Chapter 15 Section 6

When Matt was very young, his brother used to sit on the cauldron and read stories from comic books to a small audience.Those neighborhood kids were about four years old and were supposed to be looked after by a nearby adult.Matt stood at the door, ready to shout the signal for the police.Nick sat on the cauldron, his trousers drooping below his knees, reading stories about Captain Marvel or the Shield Soldier.He vividly presents the dialogues of the characters, sometimes making speeches and dancing, sometimes imitating the voices of villains, sometimes imitating women's voices, and sometimes imitating the sound of hooligans driving past at night, pretending to scare the children.Then, he paused for a moment, and there was a sound of dung being pulled out of his mouth and falling into the water.It was the funniest sound in nature, and the faces of the listeners were excited with awe.It was the most macabre pleasure, more than anything he could find on the illustrated pages.

Matt walked through the nearby streets to see the old house, number 611, and in his spare time wondered who lived in their old apartment.What language do you speak.How many people in the family lead a monotonous life.But the main image that popped into his mind was Nick at nine, and Nick sitting on the glorious cauldron.Who else would read them aloud from a comic book and act out exciting, dramatic dialogue between a criminal villain and a brave hero? He went to see Bronzini, the teacher who had taught him chess, a very good-tempered man, a coach who was not very willing to do so.Now Bronzini lives in a house in dire condition, with samples of the urban poor everywhere at the door—spray paint, urine, saliva, dark spots that look like blood.The elevator broke down and Matt climbed five flights of stairs.There was a child's sandal on the landing.He knocked on the door, waiting for a response from inside.It seemed to him that there was an eye on the other side of the cat's eye.He thought of the street and the house he lived in, of life in the suburbs that had gone computerized, of the congested enclaves next to the turnpike—places that were prohibitively located.He also thought of the convenience store that sold eleven—for some reason, never enough—french croissants, of the life he had led before then, of the weapons he had studied and helped improve, of the The experience in the desert.It has absolutely no connection to basic reality, to the person I'm meeting.It seemed to him that, on the other side of the cat's eye, the man was observing the dilapidated surroundings around him.He was born on this planet.

There was a smile in the man's eyes, and there was an urgency, a desire to know, in a warm hiss.His curiosity, that's what's left.He looked very old and skinny, with boxy cheekbones.The Bronzini of the past was fresh, vivid, and full of color; his present appearance is a rough draft of the original image.He hadn't shaved in days and stubble surrounded his untrimmed mustache.Matt felt that the man had grasped old age and embraced it with a kind of approbation that didn't care about the consequences. "You're welcome. Now, call me Albert. I'm surprised you look so good and so healthy. I remember you as a matchstick, a matchstick with a quick head .”

Obviously, this person has forgotten about the recent meeting.They sat at a table near the window, drinking hot brewed tea.Bronzini now lives with his sister.She was never married, and sat in her own room, speaking in a melodious, sweet voice.But the information was discounted and heavily compressed, he said.But once he got used to her repetitive words, her muffled voice, he began to find her presence a great source of comfort.He said, slowing down the agitation that came from inside him. He said: "Sometimes I take the train into town. There's a chess club in Greenwich Village that's also a coffee shop, and I play a game or two there. I lose, but it's not embarrassing. Sometimes, I Playing chess with a neighbor in the playground below, on the benches. They — the kids — don’t bother us.”

"I don't play chess," Matt said bluntly. "I'd like to know what kind of man your father really was. He taught you those moves, but I doubt he was serious about playing chess. I don't know him well enough to mention that, or anything . Can we say that he is not the type to encourage people to ask questions." His eyes flickered like fizzy soda. "He taught me a lot. We practiced how to open and played a lot of games. We also played rapid chess. He called it high-speed traffic." When his father went out to buy cigarettes, he had just finished the first grade.He found a chess book, which Jamie kept in a chest of drawers.That was a major discovery. He finished reading the book, set up the chessboard, and played chess.Often his brother would walk into the room, knock the pieces off the board, and leave without a word.Matt picked up the pieces and put them in their original positions one by one.He wishes to study black's defensive methods.His brother would also walk into the room, knock the pieces off the board, and leave again.

"Your brother begged me to let you give up. But you have given me a problem," Bronzini said. "I need help to deal with you." "Formidable." "Yes, you have many ideas, are volatile, and will soon refuse to consider my proposals in the future. Of course, you see things that I can't. Your skills are good, and there is no shortage of insights, which is exciting. However, I I also feel inferior, I lack the deep feeling of a master." "As a team, we may have been a bit shaky. But we've held on for a few years and shared some credit, Albert. I can tell you I don't like that kid and don't want to think about him."

