Why Me by Jodie Foster

前言：茱蒂在1980年上大學了，在好萊塢可是件大事，畢竟沒多少個從童星出身的演員能夠從紙碎金迷的生活中全身而退，而且願意繼續唸書。還不是混文憑的三流大學，而是名聲響亮的耶魯大學。光憑這一點，就不得不敬佩她的能力和膽識。

她渴望平凡的新生活，卻出乎意料成為一場災難。她受到不只一位瘋狂影迷進入校園騷擾，其中約翰辛克利還模仿《計程車司機》電影情節槍擊當時的雷根總統。美國槍擊事件層出不窮，時有牽扯到受電影影響之說(例如最近的蝙蝠俠第三集)，不過美式社會危機和槍枝管制的浮濫，恐怕才是需要研究的問題。

茱蒂在槍擊事件發生後的聲明稿有一句幾乎哽咽但堅強的宣誓："In no way have I ever been sorry about any film I have done." 我絕不為所拍過的任何一部作品感到後悔。

她的校園生活被毀，媒體報導與瘋狂影迷的侵擾不相上下。與其媒體道聽塗說，她在1981年12月透過《Esquire》雜誌，親自撰文表達第一人稱的看法，不論就她個人，還是在普遍淺層的演藝界，都算是少見的舉動。

前一陣子，她為銀幕女兒 Kristen Stewart 罕見地再度撰文護衛，可以看出她一貫的邏輯：媒體不應公審演員的私領域，大眾應該專注其專業表現。讓我想起她之前護衛梅伯的立場相同。這個社會充滿太多廉價的毒舌和揶揄，大家跟著丟石頭打落水狗，卻忘了反省自己有沒有丟石頭的權力。

你可以不同意她的理想化觀點，但她勇於捍衛自己理念的勇氣值得尊重。

這篇文章是了解她的絕佳參考資料，雖然年代久遠，人心難免變動，但是這個從小聰明的女孩一直保存古典的英雄特質。

文章很長，原本分段刊出，最後決定一氣呵成，其他周遭資料，我用別的文章補充。



My brothers and sisters called me Load because of the extraordinary capacity of my diapers. Apart from that fact and a few distinguishing details here and there, my vision of myself was pretty average. Not average so-so; just average...bacon and eggs, Volkswagens, southern California sun. Sometimes, though, I look back at my life, at the way it has slowly assumed shape and color, at the places I've seen and the flickers of people I've met, and wonder, Why? Why Me? Why, when the lists were made and the heads counted, was I always chosen? Why did I always find the chocolate basket on Easter morning? Mostly the applause felt good; damn wonderful, even.

哥哥和姊姊以前稱呼我「大滿檔」，因為我的尿布容量驚人。除了有幾項突出的小地方，我認為自己很平凡，不是隨口說的平凡，而是真的很平凡…….培根和雞蛋、福斯汽車、南加州的陽光。有時我回顧過去的生活，這些事物慢慢形成我見識的環境和認識的人物，他們的形形色色，然後我會疑惑，為什是我呢？為什麼選人挑名單的時候，我會被選上？為什麼我總能在復活節早晨發現一籃巧克力？大部份的掌聲讓人高興，甚至覺得棒透了。

(*茱蒂小時候令人印象深刻，出生8個月能說話，3歲會識字。她原名Alicia Christian Foster，大人逗著問她名字，茱蒂回答：”Alexander the Great." 亞歷山大大帝。後來為什麼改名為Jodie？據說是採用母親要好的女性朋友名字的字頭。)

To this day I still redden and warm when someone compliments my work or asks me for a date. We all need huge amounts of love, some more than others. But there are times now when a very small child creeps up within me and desperately moans, "Why?" This is the "why" of the romantic, the idealist, the vulnerable, the pure. This is the "why" of the struggling woman-child scribbling down explanations, sensations, incantations in the night. This is the "why" of poetry, when a phrase bursts through and pierces my control. A balloon slowly deflates over a calm pasture. This is the "why" they never saw, they never see, they never will see. This is my "why," my final and ultimate cry. This one's for me.

直到今天，有人稱讚我的作品或是想和我約會，我還是會臉紅發熱。我們需要滿滿的愛，超乎其他事物。但是目前我如稚子般無助地低吟：「為什麼？」這是個浪漫的、理想的、脆弱的、純粹的「為什麼」。這疑問來自一個飽受折磨，像大人又像小孩的女子，在深夜行書，尋求理性的解釋，感覺的描繪或是不理性的咒語。這首詩以「為什麼」為題，詩詞爆開刺穿了自制。氣球慢慢在平靜的牧場上消洩。這個疑問，在過去現在未來，都沒有人見識過。這是我的疑問，我的終極悲泣。這是只屬於我的大哉問。

茱蒂．1980年初

My summer of 1980 was spent in anticipation of what I was "going to be," how I was going to walk into the framework of the Ivy League. I bought a good deal of Lacoste clothing, pumped my three-pound dumbbells each morning, played tennis in the afternoon. I wanted to be the kind of girl who's friendly, well-liked, social. To a point, you could say that that's anonymity -- the need to be wholly accepted as an equal and yet respected for the product of your efforts. Maybe I as kidding myself. Maybe I was trying to escape from what I felt was an undeserved image. In any case, I found myself, backpack in hand, playing "Muffin" in a world I knew nothing about. I'd never been to a happy hour, a lacrosse game, a cottage on the Vineyard. For years I had been growing paler watching double features with my mom, then eating Chinese food from paper cartons. I knew everything there was to know about distribution profits and how to handle meetings at the Polo Lounge. It wasn't that I'd lost my childhood or become jaded; I just didn't have a clue as to how it felt to be out of control, completely lost, without prior experience. Yet there I was, never having stayed anywhere for more than three months, never having had to cultivate friendships with people my own age. I had but one childhood friend, Clara Lisa. She was a mover too -- to Paris, to Tahiti, to God knows where. Whenever we could, we'd meet places, giggle, and jump on beds.

1980年夏天我都在準備「期待的生活」，如何徜徉常春藤校園。我買了許多LACOSTE衣服，打算早上練3磅啞鈴，下午打網球。我希望成為待人友善，受人歡迎，融入社交的女孩。這樣說吧，並不是因為我的名氣，而是因為個人的努力，公平地被完全接納。也許是我自欺欺人。也許我是想逃避浪得虛名的形象。我總覺得處在陌生的世界中，肩上掛著背包，玩個「鬆餅」。我從沒有參加過下班小酌，曲棍球比賽，或去過農村小屋。多年來我足不出戶，只是和母親一起看特別影片連播，然後吃盒裝的中國菜。我完全清楚電影發行的利潤，以及如何應付高級沙龍裡的商業會議。並非我失去童年或討厭純真，我只是搞不懂失控的感覺，完全沒概念，因為從沒經歷過。我沒有在同一個地方停留3個月以上，從未結交過同年齡的朋友。我有一個兒時玩伴，克萊拉麗莎。她更停不下來…. 去巴黎、大溪地，天知道還有什麼地方。每次只要我們能見面，只會傻笑，在床上跳。

Yale was different from any of this. I wanted to be approved of. I attended every freshman event, every college game to make them feel that I was okay, normal, just like they were. But as the weeks went by I realized I really wasn't. I had a job to go back to, lawyers to call, photographers to pose for. It wasn't until at least two years later that I realized it was okay to be different. Better, even. Being understood is not the most essential thing in life.

