Chapter 29 Chapter 29 The Comfort of Travel: The Wandering Boat

People who have never traveled are always fascinated by strange places other than their hometown. Apart from love, this is the only thing that can comfort and make people happy. The new things they encounter are very important and cannot be ignored. The mind is only the reflection of sensory impressions, and is overwhelmed by the flood of things. Lovers are forgotten, sorrows are cast aside, and death is out of sight. The old dramatic saying "I'm going" There are infinite emotions behind it. As Carrie looked out the window at the passing scenery, she almost forgot that she had been tricked into taking this long journey against her will, and that she hadn't brought the necessities for the journey. She sometimes even had Hurstwood's presence Forgot all about it, just stared in wonder at the simple farmhouses and cozy cottages in the countryside in the distance. The world was interesting to her. Her life was just beginning. She didn't feel defeated at all. .She doesn't think hope is lost either. There are opportunities in big cities. Chances are, she'll be free...who knows? Maybe she'll be happy. It was a mistake. She was so optimistic that she was not overwhelmed. The next morning the train arrived safely in Montreal and they disembarked. Hurstwood was glad to be out of danger, and Carrie marveled at the novelty of the northern city. Hurstwood had been here long ago, and then he remembered the name of the hotel where he had stayed. As they came out of the main gate of the station, he heard a coachman calling repeatedly the hotel's name. name.

"We're going to get a room right now," he said. In the counting room, as Hurstwood turned the register, the counting man stepped forward. He was considering what name to register. Facing the counting house, he had no time to hesitate. The name glimpsed. It was a very flattering name. With a sweep of his pen, he wrote "Joe W. Murdochs". It was the greatest concession he could make in the last resort. Yes. He cannot omit the initials of his own name. When they were shown to their own rooms, Carrie saw at a glance that he had found her a lovely bedroom. "There's a bathroom over there," he said, "and you can go and freshen up when you're ready."

Carrie went and looked out of the window. Hurstwood looked at himself in the mirror and found himself dirty and untidy. He had no trunk, no change of clothes, or even a comb. "I'll ring for soap and towels," he said, "and a comb for you. Then you'll go to your bath and get ready for breakfast. I'll get you a shave, and then I'll come back for you, and then we'll go out for the You buy some clothes." He smiled kindly as he spoke. "Yes," said Carrie. She sat down in a rocking-chair, and Hurstwood was waiting for the waiter, who soon knocked at the door.

"Bring us soap and towels and a jug of ice water." "Yes, sir." "I'm going now," he said to Carrie, coming up to her and holding out his hands, but she would not take them. "You're not angry with me, are you?" he asked softly. "Oh, no!" she answered, rather coldly. "Don't you love me at all?" She didn't answer, just stared at the window. "Can't you love me a little?" he begged, taking her hand, which she tried to shake off. "You once said you loved me." "Why are you deceiving me like this?" asked Carrie.

"I can't help it," he said, "I want you so badly." "You have no right to me," she answered, hitting the nail on the head. "Oh, but, Carrie," said he, "it's over, and it's too late now. Can you try to love me a little?" He stood before her, looking completely bewildered. She shook her head negatively. "Let me start all over again. From this day on you will be my wife." Carrie stood up, as if to move away, while he was still holding her hand. Then he quietly put his arms around her, and she struggled, but did not break free. He held her tightly. Immediately An irresistible fire of lust arose in him. His emotion became very strong.

"Let go of me," said Carrie, as she was held tightly in his arms. "You love me, okay?" he said. "You're mine from now on, okay?" Carrie had never felt against him. Just a minute ago she had listened to him at his ease, with no forgetfulness. He was handsome and bold! But now, this feeling has turned into rebellion, a weak resistance. For a while, this rebellion prevailed in her heart. But after a while, because of being held so tightly by him, she began to change. Softened. There was another voice in her heart. This man, this man was holding her tightly in his arms to accept his love... Where else could she go? Faced with Her resistance broke a little in the tide of his intense emotion.

