Chapter 5 chapter Five

Fortunately, the frenzy of first love will not happen a second time.It is indeed a kind of mania; besides, no matter how the poet describes it, first love is also a burden.People lack courage at the age of twenty-one. They are afraid of this and that because of trivial matters, worrying for no reason.At that age, a person's self-esteem is easily hurt, he gets angry easily, and he can't stand listening to anyone say a slightly thorny thing.Today, I am about to enter middle age.Middle age puts man under the protection of contentment.Middle-aged people also encounter trivial daily troubles, but they feel little sting and quickly forget them.But the situation was quite different back then: a word someone said inadvertently would be unforgettable for a long time, and it would become a scorching shame; Three nights of insomnia until the cock crows; insincere words are like a kiss from Judas.Adults can talk about it without changing their face or panic, but at that age, even if you tell a lie about a trivial matter, your tongue will hurt for a long time, and you will be tortured like a cannonball. ① Judas: A disciple of Jesus, who betrayed Jesus.Accordingly, Judas' kiss is often used by later generations as a metaphor for a sharp sword in his mouth.

"What were you doing this morning?" I can still remember Mrs. Van Hopper's voice.She sat on the bed with her back against the pillow, because she was really not sick, and she had been lying on the bed for too long, so she easily lost her temper over trivial matters.I reached for the cards from the drawer of the bedside table, and felt my neck turn red with a ghost. "I'm learning how to play tennis with a professional coach," I said, flustered by my own nonsense.What if the professional coach suddenly came to complain in the afternoon, saying that I hadn't gone to class for several days?

"The only thing that's too bad is that you've got nothing to do when I'm lying down like this," she said, snuffing out a cigarette in a bottle of washing-up balm, and then, in that horrifyingly obnoxious poker-fan style. Skillfully, he divided the cards into three stacks and drew them up and down, and flicked the back of the cards with a sound. "Who knows what you do all day!" she went on. "You didn't even send me a sketch for my review. If you are really sent to the streets, you will not forget to buy my Taxol cigarettes.I just hope you improve your tennis game, it will be useful to you in the future.The bad guys are the worst.Are you still serving handball? "As soon as she raised her hand and threw the Queen of Spades down, the queen stared at me viciously, just like Jezebel. ① The wife of Ahab, the king of ancient Israel. It is used as a metaphor for a vicious and evil shrew.

"Yes," I replied.Her question stung me.I think her words are both fair and appropriate, and they vividly outline my image.Yes, I did sneak a bit: I never took tennis lessons from a professional coach, not once since she was bedridden.It's been over two weeks now.I wondered why I'd been keeping the truth from myself, why I didn't tell her that I drove with De Winter every morning and ate lunch at the same table in the restaurant every morning. ① Mrs. Van Hopper's question is "Do you still serve underhand?" The word underhand has two meanings in English. The first meaning is "underhand", which is what Mrs. Van Hopper used when asking a question meaning; the second meaning is "sneaky".

"You have to run toward the same place, or you're not going to play well," she continued.I accepted her advice, and while trembling with falsehoods, I put the chin-jawed "J" of hearts on top of her queen. I forgot so many things about Monte Carlo.How we both went for a drive every morning, where we visited, and even what we talked about, all forgotten.But I haven't forgotten how I flipped my hat on my forehead with trembling fingers, and how I ran in a hurry in the corridor, and because I was impatient to wait for the slow elevator, I rushed downstairs, and I didn't wait for the doorman to help me. The door rushed out.

He was always in the driver's seat, waiting for me and reading the newspaper.Seeing me coming, he smiled, put the newspaper on the back seat, opened the car door for me, and asked: "Hi", how is 'confidant' feeling this morning?Where do you like to go? "But to me, it doesn't matter if he drives around in one place all the time, because I'm in the happiest mood at the beginning of the trip. Get in the car, sit next to him, hug Knees, hunched over the windshield—it was almost unbearable bliss. I was like a little kid who adored a sixth-grade prefect, and he, he was better than such a prefect Kinder, of course, but much harder to approach.

