Chapter 22 Chapter 21
For the remainder of my stay in Desert Doyle, I vacated the house I had lived in for several months, found a furnished room by the week in one of the few low-cost housing areas in the area, and found a job.As if trying to make Cory Munsing a seer, I was looking for a job washing dishes.It was a luxurious restaurant, and Lulu and I had eaten there countless times before.They were paid fifty-five dollars a week, which was a handsome income.
I can do other jobs too.As Munsing said, I could have been a waiter in a roadside restaurant, or a parking lot attendant, or a job in this hotel or that, but I chose to wash dishes.An eight-hour commute, surrounded by steam, grease, and heat, with my fingers scorched by hot plates fresh off the machine, and my eyes red with sweat, was to me like a poor man's Turkish bath.After a day's work, I'll grab a quick bite at a grocery store.That store was more expensive, but it was the cheapest I could find.I dropped my dinner there because it was less dignified than eating at the local cheap eatery.The big restaurant where I work doesn't provide meals for the employees, unless some friendly waitress helps me out if she can—and Munsing's last bit of prophecy comes true—she'll sneak me a Caesar salad or a Peach ice cream with raspberry sauce, and I eat it in the shadow of the machine with hands wrinkled with soaking, without disturbing the rhythm of the dishwasher.And at the same time, the sound of the dishwasher sounding like a eulogy—the simplest lecture sound—continuously stirred up anger in my heart: those stupid pigs out there, those rich stupid pigs, have to eat with Are there so many plates?
At the other end of the machine, a gray-haired, thin-shouldered dish washer in his fifties kept passing me clay dishes of gravy and forks covered in egg crumbs.This man was a man of few words, and we had been working together for weeks, and he had spoken less than a hundred words.He worked to drink, and he drank to die, but like all drunks, he could afford it and survive.His drunken discomfort was like the morning laundry hanging out in the pale light of the kitchen fluorescent lamp.So he would vomit frequently during the first four hours of work, and then chew on the leftovers in the next four hours, picking a slice of tenderloin here and a sword bean there, just like a sparrow pecking at the golden grain after a feast.But hunger was nothing compared to alcoholism, so he would eagerly wait for an evening swig of leftovers.Seeing him grabbing food with both hands and stuffing it into his mouth, and sweeping the rest into the slop bucket under the workbench, I gradually became jealous of him.I've never been so jealous of anyone in Desert Doyle.His job is easier than mine.I don't envy him because of the food, I envy him because the end of the machine where he sits is ten degrees cooler than mine.The plates were cold as he wiped them dry and stacked them in the steamer, and on my end, the steamer sizzled in boiling water, half-dead lobsters making their final struggles Want to climb out of the cauldron.I experienced again the exasperation aroused by the lowest jobs.In a job like this, the thought of owning a Cadillac is as far away from you as a foot soldier is from thinking about how he earned a general's star.But the annoying thing is that, among the millions of people who do the lowest jobs, the one next to you has a job that is more comfortable and easier than yours, for example, always doing hygiene duty, so that you can enjoy the advantage of not having to go to exercise in the morning.
I was alone again and felt at home again.Or rather I never left home.After get off work, after dinner at the grocery store, I went back to my rented room and took a shower--what a luxury for poor people--because my body was covered with prickly heat, and I would rub it Some talcum powder, lying naked in bed reading the newspaper until falling asleep.I went on like this for three or four weeks, with meaningless plans in my mind every night.I'll spend an hour going over my balance sheet, and on any given night I'll come to the conclusion that my weekly expenses can be squeezed down to thirty-four dollars a week, which means that after deducting all expenses from my salary, I'm Monthly savings are limited to a maximum of fifty dollars.So I can only save six hundred dollars a year, and after six years and eight months of frugality, I can make back the money I lost on that twelve-day gamble with Lulu.The thought depresses me, and makes me, like a saint reminiscing about the sad past, ponder how hard the next day's work will be.
