《渺小一生》:“你難道不想為自己說話？”

　 He, too, thought of money—it was impossible not to. Every time he came home from a party at one of JB’s or Malcolm’s friends’ apartments, Lispenard Street seemed a little shabbier, a little less tolerable. Every time the elevator broke and he had to walk up the flights of stairs, and then rest on the floor in the hallway, his back against their front door, before he had the energy to let himself in, he dreamed of living somewhere functional and reliable. Every time he was standing at the top of the subway stairs, readying himself for the climb down, gripping the handrail and nearly breathing through his mouth with effort, he would wish he could take a taxi. And then there were other fears, bigger fears: in his very dark moments, he imagined himself as an old man, his skin stretched vellum-like over his ribs, still in Lispenard Street, pulling himself on his elbows to the bathroom because he was no longer able to walk. In this dream, he was alone—there was no Willem or JB or Malcolm or Andy, no Harold or Julia. He was an old, old man, and there was no one, and he was the only one left to take care of himself.

他也會考慮錢，不可能不考慮。每回他去杰比或馬爾科姆朋友的公寓參加派對回家，利斯本納街就顯得更寒磣，更難忍受。每次電梯故障，他得爬樓梯上樓，到了門口還得背靠著前門坐在地上休息一陣子，才有力氣開門進(jìn)去。此時，他就會夢想住在一個電梯不會出故障的可靠地方。每回他站在地鐵入口的樓梯頂端準(zhǔn)備往下走，抓著扶手且吃力得幾乎要用嘴巴呼吸時，他會希望自己能坐出租車。然后還有其他恐懼：在他心情低落的時刻，他會想象自己老了，肋骨外頭的皮膚都像羊皮紙了，還住在利斯本納街，手肘撐地爬進(jìn)浴室，因?yàn)樗僖矝]辦法走路了。在這個夢里，他孤單一人，沒有威廉、杰比、馬爾科姆、安迪，沒有哈羅德和朱麗婭。他很老很老，身邊沒有其他人，只剩他自己照顧自己。

　 “How old are you?” asked Voigt.

“你幾歲了？”沃伊特問。

　 “Thirty-one,” he said.

“31。”他說。

　 “Thirty-one’s young,” said Voigt, “but you won’t be young forever. Do you really want to grow old in the U.S. Attorney’s Office? You know what they say about assistant prosecutors: Men whose best years are behind them.” He talked about compensation, about an accelerated path to partnership. “Just tell me you’ll think about it.”

“31還很年輕，”沃伊特說，“但是你不會永遠(yuǎn)這么年輕。你真的想在聯(lián)邦檢察官辦公室里變老嗎？你知道大家怎么說助理檢察官的：人生的大好年華就這樣過了。”沃伊特談到報酬，談到升遷機(jī)會，“答應(yīng)我你會考慮。”

　 “I will,” he said.

“我會的。”他說。

　 And he did. He didn’t discuss it with Citizen or Rhodes—or Harold, because he knew what he’d say—but he did discuss it with Willem, and together they debated the obvious benefits of the job against the obvious drawbacks: the hours (but he never left work as it was, Willem argued), the tedium, the high probability he’d be working with assholes (but Citizen and Rhodes aside, he already worked with assholes, Willem argued). And, of course, the fact that he would now be defending the people he’d spent the past six years prosecuting: liars and crooks and thieves, the entitled and the powerful masquerading as victims. He wasn’t like Harold or Citizen—he was practical; he knew that making a career as a lawyer meant sacrifices, either of money or of moralities, but it still troubled him, this forsaking of what he knew to be just. And for what? So he could insure he wouldn’t become that old man, lonely and sick? It seemed the worst kind of selfishness, the worst kind of self-indulgence, to disavow what he knew was right simply because he was frightened, because he was scared of being uncomfortable and miserable.

