Chapter 9 Chapter 8-1

He managed to survive for three more years after the tragedy that changed his life at the Camargue.After he died, pondered. Maestro wrote two brilliant columns for him, but he no longer sees them.It was a no-nonsense article, published on the left side of the front page, and if he was alive, he would have liked the title: "Mourning: (Daily) Losing Former President GM Camargue".Although it is no longer needed, the article still respects the wishes of the deceased.Only once, incidentally, by the name on the deceased's ID: George.Magno.Pondifese almost completely ignores the private details of Camargue's life, from his childhood abandonment by his mother to his divorce from Brenda and his belated remarriage.Enso.Maestro generously turned the father into a "pioneer in radiotelephony"; summed up the exile of the great journalist in two simple lines: "Before Camargue fell ill, Surprisingly traveled the world, as if once again a young journalist. Camargue sent articles from some of the metropolises of Europe, from Kathmandu, the temples of Angkor Wat and the ruins of Chichen Eza, which are now classics in Argentina His widow, Brenda, is going to put it together in a book, plus the final manuscript he wrote for the Daily after his retirement, and we'll make copies for our readers."

The issue also carried a black box of condolences; and on the center pages were twelve photographs of the Camargue, carefully selected by Ensor.Two of them were taken in front of the geraniums of the house in Via San Isidro, flanked by his wife and two twin daughters.Camargue looked cheerful and defiant, like a conductor who has just checked his instruments for compliance.There are also six photos in which Camargue accompanied the heads of state, big businessmen, and Nobel Prize winners. In fact, it seems that those people are accompanying Camargue to take photos, because everyone's eyes are respectful. looking at him.Ensor also deliberately chose a photo of Camargue standing next to Carlos Salinas, which was already at the end of the Mexican president's administration; Lower lip, eyes looking at the short, doppelgänger president.

On the four-column page was a photograph of Camargue in the offices of Le Journal with all the editorial staff before the afternoon's regular meeting.Enso's posture in the photo is: one hand extended above the leader's armchair to show protection, and the thumb of the other hand is quietly inserted into the waistcoat. In the rest of the photos, Camargue sometimes stands on the Great Wall, and sometimes stands in front of the building of the Labor Accident Insurance Committee on Napoli West Avenue in Prague, where Franz Kafka was from 19.From eight to the place where he worked before retiring in 1922; sometimes standing in front of the Museum of Modern Art in Sao Paulo, Brazil, accompanied by his friend Antonio.

Marcos.Pimenda.Neves, before the latter's unfortunate death in what was also a love affair. In the lower corner of both editions, the only Camargue article written in the first person is republished in a column.It was also the last article of his long journalism career.That summer, by chance, he was an eyewitness to an event in which the restless press of Latin America was at loggerheads; Felt a duty to publish my own sightings.thinking.Maestro - the man who succeeded him in his leadership position - remains loyal to him, even though it is no longer necessary, but still grants a special page to publish this article, but he wants the editors to understand how age and misfortune Damaged the pen of a great writer.

An eyewitness recounts the tragedy of 'Sea Vineyard' as more and more people go to 'Sea Vineyard' over the summer (The land is part of the port of Valparaíso, Chile, and is famous for its beautiful scenery.).From August, the houses near the beach have been rented out; from December to March, the hotel beds are fully booked.My wife, Brenda, was lucky enough to rent a compound at the northernmost end of the baths for just a few dollars, and it was neglected because tenants were put off by its resemblance to a haunted house.In 1976, a general of the Chilean army discovered that the yellow compound was a safe haven for his young wife's lecherous crimes. In revenge, he shot the adulterer with a military-style pistol and poisoned her with arsenic syrup. Killed three sons, and finally committed suicide by shooting himself in the heart.

"One of the most powerful legends in the Vineyard on the Sea, is that every night at ten o'clock--about the time when the crime was committed--crying cries must be punctually uttered from the mouths of the ghosts. But, in the time I spent During those weeks, only the sound of the sea was heard. The sunset of this bathing place in Chile is famous, and it reaches the most glorious and magnificent peak on the small bay just facing the yellow courtyard.Every weekend, people from the capital, Santiago, and the port of Valparaíso come to admire this rare view; Brenda and I can take in the view from the balcony of the compound.