"It's windy and cold this morning, you'd better wear my coat." I still remember this sentence, because I was really naive at that time, and I felt so sweet wearing his clothes, as if I became the kind of elementary school student who held the sportswear for the prefect again, and could wrap his idol's clothes around his neck, proud of himself. It's going to kill me.Borrowing his coat and slinging it over my shoulders, even for a few minutes, is a triumph in itself and brightens up my morning! I've read in books how people put on a slouchy coquettishness when they're in love, so they can't figure it out, and I'm not one of those people.What kind of playing hard to get, sharp tongue, flirtatious smile, this set of provocative skills I don't know.

I just sat in the car, holding his map on my lap, letting the wind blow my long, straight, ugly hair.I both enjoyed his silence and longed to hear him speak.But whether he talks or not doesn't really matter to my mood; my only enemy is the clock on the dashboard, the arm of which will point relentlessly to one noon.Sometimes to the east, sometimes to the west, we walked through countless small villages.These villages are like shells attached to rocks, dotted all over the Mediterranean coast.Today I can't recall any of them. All I can remember is sitting in the leather car seat, with the criss-cross pattern of the map on my lap, its frills and loose binding.I also remember looking at the clock once and thinking, "At this very moment, at twenty past eleven, we must make this a permanent memory." Imprinted in the brain.When I opened my eyes, the car was turning on the road.A peasant girl in a black scarf waved to us.I still remember what she looked like now: the dusty skirt and the bright and friendly smile on her face.In a split second, we turned the corner and saw her no more.The peasant girl is a thing of the past, leaving only a memory.

How I wanted to go back and recapture the moment that was gone.But I immediately thought that even if I did go back, everything would not be the same, and even the movement of the sun in the sky would be different from the previous moment; the peasant girl might be dragging her weary steps along the road, passing in front of us , This time no more waving, maybe they didn't see us at all.This kind of thought is somewhat chilling and desolate.Looking at the clock again, another five minutes passed.After a while, time will run out, and we will have to go back to the hotel again. "If only I could invent a way to bottle memories like perfume!" I blurted out. "That way, the memory never fades and stays fresh all year round. Whenever you need it, just open the bottle and you'll be able to go back and relive that moment." I looked up at him to see what he had to say.He did not turn his face away, but continued to focus on the road ahead.

"In your short life, are there any special moments that you would like to relive?" he asked.From his voice, I could not detect whether there was any hint of mockery. "Well, I can't say." Then, without thinking, I made a stupid mistake: "I just want to save this moment and never forget it." "Are you saying today is an unforgettable day, or is it a compliment to my driving?" He said with a smile, like a sarcastic brother.I pursed my lips in silence, suddenly and painfully aware of the gulf that lay between them, a gulf that had been widened by his kindness to me.

