Chapter 9 Part Three (2)

Chapter Nineteen I was full of energy for the first time.I only realized this after the first month of marriage.How could I have wasted so many years living an incomplete life?I've never really lived with anyone except for a stretch in Africa and have no idea what marriage is like on a day-to-day basis.I don't know if a man who is so devoted to work as I am can qualify as a husband. But Evie took it for granted that I could do it, and it gave me the courage to prove her right. She also taught me how to be a father.It wasn't long before I was visiting the children's schools and talking to their teachers about academic problems, as I always did (Roger's only involvement was signing the checks for each term's dues).In a sense, I've learned a lot watching Evie (not to mention my experience of "raising" Zeitz).In this way, in the most difficult occupation in life, I got a head start as soon as I started.

It's as if Evie and I have always lived together.She knew instinctively how to live with the first-person plural "we." One of our favorite pastimes is visiting an all-night supermarket on the way home from a concert, which happily prolongs our time together. For the first time on one such night out, Evie bravely brought up a new subject. She was happily tossing rolls of kitchen paper towels into our shopping cart when she said out of the blue: "Have you ever thought that I am not too old to have another child?" "Why do you still want to have children?" I asked honestly. "You already have two wonderful children."

"Wouldn't it be nice if you and I had another one, as a child of both of us?" I stopped throwing paper products into the cart abruptly and pondered.my own child?A child of my own making?Having delivered so many babies, I certainly remember the joy these 7-pound babies brought to their parents. While Evie was waiting for my answer, he dropped an ovulation monitor in his shopping basket. "Wait a minute," I protested, putting it back on the shelf, "may I have a moment to think about it?" "Of course, no problem, it's just an idea." I could see she was disappointed, but my own experience with my parents wasn't uniformly blissful and I didn't want to add that to another person.However, I would like to reconsider the possibility with my loved one.

"Shall we wait a month or two," I said.We headed for the vegetable department, feeling both relieved and a little guilty. We've tried to stay busy as a family during this time. I even enjoy "Generation War" at times. One night, Lily announces a startling new development in her social life: a Paul has appeared.She had met the "fantastic" Horace Mann student at a party on a Saturday night three weeks earlier.Now she informs us, with the utmost casualness, that she is spending the weekend at his parents' country house in East Hampton. "Oh," Evie replied, and I know she was holding back her anger, "Lily, this is a bit sudden. Matt and I need to talk it over. And of course we have to talk to his parents, who are called… "

"Howland. What does it matter?" "Because I need to know what to call this person when I'm talking to him," I replied. "Who are you referring to?" "I mean Mr. Holland, Paul's father." "I'm sorry, Matthew, but I don't see how this has anything to do with you. All the important people in my class are going, and Mom has known them for years." I glanced at Evie, and the message in her eyes was that I knew them and didn't like them. "Look, Lily," I reasoned with her, "I'm sorry I didn't show up earlier to help you grow up, but now that I'm here, it's my responsibility to make sure you have the right escort."

"'Escort'! My God, what century are you from? Nobody has an escort anymore." "In that case," interjected her mother, imitating Lily's dismissive tone, "you can't go." Her daughter did not expect to encounter resistance, so of course it was blamed on others. "You made her do it, didn't you, Matthew?" "He didn't," Evie retorted. "Then why did everything become as strict as in the Middle Ages when he came? This man has no experience as a father at all." "Don't call him 'the man,'" Evie yelled, throwing a fit. "Your biological father can't even dream of matching him. Maybe I'm too easy on you just because your biological father isn't around. But you She's not a little girl anymore."

"Ah, so you noticed," she retorted, "then there's no need to discuss it any further." "Well, we've finally found a point where we all agree," Evie said finally. "At the moment I suggest you do your math homework. Matt and I will discuss this and if we decide we can consider it, we will give it to you." The Holland family called to see if they had any monitoring measures in place." "Shame me in front of all my friends?" Lily demanded. "Unless they're all eavesdropping on the extension," I retort, "anyway, if your mother and I are content with—" I'm looking for a non-irritating word.

"A precautionary measure," suggested our daughter. "If you want to call it that. Then we'll see if there's any impact on your schoolwork and make a decision." "Then what should I tell Paul during this period?" "Tell him that if he is really a mature person as you describe him, he will understand our concern for you and wait for us to make a decision." "No, I have to answer him tonight." "Why?" I asked. "Because everyone answered him at that time." After speaking, she walked out like a gust of wind. "Again, Evie," I explained, wretchedly joking, "if Lily can't make it, we've got to give Paul a chance to get another friend."

Suddenly there was a scream outside the door.I have never heard such a sound in this house.But since Evie stood there stunned, I concluded that the voice must have come from the woman who lived in Lily's room, who was no longer a child. She rushed in furiously. "Wait and see what my girlfriends do when they hear about it," she warned us in a terrifying voice, "and see what they do when they hear what kind of pre-Flood parents I have. " "Gee," I said with genuine admiration, "'pre-Flood' is a great word. Where did you get it?" "You, Matthew," she said, pointing at me with a witchy finger, "are not related to me at all by blood or anything. We'd all be better off if you were still sleeping in your lab. "

She strode out to inform her friends of my crime against humanity. Evie and I stood there, you looked at me, I looked at you, not knowing whether to cry or laugh. In short, this maddening guerrilla warfare from room to room lasted almost until midnight.Between battles, Lily rearmed herself by making phone calls.She went to bed only after we solemnly pledged to "seriously consider this matter". "What should we do?" Evie made a helpless gesture. "Uh," I said, trying to maintain my sense of balance, "I don't want to discuss having another child right now."

