Chapter 10 10

She carefully put the glass back on the bedside shelf, making sure it was off the edge.Now, her tongue feels like a No. 5 sandpaper, and her throat seems to be really infected with thirst.This feeling reminded her of the autumn when she was ten years old.Complications from the flu and bronchitis kept her out of school for a month and a half, and that was what it felt like.During the long nights of that illness, she woke up from confused, disturbed nightmares that she could not remember. But you can dream of that smoky pane of glass; you dream of how the sun goes out, you dream of that sad faint smell like minerals in well water, you dream of his hands.

She was drenched with sweat but too weak to reach for the water jug ​​on the bedside table.She remembered lying there, wet and clammy, hot on the outside, hot on the inside, and full of visions.Lying there thinking that the real cause of my illness was not bronchitis but thirst.Now, after all these years, she felt exactly the same way. Her mind kept trying to go back to that terrible moment when it dawned on her that it was impossible for her to keep the last little distance between the cup and her lips.She kept seeing the fine mist of air bubbles in the melting ice, and kept smelling the faint scent of minerals buried deep in the sandy aquifer at the bottom of the lake.These images haunted her like itches that could not be scratched between her shoulder blades.

However, she forced herself to wait.This part of Mrs. Burlingame in her said that despite the haunting images and throbbing pain in her throat, it took her some time to let the muscles stop twitching and the emotions calm down a bit. Outside, the last ray of light in the sky faded away, and the world entered a solemn and melancholy gray night.On the lake the shrill cry of the loon pierced the dark night sky. "Shut up, Mr. Loon." Jessie giggled to herself, and her laugh sounded like rusty door hinges. OK, dear.said Mrs. Burlingame.I figured it was time to try it before dark.It's best to dry your hands first.

This time, she took hold of the bedposts with both hands, rubbing them up and down until they squeaked.She raised her right hand and twisted it to her eyes.They would laugh at me if I sat at the piano.she thought, and then she stretched her hand over the edge of the shelf where the glass had stood.She started tapping her fingers on the board again.At one point, the chains of the handcuffs clattered against the cup, and she froze, waiting for the cup to tip over.The cup didn't tip over, and she cautiously continued her quest. She had almost decided that the thing she was looking for had slipped off the headboard—or had slipped off altogether.Suddenly, she finally touched the corner of the magazine insert.She gripped the card with the first two fingers of her right hand and carefully lifted it away from the nightstand and cup.She stabilized the card with her thumb and studied it curiously.

The card is bright purple with some flamboyant nonsense around the top edge.There are confetti and streamers between the lines.The card announced that "Newsweek" was holding a preferential reward event, and hoped that she would also participate. Newsweek reporters keep her up to date on current events, behind-the-scenes activities of world leaders, and provide her with thorough coverage of the arts, politics, and sports.Although the card doesn't say so, it clearly implies that Newsweek can help Jesse understand the entire universe.Best of all, the lovable lunatics at Newsweek's subscription desk treat their subscribers so amazingly that their piss evaporates and their brains explode.Here's the deal: If she uses the card to subscribe to Newsweek for three years, she'll get every issue for half the price of the newsstand magazine!Is money an issue?Absolutely not!She can pay the bill later.

Don't know if they can provide straight bed service to ladies in handcuffs.thought Jesse.Maybe get George Will or Brant Quinn or some other pompous old fool to turn the pages of magazines for me—you know, the handcuffs make it so hard for me to do that. However, besides laughing at herself, she felt a strange nervousness and bewilderment.She seemed to be unable to help studying the purple card.The theme of the card was "Let's Get Together," and there were spaces for her to fill in her name and address, little squares for stock exchanges, and so on. I've been cursing cards like this all my life—especially when I have to bend over to pick up the nasty stuff, or think I'm just another litterer—without thinking that one day my sanity, even Maybe my life depends on such a card.

her life?Is that really possible?She really had to consider the dire possibility.Jessie believed this reluctantly, and it was possible that she would have to be here for a long time before anyone found her.Yes, she thought, it was hardly possible that the difference between life and death came down to a single drop of water.The idea was preposterous, but apparently it no longer seemed ridiculous. As always, my dears - taking it easy wins the game. Yes... But, who would believe that the end of life is located in such an incredible country? However, she still bounced slowly and carefully.She was relieved to find that manipulating the centerfold with one hand was not as difficult as she had feared.That's partly because the cards measure six by four inches—almost as big as two playing cards side by side.But, mostly because she doesn't intend to do very fine work with it.