耶魯大學不同於以前。我想被接納。我參加每場新鮮人的聚會和學校的比賽，想讓他們覺得我可以被接受，平凡一如他們一樣。但是幾週過去，我知道不是那回事。我必須要工作，和律師聯絡，對著攝影師擺姿勢。直到最近兩年，我才了解與眾不同並非是壞事。更棒的是，能不能被理解並不是生命最重要事。

As I became less and less afraid of new experiences, my personality changed. I took on a screw-the-world dress code. I hung out with people I thought were unique, nonconformist, substantially complex. They were the kind you'd pass on the way to the commons and say, "That person' s interesting . I want to get to know him." I had my first and last bout with tequila. I did ask dances in the street, water-ballooned singing groups, philosophized and talked dirty until five in the morning. The control I'd had all those years was self-imposed and alienating. Now I was able to make mistakes. In the beginning of school I had tried desperately to be five foot four. Now I was five foot four. I was elated.

當我越來越不怕嚐新，我的性格變了。我的穿衣風格變得「管他去死」。我結交的朋友，都是獨一無二，不會墨守成規，大多性格複雜。遇見他們會覺得：「那個人很有趣，我想去認識。」我可以把龍舌蘭酒從第一口到最後一口喝完。我曾在街上被邀舞，參加用汽球裝滿水的歌唱團體，談哲學和髒話直到凌晨五點。我多年來的自制是自我強迫和疏遠人群。現在我學會我可以犯錯誤。一開始在學校，我拼命想成為平凡的163公分。現在我就是163公分，而且頗為得意。

It was around this time I started questioning my career. I was passionate about school. I wanted to be at Yale forever, holding people, writing down literary revelations, reading from tales of men long dead, smiling from inside out. The idea of returning to a dressing from in a Winnebago, being called Miss Foster, seemed foreign, unnatural. I didn't want to return those phone calls from home, from agents, from polite employers. All those scribbled messages just meant that I was still dependent, still theirs to scrutinize, to admire. Maybe I was kidding myself. In fact, I'm sure of it.

就在此刻，我開始質疑我的職業生涯。我很喜歡學校。想永遠留在耶魯，和大家打混，寫下對文學的啟示，讀著先人的作品，發自內心地微笑著。坐著休旅車返回，被尊稱為福斯特小姐，這些似乎變得陌生做作。我不想回電給家裡，給經紀人，或是有禮貌的雇員們。這些潦草的留言意味著我仍然不夠獨立，還是需要他們的看顧，以及被敬重。也許是我給自己開玩笑。事實上，我很肯定。

*(茱蒂在後來的訪問中，比較東西岸的差異：”And L.A. is different. People don't really talk about what's bothering them. They just go to the beach. But the second that I came East, it was like a whole different culture of people sitting in coffee shops while it was raining, you know, pouring out their life stories. Oh, I loved it." 洛杉磯不同，大家不會談論內心的困擾，只會去海邊。但我一到東岸，文化完全不一樣，大家在下雨時坐在咖啡廳，掏出不同的人生故事。我愛死了！)

I was sitting in the library in March. The first weekend of the play I was doing on campus, Getting Out, had ended. I had five more performances to do. I must have been a sight. My skin had erupted from greasepaint. My clothes were torn and rumpled. I didn't like sleeping anymore. It kept me from other things. My studies never suffered, simply because they were my first priority, the easiest responsibility to fulfill. Academics was a drop in the pond compared with the demands of the social process. The fact that I decided to do a play at Yale still astounds me. Theater scared me to death; I didn't know that first thing about it. But one of my best friends was directing and many of my buddies were in it. I suppose I did it for the wrong reasons. I wanted them to love me. The audience, the actors, my pals. I wanted to be involved in a common experience, something that would melt the already thawing barriers.

三月份時，我坐在圖書館裡。我演出的舞台劇《Getting Out》(*美國女作家Marsha Norman第一部作品，她在1983年獲得普立茲戲劇創作獎) 第一週演出剛結束。我還有5場要演出。我一定看起來像奇觀，我的皮膚塗滿油彩，衣服破皺。我不喜歡睡著。這可以避免很多事。我的學業從未受到影響，因為學業是我的首要任務，最容易履行的責任。比起社會化過程的種種要求，求學僅是池塘中的一滴水。我決定在耶魯大學表演舞台劇一事仍然令我震驚。我很怕劇場，對它一點都不了解。我的一位好友負責導演，很多夥伴參與其中。我的動機可能錯了。我希望大家喜歡我，包括觀眾、演員、我的夥伴。我想參與，讓解凍的隔閡進一步融化。

The following hazy Monday afternoon I was skipping hand in hand across campus with my best friend. Someone yelled as we went by, "Hey. Did you hear? Reagan got shot." We continued on. At dinnertime everyone was asking if we'd heard what the President's condition was. Well, my radio had been busted for three months and my friend's was terminally glued to the local reggae station. "Come on. This is college. News can wait." No one seemed to mention Brady or the assailant until late into the evening. I finally sauntered home around ten-thirty. My roommate opened the door before I could get my key in.

接著一個朦朧的週一午后，我和好友拉著手走過校園。旁邊有人對我們喊道。「嘿，你們聽說了嗎？雷根被槍殺。」到了晚餐，每個人都在打聽總統的情況。我的收音機故障了三個月，我的朋友只能一直聽著當地雷鬼音樂電台。「得了吧，這是大學。一定聽得到新聞。」直到深夜似乎沒有聽到提及布雷迪或殺手是誰，我閒逛到十點半才回家。我還沒拿出鑰匙，室友就打開了門。

"John," she said. 她說是「約翰」
"John who?" 那個約翰?
"John Hinkley." 約翰·辛克利
"What about him? Did he write me again?" 他怎麼了？他又寫東西給我？”
"He's the one, I think. It was on the radio." 他是殺手，我想電台是指他
"Bullshit. You're imaginin things." 胡說，你亂想

(*約翰辛克利深受電影計程車司機的影響，轉而迷戀上片中的茱蒂。當茱蒂進入耶魯大學，他開始跟蹤好幾個月，甚至在茱蒂宿舍附近出沒，有次還帶著上膛的手槍跟在茱蒂身後15英呎。他進一步寫信給茱蒂，有幾次是直接從宿舍門縫塞進去。內容有些彷彿影片翻版："Jodie Foster Love, just wait. I'll rescue you very soon. Please cooperate. J.W.H." 等著，我很快來救妳）

The phone was ringing. I answered it. My dean said, "Don't be upset." He explained that my pictures and address had been found on the arrested man. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. My body started shaking and I knew that I had lost control... maybe for the very first time in my life. I was to meet the FBI in his office as soon as possible.

