Chapter 2 Harvard Yard
前情提要：Eduardo参加犹太兄弟会Alpha Epsilon Pi的派对，此时他已经通过了凤凰俱乐部的前三轮面试，只剩下最后一轮。
译文
“我这样的男人通常不会被亚洲女孩喜欢，”Eduardo在喝潘趣酒的间隙评论道：”是亚洲女孩通常对我这样的男人有吸引力。如果想让我与最性感的那个女孩约会的可能性达到最大，样本池里就得都是那些最有可能对我感兴趣的女孩。”其他人点了点头，赞同他的逻辑。在过去，他们把这个简单的等式详细阐述成一个更复杂的算法，试图解释犹太男孩和亚洲女孩之间的联系，但今晚他们只是让它保持简单，也许是出于对音乐的尊重，现在，音乐在昂贵的扬声器里回荡，让人很难投入到任何复杂的思考中。
（中间省略，主要是介绍当时Eduardo身边的几个兄弟会成员，不是Chris和Dustin）
第四个孩子，站在Eduardo的正对面，也曾经击剑——在埃克塞特高中——但他并不像他左边的高个子孩子那样身材高大。他有点笨拙，就像Eduardo，虽然他的腿和手臂相对于他略显瘦削的身材的比例更匀称，不是一副完全不适合运动的身形。他穿的是短裤而不是长裤，穿着凉鞋，没穿袜子。他有一个显眼的鼻子，一头金棕色的卷发，和一双浅蓝色的眼睛。那双眼睛里有种幽默感（There was something playful about those eyes）——但没有任何自然的情绪或容易解读的东西。他窄长的脸上没有任何表情。他的姿势，他的气质——他似乎把自己封闭起来，即使是在集体活动中，即使是在这里，在他自己的兄弟会的安全地带——几乎是明显的笨拙。
他叫Mark Zuckerberg，是个大二学生，虽然Edawrd在Epsilon Pi的各种活动中和他一起度过了相当多的时间，还有至少一次凤凰俱乐部的预选派对，但他还是几乎不认识这个男孩。不过，Mark绝对比Eduardo更有名，他是计算机科学专业学生，住在Kirkland（注：本段中原文说的是Eliot，但实际上Mark住在Kirkland，Eduardo住在Eliot，疑似印刷错误，译文已经修改。），从小在纽约多布斯费里的中上阶层住宅区上长大，是牙医和精神科医生的儿子。在高中时，他据说是个电脑高手——太擅长破解电脑系统，以至于被列入了FBI的名单或经历某些类似的剧情走向的那种高手。不管这是不是真的，Mark肯定是个电脑天才。他在埃克塞特学院时为自己打下了名声，在他磨练出了自己的编程技术后，他和一个朋友编写了一个叫Synapse的程序，这个程序可以让MP3播放器学习用户的偏好并依此建立推荐歌单。Mark在网上免费发布了Synapse——几乎立刻就有大公司打电话过来，试图购买Mark的作品。有传言说，微软给Mark开出了100万到200万美元的价格，让Mark去为他们工作，但令人惊讶的是，Mark拒绝了他们。（注：该朋友为Adam D’Angelo，Facebook早期的CTO，Quora现任CEO，哈佛校报《深红》对此的报道：Not-so-artificial Intelligence）
Eduardo并不是电脑专家，他对黑客也不了解，但他的家族里有生意人，有人会拒绝一百万美元这种事对他来说很吸引人——也有点令人震惊。这让Mark更像是个谜，甚至比他的笨拙还让人觉得不可思议。一个谜——并且明显是个天才。Synapse之后，他在哈佛又写了一个叫 “CourseMatch”的程序，让学生们能看到其他同学选了什么课程；Eduardo自己也用过一两次，试图追踪他在食堂里遇到的漂亮女孩，但没成功。不过这个程序已经足够好了，得到了相当大的关注度；校园里的大多数人都很喜欢 “CourseMatch”。
当另外三个兄弟会成员前去给潘趣酒续杯的时候，Eduardo抓住机会更近距离地研究了一下这个卷发大二学生。Eduardo一直以来都为自己能够抓住他人个性的核心而感到自豪——这是他父亲教给他的东西，是他在商业世界中领先一步的方法。对他的父亲来说，生意就是一切；他的父亲是二战期间勉强逃过大屠杀才来到巴西的富裕移民的儿子，在身为幸存者的环境下将Eduardo抚养长大；身为商人世家的后代，Eduardo的父亲知道无论在什么情况下，成功是多么重要。而巴西只是一个开始；在Eduardo十三岁那年，Saverin一家几乎是被迫匆忙迁往迈阿密——当时，因为Eduardo父亲的经济成就，他们发现Eduardo的名字被列入了绑架名单。（注：关于此事，Eduardo在2012年的一次采访中已经辟谣，Saverin家移民美国并不是因为遭到绑架威胁，一方面是因为Eduardo的父亲Roberto一直想移民美国，另一方面是为了躲避当年巴西动荡的局势，详情请见：Eduardo Saverin, the Brazilian on Facebook, tells his story）
初中时，Eduardo发现自己漂泊在一个陌生的新世界，努力学习新的语言——英语——和新的文化——迈阿密——在同一时间。虽然他不懂电脑，但他完全明白，作为一个笨拙的局外人是什么样子的；格格不入，无论是什么原因。
