Chapter 14 Section 5

In the mouse stories people tell, the mouse is always huge, dragging its belly, the size of a cat - and it's a satisfying, telling story.Rat legends abounded in Nick Xie's childhood.They can be heard in the walls and in the courtyard.On the roof of the house under the moonlight, you can see their running shadows.The figure of the rat forms a lingering fiction.Huge, brown-furred rats haunt sewer pipes, house demolition sites, coal bins, and rustle among uninhabited ruins. Near the building where his mother lived, he got out of a taxi.The building was built thirty or forty years ago. It was a big brown building, tall and wide, giving it the feel of a military fortress—fences, ramps, and cameras fixed to the walls.

It used to be a row of five-storey houses, economical apartments.That's where he'd seen the rat, a dead rat, soaking wet, next to a pile of coals on the sidewalk.He was nine or ten years old at the time, and the scene came to him now.Taxi comes off the curb with detailed immediacy.It was a dead mouse, yet he saw it clearly, and a duality arose in him, a transparency with shape, very concrete.It reminded him of the situation at that time.He remembered that he carefully observed the limp body of the mouse, very carefully, and felt a sense of terror at that time.He could see a pink streak under the tail, a faint, brown, gray, pink, white, all blending together and parting from each other.But the size of the rat disappointed him—he had to exaggerate and add to the weight of the rat, saying it had a drooling mouth and yellow eyes.

A man sits in a Plexiglas booth.Nick signed the record book, followed the noisy voice, and entered the hall.There were children everywhere, little ones, and smaller ones, some playing and some circling, their screams echoing in the empty hall.He took the elevator up to the twelfth floor.Seeing another mouse was a later thing.He was twelve years old at the time, and the mouse was of average size, just what people often call a rat.But when it comes to rats, they're usually big enough. Matt—his brother Matt—opened the door and appeared before him.Matt was still a little boyish, short and stocky, with curly hair and thick-lens glasses.The hair has just been cut, the hair on the top may be a little gray, it feels like it is added.He may be forty-five.They haven't seen each other for several years, and meeting today is purely by chance.

The two shook hands, wearing the grinning grin that their opponents face when they meet—they had taken pleasure in roughing each other up, in those uncomfortable circumstances. Nick asked, "Where is she?" They talked about their mother, the medicines she was taking, her visits to the doctor, and other such homely topics.However, there was a serious tone in my brother's question, a special interest and concern, which amounted to some kind of questioning. Later, Matt said: "She's fine, nothing wrong, eating and sleeping normally. If you want to know how her body is functioning, you'll have to see her for yourself."

"You stay here?" "Two nights. Nick, you completely forgot about it. Forgot about the night in the Bronx." However, Matt's body is no longer that of a child, with a large amount of muscle added to his upper body, which makes him look quite strong. Nick said, "I have to go to Jersey City tomorrow morning, or I'll take her to the doctor myself." "What are you going to do in Jersey, where the chemical waste is eating people's homes." "A little personal business." "How is Marianne?" "Very well, they are all good."

The two drank sparkling mineral water and took turns looking out the window.Here there is a large wall of French windows with views to the west.Bronx.On the roof of a nearby motel, someone sat on a lawn chair.Nick said they were locals, and with chairs and newspapers, they crossed from a nearby building to the roof of the motel.This, he knew, was evidence of improvisation, of people having fun on the dull streets.However, this made him nervous. It was a violation, another possibility, and another signal of anxiety and danger in the local area. "I took her to the zoo," Matt said. "There's a zoo across the street from her house. But that was the first time in twenty years that I took her there, actually to force her to Get out of the house."

"You are great." "She said she couldn't watch so many animals on TV. I couldn't get her to understand the difference in seeing real animals." "I want her out of here," Nick said. "Is that okay?" "Go to Phoenix. It will work. There's no reason for her to stay here." "She has friends here, you know." "I know that? How many friends? What kind of friends?" "To Phoenix," Matt said. "How many friends?" "I haven't been counting them recently. But if she's willing to go, of course we'd be happy."

"You don't have that much space." "I have a place," Matt said. "Listen, you don't have a place. We have a place, and we have a nice climate." "climate." "For someone her age, that's a big deal." "Janet is a nurse. Do you want to argue with me? Janet is a nurse." "It's stupid." "Of course stupid, that's why we asked her to go," Matt said. Nick looked out the window again. "How could a motel be built in a place like this?" "I have no idea." "For convenience, with this hotel, you can have sex, you can do drugs. Other than that, what's the reason? Or, it's for the homeless, where the homeless live. Now , they put the homeless in motels."