I don't remember why the two of us decided to go for a walk on the coast on Sunday, February 23, 2003, which happened to be a day full of tourists.Extremely annoying.Our daughter, Deanna, had left for Buenos Aires; we were both lonely and sad; we both wanted company, even though we didn't say it.The hot wind blows on the beach.Tourists, with handkerchiefs wrapped around their heads and picnic baskets, lay motionless among the rocks, like crocodiles.The quacking of seagulls was in harmony with the boundless silence.At about half past six, when the sun began to sink into the horizon, a plane flew past us at an unbelievably fast speed. By the time the roar of the motor reached our ears, the plane had disappeared. .Moments later, the plane came back, appearing to be floating in the air.The flying altitude is three to four hundred meters above the sea surface, cutting the round sunset with a perfect horizontal line.This is a four-person Cessna (Cessna (1879-1954), an American pilot and aircraft manufacturer. He founded the Cessna Aircraft Company, the famous Cessna 180 aircraft is the company product.) Honor, but it was later deduced that there was only one person on board: the mad pilot.

The plane flew lower and lower as the sun sank into the sea with greater determination.At last.It seems that the propeller is roaring under the proud whale-like tail, almost at the top of the fuselage, and it is about to skim the sea.Brenda took my hands and burst into tears. I said to my wife, "It's okay, it's okay! That guy just wants attention." The wife said, "Didn't you find out? He's going to commit suicide!" Brenda's instincts are always right.The sun was about to disappear under the last curve of the sea.Rising from their shelter among the rocks on the beach, the two women exclaimed with excitement: "What is he going to do? He's going straight up into the air like a rocket."

Everything happened in an instant, and almost everyone held their breath.The plane raised its dolphin-like nose, aimed at the clear sky, almost at a right angle, and just when people thought it was going to go away, it swooped down towards the sea.Its motors may have died, for no one heard the slightest rumble, but a whistling, to cut through the majesty of the setting sun before the gigantic explosion ignited the bay.The plane sank into the bottom of the sea, and a terrible flash of flame shot up into the sky; soon.Night fell. Brundie let go of my hand and ran to the water, as if she could save someone from a plane crash.I will always remember it.It will not be the sinking Cessna that heads for the unseen school of fish like a hunter.But the meaningless fragments of the afternoon: a kneeling woman with varicose veins, the neon lights of a bar on the far shore, the siren of a useless ambulance, a beer bottle floating in the sea , and Brundie standing in the surf, his clothes soaked, his hands stretched out to the dying sun.

All the news outlets showed pictures of the rescue.On a windless sea.Under bright moonlight, before midnight, divers collected some of the wreckage of the plane.It was difficult for them to find the pilot's body immediately, but it surfaced at dawn on Monday, at a distance of thirty nautical miles, and there was nothing to identify the dead man. However, it is still known that the deceased was the President of the Argentine Republic. His second wife, a TV singer and famous actress in the early 1990s, had decided a few weeks earlier to leave her husband and hide in the Victorian villa, which also faced the bay, Right next to our rented house.Although we are not in the habit of paying attention to our neighbors, the complete inactivity of the neighbors caught our attention: we never saw a car coming or going, and never heard any sound.

