Chapter 7 7

When Joe arrived at the studio branch of his bank, there were only twenty minutes before closing time.Joe walked to a window where a pilot woman named Esther was working on some papers.She has worked at the bank since Joe first opened an account there ten years ago. "I want to withdraw some cash," he said after a little chatter, "but I don't have a checkbook." "no problem." But there seems to be a small problem. When Joe asked to withdraw the 20,000 yuan bill, Esther went to the other end to discuss with the teller.The cashier went to ask the manager again.

They glanced at Joe from time to time, as if his status was questionable.Banks are like this, they act like a vacuum cleaner when they take money from you, and they act like a clogged faucet when they take money from them. Esther came back with a cautious expression and told Joe that they were willing to make things easier for him, but they had to follow procedures. The manager was on the phone, and Joe wondered if he was talking about himself.He knew that his paranoia had improved slightly, but at this moment, his mouth was parched and his heart was racing.The money is his, and he needs it.

Esther and Joe have known each other for many years. They both belong to the Lutheran Church. Michelle often takes Chris and Nina to Sunday school and worship together. She might want to see his driver's license, alas, the days of mutual trust are over, they're part of American history. Joe held back, all his property was stored here, including the proceeds from the sale of the house, so he couldn't live without the money, he had to live on it. The same people who were looking for Sheloth were looking for him, so he had to stay in a motel for the time being. The manager had finished talking on the phone, and was looking at the same dictionary on the table, with a pencil in his hand, tapping lightly on it.

Joe considered using several of his credit cards to withdraw money for purchases, but authorities could trace his use of the cards to track him down and even find out where he made the purchases.The phone on the manager's desk rang. He picked it up and glanced at Joe, then turned his back to Joe, fearing that the shape of his mouth would give away the secret. When the formalities were completed, the manager also finished talking on the phone.He slowly collected hundred-dollar bills from the drawers of other cashiers, handed over all the money Joe needed to Esther, and then watched her count the bills to Joe with a stiff and unnatural smile.

Maybe he was thinking too much, but Joe always felt that they were making things difficult for him to withdraw so much cash. It was not because he was worried that he would be in danger because of the huge sum of money in his pocket, but that people were restricted in withdrawing cash recently.The government requires banks to report all cash transactions over 5,000 yuan.On the surface, it is to prevent drug lords from using legal financial institutions to launder money. In fact, no drug lord will feel inconvenienced by this. On the contrary, the financial activities of ordinary civilians are easier to be monitored.

When Iser put the 20,000 yuan into the brown paper bag, the phone on the manager's desk rang again.He murmured a few words into the microphone, continuing to be highly interested in Joe.It was five minutes past closing time when Joe left the bank.He was the last customer to leave, feeling his knees go weak from fear. The heat is still suffocating, the sun is still slanting in the evening sky, and the blue sky seems to be deepening.The monotonous flat blue made him feel familiar.It wasn't until he got into the car and started the engine that he suddenly remembered that it was the dead blue color of the last body he saw on the stretcher cart in the mortuary.

Since then, he has stopped reporting crime news. As he pulled out of the bank's parking lot, Joe saw the manager standing behind the glass doors.But it was all covered by the afterglow of the sun's reflection. Maybe he was memorizing the license plate number and the characteristics of the Ximei, or he was just locking the door. At this time, the sky was not dark, but it was already full of lights. While passing a small shopping mall, Joe saw a Ford parked in front of a convenience store, and a woman with long brown hair and a little girl with blond fluffy hair got out of the car.With their backs to Jo, their faces could not be seen.

Joe makes a sharp turn and nearly collides with a gray sedan.When the yellow light at the intersection turned red, he turned illegally. Joe regretted the action he was going to take, but it seemed that there was another strange force controlling him, making him unable to stop.Shocked that he couldn't control himself, he parked the car near the woman's Ford and felt his legs go weak when he got out of the car. Joe stood looking at the convenience store. The woman and the child were inside, but he couldn't see them.Because the glass windows were covered by posters and merchandise.

