In her first year at Radcliffe, 1955, Marilyn had enrolled in introductory physics, and her advisor glanced at her course schedule and paused. He was a plump man with a tweed suit and a crimson bowtie, a dark gray hat brim-down on the table beside him. “Why do you want to take physics?” he asked, and she explained shyly that she was hoping to become a doctor. “Not a nurse?” he’d said, with a chuckle. From a folder he pulled her high-school transcript and studied it. “Well,” he said. “I see you received very good grades in your high-school physics course.” She’d had the highest grade in her class, had set the curve on every test; she had loved physics. But he couldn’t know that. On the transcript, it said only “A.” She held her breath, waiting, afraid he would tell her that science was too hard, that she’d better try something like English or history instead. In her mind she prepared her retort. Instead he said, “All right, then, why don’t you try chemistry — if you think you can handle it,” and signed her course slip and handed it over, just like that.
1955年，玛丽琳在拉德克利夫学院上大一，她报了“物理学导论”这门课，辅导员看了一眼她的课表，沉默了一下没说话。他是个胖男人，穿花呢套装，系深红色领结，身边的桌子上扣着一顶深灰色的帽子。“你为什么选物理课？”他问。玛丽琳腼腆地解释说，她想成为医生。“不想当护士吗？”他轻声笑着，从文件袋里抽出玛丽琳的高中成绩单研究起来。“嗯，”他说，“我看到你在高中物理课上取得了很高的分数。”玛丽琳拿了全班最高分，在每次考试中都名列前茅，她热爱物理。然而辅导员不可能知道这些。在成绩单上，只有一个字母“A”。玛丽琳屏息静气地等待，担心辅导员会告诉她，自然科学太难，她最好还是选些别的，比如英语或历史。她已经想好了要如何反驳。不过，辅导员最后说：“好吧，你为什么不试试化学呢——要是你觉得自己能行的话。”说完就在她的课程申请上签了字，交了上去。
How had it begun? Like everything: with mothers and fathers. Because of Lydia’s mother and father, because of her mother’s and father’s mothers and fathers. Because long ago, her mother had gone missing, and her father had brought her home. Because more than anything, her mother had wanted to stand out; because more than anything, her father had wanted to blend in. Because those things had been impossible.
为什么会出这样的事呢？如同任何事一样，根源在父母。因为莉迪亚的父母，因为她父母的父母。因为很久以前，她的母亲就失踪过，她父亲把她母亲找回了家。因为她的母亲最希望与众不同，她父亲却最想要融入人群，而这两件事都是不可能的。
When she arrived at the laboratory, though, she found herself the only girl in a room of fifteen men. The instructor tut-tutted and said, “Miss Walker, you’d better tie up those golden locks.” “Can I light the burner for you?” someone else would say. “Let me open that jar for you.” When she broke a beaker, the second day of class, three men rushed to her side. “Careful,” they said. “Better let us help.” Everything, she soon realized, started with better: “Better let me pour that acid for you.” “Better stand back — this will make a pop.” By the third day of class, she decided to show them. She said no, thank you, when people offered to make her pipettes, then hid a grin as they watched her melt glass tubes over the Bunsen burner and stretch them, like taffy, into perfectly tapered droppers. While her classmates sometimes splashed their lab coats, burning holes all the way down through their suits, she measured acids with steady hands. Her solutions never bubbled onto the counter like baking-soda volcanoes. Her results were the most accurate; her lab reports the most complete. By midterm, she set the curve for every exam, and the instructor had stopped smirking.
去化学实验室报到时，玛丽琳发现屋里有十五个男的，只有自己是女的。有时，讲师会轻蔑地咂着嘴说：“沃克尔小姐，请把你金色的头发扎好。”还有人会问她：“我来帮你点酒精灯吧？”“我帮你打开那个罐子？”如果哪天她打碎了烧杯，第二天上课时，会有三个男生冲过来对她说：“小心，最好让我们帮忙。”她很快意识到，不管说什么，他们都喜欢用“最好”这两个字起头：“最好让我帮你倒掉这些酸液。”“最好靠后站——它会爆掉的。”第三天上课，她决定表明自己的态度。当他们试图把试管递过来时，她说“不用，谢谢”，然后忍住笑意，在他们的注视下，用本生灯烧软玻璃试管，抻长管壁，像玩太妃糖那样把它们改造成锥形的滴瓶。当她的同学们偶尔把酸液溅到实验服上，甚至在里层的西装上烧出小洞时，她却能稳稳地拿着器具量酸液。她配出的溶液永远不会像小苏打火山爆发那样冒着泡泡流到实验台上，她的实验结果是最精确的，实验报告是最完备的。到了期中考试的时候，她已经在每次测验中取得了第一名，讲师也早就收起了嘲弄的笑容。
“I’m sorry,” he said. “We can’t make an exception for anyone, or everyone will expect it.” At the look on Marilyn’s face, he reached across the desk and patted her hand. “Some of the equipment in the shop would be difficult for you to use,” he told her. “And to be honest, Miss Walker, having a girl like you in the classroom would be very distracting to the boys in the class.” He meant it as a compliment, she knew. But she also knew that it wasn’t. She smiled and thanked him for his time. It wasn’t a true smile, and her dimples didn’t show.
“抱歉，”他说，“我们不能为任何人破例，否则人人都会想搞特殊。”见到玛丽琳脸上的表情，校长伸出胳膊，越过办公桌，拍了拍她的手，“手工课上的一些工具，对你来说可能挺难用的，”他告诉她，“而且，说实话，沃克尔小姐，课堂上出现了你这样的女孩，对男孩们来说，可能会让他们分心。”她明白，他这样说好像是在夸她，但是她也知道，这实际上并不是一种夸奖。不过，她还是微笑着感谢了校长，那不是一个真心的笑，因为她的酒窝根本都没有露出来。
She had always liked surprising people that way. In high school, she had approached her principal with a request: to take shop instead of home ec. It was 1952, and in Boston, researchers were just beginning to develop a pill that would change women’s lives forever — but girls still wore skirts to school, and in Virginia, her request had been radical. Home economics was required for every sophomore girl, and Marilyn’s mother, Doris Walker, was the only home ec teacher at Patrick Henry Senior High. Marilyn had asked to switch into shop with the sophomore boys. It was the same class period, she pointed out. Her schedule wouldn’t be disrupted. Mr. Tolliver, the principal, knew her well; she had been at the top of her class — girls and boys — since the sixth grade, and her mother had taught at the school for years. So he nodded and smiled as she made her case. Then he shook his head.
她一直都喜欢用这种方式让人刮目相看。高中时，她向校长提要求：把她的家政课换成手工课。当时是1952年，虽然波士顿的科研人员正准备开发一种能够永远改变女性人生的药物——但是，女孩们还是得穿裙子上学。而在弗吉尼亚，她的要求会被视为激进，因为每个高二女生都要上家政课，玛丽琳的母亲多丽丝·沃克尔还是帕特里克·亨利高中唯一的家政课教师。玛丽琳希望和高二男生一起上手工课，她指出，家政和手工课的学时是一样的，所以，她的课程计划不会被打乱。校长托利弗先生非常了解她，自六年级开始，她一直是班级尖子生——比其他男孩女孩都要优秀——而且，她母亲在这所学校任教多年。所以，当玛丽琳提出申请时，校长先是微笑着点点头，然后又摇摇头。
Keeping house, she had thought. Each day she watched her classmates, clumsy in thimbled fingers, sucking the ends of thread, squinting for the needle’s eye. She thought of her mother’s insistence on changing clothes before dinner, though there was no longer a husband to impress with her fresh face and crisp housedress. It was after her father left that her mother had begun to teach. Marilyn had been three. Her clearest memory of her father was a feel and a smell: the bristle of his cheek against hers as he lifted her up, and the tingle of Old Spice in her nostrils. She didn’t remember his leaving but knew it had happened. Everyone did. And now, everyone had more or less forgotten it. Newcomers to the school district assumed Mrs. Walker was a widow. Her mother herself never mentioned it. She still powdered her nose after cooking and before eating; she still put on lipstick before coming downstairs to make breakfast. So they called it keeping house for a reason, Marilyn thought. Sometimes it did run away. And in English class, on a test, she wrote, Irony: a contradictory outcome of events as if in mockery of the promise and fitness of things, and received an A.
管理住宅，她想。每天她都会看到同学们戴着顶针，动作笨拙地咂湿线头，眯着眼睛把它穿进针眼里去。她想起她母亲每次吃饭之前都要换衣服，尽管她无需用光鲜的皮肤和整洁的家居服取悦丈夫——她的母亲是在丈夫离开之后才开始教家政课的。那时玛丽琳才三岁，她只在触觉和嗅觉方面仍对父亲有些还算清晰的印象：父亲抱起她时，他的胡茬扎着她的脸颊，一股“老辣椒”牌须后水的浓烈味道随之钻进她的鼻孔。她不记得他是怎么离开的，但知道这件事发生了。每个人都知道。而现在，每个人又似乎或多或少地忘记了这件事，以至于新搬来学区的人会以为沃克尔夫人是寡妇。对于此事，她母亲本人则从来不提，她依旧会在做饭之后和用餐之前补妆，在下楼做早饭之前涂上唇膏。所以，所谓的“管理住宅”是有道理的，玛丽琳想，因为，有时候，房子真的会跑掉。在英文课的一次测验中，她写道：“反讽——对事物的预期和现实结果之间的矛盾的嘲弄。”结果得了“A”。
So she had slouched in the back row of the home ec classroom, waiting out the first-day welcome speech her mother had given for a dozen years, drumming her fingers as her mother promised to teach them everything a young lady needed to keep a house. As if, Marilyn thought, it might run away when you weren’t looking. She studied the other girls in her class, noting who bit her nails, whose sweater was pilled, who smelled faintly of a cigarette snuck over lunch. Across the hall, she could see Mr. Landis, the shop teacher, demonstrating the correct way to hold a hammer.
于是，她只好无精打采地坐在教室后排，等着听她母亲发表十二年来重复过无数次的“欢迎学习家政课”的演讲。“每一位年轻女士，都需要管理住宅。”母亲向学生们保证道。这时候的玛丽琳正在玩手指头，她心想：说得好像如果你不看着家里的房子，它就会跑掉一样。她观察着家政课上的其他女孩，有的在咬指甲，有的身上穿的毛衣起了球，有的闻起来像是在午餐时偷偷抽过烟。她能看到走廊对面的教室里，手工课老师兰蒂斯先生正在演示如何使用锤子。
Marilyn did not move to help as she usually did. She watched her mother tie a ruffled apron around her waist, fingers knotting the strings in one quick motion. After the last dish was washed, her mother rinsed her hands and applied a dab of lotion from the bottle on the counter. Then she came to the table, brushed Marilyn’s hair from her face, and kissed her forehead. Her hands smelled like lemons. Her lips were dry and warm.