According to the Sheriff of Sea Vineyard, the ex-president left no letters explaining the cause of the suicide. I thought then that such a sensational act would speak for itself; or that the wife's departure itself What more to say. The day after the funeral—in attendance were the presidents of Argentina, Chile, and Venezuela—and I attended the reading of the will, which was deposited in a Santander branch.Before the ceremony, I learned that the participants were strictly limited to relatives; I had to mobilize all influential connections, and finally I was able to enter the conference room with Brundie.In the end, precautions were in vain, as television correspondents from fifteen countries broke through the flimsy security lines and poured into the hotel's "Ambassador's Hall," where several lawyers, three notaries, the deceased's first A wife and her only son, nine brothers, a small number of witnesses and my husband and I.Since the suicidal president is still married to the TV actress, she is expected to claim at least half of the fortune. but.She was not there.She was represented by her father, a pale, emaciated old man who smoked cigarette after cigarette. The notary insisted that the "embassador's hall" be cleared of idlers before reading the will; but the TV reporters and cameramen decided that the ex-president's posthumous activities should be as casual as they were during his lifetime.The smoking father-in-law was going to leave altogether, which forced the chief notary to respect the old man's urging, so he opened the lacquered testament letter.The swift shadow of the suicide fell upon us in an instant; but instead of terror, he gave us a surprise: a face of infidelity.We all saw it.The notary read in an unsuitable monotonous voice: The assets of the former president amounted to three hundred and eighty-nine million six hundred and twenty-six thousand dollars, deposited separately in the European and Caribbean Bank, as well as stocks and company securities; Instead of the only $2.8 million he announced when he left office.His first wife was heard murmuring, "I knew it. I knew it. He's been deceiving everyone as dead as he is alive." After the scandal was announced, shameless words and deeds were added, because almost all the property was in the hands of the mediator, recorded in the secret appendix of the will, and implemented by the notary and each executor separately.The deceased admitted that his wealth was indeed great, but that the legal heirs could not claim it because it was held in unattainable hands.He earmarked $1.5 million for his son: another $1.5 million for his second wife. The rest of the estate was divided between several football clubs, a fund to build a Formula 1 racing track, and the purchase of a cable TV channel dedicated to sports, but to bear his name.There is also a special fund: on the highest mountain in his native province, build a statue monument to him, similar to Washington and Jefferson (Jefferson (1743-1826), the third president of the United States, the main drafter of the Declaration of Independence. ). Like the monument on Mount Rushmore.Since he committed suicide, these decisions about his death became an insult to world opinion. Borges wrote—or said—that the most important work in a person's life is the image left in the memory of others.However, for the deceased, he did not care about leaving any image.He wants to forcibly shape an image and beautify an image.He had thoughts about what happened to him after his death, but what kept him awake at night was that he didn't believe people would commemorate him after his death. GM Camargue, Le Journal Buenos Aires 28 February 2003 Reina arrived at the bus stop shortly after noon.The smell of fried meat fills the streets and alleys.On the porch and in the aisle between the fake jewelry store run by old Jews and the Korean store selling fake clothes, lay beggars in twos and threes.A three- or four-year-old girl, deformed by scabies and scars, escaped her mother's watchful eyes, threw an arm around Reina's ankles, and demanded money.As she walks past Peruvian sidewalk tables and blankets selling everything from herbs to smuggled cellphones, a group of wailing boys pops up.Terrified by the smell of feces and piss coming from there, and also afraid of scabies and lice, Reina hurriedly took out a handful of coins and threw them among the beggars, before running away.She has always been cautious.She washes her hands all the time. Scabies on other people scares her; she doesn't understand things like Eva.Those stories of Perón: the president's wife kissed syphilis and leprosy patients to prove that she shared the suffering of the people.Reina couldn't even look at a horse with melioidosis, as was often the case in the stables. At the corner of Pearl