Chapter 14 Part 4 16/17/18

16 During the chorus of the answering round before Mass, Thomas noticed Father Sebastian looking at him, two small eyes glaring at him from behind huge black-rimmed glasses.Thomas wishes he didn't do it again.Once, Thomas made a point of meeting his eyes, but Sebastian wasn't embarrassed at all.Instead, he nodded, as if he understood, or wanted to say something.Thomas was sweating profusely under his ring robe.He felt as if he was wrapped in pink insulation.The woolen robes are too hot even in winter, and the heating furnace keeps blowing hot air. The dean once said in a very considerate tone, because the old monks are "cold".Thomas gritted his teeth and remained calm.Three years ago, he started swimming daily in the stream at the egret roost, which he built a temporary shelter on a small marshy island near the stream.He swims to cool himself down.He swims in winter with greater determination than in any other season, and he loves to plunge into icy water all at once.This reminded him of a scene called "Hell Moon" in the medieval "Day Book", which described a group of poor people who were burned, rushed out of the mouth of hell, and jumped into a small pool of cold water.His place is secluded, surrounded by lush green grass.It was a hidden pool formed at the end of a tributary of the brook.That's his private swimming pool.There is no such thing as swimming trunks in the monastery, so he swims naked.He should probably confess it during his public "confession" on Friday morning, when everyone confesses their sins, such as, "I accidentally broke a china lamp in the reception room," or "After the great silence of the evening , I slipped into the kitchen and ate the last of the cherry jelly," but he didn't really feel guilty.When he swims naked, he feels like he's entering a state of great bliss.People with religious beliefs are used to closing themselves off and paralyzing themselves.He strongly disapproved of it - people should be swimming naked.Some people need it more than others.Beads of sweat stood on the top of his lips, and he closed his eyes, imagining a cold stream running over his bare skin.The monks rank among the choir seats, that is, the ranks they call themselves: dean, vice-principal, auxiliary priest, novice supervisor, and the rest of the monks are ranked according to the number of years in the hospital.Thomas was standing in the last pew in the last row on the left side of the church.As the deputy dean, Father Sebastian stood in the first row of seats on the right side of the church, holding tightly in his hand the "St. Andrew's Daily Mass" that had been discarded in the 1960s.He was already blatantly glaring at himself.Thomas suddenly understood the reason for the look.His fingers clutched his prayer book.Father Sebastian saw him talking to Jessie Sullivan.The voice outside the chapel.He forgot that Sebastian always entered the church from the sacristy.There is no doubt that he overheard their conversation.Thomas thought back to some of the things he had said to her.Nothing inappropriate.They talked about the mermaid chair.For God's sake, it talked about prayer.He was simply being kind to the daughter of the woman who cooked their lunch.What's wrong with this?The monks are always talking to tourists.He stood in his seat, full of self-justification in his heart, and the shadow of the former lawyer emerged from him like Lazarus.He was surprised to find that he still had that instinct, and he defended his encounter with Jessie Sullivan so actively as if it were evidence against him.He stopped singing, and the abbot noticed, glanced at him, and frowned.Thomas started singing again, then stopped again, his arms hanging limply by his side.It was a revelation that he actually needed to defend himself.He moved his gaze slowly to Sebastian, and when the old monk's gaze met his, he nodded.The nod was an acknowledgment to himself, painfully aware that he could not defend himself, could not do it honestly, because from the moment he first saw her sitting on the rose garden floor, he had Been missing this woman.He thought of the shapely oval of her face, and the way she had looked at him before she stood up.What impressed him most was that she stood there with her head covering the moon.The moon was rising behind her, and for a second or two she looked like a lunar eclipse, with a faint halo around her head, her face hidden in a glowing shadow .Honestly, he couldn't breathe.

