Today I’ve been drinking instant coffee and Pet milk, and watching it snow. It’s not that I enjoy the taste especially, but I like the way Pet milk swirls in the coffee. Pet milk isn’t real milk. The colour’s off, to start with. There’s almost something of the past about it, like old ivory.

今天我一直在一边喝着加了皮特牛奶的速溶咖啡，一边欣赏着外面的雪景。并不是因为我特别喜欢这种牛奶加咖啡的味道，而是我很享受皮特牛奶在咖啡中卷起漩涡的那种感觉。皮特牛奶不是真正的牛奶。首先它跟普通牛奶的颜色不一样，它的色泽犹如古老的象牙，让人们不禁想起那过去的岁月。

My grandmother always drank it in her coffee. When friends dropped over and sat around the kitchen table, my grandma would ask, “Do you take cream and sugar?” Pet milk was the cream. I remember how often times, I would be watching the Pet milk swirl and cloud in my steaming coffee, and how I would notice, outside her window, the sky doing the same thing above the railroad yard across the street.

我的祖母总是把皮特牛奶放在咖啡里一起喝。当有朋友来祖母家串门，围坐在餐桌旁时，祖母总会这样问道：“你们要在咖啡里加奶油和糖吗？”皮特牛奶就是奶油。我记得，那时候经常会出现这样的一幕：我看着皮特牛奶在热气腾腾的咖啡中，像云朵一样盘绕着、翻滚着，然后我望向祖母家的窗外，注视着街对过火车调车场上空的云朵，像咖啡中的皮特牛奶一样盘绕着、翻滚着。

And I remember, much later, seeing the same swirling sky in tiny liqueur glasses containing a drink called a King Alphonse: the crème de cacao rising like smoke, like clouds through the layer of heavy cream. This was in the Pilsen, a little Czech restaurant where my girlfriend, Kate, and I would go sometimes in the evening. It was the first year out of college for both of us, and we had astonished ourselves by finding real jobs-no more waitressing or pumping gas, the way we’d done in school.

我还记得，又过了很长时间，我在盛着一种名为“King Alphonse”的饮品的酒杯中再次看到了那种风起云涌：可可甜酒像烟雾一样升起，像云朵一样穿过厚厚的奶油层。那是在一家名叫皮尔森的不大的捷克餐厅。当时，我跟女友凯特晚上会时不时过去坐坐。那是我俩大学毕业后的第一年。我们还在为能够找到真正意义上的工作而兴奋不已——再也不用像在学校里那样做些餐厅服务员或加油站加油工的工作。

I was investigating credit references at a bank, and she was doing something slightly above the rank of typist for Hornblower & Weeks, the investment firm. Kate and I would sometimes meet after work at the Pilsen, dressed in our proper business clothes and still feeling both a little self-conscious and glamorous, as if we were impostors wearing disguises. We’d sit in a corner under a painting called “The Street Musicians of Prague” and trade future plans as if they were escape routes.

我当时在一家银行负责信用备咨调查工作，她在一家名叫Hornblower & Weeks的投资公司做一些略高于打字员级别的事情。我和凯特有时会在下班后，身穿笔挺的工装在皮尔森餐厅见面。当时，我们还会觉得多少有些难为情，也会觉得自己挺有魅力的，好像我们的这身行头跟自己并不是太搭。我们总会坐在一幅名为“布拉格街头音乐家”的画作下面的角落里，交流着我们未来能够出人头地的宏伟计划。

She talked of going to grad school in Europe; I wanted to apply to the Peace Corps. Our plans for the future made us laugh and feel close, but those same plans somehow made anything more than temporary between us seem impossible. It was the first time I’d ever had the feeling of missing someone I was still with.

她谈到要去欧洲读硕士；我想要申请加入和平工作队。我们对未来的规划总是让我们开怀大笑并感觉很亲密，但这样的规划在某种程度上使得我们之间的关系似乎很难长久。这是我人生第一次感到将会失去一个本来彼此相依的人。

We went there often enough to have our own special waiter, Rudi, a name he pronounced with a rolled R. Rudi boned our trout and seasoned our salads, and at the end of each meal he’d bring the bottle of crème de cacao from the bar, along with two little glasses and a small pitcher of heavy cream, and make us each a King Alphonse right at our table. If he failed to float the cream, we’d get that one free. He liked us, and we tipped extra. It felt good to be there and to be able to pay for a meal.

我们在那家餐厅通常都会让我们的专用服务员鲁迪为我们上餐，他说自己的名字时带着明显的卷舌音。鲁迪负责为我们的鳟鱼剔骨，以及为我们的沙拉调味。每次进完餐，他都会从吧台给我们拿来一瓶可可甜酒，外加两个小玻璃杯和一小罐浓奶油，还会在我们的餐桌上放上两杯King Alphonse。如果他没能让奶油漂浮起来，这杯King Alphonse就免费了。他非常喜欢我们，我们也愿意多给他些小费。在那家餐厅坐一坐，再点儿东西吃的感觉真好。

Kate and I met at the Pilsen for supper on my twenty-second birthday. It was May, and unseasonably hot. I’d opened my tie. Even before looking at the dinner menu, we ordered a bottle of Mumm’s and a dozen oysters apiece. We squeezed on lemon, added dabs of horseradish, slid the oysters into our mouths, and then rinsed the shells with champagne and drank the salty, cold juice. We laughed and grandly sipped it all down.

