Chapter 7 Chapter Six

Not a good day to leave Buenos Aires.It was not a good time for Reina to stay there either, moved by the air of mystery created by the radio station; calling every moment: "We are the eyes of God. We are the eyes of God. All that drives the sun and all the stars." Grace, Amen." It is not a good day to stay still thinking about what happened in the Los Stordos Monastery 350 kilometers to the west; it is not a good day to go anywhere, because Reina wants to face her To the endless demonstrations in the streets: teachers without pay, retirees in poverty, college students without classes.In what abyss has this unfortunate country fallen?How to recover from this endless state of slump?Reina wondered: "Can what I write help solve any problem? Can exposing the ulcer help? I think it's useless, not helpful, in this desert where the deaf live, everyone is facing the void died at the cry of the

Nevertheless, when Reina ventured to the Los Stordos Monastery with a chauffeur and special car sent by Dr. Camargue, only a vague convoy blocked her way: In Yueyue Square, nine trucks moved forward slowly in a sleepy state, leaving behind bursts of horn sounds like coughing of lung disease patients along the way. The rest are silent: the boundless city is obstinately silent.This was exactly what she saw when she came to the door of each church, large crowds of pilgrims gathering, holding long lighted candles, moving along the walls.She heard a few muffled hellish prayers: "Christians, come!" Then the driver pointed out to her suspiciously: north along Mai Pu Street, there is an endless procession, everyone longs for To see that holy lemon tree, even from a distance, is enough.

It took a half-hour delay before she and the driver reached the west exit; it took another half an hour to turn onto National Highway 7, and from there turn to Asotea.Provincial road in de Carranza.At noon, she and the driver had come to the real countryside. The sky in July is thin, almost transparent, and exudes the heat of Africa: the seasons in the pampa grasslands never obey the rhythm of nature, and are used to changing at will.The car passed through the wheat field, which was green and the ears of the wheat had just come out; the other land had just been plowed and plowed.After the Salado, everything was dry, with whirlwinds of dust.The cows walked with the patience of a saint between the yellow dry land and the dirty houses; from the road, affected by the dry wind, the houses were unoccupied.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, she and the driver got lost as soon as they entered the city of Los Stordos.The sun was high in the middle of the sky, and all the buildings looked alike: the shops and foyers repeated; no street name could be found at any intersection.The driver stopped twice and asked if anyone was in the house. Deathly silence answered him.Reina thought to herself: Cities change faster than people.It happened like this: I went into a movie theater in Buenos Aires, went out of that movie theater, and walked into a movie theater in Mexico, but Mexico City hasn't changed in decades.Here is a maze without pictures, the worst kind of maze.

At about 3:20, the driver backed out several times from the road that took him and her into the dead end; the result of repeated back and forth made them hear an outdated piece of music broadcasting westward from a loudspeaker in the distance: Ai "The Fashion Shop Girl" by Reynolds.With some embarrassment, Reina recalls writhing to the horrible tune at a Girls' Generation party.But what amused her now: the tune became a compass, and thanks to it, the driver quickly drove to the central square, where a statue of Bolivar the Liberator on horseback stood high above some half-dead trees. above the living canopy.The doors of the church opened one by one.A religious procession of six men in purple robes carrying a crucifix on their shoulders on Maundy Thursday (the Thursday before Easter).

Then came out a priest with a censer, which he shook carefully, lest the flames stain his frieze. Then came a choir of elderly women shrilling "Come, Christians!" ", tenaciously competing with "The Girl from the Fashion Shop" on the tweeter.Someone in the café next to the church told them how to get back on the provincial road and turn towards Asotea.de Carranza. Reina said it was a quarter to four.Vespers were held at seven o'clock. When they saw the benefactor's manor from a distance, they seemed to have arrived at no new place.The housekeeper and tenant waited with the gates wide open; they rode on lean horses and led the sedan through two rows of poplars to a sandy depression.The housekeeper said the water source had been cut off.We've filled the bathtub with water from the well for Mrs.The air in the room is still and kept in a dark state, because the light will bring in heat-the housekeeper said that sunlight cannot enter during the day, and mosquitoes and flies cannot enter at night.Reina felt that the air in the room had never flowed through it, the air was older than her, maybe even after her death the air here would not change.This air, full of wisdom and memories, did not bode well for her, because it had seen and seen so many things, the armchairs covered with dust jackets like shrouds, the tiles The ground doesn't know as many things as the air.Her footsteps echoed black and loud on the tiled floor, a hunger sound worse than The Girl in the Fashion Shop.

In any case, at ten to six she was all ready, took a shower in the tub, sprinkled on the French perfume that she always carried with her, and dressed like a noblewoman from the last century: wearing a black cloak Wearing a black scarf, a long black skirt and a lacy black shirt that can always be seen with a few freckles on the chest.There is a small brown table in the room, which was arranged for her by the housekeeper in advance, and it was placed with special care to prevent the outside heat from entering. Next to the small table is a big bed with a thick mosquito net hanging on it, which will definitely make people spend a good time. A claustrophobic night.Reina sat down at the table and took the time to jot down some thoughts, which she would use as background information for the article.She found her language erratic, exuding anger at the brazen public deception by the President and the Presidency priest, but she felt she could control that anger as she wrote.She thought to herself: the more neutral her narrative tone is, the more she distances herself from the facts, the more readers will believe her.She thought: "I am not reality. But there can be no reality without writing it. Isn't that what Dr. Camargue wants?"

Camargue was waiting for her call.At six o'clock sharp, her phone rang.He wanted to go over what Reina was going to do.He said to her: "If you fail, let's open the 'skylight' on the front page tomorrow!" From time to time, there will be popping sounds in the phone, intertwined with the friction sound of static electricity. "Because the air isn't moving. There's no air. The satellite signal can't get through. Just dust and a white light, nothing can be heard," Reina said. "What did you say?" Camargue asked her. "I won't fail." Reina said as she moved to the outer corridor.

