Chapter 30 chapter 2

The Demings stayed home that afternoon, busying themselves in their suburban split-level home.It was a long, low colonial building, painted in two colors, with large French windows, covered walkways between buildings, and brightly colored siding. Erica in the kitchen making chicken jelly mousse mousse for dinner.Three cups of chicken broth, or three cubes of concentrated chicken broth, dissolved in three cups of boiling water.Two packs of Jell-O with lemon gel.a teaspoon of table salt.Eight teaspoons paprika.Three teaspoons of vinegar.1 1/8 cup whipped cream.2/3 cup mayonnaise.2 cups diced chicken.2 cups chopped celery.2 teaspoons chopped bell pepper.

The next steps are to cook, pour, stir, and blend.Add the spiced cold gel to the chicken.Spoon into a 9-by-5-inch pan.Cool to allow it to solidify.Take it out of the mold.Garnish with fresh lettuce and stuffed olives (if desired).Serves six or serves as a side dish. Do not use this bottle again to store liquids. The way Erica uses Jell-O is surprising.Next, she lets the chicken mousse coagulate, and there are nine parfait-filled wine glasses in the two-color Kelvin freezer.Each cup is tilted at 45 degrees, either against the wall of the cooler or against something else.This method of placing cups at a slant was passed down from grandma and mother. It makes the jelly dessert made by Erica present several diagonal lines, and combines with more than a dozen flavors to form different styles.She might add blackberry jelly to the glass to make it slightly thicker.After the gel has cooled and set and is completely viscous, she puts in a lime jelly and then adds either sweet orange and strawberries or strawberries and bananas.In the end, she created nine desserts with multiple stripes.They are all different, colorful and very eye-catching.

Making Jell-O is probably the best way to boost your mood.Today, her mood is particularly depressed, and she doesn't know why. From the kitchen window she could see the lawn.The environment is clean and fresh, open and spacious, with low hedges and freshly manicured.Surrounded by newly planted trees that complement the rest.The street is winding and undulating, with newly planted low shrubs on both sides, giving people a sense of openness, and feeling that everything there can be seen at a glance, without shelter, without walls, or anything blocking the line of sight. Young Eric, though, was hiding in the room, with the fiberglass curtains closed, masturbating into the male condom.He likes to use a condom, the thing is smooth and gleaming like metal, like his favorite weapon system—Honest John.It was a surface-to-surface missile that could carry a nuclear warhead of up to forty-five kilotons.

Avoid contact with eyes, wounds or abscesses. He lay sprawled in the butterfly chair, feeling like no one could think about what he was doing, let alone masturbating with a condom.No one guessed it, knew it, imagined it, or connected him to it.But, he thought, if you die one day, what will happen is that everything you do in private will be exposed in broad daylight.Even if you do it yourself completely out of sight and secretly, then people will automatically know what you're doing. Prolonged exposure to sunlight may cause burns. In preparation for launch, they put thermal pads on Honest John to warm the solid fuel.Then, they removed the thermal pad and fired the missile.The launch pad is like the girder of a house, somewhere in the free world, surrounded by wild grass.The flight of the missile is absolutely reliable, passing through the space that has undergone precise mathematical calculations, like a saint, radiating flames, swooping down from the apex of the orbit towards the ground.With a roar, a huge fireball rose from the smoke, like some kind of monster without a face and a name.This gave him the desire to become a Catholic.

Plus, she saved three servings of Jell-O Chicken Cream Dessert for later that week. In the hallway between the two floors, Rick was waxing a Ford Fairlane convertible.Two-tone body, new, like those houses and trees, with white circles on the outside of the tires, and colorful jet stripes that seem to flow when driving. Erica kept the jelly molds in the beige cupboard.She has fluted, circle, and crown molds in various sizes, along with notes on making Jell-O, diagrams, molding techniques, and molds for special decorative effects.She intends to try them all at her convenience. If swallowed, induce vomiting immediately.

Eric fondled the cock seriously, his expression serious and his movements in place.The surface of the condom is a bit rough, he has to get used to it slowly, the movements are a little dull, and he feels a little dissatisfied.On the floor between his legs is a picture of Jayne Mansfield, billowing breasts that seem to be popping out of a sequined evening gown.He loved to rub his cock between her tits until the cum came.However, he didn't want to leave the room immediately after he was done.He loved talking to her breasts, in a soft, loving voice, telling them his desires, his wishes, his dreams.

One mold, shaped a bit like a guided missile, unnerved Erica for some reason, and she never used it. In that photo, the lipstick-smeared mouth and smudged eyelashes stand out.At one point during masturbation, Eric's attention shifted from her protruding breasts to her face, focusing on her eyebrows, eyelashes and pouty lips.Those breasts are real, and the face is a combination of many thermoplastic materials.In his erotic scrutiny, it's the mask waxes, eyeliners, glazing powders, and beauty lotions that make for a soft, moist release. Intentional inhalation can be harmful, even fatal.

Erica was wearing a blue skirt and a green top that matched the color of the Ford Fairlane. Rick was still in the aisle, scrubbing the car with chamois.He can basically keep doing this kind of thing.He could see himself reflected in the shiny car body—eyes slanted, as if suffering from hydrocephalus.He could feel something about the car, its horsepower, the loud roar of the two exhausts, the enormous power of the Ford automatic transmission.Yes, you can drive this car to the dentist, and you can occasionally carpool with the Andersons to take Eric to a science fair.Outside of everyday family use, though, the car's true power comes in drag racing, where it lets everything fly by before your eyes.

