Chapter 3 Chapter One

For eight years, starting from August 12 every year, Ruth Young began to lose her voice and couldn't speak. The first time this happened, Ruth had just moved into Arter's apartment in San Francisco.For days, Ruth could only hiss like a boiling teapot.She figured it must be some virus, or an allergy to some kind of mold in the house. When she lost her voice for the second time, it was the first anniversary of their living together, and Art joked that her throat problem must be psychological.Ruth also suspected that was the case.When she was young, she once broke her arm and lost her voice for a while.Why is this so?On their second anniversary together, she and Art went stargazing in Grand Teton National Park.According to a park brochure, "Every year around August 12th is the high point of the August meteor shower, when hundreds of meteors streak across the sky every hour. They are actually meteorites that penetrate the atmosphere, Falling, burning and shining." Ruth and Art lay in the velvety black night, admiring the spectacle of the shooting star.She didn't really believe that her laryngitis was the result of bad luck, or that her inability to speak had anything to do with the meteor shower.But since she was a child, her mother often told her that shooting stars are "ghost-shaped", and seeing shooting stars will bring bad luck.If you see shooting stars, it means a ghost wants to talk to you.In her mother's opinion, everything has something to do with ghosts: a broken bowl, a dog barking, a phone that doesn't answer, or heavy breathing coming from the receiver is all ghosts.

In August of her third year, Ruth decided that instead of passively waiting for a loss of voice to occur, she explained in advance to friends and clients that she was planning a week-long silent meditation. “I do this retreat once a year,” she says, “to sharpen my sense of language and words.” One of her clients, a therapist who embraces New Age philosophy, believes that this kind of active silent meditation” It's just brilliant," and decided to try it out for themselves, and write up what they discovered firsthand in a new book they've collaborated on, as a form of silent therapy, or as a way to counsel someone with troubled family interactions.

Since then, Ruth's problem has become an annual statutory arrangement.Two days before the natural loss of her voice, she stopped speaking and politely refused Art's offer to talk to her in sign language.Her decision not to speak for a while was not an illness, nor was it some unsolvable mystery.In fact, she likes this state of not having to speak.For a whole week, she didn't have to reassure clients, remind Art what to do, talk to his daughter about being careful about this and that, or feel guilty for not calling her mother. This year is already the ninth year.Ruth, Art, and their two daughters drove the two hundred miles to Lake Tahoe to spend what they called their "week of silence."Ruth couldn't help but imagine the four of them walking hand in hand along the Truckee River, quietly watching the meteor shower every night in awe of nature.But the mosquitoes were rampant, and Dolly whimpered and said that she saw a bat. Fia teased her and said, "The forest is full of murderers with axes. Are you still worried about bats infecting you with rabies?" They After fleeing back to the wooden house, the children said they were bored."No cable?" they complained, so Art drove them into Tahoe City to rent several horror videotapes.Art and the daughters fell asleep watching it, but Ruth couldn't help but read it all the time, only to dream of crazy nanny and strange alien creatures.

They returned home in San Francisco on Sunday, sweaty and complaining, only to find that there was no hot water.The water tank leaked, and the heating pipe burned out due to lack of water and overheating.They had to use kettles to boil water and make do with taking a bath.It would be too expensive to hire workers temporarily for emergency repairs, and Yate didn't want to do it.Ruth was delighted, for she was speechless and unable to protest.Arguing with Art meant that she would have to offer to pay for emergency repairs, which Ruth had offered to pay for so many times over the years they had been together that it was almost automatic.But this time she felt petty because Ruth didn't bring it up, and then got annoyed that Art didn't show any further signs of addressing the issue.Before going to sleep, Art came up behind her gently and caressed her neck with his nose, but she couldn't help feeling nervous all over her body. Art said, "It's up to you," and then turned away, which made her Feel rejected.She wanted to explain what was wrong—and then realized she didn't know what was wrong.She was just in a bad mood, that's all.Soon, Art's snoring sounded, but she was still frustrated, lying helplessly in the dark, without any sleepiness.

It was almost midnight, and with hours before Ruth could speak, she went into her little study, which had once been a pantry and now served as her little studio.She stood on a stool and pushed open a small window.There is an excellent view in front of you: the red bridgehead of the Golden Gate Bridge comes into view, the bay is on one side of the bridge, and the vast Pacific Ocean is on the other.The air is humid and icy cold, as if it can wash away the dust.She looked up at the sky, but the sky was too bright and the fog was too heavy to see any "ghost shadows" at all.Fog horns began to sound.Afterwards, Ruth saw huge waves rolling in, and the waves covered the sea like a soft duvet, slowly advancing towards the bridge.Her mother used to say that the fog was actually the vapor of two giant dragons fighting, one a fire dragon and the other a water dragon. "Water and fire meet and steam is born," would say Lu Ling, who spoke English with a strangely British accent that she had learned while staying in Hong Kong. "You know, like boiling water, the steam will burn your fingers off."

