火車上的“守護(hù)天使”

The man on the train didn’t look like a guardian angel.

He looked as if he had just blown in from a tropical photo-shoot. He wore a 1）safari jacket， combat pants and desert boots， and had a warm， peculiarly direct Italian gaze. And because he appeared well past sixty and showed no visible signs of madness， I briefly returned his smile when he took the seat opposite mine.

He didn’t speak English and I don’t speak Italian， so we struck up a 2）desultory conversation in 3）fractured French. Cheerfully he told me that as a young man he had been the “black lamb” of the family， and had given up a job in his father’s business to become a photographer.

Then he asked what I did for a living， and why he’d seen me wandering about 4）Ravenna on my own.

“I’m a lawyer”， I said， “over here on a case.”

A lawyer， he said， with a thoughtful nod. So you work hard？

I shrugged. Nothing unusual. Most people do.

That was when he did his guardian angel thing.

Lightly， and with no hint of “now listen to an old man’s advice”， he suggested that it isn’t good to work too hard if it doesn’t make you happy. “You’re young，” he said—

Young？ I thought. （I was thirty-six， but felt fifty.）

“—and life is wonderful，” he went on calmly.“But it goes very quickly. It’s not worth making yourself unhappy about things you can change.”

To my horror， I felt my throat 5）constrict and my eyes fill with tears. Unhappy？ I hadn’t said anything about being unhappy…

Mercifully at that point the train pulled into the station， and we shook hands， 6）retrieved luggage， and （in my case） beat a hasty retreat. But as I was hailing a cab， the old man called out that if I ever returned to Ravenna， I should look him up for a cup of coffee. I could find him most weekends in the 7）piazza， at a café， with his friends.

Then my cab moved off， and I never saw him again.

If this had been a film， I would have experienced an 8）epiphany there and then. It’s all so simple！ I’d have cried. I’ve been unhappy for years， I see that now！ I’m going to chuck in the law and be a writer instead！

But I suppose life is messier than movies. It takes longer， too. Here’s how it happened.

I had become a lawyer almost by default. One rainy afternoon in my final year at university， I told myself in desperation that I had to do something， so how about law？ After all， I’d always liked courtroom dramas. I could hardly make a living by writing novels. （My spare-time efforts had only earned a small clutch of rejection letters.）

So I became a hard working 9）solicitor. And after five years， I was made a partner. I was a success. Therefore I must be happy. I was certainly earning enough， although I didn’t have time to spend it—except for the occasional holiday， when I’d hire a house all to myself on a remote Greek island， sleep seventeen hours at a stretch， and spend the rest of the week with a stack of 10）Dick Francises and a bottle of Scotch.

You’re fine， I kept telling myself. When this case is over， work will slow down， and you can tackle your novel. After this case， things will ease up.

Oh okay， maybe after the next one.

Alright， this year’s a bit of a bottleneck. But next year， things will definitely ease up.

Of course it never happened. Things just went on as they were. For years.

I would feel a heaviness in my chest， like a knot pulled tight. If I’d stopped to think， perhaps I would have recognised that feeling as unhappiness. But I never did， at least not until a series of signposts started cropping up in my life， all pointing the same way.

By far the biggest and most horrible of these was my father’s death from cancer. It was diagnosed a few months after he retired， and took five years to kill him. But right till the end he kept his sense of humour， was never bitter， and once told me that he had no regrets about his life.

No regrets. I thought about that after he died. And one day it occurred to me that if I stepped under a bus tomorrow， I’d have nothing but regrets. About all the things I hadn’t done.

Then the following summer I went to Italy and met a stranger on a train， who told me that life is short. Another signpost.

Suddenly they were coming thick and fast—so fast that even I couldn’t miss them. First the headaches grew more frequent， sometimes blazing into 11）vertigo attacks. Then the knot in my chest became a constant companion. Finally one night I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor， crying uncontrollably.

The message was stark. I was ruining my health doing a job I no longer enjoyed， to earn money I’d never have time to spend， while putting off what I really wanted to do until some future time which was never going to come. And the only person who could change any of this was me.

So what happened next？ Did I chuck in the law and go and live on a hilltop in Tuscany？

I’m afraid not. I was too 12）muddled for that. Instead I went for the classic lawyer’s compromise， and negotiated a 13）sabbatical. I travelled， got enough sleep， and finally finished the manuscript I’d been nursing for years.

Then， like an idiot， I went back to work.

I knew it was a mistake as soon as I walked in the door， because my first case was all about cancer. But in a way it was fortunate， for it left no room for 14）self-deception. Shortly afterwards， I sent my manuscript to the one person in publishing whom I’d actually met， and who had once said encouraging things about my work.

Then I took a deep breath， and resigned. I wondered what I was going to live on if I never got published. At least， I told myself， you haven’t got a husband and children to worry about. So it’ll only be you starving in the garret.

The day the publishers got back to me， I was mentally checking my plans to economize when my secretary 15）sidled in and gave me the prearranged signal.