This is all my activities.The three thousand dollars in savings were barely touched.I don't have to work, but now that Lulu's gone, I have no choice but to sit down and start learning to write so I can be a writer.I feel the apprehension that comes with this ambition.I was mentally prepared to fly anywhere, to the equator if necessary, but one can always find the equator, and I didn't have to leave Desert Dole.What awaited me was the boiler and the slop bucket behind the kitchen of that upscale restaurant, and I buried myself there like a hermit for a week, and then another week, and then five weeks, holding back my energy and honing my spirit , so as to prepare myself for a career that I view with religious awe.At the same time, romance has become the most resilient flower in the bachelor's garden, and I can't get rid of the sweet reverie: one day, Lulu will come to this restaurant, and she will rush to the kitchen, Seeing me cry in my dishwasher's apron, she'll love me more than ever, and you'll taste the purest magic: you sink to the bottom just to gain momentum to jump to the top .
But this story cannot be revived forever, and my fairy tales are gradually shattered in the rambling column.Every night I bite the bullet and read the news from the movie capital to fight off the itching of prickly heat.There was so much coverage of Lulu's marriage that columnists liked to call it "the marriage of the year."The fanzines that published authored articles like "Why I Dream of Teddy Pope and Me - by Lulu Meyers" felt no embarrassment, but were willing to do the pigs for Tony and Lulu. Shaped large storage tanks provide a lot of space.The story is surprisingly dull for such a magazine's misuse of the word "kiss".Every time Tony "kissed" Lulu, or Lulu "kissed" Tony, the lucky one dropped a coin in their piggy tank, the article said. "The jar fills up quickly," says Lulu or her media publicist, "and Tony and I are constantly short of change."
Whether all this is true, or to what extent, I don't know, for when I got the job I went into a seclusion and never visited Eitel, Faye, Dorothea, or Anyone I know at this resort.I ended up trusting the rambling columns.Amazingly, it made me stop believing in magic, and I even wanted to quit my job and start creating.And finally, one night, I finally went to see Eitel.
I thought it was going to be the same, because nothing happened to me, so I couldn't imagine what could happen to anyone else.When I think of Eitel and Elena and others, the most I can imagine are them eating silently at a table in the restaurant where I work, Dorothea and Paley drinking, and Marion pimp.However, what happened during these days was far beyond my imagination.When I visited Eitel that night, he was packing his things and preparing to leave Desert Doyle for the movie capital.He and Elena had broken up, he said, and Elena was now living with Marion Fay.
We sat and drank for hours, and he told me all about it, and I deeply regretted what I heard.He spoke in great detail, with no reservations about himself or others, and the details I heard were hardly far from the truth.He started by saying it was all his fault.As soon as he returned from Dorothea's party he knew he must make up his mind about Crane's proposal.There were only two options, and he could no longer procrastinate.He could stay in Desert Doyle, chained like a black-market thoroughbred in the secret stables of Munsing, or he could go back to the movie capital.But it didn't seem to make sense to go back with Elena, who seemed unworthy of being a practitioner's companion.His thoughts went on the old track, without any new considerations at all.Ever since the night when Eitel wept in Elena's arms, he had been living in doubt, and he had always doubted his own tenderness for her.
He didn't realize it until that morning when he picked up the phone to answer Beda's call.Hearing that it was Beda, he realized that he had been trying to forget the conversation he had with Beda at Dorothea's party.But now it is almost impossible to forget.Beda's voice poured directly into his ears. "Listen, buddy, it's up to you. You're welcome, can you and Elena come tonight?"
"Who else?" Eitel asked.
"I was saying, you're welcome. Zilia hates the idea of Elena being so pleasant."
Eitel was excited. "Hey, I'll call you back," he said, "I want to have a good talk with Elena."
Her reaction surprised him.He thought she would refuse the invitation, but he didn't expect her to be coy. "What do you think will happen this time?" She giggled, then added with a little seriousness, "What are we doing together?"
"I won't ask you to sign an agreement that you have to do something."
"I feel ridiculous, Charlie."
"I also think it's ridiculous." He shrugged pretending to be indifferent. "Then don't go." He said this, but his heart tightened: in case she agreed not to go, he had to control his disappointment.
Elena just looked thoughtful. "Do you find his wife attractive?"
"Oh, of course she's beautiful," Eitel said, "but it's hard to say what I like about her."
"You can lie." Elena looked very happy. "I find Don Betta attractive," she said, surprising him, "but certainly not as much as his wife."
