How I loved the way he repeated what I myself had just repeated. It made me think of a caress, or of a gesture, which happens to be totally accidental the first time but becomes intentional the second time and more so yet the third. It reminded me of the way Mafalda would make my bed every morning, first by folding the top sheet over the blanket, then by folding the sheet back again to cover the pillows on top of the blanket, and once more yet when she folded the whole thing over the bedspread—back and forth until I knew that tucked in between these multiple folds were tokens of something at once pious and indulgent, like acquiescence in an instant of passion.
Silence was always light and unobtrusive on those afternoons.
 
我多么喜欢他那样重复我自己刚刚重复过的话。这让我想起一个爱抚，或一个姿势。第一次发生完全是偶然，第二次却变成有意为之，第三次更是如此。也让我想起玛法尔达每天早上替我整理床铺的样子：先把被单盖在毛毯上，然后反折塞入毛毯上的枕头下方，最后再覆上床罩——塞在这层层叠叠里的，是既虔诚又纵容的某个东西的象征，就像对刹那激情的默许。
那些午后的沉默总是轻松而不唐突。
 
“I’m not telling,” I said.
“Then I’m going back to sleep,” he’d say.
My heart was racing. He must have known.
Profound silence again. Moments later:
“This is heaven.”
And I wouldn’t hear him say another word for at least an hour.
There was nothing I loved more in life than to sit at my table and pore over my transcriptions while he lay on his belly marking pages he’d pick up every morning from Signora Milani, his translator in B.
 
“我不告诉你。”我说。
“那我要回去睡觉了。”他说。我心跳如雷。他肯定知道了。再度陷入深深的沉默。过了一会儿……
“这里是天堂。”
接下来至少一小时，我不会听到他再说一个字。
人生中我喜爱的莫过于此，当我坐在我的桌边细读改编谱，他就趴在地上圈点他每天早晨从?B?城的译者米拉尼太太那儿拿来的文稿。

《请以你的名字呼唤我》