Chapter 4 Part 1 (2)-1

chapter Five Although it was a difficult time for us after my father's death, it was also a relief. It's been like watching a man teeter on a tightrope over Niagara Falls.Although it took him some time to actually give up his efforts, it was evident that his fate had been sealed from the moment he faltered.The fall itself is almost a dead end to the climax. The vicar did not deliver the eulogy at the funeral, and I have to be in awe of him for that.He didn't say any nonsense about a great man being tragically taken from us in the prime of his life. Instead, he said in a few words that we all hope that Henry Shearer's bewildered soul will finally find peace.He didn't say anything more.

Oddly, there is greater comfort in hearing the confirmation of truth than in perpetuating false myths. Our lives haven't changed much.This is not surprising.My father just disappeared from the periphery of our lives, and what remains is the family unit that was without him before his death. If anything, the pace of my life is more intense.I was selected to represent the school in the statewide piano competition and came second. A year ago, I would have been ecstatic to be invited to participate, but now I am very disappointed not to have won all the games. When I was driving home, my teacher, Mr. Adam, comforted me. He said that Marisa Greenfield, who won the gold medal, is actually not superior to me in playing skills, but the performance effect is better than mine.

"She has the air of a winner and walks out on stage confident, alive and totally into the music." "And so am I, damn it." "I know, but she's good at creating a compelling image for the judges, and you're just your normal self, playing flawlessly. If the contestants were all behind the screen, you'd win big. " At the party held after the game, Marisa actually came over and suggested that we cooperate to hold a piano duet concert.I'm proud of it, and maybe I should.But I wanted to go to medical school, and I had to take lab classes, and of course I had to take the school's college entrance exam.

Still we exchanged phone numbers and said we would keep in touch in the future.One night when I was away from my junior high school gig (to develop my own compelling talent), she called and somehow I never got a chance to call her back. After a two-hour audition, the University of Michigan Music Department offered me a full scholarship.Overwhelmed with excitement, I rode home from Ann Arbor like a cloud.But it was only when I shared the news with my mother and brother that I really understood its significance. In the ensuing celebration, I asked my mom to use the money she had saved for me to go to college to buy myself a new car that she desperately needed.But she was adamant that I shouldn't be unfairly treated for my success and that I should spend the money on things that would bring me joy.Obviously, the only option is a used piano.While looking for a place to live, I found a very accommodating landlady who liked classical music and had a vacant house for rent and allowed me to move the piano. (“Just have mercy, Matthew, and don’t rock and roll.”)

Not surprisingly, as the time to leave home approached, I had mixed feelings.On the one hand I was worried about Mom and Zeitz, on the other hand I was terrified without them. The next four years were full of reverberations. While pre-med science courses were undoubtedly designed to destroy the human soul, majoring in music made mine indestructible.In addition to the piano, I explored the treasures of orchestral music, fell in love with opera, and chose Italian to meet the language requirements.Now when I listen to "The Marriage of Figaro", I can appreciate how the technique of the libretto enhanced the artistic appeal of the composer.Mozart is great in his own right, but Mozart plus da Ponte—that's a feast for the senses.

① An opera composed by the genius Austrian composer Mozart (1756-1791). ② Da Ponte (1749-1838), Italian poet and lyricist. In 1783, he got acquainted with Mozart and composed three operas for him, "The Marriage of Figaro" being one of them. My life path has changed dramatically. For as long as I can remember, I've been trekking the dark, winding road of work and worry, and now I'm finally on the sunny one.Great plains stretching out to a blue cloudless horizon.I even discovered that these novel feelings have a name: happiness. My performance as a solo piano player with various chamber ensembles made me a big name on campus.This boosted my confidence tremendously when introducing myself to more attractive and intelligent female classmates.

However, the most meaningful thing about my freshman year was meeting Evie. She is warm and beautiful, giving people a feeling of freshness.She has short brown hair, an infectious smile, and large hazel eyes that always radiate optimism.But most importantly, she is an extremely talented cellist. From her childhood in Ames, Iowa, she aspired to follow the example of her hero, Jacqueline Dupere.We used to listen to every record of Jackie playing the cello we could get our hands on, and she and her pianist husband, Daniel Barenbaum, played beautifully together.We've been listening to these records all the time, and the grooves on the LP are pretty much worn out.

