The Second Tuesday
第二个星期二
We Talk About Feeling Sorry for Yourself
我们聊了聊自怜情绪
I came back the next Tuesday.
接下来的星期二我又返回去看了莫瑞。
And for many Tuesdays that followed.
以及后面的很多个星期二。
I looked forward to these visits more than one would think, considering I was flying seven hundred miles to sit alongside a dying man.
考虑到我是飞越700多英里的路程去坐在一个将死之人的身边陪伴他，所以我比一个人所能想象到的更加期待对莫瑞的拜访。
But I seemed to slip into a time warp when I visited Morrie, and I liked myself better when I was there.
不过当我去看望莫瑞的时候，我就像是进入了一个时间静止的空间，并且我更喜欢跟莫瑞在一起的那个我。
I no longer rented a cellular phone for the rides from the airport.
我不再从机场来的路上租卫星电话。
Let them wait, I told myself, mimicking Morrie.
让他们等等吧，我对自己说，模仿着莫瑞的语气。
The newspaper situation in Detroit had not improved.
底特律的新闻界罢工事态一点也没有改善。
In fact, it had grown increasingly insane, with nasty confrontations between picketers and replacement workers, people arrested, beaten, lying in the street in front of delivery trucks.
事实上，这件事还愈演愈烈，随着抗议者和代替工人之间激烈的对峙，变得日渐疯狂，人们被逮捕，遭到殴打，甚至在大街上躺在送货卡车前面。
In light of this, my visits with Morrie felt like a cleansing rinse of human kindness.
鉴于如此糟糕的情况，我对莫瑞的拜访感觉就像经历一次充满人间善意的洗刷。
We talked about life and we talked about love.
我们讨论生活和爱。
We talked about one of Morrie's favorite subjects, compassion, and why our society had such a shortage of it.
我们还讨论莫瑞最喜欢的话题，激情，以及我们的社会如此缺乏激情的原因。
Before my third visit, I stopped at a market called Bread and Circus—I had seen their bags in Morrie's house and figured he must like the food there—and I loaded up with plastic containers from their fresh food take-away, things like vermicelli with vegetables and carrot soup and baklava.
在我进行第三次拜访前，我在一家叫做“面包和马戏团”的超市停留了一下——我曾在莫瑞家见过这家店的包装袋所以猜测莫瑞一定很喜欢这里的面包——然后我在他们现卖现做食物的外卖区把塑料外卖盒装的满满的，打包了一些蔬菜意大利面，萝卜汤和果仁千层酥等食物。
When I entered Morrie's study, I lifted the bags as if I'd just robbed a bank.
当我走进莫瑞的书房时，我就像刚刚打劫了银行一样举起外卖包裹炫耀着。
"Food man!" I bellowed.
“带吃的的人来了！”我“咆哮”着。
Morrie rolled his eyes and smiled.
莫瑞翻了翻白眼然后笑了。
Meanwhile, I looked for signs of the disease's progression.
与此同时，我打量着他寻找疾病进展的迹象。
His fingers worked well enough to write with a pencil, or hold up his glasses, but he could not lift his arms much higher than his chest.
他的手指能运作自如的握住铅笔写字，或者抓住玻璃杯，但是他没法把胳膊抬高到超过胸口的位置。
He was spending less and less time in the kitchen or living room and more in his study, where he had a large reclining chair set up with pillows, blankets, and specially cut pieces of foam rubber that held his feet and gave support to his withered legs.
他在厨房和客厅待的时间越来越少了，在书房的时间越来越多了，在书房他有一个躺椅，上面放了枕头、毯子和可以用来放他的脚和支撑他萎缩的腿的特制泡沫橡胶块。
He kept a bell near his side, and when his head needed adjusting or he had to "go on the commode," as he referred to it, he would shake the bell and Connie, Tony, Bertha, or Amy—his small army of home care workers would come in.
他还在身边放了一个铃铛，当他的头需要调整一下或者像他所说的得去“出趟恭”，他就会摇响铃铛，然后康妮，托尼，伯莎或者艾米——他那小小的护工军团就会进来帮他。
It wasn't always easy for him to lift the bell, and he got frustrated when he couldn't make it work.
但举起铃铛对他来说并不是一直都是一件容易的事，而且当他没法把铃铛摇响的时候就会特别沮丧。
I asked Morrie if he felt sorry for himself.