The thick fog gradually filled the breakwater on the bridge, engulfing the lights on the bridge.At this time, 90% of the drivers are drunk—Ruth seems to have read it somewhere, or maybe she once wrote this sentence for a client?She got off the stool, leaving the window open. The foghorn was still humming, sounding a lot like a tuba in one of Shostakovich's operas, pathetic and slightly comical.But when is tragedy ever ridiculous?Or is it just the audience who are laughing, because they already know that the characters in the play will be caught in a trick? Still sleepless, Ruth turned back to her desk.A sudden sense of worry came to her heart, she seemed to have forgotten something.What's the matter?Money problem?a certain client?Or did she promise the two girls something?She shouldn't have forgotten it.She began to tidy up the desk, arrange the reference books neatly, sort out the fax documents and drafts, and mark them with different colors according to different clients and writing content.Tomorrow she will have to go back to her usual routine and face deadline pressure again.A tidy desk gives her the feeling of a fresh start and a clearer mind.Everything is in order.If there are any documents that are not urgently needed, she will throw them into the drawer in the lower right corner of the desk, but now this drawer is full of things, unanswered letters, discarded manuscripts, she thinks they may be used in the future, so write them down inspiration, etc.She pulled out a stack of manuscripts from the bottom of the drawer, thinking that whatever it was, it had been put aside for so long, so it must be thrown away.

The manuscript is full of Chinese, which is her mother's handwriting.It was given to her by Ru Ling five or six years ago. “It’s just old stuff about my family,” she said, in a tone that seemed understated but underscored the importance of the manuscript. "It's the story of my childhood. I wrote it for myself, but maybe you can see how I grew up and how I came to this country." Over the years, Ruth had heard a little about her mother's life. fragment.Judging from this manuscript, the mother did spend a lot of effort, but she was too embarrassed to ask Ruth to read some of her brainchild, which made Ruth feel unbearable.The handwriting on the manuscript is neat and clear, without traces of alteration. Ruth can imagine that her mother has rewritten the manuscript she wrote earlier.

Ruth had tried to unravel the secrets of this manuscript.Her mother once instilled knowledge about Chinese calligraphy and characters in her, but she was very reluctant to learn, and now she can still recognize a few of them: "things", "I", "true".But for her to read all the content, she had to identify all the crooked handwriting written by Lu Ling against the Chinese-English dictionary.The first sentence was: "I know these are true." It took Ruth an hour to translate this sentence.She plans to crack a sentence every day.The next day, she translated another sentence according to the plan: "My name is Liu Yang Ruling." This sentence was easy and only took five minutes.Then came the names of Ruling's husbands, one of whom was Ruth's father.two husbands?Ruth was surprised to learn that her mother had also been married once.Also, what did the mother mean when she said "our secrets are gone with them"?Ruth wanted to find out at once, but couldn't ask her mother.Based on past experience, she knows very well that every time she asks her mother to help her translate Chinese characters into English, nothing good will happen.First, Ru Ling would blame her for not working hard to learn Chinese well when she was a child, and then, in order to explain word by word, her mother would talk about her past all the way, and when it came to the endless meanings of Chinese words, the details were too annoying: "Secret It’s not just about things that can’t be said. Secrets may hurt people, they may carry a curse, they may harm you for the rest of your life, and you will never be able to make up for it...” Then it will talk about so-and-so People leaked secrets, how and how such a death was horrific, how this could have happened, if it hadn't been so and so, if it hadn't been for something that happened thousands of years ago, it wouldn't have happened, etc., etc., without saying What is that secret.If Ruth showed any sign of impatience when she listened to her, Lu Ling would fly into a rage, and then swear that it didn't matter anyway, because she had a few days to live, or she was unlucky enough to meet her. Accident, or simply suicide.The next step is silent treatment, cold war between mother and daughter, this kind of punishment will continue for several days or even weeks, until Ruth can't bear it anymore and apologizes to her.

So Ruth refused to ask her mother.She decided to dedicate a few days to translating the manuscript.She told this to her mother, and Ruling said, warningly, "Don't wait too long." Since then, whenever her mother asked her if she had finished reading, Ruth always replied, "It's almost finished, but the client I have something to do over there, so I have to put it aside." There are also all kinds of disturbances, Art's business, children's business, house problems, and vacations. "I don't have time to mind your mother's affairs," Ru Ling complained. "But have time to watch movies, hang out, see friends."

Since last year, my mother no longer asked about the manuscript.Ruth was suspicious, did she give up?impossible.She must have forgotten.These few pages have been sitting in the bottom drawer of my desk ever since. Now that her mother's manuscript was brought out again, Ruth felt very guilty.Maybe she should find someone with good Chinese to help.Art might know—a linguistics student, or a retired old professor who had to be able to read not only simplified Chinese, but old-fashioned traditional characters as well.As soon as she had time, she asked Art to inquire for her.She put the manuscript on the top shelf of the file and closed the drawer, feeling a little less guilty.

