W HILE I have no memory of the lies I told my parents about the trip with Hanna, I do remember the price I had to pay to stay alone at home the last week of vacation. I can’t recall where my parents and my older brother and sister were going. The problem was my little sister. She was supposed to go and stay with a friend’s family. But if I was going to be at home, she wanted to be at home as well. My parents didn’t want that. So I was supposed to go and stay with a friend too.
As I look back, I find it remarkable1 that my parents were willing to leave me, a fifteen-year-old, at home alone for a week. Had they noticed the independence that had been growing in me since I met Hanna? Or had they simply registered the fact that I had passed the class despite the months of illness and decided2 that I was more responsible and trustworthy than I had shown myself to be until then? Nor do I remember being called on to explain the many hours I spent at Hanna’s. My parents apparently3 believed that, now that I was healthy again, I wanted to be with my friends as much as possible, whether studying or just enjoying our free time. Besides, when parents have a pack of four children, their attention cannot cover everything, and tends to focus on whichever one is causing the most problems at the moment. I had caused problems for long enough; my parents were relieved that I was healthy and would be moving up into the next class.
When I asked my little sister what her price was for going to stay with her friend while I stayed home, she demanded jeans—we called them blue jeans back then, or studded pants—and a Nicki, which was a velour sweater. That made sense. Jeans were still something special at that time, they were chic4, and they promised liberation5 from herringbone suits and big-flowered dresses. Just as I had to wear my uncle’s things, my little sister had to wear her big sister’s. But I had no money.
“Then steal them!” said my little sister with perfect equanimity6.
It was astonishingly easy. I tried on various jeans, took a pair her size with me into the fitting7 room, and carried them out of the store against my stomach under my wide suit pants. The sweater I stole from the big main department store. My little sister and I went in one day and strolled8 from stand to stand in the fashion department until we found the right stand and the right sweater. Next day I marched quickly through the department, seized the sweater, hid it under my suit jacket, and was outside again. The day after that I stole a silk nightgown for Hanna, was spotted9 by the store detective, ran for my life, and escaped by a hair. I didn’t go back to the department store for years after that.
Since our nights together on the trip, I had longed every night to feel her next to me, to curl up against her, my stomach against her behind and my chest against her back, to rest my hand on her breasts, to reach out for her when I woke up in the night, find her, push my leg over her legs, and press my face against her shoulder. A week alone at home meant seven nights with Hanna.
One evening I invited her to the house and cooked for her. She stood in the kitchen as I put the finishing touches on the food. She stood in the open double doors between the dining room and living room as I served. She sat at the round dining table where my father usually sat. She looked around.
Her eyes explored everything—the Biedermeier furniture, the piano, the old grandfather clock, the pictures, the bookcases, the plates and cutlery on the table. When I left her alone to prepare dessert, she was not at the table when I came back. She had gone from room to room and was standing10 in my father’s study. I leaned quietly against the doorpost and watched her. She let her eyes drift over the bookshelves that filled the walls, as if she were reading a text. Then she went to a shelf, raised her right index finger chest high and ran it slowly along the backs of the books, moved to the next shelf, ran her finger further along, from one spine11 to the next, pacing off the whole room. She stopped at the window, looked out into the darkness, at the reflection of the bookshelves, and at her own.
It is one of the pictures of Hanna that has stayed with me. I have them stored away, I can project them on a mental screen and watch them, unchanged, unconsumed. There are long periods when I don’t think about them at all. But they always come back into my head, and then I sometimes have to run them repeatedly through my mental projector12 and watch them. One is Hanna putting on her stockings in the kitchen. Another is Hanna standing in front of the tub holding the towel in her outstretched arms. Another is Hanna riding her bike with her skirt blowing in her slipstream. Then there is the picture of Hanna in my father’s study. She’s wearing a blue-and-white striped dress, what they called a shirtwaist back then. She looks young in it. She has run her finger along the backs of the books and looked into the darkness of the window. She turns to me, quickly enough that the skirt swings out around her legs for a moment before it hangs smooth again. Her eyes are tired.