Danger.High pressure inside the container. A word Erica likes to use is covered aisle.It signifies comfort, breezy, contemporary, quality that no one else has.Another word she likes is crisper.Kelvin refrigerators have a large crisper.She likes to tell people in the family that this or that thing is in the crisper, not in the refrigerator, but in the crisper.The carrots are in the crisper oh, Rick.Some lived on Old Farm Road, where the front porches were crumbling and the lawns were untended.A grassy road leads to a dump, and Duck River Baptists worship in a low house on the side of the road.Those people don't know what is a fresh-keeping box, some have a freezer but no refrigerator, some have a refrigerator but no fresh-keeping box, some people have a fresh-keeping box in their refrigerator, but they don't know its purpose, and they don't know what it is called. what.They put butter instead of lettuce and eggs instead of carrots.

He walked through the roofed passage and into the room. "Rick, the carrots are in the crisper." After he waxes and polishes his car, he likes to bite into a raw carrot. He stood there looking at the loaf of strontium-laced white bread.It was served in a pancake pan in the middle of the table surrounded by lettuce. "Well, what is this?" "My Chicken Jell-O Cream Dessert." "awesome." Sometimes she calls it chicken jelly jelly and sometimes chicken jelly jelly.This is one of the many names for Jell-O.The word jelly can be placed anywhere, front, back, middle.It is a word of convenience, and convenience is attached to many things these days.You press the button and the whole world opens up.

May cause discoloration of urination or stool. Eric walked sideways along the base of the wall and slipped into the bathroom, the slime-filled condom in his hand.He washed the condom in the basin and slipped it over his middle finger, pointing it to his mouth so he could dry it.In the cinematic version of his life, he imagines everything about himself projected onto a stereoscope screen, including the secret things he's been doing for so many years.By then, he was dead and everyone could watch.His dead relatives, friends, teachers and priests could see him put his middle finger in his mouth, something like that, with a condom on it.He exhales rhythmically, hoping to dry it out. He heard his mother call his name. He only had this one condom and had to wash it and use it over and over again.It was borrowed from another boy named Danny Anderson.Danny's father hid it in a rolled up sock, and Danny surreptitiously took it out.Danny swore he never used it himself.Have you ever used it?Only when Eric had the opportunity to see the footage after the boys died would the question be fully understood. Keep out of reach of children to avoid choking. Eric stuffed the condoms into a box of playing cards and stashed them in his bedroom.He stared at the picture of Jayne Mansfield for a long time, then put it under the map of the world on his desk.He discovered that Jayne's breasts didn't look quite as real as he had imagined in his emotionally vulnerable state with the dildo in hand.They reminded him of something, but what exactly?At this moment, he suddenly understood that it was the bullet shape on the bumper of Cadillac. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took a look at what was inside.Vibrant colours, product names and logos, familiar shapes, gleaming foil wrapping things.There was kindness in his eyes, and the things he collected made him feel bright, and he felt that he was enjoying a small vacation on the shelf of the refrigerator, in the narrow space.It is a small world that is not destroyed and can be constantly updated.But there was something else, which bothered and disturbed him a little.Maybe it's the throbbing pain, maybe it's the flow of information contained in that endless, rhythmic throbbing pain.Open this white bow-shaped door, and you can feel the chill brought by the working cooling system, the current is converted into power, and they are talking to each other day and night, across the superhuman space.He felt a little puzzled by the fact that this thing was outside of his body, that he was not yet in tune with it. Of course, the Kelvin refrigerator in their house is not white, at least not in appearance.It is light red, glittering and translucent, like clouds at dawn. He glanced in and felt dizzy at the sight of nine parfait cups placed askew.Sometimes, the Jell-O