① Jackie, Jacqueline's pet name. Even though we spent nearly every waking moment together, Evie was not my lover.We just found in each other those qualities we'd always hoped to find in a best friend. She was already a sophomore when we met.At first I suspected that she had self-serving motives for being so friendly to such an innocent young man as me.I mean, a cellist needs an accompaniment, and one of the things I do best with the best cellists is play right off the score. I guess we didn't fully appreciate the unique value of our relationship at the time.I mean, it started with Mozart and Bach and it ended up being everything.Let's call it harmonious mutual understanding.

We confide in each other what we never tell anyone else, not just about who we befriend with whom, but something more personal: We've all struggled with how we should spend our lives. Both Mr. Webster and Mrs. Webster strongly objected to their daughter becoming a professional musician and sincerely believed that it was incompatible with marriage, which should be every girl's first career. If Evie's parents had won, Evie would have studied at the local teacher's college, then maybe taught high school for a few years and then married a nice lad who had come back to Ames with a college degree to pursue a professional career.

"Do you mean that they don't understand what the cello means to you?" I asked.She tried to look nonchalant, "My mother is a very nice person, and she really thinks that my musical 'need' in life should be to be able to play Handel's Messiah in the church choir on Sunday and every Christmas. " was fully satisfied." ①Handel (1685-1759), a great German composer in the late Baroque period, later became a British citizen. "Messiah" is one of its masterpieces. "And where did your love for the cello come from?" "From my mother's sister, Aunt Lily. She studied in Italy, toured Europe for a while with a trio, then came back to teach music until she died. She never married. Since I was five years old, Van She took me to concerts within driving distance—sometimes all the way to Des Moines. One of the reasons I like masters like Rubinstein and Heifetz is that they Concerned about music, willing to brave the winter wind and snow to perform for us country bumpkins. After my aunt passed away, I left the cello and a special sum of money for 'Evie's further music education'."