我问莫瑞他是否会感到自怜。
"Sometimes, in the mornings," he said.
“有时候会，会在早上的时候，”他回答。
"That's when I mourn. I feel around my body, I move my fingers and my hands—whatever I can still move—and I mourn what I've lost. I mourn the slow, insidious way in which I'm dying. But then I stop mourning."
“早上那会儿就是我为自己哀悼的时候。我一边感受着自己的身体，我挪动手指和手掌——任何我还能动的了的部位——一边哀悼自己失去的东西。我为自己缓慢潜藏的死法而哀悼。但是然后我就不再哀悼了。”
Just like that?
就这样？
"I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on all the good things still in my life. On the people who are coming to see me. On the stories l'm going to hear. On you—if it's Tuesday. Because we're Tuesday people."
“如果有需要的话我会让自己狠狠痛哭一场。但哭过后我就把注意力集中在我生活中仍然留存的美好事物上。集中在来看我的那些人身上。集中在我将听到的那些故事上。集中在你身上——如果恰逢星期二的话。因为我们俩是星期二的专属人群。”
I grinned. Tuesday people.
听到这里我咧嘴笑了。我们就是星期二的专属人群。
"Mitch, I don't allow myself any more self-pity than that. A little each morning, a few tears, and that's all."
“米契，我不允许自己有比这更多的自怜情绪了。只要早晨有一点点，滴几滴眼泪，就行了。”
I thought about all the people I knew who spent many of their waking hours feeling sorry for themselves.
这让我想起了所有我认识的花了大把美好时光在自怨自艾上的人。
How useful it would be to put a daily limit on self-pity.
把每天能感受到的自怜情绪限制起来是多么的有用啊。
Just a few tearful minutes, then on with the day.
只花一点时间流流眼泪，然后接着继续过新的一天。
And if Morrie could do it, with such a horrible disease...
而且如果莫瑞都能做到，还身患如此可怕的疾病...
"It's only horrible if you see it that way," Morrie said.
“这个疾病可怕是因为你认为它可怕，”莫瑞说道。
"It's horrible to watch my body slowly wilt away to nothing. But it's also wonderful because of all the time I get to say good-bye."
“眼睁睁看着我的身体缓慢萎缩到什么都不剩的确很可怕。但因为我有能告别的时间所以也同样非常棒。”
He smiled, "Not everyone is so lucky."
他笑了，“可不是所有人都像我一样幸运哦。”
I studied him in his chair, unable to stand, to wash, to pull on his pants.
我打量着坐在轮椅里的莫瑞，没法站起来，没法洗脸，甚至没法给自己提裤子。
Lucky? Did he really say lucky?
这叫幸运？他刚刚说自己幸运？
During a break, when Morrie had to use the bathroom, I leafed through the Boston newspaper that sat near his chair.
在休息时间，莫瑞去厕所的时候，我翻了翻放在他座位旁边的波士顿报。
There was a story about a small timber town where two teenage girls tortured and killed a seventy-three-year-old man who had befriended them, then threw a party in his trailer home and showed off the corpse.
报纸报道了一个伐木小镇的故事，有两个青春期少女折磨而且杀害了一个曾经对他们很友善的73岁老人，然后还在老人的拖车小屋里开派对炫耀尸体。
There was another story, about the upcoming trial of a straight man who killed a gay man after the latter had gone on a TV talk show and said he had a crush on him.
还有另一个故事，报道了一个直男即将到来的审判，他杀了一个在电视脱口秀节目上公开对他表白的男同性恋。
I put the paper away.
我不忍卒读，放下了报纸。
Morrie was rolled back in—smiling, as always—and Connie went to lift him from the wheel chair to the recliner.
莫瑞转着轮椅回来了——一如既往面带微笑——康妮走过去准备把他从轮椅上抱起来放到躺椅上。
You want me to do that? I asked.
用不用我来？我突然问道。
There was a momentary silence, and I'm not even sure why I offered, but Morrie looked at Connie and said,"Can you show him how to do it?"
时间静止了几秒，连我自己都不确定我为什么要提出这个请求，但是莫瑞看着康妮说道，“你能向他展示一下怎么做吗？”
"Sure," Connie said.
“当然，”康妮回答。
Following her instructions, I leaned over, locked my forearms under Morrie's armpits, and hooked him toward me, as if lifting a large log from underneath.
