第八章: 罗伯特 ROBERT
I’ve never met my Swiss grandparents. I don’t know their names or anything about them. I do know my dad has an older sister, but I’ve never met her, either. I know that he worked as a chef in Montreal and New York for a while before moving to South Africa in the late 1970s. I know that he worked for an industrial food-service company and that he opened a couple of bars and restaurants here and there. That’s about it.
我从未见过远在瑞士的爷爷奶奶。我不知道他们的名字或任何别的细节。我知道我父亲有个姐姐，但也没见过她。我知道他在20世纪70年代末搬来南非前，曾经在蒙特利尔和纽约当过厨师。我知道他曾在一个食品工业公司工作，还曾在各处开过酒吧和餐厅。我就知道这么多。
While I know nothing of my dad’s life before me, thanks to my mom and just from the time I have been able to spend with him, I do have a sense of who he is as a person. He’s very Swiss, clean and particular and precise. He’s the only person I know who checks into a hotel room and leaves it cleaner than when he arrived. He doesn’t like anyone waiting on him. No servants, no housekeepers. He cleans up after himself. He likes his space. He lives in his own world and does his own everything.
虽然我并不了解他之前的生活，但通过我母亲，以及我能够和他在一起相处的有限时光，我大概了解他是怎样一个人。他是典型的瑞士人，整洁、挑剔、精确。他是我见过的唯一一个去住酒店，但离开的时候，房间反倒比入住前还干净的人。他不喜欢别人服侍他。在他的世界里，不要服务生，不要管家，他自己做清洁。他喜欢自己的空间。他活在自己的世界里，自己解决所有问题。
My father is a complete mystery. There are so many questions about his life that I still cannot even begin to answer.
我父亲这人完全是个谜。有太多关于他人生的问题，我至今仍不知道该怎么回答。
How’d he end up in South Africa? I haven’t a clue.
他为什么会来南非定居？不知道。
Where’d he grow up? Somewhere in Switzerland.
他在哪里长大？瑞士的某个地方。
Where’d he go to university? I don’t know if he did.
他在哪儿上的大学？我不知道他上没上过。
I never called my dad “Dad.” I never addressed him “Daddy” or “Father,” either. I couldn’t. I was instructed not to. If we were out in public or anywhere people might overhear us and I called him “Dad,” someone might have asked questions or called the police. So for as long as I can remember I always called him Robert.
我从没叫过他“爸”。我也不叫他“爸爸”或“父亲”。我是被要求这么做的。如果在公开场合叫他“爸爸”，别人听到后，会走上来质询，或者直接报警。在我的印象中，我一直喊他“罗伯特”。
One thing I do know about my dad is that he hates racism and homogeneity more than anything, and not because of any feelings of self-righteousness or moral superiority. He just never understood how white people could be racist in South Africa. “Africa is full of black people,” he would say. “So why would you come all the way to Africa if you hate black people? If you hate black people so much, why did you move into their house?” To him it was insane.
我很了解我父亲的一点是，他极度痛恨种族主义和族群同质计划，而且他痛恨的理由并非出于伪善或道德优越感。他只是不理解，南非的白人凭什么要歧视本地的黑人。“南非全是黑人，你要是那么讨厌黑人的话，你为什么还大老远来南非？如果你那么讨厌黑人，为什么要搬来他们的家乡住？”对他来说，这简直蠢到家了。
I know that he never married. He used to say that most people marry because they want to control another person, and he never wanted to be controlled. I know that he loves traveling, loves entertaining, having people over. But at the same time his privacy is everything to him. Wherever he lives he’s never listed in the phone book. I’m sure my parents would have been caught in their time together if he hadn’t been as private as he is. My mom was wild and impulsive. My father was reserved and rational. She was fire, he was ice. They were opposites that attracted, and I am a mix of them both.