The scene seemed familiar to him, although he couldn't say what it was.He walked them back to Nell's house through the dark woods with them, talking to her mother all the way, but in his mind he imagined Jessie Sullivan's face hidden in the transparent darkness.This aroused in him a longing, which, instead of subsiding as he had hoped, intensified, so that sometimes he thought of her to such an extent that he could not sleep at night.He would get out of bed and read that Yeats poem about a man walking into a hazel grove with a fire in his head.Yeats composed this poem after meeting Maud Goner.One day Yeats caught a glimpse of Maud Goner at a window and fell hopelessly in love with her.More and more Thomas felt stupid for wanting her so obsessively.He felt as if he had been strangled in a hand-thrown fishing net in the monastery.For the past five years he has been coping well with the rhythm of monastic life: ora, labora, vitacommu-nis—prayer, work, community events.His life depends on it.Dom Anthony sometimes preached about what he called "laziness," the monotonous, routine life that monks found, but Thomas never saw it as a problem.His loved ones were gone and he was alive, and the rhythm and pace of the place was a comfort to him when he was in agony and his faith was shaken.And then, that seemingly ordinary moment: In a flowerless garden, the woman rose from the ground and turned toward him, her face hazy and beautiful, with a halo of light around her head.And so his deep sense of contentment was shattered, the whole perfect order was shattered.He felt her even now, familiar and familiar, like the stream flowing around him in the hidden waters in which he swam.He hardly knew her at all, but he took comfort in the fact that he saw the ring on her finger.She is married.He couldn't be more grateful for that.He remembered the shyness on her face when she talked about the egret courtship dance.He foolishly followed her to see the mermaid chair, and now he was going to sleep through the night again, imagining her standing in the chapel with her blue jeans stretched tight around her lap.The dean of the monastery began to lead everyone to celebrate mass. At the moment when the holy wafer was lifted, Thomas suddenly felt a strong longing, not for Jessie, but for his home, which he had in the monastery. Home, which he loved more than anywhere else in the world.He looked at the wafer and begged God to satisfy his heart with this morsel of Jesus' body.He was determined to forget her.He'll let himself out.he will.The monks filed out of the church to eat lunch in the refectory. Thomas slipped away from them and walked down the path to his house, not wanting to eat.Father Dominique was sitting on the porch in a rocking chair that had once been painted green.A brown and red kilt shawl was draped over his shoulders, and instead of rocking his chair as usual, he sat quite still, staring at a clump of parasitic vines on the ground.Thomas realized he hadn't seen him at mass.For the first time, he noticed that Dominic was very old. "Praise be to God," said Dominic, looking up, the old-fashioned greeting he often liked to greet him with. "Are you okay?" Thomas said.Except for three weeks in the infirmary in the spring, when Dominique came down with pneumonia, Thomas never remembered him missing mass.

Dominic smiled, with an unnatural expression.I'm very good.very good. ""You didn't go to Mass. said Thomas, walking out on the porch. 'Yes, God forgive me, I'm taking communion myself on the porch.Thomas, has it ever occurred to you that if God can be embodied in the wafer, can't He also be embodied in other things, such as the parasitic vine on the ground? "Thomas looking at the clump of vines that the wind has blown to the side of the steps. The vines look like tumbleweeds." I'm always thinking about that kind of thing.I just don't know, there are other people here doing this. "Dominic laughed." I don't know either.So we are two beans in one pod.Or rather, two heretics in one pod. "He stomped on the floor and slowly rocked the chair. Thomas listened to the creak of the wooden chair. On impulse, he knelt down beside the chair." Father Dominique, I know you are not my confessor, The dean will not agree to this, but... can you listen to my confession? "Dominic stopped shaking. He leaned over and looked at Thomas questioningly." You mean here?It's now? "Thomas nodded, his body tensing up impatiently. He suddenly felt a strong need to relieve himself." Well," Dominique said, "I've missed Mass anyway, so let's go.You say it. "Thomas solemnly knelt on the ground next to the rocking chair. He said: "Father, please bless me, I am guilty.I have not confessed for four days. "Dominique moved his eyes to the yard. Judging from the angle of his gaze, Thomas knew he was staring at the clump of parasitic vines again. Thomas said, "Father, something happened.I seem to be in love with a woman.I met her in the rose garden. "The wind was blowing all around them, and they sat in a stillness lurking in turmoil, and the air was cool and pleasant. Just saying these words--these unfettered, extremely dangerous words--Thomas's heart was overwhelmed with emotion." poured out. They took him to a place from which there was no turning back. There he was. Kneeling on a small porch beside Father Dominique. His head bowed. Milky air. In love with an almost stranger woman.

