《渺小一生》:“但是只談權(quán)利法案，還有比較性感的修正案。”

　 “You’re very welcome, Jude,” said Harold. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“不客氣，裘德?！惫_德說，“星期一見。”

　 He stood on the sidewalk and watched Harold’s car drive away, and then went up to his apartment, which was on the second floor of a brownstone adjacent to an MIT fraternity house. The brownstone’s owner, a retired sociology professor, lived on the ground floor and leased out the remaining three floors to graduate students: on the top floor were Santosh and Federico, who were getting their doctorates in electrical engineering at MIT, and on the third floor were Janusz and Isidore, who were both Ph.D. candidates at Harvard—Janusz in biochemistry and Isidore in Near Eastern religions—and directly below them were he and his roommate, Charlie Ma, whose real name was Chien-Ming Ma and whom everyone called CM. CM was an intern at Tufts Medical Center, and they kept almost entirely opposite schedules: he would wake and CM’s door would be closed and he would hear his wet, snuffly snores, and when he returned home in the evenings at eight, after working with Harold, CM would be gone. What he saw of CM he liked—he was from Taipei and had gone to boarding school in Connecticut and had a sleepy, roguish grin that made you want to smile back at him—and he was a friend of Andy’s friend, which was how they had met. Despite his perpetual air of stoned languor, CM was tidy as well, and liked to cook: he’d come home sometimes and find a plate of fried dumplings in the center of the table, with a note beneath that read EAT ME, or, occasionally, receive a text instructing him to rotate the chicken in its marinade before he went to bed, or asking him to pick up a bunch of cilantro on his way home. He always would, and would return to find the chicken simmered into a stew, or the cilantro minced and folded into scallop pancakes. Every few months or so, when their schedules intersected, all six of them would meet in Santosh and Federico’s apartment—theirs was the largest—and eat and play poker. Janusz and Isidore would worry aloud that girls thought they were gay because they were always hanging out with each other (CM cut his eyes toward him; he had bet him twenty dollars that they were sleeping together but were trying to pretend they were straight—at any rate, an impossible thing to prove), and Santosh and Federico would complain about how stupid their students were, and about how the quality of MIT undergraduates had really gone downhill since their time there five years ago.

他站在人行道上看著哈羅德的車子開走，才上樓回他的公寓。他住的這棟褐石樓房，隔壁是麻省理工學(xué)院一個兄弟會的會館。褐石樓房的主人是一位退休的社會學(xué)教授，住在一樓，他把剩下的三層樓出租給研究生：四樓住的是桑托什和費德里科，他們在麻省理工學(xué)院讀電機博士；三樓是雅努什和伊西多爾，兩個都是哈佛的博士候選人（雅努什專攻生物化學(xué)，伊西多爾則念近東宗教）；二樓則是他和他的室友查利·馬（Charlie Ma），他的本名是馬謙明，但大家都喊他CM。CM是塔夫茨醫(yī)學(xué)中心的實習(xí)醫(yī)生，兩人的作息時間幾乎完全相反：他醒來時，會聽到CM黏濁的鼾聲；等他幫哈羅德工作完，晚上8點回家，CM已經(jīng)出門上班去了。就他所看到的部分而言，他很喜歡CM（他來自臺北，曾就讀于康涅狄格的寄宿學(xué)校，帶著懶洋洋、惡作劇式的笑容，讓人不禁也對著他笑），是安迪朋友的朋友，這也是他們認(rèn)識的緣由。盡管CM總是一副懶洋洋的模樣，但他其實很愛干凈，也喜歡做菜，有時他回家后會發(fā)現(xiàn)餐桌中央放著一盤煎餃，盤子底下壓著一張字條“吃我”；偶爾，他會收到CM的短信，要他睡前把泡在腌醬里的雞肉翻一下，或是請他在回家路上買一把香菜。他總是照做，然后就會發(fā)現(xiàn)家里出現(xiàn)一鍋燉雞，或是他買的那些香菜被切碎放進了干貝煎餅里。每隔兩三個月，他們的時間剛好能湊上時，整棟樓的六名房客會聚集在桑托什和費德里科那里（因為他們住的地方最大）一起吃東西，玩撲克牌。雅努什和伊西多爾會說他們很擔(dān)心女生以為他們是同性戀，因為他們兩個總是泡在一起（CM朝他看了一眼，他曾跟他賭二十元，說他們其實睡在一起，又努力想假裝自己是異性戀者——但無論如何，這種事沒辦法證明）。桑托什和費德里科會抱怨他們的學(xué)生有多笨，還有麻省理工學(xué)院大學(xué)部的學(xué)生素質(zhì)跟他們五年前相比，真的是在走下坡了。

