《渺小一生》:“我爸媽很喜歡你?！?/h1>

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2020年03月02日

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　 THE ELEVENTH APARTMENT had only one closet, but it did have a sliding glass door that opened onto a small balcony, from which he could see a man sitting across the way, outdoors in only a T-shirt and shorts even though it was October, smoking. Willem held up a hand in greeting to him, but the man didn’t wave back.

十一號公寓里只有一個衣柜，不過倒是有一道玻璃拉門通向小陽臺，威廉從陽臺可以看到一名男子坐在對面抽煙，盡管是十月，那人卻只穿了T恤和短褲。威廉抬手跟那人打招呼，對方卻沒反應(yīng)。

　 In the bedroom, Jude was accordioning the closet door, opening and shutting it, when Willem came in. “There’s only one closet,” he said.

在臥室里，裘德把衣柜的折疊式拉門打開又關(guān)上，這時威廉進來。“只有一個衣柜。”裘德說。

　 “That’s okay,” Willem said. “I have nothing to put in it anyway.”

“沒關(guān)系，”威廉說，“反正我沒有東西可放。”

　 “Neither do I.” They smiled at each other. The agent from the building wandered in after them. “We’ll take it,” Jude told her.

“我也沒有。”兩人相視微笑。公寓管理人跟在他們后頭走進來。“我們決定租了。”裘德告訴她。

　 But back at the agent’s office, they were told they couldn’t rent the apartment after all. “Why not?” Jude asked her.

但是回到公寓管理人的辦公室，她說他們不能租這間公寓。“為什么不行？”裘德問她。

　 “You don’t make enough to cover six months’ rent, and you don’t have anything in savings,” said the agent, suddenly terse. She had checked their credit and their bank accounts and had at last realized that there was something amiss about two men in their twenties who were not a couple and yet were trying to rent a one-bedroom apartment on a dull (but still expensive) stretch of Twenty-fifth Street. “Do you have anyone who can sign on as your guarantor? A boss? Parents?”

“你們的收入不夠交六個月的房租，而且你們的存款太少。”那管理人說，講話忽然精簡起來。她查了他們的信用狀況和銀行賬戶，總算明白這兩個男人哪里不對勁，他們才二十來歲，不是一對，但是打算在25街一個冷清（但還是很貴）的地段租下一間公寓。“你們能找誰簽字當(dāng)保證人嗎？上司？父母親？”

　 “Our parents are dead,” said Willem, swiftly.

“我們的父母親都過世了。”威廉立刻說。

　 The agent sighed. “Then I suggest you lower your expectations. No one who manages a well-run building is going to rent to candidates with your financial profile.” And then she stood, with an air of finality, and looked pointedly at the door.

那管理人嘆了口氣：“那我建議你們把期望降低。以你們的財務(wù)狀況，任何管理良好的公寓，都不可能租給你們。”然后她站起來，帶著一種斬釘截鐵的意味，同時意有所指地看著房門。

　 When they told JB and Malcolm this, however, they made it into a comedy: the apartment floor became tattooed with mouse droppings, the man across the way had almost exposed himself, the agent was upset because she had been flirting with Willem and he hadn’t reciprocated.

但是后來他們把這事告訴杰比和馬爾科姆時，卻改編成了笑話版：公寓地板上到處黏著老鼠屎，對面陽臺上的男子差點“春光”外泄，管理人很不高興，因為她一直在跟威廉放電，他卻沒反應(yīng)。

　 “Who wants to live on Twenty-fifth and Second anyway,” asked JB. They were at Pho Viet Huong in Chinatown, where they met twice a month for dinner. Pho Viet Huong wasn’t very good—the pho was curiously sugary, the lime juice was soapy, and at least one of them got sick after every meal—but they kept coming, both out of habit and necessity. You could get a bowl of soup or a sandwich at Pho Viet Huong for five dollars, or you could get an entrée, which were eight to ten dollars but much larger, so you could save half of it for the next day or for a snack later that night. Only Malcolm never ate the whole of his entrée and never saved the other half either, and when he was finished eating, he put his plate in the center of the table so Willem and JB—who were always hungry—could eat the rest.

“總之，誰想住在25街和第二大道交叉口啊。”杰比說。此時他們在唐人街的越鄉(xiāng)餐館，這里是他們四個人每月兩次聚會吃晚餐的老地方。越鄉(xiāng)餐館不是太好——河粉甜得莫名其妙，酸橙汁像肥皂水，而且每回吃過，他們至少會有一個人不舒服——不過他們還是照樣跑去，出于習(xí)慣，也是不得已。越鄉(xiāng)餐館的濃湯或三明治都不會超過五元，主菜也只有八到十元，可是分量很大，即使剩下一半還是可以打包回家第二天吃，或是當(dāng)夜宵。只不過馬爾科姆向來不把他的主菜吃完，也從不打包，每回他吃飽了，就把自己那一盤放在餐桌中央，于是威廉和杰比就可以把它吃掉（他們總是很餓）。

　 “Of course we don’t want to live at Twenty-fifth and Second, JB,” said Willem, patiently, “but we don’t really have a choice. We don’t have any money, remember?”

“我們當(dāng)然不想住在25街和第二大道交叉口，”威廉耐心地說，“可是杰比，我們其實也沒別的辦法。別忘了，我們根本沒錢啊。”

　 “I don’t understand why you don’t stay where you are,” said Malcolm, who was now pushing his mushrooms and tofu—he always ordered the same dish: oyster mushrooms and braised tofu in a treacly brown sauce—around his plate, as Willem and JB eyed it.

“我不懂你們干嗎不住在原來的地方。”馬爾科姆說。這會兒他把蘑菇和豆腐挪到盤子邊緣（他總是點同樣的菜：有濃稠褐色醬汁的蘑菇紅燒豆腐），威廉和杰比同時瞪著他的盤子看。

　 “Well, I can’t,” Willem said. “Remember?” He had to have explained this to Malcolm a dozen times in the last three months. “Merritt’s boyfriend’s moving in, so I have to move out.”

“唔，沒辦法啊。”威廉說，他過去三個月來已經(jīng)跟馬爾科姆解釋過十幾次，“你又忘了？梅里特的男朋友搬進來了，所以我得搬出去。”

　 “But why do you have to move out?”

“可是為什么要你搬出去？”

　 “Because it’s Merritt’s name on the lease, Malcolm!” said JB.

“因為當(dāng)初簽租約的是梅里特啊，馬爾科姆！”杰比說。

　 “Oh,” Malcolm said. He was quiet. He often forgot what he considered inconsequential details, but he also never seemed to mind when people grew impatient with him for forgetting. “Right.” He moved the mushrooms to the center of the table. “But you, Jude—”

“喔。”馬爾科姆輕聲說。他總是忘記這些他認為不重要的細節(jié)，而且其他人對他的健忘不耐煩時，他好像也從不在意。“對了，”他把那盤蘑菇推到桌子中央，“可是你，裘德……”

　 “I can’t stay at your place forever, Malcolm. Your parents are going to kill me at some point.”

“我不能永遠住在你那，馬爾科姆。你爸媽早晚會殺了我。”

　 “My parents love you.”

“我爸媽很喜歡你。”