08.爸爸的话
没什么别的
就是爸爸的话在原著中也是非常喜欢的一部分
尤其那句Parce que c'était lui, parce que c'était moi
一切关系事实上都是这样
因为是他，因为是我
再无其他
很多时候，我们遇不到那个他
只是遇到了，一定不要放手
不要浪费了所有的时光
以下为小说原文摘录
"Parce que c'était lui, parce que c'était moi," my father added, quoting Montaigne's all-encompassing explanation for his friendship with Etienne de la Boetie.
I was thinking, instead, of Emily Brontë's words: because "he's more myself than I am."
"Oliver may be very intelligent—," I began. Once again, the disingenuous rise in intonation announced a damning but hanging invisibly between us. Anything not to let my father lead me any further down this road.
"Intelligent? He was more than intelligent. What you two had had everything and nothing to do with intelligence. He was good, and you were both lucky to have found each other, because you too are good."
My father had never spoken of goodness this way before. It disarmed me.
"I think he was better than me, Papa."
"I am sure he'd say the same about you, which natters the two of you."
He was about to tap his cigarette and, in leaning toward the ashtray, he reached out and touched my hand.
"What lies ahead is going to be very difficult," he started to say, altering his voice. His tone said: We don't have to speak about it, but let's not pretend we don't know what I'm saying.
Speaking abstractly was the only way to speak the truth to him.
"Fear not. It will come. At least I hope it does. And when you least expect it. Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot. Just remember: I am here. Right now you may not want to feel anything. Perhaps you never wished to feel anything. And perhaps it's not with me that you'll want to speak about these things. But feel something you did."
I looked at him. This was the moment when I should lie and tell him he was totally off course. I was about to.
"Look," he interrupted. "You had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don't snuff it out, don't be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we'd want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything—what a waste!"
I couldn't begin to take all this in. I was dumbstruck.
"Have I spoken out of turn?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Then let me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can't help but live as though we've got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. But there's only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there's sorrow. I don't envy the pain. But I envy you the pain."
He took a breath.
"We may never speak about this again. But I hope you'll never hold it against me that we did. I will have been a terrible father if, one day, you'd want to speak to me and felt that the door was shut or not sufficiently open."
I wanted to ask him how he knew. But then how could he not have known? How could anyone not have known? "Does Mother know?" I asked. I was going to say suspect but corrected myself. "I don't think she does." His voice meant, But even if she did, I am sure her attitude would be no different than mine.
We said good night. On my way upstairs I vowed to ask him about his life. We'd all heard about his women when he was young, but I'd never even had an inkling of anything else.
Was my father someone else? And if he was someone else, who was I?
