一碟面﹔ 一瓶酒
我把剛煮好熱辣辣的一碟spaghetti bolognese擺在桌上﹐ 開了一瓶Cabernet Suvignon﹔ 倒了一杯子﹐ 準備開始享用又一夜安靜孤獨的晚餐。
望着那一大碟的意大利面﹐ 我一個人是吃不完的。 這﹐ 我知道。 可是﹐ 我在無意之中﹐ 不曉得為什麼。。。 很自然的煮了兩人的份量。 我拿起了叉子﹐ 試了一口。我嘴裡即可充滿了 熱濃濃的番茄漿﹐ 感覺就好像我們當初的初吻。 面呢﹐ 雖然熟透了﹐ 但還是爽口和有彈性的。。。 你說過你最喜歡這樣子的感覺。 雖然這碟拿手的speghetti bolognese我以煮過幾百遍﹐ 可以說滾瓜爛熟了 - 可是還是淡淡無味。 我抬起頭來﹐ 看這我對面空空的座位 - 吃什麼東西都﹐ 理所當然﹐ 沒有味道了。
我象呆子地看着剛用完過的廚房﹐ 回想起了當初的好時光。 我想起﹐ 當時候﹐ 我站在熱爐前烹飪﹐ 準備煮speghetti bolognese﹐ 給你額外的驚喜。 我想起﹐當時候﹐ 你那充滿笑容的臉﹐ 溫柔的打氣聲﹐ 鼓勵着我﹐ 稱讚我切菜的刀法是多麼的高明。我想起﹐ 當時候﹐我專心地在炒麵時﹐ 突然會有一雙溫暖的手﹐從我後面慢慢的抱緊我的腰部﹐ 感覺到你把眼睛關上﹐ 那張雪白的臉靠在我背後上。
今晚第一滴的眼淚掉在我那碟意大利面上﹐ 破壞了我的美夢﹐ 把我給吵醒﹐ 回到事實﹐ 回到可惡的真實世界裡。 我眼前那些美麗的幻覺慢慢的消失了﹕ 這些真貴的回憶﹐ 解放了短短的幾分鐘﹔ 全部都再給回鎖到我腦海的角落去了。
那碟無味的面﹐ 我以經吃不下了。 雖然我眼裡不停流着的淚水依然掉在那碟面上﹐ 那碟面以漸漸的開始有味道了。。。 終於有點咸味了﹔ 可是我已經沒有胃口了。 我把碟子推開﹐ 把坐上的那杯紅酒給一口氣喝完﹐ 然後再把它填滿。 兩三杯過後﹐ 我還是不能把鎖在腦海裡的那些美好回憶再給解放出來。
我能怎麼做﹖我只能傻傻地坐在這兒﹐ 繼續為自己倒酒﹐ 問自己﹕ 充滿悲傷痛苦眼淚的意大利面到底是咸的呢﹐ 還是苦的呢﹖
A Plate of Speghetti; A Bottle of Wine
I served my freshly-made plate of speghetti bolognese on the table, opened a bottle of Cabernet Suvignon, poured a glass, and prepared to enjoy another night of dining alone.
Looking at the plate of speghetti, it is rather obvious I couldn't finish it all by myself. This, I know. However, unconciously, I don't know why... It has become a habit for me to cook two persons' portion of food. I picked up the fork, and tasted it. The warm texture of the tomato puree rushes into my mouth, kind of feels like our first kiss. The pasta itself, although well cooked, but it retained a mouth watering tenderness to it... You once told me, you liked it this way. Although I've cooked this dish for more than a hundred times, even with my eyes closed - it still tasted bland. I lifted my head and stared at the empty seat in front of me - no matter what I eat, obviously, would be tasteless anyway.
I sat there like an idiot staring at the kitchen across the living room, remembering the good times that we had. I remembered, those days, where I stood in front of the hot stove, preparing to surprise you with your favorite speghetti bolognese. I remembered, those days, your face lightens up when you smile, the gentle cheers encouraging me, praising me on how good my vegetable-slicing knife techniques. I remember, those days, when I'm concentrating on cooking, where suddenly a pair of warm arms, would wrap themselves around me from behind, slowly hugging my waist tightly. I could feel your eyes closing, and your white-as-snow face resting at my back.
Tonight's first drop of tear appeared and fell onto my plate of speghetti, completely ruined my beautiful dream, waking me up from it, back to reality, back to the hellish real world. Those beautiful illusions in front of my eyes slowly disappeared. These precious memories of mine, after being set free for a couple of minutes, were all shoved in and locked tightly, back into my head.
I can't continue eating that bland plate of speghetti anymore. Although the tear drops falling from my eyes onto the speghetti have gradually gave it some taste - it began to taste a lil' bit more salty: I've already lost my appetite. I pushed the plate aside, grabbed the glass of red wine and emptied it, and then filled it back up again. After two or three glasses, I still couldn't unlock and again, release those beautiful memories from my mind.
What can I do? I sat there like an idiot and continued to refill my glass of red wine, asking myself: whether a plate of tear soaked speghetti tastes salty? Or does it taste bitter?
