论文部分内容阅读
In 1825， Jacob Bigelow， a doctor and botanist in Boston， Massachusetts， noticed that the many small church graveyards throughout the city were becoming overcrowded. A prescient man， Bigelow concocted a plan for a new cemetery on the outskirts of the city; one carpeted in flowers and designed to preserve natural beauty. After years of planning and lobbying wary townspeople， Mount Auburn Cemetery was founded in 1831， and Boston’s mourners began packing picnic baskets and taking carriages out to the country to be with their recently deceased.
Though Mount Auburn owed a debt to European cemeteries built with similar intent， it was the first of its kind in the US， and soon a rural and garden cemetery movement took hold. Green-Wood Cemetery was founded in New York City in 1838， and in 1847， New York state passed the Rural Cemetery Act， which allowed churches and other entities to buy up tax-exempt land. Soon， New York City—and Queens especially， where more than double the number of people who live above ground are buried below it—was home to many sprawling cemeteries. The Evergreens. Cypress Hills. Calvary. The names go on.
I spent a few hours touring the grounds of Green-Wood with Jeff Richman， the cemetery’s historian. The space is beautiful. Trees tower and curve and throw long spiralling shadows over tombs and headstones. It is redolent of wealth. Long-dead New Yorkers plotted an eternal rest in which they intended to occupy the same kind of space they demanded in life. Tombs became like houses， with wrought-iron fences and benches set in small gardens. Death for New York’s richest came at a high price—in terms of both money and space.
During the tour， we passed Lot 44606， a benign stretch of ground dotted with burial markers. But， if you looked closer， you could see there used to be a road where these grave markers now stood. It looked too planned， like a new concrete condo in Brooklyn on a block of old brownstones1.
In a 2009 New York Times article， the cemetery’s researcher Kestutis Demereckas told writer Michael Wilson how he found space for new graves at Green-Wood. After covering various old paths or roads with new bodies， he laboured over old maps， trying to find small spaces where new plots could be dug. According to the article， the cemetery was going to run out of space any day. Any day is arriving fast.
Richman said there was no limit to what the cemetery could do， whether by rearranging the grounds to make space for new arrivals or by talking with developers and trustees to rearrange the cemetery’s vision to cater to new customers. What he did not say was that the cost of a single grave plot in Green-Wood starts at $19，000. Indeed， nearly every cemetery in New York City suffers from the problem of decreasing space for a number of dead that will continue to rise relentlessly. Plot prices are rising and in-ground burials at certain cemeteries， such as Trinity Cemetery in Manhattan， are no longer allowed. Not long ago， I walked with Vincent Carbone， who owns Carbone Memorials， an independent memorial service in Brooklyn， as he went to check on a job in The Evergreens. In the midst of all this change， tradespeople like Carbone have almost stopped existing， left floundering in the wake of a memorialisation business that has become less centred around independent shops and more concentrated on bigger， cheaper， more efficient corporations. I watched two of his contractors sandblast a decorative set of hearts into a new headstone that nearly touched another headstone. Everywhere I looked， headstones stuck together like kids in line for recess. Somewhere in the distance， the Jackie Robinson Parkway hummed， jutting right up to the cemetery’s expanse.
Almost every New Yorker will pass above， beneath， beside or through a cemetery at some point in their given day. We are prepositionally related to the dead. Not just the recent dead， either， and sometimes not even the real dead. When I attended Fordham University， there was a common myth about the on-campus cemetery， which contained just a few dozen graves： that school leaders constructed it to block a highway from being built through the campus， that there were no bodies in it. Like all myths， it felt just odd and right enough to be true.
In Soho in 1991， the city approved plans to build a $276m， 30-plus-storey federal building， before it found out that more than 400 bodies sat below it， in an old interment site known centuries ago as Negros Burial Ground2. Though the city continued to build the tower， it altered the design and gave the burial ground historical landmark status and， later， a memorial.
This wasn’t， and isn’t， a new problem for the city. Famous sites such as Washington Square Park， where many believe up to 20，000 people still lie buried in a potter’s field3 beneath its arch， and the Brooklyn Navy Yard all sit on old burial sites of poor， marginalised or disenfranchised groups.