Mark Zuckerberg，从他的外表来看，他显然是与众不同的。也许只是因为他太聪明了，即使在这里，在他的同龄人之间，他也不适合待着。“同龄人”不是说犹太人这个身份本身，而是像他这样的孩子们——出于迷恋而创造算法的宅男们，在周五的晚上没有什么事情可做，只是在贴满了皱纹纸和彩色海报的教室里闲逛，谈论着他们没有得到的女孩。
“这很有趣，”Mark终于打破了沉默。他的声音里几乎没有任何起伏，Eduardo无法猜到他想表达的是什么情绪——如果他真的有试图表达什么情绪的话。
“是啊，”Eduardo多回应道。”至少今年的酒里有朗姆酒。上一次，我认为是卡普里太阳酒（Capri Sun）。”Mark咳嗽了一声，然后把手伸向墙上一条作为装饰的皱纹纸带，抚摸着打结的位置。胶带松开了，纸带飘到了地上，落在了Mark的阿迪达斯凉鞋上。他看了看Eduardo。
“欢迎来到丛林。”（Welcome to the jungle.）
Eduardo咧开嘴笑了，尽管事实上，他仍然不能从Mark单调的语气中确定这孩子是不是在开玩笑。但他能感觉到，在这孩子的蓝眼睛背后，有某种非常无政府主义的东西。他似乎把周围的一切都看在眼里，即使是在这里，在这个没有什么能引起注意的地方。也许他真的是大家都以为的天才。Eduardo突然感觉到，这是他想要结交的朋友，他想更好地了解Mark。任何一个在十七岁时拒绝了一百万美元的人，都可能在追求某种目标。
“我有种感觉，这派对再过几分钟就要散了。”Eduardo说。”我要回河边了——回Eliot。你在哪栋宿舍楼？”
“Kirkland。”Mark回应道。他扭头看向舞台另一边的出口。Eduardo瞥了一眼他们的其他朋友们，仍在潘趣酒碗前；那些朋友都住在另一栋宿舍楼，所以当派对结束时，他们会往不同的方向走。这是认识这个笨拙的电脑天才的好机会。Eduardo点了点头，然后跟着Mark穿过稀疏的人群。
“如果你想，”Eduardo在他们绕过舞台时说道，”在我住的那层有一场派对，我们可以去看看。估计很烂，但肯定不会比这更烂。”
Mark耸了耸肩。他们都在哈佛呆得够久了，知道宿舍派对会是什么样子；五十个男生和三个女生挤在一个棺材一样的小房间里，同时总有人想方设法喝到一小杯非法的廉价啤酒。
“为什么不呢，”Mark回答道，声音越过他的肩膀，”我明天有个作业要交，但我喝醉的时候比清醒时更擅长算法。”
几分钟后，他们推开派对的门，走进了通往一楼的水泥楼梯间。他们沉默地走下台阶，走出一楼大门，哈佛校园里的树木整齐地排列着，周围十分安静。清爽的微风不断拂过Eduardo单薄的衬衫。他将手插进裤兜里，沿着穿过院子中央的铺有地砖的小路向前走去。从这里走到河边只需要十分钟，他和Mark都住在那个方向。
“该死，外面都操蛋的十度了。”（注：文中单位为华氏度，换算过来大概零下十摄氏度左右，下文Mark说的四十华氏度约等于四摄氏度。）
“更像是四十度。”Mark说。
“我是从迈阿密来的。这对我来说就是十度。”
“那我们也许该跑起来。”
Mark开始慢跑。Eduardo跟在后面，努力地喘着气赶上了他的新朋友。他们并肩跑过令人印象深刻的石阶，这条石阶通往维德纳图书馆的入口。Eduardo曾在维德纳的书架中迷失了许多个夜晚，翻阅着经济理论家的作品，如Adam Smith、John Mills，甚至是Galbraith的作品。即使是在凌晨一点之后，图书馆仍然是开放的；温暖的橙色光线从大理石大厅内的玻璃门中透出来，在宏伟的台阶上投下长长的阴影。
“大四的时候，”当他们绕过最下面的石阶，走到通往铁门的路上时——那是通往哈佛园（Harvard Yard）的铁门，直通剑桥——Eduardo哼了一声，”我要在那些书架中间做爱。我发誓一定会的。”
这是哈佛的一个古老传统——某件你在毕业前应该做的事情。事实上，只有少数学生真正完成了这个任务。 虽然自动化的书架——巨大的书架在自动轮式轨道上——像迷宫一样，并且一直延伸到图书馆这栋巨大的建筑底下许多层，但总是有学生和工作人员潜伏在那些狭窄的通道中；找到一个不被打扰的位置来完成任务将是相当大的壮举。而要找到一个愿意尝试延续这一传统的女孩就更不可能了。
“第一步，”Mark说道。”也许你应该首先尝试带一个女生回宿舍。”（注：译者多年以前看到过一版翻译把Mark说的”Baby steps”译成了”宝贝，注意脚下”，事实上这里的意思应该是”a tentative act or measure which is the first stage in a long or challenging process”, “试探性的行为或措施，是一个长期或艰巨过程中的第一步”。）
Eduardo的面部表情抽动了一下，然后又咧嘴笑了起来。他开始喜欢上了这小子刻薄的幽默感。
“情况也没那么不乐观。我正在参加凤凰俱乐部的选拔。”
当他们转过街角，沿着大图书馆的一侧走去时，Mark瞥了他一眼。
“恭喜。”
又来了，没有任何起伏的语气。但Eduardo能从Mark的眼神中看出他被折服了，而且还有点羡慕。这是Eduardo提到他正在经历的选拔过程时期待从他人那里得到的反应。事实上，Eduardo已经让他认识的人都知道，他离成为凤凰俱乐部的一员越来越近了。他已经经历了三次选拔，现在，他很有可能会走得更远。也许，只是也许，像Alpha Epsilon Pi派对这样他们刚刚经历过的事，都将成为过去。（注：凤凰俱乐部的选拔过程一共有四轮，最后一轮是一场需要携带女伴的派对。）
