Chapter 24 twenty three

23 Marianne was lying on the bed with idle eyes, and Peter put an ashtray on the back of her bare back, and he lay beside her, smoking and drinking his double whiskey.The stereo in the hall was playing brisk music. Although she tried her best not to frown, she was worried.This morning her body ordered a refusal to accept the canned rice pudding, which she had been eating well for weeks.At first, she was quite relieved to have this stuff as a backing, because it provided most of the nutrition and, as the nutritionist Mrs. Weizers said, it was fortified.But just as she was pouring cream on the cloth, she suddenly felt as if she saw small cocoons containing small lives.

Ever since it happened, she has been trying to convince herself that there is nothing wrong with her, that this little ailment, like rubella, will go away soon.But now she can no longer escape it.She wondered if she should talk to someone.She had talked to Duncan, but to no avail, he seemed to think it was normal, but what really bothered her was the feeling that it was probably not normal.Because of this, she dared not tell Peter.Because he probably thought she was a bit of a pervert or neurotic.In this way, he will naturally think about the marriage. He may propose to postpone the wedding until she recovers from illness.If it had happened to him, she would have said the same thing.So, after marriage, she can no longer hide it, what should she do?She can't imagine.Maybe they can have their own meals.

She was drinking coffee in the morning, staring at the uneaten rice cloth in a daze, when Ainsley in a dark green nightgown walked in.Lately she has stopped humming songs while knitting.She did read a lot, she said, as she tried to nip problems in the bud. She gathered her iron-fortified yeast, malt, orange juice, her special laxative, and fortified cereal on the table, and sat down. "Ainsley," Marianne asked, "do you think I'm normal?" "Normal doesn't mean like most people," Ainsley said vaguely. "No one is normal." She opened a paperback book and began to write in it with a red pencil. Underline.

Anyway, Ainsley couldn't tell why.If only two months ago, she would have said that Marianne's sex life was wrong, and that would be ridiculous.Or she might say it had something to do with some childhood trauma, like eating a centipede in a salad, or like Lun eating chicken, but Marianne had no memory of it ever happening to her. .She has never been a picky eater, and her parents have trained her to eat everything since she was a child. People say that you may not be used to eating olives, asparagus, and clams at first, and you will like it after eating for a while, but she has never been so.But lately Ainsley has been talking a lot about behaviorism.She said that if people with alcoholism, homosexuality and other problems want to be cured, behavioral psychologists have a way to cure them. They show patients various images related to their problems, and then give them drugs that make them breathe suspended drug.

“They say whatever the root cause of a behavior is, it’s the behavior itself that’s the problem,” Ainsley told her. Might divert the addiction to something else, for example from alcohol to drugs, or just kill myself. I need prevention, not cure. If Len is going to be cured, even if they can fix him," she said grimly , "He will still blame me, saying that I made him sick in the first place." Marianne figured that behaviorism wouldn't be of much use in her situation.How can you exert influence on a disease like hers that has no positive signs at all?It would be easy if she was just greedy.The doctor can't show her the image of not eating first, and then ask her to stop breathing.

She wondered if she could talk to someone else.The three virgins in the office will be very interested and will want you to tell me everything, but she doesn't think they can give her any constructive advice.Besides, if she told any one of them, the other two would know, and before long, every one of their acquaintances would know, and perhaps Peter would too.The other friends are not here, either in other cities, or have gone abroad. It seems too much to write a letter.As for the landlady...that's just a helpless way, she will be like a relative, she will sympathize, but she can't understand.Everyone would think it was outrageous, because eating is a natural function of the human body, and Marianne should have something wrong with it.

She decided to go to Clara's, without much hope—Clara certainly couldn't offer her any specific advice, but at least she would listen carefully.Marianne called first, knowing that she would not be going out, so she left work early. As soon as she came in she saw Clara playing in the playpen with the second child, the youngest sleeping in the baby carrier which was left on the table in the dining room, and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. "Glad you're here," she said. "Joe's at school. I'll be out and make tea in a minute. Alan doesn't like being in the pen," she explained. "I'm trying to get her used to it."