我22岁生日的那天，我和凯特在皮尔森餐厅共进了晚餐。当时正值五月，天气却反常的炎热。我解开了领带。甚至都没看菜单，我们就点了一瓶玛姆香槟和每人一打牡蛎。我们在牡蛎上挤上一些柠檬，加入少量辣根，然后将牡蛎放入口中，再用香槟冲洗贝壳，喝下咸味的冷汁。我们一边欢声笑语，一边开怀畅饮。

I was already half tipsy from drinking too fast, and starting to feel filled with a euphoric, aching energy. Kate raised a brimming oyster shell to me in a toast: “To the Peace Corps!” “To Europe!” I replied, and we clunked shells. She touched her wineglass to mine and whispered:” Happy birthday”. and then suddenly leaned across the table and kissed me. When she sat down again, she was flushed.

我因为酒喝得太快，已经有了一些醉意，感到内心中充满了巨大的愉快与无比的酸辛。凯特向我举起一个满满的牡蛎壳：“敬和平工作队！”“敬欧洲！”我回答说，然后我们将两个牡蛎壳撞在一起。她用她的酒杯碰了一下我的酒杯，低声说：“生日快乐”。然后突然靠在桌子上亲吻了我。当她再次坐下时，脸已变得红扑扑的。

I caught the reflection of her face in the glass-covered “The Street Musicians of Prague” above our table. I always loved seeing her in mirrors and windows. The reflections of her beauty startled me. I had told her that once, and she seemed to fend off the compliment, saying, “That’s because you’ve learned what to look for,” as if it were a secret I’d stumbled upon. But, this time, seeing her reflection hovering ghostlike upon an imaginary Prague was like seeing a future from which she had vanished. l knew I’d never meet anyone more beautiful to me.

我注视着餐桌上方那副“布拉格街头音乐家”画作的玻璃外框中倒映的她的面颊。我一直很喜欢从镜子和窗户看她的倒影。她那美丽的倒影总是让我觉得无比惊艳。我曾经告诉过她一次，但她似乎避开了恭维，说：“那是因为你知道该去寻找哪些美好的事物。”好像这只不过是我偶然发现的一个秘密。但这一次，我看到她的倒影在想象中的布拉格街头徘徊时，就如同看到了她消失在未来的某一天。我知道我永远不会再遇到比她更美丽的女人。

We killed the champagne and sat twining fingers across the table. We still hadn’t ordered dinner. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said. My roommate would already be home at my place, which was closer. Kate lived up north, in Evanston. It seemed a long way away. We walked to the subway. The evening rush was winding down; we must have caught the last express heading toward Evanston. There weren’t any seats together, so we stood swaying at the front of the car, beside the empty conductor’s compartment. We wedged inside, I clicked the door shut, and kissed her again.

我们喝光了香槟，坐在那里，手指彼此握在一起，没有点餐。“我们出去走走吧。”她说。我家比较近，但是我的室友应该已经到家了。凯特住在北部的埃文斯顿，似乎有点儿远。我们走到地铁站。晚高峰时段就快要结束了，我们必须赶上开往埃文斯顿的最后一班车。车上没有相邻的空座了，因此我们摇摇晃晃地站在车厢前部，靠近空的售票员室的位置。我们挤进了售票员室，我把门关上，再次亲吻了她。

We were speeding past scorched brick walls, grey windows, back porches outlined in sun, roofs, and treetops. Even without looking, I knew almost exactly where we were. The train was braking a little from express speed, as it did each time it passed a local station. I could see blurred faces on the long wooden platform watching us pass-businessmen glancing up from folded newspapers, women clutching purses and shopping bags.

我们以飞快的速度穿越太阳、屋檐和树梢勾勒出的烧焦的砖墙、灰色的窗户和黑色的后门廊。不看窗外，我也几乎完全知道我们到了哪里。车速开始稍稍减慢，跟每次经过车站时一样。我可以看到长长的木制月台上一张张模糊的面孔正在注视着我们匆匆而过——商人们眼睛离开正在开着的报纸，抬头瞥了我们一眼；女人们手里抓着钱包和购物站在那里。

I could see the expression on each face, momentarily arrested, as we flashed by. A high school kid in shirt sleeves, maybe sixteen, with books tucked under one arm and a cigarette in his mouth, caught sight of us, and in the instant before he disappeared he grinned and started to wave. It was as if I were standing on that platform, with my schoolbooks and a smoke, on one of those endlessly accumulated afternoons after school when I stood almost outside of time simply waiting for a train, and I thought how much I’d have loved seeing someone like us streaming by.

我可以看到我们的列车飞速通过时，他们每个人脸上瞬间闪现的表情。一个穿着衬衫袖子的高中生，十六岁左右的样子，一只胳膊下夹着书本，嘴里叼着一支香烟。他看见了我们，在他消失在我们视线中之前的一刹那，他咧嘴一笑，向我们挥手告别。此情此景，就好像我自己置身于那个月台上，在每个无尽的午后，手里拿着课本，抽着烟，站在那里，完全忘却了时间，只是在等待列车的到来。我心想，能看到像我们一样的陌生人从我们身边匆匆而过，这种感真的很好。