"She loves it here, Nick. It's her life, it's where she's used to. It's the churches she goes to, the stores she shops at, the things she knows. Also, there are living friends. If you ask, She'll give you lots of reasons." "You don't know. I know, in their case, it's convenient, there's this motel." Nick went into the kitchen, opened the cupboards one by one, and looked under the sink.Children ride tricycles in the aisles.He poured another glass of sparkling mineral water and returned to the living room.A tricycle bell rang in the aisle.

"How's Janet? Are you okay?" "She just had surgery to remove a lump in her armpit." "Do I know about this?" "It's okay, she's doing well, and the kids are doing well." "Bumps like this show up in all parts of the body and everyone is looking for a lump." "I saw a piece in the paper a while back that reminded me of you," Matt said. "Remember those machines they had in the shoe store? That console was sort of like a floor-standing radio, but on the bottom There are slots." "Well, yes. I didn't think of that."

"The salesperson puts the shoe on the child, and the child walks over and puts his foot in the slot." "I didn't think of that, I—what should I say? They don't make machines like that anymore." "The salesperson can see the shape of the foot inside the shoe through the observation window on the device." "See if the shoes fit," Nick said. "To see if the shoe fits well. Well, the machine is a kind of fluoroscope, and it sends x-rays through the shoe and into the foot. It's called differential transmission, and makes a shaded green image. I barely remember that. Jamie gave You bought a pair of shoes and then gave me a chance to look at the machine and see the foot in the shoe and see the bones in the foot." "The question is, where are those shoes now?" "No, the question is, are you doing it enough times that you're doing damage to your feet because the machine is actually exposing your feet to the rays." They heard the sound of keys opening the door. "My feet are healthy," Nick said. "I feel relieved." "Sorry to worry you, thank you. I will do the same in the future." Rosemary Xie walked in, shopping bags in both hands, leaning to the heavier side.Seeing Nick here, she stopped and looked him up and down, her eyes gurgling.She was always looking for something in him, for example, a specific mark, or a specific change.He walked over and took the bag from her hand.Her face was almost wrinkled and furrowed, with a small parchment fold above her mouth.Her hands were old, with bruised knuckles and bulging veins, the marks of long-term labor. As they took the shopping bags, they blamed her for not asking them to help.They said she suffered from back pain and heatstroke from doing so.Telling them to shut up, she took out the groceries they had just bought and put them away one by one.Nick hugged her and laughed; she felt that she could not be persuaded by them. They ate and talked, and then added more: boiled corn on the cob, and large potatoes.The big potatoes are grown by the Urban Island grocer in his yard and kept in a room in the back of the store for special customers.Potatoes have the taste of the old variety, produced in summer, and are very refreshing with fresh butter. "Tell him about work," said Rosemary. "He doesn't want to know." "He's your brother, tell him about it." "Changed jobs again?" Nick asked. "Yes, working in a research institute." "Then it's not a change." "Another research institute, non-profit. We collect research results and help third world countries develop health services and financial services." "Nice work." "Yes," said Matt cheerfully, "we give information, and we smoke pipes—those of us who smoke." "A think tank," said Rosemary. They let the term float on salads.Year after year, with frequent job changes, Matt was moving away from his own scientific work in the mid-1970s.Nick didn't understand the precise nature of that kind of work, which was government work, involving classified projects, far away.That's not to say Nick is desperate to get in touch with him.My younger brother has been very tight-lipped about the job change and won't answer questions about it, which is weird, that's all. "My kids are learning to play the game. I mean Jeffrey." "What game?" Matt asked. "What game. What game would I say? Your game." "my game." "He played against the computer. His computer was programmed with chess, and he could undo the game, and he could undo it after he passed out." Matt didn't respond. Several cats came out of their hiding places, some curled up under the chairs, some arched their backs, some rubbed their bodies on human legs, and some moved in the maze-like space under the furniture, their bodies fluctuating up and down. "We have a place for you," Nick said to his mother. "Where did this word come from?" "I've been meaning to say, you know this. We'll wait for you to say you've thought it through." "Well, I haven't. Let's have some sweets. Who wants coffee?" she asked. "I have decaffeinated coffee, which I know Matt wants." Later, she told them about a time when Jamie was in town.She drank