Chapter 5 run with scissors (4)

"Hi, Augustine," said Hope, who returned in an hour. I was still sitting on the sofa in a daze, "Hi." I replied vaguely. "what are you doing?" My eyes are fixed on the TV screen. "It's nothing, I just came back from a walk with Bookman." She turned her head and looked, "Yeah, that's great, I just wanted to talk to him. Where is he?" "Oh, he left," I said. "Hell, do you think I can run out to chase him now, can I catch up?" "Can't catch up," I said. "He left about an hour ago." She sits on the sofa. "Damn it," she said, "I want to ask him if he can be on duty at Dad's office for me this Friday, and I want to go to Amherst to see my friend Vivian." From the canvas bag embroidered with rainbow patterns, I took out a small-format Bible with a white cover.

"You will do Bible divination with me, will you?" "Okay." I said. Dr. Finch's family likes to do "Bible Divination".It's like asking a "Crystal Magic Ball" (a ball toy that replaces a lottery or a coin-operated toy that lets users decide who gets what or what to do by randomly displaying answers) a question, only this time You are asking "God".This is done by having one person put their hand on the Bible while the other thinks about some question to ask God, such as, "Can I cut my hair a little shorter?" Turn to any page of the Bible at will, and the person who asks the question puts his finger anywhere on the page, and the text displayed where the finger rests is God's answer to him.Dr. Finch is keen to do this kind of "Bible divination", thinking that it is a direct way to communicate with God, and most of his patients have done this kind of divination.Still, no one does it as often as Hope.

I held the Bible in my hand while she closed her eyes. "Ready?" I asked. She opened her eyes: "Okay." I opened the Bible. Her finger dropped and landed on the word "awake". "Oh my God," she said, "this is unbelievable." "What did you just ask?" "What I'm asking is if I missed meeting Bookman, does that mean I shouldn't see my friend Vivian, is that a hint?" "so what?" "Well, so," said Hope, "I should wake up. God said to me, if I went to see Vivian, I would bother her. Vivian had a cold last month, and she Fourteen, so she might need more sleep. If I go to her on Friday, I might wake her up."

I nodded.She looked up at the ceiling, "Thank you, God," she said reverently. Hope and God are good friends, even iron buddies.The relationship between them has nothing to do with religious rituals or traditional beliefs.It's a closer, more casual relationship. Hope had driven me shopping in the city last week and we were looking for parking in front of Thornton Square.As a red Vega exits a handicapped parking spot, Hope yells, "Great!" "You shouldn't have stopped here," I reminded him.The car smelled sweet, like someone's armpits, and I was sick of sitting in it for a long time, but I still felt that she shouldn't be in the handicapped parking space.

"This position is for me," she said. We got out of the car.She opened the trunk and took out her Kun bag embroidered with a rainbow pattern.In addition, every time she goes out, she also carries a backpack with the words "public address system" on it, plus a plastic shopping bag. "Help me close the trunk," she told me. I slammed the trunk shut.I don't see much point in that though, there's nothing of value in it and pickpockets have nothing to steal.Will they be interested in what goes inside - a little badge commemorating Father's Day, a bunch of balloons, a blue plastic comb that usually sits on the dash.By the way, there is a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of painkillers in the trunk.

Hope reached into his bag and pulled out an electronic alarm clock. "Have you got a dime?" I reached into my pocket, and the first thing I felt was the bony butt, and I felt the bones prick my hand.I took out a dime. "Here." I handed it to Hope. Then I noticed there were no parking meters. "Hope, there's no timer here." "I know." She bent down and put the money on the road in front of the car. "It's a little thing, for God. I want to thank God for helping me." In the grocery store near Thornton Square, Hope couldn't decide whether to get a tuna sandwich or a turkey sandwich, even though there were still many people waiting in line behind him.She took out the white Bible and started divination.This time she can only do it by herself, because her time is not allowed, she is in a hurry. "Harvest," she said, "I put my finger on the word 'harvest.'" She thought for a moment, then said, "Don't turkeys grow on grain? ' means very close." Then, she smiled and looked at the somewhat shy and angry girl standing behind the counter: "I still want the turkey sandwich, but I need to put more whole grains."

