Chapter 4 3-1

I guess I can get home safe and sound, it's just not advisable to stay for long.Even if I don't show up at the police station within two minutes, they won't arouse their suspicion. They will wait for me for at least ten minutes after the appointed time, until Chief Stevenson suddenly realizes that I saw him meeting with the thieves who stole his father's body By then, it was already too late. Even at that juncture, it was unlikely they would come to my house to find me.After all, looking for them has no effect at all-and it is impossible to pose any threat to them in the future.I don't have any concrete proof of what I saw tonight.

However, in order for their flawless scheme to continue to succeed, they are likely to resort to any drastic measures to prevent the wind from leaking out.They may not even want to leave a little bit of flaws-that is to say, they are bound to kill me. I thought I'd see Orson waiting in the porch when I opened the front door and stepped into the house, but he wasn't there to greet me as expected.I called it by name, and it didn't come; if it had come near me in the dark, I should have heard the slap of its thick soles on the floor as it walked. It may happen to be in a bad mood. Most of the time, it is a good companion with a humorous personality and loves to play. Its tail is always wagging, and it is energetic enough to sweep the streets and alleys of Moonlight Bay.However, every once in a while, it would lie listlessly on the ground as if it was overwhelmed by the whole world, no different from the carpet on the ground; a pair of sad eyes stared straight ahead, as if immersed In a daze among memories or some dog-like prophets, it is always silent, only occasionally sighing weakly.

Sometimes, on certain rare occasions, I found Ourson in a state of desperate depression.A puppy should have no such esoteric troubles, even if it looks serious. Once he sat alone in front of the large mirror in the closet in my room, staring at his reflection in the mirror for half an hour-in terms of dog's mind time, this is as long as eternity, because their experience of things It is usually calculated by two minutes of curiosity and three minutes of enthusiasm.After ruling out the two major factors of canine vanity and simple doubts, I still can't see how its images can fascinate it so much.He looked sad, with drooping ears, slack shoulders, and a never wagging tail.I swear, sometimes I actually see tears in his eyes, almost ready to come out at any moment.

"Olsen?" I called out its name. The switch that controls the lights on the stairs has a set of rheostats, as do most switches in the house.I dimmed the lights from the dimmest to brighter so I could climb the stairs. Olsen was not waiting for me at the stairs, nor in the corridor on the second floor. I went into my room and turned on the dim light, but there was still no sign of Ourson. I went straight to the nearest nightstand.From the top drawer, I took out the envelope where I usually keep my allowance.There's only one hundred and eighty yuan left in it, but it's better than nothing.I didn't know what to do with the cash, but I wanted to keep it with me in case I needed it, so I put all the money in my jeans pocket.As I was closing the nightstand drawer, I noticed a black thing on the coverlet.I picked it up, and it turned out to be exactly what it looked like in the dark—a pistol.

I have never seen this weapon.My father never owned a gun. Instinctively, I immediately put the pistol down and wiped away any fingerprints I might have left with the corner of the bedcover.I wondered if I had fallen into a trap set by someone else deliberately stealing money. Even though all TVs emit UV radiation, I've watched a lot of movies over the years because as long as I don't sit too close to the TV screen, I'm pretty safe.I've seen a lot of innocent good people - from Carrier.Grant (Cary Grant), James.Stewart (James Stewart), to Harrison.Harrison Ford - Stories about being relentlessly hunted down for a crime they never committed, or framed and imprisoned for a crime they never committed.

I hastily stepped into the bathroom next door and turned on the low-wattage light.Luckily there wasn't an assassinated blonde in the bathtub. There was no sign of Orson either. I stood quietly in the bathroom and listened carefully to any strange sounds in the house.If someone insisted on saying that someone else was in the house, it must be just an out-of-body ghost.I went back to the bed, hesitated for a while, and picked up the pistol again. While playing with it, I accidentally ejected the magazine.The magazine is full.I shove the magazine back into the barrel.Without any actual experience with weapons, I figured the pistol was heavier than I thought it would be: it weighed about a pound and a half.

