Chapter 8 7

7 Strictly speaking, one and a half of my research is still unfinished, but I have enough materials on hand to write the necessary reports and make revisions to the questionnaire.On top of that, I wanted to take a shower and change clothes before meeting Peter, and I didn't expect the interview to take so long. I went back to the residence and threw the questionnaire on the bed.Then look for Ainsley everywhere, she is not at home.I got my towel, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, put on my bathrobe and went downstairs.Our unit has no bathroom, which is one of the reasons the rent is cheap.Maybe the bathroom was added after the house was built, or the builders thought the servants didn't need bathrooms at all.Anyway, we have to go to the second floor to take a shower, which is inconvenient sometimes.After Ernsyu took a bath, there was always a circle of soap stains on the tub, which the landlady downstairs thought was a defilement of her holy temple.

She always kept deodorant, cleaning fluid, brushes, and sponges in plain sight, but it didn't do anything for Ainsley, which made me a little uneasy.Sometimes, after Ainsley had showered, I would go downstairs and scrub the tub clean. I wanted to soak in the bathtub for a while, but I had just washed away the dust all over my body in the afternoon and the oily fumes from the bus when I heard the landlady clearing her throat outside the door.It meant that she wanted to come in, and she never knocked on the door and asked.I had to get up quickly, go upstairs, get dressed, drink a cup of coffee and go out to Peter.As I descended the stairs, I felt my ancestors staring at me from the old daguerreotype photographs hanging along the wall, wearing casual collars, staring dull eyes, and coldly closed mouths.

We often go out to eat, if I don't go out, I will walk to Peter's place, buy some things in the shabby shops that are common in old residential areas, and cook at his place.Of course he could have picked me up in his VW, but he didn't like it all the time, and besides, I didn't want the landlady to see, lest she guess.I didn't know if I was going out to dinner tonight, Peter didn't mention it at all, so I went to the shop to do some shopping just to be on the safe side.He drank alcohol last night, so his appetite might not be very good, so dinner should be simpler. The place where Peter lives is not very close, but it is not convenient to go there by bus.It's south of the lot we live in, east of the University, in a dilapidated, almost slum-like area that's going to be demolished and rebuilt in a few years.In fact, several buildings have been built there, but the one where Peter lives is not yet finished.He was the only one living in that building, and he lived in it temporarily, and the rent was only one-third of that after the building was completed.He rented the house through an acquaintance, whom he met while representing a contract dispute case.Peter was still a trainee solicitor, and his income wasn't very high--for example, he couldn't afford the house if he paid list rent--but he was a small firm, and he rose through the ranks very quickly.

When I went to his place all summer, I had to go through piles of large concrete blocks to get to the front hall door, and the floor of the house was covered with tarps and covered with dust.Sometimes you have to climb over lime troughs, ladders, and bundles of water pipes to get upstairs; the elevator doesn't work yet.A few times I was stopped by the workers who didn't know Peter and insisted that no one lived there.For this reason, I had to argue with them about whether Mr. Woodland lived here. Once, I simply took them up to the seventh floor and let them see Peter himself.I know there's no work at five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, and maybe they'll be conjoined for three days this weekend.

Usually, they seemed to work at a leisurely pace, which was to Peter's liking.There was also a strike or stoppage, and the construction site stopped.Peter wished it would stop working, the slower the house was built, the longer he would enjoy the low rent. The main structure of the building has been completed and only the finishing touches remain.All the windows have been installed, and the workers painted a few strokes on the glass with white soap to remind people to be careful not to step over and hit the glass.The glass doors had been installed a few weeks ago, and Peter had provided me with a set of keys, which was essential, as the intercom system to open the doors for visitors hadn't been switched on.The interior of the building has not yet been renovated, and the work of laying floor tiles, painting walls, installing mirrors and lamps, etc., which will make the house look clean and luxurious, and a new look is still in progress.

Rough gray concrete floors and unpainted walls can still be seen, and exposed wires from many sockets hang down like loose nerves.I climbed the stairs carefully, not touching the dirty banister, thinking that when I think of the weekend, I associate the smell of saw boards and plaster in a new building.In the floors I walked, I saw only the doorways - the doorways of the future suites were all open, and the door had not yet been installed.I had to climb several flights of stairs, and by the time I got to Peter's floor, I was out of breath.It would be nice to have an elevator. Naturally, Peter's suite has been basically completed. If the floor is not paved and the electricity is not connected, no matter how low the rent is, he will never live in it.His acquaintance used his room as a model for the other suites, and occasionally someone expressed an interest in renting it when it was finished, so he called Peter and asked him to come and see it before Peter returned.This was no great inconvenience to Peter, since he was not at home very often, and it did not matter to others to visit.