電話響了。我接起來。院長說：「不要難過。」他解釋在被捕男子身上發現我的照片和地址。我覺得淚水溢滿眼框，身體開始顫抖，我知道我失控了......也許是我生命中第一次失控。我得趕快去他的辦公室和FBI會面。

*警方在他房間找到一封信件寫下犯罪動機只是為了要讓茱蒂印象深刻："Jodie, I would abandon this idea of getting Reagan in a secon if I could only win your heart and live out the rest of my life with you. I will admit that the reason I'm going ahead with this attempt now is because I just cannot wait any longer to impress you."

"Give me a couple of minutes," I said. I ran to a friend's. I waited for her to get out of the shower as three or four loud boys listened to the news down the hall. They were drinking beer and I carried on with them for a few minutes to prove to myself I could do it. I laughed and made jokes -- like a good little actress. Then my friend closed the door and questioned me with a glance. I started to cry a bit, then my tears turned to laughter. I couldn't stop laughing. It was simply too funny, too incredibly bizarre, too painful. She thought I was going crazy. My laughter was strange and hollow, and I couldn't control it. It was beyond me. My body jerked in painful convulsions. I hurt. I was no longer thinking of the president, of the assailant, of the crime, of the press. I was crying for myself. Me, the unwilling victim. The one who would pay in the end. The one who paid all along -- and, yes, keeps paying. That kind of pain doesn't go away. It's something you never understand, forgive, or forget. It is a pain that can never be healed with a kiss from your mother's lips or a "Sssh, everything's okay." Everything's not okay! It's not.

我說「給我幾分鐘」。我跑去找她，等候她淋浴結束出來，走廊盡頭有三、四個喧嘩的男孩在聽新聞。他們喝著啤酒，我也跟著喝幾分鐘，只想證明我可以面對一切。我笑著，還講了一些笑話，就像稱職的小演員。然後我的朋友把門關上，很懷疑地看著我。我哭了一下，接著眼淚變成大笑。我忍不住笑著。這太可笑了，太怪異，太痛苦了。她覺得我快要瘋了。我的笑聲很古怪空洞，沒法控制。這超越能力範圍。我的身體猛然地痛苦抽搐。我好痛。我沒有想著總統、殺手、犯罪、新聞。我為了自己而哭。我是無辜的受害者。最後卻要承擔後遺症，承擔所有的，而且是持續不斷地。這種痛苦不會消失。你永遠不會了解，不會原諒或是忘懷。痛苦永遠無法癒合，就算母親親吻你的額頭，或安慰你「乖，沒事了。」怎麼會沒事！不可能。

But I didn't have the time to feel it then. There were things to be done, secrets to keep. I was supposed to be "tough," like cowboys, like diplomats, like "unaffected actresses" -- not because anyone asked me to but because I wanted to show them (God knows who) that I was strong. I wanted to show them all that Jodie was so uniquely "normal" and "well-adjusted" that nothing could make her fall. I think I believed all this, my subconscious propaganda. But the truth was that in the crunch, when the chips are down, in a time of crisis, you resort to strength you'd never dreamed you owned, like frantic mothers lifting their children from under two-ton trucks. The will to survive is stronger than any emotion in the human system.

那時我沒有太多時間去感受，有一堆事情要處理，要保持許多秘密。我應該要很堅強，像牛仔，像外交官，像「不為所動的女演員」 – 這不是因為別人的要求，而是我想向別人（天知道是那些人）表現出堅強的樣子。我想呈現，茱迪是特別「平凡」並且「調適很好」，沒有什麼能夠擊倒她。我想我信這一套，是我潛意識的計劃。事實上，當你受到壓力，沒有太多籌碼，處在危機時候，你會激發從沒有想過的能耐，像是心急的母親扛起兩噸重的卡車救出孩子。求生意志遠比任何人體感官來得強大。

The next afternoon I was rushed to the home of one of the bigwigs in the Yale administration. So these grown-up Yalies -- the men in hornrims and with law degrees -- were called to advise me. But nobody quite knew what to do. These academic wonders were reduced to schoolboys. There was no time for typed speeches and haughty jargon. We had to pick up the pieces, to act. I started making my calls. I talked to lawyers, to the FBI, to DAs, to anyone with some sort of experience in these affairs. They all gave me different advice and none was too sure whom I should speak to. Things were being leaked so fast that the news stations knew more than any of us on the inside. I had to read a local newspaper to learn most of the details. Maybe this is what scared me the most -- the descent of the media. They scooped up headlines and swarmed through the campus like a calvary invasion. I couldn't protect myself from being trampled.

第二天下午，我趕到耶魯大學行政中心其中一棟大樓。有些具有法律學位的耶魯校友被召來提供諮詢。但無人知道到底該怎麼辦。這些學者像小學生一樣疑惑。沒有時間搞制式演講和艱澀的術語。我們不得不收拾殘局，採取行動。我開始打電話。詢問律師、美國聯邦調查局、檢察官，凡是有類似經驗的人。他們的意見不一，而且不確定我該找誰。消息走露很快，新聞台知道的比我們局內人更多。我還得讀當地報紙才知道大部分細節。可能我最害怕的事就是媒體入侵。他們挖出了頭條新聞，一擁而上滲入校園。我無法自保免於被踐踏。

But I organized my press conference, wrote a statement, all against the will of the officials. I wanted it over with as swiftly as possible. For the press my presence was almost superfluous; it was the story that counted -- the twisted, bizarre headliner. A compromising photo, a brief comment was all they needed. I can't say that I didn't feel exploited by these friendly men and women with Nikons and with mikes clipped to their lapels. Suddenly they were allowed to destroy my established life because it was their "job." Public figures should just expect it that way, I've been told. But the interesting thing is that -- beyond their flashbulbs, note pads, and video cameras -- the reporters were scared, too. Their faces were desperately trying to mask their terror, awe, guilt. When I saw them assembled before me, I knew that these were the faces, the uncomfortable, fascinated eyes, that I would have to meet for the rest of my life. When I saw them waiting silently and solemnly for my statement, I knew I had to play cowboy -- once again. I was Mother and they were to be reassured that nothing could interrupt my flow of life. If they wanted weakness, I wasn't about to give it to them.

