed.
甜点一上，我就离开了大礼堂。从那些精致美丽的人和事物中逃离出来是一种解脱——我允许自己不可爱，但不是给人当绿叶。克里博士见我离开，也跟了上来。
“You’ve made an impression on Professor Steinberg,” Dr. Kerry said, falling into step beside me. “I only hope he has made some impression on you.”
“你给斯坦伯格教授留下了深刻的印象，”克里博士说，与我并肩而行，“希望他给你留下了一些印象。”
I didn’t understand.
我不明白。
“Come this way,” he said, turning toward the chapel. “I have something to say to you.”
“这边走，”他说着，转向教堂，“我有话要对你说。”
I walked behind him, noticing the silence of my own footfalls, aware that my Keds didn’t click elegantly on stone the way the heels worn by other girls did.
我跟在他身后，注意到自己的脚步是无声的，意识到我的帆布鞋不像其他女孩穿的高跟鞋那样优雅地在石头上发出嗒嗒的敲击声。
Dr. Kerry said he’d been watching me. “You act like someone who is impersonating someone else. And it’s as if you think your life depends on it.”
克里博士说他一直在观察我。“你表现得像是在假扮别人。好像你觉得你的生活全靠伪装。”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
我不知道说什么好，所以什么也没说。
“It has never occurred to you,” he said, “that you might have as much right to be here as anyone.” He waited for an explanation.
“你从没有想过，”他说，“你可能和其他人一样有权待在这里。”他等待我做出解释。
“This is a magical place,” I said. “Everything shines here.”
“这真是一个神奇的地方，”我说，“一切都闪闪发光。”
“I would enjoy serving the dinner,” I said, “more than eating it.”
“我更喜欢给别人上菜，”我说，“而不是吃菜。”
“You must stop yourself from thinking like that,” Dr. Kerry said, his voice raised. “You are not fool’s gold, shining only under a particular light. Whomever you become, whatever you make yourself into, that is who you always were. It was always in you. Not in Cambridge. In you. You are gold. And returning to BYU, or even to that mountain you came from, will not change who you are. It may change how others see you, it may even change how you see yourself — even gold appears dull in some lighting — but that is the illusion. And it always was.”
“你千万别这样想，”克里博士提高声音说，“你不是愚人金[19]，只在特定的光线下才发光。无论你成为谁，无论你把自己变成了什么，那就是你本来的样子。它一直在你心中。不是在剑桥，而是在于你自己。你就是黄金。回到杨百翰大学，甚至回到你家乡的那座山，都不会改变你是谁。那可能会改变别人对你的看法，甚至也会改变你对自己的看法——即便是黄金，在某些光线下也会显得晦暗——但那只是错觉。金子一直是金子。”【注：[19]Fool’s gold，指黄铁矿，即看似黄金的物质。】
I wanted to believe him, to take his words and remake myself, but I’d never had that kind of faith. No matter how deeply I interred the memories, how tightly I shut my eyes against them, when I thought of my self, the images that came to mind were of that girl, in the bathroom, in the parking lot.
我想相信他，接受他的话，重塑自我，但我从来没有那样的信心。无论我把回忆埋得多深，无论我如何紧闭双眼对抗它们，当我想到自己，脑海中浮现的形象是那个女孩，在卫生间、在停车场的那个女孩。
Dr. Kerry smiled. “You should trust Professor Steinberg. If he says you’re a scholar –‘pure gold,’ I heard him say — then you are.”
克里博士笑了。“你应该相信斯坦伯格教授。如果他说你是一个学者——我听他说你是块‘纯金’——那么你就是。”
I couldn’t tell Dr. Kerry about that girl. I couldn’t tell him that the reason I couldn’t return to Cambridge was that being here threw into great relief every violent and degrading moment of my life. At BYU I could almost forget, allow what had been to blend into what was. But the contrast here was too great, the world before my eyes too fantastical. The memories were more real — more believable — than the stone spires.
我不能告诉克里博士关于那个女孩的故事。我不能告诉他，我不能回到剑桥，是因为在这里，我人生中的每一个暴力和堕落时刻更为凸显。在杨百翰大学，我几乎可以忘记，让过去的留在过去。但这里的反差太大，眼前的世界过于梦幻。比起石头尖顶，记忆更加真实，更加可信。
To myself I pretended there were other reasons I couldn’t belong at Cambridge, reasons having to do with class and status: that it was because I was poor, had grown up poor. Because I could stand in the wind on the chapel roof and not tilt. That was the person who didn’t belong in Cambridge: the roofer, not the whore. I can go to school, I had written in my journal that very afternoon. And I can buy new clothes. But I am still Tara Westover. I have done jobs no Cambridge student would do. Dress us any way you like, we are not the same. Clothes could not fix what was wrong with me. Something had rotted on the inside, and the stench was too powerful, the core too rancid, to be covered up by mere dressings.
对我来说，我假装自己不属于剑桥还有其他与阶级和地位有关的原因：因为我很穷，从小就很穷。因为我可以站在教堂屋顶的风中而不倾斜。这就是那个不属于剑桥的人：这次她是屋顶工人，不是那个妓女。那天下午我在日记里写道：我可以上学，可以买新衣服，但我始终是塔拉·韦斯特弗。我做过的工作没有一个剑桥学生会去做。不管怎么打扮，我们始终不同。衣服不能解决我的问题。我内心里有什么东西腐烂了，恶臭熏天，令人作呕，仅凭衣服无法掩盖。
“The most powerful determinant of who you are is inside you,” he said. “Professor Steinberg says this is Pygmalion. Think of the story, Tara.” He paused, his eyes fierce, his voice piercing. “She was just a cockney in a nice dress. Until she believed in herself. Then it didn’t matter what dress she wore.”
“决定你是谁的最强大因素来自你的内心。”他说，“斯坦伯格教授说这是《卖花女》。想想那个故事吧，塔拉。”他停顿了一下，目光如炬，声音洪亮，“她只是一个穿着漂亮衣服的伦敦人。直到她相信自己。那时，她穿什么衣服已经无关紧要了。”
Whether Dr. Kerry suspected any part of this, I’m not sure. But he understood that I had fixated on clothes as the symbol of why I didn’t, and couldn’t, belong. It was the last thing he said to me before he walked away, leaving me rooted, astonished, beside that grand chapel.
我不确定克里博士是否对此有所怀疑。但他明白，我执着于衣服，把它们作为我不属于这里、也不能属于这里的象征。临走前他最后对我说的一句话，让我站在教堂旁边，惊讶得一动不动。
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