Chapter 3 Chapter two

None of these fools could have imagined that simply writing would reveal themselves.That's how I get to know them: by what they say.My conduct as a person is the same as my writing, and my writing is like a person.At ten o'clock in the morning, Camargue paced up and down the lobby of the editorial office, humming under his breath the catchphrase that summed up all the wisdom of journalism for him.At this hour, he likes to walk around in his uninhabited kingdom, where there is white light coming in from the skylight, an empty desk, a spotless computer terminal, and white paper waiting for those who will never come imagination.The cleaners have already taken away the waste papers, the nonsense articles written the day before, and the articles that violate the principle of keeping silent before things happen; , how, how, and what is the purpose, and he has been asking them to write what means, what experience they have experienced, and to trace the clues that connect the external world with everyone's inner world; he said that reality Should be like you, not you should be like reality!How much better the paper would have been if he had written the entire Journal of Buenos Aires alone!How much more beautiful the world would be if he wrote the description of the world alone!

In the small room on the culture board, near the restroom, a young woman works in front of a computer monitor, occasionally biting her nails.From a distance, Camargue admired her free demeanor, her small round hips, and her breasts that protruded vaguely from under the tight sweater. "Hey! Come here and check this news!" The girl shouted without taking her eyes off the screen, "Look who's dead! Robert Mitchum! (①Robert Mitchum (1917-1997), American Famous film actor who starred in "A G.I. Tale," "Cape Fear," "Cross of Hate," and "Night of the Hunter.") How nice it would be for me to write this message!"

Her voice is loud and powerful, and she likes to give orders.His fingers were red and swollen like grapes, and they were covered with saliva.Camargue felt that the girl did not recognize him.Few journalists get to meet him head-on. "I'm Camargue," he said. He used to use his name to intimidate all editors and scare novices away.The girl looked suspiciously at Camargue. "Are you Ge Eme?" she asked. "Dr. Camargue? Didn't expect you to look like this." This is an incautious and rather vulgar comment.Unexpectedly, it looked like this. Since everyone knows him, how could he not think of it?Few people call him Ge Eme so boldly; hardly anyone asks what the initials of these words refer to.Over time, these initials have become a name, as DH Lawrence, Ts Eliot, or HA Murrena (1923-1975), Argentine writer, author of "Original Sin in the Americas" " and other prose.), even he himself did not think about the meaning of the initials of these words.His Christian name is Gregorio) Magno Pontlfice; although GMP appears on the ID card, he has successfully hidden Pontifice (Pontifice. Spanish, meaning "Pope", "Bishop", etc.), and finally there is Ge Eme.

He asked her, "Who are you?" "I'm sorry. My name is Reina. Remis. I'm terrible at manners." "Nobody your age really knows what Robert Mitchum is. How old are you? Twenty-two? twenty five? " "Thirty. I know more than you think." "Then what are you waiting for? Sit down! Write this message!" "The director won't like it. Maybe he's already thought of leaving it to someone else." "Everything I decide, your director will like it." After saying that, he turned and left. Oh, God, why do I still have the urge to be generous and generous?Giving up his own territory to others is something no one has done for him before Camargue.It took him a lot of effort, struggling, and beating so many opponents to get to where he is today.To do good and to do evil: from his lofty position he can affirm or deny as he pleases.Power is constituted by such organizations.He just gave up a subject he liked to an arrogant and boring girl, so what?This sort of thing happens all the time.Mitchum was the object of his admiration, and he had long agreed to write a final eulogy for the American star.In 1958, when he was twenty-one, he watched "Night of the Hunter".

He remembered well his sudden discovery: an open-air movie, summer cicadas singing heart-rending prayer-answers in trees, a story, an unpleasant one—that made him Discover the power of absolute evil for the first time.For months since then, he has been obsessed with the idea that evil is everywhere, and that perhaps evil is the real god of the world.Otherwise, evil is an illusion, a phenomenon that can happen simply because the universe is unreal, as the ancient Indian Vedas say.On the contrary, evil is proving every day that God is as weak and incompetent as human beings. He has only watched "Night of the Hunter" once, but he remembers every scene and every line of dialogue in the film, as if he wrote it himself.No other film is as free and masterful in its narrative as "Night of the Hunter."The images in it use a new language unparalleled in literature or cinema, perhaps occasionally used by the French writer Mallarme, or perhaps used by Dada writers.All his life he had dreamed of waking up to a brightly lit desk with a review of "Night of the Hunter," an essay dictated from the depths of his conscience: full of words never used, like the Same as the movie.Full of curiosity, he was ready to read the article written by the girl, a girl named Remis.He has repeatedly said that language is a pond that reflects the original appearance of characters.