但我違背官方的想法，自己安排記者會，寫了聲明稿。我希望它盡可能迅速地落幕。對於新聞界，我的存在幾乎是多餘的，故事才重要，才能成就曲折離奇的新聞頭條。他們只需我一張委曲求全的照片和一個簡短的聲明。我承認那些和顏悅色拿著相機，和在衣襟上別著麥克風的男男女女剝削了我。他們突然堂而皇之毀掉我既有的生活，只因為這是他們的「工作」。別人一直告誡我，公眾人物得擔待這種場面。但有趣的是，在閃光燈，記事簿和攝像機之外的記者，他們自己也被嚇壞了。他們拼命想掩飾自己的恐懼、敬畏和內疚。當他們聚集在我面前滿是不自在而執迷的面孔，我深知將一輩子面對。當他們專注靜候我的聲明稿，我知道得再次扮演牛仔角色。我成為「母親」，他們大可放心，沒有什麼可以阻斷我的生命之流。如果他們想找尋弱點，我不會給他們機會。

After the details were delivered and the crews went home, it was time to fact the world. Until now, everyone had been kind, sympathetic, availing. My mother would take my hand and say, "Don't worry." The administration assured me that I was not alone and that they were available at a moment's notice. Even the reporters I'd come to know would pat me on the back and say, "Hang in there, kid." But their offerings only stressed the fact that I was completely alone.

交待細節後，團隊成員回家，該是面對現實了。目前為止，每個人都和善，充滿同情並給予援手。我媽媽牽著我的手說「別擔心」。學校管理人員向我保證，我不是孤立無助，會隨侍在旁。連即記者都會來拍著我的背「要堅強，孩子。」但是他們的表現更映對出我是孤軍奮戰。

I strapped on my backpack, put on my dirtiest jeans, and headed back to university life. People were pretty good about hiding much trace of interest. Some of my friends wanted to respect my privacy of the moment, some smiled and went their way. But I knew that there were two Jodie Fosters. There was one as large as the screen, a Technicolor vision with flowing blond hair and a self-assured smile. She was the woman they had all been watching. But the second Jodie was a vision only I knew. She was shrouded in bravado and wit and was, underneath, a creature crippled, without self esteem, a frail and alienated being.

我背上背包，穿上最髒的牛仔褲，回頭過大學生活。大家善於隱藏好奇。有些朋友希望此刻尊重我的隱私，有些微笑自顧自行。但我知道有兩個茱迪福斯特。有一個像銀幕一樣大，有搖曳的金髮和自信的微笑。是大家一直觀看的女人。但是第二個茱迪只有我知道。她籠罩在誇大的氣勢和機智，本質上是個沒有行動力，意志脆弱而疏離的生物。

I went to classes, laughed, joked, pulled all the tricks to make everyone feel comfortable. I tried not to admit that I had noticed the change. I was a returning war hero to be paraded. But I didn't want their awe. I didn't want to be a political figure, a victim of society. So I limited myself to a few companions: the boy I loved and my assigned bodyguards.

我去上課，用笑聲和笑話等等所有的招數，讓每個人感到自在。我不想承認我注意到周遭轉變。我像是返鄉遊行的戰爭英雄。我並不想受到敬畏。也不想成為一個政治象徵，或是社會的受害者。所以，我限縮在少數的同伴，只有和我喜歡的男孩子及保鏢。

With the boy I loved I sat most of the day at the window in the Cross Campus Library. We poked fun at and successfully alienated every person who walked by. We were obnoxious. This boy and I decided, in our self-destructive, eighteen-year-old subconscious, that we needed only each other, that the rest of the population was disappointingly affected by the events of the shooting. Neither of us stopped to think that it was we who were affected. We were both escaping through our intellect, not our emotions. It was I who chad changed, not them. In time I asked myself, Why me? Why not someone like Brooke Shields? The questions made me feel uglier-- and the uglier I felt, the more difficult it was to resolve.

我和喜歡的男孩子常成天坐在跨校區圖書館的窗口。我們開玩笑，完全對旁人視若無睹。我們很惹人厭惡。出於自毀心理和18歲的潛意識，我們決定只需要彼此，其餘人只會受到槍擊事件痛苦的影響。但我們都沒有想到，是我們受到影響。我們只是假借理智來逃避，而不是撫平情緒。是我乍然改變，而不是他們。我常常問自己，為什麼是我？為什麼不是布魯克雪德絲？這種問題讓我自慚形穢，越自覺醜陋，越難解決問題。

Six days after the shooting of the President I was onstage for the second and final weekend of my play, Getting Out. The Yale police were sent to guard the auditorium. At my request the audience was frisked for cameras. The cast was instructed that the show must go on...no matter what. It was something I had to do, some damn foolish thing I had to prove to myself. No one could just change my life, my plans, without asking me. No one could keep me down. I'm really not sure whom I was trying to impress or what I was ever doing up there in the first place. I had sworn never to do theater at school. I was going to be anonymous, remember? But it was too late for that. As long as everyone was going to stare, I might was well play the game full out.

槍擊總統事件後後的第六天，我上台演出，這是表演的第二週，也是最後一個週末。耶魯大學請警方看守禮堂。我請求觀眾接受檢查相機。演員奉命必須繼續演出。不管如何，我不得不做這些該死愚蠢的事，我得證明自己。除了我，沒有人可以改變我的生活、我的計劃。沒有人可以擊倒我。我真的不知道在討好誰，不曉得上台表演的初衷。我發誓不再搞學校劇團。我應該默不作聲，記得嗎？但為時已晚了。只要每個人都盯著看，我就得全力以赴。

The show went on, with the squeaking walkie-talkies and the general awkwardness of the crowd. It was the best performance I had given. The audience applauded for reasons I am still unsure of. The rest of the cast was shaky. They knew that the people in the seats were laughing at the wrong lines and keeping their eyes conspicuously toward my end of the stage. The crowd wasn't lying, they were simply impressed -- as I had intended them to be. They were in awe. I was embarrassed for them. Why did they clap? Did it really mean anything at all to them?