17 After meeting Friar Thomas in the Abbey Church, I lived in perplexity for many days.It started to rain, the cold monsoon rains of February.The island swayed violently in the Atlantic Ocean.I recall the winter rains in my childhood, cold and torrential.Mike and I huddled under an old boatcloth as we hurried down the street to school, rain beating our legs.Later, when we were a little older, we took the boat across the bay to catch the bus, the ferry bobbing like rubber ducks.For more than a week, I stood at the window of my mother's house and watched the rain splash through the oak leaves and onto the bathtub grotto in front of the house.I cook bland dinners from the pile of food in the pantry, I change my mother's bandages, I deliver her tan pills and red and white capsules on time, but I always seem to end up going back to the window, Silently looking out the window.I could feel myself withdrawing into a new corner of my mind.As if slipped into a nautilus shell.Helplessly, I slid backwards, through a spiral passage, and fell into a small, dark hole.Some days, my mother and I watch the Winter Olympics in front of her small TV.We sat in the same room in this way, as if we were living a normal life.Mother watched the TV screen, holding a rosary and counting the red beads one by one. When she had read all five rosaries, she would take the Rubik's cube that Dee gave her and use a Clumsily fiddling with a hand that Dee had given her for Christmas at least five years ago.Finally, she let the Rubik's Cube fall from her lap, and continued to sit there, fingers still twiddling unconsciously.I guess we were both preoccupied.The pain of the mother is palpable, her buried fingers, her past.But I missed Brother Thomas more and more, and I couldn't suppress the desire that kept growing in my heart.I tried to restrain myself, I really tried.I have already forgotten what that longing feels like, it suddenly flew up from the bottom of my heart like a flock of frightened birds, and then floated back slowly and dreamily like feathers.Where does this sexual desire come from?I used to fantasize about women hiding a little jar behind their belly button, an inborn canister of sexual fuel, and I feel like I've drained all the fuel out of that canister the first couple of years I've been with Hugh. exhausted.I've recklessly emptied the jar and, moreover, there's no way I can refill it.I once remarked to Hugh that my jars came in quarts, not gallons, and it was like having a little bladder—some women had bigger ones, others smaller.Hugh looked at me like I was talking crazy. "Men don't have that problem," I explained to him. "You don't need to store it like we do. Your sexual desire is like a faucet that can be turned on at any time, and it keeps flowing, like drinking water from a sink." "Is that so? ?” He said, did you learn these things in biology class? ""Some things are not recorded in books. "I said." Apparently so. "He laughed like I was joking. I was half joking, half serious. I do believe that a woman's libido is limited and once it's exhausted, it's gone.