Next to the gun was a white envelope lying on the beige bed cover.I didn't find out until now. I took the penlight out of the nightstand drawer and held the light close to the envelope.Except for the sender's address printed in the upper left corner: Thor's Gun Store in Moonlight Bay, the entire envelope was blank.It was an unsealed envelope, unstamped or stamped, but somewhat crumpled and with suspicious tooth marks on it. I picked up the envelope, which was water-stained, but the folded paper inside was dry. I carefully checked the documents inside while waiting for the light, and suddenly found that the transcript of the standard application form had my father’s neat handwriting. He assured the local police station that he had no criminal or mental illness records, so there was no reason why he could not Hold this pistol.Also inside was a photocopied transcript of the original receipt stating that it was a 9cm Glock 17 pistol and that the father had paid by check, etc.I shuddered at the date on the receipt: January 18, two years ago, my father bought the Glock three days after my mother died in a car accident, as if he suddenly felt he needed protection.

Ourson was not in the study. Earlier, Sasha had come to the house to feed it, and perhaps she had taken Orson with her when she left.If Orson was as depressed as I was when I left the house, especially when he was in a bad mood, Sasha might not have the heart to leave him at home alone, because her compassion is as good as the blood in the vessel as much. Even if Orson went away with Sasha, who brought this 9cm Glock from my father's room to mine?It wouldn't be Sasha, she couldn't have known that her father had such a gun, and she would never have rummaged through her father's room without authorization.

The telephone on my desk is connected to an answering machine, and the message counter shows that I have two new messages. According to the time and date automatically recorded on the answering machine, the first call was made half an hour ago.The answer went on for two minutes, although the caller didn't say a word.At first he just inhaled deeply, and then let it out just as slowly, as if he possessed some kind of magical power to smell my room clearly even through the phone line, to tell me where I was. not at home.After a while, he began to hum in a low voice, as if he had forgotten that he was recording, and he hummed and sang to himself unconsciously as if in a daydream. Fluid, high and low, repeating non-stop, it sounds very weird, just like a lunatic describing the death ambassador's singing to him.

I'm sure he's a stranger; if it were my friend, I'd recognize even the humming.I'm also pretty sure he didn't dial the wrong number; in any case, the man must have had something to do with the bizarre chain of events that followed my father's death. When the first answer cut off, I found myself clenching my fists and holding a helpless puff of air in my lungs. I will let out the hot bad breath and slowly inhale the sweet, cool fresh air. , but I was still too excited to let go of my fist. The second call came in a few minutes before I entered the door. The caller was An Gaila, a nurse who had been attending to my father's sick bed.Freeman.She didn't identify herself, but I recognized her thin, melodious voice, and she went on the phone like a bird hopping restlessly on a fence.

"Chris, I have something to tell you, I have to talk to you, tonight, any time that's convenient for you. I'm in the car right now, on my way home. You know where I live, Please do come to me, don't call me, I don't trust the phone, I don't even want to make this call, but I have to see you. Come in through the back door, no matter how late you hear It doesn't matter if you come late for this answer, I won't fall asleep, I can't sleep." I replaced the answering machine with a new tape, and hid the old tape in the bottom of a pile of written paper in the trash can by my desk. These two brief recordings proved nothing to the police or the judge, but they were the only evidence that something unusual had happened—and something more extraordinary than I was born doomed to see the light of day. It is even more amazing that he has not been damaged by Xerederma pigmentosurn in the past 