"Let me make tea," said Marianne, who always felt that Clara was a disabled person who had to be served her meals. "You don't move." After searching for a while, she found tea, lemons and some biscuits in the laundry basket. She made the tea and brought it on a tea tray and placed it on the floor. Clara. "Well," Clara asked after Marian sat down on the carpet and the two were at the same height, "How's things going? They must be busy enough preparing for the wedding these days." For the first time in three years Marianne felt envious of Clara as she sat on the floor and the child bit the button of her blouse and watched her.For better or for worse, Clara's future is starkly in front of her eyes, and the path of her life from now on can be seen.She didn't want to switch places with Clara, she just wanted to know what she was going to be, which way she was going to go, so that she could prepare herself.What she is afraid of is waking up early one morning and discovering that she has become another person unknowingly.

"Clara," she asked, "do you think I'm a normal person?" Clara was her old friend, and her opinion would not be worthless.Clara thought for a moment. "Well, I think you're pretty normal," she said, unbuttoning Vinland's mouth. "I'd say you're a little abnormally normal, you know what I mean. What's the matter?" A stone fell from Marianne's heart, as she thought so herself.However, if there is nothing abnormal about her, how can she encounter such problems? "I've been in a bit of trouble lately," she said. "I just don't know what to do."

"Oh, what's the matter? No, you filthy little pig, this is mother's." "There's something I can't swallow, a terrible feeling," she wondered if Clara was listening to her. "I see," said Clara, "I've never eaten liver." "But I have always eaten these things, not because I hate their taste, but because of the whole..." It's hard to explain. "I think it's the nerves of the soon-to-be-brides," said Clara. "I threw up early in the morning all week before my wedding, and so did Jo," she added. "It'll all pass." Yes. Do you want to know something about... sex life?" she asked cautiously, and Marianne was amused to see her so discreet.

"No thanks, no need," she said.Although she knew that Clara's explanation was not correct, she felt better. The record started playing in the middle again, and she opened her eyes, and from where she lay she saw a green plastic aircraft carrier under the lamplight on Peter's desk.Peter has a new hobby of assembling model ships from components.He said it relaxes the mind.She also helped out as the boat was assembled, handing him the parts as she read the instructions aloud. She turned her head from the pillow and smiled at Peter, who smiled back at her, his eyes gleaming in the half-light. "Peter," she asked, "am I normal?" He laughed, patted her bottom, and said, "Honey, I have limited experience, but I'd say you're incredibly normal." She sighed; she didn't mean it that way. "I can have another drink," Peter said, always asking her to fetch things for him.The ashtray was taken off her back, she turned over and sat up, pulling the sheet up to wrap herself around her body.Spoon Items, please turn the record over, good man. " Marianne turned the record over, and though she was wrapped in a sheet and had venetian blinds on the window, she was naked and uncomfortable standing in the hall.Then she went into the kitchen and filled Peter's wine.She felt very hungry, and she had only a little for dinner.She took the cake out of the box, which she had picked up on the way back from Clara's that afternoon.The day before was Valentine's Day, Peter sent her a bouquet of roses, she felt a little guilty, she thought she should send him something, but didn't know what to buy.The cake wasn't really a gift, it was just a sign.It was heart-shaped with pink icing, maybe not very fresh, but she liked the shape. She found two plates, two forks and two paper towels, and cut open the cake.Unexpectedly, the inside of the cake was also pink. She put another piece into her mouth and began to chew slowly. On her tongue, she felt that the cake was fluffy and full of small holes, as if thousands of tiny lungs had exploded. .She shivered, spit the cake into a paper towel, and scraped the contents of the plate into the trash, before wiping her mouth with the edge of the sheet. She went into the bedroom with Peter's wine and saucer. "I'll bring you a cake," she said. It's an experiment, not on Peter, but on herself. If Peter can't eat it, then she's perfectly fine. "That's very kind of you," he said, taking the saucer and glass and setting them down on the floor. "You don't want to eat?" Suddenly, she felt hopeful. "Wait a minute," he said, "wait a minute." He pulled the sheet off her. "Honey, you're a bit cold, come on, come warm up." His mouth was full of whiskey and cigarettes.He pulled her on him, and the rustling white sheets wrapped their bodies. She could only smell the familiar fragrance of his soap in her nose, and the brisk music played in her ears non-stop. ringing. After a while, Marianne was lying on the bed again with an ashtray on her waist, but this time her eyes were open.She watched Peter eat the cake. "It really whetted my appetite," he told her, grinning.It seemed he didn't think there was anything wrong with the cake: he didn't even wrinkle his brow.