[A Trick of the Light]：當伴侶是同行－－藝術家夫婦Peter & Clara

很久未試過看小說看得這麼上心（看我一直post文便知），看到書中幾段關係的轉變，有驚心動魄之感。

先是藝術家夫婦Clara和Peter的關係。Peter是個技藝很好的藝術家，他的風格是將一件件日常用品放大很多倍，將細節繪畫出來，令那件物品變得不平凡。他的作品獲好評，很快便成名了。而他的妻子Clara，在藝術上還在掙扎階段。她的作品不能讓人一眼看穿。她又喜歡畫人像畫。要知道，現在的藝術界覺得畫人像畫太容易了，沒創意！而且現在時興畫醜陋的事物，人性的黑暗面，這樣才有talking point。還有藝術家會畫人性的光明面嗎？但是，畫出一幅不平凡的人像畫，比什麼都難。而Clara做到了。她畫筆下的人物，在絕望中見到希望。她的努力沒有白費，終於有人看懂她的畫了。如果Peter的畫是good的話，她的畫是great。Greatness不是一下子就讓人看出來的，但終究會被人發現。在接近五十歲之齡，Clara終於獲得她一直夢寐以求的機會－－開個人畫展！

Clara Morrow’s paintings are not just brilliant, they are luminous. She has, in an audacious and generous stroke, redefined portraiture. I went back and memorized it. Not because I believe it’s true, but so that I have a choice of what to believe, and it doesn’t always have to be the worst.
－－Clara的畫令人覺得人生有希望。

Clara painted dear life. While the rest of the cynical art world was painting the worst, Clara painted the best.

Peter一直覺得自己的藝術天份比妻子高。妻子的畫賣不出，但不要緊，他的畫能賣錢，他可以養家。但他逐漸看出Clara的天份，驚覺Clara的才華比自己的好太多。而且她憑直覺便畫出偉大作品。不像他自己。Peter是個用腦，而不是用心的畫家。Peter十分妒忌Clara。他覺得這樣很不應該，他想真心為太太感到高興。但他做不到，他騙不了自己。到後來，他連太太也騙不了。情況有點像薩里埃利妒忌莫扎特，不過他們是夫婦，處境更無奈。

Peter painted things. Very well. He even claimed to paint God, and some dealers believed it. Made a good story. But he’d never met God so how could he paint Him? Clara not only met Him, she knew Him. And she painted what she knew.

他們攤牌的一段，作者寫得血淋淋。我相信年輕作者是寫不出來的。想不到，平時隨和的Clara發作起上來這麼厲害。女人不是好惹的。

這段寫得像Stephen King的恐怖小說。說的是Clara的畫展成功，大獲好評，Peter開了一瓶儲藏了幾年的香檳為Clara慶祝，卻嚐不出酒已變壞。Clara這時才察覺「丈夫死了」。
The champagne on her lips was sour, the wine turned years before. But Peter, who’d taken a huge gulp, was smiling. As though nothing was wrong. When had he died? Clara wondered. And why hadn’t she noticed?

“Nobody heard him,” Clara quoted, “the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning.”

－－這是一首詩的段落，作者是Stevie Smith。Clara發現Peter is drowning...

夫婦同睡一床，身體距離很近，但兩顆心距離萬丈。妻子再不信任自己。
But tonight he clung to his side of the bed, and she clung to hers, as though to dual cliff faces.
Peter looked at Clara, so far away across the bed.

Clara的畫展開幕舉行了預展，邀請了一些藝評人和藝術家來參觀。藝評第二天便登在各大報章上。大部份報章對她的評價都很好，只有一份三流報紙說她的作品很平庸。Peter為了令自己心裡好過點，竟反覆閱讀那篇批評妻子的藝評，以致他最終只記得這篇評論說什麼。他以為自己能騙過Clara，令她相信自己是真心為她高興的。平時Clara很易就範，但今次，她執意揭穿他。她問Peter，既然你這麼替我高興，請告訴我那些藝評怎樣稱讚我。然而，無論Peter怎麼回憶，他就是想不起來，連一個字也記不起。他只記得那篇評批她的評論......（就是這段令我看得心驚肉跳）兩夫婦相處太久了，Peter的瞞不過老妻。Clara固然受到傷害，但我相信Peter更不好過。誰會喜歡面對自己的缺點呢？

然後，Peter終於想清楚他到底妒忌Clara什麼。
“It was your faith,” he shouted, and slumped to the floor. “It was your beliefs. Your hope,” he choked out, his voice a croak amid gasps. “It was far worse than your art. I wanted to be able to paint like you, but only because it would mean I’d see the world as you do. Oh, God, Clara. All I’ve ever envied you was your faith.”
我明白這種感受。有時你不是妒忌一個人比自己能幹，而是妒忌對方比自己開朗樂觀，妒忌對方活於一個光明的世界。而當你妒忌別人時，你已墮進一個黑暗世界。你只能仰視對方。單是你妒忌對方這一點，已讓你處於下風。

最初他以為自己只是缺乏靈感。

Across the hall in his pristine studio he’d made space for inspiration. All clean and tidy. But inspiration had mistaken the address, and landed here （芝按：here指Clara的畫室）instead.

但他最終發現，他永遠也創作不到偉大的作品，因為他不是那種人。
No, thought Peter, it wasn’t just inspiration he was looking for, it was more. That had been the problem. All his life he’d mistaken the one for the other. Thinking inspiration was enough. Mistaking the created for the Creator.

兩夫婦終於攤牌，自此妻子有什麼心事，便立即出去找自己的好友，再不會問丈夫意見。他們最終能重建關係？那就要繼續追看此系列啦！

For Peter, the only thing worse than company was being alone. Unless he was alone in his studio. Or with Clara. Just the two of them. But now she’d left him standing by the side of the road. And Peter Morrow didn’t know what to do.


P.S.

其實Clara也不好過。在她的才華被發掘前，她經常懷疑自己。沒人將她的藝術當一回事。
As far back as she could remember Clara wanted only one thing, even more than she’d wanted the solo show. It wasn’t riches, it wasn’t power, it wasn’t even love. Clara Morrow wanted to belong. And now, at almost fifty, she did.

在她小時候，當她遇上種種不如意的事，她便幻想自己進入一個美麗的村落。這段描述得很動人：

This was the village that had lived beneath the covers when Clara was a child. That was built behind the thin wooden door to her bedroom, where outside her parents argued. Her brothers ignored her. The phone rang, but not for her. Where eyes slid over and past her and through her. To someone else. Someone prettier. More interesting. Where people butted in as though she was invisible, and interrupted her as though she hadn’t just spoken.