"Of course not."
"Seeing that you are angry, I just remind you." She said teasingly.
"I'm not angry," he insisted.
"If you want to go, I'll go," Elena said, "but I always think it's kind of ridiculous."
He spoke to Beda on the phone.This day he found himself in a strangely excited mood.An incident from the past came to mind.When he was thirteen or fourteen, he kissed a girl for the first time in his life, and before saying goodbye, he asked the girl to allow him to meet again the next night.The next day he wandered the streets in agitation all day, feeling that life itself was unfolding before him like a feast of delicacies.He waited excitedly and flusteredly for the arrival of evening.
At this moment, he felt the passion of that year again.He felt young again.The day passed like this, and the only unpleasant thing was that Elena remained silent.What a disappointing woman, he thought angrily.It was really disappointing, and just as they were about to get into the car, Elena turned to him, put a hand on his arm like a lady, and said, "Charlie, maybe this was a mistake."
"At what time did you change your mind?" he muttered.
"You'd love to go, wouldn't you?"
"Just give them a call, I don't care if you go or not."
She had a very unhappy face. "I'm not trying to be serious," she said. "It's just that it would be much better if it didn't feel like planning, I mean if it just happened."
"You told me you used to do things like this to impress your analyst. What could be more contrived than that?"
"I didn't know what to do then," Elena said, "and I really didn't like doing that, I really didn't like it. Now I can only do it when I'm with you." She kissed softly. Touch his cheek. "Charlie, I want you to promise that nothing will happen between you and me tonight."
"We don't even know what's going to happen tonight." With that, he kicked the car into motion and they were off.
At Beda's that night, it seemed for a while that nothing was going to happen.For hours on end they just sat and drank, with nothing else to do, and it was not a pleasant atmosphere.Zilia was unhappy.She smoked with a long cigarette holder, puffed clouds into the air from time to time, and smiled faintly at some of the witty remarks of Eitel and Beda.
However, once Elena got drunk, she became gay.Beda couldn't stop praising her.After hearing these compliments, she became more confident in herself, and occasionally added a few words.To Eitel's ears, these words can't but be said to be quite amusing and charming.Her crystal eyes were shining, her moist lips were slightly parted, and her skin was slightly flushed against the dark dress.Eitel said something from time to time, trying to attract Qi Liya's attention.Zilia didn't seem to care about him, but she didn't care about anyone except Elena.She seldom spoke, and occasionally she would interject, in a clear, firm voice: "You behave very much like a lovely cousin of mine, Elena."
"Really?" Elena asked cautiously.
"Yes," said Zilia, with a bored and haughty look, "my cousin is extremely elegant."
"Oh, but I behave in a very indecent manner," Elena replied in a strangely funny British accent.
The four of them burst into laughter for the first time of the night, and Eitel thought she was so cute.
After that, the atmosphere was different.Beda began to dance with Zilia, and then with Elena.After the dance, he shared the marijuana cigarettes. "Great Mexican marijuana," he said triumphantly, throwing up his hands.Only Eitel declined.After skipping another round, Beda exclaimed, "Thank goodness everyone's in high spirits." And so the warm-up phase came to an end.
All night Eitel had been feeling cuckolded, and there was nothing he could do about it—he was terrified.After a while, the three of them drifted away from him, and he stopped dancing, but sat alone on a chair, smoking a cigarette and sipping wine, trying to calm down his heart.Time seems to go by very slowly.
The longing finally came to an end.Seeing him sitting alone, Elena walked over unsteadily and asked, "Do you want to go home?"
"No, unless you want to go too."
"Okay, I want to go now."
They said good-bye to the Bedas at the door as if they had played bridge all night.But as he drove, Eitel heard laughter from behind the fence, which was Beda's courtyard.
He was silent as he drove all the way.When Elena put her hands timidly on his lap, he didn't move, neither moved closer to her nor moved away.Even after going to bed.He lay on his back with his eyes fixed only on the ceiling, so that at last he felt as if he could see in the dark.Elena tossed and turned, very disturbed, and sighed a few times.He could feel that she hesitated to speak, was considering what she wanted to say, but remained silent.She touched his fingers with her hands and squeezed his palm hard, but his whole body was tense and motionless.
