Chapter 6 Series IV A, B and C-1

Series 4 A, B and C ——The Human Element in Mathematics After the student of arithmetic has mastered the four arithmetic operations and can calculate money and fractions with ease, he will then encounter a large number of exercises called "word problems".These word problems are an adventure without an ending and several stories, although they have many similarities with each other, there is still a certain legend in them. There are three characters in the word problem story, people call them A, B and C.Exercises generally take the form of: "A, B, and C are working together on a job that A does in one hour is equivalent to B's two hours' work, or C's four hours' work. Ask them how many hours they need to do it."

or this: "A, B, and C were hired together to dig a ditch. What A did in one hour, B did in two hours, and B did it twice as fast as C. Ask them how long it will take ……Etc., etc". Otherwise it's like this: "A bets that he can walk faster than both B and C. A walks in half an hour, B takes an hour, and C walks more slowly. Ask how far, etc., etc." The activities of A, B, and C are varied.In old-fashioned arithmetic textbooks, they were content to do "a certain job."However, this expression feels too vague and mysterious, and perhaps lacks a little romantic charm.Later, new expressions came into being and became popular, and the work they did was also described more specifically, including race walking, digging ditches, rowing boats, and building logs.Sometimes they also went into business in partnership, and the amount invested was "some" in the old mystical parlance.But their favorite is sports.When he got tired of walking races, A would get on a horse or a borrowed bicycle and have his two stupid buddies race him on foot.Sometimes they raced trains; sometimes they raced boats;If they were doing real work, what they were willing to do was to each pump water into a cistern--two of which had leaks under them, and one of which was leak-proof.Of course, the water tank that does not leak belongs to A.A can ride a bicycle when competing in walking, the best train belongs to him when competing in driving a train, and has the privilege of swimming downstream when competing in swimming.All three of them are addicted to gambling, and they have to bet on everything. A always wins.

In the opening chapters of the arithmetic book, their identities are hidden behind the names of John, William, Henry, etc., and they argue over the distribution of marbles.In algebra they are often called X, Y, Z.But these were only their Christian names, and it was still the three of them. If you've followed their histories through pages and pages of word problems, watched them build logs in their spare time, and watched them panting and frantically filling a leaky cistern, they've Instead of a few dry symbols, it became three living beings of flesh and blood—with their own emotions, ambitions, and desires, just like the rest of us.Let's look at them in turn.

A is a hot-blooded and hot-tempered person, he is energetic, impulsive, and strong-willed.He is the one who proposes to work with B, it is he who proposes a bet, and it is he who forces others to submit. Anyway, he plays the leading role in everything.He is strong and has great stamina.He is known to have walked for forty-eight hours straight and pumped water for ninety-six hours straight.His life was full of hardships and dangers.If you miscalculate, he may continue digging ditches for another two weeks without sleep.Recurring decimals appearing in the answer are likely to kill him. B is a peaceful and kind person who goes with the situation.He is afraid of A and is often bullied by A.But to C, who is short and weak, he is very friendly, like a brother.Having lost all his money on a bet, he is mostly at the mercy of A.

Poor C was a small, sickly man with a sad face all day long.Years of walking, digging ditches and pumping water had worn down his body and overwhelmed his nervous system.The miserable days forced him to smoke and drink so much that he suffered from it, and his hands shook when he dug ditches.He didn't have the energy to work like the others, and in fact, as Hamlin Smith said, "A can do more in an hour than C can in four." I first saw them one evening, right after the boat race.All three of them participated in the race. It is said that the distance that A can row in one hour is equivalent to the distance that B can row in two hours or C in four hours.When they came back from the game, B and C were so tired that they almost collapsed, and C coughed very badly. "Don't worry, old man," I heard B say, "I'll help you to lie down on the sofa first, and then I'll get you some hot tea." Then A rushed in quickly, and said bluffingly: " Hey guys, Hamlin Smith showed me three cisterns in his garden and he said we could pump them till tomorrow night. I bet I can beat you both. Come on, you can wear Boating clothes pumping, you know. I think your cistern is a little leaky, C." I heard B grumbling, saying the arrangement was so unfair and mean, and that C was dying of exhaustion. up.But whining be whiny, they finally pumped anyway, and from the sound of the pumping I could tell right away that A was pumping four times faster than C.