"This is wonderful, you should name your first child after her." "I will," Evie smiled, "but only if it's a girl." Of course, not all our conversations touch the depths of our hearts.We saw each other every day, after all, and were bound to talk about general topics like term papers, rugby games, and the upcoming Jean Cocteau film festival. ① Rubinstein (1887-1982), a Russian-American pianist, is considered to be the first-rate interpreter of piano repertoire in the 20th century. ②Heifetz (1901-), an American pianist born in Lithuania. ③Jean Cocteau (1889-1963), a French artist in the 20th century.He is versatile, and is good at poetry, novels, plays, movies, essays, ballets and paintings. But Evie often had to correct her boyfriends' misconceptions about the nature of our relationship.Even after she introduced me to one or two of her beautiful girlfriends, some of her boyfriends didn't believe her.And I was too obsessed with music — and my newfound freedom — to be interested in any kind of lasting relationship. And those Saturday nights when, like two devout monks, we blatantly forego our other college pleasures—beer, bowling—indulging in the unique world we’ve created for ourselves, practicing game after game. music. During those years, the most "emotional" moments were when I practiced with Evie.We practiced together for a long time, almost all the main piano and cello pieces.I love watching her unconsciously lick her lower lip with her tongue while concentrating on fingering a particularly difficult passage.Sometimes we would go for over an hour without speaking a word to each other.When you play with someone you know very well, the communication between you becomes an instinct—it's a very deep communication that cannot be accomplished with ordinary conversation.It is this artistic experience that brings us into a closer friendship. Of course, we support each other spiritually as well as musically.The one I can remember was when I played Foley for her.She chose this piece as her degree solo for the spring semester of her 4th grade.I knew the parts I was playing so well that I could sneak a few glances at the professors and know she was making a good impression on them. ① Fauré (1841-1924), a French composer, had a great influence on the development of modern French music. As I expected, she got an A - I got the longest, warmest hug from her.I could still smell her perfume on the jumper the next morning. She helped me a lot during the difficult times I was deciding what to do next, for which I am always grateful.With each passing semester, I got closer to the inevitable crossroads. Which way should I choose? The professors didn't make things any easier either.They seemed to be actively engaged in a tug-of-war, trying to pull me toward music or medicine.I felt as if I was being torn in two. Evie is the only person I can discuss this with.She didn't push me in one direction, but encouraged me to make my own choices. "You can be a professional pianist," she asserted, "I mean, you have that flash of genius that separates a master musician from a skilled pianist. You know that, Matt, don't you?" ?” I nodded.I want to play all my life, there's no question about that.Part of me, however, can't imagine myself living a life that doesn't help others and don't give back to society—maybe I inherited that from my mother. Evie understood this too, and she was careful not to influence my choice.She sat there sympathetically, listening to me debate endlessly with myself. That summer was the ordeal of all. When Evie went to the Aspen Music Festival to take Roger Josephson's master cello class, I was working as a hygienist in the university hospital. ① Aspen, a city in Colorado, USA, holds music festivals here in summer. I remember one night when I was on the night shift in the pediatric ward, a little girl was unconscious and seemed to be sobbing.I reported it to the nurses and they insisted that she was completely under anesthesia and it was impossible to feel any pain at all. Still, I sat down by her bed after get off work and held the baby's hand.She suddenly fell silent. I sat beside her bed almost until dawn.The girl must have realized that I had been with her, because when she woke up she gave me a little smile and said, "Thank you, Doc." I called Evie and told her I had made up my mind. "I'm so glad, Matthew." "Glad I want to be a doctor?" "No," she said kindly, "I'm glad you finally made up your mind." me too. In the middle of fourth grade, Evie got good news.Because Josephson spoke for her, she was awarded a scholarship to the Julinides. She begged me to apply to medical school in New York so we could still play together.I thought about it and found the idea appealing—even though Zeitz was accepted to the University of Michigan, coming in the fall. Anyhow, I went to the medical consultant's office and brought back a pile of brochures on New York and other attractive places, and began to study them carefully. Finally, it was time for Evie to leave.I guess most best friends go out for a farewell meal or something, but we have our own ideas about how we spend our last night together.We got to our favorite practice room around 6pm and were still in it when Ron the doorman came to kick us out at midnight.We explained to him the special significance of this moment, and he agreed to lock the door elsewhere first, so that we could finish the piece we were practicing. And so we finished Cesare Franck's Sonata in A major, which Jacqueline Dupere and Daniel Barenbaum had just made on record. ① Caesar Frank (1822-1890), a French-Belgian composer, was one of the most important French composers in the second half of the 19th century. The music is full of pathos and longing, and we play it with more affection than we've ever played together. The next morning, I drove her to the airport.She left after we hugged goodbye. I drove home and the car was empty. In September