Just looking at his shoulders when he happened to be going over his manuscript in his heaven made me wonder where they’d been last night. How effortless and free the movement of his shoulder blades each time he shifted, how thoughtlessly they caught the sun. Did they taste of the sea to the woman who had lain under him last night and bitten into him? Or of his suntan lotion? Or of the smell that had risen from his sheets when I went into them?
有时候他恰好在“天堂”看稿子，只要看看他的肩膀，我就想知道他昨晚去了哪里。他每次移动，肩脚骨的动作是多么轻松自由，多么坦率地晒着太阳。对于昨晚那个躺在他下面，轻轻咬他的女人来说，他的肩脚骨尝起来有海的味道吗？或者有他防晒乳液的味道？或者有我钻进他被单时，被单上浮现的那个气味？
Toward the end of July things finally came to a head. It seemed clear that after Chiara there had been a succession of cotte, crushes, mini-crushes, one-night crushes, flings, who knows. To me all of it boiled down to one thing only: his cock had been everywhere in B. Every girl had touched it, that cock of his. It had been in who knows how many vaginas, how many mouths. The image amused me. It never bothered me to think of him between a girl’s legs as she lay facing him, his broad, tanned, glistening shoulders moving up and down as I’d imagined him that afternoon when I too had wrapped my legs around his pillow.
大约七月底，事情终于发展到一发不可收拾的地步。显然在奇亚拉之后，还有一连串迷恋、热恋、迷你恋、一夜恋、不羁恋，天晓得是什么恋。对我来说，一切只归结于一件事：他的命根子游遍了B城，每个女孩都碰过，天晓得他的那货进入过多少女人的身体。那景象简直逗乐了我。我从来懒得去想他趴在那些女孩双腿间的样子，就像那天下午我也曾以双腿夹住他的枕头，想象他宽阔、晒黑、闪闪发光的肩膀在我下方摆动一样。
How I wished I had shoulders like his. Maybe I wouldn’t long for them if I had them?
我多希望拥有他那样的肩膀。如果我有那样的肩膀，或许就不会这样渴望他的？
Did I want to be like him? Did I want to be him? Or did I just want to have him? Or are “being” and “having” thoroughly inaccurate verbs in the twisted skein of desire, where having someone’s body to touch and being that someone we’re longing to touch are one and the same, just opposite banks on a river that passes from us to them, back to us and over to them again in this perpetual circuit where the chambers of the heart, like the trapdoors of desire, and the wormholes of time, and the false-bottomed drawer we call identity share a beguiling logic according to which the shortest distance between real life and the life unlived, between who we are and what we want, is a twisted staircase designed with the impish cruelty of M. C. Escher. When had they separated us, you and me, Oliver? And why did I know it, and why didn’t you? Is it your body that I want when I think of lying next to it every night or do I want to slip into it and own it as if it were my own, as I did when I put on your bathing suit and took it off again, all the while craving, as I craved nothing more in my life that afternoon, to feel you slip inside me as if my entire body were your bathing suit, your home? You in me, me in you…
我想要像他一样吗？我想成为他吗？或者我只是想拥有他？在欲望纠缠的捆束中，“成为”和“拥有”是完全错误的动词吗？“能抚触某个人的身体”和“成为我们想抚触的对象”，是一致而相同的，就像一条河的两岸，从我们到他们，回到我们，再到他们，在这永恒循环中，每个心室就像欲望的闸门、时间的蛀孔和我们称为认同作用的夹层抽屉，共有一种虚假而迷人的逻辑。根据这个逻辑，真实人生与未活过的人生，我们是谁与欲望的对象之间最短的距离，是以艾雪①顽童般的残酷所设计的旋转楼梯。奥利弗，你和我何时被这些东西分开了？为什么我知道，而你不知道？我每晚想象躺在你身边时，想要的是你的身体吗？就像我套上你的泳裤又脱掉，始终心怀渴望；就像那天下午，超乎我这一生对任何事物的渴望，希望感觉你钻进我体内，仿佛我整个躯体是你的泳衣、你的故乡？我中有你，你中有我…【注：①艾雪：荷兰平面艺术家。】
Muvi star.
大明星。
“Why, have you got anything better to do?”
“怎么，你有更想做的事情？”
“So let’s go.” He put some pages in his frayed green backpack and slung it over his shoulders.
“那我们走吧。”他把文稿放进磨损的绿背包，背在肩膀上。
Then came the day. We were in the garden, I told him of the novella I had just finished reading.
那一天。我们在花园里，我谈起刚读完的短篇小说。
“I’ll go, if you want me to.”
“如果你想让我去帮你取的话，我可以去。”
“No, let’s go together.”
“不，我们一起去。”
“No.”
“没有。”
“Figures.”
“想象得到。”
“Listen, I need to pick up something in town.”
“听着，我得进城去拿东西。”
“About the knight who doesn’t know whether to speak or die. You told me already.” Obviously I had mentioned it and forgotten.
“那个不知道该说出来还是该死的骑士？你跟我讲过了。”显然我忘了。
It was just after breakfast. Neither of us felt like working that day.
当时刚吃过早餐。那天我们都不想工作。
Something was always the latest pages from the translator.
“东西”，肯定是译者最新的稿子。
“No, he fudges.”
“没有，他敷衍过去了。”
He sat silently a moment.
他默默坐了一会儿。
“Now?” What I might have meant was, Really?
“现在？”我的意思可能是，“真的”？
“Better to speak, she said. But she’s on her guard. She senses a trap somewhere.”
“公主对他说最好是说出来。不过她有戒心。她感觉似乎有陷阱。”
“So does he speak?”
“所以他说了吗？”
“Well, does he or doesn’t he?”
“那么，他说了吗？”
I put down my fountain pen, closed my scorebook, placed a half-full glass of lemonade on top of my pages, and was ready to go.
我放下钢笔，合上乐谱，把半杯柠檬汁压在书页上，准备出发。
“Yes.”
“对。”
Since our last bike ride to B., he had never asked me to go anywhere with him.
自从上次骑车去B城之后，他从来没再邀我一起去任何地方。
On our way to the shed, we passed the garage.
往棚屋途中，我们经过了车库。
As usual, Manfredi, Mafalda’s husband, was arguing with Anchise. This time he was accusing him of dousing the tomatoes with too much water, and that it was all wrong, because they were growing too fast. “They’ll be mealy,” he complained.
一如平常，玛法尔达的丈夫曼弗雷迪和安喀斯正在争论。这次曼弗雷迪指控安喀斯给番茄浇太多水，大错特错，因为番茄长得太快了。“这样会长粉斑。”他抱怨着。
“Listen. I do the tomatoes, you do the driving, and we’re all happy.”
“听着，我负责种番茄，你负责开车，咱们相安无事。”
“You don’t understand. In my day you moved the tomatoes at some point, from one place to another, from one place to the other”– he insisted –“and you planted basil nearby. But of course you people who’ve been in the army know everything.”
曼弗雷迪坚持：“你不懂。在我们那个年代，番茄到了一定阶段就得移植，从一处移到另一处，而且附近要种罗勒。不过当然，你们当过兵的可是什么都懂。”
“That’s right.” Anchise was ignoring him.
“没错。”安喀斯不睬他。
“Of course I’m right. No wonder they didn’t keep you in the army.”
“我当然没错。怪不得军队不要你。”
“That’s right. They didn’t keep me in the army.”
“没错，军队不要我。”
Manfredi couldn’t have been more peeved.
曼弗雷迪气得不行。
Both of them greeted us. The gardener handed Oliver his bicycle. “I straightened the wheel last night, it took some doing. I also put some air in the tires.”
两人都向我们打招呼。园丁把奥利弗的脚踏车交给他。“昨晚我校正过轮胎，费了一番工夫。我也替轮胎打气了。”
“From now on, I fix the wheels, you grow the tomatoes,” said the piqued driver.
“从现在起，我修轮胎，你种番茄。”怄气的司机说。
With one hand on the handlebar he lifted his shirt and exposed a huge scrape and bruise on his left hip.
他一手扶着脚踏车把手，一手掀起衬衫，露出左腰臀上大片的擦伤和淤痕。
“Anchise.”
“安喀斯。”
Once we had reached the cypress lane that led onto the main road to town, I asked Oliver, “Doesn’t he give you the creeps?”
一到通往入城干道的柏树小径，我就问奥利弗：“他不会让你起鸡皮疙瘩吗？”
Anchise gave a wry smile. Oliver smiled back.
安喀斯露出一个挖苦的微笑。奥利弗也报以微笑。
“No, why? I fell the other day on my way back and scraped myself pretty badly. Anchise insisted on applying some sort of witch’s brew. He also fixed the bike for me.”
“不会啊，怎么这么说？前几天我回家时摔倒，擦伤严重，安喀斯坚持替我涂某种偏方②。他也帮我修好了脚踏车。”【注：②偏方：原文为巫婆的煎药（witch’s brew），指的是一些奇奇怪怪的配方。】
“Who?”
“谁？”
“Just a lost soul, really.”
“只是一个无所适从的人，真的。”
“Still gives me the creeps,” I said, repeating my aunt’s verdict.
“我还是觉得全身起鸡皮疙瘩。”我重复阿姨的话。
I would have touched, caressed, worshipped that scrape.
本该是我碰触、爱抚、崇拜那个擦伤的。
On our way, I noticed that Oliver was taking his time. He wasn’t in his usual rush, no speeding, no scaling the hill with his usual athletic zeal. Nor did he seem in a rush to go back to his paperwork, or join his friends on the beach, or, as was usually the case, ditch me. Perhaps he had nothing better to do. This was my moment in heaven and, young as I was, I knew it wouldn’t last and that I should at least enjoy it for what it was rather than ruin it with my oft-cranked resolution to firm up our friendship or take it to another plane. There’ll never be a friendship, I thought, this is nothing, just a minute of grace.
无
Zwischen Immer und Nie. Zwischen Immer und Nie. Between always and never. Celan.
Zwischen Immer und Nie.Zwischen Immer und Nie。在永恒与虚无之间。策兰说的。
This was probably the first time I allowed myself to count down his remaining days in B.
这也许是我第一次容许自己计算他在B城剩余的时日。
When we arrived at the piazzetta overlooking the sea, Oliver stopped to buy cigarettes. He had started smoking Gauloises. I had never tried Gauloises and asked if I could. He took out a cerino from the box, cupped his hands very near my face, and lit my cigarette. “Not bad, right?”
抵达俯瞰大海的小广场，奥利弗停下来买烟，他最近开始抽高卢牌烟。我从没试过高卢牌，问他要了一根试试。他从盒子里抽出一根火柴，屈手贴近我的脸，替我点烟。“不错吧？”
途中,我注意到奥利弗刻意放慢脚步.他不像平常那样匆忙,没有加快速度,没有用平常那种精力充沛的热情爬坡.他似乎也不急着回去写稿,或去找海边的朋友会合,或像平常一样甩掉我.或许他没什么更想做的事.这是我的”天堂”时刻.年轻如我,也知道这不会长久,我应该及时享受现有的,而不是用我古怪的方式去企图巩固我们的友谊,或让其更上一层楼,最后落得搞砸一切.根本没有什么所谓的友谊,这没多少意义,只是一时的恩惠.
无
“Not bad at all.” They’d remind me of him, of this day, I thought, realizing that in less than a month he’d be totally gone, without a trace.
“很不错。”这种烟将让我想起他，想起这一天。我意识到，再有不到一个月他就要走了，消失得无影无踪。
Farther out and way below was a magnificent view of the sea with scarcely a few stripes of foam streaking the bay like giant dolphins breaking the surf. A tiny bus was working its way uphill, while three uniformed bikers straggled behind it, obviously complaining of the fumes. “You do know who is said to have drowned near here,” he said.
远方是壮丽的大海，泡沫像破浪的大海豚稀稀疏疏成条划过海湾。一辆小公交费力地爬坡，三名穿制服的单车骑士在后头，显然在抱怨公交车排出的废气。“据说有人溺死在这附近，你肯定知道是谁吧？”他说。
“Just take a look at this,” he said as we ambled with our bikes in the midmorning sun toward the edge of the piazzetta overlooking the rolling hills below.
“看看这个。”我们在早上十点左右的阳光下，悠悠哉哉骑车来到俯瞰着下方起伏山丘的小广场。
“Cor cordium, heart of hearts,” I replied, referring to the moment when a friend had seized Shelley’s heart before the flames had totally engulfed his swollen body as it was being cremated on the shore. Why was he quizzing me?
“Cor cordium。真心。”③我回答。据说在岸边火化时，雪莱的朋友在火焰吞噬浮肿的尸身前，突然抓起雪莱的心脏。他为什么考我？【注：③Cor cordium是玛丽在雪莱的墓碑上刻的字，一般英文译为（heart of hearts，意谓内心最深处最真实的信念。】
“Shelley.”
“雪莱。”
“And do you know what his wife Mary and friends did when they found his body?”
“那你知道他太太玛丽和朋友发现他的遗体后，做了什么吗？”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“就没有你不知道的吗？”
I looked at him. This was my moment. I could seize it or I could lose it, but either way I knew I would never live it down. Or I could gloat over his compliment — but live to regret everything else. This was probably the first time in my life that I spoke to an adult without planning some of what I was going to say. I was too nervous to plan anything.
我看着他。机会来了。我可以把握、或失去这个机会，但无论如何，我知道我永远无法忘记这一次；或者洋洋得意接受他的恭维，却对其他一切感到后悔。这或许是我这辈子第一次在毫无准备的状况下对一个成年人说话。我太紧张，以致无法做任何准备。
“If you only knew how little I know about the things that really matter.”
“但愿你知道，我对真正重要的事有多么无知。”
Why was he returning my near-tragic tone with bland ego-boosting?
为什么他要用乏味的信心喊话来回应我近乎悲惨的语调？
I was treading water, trying neither to drown nor to swim to safety, just staying in place, because here was the truth — even if I couldn’t speak the truth, or even hint at it, yet I could swear it lay around us, the way we say of a necklace we’ve just lost while swimming: I know it’s down there somewhere. If he knew, if he only knew that I was giving him every chance to put two and two together and come up with a number bigger than infinity.
我拔足涉水，想办法既不溺水也不安全游过，只是留在当场，因为这里就是真相所在的位置——尽管我无法坦承，甚至给予暗示，但我发誓真相就在我们身边，就像我们聊起刚刚游泳时弄丢了项链那样：我知道项链就在水里。但愿他知道，但愿他知道我正在给他一切机会，盼望能将二和二加在一起，然后得出一个无限大的数字。
“I know nothing, Oliver. Nothing, just nothing.”
“我什么都不知道，奥利弗。不知道，什么都不知道。”
“You know more than anyone around here.”
“你比这儿任何人知道的都多。”
“What things that matter?”
“有什么重要的事？”
There, I had said it.
终于，我说出来了。
Was he being disingenuous?
他在装傻吗？
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“你为什么要告诉我这一切？”
He must have hit on something, though God knows what. Perhaps he was trying not to seem taken aback.
他一定想到了点什么——天晓得是什么。或许他不想露出太惊讶的神色。
But if he understood, then he must have suspected, and if he suspected he would have been there himself, watching me from across a parallel lane with his steely, hostile, glass-eyed, trenchant, all-knowing gaze.
如果他明白，他必定早已起疑；如果他起疑，他必定曾经处于相同的立场，从平行小路的另一头，以冰冷、带着敌意、玻璃眼般犀利且无所不知的眼光观察过我。
“Because I thought you should know.”
“因为我认为你该知道。”
“Because I want you to know,” I blurted out. “Because there is no one else I can say it to but you.”
我脱口而出：“因为我希望你知道。因为除了你之外，我没有别人可说。”
“Because you thought I should know.” He repeated my words slowly, trying to take in their full meaning, all the while sorting them out, playing for time by repeating the words. The iron, I knew, was burning hot.
“因为你认为我该知道。”他慢慢复述我的话，试着了解这几个字的完整意义，同时又理出头绪，借着重复这句话来拖延时间。我知道，铁烧得正灼热。
Silence.
一阵沉默。
“You know what things. By now you of all people should know.”
“你明明知道。到了这一步，就数你最该知道。”
Was I making any sense?
我说得够清楚吗？
I was about to interrupt and sidetrack the conversation by saying something about the sea and the weather tomorrow and whether it might be a good idea to sail out to E. as my father kept promising this time every year.
我正准备岔开话题，谈点海况或明天的天气，聊聊父亲每年此时总是承诺要驾船去E城，真不知道是否可行。
This time I looked out to the sea and, with a vague and weary tone that was my last diversion, my last cover, my last getaway, said, “Yes, I know what I’m saying and you’re not mistaking any of it. I’m just not very good at speaking. But you’re welcome never to speak to me again.”
这次我望着海，用一种空茫又疲倦的声调说——这是我最后的掩饰、最后的伪装、最后的逃避，“知道，我知道我在说什么，你一点也没误会。我只是不太擅长说话。不过你大可再也不跟我说话。”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“你知道你说了什么吗？”
But to his credit he didn’t let me loose.
但是多亏他，他不肯就这么放过我。
“Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“等等。我没有误解你的话吗？”
“Wait for me here, I have to run upstairs and get some papers. Don’t go away.”
“在这里等我，我得上楼去拿些文件。别走开。”
“You know very well I’m not going anywhere.”
“你很清楚我不会走开。”
As I waited, I took both our bikes and walked them toward the war memorial dedicated to the youth of the town who’d perished in the Battle of the Piave during the First World War. Every small town in Italy has a similar memorial. Two small buses had just stopped nearby and were unloading passengers — older women arriving from the adjoining villages to shop in town. Around the small piazza, the old folk, men mostly, sat on small, rickety, straw-backed chairs or on park benches wearing drab, old, dun-colored suits. I wondered how many people here still re membered the young men they’d lost on the Piave River. You’d have to be at least eighty years old today to have known them. And at least one hundred, if not more, to have been older than they were then. At one hundred, surely you learn to overcome loss and grief — or do they hound you till the bitter end? At one hundred, siblings forget, sons forget, loved ones forget, no one remembers anything, even the most devastated forget to remember. Mothers and fathers have long since died. Does anyone remember?
我边等边牵着我们的脚踏车走向战争纪念碑，这座纪念碑是为一战期间B城死于皮亚韦战役的年轻人所建。意大利每座小城都有类似的纪念碑。两辆小公交停在附近，让旅客下车——是一群上了点年纪的妇女，从邻村进城来购物。小广场周围有几个老人，身穿单调、陈旧、暗淡的西装，坐在摇摇欲坠、干草编织椅背的小椅子或公园板凳上。我怀疑这里有多少人还记得葬身皮亚韦河的年轻人，年过八十的人才可能见过这些战士，少说也要年近百岁才可能比当时上战场的年轻人年长，年届一百，无疑早学会了克服失落和忧伤的方法——或者这些感情总要纠缠下去，至死方休？年届一百，兄弟姐妹忘了，儿子忘了，爱人忘了，没人记得任何事。连身心交瘁的人也忘了要记住。父母早已故去。还有谁会记得吗？
“Ye-es.” Now that I had spilled the beans I could take on the laid-back, mildly exasperated air with which a felon, who’s surrendered to the police, confesses yet once more to yet one more police officer how he robbed the store.
“没有。”既然秘密已经脱口，我大可摆出从容不迫、略为恼怒的态度，就像被警察制服的重犯，向一个又一个警察，一遍又一遍地交代自己如何抢劫商店。
If that’s not another admission, then what is? I thought.
如果这不算又一次的表白，那什么才算？
I looked at him with a confiding smile.
我用信任的微笑看着他。
A thought raced through my mind: Would my descendants know what was spoken on this very piazzetta today? Would anyone? Or would it dissolve into thin air, as I found part of me wishing it would? Would they know how close to the brink their fate stood on this day on this piazzetta? The thought amused me and gave me the necessary distance to face the remainder of this day.
我脑海中忽然闪过一个念头：我的子孙会知道我今天在这座小广场上说的话吗？会有任何人知道吗？或者这段对话将消失得无影无踪——某种程度上我确实希望如此。他们会知道，小广场上的这一天，正是他们命运的关键转折点吗？这个念头让我忍俊不禁，让我得以保持必要的距离来面对这一天剩余的时光。
When he returned, the first thing he blurted out was, “That idiot Milani mixed the pages and has to retype the whole thing. So I have nothing to work on this afternoon, which sets me back a whole day.”
他回来后脱口而出的第一句话是：“那个白痴米拉尼把页码弄乱了，得整个重打。我今天下午没事可做了，害我进度落后一整天。”
In thirty, forty years, I’ll come back here and think back on a conversation I knew I’d never forget, much as I might want to someday. I’d come here with my wife, my children, show them the sights, point to the bay, the local caffes, Le Danzing, the Grand Hotel. Then I’d stand here and ask the statue and the straw-backed chairs and shaky wooden tables to remind me of someone called Oliver.
三四十年后，我将回到这里，回想起我永志不忘的这段对话，也有可能有一天我会想忘掉。我将与我的妻儿来到这儿，叫他们看这片风景，指着海湾、咖啡馆、“跃动舞厅”、“大饭店”，站在这里让那些雕像、草背椅和摇摇欲坠的木桌帮我回忆起曾有那么一个人名叫奥利弗。
It was his turn to look for excuses to dodge the subject. I could easily let him off the hook if he wanted. We could talk about the sea, the Piave, or fragments of Heraclitus, such as “Nature loves to hide” or “I went in search of myself.” And if not these, there was the trip to E. we’d been discussing for days now. There was also the chamber music ensemble due to arrive any day.
轮到他找借口转移话题。如果这是他想要的，我也能轻易放过他。聊海、聊皮亚韦河、聊赫拉克利特的断简残篇，好比《大自然喜欢隐藏》或《寻找自我》。若不聊这些，也能继续讨论父亲计划的E城之行，还有不日即将抵达的室内音乐合奏团。
On our way we passed a shop where my mother always ordered flowers. As a child I liked to watch the large storefront window awash in a perpetual curtain of water which came sliding down ever so gently, giving the shop an enchanted, mysterious aura that reminded me of how in many films the screen would blur to announce that a flashback was about to occur.
途中我们经过一家店，母亲总来这儿订花，小时候我喜欢看朝街的大橱窗，橱窗总有水帘覆盖，水总是那么轻柔流淌，让这家店铺有一种魔幻般的神秘氛围，令我想起许多电影借着模糊焦距来宣告回忆即将开始。
Well, that was an approach I’d never expected from a man who was so okay with the world. I’d never heard such a sentence used in our house.
嗯，我倒是没料到一个从来随遇而安的男人会采取这种办法。在我家里我从没听过这种话。
“I wish I hadn’t spoken,” I finally said.
“但愿我没说。”我总算说了。
I knew as soon as I’d said it that I’d broken the exiguous spell between us.
我知道这句话一出口，就会打破我们之间微妙的平衡。
“Does this mean we’re on speaking terms — but not really?”
“意思是，我们是常聊天的好友——但其实不尽然？”
“I’m going to pretend you never did.”
“我打算假装你没说过。”
He thought about it.
他思索片刻。
“Look, we can’t talk about such things. We really can’t.”
“听着，我们不能谈这种事。真的不行。”
He slung his bag around him and we were off downhill.
他把背包一甩背起来，我们开始往山下走。
Fifteen minutes ago, I was in total agony, every nerve ending, every emotion bruised, trampled, crushed as in Mafalda’s mortar, all of it pulverized till you couldn’t tell fear from anger from the merest trickle of desire. But at that time there was something to look forward to. Now that we had laid our cards on the table, the secrecy, the shame were gone, but with them so was that dash of unspoken hope that had kept everything alive these weeks.
十五分钟前，我痛苦至极，每个神经末梢、每种情绪都像在玛法尔达的臼里被敲打、践踏、捣碎，全部化成粉末，直到难以分辨出恐惧与愤怒，仅存一点点稀稀落落的欲望。但当时尚且有所期待。等到我们把底牌全在桌上揭开，秘密、羞耻已然消失，这几个星期以来我所赖以生存的那一丁点未说出口的希望却也随之而去。
Only the scenery and the weather could buoy my spirits now. As would the ride together on the empty country road, which was entirely ours at this time of day and where the sun started pounding exposed patches along the route. I told him to follow me, I’d show him a spot most tourists and strangers had never seen.
只剩下风景和天气能鼓舞我的精神。就像在空荡荡的乡村路上一起兜风所达到的效果，此时这条路完全属于我们，炙热的阳光朝沿路田地的作物发动猛烈攻击。我叫他跟我走，我要带他去一个游客和外地人从未见过的地方。
“If you have time,” I added, not wishing to be pushy this time.
“如果你有时间的话。”我补充说，不想勉强他。
“This,” I said by way of a preface meant to keep his interest alive, “is the spot where Monet came to paint.”
“这里是莫奈来作画的地方。”我借着一段开场白来激起他的兴趣。
“I have time.” It was spoken with a noncommittal lilt in his voice, as though he had found the overplayed tact in my words slightly comical. But perhaps this was a small concession to make up for not discussing the matter at hand.
“我有时间。”他说这话的声音有一种态度不明的轻快，仿佛觉得我讲话过度圆滑，有些滑稽。但这或许是为了补偿不讨论眼前间题所做的小小让步。
Tiny, stunted palm trees and gnarled olive trees studded the copse. Then through the trees, on an incline leading toward the very edge of the cliff, was a knoll partly shaded by tall marine pines. I leaned my bike against one of the trees, he did the same, and I showed him the way up to the berm. “Now take a look,” I said, extremely pleased, as if revealing something more eloquent than anything I might say in my favor.
发育不良的矮小棕搁树和长木瘤的橄榄树散布在小树林中。穿过树林，通往悬崖边缘的大陡坡上有座被高大海松遮阴的小圆丘。我把脚踏车靠在其中一棵树旁，他也照做。我指着通往崖径的上坡路给他看。“你看！”我兴高采烈，仿佛在透露比任何对我有利的话更具说服力的事情。
We veered off the main road and headed toward the edge of the cliff.
我们偏离大路往悬崖边去。
A soundless, quiet cove stood straight below us. Not a sign of civilization anywhere, no home, no jetty, no fishing boats. Farther out, as always, was the belfry of San Giacomo, and, if you strained your eyes, the outline of N, and farther still was something that looked like our house and the adjoining villas, the one where Vimini lived, and the Moreschi family’s, with their two daughters whom Oliver had probably slept with, alone or together, who knew, who cared at this point.
安静无声的小海湾就在我们正下方。毫无文明的迹象，没有人家、没有防波堤、没有渔船。更远一点，一如平常，有圣吉亚科莫钟塔，睁大眼睛仔细瞧，还能看到N城的轮廓，更远处是类似我家和隔邻别墅（也就是薇米妮的住处）的建筑，还有莫雷斯奇家——他们家的两个女儿可能单独或一起跟奥利弗上过床。天晓得，在这节骨眼上谁在乎这个？
“This is my spot. All mine. I come here to read. I can’t tell you the number of books I’ve read here.”
“这是我的地方。完全属于我。我到这儿来读书。我在这里看过的书不计其数。”
“Do you like being alone?” he asked.
“你喜欢一个人待着吗？”他问。
“No. No one likes being alone. But I’ve learned how to live with it.”
“不喜欢。没有人喜欢孤独。但是我已经学会如何与孤独共存。”
“Are you always so very wise?” he asked. Was he about to adopt a condescending, pre-lecture tone before joining everyone else on my needing to get out more, make more friends, and, having made friends, not to be so selfish with them? Or was this a preamble to his role as shrink/part-time-friend-of-the-family? Or was I yet again misreading him completely?
“你总是这么有智慧吗？”他打算采取先扬后抑的策略吗？然后像其他人一样，教育我说必须多出门，多交朋友，还有，交了朋友以后，对待他们不要那么自私？他打算扮演心理医师兼家庭友人吗？还是我又完全误解他了？
“I’m not wise at all. I told you, I know nothing. I know books, and I know how to string words together — it doesn’t mean I know how to speak about the things that matter most to me.”
“根本称不上什么智慧。我说过，我什么都不知道。我懂书，我懂怎么把字穿在一起，但这不表示我知道该怎么谈论对我最重要的事。”
“But you’re doing it now — in a way.”
“你现在做的就是呀…从某方面来说。”
Staring out at the offing so as not to look at him, I sat down on the grass and noticed he was crouching a few yards away from me on the tips of his toes, as though he would any moment now spring to his feet and go back to where we’d left our bicycles.
我盯着远方的海面，为了避免看他。我在草地上坐下来，注意到他踞着脚跟蹲在距离我几米外的地方，仿佛随时要弹起来回到我们停车的地方。
“Yes, in a way — that’s how I always say things: in a way.”
“对，从某方面来说。我总是这么表达事情：从某方面来说。”
It never occurred to me that I had brought him here not just to show him my little world, but to ask my little world to let him in, so that the place where I came to be alone on summer afternoons would get to know him, judge him, see if he fitted in, take him in, so that I might come back here and remember. Here I would come to escape the known world and seek another of my own invention; I was basically introducing him to my launchpad. All I had to do was list the works I’d read here and he’d know all the places I’d traveled to.
我完全没想到要带他到这儿来。不只是为了向他展示我的小世界，也是为了请求我的小世界接纳他，让我这个夏日午后独处的小基地也能认识他，评判他，看他适不适合这里，接纳他，以便我日后能回到这里来缅怀。我到这儿来逃离现实世界，寻求我自己虚构的另一个世界。我向他引介我的这个秘密基地。只要列出我在这儿读过的作品，他就能了解我过去各处游历的蛛丝马迹。
I shrugged my shoulders. Was he criticizing me for criticizing myself?
我耸耸肩。他在批评我太苛求自己吗？
“I like the way you say things. Why are you always putting yourself down?”
“我喜欢你谈论事情的方式。但你为什么老是贬低自己？”
But I wasn’t moving either. My impulse was to let him ride home by himself. I’d be home in time for lunch.
但我也不动。我想让他自己骑车回去。我会及时到家吃午饭的。
“Are you so scared of what others think?”
“你就这么忌惮别人的想法吗？”
He was waiting for me to say something. He was staring at me.
他盯着我，等着我开口。
“I don’t know. So you won’t, I suppose.”
“我不知道。所以你不会这样吧，我猜。”
This, I think, is the first time I dared myself to stare back at him. Usually, I’d cast a glance and then look away — look away because I didn’t want to swim in the lovely, clear pool of his eyes unless I’d been invited to — and I never waited long enough to know whether I was even wanted there; look away because I was too scared to stare anyone back; look away because I didn’t want to give anything away; look away because I couldn’t acknowledge how much he mattered. Look away because that steely gaze of his always reminded me of how tall he stood and how far below him I ranked. Now, in the silence of the moment, I stared back, not to defy him, or to show I wasn’t shy any longer, but to surrender, to tell him this is who I am, this is who you are, this is what I want, there is nothing but truth between us now, and where there’s truth there are no barriers, no shifty glances, and if nothing comes of this, let it never be said that either of us was unaware of what might happen. I hadn’t a hope left. And maybe I stared back because there wasn’t a thing to lose now. I stared back with the all-knowing, I-dare-you-to-kiss-me gaze of someone who both challenges and flees with one and the same gesture.
这是我第一次敢于回望他。通常我会看他一眼，然后撇开眼去——除非受邀，否则我不愿意肆意沉浸在在他可爱澄澈的眼神里——而我永远等得不够久，永远来不及看清楚那儿究竟是否欢迎我。撇开眼，因为我太害怕回望任何人：撇开眼，因为我不想泄露任何秘密；撇开眼，因为我无法承认他有多重要；撇开眼，因为他钢铁般冰冷的凝视总提醒我他站得有多高，而我是如何远远地在他之下。此刻，在这静默的瞬间里，我回望他，不是为了抗拒他或表示我不再害羞，而是为了屈服，为了告诉他：这就是我，这就是你，这就是我想要的；此刻我们之间只有真实，而有真实的地方就没有障碍，没有躲躲闪闪的眼光。如果这样还是没有结果，也永远不要说你或我不知道可能发生什么事。我已不存一丝希望。我回望他，或许因为此刻再也没什么好失去的。我以挑战又逃避的姿态，以一切了然于心的凝视，以一种仿佛在说“有种就吻我啊”的眼神回望着他。
I shook my head. But I didn’t know the answer. Or perhaps the answer was so obvious that I didn’t have to answer. It was moments such as these that left me feeling so vulnerable, so naked. Push me, make me nervous, and, unless I push you back, you’ve already found me out. No, I had nothing to say in reply.
我摇摇头。但我不知道答案。或者答案太过明显，所以我不必回答。就是这样的时刻，让我觉得如此脆弱，如此赤裸裸。压迫我，让我紧张，要是我不反击，恐怕你就要看穿我了。不，我无言以对。
“I see,” he finally said. “You’ve got it wrong, my friend”– chiding condescension in his voice. “If it makes you feel any better, I have to hold back. It’s time you learned too.”
“我懂了。你搞错了，我的朋友。”他终于开口，声音里有带点斥责的俯就态度。“如果你这样让你觉得好过一些，我必须保留。你也到该学乖的时候了。”
“Well, it has. There! What did you think was going on?”
“对，我想过。回答我！你以为发生什么事了？”
“Because it would be very wrong.”
“因为这件事可能大错特错。”
“I’d be the last to know.”
“我会是最后一个知道的。”
My heart was beating too fast for me to speak coherently. I wasn’t even ashamed of showing how flushed I was. So let him know, let him.
我的心跳得太快，以致讲话都条理不清了，脸变得再红也不觉得害臊。那就让他知道吧，全由他。
“Yes, would. I’m not going to pretend this hasn’t crossed my mind.”
“对，可能。我不会假装没想过这件事。”
“Would?” I asked.
“可能？”我问。
Was he by any chance referring to our staring?
他指的是我们的凝视吗？
He sat down on the grass, then lay down on his back, his arms under his head, as he stared at the sky.
他坐在草地上，平躺下来，手臂枕在头下，盯着天空看。
Was there a ray of hope, then?
那么，是否还有一线希望？
I didn’t back down. Neither did he. Yes, he was referring to our staring.
我没有退却。他也没有，是的，他指的是我们的凝视。
“Why am I making things difficult?”
“我怎么把事情搞得棘手了？”
“You’re making things very difficult for me.”
“你把事情搞得很棘手。”
“Going on?” I fumbled by way of a question. “Nothing.” I thought about it some more. “Nothing,” I repeated, as if what I was vaguely beginning to get a hint of was so amorphous that it could just as easily be shoved away by my repeated “nothing” and thereby fill the unbearable gaps of silence. “Nothing.”
“发生什么事？”我以提问的方式笨拙地说。“没事。”我又多想了一下。“没事。”我一再重复，仿佛我模模糊糊刚摸到的线索是如此杂乱无章，只要接着重复“没事”这句话，就能轻易推开这一推乱麻，从而填满令人难堪的沉默空白。“没事。”
I was crushed. All these times when I thought I was slighting him by showing how easy it was to ignore him in the garden, on the balcony, at the beach, he had been seeing right through me and taken my move for the peevish, textbook gambit it was.
我被击垮了。这段时间，我一直以为我在花园、阳台、海边摆出不理他也没什么大不了的姿态，是在冷落他，可是他早就看透了我，把我的举动当成是撒娇别扭、欲擒故纵的老把戏。
“The best I can do is pretend I don’t care.”
“我顶多只能假装不在乎。”
“That much we’ve known for a while already,” he snapped right away.
“这个我们不是早就知道了？”他马上厉声说道。
His admission, which seemed to open up all the sluiceways between us, was precisely what drowned my budding hopes. Where would we go from here? What was there to add? And what would happen the next time we pretended not to speak but were no longer sure the frost between us was still sham?
他的坦白似乎打开了我们之间所有的闸门，却也恰恰淹没了我刚萌芽的希望。今后我们将何去何从？还会有什么发生呢？等到下次我们假装互不理睬，却不能确定彼此之间的冰霜是真是假，又会发生什么事？
We spoke awhile longer, then the conversation petered out. Now that we had put our cards on the table, it felt like small talk.
我们又谈了一会儿。然后话题枯竭了。既然两人手中的牌全摊在桌子上，感觉就像闲聊一样。
“So this is where Monet came to paint.”