In the years since, I've seen them in town, always busy.I've never heard of any of them eating or sleeping.Later, because I was away from home for a long time, I didn't see them for a long time.When I came back, I was surprised to find that A, B, and C were no longer doing their old jobs.After some enquiry, I've learned that kind of work is done by N, M, and O these days, and someone else hired four gringos to do the algebra, and those four guys were called Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta. . One day I happened to meet old D who was hoeing in the hot sun in the little garden in front of his house. D was an old coolie who used to be called from time to time to help A, B, and C. "Sir, do you ask me if I know them?" he said. It is often said that I prefer Mr. B for my kindness. We have done a lot of things together, sir, though I have never been directly involved in rowing or anything like that, but only simple jobs if you want to call them what you will. Now I Too old to even do that work--just stay here in the garden and hoe and plant a little 'logarithms' or a 'common denominator' or two. But to prove those theorems, Mr. Euclid still employs me. He really does."

From this chattery old man I learned of the tragic end of my three former acquaintances.He told me that C became ill not long after I left town.It seems that the situation is this: A and B rowed a bet on the river, C followed along the river bank, and then sat down in the river wind.Of course, River Wind was not good at Hui, and C fell ill as a result. A and B returned home and found C lying sickly on the bed. A shook him roughly and yelled, "Get up, C, we've got to build logs." C looked so weak and pitiful, so B said, "Hey, A, I can't bear to do this, he It's not suitable to build more logs tonight." C smiled weakly and said, "If I can sit up in bed, maybe I can build some more." B suddenly became fully alert, and he said: "Listen, A, I'm going to hire a doctor right away, he's dying." A was furious, and replied, "You don't have the money to hire a doctor." "I'll ask him to keep the price down," B said firmly , "Then I can invite him to come." C's life is still hopeful to be rescued here, but it is a pity that something went wrong when taking the medicine.The medicine was placed on a tray next to the bed, and the nurse accidentally took it off the tray but forgot to change the number.This fatal mistake caused C's condition to take a sharp turn for the worse.In the evening of the next day, when the shadows in the small room became darker and darker, anyone who saw it could understand that C's time had come.I think at this time, even A was finally infected by the atmosphere at that time. He stood there with his head down, aimlessly betting with the doctor how long C could breathe. "A," murmured C, "I'm afraid I'm leaving soon." "How fast will you go, old chap?" asked A in a low voice. "I don't know." C said, "Anyway, I'm leaving."—The time of C's death is coming soon. C cheered himself up, and asked about the unfinished work he left downstairs. A put it in C's arms, and then C died.As his soul soared toward heaven, A watched it float upward with melancholy admiration, and B burst into tears, choking with tears: "His—little reservoir—pool— And the ones he used to row—the clothes are saved. I don’t think I—I’m afraid I’ll ever—dig the ditch again.” The funeral was simple and plain, and it was not much different from the usual funerals, the only difference being that in order to express respect for the athletes With respect to the mathematician, A rented two hearses.Two hearses set off at the same time, B driving the one carrying the black parallelepiped containing the body of his unfortunate friend. A, driving the empty hearse, generously lets B start a hundred yards ahead of him.Since the speed of A is four times that of B, the result is that A still arrives at the cemetery first (find the distance to the cemetery).When the sarcophagus was lowered into the tomb, the graveyard was filled with broken figures from Book I of Euclid's Geometry.It was discovered that since C's death, A has completely changed himself.He has no interest in competing with B, and he is weak in digging ditches.In the end he gave up his job and lived off the interest on his betting winnings. B has never recovered from the shock of C's death.Grief had eaten away at his mind, and it was becoming more and more chaotic.He was depressed and depressed all day long, and he spoke only monosyllabic words.Later, his condition deteriorated further, and the words he used were no longer difficult even for children. B realizes his dangerous condition and is sent to a lunatic asylum voluntarily.There, he broke with mathematics and devoted himself to writing The History of the Robinson Family in Switzerland, also using only monosyllabic words.

The fourth series back to the jungle I have a friend named Billy who is "bush".His profession is medicine, so I don't think it necessary for him to go to the field to sleep.Under normal circumstances, he appears to be sane.As he leans forward to talk to you, nothing but kindness and benevolence shines from above his gold-rimmed glasses.Like all the rest of us, he was a very well-bred man, or he was until he forgot all about his upbringing. I don't feel any criminal quality in his blood.But in fact Billy's abnormality has reached the point of no cure.He has a kind of "bush sleepiness".