"I sometimes study the theory, read some historical works of chess, and know that the way the game is played reflects the personality of the chess player. It is a game with great confrontation." "I've grown to hate the language that's being used," Matt says, "destroy your opponent. It's not a matter of winning or losing. Destroy your opponent, destroy your opponent. Make your opponent undignified, unmanly, unwomanly. Destroy your opponent, let Opponents were publicly humiliated and treated as inferiors. Then, in front of their opponents, smug. And then I started to hate all the things that used to give me pure pleasure."

"Because you're starting to lose," said Albert. Of course, Albert was right, and Matt laughed.The concentrated power, the imploding life of the black and white pieces on the chessboard, the imperious beauty of victory, the undisguised sense of pride that reverberates in the heart.He beats men, boys, old sages, dynamic fast hands, poets in bohemian cafés.Some of them are pleasant and some are smelly.But when he was ten or eleven, he saw his energy begin to fade, and he suffered some failures, often reversals that made him feel sick and powerless. "In order to adapt to the changes in your game, we have found a more suitable opponent for you."

"However, my progress is slow." "Your development has hit a wall. No, not a wall, your progress is no longer exponential." Matt looked out of the window and cast his eyes on the sports field. The deserted appearance was shocking. The basketball court was full of holes and empty. Only one backboard stood there alone.Directly below him, the Italian-style outdoor bowling alley was overgrown with grass and no one was there.On the second floor, the softball field is also empty, only two or three people.The asphalt steamed with a heavy, expansive languor, and broken glass gleamed on the black surface.He saw them standing on the edge of the fence near left field, looking a little lifeless, like characters in an Italian cowboy movie: emaciated, nameless, stubbled.They don't know what life expectancy means, he feels.

"I've been wandering. It's complicated. I don't feel like I'm going to accept the standard counterplay," he said. "You don't want to be hit, you don't want to blame anyone. But, you went to Lao Cai." "right." "You see the house you're living in, it's filthy around it, there's barbed wire stretched around the empty grounds." "right." "Those people. Who are they, standing there, looking like they've got nothing to do? Poor people. It's shocking how they look." "Yes, they are," Matt said.