28 years. I haven't been home in ten minutes, but I don't want to delay any longer. I looked around for Orson, thinking that I might suddenly hear a door being slammed open, or a glass breaking downstairs, and then I would hear feet on the floor.But the house is always dead silent, so quiet that it is eerie, full of tension like the surface of a pond. The dog was not in his father's bedroom or bathroom, nor was he in a walk-in closet. As the minutes passed, I became more and more worried that something was going to happen to this pup.Whoever put the 9mm Glock on my bed had most likely murdered or kidnapped Orson. I went back to my bedroom again, found a spare pair of sunglasses in a drawer of a cabinet, and slipped the case into my shirt pocket. I looked down at my watch, which showed the time displayed by glowing bipolar vacuum tubes. I quickly put the receipt and the police questionnaire back in the Thor Gun Store envelope.Whether this is evidence or garbage, I decided to hide it between my mattress and the box spring underneath. The date the gun was purchased is a key, and suddenly everything seems cryptic. I keep the pistol temporarily, it may be a trap set by someone else, like in the movie, but I think it is safer to have a gun with me, and even better if I know how to use it. My leather jacket pocket was deep enough to hide the pistol, and it hung heavily in my right-hand pocket, not like a dead piece of iron but something alive, like a dormant snake.Every time I moved, it twisted its body: fat and slow, like a thick coil of wire. Just when I was about to go downstairs to look for Olsen, I suddenly remembered that there was a night in July, I saw it sitting in the backyard from the bedroom window, its head tilted slightly, and its nose was lifted into the evening wind, as if Fascinated by something in the sky, it sinks into some kind of enigmatic emotion, there is no sea cry.It was also a moonless night, and the sound it made was neither a moan nor a whimper, but a weak cry. This peculiar cry made people sound uneasy. Thinking of this, I couldn't help but roll up the blinds, and suddenly found that Olsen was downstairs in the backyard.It was busy digging holes in the silver moonlighted lawn.This kind of behavior is quite unusual, because it is very well-behaved on weekdays and never digs holes in the yard.I watched Olsen abandon the hole he was digging so hard and move a few feet to the right to dig another hole in what can only be described as madness. "What the hell happened, man?" I wondered, and Orson just kept digging, digging, digging. Walking down the stairs with a heavy Glock in my pocket, I can't help but recall that July night, I went to the backyard and sat in Orson's weeping... Its cry grows thinner, like the hissing whistle of a glassblower trimming a vase over a flame, so faintly that our nearest neighbours, if only, would not be disturbed. The desolation in its voice moved me too.No matter how dark glass or weird shape a glassblower can blow out, its cry is dark and weird. It was obviously not hurt or sick, but I could only see that its sadness seemed to be related to the stars in the sky.However, if dogs' vision is as poor as they are known, they should not be able to see the stars clearly, or even at all.But why did the stars bring so much pain to Ourson?Tonight's night looks no different from before. Even so, it still stared skyward, whimpering mournfully, completely ignoring my calls. When I put a hand on its head and stroke it gently, I can feel a Tremors spread throughout its body.It stood up abruptly, strode away, looked back at me silently from a distance, and I dare say that at that moment it was full of resentment towards me.It still loves me, after all it is still my dog, it has no way not to love me, but it also hates me to the bone.In the warm July air, I could even feel a cold hatred emanating from it. He paced up and down the yard, sometimes staring at me—no dog can look at people like this—and staring at the sky, sometimes stiff and trembling with anger, sometimes looking Extraordinarily fragile, frequently whining in frustration. Me and Bobby.Holloway mentioned this when he said that dogs cannot have human-like abilities, nor can they experience complex emotions like