To make matters worse, he often has a habit of going crazy, dragging his friends to go deep into the jungle with him. Whenever we got together, he always talked about camping in the jungle. Not long ago, I ran into him at the club. "I wish," he said, "that you will come with me to Gatineau for some amusement." "Well, I wish I could, but I don't want to," I said to myself, but to please him, I said, "How shall we go, Billy, by car or by train? ?” "No, let's row." "Wouldn't that mean going upstream all the time?" "Oh, yes," said Billy cheerfully.

"How many days will we have to row to get there?" "Six days." "Can you shorten the time?" "Okay," Billy replied, feeling that I was starting to get into character. "If we started paddling every morning before dawn and kept paddling until dark, we'd only be there in five and a half days." "My God! Do you want to bring luggage?" "I have to bring a lot of miles." "Do I have to carry two hundred pounds over hills and mountains each time to carry these things?" "yes." "Do you want to hire a guide, a dirty Indian guide?"

"That's right." "Can I sleep next to him?" "Oh, yes, if you like." "After reaching the top of the hill, what else do you want to do?" "Well, then we'll climb over the main peak there." "Oh, that's right, is it? Is the main peak three hundred yards high with a rocky wall? Do I have to climb up with a bucket of flour on my back? Is it going to roll down the other side and kill me?" What? You see, Billy, the trip was a feat, but it's grand, and I don't dare to dream of it. If you could take me up the river in an iron boat with an awning, and a palanquin Or use a sedan chair to transport our luggage to the main peak, and then use a crane to put things on the other side of the mountain, then I will go. Otherwise, it will have to be done.” Billy left me in despair.But since then he has tossed me several times over this matter. He offered to take me up the Batiscan.But I was content downstream. He asked me to go with him to the source of the Atawapiska.I don't want to go. He said I should go and see Kwakassis Falls.But why should I go? I made the opposite suggestion to Billy: He crosses the Adirondacks (by train) to New York, transfers from there to Atlantic City, then to Washington, then takes our food (in the dining car) , went camping there (Willard) for a few days and back, I came back by train and he walked with all the gear on his back. This matter is still not settled. Of course, Billy was just one of thousands of "bushmania" sufferers, and autumn is the season when the disease is at its worst. There are multiple trains going north every day, full of lawyers, bankers and brokers, all headed for the jungle.They were dressed like pirates, with ponchos, flannel shirts, and leather trousers with belts.They could bring out far better clothes to wear than these, but they don't want to.I don't know where they got these clothes.I think it was probably borrowed from the railroad.Guns were strapped to their knees and machetes hung from their waists.They smoked the worst tobacco they could find, and each of them carried ten gallons of old booze in his luggage cart. In between lying to one another they passed the time by reading hunting pamphlets printed on the railroad.This kind of stuff is concocted leisurely but viciously, aiming to stimulate their "jungle addiction" and make them more and more crazy.I'm all too familiar with this kind of stuff because that's what I write about.Once, for example, I blew all the crap out of my imagination about a little place called Dog Lake at the end of a railroad spur.The place had declined as a settlement, and the railway department decided to turn it into a hunting resort.This makeover was achieved by me.I think I did a really good job not only renaming it, but creating a lot of gameplay for it as well.That pamphlet reads: "The clear Ovata Witness Lake (according to the local Indian legend, the name means: 