《渺小一生》:現(xiàn)在這樣，就是我想要的。

　 “Right,” he says, and bends down, takes Jude’s sunglasses off him, kisses him on his eyelids, and replaces his glasses. Summer, JB has always said, is Jude’s season: his skin darkens and his hair lightens to almost the same shade, making his eyes turn an unnatural green, and Willem has to keep himself from touching him too much. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“好?！彼f，然后彎腰，把裘德的太陽眼鏡摘下來，吻了他兩邊的眼皮，再幫他把眼鏡戴回去。杰比總是說夏天是裘德的季節(jié)：他的皮膚變黑，發(fā)色曬得幾乎和皮膚一個顏色，眼睛顏色也轉(zhuǎn)成一種不大自然的綠，而威廉必須避免太常碰觸他?！拔荫R上回來?！?

　 He trudges up the hill to the house, yawning, places his glass of half-melted ice and tea in the sink, and crunches down the pebbled driveway to the car. It is one of those summer days when the air is so hot, so dry, so still, the sun overhead so white, that one doesn’t so much see one’s surroundings as hear and smell and taste them: the lawn-mower buzz of the bees and locusts, the faint peppery scent of the sunflowers, the oddly mineral flavor the heat leaves on the tongue, as if he’s just sucked on stones. The heat is enervating, but not in an oppressive way, only in a way that makes them both sleepy and defenseless, in a way that makes torpor not just acceptable but necessary. When it is hot like this they lie by the pool for hours, not eating but drinking—pitchers of iced mint tea for breakfast, liters of lemonade for lunch, bottles of Aligoté for dinner—and they leave the house’s every window, every door open, the ceiling fans spinning, so that at night, when they finally seal it shut, they trap within it the fragrance of meadows and trees.

他緩緩爬上坡回到屋里，一邊打呵欠，一邊把手上那杯冰塊半融化的紅茶放進水槽里，然后踩著碎石車道走向車子。今天是最炎熱的夏日，空氣很熱、很干、很沉滯，頭上的太陽很白，周遭的事物其實能被看到的并不多，主要是被聽到、聞到、嘗到：蜜蜂和蝗蟲發(fā)出割草機般的嗡嗡聲，向日葵散發(fā)出微微的胡椒氣味，舌頭上有樹葉曬干那種奇怪的礦石味，好像剛剛吸吮過石頭。那熱氣令人乏力，但并不難受，只是困倦欲眠又無法抵抗，這時懶散不光可以接受，也是必要的。像這樣的大熱天，他們會躺在戶外游泳池畔好幾個小時，不吃只喝——一壺壺的薄荷冰紅茶當早餐，一升升的檸檬水當午餐，一瓶瓶的阿里高特[4]氣泡白葡萄酒當晚餐——而且他們把房子的每扇窗戶、每扇門都打開，天花板的風扇旋轉(zhuǎn)著，這樣入夜時，等他們終于把門窗關上，屋里就會充滿草地和樹木的香氣。

　 It is the Saturday before Labor Day, and they would normally be in Truro, but this year they have rented Harold and Julia a house outside Aix-en-Provence for the entire summer, and the two of them are spending the holiday in Garrison instead. Harold and Julia will arrive—maybe with Laurence and Gillian, maybe not—tomorrow, but today Willem is picking up Malcolm and Sophie and JB and his on-again, off-again boyfriend Fredrik from the train station. They’ve seen very little of their friends for months now: JB has been on a fellowship in Italy for the past six months, and Malcolm and Sophie have been so busy with the construction of a new ceramics museum in Shanghai that the last time they saw them all was in April, in Paris—he was filming there, and Jude had come in from London, where he was working, and JB in from Rome, and Malcolm and Sophie had laid over for a couple of days on their way back to New York.

這是九月初勞動節(jié)假期前的星期六，通常他們會去特魯羅，但今年他們在法國普羅旺斯租下一棟房子，讓哈羅德和朱麗婭在那過一整個夏天，于是這個長假，他們兩個就待在加里森村的這棟房子里。哈羅德和朱麗婭明天會過來，或許加上勞倫斯和吉莉安夫婦，或許不會。但今天威廉要去火車站接馬爾科姆和蘇菲，還有杰比和他反復分手又復合的男朋友弗雷德里克。他們好幾個月沒碰面了：杰比拿到了一筆研究基金，過去六個月都待在意大利；馬爾科姆和蘇菲則一直忙著上海一座新的陶瓷博物館的建造事宜。因此，他們四個上一次全員到齊是四月在巴黎——他在那拍戲，在倫敦工作的裘德趕來，杰比從羅馬過來，馬爾科姆和蘇菲則是回紐約的途中在巴黎停留兩天。