of that year, my brother who spent a lot of money came to Ann Arbor.He's a total adult and can't wait to start living. Naturally, his ideas about life were undoubtedly strongly influenced by our childhood psychological instability.He seemed anxious to establish a secure home. To prove this point, he didn't even choose a major, but chose a regular girlfriend. Within a few months, he and a freckled, guitar-playing classmate, Ellen Morris, were happily living together.They live on the top floor of a two-family building in Plainfield, 25 minutes by bus from the university. During this time, I was busy working on my 4th grade music thesis while suffering in organic chemistry class - the same as the toothache, but in science. A few nights a week (after the 11 o'clock phone bill discount), Evie and I talk on the phone.It wasn't quite as fulfilling as a "live" conversation - certainly less so than playing music together - but it was still quite enjoyable to hear her thoughts on everything from my girlfriends to essays.She thought more about the paper than her girlfriend, and even thought it might be published. My dissertation was about the inspiring year (1852-1853) in which Verdi wrote The Troubadour.I could see similarities in style between his two operas, and his development as an orchestral virtuoso.It's like getting into the musician's head.Apparently, the two reviewers felt the same way as Ivy because they gave me an A+. Mom had an unexpected surprise when she visited us for Thanksgiving.His name was Malcolm Hearne, and he was a doctor of medicine.I had thought that someone had walked into her life recently, and this hunch proved to be correct. He is a divorced surgeon with grown children.Malcolm seemed not only a warm, dependable man with a sense of humor (his view of the world was the exact opposite of his father's), but also a bit of a musician, a tenor, to be exact, and a full-on man. An undamped tenor who can sing up to high C without spoofing or falsetto.That alone would make him a welcome guest at any concert event.Marr was already the star of the hospital's quartet of male voices.Hearing him sing the soaring high contrapuntal notes of "It's Courageous to Quiet" is sure to put a smile on the face of the most scowling listener.Most importantly, it appears that he really likes his mother, who now has a real second chance at happiness. ① Mal, Malcolm's nickname. Evie was delighted to hear about Malcolm. (A surgeon, a nice man, and a high "C"? Too good to be true!) I told her to let her draw her own conclusions when she saw him at Christmas. "Oh, Matthew, I was about to muster up courage to tell you that I'm afraid I can't go. Roger and I—" "Roger?" I asked, with irrational jealousy. "You mean the famous Josephson?" "Uh, it's him. Actually, he answered the phone just now." "Hey—" I suddenly said embarrassedly, "You should tell me I'm bothering you." "You'll never bother me. Besides, I told him all about us. I said, how about you go skiing for a week in Sugar Forest with us?" "Why, I wish I could go. But homework has buried me so badly that I can barely make it a day to get home. Anyway, Merry Christmas to you." I hung up the phone, feeling like an ass.I congratulated Evie on the holiday a full month early. I stayed in Ann Arbor to attend medical school.That way, even after they got married, I could still see Zetz and Ellen regularly (he got a job as an executive coach at the Livestock Conservation Society, and she started her teaching degree). Marriage was very popular that year. In August, Evie and Roger also tied the knot at Tanglewood, where Roger was performing Dvořák under Jubin Mehta.It's a good thing I got there two days early, because when Roger went to his last bachelor party, Evie suddenly felt a wave of dread (that's the only way I can describe it). (“I mean, Matt, he’s so famous and—so mature. Why would he marry a kid like me?”) ① Mehta (1936-), conductor of Indian orchestra. Since 1978, he has been the music director of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. I tried to convince her that someone like Roger was smart enough to know what a difference she was.At this point, whoever married her would know he was the luckiest man in the world.This inevitable crisis has long since been forgotten amidst the uncorking of champagne corks and the bang of flashing lights. As for me, the best part of the celebration was the concert given by some of the guests after the wedding, and it seems like half of my tape collection was played by the authors themselves. When I got back, I dived headlong into the medical world.That fall, Evie ended his studies at Julinide so he could tour with Roger.In this way, we are gradually alienated. Even after becoming full-fledged husbands, Zeitz and I still had beers and bro-talks together every Sunday night. He still has a habit of asking unpleasant questions. "Do you regret not marrying Evie when you had the chance?" he asked innocently. "It won't work. We're like brother and sister." "Then why are you in so much pain?" "I'm not in pain, Zeitz. I'm just nervous about going to Africa for the interview." "Africa?" he asked in disbelief. "Oh, you must want to join the American Legion to forget about her." "Okay, shut up," I scolded, before admitting I had applied for a job with the International Medical Corps.The organization established medical posts in troubled regions of the third world to treat victims of poverty and political struggle. "Hey, that sounds like a good fit for your altruism. Is it dangerous?" "That depends on where they send you. I'd like to go to Eritrea, where there's a civil war. But they tell me neither side is stupid enough to shoot a doctor." "Anyway, don't forget to pin the 'Doctor' sign on your pajamas," Zeitz joked, with obvious concern. "When did you find out?" "Next week, after the interview in Paris." "You mean, you have reached the stage of interview, but you didn't