'Mirror of Almighty God') is rich in various famous fish. They swim very close to the surface of the water, and fishermen You can touch them as soon as you reach out. There are so many pike, pike, mackerel, doggerel and chicken fish, you squeeze each other in the water. In the deeper part of the lake there are sardines, lobsters, herring, anchovies and various other canned fish swimming by themselves, obviously enjoying themselves. And in the deeper part of the clear water, there are Pike, Pigfish, Jackfish and Sailfish are in endless circles having fun. "Ovata Witness Lake is not just a paradise for fishing enthusiasts. There are large tracts of virgin forests overgrown with ancient pines on the slopes of the lake, and there are often groups of bears coming out of the forest to the lakeside—there are brown ones. , green, and bear-colored—and when night falls, the forest is bustling with elk, caribou, antelope, musk ox, muskrat, and other herbivorous mammals. These huge The four-legged animals usually leave at ten-thirty in the evening, and from then to eleven-fifteen in the evening the whole shore is the domain of the buffalo and buffalo. "After midnight, Yaxing is the only hunter who is full of eagerness. He can choose any distance and any speed, and let the jackals and tigers chase them away. These beasts are notoriously ferocious, and they are eager to tear off the pants of the hunters at any time. and drive their teeth into their quivering flesh. Attention hunters! Such adventures are charming, don't miss your chance." I've seen quite a few people—quiet, respectable, clean-shaven men—read that little pamphlet I wrote in hotel lobbies, with a gleam of excitement in their eyes.I think it must be about tigers and leopards that deeply moved them, because I found that when they read that pamphlet, they couldn't help rubbing their hands on themselves. Of course, you can imagine what such reading does to the minds of men who have just left the office and dressed like pirates. Once they read it, they go crazy, and once they go crazy, they will go on and on. Just look at what happened when they entered the jungle. Look at that rich broker, lying on his stomach in the bushes, with two glasses shining like the headlights of a cart.what is he doingHe's tracking a reindeer that doesn't exist.He's "stalking" it, using his belly.Of course, deep down, he knew there were no reindeer and there never were; but the lord read my pamphlet and went mad.He couldn't help it: he had to track something.how he crawled.See, he crawled over the black raspberry tree (so carefully that the reindeer couldn't hear the thorns digging into his flesh), and then he crawled over a beehive, so gracefully and slowly that even the swarm moved toward him. He didn't even disturb the reindeer when he made his onslaught.What a great woods trick!Yes, watch him again.Observe however you like.As he crawls forward, you might as well run behind him and draw a blue cross on the bottom of his pants.He will never notice.He thought he was a hound.But the old man laughed a lot when his ten-year-old son draped a cushion over his shoulders and crawled under the dining table, pretending to be a bear. Now let's look at the other people in the jungle. They've been told--I think I initiated the idea in the pamphlet--that camping is sleeping on a pile of hemlock branches.I think I told them to listen to the song of the wind (you know what I mean by that word), to hear the wind whispering among the giant pines.So they all lay down on their backs, huddled together on a pile of green needle-pricks--even San Sebastian would have been terrified of it.They lay there, staring at the sky with bloodshot restless eyes, waiting for the crooning to begin.But there was no sign of singing. And another man, in tatters and six days' beard unshaven, was roasting a piece of bacon on a stick over a small fire.What does he think of himself now?Is that the head chef