　 Almost every summer he thinks: This is the best summer. But this summer, he knows, really is the best. And not just the summer: the spring, the winter, the fall. As he gets older, he is given, increasingly, to thinking of his life as a series of retrospectives, assessing each season as it passes as if it’s a vintage of wine, dividing years he’s just lived into historical eras: The Ambitious Years. The Insecure Years. The Glory Years. The Delusional Years. The Hopeful Years.

幾乎每年夏天，他都會想：這是最棒的夏天。但他非常確定，今年夏天才是最棒的。而且不光是夏天，還有春天、冬天、秋天。他年紀越大，就越發(fā)傾向把自己的一生視為一連串回顧畫面，評估過去的每個季節(jié)，仿佛那是不同年份的葡萄酒，把他剛活過的幾年劃入不同的歷史年代：雄心勃勃的年代。沒有安全感的年代。輝煌年代。妄想年代。希望年代。

　 Jude had smiled when he told him this. “And what era are we in now?” he asked, and Willem had smiled back at him. “I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t come up with a name for it yet.”

他把這個想法告訴裘德時，裘德露出微笑?！澳俏覀儸F(xiàn)在是什么年代？”他問。威廉也朝他微笑?！安恢?，”他說，“我還沒想出名字。”

　 But they both agreed that they had at least exited The Awful Years. Two years ago, he had spent this very weekend—Labor Day weekend—in a hospital on the Upper East Side, staring out the window with a hatred so intense it nauseated him at the orderlies and nurses and doctors in their jade-green pajamas congregating outside the building, eating and smoking and talking on their phones as if nothing were wrong, as if above them weren’t people in various stages of dying, including his own person, who was at that moment in a medically induced coma, his skin prickling with fever, who had last opened his eyes four days ago, the day after he had gotten out of surgery.

但他們都同意，他們至少脫離了“糟糕年代”。兩年前的這個周末（勞動節(jié)長假），他在上東城的醫(yī)院里度過。當時他望著窗外，心中的怨恨強烈到讓他想吐，大樓外聚集著工友、護士和醫(yī)生，穿著淺綠色的服裝，各自在吃東西、抽煙或講電話，仿佛沒有什么不對勁，仿佛他們上方的人并非處于各種階段的垂死狀態(tài)，包括他最愛的人，此刻仍在藥物造成的昏迷狀態(tài)中，皮膚發(fā)熱，上回張開眼睛已經(jīng)是四天前剛動完手術的時候。

　 “He’s going to be fine, Willem,” Harold kept babbling at him, Harold who was in general even more of a worrier than Willem himself had become. “He’s going to be fine. Andy said so.” On and on Harold went, parroting back to Willem everything that he had already heard Andy say, until finally he had snapped at him, “Jesus, Harold, give it a fucking break. Do you believe everything Andy says? Does he look like he’s getting better? Does he look like he’s going to be fine?” And then he had seen Harold’s face change, his expression of pleading, frantic desperation, the face of an old, hopeful man, and he had been punched with remorse and had gone over and held him. “I’m sorry,” he said to Harold, Harold who had already lost one son, who was trying to reassure himself that he wouldn’t lose another. “I’m sorry, Harold, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’m being an asshole.”

“他會好起來的，威廉?！碑敃r哈羅德不斷跟他念叨著，哈羅德大致上比威廉更容易擔心?！八麜闷饋淼?。安迪是這么說的?！惫_德說個不停，把他聽安迪說過的話又重新講了一遍，直到最后威廉厲聲說：“天啊，哈羅德，你他媽的別再啰唆了。安迪說什么你都相信嗎？他看起來像是好轉(zhuǎn)了嗎？他看起來像是會好起來嗎？”然后他看到哈羅德的臉色變了，那懇求、狂亂的表情，那抱著希望、蒼老的臉，他忽然很后悔，走過去抱住他?！皩Σ黄??！彼麑_德說，哈羅德已經(jīng)失去一個兒子了，正在安慰自己不會再失去一個?！皩Σ黄穑_德，真的很對不起。原諒我，我是混蛋?！?