"I'm not sure. The men we've sent over have so far been empty-handed. No one is allowed near the entrance of the fort. The benefactor has telephoned the abbot and informed him that you will attend Vespers. She will I promise: You don't ask anyone any questions. If you open an I:1, it's a prayer. She has a farm machinery loan that is not paid back, so she doesn't want to fall out with the government. If she said this earlier, I would not sent you." "Doctor, don't worry. I know what I have to do. I've called the dean and let him know that I'll be there at a quarter to seven. He sent a monk to wait for me at the gate. They want my ID card and introduction Letter. After everything has been verified, they will lead me to the kneeling chair of the benefactor's family."

"You'll be fine. I know they'll let you in," Camargue said. "What's not clear is what you can do once you're in." "Didn't you say that the President would look at my thighs? From now on, you should have no illusions! I'm wearing a nun's gown. No makeup. I've never felt less attractive in my entire life." ...the more you imagine how things are going to happen, the more things will be different. Doc, I'll call you at eight o'clock when it's all over. Any response from the Vatican?" "It's evening over there. The Pope has gone to dinner. We talked to the press secretary of the Holy See.

He doesn't comment.They want to study the research situation. " "Then wish me luck." The driver Camargue had sent her thought he could navigate the desert without help.Pride got him astray.Twice he got into trouble and nearly got bogged down once on the way back.Reina was ten minutes late when she arrived at the monastery.She heard from a distance that the monks had begun to sing hymns.The church is very simple, without any decoration, but it stands majestically on an almost invisible hill: rising from such an endless plain seems to be the breath of God.This is exactly what the monk who came to meet her said: "From here you can hear the breath of God." To this, she replied in the only Latin she knew: "God is noble." The crowd at vespers knelt behind one of the pews on the left, for the president alone occupied the place on the right; the president gave her a slight nod.She also nodded slightly, pretending to be shy, worried, and chaste.She then stood and knelt to the beat of the liturgy, taking every opportunity to observe the president.He was dressed in one of those shiny silks that summed up the idea of ​​a man of elegance; a mustard-coloured shirt and no tie.The eye sockets were darkened by the discomfort of prayer.Soon the second hymn will be sung, followed by the Acts of the Apostles and the Ave Maria.The president was probably silently praying that the church's ordeal would soon be over, so he could go back to the meditation room to be alone, pull out his electric sex partner from his bag, and have some fun. Reina knew what she was doing next.She had planned it long before talking to Camargue; she just didn't want to tell him.She knew what to do, but not how.She recognized the dean, who was sitting in the highest row on the right, with his head resting on a high back, and a wooden dove with a shining wooden dove stood on top of the armchair.When the Ave Maria was over, she wanted to kneel before the Abbot and kiss his hands.Then hand the envelope with the note to the dean.She had promised not to say a word, but if necessary, she would say: "I am from the benefactor who gave this church." There was no falsehood in that.The note is very short, and words are indispensable.Every word catches the Dean's attention: "It is impossible for the President to have seen our Lord Jesus Christ. The very moment you receive him in this holy home, you become an accomplice to a fraudster. Please read again 1 Thessalonians Chapter 4 Verses 15-18 in Acts. Please pay attention to the twenty-fourth chapter of "Matthew's Gospel" and review the section "The Signs of Jesus' Coming". Just think about it, Christ will return to the earth full of glory only on the day of the last judgment after being foretold by the angels.Now is not the time for Doomsday.The President is abusing your piety by putting the Order of St. Benedict in an absurd situation. "Signature:" The special envoy of the female benefactor - Leiina. Remis". She had imagined the scene over and over beforehand, but never in what order it would happen.The last notes of the Ave Maria disappeared with the organ.The dean stood up with a satisfied smile, stretched out a hand, and walked towards the president. Four monks removed the black image of the Madonna from a shrine and placed it on a wooden stand for the