"Don't touch me," he told her in the dark.
"Charlie..." she began.
"I was trying to sleep."
"You want to leave me." She said cautiously and tactfully.
"I didn't know you were such a slutty bitch," he heard himself murmur.
"Charlie, I love you," she said.
"Love me? You love everything," he said. "Gorillas, hyenas, four-eyed horses." He began. "You love me," he repeated, "yes, of course you do, and you'll bark at any filthy bastard." He was shaking all over.
"Charlie, it's different," she said softly. "I don't love them. That's a stupid thing I did." She began to cry. "Charlie, don't speak ill of me," she said, "I love you. I'm the only one who loves you."
"Love, Elena?" he said. "Love is just a loud noise."
The idea that he couldn't bear it was that she didn't love him wholeheartedly, that she was too preoccupied with everything else.
"Oh, you are cruel," she said.
"Cruel-hearted?" he cried, "Hmph, I've been learning from you."
"Forget it, Charlie," Elena said.She sat up with genuine intelligence and annoyance at him, until she looked pretty to him again, and quite a bit intimidating. "Hey, listen to me," she said, "you arranged everything tonight, but you call me a pig. If you get your good deed done tonight, you'll love me again, and you'll Tell me how wonderful I am."
He was bored, he was sleepy—it was impossible to ask a defeated man to have the moral courage of a victor.Therefore, Eitel turned to Elena and said in his purest accent, "Then you have to worship stupidity as your patron saint?"
She immediately began to cry.He could hear her trying to suppress her grief.She never cried out loud, so every little sound she made in the dark was louder in his ears.He heard her slip out of bed and feel her way to the bathroom, turned on the bathroom light, and before she closed the door, he felt the light whipping at his eyes like a whip.So he was alone, and he felt nothing but exasperation, a cold hostility.He knew that Elena was crying, that her cold feet were on the stone floor of the bathroom.Eitel tried not to think about her, but now his own feet were cold, and he was shaking with a cold sweat. "I never want to touch her again," he swore to himself, but even as he swore he knew he couldn't leave her crying alone in the bathroom looking at the hard mirror and the tile and the chrome faucet. "It's really my fault," he thought, and he got up and went over to her.She shivered in his arms, her whole body was as cold as ice.For several minutes he was soothing her, trying to get her to stop crying, and now all his exasperation melted into a tenderness he felt he had to show, and all he could say was, "It's nothing, baby, It's nothing."
Little did she know that he was there. "Oh, Charlie, you must forgive me," she cried again at last, "I always thought you'd never talk to me again, but you see, there was nothing, nothing at all, and I started Thinking... I mean, wondering what I'd do without you. Oh, Charlie, forgive me. I swear I'll make it right, and I'll pay you back with my life." She rambled on and on.Any more and she'd be hysterical.And yet, as if something was important and something had to be said without falling into hysteria, he could feel her clinging to him like a heartbroken child. "You know," she sobbed, "I look like that at night because, oh, Charlie...they like me and I'm the center of attention."
So he hugged her and took her back to the bedroom.She was so sleepy that she fell asleep in his arms, and he kept whispering to her, "It's nothing, baby, do you hear, it's nothing", even after she fell asleep, he still Whispering in the dark; at the same time, the words she just said, "I became the center of attention... I became..." echoed in his ears and deeply imprinted in his sleep, his dreams.He is almost happy.He understood how much he cherished her.Yet his conscience - the stern inspector - knew that he had deprived Elena of a rare opportunity by calling her a fool when she had the most insight into his personality .So it can be said that if he hugged her at this time like a child who was forgiven after being mischievous, then he actually fell asleep with deep guilt.
All the next day he felt as weak as if he had been beaten with the rung of a chair.Only after a quarrel or an emotional crisis does he feel love for Elena in the way he wants.But he himself will be surprised when the passion is over.The memory was erased so easily?