When she woke up in the morning, Art was up and doing yoga in the next room. "Hello," she said to herself. "Is anyone there?" Although her voice was a little harsh because she hadn't spoken for a long time, she finally managed to speak again. She was brushing her teeth in the bathroom when Dolly yelled. "I want to watch that station. Turn back! I have a share of the TV too!" Fei Ya mocked: "That kind of program is only watched by a poop doll, you are a poop doll, you know how to scream all day long! " After Art's divorce, the two daughters lived half the time with their mother and stepfather in Sausalito, and the other half in Art's Edwardian apartment on Vallejo Avenue in downtown San Francisco.Every other week, the four of them—Art, Ruth, Fear, and Dori—had to cram into five tiny rooms, one of which was barely big enough for a bunk bed.There was only one bathroom, and Ruth hated the inconvenience of those antiquated facilities.The iron bathtub is equipped with four claw-shaped tripods, which looks like a coffin. There are two faucets on the basin, and the water sprayed out is either icy cold or scalding to death.Ruth reached for dental floss, but came across other debris on the windowsill: anti-wrinkle cream, anti-pimple medicine, small nose scissors, and a plastic mug stuffed with nine toothbrushes, which neither knew Whoever used it doesn't know what year and month it was.Just as she was packing up these odds and ends, she heard someone knocking urgently on the door. "Wait a minute," she replied hoarsely.The knocking on the door didn't stop.She looked up at the August bathroom schedule posted on the door. It was clearly written on it who would use the bathroom every quarter of an hour.A copy of the schedule was posted on the inside and outside of the bathroom door.She puts herself last, but with everyone procrastinating for those few minutes, she always ends up running out of time.The two girls added some clauses and amendments under the timetable, as well as the punishment for using basins, toilets and showers in violation of the regulations. There is also a statement that clearly defines in which emergencies the user's right to privacy can be temporarily violated (Three lines are added under emergency to emphasize the seriousness of the situation). There was another knock on the door. "Ru-th! Do you hear, your phone!" Dolly opened the bathroom door a crack and passed the wireless phone in.Who would call at seven twenty in the morning?It must be her mother, no doubt about it.Once Ruth doesn't call her every few days, something big happens to Ru Ling. "Ruth, is your voice back? Can you talk?" It was Wendy, her best friend.They talk almost every day.She heard Wendy blowing her nose.Is Wendy crying? "What's the matter?" Ruth said softly.Don't tell me, don't tell me, she was so nervous that her heart was pounding and she couldn't help talking to herself.Wendy was going to tell her she was terminally ill, and Ruth was almost sure of it, and the uneasiness from last night came back again. "I haven't recovered yet," Wendy said. "I was just going to... wait a minute, I have a call coming in." It couldn't be cancer, Ruth thought.Maybe she ran into a robber, or a thief broke into the house, and now it's the police calling to make a record.Whatever it was, it must be serious, or Wendy wouldn't cry.What is she going to tell her?Ruth clamped the microphone around her neck and reached for her short hair.She noticed that the mercury on the mirror was peeling off.Or is it not that the mirror is not clear, but that you have new white hair?She will soon be 46 years old.When did the baby fat on my face fade away?Come to think of it, she used to hate her round face and smooth skin, always looking like a child who didn't grow up.Now, the corners of her mouth have developed two downward wrinkles, making her look unhappy, just like her mother.Ruth put on lipstick to look refreshed.Of course, she's not like her mother in other ways, thank God.My mother was never happy and never liked anything.Since she was a child, Ruth had been immersed in her mother's inexplicable despair.Ruth hated arguing with Art more than anything.Whenever this happens, she always tries to