dessert cups placed at an angle confuse him, as if a sci-fi force had entered the house and tilted something in it. As the family sat down to dinner, Rick cut up the mousse and distributed them.They drank iced tea, with a slice of lemon hanging from the rim of each cup—a twist Erica had made at random. Rick asked Eric, "What are you doing this afternoon? Is it too much homework?" "Hey Dad. Saw you waxing the car." "I've got an idea. After supper we'll get our binoculars and drive up to Old Ranch Road and see if we can see it." "What do you see?" "Little moon. What else? It's the satellite they launched. It should be visible at night when the weather is clear." Only then did Erica realize why she had always felt something dark and ominous when she opened her eyes that day and looked at the buff walls and the rust-green fence.That's right, the satellite they put into orbit a few days ago.Rick is interested in it from a scientific point of view and wants Eric to check it out too.No doubt Rick was as surprised and disturbed as she was, though, hoping to stand in the grass somewhere and try to see the thing as it flew by.Erika had mixed feelings and was slightly disappointed.That's their satellite, not ours.It was skimming over the North Pole at a very fast pace, apparently whirring overhead at some point.She couldn't understand: How could such a situation happen?Could there be other surprises coming up, things we don't know the truth about?Do they have crispers, do they have aisles with roofs?It was not easy to let myself accept the news that they had launched a satellite. Rick asked, "How's it going, Erica? Do you want to drive?" "Okay, Dad. So, so, so, so great." A silence spread over the dinner table, superseding Erica's fear of Sputnik.She felt that Eric spent too much time alone in the room, which was why he occasionally stuttered.Eric felt that Eric had been reading for too long.He was too obsessed with something, but Erica didn't want to imagine a specific image. Do not puncture or incinerate. The kids can sit in the family room and watch the super floor standing TV.The color of the TV cabinet harmonizes nicely with the beautifully grained pine boards that furnish the room.He can predict the dialogue in every show, including news, ball games and comedy.He imitated the voices of news anchors or actors, so lifelike, there were almost no flaws, and he never stuttered. While the other kids liked Oreos, Eric liked DeRoos because the name sounded like rocket fuel. The kitchen mitt she was using—she had many pairs of kitchen gloves—was missing one, which she thought Eric had used for his chemistry homework.She didn't ask, though, and didn't think Eric would return it. The day before, Eric had soaked a Droo biscuit in milk and held it up, letting the milk drop by drop, saying in a hoarse voice, "Well, we got the Russian moon in the American sky superior." Then he took a bite of the biscuit and swallowed it. The two of them went out to find the orbiting satellite.Erica cleared the table, then put on her gloves and started washing the dishes.Rick had teased her about the glove a number of times.Of course, there was an automatic dishwasher in the kitchen, but she felt that, as a housewife, she should clean up before putting the dishes in the dishwasher.If you don't clean food crumbs from the forks and pans before running the dishwasher, it will be more troublesome to do it again the next morning. Flush eyes with water and contact a physician immediately. Kitchen gloves provide protection, she will not be scalded by boiling water, and will not come into direct contact with food scraps.Erica loves those gloves.They are impossible to destroy and are made of essentially the same material as countertops, TV casings, basement insulation, and vulcanized tires on cars.Those gloves were sticky and hard and uncomfortable, but they worked for her. Everything around her works, including objects and words.Words she believes in and relies on. After working in the kitchen, she decided to vacuum the carpet in the room.However, she later felt that this might have made her mood worse.She bought a new vacuum cleaner in the shape of a satellite and loves to wheel it around the room.Its sound is soft and its shape is futuristic, which makes people full of hope.However, the satellite launched by the Soviets is a heavy thing, which makes people feel guilty.Now that it's in the air, she now has to look at her vacuum cleaner with