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首页 » 双语小说 » 暮光之城:暮色 Twilight » Chapter 11 Complications
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Chapter 11 Complications

    Everyone watched us as we walked together to our lab table. I noticedthat he no longer angled the chair to sit as far from me as the deskwould allow. Instead, he sat quite close beside me, our arms almosttouching.

  Mr. Banner backed into the room then — what superb timing the man had —pulling a tall metal frame on wheels that held a heavy-looking, outdatedTV and VCR. A movie day — the lift in the class atmosphere was almosttangible.

  Mr. Banner shoved the tape into the reluctant VCR and walked to the wallto turn off the lights.

  And then, as the room went black, I was suddenly hyperaware that Edwardwas sitting less than an inch from me. I was stunned by the unexpected electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to bemore aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over andtouch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearlyoverwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my handsballing into fists. I was losing my mind.

  The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes,of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realizedhis posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, rightdown to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyessomehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before Icould start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I shouldfeel dizzy.

  The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie — I didn'teven know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, butthe electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in hisbody never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glancein his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpoweringcraving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safelyagainst my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on atthe end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing mystiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me.

  "Well, that was interesting," he murmured. His voice was dark and hiseyes were cautious.

  "Umm," was all I was able to respond.

  "Shall we?" he asked, rising fluidly.

  I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balancemight have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.

  He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turnedto say goodbye. His face startled me — his expression was torn, almostpained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared asstrong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.

  He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and thenswiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skinwas as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin wasalarmingly warm — like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of ityet.

  He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.

  I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the lockerroom, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there wereother people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I washanded a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. Icould see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. CoachClapp ordered us to pair up into teams.

  Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came tostand beside me.

  "Do you want to be a team?""Thanks, Mike — you don't have to do this, you know." I grimacedapologetically.

  "Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was soeasy to like Mike.

  It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head withmy racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest ofthe hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behindmy back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he wonthree games out of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high five when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.

  "So," he said as we walked off the court.

  "So what?""You and Cullen, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feelingof affection disappeared.

  "That's none of your business, Mike," I warned, internally cursingJessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.

  "I don't like it," he muttered anyway.

  "You don't have to," I snapped.

  "He looks at you like… like you're something to eat," he continued,ignoring me.

  I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small gigglemanaged to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved andfled to the locker room.

  I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies batteringrecklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike alreadya distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if Ishould meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a waveof real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know thatthey knew that I knew, or not?

  By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walkstraight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worrieswere unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the sideof the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to hisside, I felt a peculiar sense of release.

  "Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.

  "Hello." His answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied.

  "Really?" He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly,looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike'sback as he walked away.

  "What?" I demanded.

  His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's getting on my nerves.""You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of mysudden good humor vanished.

  "How's your head?" he asked innocently.

  "You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general directionof the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.

  He kept up with me easily.

  "You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym — it mademe curious." He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him.

  We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to hiscar. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys,were surrounding it.

  Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actuallycircled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in theireyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open hisdoor. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.

   "Ostentatious," he muttered.

  "What kind of car is that?" I asked.

  "An M3.""I don't speak Car and Driver.""It's a BMW." He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back outwithout running over the car enthusiasts.

  I nodded — I'd heard of that one.

  "Are you still angry?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out.

  "Definitely."He sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?""Maybe… if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again," Iinsisted.

  His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, and I agree tolet you drive Saturday?" he countered my conditions.

  I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get.

  "Deal," I agreed.

  "Then I'm very sorry I upset you." His eyes burned with sincerity for aprotracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and thenturned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturdaymorning.""Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvois left in the driveway."His smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car.""How —"He cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."I let it go. I had a more pressing question.

  "Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.

  He frowned. "I supposed it is later."I kept my expression polite as I waited.

  He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already atCharlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with himif I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he wasstaring at me, measuring with his eyes.

  "And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" He seemed solemn,but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes.

  "Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction.""Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.

  "No," I lied. He didn't buy it.

  "I apologize for scaring you," he persisted with a slight smile, but thenall evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of youbeing there… while we hunted." His jaw tightened.

  "That would be bad?"He spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely." "Because… ?"He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick,rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.

  "When we hunt," he spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over toour senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. Ifyou were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" He shook hishead, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.

  I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash ofhis eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothingaway.

  But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers ofthe electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere ashe gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started toswim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath,breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes.

  "Bella, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough, hiseyes on the clouds again.

  I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helpedclear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I steppedcarefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without lookingback. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.

  "Oh, Bella?" he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned towardthe open window with a faint smile on his lips.

  "Yes?""Tomorrow it's my turn.""Your turn to what?"He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearingaround the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as Iwalked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, ifnothing else.

  That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate ofmy unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricitythat had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly,waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that Ifinally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

  When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brownturtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed ofspaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event Iexpected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. Iwondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspokenquestion as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.

  "About this Saturday…" he began, walking across the kitchen and turningon the faucet.

  I cringed. "Yes, Dad?""Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.

  "That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so Iwouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.

  He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with thebrush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?""I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.

   "Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusingon rinsing the plate.

  I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice.""Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.

  I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; livingin fear that your daughter would meet a boy she liked, but also having toworry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, ifCharlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I did like.

  Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush myteeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I couldonly wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silvercar was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. Ibounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long thisbizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.

  He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind mewithout bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausingshyly before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed —and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.

  "Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?" His eyes roamedover my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy.

  "Good, thank you." I was always good — much more than good — when I wasnear him.

  His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired.""I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around myshoulder to provide some measure of cover.

  "Neither could I," he teased as he started the engine. I was becomingused to the quiet purr. I was sure the roar of my truck would scare me,whenever I got to drive it again.

  I laughed. "I guess that's right. I suppose I slept just a little bitmore than you did.""I'd wager you did.""So what did you do last night?" I asked.

  He chuckled. "Not a chance. It's my day to ask questions.""Oh, that's right. What do you want to know?" My forehead creased. Icouldn't imagine anything about me that could be in any way interestingto him.

  "What's your favorite color?" he asked, his face grave.

  I rolled my eyes. "It changes from day to day.""What's your favorite color today?" He was still solemn.

  "Probably brown." I tended to dress according to my mood.

  He snorted, dropping his serious expression. "Brown?" he askedskeptically.

  "Sure. Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to bebrown — tree trunks, rocks, dirt — is all covered up with squashy greenstuff here," I complained.

  He seemed fascinated by my little rant. He considered for a moment,staring into my eyes.

  "You're right," he decided, serious again. "Brown is warm." He reachedover, swiftly, but somehow still hesitantly, to sweep my hair back behind my shoulder.

  We were at the school by now. He turned back to me as he pulled into aparking space.

  "What music is in your CD player right now?" he asked, his face as somberas if he'd asked for a murder confession.

  I realized I'd never removed the CD Phil had given me. When I said thename of the band, he smiled crookedly, a peculiar expression in his eyes.

  He flipped open a compartment under his car's CD player, pulled out oneof thirty or so CDs that were jammed into the small space, and handed itto me,"Debussy to this?" He raised an eyebrow.

  It was the same CD. I examined the familiar cover art, keeping my eyesdown.

  It continued like that for the rest of the day. While he walked me toEnglish, when he met me after Spanish, all through the lunch hour, hequestioned me relentlessly about every insignificant detail of myexistence. Movies I'd liked and hated, the few places I'd been and themany places I wanted to go, and books — endlessly books.

  I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much. More often thannot, I felt self-conscious, certain I must be boring him. But theabsolute absorption of his face, and his never-ending stream ofquestions, compelled me to continue. Mostly his questions were easy, onlya very few triggering my easy blushes. But when I did flush, it broughton a whole new round of questions.

  Such as the time he asked my favorite gemstone, and I blurted out topazbefore thinking. He'd been flinging questions at me with such speed thatI felt like I was taking one of those psychiatric tests where you answerwith the first word that comes to mind. I was sure he would havecontinued down whatever mental list he was following, except for theblush. My face reddened because, until very recently, my favoritegemstone was garnet. It was impossible, while staring back into his topazeyes, not to remember the reason for the switch. And, naturally, hewouldn't rest until I'd admitted why I was embarrassed.

  "Tell me," he finally commanded after persuasion failed — failed onlybecause I kept my eyes safely away from his face.

  "It's the color of your eyes today," I sighed, surrendering, staring downat my hands as I fiddled with a piece of my hair. "I suppose if you askedme in two weeks I'd say onyx." I'd given more information than necessaryin my unwilling honesty, and I worried it would provoke the strange angerthat flared whenever I slipped and revealed too clearly how obsessed Iwas.

  But his pause was very short.

  "What kinds of flowers do you prefer?" he fired off.

  I sighed in relief, and continued with the psychoanalysis.

  Biology was a complication again. Edward had continued with his quizzingup until Mr. Banner entered the room, dragging the audiovisual frameagain. As the teacher approached the light switch, I noticed Edward slidehis chair slightly farther away from mine. It didn't help. As soon as theroom was dark, there was the same electric spark, the same restlesscraving to stretch my hand across the short space and touch his coldskin, as yesterday.

  I leaned forward on the table, resting my chin on my folded arms, myhidden fingers gripping the table's edge as I fought to ignore theirrational longing that unsettled me. I didn't look at him, afraid thatif he was looking at me, it would only make self-control that muchharder. I sincerely tried to watch the movie, but at the end of the hourI had no idea what I'd just seen. I sighed in relief again when Mr.

   Banner turned the lights on, finally glancing at Edward; he was lookingat me, his eyes ambivalent.

  He rose in silence and then stood still, waiting for me. We walked towardthe gym in silence, like yesterday. And, also like yesterday, he touchedmy face wordlessly — this time with the back of his cool hand, strokingonce from my temple to my jaw — before he turned and walked away.

  Gym passed quickly as I watched Mike's one-man badminton show. He didn'tspeak to me today, either in response to my vacant expression or becausehe was still angry about our squabble yesterday. Somewhere, in a cornerof my mind, I felt bad about that. But I couldn't concentrate on him.

  I hurried to change afterward, ill at ease, knowing the faster I moved,the sooner I would be with Edward. The pressure made me more clumsy thanusual, but eventually I made it out the door, feeling the same releasewhen I saw him standing there, a wide smile automatically spreadingacross my face. He smiled in reaction before launching into morecross-examination.

