《渺小一生》:“裘德，生日快樂?！?/h1>

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2020年07月23日

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　 “Okay,” he says at last. “Okay.”

“好吧，”最后他終于說，“好吧?！?

　 “Okay,” Richard says, standing. “I’ll see you downstairs in half an hour.”

“好吧，”理查德說著站起來，“那就半個(gè)小時(shí)后樓下見了?！?

　 He showers, and then down he goes, with a bottle of Tempranillo he remembers that Richard likes. In the apartment he is waved away from the kitchen, and so he sits at the long table that dominates the space, which can and has sat twenty-four, and strokes Richard’s cat, Mustache, which has jumped into his lap. He remembers the first time he saw this apartment with its dangling chandeliers and its large beeswax sculptures; over the years it has become more domesticated, but it is still, indisputably, Richard’s, with its palette of bone-white and wax-yellow, although now India’s paintings, bright, violent abstractions of female nudes, hang on the walls, and there are carpets on the floor. It has been months since he’s been inside this apartment, where he used to visit at least once a week. He still sees Richard, of course, but only in passing; mostly, he tries to avoid him, and when Richard calls him to have dinner or asks to stop by, he always says he is too busy, too tired.

他沖了澡之后下樓，帶了一瓶理查德很喜歡的丹魄紅葡萄酒。到了理查德的工作室，他想進(jìn)廚房幫忙，卻被理查德趕了出來，于是就坐在最顯眼的長(zhǎng)桌旁（這張桌子可以、也實(shí)際坐滿過二十四個(gè)人），理查德那只名叫“小胡子”的貓?zhí)剿ド希麚崦?。他回想起第一次看到這間公寓時(shí)，里頭有懸垂的枝狀吊燈和大型蜂蠟雕塑；多年來，這里變得越來越有家的感覺，但是依然有明顯的理查德風(fēng)格：一片骨白和蠟黃的色調(diào)，不過現(xiàn)在墻上掛著印蒂亞鮮艷、極端抽象的女性裸體畫作，地上也出現(xiàn)了地毯。以前他每周至少進(jìn)來一次，但最近他已經(jīng)好幾個(gè)月沒來了。當(dāng)然他還是會(huì)看到理查德，但只有進(jìn)出公寓時(shí)碰到；大部分時(shí)候他都設(shè)法躲開。理查德打電話邀他吃晚餐，或是要他有空過去坐一下，他總說他太忙或太累了。

　 “I couldn’t remember how you felt about my famous seitan stir-fry, so I actually got scallops,” Richard says, and places a dish before him.

“我不記得你覺得我出名的炒面筋怎么樣，所以我做了干貝?！崩聿榈抡f，把一盤菜放在他面前。

　 “I like your famous stir-fry,” he says, although he can’t remember what it is, and if he likes it or not. “Thank you, Richard.”

“我喜歡你的炒面筋，”他說，其實(shí)他不記得那是什么，也不記得自己喜不喜歡，“理查德，謝謝你。”

　 Richard pours them both a glass of wine, and then holds his up. “Happy birthday, Jude,” he says, solemnly, and he realizes that Richard is right: today is his birthday. Harold has been calling and e-mailing him all this week with a frequency that is unusual even for him, and except for the most cursory of replies, he has not spoken to him at all. He knows Harold will be worried about him. There have been more texts from Andy as well, and from some other people, and now he knows why, and he begins to cry: from everyone’s kindness, which he has repaid so poorly, from his loneliness, from the proof that life has, despite his efforts to let it, gone on after all. He is fifty-one, and Willem has been dead for eight months.

理查德幫兩個(gè)人倒了葡萄酒，然后舉起杯子?！棒玫?，生日快樂?！彼嵵氐卣f。他才想到理查德說得沒錯(cuò)：今天是他的生日。這一整個(gè)星期，哈羅德一直既打電話又寫電子郵件給他，頻率高得有點(diǎn)離譜。除了匆忙回復(fù)一下，他沒跟他多談。他知道哈羅德會(huì)擔(dān)心他。安迪發(fā)來的短信增多了，其他人也是?，F(xiàn)在他知道為什么了，開始哭起來：因?yàn)槊總€(gè)人是這么好心，他卻沒什么可回報(bào)，因?yàn)樗墓聠危驗(yàn)樗m然努力停留在過去，事實(shí)卻證明人生還是繼續(xù)往前。他51歲了，威廉也死去八個(gè)月了。

　 Richard doesn’t say anything, just sits next to him on the bench and holds him. “I know this isn’t going to help,” he says at last, “but I love you too, Jude.”

