Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Hate Life

James Taggart took a hundred-dollar bill from the pocket of his evening coat and threw it into the beggar's hand. He found the beggar unmoved, as if collecting his money, and said "Thanks, man" contemptuously, and walked away. James Taggart stood transfixed on the sidewalk, wondering why there was a sense of shock and horror.It wasn't because of the man's arrogance - he wasn't looking for gratitude, and was never impressed by pity, and his mannerisms were deadpan and totally directionless.But the beggar is so indifferent, it seems that it doesn't matter whether it's a hundred yuan or a dime, even if he doesn't get anything, it makes no difference, because he looks like he has seen that he will die of hunger tonight. middle.A cold war interrupted Taggart's same thoughts as the beggar at this time, and he hurriedly started to walk.

The surrounding street walls looked unreal and translucent in the summer evening, and a layer of orange mist permeated the intersection, covering the roof and surrounding him.The calendar towering in mid-air broke through the fog, yellow like a piece of old sheepskin, showing August 5th. No—he thought about his inexplicable feeling just now—no, he felt pretty good, so he wanted to do something tonight.He couldn't admit that the unnatural restlessness was all because he wanted to be happy; he couldn't admit that the kind of happiness he wanted was to celebrate, because he couldn't say what it was that he wanted to celebrate.

It was an extremely busy day, and although the words were full of confusing words, they seemed to be gradually reaching the desired effect bit by bit.But his purpose and the truth that pleased him could not be seen by them, and even he had better pretend not to know it; so his sudden urge to celebrate was dangerous. At the beginning of the day, a visiting Argentine congressman held a small lunch meeting in his hotel suite. Some people from different countries talked about Argentina’s climate, soil, resources, people’s needs, and the flexibility of future measures. The significance of a progressive attitude - also touches on the fact that in two weeks Argentina will be declared a people's state.

Then he went to Warren Boyle's for a few drinks, where a taciturn gentleman from Argentina sat silently in a corner while two Washington officials and a few unidentified people talked about the country. resources, metallurgy, mining, neighbors' obligations and global welfare - all while talking about a $4 billion loan to be extended to Argentina and Chile within three weeks. He then took a job as host in a cellar-like bar on top of a high-rise building, and hired the heads of a recently formed company.The company, Neighborhood Amity and Development, had Warren Boyle as president and a slender, dashing, over-exuberant Chilean named Mario?Martinez, but Taggart always felt like he and Cuffy?How similar is Mags, so he calls him Kufi?Mr Mags.They talked about golf, horse racing, rowing, cycling, and women.As for the fact that the Neighboring Country Goodwill and Development Corporation has obtained an exclusive 20-year "management contract" to manage the industries of all the people's countries in the southern hemisphere, they have known it for a long time, so there is no need to mention it.

The last event of the day was at the Chilean diplomat Rodrigo ?A gala dinner at Gonzalez's home.Mr. Gonzalez, who was unknown a year ago, has gained a reputation for throwing parties and being described by his guests as an innovative businessman since he arrived in New York six months ago.It is said that when Chile became a people's state, all property was nationalized except that of the citizens of backward countries like Argentina, and Mr. Gonzalez lost all his property; Allowing himself to contribute to the country, he joined the new government.His home in New York occupies an entire floor of an upscale hotel.His face was plump and pale, and his eyes were fierce and murderous.From what he had observed at this evening's dinner, Taggart believed that this man could be completely unmoved by any emotion.He was like a knife that could slip silently out of his drooping fat at any time—only when he shuffled across the thick Persian rug and tapped his hand lightly on his smooth seat. There is something obscene, even erotic, about the arm of a chair, or the closing of one's lips dangling from a cigar.His wife, Mrs. Gonzalez, is not tall, but she is quite pretty. Although she is not as beautiful as she thinks, she is always nervous, and there is an excessive relaxation and enthusiasm in her self-conscious demeanor. And taunting, as if she could do anything and anyone could forgive.It was well known by many that her special people skills were her husband's greatest asset in an age when reciprocity was more prized than real business.Looking at her among the guests, Taggart couldn't help thinking, most of the men didn't expect extravagance during those nights of romance, and maybe they forgot all about it afterwards, but I don't know what kind of deal they got in exchange for it. What laws and what companies will face destruction.He felt very bored, and he only came here at the request of six or seven of them. As long as they saw him and looked at each other a few times, they didn't even need to say anything.It wasn't until the meal was about to start that he heard the news he had been waiting for.The six or seven went up to Mr. Gonzalez's seat, and he, smoking a cigar and puffing at them, spoke of the agreement with the future Argentine People's State, the property of the Copper Company de Anconia will be nationalized by the Chilean People's State on September 2 in less than a month.

Everything was going as Taggart expected; but when he heard the conversation, he couldn't help but want to run away.He seemed to feel that there should be another way to celebrate tonight's achievements, this boring dinner has already made him unbearable.He once walked out into the twilight streets, seemingly wanting to do something, and feeling uneasy: he wanted to find a joy that he couldn't find, to celebrate a feeling he dared not speak-but when he found What prompted him to plan tonight's victory, and what made him feel joyful and satisfied in this victory, he was afraid.

He reminded himself to sell his stake in D'Anconia Copper, which has languished since last year's crash, and buy, as his friends approve, the Neighboring Goodwill and Development Corporation, which will make him rich. stock.But the thought still bored him; it wasn't something he wanted to celebrate. He tried to force himself to be happy: money was his motivation, money was the worst, he said.Is the motivation normal, and is it tenable?Isn't that what Witt, Reardon and D'Anconia are chasing? ... He shook his head vigorously, trying not to let himself think: he felt as if his thoughts were slipping into a blinding and dangerous alley, and he didn't want to know the end of this road.

No—he thought sadly, resignedly—money didn't matter to him anymore.At the party he was hosting today, he spent money like water—bought an endless pile of wine and untouched pastries, took out money on a whim, and gave unnecessary tips. That's right, he made a long-distance call to Argentina because a guest wanted to verify a nasty story he told, he just wanted a thrill, and it was easier to think about spending money in a morbid daze than to think about it up. "With a railroad consolidation plan, you can rest easy," Warren Boyle told him with a drunken grin.A local railroad company in North Dakota has been forced out of business after the railroad integration plan was implemented, and there has been an area damaged by it, where the head of a local bank shoots his wife and children and kills himself— A freight train in Tennessee was temporarily canceled, a local factory didn't know it was out of shipments until the day before, and the factory owner's son gave up going to college—he's being arrested for a murder with a gang of looters. Prison awaiting execution—a station in Kansas was shut down, and the station master, who once wanted to be a scientist, gave up his research to wash dishes in a restaurant—while he, James Taggart, could sit In a private bar, where Warren Boyle was gulping down a drink, the waiter saw the drink spilled on his chest and hurriedly dried his clothes. There were holes in the carpet caused by cigarette butts, because the The pimp from Chile didn't bother to get up to reach the ashtray that was only three steps away, and he paid for it all.

