《渺小一生》:“你覺得菲利克斯哪里有毛??？”

　 Felix’s father was a friend of friends of Malcolm’s parents, and it had been Malcolm’s father who had gotten him the job. “They’re really not paying you enough at the U.S. Attorney’s Office, are they?” Mr. Irvine had asked him. “I don’t know why you won’t just let me introduce you to Gavin.” Gavin was one of Mr. Irvine’s law school friends, who now presided over one of the city’s more powerful firms.

菲利克斯的父親是馬爾科姆父母朋友的朋友，當(dāng)初就是馬爾科姆的父親幫他找到這個家教工作的。“聯(lián)邦檢察署付你的薪水實(shí)在不夠吧？”馬爾科姆的父親歐文先生曾問他，“我不明白你為什么不肯讓我把你介紹給蓋文。”蓋文是歐文先生法學(xué)院時代的好友，現(xiàn)在主持的律師事務(wù)所在紐約市頗有影響力。

　 “Dad, he doesn’t want to work for some corporate firm,” Malcolm had begun, but his father continued talking as if Malcolm hadn’t even spoken, and Malcolm had hunched back into his chair. He had felt bad for Malcolm then, but also annoyed, as he had told Malcolm to discreetly inquire whether his parents knew anyone who might have a kid who needed tutoring, not to actually ask them.

“爸，他不想去什么大型律師事務(wù)所上班?！瘪R爾科姆說，但他父親充耳不聞，繼續(xù)講他的，馬爾科姆只好往后坐回椅子里。他當(dāng)時很替馬爾科姆難過，但也有點(diǎn)氣他，因?yàn)樗敖淮R爾科姆，要他謹(jǐn)慎地向父母打聽，是否有熟人的小孩需要家教，而不是直接請他們幫忙。

　 “Really, though,” Malcolm’s father had said to him, “I think it’s terrific that you’re interested in making your way on your own.” (Malcolm slouched even lower in his seat.) “But do you really need the money that badly? I didn’t think the federal government paid that miserably, but it’s been a long time since I was in public service.” He grinned.

“不過，真的，”馬爾科姆的父親對他說，“你想一切靠自己，我覺得太了不起了?！保R爾科姆在座位里滑得更低了）“只是你真的這么需要錢嗎？我想聯(lián)邦政府的薪水應(yīng)該沒那么差，但我沒擔(dān)任公職也很久了。”他咧嘴一笑。

　 He smiled back. “No,” he said, “the salary’s fine.” (It was. It wouldn’t have been to Mr. Irvine, of course, nor to Malcolm, but it was more money than he had ever dreamed he would have, and every two weeks it arrived, a relentless accumulation of numbers.) “I’m just saving up for a down payment.” He saw Malcolm’s face swivel toward him, and he reminded himself to tell Willem the particular lie he had told Malcolm’s father before Malcolm told Willem himself.

他也報以微笑?！安?，”他說，“那里的薪水還好?！保ǖ拇_如此。當(dāng)然，那些薪水對歐文先生來說并不好，對馬爾科姆來說也不好，但已經(jīng)超過他以往夢想能賺的錢了，而且每兩周發(fā)一次薪，讓他的存款持續(xù)累積。）“我正在存錢，要付一筆頭期款?！彼吹今R爾科姆的臉轉(zhuǎn)向他，暗自提醒自己，要記得告訴威廉他跟馬爾科姆的父親撒了這個謊，免得馬爾科姆先去跟威廉說。

　 “Oh, well, good for you,” said Mr. Irvine. This was a goal he could understand. “And as it happens, I know just the person.”