After the Colorado crash, Mabeth had recommended him to a national organization called Care and Compassion.Through Virginia's "Caring and Compassion" organization, Beth can slowly accept this cruel fact.So Joe also attended a few meetings of the local chapter, but then dropped out. Because he was in the same situation as most of the fathers out there: bereaved mothers who go to meetings with confidence and are often comforted by talking to other bereaved mothers.But almost all fathers have become more introverted and buried their pain in their hearts. Joe hopes to be one of the few people who finds relief in being open-minded.However, due to the self-esteem and stubbornness of the male psychology, he becomes more self-pity and self-pity and withdraws from the group.

But at least from the "compassion and care" group, he found that the strange power that currently controls him is not unique to him, in fact, it is very common.They named it "the act of seeking." Everyone, when he or she loses a loved one, goes on a search to some degree, mostly people who have lost a child.Some people's cases are more serious, but Joe's case is the worst. Intellectually, he can accept the fact that his family is gone forever.But emotionally, he still firmly believes that he will see them again.Sometimes he hoped that his wife and daughter would walk in the door again; when the phone rang, he hoped it was them.Sometimes when driving, he would feel that his two young daughters were in the back seat, and when he turned around excitedly, there was no sign of them, only the boundless emptiness made him even more depressed.

Joe walked towards the entrance of the convenience store.He hesitated for a moment and pushed the door open, with no one fighting in his heart.If he found out that the woman and child were not Michelle and Nina, then his heart would be broken on the spot like being hit by a hammer. The events of the day—what Rose had said to him in the cemetery, the startling message he had left him in the post—were so uncanny that they gave Joe an inexplicable confidence and made him open to some grotesque ideas. Possibilities, affectionately.If Rose could fall four miles into the rocks of Colorado and walk away.Then..., at some point in his heart, a spark of hope began to ignite. He strode into the convenience store. The cash register was on his left, and a beautiful young Korean woman about thirty years old smiled and nodded to Joe.A Korean man, who was keeping accounts, also greeted Joe.Joe ignored them and walked to the second aisle. He saw the brunette woman and the child standing at the end of the aisle. Jo stood at the head of the path, waiting for them to turn.The woman wore a pair of white sandals that tied around the ankles, white cotton trousers, and an emerald green blouse.Michelle had the same sandals, the same cotton trousers, but a different blouse.He remembered well that the smocks were different. The little girl was about the same age as Nina, and was about the same height. She also wore a pair of white sandals, pink shorts, and a white sweatshirt.She tilted her head and swung her slender arms.Nina used to stand like this too. It was halfway down the corridor before Joe realized he was moving.The little girl said, "Please, root beer." Joe heard himself whispering to Nina, because Nina loved root beer. "Nina? Michelle?" The woman and the little girl turned to face Joe. They were not Nina and Michelle. He had known for a long time that they were not the woman and child he loved dearly, and he did this without any reason, just an impulse in his heart.He knew it, he knew it.But he still felt a blow to his chest when he found out that they were just two strangers. He said stupidly: "You... I thought... standing there..." "How?" said the woman with a confused yet defensive expression. "Don't...don't let her go," he told the mother, his voice suddenly husky. "Don't let her out of your sight unless you're right next to them, they'll disappear, they'll disappear." A look of warning flashed in the woman's eyes.But her innocent four-year-old daughter said in a caring tone: "Sir, you need to buy some soap. You smell so bad. The soap is over there. I'll take you there." The mother quickly grabbed her daughter's hand and pulled her closer to her. Joe