　 “You’re not an asshole, Willem,” Harold had said. “But you can’t tell me he’s not going to get better. You can’t tell me that.”

“你不是混蛋，威廉。”哈羅德說，“但是你不可以跟我說他不會好起來。你不可以。”

　 “I know,” he said. “Of course he’s going to get better,” he said, sounding like Harold, Harold echoing Harold to Harold. “Of course he is.” But inside of him, he felt the beetley scrabble of fear: of course there was no of course. There never had been. Of course had vanished eighteen months ago. Of course had left their lives forever.

“我知道。”他說，“他當然會好起來?！蹦强跉饴犉饋砭拖窆_德，哈羅德向哈羅德呼應著哈羅德?！八斎粫??！钡谛牡祝杏X到恐懼像甲蟲亂爬似的：當然沒有什么當然，從來沒有。當然在十八個月前就消失了。當然已經(jīng)永遠離開他們的人生了。

　 He had always been an optimist, and yet in those months, his optimism deserted him. He had canceled all of his projects for the rest of the year, but as the fall dragged on, he wished he had them; he wished he had something to distract himself. By the end of September, Jude was out of the hospital, and yet he was so thin, so frail, that Willem had been scared to touch him, scared to even look at him, scared to see the way that his cheekbones were now so pronounced that they cast permanent shadows around his mouth, scared to see the way he could watch Jude’s pulse beating in the scooped-out hollow of his throat, as if there was something living inside of him that was trying to kick its way out. He could feel Jude trying to comfort him, trying to make jokes, and that made him even more scared. On the few occasions he left the apartment—“You have to,” Richard had told him, flatly, “you’re going to go crazy otherwise, Willem”—he was tempted to turn his phone off, because every time it chirped and he saw it was Richard (or Malcolm, or Harold, or Julia, or JB, or Andy, or the Henry Youngs, or Rhodes, or Elijah, or India, or Sophie, or Lucien, or whoever was sitting with Jude for the hour or so that he was distractedly wandering the streets or working out downstairs or, a few times, trying to lie still through a massage or sit through lunch with Roman or Miguel), he would tell himself, This is it. He’s dying. He’s dead, and he would wait a second, another second, before answering the phone and hearing that the call was only a status report: That Jude had eaten a meal. That he hadn’t. That he was sleeping. That he seemed nauseated. Finally he had to tell them: Don’t call me unless it’s serious. I don’t care if you have questions and calling’s faster; you have to text me. If you call me, I’ll think the worst. For the first time in his life, he understood, viscerally, what it meant when people said their hearts were in their throats, although it wasn’t just his heart he could feel but all his organs thrusting upward, trying to exit him through his mouth, his innards scrambled with anxiety.

他向來樂觀，然而在過去的這十八個月中，他的樂觀卻棄他而去。他取消了那年接下來的所有工作，但秋天緩緩過去，他恨不得回去工作，恨不得有別的事情轉(zhuǎn)移自己的注意力。到了九月底，裘德出院了，可是整個人很瘦、很虛弱，連威廉都很怕碰他，甚至很怕看他，怕看到他的顴骨現(xiàn)在那么明顯，陰影常年籠罩在嘴巴周圍；怕自己可以看到裘德瘦巴巴的喉嚨上脈搏跳動，好像里頭有個活物踹著踢著想沖出來。他可以感覺到裘德試圖安慰他，試圖開玩笑，這讓他更害怕。少數(shù)幾回他離開公寓時（“威廉，你一定要離開，否則你會瘋掉。”理查德冷靜地告訴他），他都很想冒險關掉手機，因為每回手機響起，他看到來電者是理查德（或馬爾科姆、哈羅德、朱麗婭、杰比，也可能是安迪、兩個亨利·楊、羅茲、伊利亞、印蒂亞、蘇菲、呂西安，任何暫時陪著裘德的人，好讓他心不在焉地出去走走，去樓下健身，還有幾次他設法去按摩，或是跟羅蒙或米蓋爾吃午餐），就會告訴自己，就是這回。他快死了。他死了。他會等一秒鐘，再一秒鐘，才接起電話，聽到別人只是打來跟他報告情況：說裘德吃了飯。說他沒吃飯。說他正在睡覺。說他好像想吐。最后他不得不告訴他們：不要打電話給我，除非有嚴重的情況。我不在乎你是不是有問題，也不在乎打電話比較快；有事就發(fā)短信給我。如果你們打來，我會以為發(fā)生了最糟糕的狀況。有生以來頭一回，他發(fā)自內(nèi)心地明白有人說自己的心臟跳到喉嚨口是什么意思，不過他感覺到的不光是心臟，而是所有器官都往上沖著想跳出嘴巴，他的內(nèi)臟焦慮得亂成一團。