“啊，那很好?！睔W文先生說，這樣的目標(biāo)很可以理解，“碰巧呢，我認(rèn)識一個適當(dāng)?shù)娜诉x。”

　 That person was Howard Baker, who had hired him after interviewing him for fifteen distracted minutes to tutor his son in Latin, math, German, and piano. (He wondered why Mr. Baker wasn’t hiring professionals for each subject—he could have afforded it—but didn’t ask.) He felt sorry for Felix, who was small and unappealing, and who had a habit of scratching the inside of one narrow nostril, his index finger tunneling upward until he remembered himself and quickly retracted it, rubbing it on the side of his jeans. Eight months later, it was still unclear to him just how capable Felix was. He wasn’t stupid, but he suffered from a lack of passion, as if, at twelve, he had already become resigned to the fact that life would be a disappointment, and he a disappointment to the people in it. He was always waiting, on time and with his assignments completed, every Saturday at one p.m., and he obediently answered every question—his answers always ending in an anxious, querying upper register, as if every one, even the simplest (“Salve, Felix, quid agis?” “Um … bene?”), were a desperate guess—but he never had any questions of his own, and when he asked Felix if there was any subject in particular he might want to try discussing in either language, Felix would shrug and mumble, his finger drifting toward his nose. He always had the impression, when waving goodbye to Felix at the end of the afternoon—Felix listlessly raising his own hand before slouching back into the recesses of the entryway—that he never left the house, never went out, never had friends over. Poor Felix: his very name was a taunt.

那個人就是霍華德·貝克。他心不在焉地跟他面談了十五分鐘，便決定雇用他當(dāng)家教，替他兒子補(bǔ)習(xí)拉丁語、數(shù)學(xué)、德語和鋼琴（他不懂貝克先生為什么不專門雇用每個科目的家教——他明明雇得起——但是也沒問）。他替菲利克斯覺得難過，他瘦小而不起眼，有挖鼻孔的習(xí)慣，食指總是不自覺往鼻孔里探，然后才想起來，趕緊抽回手在牛仔褲側(cè)邊抹。八個月后，他還是搞不清菲利克斯的程度到底如何。他不笨，但是缺乏熱情，仿佛才12歲就已經(jīng)認(rèn)命，知道人生不過是失望一場，而其他人也會對他失望。每星期六下午1點(diǎn)，他總是準(zhǔn)時等著他，所有的功課都做完了，而且乖乖回答每個問題。他回答時，句尾總是語音上揚(yáng)，充滿焦慮和疑問，好像每個答案都是亂猜的，就連最簡單的也不例外（比方用最簡單的拉丁語問候菲利克斯“你好嗎”，他會猶豫著回答“嗯——很好？”）。但他從來不會提出自己的問題。當(dāng)他問菲利克斯會不會用德語或拉丁語討論特定的主題時，菲利克斯會聳聳肩咕噥著，手指又往上朝鼻子移動。每次補(bǔ)習(xí)完畢，他在門口和菲利克斯揮手道別時（菲利克斯無力地舉起一只手，然后又垂頭喪氣地轉(zhuǎn)身進(jìn)門去），他總有個印象，覺得他從沒離開過這棟房子，從不出門，也沒有朋友來找他?？蓱z的菲利克斯，他的名字本身就是一種嘲弄[1]。

　 The previous month, Mr. Baker had asked to speak to him after their lessons were over, and he had said goodbye to Felix and followed the maid into the study. His limp had been very pronounced that day, and he had been self-conscious, feeling—as he often did—as if he were playing the role of an impoverished governess in a Dickensian drama.

上個月，有天貝克先生要求他上完課后跟他談一下，于是他和菲利克斯道別后，跟著女傭來到書房。他那天覺得自己的腿跛得特別明顯，而且他一直很不安，覺得（他常常這樣覺得）自己像在狄更斯小說改編的戲劇里扮演貧寒女家庭教師的角色。

　 He had expected impatience from Mr. Baker, perhaps anger, even though Felix was doing quantifiably better in school, and he was ready to defend himself if he needed—Mr. Baker paid far more than he had anticipated, and he had plans for the money he was earning there—but he was instead nodded toward the chair in front of the desk.

他本來以為貝克先生會很不耐煩，甚至生氣，但是菲利克斯在學(xué)校的成績進(jìn)步很多，所以他也準(zhǔn)備好在必要時為自己辯護(hù)（貝克先生付的家教酬勞比他預(yù)期高很多，這些錢他也計劃好了要怎么用），結(jié)果貝克先生只是朝他書桌前的那張椅子點(diǎn)了個頭。

　 “What do you think’s wrong with Felix?” Mr. Baker had demanded.

