“Hey,” he said, the extent of our usual conversation, since he didn’t speak much English. He carried a plastic gallon jug of milk out the back door onto the landing, where I heard him light a cigarette. He spent hours leaning on the railing, watching dumpsters and alley cats, drinking milk from the jug.“嘿。” 他说道，这就是我们平时交流的全部内容了，因为他不太会说英语。他提着一大塑料罐牛奶从后门走到门廊，我听到他在那儿点了根烟。他能在栏杆边一靠就是好几个小时，一边看着垃圾桶和巷子里的野猫，一边对着罐子喝牛奶。 I got nothing off the TV, so I dressed and walked next door to the library to use their computer and Internet access.我在电视上没找到相关消息，于是我穿好衣服，走到隔壁的图书馆去用那里的电脑上网。 According to the web edition of the Columbus Dispatch, the girl’s name was Nancilee Harper. Local girl, city school, basketball player. An angel, but aren’t they all, when they’re dead? No parents mentioned. Her grandmother’s picture was up on the home page, a pencil-thin black woman with carrot-orange hair and a bombed-out look in her eyes; maybe they caught her on the way home from the clubs. She looked younger than me.根据《哥伦布电讯报》的网络版报道，那个女孩叫南希莉・哈珀。她是本地人，在市里的学校上学，还是个篮球运动员。说是个天使，不过人一死，大家不都这么说嘛。报道里没提到她的父母。主页上有她奶奶的照片，是个瘦得像根铅笔似的黑人妇女，头发染成了胡萝卜橙，眼神空洞迷茫，说不定是刚从夜总会回家就被拍到了。她看上去比我还年轻。 According to the lead story, Nancilee had no enemies. She attended the Baptist church on the east edge of downtown. Good grades. She’d been asleep upstairs when Grandma left that evening for work. Grandma, Phara Johnson, waited tables at Caddy’s, a near eastside dive. Grandma returned home at 7 A.M. to find her front yard full of cops and reporters.根据头版报道，南希莉没有仇人。她常去市中心东边边缘的浸信会教堂做礼拜，学习成绩很好。那天晚上奶奶出门上班时，她正在楼上睡觉。她奶奶叫法拉・约翰逊，在城东一家破破烂烂的小餐馆 “凯迪之家” 当服务员。奶奶早上 7 点回到家，发现前院全是警察和记者。 No mention of the white guy, the Escalade, no artist’s sketch of a person of interest. I figured he was in the can already or two states away with his pedal to the floor. The license plate we’d written down was no doubt in a dumpster somewhere.报道里没提到那个白人男子和那辆凯雷德，也没有公布嫌疑人的画像。我猜那家伙要么已经被关进了监狱，要么正踩足油门，逃到两个州以外的地方去了。我们记下的车牌号，毫无疑问已经被扔到某个垃圾桶里了。 I signed off and drifted to the magazine room. I never knew what to do with myself late afternoon, early evening, the time when families would be regathering after school, work, errands, fighting for the remote, doing homework, arguing about dinner.我退出网页，慢悠悠地晃到杂志区。傍晚时分，我总是不知道该做些什么。这个时候，家家户户的人结束了上学、上班、办事，回到家中相聚，争抢着电视遥控器，孩子们做着作业，一家人还会为晚餐吃什么而争论不休。 My disability check didn’t cover entertainment, so the library was my second most frequented haunt. I was sitting by the picture window reading the latest Popular Science when Sandy called.我的残疾补助金不够用来消遣娱乐，所以图书馆成了我第二常去的地方。我正坐在临窗的位置看最新一期的《大众科学》，这时桑迪打来了电话。 “You see the news?” she said.“你看新闻了吗？” 她说。 “The girl? Nancilee?”“是说那个女孩？南希莉？” “Yeah.” I knew she was leaning against the door frame in the hallway between her kitchen and dining room, probably twisting her index finger through the phone cord. She never sat down when she talked on the phone. I once asked her why. She told me her father used to sneak up behind her, take up some slack from the cord, and pull it around her neck like a garrote. All in fun, he’d said.“对。” 我知道她正靠在厨房和餐厅之间走廊的门框上，很可能正用食指绕着电话线打转。她打电话的时候从来不坐着。我曾经问过她原因。她告诉我，她父亲以前常常悄悄走到她身后，把电话线松的地方收紧，然后像勒绞索一样勒住她的脖子。他还说这只是闹着玩。 “We should’ve called.”“我们当时就该报警的。” “We couldn’t have known,” I said. An old man across the table, holding a copy of Home and Garden an inch from his face, pulled it down to glare at me.“我们当时也不可能知道会这样啊。” 我说。桌子对面有个老头，把一本《家居与园艺》杂志举在离脸只有一英寸的地方看着，听到我的话，他把杂志放低，瞪了我一眼。 I ignored him. “She went with that guy like she wasn’t worried.”我没理他。“她跟着那男人走的时候，看上去一点都不担心。” “I’m going to call on that girl’s grandma. It’s the least I can do.”“我打算去拜访一下那女孩的奶奶，这是我至少能做的。” “Don’t. You don’t have anything to tell her that would be a comfort to her.”“别去了。你没什么能安慰到她的话可说。” “She’d want to know,” Sandy said, her voice rushed, breathy. “I wanted to know.”“她会想知道的。” 桑迪说，她的声音急促而又带着喘息。“当初我就想知道（事情的经过）。” “Talking to the EMTs only made it worse for you.” One EMT had told Sandy he thought I had alcohol on my breath. That one off-the-cuff remark had driven a stake through our marriage. I never realized when I was a kid that every day of your life is a high-wire act. Twenty years you can say the right thing, and then pow—one casual comment, one inattentive moment, and you’re in freefall. Ask Karl Wallenda.“和急救人员交谈对你来说只有更糟。” 有个急救人员曾告诉桑迪，他觉得我嘴里有酒气。就那一句随口说的话，给我们的婚姻判了死刑。我小时候从没意识到，人生的每一天就像走钢丝。二十年来你都能说对每一句话，可突然，砰的一下 —— 一句不经意的评论，一个疏忽的瞬间，你就开始自由坠落了。问问卡尔・沃伦达（著名高空走钢丝艺人，坠落身亡）就知道了。 “Would you go with me?” Sandy said. “In an hour or so?”“你能陪我一起去吗？” 桑迪说，“大概一个小时之后？” I saw Tex walk out of our apartment building toward his Civic. He was dressed to kill, clothes tight and shiny, the silver on his belt buckle sparkling under the streetlights.我看到 “德士古” 从我们公寓楼里出来，朝他的思域轿车走去。他打扮得十分帅气，衣服紧身又闪亮，皮带扣上的银色装饰在路灯下闪闪发光。 I agreed to go with Sandy. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I was also perversely drawn to pain, and I assumed there would be plenty there.我答应陪桑迪一起去。倒不是因为我想去，而是我实在想不出还有什么别的事可做。而且不知怎的，我总会不由自主地靠近痛苦，我猜想那里肯定会有很多令人痛苦的场景。