表演穿插著刺耳的對講機和觀眾三步五時的尷尬。我盡力演出了。我不曉得觀眾鼓掌的原因。其餘的演員則是信心動搖。他們知道在座觀眾嘲笑演員說錯台詞，觀眾只盯著我演完。大家沒有說謊，他們只是欽佩 – 這也是我的本意。他們肅然起敬。我替他們尷尬。為什麼要鼓掌？他們是真心的嗎？

The second performance of the play began. Click, click, click, I heard. I could recognize a motor drive on a professional camera better than my own heartbeat. It was coming from center left -- a perfect position for anyone who had the pluck to get past the frisk in time to choose the most advantageous seat in the house. Well, you asked for it, I thought. My most vicious lines of the play were coming up and they were to be directed to this particular spot in the house. I decided that the villain was one of three people. I directed my character's biting insults to all three, until my eyes narrowed to the bearded man in the middle. No, he was not the photographer. His hands were calmly folded and his eyes were fixed. But there was something unnerving about his emotionless stare, something I didn't trust. He became the sole subject of my dialogue's abuse; but he did not flinch -- not once. The next night, again, I heard the click of the motor drive, coming from a different position in the house. The strange man I had noticed the night before was again in the same seat. "In theater," the adage goes, "one is not supposed to glance through the audience, noticing who comes and goes, who sits where." But I only knew movies. So I noticed every light change, every yawning friend, every item of clothing worn by every boy and girl, every bearded gentleman with a ceaseless stare.

第二幕開始，喀擦聲四起，我認出那是專業相機的驅動聲，遠比辨認自己的心跳更熟悉。聲音來自中間靠左的區域。這是劇場中最適合搜身的有利位置。好了，你自找的。我最惡毒的台詞來了，將對準這個特別的方位。壞蛋是三人其中一位。我透過角色侮辱那三人，最後盯著中間的大鬍子。錯，他不是攝影師。他的雙手服貼交錯，他目不轉睛。但是他面無表情的眼神讓人不安，我不信任他。我瞄準他用我的對白虐待，但他連一次都沒有退縮。第二天晚上，我又聽到不同位置出現相機的驅動聲。前天晚上的陌生男子坐在同一個座位。 俗諺語說，「在劇場，不應該注意觀眾誰來誰去，或是坐的位置。」但我只了解電影。所以，我會注意每件事：光線的變化、打哈欠的朋友、衣服上的配件、男孩和女孩、目不轉睛的大鬍子。

At the third performance, no clicks and no bearded man were to be seen or heard. However, during intermission a note was found on the lobby bulletin board to the effect that "by the time the show is over, Jodie Foster will be dead." I imagined something was amiss when the security guards were suddenly standing with their backs to the actors, surveying the crowd. The note had proved to be a prank, a devilish trick pulled by some bitter spectator who had found himself frisked by two college jocks at the entrance. It was ten-thirty. I was still alive, no harm done. In fact, I had made a bigger ordeal over a stray photographer: "How did you get in? Who do you work for?" (This was perhaps the beginning of a flash phobia that would follow me throughout the next year.) I found out a few weeks later that he had been let in by the producer of the play. The very same producer who confided to the press that I had a few acting problems that would iron themselves out with a little help. The tactless person who said, "At least the publicity did wonders for the receipts." And, finally, the same producer who -- as the explained with a British affectation he had picked up somewhere -- let the photographer in "because...wahl...thar was simply nawthing I could doo. Sorry, luv."

第三幕，沒有聽到喀擦聲和看見大鬍子。然而，中場休息時，大廳公告板出現紙條：「表演結束時，茱迪福斯特將死。」警衛突然背對演員對觀眾進行盤問，我感覺不太對勁。紙條後來證明是個惡作劇，魔鬼的把戲，看熱鬧的尖酸人士在入口處被兩個彪形大漢搜身而心生不滿。這是十點半。我還活著，沒有造成傷害。事實上，我更大的考驗是對著落單攝影師：「你怎麼進來？你為誰工作？」 （這也許是後來一整年我都怕鎂光燈的原因。）幾個星期後我才知是製作人同意他進來。這個製作人還向記者表示我有些表演問題，借由一些協助可以獲得解決。這呆子還說：「至少，宣傳為票房創造了奇蹟。」最後，這個製作人 – 用不知那裡來的英國腔解釋，為什麼讓攝影師進來－因為哦也阻止不了。對不起，親愛的。

(*不知道是誰的主意，據說原本票價5美元，調10倍變成50美元。)

A few days after the show closed, a note was delivered under my door --a death threat in the finest sense of the term. I picked it up neatly by the corners and handed it over to the proper officials. My mother, who was leaving on the next plane to Paris, was frantic. She wanted to take me with her, "to stay...to walk to classes with you...anything!" She desperately wanted to protect me. I told her she was only making me nervous and that the rotating bodyguards were more qualified to watch me than she. This was my first life-crisis had I had to show the world that I could take it like a pro. That's what they call you when you make it to the set by five-thirty A.M. and don't complain.

表演閉幕後幾天，一張紙條從門下塞進來 – 是明明白白的死亡威脅。我從紙角整齊地撿起來，交給相關當局。我的母親快瘋了，她當時正準備搭下班飛機前往巴黎。她想跟著我，「不論是在家、上街還是上課…」她拼命地想保護我。我告訴她，她只會讓我緊張，而且巡邏的保鏢比她更有作用。這是我第一次有生命危機，我得向世界展示我能像高手面對它。他們要求的是，打電話要你清晨五點半到影棚，你還不能抱怨。

*對方聲稱在茱蒂的宿舍安置炸彈，如果辛克利沒被釋放，就要引爆。校方緊急在半夜疏散整棟大樓。

The next morning I arrived at my English class a bit early. Five minutes later my man with the squeaky walkie-talkie told me to stay in the corner of the class until it ended. "He has been apprehended." Ap-pre-hended, I thought. Okay, apprehended. Who?
次日早上，我早一點到達英文教室。五分鐘後，對講機吱吱作響的保鑣告訴我，事情結束前待在教室角落。 「他已經被逮捕了。」逮…..捕…..，好吧，是誰？

His name was Richardson, he was from Pennsylvania, and he had a beard. The police and Secret Service had worked nonstop tracking down the letter writer, found him, followed him to New Haven station, where he had boarded a bus bound for D.C. He was picked up at Port Authority in New York with a loaded gun, hoping to fulfill his threat to shoot the President. I was too pretty to kill, he had said as he was arrested. He saw me in my play and simply couldn't. The bearded man in center left? Ten feet from death? Ten feet from a loaded pistol held by a sick and perhaps "insane" man? Ten feet? I don't care to know for sure. Richardson was released a year later on parole.

他的名字是理查森，他來自賓州，有鬍子。警察和特勤局馬不停蹄地追踪寄信人，跟著他到New Haven站，他搭乘往華盛頓特區的公車。他在紐約港接上頭，帶著上膛的槍，想要接棒完成槍殺總統的目標。他被逮捕後，他說我太漂亮，殺了可惜。他看見我在校的演出，下不了手。大鬍子真的在中間靠左方？我離死亡只有 10呎？ 10呎外一個瘋子拿著上膛的手槍？只有10呎？我根本不想去確認。理查森一年後就被假釋出獄了。

Then it hit me. It felt like a ton of steel dropping from the top of a thirty-story building. Death. So simple, so elementary, so near. Pulling a trigger is as easy as changing the TV channel with remote control. What was I trying to prove by performing a college play three days after one of the most bizarre assassination attempts of our time? Who was I trying to impress? Why was it so important to look death in the eye and hurl victorious insults? Because I was the one who always found the chocolate basket on Easter morning? Because I always wanted to be the best, no matter what, no matter how?

