九故事-中英全本

抓香蕉鱼*好的日子

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“西摩·格拉斯，”西比尔·卡朋特说，她和她妈妈一起住在宾馆里，“你西摩格拉斯了吗？”
“咪咪宝，够了。妈咪听得都烦死了。别动，请你别动。”
卡朋特太太正给西比尔抹防晒油，沿着肩膀到后背，抹过她瘦瘦的、仿佛翅膀一样的肩胛骨。西比尔坐在一只巨大的浮水气球上，气球吹得鼓鼓的，西比尔摇摇欲坠，面对着大海。她身穿淡黄色的比基尼泳装，其实上身部分也许她要再过个九年、十年才用得着。
“那真的就是块很一般的丝手帕—你走近点就能看到，”坐在卡朋特太太旁边那张沙滩椅上的妇人说道，“我还真想知道她是怎么扎的。真是好看呢。”
“听起来就不错，”卡朋特太太附和道，“西比尔，不要动，咪咪宝。”
“你西摩格拉斯了吗？”西比尔说。
卡朋特太太叹了口气。“好吧，”她说，一边盖上防晒油瓶的盖子，“去吧，去玩吧，咪咪宝。妈咪要去宾馆里和哈布尔太太喝杯马蒂尼。我会给你拿橄榄的。”
妈妈刚一松手，西比尔就朝着开阔的海滩奔去，然后朝“渔夫帐篷”的方向径直走去。她只停下一次，一只脚踩进一座已经倒塌的浸湿的沙堡，很快她就走出了专供宾馆住客使用的沙滩区。
大约走了四分之一英里的路之后，她突然斜插着往沙滩面海的方向奔去。跑到一个仰面躺在沙滩上的年轻人身边，她停了下来。
“你要去水里吗，西摩·格拉斯？”她说道。
年轻人吓了一跳，他抬起右手，握住毛巾浴袍的翻领，翻了个身，脸朝下，眼睛上卷成一股的毛巾掉了下来。他眯着眼看向西比尔。
“嗨。你好，西比尔。”
“你要去水里吗？”
“我正在等你呢，”年轻人说，“怎么样？”
“什么？”
“怎么样？有什么新节目吗？”
“我爸爸明天要坐一个飞机过来。”西比尔说，脚踢着沙子。
“别朝我的脸踢，宝贝儿。”年轻人说，伸手抓住西比尔的脚踝，“他是该来了，你爸爸。我时时刻刻地等着他呢。时时刻刻。”
“那位女士呢？”西比尔问。
“女士？”年轻人伸手理了理稀疏的头发，抖落沙子，“这很难说，西比尔。有一千个地方是她可能去的。在理发店里，把她的头发染成深褐色；或者给穷人的孩子们做洋娃娃，在她自己房间里。”他趴着，两只手捏成拳头，一个叠在另一个上面， 下巴搁在拳头上。
“问我点别的什么吧，西比尔，”他说，“你的游泳衣很好看。要说有什么东西是我喜欢的，那就是一件蓝色的游泳衣。”
西比尔盯着他，然后低头看看自己凸出的肚子。“这是件黄色的，”她说，“这是件黄色的。”
“是吗？走近点儿我看看。”
西比尔向前靠了一步。
“你一点儿没错。我真是个傻瓜。”
“你要去水里吗？”西比尔问。
“我还真有这个想法呢。我正翻来覆去地琢磨着呢，西比尔，你听了准高兴。”
西比尔戳了戳年轻人不时用来垫脑袋的橡皮筏。“这个要充气了。”她说。
“你说得对。这个需要很多气，我不承认都不行。”他放下拳头，下巴磕在沙子上。“西比尔，”他说，“你很好看。见到你真好。跟我说说你自己吧。”他伸出双手，同时握住了西比尔的两只脚踝。“我是摩羯座的，”他说，“你呢？”
“莎朗·利普舒兹说你让她跟你一起坐在钢琴前面。”西比尔说。
“莎朗·利普舒兹跟你说的？”
西比尔用力点点头。
年轻人松开了她的脚踝，收起两只手，脸靠在右臂上。“嗯，”他说，“这种事怎么发生你是知道的，西比尔。我坐在那里，正弹着琴，而你又不知去哪里了。然后莎朗·利普舒兹走了过来，在我旁边坐下。我又不能把她推开，你说是不是？”
“你能的。”
“哦，不能。不行。我不能那么做，”年轻人说道，“不过，我可以告诉你我做了什么。”
“什么？”
“我假装她是你。”
西比尔突然弯下腰，在沙子上挖起洞来。“我们去水里吧。”她说。
“好啊，”年轻人说，“我想我能照办不误。”
“下一次，把她推开。”西比尔说。
“把谁推开？”
“莎朗·利普舒兹。”
“啊，莎朗·利普舒兹，”年轻人说，“又是这个名字。记忆与欲望的混杂。”他突然站起身。望向大海。“西比尔，”他说，“我有个主意。我们来看看能不能抓一条香蕉鱼。”
“一条什么？”
“一条香蕉鱼。”他说，然后解开浴袍上的腰带。他脱下浴袍。他的肩膀白而窄，四肢发青。他把浴袍竖直对折，再前后一折三。他展开用来盖眼睛的毛巾，铺开放在沙子上，然后把折好的浴袍放在毛巾上。他弯下腰，拿起橡皮筏，夹在右胳膊下，然后，左手拉起西比尔的手。
两人向着大海走去。
“我猜你已经见过不少香蕉鱼了吧？”年轻人说。
西比尔摇摇头。
“你没见过？那你住在哪里呢？”
“我不知道。”西比尔说。
“谁说你不知道。你肯定知道。莎朗·利普舒兹知道她住在哪里，她才三岁半。”
西比尔停住脚步，用力抽出被握着的手。她随便捡起一颗贝壳，煞有介事地盯着贝壳看。她扔了贝壳。“沃利伍德，康涅狄格州。”她说，然后继续往前走，肚子挺得老高。
“沃利伍德，康涅狄格州，”年轻人说，“是说你住的地方靠近沃利伍德，康涅狄格州吗？”
西比尔看着他。“那就是我住的地方，”她不耐烦地说，“我住在沃利伍德，康涅狄格州。”她向前跑了几步，左手握住左脚，然后跳了两三下。