This family practiced this kind of biblical divination, which made me a little embarrassed at first.But, like everything else, I got used to it pretty quickly. Then, not surprisingly, I tried the experiment myself, and it became more and more fascinating.I'd ask God, "Should I buy the new Power Rails record?" I'd open my Bible and put my hand on the word "hunger."I know from this that this record is a shit record and I should save my money.How simple, how effective, like turning over a book, looking at the back cover, and finding the answer. In other words, it's like an ignorant child who encounters a problem, just ask any of his parents for advice, and the experienced parents will always give the answer.

Fern Stewart was a pastor's wife and a close friend of my mother's.She has a pale smile on her face, and her smile is close, inches away from the plate of brownie cookies she's serving—a delicacy she prepared just for me.She lives with her family in a warm and comfortable house.Her house stood on top of a grassy hill, surrounded by a mass of tall birch trees whose branches looked down on the glazed-tiled roof. As a pastor's wife, Fern was exceptional.She and my mom shop for napkin rings (small utensils for napkins), enjoy discussing contemporary poetry, and visit local museums.She has long, brown hair with pretty bangs, which she sometimes pins back with a black velvet barrette.She spoke with a slight English accent, but I heard she grew up in Wackerville, California, and then moved all the way to Stowe with her family sledding in the winter.She and her husband were tasteful, middle-class, well-dressed men who liked to subscribe to the Peterman and Bean clothing company catalogs for information on the latest arrivals.Fern often wears Talbot buckskin heels and a small gold cross around his neck.

Fern seldom swears when she speaks, but she often talks nonsense. After my parents divorced, my mother and I had nowhere to live for a while.The house was sold and the property divided.But before moving to Fern, we were homeless. It was Fern who took us in. She arranged for us to live in a basement apartment across the street from her house.I immediately liked the lead-framed windows, the copper plumbing, and the wide oak floors.For some months I used to live in this little apartment, and the rest of the time I lived in Dr. Finch's house, in the room next to the bathroom that Hope had made for me.

Many nights, my mother and I ate at Fern's house.Her family is very kind, which makes me feel flattered.Seriously, they seemed to have been waiting all day and couldn't wait for us to show up at night. Her four children are all fair-skinned and have lovely smiles, which are as sweet as toffee.And the girls have two small dimples on their cheeks.I feel that they are always so refreshed, as if they just came out of a hot shower. While Fern would bring steamed cauliflower and homemade cheese sauce to the table in a china bowl, his son would poke a leaf with a fork and put it on my plate first. "Even if you don't like vegetables, you will like my mother's French-style gazpacho." He winked at me.