Camargue walked into his office, pretending not to hear the greetings from his subordinates.According to the routine, as long as he entered the office, his subordinates were not allowed to disturb him, at least not within half an hour.He once read in a book by General de Gaulle entitled "The Blade" that great men without exception have the ability to conceal their true thoughts.Camargue, the air is pure up high, where there is no noise to disturb your thoughts, and the world should continue to revolve around your thoughts.Camargue, the world should also revolve around what you see, because you see everything.The realm of the Camargue, a world surrounded by bulletproof glass walls and looking menacing like an aquarium with sharks, is located on the twentieth floor of a tower on the Rue de la Libertadores.Eugene.O'Neill (Eugène O'Neill (1888-1953), American dramatist, won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1936. Important plays include "Eastern Flight to Cardiff", "Outside the Sky", "Emperor Jones" and "Anna Christie" etc.) once spent the night in the fairground downstairs; Borges once openly stated what he believed to be the banal threads of thinking about memory: "Irneo Furness died of emphysema in 1889 ", when he said this, he was walking to the home of his friends Adolf and Silvina for a late dinner.Camargue, everything in the past belongs to you: Borges' words belong to you; the bottle of gin that O'Neill and Schmidt in "Eastern Flight Cardiff" drink under the market arch also belongs to you; The banks of distant Uruguay are yours.Even if the Camargue hadn't thought of the banks of Uruguay, the deep and quiet undercurrent of the Rio de la Plata was always there, eating away at the banks with unknowing landslides.Camargue erased the undercurrent with a wave of his hand.He picked up the remote and lowered the blinds.The office was in half-darkness.He turned on the TV, and the morning news repeated itself like Bach's round-robin.

Four thousand Chinese soldiers marched towards the Hong Kong border.The century of British rule over Hong Kong is coming to an end.Thousands of large and small wooden boats sailed from Victoria Harbor to the Kowloon Peninsula, each with the national flag of the People's Republic of China.The announcer said in a rough voice: "In the past, ah, in the past! Is there anything we can't get over?" Then the camera shows the restoration of marine reptiles from 170 million years ago. Their fossils have just been found in the tombs of Neuquen (Neuquen, a province in central and western Argentina.).Three paleontologists handle the fossil fragments with care and pride.The news suddenly turns to frivolity: the up-and-down Mexican actress Salma.Heike alarmed the supermarket in Buenos Aires.She came to attend the release ceremony of the new film, but a group of enthusiastic reporters followed her in a panic, asking her about the fun of love.A close-up of her thigh appeared on the screen.Another replay of the march of Chinese troops into Hong Kong followed.

At this moment the phone rang.It was his wife calling. She said to her husband, "My mother had another heart attack. The hospital informed me that she was in terminal condition. I have to go to Michigan tonight. I'm going with the kids. I hope you don't mind. Eh? Why am I saying this Ah! Of course you don't mind." His wife, Brenda, has a gentle face and big eyes that are as innocent as a deer.When she was young, her hair reached her chin, and her chin was raised like Holly.Hunter; but, as she grew older, she wore her hair back.She was an American, born in Traverse City, on the Great Lakes; like all the women of her family, her activities followed the rhythms of practical instincts rather than passions.She usually speaks vaguely, and no one can understand; but when she talks to Camargue, she speaks clearly and uses precise words.Now, her old mother is dying, which means that except for the twin daughters, the burden of life that is tightly tied to her will be lightened.How many years had her mother struggled on the brink of death?

It was hard to calculate: since the Camargue had met her, her mother had been preparing for the afterlife in a large house full of old fishing gear on the shore of Torch Lake. Accompanied by the elderly are birds.Hundreds of different birds: blackbirds, field thrushes, blue magpies, and red-crowned birds, sang in the big house every day, making the mother's grief grow day by day, and bringing the old man closer to death.Now that moment has finally come. Is her mother really going to die this time?He could see no omens from that cloudy sky: there had always been false myocardial infarctions and false alarms.He wanted to say to Brenda: let the old man live in peace for a few days.The old lady is very happy to be alone among the birds.Instead, say, "Okay. Your mother finally got what she longed for."

"Really? Do you think she wants to die? Or is she saying it all the time to get attention? The doctor told me she was shaking with fear. Poor mommy is so full of catheters she can't talk. She's gesticulating to see her granddaughter. Card I took my two daughters with me, Mag. Who knows when we'll be back." "It's weeks. Sometimes it's weeks." He felt Brenda trying to hold back the sobs that had erupted, but she was sobbing too much.It is really a wave of ups and downs. "Please God don't let her do this! If you are going to die, hurry up. I am going to sell the big house by the lake, the furniture, the pottery and the fishing gear. Who wants to buy such a dilapidated and remote house and things? The two daughters are right I said: If grandma passes away, they will open the cage and let the little birds go. You can go to the lake! Why don’t you go some weekend! Besides, it’s not the first time.”