玛丽琳没有像往常一样过去帮忙。她看着母亲把一条带褶边的围裙搭在腰上，手指麻利地系了一个扣。刷完盘子，她母亲冲干净手，涂了一点柜台上的护肤液，走到桌旁，拨开玛丽琳脸上的头发，亲了亲她的额头。她的手闻起来有柠檬的味道，她的嘴唇干燥温暖。
“I know what you’re trying to prove,” she said. “But believe me, I will fail you if you keep this up.” Then she gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink.
“我知道你想证明什么，但是，相信我，要是你一直这么干，我会让你失望的。”然后，她就收拾好碗碟，端着它们到水池那边去了。
She began tangling the thread on her sewing machine. She snipped patterns without unfolding them, making paper-cut lace of the layers beneath. Her zippers ripped out of their dresses. She stirred eggshell fragments into the pancake batter; she switched salt and sugar in the sponge cake. One day she left her iron facedown on the board, causing not only a blackened burn in the cover but enough smoke to set off the fire sprinklers. That evening, at dinner, her mother finished her last bite of potato and set her knife and fork down, crossed neatly, on the plate.
后来在用缝纫机的时候，玛丽琳让线打结；她在剪纸时肆意破坏，乱剪一气；缝的拉链会从衣服上掉下来；调制的煎饼面糊里有碎鸡蛋壳；做松糕时该放糖却放了盐。一次，她把熨斗底朝下扣在熨衣板上，结果把熨衣板烧糊了，冒出来的黑烟甚至触发了火灾报警器。那天晚上吃饭时，她母亲嚼完土豆咽下去，优雅地把刀叉摆放在盘子上，开口道：
It would bother Marilyn, for the rest of her life, that her mother had been right. She worked her way through chemistry, majored in physics, ticked the requirements for medical school off her list. Late at night, bent over her textbooks while her roommate wound curlers into her hair and patted cold cream onto her cheeks and went to bed, Marilyn sipped double-strength tea and kept awake by picturing herself in a white doctor’s coat, laying a cool hand against a feverish forehead, touching a stethoscope to a patient’s chest. It was the furthest thing she could imagine from her mother’s life, where sewing a neat hem was a laudable accomplishment and removing beet stains from a blouse was cause for celebration. Instead she would blunt pain and stanch bleeding and set bones. She would save lives. Yet in the end it happened just as her mother predicted: she met a man.
她母亲说得没错，但这让玛丽琳在往后的日子里一直觉得困扰。她从头开始学化学，主修物理，做好了向医学院进军的准备。每天晚上，她的室友别好卷发夹涂上冷霜去睡觉时，玛丽琳却在埋头苦读。她困了就喝浓茶，或者想象自己穿着医生的白大褂，把手放在发烧的病人额头，戴着听诊器为他们诊断的样子，以此来提神。做医生是她想象得到的最能与母亲的生活方式拉开距离的职业。以家政课老师的标准，把一道褶边缝得整齐利落就是了不起的成就，洗掉衬衫上的甜菜汁也算得上值得庆祝的理由。而作为医生，她的工作是止血止痛、修皮整骨、挽救生命。不过，她母亲的预测也是正确的——她遇到了一个男人。
For the rest of her life, this would be what Marilyn thought of first when she thought of her mother. Her mother, who had never left her hometown eighty miles from Charlottesville, who always wore gloves outside the house, and who never, in all the years Marilyn could remember, sent her to school without a hot breakfast. Who never mentioned Marilyn’s father after he left, but raised her alone. Who, when Marilyn earned a scholarship to Radcliffe, hugged her for a long time and whispered, “How proud I am of you. You have no idea.” And then, when she loosened her arms, looked into Marilyn’s face and tucked her hair behind her ears and said, “You know, you’ll meet a lot of wonderful Harvard men.”
此后的余生里，每当玛丽琳想到自己的母亲，这一幕就会首先从脑海中浮现。以她的故乡夏洛特斯维尔为圆心、八十英里为半径画一个圆，她母亲从未走出过这个范围。在户外，她总是戴手套，要是不为女儿准备一顿热气腾腾的早餐，她是坚决不会让玛丽琳去学校的。玛丽琳的父亲离开后，她对丈夫绝口不提，独自把女儿养大。玛丽琳获得了拉德克利夫学院的奖学金之后，母亲拥抱了她很久，并且小声对她说：“你根本想象不到，我是多么为你骄傲。”她松开胳膊，直视着女儿的眼睛，把她的头发掖到耳朵后面，说：“你知道，你会遇到很多优秀的哈佛男人。”
It was September 1957, her junior year, at the back of a crowded lecture hall. Cambridge was still sweltering and sticky, and everyone was waiting for the crisp cool of fall to sweep the city clean. The course was new that year –“The Cowboy in American Culture”– and everyone wanted to take it: rumor had it that their homework would be watching The Lone Ranger and Gunsmoke on television. Marilyn took a piece of loose-leaf from her folder and, while her head was bent, quiet fell over the room like snow. She glanced up at the professor approaching the podium, and then she understood why everyone had gone silent.
1957年9月，玛丽琳上大三。一天，她坐在拥挤的讲堂后排听课。剑桥的天气依旧潮湿闷热，大家对凉爽的秋天翘首以待。这堂课是当年新开的——“美国文化中的牛仔”——每个人都想选。据说，课后作业是观赏影视作品《西部独行侠》和《荒野大镖客》。玛丽琳从资料夹中拿出一张活页纸。就在她低头忙碌时，教室里突然变得像雪地一样安静，她抬眼看到这门课的教授走近讲台，立刻明白了大家安静下来的原因。
The course catalog had listed the instructor as James P. Lee. He was a fourth-year graduate student and no one knew anything about him. To Marilyn, who had spent all her years in Virginia, Lee conjured a certain kind of man: a Richard Henry, a Robert E. Now she realized that she — that everyone — had expected someone in a sand-colored blazer, someone with a slight drawl and a Southern pedigree. The man setting his papers on the lectern was youngish and thin, but that was as close as he came to what they all had pictured. An Oriental, she thought. She had never seen one in person before. He was dressed like an undertaker: black suit, black tie knotted tight, shirt so white it glowed. His hair was slicked back and parted in a perfect pale line, but one wisp stood straight up in back, like an Indian chief’s feather. As he started to speak, he reached up with one hand to smooth down the cowlick, and someone snickered.
课程目录上写着授课人的名字“詹姆斯·P。 李”。他看起来就像个大四学生，但没人跟他熟识。玛丽琳从小在弗吉尼亚长大，“李”这个姓会让她联想到特定类型的男人，比如理查德·亨利·李、罗伯特·E。 李，所以，她意识到自己和大家一样，以为这个“詹姆斯·P。 李”会身穿浅棕色夹克，操着慢条斯理的南方口音。而眼前这个把讲义放在讲台上的人，却非常青涩瘦削，不过，仅凭年龄还不至于让他们如此震惊。一个东方人，她想。她之前从未亲眼见过东方人。他打扮得像个送葬的，一身黑西装，黑领带系得很紧，衬衫白得耀眼，头发向后梳，整齐地一分为二，但后面有一撮顽强地直竖着，如同印第安酋长头上戴的羽毛。开口讲话时，他伸出一只手，想把那撮头发抿回去，下面有学生偷偷笑起来。
By the time she had taken the top copy and passed the rest on, Professor Lee had begun to speak again.
玛丽琳把讲义传给其他人，这时，李教授又说话了。
If Professor Lee heard, he didn’t show it. “Good afternoon,” he said. Marilyn found herself holding her breath as he wrote his name on the board. She could see him through her classmates’ eyes, and she knew what they were thinking. This was their professor? This little man, five foot nine at most and not even American, was going to teach them about cowboys? But when she studied him again, she noticed how slender his neck was, how smooth his cheeks. He looked like a little boy playing dress-up, and she closed her eyes and prayed for the class to go well. The silence stretched, taut as the surface of a bubble, ready to be popped. Someone shoved a sheaf of mimeographed syllabi over her shoulder, and she jumped.
不知道李教授是否听到了学生的窃笑，反正他并没有被打断。“下午好。”他说。玛丽琳意识到，他在黑板上写下名字时，她不自觉地屏住了呼吸。从同学们的神情中，她能看出他们在想什么。这就是我们的教授？这个小个子，身高至多不过五英尺九英寸，甚至连美国人都不是，竟然要给他们讲牛仔的历史？不过，再次打量他的时候，玛丽琳注意到他的脖颈细长、脸颊光滑，看起来像个穿着大人衣服的小男孩。她闭上眼睛，祈祷这门课能够顺利进行。教室里的寂静还在蔓延，如同不断扩张的气泡表面，随时都会破裂。身后的人突然传给她一叠油印的讲义，她吓得跳了起来。
“The image of the cowboy,” he said, “has existed longer than we might imagine.” There was no trace of an accent in his voice, and she slowly let out her breath. Where had he come from, she wondered. He sounded nothing like what she’d been told Chinamen sounded like: so solly, no washee. Had he grown up in America? Ten minutes in, the room began to rustle and murmur. Marilyn glanced at the notes she’d jotted down: phrases like “undergone multiple evolutions in each era of American history” and “apparent dichotomy between social rebel and embodiment of quintessential American values.” She scanned the syllabus. Ten required books, a midterm exam, three essays. This wasn’t what her classmates had had in mind. A girl at the side of the room tucked her book beneath her arm and slipped out the door. Two girls from the next row followed. After that it was a slow but steady trickle. Every minute or two another few students left. One boy from the first row stood up and cut right in front of the podium on his way out. The last to leave were three boys from the back. They whispered and sniggered as they edged past just-emptied seats, their thighs bumping each armrest with a soft thump, thump, thump. As the door closed behind them, Marilyn heard one shout “Yippee-ki-yay-ay!” so loud that he drowned out the lecture. Only nine other students still remained, all studiously bent over notebooks, but they were all reddening in the cheeks and at the edges of their ears. Her own face was hot and she didn’t dare look at Professor Lee. Instead she turned her face to her notes and put her hand to her forehead, as if shielding her eyes from the sun.