And then， perhaps most eerily present， there is Hart Island， the small， barren plot of land viewable from City Island in the Bronx. Here， Rikers Island inmates are paid 50 cents an hour to bury the city’s poor and unclaimed dead in trenches， not plots. Babies， fathers and mothers alike. Out there in the Long Island Sound， away from the city’s view， inmates dig mass graves for people most people will never know lived. The forgotten， abused， cast-out and neg-lected bury the forgotten， abused， cast-out and neglected， away from the public eye. As if to add punishment to poverty， Hart Island cannot be accessed in the same way as a regular city cemetery. If， for example， a son wanted to visit his long-lost mother， who died in New York City， whose body went unclaimed， made an extended stay at a morgue， was operated on at a medical school and then found its way to Hart Island， that son would have to wait for the once-a-month family visit day. When he finally arrived on the island after a ferry ride， his mother’s grave would be located via a trench number， and that trench shared with over a hundred other bodies. I don’t doubt that Jacob Bigelow wanted the best for the people and city he loved， that he wanted to create a space of beauty for people who craved solace. But now， almost two centuries later， the very cemeteries that Bigelow inspired are overcrowded and often overpriced. When I went to Green-Wood， I stood and looked out toward the Statue of Liberty and tried to imagine what used to decorate my field of vision： green hills rolling into the water before disappearing. The day I stood there， the city came right up to the cemetery’s fence， and a group of union workers marched in a circle4 outside a business， striking for something they needed but weren’t being given.
When burial space does finally， inevitably run out， the bodies of New Yorkers who are marginalised， poor and disenfranchised—or even simply not rich—will be the ones spending eternity somewhere other than the city in which they lived. There will be no room for them. It will be a kind of gentrification5 of the dead.
When Carbone and I left the cemetery， he pointed at a mausoleum6.
“Trommer，” he said， indicating the family name on the tomb. “He used to own this brewery， straight ahead. It used to be right there.”
Carbone pointed right in front of us. Now， there was a Popeye’s， a gas station. A block away there was Carbone’s memorial shop， clinging to survival， jammed underneath the rattle of a subway track. The city advances. The living need space， but what of our dead？
1825年，马萨诸塞州波士顿城的一名医生兼植物学家雅各布·比奇洛注意到当地许多小教堂墓地变得日益拥挤。他颇具先见之明，计划在波士顿郊区打造一片繁花掩映的新墓地，旨在保护自然之美。经过多年的计划以及对持谨慎态度的市民们的游说，奥本山公墓于1831年建成，波士顿的哀悼者们开始带着野餐篮乘马车去乡下陪伴他们最近逝去的亲友。
尽管奥本山公墓受许多欧洲同类型墓地的影响，但却是美国第一个此类型的墓地。很快，乡村与花园公墓运动兴起。1838年，纽约市建成绿荫公墓;纽约州于1847年通过了《乡村公墓法》，允许教堂及其他实体大量购买免税土地。不久，纽约市——尤其是皇后区，长眠于这片土地下的人数是生活在这里的人数的两倍以上——扩建了许多墓地，例如常青树公墓、赛普里斯山公墓、耶稣受难公墓等。