restrain herself from getting angry.But sometimes she couldn't help but burst out, and later regretted how she lost control of her emotions in the first place. Wendy is back on the line. "Are you still there? I'm sorry, we are recruiting actors for the victims of an earthquake disaster film, and many people called in at the same time to apply." Wendy opened a brokerage company to recruit extras with San Francisco characteristics. Mustache cops, tall transvestites, funny socialites without self-consciousness, etc. "Forget it, I feel terrible," Wendy said. "Don't hang up, I'll answer the phone first." Ruth hated waiting on the phone.What was so terrible that Wendy had to tell her so early in the morning?Could it be that Wendy's husband is having an affair?Old Joe is such a good man, it's impossible.What could it be? Art probed in and tapped the dial.It's twenty-five past seven, he mouthed.Ruth was about to tell him that Wendy was looking for her urgently, but Art had strode away. "Dolly! Fear! Come on! Ruth will take you to the skating rink in a minute. Get moving," the two daughters screamed, and Ruth felt like a racehorse stuck on the starting line. "I'll be fine soon!" she yelled outside. "Girls, if you don't eat breakfast, you have to drink at least a large glass of milk. I don't want you to have a hypoglycemia attack and fall to the ground." "Don't move around and die," Dolly complained in a low voice. "I hate it when you say that." "My God, what's going on?" Wendy was back online. "Normal start of the week," Ruth said, "this mess is the price of a vacation." "Who said that?" "I said it. By the way, where did I say it just now..." "You've got to swear you won't tell anyone," Wendy began sniffling again. "certainly." "Nor Art, especially not to 'Miss Kitty.'" "Gideon? Well, I can't vouch for him." "Last night," Wendy said, "my mother called, looking very happy." Ruth listened to Wendy, and hurried back to the bedroom to get dressed.If she wasn't in such a hurry right now, she would usually like to listen to her friends nagging about these things.Wendy is like a magic wand, a wave of her hand can cause all kinds of fantastic and chaotic events on the earth.She's seen all kinds of weird things: three homeless albinos living in Golden Gate Park, a BMW suddenly and inexplicably sucked into an old septic tank, and unattended buffaloes on the street. Hanging around on the Internet, weird things like that.At the parties she throws, people always make a fool of themselves, or engage in extramarital affairs, or other various news, and the city is full of trouble.Ruth believes that with Wendy as a friend, her life is more colorful, but today is not a good time to shine. "Ruth!" Art yelled, impatiently. "The girls are going to be late." "I'm so sorry, Wendy. I've got to take the girls to skating lessons—" Wendy said without waiting for her to finish, "My mother is married to her trainer! She called and told me. He's only thirty-eight, and my mother is sixty-four. Can you believe it?" "Oh... my God. Ruth was taken aback. She pictured Wendy's mother, Mrs. Scott, standing next to a groom in a fancy bow tie and running shorts on the bottom half, exchanging on the treadmill." The wedding vows scene. Was Wendy annoyed? What was she supposed to say? Ruth didn't want to say the wrong thing. About five years ago, her own mother was in a relationship, but the other was eighty. Ruth Originally, he hoped that the old man would marry Ru Ling, so that Lu Ling could have something to do, but unexpectedly, the old man had a heart attack and died. "Listen, Wendy, I know this is important, and I'll call you as soon as I put the girls down?" As soon as she hung up the phone, Ruth began to count the things to be done for the day.There are ten things in total, and she starts with her thumb.One, send the kids to ice skating lessons.Two, go to the dry cleaner and get Art a suit.Three, buy vegetables for dinner.Four, pick up the kids at the skating rink and drop them off at a friend's house on Jackson Avenue.Five and six were calling two clients respectively, first contacting the arrogant and rude Ted, and then chatting with her favorite Yakapi Yagnos.Seventh, finished writing