at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel?Yes, he thought so, and he also thought that poor morsel of flesh—he had cut it with a cigarette cutter from a hunk of flesh that had been soaked in the rain for six days—was fit to eat.And, he's going to eat it right away.Others are like him too.All of them are crazy. There is another man (God bless him) who thinks he has the "talent" to be a carpenter.He was nailing shelf after shelf to a tree.He felt like a handyman until all the shelves fell off.But it was the same man who had cursed the world when his wife asked him to nail a board in the kitchen for storage. "Damn it, how's the damn thing nailed up?" he asked. "You think I'm a plumber?" Fortunately, all this is indifferent. Let them stay as long as they are happy there. Personally, I don't care if they come back and make a fuss about sleeping rough.By the time they returned to town, they were tired from sleep deprivation and listless from drinking too much; they had been stung yellow by bush flies, trampled by elk and chased by bears and skunks. Running around in the jungle - and they've got the nerve to say they like it. But sometimes I think they really like that. After all, man is nothing but an animal.They like to run out of the house into the jungle, howling around at night and feeling something bite them. Just why can't they imagine doing the same thing without all that trouble?Why don't they undress in the office, crawl around on the floor, and howl at each other?In fact, there are similarities in this. The Fourth Series The Mysterious Case of the Mariposa Bank (1) Suicide is something that shouldn't be done unless it's been thought through.It often has very serious consequences, sometimes inflicting more pain on others than on the suicidal person. I'm not saying that suicide is useless, usually it is.Anyone who, after listening to a certain type of music, reading a certain type of poetry, or listening to a certain type of concertina performance, feels that some lives really shouldn't go on, that even suicide Its bright side. But suicide under the pretext of love is at best a very dubious experiment.I know that this is the opposite of most die-hard lovers who kill themselves at the slightest provocation, as if it were the only glorious way to end a life they never should have begun like. I fully agree that this act of martyrdom has its own charm, enough to thrill and fascinate.And I also admit that there is nothing better than dying in love to make a girl realize the value of a man whose heart she has broken.What could be more touching than when the sad man held up half a pint of hydrocyanic acid that was about to stop his heartbeat forever, and murmured his forgiveness to her while dying heroically? Leaving aside the general value of dying for love, I think few people outside the field of love know what it is like to commit suicide four times in five weeks. Yet Mr. Pupkin of the Mariposa Bank of Exchange experienced just such things. Ever since his acquaintance with Zana Pepalai he had realized that his love for her was hopeless.She is so beautiful that he is not worthy of him; she is too kind and he is not worthy of her; her father hates him and her mother despises him; But too much. In addition to the above, if you understand it further, then you will understand Pupkin's first suicide.One night when he went to the judge's house, he found a poet reciting poems for Zanna.The fellow was just like the usual poet, with the prim face of a jackass, his hair combed straight to the sides, and his eyes like two cloudy drops of syrup.I don't know how he got there—perhaps he came from the city—anyway he was on the porch of the Pepalais that August night.He was reciting poetry—either Tennyson's, or Shelley's, or his own, who could tell—Zanna sat beside him, hands clasped; Nora Gallagher There, too, was looking at the night; Jocelyn Chow was there, gazing into the infinite night