“你可不知道这下我有多清楚了。”年轻人说。
西比尔放下脚。“你读过《小黑人桑布》吗？”她问。
“你这个问题真好玩，”他说，“我刚好昨天晚上才读完。”他又伸手握住了西比尔的手。“你觉得这个故事怎么样？”他问她。
“那些老虎都围着那棵树转了吗？”
“我觉得它们永远不会停下来。我从来没见过这么多老虎。”

A Perfect Day for Bananafish
…
“See more glass,” said Sybil Carpenter, who was staying at the hotel
with her mother. “Did you see more glass?”
“Pussycat, stop saying that. It’s driving Mommy absolutely crazy. Hold still, please.”
Mrs. Carpenter was putting sun-tan oil on Sybil’s shoulders, spreading it down over the delicate, winglike blades of her back. Sybil was sitting insecurely on a huge, inflated beach ball, facing the ocean. She was wearing a canary-yellow two-piece bathing suit, one piece of which she would not actually be needing for another nine or ten years.
“It was really just an ordinary silk handkerchief—you could see when you got up close,” said the woman in the beach chair beside Mrs. Carpenter’s. “I wish I knew how she tied it. It was really darling.”
“It sounds darling,” Mrs. Carpenter agreed. “Sybil, hold still, pussy.”
“Did you see more glass?” said Sybil.
Mrs. Carpenter sighed. “All right,” she said. She replaced the cap on the sun-tan oil bottle. “Now run and play, pussy. Mommy’s going up to the hotel and have a Martini with Mrs. Hubbel. I’ll bring you the olive.”
Set loose, Sybil immediately ran down to the flat part of the beach and began to walk in the direction of Fisherman’s Pavilion. Stopping only to sink a foot in a soggy, collapsed castle, she was soon out of the area reserved for guests of the hotel.
She walked for about a quarter of a mile and then suddenly broke into an oblique run up the soft part of the beach. She stopped short when she reached the place where a young man was lying on his back.
“Are you going in the water, see more glass?” she said.
The young man started, his right hand going to the lapels of his terry-cloth robe. He turned over on his stomach, letting a sausaged towel fall away from his eyes, and squinted up at Sybil.
“Hey. Hello, Sybil.”
“Are you going in the water?”
“I was waiting for you,” said the young man. “What’s new?”