我曾随史学工作者杰夫·里奇曼在绿荫公墓参观了几个小时。这片空间很美，树木拔地参天，曲曲折折，在坟头与墓碑上投下一道道螺旋状的阴影。这里弥漫着富有的气息，逝去已久的纽约人当初为自己选定长眠之地就是希望死后能像生前一样占据一块体现身份之所。坟墓就变得像房子一样，小花园中有固定在地面上的铸铁栅栏和长椅。对最富有的纽约人来说，死亡需要付出极大的代价——既体现在金钱上又体现在空间上。
参观时，我们经过了44606号地段，这是一片自然宜人的土地，上面散布着墓碑。但如果仔细观察，你会发现立着墓碑的地方曾经是一条道路。这看起来简直是精心策划的，如同布鲁克林老褐砂石街区中一幢突兀的新混凝土公寓。
《纽约时报》2009年的一篇文章中，绿荫公墓的研究员凯斯图蒂斯·德梅雷卡斯告诉文章作者迈克尔·威尔逊自己如何在该墓地找到新的坟墓空间。起初，新的逝者不断占据原有的小径与道路，后来他开始潜心钻研旧地图，试图发现一些小的空间来开辟为新的墓穴。文章指出，该公墓的空间早晚有一天将会用尽。这一天正在快速到来。
里奇曼称，无论是重新安排场地为新逝者腾出空间，还是与开发商和受托人讨论重新规划公墓以迎合新顾客的需求，该墓地的用途都没有受到限制。他并没有提到绿荫公墓中一块墓穴的费用最低为1.9万美元。确实，逝者人数会继续不停地增长，几乎每个纽约市的公墓都面临着空间减少的问题。土地价格在上涨，一些墓地不再允许土葬，例如曼哈顿的三一公墓。
前不久，我和卡蓬殡葬服务公司老板文森特·卡蓬同行，当时他正前往常青树公墓检查工作。他是布鲁克林区的一个独立商人。墓地方面的所有变化使得卡蓬这样的商人几乎难以为继、苦苦挣扎，因为殡葬行业越来越脱离独立店面经营，逐渐转向兼具规模性、实惠性及高效性的企业。我看着他的两个承包人对着一块新墓碑喷砂打磨出一组装饰性的心形图案，这块墓碑几乎紧挨着另一块墓碑。四处望去，所有墓碑挨在一起，如同孩子们排队等下课一般。远处的杰基罗宾森公园大道车马不息，一直延伸到這一片墓地。 几乎每个纽约人都会在某一天的某个时刻穿过墓地，或从其上方、下方或旁边经过。我们注定与逝者相关联，不仅是新近的逝者，有时候甚至是非真实的逝者。我在福德汉姆大学读书时，那里有一个关于校园墓地的传说。传说称这个墓地只有几十个坟墓，因为校领导建造该墓地是为了阻挡公路穿过校园，所以这里并没有尸体。像所有的传说一样，这听起来既奇怪又合理，感觉就像真的一样。
1991年，纽约市计划斥资2.76亿美元在索霍区建立一栋30多层的联邦大楼，之后却在地下发现了400多具尸体，这个古老的埋葬点即几个世纪前的黑人坟场。尽管建楼工程没有停止，纽约市调整了建筑设计并赋予该坟场历史遗址的地位，之后又为其建造了纪念碑。
对纽约来说，不管是过去还是现在，这都算不上新问题。一些著名景点如华盛顿广场公园和布鲁克林海军造船厂就坐落在古老的埋葬点上，里面埋葬着穷困潦倒、被边缘化或被剥夺权利的群体。许多人认为仍有多达2万人埋葬在华盛顿广场公园拱门下方。
接下来或许是最为怪异的地方：哈特岛。这是一小片荒芜的土地，从布朗克斯区的锡蒂岛可以看到它。在這里，赖克斯岛的囚犯以每小时50美分的薪酬挖深坑将城市中贫困以及无人认领的逝者埋葬，而不是葬在墓地中。不管是婴童还是为人父母者，都以同样的方式被埋葬。远在城市视线之外的长岛海湾，囚犯为逝者挖掘集体墓穴，大部分人将永远不会知道这些逝者曾存于世。被遗忘、被虐待、被抛弃和被忽视之人埋葬同样被遗忘、被虐待、被抛弃和被忽视之人，这一切都远离公众视线。就像要对贫穷另加惩罚一样，哈特岛并不像普通的城市公墓那样可以正常进入。例如，一名母亲死在纽约市，尸体无人认领，在停尸房多放了一段时间，后来遗体被医学院用作研究，最后被送到哈特岛。如果她的儿子想要祭拜失散很久的母亲，他要等到每月一次的家人祭拜日。最终乘渡轮到达哈特岛后，他要通过埋人坑编号找到母亲的墓穴，而这个坑里同时埋葬着一百多具尸体。
我相信雅各布·比奇洛想为自己深爱的城市和人民提供最好的一切，他想为这些渴望慰藉的人们打造一片美丽的空间。但是几乎两个世纪过去了，比奇洛创想的公墓已变得拥挤不堪，同时经常面临价格过高的问题。去绿荫公墓时，我站着看向外面的自由女神像，努力想象曾经装点视野的美好画面：青山绿水相接。而那天站在那里时，我看到城市的尽头是公墓的栅栏，一群工会工人在一家企业门外限定的圈子内游行维权，奋力争取着自己需要却得不到的东西。
当埋葬空间最终不可避免地用尽时，那些被边缘化、穷困潦倒以及被剥夺权利的纽约人——或者甚至只是不算富有的纽约人——只能在自己城市以外的地方长眠。纽约并没有他们的空间。这将带来一种逝者的中产阶层化。
我和卡蓬离开公墓时，他指了指一座陵墓。
“特罗默尔，”他说出这个坟墓上的姓氏，“他曾经经营前面一家啤酒厂，之前就在那里。”
卡蓬指向前面，现在那里是一家“卜派”加油站。一条街区之外就是卡蓬的殡葬服务公司，裹挟在地铁轨道的嘎嘎声中苟求生存。城市在发展，活着的人需要空间，但死去的人要何去何从？
（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者;单位：北京外国语大学）
Though Mount Auburn owed a debt to European cemeteries built with similar intent， it was the first of its kind in the US， and soon a rural and garden cemetery movement took hold. Green-Wood Cemetery was founded in New York City in 1838， and in 1847， New York state passed the Rural Cemetery Act， which allowed churches and other entities to buy up tax-exempt land. Soon， New York City—and Queens especially， where more than double the number of people who live above ground are buried below it—was home to many sprawling cemeteries. The Evergreens. Cypress Hills. Calvary. The names go on.
