Chapter 10 9

------------------ 9 Finding the right place to live in New York isn't difficult.I want to live in America, honestly I want to live there, it's just that people say the food there is terrible these days.The Plaza Hotel is now finally occupied by a new mob.As for Carlisle, St. Regis, Pierre, they are not considered at all.After walking around the street for an hour, I asked a few lesser-known hotels, and found that they had recently changed to billing by the hour, so I decided to go to a good and reliable traditional hotel, such as the "YMCA" in the East District ". As I carried my bag across New York City, I couldn't help but think of my dear mother.I had to get a big box of Superior Breadcrumbs for all her little friends before I left the city.what!Dear meticulous woman, my old lady.She was so tidy, I remember her getting up and making his bed when my father got up at night to go to the toilet.It is precisely because of her cleanliness that I can’t use other people’s toilets without a piece of paper, and I can’t even eat without wiping the fork with a napkin when I eat with Hornhardt.

My shoes were soaked, my body was exhausted, and I still had to struggle to make my way to the YMCA on the other side of the island.It's a huge, ugly brick building with no decoration, which is very unpleasant.I lingered in front of the door for a long time, and the endless rows of windows on the critical wall were as ugly as cowpox scars on a lifeless face-standing in the swirling snow, I struggled a lot in my heart.A faint voice inside kept saying, Get out of here.Sleep on a Central Park bench if you must, but don't go inside.Why choose the YMCA out of so many places?the voice asked me.You are neither a youth nor a Christian, and age is a problem.But the price is right, I argue, and I'm too tired to argue with that little voice that doesn't exist.leave me alone.I need to rest.I need quiet.I need to brace myself for the next war where 1,000 yellow-skinned debt collectors are waiting to kill me.

Opening the front door, I poked my head in for a look before stepping cautiously into the vestibule.Oh - oh, the little voice was right, I was haunted by what I saw, the interior was dilapidated, the gray and peeling walls were just a few dirty lampshades that covered yellowed bulbs, stained The threadbare carpet and listless tenants moved slowly in the hall with expressionless eyes, like ants stuck in honey and unable to walk. I walked involuntarily into the hall.The air was filled with the greasy stench of rotting canteen food, of cabbage potatoes and heated sausages, of yesterday's burnt cheese and of tomorrow's despair.For a long time, I didn't know what to do with the small bag in front of my feet, and I couldn't muster the courage to walk towards the front desk anyway.I was so depressed, my vision was blurred by tears, I lost my balance when I walked - why?You need a place to sleep after all, a pillow to rest your head on.Since when did you become so verbose, Nudelman?You've willingly slept with bedbug maniacs in Dhaka and Macau, you've -- but that's in West Africa, in Asia, and on foreign adventures!What about here?This is home, where I grew up.I was familiar with the cracks in the sidewalks within five blocks and every little alley behind Main Street.Home!I should be greeted like a triumphant Prince Victoria.I deserve to be welcomed into a brightly lit house by the warmth of my family, led to a mile-long banquet table in a huge hall to the music of a white-gloved brass band.I should be like General MacArthur, or an astronaut, parading down Fifth Avenue in a convertible, greeted by spectators throwing ribbons from the windows, instead of sneaking a side door into a dirty, smelly YMCA.Nudelman, the hotel lobby convincingly made me understand, Nudelman, your Waterloo!

bring it on.cheer!Listen, man, what airs are you putting on.Maybe there are no bedbugs, ticks, fleas or anything like that.This is the YMCA.United States.People who keep clean sheets - that's it.Stop fussing about a bed.Think of the greats who might have been stuck here in the down days—Walter Rostow, Henry Kissinger, Ponce de Leon.Maybe Dreiser, Fitzgerald, who knows.Go ahead and think about it, the possibilities are open.Just think about it!Maybe great inspiration.There may be endless fresh material lurking in this place. well!Even though my thoughts sounded good, logical, and logical, something unseen oppressed me with the thick stench that filled the air, and this palpable violence was like an infection. Boils ached just under the skin.Absolutely the perfect venue for self-destruction, as filmmakers choose the right venue.

