Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve

Given the chance to live again, Lucille might become a cook.She would go to work with a smile every day, and when she left work in the evening, she would smell of oil and spices all over her body.Her feet will be sore and her legs will be weak, but she will definitely like such a job, she likes it from the bottom of her heart. She stood in the kitchen, messy but clean.The second batch of fried chicken was sizzling like waves crashing against sharp rocks.In the living room, the Wilsons were eating lunch, chatting and laughing, trying not to turn on the TV at this time.They sat in a circle on the floor, and Lucille wondered why they sat on the floor with their plates on their laps when a good table was set not ten feet away. Spoonfuls of rice mixed with gravy, corn, lentils, fried chicken and biscuits are gulped into your mouth.They laughed from time to time, and then went back to eating in silence.

By the time the whole family is full, there are only a few scattered pieces of chicken left untouched on a small plate next to the stove.Lucille put these in the oven, in case anyone got hungry again, and began to take stock of the kitchen. Lucille was delighted that the hoarded food had been consumed. "Is there anything I can do?" asked Jim Wilson, coming from the living room.His wife was upstairs chasing and laughing with the children. "No, thanks," said Lucille, poking her head into one of the kitchen cupboards to take inventory, then scribbled on a shopping list without looking at it, "I can do this by myself." ."she says.

Jim came over, saw a stack of plates, and rolled up his sleeves. "What are you doing?" Lucille asked, poking her head out of the cupboard. "I'm here to help." "Put it all there, don't worry about anything, it's for the children." She clapped her hands vigorously. "They're still playing," said Jim. "Well, they can't play all day, can they? You have to teach them to be responsible." "Yes, ma'am," said Jim. Lucille was busy up and down the kitchen, walking up and down beside Jim.He'd been standing by the sink, and while agreeing with Lucille's advice about parenting well, he'd washed, dried, and placed the dishes on the rack, all at once.

Once one is done, make another.Wash, dry and put on a rack. "Honey," Lucille began, "why don't you wash all these dishes in the sink? I've never seen anyone do one dish at a time." Jim didn't say anything, just went on.Once one is done, make another.Wash, dry and put on a rack. "Okay, up to you," Lucille said. Lucille tries not to connect Jim's strange behavior to the reason for his return from the dead.Although they were cousins—at least she knew they were—she didn't spend much time with Jim and his family, much to Lucille's regret.

As for Jim, she just remembered him as a hard worker, the impression he made on the whole town of Arcadia, until he and his family were murdered. That murder was truly horrific.Sometimes Lucille almost forgot that something like this happened in the town, but only almost.Most of the time, whenever she saw the family, she couldn't help but think of the tragedy.This is why the townspeople are so allergic to the Wilsons: seeing them, everyone will think of their mistakes in the past. They failed to maintain the safety of the town and did not catch the real culprit.No one wanted to think about it, and the Wilsons reminded them of it all.

It was the winter of 1963, Lucille remembered.This is often the case when people recall tragic events and feel that they are all vivid. She was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes.It was bitterly cold outside, and she stared out the window to see the bare oak tree, shivering in the wind as if it had just grown. "Oh my god." Harold didn't know where he went.He didn't understand the point of going shopping at this late hour, when it was cold and dark outside, Lucille thought.Then, as if telepathic in her own mind, she suddenly saw the headlights of his truck flickering, approaching the house along the dusty road.

"You'd better sit down," he said as he entered the door. "What's wrong?" she asked, feeling her heart skip a beat.It was all because of Harold's voice. "Can you sit down first!" Harold suddenly shouted.He kept rubbing his mouth and smacking his lips as if he had a cigarette in his mouth.He sits at the table, then gets up, then sits down again. "Shot," he said in a whisper at last, "they were all shot and killed. Jim was found dead in the foyer with the pistol not far from his hand, as if he wanted to get it but didn't." Yes. I've heard there was no bullet in the gun, so I suspect he wouldn't have had time to fire it if he'd gotten it. They've got kids running around, so he's never liked reloading the gun." Harold wiped Wiping her eyes, "Hannah...was found under the bed and was probably the last to be killed."

"Oh God," Lucille said, looking down at her hands covered in dish soap, "Oh God, God, my God." Harold grunted agreement. "We should have visited them more before." Lucille said, crying bitterly. "what?" "We should have visited them more, spent more time with them. They are family, I told you, Jim and I are related, they are family." Harold had never been able to find out whether Lucille's statement that she and Jim were related was true or not.But he knows that true and false is not so important.As long as she believed it, it was true, which made her feel even more saddened by the family tragedy.