他的確考慮了。他沒跟西提任或羅茲討論（也沒跟哈羅德談，因?yàn)橹浪麜f什么），而是跟威廉討論，兩人一起比較這份工作明顯的優(yōu)點(diǎn)和缺點(diǎn)。工作時間長（他的工時本來就很長，威廉說），工作性質(zhì)很無聊，而且很可能要跟一堆混蛋共事（除了西提任和羅茲，他本來也跟一堆混蛋共事，威廉說）。當(dāng)然，他現(xiàn)在得去幫他過去六年起訴的那些人辯護(hù)：撒謊者、騙子、小偷，以及偽裝成受害者的有地位、有權(quán)勢的人。他不像哈羅德或西提任，他很務(wù)實(shí)，他知道當(dāng)律師意味著犧牲，不是犧牲金錢，就是犧牲道德，但這樣背棄他明知是正義的一方，還是令他很困擾。是為了什么？確保他不會變成那個孤單又患病的老人？這好像是最糟糕的那種自私、最糟糕的那種任性，拒絕承擔(dān)他明知道應(yīng)該承擔(dān)的責(zé)任，只因?yàn)樗ε?，?dān)心自己過得不舒適或很凄慘。

　 Then, two weeks after his meeting with Voigt, he had come home one Friday night very late. He was exhausted; he’d had to use his wheelchair that day because the wound on his right leg hurt so much, and he was so relieved to get home, back to Lispenard Street, that he had felt himself go weak—in just a few minutes, he would be inside, and he would wrap a damp washcloth, hot and steamed from the microwave, around his calf and sit in the warmth. But when he tried the elevator button, he heard nothing but a grinding of gears, the faint winching noise the machine made when it was broken.

然后，他和沃伊特碰面兩周后的星期五，他很晚才回家。那天他筋疲力盡，必須坐輪椅，因?yàn)橛彝葘?shí)在太痛了，回到利斯本納街的公寓時，他一放松，就覺得自己整個人都虛脫了，因?yàn)樵龠^幾分鐘，他就可以進(jìn)門，用微波爐加熱過、冒著蒸汽的濕毛巾包住小腿，坐在溫暖的公寓里。但是當(dāng)他按了電梯按鈕，卻聽到齒輪摩擦聲，還有電梯壞掉時微弱的絞盤怪聲。

　 “No!” he shouted. “No!” His voice echoed in the lobby, and he smacked his palm against the elevator door again and again: “No, no, no!” He picked up his briefcase and threw it against the ground, and papers spun up from it. Around him, the building remained silent and unhelpful.

“不要！”他大喊，“不要！”他的聲音在門廳里回蕩，他對著電梯門拍了又拍，“不，不，不！”他拿起公文包朝地上摔，里頭的文件散落一地。在他周圍，整棟公寓依然一片寂靜，沒人能幫他。

　 Finally he stopped, ashamed and angry, and gathered his papers back into his bag. He checked his watch: it was eleven. Willem was in a play, Cloud 9, but he knew he’d be off stage by then. But when he called him, Willem didn’t pick up. And then he began to panic. Malcolm was on vacation in Greece. JB was at an artists’ colony. Andy’s daughter, Beatrice, had just been born the previous week: he couldn’t call him. There were only so many people he would let help him, whom he felt at least semi-comfortable clinging to like a sloth, whom he would allow to drag him up the many flights.

最后他停止發(fā)火，覺得羞愧又憤怒，然后把那些文件收回公文包里。他看了一下手表：11點(diǎn)。威廉正在演出《九重天》，但他知道此時他已經(jīng)下臺了?？墒撬螂娫掃^去，威廉沒接。他恐慌起來。麥坎·馬爾科姆去希臘度假了。杰比在一個藝術(shù)村。安迪的女兒比阿特麗斯上個星期才出生，所以他不能找他。他只肯讓這幾個人幫他，讓他們拖著他爬那么多層樓，當(dāng)他像樹懶似的抓著對方不放時，至少不會覺得太不自在。