"Brenda, you can figure it out! The trip will take twenty hours. Going to Chicago, then to Traverse City.Now I can't leave the newspaper office. "Camargue couldn't control his bad emotions whenever he spoke to his wife. It wasn't like that in the first few years of marriage. Whenever they were together, he felt exhilarated. Now it's just the opposite: he always wants to hurt Her, this desire is irresistible. He wants to see her suffering, walking barefoot on the hot wasteland, begging in the street, or looking for food in the garbage. Her answering voice is always So gentle: "then you take us to the airport.The two daughters are still kissing you. " "It depends. It depends on whether there will be something in the Senate tonight. Some aircraft take off? ""eight thirty. " "Ah, that won't work. I'll call you later. I have to hang up now." "Okay. In that case, we won't meet again." "It's gone. No way. Hey, Brenda, have a nice trip!" Camargue hung up the phone, relieved.The three of them, mother and daughter, left, and he was left alone in the family again.In recent years, this kind of situation has happened frequently, but the period is very short, and he has no time to relax.Previously, his wife and two daughters formed a trio composed of piano, violin and drums; the cultural committees of several provinces, with the encouragement of relatives and friends in Camargue, invited the mother and daughter to perform special performances; , always bring back home-baked pastries, music scores by native musicians, and cheap handicrafts.Brenda was originally studying in a public welfare school in Kalamazoo (Kalamazoo, a city in southwestern Michigan, USA), and she still struggles to speak Spanish; she has never been able to get rid of the strong curiosity of some Anglo-Saxons about the culture of poor countries heart—or what she thinks is poor people's culture, never distinguishing between real talent and sleazy copying.She was relatively proficient at the piano; she forced the twin sisters to take music lessons long before their daughters could read.In the garden of the residence, on the cliff facing the Rio de la Plata, in order for the mother and daughter to rehearse, Camargue ordered people to build a hut with sound isolation equipment; Artificially played Beethoven, Alcon (Alcon (1813-1888), French pianist and composer.) And Gabriel.Fauré (Gabdan El. Fauré (1845-1924). Famous French composer.) works and alienated him.Despite the soundproof walls of the hut, Camargue often heard the annoying hum of the instrument as soon as he entered the house. They polluted the dusk, polluted the transparent air, and let him erase all the nostalgia for Beethoven from his memory forever. Before that, he was happy when he listened to the works of these masters in the concert hall. When you stop loving someone, you stop liking what she does; Brenda, while still attracting the attention of other men, doesn't move any muscle in the Camargue anymore.Camargue's earliest symptoms of dislike for his wife began one morning twelve years ago.The twin daughters had just learned to walk; that night, the two sisters took turns crying.Brenda had a sudden hysterical attack, and two capillaries on her forehead swelled, forming a V.She may have had this problem before, but this was the first time Camargue had discovered it.Suddenly, he didn't understand why he was marrying her; he didn't understand what he was doing: sharing a bed and having two daughters who wouldn't let him sleep with her.The next morning, he was disgusted by the way his wife yawned, the smell of milk on her body, the rabbit-skin slippers she wore for breakfast, and so on.Brenda is something that happened to someone, but he's not that person anymore.But if you separate, it's more uncomfortable than moving on, at least so far.Besides, separation wouldn't make him any freer than he is now. Camargue, come back to reality!Reality is back.But have you ever left reality? A secretary came in on tiptoe and cautiously reminded him that at twelve o'clock the funeral for Senator Valenti would be held in the Recoleta cemetery.Doctor, would you like us to send you a car?Almost everyone in the newspaper has a bad habit of always talking to him in the name of "we". Send a car!Send a car! The night before, he saw a long procession of monks walking through the old city. He often dreams of the old city.He