《渺小一生》:“還有接下來很多年。”

　 Shortly after he returned at the end of July, Willem gave him permission to terminate his mostly silent relationship with Dr. Loehmann—but only because he genuinely didn’t have the time any longer. Four hours of his week were now spent at doctors’ offices—two with Andy, two with Loehmann—and he needed to reclaim two of those hours so he could go twice a week to the hospital, where he took off his pants and flipped his tie over his shoulder and was slid into a hyperbaric chamber, a glass coffin where he lay and did work and hoped that the concentrated oxygen that was being piped in all around him might help hasten his healing. He had felt guilty about his eighteen months with Dr. Loehmann, in which he had revealed almost nothing, had spent most of his time childishly protecting his privacy, trying not to say anything, wasting both his and the doctor’s time. But one of the few subjects they had discussed was his legs—not how they had been damaged but the logistics of caring for them—and in his final session, Dr. Loehmann had asked what would happen if he didn’t get better.

威廉七月底回紐約后不久，答應(yīng)了終止他與婁曼醫(yī)生大多數(shù)情況下都沉默不語的醫(yī)患關(guān)系，因為他實在沒有那個時間。以前他每周有四小時花在醫(yī)生診所（兩小時去安迪那里，兩小時去婁曼那里），現(xiàn)在他需要收回其中的兩小時，每周去兩次醫(yī)院，脫掉長褲、把領(lǐng)帶甩到肩膀后頭，滑進像玻璃棺材的高壓艙，躺在里頭做自己的工作，希望灌進來的高壓氧有助于傷口的愈合。他覺得很內(nèi)疚，去婁曼醫(yī)生那做了十八個月的心理咨詢，他幾乎什么都沒透露，大部分時間只是幼稚地保護自己的隱私，設(shè)法什么都不要說，浪費雙方的時間。但他們少數(shù)討論過的主題，就是他的兩腿，不是如何變成殘廢，而是照顧這兩條腿要花的各種工夫。最后一次心理咨詢，婁曼醫(yī)生問他，如果不能好轉(zhuǎn)，要怎么辦。

　 “Amputation, I guess,” he had said, trying to sound casual, although of course he wasn’t casual, and there was nothing to guess: he knew that as surely as he would someday die, he would do so without his legs. He just had to hope it wouldn’t be soon. Please, he would sometimes beg his legs as he lay in the glass chamber. Please. Give me just a few more years. Give me another decade. Let me get through my forties, my fifties, intact. I’ll take care of you, I promise.

“截肢吧，我猜。”他當(dāng)時說，故意裝出一副不在乎的口氣。他當(dāng)然很在乎，而且沒什么好猜的：他很確定自己有一天會死，也很確定到時候他已經(jīng)失去了兩條腿。他只是希望這樣的事情不要太早發(fā)生。拜托，有時躺在玻璃艙里，他會哀求他的腿。拜托，再給我?guī)啄昃秃谩Ｔ俳o我十年。讓我完整熬到50歲、60歲。我會好好照顧你們的，我保證。

　 By late summer, his new bout of sicknesses, of treatments had become so commonplace to him that he hadn’t realized how affected Willem might be by them. Early that August, they were discussing what to do (something? nothing?) for Willem’s forty-ninth birthday, and Willem had said he thought they should just do something low-key this year.

但是到了夏末，他對新一波的病情和治療已經(jīng)司空見慣了，都沒注意到這會對威廉造成什么影響。八月上旬，他們在討論威廉的49歲生日要怎么過（做點什么？什么都不做？），威廉說他覺得今年就低調(diào)一點吧。

　 “Well, we’ll do something big next year, for your fiftieth,” he said. “If I’m still alive by then, that is,” and it wasn’t until he heard Willem’s silence that he had looked up from the stove and seen Willem’s expression and had recognized his mistake. “Willem, I’m sorry,” he said, turning off the burner and making his slow, painful way over to him. “I’m sorry.”

