Chapter 5 4

4 It was very late after get off work. I walked along the sidewalk to the subway station in the golden sunset.I saw Ainsley's figure flashing by the telephone pole from afar, and I walked up, she turned and joined me in the stream of off-duty company employees, along the narrow stairs, down to a very shady place. in the underground platform.We moved quickly and occupied the seats, but sat on both sides of the carriage.I tried to see the advertisements outside through my rickety body. After arriving at the station, we got out of the car and walked through corridors painted with pastel paintings. We felt that the air was not as humid as before.

Clara's house was a few blocks further north.We walked in silence; I wondered if I should tell her about the pension plan, but thought I'd let it go.Ainsley couldn't understand why I was bothered by this: she must think that I could just leave the company and find another job, and that would be the best thing to do. Then I thought about Peter's troubles; Ainsley would laugh if I told her about it.In the end I just asked her if she was feeling better. "Don't be such a mother-in-law, Marianne," she said, "you treat me like a sick man." I was a little unhappy after hearing this, so I didn't reply.

We climbed up a small slope. The terrain of the city slopes slightly upwards from the lake, forming a series of small ups and downs, but if you stand still, you will feel that there is a flat land under your feet.Because of the slightly higher terrain, we feel that the air is cooler.This place is also relatively quiet, I think, according to Clara's current conditions, she is lucky enough to live in this place, away from the stuffy and noisy city center.But she herself thinks it's a bit of an uprooting from the city center: They lived in an apartment near the university and had to move north because it was too small, not quite a station wagon A truly modern bungalow suburb that can be found everywhere.The street itself is old, but not as pretty as our street: the houses are semi-detached, long and narrow, with wooden porches, and the back gardens are very small.

"My God, it's hot," Ainsley said, and we turned onto the trail that led to Clara's house.The lawn in front of the house was as small as a mat in front of the door, and the grass had obviously not been mowed for a while.There was a doll lost on the steps, the head almost disassociated from the body, and a large teddy bear in the pram with its stuffing turned out.I knocked on the door, and a few minutes later, behind the grid door, Joe emerged, tired-looking, with his hair uncombed, still buttoning his shirt. "Hi, Joe," I said, "here we go. How is Clara?"

"Dark, there's progress," he said, stepping aside to let us in through the door. "Clara's in the back yard." We walked through the whole house; the structure was the usual one, with the living room at the front, the dining room at the back, separated by a sliding door, and the kitchen at the back.There were objects scattered here and there on the floor of the house, and we had to step over or go around them.The back porch steps, which were even more difficult, were filled with bottles of all kinds, beer, milk, wine and whiskey, and baby bottles.We walked down with some difficulty, and saw Clara sitting on a steel cane chair in the backyard.She put her feet up on another chair and held the youngest child -- she couldn't hold the baby tightly in her arms because she was pregnant.Clara was very thin, and her belly always stood out when she was pregnant.Now she is seven months pregnant, she looks like a boa constrictor swallowing a big watermelon.

In contrast, her flaxen-haired head looked small and frail. "Hi," she said feebly as we descended the steps. "Hello, Ainsley, great to see you again. My God, it's hot." We responded, and since there were no chairs, we sat on the grass next to her.Ainsley and I both took off our shoes; Clara was already barefoot.We found it difficult to carry on a conversation, as the doll kept humming and all attention was focused on her, and for a while her voice was the only one heard. Clara seemed to be asking for help when she called me, but now it seemed there was nothing I could do.

I also felt that she didn't expect me to be of any help, she just wanted me to come and see all this for herself, or she was really bored and my presence could give her a little entertainment. The doll stopped making trouble, and giggled again.Ainsley picked leaves of grass from the ground. "Marian," Clara finally said, "can you hold Alan for a while? This baby won't get off the ground. My arms are almost broken." "I'll give you a hug," Ainsley unexpectedly volunteered. Clara lifted the baby from her body vigorously, handed it to Ainsley, and said, "Okay, you little sticky bug, sometimes I think she is like an octopus, with suckers all over her body." She went to He leaned back on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. It looked like a weird plant, with four thin white roots growing out of its chubby trunk, and a small light yellow flower bloomed on it.A cicada was calling from a nearby tree, and the unchanging voice came, as hot and piercing as the sun.

Ainsley held the little doll awkwardly and looked into her face curiously.I think their two faces are very similar.The child stared at Ainsley, her blue eyes wide open just like Ainsley's, and some saliva dripped from her pink lips. Clara lifted her head and opened her eyes. "Shall I get you something to drink?" she asked, remembering that we were guests. "Oh, no, we're fine," I said hastily, thinking of her struggling to stand up, I was a little nervous. "Shall I get you something?" I'd feel better if I could help a little. "Joe'll be out in a minute," she said, as if explaining. "Hey, talk to me, what's the news?"