  His questions were different now, though, not as easily answered. Hewanted to know what I missed about home, insisting on descriptions ofanything he wasn't familiar with. We sat in front of Charlie's house forhours, as the sky darkened and rain plummeted around us in a suddendeluge.

  I tried to describe impossible things like the scent of creosote —bitter, slightly resinous, but still pleasant — the high, keening soundof the cicadas in July, the feathery barrenness of the trees, the verysize of the sky, extending white-blue from horizon to horizon, barelyinterrupted by the low mountains covered with purple volcanic rock. Thehardest thing to explain was why it was so beautiful to me — to justify abeauty that didn't depend on the sparse, spiny vegetation that oftenlooked half dead, a beauty that had more to do with the exposed shape ofthe land, with the shallow bowls of valleys between the craggy hills, andthe way they held on to the sun. I found myself using my hands as I triedto describe it to him.

  His quiet, probing questions kept me talking freely, forgetting, in thedim light of the storm, to be embarrassed for monopolizing theconversation. Finally, when I had finished detailing my cluttered room athome, he paused instead of responding with another question.

  "Are you finished?" I asked in relief.

  "Not even close — but your father will be home soon.""Charlie!" I suddenly recalled his existence, and sighed. I looked out atthe rain-darkened sky, but it gave nothing away. "How late is it?" Iwondered out loud as I glanced at the clock. I was surprised by the time— Charlie would be driving home now.

  "It's twilight," Edward murmured, looking at the western horizon,obscured as it was with clouds. His voice was thoughtful, as if his mindwere somewhere far away. I stared at him as he gazed unseeingly out thewindshield.

  I was still staring when his eyes suddenly shifted back to mine.

  "It's the safest time of day for us," he said, answering the unspokenquestion in my eyes. "The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way…the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is sopredictable, don't you think?" He smiled wistfully.

  "I like the night. Without the dark, we'd never see the stars." Ifrowned. "Not that you see them here much."He laughed, and the mood abruptly lightened.

  "Charlie will be here in a few minutes. So, unless you want to tell himthat you'll be with me Saturday…" He raised one eyebrow.

   "Thanks, but no thanks." I gathered my books, realizing I was stiff fromsitting still so long. "So is it my turn tomorrow, then?""Certainly not!" His face was teasingly outraged. "I told you I wasn'tdone, didn't I?""What more is there?""You'll find out tomorrow." He reached across to open my door for me, andhis sudden proximity sent my heart into frenzied palpitations.

  But his hand froze on the handle.

  "Not good," he muttered.

  "What is it?" I was surprised to see that his jaw was clenched, his eyesdisturbed.

  He glanced at me for a brief second. "Another complication," he saidglumly.

  He flung the door open in one swift movement, and then moved, almostcringed, swiftly away from me.

  The flash of headlights through the rain caught my attention as a darkcar pulled up to the curb just a few feet away, facing us.

  "Charlie's around the corner," he warned, staring through the downpour atthe other vehicle.

  I hopped out at once, despite my confusion and curiosity. The rain waslouder as it glanced off my jacket.

  I tried to make out the shapes in the front seat of the other car, but itwas too dark. I could see Edward illuminated in the glare of the newcar's headlights; he was still staring ahead, his gaze locked onsomething or someone I couldn't see. His expression was a strange mix offrustration and defiance.

  Then he revved the engine, and the tires squealed against the wetpavement. The Volvo was out of sight in seconds.

  "Hey, Bella," called a familiar, husky voice from the driver's side ofthe little black car.

  "Jacob?" I asked, squinting through the rain. Just then, Charlie'scruiser swung around the corner, his lights shining on the occupants ofthe car in front of me.

  Jacob was already climbing out, his wide grin visible even through thedarkness. In the passenger seat was a much older man, a heavyset man witha memorable face — a face that overflowed, the cheeks resting against hisshoulders, with creases running through the russet skin like an oldleather jacket. And the surprisingly familiar eyes, black eyes thatseemed at the same time both too young and too ancient for the broad facethey were set in. Jacob's father, Billy Black. I knew him immediately,though in the more than five years since I'd seen him last I'd managed toforget his name when Charlie had spoken of him my first day here. He wasstaring at me, scrutinizing my face, so I smiled tentatively at him. Hiseyes were wide, as if in shock or fear, his nostrils flared. My smilefaded.

  Another complication, Edward had said.

  Billy still stared at me with intense, anxious eyes. I groanedinternally. Had Billy recognized Edward so easily? Could he reallybelieve the impossible legends his son had scoffed at?

  The answer was clear in Billy's eyes. Yes. Yes, he could.