Avenue, No. 11, there were still several copies of the "Daily" on the news stand.On the front page, it was the Vespers article, which occupied the upper right column.The night shift editorial highlights her signature: Reina.Remis, who posted a picture of her, looked younger, almost girlish, with a docile smile showing her gums.Only the Camargue with a cell phone from Asotea.Manor de Carranza made the phone call, ordered her name to be highlighted and turned her into a popular reporter with that simple magic gesture.Still, Reina thought, this unexpected fame couldn't be attributed to what happened between her and the Camargue. “I owe it to myself, to my dexterous debunking of the president’s contrition trick.” She doesn’t regret her intimacy with the Camargue, which was of no use. She herself discovered a pleasure that she thought was impossible; but now she thought: This feeling was extinguished forever on the very night when it was ignited; to him.Absolutely no demands, nothing.She was sure, following the brief glory of the first article. There will be more glory to come, for her ambition will lead her anywhere hereafter; she herself is a mighty wind that can ascend, but not with Camargue, but with her own wise angels, Like Jacob's dream (see "One Day Covenant. Genesis" Chapter 28, Section 10.). Facing No. 11 Pearl Street, Reina felt people's gazes on her, and people recognized her from the big photo on the cover of "Daily".She was tempted to reread her report on the convent, sipping juice at one of the famous tables in front of the Pearl Café where Borges had sat studying Macedonio eighty years earlier.Fernandez (Macedonio. Fernandez (1874-1952), a famous Argentine avant-garde writer.)'s spiritualism course, this teacher believes that there is no persistent substance behind the appearance of the world, and there is no "I" who can perceive the appearance ".In the early seventies, the "Insurgents" ("The Insurgents", an Argentine urban guerrilla organization, founded in 1969, collaborated with the Peronists. In 1972 turned to the extreme "Left" stand for the armed overthrow of the military dictatorship. ) often met here, challenged the death squads of the military and police, and wrote short messages for underground publications here; several jazz musicians once sat by the window here to conceive lyrics against the dictatorship.When Reina found a synthetic resin table with the dirty marks of bread and daily coffee milk on it, she thought: That's all gone.The people who kill the morning are unemployed workers with darkened eye sockets who line up in useless queues before dawn in the few offices; or the father of the head of the family looking for someone who can provide a temporary job Anything to get a bite to eat, from errands at customs to hunting for rare buttons in haberdashery.However, the largest number of beggars.They crawled under the chairs like cats, hunting for the broken loaf, avoiding the waiter's scolding.The same Pearl Street at No. 11 has already turned into an unfortunate city—that Paul.Éluard (Paul-Éluard (1895-1952), French poet, one of the initiators of the Surrealism movement. Most of the works describe the pain and brotherhood of the people at the bottom. ) might say.The capital of pain ", Argentina turned into a broken country. Sur. Solal (Sul. Solar, Argentinian writer, life unknown.) invented a practical Spanish on the tables of this cafe, but could neither pronounce nor spell, and these tables are now only used to record the poor story.Even the tables are not the same ones: the precious wood has been replaced by inferior plastic and aluminum frames, which are hopelessly tilted due to insufficient load-bearing capacity.The juice brought to Reina was cold, and the flies settled on the newspaper, as stubborn as the female readers.Just as she was about to skim the third paragraph of her article, after glancing at the vague article written by Inciart that had been put on page seven, she decided it was best to leave. It was time to go to the editorial office, but Reina preferred to enjoy the afternoon quietly.She unplugged the house phone—there were only two calls from her mother on the tape, asking where she was.She took off her clothes, made a few bending movements in front of the mirror, and then soaked