It was not his indifference to money that made him shudder at this moment, but the knowledge that he would be equally indifferent if he were reduced to a beggar.He's been condemning the sin of greed, but he's a part of it, and he feels a little guilty thinking about it, but it's just like a slight itch.At this moment, he felt a chill, because he felt that he had never been a hypocrite: he had never really cared about money.This thought opened another big hole in front of him, and the road that this hole led to was something he didn't even dare to look at. I just wanted to do something tonight!He shouted silently at someone with anger and rebellion—he was rebelling against the thing that forced these thoughts into his head—why is this vicious force of hatred in the world allowing him to relax? Before that, you must let him think clearly about what he wants, and there must be a reason.

what do you want?A hostile voice kept asking, and he quickened his steps, trying to get away from it.He felt that his mind was like a labyrinth, with a fork in every turn, leading him into a thick fog that hid the abyss.He felt like he was running wildly, the small safety island on that side was gradually shrinking, and the only things left would be those forked roads.It was as if the streets around him still had some remnants of visibility, and the fog was creeping in, blocking all exits.Why does it have to shrink?he thought horrified.He has always been stubbornly and safely staring at the pavement in front of him, cunningly avoiding the road in front of him, not looking at the distance, the corner and the spire of the tall building, his life has always been like this.He never wanted to get somewhere, he wanted to stand still, not be bound by the straight line, he never wanted to let the years of his life add up—what accumulated them?How could he involuntarily reach such a place where he could not stand still and could not retreat? "Brother, watch the way!" a voice yelled at him, and at the same time he was touched by a man's arm-he realized that he had been running and bumped into a big man with bad smell.

He slowed down, discerning where he was running blindly.He never thought about going home to see his wife, and that road was also full of dangers and fog for him, but he had nowhere to go. As soon as he stepped into Shirley's room and saw her sit up quietly, he realized that the danger here was more serious than he wanted to see, and he couldn't do it.But when there is danger, he thinks it cannot be true unless he sees it, and he closes his eyes, stops thinking, and goes on without turning the corner—as if the foghorn sounding in his heart was not Used to issue a warning, but to invite a thicker fog. "Yeah, I'm going to attend an important business banquet, but after thinking about it, I'd still like to have dinner with you tonight." His flattering tone was replaced by a soft sound—" understood." Her unsurprised demeanor and bleak, expressionless face made him uncomfortable, watching her orderly give orders to the servants, and then, in the dining room by candlelight, watching her sit across from the table, looking across the table between them. He felt uncomfortable with the two crystal glasses in the silver ice bucket in the room. What made him most uncomfortable was her coldness; she was no longer the little girl feeling overwhelmed and humbled by this luxurious apartment designed by a famous artist, she had become a part of it.She sat at the table as if she had been the natural mistress of the house, dressed in a well-cut red-brown brocade house dress, which matched the dark copper of her hair, in a style so simple and unadorned that he Still prefer her old jingle bracelets and crystal clasps.For months, her gaze had made him uncomfortable: eyes that were neither friendly nor hostile, staring at him suspiciously. "Today I have accomplished a great thing," he said in a bragging tone, as if begging for mercy, "it concerns the whole continent and six or seven countries." He found that the kind of awe, reverence, and intense curiosity he hoped to see could only appear on the face of the little girl who sold goods in the store in the past, and could no longer be seen from the expression of his wife; Resentment is much better than her serious gaze looking straight up; this questioning gaze is simply worse than questioning. "What's the matter, Jim?" "What is it? Why are you suspicious? Why do you want to snoop right away?" "Sorry, I didn't