procession.Reina observed the Virgin carefully, and felt that the Virgin looked like a five-year-old girl holding a doll in her arms. Although she looked scary, she was not scary enough: she was covered with porcupine quills from head to toe. Reina felt herself part of a poorly rehearsed ballet as others began to move outward: several presidential bodyguards and a sweaty Enso.Maestro - dressed in funeral black - led the president towards the abbot, all carrying Benedictine banners; meanwhile, the friars lined up around the patroness' pew.A procession of page boys emerged from the sacristy and extinguished the altar candles.A government-appointed cameraman emerges from a hidden corner behind one of the seats and illuminates the scene with rapid-fire flashes.At this time, no one paid attention to Reina's existence.She thought: If you don't act now, the dean will leave, and I will never be able to catch up with him again. The spirit of improvisation revealed Reina at this time.She left the place where the patroness was seated, and did not go to the right, where she would bump into the queue of monks; instead, she hurried through the rows of seats to the altar, and after bowing quickly to the statue of St. Benedict , Immediately knelt down in front of the dean.She knew she had to say: "I bring you a letter from the benefactor," hinting that there was money in the envelope.Even better, she instinctively said: "Father, bless me! These words I bring are the voice of heaven." The dean asked her: "You are the cousin who came back from Europe. Is it?" Reina didn't have time to answer.As soon as Ensuo realized that things were getting out of control, he rushed over immediately, trying to snatch the letter: "Your Excellency, Dean, can you let me see it? Is it possible?" The dean quickly hid the letter in the pocket of his holy robe, and defended himself: "Absolutely not! In this monastery, everything sent by our benefactors is sacred." Reina gave the abbot a smile of thanks; then prepared to go to the parade.The monk who had met her at the door beckoned her to leave, for Vespers was over; but she pretended not to see it.The monk was small, almost a dwarf, with his head tucked into his shoulders.If he disagrees, it looks like yes; if he agrees, it looks like no. His gestures can be understood in any way.The Abbot stepped back to the altar and opened the envelope with the long nail on his little finger.Reina thought: He thought it was a check, money that the benefactor and her silly cousin who had returned from Europe gave to God's highest glory.She saw the dean reading the note with interest, saw him frown, and finally covered his forehead with his hands.The Abbot screamed, "God! Forgive me! This is against the teachings! Oh, God!Forgive us! "Everyone present heard it. Reina felt that there was no need to read any further.She gently put a hand on the shoulder of the dwarf monk, and pointed to the newspaper's car, which was waiting for her at the church door. "It's time for me to leave, right? How about we stay and see what happens?" The monk stared at her sharply with his small round eyes, which were honed by a long-term patient life. .He replied in a low voice in Latin: "Lamb of the Lord, poor nobleman." At eight o'clock in the evening, Camargue called her.She sent a message: "No one will say anything about mystical visions. The President has gone to confession." Reina is about to finish writing the report, after she wrote the last draft, but needs to check it with her diary: The Mystery of the Presidential Palace An illusion is an illusion, or a deception: it is impossible to tell the truth.The only thing that is certain is that the illusion is not real. As soon as the abbot of Los Stordos finds out that he may be an accomplice to a crime by inadvertent error. He immediately asked the president to leave the meditation room within an hour.The sequence of events took place at 7:30 p.m.The place is in the church.A witness at the scene, who did not want to be named, heard the dean shout loudly: "This is a violation of the teaching!" At the same time, the dean knelt down in front of the altar.Ask God to forgive. The scene of the dean kneeling down is fake, but it is not unbelievable.She read the report to Camargue, who excitedly agreed to publish it.The crackling on the phone is really annoying. "I'll come over to you now," she heard him say. "I've passed Luhan. I'll be there in two hours." "What happened?" Reina asked. "Accidents are always going to happen. Let's talk about it when we meet." Camargue's voice died away.After writing that scathing story, Reina thought about staying in the cold water of the bathtub.In the