“嗯，这就是莫奈作画的地方？”
“I’ll show you at home. We have a book with wonderful reproductions of the area around here.”
“家里有一本书，里面有这一带风景画作的复制品，特别棒，回家我拿给你看。”
“Yes, you’ll have to show me.”
“好，你一定要拿给我看看。”
He was playing the role of the patronizing understudy. I hated it.
他又在扮演施恩者一样屈尊俯就的角色。我讨厌这个。
Each leaning on one arm, we both stared out at the view.
我们各自撑着手肘，盯着风景看。
“Us, you mean.”
“你是说，我们？”
I let him ponder my statement. Then, perhaps to fill the silence that was becoming unbearable, I blurted out, “So much of it is wrong, though.”
我停了一会儿，让他有时间仔细思考我的话。接着，或许是为了填补令人难堪的沉默，我脱口说：“何况其中很多都是错的。”
“What? Your family?”
“什么？你的家人吗？”
“Living here all summer long, reading by yourself, meeting all those dinner drudges your father dredges up at every meal?” He was making fun of me again.
“整个夏天住在这里，一个人读书，每顿饭都要应付令尊给你张罗来的正餐苦差？”他又在寻我开心。
I did not reply.
我没回答。
He paused a moment.
他停顿了一会儿。
“Let’s see, then –” And before I knew it, he sidled up to me. We were too close, I thought, I’d never been so close to him except in a dream or when he cupped his hand to light my cigarette. If he brought his ear any closer he’d hear my heart. I’d seen it written in novels but never believed it until now. He stared me right in the face, as though he liked my face and wished to study it and to linger on it, then he touched my nether lip with his finger and let it travel left and right and right and left again and again as I lay there, watching him smile in a way that made me fear anything might happen now and there’d be no turning back, that this was his way of asking, and here was my chance to say no or to say something and play for time, so that I might still debate the matter with myself, now that it had reached this point — except that I didn’t have any time left, because he brought his lips to my mouth, a warm, conciliatory, I’ll-meet-you-halfway-but-no-further kiss till he realized how famished mine was. I wished I knew how to calibrate my kiss the way he did. But passion allows us to hide more, and at that moment on Monet’s berm, if I wished to hide everything about me in this kiss, I was also desperate to forget the kiss by losing myself in it.
“那，我们试试看…”我还没回过神儿来，他已经偷偷靠近我。靠太近了…除了在梦里，或他拱手替我点烟之外，我从没离他这么近过。如果他耳朵再近一点，就能听见我的心跳声。我在小说里看过这种事，可是直到现在才相信。他凝视我的脸，仿佛很喜欢我的脸，想要加以研究，依恋不舍，接着他伸出手指描摹我的下唇，从左到右，再从右到左，一次又一次来回游移，我躺着，看他露出微笑，那微笑令我害怕当下可能发生什么无法回头的事。或许这是他提问的方式，好让我现在有机会拒绝或说些什么来拖延时间。这样一来，我或许还能自我辩解，既然都到了这个节骨眼上…只是我没时间了，他已经把他的嘴唇贴到我嘴上，给我一个温暖、安抚、“我迎合你但仅此而已”的吻，直到他发现我的吻有多饥渴。但愿我知道如何像他一样节制自己的吻。但热情却能让我们隐藏更多。那一刻在莫奈的崖径上，我想把关于我的一切隐藏在这个吻里，我也渴望自己迷失在这个吻里，好忘记这个吻。
“You’re the luckiest kid in the world,” he said.
“你是世间少有的幸运儿。”他说。
I smirked. No, that wasn’t it either.
我冷笑。不是，也不是那个。
“That too.”
“那个也包括在内。”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“你了解的根本不多。”
“Better now?” he asked afterward.
“好一点了？”事后他问。
I did not answer but lifted my face to his and kissed him again, almost savagely, not because I was filled with passion or even because his kiss still lacked the zeal I was looking for, but because I was not so sure our kiss had convinced me of anything about myself. I was not even sure I had enjoyed it as much as I’d expected and needed to test it again, so that even in the act itself, I needed to test the test. My mind was drifting to the most mundane things. So much denial? a two-bit disciple of Freud would have observed. 1 squelched my doubts with a yet more violent kiss. I did not want passion, I did not want pleasure. Perhaps I didn’t even want proof. And I did not want words, small talk, big talk, bike talk, book talk, any of it. Just the sun, the grass, the occasional sea breeze, and the smell of his body fresh from his chest, from his neck and his armpits. Just take me and molt me and turn me inside out, till, like a character in Ovid, I become one with your lust, that’s what I wanted. Give me a blindfold, hold my hand, and don’t ask me to think — will you do that for me?
我没回答，只是抬起脸又吻他一次，动作几乎野蛮，不是因为充满激情，甚至不是因为他的吻仍缺乏我所追求的那种热情，而是因为我不确定我们的吻是否让我更相信自己一点。我甚至不确定我是否如同先前期待的那般乐在其中。我要再试一次，即使那个行动本身已把答案揭晓，我都需要再试一次。我的心正往最世俗的事飘去。这么强烈的否认？弗洛伊德的三脚猫门徒肯定会下此论断。我用一个更猛烈的吻压制我的疑问。我不要激情。我不要快感。或许我连证据也不想要。我不要言语、闲聊、吹嘘、谈单车、谈书，通通不要。只要太阳、草地、偶尔吹来的海风，只要从他的胸部、头颈、腋窝散发出来的体味。请占有我，让我蜕去旧有的自己，彻底改变，直到如同奥维德④诗歌里的角色一般，与你的色欲合而为一。这才是我想要的。给我一条蒙眼布，握着我的手，别要求我思考——你愿意为我这么做吗？【注：④奥维德（Publius ovidius Naso，43B.C。一 A.D。17）：罗马诗人。】
“Not yet.”
“还没。”
“We can’t do this — I know myself. So far we’ve behaved. We’ve been good. Neither of us has done anything to feel ashamed of. Let’s keep it that way. I want to be good.”
“我们不能这么做…我了解我自己。到目前为止我们还算规矩。我们守住本分，还没做出任何令人羞愧的事。让我们保持这样。我想要守住本分。”
“I think we should go.”
“我觉得我们该走了。”
I did not know where all this was leading, but I was surrendering to him, inch by inch, and he must have known it, for I sensed he was still keeping a distance between us. Even with our faces touching, our bodies were angles apart. I knew that anything I did now, any movement I’d make, might disturb the harmony of the moment. So, sensing there was probably not going to be a sequel to our kiss, I began to test the eventual separation of our mouths, only to realize, now that I was making mere motions of ending the kiss, how much I’d wanted it not to stop, wanted his tongue in my mouth and mine in his — because all we had become, after all these weeks and all the strife and all the fits and starts that ushered a chill draft each time, was just two wet tongues flailing away in each other’s mouths. Just two tongues, all the rest was nothing. When, finally, I lifted one knee and moved it toward him to face him, I knew I had broken the spell.
我不知道这一切将往何处发展，但我逐渐臣服于他，一寸一寸，他必定也知道，因为我感觉到他仍在我们之间维持一段距离。即使我们的脸碰在一起，我们的身体却未曾贴合。我知道现在做任何事、任何动作都可能扰乱此刻的和谐。因此，意识到我们的吻可能不会再续，我试着让我的唇离开他的，却发现我多么不想结束这个吻，我希望他的舌头在我嘴里，我的也在他嘴里；经过这些日子所有的不愉快以及间歇的冷战，我们变成胡乱在彼此嘴里搅动的潮湿舌头。只是舌头而已，其他毫无意义。最后，就在我抬起一边的膝盖移向他、面对他的时候，我知道我已经打破魔咒了。
“I should make sure it doesn’t get infected,” he said.
“我得注意绝对不要让伤口感染。”他说。
It sounded a bit like Later! when I’d first heard it weeks earlier — biting and blunted, and altogether mirthless, without any inflection of either the joy or the passion we’d just shared. He gave me his hand and helped me stand up again.
这话听起来有点像我几星期前第一次听到的“回头再说”——尖锐、直率，阴郁沉闷，语调平板，没有一点我们刚刚共享的喜悦或热情。他伸出手拉我站起来。
He suddenly winced.
他突然缩了一下。
“Just don’t.”
“不要就是了。”
In a desperate move which I knew I’d never live down if he did not relent, I reached for him and let my hand rest on his crotch. He did not move. I should have slipped my hand straight into his shorts. He must have read my intention and, with total composure, bordering on a gesture that was very gentle but also quite glacial, brought his hand there and let it rest on mine for a second, then, twining his fingers into mine, lifted my hand.
我豁出一切（我知道如果他不发发慈悲，我永远无法摆脱这个动作给我带来的耻辱）伸出手，停在他得裤裆上。他没动。早知道我应该直接滑进他的短裤里。他肯定看出了我的企图，因此以一种极为克制，几乎是非常温柔却也相当冰冷的姿势，手覆在我的手上片刻，接着，手指缠手指，抬起我的手。
He didn’t reply. But it was about the most sobering thing we could have said. It let the intrusive real world gust into our lives — Anchise, the mended bike, the bickering over tomatoes, the music score hastily left under a glass of lemonade, how long ago they all seemed.
他没回答。不过在我们能说的话里，这大概已经是最清醒的。这句话让扰人的真实世界像一阵风灌进我们的生活：安喀斯、修好的脚踏车、关于番茄的争吵、匆忙中压在一杯柠檬汁下的乐谱，这一切显得多么久远啊。
“We’ll stop by the pharmacist on the way back.”
“我们回去时顺路去一下药房。”
I remembered the scrape on his side.
我记起他身体侧面的擦伤。
“Don’t be. I don’t care. Who is to know?”
“不要。我不在乎。谁知道？”
“Did I offend you?”
“我冒犯你了吗？”
A moment of unbearable silence settled between us.
我们之间出现一阵难堪的沉默。
“You just rhymed,” he said.
“你刚刚押韵了。”他说。
Indeed, as we rode away from my spot we saw two tourist vans heading south to N. It must have been nearing noon.
的确，我们骑车离开我的小基地时，曾经看见两部旅行车往南要到N城。应该已经近中午了。
“We’ll never speak again,” I said as we glided down the never-ending slope, the wind in our hair.
“我们再也不会有深入的交谈了。”骑车溜下无止境的斜坡时我说，风穿梭在我们发间。
Two hours later, at lunch, I gave myself all the proof I needed that I would never be able to live with that.
两个钟头后，在午餐桌上，我已经有了足够的证据，证明那是我绝对承受不起的。
“I just know it. We’ll chitchat. Chitchat, chitchat. That’s all. And the funny thing is, I can live with that.”
“我就是知道。我们只会闲聊、闲聊、闲聊。仅此而已。奇怪的是，我说不定承受得起。”
“Don’t say that.”
“别这么说。”
Before dessert, while Mafalda was clearing away the plates and while everyone’s attention was focused on a conversation about Ja-copone da Todi, I felt a warm, bare foot casually brush mine.
上甜点前，玛法尔达正在收拾盘子，大家都把注意力集中在雅各布内⑤的话题上，这时我感觉到一双温暖的光脚丫漫不经心擦过我的脚。
I loved the way he’d flip on me.
我爱他对我突然改变态度的方式。
I remembered that, on the berm, I should have seized my chance to feel if the skin of his foot was as smooth as I’d imagined it. Now this was all the chance I’d get.
我记得这个感觉。在崖径上我就该抓住机会感受一下他脚上的皮肤是否和我想象的一样光滑。现在是我仅有的机会。【注：⑤雅各布内（Jacopone da Todi，1230一1306）：意大利宗教诗人。】
Perhaps it was my foot that had strayed and touched his. It withdrew, not immediately, but soon enough, as though it had consciously waited an appropriate interval of time so as not to give the impression of having recoiled in panic. I too waited a few seconds more and, without actually planning my move, allowed my foot to begin seeking the other out. I had just begun searching for it when my toe suddenly bumped into his foot; his had hardly budged at all, like a pirate ship that gave every indication of having fled miles away but was really hiding in a fog no more than fifty yards away, waiting to pounce as soon as the chance presented itself. I had barely enough time to do anything with my foot when, without warning, without giving me time to work my way to his or to let mine rest at a safe distance again, softly, gently, suddenly his foot moved over to mine and began caressing it, rubbing it, never holding still, the smooth round ball of his heel holding my foot in place, occasionally bringing its weight to bear but lightening it right away with another caress of the toes, indicating, all the while, that this was being done in the spirit of fun and games, because it was his way of pulling the rug out from under the lunch drudges sitting right across from us, but also telling me that this had nothing to do with others and would remain strictly between us, because it was about us, but that I shouldn’t read into it more than there was. The stealth and stubbornness of his caresses sent chills down my spine. A sudden giddiness overtook me. No, I wasn’t going to cry, this wasn’t a panic attack, it wasn’t a “swoon,” and I wasn’t going to come in my shorts either, though I liked this very, very much, especially when the arch of his foot lay on top of my foot. When I looked at my dessert plate and saw the chocolate cake speckled with raspberry juice, it seemed to me that someone was pouring more and more red sauce than usual, and that the sauce seemed to be coming from the ceiling above my head until it suddenly hit me that it was streaming from my nose. I gasped, and quickly crumpled my napkin and brought it to my nose, holding my head as far back as I could. “Ghiaccio, ice, Mafalda, per favore, presto’ I said, softly, to show that I was in perfect control of the situation. “I was up at the hill this morning. Happens all the time,” I said, apologizing to the guests.
或许是我的脚迷了路碰到他的。它撤退，不是马上，却也够快了，仿佛刻意留一段恰切的等待空当，好避免留下惊慌退缩的印象。我也多等了几秒，从没细想，只是让自己的脚开始搜寻另一只脚。才开始找，脚趾就碰到了他的脚；他的脚几乎动也不动，像一艘海盗船，尽管制造各种假象表示自己已经逃到数里之外，实际上却隐藏在距离仅五十码的浓雾中，一等机会出现就要突袭。我的脚还来不及采取任何行动，毫无预警，没给我任何时间接近他的脚或再度退回到安全距离之外休息，他突然温柔轻缓地伸脚压在我的脚上，开始爱抚摩擦，没有停歇。光滑圆润的脚踵顶着我的脚背，偶尔重重压上来，旋即放轻，以脚趾一阵爱抚，从头到尾暗示这是抱着好玩和游戏的心情做的。他以这种方式来冷落坐在我们对面从事“正餐苦差”那些人，也告诉我这件事与其他人无关，彻底仅限于我们之间，这是我们的事。但我不该做多余的解读，他鬼祟、顽强的爱抚让我背脊发凉，令我头昏目眩。不，我不会哭，这不是恐慌发作，这不是“意乱情迷”，我也不打算穿着短裤达到高潮，虽然我非常、非常喜欢，尤其他以足弓叠在我脚上的时刻。我盯着面前的沙拉盘，看见点缀着果汁的巧克力蛋糕上似乎有人倒人了比平常多的番茄酱汁，而且愈来愈多，那酱汁似乎来自我头上的天花板，直到我醒悟那是从我的鼻子大量涌出的。我倒吸一口气，立刻捏起餐巾往鼻子上捂，尽可能把头往后仰。“冰块，玛法尔达，拜托，快！”我轻轻说，表现出一切都在掌握中的样子。我向客人道歉：“今天早上我去了山上。常有的事。”
“Was it my fault?” he asked when he stepped into my bedroom after lunch.
“是我的错吗？”午餐后他来到我房里。
As I tried to doze, the incident on the piazzetta, lost somewhere amid the Piave war memorial and our ride up the hill with fear and shame and who knows what else pressing on me, seemed to come back to me from summers and ages ago, as though I’d biked up to the piazzetta as a little boy before World War I and had returned a crippled ninety-year-old soldier confined to this bedroom that was not even my own, because mine had been given over to a young man who was the light of my eyes.
我设法小睡片刻，但小广场的事件、皮亚韦河战争纪念碑、抱着恐惧与羞愧骑车上山时迷路等种种事件，混杂着弄不清楚是什么的情绪，压迫着我，从好多年前的夏天又回到我这儿来，仿佛小男孩的我在一次大战前骑车登上小广场，等到终于返乡，却成了九十岁的瘸腿士兵，只能困在这间甚至不属于我自己的卧房，因为我的房间已经让给一个年轻人，而他是我的眼中之光⑥。【注：⑥眼中之光（light of my eyes）：心爱之人的意思。】
I did not reply. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”
我没回答。“真是一团糟，对不对？”
He sat at the far corner of my bed. He was visiting a hospitalized friend who was injured in a hunting accident.
他坐在床铺离我较远的一角，有如探视一个打猎时意外受伤送医的朋友。
He smiled and said nothing.
他微笑，没说什么。
“Are you going to be okay?”
“你没问题吧？”
“I’ll let you sleep now.” Spoken like an attentive nurse.
“那我就不打扰你睡觉了。”语气像个周到的护士。
“I thought I was. I’ll get over it.” I’d heard too many characters say the same thing in too many novels. It let the runaway lover off the hook. It allowed everyone to save face. It restored dignity and courage to the one whose cover had been completely blown.
“我想我没问题，很快就好。”我在太多小说里看过太多角色讲这种话。这种话让负心人得以免责，给每个人保留颜面，让原形毕露的人重获尊严与勇气。
“Sit for a second.”
“坐一下。”
On his way out he said, “I’ll stick around,” the way people might say, I’ll leave the light on for you. “Be good.”
他边走出去边说：“我会待在附近。乖。”那语气仿佛说着“我会为你留一盏灯”。
There was a scuffle of quick sounds as people rushed in and out of the dining room. I had shut my eyes. Get a grip, I kept saying to myself, get a grip. Don’t let your body give the whole thing away.
大家在餐厅忙进忙出，发出急促的脚步声。我闭上眼睛。冷静，我不断对自己说，冷静。别让你的身体泄露一切。
The light of my eyes, I said, light of my eyes, light of the world, that’s what you are, light of my life. I didn’t know what light of my eyes meant, and part of me wondered where on earth had I fished out such claptrap, but it was nonsense like this that brought tears now, tears I wished to drown in his pillow, soak in his bathing suit, tears I wanted him to touch with the tip of his tongue and make sorrow go away.
我的眼中之光。眼中之光、世界之光，那就是你，我的生命之光。我不懂“我的眼中之光”是什么意思，纳闷我到底上哪儿翻出这种花言巧语，但此刻就是这种胡说八道让我流泪，流下我希望湿透他枕头、渗入他泳裤的眼泪，我想要他用舌尖碰触并赶走哀伤的眼泪。
I didn’t understand why he had brought his foot on mine. Was it a pass, or a well-meaning gesture of solidarity and comradeship, like his chummy hug-massage, a lighthearted nudge between lovers who are no longer sleeping together but have decided to remain friends and occasionally go to the movies? Did it mean, J haven’t forgotten, it’ll always remain between us, even though nothing will come of it?
我不明白他为什么那样碰触我的脚。调情？或是善意的表示我们是同盟、伙伴的姿态？就像他亲密地搂抱按摩，是已经不同床但决定继续当朋友，偶尔一起去看电影的旧情人之间开玩笑的轻轻碰触？那是否意指“我没忘，即使不会有结果，这仍是我们之间永远的秘密”？
I wanted to flee the house. I wanted it to be next fall already and be as far away as I could. Leave our town with its silly Le Danzing and its silly youth no one in his right mind would wish to befriend. Leave my parents and my cousins, who always competed with me, and those horrible summer guests with their arcane scholarly projects who always ended up hogging all the bathrooms on my side of the house.
我想逃离这栋房子。我希望下一个秋天已经到来，我要离得愈远愈好。离开这座城，离开这里可笑的“跃动舞厅”，离开脑袋正常的人绝不想结交的幼稚傻瓜。离开我的父母、总是跟我竞争的堂表亲，还有那些带着晦涩学术项目，到头来总要抢占屋里我这一侧每一间浴室的讨厌的夏日住客。
What would happen if I saw him again? Would I bleed again, cry, come in my shorts? And what if I saw him with someone else, ambling as he so often did at night around Le Danzing? What if instead of a woman, it was a man?
如果我再见到他会发生什么事？再流一次鼻血？哭泣？穿着短裤达到高潮？如果我看到他跟别人在一起，像平常晚上那样在“跃动舞厅”附近溜达呢？如果不是女人，而是个男人呢？
I should learn to avoid him, sever each tie, one by one, as neurosurgeons do when they split one neuron from another, one thought-tormented wish from the next, stop going to the back garden, stop spying, stop heading to town at night, wean myself a bit at a time each day, like an addict, one day, one hour, one minute, one slop-infested second after the other. It could be done. I knew there was no future in this. Supposing he did come into my bedroom tonight. Better yet, supposing I had a few drinks and went into his and told him the plain honest truth square in your face, Oliver: Oliver, I want you to take me. Someone has to, and it might as well be you. Correction: I want it to be you. I’ll try not to be the worst lay of your life. Just do with me as you would with anyone you hope never to run into again. I know this doesn’t sound remotely romantic but I’m tied up in so many knots that I need the Gordian treatment. So get on with it.
我应该学着回避他，切断每个关系，一个一个，像神经外科医生将神经元一个一个分开那样，处理一个又一个折磨心思的愿望。不再去后花园，不再偷窥，不再于晚间进城，每天戒掉一点点，像一个上瘾的人，一天，一小时，一分钟，情欲泛滥的一秒又一秒。这办法可行。我知道这没有前途。假如他今晚真的到我卧房来。更好的是，假如我喝了几杯，走进他的卧房，当面老老实实告诉他：奥利弗，我要你占有我；因为总得有人做，那还不如就是你吧。更正：我希望是你。我会努力避免成为你生命中最糟的床伴。请跟我做，像对待任何一个你再也不想遇到的人那样。我知道这听起来一点也不浪漫，但我被好多绳结绑住，我需要快刀斩乱麻。你就放马过来吧。
Knock knock. No, no knocking. I was sure he slept naked. What if he wasn’t alone? I’d listen outside the balcony before stepping in. If there was someone else with him and it was too late to beat a hasty retreat, I’d say, “Oops, wrong address.” Yes: Oops, wrong address. A touch of levity to save face. And if he was alone? I’d walk in. Pajamas. No, just pajama bottoms. It’s me, I’d say. Why are you here? I can’t sleep. Want me to get you something to drink? It’s not a drink I need. I’ve already had enough to find the courage to walk from my room to your room. It’s you I’ve come for. I see. Don’t make it difficult, don’t talk, don’t give me reasons, and don’t act as if you’re any moment going to shout for help. I’m way younger than you and you’d only make a fool of yourself by ringing the house alarm or threatening to tell my mommy. And right away I’d take off my pajama bottoms and slip into his bed. If he didn’t touch me, then I’d be the one to touch him, and if he didn’t respond, I’d let my mouth boldly go to places it’d never been before. The humor of the words themselves amused me. Inter-galactic slop. My Star of David, his Star of David, our two necks like one, two cut Jewish men joined together from time immemorial. If none of this worked I’d go for him, he’d fight me back, and we’d wrestle, and I’d make sure to turn him on as he pinned me down while I wrapped my legs around him like a woman, even hurt him on the hip he’d scraped in his bicycle fall, and if all this didn’t work then I’d commit the ultimate indignity, and with this indignity show him that the shame was all his, not mine, that I had come with truth and human kindness in my heart and that I was leaving it on his sheets now to remind him how he’d said no to a young man’s plea for fellowship. Say no to that and they should have you in hell feet first.
叩、叩。不对，不敲门。我确信他裸睡。如果他不是一个人呢？进去以前我先在外面的阳台听。如果有别人跟他在一起，来不及仓促撤退，我会说：“唉哟，走错房间了。”对，就是这句，“唉哟，走错房间了。”用一点轻浮挽回颜面。如果他一个人呢？我会走进去。穿着睡衣。不对，只穿睡裤。是我，我会说。“你怎么来了？”我睡不着。“要不要我拿点东西给你喝？”我需要的不是喝的；我喝够了，才有勇气从我房间走到你房间。我是来找你的。“我懂了。”别把事情搞复杂，别说话，别找理由应付我，别表现出你随时要呼救的样子。我比你年轻得多，如果你按家里的警铃，或威胁向我妈妈告状，那你只会让自己难堪。我要立刻脱掉我的睡裤，钻到他床上。如果他不碰我，就由我来碰他。
We’d do it. Then I’d go back to my bedroom and clean up. After that, I’d be the one to occasionally place my foot on his, and see how he liked that.
我们会做爱。然后我会回到我的卧房清理干净。之后，我会是那个偶尔把脚放在他脚上，看他作何感想的人。
This was my plan. This was going to be my way of getting him out of my system. I’d wait for everyone to go to bed. Watch for his light. I’d enter his room from the balcony.
这是我的计划。我要用这个办法把他逐出我的世界。我会等大家都上床之后。留意他的灯。我会从阳台走进他的房间。
When I awoke later that afternoon, I had an intense desire for yogurt. Childhood memories. I went to the kitchen and found Mafalda lazily stowing away the china, which had been washed hours earlier. She must have napped too, and just awakened. I found a large peach in the fruit bowl and began to pare it.
那天下午稍晚，我醒过来，非常想吃优格。优格是我童年的回忆。我在厨房看见玛法尔达一脸无精打采，把数小时前洗好的瓷器收起来。她一定也小睡过，而且刚醒。我看见水果钵里有颗大桃子——便拿起来削皮。
What if he didn’t like me? In the dark they say all cats… What if he doesn’t like it at all? He’ll just have to try, then. What if he gets really upset and offended? “Get out, you sick, wretched, twisted piece of shit.” The kiss was proof enough he could be pushed that way. To say nothing of the foot? Amor ch’a nul-I’amato amar perdona.
如果他不喜欢我呢？有道是黑暗中所有的猫都…⑦如果他对我没有一丝一毫喜欢呢？那他就是得努力。如果他真的很苦恼，感觉受冒犯呢？“出去！你这个卑鄙邪恶的变态！”那个吻足以证明他可以被那样逼迫。更别说那只脚了？爱，让每一个被爱的人，都无可豁免地要去爱。【注：⑦原文为“所有的猫在黑暗中都是灰的”（All cats are gray in the dark。）。指在黑暗中，所有的差异都变得不明显。】
No, there’d been another time yet. In my sleep, when he came into my bedroom and lay on top of me, and I pretended to be asleep. Correction there again: in my sleep I’d heaved ever so slightly, just enough to tell him, Don’t leave, you’re welcome to go on, just don’t say I knew.
不对，还有另一次。在我假装睡觉时，他进入我的卧房，压在我身上。再度更正：装睡的我轻轻呻吟，恰好对他吐露：别走，你尽管继续，只是别说“我早知道了”就好。
The foot. The last time he’d brought out such a reaction in me was not when he’d kissed me but when he’d pressed his thumb into my shoulders.
他的脚。他最后一次让我起这种反应，不在他吻我的时候，而是他以拇指按压我肩膀那次。
“Faccio io,” she said, trying to grab the knife from my hand.
“让我来。”玛法尔达想从我手上抢走刀子。
“No, no, faccio da me,” I replied, trying not to offend her.
“不要，不要，让我来。”我回答，尽量不冒犯她。
I wanted to slice it and then cut the pieces into smaller pieces, and the smaller pieces into yet smaller ones. Till they became atoms. Therapy. Then I picked a banana, peeled it ever so slowly, and then proceeded to slice it into the thinnest slices, which I then diced. Then an apricot. A pear. Dates. Then I took the large container of yogurt from the refrigerator and poured its contents and the minced fruit into the blender. Finally, for coloring, a few fresh strawberries picked from the garden. I loved the purr of the blender.
我想把桃子一再、一再、一再切开，切成许多薄片，直到变成原子大小。舒缓情绪。接着我拿起一根香蕉，慢吞吞剥皮，切得不能再薄，再切成丁。接着是一个杏，一颗梨，几粒枣子。之后从冰箱里拿出装优格的大容器，把优格和切碎的水果倒进果汁机里。最后，考虑到颜色，再加上几颗从花园摘来的新鲜草莓。我爱果汁机咕噜噜的声音。
After blending my concoction, I poured it into a large glass, aimed a straw into it as if it were a dart, and proceeded toward the patio. On my way there, I stepped into the living room and took out the large picture book of Monet reproductions. I placed it on a tiny stool by the ladder. I wouldn’t show him the book. I’d just leave it there. He’d know.
调好综合果汁，我把果汁倒进大玻璃杯里，把吸管像标枪一样丢进去，然后走向院子。途中，我走进客厅，拿出翻印莫奈作品的大画册，搁在阶梯旁的小凳子上。我不会拿书给他看。只会把书留在那里。他会懂的。
This was not a dessert she was familiar with. But she was going to let me have my way in her kitchen without interfering, as if humoring someone who’d been hurt enough already. The bitch knew. She must have seen the foot. Her eyes followed me every step of the way as if ready to pounce on my knife before I slit my veins with it.
这不是她熟悉的点心。不过她打算让我在她的厨房里为所欲为，不加干涉，仿佛迁就一个已经受够伤害的人。那婆娘知道。她肯定看到了那只脚。她的眼睛追随我每个步骤，仿佛随时准备在我拿刀割断血管前扑上来抓住我的刀。
On the patio, I saw my mother having tea with two sisters who had come all the way from S. to play bridge. The fourth player was due to arrive any minute.
我看到母亲和远道从S城来打桥牌的两位阿姨在院子里喝茶。第四位牌搭子随时会到。
I brought my drink to the far end of the patio, took out a chaise longue, and, facing the long balustrade, tried to enjoy the last half hour of full sun. I liked to sit and watch the waning day spread itself out into pre-dusk light. This was when one went for a late afternoon swim, but it was good to read then as well.
我带着饮料走到院子尽头，取出躺椅，面对长长的栏杆，想要享受最后半小时烈日。我喜欢坐下来看白昼逐渐接近尾声，光线扩散成薄暮前的光。这是傍晚前游泳的时间，却也适合读书。
I liked feeling so rested. Maybe the ancients were right: it never hurt to be bled from time to time. If I continued to feel this way, later I might try to play one or two preludes and fugues, maybe a fantasy by Brahms. I swallowed more of the yogurt and put my leg on the chair next to mine.
我喜欢这么平静的感觉。或许古人是对的：偶尔流流血不打紧。如果继续保有这种感觉，等一下我可能想弹一两首前奏曲和赋格。或许来一首布拉姆斯的幻想曲。我又吞下更多优格，伸长双腿搁在身旁的椅子上。
In the back, from the garage area, I could hear their driver discussing soccer players with Manfredi.
我听到后头的车库传来她们的司机正在跟曼弗雷迪讨论足球选手的声音。
It took me a while to realize that I was striking a pose.
过了好一会儿我才发觉自己的惺惺作态。
I wanted him to come back and catch me ever so relaxed. Little did he know what I was planning for tonight.
我希望他回来，撞见我这么轻松的样子。他对我晚上的计划所知无几。
“I’ll be okay.”
“我没问题。”
“I’d advise against it.”
“我劝你不要。”
I didn’t say anything. So much for “I’ll stick around,” then.
我什么都没说。原来，“我会待在附近”也不过尔尔。
In a while, Mafalda came to remove the empty glass. Vuoi un altro di questi, did I want another of these? she seemed to say as though referring to a strange brew whose foreign, un-Italian name, if it had one, was of no interest to her.
过了一会儿，玛法尔达过来收空玻璃杯。她问我还要再喝“这个”吗？仿佛“这个”是一种奇怪的酒，她对这种酒异国、非意大利的名字（如果有的话）完全没兴趣。
Anything but count the hours until tonight.
做什么都比数时间数到晚上好。
“But where will you go at this time?” she asked, implying dinner. “Especially in the state you were in at lunch. Mi preoc-cupo, I worry.”
“这个时间你要上哪儿去？”她问，暗示晚餐快好了。“何况你中午的时候又不舒服。我会担心。”
“Then I’ll go for a swim.”
“那我去游泳。”
“Is Oliver around?” I said, turning to my mother.
“奥利弗在吗？”我问母亲。
“Signora,” she shouted, trying to enlist my mother’s support.
“太太！”她大喊，想得到母亲的支持。
“Don’t worry.”
“别担心。”
My mother agreed it was a bad idea.
母亲也觉得这样不好。
“Didn’t he go out?”
“他不是出去了吗？”
On my way down the stairway to the beach, I encountered a group of friends. They were playing volleyball on the sand. Did I want to play? No, thank you, I’ve been sick. I left them alone and ambled toward the large rock, stared at it for a while, and then looked out to the sea, which seemed to aim a rippling shaft of sunlight on the water directly toward me, as in a Monet painting. I stepped into the warm water. I was not unhappy. I wanted to be with someone. But it didn’t trouble me that I was alone.
走下石阶前往海边的路上，我遇见一群朋友。他们在沙滩上打排球。“想玩吗？”不了，谢谢你们，我病了。我丢下他们，漫步到大礁石那里，凝视了一会儿，朝海的方向望去，水面上似乎有道波纹状的阳光冲着我来，仿佛莫奈的画。我一脚踏进温暖的水里。我并不悲惨。我想跟某个人在一起，但只身一人并不令我困扰。
“No, maybe I’ll go out.”
“不了，我可能要出去。”
“He likes you too — more than you do, I think.”
“他也喜欢你——胜过你喜欢他，我想。”
“With Anchise? He’s crazy! He almost got killed the last time.”
“和安喀斯？他疯啦！他上次差点死掉。”
No response. She was looking away from the setting sun.
没反应。她撇开眼不看夕阳。
“You like him, don’t you?”
“你喜欢他，对不对？”
“I don’t know. I thought he went fishing with Anchise.”
“不知道。我以为他和安喀斯钓鱼去了。”
No, it was Oliver’s.
不对，是奥利弗的。
“Do you know where Oliver is?” I asked.
“你知道奥利弗在哪里吗？”我问。
It corresponded to the time when we had almost stopped speaking to each other. Even my mother had taken me aside that week and suggested I be more polite with our cauboi — all that walking in and out of rooms without even a perfunctory hello, not nice.
时间上与我们几乎互不讲话的时候一致。那一周，连母亲也把我拉到一旁，劝我对我们家的“牛仔”要更有礼貌；在屋子里遇到，连个马虎的问候也没有，不好。
A while ago.
不久之前。
Vimini, who must have been brought there by one of the others, said she heard I’d been unwell. “We sick ones –,” she began.
薇米妮（一定是其他人带她来的）说听到我身体不舒服。“我们生病的人啊…”她抬起头说。
“I think he is right,” said Vimini.
“我想他是对的。”薇米妮说。
Was this her impression?
这是她的感觉？
I shrugged my shoulders. But I had never been visited by such powerful contradictions before. This was agony, for something like rage was brimming over inside me. I tried to still my mind and think of the sunset before us, the way people about to be given a polygraph like to visualize serene and placid settings to disguise their agitation. But I was also forcing myself to think of other things because I did not want to touch or use up any thoughts bearing on tonight. He might say no, he might even decide to leave our house and, if pressed, explain why. This was as far as I would let myself think.
我耸耸肩，但我从未经验过这么强烈的矛盾。好痛苦，类似愤怒的情绪在我体内快要满溢出来。我设法让我的心静下来，想想我们眼前的落日，像个即将接受测谎的人藉由想象宁静与平和的环境来掩饰自己的焦虑。我也强迫自己想其他事情，不想碰触或用尽关于今晚的任何念头。
When had he told her?
他几时告诉她的？
“Yes,” I said.
“对。”我说。
A horrible thought gripped me. What if, right now, among some of the townsfolk he had befriended, or among all those people who clamored to invite him for dinner, he were to let out, or just hint at, what had happened during our bike ride into town? In his place, would I have been able to keep a lid on such a secret? No.
一个恐怖的想法攫住我。如果，此刻，他对他在城里结交的朋友或那些嚷嚷着要请他吃饭的人透露或暗示我们骑车进城时发生的事怎么办？换作我，我能对这个秘密守口如瓶吗？不能。
And yet, he had shown me that what I wanted could be given and taken so naturally that one wonders why it needed such hand-wringing torment and shame, seeing it was no more complicated a gesture than, say, buying a pack of cigarettes, or passing a reefer, or stopping by one of the girls behind the piazzetta late at night and, having settled on a price, going upstairs for a few minutes.