liked to walk in the old town, because he was familiar with everything in it, as if he had never known that there were other cities.Bridges, passages, a market that is about to collapse floating on a huge salt lake, a clock with a minute hand and a second hand that always specify an hour.It was a treeless, boundless city, over which the sun was dirty and the night was as bright as day.In the streets of the city center opened rows of dens, large and small: the Camargue knew them as hotels and alcoves lit by large candles.The team of monks was entering an inn.He saw the monks, there were thousands of them, when the moon fell like a great ball on the city horizon; he walked through the afterglow of the setting sun to restore the moon's position again.The monks were singing in low voices, and the humming disturbed the Camargue.As he was pushing the moon forward on a wooden bridge, the cell phone contacting the newspaper woke him up. It was half past two or three in the morning.Brenda slept on the other side of the bed, face up, covered in a disgusting layer of almond frosting.She didn't know that her old mother was already dying in the northern hemisphere.Camargue, you don't know everything that was dying that night.The phone rang persistently. He didn't immediately recognize the voice of the night editor, his voice thinned with weariness. The editor said to him: "Doctor, an unfortunate incident has occurred. We were told when we were halfway through printing that Senator Valenti had committed suicide." "What did you do?" "Doctor, we think that the possible course of action you may take is to stop printing. We have not yet had time to get this message printed on the front page and distributed to newsstands in the capital." "You mean Valenti? How did it happen?" "His wife found her husband kneeling by the bed with a bullet in his mouth. He left no letters. That's what people say. " Finally someone came out and made a gesture of dignity.Argentina is terminally ill.However, the death of one person cannot change the existing order. "Then you just write: Shot himself, unspecified." "Doctor, don't you think the weight is a bit heavy?" "Isn't that the truth? Ah? Then tell the truth! Where are you staying?" "There was no wake. The senator's widow refused a vigil. She wanted her husband to be buried as early as possible; at noon if possible." Uneasy, Camargue tossed and turned on the bed, and finally decided to get up.He made a noise on purpose to wake Brenda up and make her coffee, even though he knew his wife wouldn't do anything for him.He walked down the corridor into the office and turned on the TV.He quickly pressed the buttons of the remote control, looking for images of suicide on the news channel: maybe an ambulance parked in front of Valenti's house, maybe there was a lively scene surrounded by neighbors. Nothing but war scenes in Gaza and the Balkans. As the secretary had told him, the funeral was at twelve o'clock.But at five minutes to twelve, the mourners had assembled in the cemetery.The air was unbearably humid.The marble oozes moisture and grows moss; the outside of the tomb looks more helpless than the inside.Except for his Journal of Buenos Aires, no newspaper mentioned the suicide.It is very strange that every radio station only mentions the suicide incident in passing, without mentioning the specific circumstances of the suicide incident.It seemed like a death that everyone wanted to ignore in the past, as if it didn't exist.Since everyone remained silent, it was understandable why there were so few mourners.Few came, but distinguished ones: the President of the Republic and his bodyguards, a few judges favored by the government, some colleagues of the deceased.Not a single flower was on the coffin.No one dared to make impromptu speeches.One of the presidential guards improvised a deaf priest, who seemed not to understand his mission to the cemetery, and hastily read the Pentecost. The president shouted: "Poor Valenti! This is so unfair to him!" His coat collar was turned up, and he responded indifferently to people's hugs and handshakes, with dim eyes, as if no one was in front of him. like. It was only when Camargue approached the president that he seemed to perk up.The President took Camargue's arm, pulled him aside and said: "Ah, Dr. Camargue, thank you very much for coming to the funeral!" The President