“牛仔的形象，”他说，“出现得比我们想象的早得多。”他的英文听不出口音，这让玛丽琳如释重负，一颗提起的心缓缓放下。她很想知道他是从哪儿来的，因为她曾经听说，中国人说英文都是这样的：“so solly， no washee。 ”他是在美国长大的吗？过了不到十分钟，学生们就开始做小动作和窃窃私语。玛丽琳瞥了一眼自己记下的要点，比如“在美国历史的各个阶段经历过多次演化”“社会反叛者与典型的美国价值观之间的明显分歧”什么的。她又浏览了一遍讲义，发现要读十本书、进行一次期中考试、写三篇论文，但是，其他同学并不关心这些，坐在教室边上的一个女生把书夹在腋下，偷偷溜出门外，旁边一排的两个女生紧随其后。接着，教室里的人数逐渐在减少，每隔一两分钟都会有人离开，第一排的一个男生甚至直接穿过讲台，大摇大摆地走掉了。最后走的是后排的三个男生，他们交头接耳，一边窃笑一边贴着已经空出来的整排座位挪了出去。他们的大腿碰在扶手上，发出低沉的“砰”“砰”“砰”的声音。等到门一关，玛丽琳就听到外面传来“耶——耶——”的欢呼声，声音很大，盖过了讲课的声音。现在，教室里只剩下九个学生，虽然他们都专注地趴在笔记本上，但脸颊和耳廓明显发红。玛丽琳觉得自己的脸火辣辣的，她不敢看李教授，只能盯着笔记，一只手扶着额头，似乎在遮挡阳光。
It was that last moment, the tingle at the back of her neck as he stacked his notes and left the room, that brought her to his office after the lecture. The history department had the peaceful quiet of a library, the air still and cool and slightly dusty. She found him at his desk, head propped against the wall, reading that morning’s Crimson. The part in his hair had blurred, and the cowlick stuck up again.
李教授收拾好讲义离开了教室，就在这时，玛丽琳感到脖子后面一阵刺痛，正是这种感觉驱使她去了李教授的办公室。历史系的办公区如同图书馆般安静，空气中透着凉意，弥漫着少量细微的尘埃。李教授坐在办公桌前，头靠在墙上，正在读当天早晨的哈佛校报《哈佛克里姆森报》。他的头路不那么明显了，后面的那一撮重又竖了起来。
When she finally peeked up at the podium again, Professor Lee gazed out over the room as if nothing were amiss. He didn’t seem to notice that his voice now echoed in the nearly empty hall. He finished his lecture with five minutes remaining in the period and said, “I’ll hold office hours until three o’clock.” For just a few seconds, he stared straight ahead, toward a distant horizon, and she squirmed in her seat as if he were staring directly at her.
当她终于再次朝讲台上窥视的时候，发现李教授神态自若地环视整个房间，似乎什么都没有发生，听到几乎空荡荡的教室传来自己讲话的回音，他看上去毫不在意。离下课还有五分钟的时候，他结束了授课，说：“我在办公室待到下午三点。”然后，他直视前方，对着远处某个不存在的地平线凝视了几秒，玛丽琳在座位上不安地扭动起来，仿佛他是在直接盯着她看。
“Professor Lee? I’m Marilyn Walker. I was in your lecture just now?” Though she hadn’t meant it to, the end of her voice swerved up into a question, and she thought, I must sound like a teenage girl, a stupid, silly, shallow teenage girl.
“李教授，我叫玛丽琳·沃克尔，我在你的课上，就刚才……？”她不由自主地语调上扬，把最后一句话说得像个疑问句。她想，我听起来一定像个十几岁的小女孩，乏味、愚蠢、肤浅的小女孩。
“I just wanted to check,” she said, “if you thought I’d be able to keep up with the work.”
“我只是想问一下，”她说，“你认为我是否能够跟上这门课。”
“Yes?” He did not look up, and Marilyn fiddled with the top button of her sweater.
“有事吗？”他没有抬头，玛丽琳摆弄着她毛衣最上面的那颗扣子。
“No. Physics.”
“不，我是物理专业的。”
“A senior?”
“大四的？”
“No. A junior. I’m going to medical school. So history — it’s not my field.”
“不，大三。我准备进医学院。所以历史——与我的专业无关。”
“Miss Walker,” he said, looking up at last, “why are you here?” When she saw his face up close, just a table-width away, she saw again how young he was. Maybe only a few years older than she was, not even thirty, she thought. His hands were broad, the fingers long. No rings.
“沃克尔小姐，”他终于抬起眼皮，“你怎么还没走？”只隔着一张桌子的距离看他，她再次发现他是那么的年轻，也许比她大不了几岁，可能连三十岁都不到，她想。他手掌挺宽，手指修长，没有戒指。
“Well,” he said, “to be honest, I don’t think you’ll have any problems. If you choose to stay in the course, that is.” He half-folded the newspaper, revealing a mug of coffee, took a sip, then fanned out the paper again. Marilyn pursed her lips. She understood that her audience was now over, that she was expected to turn around and walk back into the hallway and leave him alone. Still, she’d come here for something, though she wasn’t sure what, and she jutted out her jaw and pulled a chair up to his desk.
“好吧，”他说，“老实说，既然你选了这门课，就不会有什么问题。”他半合起报纸，露出底下的马克杯，呷了一口杯里的咖啡，又展开报纸。玛丽琳撅撅嘴，她明白对方希望结束谈话，把她赶回走廊里，别再打扰他。可是，她来这里总有目的，尽管她并不确定这个目的是什么，于是，她抬抬下巴，拉了一把椅子在他桌前坐下。
“Was history your favorite subject in school?”
“历史是你读书时最喜欢的科目吗？”
He still didn’t look up. “Are you a history major?”
他还是没有抬头：“你是历史专业的吗？”
“Friends of yours?”
“他们是你的朋友？”
“I just wanted to apologize for those boys,” she said suddenly, and realized this was really why she’d come. He paused, eyebrows slightly raised, and she heard what he’d just heard: “boys,” a trivializing word. Boys will be boys.
“我想替那些男生道歉。”她突然意识到自己为什么会来。他顿了顿，眉毛略微上挑，重复道：“男生。”男生们都是这样。
At that he laughed, and she did, too. She watched tiny crinkles form around the corners of his eyes, and when they unfolded, his face was different, softer, a real person’s face now. From here, she saw that his eyes were brown, not black, as they’d seemed in the lecture hall. How skinny he was, she thought, how wide his shoulders were, like a swimmer’s, his skin the color of tea, of fall leaves toasted by the sun. She had never seen anyone like him.
他笑了，她也笑了。她注意到，他的眼角出现了鱼尾纹，那些纹路舒展开以后，他的脸就不一样了，变得更加柔和，更像一张普通人的脸。她发现他的眼睛是棕色的，并非在教室里看到的那种黑色。他真瘦啊，她想，肩膀真宽啊，像游泳运动员一样，他的皮肤是茶色的，是被太阳炙烤过的秋叶的色泽，她从来没有见过像他一样的人。
“No,” Marilyn said, stung. “No. Just idiots.”
“不，”玛丽琳局促不安地说，“不是，无非是些白痴而已。”
“I wouldn’t know. That was my first lecture. The department let me take this class as a trial.”
“我怎么会知道，这是我的第一堂课，系里让我试讲。”
“I guess that sort of thing must happen all the time,” she said softly.
“我猜，你一定经常遇到这种事。”她轻声说。
“I’m sorry.”
“抱歉。”
“It’s all right,” he said. “You stayed until the end.” They both looked down — he at his now-empty mug, she at the typewriter and neat sheaf of carbon paper perched at the end of his desk.
“没关系，”他说，“你留到了最后。”他们同时低下头——他看着现在空掉了的马克杯，她看着他桌子一头的打字机和整齐捆好的复印纸。
“Paleontology,” he repeated. “My favorite subject. It was paleontology. I wanted to dig up fossils.”
“古生物学，”他重复道，“我最喜欢的科目是古生物学，我想挖掘化石。”
“That’s a kind of history, though,” she said.
“那也算是历史的一种。”她说。
“I guess it is.” He grinned into his coffee cup, and Marilyn leaned across the desk and kissed him.
“我想是的。”他冲着咖啡杯咧嘴一笑，玛丽琳隔着桌子倾身吻了他。
“Paleontology,” he said after a moment.
“古生物学。”过了一会，他说。
“What?”
“什么？”
On Thursday, at the next lecture, Marilyn sat off to the side. When Professor Lee came into the room, she didn’t look up. Instead she wrote the date carefully in the corner of her notes, looping a demure S in September, crossing the t in a perfectly horizontal line. As he began to speak, her cheeks went hot, as if she’d stepped into summer sun. She was positive she was bright red, blazing like a lighthouse, but when she finally looked around, out of the corners of her eyes, everyone was focused on the lecture. There were a handful of other students in the room, but they were scribbling in their notebooks or facing the podium up front. No one noticed her at all.
星期四，李教授的第二堂课上，玛丽琳坐在教室边上。李教授进来的时候，她没有抬头，而是在笔记上认真地写下当天的日期，“九月”这个词里的字母“S”写得庄重娴雅，连字母“t”上的一横都完美端正。李教授一开始讲课，她的脸就发起热来，仿佛走进了夏季的烈日底下。她觉得自己的脸一定红透了，像个灯塔一样闪闪发光，但当她用眼角的余光在教室里乱瞄时，却发现大家的注意力都在课堂内容上。虽然来听课的学生少得可怜，但他们要么在笔记上奋笔疾书，要么望着讲台听课，没人注意到她。
When she’d kissed him, she had surprised herself. It had been such an impulse — the way she sometimes reached out to catch a stray leaf on the wind, or jumped a puddle on a rainy day — something done without thinking or resisting, something pointless and harmless. She had never done anything like that before and never would again, and looking back on it, she would forever be surprised at herself, and a little shocked. But at that moment she had known, with a certainty she would never feel about anything else in her life, that it was right, that she wanted this man in her life. Something inside her said, He understands. What it’s like to be different.
她吻他的时候，被自己吓了一跳。那种冲动竟是如此强烈——她曾经凭着这股傻劲，追逐过风中的落叶，跳过雨天的水坑——不假思索、不加抗拒、意义不明、单纯无害。她以前没做过这种事，以后也不会，每次回想起来，她都会觉得自己很奇怪，感到有点震惊。然而在当时当刻，她清楚地知道，自己的感觉是前所未有的——那就是，她想要这个男人。她的内心深处有个声音在说：“他明白什么叫作与众不同。”
The touch of his lips on hers had startled her. He had tasted like coffee, warm and slightly bitter, and he had kissed back. That had startled her, too. As if he were ready for it, as if it were as much his idea as hers. After they finally drew apart, she’d been too embarrassed to meet his eyes. Instead she looked down into her lap, studying the soft plaid flannel of her skirt. Sweat bunched her slip to her thighs. In a moment she grew braver and peeked at him through the curtain of her hair. He looked shyly up at her then, through his lashes, and she saw that he wasn’t angry, that his cheeks were pink. “Perhaps we’d better go somewhere else,” he said, and she’d nodded and picked up her bag.