然而，他已经向我证明，我想要的东西随时能自然地给予或收回，这让人想不通何苦需要如此局促不安的折磨和羞耻；看清这一点不是太难：譬如说，比起买一包烟、递一根大麻烟，或者深夜在小广场后街让女人拦下、谈好价钱然后上楼玩个几分钟，并不更复杂。
When I returned after swimming, there was still no sign of him. I asked. No, he wasn’t back. His bike was in the same place where we’d left it just before noon. And Anchise had returned hours ago. I went up to my room and from my balcony tried to make my way through the French windows of his room. They were shut. All I saw through the glass was the shorts he had been wearing at lunch.
游完泳仍然不见他的踪影，只好问有没有人见着他。“没有，他没回来。”他的脚踏车还在中午前停放的同一个位置，而且安喀斯几个钟头前就回来了。我上楼回到我的房间，从我这边的阳台走过去，想从他房间的落地窗进他房里。窗户上了锁，透过玻璃只看到他午餐时穿的短裤。
“Non mi va,” I said, “don’t feel like it.”
“我没心情。”我答道。
“It’s past eight.”
“已经超过八点了耶。”
When I came downstairs, Father was having cocktails with a reporter from France. Why don’t you play something? he asked.
我下楼时，父亲正在跟一位法国记者喝鸡尾酒。“你何不演奏一曲？”他问。
I tried to remember. He was wearing a bathing suit when he came into my bedroom that afternoon and promised to stick around. I looked out of the balcony hoping to spot the boat, in case he had decided to take it out again. It was moored to our wharf.
我努力回想。那天下午他到我房间来，保证说会待在附近时，穿的是泳裤。我从阳台往外看，希望看到那艘船，说不定他决定再度驾船出海。可是船停在我们的船坞里。
My mother was escorting one of her friends who had come by car and had to leave.
母亲护送一个搭车来这儿，必须先行离开的朋友出门。
I was grateful that the Frenchman was sitting on the edge of his armchair, as though on the verge of standing up to be shown to the dining room, yet still sitting down, not budging. He was holding an empty glass in both hands, forcing my father, who had just asked him what he thought of the upcoming opera season, to remain seated while he finished answering him.
我很庆幸那个法国人尽管焦躁不安地坐在扶手椅上，等着让人领到餐室去，仍然一动也不动坐着。他双手握着一个空杯，迫使刚刚问他对即将到来的歌剧季有何想法的父亲在他回答完之前继续坐着。
“E perche non ti va?” he asked, as though taking issue with the tone of my words. “Perche non mi va!” I shot back.
“为什么你没心情？”他问，仿佛跟我唱反调。“就是没心情啊！”我顶回去。
“Isn’t it too early for dinner?” I asked.
“现在吃晚餐不会太早？”我问。
Having finally crossed a major barrier this morning, it seemed I could openly express the petty stuff that was on my mind right now.
今天早上终于排除主要障碍后，我似乎能够公开表达此刻心里微不足道的念头。
Mafalda announced dinner.
玛法尔达通知开饭了。
Perhaps I too should have a drop of wine, said my father.
或许我也应该喝杯酒，父亲说。
Father said it might be the boat’s fault again. That boat should be totally dismantled.
父亲说可能又是那艘船的问题。那艘船应该拆掉。
“Noi ci mettiamo a tavola, we’ll sit down,” said my mother. She asked me to sit next to her.
“我们入座吧。”母亲说，要我坐在她旁边。
Dinner was pushed back by another five to ten minutes. If he was late for dinner, he wouldn’t eat with us. But if he was late that meant he was having dinner elsewhere. I didn’t want him to have dinner anywhere but with us tonight.
晚餐推迟了五到十分钟。如果奥利弗晚餐迟到，就不会跟我们一起吃；但如果他迟到，就表示他在别处用餐。今晚我希望他只跟我们一起吃。
Oliver’s seat was empty. My mother complained that he should at least have let us know he wasn’t coming for dinner.
奥利弗的椅子空着。母亲抱怨说他至少该通知我们一声。
But the boat was downstairs, I said.
可是船在楼下，我说。
Must not show anxiety. Or that I cared. Stay calm. I didn’t want to bleed again. But that moment of what seemed like bliss now when we’d walked our bikes on the piazzetta both before and after our talk belonged to another time segment, as though it had happened to another me in some other life that was not too different from my own, but removed enough to make the few seconds that kept us apart seem like light-years away. If I put my foot on the floor and pretend that his is just behind the leg of the table, will that foot, like a starship that has turned on its cloaking device, like a ghost summoned by the living, suddenly materialize from its dimple in space and say, I know you’ve beckoned. Reach and you’ll find me?
千万不能表现出焦虑或在意的样子。冷静。我不想再流鼻血了。我们谈话前后、牵着脚踏车在小广场上走、恍若天堂的那些时刻，如今属于另一个时间的断片，仿佛发生在另一段人生的另一个我身上。那段人生虽然跟我自己的人生没有太大不同，其间的变化却足以让阻隔我们的几秒钟感觉仿佛有几光年那么远。如果我脚踩着地，假装他也坐在对面，藏在桌脚后的他的脚会不会像打开掩护装置的太空船，像生者召唤来的灵魂，突然从太空的凹洞中显形，说道“我知道你在召唤我。来吧，你会找到我的”？
“Then it must be the translator. Who was it who told me he needed to see the translator this evening?” asked my mother.
“那一定找那个译者去了。是谁跟我说他今晚得跟译者见面？”母亲问。
Before long, my mother’s friend, who, at the last minute, decided to stay for dinner, was asked to sit where I’d sat at lunch. Oliver’s place setting was instantly removed.
不久，母亲的朋友在最后一刻决定留下来吃晚餐，并安排在我午餐坐的位子。留给奥利弗的餐具立刻收了起来。
The removal was performed summarily, without a hint of regret or compunction, the way you’d remove a bulb that was no longer working, or scrape out the entrails of a butchered sheep that had once been a pet, or take off the sheets and blankets from a bed where someone had died. Here, take these, and remove them from sight. I watched his silverware, his place mat, his napkin, his entire being disappear. It presaged exactly what would happen less than a month from now. I did not look at Mafalda. She hated these last-minute changes at the dinner table. She was shaking her head at Oliver, at my mother, at our world. At me too, I suppose. Without looking at her I knew her eyes were scanning my face to pounce on mine and make eye contact, which was why I avoided lifting my eyes from my semifreddo, which I loved, and which she knew I loved and had placed there for me because, despite the chiding look on her face that was stalking my every glance, she knew I knew she felt sorry for me.
收拾的动作很快，没有一丝后悔或内疚的迹象，有如拔除一个坏掉的灯泡、从曾经是宠物但终究遭人宰杀的羊体内刮除脏器、从死者的床铺上抽掉床单和毛毯。拿去，接好，把这些东西丢到看不见的地方。我眼睁睁看着他的银制餐具、他的餐垫、他的餐巾、他的存在，全数消失。此情此景不折不扣预示了不到一个月后将要发生的事。我没看玛法尔达。她厌恶晚餐开始的前一刻还要这般弄东弄西。她对奥利弗、对母亲、对我们的世界摇头。也对我摇头，我猜。我不必看她就知道她的目光审视着我，准备猛然抓住我，与我四目相接，所以我死命盯着爱吃的冰淇淋点心⑧，始终不抬头。她知道我爱这种点心，才放在桌上给我。尽管她带着斥责的表情偷觑着我，却也心知肚明，我明白她为我感到遗憾。【注：⑧原文为意大利文semifreddo，字面上是“半冷”的意思，指冰淇淋蛋糕、半冰冻的牛奶蛋糕或某些水果派等半冷冻糕点。】
No answer.
没有回答。
What if on the way to his room he were to step into my bedroom, as in: Thought I’d stick my head in before turning in and see how you’re feeling. You okay?
如果他在回房途中走进我的卧房，对我说“我想在回房前来探个头，看看你情况如何。你还好吧”，结果会如何？
Later that night, while I was playing something on the piano, my heart leapt when I thought I’d heard a scooter stop by our gate. Someone had given him a ride. But I could have been mistaken. I strained for his footsteps, from the sound of gravel underfoot to the muted flap of his espadrilles when he climbed the stairway leading to our balcony. But no one came into the house.
当晚稍后，我弹钢琴时仿佛听到速克达机车停在门前的声音，我的心跳得飞快。有人载他回来。也可能是我搞错了。我竖起耳朵听他的脚步声，听他那双布面平底凉鞋轻轻踩着砾石，走上通往我们阳台的阶梯。可是没人进屋里来。
Much, much later, in bed, I made out the sound of music coming from a car that had stopped by the main road, beyond the alley of pines. Door opens. Door slams shut. Car pulls away. Music begins to fade. Just the sound of the surf and of gravel gently raked by the idle steps of someone who’s deep in thought or just slightly drunk.
更久、更久以后，我在床上分辨出停在松树小径外大路旁的车子传来阵阵乐声。门打开。门砰然关上。车子开走。音乐逐渐消失。只剩激浪，和一个深陷在思绪里或只是微醺的人，踏着闲散的脚步轻轻掠过砾石的声音。
Pissed?
发火啦？
No answer.
没有回答。
You are pissed?
你发火了吗？
No, not at all. It’s just that you said you’d stick around.
没有，完全没有。只是你说过你会待在附近。
So you are pissed.
所以你还是发火啦。
So why didn’t you stick around?
那你为什么不待在附近？
No.
不是。
Believe me, just believe me.
相信我，相信我就是了。
Because you never liked me.
因为你从来没有喜欢过我。
Well, since you’re not going to do anything with me — can you at least read me a story?
那么，既然你什么都不跟我做，能不能至少为我读一篇故事？
I’d heard him use these very same words before. They meant I’m dying to, but may not be able to hold back once I start, so I’d rather not start. What aplomb to tell someone you can’t touch him because you know yourself.
先前我听他用过一模一样的字眼。意思是：我想得不得了了，可是我一旦开始或许就一发不可收拾，所以我宁可不要开始。对某个人说，因为太了解自己而不能碰他，这是什么样的自信啊。
Shakes it again. I know myself, he says.
再度摇头。我了解我自己，他说。
He shakes his head. Just for a second?
他摇摇头。一下子就好？
I lift the corner of my sheets.
我掀起床单一角。
He looks at me, and like one adult to another, You know exactly why.
他像一个成人面对另一个成人那样看着我。原因你心知肚明。
Because you don’t like me.
因为你不喜欢我。
Silence.
沉默。
I’d settle for that. I wanted him to read me a story. Something by Chekhov or Gogol or Katherine Mansfield. Take your clothes off, Oliver, and come into my bed, let me feel your skin, your hair against my flesh, your foot on mine, even if we won’t do a thing, let us cuddle up, you and I, when the night is spread out against the sky, and read stories of restless people who always end up alone and hate being alone because it’s always themselves they can’t stand being alone with…
这么一来，我愿意将就。我希望他为我读一篇故事，读契诃夫、果戈理，或凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德⑨的故事。奥利弗，脱下你的衣服，到我的床上来，让我抚摸你的皮肤。让你的头发贴着我的身体，你的脚黏着我的脚，即使什么都不做，也让我们拥抱在一起。你和我。当夜晚在天空的衬托下伸展开来之际，读一些惶惶不安之人的故事。他们到头来总是落单，他们痛恨孤零零过活，因为他们无法忍受的，始终都是跟自己独处这件事…【注：⑨凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德（Catherine Manthfield，1888—1923）：英国短篇小说家。】
No. Because I’m not good for you.
不是，是因为我对你没好处。
Traitor, I thought as I waited to hear his bedroom door squeak open and squeak shut. Traitor. How easily we forget. I’ll stick around. Sure. Liar.
叛徒。在我等着听他的门吱吱嘎嘎打开又吱吱嘎嘎合上时，我这么想：叛徒。我们多么容易遗忘。我会待在附近。是啊。骗子。
It never crossed my mind that I too was a traitor, that somewhere on a beach near her home a girl had waited for me tonight, as she waited every night now, and that I, like Oliver, hadn’t given her a second thought.
我压根儿没想过我也是个叛徒。今晚海边某处，有个女孩在她家附近等我，她夜夜等着我过去，而我，跟奥利弗一样，完全把她抛诸脑后。
I heard him step onto the landing. I had left my bedroom door intentionally ajar, hoping that the light from the foyer would stream in just enough to reveal my body. My face was turned toward the wall. It was up to him. He walked past my room, didn’t stop. Didn’t even hesitate. Nothing.
我听到他踏上楼梯平台的声音。我刻意留着一条门缝，希望从前厅流入的灯光恰好显露我躺在卧床上的身体。我面向墙壁躺着。由他决定。他经过我房间，没有停步。丝毫不犹豫。什么都没有。
I heard his door shut.
我听到他关上门。
Barely a few minutes later, he opened it. My heart jumped. By now I was sweating and could feel the dampness on my pillow. I heard a few more footsteps. Then I heard the bathroom door click shut. If he ran the shower it meant he’d had sex. I heard the bathtub and then the shower run. Traitor. Traitor.
不到几分钟后，他打开门。我的心猛跳。我冒着汗，感觉枕上传来湿气。我又听到一阵脚步声，接着浴室门喀哒关上。如果他淋浴，就表示他做过爱。我听到他踏人浴缸，然后是淋浴的冲水声。叛徒。叛徒。
I waited for him to come out of the shower. But he was taking forever.
我等他淋浴出来。可是他似乎永远洗不完。
When I finally turned to take a peek at the corridor, I noticed that my room was completely dark. The door was shut — was someone in my room? I could make out the scent of his Roger &c Gallet shampoo, so near me that if I so much as lifted my arm I knew I’d touch his face. He was in my room, standing in the dark, motionless, as though trying to make up his mind whether to rouse me or just find my bed in the dark. Oh, bless this night, I thought, bless this night. Without saying a word, I strained to make out the outline of the bathrobe I had worn so many times after he’d used it, its long terrycloth belt hanging so close to me now, rubbing my cheek ever so lightly as he stood there ready to let the robe drop to the floor. Had he come barefoot? And had he locked my door? Was he as hard as I was, and was his cock already pushing out of the bathrobe, which was why the belt was just about caressing my face, was he doing it on purpose, tickling me in the face, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t ever stop. Without warning the door began to open. Why open the door now?
等我终于偷看走廊一眼，我注意到我的房间整个暗了。门是关上的。有人在我房里？我闻得出他用的“罗杰与嘉列”牌洗发精的气味，他离我好近，我知道只要抬起手臂就能碰到他的脸。他在我房里，站在黑暗中，纹丝不动，仿佛犹豫着该叫醒我或摸黑找我的床就好了。喔，主啊，请赐福今夜，请赐福今夜。我没说一句话，只是睁大眼睛想辨认他穿过之后、往后我又穿了好多次的浴袍的轮廓。此刻，浴袍的长腰带就垂挂在离我很近的地方，轻轻摩擦我的脸颊，他站在那儿，随时就要褪下浴袍，任其掉落地上。他是光着脚来的？他帮我锁上门了？他和我一样勃起了？是因为他拉开浴袍，袒露下体，所以我才感觉腰带正在抚弄我的脸？他是故意搔我的脸吗？别停，别停，千万别停。在没有警告的情况下，门渐渐打开。为什么现在开门？
I woke up again an hour later.
一小时后我再度醒来。
It was only a draft. A draft had pushed it shut. And a draft was pulling it open. The belt that had so impishly tickled my face was none other than the mosquito net rubbing by my face each time I breathed. Outside, I could hear the water running in the bathroom, hours and hours seemed to have gone by since he’d gone to take a bath. No, not the shower, but the flushing of the toilet. It didn’t always work and would periodically empty itself when it was just about to overflow, only to refill and be emptied, again and again, all through the night. When I stepped out onto the balcony and made out the delicate light blue outline of the sea, I knew it was already dawn.
那只是一阵风。一阵风把门关上了。另一阵风把门吹开。淘气地搔弄着我的脸的带子其实是我一呼吸就摩擦我的脸的蚊帐。我听到外头的浴室有流水声，从他开始洗澡，仿佛已经过了好几个钟头。不，那不是淋浴的声音，是马桶的冲水声。那个马桶不时故障，水箱快满的时候又再度流空，接着又重新注满再流空，一遍一遍，彻夜不停。我走到阳台上，分辨出大海雅致的淡蓝轮廓。天已经破晓。
At breakfast, as was our habit, I pretended not even to be aware of him. It was my mother who, on looking at him, first exclaimed, Ma guardi un po’ quant’è pallido, just look how gaunt you look! Despite her bluff remarks she continued using the formal address when speaking to Oliver. My father looked up and continued reading the paper. “I pray to God you made a killing last night, otherwise I’ll have to answer to your father.” Oliver cracked open the top of his soft-boiled egg by tapping it with the flat of his teaspoon. He still hadn’t learned. “I never lose, Pro.”
早餐时，照惯例，我假装根本没注意到他。反而是母亲一看到他，第一个高声叫道：“瞧你看起来多憔悴啊！”虽然如此坦率评论，但她对奥利弗说话时，仍维持正式的谈吐。父亲抬头看了一眼，继续读报。“我向上帝祷告，希望你昨晚大赚了一笔，否则我就得设法跟令尊交代了。”奥利弗用茶匙扁平的那一侧拍蛋，敲开半熟蛋的顶端。他还是没学会。“我战无不克，教授。”
He was speaking to his egg the way my father had spoken into his newspaper. “Does your father approve?”
他对着鸡蛋说话，跟我父亲对着报纸说话如出一辙。“令尊赞成吗？”
“I don’t think I want to know,” said my father.
“我大概不太想知道吧。”父亲说。
“That — and other things.” This time he was buttering his bread.
“那个——还有别的。”他忙着在面包上涂奶油。
“Neither does my father. And to be perfectly frank, I don’t think I care to remember myself.”
“家父也一样。而且老实说，我自己也不想记得。”
“I pay my own way. I’ve paid my way since prep school. My father couldn’t possibly disapprove.” I envied him. “Did you have a lot to drink last night?”
“我自食其力。我从大学预科就开始自食其力，家父从无反对。”我羡慕他。“你昨晚喝很多？”
Was this for my benefit? Look, there’s never going to be anything between us, and the sooner you get it through your head, the better off we’ll all be.
这是说给我听的？听着，我们之间绝对不会有什么，你愈早想清楚，对我们愈好。
How I admired people who talked about their vices as though they were distant relatives they’d learned to put up with because they couldn’t quite disown them.
有些人谈起自身罪恶时，总像谈论一些难以断绝关系只好学会忍耐的远亲。我多么佩服那种人啊。
That and other things. I don’t care to remember — like J know myself — hinted at a realm of human experience only others had access to, not I. How I wished I could say such a thing one day — that I didn’t care to remember what I’d done at night in full morning glory. I wondered what were the other things that necessitated taking a shower. Did you take a shower to perk yourself up because your system wouldn’t hold up otherwise? Or did you shower to forget, to wash away all traces of last night’s smut and degradation? Ah, to proclaim your vices by shaking your head at them and wash the whole thing down with apricot juice freshly prepared by Mafalda’s arthritic fingers and smack your lips afterward!
“那个——还有别的。我也不想记得”就像“我了解我自己”，暗示了一个只有他人，而非我，才得以靠近的领域。我多么希望有一天我也能说出同样的话来——光天化日之下，我可不想记得自己在夜里做过的事。我怀疑还有什么事让人在完事后得要淋浴。你淋浴是为了让自己振作，否则身体撑不住？或者你淋浴是为了忘却，洗去昨夜所有脏污与堕落的痕迹？啊，借着对这些事摇头，喝一杯患有指关节炎的玛法尔达鲜榨的杏汁，喝完顺顺嘴，好把一切冲洗干净，昭告你的恶行！
Or was it all diabolical posturing?
或者这一切都是魔鬼的故作姿态？
“I wish I’d had your head at your age; I would have spared myself many mistaken turns,” said my father.
“但愿我在你这个年纪就有你这种头脑；那我会少犯一些错事。”
“Do you save your winnings?”
“战利品存好了？”
“Save and invest, Pro.”
“不但存起来还投资呢，教授。”
“You, mistaken turns, Pro? Frankly, I can’t picture you even imagining a mistaken turn.”
“您？错事，教授？老实说，我甚至无法想象您会犯错呢。”
“That’s because you see me as a figure, not a human being. Worse yet: as an old figure. But there were. Mistaken turns, that is. Everyone goes through a period of traviamento — when we take, say, a different turn in life, the other via. Dante himself did. Some recover, some pretend to recover, some never come back, some chicken out before even starting, and some, for fear of taking any turns, find themselves leading the wrong life all life long.”
“那是因为你把我看成偶像，而不是活生生的俗人。或者更糟：认为我是个老派人物。可是有的。我也会犯错。每个人都有一段误人歧途的时期。比方说，转换生涯跑道，或选择另一条路的时候。但丁就是这样。有些人知错能改，有些人假装反省，有些人一去不复返，有些人甚至还没开始就退缩。还有一些人因为害怕任何改变，最后才领悟自己度过了错误的一生。”
My mother sighed melodiously, her way of warning present company that this could easily turn into an improvised lecture from the great man himself.
母亲叹了一口长气。她用这种方式警告在场朋友，这席话很容易变成伟人自己的即兴演说。
He had big bags under his eyes. And he did look gaunt.
他眼睛下方有大大的眼袋，看起来真的很憔悴。
“Sometimes the traviamento turns out to be the right way, Pro. Or as good a way as any.”
“有时候误人歧途的结果却是一条正确的路，教授。或不逊于任何路。”
Oliver proceeded to crack another egg.
奥利弗继续敲开另一颗蛋。
My father, who was already smoking at this point, nodded pensively, his way of signifying that he was not an expert on such matters and was more than willing to yield to those who were. “At your age I knew nothing. But today everyone knows everything, and everyone talks, talks, talks.”
这时已经抽起烟来的父亲若有所思地点点头——那是他表示自己并非这方面的专家，而且很乐意听从专家意见的意思。“我在你这个年纪的时候，什么都不懂。但现在大家什么都懂，大家都不断地说、说、说。”
“Perhaps what Oliver needs is sleep, sleep, sleep.”
“或许奥利弗需要的是睡、睡、睡。”
“Tonight, I promise, Signora P., no poker, no drinking. I’ll put on clean clothes, go over my manuscript, and after dinner we’ll all watch TV and play canasta, like old folks in Little Italy.
“教授太太，今晚，我保证，不玩扑克牌、不喝酒。我会穿上干净的衣服，看稿，晚饭后大家一起看电视，玩卡纳斯他牌⑩，像小意大利的老人家那样。”【注：⑩卡那斯他牌（canasta）：一种用两副纸牌玩的游戏。】
Which was what happened. After a brief escape to B., he was the “green” Oliver all day, a child no older than Vimini, with all her candor and none of her barbs. He also had an enormous se- lection of flowers sent from the local flower shop. “You’ve lost your mind,” my mother said. After lunch, he said he would take a nap — the first, and last, during his entire stay with us. And indeed he did nap, because when he woke up at around five, he looked as flush as someone who had lost ten years of his life: ruddy cheeks, eyes all rested, the gauntness gone. He could have passed for my age. As promised, that night we all sat down — there were no guests — and watched television romances. The best part was how everyone, including Vimini, who wandered in, and Mafalda, who had her “seat” near the door of the living room, talked back to every scene, predicted its end, by turns outraged by and derisive of the stupidity of the story, the actors, the characters. Why, what would you have done in her place?
确实如此。短暂走避B城之后，他整天都是“绿色的”奥利弗，一个不比薇米妮年长的孩子，有她的真诚，却没有她的芒刺。他也让本地花店送了很多种花卉来。“你疯了！”母亲说。午餐后，他说他要小睡一下——那是他与我们同住的期间，第一次也是最后一次说要小睡。事实上他也真的睡了，他五点左右醒来以后，仿佛年轻十岁，显得脸颊红润，眼神安定，憔悴消失无踪。看起来简直跟我同样年纪。那晚家里没有宾客，一如约定，我们全坐下来一起看爱情电视剧。最棒的是，包括顺路逛过来的薇米妮和“座位”在客厅门边的玛法尔达，大家对每个场景一一发表议论，预测故事的结局，不时因为故事、演员、角色的愚蠢而生气或嘲笑。“怎么，换做你，你怎么做？”
“But first,” he added, with something of a smirk on his face, “I need to see Milani for a short while. But tonight, I promise, I’ll be the best-behaved boy on the whole Riviera.”
他脸上带着不大自然的笑补充说：“不过我得先去见见米拉尼。不过今晚，我保证，我会是整个里维埃拉地区最乖的男生。”
And you, Mafalda?
“玛法尔达，那你呢？”
I would have left him, that’s what.
“我会离开他，就这样。”
Well, in my opinion, I think she should have accepted him the first time he asked and not shilly-shallied so long.
“嗯，依我看，打从他第一次要求，她就应该接受，而不是一直拿不定主意。”
My point exactly! She got what was coming to her.
“我正是这个意思！她活该。”
That she did.
“她真的活该。”
We were interrupted only once. It was a phone call from the States. Oliver liked to keep his telephone conversations extremely short, curt almost. We heard him utter his unavoidable Later!, hang up, and, before we knew it, he was back asking what he’d missed. He never commented after hanging up. We never asked. Everyone volunteered to fill him in on the plot at the same time, including my father, whose version of what Oliver had missed was less accurate than Mafalda’s. There was a lot of noise, with the result that we missed more of the film than Oliver had during his brief call. Much laughter. At some point, while we were intently focused on the high drama, Anchise walked into the living room and, unrolling a soaking old T-shirt, produced the evening’s catch: a gigantic sea bass, instantly destined for tomorrow’s lunch and dinner, with plenty for everyone who cared to join in. Father decided to pour some grappa for everyone, including a few drops for Vimini.
期间只有一通美国来的电话打断了我们。奥利弗讲电话一向简短到几乎显得草率。我们听到他吐出他那无可避免的“回头再说”挂断，在我们还没会过意来以前已经回到座位问他错过什么剧情。挂掉电话以后，他总是不置一词，我们也从来不问。大家同时自愿向他报告剧情，包括父亲——他的版本比玛法尔达的还不正确。吵吵闹闹，结果我们漏看的剧情比奥利弗因为那通简短电话错过的还多。笑声不绝。就在我们专注盯着高潮迭起的剧情时，安喀斯一度走进客厅，摊开湿透的旧T恤，亮出今晚的战利品：一条大海鲈，瞬间决定它成为明天午餐与晚餐的命运，那么大一条鱼，见者有份。父亲决定倒点格拉巴酒给每个人，连薇米妮也喝了几口。
“I waited for you the other night.” I sounded like my mother reproaching my father when he came home inexplicably late. I never knew I could sound so peevish.
“那天晚上我等你好久。”听起来就像父亲无故晚归时，母亲谴责父亲的语气。我从来不知道我也会用这么暴躁的语气说话。
I found him lying on the grass with a dictionary to his left and a yellow pad directly under his chest. I was hoping he’d look gaunt or be in the mood he’d been in all day yesterday. But he was already hard at work. I felt awkward breaking the silence. I was tempted to fall back on my habit of pretending not to notice him, but that seemed hard to do now, especially when he’d told me two days earlier that he’d seen through my little act.
我看见他横卧在草地上，左边摆着字典，胸部正下方有黄色的拍纸簿。我希望他形容憔悴，或者有昨天维持了一整天的那种心情。不过他已经开始努力工作。我不好意思打破沉默。我很想故技重施，假装没注意他，但现在似乎很难这么做，尤其两天前他告诉过我他已经看透我的小伎俩。
Would knowing we were shamming change anything between us once we were back to not speaking again?
一旦再度回到互不交谈的状态，知道彼此在作战，对我们之间的关系会不会有任何改变？
Probably not. It might dig the ditch even deeper, because it would be difficult for either of us to believe we were stupid enough to pretend the very thing we’d already confessed was a sham. But I couldn’t hold back.
或许不会。甚至可能将壕沟挖得更深，因为我们都很难相信彼此会蠢到去假装先前坦承的那件事不是真的。但我压抑不住。
That night we all went to bed early. Exhaustion was the order of the day. I must have slept very soundly, because when I awoke they were already removing breakfast from the table.
当晚我们早早上床。精疲力竭是那天的主调。我一定睡得很熟，因为我醒来时，早餐已经收走了。
“I see.”
“原来如此。”
“I was going to head into town myself.”
“我自己倒是要进城。”
I should have taken the hint, and I did. But part of me refused to believe anyone could change so soon.
我应该听懂他的暗示，我也的确听懂了。但我也拒绝相信一个人能变得这么快。
“Are you headed into town this morning?”
“你今天早上要进城吗？”
“A book I ordered has finally arrived. I’m to pick it up at the bookstore this morning.”
“我订的书总算来了。今天早上我要去书店拿书。”
“Later, maybe.”
“回头再说。或许吧。”
“You mean like the other day?” he added, as though to help me say what I couldn’t bring myself to say, but making things no easier by pretending to have forgotten the exact day.
“你是说像那天一样吗？”他补了一句，仿佛想帮我说出我说不出口的话，却因为假装忘记事情发生的确切日子，而让情况同样棘手。
I knew I was interrupting and hated myself.
我知道我在干扰他，我厌恶自己。
“Dunno.”
“不知道。”
He was back to staring at the page he had just been reading and was mouthing the syllables, perhaps to show his mind was very focused on the page.
他又重新盯着刚刚看的那一页，还默读每个音节，或许想表示他很专心。
“We had a nice time. You would have too. Did you rest at least?”
“我们玩得很开心。你来的话应该也会。不过你至少休息了吧？”
“It was just that I was hoping we’d go together.”
“我只是希望我们能一起去。”
I looked at him. I felt like a child who, despite all manner of indirect pleas and hints, finds himself unable to remind his parents they’d promised to take him to the toy store. No need beating around the bush.
我看着他。感觉像个孩子用尽一切间接恳求、暗示的办法，却无法让父母想起曾经答应过带他去玩具店一样。不需要拐弯抹角。
“Why didn’t you come into town?” came his answer.
“你为什么不进城？”他回答。
“Armance.”
“《阿蒙丝》。”⑪【注：⑪《阿蒙丝》（Armance）：司汤达于一八二七年出版的第一部小说，书中以对贵族社会的讽刺观察为背景，描述一对表兄妹的爱情故事。】
“I’ll pick it up for you if you want.”
“我可以帮你去拿。”
“What book?”
“什么书？”
“In a way. Restless. But okay.”
“算是吧。睡不着，不过还好。”
“That day belongs to a different time warp. We should learn to leave sleeping dogs –“
“那一天属于不同的时空偏差。我们不要无事生非…”
“I don’t think we’ll ever do anything like that again.” I was trying to sound noble and grave in my defeat. “But, yes, like that.” I could be vague too.
“我认为我们再也不会做那种事了。”我想输得高贵而有尊严。“不过，没错，像那样。”我也懂怎么搞暧昧。
“Do I like you?” I wanted to sound incredulous, as though to question how he could ever have doubted such a thing. But then I thought better of it and was on the point of softening the tone of my answer with a meaningfully evasive Perhaps that was supposed to mean Absolutely, when I let my tongue loose: “Do I like you, Oliver? I worship you.” There, I’d said it. I wanted the word to startle him and to come like a slap in the face so that it might be instantly followed with the most languorous caresses. What’s liking when we’re talking about worshipping? But I also wanted my verb to carry the persuasive knockout punch with which, not the person who has a crush on us, but their closest friend, takes us aside and says, Look, I think you ought to know, so-and-so worships you. “To worship” seemed to say more than anyone might dare say under the circumstances; but it was the safest, and ultimately murkiest, thing I could come up with. I gave myself credit for getting the truth off my chest, all the while finding a loophole for immediate retreat in case I’d ventured too far.
“我喜欢你吗？”我想用不可置信的语气，好质疑他竟然怀疑这种事。但接着我想到更好的。我打算加上意思应该是“一点都没错”却饶富意义而闪烁其词的“或许”来缓和回答的语气。然而就在此时，我竟脱口而出：“我喜欢你吗？”奥利弗，你竟然还要问？我崇拜你。就这样，我说出来了。我希望这句话让他吃惊，像打在脸上的一巴掌，好有机会紧接着给他最慵懒的爱抚。既然我们谈的是“崇拜”，那“喜欢”算什么？但我也希望我用的动词，能承载充满说服力的制胜一击，好让迷恋对象的亲密好友偷偷将他拉到一旁，对他转述：“听着，我想你应该知道…某某崇拜你。在这种状况下，“崇拜”似乎比任何人敢说的话都透露更多，却也是我能想到的最安全最晦涩的语句。我希望能抒发心中的真情，同时准备后路，好在我冲过头时立即撤退。
That I, an extremely shy boy, found the courage to say such things could come from one place only: from a dream I’d had two, perhaps three nights running. In my dream he had pleaded with me, saying, “You’ll kill me if you stop.” I thought I remembered the context, but it embarrassed me so much that I was reluctant, even vis-a-vis myself, to own up to it. I had put a cloak around it and could only take furtive, hasty peeks.
对我这样一个极为害羞的男生来说，讲出这种话的勇气只有一个源头：我连续两晚或许三晚做的一个梦。他在我的梦里恳求我说：“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我。”我以为我记得梦中的情境，但因为实在太难为情，所以即使面对自己，也不愿意爽快承认。我在它周围拉上幕布，只能偷偷摸摸、匆促地偷窥一眼。
“This voice of wisdom is your most winning trait.” He had lifted his eyes from his pad and was staring me straight in the face, which made me feel terribly uneasy. “Do you like me that much, Elio?”
“这种智慧的见解，是你最迷人的特性。”他把眼光从拍纸簿上抬起来，坚定地凝视我的脸，让我觉得非常不自在。“你那么喜欢我吗，艾里奥？”
Oliver listened.
奥利弗听进去了。
“What do you say we grab our bikes in half an hour?”
“我们半小时后去骑车如何？”
Oh, Oliver, I said to myself on my way to the kitchen for a quick bite to eat, I’ll do anything for you. I’ll ride up the hill with you, and I’ll race you up the road to town, and won’t point out the sea when we reach the berm, and I’ll wait at the bar in the piazzetta while you meet with your translator, and I’ll touch the memorial to the unknown soldier who died on the Piave, and I won’t utter a word, I’ll show you the way to the bookstore, and we’ll park our bikes outside the shop and go in together and leave together, and I promise, I promise, I promise, there’ll be no hint of Shelley, or Monet, nor will I ever stoop to tell you that two nights ago you added an annual ring to my soul.
噢，奥利弗，去厨房找点吃的东西的路上，我对自己说，我愿意为你做任何事。我会跟你一起骑车上山，我会跟你骑车进城，比赛看谁先到。到了崖径，我不会指着海叫你看。你去找译者的时候，我会在小广场的酒吧等你。我会触摸在皮亚韦河殉身的无名士兵纪念碑，一个字也不说。我会带你去书店，把脚踏车停在店外，一起进去再一起离开，而且我保证，我保证，我保证，完全不提雪莱或莫奈，我也绝对不会卑屈地告诉你，两天前的夜里，你让我的灵魂如何迅速老去。
“No speeches, nothing, not a word.”
“不说话，什么都不说，一个字也不说。”
“I’ll go with you to B.,” he said. “But — no speeches.”
“我跟你去B城，可是…不说话。”他说。
I am going to enjoy this for its own sake, I kept telling myself. We are two young men traveling by bike, and we’re going to go to town and come back, and we’ll swim, play tennis, eat, drink, and late at night run into each other on the very same piazzetta where two mornings ago so much but really nothing was said between us. He’ll be with a girl, I’ll be with a girl, and we’re even going to be happy. Every day, if I don’t mess things up, we can ride into town and be back, and even if this is all he is willing to give, I’ll take it — I’ll settle for less, even, if only to live with these threadbare scraps.
我要享受这段短短旅程，我不断告诉自己。我们是两个骑车旅行的年轻人，我们要进城然后回来，我们要游泳，打网球，吃，喝，深夜在小广场邂逅，而这同一座小广场，就是两天前的早上，我们说了许多但其实什么也没说的地方。他会和一个女孩在一起，我也和一个女孩在一起，我们甚至觉得快乐。如果我没把事情搞砸，我们可以天天骑车进城再一起回来，即使他只肯给这么多，我也接受——甚至，更少我也愿意将就，只要能拥有这些愿望的碎片。
This felt special. Like showing someone your private chapel, your secret haunt, the place where, as with the berm, one comes to be alone, to dream of others. This is where I dreamed of you before you came into my life.