She found him lifting her head, and looking straight into her eyes. She could never understand how he could be so attractive. For the moment, his many crimes were forgotten. He held her tighter and kissed her, and she felt that there was no point in resisting. "Will you marry me?" she asked, forgetting to ask how. "We're married today," he said, with great joy. At this moment the waiter of the hotel knocked on the door, and he let her go regretfully. "You're ready now, won't you?" he said, "right now." "Okay," she replied.

"I'll be back in three quarters of an hour." When he let the waiter in, Carrie stepped aside, blushing and excited. After coming downstairs, he stopped in the hall to look for a hairdresser. He was in high spirits at the moment. He had just won Carrie, which seemed to make up for the torture he had suffered in the past few days. It seemed that life was worth fighting for. .This time I left all my daily worries and fled eastward. It seems that there is still happiness waiting. After the storm, there will be a rainbow, and the end of the rainbow may be a pot of gold. He saw a small red and white striped column next to the door of a room. Just as he was about to go there, he heard a voice greet him affectionately. His heart sank immediately.

"Hi, hello, George, old friend!" said the voice. "What are you doing here?" Hurstwood had come face to face with him, and recognized his friend Kenny, a stockbroker. "A little personal business," he replied, his mind as busy as a telephone switchboard. The man obviously didn't know...he hadn't read the paper. "Well, I didn't expect to see you so far away," said Mr. Kenny kindly. "Do you live here?" "Yes," said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on the register. "Do you want to stay here long?"

"No, only for a day or so." "Really? Have you eaten earlier?" "I've eaten," said Hurstwood, lying. "I'm going to get a shave." "Will you come over for a drink?" "Have a drink later," said the ex-manager. "I'll see you later. Do you live here?" "Yes," said Mr. Kenny. Then he changed the subject and added, "How's it going in Chicago?" "As usual," said Hurstwood, with a friendly smile. "Did the lady come with you?" "No." "Hey, I gotta talk to you again today. I just came in here for breakfast. Come over when you're free."

