Chapter 4 3

------------------ 3 This morning, to prove a job was about to start—which turned out not to be true—I ran into an old friend, Perry the roofer.Not exactly hit.I was wandering aimlessly in the city when I heard someone calling me in the distance. I looked around and saw no one, and looked up to find him waving to me from the top of the courthouse.He had been working on the roof for a fortnight in his own skilful manner, as if he had been there specially to observe the goings and goings of Goublesville. "I saw you hurrying up and down down there looking for work," he explained.By this time I had climbed up the rickety ladder and came to him on the slippery and steep snow path that he had shoveled away.I noticed that from where he sat he had a great view of the city, so I couldn't deny it.

"Yeah, I've been looking for it for a while," I smiled awkwardly, "what else did you see?" "Saw you surreptitiously picking popcorn off the floor in front of the Goublesville Theater," Perry said, biting down on the cigarette butt with his teeth, his long pointed face cracking into a smile. "That's for the birds," I lied. "Feed it with popcorn!" He winked and said treacherously. "What are you doing climbing on the roof in winter?" "What do you look like?" He smiled and directed me to work, asking me to pass him tiles from a slab nailed to the roof.

After tossing for a while I climbed up and rode up to the courthouse roof.Once I relax and look out over the city's snow-covered roofs, I begin to understand why Perry is so passionate about roofing.Since returning from Vietnam, Perry has become increasingly withdrawn from the crowd.I leaned against the chimney and watched him carefully hammer nails into a new shingle, thinking what better career he could have chosen?I found my balance on the roof, and vaguely realized that the extreme happiness came from this place reserved only for birds and madmen.On the one hand, the work gave people hope, I think, as Perry worked on the roof winter and summer to keep it from leaking.I mean, it's one thing.There was, however, something underlying Perry's isolation that made me anxious—although I couldn't say exactly what.

"Hey. Wake up. Get up. Stop watching me sleep," he called from within an inch of the eaves. "Here's a bundle." I lifted a bundle of tiles, and moved slowly and timidly towards him, trying not to look under the eaves.Just as he grabbed the bundle of heavy objects from my hands, a strong wind happened to blow directly under the eaves.I felt that I was about to be blown off the roof by the wind, so I retreated desperately, and finally climbed to the chimney in time. For the sake of my precious life, I clung to the chimney tightly and never let go. "Stupid." Perry smiled at me, his feet easily standing on such a steep place, Shingen.

"Don't panic. Anyone who falls is a scared person." "I'm scared." "Hey, want to make 50 bucks fast?" he said aloud. "Up here?" I said tremblingly. "No. No. What you have to do is open a window." "What kind of windows?" "A window is a fucking window. Just a big glass picture window, get it? Easy. You can at least make a window?" "You don't want to do that job?" I faltered. "I thought you were in a hurry to find work?" he said.He tapped the nails, the cigarette drooping from his mouth. "Listen, don't ask me so many stupid questions. All you have to do is simply open a hole, put the window in, and—hey, don't screw it up, can you?" He suddenly remembered something. I started to look at it and said.

"Of course not, why did you mess it up?" "Don't ask me. Look, if I send you there, you've got to do a good job. I recommended you. You know what I mean." "Of course. Of course I understand. Don't be so nervous. Trust me." I said as I heard the jingle of 50 silver coins falling into the cash machine. After passing several more bundles of heavy tiles to Perry, he finally stopped to rest for a while.Perry stared at the sky thoughtfully and took a few puffs of his cigarette, then suddenly turned to me and asked, "Why on earth didn't you leave Goublesville? You don't even expect to find any job here."