我知道他从没结过婚。他曾经说，大多数人结婚是为了控制另一个人，但他不希望被任何人控制。我知道他喜欢旅行，喜欢娱乐，喜欢聚会。但与此同时，他的隐私又是一等一的大事。无论他住在哪儿，他的名字都不会被列在电话簿上。我敢肯定，如果他要没有这么注重隐私，他和我母亲交往的时候肯定会被逮到。我妈妈热情而冲动，我爸爸保守而理智。她是火，他是冰。他们两个因为彼此的对立面而相互吸引，我则是他们二人的中和体。
Because racism never made sense to my father, he never subscribed to any of the rules of apartheid. In the early eighties, before I was born, he opened one of the first integrated restaurants in Johannesburg, a steakhouse. He applied for a special license that allowed businesses to serve both black and white patrons. These licenses existed because hotels and restaurants needed them to serve black travelers and diplomats from other countries, who in theory weren’t subject to the same restrictions as black South Africans; black South Africans with money in turn exploited that loophole to frequent those hotels and restaurants.
由于我父亲觉得种族主义毫无道理，他也就没有遵守任何种族隔离的法规。在80年代早期，我出生之前，他在约翰内斯堡开了一家牛排店，是当年第一批可以为多种族人群提供服务的餐厅之一。他申请了那种可以同时为黑人及白人提供服务的特殊执照。这种执照之所以存在，是因为酒店和餐馆需要招待黑人旅行者，或其他国家的黑人大使，这类人理论上不会像南非本地黑人那样受到限制，所以南非本地有钱的黑人就抓住这个漏洞，去这类酒店和餐馆消费。
My dad’s restaurant was an instant, booming success. Black people came because there were few upscale establishments where they could eat, and they wanted to come and sit in a nice restaurant and see what that was like. White people came because they wanted to see what it was like to sit with black people. The white people would sit and watch the black people eat, and the black people would sit and eat and watch the white people watching them eat. The curiosity of being together overwhelmed the animosity keeping people apart. The place had a great vibe.
我父亲的餐馆立刻火了。黑人喜欢来，因为他们能去的高规格餐厅实在太少，而他们又很想去高档餐厅体验一下那是什么感觉。白人也喜欢来，因为他们想感受下和黑人坐在一起进餐是什么感觉。白人会来餐厅里坐着，看黑人吃饭，黑人会来餐厅坐着，一边吃一边看白人在旁边看他们吃。对于共处一室的好奇，胜过了将人们隔离开的仇恨。那地方的氛围特别好。
“But then it will be a whole restaurant of nothing but toilets.”
“那我这个餐厅里就没别的地方了，全是厕所了。”
“Since you’ve got the license you can keep the restaurant open,” they said, “but you’ll need to have separate toilets for every racial category. You’ll need white toilets, black toilets, colored toilets, and Indian toilets.”
“虽说你已经有了开业执照，”他们说，“但是你还需要给不同的人种准备不同的厕所。你需要白人厕所，黑人厕所，有色人种厕所，还有印度人厕所。”
The restaurant closed only because a few people in the neighborhood took it upon themselves to complain. They filed petitions, and the government started looking for ways to shut my dad down. At first the inspectors came and tried to get him on cleanliness and health-code violations. Clearly they had never heard of the Swiss. That failed dismally. Then they decided to go after him by imposing additional and arbitrary restrictions.
后来那餐厅被关了，因为社区里的一小撮人自发去投诉。他们提交请愿，政府开始想方设法找理由让我父亲关门。起初他们派了调查员，想查他在清洁卫生方面有没有违章。很显然，他们没听说过瑞士人的特点。所以这一仗他们输得很惨。接着，他们决定给我父亲随意增加额外的条条框框，来对他进行各方面的限制。
“Well, if you don’t want to do that, your other option is to make it a normal restaurant and only serve whites.”
“好吧，如果你不想那样做，你还有一个选择，就是转为正常的餐厅，只为白人提供服务。”
After apartheid fell, my father moved from Hillbrow to Yeoville, a formerly quiet, residential neighborhood that had transformed into this vibrant melting pot of black and white and every other hue. Immigrants were pouring in from Nigeria and Ghana and all over the continent, bringing different food and exciting music. Rockey Street was the main strip, and its sidewalks were filled with street vendors and restaurants and bars. It was an explosion of culture.