“唔，那我們明年再來辦個大的，慶祝你的50歲生日，”他站在爐子前說，“如果我到時候還活著。”直到他發(fā)現(xiàn)威廉沒吭聲，抬頭看到威廉的表情，才明白自己說錯話了。“威廉，對不起。”他說，關(guān)掉爐子，緩慢而痛苦地走向威廉，“對不起。”

　 “You can’t joke like that, Jude,” Willem said, and he put his arms around him.

“裘德，這種事不能開玩笑的。”威廉說，用雙手擁住裘德。

　 “I know,” he said. “Forgive me. I was being stupid. Of course I’m going to be around next year.”

“我知道，”他說，“原諒我。我太蠢了。明年我當(dāng)然還在。”

　 “And for many years to come.”

“還有接下來很多年。”

　 “And for many years to come.”

“還有接下來很多年。”

　 Now it is September, and he is lying on the examining table in Andy’s office, his wounds uncovered and still split open like pomegranates, and at nights he is lying in bed next to Willem. He is often conscious of the unlikeliness of their relationship, and often guilty at his unwillingness to fulfill one of the core duties of couplehood. Every once in a while, he thinks he will try again, and then, just as he is trying to say the words to Willem, he stops, and another opportunity quietly slides away. But his guilt, as great as it is, cannot overwhelm his sense of relief, nor his sense of gratitude: that he should have been able to keep Willem despite his inabilities is a miracle, and he tries, in every other way he can, to always communicate to Willem how thankful he is.

現(xiàn)在是九月了，他躺在安迪診所的檢查臺上，包扎的繃帶揭開來，那些傷口還是像石榴般沒有收口。夜里回家，他和威廉躺在同一張床上。他常常意識到他們的伴侶關(guān)系是多么不可能，也常常為自己不情愿履行伴侶間最核心的責(zé)任之一而覺得內(nèi)疚。每隔一陣子，他就想著要再試一次。然而當(dāng)他要開口跟威廉說的時候，他又停下來，機會就這樣無聲地溜走了。他龐大的內(nèi)疚感還是無法壓倒那種放松與慶幸之感：慶幸以他的種種無能，居然能保住威廉，真是一個奇跡，而且他總是利用各種方式向威廉表達他的感激之情。

　 He wakes one night sweating so profusely that the sheets beneath him feel as if they’ve been dragged through a puddle, and in his haze, he stands before he realizes he can’t, and falls. Willem wakes, then, and fetches him the thermometer, standing over him as he holds it under his tongue. “One hundred and two,” he says, examining it, and places his palm on his forehead. “But you’re freezing.” He looks at him, worried. “I’m going to call Andy.”

某天夜里他醒來，全身大汗，身子底下的床單感覺像是從水洼里拖出來似的。他在糊涂的狀態(tài)中想下床站起來，這才發(fā)現(xiàn)自己辦不到，跌在地上。威廉醒了，拿了溫度計讓他放在舌下，自己站在旁邊等。“三十八度九，”威廉看了溫度計之后說，手掌放在他額頭，“可是你身上很冷啊，”威廉看著他，滿臉憂慮，“我要打電話給安迪。”

　 “Don’t call Andy,” he says, and despite the fever, the chills, the sweating, he feels normal; he doesn’t feel sick. “I just need some aspirin.” So Willem gets it, brings him a shirt, strips and remakes the bed, and they fall asleep again, Willem wrapped around him.

“不要打給他，”他說。就算發(fā)燒，全身冰冷又冒汗，他卻覺得很正常，不覺得自己病了，“我吃點阿司匹林就沒事了。”于是威廉拿了藥給他，又拿一件襯衫讓他換，再把床單換掉。兩個人又睡著了，威廉用身體包著他。

　 The next night he wakes again with a fever, again with chills, again with sweating. “There’s something going around the office,” he tells Willem this time. “Some forty-eight-hour bug. I must’ve caught it.” Again he takes aspirin; again it helps; again he goes back to sleep.