第十一章 复杂

当我们一起走向我们的实验桌时,每个人都在看着我们。我注意到他再也没有坐到椅子一角上,在桌子允许的范围内尽可能的远离我。相反地,他紧紧地挨着我,我们的胳膊几乎要碰到一起了。

然后班纳老师回到了教室——这男人的时间感绝对是一流的——拉着一个高高的带轮子的金属架,上面放着一台看着很笨重的老式电视机和录像机。一次电影日——教室里的昂扬气氛几乎能摸得着了。(几乎要实体化了)

班纳老师把磁带推进了那台不太情愿的录像机,走到墙边关上了灯。

然后,当教室里完全暗下来的时候,我忽然敏感地意识到了爱德华正坐在我身旁,不到一英寸的地方。(hyperaware。。。梅尔啊。。。为什么这词词典里查不到捏????)我被一股意外地流过我全身的电流震住了,我发现自己可能比已经做到的还要更加强烈地意识到爱德华的存在,这让我很惊讶。一种疯狂的冲动——在黑暗中伸出手触碰他,去抚摸他完美的面孔,就这一次——几乎要征服了我。我紧紧地把胳膊交叉在胸前,我的手握成了拳。我快要发狂了。

片头字幕开始了,微弱的光线象征性地照着屋子。我的眼睛,出于它们自己的意愿,飞快地向他一瞥。当我意识到他的姿势和我完全一样,也是在手臂下紧握着拳头,从眼皮底下,偷偷地瞄着我时,我羞怯地笑了。他向我咧嘴一笑,不知为何,他的眼睛在黑暗中压抑地燃烧着。在我气息不稳以前,我移开了视线。这实在太荒谬了,我居然感到头晕目眩。

这个小时过得非常漫长。我没法把注意力集中在电影上——我甚至不知道它的主旨是什么。我试图放松下来,但没有成功,那股电流似乎是从他身上的某个地方传来的,从未减缓过。偶尔我会允许自己飞快地瞥一眼他的方向,但他似乎也从未放松过。那种无法抵抗的,去触碰他的渴望同样不肯消失,我只得把自己的拳头安全地压在了手肘下,直到我的手指开始因为压力而刺痛起来为止。

当这堂课到达尾声,班纳老师把灯打开的时候,我松了一口气,宽慰地叹息着。我把胳膊向前伸去,活动着我僵直的手指。爱德华在我背后轻笑着。

“嗯,这很有趣。”他低声说着。他的声音很阴沉,他的眼神十分谨慎。

“唔。”是我所能作出的全部反应。

“我们走吧?”他问道,灵活地站了起来。

我几乎要呻吟出声来。体育课时间到。我小心地站起来,生怕我的平衡能力会受到我们之间新兴的,古怪的紧张气氛的影响。

他沉默地陪着我向下一堂课走去,然后停在了门外,我转身要说再见。他的脸把我吓了一跳——他的神情是全然的挣扎,几近痛苦,却又如此残酷的美丽。想要触碰他的渴望又熊熊燃烧起来,和之前一样强烈。我的再见卡在了喉咙里。

他迟疑地伸出手,矛盾在他的眼中迸发着,然后他飞快地用指尖轻轻拂过我的颧骨。他的肌肤还是那样的冰冷,但他的指尖在我的肌肤上走过的足迹却温暖得惊人——就好像我被烧着了一样,却完全没有感觉到灼烧的痛苦。

他一言不发地转过身去,大步流星地离开了我。
我头晕眼花,脚步不稳地走进体育馆。我游魂似的走进更衣室,在神思恍惚中换了衣服,只能模糊地意识到我周围还有别的人。直到我拿起球拍,真实感才完全回到了我的神智中。球拍不算很沉,但在我手里显得很不安全。我能看到班里的一些别的孩子在偷偷地瞄着我。克拉普教练让我们自己组队。

所幸迈克身上残余的骑士精神还在,他走过来站到了我旁边。

“你愿意和我一队吗?”

“谢谢,迈克——你真的不必这样做的,你知道。”我充满歉意地做了个鬼脸。

“别担心,我会离你远远的。”他咧嘴一笑。有时候喜欢上迈克是件很容易的事。

情况没那么顺利。我在原因不明的情况下成功地击中了自己的头部,而且在同一次挥拍打中了迈克的肩膀。这个小时剩下的时间里,我始终待在庭院的后角里,球拍被安全地握在了我的背后。尽管由于我的存在而有些吃亏,但迈克还是干得很漂亮:他独力赢得了四场比赛里的三场。当克拉普教练最终吹响了哨子,宣布下课时,他让我不劳而获地拿到了五分的高分。

“那么,”当我们一起走出庭院时,他说道。

“那么什么?”

“你和卡伦,哈?”他问道,他的语气里带着反抗的意味。我早先的喜爱的感觉荡然无存了。

“这跟你没关系,迈克。”我警告道,心里诅咒着杰西卡下十八层地狱。

“我不喜欢这样。”无论如何他还是抱怨着说了出来。

“你不必喜欢。”我嚷嚷着。

“他看着你的眼神就像是……就像你是一份大餐一样。”他不理会我,继续说道。

我噎住了一阵威胁着要爆发出来的竭斯底里,但一阵轻微的咯咯声依然无视我的努力逃逸出来。他怒视着我。我向他挥了挥手,逃进了更衣室。

我飞快地换上衣服,某种比蝴蝶更加有力的东西在不顾一切地猛击着我的胃壁,(惴惴不安着,胃里一阵阵地翻腾)我和迈克的争论已经成为了久远的回忆。我想知道爱德华是否在等着,又或者我得在他的车那里和他碰头。如果他的家人也在那里,我该怎么办?我感到一阵真切的恐惧。他们知道我知道了吗?又或者,我能获准知道他们知道我知道了吗?(原文如此。。。不是我词穷了。。。虽然也差不多了。。。)

当我走出体育馆的时候,我几乎决定好要直接走回家,甚至不敢看一眼停车场。但我的担心是多余的。爱德华正等着我,他若无其事地靠在了体育馆的外墙上,他绝美的脸上现在没有半点忧虑。当我向他走去的时候,我感到了一种奇特的被赦免的感觉。

“嗨。”我喘息着说,露出大大的微笑。

“哈罗。”他回答着,笑容明朗。“体育课怎么样?”