"I haven't tried all the opportunities yet." "You should live in a big city, Nudelman, that's where you belong." "Yeah, living with those jews in New York City, huh?" he laughed. "Of course," Perry repeated.He always covets my woodsy nest and whenever he can he sneaks away from his wife or comes down from the roof to my kitchen and he just sits quietly drinking his coffee and watching the deer graze in the fields . Yes, I leaned against the chimney and agreed with him in my heart, he was right.leave here.should.But how can I leave?Knowing that it has been a rough few months, that spring is upon us, and that in a few months we can hear the tick-tock of melting icicles, smell the scent of young grass, see the first flowers bloom in the still-covered On the snowy land.Then came the scorching hot summer, a large number of delicious fruits were on the market, a hundred insects swarmed, and there was a lot of excitement, and then the midsummer passed quickly, and then... Autumn was crisp, clear and white, and autumn came unexpectedly.How, how can I get out of here now?

The sky was overcast in the morning, and I read the newspaper carefully in the kitchen for a while before I went to install the windows.Thanks to the kind attention of my good friend Marvin Mandel (known to his fellow scientists as Dr. Mann), I became a regular correspondent for The New York Times.Today I am reading last Sunday's newspaper, but as far as I am concerned, it doesn't matter which day I read. Last month's or last year's paper makes no difference to me, not to mention that I am no longer the same as today. Civilized American society is out of sync.Today was an exception, and I was actually reading a newspaper.Usually those old newspapers are piled on the dining table with the old clothes, and Man's wife Betty brought the undersized clothes for my children - there are a few plastic bags lying next to them containing the leftovers of Mandel's dinner The leftovers of the food, they have no intention of raising dogs, so they always reward us with these things.

Sometimes those bags sit there for days, until I don't want to watch the world being swallowed by the snowflakes anymore, and then I shake the contents of the bag to my dog; my child's mouth is too delicate to refuse. Eat what's left of Man.But these bags also reveal a very interesting fact.As can be seen from the leftovers, pasta and Campbell's canned goods were the staples of the Mandel household.As the rhetoric says: "Putting Campbell in the dining cabinet is like keeping money in the bank." Although the annual income is only 40,000, you don't have to be too careful.

"Is inflation hitting you as hard as it is us?" Betty asked me when I ran into her a few days ago.Several shopping bags slung across her slender arms. Yes. The New York Times? Sunday Edition.I often read the economics column first.A lot of information, really good. The Times is the Times, and it's a warning of what we're about to face with the recent business boom and hyper-inflation—fasten your seat belts, man! — A Great Depression. Impatiently, I called Viveka over and read the news to her.If the current situation is a period of prosperity, what will be the situation of the Great Depression in the future?I pondered while packing up my tools.Vivica was really worried.I find it rather interesting.I've always thought I'd hit rock bottom, but in fact I've been living in the midst of contemporary prosperity.My curiosity was piqued, and I cranked up the speed a few dangerous kilometers on the way into town in my battered old car, tangled in wires and Persian tape.I chewed my gum, and my eyes searched for evidence that Time's news was correct.I drove south to north to the address Perry had given me in Goobsville Heights.Along the way, we passed shabby houses, tacky buildings, matchbox buildings and prefabs.Life in the backwoods of Goobsville is more Appalachian than Appalachian.At least coal was produced there, and there was nothing here but poor farming land that even the Indians didn't want.Of course there are also people here, people who were forced to leave the land and transfer to factories.It was cold and damp in Goobsville, but the air was tinged with discontent that was on fire.If there is going to be a revolution, I think it will not be on a college campus, and it will not be caused by disenfranchised black people, let alone well-meaning liberals, but in places like ancient and civilized Places like Goobsville.It is haunted by poverty, and hostility to the rich and educated is on the rise, and people regard these people as disgusting as acne on the back of teenagers.It's funny how I didn't see it all during the good years.Better days are for me personally.