depression. Their emotional world is as simple as their rational world.When Bobby knew that I still insisted that my interpretation was correct, he said angrily: "Listen, Xiaoxue, if you continue to bombard me with this new century dregs, you might as well buy a machine gun Just knock my head off, it's better than letting your silly little stories and idiot theories drag you to death, there is a limit to human patience, even Saint Francis--I am no exception." Anyway, the truth speaks louder than words, I know that Orson loved and hated me that July night, and I know there must be something in the sky that hurts it, maybe the stars in the sky, the darkness of the sky, Or something it imagined out of thin air. Do dogs have imaginations?Who said no? At least I know they dream. I have watched them sleep, seen them kick their calves when they dreamed of chasing rabbits, heard them whimper and sigh in their dreams, or bared their teeth and roared at their enemies in their dreams. Orson's resentment towards me that night did not make me fear him, on the contrary I could feel his fear.I know its problem is not a bad temper or a physical disease, but a disease of the mind. When it comes to animal minds, Bobby has a knack for witty speeches on the subject, he can go on and on about the whole thing, and I can collect tickets for him, but I'd rather open a can Beer, lean back in your chair, and keep the show to yourself. All in all, I sat in the back yard with Orson all that night, even though he might not have wanted me to.It looked at me with resentful eyes, and sometimes raised its head to the high sky and let out a sharp hiss like a razor. It trembled involuntarily, and kept spinning around in the yard until dawn, and finally it returned to me. Beside, exhaustedly leaning his head on my lap, it finally stopped pretending to be me. I went upstairs to my bedroom just before daybreak, a little earlier than my usual bedtime; and Ourson followed me upstairs.Most of the time, whenever he follows my bedtime routine, he will curl up and sleep at my feet, but that time he unexpectedly slept next to me with his back to me, and I stroked his strong body gently. Big head and soft black fur until it fell asleep. I myself couldn't sleep all day, lying in bed thinking about the bright summer day outside the closed shutters, the sky is like an upside-down blue porcelain bowl, and the birds are flying freely along the edge of the bowl. It's Wu'er in the daytime, I've only seen it in pictures.And bees and butterflies.The shadows during the day are clear and vivid, and the shadows at night can never be compared.Sweet sleep cannot penetrate me, for my mind is full of bitter longing. Now, nearly three years later, when I open the kitchen door again to the back balcony, I just hope I don't see Ourson looking listless.Neither it nor I have time to heal the wounds of the heart tonight. My bicycle was parked on the balcony, and I led it down the steps, pushing it in front of the dog, who was busy digging. It has already dug half a dozen holes of various sizes and depths in the southwest corner of the yard. I have to be very careful not to sprain my ankle when walking in the middle.The uprooted grass and clods of mud it had scooped up were strewn all over the backyard quarter of the lawn. "Olson. It didn't respond, and it continued digging like crazy. Afraid of being splashed by the soil scooped up by its front paws, I kept a safe distance from the side to the front of the hole it was digging. "Hey buddy." The dog still kept his head buried, and while digging, he planted his nose on the ground and sniffed fiercely. At this time, the evening wind stopped, and the bright full moon hung high on the trees like a child's balloon flying away. Overhead, nighthawks swooped, soared, and circled, catching flying ants and early spring moths in the air, and uttered "fighting, fighting, fighting." Seeing Olson keep working hard, I said to him, "Have you found any delicious bones?" It stopped digging, but still ignored me.It sniffed the freshly turned soil in a panic, and even I could smell the soil. "Who sent you outside?" Maybe Sasha took it outside to use the bathroom, but I'm sure she brought it back inside afterwards. "Is that Sasha?" I asked vaguely. Even