"I'll come," said Hurstwood, and walked away. The whole conversation was a painful ordeal for him. Every word seemed to add complexity. The man brought back countless memories. .This man represents all that he has left behind.Chicago, his wife . He talked, no doubt waiting to have a good time with him. The Chicago papers would be here any minute. The local papers would have a story today. Thought this man might soon know what he really was, a safe-stealer He forgot to win Carrie. He almost groaned when he entered the barbershop. He decided to run away and find a quieter hotel. He was glad, therefore, to find the hall empty when he came out, and hastened to the stairs. He was to take Carrie with him, and go out by the women's entrance. They were going to have breakfast in an inconspicuous place. But, across the hall, another man was looking at him. He was an ordinary Irishman, small and poorly dressed, but with a peculiar head that looked like a shrinking version of the head of some constituency politician. Ben. This man has been talking to the accountant just now. But now he is looking keenly at the former manager. Hurstwood felt someone watching him from a distance, and recognized the man. He instinctively felt that the man was a detective. . . . He was being watched. He hurried across the hall, pretending not to notice, but What's going to happen now? What are these people going to do? He starts thinking about the extradition laws. He doesn't fully understand the laws. Maybe he'll be arrested. Oops. , if Carrie found out! He couldn't stay in Montreal. He was beginning to long to get out of the place. When he came back to the room, Carrie had bathed and was waiting for him. She looked radiant, more lovely than ever, but reserved. After he had gone, she resumed a little of her indifference to him. She There was no love burning in his heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed to increase. He failed to take her in his arms, he didn't even try. Her look forbade him, and he His own experiences and reflections downstairs are part of the reason for his formation of this view. "You're ready. Are you?" he said kindly. "Yes," she replied. "Let's go out for breakfast. I don't like this place down here very much." "All right," said Carrie. They came out, and the ordinary Irishman was standing around the corner, staring at him. Hurstwood could hardly resist showing that he knew the fellow's existence. The fellow's haughty stare was irritating. But they went on anyway. He told Carrie something about the city. Presently they saw a restaurant again, and this time they went in. "It's a queer city," said Carrie, who wondered at the city simply because it wasn't like Chicago. "It's not as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Do you like it here?" "No," replied Carrie, whose likes and dislikes were already bounded by that great American West city. "Well, not as interesting as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "What's there here?" asked Carrie, wondering why he had chosen this city for his visit. "Nothing special," answered Hurstwood. "It's a tourist place. There's some pretty scenery in it." Carrie listened, but her heart was uneasy. She was very worried about her situation, and she had no mood to enjoy the scenery. "We won't be here long," said Hurstwood, who was really glad now to see her dissatisfied. "As soon as breakfast is over, you can pick out your clothes. We'll go to New York at once. You'll like it there. It's more like a city than anywhere else except Chicago." Actually, he was going to run away. He wanted to see what the detectives would do... what his guys in Chicago would do... and then he would go away... ..Go to New York, it is an easy place to hide. He is very familiar with that city, and he knows that the city is full of mysteries, and he can let you disappear. However, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that he was in a bad situation. He found that he hadn't really solved the problem when he came here. The hotel would probably hire detectives to monitor him...Pinkerton's men or Mooney and Bo A detective from the Land Detective Agency. If he tries to escape Canada, they may arrest him. Then he may have to live here for a few months, and in such a difficult situation. Back at the hotel, Hurstwood was anxious to read the morning paper, but was afraid to read it. He wondered how far the news of his crime had carried. So he told Carrie that he would come up in a moment, and look for the paper. He looked. There was no familiar or suspicious face around, but he still didn't want to read the newspaper in the hall, so he found the large lounge upstairs, went in and sat by the window, and looked through the paper. There were very few reports, but there were, just a few lines in all, amidst the messy telegram reports of murders, car accidents, marriages, and other news everywhere. He was a little sad and wished he could erase it all. Every passing minute in this remote safe house made him feel more deeply that he had made a great mistake. There should have been an easier way out, if only he had known it in the first place. He left the newspaper there before going back to his room, thinking that it would not fall into Carrie's hands. "Well, how are you feeling?" he asked her. She was looking out the window. "Oh, very well," she replied. He walked over and was about to speak to her when there was a knock on the door. "Perhaps my purchases have arrived," said Carrie. Hurstwood opened the door, and there stood the man he so much suspected. "You're Mr. Hurstwood, aren't you?" said the man, with a very shrewd, sure look. "Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew