午餐 原作者：毛姆 译者：江铭辉
午餐 原作者：毛姆 译者：江铭辉
我在看歌舞剧表演时，瞧见她，她也向我打招呼。中场换幕休息时，我走过去坐在她的身边。自从上次与她见面，已经过了很久，如果不是别人谈起她的名字，我简直认不出来就是她。她很高兴和我交谈。
“呵，多年不见了，时光飞驰！我们都已不再年轻了。你还记不记得我第一次与你相遇的事情？你请我吃午餐。”
我会忘记吗？
那是二十年前的事了，我住在巴黎拉丁区一间狭小的公寓里，公寓正对着一个公墓，我的收入仅能糊口。她拜读我的一本书，来信与我讨论，我回信感谢她。不久，我又收到她的来信，说她正好会经过巴黎，希望与我聊聊。但因受到时间的限制，仅下星期四的短暂片刻有空。那天早上她会在卢森堡公园，问我是否愿意请她在富约特餐厅吃一顿简单的午餐？富约特餐厅是法国参议员们常去的地方，消费远远超过我负担的能力，我从来没有想过要去那里。但是，我当时有些受宠若惊，并且我还太年轻，以至于尚未学会如何向女人说「不」。（我可以补充一句话吗？男人除非年纪大到每句话都不会对女孩子有任何影响时，很少人会向女人说「不」。）我当时有80法郎（金法郎），还能维持到月底，一顿普通的午餐应该不会超过15法郎的。我把下两个星期的咖啡钱省下来，应该足够应付了。
我回信表示愿意与我的通信朋友星期四中午12点半在富约特见面。她并没有我想象的那么年轻，派头很大但并不迷人。事实上她已经40岁出头了（一个迷人的年龄，可惜不会让人看了顿生激情，一见钟情）。她给我的印象是牙齿很多又白又大又整齐，而且好像比实际需要的还多。她很健谈，且既然似乎喜欢谈论我，我只好准备当一个忠诚的听众了。
菜单递来时，我吃了一惊，因为价格比我预期的还高出许多。但是她再三向我保证：“我午餐从来不吃任何东西的”，她说。
“哦，别这么说！”我装作慷慨的样子回答着。
“我从未吃超过一样东西，我觉得现在人们吃得太多了。或许，一点点鱼就够了。不知他们有没有鲑鱼？”
哟，今年这个时候离鲑鱼上市季节还很早，所以菜单上价格尚未列出，但我还是问了侍者，是否有鲑鱼。有，刚进了一条美丽的鲑鱼，这是今年购进的第一条。我为我的客人点了它。侍者又问：正在烹煮的时刻，她要不要来点其他的东西。
“不用了，”她回答，“我向来只吃一样东西，除非你这里有鱼子酱。我不介意来点鱼子酱。”
我的心不由沉落一下。我知道我付不起鱼子酱的价钱，但是却说不出口。我告诉侍者无论如何一定要上鱼子酱，我自己只点菜单上最便宜的一道菜，羊排。
“我觉得你吃肉是不明智的，”她说，“我不知道吃了羊排这样油腻的东西之后，你还希望继续工作吗？我是不喜欢让我的胃负担过重。”
紧接着酒的问题来了。
“午餐时我不喝任何东西，”她说。
“我也不喝，”我赶紧说。
“除了白葡萄酒，”她继续地说，好像我什么都没说。
“这些法国白葡萄酒口味很淡，对消化有神奇帮助。”
“那你要什么？”我问，虽然仍旧表示好客，但已经不那么殷勤了。
她朝我露出闪亮的白牙齿，温和地对我笑着说。
“我的医生除了香槟外，什么都不准我喝。”
我觉得我的脸变得有点白。我叫了半瓶香槟。若无其事的说，我的医生严禁我喝香槟。
“那你喝什么？”
“水吧。”
她吃着鱼子酱和鲑鱼，愉快地谈论着艺术、文学和音乐。但是我却担心着账单不知道要付多少。在等我的羊排送来的时候，她以非常严肃的口气教训我。
“看来你习惯午餐吃得比较油腻，这肯定是错误地。为什么不学学我，就只吃一样东西呢？我保证你会觉得比以前更好。”
“我将只吃一样东西，”当侍者又拿着菜单走过来时，我这样说。
她优雅地打了个手势让他走到一边。
“不，不，我午餐从来不吃任何东西。仅只一口，决对不多，而且我吃那么一点，不是为别的，只是有交谈的借口罢了。我不可能再吃任何食物，除非他们有那种大芦笋。如果没有吃到那种大芦笋就离开巴黎，我会感到非常遗憾的。”
我的心往下沉，我曾经在商店看过这种芦笋，知道它的价钱贵得很惊人，使我望着它流涎不已。
“夫人想知道你们是否有那种大芦笋？”我问侍者。
我竭力希望他说没有。侍者宽大、牧师般的脸上露出开心的微笑。他向我保证他们有那样巨大的、鲜艳的、柔嫩的，另人惊奇的芦笋。
“我一点也不饿，”我的客人叹了一口气，“但是如果你坚持，我也不介意来点芦笋。”
我点了芦笋。
“你不来点吗？”
“不，我从来不吃芦笋。”
“我知道有些人不喜欢芦笋。其实，你的味觉被你吃的肉毁掉了。”
我们等候芦笋的烹调。恐惧一直盘据我，现在已经不是我可剩多少钱过完这个月的问题，而是我是否有足够的钱可结账。如果结账时发现差了10法郎，非向我的客人借钱的话，我可做不出这种事。我知道自己真正有多少钱。我打定主意，如果账单上的钱超过，我就把手往口袋里一伸，然后戏剧性地开始大叫钱包被扒走了。当然，如果她也没有足够的钱来付账的话，那会很尴尬。那么唯一的办法是将我的手表留下，然后说我会回来付账。
芦笋端来了，巨大、多汁又开胃。黄油融化的味道刺激我的鼻孔，像虔诚犹太人祭品的香味钻入耶和华的鼻孔一样。眼望着那贪馋的女人大口大口的将芦笋塞进咽喉，而我以礼貌性的口气谈论着巴尔干各国的戏剧状况。最后，她总算吃完了。
“咖啡？”我说。
“好的，只来一客冰淇淋和一杯咖啡，”她说。
现在我不再理会账单了，因此我给自己叫了咖啡并且给她点了冰淇淋和咖啡。
“你知道吧，有一件事我是绝对相信的，“她一边吃着冰淇淋一边说，“一个人吃完一餐时，总应感到还能再吃一些。”
“你还饿吗？”我有气无力的问。
“哦，不，我不饿；你看，我是不吃午餐。我每天早晨喝一杯咖啡，然后接下来就是晚餐，午餐时我向来只吃一点。我正游说你这样作。”
“哦，我明白！”
接着，可怕的事情发生了。当我们等咖啡的时候，领班满脸虚伪，带着讨好的笑容，拿着满满一大篮巨桃朝我们走过来。那些桃子颜色红得像是纯洁少女脸上的粉红；充满着意大利风景的艳丽色彩。但是确信，现在还不是桃子生产的季节，天晓得它值多少钱？但不久，我也知道了，因为我的这位客人，一边继续着她的谈话，一边心不在焉地拿起一个。