sighed again: "Please try not to spread those rumors in your "Journal". Forget Valenti's vile remarks. Poor thing, he has no way to defend himself." Camargue, who always hated people suggesting what he should and couldn't say, immediately became alert.He restrained himself, but still couldn't avoid answering in a cold, distant and arrogant tone: "What spread? I didn't spread it! Sir, what I publish can be proved. I treat the living and the dead as equals. A judge said yesterday that Valenti was at fault for the arms smuggling. How can you hope that it will not come out?" The President insisted: "Judge! Judge! What does that mean? Now God Valentin is being judged!, he beckons for the guards to come; then he leaves Camargue behind. The President is short and thin, and his emaciation conceals his aging. The dark chestnut wig puts the light on the top of his head The bald predicament is more successfully concealed. From a distance, the plastic surgery has rejuvenated the president; up close, he looks like a biscuit doll. The wind blows the cigarette butts around.At the entrance to the cemetery, Camargue paused in front of the giant autograph papers on which guests wrote their names to acknowledge their attendance.He squints at Eun-soo.Maestro walked quickly towards him, pretending to be indifferent.Eun Soo was not shown at the funeral.What is he going to do?In 1982 he and Ensor worked at the next table in the editorial office of the newspaper; the two had lunches every now and then, which was the closest thing to courtesy; Camargue understood it as close friendship.But now Sisi had become the President's pug, his personal secretary, the only one who came to talk to Camargue when he encountered an insoluble problem. "Since I was woken up by this suicide incident, I haven't closed my eyes." Thinking said.He was very excited and his face was covered with sweat. "If someone were going to put me in prison too, I'd kill myself too." Camargue smiled at him and said, "I'm not going to kill myself. You have to feel very guilty to kill yourself." Camargue walked through the garden gate to the row of tall oaks at the entrance. Outside the cemetery, it was full of life.The sun happily drilled out of the clouds, quietly affecting people's emotions. Thinking stubbornly followed behind Camargue. "Camargue, don't you see that the president is in a bad mood? He's being chilled on all sides. Do you think the country will be saved by letting the president's prestige drop? Things are going well, and we complain because it's better. What Lenti did broke my heart." "Enso, no one did anything to Valenti. He did it all by himself. When he was given the smuggling kickback, he asked someone to film the scene. He is beyond recovery." "Who knows how many things like this they do! But no one goes to jail!" Suddenly the nasty spasm returned.It spread to the lower body and hit the muscles in the crotch like a stick, forcing Camargue to bend over.It happened once a month ago; it happened once a year ago, on a trip to Davos.But as soon as the attack occurs, he becomes a disabled person.Enso humbly supported Camargue hard. "Enso, it's okay, it's okay. I thought it was a sprained ankle. Look, it's okay, it's okay." The two walked towards Willa Avenue, which faced the cemetery.The driver of the newspaper had already parked at the corner of the Rue de la Mercedes, but Camargue signaled the driver to wait.The cafe was full of people.As soon as the two entered the door, a table by the window was vacant.Camargue sat down in the chair. ' "You need to go to the gym to get active." Enso said. "Look at me! Cycling, sauna and massage, I lost ten kilos in two months.Unknowingly replaced by a newcomer. "Two senators who had been to the funeral saw Camargue from the doorway facing Vila Avenue, as if they were about to come. Camargue raised a hand, not looking at them, and said: Please do not disturb. "Camargue, you are scary," Enso said. "Now I understand why you only have sycophants around you, but no friends who tell you what's on your mind." Enso's demeanor has always been slick, like a sexton in a church; he always seems to be begging for mercy when he speaks. "Maybe I'm like your boss, like the whole country. Enso, I don't shake hands with those two thieves. No! It makes me sick." "Then you don't shake my hand either! I'm at the same ball as them." "You're different. You've