生死之交
弗雷德里克·波尔
< 1 >
我坐在一张床的床沿上，所谓的床不过是由几块钢板松散的拼搭而成，上面没有床垫，只有一层薄薄的绿褐色的毯子，这让人很不舒服，不过，他们接下来要对我做的事会让我更不舒服。
他们打算把我从这所辖区拘留所转到地区监狱，最后送进死囚牢房。
当然，首先会有一场审判，但这只是走走程序，他们逮捕我的时候，我手里的枪正冒着烟，而康诺特喉咙上的洞正在不断地冒血泡，证据确凿，我也对此供认不讳。
我知道自己做了什么，就象他们说的，有预谋的蓄意枪杀劳伦斯·康诺特。
他们处决杀人犯，所以他们要处决我。
尤其是因为劳伦斯·康诺特还曾经救过我的命。
不过，也有情有可原的地方，但我不认为他们能说服陪审团。
康诺特和我是多年的好朋友，我们在战争中失去了联系，战争结束几年后，我们在华盛顿重逢，但是我们之间的关系变得有些生疏了。那时他正在执行一项研究任务，他在那件事情上相当用心，但他并没有向我谈起他的工作，而他生活中也没有其他什么事可以作为谈资。我当时正在医学院读书，不过对我来说，那根本算不上什么科学研究，最终我因为没有通过医学院的考试而退学了，而他仍在继续从事他的研究工作。我并不为此感到羞愧，没什么好羞愧的，我对解剖尸体之类的乱七八糟的事毫无兴趣，也不想做，勉强为之只会适得其反，所以我离开了。
因此，我没有获得一系列学位，不过做一个参议院警卫也不需要这些。
参议院警卫并不是什么了不起的职业，不过我喜欢。当有警卫在身边的时候，参议员们显得比较轻松和善，你会了解到政府幕后发生的一些有趣的事情。对于那些想要挖掘新闻线索的报社记者，还有那些时常把某个无心的、重复的言论作为整场辩论会的立论依据的政府官员们，以及任何一个想在辩论会召开期间出席旁听的普通民众，参议院警卫都是能够帮得上忙的。
< 2 >
例如劳伦斯·康诺特，有一天我在街上遇到他，我们聊了一会儿，他问我是否能在即将举行的外交关系辩论会上替他安排一个旁听席位，我答应了。第二天，我打电话告诉他我已经安排好了，于是他出现在了旁听席上，用他那湿润的小眼睛热切地观望着。当外交部长站起来发言时，突然响起了一声意想不到的喊叫，几个中美洲狂热分子拖出了他们的*器武**，开始试图用*药火**改变美国的政策。
我想大家还记得这件事吧，他们只有三个人，两个拿着枪，一个拿着*雷手**，拿着枪的那两个人打伤了两名参议员和一名警卫。我当时正在那儿和康诺特说话，我发现了那个拿着*雷手**的小个子，于是向他冲了过去，我把他*倒打**了，但*雷手**飞了，*雷手**上的安全别针被拉掉了，我朝*雷手**扑了过去，但劳伦斯·康诺特抢在了我前面。
报纸报道了这件事，我和劳伦斯成为了英雄，他们说这是个奇迹，当时劳伦斯就倒在*雷手**上面，而他居然设法把它移开了，并且将它移到了一个安全的位置，所以当*雷手**爆炸时，没有任何人受伤，但是*雷手**确实爆炸了，报纸上说劳伦斯被爆炸震昏了。
他昏迷了六个小时，醒来后，他一整天都在发呆。
第二天晚上，我去探望他，他很高兴见到我。
“这次我差点就死掉了，迪克，”他说，“带我回塔拉瓦吧。”
“我想你救了我的命，劳瑞。”我说。
“胡说！迪克，当时我正好跳过去，碰巧而已。”
“报纸上说，你动作快得出奇，没人看清楚究竟发生了什么。”
< 3 >
他做了一个不以为然的动作，但他那湿润的小眼睛却露出一丝警惕，“我想没人真正在看。”
“我在看。”我干脆地说。
他沉默地注视了我一会儿。
“我当时就在你和那颗*雷手**中间，你并没有从我身旁走过去，也没有从我身上跳过去，或者从我身体穿过去，但是你人却出现在*雷手**上面。”
他开始摇头。
“还有，劳瑞，”我继续说，“你倒在*雷手**上，它就在你身下爆炸了，我知道，因为我几乎就在你上面，它把你从旁听席的地板上炸飞了，你穿了防弹衣吗？”
他清了下喉咙，“嗯，实际上——”
“打住吧，劳瑞！到底是怎么回事？”
他摘下眼镜，揉着湿润的眼睛，抱怨道：“你没看报纸吗？它是在一码以外爆炸的。”
“劳瑞，”我轻轻地说，“我当时就在那儿。”
他跌坐在椅子上，盯着我，那张大椅子使他本来就矮小的身材显得更加矮小，他看着我的目光就象在看一个仇人。