他嘴唇的触感也让她觉得震撼。他尝起来像咖啡，温暖，略带苦涩，而且，他也回吻了她，似乎早有准备，似乎接吻是他的主意。两人最后分开时，她羞怯得不敢看他的眼睛，只好盯着自己的膝盖，研究裙子的法兰绒质料。汗水透过她的衬裙滴在大腿上，她鼓起一瞬间的勇气，越过挡住脸的头发迅速瞥了他一眼，发现他也在羞怯地看她，他并没有生气，脸已经变成了粉红色。“也许我们最好是到别的地方去。”他说，她点点头，拿起了自己的包。
They’d walked down along the river, passing the redbrick dorms in silence. The crew team had been practicing, the oarsmen bending and unbending over their oars in perfect unison, the boat sliding across the water without sound. Marilyn knew these men: they asked her to mixers, to movies, to football games; they all looked alike, the same blend of sandy hair and ruddy skin she’d seen all through high school, all her life — as familiar as boiled potatoes. When she turned them down to finish a paper or catch up on her reading, they moved on to woo other girls down the hall. From where she stood on the riverbank, the distance made them anonymous, expressionless as dolls. Then she and James — as she did not even dare, yet, to think of him — had reached the footbridge, and she stopped and turned to face him. He hadn’t looked like a professor, but like a teenage boy, bashful and eager, reaching out to take her hand.
他们沿着河岸走，一言不发地经过红砖宿舍楼。哈佛赛艇队正在河上练习，划手们身体起伏，以完美协调的动作合力摇桨，船无声地滑过水面。玛丽琳认识这帮人；他们曾经约她看电影、看橄榄球赛，外表似乎都差不多，浅棕色的头发、红润的皮肤。高中里这样的男生比比皆是，玛丽琳看了一辈子，对他们了如指掌。当她为了完成论文或者读书而拒绝他们的邀请时，他们会转而询问其他女孩。站在河岸上望过去，他们就像面目一致、表情冷漠的玩具娃娃。她和詹姆斯——她能毫不费力地想起他的脸——来到了人行天桥，她停下脚步转身看着他。他看上去不像一位教授，而像个少年，腼腆而热情地牵住了她的手。
And James? What had he thought of her? He would never tell her this, would never admit it to himself: he had not noticed her at all, that first lecture. He had looked right at her, over and over, as he held forth on Roy Rogers and Gene Autry and John Wayne, but when she came to his office he had not even recognized her. Hers had been just one of the pale, pretty faces, indistinguishable from the next, and though he would never fully realize it, this was the first reason he came to love her: because she had blended in so perfectly, because she had seemed so completely and utterly at home.
詹姆斯呢？他是怎么想她的？他永远不会告诉她，也不会对自己承认的是，在第一节课上，他根本没有注意到她。他就罗伊·罗杰斯、吉恩·奥特利和约翰·韦恩侃侃而谈的时候，曾经多次看到她，但当她来到办公室时，他却没有认出她。她不过是个漂亮白皙的平凡女孩而已，缺乏明显的特色。然而，尽管他永远都不会彻底意识到这一点，这正是他爱上她的最初原因，因为她能够完美地融入人群，因为她看上去是那么的普通和自然。
All through the second lecture, Marilyn remembered the smell of his skin — clean and sharp, like the air after a rainstorm — and the feel of his hands at her waist, and even her palms grew warm. Through her fingers, she watched him: the tip of his ballpoint tapping the top of the podium, the deliberate flick as he turned over another page of his notes. He looked everywhere but toward her, she realized. At the end of the hour, she dawdled in her seat, slowly slipping her papers into her folder, tucking her pencil into the pocket. Her classmates, hurrying to other courses, squeezed past her into the aisle, jostling her with their bags. At the podium, James sorted his notes, dusted his hands, replaced the chalk on the blackboard ledge. He didn’t look up when she stacked her books, or when she tucked them in the curve of her arm and headed toward the door. Then, just as her hand touched the knob, he called, “A moment, Miss Walker,” and something inside her jumped.
整个第二堂课，玛丽琳都在回忆他皮肤的味道——干净、浓烈，像暴风雨后的空气——还有他的手放在她腰上的感觉，甚至连她的手掌也变得温暖了。她透过指缝偷看他，每翻一页讲义，他都要刻意把圆珠笔放在讲台上按一下。她意识到，他的眼神四处乱飘，就是不落在她身上。快下课时，她在座位上无所事事，慢吞吞地把活页纸放进文件夹，把铅笔塞回口袋。她的同学赶着去上别的课，从她身边挤过去，书包撞在她的身上。詹姆斯忙着在讲台旁收拾讲义，清理手上的粉笔灰，把粉笔放回黑板边缘，没有注意到她收拾好书本夹在胳膊底下，正朝门口走去。就在她的手快要触到门把手的时候，他叫道：“等一下，沃克尔小姐。”她的心欢快地跳动起来。
The classroom was empty now, and she leaned against the wall, trembling, while he closed his briefcase and descended the steps of the platform. She curled her fingers around the doorknob behind her to hold herself in place. But when he reached her, he wasn’t smiling. “Miss Walker,” he said again, taking a deep breath, and she found that she wasn’t smiling either.
教室已经空了，他关好手提包走下台阶时，她颤抖着靠在墙上。为了稳住身体，她抓住身后的门把手。然而，当他走过来的时候，却没有微笑。“沃克尔小姐。”他又说，做了个深呼吸，她发现自己也没有笑。
He was her teacher, he reminded her. She was his student. As her teacher, he would feel he was taking advantage of his position if they were — he looked down, fiddling with the handle of his briefcase — if they were to develop any kind of relationship. He wasn’t looking at Marilyn, but she didn’t know. She was looking down at her feet, at the scuffed toes of her shoes.
他是她的老师，他提醒她。她是他的学生。作为她的老师，如果他们——他低头摆弄手提包的把手——如果他们发展恋爱关系的话，他会觉得自己在滥用教师的权利。他没有看玛丽琳，但她并不知道，因为她一直盯着自己的脚，看着鞋面上磨损的地方。
Marilyn tried to swallow and couldn’t. She concentrated on the gray scratches against the black leather and steeled herself by thinking of her mother, all those hints about meeting a Harvard man. You weren’t here to find a man, she told herself. You were here for something better. But instead of the anger she hoped for, a hot ache swelled at the base of her throat.
玛丽琳极力控制自己的情绪，却没有成功。她凝视着黑色皮革上的灰色刮痕，想着自己的母亲来给自己打气：你会遇到优秀的哈佛男人。她告诉自己，但你来这里不是为了找男人，而是为了更好的东西。她没有变得如自己意料之中那样愤怒，只是觉得喉咙深处火辣辣的疼。
They spent all autumn together. James had a seriousness, a reserve, unlike anyone she had met before. He seemed to look at things more closely, to think more carefully, to hold himself a half step apart. Only when they came together, in his tiny Cambridge apartment, did that reserve drop, with a fierceness that made her catch her breath. Afterward, curled up on his bed, Marilyn ruffled his hair, spiky with sweat. For those afternoon hours, he seemed at ease with himself, and she loved that she was the only thing that made him feel that way. They would lie together, dozing and dreaming, until six o’clock. Then Marilyn slipped her dress back over her head, and James buttoned his shirt and combed his hair again. His cowlick would stand up at the back, but she never told him, loving that little reminder of the side only she got to see. She simply kissed him and hurried back for evening sign-in at the dormitory. James himself began to forget about the cowlick; after Marilyn left, he seldom remembered to look in the mirror. Every time she kissed him, every time he opened his arms and she crawled into them, felt like a miracle. Coming to her made him feel perfectly welcomed, perfectly at home, as he had never in his life felt before.
他们一起度过了整个秋天。詹姆斯是她见过最严肃认真和保守的人，他更愿意近距离观察事物，思维更谨慎，更客观。只有当两人在他的剑桥小公寓单独相处时，他才会卸下保守，表现出令她喘不过气的狂热。事后，玛丽琳会蜷缩在他的床上，揉乱他被汗打湿而竖起来的短发。在那些下午的时光，他看上去安逸自在，只有她才会让他有这种感觉，她喜欢这样。他们会躺在一起打盹做梦，直到傍晚六点。随后，玛丽琳会套上裙子，詹姆斯则系好衬衣纽扣，重新梳理头发——尽管后面那一撮还是会竖起来，但玛丽琳不会告诉他，因为这是只有她才能看到的他的另一面。她会稍微亲一亲他，然后迅速跑回宿舍签到。詹姆斯本人已经开始忘记这一撮头发，玛丽琳离开后，他很少记得照镜子。每当她吻他，而他张开双臂迎接她投入怀抱的时候，感觉都像有奇迹发生一样。在她面前，他觉得从容自信，这似乎是他人生中从未有过的感觉。
“I understand,” she said, looking up at last.
“我明白。”她终于抬起了头。
The next day, Marilyn came to his office hours to tell him that she’d dropped the class. Within a week they were lovers.
第二天，玛丽琳在李教授的坐班时间来到办公室，说要退出他的课。不到一周之后，他们成为了恋人。
He had never felt he belonged here, even though he’d been born on American soil, even though he had never set foot anywhere else. His father had come to California under a false name, pretending to be the son of a neighbor who had emigrated there some years earlier. America was a melting pot, but Congress, terrified that the molten mixture was becoming a shade too yellow, had banned all immigrants from China. Only the children of those already in the States could enter. So James’s father had taken the name of his neighbor’s son, who had drowned in the river the year before, and come to join his “father” in San Francisco. It was the story of nearly every Chinese immigrant from the time of Chester A. Arthur to the end of the Second World War. While the Irish and the Germans and the Swedes crowded onto steamship decks, waving as the pale green torch of the Statue of Liberty came into view, the coolies had to find other means to reach the land where all men were created equal. Those who made it would visit their wives in China and return each time celebrating the birth of a son. Those at home in the villages who longed to make their fortunes would adopt the names of those mythical sons and make the long journey across the sea. While the Norwegians and the Italians and the Russian Jews ferried from Ellis Island to Manhattan, fanning out by road and railway to Kansas and Nebraska and Minnesota, the Chinese who bluffed their way to California mostly stayed put. In Chinatowns, the lives of all those paper sons were fragile and easily torn. Everyone’s name was false. Everyone hoped not to be found out and sent back. Everyone clustered together so they wouldn’t stand out.
詹姆斯虽然出生在美国本土，也没有去过别的国家，但他从不觉得自己属于这里。他父亲是顶着假名来到加州的，假装是多年前移民过来的一位邻居的儿子。美国虽被称为“大熔炉”，但是国会却害怕熔炉里的东西变得太黄，所以禁止中国人移民美国，只允许那些已经来美国的华人的子女入境。因此，詹姆斯的父亲用了他邻居儿子的名字，到旧金山与“父亲”团聚，邻居真正的儿子则在他来美国的前一年掉进水里淹死了。自切斯特·艾伦·阿瑟总统开始执政，到二战结束为止，几乎每位华人移民都有着类似的故事。当那些挤在轮船甲板上的爱尔兰、德国和瑞士移民朝着自由女神像的浅绿色火炬招手的时候，中国的“苦力”却不得不想方设法偷渡到美国——这片鼓吹人人生而平等的土地。成功偷渡的人会在适当的时机返回中国探访妻子，回到美国之后，就假装宣布妻子在中国为其生下了孩子，将孩子的名字在当局登记。他们远在中国的同乡如果想到美国发财，就会顶着虚构的孩子名字漂洋过海而来。从埃利斯岛乘渡轮来到纽约曼哈顿的挪威人、意大利人和俄罗斯犹太人，一般会在通往堪萨斯、内布拉斯加和明尼苏达的铁路沿线定居，而蒙混入境的中国人几乎都在加州落地生根。在唐人街，这些冒名者的身份很容易被揭穿，大家用的都是假名，都希望不被发现、不被遣返回国，所以，他们拼命融入人群，极力避免与众不同。
James could not read Chinese but all his life he held the memory of the letter’s last paragraph, a scrawl of fountain-pen calligraphy, which caught his parents’ attention. There was a special policy, said the brother, for children of employees. If they could pass an entrance exam, they could attend the school for free.