her whole body in hot water, which was the highest temperature the body could tolerate.After stepping out of the bathtub drowsily, she wrapped two bath towels and fell asleep as soon as she lay down on the bed. When I woke up, it was seven o'clock.The July night fell on the damp city, Umbert.The sparse lights of Primo Street became lifeless in the face of the stale air.She dressed hastily, and while she waited for the taxi, she put on lipstick and combed her hair, which was rumpled by sleep. Rarely before had she felt so ugly and repulsive.She was sure that as soon as she entered the gates of the newspaper, Skadi, the director of personnel, would call her over to reprimand and humiliate her in public, because this was his habit.Once inside, she was relieved that Skadi wasn't in the hallway.Instead, she found a letter on her desk in which Skadi told her that during the afternoon meeting, the editors had decided to promote her to the position of female director of a department that had not previously been called "Special investigation room”; it was also decided to double her salary and pay it back to July 1st.In order for her to understand her new responsibilities, she must report to the Camargue office as soon as possible. Reina rarely felt fear.Her life had always been built on the present, on the familiar, but now she was restless about what was coming.She didn't want to see Camargue again, she didn't know what to do or say to him.She was once again as bewildered as she had been the night before, but no longer beset by lust, or curiosity about an unsuspected body, but by not knowing what to do with the sudden importance she had won.She was ambitious, she was, but the life she imagined for herself was different.She had always wanted to write poetry, an archaeological treatise on the time of Jesus Christ, short stories like Isaac.Babel (Isaac. Babel (1894_11941), Soviet short story writer. Good at writing about war themes.His main works include "Cavalry", "The Story of Odessa", "Sunset" and so on. ) novels narrate rare events, like Leimond.Stories like Calwell's where nothing is surprising: that's why these works awaken her memory, not like the Daily that throws a few sparks each day to be extinguished by others the next day .Special investigation room!What thoughts would be in Camargue's head?She sighed and dialed the internal number of the president's office. The first thing he said to her when they met was: The president has been thinking about you all afternoon.He ordered his secretary to bring her coffee, then switched off a live court debate in which a customs clerk accused a former minister of bribery. The president looked at her in amazement, as if recognizing a woman who hid in his past life and had disappeared, or recognized a lost life.He repeated, "I've been thinking about you all afternoon." "I didn't think about anything. I fell asleep." "Remis, the editors have decided to promote you. They said they have been considering setting up an investigative department? Why not let this girl do it? " "Great! Then I'll never write for the culture group again." "You can write whatever you want. Now you have to follow this arms smuggling story. The government envoy secretly sold arms to Bosnia, Croatia, Serbia, one of three countries. Presumably also gave missiles to Iraq." "I can't go that far alone. I need help. I don't know anything about it." "I don't know either. Nobody knows. We're all learning. Why did you leave Los Stordos so early in the morning?" "The mission of sending the letter has already been completed. I have nothing to do there. Doctor, if you talk about more personal matters, I won't leave.I'm not leaving where I am to go somewhere I haven't been. ""Some words are impossible to keep in the air.You told me that yourself, remember?What happens in the flesh does not remain in the air. " Reina put the coffee cup that had been brought to her lips back on the saucer. She paused, as if she was looking for air in her heart that she couldn't find outside. "Doctor, I don't want to lose my newspaper job," she said, in a tone of resignation. "If I got involved in a story that I didn't know how to get out of, I'd lose the job. I regret what we started. I can't continue." "You feel sorry." "I regret the present, not