sky, and there was a little fat little woman with her head on one side, looking at the poet Miles—in short, that’s the group of people. I don't know what it is about poets that attracts women in this way.But everyone knows that a poet just needs to sit down, move his hands like sawsaws in the air, and recite poems in a deep, stupid voice, and all the women will go crazy for him.The men despised him and would have kicked him out of the corridor if they had been brave enough.The women, on the contrary, were maddened by him. As Pupkin sat sullenly listening to the poet reciting Browning, he realized that everyone in the room understood but he.He could see Zanna staring at the poet, as if capturing every syllable (yes, she needed to).He endured it for about fifteen minutes, then slipped off the side of the veranda without even saying "good night" and was gone. He sprinted straight down Oneida Street and then down Main Street.He has only one goal in mind - suicide.He went straight to the Jim Elliott drugstore on the big corner to buy a bottle of chloroform and drank it, and died there instantly. As he walked along the street, everything was so real in his mind that he could describe the smallest details.He could even see the banner headline in large type in the next day's paper: amazing suicide Peter Pupkin dies of poison He may have hoped that the incident would lead to a public inquiry, and that the question of Browning's poetry, and whether it was justified in allowing it to be widely circulated, would be brought up and thoroughly argued in the newspapers. Thinking of all this, Pupkin had unknowingly come to the big corner. On warm August nights, as you know, Mariposa drugstores are brightly lit.From half a block away, you could hear the fizz of soda pop from the soda machine.The shop was full of customers, too many people—boys, girls, and old people—everyone was drinking sarsaparilla soda, eating chocolate ice cream, citric acid, and other frothy things that were drunk from long straws. drinks.Everyone laughed so happily and talked so enthusiastically. The excitement was unprecedented.The girls were all in light colours, some white, some pink, some Cambridge blue.The soda machine was marble-white with silver taps that hissed and clattered.Jim Elliott and his assistants wore white coats with red geranium patterns.How happy that scene must be. Of course the foyer of the theater in Paris is a good picture of true gaiety and joie de vivre, but it may not be compared with the scene in Mariposa's Elliott's drugstore. There were a lot of people in the drugstore that night, because it happened to be Saturday, which meant that all the hotels closed early, except of course the Smith Hotel.Since all the hotels were closed, all the people came to the drugstore and drank like fish.It just goes to show the silliness of things like local alcohol choice and the temperance movement.Well, if you shut down hotels, wouldn't that drive people to drink soda or something?Besides, there was much more to drink than ever, not only for men, but for girls and boys and children.I've seen little guys who had to be picked up to sit on the high stools at Elliot's drugstore, drinking lemonade from big goblets, enough to swell them to death—they They were all brought there by their own fathers, why?Just because all the hotel bars are closed. What's the use of thinking that simply banning whiskey and brandy will stop people from binge drinking?The only result is to force them to drink citric acid, sarsaparilla soda, cherry cough drops, pick-me-ups, and other things that they would never dip into before.So, in the long run, they drink more than they used to.Here's the problem: You can't stop someone from seeking pleasure, no matter how hard you try.If they can't have their fun with stale beer and brandy, they'll do it with white soda or lemonade, and the whole depressing Prohibition scheme goes bankrupt, so what? But all I'm