I drop my face in my hands for a longer and even sadder time. Finally I look up, only to see that one of the Albanian women who work at the Internet café has paused from her nightshift mopping of the floor to lean against the wall and watch me. We hold our tired gazes on each other for a moment. Then I give her a grim shake of my head and say aloud, "This blows ass." She nods sympathetically. She doesn't understand, but of course, in her way, she understands completely.

我把头埋在手中，持续一段更长、更悲伤的时间。终于抬起头来的时候，我看见在网吧工作的一名阿尔巴尼亚妇女，停下手边的夜班拖地工作，靠在墙上看着我。我们疲倦的眼神望着彼此一会儿，然后我对她郑重摇摇头，大声说：倒胃口！她同情地点点头。即使她听不懂，却以她自己的方式完全明白。

My cell phone rings.

我的手机响了。

It's Giovanni. He sounds confused. He says he's been waiting for me for over an hour in the Piazza Fiume, which is where we always meet on Thursday nights for language exchange. He's bewildered, because normally he's the one who's late or who forgets to show up for our appointments, but he got there right on time tonight for once and he was pretty sure—didn't we have a date?

是乔凡尼。他听起来很困惑。他说已在河流广场（Piazza Fiume）等了我一个多小时，那是我们每周四晚间会面做语言交流的地方。他感到迷惘，因为通常迟到或忘记赴约的人总是他。可是今晚他一反平常，准时到达那里，而且他十分肯定——我们不是有约吗？

I'd forgotten. I tell him where I am. He says he'll come pick me up in his car. I'm not in the mood for seeing anybody, but it's too hard to explain this over the telefonino, given our limited language skills. I go wait outside in the cold for him. A few minutes later, his little red car pulls up and I climb in. He asks me in slangy Italian what's up. I open my mouth to answer and collapse into tears. I mean—wailing. I mean—that terrible, ragged breed of bawling my friend Sally calls "double-pumpin' it," when you have to inhale two desperate gasps of oxygen with every sob. I never even saw this griefquake coming, got totally blindsided by it.

我忘记我们有约。我跟他说我在何处。他说他会开车过来接我。我没心情见任何人，但透过迷你电话很难说明，鉴于我们有限的语言能力。我在寒冷的户外等候他。几分钟过后，他的红色小车停了下来，我爬进车里。他用意大利俚语问我怎么回事。我张嘴回答却潸然泪下。我是说——嚎啕大哭。我是说，如我朋友莎莉所谓双重抽吸的可怕哀号——在你每次啜泣之时，都得使劲儿吸两口氧气。我在全然毫无防备的情况下，从未见识过这惊天动地的悲痛乍然来临。

Poor Giovanni! He asks in halting English if he did something wrong. Am I mad at him, maybe? Did he hurt my feelings? I can't answer, but only shake my head and keep howling. I'm so mortified with myself and so sorry for dear Giovanni, trapped here in this car with this sobbing, incoherent old woman who is totally a pezzi—in pieces.

可怜的乔凡尼！他用结结巴巴的英语问我他是否做错了什么事。我在生他的气吗？他是否伤了我的感情？我回答不了，只能摇摇头，继续嚎哭。我对自己感到懊恼，对亲爱的乔凡尼深感抱歉，他和我这个啜泣、神智不清、完全粉身碎骨的老女人被困在这辆车里。

I finally manage to rasp out an assurance that my distress has nothing to do with him. I choke forth an apology for being such a mess. Giovanni takes charge of the situation in a manner far beyond his years. He says, "Do not apologize for crying. Without this emotion, we are only robots." He gives me some tissues from a box in the back of the car. He says, "Let's drive."

最后我以粗嘎的嗓门一再表示，我的悲痛与他无关。我为自己的失态哽咽着向他致歉。乔凡尼以远超过自己年纪的态度控制住场面。他说：别因为哭泣而道歉。若没有这样的情绪，我们就只是机器人罢了。他从后座的面纸盒里拿了几张面纸给我。 他说：我们开车吧。