然后他笑了，我感到很吃惊，他的声音听起来似乎很高兴，他说：“见鬼，迪克，我迟早得把这事儿告诉某个人，为什么不是你呢？”
我不能告诉你们他都说了些什么，大部分我会说，但不会是最关键的部分，那部分内容我绝不会告诉任何人。
“我早该知道你没忘，”劳瑞无奈地对我笑了笑，脸上露出和善的表情，“在自助餐厅的那番长谈，我们聊了整整一晚上，我所有的话你都记得。”
“你声称人类的大脑具有意念移物的能力，”我说，“通过这种念力，一个人不需要动一根手指或者使用机器就能够实现瞬间转移，你说凭借这种念力，没有什么事是办不到的。”
< 4 >
我感觉自己象个十足的傻瓜一样说着这番话，这都是些荒谬的想法，想象一下，一个人通过意念就把自己从一个地方转移到了另一个地方，怎么可能？但是这种事确实发生了，就在参议院的旁听席上，我当时就在那儿。
我舔了舔嘴唇，看了眼劳伦斯·康诺特，想从他嘴里得到证实。
劳瑞笑了笑，“我全错了，那只是幻想。”
他拍了拍我的肩膀，神情变得严肃起来，“当然，迪克，你也错了，不过有一点你说对了，光靠念力无法做到那些事，那只是傻子的想法，但是，”他停顿了一下，“但是有一种……技术，能够将念力和物理力量联系起来，就是我们所有人每天都在使用的简单的物理力，那样就能做到所有的事，一切事情！一切我能想到的和暂时还没有想到的事。”
“飞越海洋？一秒钟就能办到，迪克！用墙把一个爆炸的*弹炸**隔开？很容易！你看到我做的，那种方法很奏效，不过它需要能量，你无法逃避自然规律，这就是我昏迷了一整天的原因，因为这次做的事不太轻松，需要消耗大量的能量，比如让*弹子**错过目标就要容易得多，把*弹子**从枪膛里拿出来放在我的口袋里，让*弹子**不能发射，这更容易，如果我想要英国王冠上的宝石，我也能轻易拿到，迪克！”
“你能看到未来吗？”我问。
他皱了皱眉，“别傻了，这不是迷信——”
“那读心术呢？”
劳瑞露出个恍然的表情，“哦，你还记得我几年前说过的话，不，我也做不到，也许将来可以，如果我继续在这件事情上努力的话，但目前不行，不过我能做一些差不多的事。”
“让我看看你能做什么。”我说。
他忍不住笑了。劳瑞很享受自己的生活，不过我并不因此而羡慕他，多年来他一直独自死守着这个秘密，从他第一次在自己身上找到迹象的那天起，经过十年的求证和试验，尝试了无数次的失败，他离目标越来越近……他很需要找个人谈谈。我想他真的很高兴，终于，有人发现了他的能力。
< 5 >
“想让我展示一下？好，我看看。”他环视了一下房间，然后向我使了个眼色，“看见那扇窗户了吗？”
我朝那扇窗看了看，随着一声低沉的窗框的滑动声，那扇窗户被打开了，然后又关上了。
“还有这部收音机。”劳瑞说。只听咔嗒一声，他的小型收音机自动打开了。“看着。”
那部收音机突然消失了，然后又出现了。
“它刚才在珠穆朗玛峰的峰顶。”劳瑞喘着气说。
这时，收音机电源线的插头自动升了起来，伸向墙壁上的插座，然后又掉到了地上。
“不，这个太简单了，我给你看一个更难的。”劳瑞说，他的声音在颤抖，“注意这部收音机，迪克，我不*插插**头也能启动它，电子本身……”
他专心地盯着那部小收音机，我看见收音机上面的指示灯亮了起来，闪烁了几下，然后稳定下来，接着扬声器开始发出刮擦声。我站起来，走到他身后。
我拿起他旁边桌子上的电话，用力朝他头上砸去，他悄无声息地倒了下去，我又砸了他两下，确定他至少一个小时不会醒过来，然后我把他的身体翻过来，再把电话放回托架上。
我搜查了他的公寓，在他的书桌上找到了他全部的笔记，上面记载了所有的信息，所有关于他如何做到那些事的秘密。
我拿起电话，给华盛顿警察局打了电话。当我听到外面的警笛声时，我拿出手枪，朝他的喉咙开了一枪，在警察进来之前，他已经死了。
你看，我认识劳伦斯·康诺特，我们是朋友，我本可以用我的生命信任他，但这件事关系的不仅仅是个人的命运。
用二十三个字就能说出如何做到劳伦斯·康诺特所做的事，任何会识字的人都能做到，罪犯、叛徒、疯子，这个公式对所有人都适用。
< 6 >
劳伦斯·康诺特是一个诚实的人，也是个理想主义者，但是当一个人成为了上帝，会怎么样呢？假如你知晓这二十三个字的公式，它可以让你自由进入任何银行的保险库，可以随意窥视任何封闭的房间，穿过任何墙壁，假如连手枪也杀不死你，你会怎样？