know it was confidential, so don't answer it." "This matter is not confidential," he waited, but she was still silent, "Why? Don't you want to say something?" "Of course not." She replied lightly, as if to make him happy. "So you're not interested at all?" "But I don't think you want to talk about it." "Come on, don't play tricks!" He shouted loudly, "This is a big business, don't you just worship this kind of big business? Huh, it's so big that those boys can't even dream of it. It's all about pennies, but I can be like this"—he snapped his fingers—"like this, and it's the most beautiful show ever." "You mean acting, Jim?" "It's a business!" "You did it all by yourself?" "Of course it's me! That fat stupid Warren Boyle won't do it in his next life, it takes knowledge, skill, timing"—he saw a twinkle of interest in her eyes—"and Psychology." The interest in her eyes disappeared, but he still talked casually, "You must know how to get close to Wesley, how to protect him from bad influence, and how to make Mr. Thompson feel Interest, without telling him too much, how to fit Zeke Morrison in and Dinkie Holloway out, and how to find the right person to treat Wesley to a few treats at the right time. Don, and... By the way, Shirley, is there any champagne at home?" "Champagne?" "Can't we have something special? Can't we celebrate together?" "Of course we can have some champagne, Jim." She rang for someone, and gave the order, still strangely listless and indifferent.She had no desires or desires, and she was completely following his wishes. "You don't seem very interested," he said, "but then again, what do you know about business? It's impossible for you to understand such a big thing. Wait until September 2nd and see them Let’s see what it’s like after hearing about it.” "They? Who?" He glanced at her as if he had slipped his tongue, "We devised a plan—me, Warren Boyle, and a few friends—to control the property of all businesses south of the border line. " "Whose property were they originally?" "Of course it is... the people's. We are not just making money for individuals as in the past, but we have a mission of dedication and public spirit - that is, to manage the nationalized assets of several countries in South America, To teach their workers our modern production technology, to help those poor people who have never had a chance—” Although she just sat there, still staring at him, he suddenly stopped talking, “You know, He suddenly sneered, "If you were so eager to cover up your poor origin, you wouldn't be so indifferent to this set of social welfare practices. The poor are always the ones who lack humanity. Only by being born into a wealthy family can you have a subtle understanding of altruism." "I never tried to hide my poor origins," she said in a nonchalant tone, as if to correct a fact. "At the same time, I have no sympathy for the welfare argument. I have seen a lot, so I know that there is a kind of Why do poor people always want to eat for free?" He didn't say anything, but she suddenly continued, her voice was a bit stunned, but firm, as if she was finally making a conclusion on a long-standing question, "Jim, In fact, you don't care, you don't care about those benefits at all." "Well, if you're only interested in money," he growled, "I'll tell you, this could make me rich. Wealth, that's what you've always worshiped, isn't it?" "uncertain." "I think I'm going to be one of the richest people in the world," he continued, without asking her why she said no. "There's nothing I can't afford, no. Just tell me, I can give you whatever you want, tell me." "I don't want anything, Jim." "But I want to give you a gift! It's to celebrate this moment, understand? As long as you can think of it in your mind, I can get it. Even if it is your fantasy, I will show you Look - I can do it." "I have no illusions." "Okay! Want a yacht?" "No." "Would you like me to buy all of the house you used to live in in Buffalo?" "No." "Want Britain's crown jewel? It's available. That country has been rumored to be on the black market for a long time. However, there aren't any tycoons like they used to be able to afford. But I can afford it." —After September 2, I can. Want it?" "No." "Then what exactly do you want?" "I don't want anything, Jim." "But you must! There must be something you want, you damned!" She looked at him, slightly surprised in her indifferent expression. "Oh, ok ok, sorry," he said, seeming taken aback by his own excitement. "I