knew that he really stinks. He basked in the sun for two hours by the sea, and later went to the cemetery, and was scared profusely several times.In addition, he hadn't eaten all day, and the breath he exhaled was full of sour wine. "Thank you, sweetheart," he said. "You're right, I really stink, and I better get some soap." Someone behind Joe said, "Is there anything wrong?" Turning around, it was the Korean. "I thought they were people I knew," Joe explained, "I used to... People you know. " He thought about how scary he must have looked when he left the apartment this morning unshaven, bearded, sweaty, smelling of booze.Only now did he understand why the people in the bank treated him that way. "Are you all right?" the shopkeeper asked the woman. She replied uncertainly: "It should be fine." "I'm going," said Joe, feeling as if his internal organs had been displaced, with his stomach hanging high and his heart dropped to the bottom. "It's okay, it's okay, it's just a misunderstanding, I'm leaving." He walked in front of the shopkeeper and soon came to the door of the shop.When passing the cash register, the Korean woman said worriedly, "Are you all right?" "It's okay, it's okay." Joe said, walking out of the convenience store quickly and walking into the afterglow of the setting sun. When he got into the Ximei car, he saw the brown paper bag on the chair next to the driver's seat.He actually put 20,000 yuan in the unlocked car.Although there were no miracles in the store, it was a miracle that the money was not stolen. Joe's stomach was churning, and his chest was constricting.He was really not sure he could drive steadily, but he didn't want the woman to think he was lying in wait for her.So start the car and get out of here. Turn on the air conditioner in the car and blow the cold air on your face.He was breathing hard, as if his lungs had been crushed and he was trying to restore them to their original shape.The air he breathed seemed very heavy inside his body, like boiling liquid. This is what he learned at the Care and Compassion group, too: "For most people who lose a child, the pain is sometimes physical and knocking out." Like having asthma, driving while panting. He remembered the oath he had sworn to destroy all those responsible for the crash.Thinking of his own ignorance, Joe let out a wry smile.Laugh at yourself like a revenge machine with an empty body and can't hurt anyone. If he knew the real inside story of the July 47th incident, if he found out that there was a real conspiracy, and if he knew who was responsible for these things, then he would have been killed by these plotters long before he could contend with them.Their power is so huge, he has no chance to bring them to justice. But he still seems to have to give it a try. Now that the matter has developed to this point, it may not be his choice. The "act of seeking" is what drives him. At the mall, Joe bought laundry supplies, a suitcase, two pairs of blue jeans, a gray blazer, underwear, sweatshirt, socks, and a pair of Nike sneakers.He took the size he wanted, took it and left without trying it on. After leaving the shopping center, Joe found a motel in Moray City, shaved, showered, changed into clean clothes, and drove to Culver City at seven thirty, where Tom Fan's widow lived.Tom Fan was one of the passengers who died on Flight 353, and his wife Laura was featured in the Post. Joe bought two cheeseburgers and a Coke at McDonald's, and found Lola's phone number and address in the store's phone book.He drank two hamburgers with Coke while driving, wondering why he was so hungry. The bungalow, with its white exterior and white shutters, was an odd combination of a California ranch house and a New England seaside cabin.But its neat flagstone walkway and impatiens flower bed make it exude charming charm. The temperature was still high at that time, and the stone slabs were emitting heat.The clouds in the west glow orange and pink after sunset, while the sky in the east gradually darkens.Joe climbed two stone steps to the porch and rang the bell. The woman who answered the door was about thirty years old, with a pretty face.Although her skin is brown, she has the fair face of a red-haired beauty, with some freckles and blue eyes.She was wearing khaki