the outline of a chapter of the new book co-authored with Jagapi Jagnos.Eight, call her manager Gideon, who Wendy hates.Nine, hell—what's nine?She remembers that the last thing she had to do for the day was to call Art's ex-wife, Miriam, and ask her if she could let her two daughters spend the weekend with her and Art. This weekend was the Mid-Autumn Festival. Their Yang family Every Mid-Autumn Festival, there is a dinner party, and this year's banquet is Ruth's turn to be the host. What the hell is nine?She's always wringing her fingers to plan her day.Either five or ten things a day.She is not rigid and dogmatic: no matter how many things there are, use your toes, and ten toes can deal with ten unexpected arrangements.Nine, nine... She could move the call to Wendy to the top of the list, and the other things later.But she knew very well that calling Wendy back was an emergency, and if it was added temporarily, it should be counted as the eleventh, and it should be attributed to the toe.What the hell is that nine?Nine is usually a very important number. My mother often said that nine symbolizes perfection, and it also means not to forget, otherwise the consequences will be irreversible.Will the ninth event have something to do with the mother?Mother always made her worry.It's not that there is something specific that makes her think about it, it's just that feeling. From a young age, Ru Ling taught her to wrench her fingers to remember things.With this method, Lu Ling couldn't forget anything, especially those lies, betrayals, and all the mistakes Ruth made since birth, she remembered them clearly.Ruth often thought of the way her mother counted: the thumbs were turned down first, and then one finger was bent towards the palm of the hand. In Ruth's view, this action meant that the number was fixed and there was no way out.Ruth counted with her fingers straight out, the American gesture.What the hell is nine?She was thinking while putting on her sandals. Art stood by the door. "Honey, don't forget to call the plumber and tell them to come fix the hot water tank." The ninth is definitely not a plumber's job, Ruth thought, absolutely not. "Honey, I'm sorry, can you call them yourself? I'm busy today." "I have a meeting today, and there are three appeal cases to be handled." Art is a language expert and works in a consulting company.Several of the deaf people involved were arrested without the assistance of any sign language interpreters, interrogated and sent to jail.Art, an expert in sign language, was in charge of these cases this year. This is your house, Ruth almost blurted out, but finally suppressed her anger and tried to be as calm and reasonable as Art. "Can't you make a phone call from the office while you're in a meeting?" "In that case I have to call you and ask when you can wait for the plumber at home." "I don't know when I will get home. You know the workers, they say they will arrive at one o'clock, but they always don't show up until five o'clock. Just because I work from home doesn't mean I don't have a formal job. I'm very busy. First, I have to..." She began to count down the tasks she had to deal with today. Art shrugged and let out a long sigh. "Why do you complicate everything so much? I was just thinking if it was possible, if you had the time—hey, never mind." He turned and walked away. "Okay, okay, I'll take care of it. But if you finish the meeting early, can you come home?" "No problem." Arthur kissed her forehead. "Thank you. If I hadn't been so busy today, I wouldn't have asked you for help." He kissed her again. "Love you." She did not answer, and when he had gone, she grabbed her coat and keys, and saw the two children standing at the head of the passage, staring at her impatiently.She wiggled her big toe, reminding herself: the twelfth thing, hot water. Ruth started the engine, stepped on the brakes, and checked that there was no problem before going on the road.As she drove Dolly and Fear to the ice rink, she was still racking her brains for what the ninth thing might be.She went through the alphabet silently, to see if any of the letters called out to her memory.But still nothing.After she finally fell asleep