①Appalachia: The mountainous region in the eastern part of the United States, ancient and poor. I continued to drive forward, and the urban scenery of the mountain city gradually replaced the rural scenery.The low houses and dilapidated farmhouses gradually recede into an open land dotted with pink and green, looking up at the tall buildings on the hill.downhill.downhill.The road begins to extend down the slope until it reaches Goublesville in the valley—surrounded by mountains, the famous Goboswell University is located on the east hill overlooking the city, and the famous Gooseville University is on the west side of the mountain. Not small Lower Interstein Goubleswell College.The western mountain is said to be a residential area, while the high part of the northern mountain is a military factory, where mortars, rocket launchers and bombs are produced 24 hours a day.I became convinced that it was them, and only them, that had the power to change this place. I finally drove into the messy urban area.It used to be a pretty town, but now it's a sprawling mess of jagged houses and linoleum-covered gables, with a few isolated old Victorians and Tudors - tucked away in Goobswell Valuable possessions in the slums of the town center, they tell me of a time when people felt happier than they are now. I honestly began to loathe the trip and groped and found ways to minimize the pain.I just looked at the building that was mind-blowing - the Old Town Hall, a white building with a spire and dormer windows, and the doctor's office in the white building.Elegant old restaurants with white colonnades converted into cheap hotels. What a strange town Goobsville was, I couldn't help thinking about it as I waited for the green light.Then I saw five snotty, yellow-toothed children in tow by a malnourished mother who knew as well as I did that the snobby academics at Goublesville University on the hill were idling away. time, daydreaming about going to the Nile or Athens this summer, or the Swiss Alps, where they can hold imaginary math meetings over wine.It's disgusting.How enviable.I can still fondly recall the good old days when I received checks on a regular basis and felt like a prince.The wind had picked up again, and clusters of snow were crackling against the windshield.I'm a little worried.Perhaps, as Dr. Mandel said, I have become an anarchist. The green light came on, and my thoughts returned to the task at hand—installing the windows was worrying me again. When I excitedly told Vivica the good news last night without thinking, she asked me, "But, do you know how the windows are fixed?" "What's there to know? I've built houses before." "Have you installed windows, too?" "Oh my God, don't score me so low. You need money, don't you?" "I'm just worried. It's the house on the uplands. You know the people who live there. They're not ordinary people." "Me neither. Wait and see, I'll do a good job. Maybe it'll lead to other jobs, bigger jobs. Maybe start a repair business or something. Who can tell." I searched for the address as I waddled up the steep and fashionable Goobsville Heights.311 Willow Road.After a few sharp turns we were at the place we were looking for.High class, I think so.Stunning old-fashioned stone houses intersect with cedar and redwood Victorian buildings, and modern homes are also mixed in.This is in stark contrast to the rest of Goobsville.On this hill lived the best of the best in Goublesville. 301. 303. 305.Bankers, lawyers, car dealers, and—oh no!Really bad!I parked the car in front of Gate 311, read the names on the mailbox, and couldn't help groaning in pain.There are so many people in the world, why is Gentz's home?Martin Gentz.Former colleague, emeritus professor, famous child psychologist, with a typical German accent and a German beard - the stern-faced, defiant, pretentious jerk who always thought of me as useless.I parked the car in front of the house and turned off the engine.Filled with apprehension, I pick up tools and put them down, fumbling around in the toolbox, hoping to leave the hammer or some other important tool at home.Oh shit.How much do I need that 50 bucks?Very necessary.No.I absolutely cannot go in.I started the car and headed downhill.After a few hundred yards I started thinking about the money again, and what it could be used for.I turned the car around and headed back the same way.This is no joke.I need this job.I went straight in, put the windows up, took my money and left.I packed up the saw, measuring tape, and toolbox and set out on the long stone path that had been swept clean with the snowplow and broom.I could tell at a glance that Dr. Gentz's house was an old Victorian house that had been restored as it was.There is no sign of peeling or chipping of the paint.As good as it gets, I muttered