coffee and told stories.They both listened with such rapt attention that no other subject interested them so much.The father had not been heard from for many years, very far away, lost in his glory, working on his wagering register.However, it was this anecdote that made them a family. "The first bets he registered were from the police, which is hilarious, I mean, hilarious and unbelievable. He studied as a plumber at the New Yorker and then moved to the security office. I've been there a few times , we saw each other a lot then. It was a big, very noisy office, in the unloading area. The captain of the security vacated a space for the local bookmaker to take bets there every morning. The security captain collects the rent, and I'm sure the fee is pretty reasonable. Soon, that agent has Jamie running errands for him, and Jamie loves that job. He gives money to winners, collects money from losers, goes, runs, every day All over today's ready-to-wear street. He moves quickly and can avoid the boys who are extorting. Later, he started to do more business, doing it for himself. His main business was from those cops. At that time, security guards and cops were involved, and what else was new. Later, a detective - that's the kickback guy - went to the Salomon Brothers dealership every month , to collect protection fees and distribute them to colleagues in the precinct office. The Salomon Brothers are responsible for the betting registry for the entire district. Arthur and I have forgotten the other two people in the Salomon garage-Arthur and Bernal. Arthur and Bernal Gnar wears sharp suits, owns his own box at Paul Field, knows players and actors. Then Jamie finally gets his own business, and it grows. Salomon Brothers pays him eighty dollars a week, and that's you It happened after I was born," she told Nick, "At that time, he had already left me once. In addition to salary, there is also a bonus when the business is good." Matt asked: "But who's going to keep other people with an interest in gambling out of the way? Two car dealers can't do that, can they? They've got to get real thugs." "They don't have to do that. They pay the police a lot of money, twice what they pay for protection. They pay the police for a license to operate. And they pay the police extra to crack down on competitors. When there is competition When the constituency detectives or precinct detectives make surprise checks, they're like horrible bastards." "Rogue," Matt said. "It's like hooligans. I thought the same at first and then I learned the details. The police started catching people, even the bookmakers who paid them money. The people who made the complaints - the honest ones - let the police Pressure, you know, and pressure directly from City Hall. It's called a fake arrest. When the officers arrest you in the Thirty Avenue precinct, they apologize. Then, you go Central Avenue, where the Solomon family's hired lawyer waits. You tell the judge, guilty, pay the twenty-five-dollar fine, and go back to work. The day you were born," she told Matt, "your father got caught twice. There was chaos in that precinct. They arrested him in the morning. After he was released, he took the subway to the Bronx, where I was in the hospital to give birth. It was a stuffy, hot day, and he came into the room and wiped my forehead He was sweating on his face, fanning me with horse racing news, and said to me, you are not born yet. After a while, he said that he had to meet someone, very important, and he would be back soon. He went to He went down town and was arrested again. He was arrested by another policeman and questioned by the same sheriff. I don’t know which judge judged the case. When he took the subway in the heat and hurried back to the hospital, he His case is worse than mine. But, you will surely believe, he has no sympathy from me." "Fun day," Matt said. "It was a dizzying comedy, but no one knew about it. Getting people to gamble is understandable, but getting arrested for it is not so easy to accept. Until today, I said Remind me of your father's past." Nick watched her face carefully, understanding every gesture, every expression.There was a profundity in her gaze that fired the son's imagination to understand the bite of her heart, the pain hidden in the gentle narrative.There is no lack of authenticity in her voice, with elongated vowels and a little variation.It was the sound of the old street, an old popular song that no longer exists in the surrounding suburbs.She also spoke with a slight Irish accent, teasing the whole story out of some hidden place in her childhood memories. There is a noise from the street, a custom car horn bombarding the night with music, a car blaring deafeningly, a mobile sound bomb.Nick glanced at his brother hard.The younger brother shrugged and grinned. "Mamma, he wants you to sit on his terrace with bright stars and cactuses in the moonlight." "Imagine me with a cactus." “There’s no noise in the streets. There, people who make noise get arrested. If your front garden isn’t tidy, your neighbor’s kids won’t talk to your kids.” Nick waited until she spoke