我的脸稍稍塌了下来。“很好。”我撒谎道。

“真的?”他很是怀疑。他的眼睛微微地聚焦着,越过我的肩膀向后看去,然后眯缝起来。我向后瞄了一眼,只看见了迈克离开的背影。

“什么?”我诘问道。

他的目光落回了我身上,依然紧绷着。“牛顿正让我心烦。”

“你不是又在听了吧?”我一阵惶恐。我突如其来的好心情全部归零了。

“你的头怎么样了?”他天真无邪地问道。
“你简直让人难以置信!”我转过身,重重地踏着步子向停车场的大致方向走去,虽然此刻我还没排除走回去的可能性。

他轻而易举地跟上了我。

“是你自己一直在强调我没见过你在体育课上的样子——这让我很好奇。”他听起来毫无悔改之意,所以我无视他。

我们沉默地走着——在我看来,是一种狂怒的,窘迫的沉默——向他的车走去。但我不得不停在了几英尺外-——一群人,全是男生,正围着它。

然后我意识到他们并不是在围着那辆沃尔沃,事实上他们在围观罗莎莉的红色敞篷车,他们的眼里明明白白地写着渴望。当爱德华走到他们中间打开自己的车门时,他们甚至没有一个人抬起头来。我飞快地爬进乘客座,同样不受注目。

“太浮夸了。”他喃喃自语道。

“这是什么车?”我问道。

“一辆M3。”

“我不会说《汽车与驾驶》里的专有名词。”

“那是一辆宝马。”他转了转眼睛,不去看我,努力在不碾上那群狂热的汽车爱好者的情况下把车倒出去。

我点了点头——我听说过这个牌子。

“你还在生气吗?”当他小心地把车开出去的时候,他问道。

“相当肯定。”

他叹了口气。“如果我道歉的话,你会原谅我吗?”

“也许会……如果你是诚心诚意的话。而且你还得保证再也不这样做。”我坚持着。

他的眼神忽然精明起来。“我是诚心诚意的,而且我同意让你周六开车,这个怎么样?”他驳回了我的附加条件。

我思考着,然后确定这也许是我能争取到的最高出价。(最好的结果)“成交。”我同意了。

“那么,我很抱歉,我惹你生气了。”他的眼里燃烧着真诚的火焰,灼烧了许久——严重破坏了我心跳的节奏——然后变成了打趣的眼神。“而晴朗的周六那天,一大早我就会站在你家的门阶上。”

“呃,如果一辆不请自来的沃尔沃停在车道上,对查理的情形不会有任何帮助的。”

现在他的笑容谦逊起来:“我没打算开车过去。”

“怎么——”

他打断了我的话。“不必担心这个,我会在那儿的,不会开车来的。”

我丢下了这个话题。我有一个更重要的问题要问。

“这就是那个下次吗?”我意味深长地问道。

他皱起眉:“我猜它是下次。”

我维持着彬彬有礼的表情,等待着。

他把车停了下来。我惊讶地抬起头——当然,我们已经到查理家了,正停在那辆卡车后面。如果我一心只留意着何时结束的话,和他一起坐车会更容易些。当我回头看向他时,他正注视着我,用眼神衡量着我。

“你还是想要知道为什么你不能去看我狩猎吗?”他一本正经地说着,但我想我看到他眼里有一丝打趣的痕迹。

“好吧,”我澄清道。“我最好奇的是你的反应。”

“我吓着你了?”没错,他眼里的打趣显而易见。

“没有。”我撒谎道。他没买我的账。

“我为吓着你而道歉。”他固执地维持着一抹浅笑,但随后,所有嘲弄的迹象都消失了。“那确实是想到你在那里……在我们打猎时的反应。”他的下颚一紧。

“那会很糟吗?”

他从咬紧的牙缝里挤出几个字。“极其糟糕”

“因为……?”

他深吸了一口气,向挡风玻璃外看去,注视着那片涌动着的浓云,它似乎要压下来了,几近伸手可及。

“当我们狩猎的时候,”他极慢地,很不情愿地说道。“我们会凭自己的感觉行事……几乎不受自己的意志控制,尤其依赖于我们的嗅觉。如果在我那样失控的时候,你在我周围的任何地方……”他摇了摇头,依然忧郁地注视着那片厚重的云层。

我意志坚定地控制着自己的表情,希望他的眼神能紧接着掠过来,鉴定我的反应。我的脸没有泄露任何信息。
但是我们的眼睛僵持着,而沉默加剧了——而且改变了。今天下午我感觉到的摇曳不定的电流开始掌控了气氛,而他毫不松懈地凝视着我的眼睛。直到我的头开始发晕,我才意识到自己没在呼吸。当我晕乎乎地深吸了一口气,打破了沉默时,他闭上了眼睛。

“贝拉,我想你现在应该进屋去了。”他低沉的声音沙哑着,他又开始看那些云了。

我打开门,一阵极寒的冷风涌进车里,让我的脑子清醒起来。我生怕自己会在这种头晕眼花的状态中被绊倒,于是小心翼翼地走出车外,头也不回地关上了身后的门。电动车窗降下来的呼呼声让我回过身去。

“哦,贝拉?”他在我后面喊着,他的声音更平和些了。他向打开的车窗倚过来,唇上挂着一抹浅笑。

“怎么了?”