"Who did it?" Lucille said. Harold just shook his head, trying not to cry. "no one knows." Not only that night, but for many years afterward, the shadow of this incident lingered in the town of Arcadia.The deaths of the Wilsons were tragic enough in themselves, but this tragedy mysteriously affected the town of Arcadia, even changing the very meaning of its existence. It wasn't until after the Wilsons were killed that people began to notice that petty thefts were happening in the town from time to time. They also discovered that many families had marital problems and even extramarital affairs.After the tragedy of the Wilsons, there was a sudden gloom over the town of Arcadia, which grew like a mold and grew stronger every year.

By the time Jim Wilson had washed the dishes in his strange way, Lucille had made her shopping list.She went upstairs to freshen up, changed, took her shopping list and wallet, and stood in the corridor.She had the truck keys in her hand, sure she was ready, and Harold's old blue Ford was staring at her.She took a deep breath, feeling again how much she hated driving.What's worse, Harold's damn old Ford is still alive. It's the worst metal animal she's ever seen.It only starts when it wants to, and the brakes squeal a lot.This thing has become a spirit, Lucille told Harold more than once, not only has it become a spirit, but also hates women... Maybe it has a grudge against the entire human race, just like its master.

"I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble," said Jim Wilson, startling Lucille.His footsteps were so soft that there was almost no sound, which she was not quite used to yet. Lucille rummaged through her purse, the shopping list was there, the money was there, and Jacob's picture was there, but she groped around in there, talking to the Wilsons without looking back.They were right behind her, lined up like the covers of a Christmas card, and she could feel them. "Your family speaks the same way," Lucille said. "You can tell whose child it is when you hear it, and apologize as soon as you open your mouth. Don't do this in the future." Lucille closed her wallet, still feeling uncomfortable. peace of mind. It was as if a storm was gathering momentum. "Well," said Jim, "I'll do my best to keep you out of trouble. I just want you to know how much we appreciate your help. I want you to know that our family appreciates what you've done for us Endless." Lucille turned her head and grinned. "When I'm out, you guys have to lock the door. Tell Connie I'll talk to her when I get back. I have a pie recipe I want to give her. It should be Aunt Gertrude's, I guess so." She Pause to think for a moment, then say, "Keep your kids upstairs. No one should come, but in case they..." "We'll always be upstairs." "And don't forget—" "The food's all in the oven," Jim put in, and said good-bye to her. "Okay, okay." Lucille finished, striding towards Harold's old blue Ford.She didn't look back because she didn't want them to see that she was suddenly frightened. The grocery store was the last staple in Arcadia's town renovation in 1974, the last time the town received real funding.This is an old brick house, located on the westernmost side of the town, and beyond that is the border of the town. Outside there are two-lane roads, fields, woods and houses scattered here and there.The grocery store is at the end of the main road, square, and it has always been like this when it was still used as the town's discussion center. In fact, when people turned it into a grocery store, they only uncovered the specially placed flags and advertisements, and removed a slate engraved with "City Hall".This stone slab is now faded, and the writing on it can only be barely read after the erosion of time.When the weather was nice, and until the army came to town and set up a concentration camp, the general store had good luck, with about thirty customers.Sometimes, you can see those old people wandering around in the store and refuse to leave. They don't buy anything, but just sit on the rocking chair at the door and exchange some old things.But even so, it was a joy. A young soldier saw Lucille going upstairs and offered her his arm.He called her "Madame" and was polite and patient—even though there were still a lot of young soldiers jostling around, as if the food would suddenly run out. A group of people in the grocery store, headed by Fred Green, Marvin Parker, and John Watkins, sat chattering about something and refused to leave.She had seen their protests—if they wished to be called that—in Marvin Parker's compound over the past few weeks.She felt that this group of protesters was really sad, there were only five or six people in total, and they didn't even have a decent slogan.One day, on her way to see Harold and Jacob, she heard them chanting, "Support the living! Say no to charity!" In the bottom of her heart, she didn't know what the slogan meant, but she thought, maybe those people didn't understand it themselves.Saying this just to sound rhyme, they always feel that catchy slogans are the most important thing for protests. As the young soldiers escorted her to the door, Lucille stopped in front of the group and said, "You should all be ashamed of what you have