Chapter 8 part two four

Four The road was narrower and less well maintained than the one from the town to the lighthouse, but it was reasonably well paved-at least a bicycle could run smoothly.This part of the island is a semi-desert part of the island--and away from the main arterial roads--and the traffic here is probably never very heavy.The course of this road generally forms a large semicircle, extending almost to the end of the island, and then winding back to the center of the island.Only in the latter part, that is to say, from the seaside village to the southeast of the town, did a cart or an old car pass by now and then.And in the part where there is little traffic, that is to say, near the tip of the island, traffic is so light that low vegetation grows in patches by the side of the road; There is a lot of dust and fine sand, leaving traces as soon as the vehicle passes by.Neither toads nor frogs were crushed on the road.

There were no dark shadows on the road here, because there were neither utility poles nor sun.Elderly Mrs. Malick had already walked the clear path from the shriveled body to the rounded tip of the pole, and she had probably passed by long ago without noticing him. At the last moment the traveling salesman had to call her back to talk to her.He inquired as to why the farmhouse was closed and no one was home, and then spoke of the purpose of his trip: to sell watches.It was on this roadside that he made his first business as soon as he landed on the island. He wanted to silently count how much money he had sold since he logged in.First, the old lady Malick: one hundred and fifty five crowns; second, the lazy couple: one hundred and fifty five crowns, three hundred and ten crowns for the two transactions; then the coffee shop lady: two hundred and seventy crowns Five crowns—add three hundred and ten, and that's five hundred and eighty-five crowns... five hundred and eighty-five, ... five hundred and eighty-five... What followed was not a sale, but a gift: he gave a gold-plated Women's watch with bracelet for the young girl...or young woman...

In fact, at this lunch at Jean Robin's, a third person was present.Mathias had shown them to her, for the sailor made it clear that he was not interested in them (he stood in front of the little window, looking out).The traveling salesman put the little case at one end of the long table—unlatched it, lifted the lid back, moved the memo... The girl had just started clearing the table when she came up to watch. He took out the cardboard piece by piece from the little box; she admired them with wide eyes in silence.He stepped back a little so that she could see more easily. Looking down over her black-robed shoulder, he saw her run her fingers over a gold-plated fob chain, then over the case, more slowly along the edge of the face.Twice in succession her middle finger—once in one direction, a second time in the opposite direction—made a circle.She was short and thin, with her head bowed now and her neck arched—beneath his sight—and within reach of his hand.

He leaned down slightly and asked, "Which one do you like?" She still didn't answer, didn't turn around, just turned over the cardboard piece by piece again.The round neckline of her puff just showed a long scratch mark, leaving a long string of pearly red spots on the too soft skin of the neck.Mathias stretched out his hand unconsciously. He stopped gesturing immediately and lowered his arms.He didn't reach out.The short, thin young woman hung her head a little lower, revealing a long scratch mark on the nape and nape of her neck.The tiny pearly blood spots seemed still wet.

"This one is the most beautiful." After talking about Violet, the fisherman once again raised the general topic of life on the island-with strange contradictions.Especially every time he seems to try to back up what he says with examples from his own trifles, which just happen to contradict the opinions he makes.Even so, all his utterances appear coherent and coherent--at least on the surface--so that the inconsistency will not be apparent to the listener if he is not paying attention. Mathias asked people to look at his watch, and his purpose was to use this reason to leave the table-leaving the table is the first step towards the door.He could not procrastinate any longer, for he had to finish his house calls and be back in port by four quarters in the afternoon.

Small boxes, locks, lids, black memos... The fisherman glanced casually at the first piece of cardboard, then turned to look at the window.His female companion, on the contrary, came closer to get a closer look.Mathias had an idea: to give her a cheap watch as a token of gratitude for her hospitality, which must be satisfactory to a person of her age. He returned to the village later and quickly completed his house-to-house visits.He sold a few more watches—three of them to the same family that owned the grocery store. Out of the village of Black Rock, the road runs east along the coast, but at a considerable distance from the hanging rocks, and after the fork that leads to the nearby sea bay--where there are no houses to attract traveling salesmen-- A sharp turn leads to the coastal villages southeast of the town.Due to the urgency of time, Mathias walked very fast, and soon arrived in front of several houses at the head of the village.It didn't take him long to sell a considerable number of watches, not only in the smaller settlements, but also in the lonely houses along the road.These successes encouraged him, and sometimes he even turned away from the main road (here the main road goes further inland), and walked towards the sea, until he went to a larger fisherman's village-this village was the last, and beyond this village was the big breakwater, Just the harbor with its crumbling fortifications and the flat fronts along the quays, the landing bridge and the little steamer presumably ready to sail.