“你看，你胃里塞满了肉，”--可怜的我那一小块羊排-- “吃不下更多的东西了。但我只吃了一些点心，所以我可再享受一个桃子。”
账单来了，我发现剩下的钱连付小费都很勉强。她瞄一下我留给侍者的三法郎小费。我知道她觉得我小气。但是当我走出餐厅时，面临的是未来还有一整月我口袋里连一个辨士也没有。
“你要向我学习，” 当她跟我握手时，说，“午餐不要吃多于一种。”
“我会做得比这个更好，”我回敬道，“今天晚餐我将不吃任何东西。”
“幽默家，”她开心地叫道，跳进一辆出租车，“你真是一位幽默家！”
但是最后我还是报仇了。我自信不是报复心很强的人，但是，如果连上帝对这件事情也帮忙的话，我以心满意足的心情来看这个结果，也是可以原谅的了。因为今天她的体重肯定有21石（注：294磅，约133公斤）。*
*石是英制重量单位，1英石相当于14英磅。
The Luncheon（原文）
I caught sight of her at the play and in answer to her beckoning I went over during the interval and sat down beside her. It was long since I had last seen her and if someone had not mentioned her name, I hardly think I would have recognized her. She addressed me brightly.
“Well, its many years since we first met. How time does fly! We’re none of us getting any younger. Do you remember the first time I saw you? You asked me to luncheon.” Did I remember?
It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a tiny apartment in the Latin Quarter overlooking a cemetery and I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. She had read a book of mine and had written to me about it. I answered, thanking her, and presently I received from her another letter saying she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; but her time was limited and the only free moment she had was on the following Thursday; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a little luncheon at Foyot’s afterwards? Foyot’s is a restaurant at which the French senators eat and it was so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going there. But I was flattered and I was too young to have learned to say no to a woman. (Few men, I may add, learn this until they are too old to make it of any consequence to a woman what they say.) I had eighty francs (gold francs) to last me the rest of the month and a modest luncheon should not cost more than fifteen. If I cut out coffee for the next two weeks I could manage well enough.
I answered that I would meet my friend—by correspondence—at Foyot’s on Thursday at half-past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearance imposing rather than attractive. She was in fact a woman of forty (a charming age, but not one that excites a sudden and devastating passion at first sight), and she gave me the impression of having more teeth, white and large and even, than were necessary for any practical purpose. She was ‘ talkative, but since she seemed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.
