Chapter 31 31

Back in New York, it was already Wednesday night.Marcie had made all the arrangements for the Denver store that morning, while we were figuring out whether or not we were going to have another snowball fight.But in the end, all kinds of considerations beyond oneself prevailed.Time to go back to work too.Although the case was nearing conclusion (I've never lost Barry Pollack's telephone contact), I might be able to help him at the last minute. People asking for taxis formed an endless queue, and we were almost numb from the heels of waiting.It was finally our turn.What stopped in front of us really made people think it was a squashed yellow tincture.This is a taxi in New York.

"Quins not going," was the growl of the driver's greeting to us. ①Queens District is one of the administrative districts of New York City. It is on Long Island and belongs to the eastern suburbs of New York.Both LaGuardia Airport and JFK International Airport are in the area.It seems that the driver only wants to go west, to do business in downtown Manhattan. "We're not going to Queens either," I said, pulling on his broken car door. "We're going to 23 East 614th Street." We both got into the car.I have already said where to go. From a legal point of view, the formalities have been completed, so he should deliver us to the address.

"Let's go to 504 East 86th Street." What? Marcie's order really shocked me. "What's that place? Whose house is it?" I asked. "It's our home." She smiled slightly. "Is it our home?" "What's the matter with you, old man?" asked the driver. "Could it be that you have amnesia?" "What's the matter with you, driving boy?" I snapped at him. "Are you Woody Allen?" ①Woody Allen (1935—): American contemporary humorist and famous comedian. "I at least remember where my home is," he said, not to be outdone.

At this time, the driver's colleagues had already honked and cursed, urging him to drive away. "Well—where are you going?" he asked then. Marcie said, "It's East Eighty-sixth Street," and bit my ear again, and I'll explain it to me on the way.It was a surprise attack, to put it mildly, and I didn't know anything about it beforehand. In military terms, this place is called the demilitarized zone—the area where neither army is allowed to deploy troops.It was Marcie's idea, that is, to find a room that neither belonged to her nor mine, nor even the two of us, but purely neutral ground.

Well, there is some truth to this statement.That crappy place I live is kind of crappy.Besides, she has withstood the test of this slovenly life. "How is it?" Marcy asked. Needless to say, this room is too high-end.It looked almost on the same level as the highest-spec suites on the top floors of the Binningdale Building.I have seen some young couples, when they saw such a luxurious housing model, they would stare at each other and start dreaming: "Oh, if only we could have this kind of living standard." Marcie showed me the living room, the fancy new kitchen (“I gotta learn to cook, Oliver.”), her future office, the oversized bedroom, and finally the A big surprise: an office for my own use.

Yes.Here, both the master and the hostess have their own offices suitable for their professional characteristics.My office is all leather sofas and leather chairs.Glass bookcase with chrome shelves for my legal reference.There is also advanced lighting equipment.All in all. "How?" Marcy asked again.She clearly meant that she wanted me to sing praises immediately. "It's a dream," I said. But I don’t know why, I always feel that we are ashamed to be on the stage. This is a stage setting described in a script.The script, of course, was written by her. Why do I always have a strange feeling in my heart?

"How are you feeling?" I haven't seen him for a few days, but the doctor in London still has the same idea. "You see, we split the rent equally." After I said the words, I muttered to myself: Come on, what he asked was how he was feeling, how could he have anything to do with who paid the rent?And to be honest, I didn't care about who paid the rent at all. "It's not that I'm too proud, doctor. But she's always like that, and our lives... she's always going to have it all arranged by her." paused. "I can tell you that I don't like having rooms so fancy at all. I don't like having lights so romantic. It's all bullshit, doesn't she understand? Jenny bought her new home back then with some Crappy old furniture, creaking beds, and tables that no one would look up to, it only cost ninety-seven yuan! Our dining table has never been visited by outsiders except cockroaches. It is windy in winter, left We can smell clearly in our noses what kind of food our neighbors cook for us. The coldness is really at home!"

Another pause. "But we were very happy, and to tell you the truth, I never cared much if life was harder. Oh, yes, one thing I can't forget is the time our bed broke a leg-- You know we happened to be in bed at the time. It made us laugh out loud." Another pause. 'Oliver, what are you talking about? I guess what I meant was that I didn't like Marcie's new house. Yes, my brand new office is just for viewing.When I come across any problem and need to use my brain, I still go back to my old house.All my reference books are still there.I paid all the bills there as well.I still prefer to live there when Marcy is away.

Now that Christmas has come to the "countdown" stage, look and see, Marcy is not around again.She is in Chicago these two days. I just feel uncomfortable in my heart. Because I have to do a night job again tonight.I couldn't work in that Fairy Hill Pavilion on Eighty-sixth Street.Besides, New York is already covered with holly branches.Although I have two houses now, I have to endure loneliness wherever I go, and I really feel awkward.I was too embarrassed to call and talk to Phil.You can't hide it if you talk about it: I am alone at home. Therefore, on December 12th, Barrett hid in his underground cave and worked overtime, looking for precedents in the musty-smelling jurisprudence of large books.How much I yearn for that good time that cannot be regained in my heart.