even tell your own brother?" "I figured if it fails, I'd better keep quiet." "Come on, Matt, you never fail." "Well," I said with a smile, "this might be a significant opportunity for me." Chapter Six September 1953, Milan They stand there according to their status. "God" comes first, the "Mother" Mary, and then the baby. The important guests who came to the Duomo of Milan were already familiar with the first two, but the baby had just been born. She is the daughter of Gian Battista Dalessandro, the boss of Fama, Italy's largest group company.This is her first public appearance. When the prime minister held the child and the cardinal chanted Latin baptismal words and named her Silvia Maria da Alessandro, her mother Caterina whispered to her husband: "I wish I believed in God so I could thank him." He grinned and hugged his wife. "God exists, Karina, otherwise how would we have met?" ① Karina, the pet name of Caterina. Although dignitaries fly from all corners of the world, in a sense Mario Rinaldi has traveled the farthest, because this Gian Battesta's rival and best My friend was born in a small backward place in southern Italy, and he didn't have a pair of shoes until he was 10 years old.Now, he is the president of Metro company (Turin machinery manufacturing company), the second richest person in Italy.His company makes everything from hair dryers to helicopters — not to mention the tires on every car that rolls off the Fama production line. Although this moment once again belonged to Gian Battista, with all the giants of industry surrounded by stars, Mario had one consolation: even with two marriages, Gian Battista With his own wealth, he couldn't buy a son.And that's what he has. When the dean sprinkled water on the baby's head, Mario said softly to the handsome young man with dark complexion next to him: "She will be your wife." Sixteen-year-old Nico doesn't know if it's an order or a prophecy. The heir to the Metropolitan fortune has come of age.He hadn't had a day's work--and didn't intend to. In order to make his father happy, Nico went through the cutscenes of college education, gave poor classmates money to write papers for him, and even took exams for him.He has more interesting things to do. He has been in love with speed since childhood: on the ground, in the sky, in the water.This wide range of hobbies affords him opportunities for adventure throughout the year. In the summer, he parked his rowing boat in the port of Nice and appropriated the palatial house for entertaining guests on his parents' property, with the ever-changing crowd behind him. Although his father tried to inculcate in Sylvia an instinctive wariness of strangers, he did not consider the son of his neighbor on the Riviera to be an outsider.Moreover, Nico is also Gian Battista's favorite tennis player. Every year, the two have a marathon match that lasts throughout the summer.No one wants to lose. ① Riviera, a holiday resort along the Mediterranean Sea in southeastern France and northwestern Italy. Sylvia always sat on the sidelines, stood up from time to time and spoke English, French.Italian for "announcing" the score. Nico's newest princess, the flamboyant Simone Gatopardo, has a crush on her. "Would you like to play tennis with me anytime?" she asked. "How much is it?" the little girl asked naively, "Nico and Dad can win or lose!" "She said that so you don't want to fight." Nico's voice broke in suddenly. "Your niece is so cute." "She's not my niece, she's my companion," he said, walking towards the terrace with Simone in his arms. Sylvia watched them leave in pain, she hadn't realized that this was jealousy. And Nico was naturally busy with his own activities, and didn't notice that the little girl was adoring him at all. One winter Mario and Sylvia's father took her to watch Nico race sleds in Cordina d'Ampe.Watching her hero and crew race down the slide together, she feels the part of herself that is usually trapped and smothered by bodyguards soaring as Nico lives out her own fantasy of freedom very literally. Towards the end of the afternoon, his sled hit a patch of water, lost control, and spun several times.The brakeman also fell out, but was apparently unhurt. Sylvia burst into tears.Gian Battista picked her up and comforted her. At the first aid station, the doctor did a preliminary check of Nico's broken bone and prepared him for a helicopter flight to Milan. "Can you do it?" Sylvia asked worriedly. "No problem," he said bravely, "I'm indestructible." Gian Battista went to see Rinaldi Jr. in his spacious ward on the top floor of the hospital, and when he returned he said to his wife and daughter: "I reckon he'll be there for months." "Maybe the doctor can transplant some reason into his brain this time," Katerina said disapprovingly, "and then he might find something worthwhile to do." "I think he's already looking. The list of people who go to see him is like a who's who of business. I think he's going to be competing for gold in this place from now on." "Well, he should settle down from now on. What is he waiting for?" At this time, Sylvia, who had been playing quietly, said sharply, "Wait for me!" In the spring of 1964, Caterina D'Alessandro was kidnapped by a terrorist organization.They demanded an outrageously large ransom. This time, the Italian police froze all the bank accounts of the D'Alessandro family with great speed and unprecedented efficiency to prevent them from giving in to the terrorists' demands. At this time, Rinaldi and his son proved their friendship with actions. While Mario flies to London to raise dollars, Nico sprints to Lugano, Switzerland, bringing back Swiss francs so that Gian Battista can satisfy the kidnappers. Unfortunately, the military police, who had been tapping the phone, got to the terrorists before the ransom was paid. In the ensuing firefight, Caterina was shot and killed. From the moment he heard the news, Gian