“明天轮到我了。”

“轮到你什么?”

他笑得更开怀了,露出闪闪发亮的皓齿:“提问。”

然后他走了,车子加速开进了街道,消失在拐角处,而我还没来得及理清自己的思绪。我微笑着,向屋子走去。这表明他计划明天和我见面,如果没有意外的话。

和往常一样,这天晚上爱德华在我的梦里担纲主演。但是,我潜意识里的气候改变了,那里颤栗着闪过掌控了整个下午的电流,而我不得安宁地辗转反侧,夜里醒来了很多次。直到凌晨的那几个小时我才最终精疲力竭地陷入了无梦的睡眠。

当我醒来的时候,我依然很疲倦,但也很心急。我穿上一件棕色的高领毛衣,还有那条不可避免的牛仔裤。当我白日做梦地幻想着低胸细肩带上衣和热裤时,我不由得叹了口气。(spaghetti straps and shorts)早餐和往常一样,平静祥和得如我所愿。查理给自己煎了份鸡蛋,我吃了一碗麦片粥。我怀疑他是否已经忘了这周六的事。当他站起来,把盘子拿去水池的时候,他回答了我没说出口的疑问。

“关于这周六……”他开口了,一边说着一边穿过厨房,打开水龙头。

我讨好地说:“怎么了,爸爸?”

“你还是要去西雅图吗?”他问道。

“计划是这样。”我扮了个鬼脸,希望他不要再提起这个话题,这样我就不必小心地编排一些半真半假的话。

他挤了一些洗洁精到盘子上,用刷子来回地擦洗着。“你确定不会在舞会开始前回来吗?”

“我不打算去舞会,爸爸。”我干瞪着眼。

“难道没有人邀请你吗?”他问道,试图隐藏起自己的关心,专心擦洗盘子。

我避开了这个雷区。“这是一次女生择伴舞会。”

“哦。”他一边皱起眉,一边把盘子擦干。

我开始有点同情他了。对一个父亲来说,这实在是件难事,活在这样或那样的忧虑里,生怕自己的女儿会遇上她喜欢的男孩,但又得操心万一她遇不上该怎么办。我一想到,如果查理知道,哪怕是得到最轻微的暗示,我确切喜欢着的是什么人的话,不禁打了个冷战。

然后,查理挥手道别,离开了。我走上楼去刷牙,把书收拾好。当我听到巡逻车开走的声音时,我只等了几秒钟,便迫不及待地跑过去向窗外偷看。那辆银色的车已经在那里了,就在车道上查理的位置那儿等着。我跳着下了楼,奔出前门,想知道这样不同寻常的例行公事般的日子能够持续多久。我永远都不想让它结束。
他在车里等着,当我关上门,懒得锁上那个该死的门闩的时候,他似乎没在看我。我走向车子,在开门上车以前羞涩地停住了。他微笑着,很放松——还有,像往常一样,完美和出色得到了折磨人的地步。

“早上好。”他的声音如丝绸一样柔软。“今天感觉怎么样?”他的目光在我的脸上徘徊着,仿佛他的提问比起单纯的礼节有着更深的意味。

“很好,谢谢。”当我和他在一起时,我总是很好——甚至比好更好。

他的目光落在了我眼睛底下的黑眼圈上。“你看上去很疲倦。”

“我睡不着。”我坦白交代,下意识地把头发拨到肩后,作为某种程度上的掩饰。

“我也是。”他揶揄着,发动了引擎。我开始习惯这种安静的嗡嗡声了。我敢肯定,无论何时我再去开我那辆卡车,它的轰鸣声都会吓着我的。

我大笑起来:“我猜想也是。我估计我只比你多睡了一点点。”

“我敢打赌你确实如此。”

“那么,你昨晚做了什么?”我问道。

他轻笑起来:“你没机会了。今天可是我提问的日子。”

“哦,没错。你想知道什么?”我的额头皱了起来。我想象不出自己有什么能引起他的兴趣。

“你最喜欢的颜色是?”他问道,表情很认真。

我转了转眼睛:“每天都不一样。”