I was startled when the bill of fare was brought, for, the prices were a great deal higher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me. “I never eat anything for luncheon”, she said.
“Oh, don’t say that!” I answered generously.
“I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. A little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.”
Well, it was early in the year for salmon and it was not on the bill of fare, but I asked the waiter if there was, any. Yes, a beautiful salmon had just come in, it was the first they had had. I ordered it for my guest.The waiter asked her if she would have something while it was being cooked. “No”, she answered, “I never eat more than one thing, unless you had a little caviare. I never mind caviare.”
My heart sank a little. I knew I could not afford caviare, but I could not very well tell her that. I told the waiter by all means to bring caviare. For myself I chose the cheapest dish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.
“I think you’re unwise to eat meat,” she said. “I don’t know how you can expect to work after eating heavy things like chops. I don’t believe in overloading my stomach.”
Then came the question of drink.
“I never drink anything for luncheon,” she said.
“Neither do I,” I answered promptly.
“Except white wine,” she proceeded as though I had not spoken. “These French white wines are so light. They’re wonderful for the digestion.”
“What would you like?” I asked, hospitable still, but not exactly effusive. She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white teeth.
“My doctor won’t let me drink anything but champagne.”
I fancy I turned a trifle pale. I ordered half a bottle. I mentioned casually that my doctor had absolutely forbidden me to drink champagne.
“What are you going to drink, then?”
“Water.”
She ate the caviare and she ate the salmon. She talked gaily of art and literature and music. But I wondered what the bill would come to. When my mutton chop arrived she took me quite seriously to task.
“I see that you’re in the habit of eating a heavy luncheon. I’m sure it’s a mistake. Why don’t you follow my example and just eat one thing? I’m sure you’d feel ever so much better for it.”
“I am only going to eat one thing,” I said as the waiter came again with the bill of fare.
She waved him aside with an airy gesture.
“No, no, I never eat anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than that, and I eat that more as an excuse for conversation than anything else. I couldn’t possibly eat anything more—unless they had some of those giant asparagus. I should be sorry to leave Paris without having some of them.”
My heart sank. I had seen them in the shops and I knew that they were horribly expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them.
“Madame wants to know if you have any of those giant asparagus,” I asked the waiter.
I tried with all my might to will him to say no. A happy smile spread over his broad, priest-like face, and he assured me that they had some so large, so splendid, so tender, that it was a marvel.
“I’m not in the least hungry,” my guest sighed, “but if you insist I don’t mind having some asparagus.” I ordered them.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” “No, I never eat asparagus.”
“I know there are people who don’t like them. The fact is, you ruin your palate by all the meat you eat.”
We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic seized me. It was not a question now how much money I should have left over for the rest of the month, but whether I had enough to pay the bill. It would be mortifying to find myself ten francs short and be obliged to borrow from my guest. I could not bring myself to do that. I knew exactly how much I had and if the bill came to more I made up my mind that I would put my hand in my pocket and with a dramatic cry start up and say it had been picked. Of course it would be awkward if she had not money enough either to pay the bill. Then the only thing would be to leave my watch and say I would come back and pay later.
The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succulent and appetising. The smell of the melted butter tickled my nostrils as the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites. I watched the abandoned woman thrust them down her throat in large voluptuous mouthful and in my polite way I discoursed on the condition of the drama in the Balkans. At last she finished.
“Coffee?” I said.
“Yes, just an ice-cream and coffee,” she answered.
I was past caring now, so I ordered coffee for myself and an ice-cream and coffee for her.
“You know, there’s one thing I thoroughly believe in”, she said, as she ate the ice-cream. “One should always get up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more.”
“Are you still hungry?” I asked faintly.
“Oh, no, I’m not hungry, you see, I don’t eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffee in the morning and then dinner, but I never eat more than one thing for luncheon. I was speaking for you.”
“Oh, I see”
Then a terrible thing happened. While we were waiting for the coffee, the head waiter, with an ingratiating smile on his false face, came up to us bearing a large basket full of huge peaches. They had the blush of an innocent girl; they had the rich tone of an Italian landscape. But surely peaches were not in season then? Lord knew what they cost. I knew too—a little later, for my guest, going on with her conversation, absentmindedly took one.
“You see, you’ve filled your stomach with a lot of meat”—my one miserable little chop—”and you can’t eat 30 any more. But I’ve just had a snack and I shall enjoy a peach.”
The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for a quite inadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I left for the waiter and I knew that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I had the whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket.
“Follow my example,” she said as we shook hands, “and never eat more than one thing for luncheon.”
“I’ll do better than that,” I retorted, “I’ll eat nothing for dinner to-night.”
“Humorist!” she cried gaily, jumping into a cab. “You’re quite a humorist!”
But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone.