The Fifth Tuesday
第五个星期二
We Talk About Family
我们聊了聊家庭
Me?
我吗？
“Your family. I know about your parents. I met them, years ago, at graduation. You have a sister, too, right?"
“你的家庭。我知道你父母。很多年前在毕业典礼上我见过他们。你还有个姐妹，对吧？”
Yes, I said.
是的，我回答。
"Older, yes?"
“姐姐吗？”
Older.
是姐姐。
"And one brother, right?"
“还有一个兄弟，对吧？”
I nodded.
我只是点点头。
"Younger?"
“是弟弟？”
Younger.
是弟弟。
"Like me," Morrie said.
“你像我一样，”莫瑞说道。
"I have a younger brother."
“我也有个弟弟。”
Like you, I said.
确实挺像你，我回答。
"He also came to your graduation, didn't he?"
“他也参加了你的毕业典礼，不是吗？”
I blinked, and in my mind I saw us all there, sixteen years earlier, the hot sun, the blue robes, squintng as we put our arms around each other and posed for Instamatic photos, someone saying, "One, two, three...”
我眨了眨眼，在我的脑海里又浮现出了那时我们所有人都在的场景，十六年前，那炎热的太阳，蓝色的学士袍，我们一边眯着眼用胳膊环绕着彼此来为拍立得照片摆好姿势，而拍照的人一边喊着，“一，二，三...”
"What is it?" Morrie said, noticing my sudden quiet.
“你在想什么？”莫瑞问我，注意到了我突然的安静。
"What's on your mind?"
“你脑子里在想什么呀？”
Nothing, I said, changing the subject.
没啥，我答道，转换了话题。
The truth is, I do indeed have a brother, a blond-haired, hazel-eyed, two-years-younger brother, who looks so unlike me or my dark-haired sister that we used to tease him by claiming strangers had left him as a baby on our doorstep.
真相是这样的，我确实有个弟弟，一个有着一头金发、榛子一般的眼睛，比我小两岁的万人迷弟弟，他看起来跟我和我黑发的姐姐是那么的不像，以至于我们以前老是逗他，宣称他还是个宝宝的时候是被陌生人留在我们家门前台阶上的。
"And one day," we'd say, "they're coming back to get you."
“而且呀，总有一天，”我们会继续吓唬他，“他们就会回来把你带走哦。”
He cried when we said this, but we said it just the same.
我们这么说的时候他哭了起来，但我们仍然这么说。
He grew up the way many youngest children grow up, pampered, adored, and inwardly tortured.
他如同很多家里最小的孩子那样长大，养尊处优，全家溺爱，但也私下吃了不少苦头。
He dreamed of being an actor or a singer; he reenacted TV shows at the dinner table, playing every part, his bright smile practically jumping through his lips.
他梦想着成为一个演员或者歌手，他会在吃完饭的时候模仿重现电视节目，扮演每一个环节，那明亮的笑容几乎要溢出他的嘴角。
I was the good student, he was the bad; I was obedient, he broke the rules; I stayed away from drugs and alcohol, he tried everything you could ingest.
我是一个好学生，他则是混世魔王；我总是服从规则，他则打破规则；我远离毒品和酒精，他则会尝试一切他能拿到手的东西。
He moved to Europe not long after high school, preferring the more casual lifestyle he found there.
高中毕业不久他就移居去了欧洲，因为他发现更喜欢那里那种更随性的生活方式。
Yet he remained the family favorite.
但他仍然是全家最喜欢的一个孩子。
When he visited home, in his wild and funny presence, I often felt stiff and conservative.
当他回家拜访的时候，在他狂野又有趣的举止表现中，让我觉得自己又保守又不自然。
As different as we were, I reasoned that our fates would shoot in opposite directions once we hit adulthood.
鉴于我们如此不同，我理所当然地推测出成年后我们的命运必将会向着截然不同的方向发展。
I was right in all ways but one.
各个方面我都预测的分毫不差，除了一件事。
From the day my uncle died, I believe that I would suffer a similar death, an untimely disease that would take me out.
从我叔叔因癌症去世的那天起，我深信我也会承受相同的死亡，会有一种疾病过早的把我带走。
So I worked as a feverish pace, and I braced myself for cancer.
所以我以过激的节奏工作，并且身体上也为癌症做好了准备。
I could feel its breath.
我能感受到癌症的气息。
I knew it was coming.
我知道它要来了。
I waited for it the way a condemned man waits for the executioner.
我如同一个被判了死刑的人等待刽子手一样等待着癌症。
And I was right. It came.
而且我说对了。它的确来了。
But it missed me.
但它却错过了我。
It struck my brother.
降临到我弟弟身上。
The same type of cancer as my uncle.
是和我叔叔相同类型的癌症。
The pancreas.
胰腺癌。
A rare form.
而且是罕见类型。
And so the youngest of our family, with the blond hair and the hazel eyes, had the chemotherapy and the radiation.
所以全家最小的孩子，有着一头金发和榛子般的眼睛的孩子，接受了化疗和放射治疗。
His hair fell out, his face went gaunt as a skeleton.
他的头发全掉光了，他的脸颊干瘦得像个骷髅。
It's supposed to be me, I thought.
得病的本应该是我呀，我想着。
But my brother was not me, and he was not my uncle.