just want to make you happy," he continued sullenly, "but I don't think you can understand it at all. You don't know how important it is, how wonderful this man you're marrying is." "I try my best to think that way." "Do you still think Hank Reardon is a great man the way you used to be?" "Yeah, Jim, I still think so." "I've beaten him. I've outrun any of them, over Reardon, over my sister's other lover—" He stopped abruptly, consciously speaking too much. "Jim," she asked flatly, "what's going to happen on the second of September?" The muscles on his face froze like a half-smile, and a cold gaze rolled up from under his forehead and shot at her, as if breaking the limit of some endurance: "They're going to take D'Ancony The Asian Copper Industry Company was nationalized," he said. He heard the long, piercing roar of an airplane rolling through the darkness above the roof, followed by a soft crack as ice melted in the silver bucket that held the fruit cup.She said, "Isn't he your friend?" "Come on, shut up!" He stopped looking at her and remained silent.She was still staring at him when his gaze came back to her face, and then, in a particularly determined voice, she spoke first, "What your sister said on the radio was amazing." "Well, I know, I know, you've been nagging for a month." "You never answered me." "What's the point...?" "Like your Washington friends who never answered her." He said nothing. "Jim, I must mention that." Still he made no answer. "Your Washington friends didn't say a word about it. They didn't deny what she said, they didn't explain it, they didn't try to defend themselves. They just pretended she never said those things. Same thing, I see, they're hoping people will forget about it. Some will, but most of us know what she's talking about, and know that your gang wouldn't dare confront her." "That's not true! Proper steps have been taken about it, it's passed, and I don't see why you keep bringing it up." "What measures have been taken?" "This program by Bertram Scudder is not suitable for everyone to listen to at present, and has been stopped." "Is that the answer to her?" "This is the end of the matter, there is nothing more to say." "Why don't you talk about a government that does blackmail and extortion?" "You can't say we've done nothing to have publicly declared Scudder's show to be divisive and destructive and not to be trusted." "Jim, I want to make it clear that Scudder isn't hers—it's yours. He didn't set up this broadcast, he did it on Washington's orders, didn't he?" "I thought you didn't like Bertram Scudder." "I didn't like it, and I don't like it now, but—" "Then what are you worrying about?" "But you guys know he's got nothing to do with it, don't you?" "I reckon you'd better keep your politics out of your mind. You talk like a fool." "He's innocent, isn't he?" "so what?" She looked at him, her eyes widened in surprise, "then they just took him as a scapegoat, didn't they?" "Gee, stop playing with Eddie Wheelers!" "Really? I like Eddie Wellers. He's honest." "He will play tricks, and he doesn't know how to deal with reality!" "Then you understand, don't you, Jim?" "Of course I understand!" "Then why didn't you help Scudder?" "Me?" he burst into a fit of despair and exasperation. "Why, why are you so naive? It took me a lot of effort to push Scudder out! Somebody has to take the blame. Don't you understand that if I can't find someone else, I won't be able to keep my head?" "Your head? If Dagny is wrong, why not her head? Because she is right?" "Dagny is something else entirely! In this case, it's either Scudder or I." "why?" "It's also better for national policy at the expense of Scudder. That way, there's no need to argue about what she's saying — and if anyone brings it up, we'll be chanting it's Scudder's show. Scudder's show has been discredited, it turns out Scudder is a liar, wait - you think the outside world can guess what's going on? Nobody believed Bertram Scudder. Hey, come on Stare at me! Would you like to see my reputation discredited?" "Why can't it be Dagny? Is it because you can't deny what she said?" "If you're so sympathetic to Bertram Scudder, you should see how he tried to frame me! He's been doing it all these years—how do you think he got to where he is today? Isn’t he stepping on dead bodies? He also thinks he’s great—you should really see how afraid those tycoons used to be to him! But this time he overplayed his game, and he was on the wrong team this time. " He