这感觉很特别。仿佛带人参观你的私人小教堂，你常光顾的秘密基地，就像崖径那儿。我们来这里独处，梦想着别人。这是你进入我生命之前，我梦想你的地方。
“No speeches. I know.”
“不说话，我知道。”
“I thought we weren’t going to mention –,” I began.
“我以为我们不…”我发话。
When we returned to the bookshop, we left our bikes outside and went in.
回到书店，我们把脚踏车留在外面才进去。
We rode our bicycles to town that morning and were done with his translator before long, but even after a hasty coffee at the bar, the bookstore wasn’t open yet. So we lingered on the piazzetta, I staring at the war memorial, he looking out at the view of the speckling bay, neither of us saying a word about Shelley’s ghost, which shadowed our every step through town and beckoned louder than Hamlet’s father. Without thinking, he asked how anyone could drown in such a sea. I smiled right away, because I caught his attempt to backpedal, which instantly brought complicit smiles to our faces, like a passionate wet kiss in the midst of a conversation between two individuals who, without thinking, had reached for each other’s lips through the scorching red desert both had intentionally placed between them so as not to grope for each other’s nakedness.
那天早上我们骑车进城，没多久他就处理完翻译的事。我们在咖啡店仓促喝了一杯咖啡之后，书店仍然没开。我们继续在小广场徘徊，我盯着战争纪念碑看，他则远眺斑斑点点的海湾，雪莱的鬼魂尾随我们一步一步走过城区，比哈姆雷特之父的召唤声更响亮，而我们俩不置一词。不假思索，他问起怎么可能有人淹死在这样的海里？我立刻报以微笑，因为我逮到他出尔反尔的企图，旋即双双为此露出狼狈为奸的微笑，就像发生在两个人谈话间热情潮湿的吻，两人都没多想，就借着双方为了避免探查彼此的不设防，而刻意摆放在两人之间、滚烫火红的点心，寻找彼此的嘴唇。
In years to come, if the book was still in his possession, I wanted him to ache. Better yet, I wanted someone to look through his books one day, open up this tiny volume of Armance, and ask, Tell me who was in silence, somewhere in Italy in the mid-eighties? And then I’d want him to feel something as darting as sorrow and fiercer than regret, maybe even pity for me, because in the bookstore that morning I’d have taken pity too, if pity was all he had to give, if pity could have made him put an arm around me, and underneath this surge of pity and regret, hovering like a vague, erotic undercurrent that was years in the making, I wanted him to remember the morning on Monet’s berm when I’d kissed him not the first but the second time and given him my spit in his mouth because I so desperately wanted his in mine.
多年以后，如果他仍留着这本书，我希望他感到痛苦。甚至，我希望有一天某人浏览他的藏书，翻开这本小小的《阿蒙丝》，问起“告诉我，八十年代中，在意大利某处沉默的是谁”，我要他兴起如哀伤一样突然，比后悔更猛烈，或许甚至是怜悯我的感觉，因为这天早上在书店里，我或许也愿意接受怜悯。如果怜悯是他唯一能给的，如果怜悯能让他伸出一只手臂搂着我。在这怜悯与悔恨的波澜下，是一股酝酿多年、模糊的色欲暗流。我要他记得那个早晨我在莫奈崖径吻他，不是第一次，而是第二次，我的唾液流人他嘴里，我是多么渴望得到他。
I liked his bookstore manner. He was curious but not entirely focused, interested yet nonchalant, veering between a Look what I’ve found and Of course, how could any bookstore not carry so-and-so!
我喜欢他在书店里的举止。他好奇却不专注，保持兴趣却冷静，在“看我找到了什么”跟“当然，怎么可能有书店没卖某某书”之间突然转向。
The bookseller had ordered two copies of Stendhal’s Armance, one a paperback edition and the other an expensive hardbound. An impulse made me say I’d take both and to put them on my father’s bill. I then asked his assistant for a pen, opened up the hardbound edition, and wrote, Zwischen Immer und Nie, for you in silence, somewhere in Italy in the mid-eighties.
书店老板进了两本司汤达⑫的《阿蒙丝》，一本是平装版，另一本是昂贵的精装版。一阵冲动让我脱口说我两本都要，并且记在父亲的账上。接着我请老板帮忙找笔，翻开精装版，我写下：在永恒与虚无之间。八十年代中于意大利某处，为你沉默。【注：⑫司汤达（Stendhal，1783—1842 }：本名马希·翁里·贝勒（Marie—Henri Beyle），法国作家。】
“I am glad, then. I just want to thank you for this morning.” And before he even thought of interrupting, I added, “I know. No speeches. Ever.”
“那么我很高兴。我只是想为今天早上的事向你道谢。”在他想到要插嘴之前，我又补了一句：“我知道。不说话。绝不。”
On our way downhill, we passed my spot, and it was I this time who looked the other way, as though it had all but slipped my mind. I’m sure that if I had looked at him then, we would have exchanged the same infectious smile we’d immediately wiped off our faces on bringing up Shelley’s death. It might have brought us closer, if only to remind us how far apart we needed to be now. Perhaps in looking the other way, and knowing we had looked the other way to avoid “speeches,” we might have found a reason to smile at each other, for I’m sure he knew I knew he knew I was avoiding all mention of Monet’s berm, and that this avoidance, which gave every indication of drawing us apart, was, instead, a perfectly synchronized moment of intimacy which neither of us wished to dispel. This too is in the picture book, I might have said, but bit my tongue instead. No speeches.
下山途中，经过“我的地方”，这次换我撇开眼，仿佛那件事早已抛诸脑后。我相信如果当时我看他，我们会交换同样有感染力的微笑；那种提起雪莱之死时立刻从脸上抹除的微笑。我们的距离可能因此拉近，却只是为了提醒我们现在必须保持多么远的距离。或许在撇开眼并知道我们是为了避免“说话”才撇开眼的时候，我们才可能找到相视而笑的理由，我明白他会了解我避免提到莫奈崖径的原因，也确信他明了我懂得他的心思，这样的回避原本会加速两人的分道扬镳，却反而成为我们都不想赶走的完全同步的亲密时刻。“这景象画册里也有”，我原本可能这么说，却绑住自己的舌头。不说话。
He said something about the gift being the best thing he’d received all year. I shrugged my shoulders to make light of perfunctory gratitude. Perhaps I just wanted him to repeat it.
他说这份礼物是他一整年收到最好的东西云云。我耸耸肩，表示不把敷衍的谢意当一回事。或许我只是希望他再说一次。
I’d tell him that though we rode our bicycles every day and took them up to our favorite piazzetta where I was determined never to speak out of turn, yet, each night, when I knew he was in bed, I’d still open my shutters and would step out onto the balcony, hoping he’d have heard the shaking glass of my French windows, followed by the telltale squeak of its old hinges. I’d wait for him there, wearing only my pajama bottoms, ready to claim, if he asked what I was doing there, that the night was too hot, and the smell of the citronella intolerable, and that I preferred to stay up, not sleep, not read, just stare, because I couldn’t bring myself to sleep, and if he asked why I couldn’t sleep, I’d simply say, You don’t want to know, or, in a roundabout way, just say that I had promised never to cross over to his side of the balcony, partly because I was terrified of offending him now, but also because I didn’t want to test the invisible trip wire between us — What trip wire are you talking about?– The trip wire which one night, if my dream is too powerful or if I’ve had more wine than usual, I could easily cross, then push open your glass door and say, Oliver, it’s me, I can’t sleep, let me stay with you. That trip wire!
我会告诉他，虽然我们每天骑车，带着车到我们最喜欢的小广场，在那儿我打定主意决不轻率发言，然而，每天夜里，当我知道他已经就寝，我仍会打开落地窗，走到阳台，希望他听到我房间落地窗玻璃震动的声音，随后跟来落地窗旧铰链藏不住秘密的吱嘎声。我会在那儿等他，只穿睡裤。如果他问我在那里做什么，我打算宣称晚上太热，香茅油的味道难以消受，让我睡不着，所以我宁可熬夜、不睡、不读书，只是凝视。如果他问我为什么睡不着，我只会说“你不会想知道的”，或者，用一种迂回的方式，只说我曾经答应不到他那边的阳台，一方面怕冒犯他，也因为我不想测试我们之间无形的引信。你说什么引信？那个引信，就是如果有一夜我做了太强烈的梦，或比平常多喝了几杯，我恐怕要轻易越界，推开你的玻璃门，然后说，奥利弗，是我，我睡不着，让我跟你在一起。就是那个引信啊！
But, if on our rides together the following mornings he were to ask, then I’d spill everything.
但是，如果第二天早上我们一起骑车时他问起，那么我会吐露一切。
The trip wire loomed at all hours of the night. An owl, the sound of Oliver’s own window shutters squeaking against the wind, the music from a distant, all-night discotheque in an adjoining hill town, the scuffling of cats very late at night, or the creak of the wooden lintel of my bedroom door, anything could wake me. But I’d known these since childhood and, like a sleeping fawn flicking his tail at an intrusive insect, knew how to brush them away and fall instantly back to sleep. Sometimes, though, a mere nothing, like a sense of dread or shame, would slip its way out of my sleep and hover undefined about me and watch me sleep and, bending down to my ear, finally whisper, I’m not trying to wake you, I’m really not, go back to sleep, Elio, keep sleeping — while I made every effort to recover the dream I was about to reenter any moment now and could almost rescript if only I tried a bit harder.
那引信整夜若隐若现。猫头鹰的啼鸣，奥利弗房间百叶窗迎风吱嘎作响的声音，远从临近山城通宵迪斯科夜总会传来的音乐，深夜猫儿拖着脚走路的声音，我卧房门相的吱嘎声…一点声响都可能吵醒我。但这些是我从小熟悉的声音，就像睡着的小鹿挥动尾巴拂去讨厌的虫子，我知道怎么摆脱，旋即再度入睡。但有时候，当我尽一切努力找回我此刻随时准备再进入，而且只要再努力一些就几乎能重写的梦境，一个微不足道的，如同恐惧或羞耻的感觉会溜出我的睡眠，盘旋在我周围看着我睡，接着俯身在我耳边低声说：我没打算吵醒你，我真的没有，回去睡吧，艾里奥，继续睡。
But sleep would not come, and sure enough not one but two troubling thoughts, like paired specters materializing out of the fog of sleep, stood watch over me: desire and shame, the longing to throw open my window and, without thinking, run into his room stark-naked, and, on the other hand, my repeated inability to take the slightest risk to bring any of this about. There they were, the legacy of youth, the two mascots of my life, hunger and fear, watching over me, saying, So many before you have taken the chance and been rewarded, why can’t you? No answer. So many have balked, so why must you? No answer. And then it came, as ever deriding me: If not later, Elio, when?
我睡不着。一个，甚至是两个扰人的念头，如一对幽灵从睡眠的浓雾中显形…“欲望”与“羞耻”站着监视我。我既渴望用力推开自己房间的落地窗，不假思索、一丝不挂冲进他房间；另一方面，却又一次一次怯于冒一丁点风险好实现任何一个心愿。青春的遗物、我生命中的两个吉祥物，“饥饿”与“恐惧”，监视我，对我说：好多人都冒过险，也得到报酬了，你为什么做不到？我不回答。好多人受过挫折，你何必呢？我不回答。接着出现那句话，依旧嘲笑我：艾里奥，回头不试，更待何时？
That night, yet again, an answer did come, though it came in a dream that was itself a dream within a dream. I awoke with an image that told me more than I wanted to know, as though, de- spite all of my frank admissions to myself about what I wanted from him, and how I’d want it, there were still a few corners I’d avoided. In this dream I finally learned what my body must have known from the very first day. We were in his room, and, contrary to all my fantasies, it was not I who had my back on the bed, but Oliver; I was on top of him, watching, on his face, an expression at once so flushed, so readily acquiescent, that even in my sleep it tore every emotion out of me and told me one thing I could never have known or guessed so far: that not to give what I was dying to give him at whatever price was perhaps the greatest crime I might ever commit in my life. I desperately wanted to give him something. By contrast, taking seemed so bland, so facile, so mechanical. And then I heard it, as I knew by now I would. “You’ll kill me if you stop,” he was gasping, conscious that he’d already spoken these selfsame words to me a few nights before in another dream but that, having said them once, he was also free to repeat them whenever he came into my dreams, even though neither of us seemed to know whether it was his voice that was breaking from inside me or whether my memory of these very words was exploding in him. His face, which seemed both to endure my passion and by doing so to abet it, gave me an image of kindness and fire I had never seen and could never have imagined on anyone’s face before. This very image of him would become like a night-light in my life, keeping vigil on those days when I’d all but given up, rekindling my desire for him when I wanted it dead, stoking the embers of courage when I feared a snub might dispel every semblance of pride. The look on his face became like the tiny snapshot of a beloved that soldiers take with them to the battlefield, not only to remember there are good things in life and that happiness awaits them, but to remind themselves that this face might never forgive them for coming back in a body bag.
那天晚上，答案真的再度来访，尽管它出现在一个本身就是梦中梦的梦里。某个意象唤醒我，它告诉我的，比我想知道的还多；尽管我对自己坦承想从奥利弗那儿得到什么、我多么想要，却仍有几个角落是我回避的。在这个梦里，我总算知道我的身体打从第一天起就铁定知道的事。我们在他房里，而且，与我所有的幻想相反，躺在床上的人不是我，而是奥利弗；我在他上面，看着；他面色潮红，一脸慨然应允的表情。尽管在我睡梦中，我的感情还是全被撕扯下来，我也因此知道一件截至目前不可能知道或猜到的事：不把我渴望不计代价给予的东西给他，或许是我这辈子所犯下最严重的罪行。我拼命想给他一些什么，相对于此，“接受”似乎是那么稀松平常、那么轻而易举、那么机械化。接着我听到那句话，那句我早预见我要听到的。“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我。”他喘着气，意识到几天前的晚上，他已在另一个梦里对我说过相同的话。但既然说过一次，每次再到我梦中，他仍然能够自由重复这句话，虽然我们似乎都不知道那是他从我体内发出来的声音，或是我对这几个字的记忆在他体内爆开来。他的脸似乎在忍受我热情的同时，也借着此举来煽动我的热情，给我一张仁慈与火焰的意象，那是我过去未曾在任何人脸上见过也绝对想象不到的。正是他的这个意象，有如我生命中的一盏夜灯，在我几乎放弃的日子里静静守护；在我宁愿我对他的欲望枯死时，重新点燃；在我害怕一个怠慢可能驱散每一个像是自尊的假象时，为勇气的余烬添加柴火。他脸上的表情好似士兵带上战场的心上人快照，不仅为了记得人生中有美好的事物，幸福正在家乡等待，也为了提醒自己，心上人绝对不原谅他们躺在运尸袋里回来。
It was just that I couldn’t allow myself to hope I’d ever see him wearing no bathing suit at all.
我想看到他完全不穿泳裤的样子——但我却不让自己有这样的盼望。
These words made me long for things and try things I would never have thought myself capable of.
这几个字让我渴望并尝试一些从前我绝对想不到自己有能力做到的事。
No: he was also the other man, the one in the red bathing suit.
不，他还有另一面，当他穿上红色泳裤的那一面。
If on our second morning after the piazzetta I found the courage to insist on going to town with him though it was obvious he didn’t even want to speak with me, it was only because as I looked at him and saw him mouthing the words he had just written on his yellow pad, I kept remembering his other, pleading words: “You’ll kill me if you stop.” When I offered him the book in the bookstore, and later even insisted on being the one to pay for our ice cream because buying an ice cream also meant walking our bikes through the narrow, shaded lanes of B. and therefore being together awhile longer, it was also to thank him for giving me “You’ll kill me if you stop.” Even when I ribbed him and promised to make no speeches, it was because I was secretly cradling “You’ll kill me if you stop”– far more precious now than any other admission from him. That morning, I’d written it down in my diary but omitted to say I had dreamt it. I wanted to come back years later and believe, if only for a moment, that he had truly spoken these pleading words to me. What I wanted to preserve was the turbulent gasp in his voice which lingered with me for days afterward and told me that, if I could have him like this in my dreams every night of my life, I’d stake my entire life on dreams and be done with the rest.
小广场事件翌日早晨，尽管他显然连话都懒得跟我说，我仍能鼓起勇气坚持随他进城，只是因为我看着他，看他默念自己在黄色拍纸簿上写下的字，想起了他（在梦中）也说着那句话——“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我”。我之所以在书店送书给他，后来甚至坚持付钱请吃冰淇淋，是因为这样才能拉长相聚的时刻，才能一起牵着脚踏车走过B城狭窄阴凉的巷弄，更是为了答谢他（在梦中）对我说“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我”。我戏弄他，保证不跟他说话，也是因为我偷偷抚育着“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我”。这句话比他任何告白还要珍贵。那天早上，我在我自己的日记里写下这句话，却略过不写那是我梦见的。我希望多年以后重读日记，相信他真的对我这般恳求，即使只有一下子也好。我想保存的是他声音里骚乱的喘息，那声音后来纠缠了我好几天，并告诉我，如我这一生每夜都能让他这样出现在我梦里，我愿意将我的一生赌在梦上，其余一概放弃。
Regardless of how much he wished to have nothing to do with me, regardless of those he’d befriended and was surely sleeping with each night, anyone who’d revealed his entire humanity to me while lying naked under me, even in my dream, could not be any different in real life. This was who he truly was; the rest was incidental.
暂且不论他多想撇清跟我的关系，也不去管每晚与他为友，上床的那些人。真实世界中的他，跟那个梦境里裸身躺在我身下，对我袒露一切的人，没有任何不同。这才是真实的他。其他面貌只是偶发事件。
I had said it to put his words in my mouth, to savor them awhile longer before squirreling them back in my hideaway, the way shepherds take their sheep out uphill when it’s warm but rush them back indoors when the weather cools. By shouting his words I was fleshing them out and giving them longer life, as though they had a life of their own now, a longer and louder life that no one could govern, like the life of echoes once they’ve bounced off the cliffs of B. and gone to dive by the distant shoals where Shelley’s boat slammed into the squall. I was returning to Oliver what was his, giving him back his words with the implicit wish that he repeat them back to me again, as in my dream, because now it was his turn to say them.
我这么说是为了把他的话放进我嘴里，在妥善放回秘密隐藏处之前多品味一下，像个牧羊人趁天气暖和带羊上山，却在天气转凉时把羊赶进屋舍里一夜。借着喊出他的话，我丰富这句话，延长这几个字的寿命，仿佛这些字有了自己的生命，更长、更招摇，没人能驾驭，有如回声，从B城悬崖那儿弹开，跃下雪莱遭遇船难的那处遥远浅滩。我把他的东西还给他，把他的书还给他，默默希望他重复这句话，把这句话还给我，恍如在我梦中一般，因为现在轮到他来说了。
As we sped downhill past my spot, past the olive groves and the sunflowers that turned their startled faces to us as we glided past the marine pines, past the two old train cars that had lost their wheels generations ago but still bore the royal insignia of the House of Savoy, past the string of gypsy vendors screaming murder at us for almost grazing their daughters with our bikes, I turned to him and yelled, “Kill me if I stop.”
我们加速下山经过我的秘密基地，经过橄榄小树林。滑过海松树林时，满脸惊讶的向日葵花看着我们。我们经过两列好几代前早掉了轮子却仍然高挂萨伏伊王室⑬标志的旧火车厢；经过一群因为我们的脚踏车差点擦伤他的女儿而大喊“杀人啦”的吉卜赛小贩，我面向他大喊：“我停下来的话就杀了我吧。”【注：⑬萨伏伊王室（House of Savoy）：十一世纪初起源于萨伏伊地方的意大利贵族，从一个小地方逐渐扩张成为意大利王国的统治者，其统治权结束于一九四六年二战之后，为欧洲存在最久的王室。】
A few days ago his foot was on mine. Now, not even a glance.
几天前，他把脚叠在我脚上。现在甚至懒得看一眼。
At dinner not a word. After dinner he disappeared upstairs.
晚餐时一句话也没有。晚餐后他消失到楼上去。
Around dinner, he came back down for a drink. “I’ll miss all this, Mrs. P.,” he said, his hair glistening after his late-afternoon shower, the “star” look beaming all over his features. My mother smiled; la muvi star was welcome ennnnni taim. Then he took the usual short walk with Vimini to help her look for her pet chameleon. I never quite understood what the two of them saw in each other, but it felt far more natural and spontaneous than anything he and I shared. Half an hour later, they were back. Vimini had scaled a fig tree and was told by her mother to go wash before dinner.
近晚餐时，他又下楼找东西喝。傍晚才淋浴过的他，发闪闪发光。“我会怀念这一切的，教授夫人。”他说湿润的头，我们的“大明星”看起来笑容满面。母亲也操着意大利口音笑着对他说：“随时欢迎大明星来啊。”接着他像平常一样陪薇米妮去散个小步，帮她找她的宠物变色龙。我一直不太了解他们为什么彼此喜欢，却感觉那比他和我之间共有的更自然而不造作。半小时后，他们回来。薇米妮因为爬过无花果树，她妈妈要她吃晚饭前先洗澡。
At lunch, not a word. After lunch he sat in the shade in the garden doing, as he announced before coffee, two days’ work. No, he wasn’t going to town tonight. Maybe tomorrow. No poker either. Then he went upstairs.
午餐时，一句话也没有。午餐后他坐在花园的树荫下，一如他喝咖啡前宣告的那样，做两天份的工作。不，他今晚不进城。或许明天吧。也不打扑克牌。接着他就上楼了。
I could have sworn that sometime around ten or so he’d make a quiet getaway and head to town. But I could see the light drifting from his end of the balcony. It cast a faint, oblique orange band toward the landing by my door. From time to time, I heard him moving.
我发誓，十点钟左右，他肯定要偷偷溜进城。我看见他那头的阳台光影浮动。那月光向我门边的楼梯平台射出一道模糊曲折的橘色光线。偶尔还能听到他活动的声音。
Marzia met me in her garden. She was seated on an old, wrought-iron chair, her legs extended in front of her, with just her heels touching the ground. Her bike was leaning against another chair, its handlebar almost touching the ground. She was wearing a sweater. You made me wait a lot, she said. We left her house via a shortcut that was steeper but that brought us to town in no time. The light and the sound of bustling nightlife from the piazzetta were brimming over into the side alleys. One of the restaurants was in the habit of taking out tiny wooden tables and putting them on the sidewalk whenever its clientele overflowed the allotted space on the square. When we entered the piazza the bustle and commotion filled me with the usual sense of anxiety and inadequacy. Marzia would run into friends, others were bound to tease. Even being with her would challenge me in one way or another. I didn’t want to be challenged.
玛琪雅在她家花园等我。她坐在一张老旧的锻铁椅子上，两腿向前伸，只有脚后跟着地。她的脚踏车靠在另一张椅子上，把手几乎碰到地面。她穿了一件长袖运动衫。你常常让我等呢，她说。我们抄近路离开她家，那条路比较陡，不过一下子就到城区了。小广场夜生活喧嚣的声光满溢在巷弄里。其中一间餐厅每当广场的座位区客满，就搬出小木桌放在人行道上。来到露天市场，喧闹和骚动让我充满惯有的焦虑和自卑。玛琪雅可能会与朋友不期而遇，其他人一定会取笑。即使跟她在一起，对我来说也是某种挑战。我不想被挑战。
I decided to call a friend to ask if he was headed to town. His mother replied that he’d already left, and yes, had probably gone to the same place as well. I called another. He too had already left. My father said, “Why don’t you call Marzia? Are you avoiding her?” Not avoiding — but she seemed full of complications. “As if you aren’t!” he added. When I called she said she wasn’t going anywhere tonight. There was a dusky chill in her voice. I was calling to apologize. “I heard you were sick.” It was nothing, I replied. I could come and pick her up by bike, and together we’d ride to B. She said she’d join me.
我决定打电话问朋友要不要一起进城。朋友的母亲回答说他已经离开，没错，可能也是去同一个地方。我又打给另一个，他也已经走了。父亲问：“为什么不打电话给玛琪雅，你躲她？”不是躲，可是她似乎很复杂。“你自己就不复杂呀？”他补了一句。我打电话给玛琪雅，她说她今晚哪儿都不去，声音里有一股阴郁的冷淡。我打电话是为了道歉。“听说你病了？”那没什么，我回答。我可以骑脚踏车去接她，然后一起骑车去B城。她说她会跟我去。
My parents were watching TV when I walked out of the house. I could hear my steps on the gravel. I didn’t mind the noise. It kept me company. He’d hear it too, I thought.
我出门时，父母在看电视。我听见自己踏在砾石上的脚步声。我不在乎噪音。噪音与我为伴。他也会听见，我想。
Rather than join some of the people we knew at a table in the caffès, we stood in line to buy two ice creams. She asked me to buy her cigarettes as well.
我们没有加入坐在咖啡店的那群朋友，而是排队买两个冰淇淋带走。她也要我替她买烟。
Then, with our ice-cream cones, we began to walk casually through the crowded piazzetta, threading our way along one street, then another, and still another. I liked it when cobblestones glistened in the dark, liked the way she and I ambled about lazily as we walked our bikes through town, listening to the muffled chatter of TV stations coming from behind open windows. The bookstore was still open, and I asked her if she minded. No, she didn’t mind, she’d come in with me. We leaned our bikes against the wall. The beaded fly curtain gave way to a smoky, musty room littered with overbrimming ashtrays. The owner was thinking of closing soon, but the Schubert quartet was still playing and a couple in their mid-twenties, tourists, were thumbing through books in the English-language section, probably looking for a novel with local color. How different from that morning when there hadn’t been a soul about and blinding sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee had filled the shop. Marzia looked over my shoulder while I picked up a book of poetry on the table and began to read one of the poems. I was about to turn the page when she said she hadn’t finished reading yet. I liked this. Seeing the couple next to us about to purchase an Italian novel in translation, I interrupted their conversation and advised against it. “This is much, much better. It’s set in Sicily, not here, but it’s probably the best Italian novel written this century.”
我们拿着卷筒冰淇淋漫无目的地穿过拥挤的小广场，在巷弄间闲晃。我喜欢鹅卵石在黑暗中闪闪发光的样子，喜欢和她闲散地牵着脚踏车走过城镇，听敞开的窗户里边传来电视闷闷的聒噪声。书店还开着，我问她是否介意。不，她不介意，她愿意跟我一起进去。我们把脚踏车靠墙停放，撩开书店门口的珠帘，走进烟雾袅绕、满是霉味的店内，烟灰缸里的烟灰都满出来了。老板说就快打烊，可是店里仍播着舒伯特的四重奏，一对二十五六岁的男女旅客迅速浏览英文书区，或许想找有地方色彩的小说吧。这一夜的书店，与四下无人、阳光炫目、弥漫清爽咖啡香的那个早晨多么不同啊。我拿起桌上的诗集读起其中一首诗，玛琪雅站在我后面看。我正要翻页，她说她还没读完。我喜欢这种感觉。看到我们旁边的情侣正准备买一本意大利小说翻译本，我打断他们的交谈，建议他们别买。“这本好很多、很多。虽然背景设定在西西里而不是这里，却可能是本世纪最棒的意大利小说。”
Two other young adults, wearing stylish summer sports jackets, without ties, were discussing literature with the owner, all three of them smoking. On the table next to the cashier stood a clutter of mostly emptied wine glasses, and next to them one large bottle of port. The tourists, I noticed, were holding emptied glasses. Obviously, they’d been offered wine during the book party. The owner looked over to us and with a silent glance that wished to apologize for interrupting asked if we wanted some port as well. I looked at Marzia and shrugged back, meaning, She doesn’t seem to want to. The owner, still silent, pointed to the bottle and shook his head in mock disapproval, to suggest it was a pity to throw away such good port tonight, so why not help him finish it before closing the shop. I finally accepted, as did Marzia. Out of politeness, I asked what was the book being celebrated tonight. Another man, whom I hadn’t noticed because he’d been reading something in the tiny alcove, named the book: Se l’amore. If Love. “Is it good?” I asked.
另外两个年轻人正在跟老板讨论文学，他们身穿时髦的夏季休闲外套，没打领带，三个人都抽烟。收银台旁边的桌子凌乱地摆着酒杯，多是空的，酒杯旁有一大瓶波多葡萄酒。我注意到那两名旅客拿着空杯子，显然新书发表会上有人请他们喝酒。老板朝我们这边看，用眼神静静为打扰我们致歉，问我们要不要也来点波多酒。我看看玛琪雅，对老板耸肩，意思是：她似乎不想喝。仍然未发一语的老板指了指瓶子，摇摇头假装不同意，暗示丢掉今晚这么棒的波多酒太可惜，何不帮他在打徉前把酒喝完？最后我接受了，玛琪雅也是。出于礼貌，我问他今晚是哪本书的发表会？有个我先前没注意到的人说出书名：《就说是爱吧》。“这本书好吗？”我问。
“We’ve seen the movie,” said the girl. “Is it as good as Calvino, though?” I shrugged my shoulders. Marzia was still interested in the same poem and was actually rereading it. “Calvino is nothing in comparison — lint and tinsel. But I’m just a kid, and what do I know?”
女子问道：“我们看过电影。这本跟卡尔维诺一样好看吗？”我耸耸肩。玛琪雅的兴趣仍然在同一首诗上，又重读了一次。“比起来，卡尔维诺显得冗长虚浮，根本不算什么。不过我只是个小孩子，懂什么呢？”
“Would you inscribe a copy for me?”
“你愿意为我在书上题字吗？”
“Pure junk,” he replied. “I should know. I wrote it.”
“根本是垃圾。相信我，因为是我写的。”他回答。
I envied him. I envied him the book reading, the party, the friends and aficionados who had come in from the surrounding areas to congratulate him in the little bookstore off our little piazzetta in this little town. They had left more than fifty emptied glasses behind. I envied him the privilege of putting himself down.
我羡慕他。我羡慕他的读书会、发表会，还有从周边地区到这个小城，到我们迷你小广场附近这家小书店来向他道贺的朋友和书迷。他们留下超过五十个空杯。我羡慕他有自我贬抑的特权。
I decided to buy Marzia a copy as well, and begged him to inscribe it for her, which he did, adding an endless doodle next to his name. “I don’t think it’s for you either, signorina, but…”
我决定也替玛琪雅买一本，并请作家为她题字。他照做，还在他的名字旁加上没完没了的胡乱涂写。“我也不认为这本书适合这位小姐，不过…”
“Con piacere,” he replied, and before the owner had handed him a felt-tip pen, the author had already taken out his Pelikan. “I’m not sure this book is for you, but…” He let the sentence trail into silence with a mix of utter humility tinted with the faintest suggestion of affected swagger, which translated into, You asked me to sign and I’m only too happy to play the part of the famous poet which we both know I’m not.
很乐意。”作者回答，在老板递过签字笔之前，已经拿出自己的百利金钢笔。“我不确定这本书是不是适合你，不过…”他拉长的语气混合十足的谦逊与些微装出来的自大意味，仿佛说着：你要我签名，我也很乐意扮演名诗人的角色，但我们都知道我不是。
She seemed to shudder, but did not move. I kissed her again. Then, catching myself, I whispered, “Did it bother you?”
她似乎因我这举动而微微发颤，但仍然站在远处。我又吻她一次。接着，我以为自己做错事了，低声问她：“我让你不舒服吗？”
“Of course not,” she whispered back.
她也低声回答我：“当然没有。”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll imagine all sorts of things — and I’ll just feel terrible.”
“如果你不告诉我，我会胡思乱想。我会很难过。”
“I don’t understand why you’re asking.”
“我不知道你为什么问？”
As we stood by the cashier, watching the bookseller take forever to wrap each copy in glossy yellow paper, to which he added a ribbon and, on the ribbon, the store’s silver seal-sticker, I sidled up to her and, maybe because she simply stood there so close to me, kissed her behind the ear.
我们站在收银台旁边，看老板花好多时间把两本书分别以光滑的黄纸包起来，加上缎带，然后在缎带上贴一张书店的银色标签贴纸。我悄悄接近玛琪雅，或者因为她就站在我附近，我不由得往她耳后吻了一下。
“Perché mi andava, because I felt like it.”
“因为我想啊。”
“Yes, but why did you buy it for me — why buy me a book?”
“对，可是你为什么买给我？为什么买书给我？”
“Any idiot would understand why I’m asking. But you don’t. Figures!”
“随便哪个笨蛋都知道我为什么问。可是你却不懂！还真是不令人意外！”
For a moment I thought she was going to ask me why I’d kissed her.
我本来以为她要问我为什么吻他。
Outside, she couldn’t help herself. “Why did you buy me this book?”
离开书店，她再也忍不住。“你为什么买这本书给我？”
“I still don’t follow.”
“我还是没懂”
Then, once again, I asked the bookseller to put both books on my father’s bill.
接着，我再度请老板把两本书都记在父亲的账上。
I gazed at her, looking totally startled by the flutters of anger and vexation in her voice.
我凝视她，对于她突然发飘的态度和声音中的气恼显得十分惊讶。
“You’re hopeless.”
“你没救了。”
“You’re an ass. Give me a cigarette.”
“你是头笨驴。给我一根烟。”
It’s not that I didn’t suspect where she was headed, but that I couldn’t believe that she had seen through me so clearly. Perhaps I didn’t want to believe what she was implying for fear of having to answer for my behavior. Had I been purposely disingenuous? Could I continue to misconstrue what she was saying without feeling entirely dishonest?
我不是没猜过她的心思，可是我不敢相信她把我看得这么透彻。或许是害怕我必须为自己的行为负责，才使我不想相信她所暗示的事。我是故意不老实吗？我能继续在问心无愧的状况下，曲解她的话吗？
Then I had a brilliant insight. Perhaps I’d been ignoring every one of her signals on purpose: to draw her out. This the shy and ineffectual call strategy.
接着，我有一个很棒的观察。或许我为了引她说真话，故意忽视她每一个信号——害羞与无能的人称之为策略。
Only then, by a ricochet mechanism that totally surprised me, did it hit me. Had Oliver been doing the same with me? Intentionally ignoring me all the time, the better to draw me in?
就在这时候，我灵光一闪，惊觉：难道奥利弗也是这样？借由故意忽视我来引诱我？
We left the bookstore and lit two cigarettes. A minute later we heard a loud metallic rattle. The owner was lowering the steel shutter. “Do you really like to read that much?” she asked as we ambled our way casually in the dark toward the piazzetta.
我和玛琪雅离开书店，点了两根烟。一分钟后，听到响亮的金属嘎嘎声，书店铁门慢慢放下来。“你真的这么喜欢看书？”我们漫不在焉地摸黑漫步走向小广场时，她问道。
Wasn’t this what he’d implied when he said he’d seen through my own attempts to ignore him?
他说他早已看透我忽略他的企图，不正暗示了这件事？
I looked at her as if she had asked me if I loved music, or bread and salted butter, or ripe fruit in the summertime. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I like to read too. But I don’t tell anyone.” At last, I thought, someone who speaks the truth. I asked her why she didn’t tell anyone. “I don’t know…” This was more her way of asking for time to think or to hedge before answering, “People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don’t always like who they are.”
我看着她，仿佛她问的是我喜不喜欢音乐、面包、咸奶油，或夏季水果。“别误会，我也喜欢看书。但我不会告诉任何人。”总算，有人说真话了，我想。我问她为什么不告诉任何人。“我不知道…”这倒不如说是她在回答之前，希望别人给她时间想，或闪躲问题的方式。“喜欢看书的人善于隐藏真实的自己。隐藏自我的人未必喜欢自己。”
“Do you hide who you are?”
“你隐藏自己？”
“Sometimes. Don’t you?”
“有时候。你不会吗？”
“Like what?”
“像是什么？”
“Do I? I suppose.” And then, contrary to my every impulse, I found myself stumbling into a question I might otherwise never have dared ask. “Do you hide from me?”