Then things came to a critical juncture. The following summer, I was invited to give a presentation at the annual meeting of the International Academy of Neurology.The meeting was held in Rome.I couldn't make up my mind whether to go, and Evie guessed why right away. "What are you afraid of, Matthew? Is Sylvia starting to occupy a mythical proportion in your heart again?" "I'm not afraid to meet her, Evie, if that's what's on your mind." "Then what you're afraid of is not seeing her." "I'm not afraid of anything, hell, let me tell you what I want to do, okay?" "Okay, I'm listening." She said impatiently. "I think Italy is not just a country, it's a whole big music festival in the summer. There are millions of different concerts there, for example at the Baths of Caracalla, the Arena in Verona An opera performed somewhere else. Why should I deprive you and me of such an incredible experience? Let's stay there for at least a month." ①The Great Baths of Caracalla, the Great Baths of Ancient Rome, was built in 217. When she hugged me tightly, I suddenly let out a low growl. "Ah, hell." "What's the matter?" she asked. "Then I'll have to make a report." The ideal title is obvious.In the keynote report I will present the latest results of the method that worked so well in the treatment of Josh Lipton, and the treatment of six other patients since then. Evie was insane at helping me prepare for my presentation, and she even insisted that I do a pre-session in our room before presenting to the horde of international pick-and-roll experts. The Italian media, with their boundless genius for sensationalism, reported on my research, and I found myself surrounded by hordes of excited, celebrity-chasing journalists.I vaguely wondered if the reporter from the "Morning News" was inside. I also have to admit that while the ladies were shopping in Via Gondotti, I went to the hotel switchboard to look through the Milanese telephone directory. Needless to say, her phone number is not on it. I have prepared a special surprise for the ladies.Evie's lifelong dream was to go to Venice, so I made arrangements to spend the entire week there before flying back to the States.Evie was deeply moved by my kindness. This legendary city, with its liquid streets, is even more beautiful than we could have imagined.We heard Giovanni Gabrielli's sacred music by the carousel choir in St. Mark's Basilica and Albinoni on the same evening under the magnificent dome painting by Titian in Santa Maria Maggiore. The performance of the Concerto. ① Titian (1488/1490-1576), a great Italian painter, occupies a high position in Italian and world art. ② Albinoni (1677-1750), an Italian composer, is known for his opera and instrumental works for their elegance and charm. From the sublime to the ludicrous.The next afternoon, as we crossed the Grand Place in the soft, gorgeous sunset, we were shuddered by some of the craziest pop tunes being scrambled by corny bands from nearby bistros. I suddenly realized how happy I was, and how happy I was as much as a person has the right to be.I impulsively kissed the children and hugged my loving wife tightly. The next day, we went to visit the Venice Opera House.This classic red velvet jewel-box opera house is where the premieres are, and Sylvia and I saw them on our "first date."Now I stand behind the last row of seats, staring long and hard at the empty stage. For some reason, I felt that the curtain had finally fallen.The heroine is no longer waiting in the wing, ready to appear in the theater of my memory at the most unexpected circumstances.I will no longer be imprisoned in past time.The play is over. A seemingly mundane incident becomes a turning point. Evie is not vain, and she cares very little about her appearance, as long as she is tidy and agreeable.But when we were staying at the Danieli Hotel, I came out of the shower and was amazed to find her looking at herself in the full-length mirror. She didn't notice me at first, she was still girdled and stretched her neck to see her back. I definitely know what's on her mind. "Evie, you are fine and you have a beautiful figure." She blushed embarrassingly. "I didn't realize you were…" She paused, then said sharply, "You don't have to flatter me, Matthew, I know I've had too much macaroni." "you have not--" "I almost gained 5 pounds." "I didn't notice at all," I said lovingly. "Anyway, I'm fat. I have to figure out a way, don't wait for you to hate me. I