When the publishers told me they wanted to buy the book， I spilt coffee all over my desk. But I think I managed to say “thank you” in a fairly grown-up voice， before 16）prancing into my assistant’s office and whooping like a tenyear-old.

Please don’t think I’m suggesting that everyone who works hard is a mug， and should ditch what they’re doing to get in touch with their 17）karma. I’m just saying that I was a mug. Because it took me far too long to realise that life is short， and I was wasting mine doing something I no longer enjoyed. I’m only thankful that the signposts got through to me before it was too late.

And perhaps some day I’ll return to Ravenna， and see if I can find that stranger from the train， and tell him about it over a cup of coffee.

火車上的那個(gè)男人看起來(lái)并不像個(gè)守護(hù)天使。

他看上去就像是剛從一張熱帶風(fēng)情照里蹦出來(lái)似的。他身穿著獵裝外套、作戰(zhàn)褲和沙漠靴，擁有意大利人典型的目光，溫暖地直視著你。而且因?yàn)樗瓷先ゴ_已年過(guò)花甲，也沒有瘋子的明顯跡象，因此當(dāng)他在我對(duì)面的椅子上坐下時(shí)，我對(duì)他稍稍回以微笑。

他不會(huì)說(shuō)英語(yǔ)，而我也不會(huì)說(shuō)意大利語(yǔ)，所以我們開始用支離破碎的法語(yǔ)東扯西拉地交談了起來(lái)。他爽朗地告訴我說(shuō)，他在年輕時(shí)便是家里的“異類”，還放棄了他父親家族事業(yè)的一份工作，跑去當(dāng)一名攝影師。

接著，他問我以何為生，還有為什么他曾看到我在拉文納城里獨(dú)自徘徊。

“我是一名律師，”我說(shuō)，“到這里來(lái)處理一個(gè)案子。”

一名律師，他說(shuō)，若有所思地點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭。那么你工作很辛苦嘍？

我聳了聳肩。沒什么特別的。大多數(shù)人都這樣。

就在那時(shí)，他開啟了他的守護(hù)天使模式。

他不帶絲毫“現(xiàn)在來(lái)聽聽一位老人家的意見吧”的痕跡，輕描淡寫地提到，如果辛苦工作卻不能給你帶來(lái)快樂，那這工作就是沒意義的?！澳氵€年輕，”他說(shuō)——

年輕？我想。（我才36歲，但覺得自己已經(jīng)50了。）

“——而生活如此美好，”他繼續(xù)平靜地說(shuō)道?！暗D(zhuǎn)眼就消失無(wú)蹤。明明可以改變的事情，卻為之委屈自己，那就不值得了。”

讓我恐懼的是，我感覺到自己喉嚨發(fā)緊，熱淚盈眶。不開心？我并沒說(shuō)過(guò)任何關(guān)于自己不開心的話呢……

幸運(yùn)地是，就在那時(shí)火車到站了，我們握了握手，取回行李，隨后（于我而言）匆忙溜走了。但正當(dāng)我叫出租車時(shí)，那位老人高喊著說(shuō)，如果我再回到拉文納城，應(yīng)該找他喝杯咖啡。在大多數(shù)的周末里，我能在廣場(chǎng)上的某間咖啡店里找到他，和他的老友們?cè)谝黄稹?/p>

接著我的出租車就開走了，我再也沒見到他。

如果這是一部電影的橋段，我應(yīng)會(huì)是在當(dāng)時(shí)當(dāng)?shù)仡D悟了。一切就那么簡(jiǎn)單！我該會(huì)痛哭一場(chǎng)。多年來(lái)我一直不開心，如今我看得一清二楚！我將會(huì)把法律拋到九霄云外，轉(zhuǎn)而成為一名作家！

但我想，生活比電影要麻煩多了，也要花上更多的時(shí)間。以下才是現(xiàn)實(shí)生活。

我之所以會(huì)成為一名律師，差不多是出于無(wú)奈。在我大學(xué)最后一年的某個(gè)雨天下午，我絕望地對(duì)自己說(shuō)，我必須要有個(gè)職業(yè)，所以選法律怎么樣？畢竟我一直喜歡看法庭戲?？繉懶≌f(shuō)，我很難維持生計(jì)。（我在業(yè)余時(shí)間的創(chuàng)作成果只不過(guò)換回了一小疊拒絕信罷了。）

于是我變成了一名工作勤奮的初級(jí)律師。五年之后，我成為了一名合伙人。我是個(gè)成功人士了。因此，我應(yīng)該很開心。錢我當(dāng)然是掙不少，盡管沒時(shí)間花銷——除了偶爾有假期，我會(huì)在某個(gè)遙遠(yuǎn)的希臘小島上租個(gè)房子，一口氣睡上十七個(gè)小時(shí)，然后同一疊迪克·弗朗西斯的小說(shuō)和一瓶蘇格蘭威士忌一起消磨掉那周剩下的時(shí)光。

你很不錯(cuò)了，我一直告訴自己說(shuō)。等這個(gè)案子結(jié)束后，工作就會(huì)緩下來(lái)，而你就好好琢磨你的小說(shuō)。這個(gè)案子之后，事情就會(huì)緩和下來(lái)。