种族隔离制度结束后，我父亲从希尔布洛搬去了一个叫尤维尔的地方，那里之前本是一个安静的居民区，后来转变为一个极富活力的大熔炉，不论黑人白人，还是其他人种都聚居于此。来自尼日利亚、加纳和非洲其他国家的移民涌入这里，带来了不同的食物和激动人心的音乐。洛基路是这里的主路，两边遍布着小商贩、酒吧和餐厅。这里就像一场文化大冲撞。
He closed the restaurant.
他关了餐厅。
My father and I lived on a schedule. I visited him every Sunday afternoon. Even though apartheid had ended, my mom had made her decision: She didn’t want to get married. So we had our house, and he had his. I’d made a deal with my mom that if I went with her to mixed church and white church in the morning, after that I’d get to skip black church and go to my dad’s, where we’d watch Formula 1 racing instead of casting out demons.
我和父亲按日程见面。我每周日下午去看他。尽管种族隔离结束了，但我妈妈心意已决：她不想结婚。所以我和妈妈有我们的家，父亲有他自己的家。我和妈妈做了约定，早晨我和她一起去混合种族教会和白人教会，之后我就不跟她去黑人教会了，不用参加驱魔仪式，而是去父亲家，和他一起看一级方程式赛车比赛。
My dad lived two blocks over from Rockey, on Yeo Street, right next to this incredible park where I loved to go because kids of all races and different countries were running around and playing there. My dad’s house was simple. Nice, but nothing fancy. I feel like my dad had enough money to be comfortable and travel, but he never spent lavishly on things. He’s extremely frugal, the kind of guy who drives the same car for twenty years.
我父亲住尤尔路上，与洛基路相隔两个街区，紧挨着一个特别棒的公园，我很爱去那里，因为各个国家的各个种族的小孩，都会在那里跑来跑去玩耍。我父亲的房子布置很简单，是个很舒服的地方，没有什么华丽的装饰。我觉得我爸爸有足够的钱供他生活和旅行，但他从来不会大肆花钱买什么东西。他极度节俭，是那种一辆车能开二十年的人。
I celebrated my birthday with my dad every year, and we spent Christmas with him as well. I loved Christmas with my dad because my dad celebrated European Christmas. European Christmas was the best Christmas ever. My dad went all out. He had Christmas lights and a Christmas tree. He had fake snow and snow globes and stockings hung by the fireplace and lots of wrapped presents from Santa Claus. African Christmas was a lot more practical. We’d go to church, come home, have a nice meal with good meat and lots of custard and jelly. But there was no tree. You’d get a present, but it was usually just clothes, a new outfit. You might get a toy, but it wasn’t wrapped and it was never from Santa Claus. The whole issue of Santa Claus is a rather contentious one when it comes to African Christmas, a matter of pride. When an African dad buys his kid a present, the last thing he’s going to do is give some fat white man credit for it. African Dad will tell you straight up, “No, no, no. I bought you that.”
每年的生日父亲都会陪我一起过，我们也和他一起过圣诞节。我很爱和父亲一起过圣诞节，因为他过的是欧洲圣诞节，而欧洲圣诞节是世界上最棒的圣诞节。我父亲会铆足干劲，全力以赴。他会准备圣诞彩灯、圣诞树，还会在壁炉边装饰上假雪、雪花球以及长袜，还有好多圣诞老人送来的用彩纸包好的礼物。相比之下，非洲圣诞节就要实际得多。我们会去教堂，回家，吃一顿大餐，有肉，有好多的奶冻和果冻，但是没有圣诞树。你也会收到礼物，但通常就是一套新衣服。你也可能会收到一个玩具，但是并不会用包装纸包好，也从来不是圣诞老人送来的。非洲圣诞节对于圣诞老人这件事是有争议的，这关乎荣誉。如果一个非洲父亲给自己的小孩买了个礼物，他才不会把功劳归功于那个白人胖子。非洲父亲会直截了当地告诉你：“不不不，是我给你买的。”
Outside of birthdays and special occasions, all we had were our Sunday afternoons. He would cook for me. He’d ask me what I wanted, and I’d always request the exact same meal, a German dish called Rösti, which is basically a pancake made out of potatoes and some sort of meat with a gravy. I’d have that and a bottle of Sprite, and for dessert a plastic container of custard with caramel on top.