report, she reiterated the theological truth stated in the note to the dean.Wrapped in two large bath towels, she was about to leave the bathtub wet, and lay down on the big bed with a mosquito net in a daze.In this room where neither the darkness nor the tiled floor could cool the heat, as soon as her back touched the bed, she realized that no one had ever imagined or dreamed here before, only drowsy, as she Now I have the same request in my heart.Camargue intervened directly, disrupting her plans for the rest of the evening.two hours? Is that what he said?When she walked out of the room, the butler of the manor had already made preparations.They were ordered: to prepare the largest bedroom, to arrange meals for twelve.Camargue is not here alone.She was probably too dull a person to bear just being with him for a second.So, he took a large team on a business trip: editors and reviewers, and possibly female secretaries, who were responsible for recording his instructions anytime and anywhere, answering cell phones; a group of drivers; and a fax machine. Reina thought, I'm confused, I can't predict how many times I will feel sleepy again and again tonight.It was the dust, it was the heat that confused her; instead of cooling down as the sun went down, the temperature seemed to look forward to nightfall as a way to vent its anger.She herself doesn't know if there is dust, curiosity and ignorance in her heart, and she doesn't know what the real boundaries of her life are.She had only been working at the Daily for a month, and before that she considered her job at the newspaper a blessing: she would overcome one test after another for many weeks, until some editor with discerning eyes declared her a talented woman, or until someday in An unusual piece of news came across on the road—for example, this day at the convent—and it made her feel that she had done everything she could, that the words spoke from the bottom of her heart. She wants to reach such a level, that is, when she examines herself, she says in her heart: This is me, and my body and mind must reach this level, because I am the material, have such thoughts and feelings, and have such joys, sorrows and joys. There is such a sense of justice.She thought: What I just wrote is me!Repeatedly: I don't like Camargue. But who am I?I'm confused.Now, the Camargue would confuse me even more.I have only been at the newspaper for a month, but I have already talked to the president, as if I knew him from birth. Her blood pressure dropped so low her blood almost froze into ice cubes.If you don't drink a glass of brandy, your legs will be weak and it will be difficult to stand.The housekeeper told her: There are two bars in the city, but we never see single women drinking in them.It would be better to have my husband accompany you, and let him wait for you in the street. In this dark night, you and your driver will get lost again.It takes less than twenty minutes to get to those taverns. She knew it before she set foot in her first bar: no woman had ever been in it.She knew women wouldn't come here as soon as she saw the tables lined up along the dirty broken brick walls: the broken walls kept out the smoke in the sky that hadn't moved for years; and the round of playing cards in the dark The deep wrinkles on the cards are like the dry and cracked land outside.She knew that women would not come here, and also because the smell of a woman would make those men hostile.These men leave their wives at home drinking for two or three hours and pretending they don't have time to go anywhere.A few twenty-five-watt electric lamps gave off an inanimate light because the bulbs were covered with fly droppings.Half the size of the Batcave opened a dark crypt where the limping tavernkeeper took and replaced bottles from shelves with such carelessness that he spilled the remains of the liquor. Reina went to the counter and asked the boss for a glass of brandy.But it was gin that was poured for her. Next to the table at the end, where the light barely shines, three journalists from Buenos Aires are arguing about something, completely ignoring the smoke in the dark room, and not paying attention to the unexpected appearance of a female colleague.Among them were two journalists who worked for the "Daily" and Reina had met them more than once in the elevator, but had never greeted them.She couldn't recognize the third person.The man had a radio next to his ear, and he was nervously repeating what he heard.He twisted the FM key every time there was an indeterminate break; he spoke from a distance, as if in a fever, and couldn't believe his ears, while two reporters from