我深受打擊。好像一噸鋼鐵從三層樓高重擊而下。死亡，如此簡單、原始、接近。扣扳機就像按電視搖控器轉頻道一樣容易。在最古怪的暗殺事件發生後三天，我竟在學校上台表演試圖證明自己？我到底在討好誰啊？為什麼要執意去面對死亡和責難？因為只有我總在復活節早晨發現一籃巧克力？因為我總是不計代價想在各項出類拔萃？

In the time after Richardson's "ap-pre-hension," a great change came over me, or so I'm told. I started perceiving death in the most mundane but distressing events. Being photographed felt like being shot; it still does. I thought everyone was looking at me in crowds; perhaps they were. Every sick letter I received I made sure to read, to laugh at, to read again. People were punishing me because I was there. They were sending bullets, pulling triggers, exercising the simple law of cause and effect. They were hurting me, intentionally, without any physical contact. They were manifesting a need to wound, and I just happened to be the victim. They could seemingly witness the falling star -- once stalwart and proud -- bend to their aggression. The words, the threats, the accusations were irrelevant. They all wanted me to react, to stop playing cowboy; they wanted to bring me down to their level from the great silver screen.

在理查森「被逮捕」後，我自認轉變很多。我會從世俗惱人的事務中，聯想到死亡。例如被拍照就像被槍擊，現在感覺依然如此。人群中每個人都在看著我，也許吧。我真的會看每封變態的信件，然後嘲笑，接著再看一次。我還活著，所以有人想懲罰我。他們寄來子彈和板機，好像執行因果報應。他們有意以遠距的方式傷害我。他們想彰顯創傷，恰巧選我為受害者。他們似乎想目睹堅定自負的星辰隕落，屈從於侵略。他們的咀咒威脅和責罵多半文不對題。他們只是要我回應，不要再扮演牛仔，想把我從大銀幕拉出，沈淪到他們的水平。

*事後茱蒂陷入沮喪，作息不正常爆肥20磅，對每件事疑神疑鬼。

I could feel death by alienating and insulting the people I loved or at lease enjoyed. I could feel it by hating myself so much that I hated everyone around me for liking me. I died when I looked at myself in the mirror, the body that no longer slept, the clothes I no longer cared for, the mismatched socks, the tired expression, the reddened eyes, the languid stare. My prior identity -- the actress, the enthusiastic collegiate -- no longer existed. I became suspicious of everyone. I suppose I thought they were al informing for People magazine. There were a few, of course, who were. Maybe that People article of April 20, 1981, was the greatest death of all. An ambitious Yale senior, whom I have never met, submitted a manuscript. People simply couldn't turn down. He offered a scoop: what I was in the habit of wearing, my favorite eating places, my friends, my classes, my dating habits -- the works. And this ambitious Yale senior confirmed what I was dreading -- I had been watched. I was being watched from the first day I set foot on campus. They all noticed the color of my Dolfin shorts on the day of orientation. They had noticed which chair I preferred in the library. Strangers had scrutinized and analyzed me without my permission, even without my knowledge. No, the Hinkley ordeal did not destroy my anonymity; it only destroyed the illusion of it. Every man or woman in this world had the right to stare at, point at, and judge me because... that was my job. That's what I got paid for -- to take my lumps. I can be rejected for physical reality, the audiences's perception of who I am. Consequently, I become the property of my judges or I risk rejection.

對親愛的人不理不睬和發脾氣，讓我能感受死亡，甚至是享受死亡。我討厭身邊的人都喜歡我，我恨自己恨到要死。我了無生氣看著鏡中人，睡眠不足、隨便穿著、襪子不成對、神情疲倦、眼睛發紅、雙眼無神。我過去的身份：演員或熱情的大學生，都不復存在。我變得疑神疑鬼，以為每個人都為《People》雜誌通風報信。當然是有少數幾個。《People》雜誌1981年4月20日那期是最大的死亡宣告。一位從未謀面，很有野心的耶魯學長，提交了一份手稿。《People》雜誌根本無法抗絕。他描繪出我的穿著習慣、最喜歡吃的地方、我的朋友、我的同班、我約會習慣。這個有野心的耶魯學長證實了我的恐懼：從第一天踏上校園，我就被監視。他們都注意我習慣在那一天穿什麼顏色的運動短褲。他們已經注意我在圖書館喜歡的位置。陌生人未經同意便對我品頭論足，當事人亳不知情。辛克利事件的考驗並沒有摧毀我想隱姓埋名的心願，它只是毀掉這個幻象。這世界上每個男男女女都有權利對我觀看、指指點點和批評，因為…..這是我(演員)的工作。你取走我的一小塊，我才獲得報酬。現實中的我並不受歡迎，但觀眾對我自有想像的形象。因此，我要不是成為眾判官的財產，要不是就冒著不受歡迎的風險。

When my freshman year came to an end in May 1981, I packed up m remnants from the "psycho single" I had been assigned -- a single dorm room reserved for emergency security risks -- and returned to L.A. For two weeks I went hiking and stayed at a health farm in the mountains. When I descended the mountain I jumped back to work. Things were essentially "normal." People were afraid of me and for quite some time I made no effort to ease their awkwardness. I just listened and watched. I heard that Martin Scorsese had been phoned by Maureen Reagan, who expressed her condolences. Her condolences! I'd even heard he'd hired a bodyguard -- something I refused to do. When people recognized me in the street they'd say, "So what, this guy write you letters or something?" They'd say "Too bad," or they'd say "Great publicity, kid." It all seemed so hilariously sad at the time. I smiled inside and felt pity for all of them -- all the people who either thought they understood or thought they knew me. I felt sorry and embarrassed for them as they simultaneously felt sorry and embarrassed for me. It was a confusing time for everyone. And if this was show business, I wanted no part of it. I didn't belong there. I didn't belong anywhere -- except Yale, maybe. Maybe. IN any case, I was glad that the shooting had happened while I was at school. Who knows what mistrust and violence I had avoided by removing myself from Hollywood. There's something about a freeway at rush hour and backdrops of ghost towns that make L.A. untrustworthy. It simply isn't a place you'd call familial or safe. If anything, Yale had been safe.