if Sasha was the one who let it out to do something wrong, Olson would not betray her.It didn't dare to look at me directly, for fear that I would see through the truth. Abandoning the hole he had dug, he went back to the previous hole, took a sniff, and started working again, as if trying to communicate with his canine companions in mainland China.Maybe it knew its father was dead, animals have keen instincts, Sasha had said that earlier.Perhaps the desperate digging was just a way for Orson to vent his inner sadness and tension. I let the pedal bike lie gently on the grass, squatted down next to Orson who was busy digging a hole, reached out and grabbed his collar, and forced him to turn his attention to me with a little force. "What's the matter with you?" Its eyes are not like the starry black night sky, but rather like the ravaged black soil, deep and mysterious. "I've got some business to do, partner," I said to it, "I want you to come with me." It groaned, twisted its neck and looked back at the potholes around it, as if to say that it was very reluctant to give up this masterpiece halfway. "I'm staying at Sasha's house tomorrow morning, and I don't want to leave you here alone." It suddenly pricked up its ears, not because of Sasha's name, nor because of a word I said.It twisted powerfully out of my grip on the collar and looked towards the house. As soon as I let go of the collar, it sprinted across the backyard and stopped short of the back balcony.It stood motionless, listening intently with its head up, its expression very alert. "Is there something, boy?" I asked in a low voice. In spite of all the silence, I could barely hear its muffled growl from fifteen or twenty feet away. When I came out of the house, I turned off all the lights in the house. Now there is no light in every room, leaving a piece of darkness, but I didn't see any gloomy ghost faces stuck on the window glass.Ourson clearly sensed that someone was nearby as it started to back away from the house.Suddenly it turned around with a quick cat-like leap, and ran towards me. I quickly picked up the bicycle. Orson sprinted past me with his tail down and his ears flat to the back door. I trusted the animal's instincts and followed Orson to the back door without hesitation.A silver-white cedar fence as tall as mine surrounds the house, and even the back door is made of cedar, with a snap-down latch that looks cold.I moved the latch up quietly, cursing under my breath at the rattling hinges as they turned. Outside the door is a dense dirt path with rows of houses on one side and long and narrow old eucalyptus trees on the other side.I thought I would be ambushed by gangsters outside when I rushed out of the back door, but there were no ghosts on the path. From here to the south, behind the eucalyptus grove, there is a golf course, next to the Moonlight Bay Hotel and Country Club.At this time on a Friday night, the entire golf course looks like a rough black sea when viewed from among the tall tree trunks, while the amber lights of the hotel windows in the distance remind people of a ship sailing forever to Tahiti. luxury cruise ship. Go left and go uphill along the path to the downtown area. At the end of the road is the cemetery attached to the Catholic Church of St. John.Going to the right, you can follow the trail all the way downhill to the coastal flats. Harbor and Pacific Ocean. I adjusted the transmission of my bicycle and drove uphill towards the cemetery. The aroma of eucalyptus trees permeated along the way, which reminded me of the bright windows of the cremation furnace and the beautiful young woman lying on the stretcher to die.Olsen was jogging along beside the bicycle, and the singing and dancing in the hotel could be faintly heard across the golf course. A baby’s cry suddenly sounded from a neighbor’s house on my left. I felt the heavy Geyuk pistol in my pocket, Above me the nightjar catches stray insects with its sharpened beak.In an instant, all life and death are trapped between this world. I want to be with Angela.Talk to Freeman, because her message on the answering machine seemed telling.What I want to know most now is the truth of the matter.First, though, I must call Sasha, who must be waiting to hear from my