have to get up early and go for a run tomorrow morning." "Where do you expect to run in Venice?" "I've been told that Piazza San Marco in the early morning is like the poolside in Central Park. Will you come with me?" "certainly." I got out of bed at 6 o'clock, drank some black coffee quickly, and walked to the square.There, we joined at least a dozen or so other runners, all undoubtedly American fitness freaks, in outlandish clothes and expensive shoes. As I ran, I looked at the determined look on Evie's sweaty face and thought to myself, she really loves me, and she wants to keep herself attractive in my eyes.She doesn't want to grow old.I guess she doesn't realize that one of her most endearing qualities is that her beauty is timeless. From that moment on, I looked forward to entering old age with my wife.I mean, I've learned the difference between a 20-year-old's love at first sight and the deep love that grabs a mature adult through slow but hard penetration. Such a relationship can last because it can adapt to change.I can imagine Evie turning gray and I know she will love me even when my hair is gone. A mature passion is not static, but growing. Suddenly, I realized that in my imagination Sylvia was like the eternal beauty in Keats' Grecian urn, unchanged since I last saw her.In my fantasy, she is forever young. How could the real Evie compete with Sylvia's eternal, unchanging and ever-changing perfection? At this time, a strange idea suddenly appeared in my mind. In the unlikely event that I did pass Sylvia at some point in the past month, how would I know?If I'm looking, I'm looking for a slim, tall, 25-year-old pretty woman. But now she has grown children.Perhaps her jet-black hair was greying, and fine lines appeared on her face.Maybe like Evie, she's starting to put on a little weight here and there. ① Keats (1795-1821), British poet. "Ode to a Grecian Urn" is one of his famous poems, which sings about youth, beauty and the fleetingness of life. What I used to dwell on was a person who had disappeared.The Sylvia I remembered no longer existed. I grabbed Evie's hand and she stopped slowly. "Hey, Master," she laughed, a little out of breath, "you'd better get yourself in shape." "You're right," I smiled back at her, "especially with a young wife like you." We walked slowly back to the hotel with our arms around each other, and by this time the sun had flooded Piazza San Marco.My heart is full of love. Chapter Twenty The years that followed were as peaceful and quiet as Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony".We were very happy, at least for a long time. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, Nico Rinaldi made the damn phone call.Ironically, and to my extreme annoyance, just when I thought I had finally rid Sylvia of her magic, she reappeared in my life. I should have said no then, it would have been easier for us all.Then it would all be over - quickly and painlessly.It was like a bullet went into the brain. But there's still a small part of me that can't help but wonder.what is she like nowWhat has she become?Although I couldn't admit it to myself right away, there was actually something in me that wanted to test the strength of my immunity to her. I have to talk to Evie. I know her schedule like the back of my hand.It was her office hours at Juliard, so I hung up on her right away. As soon as I said hello she sensed something in my voice. "Matt, what's the matter?" Her voice was full of concern. "Is it the children...?" "They're fine." I reassure her. "Are you OK?" I started to tell her what happened just now. Her first reaction after hearing Sylvia's name was an involuntary "ah".I quickly explained to her the reason for our upcoming meeting. Evie thought for a moment, then whispered, "That's too bad. Do you think you can help her?" "Perhaps. I don't know. But I feel a little uneasy." "Why? I mean, she's just another patient now, isn't she?" I didn't answer right away. "Isn't it, my God?" "Of course." I tried to sound believable. "Then what are you afraid of, Matt? You love me, you fool. Look, it's going to be all right. You'll fix her, and then you'll be healed of her. Don't leave, wait." I'll call you back later." As I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but think, I wish I had Evie's confidence. Why should I agree? What can I get from meeting her? Is it an apology?Or some kind of mental punishment? Could it be—(I'm not too noble to