the "Daily" wrote in their notebooks Make a record on it. Reina felt the approach of hostility as she walked toward the end of the tavern: with each step forward, the air was receding, and the hostility was still ahead.She wanted to know what happened, and there was not much time to find out.Be here in two hours, Camargue said.There was less than an hour and a half left. Except for these few outsiders, there seemed to be no sense of reality in the tavern.People living in the village are monolithic in the face of time, and probably the same with memory.Shi Wen passed through the village and left a mark on people, but people didn't feel it.Time is like dust, moving from left to right in a sudden gray vortex.The dust kept falling, but no one noticed. When Reina came to the table at the end, she shouted, "Inshat! Dulan!" The Inshat man gestured to her to be silent.But Du Lan asked her: "Reina, what are you doing here? You are late! What should have happened has already happened." Neither of the men was shaved.They stink of fried food, cigarettes, and belches.They gave the impression that they hadn't bathed and hadn't washed their faces.Probably wearing the shirt from the day before yesterday.A third man said, "I don't understand. Radio Ten said they saw the President in Khachar, in a forest ranger's hut. People in Miter kept saying that the President hid there, in Uganda. Neo." "Radio Ten is probably a hoax. He can't get to Khachar so fast. Almost a thousand kilometers." "They said they were going to interview the president. It couldn't be a hoax." Inchart said: "Then what am I doing here? I'm going to Hachar? I'm going to Unio? Better call the Camargue." Duran said, "Don't bother Camargue with such a stupid thing. Since he asked you to write this letter, it's up to you to make up your own mind." Inchart continued: "I was asked to do this, so he gave me the phone." Reina thought to herself: You can tell them that the Camargue is coming here. He had probably driven past Carmen.D'Areco is gone.Soon to be crossing the great plains, to feel that rare state of tranquility, for on the plains everything seems to be forever except the sky: the stars, the clouds, the firmament that cannot see the light of the horizon, like a flock of obedient sheep Slowly moving; meanwhile, everything on Earth felt as if the Earth was not moving forward, just jumping from darkness to darkness.However, if I tell you what I know, they will definitely ask endless questions, but I don't want to answer.As soon as they read the newspaper tomorrow, they will know the answer. Inchart said: "There is no signal on the phone. It is very strange. Since we are in an emergency, how can there be no signal?" "He only turns it on when he wants to." Du Lan said. "The purpose is to prevent anyone from knowing his whereabouts." "I'd love to listen to the radio, too," Reina said. "What happened?" The third man didn't even look at her, let alone extend his hand to say hello.He didn't move.Then he put the radio on the table and said, "I've heard what you wanted to hear. I'm tired. The more you listen, the less you understand." The story at the beginning of the news is always the same, but the details behind it spread like a labyrinth of rhizomes. At a quarter to eight at night, the news said, the President ended his seclusion in the Benedictine church; from eight o'clock the hunger strike began. The strange thing is that there is a lot of confusion about the location of the hunger strike.Among the special correspondents, the President asked two of them to accompany him to the Unio estate, located three kilometers from the city of Los Stordos.Once there, the president first knelt down in front of the site where Eva Perón was born some eighty years ago, then opened his sleeping bag, drank a glass of water, and lay down to rest.The two correspondents heard the president say in a gossamer voice: "Punish, punish!" It seemed to them that the president was sobbing, but there was absolutely no way to confirm that, because a contingent of security guards in camouflage uniforms arrived and rudely chased away the two reporters. Other stations asserted that the President left the Benedictine monastery after noon prayers, at about one o'clock in the afternoon, under unprecedented security: the evening prayers were attended by one of the President's doubles, the Stand-ins are replacing the president in remote provinces to bless the people and make wishes to God.According to this account, the president traveled from a vacant lot near Los Stordos to Hachar, San Juan province, on a friend's private jet.Once there, the president's behavior became very strange.He told