聽書-Tuesdays With Morrie（11）

The Classroom (11)

教室

The sun beamed in through the dining room window, lighting up the hardwood foor.

陽光透過餐廳窗戶照進來，照亮了硬木地闆。

We had been talking there for nearly two hours.

我們已經在餐廳裡聊了将近2小時。

The phone rang yet again and Morrie asked his helper, Connie, to get it.

電話再一次響起，莫瑞讓他的助手康妮去接電話。

She had been jotting the callers' names in Morrie's small black appointment book.

她把電話來訪者的名字快速簡略的記在莫瑞小小的黑色會見簿上。

Friends. Meditation teachers. A discussion group. Someone who wanted to photograph him for a magazine.

打來電話的是各種朋友們。冥想老師們。讨論小組。以及一些想要給他拍雜志照片的人們。

It was clear I was not the only one interested in visiting my old professor—the "Nightline" appearance had made him something of a celebrity—but I was impressed with, perhaps even a bit envious of, all the friends that Morrie seemed to have.

很明顯我不是唯一有興趣來拜訪莫瑞的人——在“晚間專線”上的亮相讓他多少成了名人——但最讓我敬佩的，甚至有點嫉妒的，是莫瑞看起來擁有的那些朋友們。

I thought about the"buddies" that circled my orbit back in college.

我想起了大學時總是圍繞在我周圍的“弟兄”們。

Where had they gone?

他們又在哪兒呢？

“You know, Mitch, now that I'm dying, I've become much more interesting to people.”

“你懂的，米契，因為我快死了，是以對于人們來說我就開始變得越發有意思了。”

You were always interesting.

你一直都是很有趣的。

“Ho.”Morrie smiled. “You're kind.”

“哦。”莫瑞微笑起來。“你真善良。”

No, I'm not, I thought.

不，我并不善良，我心裡想着。

“Here's the thing,” he said. “People see me as a bridge. I'm not as alive as I used to be, but I'm not yet dead. I'm sort of . . . in-between."

“我想事情是這樣的，”他說。“人們把我當作一個橋梁。我既不像以前那樣是活生生的，但我也還沒有死去。我類似于是。。。居于生死之間。”

He coughed, then regained his smile.

他咳嗽起來，然後臉上又重回微笑。

“I'm on the last great journey here—and people want me to tell them what to pack.”

“我正走在人生最後的偉大旅程之中——是以人們希望我能告訴他們該在路上打包點什麼東西。”

The phone rang again.

電話又響了。

“Morrie, can you talk?” Connie asked.

“莫瑞，你友善接電話嗎？”康妮問道。

“I'm visiting with my old pal now,” he announced. “Let them call back.”

“我正在和我的老夥計會面呢，”他如此宣稱。“讓他們一會兒回電話吧。”

I cannot tell you why he received me so warmly.

我沒法告訴你為什麼莫瑞如此親切的接待我。

I was hardly the promising student who had left him sixteen years earlier.

十六年前離開他的學生中，我根本算不上多麼有前途。

Had it not been for “Nightline,” Morrie might have died without ever seeing me again.

如果不是”晚間專線“這檔節目，莫瑞可能至死也不會再見到我。

I had no good excuse for this, except the one that everyone these days seems to have.

對此我找不出任何借口推脫，除了那個這些年人人似乎都有的一個說辭。

l had become too wrapped up in the siren song of my own life.

我變得太過于沉浸在我自身生活的種種誘惑之中了。

I was busy.

我太忙了。

What happened to me?

到底發生了什麼？

I asked myself.

我問我自己。

Morrie's high, smoky voice took me back to my university years, when I thought rich people were evil, a shirt and tie were prison clothes, and life without freedom to get up and go—motorcycle beneath you, breeze in your face, down the streets of Paris, into the mountains of Tibet—was not a good life at all.

莫瑞尖銳沙啞的嗓音将我帶回了大學時光，那時候我認為富人都很壞，襯衫和領帶都是囚服，沒有那種來去自由的生活——胯下騎着哈雷，迎面吹來微風，從巴黎的街道風馳電掣，一路駛向西藏的山巅——根本不算理想的生活。

那麼在我身上又發生了什麼呢？

The eighties happened.

80年代過去了。

The nineties happened.

90年代過去了。

Death and sickness and getting fat and going bald happened, I traded lots of dreams for a bigger paycheck, and I never even realized I was doing it.

死亡，疾病，變胖和變秃都發生了，我用很多夢想換來了金額更大的支票，而我甚至壓根沒有意識到我在做這些事情。

Yet here was Morrie talking with the wonder of our college years, as if I'd simply been on a long vacation.

然而莫瑞在這裡說着我們大學時的峥嵘時光，就像我隻是離開大學度了個假又回來了似的。

“Have you found someone to share your heart with?” he asked.

“你有找到知心人分享你的内心世界嗎？”他問道。

“Are you giving to your community?

“你有對你的社群做些貢獻嗎？”

“Are you at peace with yourself?

“你有跟自己和平相處嗎？”

“Are you trying to be as human as you can be?”

“你有盡自己所能去充滿人性的活着嗎？”

I squirmed, wanting to show I had been grappling deeply with such questions.

我坐卧不安，試圖展現我深深有為這些問題努力過一樣。

我到底怎麼了？

I once promised myself I would never work for money, that I would join the Peace Corps, that I would live in beautiful, inspirational places.

我曾經向自己保證我永遠不會為了錢去工作，我會加入和平隊組織，我會在一個美麗且振奮人心的地方生活。

Instead, I had been in Detroit for ten years now, at the same workplace, using the same bank, visiting the same barber.