“如果我成功加入了，也许可以把你的名字列入名单，明年你能以大三学生的身份参加选拔。”
Mark又停顿了一下。也许他在喘气。更有可能的是，他在消化信息。他说话的方式很像电脑，输入，再输出。
“那会——很有趣。”
“如果你能认识一些其他的成员，你会很有机会。我相信他们中的很多人都用过你的CourseMatch。”
Eduardo说着，就意识到了这个想法听起来有多傻。凤凰俱乐部的成员们不会因为某个电脑程序而对这个笨拙的孩子感兴趣。你不能靠写代码变得受欢迎。电脑程序不能让你拥有性生活。你是通过参加派对，和漂亮女孩们一起玩，才会变得受欢迎——有时也能拥有性生活。
当他们走到图书馆的后角，从古典的石柱的长影里慢跑出来时，Mark又向他投去了一个无法解读的目光。
“这是你所希望的一切吗？”
他说的是图书馆吗？还是他们刚刚离开的聚会？犹太兄弟会？凤凰俱乐部？两个不太合群的孩子跑过哈佛园，一个穿着扣上的牛津衬衫，另一个穿着短裤，虽然冻坏了却想去参加一个糟糕的宿舍派对？
对于Eduardo和Mark这样的人来说，大学生活应该比这更好吗？
注：翻译省略了很大一部分环境描写，但值得一提的是，电影里加勒比海主题派对场景的布景几乎就是对书中情节的还原，比如墙上的皱纹纸带和尼加拉瓜瀑布的DVD。
原文
“It’s not that guys like me are generally attracted to Asian girls,” Eduardo commented, between sips of punch. “It’s that Asian girls are generally attracted to guys like me. And if I’m trying to optimize my chances of scoring with the hottest girl possible, I’ve got to stock my pond with the type of girls who are the most likely to be interested.”The other kids nodded, appreciating his logic. In the past, they’d taken this simple equation and elaborated it into a much more complex algorithm to try to explain the connection between Jewish guys and Asian girls, but tonight they just let it remain simple, perhaps out of respect for the music, which was now reverberating so loudly through the expensive speakers that it was hard to engage in any complex thought.
……
The fourth kid, standing directly across from Eduardo, had also fenced—at Exeter—but he wasn’t built anything like the tall kid to his left. He was a bit on the gawky side, like Eduardo, though his legs and arms were more proportionate to his slim, not entirely unathletic frame. He was wearing cargo shorts instead of slacks, sandals with no socks. He had a prominent nose, a mop of curly blondish brown hair, and light blue eyes. There was something playful about those eyes—but that was where any sense of natural emotion or readability ended. His narrow face was otherwise devoid of any expression at all. And his posture, his general aura—the way he seemed closed in on himself, even while engaged in a group dynamic, even here, in the safety of his own fraternity—was almost painfully awkward.