got talent. You're being used. You're going to end up in jail like everyone else, but you're a miserable rat. The Valenti thing is just the beginning." "That's how you see it? There's no beginning and no end to things here. This country always looks like something terrible is going to happen, but it's not going to happen. Everything will remain the same.Just wait and see. ""If it's up to me, nothing will happen.My newspaper doesn't believe a word your boss says.He can neither frighten nor buy my newspaper. " Enso approached Camargue and said in a low voice but paused: "You want this to become a mess? You want everyone to commit suicide like Valenti? You are not God!" "Eunso, there is no God. That's harmful. There is no God." Camargue returned to the paper in a bad mood.He notified the department heads to come to his office immediately for a meeting.But they all went to lunch, and no one came back.He ordered the female secretaries to call the directors back one by one through their mobile phones.What a fucking day!The spasm is still a dull pain in the crotch.It would be best to see a doctor, but not right now.Now he was ready to fight.Senator Valenti negotiated an arms deal to sell arms to Costa Rica and Panama, but there was no need for arms there because there was no army.It was obvious that the munitions would have to be moved elsewhere before reaching their destination.The Senate approved the deal, and the President signed the final order; but it was not announced in any circular, on the pretext that it would affect national security.While Valenti was negotiating with an emissary from a country—perhaps Croatia, Albania, or Serbia—about the transfer of $16 million to a Luxembourg bank, the negotiations were filmed.A videotape of the incident ended up in the hands of an opposition congressman.For months, the press had speculated that Valenti was a puppet of some high-ranking dignitary, and that some of the kickbacks had been split with other senators.The biggest piece of fat should be in the president's pocket, but even a hint of it is not enough.Finally, a judge risked his life to decide that Valenti was the organizer of an illegal partnership and ordered him to be arrested and brought to justice.Now Camargue intends to investigate: Did Valenti really commit suicide, or the President sent someone to kill him and silence him. It's easy to tell the story today because everyone knows what happened.But in 1997, it was still an incredible mess, and people didn't care much, or thought it was an exaggeration by the fierce press.Two reporters received anonymous letters with the names of six accomplice senators and amounts ranging from two hundred thousand to half a million dollars, presumably alluding to bribes.Camargue himself received a letter sealed by the Senate in an envelope marked "Confidential" containing only one page with fourteen numbers written on it. At first, he suspected that it was several bank account numbers, so he sent the numbers to a reporter in New York and asked him to find experts there to decipher them, but he couldn't decipher them for a while.The entire political team was feverishly investigating the case, doing everything possible to lure the half-dozen senators' janitors, cleaners and secretaries into speaking of conversations they had overheard in the corridors. A few days later, Camargue had an idea and called the directors of daily newspapers in Panama, Lima, Montevideo, and São Paulo, asking them to help with the investigation.For this, he didn't have much hope, but he had to click on the places that should be clicked. After lunch, the editors came back one after another, but they did not bring back any news about Valenti's suicide.All sources of information have been blocked, the deceased's brother does not answer the phone, no one knows the clues of the suicide note, maybe there is no suicide note at all.The editors were a little discouraged, and the defeat of the war was written on everyone's face. Camargue pushed his seat back a few centimeters and put his feet on the desk: a position he particularly favored for thinking.He needs to consider a new strategy for the investigation.Otherwise, there will be bad points in throwing the dice.Why not find the guy who took the video?The videotape was contained in a large anonymous envelope, and it had already reached the hands of the