我按了一下病床边上的按钮。 “您躺下来。”我说。 “是的，躺下来。”他说。
He falls back upon the bed awkwardly. His stumps, unweighted by legs and feet, rise in the air, presenting themselves. I unwrap the bandages from the stumps, and begin to cut away the black scabs and the dead, glazed fat with scissors and forceps. A shard of white bone comes loose. I pick it away. I wash the wounds with disinfectant and redress the stumps. All this while, he does not speak. What is he thinking behind those lids that do not blink? Is he remembering a time when he was whole? Does he dream of feet? Or when his body was not a rotting log?
他笨拙地倒回到病床上。他的残肢失去了双腿与双脚的支撑，抬起在空中，暴露无遗。我把残肢上的绷带解开，开始用剪刀和镊子把黑色的硬皮和坏死凝滞的脂肪剪掉。一段白色骨片即将脱落，我把它去除掉。我用消毒液清洗伤口，将残肢重新包扎起来。整个过程他默不作声。在那眨也不眨的眼皮后面，他在想什么呢？他在回忆四肢健全的时光吗？他在梦回拥有双足的往昔吗？或是回想他的身体不是现在这样一截日益凋朽的残干的过去吗？
He lies solid and inert. In spite of everything, he remains impressive, as though he were a sailor standing athwart a slanting deck. “Anything more I can do for you?” I ask. For a long moment he is silent.
“Yes,” he says at last and without the least irony. “You can bring me a pair of shoes.” In the corridor, the head nurse is waiting for me.
“We have to do something about him,” she says. “Every morning he orders scrambled eggs for breakfast, and, instead of eating them, he picks up the plate and throws it against the wall.”
“Throws his plate?”
“Nasty. That’s what he is. No wonder his family doesn’t come to visit. They probably can’t stand him any more than we can.” She is waiting for me to do something. “Well?”
“We’ll see,” I say.
他僵直地躺着。尽管如此，他仍然令人印象深刻，如同一名斜立在倾侧甲板上的水手。 “我还能为您做点什么？” 他沉默了很长时间。
“是的，”终于他一本正经地说：“你给我拿双鞋过来吧。” 走廊里，护士长正等着我。
“我们对他不能束手无策。”她说，“每天早饭他都要求吃炒蛋，但是，他从来不吃，拿起盘子就砸在墙上。” “砸盘子？”
“真讨厌。他就是这种人。难怪家里人不来看他。也许就像我们受不了他一样，他家里人也受不了。”
她等着我做点什么。 “你说呢？”
“我们看看该怎么办。”我说。
The next morning I am waiting in the corridor when the kitchen delivers his breakfast. I watch the aide place the tray on the stand and swing it across his lap. She presses the button to raise the head of the bed. Then she leaves.
第二天早上厨房送餐时我等在走廊里。我看着助手将盘子放在托板上，托板移到他大腿上方。她按下按钮把床头升高，随后离开。
In time the man reaches to find the rim of the tray, then on to find the dome of the covered dish. He lifts off the cover and places it on the stand. He fingers across the plate until he probes the eggs. He lifts the plate in both hands, sets it on the palm of his right hand, centers it, balances it. He hefts it up and down slightly, getting the feel on it. Abruptly, he draws back his right arm as far as he can.
他很快摸索着找到了托板的边缘，接着又找到了盘子上的盖子。他揭开盖子把它放在托板上。他用手指在盘子上摸索着，直到摸到了炒蛋。他双手端起盘子，放到右手上，移到手心里，然后把它稳住。他上下掂着盘子寻找感觉。突然，他把右臂尽量绷直伸向后方。
There is the crack of the plate breaking against the wall at the foot of his bed and the small wet sound of the scrambled eggs dropping to the floor.
盘子被扔到床脚处的墙上发出碎裂声，还有炒蛋掉落在地板上发出的湿湿的轻响。 And then he laughs. It is a sound you have never heard. It is something new under the sun. It could cure cancer.
Out in the corridor, the eyes of the head nurse narrow. “Laughed, did he?”
She writes something down on her clipboard.
然后他笑了。这是你闻所未闻的笑声。这是阳光下新奇的声音。可以治愈癌症的声音。 外面的走廊上，护士长的眼睛眯缝起来。 “他笑了，对吧？” 她往写字夹板上写了点什么。
A second aide arrives, brings a second breakfast tray, puts it on the nightstand, out of his reach. She looks over at me shaking her head and making her mouth go. I see that we are
to be accomplices.
第二名助手来了，用托盘送来第二份早饭，把它放在床头柜上他够不着的地方。她看着我摇摇头，只是动了动嘴唇。我明白我们得合作一下。 “I’ve got to feed you,” she says to the man. “Oh, no, you don’t,” the man says.
“Oh, yes, I do,” the aide says, “after the way you just did. Nurse says so.” “Get me my shoes,” the man says.
“Here’s the oatmeal,” the aide says. “Open.” And she touches the spoon to his lower lip. “I ordered scrambled eggs,” says the man. “That’s right,” the aide says. I step forward.
“Is there anything I can do?” I say. “Who are you?” the man asks. “我只好喂你了，”她对他说。 “哦，不，不用。”他说。
“哦，不，我得帮你。”助手说，“因为你刚才的表现。护士说得喂你。” “把我鞋子拿来。”他说。
“这是燕麦，”助手说，“张嘴。”然后她把汤勺碰着他的下嘴唇。 “我要的是炒蛋。”他说。 “对。”助手说。 我凑上前去。
“我能做点什么吗？”我问。 “你是谁？”他问。
In the evening I go once more to that ward to make my rounds. The head nurse reports to me that Room 542 is deceased. She has discovered this by accident, she says. No, there had been no sound. Nothing. It’s a blessing, she says.
晚上我再次来到病房巡视。护士长告诉我542房的病人过世了。她说她是凑巧发现的。他悄无声息地走了。悄无声息。谢天谢地，她说。
I go into his room, a spy looking for secrets. He is still there in his bed. His face is relaxed, grave, dignified. After a while, I turn to leave. My gaze sweeps the wall at the foot of the bed, and I see the place where it has been repeatedly washed, where the wall looks very clean and white.
我走进他的病房，像一个寻找秘密的间谍。他还在那里，躺在床上。他面容松弛、严肃而又不失尊严。过了一会儿，我转身离开。我的眼光扫到床尾墙脚处，看到那里经过反复冲洗，墙显得很干净、很洁白。