His older sister would pat him on the shoulder: "Unfortunately, Daniel, Mommy would still make us like lima beans if she wanted to." Everyone around the table laughs, and then, hands clasped together, prayers and blessings to God. To me, these people are like animals in a zoo I've ever seen.They are so novel, I have never seen anyone like them.I can't decide if I want to be one of them, or just live among them, write a diary about them, or take pictures with them. For sure, Fern is not like my mom, who would never throw a Christmas tree off a balcony, or at best make that cornstarch birthday cake for her kids and count it all.And I'm sure she'll never be able to swallow cigarette butts with an oyster sandwich the way I do. Some part of the lower part of my brain told me that the Ferns were normal people, and why should I?I'm more of a Dr. Finch family; I'm not like any of the Ferns. It's hard to imagine the good-looking, well-dressed Daniel sitting in the TV room of Dr. Finch's house, pointing at the family dog ​​and laughing, as little Pubille is lying on the living room floor, giggling , his shorts slipped down, allowing the dog to lick his dick with gusto.It's hard to imagine that seeing such a scene, Daniel would at most just shrug his shoulders and turn back to the TV room-this kind of thing is common in Dr. Finch's house. My mom finally found a place for us to live.It was one half of a large old house on Emily Dickenson Street, just a few miles from the Fern family.My mom loved our new house because Emily Dickenson lived across the street. "As poets, she and I are really heroes. We both see this place. At this stage of my life, living here is perfect for me." She said triumphantly.And I like that it's so close to Northampton, and Dr Finch's house, now that my mum doesn't have to drive me so often, I can take the bus.Also, what I like about this new home is that there doesn't seem to be a place for me in this home - my private "room" doesn't even have a door because it's just a little nook, which means I don't have to spend more Time to spend with mom. Dr. Finch has told me that his home must be my home.I can come in whenever I want. "You just knock on the door and Agnes will get out of bed and open the door for you." I knew that Hope wanted me to come to her house very badly, and so did Natalie.She lives in Pittsfield now, with her legal guardian, but returns to Northampton often.And she also said that if I went there, she would come right back. At first, it seemed odd to me that Natalie had a guardian, since she already had a father.However, Dr. Finch believes that everyone has the right to choose their parents, so when Natalie was thirteen years old, she chose one of her father's patients as her guardian.His name was Terrence Maxwell, he was forty-two, and he came from a wealthy family.So Natalie lived with her guardian, who paid for her and attended a private school.Vicky hangs out with a bunch of hippies and travels all over the United States.Every six months or so, Vicki would take a stopover and return home to Northampton. From this, I feel that members of a family should be on the move frequently, and I don't have to be too attached to anyone or any place.In a sense, I feel like an adventurer, and this just caters to my inner strong desire for freedom. The only problem is going to school.I just turned thirteen, seventh grade at Amherst Mission School.Going to elementary school was a nightmare for me because I repeated two grades in third grade.Then, after my parents divorced, my mom and I moved to Amherst and I transferred to a new elementary school.But it didn't work, and now I seem to be worse than before. From the moment I was attacked by the smell of chlorine gas on the first day I entered the school gate, I had a premonition that I would not stay in this school for long.The smell of chlorine comes from the swimming pool, and the existence of a swimming pool means that the school must force students to learn to swim. Take off all your clothes in the cold and wet, and then put on dry clothes. Another issue is aesthetic perception.To me, the school’s sprawling gray bungalows look like a meatpacking factory, or just plastic eyes for some stuffed animals.This kind of architectural style is depressing every day, and I don't want to stay in such a place all day.On the other hand, I frequent the nearby Amherst Movie Theater.It even has a smoking area.I also love Chess King in Hampshire Arcade, which sells crisp shirts, and a beautiful pair of white trousers with such a sharp seam that you can't put them down. Those benefits, though, paled in comparison to a really big problem—as soon as I arrived at school, I was surrounded by normal American kids.There were hundreds of them, congregating in various rooms, moving like cockroaches in Dr. Finch's kitchen--of course, I didn't care much about them anymore. I have nothing in common with these kids.Their moms would chop up carrots the size of candles and eat them in bites, whereas my mom could swallow whole candles.Also, they go to bed on time at ten o'clock, and me?After three o'clock in the morning, my life has just begun. The longer I lived at Dr. Finch's house, the more I realized what a waste of my time this school was.To the kids there, it has no name, a dry cistern with no grander, longer-term plans or ideas.Also, Natalie has said that even if she had to go to a public school instead of a private one, she wouldn't go to a missionary school. The doctor's family taught me that a person can have his own rules.Your life is your own, and no adult has the right to arrange everything for you according to their ideas. So, I only go there for one day a month, sometimes two days in a row.For the remaining twenty-eight days, I do my own things.What I usually do is write a diary, watch a movie, or read a Stephen King novel.I was vigilant enough not to let myself miss classes for 30 consecutive days, because in that case, at the end of the year, the school authorities would announce a "core appraisal". My technique is to often go to the big classroom of the grade to handle the roll call before class, and then withdraw.In doing so, I will inevitably create falsification and confusion in the school's records.Alas, who made it full of loopholes and always allowed me to take advantage of loopholes?Plus, I don't