1981年5月新鮮人的日子到了尾聲，我從「獨自驚恐」單人房收拾剩下的衣物回到洛杉磯，那間宿舍是用以安置有人身危險的緊急狀況。兩個星期我都待在山上的休閒農場爬山。下山後立刻回到工作崗位。每件事基本上都回歸「正常」。大家都很怕我，而且我有一段時間並不想努力消減對方的心理負擔。我只是聽著，看著。聽說梅林雷根(雷根的女兒)打電話慰問(導演)馬丁史柯西斯。甚至聽說他聘請貼身保鏢，我是不會這樣做。在街上有人認出了我，他們會說：「那有什麼，這傢伙寫什麼給妳？」有時他們會說：「太糟糕了」或者說：「很好的公關效果，孩子。」一切顯得既可笑又可悲。我笑著為所有人感到可悲 – 這些人以為了解我或認識我。他們為我感到遺憾和尷尬時，我也因此為他們感到遺憾和尷尬。這是所有人都困惑的階段。如果這就是演藝界，我不想身在其中。我不屬於那裡。除了耶魯大學，我不屬於任何地方，也許吧。或許在所有可選擇的情境下，我慶幸發生槍擊時，我正在校園。誰曉得我得遠離好萊塢，才能避開誤信和暴力。交通尖峰時的高速公路搭配遠方背景的無人小鎮，讓洛杉磯看來不可信任。這根本不是你會感覺歸屬或安全的地方。如果真有安全之處，耶魯大學曾經是安全的。

I went back to school in the fall and found everything back to normal. I started making efforts. I dressed better, I returned phone calls, I kept my room dusted and my toys in place. But by the end of the semester I found myself watching movies every night. I was getting restless. "Just school" wasn't enough. As if by a stroke of fate, a script arrived, one I liked. A Manhattan location. Starring Peter O'Toole, A chance to sing. I was ecstatic...and, for the first time in two years, in love with a project. And Svengali proved a thoroughly fun film. It made me fall in love with acting again. It cured me of most of the insecurities; it healed my wounds.


秋天我回到學校，發現一切恢復正常。我開始努力振作。比較注意穿著，自己回覆電話，保持房間整齊，將玩具歸定位。但到了學期末，我每天晚上都在看電影。我越來越焦躁不安。光「學校」是不夠的。命運好像伸出一根稻草，我收到一份很喜歡的腳本。在曼哈頓拍攝，由彼得奧圖爾主演，而且有機會展歌喉。我欣喜若狂，這是兩年來第一次熱愛一部電影專案。《Svengali》證實是部非常有趣的電影。它讓我重新愛上演戲。它治好了我的不安全感，癒合了我的傷口。

請見我之前刊出電影介紹：Jodie in Svengali

More than a year after the day of the shooting I found myself in a Washington, D.C., courtroom waiting to give my deposition. It was all very orderly, very efficient. I brought my briefcase and answered questions with a sobriety and cool that seemed appropriate. No one had told me before I arrived in Washington, of course, that Hinkley would be present. But I played cowboy and got through it all the best way I knew how, thinking this would be the end of it.

發生槍擊事件一年多後，我前往華盛頓特區向庭上提出供詞。過程非常井然有序，有效率。我帶著公事包並且以合宜的清醒冷靜態度回答問題。在抵達華盛頓之前，沒有人告知我辛克利將出席。但是我以牛仔的精神成功經歷一切，心想快要結束了。

* 茱蒂有一段沒有說出來，其實她可以透過錄影的方式在庭外提出供詞，但是她人到了現場，辛克利聽到供詞，激動地向她丟筆，而且大喊：我要殺了妳。

The proceedings went smoothly; there seemed to be very few surprises concerning the case, or so I thought. I went to my hotel room alone, flicked on the Oscars, and watched the lights of Georgetown grow dim before me. And it was that moment, as I watched the suited dolls below my window and the Pan-Caked presenters doling out prizes, that I knew I wasn't the only one playing cowboy. I thought about how every dealing with another human being was an unconscious act of bravado. You blink; I understand that you're thinking. Human relationships are forms of acting, only the players aren't aware of it. Interaction is a form of lying. So how can anyone trust the words "I'm not scared," "I love you," "Go to hell" if they are issued from the mouth of someone who can never be aware of his true feelings, of his underlying motives? Yes, I thought, we are all liars; it's a human condition. I decided that night that good actors are essentially good liars. I raise my eyebrows, you think I'm sexy. I dart my eyes, you think I'm smart. Actors and non-actors all manipulate. An actor simply has more personalities and techniques to draw on. And more people to manipulate. But the most frightening thing is that when we "turn on" to the camera -- when we insult it, make love to it, comfort it -- we aren't only manipulating a lens and some glass fragments. We're talking to ten, twenty, or perhaps thirty million people. We're manipulating and influencing them all with every careless gesture and gleaming smile. That's art. That's mass media. A man can buy a poster, pin it on his locker, and imagine the most minute details about a slinky starlet. He'll know her through and through. He'll possess her external reality. So of course Hinkley "knew" me. That woman on the screen was digging in her bag of tricks and representing herself for everyone to assess, to get to know, to take home. The most intriguing actors are those who hold back and keep something -- whatever that may be -- for themselves. They are at once tangible and intangible, accessible and inaccessible, readable and mysterious, friends and strangers. And people are both attracted and extremely angered by something they can't quite "have," whether it be a piece of chocolate cake, a multi-million-dollar corporation, or an aloof young actress. I guess you'd call it playing hard to get. I guess that's what actors do. I guess that's why other people often "love" them and sometimes feel obsessed by them.

訴訟進展順利，沒有太多意料之外，至少我是這樣認為。獨自回到旅館房間，轉台到奧斯卡頒獎典禮，看著眼前喬治城的燈光逐漸暗淡。就在此刻，我看到窗口下穿西裝的娃娃和鬆餅狀的頒獎人在頒發獎座，我明白我不是唯一扮演牛仔的人。我認為與別人打交道，會下意識地虛張聲勢。眨個眼，表示我知道你的意圖。人際關係是表演形式之一，只有其中的玩家當局者迷。互動是說謊形式之一。為什麼大家還搞不清楚對方的真實感受或真正動機前，就相信他口中所說的「我不怕」、「我愛你」、「滾一邊去」？我們都是騙子，因為這是人性。那天晚上，我領悟到優秀的演員基本上是優秀的騙子。我挑起眉毛，你認為我很性感。我雙眼細瞄，你認為我很聰明。不管是不是演員，都在操控人心。只是演員有更多的性格和技巧去吸引人。有更多演員負責操控人心。但最可怕的是，當我們在鏡頭前演出，包括侮辱、激情、安撫，我們不是針對鏡頭和玻璃元件，而是針對一千萬，二千萬，或是三千萬人。我們用自然的儀態和燦爛的微笑去操控和影響觀眾。這是藝術。這是大眾媒體。觀眾買張海報，掛在更衣室，幻想美麗明星所有的細節。他不斷地幻想去了解明星，以為掌握了明星表現出來的真實。所以辛克利以為「了解」我了。銀幕上的女人正在表演魔術，將自己化身為每個觀眾都能親近、了解、帶回家。最引人入盛的演員通常會自我保留，不管是他自己的那一部份。他們時而具體時而抽象，忽近忽遠，既可親又神秘，像朋友又像陌生人。觀眾既受到吸引，同時又懊惱不能完全「擁有」，像是一塊巧克力蛋糕，一個上億美元的大公司，或孤傲的年輕女演員。你可能稱之為欲擒故縱。沒錯，這就是演員。我猜想這是觀眾常會「愛上」演員，有時感到迷戀的原因。