But the traveling salesman did not take the shortcut that would take him directly to the port.It was not three o'clock on his watch, and according to his plan, he would also visit the entire north-west of the island—that is, the desolate and uninhabited west coast, the coast to the right of the Great Lighthouse, and then to the "group Ascend the steep valley of the "horse", which is symmetrical to the valley he is now on; and finally he will go to some villages or peasant settlements scattered between the valley and the port. Most of them are located in the interior. If there is not enough time, he will not go to some villages that are not easy to walk to.

Now he still has more than an hour, as long as he steps faster, he can make up for the delayed time without any difficulty.So he returned to the high road, and followed the route he had drawn up. He was presently at the intersection of the main road and the road leading to Black Rock, which he had taken when he left town in the morning.About five hundred meters further on the right, at the foot of the slope, is the edge of the town, and the first house is the residence of the widow Leduc and her three daughters.Not far to the left is the fork that leads to the mill.In fact, the traveling salesman has lost his memory of the surrounding scenery, so he can't be sure which road leads where.He hardly noticed the intersection as he stepped across it.But he thought it was this crossroads without a doubt, and that was the only thing that mattered.What's more, he passed here again this time, and he didn't have the time to study this place carefully.

He glanced at his watch involuntarily as he pedaled, wanting to reaffirm that it was not too late to begin the last visits he had planned—the final stretch from Hanging Rock to the The group of horses made a big circle back and forth.He continued to step in this direction: the hour hand didn't seem to move at all.Since there were no other cars at the intersection, he hardly had to slow down. He felt the small case behind the seat with his fingertips to see if it was still on the luggage rack - he had strapped the case to the luggage rack so deftly that he could take it off and replace it very quickly. put it on.Then he watched the pedals turn below, the chain, the sprockets, the chugging wheels.A layer of dust began to cover the nickel pipes, thicker in places and thinner in others.

He pedaled faster and faster, and now his speed was enough to surprise the few passers-by he happened to meet on the road; some passers-by whom he chased sometimes even let out surprise-or horror-shouts. As soon as he saw the traditional thorn rose planted in front of the house, he braked suddenly and stopped.He knocked on the window glass, leaned his bicycle against the wall, took the small suitcase, and walked right in... the hallway, the first door on the right, the kitchen, and a large oval table in the middle of the kitchen, covered with flower-printed rugs. Linoleum, unbolted locks, etc... If the customer expresses his reluctance, Mathias waits at most a few minutes before giving up; sometimes he leaves without even taking out his watch.After watching a lot, he can recognize customers who are definitely not going to buy in as little as thirty seconds.