again.He made himself open to what was inside of her, to the past that was always present in her mind, to every minute of it, to understand how she felt when she scratched the back of her hand, to see her pull the skin, and then continue to scratch.He wanted to hear the whispers of her life, the buzzing of the flies in the room of the solitary woman. There was a cat rubbing against his ankles, an orange kitten named Tom that his mother had picked up on the street.He shook his leg to let it go, and refilled everyone's coffee one by one. They sat at the table, talking in low voices. Rosemary was in the bedroom, and they were talking, with plates and glasses on the table and white milk dripping. "Where do you sleep?" "I'll make do on the couch," Matt said. "What about you?" "South Park Avenue. The Doral. You drove here?" "Come on the Skybus. Seriously, do you really want to take her back?" "More than ever." "You have to understand that this woman is not afraid. She lives a free life, people here know her and respect her. Neighbors matter." "Keep your voice down." "I whispered." "Did you see the aisle?" Nick asked. "Aisles, these aisles? Which aisles?" Matt stacked several plates and carried them into the kitchen. "Listen to me. Stand in front of that elevator and look to the left and then to the right. What do you see?" "I don't know. What will you see?" "You're going to see the longest, worst, most depressing stuff. It's that feeling, you know?" "It's just an aisle," Matt said. "That's what it felt like. A nightmare, reminiscent of some Stalinist labor camp. Okay, I'm overreacting a bit." "It's just an aisle. Actually, there are a lot of kids there most of the time." "Keep your voice down." "Hey, you feel like they've evaporated, or are evaporating, fantasizing, you always have that feeling. That's not where your imagination comes in." Nick looked at his brother and wanted to slap him.The reason was always the same - the father, not the mother.That incongruity, that long-standing practice of suppressing the will, of not giving way to each other in the notion of brotherhood. "No one came to him, Nick. No one found him and took him away. The basic reason he left was us. He didn't want to be a father. Being a husband already made him feel bad. You know, that was What a burden, with so many responsibilities he couldn't handle, so many occasions he couldn't handle. He was a loner, to use romantic terms, but worse. Objectively speaking, his self-concept Too strong, not because of vanity or stupidity, but because of some kind of fear, some kind of innate view, some closed view, almost equal to fear. It makes him unable to see the strengths in others, and feels that others are a burden , are indistinct shapes that interfere with his solitude, with the harshness of his existence. At twenty he could have joined the French Foreign Legion. I say this not because I am ready to abandon my own Existence, but telling the truth. That's what he should be doing." "You know a lot. How do you know so much?" "She told me. She told me things I never told you." "I watched you say these words with my own eyes." "You saw it with your own eyes." "right." "You let me see your expression." "Yes, that's right." Later, Matt stood at the sink, washing the dishes with his hands, turning the water on so low they could hear each other.He didn't turn his head to see his brother's expression. "He got into some trouble. Some sharpshooter shot him from a distance. A big bet on wildly unequal odds. By then, Jamie had his own business, a business that had nothing to do with the Salomon Brothers .I even know the horse's name." "You know a lot, but I think it's nothing. What's going on?" "That was the last weight, the last pressure, that pushed him out." "Hey, I don't understand this, help me. First, he left because there were two of us. Second, he left because he couldn't pay his bets, and someone shot him from a distance." "Sturdy position. Some bookie may have rigged it, and Jamie didn't stop the deal. Perhaps, the bet was made so late that he didn't have time to choose the horses carefully." "You know this, but I don't?" "She protects you." "Why don't I feel anything. What's the matter?" "There was no drama like this: a couple of men shoved him into a car and drove away. He owed money and couldn't pay. Jamie was running on a shoestring, paying a waiter ten dollars a week to count game scores. The amount of bets that Jamie operates is not large." "Listen to me. Wouldn't that be the cause of the violence? You owe someone money and you can't pay it back. Would this cause violence under the circumstances?." "What's the matter? You heard from her. They don't need law enforcement." "No, there were police, but whatever." "He left to avoid situations that might come up. He hadn't had a secure home life for ten years. He'd heard from her that he had left her before. He was always looking for opportunities to make running away a long-standing situation.” "You know that, but I don't. I don't feel anything special, though. Help me and explain to me." Matt turned off the water and turned to look at his