I opened the door and went in, first putting the things I bought into the refrigerator in the kitchenette.Peter was taking a shower, as he often did, from the sound of the water without Lashela.I went into the hall and looked out the window.This suite is not too far from the city, so there is no way to see the lake or the panoramic view of the city.Looking down from here, one can see the narrow backyard inlaid in the dirty side streets, and the location is still high, so it is impossible to see clearly what the people below are doing.There wasn't much in Peter's Hall, except for a modern Danish couch with a matching armchair and a stereo system.He said he was not in a hurry, he had to buy good ones if he wanted to, and he didn't want to buy some unsatisfactory crappy ones to take up space.His idea is certainly good, but it is better to add some more things. There are only these two pieces of furniture in such a big place, and the room looks empty.

I always feel a little restless when I'm waiting for someone, so I walk around, I walk into the bedroom, stand in front of the window and look out, but the scenery here is the same.Peter told me that his bedroom was mostly furnished, though it might still be a little less furnished for some.He laid a large sheepskin on the floor, and the bed was also very wide, with simple lines, but solid and solid. Although it was a second-hand product, the quality was very good, and his bed was always neatly arranged.In addition, there is a square desk made of dark wood with simple lines. Next to the desk is a leather swivel chair that is common in offices, which is also a second-hand item. He said it is very comfortable to sit on and do things.There is a lamp on the desk, an ink blotting table and various colorful pens and pencils, and a photo frame with Peter's graduation photo embedded in it.On the wall above the desk was a small bookshelf with his legal books on it, his precious paperback detective novels on it, and other books and magazines in the middle row.On one side of the bookshelf was a pegboard, on which hung Peter's collection of weapons, including two rifles, a pistol, and several chilling knives.He told me the names of the knives, but I can't remember any of them.I've never seen Peter use them, but then again, what chance does he have of them in the city?Apparently he used to go hunting with old friends.Peter's cameras hung there, too, with leather holsters on their lenses.There was a large full-length mirror on the door of the closet, where all Peter's clothes were kept.

Peter must have heard me move, and in the bathroom he asked, "Is that Marianne?" "Hey," I answered loudly, "it's me." "Well, make yourself something to drink. Make me a gin too, will you? I'll be right away." I know where Peter keeps his stuff, he keeps a cupboard full of wine, and there's always ice in the ice tray. I went to the kitchen and carefully mixed the wine, not forgetting to put a slice of Peter's favorite lemon in the wine.It took me longer than usual to mix the drink because I had to measure it out. The shower faucet was turned off, and then there was the sound of footsteps. I turned my head and found Peter standing in the door of the bathroom, drenched in a delicate navy blue towel.

"Hey, your wine's on the kitchen counter," I said. Without making a sound, he came forward, took the cup in my hand, drank a third of it in one go, and put the cup on the table behind me casually.Then he put his arms around me. "You got me wet," I said softly.I wrapped my arms around his waist. I had just held the cold wine glass, and my hands were cold, but he didn't care.He had just come out of the shower, warm and elastic. He kissed my ear and said, "Come on, come to the bathroom." I looked up at Peter's plastic shower curtain, silver base, with pink curt-necked swans swimming in flocks of three among pale lily pads.It was not to Peter's liking at all, he bought it in a hurry because the water ran all over the floor when he took a shower, and he didn't have time to pick and choose, it was the cleanest curtain.I don't understand why he insists on going into the tub.I don't like the idea much, I'd rather go to bed, the size of a tub, hard and uncomfortable, but I don't object.I thought I had to be considerate of Trigg because of his marriage.But I still put the bath mat in the tub, so it can feel softer.

