Staring Me In The Face
<1>
The tray didn't just hit the floor. It crashed and smashed his lunch to pieces. Serves you damn well right, I thought. You were staring again.
He stood stock-still and looked down at the food. Suddenly I got up and moved towards him. I hadn't intended to, hadn't wanted to help him. I called to the woman behind the counter. She closed her mouth and brought a cloth to clean up the mess. I picked up crockery, put it on the tray. There was a soppy stain on his trousers and through it you could see just how bony his knees were. Like the rest of him. All bones, dangling jacket and hanging trousers. Stooped shoulders and mile-long arms. Then he smiled at me. A wonderful smile that creased up his worn face and totally surprised me.
"Thank you."
I shoved the tray at him and went back to my table.
I worked at a large publishing company and ate lunch in the canteen. I had noticed him because he stared at me. He was weird-looking. His hair was badly cut and his clothes were ancient and dull; too-short corduroys, baggy at the knees and colour-less sweaters, dotted with fluff. Often he sat alone and just picked at his food. Or he read and jotted things down.
A few days after the crash, he stopped at the table I was sharing with Mark from proof reading, and asked if he might sit down. I said the seats were taken and continued eating. He apologised and took his tray off somewhere else.
"What's your problem, Leanna?" asked Mark.
"No problem. It's just that I like to choose who I share my mealtimes with."
"A bit rough on the old chap though."
I shrugged.
It was Mark who told me more about him. He had gone over to scrounge a cigarette. By the time he came back to the table, I had my head stuck into the news-paper.
"Interesting chap. Sub-editor. Been all over the world," said Mark.
I decided to find the newspaper more interesting and finally Mark shut up and finished smoking.
"Asked your name," he said.
"He what?"
"Yeah."
"What'd you say?"
"Leanna, of course."
I folded the newspaper.
"I've loads of work this afternoon."
"Said you look familiar," said Mark. "Like someone he knew."
<2>
"Someone he knew?"
"Yeah. Could be strategy. Maybe he fancies you."
"Fancies me? But he's old."
"Only old enough to be your father."
I grabbed my tray and left the table.
I didn't do much work that afternoon. I kept wishing Mark hadn't said what he had said. Old enough to be your father.
The following week I took along a book to read during lunchtime. When I got into the lift on my floor, he was already inside. He greeted me so I had to reply but I didn't smile. We were alone and that worried me. I wondered whether I should get out at the next floor and walk up the stairs to the canteen. Don't panic, I thought. Just because he's stared at you for ages doesn't mean he's going to do anything.
" Well, I suppose one of us should press the button or we'll be here all day, won't we?"
I'd been so busy wondering what he was going to do and expecting him to do something, that I'd completely forgotten to do anything myself. I felt like an idiot and this made me smile and I hadn't wanted to. He smiled back, his blue eyes crinkling right up to the grey hair at his ears and making him look ... nice. Then there was a slap. My book hit the floor. I bent down and so did he, and we bashed heads. At that moment, the lift shuddered to a stop and the doors seemed to fling themselves wide open. I was so embarrassed, I marched out of the lift, straight towards the queue at the counter. I ordered without looking at the menu and took my tray to a table where there was only one empty seat. I breathed a sigh of relief and began to eat. But the salad stuck in my throat when I noticed that everyone else at the table had already finished lunch and they were getting up to go. I glanced over at the counter. He was paying and in a second, his eyes would scan the room to find me. I ducked my head. Waited. Any minute now he'd sit down with his tray.
Short Stories from Australasia. My book appeared in front of my eyes. His fingers were the longest I'd seen and his nails were manicured. I hadn't thought he'd bother.
<3>
"You left it in the lift," he said. "May I sit down?"
His voice was soft. Cultivated. What could I say? The tables were all pretty full so I nodded. He said bon app閠it and began to eat. I'd always thought he picked at his food. But as I watched, I noticed that he selected small pieces, speared them and moved them carefully to his mouth.
"Have you been there?"
"Been where?" I was totally dazed. From dropping my book and banging my head and everything.
"Australia, New Zealand."
I stared at him and thought again of what Mark had said about me reminding him of someone. An Australian? Maybe an ex-girlfriend or wife?