I spent a few hours touring the grounds of Green-Wood with Jeff Richman， the cemetery’s historian. The space is beautiful. Trees tower and curve and throw long spiralling shadows over tombs and headstones. It is redolent of wealth. Long-dead New Yorkers plotted an eternal rest in which they intended to occupy the same kind of space they demanded in life. Tombs became like houses， with wrought-iron fences and benches set in small gardens. Death for New York’s richest came at a high price—in terms of both money and space.
During the tour， we passed Lot 44606， a benign stretch of ground dotted with burial markers. But， if you looked closer， you could see there used to be a road where these grave markers now stood. It looked too planned， like a new concrete condo in Brooklyn on a block of old brownstones1.
In a 2009 New York Times article， the cemetery’s researcher Kestutis Demereckas told writer Michael Wilson how he found space for new graves at Green-Wood. After covering various old paths or roads with new bodies， he laboured over old maps， trying to find small spaces where new plots could be dug. According to the article， the cemetery was going to run out of space any day. Any day is arriving fast.
Richman said there was no limit to what the cemetery could do， whether by rearranging the grounds to make space for new arrivals or by talking with developers and trustees to rearrange the cemetery’s vision to cater to new customers. What he did not say was that the cost of a single grave plot in Green-Wood starts at $19，000. Indeed， nearly every cemetery in New York City suffers from the problem of decreasing space for a number of dead that will continue to rise relentlessly. Plot prices are rising and in-ground burials at certain cemeteries， such as Trinity Cemetery in Manhattan， are no longer allowed. Not long ago， I walked with Vincent Carbone， who owns Carbone Memorials， an independent memorial service in Brooklyn， as he went to check on a job in The Evergreens. In the midst of all this change， tradespeople like Carbone have almost stopped existing， left floundering in the wake of a memorialisation business that has become less centred around independent shops and more concentrated on bigger， cheaper， more efficient corporations. I watched two of his contractors sandblast a decorative set of hearts into a new headstone that nearly touched another headstone. Everywhere I looked， headstones stuck together like kids in line for recess. Somewhere in the distance， the Jackie Robinson Parkway hummed， jutting right up to the cemetery’s expanse.
Almost every New Yorker will pass above， beneath， beside or through a cemetery at some point in their given day. We are prepositionally related to the dead. Not just the recent dead， either， and sometimes not even the real dead. When I attended Fordham University， there was a common myth about the on-campus cemetery， which contained just a few dozen graves： that school leaders constructed it to block a highway from being built through the campus， that there were no bodies in it. Like all myths， it felt just odd and right enough to be true.
In Soho in 1991， the city approved plans to build a $276m， 30-plus-storey federal building， before it found out that more than 400 bodies sat below it， in an old interment site known centuries ago as Negros Burial Ground2. Though the city continued to build the tower， it altered the design and gave the burial ground historical landmark status and， later， a memorial.
This wasn’t， and isn’t， a new problem for the city. Famous sites such as Washington Square Park， where many believe up to 20，000 people still lie buried in a potter’s field3 beneath its arch， and the Brooklyn Navy Yard all sit on old burial sites of poor， marginalised or disenfranchised groups.