opposition congressman.Government intelligence agents have been unable to track down the tape's creator.Perhaps the people at the American embassy knew something, but if the tape had disappeared from there, as Camargue speculated, no one would have leaked it.Editors are busy taking notes; behind them the same story repeats on the TV: People's Republic of China troops are marching into Hong Kong; Salma.Heike's ass; tires across Highway 9, cutting off the road to Salta City (Salta City, the capital of a province in northern Argentina.). The ringing of the phone startled everyone.Camargue had prohibited the secretary from forwarding the call in advance.If the phone belonged to his wife, he would take care of those female secretaries.The phone said, "It's from St. Paul." He recognized the slow, deep voice as Antonio.Pimenda.Neves, the president of "Commerce", everyone called him Pimenda, just like calling him Camargue.Camargue still has the problem of elongating the letter R, which is the custom of the Turkmen province, where he was born. Pimenda's R sound also brings out the accent of Pila, which is the influence of English. "What's the last name of your president's eldest son? What's his name?" Pimenda asked in perfect Spanish. "Juan Manuel, what else?" He covered the microphone and asked the editors for information. "Juan. Manuel.Facundo. " "If it was born in 1975, it would be him." "What is he himself?" "This kid has an import-export company here called 'Rose of the Liberty'. It's a rubber stamp for money laundering. Three days ago he deposited seven hundred and one One hundred thousand dollars. Yesterday, he wanted to transfer five million to another bank in Uruguay.The procedure will take several days.Last night, he went out to play with women and spent some money.what's the news " "Invaluable!" Camargue exclaimed. "I reckon the bank account number must be kept secret." "No," said Pimenda. "I copied the deposit number and took pictures of his carnival. Here is also a list of the company's leadership: this kid is the chairman, two cousins ​​are vice presidents, and an uncle is a director. I got it from the Internet. I will pass on all these materials to you." "Is the "Business Daily" publishing this news?" "Of course! In the papers tomorrow. But without your headlines." "I owe you a favor. Treat you to dinner in Sao Paulo or Buenos Aires." "You owe me much more than that." Camargue ordered editors to forget about the orgies.He doesn't play tricks that would dilute the surprise bank account story.Three reporters rushed out to confirm the information provided by Pimenda.It is impossible for the president to come out in person to refute, and even then, the government spokesman will not remain silent.The Internet began to receive materials from Brazil.Camargue found the circumstances irrefutable: not only Juan was in the material.Manuel.Facundo's signed checks in child's body, accounts, receipts for transfers to the Bank of Uruguay and convincing photographs of orgies, but also several poses of the kid by the bank's camera during transactions in the bank manager's office. Enso will call anytime to stop this flood.Camargue predicted: before six o'clock, he will raise the white flag of surrender. The situation is a little later than he predicted.At a quarter past six, Camargue heard the gruff, hostile voice on the phone: "Aren't you scruples? You're plotting against democracy and involving the president's family. The government welcomes healthy criticism. ，反对黄色新闻。” 卡马格四张A 牌在握，没有道理沉不住气。 他说：“这有个形容词的问韪。没有健康的批评。只有肮脏或者干净的批评。 恩索，我们报社的批评太光明磊落了，让你觉得好像是在骂人。我们发表的每句话后面都有证据和证人。 " “但愿你说得有理。你要给总统的生活带来不愉快了。 我给他讲这事的时候，他眼睛里含着泪水。根据我对他的了解，我知道他要控告你诽谤罪了。卡马格，他可是发大火了。 ““如果我是总统的朋友，我会劝告他别这样做。 " “你不是他的朋友，是因为你不愿意。你怎么能不讲究策略把记者们给我重复过的那些流氓材料都公布出来呢？” “恩索，我不会把手里的全部材料都公布出来的。仅仅一部分而已。告诉你的总统：别逼我发表最黑的那部分。” “你威胁总统？那你可是要发动战争了。” “我不要战争，也不要和平。甚至不指望办事公道。我也没有什么雄心壮志。 我只想让人们知道：布宜诺斯艾利斯有腐烂的臭味。 " 卡马格感到轻松了许多。忽然，他想起来没有给两个女儿送行；他要秘书给女儿打电话，但是不要再撞上布伦达的抱怨的声音。他过的这是什么日子啊，整天捆在电话上！ 他的生活能有一天张开双臂去拥抱幸福和不幸吗？写字台总是一片乱七八糟的纸片和样稿，但他总是收拾出一块地方置放孪生女儿的照片镜框，为的是给眼前创造出一片干净的绿洲。他几乎没有看到她们学走路，学说话，学认字的模样。几乎没有看见过两个女儿的生活，但两个宝贝是他惟一的爱。两个女儿中，体弱的是安海拉，让他最操心；她两个星期前高烧不退，只好卧床休息，骨头疼痛，闹得她不得安宁。这孩子突然就变得忧郁起来，不愿见人。她在电话里说话的声音，仿佛弃婴一样。她十三岁了，但是好像十岁似的。她问爸爸：“你来密歇根吗？”他真不忍心说“不去”。 大约在七点钟的时候，正是忙得不可开交的当口，卡马格的电脑屏幕上出现了关于罗伯特。米切姆的讣闻。他把这事忘得一干二净。他从来不看这类消息，更何况是在这暴风骤雨的日子。但是，在去参加葬礼之前，他吩咐过传过来看看，现在他有一种不舒服的好奇心理，仿佛预兆着什么。那个女孩既非常高雅同时又非常土气。