Along this coast, there are so many dilapidated or apparently dilapidated houses that you hardly have to stop to visit them. A cross road appeared to his right, which must have led to the town.Mathias continued to step forward. Unfortunately, the condition of the roads has become quite bad.The traveling salesman refused to slow down, so the unevenness of the road made him jerk violently.He tried his best to avoid those obvious pits, but the number and depth of the pits continued to increase, making his movements more and more uncertain. Before long, the entire road surface was turned into holes and bumps.The bicycle was constantly subjected to violent jolts and bounced upward with every boulder it passed, a shock that threatened to drop his precious little case.Even though Mathias pedaled desperately, his speed still slowed down. The wind blowing on Haixia's side was not as violent as expected.The edge of the hanging rock is slightly higher than the adjacent field, which also blocks part of the wind from the field.But for a cyclist, the sea breeze blows against his face, hindering his movement even more. From here, it was a relief for him every time he stopped to sell watches.But the luck in buying and selling is not as good as before.The few houses he passed were hesitant or indecisive people who prevented him from making a deal. On two occasions, he took more time than usual, always thinking that if he insisted for another minute, the customer would decide to buy, and the time spent would make up for it, but the transaction did not work out.When he came out disappointed, he looked at his watch rather worriedly. It was already past three-thirty. He hopped into the car without attaching the small case to the luggage rack and began pedaling with all his strength, holding the handle of the car with one hand and the faux-leather handle of the small case with the other. Fortunately, the road ahead is not so difficult.After the first village on the north bank, the road returned to good condition.The road now brought Mathias back to the fortress of Yantai and the town.The wind was blowing from behind again—or, almost, from behind. Although he was a little restless, he stepped quickly and steadily. A little more house--not so poor in appearance as it had been before--but either because the traveling salesman spoke too quickly in praise of his wares, or his eloquence was less sharp from fatigue, or simply because he had no The customer has had a period of consideration, which is essential to the farmer, and his business has not been as successful as he had hoped. He made a small turn according to the scheduled route, and walked to the ancient Roman fortress and the village of the Savior.He was received graciously, but he ended up selling only one watch--and a cheaper one at that. When he looked at his watch again, it was already half past three. He quickly calculated: From here to the cigarette shop and parking room in the small triangular square to return the bicycle, it is only two kilometers at most.If he didn't turn anywhere else, he could get there in about ten minutes, including the time it took him to walk from the cigarette shop to the boat moorings, and the thirty seconds it took him to clear the rent with the garage owner. He had a short quarter of an hour to spare, so that he could venture to visit the last few homes. He galloped, jumped, moved—but wasting no effort in gesticulating—as if pursued, until the last minute.It was a bit like luck, as soon as he saw a better, less dilapidated, or newer house on the side of the road, he jumped out of the car, picked up the small box and ran over. once... twice... three times... As soon as he saw the downstairs window open, he began to speak out of the window, ready to display his goods on the window sill.Sometimes he went straight into the kitchen without knocking.He saves words and gestures here and there - even too much. All these efforts were in vain.He did it too quickly: people took him for a lunatic. At four past five he sighted the port.Now he just has to keep pedaling through it.All he had to do was step up a 300-meter slope and drop down towards the port.He wanted to go faster. The bike's chain began to make a nasty noise—as if something was rubbing against the sprockets on the rear axle.Mathias stomped hard on the pedals. But the sound of rattling was so loud that he decided to stop the car to check the rotation.He put the small box on the ground and squatted down. He didn't have time to observe in detail.He just pushed the chain up the sprockets a bit—as much as possible to avoid getting his fingers dirty—and got back on the bike and set off.He felt that abnormal grinding sound continued to increase. Immediately he got off again and turned the sprocket back. As soon as he got on the bike, he realized that things were getting worse.He could hardly advance a step, the whole mechanism was almost completely crushed.To try a new remedy, he manipulated the transmission -- once, twice, three times -- while stomping on the pedals.When the speed reaches the highest altitude, the chain will fall off. He got out of the car, put down the small box, and dumped the bike on its side.It was already four past eight.He put the chain back on the sprocket on the rear axle, this time getting his hands greasy and sweaty. Without wiping his fingers he jumped onto the bike by grabbing the small case; the pedal chains came off again as soon as he stepped on it. He reinstalled the chain a second time, and a third time; he tried three speeds in succession, but he could not catch the chain, and as soon as the wheel turned, the chain fell off again.In desperation, he had to walk, half running, half running, with a small box in his left hand and a bicycle in his right hand.The bumps of the road must have damaged a major part of the bike when the "Gunma" Haixia took that bad stretch of road. As Mathias began to descend the waves toward the town, it suddenly occurred to him that he might be able to slide all the way down the slope without stepping on the pedals.He rode on the bike again, kicked hard on the ground with his feet, and rushed forward.The hand holding the small box was clinging to the left bucket of the car for safety. Now that the chain is carefully attached to the sprocket, it must not be touched again, in other words, cannot be pedaled, otherwise the chain will fall off and become entangled with the rear wheel.Now that the chain no longer needed to turn, the traveling salesman even tried to tie the chain in place with a little piece of rope he had picked up that morning, in order to keep it securely on the sprockets.He reached into his short pocket for the little rope. When he couldn't find it, he remembered... he remembered that the little rope was no longer on him. He drove without difficulty until he reached the level road, not far from the fork; a little girl crossed the road in front of him nonchalantly, and he had to brake to dodge.Then, without thinking twice, he pedaled the pedals once to regain his original speed... and then several more.The mechanism rotates normally.That unusual sound completely disappeared. He heard the steamer's whistle on the other side of town: once, twice, thrice. He reaches the square, to the left of the town hall.The whistle sounded again, sharp and long. On the movie billboard, the poster has been changed.He leaned his car against the billboard and ran past the coffee shop.It was empty: there were no customers on the