the past." Camargue reclined the seat and rested the back of his head on the palm of one hand.Usually, after doing these actions, he always put his feet on the desk, but this time he did not do so. "Reina, everything in life comes and goes. Whenever happiness comes, misfortune also awaits you. And the reverse is also true: except death, there is no unhappiness that cannot be resolved without happiness.This morning, as soon as I woke up, I fantasized about seeing you.But you are gone.Still, I happily breathed the dust of the fields, drank my coffee, and went to see some beehives.On the way back to Buenos Aires, my wife called from Traverse City, Michigan, USA.do you know?I have twin daughters who are thirteen years old. My grandmother lived near there, by Torch Lake.The old man sent someone to call them in because she had a heart attack and thought she was going to die.As a result, contrary to various predictions, the old man came back to life.But Anhela, one of the two daughters, was found to have leukemia.Long ago, she used to moan with fatigue and bone pain.Yesterday morning, Brenda—my wife's name is Brenda—told me that the old woman had let out two birds in the attic, and Anhela was playing with them.Two field thrushes flapped their wings and cut Anhela's arm, causing a hematoma to ooze blood.The daughter was immediately taken to Traverse City Hospital, where blood and bone marrow analyzes were performed.This morning the pathologist issued a warning: this is myeloblastic leukemia.Although it can be saved, even if it can delay death—as people often say, poor Anhela has this sword hanging over her head all her life. "Doctor, go and see her!"what are you waiting for? " "Reina, I can't leave now. Look at the situation in the country! Huh? It would be irresponsible for me to go.It is possible to get blood analysis wrong.It is possible to put the results of other patients on my daughter.This happens from time to time. "Did Camargue really believe what he said?" Reina was puzzled again. She didn't know if she should comfort him, if she should take his hands and tell him: "Go!Doc, let's go!Go do what you are supposed to do! Still criticizing him for his lack of emotion and stupid denial of reality. She thought: That's a daughter! Who knows how many novels have seen nothing more heartbreaking than the death of children.However, Camargue actually talked to her about the political situation.Perhaps the poor old man was aware of pain, but did not want to be tortured.He would rather forget himself than suffer. Reina said, "Perhaps you have a point, Doctor. Hopefully it's a diagnostic error." In fact, she thought, he must have suffered a lot, because she saw his face become a wrinkled walnut.If he continued to hold his chin in his hand, and not return to his original appearance, it would become more emaciated.Reina thought to herself: This is purgatory!I was chosen for this, to be with him; there was no way out.Her heart tightened.Anhela, O Anhela!If you are my daughter, you are saved. "Reina, don't leave me alone!" This voice came from the depths of his heart, a depth she had never seen or guessed.Sometimes, she really wanted to put her arms around his head on her skirt and stroke him gently. She said, "No. I won't leave you alone." Enso.Reina was not mentioned in Maestro's obituary for the Journal.Nor did Remis say that Camargue had lived with her inseparably for three years, from one side of the world to the other.Reina was there all the time, the center of those three years of life; it is still strange how others view their love story as if no one had ever lived it, the characters had left the story long ago, leaving It's just the story itself. It is now known that Reina's detailed investigation into arms smuggling has been shattered, even though she and Camargue had evidence in banks in Zurich and in the diplomatic archives of the Balkan countries. The penitent President was threatened with prison by those who succeeded him; but he escaped easily.All those who could judge him were the high officials whom he had appointed; and now they were eager to repay his favor.They soon discovered that there were some errors in the expedited trial, and on this ground, the prosecution was invalid.The new government also needs his release in