韦恩斯坦盖着被子躺在床上,无精打采、心灰意懒地盯着天花板。屋外,一团团潮气从人行道上升起蔓延,让人透不过气来。此时此刻,来来往往的车辆声音震耳欲聋,而最难受的是他的床,热得要命。瞧瞧我,他心里想,都五十岁了,那可是半个世纪呢。明年我五十一,后年就五十二。照这样,至多他能盘算到今后五年的日子。剩下的时间只有这一点点,他琢磨着,可是要做的事还多着呢。比如,他想学会开车。从前在拉士路常和他一起玩陀螺的朋友艾德曼,已经在巴黎大学把开车学会了。他车开得挺棒,都自个 Weinstein was covered in a blanket quilt, listless, staring at the ceiling disheartened. Outside the house, a mass of tidal currents rising from the sidewalk, people breathless. At this moment, the sound of vehicles coming and going deafening, and the most uncomfortable is his bed, hot to death. Look at me, he thought, are fifty years old, but it is half a century yet. I will be 51 next year and I will be 52 next year. In this way, at most he can count the days of the next five years. The rest of the time only this little bit, he wondered, but more to do yet. For example, he wants to learn to drive. Edelman, a friend who used to play gyro with him on La Strauss Road, was already driving a car at the University of Paris. He drives very well, both himself