such people too well, and they were the lowest class of people in hotels, to resume some of his old indifference towards them. He Step outside, and close the door. "So you know why I'm here, don't you?" said the man in a tone of confidence. "I can guess," whispered Hurstwood. "So, do you want to keep that money?" "That's my business," said Hurstwood dryly. "You can't do that, you know that," said the detective, looking him coldly. "Listen, my friend," said Hurstwood sternly, "you know nothing of this case, and I can't explain it to you. I can do what I like, and I don't need anyone to tell me what to do. And please forgive." "Oh, well, when you're in the hands of the police," said the man, "it won't do any good if you talk like that. We can give you as much trouble as we want. It's no use for you to register at this hotel. Name, you didn't bring your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you're here. You'd better be reasonable." "What do you want to know?" asked Hurstwood. "I wonder if you plan to send that money back." Hurstwood paused, surveying the floor. "It's no use for me to explain it to you," he said at last. "It's no use for you to question me. I'm not a fool, you know that. I know what you can and can't do. If you will, You can make a lot of trouble. I know that, but it won't get you that money. Now I've decided what to do. I've written to Fitzgerald and Moy, so in I have nothing more to say now. You wait to hear from them." As he spoke, he moved away from the door and down the corridor so as not to be heard by Carrie. They were now almost at the end of the corridor, which ended in a large drawing room. "You won't give up that money, will you?" said the man. Hurstwood was irritated by his words. The blood rushed to his forehead, and all kinds of thoughts came to his mind. He was not a thief. He didn't want that. A sum of money. Maybe he'll be all right if he can explain it to Fitzgerald and Moy. "Listen," he said, "it's no use talking about it now. I respect your rights, but I've got to deal with people who know." "Okay, but you can't leave Canada with money," the man said. "I don't want to go," said Hurstwood, "and when I'm ready to go, there's nothing to stop me." He turned back, and the detective was staring at him. It was almost intolerable. But he went on, and went into his room. "Who is that man?" asked Carrie. "A friend from Chicago." The whole conversation was a great shock to Hurstwood. He had been stunned by such a conversation after all the anxieties of the last week. A deep apprehension and moral aversion arose in him. What saddened him most was that he should be hunted down for a thief. He began to see the nature of social injustice, which manifested itself in seeing only one side of the problem...often seeing only the A moment in a long tragedy. All the papers mentioned only one thing, and that was that he stole the money. No one asked how and why. All the complications that led to it No one knows why. He was convicted before he was understood. That same day, while he was sitting in the room with Carrie, he decided to send the money back. He was to write to Fitzgerald and Moy and explain everything. Go back. They may forgive him. They may ask him to go back. He will make the lie he told them he wrote to them true. Then he will leave this strange city. He thought for an hour to be able to explain this complicated matter in a reasonable way. He wanted to tell them about his wife, but he couldn't tell them. In the end, he just explained briefly that he When entertaining friends, he got drunk and found the safe was open. He even took out the money and accidentally locked the safe. This incident made him regret it. He caused them so much trouble ,I'm so sorry for them. He's going to do his best to salvage this and send the money back...most of it. He'll pay off the rest as soon as possible. Is it possible to get him back at his job? He just hinted at this. From the very conception of the letter one can see how disturbed the man was. He forgot at the time what a painful thing it would be to restore him to his former post. He forgot that he made himself And the past has been like a clean break, and even if he can manage to reunite himself with the past, it is inevitable that there will always be a gap of separation and reunion. He will always forget something... His wife, Carrie, He needed money, the situation at hand, or something else... so it was not clear what to consider. However, he sent the letter anyway, hoping to wait for a reply before sending the money. In the meantime, he and Carrie are content with the status quo, enjoying the fun of it. The sun came out at noon, and a flood of golden light poured in through their open windows. The sparrows were chirping, and the air was full of songs and laughter. Hurstwood could not take his eyes off Carrie for a moment. She was like a ray of sunshine in all my troubles. Oh, if only she could love him with all her heart...if only she could bring the same joy he felt when he saw her in that little park in Chicago, How happy he will be to embrace him with open arms! That will be his compensation; it will show him that he has not lost all. He will not care. "Carrie," said he, rising now and coming to her side, "will you live with me from now on?" She looked at him suspiciously, but when she felt the menacing force of his facial expression, she relented and felt compassion. This is love, intensely intense... deepened by trouble and worry love. She couldn't help laughing. "From now on, let me be your everything," he said. "Don't worry me any more. I'll be true to you. We're going to New York to find a nice apartment. I'm going to be in business