Chapter 7 seven

seven The drive from the Mystic River Bridge to Ipswich, Massachusetts, was about forty minutes, depending on the weather and the skill of the driver.In fact, I sometimes only drive twenty-nine minutes to get there.Somebody, a well-known banker in Boston, said he drove even faster, but it was hard to tell if anyone said it took less than thirty minutes to drive from the bridge to the Barrett House.I think twenty-nine minutes is the limit.I mean, you can't ignore those traffic lights on Highway 1, can you? 1 Highway No. 1: A highway in the eastern United States starting from the US-Canada border in the north and ending in the southernmost tip of Florida in the south, running through 14 states, including Massachusetts.

"You're driving like crazy," Janney said. "This is Boston," I replied. "Everyone's driving like crazy." Just then a red light came on on Highway 1 and our car came to a halt. "Your parents haven't had time to kill us yet, so you're going to kill us first." "Listen, Jen, my parents were nice." It's a green light.In less than ten seconds, my MG sports car reached sixty miles per hour. "Even that bastard?" she asked. "Who?" "Oliver Barrett is third." "Oh, he's a nice fellow. You'll love him from the bottom of your heart."

"how do you know?" "Everyone likes him," I replied. "Then why don't you like him?" "Just because everyone likes him," I said. Seriously, why would I take Jen to meet them?I mean, is it really necessary for me to ask for the blessing of the old stone-faced man or something?Of course, there was one reason why she wanted to go ("That's the way of the world, Oliver"), but there was another reason, which is actually quite simple, and that was that Oliver III was my so-called economic backer in the broadest sense. : My terrible tuition has to be paid by him.

Gotta go at supper time on a Sunday, right?I mean, that's the etiquette, right?On Sunday, those guys who can't drive are crowded on Highway 1, blocking my way.Turning off the main road, I turned onto Groton Street.I've been around since I was thirteen.Turning this corner has not slowed down. "There's no house here," Jenny said, "just trees." "The houses are all behind the trees." Be very careful driving on Groton Street or you will miss the lane that leads to our house.In fact, I missed it myself that afternoon.I made it three hundred yards before I stopped the car with a squeak.

"Where have we been?" she asked. "Too far," I grumbled, and had to curse. I backed up the car and drove back for 300 yards before arriving at the gate of our house. Is this a bit symbolic?Anyway, once on Barrett's land, I slowed down.Dover Hall was at least half a mile from the corner of Groton Street.Along the way, you have to pass some other...loutangs and the like!I think, if you see it for the first time, you will think it is quite grand. "Hey, my God!" Jenny said. "What's going on, Jen?" "Get over the road, Oliver. No kidding. Pull over."

I stop the car.She looked very nervous. "Hey, I really didn't expect the mansion to be so grand." "What style?" "Such richness. I mean, you must have slaves to serve you in a place like this!" I wanted to reach out and touch her, but my palms were sweaty (which is rare indeed), so I had no choice but to comfort her with words. "Come on, Jen. It's nothing special." "I know, but somehow it strikes me that it would be nice if my name was Abigail Adams, or if I was a well-known lady." 1 Abigail Adams (1744-1818): wife of the second president of the United States, John Adams, and mother of the sixth president, John Quincy Adams.

We drove the rest of the way in silence, parked the car, and walked to the front door.After ringing the doorbell and waiting for the door to open, Jenny couldn't hold back, and finally panicked at the last moment. "Let's run away," she said. "We're going to stay and fight," I said. Is one of us joking? The door was opened by Florence, a loyal old servant of the Barretts. "Oh, it's Master Oliver," she said to me. God, call me Master Oliver, I hate it!I hate this kind of vaguely derogatory title that clearly distinguishes me from the old stone-faced man.

Florence told us that Mom and Dad were waiting in the study.Walking along the way passed many portraits, and Janney was surprised to see some portraits.Not only because some of them are by John Singer Sargent (especially the portrait of Oliver Barrett II, which is sometimes displayed in the Boston Museum), but mainly because she Then I realized: not all the ancestors of my family were named Barrett.The Barretts had produced some great women, betrothed to good families, had Barrett Winthrops, Richard Barrett Sewells, and even an AI Bert Lawrence Lehman, who had rushed through the hard world (and through that vaguely similar Harvard), became a chemist, won a prize, and his name was Not a single Barrett embedded in it at all!

