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Author: Andrew Eichman Translation: Peng Chuanwei
foreword
"Play Again" is the last chapter of "Find Me", which tells the follow-up story of "Call Me By Your Name". The author continued the eloquent narrative technique in the previous work, and used complicated psychological descriptions to highlight the "cautiousness" of the two male protagonists regarding "love". In addition, Eichmann also added a lot of cultural, Music, history knowledge. I try to be consistent with the author's style in my translation. This kind of writing method is rare in China, and it takes more effort to read. I hope everyone can have a good reading experience. point.
"Why Alexander?" Oliver stopped and asked me on the first night we arrived, quietly admiring the sea and the sky and the slowly sinking sunset along the harbour path.
The smell of swimming fish, sea salt and stagnant water in the air of the coastline fascinated me, and we continued to stand there, looking at the place where the legendary "Lighthouse of Pharos" once stood. Our host family lives just across the road, which has witnessed the changes of their family for eight generations. They insist that the location of the "Falos Lighthouse" is the current QAITBEY Castle, but no one can be sure.
At this time, the sunset caught our attention, and the afterglow connected the entire coast into a large freehand painting. The eyes were not pink or light orange, but bright and broad (proud) orange. He and I I have never seen such a sky.
Why Alexander? His question seems to me to have many interpretations: Why did the city of Alexandria occupy such a central place in Western history? Why did we choose to come here? I want to answer him: because everything that means more or less to the two of us seems to end here - EPHESUS (Ephesus - ancient Greek coastal trading city), ATHENS (Athens), SYRACUSE (Shiracusa) - eastern seaports in Italy). I think back to the old Greeks, Alexander and his love Hephaestion, the Greek library, the philosopher Cypada, and finally the modern Greek poet Cavafy.
In fact, I also know why he would ask such a question.
We left home in Italy for a three-week tour of the Mediterranean, with the ship docked in Alexandria for two nights, ready to enjoy the last few days before returning. We would love to be alone, there are too many people in the family. My mother moved in with us, and lived in a room on the ground floor not far from us because she no longer had access to the stairs; then her carer, and then Mafalda, when Mafalda wasn't traveling Just in the bedroom I used to be; and finally little Ollie, who lives next door to Mafalda in the room that used to belong to my grandfather. Oliver and I live in my parents' old bedroom. If you cough loudly at night, I think everyone can hear it.
Life in Italy has not been as smooth as we had hoped. We know it's different now, but we don't know how to control that heart, the heart that wants to go back to the way it used to be, so that we can sleep together again without embarrassment. The house is the same house where it all started 20 years ago, but are we still who we were?
I turned off the light before undressing when he turned his back on me. He used the jet lag as an excuse, and I let him. I was worried about being disappointed, and even more worried about disappointing him. I know he thought the same thing, and he finally turned to me and said, "Elio, I haven't had sex with a man in too many years." He smiled, then added, "I may have forgotten that How to do it."
We hope that desire can defeat our lack of self-confidence, but the embarrassment is reluctant to leave, I feel the pressure between us, and finally suggest chatting to eliminate what is blocking us.
"Am I unintentionally making you strange?"
"Or am I becoming difficult to get along with?"
"No, neither."
"What exactly is that?"
"Time," he replied, and as always, that was all he had to say. Did he need time, I asked, my body almost ready to move away from him.
No, he replied.
It took me a while to realize that he was saying we lost too much time.
"Just hold me," I said finally.
"Let's see what 'hug' turns into in the end?" he quipped immediately, uttering every word in a wacky tone.
I'm sure he's nervous, "Yeah, let's see what 'Hug' ends up being?" I repeated. I suddenly remembered that afternoon five years ago when I visited him after class and he stroked my cheek with the palm of his hand. If he wanted, I would have sex with him immediately, but he didn't say he wanted, why?
"Because you might make fun of me, because you might reject me, because I'm not sure you've put me down."
We didn't have sex that night, but years later to be able to fall asleep in his arms again, listening to his breath, recognizing that familiar scent, knowing that I could finally sleep with my Oliver and leave each other without waking up . At this point I can finally be sure that despite more than twenty years, we are still the same two young men under the same roof.
When I woke up in the morning, he looked at me meaningfully, I didn't want the silence to drown the time, I wanted him to say it, but he wasn't going to say anything.
"Can this morning... do you have feelings for me now?" I finally asked, "because now I do."
"Me too," he replied.
In the end it was me, not him, remember how he liked to start. "I've only done it with you," he continued, confirming that we both knew what we were doing, "but I'm still nervous," he added.
"I never knew you would be nervous,"
"Then I have to tell you something too—" I started taking over because I wanted him to know.
"what?"
"I leave my body to you only."
"What if we're not together again?"
"Then I'll never have sex again." I couldn't help saying, "You know what I like."
"I know."
"Then you didn't forget it at all."
He smiled, yes, he didn't forget.
At dawn, after our sex, we go for a swim like we did years ago.
When we returned, the house was still asleep.
"I'll make coffee."
"I love coffee," he replied.
"Mafalda likes the Neapolitan style, so we've been making coffee this way for years."