pity. She felt that she could do something for the church's social activities on Sunday, adding a little atmosphere to the activities and boosting her spirit. Do not use in enclosed spaces. She will prepare six small bowls of homemade Jell-O pre-dinner salad, six boxes of Jell-O lemon gel, six teaspoons of salt, six cups of boiling water, six teaspoons of vinegar, twelve cups of ice cubes, three cups of chopped Italian sausage, 2 cups shredded Swiss cheese, 1.5 cups chopped celery, 1.5 cups chopped onion, 12 teaspoons chopped ripe olives. She remembered what happened about half a year ago.She came home that day to find Eric's head buried in a large bowl of pre-dinner salad.He said he ate it straight out of a bowl without a knife and fork to prove one of his scientific theories.The explanations he offered were so outrageous and lacking in credibility that she found them odd.She didn't believe it, and didn't know what to believe.Is that a form of sexual curiosity?Does he see Jell-O as some sort of lickable part of the female body?Is he attracted to unnatural mouth-stimulating behavior?His mouth was full of gelatinous filth.She looks at him.She is good at dealing with interpersonal relationships and communicating with people.Before talking to him, though, she had to put on the gloves. A charismatic black man stood outside a church, addressing a crowd. Downtown, white youths leaned against brick walls, parked cars, or squatted on curbs.They all have crew cuts, some in silky yellow chinos, some in blue jeans.Some of them were older, and most of them looked serious and determined, watching the marchers come out of the bus terminal. On the other side of the campus from the brick dormitories and the sports field, in an alley behind Lynch Street, a group of black people lounged on cars parked in front of a dilapidated old wooden house.One of the men was on crutches, one had suspenders slung over his shoulders, and one was wearing a bow tie, white shirt and straw hat.The two younger men sat on the fenders, talking to the woman standing on the porch steps nibbling a peach. Said the charismatic Negro, "They make us run, so we're good at running." The marchers took to the streets, carrying backpacks and holding signs.As the sun set, some people began to walk towards the campus.There were many policemen in white shirts standing along the road, some of them were smoking cigarettes, and there seemed to be no one watching the parade.The marchers lined up in two sparse lines, walking towards the voice of the speaker. Said the young speaker: "They made us run, and then we got good at running and didn't need their stimulation anymore." At the coach terminal, some of the marchers were separated from others and trickled down to sit on the floor of the whites-only waiting room. But that porch had no steps, just two loose cinderblocks against the foot of the wall.The woman eating the peach is standing there. Students joined the crowd at the chapel door to listen to the speaker's generosity.Some street teenagers came out of the billiard room and stood on the periphery of the crowd. The procession of men and women continued to march through the streets of the Lower City.The white man stood on the curb, watching the men go by, and seemed to be unable to help sniggering. Outside the car terminal, four highway patrol officers stood beside a patrol car, talking casually, shotgun butts resting on their hips, muzzles pointed upwards. The young speaker said, "But at that point, we became Olympic distance runners. Some of us thought we should sit down." The woman had finished nibbling the peach, holding the pit in her hand.A man leaning on the fender said something obscene, teasing, or secretive, and she threw the fruit core at his feet in a repelling motion. Someone adjusted the microphone, and the speaker's voice became louder, reaching the end of the blocked street.There, some National Guardsmen were jumping off the big truck. A black woman stood in the bus terminal, watching.She had come from the north of the city, had taken a bus all the way, and now she had finally reached the terminus, and was about to sit on the ground.She saw local police walking among the demonstrators.Two police officers in short-sleeved clothes grabbed a young man by the hands and feet and lifted him up.The restrained young man did not resist, and the two police officers did not look at him and carried him into the street. Said the charismatic black