　 His and CM’s was the smallest of the apartments, because the landlord had annexed half of the floor to make a storage room. CM paid significantly more of the rent, so he had the bedroom. He occupied a corner of the living room, the part with the bay window. His bed was a floppy foam egg-carton pallet, and his books were lined up under the windowsill, and he had a lamp, and a folding paper screen to give him some privacy. He and CM had bought a large wooden table, which they placed in the dining-room alcove, and which had two metal folding chairs, one discarded from Janusz, the other from Federico. One half of the table was his, the other half CM’s, and both halves were stacked with books and papers and their laptops, both emitting their chirps and burbles throughout the day and night.

他和CM住的那戶最小，因為房東把其中一半樓面隔出來當(dāng)了倉庫。CM分?jǐn)偟姆孔獗人嘁淮蠼?，所以擁有臥室。他則占據(jù)客廳的一角，面對凸窗。他睡在一塊松軟的、像裝蛋托盤的泡棉床墊上，書則排列在窗臺底下。另外他有一盞燈，還有一面可以提供一點隱私的折疊紙屏風(fēng)。他和CM買了一張大木桌放在小餐廳里。此外，還有兩張金屬折疊椅，一把是雅努什不要的，一把來自費德里科。餐桌的一半歸他，另一半歸CM，兩邊都堆著書、紙張以及筆記本電腦，日夜各自發(fā)出細(xì)小的聲響。

　 People were always stunned by the apartment’s bleakness, but he had mostly ceased to notice it—although not entirely. Now, for example, he sat on the floor before the three cardboard boxes in which he stored his clothes, and lifted his new sweaters and shirts and socks and shoes from their envelopes of white tissue paper, placing them in his lap one at a time. They were the nicest things he had ever owned, and it seemed somehow shameful to put them in boxes meant to hold file folders. And so finally, he rewrapped them and returned them carefully to their shopping bags.

來過他們公寓的人總是被里頭的凄慘模樣嚇一跳。多數(shù)時候，他不太會在意，但也有例外的時候。比方現(xiàn)在，他坐在地板上三個放衣服的厚紙板箱前，把嶄新的毛衣、襯衫、襪子和鞋子從包裝的白色薄紙里拿出來，一件一件放在膝上。這是他擁有過最美好的東西，要把這么精致的衣物放進那些原該放檔案夾的箱子，好像很不像話。最后，他又把那些衣物包起來，小心翼翼地放回購物袋里。

　 The generosity of Harold’s gift unsettled him. First, there was the matter of the gift itself: he had never, never received anything so grand. Second, there was the impossibility of ever adequately repaying him. And third, there was the meaning behind the gesture: he had known for some time that Harold respected him, and even enjoyed his company. But was it possible that he was someone important to Harold, that Harold liked him more than as just a student, but as a real, actual friend? And if that was the case, why should it make him so self-conscious?

哈羅德慷慨的禮物讓他很不安。首先是禮物本身，他從來、從來沒有收過這么貴重的禮物。第二，他根本不可能適當(dāng)?shù)鼗貓笏?。第三就是送禮這件事背后的意義。這些日子以來，他已經(jīng)知道哈羅德尊重他，甚至很喜歡有他做伴。但對哈羅德來說，他有沒有可能是個很重要的人，不只是一個學(xué)生而已，而是真正、實際的朋友？如果是這樣，為什么他會覺得如此不安呢？

　 It had taken him many months to feel truly comfortable around Harold: not in the classroom or in his office, but outside of the classroom, outside of the office. In life, as Harold would say. He would return home after dinner at Harold’s house and feel a flush of relief. He knew why, too, as much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself: traditionally, men—adult men, which he didn’t yet consider himself among—had been interested in him for one reason, and so he had learned to be frightened of them. But Harold didn’t seem to be one of those men. (Although Brother Luke hadn’t seemed to be one of those men either.) He was frightened of everything, it sometimes seemed, and he hated that about himself. Fear and hatred, fear and hatred: often, it seemed that those were the only two qualities he possessed. Fear of everyone else; hatred of himself.