She held one end of the long side of the card with her first and second fingers, then used her thumb to curl the edge half an inch along the long side, and then all the way down.She didn't roll it evenly, but she figured it would help.Moreover, no one came to comment on her work. She clamped the purple card tightly between her first and second fingers and rolled it another half inch.It took her almost three minutes and seven scrolls to get to the end of the card.When it was finally finished, she had what looked like a marijuana injection, which she had awkwardly rolled out of pretty purple paper.Or, if the imagination stretches a little more - it's a straw.

Jessie stuck it in his mouth, trying to snap their curved folds together with his teeth.When she closed it securely, as she had thought, she began to grope about for the cup again. Be cautious, Jesse, don't let fretfulness ruin your plans now! Thanks for the advice, and thanks for the idea.This is great - I really do, but now I want you to shut up and give me enough time to try, okay? When her fingertips touched the glass's smooth surface, she carefully slid her fingers over and around the glass, like a young lover slipping his hand inside the zipper of her boyfriend's pants for the first time.

Grabbing the cup in its new location is relatively simple.She brought it over, lifting the glass as far as the chains of the handcuffs would allow.She saw that the last pieces of ice had melted, and that the arrows of time had passed merrily, and though she felt that time had stood still in its orbit since the dog first appeared, she did not want to think about that now. dog.In fact, she had to keep moving to convince herself that the dog had never been here. You're good at convincing yourself that things never happened, aren't you, baby?Hi Ruth – I’m trying to keep the damn mug under control and myself in case you don’t notice.If playing some games in my head helps me do that, I don't see how it's going to be a big deal.Just keep your mouth shut for a while, okay?Leave it alone and let me get on with my business.