“你今天最喜欢的颜色是?”他依然郑重其事地问道。

“大概是棕色。”我向来根据自己的心情来穿衣服。

他哼了一声,终于丢下了一本正经的表情。“棕色?”他怀疑地问道。

“没错。棕色很温暖。我想念棕色。所有应该是棕色的东西——树干,岩石,泥土——在这里都被软塌塌的绿色覆盖住了。”我抱怨道。

他似乎对我激昂的演说很是着迷。他想了一会儿,然后看进了我的眼睛里。

“你是对的。”他决断道,又严肃了起来。“棕色很温暖。”他敏捷地伸出手,但不知怎的,还是迟疑着,把我的头发拂回我的肩后。

就在这时,我们到学校了。当他把车开进一个停车位的时候,他回过头来看着我。

“你的随身听里现在放着的是什么音乐?”他问道,他阴沉着脸,就好像在要求一个凶杀案的口供一样。

我意识到自己还没把菲尔给我的那张CD拿出来。当我说出那个乐队的名字的时候,他嘴角弯弯地笑了,眼里有着一种奇特的神情。他弹开了他的车载随身听下面的一个小隔间,在塞满了那个小空间的三十张或者更多的CD里抽了一张出来,递给我。

“这张德彪西怎么样?”他挑起一侧眉头。

是上次那张CD。我垂下眼帘,仔细看着那个熟悉的封面图案。

这一天就这样过去了。当他陪我走向英语课教室的时候,当他在西班牙语课后和我碰头的时候,整个午餐时间,他都在无情地审问着我,了解我生活里的每一个无关紧要的细节。我喜欢的和讨厌的电影,我去过的屈指可数的几个地方,我想去的许多地方,还有书——无尽的关于书的问题。

我想不起来自己上次说这么的话是什么时候的事了。我有自知之明,我敢肯定我一定让他感到厌烦了。但他脸上全神贯注的神情,还有他连珠炮似的永不止息的提问,迫使我继续下去。他大多数的问题都很容易回答,只有少数几个会让我不禁脸红起来。但当我真的脸红起来的时候,又会导致新的一轮的提问。

比方说,他问我最喜欢的珠宝的那次,我红着脸不假思索地说出了黄水晶。他用这样的速度滔滔不绝地提问,让我觉得自己像是在做某种心理测试,就是要求你的答案必须是第一时间想到的那个词的那种。我敢肯定,他会根据脑海里的问题清单不停地问下去,除非是我脸红了。而我脸红则是因为,直到最近,我最喜欢的珠宝还是石榴石。只要注视着他黄水晶一样的眼眸,我就不可能想不起转变的理由。而很自然地,他会不停地发问直到我坦白交代我为什么会局促不安为止。

“告诉我。”在说服以失败告知后,他最终命令道——会失败仅仅是因为我让目光安全地远离他的脸。

“那是今天你的眼睛的颜色。”我叹息着,投降了。我把玩着自己的一缕头发,眼睛盯着自己的手看。“我猜要是你两个星期以后问我的话,我会说是黑玛瑙。”出于我并不情愿的诚实,我给出了更多的信息,尽管这毫无必要。而且我开始担心这会不会引爆他那奇怪的怒火,每当我不小心透露得太多自己是如此的着迷时,他都会这样。

但他只停顿了很短的时间。

“你喜欢什么花?”他又开始一连串的提问了。

我宽慰地松了口气,然后继续接受他的心理分析。
生物课又一次变得复杂起来。爱德华继续着他的随堂口试,直到班纳老师走进教室,又把那个视听教学箱拖进来为止。当老师走过去把灯关掉的时候,我注意到爱德华稍稍把椅子向我挪开了一点。这没用。当教室暗下来的时候,和昨天一样,那种电流又开始闪动着火光,那种永不止息的渴望又在敦促着我的手伸过那段短短的距离,触碰他冰冷的肌肤。

我向桌子倾下身去,把下颚放在交叠的小臂上,我隐藏起来的手指紧紧地抓住桌子的边缘。我挣扎着不去理会那股试图让我动摇的不合情理的渴望。我不敢看他,生怕他也在看着我,这只会让自我控制变得更难些。我由衷地想要看这部电影,但直到这堂课结束我还是不知道我刚刚看的是什么内容。当班纳老师把灯打开的时候,我宽慰地叹了口气,终于看了一眼爱德华。他正看着我,眼里写满了矛盾。

他默默地站起身,一动不动地站在那里,等着我。我们沉默着向体育馆走去,和昨天完全一样。然后,还是和昨天一样,他无言地轻抚我的脸庞——这次是用他冰冷的手背,从我的一侧眉毛一直抚摸到我的下颌——在他转身走开以前。

体育课在我观看迈克的羽毛球个人秀中很快就过去了。他今天没有跟我说话,也没有对我空白的表情作出任何反应,也许他还在为我们昨天的口角生着闷气。在我心底一角的某处,我对此感觉很糟。但我没法把注意力集中在他身上。

之后,我不安地赶去换衣服,知道我的动作越快,我就能越早和爱德华待在一起。这种压迫感使得我比平时还有笨手笨脚,但最终我冲出门口,和上次一样宽慰地看到他站在那里,一个大大的笑容下意识地浮现在我脸上。作为回应,他微笑起来,然后开始新一轮狂热的交互讯问。

不过,他现在的问题变得不一样了,不再那么容易回答了。他想知道我想念着家里的什么事物,坚持要我描述出任何他不熟悉的部分。我们坐在查理的房子前,坐了好几个小时,直到天黑下来,骤然泛滥的雨水笔直地落在我们周围。