Now I know I was wrong.No jars, big or small, just taps.All the taps are connected to an unfathomable ocean of eros.Probably, I let my faucet rust, or something blocked it.I don't know.Mother also became quieter in those days.She no longer mentioned going to the monastery to cook for the monks.She gave them to Friar Timothy's poor cooking.I kept thinking of what Hugh had said about the possibility that the mother's guilt-free mindset might still be there.I am anxious.Every time I look at her, I have a feeling in my heart, as if something huge and terrible is locked in the crypt, ready to burst out at any moment.For a day or two after her mother had buried her finger, she temporarily reverted to her old self.She was rambling on as before, and she was talking about changing the recipe for six for forty, about Julia Child, about the Pope's infallibility, and about Mike.Fortunately, she hadn't heard about Mike practicing Buddhism.My mother usually talks a lot and rarely hides her thoughts, but now she is very quiet.This is not a good sign.I couldn't muster the energy, or the courage, to ask her again about Dominique or bring up my father's pipe.Kate calls almost every day. "Are you two still alive?" she'd ask. "Maybe I should come and see you." I assured her we were fine.I don't want to be bothered, and she gets my point.Hugh also called.But, only once.It was the second or third day after I sat in the mermaid chair and felt the floodgates open.My mother and I were watching a bobsleigh race show.The first thing that came out of Hugh's mouth was, "Let's stop arguing." He wanted me to apologize for what happened last time.I can hear it.He is waiting patiently. "I don't want to quarrel either." That's all I can say.He waited a while longer.With a loud sigh, he said, "I hope you've reconsidered and changed your mind about me coming to Sea Island." "I haven't changed my mind at all," I said, "I still feel I should handle this myself thing." These words sounded harsh, so I tried to soften my tone. "Please try to think about it from my point of view, okay?" He said mechanically, "Okay," but I knew he wouldn't.That's the sad thing about living with geniuses—they're so used to being right all the time that they're never wrong.As we spoke, a black-eyed weariness hit me.I didn't mention Dominic to him, and how I suspected he had something to do with my mother, and I knew Hugh would dissect it all.He will also tell me what action to take.However, I want to go with my instincts. "When are you coming home?" Hugh wanted to know that.Home.How could I tell him that at this moment, I urgently need to escape from home.I felt an urge to say to him: Please, I want to live by myself for a while now, to go inside my nautilus shell and see what's inside.However, I didn't say a word.I was driven by an intense, disgusting sense of selfishness, dissatisfaction at home, and a sense of self-pity that was driving my behavior.My life seemed sweet and dull and small and repulsive.So many beings are not being used.For the past few days, I've been thinking about the kind of life I had hoped to live, the one I dreamed of long ago, filled with art, sex, and heady conversations about philosophy, politics, and God.In that fantasy life, I have my own gallery.I have drawn many surreal works full of amazing imagination and fantasy.Two years ago, by chance, I might have pursued that life, at least a small part of it.Two days before Christmas, I crawled into a sundry space under the skylight to retrieve my pricey china flatware set—an exquisite bone china set from Lenox that is no longer in production, so It is an irreplaceable treasure.

Porcelain is stored in boxes and is only taken out occasionally for important festivals and wedding anniversaries.Dee knew what I was doing as soon as he saw me. "Mom," she said, "why don't you use these cutlery more? What are you doing with them?" I heard her tone full of pity.Yes, what are you keeping it for?I don't know, speechless.Maybe save it for my own funeral.Dee would organize a tribute, and people would stand around my body and praise me for keeping a set of twenty pieces intact for many years.What a beautiful tribute.For days after that, I would feel discouraged thinking about my own narrow world.When did my fear of breaking plates become so great?But the yearning for the glorious moment is so small?Since then, I've made room in my kitchen closet for my china and haven't had any qualms about using them.Because today is Wednesday.Because someone bought one of my art boxes.Because it seems that Sam in the TV series "Jolly Bar" is finally going to marry Diana.However, the gratifying impulse towards the macroscopic realm has never gone beyond the scope of ceramic tableware.Telephone in hand, I wanted to tell Hugh about it—the skylight and the crockery, but I wasn't sure what I was about to say would make sense. "Jessie," I heard Hugh say, "did you hear me? When are you going to be home?" "I have no idea when I'm going to be home. Not yet. I might be here —I don't know—for a long time." "I see." I think he did.He understood that I was on the island not only to look after my mother, but also because of the restlessness I had felt all winter.For my own reasons, for both of us.

However, he didn't make it clear.He said: Jessie, I love you. "It may be cruel for me to say this, but I think he's testing me to see if I'll answer the same." I'll call you in a few days. "I said. After we hung up, I looked out at the rain-stained glass for a moment, then walked back to the living room to my mother and the TV and the bobsleigh race. Every afternoon around four o'clock, I would smell the nightfall. It crept in under the doors and windows--it was a damp, dark smell. At night, the longing for Thomas was even more unbearable. Every night, the sky As soon as it was dark, I began to indulge in an intricately programmed hot bath. I snuck a spare candle out of my mother's old weatherproof box and placed it on the rim of the tub. I lit the candle and Then, I turn the bath water as hot as I can stand until the bathroom is steamy. I also often sprinkle cedar leaves from the backyard in the water, or a handful of salt, or a few tablespoons of mother's Lavender oil, as if I'm brewing something. Sometimes, the scent can be overpowering. I slide my body into the water, leaving only my nostrils above the water. You'd think I'd just discovered water and the burning, silky feel of it. When I dive into the water, I enter a dreamlike state. I have always liked Chagall's "Lovers in the Red Sky", where a couple embraces in the sky above the roof and soars above the moon. Every time I The first time I sink into the water, the picture will appear in my mind. Sometimes the lovers fly in the red sky, and more often swim in the blue water. The rest of the time, I will think of Chagall The mermaid in the painting, the mermaid is hanging on the water, in the treetops, a flying mermaid, but without wings, then I remembered what Thomas said, he said that he envied mermaids because they belonged to the sea and the sky at the same time.