However, Ruth clearly had no intention of letting it go. Shut up?Gosh, that brings me back to the old days - it's stronger than the Beach Boys singing on the radio.Jessie, you've always been good at keeping quiet - do you remember the night we returned to the dormitory from our first and last awareness group meeting in Nevos? I don't want to remember, Ruth. I know you don't want to remember.So let's recall together, how is this deal?You keep saying that it's the girl with the scars on her breasts that bothers you.Just her, nothing else.While I was trying to tell you what you said in the kitchen - about how you were left alone with your father at your cottage on the shore of Lake Dakskau when the sun went out in 1963, and what he did to you - —You asked me to ask.I don't want to shut up, you try to slap me on the mouth.When I still don't want to smell my mouth, you grab your coat and run off to spend the night somewhere else—perhaps at Suzy Timmel's hut by the river, which we used to call The house is called Suzie's Gay Hotel.Come that weekend, you find out that some girls in town with apartments have come and you need another roommate.Huh, it's so fast... Jesse, once you make up your mind, you will always move out quickly.I dare say so.As I said, you've always been pretty good at keeping your mouth shut. Shut up-- Listen!What am I going to tell you? Leave me alone! I'm pretty familiar with that too, you know what hurts me the most, Jesse?Not trusting that - I knew even then, it wasn't personal, after what happened that day, you can't trust anyone, including yourself, what breaks my heart is knowing that you almost To say it all.Right here in the Vicar's kitchen, we're sitting there with our backs to the door, and you start talking.You say, "I can't say at all, that would have killed my mom. She would have left him even if she hadn't, and, besides, I love him. We all love him and we all need him. They'll blame Me, besides, he didn't do anything, didn't really do anything." I ask you who didn't do anything?You blurt it out as if you've spent the last nine years waiting for someone to ask you that question. "My papa," you say, "we were at Lake Dakskau the day the sun went out." You would have told me everything else--I knew you would, but that nasty fool came in and asked: "Is she all right?" Like you look like something is wrong, you know what I mean?Gosh, sometimes, I can't believe how stupid people can be.They should make a law that you have to have a license, at least a learner's license, before you are allowed to speak.Keep silent until you fail the speaker test, it will solve a lot of problems.However, it doesn't happen that way.You're silent like a vise.I can't make you talk anymore, though God knows I tried. You were not supposed to meddle in my business!Jesse replied.The glass of water in her hand began to shake, and the purple substitute straw in her lips vibrated.You should have stopped meddling in this matter!This has nothing to do with you! Sometimes friends can't help but worry, Jesse. said the voice in her head.There was friendliness in the voice, and Jesse fell silent. You know, I looked it up, I guessed what you've been trying to say, I looked it up.I don't remember anything about solar eclipses in the early 1960s.But, I was in Florida at the time, and I was far more interested in snorkeling and that lifeguard named Delray than in astronomy—and I fell madly in love with him, unbelievably.I figured, I gotta make sure this whole thing wasn't some crazy imagination or something—maybe it was caused by that girl with the horrible burn scars on her breasts.That's not fantasy, there is a total solar eclipse in Maine, and the eclipse is passing right by your cottage on Lake Daxco. A girl and her father watched a total solar eclipse in July 1963. You don't want to tell me what your dad did to you, but I know two things, Jesse.He's your dad, which sucks.You're ten, you're almost eleven, you're on the verge of puberty... that's even worse. Ruth, please shut up, can't you just find the right time to dig up that old story! Ruth, however, would not shut up.Ruth, who had been Jessie's roommate for a while, said whatever she wanted to say—everything she wanted to say.And now, as the friend in Jesse's mind, apparently not at all. The other thing I know is that you live off campus with three little girls from your sorority — those princesses in A-line dresses.Undoubtedly, each of them owns a set of shorts with the letters of the day of the week sewn into them.I think it was around that time that you made the conscious decision to join the Olympic dusting and floor waxing team.You rejected that night in the vicar's kitchen in Nevos, the tears, the hurt.anger.repel me.Oh, we still see each other once in a while — sharing pizza, sharing canned drinks — but our friendship is really over, isn't it?When it came to choosing between me and what happened to you in July 1963, you chose the eclipse. The glass of water was shaking violently. "Why ask now, Ruth?" she asked.She didn't realize that she was actually mouthing the words in the darkening bedroom. Why ask now, that's exactly what I want to know - considering that at this particular stage, you are actually a part of me.Why ask now?Why is it just when I can't bear to be disturbed and can't be distracted? The most obvious answer to this question is also the most uninteresting.Because she has an enemy inside, a