to myself as I rang the doorbell, trying not to think about Martin Genz. The front door opened, and there stood a wrinkled old woman with blue-gray hair, who was as large as a box with two thin sticks sticking out for legs.From her square jaw, Cro-Magnon forehead, and suspicious eyes, she knew that he was Dr. Gentz's wife.I might be lucky, I thought, looking into the empty room behind her.They may all be out.I quickly finished my work, knocked in the window, and got out of here before the Gentzes came home. "Hello. I'm a carpenter." I said happily holding up the chainsaw to prove my identity. "You're late," she growled. "It's late, I know. The weather is bad. The roads are slippery because..." "Come in. The cold air is coming in. The heat," she said with German rigor, "is all out." "Oh, yes." I hurried into the door. "Scrape the soles of your shoes first." "I'm sorry." I said as I stepped over the threshold and rubbed the soles of my shoes. "This way. Follow me." Commander Gentz ​​ordered.I followed behind her respectfully, stepping on the thick carpet with holes in the whole room, and entered the auxiliary living room. "Wrong, here!" the old woman Frau shouted.Crystal chandeliers and bulky German curios palatially adorn the room, and I swerved as I walked. "This is the window. Martin wants it here. It's exactly here!" she said, pointing to the penciled frame on the wall.This back room, with its fine oak paneling, must have been the study of the great professor. "Let me take a look first. I want to know whether the position of the window frame is correct." "Martin has checked. He knows where it is," said the kerosene drum without the slightest sense of humor.Her breasts were high, ready to strike. I had to put on a show anyway, so I went to the wall and knocked a few times, and found the window frame hidden in the wall.Yes, Dr. Gentz ​​was right. "It's really good." I put on a smiling face, trying to influence that cold robot. "Well—" she agreed and walked away. I wanted to finish the work quickly, but thinking of Vivica's worry, I thought I must do it well.So I marked the position of the window frame on the wall and quietly went out through the back door, inspected the outer wall, and took a quick measurement of the window in the garage.Come on, this window must be easy to cut.Back in the house, I picked up the chainsaw and was about to start working, when the old woman sneaked over. "Look at the ground!" she said pantingly, pointing to the footprints extending from behind to the front of the "window". "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to rub - come on, let me clean up." I walked towards her. "No. Don't move!" she yelled when she saw new footprints, "Stay there." She clicked her tongue and stuffed the newspaper under my feet. "I might go out again," I said sheepishly. "Going out again?" She almost pulled her hair out. "Well, stay a little longer." I'm going to try it from the inside first, and do this for now, and it's better not to mess up the outside. Haus Frau Genz cleaned for a while and finally disappeared.I relaxed, took a deep breath and began to carefully study the edge of the hole I was going to cut.I was marking the exact horizon with the spirit level when I felt a heavy, annoying commotion in the back of my head.I turned my head slowly and met Frau Genz who was standing behind me. She touched her waist with her hands and touched the ground with her big toe. "What did I do wrong again?" I said, looking into her ugly, fierce eyes. "It's nothing...yet..." she said politely and frankly. I forced a smile, turned around and continued drawing lines.Despite my best efforts to concentrate, the presence of old Gentz ​​next to me made me uneasy.I wanted to draw the line straight, but my hands couldn't control it. I either put the level down and dropped the pen, or picked up the pen and tilted the level.I want her to leave and not bother me here, but anyway, who let this be her sphere of influence?Who am I?He was just an inconspicuous carpenter. Thinking of this, I began to wonder what it was like to be a carpenter one or two thousand years ago. I stuck the saw in the paneling and started sawing.Having been a carpenter all my life, I have never seen such thick paneling, and it was very difficult to saw, so it was very slow.After struggling to saw a few feet, I stopped to catch my breath, not wanting to turn around to find the old woman behind me busy vacuuming up the fallen sawdust.She turned off the vacuum every time she picked up the last speck of dust and glared at me angrily.I really don't want to have sawdust all over the floor, but it's impossible to open a window in such hard siding without dropping the sawdust.It's a good thing she understands that, I thought. I took a deep breath, put on a new saw blade, picked