brother, who was leaning over the table. "He committed unimaginable crimes in Italy. He ran away from home. The practice doesn't even have an official name." "He didn't run away, he was taken away." "Go ahead and believe it," Matt said. Matt turned on the tap, rinsing and wiping with a sponge.The car was back, the car-sized radio, blaring deafeningly in the distance.Nick leaned back on the table, his eyes glazed over, his brow furrowed, his mouth parted a little in a lifeless smile.He seemed to have started drinking hours ago, must have reached some kind of indulgence. Neither of them spoke.Matt rinsed and dried a dish, then tried to put it in its proper place in the cupboard.At this time, the car finally left.Then Nick stood up, picked up the remaining cups and plates on the table, and carried them into the kitchen.He didn't walk, he moved, his legs were heavy, his movements were slow, and his expression was sad. "She has a church she's familiar with," Matt said. "what?" "She has a church she's familiar with, a priest she's familiar with." "We'll take her to the new church." "That's different." "We don't want it to be the same. We want it to be different, that's the purpose." Matt hands him a mug to dry off.The two of them worked without saying a word for a while, wiping the cups and plates, putting them aside first, and then putting them in their proper places in the cupboard. "How about the scrap business?" "It's hot. The scrap business is growing by the minute." "It must be so." "We don't have time to build enough landfills, we don't have enough time to dig enough caves." "Where did you go? Have you looked at that thing carefully?" "I drive by sometimes and look at it from a distance." "Do you smell it?" "Well, I smell it." "Did you see the rats? That must be a rat-infested planet." Nick found a place in the cupboard for a dessert plate. "Did I tell you about the city mouse?" "I don't think so," Matt said. "I was thinking, it's going to come here. I had a girlfriend once, a girlfriend who liked jazz. We went to hear Charles Mingus play. Let me think about it. I think, I was living in Pa Loato City, writing textbooks, coming back for a meeting, maybe twenty-six years old at the time. My girlfriend is German, a student of philosophy, yes, has a bright future. Now it seems that she belongs to the category of terrorists. We went somewhere on Hudson Avenue to see Mingus play. Mingus stood there, shaking the bass guitar, and stared every time the cash register rang. Mingus was tall, Huge, like three people in one dress. I walked her back, across the street, through the business district, to where she lived, in the basement of an old building, and went in. We just walked in , she turned on the light. All of a sudden, we saw a mouse. I stood there, thinking about it. Sexuality has something to do with it. Then, the mouse appeared. I saw it, it went straight up The wall, running on it, a very large rat, I can hear it now, like a screaming corpse. Oh, and my girlfriend's reaction. She yelled in German, Grabbed something off the table and started chasing the mouse. I stood there, motionless, immobilized by the frozen desire. Desire was frozen at the waist and my girlfriend was chasing the mouse around the room." Matt put a glass in the towel that Nick was holding.Nick can see that his brother, still a child at heart, is very happy, invited to participate in this plot, and learn the details of some lame activity.The narrator allows elements of silliness to attach to his serious surface image, expressing some kind of misfortune or ambiguous shame.At this time, those details are fuller, rarer, more detailed, more powerful, and more heartwarming. "The mouse rushed down the other wall and squeaked into the bathroom like a toy on a string, but a thousand times faster. A very powerful mouse, fat and fast. My girlfriend immediately Chased after, waving something in her hand - I was never sure what she was holding. She turned on the light in the bathroom and rushed in. Frankly, I felt left out. But it's okay. I remember Well, I just stayed where I was, not moving. What happened to my jazzy girlfriend? It turned into a big rat chase. Then her head came out through the crack in the door." Matt watched his brother's expression carefully, his mouth was obviously moving constantly following Nick's narration, predicting the words that would appear, and changing his expression according to Nick's narration. "I tried to keep myself away from the bathroom door but I didn't flee the apartment. I left the door open. My girlfriend was fighting rats in the bathroom and I could hear the rats screaming disgustingly. After a while, my girlfriend stuck her head out and said , I can't believe it! This is the second time I've exterminated this rat here! I've already used rat poison with a skull painted on it! It's back! She turned around and continued to chase. I don't feel like I'm at all Worth, why sleep with her? I have no right to live in the same city as her. I can hear the mouse running in the bathtub. Have you ever heard the mouse running in the bathtub? I And let me tell you, that