order to divide the opposition.He is still at large.Parliament still continues to pass bills that plunder the country's resources until the country is reduced to an empty name: like the useless wasteland four hundred years ago. The cruelest thing in a love story is knowing that it will end one day.Reina was always tormented by the thought that the day had come when she was not sure if the story was love or not.Lust, ambition, friendship, companionship: none of it is love.If love were merely one of the aforementioned states of mind, she would not be afraid of losing the Camargue.But love is much, and love is little: it is an emotion which cannot be named nor measured.Suddenly, she felt that without the Camargue, her life would have been plunged into darkness—somewhere her body remained, with only her own shadow accompanying her.Everything that started before can only end; then how do you get back your body when it comes to the end?She used to say: My beginning is my end, and now the lights are out (Original in English.), but I'm still here or there, at the beginning of my end, in a state of decay. Now, two or three times a week she slept in the house in Via San Isidro, next to the geranium porch.The Camargue didn't bother to remove the photographs and the linens in the house, so Reina faced 7 when she fell asleep: the twin daughters playing the violin, his wife in festive attire from a silver-framed photograph Hats off to her.Although Brenda no longer lives there, her underwear and summer clothes are still lined up in the closet; next to the bedroom, the small room leading to the balcony remains the same, and she often hides there to read and write letters. It is a landscape painting of Torch Lake and a picture of my mother standing among the clouds of birds. Reina was only happy when she was traveling with the Camargue. In the hotel, nothing belonged to anyone; she could feel that her existence was no less than that of anyone else in the shattered, elusive reality.Once, in Washington, she and Camargue stayed for three weeks to listen to Monica.Lewinsky tells with Bill.Clinton's unhappy love affair; Reina's insistence that the Camargue go to Chicago for a day, one day only, to see Anhela, the kid who had survived the first course of chemotherapy.By this time, her relationship with Camargue had become public; Brenda had filed for divorce, not because Camargue had committed adultery, as the phone said, but because Camargue was an aloof man. Father, he didn't see his daughter for several months.Camargue refused to go to Chicago. He said that Anhela was much better now, "my presence would have made her angry. Instead, it was her grandmother who was dying. I have no stomach! ml faced Brenda's excruciating scene. To think that she would Grab me and cry on my shoulder, I can't take it." Reina, not wanting the twin daughters to blame her father for not always looking at them, repeatedly said to Camargue: "Think about it." Anhela! Think of her voice desperately begging for fatherly love on the phone!" At that time, she and Camargue were in a hotel room near Georgetown Avenue, dressed and ready to go. Went to dinner at the home of a Washington Post editor.Suddenly, Camargue's mood changed drastically, and Reina couldn't get used to such a change.He plopped down on the sofa next to the bed; meanwhile, she was getting ready.At this moment, he began to mumble some vague words. It seemed to Reina that he was muttering to himself about whether to go to Chicago, because timetables, routes, train transfers, and strange hotel names popped up in his solitude from time to time.She paid no attention to his muttering. Suddenly she saw him get up suddenly, flushed with rage, and almost growl at her, "Is that true? You want to be alone in Washington in order to go out with your dear friend, right? You bitch, since when did you lie to me? " He completely lost his mind, and the intensity of his anger made Reina mentally prepared to be slapped. She said, "No. I just thought that Anhela needed you..." "Enough! Enough! You're always lying! You lie to me as soon as I turn around. You are secretly having fun behind my back.Do you think I don't know?Someone told me everything. "O Camargue, Camargue!Where did you come up with these words? " Reina really wanted