leaned back in his chair with a relaxed smile.In the numbness, he faintly felt that this was exactly the feeling of finding himself that he wished to experience.Ego—he thought dazedly, floating through the darkest cul-de-sacs of his mind—what on earth was his ego. "You know, he's from Dinge? Holloway's faction. Dinge? Holloway and Zeke Morrison's factions were at odds for a time, but we won anyway. In order to get rid of us, Dinge After getting the benefits he wanted, he agreed to abandon his buddy Bo Chuan. You didn't hear Bo Chuan's roar, but he also understood that he was doomed." He started giggling, but when he came to his senses and saw the look on his wife's face, he stopped short. "Jim," she asked softly, "is this... what you call victory?" "My God!" he yelled, pounding his fist on the table. "Where have you been all these years? What world do you think you live in?" His punch knocked his water glass over, spilling The water that came out moistened the pattern on the tablecloth. "I was thinking about that too," she said in a low voice.Her shoulders slumped, her face suddenly looked exhausted, and there was a strange sense of vicissitudes in her expression, she looked haggard and dazed. "I can't do anything!" His cry broke the silence, "I can't blame this! I can only take one step at a time! I didn't create this world by myself!" He was surprised to see her laughing—it was hard to believe such a bitter sneer on her gentle, calm face; she was not looking at him, but at a scene that floated before her own eyes, "My father That’s what I used to say when I was drunk in bars when I wasn’t working.” "You're comparing me to—" He yelled and then stopped, because she wasn't listening. She looked at him again and asked something that surprised him, irrelevant. "Nationalization on September 2nd," there was longing in her voice, "did you choose that date?" "No, it doesn't concern me at all. It's the day of some special session of their council. What's the matter?" "This is our first wedding anniversary." "Oh? Oh, that's right!" He found that the conversation had turned to such a safe topic, and he felt a lot easier. "We've been married for a year, my God, it doesn't feel like that long!" "It feels much longer," she said flatly. Her eyes flicked elsewhere, and he suddenly panicked, feeling that this topic was not safe at all; he hoped that she would not look back at the past year and their marriage history... Don't be afraid, learn—— She thought to herself—what should be done is not to be afraid, but to learn... She always said this sentence to herself repeatedly, and this sentence was like a pillar, smoothed by her desperate body Incomparable, supporting her through the past year.She tried her best to repeat this sentence, but felt as if she couldn't grasp it, as if this sentence could no longer drive away the fear in her heart—because she had already begun to understand. If you don't know, don't be afraid to learn... The first time she said that to herself was in the first few weeks of her new marriage when she felt bewildered and helpless.Jim's immature demeanor and sullen temper, and his cowardly evasion of his questions to her, were beyond her comprehension; such a character could not have appeared in her married James Taggart .She warned herself not to blame easily before she understood everything. She knew nothing about his life, and it was her ignorance that caused her misunderstanding of him.Even though she kept feeling that something must be wrong and was scared, she blamed herself. "I must learn all that Mr. James Taggart ought to know and master." That was how she explained to the master of etiquette why she wanted to learn.Like a military cadet and a newly ordained monk, she began her studies with great dedication and self-discipline.She thought that only in this way could she live up to her husband's high trust and expectations for her, and now, this has become her duty.She felt, though she would not admit it to herself, that after this long task she could see him again, the man she had seen on the night of his railroad success. She was puzzled by Jim's attitude when he heard her in class.He always couldn't help laughing, and she couldn't believe that there was malicious contempt in that laughter. "Why, Jim? Why? What are you joking about?" He never explained anything—as if there was no need to bother about what he was laughing at. She could not doubt his malice: he was always patient and forgiving of her