好英语网他让我想起爸爸，我们约会了
There was this professor named Andrew who studied artificial intelligence. He was very handsome, in a professorial way. He wore gray turtleneck sweaters and smelled like mint aftershave and old books. He was 55 and recently divorced for the second time. He was my father.
有这么一位名叫安德鲁的教授，研究人工智能的。他的长相是那种教授派头的英俊。他穿着灰色的高领毛衣，散发出薄荷须后水和旧书的味道。他55岁了，最近刚刚第二次离婚。他是我的父亲。
He wasn't really my father. My father died when I was 11. But Andrew was handsome like my father. He whistled like my father. He had sideburns with little touches of silver, like my father. And he was the only other person besides my father who ever called me by my full name, Abigail. It means father's joy. People usually just call me Abby.
他其实不是我真正的父亲。我自己的父亲在我11岁的时候过世了。但是安德鲁像我父亲一样英俊。他像我父亲一样吹口哨。他有带着点霜白的连鬓胡子，和我父亲一样。他还是除了我父亲以外唯一一个用我的全名艾比盖尔来称呼我的人。那个名字的意思是“父亲的喜悦”。大家一般叫我艾比。
The first time I saw Andrew was at a staff meeting. I don't know exactly why I was at the meeting. I was working for the university's research lab as a "content specialist." My job was mostly copying papers about studies on brain activity. On busy days I collated and stapled.
我第一次见到安德鲁是在一次员工会议上。我也不清楚自己为什么去参加那个会。我当时正在那间大学的实验室里做“内容专员”。我的工作主要就是复印那些研究脑部活动相关的论文。事情多的时候我还会核对和装订。
During the meeting I watched Andrew lean back in his chair. His eyes were dark gray, like his sweater. He was biting his lower lip and listening intently. He looked like a little boy and a grown man at the same time. He glanced up and caught me staring at him. He smiled.
整个会议期间我就一直盯着安德鲁靠着椅背坐着的样子。他的眼睛是深灰色的，跟他的毛衣一样。他一直咬着下唇，心无旁骛地听着。他看起来像个小男孩，与此同时又有着成熟男人的魅力。他抬眼一瞥的时候正好逮住了我盯着他的目光，于是他微微一笑。
The next day I saw him by the copy machine. He was walking back into his office. His door was open, and there was classical music playing softly, because he was a professor. The light that spilled from his doorway was warm, and I could hear him humming along with a violin. I wanted a reason to go inside, to see his desk, his books. Maybe he had a potted plant? Framed pictures of his past?
第二天我在复印机旁遇到他。他正要走回自己的办公室。他的办公室门开着，里面正播放着轻柔的古典乐，因为他是个教授嘛。温暖的光线从门口溢出来，我能听见他在随着小提琴声轻轻哼唱。我想找个理由进去，看看他的书桌和他的书。也许会有株盆栽？或是摆着镶有他老照片的相框？
Later that week I saw him at the coffee shop in the basement of our office building. He had a large coffee and large hands. I said hello.
那周晚些时候我在办公楼地下室的那间咖啡店看到了他。他点了一大杯咖啡，他有一双大手。我过去跟他打了招呼。
He said, "Abigail, right?"
他说：“你叫艾比盖尔，对吧？”
"Yes."
“对。”
We just stared at each other. He looked like he might leave, so I said: "Oh wow! You like coffee? I like coffee too."
我们就那么注视着对方。他看起来像是想走开了，所以我就说：“噢，喔！你喜欢喝咖啡啊？我也喜欢。”
He laughed. He had a soft laugh. His teeth were strong looking.
他大笑了起来。他的笑声十分柔和，牙齿则看上去稳固强健。
Pretty soon I was going to that copier by Andrew's office all the time. Often I had nothing to copy, so I would make copies of my driver's license, and then make copies of the copy. By the fifth copy my face was just two eyes peeking out of a blizzard.
很快我就一天到晚都在安德鲁办公室旁的那台复印机附近打转了。通常我都没有什么可复印的东西，所以我就复印自己的驾照，然后又复印那份复印件。印到第五张的时候我的脸已经变成了嵌着两只眼睛的模糊不清的一团。
One day, when I was standing by his door, copying my hand, Andrew came out and stood next to me.
有一天，我正站在他的门边，复印自己的手掌，安德鲁走了出来，站在我旁边。
"Do you like duck?" he asked.
“你喜欢鸭肉吗？”他问。
"Hmmm, duck," I said. "Who doesn't like duck?"