"However, this is where you used to live. It's an incredible ritual of reminiscing about the passing of time, isn't it? Visiting old homes. First of all, you wonder, how could you be willing to live in such a terrible environment? The streets are narrower and the houses are smaller than in memory. You feel like you're back in Lilliputian. Also, think about the rooms again, imagine the cramped bathrooms - shared by the whole family, plus Grandpa, Grandma, and Unmarried Uncle. But, do you see anything else? You hardly look at these people, how can you see them clearly? You can't see them." "Yes, I can't see it." "You want to ask me, why are you still here? I saw your mother in the market and talked about it. We don't want to look at these old streets and grieve. We make our own choices. We complain, But no mourning, no sorrow. There is something here, and the people here show the highest character, and no one sees it. Who comes here to see? My roots are deep here, and I can't leave. I just say Myself, my roots are deep here, and my vision is narrow. My heart can accept anything, but my life is hard to change. I don't want to adapt. I am an old-fashioned Roman ascetic. However, I always Too old-fashioned, too narrow-minded. Clara once attacked me for that—she didn’t attack me, she scolded me, told me to see things differently.” "Have you talked to her at all?" "No. Take a look in Arthur Street, Matt. Look at the shops, look at the customers, they weigh the fish, cut the meat. It'll refresh you. I took your mother there one day The pork shop, let her look at the ceiling. Hundreds of pepperoni hanging from it, bulging. The place is full of sausage smell and texture, the whole ceiling is covered. I said, Rosemary, you Voila. A Gothic cathedral made of pork." They shake hands at the door. "You used to wear glasses, Albert." "I don't really need glasses, I wear them sometimes. They're part of my teacher's outfit, my teaching gear. Get on the elevator." "The elevator didn't open." "The elevator isn't running. So I think you'll have to walk. Don't delay, though," said Bronzini, his eyes sparkling. "There's danger in the woods." Matt bought dinner and headed straight to the west end of the zoo, back to his mother's place.He saw, above the forest in the distance, a white trail cloud formed by a jet plane high in the sky.The stream of steam slowly deformed, began to spread out, and gradually faded.Of course, he thought of the desert, of the weapons lined up there, of the route.As far as he could see, the way the compressed air flowed through the air was the only indicator of human activity.A city boy camps out in the wild, taking his soul's struggles to the backcountry as planes zip through the sky at twice the speed of sound, rumbling to the ground and steam forming an icy tail in the sky. They play the tape again.The TV was on in the empty room, and the tape showed images of the victim sitting behind the wheel, the random man driving the mid-size Dodge reappearing in the sunlight—they played that footage again. Matt came in, was surprised to find the TV was on, and sat down on the step stool next to the screen.He couldn't turn his head away while the tape played.When the tape wasn't playing, he didn't think about anything about it at all.Later, he passed it on to the supermarket near his home through the website.The supermarket installed televisions for customers to watch at the checkout.Those TVs played the video. There were nine or ten TVs in total, all of which were playing the video. However, this time it was different, there was a narration, and the voice was indistinct.He turned around, found the remote control, and pressed the button twice. The sound grew louder, and the content was related to the image of the video tape.The sound was as undisguised as the picture.A man's voice, not very clear, without redundant content, said about the weather. Below the image, a line of text appeared. Incoming call from Texas Highway Killer. The speaker asks about the weather in Atlanta.The scene cuts from the tape to the live broadcast: a human face above a table, a woman with red hair and green eyes.female anchor.The hostess told the caller that the weatherman said it was raining. She went on: "Obviously, it's not that person's voice, it's not the same as what we hear on the phone. It's a controlled voice, a processed voice." The voice said, "Well, this is a sound-disguising device, about three inches high and two inches wide, that can be placed on a telephone receiver to make the sound unidentifiable." She said: "To recap. I heard a call from a man who claimed to be a Texas highway killer. He told us information that only the killer himself and the relevant authorities knew. We have contacted the relevant authorities to check the authenticity of the information. sex in order to demonstrate the person’s credibility.” She then spoke to the man and asked him why he was calling. Matt looked at her, fascinated, eyes that were astonishing, the green of an offshore sea seen from an airplane. The voice said, "I'm calling to set the record straight. Someone's writing in the press, someone's on the radio, saying I have no idea what they're talking about. I feel like my own situation has been misrepresented, they Imposing on my head what many other people have done on my computer. I hear people say I have no self-respect and they keep nagging about it. Use your own judgment, Sue Ann. One With one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand pulling the trigger of a pistol, how is it possible for a person to shoot and kill with such precision? How good of a driver would that be?" The female anchor stared at the camera. Of course, she had no choice but to look at the camera.It was the camera facing her, not the caller.She was a living person, and he was only a voice, or not even a voice.Odd articulations, voiced voices become voiceless voices, the contours and variations of the voice are filtered.The sound is electronically processed, yet still has the timbre of a real person speaking.There was a slight turn in the voice, Matt thought, an attempt at expression.The simplest words carry an undisguised inner impulse. The hostess listens. "I often hear about medical histories of brain injuries. Look out for me, in that case, the person has no control over their behavior." The screen cuts to that video, and the man on the screen is driving a mid-size Dodge. "Let's get the facts straight. I didn't have any brain trauma growing up. I had a healthy childhood, basically." The car approached slowly for a while, then fell behind again. "Why are you doing this?" "What did you say?" "Why did you kill?" "Let me put it this way, the weather is nice where I am, the sun is sunny and the clouds are shining. If this background hints at where I am, you can take that as a hint. If it's all a game, you Treat it like a game." On the screen, the man driving the car waved lightly, facing the camera, the future, and the people watching the video, with a friendly attitude and reserved movements, shaking one hand stiffly above the steering wheel. "You know, right, one of these cases is supposed to be the work of a copycat. Can you say a few words about that?" Yes, that's the picture he was talking about.Matt wanted to shout loudly when he saw this, Janet, come on, it's here.Get her annoyed, annoyed with the tape, annoyed with Matt.The more they played, the more monotonous his yelling