mistakes.He seemed eager to take her to the best social scene in town, and he never knew her ignorance and clumsiness, the silent exchange of glances from the guests, and her blushing realization that she had said the wrong thing again. There is more than half a sentence of blame.There was no embarrassment to be seen from him, he just watched her with a smile.When he came home on an evening like that, he was in an extremely cheerful mood.He was trying to make her feel better, she thought—a feeling of gratitude pushed her to study more seriously. Her hard work paid off, and she discovered for the first time one night that she liked such a party.She felt that she spoke and behaved very freely, not following any rules, but purely because she liked it, and she suddenly became confident, and those rules had become a natural habit—she knew she was very eye-catching, but this time , she was finally no longer ridiculed, but was appreciated - she got people's love by virtue of her own ability.She was Mrs. Taggart, no longer a liability to Jim's care, which people accepted only for his sake--she smiled cheerfully, seeing the agreeing smiles and the admiration on people's faces--she He kept looking across the room at him, as happy as a child with a report card with a perfect score, hoping that he would be proud of her.Jim sat alone in the corner, looking at her with unfathomable eyes. He also didn't talk to her on the way home. "I don't know what I'm always doing at those parties," he cried, standing in the middle of the living room, pulling off his tie suddenly, "I've never wasted so much time in such a vulgar place!" "What? Now, Jim," she said in amazement, "I think it's all right." "Of course you do! You seem to be taking it easy--seems like it's Coney's amusement park. I hope you'll learn how to behave." Some, don't embarrass me in public." "I embarrassed you? Tonight?" "Yes!" "How did I embarrass you?" "If you don't understand, I can't explain it." He was cryptic To suggest incomprehension is to admit that you are inferior. "I don't understand," she said firmly.He walked out of the room and slammed the door hard. She sensed that the incomprehension this time was more than just a blank space: it tinged with guilt.Since that night, a small, stubborn shadow of fear has been planted in her heart, like a distant headlight, pressing towards her along an invisible road. Studying seems to be unable to make her understand Jim's inner world further, but it makes the doubts bigger and bigger.She felt it was impossible for her to have any due respect for the dreary, feelingless art exhibitions his friends attended, for the novels they read and the political magazines they talked about--in the art exhibitions, what she saw was her The chalk scribbles that littered the sidewalks of the slums as a child—the novels that claimed to prove the futility of science, industry, civilization, and love, in vulgar language that his father could not utter even when he was too drunk—those The jittery, nonsense magazines were more obscure and trite than the ghetto preaching, deceitful pastor she had once lashed out at.She couldn't believe that these were the cultures she was looking forward to and waiting to learn.She felt as if she had climbed a high mountain towards what looked like an ancient castle, only to discover that it was the ruins of an abandoned warehouse. "Jim," she said one evening, after a party with what were known as the intellectual leaders of the country, "Dr. Simon Pritchett is a liar—a mean, cowardly old liar." "Oh, yes ’ he replied, “do you think you are qualified to criticize philosophers?” “I am qualified to criticize impostors. I have seen so many of them that I can spot them at a glance.” “Look, so I I just said that you will never get rid of your previous origin, otherwise, you will know how to appreciate Dr. Pritchett's philosophy." "What philosophy?" "If you don't understand it, I can't explain it. ’ She didn’t want the conversation to end in his usual way, ‘Jim,’ she said, ‘he’s a liar, he and Buff Eubank and the rest of them—I see you是上了他们的当了。”出乎她的预料，他并没有恼，她看到他似乎觉得好笑般地将眼皮一抬，“那是你才这么想。”他回答说。 一个她从来没想过的可能性令她感到了一阵恐惧：如果吉姆不是上了他们的当呢？她想，她可以识破普利切特博士的欺骗——他是在浑水摸鱼；此刻，她甚至可以承认吉姆在他自己的那一行里可能也是个骗子；令她心里不安的是想到吉姆是个没有在浑水里捞什么的骗子，他是个不要钱的骗子，一个无法被收买的骗子；相形之下，这种舞弊或行骗者似乎很是清白。她想象不出他的动机何在；她只是觉得那盏向她逼上来的车灯越来越大了。 她已经不记得对吉姆在铁路上地位的怀疑是如何开始的了，从起初的一点点不自在到阵阵的疑惑，再到后来的挥之不去的恐惧，她的痛苦在逐渐地加剧。当她的心里疑云初起，第一次无心地问了一句，满心指望着他能给出一个令她安心的回答时，他却突然怒不可遏地嚷嚷着，“这么说你是信不过我了？”在那一刻，她意识到她确实是不相信他了。