Eitel quickly understood.All was well, but once they tried to have sex again, things were different.By this time Elena was absent-minded, and he wasn't much better.He hates her.It was impossible for him not to think about how she committed herself to others at this time.No matter what expression she had on her face, it was distorted and deformed in his eyes, and it also affected the past, making him see a large group of her lovers except Beda. Their.So Eitel lost that pride.In the past, he always felt that he gave her everything, and he was still useful after all, but now, Eitel was deprived of everything, and he had never felt so insignificant.
Of course Elena felt this too.She looked tense, awkward, and trying to get excited, which disgusted him.All he could hear was "Love, love is a loud noise" echoing in his head as they tried to make love.He felt that the sound spread out from his eyes like a poisonous mist, which ate bones into rubber and spirits into glue, so he not only hated her, hated himself, and even hated everything.What he finds most disgusting is that they are still very gentle and understanding to each other, but he doesn't love her, she doesn't love him, and neither of them has ever loved anyone else.That was all he thought, and then he lay down beside her again, and even fondled her deftly, just so as not to annoy her.Every night, or nearly every night of the week, Elena would urge him to love her, and then lay straight, but he knew she was thinking about what he had said in exasperation.He would even say to himself that she had changed a lot since they had known each other.In the first few weeks of their cohabitation, she could not bear a day of this indifference, but now she actually survived a week.
During this time, Eitel completed his screenplay.In writing this last draft, he had been dreading the scene where Freddie went back to seminary and the whole story ended with the angel singing.Eitel does not enjoy the complacency of writing original work.He knew all too well that this final draft was ingenious, and that it was brilliantly professionally presented, but it also had its problems: it was so fulfilling in its own way that the end of the story seemed too contrived.Since this was a commercially profitable script, he couldn't think of anything he could do to improve on the false sincerity that was required.But it's a miracle that the final scene is perfect.He was proud and empowered that he could write so well about things he didn't even believe in.
Eitel felt that the script was so good that it would be a pity to provide it to Munsing on the originally agreed terms, but now is the right time to change the contract.As Eitel sat at his desk, working on Kohli's profits, he kept thinking of Crane from time to time, and he told himself the reasons like a salesman with samples: For people who are already very indifferent to politics, such stubbornness is a waste of time and energy.He hates to confess to other people, but those people are slandering him.In recent months he had learned, if nothing else, that he was not much of an artist, but what kind of businessman was he without a business of his own?All kinds of reasons came to knock on the door, they took off their hats, came in to leave samples, came again after saying something, and left one after another.
Eitel wrote Crane a carefully worded letter, saying he would be ready soon.And when Munsing called again as usual, Eitel replied that the script was still weeks away.
"Why so slow?" asked Mansing.
"Don't worry, you will make a lot of money with this script." Eitel said calmly.He then left Elena for a day in the film capital, where he talked with his lawyer and visited his business manager.
Things ended easier than he had imagined.Elena went for a haircut one morning, as she had said, and it turned out badly.In his cold eyes, she was like a rabbit with its hair cut off.From time to time he would look at her and think she was a handyman hired just today.As he sat in silent reverie and watched her work, he would notice that once his eyes fell on her she looked rather hopeless.She was sweeping the floor with a broom, but she was absent-minded.He even saw her sweep the dust from one corner to another and back again, back and forth three times.Eitel had received a telegram from Crane the night before that a committee hearing would be held in two weeks, and Crane was pleased that he would cooperate.When Elena asked what the telegram was about, Eitel told her.
"I guess that means you can make movies again," she said.
"I think so."
"Hmm..." She couldn't think of anything to say, because there was only one question she wanted to ask, and she didn't dare to ask it.
"When are you leaving?" she asked after a moment, waiting for his words to go with her.It meant a lot to her, but it was painful for him to make this decision.
"About two weeks, I think," he replied, and they never mentioned it again.
After sweeping the floor, she sat down at the dining table and gazed poisedly at the yucca trees outside the French windows, the way her parents must have stared through the dirty glass windows of their candy store the way her parents must have looked. stare out.He walked behind her, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "You know, I really like the way your hair is cut."
"You hate this," she said.
"No, I wouldn't say that."
Tears welled up involuntarily, and she was very annoyed by it.She must have sworn never to cry.He walked away from her across the table and looked at the damaged nails on Elena's fingers.At this exact distance, he had a feeling of comfort and sadness.If later on he would be ashamed of himself for being so unfeeling, the feeling now encouraged him to feel that he could end their relationship today.