Love. Quite a word. I am sorry for people who confuse love with obsession and hurt by those who have inflicted their confusion on me. Love should be sacred. It should be uttered in a soft breath, on misty mornings, in secret hideaways. Love does not exist without reciprocation, hugging that person and feeling the meeting of two minds, two hearts, two souls, two bodies. Obsession is pain and a longing for something that does not exist. John Hinkley's greatest crime was the confusion of love and obsession. The trivialization of love is something I will never forgive him. His ignorance only prods me to say that he's missing a great deal. Love is blissful. Obsession is pitiful, self-indulgent. This is a lesson I've learned. I'll always be wary of people who proclaim their love for me. I know what love is. Do they? I've even been obsessed, which is -- you'll pardon the expression - -insane. But any emotion carried to excess is insanity. Does that make it a legal defense? If so, we all stand acquitted. Why are people so afraid to admit that they have it in them? I could pull a trigger. Am I crazy?

愛，只是一個字眼。我很遺憾有人分不清愛情與迷戀的區別，以及傷害到那些因為我而困惑的人。愛情應該是莊嚴的。應該在秘密的兩人世界，在薄霧朦朧的早晨，用輕柔的氣息吐露。沒有互動的愛情是不存在的，要擁抱著對方，感覺雙方的思想、情感和靈魂，是兩個個體。迷戀，只是痛苦和渴望不存在的事物。約翰辛欣克利最大的罪行是將愛情與迷戀混為一談。我永遠不會原諒他將愛情庸俗化。他的無知只是更提醒我，他遺漏許多重點。愛是幸福的。迷戀則是可悲又沈溺。我從中學到教訓。我一直謹慎面對別人宣稱對我的愛。我了解愛的真義。他們呢？我一直被迷戀著，請原諒我這樣說吧，那是瘋狂。但任何過度的情感都屬於狂亂。這可以成為法庭上的辯護理由嗎？若是如此，大家都可無罪釋放。為什麼大家都不敢承認自己其實是瘋了？我也可以扣下板機。我是不是瘋了？

Now it is all supposedly over. I walk down the streets, go about my business, and don't look to see who's following. I don't look over my shoulder or sweat if I ride the subway. After a period of death-dodging you learn to believe that you've been picked for survival. Someone's not going to let it happen. There have been too many almosts. Still, there are times. I was coming back from the Svengali set one night with tonsillitis and a broken clavicle and in a fit of depression. I'd had to dodge paparazzi by lying on the floor of the company station wagon and I couldn't talk from laryngitis. It had been a bad day. So I stopped off for a coffee before packing myself into bed for a few days. It was six o'clock, rush hour, and the place was mobbed. Suddenly a flash of light blew up four inches from my nose. At four inches ,the photographer was just trying to harass me. The next thing I knew I was running down Eleventh Street, crying and tearing at this down jacket and slugging away. I slipped on the ice, right on my clavicle, and lay in the street sobbing. The photographer laughed and yelled, "I got her! I got her!" I couldn't talk because my throat and body throbbed with pain. I cried all the way home, all the way to my hotel room, all evening and into the night. I couldn't stop. It hurt so much. I hurt so much. The only thing I could whisper through my wrenching sobs was "It's not fair. It's not fair." Some days the anger and pain swell up in my and I can't hold it in any longer. My mother will hold me tightly, my fists clenched around her neck, my tears staining her blouse. She'll say "Sssh. I know. Everything's going to be all right." All I know to say is "It's not fair! It just isn't."

照理它該結束了。我走在路上處理自己的事，沒注意誰在跟蹤。在地鐵，我不會左顧右盼。經歷死神的追緝後，你深信已獲選為生存者。不會有人重施舊技。但不如意之事，十之八九。有天晚上，從《Svengali》片場回家，我的扁桃腺發炎了，而且鎖骨骨折，心情很抑鬱。卻遇見一個狗仔趴在演員廂型車的地板。喉嚨痛講不出話，那天一整個不順。我好幾天沒喝咖啡，直接上床休息。六點鐘交通尖峰時刻，那裡被團團塞住。突然一陣鎂光燈在我鼻前閃爍。就近到四英寸，攝影師純粹來騷擾我。我記得奔跑到十一街，淚珠直滴在羽絨外套上，我痛哭流涕起來。接著我在冰上滑倒，壓到鎖骨，躺在地上啜泣。攝影師笑著喊道：「我拍到她了！我拍到她了！」我說不出聲，因為喉嚨和身體抽痛著。我一路哭回到旅館房間，整個晚上到深夜。淚水停不下來。這太痛苦了。我好難過啊。心碎的嗚咽中只能低語：「不公平，不公平。」憤怒和痛苦在心中湧現，再也忍受不住。母親緊擁著我，我握著拳頭環抱著她的頸子，淚水浸濕她的上衣。她說：「乖，相信我，事情會過去的。」我只是說著：「不公平！一點都不。」

Someday I will look back and muse upon the curiosities of history: acting and politics all mixed up together. Anything's possible in a world in which media rules all. But for the time being the wounds still ache, the battle goes on. It seems that things calm down just as you think you can't take anymore. Then something else happens, some new event, and I find myself "taking it" once again. A stranger will approach me in the street and say, "Ain't you the girl who shot the President?"

有天，我將會回顧一切，思索歷史的奧妙，其中所混雜的表演和政治。世界萬物皆由媒體統治著。但此刻傷口依然痛楚，奮鬥正在進行。正當你以為事情已到谷底，卻發生意外插曲，前所未見的狀況，再度傷口上灑鹽。街上有個陌生人靠近一問：「妳是那個槍擊總統的女孩嗎？」

騷擾茱蒂的事件並未結束，2008年3月11日媒體報導另一起案件，從2005年起開始：
美國男子恐嚇機場被捕 曾騷擾朱迪·福斯特多年

請參考：茱蒂福斯特作品列表 (及文章索引)