seats, and no owner at the counter.he yelled.No one answered. There was no one around outside the shop.Mathias remembered that the shopkeeper had returned the security deposit to him.The amount of money is... There was a long whistle from the ship's whistle—a little lower. The traveling salesman ran to pick up his bicycle.He could leave it on the docks, or entrust it to anyone, as long as the rent was paid along with it.But as he pedaled out of breath along the uneven pavement, he remembered that the garage owner hadn't told him how much the rent was.When he got the car, the shopkeeper demanded a deposit of two hundred crowns, which obviously wasn't the price of the car, nor did it look like half a day's rent. Mathias dared not ride his bicycle on the jetty because it was full of baskets and boxes.He couldn't see a loafer on this stretch of the pier who could pass the rent on his behalf, so he had to lean the car against the fence and go straight to the pier. A few seconds later, he had reached the landing bridge, where a dozen or so people were crowded.The springboard has been removed.The little steamer slowly moved away from the embankment. It was high tide now, and the sea had covered a good part of the Su bridge—maybe half—or two-thirds.The seaweed at the foot of the skewed bridge was no longer visible, and the green moss on the stones below was no longer visible. Mathias watched the narrow bay of water between the ship and the inclined bridge expand unconsciously.It is impossible to jump over it, not because of the gap between the water - which is still not very wide - but because of the danger of falling on the boat: it is not impossible to fall over the side of the boat. To keep your balance is to fall between the passengers and their luggage on the aft deck.The place where he took off was a slope, which also added to his difficulties; the short skirts he was wearing, the thick leather shoes on his feet, and the small box in his hands all hindered him. He turned to look at the family members of the passengers who remained on the shore. They were all half-turned, their two parallel gazes motionless to meet the same gaze from the boat.A seven or eight-year-old girl was leaning on an iron pillar supporting a corner of the upper deck, looking at him seriously, her big eyes staring at him quietly.He wondered why she was looking at him like that, but a body blocked his view—the rap was the body of a sailor on a ship whom the traveling salesman thought he knew.He walked three steps down the inclined bridge aimlessly, and shouted, "Hello!" The sailors did not hear the noise of the ship's machinery.The people standing next to Mathias on the landing bridge immediately turned their heads to look at him—and then the rest of the people, from near to far, turned back to look at him. The people on the boat saw that the heads of the people on the shore were all turned towards Mathias, and they also looked this way-as if they were surprised.The sailor raised his head and saw Mathias too; Mathias waved his arms to him and called again: "Hi!" "Hullo!" replied the sailor, waving his arms in farewell.The little girl beside him didn't move, but the turning of the boat changed the direction of her gaze: she was probably looking at the breakwater above the inclined bridge, and there were also a group of people standing on the narrow road leading to the signal station on the breakwater. people.The eyes of the group also turned to Mathias.They didn't change the tense and frozen expression on their faces. He said, as if to himself, "I'm not too late." The little steamer began to turn, as usual, so as to turn her bow towards the estuary.The residents of the island left the breakwater one by one and went back to their homes.The traveling salesman asked himself where he would sleep tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after that—for the steamer didn't return until Friday.He also wondered if there were any police on the island.Then he thought, Police or not, that's what happened anyway. But he better be able to get out of here, because this is his original plan. "Should shout! They'll drive back." Mathias looked back at the man who had spoken to him.It was an old man dressed like a city resident, and the smile on his face could be interpreted as concern or sarcasm. "Forget it!" Mathias replied, "it doesn't matter." Besides, he had yelled—not immediately, of course—and not very persistently.The sailor didn't seem to understand that he couldn't get on the ship.He himself didn't know why he was crying then. "They'll come back," repeated the old man. "It's easy to turn a ship around when the tide is high." Maybe he wasn't joking. "I don't have to get out of here," said the traveling salesman. Besides, he had to return the bicycle and pay the rent in full.He watched the water lap against the bridge—this was probably when the water neither rose nor ebbed.In the concave corner of the inclined bridge, the back wave did not stir up a high tide. The propeller of the small steamer whipped up a long series of small waves.But the port was empty.Only one small fishing boat was rocking in the middle of the harbor, its mast swinging violently.Under the inclined bridge, which was in danger of being splashed by the sea, Mathias went up to the top of the breakwater, walking alone among the baskets, nets and tackle. He put his vacant right hand into the short pocket and felt for the delicate little rope coiled in a figure-of-eight—a rare piece of rope in his collection.He was often told that once upon a time he had a box full of ropes—that was twenty-five or thirty years ago. He couldn't remember what had become of those ropes now.In his short pocket, the delicate strand of string that he had picked up this morning was gone now.His right hand held only a pack of cigarettes and a small bag of sweets in his pocket. Thinking it was time to smoke, he took out the pack of cigarettes and found that a few were missing—three, to be exact.He put the cigarette back in his pocket.The bag of candy was also eaten. He walked slowly along the stone causeway, leaning against the edge of the embankment without walls, and the water level was a few meters higher.Sea water had flooded a narrow strip of rubbish and sludge along the jetty at the end of the breakwater.Beyond that were rows of houses and shops: the hardware store at the corner of the square, the butcher, the Hope coffee shop, the one that sold everything—blouses, watches, fish, sweets, etc. . . . Mathias fumbled in his pocket, opened the cellophane bag, and took out a candy.This candy is wrapped in blue paper.He continued to twist the scroll with one hand.Put the candy in your mouth, then roll up the rectangle of wrapper and throw it in the water so it floats. He bent down a little more, and saw the straight embankment plunge into the black water under his feet.At that moment the shadow cast by the jetty must have grown narrow.But now there is no sun, and the sky has been covered with clouds. Mathias is walking among a cluster of gray parallel lines, the outermost straight line is the water surface in the harbor, the innermost straight line is the edge of the wall near the sea, the middle is the edge of the wall from the top to the inside, the foot of the wall and the sea. The breakwater avenue junction also formed a straight line, and the unrailed edge of the breakwater also a straight line—all these parallel lines, except in places cut off by gaps, went straight to the quays.