一篇没有名字的专栏

十二月十九号,星期六,大雪来了。雪下了一天一夜,比广场二十年来见过的任何一场雪都大。大片大片的软雪,到早上都变硬了。公共汽车停了。市场里有一间小木屋的屋顶被雪压坏了一块,市场关了门。Karim 一整天都在打电话,对市政府大声喊。爸爸一整天都在用铲子给广场上每一位老人扫门前的台阶,一家接一家。

On Saturday the nineteenth the big snow came. It snowed all day and all night, more snow than the square had seen in twenty years, enormous soft flakes that turned solid by the morning. The buses stopped. Part of a roof on one of the market huts gave way under the weight, and the market was closed. Karim spent the day on the phone, shouting at the council. My father spent it clearing the steps of every old person on the square, one after another, with a shovel.

那天晚上,我们在 Edith 的厨房桌子旁回了最后一封信。一个叫 Leo 的男孩希望圣尼古拉让他的大姐姐对他好一点。Edith 的回答是,请他去问问姐姐圣诞节想要什么,因为从来没有人问过姐姐。Ben 写完了,放下笔,盖上了墨水瓶。

That evening, at Edith’s kitchen table, we answered the last letter. A boy called Leo wanted Saint Nicholas to make his big sister nicer. Edith’s answer suggested that he ask his big sister what she wanted for Christmas, because nobody ever asked big sisters. Ben wrote it, and put the pen down, and closed the bottle of ink.

“都在这儿了,”他说。”四十二年。每一封都回了。”

“That’s all of them,” he said. “Forty-two years. All of them answered.”

“可是还没有送出去,”Edith 说。

“Not delivered,” said Edith.

“Leila 会去送。”他隔着桌子看着我,从十六号以来,他第一次对我笑了。那是一个很小的笑,可是我看到了。”她送得越来越好了。Patel 太太星期五看到她,还以为她是小偷。”

“Leila will deliver them.” He looked at me across the table, and for the first time since the sixteenth, he smiled at me. It was a small smile, but it was there. “She’s getting good at it. Mrs Patel saw her on Friday and thought she was a burglar.”

十二月二十号,星期天晚上,Ben 从 Edith 家送我回家。路不远,从药店到爸爸的店,穿过广场的下面,大约两百步。Ben 带我走了远路,从广场上面绕过去,经过教堂。

On Sunday evening, the twentieth, Ben walked me home from Edith’s. It isn’t far. It’s about two hundred steps from the chemist’s to my father’s shop, across the bottom of the square. Ben took me the long way, round the top, past the church.

暴风雪以后,广场是白的,也很安静。雪又深又软,没有别的人。教堂的窗户是黑的,只有门廊上的灯亮着,灯下是那个木箱子,要到明年才会再打开。

The square was white and silent after the storm. The snow was deep and soft, and there was nobody else out. The church windows were dark. Only the lamp over the porch was on, and under it the wooden box, closed until next year.

他在教堂的台阶前停下来。他把手放进口袋里,又拿出来,又放回去。

He stopped at the church steps. He put his hands in his pockets. Then he took them out again. Then he put them back.

“Leila,”他说。”圣诞夜有午夜弥撒。我每年都去。我妈妈去。所有人都去。我在想,你,如果你想,你愿不愿意来。和我一起。作为朋友。”他把”作为朋友”说得很快,好像那是一个词。”只是作为朋友。当然了。因为发生了那么多事。还因为你二十七号就要回多伦多了。所以,作为朋友。”

“Leila,” he said. “There’s the midnight mass. On Christmas Eve. I always go. My mum goes. Everyone goes. And I wondered if you, if you wanted, if you’d like to come. With me. As a friend.” He said “as a friend” very fast, as if it were one word. “Only as a friend. Obviously. Because of everything. And because you’re going back to Toronto on the twenty-seventh. So as a friend.”

我看着他。这是我收到过的最糟的邀请,而他是我见过的最不会说谎的人。

I looked at him. It was the worst invitation I have ever had, and he was the worst liar I have ever met.

“作为朋友,”我说。

“As a friend,” I said.

“好,”他说。”太好了。好。”

“Good,” he said. “Great. Good.”

大片大片的软雪落下来。然后他吻了我,或者是我吻了他,我们到现在也没有说好是谁。他的脸很冷,他的嘴很暖。我们吻了很久。我们停下来的时候,教堂的钟敲了九下,好像在数数。

Snow fell in big soft flakes. Then he kissed me, or I kissed him; we have never agreed which. His face was cold and his mouth was warm. It lasted a long time. When we stopped, the church bell rang nine, as if it was counting.

“那个,”我说,”不太像朋友。”

“That,” I said, “was not very friendly.”