跟哈羅德相處，他花了好多個月才真正感到自在：不光是在教室或他的辦公室，而是在教室之外，在辦公室之外，或是像哈羅德會說的，在生活中。他去哈羅德家吃過晚餐回來后，會覺得如釋重負(fù)，而且他知道為什么，盡管他很不想承認(rèn)。慣例上，男人——成年男人，他還沒把自己列入其中——對他有興趣都是出于一個原因，因此他早已學(xué)會怕他們（盡管盧克修士似乎也不是這類令他害怕的男人）。有時候，他好像什么都怕，而且他恨自己這一點。害怕與憎恨，害怕與憎恨，他似乎只有這兩種特質(zhì)，害怕其他所有人；憎恨他自己。

　 He had known of Harold before he met him, for Harold was known. He was a relentless questioner: every remark you made in his class would be seized upon and pecked at in an unending volley of Whys. He was trim and tall, and had a way of pacing in a tight circle, his torso pitched forward, when he was engaged or excited.

早在認(rèn)識哈羅德之前，他就知道他這個人了，因為哈羅德很有名。他是個堅持不懈的提問者：你在他課堂上講的每句評論，他都會抓住不放，用一連串沒完沒了的“為什么”不斷追問。他身材高而修長，常常在課堂上繞著小圈圈踱步，每當(dāng)他提起興趣或感到興奮時，上半身就會往前探。

　 To his disappointment, there was much he simply couldn’t remember from that first-year contracts class with Harold. He couldn’t remember, for example, the specifics of the paper he wrote that interested Harold and which led to conversations with him outside the classroom and, eventually, to an offer to become one of his research assistants. He couldn’t remember anything particularly interesting he said in class. But he could remember Harold on that first day of the semester, pacing and pacing, and lecturing them in his low, quick voice.

可惜他法學(xué)院第一年就上了哈羅德的契約法，有好多事情都不記得了。比方說，他不記得引起哈羅德注意的那篇論文到底寫了什么，才導(dǎo)致兩人開始在課堂外談話，最后哈羅德還找他去當(dāng)研究助理。他不記得自己在課堂上說了什么特別有趣的話。但他清楚記得那個學(xué)期的第一天，哈羅德在課堂上踱步繞了一圈又一圈，用他低沉、快速的聲音講課。

　 “You’re One Ls,” Harold had said. “And congratulations, all of you. As One Ls, you’ll be taking a pretty typical course load: contracts; torts; property; civil procedure; and, next year, constitutional and criminal law. But you know all this.

“你們是法學(xué)院一年級生?！惫_德當(dāng)時說，“恭喜各位。在法學(xué)院一年級，你們會學(xué)習(xí)一套很典型的課程，契約法、侵權(quán)法、財產(chǎn)法、民事訴訟法，然后明年是憲法和刑法。這些你們都知道了。

　 “What you may not know is that this course load reflects—beautifully, simply—the very structure of our society, the very mechanics of what a society, our particular society, needs to make it work. To have a society, you first need an institutional framework: that’s constitutional law. You need a system of punishment: that’s criminal. You need to know that you have a system in place that will make those other systems work: that’s civil procedure. You need a way to govern matters of domain and ownership: that’s property. You need to know that someone will be financially accountable for injuries caused you by others: that’s torts. And finally, you need to know that people will keep their agreements, that they will honor their promises: and that is contracts.”

“但你們可能不知道，這套課程完美而簡單地反映了我們這個社會的架構(gòu)，以及我們這個社會運轉(zhuǎn)所需的種種機制。要組建一個社會，首先要有一套制度化的框架：這是憲法。要有一套懲罰制度：這是刑法。必須確保有一套適當(dāng)?shù)闹贫?，可以讓其他各種制度運行：這是民事訴訟法。需要一套方法來管理領(lǐng)域和所有權(quán)的事務(wù)：這是財產(chǎn)法。必須確保人在受到其他人的損害時，施害者會負(fù)起財務(wù)責(zé)任：這是侵權(quán)法。最后，必須確保人們會遵守協(xié)議，履行承諾：這個，就是契約法?！?