"Not such a strange question," he said. "You're old enough to have travelled there. And Katherine Mansfield, Janet Frame, are most likely in the book."
His smile crinkled up his eyes.
"No, I haven't and yes, they are," I said.
That's how it started. He asked me a question, nodded when I spoke and then asked another. I was off, talking about reading, books and all that stuff I love.
Days later Malcolm passed our table with his tray and spontaneously I said a seat was free. Mark stared at me and I felt a rush of heat to my cheeks.
After that, Malcolm often sat with us and he and I discussed a lot of things. We spoke a little about ourselves too. I told him how Mom had brought me up on her own at the start of the Hippie Era. He said he had married during that time but divorced a few
years later. Mark asked me how come Malcolm and I always had so much to talk about.
"He's easy to talk to. And he reads a lot."
"You two got so much to say, I don't get a chance to open my mouth all lunch-time."
"You do. You shove food in."
One lunchtime Malcom asked me if I'd like to go to a reading with him.
"Um. Don't know."
"Amelia Turner. Shortlisted for the Booker Prize last year."
I wanted very much to go. But although I no longer thought Malcolm quite so weird, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go out in his company.
"Afterwards, I'll cook us curry. Do you like it? "
< 4 >
"Love it."
"Me too. Settled then?" he asked and smiled his soft smile.
It didn't surprise me that I nodded.
After the reading and the curry dinner, I went into Malcolm's sitting room where there were more books than I'd ever seen on anyone's shelves. I began to read the titles.
"Help yourself," said Malcolm.
"Thanks. But if I read a book, I have add it to my collection."
"Strange, same here." He waved his arms towards the shelves. "But look where it's got me."
"I'd hate to be without books. They're ... friends."
"That sounds like lonely," said Malcolm.
I turned and pulled out a book.
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Lonely?"
I shrugged.
"Not really."
"Not really but what?"
My voice came from a distance as I tried to answer him.
"I'm choosy about my friends. Don't have a great many."
"I'm listening," said Malcolm and sat down, indicating the armchair opposite him.
"My childhood was ... I mean, my mother loved moving around. She had no trouble putting down roots all over the place. I hated it! Books were the constant things, so I buried myself in them."
"Hell, sounds familiar."
I sat down in the armchair.
"I had very academic parents," said Malcolm. "Was an afterthought, perhaps a mistake even. They loved me in their vague intellectual way but left me alone to get on with growing up. Hence the books."
"That's lonely, too," I said.
When I left, I took along a couple of Malcolm's books.
My friendship with Malcolm grew but my curiousity remained. Who did I remind him of? My mother? If so, could he be my father? Although Mom had never bothered with books, our physical similarities, apart from my tallness, were undeniable. She had never told me much about the man who had fathered me. Clever, was all she had usually said. Once though, when I had been ill with chicken pox, and hot and scratchy, she had relented.
"What was he like?"
"Skinniest man you ever saw."
"Where'd you meet him?"
"In a park. I was catching a suntan and these papers started blowin' in my face. I was a bit cheesed off at them blowin' all over me and then this man comes runnin'. He grabbed and grabbed but couldn't catch them all. So he jus' stood still, a helpless look on his face. It was so funny, I started laughin'."
< 5 >
"And then?"
"I helped and we chased all over the place after them papers. When we sat down to get our breath back, he told me he was a student. He was ever so clever. Can't re-member what the devil it was he was studyin'. Somethin' I'd never heard of then or since."
"Why didn't you marry him?"
"Marry him? Good Lord, Leanna, I wasn't ready to marry and he wasn't the type I'd have wanted to marry by a long shot."
"What else did he look like, Mom?"
"Lord, stop the questions, child. Get some sleep."
She saw my disappointment however, and said she would write it all down for me. Put it in an envelope to open when she was dead and gone. I was happy with that. On a wet, slick highway, driving to France for a weekend, she was involved in an accident and died instantly. I was twenty-three then and on my own feet but as I sorted through and packed up the belongings in her flat, I felt like a child again. I looked for the envelope but didn't find one. For a long time after, my mother's death and not knowing who my father was, made me feel as though I was drifting on a sea without horizons.