我试图描述出一些根本没法形容的食物,像是木馏油的香味——发苦的,有点像树脂,但还是很亲切——七月里尖锐凄厉的蝉鸣,柔软如鸿毛的无叶树(仙人掌),广阔无垠的天空,那种发白的蓝色从一侧的地平线一直延伸到另一侧的地平线,极少被覆满了紫色火山岩的低矮的山丘阻断。最难解释的事情是为什么我会觉得它们如此美丽——定义一种并非基于稀稀落落的,多刺的,经常看上去半死不活的植被的美丽,一种与大地裸路的形状,与崎岖的山谷间浅浅的有如碗状的山谷,与他们在太阳底下绵延的方式毫无关系的美丽。当我努力向他解释时,我发现自己常常得用上手势。

他安静的,尖锐的提问让我自由自在地说着话,在暴风雨中微弱的光线里,完全忘记了要为自己垄断了所有的对话而窘迫不安。最终,当我描述完我在家里的那个乱糟糟的房间以后,他停了下来,没有再提出下一个问题。

“你问完了?”我如释重负地问道。

“差远了——但你爸爸很快就要到家了。”
“查理!”我忽然意识到他的存在,然后叹了口气。我看着车外阴雨绵绵的天空,但它没有泄露任何信息。“现在多晚了?”我一边大声问道,一边瞥了一眼时钟。我震惊地看到已经是这个时候了——查理现在已经在开车回家的路上了。

“现在正是暮色时分。”(It’s twilight。。。)爱德华喃喃低语着,看着西边的地平线,那里被云层覆盖着,晦明不定。他的声音显得心事重重,仿佛他的思绪正在千里之外。我看着他,他向挡风玻璃外看去,却根本不在看任何东西。

我一直注视着他,直到他的目光忽然转回来,对上了我的眼睛。

“对我们来说,这是一天之中最安全的时候。”他说道,回答了我眼中未说出口的疑问。“最容易的时刻。但从某种意义上说,也是最伤感的……又一天的结束,夜晚再度降临。黑暗如此容易预测,你不这样认为吗?”他想望地微笑着。

“我喜欢夜晚。没有黑暗,我们就永远看不到星辰了。”我皱起眉。“不过在这里很难看到星星。”

他大笑着,气氛骤然轻松起来。

“查理还有几分钟就要到这儿了。那么,除非你想告诉他周六你会和我一起……”他挑起一侧眉头。

“谢谢,但不必了,谢谢。”我把书收起来,意识到自己因为坐得太久已经有些僵直了。“那么,明天轮到我了?”

“当然不是。”他脸上写满了恼人的愤愤不平。“我告诉过你我还没问完,不是吗?”

“还有什么?”

“明天你就知道了。”他伸出手要替我开门,而他的突然接近让我的心陷入了疯狂的悸动。

“这可不太好。”他喃喃自语道。

“那是什么?”我惊讶地看到,他的下巴绷紧了,眼里写满了困扰。

他只看了我短短的一秒钟。“另一个复杂的情形。”他闷闷不乐地说道。

他动作迅速地把门推开,然后移开身子,几乎是退缩着,飞快地远离我。

汽车前灯的光穿透过雨幕吸引了我的注意,一辆黑色的车子向着我们开过来,只有几英尺远了。

“查理就要来了。”他警告道,透过倾盆大雨注视着那辆车。

我立刻跳下车,无暇顾及自己的混乱和好奇。雨水掠过我的夹克,声音愈发响亮了。

我试图认出坐在那辆车的前座里的人,但天太黑了。我看见爱德华被那辆新来的车的前灯怒视着,全身都被照亮了。他依然注视着前方,他的目光紧锁在我看不见的某物或某人上。他的神情非常古怪,混合着挫败与挑衅。

然后他发动了引擎,轮胎蹭着潮湿的公路发出尖锐的声音。几秒种后那辆沃尔沃就看不见了。

“嘿,贝拉。”一个熟悉的,沙哑的声音从那辆黑色的小车里的驾驶座上传出来。

“雅克布?”我问道,眯着眼透过雨幕看去。就在这时,查理的巡逻车开过了拐角,他的车灯照亮了我面前那辆车里的人。

雅克布正要爬出来,他的咧嘴大笑即使在黑暗中也清晰可见。坐在乘客座上的是一个更老一些的男人,体格健壮,有一张令人难忘的脸——一张太过宽大的脸,脸颊紧贴着他的肩膀,黄褐色的皮肤上千沟万壑,像一件古旧的皮夹克。而那双熟悉得惊人的眼睛,那双黑眼睛安放在这张大脸上,在显得太过年轻的同时,又显得太过沧桑了。雅克布的爸爸,比利?布莱克。我立刻认出了他,尽管我上一次见到他是五年多以前的事了。我第一天来这里,查理向我提起他的时候,我甚至已经忘了他的名字。他注视着我,仔细审视着我的脸,所以我试探性地向他笑了笑。他的眼睛睁大了,不知道是出于惊讶还是出于害怕,他的鼻孔张大了。我的笑容立刻消失了。 
 另一个复杂的情形,爱德华说过。

比利依然用紧张焦虑的眼神注视着我。我在心里叹息着。比利这么快就认出爱德华来了吗?他真的相信他儿子嘲笑过的那些不可能的传说吗?

答案清晰地写在比利眼中。是的,是的,他相信。



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