除了过生日或一些特殊场合，我们唯一的相处时光就是周日的下午。他会给我做饭，会问我想吃什么，我总是给出一样的回答，一道叫罗斯蒂的德国菜，基本就是用土豆和肉做的薄饼，浇上肉汁。我会吃掉一盘罗斯蒂，配上一瓶雪碧，饭后甜点是塑料盒装的焦糖奶冻。
A good chunk of those afternoons would pass in silence. My dad didn’t talk much. He was caring and devoted, attentive to detail, always a card on my birthday, always my favorite food and toys when I came for a visit. But at the same time he was a closed book. We’d talk about the food he was making, talk about the F1 racing we’d watched. Every now and then he’d drop a tidbit of information, about a place he’d visited or his steakhouse. But that was it. Being with my dad was like watching a web series. I’d get a few minutes of information a few minutes at a time, then I’d have to wait a week for the next installment.
那些周日下午的大部分时间都很安静。我爸爸不太说话。他很关心我，全身心地为我，并且执着于细节，我过生日时，总会收到他的贺卡，每次我去看他时，他总会准备好我最爱吃的食物，还会给我买玩具。但与此同时，他又像是一本合上的书。我们会讨论他做的食物，讨论我们正在看的一级方程式赛车。时不时地，他会讲一点儿他人生中的小花边儿，关于他去过的地方，关于他的牛排店，但也仅限于此。和我爸相处起来就像在看连续剧，在这几分钟里面，我了解到一点儿信息，但一次就这几分钟，我要等一周才能知道后面发生了什么。
When I was thirteen my dad moved to Cape Town, and we lost touch. We’d been losing touch for a while, for a couple of reasons. I was a teenager. I had a whole other world I was dealing with now. Videogames and computers meant more to me than spending time with my parents. Also, my mom had married Abel. He was incensed by the idea of my mom being in contact with her previous love, and she decided it was safer for everyone involved not to test his anger. I went from seeing my dad every Sunday to seeing him every other Sunday, maybe once a month, whenever my mom could sneak me over, same as she’d done back in Hillbrow. We’d gone from living under apartheid to living under another kind of tyranny, that of an abusive, alcoholic man.
我12岁的时候，父亲搬去了开普敦，我们就此失去了联系。在他搬离之前，我们已经有段时间没联系了，那是由于一系列原因造成的。我那时还是个少年。整个世界在我面前等着我去探索。游戏和电脑对我来说比和父母相处重要得多。另外，我的母亲再婚了，嫁给了亚伯。而一旦知道我母亲居然和前任还有联络，亚伯就会暴跳如雷，所以我母亲决定我们都不要主动去激怒他，这样才比较安全。我从每周日去见父亲一次，变成每隔一周去一次，或者一个月去一次，这取决于我母亲能否把我偷偷地送过去，就好像她以前在希尔布洛住的时候那样。我们从生活在种族隔离的限制之下，转变为生活在一个爱施暴的酒鬼的专制之下。
Then he was gone. I stayed busy living my life, surviving high school, surviving my early twenties, becoming a comedian. My career took off quickly. I got a radio DJ gig and hosted a kids’ adventure reality show on television. I was headlining at clubs all over the country. But even as my life was moving forward, the questions about my dad were always there in the back of my mind, bubbling up to the surface now and then. “I wonder where he is. Does he think about me? Does he know what I’m doing? Is he proud of me?” When a parent is absent, you’re left in the lurch of not knowing, and it’s so easy to fill that space with negative thoughts. “They don’t care.” “They’re selfish.” My one saving grace was that my mom never spoke ill of him. She would always compliment him. “You’re good with your money. You get that from your dad.” “You have your dad’s smile.” “You’re clean and tidy like your father.” I never turned to bitterness, because she made sure I knew his absence was because of circumstance and not a lack of love. She always told me the story of her coming home from the hospital and my dad saying, “Where’s my kid? I want that kid in my life.” She’d say to me, “Don’t ever forget: He chose you.” And, ultimately, when I turned twenty-four, it was my mom who made me track him down.
