How I loved the way he repeated what I myself had just repeated. It made me think of a caress, or of a gesture, which happens to be totally accidental the first time but becomes intentional the second time and more so yet the third. It reminded me of the way Mafalda would make my bed every morning, first by folding the top sheet over the blanket, then by folding the sheet back again to cover the pillows on top of the blanket, and once more yet when she folded the whole thing over the bedspread—back and forth until I knew that tucked in between these multiple folds were tokens of something at once pious and indulgent, like acquiescence in an instant of passion.
Silence was always light and unobtrusive on those afternoons.
 
我多么喜歡他那樣重復(fù)我自己剛剛重復(fù)過的話。這讓我想起一個愛撫，或一個姿勢。第一次發(fā)生完全是偶然，第二次卻變成有意為之，第三次更是如此。也讓我想起瑪法爾達每天早上替我整理床鋪的樣子：先把被單蓋在毛毯上，然后反折塞入毛毯上的枕頭下方，最后再覆上床罩——塞在這層層疊疊里的，是既虔誠又縱容的某個東西的象征，就像對剎那激情的默許。
那些午后的沉默總是輕松而不唐突。
 
“I’m not telling,” I said.
“Then I’m going back to sleep,” he’d say.
My heart was racing. He must have known.
Profound silence again. Moments later:
“This is heaven.”
And I wouldn’t hear him say another word for at least an hour.
There was nothing I loved more in life than to sit at my table and pore over my transcriptions while he lay on his belly marking pages he’d pick up every morning from Signora Milani, his translator in B.
 
“我不告訴你。”我說。
“那我要回去睡覺了。”他說。我心跳如雷。他肯定知道了。再度陷入深深的沉默。過了一會兒……
“這里是天堂。”
接下來至少一小時，我不會聽到他再說一個字。
人生中我喜愛的莫過于此，當(dāng)我坐在我的桌邊細讀改編譜，他就趴在地上圈點他每天早晨從?B?城的譯者米拉尼太太那兒拿來的文稿。

《請以你的名字呼喚我》