　 People always spoke of healing as if it were predictable and progressive, a decisive diagonal line pointing from the lower left-hand corner of a graph to the upper right. But Hemming’s healing—which hadn’t ended with his healing at all—hadn’t been like that, and Jude’s hadn’t either: theirs were a mountain range of peaks and trenches, and in the middle of October, after Jude had gone back to work (still scarily thin, still scarily weak), there had been a night when he had woken with a fever so high that he had started seizing, and Willem had been certain that this was the moment, that this was the end. He had realized then that despite his fear, he had never really prepared himself, that he had never really thought of what it would mean, and although he wasn’t a bargainer by nature, he bargained now, with someone or something he didn’t even know he believed in. He promised more patience, more gratitude, less swearing, less vanity, less sex, less indulgence, less complaining, less self-absorption, less selfishness, less fearfulness. When Jude had lived, Willem’s relief had been so total, so punishing, that he had collapsed, and Andy had prescribed him an antianxiety pill and sent him up to Garrison for the weekend with JB for company, leaving Jude in his and Richard’s care. He had always thought that unlike Jude, he had known how to accept help when it was offered, but he had forgotten this skill at the most crucial time, and he was glad and grateful that his friends had made the effort to remind him.

每次大家談起痊愈，好像那是可預測的，而且一路都會有進展，像一條明確的對角線，從圖表的左下角畫向右上角。但亨明的痊愈（最后的結果根本不是痊愈）就不像這樣，裘德的也不像：他們的痊愈像山區(qū)，有山峰也有溝渠。到了十月中，裘德回去上班后（還是瘦得可怕，虛弱得可怕），某天晚上發(fā)燒著醒來，燒得癲癇發(fā)作。威廉確定那一刻就是終點了。這時他才明白，盡管害怕，他卻從來沒有真正做好心理準備，從來沒真正想過這樣代表什么意思。盡管他生來不會討價還價，但他現(xiàn)在開始跟一個他根本不相信的信仰對象討價還價。他保證自己會更有耐心、更感恩、減少說粗話、減少虛榮、減少性交、減少放縱、減少抱怨、減少自我中心、減少自私、減少害怕。當裘德情勢穩(wěn)定后，威廉完全如釋重負，筋疲力盡得差點要暈倒了，于是安迪開了抗焦慮藥物給他，叫杰比陪著他去加里森村度周末，把裘德留給安迪和理查德照顧。他一直以為自己不像裘德，有人要幫忙時，他知道要如何接受，但在最關鍵的時刻，他忘了這個技巧，因而很高興也很感激他的朋友們努力提醒他。

　 By Thanksgiving, things had become—if not good, then they had at least stopped being bad, which they accepted as the same thing. But it was only in retrospect that they had been able to recognize it as a sort of fulcrum, as the period in which there were first days, and then weeks, and then an entire month in which nothing got worse, in which they regained the trick of waking each day with not dread but with purpose, in which they were finally, cautiously, able to talk about the future, to worry not just about making it successfully through the day but into days they couldn’t yet imagine. It was only then that they were able to talk about what needed to be done, only then that Andy began making serious schedules—schedules with goals set one month, two months, six months away—that tracked how much weight he wanted Jude to gain, and when he would be fitted with his permanent prostheses, and when he wanted him to take his first steps, and when he wanted to see him walking again. Once again, they rejoined the slipstream of life; once again, they learned to obey the calendar. By February Willem was reading scripts again. By April, and his forty-ninth birthday, Jude was walking again—slowly, inelegantly, but walking—and looking once again like a normal person. By Willem’s birthday that August, almost a year after his surgery, his walk was, as Andy had predicted, better—silkier, more confident—than it had been with his own legs, and he looked, once again, better than a normal person: he looked like himself again.