“你覺得菲利克斯哪里有毛病？”貝克先生問他。

　 He hadn’t been expecting the question, so he had to think before he answered. “I don’t think anything’s wrong with him, sir,” he’d said, carefully. “I just think he’s not—” Happy, he nearly said. But what was happiness but an extravagance, an impossible state to maintain, partly because it was so difficult to articulate? He couldn’t remember being a child and being able to define happiness: there was only misery, or fear, and the absence of misery or fear, and the latter state was all he had needed or wanted. “I think he’s shy,” he finished.

他沒預(yù)料到這個問題，于是想了一會兒才回答：“先生，我不覺得他有哪里不對勁?！彼⌒囊硪淼卣f，“我只是覺得他不……”快樂，他差點(diǎn)這么說了。但什么是快樂？除了那是一種奢侈、一種不可能持續(xù)的狀態(tài)，太難用語言來表述了，或許這也是它無法持續(xù)的部分原因？他不記得自己小時候有辦法定義快樂：當(dāng)時只有悲慘、害怕，或是不悲慘也不害怕，而后者的狀態(tài)就是他唯一需要或想要的?！拔蚁胨芎π摺！弊詈笏f。

　 Mr. Baker grunted (this was obviously not the answer he was looking for). “But you like him, right?” he’d asked him, with such an odd, vulnerable desperation that he experienced a sudden deep sadness, both for Felix and for Mr. Baker. Was this what being a parent was like? Was this what being a child with a parent was like? Such unhappinesses, such disappointments, such expectations that would go unexpressed and unmet!

貝克先生咕噥了一聲（這顯然不是他想聽到的答案）?！安贿^你喜歡他，對吧？”他問他，帶著一種奇特、脆弱的絕望，讓他忽然覺得好難過，為菲利克斯難過，也為貝克先生難過。當(dāng)父母親就是這樣嗎？當(dāng)個有父母親的孩子就是這樣嗎？這么不快樂，這么失望，這么多期望無法表達(dá)、無法實(shí)現(xiàn)！

　 “Of course,” he had said, and Mr. Baker had sighed and given him his check, which the maid usually handed to him on his way out.

“那當(dāng)然?！彼f。貝克先生嘆了口氣，把支票交給他，而之前都是由女傭在他離開時遞給他的。

　 The next week, Felix hadn’t wanted to play his assignment. He was more listless than usual. “Shall we play something else?” he’d asked. Felix had shrugged. He thought. “Do you want me to play something for you?” Felix had shrugged again. But he did anyway, because it was a beautiful piano and sometimes, as he watched Felix inch his fingers across its lovely smooth keys, he longed to be alone with the instrument and let his hands move over its surface as fast as he could.

下一個星期，菲利克斯不想彈他指定的曲子。他比平常還要沒精神?！跋霃梽e的嗎？”他問。菲利克斯聳聳肩。他想了想：“要我彈給你聽嗎？”菲利克斯又聳聳肩。但他還是彈了，因?yàn)檫@架鋼琴很美，有時他看著菲利克斯的手指撫過那光滑的、精致的琴鍵，很渴望能獨(dú)自坐在鋼琴前，雙手盡情在琴鍵上迅速地移動。

　 He played Haydn, Sonata No. 50 in D Major, one of his favorite pieces and so bright and likable that he thought it might cheer them both up. But when he was finished, and there was only the quiet boy sitting next to him, he was ashamed, both of the braggy, emphatic optimism of the Haydn and of his own burst of self-indulgence.

他演奏了海頓的《D大調(diào)第五十號鋼琴奏鳴曲》，這是他最喜歡的作品之一，而且輕快愉悅，他覺得彈這首可以讓兩個人都開心一點(diǎn)?？墒堑人麖椡?，那個男孩還是沉默地坐在他旁邊。他覺得羞愧，既為了海頓這首曲子明顯而夸張的樂觀，也因?yàn)樽约汉鋈贿@么放縱。

　 “Felix,” he’d begun, and then stopped. Beside him, Felix waited. “What’s wrong?”