1 John Singer Sargent (1856-1925): American portrait painter, famous for his portraits of the upper classes in the British and American societies. "My God," Jenny said. "Half the names on those Harvard buildings are here!" "Not worth a fart," I told her. "I didn't realize that Xiuwell Boathouse 1 had anything to do with you," she said. 1 "Boat Hall" is a building on the campus of Harvard University.This word also means "shipbuilding family". "The Xiuwell shipbuilding family" is suspected to refer to the family of the American shipbuilder Arthur Xiuwell (1835-1900).

"Yes. The ancestors of my family have been either wood or stone for generations." At the end of the long row of portraits, just around the corner into the study, stood a glass case.There are prizes in the cabinet.Prizes for sports competitions. "It's beautiful," said Janney. "I have never seen such prizes as real gold and real silver." "It's all real money." "Yeah. Is it yours?" "No. It's his." It is well documented and indisputable that Oliver Barrett III did not win a medal at the Olympics in Amsterdam.It was true, however, that he had had great rowing victories at other Games.Not just once or twice.No, many times.All these evidences are now polished and displayed in front of Jennifer's eyes, making her dazzled.

"The stuff from the Cranston Bowling League is so good!" Then, presumably to appease me: "Do you have a prize too, Oliver?" "Have." "Put it in a cabinet too?" "Upstairs in my own room. Tucked under the bed." She gave me a standard "Jenny" charming look and whispered: "Let's go and have a look later, shall we?" Before I could answer, and before I had time to figure out what Jenny's real motives were for visiting my bedroom, someone interrupted me. "Ah, hello!" Son of a bitch!It's that bastard! "Oh, hello, Dad. This is Jennifer—" "Ah, hello!" Before I could finish my introduction, he was already shaking her hand.I noticed he wasn't wearing his "banker's uniform" today.No, Oliver No.3 was wearing a fancy cashmere hunting suit.There was a sly smile on his normally rock-like face. "Please come in and meet Mrs. Barrett." Another tense once-in-a-lifetime moment awaits Jennifer: meeting "Drunk Girl" Alison Forbes Barrett. (Sometimes when I feel unhappy, I think: If she hadn’t been mixed up like she is today, and became a museum director who is dedicated to doing “good things”, I don’t know what the nickname of her boarding student days would have done to her. effect.) Just look up your résumé and you'll know that "Drunk Girl" Forbes never finished college.During her sophomore year, she left Smith College and, with the generous sponsorship of her parents, married Oliver Barrett III. "That's my wife, Alison, and this is Jennifer—" He has already taken over the task of introduction. "Calliveri," I interjected, because the old stone-faced man didn't know her last name. "Cavilleri," Gianni corrected politely.It turned out that I had mispronounced the surname—I never mispronounced it, but it was the only time in my life that I mispronounced it. "Like the first word of Cavalleria Rusticana?" my mother asked, presumably to demonstrate that she was quite cultured without a college degree. . 1 "Cavalieri Rosticana" is a transliteration of the opera title "Country Knight". "Country Rider" is the masterpiece of Italian composer Pietro Mascagni (1863-1945).Gianni's surname is only an approximation to the first word of the original Italian name of the opera, but it is not actually a word. "Yes." Jenny smiled at her. "But it has nothing to do with relationship 1." 1 Jenny used here the exact words Oliver told her when she first met him.When she asked Oliver if he had the same surname as the poet Barrett, Oliver answered her in this way.Because being a country knight is a personal name, Jenny's words are meant as a joke. "Ah," my mother said. "Ah," my father said. I've been wondering if they understood Jenny's sense of humor, so I had no choice but to respond, "Huh?" Mother and Jenny shook hands, exchanged the customary civility (my family always sticks to the cliché, never improves), and we sat down.Everyone was silent.I secretly observed the situation at that time.Needless to say, Mother must have been judging Jennifer, scrutinizing her attire (not so sloppy this afternoon), her manner, her manner, her accent.But alas, even her most polite speech could not escape Cranston's accent.Jenny was probably judging Mother too.I heard that girls' families are like this.It is said that if you want to know how your future husband will be, you only need to look at your mother-in-law first.Maybe she's still judging Oliver Third.Did she notice that my father was taller than me?Did she like his cashmere hunting suit? Oliver's third firepower, needless to say, was focused on me, as usual. "How have you been all this time, child?" Regardless of the fact that he has received a Rhodes scholarship, his