“Are these books your father has just read, or did he write them too?”
I knew there was a book on Kant and another on Hegel that my father had written, and I searched for them and showed them to her.
“Read me something from them. Please, kid?”
“I . . .” I didn’t want to, but didn’t like to refuse her either. I took my father’s Kant book and read her a passage on analysis and dialectics that neither of us understood. “Is that enough?”
She looked at me as though she had understood it all, or as if it didn’t matter whether anything was understandable or not. “Will you write books like that some day?”
I shook my head.
“Will you write other books?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you write plays?”
“I don’t know, Hanna.”
She nodded. Then we ate dessert and went to her apartment. I would have liked to sleep with her in my bed, but she didn’t want to. She felt like an intruder in our house. She didn’t say it in so many words, but in the way she stood in the kitchen or in the open double doors, or walked from room to room, inspected my father’s books and sat with me at dinner.
I gave her the silk nightgown. It was aubergine-colored with narrow straps13 that left her shoulders and arms bare, and came down to her ankles. It shone and shimmered14. Hanna was delighted; she laughed and beamed. She looked down at herself, turned around, danced a few steps, looked at herself in the mirror, checked her reflection, and danced some more. That too is a picture of Hanna that has stayed with me.
我虽然不记得为了能和汉娜一起出游，我在父母面前都撤了哪些流，却还记得为了在假期的最后一周里能一个人留在家里所付出的代价。我的父母、哥哥和姐姐去哪里旅行，我已不记得了。问题是我的小妹，她应该去一位女朋友家里，可是如果我留在家里的话，她也要呆在家里。我父母不想这样，这样一来，我也必须去一位朋友家里住。
回顾当时的情况，我发现有一点非常值得注意，那就是我父母准备让我一个十五岁的男孩子独自一人在家里呆上一周的时间。他们已注意到了我通过与汉娜的交往已经变得独立了吗？或者他们只是注意到，尽管我生了几个月的病，还是照样跟上了功课并由此得出结论，认为我比这之前他们所认为的更有责任心，更值得信赖了吗？当时我有那么多的时间是在汉娜那里度过的，我也记不得了当时我是否必须对此做出解释。看来，我父母认为我已经恢复了健康，以为我想更多地和朋友在一起，一起学习，一起玩耍。此外，四个孩子就像一群羊，父母不可能把注意力平分在每个孩子身上，而是集中在有特别问题的孩子身上。我有问题的时间够长的了，现在我身体健康并可以跟班上课，这已令我的父母感到轻松。
我想把妹妹打发到她的女朋友家里，以便我一个人留在家里。当我问她想要什么时，她说要一条牛仔裤——当时我们把牛仔裤叫做蓝牛仔裤或斜纹工装裤，一件市套衫和一件天鹅绒毛衣，这我能理解。牛仔裤在当时还是很特别的东西，很时髦。此外，牛仔裤还把人们从人字型西服和大花图案的服装中解放出来。就像我必须穿我叔叔穿过的衣服一样，我的妹妹也必须要穿我姐姐穿过的衣服。可是，我没有钱。
"那就去偷把！"我的妹妹看上会沉着冷静地这样说到。
这件事容易得令你吃惊。我在试衣间里试穿了不同型号的牛仔裤，也拿了几条我妹妹所穿的型号，把它们掖到又肥又宽的裤腰里就溜出了商店。那件布套衫是我在考夫豪夫店里偷出来的。有一天，我和妹妹在一家时装店里，从一个摊位溜达到另一个摊位，直到找到了卖正宗布套衫的正确摊位为止。第二天，我急匆匆地迈着果断的脚步，走过了这个经销部，抓起了一件毛衣，藏到了外套里，成功地带了出去。在此之后的第二天，我为汉娜偷了一件真丝睡衣，但被商店的侦探发现了。我拼命地跑，费了九牛二虎之力才逃掉。有好几年，我都没有再踏入考夫豪夫商店的大门。