feel this way)—an unconscious desire for revenge?Because now our positions have changed radically: she is the injured doctor, and I hold the ability to heal. I always knew she was alive because I could read about her in the papers.I often see messages announcing to the world that she is fine, married, with two kids, and enjoying her family.Did she ever want to know what was going on with me even once? I was getting angrier and angrier to a degree that surprised me.I never realized that I had such resentment in my heart. Just then, the door of my office opened. "Signor and Madame Rinaldi are here," my secretary announced redundantly. Interestingly, I watched him first.I guess I came to see what kind of person she chose over me. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a prominent forehead.We've both started balding, but he's a little more bald than me. Nico deftly displays his personal charm.A firm handshake, with a voice that is pompous and measured.Everything is under full control. "Dr. Shearer," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "thank you for seeing us so soon." "Please sit down." Is there even the slightest tremor in my voice? Finally, I looked over to her. She is still very pretty.The light in her eyes has not faded and still lights up my room as she walks in.Despite her illness, despite the passage of time, her magical powers did not seem to have waned. She avoided my sight, even when she whispered "Nice to see you again." That's when I understood: now she's afraid of me. And yet, in this woman, so graceful and beautiful even in the shadow of death, I recognized the one whom I had once loved so fervently. I was like a man standing on the edge of the sea suddenly caught by a strong receding wave and feeling that he was losing his balance. They sat side by side at my table.Rinaldi shook her hand. Even after all this time, I couldn't help but feel bad for him touching her.Of course, this is a matter of ownership.He was reminding me that even though they were asking for my help, she still belonged to him. As for her, she just sat passively and silently.She still can't look at me. Nico took the initiative. "Well, Dr. Shearer? I suppose you've had a chance to see my wife's medical chart?" "Yes, Mr. Rinaldi, I have read it." "So?" "I think you know that the tumor has developed to an advanced stage, which is not news to you." He seemed to think that the remark implied criticism, and felt the need to explain it for himself. "Doctor, I've always been wary and felt the surgeon's scalpel was too risky. She had chemotherapy and radiation. For the most part, that was enough." Self-righteous idiot, I yelled at him in my head.What qualifications do you have to judge what kind of treatment she should receive?Why didn't you bring her to me as soon as you found out it was cancer? Just to show that I had studied the case file well, I made some general comments, and then, standard practice required me to examine her fundus with an ophthalmoscope. Needless to say, since I became an intern, I have done this kind of routine examination countless times, and I never thought of how close contact is involved here.However, this is not an ordinary patient, this is Sylvia. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Rinaldi, I'd like to examine you." She nodded. I stood up, picked up the silver instrument and walked towards her.As I approached, I immediately smelled her perfume, which added some realism to the dreamlike situation.Then I bent down and looked through her pupils.These are the same eyes I gazed into when we were in love half a life ago. Our foreheads inevitably rubbed against each other.She said nothing.I don't know if the same skin-to-skin memories popped up on the surface of her skin.I remembered how it felt to touch the rest of her body.It really amazes me that my feelings are still so strong after all this time. It must have taken me longer than I realized.My contemplation was suddenly interrupted by the impatient voice of Nico Rinaldi. "What's your opinion, doctor?" he asked harshly. Instead of answering him directly, I stopped my examination, straightened myself, and went back to the fort behind my desk.This would be my last chance to escape it all, and I was determined to take it. "Mr. and Mrs. Rinaldi, I have given the matter serious consideration, and I do think that it is best for the sake of all concerned that you should be treated by another doctor." "But