I expected Peter to be downcast, but although he was not quite like usual today, he wasn't downcast.I don't quite understand why I have to go into the tub.I thought back to the last two occasions when his friends had had the misfortune to marry. After the first time, it was on a sheepskin in his bedroom; after the second time, he drove for four hours, on a rough blanket in a field, and I couldn't stop thinking about the farmers and the cows, and I was very sad. uneasy.I think it's the same thing this time, though in a different way.Perhaps this is just to emphasize that he is full of youthful vigor and can do whatever he wants; his friend's marriage inevitably reminds him of the unchanging and boring life after marriage, the socks in the sink, the oil left over from frying bacon in the pan, It's annoying to think about it, and he expresses a kind of rebellious psychology in this way.Peter's behavior gave me a vague feeling that he liked it because of some books he'd read, but I'd never know what those books were.Field, I suppose, was a hunting story from some men's field magazine, and I remember him wearing a plaid jacket that day.As for the sheepskin, I think it has something to do with the picture books that some men read, which are full of scenes of love between men and women in luxurious penthouses.But what about the bathtub?Maybe it's from some murder novel he read, which he calls "pastime literature"; but doesn't that mean someone dies in the tub? And it's got to be a woman. That's a lot to be said for the cover design Did it: You can see a naked woman laying in the tub with her hair hanging over the water, adding some water to sensitive areas, a bar of soap, a rubber duck or a pool of blood to cover it up for scrutiny. She Lying in the white and cold bathtub, dead, with cold body, only two eyes staring at you wide, this bathtub has become her coffin. Suddenly this picture appeared in front of my eyes: imagine the two of us We all fell asleep, and somehow the faucet was turned on, the water was warm, we were completely unconscious, the water rose slowly, higher and higher, and finally we drowned in it. When his acquaintance brought someone to see the house again They will be shocked when they see water all over the ground, and two naked corpses, a man and a woman hugging each other tightly. "It's suicide," everyone will say, "died for love. "On late summer nights in this single-occupancy and luxury two-bedroom Brantview apartment complex, ghosts of both of us can be seen wandering the halls in bath towels... I watch the swans , Tired of looking, then turned to look at the silver curved shower head. Peter's hair has a clean soapy smell, not only after he just showered, but also on his body at ordinary times. When I smell it, I think of a dentist's chair and medicine, but it smells good on him.He never used sweet shaving cream or other masculine cosmetics in lieu of perfume. His arm was on top of me, and I could see the rows of fine hair on it.His arms were like a bathroom, clean, white and fresh, few men's skin was as smooth as his.His head was on my shoulder, I couldn't see his face, but I could picture him in my mind.He was, as Clara said, "good-looking," and maybe that's why I fell for him in the first place.What made him stand out was not that he was particularly handsome, or that there was anything unusual about him, but that his features, although ordinary, were extremely regular, just like the well-groomed young faces in cigarette advertisements.Sometimes I wish his body wasn't so smooth, and if a wart or mole could be touched, it would be reassuring. We met at an open-air tea party on the day of my graduation. He also knew my friends well. We ate ice cream together under the shade of a tree.His attitude was a little serious, and he asked me what my plans were.When I talked about my plans to find a job, I spoke with confidence, but in fact I didn't have any confidence in my heart.He later told me that he liked me because I had independent opinions and judgment, and he thought that a woman like me would never try to interfere in his life.He had recently met what he called "another type" of girls, and it had been very unpleasant.We both act on this idea, and I think it suits me.We adopt a mutual trusting attitude towards each other, so we get along very well.Of course I have to follow his temper, but all men are like this. Fortunately, he is straightforward, and it is not difficult to guess what is on his mind.I had the pleasure of seeing him all summer, for we only saw each other at weekends, and our affection was always strong. But the first time I went to his apartment, I almost made up my mind to make a clean break with him.That day he kept letting me listen to music and drink brandy, thinking that this would show that he was cunning and social, and I was also at his mercy and got into his bed.We had brandy glasses on the desk, and Peter, trying to show his skills, accidentally knocked over one of the glasses, and it smashed to pieces on the floor. "Oh, hell, let it go," I said, perhaps a little tactfully.Unexpectedly, Peter turned on the light, brought a broom and bowl, carefully picked up the larger pieces like a pigeon pecking at them, and cleaned up the glass shards.This completely ruined the mood.We said goodbye quickly and angrily, and I didn't hear from him for over a week after that.Of course things are much better now. Peter stretched, yawned, and pressed my arm against the edge of the tub so painfully.I frowned, and gently pulled my arm out from under his body. "How's it going with you?" he asked casually, his mouth on my shoulder, the same phrase he keeps asking me. "Pretty good," I whispered back.How could he not see it?Sometimes I should say "terrible" for no other reason than to see how he reacts, but I don't have to ask and I know he won't believe it.I stretched out my hand to stroke his wet hair and scratched the back of his neck a few times in moderation, he liked it very much. Maybe he wanted to use the bathtub to express his personality, I tried to make sense of it.Is it asceticism?It is of the same nature as the tortures such as wearing horsehair shirts and sitting on nail boards that ancient people used to punish themselves, allowing their own flesh and blood to suffer.But Peter is obviously not like this. He likes a comfortable life; what's more, he is on top, and he is not the one who suffers from flesh and blood.Maybe it's just youthful recklessness, like jumping into a swimming pool without taking your clothes off, or putting something on your head at a party, but that doesn't apply to Peter either.It comforts me that all his old friends are home, or he might stuff us in the closet or pose in the kitchen sink in some weird way next time. Or—I shudder to think about it—he was trying to express my personality.There was this new possibility before me: did he really identify me with the things in the bathroom?What does he think of me? He ran his fingers through the hair on the back of my neck and whispered in my ear, "You'd look great in a kimono." He bit my shoulder, which I took to mean he was carefree , with extreme ease.Peter generally does not bite. I nibbled him on the shoulder in return, and then I glanced at the main shower switch, which was still on, and I stuck my right foot out -- I'm a smart one -- and turned on the cold water.