last night, what exactly did she dream about?Bedroom window, a shadow in the bay.The curtain, she remembered at last, she dreamed that the curtain was transparent and she was naked.In the dream, she looked up and saw neighbors in a nearby apartment grinning at her.They saw her most private moments, the most private parts of her body.And then the radio started hum-buzzing. "This is the American Broadcasting System disaster emergency alert test." Then there was another voice, it was her mother: "No, no, this is not a test, something really happened!" And then, the shadow in the bay rose , turned into a tsunami. A tsunami symbolizes a broken hot water pipe, so maybe the ninth thing to do is to contact a plumber.Even if the mystery is solved.But what does the transparent curtain symbolize?What does that mean?Worry came to mind again. Ruth and Art had known each other for almost ten years.She and Wendy had taken an evening yoga class, where she met Art.It was the first time in many years that she tried fitness exercises.Ruth was naturally slender and didn't need to lose weight, so she didn't think about joining a health club. "A thousand dollars a year," she exclaimed, "just to jump on a machine and run around like a little squirrel on a wheel?" She told Wendy that the stress of life is the best form of exercise. "Muscles all over the body are tense, last for twelve hours, relax, count to five, and then tense again." But Wendy is different, she was a gymnast in high school, but she has gained thirty-five pounds since graduation, so she is anxious In order to restore the former slim figure. "At least take a free fitness test," she said, "You don't have to join the membership." During the physical fitness test, Ruth did a few more sit-ups than Wendy, and couldn't help but feel delighted, while Wendy loudly boasted that she had done a few more push-ups than Ruth.Ruth's body fat percentage is 24%, which is quite healthy, while Wendy's is 37%. "Thanks to my Chinese ancestors, they have been farming for generations and they didn't eat well, so they couldn't gain weight naturally." Ruth comforted Wendy kindly.But Ruth scored "extremely poor" on the flexibility test. "My God," Wendy exclaimed. "According to the standards on this table, you are only slightly stronger than zombies." "Look, they have yoga classes," Wendy said later, as they checked the gym's class schedule. "I've heard people say that yoga will change your life. Besides, they have evening classes." She gave Ruth a slight nudge. "Maybe it'll help you forget about Paul." The first night they came to class, Rei heard two women talking in the locker room. "The guy next to me asked me if I'd like to come with him for a midnight yoga class and he said, you know, naked yoga." "Naked? What a freak!...Is he that good-looking?" "It's not bad. But can you imagine twenty people doing handstands with their buttocks naked?" After the two women left the dressing room, Ruth turned to Wendy and said, "What kind of person would go to the naked body?" What about yoga class?" "Me," Wendy said. "Don't look at me that way, Miss Fuss. At least this kind of class will never be boring." "Meeting naked with a bunch of strangers?" "It's not a stranger. It's my accountant, my dentist, and my boss. Who do you think it could be?" Thirty students were crowded in the yoga classroom, most of them were women, and everyone occupied one side. Occasionally, when someone came in, each of them moved the mat to make room for the newcomer.There was a man who spread out the mats next to Ruth, and Ruth didn't look him in the eye because she was afraid he was a pervert with bad intentions.She looked around and saw that most of the female students had neatly manicured toenails and beautiful nail polish.Ruth had broad feet, with bare toes like a piggy's foot in a nursery rhyme.Even the feet of the man next to her were prettier than hers. His feet were fine and smooth, with slender toes and well maintained.At this moment, she suddenly realized—this person might be a pervert, how could she appreciate the feet of a pervert? After the class started, everyone first recited something that looked like a cult incantation, and then put on various