shorts and an old man's shirt.The sleeves are rolled up, the hair is messy and covered with sweat, and there is a little stain on the left side of the face.It looked like she was cleaning the house and was crying. "Mrs. Fan?" Joe asked. "yes. Although when he was a reporter, he was used to flattering the subjects he was interviewing, but at this moment he was clumsy and didn't know what to say.He felt that he was dressed too casually for an interview on such a serious subject.The jeans were too loose and the waistband was bunched up with a belt.Also because it was too hot, he left his blazer in the car. "Mrs. Fan, I wonder if I can talk to you—" "I'm busy right now." "My name is Joe Bent. My wife and two daughters died in a plane crash." He swallowed hard, "A year ago. Tonight." She took two steps back from the door and said, "Please come in." Jo followed her into a living room where a dozen pieces of china sat on a bright display in one corner. He asked Joe to sit in an armchair, then went to the door and called, "Bob, Bob, we have a visitor." 'Sorry to bother you on Saturday night. "Joe said. She went back from the door and sat down by the sofa," not at all, but I'm afraid I'm not the Mrs. Fan you want to see. I'm not Laura, my name is Claire.Laura is my mother-in-law, whose husband died of... Accident. " A man entered the living room from the back of the house. Claire introduced to Joe that he was her husband. Bob was about two years older than his wife. He was tall and thin with a crew cut. He looked cheerful and confident.His smile was natural, and his handshake was strong, but pale against the bronze of his complexion.Melancholy was hidden in the blue eyes. As Bob Fan sat down with his wife, Claire told him that Joe's family had been killed in the crash.She said to Joe, "Bob's father died there too, and he just got back from a business deal." They were soon talking about everything, mostly united on how they had learned the terrible news. Bob was a fighter pilot stationed at Naval Air Station Myramar, just north of San Diego.He and two other pilots took their wives out to dinner that day.After dinner they moved to the bar, where a TV was showing a baseball game.Temporarily interrupted by flight number 353.Bob knew that his father would be flying back to Los Angeles from New York that night, and that he often flew on National.Bob didn't know the flight number, so he used the phone in the bar to call the National Airlines office in Los Angeles.He quickly contacted the public relations staff and got confirmation that Fan Tom was on the list of the dead passengers. Bob and Claire drove from Myramar to Culver City at record-breaking speed.They arrived around eleven o'clock without calling Bob's mother, Lola, beforehand.Because they didn't know what would happen when she heard the news, and if she didn't already know, they'd rather tell her in person than talk about it on the phone. It was midnight when they arrived home, the house was brightly lit and the front door was unlocked. Laura is making corn soup, because Tom likes this dish best.She also baked chocolate cookies with chopped pecans, Bob's favorite.She already knew about the crash, that her husband had died east of the Rockies.But she had to do something for him, they had been married thirty-five years, she had to do something for him. "I only found out when I went to the airport to pick me up," Joe said. "They went to Virginia to visit Michelle's family, and then stayed in New York for three days so that the girls could meet the aunt Sumo met. Delilah. I got there a little early. Of course, the first thing I did when I entered the airport was to check the screen to see if their flight would arrive on time. The data showed that the plane would arrive on time. But when I walked to their scheduled At the immigration gate, the airline staff came over to greet the people in the pick-up area, talked to them in a low voice, and took some of them to a private box. A young man walked up to me. He hadn’t spoken yet. I Already know what he's going to say, I'm not going to let him say it. 