　 He paused. “Now, I don’t want to be reductive, but I’ll bet half of you are here so you can someday wheedle money out of people—torts people, there’s nothing to be ashamed of!—and the other half of you are here because you think you’re going to change the world. You’re here because you dream of arguing before the Supreme Court, because you think the real challenge of the law lies in the blank spaces between the lines of the Constitution. But I’m here to tell you—it doesn’t. The truest, the most intellectually engaging, the richest field of the law is contracts. Contracts are not just sheets of paper promising you a job, or a house, or an inheritance: in its purest, truest, broadest sense, contracts govern every realm of law. When we choose to live in a society, we choose to live under a contract, and to abide by the rules that a contract dictates for us—the Constitution itself is a contract, albeit a malleable contract, and the question of just how malleable it is, exactly, is where law intersects with politics—and it is under the rules, explicit or otherwise, of this contract that we promise not to kill, and to pay our taxes, and not to steal. But in this case, we are both the creators of and bound by this contract: as citizens of this country, we have assumed, from birth, an obligation to respect and follow its terms, and we do so daily.

他暫停一下?！艾F(xiàn)在，我不想太簡化，但我打賭你們有一半的人會來上法學(xué)院，是打算有一天可以從人們身上賺到錢——也就是侵權(quán)的人，這沒什么好羞愧的！——而另外一半的人來上法學(xué)院，是因為你認(rèn)為你們會改變世界。你們來到這里是因為你們夢想在最高法院辯論，因為你們認(rèn)為法律的真正挑戰(zhàn)，就是憲法條文間的空白地帶。但我現(xiàn)在要告訴你們，并不是。法律最真實、最迷人、最復(fù)雜的領(lǐng)域，就是契約法。契約法不光是一堆紙，承諾給你一份工作、一棟房子或一份遺產(chǎn)而已，以最純粹、最真實、最具概括性的意義而言，契約法統(tǒng)御了法律的每個領(lǐng)域。當(dāng)我們選擇住在一個社會時，我們就選擇要在一份契約下生活。這份契約是為我們制定的，我們要遵守其中的規(guī)則——憲法本身就是一份契約，盡管是一份有延展性的契約，至于到底可以延展到什么地步，答案就在于法律與政治的交叉點——而在這份契約的規(guī)則下，無論規(guī)則明確與否，我們承諾不殺人、要繳稅、不偷盜。但是就憲法的例子，我們既是這份契約的擬定者，也受到契約的約束：我們認(rèn)為，身為這個國家的公民，從出生開始，我們就有義務(wù)尊重并遵循憲法的條款，沒有一天例外。

　 “In this class, you will of course learn the mechanics of contracts—how one is created, how one is broken, how binding one is and how to unbind yourself from one—but you will also be asked to consider law itself as a series of contracts. Some are more fair—and this one time, I’ll allow you to say such a thing—than others. But fairness is not the only, or even the most important, consideration in law: the law is not always fair. Contracts are not fair, not always. But sometimes they are necessary, these unfairnesses, because they are necessary for the proper functioning of society. In this class you will learn the difference between what is fair and what is just, and, as important, between what is fair and what is necessary. You will learn about the obligations we have to one another as members of society, and how far society should go in enforcing those obligations. You will learn to see your life—all of our lives—as a series of agreements, and it will make you rethink not only the law but this country itself, and your place in it.”

“在這門課上，你們當(dāng)然會學(xué)到契約的種種機制——如何擬定、如何違反、具有什么樣的約束力、如何解約——但我也會要求你們把法律本身視為一連串的契約。有些比較公平——這一回，我會允許你們說公平——有些則不公平。但公平并不是法律唯一的考慮，甚至也不是最重要的，法律不見得總是公平，契約也不見得總是公平。但這些不公平有時是必要的，因為這樣社會才能順利運作。在這堂課，你們會學(xué)到公平和正義之間的差異，以及同樣重要的，公平和必要性之間的差異。你們會學(xué)到我們身為社會的一分子，對彼此有什么義務(wù)，以及這個社會應(yīng)該采取什么方法迫使我們盡這些義務(wù)。你們會學(xué)到把自己的生活，我們所有人的生活，視為一連串的協(xié)議，然后不光重新思考法律，也重新思考這個國家本身，還有你在其中的位置?！?