I straightened my back and carried two feet of water, walked past a zombie in the front hall with a heavy heart, and approached the waiter.There's a tired-looking Western Indian behind the desk, and the whites of his eyes are so yellow I can't wait to give them a good rub. "I want a cheap one. No luxury. Just—" I hadn't finished my request when suddenly a line of police officers burst in through the front door and hurried past the information desk. "Which floor is it?" one policeman asked as the others pressed the elevator buttons. "Floor 15." A staff member pointed upwards indifferently amidst the commotion, when two police cars dragged a stretcher and blocked the front hall.

"I can give you a room for three yuan and five dollars (3.5 yuan)," the staff member turned to me and said, as if nothing had happened. "What's going on here?" "Oh, huh? Someone cut a wrist," he said with a shrug. "Cut the wrist? Why?" This question was meaningless, and my heart beat violently. It seems that my thought just now was right! Fang asked.good.On the 20th floor; a large windowless closet, small and claustrophobic, containing an iron bed and dirty blankets.Wet plaster fell in pieces from a hole in the ceiling.The heat was on full blast and there was no way to turn it off.The air in the room smelled of old people, rancid semen, and cheap gin.The smell of smoke, longing, remorse, failure, human pain and loneliness and other emotions and six desires.Sheets were reasonably clean.Probably the most I need is a hot shower and a shave.

The bathroom at the other end of the corridor was busy.The room was filled with steam and the sound of water rushing.Although it is winter, the windows are wide open, and the connected wings can be seen, and the dark patio leading directly to the ground floor can be seen downwards. I took off my clothes slowly, and seemed to feel the comfort of hot water pouring on my back.However, when I took off my clothes layer by layer, I suddenly felt the weight of the eyes staring at me as I undressed.I stopped.There is a mirror in every other pool in front of a row of more than 20 washbasins, and beautiful men of different heights and skin colors are freshening up in front of them.I suspect they've stood there brushing their hair patiently in anticipation of something all afternoon.There were whites, blacks, Asians, Indians, all wide-eyed eagerly waiting to check out my precious shape and my measurements.

"Don't leave your stuff there," said an old guy walking by, in big baggy yellow pants, with a red, round nose, and gum in the corners of his eyes. "Huh?" I said confusedly. "Watch out for someone stealing. Take the key into the shower." "Oh?" "Sometimes someone takes your key to your room while you are washing, and takes all your things away without you knowing." "Thank you." I smiled gratefully.Like a great place.You should bring your wife, children and pet dog. "Last week they tried to get a man's key, and the guy quit, found a nigger and threw him out the window." He shrugged and pointed with his chin at the big window I was poking out just now .I stared in horror at the gap in the wall from bottom to top.

"I'll give it to anyone who wants my key." I said a little louder. "The smartest." The old man said, "Don't worry." He smiled gently. "Who's worried?" I raised my voice an octave. "You look like someone who takes care of yourself," he reassured me. "Don't worry about them." He gave them a wink. "They won't touch you. They just want to see you." It's 12 o'clock.I thought, maybe even later.In the middle of the night I heard various voices.People were walking up and down in front of my door.The small window on the door was left open for ventilation.I see figures of people hovering over the top of my windowless coffin.I want to sleep, need to sleep, but can't.I was exhausted from the long journey, my thoughts disturbed my rest, and my empty stomach was growling.The heater beeps and hisses.I grabbed a pillow over my head and threw it away.I long to fall asleep, but there is no sleep.The night, once so sweet, is now a torture.Sleep is horrible.I no longer trust it.It exposed me in full view to demons and ghosts.

I've heard my sons repeat that old riddle over and over again: Q: Why does Barbie have pink nipples? Answer: Because Private Joe has kung fu. Question: Who is covered in black, white and red? Answer: The nun with the razor. aha!razor.Ask the guy on the 15th floor.He will tell you.I heard someone whispering in the corridor.My watch reads 2 o'clock in the morning.Someone sleeps here?I got out of bed and paced the room, fiddled with the stuck heater, and snorted hard.I lay back in bed thinking about the argument Viveka and I had had before we left home. "Why don't you get a job? It's not fair to put all the responsibility on me," I yelled angrily.