you're..." he began to object. "I don't mean another way, because I do think that the only way out for you right now is gene therapy. But there are other specialists who do this as well as I do, like my colleague, the San Diego Doctor Qiu—” Sylvia looked at Nico helplessly in panic.She seemed to say something to him, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand. "I'll take care of it," he said in Italian. He stood up, perhaps subconsciously trying to intimidate me. "I say, Dr. Shearer," he said slowly, "that we need not go into details, and I can understand your reluctance to take this case. I respect your feelings in that respect." Then he started pacing up and down the room, as if using my office as his podium. "But on the other hand, we all know you're the pioneer of this work. You've done it the most and you've got the best record." He approached my table and stared darkly into my eyes. "Can you refuse to give Sylvia this chance?" His right fist hit my table involuntarily. At this time, Sylvia said in a horrified voice: "Nico, I think we'd better go." He ignored her, still determined to persuade me.But this time, he used a clear pleading tone.I heard his voice almost choke up when he said "please". Obviously he loves her. We were all silent for a moment, each thinking about his own concerns, wondering what I would do.Finally, I heard myself say, "Well... well, Mrs. Rinaldi." I took a deep breath and started, "I can't say that what I saw pleased me. The optic nerve swollen Very strong, indicating intracranial pressure, which is consistent with the presence of a tumor. I don't need to tell you this, you are a doctor yourself. I know you have done it, but I still hope you do it again MRI scan." "My God, why is that?" Nico demanded. I looked up at him sternly, saying that since I am a doctor, I am responsible for this matter. "I'll call the hospital to make arrangements. What time is most convenient for you?" "Any time is fine, we follow your arrangement." He spoke politely again. "Thank you. Now I must remind you that even with gene therapy, this tumor is too large and dangerous." "But you'll try to heal, won't you?" Nico interrupted me. I paused briefly before answering, to let him know that I had given his question due consideration. "Yes, if the blood test shows no contraindications. But none of us should have any unrealistic hopes." I paused, then asked more gently, "Got that?" Nico replied, "Understood, doc. How soon can you start treatment if there is no, uh, question?" "I can now have a nurse take blood for a routine screening test. That means treatment can start as soon as the results come in, if there are no other problems. "I strongly recommend that you stay in New York, the malignant angioglioma can easily cause massive bleeding, the less activity the better." "That's no problem," he agreed, "we have a house here and a full-time nurse, and my wife will be very comfortable. Unfortunately, I have to fly back to Italy in a few hours, but I will be back the day after tomorrow at the latest , and you can find me by calling anytime.” "Ok." I said.But I was wondering how he could be so overconfident to such an arrogant degree that he would leave Sylvia and me alone. After they left, I sat there with my head in my hands, wondering how on earth I ever agreed to see them. I really want to cancel the next appointment, but I don't want to sit alone and meditate.So, for the next few hours, I was so absorbed in the life and death of others that I forgot about myself. At three o'clock the phone rang, and it was Evie. "How's the situation?" she asked. "It's all right. She's very ill." "That sucks. But how do you feel?" "I'm sorry for her," I replied.At least that's the truth. "I can feel that we have a lot to talk about. How about we go to the Red Haired Man Restaurant and have a quiet dinner together?" "Good idea. I have a seminar at 4:30." "Okay, Debbie has ballet lessons and Lily has violin lessons. It'll be around eight when I get them all home so they can finish dinner. You'll be fine by then." "Sure, unless Zimmerman starts his tirade again. I'll call you after the seminar." She smiled and said, "See you later." I hung up the phone and tried to drown myself in work, writing lecture outlines and dictating reports.Since I promised not to disturb me, I ignored the ringing of the phone.About 15 minutes later, the secretary rang the buzzer to let me know. "I know your order, Matt, but