人们说权力导致腐败，绝对权力导致绝对腐败，再没有比这二十三个字更具有绝对权力的了，它可以把一个罪犯从任何监狱里释放出来，或者给他任何他想要的东西。劳瑞是我的朋友，但我冷血地杀了他，我知道自己为什么这样做，因为他的秘密可以让他成为世界之王，这样的人不能被信任。
但是我可以。
——————————————
译注：
这篇小说的原标题是《皮西厄斯》（Pythias），之所以翻译成《生死之交》，是因为小说涉及到罗马的一个民间传说，即达蒙与皮西厄斯的故事，这两人是一对好朋友，堪称生死之交，他们的故事是真挚友谊的象征，代表着朋友间不容置疑的绝对信任，但作者在这篇小说中似乎想表达某种不同的观点，各位读者自行品味。
附：达蒙与皮西厄斯的故事
故事发生在公元前四世纪西西里岛的一个城邦国锡拉库扎。根据罗马演说家西塞罗的说法，这两人都是哲学家毕达哥拉斯的追随者。
达蒙与皮西厄斯从小就是最好的朋友，两人亲如兄弟，彼此信任。
皮西厄斯是一个坦率直言的人，经常在公共场合发表演讲，他在演讲中说，任何国王都不能对臣民拥有绝对的权利，没有任何凌驾于他人之上的权力可以不受限制，独裁者是非正义的君王。
国王迪奥尼休斯听说了皮西厄斯的演讲内容，非常恼火，下令皮西厄斯和达蒙来见他。
国王命令皮西厄斯收回他的话，皮西厄斯回答说：“我不能，我只讲真话，你不能阻止任何人讲真话。”
国王更加生气，决定以叛国罪处死皮西厄斯。
皮西厄斯请求国王在处死他之前先放他回家与妻儿道别。
国王大笑道：“要是放你回家，你就永远不再回来了。”
皮西厄斯说：“我向你作出保证。”
“你能给我什么样的保证，让我相信你会回来？”国王问。
这时，达蒙站了出来，“我做他的保人，把我留在锡拉库扎作为你的囚犯，直到皮西厄斯回来。人人都知道我与皮西厄斯的友谊。我向您保证，只要我被关在监狱里，他就一定会回来。”
“你要明白，”国王对达蒙说，“如果皮西厄斯不回来，你就得替他受死。”
“他会回来的，”达蒙答道，“对这一点我毫不怀疑。”
于是，皮西厄斯回家去了，而达蒙被投进了监狱。
几天之后，皮西厄斯没有露面，国王来到监狱，想看看达蒙是否因为这事而后悔。“你的朋友还没回来呢，”他嘲笑说，“现在你怎么看他？”
“他会回来的，”达蒙说，“我完全相信他。”
国王摇摇头离开了。
过了几天，国王又来到关押达蒙的囚室。“期限快到了，”他说，“我想你的朋友不会回来了，你这个傻瓜竟然相信他。”
“他一定会回来的，”达蒙坚定地回答，“他一定是在路上遇到了麻烦才耽搁了。”
处决的日子到了，皮西厄斯仍然没有回来。达蒙被押出牢房带到了刽子手面前，国王最后一次问达蒙：“你还叫皮西厄斯‘朋友’吗？”
“他是我朋友，”达蒙回答，“我相信他。”
就在这时，门被推开了，皮西厄斯摇摇晃晃地走了进来，他蓬头垢面，浑身是伤，累得几乎说不出话来。他一下扑到达蒙的怀里，喘着气说：“我终于及时赶回来了，感谢神灵，你还活着，命运似乎在同我们作对，我的船在风暴中沉没了，路上又遇到了土匪，但我必须不停地走。”他转身对国王说：“我已经准备好受死了。”
国王惊呆了，他从未见过这样的忠诚与信任，他撤消了行刑的命令，宣布释放皮西厄斯和达蒙。他对两人说：“你们必须为我做一件事。”
“你指的是什么事？”两位朋友问。
“告诉我如何才能拥有这种珍贵的友谊。”
——————————————————————————————————
以下是英文原文：
Pythias
by Frederik Pohl
< 1 >
I am sitting on the edge of what passes for a bed. It is made of loosely woven strips of steel, and there is no mattress, only an extra blanket of thin olive-drab. It isn't comfortable; but of course they expect to make me still more uncomfortable.