'No, don't say it.' But he's going to tell me anyway, so I turn away. He puts a hand on my arm, and I'll It pokes away. If it wasn't for the three of them - him and the two girls - being so tight around me, I'd probably beat him up and keep him from saying it. Because I think once it's said, it becomes real things. If you don’t talk about it, you know? It’s not going to happen.” They were silent, listening to the voice of memories of last year, this strange voice and terrible news. "Mom has endured pain for a long time," Claire finally broke the silence. When she talked about her mother-in-law, she seemed to be talking about her own mother, and her admiration was beyond words. "She's only fifty-three, but she doesn't want to live without Tom, and they—" "—very close," Bob went on, "but when we went to see her last week, she was much better. She was very depressed and miserable, but now she's reborn. Before the crash, she was very happy--" "—a person who is very extroverted," Claire answered her husband's voice very precisely, and they seemed to be thinking exactly the same. "Just last week, all of a sudden, she was the woman we knew again... We haven't seen her so happy in a whole year." Joe was upset that he had come to talk to them about dead people, and they were talking about Fan Lola. "What happened?" Claire wiped her eyes with a tissue from the pocket of her khaki shorts. "Last week she said she now knew Tom wasn't gone forever, no one ever was. She seemed very happy, she looked—" "—in high spirits," Bob went on, taking his wife's hand. "Joe, we really don't know why she's turned sour and so hopeful...but just four days ago my mum...killed herself." The funeral was just finished the day before yesterday, and Bob and Claire don't live here.They stayed only until Tuesday, packing Lola's clothes and distributing some of their personal belongings to friends and family and to military thrift stores. "It's sad," Claire said, rolling down and rolling up the sleeve of her right arm. "She's such a nice person." "I shouldn't be here at this time," said Jo, rising from her chair. "It's not a very good time." Bob stood up quickly, held out a hand and said in an almost pleading tone, "No, please sit down, we need a break too... talk to you about...uh..." He shrugged.Bob, with his long arms and legs, must have been handsome before, but not now. "We all know what that's like, simply because—" "—because we all know what it's like." Claire finished. Joe hesitated, then sat down again in the chair. "I just have a few questions... maybe only your mother can answer." After the right sleeve was adjusted, Claire lowered the left sleeve and rolled it up again.As she spoke, it seemed as if something had to be done. "Joe...it's so hot...would you like a cold drink?" "No, thanks. It's better to finish sooner, I have to go. I want to ask, has anyone visited her recently, a woman who called herself Rose?" Bob and Clay exchanged a look, and Bob said, "Is it a black woman?" Joe shuddered unconsciously. "Well, very petite, about five feet two inches tall... very nice." "Ma didn't talk to her much," said Claire, "but this Rose came once, and after they talked, everything seemed to change. We thought she was a—" "—counselor or something," Bob said. "At first we didn't like her, thinking she was trying to get something out of Mom because she was so depressed and vulnerable. We thought Ro Seth is either crazy or—” "—a liar," went on Claire, "trying to defraud her, or just to mess with her mind." "But when she talks about Rose, she's so—" "—Calm, we don't think this seems so bad, it's always good to make things better for Mom. Anyway—" "—she said the woman wasn't coming back," Bob said, "and my mother said she was grateful to Rose for letting her know that my dad was safe somewhere, that he wasn't dead, that he was safe and it is good." "She didn't tell us where the faith came from, she never went to church before," Claire added, "and she didn't say what Rose told her." "Talk less about the woman," Bob said, "just that it's a secret for now, and soon, finally—" "—everyone will know." "What will everyone know in the end?" Joe asked. "My dad is safe somewhere, I guess, safe and well somewhere." "No," said Claire, patting her hands on her legs. "I think she meant more than that, I think she was saying that in the end everybody will understand, everybody won't die and we... just go to a more peaceful place." Bob sighed, "Honestly, Joe, it makes us nervous to