everyone not to follow him.Then he borrowed a senator's car and drove off.No one knows how the president got to the Moon Valley ranger's hut around four o'clock in the afternoon.The president wore a white Benedictine cassock, a monk's hood and Franciscan sandals. The ranger narrated unmistakably over the radio that the president was walking up and down the sunken rim of the canyon, praying, as if dazzled by the maddening sun, and the ranger tried to dissuade him from doing so.A mobile vehicle of the San Juan Provincial Television has driven to the edge of the quarantine zone set up by the army, shooting at the president from a distance: he is climbing a steep rock wall.When there's no action, the camera sticks to the rock's "religious intensity" The various shapes of rocks have been recorded in the history of the world: mushroom shape, light bulb shape, cave with long black stone exposed, Thai bird shape, male and female acacia shape, cylindrical boat shape abandoned after God's parade. Another correspondent had seen the President arrive in Guamini before, sitting on a rock with Adolfo next to him.Alsina (①Adolf. Alsina (i829-1877), Argentine military strategist and politician. He served as the vice president of Argentina from 1868 to 1874.) The ruins of the ditch ordered to be excavated in 1875; The purpose of excavating the ditch was to stop the Indians led by Chief Namongola from invading. Since then, the ditch has continued to go deep into the center of the earth.Thousands of animals fell into the 300-kilometer-long ditch that had become unfathomably deep due to soil erosion.In the dark crevices, the phosphorescence of the rotting heat attracted swarms of ants and dung beetles; but no one could bear the smell.Still, the president sat there, in a state of hunger strike and self-punishment.The reporter dispatched to Guamini was calling: "Lendo? Liendo? Record my voice yet? The man named Lian Duo replied, "Yes, the voice is very good."I'll broadcast your conversation with the President right away.I have arranged a special report here from the south of the province of Buenos Aires. So far, the broadcast is flawless. However, Lian Duo just said: "Good afternoon, sir!" "The crackle of static electricity interrupted the broadcast, and no sound could be heard. "I don't understand what's going on," Reina thought to herself, putting the radio on the table. Either the present reality is an illusion; or the press is creating it.For some reason, three lines from a sonnet by the famous Spanish poet Gongola popped into her mind: "Dream, author of drama, / On a stage built by the wind / Often clothed the beauty Shadows." But these stories are not dreams. At that time, people took it seriously, no one thought it was incredible.Now, it is known: the penitent president did not go to any place that everyone saw: at eight o'clock, he slipped out of the meditation room; and then took a government helicopter from a vacant lot near Junin to return to the presidential palace .The next morning, the President played tennis for two hours as if nothing had happened. Instead of thinking about the complexity of the scene, Reina thought that it was getting late.It's half past nine.The steward and driver were waiting outside in the open air.The Camargue may have reached Cembrial, and is now groping its way along the dividing line between the lake and the canal.When Reina put the gin money on the counter, she couldn't dodge Dolan and pressed her hand to the counter.The guy said with a mouth full of alcohol: "Honey, it's still early, don't go to bed! Why are you leaving?It's too early to go to bed, but it's not too late to do something else fun. "A wave of contempt welled up in her heart, she pushed Du Lan's hand away and said, "Du Lan, it's not too late to take a bath.You stink.Even if you take a shower, it will smell like shit all your life. She ignored the greedy and resentful gazes of the other two men, and Du Lan's boos and curses behind her: "Bitch!See how ugly this bitch is? " In the car, while feeling the oppression of the plain and the darkness of night, she felt that the events of the long day were insignificant.She didn't care about the written report on the events at the Abbey, because that was past and about to be forgotten.The only thing she cares about is maybe—her life is repeating this "maybe" —imagining Camargue's travels along the dark road from Lujan to the Obend Asylum and the Chacabuco cornfields, imagining what he was saying and thinking; but especially imagining Camargue's body passing through the road The scene of the flickering light that is constantly being lost. About ten o'clock Camargue called