Battista shut himself in the room.He could no longer face the world. Although he knew his daughter needed him, he lacked the emotional intensity to respond.It was like living behind a glass wall that he could see but couldn't touch. It fell to Nico to comfort Sylvia. The day before the funeral, while his father was alone in the study with Gian Battista, little Rinaldi wandered into the playroom. Although toys and dolls were thrown everywhere, there was no one in the room. So he went downstairs again, into the garden, past the lifeless swimming pool and the equally deserted tennis court. Finally, looking in the direction of the fountain ahead, he saw Sylvia sitting on a bench, staring blankly at the sky.Miss Turner, her governess, was reading to her, and tried to divert her attention. The 10-year-old had a desolate and lonely look on his face. Even when she finally noticed him, she neither smiled nor threw herself into his arms. He nodded to the teacher, sat down beside the little girl, and began to say softly: "Sylvia, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I mean, for your mother—and for you." After a moment of silence, she spoke, her voice empty. "The world seems like a very scary place." "Yes, I understand that life must be unbearable at this moment. But you can't give up, and you know what your mother expects from you." She shook her head, with a look on her face that showed pain as well as confusion. "Nico, Daddy won't talk to me. Did I do something wrong?" "You've got to give him time. He's doing the best he can with it." She looked at him strangely. "Do you believe in God?" "Don't they teach this in school?" "Teach, but I'm asking you. Do you believe in God?" "Uh, sometimes I do." "I just want to ask him, what did my mother do that was so bad that he wanted to punish her." Yes, Nico thought to himself, this was without a doubt one of my godless moments. He looked in the direction of the horizon and said, as casually as possible, "I don't know how you are, but I'm cold. Let's all go back inside and get something nice and warm to drink." At first she didn't answer. "Come on, friend," he held out his hand to her, "for my sake." She stood up slowly, and the three of them walked back to the house. The funeral was kept private, but the tragedy was spread relentlessly. A plague-like band of high-society photojournalists stood on hastily erected dais outside the cemetery walls, cameras feeding like black vultures on the grief of their victims. The funeral people marched slowly behind the coffin, Nico took Silvia by the hand and followed Gian Battista and Mario Rinaldi. After the funeral, when the dignitaries started to leave, Sylvia whispered beside the grave, "Goodbye, mother." Then she turned, took Nico's hand again, and walked away. Chapter VII The entire population of Paris was suddenly reduced to just Sylvia and me. In class, we sat together from morning to night, and ate together in different small restaurants nearby in the evening.After completing the required preparations for the second day of class, we would close our books and chat. If there was one quality that was unique to Sylvia, it was passion. She is dedicated to being a good doctor, loves opera, is madly in love with professional basketball, and embraces every aspect of life with passion.Looking back now, what she evokes in me is the feeling of ecstasy in the final chorus of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony: "Joy, splendor of God, daughter of Elysium..." Somehow, the burden of wealth and the scars of a painful childhood didn't seem to get in her way. At least that seems to be the case at first. Apparently she's been living an extremely protected life, with few close friends.She's innocent and straightforward, and doesn't try to hide the complexities that lie beneath her flawless exterior.Interestingly, she often mentions her mother. "When I married my father, my mother was the editor of La Morn, the largest morning newspaper in Italy. But from the moment they met, they hardly had a single night together. After I was born, she converted a wing of the house into She's out of the office, commanding everything at home, with a dashing motorcycle courier, charisma—and a very loud voice. Yet she's not like those career-focused women who don't have time for children. Day or night , whenever I need her, she is always there." After experiencing the pain and the interval of years, it is difficult to tell whether this is a real memory or an idealized memory. "How did you get here then?" "Well, there's my father," she said softly, with more family loyalty than her real thoughts.Then she admits in a low voice: "Even though he needed my support more. Dad never really recovered. He's still working like hell. I'm worried about him." "But who worries about you? Who plays with you? Who takes you to school?" "Different people. I don't remember anyone in particular. It didn't seem to matter at the time because they were all wearing the same uniform." At this point I couldn't help but comment: "I've always believed that there are two things you can't let someone else do for you—haircut and parenting." She smiled, knowingly and approvingly. "My best friend at school, Sarah Conrad, is unlicensed and likes to do psychoanalysis. According to her self-assessed opinion, I'm severely deficient in parents. According to her, if I don't find someone Talk to a psychiatrist and it will probably screw up all the relationships in your life." 别包括和我的关系，我心里想道。立刻，我便极力驱散这突如其来的脆弱表现。 “得了，西尔维亚，一切规则都有例外。我是说，有些来自人多、关系密切的家庭的人照样和孤独的人一样搞不好关系。我只举一个经典的例子成住在鞋子里的老妇》。” “没错。”西尔维亚大笑，接着背诵道：“'她把他们全都痛揍了一顿，然后让他们上床去睡觉。'” “对。顺便问问，用意大利语念听起来怎样？” “不知道。尼科是用英语给我读的。” “啊，尼科。” “是他。他还教我打网球，下象棋，带我去看马戏。” “那么我猜你会嫁给他。”我说，掩饰住对自己机会的渺茫产生的悲观情绪。 “你为什么这么说？我的意思是，那都是很久以前的事了。他现在都一百岁了。” “首先，他没有一百岁。他年轻得可以和你一起玩耍，又年长得可以依赖。但最重要的是，他似乎总会在那里，而这一点对你是十分重要的，对不对？” 她点了点头，把我心中那最后一点希望的火花给扑灭了。 “在某种程度上你是对的，”她同意道，“我是说，在我称为自己的'钳闭期'的那段时间里，他确实是了不起。”