　 He had been thrilled by Harold’s speech, and in the coming weeks, by how differently Harold thought, by how he would stand at the front of the room like a conductor, stretching out a student’s argument into strange and unimaginable formations. Once, a fairly benign discussion about the right to privacy—both the most cherished and the foggiest of constitutional rights, according to Harold, whose definition of contracts often ignored conventional boundaries and bounded happily into other fields of law—had led to an argument between the two of them about abortion, which he felt was indefensible on moral grounds but necessary on social ones. “Aha!” Harold had said; he was one of the few professors who would entertain not just legal arguments but moral ones. “And, Mr. St. Francis, what happens when we forsake morals in law for social governance? What is the point at which a country, and its people, should start valuing social control over its sense of morality? Is there such a point? I’m not convinced there is.” But he had hung in, and the class had stilled around them, watching the two of them debate back and forth.

哈羅德的這一番話深深打動了他。接下來幾個星期，他又驚嘆于哈羅德的思考方式有多么與眾不同，驚嘆于他會像個指揮家似的站在教室前方，把一個學(xué)生的觀點延伸為奇怪而無法想象的結(jié)構(gòu)。有一回，他和哈羅德本來頗為溫和地討論著隱私權(quán)——這是憲法的種種權(quán)利中最珍貴也最模糊的，根據(jù)哈羅德的說法，隱私權(quán)的契約定義往往無視常見的疆界，愉快地將自身納入其他法律的領(lǐng)域中——但后來卻演變成他們兩個對于墮胎的論辯。他說墮胎在道德立場上站不住腳，但在社會觀點上卻是必要的。“哈！”哈羅德當(dāng)時說，他是少數(shù)不但對法律論點有興趣、也對道德論點有興趣的教授，“那么，圣弗朗西斯同學(xué)，如果我們?yōu)榱酥卫砩鐣?，拋棄了法律中的道德，那會怎么樣呢？在什么樣的狀況下，一個國家及其人民應(yīng)該開始重視社會控制而非道德觀念呢？那樣的狀況存在嗎？我不認(rèn)為?！钡麍猿植煌俗?，其他同學(xué)也就只能看著他們兩人一來一往繼續(xù)爭論。

　 Harold was the author of three books, but it was his last, The American Handshake: The Promises and Failures of the Declaration of Independence, that had made him famous. The book, which he had read even before he met Harold, was a legal interpretation of the Declaration of Independence: Which of its promises had been kept and which had not, and were it written today, would it be able to withstand trends in contemporary jurisprudence? (“Short answer: No,” read the Times review.) Now he was researching his fourth book, a sequel of sorts to The American Handshake, about the Constitution, from a similar perspective.

哈羅德寫過三本書，讓他成名的是最新的一本《美國式握手：獨立宣言的承諾與失敗》。在認(rèn)識哈羅德之前他就讀過了。書中以法律的觀點詮釋獨立宣言，哪些承諾兌現(xiàn)了，哪些沒有；另外，如果這篇宣言寫在今天，經(jīng)得起當(dāng)代法學(xué)潮流的考驗嗎？（“簡短的答案：不?！薄都~約時報》的書評如此歸納。）現(xiàn)在他在幫忙做的研究是針對哈羅德的第四本書，那是《美國式握手》的某種續(xù)論，以同樣的觀點談憲法。

　 “But only the Bill of Rights, and the sexier amendments,” Harold told him when he was interviewing him for the research assistant position.

“但是只談權(quán)利法案，還有比較性感的修正案?！彼?yīng)征研究助理職位時，哈羅德這么告訴他。

　 “I didn’t know some were sexier than others,” he said.

“我都不知道某些修正案比其他的性感?！?

　 “Of course some are sexier than others,” said Harold. “Only the eleventh, twelfth, fourteenth, and sixteenth are sexy. The rest are basically the dross of politics past.”

“當(dāng)然有?！惫_德說，“只有第十一條、十二條、十四條、十六條是性感的，其他基本上都是過往政治的糟粕?！?

　 “The thirteenth is garbage?” he asked, enjoying himself.

“第十三條是垃圾？”他津津有味地問。

　 “I didn’t say it was garbage,” Harold said, “just not sexy.”

“我沒說那是垃圾?！惫_德說，“只是不性感罷了?！?

　 “But I think that’s what dross means.”

“可是我以為那就是糟粕的意思啊。”