“菲利克斯，”他說，然后又停下。在他旁邊的菲利克斯等待著，“有什么不對勁嗎？”

　 And then, to his astonishment, Felix had begun to cry, and he had tried to comfort him. “Felix,” he’d said, awkwardly putting his arm around him. He pretended he was Willem, who would have known exactly what to do and what to say without even thinking about it. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you, it will be.” But Felix had only cried harder.

這時，令他驚訝的是，菲利克斯哭了起來，他試圖安慰他?！胺评怂梗彼f，笨拙地伸出一只手?jǐn)堊∷募绨?。他假裝自己是威廉，可以想都不必想就完全明白該做什么、說什么，“一切都會好起來的。我跟你保證，一定會的?！钡评怂怪皇强薜酶鼉戳?。

　 “I don’t have any friends,” Felix had sobbed.

“我一個朋友都沒有?！狈评怂灌ㄆf。

　 “Oh, Felix,” he’d said, and his sympathy, which until then had been of the remote, objective kind, clarified itself. “I’m sorry.” He felt then, keenly, the loneliness of Felix’s life, of a Saturday spent sitting with a crippled nearly thirty-year-old lawyer who was there only to earn money, and who would go out that night with people he loved and who, even, loved him, while Felix remained alone, his mother—Mr. Baker’s third wife—perpetually elsewhere, his father convinced there was something wrong with him, something that needed fixing. Later, on his walk home (if the weather was nice, he refused Mr. Baker’s car and walked), he would wonder at the unlikely unfairness of it all: Felix, who was by any definition a better kid than he had been, and who yet had no friends, and he, who was a nothing, who did.

“喔，菲利克斯?！彼f。他之前一直保持的遠(yuǎn)距離、客觀的同情，忽然清晰了起來，“我很遺憾?！彼麖?qiáng)烈地感覺到菲利克斯的生活有多么寂寞。這是星期六，菲利克斯身邊只有一個快30歲、瘸了腿的律師，而這律師來這里只是為了賺錢，晚上還會跟他所愛、甚至也愛他的人一起出門玩。但是菲利克斯還是孤零零一個人，他母親（貝克先生的第三任妻子）長年不在身邊，他父親則相信他有毛病，需要矯治。稍后，在走回家的路上（如果天氣好，他會婉拒貝克先生派的車，自己走路回家），他會想著這一切看似荒謬的不公平：就任何標(biāo)準(zhǔn)來說，菲利克斯都比他小時候過得好，可是菲利克斯沒有朋友；而他，什么都沒有，卻有朋友。

　 “Felix, it’ll happen eventually,” he’d said, and Felix had wailed, “But when?” with such yearning that he had winced.

“菲利克斯，總有一天你會交到朋友的?！彼f，而菲利克斯慟哭說：“可是什么時候？”那種渴望令他動容。

　 “Soon, soon,” he had told him, petting his skinny back, “I promise,” and Felix had nodded, although later, walking him to the door, his little geckoey face made even more reptilian from tears, he’d had the distinct sensation that Felix had known he was lying. Who could know if Felix would ever have friends? Friendship, companionship: it so often defied logic, so often eluded the deserving, so often settled itself on the odd, the bad, the peculiar, the damaged. He waved goodbye at Felix’s small back, retreating already into the house, and although he would never have said so to Felix, he somehow fancied that this was why Felix was so wan all the time: it was because Felix had already figured this out, long ago; it was because he already knew.

“很快，很快的?！彼嬖V他，拍拍他干瘦的背部，“我保證?！庇谑欠评怂裹c(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭。不過稍后送他到門口時，他看著那張窄小如壁虎的臉，因?yàn)榭捱^更像爬蟲類生物，忽然隱隱覺得菲利克斯知道他在說謊。誰知道菲利克斯之后能不能交到朋友？友誼或愛情往往違背邏輯，往往不論是否值得，往往寄居在古怪的、糟糕的、特殊的、具有破壞性的情況下。他揮手告別，但菲利克斯已經(jīng)轉(zhuǎn)身進(jìn)屋了。這些話他永遠(yuǎn)不會告訴菲利克斯，但不知怎的，他猜想這就是菲利克斯長年如此蒼白的原因：因?yàn)榉评怂购芫靡郧耙呀?jīng)猜到了，因?yàn)樗缇椭懒恕?