poses, as if they were worshiping some pagan god.Everyone chanted "Urdhv Muka Svanasana! Adho Muka Svanasana!" It seemed that everyone except Ruth and Wendy knew each step.Ruth followed suit like a child playing a "follow me" game.Every once in a while, the female yoga teacher with a soft and boneless body would walk up to Ruth, inadvertently helping Ruth bend here and there, press down, or lift something.I probably look like I'm being tortured, Ruth thought, or like one of those boneless freaks my mother saw back in China, twisting my body for public entertainment and begging.After a while, she was already sweating profusely, and she observed the man next to her carefully. If necessary, she could describe his appearance to the police in detail. "The naked yoga rapist is approximately five feet eleven inches tall and weighs approximately one hundred and sixty pounds. Black hair, large eyes, brown, bushy eyebrows, beard and mustache, neatly trimmed. Fingernails are very clean and tidy." And his body is unbelievably soft.He can wrap his ankles around his neck, maintain good balance, and move gracefully like a ballerina Baryshnikov.She herself looked like a woman undergoing a gynecological examination by comparison, and a poor woman.She was wearing an old T-shirt and faded leggings with a hole in one knee.But fortunately, she doesn't look like those women who want to catch a good man.The women were all wearing designer tracksuits, with delicate makeup on their faces. Then she noticed the ring on the man's hand. He wore a handmade gold ring on his right hand and nothing on his left.Of course not every married man wears a wedding ring, but at least in San Francisco, wearing a wedding ring on his right hand is a sure sign that he is gay.Thinking of this, she immediately understood: the neat beard, maintaining a good figure, and his graceful movements all showed his homosexual identity.She can finally breathe a sigh of relief.So she watched as the man bent forward, reached out and grabbed the soles of her feet, and then touched her knee with his forehead.Heterosexual men don't have this ability.Ruth bent down so her hands could only reach between her calves. The last move before the end of the class is a handstand.The newcomers leaned against the wall, while the competitive masters immediately stood in place, like sunflowers in the midday sun.There was no room left by the wall, so Ruth sat on her own cushion.After a while, she heard the bearded man say, "Need help? I can hold on to your ankles until you can balance yourself and hold yourself on your head." "Thank you, but I'll forget it. I'm afraid I'll have a cerebral hemorrhage if I stand on my head." he laughed. "Have you always lived in such danger?" "That's right. Life is more exciting that way." "But handstands are one of the most important poses in yoga. Bodystands can change your life. They can make you happy." "Really?" "Look, you're already laughing." "Here you go," she said, poking her head into a folded blanket. "Lift me up." Within a week, Wendy gave up yoga, bought a set of fitness equipment, and did exercises at home by herself.The thing looked like a rickshaw with two oars attached.But Ruth continued to take yoga classes three times a week.She finally found a form of exercise that actually allowed her to relax.She especially likes the state of concentrating on breathing and leaving all thoughts behind.And she also likes Art, the man with the beard.He was friendly and funny, and before long they started going to the corner café after class to sit and talk. One night, over a decaf cappuccino, Art told Ruth that he had grown up in New York and had a Ph.D. in linguistics from the University of California, Berkeley. "How many foreign languages ​​do you speak?" Ruth asked. "I can't speak several foreign languages," he said. "Most of the linguists I knew were not good either. My real major at Berkeley was American Sign Language. I'm working at the Deaf Center at UCSF." "So aren't you an expert on silence?" Ruth joked. "I'm not an expert. But I love language in all its forms—sound, words, facial expressions, gestures, body language and its rhythm. People can express themselves without words. Words have always fascinated me, they The power is really huge.” "So what's your favorite word?" "Mmm, that's a good question." He remained silent, stroking his beard, lost in thought. 