He laughed and resumed his eating, a meal he had started forty minutes earlier.
他一边笑着一边继续吃饭 ， 一顿他40分钟前就开始吃的饭 。
I watched him now, his hands working gingerly, as if he were learning to use them for the very first time.
我看着现在的他 ， 他的手小心翼翼的动着 ， 就像生平第一次学习怎么用手一样 。
He could not press down hard with a knife.
他没法拿刀用力切下去 。
His fingers shook.
他的手指会颤抖 。
Each bite was a struggle; he chewed the food finely before swallowing, and sometimes it slid out the sides of his lips, so that he had to put down what he was holding to dab his face with a napkin.
每嚼一下都很费力；他要把食物嚼透了然后才能咽下去 ， 而且时不时的食物还要从他嘴边漏出来 ， 所以他又不得不放下手里正拿着的东西去用餐巾轻轻的擦拭嘴角 。
The skin from his wrist to his knuckles was dotted with age spots, and it was loose, like skin hanging from a chicken soup bone.
他从手腕到关节的皮肤上都星星点点布满老人斑 ， 而且皮肤非常松弛 ， 就像鸡汤骨头上那快要掉下来的皮一样 。
For a while, we just ate like that, a sick old man, a healthy, younger man, both absorbing the quiet ofthe room.
有那么一会儿 ， 我们就那样 ， 一个生病的老人 ， 一个健康的年轻人 ， 彼此消化着房间里静静的空气 。
I would say it was an embarrassed silence, but I seemed to be the only one embarrassed.
要我说那真是一种尴尬的沉默 ， 但似乎我是唯一感到尴尬的那个人 。
“Dying,” Morrie suddenly said, “is only one thing to be sad over, Mitch. Living unhappily is something else. So many of the people who come to visit me are unhappy.”
“死亡 ， ”莫瑞突然说道 。 “是唯一一件让人悲哀的事 ， 米契 。 而不快乐的活着就是另外一件 。 很多来拜访我的人都不快乐 。 ”
Why?
为什么？
“Well, for one thing, the culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. We're teaching the wrong things. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn't work, don't buy it. Create your own. Most people can't do it. They're more unhappy than me— even in my current condition.
“其一 ， 我们所拥有的文化没法让人们对自己感觉良好 。 我们正在教授错误的东西 。 而且你得足够坚强才能说如果社会文化行不通 ， 那就不去相信它 。 转而去创造你自己的文化 。 大多数人做不到这点 。 所以他们比我还不开心——尽管我的近况是这么糟糕 。 ”
“I may be dying, but I am surrounded by loving, caring souls. How many people can say that?”
“我可能会死 ， 但围绕着我的尽是友爱体贴的灵魂 。 有多少人可以说能像我这样？”
I was astonished by his complete lack of self-pity.
我为他彻底不囿于自怜的精神震惊了 。
Morrie, who could no longer dance, swim, bathe, or walk; Morrie, who could no longer answer his own door, dry himself after a shower, or even roll over in bed.
莫瑞其人 ， 再也不能跳舞、游泳、洗澡；莫瑞其人 ， 再也不能给人应门 ， 洗完澡也没法给自己擦干 ， 甚至做不到在床上翻身 。
How could he be so accepting?
他怎么能这么坦然接受？
I watched him struggle with his fork, picking at a piece of tomato, missing it the first two times—a pathetic scene, and yet I could not deny that sitting in his presence was almost magically serene, the same calm breeze that soothed me back in college.
我看着他无比艰难的用着勺子 ， 挑起一块番茄 ， 前两次还掉了——一个多么可悲的场景 ， 可我仍然不能否认 ， 坐在他面前简直神奇的让人内心平静 ， 就是那种大学时抚慰我的同样的安宁的气息 。