One night, I sat up in bed and felt something different around me.I realized that it was the silence on the roof.I looked out the window and the clouds had parted.Moonlight streamed into the room, phosphorescent like splinters of mica.I got up and searched around the house for something to draw on, anything.I found some colored pencils in a broken box in Mike's desk, which Mike must have left here twenty years ago.I stood at the kitchen table sharpening the pencil with a fish knife.Unable to find any paper other than a notebook, I took the huge framed "Lighthouse on Morris Island" off the mantelpiece, unceremoniously took the picture out of the frame, and, impatiently, began to Sketching up on the back of the painting, my movements are involuntary, hungrily, and completely foreign to me.I covered the whole paper with blue lines of sea water.I drew a nautilus shell in each corner, and a sliver of orange light shone through the cracks on the shell. On the bottom edge of the drawing paper, I drew many tortoise shells, and piles of tortoise shells fell to the ground. Rising from the bottom of the sea, it looks like a civilization that sank into the bottom of the sea—the lost empire of Atlantis.In the very center of the drawing paper, I drew a pair of lovers.Their bodies were pressed together, their limbs entangled.The woman's hair wrapped the two of them like May Day ribbons.They are flying.Fly underwater.Such creations are exhilarating—and a little scary.It's like driving a car and a tire suddenly blows out.When I was done, I put the lighthouse painting back in the frame and hung it on the wall above the mantel with the couple facing the wall.It was impossible to go back to bed and sleep.All the cells in my body have been mobilized.I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.I was sitting at the table, slowly sipping chamomile tea from a chipped cup, when suddenly I heard a scratching sound on the door, a clear, deliberate sound.I turned on the porch light and looked out the kitchen window.Max was sitting on the porch, his black fur wet and dirty.I open the door. "Oh, Max, look at you." It raised its head and looked at me inquiringly.Come on in. "Everyone knows that Max takes turns sleeping in different people's homes on the island, and only he knows the schedule. His mother once said that he would come to sleep every other month, but I believe it must not be in the middle of the night. I I don't know if it was kicked out by the previous owner. Did it see the light here? I took out the old sheet that my mother had prepared for it from the storage room. It lay curled up on it, and I sat on it. On the ground, use a dishcloth to help it dry." What are you running around in the middle of the night? "I said. It pricked up its ears slightly, and then put its head on my thigh. I stroked its ears, and remembered that Thomas said that Max often went with him to visit the egret habitat by boat." You like Thomas Monk? "I said. He tapped his tail a few times, and I think he picked up the sweetness in my voice--the tone you use when teasing a baby, or a puppy, or a kitten. I know, I too. Like him." Stroking Max's head is more effective than drinking tea.The passion in me started to fade. "Max, what should I do?" I said, falling in love. "I was aware of it when I sat in the mermaid chair, but didn't say it. I was astonished to find that confessing it, even to a dog, was a great comfort." Max Shh I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I don't know how to cut off this feeling. How to let go of the thought in my mind - he is my destiny. This is not just about a man who excites me - but also his The sky unfolded in front of me, and things about him that I didn't know, didn't experience, and probably never would. At this moment, it seemed to me that I would rather suffer the breakdown of my marriage than let The rest of my life was spent regretting that I hadn't really known him, that I hadn't been able to fly in red skies or blue waters." My husband's name was Hugh. "I said to Max, who is already asleep at the moment." Hugh. "I said it again, and then, silently repeating the name in my head, as if doing so would save myself. Hugh. Hugh. Hugh.

