I know you well. It’s true I always have a little trouble with your name, but I do know your name. I just don’t know it at this moment.
We’re at a big party. We’ve kissed hello. We’ve had a delightful conversation about how we are the last two people on the face of the earth who don’t kiss on both cheeks. Now we’re having a conversation about how phony1 all the people are who do kiss on both cheeks. Ha ha ha ha ha.
You’re so charming. If only I could remember your name. It’s inexcusable2 that I don’t. You’ve been to my house for dinner. I tried to read your last book. I know your girlfriend’s name, or I almost know.
　　It’s something like Chanelle. Only it’s not. Chantelle? That’s not it either. Fortunately, she isn’t here, so I haven’t forgotten both of your names.
　　I’m becoming desperate. It’s something like Larry. Is it Larry? No, it’s not. Jerry? No, it’s not. But it ends with a y. Your last name: three syllables, starts with a c. Starts with a g?
　　I’m losing my mind.
　　But a miracle occurs: The host is about to toast the guest of honor. Thank God. I can escape to the bar.
　　I will spend the rest of the night scrolling through3 the alphabet in an attempt to come up with your name. If I fail, there’s always Google.
　　If only I could remember what that last book was about.

　　Have we met? I think we’ve met. But I can’t be sure.
　　We were introduced, but I didn’t catch your name because it’s so noisy at this party.
　　I’m going to assume we know each other and I’m not going to say, “Nice to meet you.” If I say, “Nice to meet you,” I know what will happen. You’ll say, “We’ve met.” You’ll say it in a sort of aggressive4, irritable5 tone. And you won’t even tell me your name.
　　So I’m not going to say, “Nice to meet you.” I’ll have a big smile on my face. I won’t look desperate. But what I’ll be thinking is, please throw me your name. Please, please, please. Give me a hint. My husband is likely to walk up, and I’ll have to introduce you, and I won’t be able to, and you’ll know that I have no idea who you are, even though we probably spent an entire weekend together on a boat in 1984.
　　And even though I have a secret signal with my husband that involves my pinching6 him very hard on the upper arm—a signal that means “Throw your name at this person because I have no idea whom I’m talking to”—my husband always forgets the secret signal. He can’t be counted on to respond to my pinching, even when it produces a bruise7.
　　I would like to chew my husband out8 about his forgetfulness on this point, but I’m not exactly in a position to do so, since I myself have forgotten (if I ever knew it) the name of the person I’m talking to.
Old friends? We must be. You’re delighted to see me. I’m delighted to see you. But who are you? Oh my God, you’re Jane.  I can’t believe it. Jane.
“Jane! How are you? It’s been—how long has it been?”
I’d like to suggest that the reason I didn’t recognize you right off the bat9 is that you’ve done something to your hair. But you’ve done nothing to your hair, nothing that would excuse my not recognizing you.
What you’ve actually done is gotten older. I don’t believe it.
You used to be my age, and now you’re much, much, much older than I am. You could be my mother. Unless of course I look as old as you and I don’t know it.
　　Which is not possible.
　　Or is it?
　　I’m looking around the room and I notice that everyone in it looks like someone, and when I try to figure out exactly who that someone is, it turns out to be a former version of herself, a thinner version or a healthier version or a pre-plastic-surgery version or a taller version.
If this is true of everyone, it must be true of me. Mustn’t it?
But never mind: You are speaking.
“Maggie,” you say. “It’s been so long.”
“I’m not Maggie,” I say.
“Oh, my  God,”  you say. “It’s you. I didn’t recognize you. You’ve done something to your hair.”

---

咱俩谁跟谁！ 没错儿，您的大名我老是想不起来，但您的名字我确实知道。只是，这会儿想不起来而已。
这是一场盛大的派对。我们吻吻面颊，说声“你好”。我俩刚才聊得十分开心，聊的是：为何所有地球人中只有我俩单单只吻一侧脸颊。现在呢，咱俩侃的是：见面时两侧脸都亲的人那才叫“装！”。 哈哈哈哈……
　　您可真迷人。但愿我能想起您的名字。想不起您的大名，真是不可饶恕！您还到我家吃过晚饭呢！我还试过去读您的上一部作品！我还记得您女友的名字，差点就想起来了。
　　她叫夏娜丽，对不？可惜不对。叫夏特丽？还是错！幸运的是，她不在这儿。所以，你们的大名我记得牢着呢！
　　我有些绝望。您好像叫拉里。拉里？不，不对。叫杰瑞？错。可您的名字最后一个字母是y。您的姓有三个音节，打头字母是c——要么是g？
　　我脑袋进水了。
但是，奇迹出现了：男主人马上要给贵宾敬酒了。感谢上帝，我可以趁机逃到吧台边。
　　整个晚上我脑里把字母表过了一遍，绞尽脑汁搜索您的大名。要是我还是没想起来，还有“谷歌”呢！
　　您上一本书写的是啥？假如我能想起来该多好！

　　我们见过面吗？我以为见过。可是，真见过吗？
　　是别人介绍我俩认识的。但是，派对太吵，我没听清您的大名。
　　我必须假设咱俩见过面，我不能说“初次见到您很高兴”。要是这么说，后果很严重！您会说：“咱俩见过！”说话的口气一定相当盛气凌人、火冒三丈。您也不会讲出您的大名。
　　所以呢，我不会说“见到您很高兴”。我会咧开大嘴笑笑，绝不让你看出半点绝望。但是，我心底在想：快点让我想起你叫啥。快点，快点，快点。给点提示吧？我的丈夫就要走过来了，我必须做介绍，可你叫我怎么办？我压根儿就不晓得您是何许人！就算1984年你我在同一条船上度过周末，还是如此。
　　虽然我与老公有个暗号——我会在他上臂狠狠掐一下——意思是：“快对这人自我介绍，我根本不知道他是谁！”——老公总是忘记这暗号！即使掐出血印，也别指望他会有什么反应。
　　对于老公的健忘，我本想训斥他一番。但是，我觉得现在不是时候，因为我自个儿也特健忘——（如果以前知道的话）想不起跟我说话的这人叫什么。

　　我的老朋友？ 绝对是！见到我，你很高兴；看到你，我也很开心。可是，你是谁？ 哎呀，天啊，是珍妮。真不敢相信。是你，珍妮！
　　“珍妮，你好吗?好久没见——有多久了？”
　　我想说，之所以没立马认出你，那是因为你做了头发。但是，你没做头发呀？我找不到什么借口来掩饰了。
　　你惟一做的——看起来更老了！我真不敢相信。
　　原先你跟我一样年轻，可现在——你比我老、老、老得多喽！你都可以做我的母亲啦！当然了——除非我可能跟您一样老，只是自己不知道。
　　但这不可能！
　　可能吗？
　　我左看看、右瞧瞧，觉得这屋子里每个人看上去总像某个人。当我想破脑壳要搞清楚时，突然发现，一个个竟然都是她的翻版！这个是以前的她；那个是瘦了的她；这个是健康的她；那个是没做整形之前的她；还有变高了的她……
　　如果每人都这样，我也一样。不是么？
　　可是不用担心：你开口讲话了。
　　“麦琪，”你叫我，“好久不见。”
　　“我不叫麦琪，”我说。
　　“噢，天啊！原来是你。一下子没认出来。你做了头发——所以——”