father. I came to the country of San Bernase, one of my favorite places, a haven of darkness in a city full of lights.Six oak trees support the roof formed by intertwined branches and leaves like large pillars. The quiet rows of the cemetery under the shade of the trees are clearly like the display of the library; the rows of tombstones are like the books on the bookshelf. The names of the dead who were removed from the pages of life are printed on this book. They may have been forgotten elsewhere, but here, they will always be remembered. Olsen loitered not far from me, sniffing the squirrels that would come to pick up squirrels near the grave during the day.Ourson is not a hunter who likes to follow his prey, but a scholar who tries to satisfy his curiosity. I took off the phone clipped to my belt, and turned it on to get Sasha's cell phone number. She answered the phone on the second ring. "Daddy's gone," I said, with a meaning she couldn't fully understand. Sasha had expressed her grief earlier when her father was dying.At this time, although she tried her best to restrain herself, her sad and choked voice still couldn't escape my ears: "He... did he walk peacefully?" "There was no struggle." "Was he awake then?" "Well, it's a good thing we had a chance to say goodbye to each other." The brave have no fear. Sasha said: "Life is so boring." "It's just the rules of the game in life," I said. "To participate in this competition If we don't compete, we have to agree to withdraw from the competition one day. " "Still boring. Are you still in the hospital?" "No, I'm hanging out, wandering around, trying to burn off some energy. Where are you?" "In the car. Going to binge for dinner while I'm working on my lines for tonight's show. 'He's going on the radio in three hours." Or I can go for takeout and we'll find a place together dine. " "I'm not really hungry," I told her frankly. "I'll see you later." "when?" "You go home after get off work tomorrow morning, and I'll meet you there. I mean, if it's convenient." "Excellent. I love you, Snowman." "I love you too." I replied. "This is our little code word." "This is a fact." I pressed the Done button on the keypad, turned the phone off, and clipped it back to my belt.I rode out of the cemetery on my bicycle, followed by my four-legged companion, who seemed reluctant to leave, his mind preoccupied with the squirrel. to Angela.On the way to Freeman's house, I tried to take the small road as much as possible, so that not only could I avoid many vehicles, but the street lights were also sparse.When I had no choice but to go through many street lights, I had to bite the bullet and slam on the pedal. Ourson has always been faithful to my pace.It seemed to be in a much happier mood than it had been, and it strode forward beside me, looking blacker than the shadow I projected in the night. We meet only four cars from start to finish.Each time I had to squint and look away to avoid being head-on with the headlights. Angela lived on an elevated street, and her charming Spanish house was surrounded by late-blooming magnolia trees.I saw that the lights in the front room were not turned on.Through the unlocked side door, I entered a walkway surrounded by bushes, the sides and vaults of which were covered with jasmine.In summer, small white flowers with five petals bloom in clusters, and the flower stands are as delicate as layers of white lace.In this early spring season, the tender green branches and leaves are particularly lively against the backdrop of windmill-shaped flowers. I couldn't help inhaling the rich fragrance of jasmine deeply. Just as I was tasting the fragrance of the flower, Olsen sneezed twice. I pushed the car out of the gazebo to the back of the house, and I leaned the car against one of the mahogany posts that supported the roof of the arcade. "Be alert." I told Orson. "Be strong, be ruthless." It called out, as if it had fully understood its mission.Maybe it really understands me, regardless of Bobby.What about Holloway and those who guard rationalism. Candle light flickered through the kitchen windows and translucent curtains.Four panes of glass adorned the door, and I tapped lightly on one of them. Angela.Freeman opened the corner of the curtains, and she gave