That's when I realized that I would never mention these morning excursions to Mrs. Van Hopper, because her laugh, like his sneer, made me very sad.She won't be furious or dumbfounded when she hears this, but she may raise her eyebrows slightly to show that she doesn't believe me at all.Then she might shrug her shoulders indulgently and say, "My boy, he's kind enough to take you for a ride. But can you tell he's not bored as hell?" Then she'd pat me on the shoulder and send me off. Go buy Taxol cigarettes.I couldn't help feeling sorry for myself: after all, a young girl is inferior.Thinking about it, I began to bite my fingernails hard. "I wish I was a dame of thirty-six or so, in black satin and a string of pearls," I said gruffly, still haunted by his smile.Everything about judging the situation and the situation was thrown out of the sky by me. "If you were such a character, you wouldn't be in this car with me at this moment!" he replied. "Don't bite your nails! Your nails are ugly enough." "You may think I'm rude, but I still have to ask, why do you drive me out to play every day? Obviously, you pity me, but why do you have to choose me to receive your gift?" I straightened up and sat in my seat, trying to show the slightest bit of poor dignity of the young girl. He replied solemnly: "I invited you because you don't wear black satin clothes, and you don't wear pearl necklaces; besides, you are not thirty-six years old." laugh. "That's wonderful," I said. "You already know everything about me. I admit that I am very young and have not experienced much in life except for the death of relatives. And you? I know no more about you today than when we first met. " "So, what did you know then?" he asked. "It's not that you live in Manderley. And, uh, and then, you lost your wife." Ah, I finally spit out the throat bone. The words "your wife" have been swirling on the tip of my tongue for several days, and now I finally said them, and said them so naturally and effortlessly, as if mentioning her was the most common thing in the world.Thy wife, once spoken, those words echoed in the air, danced before my eyes, and because he listened to me in silence, never saying a word, they swelled into a gigantic hideous and terrible Strange.These words should never have been said, and naturally they should not have come out of my mouth.But this is a fait accompli, and what was said can never be taken back.The inscription on the title page of the poetry collection and the distinctive italic "R" reappeared in front of me now, making me feel uncomfortable and hairy. He will never forgive me, and our friendship is over. I remember staring out the windshield in front of me, oblivious to the sight of the road flying by, those words still ringing in my ears.A few minutes passed in silence, and a few minutes meant that the car had driven several miles. I thought, this time everything is over, and we will never travel by car together again.Perhaps tomorrow he would be out of here, and Mrs. Van Hopper would be recovering from her bed.Everything was the same as before, she took me for a walk on the terrace, and there, the hotel servant was carrying his trunk downstairs, and passing the luggage elevator, I happened to catch a glimpse of the trunk, which was all newly pasted. Luggage tags.Then came the hectic departure and the irreplaceable farewell, at first the sound of his car shifting gears around the corner, and then even that was melted into the noise of the traffic , gone forever. I was so absorbed in imagining the scene that I even saw what the valet said to the porter as he took his tip and went back through the hotel's turnstile.I was so busy thinking, I didn't even notice that the car was slowing down.It wasn't until the car stopped on the side of the road that I came back to reality again.He sat still, because he was not wearing a hat and had a white scarf around his neck. He looked very much like a medieval figure in a picture frame.In this bright natural scenery, he looks out of place.He should appear on the stone steps of some eerie cathedral, his cloak sweeping the floor; at his feet beggars are desperately picking up the gold coins he has dropped. The image of a kind and easy-going friend is no longer seen in him; the brother who laughed at me for biting my nails is gone.He becomes a stranger.I couldn't figure out why I was sitting next to him in the car. He turned to me and said, "Just now you talked about an invention, a way of capturing memory. You also said that you wanted to go back and experience the past at a certain moment. I'm afraid I have exactly the same idea as you. On the contrary. Memories are all poignant, and I would rather never let go of the past. What happened a year ago changed my life completely, and I want to forget everything in my life up to that time. That life It's over, erased from my memory. I have to start over. On the first day of our meeting, your Mrs. Van Hopper asked me why I came to Monte Carlo. That's because I'm trying to shut off all the memories you wish to revive.Of course, this doesn't always work, and sometimes the smell of the perfume is so strong that the bottle won't close, and I can't stand it.Besides, the devil possessed by people is like a guy who peeks into other people's privacy, always trying to uncork the bottle.The first time we both rode out in a car, up a mountain overlooking a deep valley, it was because the devil had uncorked the bottle.I took my wife there a few years ago. Whether the scenery between you and me is still the same, and what has changed in that place.Everything was just as it had been before, except—I am grateful to discover—that the mountain had no personality whatsoever, in no way reminiscent of the last time, and she and I left no trace.Maybe it's because you were with me