18 On March 2nd, I slowly drove the golf cart out of the garage and down the dirt road to the business district near the ferry terminal.The sun came out again, with an indifferent expression typical of winter, shining high in the sky like a stiff little fireball.As I bumped my way through the oak forest, I felt like an animal that just came out of the ground.I want to buy some groceries from the jiujiu grocery store, and see if they have oil paints on sale - besides Mike's colored pencils, I need something to draw.Most of all, I want to talk to Kate about Father Dominique.The ferry was moored at the pier, and a few tourists strolled the sidewalk, windbreakers zipped up to their necks.I parked in front of Kate’s gift shop, and Max was sitting under that striped blue and white pergola.Kate nailed a small mirror next to the store door, an old Grad tradition meant to scare away the "booga witches".As soon as I opened the door, Max slipped into the store ahead of me.Kate, Bane, and Hepjibba are sitting behind the counter eating ice cream from plastic bowls.They were the only ones in the store.

"Jessie." Bane yelled.Kate smiled at me.Welcome to the world of the living.Do you want ice cream? "I shook my head. Hepu Jiba was wearing an ebony gown with streaks of white lightning bolts on it and her signature matching kerchief wrapped around her head. She looked like a beautiful thunderstorm flower Cloud. Max plopped down at Bane's feet, and Bane patted it with his hand, and glanced at me. Mom said, You're rude." "Oh, for God's sake, Bane, Do you have to repeat everything I say?" "Do you think I'm being rude?" I asked, trying to tease her, but also a little annoyed.She pursed her lips and smiled. "Well, what if someone called you every day and said, 'Can I come and see you?Can I bring you dinner?Can I come over and kiss your feet? ’ The only response the guy got was, ‘Thank you, we’re fine.Fuck off now. 'How do you explain that? ""I didn't say 'now fuck off,' and I don't remember you saying you were going to kiss my feet.Of course, you can kiss now if you want. "For some reason, every time I'm near Kate, I become like her." We're all pissed, aren't we? "She said, 'Of course, if I'm locked up with Neil DuBois for two weeks, I'm going to throw a grenade at the crowd. “I looked around the store for the first time. The tables and wall shelves in the store were filled with a dizzying array of mermaid merchandise: key chains, beach towels, greeting cards, embossed soaps, bottle openers, paper presses and night lights, and There are mermaid dolls, mermaid hair combs and mirror sets, and even mermaids hanging on the Christmas tree. Some "mermaids pass by here" signs