到了感恩節(jié)，情勢已經(jīng)轉(zhuǎn)變，即使不是變好，至少也是停止壞下去，而且他們都欣然接受。直到事后回顧起來，他們才有辦法重新整理，把那段時間劃為關鍵時期：一開始是頭幾天，接著是幾個星期，然后是一整個月都沒有惡化。于是他們又回到老習慣，每天早上醒來不是滿心恐懼，而是懷著目標，兩人終于能謹慎地談論未來，擔心的不光是熬過這一天，而是他們還無法想象的很多天。直到此時，他們才有辦法討論該做些什么事。直到此時，安迪才開始認真擬定時間表，設定一個月、兩個月、六個月后要完成的目標，訂出他希望裘德增加多少體重、什么時候要去安裝永久性義肢，還有希望他什么時候邁出第一步、什么時候開始走路。再一次，他們重新加入了生命往前的滑流；再一次，他們學會照著日程表過日子。二月，威廉又開始讀劇本了。到了四月的49歲生日，裘德又可以走路了——緩慢、不優(yōu)雅，但的確是在走了，同時看起來再度像個正常人了。威廉那年八月的生日，就在裘德開刀將近一年后，一如安迪所預測的，裘德走得比用原先的兩腿更好了，更流暢也更自信；而且再一次，他看起來比正常人更好，看起來又像他自己了。

　 “We still haven’t had your fiftieth birthday blowout,” Jude had reminded him over his fifty-first birthday dinner—his birthday dinner that Jude had made, standing by himself at the stove for hours, displaying no apparent signs of fatigue—and Willem had smiled.

“我們都還沒有幫你辦50歲的生日大派對?！濒玫略谒?1歲的生日晚餐上說，威廉聽了露出微笑。這頓晚餐是裘德下廚，他獨自站在爐子前好幾小時，看起來沒有明顯疲倦的跡象。

　 “This is all I want,” he’d said, and he meant it. It felt silly to compare his experience of such a depleting, brutal two years to Jude’s own experience, and yet he felt transformed by them. It was as if his despair had given rise to a sense of invincibility; he felt that everything extraneous and soft had been burned off of him and he was left as an exposed steel core, indestructible and yet pliant, able to withstand anything.

“現(xiàn)在這樣，就是我想要的?！彼f，他是真心的。把他這耗損、殘酷的兩年跟裘德的經(jīng)驗相比，似乎很傻氣，但是他覺得這兩年改變了他。仿佛他的絕望帶來一種所向無敵的感覺；他覺得身上所有不重要、柔軟的部分都被燒掉了，只剩下一個暴露在外的鋼鐵核心，堅不可摧卻又柔韌，禁得起一切。

　 They spent his birthday in Garrison, just the two of them, and that night, after dinner, they went down to the lake, and he took off his clothes and jumped off the dock into the water, which smelled and looked like a great pool of tea. “Come in,” he told Jude, and then, when he hesitated, “As the birthday boy, I command it.” And Jude had slowly undressed, and taken off his prostheses, and then had finally pushed off the edge of the dock with his hands, and Willem had caught him. As Jude had gotten physically healthier, he had also grown more and more self-conscious about his body, and Willem knew, from how withdrawn Jude would become at times, from how carefully he shielded himself when he was taking off or putting on his legs, how much he struggled with accepting how he now appeared. When he had been weaker, he had let Willem help undress him, but now that he was stronger, Willem saw him unclothed only in glimpses, only by accident. But he had decided to view Jude’s self-consciousness as a certain kind of healthiness, for it was at least proof of his physical strength, proof that he was able to get in and out of the shower by himself, to climb in and out of bed by himself—things he’d had to relearn how to do, things he once hadn’t had the energy to do on his own.

他們在加里森的房子過他的生日，只有他們兩個。那天晚上吃過晚餐后，他們走到湖邊，他脫掉衣服，從凸出的碼頭跳入水中，那湖水聞起來、看起來都像是一大池綠茶?！翱靵??！彼嬖V裘德，看裘德猶豫著，“我以生日壽星的身份命令你，快來?！濒玫侣掏堂摰粢路鹣铝x肢，坐在碼頭邊緣，兩手終于往后一推，下了水，威廉接住他。隨著裘德身體越來越健康，對自己的身體也越來越在意。從裘德有時會變得多么退縮，裝卸義肢時刻意遮掩，威廉知道他是多么難以接受自己現(xiàn)在的外表。裘德身體比較虛弱時，還會讓威廉幫他脫衣服，但現(xiàn)在隨著身體更健康，威廉只會偶爾不小心瞥到他的裸體。但他決定把裘德的害羞視為某種健康的征兆，這至少證明他有體力，可以自己進出淋浴間、上下床——這些事情他一度沒有力氣自己做，現(xiàn)在又重新學會了。

　 Now they drifted through the lake, swimming or clinging to each other in silence, and after Willem got out, Jude did as well, heaving himself onto the deck with his arms, and they sat there for a while in the soft summer air, both of them naked, both of them staring at the tapered ends of Jude’s legs. It was the first time he had seen Jude naked in months, and he hadn’t known what to say, and in the end had simply put his arm around him and pulled him close, and that had (he thought) been the right thing to say after all.