次日晚上，他再度發(fā)燒醒來，冷得打戰(zhàn)，全身冒汗。“辦公室在流行某種東西，”這回他跟威廉說，“好像是四十八小時的病毒。我一定是染上了。”他又服用了阿司匹林；藥效發(fā)揮后，他再度睡去。

　 The day after that is a Friday and he goes to Andy to have his wounds cleaned, but he doesn’t mention the fever, which disappears by daylight. That night Willem is away, having dinner with Roman, and he goes to bed early, swallowing some aspirin before he does. He sleeps so deeply that he doesn’t even hear Willem come in, but when he wakes the following morning, he is so sweaty that it looks as if he’s been standing under the shower, and his limbs are numb and shaky. Beside him, Willem gently snores, and he sits, slowly, running his hands through his wet hair.

次日是星期五，他去安迪的診所清理傷口，但沒提到前一夜的發(fā)燒，因為白天就退燒了。那一晚威廉不在，去跟羅蒙吃晚餐，他提早吞了阿司匹林就上床睡覺。他睡得很熟，連威廉回來都沒聽到，但次日早晨醒來時，他渾身大汗，像站在蓮蓬頭下，四肢麻痹而顫抖。在他旁邊，威廉發(fā)出輕微的鼾聲，他緩緩坐起身，雙手撫過汗?jié)竦念^發(fā)。

　 He really is better that Saturday. He goes to work. Willem goes to meet a director for lunch. Before he leaves the offices for the evening, he texts Willem and tells him to ask Richard and India if they want to meet for sushi on the Upper East Side, at a little restaurant he and Andy sometimes go to after their appointments. He and Willem have two favorite sushi places near Greene Street, but both of them have flights of descending stairs, and so they have been unable to go for months because the steps are too difficult for him. That night he eats well, and even as the fatigue punches him midway through the meal, he is conscious that he is enjoying himself, that he is grateful to be in this small, warm place, with its yellow-lit lanterns above him and the wooden geta-like slab atop which are laid tongues of mackerel sashimi—Willem’s favorite—before him. At one point he leans against Willem’s side, from exhaustion and affection, but isn’t even aware he’s done so until he feels Willem move his arm and put it around him.

那個星期六，他真的好轉(zhuǎn)了，還去了事務(wù)所工作。威廉則跟一個導(dǎo)演碰面吃午餐。那天傍晚，他要離開辦公室前，先傳了短信給威廉，叫他問理查德和印蒂亞要不要去上東城吃壽司，那家小餐廳他和安迪有時看診后也會去。格林街附近有兩家他和威廉最喜歡的壽司店，但兩家都在地下室且沒有電梯。那些階梯對他來說太困難了，他們有好幾個月沒去。那天夜里他吃得很好，吃到一半就覺得累極了，但他還是意識到自己很開心，很慶幸在這個溫暖的小地方，上方是亮著黃色燈光的紙燈籠，眼前木屐似的厚木板上放著一片片威廉最愛的鯖魚生魚片。中間有一度，他因為疲累和深情，靠在旁邊的威廉身上，但自己根本沒意識到，直到威廉伸出手臂擁著他。

　 Later, he wakes in their bed, disoriented, and sees Harold sitting next to him, staring at him. “Harold,” he says, “what’re you doing here?” But Harold doesn’t speak, just lunges at him, and he realizes with a sickening lurch that Harold is trying to take his clothes off. No, he tells himself. Not Harold. This can’t be. This is one of his deepest, ugliest, most secret fears, and now it is coming true. But then his old instincts awaken: Harold is another client, and he will fight him away. He yells, then, twisting himself, pinwheeling his arms and what he can of his legs, trying to intimidate, to fluster this silent, determined Harold before him, screaming for Brother Luke’s help.