And then， perhaps most eerily present， there is Hart Island， the small， barren plot of land viewable from City Island in the Bronx. Here， Rikers Island inmates are paid 50 cents an hour to bury the city’s poor and unclaimed dead in trenches， not plots. Babies， fathers and mothers alike. Out there in the Long Island Sound， away from the city’s view， inmates dig mass graves for people most people will never know lived. The forgotten， abused， cast-out and neg-lected bury the forgotten， abused， cast-out and neglected， away from the public eye. As if to add punishment to poverty， Hart Island cannot be accessed in the same way as a regular city cemetery. If， for example， a son wanted to visit his long-lost mother， who died in New York City， whose body went unclaimed， made an extended stay at a morgue， was operated on at a medical school and then found its way to Hart Island， that son would have to wait for the once-a-month family visit day. When he finally arrived on the island after a ferry ride， his mother’s grave would be located via a trench number， and that trench shared with over a hundred other bodies. I don’t doubt that Jacob Bigelow wanted the best for the people and city he loved， that he wanted to create a space of beauty for people who craved solace. But now， almost two centuries later， the very cemeteries that Bigelow inspired are overcrowded and often overpriced. When I went to Green-Wood， I stood and looked out toward the Statue of Liberty and tried to imagine what used to decorate my field of vision： green hills rolling into the water before disappearing. The day I stood there， the city came right up to the cemetery’s fence， and a group of union workers marched in a circle4 outside a business， striking for something they needed but weren’t being given.
When burial space does finally， inevitably run out， the bodies of New Yorkers who are marginalised， poor and disenfranchised—or even simply not rich—will be the ones spending eternity somewhere other than the city in which they lived. There will be no room for them. It will be a kind of gentrification5 of the dead.
When Carbone and I left the cemetery， he pointed at a mausoleum6.
“Trommer，” he said， indicating the family name on the tomb. “He used to own this brewery， straight ahead. It used to be right there.”
Carbone pointed right in front of us. Now， there was a Popeye’s， a gas station. A block away there was Carbone’s memorial shop， clinging to survival， jammed underneath the rattle of a subway track. The city advances. The living need space， but what of our dead？