up the chainsaw and started sawing.I heard the vacuum behind me beeping again.This time the saw suddenly accelerated, and I saw faster and faster. Suddenly, a bright light flashed in front of my eyes, and a tremor like an electric shock was quickly transmitted from the chainsaw to my arm, pushing me hard against Frau Genz.Unfortunately, I not only knocked her down, I pinned her under me. "My God. Look at what you've done!" she yelled as I got up off her, panting hard with her hands on her chest. "Oh, let me help you up." "What did you do!" She pushed me away forcefully, even refusing to ask me to help her dust off the sawdust. "I don't know," I said.At this point I was still shaking, feeling weak. "Where's the light? The whole house. Power out!" "I must have cut the wire. I see, miss...ma'am...not a big deal." She hustles from room to room as I follow her and explain to her. "Just one fuse blown. Maybe two. Maybe a big fuse. Not a big deal though, trust me." "It's not a big problem?" she said mockingly, standing in the middle of the dark room. "Listen, let me saw it first, and I'll find the wire. I'll put the wire back in and put in another fuse, and everything will be fine." "Then hurry up and do it. What are you poking here? The refrigerator is going to be ruined, and the meat is still in the oven. I'm going to iron the clothes." I hurriedly picked up the chainsaw and got to work, only to realize that not only had her refrigerator, freezer, iron, and oven stopped working, but my chainsaw wouldn't work either.I stood there bewildered, just smirked, and then desperately picked up the chisel and hammer and started hacking away at the wall, trying to carve a hole for the hidden wires.The wires stick out a little now and then, but it's only after I find the ends and connect them that it's possible to get the old woman out of my back. My whole body was soaked in sweat, and the sawdust kept jumping on my face. After half an hour, I finally made an ugly big gash. Yes, that was the wire end that was neatly cut off.I stripped the insulation, screwed the wires in place, taped it back up, and staggered with a flickering candle into the dark basement to find a safety lock — and found it, accidentally knocking it off the shelf. A layer of canned soybeans, sauerkraut, and beets was pushed to the floor, and I kicked the broken glass jar with vegetables and juices under the shelf.I finally found the brake box, replaced the blown fuse, and the whole house came on again.I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to work.It turned out that there was a trail of beet juice trails behind him, leading to the basement. I've got to get out of here, I warn myself, and snap up.At the moment when the old woman was away, I went crazy and desperately, whoosh, bang, bang, the wood was sawed, and the sawdust from the window frame fell down one after another.I tore off the insulation and knocked out the siding from the inside in a hateful rage when the old woman reappeared, and it must have been her. "My God!" she cried, "what's going on?" She pointed to the bloody footprints. "It's very dark, you see. There was an accident," I muttered, "and knocked off a little can. Beets, I guess. But I don't think it'll stick. My wife uses a little hot water, soap, and ..." "Get the fuck out of here, for God's sake!" she snarled. "I think so too, but please give me a chance. Please don't always stand behind me." I said as I yanked a board, but it didn't fall off the line drawing but loosened the upper edge. The upper edge then opened a crack in the ceiling, and the whitewash fell off and covered us all. "Well, don't worry, it's all right. It looks worse than before. It's just a little bit of plaster falling off. I'll put the window in and fix it. Just a little whitewash, and Martin won't notice it. I promise. Seriously. Let me see what I just did?" I managed to talk to her lightly to draw her attention away from the ceiling.God, Vivica was right, and thinking about it, I realized that I had to work harder and get out of here before Dr. Genz came back, before he saw me in such a mess.I really want to just quit and get out of here, but I can't.I've got myself in too deep.Anyway, the rest of the job should be easier.I just wedge the window frame in.Repair the ceiling.Then slip away. I frantically set up the ladder outside and climbed up to repair the sawn place. I tried my best to work hard, but I couldn't do what I expected.Something is wrong, but I can't tell where.fuck it.Go on.Put the windows up quickly and get out. The window was one of those luxurious Thermopane windows that open with a tug of the mechanism.This window probably cost Professor Gentz ​​a lot of money, at least five or six hundred dollars.I must make no mistake, never break it.The old woman was