"No big deal," I said.I sat there trying to think of something that would make Clara happy, but the topics I could think of, things in the office, where I'd been lately, or how the apartment was furnished, just made things worse. Clara thought of her helplessness.She has limited mobility now, staying at home all day busy with some trivial things that must be done, as if she was confined. "Are you still living with that young man? That handsome young man, what's his name? I remember he drove to pick you up once." "Do you mean Peter?" "Hey, they're so hot," Ainsley interjected, in a rather disapproving tone. "The young man has her tightly in his palm." She sat cross-legged, now with the doll on her lap, and lit a cigarette.

"Sounds promising," Clara said, still grimacing. "Oh, something to tell you, you know? Len Slank is back. He was here the other day." "Really? When did he come?" I was a little annoyed that he didn't come to see me. "About a week ago. He said he wanted to call you, but he didn't have your number." "Then he can check it out," I said coldly. "I'd like to see him, though. How's he doing? How long are you going to be back? " "Who are you talking about?" Ainsley asked. "Oh, you won't be interested in that person," I replied immediately. In my mind, En Siyu and him are two completely different types of people. "It's our old classmate in college."

"He's gone to England, where he's doing television," Clara said. "I don't know exactly what it does. It's pretty good anyway. But he's good at hurting women and always seducing girls. He said that girls are too old once they're over seventeen." "Oh, that's the kind of guy," Ainsley said. "Most annoying." She pressed the cigarette on the grass and stubbed it out. "Well, I sort of guess why he's back," said Clara, as if getting a little angry. "It must have caused trouble with some girl. Didn't he leave for such a thing at that time?" "Alas," I said, not surprised by that. Ainsley gave a soft cry and put the baby down on the grass. "Wet my body," she said in a tone of displeasure. "Well, that's how kids are, isn't it?" said Clara.The baby burst into tears, and I carefully picked her up and handed her to Clara.I'd love to help, but that's about as far as I can go. While shaking the baby, Clara coaxed her: "Hey, you little girl, what a faucet, look at you, you wet mommy's friend, right? Ainsley, that can be washed off. We don't want to wrap you in rubber diapers when it's this hot, do you, you stinky little fountain? Don't believe it when they say motherhood is part of every woman's nature," she said to us with a straight face." I don't believe any parent would really like a shit-to-piss-to-piss thing." Joe appeared on the back porch, a dishcloth tucked into his trouser belt as an apron. "Anyone want a beer before dinner?" Ainsley and I said yes, and Clara said, "Honey, give me some vermouth, please. That's all I can drink these days, and my damn stomach makes me gag when I drink anything else. Joe , can you take Alan into the room and change her pants, please?" Joe came down the steps and picked up the baby. "By the way, did you see where Arthur went?" "Smell, my God, where the hell is the kid now?" asked Clara, as Jo entered the room; it seemed a self-evident rhetorical question. "I see he's managed to open the back door. The brat. Arthur! Come on, dear," she cried lazily. At the end of the narrow garden there was a clothesline, and the clothes on it were dragging almost to the ground. At this moment, two dirty little hands pushed the clothes away, and Clara's eldest son came out.Just like his sister, he has no other clothes except diapers.He secretly looked at us very worriedly, hesitating not to come out. "Here, dear, let Mama see what you've been up to," said Clara. "Keep your hands off the clean sheets," she added, not sounding sure. The grass must have tickled the soles of Arthur as he walked toward us across the grass, his little bare feet lifted high with each step.The diaper was loose on him, barely hanging on his round belly with its protruding navel.He frowned and scowled.Joe came with a tray of tea. "I put that little one in the laundry basket," he said. "She's playing with clothespins." Arthur came up to us and stood beside his mother's chair, still frowning.Clara said, "You brat, why do you keep acting like this?" She reached behind his ass and touched his diaper. "I mean," she sighed, "why didn't he say a word. My husband, your son is spilling dirt again. I don't know where, but there's no diapers anyway." Joe handed everyone the drinks, then knelt down and asked Arthur, 'Where's La?Show papa," he said calmly, but very kindly. Arthur stared straight at his papa, wondering whether to cry or laugh. At last he walked solemnly to the end of the garden, and stood in a bush. He squatted down next to the dusty red chrysanthemum, staring at the mess on the ground. "Good boy," said Jo, going back into the house. “This kid is such a savage, he just likes to poop in the garden,” Clara told us. "He thinks he's fertilizing. If we don't clean it up; it's going to be a big dung heap here. Don't know what he'll do when it snows," she closed her eyes. "We've been potty training him for a while, and even though some books say it's a little too early, we bought him a plastic spittoon. Playing around on his head. I think he thought it was a safety helmet." We watched as we sipped our beers as Jo walked across the garden and returned with a folded newspaper. "When this one is born, I'm going to take medicine," Clara said. Joe finished the meal at last, and we went back to the dining-room, where we sat down to eat around a clumsy table.The little one was fed and in the pram over on the front porch, and Arthur, sitting in the high chair, writhed every time Clara spooned food into his mouth. Twist to avoid.The meal was noodles and some dried out meatballs, all prepared, with lettuce.As for the sweets, I