“我会吗？我想会吧。”接着，出于冲动，我无意间间了一个平常绝对不敢问的问题：“你也对我有所隐藏吗？”
“Why do you say that?”
“你为什么这么说？”
“No, not from you. Or maybe, yes, a bit.”
“没有，对你不会。或者，有，有一点。”
“You know exactly like what.”
“你明明知道。”
“Why? Because I think you can hurt me and I don’t want to be hurt.” Then she thought for a moment. “Not that you mean to hurt anyone, but because you’re always changing your mind, always slipping, so no one knows where to find you. You scare me.”
“为什么？因为我知道你可能会伤害我，而我不想受到伤害。”她想了片刻。“不是说你故意要伤害任何人，而是因为你老是改变主意，老是悄悄溜走，没人知道上哪儿去找你。你让我害怕。”
We were both walking so slowly that when we stopped our bicycles, neither took note. I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. She took her bike, placed it against the door of a closed shop, and, leaning against a wall, said, “Kiss me again?” Using my kickstand, I stood the bike in the middle of the alley and, once we were close, I held her face with both hands, then leaned into her as we began to kiss, my hands under her shirt, hers in my hair. I loved her simplicity, her candor. It was in every word she’d spoken to me that night — untrammeled, frank, human — and in the way her hips responded to mine now, without inhibition, without exaggeration, as though the connection between lips and hips in her body was fluid and instantaneous. A kiss on the mouth was not a prelude to a more comprehensive contact, it was already contact in its totality. There was nothing between our bodies but our clothes, which was why I was not caught by surprise when she slipped a hand between us and down into my trousers, and said, “Set duro, duro, you’re so hard.” And it was her frankness, unfettered and unstrained, that made me harder yet now.
我们走得很慢，以至于没注意推着脚踏车的脚步也停了。我倾身在她唇上轻轻吻了一下。她牵着车，把车靠在一家打烊的店铺门上，倚着墙说：“再吻我一次？”我让脚踏车停在小巷子中央，走向她，双手捧着她的脸，贴着她吻了起来，双手伸进她衬衫里，她抓着我的头发。我爱她的单纯，她的直率。事实就表现在那晚她对我说的每个字里，不受拘束、坦白、有人情味；也表现在这时她臀部回应我的方式，没有压抑，没有夸大，仿佛嘴唇和臀部之间的连结在她身上是流动而瞬时的。嘴上的一个吻不是更全面接触的前奏，而是接触的一部分。我们之间只隔着衣物，她一手悄悄滑进我们之间，下探到我裤子里，然后说：“你好硬。”我并不吃惊。是她的坦白、自由、无拘无束，让我此刻更加硬挺。
I wanted to look at her, stare in her eyes as she held me in her hand, tell her how long I’d wanted to kiss her, say something to show that the person who’d called her tonight and picked her up at her house was no longer the same cold, lifeless boy — but she cut me short: “Baciami ancora, kiss me again.”
她抚摸我最私密的部位，我看着她，凝视她的眼睛，告诉她我一直好想吻她，想说一些话，证明今晚打电话给她、去接她的人，已经不是过去那个冰冷沉闷的男生。可是她打断我的话：“再吻我一次。”
An image flitted through my mind: she and I sitting in the garden every morning after breakfast, she wearing her bikini, always urging me to walk downstairs and join her for a swim.
一个意象掠过我心头：她和我每天吃过早餐后坐在花园里，她穿着她的比基尼，老是催我下楼跟她一起游泳。
I kissed her again, but my mind was racing ahead to the berm. Should I propose it? We would have to ride our bikes for five minutes, especially if we took her shortcut and made our way directly through the olive groves. I knew we’d run into other lovers around there. Otherwise there was the beach. I’d used the spot before. Everyone did. I might propose my room, no one at home would have known or for that matter cared.
我又吻她一次，但我的心已经先飞奔到崖径去了。我该这么提议吗？就算抄近路直接穿越橄榄树林，也要骑上五分钟。我知道在那附近会遇到其他情侣。不然就到海边去。我也在海边做过这档事，大家都做过。或许提议到我房间？家里没人会知道，也不介意。
“Ma tu mi uuoi veramente bene, do you really care for me?” she asked. Did it come from nowhere — or was this the same wounded look in need of soothing which had been shadowing our steps ever since we’d left the bookstore?
“你真的在乎我吗？”她问。这句话是凭空而来的？或者这张受伤需要安慰的脸，和我们从书店出来以后就一直尾随我们脚步的，是同一张脸？
I couldn’t understand how boldness and sorrow, how you’re so hard and do you really care for me? could be so thoroughly bound together. Nor could I begin to fathom how someone so seemingly vulnerable, hesitant, and eager to confide so many uncertainties about herself could, with one and the same gesture, reach into my pants with unabashed recklessness and hold on to my cock and squeeze it.
我无法了解大胆和忧愁，“你好硬”和“你真的在乎我吗”如何能够这样彻底结合在一起？我也很难揣测为什么一个表面上如此柔弱、踌躇、渴望吐露这么多不确定的自我的人，能用同一个姿势，不害臊、不顾后果地把手伸进我裤子里，紧捏我那个地方。
By the time I was ready to slip the note under his door it was already dawn. Marzia and I had made love in a deserted spot on the beach, a place nicknamed the Aquarium, where the night’s condoms would unavoidably gather and be seen floating among the rocks like returning salmon in trapped water. “We planned to meet later in the day.
等我准备好要把纸条塞进他门缝，天已破晓。玛琪雅和我在海边人烟罕至的地方做爱。大家都昵称那儿是“水族馆”，因为夜晚留下来的安全套难免积聚在那里，在礁石间漂移，看起来犹如返乡的鲑鱼受困于水中罗网。我们打算当天晚一点再见一次面。
While kissing her more passionately now, and with our hands straying all over each other’s bodies, I found myself composing the note I resolved to slip under his door that night: Can’t stand the silence. I need to speak to you.
就在我更热烈吻她，两人的手在彼此全身上下游走的时候，我脑子里构想的是当晚我决心塞在奥利弗门缝下那张纸条的内容：沉默难耐。我必须跟你谈谈。
Now, as I made my way home, I loved her smell on my body, on my hands. I would do nothing to wash it away. I’d keep it on me till we met in the evening. Part of me still enjoyed luxuriating in this newfound, beneficent wave of indifference, verging on distaste, for Oliver that both pleased me and told me how fickle I ultimately was. Perhaps he sensed that all I’d wanted from him was to sleep with him to be done with him and had instinctively resolved to have nothing to do with me. To think that a few nights ago I had felt so strong an urge to host his body in mine that I’d nearly jumped out of bed to seek him out in his room. Now the idea couldn’t possibly arouse me. Perhaps this whole thing with Oliver had been canicular rut, and I was well rid of it. By contrast, all I had to do was smell Marzia on my hand and I loved the all-woman in every woman.
我步行回家。我喜欢她的气味留在我身上、留在我手上。我不会刻意洗掉。我要把那气味留在身上，一直到晚上两人见面为止。我仍然沉湎于对奥利弗这前所未有的有益的不开心到近乎憎恶的感情波动，这令我高兴，也叫我知道我是多么反复无常。或许他感觉到我只想跟他上床，然后就此结束，所以出于本能要跟我撇清关系。想想几天前的夜里，我强烈渴望在我体内接待他的身体，几乎从床上跳起来，到他房里去找他。现在同样一个念头却不可能激起我的欲望。或许对奥利弗的渴望只是酷暑期的发情，而我即将摆脱。相对地，我只要闻闻手上玛琪雅的气味就好，我爱煞了每个女人都有的地道女人味。
Way over the top.
太夸张了。
Please don’t avoid me.
请不要躲我。
Can’t stand the silence. 1 need to speak to you.
沉默难耐。我必须跟你谈谈。
Then I rewrote it: Please don’t avoid me. It kills me.
接着又重写一张：请不要躲我。那会令我生不如死。
Which I rewrote: Your silence is killing me.
我又改写成：你的沉默一点一滴侵蚀我。
Can’t stand thinking you hate me.
想到你恨我，令我无法忍受。
Scarcely an hour later, and Oliver came back to me au galop. To sit in bed with him and offer him my palm and say, Here, smell this, and then to watch him sniff at my hand, holding it ever so gently in both of his, finally placing my middle finger to his lips and then suddenly all the way into his mouth.
不到一小时后，奥利弗又飞快重回我心里。我想跟他一起坐在床上，伸出我的手掌，对他说，来，你闻闻看，接着看他双手轻轻捧着我的手嗅，然后我要把中指放在他唇上，突然塞进他嘴里。
At the last minute I came back to the original.
到了最后一刻，我还是回到原来的版本。
I knew the feeling wouldn’t last long and that, as with all addicts, it was easy to forswear an addiction immediately after a fix.
我知道这种感觉不持久，就像刚用过毒品的人总能轻易发誓戒毒一样。
I’d sooner die than know you hate me.
知道你憎恨我，我宁可死。
Too plangent. No, make it less lachrymose, but keep the trite death speech.
太悲哀。不行，不要写得这么催泪，但老掉牙的寻死寻活要继续。
I folded the piece of lined paper and slipped it under his door with the resigned apprehension of Caesar crossing the Rubicon. There was no turning back now. lacta alea est, Caesar had said, the die is cast. It amused me to think that the verb “to throw,” iacere in Latin, has the same root as the verb “to ejaculate.” No sooner had I thought this than I realized that what I wanted was to bring him not just her scent on my fingers but, dried on my hand, the imprint of my semen.
我折起纸条，抱着恺撒渡过卢比孔河时听天由命的忧思，塞到他门缝。无法回头了。Iacta alea est。恺撒说过，骰子已经掷出去了。想到“掷”这个动词的拉丁文iacere与“射精”这个动词有相同的字根，令我发嚎。我旋即意识到，我想给他的不仅是玛琪雅留在我手指上的气味，还有我的精液在我手上干掉的痕迹。
I tore out a sheet of paper from a school notebook.
我从学校笔记本撕了一张纸。
When I went back upstairs to fetch my books, I saw the same folded piece of lined notebook paper on my desk. He must have stepped into my room using the balcony door and placed it where I’d spot it. If I read it now it would ruin my day. But if I put off reading it, the whole day would become meaningless, and I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else. In all likelihood, he was tossing it back to me without adding anything on it, as though to mean: / found this on the floor. It’s probably yours. Later! Or it might mean something far more blunted: No reply.
我回楼上拿书的时候，看见同一张折起来的纸条摆在我桌上。他一定是从阳台落地窗走进我房间，把纸条放在我看得见的地方，如果我现在看，我这天就毁了。但如果我晚一点再看，这一整天也变得没有意义，无法思考其他任何事情。十之八九，他什么都没写就丢回来，表示“我在地上捡到这个。可能是你的吧。回头再说”，或者更直接：不予回应。
Fifteen minutes later I was prey to two countervailing emotions: regret that I had sent the message, and regret that there wasn’t a drop of irony in it.
十五分钟后，两种相抗衡的情绪折磨着我，我后悔送出那个留言，也后悔留言里不带一丝讥讽。
“I don’t play poker.” My father and Oliver exchanged significant glances. Then they began discussing the day’s workload. And I lost him. Another day of torture.
“我不打扑克牌。”父亲和奥利弗交换意味深长的一瞥，接着开始讨论当天的工作。我因此又失去他。又是一天的折磨。
At breakfast, when he finally showed up after his jog, all he asked without raising his head was whether I had enjoyed myself last night, the implication being I had gone to bed very late. “Insomma, so-so,” I replied, trying to keep my answer as vague as possible, which was also my way of suggesting I was minimizing a report that would have been too long otherwise. “Must be tired, then,” was my father’s ironic contribution to the conversation. “Or was it poker that you were playing too?”
早餐时，他总算在慢跑后现身。他头也没抬，只问我昨晚是否玩得开心。“简单地说，马马虎虎。”我回答，想尽可能说得含糊，也借此暗示我在尽量简化原本可能冗长的报告。“那一定很累吧。”父亲这般反讽。“你也去打扑克牌？”
Grow up. I’ll see you at midnight. That’s what he had added under my words.
成熟点。咱们午夜见。——他在我的留言下方加上这句。
This realization came with a few minutes’ delay but it filled me with instant yearning and dismay. Did I want this, now that something was being offered? And was it in fact being offered? And if I wanted or didn’t want it, how would I live out the day till midnight? It was barely ten in the morning: fourteen hours to go… The last time I had waited so long for something was for my report card. Or on the Saturday two years ago when a girl had promised we’d meet at the movies and I wasn’t sure she hadn’t forgotten. Half a day watching my entire life being put on hold. How I hated waiting and depending on the whim of others.
但我心里立即充满强烈的渴望与忐忑。他提出了邀约，而这就是我要的？这是真的吗？不管我想不想要，今天我要怎么熬到午夜？现在才早上十点，还有十四个钟头…上次让我等这么久的，是我的成绩单。还有两年前某个星期六，一个女孩答应跟我一起去看电影，却让我等了好久，我不确定她是不是忘记了。耗上半天眼睁睁看着我的整个人生悬而不决。我多么痛恨等待，让别人一时的兴致来决定我的命运。
As for the note: was its tone intentionally light, or was it meant to look like an afterthought scribbled away minutes after jogging and seconds before breakfast? I didn’t miss the little jab at my operatic sentimentalism, followed by the self-confident, let’s-get-down-to-basics see you at midnight. Did either bode well, and which would win the day, the swat of irony, or the jaunty Let’s get together tonight and see what comes of it? Were we going to talk — just talk? Was this an order or a consent to see me at the hour specified in every novel and every play? And where were we going to meet at midnight? Would he find a moment during the day to tell me where? Or, being aware that I had fretted all night long the other night and that the trip wire dividing our respective ends of the balcony was entirely artificial, did he assume that one of us would eventually cross the unspoken Maginot Line that had never stopped anyone?
他留言的语气是否故作轻松？或者想表现得像是慢跑后几分钟、早餐前几秒之间，突然想到才胡乱涂写的句子？我没错过他在我唱戏般多愁善感的句子后所留下的小刺，那句带着自信。，“让我们回归基本”的“咱们午夜见。”哪一个才是好兆头？哪一个会取得最后胜利？是讥讽的重击？或者自信满满的“我们今晚聚聚，看看有何结果”？我们将要见面谈谈——只是谈谈吗？这是在每一本小说、每一出戏剧所指定的时刻，命令或首肯与我见面吗？午夜时我们要在哪里碰面？他会在白天找机会告诉我吗？或许，感觉到我那晚苦恼了一整夜，而分隔我们各据一端的阳台的引信完全是假的，他是否假定我们之中的一个终究会跨越那条从未说破、也未曾阻挡过任何人的防线？
He had delivered it before breakfast.
原来早餐前他就送来了。我这才明白。
You can’t answer an answer!
这不是毫无意义嘛！
Should I answer his note?
我该回复他的留言吗？
Say nothing and he’ll think you regret having written.
什么都不说，他会认为你后悔写那张纸条。
And yet, among the many things I wished to show him the next time I crossed paths with him was gratitude. One could show gratitude and still not be considered intrusive and heavy-handed. Or does gratitude, however restrained, always bear that extra dollop of treacle that gives every Mediterranean passion its unavoidably mawkish, histrionic character? Can’t let things well enough alone, can’t play down, must exclaim, proclaim, declaim…
然而，下一次与他狭路相逢，我也想表达对他的感谢。我表达感谢的同时，能否不令人觉得困扰或专横？还是说，只要是“感谢”，无论多么克制，总带有地中海式热情那一丝丝多余的甜腻，难免显得多愁善感、愚蠢造作，不能适可而止，不能低调，必须大肆声张，昭告天下，慷慨陈词…
Do what, then?
那么，该做什么？
I knew this from the very start. Just wait. I’d work all morning. Swim. Maybe play tennis in the afternoon. Meet Marzia. Be back by midnight. No, eleven-thirty. Wash? No wash? Ah, to go from one body to the other.
我从一开始就知道。只有等待。我会整个早上工作，游泳。下午或许打几场网球。去找玛琪雅。午夜前回来。不行，十一点三十分好了。洗澡？不洗澡？啊，从一个身体到另一个身体。
And what did this do to our near-ritual morning bike rides? Would “midnight” supersede the morning ride? Or would we go on as before, as though nothing had changed, except that now we had a “midnight” to look forward to? When I run into him now, do I flash him a significant smile, or do I go on as before, and offer, instead, a cold, glazed, discreet American gaze?
这对我们仪式一般的晨间单车行有何影响？“午夜”会取代早晨的兜风？或者我们像先前一样，仿佛什么也没改变，只是现在我们有“午夜”可堪期待？如果我现在遇到他，我该露出一丝意味深长的微笑，或者像先前一样，给他一个美国人惯有的冷淡、呆滞、谨慎的凝视？
Say anything and it will be out of place.
无论说什么又显得不得体。
Wait.
等待。
And then a terrible panic seized me: was midnight going to be a talk, a clearing of the air between us — as in, buck up, lighten up, grow up!
强烈的恐慌攫住我：午夜的谈话将是我们一扫芥蒂的时机吗？好吧，打起精神、放轻松、要成熟！
But why wait for midnight, then? Who ever picks midnight to have such a conversation?
话说回来，那何必等到午夜？谁会挑午夜来说这些？
What to wear at midnight?
午夜该穿什么好？
Wasn’t this what he might be doing as well? Going from one to the other.
这不也是他可能做的事吗？从一个到另一个。
The day went as I feared. Oliver found a way to leave without telling me immediately after breakfast and did not come back until lunch. He sat in his usual place next to me. I tried to make light conversation a few times but realized that this was going to be another one of our let’s-not-speak-to-each-other days when we both tried to make it very clear that we were no longer just pretending to be quiet.
这一天就像我害怕的那样流逝。早晨后，奥利弗立刻背着我偷偷溜走，直到中午才回来。他坐在我隔壁的老位子。几次我试着聊些轻松的话题，却发现虽然我们都想表明双方不再假装沉默，但这将是另一个“咱们彼此别说话”的日子。
Or was midnight going to be midnight?
或者午夜将是“午夜”吗？
After lunch, I went to take a nap. I heard him follow me upstairs and shut his door.
午餐后，我去小睡。我听见他尾随我上楼，关上门。
Later I called Marzia. We met on the tennis court. Luckily, no one was there, so it was quiet and we played for hours under the scorching sun, which both of us loved. Sometimes, we would sit on the old bench in the shade and listen to the crickets. Mafalda brought us refreshments and then warned us that she was too old for this, that the next time we’d have to fetch whatever we wanted ourselves. “But we never asked you for anything,” I protested. “You shouldn’t have drunk, then.” And she shuffled away, having scored her point.
稍后我打电话给玛琪雅，约在网球场碰面。很幸运，那里没人，很安静，我们在彼此都热爱的烈日下打了个把钟头的球。有时候，我们坐在树荫下的老板凳上听蟋蟀叫。玛法尔达拿点心来，却接着警告我们：她年纪大了，不适合再这样奔波，下次我们想要什么都得自己拿。“可是我们从来没向你要东西啊。”我抗议道。“那你就不要喝。”驳倒对手之后，她就拖着脚步走了。
I loved August weather. The town was quieter than usual in the late summer weeks. By then, everyone had left for le vacanze, and the occasional tourists were usually gone before seven in the evening. I loved the afternoons best: the scent of rosemary, the heat, the birds, the cicadas, the sway of palm fronds, the silence that fell like a light linen shawl on an appallingly sunny day, all of these highlighted by the walk down to the shore and the walk back upstairs to shower. I liked looking up to our house from the tennis court and seeing the empty balconies bask in the sun, knowing that from any one of them you could spot the limitless sea. This was my balcony, my world. From where I sat now, I could look around me and say, Here is our tennis court, there our garden, our orchard, our shed, our house, and below is our wharf — everyone and everything I care for is here. My family, my instruments, my books, Mafalda, Marzia, Oliver.
我爱八月的天气。晚夏那几周，城里比平常安静，居民都出门去度假了，偶有来访的旅客也在傍晚七点前离开。我最爱下午。空中飘着迷迭香的气味，热气蒸腾，禽鸟与蝉的鸣叫混着棕榈叶摇摆的摩挲声。寂静像轻盈的亚麻披肩般落在骇人的朗日下。我会步行到海边再步行回楼上淋浴，使这一切更加突出。我喜欢从网球场仰望我的家，看空荡荡的阳台沐浴在阳光里，心知从任何一座阳台都撇得见无止境的海洋。这是我的阳台，我的世界。从我现在坐的地方，环顾四周，我能说：这是我们的网球场，那是我们的花园、我们的果园、我们的棚屋、我们的房子，下面是我们的船坞——我所在乎的每个人和每样事物都在这里。我的家人，我的乐器，我的书，玛法尔达，玛琪雅，奥利弗。
Vimini, who liked to watch people play, did not come that day. She must have been with Oliver at their favorite spot.
喜欢看人打球的薇米妮那天没来。她一定跟奥利弗去了他们最喜欢的地方。
That afternoon, as I sat with Marzia with my hand resting on her thighs and knees, it did occur to me that I was, in Oliver’s words, one of the luckiest persons on earth. There was no saying how long all this would last, just as there was no sense in second-guessing how the day might turn out, or the night. Every minute felt as though stretched on tenterhooks. Everything could snap in a flash.
那天下午，我和玛琪雅并肩而坐，手歇在她的大腿、双膝，脑中却是浮现这样的想法：（借用奥利弗的话来说）我是世间少有的幸运儿。说不准这一切能持续多久，就像预测这天或这夜将如何演变是没有意义的。每一分钟如坐针毡。一切随时可能戛然而止。
But sitting here I knew I was experiencing the mitigated bliss of those who are too superstitious to claim they may get all they’ve ever dreamed of but are far too grateful not to know it could easily be taken away.
但坐在这里，我知道我正在体验舒缓人心的幸福。拥有这种幸福的人，因为过于迷信而不愿宣称他们可能得到所梦想的一切，却也因为太过感恩，明了幸福也能轻易夺走。
After tennis, and just before heading to the beach, I took her upstairs by way of the balcony into my bedroom. No one passed there in the afternoon. I closed the shutters but left the windows open, so that the subdued afternoon light drew slatted patterns on the bed, on the wall, on Marzia. We made love in utter silence, neither of us closing our eyes.
打完网球，就在出发去海边前，我带她上楼从阳台进入我的卧房。下午那里不会有人经过。我合上百叶窗，但让落地窗开着，削弱的午后光线在床铺、墙壁和玛琪雅身上描绘出一道道条纹。我们在万籁俱寂中做爱，两人都没闭眼睛。
Part of me hoped we’d bang against the wall, or that she’d be unable to smother a cry, and that all this might alert Oliver to what was happening on the other side of his wall. I imagined him napping and hearing my bedsprings and being upset.
我希望我们动作再激烈些，不小心撞上墙，或她忍不住叫喊，好让奥利弗警觉到他房间墙壁另一头有什么事。我想象他在午睡时因为听见我床垫弹簧发出声响而感到沮丧。
On our way to the cove below I was once again pleased to feel I didn’t care if he found out about us, just as I didn’t care if he never showed up tonight. I didn’t even care for him or his shoulders or the white of his arms. The bottom of his feet, the flat of his palms, the underside of his body — didn’t care. I would much rather spend the night with her than wait up for him and hear him declaim bland pieties at the stroke of midnight. What had I been thinking this morning when I’d slipped him my note?
我和玛琪雅走向小海湾的途中，我再度为我不介意他是否发现下午的事而感到愉快，如果他今晚始终没出现，我也不在乎。我甚至不在乎他，或他的肩膀，或他手臂泛白的肤色。他的脚底，他的手心，他身体下侧——不在乎。我宁可跟玛琪雅一起过夜也不愿熬夜等他，在午夜准时听他慷慨激昂地讲一些平淡的大道理。早上我塞纸条给他的时候在想什么？
I’d make a decision in cold blood. And if he asked, I’d tell him. I’m not sure I want to go ahead with this, but I need to know, and better with you than anyone else. I want to know your body, I want to know how you feel, I want to know you, and through you, me.
我会冷血地决定。如果他问起，我会告诉他。我不确定我想做这件事，但我需要知道，而跟你做又胜过别人。我想认识你的身体，我想知道你的感受，我想了解你，并且透过你了解我自己。
And yet another part of me knew that if he showed up tonight and I disliked the start of whatever was in store for me, I’d still go through with it, go with it all the way, because better to find out once and for all than to spend the rest of the summer, or my life perhaps, arguing with my body.
但我也知道，如果他今晚出现，那么即将发生的事，无论是什么，即使一开始不合我的意，我仍会坚持到底，贯彻始终。与其在他离开后的夏日或之后的一生不断与自己的身体争论，不如一次搞清楚。
Three hours to go.
还有三个钟头。
At dinner, our guests were a semi-employed adjunct professor of music and a gay couple from Chicago who insisted on speaking terrible Italian. The two men sat next to each other, facing my mother and me. One of them decided to recite some verses by Pascoli, to which Mafalda, catching my look, made her usual smorfia meant to elicit a giggle from me. My father had warned me not to misbehave in the presence of the scholars from Chicago. I said I would wear the purple shirt given me by a distant cousin from Uruguay. My father laughed it off, saying I was too old not to accept people as they were. But there was a glint in his eyes when both showed up wearing purple shirts. They had both stepped out from either side of the cab at the same time and each carried a bunch of white flowers in his hand. They looked, as my father must have realized, like a flowery, gussied-up version of Tintin’s Thomson and Thompson twins.
晚餐的客人是一位兼任的音乐副教授，还有一对来自芝加哥，坚持讲破意大利文的同志。那两位男士比邻而坐，面对母亲和我。其中一个决定朗诵几首帕斯科里⑭的诗，对此，玛法尔达的反应是抓住我的目光，做了一个她常做的鬼脸，想逗我笑。父亲警告我，在芝加哥学者面前不准造次。我说我会穿乌拉圭一位远房亲戚送的紫色衬衫。父亲一笑置之，说我年纪不小了，应该接受他人原本的自我。当那一对伴侣双双穿着紫色衬衫出现，父亲的眼睛却亮了一下。他们俩同时分别从出租车两侧下车，各自拿着一束白花。就像父亲必定也意会到的，他们看起来仿佛《丁丁历险记》里的汤姆森与汤普森孪生兄弟，只是更俊俏而且盛装打扮。【注：⑭乔凡尼·帕斯科里（Giovanni pascoli，1855—1912）：意大利古典学者、诗人。】
There’d been a mournful silence between us all afternoon. If I hadn’t had his word that we were going to talk later, I don’t know how I’d have survived another day like this.
整个下午我们之间有一种悲伤的沉默。如果没有他午夜谈谈的承诺，我不知道自己如何熬过另一个这样的日子。
Marzia left just before dinnertime. She had promised to go to the movies. There’d be friends, she said. Why didn’t I come? I made a face when I heard their names. I’d stay home and practice, I said. I thought you practiced every morning. This morning I started late, remember? She intercepted my meaning and smiled.
玛琪雅在晚餐前一刻离开，说要去看电影。约了朋友一起去，她问我为什么不一起去？我听到他们的名字时做了个鬼脸。我想待在家里练习，我说。我以为你是每天早上练。今天早上我很晚才开始，记得吗？
It seemed strange to be counting the minutes during supper, shadowed by the thought that tonight I had more in common with Tintin’s twins than with my parents or anyone else in my world.
晚餐时有个念头挥之不去：今晚我与《丁丁历险记》孪生兄弟的共通点，要多过我与父母或我世界的其他任何人；想着这件事来数算时间，似乎很奇怪。
I wondered what their life together was like.
我很好奇他们一起生活是什么光景？
I looked at them, wondering who was top and who was bottom, Tweedle-Dee or Tweedle-Dum.
我看着他们，想知道谁在上面、谁在下面，是特威德尔迪还是特威德尔德姆⑮。【注：⑮特威德尔迪（Tweedie—Dee）与特威德尔德姆（Tweedle—Dum）是一时虚构的兄弟，出现在若干儿歌中，但以路易斯·卡洛尔（Lweis carroll，1832—1898）所著的《爱丽丝镜中奇缘》（Through the Looking Glass）中的描写最为著名。现在常用来指两个形影不离的人。】
It was almost eleven when I said I was going to sleep and said goodnight to my parents and the guests. “What about Marzia?” asked my father, that unmistakable lambent look in his eyes. Tomorrow, I replied.
将近十一点，我表示要就寝，向父母和宾客道晚安。“玛琪雅怎么办？”父亲问，眼中有那种不可能误解的柔和目光。明天再说，我回答。
I wanted to be alone. Shower. A book. A diary entry, perhaps. Stay focused on midnight yet keep my mind off every aspect of it.
我想独处。淋浴。读一本书。或许写一段日记。专注在午夜，但让我的心远离午夜的每个面向。
On my way up the staircase, I tried to imagine myself coming down this very same staircase tomorrow morning. By then I might be someone else. Did I even like this someone else whom I didn’t yet know and who might not want to say good morning then or have anything to do with me for having brought him to this pass? Or would I remain the exact same person walking up this staircase, with nothing about me changed, and not one of my doubts resolved?
上楼的时候，我想象明天早上走同一段阶梯下楼的自己。届时，我可能是另一个人。我会喜欢那个至今我还不认识的自己，那个可能还不想道早安，或因为被我带上这条路而不想跟我有任何瓜葛的自己吗？或者我仍是走上这段楼梯的同一个人，什么也没改变，什么疑惑也没解开？
But I was past humiliation. After weeks of wanting and waiting and — let’s face it — begging and being made to hope and fight every access of hope, I’d be devastated. How do you go back to sleep after that? Slink back into your room and pretend to open a book and read yourself to sleep?
但我已经跨越羞耻。经过数星期的渴望与等待（咱们面对现实吧），经历恳求与一再挑起的希望、与每一个希望的进路战斗之后，我将彻底毁灭。在那之后我怎么能睡？溜回房间，假装打开一本书，读书直到入睡？
Be punctual and say: Whooo-hooo, the witching hour.
准时到他房里，然后说：嘿嘿，守夜时间到？
Or: how do you go back to sleep no longer a virgin? There was no coming back from that! What had been in my head for so long would now be out in the real world, no longer afloat in my foreverland of ambiguities. 1 felt like someone entering a tattoo parlor and taking a last, long look at his bare left shoulder.
不再是处子之身的我如何若无其事回房睡觉？那是一条不归路！我脑中存在已久的构想如今要在真实世界上演，不再漂浮于我模棱两可的永恒之地。我感觉像是一个进了刺青店的人，最后一次凝视自己光溜溜的左肩。
Or nothing at all might happen. He could refuse, and, even if no one found out I had asked him, I’d still be humiliated, and for nothing. He’d know; I’d know.
或者什么都不会发生。他可能拒绝我；就算没人发现我要求过他，羞辱还是一样的，而且毫无所获。他知，我知。
Soon I could hear the voices of the two guests rising from the courtyard. They were standing outside, probably waiting for the adjunct professor to drive them back to their pension. The adjunct was taking his time and the couple were simply chatting outside, one of them giggling.
我听到院子里两位客人的声音。他们站在外面，或许等着副教授载他们回膳宿公寓。副教授不急，那对恋人也只是在外面聊天，其中一个还咯咯发笑。
Should I be punctual?
我该准时吗？
I stepped out onto the balcony for a second and peered in the direction of his bedroom. No light. I’d still knock anyway.
我走到外面的阳台，待一会儿，往他卧房那儿仔细瞧。没有灯光。反正我会敲门。
At midnight there wasn’t a sound coming from his room. Could he have stood me up again? That would be too much. I hadn’t heard him come back. He’d just have to come to my room, then. Or should I still go to his? Waiting would be torture.
午夜时他的房间鸦雀无声。他会再度爽约吗？那就太过分了。我没听见他回来的声音。那得由他来我房间了。或者还是应该由我去他房间？等待，是折磨。
Or I could wait. Or not go at all.
或者我继续等。或者根本不去。
I’ll go to him.
我要去找他。
Not going suddenly burst on me like the one thing I wanted most in life. It kept tugging at me, straining toward me ever so gently now, like someone who’d already whispered once or twice in my sleep but, seeing I wasn’t waking, had finally tapped me on the shoulder and was now encouraging me to look for every inducement to put off knocking on his window tonight. The thought washed over me like water on a flower shop window, like a soothing, cool lotion after you’ve showered and spent the whole day in the sun, loving the sun but loving the balsam more. Like numbness, the thought works on your extremities first and then penetrates to the rest of your body, giving all manner of arguments, starting with the silly ones — it’s way too late for anything tonight — rising to the major ones — how will you face the others, how will you face yourself?
不去的念头突然出现，仿佛成了这辈子最渴望的事。这个念头不断拉扯我，和缓地对我施压，好像某个人在我睡着时轻轻呼唤，看我没醒，终于拍我的肩，鼓励我找各种理由延迟今夜敲他窗户的计划。这个念头像花店橱窗上的水一样，若有似无流过我四周，像淋浴后抹上舒缓的化妆水，晒一整天太阳。虽爱太阳，却更爱香脂。像麻痹的感觉，首先对你的四肢起作用，然后渗透到你身体其他部分，提出各种论点，从愚蠢的“今夜做什么都嫌太晚了”开始，升高到重要的“你如何面对别人，如何面对自己”。
But I loved the fear — if fear it really was — and this they didn’t know, my ancestors. It was the underside of fear I loved, like the smoothest wool found on the underbelly of the coarsest sheep. I loved the boldness that was pushing me forward; it aroused me, because it was born of arousal itself. “You’ll kill me if you stop”– or was it: “I’ll die if you stop.” Each time I heard these words, I couldn’t resist.
但我爱那种恐惧（如果那真是恐惧），而我的祖先不了解这一点。我爱的是恐惧的阴暗面，像最劣等的山羊下腹部最光滑的羊毛。我爱驱策我向前的勇敢；它激起我的欲望，因为勇气正源于激起的欲望本身。“如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我”或者“你停下来的话我会死”。每次听到这些话，我就无法抗拒。
Why hadn’t I thought of this before? Because I wanted to savor and save it for last? Because I wanted the counterarguments to spring on their own, without my having any part in summoning them at all, so that I wouldn’t be blamed for them? Don’t try, don’t try this, Elio. It was my grandfather’s voice. I was his namesake, and he was speaking to me from the very bed where he’d crossed a far more menacing divide than the one between my room and Oliver’s. Turn back. Who knows what you’ll find once you’re in that room. Not the tonic of discovery but the pall of despair when disenchantment has all but shamed every ill-stretched nerve in your body. The years are watching you now, every star you see tonight already knows your torment, your ancestors are gathered here and have nothing to give or say, Non c’andà, don’t go there.
为什么我从来没想过？因为我想好好品尝，留到最后？因为我要反驳的话完全不经我的召唤自行涌现，好避免我因此受指责？别试，别尝试这件事，艾里奥。那是祖父的声音。我与他同名，而他的声音正是从他那张床传来。他在那张床上，跨越了比我和奥利弗两间房之间更具威胁的隔阂。回头。一旦进了那房间，天晓得你会找到什么。魔咒解除，几乎让你体内每一根没绷紧的神经感到羞耻。你找到的不会是发现的补药，而是失望的棺木。此刻岁月正注视着你，今晚你看见的每颗星星都了解你的痛苦，你的祖先聚在这里，没有什么能给或说的，别过去（Nan c’ and à）。
I knock on the glass panel, softly. My heart is beating like crazy. I am afraid of nothing, so why be so frightened? Why? Because everything scares me, because both fear and desire are busy equivocating with each other, with me, I can’t even tell the difference between wanting him to open the door and hoping he’s stood me up.
我敲玻璃窗，轻轻地。我的心狂跳。我什么都不怕，那为何如此慌乱？为何？因为一切都令我恐惧，因为害怕与欲望双双忙着对彼此、对我支吾其词，我甚至无法辨别“想要他开门”和“希望他爽约”之间的分别。
Instead, no sooner have I knocked on the glass panel than I hear something stir inside, like someone looking for his slippers. Then I make out a weak light going on. I remembered buying this night-light at Oxford with my father one evening early last spring when our hotel room was too dark and he had gone downstairs and come back up saying he’d been told there was a twenty-four-hour store that sold night-lights just around the corner. Wait here, and I’ll be back in no time. Instead, I said I’d go with him. I threw on my raincoat on top of the very same pajamas I was wearing tonight.