“唔，鸭肉。”我说。“谁不喜欢鸭肉呢？”
"So would you like to have dinner sometime?"
“那你要不要什么时候一起吃个晚饭呢？”
We made plans for the next Tuesday.
我们就这样把约会定在了接下来的那个星期二。
Tuesday afternoon I went into his office when he was out and wrote my address on a scrap of paper. I left it by his daily planner. Notes are cute when you still have braces and are just discovering lip gloss and boys. Notes are different when you're leaving them on a mahogany desk with an ashtray and a glass paperweight. I folded my note tightly and wrote "Andrew" in script on the front. Then I made sure the hall was empty before I walked out of his office.
周二下午我趁他外出走进了他的办公室，在一片废纸上写下了我的住址。我把字条留在他的日程表旁边。当你还带着牙套，只对探究唇彩和小男生兴趣盎然的时候，字条是个可爱的玩意。但当你把字条留在放着烟灰缸和玻璃镇纸的桃花心木书桌上时，那感觉就完全不同了。我把纸条来回折紧，在正面用书写体写下了“安德鲁”。我等到大厅里的人都走空了才从他的办公室出来。
I was living with my best friend, Tami. We lived above an all-night diner and had plans to write a movie together. We were supposed to tell each other everything. That's what best friends do. But I didn't want to tell her about Andrew. I thought there was something ugly about it.
我当时跟我最好的朋友塔米住在一起。我们住在一家整夜经营的餐厅楼上，计划合写一部电影剧本。我们对彼此无话不说。好朋友就是这样。但是我不想告诉她安德鲁的事。我觉得这件事有点不体面。
I had told her vaguely about having had an interesting conversation with an older professor at work who studied robots. She said he sounded cool. Then I told her I might get dinner with him some time. She said that sounded creepy. So when I got home from work on Tuesday, I tried to get changed and out the door before Tami came home.
但我还是含糊的跟她提起过我跟工作上遇到的一位研究机器人的老教授之间有过一些有趣的对话。她说听起来他挺酷的。接着我告诉她我可能什么时候会跟他出去吃个晚餐。她说这就听上去有点瘆人了。所以周二的时候，我下班回家，急急忙忙的更换衣服，想要赶在塔米回家之前就出门。
I put on my blue velour pants and picked out an eggshell-colored sweater that clung to my chest. My father had never seen me developed. I was still confused and embarrassed by my new tufts of hair and the sour smell in my armpits the summer he died. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The whole thing didn't make much more sense to me now, at 21.
我穿上了我的蓝色丝绒长裤，挑选了一件紧紧包裹在胸脯上的蛋壳青色毛衣。我父亲可没见过我发育以后的样子。他去世的那个夏天，我还在为自己腋窝新长出的一簇毛发和散发出的酸臭气味感到困惑和尴尬呢。我看着镜子里的自己。如今我21岁了，这整件事我已经不太能理解。
The door opened as I was putting on eye shadow.
门打开的时候我正在画眼影。
"I got all the leftover pastries," Tami said. She worked at a coffee shop. That's where our movie would probably take place, so we thought of it as a research position. She looked at me. "What are you doing, Abby?"
“我把卖剩下的点心全都带回来了。”塔米说。她在一家咖啡店工作。那大概会是我们创作中的电影故事上演的地方，所以我们把这当作一份研究工作。她看着我：“你在干嘛呢，艾比？”
"I told you. I'm having dinner with that professor guy."
“我告诉过你了，我要跟那个教授吃饭。”
"You said you might go out sometime. You didn't say you were going out."
“你说的是也许什么时候会跟他出去。你可没说真的要去。”
"It's nothing big."
“这不是什么大不了的。”
"It's a date."
“这是个约会。”
"It is not."
“不算啦。”
"Then why are you wearing eye shadow?"
“那你为什么要画眼影？”
"I'm starting a new habit."
“我在培养一个新的习惯。”
"It's a date, Abby."
“这就是个约会，艾比。”
"It's not a date. It's a Tuesday night."
“这不是个约会。现在是周二晚上。”
Her voice got high and loud: "He's 30 years older than you. He could be your dad."
她提高了调门和音量：“他比你大上30岁。他都能当你爹了。”
I got even louder: "Shut up! We're just going to have duck."