His name was Mark Zuckerberg, he was a sophomore, and although Eduardo had spent a fair amount of time at various Epsilon Pi events with him, along with at least one prepunch Phoenix event that Eduardo could remember, he still barely knew the kid. Mark’s reputation, however, definitely preceded him: a computer science major who lived in Eliot House, Mark had grown up in the upper-middle-class town of Dobbs Ferry, New York, the son of a dentist and a psychiatrist. In high school, he’d supposedly been some sort of master hacker— so good at breaking into computer systems that he’d ended up on some random FBI list somewhere, or so the story went. Whether or not that was true, Mark was certainly a computer genius. He had also made a name for himself at Exeter when, after he had honed his coding skills creating a computerized version of the game Risk, he and a buddy had created a software program called Synapse, a plug-in for MP3 players that allowed the players to “learn” a user’s preferences and create tailored playlists based on that information. Mark had posted Synapse as a free download on the web—and almost immediately, major companies came calling, trying to buy Mark’s creation. Rumor was, Microsoft had offered Mark between one and two million dollars to go work for them—and amazingly, Mark had turned them down.
Eduardo wasn’t an expert on computers, and he knew very little about hacking, but business ran in his family, and the idea that someone would turn down a million dollars was fascinating—and a little bit appalling—to him. Which made Mark more of an enigma than even his awkwardness implied. An enigma—and obviously a genius. He’d followed Synapse up with a program he’d written at Harvard, something called Course Match that allowed Harvard kids to see what classes other kids had signed up for; Eduardo had checked it out himself once or twice, trying to track down random hot girls he’d met in the dining hall, to little avail. But the program was good enough to get a pretty big following; most of the campus appreciated Course Match—if not the kid who’d created it.