Mrs. Rinaldi is anxious to speak to you." "Okay, take the call." "Hey, did I disturb you?" "It's okay, Sylvia. What's the matter?" "Can I see you? Can you come to where I live?" I was about to say how busy I was when she added, "I really need to see you." I glanced at my watch.If I send Merti Schulman to the seminar, I'll have two hours and still make it to my appointment with Evie.I suggested 5 o'clock and she agreed. It is a warm February afternoon.I needed some fresh air and my thoughts to collect, so I walked up to their penthouse suite at 5th Avenue and 68th Street, wondering what she was going to say to me. And whether I can tell Evie everything later. An Italian maid in a black-and-white uniform opened the door for me, took my overcoat, and escorted me to the huge rooftop deck overlooking Central Park.Sylvia was dressed warmly and reclined on a couch with a blanket on her knees. She introduced me to Kara, the nurse who was sitting next to her.Carla stood up in respect.I explained that the blood tests were OK and that I had scheduled an MRI scan for her at 10:00 tomorrow morning.At this time, the nurse retreated cautiously. I looked at Sylvia and asked, "Why are you calling?" "After Nico left, I suddenly felt very scared." "What exactly are you afraid of?" "Afraid of death." There was fear in her voice. "But Sylvia, I promised to do everything in my power to help you." She looked up at me, "I know that. I feel better now that you're around me... Matthew" The look in her eyes, especially the way she said my name, confirmed that I was right.I had been the center of her life, however long ago it was. "Can you stay here for a while?" I sat down beside her. "I'm sorry that we have to meet for this reason," she said quietly, "but I'm really, really happy to see you again." I didn't answer.I sensed that the conversation was leading beyond the realm of the doctor-patient relationship.But she continued on. "Do you remember the end of that opera by Gluck? When Orfeo, having lost his love, sang that heartbreaking aria 'What would I do without Eurydice?' I lost you That’s how it feels from now on.” Her analogy is also the best description of how I felt at the time.But where does this conversation lead? "Matthew, I have a lot to tell you." I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eager to know what happened.If I don't ask, I'll go to my grave with the question: how could she possibly love me.And abandon me a minute later? "Listen, I want you to know something," she said emotionally. I wait. "You are the true love of my life." As much as I've imagined it a million times, I never really believed I'd hear her say it.Her sudden surprise surprised me and affected my rational judgment.Now, I have to figure it out. "Why, then, Sylvia? Why did you marry him?" She looks away. "It's hard to explain, and you'll never understand." I could see she was distressed, so I chose my words carefully. "Sylvia, what happened after I got shot?" An expression of anguish suddenly passed over her face, as if the mere thought of that event would cause her pain.At this time, she seemed to be about to cry. "It was horrible, Matt. Those few hours I managed to get you back to the clinic alive were the scariest hours of my life. I thought you were going to die—and it was all my fault. If you yelled I'll just drive right away. I've been blaming myself for this. The whole way, I just remember you laying unconscious next to me and the only thing I could do for you was stop the bleeding. I Next thing you know, François and Gilles are taking you out of the car. "As soon as you were under their safe care, I felt like the sky was falling. I completely broke down." She covered her face with her hands and began to cry softly. Her narrative moved me.Only now did I realize how dreadful the long drive back to the clinic was for her. "I think I already know what happened later." I said softly. She stopped crying and looked straight at me. "Nobody at François can take the bullet out, so you have to get me back to Europe. But the only way you can get me out of Eritrea is with a helicopter from the Niko Red Sea rig. So, you give He called, right?" "right." "And the price of saving my life is..." She nodded guiltily. "But it's blackmail. God, if only you'd told me then." "Matthew, don't you understand? It's the only way I can do it, and I feel obligated to do it, especially if it actually saved your life." I looked at her, almost in disbelief