詹姆斯不认识中文，但他一辈子都记得那封信的最后一段是什么样子的，那是用钢笔潦草写就的，正是这段话引起了父母的注意。那位兄弟说，对于雇员的孩子，学校有一条特殊规定，如果他们能通过入学考试，就可以免费入校念书。
James’s parents, however, had not stayed put. In 1938, when James was six, his father received a letter from a paper brother who had gone east looking for work when the Depression began. He had found a place at a small boarding school in Iowa, the “brother” wrote, doing groundswork and maintenance. Now his (real, nonpaper) mother was ill and he was returning to China, and his employers wondered if he had any reliable friends who might do as good a job. They like the Chinese, the letter said; they feel we are quiet and hardworking and clean. It was a good position, a very exclusive school. There might be a job for his wife in the school kitchens. Would he be interested?
然而，詹姆斯的父母却没有在加州落地生根。1938年，詹姆斯六岁，他父亲收到一封信，是他名义上的“兄弟”写来的。大萧条开始的时候，这位兄弟去美国东部谋生，在爱荷华州的一所小寄宿学校找到了工作——盖房子和修房子，但现在他母亲（真正的母亲，并非虚构）生病了，他要回中国去，他的雇主希望他能介绍可靠的朋友过来接替他。信上说雇主喜欢中国人，因为他们安静，勤劳，讲卫生。那是个好职位，学校也非常高级，詹姆斯的母亲或许可以在学校厨房帮工，现在，就看詹姆斯的父亲是否感兴趣了。
Jobs were scarce and everyone was hungry, but it was because of this paragraph that the Lees sold their furniture and moved across the country with two suitcases between them. It took five Greyhound rides and four days. When they reached Iowa, James’s “uncle” took them to his apartment. James remembered only the man’s teeth, more crooked even than his father’s, one tooth turned sideways, like a sliver of rice waiting to be toothpicked out. The next day, his father put on his best shirt, buttoned up to the collar, and went with his friend to Lloyd Academy. By afternoon it was settled: he would start the following week. The morning after that his mother put on her best dress and went with his father to the school. That evening, each brought home a navy-blue uniform stitched with a new English name: Henry. Wendy.
工作机会固然宝贵，而且大家都在挨饿，但让詹姆斯的父母真正动心的，是最后这段话。为此，他们卖掉家具，提着两个箱子穿越美国，一路换乘了五趟“灰狗”长途车，历时四天。当他们抵达爱荷华后，詹姆斯的“叔叔”带他们去了自己的公寓。詹姆斯只记得那个人的牙齿长什么样——比他父亲的还要歪，有一颗牙是斜着长的，就像一粒等待被牙签剔出来的米饭。第二天，他父亲穿上自己最好的衬衫，扣子一直系到领口。他和这位朋友一起走进劳埃德学院。下午的时候，事情已经谈妥了：他从下周开始工作。第三天早晨，詹姆斯的母亲穿上她最好的连衣裙，和丈夫一起来到学校。当天晚上，两人各自带回一套藏蓝色的制服，上面绣着他们新起的英文名字：亨利和温蒂。
James, though, had known all the answers. He had read every newspaper he could get his hands on; he had read all the books his father had bought, a nickel a bag, at library book sales. One hundred sixty feet, he wrote. 1492. Automobile. The circle. He finished the test and set the pencil in the slot at the top of the desk. The man with the mustache didn’t look up until twenty minutes later. “Finished already?” he said. “You were so quiet, sonny.” He took away the booklet and the pencil and brought James back to the kitchens, where his mother was working. “I’ll grade the test and let you know the results next week,” he told them, but James already knew he had passed.
然而，詹姆斯却知道所有试题的答案。他读过自己能搜集到的所有报纸，读了父亲从图书馆大减价中买来的全部书籍——五美分一包。于是，他在答卷上写道：一百六十英尺；1492年；汽车；圆形。答完题，他把铅笔放进课桌顶端的凹槽里。过了二十分钟，大胡子考官才抬眼看他。“已经答完了？”他问，“你可真安静啊，小家伙。”他收走小册子和铅笔，把詹姆斯带回厨房，他母亲就在厨房工作。“我会给考卷打分，下周告诉你们成绩。”他说。但詹姆斯已经知道自己通过了。
A few weeks later, James’s parents brought him to Lloyd for the entrance exam. A man with a large white mustache like cotton brought him into an empty classroom and gave him a booklet and a yellow pencil. Looking back, James realized what a brilliant idea it was: what six-year-old would be able to read, let alone pass, such an exam? A teacher’s son, perhaps, if she had studied with him. Surely not a janitor’s son, or a cafeteria lady’s son, or a groundskeeper’s son. If a square playing field is forty feet on a side, how long is the fence that goes around it? When was America discovered? Which of these words is a noun? Here is a sequence of shapes; which shape completes the pattern? We’re sorry, the principal could say. Your son didn’t pass the test. He isn’t up to Lloyd academic standards. And no tuition would be necessary.
几周后，詹姆斯的父母带他到劳埃德学院参加入学考试。考官是个大块头男人，留着棉花一样的白胡子，他把詹姆斯领进一间空教室，给他一本小册子和一支黄色铅笔。看到册子上的考题，詹姆斯立刻意识到校方的狡猾之处：什么样的六岁孩子能够读懂（更不用说通过）这样的题目？也许只有教师的孩子可以——如果她一直辅导孩子功课的话。但对于锅炉工、餐厅女工或者看门人的孩子来说，几乎是不可能的。一块正方形操场，一条边长为四十英尺，那围着它的栅栏有多长？美洲是什么时候发现的？以下单词中，哪一个是名词？以下图形中，哪一个能够拼出完整图案？如果工人的小孩答不出来，校长会说：很抱歉，你的孩子没通过考试，没有达到劳埃德学院的要求，所以，不能免费入学。
When the term began in September, he rode in to school with his father in the Ford truck the school had lent him for his maintenance work. “You’re the first Oriental boy to attend Lloyd,” his father reminded him. “Set a good example.” That first morning, James slid into his seat and the girl next to him asked, “What’s wrong with your eyes?” It wasn’t until he heard the horror in the teacher’s voice –“Shirley Byron!”– that he realized he was supposed to be embarrassed; the next time it happened, he had learned his lesson and turned red right away. In every class, every day that first week, the other students studied him: where had he come from, this boy? He had a bookbag, a Lloyd uniform. Yet he didn’t live at the school like the rest of them; he looked like no one they’d ever seen. Now and then, his father would be called in to loosen a squeaky window, replace a lightbulb, mop up a spill. James, scrunched in the back row, saw his classmates glance from his father to him and knew that they suspected. He would bend his head over his book, so close that his nose nearly touched the page, until his father left the room. By the second month, he asked his parents for permission to walk to and from school by himself. Alone, he could pretend to be just another student. He could pretend that, in the uniform, he looked just like everyone else.
九月份，新学期开始，父亲开着学校借给他做维修的福特卡车送詹姆斯去学校。“你是就读劳埃德的第一位东方学生。”父亲提醒他，“做个好榜样。”开学第一天早晨，詹姆斯滑进他的座位，坐他旁边的女孩问：“你的眼睛怎么了？”这时，传来老师恐怖的号叫：“谢莉·拜伦！”詹姆斯意识到，这种时候自己应该表现得难为情才行。因此，第二次遇到这种情况时，他吸取经验，立刻红了脸。开学第一周的每堂课上，都会有同学研究他：这个男孩是从哪儿来的？他有一个书包、一套劳埃德的校服，但他不和其他同学一样住在学校宿舍，他们从来没有见过这样的人。他父亲时常被学校叫来修窗户、换灯泡、擦地板。詹姆斯蜷在教室最后一排，看着同学们的目光在他父亲和他之间逡巡，对于同学的疑问，詹姆斯了然于心，于是他把头垂得更低，鼻尖几乎贴到了书页上，直到父亲离开教室为止。第二个月，他告诉父母说，希望能让他自己上学放学，不必接送，这样，他就可以假装普通学生，只要穿着劳埃德的校服，就很好假装。
He spent twelve years at Lloyd and never felt at home. At Lloyd, everyone seemed to be descended from a Pilgrim or a senator or a Rockefeller, but when they did family tree projects in class, he pretended to forget the assignment rather than draw his own complicated diagram. Don’t ask any questions, he prayed silently as the teacher marked a small red zero beside his name. He set himself a curriculum of studying American culture — listening to the radio, reading comics, saving his pocket money for double features, learning the rules of the new board games — in case anyone ever said, Hey, didya hear Red Skelton yesterday? or Wanna play Monopoly? though no one ever did. As he got older, he did not attend the dances, or the pep rallies, or the junior or senior proms. At best, girls smiled silently at him in the hallways; at worst, they stared as he passed, and he heard their snickers as he turned the corner. At graduation, the yearbook ran one photo of him besides the obligatory senior portrait: a shot of him at an assembly to greet President Truman, his head visible over the shoulder of the class treasurer and a girl who would go on to marry a Belgian prince. His ears, blushing pink in real life, were a deep and unnatural gray in the photograph, his mouth slightly open, as if he had been caught trespassing. At college, he hoped things would be different. Yet after seven years at Harvard — four as an undergrad, three and counting as a graduate student — nothing had changed. Without realizing why, he studied the most quintessentially American subject he could find — cowboys — but he never spoke of his parents, or his family. He still had few acquaintances and no friends. He still found himself shifting in his seat, as if at any moment someone might notice him and ask him to leave.