遵循她的指示，我弯腰向前倾，前臂伸到莫瑞的腋下紧紧锁住他，然后箍住他的身体把他搂向我，就像从地上抱起一根粗木头一样。
Then I straightened up, hoisting him as I rose.
然后我直起腰来的时候把他从座位上抱起来。
Normally, when you lift someone, you expect their arms to tighten around your grip, but Morrie could not do this.
通常，当你抱起一个人的时候，你会期待他们的胳膊随着你发力抓握也自然收紧，但是莫瑞做不到。
He was mostly dead weight, and I felt his head bounce softly on my shoulder and his body sag against me like a big damp loaf.
他基本就是一身动不了的“死肉”，而且我能感到他的头轻轻在我肩上晃动，他的身体就像一个大大的湿面团倚在我身上。
"Ahhhn," he sofly groaned.
“啊，”他轻轻地呻吟着。
I gotcha, I gotcha, I said.
我抓住你了，我抓住你了，我赶忙说道。
Holding him like that moved me in a way I cannot describe, except to say I felt the seeds of death inside his shriveling frame, and as I laid him in his chair, adjusting his head on the pillows, I had the coldest realization that our time was running out.
这样抱着他让我用一种无法描述的方式感动了，我不仅仅在他日渐萎缩的躯壳中感觉到了死亡的萌芽，而且当我把他放在椅子上并且把头调整到枕头上合适的位置时，最为真切的意识到留给我们的时间不多了。
And I had to do something.
我必须得做点什么了。
It is my junior year, 1978, when disco and Rocky movies are the cultural rage.
1978年，我上大三，那时迪斯科音乐和《洛奇》电影掀起一阵文化潮流。
We are in an unusual sociology class at Brandeis, something Morrie calls "Group Process."
我们正在布兰迪斯大学上一堂不寻常的社会学课程，莫瑞称之为“团体疗法课”。
Each week we study the ways in which the students in the group interact with one another, how they respond to anger, jealousy, attention.
每周我们都会研究同组的学生的互动方式，他们如何去应对愤怒、嫉妒或者关注等等。
We are human lab rats.
我们就是实验室的小白鼠。
More often than not, someone ends up crying.
不出意料的话，最后肯定会有人上课上哭了。
I refer to it as the "touchy-feely" course.
我把这堂课叫做“哭哭啼啼”课。
Morrie says I should be more open-minded.
莫瑞说我应该用更加开放的心态去看待这门课。
On this day, Morrie says he has an exercise for us to try.
这天，莫瑞说他有一个小练习让我们试试看。
We are to stand, facing away from our classmates, and fall backward, relying on another student to catch us.
我们要面朝外背对同学站着，然后向后倒下，依赖后面的同学在倒地前把我们接住。
Most of us are uncomfortable with this, and we cannot let go for more than a few inches before stopping ourselves.
我们大多数人对此都感到不太舒服，而且向后倒不超过几英寸我们就自己停止了。
We laugh in embarrassment.
然后尴尬地笑着。
Finally, one student, a thin, quiet, dark-haired girl whom I notice almost always wears bulky white fisherman sweaters, crosses her arms over her chest, closes her eyes, leans back, and does not flinch, like one of those Lipton tea commercials where the model splashes into the pool.
最后总算有一个学生，一个瘦弱安静的黑发女孩，我注意到她几乎总是穿着笨重的白色渔夫毛衣，把双手交叉放在胸前，闭上眼，没有畏缩，直直向后倒下，像那个立顿茶广告里摔进游泳池的模特。
For a moment, I am sure she is going to thump on the floor.
有那么一瞬间，我确信她会重重地摔在地上。
At the last instant, her assigned partner grabs her head and shoulders and yanks her up harshly.
在最后一刻，指派给她的伙伴扶住了她的头和肩然后迅速一把把她拉起来。
"Whoa!" several students yell. Some clap.
“哇！”不少同学发出惊叹。一些人鼓起掌来。
Morrie finally smiles.
莫瑞终于露出笑容。
"You see," he says to the girl, "you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too—even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."
“你看吧，”他激动地对那个女孩说，“你闭上了眼睛。这就是区别。有时候你不能相信你看到的，你得相信你感受到的。而且假如你想要别人信任你，你必须得先觉得能够去信任他们——就算你身处黑暗之中，甚至正在坠落。”
原著：Mitch Albom