done." It's okay to go. "What a shame," she said. The men whispered a few words to each other, and then Fred Green, the damned fanboy, said, "This is a free country." Lucille clicked her tongue. "so what?" "We sit here and discuss our own business." "Shouldn't you be out on the grass and chanting those stupid slogans?" "Let's take a break now," said Fred. Lucille didn't understand for a moment whether his tone was sarcasm, or he was really resting.They didn't look like they were joking, all tanned, tired and haggard. "I thought you were doing a sit-in demonstration. Didn't you do the same when people of color demanded equal rights?" Those people looked at each other, knowing that there was something in her words, but they couldn't understand. "What do you mean?" Fred asked, the strings in his head tensing. "I just want to know what your demands are. There is a reason for all the sit-ins! You organize this kind of thing, you must want to gain something." A soldier accidentally bumped into her, stopped and followed She apologized, and then she continued, "You've managed to create chaos," Lucille said to Fred. "That's obvious, but what's next? What's your position? Who are you speaking for?" Suddenly Fred's eyes lit up. He sat up straight in his chair and took another dramatic breath. Everyone else sat upright like him. "We speak for the living," said Fred unhurriedly. This is the slogan of the "primitives movement".Long, long ago, Lucille and Harold had seen those fools on TV too.They clamored frantically, starting from the race war in the past, and now completely isolating the resurrected.At this time, Fred was quoting those people. No doubt, Lucille thought, they were planning the same stupidity. Everyone else took a deep breath like Fred did, which made them look fatter.Then they said together: "We speak for the living." "I really didn't expect that the living still need someone to speak for them," Lucille said, "However, you can try to use this sentence as a slogan instead of 'support the living, refuse charity'. Give alms to whom? To whom? " She waved her hand disdainfully. Fred looked her up and down, thinking about it. "How is your son?" he asked. "he's good." "So he's still at school?" "You mean the prison? Yes," replied Lucille. "And Harold? I heard he's still at school, too." "The prison?" she repeated. "Yes, he was there, too." Lucille tugged at the bag on her shoulder while organizing her thoughts. "What did you buy today?" Fred asked.The people around him also nodded, echoing his question.They were all sitting in a small space on the front porch, the way people walked through the door.The owner originally planned to use this space for welcoming customers, just like Wal-Mart, but soon, some old people came to stand here, so as to watch people come and go.Later, someone accidentally left a rocking chair at the door and forgot to take it away. As a result, standing became sitting again. Now this has become a habit that cannot be changed.The front of the store—although it was a small shop—had belonged to the gossiping people. If one can get around these people cleanly, one will find the place to be passable.Rows of shelves stocked with canned goods, paper towels, toilet paper, and cleaning supplies.Near the windows were bits of hardware hanging from hooks to the rafters, as if a tool shed somewhere had exploded and sent everything flying against the walls.The grocer, a portly man nicknamed "The Potato" -- Lucille couldn't figure out why he was called that -- was trying to fit as much merchandise as possible into the limited space. Lucille felt that what he had done was not a success, but he tried hard anyway.You may not find what you want in the store, but you can always find the necessities of life. "I'm here to buy something I need," Lucille said. "Is that bothering you?" Fred grinned. "It's nothing, Lucille." He leaned back in the chair, "I just care about you, nothing else, and I don't want to make you unhappy." "Are you telling the truth?" "It's the truth." He rested his elbows on the armrest of the chair and rested his chin on his fist. "It's a very simple question. How could it make a woman like you so nervous?" Fred laughed, "Don't you Is there someone or something hiding in the house, eh, Lucille? I mean, the Wilsons have been missing from the church for a while. I heard the soldiers went to get them, but the priest let them go." "Release?" Lucille got angry, "What is this? They are human beings, not animals!" "Human?" Fred squinted at her, as if Lucille was suddenly out of focus. "No," he said at last, "I'm sorry you think so. They used to be people, they were, but it was a long time ago." He shook his head. "Now, they're not people." "You mean, since they were killed, they are no longer human?" "I think the soldiers would be happy to know where the Wilsons are hiding." "I think so," said Lucille, turning toward the inside of the grocery store, "but I don't know where they're hiding." She wanted to walk away, away from Green, out of his mean face, but she stopped. Living. "What the hell is going on here?" she asked. Fred looked at the others. "What do you mean?" he responded, "Who's wrong?" "What happened to you, Fred? What happened to you after Mary died? How did you become