　 But in that moment, he was irrationally, intensely desperate to get into the apartment. And so he stood, tucking his briefcase under his left arm and collapsing his wheelchair, which was too expensive to leave in the lobby, with his right. He began to work his way up the stairs, cleaving his left side to the wall, gripping the chair by one of its spokes. He moved slowly—he had to hop on his left leg, while trying to avoid putting any weight on his right, or letting the wheelchair bang against the wound. Up he went, pausing to rest every third step. There were a hundred and ten steps from the lobby to the fifth floor, and by the fiftieth, he was shaking so badly he had to stop and sit for half an hour. He called and texted Willem again and again. On the fourth call, he left the message he hoped he would never have to leave: “Willem, I really need help. Please call me. Please.” He had a vision of Willem calling him right back, telling him he’d be right there, but he waited and waited and Willem didn’t call, and finally he managed to stand again.

但那一刻，他失去了理智，拼命只想趕緊回到家里。于是他站起來，把公文包夾在左邊腋下，然后把輪椅（太貴了，不能留在大廳里）收起來夾在右邊腋下，開始爬樓梯。他身子左邊緊貼著墻，右手抓著輪椅的一根輪輻，爬得很慢——只能靠左腿往上跳，盡量避免把任何重量放在右腿，也避免輪椅碰到傷口。他往上爬，每爬三級就要停下來休息。從大廳到五樓要爬一百一十級樓梯。爬到第五十級時，他全身抖得厲害，不得不停下來坐半小時。他一次又一次打電話給威廉并發(fā)短信給他。打到第四通電話，他留言了，但希望自己永遠(yuǎn)不必留：“威廉，我真的需要幫忙。拜托打給我。拜托。”他想象威廉立刻回電話，告訴他馬上趕來，但他等了又等，威廉都沒回電話。最后，他設(shè)法又站了起來。

　 Somehow he made it inside. But he can’t remember anything else from that night; when he woke the next day, Willem was asleep on the rug next to his bed, and Andy asleep on the chair they must have dragged into his room from the living room. He was thick-tongued, fogged, nauseated, and he knew that Andy must have given him an injection of pain medication, which he hated: he would feel disoriented and constipated for days.

總之，他努力進(jìn)了門。但那一夜接下來的事情他完全不記得了。次日醒來時，他發(fā)現(xiàn)威廉睡在他床邊的地毯上，安迪睡在客廳拖來的椅子上。他舌頭不聽使喚，意識蒙眬，還很想吐，于是他知道安迪一定幫他注射了止痛藥。他很討厭止痛藥，因?yàn)榻酉聛硭麜兊妹Ｈ?，還會便秘好幾天。

　 When he woke again, Willem was gone, but Andy was awake, and staring at him.

他再度醒來時，威廉不在了，但安迪已經(jīng)醒來，死瞪著他。

　 “Jude, you’ve got to get the fuck out of this apartment,” he said, quietly.

“裘德，你他媽的一定得搬出這棟公寓。”他輕聲說。

　 “I know,” he said.

“我知道。”他說。

　 “Jude, what were you thinking?” Willem asked him later, after he had returned from the grocery store and Andy had helped him into the bathroom—he couldn’t walk: Andy had had to carry him—and then put him back into bed, still in his clothes from the day before, and left. Willem had gone to a party after the show and hadn’t heard his phone ring; when he had finally listened to his messages, he had rushed home and found him convulsing on the floor and had called Andy. “Why didn’t you call Andy? Why didn’t you go to a diner and wait for me? Why didn’t you call Richard? Why didn’t you call Philippa and make her find me? Why didn’t you call Citizen, or Rhodes, or Eli, or Phaedra, or the Henry Youngs, or—”