me a quick glance in panic, then checked both sides of the arcade, making sure that I came alone.She led me into the house mysteriously as if doing something bad, and then locked the door.She kept adjusting the curtains until she was confident that no one could peep at us through any opening. Although it was quite warm in the kitchen, Angela wore a woolen sweater in addition to her tracksuit.This pink needle-crocheted sweater probably belonged to her dead husband; the length of the sweater reaches the knees, the shoulder seams hang over the hand leaves, and the cuffs are thickly rolled and rolled like iron handcuffs. .The heavy clothes made Angela look even thinner than usual.She was obviously cold, she looked almost bloodless, and she was shaking. She gave me a hug, as strong and skinny and firm as ever, though I could tell she was uncharacteristically tired. She took a seat at the polished pine dining table and invited me to take a seat opposite her. I took off my hat and thought about taking off my jacket too, it was too warm in the kitchen up.However, the pistol was still in my pocket, and I was afraid that the pistol would accidentally drop to the ground or hit a chair when I took off my sleeve.I didn't want to frighten Angela, she'd be scared to death when she saw the gun. In the center of the table are three votive candles in ruby ​​glass candlesticks.Red arteries of light crawled across the smooth pine tabletop.There was also a bottle of apricot brandy on the table.Angela handed me a wine glass and I half filled it. Her wine glass was nearly overflowing.And it wasn't her first drink. She held the wine glass in both hands, as if warming from it.She looked extraordinarily frail as she lifted the glass to her lips.Although she was a little haggard, people would believe her if she was said to be only thirty-five years old (fifteen years younger than her actual age).Especially at this moment, she is almost like a child. "Ever since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of being a nurse." "And you are the best guardian now." I said sincerely. She licked the apricot brandy from her lips, staring blankly at her glass. "My mother was suffering from rheumatoid arthritis and she was getting worse, too fast. By the time I was six, she was already on a leg brace and crutches. I was just past my 12th birthday Before long, she was sick and she died when I was sixteen." I couldn't think of anything meaningful or helpful to comfort her, no one else could. Any speech, no matter how sincere it is, will only become hypocritical when spoken out at this time, just like vinegar is sour no matter how you drink it. To be sure, she does have something important to tell me, but she needs time to sort out what she has to say, line by line, and then send them across the table row to me like a split procession, no matter what she wants to tell me. What is mine, it must have terrified her.Her fear was written on her face, and her trembling body and pale face were fully revealed. Slowly trying to introduce the subject, she said: "When my mother is bedridden, my favorite thing is to carry her things. A cup of iced tea, a sandwich, her medicine, even if it's just a chair for her." A pillow would be nice, and I would gladly do anything for her. Later, I started carrying her potty. Eventually, when she was incontinent, I carried her clean sheets. I didn't mind at all. Whenever She always smiles at me when I give her things and runs her swollen hands to straighten my hair. I can't cure her, I can't make her run and dance again, I can't relieve her pain or Scared, but I can be there for her, make her feel better, and keep an eye on her — and that’s more rewarding to me than anything else.” The apricot brandy was too sweet to be called brandy, but it wasn't as sweet as I thought it would be, and it was quite strong.But no amount of drinking could make me forget my parents, nor could Angela forget her mother. "I grew up wanting to be a nurse," she repeated. "For a long time, it was satisfying work, but it also had a scary and sad side, especially when we lost patients. But most of the time, it was a pretty expensive job. Work." When she looked up from the brandy, her eyes widened as if they had been lifted by the memory of