露丝一下子觉得很兴奋，心想他一定在绞尽脑汁要找个极是晦涩难懂的大词，玩填字游戏的时候，只有查牛津英语大词典才能拿得准的那种词。 “蒸汽，”他终于开口。 “蒸汽？”露丝马上联想到了寒冷的雾气，飘渺的烟雾，以及自杀的鬼魂。换了她就绝不会选这么个词。 “所有的感官都能觉察到蒸汽的存在，”他解释说。“蒸汽可以有形有色，但绝不能成为实体。你能感受到它，但它没有固定的形状。它可冷可热。有些蒸汽气味难闻，有些闻起来很美妙。有些很危险，还有些安全无害。它们汽化的时候亮度也不同，比如水银蒸发的时候就比钠的蒸汽要明亮。你鼻子一吸气，蒸汽就进入你的身体，充满你的肺叶。还有这个词本身的发音也很有意思，嘴唇微张，透过唇齿吐出'蒸汽——伊——'的声音，发音一开始很响亮，然后余音袅袅，慢慢消失，这个词的发音跟意义简直是完美搭配。” “的确如此，”露丝赞同道。她也试着像他那样发音，“蒸汽——伊——”尽量体会余音在舌间萦绕的感觉。 “别忘了还有气压，”亚特接着说。“摄氏一百度是水和蒸汽的平衡点。”露丝边听边点头，希望自己看他的眼光能显得聪明专注，能领会他的意思。可她觉得自己像个没念过多少书的笨蛋。“这一刻你面前摆的是水，”亚特一边说，一边做出水流的手势。“但是在热气的压力下，水就会变成蒸汽。”他的手指缓缓上升，表示蒸汽上扬。 露丝拼命点头表示赞同。水跟水蒸汽两者的关系，她差不多能明白。她妈妈总说水火相交产生水汽，而水汽看似无害，却可以一下子把人烫的皮开肉绽。“就像阴阳交汇？”她大胆提出自己的看法。 “大自然的二元性，完全正确。” 露丝耸了耸肩膀。她觉得自己纯粹是不懂装懂。 “那么你呢？”他说。“你最喜欢的字眼是什么？” 她显出一副傻相。“噢，天哪，太多了。让我想想。'休假'，'中大奖'，还有'免费''打折'，'大减价'。你知道的，女人都喜欢这些字眼。” 亚特听了大笑，露丝也觉得很开心。“说真的，”亚特说。“到底你最喜欢的是哪个词？” 说真的？她飞快地浏览一遍脑海中浮上的词语：和平，爱情，幸福。这些陈词滥调会让亚特怎么想她呢？他会认为她缺乏这些东西？或者觉得她缺乏想象力？她想说“拟声学”（onomatopoeia），她五年级的时候拼对了这个词，得了个拼写奖。但是“拟声学”这个词只是一堆音节组合起来，跟它所代表的那些简单声响毫不相干。喀嚓。boom.乓。 “我还没有什么喜欢的字眼呢，”她终于承认。“我想大概是因为我一直靠文字吃饭，所以只想到它们的实用性。” “你是做什么工作的？” “我以前曾经做过公司内部沟通的工作，后来开始当自由撰稿人，几年前我开始跟别人合作写书，主要是励志和自我完善方面的书籍，就是那种教人如何活得更健康，性生活更和谐，活得更自在之类的书。” “你是个书本大夫。” 露丝很喜欢他这么说。书本大夫。在此之前，无论是她自己，还是别的人，都不曾这么称呼她的职业。大多数人管她叫“鬼写手”（ghost writer）——她非常不喜欢这个称谓。她母亲以为这称呼是说她能给鬼魂写信沟通。“是啊，”她对亚特说，“我想你可以说我是个书本大夫。但我更倾向于把自己看成一个译者，帮助人们把脑子里有的东西转化成书本上的文字。有些作者需要多一些的帮助，有些则不用。” “你有没有想过要自己写书？” 她犹豫了一下。她当然想过。她想写一本像简?奥斯丁作品那种风格的书，描写上流社会的人情风尚，跟自己的生活毫不相干。几年前，她曾经梦想通过小说创作来逃离自己的生活。她可以在小说中重新塑造全新的生活，改头换面，变成一个完全不同的人。在虚构的世界里，她可以改变一切，她本人，她的母亲，她的过去。但是改变一切的念头又让她感到害怕，就仿佛她这么想象一番，就等于是在谴责和否定自己现在的生活。随心所欲地写作是一种非常危险的痴心妄想。 “我想大多数人都希望能够自己写书，”她回答说。“可我想我更擅长的是转述别人的思想。” “你喜欢这种工作吗？工作让你感到满足吗？” “是的。我很满意现在的工作。我有充分的自由可以选择自己想做的事。” “你真幸运。” “是啊，”她承认。 "I'm really lucky." 跟亚特讨论这些问题让露丝觉得很高兴。她跟温迪在一起的时候，谈的多半是些让人烦心的事情，难得说到点开心的事。她们两人坐在一起大倒苦水：社会对女性越来越不公平了，不讲礼貌的人，妈妈们情绪不佳，诸如此类的事，而她跟亚特的谈话却令他们对于自己和对方都有了新的发现。他想知道她的灵感和动力何来，她如何区分心愿与目标，信念与动机。 “区别？”她问道。 “你做有些事是为了自己，”他回答说。“有些事是为了别人而做的。也许这两者是统一的。” 通过这样的对话，她立刻认识到自己能成为一个自由编辑，一个书本大夫，是件多么幸运的事。这种新发现让她觉得很振奋。 大约在他们认识三个星期以后的一个晚上，他们开始谈到些私人的话题。“说句实话，我喜欢一个人生活，”她听到自己这么说。多年来她已经说服自己，一个人生活也不错。 “如果碰到理想的伴侣呢？” “我们可以保留各自的住所，待在自己家里，这样两人都能保持最理想的形象。也用不着为了谁的阴毛阻塞下水管这种蠢事争执不休。” 亚特笑出声来。“天哪！跟你同居的人真的抱怨过这种事吗？” 露丝不自然地笑了笑，眼睛盯着自己的咖啡杯。发出此等怨言的不是别人，正是她自己。“我们对清洁的要求截然不同，”她回答说。“感谢上帝我们俩没有结婚。”说这话的时候，她感到自己终于是真心这么认为，而不是为了掩饰心中忧伤而故意这么说的。 “就是说你们原本打算结婚来着？” 她从来没有从头至尾地向任何人讲过她跟辛保罗之间究竟出了什么事。她讲不出，就算对温迪也不行。她曾跟温迪讲过许多保罗的可恶之处，讲到自己真想跟他分手算了。当她跟温迪说他们俩真的分手了的时候，温迪兴高采烈地说，“你终于做到了，太好了！”跟亚特则不同，或许是因为他跟露丝的过去毫无关联，所以露丝比较容易跟他谈到往事。他是露丝做瑜珈的伙伴，只是她生活的周边人物。他不了解她过去的梦想和忧虑。跟他在一起，露丝可以不带感情地坦然说起自己的过去。 “我们的确考虑过结婚的事，”她说。“两个人一起生活了四年之久，怎么能没考虑过结婚呢？可你知道吗？时间一长，激情冷却了，差异却凸显出来。有一天他跟我说曾经报名申请调到纽约去工作，现在申请得到了批准。”露丝心中不禁想起自己当时如何吃惊，又如何跟保罗抱怨，问他为什么不早告诉她。“当然，我差不多在哪工作都一样，”她说，当时，她一方面很恼火，另一方面又对搬到曼哈顿去住的想法感到很兴奋，“可是这样一来生活就完全变了，何况还得把我母亲抛在脑后，在一个谁都不认识的城市里重新安家。为什么你要到最后一刻才告诉我呢？”她这么说只是口头上发发牢骚而已，不料保罗却显得有些尴尬，沉默以对。 “我没有要求跟他去，他也没要我跟他走，”她避开亚特的目光，轻描淡写地说。“我们是和平分手。两个人都认为日子还是得往下过，只不过是各过各的罢了。他很有风度地把责任往自己身上揽，说他不够成熟，而我更有责任心。”她冲亚特无可奈何地一笑，仿佛这话用在她头上，最是荒谬可笑不过。“最糟糕的是，他对分手表现得那么大方——仿佛他跟我分手是对不起我，感到很不好意思。结果去年我花了整整一年的时间，分析我们两人之间到底出了什么问题，我自身有什么问题。我反复地思考我们两人每一次的争吵。我总是说他粗心大意，他却说我小题大做，无事生非。我说他不懂未雨绸缪，他说我死板教条，不知变通，容不得半点率性存在。我觉得他自私，他说我逼得他喘不过气来，倘或他没有对我所做的一切感恩戴德，我又会自怜自伤，可怜自己白费心思。也许我们两人都没错。正是因为这些，我们俩才不合适对方。” 亚特摸摸她的手，说。“可我觉得他失去了一个非常好的女人。” 听了这话，露丝一阵难为情，又很感激他这么说。 “你的确是个好女人。你人很实在，又风趣，又聪明，又有热情。” “还有责任心。” “有责任心怎么了？我希望多些有责任心的人才好。还有，你知道吗？你有一点特别可爱，你不怕流露出自己脆弱的一面。” “噢，是吗。” “我是说真的。” “嗯，你人真好。下次我请你喝咖啡。”她笑起来，并且把手轻轻盖在他的手上。“说说你的生活吧。你的感情经历，爱情生活中最可怕的灾难。你现在的伴侣是谁？” “我现在没有伴儿。我一半的时间一个人生活，另外一半时间忙着给两个女儿收拾玩具，做果冻三明治。” 这倒是教人吃惊。“你领养的孩子？” 他显出一脸惊讶。“是我自己的孩子。当然，是我跟前妻生的。” 前妻？算上他露丝就总共认识三个结过婚的同性恋了。“那你是结婚以后多久出柜的？” “出柜？①”他神情十分怪异。“等等，你以为我是同性恋？” 露丝马上知道自己一直都弄错了。“当然不是！”她尽量想给自己打圆场。“我是说你从纽约出来是什么时候。” 亚特捧腹大笑。“这么长时间以来你一直以为我是同性恋？” 露丝闹了个大红脸。瞧她都说了些什么啊！“是因为你的戒指，”她指着亚特手上的指环，坦白说。“我认识的同性恋伴侣，大都把戒指戴在这个手上。” 他摘下戒指，迎着灯光左右转动它。“我最要好的朋友帮我打的这枚结婚戒指，”亚特严肃地说。“他叫欧内斯托，非常不同凡响的一个人。他是个诗人，靠开豪华礼车为生，打造金饰是他的业余爱好。看到这些锯齿状的纹路了吗？他说这是为了提醒我，生活中到处都会碰到各种挫折，应该记取的是挫折之外的种种，比如爱情，友谊，还有希望。我和米莉安离婚以后，我就不再戴这枚戒指了。后来欧内斯托生脑瘤去世了。我决定重新戴上这枚戒指，提醒自己要记得他和他说过的话。他是我的好朋友——但不是情人。” 他把戒指推到露丝面前，让她看个仔细。露丝拿起戒指，戒指比她想象中要重一些。她把戒指举到眼睛前面，透过那圆圈看着亚特。他是那么的温柔，那么宽容。露丝心头一阵收紧，感到既有些痛楚，又想大叫大笑。她怎么能不爱上他呢？