poor bad guy, who wants her to stay the way she is—handcuffed, aching, thirsty, terrified, miserable.This enemy did not want her situation to be improved in the slightest, and this enemy would do anything mean if it did not improve her situation. That day, the total solar eclipse was only happening for a little over a minute, Jesse...not in your head.It's still going on in your head, isn't it? She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on the cup in her hand, keeping it steady.Now, unconsciously, she was talking to Ruth in her head, as if she was really talking to another person, not a part of her brain.This part suddenly decided that now it was time to do something to herself, as Nora Calligan would put it. Leave me alone, Ruth.If you want to discuss these things with me after I've had a sip of water, that's fine.But now, can you please—— "Shut your damn mouth." She finished the sentence in a low voice. I know there is something or someone inside of you that is trying to slander.I know it uses my voice sometimes - he's a great ventriloquist, no doubt about that, but that's not me.I loved you then and still love you, which is why I keep in touch with you for as long as possible - because I love you.And, I think also because we as a group of people have to support each other if we want to be in a good position. Jess smiled, or tried to, with the straw substitute in his mouth. All right, Jesse, get on with it, and do it well. Jessie waited a while, but there was nothing else, and Ruth left, at least temporarily.She opened her eyes again, then slowly thrust her head forward, and the rolled card protruded from her mouth like President Roosevelt's cigarette holder. Please, God, please... let me succeed. Her straw replacement slipped into the water.Jess closed his eyes and sucked.For a moment there was nothing, and her mind was filled with disappointment.Then, water filled her mouth, cool and sweet, right in her mouth.She went into a frenzy of astonishment, and would have been grateful if she hadn't been biting the rolled-up magazine subscription card with a pout.In fact, she could only make indistinct sounds from her nose. She swallowed the water, felt it covering her throat like a liquid satin, and sucked again.She sucked like a hungry lamb at the ewe's teat, sucking like no one else.Her straw is far from perfect. Instead of a uniform flow of water, her suction comes in fits and starts, big and small.Also, most of the water she sucked into the tube spilled out of the imperfect seal and fold.In a way, she knew this and could hear the water pattering against the coverlet like rain.Yet she remained grateful and fervently believed that her drinking straw was one of the greatest inventions ever produced by the mind of a woman.At the moment, drinking from her late husband's water glass is the pinnacle of her life. Don't drink all the water, Jessie - save some for later. It didn't matter that she didn't know which of her ghost mates was speaking this time, it was good advice.Telling an eighteen-year-old boy who has been passionately fondling his girlfriend for half a year that it doesn't matter whether the girl eventually wants to have sex with him is good advice, too, and that if he doesn't have a condom, he should wait.She found that sometimes, no matter how good the advice was, it was impossible to take it.Sometimes the body fights back and throws away all good advice.And, she's discovered—giving in to those simple physical needs can be indescribably comforting. Jessie continued to suck water through the rolled card, tilting the glass to keep the water over the end of the soggy, shapeless purple thing.She knew perfectly well that the card was leaking more than before, but she was too crazy to stop and wait for it to dry, so she just kept on sucking. It took a few seconds for her to breathe like this before she realized that all she was sucking up was air.There was still water in Gerald's glass, but the end of her straw replacement no longer reached the water.Beneath the rolled-up cardfold, the bedcover was damp and dark. But I can get the rest of the water.I can.If, at first, I could bend my hand back a little more unnaturally when I needed to grab that annoying glass, I think I could have stretched my neck forward a little more to get those last few sips.do you think i can do iti know i can. She does know that she can test the idea later.But now the white-collar workers on the top floor--people with all their sensible opinions--have once again wrested control from the laborers who run the machines and the store managers.The rebellion is over.Her thirst was far from quenched, but her throat was no longer throbbing, and she felt much better—mentally and physically.Her mind was sharper, and her insights a little wiser. She found that she was happy that she left the last bit of water in the glass, and it might not make a difference to take two more sips through the leaky straw. Should she continue to be handcuffed to the bed?Or do you find a way out of this predicament on your own?After all, night was coming, and her husband lay dead nearby.It looked like she was out camping. It's not a pretty picture, especially with a wild dog camping with her.However, Jesse found himself getting sleepier.She tried to think of some reasons to resist the growing drowsiness, but she couldn't find a good reason.Even the thought of waking up with numb arms up to