to tear up her clothes and throw herself on the bed and cry.Or just walk away and let the night fall to pieces. But she must look him in the eye, hold back his anger, or at least combine the image of that anger with the image of the man she had loved, even though "love" might not be a word, just a moment ago. "There's another man, isn't there? Speak! Don't be afraid! I can forgive everything but lies." On the outside, he had calmed down, but she saw the terrible lava in his heart, the anger that was bursting out of his pores.She thought, "I have no other life but with him. But if I explain it to him in this way, it will only make him more angry." Sobbing, she repeated, "A friend here? A friend here? Friends? What kind of friends? I don’t even speak English, so what kind of friends can I have?” This is the truth. At lunch with the editors of the Foreign Affairs quarterly magazine, or with Kenneth.威。斯塔尔检察官助理吃饭时，雷伊娜优雅地保持沉默，使得谈话顺利地进行，而没人察觉到她一句话也不懂。她只出了一个错，那是莫妮卡'莱文斯基的母亲问她：一次无足轻重的口交，与每天有几亿人都在重复的日交一样，就让她女儿注定要过灾难和幽禁的生活，这难道公平吗？雷伊娜回答说：Thank you ，还面带爽朗的微笑；幸运的是在场的人都把这个“谢谢”理解成了安慰。她正要用这个例子提醒卡马格她的确不懂英语，突然灵机一动，想出一个更好的理由来：“你怎么会认为我能想别的男人呢？在我认识的所有男人中，没有一个能跟你相提并论的。” 卡马格的面孔放光了，但是一句话没说。他把原来扔在沙发匕的西装拿起来穿上，说道：“你快收拾一下，咱们要迟到了。” 汽车把她和他送往首都北部的贝塞斯达郊区一处豪宅里，雷伊娜在途中弄明白了：她的情人处处在监视她，连她的种种排泄物都要闻一闻。他说：“你可要多加小心！因为我知道你干的一切。我知道你给谁打电话；我知道你写的每封信的内容；我能复述出近两个月来你阅读过的书名以及你在书页的空白处写下的注释；我知道你验血的结果和乳房透视的结果；我还知道你跟别的编辑讲过我的什么秘密。有三个婊子养的家伙给你发过带有性暗示的电子邮件，可你没有把他们挡回去。这三人之中有一个就在华盛顿，对不对？”他在进行试探。“你为什么不事先告诉我？ 为什么我不得不通过第三者了解你这些秘密活动？ " 她一语中的地说道：“他在华盛顿？真是头号新闻！既然你已经调查清楚了，那就去芝加哥吧！你从那里也可以跟踪我的活动啊！” “不行。如果你捣乱，我只好打烂你的脑袋。像我这样一个男人不得不为你这样一个情妇的任性度过晚年生活。 不可思议，对吗？ ““我早就对你说过，我不愿意开始讲这样的故事，免得俩人互相伤害。卡马格，我的生活里没有任何人，谁也没有。如果没有你，那就更好了。 " 吃饭期间，雷伊娜努力什么也不想，但是一种莫名的烦恼吞噬着她的心。跟着卡马格，她走遍了半个世界，参观佛罗伦萨的乌菲齐美术馆（意大利的一所美术馆。 藏有世界上最优秀的意大利文艺复兴时期的绘画，佛兰芒、荷兰、德国和法国的绘画精品以及古代文物、雕刻和十万多件素描和版画。）时她和卡马格在波提切利（波提切利（1445——1510）意大利杰出的版画家，《维纳斯的诞生》系其代表作。） 的《维纳斯的诞生》前接吻，他和她觉得用黄色和绿色修复的这部作品实在太引人注目了，因为它毕竟有五百多年的历史了；到日本的京都寺庙，两人相隔一百米倾听最隐秘的踏地声如何在两端发出回音。在那漫长的几个月里，她几乎是幸福的。 若是卡马格不强迫她接受他的情绪变化因而失去了原来的职务，若是卡马格不发疯似的欢聚一通、随后是几个星期倔强的不理不睬，即使是在最亲热、完全献身的情况下，他不做任何许诺，她也不提任何要求：两人几乎从来不谈前途如何，或许她有可能爱上他——按照她对爱情的理解，仅仅在少女时感受过一次那样的感情，那是她献身给爵士乐师的时候落入了一个不可战胜的对手——可卡因，结果失去了处女的珍宝。明天对他和她来说确实又是一天了。但是，雷伊娜早已经渐渐习惯他的陪伴了，习惯了他在房事上的失职了；她从他那精辟的谈话中以及过时的举止风度里得到享受。如今在华盛顿，她认不出他来了。她想不出由于不小心她会触动了他哪一块感情上的无名创伤。 结果，她实在忍受不了这顿饭菜，以至于告辞的时候说错了她惟一会用英语说的问候话：“Vice to meet you，Bob.”（这里应为Nice to meet you，意思是：很高兴认识你。雷伊娜把Nice说成了Vice. ） 卡马格对这种过失一向是凶狠的，这一次表现得十分宽容。 两人回到旅馆时，他双手放在她肩膀上，说道：“雷伊娜，到了布宜诺斯艾利斯我想咱们去看看我父亲。他已经九十多岁了。我想他也来日不多了。” 但是，男女关系一旦开始出现滑坡，就没有办法后退了，哪怕下滑的只有一方。 继夜里那次不幸的对话之后，第二天又有噩耗传来。安海拉打手机给父亲，告诉他外祖母已经惨死。她说，两个星期前，医生已经允许外祖母离开医院回火炬湖畔的大房子里去了。布伦达为了不让母亲一个人住在那里，想起来要跟两个女儿一道在大房子住些日子。 出事的前一天夜晚，她们为邻居们举办了一个丰盛的宴会，面对鳟鱼、烤羊、烧鸡和纳巴谷葡萄酒，人人大快朵颐。午夜时分，她们都疲惫不堪地上床睡了，竟然没有关闭谷仓的大门，忘记给田鸫的笼子盖上帆布了。外祖母的睡眠像婴儿一样零碎，黎明之前，她就起床了，发现在一堆堆食物中有带血的零乱羽毛和一些无头的鸟。安海拉说，只是过了很久以后，火炬湖的猎人们才把发生的事情弄明原委。 猎人们说，那天夜里，一些强盗般的动物闯入了大院和谷仓：是栖息在树林里成群的野猫，或者是美国称之为opossum （负鼠）的杀手，它们常常毁坏果园。令人恐怖的是它们咬断鸟类的喉咙，大屠杀静悄悄地就发生了。当外祖母像个幽灵似的出现在孪生姐妹的房间里的时候，她俩并不知道发生的事情；突然外祖母就倒在安海拉的床上了，她是被连续两次发生的心肌梗塞的闪电击中的。 卡马格讲述这一事件时使用的是不完整的干涩和疏远的语言，掩饰着哽咽在喉咙中间的哭声，听起来仿佛小狗在呜咽。说完以后，他转身望着窗外M 大街上无声的车流，担心雷伊娜会开口说话，因为只要她一讲话，眼睛里的全部泪水会夺眶而出。可他从来也没有哭过啊！在长达一个多小时的工夫里，两人都处于沉默之中，与此同时，明亮的朝阳在冉冉升起。最后，卡马格转回身来，用往常从容不迫的口气对雷伊娜说道：“已经没有理由再呆下去了，一天也不要！无论把克林顿送上十字架还是释放他，对我都一样。在这个死气沉沉的城市里，我快要腐烂了。” 她的答话正是他希望听到的：“跑来跑去，我也累了。” 但是，她为修补昨天晚上的伤害而做的最后努力，结果竟然以毁坏一切而告终。 她说：“亲爱的，别难过！我不愿意看见你难过。” 卡马格是不会受争吵的影响的，因为他善于回敬争吵；他一向洒脱地容忍别人的厌恶，早在儿时，他就学会了冷漠和仇恨。但是，一想到让人怜悯，他不由得怒火中烧。 “难过？你怎么会愚蠢到这种地步，竟然以为我会为那老太婆的死难过？不，雷伊娜，我不难过！让我感到不安能是安海拉的病。我担心的是她可能再次病倒，那我只好跑去看护她了。” 她走到他身边，准备拥抱他，一面说着：“我觉得，我觉得……”她刚刚来得及看到卡马格由于愤怒而翻动的眼睛，刚刚来得及猜到马上要发生的事情，但是也没能躲开那狠狠的一击。卡马格使出浑身公牛般的力气给了她一拳。当她在地板上苏醒过来以后，发现自己的嘴唇在淌血。 她和他在华盛顿剩下的几个小时里再也没有说话；在回国的飞机上，也只是说些必要的话。雷伊娜以为二人一旦进入布宜诺斯艾利斯的常规时，关系还会恢复到正常轨道的，但是，一切都与从前不同了。卡马格没有道歉，他表现的样子，好像出错的是她。但是，在报社里，他用一种几乎是做作的礼节对待她。编审会议，如果她不到场，他就不宣布开始；只要她发表看法，他就一一记录在笔记本上，虽说他根本不加采用。 他给雷伊娜委派了两个助手，让他们去调查萨拉多河泛滥期间一个庄园主和他妻子被杀害的事件。罪犯似乎是古里叶家族的三个成员，是庄园的牧工，他们长着红毛，模样像印第安人，是苏格兰人的后裔。这三人被控告把庄园主夫妇钉上了从谷仓房梁上抽下来的椽子做成的十字架上。雷伊娜在尸体附近发现了一本破旧的《马可福音》。她在文章里把这一谋杀案与另外一起案件加以比较，另外的一起发生在一九二八年，作案人的姓名很像这个家族，姓古特叶。这个古特叶的案件经过博尔赫斯稍加改编，收进《布罗迪报告》中了。雷伊娜发掘出原来犯罪的细节，在那个案件里，被钉上十字架的也是两个人——一个医科大学生和他的堂弟；她感到遗憾的是博尔赫斯在强调这个故事与在各各他耶稣被钉十字架的相似性的同时，削弱了现实的分量。肯定是那个时代的新闻报道影响了博尔赫斯，那时的报纸提到了基督和那个好心的窃贼，这就如同一九九九年底报刊的做法一样。雷伊娜更为敏锐地提醒读者：古里叶家族那三个人如同古特叶家族的人一样都是不识字的；他们都了解海兰（苏格兰北部行政区。）地区的一个农村传说；根据这个传说，耶稣死在耶路撒冷的十字架上，时问恰恰和他的孪生兄弟西蒙牺牲在大马士革的十字架上一样。