At that time, as long as I devoted myself to work, my loneliness would disappear, and I would not know the joys and sorrows. I could concentrate enough to forget everything outside of me.But who told me to acquire this ability recently? I will reflect now, which is called introspection in psychology.I don't know how to "outside the provinces" anymore.In other words, I can no longer concentrate on thinking about other people's affairs.I wasn't there digging into Meester v. Georgia, my mind was racing with thoughts of myself. What's more, the loudspeaker playing music in the elevator of the office building is now playing Christmas carols every day, constantly bombarding my eardrums, and I have already suffered from a kind of Christmas schizophrenia.

Here's the problem I've run into, doctor. (I am telling myself this, but I feel that my judgment has a certain reliability, so I call myself a doctor.) God, it should be said, is the chief judge in the court of heaven, so what he reiterated again and again should be regarded as the law: You should spend Christmas at home. I can be vague about the other rules set by the Supreme God, but this one alone I must obey honestly. Barrett, you're homesick, so you better (alas!) make up your mind. But sir, there is a problem here: Where is my home? ("Home is where the heart is. This is justified. For one consultation, please pay fifty yuan for the consultation fee.") Thank you, doctor.I will pay another 50 yuan. I would like to ask: Where is my deadly heart? I was not so confused before. I remember when I was a kid, I loved being given presents at Christmas and decorating the Christmas tree. I grew up and became a husband, and although Jenny was an agnostic ("Oliver, I don't want to say I'm an 'atheist' lest it break God's old man's heart.”), when she came back from get off work (she's had two jobs) so we can both reunite and celebrate the holidays together.Swap the Christmas carols for some slang and have a good time. From this point of view, Christmas is still a great thing after all.Because a reunion is always a reunion, and at Christmas the two of us always get together in the evening. It's already half past nine, and there are still twelve days before Christmas. People are busy shopping for the holidays, but I don't have the mood anymore.Because, as I said just now, I encountered such a problem. According to the latest situation, it is impossible to go to Cranston this Christmas.My good friend from Cranston said he was away for Christmas on a holiday tour for singles over forty. ("Maybe there may be something to gain!") According to Phil, he did this to relieve my worries.But as soon as he set sail like this, I was thrown on the shore, and I was in a dilemma. My older parents lived in Ipswich, Massachusetts, and they thought my home should be there. Marcy Binningdale, who lives with me if she doesn't go out, is arguing that Christmas stockings should hang on Eighty-sixth Street. ①A Christmas present. As for me, I would like to go wherever I can without feeling lonely.But somehow, I always feel that wherever I go, I always get half a loaf of bread. Hey - wait a minute!There is also a case for dividing the bread!The judge who made this judgment seems to be Solomon (that is, King Solomon in ancient times).I got it by his method. ① King Tillomon of ancient Israel had a famous case-solving legend.He encountered a case: two women competed for a son, and they both said that the child was their own.King Solomon said in court, then split the child in half and take half of each.The biological mother couldn't bear it and would rather not.King Solomon deduced the truth from this, and awarded the child to her ("Bible Old Testament 1 Kings" 3:16-28). That is: Christmas with Marcie. Been to Ipswich, Massachusetts. wonderful!wonderful!Fa-la-la-la!La-la-la-la! "Hi mom." "How are you, Oliver?" "Hi. How is Daddy?" "Also." "That's all right. Well...I wanted to tell you about...well...for Christmas." "Oh, this time you must..." "Okay," I immediately gave her a reassurance, "We're sure to arrive. I mean...uh...Mom, I wonder if I can bring a guest? Uh...if I have a place to stay, I'd like to bring Last guest." What an extra question! "Of course, dear." "It's a friend." That's a good remark, Oliver.Otherwise, she might be worried that the person who came to the door was an enemy. " "Oh!" Mom's tone couldn't conceal the excitement in her heart (not to mention curiosity). "Well." "She's from out of town. So we have to host her." "That's okay," Mom said. "This guest... do we know each other?" In other words, that is: whose family's lady is she? "Don't worry, Mom, there's no need to ask for more for her." My words can make her unpredictable! "That's good," she said. "I drove here a little early the day before Christmas. Marcie had to fly in from the West Coast." "Oh." Mom won't forget who I was, so she must think this is the west coast of some distant continent. "Okay, we'll be waiting for you... what's the lady's name?" "Nash. Marcy Nash." "We're just waiting for you to come." I feel the same way.If I had told Dr. London, he would have nodded at once: there was something interesting in that mood.