她幼年的贫民生涯教她懂得了一个道理：正直诚实的人从不会对信任的问题感到过敏。 “我不想谈工作。”她一提到铁路，他就会这样回答。有一次，她试图去求他，“吉姆，你明白我是如何看待你的工作，同时对你做这样的工作又是多么的敬仰吗？”“哦，是吗？你嫁的究竟是个男人还是铁路总裁？”“我……我从没想过要把这两者分开。”“哦，我可不觉得这是在恭维我。”她为难地看着他：她满以为那是句好话。“我想相信的是，”他说，“你爱上的是我，而不是我的铁路。”“天啊，吉姆，”她倒吸了一口气，“你不会认为我是——！”“不，”他伤感而宽容地一笑，说，“我不认为你是贪图我的钱和地位才嫁给了我，我可从没怀疑过你。”她在错愕的困惑和公道的压力下，意识到她或许让他产生了误解，一定是有很多贪钱的女人曾经伤透了他的心，她只好边摇头边哀求道，“噢，吉姆，我绝没有那个意思！”他像是哄小孩一样轻声地笑了笑，伸手搂住了她，“你爱我吗？”他问。“爱。”她小声说道。“那就要对我有信心。你知道，爱就是信任，你看不出这就是我需要的吗？周围的人我谁都不能信，我的身边都是敌人，我很孤独。你难道不知道我需要你吗？” 几个小时后，她依然在屋子里焦虑不安地走来走去，令她心神不宁的是她恨不得能够去相信他，却连一个字都无法相信，但同时又知道他的话的确是事实。 虽然事情的确如此，但并不是像他所暗示的那样，也不是她能够想清楚的。他确实是需要她，但她总是难以断定他那种需要的真实面目。她不清楚他想从她身上得到些什么。他想要的不是奉承，她见过他在听到撒谎者谄媚的奉承时，就沉着脸，显出一副憎恶的神态，简直如同一个瘾君子在瞧着眼前的那一丁点对他根本不起作用的毒品。但是，她曾经见过他看着她的样子，似乎是在等着打一针兴奋剂，有时候简直像是在乞求。只要她对他表示出一点仰慕的意思，她就能看到他的眼里会闪现出一丝活力——可她一旦说出仰慕的原因来，他就变得怒气冲冲。他似乎希望他在她的心目中是伟大的，但永远不想让她把任何具体的事情归功于他的伟大。 她始终不理解四月中旬的那天晚上，当时他刚从华盛顿回来。“嗨，小丫头！”他响亮地招呼着，递给她一束丁香花。“好日子又到啦！一看到这些花就想起了你，春天到了，亲爱的！” 他给自己倒了杯喝的，端着它在屋子里走来走去，说话之间露出一股轻松不已的兴奋。他的眼里闪烁着兴奋的光芒，语音极度兴奋。她都觉得他有些得意忘形了。 “我知道他们想要干什么！”他冷不丁地冒出一句，她飞快地瞟了他一眼：她听得出这是他抑制不住地在发作。“全国上下知道这件事的也不过十来个人，我就是一个！上面的那些人在对全国宣布之前一直守口如瓶。它绝对会让很多人都想不到！绝对会把他们都震趴下！是很多人吗？好家伙，全国的人，有一个算一个！它会影响到每一个人，可见有多重要了。” “影响——怎么影响，吉姆？” “这会影响到他们！他们都不知道是怎么回事，可我知道。今晚，他们还都在那儿”——他冲着市里灯火通明的窗户挥了挥手——“一心想着要干点什么，数着挣来的钞票，享受着天伦之乐或者做着美梦。他们还蒙在鼓里，可我知道，所有这一切都会被停止和改变的！” “改变——是变得更好还是更糟？” “当然是更好了，”他有些不耐烦，似乎这问题完全没必要问；他声音中的火热似乎降低了一些，重新道貌岸然地谈起了责任，“这项计划可以拯救国家，阻止我们的经济滑坡，稳住形势，保证稳定和安全。” “是什么计划？” “我不能讲，这是机密，头等机密。你难以想象有多少人会拼命打听这件事。哪怕只是一点风声，任何一个企业家都会拿他最昂贵的一打高炉去换，可他还是得不到！比如说你崇拜的那个汉克·里尔登吧。”他冷笑一声，似乎看到了里尔登的末日。 “吉姆，”他的这一声笑令她惊恐万分，“你为什么恨汉克·里尔登？” “我不恨他！”他猛地朝她转过身来，脸上竟然带着焦虑和近乎恐惧的表情，“我从没说过我恨他。别担心，他会赞同这项计划，每个人都会同意的。这可是为了大家好啊。”听起来，他像是在恳求着。她在迷惑之中感到他是在撒谎，但那恳求的确是发自内心的——似乎他急于想让她安心，不去想他刚说的这件事。 她努力笑了笑，“是啊，吉姆，当然是这样了。”她一边回答，一边在纳闷，她怎么反而要去安慰他了。 她看到他的脸上似乎露出了笑容和感激的神情，“我今晚必须要告诉你，我想让你明白我是在应付多么重大的事情。你总是谈论我的工作，可你对它一点都不懂，它远远超出了你的想象。你脑子里的管理铁路就是铺铺铁轨，用点花哨的金属，然后让火车正点到达。不是这样的，这种事任何一个下属都会干。铁路真正的心脏是在华盛顿，我的工作是去搞政治——是政治——决策的范围遍及全国，会影响到每一件事，控制着每一个人。一纸寥寥数言的法令可以改变在全国每一个角落里的每一个人！” “是啊，吉姆。”她一边说，一边希望着自己能去相信，他或许真的就是华盛顿那个神秘圈子里的重要人物。 “你会看到的，”他在屋内踱着步子，说道，“你认为那些有点小聪明，能摆弄发动机和高炉的大企业家们很有权力吗？他们会被抵制！他们会被夺权！他们会被拉下马！他们会被——”他发现了她瞪大了眼睛看着他的样子，“这不是为了我们自己，”他急忙叫道，“这是为了人民。政治和商业的区别就在这里——我们的眼里没有自私的目的，不受个人的驱使，我们图的不是利，不会用一辈子去捞钱，我们用不着！正因为这样，我们才被那些贪婪逐利的人误解和诽谤，他们根本无法理解精神的追求或者道德的理想，或者……这我们也没办法！”他突然转身冲她大喊了起来，“我们必须有这么一个计划！现在一切都处于崩溃和停顿之中，必须要采取一些措施！我们必须阻止他们继续停滞下去！我们没有办法！” 他的眼神近乎疯狂；她搞不懂他是在胡吹还是在乞求原谅；她不知道这究竟应该算是胜利还是恐惧。“吉姆，你是不是不太舒服？也许你干得太拼命，身体累垮了——” “我还从没感觉这么好过呢！”他不耐烦地叫了一声，又接着疯狂起来，“我当然是在拼命地干，我工作的重要性你连想都想不到，它的意义远远超过了汉克·里尔登和我妹妹那样的挖钱机器所干的一切。无论他们做什么，我都可以让他们白费工夫。让他们修条铁路试试——我过来就能把它拆了！”他打了个响指，“就像弄折脊椎一样！” “你想把脊椎弄断吗？”她浑身哆嗦着，低声问道。 “我没这么说！”他尖叫了起来，“你有毛病呀？我没这么说！” “对不起，吉姆！”她被她自己刚说的话和吉姆眼里的凶光吓得怔住了，“我只是不明白，可是……可是我知道，我不该再问问题去烦你，你已经这么累了”——她是在拼命地想要说服她自己——“你心里装着那么多的事情……是那么……那么大的事情……我想都不敢想……” 他的肩头放松地一沉。他向她走过去，疲惫地跪倒在地，双手搂住了她，“你这个小傻瓜。”他动情地说道。 她紧紧地抓着他，一股温暖，甚至是怜悯的情绪感动了她。然而，当他仰起头来向她望去的时候，她似乎发现他一半是感激的眼里还有几分蔑视——就好像，基于一种未为人所知的宗教法令，她宽宥了他，却判决自己有罪。 在随后的日子里，她发现，再去对自己说什么她还无法理解这些事，她应该信任他，爱就是信任这样的话，已经不起作用。她怎么也想不明白他的工作以及他和铁路之间的关系，疑心便与日俱增。她搞不懂的是，为什么她越认为自己有责任用信任来回报他，她的疑问就越多。后来，在一个辗转反侧的夜里，她发觉她要尽到这个责任，就会在人们谈论到他的工作时扭头避开，就会不去看报道塔格特公司的报纸，彻底不去理睬任何与此有关的消息和争论。她惊讶地发现自己被一个问题难住了：信任和事实，该选择哪一个？在意识到她的信任其实是她不敢去了解后，她便再也不像以前那样只是尽义务般地自欺欺人，而是开始以更清晰、更平静的公正的心态去了解真相了。 她没用多久就明白了。塔格特的主管们在她随口发问下的支吾，他们回答问题时老一套的空话，提到上司时他们的那副紧张和明显不愿意去谈论的样子，这一切虽然说明不了什么具体的问题，却让她有了一种不能再坏的感觉。铁路上的工人们——她在塔格特终点站里有意找到一些并不认识她的扳道工和售票员们去闲聊——他们说的则更为琐碎。“你是问吉姆·塔格特吗？这个整天哭丧着脸发牢骚，只会长篇大论和搭顺风车的家伙！”“是当总裁的那个吉米吗？那好，我就告诉你：他就是个在铁路上赚昧心钱的混混。”“老板吗？塔格特先生？你想说的是塔格特小姐吧？” 把全部真相都告诉了她的是艾迪·威勒斯。她听说他和吉姆从小就认识，便邀他一起去吃午饭。当她坐在他对面，看着他诚恳、直率、带着疑问的眼神，听到他严谨简练的谈话时，她便改变了随意刺探的打算，客观扼要地对他讲了她想了解些什么，以及她的理由——这不是为了想得到帮忙或同情，只是想知道实情。他用同样的态度回答了她，平静客观地讲述了事情的全部经过，没有下任何断言，没有表示任何意见，没有通过对她的情感表示丝毫的在意而侵犯它，只是异常严厉地说着铁一样的事实。他对她讲了是谁在管理着塔格特铁路公司，讲了约翰·高尔特铁路。她听着，并没有觉得震惊，然而这更加糟糕：似乎就说明她早已经料到了。“谢谢你，威勒斯先生。”她听他讲完后，只是说了这么一句话。 那天晚上，她等着吉姆回家，她自己内心的失落侵蚀着她的痛苦与愤怒，这些仿佛再也和她不相干了，仿佛她应该去做些什么，但任何行动，以及带来的任何结果，都已经无足轻重。 看到吉姆进屋，她感到的不是气愤，而是一种不快的惊讶，几乎想问自己：他是谁，干吗现在要和他讲话。她带着疲惫得几乎快说不出话的声音简单向他说了她知道的一切。她似乎觉得没说几句他就明白了，似乎他知道早晚有这么一天。 “你为什么不告诉我实话？”她问。 “你就是这样表示感激吗？”他叫喊道，“你就是这么看待我为你做的这一切？每个人都跟我说，拎起一只小野猫，带给我的只能是残忍和自私！” 她看着他，那样子似乎根本就没把他那语无伦次的声音听进去，“你为什么不告诉我实话？” “你这个卑鄙的小人，这就是你对我全部的爱吗？我对你的信任换来的就是这个吗？” “你为什么撒谎？为什么给我制造假象？” “你应该替自己感到羞耻，你应该觉得没脸去面对我，没脸同我说话！” “是我吗？”她听见了这通语无伦次的声音，但无法相信他居然会说出这样的话，“你打算干什么，吉姆？”她问道，她的声音听上去非常的吃惊和陌生。 “你想过我的感受没有？你想过这么做有多伤害我的感情吗？你应该首先顾及到我的感受！这是任何一个妻子都应该首先做到的——特别是像你这样的女人！没有什么比忘恩负义更下作、更丑陋的了！” 在一瞬间，她认清了一个想都想不到的事实，一个人明知道自己的罪过，却想把它转嫁到被他所害的人的身上，以逃脱罪名。但她的脑子接受不了这样的事实，她感到一阵恐惧，在惊悸之中，她的内心拒绝接受这个会把心也一同毁掉的事实——仿佛一碰到这样的疯狂，就会一下子退了回去。她低下头，闭上了眼睛，只知道她觉得厌恶，一种说不上来的原因令她厌恶得想吐。 当她抬起头来看他的时候，她像是看到了一个计谋没有得逞的人，正在用犹豫、退却和盘算的目光打量着她。