that day.You know, you erased the shadow of the past for me, your power is much greater than that of Monte Carlo, which is feasting and feasting.If it weren't for you, I would have left here long ago and continued my journey, first to Italy, then to Greece, and maybe even further afield.You save me the trouble of running around aimlessly. Hmph, to hell with your stern preaching just now!Also, you think I'm doing charity work!I invite you because I need you and need you by my side.If you don't believe it, then you can get out of the car right now and find your way back by yourself.Well, open the car door and get down! " I sat dumbfounded with my hands on my lap, wondering if he really wanted to kick me out of the car. "Tell me, what are you going to do?" he asked. If I had encountered this situation a year or two earlier, I would have cried.When a child is anxious, tears always well up in his eyes.At that time, I only felt tears rolling in my eyes and blood rushing straight to my face.In the small mirror above the windshield, I suddenly saw my own face: bewildered eyes, flushed cheeks, long hair disheveled under a wide-brimmed hat. What a ghost! "I want to go home," I almost cried.He started the car silently, released the brake, turned around and drove back. The car is speeding.It seemed to me that it was going too quickly and effortlessly, and the lonely country all around watched us pass with indifference.We went back to the bend in the road, the one I wanted to seal the memory of just now.The peasant girl has disappeared; the surrounding colors are also bleak.It turns out that it is exactly the same as any corner on any road, and countless tourists drive by here every day.Its charm has vanished with my good mood.Thinking of this, my dull face suddenly twitched with excitement, and my adult self-esteem could no longer resist the humble tears.Tears welled up in the eyes and flowed down the cheeks because of the final victory. I couldn't stop the tears, it was involuntary.If I know how to reach for my handkerchief in my pocket, he will surely find me. So I just let the tears flow, let the salty taste burn my lips, and experience the extreme humiliation.I have been staring at the road ahead with teary eyes, so I don't know if he turned to look at me.Suddenly, however, he reached out, took mine, and kissed it, but still said nothing.Then he threw his handkerchief into my arms.I was afraid of losing face, so I dare not take it. I think of the heroines in novels who are still lovable when they sob.and I?With a swollen dirty face and a pair of crying red eyes, compared with them, it must be heaven and earth!The whole morning was going to pass like this, and the rest of the day was still long!The nurse was leaving, so I had to eat lunch again in the room with Mrs. Van Hopper.After dinner, she might ask me to play Besik together, and since I was recovering from the flu, I must be in a particularly high spirits and energy.I knew that sooner or later I would suffocate to death in that room.Messed-up sheets, rugs strewn all over the floor, pillows strewn all over the floor, dusty powders, spilled perfume and melted lipstick on the filthy bedside table—it was simply disgusting to think of.Her bed must have been littered with all kinds of newspapers, folded and thrown away after reading them; French novels with curled pages and torn covers were companions of American magazines. In the balm bottle, in the grape bowl, on the floor under the bed, there were stubbed cigarette butts here and there.The guests generously sent many flowers, and the vases were piled up side by side, in a mess.The mimosa was crowded with the exotic flowers of the greenhouse, and above the pile of flowers and plants was a large flower box decorated with ribbons, and there were tiers and tiers of candied fruit.In a few moments, her friends would drop by again, and I would have to make drinks for them.I hate this job.I still had to hide in a corner and listen to their babbling like a parrot, blushing with embarrassment, not knowing where to put my hands and feet.When there are more guests, she gets excited, so she will sit up on the bed, shout loudly, burst into laughter, reach for the portable record player to play the record, and shake her fat shoulder blades to the beat of the music.At this time, I became a servant who took the place of the master again, and felt embarrassed for her.I'd rather she be angry than see her pin her hair up and scold me for forgetting to buy Taxols. ① A card game in which suits are made according to the rules, played by two or four people, and played with sixty-four cards. It's all waiting for me in the hotel room, and what about him?Traveling alone after dumping me in a hotel. Maybe go to the beach and let the breeze caress your cheeks and chase the sun.Maybe he'll be stuck again in memories I don't know and can't share, wandering through the bygone years. The chasm between us gapes wide open, never has it been more insurmountable.He seemed to be standing on the far shore with his back to me.I deeply felt that I was childish and insignificant, and I was so natural, so I no longer cared about my appearance, and picked up his handkerchief and blew my nose.Anyway, it's come to this point, it doesn't matter how ugly I look. "To hell with it!" he said suddenly, as if exasperated, and as if at last impatient.He drew me to him, put his arm around my shoulders, and, still looking straight ahead, steered the steering wheel with his right hand.I still remember when he even drove the car faster. "You're young enough to be my daughter, and I really don't know what to do with you," he said.At this time, the road narrowed and a corner appeared ahead.He had to do a circle to avoid a dog.I thought he was going to let me go, but he still held me by his side. After the turn, the road stretched straight forward again, and he still didn't let me go. "Forget everything I said this morning," he said. "These are all things of the past, all done. From now on, we are not allowed to think about these past events again.My family calls me Maxim, and I want you to call me that too.You are serious enough with me. "He fumbled for the brim of my hat, then grabbed it in his hands and stacked it on the back seat, and he bent over and kissed my forehead. 