此時他們在湖里漂浮、游泳或只是沉默地抓著彼此。威廉離水后，裘德也用兩只手臂把自己撐上碼頭。兩人在柔和的夏夜空氣中坐了一會兒，都沒有穿衣服，兩人瞪著裘德雙腿變細的末端。這是他好幾個月以來第一次看到裘德裸體，也不知道該說什么，最后他只是用雙臂擁住他，把他拉近，覺得什么都不說才是對的。

　 He was still frightened, intermittently. In September, a few weeks before he left for his first project in more than a year, Jude had woken again with a fever, and this time, he didn’t ask Willem not to call Andy, and Willem didn’t ask him for permission to do so. They had gone directly to Andy’s office, and Andy had ordered X-rays, blood work, everything, and they had waited there, each of them lying on the bed in a different examining room, until the radiologist had called and said that there was no sign of any bone infection, and the lab had called and said that there was nothing wrong.

他還是間歇地感到害怕。九月，就在他一年多來首度離家拍戲的幾周前，裘德又半夜發(fā)燒醒來。這回他沒要威廉別打電話給安迪，威廉也沒請求他的允許。他們直接趕到安迪的診療間，安迪下令去拍X光片、做血液檢驗，全套都來。他們在那里等，躺在不同診療室的檢查臺上，直到放射科醫(yī)生來電說沒有任何骨頭感染的跡象，檢驗室也回電說沒有問題。

　 “Rhinopharyngitis,” Andy had said to them, smiling. “The common cold.” But he had rested his hand on the back of Jude’s head, and they had all been relieved. How fast, how distressingly fast, had their instinct for fear been reawakened, the fear itself a virus that lay dormant but that they would never be able to permanently dispel. Joyfulness, abandon: they had had to relearn those, they had had to re-earn them. But they would never have to relearn fear; it would live within the three of them, a shared disease, a shimmery strand that had woven itself through their DNA.

“鼻咽炎?！卑驳蠈χ麄兾⑿φf，“就是一般的感冒?！蓖皇址旁隰玫碌暮竽X，兩個人都松了一口氣。他們恐懼的本能重新蘇醒得多快，快得令人痛苦；恐懼本身就像一種病毒，只是暫時休眠，但絕對無法永遠擺脫?？鞓泛头趴v他們都必須重新學習，必須重新努力贏得。但他們永遠不必重新學習恐懼：因為恐懼就活在他們?nèi)齻€人心中，是一種共同的疾病，一股纏繞著他們DNA的發(fā)亮細線。

　 And so off he went to Spain, to Galicia, to film. For as long as he had known him, Jude had wanted to someday walk the Camino de Santiago, the medieval pilgrimage route that ended in Galicia. “We’ll start at the Aspe Pass in the Pyrenees,” Jude had said (this was before either of them had ever even been to France), “and we’ll walk west. It’ll take weeks! Every night we’ll stay in these communal pilgrim hostels I’ve read about and we’ll survive on black bread with caraway seeds and yogurt and cucumbers.”

他要去西班牙的加利西亞拍片。從兩人認識以來，裘德一直希望有一天能去走圣雅各布之路，這條中世紀的朝圣路線，終點就在加利西亞?！拔覀儠谋壤Ｋ股降陌⑺古灏诔霭l(fā)，”裘德年輕時曾說（那時他們兩個連法國都還沒去過），“然后往西走。會走上好幾個星期！每天晚上，我們住在我讀到過的朝圣客共享旅舍里，天天只吃加了葛縷子籽的黑面包、酸奶和小黃瓜。”

　 “I don’t know,” he said, although back then he had thought less of Jude’s limitations—he was too young at the time, they both were, to truly believe that Jude might have limitations—and more of himself. “That sounds kind of exhausting, Judy.”

“不知道哎。”他說，當時他很少想到裘德的限制。當時他還太年輕，兩人都很年輕，不相信裘德可能會有限制。他比較擔心自己的限制?！澳锹犉饋砗美郏◆?。”