在她对此还没来得及相信的时候，他的面孔就又躲藏在了一副受伤和愤怒的表情背后。 她说话的时候，像是在把她的想法说给一个讲理的人听。尽管并没有这样一个人在场，但既然没有别人，她只好就当他还在，“那天晚上……那些标题新闻……那份光荣……根本就不是你……说的是达格妮。” “闭嘴，你这个下贱的婊子！” 她一脸茫然地看着他，没有任何反应。她似乎什么都不知道了，因为她已经吐出了最后要说的话。 他装出一副难过的样子，“雪莉，对不起，我不是那个意思，我收回刚才说的话，我不是那个意思……” 她仍旧如一开始那样，靠墙而立。 他垂头丧气地一屁股跌坐在沙发边上，“我又能怎么跟你解释啊？”他带着放弃的口气说道，“这事太大，太复杂，如果你不了解缘由始末的话，我又怎么能跟你解释清楚跨国铁路的事呢？我怎么能跟你解释清楚我这么多年来的工作，我的……唉，有什么用呢？我总是被人误解，现在都应该习惯了才对，只是我觉得你与众不同，应该还有点希望。” “吉姆，你为什么和我结婚？” 他惨然一笑，“这也是所有人都问过我的，我没想到你也会问。为什么？因为我爱你。” 她觉得奇怪，这个原本是人类语言中最简单、所有的人都明白、将人们联结在一起的词汇，对她怎么居然没有丝毫意义。她不知道这个词在他心目中是个什么样的定义。 “从来就没人爱过我，”他说，“这世界上根本就没有爱，人们不去感受，可我有感受。有谁在乎它呢？他们关心的只是时间表、车皮和钱。我没法生活在这些人当中，我非常孤独。我一直渴望着能找到理解。或许我只是个毫无希望的幻想者，在寻找不可能的东西。没有人会理解我。” “吉姆，”她的声音中有一丝奇怪的严酷，“我努力了这么久，就是要去理解你。” 他的手向下一摆，做了个将她的话挥到一旁的手势，只是这动作并无恶意，很是伤感。“我想你也会这样做，我现在只有你了。不过，人和人之间的理解或许根本就是不可能的。” “为什么不可能？你为什么不告诉我你想要的是什么？为什么不去帮我来了解你呢？” 他叹了口气，“这就是了，麻烦就麻烦在你问的这些为什么，你对任何事都总要问个究竟。我刚才讲到的那些是语言无法表达的，说不出来，只能去感受。有些人有感觉，其他人就没有，这不是在用脑子，是要用心。难道你就从来没有感觉到什么？纯粹的、不想任何问题的直觉？难道你不能把我当成一个人，而不是一件实验室里的仪器？跨越我们肤浅的语言和无助的头脑后的更深刻的理解……不，我看我不应该去寻找它，但我会一直满怀希望地追求。你是我的最后一线希望，除了你，我一无所有。” 她靠墙而立，一动未动。 “我需要你，”他轻声叹道，“我现在是孤家寡人。你和别人不同，我相信你，信任你。所有的金钱、名望、生意和奋斗又能给我带来什么？我只有你……” 她站着没动，只有从她向斜下方扫着他的视线里，才能看出来她还在注意着他。他说他受到折磨的那些话是在撒谎——她心想——不过折磨倒是不假；他心里很苦闷，又好像不能对她讲，然而，她也许可以试着去了解。她毕竟还是欠他的这个情——她的心里还有一分淡淡的责任感——为了报答他令她走到了今天，尽管他也许只能做到这一步了，她还是应该尽力去理解他。 从此以后，她便有了一种奇怪的感觉，她成了一个自己都认不出自己的陌生人，变得无欲无求。从前崇拜英雄的熊熊之火已经熄灭，只剩下了让她感到味如嚼蜡的怜悯。她拼命要找的那个为了理想而奋斗、拒绝受苦的人不见了——留给她的这个自己唯一想做的就是去受罪，并以此来度过她的一生。不过，这一切对她来说已经是无所谓了。过去的她在转过前面的每一个路口时，总是满怀着期盼；而现在的这个消沉的陌生人则完全和她身边的那些油头粉面的人一样，说什么他们是因为不去思考和没有幻想才变得更成熟。 但那陌生人依旧摆脱不了她的理想——这个幽灵的纠缠，这幽灵是要去完成一项使命，她必须要把毁掉她的这一切彻底想明白。她一定要搞清楚，于是她便开始无休止地等待着。尽管她感到车灯已经逼近，在她弄清楚一切的时候会葬身在车轮之下，但她还是一定要搞清楚。 你想要从我这里得到些什么？这个疑惑成了一条线索，不断地叩问着她的内心。你们想要从我这里得到些什么？在饭桌前和客厅里，在辗转难眠的夜晚，她冲着吉姆、冲着巴夫·尤班克和普利切特博士，冲着似乎和吉姆心照不宣的那些人无声地呐喊着——你们想要从我这里得到些什么？她不去大声地喝问；她知道他们不会回答。你们想要从我这里得到些什么？她质问道，感到她在东奔西跑，却无路可逃。你们想要从我这里得到些什么？她质问道，回想着连一年都还没到的这段漫长的婚姻折磨。 “你想要从我这里得到些什么？”她大声问道——此时，她正坐在她餐厅的饭桌旁，看着吉姆那张兴奋不已的脸，以及桌子上的那片渐干的水渍。 她不知道他们互相沉默了有多久，她被自己的声音和本来没想说的这句话吓了一跳。她并不指望他会明白，他似乎连那些更简单的问话都不明白——于是，她摇了摇头，竭力让自己回到当前的现实里来。 她有些吃惊地发现，他正在讥讽地望着她，仿佛在嘲笑她对他的理解力的估量。 “爱。”他回答。 这个回答是如此的简单和没有意义，她觉得她一下子便垂头丧气了。 “你不爱我，”他指责道。She didn't answer. “否则你就不会问出这样的问题。” “我的确曾经爱过你，”她迟钝地说道，“可那不是你想要的。我爱的是你的勇气、你的志向、你的才干，可这些都是假的。” 他的下嘴唇微微有些不屑地撅了起来，“这算什么爱？” “吉姆，那你认为你有什么是值得爱的？” “你这简直是庸俗的小店员的想法！” 她没有吭声；她的眼睛里带着大大的问号，盯着他。 “值得爱的！”他那显得一本正经的嘲弄的声音听上去十分刺耳，“这么说你认为爱可以计算出来，可以拿来交换，可以像杂货店里的黄油一样去称量？我不愿意别人是因为任何外在的原因来爱我，要爱就爱我这个人——而不是因为我做什么，有什么，说什么或者想什么；只是我这个人——而不是我的身体、大脑、言行和我所干的事情。” “那这样的话……你自己又是什么呢？” “如果你爱我的话，就不会问这样的问题。”他的声音有些不自在，仿佛是在小心翼翼地克制着自己盲目的冲动。“你就不会问，你就会知道，会感觉得出来。你为什么总是想把什么事都分得那么清楚？你就不能从那些小家子气的物质利益里面超脱出来吗？难道你就从来不会去感觉——只是凭感觉？” “不错，吉姆，我是有感觉，”她的声音一沉，“但我是在克制自己的感觉，因为……因为我感觉到的是害怕。” “是怕我？”他顺着问道。 “不，不完全是，我不是害怕你会把我怎么样，而是感到你这个人很可怕。” 他的眼皮如同关门一样地迅速往下一垂——可她还是从他的眼睛里发现了一道不可思议的恐惧的眼光。“你这个庸俗的财迷，根本就不懂爱！”他突然大叫了起来，话语里撕下了所有的伪装，变得凶恶无比。“没错，我说的就是财迷，除了见钱眼开之外，它还有很多种更恶劣的方式。你是个精神上的财迷，你不是因为我的钱才嫁给了我——而是为了我的才能、勇气以及其他你认为有利可图的那些东西！” “你希望……爱……是……无缘无故的吗？” “爱本身就已经足够了！爱是高于一切原因和道理的，爱是盲目的。可你根本就不会爱。你那种吝啬、设计、盘算的小心眼和做小生意的一样，只会做买卖，从来不会给予！爱是一种恩赐—— 一种超越和宽容一切的伟大和不求回报的无条件的恩赐。爱上一个人的品德是怎样的一种慷慨？你会给他什么？什么都不用。只要有冷静的判断，只要他受之无愧就可以了。” 她的目光深沉，像是紧盯着发现的目标一般，“你是想白白地得到它。”她的语气不是疑问，而是下了结论。 “唉，你不懂！” “不，吉姆，我懂。这就是你想得到的——这就是你们这些人真正想得到的东西——那不是钱，不是物质利益，不是经济保障，就是把这些给你们，你们也不会要。”她冷冰冰地说着，似乎在将心里的想法说给她自己听，将心中乱成一团的阵阵苦痛找出恰当的字眼来表达。“所有你们这些鼓吹权益的人对不义之财并不感兴趣，你们想要白占的是另外一类东西。你说我是精神上的财迷，那是因为我寻找的是价值。而你们这些权益的鼓吹者……你们想要掠夺的正是精神。我从没想过，也从来没人告诉过我们如何去认识对精神的霸占，以及这又意味着什么。但这正是你们想要得到的，你想得到不属于你的爱，想得到不属于你的爱戴和不属于你的伟大。你既想得到汉克·里尔登得到的一切，又不想像他那样，不想做任何事，甚至不想……存在。” “住嘴！”他号叫起来。 他们彼此看着对方，不约而同地感到了恐惧，仿佛他们都摇摇欲坠地站在一处她说不上来、他又不肯说出的危险边缘，俩人都明白，再多迈一步都会是致命的。 “你在说些什么呀？”他的问话中露出一股嗔怪的口吻，听上去缓和了许多，几乎像是要把他们重新拉回到平常的状态里，拉回到近似于两口子拌嘴的无伤大雅的气氛中去。“你这是什么怪想法？” “我不知道……”她疲惫不堪地说道，脑袋一垂，仿佛一个她极力想抓住的某种东西再一次滑脱了开去。“我不知道……看来是不可能的……” “你最好还是别太意气用事，否则……”他停下不说了，因为管家走了进来，手里端着闪闪发亮的冰桶，里面是他们要的用来庆祝的香槟酒。 他们沉默不语，屋里响起了人们几百年来辛辛苦苦营造出的象征着欢乐的声音：瓶塞砰的一声被开启，淡淡的金黄色的液体发出欢快的声音，涌入两只映着烛光的大酒杯里，窃窃私语的泡沫沿着两道水晶般的杯壁升起，简直是要眼前所有的一切在同样热烈的气氛中起身而立。 他们在管家离开之前始终一言不发。塔格特用两只绵软的手指握住杯脚，低头盯着泡沫。随后，他猛然一把攥住了酒杯，动作不像是端着一杯香槟，倒像是抬起一把屠刀似的，将酒杯举了起来。 “为弗兰西斯科·德安孔尼亚干杯！”他说。 她放下了酒杯，回答道，“不！” “喝了它！”他尖叫着。 “不。”她回答说，声音低沉得像是一块铅。 他们彼此打量了片刻，烛光映着金色的液体，却照不到他们的脸和眼睛。 “哼，真是活见鬼！”他喊着，便跳起脚来，将杯子朝地上一掼，气冲冲地走了出去。 她动也不动地坐在桌旁，过了许久，才慢慢起身，按响了叫人的铃。 她迈着异常平稳的脚步向她的房间走去，她打开衣橱，找出一套衣服和一双鞋，脱下家居的便服，动作格外的谨慎，似乎一旦惊动了她周围和内心的一切，便会影响她的一生。她的心里只有一个念头：一定要离开这座房子——哪怕只离开一小时也好——然后，她就能够去面对不得不面对的一切了。 她面前文件上的字迹开始模糊起来，达格妮抬了抬头，意识到天已经暗下来很久了。 她把文件往旁边一推，不想去开灯，正好让自己好好地享受一下清闲和黑暗，这令她得以远离客厅窗外的都市，远处的日历上显示出：八月五日。 过去的一个月转瞬即逝，留下的只有一片死气沉沉的苍白。这一个月一直焦头烂额、吃力不讨好地应付着一起又一起的突发事件，是在延缓着铁路的崩溃—— 一个月就像是一堆浪费掉的、彼此毫无关联的日子，每一天都是在避免一触即发的灾难。这些日子没有取得任何实质的进展，只是白费了一番工夫，避免了一堆灾难的发生—