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I wish Giovanni would kiss me.
但愿乔凡尼（Giovanni）可以吻我。
Oh, but there are so many reasons why this would be a terrible idea. To begin with, Giovanni is ten years younger than I am, and—like most Italian guys in their twenties—he still lives with his mother. These facts alone make him an unlikely romantic partner for me, given that I am a professional American woman in my mid-thirties, who has just come through a failed marriage and a devastating, interminable divorce, followed immediately by a passionate love affair that ended in sickening heartbreak. This loss upon loss has left me feeling sad and brittle and about seven thousand years old. Purely as a matter of principle I wouldn't inflict my sorry, busted-up old self on the lovely, unsullied Giovanni. Not to mention that I have finally arrived at that age where a woman starts to question whether the wisest way to get over the loss of one beautiful brown-eyed young man is indeed to promptly invite another one into her bed. This is why I have been alone for many months now. This is why, in fact, I have decided to spend this entire year in celibacy.
哦，不过有太多原因表明 ，这是个恐怖的念头。首先 ，乔凡尼比我小十岁，而且— —和大多数二十来岁的意大利男人一样——他仍和妈妈住在一起。单凭这些事情，他就不是个恰当的恋人人选。尤其因为我是一位三十岁过半的美国职业女性 ，在刚刚经历失败的婚姻和没完没了的惨烈离婚过程后 ， 紧接着又来了一场以心碎告终的炽热恋情。这双重耗损使我感到悲伤脆弱，觉得自己像七千岁。纯粹出于原则问题，我不想把自己这样一团糟的可怜老女人，强加于清白可爱的乔凡尼身上。更甭说我这种年纪的女人已经开始会质疑，失去了一个褐眼年轻美男子 ，最明智的遗忘方式是否就是马上邀请另一个上床 。这就是我已独处数月的理由 。事实上，这正是我决定这一整年过独身生活的原因。
To which the savvy observer might inquire: "Then why did you come to Italy?"
机敏的观察者或许要问：“那你干嘛来意大利？”
To which I can only reply—especially when looking across the table at handsome Giovanni—"Excellent question."
我只能回答——尤其隔着桌子注视着俊俏的乔凡尼——“问得好”。
Giovanni is my Tandem Exchange Partner. That sounds like an innuendo, but unfortunately it's not. All it really means is that we meet a few evenings a week here in Rome to practice each other's languages. We speak first in Italian, and he is patient with me; then we speak in English, and I am patient with him. I discovered Giovanni a few weeks after I'd arrived in Rome, thanks to that big Internet café at the Piazza Barbarini, across the street from that fountain with the sculpture of that sexy merman blowing into his conch shell. He (Giovanni, that is—not the merman) had posted a flier on the bulletin board explaining that a native Italian speaker was seeking a native English speaker for conversational language practice. Right beside his appeal was another flier with the same request, word-for-word identical in every way, right down to the typeface. The only difference was the contact information. One flier listed an e-mail address for somebody named Giovanni; the other introduced somebody named Dario. But even the home phone number was the same.
乔凡尼是我的“串连交流伙伴”。这词听来颇具影射意味，可惜不然。它真正的意思是 ，我们每个礼拜在罗马此地见几个晚上的面 ，练习对方的语言。我们先以意大利语交谈，他宽容我；而后我们以英语交谈，我宽容他。我在抵达罗马几个礼拜后找到乔凡尼，多亏巴巴里尼广场（PiazzaBarbarini）的一家大网吧，就在吹海螺的性感男人鱼雕像喷泉对街。他（这指的是乔凡尼，而不是男人鱼）在布告板上贴了张传单，说有个操意大利母语的人想找以英文为母语的人练习语言会话 。在他的启事旁边有另一张传单，做出相同的寻人请求，逐字逐句、连打印字体都一模一样 。唯一不同的是联络资料。一张传单列出某某乔凡尼的电邮地址；另一张则介绍某个叫达里奥（Dario）的人。不过两人的住家电话则都一样。
Using my keen intuitive powers, I e-mailed both men at the same time, asking in Italian, "Are you perhaps brothers?"
运用敏锐的直觉力 ，我同时寄给两人电子邮件，用意大利文问道 ：“敢情你们是兄弟？”
It was Giovanni who wrote back this very provocativo message: "Even better. Twins!"
乔凡尼回复了一句相当挑逗的话：“更好咧。是双胞胎。”
Yes—much better. Tall, dark and handsome identical twenty-five-year-old twins, as it turned out, with those giant brown liquid-center Italian eyes that just unstitch me. After meeting the boys in person, I began to wonder if perhaps I should adjust my rule somewhat about remaining celibate this year. For instance, perhaps I could remain totally celibate except for keeping a pair of handsome twenty-five-year-old Italian twin brothers as lovers. Which was slightly reminiscent of a friend of mine who is vegetarian except for bacon, but nonetheless . . . I was already composing my letter to Penthouse:
是啊 ，好得多 。结果是两位身材高大、肤色浅黑、相貌英俊的二十五岁同卵双胞胎 ，水汪汪的意大利褐眼使我全身瘫软 。亲眼见到两名大男孩后 ，我开始盘算是否应该调整一下今年过独身生活的规定。比方说，或许我该全然保持独身，除了留着一对帅气的二十五岁意大利双胞胎当情人 。这有点像我一个吃素的朋友只吃腌肉。然而„„我已开始给 《阁楼》杂志写起信来：
In the flickering, candlelit shadows of the Roman café, it was impossible to tell whose hands were caress—
在罗马咖啡馆摇曳的烛影下，无法分辨谁的手 在抚摸——