man: "There's a sense in this culture that black people should die voluntarily." The National Guardsmen lined up and began bayoneting.Their commander stood nearby, his skin tanned by the summer sun, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, looking around for the armored vehicles. Voices from the microphones echoed over the crowd of marchers, students and citizens. On the grounds of the bus terminal, the woman waited for the police to come and load her into a large truck and take her to the prison.Her name was Rose Merriwether Martin, known as Losey, and she was an insurance assessor in New York City. "It's worth noting that this is not what white people are saying now, it's what black people are saying now. If they want to kill us, then we should die voluntarily. Or rather, it was said in the past, because we sure don't Will say that again." An armored vehicle with bulletproof windows and gun holes, and a man inside armed with a submachine gun and a tear gas launcher, drove down the street. The group of young white men started to move away from the walls and parked cars and stood on the curb, dusting their pants.They then walked to the other end of the street and stood there, either showing no interest in the marchers or showing it in a different way.The woman standing on the porch saw several young men running in the dark.They are street teenagers or students, while running, while looking back.Those lounging by the car saw it too, but neither moved nor spoke.It's their car, their street, and they need to weigh the situation at hand. The young black man said, "I'm not saying don't resist. I'm not saying curl up like a fetus and let them put a pistol to your head. Let me tell you." Those white people ignored the marchers.A large number of people came, anxious, and began to fight.Let's call it a day.They stopped looking at signs about suffrage and demonstrations, and stopped laughing at white nuns who marched with black priests.Now, they are interested in the armored car.It was twenty-three feet long, with flashing searchlights. "I'm not saying you should like the batons they beat you with." They watched the armored vehicle pass by, and then followed it, some of them keeping their expressions on the ground. The National Guard has a standard helmet over his head, and now he's wearing a gas mask.Mounties standing outside the bus terminal wore white helmets similar to those worn by construction workers. Losey Martin saw the local police approach in groups of two, pick up the demonstrators, drag them out, and throw them into the truck. The blacks ran and watched, their shirttails flying.Perhaps the woman standing on the porch smelled burning in the air. Gas masks are bulky, with bulging eyes and a protruding nose.The National Guardsman, who appeared to have insect eyes, walked into a floodlit area near the Negro College.At the mouth of the gas mask, the flap flap and air filter chamber bulge like a can of pineapple. A man lying sprawled outside a bus terminal was knocked down by mounted police. A man is in the middle of a fight outside Culver Hill Church.It was a young black man in a striped shirt, and two National Guardsmen grabbed him by one arm and one leg, and a marcher grabbed his other leg, trying to drag him back into the crowd. Someone threw a bottle, and the man standing on the front porch heard it shatter in the street.She stood up, trying to see what was happening on the dark street not far away.There was a lot of noise, some were running, some were walking towards this side, and then turned back. "I mean, despite what's going on around you, there's really nothing to worry about in this world. Anytime you see black people and white people together, you know, they're coming together to improve relationship. That’s what the Constitution says.” Another bottle broke. In the terminal, Losey Martin saw them drag a woman out of the gate.Her head was on the ground, face down. National Guardsmen with bayonet-tipped rifles charged into the crowd gathered outside the church, billowing tear gas smoke behind them. At the terminal, a policeman began beating people with a military club, in the arms and thighs, with everything he saw.Losey watched him calmly, counting the sit-in protesters.Later, the policeman came to her. Says the charismatic speaker: "They're squirting, and I'm talking. As long as my throat works, I'm going to keep talking. Black people love rap." Some of the procession sat