Chapter 7 4-2

Now, among a crowd of dead people who probably won't take me offence, I force cinder-smelling phlegm down my throat and onto the roots of a nearby tangled oak tree.Let's hope it doesn't kill this two-century-old tree that has weathered earthquakes, storms, fires, pests, disease, and the country's recent "one corner, one donut shop" ", I hope it will not be destroyed in my hands because of this.The taste in my mouth was similar to chewing briquettes mixed with alcohol. Since Olsen stayed at the scene of the fire for a shorter time than his poor owner, he recovered relatively quickly. I was only halfway through spitting and spitting, and he had already started pacing back and forth among the nearby tombstones, and happily Sniff here and there in the rodent bushes.

Between coughing and spitting, I ask Orson if he witnessed what happened. Although he can't take his attention away from the smell of the squirrel most of the time, he sometimes raises his head in a dignified manner as if he is listening to me, and sometimes wags his tail as if to motivate me. morale. "What the hell happened in the house?" I asked. "Who killed her? Why did they play games with me? Why did they play tricks on those dolls? Why didn't they just cut my throat and die in the fire pit with Angela?" Olsen shook his head, I interpreted his reaction like a game, he didn't know, he shook his head in confusion, he had no clue, he had no clue, he didn't know why they didn't cut my throat.

"I don't think it has anything to do with me carrying a Glock. I mean, there's more than one guy, at least two, maybe three. Easily subdued me. Although they cut her throat, they must have guns. I mean, they are all bloody scum, cruel cold-faced killers. They can goug out people's eyes pure For entertainment, this kind of people will never be stingy with carrying guns, so there is no way my Glock pistol can scare them." Olsen tilted his head, thinking about these issues very seriously. Maybe it has something to do with the Glock pistol, maybe it has nothing to do with it, but then again, maybe it is really related, who knows?Who cares, what the hell is Glock?what does it smell likeThis smell is really strange.Such a strong aroma, is it really squirrel urine?I'm sorry, Master Snow, let's get down to business, where are we talking.

"I don't think their purpose of setting the fire was to kill me. They don't really care about my life. If they really cared, they wouldn't have to go to such lengths. Their motive for setting the fire was to cover up the fact that Angela was murdered. That's the real reason, there's no other reason." Sniff, sniff, sniff, and sniff, to force out the poisonous gas remaining in the lungs, and then inhale the refreshing squirrel scent, the bad ones come out, and the good ones go in. "My God, she was such a kind person, so helpful." I said indignantly, "She didn't deserve to die so badly, she didn't deserve to die at all."

Ourson stopped sniffing, but only for a brief moment.Human suffering, terrible, terrible.Misery, death, despair, but there's nothing we can do about it, there's nothing we can do about it There is no law, the world is like this, life is like this, it is terrible.Come and smell the squirrels with me, Master Snow, it will make you feel better. I felt something gushing out of my throat, not an unforgettable grief, but some remaining phlegm. I exhausted my lungs, and finally spit out a black mass that looked like good meat into the roots of the tree. "If Sasha were here," I said, "I wonder if she would think I reminded her of James Dean now?"

My face felt greasy and slippery, and I wiped it with an equally greasy hand. The shadows cast by the moonlight on the branches and leaves danced in the breeze like a fairy in the cemetery on the sparse grass and smooth surface of the tombstones in the cemetery. Even in this light, I can still see the cinders on my palms where I wiped my face. "I must be smelling bad right now." After a while, Orson lost interest in the smell of squirrels, and moved to my side with great interest.It sniffed hard at my shoes, then along my legs, up my chest, and finally just stuck its head under my jacket and under my armpits.

Sometimes, I suspect that Ourson not only knows more than the average dog, but also has a unique sense of humor and a talent for irony. I forcefully pulled its nose out of my armpits, then held its head in both hands, and protested sternly to it: "Hey, buddy, you're not a sweet-smelling rose yourself. Besides, what kind of doorkeeper are you?" Dogs! Maybe when I arrived at Angela's house, they were already there in ambush, but she didn't know it. But why didn't you bite their ass when they left? If they escaped from the kitchen If you don’t, they must pass in front of you. Why didn’t I see those scoundrels rolling in the backyard, scratching their asses and screaming?”

Olson's eyes were fixed, revealing deep gazes.He was appalled by the question and the suggestive accusation, he was a peaceful dog, a peaceful dog, and he really was.Chasing rubber balls, licking people's faces, full of philosopher's breath, and a happy good companion.In addition, Master Xue, my task is to prevent the bad guys from entering the house, not to prevent them from leaving. It’s good that the bad guys are gone. Who wants them to be entangled by my side? Bad guys and fleas are better off missing. When I sat face to face with Olsen, looking into its eyes, a sense of unreality suddenly hit my heart, maybe I was delirious for a moment, but at that moment, I seemed to be able to read its real mind, and Its mind is completely different from the dialogue I made up for it.

Not only different, but disturbing. I let go of my hands that were holding its head, but it neither moved away nor looked away. I also couldn't lower my gaze. If this is the case with Bobby.Holloway mentioned that he would only recommend a lobotomy, but I could feel the dog worrying for me, sympathizing with me as I struggled so hard not to face my pain.It sympathized with me because I couldn't admit to the overwhelming horror of living alone.What's more, it worries for me, as if it can see something I don't know is coming irresistibly, like a huge mountain of white steamer, which is about to grind me to powder and burn the powder.