自我们一起出游，一起过夜之后，每晚我都渴望着在身边感觉到她的存在，都渴望依偎在她怀里，都渴望着把肚子靠在她的屁股上，把胸贴在她后背上，把手放在她的乳房上，也渴望着夜里醒来时，用手臂去摸她，找她，把一条腿伸到她的一条腿上去，把脸在她肩上路路。独自一人在家里呆一周就意味着有机会和汉娜在一起度过七个夜晚。
其中的一个晚上，我把汉娜邀请了过来并为她做了饭。当我忙着做饭时，她站在厨房里。当我把饭菜端上来时，她站在餐厅和客厅开着的门之间。在圆餐桌旁，她坐到了通常我父亲所坐的位子上，朝四处打量。
她的眼神在审视着一切。毕德麦耶尔家具、三角大钢琴、老式的座钟、油画、摆满书的书架，还有放在餐桌上的餐具。当我起来去准备饭后甜食时，把她一个人留在了那儿。回来时发现她已不在桌边坐着了。她从一个房间走到另一个房间，最后她站在了我父亲的书房里。我轻轻地靠在门框上，看着她。她的目光在布满墙面的书架上漫游，好像在读一篇文章。然后，她走到一个书架前，在齐胸高的地方用右手的食指慢慢地在书脊上移动，从一个书架移到另一个书架，从一本书移到另一本书。她巡视了整个房间。在窗前，她停了下来，在昏暗中注视著书架的反光和倒影。
这是汉娜留在我心目中的形象之一。我把它储存在大脑中，可以在内心的银幕上放映，她总是那样没有变化。有时候，我很长时间都不想她，可是她总是让我又想起她，这可能是我多次地、一遍又一遍地在内。动的屏幕上非要放映、观赏她不可。其中的一个情景是汉娜在厨房里穿长筒袜，另外一个情景是汉娜站在浴缸前张开双手拿着浴巾。还有一个情景是汉娜骑着自行车，她的连衣裙随风飘舞。然后，就是汉娜在我父亲书房里的情景。她穿着一件蓝白相间的连衣裙，当时人们称之为衬衣裙。穿着它她看上去很年轻。她用手指摸著书脊走到了窗前，向窗外眺望。现在她把身子转向了我，她转得太快了，以至于她的裙子有那么一瞬间把她的腿给缠住了，过了一会裙子才又平放下来。她的眼神看上去有些疲倦。
"这些书只是你父亲读过的呢还是也有他写的？"
我知道父亲写过关于康德和黑格尔的书。我把两本书都找了出来给她看。
"给我朗读一段，你不愿意吗，小家伙！"
"我……"我不愿意，可是我又不想拒绝她的请求。我拿出了父亲的那本关于康德的书，给她朗读了其中关于分析学和辩证法的一段。她和我都不懂。"够了吗？"
她看着我，好像她都听懂的样子或者说懂与不懂都无关紧要的样子。"有一天你也会写这样的书吗？"
我摇摇头。
"你会写其他书吗？"
"我不知道。"
"你会写剧本吗？"
"我不知道，汉娜。"
她点点头。然后，我们吃了饭后甜食就去了她那里。我非常想和她在我的床上睡觉，但是她不愿意。她在我家里感觉像个闯入者。她并没有用语言表述这些，可是通过她的举止可以看得出来，她站在厨房里或者站在开着的门之间，她从一个房间走到另一个房间，她在我父亲的书房里摸著书，她和我坐在一起吃饭时的举止，所有这些都表明了这一点。
我把那件真丝睡衣送给了她。睡衣是紫红色的，细细的背带，袒胸露背的式样，一直拖到脚踝，质地柔润光滑。汉娜高兴得眉开眼笑。她上上下下地打量着自己，转过身来跳了几步舞，对着镜子看了一会自己在镜中的形象，接着又跳起来。
这也是汉娜留在我脑中的一个形象。
收听单词发音 |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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liberation
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| n.解放，解放运动（为获得平等权利和地位的行为） | |
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equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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fitting
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| n.[pl.]设备，家具，配件，试穿；adj.适合的 | |
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strolled
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| 散步（stroll的过去式形式） | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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projector
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| n.投影机，放映机，幻灯机 | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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