down, some dispersed, some entered the church, and some ran in the other direction.National Guardsmen dragged some people toward blocked streets. At the terminal, police officers drew their batons and charged the demonstrators in groups.The demonstrators sat there, leaning forward, covering their heads with their hands. The streets were filled with smoke from tear gas, and people felt their eyes sting, as if their eyeballs were being sucked dry by the heat.The streets are full of people running.Tear gas poured into the streets, some people hid in the alleys and groped forward, some people were about to suffocate and coughed non-stop.Some chose to walk, stumbling towards the church when they could barely see the road. Losey knew she would be arrested, loaded onto a garbage truck, taken to prison, thrown into an overcrowded cell, and given a mat that reeked of urine.That's what the rumors that have been going around for days say. Negroes ran into the dark streets, and those lounging by the cars finally began to move.The man in the blue suspenders walked into the old wooden house, and the man in the straw hat climbed into the car, rolled up the window, and got out of the car.The man on the fender slid down to the porch and joined the looking woman. The women want conditions in men's and women's prisons to be the same.This is definitely a problem. National Guardsmen rallied around armored vehicles, each with insect heads, searching dark alleys for stone-throwing students.Some men emerged from the bar—from the small bar with the jukebox—clutching cans of Colt 45.They heard the speaker say, "It's a matter of spirit over matter. They don't care spiritually, we don't matter materially." Losey was dragged, rubbing her buttocks on the ground, and dragged her to the street.She saw barricades lined up with wooden frames, police patrol cars, crowds of people milling about, and cameras flashing in the hands of photographers.She thought she smelled tear gas. People rushed through rows of National Guardsmen and headed toward the church. She saw the one-legged man on crutches.In the past few weeks of anti-racism cross-state demonstrations, whether on the bus or on foot, she has seen the familiar figure.The man was beaten severely.She saw a slender man being beaten violently by a policeman with a baton, rolling his eyes three times, four times, five times. The woman standing on the porch smelled burning in the air and entered the house.The man went in with her.Young people hurried past, mostly students and demonstrators.One of them stopped and threw a bottle behind him. The irritant in that tear gas is called CS (ortho-chlorobenzylidene malononitrile), which can cause instant dizziness and a sting on wet skin surfaces. Losey smelled tear gas, but didn't see the smoke at first.A mounted police officer, handcuffed in hand, ordered a man to get on his stomach in a patrol car.Another mounted police officer stood nearby with two shotguns, one his own and the other mounted officer who was handcuffing the protester. Armored vehicles drove slowly on the street, and the searchlights turned and shone on the roofs. This is Jackson, Mississippi.Tear gas smoke filled the alleys off Lynch Avenue and the church was filled with fleeing crowds.On this sweltering summer night, with radios on, children stood at the windows of the sheds and watched the demonstrators move through the darkness. Losey started running.She saw the policeman beat the man severely, three times, four times, and stopped for a while.She rushed towards them. Tear gas bombs streaked across the night sky, shining brightly.People wearing insect masks emerged from the smoke, all energetic and aggressive. The man who rolled up the window just now was thirty-six years old, wearing a white shirt and a straw hat, walking along the hardened road towards his residence.He smelled tear gas, so he covered his face with his hat and occasionally kicked an unbroken drink bottle thrown by someone in the dark. She saw the policeman hit the man's head and arms with his baton three times, four times, and pause for a moment.She went through the two wooden frames of the barricade and charged directly at them, swift, lightning fast, unstoppable. Tear gas spread across the streets, one wave after another, pouring into the alleys, filling the narrow spaces. She rushed to the two of them and was stunned for about four seconds, momentarily at a loss. Charles Wainwright was on the phone with