稍后，他在兩人的床上茫然醒來，不知身在何處，他看到哈羅德坐在旁邊看著他。“哈羅德，”他說，“你怎么來了？”但哈羅德沒說話，只是忽然撲向他，他突然涌上一陣作嘔的感覺，明白哈羅德想脫掉他的衣服。不，他告訴自己。不要是哈羅德。不可能是這樣。這是他最深、最丑陋、最秘密的恐懼之一，而現(xiàn)在成真了。接著，他舊日的本能蘇醒：哈羅德是另一個顧客，他會奮力擊退他。他大喊，扭著身子，拼命舞動雙臂，踢著雙腿，設(shè)法威嚇，想趕走眼前這個沉默、堅決的哈羅德，又尖叫著要盧克修士幫他。

　 And then, suddenly, Harold vanishes and is replaced by Willem, his face near his, saying something he can’t understand. But behind Willem’s head he sees Harold’s again, his strange, grim expression, and he resumes his fight. Above him, he can hear words, can hear that Willem is talking to someone, can register, even through his own fright, Willem’s fright as well. “Willem,” he calls out. “He’s trying to hurt me; don’t let him hurt me, Willem. Help me. Help me. Help me—please.” Then there is nothing—a stretch of blackened time—and when he wakes again, he is in the hospital. “Willem,” he announces to the room, and there, immediately, is Willem, sitting at the edge of his bed, taking his hand. There is a length of plastic tubing snaking out of the back of this hand, and out of the other as well. “Careful,” Willem tells him, “the IVs.”

忽然間，哈羅德消失了，取而代之的是威廉。他的臉湊得好近，說著一些他聽不懂的話。但威廉的腦袋后方，他又看到了哈羅德，一臉奇怪、嚴(yán)肅的表情，于是他又開始掙扎。在他上方，他聽到有人講話，是威廉在跟某個人交談。即使在恐懼中，他仍聽得出威廉也很害怕。“威廉，”他大喊，“他想傷害我；別讓他傷害我，威廉。幫我。幫我。幫我——拜托。”然后什么都沒有了，一段黑掉的時間。等他再度醒來，發(fā)現(xiàn)自己在醫(yī)院里。“威廉。”他對著房間說。威廉立刻出現(xiàn)了，坐在他床旁邊，握著他的手。有一條塑料軟管從他手背蜿蜒出去，另一只手背也有。“小心點，”威廉告訴他，“有靜脈注射管。”

　 For a while they are silent, and Willem strokes his forehead. “He was trying to attack me,” he finally confesses to Willem, stumbling as he speaks. “I never thought Harold would do that to me, not ever.”

有一會兒兩人都沒說話，威廉撫摸著他的額頭。“他想攻擊我，”他終于結(jié)結(jié)巴巴地向威廉坦白，“我從來沒想到哈羅德會對我這樣，怎么都想不到。”

　 He can see Willem stiffen. “No, Jude,” he says. “Harold wasn’t there. You were delirious from the fever; it didn’t happen.”

他看到威廉全身僵硬起來。“不，裘德，”他說，“哈羅德沒來。你因為發(fā)燒引發(fā)了譫妄；那樣的事情根本沒發(fā)生。”

　 He is relieved and terrified to hear this. Relieved to hear that it wasn’t true; terrified because it seemed so real, so actual. Terrified because what does it say about him, about how he thinks and what his fears are, that he should even imagine this about Harold? How cruel can his own mind be to try to convince him to turn against someone he has struggled so hard to trust, someone who has only ever shown him kindness? He can feel tears in his eyes, but he has to ask Willem: “He wouldn’t do that to me, would he, Willem?”

他一聽，放心又驚恐。放心是因為聽到這不是真的；驚恐則是因為那一幕很真實，好像真的發(fā)生了。同時這也解釋了他的狀態(tài)，他的想法和恐懼，竟然會讓他這樣想象哈羅德？他的腦子太殘忍了，竟然說服他去對付一個他這么努力信任的人，一個始終對他只有關(guān)懷的人？他感覺到眼中浮出眼淚，但忍不住問威廉：“威廉，他不會那樣對我，對不對？”

　 “No,” says Willem, and his voice is strained. “Never, Jude. Harold would never, ever do that to you, not for anything.”

“對，”威廉說，聲音緊繃，“絕對不會的，裘德。哈羅德永遠、永遠不會那樣對你的，絕對不可能。”