然后他就走了，我留下来继续过我的生活，费劲儿地读完高中，费劲儿地度过二十来岁的日子，最后成了一名喜剧演员。我的职业生涯上升得很快。我成了一名电台主播，还在电视上主持一档儿童冒险真人秀。我的名字会出现在全国所有俱乐部节目的主演名单上。尽管人生在向前，但关于父亲的那个问题依然埋在我头脑深处，而且时不时地会浮到表面。“不知道他在哪儿。他会想我吗？他知道我在做什么吗？他会为我骄傲吗？”当父母中有一人离去，剩你一人陷于未知，你会很容易脑补出一些负面的东西：“他们不在意我。”“他们好自私。”幸好，我的母亲从来不会说我父亲的坏话，她总是在表扬他。“你把钱管得不错，这点儿随你父亲。”“你和你父亲笑起来一样的。”“你和你父亲一样干净整洁。”我心中从不会觉得怨恨，因为她让我知道，父亲的离开是因为环境遭遇，并非他不爱我。她总是给我讲她从医院回来那天的情形，我父亲一直问她：“我的孩子呢？我希望我的生活里有那个孩子。”母亲对我说：“永远不要忘记，他选择了你。”所以，当我24岁的时候，母亲才敦促着我去寻找父亲。
At the same time, Yeoville had started to suffer from white flight, neglect, general decline. Most of my dad’s German friends had left for Cape Town. If he wasn’t seeing me, he had no reason to stay, so he left. His leaving wasn’t anything traumatic, because it never registered that we might lose touch and never see each other again. In my mind it was just Dad’s moving to Cape Town for a bit. Whatever.
与此同时，白人逐渐从尤维尔迁出，尤维尔开始慢慢衰败。我父亲的大多数德国朋友都搬去了开普敦。何况他又见不到我，也就没理由再待在这里，所以他也离开了。他的离开，并没有对我造成什么心灵创伤，因为我完全不觉得我们会失去联系，再也见不到了。在我脑海里，这件事只意味着爸爸要搬去开普敦住一段时间，无所谓的。
I wrote to the Swiss embassy asking them where my father was, but because my father is not on my birth certificate I had no proof that my father is my father. The embassy wrote back and said they couldn’t give me any information, because they didn’t know who I was. I tried calling them, and I got the runaround there as well. “Look, kid,” they said. “We can’t help you. We’re the Swiss embassy. Do you know nothing about the Swiss? Discretion is kind of our thing. That’s what we do. Tough luck.” I kept pestering them and finally they said, “Okay, we’ll take your letter and, if a man such as you’re describing exists, we might forward your letter to him. If he doesn’t, maybe we won’t. Let’s see what happens.”
我给瑞士大使馆写了一封信，询问我父亲的去向，但是由于我的出生证上没有我父亲的名字，所以我无法证明我父亲是我父亲。大使馆的人给我回信说，他们无法给我提供任何信息，因为他们不知道我是谁。我开始给他们打电话，但是他们依然回避我的请求。他们说：“孩子，我们无法帮助你。我们是瑞士大使馆，你是不了解瑞士人吗？我们以审慎的态度闻名。我们的长处就是保密。我们就是干这个的，你不太走运。”我持续骚扰他们，最终他们做出了让步，“好吧，我们会收下你的信，如果真有像你描述的这样一个人存在，我们也许会把你的信转交给他。如果没有这个人，我们也许就不转交了。听天由命吧。”
Because my father is so private, finding him was hard work. We didn’t have an address. He wasn’t in the phone book. I started by reaching out to some of his old connections, German expats in Johannesburg, a woman who used to date one of his friends who knew somebody who knew the last place he stayed. I got nowhere. Finally my mom suggested the Swiss embassy. “They have to know where he is,” she said, “because he has to be in touch with them.”