a client in Omaha, alternately reassuring and teasing, making promises he couldn't keep.Regarding this matter, he had a detached mentality. After drinking so much wine at lunch, his eyes were slightly blurred at this time, and he nodded numbly. He heard himself say, "Dawn, by my rough estimate, we can do the whole thing in four and a half weeks. Four weeks is the minimum. We've got the best art director in the department. Three weeks if God helps us." BTW, God owns an apartment in New York, because it’s such a vibrant city. Seriously, that guy is an award-winning art director, busy sketching in his office right now.” Just then, the head of Pascalini—the art director—appeared at the door. "What is death?" he asked. Wainwright smiled and shrugged. "Nature's way of slowing you down." Wainwright raised his head, expressing that he took the attitude of laughing it off.Pascalini walked down the aisle to tell the joke to some other members of the business team—Wainwright’s colleagues.They wore smart earring collar shirts and bright smiles on their faces.They drank their Gibsons in one gulp and said thanks. In fact, Wainwright felt that the joke was a perfect fit for the work environment here.Is it not true that obituaries and advertisements feature prominently in the morning edition of The New York Times? Charles Wainwright works for Pamela Lockett and Keown Advertising Agency, as business director.It was a medium-sized advertising agency with offices in the Fred F. French Building on Fifth Avenue in New York. Recently, the company's business has suffered repeated failures.Every time a customer walks out the door, there is a moment of silence in the carpeted hallway.People stood in twos and threes near the coffee machines, holding mugs of strong coffee.The jokes they tell also have a bitter undertone.The managers closed the doors and were on the phone inside.The man who made up the ad was sitting in a booth with the radio off and the lights dimmed.Copywriter goes out to lunch and returns three hours later drunk.They sat in their cubicles, staring at memos pinned to cork boards with thumbtacks, wondering: If this is what betrayal feels like, why should Times Square be betrayed? Sometimes, Charlie had to fire people.On one occasion, he fired two people in one day, one before lunch and one after lunch.He once sacked a big guy and a short guy in the space of a week.And, there are instances of wrongful dismissal.He once fired a male employee who had just had a heart attack, and a female employee who had died.He didn't know that Maxine was dead, and he had to fire the secretary who was causing chaos at work. Charlie said into the phone, "Dawn, if you want us to present here, I'll give you a table at the Four Seasons. You can touch feet with my British secretary, or I'll ship the pattern to Going to Omaha. Interesting to spend time on. Say, seriously, what are you doing on Sunday, Dawn? Going to the park and looking at that cannon?" It was from a record made by Lenny Bruce, but Charlie didn't feel the need to cite the source.他喜欢道恩·施蒂默尔，一个举止得体的广告经理。他们的客户相当不错，是一家大型化学公司制作草坪肥料的部门。这里负责广告创意的人希望搞一项名为轰炸草坪的活动，他们的灵感源于这一事实：如果把燃油放进这些肥料原材料中，点燃后会产生相当大的爆炸声。 一个年轻的广告文字撰稿人——他叫斯韦兹——的脑袋出现在门口。 “昨天晚上我和一个瑞典模特约会。” 查理笑了笑，等着下文。年轻人故意停下话头，希望引起注意。 “我摸了摸她的'沃尔沃'，她立刻就'萨博'了。” 轰炸草坪的活动尚未出炉，就被查理一枪毙掉了。这个项目的创意人员希望把乔治·米特斯基作为代言人。这个方式带有很强的自杀特征，查理觉得相当不错。乔治·米特斯基是40年代和50年代出现的炸弹狂人，曾经在纽约的地标建筑附近制造了系列爆炸案件。他们希望在州监狱或者某个劳改农场中找到他，围绕他的传奇活动展开宣传，利用他来支持这种肥料产品。 使用快速氮肥炸掉你家草坪。 马德·埃夫的样子越来越年轻，查理已经四十六岁了，几乎准备被人放在浮冰上，与他的手工制作的英国翅尖和他的百达翡丽手表为伴。尽管如此，他依然拥有稳定的客户，拥有阳光充足的办公室。办公室里摆放着真皮沙发椅，墙上挂着越野障碍赛马的图片，还有身穿华服的贵族老爷们围猎的图片。一个水手用的贮物箱，那是他在伦敦的一家店铺里淘到的。有一样东西暴露他的普通人爱好——在房间的一个角落里，一个类似神龛的台子上放着三件平民喜欢的棒球纪念品。 第一件是一张十周年纪念限量版石版画，标题是震惊世界的一击。画面上有保罗球场的照片、拉尔夫·布兰卡投球的情形、博比·汤姆森挥动球棒的样子、队友们在本垒板附近摆开康茄舞队形迎接汤姆森的场面。 第二件是汤姆森和布兰卡与德怀特·D·艾森豪威尔在一起的照片。他们站在高尔夫球场上，手里握着球杆，远处可见两个特工模样的人。照片是查理的妻子在佛蒙特州的一家旧货店里发现的。 第三件是一个污迹斑斑的棒球，放在书橱里的一个马克杯上。那个出售棒球的人宣称，这就是当年布兰卡投出来、让击球的汤姆森成为英雄的那个棒球。 他的秘书进来，她名叫桑迪，身穿四色格纹上衣，脚下是白色鞋子。 “道恩，我的秘书刚刚进来。她穿着白色鞋子，是个恋足癖，很想见见你。” 他喜欢逗弄道恩。道恩是单身汉，非常腼腆，肤色肉红，穿着带有条纹的免烫上装，鞋子造型就像中国炮艇。 桑迪把几份进度报告放在待办文件盒里。他听道恩说到广告价格，说到衡量广告经费效率的千人成本数据。桑迪走出办公室，他望着她的左右扭摆的屁股，注意到上面的平行四边形图案。 他们希望给乔治·米特斯基配上假发，增添小胡子，戴上眼镜，让他看上去像爱因斯坦。 查理手下的这帮广告创意人员使用经过升华的破坏形式。每三次活动中就有一次会把武器当作调侃的对象。不久之前，他们为埃奎诺克斯石油公司搞了一个广告创意，产生的冲击现在仍然让人心有余悸。那个项目耗资巨大，长度为一分钟的广告片是在新墨西哥州一个名叫Jornada del Muerto（死亡之旅）的偏远沙漠中拍摄的。那是第一颗原子弹爆炸的场地，地图上的一个空白点，完全没有向公众开放。其实，查理认为，那个创意很好。他们给两辆汽车加上高级汽油，一辆加的是埃奎诺克斯公司的，另一辆加的是一家主要竞争对手的，让两辆汽车在荒凉的沙漠中飞驰。他们使用了所有最新的技术手段，其中包括直升飞机航拍镜头、升降镜头、跟踪镜头，慢动作等等。白色汽车与黑色汽车比赛，显然暗指美国与苏联。