that what I'd been trying to believe was true.After all, she loves me.Her grief was so palpable that I wished I could hug her and comfort her. And, in that very moment, I forgave her everything. Chapter 21 We sat together silently, watching the sun gradually set. I started to feel uncomfortable and desperate to get out. At this time, Sylvia sighed. "It's better now, Matt. Even if I die, at least I'll see you." "But you're not going to die, Sylvia," I said emphatically, "I won't let you die. I've told you." She looks at me. "Don't know why, but when you say that, I believe it. How many people have you cured besides the boy named Lipton?" Ah, she's been following my career development after all. "Well, I'll copy one of my latest articles in the New England Magazine for you tomorrow." "No, I want to hear you tell me yourself." “哦，乔希明年就要高中毕业了，凯蒂刚生了第二个孩子，唐尼·科恩和保罗·多诺万过着完全正常的生活，而斯文·拉松的滚本球队刚刚成功地打进了州半决赛。” "Only this?" “不止这些。我的这个技术在丹佛和圣地亚哥有医疗小组使用，效果很好。但是你自己也是个医生，你知道不存在百分之百的成功率这种事情。” 我希望她不要再刨根问底了，她也没有再问。 我不由自主地看了一眼手表。 “你现在就要走了吗？”她可怜巴巴地问道，“难道你连喝点什么的时间都没有吗？” “对不起，我还有一个约会。” 我想起答应过8点后给埃维打电话。 “你就不能往后推几分钟吗？” 她已经招呼了女仆，这时，她正站在一旁听候西尔维亚的吩咐。“你是不是还爱喝白葡萄酒，马修？” “好吧。”我让步了，但是心里很生自己的气。 女仆很快端着托盘走了进来，托盘上有一瓶上品白葡萄酒和两只酒杯。 也许是因为在夕阳的光辉下，西尔维亚的脸上似乎稍稍有了点血色。我们逐渐打开了记忆之锁，开始回忆过去的幸福时光。而我们是有过许多幸福时光的。15分钟变成了半个小时，这时她说“吃了晚饭再走吧？”这一回我本可以很容易地拒绝的，但我自愿地留了下来。 我们坐在一间天花板很高的餐厅里，墙上挂着雷诺阿、塞尚和修拉的油画，使这间屋子看上去像是个著名画廊的附属建筑。 把谈话局限在过去是越来越困难了。 “你后来有没有再见到过弗朗索瓦？”我问道。 “实际上还真见过，”她说，“在某种意义上他背叛了自己。” “你这话是什么意思？他有两千个医生在35个国家工作，你怎么可以把这称做背叛呢？” 她看着我笑了。 “现在他不仅把衬衫扣得好好的，还真戴领带穿上衣了。” “啊，”我笑了起来，“这可真是中产阶级化了。” “去年我们在巴黎和他一起吃晚饭，”她接着说道，“他拼命想哄尼科捐钱。晚餐结束的时候，我们少了几百万美元，他在加蓬有了一所野战医院。” “说起医院，你最后专门搞了哪一科？” 她微微皱了皱眉。“很久以前我就不得不放弃了医学。不过那是另外一个故事了。” “讲给我听听，”我说，“我很好奇，想知道有什么能使你那了不起的理想主义消沉下去。我是说，你对儿童那么有办法。我永远不会忘记在厄立特里亚的第一个下午你诊断的那个亚急性的病儿。” “唉，马修，那是非洲。意大利完全是另一码事。” "meaning is?" “医学和婚姻不那么容易读到一起。这和当年我母亲在家的一角办《晨报》不一样。我用不着告诉你小儿科有多么劳神费力。再说，尼科需要我晚上在他身边，当然还有孩子们。” 我开始怀疑，这是不是我曾一度熟知的那个西尔维亚。我很难掩饰我的失望。 她也意识到了这一点。 “对不起，马修，不过你一向对我期望过高。你无法把一个任性的、被惯坏了的米兰女孩塑造成特利莎修女①”。 ①特利莎修女（1910-1997），出生于马其顿，1979年获诺贝尔和平奖金，是救济贫民、特别是印度贫民的天主教仁爱传教会的创始人。 “得了，西尔维亚，我知道你是什么样的人，忘记这一点的是你。” “好吧，大夫，”她两手往上一抬，说道，“保留你的幻想吧。” “不过我还是和医疗行业有些联系的，”她带点辩解的意思说，“我是医院的理事之一，明年我将成为意大利红十字会的主席。” 我的寻呼机突然响了起来。我拿出寻呼机，液晶显示屏上显示的是：给你的妻子打电话——5551200。 我迅速道了声歉，拨了这个号码。 “你没事吧？”埃维问道，“你在哪儿？” “出了点紧急的事，”我闪烁其词道（我到家后会向她说明一切），“我马上就要回家了。” “尽快回来吧，我们有很多事要谈呢。我给你准备点吃的，你到家好吃。” “不用了，我吃过点东西了。我真想见到你。” “我等着你，马特。” 然后，我转过身对西尔维亚说：“我恐怕得赶快走了。” “当然，我明白。我已经把你留得太久了。你明天给我弹钢琴好吗？” 我突然感到一阵发冷。 “对不起，西尔维亚，”我不耐烦地说，“我真的得走了。” 我们往门口走去时，她挽住了我的胳膊。 “你不能想像今晚有多美好。感谢你所做的一切。” 我慢慢走回家去，思绪万千。 “你今天回来得真晚，”我们楼里开电梯的人说，“有急诊吗？” “是的，路易吉，急诊。” “有时候当个大夫不容易，是吧？” “是的。”我答道，用的是希望他别再说下去的口气。 不幸的是，我是他所喜欢的一个对话伙伴，他给我开电梯时总是半速行驶。 “希勒太太还没有睡。”他告诉我。 "how do you know?" “我听见她在练琴。” 这至少是一条很有价值的消息，因为埃维只在白天练琴，除非是为音乐会做准备。她晚上练琴的唯一原因就是宣泄。 而谁又能因她的恼怒去责备她呢？ 已经快11点了。我走进家门时，她仍在拉琴。 “我回来了。”我一面往里走，一面大声说道。我径直朝琴室走去。 弗兰克的《A调奏鸣曲》的钢琴伴奏声轰响着从巨大的鲍斯牌音箱中冲出——而且她的琴也拉得大响了。我不知道她有没有听见我进来，但当我吻她的后脖颈的时候，她并没有感到吃惊。 “情况怎样？”她问，仍然全神贯注于音乐之中。 “今天够紧张的，”我答道，“想喝点什么吗？” “想的，”她说，“和你喝一样的。” 我给我们两个人各端了一杯加州干白葡萄酒，但是她并没有放下琴。这时我才意识到，她要让大提琴作为我们谈话的第三者见证。终于，她放下了琴弓，喝了一小口酒。 她等了片刻，然后故意做出不在乎的样子问道：“她仍旧很漂亮吗？” 我尽量不看着她，说道：“是的。” 她犹豫了一下，然后又问道：“你还爱着她吗？” “不爱。”我很快回答。也许回答得太快了。 她拿起琴弓，又拉了起来。 “你们谈了些什么？” “谈了过去。” “谈了些什么具体的事吗？” “我猜对了——尼科确实逼她嫁给他来着。” “我可真幸运。”她说，脸上毫无笑意。 然后，她一声不响地拉了一长段曲子。我感觉到她正准备问我重要的事。我没有猜错。 “你有什么事要告诉我吗？” 我想了一想，然后鼓起勇气说：“是的，今晚我和她在一起。” 她无法掩盖我对这一点的承认带给她的伤害。我为什么没有在电话里告诉她？ “我累了，”她说，“我想睡觉了。” 5分钟后，她关上了她那边的电灯，躺在了枕头上。一时间，我想用双臂搂住她，主动和她亲热亲热。我正在犹豫之时，她翻过身去背对着我。我低声说：“埃维，我爱你。”但她似乎很快就进入了睡乡。 我闭上了眼睛，但是无法入睡。最后，我穿上浴衣，走到起居室去看着窗外熟睡的城市。 心里想，不知一切将导向何处。 Chapter Twenty Two 10点45分的时候，西尔维亚的司机打电话通知我，他们离医院只有两个街区了。我派宝拉到大门口去接他们。 要是听她后来对人说的话，那辆轿车就足有波音747那么大。当她们两个人来到我的部门的时候，所有的脑袋都转向了她们。西尔维亚是我所治疗过的病人里最有魅力的一个。 尽管争取时间极为关键，而且我们已经全都准备好了开始工作，她却坚持要参观一下实验室，看一看我们用来重构脱氧核糖核酸的各种未来型的设备。最重要的是，见一见使用这些设备的人，好像通过使大家都喜欢她，不管怎么着她就能设法影响治疗的结果。 我首先把她介绍给了我的助手莫顿·舒尔曼博士，对他科学方面的才干大加赞扬。如果我不给她治疗的话，我希望她能完全相信代替我的将是一个了解一切的医生。 里萨给西尔维亚抽了血，我指给她看将要“清洗”血液的那台机器。 然后，莫顿和我陪她去到10楼的放射科，在她被缚在巨大的磁共振成像扫描仪上时，我们一直和她在一起。 做完磁共振成像扫描后，我请莫顿带她下去喝咖啡，而我则需赶快到后面去和阿尔·雷丁讨论新照的底片。当我们向电梯走去时，我对西尔维亚说：“舒尔曼博士故事讲得可好了，你一定得让他给你讲讲他那个穿轮滑鞋滑行的岳母的事。” 等我回到放射科，那位资深的放射学家和他的助手已经把底片放到了观察箱上，正在仔细地研究着。 “这样的情况很少见到，马特，”阿尔沉重地说，“很糟糕。你自己看一看吧。” 老远就能看到受损害的部分：污斑大得使人一开始以为是底片本身的毛病。 “有这么大的一个肿瘤她怎么还能到处走来走去？” “她走不了多久了。”忧郁的放射学家说道。 “那个女人活不了一个月了。” 其中一个住院医生转向我，尊敬地问道：“希勒大夫，在这种晚期病人身上，你的疗法成功的可能性有多大？” 我没有心情对别人谈我的看法，因此只是说： “我想独自研究一下这些片子，行吗，阿尔？” “没问题，”他同意道，“我们几个人下楼去吃午饭。” 他们把我和西尔维亚被肿瘤摧残的大脑的图像一起留在了房间里。除非出现想像不到的奇迹，这个肿瘤肯定会要她的命。 突然，我充分意识到了这个现实。这是西尔维亚，我初恋的爱人。 上帝啊，我心里想，她还年轻，刚刚度过了她生命的一半旅程。现在，她永远也不可能看到自己的子女结婚，也不可能和孙辈们嬉戏了。 还是说，我的实验成果仍然有可能救她一命？ 