"I will, if that's what you want me to do. I don't know if I'll find—" "Just look for it and you'll find it." "Okay. Okay! That means you'd better do the babysitting, housekeeping, cleaning, and—" "I'm quitting! I'm too busy. Everything here needs fixing. The house is falling apart. Crumbling. Can't even afford materials. Just keep tinkering. I need time to write!" "You didn't write it at all!" "I'll write. But I can't get what I want!" "But I can't be in two places at the same time! After all, what do you want?" "I want quiet! I need quiet!" I yelled, pulling my hands through my hair as if Vivica could give it to me.Poor Vivica. Vivica, oh Vivica.Why are you marrying a madman like me?You should stay with Kay.He loves you so much.He will put the whole world at your feet.Then today you are a noble lady.Your wardrobe will be filled with bright and gorgeous clothes, all of which are the most fashionable.You have maids, governesses, gardeners, big houses in the city, villas by the river in the country, Kay will hang around you, and will not torture you like I did.Oh, if he saw the way we live today, he would kill me, not for stealing you from him, but for treating you like this.Instead of presiding over sumptuous dinners and elegant soirees, you buried yourself deep in the woods of Goobsville with a man out of his mind who wouldn't even say he loved you.Instead of showing you his love, he beats you, hurts you, and then slips away like a worm. Vivica, oh Vivica.Tonight is written for you, just for you.What have we become!Where are those sweet days?At that time we used to laugh a lot, carefree, and we made love so darkly, I made you have our child under a wild impulse. Vivica, listen to me.Can you hear it in the woods?I'll stand on this collapsing wardrobe and crow like a cock in this dreadful crumbling house: I love you madly!I want to stomp my feet, undress, do handstands with my fingertips, and make funny faces.I don't care about anything anymore, I want to burn the money and dance the ballet.Listen to me, Vivica.I'm going to risk everything and risk everything.I went to rob the bank with you, and then we fled to Afghanistan, Tibet in China, and Fiji.We start from nothing there, and I will cut down a large forest with my own hands and build you a beautiful house.We'll drink casks of wine, dance on each other's arms, and spin and spin like crazy until we're dizzy and happy drunk.I'll live carefree days with you again, enjoy the joys of rekindled sex with you; hug you, touch you, make love to you until we're drenched in intoxicating sweat.I will touch you all over the curves of your body with my hands, and lick every inch of your silky smooth skin with my tongue.I want to kiss your eyes and scratch your toes. Vivica, oh Vivica.Why does love suffer so much?Why do we make demands on each other, demands that are like castles in the air that we can never meet?Why can't I be like the man who holds you in my arms when you're angry and kisses you away?On the contrary, I jumped away from you like a heartless toad. Vivica, oh Vivica.How did a man who was once so cheerful, carefree and humorous become so dull and melancholy?How can a person who used to be drunk and bohemian today learn not to be moved by money and become a logical, worldly, and even scheming person? Vivica, listen to me.Can you hear my call from the relay station on the 20th floor here, at our receiving station on the edge of the jungle, through the tall tasone and thick snow?Vivica, I am sending an urgent message to Goobswell on this bleak night.Read it to me aloud and clearly, make no mistake, you just come back to Kay, go off on an adventure around the world together, I still love you, forgive you, and even offer to carry your luggage.It is not the duties of my bed that I desire, but the duties of my head.If you know what to do for your good, you go back to Kay.He'll make you look good, and make you look like a princess, which you are.From what I know of him, he's even going to ask our kids, your kids, to take them in and give them a lot of fun and buy them all those lifelike birds and G.I. Joe Desert Action figures and RC electric race cars, These are what they crave.He'll have you all eating lobster in oil, garlic prawns, and strawberry shortcake stuffed with fresh strawberries and topped with a mound of puffed cream.God knows, maybe I'll sneak into his house and be a gardener or a coachman, or maybe a manservant?For a job and a small wage, I'd polish his car to shine, plant him miles of morning glories and other precious flowers, fix his whole house, and serve him like a donkey. To carry heavy loads.He could feed me leftovers like a dog, and I would lick his hairy, generous hand with my tongue. I lay back on the bed.Ah... I think I'm