你第一次留下是在9/11那天。
It’s 9/11 the first time you stay.
早上你把塔利班的诗带回床上。
In the morning you bring Taliban poems back to bed.
我喝着小豆蔻咖啡，你读着他们温柔的诗句
I drink cardamom coffee and you read their tender lines
“愿你在沙漠里免受饥饿之苦，我的爱人”。
‘May you not be hungry in the desert, my dear’.
他们的爱像我们的一样平凡。
Their loving as ordinary as ours.
我看到狂野的男人在军阀大院的游泳池旁扛着火箭筒
I see wilding men shouldering RPGs by the swimming pool
觉得他们很美，
of a warlord’s compound and think they’re beautiful,
看着一个牙医从喀布尔上空一架飞机的起落架上坠落。
watch a dentist fall to Earth from an aeroplane undercarriage
人体负载从起落架上滑落，
rising over Kabul.
坠落于滑屏、滚屏和点击之中。
Human payload slipping from the landing gear,
倒带，看到那个小人向上飞，
falling through swipes, scrolls and clicks.
回到他的生活，
Rewind the tapes, see the little man flying upwards,
倒带。
returning to his life,
rewind the tapes.
像勃鲁盖尔的伊卡洛斯一样，他落在四公里外屋顶的水箱里,
溅起巨大水花，
Like Bruegel’s Icarus, he touches down with a splash
没人注意到他的受难
in a rooftop water tank 4km away,
只有一个手机碰巧拍到。
his suffering unnoticed
except for a casual cell phone recording.
二十年前，双子塔的人们也在坠落，
扭动着，旋转着，领带飘动着，
Twenty years ago, the twin towers man fell too,
越过火焰和浓烟，头朝下瞬间飞过曼哈顿。
twisting and turning, tie fluttering,
倒带，看到那些小人向上飞，
past flames and smoke, for a moment head first over Manhattan.
回到他们的生活，
Rewind the tapes, see the little men flying upwards,
倒带。
returning to their lives,
rewind the tapes.
我们躺在阿富汗买的万寿菊刺绣床罩下，
我害怕，
We lie under a marigold-embroidered bedspread
不是害怕你，而是害怕爱上你。
bought in Afghanistan.
那次购物是我的老朋友汤姆带我去的，
I’m afraid of you,
坐着装甲车，带着他的保镖
not you exactly, but of falling for you.
我想起了大学毕业前的那个夏天，
My old friend Tom took me on that shopping trip
他和我和深夜不睡，喝着“尊美醇“，
in an armoured vehicle with his bodyguard
想象着我们自己的死亡，
and I remembered the summer before the end of uni,
一起，在某个尘土飞扬的小巷里，
how he and I sat up late, drinking Jameson,
金色的光，慢动作和高角度的镜头。
listening to Johnny Cash
我们交替着死去
and imagining our own deaths,
另一个人抱着对方。
together, somewhere in a dusty alley,
all golden light, slow motion and elevated camera angles.
We took it in turns who was doing the dying
and who was doing the cradling.