我一敲玻璃窗，就听到里面有些动静，好像有人在找拖鞋。接着我看出有一盏微弱的灯亮着。我记得去年早春的一个夜晚，我和父亲在牛津买了这盏夜灯。当时旅馆房间太暗，父亲到楼下去问，有人告诉他转角一家二十四小时营业的店有夜灯。你在这里等着，我马上回来。我说我要跟他一起去，于是那夜我在今晚穿的这同一件睡衣外多披了一件雨衣。
“I’m so glad you came,” he said. “I could hear you moving in your room and for a while I thought you were getting ready to go to bed and had changed your mind.”
“我很高兴你来。我听见你在房里走动的声音，还以为你改变主意准备睡了。”
“Me more than you.”
“我比你更紧张。”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“我不知道你抽烟。”
It was strange seeing him fussing awkwardly this way I had expected a hailstorm of mini-ironies, which was why I was nervous. Instead, I was greeted with excuses, like someone apologizing for not having had time to buy better biscuits for afternoon tea.
看他这样笨拙慌乱，感觉很奇怪。我原本以为会有如冰雹般飞降的小讽刺，所以才觉得紧张。然而，迎接我的却是辩解，好像有人在为没空买更好的下午茶饼干而道歉似的。
“Me too.”
“我也是。”
He tried to smile away the awkwardness between us and passed me the reefer.
他想以微笑掩饰我们之间的尴尬，递来一根大麻烟。
Not knowing what else to do or say, I muttered, “I’m nervous.”
我不知道还能做什么或说什么，只好低声说：“我很紧张。”
“Sometimes.” He went to the bed and sat squarely in the middle of it.
“偶尔。”他爬上床，端正地坐在中间。
“Come in,” he said, and then shut the French window behind us. I must have been standing there, lifeless and frozen.
“请进。”他说，然后关上我们身后的落地窗。我铁定是呆滞地呆立原地。
Both of us were whispering. A good sign.
我们俩都轻声细语，这是个好兆头。
“Me, change my mind? Of course I was coming.”
“我？改变主意？我当然会来呀。”
I stepped into my old bedroom and was instantly taken aback by the smell which I couldn’t quite place, because it could have been a combination of so many things, until I noticed the rolled-up towel tucked under the bedroom door. He had been sitting in bed, a half-full ashtray sitting on his right pillow.
我走进我的旧卧房，立刻被一股不太认得的味道吓了一跳，因为这股味道混合了许多东西，后来我注意一条卷起来的毛巾塞在卧房门缝，才总算了解。他刚才一直坐在床上，右边的枕头上放了一个半满的烟灰缸。
It gave me something to do.
这让我有事可做。
Now I was inside the room.
此刻却在他房里。
I remembered how I’d almost hugged him on the balcony but had caught myself in time, thinking that an embrace after such chilly moments between us all day was unsuitable. Just because someone says he’ll see you at midnight doesn’t mean you’re automatically bound to hug him when you’ve barely shaken hands all week. I remembered thinking before knocking: To hug. Not to hug. To hug.
我记起我在阳台上差点抱住他，但想到我们冷战了一整天后，拥抱并不恰当，才及时罢手。某个和你整星期几乎连手也不曾握过的人说午夜要见你，不表示你就非得想也不想地拥抱他不可。我记起我敲门前还犹豫着抱或不抱。
He was sitting on the bed, with his legs crossed. He looked smaller, younger. I was standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, not knowing what to do with my hands. He must have seen me struggling to keep them on my hips and then put them in my pockets and then back to my hips again.
他坐在床上，盘着腿。看起来更矮小、更年轻。我笨拙地站在床尾，不知道手该往哪儿摆。他一定看到我挣扎地一下子手扶着臀，一下子手伸进口袋的样子。
I look ridiculous, I thought. This and the would-be hug I’d suppressed and which I kept hoping he hadn’t noticed.
我看起来肯定可笑之极。还有那个我不断希望他没注意到的、那个原本要发生的拥抱。
I felt like a child left alone for the first time with his homeroom teacher. “Come, sit.”
我感觉像第一次被班级导师在课后留下的孩子。“过来，坐吧。”
Did he mean on a chair or on the bed itself?
他指的是椅子还是床？
Hesitantly, I crawled onto the bed and sat facing him, cross-legged like him, as though this were the accepted protocol among men who meet at midnight. I was making sure our knees didn’t touch. Because he’d mind if our knees touched, just as he’d mind the hug, just as he minded when, for want of a better way to show I wanted to stay awhile longer on the berm, I’d placed my hand on his crotch.
我迟疑地爬上床，像他一样盘腿面对他坐着，仿佛这是男人在午夜会面的礼仪。我小心避免碰触他的膝盖。因为如果我们的膝盖碰在一起的话，他会介意，就像他会介意拥抱，就像我不知道如何表达我想在崖径多待一会儿就把手放在他的胯部时，他会介意一样。
I looked at the bed. I could see it clearly now. This was where I’d spent so many nights dreaming of just such a moment. Now here I was. In a few weeks, I’d be back here on this very same bed. I’d turn on my Oxford night-light and remember standing outside on the balcony, having caught the rustle of his feet scrambling to find his slippers. I wondered whether I would look back on this with sorrow. Or shame. Or indifference, I hoped.
我看着床。此刻我看得很清楚。就是在这里，好多个夜，我梦想的正是这样的时刻。现在我在这里。再过几周，我就会回到这同一张床上。我会打开那盏牛津买的夜灯，记起我站在外面的阳台，听见他忙着找拖鞋的沙沙声。我很想知道我会不会以悲伤或羞耻的心情回顾这件事。但我更希望届时只有冷漠。
But before I had a chance to exaggerate the distance between us, I felt as though washed by the sliding water on the flower shop’s storefront window, which took all my shyness and inhibitions away. Nervous or not nervous, I no longer cared to cross-examine every one of my impulses. If I’m stupid, let me be stupid. If I touch his knee, so I’ll touch his knee. If I want to hug, I’ll hug. I needed to lean against something, so I sidled up to the top of the bed and leaned my back against the headboard next to him.
在我有机会夸大我们之间的距离前，我感觉好像让花店临街橱窗里的流水冲刷过一样，所有的害羞与压抑都被带走。无论紧张与否，我已经懒得盘问我的每一个冲动。如果我蠢，就蠢到底吧。如果我碰了他的膝盖，我就碰他的膝盖吧。如果我想拥抱，我就拥抱吧。我得找个地方靠着，于是悄悄挨近床头，背靠着他身边的床头架。
“You okay?” he asked.
“你还好吧？”他问。
“Me okay.”
“我还好。”
There was absolutely nothing to say. With my toes, I reached over to his toes and touched them. Then, without thinking, I slipped my big toe in between his big toe and his second toe. He did not recoil, he did not respond. 1 wanted to touch each toe with my own. Since I was sitting to his left, these were probably not the toes that had touched me at lunch the other day. It was his right foot that was guilty. I tried to reach it with my right foot, all the while avoiding touching both his knees, as if something told me knees were off bounds. “What are you doing?” he finally asked. “Nothing.” I didn’t know myself, but his body gradually began to reciprocate the movement, somewhat absentmindedly, without conviction, no less awkward than mine, as if to say, What else is there to do but to respond in kind when someone touches your toes with his toes? After that, I moved closer to him and then hugged him. A child’s hug which I hoped he’d read as an embrace. He did not respond. “That’s a start,” he finally said, perhaps with a tad more humor in his voice than I’d wish. Instead of speaking, I shrugged my shoulders, hoping he’d feel my shrug and not ask any more questions. I did not want us to speak. The less we spoke, the more unrestrained our movements. I liked hugging him.
完全无话可说。我伸出脚趾碰他的脚趾，接着不假思索地把大脚趾塞进他的大脚趾和第二趾之间。他不退缩，也没回应。我想用自己的脚趾碰触他的每一根趾头。因为我坐在他左边，所以这几根脚趾头可能不是那天午餐时他碰我的那几根。有罪的是他的右脚。我试着以右脚碰他的右脚，始终避开他两边膝盖，仿佛知道膝盖是禁区。“你干吗？”他终于问我。“没什么。”我自己也不知道，但他的身体渐渐回应我的动作，有点心不在焉，没有说服力，跟我一样笨拙，仿佛想说“如果有人以脚趾碰你的脚趾，除了善意回应，还能怎样”。我靠近他，抱住他，希望他把这个孩子的环抱解读为爱的拥抱。他没回应。这是好的开始。他总算说，或许声音里还带着比我所期待的更多一点幽默。我没说话，只是耸耸肩，希望他感觉到我耸了肩，别再问我问题。我希望我们不要交谈。话说得愈少，我们的动作就愈不受抑制。我喜欢抱他。
“Does this make you happy?” he asked.
“这么做令你快乐？”他问。
I nodded, hoping, once again, that he’d feel my head nodding without the need for words.
我点头，再次，希望不必说话他就感觉到我点点头。
“You sure you want this?” he asked, as if this doubt was why he’d been hesitant all along.
“你确定这是你要的？”仿佛这个疑惑是他踌躇不定的原因。
“We haven’t talked,” he said.
“我们还没谈。”他说。
He lifted my face with both hands and stared at me as we had done that day on the berm, this time even more intensely because both of us knew we’d already crossed the bar. “Can I kiss you?” What a question, coming after our kiss on the berm! Or had we wiped the slate clean and were starting all over again?
他双手抬起我的脸，像那天在崖径上一样凝视我，这次甚至更热烈，因为彼此都知道我们已经突破障碍。“我可以吻你吗？”我们在崖径上吻过之后，这还真是个好问题！或者我们已经忘记过去的错误，准备重新来过？
Finally, as if my position urged him to do likewise, he brought his arm around me. The arm didn’t stroke me, nor did it hold me tight. The last thing I wanted at this point was comradeship. Which was why, without interrupting my embrace, I loosened my hold for a moment, time enough to bring both my arms under his loose shirt and resume my embrace. I wanted his skin.
最后，仿佛我的姿势驱使他跟着我做，他伸出手臂圈住我。不抚摸，也不抱紧。现在我最不想要的就是伙伴情谊，所以，在不中断拥抱的状况下，我放松了一下，时间刚好够我抽回双臂，伸进他宽松的衬衫里继续拥抱。我想要他的身体。
I nodded again. I was lying. By then I wasn’t sure at all. I wondered when my hug would run its course, when I, or he, would grow tired of this. Soon? Later? Now?
我又点头。我说谎。我早已不确定自己要的是什么。我怀疑何时会自然结束这拥抱？要到几时，我，或他，才感到厌烦。很快？晚一点？这一刻？
I shrugged my shoulders, meaning, No need to.
我耸耸肩，意思是：没必要。
I decided to get under the covers. I loved the smell. I wanted to love the smell. I even liked the fact that there were things on the bed that hadn’t been removed and which I kept kneeing into and didn’t mind encountering when I slipped a foot under them, because they were part of his bed, his life, his world.
我决定钻进被窝。我爱那股味道。我想去爱那股味道。我甚至喜欢床上搁着东西。我的膝盖不断压到东西，也不介意脚去撞到东西，因为这些东西属于他的床、他的生活、他的世界。
I did not give him an answer. Without nodding, I had already brought my mouth to his, just as I’d kissed Marzia the night before. Something unexpected seemed to clear away between us, and, for a second, it seemed there was absolutely no difference in age between us, just two men kissing, and even this seemed to dissolve, as I began to feel we were not even two men, just two beings. I loved the egalitarianism of the moment. I loved feeling younger and older, human to human, man to man, Jew to Jew. I loved the night-light. It made me feel snug and safe. As I’d felt that night in the hotel bedroom in Oxford. I even loved the stale, wan feel of my old bedroom, which was littered with his things but which somehow became more livable under his stewardship than mine: a picture here, a chair turned into an end table, books, cards, music.
我没回答他。还没点头，已经把嘴凑到他嘴上，像前一晚吻玛琪雅一样。某个意料外的东西似乎从我们之间消失，一瞬间，年龄差距消失了，只是两个接吻的男人。我觉得甚至不是两个男人，而是两个存在。我爱那当下的平等信念。我爱感觉同时变得年轻一点、也老一点，人对人，男人对男人，犹太人对犹太人。我爱那盏夜灯，它让我觉得温暖、舒适、安全，如同那晚在牛津的旅馆一样。我甚至爱我那间旧卧房陈腐黯淡的气氛，他的东西四散房间各处：这儿有一张图、那里摆一张当茶几的椅子，几本书，几张卡片，音乐；但比起我睡在这里的时候，这房间在他的管理下竟变得更适合居住。
He got under the covers too and, before I knew it, started to undress me. I had worried about how I’d go about undressing, how, if he wasn’t going to help, I’d do what so many girls did in the movies, take off my shirt, drop my pants, and just stand there, stark-naked, arms hanging down, meaning: This is who I am, this is how I’m made, here, take me, I’m yours. But his move had solved the problem. He was whispering, “Off, and off, and off, and off,” which made me laugh, and suddenly I was totally naked, feeling the weight of the sheet on my cock, not a secret left in the world, because wanting to be in bed with him was my only secret and here I was sharing it with him. How wonderful to feel his hands all over me under the sheets, as if part of us, like an advance scouting party, had already arrived at intimacy, while the rest of us, exposed outside the sheets, was still struggling with niceties, like latecomers stamping their feet in the cold while everyone else is warming hands inside a crowded nightclub. He was still dressed and I wasn’t. I loved being naked before him. Then he kissed me, and kissed me again, deeply this second time, as if he too was finally letting go. At some point I realized he’d been naked for a long while, though I hadn’t noticed him undress, but there he was, not a part of him wasn’t touching me. Where had I been? I’d been meaning to ask the tactful health question, but that too seemed to have been answered a while ago, because when I finally did find the courage to ask him, he replied, “I already told you, I’m okay.”
他也钻进被窝，我还来不及搞清楚状况，他动手褪去我的衣服。我曾经担心该怎么宽衣解带；如果他不帮忙，我该如何像电影中的女人一样，脱掉我的衬衫，卸除我的裤子，赤裸裸垂着双臂呆站着，向他示意：这就是我，我就是这副德行，来吧，占有我，我是你的。但他解决了这个问题。他低声说：“脱，再脱，再脱，再脱。”我听了笑出来，转眼间我全身赤裸，感觉床单落在下体的重量，感觉在这个世界已经没有秘密，因为想跟他上床是我唯一的秘密，而此刻我正与他分享。感觉他伸手到床单下在我全身游移。多么美妙啊，好像一部分的我们已经抵达终点，有了亲密行为，而暴露在床单外的我们的身躯仍在跟枝微末节挣扎，仿佛其他人在拥挤的夜总会里暖手，迟到者只能在寒冷中跺脚。他还穿着衣服，我已经一丝不挂。我爱在他面前裸露。他吻我，再吻我，这第二次吻得更深，他也总算放开了。突然我发觉他也裸着身子，尽管我没注意到他何时脱光衣服。他就这样，浑身没有一处不触碰我，我神游到哪儿去了？我本来想问问得体的健康问题，但那刚刚似乎也回答了，因为当我总算鼓起勇气问他，他回我说：“我告诉你了，我没问题。”
“Yes.” He smiled. I looked away, because he was staring at me, and I knew I was flushed, and I knew I’d made a face, though I still wanted him to stare at me even if it embarrassed me, and I wanted to keep staring at him too as we settled in our mock wrestling position, his shoulders rubbing my knees. How far we had come from the afternoon when I’d taken off my underwear and put on his bathing suit and thought this was the closest his body would ever come to mine. Now this. I was on the cusp of something, but I also wanted it to last forever, because I knew there’d be no coming back from this. When it happened, it happened not as I’d dreamed it would, but with a degree of discomfort that forced me to reveal more of myself than I cared to reveal. I had an impulse to stop him, and when he noticed, he did ask, but I did not answer, or didn’t know what to answer, and an eternity seemed to pass between my reluctance to make up my mind and his instinct to make it up for me. From this moment on, I thought, from this moment on — I had, as I’d never before in my life, the distinct feeling of arriving somewhere very dear, of wanting this forever, of being me, me, me, me, and no one else, just me, of finding in each shiver that ran down my arms something totally alien and yet by no means unfamiliar, as if all this had been part of me all of my life and I’d misplaced it and he had helped me find it. The dream had been right — this was like coming home, like asking, Where have I been all my life? which was another way of asking, Where were you in my childhood, Oliver? which was yet another way of asking, What is life without this? which was why, in the end, it was I, and not he, who blurted out, not once, but many, many times, You’ll kill me if you stop, you’ll kill me if you stop, because it was also my way of bringing full circle the dream and the fantasy, me and him, the longed-for words from his mouth to my mouth back into his mouth, swapping words from mouth to mouth, which was when I must have begun using obscenities that he repeated after me, softly at first, till he said, “Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine,” which I’d never done in my life before and which, as soon as I said my own name as though it were his, took me to a realm I never shared with anyone in my life before, or since.
“说过了。”他微笑。我睁开眼，因为他正盯着我看，我知道我脸很红，也知道我做了鬼脸，尽管觉得不好意思，还是希望他盯着我看。等他的肩膀摩擦我的膝盖时，我也想一直盯着他看。距离那天下午，我脱掉内裤穿上他的泳裤，心想这是他和我身体最接近的距离那时，我们走了多远？现在竟然发生这种事。我在顶点上，希望这状态能永远持续，因为我知道这是一条不归路。事情发生了，情况不如我梦想的那样，反而有些不舒服，逼得我得暴露更多的自己。我有一种想阻止他的冲动。他注意到了，也问我要不要停，但我没回答，或许不知道该回答什么。在我不情愿下定决心和他直觉想补偿我之际，时间仿佛无尽延长。从这一刻起，从这一刻起，仿佛我这一生从未有过，我到达了某个非常心爱的地方，感觉对此永不满足，感觉成为我、我、我、我，而不是其他人，就只是我。感觉发现贯通手臂的每个哆嗦都有些陌生，却绝非不熟悉的东西，仿佛这一切在我一生中都曾经是我的一部分，曾经被我忘在哪里，而他帮我找回来了。那个梦是对的——这就像归乡，像在问“我这辈子都在做什么呀”，等于拐个弯问“我小时候你在哪儿，奥利弗？”也就是“少了这个，人生算什么”。所以，到头来，脱口而出的是我，不是他；不仅一次，而是许多许多次；如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我；如果你胆敢停下来，还不如先杀了我。这也是我让梦与幻想绕一大圈之后回到原点的方式，我和他，渴望的话语从他嘴里到我嘴里，再回到他嘴里，在嘴与嘴之间交换文字。必定就是在这个时候，我开始用他跟着我重复的淫言秽语，一开始说得很轻，直到他说：“用你的名字呼唤我，我也用我的名字呼唤你。”我这辈子从来没做过这种事，就在我把我的名当他的名来唤时，我进入了一种无论过去或此后，我从未与任何人共享的境界。
“Did I tell you I was okay too?”
“我跟你说过我也没问题吗？”
It must have come to me a while later when I was still in his arms. It woke me up before I even realized I had dozed off, filling me with a sense of dread and anxiety I couldn’t begin to fathom. I felt queasy, as if I had been sick and needed not just many showers to wash everything off but a bath in mouthwash. I needed to be far away — from him, from this room, from what we’d done together. It was as though I were slowly landing from an awful nightmare but wasn’t quite touching the ground yet and wasn’t sure I wanted to, because what awaited was not going to be much better, though I knew I couldn’t go on hanging on to that giant, amorphous blob of a nightmare that felt like the biggest cloud of self-loathing and remorse that had ever wafted into my life. I would never be the same. How had I let him do these things to me, and how eagerly had I participated in them, and spurred them on, and then waited for him, begging him, Please don’t stop. Now his goo was matted on my chest as proof that I had crossed a terrible line, not vis-à-vis those I held dearest, not even vis-à-vis myself, or anything sacred, or the race itself that had brought us this close, not even vis-à-vis Marzia, who stood now like a far-flung siren on a sinking reef, distant and irrelevant, cleansed by lapping summer waves while I struggled to swim out to her, clamoring from a whirlpool of anxiety in the hope that she’d be part of the collection of images to help me rebuild myself by daybreak. It was not these I had offended, but those who were yet unborn or unmet and whom I’d never be able to love without remembering this mass of shame and revulsion rising between my life and theirs. It would haunt and sully my love for them, and between us, there would be this secret that could tarnish everything good in me.
我一定是过了一阵子之后、但还在他臂弯里时想起来的。甚至在我意识到我睡着之前，这件事让我醒来，让我心中充满难以领会的害怕与焦虑。我想吐，仿佛我病了，不仅需要好好冲个澡洗掉一切，还需要以漱口水泡澡。我得离开——远离他，远离这个房间，远离我们一起做的事。有如缓缓从一个可怕的梦魔登陆，但还没完全着地，也不确定想登陆。明白我不能继续跟巨大杂乱的一团梦魔纠缠不休（这梦魔有如自我厌恶与悔恨组成的一朵最大的乌云飘进我生命中），但等着我的也好不了多少。我将再也不一样了。我怎能让他对我做这些事？还曾经那么热衷，火上浇油，等待他，恳求他不要停？留在我胸前的他的体液证明我通过了一条可怕的线，不是关于我最珍视的那些，甚至不是关于我自己或任何神圣的东西，或将我们拉得这么近的种族本身，甚至与玛琪雅无关——此刻她正像女海妖，站在没人水中的暗礁上，遥远而不相干，夏日波浪泼溅在她身上；我挣扎着游向他，从焦虑的漩涡中叫喊，希望她会是帮助我在破晓之前重建自我的诸多意象之一。我冒犯的不是这些，而是那些尚未诞生、未曾相遇，以及若不想起出现在我和他们生活之间这一大堆羞耻与嫌恶，便永远无法去爱的那些人。这件事将纠缠、玷污我对他们的爱，而我们之间将永远有这个能玷污我一切美德的秘密。
I think I might have sobbed even, but I wasn’t sure. He took his shirt and cleaned me with it. Mafalda always looks for signs. She won’t find any, he said. I call this shirt “Billowy,” you wore it on your first day here, it has more of you than me. I doubt it, he said. He wouldn’t let go of me yet, but as our bodies separated I seemed to remember, though ever so distantly, that a while back I had absentmindedly shoved away a book which had ended up under my back while he was still inside me. Now it was on the floor. When had I realized it was a copy of Se l’amore? Where had I found time in the heat of passion even to wonder whether he’d been to the book party on the same night I’d gone there with Marzia? Strange thoughts that seemed to drift in from long, long ago, no more than half an hour later.
我想我甚至啜泣过，但我不确定。他拿起他的衬衫帮我清理。玛法尔达永远在寻找蛛丝马迹。她什么都找不到的，他说。我称这件衬衫为“大波浪”，你来的第一天就穿着它，比起我，上面有更多的你。“是么，我怀疑。”他说，还不肯放开我。我们的身体分开时，我想起稍早曾经心不在焉地推开一本书。他仍在我里面时，那本书就压在我背后，现在竟看见书在地上。我几时发现那是一本《就说是爱吧》？激情正炽的时候，我竟然还有思索：和玛琪雅去参加新书发表会那晚，他是不是也到过那儿？仅仅半小时后，奇怪的想法似乎从很久、很久的以前飘过来。
Had we made noise?
我们发出声音了？
He smiled. Nothing to worry about.
他微笑。没什么好担心的。
Something bordering on nausea, something like remorse — was that it, then?– began to grip me and seemed to define itself ever more clearly the more I became aware of incipient daylight through our windows.
近乎恶心、像是后悔的情绪（就是它吗？）紧抓我不放，随着我感觉第一道晨光从我窗户照进来，它的定义愈发清楚。
Or had I offended something even deeper? What was it?
或者，我冒犯了更深层的东西？那是什么？
Like the light, though, remorse, if remorse indeed it was, seemed to fade for a little while. But when I lay in bed and felt uncomfortable, it came back on the double as if to score a point each time I thought I’d felt the last of it. I had known it would hurt. What I hadn’t expected was that the hurt would find itself coiled and twisted into sudden pangs of guilt. No one had told me about this either.
然而，悔恨（如果真的是悔恨）像那道光一样，似乎一时黯淡了。但当我躺在床上觉得不舒服，悔恨又很快回来。每次我认为这是我最后一次，它就要射门得分似的。我早知道会痛。但我没料到那种痛会盘绕拧扭成突如其来、带罪恶感的剧痛。这一点也没人告诉我。
Why was he staring at me? Had he guessed what I was feeling?
他为什么盯着我看？他猜到我的感受了？
Had the loathing I felt always been there, though camouflaged, and all I’d needed was a night like this to let it out?
尽管伪装起来，但我感受到的厌恶是否始终存在，而我需要的就只是这样的一夜，好将它发泄出来？
I shrugged my shoulders.
我耸耸肩。
Outside it was clearly dawn now.
天色显然已经破晓。
It was not him I hated — but the thing we’d done. I didn’t want him looking into my heart just yet. Instead, I wanted to remove myself from this bog of self-loathing and didn’t know how to do it.
我憎恶的不是他，而是我们做的事。我还不想让他看透我的心。相反地，我想让自己脱离这个自我厌恶的泥淖，却不知道该怎么做。
“You’re not happy,” he said.
“你不快乐。”他说。
“I knew we shouldn’t have. I knew it,” he repeated. For the first time in my life I watched him balk, prey to self-doubt. “We should have talked…”
“我就知道我们不该做。我就知道。”他重复道。我这辈子第一次看到他的退缩，受自我怀疑折磨。“我们应该先谈谈的…”
“You’re feeling sick about it, aren’t you?”
“你觉得恶心，对不对？”
Again I shrugged the comment away.
对于这个评论，我再度不予理会。
Of all the things I could have uttered that morning, this insignificant “maybe” was the crudest. “Did you hate it?”
在我那天早上能说的话里，就属这句无足轻重的“或许吧”最残忍。“你嫌恶吗？”
Here I was in his bed, staying put out of an exaggerated sense of courtesy. “You can go to sleep, if you want,” he said, perhaps the kindest words he’d ever spoken to me, a hand on my shoulder, while I, Judas-like, kept saying to myself, If only he knew. If only he knew I want to be leagues and a lifetime away from him. I hugged him. I closed my eyes. “You’re staring at me,” I said, with my eyes still shut. I liked being stared at with my eyes shut.
这会儿我在他床上，继续端出夸张的礼貌。“想睡的话，去睡吧。”他一手搭在我肩上说。这或许是他对我说过最亲切的话，而我则像犹大一样，不断告诉自己：但愿他知道。但愿他知道，想一辈子离他远远的。我拥抱他。我闭上双眼。“你一直盯着我看。”我眼睛闭着说。我喜欢闭着眼睛让人盯着瞧。
“Maybe,” I said.
“或许吧。”我说。
No, I didn’t hate it at all. But what I felt was worse than hate. I didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think about it. Just put it away. It had never happened. I had tried it and it didn’t work for me, now I wanted my money back, roll back the film, take me back to that moment when I’m almost stepping out onto the balcony barefoot, I’ll go no farther, I’ll sit and stew and never know — better to argue with my body than feel what I was feeling now. Elio, Elio, we warned you, didn’t we?
不，我一点也不嫌恶。但我的感觉比嫌恶更糟。我不想记得，不愿意去想。摆到一边就好。这件事从来没发生过。我试过，可是不管用。我想退钱，倒卷底片，带我回到我几乎赤脚走到阳台的那一刻。我不会再进一步，我会坐下来、焦虑，而永远不知道——宁可跟我的身体争辩，也好过现在这种感觉。艾里奥，艾里奥，我们警告过你，不是吗？
Early in the morning, we went for a swim together. It felt to me that this was the last time we’d ever be together like this. I would go back into my room, fall asleep, wake up, have breakfast, take out my scorebook, and spend those marvelous morning hours immersed in transcribing the Haydn, occasionally feeling a sting of anxiety in anticipating his renewed snub at the breakfast table, only to remember that we were past that stage now, that I’d had him inside me barely a few hours ago and that later he had come all over my chest, because he said he wanted to, and I let him, perhaps because I hadn’t come yet and it thrilled me to watch him make faces and peak before my very eyes.
一早，我们一起去游泳。我觉得这将是我们最后一次像这样相处。我会回我房间，睡觉，醒来，吃早餐，拿出我的乐谱，将美妙的早间时光用来埋首改编海顿，偶尔因为预期到他在早餐桌上翻新的怠慢而感到一阵焦虑的疼，却只记起我们已经超越那个阶段。
Meanwhile, another part of me was actually happy the whole thing was behind me. He was out of my system. I would pay the price. The questions were: Would he understand? And would he forgive?
同时，另一部分的我其实很高兴这整件事成为过去。我不再为他烦恼了。我会付出代价。问题是：他了解吗？他愿意原谅吗？
I needed him as far away as possible if I was to feel better and forget — but I needed him close by in case this thing took a turn for the worse and there was no one to turn to.
如果我想觉得好过些、想遗忘，我希望他尽可能远离。但如果情况变糟，没人能求助，我却需要他在我身边。
Or was this another trick to stave off one more access of loathing and shame?
或者这是避开另一条通往嫌恶与羞耻之路的另一个诡计？
Now he walked almost knee-deep into the water with his shirt on. I knew what he was doing. If Mafalda asked, he’d claim it got wet by accident.
他穿着衬衫走进水里，水几乎到他膝盖那么深。我知道他在做什么。如果玛法尔达问起，他会说是不小心弄湿的。
We sat on one of the rocks and talked. Why hadn’t we talked like this before? I’d have been less desperate for him had we been able to have this kind of friendship weeks earlier. Perhaps we might have avoided sleeping together. I wanted to tell him that I had made love to Marzia the other night not two hundred yards away from where we stood right now. But I kept quiet. Instead we spoke of Haydn’s “It Is Finished,” which I’d just finished transcribing. I could speak about this and not feel I was doing it to impress him or to draw his attention or to put up a wobbly footbridge between us. I could speak about the Haydn for hours — what a lovely friendship this might have been.
我们坐在石头上说话。为什么先前我们不这样说话？如果我们能早几周建立这种友谊，我就不会那么渴望得到他。或许我们就能避免上床。我本来想告诉他，前几天晚上我就在不到两百码远的地方和玛琪雅做爱，但我保持沉默，结果最后我们谈的是我刚改编完的海顿《已经结束》⑯。我可以谈这个，而不觉得是为了向他炫耀、吸引他的注意力，或想在我们之间搭一座摇摇晃晃的步行桥。关于海顿这首乐曲，我能谈上好几个钟头——这原本会是多么美好的友谊啊。【注：⑯《已经结束》（“It is Finishe“）为《耶稣临终七言》里的一段。】
Together, we swam to the big rock. We spoke. I wanted him to think that I was happy being with him. I had wanted the sea to wash away the gunk on my chest, yet here was his semen, clinging to my body. In a short while, after soap and shower, all my doubts about myself, which had started three years before when an anonymous young man riding a bike had stopped, gotten off, put a hand around my shoulder, and with that gesture either stirred or hastened something that might have taken much, much longer to work itself to consciousness — all these could now finally be washed away as well, dispelled as an evil rumor about me, or a false belief, released like a genie who’d served his sentence and was now being cleansed with the soft, radiant scent of chamomile soap found in every one of our bathrooms.
我们一起游到大石头那儿去。我们交谈。我希望他认为我跟他在一起很快乐。我原本希望海水洗去他留在我胸膛上的体液，却黏着不去。三年前，某个骑脚踏车的陌生年轻人停下车子，走来搂我的肩，以这个姿势挑动或加速了某个可能需要更久更久才会浮现的意识，引发这些年以来的自我怀疑。而今天，就在不久后，在我抹上家里每间浴室都有的黄春菊香皂，以柔和香气淋浴清洗之后，这一切总算也能全数冲走，像恶毒流言或误解般散去，像刑期已满的妖怪获得释放。
“Fine. Fine,” I replied.
“还好。还好。”我回答。
At some point he interrupted me.
他突然打断我的话。
Then, with an awkward smile, as if correcting his initial question: “Are you okay everywhere?”
他露出尴尬的微笑，仿佛想更正他的问题。“你的身体还好吗？”
It never occurred to me, as I was going through the heady motions of feeling over and done with him and even a tad disappointed that I had so easily recovered after a spell of so many weeks, that this desire to sit and discuss Haydn in so unusually relaxed a manner as we were doing right now was my most vulnerable spot, that if desire had to resurface, it could just as easily sneak in through this very gate, which I’d always assumed the safest, as through the sight of his near-naked body by the swimming pool.
我从来没想过，就在我轻率摆出跟他到此为止的姿态，甚至对于我如此轻易就从这么久的迷恋中而复原感到一丝失望的时候，渴望像现在我们这样坐下来以如此异常放松的态度讨论海顿，是我最脆弱的要害。如果欲望非得重新浮现不可，它能够同样轻易地从我一直以为最安全的地方溜进来，光是看见游泳池畔他半裸的身体，就足以重启欲望之门。
I smiled back faintly, knowing I was already clamming up, shutting the doors and windows between us, blowing out the candles because the sun was finally up again and shame cast long shadows.
我虚弱地回了一个笑脸，知道自己不想讲话，想关上我们之间的门窗，吹熄蜡烛，因为太阳总算再度升起，羞耻感投射出长长的影子。
“You okay?”
“你还好吧？”
“I meant –“
“我的意思是…”
“I know what you meant. Sore.”
“我明白你的意思。痛。”
I turned my face the other way, as though a chill draft had touched my ear and I wished to avoid having it hit my face. “Do we need to speak about it?” I asked.
我别开脸，仿佛冷气流碰触我的耳朵，想躲开。“我们一定要谈这个吗？”
“But did you mind when I –?”
“当时你是否介意我…”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“你不想谈就不必谈。”
I knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. He wanted to go over the moment when I’d almost asked him to stop.
我很清楚他想谈什么。他想讨论我几乎叫他住手的那个时候。
Area between inner and outer elbow that I’d worshipped once: check.
手肘内外侧之间，我曾经崇拜的部位：确认。
I had used the same words that Marzia had uttered when I wished to know if she liked what I’d done to her.
我说了和玛琪雅相同的话；我问玛琪雅喜不喜欢我对她做的事，她也是这么说的。
Now all I thought of, as we spoke, was that today I’d be walking with Marzia and each time we’d try to sit somewhere I would hurt. The indignity of it. Sitting on the town’s ramparts — which was where everyone our age congregated at night when we weren’t sitting in the caffès — and be forced to squirm and be reminded each time of what I’d just done that night. The standing joke among schoolboys. Watch Oliver watch me squirm and think, I did that to you, didn’t I?
在我们交谈的现在，我满脑子只想到今天我要跟玛琪雅去散步，而每次只要我们想找个地方坐下来，我就感觉痛。其中的屈辱。我们这个年纪的人，晚上不泡咖啡馆的时候，就聚坐在城墙上。而我一坐上去，便局促不安，一次次被提醒那晚我做了什么。中小学男生长期流传的笑话。眼见奥利弗看我不舒服地扭来扭去，然后想：是我干的，时不对？
I wished we hadn’t slept together. Even his body left me in different. On the rock where we sat now I looked at his body as one looks at old shirts and trousers being boxed for pick up by the Salvation Army.
但愿我们没上过床。连他的身体都令我无动于衷。坐在我们现在坐的这颗石头上，我看着他的身体，像看着装箱等救世军来收的旧衬衫和旧裤子。
Shoulder: check.
肩膀：确认。
Crotch: check. Neck: check.
胯下：确认。
Foot — oh, that foot: but, yes, check.
脚：喔，那只脚。不过，是的，确认过了。
Curves of the apricot: check.
杏般的曲线：确认。
Smile, when he’d said, Are you okay everywhere: yes, check that too. Leave nothing to chance.
他说“你都还好吧”的那个微笑：是的，也确认过了。不留一丝侥幸。
“No,” I answered. But I had answered too swiftly for someone who meant what he was saying. To soften the ambiguity of my no, I said I’d probably want to sleep all day. “I don’t think I’ll be able to ride my bike today.”
“不会。”我回答。但对于一个诚心发问的人来说，我回答得太快。为了减轻我那个“不会”的暧昧，我说我可能想睡上一整天，“我想我今天没办法骑脚踏车了。”
“Yes, because.”