have any friends, and I don't know anyone's name, which makes it harder for me to be noticed and a target. One afternoon, I came home from school very early.I showed up in the big classroom, and after successfully handling the roll call, I slipped out of the factory quietly.It was a fine day and I had seven dollars in my pocket.I've been wanting to go to the cinema and see what German movies are showing there, so I head up Dickenson Street, and I want another five bucks from my mother. When I opened the door, I saw Fern and Mom.Fern was lying face down between Mom's legs. My mother was sprawled out on the couch with her eyes tightly shut.Fern's head was bobbing from side to side like a dog licking a bone.They were both naked; my mother's blue pajamas were draped over the arm of the sofa, and Fern's smock and skirt were piled on the floor. Mom didn't notice me at first, but Fern opened her eyes and turned her head towards the door, her mouth still on Mom.She saw me right away.For that brief moment, I saw a real terror in her eyes. I felt nauseous, I felt like throwing up, I was so shocked I couldn't help it.I turn and leave.As I walked out the gate, I heard Fern behind me screaming loudly, like a large animal, and the screaming was entirely from the chest. My mom screamed too: "Fern! Fern! It's okay!" I went out on the porch and stood there motionless.I felt a little numb and dull, I grinned, it seemed to be crying, and it seemed to be laughing.The street is quiet, with two-story buildings on either side, well-built fences, a spotless driveway, and a cat who purrs.All people doing everything behind closed doors.I looked back at the house with the yellow walls, the green shutters, the gray pickup parked in the driveway.You really can't imagine it all! After what seemed like a few seconds, I heard the door open, and I felt hands on my shoulders, making me turn around.Fern stood there.She put on her dress, but left it unbuttoned.Her hair was messy, she was crying, her cheeks were sweaty, she tried to pull me into her arms, hug me, kiss my cheeks, my forehead, keep saying "sorry, sorry, sorry .” I want to break free, I don't want her mouth to touch me. Then she started running, she ran across the lawn to her car.She bowed her head in shame, as if she were sheltering from the rain.She pressed her handbag tightly to her chest. I thought of her son, Daniel, well-dressed and neat.I thought of the scene when Daniel handed me a basket of bread at dinner: "My mother's bread is very delicious, come and eat a piece." When I got back to the house, I saw my mother sitting naked, cross-legged on the sofa, smoking a Moore cigarette.Her breasts were frighteningly large, drooping like face pockets and sagging on her knees.She breathed heavily, put the tobacco rod to her lips, and sucked hard, like a baby sucking milk.I can't imagine anyone doing that -- like Fern did -- doing that to her.God, I'm breaking down! "I hope you prefer being at school," my mother said. "I know school is boring, but you'd rather be with me. Can you get me my pajamas?" Her relaxed attitude annoys me.She never cared about others, she only cared about herself.I tore her nightgown off the back of the couch and threw it at her so hard that I nearly caught her mole smoke. "Be careful, Augustine! I've got a cigarette in my hand, what if it's burning?" She gave me an angry look, "Don't be like this, okay? speak out." "I really don't understand you. I mean, why? Why don't I know? Why?" I stammered. "How long have you been with her...?" My mother pulled her pajamas over her head, stood up, and pulled them down over her body. "Oh, I fell in love with her a long time ago. We had physical contact a few months ago." "Was it when we lived next door to hers?" "Augustine, these are the details of my private life," he said with his index and middle fingers gripping the pipe, and his thumb resting on his temple, as if in thought. "This is between me and Fern," my mother said. Always talking like she was being interviewed by Ladies and Home, she was like a celebrity. The truth came out.For several months, Fern and Mom had been lovers.Turns out my mom was gay.I don't know where I heard that homosexuality may be genetic.Maybe I inherited it from her too.I'm worried about what else I'm inheriting from there.When I am thirty-five years old, will I also go crazy and become mentally ill? She went into the kitchen and I followed.I watched her pour a spoonful of coffee into the cup and add some hot water. "Anyway, I'm worried about you," she blew into the water glass, then took a big sip, "I'm worried about you and your studies." "But I don't want to put up with that place any more!" I said. "Dr. Finch used to say that when a man was thirteen, you couldn't restrict what he could do. At thirteen, he was free. " "Yes, I know he did," my mother said, "but the law says you have to go to school." "Okay, fuck the law." I lit one of her cigarettes. "You'd better not smoke my cigarettes. Don't you have a pack of cigarettes yourself--though I don't want you to learn to smoke." "Hmph, I have to smoke." "Yes, I know. I just said, I just don't want you to smoke." "Okay," I said, trying to stub out the cigarette. "No, don't put it out. I'll smoke it." She snatched the cigarette away.She continued, "Well, I know I can't force you to go to school. I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. Still, I want you to think about it." How could she expect me to think about school at a time like this?And, if I did stay at school—hell, you can imagine what I'd miss!Ms. Fern, the pastor's wife, not only is she gay through and through, but she's my mother's lover! "Does her family know?" "I don't know!" Mom said bluntly.She turned to me with a serious expression: "Her husband, her children, they don't know what's going on between us. At Fern's house, he announced loudly: "Everyone, guess what, guess what, what is your mother doing in the bedroom while the bread in the kitchen is not yet baked?" At this time, there was more light in the room, as if the lens cover of a camera was opened, and a long lens stretched out, focusing on her face.A beautiful piece of music sounded in my ears, curling up and filling the whole room.My mother stood in front of the just-opened window, her pajamas soaked in sunlight, her body forming a tall silhouette.