第一辆到达特立尼迪的汽车赢得比赛。达特立尼迪是纪念碑，标志第一颗原子弹的爆炸点。我们从美国能源部、国防部、原子能委员会和国家公园管理局得到许可，花了数周时间，在那里拍摄镜头，每一秒钟画面的费用高昂，超过了好莱坞拍摄的史诗片。不过，效果很好。荒凉的沙漠绵延起伏，植物低矮，热浪滚滚，不时可见骷髅牛头，有时还有沙尘暴。俯拍镜头显示，一辆车飞驰向前，另一辆紧追不舍。一名自负的播音员带着冷战的口气，对画面进行解说。哪一辆汽车最先用完汽油？哪一辆将会到达爆炸点标志地？每加仑汽油可以跑多少英里？这是消费者关心的主要问题。当然，那辆白色汽车最终战胜黑色汽车，胜利到达终点。我们播放了那条广告，时间安排非常密集。我们以为，苏联大使馆可能会提出抗议。我们希望看到这样的情况。自由宣传。结果怎么样呢？没错，我们听到抗议之声，然而不是来自外国政府，而是来自全国有色人种权益促进会，来自城市联盟，来自争取种族平等大会。原因只有一个：广告中的白色汽车战胜了黑色汽车。抗议活动如火如荼，令人震惊。有的人扬言将会抵制埃奎诺克斯石油公司的所有产品。我们撤下了那条广告，全部重拍，承担了所有费用。重拍的广告中有两辆汽车，都是白色的，一辆顶上喷涂了字母A，另一辆上面是字母B。教训：不要混用隐喻。 “道恩，千人成本是一种过高估计的手段，目的是让我们对现在的真实处境视而不见。”他希望道恩问我们现在的真实处境是什么？“只有一个真理。控制眼球者支配世界。” 在那场比赛之后，大约有二十几个人招摇过市，其中有不择手段的律师，也有抢劫者、傻瓜和无赖。他们都声称自己手里拥有那个决定比赛胜负的棒球。查理虔诚地相信，只有放在自己书橱里的那个棒球才是唯一的真品。 没错，尽管他外表刚强，那个棒球说明，他是一个具有宽厚之心的普通人。他的法西斯分子发型出自米兰著名理发师斯帕达韦基亚之手。其实，那是斯帕达韦基亚的学生的习作，斯帕达韦基亚工作繁忙，很难为每个客人服务。他要么穿着白领条纹衬衣，要么穿着蓝领白色衬衣，上装非常贴身，放一个屁也会让线缝露出来。他打回力球和手球，做加拿大空军的体能练习。他在脸上和身体上涂抹古铜色上光剂，整个冬天都坐在太阳灯前。尽管他刚刚买了一辆令人晕眩的名爵汽车，他却是一个内心像房车般平稳的普通男人。他会驾驶那辆名爵，送家人去周末度假地附近的夏伯克利山麓游玩。 一个多愁善感、有时眼泪汪汪的白人男子。 没错，查理非常希望把这个棒球托付给儿子查克，给小查尔斯。儿子已经不再是从前那个咬着口香糖的儿童，而是一个学习成绩糟糕的著名预备学校的学生。他身体斜歪着，说话声音难听，两眼就像达姆弹，从远处投来仇恨的目光。他在埃克赛特中学因为不及格退学，被乔特中学逐出校门，最后从安多维尔中学辍学。查克觉得这些都无所谓，可是查理十分看重，觉得非常痛心。尽管这个棒球包含着许多尚未确定的意义，他怎么能把这样一个让他投入大量情感的东西交给这个无所事事、性格倔强的儿子，交给出现在自己生命之中的这个年龄渐渐变大的难民呢？ 在返回艺术部的途中，帕斯卡利尼再次出现在门口。 “如果你在黑暗的小巷里撞上一个身高六点五英尺、体重二百六十磅的黑人男子，你会说什么呢？” 查理微微一笑，心里提防着最近出现的关于民权运动的笑话，抬起头来，仿佛在问：你说什么呢？ "gentlemen." 他曾经解雇了一名怀孕的女员工，解雇了一名与荷兰皇家沾亲带故的男员工。他曾经接连解雇了一个天主教徒、一个新教徒、一个犹太教徒。他曾经解雇了一名在公司乘坐游艇观光时落水的员工，解雇了一名带枪出席客户会议的员工。 “道恩，有人正在对所谓的视网膜分泌活动进行研究。他们在超市里秘密拍摄妇女的行为。他们把灵敏度很高的照相机藏在货架上，记录她们视线变化的情况。眼球的那种活动非常微妙，显露人的内心活动，大大超过了眼睛的简单眨动。当妇女看见某些颜色、包装和图案时，她们可能出现完全失控的情况。这主要是眼睛、大脑和神经系统的有机组织产生的反应。我们应该利用这项研究的成果吗？很简单。我们找出高分泌活动与引起这种活动的具体物品之间的相关性，据此设计产品和包装。一旦我们从眼球运动的角度了解消费者，我们就能完全掌控营销过程。” 桑迪走进房间，准备报告某种复杂情况。 但是，如果查理相信这个棒球是真品，他会把它放在别人一眼就能看到、没有看守的地方吗？清扫房间的女人收入微薄，无钱给她儿子买棒球，可能把它带回家去。街角咖啡店送外卖的小伙子也可能顺手牵羊。他的脑海中出现这样的情形：在一个索然无味的下午，一个皮肤黝黑的男子慢慢进入走廊，一只手端着没加奶油的咖啡，另一只手拎着装有英式点心的白色纸袋，两眼贼溜溜地转动，寻找可以偷的东西。 “道恩，她想和我们谈谈。对，我的秘书。我跟你说过她是怎么打字的吗？她喜欢坐在自己的腿上打字。在使用那样的坐姿之前，她一分钟大约打二十五个单词。现在，她的打字速度是每分钟二百个单词。” 桑迪在工作中表现出某些怪癖和品质，让查理深感兴趣。她有明显的英国人的特征，即便涉及她内裤的俗气私密内容，她也说得绘声绘色。其实，只有在她的室友菲奥娜和乔治娜的督促之下，她才清洗身体。 查理一边和奥马哈交谈，一边理解秘书汇报的情况。 “她告诉我们，她必须早一点下班，道恩。她最近常常提前下班，而且午餐时间很长。我们知道这意味着什么，对吧？搞上了一个有妇之夫。” 她站在那里，几乎崩溃，这个男人竟然这样说话，让她大为惊讶。他的举止鲁莽，厚颜无耻，表现出纽约人特有的美国式直率。查理冲着她来了一个理查德·韦德马克式微笑。他没有理由让她今天下午继续待在办公室，可是要她离开之前给他点一杯橙汁。 查理希望竭力推销美汁源的产品，心里一直在思考橙汁。他观察它，引用它，对着它想入非非。他知道如何为橙汁打广告。不用提什么佛罗里达，不用提什么狗屁维生素，需要的是欲望感染力，需要的是视觉冲击。这是一种颜色漂亮、具有诱惑力的饮品。橙汁罐放在冰柜里，颜色鲜艳，在白霜的映衬下闪烁发光，女人看到时，眼球里显现很高的兴奋度。你必须展示果肉，展示果汁导入玻璃杯时四溅的颜色。你展示一位兴奋不已的家庭主妇，她的上嘴唇边挂着泡沫，仿佛暗示早餐之前完成的一次口交。当然，浓缩汁中没有什么果肉，只有微不足道的果肉痕迹。可是，你可以暗示，可以推论，可以向消费者做出承诺：饮用这种橙汁，可以品尝到真正果肉的碎片。一杯橙汁，一杯充满特殊物质的饮品，就像非常美妙的橙汁烟雾。你展示这样的图像，以充满爱心的方式细致地表现出来。如果橙汁罐和包装可以在感官上引起食欲，装在里面的产品自然不在话下。在闲适的星期天上午，查理最喜欢端着一杯添了伏特加酒的橙汁，一点一点地慢慢品尝。 他希望竭力推销斯梅尔诺夫公司的产品。最近，美国文化中出现了一种俄罗斯时尚元素。叶夫图申科穿着从黑市买来的牛仔裤。这个初冬，俄罗斯帽子开始流行，在纽约和芝加哥依然盛行。俄国羊羔皮。人们一天早上醒来，发现在收入较高的人中，三分之一都戴着俄国羊羔皮帽子。 “道恩，她走了，谢天谢地。她和文字撰稿部的某个色鬼搞上了，我完全可以打赌。桑迪觉得那些文字撰稿人总是面对被人解雇的危险，所以喜怒无常，富于魅力。” 公共汽车轰鸣着驶入浓重的夜色之中。这时，办公室里的电灯亮了，姑娘们敲击着IBM刚刚发明的电动打字机键盘，走廊里响声一片。打字球接触色带，色带接触纸张，形成一种更高级的连接关系，就像打字姑娘们身上穿的牛津布衬衫。每隔十五秒钟，她们之中的一个就会敲错键盘，嘴里冒出一声诅咒。 已经结婚的广告文字撰稿人与秘书幽会，与自己的秘书，与其他广告文字撰稿人的秘书，与客户经理的身材高挑、动作敏捷、穿着白鞋、声音迷人的秘书幽会。他们在秘书温暖舒适的公寓房间里幽会，沉迷于午餐时间的情人销魂养身法，管它叫午戏或者日场。那样的空间狭窄，与撰稿人工作的小隔间非常相似，只不过装饰更温馨一些，让人显得更脆弱一些罢了。灰白色墙壁上有的贴着马德里的招贴画艺术，有的贴着意大利雕塑家马里诺·马里尼创作的马匹的图片，有的贴着法国画家伯纳德·比费画的龙虾的图片。如果某位秘书住在与人合租的较大公寓里，时间安排难度就会大一些。涉及的撰稿人渴望见到其中一个室友的倩影，也许她在某个深夜约会未果之后从浴室里出来，浴袍半开，两腿赤裸。那些公寓几乎无一例外地位于东区偏僻地段，在白砖楼房的阴面，室内终年不见阳光，而且也没有公寓管理员。根据固定在电梯间墙壁上的标牌的最近记录，一个名叫A.贝尔的人每隔两年检测一次电梯。 没错，查理自己也干过这类寻欢作乐的勾当，时断时续，既有在广告制作部门的年轻女人，也有在公司其他部门工作的女人，还有孤独的底层员工，实际上并非个个年轻。有时候，折叠式沙发打开之后占据了房间的大部分面积，他想要撒尿时不得不从床铺上走过。但是，这样的插曲他究竟是真的享受，还是自己强加的令人感到悲哀的娱乐活动？他和妻子在用橡木雕刻的古董大床上做爱。你和这个郁闷的传媒业女秘书滚作一团，这究竟是在干什么呀，查理？就某种行为方式而言，这要么是一种奇怪的羞辱形式，要么是奇怪的生活方式。其性质非常清楚，查理这个广告公司老板竟然浑然不知。 “这就是挑战所在，道恩。神秘的潮流在黑夜中回旋，把大地上成千上万的人连接起来，驱使他们第二天早上立刻购买某种产品，你必须解读这样的潮流。他们肯定会对这样的产品趋之若鹜，你必须在他们出现之前做好准备。” 他说：“经过包装的商品和止痛药品，正是这两样东西让整个国家的人终日奔波。” 一个皮肤黝黑的男子站在门口。 “你叫的橙汁？” 查理从衣服口袋里掏出一些钱，付给那个人。他从办公桌抽屉里拿出一个瓶子，倒出一粒超强解酸药片，用没有果肉、令人作呕的果汁服下，期望对它产生的过多的胃酸形成抑制效果。 他给道恩讲了一个荤段子，脑海中出现了身在大草原上的那个家伙脸色涨红的样子。今天已经无事可干，他离开了办公室，穿过带有巴比伦风格装饰、炫示浮华的大厅，转过拐角，来到他喜欢的那位瑞典女按摩师店里，让她给他的腰部做了十分钟的放松治疗。后来，他漫步进入一家布克兄弟专卖店，挑了两件网球衫，还有什么事情比冲动购买给人带来更广大快乐呢？他快步穿过麦迪逊广场，到了巴尔的摩大厦内的那家男人酒吧。他一口喝干一份加了冰块的威士忌，随即出了店门，快步穿过中央车站的宽敞大厅。那个博比·汤姆森棒球放在外套的口袋里。这件巴宝莉晴雨外套他非常喜欢，正好与他的青灰色马裤呢上装搭配。为他定制上装的那个家伙给集团犯罪分子做翻领上装。他觉得棒球放在办公室里已经不安全了，喜欢把它交给自己的儿子查克，无论好坏，无论如何，无论真假。不过，查克，你不要辜负我的嘱托。也许，我会在某天吃饭时突然死去，希望把这件东西交给你，你要好好保存。他阔步走进车站大门，刚好赶上火车。那车是整个人类进步的巅峰之作，他快步进入设有酒吧的车厢，那里已经坐满与查理需求类似的乘客。他们头发斑白，来日不多，罪恶之梦已经快到尽头。 这是开往韦斯特波特的最后一班列车。