As the three other frat brothers moved off toward the punch bowl for a refill, Eduardo took the opportunity to study the moppet-haired sophomore a little closer. Eduardo had always prided himself on his ability to get to the core of other people’s personalities—it was something his father had taught him, a way of getting a step ahead in the world of business. For his father, business was everything; the son of wealthy immigrants who had barely escaped the Holocaust to Brazil during world war II, his father had raised Eduardo in the sometimes harsh light of survivors; he came from a long line of businessmen who knew how important it was to succeed, whatever one’s circumstances. And Brazil was only the beginning; the Saverin family had almost just as hastily been forced to relocate to Miami when Eduardo was thirteen—when it was discovered that Eduardo’s name had ended up on a kidnap list because of his father’s financial success.
By junior high, Eduardo had found himself adrift in a strange new world, struggling to learn a new language—English—and a new culture—Miami—at the same time. So he didn’t know computers, but he understood, completely, what it was like being the awkward outsider; being different, whatever the reason. Mark Zuckerberg, from the looks of him, was obviously different. Maybe it was just that he was so damn smart, he didn’t fit in, even here, among his peers. Among his own kind: not Jewish, per se, but kids like him. Geeky kids who made algorithms out of fetishes, who had nothing better to do on a Friday night than hang out in a classroom filled with crepe paper and colored posters, talking about girls they weren’t actually getting.
By junior high, Eduardo had found himself adrift in a strange new world, struggling to learn a new language—English—and a new culture—Miami—at the same time. So he didn’t know computers, but he understood, completely, what it was like being the awkward outsider; being different, whatever the reason.
Mark Zuckerberg, from the looks of him, was obviously different. Maybe it was just that he was so damn smart, he didn’t fit in, even here, among his peers. Among his own kind: not Jewish, per se, but kids like him. Geeky kids who made algorithms out of fetishes, who had nothing better to do on a Friday night than hang out in a classroom filled with crepe paper and colored posters, talking about girls they weren’t actually getting.
“This is fun,” Mark finally said, breaking the silence. There was almost zero inflection in his voice, and it was impossible for Eduardo to guess what emotion—if any—he was trying to convey.
“Yeah,” Eduardo responded. “At least the punch has rum in it this year. Last time, I think it was Capri Sun. They went all out this time around.”Mark coughed, then reached out toward one of the crepe-paper ribbons, touching the closest twist of material. The packing tape unhinged, and the ribbon drifted toward the floor, landing on his Adidas sandal. He looked at Eduardo.
“Welcome to the jungle.”
Eduardo grinned, despite the fact that he still couldn’t be sure from Mark’s monotone delivery if the kid was joking or not.But he was getting the sense that there was something really anarchistic going on behind the kid’s blue eyes. He seemed to be taking everything in around him, even here, in a place with so little stimulus to grasp onto. Maybe he really was the genius everyone thought he was. Eduardo had the abrupt feeling that this was someone he wanted to befriend, to get to know better. Anyone who’d turned down a million dollars at seventeen was probably heading somewhere.
“I have a feeling this is gonna break up in a few minutes,”Eduardo said. “I’m heading back to the river—Eliot House. What house are you in again?”
“Kirkland,” Mark responded. He jerked his head toward the exit, on the other side of the stage. Eduardo glanced at their other friends, still at the punch bowl; they were all quad kids, so they’d be going in a different direction when the party ended. It was as good an opportunity as any to get to know the awkward computer genius. Eduardo nodded, then followed Mark through the sparse crowd.
“If you want,” Eduardo offered as they wound their way around the stage, “there’s a party on my floor we could check out. It’s gonna suck, but certainly no worse than this.” Mark shrugged. They’d both been at Harvard long enough to know what to expect from a dorm party; fifty dudes and about three girls jammed into a small, coffinlike box of a room, while someone tried to figure out how to tap an illicit keg of really cheap beer.