again, and we're going to Happy. Would you like to be my man?" Carrie listened gravely. There was not much passion in her heart, but as the incident progressed, and the man's nearness, she seemed to be genuinely moved. She was sorry for him. . . It was a pity born of a feeling which, not long ago, had been such admiration. She had never had real love for him. If she could analyze her own feelings, she would understand it. His passionate and moving feelings dissolved the barrier between them. "You want to live with me, don't you?" he asked. "Yes," she said, nodding her head. He took her in his arms and kissed her lips and cheeks. "But you must marry me," she said. "I'm going to get the marriage certificate today," he answered. "How to get the law?" she asked. "A new name," he replied. "I want a new name and a new life. From now on, my name will be Murdoch." "Oh, don't use that name," said Carrie. "Why?" he said. "I do not like." "Then what should I be called?" he asked. "Oh, anything, as long as it's not Murdoch." He thought for a moment, with his arms still around her, and then said, "Will you call Wheeler?" "That's nice," said Carrie. "Well, then, Wheeler," he said, "I'll get the marriage certificate this afternoon." They were married, officiated by a Baptist minister, the first suitable clergyman they could find. At last the Chicago hotel replied. The letter was dictated by Mr. Moy. He was surprised at Hurstwood's behavior, and regretted that it had come to such a state. If he could return the money, they would not Don't want to bother to sue him, because they really mean no harm to him. As for letting him go back, or if they reinstate him, they don't know what effect it will have. They'll think about it and try again later. Inform him. Probably soon, and so on. In short, the letter told him that there was no hope. All they wanted was their money back and as little trouble as possible. Hurstwood saw his own doom in the letter. The agent who had been sent left the thirteen hundred dollars for his own use. He sent a telegram agreeing, explaining to the agent who had come to see him at the hotel that very day. Taking the receipt, and calling Carrie Packing his boxes. He was a little frustrated when he started this latest move, but he finally pulled himself together. He was afraid that even at this point he might be caught and sent back, so he tried to cover his actions, but It was almost impossible to do. He had Carrie's case taken to the station, and it was consigned by railroad express to New York. No one seemed to be watching him. But he left at night. He was very anxious and afraid. At the first stop across the border, or at the New York train station, a marshal will be waiting for him. Carrie, unaware of his theft and his fears, was delighted when the train arrived in New York the next morning. It was traveling along the Hudson River, and the green hills with their domes stood like sentinels over the broad landscape. The beautiful scenery of the river valley fascinated her deeply. She had heard of the Hudson River, the great city of New York, and now she looked out of the window, marveling at this metropolis. As the train turned east at Spudingdover, along the east bank of the Harlem River, Hurstwood reminded her nervously that they were on the edge of New York City. From her experience in Chicago, she expected to see a Long lines of cars, a vast stretch of criss-crossing railroad tracks, but it was different here. Seeing some boats in the Harlem River and more boats in the East River made her young heart itch. It was the sea The first sign. Then a flat street with five-story brick buildings rising on either side, and then the train went into a tunnel. After a few minutes in darkness and smoke, the sun came into view again. The conductor called, "Central Station here." Hurstwood got up and packed up his small traveling bag. His nerves were high. Nervous. He waited at the door with Carrie and got out. No one came towards him, but he looked around furtively as he made his way to the street exit. He was so excited, totally Forget about Carrie, who trailed behind, wondering how he could be so self-absorbed. As he crossed the station building, he was tense to the extreme, but then relaxed, and he was on the pavement at once, greeted by no one but the coachman. He breathed a sigh of relief, and turning away, thinking of Carrie. "I thought you were going to leave me alone," she said. "I was wondering how we should get to Gilsay's Hotel," he answered. Carrie was so engrossed in the commotion in the street that she hardly heard what he was saying. "How big is New York?" she asked. "Oh, over a million people," said Hurstwood. He looked round, and called for a cab, but his manner of calling the cab was changed. For the first time in years it occurred to him that he had to calculate these small expenses. It was unpleasant. He made up his mind not to stay long in the hotel, but to rent an apartment as soon as possible. He told Carrie of this idea, and she agreed. "We'll look for it today, if you like," she said. Suddenly he remembered his experience in Montreal. In those big hotels. He would certainly meet his Chicago acquaintances. He stood up and spoke to the coachman. "To the Belfort Hotel," said he, knowing that his acquaintances were not likely to go to this hotel. Then he sat down. "Where is the residential area?" asked Carrie, who thought the five-story buildings that lined the street were not dwelling places. "It's all over the place," said Hurstwood, who knew the city well enough. "There are no lawns in New York. These are houses." "Oh, then, I don't like it here," said Carrie, who was beginning to have her own ideas.