Chapter 15 Chapter Thirteen

"Did Mr. Vigot come to see you?" Feng Er asked. "Come here. He just left for fifteen minutes. Is the movie good?" She had already arranged the cigarette tray in the bedroom and was currently lighting the cigarette lamp. "It's sad," she said, "but the colors are bright. What's Mr. Vigott doing here?" "He's going to ask me a few questions." "about what?" "All sorts of things. I don't think he'll bother me anymore." "I like movies with a good ending," Feng'er said. "Are you ready to smoke?"

"Yes." I lay down on the bed, and Feng'er began to smoke with a stick."They chopped off the girl's head," she said. "Beheading, that would be absurd." "It was during the French Revolution." "Oh. It's a historical film. I get it." "Even though it's history, it's still very sad." "I can't worry too much about historical figures." "And her lover--he went back to his garret--he was miserable, and wrote a song--you see, he was a poet. It wasn't long before those who chopped off his girlfriend's head, y'all All sang his song. It was the Marseillaise."

"That doesn't sound like much historical truth," I said. "He was standing on the edge of the crowd, listening to them sing. He looked very distressed. When he laughed, you knew he was more distressed. He was thinking of the girl. I cried a lot, and my sister cried too." "Your sister? I don't believe she's crying." "She's very emotional. That nasty guy, Granger, was watching a movie there too. He was drunk and he couldn't stop laughing. But that movie wasn't funny at all. It was tragic." "I don't blame him," I said. "He's got something to celebrate. His son's out of danger. I heard it at the Continental today. I like movies with happy endings, too."

After I finished smoking two bags of cigarettes, I lay down on my back, leaned my neck on the leather pillow, and put one hand on Feng'er's lap. "Are you happy?" "Of course," she said casually.Nor do I deserve to hear a more serious answer. "Like it used to be," I lied, "a year ago." "Yes." "You haven't bought a hijab for a long time. Why don't you go out and shop tomorrow?" "Tomorrow is a holiday." "Oh, yes, exactly. I forgot." "You haven't opened that telegram yet," Feng'er said.

"No, I forgot even that. I don't want to think about work tonight. It's too late to post anything. Talk to me about the movie." "Well, her lover tried to get her out of prison. He smuggled in a boy's suit and a man's cap, like the prison guards wear, but she had just come out of the prison gate, and her hair was all When the skill is down, those people are shouting, Unear lstocrate, unear lstocrate. I think this is a mistake in the plot. They should let her escape. Then they both will make a lot of money on his songs money, they'll go abroad, to America—or to England," she added "England," thinking it was naughty.

"I'd better read that telegram," I said. "God bless me, I don't have to go north to-morrow. I want to be in peace with you. " She took the telegram from among the bottles of beauty cream and handed it to me.I opened it and read: "The letter has been reconsidered. Irlogical actions are being taken as you wish. Attorneys have been notified to begin divorce proceedings on grounds of desertion. May God bless you—your dear Helen." "Do you have to go home?" "No," I said, "I don't have to go back. I'll read you the telegram. That's the happy end for you."

She jumped up from the bed. "That's wonderful. I've got to tell my sister. She'll be very happy. I'm going to say to her, do you know who I am? I'm the second Mrs. Fryer." On the shelf across from me, The Mission in the West stood like a six-inch photograph of a young man with a brush-cut hair and a big black dog at his feet.He can't hurt anyone now.I said to Feng Er, "Do you miss him very much?" "Who do you miss?" "Pyle." How strange that even now, even to Fenger, I still can't pronounce his name. "Excuse me, can I go out? My sister will be very excited to hear the news."

"You mentioned Pyle's name in a dream once." "I don't remember having a dream at all." "You could have done a lot with him. He's young." "You're not old either." "Skyscraper. Empire State Building." She hesitated a little and said, "I want to see Cheddar Gorge." "That's not the Grand Canyon." I pulled her onto the bed. "I'm sorry, Fenger." "What are you sorry for? It's a wonderful telegram. Sister..." "Okay, go tell your sister. But kiss me first." Her excited mouth brushed over my face.

She walked away in a flash. I thought of that first day, at the Continental, with Pyle sitting next to me, his eyes fixed on the soda stand across the street.Since his death, everything has been going well for me, but how I wish there was someone in the world to whom I can say I'm sorry. (March 1952-June 1955)