“裘德，你那時在想什么？”威廉從雜貨店回來后問他。安迪已經(jīng)幫著他去過洗手間（他沒辦法走路，得讓安迪抱他去），讓他躺回床上，他身上還穿著前一天的衣服，等到威廉回來才離開。威廉前一晚演出后去參加派對，沒聽到手機(jī)響；等他終于聽到留言，急忙趕回家時，發(fā)現(xiàn)他躺在地板上抽搐，才打給安迪。“你為什么不打給安迪？你為什么不找間餐館坐下來等我？你為什么不打給理查德？你為什么不打給菲莉帕叫她找到我？你為什么不打給西提任、羅茲、伊萊，或菲德拉，或兩個亨利·楊，或……”

　 “I don’t know,” he said, miserably. It was impossible to explain to the healthy the logic of the sick, and he didn’t have the energy to try.

“不知道。”他悲慘地說。他無法跟健康的人解釋病人的邏輯，也沒有力氣去試。

　 The following week, he contacted Lucien Voigt and finalized the terms of the job with him. And once he had signed the contract, he called Harold, who was silent for a long five seconds before taking a deep breath and beginning.

下一個星期，他聯(lián)絡(luò)了盧西恩·沃伊特，談好了工作條件。簽約后，他打電話給哈羅德，沉默了五秒鐘，才深吸一口氣，開始講話。

　 “I just don’t get this, Jude,” he said. “I don’t. You’ve never struck me as a money-grubber. Are you? I mean, I guess you are. You had—you have—a great career at the U.S. Attorney’s. You’re doing work there that matters. And you’re giving it all up to defend, who? Criminals. People so entitled, so certain they won’t be caught that being caught—that very concern—doesn’t even occur to them. People who think the laws are written for people who make less than nine figures a year. People who think the laws are applicable only by race, or by tax bracket.”

“裘德，我只是不明白，”哈羅德說，“真的不明白。你從來沒讓我覺得你很愛錢。你愛錢嗎？我的意思是，你當(dāng)然愛錢。你在聯(lián)邦檢察官辦公室有大好前程。你在那里的工作很重要?？墒悄悻F(xiàn)在完全放棄，要去幫誰辯護(hù)？一堆罪犯。他們太有權(quán)勢、太確定自己不會被抓到，因而被抓這件事他們根本從沒想過。他們認(rèn)為法律只適用于年收入不到九位數(shù)的人。他們認(rèn)為法律要制裁誰，只能由種族或收入來決定。”

　 He said nothing, just let Harold become more and more agitated, because he knew Harold was right. They had never explicitly discussed it, but he knew Harold had always assumed that he would make his career in public service. Over the years, Harold would talk with dismay and sorrow about talented former students he admired who had left jobs—at the U.S. Attorney’s, at the Department of Justice, at public defender offices, at legal aid programs—to go to corporate firms. “A society cannot run as it should unless people with excellent legal minds make it their business to make it run,” Harold often said, and he had always agreed with him. And he agreed with him still, which was why he couldn’t defend himself now.

他什么都沒說，只是乖乖聽著哈羅德越來越生氣的聲音，因?yàn)樗拦_德說得對。他們沒有明確談過，但他知道哈羅德一直以為他會朝公職體系發(fā)展。這些年來，哈羅德不時喪氣而悲傷地談到一些他很欣賞的優(yōu)秀學(xué)生辭掉工作（包括聯(lián)邦檢察官辦公室、司法部、公設(shè)辯護(hù)律師服務(wù)處、法律援助組織的工作），跳槽去大型律師事務(wù)所。“一個社會要發(fā)揮應(yīng)有的功能，就必須靠那些擁有杰出法律頭腦的人才，把維持社會運(yùn)作當(dāng)成自己的責(zé)任。”哈羅德常常說。而他也贊同，至今不變。這也是為什么他此刻無法為自己辯護(hù)。

　 “Don’t you have anything you want to say for yourself?” Harold asked him, finally.

“你難道不想為自己說話？”哈羅德最后終于問他。