sound was terrific." Matt gasped with joy, and there was a noise in his throat, an involuntary trill.Nick finished the story.As a result the rats burrowed cleanly into a vent in the wall and ruined the entire night.The two drank another cup of coffee.The younger brother found the phone book and called a taxi.Nick stood at the living room window, looking for the whore in the spandex on the motel roof. Those Italians.They sat on the doorstep fanning paper fans and serving orange juice.They form their world.They ask, who is better than me?She wouldn't say that.They know how to sit there, how to talk, how to have a good time.Recall what you have seen and heard over the decades.She saw a woman holding a magazine and using it as a fan.The magazine is like an encyclopedia made of breezes, including all the breezes that can blow.The city was anesthetized by the heat wave.Horses died in the streets.Who is better than me? She heard them talking in the distance. He wants me to go to the zoo because the animals there are real.I told him those were zoo animals.In the Bronx, there are live animals.On TV, I see animals in the rainforest or desert.So, which one is real and which one is counterfeit?After hearing this, he laughed out loud. It might be easier to believe that she deserved this fate.The reason he left was that she was ruthless, stupid, irritable, incapable of housekeeping, an incompetent mother, and a cold woman.But she couldn't concoct any credible scenario to make these excuses stand. However, the two of them hit it off, very sweet.As the two lay in bed, he whispered stories of gamblers and policemen, of his days with garment factory owners.On those loving nights, in the dead of night, he told her these stories and made her laugh.He whispered softly as the two snuggled together.Even when he was penniless, he would tell her funny, grotesque stories at night. Later, she began to gradually fall asleep and said Hail Mary.It was the one thing she always said before going to sleep, though she was no longer sure if the last time she said Hail Marys was the night before, or two minutes ago.The reason she repeated the prayer was that her sense of time was already confused and yet she didn't want to go to sleep without being sure whether she had prayed or not. Thanks to her son's constant handouts, she has more material things than anyone she's ever known.She has better furniture, a safer home, and more medical care.They sent her to the gynecologist, and Janet and then Marianne called.All the women in the world will think it is good, but she will not say that anyone is in a better situation than me. She meets the Italian who has no family.The man appeared in her life like a shadow descending from the wall.At first, she didn't care about that.She likes it, and doesn't want to see relatives and friends appearing in front of her with pasta in a white box.She likes his slender body and the fact that he has no relatives or friends to worry about.However, she gradually realized what this meant.Inside that man's dark body, there was only one thing preserved, and it was a young man living in an empty space.The sleight-of-hand youth was on the verge of running out of luck. Later, she fell asleep.Moments later, music from the car woke her up.She heard their voices, heard the cupboard door shut. She did not express her love.She expressed it, but not enough.She is not good at expressing it like this, but he also has a certain responsibility.The more she loved him, the more he was afraid.There was terror in his eyes when he told her funny stories at night. She heard them close the cupboard door.They had no idea where those cups and plates should be placed.Why should they know?She scratched the backs of her hands, furiously, and said Hail Marys again, fearing it had been the night before. That's what she grew up with: going to mass, respecting her parents' opinions, marrying a hard worker, a normal guy, what they call someone who can make money for ham and eggs.Those nuns had told her that you were Mary's child and you should not kiss him.However, he is not an ordinary person, so she kissed him. What Nick said might be true, but she couldn't accept it.She felt that someone had taken him away.This would prove her Jamie innocent.Nick believed this too as a child.But maybe the other situation was worse, the real situation was worse-no one took him away by force. She fell asleep and then woke up.She listened and knew that Nick had left and Matt was asleep.Later, as she listened to the streets, she thought of animals in cages, animals in habitat, and lions coughing at night near Boston Road. They played the tape again, but Nick didn't watch it.他站在酒店房间的窗户前，望着在大道上无声移动的汽车。在街灯的黄色亮光下，路过的车辆稀疏。 他等着客房服务人员送来他点的白兰地。 在坐车到这里来的路上，那个出租车司机一直用左手握着方向盘。那是一个多米尼加人，穿着网眼衬衫，右手伸向身后的座位。他告诉尼克吉卜赛司机遭到谋杀的事情——最近常常发生的事情，每天晚上你玩的碰运气游戏。 尼克不喜欢猫。他曾经劝说她，要她点头同意，把那些猫送走。 那个多米尼加人说，他们要么抢你，要么杀你。要么他们抢你之后，给你一条活命，要么你以非常有效的方式，把他们带到什么地方。他们可能付钱给你，也可能分文不给。 我住在凤凰城郊区的一幢不起眼的房子里，过着平静的生活。 他给了那个男人不少小费。一个人冒着生命危险让你搭车，你应该付多少小费呢？尼克肯定，租户给了那人不少小费，数额不小，不过方式并不滑稽。那种方式不会暴露实情，不会表明他在这里是陌生人。 他看着电视屏幕，录像快要到司机挥手的那个位置了，就是方向盘上方那个干净利落的挥手动作。他等着客房服务人员敲门的声音。