'Promise you'll never wear black satin in your life,'" he said. I laughed through my tears He laughed too, and the discord was over, and the morning was bright and bright again! Mrs. Van Hopper and all the unpleasant things in the afternoon were nothing. The afternoon will pass quickly, and then the night, and after the night, tomorrow! I am very happy Complacent, ecstatic, and at that moment I had the courage to demand that I be treated equally. I seemed to see myself slipping into Mrs. Van Hopper's He answered her question with a yawn: "I overplayed my game, I just had lunch with Maxim. " I was really a kid to think of a Christian name as something very ostentatious.In fact, he's been calling me by my Christian name since the beginning.Despite the gloom, this morning pushed me to a new level of friendship.Turns out I wasn't as bad as I thought.He also kissed me, a natural and quiet kiss, which made people very comfortable, without the drama described in books at all, and did not embarrass people.This kiss seemed to make our relationship natural and unrestrained, everything was much easier.The gulf between them was filled at last; I shall call him Maxim from now on.Playing Beswick with Mrs. Van Hopper that afternoon also seemed less monotonous than usual.But I was not yet courageous enough to talk to her about the morning.At the end of the game, she put away the cards and reached for the card box. At this moment, she asked him inadvertently: "Max de Winter hasn't left yet?" With courage and long-trained self-control, he replied, "Well, I suppose so. He—I saw him come to the restaurant to eat." Someone must have seen us together and told her.Maybe the professional tennis coach had come and sued; maybe the hotel manager had written her a note.I waited for her to attack.But she still put the cards into the box by herself, yawning, while I tidied up the crumpled bed.I handed over the powder jar, the rouge box, and the lipstick.She put away the cards, picked up a small mirror from the table beside her, and said about him again: "Very attractive guy. I think his temper is a bit weird, which is hard to understand. That day in the lounge, I thought he would act One point said that inviting others to Manderley did not expect him to bite his mouth so tightly." I didn't answer, watching her holding the lipstick and drawing a bloody bow-shaped line on my hard pouting mouth.She held the mirror farther away to see how the make-up was doing, and went on: "I've never seen her, but I'm sure she must be very lovely, well dressed, and well behaved. At Manderley there used to be great parties Her death was an unexpected tragedy. He must have loved her dearly. I'd have to wear a darker shade of makeup to match the bright red here. Darling, can you bring me some dark powder?Put this box back in the drawer. " Then, I helped her put on makeup, perfume, and lipstick, and I was too busy until the bell rang and the guest came.I serve drinks slowly, unable to say a few words of greeting; I change records on the record player; I clear cigarette butts. "Little girl, have you drawn any sketches lately?" an old banker asked me enthusiastically, his monocle dangling on the wire.Insincerely, I put on a bright smile and answered him: "No, not recently. How about another cigarette?" It wasn't me who said that, my heart wasn't there at all.My thoughts were chasing a phantom, and at last her shadowy outline was gradually revealed.However, her face was still obscure, and her skin color was not yet clear; the shape of her eyes and the color of her hair were not yet clear, and had yet to be revealed. Her beauty is eternal; her sweet smile is unforgettable for a lifetime.Her voice still lingers somewhere; what she said is still in people's memory.The scenery of the places she has set foot in is still the same; everywhere there are still things that she touched with her own hands.Maybe there are still clothes she wore in the cabinet, and the smell of perfume is still left on them.In my bedroom, she held the book under the pillow.I seem to see her open the first blank page, with a smile on her face, and with a flick of a curved pen, write on the paper: "To Max - Rebecca".It must have been his birthday, and she put the book of poems on the breakfast table among the other presents.They both laughed together when he tore open the wrapping paper and untied the silk thread; perhaps she had been on his shoulder as he flipped through his poems.Max!She called him Max!How intimate and handsome this name is, and it is very comfortable to call it.The family could call him Maxim, that is to say grandma, grandma, aunt, aunt, and then a taciturn, banal, irrelevant young man like me.And Max is the name she chose, and this name belongs to her alone.On the title page of the collection of poems, she wrote the name with this kind of conceit.That bold italic type, flying domineeringly on the white paper, is itself a symbol of her: so detached!So confident! How many times she wrote letters to him like this, reporting her emotions.There were handwritten notes on half a sheet of paper, and whole pages of unreadable letters home when he was away, with things only the two of them knew.Her voice echoed through the house and out into the garden, carefree and genial, like the handwriting on a book. But, I can only call him Maxim!