“对，因为…”
It occurred to me that one of the reasons I’d decided not to distance him too quickly was not just to avoid hurting his feelings or alarming him or stirring up an awkward and unwieldy situation at home, but because I was not sure that within a few hours I wouldn’t be desperate for him again.
我突然想到，我之所以决定不要太快疏远他，不只是为了避免伤他的感情，或引起他的警戒，或在家激起尴尬棘手的情况，而是因为不确定几小时之内，我会不会再度不顾一切地想要他。
I had worshipped them all once. I had touched them the way a civet rubs itself on the objects it covets. They’d been mine for a night. I didn’t want them now. What I couldn’t remember, much less understand, was how I could have brought myself to desire them, to do all I’d done to be near them, touch them, sleep with them. After our swim I’d take that much-awaited shower. Forget, forget.
我曾经崇拜这一切。我曾经像麝香猫磨蹭垂涎之物一样抚摸它们。它们曾经属于我一个晚上。我现在不想要了。我记不得、更别说了解的，是先前我怎么会渴望它们，尽一切努力接近、碰触、跟他上床。等我们游过泳之后，我要冲那个等待已久的澡。遗忘、遗忘。
As we were swimming back, he asked as though it were an afterthought, “Are you going to hold last night against me?”
我们往回游，他仿佛这时才想起，问我：“你会为了昨天的事讨厌我吗？
“Because…” He was not asking me a question, he was supplying the answer.
“因为…”他并非问我问题，而是提供答案。
But there they went — my self-confidence and my checklist and my craving to be done with him. Great work. I dried myself, put on the pajama bottoms I had worn last night, threw myself on my bed, and didn’t awake till Mafalda knocked at my door asking whether I wanted eggs for breakfast.
完了。我的自信、我的检核表、我想和他了断的渴望。干得好。我擦干身体，穿上昨晚的睡裤，把自己抛到床上，直到玛法尔达敲我的门问我早餐要不要吃煮鸡蛋才醒来。
Was this his revenge on me for presuming to be done with him?
这是我胆敢擅自和他结束的报复吗？
When we reached our balcony, he hesitated at the door and then stepped into my room. It took me by surprise. “Take your trunks off.” This was strange, but I didn’t have it in me to disobey. So I lowered them and got out of them. It was the first time I’d been naked with him in broad daylight. I felt awkward and was starting to grow nervous. “Sit down.” I had barely done as I was told when he brought his mouth to my cock and took it all in. I was hard in no time. “We’ll save it for later,” he said with a wry smile on his face and was instantly gone.
回到我这侧的阳台，他在门口踌躇了一会儿才走进我房间。我吓了一跳。“脱掉你的短裤。”这很奇怪，但我没有勇气拒绝。所以我拉下裤子脱掉。这是我第一次在大白天光着身子跟他相处。我觉得紧张又尴尬。“坐下。”我还没坐下，他嘴巴已经凑到我那里。我立刻硬了起来。“咱们回头再来。”他脸上带着一抹挖苦的微笑说完，立刻离开。
The same mouth that was going to eat eggs had been everywhere last night.
要吃鸡蛋的这同一张嘴，昨晚曾经到处游走。
As with a hangover, I kept wondering when the sickness would wear off.
像喝醉般，我不断想，这种不舒服的感觉何时才能渐渐消失？
When he came down for breakfast he was wearing my bathing suit. No one would have given it another thought since everyone was always swapping suits in our house, but this was the first time he had done so and it was the same suit I had worn that very dawn when we’d gone out for a swim. Watching him wearing my clothes was an unbearable turn-on. And he knew it. It was turning both of us on. The thought of his cock rubbing the netted fabric where mine had rested reminded me how, before my very eyes, and after so much exertion, he had finally shot his load on my chest. But what turned me on wasn’t this. It was the porousness, the fungibility, of our bodies — what was mine was suddenly his, just as what belonged to him could be all mine now. Was I being lured back again? At the table, he decided to sit at my side and, when no one was looking, slipped his foot not on top of but under mine. I knew my foot was rough from always walking barefoot; his was smooth; last night I had kissed his foot and sucked his toes; now they were snuggled under my callused foot and I needed to protect my protector.
他下来吃早餐时，穿着我的泳裤。对于这件事，没人多想，因为在我们家，大伙儿的泳裤都换着穿。但他第一次这么做，而且那是当天清晨我们去游泳时我穿过的同一件泳裤。看他穿我的衣物，是令人难以承受的催情剂。而他知道这一点。我们俩的欲望都因此挑起。但点燃我的东西，突然变成他的，就像曾经属于他的东西，现在可能全部属于我。我又抵抗不了他的引诱了？用餐时，他决定坐我旁边，还趁没人注意的时候把脚塞到我脚下，而不是靠在我脚背上。我因为老是赤脚走路，脚底板很粗糙，他的倒是很光滑。
Every once in a while, sudden soreness triggered a twinge of discomfort and shame. Whoever said the soul and the body met in the pineal gland was a fool. It’s the asshole, stupid.
每隔一阵，突然的疼痛就引发不适与羞耻的剧痛。无论谁说灵魂和身体的交界在松果腺，说的人都是傻瓜。是屁眼啦，笨蛋。
He was not allowing me to forget him. I was reminded of a married chatelaine who, after sleeping with a young vassal one night, had him seized by the palace guards the next morning and summarily executed in a dungeon on trumped-up charges, not only to eliminate all evidence of their adulterous night together and to prevent her young lover from becoming a nuisance now that he thought he was entitled to her favors, but to stem the temptation to seek him out on the following evening. Was he becoming a nuisance going after me? And what was I to do — tell my mother?
他不准我忘记他。我想起一位已婚的女城主，与年轻家臣共度一夜春宵之后，第二天早上命令禁卫军捉拿他，立刻罗织罪名在地牢予以处决——不仅为了消灭两人通奸过夜的证据，或避免自认为有权得到她专宠的年轻恋人成为麻烦，也为了防堵第二天晚上再给他的诱惑。他会对我紧追不舍吗？我该怎么办——告诉我妈？
That morning he went into town alone. Post office, Signora Milani, the usual rounds. I saw him pedal down the cypress lane, still wearing my trunks. No one had ever worn my clothes. Perhaps the physical and the metaphorical meanings are clumsy ways of understanding what happens when two beings need, not just to be close together, but to become so totally ductile that each becomes the other. To be who I am because of you. To be who he was because of me. To be in his mouth while he was in mine and no longer know whose it was, his cock or mine, that was in my mouth. He was my secret conduit to myself — like a catalyst that allows us to become who we are, the foreign body, the pacer, the graft, the patch that sends all the right impulses, the steel pin that keeps a soldier’s bone together, the other man’s heart that makes us more us than we were before the transplant.
那天早上，他一个人进城。去邮局，去找米拉尼太太，跟平常一样的行程。我看他仍穿着我的短裤，踩单车顺柏树小径而下。从来没人穿过我的衣服。当两个个体不仅需要腻在一起，还要那么水乳交融地化为彼此，会发生什么事？以身体和隐喻的意义来了解，或许嫌笨拙了。因为你而成为我。因为我而成为他。陌生的身体，节律器，移植片，发送精确搏动的补缀片，将士兵的骨头兜在一起的钢钉，外来物让我们拥有比移植前更像自己的他人之心。
I shrugged my shoulders as though to put away another compliment. I was unworthy of compliments, most of all coming from him. “I don’t know.”
我耸耸肩，好像收起又一个普通的恭维。我不配接受恭维，尤其是来自他的。“我不知道。”
“I just had to see you.”
“我就是得见你一面。”
The very thought of this suddenly made me want to drop everything I would do today and run to him. I waited about ten minutes, then took out my bike and, despite my promise not to go biking that day, headed out by way of Marzia’s home and scaled the steep hillside road as fast as I could. When I reached the piazzetta I realized I had arrived minutes after him. He was parking his bike, had already purchased the Herald Tribune, and was heading for the post office — his first errand. “I had to see you,” I said as I rushed to him. “Why, something wrong?”
就是想到这一点，让我想抛下今天原本打算做的一切向他奔去。我等了大约十分钟，然后取出脚踏车，尽管说过那天不骑车，却还是抄玛琪雅家那条近路，以最快速度爬上陡峭的山坡。达到小广场的时候，我只比他晚到几分钟。他停下单车，已经买了《前锋论坛报》，正要执行第一个任务——去邮局。“我得见你！”我边说边跑向他。“怎么了？有事吗？”
“Aren’t you sick of me?” I thought I was — I was about to say — and I wanted to be –“I just wanted to be with you,” I said. Then it hit me: “If you want, I’ll go back now,” I said. He stood still, dropped his hand with the bundle of unsent letters still in it, and simply stood there staring at me, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how glad I am we slept together?”
“你不觉得我烦吗？”我以为我是，而且但愿自己对你厌烦…我本来打算这样说。“我只是想跟你在一起。”我说。接着我突然想到：“如果你不想见我，我马上回去。”他站着不动，垂下手，手里还拿着一叠没寄的信，光站在那里盯着我看，摇摇头。“你知道那件事让我多开心吗？”
“It would be just like you not to know. I just don’t want to regret any of it — including what you wouldn’t let me talk about this morning. I just dread the thought of having messed you up. I don’t want either of us to have to pay one way or another.”
“‘不知道’正像是你的作风。我只是不想有任何遗憾而已——包括你今天早上不让我提的事。我只是害怕伤到了你。我不希望你或我以任何形式付出代价。”
I knew exactly what he was referring to but pretended otherwise. “I’m not telling anyone. There won’t be any trouble.”
我很清楚他指的是什么，却假装不懂。“我不会告诉任何人，不会有麻烦的。”
“I didn’t mean that. I’m sure I’ll pay for it somehow, though.” And for the first time in daylight I caught a glimpse of a different Oliver. “For you, however you think of it, it’s still fun and games, which it should be. For me it’s something else which I haven’t figured out, and the fact that I can’t scares me.”
“我不是指这个。虽然我确信我终究会付出代价。”我第一次在白天瞥见了不一样的奥利弗。“对你来说，无论你怎么想，这仍然是个玩笑，是个游戏，事情理应如此。但对我来说，这是我还没想通的另一回事，‘我想不通’的这个事实令我害怕。”
“Are you sorry I came?” Was I being intentionally fatuous?
“我来，你觉得遗憾吗？”我故意装糊涂。
“Me too.”
“我也是。”
I came up to his ear as he was just about to enter the post office and whispered, “Fuck me, Elio.”
他正要进邮局时，我走近他的耳朵，低声说：“干我啊，艾里奥。”
“I’d hold you and kiss you if I could.”
“可以的话，我会抱你吻你。”
He remembered and instantly moaned his own name three times, as we’d done during that night. I could feel myself already getting hard. Then, to tease him with the very same words he’d uttered earlier that morning, I said, “We’ll save it for later.”
他记得并且立刻呻吟着念了三次自己的名字，和我们那天晚上做的一样。我感觉到下面愈来愈硬…接着，为了用他早上说的话揶揄他，我说：“咱们回头再来。”
Then I told him how Later! would always remind me of him. He laughed and said, “Later!”– meaning exactly what I wanted it to mean for a change: not just goodbye, or be off with you, but afternoon lovemaking. I turned around and was instantly on my bike, speeding my way back downhill, smiling broadly, almost singing if I could.
我告诉他，“回头再说”这句话将永远让我想起他。他笑笑说道：“回头再说！”为了换换口味，这次的意思跟我希望的一模一样：不只是再见，或你滚，而是午后的做爱。我立刻转身骑上脚踏车，在回家的下坡路上加速奔驰，笑逐颜开，几乎唱起歌来。
Never in my life had I been so happy. Nothing could go wrong, everything was happening my way, all the doors were clicking open one by one, and life couldn’t have been more radiant: it was shining right at me, and when I turned my bike left or right or tried to move away from its light, it followed me as limelight follows an actor onstage. I craved him but I could just as easily live without him, and either way was fine.
我这辈子没这么开心过。不可能有任何差池，一切如我所愿，所有的门喀啦喀啦一扇一扇打开，说明不可能更灿烂了：生命直接照耀着我，我的单车右转左转，想要躲避它的光，它却像聚光灯追随台上的演员一样追着我跑。我渴望他，但没有他，我也能同样轻松度日，有没有他都好。
On my way, I decided to stop at Marzia’s house. She was headed to the beach. I joined her, and we went down to the rocks together and lay in the sun. I loved her smell, loved her mouth. She took off her top and asked me to put some suntan lotion on her back, knowing that my hands would inevitably cup her breasts. Her family owned a thatched cabana by the beach and she said we should go inside. No one would come. I locked the door from the inside, sat her on the table, took off her bathing suit, and put my mouth where she smelled of the sea. She leaned back, and lifted both legs over my shoulders. How strange, I thought, how each shadowed and screened the other, without precluding the other. Barely half an hour ago I was asking Oliver to fuck me and now here I was about to make love to Marzia, and yet neither had anything to do with the other except through Elio, who happened to be one and the same person.
回家途中，我决定停在玛琪雅家。她正要去海边。我跟她结伴同行，一起走到礁石那儿，躺在阳光下。我爱她的气味，爱她的嘴。她脱掉上衣，明知我一定忍不住伸手抱住她的胸，却还是要我在她背上涂一点防晒乳。她们家在海边有一栋茅草屋顶小屋，她说我们应该到里面去。没人会来。我从里面锁住门，让她坐在桌上，脱掉她的泳衣。她往后仰，双腿抬到我肩膀上。多奇怪啊，彼此遮蔽、隐匿，却不排除对方。不到半小时前，我还渴望着奥利弗，这会儿我却准备跟玛琪雅做爱，然而两个人除了透过恰好是一个人的艾里奥之外，彼此无关。
Half an hour later, or maybe sooner, I was awakened by the rich brown cloistral scent of coffee wafting through the house. Even with the door closed I could smell it and I knew this wasn’t my parents’ coffee. Theirs had been brewed and served a while ago. This was the afternoon’s second brew, made in the Neapolitan espresso coffeemaker in which Mafalda, her husband, and Anchise made coffee after they too had lunched. Soon they would be resting as well. Already a heavy torpor hung in the air — the world was falling asleep. All I wanted was for him or Marzia to pass by my balcony door and, through the half-drawn shutters, make out my naked body sprawled on the bed. Him or Marzia — but I wanted someone to pass by and notice me, and up to them to decide what to do. I could go on sleeping or, if they should sidle up to me, I’d make room for them and we’d sleep together. I saw one of them enter my room and reach for the fruit, and with the fruit in hand, come to my bed and bring it to my hard cock. / know you’re not sleeping, they’d say, and gently press the soft, overripe peach on my cock till I’d pierced the fruit along the crease that reminded me so much of Oliver’s ass. The idea seized me and would not let go.
半小时后，或根本不到半小时，屋里传来的浓郁咖啡香唤醒我。尽管门关着，我还是闻到了，我知道这不是爸妈买的咖啡。他们的咖啡刚才已经煮给大家喝过了。这是下午第二轮，是在玛法尔达夫妇和安喀斯也吃过午饭后，用那不勒斯浓缩咖啡机煮的咖啡。他们旋即也要休息。空气中弥漫一股浓浓的慵懒气息，这个世界渐渐入睡。我只希望他或玛琪雅经过我的阳台、透过半合的百叶窗分辨出我在床上伸展开来的裸体。他或玛琪雅都好，总之我希望有人经过，注意到我，由他们决定做什么。我或许继续睡，而如果他们偷偷接近我，我会腾出空位和他们一起睡。我看见他们其中一人进入我房间，伸手拿起水果，来到我床边。我知道你醒着…这个想法紧抓着我，不肯松手。
After lunch Oliver said he had to go back to B. to hand Signora Milani his latest corrections. He cast an instant glance in my direction but, seeing I hadn’t responded, was already on his way. After two glasses of wine, 1 couldn’t wait to take a nap. I grabbed two huge peaches from the table and took them with me, and kissed my mother along the way. I’d eat them later, I said. In the dark bedroom, I deposited the fruit on the marble tabletop. And then undressed totally. Clean, cool, crisp-starched, sun-washed sheets drawn tight across my bed — God bless you, Mafalda. Did I want to be alone? Yes. One person last night; then again at dawn. Then in the morning, another. Now I lay on the sheets as happy as a stiff-grown, newly sprung sunflower filled with listless vigor on this sunniest of summer afternoons. Was I glad to be alone now that sleep was upon me? Yes. Well, no. Yes. But maybe not. Yes, yes, yes. 1 was happy, and this was all that mattered, with others, without others, I was happy.
午餐后，奥利弗说得回B城把最新的修正稿交给米拉尼太太。他匆匆往我这边瞥了一眼，看我没反应就上路了。两杯酒下肚之后，我等不及想要小睡片刻。我从桌上抓起两颗大桃子带走，顺便吻了母亲一下。我晚点吃，我说。在昏暗的卧室里，我把水果放在大理石桌面上，然后脱个精光。干净，漂亮，硬挺，晒过太阳的床单紧实铺在床上——上帝保佑你，玛法尔达。我想独处吗？是的。做完一次；接着黎明再一次。然后早上，又是另一次。这时我躺在床单上，像刚窜出的向日葵一样挺直、快乐，在夏日午后阳光最充足的时候，充满无精打采的活力。在睡意袭来的此时落单，我高兴吗？是的。嗯，不是。是的。但或许不是。是的，是的，是的。我很快乐，唯有这一点重要，有别人，没有别人，我都快乐。
I got up and reached for one of the peaches, opened it halfway with my thumbs, pushed the pit out on my desk, and gently brought the fuzzy, blush-colored peach to my groin, and then began to press into it till the parted fruit slid down my cock.
我起身拿起其中一颗桃子，以两根拇指瓣开，取出果核放在桌上，轻轻把毛茸茸、玫瑰红色的桃子拿到我的腹股沟上开始挤压，直到裂开的水果从我的命根子滑下去…
If Anchise only knew, if Anchise knew what I was doing to the fruit he cultivated with such slavish devotion every day, him and his large straw hat and his long, gnarled, callused fingers that were always ripping out weeds from the parched earth. His peaches were more apricots than peaches, except larger, juicier. I had already tried the animal kingdom. Now I was moving to the kingdom of plants. Next would come minerals. The idea almost made me chuckle. The fruit was leaking all over my cock. If Oliver walked in on me now, I’d let him suck me as he had this morning. If Marzia came, I’d let her help me finish the job. The peach was soft and firm, and when I finally succeeded in tearing it apart with my cock, I saw that its reddened core reminded me not just of an anus but of a vagina, so that holding each half in either hand firmly against my cock, I began to rub myself, thinking of no one and of everyone, including the poor peach, which had no idea what was being done to it except that it had to play along and probably in the end took some pleasure in the act as well, till I thought I heard it say to me, Fuck me, Elio, fuck me harder, and after a moment, Harder, I said! while I scanned my mind for images from Ovid — wasn’t there a character who had turned into a peach and, if there wasn’t, couldn’t I make one up on the spot, say, an ill-fated young man and young girl who in their peachy beauty had spurned an envious deity who had turned them into a peach tree, and only now, after three thousand years, were being given what had been so unjustly taken away from them, as they murmured, I’ll die when you’re done, and you mustn’t be done, must never be done? The story so aroused me that practically without warning the orgasm was almost upon me. I sensed I could just stop then and there or, with one more stroke, I could come, which I finally did, carefully, aiming the spurt into the reddened core of the open peach as if in a ritual of insemination.
如果凤尾鱼只知道，如果凤尾鱼知道我对他每天如此虔诚地种植的水果所做的一切，他和他的大草帽，还有他那长而多节的、老茧的手指，这些手指总是从干燥的土地上拔除杂草。他的桃子比桃子多杏子，只是更大更多汁。我已经尝试过动物王国了。现在我要搬到植物王国去了。接下来是矿物。这个想法几乎让我笑了。我的公鸡身上到处都是水果。如果奥立弗现在走到我跟前，我会让他像今天早上那样吮吸我。如果玛齐亚来了，我会让她帮我完成这项工作。桃子又软又硬，当我终于成功地用公鸡把它撕开时，我看到它发红的核不仅让我想起了肛门，还让我想起了阴道，所以我用两只手紧紧地握住我的公鸡，开始揉搓自己，没有想到任何人和每个人，包括可怜的桃子叮当作响，它不知道对它做了什么，只知道它必须一起玩，可能最后也对这个表演感到高兴，直到我觉得我听到它对我说，操我，伊里奥，操我更用力，过了一会儿，更用力，我说！当我扫视我的大脑，寻找奥维德的影像时，难道没有一个角色变成了桃子，如果没有，我就不能当场弥补一下吗，比如说，一个不幸的年轻人和一个年轻女孩，在他们美丽的桃色中，拒绝了一个妒忌的神，他把他们变成了桃树，并且直到现在，在三千年后，他们才得到了不公正地夺走他们的东西，正如他们喃喃地说的那样，你完成了我就要死了，你不能完成，决不能完成？这个故事使我如此激动，以至于几乎毫无预兆地高潮就要来临了。最后我真的到了，小心翼翼地，对准瓣开的桃子发红的果核射进去，仿佛进行一场授精仪式。
What a crazy thing this was. I let myself hang back, holding the fruit in both hands, grateful that I hadn’t gotten the sheet dirty with either juice or come. The bruised and damaged peach, like a rape victim, lay on its side on my desk, shamed, loyal, aching, and confused, struggling not to spill what I’d left inside. It reminded me that I had probably looked no different on his bed last night after he’d come inside me the first time.
多么疯狂啊。我空出一点距离，两手捧着水果。谢天谢地，我没让果汁或精液弄脏床单。淤伤损坏的桃子，像强暴受害者，侧躺在我的书桌上，羞耻，忠诚，疼痛，困惑，挣扎着不把我留在里面的东西溢出来。这让我想到，昨夜他第一次在我体内射精后，在他床上的我，或许跟眼前的桃子没两样。
I put on a tank top but decided to stay naked and get under the sheet.
我套上运动背心，不过决定继续裸着身子，钻进被单里。
I awoke to the sound of someone unhooking the latch of the shutters and then hooking it back behind him. As in my dream once, he was tiptoeing toward me, not in an effort to surprise me, but so as not to wake me up. I knew it was Oliver and, with my eyes still closed, raised my arm to him. He grabbed it and kissed it, then lifted the sheet and seemed surprised to find me naked.
有人打开百叶窗上的栓子，进来后又重新拴上的声音吵醒我。就像我某次做梦一样，他蹑手蹑脚走向我，不是为了给我惊喜，而是不想吵醒我。我知道是奥利弗，我继续闭着眼睛，朝他伸出手臂。他抓住我的手臂，吻了一下，拉起床单，看见我光着身子似乎吃了一惊。
He immediately brought his lips to where they’d promised to return this morning. He loved the sticky taste. What had I done?
他立刻把嘴唇凑到今天早上答应要回去的地方。他爱那种粘糊糊的滋味。我做了什么？
I told him and pointed to the bruised evidence sitting on my desk.
我告诉他，指了指桌上那个淤伤的证据。
He brought the half peach to bed, making certain not to spill its contents as he took his clothes off.
他把半颗桃子带上床，小心不把里面的东西撒出来，一边脱衣服。
“Is this what I think it is?”
“这是我想的那个东西吗？”
“Any idea how much work Anchise puts into each one of these?”
“你知道每一颗都是安喀斯花了多少工夫栽培的吗？”
What was he up to? I hesitated to say yes.
他想干什么？我支支吾吾说好。
I shook my head.
我摇摇头。
“No, you’re not sick — I wish everyone were as sick as you. Want to see sick?”
“不，你没病。我希望每个人病得跟你一样。想见识一下什么叫有病吗？”
He was joking, but it felt as though he, or someone through him, was asking the same question about the work my parents had put into me.
他在开玩笑，但感觉上好像他、或有人透过他问我，知不知道父母为我付出了多少心血。
He dipped a finger into the core of the peach and brought it to his mouth.
他把一根手指伸进桃子的果心，把桃子送到嘴里。
He stood up and asked if I’d left it for him. Perhaps I had. Or had I simply put off thinking how to dispose of it?
他站起来，问我是不是要留给他的？或许是吧。或者我只是还要考虑如何处理它？
“Just think of the number of people who’ve come before you — you, your grandfather, your great-great-grandfather, and all the skipped generations of Elios before you, and those from places far away, all squeezed into this trickle that makes you who you are. Now may I taste it?”
“只要想想在你之前达到高潮的人有多少就好：你，你的祖父，你的曾曾祖父，还有所有在你之前，世世代代缺了席的艾里奥，还有那些来自远方的人，全都挤在使你成为你的这滴东西里。”现在我可以尝尝看吗？
“I’m sick, aren’t I?” I asked.
“我有病，对不对？”我问。
I nodded naughtily in mock shame.
我用装出来的羞愧，淘气地点点头。
“Let me see.”
“我看看。”
“If you just want to spit it out, it’s okay, it’s really okay, I promise I won’t be offended,” I said to break the silence more than as a last plea.
“如果你想吐出来没关系，真的没关系，我保证不会觉得受到冒犯。”与其说是最后的恳求，其实更是为了打破沉默而说。
“Please don’t.” This was more than I could bear.
“拜托不要。”这超过我的容忍范围。
“Nonsense. I wanted you from day one. I just hid it better.”
“胡说。我从第一天就想要你。只是我隐藏得比较好。”
“Look, you don’t have to do this. I’m the one who came after you, I sought you out, everything that happened is because of me — you don’t have to do this.”
“听着，你不必这么做。追求你的是我，我千辛万苦找到你，一切都是我惹出来的——你不必这样。”
“You’re hurting me.”
“你弄痛我了。”
“I never could stand my own. But this is yours. Please explain.”
“我从来无法忍受我自己的。但这是你的。请解释。”
He shook his head. I could tell he was tasting it at that very instant. Something that was mine was in his mouth, more his than mine now. I don’t know what happened to me at that moment as I kept staring at him, but suddenly I had a fierce urge to cry. And rather than fight it, as with orgasm, I simply let myself go, if only to show him something equally private about me as well. I reached for him and muffled my sobs against his shoulder. I was crying because no stranger had ever been so kind or gone so far for me, even Anchise, who had cut open my foot once and sucked and spat out and sucked and spat out the scorpion’s venom. I was crying because I’d never known so much gratitude and there was no other way to show it. And I was crying for the evil thoughts I’d nursed against him this morning. And for last night as well, because, for better or worse, I’d never be able to undo it, and now was as good a time as any to show him that he was right, that this wasn’t easy, that fun and games had a way of skidding off course and that if we had rushed into things it was too late to step back from them now — crying because something was happening, and I had no idea what it was.
他摇头。我看得出来那当下他正在品尝。某个属于我的东西在他嘴里，变成他的东西。就在我凝视他的那一刻，我不知道我怎么了，突然有想哭的强烈冲动。就像达到高潮时一样，我没有抗拒，而是放任自己，只为了让他看看我同样私密的一面。我伸手抓住他，埋在他肩上啜泣。我哭，是因为从来没有一个陌生人对我这么好，或为我做到这地步，甚至包括安喀斯——他曾经割开我的脚，把蝎子的毒液吸出来吐掉。我哭，是因为我从来没体验过这么强烈的谢意，而我无法以其他方式表达。我哭，是因为今天早上我曾经对他怀抱恶意。也是为了昨夜，因为无论结果好坏，我都无法将昨夜的事一笔勾销，而现在是让他知道的最好时机：知道他是对的；知道这种事不容易；知道玩笑与游戏常常滑出正轨；知道如果我们曾经贸然做了一件事，现在要抽退已经太迟。我哭，是因为某件事就要发生，但我不知道那是什么。
He simply shrugged my comment away.
他不理会我的评论。
I lunged out to grab the fruit from his hand, but with his other hand he caught hold of my wrist and squeezed it hard, as they do in movies, when one man forces another to let go of a knife.
我想把水果从他手里抢过来，但他另一只手一把抓住我的手腕，用力抓紧，像电影里的角色迫使另一个角色放下手中的刀一样。
“Then let go.”
“那就放手。”
I watched him put the peach in his mouth and slowly begin to eat it, staring at me so intensely that I thought even lovemaking didn’t go so far.
我看他把桃子放进嘴里，慢慢吃了起来，同时热烈地凝视我。我想，即使做爱也不过如此。
“It makes me feel terrible.”
“这样我很难受。”
“Sure!”
“是哟！”
“Whatever happens between us, Elio, I just want you to know. Don’t ever say you didn’t know.” He was still chewing. In the heat of passion it would have been one thing. But this was quite another. He was taking me away with him.
“无论我们之间发生了什么事，艾里奥，我只希望你知道。千万别说你本来不知道。”他仍继续嚼。在兴头上是一回事。但这又是另一回事。他要把我带走。
“Kiss me now, before it’s totally gone,” I said. His mouth would taste of peaches and me.
“吻我，在味道完全消失前。”他嘴里会有桃子和我的味道。
I stayed in my room long after Oliver left. When I finally awoke, it was almost evening, which put me in a grumpy mood. The pain was gone, but I had a resurgence of the same malaise I’d experienced toward dawn. I didn’t know now if this was the same feeling, resurfacing after a long hiatus, or if the earlier one had healed and this was a totally new one, resulting from the afternoon’s lovemaking. Would I always experience such solitary guilt in the wake of our intoxicating moments together? Why didn’t I experience the same thing after Marzia? Was this nature’s way of reminding me that I would rather be with her?
奥利弗离开以后，我又在房里待了很久。等我终于醒来，几乎是傍晚了。这令我陷入暴躁的情绪。疼痛已经过去，但近破晓时经历过的同一种抑郁再度复活。这是间隔许久后再度出现的？或者早先感受到的已经痊愈，这是全新的，起因于下午的做爱？度过我们醉人的时光之后，这种孤独的罪恶感难道非得紧跟而来？跟玛琪雅做爱，为什么没有相同的感觉？这是提醒我，我宁可跟她在一起的方式吗？
His words made no sense. But I knew exactly what they meant.
他的话没道理，但我完全明白那是什么意思。
I rubbed his face with my palm. Then, without knowing why, I began to lick his eyelids.
我手掌摩擦他的脸。接着，不明就里地，舔起他的眼皮。
“No, I’m going to see Marzia.”
“不，我去找玛琪雅。”
I took a shower and put on clean clothes. Downstairs, everyone was having cocktails. Last night’s two guests were there again, being entertained by my mother, while a newcomer, another reporter, was busily listening to Oliver’s description of his book on Heraclitus. He had perfected the art of giving a stranger a five-sentence précis that seemed invented on the spur of the moment for the benefit of that particular listener. “Are you staying?” asked my mother.
我淋浴，换上干净的衣服。楼下，大家正在喝鸡尾酒。昨晚那两位客人再度光临，正接受母亲的款待，初次来访的另一位记者忙着听奥利弗解说他论赫拉克利特的书。他精通以五个句子对陌生人做摘要的技艺，听起来像是当场为特定听众量身打造的。“你会待在家里吗？”母亲问。
If he only knew.
要是他知道的话。
And what if he did know?
要是他真的知道会怎样？
My father would never object. He might make a face at first, then take it back.
父亲一定不会反对。他可能先做个鬼脸，又正色以对。
It never occurred to me to hide from Oliver what I was doing with Marzia. Bakers and butchers don’t compete, I thought. Nor, in all likelihood, would he have given it another thought himself.
我从来没想过对奥利弗隐瞒我跟玛琪雅的关系。面包师傅跟屠夫不会相互较量，说不定他也不会多想。
My mother gave me an apprehensive look, and ever so discreetly began to shake her head, meaning, J don’t approve, she’s a good girl, you should be going out together as a group. “Leave him alone, you and your groups,” was my father’s rebuttal, which set me free. “As it is, he’s shut up in the house all day. Let him do as he pleases. As he pleases!”
母亲以担心的眼神看了我一下，甚至非常谨慎地摇起头来，意思是：我不赞成，她是好女孩，你们应该成群结队出游。“别拿这种小事烦他啦。”父亲这般反驳，我因此得到自由。“他都关在屋里一整天了。他想怎么做随他高兴。随他高兴啦！”
“Why not?” She wanted to repeat the other night.
“有何不可？”她想重演那一夜。
She kissed me. What I wanted instead was to go to the bookstore when it had just opened in the morning, with the option of going there that same night.
她吻我。但是比起晚上去书店，我宁可同一天早上刚开门的时候去。
That night Marzia and I went to the movies. We had ice cream in the piazzetta. And again at her parents’ home.
那晚我和玛琪雅去看电影。我们在小广场吃冰淇淋，然后再度去她父母家。
“I want to go to the bookstore again,” she said when she walked me toward the gate to their garden. “But I don’t like going to the movies with you.”
她陪我走到她家花园去。“我不喜欢跟你去看电影，可是我想再去书店。”
“You want to go around closing time tomorrow?”
“你想明天快打烊的时候去？”
When I returned home the guests were just about to leave. Oliver was not home.
回到家，客人正要离开。奥利弗不在家。
Serves me right, I thought.
我想我活该。
On the nervous doodlings I had traced around these words before heading out to his room, I was trying to recover the memory of last night’s jitters. Perhaps I wanted to relive the night’s anxieties, both to mask tonight’s and to remind myself that if my worst fears had suddenly been dispelled once I’d entered his room, perhaps they might end no differently tonight and be as easily subdued once I’d heard his footsteps.
出发去他房间前，我在不安中胡乱写下这段话。我想找回昨晚紧张不安的记忆。或许想借由重新体验昨晚的焦虑来掩饰今晚的紧张，同时也提醒自己，如果昨晚我一进他房间，最深的恐惧便消失于无形，那么今晚或许也一样。只要听到他的脚步声，就能同样轻易抑制恐惧。
Last night’s entry: “I’ll see you at midnight.” You watch. He won’t even be there. “Get lost”– that’s what “Grow up” means. I wish I’d never said anything.
昨天晚上写的：“咱们午夜见。”等着瞧。他肯定放我鸽子。什么“成熟点”嘛，不就是叫我“滚开”的意思吗？但愿我什么都没说过。
I went to my room and, for lack of anything else to do, opened my diary.
我回房间，而且，因为没别的事可做，只好翻开日记本。
But I couldn’t even remember last night’s anxieties. They were completely overshadowed by what followed them and seemed to belong to a segment of time to which I had no access whatsoever. Everything about last night had suddenly vanished. I remembered nothing. I tried to whisper “Get lost” to myself as a way of jump-starting my memory. The words had seemed so real last night. Now they were just two words struggling to make sense.
但我甚至记不得昨晚的焦虑。那股焦虑因为之后的事黯然失色，而且似乎属于我无论如何也无法接近的时间断片。关于昨晚的一切消失了。我什么都不记得。我试着低声对自己说“滚开”，当做启动记忆的方法。这句话昨晚曾经感觉那么真实，现在却只是拼命想显得有什么特殊意义的两个字。
This was much worse. I didn’t even know what to call this.
这个糟糕多了。我甚至不知道该如何形容。
And then I realized it. What I was experiencing tonight was unlike anything I’d experienced in my life.
我明白了。我今晚所经历的，与我这辈子经历过的任何事都不同。
On second thought, I didn’t even know what to call last night’s jitters either.
重新想过之后，我连该怎么称呼昨晚的焦虑都不知道了。
At least last night there was the fear of failing, the fear of being thrown out or called the very name I had used on others. Now that I had overcome that fear, had this anxiety been present all along, though latent, like a presage and a warning of killer reefs beyond the squall?
至少昨晚有对于失败的恐惧，有对于被撵走或叫错名字的恐惧。既然已经克服那种恐惧，那么这种焦虑，尽管不易察觉，是否像暴风彼端有致命暗礁的前兆和警告，始终存在？
I had taken a giant step last night. Yet here I was, no wiser and no more sure of things than I’d been before feeling him all over me. We might as well not even have slept together.
昨晚我跨出了一大步。然而这会儿，比起与他水乳交融之前，我没变得更机智或对情况更笃定。我们甚至等于没上过床。
And why did I care where he was? Wasn’t this what I wanted for both of us — butchers and bakers and all that? Why feel so unhinged just because he wasn’t there or because he’d given me the slip, why sense that all I was doing now was waiting for him — waiting, waiting, waiting?