One lunchtime I just decided to brave it and ask Malcolm who I reminded him of.
"Met her while I was a student," he said.
"Was she studying too?"
"Oh, heavens, no. That was what attracted me to her. She was ... so different."
"What were you like?" I asked.
"Like? Much as I am now. Nose in books, bit of a loner. Not very interesting. Not for a live wire like she was."
"Go on," I said.
"She fell pregnant. I was very happy until she told me she didn't want my help. Thought she'd change her mind, though, as the pregnancy advanced but when I attempted to see her, she told me to leave her be. I was very hurt but accepted her refusal to involve me. A few months later, I took a job I'd been offered in New York. Salary was dreadful but I thought it would be for the best."
"Was it? " I asked.
"No. When I returned, they'd moved. Left no forwarding address."
< 6 >
"So you never knew whether it was a boy or ...? "
"A girl?" asked Malcolm.
I nodded.
"A boy," he said. "Had the approximate date and went to the Registry of Births to look it up."
I sat there, trying to take in what Malcom had said. I felt as though I'd been flattened by a truck.
"Somewhere out there I have a child I know nothing about," Malcom continued. "I was stupid. Rushed off instead of staying to have a share in my son's life."
"I thought perhaps it was a daughter."
"Beg your pardon?"
"A daughter. Me."
"You thought I was ... your father?"
"Books, curry, I'm tall. We ... we like the same things."
"We definitely have things in common but I'm not your father." He looked at me.
"I'm so sorry to disappoint you, Leanna." I tried to smile.
"We're not related but we can be something else."
"What?"
"Can't you think of anything?"
"Uh uh."
"Friends."
"Friends?"
"It's been staring you in the face for weeks." Malcolm's use of that phrase made me burst out laughing.
"Let me in on the joke sometime," he said.
"Okay," I said. "Tell you sometime seeing we're friends."
Then I smiled. And my smile was as wide and warm as the one he smiled in return.
深情凝眸
‹1›
他的饭碟掉在地上摔得粉碎，午餐就这样泡汤了。活该，谁让他又朝我这儿看呢。
他站得笔直望着落在地上的食物。我突然站起朝他走去，我本不想这样，不想去帮助他。我叫了柜台的小姐，她拿了一块布收拾起地上狼藉的东西。他裤子上溅上了污渍，可以看到，他的膝盖多瘦啊，他其他部位也都如此，瘦骨嶙峋。他穿着宽松的夹克、笔挺的裤子，肩膀弯弯，手臂长长。他冲我笑了笑，笑容使皱纹爬上了他饱经风霜的脸。我完全被他的笑容震惊了。
“谢谢。”他说。
我把好碟子推给他，径直回到我的桌边。
我在一家大型出版公司工作，经常在那家餐厅吃饭。我早就注意到他老是盯着我了。他样子怪怪的，头发理得很糟，衣服又老又暗，过短的灯芯绒裤子在膝部垂下来，褪色的毛线衫上起了无数的小绒毛。他经常独自坐着吃些东西，或者读书并作些记录。
掉碟子这件事过去好多天以后，他在我与马克阅读校样的桌前停下，问他能不能坐在那儿。我说那个座位已经占了还继续吃我的饭。他说声抱歉，拿着碟子到别的座位去了。
马克从洗手间回来说：“你怎么了，莱安娜？”
我说：“没什么，我有选择和谁就餐的权利。”
马克说：“不过你对老人有点粗鲁了。”
我耸了耸肩。
是马克让我知道了更多关于老人的情况。他出去吸烟，回来时我正全神贯注地看报纸。
马克说：“一个有趣的人，是副主编，曾踏遍整个世界。”
我不以为意，在报纸上找更为有趣的东西。马克停止了吸烟。
“他问了你的名字。”马克说。
“什么？他？”
“是”
“那你说了什么？”
“当然告诉他你叫莱安娜了。”
我合起报纸，说：“下午我还有一大堆工作要做。”
马克说：“他说你像他认识的一个人。”
‹2›
“他认识的一个人？”
“是，他可能在搞鬼，或许他喜欢上你呢。”
“喜欢我？他那么老。”
“都可以做你父亲了。”
我抄起餐具就走。
那天下午我没有太多的工作。我一直在想如果马克不告诉我那些多好啊。他老得都足以做我父亲了。
接下来的一周我拿本书在午饭时间读。我进电梯，发现他正在里面。他跟我打招呼，我只得应付他，但没有笑。和他单独在一起我很惶恐，都想该不该到二楼就出去然后爬楼梯到餐厅了。我又想莫着慌，他盯了我那么久并不意味着他要做什么呀。
我满脑子想的都是他到底想做什么，并期望他赶快明示，如此我倒忘了自己要做些什么了。我觉得自己像个傻瓜。他冲我笑，蓝的眼睛弯向耳边的灰发，那时他真…… 好看。“啪哒”一声我的书掉下了，我弯腰去拾，他也去拾，我们的头撞在一起，那一刻电梯停住。我尴尬极了，冲出电梯，买了饭菜，如释重负地叹了口气，开始吃。我扫了一眼柜台，他在结帐，忽而转过头来在屋子里寻找我，我低下头等待，他随时都可能拿着碟子来到我身边。
我的《奥斯特拉西雅短篇小说集》出现在我眼前，我还从未见过他那么长的手指，指甲修剪得很好，我相信他不会把我怎么样。
‹3›
他对我说：“你把这本书丢在电梯里了，我可以坐这儿么？”
他声音柔和得很，听得出他很有修养。我说什么好呢？其它桌又正好全被人占了，于是我点头。我一直以为他吃东西是狼吞虎咽呢，一看才知他总是用叉子一小块一小块儿小心地往嘴里放。
“你去过那儿吗？”他问。
“去过哪儿？”我彻底糊涂了，书脱手掉在地上，用手锤头，我不知怎么样才好了。
“澳大利亚，新西兰。”
我盯着他，回忆起了马克说的他是由我想到了某个人，一个澳大利亚人？也许是他的前女友或妻子？
他说：“问题并不怪啊，按你的年纪应该到那儿旅游过了。凯瑟琳•马斯菲尔德，吉奈特•弗雷姆，还有许多书上的人物都去过。”
笑容爬上了他眼角。
我说：“你说的没错，不过我没去过。”
这就是我们故事的开始，他问我一个问题，我说的时候他就点头，接着又问一个。我时间很宽裕，谈阅读，书籍和一切我深爱的东西。
他叫迈克尔姆。
几天后迈克尔姆端着碟子经过我们桌子，自然而然地我说这儿有个空座呢，马克奇怪地盯着我，我感到脸上一阵阵发烧。
从那以后，迈克尔姆经常和我们坐在一起，和我们探讨很多很多的东西，也谈到了我们自己的一些情况。我告诉他妈妈是如何独自把我抚养大的，他说他就是在那时结的婚，但几年后又离了婚。马克问我怎么和他有那么多话可谈的。
我说：“他人很随和，读过很多书。”
