(由 Google 翻译)《欲望的重量》
作者:K.A. 希尔·麦克弗森
星期一晚上,酒吧坐落在湖边,淡季的夜色静谧。几个男人独自一人,例行公事地喝着酒,仿佛要戒掉一种快要死的习惯。空气中弥漫着嘈杂的谈话声,他们的声音大到足以掩盖他们内心深处的沉默,他们试图用那些陈旧得不再重要的观点来改变这个世界。
这时,门开了。
一个陌生人走了进来。不是本地人。从他披在肩上的外套,以及他手表在酒吧灯光下闪闪发光的样子,你就能看出来。他很慷慨。孤独。醉醺醺的。
他滑到当地人旁边的一张凳子上,把一张黑色的金属卡拍在吧台上。
“我买点东西。点什么?”
男人们毫不犹豫地点了。啤酒。烈酒。仪式感十足。
他们像在沙漠中徘徊的人一样喝酒,渴望得到某种东西来填饱肚子,却又知道这远远不够。威士忌燃烧起来,却始终无法触及内心的空虚。
然后她走了进来。
她不慌不忙,仿佛知道自己可以慢慢来。
高挑的身材,一头金发。一件闪耀的羊绒衫,一条紧身的烟管裤,仿佛是为她量身定做的。她是那种让男人为之倾倒的女人,那种见识过一切却依然不为所动的女人。
气氛凝重。谈话断断续续。男人们注视着她,如同饥渴的目光下雨般,仿佛仅仅注视她就足够了。
她坐在酒吧的另一头。点了一杯加冰波本威士忌,声音低沉而沉稳。她的目光没有与他们对视,甚至没有朝他们的方向飘去。她仿佛身处异处。又或许,她只是厌倦了被人注视。
酒保凑近她。“这酒真不错。”
男人们点了点头。他们知道。
但他们没有说话。他们做不到。
她慢慢地喝着酒,仿佛在品味这转瞬即逝的瞬间,即便她知道这转瞬即逝。男人们注视着她,在对视的间隙,他们感到自己渴望着某种永远无法得到的东西。
她喝完了酒,一言不发地付了钱。
然后她走了。
门在她身后轻轻关上。
男人们保持着沉默,那种在某件事过去之后才会出现的沉默,但他们谁也不明白那是什么。
慷慨的男人清了清嗓子。“再来一轮?”
酒保点点头,一言不发地倒上下一杯。
外面的世界寒冷、寂静、黑暗。而男人们继续喝酒。
一杯接一杯。
(原文)
“The Weight of Wanting”
By K.A. Hill McPherson
Monday night. The pub sat lakeside, quiet in the off-season. A few men, alone in their routines, nursed their drinks like a dying habit. The air was thick with words, their voices loud enough to cover the silence that lived in all of them, as they tried to fix the world with opinions too worn to matter anymore.
Then the door opened.
A stranger stepped in. Not from around here. You could tell by the way his coat settled over his shoulders, by the shine of his watch that caught the bar light. Generous. Alone. Drunk.
He slid onto a stool near the locals, slapped a black metal card on the bar.
“I’m buying. What’ll it be?”
The men didn’t hesitate. Beers. Shots. The ritual.
They drank like men wandering through a desert, desperate for something to fill them, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. The whiskey burned, but it never reached the emptiness inside.
Then she walked in.
There was no rush about her. She moved like she knew she could take her time.
Tall. Blonde. A cashmere sweater that caught the light, cigarette pants that fit like they were made for her. The kind of woman men had killed for, the kind who had seen it all and remained untouched by it.
The air shifted. Conversations faltered. The men watched her the way the thirsty watch rain, as if just seeing her might be enough.
She sat at the far end of the bar. Ordered bourbon on the rocks, her voice low, steady. Her eyes didn’t meet theirs, didn’t even drift in their direction. She was somewhere else. Or maybe she was just done being seen.
The bartender leaned in close. “That’s the good stuff.”
The men nodded. They knew.
But they didn’t speak. They couldn’t.
She took her time with the drink, as though savoring a moment that wouldn’t last, even though she knew it couldn’t. The men watched her, and in the space between their stares, they felt the weight of wanting something they’d never have.
She finished her drink. Paid without a word.
Then she was gone.
The door shut softly behind her.
The men stayed in the quiet, the kind that comes after something has passed, but none of them can quite understand what it was.
The generous man cleared his throat. “Another round?”
The bartender nodded, pouring the next drink without a word.
The world outside was cold, still, dark. And the men kept drinking.
One drink at a time.