became.Come on, come on, come on, right here.An anxious joke, a joke contained in someone's voice, not intended to be funny.Janet scolds him, saying she has had enough.But not enough, not enough at all. "Let me put it this way, well, the police do the police and I do mine." On the screen, the motorist is shot, and the picture is creepy.The car approached slowly for a while, then fell behind. "By the way, the correct term is not a sniper, it's not a guy holding a rifle and shooting from a long distance. You're in motion, you're moving, you want to get as close as possible while not letting two cars touch, avoiding staying Marks of paint rubbing." At this time, the car on the screen slowly slid towards the road guardrail.The voice that made the phone call was weird, with a smooth air supply and a slight tremor at the end.It was a weird electronic storm, like someone trying to make a human voice out of barcoded information. The screen switched to the face above the table—the female anchor who was broadcasting live, with her elbows resting on the table and her chin resting on her hands.What, Matt wondered, did the gesture mean?Every change in position represents a change in news status.Those green eyes stare at the viewer from the screen.The processed voice continued, smooth, well-choreographed, actually chatting, confident, media-like.The hostess had no choice but to listen, and the audience watched her listen.People also looked at her face in the foggy northern Russian city of Murmansk. The voice said, "I hope our conversation will help to better understand the situation. As far as I'm concerned, asking to speak one-on-one with Sue Ann Corcoran was a deliberate thing. I've seen you You said that you want to keep your career so you can support your family. I don’t think a person should be punished for the lifestyle they choose, so this super TV station you work for should be held accountable. Take responsibility and keep this position, right?" They played the video again, and it showed the man driving a midsize Dodge. He was scrubbing the wok with a short-handled brush when his mother came in.She stood there, looking at him. "You'll wear it through," she said. "I've done stuff like this in the military before, and I love it. It's the most memorable thing in the military." "That was a long time ago. Besides, the pot was clean. No matter how you feel, you're not going to make it any cleaner." "The TV was on when I came in," he said. "Do you usually leave the TV on?" "Normally it's not on. But if you see it on, I assume it's on. Kind of weird." "I always thought you were more careful in doing things." "I'm pretty careful and out of my mind," she said. "You're going to wear this stainless steel through and make holes." He prepares dinner.The air conditioner seemed to have a problem, it was only half working, they left the fan on. "I went over there today. A lot of the houses were gone, leaving empty ground, no cars in the parking lot. I had an eerie feeling when I saw that, suddenly seeing the skyline." "I'm not going there," said Rosemary. "Okay, don't go." "I do not want to go." "I went to No. 611 to take a look." "I don't want to watch it." "Yeah, you don't want to. Eat the asparagus off your plate." He heard thunder coming from the west, bringing hope of rain to the sweltering night—one of the memories of the distant past. "I saw Nick, he was leaving the hotel. I told him you're doing well." "Don't get excited." "They will send me all the inspection reports." "Did he tell you anything?" "Nick?" "Did he say anything?" "No." "Neither did they tell me." "He wiped it off," Matt said. "I guess he might be up to something else." "What else could he be doing?" "I don't know," she said. The two ate in silence.Two cats came out of the bedroom and slipped past them, their fur smooth as liquid. "I went to see Don Bronzini." "Albert. He's the last rose of summer. Last time I saw him, I told him, get a haircut. He's out in house slippers. I told him." "He's lost weight." "Did I say it? You're about to become a weird old man." They had dinner, and Matt went into the kitchen with the fruit he had just bought, large seedless grapes, deep red, and peaches with leaves. "What time do you want me to wake up?" "Don't worry about it," he said. "What time is your flight?" "When I got there." "Have you booked a ticket yet?" "I take the Air Express." "Air Express." "I don't need a ticket." "What is Sky Express?" "I go to the airport, get on a plane, fly to Boston. Unless I get on the wrong plane, in that case, I'll fly to Washington." "Where was I when they stopped using tickets?" "I pay on board." "What if there are no seats?" "I'm on the next flight. It's the Air Express, and the other one's waiting there after one takes off." "Where was I when they started doing it? Air Express. Everyone knew it except me." Clusters of large grapes in ceramic bowls have been rinsed and glistened.He waited for her to speak, or to eat one. "What's going on in Arizona?" "How about what?" she asked. "I don't know. How's the situation?" The last cat came out of the bedroom, the timid white cat.Matt picked it up and put it on his lap. "Wash the pots and wipe the dishes." "That's the most civilian activity," he said. "It's the best part of basic training." "They sent you there. I don't know how many sleepless nights I passed in those days." "I wrote many letters telling you that I was very far from the battlefield." "You are in China, and to me, you are very close to me." "Vietnam is not a small country. If they had fought at Khe San, there was no way I could have been hit where I was. I was sitting indoors, comfortable, doing monotonous work." "You're luckier than a lot of people." "Are you sure you don't want to go?" "I'll just stay here," she said. The mother and son sat there with the fruit between them.He heard raindrops sweeping past the windows and felt the air cool and fresh.He looked at his mother, who didn't see peaches with leaves as works of art. "I'm going to early mass." "Say hello to God for me. I'll make coffee when you get back." "He wiped it off," she said. "What else could he do?" She said good night and went into the bedroom.While he was tidying up the sofa, the cats disappeared.No matter the situation, Nick is always the subject.Every topic ends up coming down to little Nicky, either to the grown-up version of Nicky in the distance, or to the young jerk ready to punch someone.These are the ways of talking in the family.He lay in the dark, listening to the rain.He felt that he was worthless, insignificant, and had no future.His wife was of little value, and his children were small, and their behavior would not be noticed in the world.They are innocent.There was a curse of innocence upon him.Compared to his brother, compared to that height of danger and anger, he could only present the fact that he was inferior.It frees him from guilt and cowardly freedom. There was a sound near the door.He didn't move for a while, just lay there, listening.The rain was getting heavier and pouring down, hitting the windows with a crackling sound.He heard another noise, stood up, put on his glasses, and looked out of the peephole.He slowly opened the door and looked down the hallway.The aisle is very long, the lights are very dim, like a prison, with closed doors on both sides, and there is no movement.He was a grown man staying at his mother's house, and the noises in the hall frightened him.