译自：《大西洋月刊》2008年8月小说
“你离开我是因为你认为我软弱，”约瑟夫说，“可是你不知道，正是你能让我变得坚强起来。”
卡门·艾尔茜拉：追寻爱的一生 (4/9)
作者：Cristina Henríquez 译者：Vivienne
新浪博客
译自：《大西洋月刊》2008年8月小说
“你离开我是因为你认为我软弱，”约瑟夫说，“可是你不知道，正是你能让我变得坚强起来。”
卡门·艾尔茜拉：追寻爱的一生 (4/9)
作者：Cristina Henríquez 译者：Vivienne
腰部柔软的曲线，两膝跨在她的胯部两侧，用鼻子蹭她的面颊，从裙子下面抚摸她的大腿，用脸抚蹭她微微隆起的锁骨，吻她的下巴，吻她的脖子，吻她的手心，吮吸她的指尖，吻她的腹部，吻她的肚脐，舌尖贴着她的手臂一直滑向她的肩膀，托住她的头吻她的嘴，不停地吻她的嘴，她张开嘴迎接他的吻，他解开她的衬衫，解开她的胸罩，一只只捧起她的乳房，舔她的乳头，拉下她的裙子，褪去她的衬裤，手指抚过她两腿间湿润的幽谷，然后把自己放进她的身体，一手托住她的后腰，把她向上拥起来，再拥起来，再拥起来，再拥起来，再拥起来。
几个月前的那个夜晚，从防波堤跳进他的臂弯，卡门·艾尔茜拉接受了迭戈的吻，但她不让他继续做下去。他问她为什么，她说：“我在等我理想中的男人。”他说：“也许我就是。”那时，她告诉他：“我几小时之前才知道你的名字，我怎么可能这会儿就知道你是那个人？我们得等等看。”
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For five months, Carmen Elcira traveled throughout Panama with Diego. Los Santos, Chitré, Santiago, David, Cerro Punta, El Valle, Portobelo. She took a semester off from school to pile into a white Toyota minibus with Diego and four of his friends and careen over dusty streets and sweat against vinyl seats and eat grilled chicken at roadside stands. She never joined the protests. She did not hand out leaflets door to door like the rest of the group. She did not stand on church steps in town squares and urge people to pray for Héctor Gallego. She was merely along for support and, when the group raised enough of a ruckus or prompted enough of an assembly, she was the designated spokesperson as the media swarmed in, posing and flashing her toothy smile. Once, when Carmen Elcira called her father from the road, he told her that when he had been running newsprint through the reel, he had seen her photograph. He said, “It was good to see your face again, hija.”
In the evenings, while the rest of the group was camping or sleeping in the minibus, Carmen Elcira and Diego would find a place to lie together. Often, they would talk, murmuring against each other’s ears and faces, whispering into the dark, until the sun rose in the morning. Her favorite of the things he said was that he would never forget her, that no matter what happened to him or to her in this world—because a lot of things could happen—he would always find his way back to her.
They made love out in the open air, too. Carmen Elcira let Diego draw his fingers through her hair and trip them lightly down her neck and smooth his hands over the soft curve of her waist, under her blouse, and straddle his knees on either side of her hips and brush his nose against her cheek and stroke her thighs under her skirt and nuzzle his face into the shallow reef at her clavicle and kiss her chin and kiss her neck and kiss the palm of her hand and suck her fingertips and kiss her stomach and kiss her navel and drag the tip of his tongue along the length of her arm and kiss her round shoulder and grip the back of her head and kiss her mouth and kiss her mouth and kiss her open mouth and unbutton her blouse and unhook her brassiere and cup her breasts and lick her nipples and pull down her skirt and slide off her panties and run his finger along the wetness in between her legs and put himself inside her and hold his hand against the arch at the small of her back and raise her up and raise her up again and again and again and again.
Months ago, on the night she jumped off the seawall and into his arms, Carmen Elcira had let Diego kiss her, but she had stopped him after that. When he had asked why, she said, “I’m waiting for the right man.” He had said, “Maybe I’m it.” Back then, she had told him, “I only learned your name a few hours ago. How could I have possibly learned by now whether you are it? We will have to wait and see.”
几个月前的那个夜晚，从防波堤跳进他的臂弯，卡门·艾尔茜拉接受了迭戈的吻，但她不让他继续做下去。他问她为什么，她说：“我在等我理想中的男人。”他说：“也许我就是。”那时，她告诉他：“我几小时之前才知道你的名字，我怎么可能这会儿就知道你是那个人？我们得等等看。”
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For five months, Carmen Elcira traveled throughout Panama with Diego. Los Santos, Chitré, Santiago, David, Cerro Punta, El Valle, Portobelo. She took a semester off from school to pile into a white Toyota minibus with Diego and four of his friends and careen over dusty streets and sweat against vinyl seats and eat grilled chicken at roadside stands. She never joined the protests. She did not hand out leaflets door to door like the rest of the group. She did not stand on church steps in town squares and urge people to pray for Héctor Gallego. She was merely along for support and, when the group raised enough of a ruckus or prompted enough of an assembly, she was the designated spokesperson as the media swarmed in, posing and flashing her toothy smile. Once, when Carmen Elcira called her father from the road, he told her that when he had been running newsprint through the reel, he had seen her photograph. He said, “It was good to see your face again, hija.”
In the evenings, while the rest of the group was camping or sleeping in the minibus, Carmen Elcira and Diego would find a place to lie together. Often, they would talk, murmuring against each other’s ears and faces, whispering into the dark, until the sun rose in the morning. Her favorite of the things he said was that he would never forget her, that no matter what happened to him or to her in this world—because a lot of things could happen—he would always find his way back to her.
They made love out in the open air, too. Carmen Elcira let Diego draw his fingers through her hair and trip them lightly down her neck and smooth his hands over the soft curve of her waist, under her blouse, and straddle his knees on either side of her hips and brush his nose against her cheek and stroke her thighs under her skirt and nuzzle his face into the shallow reef at her clavicle and kiss her chin and kiss her neck and kiss the palm of her hand and suck her fingertips and kiss her stomach and kiss her navel and drag the tip of his tongue along the length of her arm and kiss her round shoulder and grip the back of her head and kiss her mouth and kiss her mouth and kiss her open mouth and unbutton her blouse and unhook her brassiere and cup her breasts and lick her nipples and pull down her skirt and slide off her panties and run his finger along the wetness in between her legs and put himself inside her and hold his hand against the arch at the small of her back and raise her up and raise her up again and again and again and again.
Months ago, on the night she jumped off the seawall and into his arms, Carmen Elcira had let Diego kiss her, but she had stopped him after that. When he had asked why, she said, “I’m waiting for the right man.” He had said, “Maybe I’m it.” Back then, she had told him, “I only learned your name a few hours ago. How could I have possibly learned by now whether you are it? We will have to wait and see.”