为什么我介意他去了哪里？这不就是我对这段关系的期待吗——屠夫和面包师傅，相安无事嘛。为什么只因为他不在，或他甩掉我，我就心神不宁，感觉只能等他？等待，等待，一再等待？
What was it about waiting that was beginning to feel like torture?
为什么等待变得有如折磨？
If you are with someone, Oliver, it is time to come home. No questions asked, I promise, just don’t keep me waiting.
奥利弗，如果你此刻跟某个人在一起，该是回家的时候了。我保证不问问题，只要你别叫我等就好。
Ten minutes later, feeling helpless and hating myself for feeling helpless, I resolved to wait another this-time-for-real ten minutes.
十分钟后，觉得无助，也恨自己觉得无助，我决定再等另一个“这次当真”的十分钟。
If he doesn’t show up in ten minutes, I’ll do something.
如果他十分钟后内没现身，我会采取行动。
Twenty minutes later, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I put on a sweater, walked off the balcony, and came downstairs. I’d go to B., if I had to, and check for myself. I was on my way to the bike shed, already debating whether to head out to N. first, where people tended to stay up and party much later than in B., and was cursing myself for not putting air in the tires earlier this morning, when suddenly something told me I should stop dead in my tracks and try not to disturb Anchise, who slept in the hut nearby. Sinister Anchise — everyone said he was sinister. Had I suspected it all along? I must have. The fall from the bike, Anchise’s peasant ointment, the kindness with which he took care of him and cleaned up the scrape.
二十分钟后，我再也忍不住了。我穿上长袖运动衫，离开阳台下楼。必要时，我要亲自去B城看看。走向单车棚途中，我犹豫是不是先去N城。比起B城，大家在N城总是彻夜嬉闹到天光大白。骑着骑着，察觉不对劲，只好半路停车，还得尽量避免打扰到在附近小屋里睡觉的安喀斯。我咒骂自己，今天早上怎么没给轮胎打气！带来不幸的安喀斯——大家都说他不祥。我还怀疑吗？一定是的。从脚踏车上跌下来的奥利弗，安喀斯的农夫软膏，安喀斯照顾他还替他清理擦伤的亲切态度。
But down below along the rocky shore, in the moonlight, I caught sight of him. He was sitting on one of the higher rocks, wearing his sailor’s white-and-blue-striped sweater with the buttons always undone along his shoulder which he’d purchased in Sicily earlier in the summer. He was doing nothing, just hugging his knees, listening to the ripples lap against the rocks below him. Looking at him now from the balustrade, I felt something so tender for him that it reminded me how eagerly I had rushed to B. to catch him before he’d even made it into the post office. This was the best person I’d ever known in my life. I had chosen him well. I opened the gate and skipped down the several rocks and reached him.
到了岩岸附近，衬着月光，我瞥见他的身影。他坐在较高处的岩石上，穿着肩膀那几个纽扣总是不扣的蓝白条纹水手长袖运动衫，那是他今年夏天在西西里买的。他什么事也不做，只是抱着膝盖，听小水波拍打岩石的声音。从栏杆这儿望着他，我心生一股温柔的感觉，想起自己曾经多么急着赶去B城，追上他，甚至在他还没进邮局之前就赶到了。在我这辈子认识的人当中，他是最好的一个。我选择他是对的。我打开栅门，往下跳了几个岩块，到他身边。
“I was waiting for you,” I said.
“我在等你。”我说。
“I thought you’d gone to sleep. I even thought you didn’t want to.”
“我以为你睡了。我甚至以为你不想。”
I looked up to our house. The window shutters were all closed. I bent down and kissed him on his neck. It was the first time I had kissed him with feeling, not just desire. He put his arm around me. Harmless, if anyone saw.
我抬头看我们的房子。百叶窗全合上了。我弯腰吻他的脖子。这是我第一次带着感情而不只是欲望吻他。他伸手搂着我。就算别人看到，也无妨。
“No. Waiting. I just turned the lights off.”
“没这回事。我在等。只是我把灯关了。”
“Me?” He was mimicking my modesty. “No one else?”
“我？”他模仿我的谦逊。“没别人？”
“This spot is probably what I’ll miss the most.” Then, upon reflection: “I’ve been happy in B.”
“这里或许将是我最想念的地方。”接着，想过之后又说：“我在这里很快乐。”
It sounded like a preamble to farewells.
听起来像道别的前言。
He nodded.
他点头。
“Me?”
“我？”
“I know what you thought.”
“我知道你怎么想。”
“All this means is that in ten days when I look out to this spot, you won’t be here. I don’t know what I’ll do then. At least you’ll be elsewhere, where there are no memories.”
“这一切，再过十天，我往这边看的时候，你已经不在了。我不知道到时候我会怎么做。至少你人在他处，一个没有回忆的地方。”
“All by yourself?”
“一个人？”
“Thinking.”
“想事情。”
“Things. Going back to the States. The courses I have to teach this fall. The book. You.”
“各种事。回美国。今年秋天我要教的课。那本书。你。”
“I never knew. I thought –“
“我从来不知道。我以为…”
“No one else.” He was silent for a while. “I come here every night and just sit here. Sometimes I spend hours.”
“没别人。”他沉默了一会儿。“我每天晚上到这里来，只是坐在这里。有时候一待就是好几个钟头。”
“About?”
“想什么？”
“I was looking out towards there,” he continued, pointing to the horizon, “and thinking that in two weeks I’ll be back at Columbia.”
他指着水天相连的地方继续说：“我望着那儿，心想再两周我就回哥伦比亚大学了。”
He was right. I had made a point never to count the days. At first because I didn’t want to think how long he’d stay with us; later because I didn’t want to face how few were his remaining days.
他说得对。我刻意绝不数算日子。起初是因为我不愿意想他要在我们这里待多久，后来则是因为我不想面对他在这里剩余的日子有多么少。
“What were you doing?” I asked.
“你在做什么？”我问。
The news couldn’t have made me happier. It had obviously been shadowing everything between us. I decided not to press the matter.
这个消息让我快乐到极点。显然我们之间的种种一直有这层阴影。我决定不再追究此事。
He squeezed my shoulder to him. “The way you think sometimes… You’ll be fine.”
他用力搂我的肩往他那边靠。“有时候你的思考方式…你不会有问题的。”
“Wasted? I don’t know. Perhaps we just needed time to figure out if this is what we wanted.”
“浪费？我不确定。或许我们就是需要时间想清楚这是不是我们要的。”
It was my way of saying, I’ve been happy here as well. I tried to picture what happy here meant to him: happy once he got here after imagining what the place might look like, happy doing his work on those scorching mornings in heaven, happy biking back and forth from the translator, happy disappearing into town every night and coming back so late, happy with my parents and dinner drudgery, happy with his poker friends and all the other friends he had made in town and about whom I knew nothing whatsoever? One day he might tell me. I wondered what part I played in the overall happiness package.
我这么说的意思是：我在这里也很快乐。我试着想象对他而言，“在这里很快乐”是什么意思：想象过这里可能的光景后，一旦来到这儿他很快乐？那些炙热的早晨，在“天堂”做他的工作很快乐？骑车往返译者的家很快乐？每天晚上搞失踪进城然后晚归很快乐？对于我的父母和“正餐苦差”感到很快乐？对于他的扑克牌友，和所有其他在城里结交而我一无所知的朋友，他感到很快乐？有一天他可能会告诉我。我想知道我在这个快乐的组合里扮演什么角色。
“I might. But then I might not. We wasted so many days — so many weeks.”
“可能吧。但也可能不然。我们浪费了好多天。好几周。”
“Some of us made things purposely difficult.”
“有人故意把事情搞得很复杂。”
“Me?”
“我吗？”
He smiled. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
他微笑。“我不知道我对那件事有何感想。”
“I’ll be okay.” I slipped a hand into his pants. “I do love being here with you.”
“我没问题的。”我一手滑进他裤子里。“我真的很喜欢跟你一起在这里。”
“I’m not sure either. But I am glad we did.”
“我也不确定。但我很高兴我们做了。”
“Will you be okay?”
“你没问题吧？”
I nodded. “You know what we were doing exactly one night ago.”
我点了点头。“你知道整整一天前的晚上我们在做什么。”
Meanwhile, tomorrow, if we went for an early morning swim, I might be overcome again with this surfeit of self-loathing. I wondered if one got used to that. Or does one accrue a deficit of malaise so large that one learns to find ways to consolidate it in one lump feeling with its own amnesties and grace periods? Or does the presence of the other, who yesterday morning felt almost like an intruder, become ever more necessary because it shields us from our own hell — so that the very person who causes our torment by daybreak is the same who’ll relieve it at night?
同时，如果我们明天一大早去游泳，我可能再度被这过多的自我厌恶所扰乱。我想知道一个人能否适应这件事。或者，因为抑郁已是常态，人只好学着将之归诸情绪的样貌之一，以更宽容的眼光看待？或者，有个昨天早上几乎还像个闯入者的他人在场，变得更加必要。因为有这个“他人”在场，我们得以避免坠入自己的地狱——在破晓前造成我们痛苦的那个人，正是要在夜里减轻这痛苦的同一个人？
The next morning we went swimming together. It was scarcely past six o’clock, and the fact that it was so early gave an energized quality to our exercise. Later, as he performed his own version of the dead-man’s float, I wanted to hold him, as swimming instructors do when they hold your body so lightly that they seem to keep you afloat with barely a touch of their fingers. Why did I feel older than he was at that moment? I wanted to protect him from everything this morning, from the rocks, from the jellyfish, now that jellyfish season was upon us, from Anchise, whose sinister leer, as he’d trundle into the garden to turn on the sprinklers, constantly pulling out weeds wherever he turned, even when it rained, even when he spoke to you, even when he threatened to leave us, seemed to tease out every secret you thought you’d neatly buried from his gaze.
第二天早上我们一起去游泳。时间刚过六点，一大清早就来运动，显得我们更加精力充沛。他以自己的方式俯卧漂浮，那时我真想抱他。像个游泳教练那样轻轻抱住你的身体，仿佛几乎一根手指也不碰，就能让你浮在水上。为什么那一刻我觉得自己比他年长？这天早上，我想保护他不受任何伤害，不受岩石伤害，不受这季节出没的水母伤害，不受安喀斯不祥的目光伤害。安喀斯总是踏着缓慢沉重的脚步走进花园打开洒水器，就算是下雨天也要拔杂草；不论是他对着人说话或威胁要离开我们家，任何时刻，他都斜着眼送来的不祥目光似乎就要套出你自以为妥善埋藏的秘密。
“How are you?” I asked, mimicking his question to me yesterday morning.
“你还好吧？”我问，模仿他昨天早上问我问题。
At breakfast, I couldn’t believe what seized me, but I found myself cutting the top of his soft-boiled egg before Mafalda intervened or before he had smashed it with his spoon. I had never done this for anyone else in my life, and yet here I was, making certain that not a speck of the shell fell into his egg. He was happy with his egg. When Mafalda brought him his daily polpo, I was happy for him. Domestic bliss. Just because he’d let me be his top last night.
早餐时，我不敢相信自己着了什么魔。可是我不由自主地在玛法尔达插手，或在他拿汤匙把蛋捣碎以前，抢着敲开他半熟溏心蛋的蛋壳。我这辈子没替别人做过，而此时我却一再确认，连一小片都不能掉进他的碗里。他很满意他的蛋。玛法尔达把他每天都要吃的章鱼拿来时，我为他高兴。家庭的幸福。只因为他昨夜让我成为他最重要的人。
“You should know.”
“你应该很清楚。”
I caught my father staring at me as I finished slicing off the tip of his second soft-boiled egg.
在我帮他把第二颗半熟蛋顶端整个切下来以后，我发觉父亲正盯着我瞧。
“I am sure they have their way…,” he said.
“我相信他有自己的方法，··…”他说。
“Want me to come with?”
“要我一起去吗？”
“Americans never know how to do it,” I said.
“美国人永远学不会。”我说。
The foot that came to rest on mine under the table told me that perhaps I should let it go and assume my father was onto something. “He’s no fool,” he said to me later that morning as he was getting ready to head up to B.
桌子下那叠到我脚上的脚告诉我，或许我该到此为止，父亲肯定察觉了。“他不是笨蛋。”那天早上稍后，他准备前往B城时对我说。
“No, better keep a low profile. You should work on your Haydn today. Later.”
“不了，最好保持低调。你今天应该改编你的海顿。回头再说。”
Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second.
或许我们首先是朋友，然后才是情人。
“Later.”
“回头再说。”
When I think back to our last ten days together, I see an early-morning swim, our lazy breakfasts, the ride up to town, work in the garden, lunches, our afternoon naps, more work in the afternoon, tennis maybe, after-dinners in the piazzetta, and every night the kind of lovemaking that can run circles around time. Looking back to these days, I don’t think there was ever a minute, other than the half hour or so he spent with his translator, or when I managed to steal a few hours with Marzia, when we weren’t together.
每次回想起我们在一起的最后十天，眼前浮现的尽是晨泳、我们懒洋洋的早餐、骑车进城、在花园里工作、午餐、我们的午睡、下午继续工作或打打网球、晚饭后到小广场，还有每一夜那种超越时光的做爱。回顾这些日子，除了他和译者在一起的半小时，或我好不容易偷几个钟头陪玛琪雅之外，我们没有一分钟不在一起。
But then perhaps this is what lovers are.
但话说回来，或许情人就是如此。
Marzia called that morning while he was about to leave. He almost winked when he handed me the telephone. There was no hint of irony, nothing that didn’t remind me, unless I was mistaken — and I don’t think I was — that what we had between us was the total transparency that exists among friends only.
那天早上，就在他要离开时，玛琪雅打电话来。他把话筒交给我，似乎眨了眨眼，其中没有一丝讽刺。除非我会错意（我想我没有），否则一切都在提醒我，我们之间是朋友才有的完全透明的关系。
“When did you know about me?” I asked him one day. I was hoping he’d say, When 1 squeezed your shoulder and you almost wilted in my arms. Or, When you got wet under your bathing suit that one afternoon when we chatted in your room. Something along those lines. “When you blushed,” he said. “Me?” We had been talking about translating poetry; it was early in the morning, during his very first week with us. We had started working earlier than usual that day, probably because we already enjoyed our spontaneous conversations while the breakfast table was being laid out under the linden tree and were eager to spend some time together. He’d asked me if I’d ever translated poetry. I said I had. Why, had he? Yes. He was reading Leopardi and had landed on a few verses that were impossible to translate. We had been speaking back and forth, neither of us realizing how far a conversation started on the fly could go, because all the while delving deeper into Leopardi’s world, we were also finding occasional side alleys where our natural sense of humor and our love for clowning were given free play. We translated the passage into English, then from English to ancient Greek, then back to gobbledygenglish to gobbledygitalian. Leopardi’s closing lines of “To the Moon” were so warped that it brought bursts of laughter as we kept repeating the nonsense lines in Italian — when suddenly there was a moment of silence, and when I looked up at him he was staring at me point-blank, that icy, glassy look of his which always disconcerted me. I was struggling to say something, and when he asked how I knew so many things, I had the presence of mind to say something about being a professor’s son. I was not always eager to show off my knowledge, especially with someone who could so easily intimidate me. I had nothing to fight back with, nothing to add, nothing to throw in to muddy the waters between us, nowhere to hide or run for cover. I felt as exposed as a stranded lamb on the dry, waterless plains of the Serengeti.
“你几时察觉的？”有一天我问他。原本我希望他说“我捏你肩膀，你几乎在我臂弯里枯萎的时候”，或“我们在你房间聊天，你弄湿泳裤的那个下午”之类的。“你脸红的时候。”他说。“我？”当时我们在讨论译诗，那是他到我们这儿来第一周某日的一大早。那天我们比平常更早开始工作，或许因为早餐桌在极树下排开来时，我们已经享受过一段自在的交谈，因此很渴望花点时间相处。他间我是否译过诗。我说译过。怎么着，他译过吗？译过。他正在读莱奥帕尔迪，遇到几个无法翻译的诗句。我们往复讨论，彼此都不知道一段贸然展开的对话能够进行到什么地步，因为在更深入探索莱奥帕尔迪世界的同时，我们也发现偶然的小岔路，让我们天生的幽默感与爱开玩笑有机会尽情发挥。我们把那段话译为英文，接着从英文译成古希腊文，然后译回佶屈聱牙的英文，再译成佶屈聱牙的意大利文。因为莱奥帕尔迪的《致月亮》最后一句被过度转译，我们在不断以意大利文重复无意义的诗句时爆笑出声——这时突然出现一阵静默，我抬头看他，他正率直地用他那总是令我仓皇失措、冰冷无神的目光盯着我看。我挣扎着想说点什么，接着他问我怎么这么博学，我镇定地说了类似“因为我是教授之子”的话。我并不总是那么急切地想炫耀我的知识，尤其面对一个让我畏怯的人。我没有什么能反击、补充的，没有什么能搅乱彼此关系的能耐，没有地方躲藏或寻求掩护。我仿若一只羔羊，困在千燥无水的塞伦盖蒂平原上，无处躲藏。
The staring was no longer part of the conversation, or even of the fooling around with translation; it had superseded it and become its own subject, except that neither dared nor wanted to bring it up. And yes, there was such a luster in his eyes that I had to look away, and when I looked back at him, his gaze hadn’t moved and was still focused on my face, as if to say, So you looked away and you’ve come back, will you be looking away again soon?– which was why I had to look away once more, as if immersed in thought, yet all the while scrambling for something to say, the way a fish struggles for water in a muddied pond that’s fast drying up in the heat. He must have known exactly what I was feeling. What made me blush in the end was not the natural embarrassment of the moment when I could tell he’d caught me trying to hold his gaze only then to let mine scamper to safety; what made me blush was the thrilling possibility, unbelievable as I wanted it to remain, that he might actually like me, and that he liked me in just the way I liked him.
凝视不再是对话、甚或也不是拿翻译开玩笑的一部分；凝视已经超越凝视，成为自己的主体，只是彼此都不敢、也不想提起。是的，他眼中有这样一股欲色，让我必须撇开眼光。我再回视他，他的眼光不曾移开，仍然聚焦在我脸上，仿佛说：“你撇开目光，又再度回来，你很快又要撇开目光吗？”我只好再度躲避，仿佛沉浸在思绪里，但其实慌乱得想找话说，仿佛一条鱼在热得快干涸的浑浊池塘里挣扎找水。他一定明白我的感觉。到头来令我脸红的，不是我感觉到他识破我多么努力才能不避开目光与他四目相交，而是我为求迅速安全脱身的那当下所产生的困窘。让我脸红的是令人激动的可能性，我既不敢相信又希望能够持续的可能性。我发现他可能真的喜欢我，而且他喜欢我和我喜欢他的方式如出一辙。
For weeks I had mistaken his stare for barefaced hostility. I was wide of the mark. It was simply a shy man’s way of holding someone else’s gaze.
连续好几周，我把他的凝视错认为不加掩饰的敌意。天大的误会。那只是一个害羞男子与人四目相交的方式。
My father was the only one who had seen through him from the very start.
父亲是唯一从一开始就看透他的人。
“Do you like Leopardi?” I asked, to break the silence, but also to suggest that it was the topic of Leopardi that had caused me to seem somewhat distracted during a pause in our conversation.
“你喜欢莱奥帕尔迪吗？”为了打破沉默，也为了暗示莱奥帕尔迪的主题是让我在谈话暂停时似乎有点分心的原因，我问。
We were, it finally dawned on me, the two shyest persons in the world.
我终于恍然大悟，我们是世界上最害羞的两个人。
“Yes, very much.”
“是的，非常喜欢。”
I’d always known I wasn’t speaking about Leopardi. The question was, did he?
我始终知道我说的不是莱奥帕尔迪。问题是，他知道吗？
“So you knew all this time?”
“所以你一直都知道？”
In other words, it had started just days after his arrival. Had everything since been pretense, then? And all these swings between friendship and indifference — what were they? His and my ways of keeping stealthy tabs on each other while disclaiming that we were? Or were they simply as cunning a way as any to stave each other off, hoping that what we felt was indeed genuine indifference?
换句话说，他来没几天就开始了。那么，之后的一切都是伪装？在友谊与冷漠之间摆荡的这一切——这些是什么？他和我彼此暗中监视，却否认有这么做的方法？或者只是避开彼此最狡猾的方式，希望我们感觉到的其实是真正的冷漠？
“I knew I was making you uncomfortable, but I just had to make sure.”
“我知道我让你不舒服，但我就是非确定不可。”
“Let’s say 1 was pretty sure.”
“就说我相当确定吧。”
“1 like him very much too.”
“我也非常喜欢他。”
“I did. At least I tried.”
“我暗示了，至少我试过。”
“After tennis once. I touched you. Just as a way of showing I liked you. The way you reacted made me feel I’d almost molested you. I decided to keep my distance.”
“有一次打完网球，我不是碰了碰你？那就是我说喜欢你的方式。你的反应让我觉得我像是对你性骚扰。所以我决定保持距离。”
“When?”
“几时？”
“Why didn’t you give me a sign?” I said.
“你为什么不暗示我？”我说。
Our best moments were in the afternoon. After lunch, I’d go upstairs for a nap just when coffee was about to be served. Then, when the lunch guests had left, or slunk away to rest in the guesthouse, my father would either retire to his study or steal a nap with my mother. By two in the afternoon, an intense silence would settle over the house, over the world it seemed, interrupted here and there either by the cooing of doves or by Anchise’s hammer when he worked on his tools and was trying not to make too much noise. I liked hearing him at work in the afternoon, and even when his occasional banging or sawing woke me up, or when the knife grinder would start his whetstone running every Wednesday afternoon, it left me feeling as restful and at peace with the world as I would feel years later on hearing a distant foghorn off Cape Cod in the middle of the night. Oliver liked to keep the windows and shutters wide open in the afternoon, with just the swelling sheer curtains between us and life beyond, because it was a “crime” to block away so much sunlight and keep such a landscape from view, especially when you didn’t have it all life long, he said. Then the rolling fields of the valley leading up to the hills seemed to sit in a rising mist of olive green: sunflowers, grapevines, swatches of lavender, and those squat and humble olive trees stooping like gnarled, aged scarecrows gawking through our window as we lay naked on my bed, the smell of his sweat, which was the smell of my sweat, and next to me my man-woman whose man-woman I was, and all around us Mafalda’s chamomile-scented laundry detergent, which was the scent of the torrid afternoon world of our house.
我们最美好的时刻在午后。午餐后，就在上咖啡前，我会上楼小睡一下。午餐宾客离开或悄悄到客房休息时，父亲可能躲进书房，或溜去跟母亲午睡。到了下午两点，极度的寂静在这栋房屋落脚，仿佛笼罩这个世界。零零落落地，偶尔听到鸽子的咕咕声，或是响起安喀斯边打点工具、边尽量避免发出大噪音的铁锤声。我喜欢听他下午工作的声音，即使偶尔被他的砰砰声、锯物声，或每周三下午砂轮机发动磨刀石的声音吵醒，这一切让我觉得恬静而与世无争。就像多年以后，夜半时分，听到远方雾笛声从鳕鱼角⑰附近传来的感受。下午，奥利弗喜欢敞着窗户和百叶窗，让我们和往后的人生之间只隔着飘飞的透明纱帘。他总说若是遮蔽太多阳光，将这样的景致遮挡在视线之外，就是一种“罪行”：你可无法一辈子拥有这样的风景。这时，谷地与丘陵间那片高低起伏的原野似乎笼罩在飘升的橄榄绿色雾霭中：除了向日葵、葡萄藤、一小簇一小簇的薰衣草，还有那些谦卑盘踞的橄榄树，犹如浑身长满疖瘤的老稻草人弯着腰，在我们裸身躺在我床上时，透过窗户痴望进来。他的汗水味，也是我的汗水味，我的身边是我的爱人同志⑱，而我也是他的爱人同志。包围着我们的，是玛法尔达那带着黄春菊气味的洗衣剂，那也是我们家这个世界在灼热午后散发的气味。【注：⑰鳕鱼角（Cape Cod）：美国麻州（Massachusetts）东南方的一个钩状半岛。⑱原文为man – woman。】
One morning, though, I awoke and saw the whole of B. overborne by dark, lowering clouds racing across the sky. I knew exactly what this spelled. Autumn was just around the corner.
有一天早上，我醒来，看见黑暗笼罩B城，阴沉沉的云快速飘过天际。我完全清楚这意味什么。秋天不远了。
I look back on those days and regret none of it, not the risks, not the shame, not the total lack of foresight. The lyric cast of the sun, the teeming fields with tall plants nodding away under the intense midafternoon heat, the squeak of our wooden floors, or the scrape of the clay ashtray pushed ever so lightly on the marble slab that used to sit on my nightstand. I knew that our minutes were numbered, but I didn’t dare count them, just as I knew where all this was headed, but didn’t care to read the signposts. This was a time when I intentionally failed to drop bread crumbs for my return journey; instead, I ate them. He could turn out to be a total creep; he could change me or ruin me forever, while time and gossip might ultimately disembowel everything we shared and trim the whole thing down till nothing but fish bones remained. I might miss this day, or I might do far better, but I’d always know that on those afternoons in my bedroom I had held my moment.
回顾那些日子，我毫不后悔；对于当时冒的险、羞耻、缺乏远见，丝毫不后悔。奔放的阳光，丰饶原野上的高大植物在下午三四点的酷热中打瞌睡，我们家木地板的吱嘎声，烟灰缸在我床头柜大理石板上轻轻推动的擦刮声。我知道我们的时间所剩不多，但我不敢去算；我知道这一切会往哪儿去，却不愿意去读里程碑。这是一段我刻意不为回程路撒面包屑的时间；相反地，我把面包屑吃掉。说不定他可能是个彻头彻尾的讨厌鬼，在时间与流言终于像取内脏般清出我们共有的一切时，把整件事缩减到除了鱼骨头之外什么都不剩的同时，他可能永远改变我，或毁灭我。我可能想念这一天，或者涌生远胜此时的感受，但我始终知道，那些下午在我的卧房里，我把握了我最美好的时光。
A few hours later, the clouds totally cleared, and the weather, as though to make up for its little prank, seemed to erase every hint of fall from our lives and gave us one of the most temperate days of the season. But I had heeded the warning, and as is said of juries who have heard inadmissible evidence before it is stricken from the record, I suddenly realized that we were on borrowed time, that time is always borrowed, and that the lending agency exacts its premium precisely when we are least prepared to pay and need to borrow more. Suddenly, I began to take mental snapshots of him, picked up the bread crumbs that fell off our table and collected them for my hideaway, and, to my shame, drew lists: the rock, the berm, the bed, the sound of the ashtray. The rock, the berm, the bed… I wished I were like those soldiers in films who run out of bullets and toss away their guns as though they would never again have any use for them, or like runaways in the desert who, rather than ration the water in the gourd, yield to thirst and swill away, then drop their gourd in their tracks. Instead, I squirreled away small things so that in the lean days ahead glimmers from the past might bring back the warmth. I began, reluctantly, to steal from the present to pay off debts I knew I’d incur in the future. This, I knew, was as much a crime as closing the shutters on sunny afternoons. But I also knew that in Mafalda’s superstitious world, anticipating the worst was as sure a way of preventing it from happening.
数小时后，乌云散去。仿佛为了补偿自己的小恶作剧，天气似乎从我们的生活中抹除所有秋天的暗示，给我们当季最和煦的日子。但我已经注意到那个警告，就像不予采用的证据即使从听证记录中删去，也难以排除陪审员知道该项证据的事实。我意识到，我们两人过的是借来的时间。时间始终是借来的，而就在我们最无力偿还、还得借更多的时候，借贷机构却要强索额外费用。我开始在心里为他拍下快照，捡起从桌上掉落的面包屑，收集起来，藏到我的秘密基地，并且可耻地列出清单：岩石、崖径、床、烟灰缸的声音。岩石、崖径、床…但愿我像电影里子弹用尽的士兵，义无反顾地丢掉再也无用的枪；或像沙漠里的亡命徒，不肯节约壶里的饮水，反而屈服于口渴，开怀畅饮，然后将空掉的水壶弃置路上。相反地，我把小东西收集起来，准备在未来贫瘠的日子里，让过去的微光带给我温暖。我开始不情愿地从当下偷取物事，好偿付未来将背负的债务。我知道，这和晴朗的午后合上百叶窗是同样的罪行。但我也知道，在玛法尔达迷信的世界里，预期最坏的状况，确实是预防坏事发生的好办法。
When we went on a walk one night and he told me that he’d soon be heading back home, I realized how futile my alleged foresight had been. Bombs never fall on the same spot; this one, for all my premonitions, fell exactly in my hideaway.
有一天晚上我们去散步，他说他很快就要回美国去，我这才发现我所谓的先见之明是多么徒劳无益。炸弹绝不会掉在同一个地方；而这一颗，我怎么也没料到，就恰好掉到我的秘密基地里。
I said yes. Shouldn’t I ask my parents first? No need, they never said no. Yes, but wouldn’t they…? They wouldn’t. On hearing that Oliver was leaving earlier than anticipated and would spend a few days in Rome, my mother asked — with il cauboi’s permission, of course — if I might accompany him. My father was not against it.
我说好。我不该先问过父母吗？不需要，他们从来不反对。对，但他们不会…他们不会的。听说奥利弗要比预期更早离开，并且要在罗马度过几天，母亲问他能否让我同行——当然啦，要经过他这个“牛仔”的同意。父亲则没有反对。
Oliver was leaving for the States the second week of August. A few days into the month, he said he wanted to spend three days in Rome arid use that time to work on the final draft of his manuscript with his Italian publisher. Then he’d fly directly home. Would I like to join him?
奥利弗要在八月的第二周回美国。才进入八月没几天，他说他想在罗马逗留三天，趁那段时间找他的意大利出版商处理手稿。接着他会直接飞回家。问我想跟他一起去吗？
My mother helped me pack. Would I need a jacket, in case the publisher wished to take us out to dinner? There’d be no dinner. Besides, why would I be asked to join? I should still take a jacket, she thought. I wanted to take a backpack, travel as everyone my age did. Do as you please. Still, she helped me empty and repack the backpack when it was clear there wasn’t room for everything I wanted to take along. You’re only going for two to three days. Neither Oliver nor I had ever been precise about our last days together. Mother would never know how her “two to three days” cut me that morning. Did we know which hotel we were planning to stay in? Pensione something or other. Never heard of it, but then who was she to know, she said. My father would have none of it. He made the reservations himself. It’s a gift, he said.
母亲帮我打包。如果出版商想带我们去吃晚餐，我需要一件正式外套吗？没有什么晚餐。此外，人家怎么会邀我去？母亲认为我还是应该带件外套。我想带背包，像同龄的孩子那样旅行。随你。不过，显然背包装不下所有我想带的东西，她只得帮我清空背包再重新打包。你只是去个两三天。关于我们在一起最后几天的确切计划，奥利弗或我都未曾言明。母亲永远不会知道，那天早上她口中的“两三天”是如何刺伤了我。我们打算住哪家旅馆？膳宿公寓之类的吧。没听过，不过她这种年纪的人哪会知道，她这么说。父亲不答应。他亲自替我们订房间，说是礼物。
The symmetry of it all, or was it the emptied, seemingly ransacked neatness of his room, tied a knot in my throat. It reminded me less of a hotel room when you wait for the porter to help you take your things downstairs after a glorious stay that was ending too soon, than of a hospital room after all your belongings have been packed away, while the next patient, who hasn’t been admitted yet, still waits in the emergency room exactly as you waited there yourself a week earlier.
是这前后的对照，或者他房间清空后有如遭洗劫般的整洁，令我感觉喉咙里仿佛打了个结。与其说这让我联想起在短暂的愉快旅行后，人待在旅馆房间等候脚夫帮忙把行李搬下楼，不如说像是一间空荡荡的病房，你的东西已经收拾干净，而下一个要住进来的病人和一周前的你一模一样，仍在急诊室等候。
Oliver not only packed his own duffel bag but on the day we were to catch the direttissimo to Rome he managed to take out his suitcase and place it on the exact same spot in his bedroom where I had plopped it down the day of his arrival. On that day I had fast-forwarded to the moment when I’d have my room back. Now I wondered what I’d be willing to give up if only to rewind things back to the afternoon in late June when I took him on the de rigueur tour of our property and how, with one thing leading to the next, we’d found ourselves approaching the empty scorched lot by the abandoned train tracks where I received my first dose of so many Later! s. Anyone my age would much rather have taken a nap than trekked to the back reaches of our property on that day. Clearly, I already knew what I was doing.
奥利弗不仅打包好那个粗呢袋，在我们要赶搭开往罗马的快车那天，他还好不容易拿出行李箱，分毫不差地摆在他刚到那天我砰的一声在他卧房重重放下行李箱的地方。那天我曾将时间快转到我收回我房间的那一刻。现在的我则想知道，我愿意放弃什么，只求能倒转回六月底那个下午，我依礼貌带他参观我们家，又自然而然进展到一起走去弃置铁轨旁烤焦的空地附近，在那里接受了许多“回头再说”中的第一剂。任何与我年纪相仿的人，在那一天，都宁可打个盹，也不想长途跋涉那么远。显然，我早就知道我在做什么了。
“Tell me what?”
“告诉我什么？”
“That’s all?”
“只有这样？”
I was happy that the room would revert to me. In my/his room, it would be easier to remember our nights.
我很高兴他将房间归还给我。在我与他共用的房间，更容易回忆我们一起度过的夜晚。
This was a test run for our final separation. Like looking at someone on a respirator before it’s finally turned off days later.
这是我们的分离的预演。犹如几天后就要拔管，而此刻预先凝视某个戴人工呼吸器的病人一般。
When I opened his closet I noticed that he had left a bathing suit, a pair of underwear, his chinos, and a clean shirt on a few hangers. I recognized the shirt. Billowy. And I recognized the suit. Red. This for when he’d go swimming one last time this morning.
我打开他的衣橱，注意到他留下一件泳裤、一条内裤，斜纹棉布裤和干净的衬衫也挂在衣架上。我认得那件衬衫，大波浪。我认得那件泳裤，红色的。这是今天早上最后一次游泳要穿的。
“I’ll tell you on the train.”
“上了火车再告诉你。”
“Well, wear it a lot today — and don’t swim in it.”
“嗯，今天多穿一会儿——还有，别穿着游泳。”
“I must tell you about this bathing suit,” I said when I closed his closet door.
“关于这件泳裤，我有话要告诉你。”我关上他的衣橱门。
No, better keep my current room. Then, at least, I could pretend he was still in his, and if he wasn’t there, that he was still out as he so frequently used to be on those nights when I counted the minutes, the hours, the sounds.
不行，最好保留我现在的房间。那么，至少能假装他还在他房里。而如果他不在那儿，就当他仍像过去那些我数算分钟、小时和声音的夜晚一样，还在外逗留。
“Sick and twisted.”
“病态又邪恶。”
But I told him all the same. “Just promise to let me keep it after you’re gone.”
但我跟他说了一样的话：“答应我，你走后，一定要送给我。”
On the train I told him about the day we thought he’d drowned and how I was determined to ask my father to round up as many fishermen as he could to go look for him, and when they found him, to light a pyre on our shore, while I grabbed Mafalda’s knife from the kitchen and ripped out his heart, because that heart and his shirt were all I’d ever have to show for my life. A heart and a shirt. His heart wrapped in a damp shirt — like Anchise’s fish.
在火车上，我告诉他，有一天我们还以为他溺水了，那天我是如何决心央求父亲尽可能召集渔夫去找他。等渔夫找到他，在我们的海滩上点燃一堆柴，我要从厨房拿来玛法尔达的刀子，割下他的心脏，因为那颗心脏和他的衬衫是我这一生仅有的成绩。一颗心和一件衬衫。他包裹在湿衬衫里的心脏——像安喀斯的鱼。
“Sick and twisted and very, very sad.”
“病态，邪恶，而且非常、非常悲伤。”
“I want Billowy too. And the espadrilles. And the sunglasses. And you.”
“我也要大波浪。还有布面平底凉鞋。还有太阳眼镜。还有你。”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“我从来没见过你这样。”
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