他在劳埃德待了十二年，从来没觉得这里是自己的家。劳埃德的学生似乎都是清教徒、参议员或者石油大亨的子女，班上搞家谱调查的时候，他会假装忘记这项作业，不愿画出自己的复杂家谱。“不要问我问题。”老师在他的名字旁边记下红色的零分时，他在心中这样默祷。他自己起草了一份“美国文化学习计划”——听广播，看漫画，省下零花钱看两部连映的电影，了解新棋牌游戏的规则——以防人家问他“嘿，昨天听雷德·斯克尔顿的节目了没”或者“想玩‘大富翁’吗”。不过，从没有人这么问过他。长大一点之后，他从来不去跳舞，不参加动员大会，或者低年级、高年级的舞会。运气好的话，女孩们会在走廊里朝他微笑；运气不好，她们会在他经过时盯着他，还会在他转弯的时候窃笑。詹姆斯的毕业年鉴上印了一张他和大人物的“合影”：当时他站在学生队伍中欢迎杜鲁门总统，他的头出现在生活委员和一个女孩的肩膀之间，这个女孩后来嫁给了比利时王子。虽然他的耳朵平时经常会因为害羞而变得红通通的，但从照片上看，却是不自然的灰色，他的嘴巴微微张着，一副擅闯禁地被人逮住的样子。上大学后，他希望情况能有所改善，然而，在哈佛读了七年书——四年本科、三年研究生，情况却丝毫没变。他鬼使神差地研究起了最典型的美国文化课题——牛仔——却始终没告诉父母或者亲戚。他只认识几个熟人，没有朋友，在椅子上坐不稳当的习惯依旧没改，就好像随时会有人过来撵他走一样。
So that fall of 1957, when Marilyn had leaned over his desk and kissed him, this beautiful honey-haired girl, when she came into his arms and then into his bed, James could not quite believe it. The first afternoon they’d spent together, in his tiny whitewashed studio apartment, he marveled at how her body fit so perfectly against his: her nose nestled exactly into the hollow between his collarbones; her cheek curved to match the side of his neck. As if they were two halves of a mold. He had studied her with the air of a sculptor, tracing the contours of her hips and calves, his fingertips grazing her skin. When they made love, her hair came alive. It darkened from golden-wheat to amber. It kinked and curled like a fiddlehead fern. It amazed him that he could have such an effect on anyone. As she dozed in his arms, her hair slowly relaxed, and when she woke, it had stretched back to its usual waves. Then her easy laugh sparkled in that white, bare room; as she chattered, breathless, her hands fluttered until he caught them in his and they lay warm and still, like resting birds, and then she pulled him to her again. It was as if America herself was taking him in. It was too much luck. He feared the day the universe would notice he wasn’t supposed to have her and take her away. Or that she might suddenly realize her mistake and disappear from his life as suddenly as she had entered. After a while, the fear became a habit, too.
所以在1957年秋天，当那个蜜黄色头发的美丽女孩玛丽琳隔着办公桌亲他、投入他的怀抱并且上了他的床之后，詹姆斯不敢相信这是真的，他始终有种如梦似幻的感觉。两人在他白色涂料粉刷的单间小公寓一起度过第一个下午后，他惊叹不已地发现，他们的身体是如此的相配。她的鼻尖恰好可以埋在他锁骨之间的小坑里，她颧骨的曲线与他脖颈侧面的线条完全契合，仿佛一个模子里压铸出来的两个半球。他以雕塑家的眼光审视她臀部和小腿的轮廓，指尖轻轻掠过她的皮肤。做爱时，她连头发似乎都是活的，会从金黄的小麦色变成深沉的琥珀色，那扭结卷曲的形状有如蕨类植物。他惊讶于自己竟然能对另一个人产生如此巨大的影响。窝在他怀里打瞌睡的时候，她的头发会慢慢放松，等她醒来，又会恢复原有的波澜起伏，然后，她活泼的笑声就会在布置简单的白色房间里回荡。她喋喋不休或者气喘吁吁的时候，双手会来回扑腾，直到他抓住它们，和她像归巢的倦鸟般安静暖和地依偎在一起时，才会消停下来。过一会儿，她会再次把他拉到怀里，让他恍然觉得，是美利坚这个国家对他敞开了怀抱，所以，他是何其有幸。他甚至害怕，有一天，宇宙之神会认为他们不应该在一起而把她夺走，抑或是她意识到爱上他是不对的，于是就像突然闯进他的生活一样突然消失。时间一久，这种担惊受怕竟然变成了习惯。
He began to make small changes he thought she might like: he trimmed his hair; he bought a blue-striped Oxford shirt after she admired one on a passerby. (The cowlick, persistent, still stood up; years later, Nath and Hannah would inherit it, too.) One Saturday, at Marilyn’s suggestion, he bought two gallons of pale yellow paint, pushed the furniture to the middle of the apartment, and spread drop cloths across the parquet. As they brushed one section, then another, the room brightened like panes of sunlight stretching across the walls. When everything was painted, they opened all the windows and curled up on the bed in the center of the room. The apartment was so small that nothing was more than a few feet from the wall, but surrounded by his desk and chairs, the armchair and the dresser pressed close, he felt as if they were on an island, or afloat in the sea. With Marilyn tucked in the curve of his shoulder, he kissed her and her arms circled his neck, her body rose to meet his. Another tiny miracle, every time.
他开始猜测她的心意，做出她可能会喜欢的改变：修剪头发；在她赞扬过某个路人身上穿的蓝色条纹牛津衬衫后，他也买了一件。（但他的那撮头发却一直顽强地挺立着，多年以后，内斯和汉娜也会继承这个特色。）一个星期六，他在玛丽琳的建议下买来两加仑浅黄色涂料，把家具推到公寓中间，拿旧衣服遮盖好镶木地板，开始粉刷墙壁。整个房间逐渐变得像阳光照耀的窗玻璃一样明亮。干完活儿，他们打开所有的窗户，躺在房间中央的床上。公寓太小了，墙壁距离他们只有几英尺，周围还环绕着桌椅橱柜和沙发，他觉得两人仿佛置身岛屿，又像漂浮在海上。玛丽琳趴在他的肩窝里任他亲吻，她的手臂绕着他的脖子，身体紧贴着他。每次这样的相聚，都不啻于小小的奇迹。
At Thanksgiving, Marilyn decided not to go home to Virginia. She told herself, and James, that it was too far for such a short holiday, but in reality she knew her mother would ask her, again, if she had any prospects, and this time she did not know how to respond. Instead, in James’s tiny kitchen, she roasted a chicken, cubed potatoes, peeled yams into a casserole dish the size of a steno pad: Thanksgiving dinner in miniature. James, who had never cooked himself a meal, who subsisted on burgers from Charlie’s Kitchen and English muffins from the Hayes-Bickford, watched in awe. After Marilyn basted the chicken, she looked up defiantly, closed the oven, and peeled the oven mitts from her hands.
感恩节的时候，玛丽琳决定不回弗吉尼亚。她给詹姆斯和自己的理由是，对于一个短暂的假期来说，回家的路途太远，可实际上，她是害怕母亲询问她的前途，而这一次，她不知道如何回答。于是，她选择在詹姆斯的小厨房里把一只鸡、土豆块和去皮山药放在小托盘里一起烤，做了一顿微型的感恩节大餐。詹姆斯从来没自己做过饭，吃惯了查理餐厅的汉堡和海斯—比克弗德的英式松饼的他，只能敬畏地观摩玛丽琳下厨。玛丽琳把抹好油的鸡塞进烤箱，关上门，摘下手套。
Later that afternoon, waking in the fading light, he noticed a tiny yellow blotch on the tip of Marilyn’s toe. After a moment of searching, he found a smudge on the wall near the end of the bed, where her foot had touched it as they made love: a dime-sized spot where the paint was blotted away. He said nothing to Marilyn, and when they pushed the furniture back into place that evening, the dresser concealed the smudge. Every time he looked at that dresser he was pleased, as if he could see through the pine drawers and his folded clothing straight to it, that mark her body had left in his space.
傍晚的时候，他从逐渐黯淡的天光中醒来，发现玛丽琳的脚趾上有一块黄色的斑点，他扫视了下房间，在床脚附近的墙壁上找到一点擦痕——原来，他们做爱时，玛丽琳的脚触到墙壁，蹭下一块硬币大小的涂料。他没有告诉玛丽琳。等他们把家具推回原位之后，衣柜恰好挡住了墙上的擦痕。所以，每当他看到那个衣柜，都会心情愉悦，他的目光仿佛能够穿透松木抽屉和里面叠好的衣服，看到她的身体在他的空间留下的印记。
James felt he should return this privilege, this private gift. He had mentioned once, in passing, that his parents had worked at a school, leaving it at that, hoping she’d think teacher. But he had never told her how the school kitchen had been like the land of the giants, everything economy-sized: rolls of tinfoil half a mile long, jars of mayonnaise big enough to hold his head. His mother was in charge of bringing the world down to scale, chopping melons into dice-sized cubes, portioning pats of butter onto saucers to accompany each roll. He had never told anyone how the other kitchen ladies snickered at his mother for wrapping up the leftover food instead of throwing it away; how at home they’d reheat it in the oven while his parents quizzed him: What did you do in geography? What did you do in math? And he’d recite: Montgomery is the capital of Alabama. Prime numbers have only two factors. They didn’t understand his answers, but they’d nodded, pleased that James was learning things they did not know. As they spoke, he would crumble crackers into a cup of celery soup, or peel waxed paper from a wedge of cheese sandwich, and pause, confused, certain he’d done this before, uncertain whether he was reviewing his studies or the whole schoolday. In the fifth grade, he had stopped speaking Chinese to his parents, afraid of tinting his English with an accent; long before that, he had stopped speaking to his parents at school at all. He was afraid to tell Marilyn these things, afraid that once he admitted them, she would see him as he had always seen himself: a scrawny outcast, feeding on scraps, reciting his lines and trying to pass. An imposter. He was afraid she would never see him any other way.
詹姆斯很想回报她的信任——这是一份私密的礼物。他曾经含糊地提到自己的父母在一所学校工作，希望她会觉得他们是老师。他没向玛丽琳描述过学校的厨房是什么样子的——好比走进了巨人的房子，所有东西都是庞然大物：成排的锡纸卷足有半英里长，蛋黄酱的瓶子装得下他的脑袋。他母亲的职责是把巨大的东西分成小块，比如切甜瓜，把黄油分进小碟子里等等。他也没有告诉过别人，母亲舍不得扔掉剩菜、把它们带回家的举动，遭到其他厨娘的一致嘲笑。回到家里，父母会一边等着饭菜热好，一边向他提问：你在地理课上学了什么？数学课上学了什么？他会回答：“蒙哥马利是亚拉巴马州的首府”“质数只有两个因数”。虽然听不懂儿子在说什么，但父母都会点头，为儿子学到了他们不会的东西而感到高兴。趁着说话的工夫，他会把饼干压碎扔进芹菜汤，或者揭下奶酪三明治上的蜡纸，同时回想自己在学校度过的一天。五年级时，因为害怕讲英文有口音，他不再和父母说中文，而在此之前，他早就不和父母在学校里讲话了。他害怕告诉玛丽琳这些事，担心一旦和盘托出，她就会像他一直以来看待自己那样看待他——瘦骨嶙峋的弃儿，吃剩饭长大，只会背诵课文和考试，还是冒名顶替的骗子。他怕她形成了这个印象之后，就再也不会改变对他的看法。
“My mother is a home economics teacher,” she said. “Betty Crocker is her personal goddess.” It was the first thing she had told him about her mother. The way she said it, it sounded like a secret, something she had kept hidden and now deliberately, trustingly, revealed.