trying to say is that Elliott's in Mariposa is the happiest and brightest place in the world on a Saturday night. Just imagine how ridiculous it would be to commit suicide in such a place! Just imagine walking up to the soda machine and buying chloroform and soda for a nickel!Well, how can I say it? That's how Pupkin felt at the time.You see, as soon as he walked into the store, he was greeted, "Hello, Pate!" and one or two others, "Hello, Papp!" Someone asked him, "What's up lately?" How are you?" Some people said, "How are you doing recently?" and so on.You will find that these people are naturally very refreshed because they have drunk more or less. As a result, instead of buying chloroform, Pupkin went to the counter where the soda dispenser was placed and ordered a glass of artificial mineral water containing Australian minerals with cherry soda. Then he drank another glass of carbonated mineral water, and then he drank two more glasses. Lemon mineral water and a glass of Australian mineral water. I don't know if you know what effect brominated mineral water has on the human spirit. Anyway, after drinking this kind of stuff, it will be difficult for you to commit suicide. You can't do it. You feel very comfortable. In short, under the joint effect of artificial mineral water, brilliant lights and beautiful girls, depression and anger were swept away, and Pupkin began to feel refreshed and refreshed.He doesn't care how many Brownings there are in the world, let them go--as for the poet, what is he?Let him go to hell!What the hell is poetry, eh? —just bad rhymes. So, believe it or not, about ten minutes later Peter Pupkin left the pharmacy again and headed straight for Pepalay House.Poets or no poets he had, the most important thing was that he brought three big ice cream bars from Viniott's—each with three layers of green, pink, and brown.He made his way back to the verandah just as Browning's verse was growing dull.Because he drank artificial mineral water containing Australia, he was still very excited at this time.When he brought out the ice cream, Zana was overjoyed and ran to get a plate and spoon.Pupkin followed to help her, and together they took out the spoons and the like.They laughed so happily, it was amazing how wildly they were so happy.You know, girls don't need to drink artificial brominated mineral water.They are full of this kind of thing in their bodies all the time. As for the poet, can you imagine how Pupkin felt when Zanna told Pupkin that the poet was married and that the pudgy little woman with the head tilted to one side was his wife? So they ate ice cream, and the poet ate the most—tubs and buckets of ice cream!All poets have this appetite, they need to eat like this.After eating, the poet recited some passages of his own, and Pupkin found he had been mistaken, for his lines were indeed very beautiful.It's a first-rate masterpiece.Pupkin happily returned home that night, forgetting about the chloroform, and it turned out he didn't kill himself.But like all people who fall in love, he paid the price. It is not necessary for me to give an exhaustive account of Mr. Pupkin's subsequent suicides.Because their motives and methods are basically the same as those mentioned above. Sometimes he would come out of his bedroom in the middle of the night and go downstairs to the bank office to get his accidental revolver with which he would end his life.He could see the following banner headline in the next day's paper: The Fourth Series The Mysterious Case of the Mariposa Bank (2) Promising young bank employee shot dead Brain smeared But shooting a gun through the head was too loud and noisy, and Pupkin soon found that only special heads could stand the noise.So he would often tiptoe back after midnight to put the gun back where it was, and decide to throw himself into the river instead.However, every time he came to the Tresto Bridge on the Osa Vepe River, he found it