他们两人非常确定
彼此的激情不过碰巧被点燃。
这深信不疑是多么美妙啊，
但更美妙的是心中的疑团。
They’re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
既然素昧平生，他们肯定
彼此之间从未有过交集。
可是从街上、楼梯、大厅里传来了只字片语——
或许，他们的擦肩，已发生过千千万万遍？
Since they’d never met before, they’re sure
that there’d been nothing between them.
But what’s the word from the streets, staircases, hallways—
perhaps they’ve passed by each other a million times?
我想问他们 难道不记得吗——
在一个旋转门里
面对面的那个瞬间？
或是拥挤人群中一句低低的道歉？
电话那头戛然而止的“你打错了”？
但我知道答案，
不，他们没有印象。
I want to ask them
if they don’t remember —
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver? —
but I know the answer.
No, they don’t remember.
他们会觉得难以置信
因为缘分已经戏弄了他们
这么多年。
They’d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
但缘分还未
变成他们的命运，
它将两人一次次拉近，一次次驱离，
挡住前行的路，
扼住开怀的笑，
而后，跳到一旁。
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
四周满是迹象和信号，
即便他们视而不见。
或许是三年以前吧
或许是上个星期二
有那么一片树叶
从我的肩，飘到了你的肩？
There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn’t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
什么东西掉落地上，又被捡起。
谁知道呢？也许是消失进
童年深处那丛灌木里的圆球？
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood’s thicket?
门上的把手和电铃
前面的人刚碰过
后面的人又触摸。
那些行李箱，被检查完毕后并着排摆放。
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
也许某个晚上，他们做了同样的梦
清晨时却已记忆朦胧。
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
所有的开始
都不过是续集而已，
而这部无始无终的书
却总是从中间被翻起。
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
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