理查德什么都沒說，只是坐在他旁邊的凳子上擁住他?！拔抑勒f這個(gè)也沒有幫助，”最后他終于說，“但我也愛你，裘德?！?

　 He shakes his head, unable to speak. In recent years he has gone from being embarrassed about crying at all to crying constantly to himself to crying around Willem to now, in the final falling away of his dignity, crying in front of anyone, at any time, over anything.

他搖搖頭，說不出話來。最近幾年，他已經(jīng)從完全不好意思哭，變成會(huì)自己偷哭，又變成會(huì)在威廉面前哭，然而現(xiàn)在，他終于完全不顧自尊，會(huì)在任何時(shí)間、任何人面前、為了任何事而哭。

　 He leans against Richard’s chest and sobs into his shirt. Richard is another person whose unstinting, unwavering friendship and compassion for him has always perplexed him. He knows that some of Richard’s feelings for him are twined with his feelings for Willem, and this he understands: he had made Willem a promise, and Richard is serious about his obligations. But there is something about Richard’s steadiness, his complete reliability, that—coupled with his height, his very size—makes him think of him as some sort of massive tree-god, an oak come into human form, something solid and ancient and indestructible. Theirs is not a chatty relationship, but it is Richard who has become the friend of his adulthood, who has become, in a way, not just a friend but a parent, although he is only four years older. A brother, then: someone whose dependability and sense of decency are inviolable.

他靠在理查德的胸膛，對(duì)著他的襯衫啜泣。理查德是另一個(gè)對(duì)他付出慷慨、堅(jiān)定的友誼與同理心的朋友，而他總是困惑不解。他知道理查德對(duì)他的感情，有一部分跟他對(duì)威廉的感情分不開，這點(diǎn)他明白：理查德答應(yīng)過威廉會(huì)照看他，而理查德很認(rèn)真地看待自己的責(zé)任。但是理查德還有一種沉穩(wěn)、可靠的特質(zhì)，加上個(gè)子高大，他總是把他想成某種巨大的樹神，像一棵櫟樹化為人身，結(jié)實(shí)、古老又堅(jiān)不可摧。他們的交情不是通過一起閑聊八卦建立的，然而理查德，這位成年期認(rèn)識(shí)的朋友，就某方面而言，不光是他的朋友，也像父母一樣，但其實(shí)理查德只比他大四歲。那么，就是哥哥了：一個(gè)永遠(yuǎn)可靠、有禮貌的人。

　 Finally, he is able to stop, and apologize, and after he cleans himself up in the bathroom, they eat, slowly, drinking the wine, talking about Richard’s work. At the end of the meal, Richard returns from the kitchen with a lumpy little cake, into which he has thrust six candles. “Five plus one,” Richard explains. He makes himself smile, then; he blows out the candles; Richard cuts them both slices. The cake is crumbly and figgy, more scone than cake, and they both eat their pieces in silence.

最后，他終于停下不哭，跟理查德道歉，去洗手間整理自己。他們坐下來慢條斯理地吃晚餐，一邊喝葡萄酒，閑聊理查德的作品?？斐酝陼r(shí)，理查德去廚房，拿了一個(gè)凹凸不平的小蛋糕出來，上頭插著六根蠟燭?！拔寮右??！崩聿榈陆忉?。他逼自己露出微笑，吹熄那些蠟燭，理查德給兩人各切了幾片。那蛋糕易碎，且有無花果的口感，比較像司康而非蛋糕，但他們兩個(gè)還是默默地吃掉。

　 He stands to help Richard with the dishes, but when Richard tells him to go upstairs, he is relieved, because he’s exhausted; this is the most socializing he has done since Thanksgiving. At the door, Richard hands him something, a package wrapped in brown paper, and then hugs him. “He wouldn’t want you to be unhappy, Judy,” he says, and he nods against Richard’s cheek. “He would hate seeing you like this.”

他站起來要幫理查德收拾碗盤，但理查德叫他上樓別管了。他松了一口氣，因?yàn)樗麑?shí)在筋疲力盡，這是感恩節(jié)后他做過最社交化的活動(dòng)。理查德送他到門口，遞給他一個(gè)用褐色紙包起來的東西，還擁抱他。“小裘，他不會(huì)希望你不快樂的?！崩聿榈抡f，他貼著理查德的臉頰點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭?！八吹侥氵@樣會(huì)很難過?！?

　 “I know,” he says.