1825年，马萨诸塞州波士顿城的一名医生兼植物学家雅各布·比奇洛注意到当地许多小教堂墓地变得日益拥挤。他颇具先见之明，计划在波士顿郊区打造一片繁花掩映的新墓地，旨在保护自然之美。经过多年的计划以及对持谨慎态度的市民们的游说，奥本山公墓于1831年建成，波士顿的哀悼者们开始带着野餐篮乘马车去乡下陪伴他们最近逝去的亲友。
尽管奥本山公墓受许多欧洲同类型墓地的影响，但却是美国第一个此类型的墓地。很快，乡村与花园公墓运动兴起。1838年，纽约市建成绿荫公墓;纽约州于1847年通过了《乡村公墓法》，允许教堂及其他实体大量购买免税土地。不久，纽约市——尤其是皇后区，长眠于这片土地下的人数是生活在这里的人数的两倍以上——扩建了许多墓地，例如常青树公墓、赛普里斯山公墓、耶稣受难公墓等。
我曾随史学工作者杰夫·里奇曼在绿荫公墓参观了几个小时。这片空间很美，树木拔地参天，曲曲折折，在坟头与墓碑上投下一道道螺旋状的阴影。这里弥漫着富有的气息，逝去已久的纽约人当初为自己选定长眠之地就是希望死后能像生前一样占据一块体现身份之所。坟墓就变得像房子一样，小花园中有固定在地面上的铸铁栅栏和长椅。对最富有的纽约人来说，死亡需要付出极大的代价——既体现在金钱上又体现在空间上。
参观时，我们经过了44606号地段，这是一片自然宜人的土地，上面散布着墓碑。但如果仔细观察，你会发现立着墓碑的地方曾经是一条道路。这看起来简直是精心策划的，如同布鲁克林老褐砂石街区中一幢突兀的新混凝土公寓。
《纽约时报》2009年的一篇文章中，绿荫公墓的研究员凯斯图蒂斯·德梅雷卡斯告诉文章作者迈克尔·威尔逊自己如何在该墓地找到新的坟墓空间。起初，新的逝者不断占据原有的小径与道路，后来他开始潜心钻研旧地图，试图发现一些小的空间来开辟为新的墓穴。文章指出，该公墓的空间早晚有一天将会用尽。这一天正在快速到来。
里奇曼称，无论是重新安排场地为新逝者腾出空间，还是与开发商和受托人讨论重新规划公墓以迎合新顾客的需求，该墓地的用途都没有受到限制。他并没有提到绿荫公墓中一块墓穴的费用最低为1.9万美元。确实，逝者人数会继续不停地增长，几乎每个纽约市的公墓都面临着空间减少的问题。土地价格在上涨，一些墓地不再允许土葬，例如曼哈顿的三一公墓。
前不久，我和卡蓬殡葬服务公司老板文森特·卡蓬同行，当时他正前往常青树公墓检查工作。他是布鲁克林区的一个独立商人。墓地方面的所有变化使得卡蓬这样的商人几乎难以为继、苦苦挣扎，因为殡葬行业越来越脱离独立店面经营，逐渐转向兼具规模性、实惠性及高效性的企业。我看着他的两个承包人对着一块新墓碑喷砂打磨出一组装饰性的心形图案，这块墓碑几乎紧挨着另一块墓碑。四处望去，所有墓碑挨在一起，如同孩子们排队等下课一般。远处的杰基罗宾森公园大道车马不息，一直延伸到這一片墓地。 几乎每个纽约人都会在某一天的某个时刻穿过墓地，或从其上方、下方或旁边经过。我们注定与逝者相关联，不仅是新近的逝者，有时候甚至是非真实的逝者。我在福德汉姆大学读书时，那里有一个关于校园墓地的传说。传说称这个墓地只有几十个坟墓，因为校领导建造该墓地是为了阻挡公路穿过校园，所以这里并没有尸体。像所有的传说一样，这听起来既奇怪又合理，感觉就像真的一样。
1991年，纽约市计划斥资2.76亿美元在索霍区建立一栋30多层的联邦大楼，之后却在地下发现了400多具尸体，这个古老的埋葬点即几个世纪前的黑人坟场。尽管建楼工程没有停止，纽约市调整了建筑设计并赋予该坟场历史遗址的地位，之后又为其建造了纪念碑。
对纽约来说，不管是过去还是现在，这都算不上新问题。一些著名景点如华盛顿广场公园和布鲁克林海军造船厂就坐落在古老的埋葬点上，里面埋葬着穷困潦倒、被边缘化或被剥夺权利的群体。许多人认为仍有多达2万人埋葬在华盛顿广场公园拱门下方。
接下来或许是最为怪异的地方：哈特岛。这是一小片荒芜的土地，从布朗克斯区的锡蒂岛可以看到它。在這里，赖克斯岛的囚犯以每小时50美分的薪酬挖深坑将城市中贫困以及无人认领的逝者埋葬，而不是葬在墓地中。不管是婴童还是为人父母者，都以同样的方式被埋葬。远在城市视线之外的长岛海湾，囚犯为逝者挖掘集体墓穴，大部分人将永远不会知道这些逝者曾存于世。被遗忘、被虐待、被抛弃和被忽视之人埋葬同样被遗忘、被虐待、被抛弃和被忽视之人，这一切都远离公众视线。就像要对贫穷另加惩罚一样，哈特岛并不像普通的城市公墓那样可以正常进入。例如，一名母亲死在纽约市，尸体无人认领，在停尸房多放了一段时间，后来遗体被医学院用作研究，最后被送到哈特岛。如果她的儿子想要祭拜失散很久的母亲，他要等到每月一次的家人祭拜日。最终乘渡轮到达哈特岛后，他要通过埋人坑编号找到母亲的墓穴，而这个坑里同时埋葬着一百多具尸体。
我相信雅各布·比奇洛想为自己深爱的城市和人民提供最好的一切，他想为这些渴望慰藉的人们打造一片美丽的空间。但是几乎两个世纪过去了，比奇洛创想的公墓已变得拥挤不堪，同时经常面临价格过高的问题。去绿荫公墓时，我站着看向外面的自由女神像，努力想象曾经装点视野的美好画面：青山绿水相接。而那天站在那里时，我看到城市的尽头是公墓的栅栏，一群工会工人在一家企业门外限定的圈子内游行维权，奋力争取着自己需要却得不到的东西。
当埋葬空间最终不可避免地用尽时，那些被边缘化、穷困潦倒以及被剥夺权利的纽约人——或者甚至只是不算富有的纽约人——只能在自己城市以外的地方长眠。纽约并没有他们的空间。这将带来一种逝者的中产阶层化。
我和卡蓬离开公墓时，他指了指一座陵墓。
“特罗默尔，”他说出这个坟墓上的姓氏，“他曾经经营前面一家啤酒厂，之前就在那里。”
卡蓬指向前面，现在那里是一家“卜派”加油站。一条街区之外就是卡蓬的殡葬服务公司，裹挟在地铁轨道的嘎嘎声中苟求生存。城市在发展，活着的人需要空间，但死去的人要何去何从？
（译者为“《英语世界》杯”翻译大赛获奖者;单位：北京外国语大学）