hear my mother say all this superstitious stuff. But it makes me happy, after a year of torture—" "—we don't see any harm." Joe wasn't looking forward to these spiritual things, and he was a little discouraged. He originally thought that Dr. Dorothy knew the real inside story of the crash of Flight 353, and planned to accuse those who should be held criminally responsible.I didn't expect that what she provided were these strange things. "Do you think she has the number or address of this woman Rose?" Claire said, "I don't think it's possible. Mom is . . . mysterious about it." She said to her husband, "Show him the picture." "It's still in her bedroom," Bob said, standing up. "I'll get it." "What picture?" Joe asked Claire after Bob left. "It's weird. Rose brought it to Lola. It's kind of creepy, but it comforts Ma. It's a picture of Tom's grave." It was a color photo taken with a Polaroid camera. On it was a tombstone on Tom's grave, engraved with his birthday and death date and a line of words: "beloved husband and father." Jo remembered Rose's first meeting in the cemetery and she said, "I'm not ready to have a long talk with you." Claire said: "Mum went out and bought the frame, it's very important to her that she keeps this picture safe." “We were here three days last week, and she carried the pictures with her,” Bob said. “Whether she was cooking in the kitchen, watching TV in the living room, or grilling in the yard, she carried it with her.” "Even going out to dinner," Claire says, "she puts it in her handbag." "It's just a picture," said Jo, puzzled. "It's just a picture," echoed Bob. "It couldn't have been taken by her—for some reason, it meant a lot to her because it was given to her by a woman called Rose." Joe ran his fingers over the glass of the picture frame.It seems that he has super powers and can sense the meaning of this photo. "The first time she showed us," said Claire, "she used a... looking at us expectantly, as if she thought—” "—thought we'd have a strong reaction." Joe put the photo on the coffee table and said with a frown, "Strong reaction? How?" "We don't know either," Claire said, picking up the photo and wiping the frame and glass with her shirttail. "When she saw we didn't have the expected reaction, she asked us what we saw in the photo." "Tombstone," said Joe. "Yes, my father's tombstone." Bob agreed. Claire shook her head, "Mom seems to see more things." "More stuff? Like what?" "She doesn't say it, but she—" "—tell us that one day we'll see a difference." In the memory, Rose grabbed the camera with both hands and looked at Joe and said, "You will see it like everyone else." "Do you know this Rose? Why did you ask us about her?" Claire asked suspiciously. Joe told them all about meeting Rose in the cemetery, but said nothing about the people in the white van.He lied to them that Rose left in a car and he failed to stop her. "But from what she told me ... I think she may have visited the families of the other victims. She taught me not to be depressed, and I will see it like everyone else. But she wasn't ready to talk to me yet.The problem is, I can't wait for her to be ready.If she ever talked to someone, I need to know what she told them?What did she help them see? " "Whatever it is," said Claire, "she makes Ma feel better." "Should it be more comfortable?" Bob questioned. "One week," said Claire, "she had a good week." "It turned out to be like this." If Joe hadn't been a seasoned reporter accustomed to interviewing victims or their families with hard questions, he would have found it difficult to ask the kind of questions that might stir up pain in Bob and Claire.But thinking about the events of this bustling day, he had to ask, "Are you sure she committed suicide?" Bob hesitated to speak, and turned his head to wipe away the tears in his eyes. Claire held her husband's hand and said to Joe, "Lola committed suicide, there should be no doubt about it." "Did she leave any last words?" "No," said Claire, "nothing left to help us understand the truth." "You said she was once so happy, so radiant, if—" "She left a videotape," Claire said. "You mean the farewell tape?" "No, it's that kind of weirdness...it's terrifying..." She shook her head, her face twisted with hatred, and she couldn't speak for