“我母亲是家政课老师，”她说，“贝蒂·克罗克是她的女神。”这是她第一次和他谈起母亲，语气就像在说一个秘密——原本深埋已久，现在终于可以把它告诉自己信任的人了。
His mother had died his second year, a tumor blossoming in her brain. His father had gone six months later. Complications of pneumonia, the doctors had said, but James had known the truth: his father simply hadn’t wanted to live alone.
他大二那年，母亲死于脑瘤，六个月后，父亲也去世了，医生说死因是肺炎并发症，但詹姆斯清楚事实，他的父亲只是不想独活而已。
“My parents are both dead,” he said. “They died just after I started college.”
“我父母都不在了，”他说，“我上大学后他们就过世了。”
Marilyn didn’t say anything, but she reached out and cupped his face in her hands, and James felt the leftover heat from the oven in her soft palms. They were there only a moment before the timer buzzed and she turned back to the stove, but they warmed him through. He remembered his mother’s hands — scarred from steam burns, callused from scouring pots — and wanted to press his lips to the tender hollow where Marilyn’s life line and love line crossed. He promised himself he would never let those hands harden. As Marilyn took the chicken, burnished and bronze, from the oven, he was mesmerized by her deftness. It was beautiful, the way broth thickened to gravy under her guidance, how potatoes fluffed like cotton beneath her fork. This was the closest thing he’d seen to magic. A few months later, when they married, they would make a pact: to let the past drift away, to stop asking questions, to look forward from then on, never back.
玛丽琳什么也没说，但她伸出双手，把他的脸捧在手心，詹姆斯恍惚觉得，她柔软的手掌有着当年剩菜加热后的温度。虽然烤箱的定时器很快响起，玛丽琳不得不过去查看，但刚才的瞬间足以温暖詹姆斯的心。他想起母亲的双手——上面有蒸汽烫出的瘢痕、擦洗锅具磨出的老茧——他想要亲吻玛丽琳掌心生命线和感情线交汇处柔软的凹陷。他暗自发誓，决不会让这双手变粗变硬。玛丽琳把油光闪亮的烤鸡从炉子里拿出来的时候，他完全被她的灵巧迷住了，酱汁厚度均匀，恰到好处，土豆烹制得如同棉花般松软，这在他眼中简直像变魔术一样。几个月后两人结婚时，他们达成了一条约定：让过去的事情过去，停止问问题，向前看，决不向后看。
Then, in April, two things neither of them expected: Professor Carlson informed James that he was very, very sorry to disappoint him, but they had decided to take his classmate William McPherson instead, and of course they knew James would find many other opportunities elsewhere. “Did they say why?” Marilyn asked, and James replied, “I wasn’t the right fit for the department, they said,” and she did not raise the subject again. Four days later, an even bigger surprise: Marilyn was pregnant.
接着，四月份的时候，发生了两件出乎意料的事情。卡尔森教授告诉詹姆斯，他非常非常遗憾地通知他，系里决定录用他的同学威廉·麦克弗森。当然，他们知道詹姆斯会在其他地方找到很多机会。“他们解释原因没有？”玛丽琳问。詹姆斯回答：“他们说，我不是最合适的人选。”于是，玛丽琳再也没有提起这个话题。四天后，一个更大的惊喜降临了：玛丽琳怀孕了。
That spring, Marilyn was making plans for her senior year; James was finishing his Ph. D. and waiting, still, to see if he would be taken on in the history department. There was an opening and he had applied, and Professor Carlson, the department head, had hinted he was by far the most accomplished in his class. Now and then, he would interview for positions elsewhere — in New Haven, in Providence — just in case. Deep inside, though, he was certain that he would be hired at Harvard. “Carlson as good as told me I’m in,” he said to Marilyn whenever the subject came up. Marilyn nodded and kissed him and refused to think about what would happen when she graduated the next year, when she headed off to medical school who knew where. Harvard, she thought, ticking off her fingers. Columbia. Johns Hopkins. Stanford. Each digit a step farther away.
那年春天，玛丽琳在给她的大四生活做计划；詹姆斯完成了博士课程，期待着能被本校的历史系录用——系里有个职位空缺，他已经提出了申请。而且系主任卡尔森教授暗示过，迄今为止，詹姆斯是他班上成绩最好的学生。不过，为了以防万一，他也在到处参加面试——纽黑文、普罗维登斯。但内心深处，他坚信自己会被哈佛录用。“卡尔森几乎是明着告诉我，我一定会留在这里的。”每当谈起这个话题，他就对玛丽琳这样说，玛丽琳会点点头，亲亲他，然后拒绝去想自己明年毕业后会怎么样，谁知道她会去哪里的医学院。哈佛，她边想边用手指打着对勾。哥伦比亚。约翰·霍普金斯。斯坦福。一所比一所没有可能。
So instead of Harvard, an offer at last from humble Middlewood College, accepted with relief. Instead of Boston, small-town Ohio. Instead of medical school, a wedding. Nothing quite as planned.
所以，詹姆斯没能留在哈佛，最终收到了寒酸的米德伍德学院的聘书，但他还是如释重负地接受了聘用。俄亥俄的小镇取代了波士顿。婚礼取代了医学院。计划不如变化快。
“A baby,” Marilyn said to James, over and over. “Our baby. So much better.” By the time they were married, Marilyn would be only three months along, and it wouldn’t show. To herself, she said, You can come back and finish that last year, when the baby is older. It would be almost eight years before school would seem real and possible and tangible again, but Marilyn didn’t know that. As she left the dean’s office, an indefinite leave secured, she was certain that everything she had dreamed for herself — medical school, doctorhood, that new and important life — sat poised for her return, like a well-trained dog awaiting its master. Still, when Marilyn sat down at the telephone table in the dorm lobby and gave the long-distance operator her mother’s number, her voice shook with each digit. As her mother’s voice finally came over the line, she forgot to say hello. Instead she blurted out, “I’m getting married. In June.”
“孩子，”玛丽琳对詹姆斯不停地重复着，“我们的孩子，真是太好了。”他们结婚的时候，胎儿只有三个月，外人不会看出来。她也安慰自己：等孩子长大一些，你可以卷土重来，完成最后一年的学业。然而玛丽琳不知道的是，几乎要到八年以后，她才会重新踏足校园。她向院长请了无限期的长假，坚信自己的人生梦想——进医学院，成为医生——都在等待着她的回归，好比一只训练有素的狗等待它的主人。然而，当玛丽琳坐在宿舍门厅的电话旁，告诉长途接线员她母亲的电话号码时，每说一个数字，她的嗓音都会颤抖。母亲的声音终于从电话那头传来，玛丽琳忘记了问好，只是含糊地说：“我要结婚了。六月份。”
“His name is James Lee.”
“他叫詹姆斯·李。”
Marilyn’s face warmed. “He’s just finishing his Ph. D. In American history.” She hesitated and decided on a half-truth. “Harvard was thinking of hiring him, in the fall.”
玛丽琳觉得脸上有了温度。“他刚读完博士，美国历史专业。”她迟疑了一下，决定撒个小谎，“哈佛打算雇用他，秋天的时候。”
“A student?”
“是学生吗？”
Her mother paused. “Who is he?”
她母亲顿了一下，然后问：“他是谁？”
Relief flooded Marilyn. Her mother wasn’t upset about her leaving school early; why would she mind? Hadn’t she done just what her mother had hoped: met a wonderful Harvard man? She read off the information from a slip of paper: Friday, June 13, eleven thirty, with the justice of the peace; lunch afterward at the Parker House. “It won’t be a big party. Just us, and you, and a few of our friends. James’s parents are both dead.”
玛丽琳如释重负，既然母亲都没有因为她提早离校而生气，她又为什么要介意呢？难道她不正好是满足了母亲的心愿——认识了一位优秀的哈佛男人吗？她读着备忘录上的信息：星期五，六月十三日，十一点半，由治安法官证婚，然后在帕克餐厅吃午餐。“婚礼派对不大，只有我们、你，还有我们的几个朋友。詹姆斯的父母都去世了。”
“Lee,” her mother mused. “Is he connected to anyone we know?”
“李，”她母亲若有所思地说，“他和我们认识的人有亲戚关系吗？”
Marilyn realized, suddenly, what her mother was imagining. It was 1958; in Virginia, in half the country, their wedding would break the law. Even in Boston, she sometimes saw disapproval in the eyes of the passersby. Her hair was no longer the white-blond of her childhood, but it was still light enough to catch attention when bent toward James’s inky black head in movie theaters, on a park bench, at the counter at the Waldorf Cafeteria. A gaggle of Radcliffe girls came down the stairs, one hovering nearby to wait for the phone, the others crowding around the hall mirror to apply powder to their noses. One of them, just a week before, had heard about Marilyn’s marriage and came by her room “to see if it was really true.”
玛丽琳突然意识到母亲在想什么。当时是1958年，在弗吉尼亚的一些乡村地区，他们的婚礼是违反法律的。甚至在波士顿，有时候她也会看到路人不以为然的目光。虽然她头发的颜色比童年时代深了许多，但在电影院里、公园长椅上、沃尔多夫餐厅内和黑头发的詹姆斯坐在一起时，还是会招来别人的注意。这时，拉德克利夫学院的一帮女孩从宿舍楼上下来，其中一个等着用电话，其他人围在门厅的镜子旁边补妆。有个女孩一周前听说玛丽琳准备结婚了，甚至特地去了她的宿舍，为了“看看这件事是不是真的”。
“So he’s a professor.” A sudden alertness tinted her mother’s voice. “Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“这么说，他是个教授，”母亲的语调突然变得欢快起来，“亲爱的，我真为你高兴，我等不及要见他了。”
Marilyn and her mother had dinner alone that night, and her mother did not mention James until dessert. She knew what her mother would ask — Why do you love him? — and steeled herself for the question. But her mother didn’t ask this at all, didn’t mention the word love. Instead she swallowed a bite of cake and studied her daughter from across the table. “You’re sure,” she said, “that he doesn’t just want a green card?”