are stuck in the corner on an umbrella stand, and a dozen mermaid wind chimes hang from the ceiling In the center of the shop, on a table, is a stack of pamphlets, The Mermaid's Tale, written by Father Dominique, and a sign declares that these pamphlets are "attached with the author's autograph." Pick Something," said Kate, a gift from me - earrings or something." "Thanks, but I can't." "You're being rude again," she said.I picked up a box of "Mermaid Tears."Well then, I'll take this. "Bane brought me a folding chair from the closet, and I sat down." What brought you to town? asked Hepjibba. Food.I also want to see if I can find—” I stopped talking, feeling that what I was going to say was a bit difficult to say. I guess it was my old habit again. I always want to keep my art safe, so Like shutting a kid in her room who might be misbehaving. I looked down at my hands. My palms were clasped together, tightly between my knees." Art Supplies," I struggled Said, hoping no one noticed my strained tone. "Watercolours, brushes, some cold press paper..." "Jiujiu Daily Grocer sells hot dog toasters and straw dolls, but, I'm not sure they sell art supplies either, said Kate. She reached for a pencil and paper from the counter. 'Here you are, write down what you want, and I'll have Sham buy it for you the next time you cross the sea. "I'm scribbling down some basic supplies. They're scooping up the last bits of ice cream from the bottom of the bowl." So you're going to be here for a while, right? said Hepjibba. "Mother needs me, so yes, I think I will. "Kate raised her eyebrows. How long is 'for a while'?" "Indefinitely, I suppose," I said, trying to change the subject. "What about Hugh?" she asked.I handed her the shopping list. "When you called me and accused me of not caring about my mother—I believe your exact words were, 'You can't pretend you don't have a mother.' Now you accuse me of not caring about Hugh?" When I said When it came to the word Hugh, my voice seemed to turn into a bleat.Kate reacted as if I had slapped her in the face. "My God, Jess, I don't care if you take care of Hugh at home. The man can take care of himself. Since when did I worry about men wanting their wives to take care of them? I just want to know , do you two get along well?" "That's none of your business," Hepujiba said to her.I don't understand why Kate said that, well tell us now - how is Neil? "Hepujiba asked. I shrugged." Honestly, I thought my mother was depressed.The only thing she does is sit in a chair, staring at the TV and juggling with Rubik's Cube. ""Let's go to Max Cafe for lunch! Kate blurted out. The dog had been snoring softly with its head resting on Bane's