"Elena," he said, "I have something to talk to you about."
"You want me to go," she said, "OK, I'll go."
"That's not exactly what it means..." he began.
"You're bored," she said, "well, you're bored. Maybe I'm bored, too."
"No, wait..."
"I knew this day would come," Elena said.
"It's my fault," Eitel said quickly. "I'm not good enough."
"Who cares whose fault it is? You... you're really horrible." She began to cry as she spoke.
"Hey, listen, monkey," he said, trying to wrap his arms around her shoulders.
She shook off his hand. "I hate you."
"I don't blame you," Eitel said.
"You're so talkative. I really hate you. You...you stinky bastard." Elena said rudely and desperately, and Eitel frowned at her.
"You're right," he said, "I'm a stinker."
She tapped her fingers on the table in a monotonous and irritating rhythm. "I'm getting out of here," she said, "I'm going to pack my things right away. Thank you for having a good time." How pitiful her ironic talent was, he thought.
"Why didn't I go?" he asked. "You can stay here for a while. This is your place, too."
"This is not my place, never was."
"Elena, don't say that."
"Hmph, shut up," she said, "this is not my place." She began to cry again.
"Elena, we can still get married," he said, and once he said it, he felt less phony than he had thought.
She made no answer, but hurried out.Soon he could hear her slamming drawers open and shut, and it was easy to imagine her stuffing things from one bag to another, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to hold back her tears.In the end he stopped thinking about it and just quietly waited for her to leave.
But things are not as easy as he expected.He didn't like to hear her cry in the bedroom, the cry disturbed his peace of mind and asked him a question.What will she do next?His whole body tensed up, as if he was insisting on supporting a heavy object for five minutes, another five minutes, and another five minutes.It is crucial not to go soft.Every romantic affair that should end is delayed because it takes too much time to pack up.He even wanted to go for a walk outside, but he couldn't.He could only call a taxi, watch her get in the car, close the door for her, and wave goodbye to her, with a sad and embarrassed smile on his face all the time. A smile that only a man who wants to do better will have.It occurred to him that at this very moment he seemed to her as Cory Munsing had been when he left her in Desert Doyle.Aitel felt sore in his heart.Elena did not deserve to be treated so cruelly.
He heard her calling a taxi, heard her stammering as she gave her address, heard her put the microphone back on the cradle.Then all she heard was a snap shut of one suitcase and another.All she had accumulated in her life could fit in just two suitcases.
When she came out of the bedroom, he was already planning to give in.She could make any gesture, she could have moved a step closer to him, or just seemed helpless, and he would have done nothing, maybe even promised to take her to the movie capital.
But she didn't say anything.She just whispered dryly and sharply, "I thought you'd be interested in where I was going."
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Go to Marion."
This made him angry again. "You think you should really go there?" he said.
"Do you care?"
He was a little annoyed that she had resorted to this method in order to persuade him not to let her go. "I don't think I care," he said, "I'm just curious. When did you make this arrangement?" His throat hurts, and it seems like he won't be able to speak anytime soon.
"I called him yesterday before making an appointment for a haircut. You didn't like the haircut this time. That surprised you? Do you think I have to be kicked out? Okay." She cleared her throat, " Maybe I'll be a whore. Don't worry, I'm not trying to make you feel bad. You think I'm a whore anyway, so why should you feel bad?" Her eyes glazed over, and this time he knew she wasn't will cry. "The truth is you always thought I was a whore," Elena said, "but you don't know what I think of you. You think I can't live without you. Maybe I know better."
There was the sound of a taxi pulling up the driveway in front of the house.Eitel stood up from the chair, but Elena had already picked up the small suitcase.She turned like an actress and made her final confession. "At least this time I refuse to accept other people's gifts." She said and walked out the door.Eitel stood still until the taxi drove away, and he sat down and began to wait for her to call.He thought she would definitely call.However, an hour passed, the entire afternoon passed, and most of the night passed, and there was still no call.He sat drinking, too tired to pry a cube of ice from the tray.It was growing dark, and he sighed, wondering whether he was at ease, or more miserable than ever.
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