her from Los Stordos. His driver couldn't figure out where he was going.He said: "We stopped across from a pharmacy. There is no sign on the entrance. Wait a minute. I think it's called 'Sacred Heart'. Please ask the housekeeper if he knows how to get out of here." She repeated: "Sacred Heart Salvation Pharmacy." The steward interrupted her repetition: "They went to the other side. The direction is wrong. Tell them: hold on. Tell them to wait for me." Tiny dust kept falling on the table where the twelve servings were set. The housekeeper said apologetically that the Great Plains were too flat, and the dim starry sky could not tell the north, south, east, west, and north, and no one in the village would answer the questions of the lost.She said, I've seen the same truck drive past here five or six times and couldn't find my way.Reina said: "Yes, it is difficult to get somewhere." The housekeeper continued: "Look at me. It is also difficult to get out of here." Perhaps the table was set forever; and soon the lace tablecloth was yellowing.Time has stood still, like Miss Havisham's house in The Great Hope.As for her, Reina, could she also wear a bridal gown to let loneliness slowly be destroyed?At least she is still wearing the same long black dress and lace blouse for Vespers.God, look at this dead face.Du Lan must have thought that it was a kindness for her to suggest that she do something "fun".She has to hurry and change.Where can there be a mirror in this house? At half past ten, when she had just found a mirror, Camargue arrived at the Carranza Manor, with the spirit of the sun at eight or nine o'clock in the morning.Usually, he is a man of few words and hard to express his feelings; but this evening, he was full of energy, as if he had gone through a journey of rejuvenation. The number one driver of the "Journal" followed him, looking very polite, carrying a large food box and two bottles of French wine. "Remis!" Camargue yelled as soon as he stepped over the threshold. "Reina. Remis! Come on! Celebrate!The president let the mysterious vision go to hell! ," She came out of the darkened bedroom and approached him suspiciously.She thought that a group of editors and female secretaries would break in.她害怕再次看到杜蓝。 她问卡马格：“其他人呢？” 卡马格不明白她的意思。他吩咐胆战心惊的女管家带领司机去厨房，然后把从布宜诺斯艾利斯带来的烤饼、火鸡和俄式凉拌菜一一放进大盘里。 “什么其他人？”随后，他用真诚惊讶的口气问道。 这时，他才转身看着雷伊娜。她刚刚洗过脸，淳朴的美一览无余。她身穿开领花裙——是在墨西哥大众市场上买的；看上去像十九世纪恬静的幽灵。她仍然还在困惑之中呢。困惑仿佛蜘蛛网一样缠住了她的情绪。 她固执地说：“女管家准备了十二个人的餐具。” “她是个聋子。我从来没说'十二'。我说的是'二'。” 雷伊娜仍然站在那里不动。她不知道需要防备什么。 但是，她防备地说：“我不吃俄式凉拌菜。土豆和蛋黄油对我不好。” “你也不喜欢烤饼，火鸡有屎味。”卡马格说道。“我认识的每个女人都对食物有某种挑剔。” “我不知道别的女人怎么样。对吃进身体里的东西，我是小心的。” 卡马格放声大笑起来。这笑声更像横冲直撞的驴叫，似乎让他不好意思，但是随后就无所谓了。他站在桌旁，抚摸着文件夹，不厌其烦地讲解起他们迷失在洛斯托尔多斯十字路口的详细经过。他说，大约六点钟就已经在布宜诺斯艾利斯知道了：总统对本笃会的祈祷仪式再也忍受不下去了，打算当天晚上就离开修道院。仅仅是恩索策划的基督显现在柠檬树冠的闹剧拦住了总统的去路。总统急于离开那里，去玩高尔夫球，呼吸一下世俗的空气。恩索要总统保证留在修道院，直到晚祷仪式结束。随后，总统可以躲进乌尼奥庄园，在那里可以假装绝食。在那里他可以躺到单人床上，让人拍一两张照片；但是接着他将立刻摆脱记者的跟踪，自由自在地骑马和看电视。卡马格说：“于是，我就断定在布宜诺斯艾利斯已经无事可做了。风暴中心已经转移到了这里。我用胡安。曼努埃尔。法昆多在新加坡银行存人七百万美元的照片排好了头版，给你的故事空出了两个专栏。我事先知道院长会有反应的，但是绝对没有想到他会那么生气。差十分八点的时候，编辑给我念了一份修道院的公告，其中援引了直接来自梵蒂冈的指示。公告差不多重复了你在致院长信中说过的话，只不过多了一些外交辞令罢了，什么基督只有在世界末日审判时才能回到地球上来；总统的幻觉对他本人来说可能是真的，但不适用于罗马天主教。这以后，关于绝食的虚构已经变得荒唐可笑了。 那时我已经走到半路了，大约在卡门。德阿雷科与恰卡布科之间。既然我在报社已经没事可做了，于是我想最好跟这个英雄事迹的作者一道庆祝打败那头野兽的胜利，明天早晨回到编辑部来。咱俩坐同一辆轿车回布宜诺斯艾利斯，好不好？我已经告诉你的司机先走了。“雷伊娜本来想注意倾听卡马格讲话，但是他说得又快又乱，不给别人专心听讲的机会。女管家已经送上来烤饼，可是竟浑然不觉。这场面显得滑稽可笑。她和他都站在桌前，上面已经摆好了饭菜，还有价值九十美元一瓶、刚刚开启的葡萄酒。 到最后，她说话了：“博士，已经十一点多了。要是再不坐下，我要累得晕倒了。” 只是到了这时，他才停止了滔滔不绝的讲话。接着，在长长的一分钟里，二人谁也没有说话，互不对视，只是品味着美酒。随后，她讲起教堂的故事。让她高兴的是：一个像卡马格这样的男人，一般人很难接近他，竟然穿过大平原，跑了几百公里，仅仅为了来陪伴她吃这么一顿带沙土的晚餐。有时，她觉得他的聪明思想溜到别的什么地方去了，巨大的饭厅里只剩下了他那心不在焉的双手。可是，他的聪明一回到原地，那迅速返回的闪光立刻让她觉得他是世界的中心。 他问她：“你怎么想起学了这么多关于救世主的资料？ 女人从来不思考这种东西。 ““您真的想知道？那您就别再老说'女人'了。也别说什么'东西'了。有的男人喜欢编织和绣花。我对神学感兴趣。 " “是的，我知道。但是不明白你怎么会达到这个水平。 I'm curious. “女管家送上来火鸡肉和切成两半的西红柿。烤饼依然未动。 “我是在修女办的学校读完中学的，只差最后一年。那最后一年的九月或者十月，总学分已经读完了，我闲得无聊。为了消磨时光，就把凡是到手的书籍都读一遍。在那几个月里，我把胡利奥。科塔萨尔的短篇小说几乎都看了；还阅读了巴巴拉。卡特兰两部可怕的长篇小说；读完了马里奥。贝内德蒂的诗集，那是人家送我的生日礼物；看完了马尔罗的《反回忆录》；还从头至尾阅读了四部《福音书》。 您看看真是一锅大杂烩。 《福音书》是我缺的一门必修课，内容就是周日的弥撒，教士的解释是一回事，我的理解是另外一回事。我经常看那些没人再看的不合乎情理的部分，虽然那个时候我把不合乎情理的内容叫做神秘的故事。我们跟院长修女上过宗教课。我在她的课上犯了一个要命的错误。上那堂课的前一天，我曾经琢磨过耶稣的家谱：《马太福音》一开始有记载；等到那位修女说根据《圣经》救世主应该是大卫王的直系后裔，我觉得这不合情理，这念头冒了出来。按照《马太福音》的说法，亚伯拉罕是以撒的父亲；以撒是雅各的父亲。这个家族代代相传，一直到大卫王。然后从大卫开始又有另外二十二个男子传播这个神圣父系家族，直到现在我还记忆犹新的一个人：”马但生雅各。雅各生约瑟，就是马利亚的丈夫。那称为基督的耶稣是从马利亚生的。'我举起手来，没有想想下面要说的话，就开口了：'老师，大卫是约瑟的祖先，对吗？'老师回答说：“应该是这样吧。 ，她有些不耐烦了。我仍然问道：”既然耶稣是马利亚的儿子，而不是约瑟的儿子，那怎么可能又是大卫的后裔呢？，那修女望着天花板，叹气道：“雷伊娜，信仰走着我们不了解的道路。不要争论，不要追问。应该接受。 '本来，到了那个时候我就应该听话地坐下来了。可是我仍然站着不动并且说道：”老师，《福音书》上说得明白极了。要么耶稣是约瑟的儿子，圣母不是处女；要么耶稣不是救世主。'这样的亵渎神明激怒了老师。她们把我关在办公室里，让我父亲来领。院长认为我疯了。她说：“你想继续在这个学校念书，那就在笔记本上抄一千遍这句话：我们的主耶稣基督是圣母受灵孕而生下的救世主，是大卫王的直系后裔。 '我哭了一个下午，一面写我的悔罪书。我已经抄了四十遍、五十遍那句话，那时我意识到这太不公平、太残酷了，我不想写下去了。我宁可学校把我开除。我父亲揍了我一顿；我母亲去教堂为拯救我的灵魂祷告。但是，我就是不低头。我不得不在家里自学五年级的功课。 " 卡马格说道：“黑暗蒙蔽了你的眼睛，因为它太显而易见了。” “我喜欢这个说法，可是并不理解。” “女院长认为你看到了地狱，如同的第一章那样……那火焰里还没有光明，发射出来的仍然是明显的黑暗。” 他闭上眼睛，用英语背诵似乎是出自约翰。弥尔顿（约翰。弥尔顿（1608——1674），英国伟大诗人。代表作，成功塑造了魔鬼撒旦的形象，是世界文学的最高成就之一。） 本人说出的诗句来。沙尘继续在平原上肆虐，像狗一样顽固地非要钻进室内不可。 “这太可怕了。”雷伊娜说道。“这里能喝光全世界的水，可嗓子还是发干。 这里的人口腔里充满了裂口，我一点也不感到奇性。 “雷米丝，这就是你知道的一切吗？耶稣基督再次降。临的想法是不是也从你十五六岁时阅读的《福音书》里出来的啊？” “是十七岁。不，当然不是。我为学校里发生的事情感到屈辱。我决心有一天回到那个教会学校里去，当面谴责女院长的愚昧无知。我好像圣灵附体一样地拼命读书。我发现了西班牙语版的假冒《福音书》，出版的时间是佛朗哥独裁统治的最糟糕时期，里面有您能想象的种种出版许可证明。我在那里找到了《关于基督童年的叙述》，是托马斯'以斯拉爱里达在公元二世纪写的。我好奇地阅读着这一章，因为正典《福音书》里完全省略了耶稣降生到他十二岁中间的生活。这一章里描写的耶稣性格易怒，报复心很重。 有一次，耶稣正走在村里的时候，有人从后面跑过来，不小心推了他一下。耶稣大怒，恶狠狠地说：“你要永远变硬了。，那人果然变硬了。耶稣还让一个小学教师的儿子变硬，因为那小家伙把他一个柳条筐踢坏了。情况变得非常严重了，根据《叙述》的第十四章的描写，闹得约瑟不得不要求马利亚不放耶稣出门，因为凡是跟他有冲突的人都立刻死掉。这类的故事，我读了很多，写书的都是虔诚的信徒，可是都被指控为异教徒。我得出的结论是：耶稣在世期间，还有别的先知和贤人跟他一样，他们纷纷起来反对罗马政权，反对犹太教神父的虚伪作风。卡马格博士，我不想再打搅您了。您看看几点了？您把茶喝完吧。我要睡觉去了。” 女管家收走了餐具，随着夜色逐渐占领了每个地方，沙尘的嗡嗡声消失了。窗外，远处有来来去去的灯光活动。 雷伊娜想：大概是庄园里的雇工们。 女管家说：“是印第安人。他们在找剩饭。千万别让我丈夫看见他们，因为他会向他们开枪，好像打狐狸一样；一天夜里，他打倒了两三个。” 卡马格呆呆地望着空气。他的热情已经消退，或者是情绪在变化，仿佛幽灵一样，转移到别的兴趣上去了。 “不可能打倒两三个。”雷伊娜说道。“只是一种说法，对不对？不是真事。” “别理睬她的话。”卡马格问女管家：“您就是说说而已，是吧？” “是吗？您是说说而已吗？”雷伊娜也问女管家。 女管家不回答他和她的问题。她进厨房去了，把火鸡上客人没吃的肉从骨头上剔下来。随后，她把骨头扔向狗群。 “雷伊娜！”卡马格说。 “什么事？”她不假思索地答应一声。他从来没有这样叫过她，仅仅称呼她的名字。 “假如我年轻二十岁，或者你比现在大十岁，我一定跟你结婚。” 她冲他一笑，一副同情的样子。她微笑时上唇张得太高，结果牙床露了出来。 那是个容易产生误会的夜晚，大家言不由衷。 “博士，您怎么会这么想呢？如果是恭维的话，那也很少见。” “不是恭维。我是认真的。我想跟你结婚，可是不行。 我比你的年龄大一倍。 ““比我的年龄大一倍，或者我的年龄只是您的一半，结果是一样。No way is no way.您孤身一人，又远离家乡。一个人出门在外的时候说话是很随便的。 " “我从来不随便乱说。我刚才说了，不行。我结婚了，不幸福；但这不是原因，因为一个在我这个位置上的任何人都会说这种话的。我说不行，是因为咱俩太相像了。那就有可能互相伤害。” 雷伊娜觉得这番话令人宽慰地一一落下，落人一种可能有几百年之长的常规中，但是对她来说，这个常规是新的。她感到这番话经过长期的寻寻觅觅之后，终于找到了恰如其分的地点。 “我不知道说什么好。我糊涂了。这一切让我困惑。” 卡马格站起来，离开桌子，手里端着茶杯，向厨房走了几步。随后，又转回来，把茶杯放在桌子上，一只手放在雷伊娜肩膀上。 他说：“你什么也用不着说。你什么也用不着想。说这些话的人是我。” 她摆脱开那只手，紧紧注视着他的眼睛。 她说：“有些话说出来就留在心里了，不可能留在空气里。有人说了话，那这些话就改变了我们，尽管我们不乐意。” 他说：“也许我是不假思索说出来的。” 她说：“没有人说话是不假思索的。我们说的一切都有内容。没有无缘无故说话的事。” “雷伊娜，咱俩太相像了。你看这事：咱俩想的一样，几乎在使用同样的语言。 火花就是这样开始碰撞出来的。 " “如果您不是我的领导，或许我能同意这样代价昂贵的火花碰撞。现在我说话得慎重。您知道吗？我喜欢现在我做的事情。我喜欢写作。我费了好大力气才进了报社；拿到这份工作那一天，我在莱萨玛公园的露天剧场里一人跳了一小时舞蹈。 我踩上了好多狗屎，最后只好把鞋子扔进垃圾箱里了，可是我一辈子都没有那么幸福过。卡马格博士，我不能失去这份工作。我不能跟文化版的编审，也不能跟总编，更不能跟您这个宝塔尖上的人物发生火花碰撞。 " “说得对。可是我并没说咱们干那种故事还没发生就把故事忘记了的事情。我说的是如果年轻可以跟你结婚。 这二者是不同的。 ““可是您还说了：您不行。这就更不同了。 " 让他觉得难以置信的是：他和她居然能这样说话，谈话居然能如此流畅，这是他在跟任何人相处，包括自己的女儿，都不曾感受过的。让他吃惊的是：这样一个普普通通的姑娘居然让他像个少年似的颤抖。而她呢，她不明白这天夜里究竟发生了什么事情。她不知如何是好，感到进退两难。她并不喜欢过分苛求自己。那时她看待卡马格就是这个样子：年长的先生，走路驼背，说话过分深思熟虑，体态微胖，由于年龄的关系而向前弯曲。进入她梦境的还从来没有这种人。尽管如此，他所说的一切在触动她的心扉，如同某种酸液在腐蚀她的心田。他说的一切让她失去了勇气并回忆起昔日的生活。 “我去睡觉了。”雷伊娜说道。 ''我还以为今天永远不会结束呢。 ““是的。我可以让这一天永远不结束。 " 雷伊娜已经回到了卧室，就在她一一脱下那修女穿的不舒服的鞋子并且把那件墨西哥服装叠好放在椅子上的同时，她听到卡马格在跟女管家争论：床单太粗糙，屋子里有牛圈的气味，蚊帐太厚。就在雷伊娜已经穿好睡衣，盲目地梳理着长长的黑发时；卡马格说道：“谁要是把这屋子里的空气弄走了，那就应该还回来。''她和他的卧室紧密相连，中间有半米高的土墙隔离，但是薄薄的门板非但没有消音，反而点燃了回音，加强了回音的效果。 凌晨一点，她熄灯上床了，但是不能成眠。卡马格的手机响了两三次，吓了她一大跳。她听见卡马格在做指示：关于照片的尺寸，确定标题的位置，讨论某段文字的谬误。他说话的口气坚定有力，但是声音很低，甚至听不清音节。窗户时不时地被闪电照亮；湿气越来越重，仿佛是有生命的，不打算离去。 正当她已经开始放松，感觉已经进入朦胧状态时，卡马格敲门了。大概是两点钟，也许是两点半。一刹那间，她不清楚那是第二天的声音呢，还是上周的声音。 “雷伊娜，我不得不把你的文章从头版上撤下来了。雷伊娜，睡着了吗？不上你的文章了。” 这句话如同鞭子抽打一样让她清醒过来了。 “博士，为什么？我来了。我得穿上点衣裳。” 失败的念头突然占据了她的大脑；她意识到，她最担心的莫过于此：不怕跟父母闹僵，因为父母是命中注定的；不怕与卡马格闹僵，因为随后可以修补；而是害怕自己的失败，害怕自己给自己树立的不败形象突然之间轰然倒下。 她会错在哪里呢？她去摸电灯开关：不能用了。幸亏一盏煤油灯还亮着，苟延残喘的灯心还在闪出微弱的光线。她把那件墨西哥衣裳披在睡衣外面。向门口走去的时候，她感到微微有些眩晕，有种一看到卡马格就会一脚踩空的感觉。 卡马格浑身都散发着湿气和狡猾的打算。他刚刚洗过淋浴，身上有股他走到那里就跟到那里的隐隐香气。他手里拿着那个从布宜诺斯艾利斯带来的文件夹。 “雷伊娜，你很漂亮。”他说。这话说得结结巴巴，好像不是他想要说的意思。 “我的文章怎么了？是这个吗？” 雷伊娜指指文件夹。 “没事。没任何事情。我只想跟你说说话，可不知怎么叫醒你才好。” “就是说仍然像我寄过去的那样发表出来？仍然是头版？” “对，照样发出来。没发生任何事情。我能进去呆一会儿吗？” 她让开路；他向前跨了一步，拉住了她的手。她没有把手抽出来。 “我糊涂了。”她说。 “咱们都糊涂了。” 卡马格关上门，把她拥抱在怀里。雷伊娜感到自己任其拥抱的这个巨大又可怕的身躯在心里唤醒了一种没有想象过的欲望。她感到一切确信的东西都离开了常规；她觉得卡马格不是卡马格了，她自己也不是她自己了。一个拥抱就足以让两个人突然成为别样的人。他双手捧住她的脸，开始亲吻。他的嘴唇是热烈的，让她离开了现实世界。 两人的舌头互相寻找，互相亲吻；一股冲动的大潮裹挟着两人走向任何想去的地方。雷伊娜那时没有停下来思考全部的得失。她只是跟着他走，因为他好像一个没有自卫能力的孩子；她很想保护他。 卡马格醒来时发现雷伊娜不在床上，这让他感到奇怪。 根据窗户上冬天进来的灰色光线，他估计是早晨七点多钟。 地平线是一道灰色的线条，热气依然还在，违反节气的常规。雷伊娜的衣服不在了；旅行袋不在了；用来撰写那篇关于异端文章的笔记本电脑不在了。他满腹疑团，开始穿衣服。让他感到不安的并非是她的不辞而别——甚至连个便条都没有留下——而是在他睡觉时她窥视到了他裸体的模样。这是女人的本性，她也一样：监视一切，控制一切。她肯定看到了他没戴假牙的嘴巴、患静脉曲张的裸腿、松弛的肚皮。她突然发现了他这副没有自卫能力的样子；她带着这样的印象走了，让他根本来不及纠正她的看法。他到走廊上去找女管家，发现她浑身蒙着防蜂网罩，端着满满一罐蜂蜜。女管家摘掉了网罩，表示对他的尊敬。她脸蛋通红，有干裂的皱纹。 “先生，您也走吗？”她问。“有热咖啡和小面包。应该尝尝面包加蜂蜜。没有开花，可是蜜蜂照旧干活。下星期，人家给我们送新的蜂王来。先生，您应该来看看。您知道吗？蜂王会唱歌。只要蜂王一唱歌，您这里看到的一切就变成一片黄色了，天知道是怎么回事！” 卡马格没有吭声。废话连篇让他讨厌。他不愿意跟下层人打交道，更不喜欢这种信任的表示。女管家是不是看到什么了？是不是听到什么了？ 他问：“司机在哪里？他应该把车子准备好，在这里等着。” 女管家说：“他送太太去汽车总站了。说不定又迷路了。” “给我来杯咖啡吧！不要蜂蜜，不要面包。早晨我只喝咖啡。” 这么说，她是坐公共汽车走了。为什么她干那些事情？ 或许因为那天出来吃晚饭，他把她扔在大街上了。报复心重，臭狗屎！尽管如此，他还是想她。她在他脑海里嗡嗡响，不肯离去。回到布宜诺斯艾利斯就要把那个司机给轰走。怎么对付雷伊娜？两只蜜蜂飞近了蜜罐，那是女管家放在走廊里的一个板凳上的。他想，也许她不回报社了。 她也许随便上什么地方去了。但是，总有一天她会停下来。 总有一天到达某地，留下来想一想怎么办。只要她回来，我就等她。她会感觉到要多自由就有多自由。她能感觉到每时每刻都是自由的，因为无论她去哪里，她都是属于我的。