shoe, and now it heard its name called, and suddenly opened its eyes. We're going to Max's Cafe this Saturday. Lunch.” For years, Mother had been trying to break free from the knot that had thrown the three of them into the sea that night—the knot that bound them together.However, Kate refused to allow her to isolate herself.Her loyalty—and Hepjibba's—never wavered, not once. “这是一个好主意，”我说道，我意识到自己跟凯特生气永远超不过三分钟。我不知道为什么会这样——她是我所见过的最招人厌的女人。但是，我怀疑她不会来。 “我加上一句。”告诉她教皇这个星期六会在马克斯咖啡店里吃午餐。这应该行了吧。 “赫普吉巴朝我转过身来。”就告诉她，我们想念她了，想见一见她。 “”我尽量吧，“我说，但是，别指望太多。”

我的视线越过她们，看到了我十一岁时画的那幅沉船图，图画被镶在镜框里挂在收银机后面的墙上。哎，看哪，我的画在那儿。“一艘燃烧着的白色游船沉在海底，旁边有一只喜笑颜开的章鱼，一个长着一双觊觎眼睛的巨大蛤蜊，以及一群前后摇摆的海马。那幅画看上去好像是儿童图画书中欢喜的一页——只是那艘船正在画面的中心燃烧。水底下的烈火——我小时候对他的死就是这样理解的吗？无法扑灭的地狱之火？在波浪起伏的海面上，灰色的灰烬像浮游生物一样漂浮着，但是，太阳在天空中绽出灿烂的笑容，世界是一个宁静、晴朗的地方。直到此刻，我才意识到那幅画中蕴藏了多少心痛——那是一个孩子的祈望，希望世界变回它原来美好的模样。当我转过头来，我发现赫普吉巴正在注视着我。”我记得你画那幅画时的样子。你是一个多么悲伤的小女孩啊。“凯特向她皱了皱眉头。你真会扫兴，提这种事。”赫普吉巴说道：“杰茜确实很悲伤。她知道，我们也知道。所以，为什么不能提呢？”她从来不理会凯特的乖张，这可能就是她们为什么相处得那么好的原因。“你为什么从来不愿意说起那段时间呢？”我问凯特，“我想说一说。我需要这样做。比如说，我想知道为什么每个人，包括母亲在内，都说船火是由我父亲的烟斗引起的。”“因为确实是烟斗引起的船火。”凯特说道，我看到赫普吉巴点了点头。“可是，我在母亲卧室里的抽屉里找到了这个。”我边说边把烟斗从我的手提袋里拿了出来。我用双手捧着烟斗，好像它是圣餐饼或者一只折断了翅膀的蝴蝶。一股混杂着甘草的烟草味从烟斗巢里飘逸出来。 她们默不作声地望着烟斗，吃冰淇淋用的空碗倾斜着放在她们的膝盖上。她们的脸上毫无表情。终于，凯特问道：奈尔怎么说？“”我还没有向她提起过。我害怕她看到烟斗又该乱套了。“凯特伸出手来，我把烟斗递给了她。她将烟斗翻来覆去看了好几遍，好像她能从烟斗上找到什么答案似的。”当警察说烟斗引起了船火，他们也只是猜测。这么说，是别的东西了——现在又有什么分别呢？“她把烟斗还给了我。”但是，烟斗一直在她手里，她为什么还让警察和其他人相信是烟斗呢？她为什么要撒谎？“我问道。太阳穿过一个小小的云罅，从商店正面的橱窗外照射进来，她们三个人都掉过头去，望着布满尘埃的光线。”我去见过多米尼克神父，“我说，”我差不多明白地告诉了他，我怀疑他知道母亲切断手指的原因。“”我不相信你这样做了。“凯特说。”真的。你知道他对我说什么了吗？别刨根问底。他说，如果我那样做的话，会伤害母亲的。“”他那样说了？“凯特站起身来，走到柜台旁边，”这没有道理。“她望了赫普吉巴一眼，后者看上去跟她一样茫然。”他有事瞒着我。“我坚持说。凯特走到我的椅子背后。她把两只手轻轻地放在我的肩膀上。当她开口的时候，她声音里时常出现的那股尖酸刻薄劲儿不见了。”我们会把事情弄清楚的，杰茜，好吗？我会跟多米尼克谈一谈。“我感激地抬头朝她笑了笑。我能够看到她的化妆粉抹到下颚时留下的一道边缘。她咽了一口涎水，喉结滑上去，显露出她的满腔温柔。 她肯定觉得这一时刻变得过分柔腻了，她迅速地把手移开，改变了话题。 “作为交换条件，你一定要给我画一些美人鱼的画，拿到商店里来出售。”“什么？”她走过来，站在我的面前。 “你听到我说的话了。你说你要绘画，那么，就画美人鱼吧。它们会在这里卖得很火的。你可以寄售。我们会要一个好价钱的。”我望着她，张口结舌。我的脑海中浮现出一幅画布，画布上是青石色的天空，长着翅膀的美人鱼们像天使一般在天空中飞翔，然后，从高空中跳进海水里。我试图回忆起托马斯说过的关于长翅膀的美人鱼的事情。关于海中女神从海底深处带来神灵谕示。生活在海天两界。凯特说：怎么样？干不干？ “”我可能会试一试。Let's see. “我刚才见到的那一伙游客走进了商店，凯特走过去迎接他们，赫普吉巴站起身，说她该回家了。我也该走了，但是，我却继续同贝恩一起坐在那里，脑子里想着托马斯。在过去的十二天里，我被困在母亲的房子里，我跟自己说了许许多多自相矛盾的话。什么我爱上了一个人，不仅如此，这是一个伟大的爱情，轻易地放弃这份爱情，就是对自己生命的否定。然后，我又想，这只不过是一种不理智的迷恋，是一时的神魂颠倒，一切都会过去，我一定要克制自己。我不明白爱一个人为什么会有那么多的痛苦。我的心好像被割出了一道道血淋淋的伤口。贝恩挺起腰杆，眯缝起眼睛望着我，舌尖搭在下嘴唇上。”杰茜？ “她说道。 “什么事，贝恩？”她把自己的椅子拉过来，坐到我的身边，她把嘴唇凑到我的耳朵上，就像小孩们说悄悄话时那样。“你爱上了一位修士。”她悄声说道。我猛地坐直了身子，眨着眼睛望着她。“你从哪里得来的这个念头？”“我就是知道。”反驳她是毫无意义的。贝恩当然从来不会错。我想生她的气，想打她一巴掌，惩罚她窥探我的内心世界，但是，她挺直了胸脯坐在椅子上，满脸笑容地望着我，这个与我同龄的女人，拥有一个孩子般的甜美心灵，又拥有一种非凡的特异功能。她甚至不知道，事实的真相会是多么危险，它所携带的那些细小、具有摧毁力的种子。“贝恩，”我说道，拉起她的手，“仔细听着。你不许跟任何人说起这件事。答应我。”“但是，我已经说了。”我把她的手放开，闭上了眼睛，过了一会儿才问她。“谁？”我说。“你告诉谁了？”“妈妈。”她回答道。