那天，玛丽琳和母亲单独吃了晚餐，直到上甜点的时候，她母亲才提起詹姆斯。她知道母亲会问什么——你为什么爱他？——她已经做好了回答的准备。然而，母亲根本没问，没有提到“爱”这个词，她只是咽下嘴里的蛋糕，打量桌子对面的女儿。“你确定，”她说，“他不只是为了绿卡？”
So her mother came in from Virginia, the first time she’d ever left the state. Standing at the station with James hours after his graduation, waiting for her mother’s train, Marilyn told herself: she would have come anyway, even if I’d told her. Her mother stepped onto the platform and spotted Marilyn and a smile flashed across her face — spontaneous, proud — and for that instant, Marilyn believed it completely. Of course she would have. Then the smile flickered just for a moment, like a flash of static. Her gaze darted back and forth between the stout blond woman standing on her daughter’s left and the skinny Oriental man on her right, looking for the advertised James, not finding him. Finally understanding. A few seconds passed before she shook James’s hand, told him she was very, very happy to meet him, and allowed him to take her bag.
于是，她母亲从弗吉尼亚赶来，这是她第一次离开弗吉尼亚州。詹姆斯的毕业典礼才结束几个小时，玛丽琳就和他站在月台上，等待母亲的火车进站。她告诉自己：无论如何，母亲都会来的，哪怕我把所有的事都告诉她。她母亲来到站台，看到玛丽琳，脸上迅速掠过一丝笑意——同时还掺杂着骄傲——那一刻，玛丽琳觉得自己的推测完全是正确的。当然是这样的。然而，她母亲的微笑如电光火石，转瞬即逝，她的目光很快便在女儿左边的金发女人和右边瘦削的东方男人之间扫射，寻找传说中的詹姆斯，却不敢确定。终于，她明白了。几秒钟后，她就握住詹姆斯的手，告诉他，她非常非常高兴见到他，还允许他帮她拿包。
Marilyn squeezed the receiver and pressed one palm to her belly and kept her voice sweet. “I don’t know, Mother,” she said. “Why don’t you ask him when you meet him?”
玛丽琳一手捏着听筒，一只手按着肚子，尽量保持愉快的语调。“我不知道，妈妈，”她说，“你为什么不当面问问他呢？”
The morning of the wedding, as they waited in the courthouse, Marilyn’s mother kept fiddling with the clasp of her purse. They’d gotten there almost an hour early, worried about traffic, about parking, about missing their spot with the justice of the peace. James had put on a new suit and kept patting the breast pocket, checking for the rings through the navy-blue wool. Such a timid and nervous gesture made Marilyn want to kiss him right there in front of everyone. In twenty-five minutes she would be his wife. And then her mother stepped closer and took Marilyn’s elbow in a grip that felt like a clamp.
婚礼当天早晨，他们都在法院里等着的时候，玛丽琳的母亲一直在摆弄她提包上的扣环。他们早到了近一个小时——因为担心交通堵塞、无处停车、临时找不到治安法官等等问题。詹姆斯换上了一套崭新的藏蓝色羊毛西装，不停地拍打胸前的口袋，确保里面的两枚戒指没有丢失。他那个紧张羞怯的样子，让玛丽琳很想在众人面前吻他。再过二十五分钟，她就是他的妻子了。这时，她母亲靠过来，手像铁钳一样紧扣住玛丽琳的手肘。
Marilyn couldn’t look at her. Instead she stared at her mother’s hands, spotted despite the gloves and the lemon-scented lotion, at the fork pinched between the fingers, at the crumb clinging to the tines. A tiny wrinkle creased her mother’s eyebrows, as if someone had nicked her forehead with a knife. Years later, Hannah would spy this same mark of deep worry on her mother’s face, though she would not know its source, and Marilyn would never have admitted the resemblance. “He was born in California, Mother,” she said, and her mother looked away and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, leaving two red smears on the linen.
玛丽琳不敢直视她，只好盯着她的手和叉子看，虽然有手套和柠檬味护肤液的保护，那双手已经生了斑点，叉子尖上沾了一些面包屑。她母亲的眉毛附近有一条短短的皱纹，好像有人拿刀在她脸上划过一下。多年后，汉娜发现，当她的母亲忧心忡忡的时候，脸上也会出现相同的纹路，尽管她并不知道这条纹路是怎么来的，玛丽琳也不会承认她和母亲的这点肖似之处。“他生在加州，妈妈。”她说。她母亲不再看她，拿手绢擦了擦嘴，亚麻质料上出现两道红痕。
It would have been easier if her mother had used a slur. It would have been easier if she had insulted James outright, if she had said he was too short or too poor or not accomplished enough. But all her mother said, over and over, was, “It’s not right, Marilyn. It’s not right.” Leaving it unnamed, hanging in the air between them.
如果她母亲能够当面骂出来，直接羞辱詹姆斯，挑剔他太矮、太穷、不够有本事，事情就简单了。可她只是一遍又一遍地重复：“这样不对，玛丽琳，这样不对。”却不点明“这样”指哪样，而且任由这个词在她们之间的空气中回响。
She should have known it was coming. All morning her mother had been dissatisfied with everything. Marilyn’s dress wasn’t white but cream. It didn’t look like a wedding dress; it was too plain, like something a nurse would wear. She didn’t know why Marilyn wouldn’t get married in a church. There were plenty nearby. She didn’t like the weather in Boston; why was it so gray in June? Daisies weren’t a wedding flower; why not roses instead? And why was she in such a hurry, why get married now, why not wait awhile?
她应该知道这一幕迟早要来。整个上午，她母亲看什么都不顺眼——玛丽琳的裙子不是纯白，而是奶白，看着不像结婚礼服，太素，跟护士服差不多；她不明白玛丽琳为什么不在教堂举行婚礼，附近就有许多教堂；她不喜欢波士顿的天气，为什么六月份还这么阴冷？雏菊不是婚礼用的花；为什么不用玫瑰？她为什么这么赶？为什么现在就结婚，不能再等等？
Marilyn pretended not to hear and took her lipstick from her purse.
玛丽琳假装没有听到她的唠叨，从手袋里拿出口红。
“Let’s touch up your lipstick,” she said, nudging Marilyn toward the ladies’ room.
“你的口红需要补一下。”她说，把玛丽琳推到了女厕所。
“You’ll change your mind,” her mother said. “You’ll regret it later.”
“你会改变想法的，”她母亲说，“过一阵子你会后悔的。”
“Think about your children,” she said. “Where will you live? You won’t fit in anywhere. You’ll be sorry for the rest of your life.”
“想想你将来的孩子们，”她说，“你们要住在哪里？你们在哪里都不会合群。你会后悔一辈子的。”
Marilyn swiveled up the tube and bent close to the mirror, and her mother grabbed her by both shoulders suddenly, desperately. The look in her eyes was fear, as if Marilyn were running along the edge of a cliff.
玛丽琳转动塑料管，弯腰照镜子。她母亲突然过来，绝望地扳着她两边的肩膀，她眼中闪现的是恐惧，仿佛玛丽琳即将冲向悬崖的边缘。
“Stop it,” Marilyn shouted, slamming her fist against the edge of the sink. “This is my life, Mother. Mine.” She jerked herself free and the lipstick went flying, then skittered to a stop on the floor tiles. Somehow she had made a long red streak down her mother’s sleeve. Without another word, she pushed the door of the bathroom open, leaving her mother alone.
“别说了，”玛丽琳喊道，拳头砸在水池边上，“这是我的人生，妈妈，我的。”她挣脱母亲的钳制，口红被甩了出去，掉在地板瓷砖上。不知怎么搞的，口红在她母亲的袖子上留下一道长长的划痕。她没有多说便推开了盥洗室的门，把母亲一个人留在里面。
Outside, James glanced anxiously at his wife-to-be. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, leaning close. She shook her head and whispered quickly, laughingly: “Oh, my mother just thinks I should marry someone more like me.” Then she took his lapel in her fist, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him. Ridiculous, she thought. So obvious that she didn’t even need to say it.
站在外头的詹姆斯紧张地凝视着他的准新娘。“怎么了？”他靠过来小声问。她摇摇头，自嘲地低声回答：“哦，我母亲觉得我应该嫁给一个更像我的人。”说完，她就揪着詹姆斯的衣领，把他拽过来亲吻。简直荒唐，她想，明显荒唐，根本不用我说出来。
Just days before, hundreds of miles away, another couple had married, too — a white man, a black woman, who would share a most appropriate name: Loving. In four months they would be arrested in Virginia, the law reminding them that Almighty God had never intended white, black, yellow, and red to mix, that there should be no mongrel citizens, no obliteration of racial pride. It would be four years before they protested, and four years more before the court concurred, but many more years before the people around them would, too. Some, like Marilyn’s mother, never would.
就在几天前，数百英里之外的地方，另一对情侣也步入婚姻——一个白种男人和一个黑种女人，他们共享的是对这段婚姻来说最合适不过的姓——洛文（Loving）。结婚不到四个月他们就在弗吉尼亚被捕了，执法者提醒他们，全能的上帝从未打算让白种人、黑种人、黄种人以及棕色人种通婚，不应该出现混血儿，也不应该丢掉种族自尊。他们为此抗争了四年。又过了四年，法庭才承认他们的婚姻。然而，要到许多年以后，他们的关系才得到周围的人的认可。不过有些人——比如玛丽琳的母亲这样的人，是永远不会接受这种事的。
When Marilyn and James separated, her mother had returned from the ladies’ room and stood silently watching them from a distance. She had blotted her sleeve again and again on the roller towel, but the red mark still showed beneath the damp spot, like an old bloodstain. Marilyn wiped a smudge of lipstick from James’s upper lip and grinned, and he patted his breast pocket again, checking the rings. To her mother it looked as if James were congratulating himself.
玛丽琳和詹姆斯一吻完毕，发现她母亲已经走出盥洗室，静静地站在远处看着他们。她用毛巾不知道擦了多少遍袖子都没有去掉那道看上去像血迹一样的红痕。玛丽琳抹掉詹姆斯上唇沾到的口红印子，得意地笑了起来。他又拍拍前胸口袋，检查戒指在不在。不过在她母亲看来，这个动作就好像詹姆斯在自我祝贺一样。
Afterward, the wedding reduced to a slideshow in Marilyn’s memory: the thin white line, like a hair, in the justice’s bifocals; the knots of baby’s breath in her bouquet; the fog of moisture on the wineglass her old roommate, Sandra, raised to toast. Under the table, James’s hand in hers, the strange new band of gold cool against her skin. And across the table, her mother’s carefully curled hair, her powdered face, her lips kept closed to cover the crooked incisor.
在玛丽琳的记忆中，后来的婚礼场面就像一帧帧的幻灯片：证婚法官的双光眼镜上那条白色的细线可能是一根白发；她的捧花里面有一束满天星；她曾经的室友桑德拉起来祝酒，高脚杯上雾蒙蒙的。桌子下面，她的手握着詹姆斯的手，结婚戒指凉凉地贴在皮肤上，感觉有点怪。桌子对面，她母亲精致的发型很是费了一番工夫打理，她脸上扑着粉，为了掩盖歪斜的门牙，只好一直闭着嘴巴。
That was the last time Marilyn saw her mother.
这是玛丽琳最后一次见到她母亲。
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