a long time. "That's what it is." Bob let go of his wife's hand and stood up. "I never drink much, Jo, but I must have one now." Joe said uneasily, "I don't want to deepen your trauma—" "No, it's okay," Bob comforted him. "We are all family members of that disaster. We are all a family. There is nothing we can't tell our family. Would you like a drink?" "certainly." "Claire, don't talk to him about the tape until I get back. I know you think it's easier to talk about it when I'm away, but don't worry, it's okay." Bob Fan looked at his wife affectionately, and she said, "I will wait for you." Her love for him was fully expressed.Joe turned his face away, this situation brought back his infinite memory of Michelle. After Bob walked out of the room, Claire began to arrange the flower arrangement on the table.Then put your hands on your knees and cover your face with your palms. At last she looked up at Jo and said, "He's a good man." "Well, I like him," said Joe. "A good husband is also a good son. People don't know him well. They think he is just a fighter pilot who participated in the Persian Gulf War. He is a tough guy. In fact, he also has a gentle side and is as sentimental as his father." Jo waited for her to speak what was really in her heart. After a moment's hesitation she said: "We had children very late, I was thirty and Bob was thirty-two. It seemed like there was too much time, too many things to do first, but now our children are in the process of growing up , but I don’t know that there are Bob’s father and mother in the world, and they are such good people.” "That's not your fault," Joe said. "It's not in our control. We're all passengers on the train of life." We can't control it, however much we wish. " "You can really accept such an idea?" "Trying." "Did it work?" "Shit, can't do it." She laughed. In the past year, Joe had never made anyone laugh—except for Rose's friend on the phone earlier.Although Claire's laughter contained pain and sarcasm, it also contained relief.Seeing how much he could influence her, Joe felt reconnected with his old life. After a while of silence, Claire asked, "Joe, is this Rose a villain?" "No, just the opposite." Her previously cheerful and trusting face was now full of doubts, "You seem very sure." "If you've met her, so will you." Bob returned to the living room with three glasses, a bowl of crushed ice, a bottle of 7-up, and a bottle of wine. "I'm afraid there's no choice," he said apologetically. "No one in our family likes to drink. It's better to have a drink once in a while." "That's fine," said Joe, taking his glass. They tasted the wine in their hands, and Bob made it so strong that for a while the only sound was the clink of ice. "We know it was a suicide because she recorded it," Claire said. Joe was a little confused, "Who recorded it?" "Lola, Bob's mom. She filmed her own suicide." Claire suppressed her grief, and succinctly described the terrible death of her mother-in-law to Joe.Her voice was low, but distinct, and made Jo shudder. Bob Fan sat there quietly from the beginning to the end, without interrupting his wife.He looked neither at Clare nor at Joe.He stared at the drink in his hand that was refilled from time to time. The delicate 8cm camera was Fan Tom's favorite during his lifetime. After he died in the crash of Flight 353, he kept it in the storage room of his study. The operation of the camera is very simple, it can automatically focus, and can also automatically adjust the shutter and aperture.Although Lola has never used it before, it only takes a few minutes to learn.The camera had been in storage for a year, so Lola took a moment to recharge, proving she was on purpose.Police found the battery charger plugged into an outlet on the kitchen counter. On Tuesday morning, Lola went out to the backyard of the house and set up the camera on a table.She puts two hardcover books under the camera, gets the angle she wants, and turns on the camera. When the tape began to roll, she took a chair, placed it ten feet away from the camera, and went back to the camera to check that the chair was centered in the frame through the cash window. After returning to the chair, she widened her belt in front of the camera, neither acting nor reserved, as natural as preparing to