They expect to take me out of this precinct jail to the District prison and eventually to the death house.
Sure, there will be a trial first, but that is only a formality. Not only did they catch me with the smoking gun in my hand and Connaught bubbling to death through the hole in his throat, but I admitted it.
I—knowing what I was doing, with, as they say, malice aforethought—deliberately shot to death Laurence Connaught.
They execute murderers. So they mean to execute me.
Especially because Laurence Connaught had saved my life.
Well, there are extenuating circumstances. I do not think they would convince a jury.
Connaught and I were close friends for years. We lost touch during the war. We met again in Washington, a few years after the war was over. We had, to some extent, grown apart; he had become a man with a mission. He was working very hard on something and he did not choose to discuss his work and there was nothing else in his life on which to form a basis for communication. And—well, I had my own life, too. It wasn't scientific research in my case—I flunked out of med school, while he went on. I'm not ashamed of it; it is nothing to be ashamed of. I simply was not able to cope with the messy business of carving corpses. I didn't like it, I didn't want to do it, and when I was forced to do it, I did it badly. So—I left.
Thus I have no string of degrees, but you don't need them in order to be a Senate guard.
Does that sound like a terribly impressive career to you? Of course not; but I liked it. The Senators are relaxed and friendly when the guards are around, and you learn wonderful things about what goes on behind the scenes of government. And a Senate guard is in a position to do favors—for newspapermen, who find a lead to a story useful; for government officials, who sometimes base a whole campaign on one careless, repeated remark; and for just about anyone who would like to be in the visitors' gallery during a hot debate.
< 2 >
Larry Connaught, for instance. I ran into him on the street one day, and we chatted for a moment, and he asked if it was possible to get him in to see the upcoming foreign relations debate. It was; I called him the next day and told him I had arranged for a pass. And he was there, watching eagerly with his moist little eyes, when the Secretary got up to speak and there was that sudden unexpected yell, and the handful of Central American fanatics dragged out their weapons and began trying to change American policy with gunpowder.
You remember the story, I suppose. There were only three of them, two with guns, one with a hand grenade. The pistol men managed to wound two Senators and a guard. I was right there, talking to Connaught. I spotted the little fellow with the hand grenade and tackled him. I knocked him down, but the grenade went flying, pin pulled, seconds ticking away. I lunged for it. Larry Connaught was ahead of me.
The newspaper stories made heroes out of both of us. They said it was miraculous that Larry, who had fallen right on top of the grenade, had managed to get it away from himself and so placed that when it exploded no one was hurt.
For it did go off—and the flying steel touched nobody. The papers mentioned that Larry had been knocked unconscious by the blast. He was unconscious, all right.
He didn't come to for six hours and when he woke up, he spent the next whole day in a stupor.
I called on him the next night. He was glad to see me.
"That was a close one, Dick," he said. "Take me back to Tarawa."
I said, "I guess you saved my life, Larry."
"Nonsense, Dick! I just jumped. Lucky, that's all."
"The papers said you were terrific. They said you moved so fast, nobody could see exactly what happened."
< 3 >
He made a deprecating gesture, but his wet little eyes were wary. "Nobody was really watching, I suppose."
"I was watching," I told him flatly.
He looked at me silently for a moment.
"I was between you and the grenade," I said. "You didn't go past me, over me, or through me. But you were on top of the grenade."
He started to shake his head.
I said, "Also, Larry, you fell on the grenade. It exploded underneath you. I know, because I was almost on top of you, and it blew you clear off the floor of the gallery. Did you have a bulletproof vest on?"
He cleared his throat. "Well, as a matter of—"
"Cut it out, Larry! What's the answer?"
He took off his glasses and rubbed his watery eyes. He grumbled, "Don't you read the papers? It went off a yard away."