“Why not,” Mark responded, over his shoulder. “I’ve got a problem set due tomorrow, but I’m better at logarithms drunk than sober.”
A few minutes later, they had pushed their way out of the lecture room and into the cement stairwell that descended to the ground floor. They took the steps in silence, bursting out through a pair of double doors into the tree-lined quiet of Harvard Yard. A stiff, crisp breeze whipped through the thin material of Eduardo’s shirt. He jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his slacks and started forward down the paved path that led through the center of the Yard. It was a good ten-minute walk to the houses on the river, where both he and Mark lived.
“Shit, it’s fucking ten degrees out here.”
“More like forty,”Mark replied.
“I’m from Miami. It’s ten degrees to me.”
“Then maybe we should run.”
Mark took off at a slow jog. Eduardo followed suit, breathing hard as he caught up to his new friend. They were side by side as they moved past the impressive stone steps that led up to the pillared entrance to Widener Library. Eduardo had spent many evenings lost in the stacks of Widener—poring through the works of economic theorists such as Adam Smith, John Mills, even Galbraith. Even after one in the morning, the library was still open; warm orange light from inside the marbled lobby splashed out through the glass doors, casting long shadows down the magnificent steps.
“Senior year,” Eduardo huffed as they skirted the bottom stone step on their way to the iron gate that led out of the Yard and off into Cambridge, “I’m going to have sex in those stacks. I swear, it’s gonna happen.”
It was an old Harvard tradition—something you were supposed to do before you graduated. The truth was, only a handful of kids had ever actually achieved the mission. Though the automated stacks—vast bookshelves on automatic, wheeled tracks—were labyrinthine and descended many floors below the massive building, there were always students and staff lurking through those narrow passageways; finding a spot isolated enough to do the deed would be quite a feat. And finding a girl who has willing to attempt to continue the tradition was even more unlikely.
“Baby steps,” Mark responded. “Maybe you should try getting a girl back to your dorm, first.”
Eduardo winced, then grinned again. He was starting to like this kid’s caustic sense of humor.
“Things aren’t that bad. I’m punching the Phoenix.”
Mark glanced at him as they turned the corner and headed along the side of the great library.
“Congratulations.”
There it was again, zero inflection. But Eduardo could tell from the little flash in Mark’s eyes that he was impressed, and more than a little envious. That was the reaction Eduardo had learned to expect when he mentioned the punch process he was going through. The truth was, he’d been letting it slip to everyone he knew that he was getting closer and closer to becoming a member of the Phoenix. He’d been through three punch events already; there was a very good chance, now, that he’d go the distance. And maybe, just maybe, events like the Alpha Epsilon Pi party they’d just survived would be a thing of the past.
“Well, if I get in, maybe I can put your name on the list. For next year. You could punch as a junior.”
Mark paused again. Maybe he was catching his breath. More likely, he was digesting the information. There was something very computer-like about the way he spoke; input in, then input out.
“That would be—interesting.”
“If you get to know some of the other members, you’ll have a good shot. I’m sure a lot of them used your Course Match program.”
Eduardo knew, as he said it, how foolish the idea sounded. Phoenix members weren’t going to get excited about this awkward kid because of some computer program. You didn’t get popular by writing computer code. A computer program couldn’t get you laid. You got popular—and sometimes laid—by going to parties, hanging out with pretty girls.
As they reached the back corner of the library and jogged out from under the long shadow of the building’s archaic, stone pillars, Mark shot him another unreadable glance.
“Was it everything you hoped it would be?”
Was he talking about the library? The party they had just left? The Jewish fraternity? The Phoenix? Two geeky kids running across Harvard Yard, one in a buttoned-up oxford shirt, the other in cargo shorts, freezing to death while they tried to get to some lousy dorm party?
For guys like Eduardo and Mark, was college life supposed to get any better than this?