"Okay!" was his brief farewell to me as he plunged headlong into the bathroom. After filling the coffee pot I started to boil water to cook the eggs. I put down two placemats, one on the side of the kitchen table and the other on the head of the table. Next, I put four slices of bread in the toaster but forgot to start it. When he came back, I told him to keep an eye on the coffee but not to pour it out as soon as it was brewed. I love his wet hair combed out of the shower, and I've forgotten his eloquent stare in the morning. We were wondering less than two hours ago that sex could still happen between me and him? I stopped my messy breakfast and looked at him, he knew what I was thinking and laughed. Yes, the discomfort and embarrassment that once terrified us have been completely left behind. To confirm my thoughts, I left a long kiss on his neck before leaving the kitchen to take a shower.
"I haven't been kissed like this in a long time," he said.
"Time," I teased him with his answer.
When I came back to the kitchen from the shower, I found Oliver and Oliver sitting next to each other on one side of the long table, and I put six eggs in the water and listened to them discuss what we had seen together last night. Movie. Obviously, little Ollie has fallen in love with Oliver.
I buttered everyone's hot toast and watched Oliver crack the top of the egg for little Ollie. "Do you know who taught me this?" he asked.
"Who?"
"Your brother, he used to open egg cups for me every morning because I didn't know how to do this, they didn't teach me this in America, and I did it for my two sons later."
"You have a son?"
"Yes, I have two sons."
"What are they called?"
Oliver told little Ollie.
"Do you know who you are named after?" Oliver finally asked.
"Of course."
"Who?"
"you."
After I heard the last few words, I suddenly felt a tightness in my throat. This conversation at once confirmed a lot of topics that we haven't talked about, maybe we haven't had time to talk about it, or we can't find words to express. But now, just as the last chord is determined to finish this wonderful tune, it all happens.
Too much time has passed in our hands, too many years have passed through our bodies. Who knows how many unknown days in the past have shaped us into a better version of ourselves now. I was touched, this kid was like me and Oliver's kid, and all of a sudden everything seemed to open up - this kid is called Oliver for a reason, because he's been in my blood, he's been living in this house, being a This house and part of our lives. He was ready before he came to us, before I was born, before the first stone was laid in this house, and our life in between was but a stop on this journey called time. Too much time, too many years, too many people we touch and then forget, who simply never came. But here they are - time, as Oliver said last night before we hugged to sleep, time is always the price we pay for the life we didn't choose.
While I was pouring him coffee it occurred to me that I shouldn't shower after morning sex and I wanted every trace of him to stay on me. We haven't talked about what happened in the morning, I want to hear him repeat what he said when we had sex, I want to discuss last night with him, tell him I'm sure neither of us slept like we claimed last night So safe. Without talking about it, our nights are as easily forgotten as he was. I don't know what brought me back to reality. After pouring the coffee, I whispered beside his earlobe: "You won't go back, tell me, you won't leave."
Quietly, he took my arm, pushed me down on my chair and said, "I'm not leaving, don't think like that anymore."
I want to talk to him about what happened twenty years ago, the good, the bad, the unforgettable, the disappointing. There is always time to reminisce about the past, I want him to know what happened to me from then to now, and I want to know all the things that happened to him. I wanted to tell him that the first day I saw the white skin under his arms, I wanted to be hugged by them, and to feel them walk around my waist. I told him a little of this while lying in bed a few hours ago. "That time on the archaeological pile in Sicily, I saw your arms were tanned brass, and recalled the first time I noticed that they were also in the kitchen, and the underside of your arms remained as white as they were, with vein stripes. It usually spreads on the arms, like marble, and they look so good. I want to kiss every skin and lick every muscle of yours."
"Do you feel that way now?"
"I feel the same way now, can you hug me now?"
"Let's see what 'Hug' ends up being?" he teased. I'm so glad we didn't do anything last night, just hugged each other.
He must have read all my thoughts, because then he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulled me close to him, turned to little Ollie, and said, "Your brother is the most perfect man in the world. ."
Little Ollie looked at us. "Do you think so?"
"Don't you think so?"
"I don't think so." Little Ollie smiled. He knew, as Oliver and I knew, that irony was the catchphrase in this house.
Without warning, little Ollie asked, "Are you a good person too?"
Oliver was also touched, adjusting his breathing. This child is our child, and Oliver and I both understand. My father, though gone, knew it, he always knew it.
"Do you believe the 'Faros' lighthouse is there?"
We spent another night in Alexandria and then went to Naples - as a gift to ourselves before Oliver went to teach at the University of Rome, or in Mafalda's words - our honeymoon. As we stood on the shore watching family, friends, and passers-by, I wanted to ask him if he remembered the night before he returned to New York, where he took me to sit on a rock by the sea, looking at the end of the sea. Yes, he remembered, he said of course he remembered. I asked him again if he recalled the nights we spent exploring the city of Rome, and he said he did. I'm going to tell him that the trip changed my life, not only because we were free and enjoying our time together, but Rome gave me a taste of the life of an artist, and I've since learned that it was my life meaning. On our first night in Rome, we were too drunk to sleep, we met so many poets, artists, editors, actors...but Oliver interrupted me.
"We can't live forever by remembering the past, can we?" he told me, in his usual short words, that I was getting lost on a path with no future.
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