我的感情影响了我清醒地考虑问题。我需要一个我尊敬的同行的客观意见。 时间再合适不过了。现在纽约是中午，也就是说西海岸是上午9点。我在圣地亚哥的吉米·邱刚要去查房时抓住了他。 简短地问候之后，我要求他帮我个忙，我马上给他医院的放射科电脑终端传过去一个磁共振扫描图，请他给看一看结果。 吉米是我的朋友。他感觉到了我的紧迫，答应立刻就上楼去看。由于纽约这边的技术员正在吃午饭，我自己把底片在机器里做了扫描，机器把数字化了的西尔维亚的大脑图像传真到圣地亚哥，在吉米医院的电脑显示屏上重新变成图像。 几分钟后他就打来了电话。 “我就是想知道你的想法，吉姆。长着这样一个肿瘤的病人还能不能通过基因疗法来治疗？” “你不是在开玩笑吧？这个神经胶质瘤大成这样，如果不引起死亡，那么它引起的大出血也会造成死亡的。” “连试一试都不值得了，是吗？”我仍不愿放弃。他感觉得到我希望他重新考虑一下他的判断。 “我说，马特，什么都有它的极限。我们应该集中精力去挽救能够挽救的生命。对了，你能告诉我病人是谁吗？” “很抱歉，”我答道，“谢谢你的帮助，吉米。” 我很快挂上了电话。现在没有别人在场，用不着装作是个硬心肠的专家，我把头埋在袖子里哭了起来。西尔维亚快要死了，而我一点办法也没有。渐渐地，我想起来，此时此刻她正在楼下等着我呢。 我匆匆到洗手间去洗了一下，好让自己看起来像样一些。 具有讽刺意味的是，我看到她在大笑。莫顿·舒尔曼在用他最好的故事引她开心呢。 她注意到我走近，更加喜形于色，招手让我加入到他们中间去。 “你们这两个医生应该去演出，”她笑道，“我是说，马特可以当音乐会的钢琴家，莫顿可以去主持电视节目。” 我那些年轻的同事们都惊异地看着我。 “嘿，我不知道你会弹钢琴。” “和你的幽默感一个水平。”我反击道，没有去理会他话中暗含的疑问。 我坐了下来，比以前任何时候都更仔细地看着西尔维亚。现在，我第一次从她的脸上看到了行将到来的死亡的阴影。我怀疑她自己也知道这一点，她今天的光艳是花朵枯萎前的最后怒放。 但是，不知是出于拒绝面对现实，还是纯粹出于任性，她继续谈论著将来的打算。她从他们计划于下一个演出季在拉斯卡拉推出的作品，谈到夏天她将和儿子们一起进行的旅行。所有那些不再可能的事。 莫顿和我一起送西尔维亚到她的汽车旁。 “天哪，马特，你看到过更大的轿车吗？”汽车开走后他说道。 “我也没有看到过更大的肿瘤，莫顿，她是毫无希望的了。” “不，”他实实在在地吃了一惊，“不会是这个充满了活力的、了不起的女人。” “我说，莫顿，”我打断他说，“我想求你特别帮我一个忙。” “见鬼，”他仍在惊愕之中，“我没法相信这事。” “你闭上嘴听我说，”我命令道，“从现在起，西尔维亚是你的病人了。你要好好照顾她，不要让她感到任何痛苦。听见我的话了吗？” 这项任务显然使他很痛苦。 “可是马特，她大老远地到这里来就为的是让你给她治病呀——” “就这么办，莫顿。” “好吧。”他十分勉强地点了点头。 “很好。现在到宝拉那儿去，在接到进一步通知前，先把我要做的事接过去。你们两个要保证莉萨尽快准备好西尔维亚的血液导人，给予她所需要的一切帮助。” 莫顿肯定认为我失去了理智。 “我没有听错吧？你一会儿对我说根本没有希望，过一会儿又要我们加速整个治疗过程。我是说，大伙儿已经超载了。你能告诉我为什么要这样做吗？” “因为，你这个感觉迟钝的科学家，”我怒气冲天地说，“还是会有出现奇迹的可能的。” Chapter Twenty-Three 我严格地命令西尔维亚回到家里以后要睡一觉，因为上午的活动会损伤她的精力。 接着的两个小时我坐在办公室里，力图做好准备，以回答她必然会问到的扫描结果。当然，我不能告诉她实情，可是我又向来不善于说谎。我只能希望，我们正在准备给她进行治疗的这个事实会给我的支吾搪塞带上一点可信的色彩。 最后，我给她打了电话，她怂恿我尽快到她那儿去，并带着戏弄的口气解释说：“我这儿有个会特别让你惊喜的东西。” 10分钟后，我到了她家门口。 我走进住宅时，她拉着我的手，把我领到平台上，那儿已经准备好了精致的茶和茶点。 “坐下，马修，你不会相信命运给我们带来了什么东西。” 对我来说，保持平静是很不容易的，特别是现在，当我已经清楚地意识到她其实是多么虚弱的时候。 “你永远也不会请到，今晚在大都会歌剧院里上演什么节目。” “猜不到，”我开玩笑地说，“《三个男高音歌手》吗？” “不是，马修，别开玩笑了，哪个是'我们的'歌剧？当然是啦。今天晚上，乔治乌和阿拉格纳在那里演出。你知道吗，他们在生活中也是一对情人？” “看来你在那里也有一个包厢了？” 她笑了，“恰巧真有一个。作为我的医生，你同意我去，并愿意和我一起去吗？” “同意，在两点上都同意。”我答道，为还有能给她带来这样巨大幸福的事而从心底里感到十分高兴。 “尼科什么时候回来？”我问道。 “明天早上，”她毫无热情地答道，“我从医院回来后不久他来了个电话。” “听上去是个很关心你的丈夫。” “是的，”她含糊地说，“我相信他很爱我。” “你的孩子们呢？我知道你有两个男孩。我是说，对你们的生活有很多报道。他们在哪儿上学？” “在英国的伊顿公学。实际上什么都没有变化，我们对他们的安全更加提心吊胆。尼科派人24小时保卫他们，不过现在都是高科技手段了，而且只要不妨碍他们的社交生活，他们好像也并不在乎。我希望你将来会见到他们。他们两个人外貌很像，但实际上很不一样。老大吉安·巴第斯塔和他父亲一模一样，没有哪项运动他不精通。就我所知，他这辈子从没有打开过一本书。然而，他和尼科一样能使人无法抗拒。自然，我父亲最宠爱他。我想法玛王朝的未来有了保障了。” “你父亲一定是含笑九泉的了。” “是的，他希望的就是这个。还有就是我的小达尼埃莱，特别腼腆，爱钻书本。” “他会成为医生，呃？”我联想道。 “我想不会的。他太敏感。他会成为诗人，这在我们两家都是没有先例的。他极富于同情心，非常关心人。他总是在为波斯尼亚和卢旺达受压迫的人奔走呼号。” 我能感觉到她很疼爱小儿子。 “我想，如果时代不同，他会成为一个牧师。” “他多大了？”我问道。 “到2月份就满16岁了。” 我一阵心酸，因为我知道她看不见这个日子了。 "how many kids do you have?" “我的妻子和她前夫有两个女儿。我很喜欢她们。” “是啊，我能够想像你会是一个可爱的父亲，特别是对女儿来说。她长得什么样？” "Who?" “你的妻子。” 我不知道从哪儿说起，也不知道是不是愿意说。我只是简单地答道：“她是个大提琴手。” “啊，”西尔维亚说，“这一定很方便。” "What do you mean by that?" “我的意思是，你们一定可以进行二重奏了。” 我突然感到我的隐私受到了侵犯，根本不想回答她，然而，我知道最聪明的办法似乎是简简单单地说声是的，然后转变话题。 这时，她说了声对不起，要离开房间去为晚上的活动换装。 “你一定需要打电话——你的其他病人，还有实验室。” “是的，”我以恰如其分的职业口气说，“我和实验室联系一下，看看情况如何。” 只剩下我一个人时，我只拨了一个号码。 "Who is it?" “你好，埃维。” “你到哪儿去了？呼你也不回电话。” 实情是，我故意把寻呼机关掉了，其他一切与西尔维亚无关的事也全都被关在了门外。 “对不起，我忘了。听着，关于今晚的安排。” “你忘了今天是星期四了吗，马特？”她责备我道，“我有研究生的课，最早也得10点半才能到家。我现在得赶快去接戴比了。有什么特别的事吗？” “没有，我只是想听听你的声音。” “好吧，你现在听见这声音说再见了。回头见。” 西尔维亚走了出来，漂亮而高雅。 “毫无疑问会是巴黎那夜的重现，”我说，“我又穿得不够体面了。” “别说傻话了，快点，我们要晚了。” We went downstairs.她的汽车已经等在那儿了。我们向林肯中心驶去。只有到了那个时候，我才开始意识到我将冒什么样的风险。歌剧院离朱利厄德学院不过100码之遥，如果在整个这座城市里有什么地方撞上埃维的可能性最大的话，那么就是这儿了。 仿佛预先安排好了似的，当我们的车子在百老汇街口的红灯前停下、我向车窗外看去时，正好看见她拿着大提琴等在65街的拐角处。“该死。”我低声咕哝道。 西尔维亚立刻明白是怎么回事了。“别担心，马修，这种窗子从外面是看不到车子里面的。”然后她回过头去又看了一眼，说：“大提琴几乎和她一样大。啊，她也很漂亮。” 我盯着埃维的脸，没有说话。 我原来一直以为，优雅美丽的西尔维亚胜过我的妻子，因为埃维真正的美是内在的，然而，具有讽刺意味的是，今晚埃维比任何时候都要漂亮可爱。也许是由于她温柔的淡褐色眼睛中那忧郁的神色。我感到一阵强烈的冲动，想要跳下汽车把她紧紧抱在怀里。啊，埃维，我伤害了你，我是多么难过啊。 情人演情人。 这也许是最令人难以忘怀的一场演出了，但我却几乎未被打动。这出歌剧对我已经失去了它的魅力。我对阿尔弗雷多那神魂颠倒的迷恋已不再同情，也不再相信薇奥列塔的牺牲。我无动于衷地坐在那里，一直到她唱完最后的咏叹调。当年在巴黎使我们两个人流出了眼泪的那个部分现在有了新的含义：“啊，上帝，这样年轻就死去…离幸福这样近的时候。” 我看了看西尔维亚，注意到她没有哭。 相反，她的脸上有着奇怪的宁静神情。她那晚第一次握着我的手低声说：“我也曾离幸福很近。” 半小时后，我们的汽车停在了她家门口。 “今晚过得好极了，马修。你进来喝一杯吗？” “不了，西尔维亚，不行。” “来吧，尼科不在，我的护士今天休息。我实在受不了就自己一个人。” 了解了我现在了解的情况，我无法拒绝她。 “好吧，那就呆一小会儿吧。” 上了楼，我清楚地看到，这不是她突然心血来潮请我进来，在她的餐厅里已经放好了供两人享用的精美的夜宵。我开始有被人摆布的感觉。 女佣人立刻倒好了香槟酒。我喝得也许太快了一点儿。 在吃夜宵的过程中（我注意到她简直什么也没有吃），她突然向我弯过身来，激动地说： “马修，有一件事我要你知道。不管今后怎样，我决定离开尼科。我现在明白了，生命太宝贵了，不能浪费在无益的空想上。如果你肯要我，我愿和你在一起。” 求你了，西尔维亚，不要再说下去了。我努力尽量和缓地摆脱这个局面，平静而决断地说：“我很遗憾，但是已经太晚了——对我们两个人都太晚了。你不可能让18年的婚姻就这么消失掉。我的生命中也已有了一个对我来讲十分宝贵的人。” “马修，我在你心中已不再有任何意义了吗？” “西尔维亚，你现在是，而且永远会是一个美好的记忆。” I stand up. “我真的得走了。” “别走，请你别走——”她的眼中充满了泪水。 我愚蠢地停住了脚步，她走近到我身边。 “这事你不能拒绝我。”她扑过来，双臂搂住我的脖子，把我拉向她。 正在这时，门开了，尼科走了进来。 一时间，我们全都呆住了。 “晚安，”他说，显然