take a bath.She swiftly took off her blouse, trousers, and underwear, and set them aside on the flagstone walkway. She walks out of camera range naked, apparently into the house and into the kitchen.Forty seconds later she returns, a cleaver in hand, and she sits facing the camera. According to the initial autopsy report, at about 8:10 on Tuesday morning, Fan Luola, a woman of normal mind and health, committed suicide because she could not bear the pain of losing her husband.She held the knife in both hands and stabbed it into the abdomen with all her strength.She drew the knife and stabbed deeply again.The third time she pulled the blade from left to right, took out the intestines, let go of the knife and slumped on the chair. In less than a minute, she bled to death. The camera continued to film the corpse until the end of the videotape.Two hours later, at about 10:30, the 66-year-old Japanese gardener found the body during a routine patrol and immediately reported it to the police. After Claire finished speaking, Joe could only say, "My God." Bob added some whiskey to everyone's drinks, his hands shaking so badly that the bottles clattered against the glasses. Finally Joe said, "I guess the tape is in the hands of the police." "Yeah," Bob said. "Whether there's an inquest or an interrogation or something, they've got to keep that tape." "So I hope you all know the situation of this tape. It's all second-hand information. I hope neither of you have read it." "I didn't see it," Bob said, "but Claire did." Claire stared at the glass, "They told us what was in the tape... Neither Bob nor I believed it, so on Friday morning, before the funeral, I went to the police station to look at the tape.We need to know the truth, and now we do.When they bring us the tape, I'll destroy it.Bob will never see it, never will. " Although Joe already had a high opinion of this woman, he was even more respectful at this moment. "I'm still not sure about some things," said Joe. "You don't mind if I ask some more questions?" "Ask," Bob said, "we've got a lot of questions too, a thousand fucking questions." "Number... it sounds like it wasn't forced." 克莱儿摇着头，“那不是你能强迫一个人做的事，对不对？也不是因为心理压力或威胁。摄影机中看不到有任何人，她的眼睛也没离开摄影机去注视别人，她完全是一个人。” “克莱儿，听你描述录影带内容的时候，罗拉像是一部机器在做这些事。” “那就是她大部分时间的样子，面无表情，整张脸是……垮着的。” “大部分的时间？所以她也有表现出感情的时刻？” “有两次，在她衣服脱得差不多了之后，脱内裤时，她有点犹豫。她是个很保守的女性，乔。那是非常怪异的事。” 鲍伯闭上眼，将酒杯靠在额头上说：“就算……就算我们接受她因精神错乱而这么做的说法，但实在很难想象她会拍摄自己裸体的影片……或是希望被人发现她是那样死的。” 克莱儿说：“后院有很高的围墙环绕，上面还有很浓密的九重葛覆盖，邻居是看不到她的。但鲍伯讲得对，她一定不愿意以那种样子被人发现。不管怎样，当她要脱内裤时，曾犹豫了一下，只一会儿工夫，那种死板呆滞的表情不见了，一抹恐怖的神情掠过脸上。” “怎么样恐怖？”乔问。 克莱儿回忆那可怕的景象时，脸部的表情忽然扭曲，“她的眼神呆滞、空洞。眼皮有点沉重……突然，她睁大了眼，看起来非常震惊、恐惧。那种表情会令人心碎，但只持续了一两秒钟，然后她又恢复平静，将自己的内裤脱掉、折好，放在一边。” “她有在服药吗？”乔问：“她是否因为服药过重，导致失忆症，或个性激烈的改变？” “她的医师说没开任何药给他，但她在录影带上的表现，警方也怀疑与药物有关。” “太荒谬了，”鲍伯大声地说：“我妈从不服用禁药的，连阿司匹灵都不吃。乔，她不了解过去三十年世界变得多糟，她似乎还活在一个比我们晚了十年的时代里，而且活得很愉快。” “验尸的结果，”克莱儿说：“脑部没有肿瘤，也没受伤害。没有药物的迹象，无法解释她为何这样做。” “你刚提到还有第二次她脸上曾出现表情。” “就在……就在她刺自己之前，只有一瞬间，比第一次还短。像是一阵痉挛，她整张脸都扭曲了，好象要尖叫。然后一切都消失不见，她又回到面无表情的样子，直到结束。” 乔突然想到一件事，那是克莱儿第一次描述录影带的内容时他所忽略的，“你是说她从头到尾都没尖叫或出声？” "No." “但那太不可能了。” “就在最后，当她松掉刀子……有一个声音像是由她发出的，像是一声叹息。” “那种痛苦……”乔没办法说下去了。樊罗拉的痛苦是人所无法忍受的。 “但她根本没叫出来。”克莱儿很坚定地说。 “甚至本能的反应都——” “她就只是沉默而已。” “麦克风是好的吧？” “是内装式全方位的麦克风。”鲍伯说。 “画面上，你可以听到其他的声音。像她调整位置时椅子的撞地声，鸟鸣，远处一条狗在哀嚎但就是听不到她的声音。” 走出前门，乔在夜色中搜寻。他半抱着期待心里，希望看见白色的货车或其他可疑的车辆，停靠在樊家门口的街上。隔壁的屋子，传来一串贝多芬的乐章，天气很暖和，一阵微风从西边吹来，带来一阵茉莉花香。就乔目力所及，他看不出这个治人的夜晚，会暗藏着什么威胁。 当克莱儿及鲍伯尾随他到门廊时，乔问：“他们发现罗拉时，她有随身带着那张汤姆坟地的照片吗？” “没有，它在厨房的餐桌上，在桌子的一端，她没随身携带。” “我们从圣地牙哥赶到这里时，发现它在餐桌上，”克莱儿回忆说：“就在早餐盘子旁。” 乔只觉大惑不解，“她吃了早餐？” “我知道你作何感想，”克莱儿说：“既然要自杀，干嘛那么麻烦弄早餐？乔，还有更奇怪的呢，她用干酪、切碎的韭菜和火腿作了个蛋卷，旁边是烤面包，还有一杯现榨的柳澄汁。在她起身拿着摄影机走出去的时候，这些东西只吃了一半。” “你描述她在录影带里是极度沮丧，或是精神状况有某种程度的改变，她怎么会神智清明而且有耐心的做这么一顿复杂的早餐？” 克莱儿说：“你再听听这个——洛杉矶时报摊开在她盘子旁边——” “——而且她还在读笑话版。”鲍伯说。 他们陷入一阵沉默，思索着这难以解开的谜。 然后鲍伯说：“稍早我说我们有上千个问题要问，现在你能了解我的意思了吧。” 他们像熟识多年的老友一样，克莱儿环抱着乔说：“我希望这个萝丝如你所想的是个好人，我希望你能找到她。不论她告诉你什么，乔，我希望能带给你平静。” 乔深为感动，回拥着她说：“谢谢，克莱儿。” 鲍伯从一本记事本上撕下一页纸，写上他们在麦拉玛的地址和电话号码。他将纸条折好递给乔，“你如果有其他的问题……或者你知道了什么事情有助于我们了解的，就跟我们连络。” 他们握着手，然后相互拥抱。 克莱儿说：“你现在打算干什么，乔？” 乔看了一下手表，“现在才九点过几分而已，我今晚还要去拜访其他人的家属。” “小心点！”她说。 "I will." “事情不对劲，乔，很不对劲。” "I know." 鲍伯和克莱儿并肩站在门廊前，目送乔驱车离去。 虽然第二杯酒他喝了一半，但乔觉得并不碍事。他没看过樊罗拉的照片，但脑海中浮现出一个没有脸孔的女人，拿着一把切肉刀坐在椅子上。这就足可抵过两倍于他所喝的威士忌了。 都市里的灯光，像是沿着海岸而生的朵朵发光蕈类。晕黄的灯光，像抱子云一样射出，污染了天空，只露出数点的星光，是那么的遥远且凄冷。 一分钟前还是个舒适情人的夜晚，但此刻，他忽觉一股阴森之气在逼近，这让他一再的从后视镜往后窥伺。