recognized them when I saw them. "This is the newly-produced rice in cans, which saves a lot of time," Clara said in an apologetic tone. "Not bad with cream, Arthur likes that stuff." "That's right," I said, "you'll be getting orange and caramel in a while." "Oh?" Clara said, deftly catching a long strip of cloth dripping from Arthur's mouth and stuffing it back into his mouth.Ainsley produced a cigarette and asked Joe to light it for her. "Tell me," she said to him, "you know their friend, the one named Leonard Slank. They're so secretive they don't want to talk about it." Jo went back and forth during the meal, clearing the plates, attending to things in the kitchen, and looking a little dazed. "Oh, yes, I remember that man," he said, "but he was actually Clara's friend." He ate the cloth in a hurry, and asked Clara what she wanted, but Clara didn't hear him, since Arthur had just thrown the rice bowl on the floor. "So what do you think of him as a person?" Ainsley asked, as if he was absolutely right about people. Jo looked at the wall and began to think.I know that he doesn't like to speak ill of people behind their backs, but I also know that he doesn't like Lun. "He's not very moral," he said at last.Joe is a philosophy lecturer. "Oh, that's not quite fair of you," I said.Len has never done anything unethical to me. Joe frowned at me.He didn't know Ainsley well, and he always thought that all unmarried girls were gullible and needed protection.Several times he used the tone of an elder to say this and that to me, and now he focused on his own opinion.- That kind of person... It's better not to associate with him, - he said with a straight face. Ainsley smiled and puffed out a puff of smoke, but she didn't mind it at all. "That reminds me," I said, "you'd better give me his number." After dinner Joe cleared the table and we sat down in the messy living room.I offered to help, but Joe said he could do it alone, and I might as well go and talk to Clara.Clara was already comfortably seated on the couch among some crumpled newspapers, her eyes closed, and again I found myself at a loss for what to say.As I sat there, staring blankly at the very delicate plasterwork in the center of the ceiling, which might have once been used for a chandelier, I couldn't help thinking of Clara in high school, tall but with a But it's not so good, physical education is always exempted.Whenever we wear blue sportswear to class, she always sits on the sidelines and watches. The students are all sweaty, and the postures are not graceful. In her eyes, she must feel very strange. It's ridiculous. Most of the teenage children love to eat fried potato fries. Some of the classmates in the class are big. Everyone envies her figure. In everyone's mind, she is almost a typical example of the hazy female image in the perfume advertisement.By college she was better, but because of her long blond hair, she looked more like a medieval person, and when I saw her, I always thought of those people sitting in the rose garden in the tapestries. classic beauty.Naturally her mind is quite different, but my perception of people has always been influenced by appearance. She married Joe Bates at the end of her sophomore year in May of that year, and I thought they were a match made in heaven.Joe was a graduate student at the time, nearly seven years her senior, tall, with long tousled hair and a slightly stooped back, always acting like a protector to Clara.Before they were married, they had admired each other and idealized each other to a ridiculous degree, and everyone said that one day Joe would take off his coat and spread it on the muddy floor for Clara to walk by, or fall on his knees and kiss Clara's rubber shoes.The birth of the child was not in their plan. When Clara was pregnant for the first time, she was very pleasantly surprised, saying that she really did not expect that she would have a child; when she was pregnant with the second child, she was a little panicked, and now the third child When she was about to be born, she was so distressed that she was at a loss, so she simply lay down on the ground and resigned herself to fate.She often compares children to things like barnacles clinging to the bottom of a boat, or lily shells clinging to rocks. Looking at her, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed and sympathetic. How can I help them?Maybe I can suggest sometime to come over and clean the house.Clara has never been very good at this. She can't cope with some practical matters in daily life, such as spending money and attending classes on time.When we lived together, she would often be in a daze in the room at a loss, one of her shoes was missing or she could not find clean clothes to change. At this time, I had to help her rummage through the messy pile of clothes. look west.Her disorganized habits are different from Ainsley, who tends to take the initiative. If she is upset, she can make a mess of the room in five minutes, while Clara is completely passive. status.She just watched helplessly as the room became more and more messy, and she couldn't organize it, and she didn't know how to get rid of it.The same is true of her childbirth, her body seems to be completely out of her command, she has no control at all.I looked at the bright floral patterns on her maternity gown, the stylized petals and tendrils rising and falling with her breath, as if alive. We left early, and Arthur was put to bed crying by Joe, who said he had "got into trouble" behind the living room door. "It's nothing wrong," Clara said, opening her eyes. "This kid likes to pee behind the door. I don't know what happened. This kid is a ghost. I think he will do some secret work when he grows up, be a secret agent or a diplomat or something." Joe walked us to the door with a pile of dirty laundry under his arm. "You must come again in a few days," "Clara didn't have many friends to talk to," he said.