因为我的父亲太注重隐私，要找到他很不容易。我们没有他的地址。电话簿上也找不到他的名字。我开始联系以前认识我父亲的人，那些住在约翰内斯堡的德国移民。我得知一个女人曾经和我父亲的某个朋友约过会，而这个朋友认识的某个人知道我父亲的上一个住址。但最后，我还是一无所获。后来，我妈妈建议我去找瑞士大使馆。“他们肯定知道他在哪儿，因为他总要和大使馆保持联系。”
I’ll never forget that day. It was probably one of the weirdest days of my life, going to meet a person I knew and yet did not know at all. My memories of him felt just out of reach. I was trying to remember how he spoke, how he laughed, what his manner was. I parked on his street and started looking for his address. Camps Bay is full of older, semiretired white people, and as I walked down the road all these old white men were walking toward me and past me. My father was pushing seventy by that point, and I was so afraid I’d forgotten what he looked like. I was looking in the face of every old white man who passed me, like, Are you my daddy? Basically it looked like I was cruising old white dudes in a beachfront retirement community. Then finally I got to the address I’d been given and rang the bell, and the second he opened the door I recognized him. Hey! It’s you, I thought. Of course it’s you. You’re the guy. I know you.
我永远忘不了那天。那可能是我人生中最诡异的一天，我要去见一个我认识却又几乎不认识的人。关于他的记忆已经变得很模糊了。我努力去回忆他说话的样子，笑起来的样子，他有着怎样的脾气。我把车停在他住的那条街上，开始沿着路往前走，按照地址寻找他的家。坎普斯湾住了很多半退休的白人老头。我走在路上的时候，这些白人老头会迎面向我走来，和我擦身而过。那时我的父亲已经快70岁了，我很害怕自己早就忘了他长什么样。看着每一个从我身边经过的白人老头，我心里都会闪过一个疑问，你是我爸爸吗？我简直是在检阅这个滨海退休社区的每一个白人老头。最后，我找到了他的地址，按响门铃，在他开门的那一瞬间，我就认出了他。嘿！是你。我心里想着。当然是你。你是那个人，我认识你。
A few months later, a letter came back in the post: “Great to hear from you. How are you? Love, Dad.” He gave me his address in Cape Town, in a neighborhood called Camps Bay, and a few months later I went down to visit.
几个月后，我的邮箱里收到一封信。“很高兴收到你的消息。你过得好吗？爱你，爸爸。”他给了我他在开普敦的地址，一个叫坎普斯湾的地方。又过了几个月，我去那里看望了他。
We picked up right where we’d left off, which was him treating me exactly the way he’d treated me as a thirteen-year-old boy. Like the creature of habit he was, my father went straight back into it. “Right! So where were we? Here, I’ve got all your favorites. Potato Rösti. A bottle of Sprite. Custard with caramel.” Luckily my tastes hadn’t matured much since the age of thirteen, so I tucked right in.
我们从中断的地方立刻重新建立了联系，他对待我的方式和对待当年那个13岁的小男孩的方式一模一样。我的父亲是个保持一贯习惯的人，这次也不例外。“好的，我们该干什么了？我给你准备了你最爱吃的土豆罗斯蒂、雪碧和焦糖奶冻。”幸好我的口味和13岁时没有太大差别，我立刻大口吃了起来。
While I was eating he got up and went and picked up this book, an oversized photo album, and brought it back to the table. “I’ve been following you,” he said, and he opened it up. It was a scrapbook of everything I had ever done, every time my name was mentioned in a newspaper, everything from magazine covers to the tiniest club listings, from the beginning of my career all the way through to that week. He was smiling so big as he took me through it, looking at the headlines. “Trevor Noah Appearing This Saturday at the Blues Room.” “Trevor Noah Hosting New TV Show.”
我在吃的时候，他起身去拿了一个夹子过来，是一本超大的相册。他把它放到桌上，一边摊开一边说：“我一直在关注着你。”这是一本剪贴簿，里面有我做过的所有事情，报纸上每次提到我的名字，杂志上每次出现我的消息，哪怕是一条微不足道的俱乐部节目清单，从我职业生涯开始的那天直到这周的消息，全在里面。他带着我翻看，脸上露出大大的微笑，指着标题：“特雷弗·诺亚将会于周六在蓝屋俱乐部登台。”或者：“特雷弗·诺亚主持了新节目。”
I felt a flood of emotions rushing through me. It was everything I could do not to start crying. It felt like this ten-year gap in my life closed right up in an instant, like only a day had passed since I’d last seen him. For years I’d had so many questions. Is he thinking about me? Does he know what I’m doing? Is he proud of me? But he’d been with me the whole time. He’d always been proud of me. Circumstance had pulled us apart, but he was never not my father.