相反，我在底特律待了十年，在同一個工作地點，使用同一家銀行，去同一家理發店。

I was thirty-seven, more efficient than in college, tied to computers and modems and cell phones.

我三十七歲了，比在大學的時候更有能力了，整天和電腦、寬帶以及電話綁定在一起。

I wrote articles about rich athletes who, for the most part, could not care less about people like me.

我寫着那些關于富有的運動員的文章，那些運動員中的大多數，對于像我這樣的人簡直沒法更不在意了。

I was no longer young for my peer group, nor did I walk around in gray sweatshirts with unlit cigarettes in my mouth.

我不再是同齡人中更小的那個，也不再嘴裡叼着沒點着的煙穿着灰T恤衫到處亂晃。

I did not have long discussions over egg salad sandwiches about the meaning of life.

我不再對着雞蛋沙拉三明治大聊特聊生活的意義。

My days were full, yet I remained,much of the time, unsatisfied, What happened to me?

我的日子過得很充實，然而卻仍然覺得，大多數時間裡，不夠滿足，我到底怎麼了？

“Coach,”I said suddenly, remembering the nickname.

“教練，”我突然蹦出這個詞，想起了這個昵稱。

Morrie beamed. “That's me. I'm still your coach.”

莫瑞滿面開心。“沒錯是我。我仍然是你的教練。”

He laughed and resumed his eating, a meal he had started forty minutes earlier.

他一邊笑着一邊繼續吃飯，一頓他40分鐘前就開始吃的飯。

I watched him now, his hands working gingerly, as if he were learning to use them for the very first time.

我看着現在的他，他的手小心翼翼的動着，就像生平第一次學習怎麼用手一樣。

He could not press down hard with a knife.

他沒法拿刀用力切下去。

His fingers shook.

他的手指會顫抖。

Each bite was a struggle; he chewed the food finely before swallowing, and sometimes it slid out the sides of his lips, so that he had to put down what he was holding to dab his face with a napkin.

每嚼一下都很費力；他要把食物嚼透了然後才能咽下去，而且時不時的食物還要從他嘴邊漏出來，是以他又不得不放下手裡正拿着的東西去用餐巾輕輕的擦拭嘴角。

The skin from his wrist to his knuckles was dotted with age spots, and it was loose, like skin hanging from a chicken soup bone.

他從手腕到關節的皮膚上都星星點點布滿老人斑，而且皮膚非常松弛，就像雞湯骨頭上那快要掉下來的皮一樣。

For a while, we just ate like that, a sick old man, a healthy, younger man, both absorbing the quiet ofthe room.

有那麼一會兒，我們就那樣，一個生病的老人，一個健康的年輕人，彼此消化着房間裡靜靜的空氣。

I would say it was an embarrassed silence, but I seemed to be the only one embarrassed.

要我說那真是一種尴尬的沉默，但似乎我是唯一感到尴尬的那個人。

“Dying,” Morrie suddenly said, “is only one thing to be sad over, Mitch. Living unhappily is something else. So many of the people who come to visit me are unhappy.”

“死亡，”莫瑞突然說道。“是唯一一件讓人悲哀的事，米契。而不快樂的活着就是另外一件。很多來拜訪我的人都不快樂。”

Why?

為什麼？

“Well, for one thing, the culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. We're teaching the wrong things. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn't work, don't buy it. Create your own. Most people can't do it. They're more unhappy than me— even in my current condition.

“其一，我們所擁有的文化沒法讓人們對自己感覺良好。我們正在教授錯誤的東西。而且你得足夠堅強才能說如果社會文化行不通，那就不去相信它。轉而去創造你自己的文化。大多數人做不到這點。是以他們比我還不開心——盡管我的近況是這麼糟糕。”

“I may be dying, but I am surrounded by loving, caring souls. How many people can say that?”

“我可能會死，但圍繞着我的盡是友愛體貼的靈魂。有多少人可以說能像我這樣？”

I was astonished by his complete lack of self-pity.

我為他徹底不囿于自憐的精神震驚了。

Morrie, who could no longer dance, swim, bathe, or walk; Morrie, who could no longer answer his own door, dry himself after a shower, or even roll over in bed.

莫瑞其人，再也不能跳舞、遊泳、洗澡；莫瑞其人，再也不能給人應門，洗完澡也沒法給自己擦幹，甚至做不到在床上翻身。

How could he be so accepting?

他怎麼能這麼坦然接受？

I watched him struggle with his fork, picking at a piece of tomato, missing it the first two times—a pathetic scene, and yet I could not deny that sitting in his presence was almost magically serene, the same calm breeze that soothed me back in college.

我看着他無比艱難的用着勺子，挑起一塊番茄，前兩次還掉了——一個多麼可悲的場景，可我仍然不能否認，坐在他面前簡直神奇的讓人内心平靜，就是那種大學時撫慰我的同樣的安甯的氣息。

I shot a glance at my watch—force of habit—it was getting late, and I thought about changing my plane reservation home.

我瞟了一眼我的手表——習慣使然——天漸漸晚了，我想着更改回家的預定機票。

Then Morrie did something that haunts me to this day.

接着莫瑞做了一件讓我接下來整天都魂不守舍的事情。

原著：Mitch Albom

譯播：薪栀Vera

英文小說《Tuesdays With Morrie 相約星期二》的聽書音頻會持續連載更新，每周更新一或二篇，敬請期待...