马克说：“你们谈的太好了，我都没有机会插嘴啊。”
我说：“你嘴也没闲着呀，你一直在吃嘛。”
一次午餐中，他问我愿不愿意和他一起去读书。
我说：“嗯，我不知道。”
他说：“我有阿米莉亚•特纳的书，去年得过图书奖的。”
我很乐意去了，但是我不再以为他那么怪了，可是和他一起出去我还是心有顾虑。
他说：“过一会儿，我煮些咖喱，你喜不喜欢？”
‹4›
我说：“喜欢。”
他轻柔地笑着说：“我也喜欢。就这么定了？”
看过书并用过咖喱后，我走进迈克尔姆的书房，那儿的书比我在别人书架上所看到的都要多。我去看到底是些什么书。
迈克尔姆说：“你可以随便拿出看看。”
我说：“谢谢，但如果我读一本书，我一定要把它加入我的收藏。”
他伸出手臂指着那些书架说：“我也一样。”
我说：“我讨厌没有书的日子。它们是……我朋友。”
迈克尔姆说：“听起来你很孤独。”
我大声回答：“我对朋友很挑剔，没有很多朋友。”
迈克尔姆坐下说：“我知道了。”让我在他对面的扶手椅上坐下。
我说：“我的童年……我的意思是说我母亲喜欢到处游历，在哪儿落脚她都毫无挂碍，我厌恶极了！书籍可是忠实的伙伴，所以我埋头其中。”
他说：“那种苦日子听起来真熟悉。我出生在学者之家，是个遗憾，可能甚至是个错误，他们以与众不同的方式爱我，让我独自成长，与书为伴。”
我说：“你也很孤独啊。”
我走时，带走了迈克尔姆的一打书。
我和迈克尔姆的友情与日俱增，可是我的好奇还没消除。我到底让他想到了谁？我母亲吗？如是那样，他就是我父亲了？可妈妈对书没兴趣，长得也和我不像啊。无可否认，我很高而她却很矮。她也没多向我谈及过有关父亲的事，只是她经常说他很聪明。记得有一次我出水痘，燥热奇痒难熬，妈妈第一次显露了她母性的柔情。
当时我问妈妈：“父亲长什么样啊？”
妈妈说：“天下最瘦的男人就是他。”
我问：“你们在哪儿相识的？”
她说：“在一个公园，我正晒太阳，有一大张纸向我吹来。我被那种情景搞晕了。这时一个男人跑了过来，他抓了又抓也没有抓到，傻傻地站着，一副无助的样子，看起来真好玩，我就笑了。”
‹5›
“然后呢？”
“我们共同遍地追赶飘飞的纸，我们坐下来喘口气的时候他告诉我他是个学生。他真聪明，天知道他在学习什么专业，我从来都没听说过。”
“你为什么不嫁给他？”
“嫁给他？天哪，莱安娜，我还不准备结婚，他也不是我心仪的那种男人。”
“妈妈，他长得什么样啊？”
“天啊，别问了，孩子，睡觉去吧。”
她看到我很失望的样子，就说她会把那些事都为我写下来，放入信封，等她死了以后让我看，我很开心。在一个阴雨天，母亲开车去法国度周末，高速公路很滑，发生了车祸，母亲当场死亡。那时我二十三岁，已经相当独立了，但当我整理母亲房间的遗物，我发现我又变成了小孩子。我寻找她所说的信封，可是没找到。很长一段时间，由于母亲的死和父亲的不明，我感觉如同在无边的海上漂流。
一天午餐时间，我终于鼓足勇气问迈克尔姆我到底使他想起了谁。
他说：“见到她时我还是个学生呢。”
“她也在上学吗？”
“哦，不，不，那就是她吸引我的地方，她是……如此与众不同。我埋头书海，甘于寂寞，过得平淡无奇，而她那样活力四射的。”
“往下说啊？”
“她怀孕了，我高兴坏了，不过她说不需要我帮忙。想到她可能改变主意，她肚子也渐渐大起来，我去看望她，可是她让我走开。我很伤心，接受了她对我的拒绝。几个月后，我在纽约找到了工作，薪水少得可怜，我以为那就不错了。”
“就这些吗？”我问。
“不，我后来回去找他们，她们搬家了，没留新地址。”
‹6›
“所以你不知道那是个男孩还是女孩？”
他说：“是个男孩，我估计了时期，去妇产登记处查过了。”
我在那儿坐着，努力地听他所说的每一个字，那感觉好像有一辆卡车从我身上碾了过去。
他接着说：“某个地方生活着我的儿子，而我却对他一无所知。我真傻，让走就走，没留下跟儿子待过一天。”
“我想可能是个女儿。”
“什么？”
“一个女儿，我。”
“你的意思是……我是你的父亲？”
“爱看书，好喝咖喱，个子高，你我喜欢同样的东西。”
他紧紧看着我说：“我们确实有许多相似之处，可是我不是你的父亲。”
我心里说：“莱安娜，很抱歉使你失望了。”我勉强笑了笑。
“我们没有血缘关系，不过可以有其他的啊？”
“什么？”
“你能想到什么？”
“呃……我不知道啊。”
“友情。”
“友情？”
“我凝视你已经几个星期了。”他的话使我哑然失笑，“请允许我有空找你聊天。”
我说：“到时会通知你的，因为我们是朋友嘛。”
然后我笑了，和他回应给我的微笑一样灿烂和温馨。