但我弟弟不是我，也不是我叔叔。
He was a fighter, and had been since his youngest days, when we wrestled in the basement and he actually bit through my shoe until I screamed in pain and let him go.
他是一个斗士，而且从他小时候就是，那时我们两个在地下室里摔跤，他会一直咬穿我的鞋子直到我尖叫着喊痛把他放开。
And so he fought back.
所以他向这场疾病展开了反击。
He battled the disease in Spain, where he lived, with the aid of an experimental drug that was not—and still is not—available in the United States.
他去了西班牙抗癌，在一种实验性疗法的帮助下在那里生活，而这种疗法不仅那时而且现在在美国仍然是不可采用的。
He flew all over Europe for treatments.
他为了寻找疗法飞遍了欧洲。
After five years of treatment, the drug appeared to chase the cancer into remission.
经过五年的治疗，药物似乎将癌症驱逐了不少。
That was the good news.
真是一个好消息。
The bad news was, my brother did not want me around—not me, not anyone in the family.
然而坏消息就是，我弟弟并不愿意让我陪伴他左右，不止是我，家里任何一个人都不行。
Much as we tried to call and visit, he held us at bay, insisting this fight was something he needed to do by himself.
尽管我们尝试打电话、去他家那么多次，他都让我们无功而返，一心坚持这是一场需要他自己来完成的战斗。
Months would pass without a word from him.
他会几个月都毫无音信。
Messages on his answering machine would go without reply.
给他电话留言的消息永远没有回音。
I was ripped with guilt for what I felt I should be doing for him and fueled with anger for his denying us the right to do it.
我既被那种觉得自己应该为弟弟做些什么的愧疚感，也被他连我们为他着想的权利都拒绝的满满的愤怒感而撕裂。
So once again, I dove into work.
所以再一次，我藏到工作中躲起来。
I worked because I could control it.
我工作是因为我能掌控工作。
I worked because work was sensible and responsive.
我工作是因为工作总在情理之中也总有所反馈。
And each time I would call my brother's apartment in Spain and get the answering machine—him speaking in Spanish, another sign of how far apart we had drifted—I would hang up and work some more.
而且每次我给我弟弟在西班牙的公寓打电话却只是收到他讲着西班牙语的自动应答时——这是又一个他跟我们之间隔阂之深的标志，我就会挂断电话再狠狠地多工作一会儿。
Perhaps this is one reason I was drawn to Morrie.
也许这就是我如此深受莫瑞吸引的原因之一。
He let me be where my brother would not.
他愿意让我来到我弟弟不愿意的位置上去照顾他。
Looking back, perhaps Morrie knew this all along.
回想起来，也许莫瑞一直都明白这个真相。
It is a winter in my childhood, on a snow-packed hill in our suburban neighborhood.
那是我童年时期的一个冬天，在我们郊外社区一个白雪覆盖的山丘上。
My brother and I are on the sled, him on top, me on the bottom.
我和弟弟坐在雪橇上，他坐上边，我坐下边。
I feel his chin on my shoulder and his feet on the backs of my knees.
我感到他的下巴磕在我的肩膀上，他的脚能踢到我膝盖后窝。
The sled rumbles on icy patches beneath us.
雪橇在我们下方的冰盖上隆隆轰鸣。
We pick up speed as we descend the hill.
在冲下山坡的时候我们又加了一把油门。
"CAR!" someone yells.
“有车！”突然旁边有人喊了一声。
We see it coming, down the street to our left.
我们看见一辆车从我们左边的街道疾驰而来。
We scream and try to steer away, but the runners do not move.
我们尖叫着试着扭转方向盘，但是雪橇架子无法扭转。
The driver slams his horn and hits his brakes, and we do what all kids do: we jump off.
司机拼命拍打着他的喇叭疯狂踩着刹车，然后我们做了所有孩子都会做的事：跳了下去。
In our hooded parkas, we roll like logs down the cold, wet snow, thinking the next thing to touch us will be the hard rubber of a car tire.
我俩穿着带帽子的派克大衣，像两根圆木头柱子一样从冰冷潮湿的雪坡上滚下来，一边想着下一个要触到我们的东西将会是汽车轮胎那坚硬的橡胶了。
We are yelling "AHHHHHH” and we are tingling with fear, turning over and over, the world upside down, right side up, upside down.
我们“啊——”的尖叫着，充满恐惧，感到浑身刺痛，不停的翻滚着，整个世界都上下颠倒，左右颠倒，再上下颠倒。
And then, nothing.
接着，一切都静止了。
We stop rolling and catch our breath and wipe the dripping snow from our faces.
我们总算停止翻滚，能喘口气，擦掉脸上滴滴嗒嗒的雪水。
The driver turns down the street, wagging his finger.
司机晃了晃手指，在街上转了个弯。
We are safe.
我们安全了。
Our sled has thudded quietly into a snowbank, and our friends are slapping us now, saying"Cool'' and "You could have died.”
我们的雪橇静静地撞进了一个大雪堆，朋友一边拍打着我们，一边说着“牛逼！” 或者 “你们差点就死了！”之类的的话。
I grin at my brother, and we are united by childish pride.
我冲弟弟咧嘴一笑，一种孩子气的骄傲感将我们俩紧紧联结在一起。
That wasn't so hard, we think, and we are ready to take, on death again.
对抗死亡也没那么难嘛，我们想着，而我们也已经做好准备来对抗，又一次死亡的来临。
原著：Mitch Albom