“我知道。”他說。

　 “And do me a favor,” Richard says, still holding him. “Call JB, okay? I know it’s difficult for you, but—he loved Willem too, you know. Not like you, I know, but still. And Malcolm. He misses him.”

“另外幫我一個(gè)忙，”理查德說，還是抱著他，“打電話給杰比，好嗎？我知道對(duì)你來說很難，但是他也愛威廉，你知道。不像你這么愛，我知道，但他還是很愛。還有馬爾科姆。他想念他?！?

　 “I know,” he repeats, tears coming to his eyes once more. “I know.”

“我知道，”他又說了一次，眼睛又涌出淚水，“我知道?！?

　 “Come back next Sunday,” Richard says, and kisses him. “Or any day, really. I miss seeing you.”

“下個(gè)星期天再過來吧，”理查德說，然后吻了他，“或者隨便哪一天，真的。我想念常?？吹侥愕娜兆??！?

　 “I will,” he says. “Richard—thank you.”

“我會(huì)的，”他說，“理查德——謝謝你?！?

　 “Happy birthday, Jude.”

“裘德，生日快樂?！?

　 He takes the elevator upstairs. It’s suddenly grown late. Back in his apartment, he goes to his study, sits on the sofa. There is a box that he hasn’t opened that was messengered over to him from Flora weeks ago; inside it are Malcolm’s bequests to him, and to Willem—which are now also his. The only thing Willem’s death has helped with is blunting the shock, the horror of Malcolm’s, and still, he has been unable to open the box.

他坐電梯上樓，忽然覺得時(shí)間很晚了。回到自己家里，他往書房去，坐在沙發(fā)上。里頭有個(gè)沒拆的箱子，是弗洛拉幾周前請(qǐng)人送來的：里頭是馬爾科姆遺贈(zèng)給他的東西，還有給威廉的，現(xiàn)在都是他的了。威廉的死唯一有幫助的，就是減弱馬爾科姆之死帶來的震撼與驚恐。然而，他一直沒有勇氣打開那個(gè)箱子。

　 But now he will. First, though, he unwraps Richard’s present and sees that it is a small bust, carved from wood and mounted on a heavy black-iron cube, of Willem, and he gasps as if slugged. Richard has always claimed that he’s terrible with figurative sculpture, but he knows he’s not, and this piece is proof of it. He glides his fingers over Willem’s sightless eyes, across Willem’s crest of hair, and after doing so, lifts them to his nose and smells sandalwood. On the bottom of the base is etched “To J on his 51st. With love. R.”

但現(xiàn)在他要打開了。不過他先拆開理查德的禮物，發(fā)現(xiàn)里頭是一個(gè)小小的木雕半身像，固定在一個(gè)方形的黑鐵底座上。他一看到那是威廉，猛吸了一口氣，像是被揍了一拳般。理查德總說自己很不會(huì)做人像雕塑，但他知道并非如此，這件作品就是個(gè)證明。他手指撫過威廉再也看不見了的眼睛，撫過威廉起伏的頭發(fā)，然后把雕像湊到鼻子前，嗅到了檀香氣味。在底座下方刻著“獻(xiàn)給裘德的51歲生日。致上愛。理查德”。

　 He starts to cry again; stops. He places the bust on the cushion next to him and opens the box. At first he sees nothing but wads of newspaper, and he gropes carefully inside until his hands close on something solid, which he lifts out: it is the scale model of Lantern House, its walls rendered from boxwood, that had once sat in Bellcast’s offices, alongside the scale models of every other project the firm had ever built, in form or in reality. The model is about two feet square, and he settles it on his lap before holding it to his face, looking through its thin Plexiglas windows, hoisting the roof up and walking his fingers through its rooms.

他又開始哭；然后才停下來。他把那胸像放在身邊的抱枕上，再打開書房里的那只箱子。一開始，他只看到一團(tuán)團(tuán)報(bào)紙，于是他把手伸進(jìn)去，小心翼翼地摸索，直到他摸到一個(gè)結(jié)實(shí)的東西，再抓出來：是燈籠屋的縮小模型，墻壁是黃楊木板做的。這個(gè)模型本來放在鐘模建筑師事務(wù)所的辦公室里，跟事務(wù)所做過的所有案子的模型放在一起，無論是實(shí)際建造或只是單純規(guī)劃的。這個(gè)模型大約兩英尺見方，他放在膝上，臉湊上去，看著里頭的樹脂玻璃窗，拿起屋頂，手指撫摸里頭的房間。