starting to doze off... My eyelids are starting to sink, the shadows on the roof are fading away, the noise outside the house is turning into a chatter... I think of Arnold before he committed suicide, he was a talented painter, my dear Friend... I recalled the letter before his last visit, which in fact never came to fruition, when we were still living in a tarpaulin-roofed motor home on the hill with no water or electricity. Baron Nudelman: The plan to reach Nudelman's Hill on 3 August remains unchanged.It is possible that I was traveling with a companion who had just suffered a severe mental mutation.He is very eloquent.He will make your evening a wonderful one.Please get the motor home ready for me - freshly painted, hot water, electricity, etc.Be sure to clear out irrelevant things that can cause trouble.Born and raised in a shed, I am extremely sensitive to the lack of modern conveniences.Oh yes, definitely have a place for my cleaning equipment.Dig the hole now and inlay it with gold leaf.I never liked pooping in the same pit twice.Also, keep your best china and silverware polished and shiny - we don't like paper plates and plastic cutlery no matter the occasion. Please line up the welcome band next to the Soski neighbors, iron the satin sheets, and set the temperature in the motor home to 68 degrees Fahrenheit.Otherwise, look no further. Arnold Poor Arnold, I was just thinking about it when I was interrupted by a sudden sound—someone was moving the lock on my door.Thief?gay?Murderer?My strength betrayed me, all I could do was lie still in bed, listen, listen... click.Click.Click.It was almost dark in the room.Oh shit!Those who received thousands of dollars must have unscrewed the lights in the hallway.It sounded like picking a lock with a long wire.My body was frozen on the bed, but my eyes were fixed on the door.I felt like my heart was about to pop out of my chest, and my head was shaking in fear.act!act!I blamed myself, but the stupid idea made my body completely uncontrollable, and I couldn't move at all. Click.Click.Click.The lock shaft is turning.Slap.I saw the doorknob turning in the near total darkness.Next, the door of my room opened slowly.First, open a small slit cautiously.Then open an inch.Another inch.God!what should I do? Suddenly, I saw him—the thief, the attacker, the sex maniac, the mugger—through the crack of the open door; The chest and shoulders are very broad, and standing at the door is like a cork inserted into the mouth of a bottle, blocking the door tightly. "What do you want to do?" I asked him with the last bit of strength I squeezed out. At this time, I lost my fighting power as if I was hit by a bullet from a machine gun.no answer.I lay straight on the bed and looked at him. His eyes scanned the whole room first, and then fixed on me. His body was bent like a beast ready to strike at any time. "Get the fuck out!" I screamed.I tried to hold him down, hoping he didn't hear my fear. "Go away!" I yelled, "or I'll break your bones!" Nothing happened.Not even a sound.He remained calm and unmoved.Muscles contracted, eyes stared at me.What on earth is this guy trying to do?Why is he staring at me?Shit, I have to do something.What are you doing?whatever! "If you don't stay away from me I'll- hey! Listen, you asked for it! I know karate. I have a black belt. My hands are deadly weapons, and it's legal." I said, throwing my hands up Get into a chopping pose. "It's my duty to warn you," I yelled at the big chimpanzee as he slipped through the door.Suddenly he stopped rushing towards me, but walked briskly with dancing steps. "Okay buddy, I warned you!" I said as I sat up in what I thought was an offensive stance. "Long live—!" I yelled, slashing wildly, but when he moved an inch away from the bed, he stopped suddenly, looked down at my terrified appearance, and grinned, which is The ugliest smile I've ever seen - with a big gold tooth gleaming between the upper and lower lips.I cried out instinctively, bracing for the inevitable blow that would kill me.But he quietly walked away from where I was staying, inexplicably.With my back against the wall, my arms are still weak and ready to attack... Back off.retreat.He retreated all the way to the door, then slipped sideways into the corridor outside, and closed the door without a sound. I jumped out of bed and stood for a while on the cold stone floor.I rushed to the door.The door is locked!I looked up at the door and top window in doubt, and found that the lights in the corridor outside the house were still as bright as before.is this real?Is he really someone?Or am I confusing illusion with reality again?I carefully moved the only chair in the room against the doorknob in front of the door—no more chance—and fell asleep.