Chapter 8 Eight

Eight "Jenny, he's not going to be Secretary of State!" Thank goodness we finally drove back to Cambridge again. "But, Oliver, you should have been more enthusiastic." "Didn't I congratulate him?" "Your capacity is also really big." "Tell me, what do you want from me?" "Oh, my God," she answered, "it makes me sick to see such a thing." "I'm still not the same," I continued. The car drove for a while, but the two didn't speak a word.But I think something is not quite right. "What is it that makes you sick, Jen?" I asked after thinking about it for a long time.

"The disgusting way you treat your father." "What about the disgusting way he treated me?" I was like opening a can of beans, or more properly, a can of Italian-style Worcestershire sauce.Because Gianni has launched an all-out attack on me on the subject of fatherhood.All that Italian-Mediterranean disease was in her.How rude I looked to her. 1 In this sentence, "beans" also means "rebuke"; "sauce" also means "contradict". "You kept stabbing him, stabbing, stabbing," she said. "It's coming and going, Jen. Don't you see it?"

"You would do anything to upset your old man." "No one could make Oliver Barrett the third sadder." After a strange silence, she replied: "Not necessarily, if you marry Jennifer Cavilelli, I'm afraid it will be hard to say..." I tried my best to hold my breath, and finally drove the car to the parking lot of a nearby seafood restaurant.That's when I turned around and looked at Jennifer, mad like mad. "Is that what you thought?" I asked aggressively. "That's one at least," she said very calmly. "Jenny, don't you believe I love you?" I yelled.

"I believe," she answered, still composed, "but you still love my minus-signed social status somehow." I couldn't think of how to say it, so I could only say "no".As I said it again and again, my tone changed again and again.I mean, I was so distraught by then that I even wondered if there was even a grain of truth in her dire hint. But she couldn't hold her breath any longer. "How can I blame you, Ollie. That's just one of them. Because, I know myself, I don't just love you. I love your name. And the thing after your name." The word 'fourth'."

She turned away, and I thought she was about to cry.But she didn't weep; she spoke what was on her mind: "But anyway. These are inseparable from you." I froze there for a while, watching a neon sign for 'Clams and Oysters' go on and off. One of the things I love about Jenny is that she can read my mind and some things don't need me She took pains to say it, and she knew it at a glance. Isn't it the same this time? I am indeed not perfect, but do I have the courage to admit it? God, God, she has not only faced up to my shortcomings, but also faced up to my shortcomings. Her own faults. God, God, how small I feel!

I really don't know what to say. "Would you like to have a clam or oyster, Jen?" "Will you punch me in the mouth, preppy?" "Okay," I said. She clenched her fist and gently pressed against my cheek.I kissed her fist and was about to reach out to hug her when she blocked me with her arms and yelled like a female robber with a gun in a movie: "Drive faster, preppy. Hold on to the wheel and drive faster!" I open.I open. Father's main complaint was what he called the speed problem.rush.rash.I don't remember the exact words, but I do understand that the subject of one of his sermons, when we had lunch together at the Harvard Club, was that I was in a hurry.In order to pave the way for his set of words, he first reminded me not to eat in a hurry and swallow whole.I also very politely pointed out that I am an adult, and I don't need him to correct my every move, and I don't even need him to judge me.Even world leaders sometimes need constructive criticism, he said.I understand that there is a not-so-subtle undertone in his statement that he also spent time in Washington during the first Roosevelt administration.But I'm not going to ask him to talk about Roosevelt's past, or his role in reforming the Bank of America.So I don't say anything.

As I said, we were having lunch at the Harvard Club in Boston. (I ate a little too quickly, agreeing with my father.) On that occasion, he was surrounded by his side.His classmates, clients, admirers, etc.I think, if there is such a thing as a trap in the world, this is a trap.If you listen carefully, you might hear someone yelling "Oliver Barrett is over there" or "That's the famous athlete Barrett back then". The non-speculative conversation between us continued for another round.But it was obvious that this conversation was nonsense and far-fetched. "Dad, why didn't you say anything about Jennifer?"

"What is there to say? You've already given us a fait accompli, haven't you?" "But what about your opinion, papa?" "I think Jennifer is pretty good. And a girl like her can go all the way to Radcliffe College..." He's avoiding the point with this sympathetic bullshit. "Don't dodge the question, Dad!" "It's not the lady's fault at all," he said, "it's your fault." "Oh?" I said. "Because of your rebellious conduct," he went on. "You rebelled, child." "Father, I really don't understand that marrying a bright and beautiful Radcliffe girl can be called a rebellion. You know, she's not a crooked Cappy—"

"She's not perfect either." Ah, here we are.It's the critical juncture. "Papa, what do you find most unworthy of her--is it because she is Catholic, or is it because she is poor?" He moved slightly closer to me, and replied in a voice almost like a whisper: "What's your favorite thing about her?" I'm going to get up and go.I told him honestly. "Stay here for me and talk like a man," he said. "Looking like a man" is for what?A furry child?a little girl?a mouse?Anyway, I stayed. The bastard was quite satisfied to see that I was still sitting in the seat.I mean, I can tell he must think he's beaten me so many times and beat me this time.

"I'm just asking you to wait a little longer," Oliver Barrett said third. "Please explain what 'for a while' is." "Finishing a postgraduate program in law school. It's true love, and it will stand the test of time." "It's true sincerity, so why do you need to be subjected to any arbitrary test?" I think my meaning is pretty clear.I'm going to stand up against him.Confront his tyranny.Resisting his pressure to control and dominate my life. "Oliver!" He deployed a new offensive. "You're still a little—"

"Little what?" I couldn't hold back anymore, fuck it! "You're under twenty-one. Not an adult by law." "Don't use the law to pick and choose, fuck you!" Some customers at the next table probably heard this sentence too.As if in reply to my yelling, Oliver Third spoke to me in a deliberate piercing whisper: "If you marry her right now, then I won't recognize you." Just let people hear it, and don't care about it. "Dad, you can recognize a fart with such a brain!" I broke up with him and started my own life from then on.