“What?” said Sybil.
“What’s new? What’s on the program?”
“My daddy’s coming tomorrow on a nairiplane,” Sybil said, kicking sand.
“Not in my face, baby,” the young man said, putting his hand on Sybil’s ankle. “Well, it’s about time he got here, your daddy. I’ve been expecting him hourly. Hourly.”
“Where’s the lady?” Sybil said.
“The lady?” The young man brushed some sand out of his thin hair.
“That’s hard to say, Sybil. She may be in any one of a thousand places.
At the hairdresser’s. Having her hair dyed mink. Or making dolls for poor children, in her room.” Lying prone now, he made two fists, set one on top of the other, and rested his chin on the top one. “Ask me something else, Sybil,” he said. “That’s a fine bathing suit you have on. If there’s one thing I like, it’s a blue bathing suit.”
Sybil stared at him, then looked down at her protruding stomach.
“This is a yellow,” she said. “This is a yellow.”
“It is? Come a little closer.”
Sybil took a step forward.
“You’re absolutely right. What a fool I am.”
“Are you going in the water?” Sybil said.
“I’m seriously considering it. I’m giving it plenty of thought, Sybil, you’ll be glad to know.”
Sybil prodded the rubber float that the young man sometimes used as a head-rest. “It needs air,” she said.
“You’re right. It needs more air than I’m willing to admit.” He took away his fists and let his chin rest on the sand. “Sybil,” he said, “you’re looking fine. It’s good to see you. Tell me about yourself.” He reached in front of him and took both of Sybil’s ankles in his hands. “I’m Capricorn,” he said. “What are you?”
“Sharon Lipschutz said you let her sit on the piano seat with you,” Sybil said.
“Sharon Lipschutz said that?”
Sybil nodded vigorously.
He let go of her ankles, drew in his hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. “Well,” he said, “you know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there, playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat down next to me. I couldn’t push her off, could I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no. No. I couldn’t do that,” said the young man. “I’ll tell you what I did do, though.”
“What?”
“I pretended she was you.”
Sybil immediately stooped and began to dig in the sand. “Let’s go in the water,” she said.
“All right,” said the young man. “I think I can work it in.”
“Next time, push her off,” Sybil said.
“Push who off?”
“Sharon Lipschutz.”
“Ah, Sharon Lipschutz,” said the young man. “How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire.” He suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. “Sybil,” he said, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll see if we can catch a banana-fish.”
“A what?”
“A bananafish,” he said, and undid the belt of his robe. He took off the robe. His shoulders were white and narrow, and his trunks were royal blue. He folded the robe, first lengthwise, then in thirds. He unrolled the towel he had used over his eyes, spread it out on the sand, and then laid the folded robe on top of it. He bent over, picked up the float, and secured it under his right arm. Then, with his left hand, he took Sybil’s hand.
The two started to walk down to the ocean.
“I imagine you’ve seen quite a few bananafish in your day,” the young man said.
Sybil shook her head.
“You haven’t? Where do you live, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” said Sybil.
“Sure you know. You must know. Sharon Lipschutz knows where she lives and she’s only three and a half.”
Sybil stopped walking and yanked her hand away from him. She picked up an ordinary beach shell and looked at it with elaborate interest. She threw it down. “Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” she said, and resumed walking, stomach foremost.
“Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” said the young man. “Is that anywhere near Whirly Wood, Connecticut, by any chance?”
Sybil looked at him. “That’s where I live,” she said impatiently. “I live in Whirly Wood, Connecticut.” She ran a few steps ahead of him, caught up her left foot in her left hand, and hopped two or three times.
“You have no idea how clear that makes everything,” the young man said.
Sybil released her foot. “Did you read ‘Little Black Sambo’?” she said.
“It’s very funny you ask me that,” he said. “It so happens I just finished reading it last night.” He reached down and took back Sybil’s hand. “What did you think of it?” he asked her.
“Did the tigers run all around that tree?”
“I thought they’d never stop. I never saw so many tigers.”
“There were only six,” Sybil said.
“Only six!” said the young man. “Do you call that only?”
“Do you like wax?” Sybil asked.
“Do I like what?” asked the young man.
“Wax.”
“Very much. Don’t you?”
Sybil nodded. “Do you like olives?” she asked.
“Olives—yes. Olives and wax. I never go anyplace without ’em.”