conversation skills are really poor. 1 According to the scholarship established by the will of the British Cecil Rhodes (1853-1902), students who receive the scholarship can enter Oxford University to study. "Very good, Dad. Very good." As a gesture of equal opportunity, the mother greeted Jennifer. "Is it comfortable to ride along the way?" "Yes," replied Jenny, "comfortable and fast." "Oliver's driving pretty fast," broke in the old Stone-faced man. "Not as fast as you, Dad," I retorted. See how he answers? "Well—yes. You're right." No hell, Dad. Mother always turned to him no matter what the situation, so she turned the conversation to a topic that was more likely to arouse everyone's interest-probably not music, but art.I didn't listen carefully.Later, a cup of tea was handed to me. "Thanks," I said, and added, "We have to go now." "Oh?" Jenny said.It seems that they are talking about Puccini1 or something, and they feel a little awkward when they hear my words.Mother took a look at me (which is rare). 1 Puccini (1858-1924), Italian opera composer. "But aren't you here for dinner?" "Er—we're not eating," I said. "Come to dinner," Jenny said almost at the same time. "I've got to go back," I said to Jen solemnly. Jenny gave me a look that seemed to say, "What the hell are you talking about?" and then the old stone-faced man commented: "You stay to eat. That's an order." That fake smile on his face didn't detract from the order in the slightest.But I don't take that kind of bullshit, even if the opponent is an Olympic finalist, I don't take his crap. "We're not eating, Dad," was my reply. "We've got to stay, Oliver," Janney said. "Why?" I asked. "Because I'm hungry," she said. We obeyed Oliver Third and sat down to eat.He lowered his head.So did Mother and Jenny.I just stretched my head a little. "O God, you have given us this food to serve you, and may you let us never forget the poverty and need of others. We pray to you in the name of your Son Jesus Christ, amen!" God, I'm so ashamed.Can't this set of prayers be exempted once today?What would Jenny think?Man, this is a throwback to the dark ages of the Middle Ages. "Amen!" said the mother (Jenny said it too, very lightly). "Kick-off!" I said with a little joke. No one was amused.Especially Jenny.She avoids my eyes.Oliver took a third glance at me from across the table. "Collaboration is the key to playing basketball, but so is being human, Oliver." Thanks to my mother's extraordinary knack for gossip, everyone was not completely silent at dinner. "So your family was run by the Cranstons, Jenny?" "Probably from there. My mother's from Fall River." "The Barretts also have a spinning mill in Fall River City," said Oliver Third. "Where the poor have been exploited for generations," Oliver Fourth added. "That was in the nineteenth century," continued Oliver Third. The mother smiled, evidently satisfied that her Oliver had won the game.But it's not that easy. "What about the automation plans for those factories?" I shot him back. There was a moment of silence.I waited for him to make a fierce counterattack. "How about some coffee?" says "Drunk Girl" Alison Forbes Barrett. We went back to the study and prepared to fight again.This is bound to be the last round of the contest: Jenny and I have classes the next day, and the stone-faced man and the bank have to take care of business, and "Drunk Girl" must have some meritorious things to do on the second day Do it early in the morning. "Can you add some sugar, Oliver?" asked the mother. "Honey, Oliver always had sugar in his coffee," said his father. "Thanks, no more tonight," I said. "I'll just drink it up, Mom." So we all got our coffee and sat there comfortably and had nothing to say to each other at all.So I found a topic. "Tell me, Jennifer," I asked instantly, "what do you think of the Peace Corps?" She frowned at me and refused to cooperate. "Well, did you tell them, O. Bar?" said the mother to the father. "Not yet, my dear," said Oliver Third, with a false modesty that clearly meant, "Ask me, ask me!" So I had to ask him: "What's the matter, Dad?" "It's nothing serious, kid." "I really don't understand, how can you say that like that," my mother said, turning to me with a proud announcement (I said that the mother was towards him): "Your dad is going to be the director general of the Peace Corps." "Oh." Jenny also said "Oh", but in a different tone, a little happy. My father pretended to be embarrassed, and my mother seemed to be waiting for me to salute or something.But I mean, he's not going to be Secretary of State! "Congratulations, Mr. Barrett." Jenny took the lead. "Yes. Congratulations, Dad." Mother was eager to talk about it. "I think this is really a good opportunity to increase your knowledge," she said. "Well, that's right," Janney agreed. "Yeah," I couldn't speak more forcefully. "Uh—sorry, pass me the sugar bowl, please."