something. "God, I was scared to death when you got appenditis. I thought I was going to lose my little Chris like that." "I was nineteen years old, not young." "My dear, I have been your full-time nurse since you started babbling. To me, you will always be a child." I smiled and said, "I love you, Angela." Sometimes I forget that when I express my emotions too directly, I can inadvertently scare people - and now it is - and make the listener more excited than I expected. Her eyes were clouded with tears, and to hold back the tears she first bit her lips and reached out for the solace of the brandy. Nine years ago, I was not young.I have already got appendicitis, just like many cases, and it has evolved into acute appendicitis by the time the disease breaks out.After breakfast that day, I just felt a little indigestion. Before lunch, I suddenly started to vomit; my face was flushed, I was sweating all over my body, and the severe stomach cramps made me curl up like a shrimp thrown into a hot oil pan . Due to the serious delay in the preparation of the special operation at Ren'ai Hospital, I almost died. The surgeon certainly did not approve of opening my laparotomy in a dark or dimly lit operating room.But exposure to the glare of the operating table would have caused severe burns to any inch of my unprotected skin, caused melanin to develop, and prevented the wound from healing.They covered the entire body below the surgical incision—groin to toe—with three layers of cotton sheets and pinned them so they wouldn't slip out during the operation, which was the easiest part.They had to use extra sheets to cover my head and upper body, and they had to protect me from light damage at the same time, and they had to have the anesthesiologist reach under the sheets with a penlight from time to time to measure my blood pressure and temperature, and adjust the anesthesia mask.位置，并检查连接心电图的电子感测器是否都确实地服贴在我的胸膛和手腕上，以便持续监控我的心跳。他们正常的手续是用一块布将整个腹部盖起来，只留下一个洞口让开刀部位的皮肤暴露在外面，但在我这个案例，这个长方形的洞口必须尽可能减低到很小的一条缝。他们将用来撑开切口的牵引器准备好，并且在洞口附近暴露的肚皮贴上保护胶带，一直贴到预定的手术切口旁边，一切就绪之后他们才敢在我身上开刀。我的肠子不管医生们要它曝晒多少的强光都无所谓，可是等他们手术到那个阶段的时候，我的盲肠已经破裂。虽然他们做了很仔细的清洁消毒工作，依然引发后继性的腹膜炎；接着演变成溃疡和败血性的休克，两天之后我再度被推进手术房。 当我从败血性的休克恢复并脱离生命危险之后，接下来的几个月当中，我一直以为这一场病可能会引发XP症的一些神经并发症。 这些症状通常发生在灼伤或长时间接受光线曝晒之后——有时候发生的原因不明——不过由严重的身体创伤或休克也可能导致同样的后果。常见的症状包括头部或手部的颤抖，听力丧失，口齿不情，甚至智力障碍。这种神经性失调是渐进式、永久性的伤害，我心里有数自己随时会出现初期症状，结果没想到什么症状也没有。 伟大的诗人威廉。狄思。豪威尔（William Dean Howeds ）曾说死亡就沉在每个人的杯底。显然我的杯底还沉着一些甜茶。还有杏桃白兰地。 安琪拉啜了一大口，她继续说：“我从头到尾只想好好当个护土，可是你看看我现在这个样子。” 她希望我反问她，于是我顺口问：“你的意思是……” 她凝望着红玻璃烛杯中的火焰，神情黯然地回答：“护士的工作是救人活命，而我现在却成为死神的助手。” 我不太理解她话里的含意，但我耐心地等她自己解释。 “我做了不可原谅的事。”她说。 “不，我相信你没有。” “我看见别人做出不可原谅的事，可是我没有勇气阻止他们，知情不报罪过是一样的。” “就算你尝试阻止他们，你觉得你阻止得了吗？” She pondered for a while. “阻止也没有用。”她回答，仍是愁容满面。 “没有人能将所有的责任扛在自己肩上。” “但是最好有人能红得起。” 我尽量给她时间。白兰地相当的不错。 她说：“假如我要把这件事的始末告诉你，就必须趁现在，我没有多少时间了，我快要变了。” “变？” “我可以感觉得到，我不知道自己一个月或半年之后会变成什么人，但是我知道那将是我不喜欢的样子，想到就令我感到害怕。” "I do not understand." "I know." “我可以帮上什么忙吗？” “没有人可以帮得上忙，你不能，我也不能，哪怕连上帝也束手无策。”她的眼神从烛光转移到酒杯里金黄色的液体上，她用微弱但坚定的语气说：“我们把事情搞砸了，克里斯，这次闯下的祸比我们从前 犯过的错都还要严重。为了自尊、好胜、嫉妒……我们完蛋了，全部完蛋。噢，老天，我们完了，现在回头也来不及了，已经铸下的大错完全没有挽救的余地。 " 虽然她的口齿十分清晰，可是我不禁要怀疑她是不是之前不只喝了一杯白兰地。我试着息事宁人地猜想她一定是酒后夸张失言，把她察觉到的灾难从短暂的小风暴说得跟飓风一样严重。 然而，她的一番话倒是很成功地与厨房内的暖气和酒精的热度达成抗衡，我已经不想脱外套了。 “我无法阻止他们。”她说。“但是我可以停止替他们守密，克里斯，你有权利知道你的父母到底发生了什么事，即使知道真相的后果只有更痛苦。就算没有这件事你这一生也已经够苦了。” 事实上，我并不认为自己的一生有多痛苦，说它与众不同倒恰当些。若是我把精力都发泄在愤怒上，或把所有的夜晚都虚耗在渴望当正常人的梦想上，那么我这一生铁定要像花岗岩一样硬得让人难以消受，逼得自己最后只有撞墙自杀。然而，藉着欣赏自己的不同点，并将自己的特质发扬光大，我这一生并不比大多数人难过，恐怕还比有些人容易些。 我这些想法一句也没跟安琪拉说。如果她向我透露真相的动机是出于对我的怜悯，那么我更应该登上饱受苦难的面具，将自己塑造成纯粹的悲剧角色。我可以装成马克白，我可以是发疯的李尔王，我也可以是魔鬼终结者里的阿诺史瓦辛格，注定一生多灾多难。 “你有这么多的朋友……但是你也有很多你不知道的敌人，”安琪拉继续说道：“他们都是危险的坏蛋，而且。当中有些人很怪异…… 他们也变了。 " 她又用那个字眼，变。 我忍不住抓抓颈背，才发现脖子上根本没有蜘蛛在爬。 她接着又说：“加果你还有机会……尽管只是一丝机会，你就必须知道事情的真相。我一直在想这件事不知道该从何说起，应该如何告诉你，我想我应该从那只猴子开始说起。” “猴子？”我重复她的话，心想我一定听错了。 “猴子。”她郑重地重申。 在那个情况下，这个字眼听起来有说不出的滑稽，我忍不住又开始怀疑安琪拉的神智是否清醒。 最后当她从酒杯抬起头的时候，她的眼睛就像一片荒芜的池塘，将我自小到大心目中充满朝气的安琪技。费里曼整个淹没。我正对着她的双眼，那黯淡晦涩的眼神，不禁让我颈背紧绷，我再也不觉得“猴子”这个字眼有什么可笑之处。 “事情发生在四年前的耶诞夜，”她说。“时间大约是日落后一个小时，当时我正在厨房里烤饼干，两个烤箱同时烤，一个烤巧克力碎片饼干，另一个烤核桃燕麦饼干。收音机正开着，某位类似强尼。麦锡斯（Jonny Mithis）的歌手正在引吭高唱'银色铃档'。” 我闭上眼睛试着想像那个耶诞夜厨房里的情景——其实也是藉此机会避开安琪拉的眼神。 她接着说：“罗德随时都会到家。接下来的整个耶诞节周末，我们两个人都不用上班。” 罗德是她的死去的丈夫。三年半多以前，也就是安琪技描述的那个圣诞夜过后的六个月，罗德在这栋房子的车库举枪自尽。他的朋友和邻居们无不大为震惊，安琪拉更是受了极大的打击。罗德是个性格外向，具有相当幽默感，人缘颇佳，很少愁眉苦脸的人，实在没有明显的理由使他自取性命。