like this? You and her used to come to my house every weekend, and you helped find Jacob in the end, for God's sake For the sake of the Wilson family. After the murder of the Wilsons, you and Mary went to their funeral like everyone else. Later, when Mary left, you almost went with her. What is the matter with you? Why are you so hostile now? They, hate everyone who has died once? Who are you blaming? God, or yourself?" Seeing that Fred was silent, she walked past him, walked into the grocery store, and quickly disappeared among the tightly packed shelves, leaving the few people discussing, or planning, or guessing.Fred watched the back of her as she walked in, then stood up, moving very slowly, then pushed aside the crowd and walked out of the store.He is going to do something very important. On the way home, Lucille's mind was full of thoughts about people's refusal to accept the Risen's behavior.She thanked God that she was dealing with it all with mercy and patience.She also thanked God for guiding that little resurrected family to her doorstep when they needed it most, and when she needed it most, because now the house is finally no longer empty.And when she drove home in Harold's old truck, her heart ached less.All kinds of food and supplies were piled up on the passenger seat, and the room was full of people, talking and laughing, waiting for her to go home... The home looks like home again. The truck drove out of town, onto a two-lane road, and through fields and woods.At one point, she and Harold had talked about moving to the town, but they had dismissed the idea just before Jacob was born.There is always a sort of escapism in their minds--at least a little--that makes them prefer to live in the woods and fields.She just loves this place. When she got home, she clearly saw the deep truck tire marks on the grass, and the boot marks of the soldiers were even more clearly discernible.The front door was wide open, and mud trails stretched from the front porch into the room. Lucille parked the car under the oak tree without turning off the engine.Sitting behind the wheel, tears welled up as she watched the car piled high with food. "Where are you?" She choked up and asked, knowing that only God could hear her voice at this moment. Samuel Daniels was born and raised in Arcadia, where he learned how to pray to God.Later he died.Now he's back in Arcadia, but the town has changed, and it's no longer that little hideaway.The travelers who passed by here came and went without stopping or hesitating at all, and almost never thought about what kind of life the residents of such a place lived.There are old-style bungalows, two gas stations, and only two signal lights; there is wood, earth, and pots; people here seem to be born from forests, forests that emerge from fields. Now, Arcadia is no longer a scenery along the way, but has become the destination of people. Thinking of this, Samuel glanced out through the isolation fence, and saw the whole town slowly spreading eastward in front of him. go.The church in the distance stands silently under the blue sky.The road leading to the town is still the dark two-lane road. Not long ago, the road surface was smooth and smooth, but now it has some potholes and roughness. More and more trucks bring people in every day, but the road going out from here Not many. The people of Arcadia are no longer locals, he mused silently.This is not their hometown, they are just visitors, travelers in their own land.They go about their lives day in and day out without knowing where they are.Whenever possible, they would gather together, just like the Risen ones.They stood there, looking at the world around them, with seriousness and confusion in their eyes. Even their priests, despite their faith and faith in God, were not exempt.Samuel had gone to him, seeking the Word of God, seeking comfort and an explanation of what was going on in this world and in this town.But the pastor was also different from what Samuel remembered. Although he was still so tall and square, like a mountain, he was so far away.He and Samuel used to stand at the door of the church, talking about the resurrected people: they were transported to Arcadia in batches, and then transferred to the school, which was too small to accommodate so many people now.Whenever the Risen ones pass by in their trucks, they always peek out to get a sense of the new place they've come to.At this time, Pastor Peters would look at them carefully, as if looking for someone. After a while, the pastor asked, "Do you think she's still alive?" He completely ignored the conversation they had just had. "Who are you talking about?" Samuel asked. But Reverend Peters didn't answer, as if he wasn't asking Samuel. Arcadia has changed, Samuel thought.Now there are fences and walls everywhere, it seems that the whole town is caged, isolated from the whole world like a fortress, and soldiers are everywhere.This is no longer the hometown where he was born and raised, no longer the small town quietly located in the countryside and open on all sides. Clutching the Bible tightly in his hand, Samuel walked away from the fence.Arcadia has been trapped within the walls, completely changed, and will never go back to the way it used to be.