噢，好吧，也許辦完下個(gè)案子以后。

好啦，今年遇到了點(diǎn)瓶頸。但明年，事情肯定能緩下來(lái)。

當(dāng)然啦，根本就沒那回事。事情該怎樣還是怎樣。年復(fù)一年。

我能感覺到自己胸口的沉重，心間像有個(gè)被拉緊的結(jié)。如果我停下來(lái)思考，也許就能意識(shí)到，那種感覺就是不開心。但我從未停止過(guò)腳步，至少在我生活中突然出現(xiàn)一連串征兆之前未曾停歇過(guò)，而所有的征兆都指向了同一個(gè)方向。

迄今為止，這些征兆中最大且最可怕的一個(gè)便是我父親因癌癥離世。病情在他退休數(shù)月后被診斷出來(lái)，五年后癌癥奪走了他的生命。但直到最后，他一直保持著自己的幽默感，從未心懷怨恨，還有一次告訴我說(shuō)，他感覺此生無(wú)憾。

此生無(wú)憾。我在他去世后思考過(guò)這一點(diǎn)。有一天我突然想到，如果明天我被汽車撞死，我將一無(wú)所有，唯余遺憾，對(duì)所有那些我還未曾做之事的遺憾。

接下來(lái)的第二年夏天，我去意大利，在火車上偶遇陌生人，告訴我說(shuō)生命苦短。另一個(gè)征兆。

突然之間，這些征兆密集而迅速地涌來(lái)——迅速到我無(wú)法忽視其存在。首先是越來(lái)越頻繁的頭痛，有時(shí)候突然爆發(fā)成眩暈。接著是我胸口的梗結(jié)揮之不去。最后是某天晚上，我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己坐在廚房的地板上，無(wú)法控制地嚎啕大哭。

信息已經(jīng)無(wú)比鮮明。我正在毀掉自己的健康，從事著一份自己不再喜愛的工作，掙著自己無(wú)時(shí)間去花銷的金錢，卻在推遲自己真正想做的事情，推到未來(lái)某個(gè)絕對(duì)無(wú)法到來(lái)的時(shí)間。而那個(gè)唯一能夠改變這一切的人，只有我。

那么接下來(lái)發(fā)生了什么呢？我是否將法律工作拋諸腦后，搬去托斯卡納的某個(gè)山巔定居呢？

恐怕沒有。我做不到如此清醒決斷。相反，我采取了典型的律師折中方案，經(jīng)過(guò)協(xié)商休了個(gè)長(zhǎng)假。我四處旅行，好好睡覺，并最終完成了自己已醞釀了多年的手稿。

接著，我就像個(gè)白癡一般，又回去工作了。

當(dāng)我一走進(jìn)大門時(shí)，我就知道那是個(gè)錯(cuò)誤，因?yàn)槲一貧w后的第一個(gè)案子便全是關(guān)于癌癥。但從某種程度上來(lái)說(shuō)，這也是種幸運(yùn)，因?yàn)樗辉贋樽云燮廴肆粲腥魏斡嗟亍Ｖ蟛痪?，我將自己的手稿寄給了出版界的某個(gè)人，那人我其實(shí)曾經(jīng)見過(guò)，而他也曾對(duì)我的作品鼓勵(lì)有加。

接著，我深深吸了一口氣，提出了辭呈。我想知道如果我的作品絕無(wú)機(jī)會(huì)發(fā)表，自己將靠什么而生存。至少，我告訴自己說(shuō)，你沒有丈夫或孩子需要擔(dān)心。所以在閣樓里忍饑挨餓的人也就只有你一個(gè)而已。

出版商與我聯(lián)系的那一天，我正在心里盤算著節(jié)省開支的計(jì)劃，這時(shí)，我的秘書悄然走進(jìn)來(lái)，給了我事先約定的信號(hào)。

當(dāng)出版商們告訴我說(shuō)他們想要買下那本書時(shí)，我把咖啡灑得桌子上到處都是。但我記得，當(dāng)時(shí)，在我神氣活現(xiàn)地沖進(jìn)助手的辦公室像個(gè)十歲的孩子那樣歡聲大笑之前，自己還是設(shè)法用相當(dāng)成熟得體的聲音說(shuō)了“謝謝”。

請(qǐng)不要認(rèn)為我在暗示說(shuō)每個(gè)努力工作的人都是傻瓜，且應(yīng)該拋開他們正在從事的工作，轉(zhuǎn)而去追隨其業(yè)力。我只是說(shuō)自己曾是個(gè)傻瓜。因?yàn)槲一ㄙM(fèi)了太長(zhǎng)的時(shí)間才認(rèn)識(shí)到，生命苦短，而我在浪費(fèi)自己的生命做一些自己不再喜歡的事情。我只是充滿了感激，那些征兆來(lái)到了我的面前，并未太遲。

也許某一天，我將會(huì)回到拉文納城，看自己是否能夠?qū)さ交疖嚿系哪俏荒吧?，并就著一杯咖啡告訴他這所有的一切。