Here was someone who lacked for nothing. I couldn’t understand this feeling. I envied him.
“Oliver, are you sleeping?” I would ask when the air by the pool had grown oppressively torpid and quiet.
Silence.
Then his reply would come, almost a sigh, without a single muscle moving in his body. “I was.”
“Sorry.”
That foot in the water—I could have kissed every toe on it. Then kissed his ankles and his knees. How often had I stared at his bathing suit while his hat was covering his face? He couldn’t possibly have known what I was looking at.
Or:
“Oliver, are you sleeping?”
Long silence.
“No. Thinking.”
“About what?”
His toes flicking the water.
“About Heidegger’s10 interpretation of a fragment by Heraclitus.”
Or, when I wasn’t practicing the guitar and he wasn’t listening to his headphones, still with his straw hat flat on his face, he would suddenly break the silence:
“Elio.”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Thinking, then.”
“About?”
I was dying to tell him.
“Private,” I replied.
“So you won’t tell me?”
“So I won’t tell you.”
“So he won’t tell me,” he repeated, pensively, as if explaining to someone about me.
 
這是一個沒有缺憾感的人。我無法了解這種感覺。我羨慕他。
“奧利弗，你睡著了嗎？”當游泳池畔的空氣變得愈發(fā)安靜逼人的時候，我會問他。
沉默。
接著傳來他的回答，幾乎像一聲嘆息，好似渾身沒有一塊肌肉運動。“是啊。”
“抱歉。”
他那泡在水里的腳——我原本能親吻每一根腳趾頭，吻他的腳踩和膝蓋。他拿帽子遮住臉時，我盯著他泳褲看的頻率有多高？他不可能知道我在看什么。
或者，我問：“奧利弗，你睡著了？”
長久的沉默。
“沒有，在思考。”
“思考什么？”
他動動腳趾輕輕打水。
“思考海德格爾對赫拉克利特某段文字的詮釋。”
或者，當我不練習吉他，他也不聽耳機的時候，依舊用草帽遮住臉的他會突然打破沉默。
“艾里奧。”
“嗯？”
“你在做什么？”
“讀書。”
“不，你才沒有。”
“不然，在思考。”
“思考什么？”
我多想告訴他啊。
“私事。”我回答。
“所以你不告訴我？”
“所以我不告訴你。”
“所以他不告訴我。”他重復著，看起來憂心忡忡，仿佛向某個人解釋我的事。

《請以你的名字呼喚我》