我感到身体内的感情汹涌。我需要使劲控制住自己不哭出来。我这十年里的生活缺憾，好像在一瞬间被填满了，好像父亲只离开了我一天。多年以来，我内心有那么多的疑问。他会想我吗？他知道我在做什么吗？他为我骄傲吗？但事实是，他一直陪着我。他一直在为我骄傲。因为环境让我们分开了，但他没有一天不是我的父亲。
I walked out of his house that day an inch taller. Seeing him had reaffirmed his choosing of me. He chose to have me in his life. He chose to answer my letter. I was wanted. Being chosen is the greatest gift you can give to another human being.
那天我走出我父亲的房子时，感觉自己长高了一英寸似的。这次的探望，让我更确信是他选择了我。他选择了让我存在于他的生活之中。他选择了回复我的信。我是被需要的。你能给予另一个人的最大的礼物，就是选择他。
I went down to spend a few days with my father, and I made it my mission: This weekend I will get to know my father. As soon as I arrived I started peppering him with questions. “Where are you from? Where did you go to school? Why did you do this? How did you do that?” He started getting visibly irritated.
我要去和父亲住几天，为此我确定了任务目标：这个周末我要尽可能了解我的父亲。我一到他家就开始用一连串的问题轰炸他：“你从哪儿来？你在哪儿上的学？为什么你要做这个？你是怎么做那个的？”他显然有些生气。
Once we reconnected, I was overcome by this drive to make up for all the years we’d missed. I decided the best way to do it was to interview him. I realized very quickly that that was a mistake. Interviews will give you facts and information, but facts and information weren’t really what I was after. What I wanted was a relationship, and an interview is not a relationship. Relationships are built in the silences. You spend time with people, you observe them and interact with them, and you come to know them — and that is what apartheid stole from us: time. You can’t make up for that with an interview, but I had to figure that out for myself.
我们重新联系上后，我有一种强烈的愿望，想要弥补我们错失的这些年。我想出的最好的方式就是采访他。很快我就发现这是个错误。采访可以给你事实和信息，但是我真正想要的并不是事实和信息。我想要的是一段关系，而采访不是关系。关系是建立在沉默上的。你和别人共度一段时间，你望着他们，和他们接触，然后开始了解他们——然而种族隔离让我们缺失了这个部分，也就是时间。你无法用采访来弥补上这段缺损的时间，但我得靠自己想明白这件事。
“You see? You’re getting to know me already.”
“看，你已经开始了解我了。”
“Well… not really.”
“呃…其实不是。”
“Is this how you normally get to know people, by interrogating them?”
“这是你平时了解别人的方法吗，用审问的方式？”
So we spent the weekend together. We had dinner and talked about politics. We watched F1 racing and talked about sports. We sat quietly in his backyard and listened to old Elvis Presley records. The whole time he said not one word about himself. Then, as I was packing up to leave, he walked over to me and sat down.
于是我们一起共度了一个周末。我们一起吃晚餐，谈论政治。我们看了一级方程式赛车，谈论体育。我们一起安静地坐在后院，听猫王的旧唱片。在这期间，他一个字也没有谈他自己。等我收拾好准备离开的时候，他走过来，在我面前坐下。
“Nothing. All I know is that you’re extremely secretive.”
“什么也没了解到。我只知道你特别注重隐私。”
“So how do you get to know people?”
“所以你都怎么去了解别人？”
“I want to get to know you.”
“我想了解你。”
“I dunno. By spending time with them, I guess.”
“不知道。可能，通过和他们相处吧。”
“So,” he said, “in the time we’ve spent together, what would you say you’ve learned about your dad?”
“所以，”他说，“在我们这段相处的时间里，你觉得你都了解到父亲的什么了？”
“What is this?” he said. “Why are you interrogating me? What’s going on here?”
“这是在干吗？”他说，“你为什么要审问我？现在我们这是在干吗？”
“Okay. So spend time with me. See what you find out.”
“好的。那你和我相处看看。看你能发现什么。”
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