watching me all the time, even though she was pretending to be busy in the kitchen.With all my strength I carefully moved the window out of the garage.Carefully wiping the soles of my shoes clean, I carried the large, heavy window through the center of the living room into the study.I lifted the window up and pressed it into the opening, finding with some pride how well it fit.Not only did it fit, it was perfect.Look at that one, I did my calculations well.And look at this house (plaster and clutter not included)!The windows make the study look much larger, brighter and more inviting.What a change.How bright it is.What an ideal place to write a great article about the developmental state of children with disabilities.I was about to quickly fasten the window with rake nails when I heard a car coming up the drive outside.I checked my watch. 3:30.It's already 3:30!They didn't give me anything to eat.No wonder I feel tired and dizzy.I heard the front door open.The voice came over.Oh-oh.All too familiar voice.That's Dr. Gentz.Come home.I knocked on the nails like crazy, trying to finish the job quickly.The roof can be put aside for a while, and I'll do the grouting when he's not home tomorrow.The voices in the hall were loud and excited. "Carpenter?" I heard the old woman complain hoarsely. "Not a carpenter at all. He's a butcher who chops wood! You wouldn't believe what he did." Mutter mutter mutter mutter mutter.I heard Dr. Gentz, patient enough to deal with disabled children, comfort his maddening old mother in his deep, resonant baritone voice. "Come on, Mommy, let me see what's going on." I heard him coming this way.I involuntarily turned around and propped myself against the window. "Well—let's see what's going on here. Oh, the windows..." He stood watching. "Um - sir...how are you?" he repeated to get my attention. "Sir? How are you?" He greeted me again.I knew I couldn't get away, so I turned around slowly, exposing a painted face dripping with sweat in front of Dr. Genz.He still wears a good, thick, real fur coat, with a matching Russian fur cap on his head. "Nudelman!" He almost became excited. "It's you." "Hello, Martin," I waved the hammer in my hand and smiled feebly. "But—but—" he stammered, blushing almost as embarrassed as I was—and old Frau Gentz ​​shook his head from side to side in bewilderment, looking at me once and then A glance at her famous son. "But what are you doing here?" he finally put the question bluntly. "Installing the windows." I said as nonchalantly as possible, and hurriedly packed up my tools and prepared to evacuate quickly. "Oh, that's what it is," he said, looking at the gap in the roof, still confused. "Well, yes, the window..." he murmured.He stood there looking at it for a long time. "Look, Martin, you see, it's wrong," said Gentz's mother, just as annoyingly as before. "It's not wrong." I reassured them while packing up the tools. "Of course it's wrong. Look, Martin. Look at those lines painted on the wall. See it? Now look at this window. It...it..." "You're right...Jesus. I think it's skewed," Gentz ​​said. "No, not at all." I tried to dispel their doubts.I started to feel nauseous and hated the job.The time is so long, the salary is so low, and there is no food. "Let me take a look with a level," he said, opening my toolbox and rummaging in it, then set the level on the windowsill.He exclaimed: "It's true. It's skewed!" "God, not even a millimeter. Nobody can tell." "I can see it," said the old gray-haired kerosene drum. "God, you see a ghost." "Wait a minute. She's my mother!" "No kidding. I never thought of that. What a lovely old woman you have." "I never..." Mommy was furious. "I must make one thing clear. If the unfortunate window does fall," said the mad carpenter, "you have to thank the old woman. She has been with me since the moment I entered the house. behind the butt." "If you are willing to use your brain a little bit to think—" Genz began to put on an arrogant air again. "I want a fart. Listen to me, don't you guys like this window?" I asked them as I picked up the hammer, and Mommy instinctively raised her arms and lowered herself, "Well, we work to ensure quality. You are not very satisfied, are you? Then let me take it down.” As I said that, I raised my hammer and smashed it towards the window, and the shattered glass fell down with a splash. "You probably don't like that one either, right? It looks like it's about to fall off." I pointed to a long piece of glass at the other end. "Stop! Stop!" they yelled in unison. "Nudelman!" Genz was furious, like a big toad, "Are you crazy?" "It doesn't matter. I'm here to please you." I took a good look at the target and hit the hammer twice at a very fast speed, aiming at the upper and lower ends. "Do you want to modify anything else?"