我的嗓门更大：“闭嘴！我们就是去吃鸭子。”
Andrew picked me up in his navy blue Saab. It had leather seats with coils that warmed you in the winter. Andrew asked if I was warm enough, and I said yes. He dodged every pothole, swinging through a series of turns with only one palm on the wheel. We stopped at a light. He turned and looked at me. I did a fake sneeze to avoid making eye contact.
安德鲁开着他的深蓝色萨博轿车来接我。车上的缝边真皮座椅能让你在冬天也温暖如春。安德鲁问我车上够不够暖和，我说够。他躲开路面上的每个坑洼，单手握着方向盘流畅拐过一连串的弯。我们在一个红绿灯前停下来，他转过来看着我。我假装打了个喷嚏来逃避与他直接对视。
"You look sensational," he hollered over the classical music. He patted my knee. It didn't matter that it was a Tuesday night. This was a date.
“你看起来美极了，”他用盖过了车内播放的古典音乐的声音大声宣布，还拍了拍我的膝头。是不是周二晚上已经没意义。这是个约会。
WE arrived at Andrew's building and got in the elevator. There were mirrors on all sides, so I decided to look at my feet. Andrew lived on the 14th floor in a beautiful apartment with tulips rising from tall, clear vases and the lights of the city blinking through the windows. Everything was on but turned down low, so the violins playing and the duck sizzling and the tulips tuliping would all mind their own business while we got to know each other.
我们抵达了安德鲁住的那栋楼，走进了电梯。四面都是镜子，所以我决定低头看脚。安德鲁住在一幢漂亮的公寓大楼的14层，他家里装饰着插在高高的透明花瓶里的郁金香，城市里闪烁的灯光透过窗户照进室内。仿佛一切都被打开了，却又被小心调低：小提琴轻声流淌，鸭肉在锅里滋滋作响，郁金香散发着香气摇曳生姿，但它们都不会在我们彼此了解的时候来喧宾夺主。
I hopped up on one of his marble counters as those cute girls do in sitcoms. Andrew handed me a cracker with Brie on it. He lifted it to my lips and leaned in so close that my breath got caught under my ribs. I didn't want him that close, so I shoved the cracker into my mouth and said: "Mmmm. So what are we having besides duck?" Pieces of cracker flew out of my mouth.
我像那些情景喜剧里的可爱女孩那样跳起来坐到他的大理石台面上。安德鲁递给我一块上面放了布里奶酪的苏打饼干。他把饼干举到我的唇边，俯身凑近，我禁不住屏住了呼吸。我不想让他靠得这么近，所以把饼干一口塞进嘴里，说：“唔，我们除了鸭肉还会吃点什么？”饼干的碎渣从我的嘴里喷溅出来。
Andrew laughed. "You'll see." He kissed my neck quickly. Then he went back to stirring something in a pot.
安德鲁笑了起来。“到时候你就知道了。”他快速的在我的脖子上轻吻了一下，接着就回去继续搅动锅里在煮着的什么东西。
We had slim glasses of chilled white wine, and I stayed on the counter while Andrew cooked. I watched the back of his neck where his dark hair faded into his pink skin. He turned around and had me taste the orange-honey glaze. His eyes focused on my mouth as my lips covered the spoon, and I knew we were here in this moment for completely different reasons. I vowed to eat dinner and then ask him to take me home.
我们用细长的酒杯喝了些冰过的白葡萄酒，安德鲁做饭的时候我一直坐在台面上，盯着他脖子后面深色头发与粉色皮肤交界的地方。他转过来让我尝尝甜橙蜂蜜酱汁。我把勺子含入唇间的时候他一直盯着我的嘴，我立刻明白了此时此刻我们在这里的目的完全不同。我暗自发誓只要一吃完晚餐就立刻让他送我回家。
We had duck with steamed broccoli and creamy risotto that melted on my tongue. We talked about artificial intelligence and the role of pattern recognition in early education. When I stood up to clear the table, the floor wobbled. I concentrated on walking carefully to the sink and started rinsing off the dishes. That had always been my job at home. But Andrew shut off the water and asked me if I wanted dessert.
我们吃了配蒸西兰花的鸭肉，还有入口即化的奶油焗饭。我们谈论了人工智能和模式识别在早期教育中的地位。我站起来收拾桌子的时候感觉脚下的地板在摇摇晃晃。我集中注意力，小心翼翼的走到水池边开始冲洗盘子。我在家总是干这些。但是安德鲁过来关掉了水龙头，问我要不要吃点甜品。
He had an espresso machine and said he wanted to show off. So I said I'd take a cappuccino, and then I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
他有一台蒸汽咖啡机，说自己想要显摆一下。所以我说我想来一杯卡布奇诺，然后就借故躲进了卫生间。
I looked at the girl in the mirror and said: "Calm down. I'm going home."