the elbow didn't seem particularly convincing.She could simply move about until the blood flowed again, which couldn't be more comfortable, but she had no doubts about her ability to do so. And, you might get an idea when you're asleep, dear.said Mrs. Burlingame.That's what happens in books all the time. "Maybe you will," Jesse said, "after all, you've got the best idea so far." She lay herself down and rolled up the pillow with her swollen shoulder, pushing it as far up against the head of the bed as possible.Her shoulder hurts, her arms (especially her left arm) are throbbing, her stomach is supporting her upper body and leaning forward, drinking water through a straw, and now her stomach muscles are still shaking... But, it's weird She was still satisfied and at ease. satisfy?How can you be satisfied?After all your husband died, and you played a part, Jesse.What if you were found by others, what if you were rescued?Have you considered how it would have looked to whoever had found you?What do you think it must have looked like to Inspector Tigarden, for that matter?How long do you think it will take him to decide to call the state troopers?Thirty seconds?Maybe forty seconds?Here in the country they think much more slowly.Wouldn't it—maybe take him two full minutes. She was indisputable about those circumstances.This is real. So how can you be satisfied, Jesse?How can you be content with such things hanging over you? She didn't know, but she did feel content.At night, the strong wind mixed with freezing rain was blowing from the northwest, and her sense of peace at this moment was as warm as having a down comforter on a cold night.She suspects the feeling is mostly purely physical: If you're extremely thirsty, apparently half a glass of water has the potential to make you dizzy. However, there is also a spiritual element.Ten years ago, she reluctantly gave up her job as a substitute teacher, and it was Gerald's persistent (perhaps "ruthless" was the word she really wanted) logical reasoning that she ultimately succumbed to.By then he was earning roughly $100,000 a year, and her salary of $5 to $7,000 a year seemed nothing compared to that.In fact, it's a real nuisance when it comes to paying taxes.Back then, the IRS man was poking around their economy to figure out where the rest of the income was. When she complained about their suspicious behavior, Gerald watched her with a mixture of love and annoyance.That look isn't quite how you women are always so silly - it's going to be another five or six years before that look starts showing up regularly - but it's close to it.They know how much money I make, he told her.They saw two big German cars in the garage, and they saw pictures of a lake house.Then, they look at your tax forms and see that you're working for what they think is pocket money.They couldn't believe it—it seemed to them fake, a cover for something else—so they poked around, looking for something.They don't know you as well as I do, that's all. She couldn't explain to Gerald what the substitute contract meant to her... maybe he didn't want to hear it.In either case, the fact was the same: teaching, even part-time, enriched her in some important way.Gerald didn't understand that.Nor could he grasp the fact that the substitute had formed a bridge from her life before she met Jerrod at the Republican mixed party.At that time, she had been a full-time English teacher at Waterville Secondary School, a woman who made a living independently.She is well liked and respected by her colleagues and does not depend on anyone.How she had been unable to explain (or he had been unwilling to listen), giving up teaching—even that last substitute—had left her feeling sad, dazed, useless in some ways. That rudderless feeling—probably brought on by her inability to conceive, and by her decision not to sign back the substitute contract.After more than a year, the feeling faded from the surface of her brain.Yet it never quite faded away from her, and at times she felt that it seemed like a cliché to her—young governess married to successful lawyer.He was already famous, at the delicate age (in the jargon) of thirty.This young (well, relatively young) woman, finally stepping into the proverbial palace of confusion in middle age, looks around and suddenly finds herself alone—no job, no kids, just a husband.And the husband's focus is almost entirely (one would say fixed on, that's accurate and at the same time unfriendly) climbing up that imaginary ladder of success. This woman suddenly faced another turning point in her life at the age of forty.It is precisely the kind of women who are most likely to get involved with drugs, alcohol and another man, usually a younger man.For Jesse, none of the above happened.Still, Jessie found herself with a ton of time on her hands—time to garden, time to shop, time to attend classes (painting, pottery, poetry . Men have sex, she has almost thought about it), and there is still time to find something to do with herself.That's how she happened to meet Nora.None of these things, however, left her feeling the same way she did now.As if her weariness and pain were badges of honor for her bravery, and her sleepiness a legitimate reward she had earned... You might say, this is the version of women in handcuffs in writer Miller's day. Hi Jesse – the way you get to the water is awesome. It was another voice, but this time Jesse didn't