"Larry," I said gently, "I was there."
He slumped back in his chair, staring at me. Larry Connaught was a small man, but he never looked smaller than he did in that big chair, looking at me as though I were Mr. Nemesis himself.
Then he laughed. He surprised me; he sounded almost happy. He said, "Well, hell, Dick—I had to tell somebody about it sooner or later. Why not you?"
I can't tell you all of what he said. I'll tell most of it—but not the part that matters.
I'll never tell that part to anybody.
Larry said, "I should have known you'd remember." He smiled at me ruefully, affectionately. "Those bull sessions in the cafeterias, eh? Talking all night about everything. But you remembered."
"You claimed that the human mind possessed powers of psychokinesis," I said. "You argued that just by the mind, without moving a finger or using a machine, a man could move his body anywhere, instantly. You said that nothing was impossible to the mind."
< 4 >
I felt like an absolute fool saying those things; they were ridiculous notions. Imagine a man thinking himself from one place to another! But—I had been on that gallery.
I licked my lips and looked to Larry Connaught for confirmation.
"I was all wet," Larry laughed. "Imagine!"
I suppose I showed surprise, because he patted my shoulder.
He said, becoming sober, "Sure, Dick, you're wrong, but you're right all the same. The mind alone can't do anything of the sort—that was just a silly kid notion. But," he went on, "but there are—well, techniques—linking the mind to physical forces—simple physical forces that we all use every day—that can do it all. Everything! Everything I ever thought of and things I haven't found out yet.
"Fly across the ocean? In a second, Dick! Wall off an exploding bomb? Easily! You saw me do it. Oh, it's work. It takes energy—you can't escape natural law. That was what knocked me out for a whole day. But that was a hard one; it's a lot easier, for instance, to make a bullet miss its target. It's even easier to lift the cartridge out of the chamber and put it in my pocket, so that the bullet can't even be fired. Want the Crown Jewels of England? I could get them, Dick!"
I asked, "Can you see the future?"
He frowned. "That's silly. This isn't supersti—"
"How about reading minds?"
Larry's expression cleared. "Oh, you're remembering some of the things I said years ago. No, I can't do that either, Dick. Maybe, some day, if I keep working at this thing— Well, I can't right now. There are things I can do, though, that are just as good."
"Show me something you can do," I asked.
He smiled. Larry was enjoying himself; I didn't begrudge it to him. He had hugged this to himself for years, from the day he found his first clue, through the decade of proving and experimenting, almost always being wrong, but always getting closer.... He needed to talk about it. I think he was really glad that, at last, someone had found him out.
< 5 >
He said, "Show you something? Why, let's see, Dick." He looked around the room, then winked. "See that window?"
I looked. It opened with a slither of wood and a rumble of sash weights. It closed again.
"The radio," said Larry. There was a click and his little set turned itself on. "Watch it."
It disappeared and reappeared.
"It was on top of Mount Everest," Larry said, panting a little.
The plug on the radio's electric cord picked itself up and stretched toward the baseboard socket, then dropped to the floor again.
"No," said Larry, and his voice was trembling, "I'll show you a hard one. Watch the radio, Dick. I'll run it without plugging it in! The electrons themselves—"
He was staring intently at the little set. I saw the dial light go on, flicker, and hold steady; the speaker began to make scratching noises. I stood up, right behind Larry, right over him.
I used the telephone on the table beside him. I caught him right beside the ear and he folded over without a murmur. Methodically, I hit him twice more, and then I was sure he wouldn't wake up for at least an hour. I rolled him over and put the telephone back in its cradle.
I ransacked his apartment. I found it in his desk: All his notes. All the information. The secret of how to do the things he could do.
I picked up the telephone and called the Washington police. When I heard the siren outside, I took out my service revolver and shot him in the throat. He was dead before they came in.
For, you see, I knew Laurence Connaught. We were friends. I would have trusted him with my life. But this was more than just a life.
Twenty-three words told how to do the things that Laurence Connaught did. Anyone who could read could do them. Criminals, traitors, lunatics—the formula would work for anyone.
< 6 >
Laurence Connaught was an honest man and an idealist, I think. But what would happen to any man when he became God? Suppose you were told twenty-three words that would let you reach into any bank vault, peer inside any closed room, walk through any wall? Suppose pistols could not kill you?
They say power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And there can be no more absolute power than the twenty-three words that can free a man of any jail or give him anything he wants. Larry was my friend. But I killed him in cold blood, knowing what I did, because he could not be trusted with the secret that could make him king of the world.
But I can.