我瞪着镜子里那个女孩说：“冷静下来。我得回家。”
Then I heard Andrew: "Come here! I want you to hear this CD."
接着我听到安德鲁说：“快过来！我想给你听听这张CD。”
He wasn't making coffee after all. He was in the bedroom, lying on the bed. He'd taken his shoes off and wore tan old-man's socks that were embroidered with tiny golf clubs. He was looking at the ceiling and listening to something so sad on his stereo. It sounded like a cello crying.
他根本就没在做咖啡。他在卧室里，躺在床上。他已经脱掉了鞋，穿着老年人才会穿的那种褐色的袜子，上面绣着小小的高尔夫球杆纹样。他正盯着天花板，听着音响里播放出的什么极为伤感的音乐，那听起来像是大提琴在哭泣。
"Schumann wrote this for his wife before he went mad," he said. Then he held out his hand.
“舒曼在发疯以前为他妻子写了这首曲子。”他说，然后向我伸出了手。
I stayed in the doorway. "I need to go home now."
我呆在门口没动。“我现在得回家了。”
"Really?"
“真的吗？”
"Yes."
“是的。”
"I promise I'll take you home," he said. "Just listen to this one piece."
“我保证一定会送你回家的。”他说。“就听完这首曲子吧。”
He waited for me to take his hand. I did.
他等着我牵起他的手，我照做了。
I lay on the bed next to him; he put his arm over me and we sort of spooned. He had a gray comforter. He was a gray comforter. He was my father. And we listened to that piece Schumann wrote for his wife. The whole thing. I loved being pressed into that moment, with his breath tickling my ear, still sweet with wine and orange and honey. I stared out his window at the lights from the downtown Y.M.C.A. and I tried to hear only that moaning cello and to see only the light and dark of the night sky.
我在他身旁躺下；他用胳膊拢住我，差不多是从背后拥抱我的姿势。他有一条灰色的被子，他自己就是一条灰色的被子。他就是我的父亲。我们一起听着那首舒曼写给他妻子的曲子。从头到尾。他那因为葡萄酒、橙子和蜂蜜的作用闻起来仍旧甜蜜的呼吸轻轻挠着我的耳朵，我喜欢像这样被逼着进入这样一种时刻。我透过他的窗子向外看去，盯着市中心的基督教青年会大楼发出的灯光，尽量只去听大提琴如泣如诉的声音，只去看那些灯光和幽暗的夜空。
When the music stopped, Andrew whispered into my hair, "What do you want to do now?"
音乐声停止的时候安德鲁在我的发丝间发出喃喃低语：“你现在想做什么？”
I wanted to have him hold me and count all the faces in the moon. Or tell me the story of how I first learned to use chopsticks when we ate noodle soup at Rockefeller Center. I closed my eyes and imagined him sitting in his maroon easy chair, his potbelly almost touching his knee. I listened for his boom-skedada-boom-skedada one-man jazz band.
我想让他搂着我，数清月亮上的每一张脸孔。或是给我讲那个我们第一次在洛克菲勒中心吃汤面的时候，我第一次学着用筷子的故事。我闭上眼，想象他坐在那张栗色的安乐椅里，大肚腩都快碰到膝盖的样子。我想象自己正听着他那些砰嚓嚓砰嚓嚓的单人爵士乐队音乐。
But that moment had already happened 10 years before. And Andrew didn't have my dad's potbelly and didn't smell like cocktail onions and Tums, and I wasn't his little girl, and this wasn't my home.
但是那些在十年前就都发生过了。安德鲁没有我父亲的大肚腩，闻起来也没有鸡尾洋葱和塔姆斯钙片的味道。我不是他的小姑娘，这也不是我家。
I was 21 years old. Not a little girl at all.
我已经21岁了。不再是个小女孩了。
So I said, "Please take me home now."
于是我说：“请现在就送我回家吧。”
I felt him sigh as he rolled away from me and put his feet on the floor.
他在我后面翻身离开，坐起身，感觉到他叹了口气。
"Okey-doke," he said. He stood up and turned his stereo off. There was nothing more to say.
“行吧，”他说。他站起来，关掉了音响。已经没什么可说的了。
And so Andrew took me home.
于是就这样，安德鲁送我回了家。