care.As long as Ruth doesn't show up for a while.Ruth is funny, but also nerve-wracking. Many couldn't even get a cup.Her unnamed admirer continued.Using that magazine insert as a straw...it was a masterpiece.So keep going and keep feeling good.You're allowed, and you're allowed to take a break. But the dog... said Mrs. Burlingame doubtfully. That dog doesn't bother you at all...you know why. Yes, the dog was lying on the floor near the bedroom.Now, Gerald was just a shadow in the twilight.Jesse was grateful for that.Outside, the wind was blowing again, and the sound of the wind blowing through the pines was comforting and sleepy.Jesse closed his eyes. Be careful about your dreams!cried Mrs. Burlingame, suddenly terrified, after her.Yet her voice was distant and not very convincing.But she still cried: Be careful of your dreams, Jessie!I'm serious. Yes, of course she meant it.Mrs. Burlingame is always earnest, which also means she is often annoying. Whatever dream I have, it cannot be thirst.I haven't had many visible successes in the last ten years—mostly, one vague casual date after another—yet getting that glass of water is clearly a win, isn't it? Yes, another voice agreed.It was a vague male voice.She found herself dreaming sleepily that maybe it was her brother's voice, Will -- back to Will's voice as a kid in the '60s. Five minutes later, Jesse fell into a deep sleep.Her arms were raised, stretched out limply, forming a V shape.The handcuffs bound her wrists loosely to the bedposts, her head rested lazily on her shoulder (that would hurt less), and a long, slow grunt came from her mouth.At some point—long after dark, when a silver crescent rose in the east—the dog reappeared in the hall. Like Jesse, it's calmer now.The most pressing needs had been met, and the din in the stomach had somehow died down.It stared at her for a long time, it put its sensitive ears up, and lifted its nose up, trying to figure out whether she was really asleep or just pretending to be asleep.It decided (mainly on the basis of the smell—the smell of sweat now dried, the stink of crackling adrenal glands completely gone) that she was asleep.This time, there would be no kicking and yelling--not if he was careful not to wake her up. The dog moved softly toward the pile on the floor in the middle.Even though its hunger had subsided, the meat actually smelled better.This is because taking that first bite of meat breaks the ancient innate taboo against eating it.Although dogs don't know this, and don't care if they do. It lowered its head, with all the reserve of a gourmet, first sniffed the seductive fragrance of the dead lawyer at the moment, and then gently placed its teeth on Gerald's lower lip.It tugged at his lower lip, applying slow pressure, pulling it longer and longer.Gerald looked as if he was sulking, his mouth pouted.Eventually his lower lip was torn off, exposing his lower teeth in a wide grin.The dog swallowed the delicate piece of meat in one gulp and licked his mouth.It began to wag its tail again, this time slowly and contentedly.Two small spots of light flickered on the high ceiling, moonlight bouncing off two fillings for Gerald's lower molars.These two teeth were just filled last week and they are as new and shiny as a fresh coin. The dog licked its lips again and looked at Gerald lovingly.Then it stretched its neck forward, almost exactly the same way Jessie stretched her neck to finally put her straw into the cup.The dog sniffed Gerald's face, but it didn't just sniff.It lets its nose stay there.It first tasted the faint smell of brown floor wax in the dead owner's left ear, then smelled the mixed sweat from his hairline, and then wafted the tempting scent of blood clots on the top of his head.It lingered long in particular at Gerald's nose, studying it carefully with his outstretched, filthy, yet so sensitive snout—these two passages were now airless.It still has that gourmand-tasting feeling that the dog is picking among many treasures.Finally, it inserted its sharp teeth deeply into Gerald's left cheek, bit it tightly and pulled it up. On the bed, Jessie's eyeballs began to move rapidly back and forth behind her eyelids, and now she groaned - a high, trembling sound, full of fear. The dog immediately looked up, and out of remorse and fear, its body curled up instinctively.But that didn't last long, and it had come to view the succulent as its own personal food, for which it would fight—perhaps die—if challenged.Moreover, this sound was only made by the fierce master, and the dog was now completely convinced that there was nothing that could be done about this master. It lowered its head, bit Jerold Burlingame's cheek again, and dragged it back, bobbing its head merrily from side to side.A long strip of flesh came off the dead man's face with a sound like tape being pulled from a vending machine roll.Now Gerald was grinning like a carnivore, like a straight flush in a high-stakes poker game. Jesse groaned again, followed by a series of rough, unintelligible ravings.The dog glanced up at her again.He was sure she couldn't get out of bed, out of her mind, but the noises disturbed him just as much.Ancient taboos have faded, but not entirely disappeared.Moreover, its hunger has subsided, and what it is doing is not eating, but having a snack.It turned and ran out of the house again.Most of Gerald's left cheek hung over its mouth like a baby's scalp.