让他感到奇怪的是：他只能回想起她的体形，可想不起她的模样了，脑海里只留下了镜中的一个怪影。 讣闻的前几段写得不错，文笔自然流畅，读者不知不觉就读到下一段去了。她的文章里有一种语言意识，报社里最自负和工资最高的几个记者缺乏这种意识。讣闻的开头部分是回顾米切姆在布里奇波特（布里奇波特，美国康涅狄格州西南部港口城市。）度过的孤儿时代，随后历数了米切姆青年时期古怪离奇的工作——夜总会里的保镖，星卜家们的鼓吹者等；接着，作者用了两三行准确的文字描写了米切姆因为吸食海洛因而在洛杉矶蹲了七周监狱的可耻记录，而此前曾经被提名人选奥斯卡奖。雷伊娜。雷米丝在文章中说道，米切姆一直关心人性恶的问题。他是加尔文教派的信徒，一直在寻找类似《开普菲尔》和《仇恨的十字路口》中的那些可憎的人物；米切姆有意证明上帝是多么不可能拯救自己盲目的子民。雷伊娜在讣闻的中心部分用了二十行不适当的文字评论《猎人之夜》，阐明了米切姆生前如何在这部影片中把自己的复杂艺术发挥得淋漓尽致。卡马格读到这里感到有些不安。这些文字证实了他的预感。 按照雷伊娜的说法，米切姆在拍摄《猎人之夜》的时候特别喜欢阅读一些诺斯替教派的《福音书》。通过阅读考古学家别克和封。霍尔斯特一九四三年发掘出来的瓦伦廷教派被查封的七部史书，米切姆知道处女马利亚——华金和安娜生下的女儿——未孕便生下的并非一子，而是一对双胞胎。这对孪生兄弟，一个名叫耶稣，一个名叫西蒙。二人各过各的生活，分别在加利利和叙利亚传道；他俩分别在不同的城市被钉上十字架，罪名是阴谋颠覆罗马政权；二人也都是第三日复活升天。但只有其中一人是上帝之子。另外一个是假冒神子的骗子，犯下弥天大罪。这个骗子的神秘和同时复活给两派传播福音的使者造成了混乱。瓦伦廷教派建议视这对上帝的孪生子——或上帝的儿子——为魔鬼。 雷伊娜写道，在《猎人之夜》一场奇异的戏里，米切姆极力要说明这个思想，方法就是展示双手纹刻的两个字：爱和恨，不停地交叉双手，说明善与恶的永远搏斗。卡马格知道这个材料是假的：诺斯替教派启发的不是米切姆——他读书极有限，而是该片导演查理。劳顿（查理劳顿（1899—1962），英国出生的美国电影演员和导演。主演过《亨利八世秘史》、《叛舰喋血记》和《孤星泪》等电影。）。但是，不管怎么说，这些题外话是不合适的，绝对不能发表。如果耶稣真有孪生兄弟或者姐妹兄弟，卡马格能够体会耶稣的感受。谁也无法改变人类历史前进的方向。再说现在是对总统进行全面作战的时候，激怒教会就是又开辟了另外一条战线，那可不行，因为主教们会把天真的挑战说成是亵渎神明。 片刻问，他犹豫起来：是下令辞退雷伊娜呢，还是把她叫到办公室来，请她说明为什么要引用如此不合适的材料。 这姑娘唤起卡马格心中朦胧的好奇。只要用上一两分钟，他就能较好地了解她了。他通过内线给人事部主任斯卡迪打电话，要他把雷伊娜的入社卡片送来。不是雷米塞，卡马格重复了一遍：是雷伊娜。雷米丝。他信任斯卡迪到了盲从的程度。 斯卡迪身材矮胖，大鼻子，上面笼罩着毛细血管。 他的报告一向井井有条，十分精细，没有多余的话。 “博士，全部材料都拿来了。”斯卡迪说道。“她父母的电话、地址、姓名和工作；她的年龄、学历、从前工作的单位。 这后一点东西不多。在阿德罗克一家图书馆实习过六个月；在《商业报道》社财富调查部做过六个月的调查员。辞去上述两个单位的原因都是因为要继续读书。 “斯卡迪低头站着说话。他从来不敢在卡马格面前坐下。 “谁推荐她来报社的？” “她本人。雷米丝是去年六个拿奖学金工作的大学生中最优秀的。” “毕业于什么专业吗？” “博士，她毕业于电信专业，平均成绩是98.6. “ “你说她多大岁数？” “年龄大了一点。到十一月就满三十一岁了。” “那肯定是已婚了。” “根据我们在这里的观察，没有结婚。是独身女性。” “请给我念念体检结果。” “博士，血液和尿液检查都没有问题。” “就这么两项？我要全面体检结果。我想知道您招聘的人是否有或者已经有过性病、湿疹、肺结核、月经不调、坏牙、扁桃体发炎，如果是女人，还要看看是否怀孕或者曾经怀孕过。斯卡迪，对女人要加小心！” “是，博士。真没想到。从前没做的原因是为了省钱。 体检是很费钱的。 ““我没问你要花多少钱。要做体检！告诉雷米丝：让她来见我！把档案留下吧。 " 电视里在放大切。格瓦拉神秘的面孔，地点是在大峡谷医院的托盘上。找到格瓦拉的尸体了？他打电话给国际部的编辑，命令查一查情况。没有找到。是在飞机场附近挖掘出一块股骨，可是属于一个罗圈腿的女人。严肃认真的记者应该善于在乱七八糟的传闻中辨别真伪，因为广播和电视频道为了引人注意常常拼命制造虚假消息。 报社行话所说的“档案卡片”就是斯卡迪搜集的关于编辑们的全部材料。有些卡片复制了录取时他亲自面试的情况。另外一些卡片收入了电话号码、扔进字纸篓里的书信草稿、涉及到编辑们名字的传单、参加某个政党或者足球俱乐部的复印件。 在雷伊娜。雷米丝的卡片里，还附有一些照片：父母的、一个哥哥的、几个侄女的、一个曾经是她未婚夫——摇滚乐师的。卡马格小心而好奇地检查所有的卡片，仿佛这个人物是个微型艺术品，只能用手指尖捏住。多么简单的生活：没有任何大事。 上过基础英语课，修女学校毕业，乘巴士去过一次里约，去过一次圣保罗，身背行军包去过一次墨西哥。父亲是汽车修理工，在阿特罗克有车间。 据斯卡迪说，她经历过阿根廷的所有经济危机，但是不怨天尤人。她喜欢骑马，周末都在马术俱乐部度过。一九九五年，她从阿特罗克老家迁居到首都翁伯特。普里莫大街两居室的小房间生活。当然是父亲付房租，但是雷伊娜打算独立，过成年女性的生活，要成名成家，为报纸撰稿。 这时，宁静笼罩着这里的河岸区。拉普拉塔河面上，黑暗使得胆怯的人会转身而去。斯卡迪的卡片是如此的完美无缺，是如此的清晰明白，这让卡马格恢复了对人类智慧的信心。 写字台上渐渐堆满了女秘书们留下的便条。还有记者们的信息，是世界的声音。 只要他不叫人进来，谁也不敢迈进这座圣殿。播音员MV在阿根廷中央电视台新闻联播里说，参议员瓦伦提之死属于事故，不是自杀：这是官方的说法。要掩饰真相吗？ 在这里或者那里政府的压力下，新加坡银行要否认胡安。曼努埃尔在圣保罗存入的支票是真的。雷米丝小姐在前厅等候，她说是您叫她来的。瓦伦提的遗孀离国出走，她现在在埃塞萨（埃塞萨。布宜诺斯艾利斯的国际机场。），手持前往芝加哥的头等舱机票。安全局四名特工给她做警卫。（布伦达和两个女儿也是搭乘这个航班，也是头等舱。说不定睡觉之前她们还会说说话呢。明天，我要给布伦达打电话，问问她那遗孀在旅途中的言行细节，写在有颜色的便条上。） 卡马格吩咐道：“让雷米丝进来！” 她穿的还是上午那套旧衣裳：一件翻领毛衣和一件紧身工装裤。卡马格指指写字台旁边一把椅子，请她坐下。 他的目光又转回到电视机上去了。 他说：“你等一下。我看看这条消息。” 电视屏幕上出现了奥姆真理教的盲人先知麻原扎幌的定格画面，一九九五年他用瓦斯在东京地铁放毒杀人。这个形象看上去令人难以忍受。画面上没有声音。 “关于米切姆的事。”卡马格开始说道。“我请你来是为你写的米切姆的文章。” “有问题？”这女孩自我保护的意识很强。“我玩命地写了一通。材料一件一件地核实过了。” “没有全部核实。米切姆没有读过瓦伦廷教派的书籍。 读书的是劳顿。 ““是查理。劳顿吗？ " 说这话时，她脸红了。 “就是那部影片的导演。那个时代，就是一九五五年，拍片的时候，演员们即兴加台词的可能性很小。你对那个时期的好莱坞一点也不了解。” “可能我记混了。”姑娘认错，但不道歉。 “你的名字雷伊娜是从哪里来的？” “从外祖母那里。她是巴西人。名叫雷伊娜- 玛利亚。 达。格罗里亚。他们差一点给我取名叫雷伊娜。依萨贝尔。 幸亏及时收回了。 ““你真的相信耶稣有个孪生兄弟吗？ " “我怎么知道他有没有！不知道。一切都是可能的。 我仅仅知道瓦伦廷教派是些什么人而已。我说过了：我记混了。 ““雷伊娜，这些段落我都得删去。报纸从来没刊登过这么长的讣闻。 " “为什么偏偏要删这几段呢？这是文章里最精彩的部分。如果您同意，我来修改；我会说这想法是劳顿的。” “不要。今天的麻烦事很多。我叫你来不是讨论稿子的。” 电视银屏上的光线突出了她的轮廓，或者说突出了卡马格希望的那模样。他能猜出那工装裤里面结实的肌肉，毛衣里面起伏的乳房，胳膊上柔软的汗毛。好像这轮廓是个鱼缸，身体在里面游动，难以亲近。她说话时摇来晃去的样子，的确出人意料。他不知道聪明的女人会像鱼儿一样地滑动。 “雷伊娜，我曾经搞过电影评论。关于米切姆的评论，我读过十几篇。你的文章写得不错，可是整个内容没有人会感兴趣。人们买报纸，是要在两分钟之内得到消息。他们不想把时间浪费在细节上。你那个耶稣孪生兄弟的故事，就太讲究枝节了。” “不是这么回事，不是这么回事！您愿意的话，咱们改天再谈。找个麻烦不多的日子。” “麻烦过去了。不会更难了。现在我饿了。咱们可以找个地方边吃晚饭边谈。” “到外面去？” “当然。随便什么地方。离开这里，什么地方都没关系。” “您看看我这身打扮！我还是收拾一下得好。我去您指定的地方找您。几点钟？” “十点钟。把你的电话留给秘书。她们随后通知你具体的饭店。” 雷伊娜的脸上没有露出任何激动的表情。又黑又亮的大眼睛睁得很大，但是没有激情，仿佛母牛在火车漆黑的车厢里旅行几天之后突然来到陌生田野的表情。 除去像上午胯部有些疼痛之外，卡马格觉得自己年轻了许多。他不觉得身体比在大学踢足球时逊色；尽管肌肉有些松弛了，可他仍然喜欢在海滩上展示二头肌和强壮的胸肌。他拿出藏在写字台里的雪茄烟，剪去尖端后，用火点燃。火亮照出他一副心满意足的表情。他依然年富力强，可能一个女人还不能满足他的要求。他需要一个以一当百的女人，一个相当于成群的温柔女性，她像十月的太阳那样照耀着他，一个太阳不落、夜晚不降临的女人。 送来头版消息时，他无精打采地修改起来。他毫不犹豫地选定了大标题。这很容易：《总统之子在巴西银行储蓄财富》。这是个耸人听闻的标题，恩索害怕的就是这个。调子提高了；凡是认为七百万美元是笔财富的人都相信这条消息的真实性。 毫无疑问，这短短一句话会让一小撮腐败分子彻夜难眠：他们走私军火，造成瓦伦提自杀，把钞票装满手提箱，由总统派人护送到飞机场，与加里毒品集团勾结；他们是可怜的祖国身上的脓疮。卡马格，你总是对的，这是你最为自豪的地方：人人出错的时候，你不错。他想起一首六十年代的歌曲：“你避免了错误傥得自己有救。 可你犯了最大的错误／就是没犯错误。”这歌词说的不是他，永远不会是他：因为他天生的不犯错误。第二天可能发生任何事情，他对一切都有准备。一切都有准备，就是没有料到最后发生的事情。