inappropriate to throw himself into the river--the bridge was too high, the water was too fast and dark, the rapids were too horrible--in a word , is not an ideal place to commit suicide by throwing oneself into a river at all. He realized that it was far better to commit suicide by lying on the rails, and just wait by the railway line, and when an express train came, he would get under the wheel and it would be over.However, although Pupkin often waited for the train with this idea, he never found the right pair of wheels for him.Besides, it is really difficult to distinguish whether it is an express train or a high-speed freight train. I didn't want to talk too much about these suicide attempts.我之所以还是要说，是因为其中的一个自杀企图最终使彼得?帕普金成了英雄，从而为他和赞娜?佩帕莱那错综复杂的爱情纠葛彻底解决了问题。此事纯属偶然，它使帕普金卷入一桩最难侦破的银行奇案并成了其中的中心人物。这一案件使不少足智多谋的最优秀的法律人才束手无策，尽管他们在国内属于这一最富于挑战性的行业中的佼佼者。 事情发生在一天夜里，帕普金决定到楼下的银行办公室去拿他那支左轮手枪，看能不能用它把脑浆打出来。正是在这个晚上，消防队员们开了一个舞会，赞娜和城里来的一个陌生人跳起了四次舞——那小子在大学读四年级，天南地北什么都知道。帕普金实在感到忍无可忍。那天晚上马洛里?汤普金斯外出了，帕普金回来时银行大楼里只有他孤孤单单一个人，看守人吉里斯住在大楼后面加建的小屋里。 他坐在自己的房间里埋头沉思了好几个小时。有那么两三次他拿起了一本书——后来他清楚地记得那是康德的——他试图读下去，可是又感到它毫无意义，琐碎极了。然后，出于一时冲动，他从椅子上站了起来，摸着黑走下楼梯，朝银行的办公室走去，准备拿起那支左轮手枪当场把自己干掉，让人们第二天早上发现他的尸体横躺在地板上！ 那时候夜已深而又深，空荡荡的银行大楼像死一般寂静。帕普金能听见楼梯在他脚下吱嘎作响。正当他往下走的时候，他觉得他听到了另一种声音，像是开门或关门的声音。不过，听上去不像通常那种清脆的关门声，而是一种低沉发问的声音，好像有人在地下室里关保险箱的铁门似的。帕普金打住脚步，站在原地听了片刻，他的心怦怦直跳。然后他灵机一动，脱掉拖鞋，悄无声息进了一楼的办公室，从他那张出纳桌里取出了那支左轮手枪。他紧握着手枪，凝神屏气地听后楼梯上和地下库房内有什么动静。 我该先解释一下，玛丽波莎汇兑银行的办公室都在一楼，与街面平齐。一楼下面是地下室，地下室分成很多低矮黑暗的小间，地上铺着石板。这些小房间里放着好多不用的办公桌和箱子，箱子里则装着一捆捆的旧账本之类。银行的金库正好在其中某个小间里，值此秋收时节——粮食收割和买卖季节——金库保管着一捆一捆的钞票，少则五十元一扎，大则十万元一捆。除了外面街灯的阴暗反光，金库里没有任何亮光。昏暗的反光斑斑驳驳，滞留在库房内的石地板上。 我想，当彼得?帕普金紧握手枪，站在银行的办公室里严阵以待的时候，他一定把他当初来这里时想达到的伤心目标忘得一干二净了。此时此刻，什么英雄呀、风流韵事呀，他统统忘到脑后去了。他的整个心身都在警戒着——深夜的死寂更是绷紧了他的每一根神经——他全神贯注，提心吊胆留意着他从银行的地下室和后楼梯听到的各种声音。 片刻之间，帕普金明白了形势的严峻，那就像白纸黑字一样清清楚楚，毫不含糊。他忘记了当不当英雄之类，只知道银行的地下室里存有六万元巨款，而他每年拿八百元钱正是为了看守它的。 彼得?帕普金只穿着袜子站在那儿，他竖着耳朵捕捉各种声音。在穿过窗户照进来的昏光之中，他的脸色一片死白。他的心脏像锤子一样在狠狠地敲他的肋骨，但在他那颗猛烈跳荡的心脏里，涌流的是大英帝国的四代忠臣的热血。强盗要想从玛丽波莎银行抢走那六万元的巨款，他必须先跨过银行出纳员彼得?帕普金的尸体。 " 帕普金沿着楼梯而下，朝地下室里银行金库所在的那个房间走去，他脚步稳健有力，和他的祖先们当年在阅兵场上的步伐一模一样。要是他知道就好了，正当他走下金库前面的楼梯的时候。另外有一个人正猫在后楼梯边的通道的阴暗处。这个人也手握左轮枪，而且，不管是不是罪犯，他的脸部表情也和帕普金的一样勇敢。当他听见出纳员在楼梯上的脚步声时，他侧过身子，一声不响地在门口的阴暗处等待着。 确实没有必要唠叨所有这些细节，它们唯一有趣之处是可以让我们看到，一个穿着灯芯绒吸烟服、只穿袜子没穿鞋的银行出纳员怎么有时居然也能变成英雄，成为玛丽波莎的姑娘们所梦想的那种非凡人物。 所有那一切一定是发生在夜间三点钟左右。看守员吉里斯后来的证词证明了这一点。第一次听到响声的时候他看了一下表，他注意到是两点半，他知道他的表三天前慢了三刻钟，后来又走快了，一慢一快相抵，想必是三点钟。吉里斯听到银行里有脚步声，便拿起手枪下楼去了地下室，当时的确切时间在后来的法庭盘问调查中颇有价值。 不过不用着急，还是听我慢慢道来。帕普金来到银行的保险柜前，在它前面跪了下来，在黑暗中摸索着被砸的锁。正当他跪着的时候，他听见背后有响动，他跪着转过身去，看见那个窃贼躲在过道的半明半暗处，手里的枪闪着亮光。接下来就是瞬息之间的事儿了。帕普金听到一个声音，是他自己的声音，但听上去是那么陌生、空洞，那声音喊道：“放下枪，否则我开枪了！”正当他举起左轮手枪的时候，他眼前闪过一团眩目的火光，随即彼德?帕普金——玛丽波莎银行的助理出纳员——往前一倾，倒在了地板上，不省人事了。 讲到上面的地方，当然，我应该结束一章甚至一部书的故事了，或者至少该用沙袋敲敲读者的脑袋，迫使他停下来并且想一想。公平一点说，我们应该就此打住，从一数到一百调剂一下，或是起身到街上去散散步，要不就是在脑海里自己描绘一下现场的情景：彼得?帕普金躺在银行的地板上，一动不动的，双臂伸向两边，左轮手枪仍紧紧地抓在手里。但我还是没法打住，忍不住要继续讲下去。 第二天早上七点半的时候，汇兑银行的助理出纳员彼得?帕普金在银行大楼的地下金库被劫匪枪杀的消息传遍了玛丽波莎镇。另外有消息说，银行看守员吉里斯也在楼梯脚被枪杀了，劫匪抢走了五万元现钞，现已逃之夭夭。还有人说，劫匪在人行道上留下了一行血迹，警局方面带着警犬到镇子北边的大沼泽追踪去了。 以上所说——请注意，这一点很重要——只是人们七点半时知道的案情。当然，随着时针的转动，人们了解到的案情越来越多。八点钟的时候，人们得知帕普金没有死。不过肺部受了重伤。到八点半的时候，又得知他不是被打中肺部，但子弹打穿了他胸骨下方的凹进处。 九点正又得知帕普金的心窝安然无恙，但子弹打中了他的右耳并把它整个儿给打飞了。最后得知他的耳朵没有真的被打掉，也就是说，子弹没有一点不剩地刮掉他的耳朵，但擦伤了他的头部，把他给震懵了，假如子弹再往左偏那么一两英寸，那它就打中他的脑髓了。当然，从公众的兴趣来说，这已和被枪杀没什么区别了。 的确，到九点钟的时候，人们在街上已看到帕普金本人。他头上斜扎着一条大大的绷带，在指点着劫匪的去向。再说银行看守员吉里斯，到八点时也弄清楚了，他也没有死。据说他的脑袋被打穿了，至于伤势是否严重纯粹只是猜测。事实上，到十点钟的时候，人们得知劫匪的第二颗子弹只在看守员的头上擦了一下，据目前掌握的情况看，他的脑袋和案发之前没什么区别。在此我得补充一句，原先关于血迹，沼泽和警犬的传闻是不确凿的。那红色的污迹有可能是血迹，但是当那些斑斑点点延伸到奈特利肉铺的地窖时，好像又变成糖浆了。不过对此仍有争议，有人说很可能劫匪非常狡猾，在血迹上倒了糖浆。 另外人们也想起来了，玛丽波莎根本就没有警犬，尽管其他种类的狗应有尽有。 因此，你瞧，到十点钟的时候，整个案件便变成了一桩无法侦破的迷案，而且从此以后将永远是悬案一桩了。 并不是说证据不足。除了帕普金本人的案情陈述，还有吉里斯的陈述，另外还有晚上听见枪声并看见那个劫匪（有人说是一帮劫匪）跑过街道（有人说是走过去的）的所有人的陈述。显而易见，劫匪在销声匿迹之前跑遍了玛丽波莎半数以上的街道。 但帕普金和吉里斯的陈述已足以说明问题。帕普金说他听见银行里有响动，便及时赶到了地下室，刚好发现劫匪蹲伏在过道里，那家伙个头很大，样子很凶，穿着一件厚重的外套。吉里斯的说法与此吻合，他也是在同一时刻听到了声音，只不过他开头把劫匪描绘成了一个又矮又瘦的家伙（不过，即使是在黑暗中，他样子也够凶恶的），穿着一件短夹克，但后来经过仔细回想，吉里斯意识到他开头把罪犯的个头给弄错了，他说罪犯的个头可能比帕普金说的还要大。吉里斯朝歹徒开了枪，帕普金先生恰好也是在同一时间开的枪。 除了上述情况，剩下的全是谜团了，根本没法看清，没法猜透。