"What happened? When? Where? I wondered. Olsen's eyes were quite serious.Not even Anubis, the Egyptian dog-headed god of tombs guarding the hearts of the dead, could have such a sharp gaze.This dog isn't Lacey the Spirit, or Pluto, the carefree, lovable Disney cartoon. "Sometimes," I tell it, "you scare me." He blinked, shook his head, jumped away from me, and started circling among the tombstones, sniffing grass and oak leaves, and pretending he was just a normal dog again. Maybe it’s not Olsen who scares me, maybe I scare myself, maybe his deep eyes are just a mirror for me to see my own eyes; maybe from the reflection in his eyes, I can see the truth hidden in my heart but I don’t want to touch it directly .

"That's standard Barbie. Holloway interpretation," I said. With a sudden burst of excitement, Orson began digging up a pile of scented fallen leaves, still damp from the afternoon sprinkler.It drilled its nose into the fallen leaves, as if it was in a truffle hunt, and then it slapped the ground with its tail. Squirrels, squirrels mate, squirrels mate in this place.Squirrel, here it is, here it smells of squirrel, it's here.Master Snow, here, come and smell here, come and smell, come and smell the smell of squirrels mating. "You're confusing me," I told it. My mouth still tastes like the bottom of an ashtray, but I've stopped spitting up a dry cough and I should be able to ride to Bobby by now.Holloway House. Before starting to lead the bicycle, I got up on my knees and turned to face the tombstone with my back against it. "How are you doing lately, Noah? Are you still resting in peace?" 'I can read the words received on the stele without taking out a penlight, because I have read these words thousands of times, and it took me several Hours of contemplating the names on the tombstones and the dates of birth and death underneath. noah.Joseph.James was born on June 5, 1888 and died on July 2, 1984, Noah.Joseph.James, the gentleman with three names.It's not your name that surprises me, though, but your longevity. Ninety-six years. Ninety-six springs, summers, autumns, and winters. I overcame all odds and finally lived to be twenty-eight years old.I might live to be thirty-eight, if luck is on my side.If the predictions of the doctors were wrong, if the theorems of probability could be put on hold, if the god of fate went on vacation, I might survive until the age of forty-eight. Even at that time, I can only enjoy half of Noah's life. I don't know who he is, what he did during his lifetime, whether he kept one wife until he grew old, or whether he passed away two wives one after another, and whether the children he raised grew up to become priests Or a murderer, I don't want to know anyway.In my fantasy, this person lived a happy and fulfilling life.I believe he traveled extensively, in Borneo and Brazil, in Mobile Bay on Jubilee, in New Orleans on Lent Eve, in sun-bathed Greece and the treacherous Tibetan highlands. Shangri-La. I believe that he truly loved and was truly loved, that he was a warrior as well as a poet, an explorer, a scholar, a musician, an artist and a sailor who sailed the seven seas, that he was always brave enough to overcome the obstacles that were thrown at him and restrictions.As long as he is an unfamiliar name, he will always be a mysterious figure to me. His personality is at the mercy of my imagination, and I can experience his long life in the sun through fantasy. I whispered, "Hey Noah, I bet you there were no undertakers with guns when you passed away." I stood up and walked to the next door to the tombstone, where my bicycle rested quietly under the downcast granite guardian angel. Olsen let out a low cry, and became tense and alert for a moment, holding his head high and pricking up his ears.Although the light was quite dim at that time, it could be seen vaguely with its tail between its legs. I looked in the direction it was looking at, and suddenly found a tall, thin man with drooping shoulders looking around among the tombstones.Even in the soft shadows, he looks like a bunch of horns and knives, like a skull in a black suit, which can be mistaken for Noah's neighbor crawling out of the coffin to visit. . The suspicious man stopped at the row of tombstones where Orson and I were, and scrutinized a strange instrument held in his left hand.The gadget looked about the size of a mobile phone, with a bright display screen. He presses the input keypad of the instrument.Strange electronic sounds echoed faintly throughout the cemetery, unlike the sound of a telephone button. A drifting dark cloud covered the moonlight, so he moved his face closer to the apple-green screen so that he could see the information displayed on the screen clearly, and I immediately recognized the man's identity from the two dots of light. I couldn't see his red hair and auburn eyes, but even in profile, his sharp face and thin lips were unmistakable, Jesse.Pinn, assistant at the funeral home. Although Orson and I were thirty or forty feet to his left, he didn't Notice our presence. We pretended to be stones and remained motionless.Orson didn't growl now either, although the rustling of the oak trees in the breeze was enough to easily drown it out. Pinsi raised his head from the instrument in his hand, looked towards the direction of the Church of Santos on his right, then lowered his head to study the display on the screen, and finally, he walked towards the direction of the church. Even though we were over thirty feet away from him, he still didn't notice us. I looked at Orson. It also looks at me. We decided to forget about the squirrels for a while and track down Pin. Ping En walked around to the back of the church nimbly, without looking back all the way.He walked down the wide stone steps to the door that led to the basement. I followed closely, not letting him out of my sight.I stopped at the top of the stone steps, carefully peering down from the side to see his next move. If he looks up suddenly at this time, I will be spotted by him before I can dodge, but I am not very worried about this, because he seems to be very focused on the instrument in his hand, even if the horn of heaven is sounding loudly at this time, All the dead crawling from their graves could not divert his attention. He carefully studied the mysterious instrument in his hand, then turned it off and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat.Then he took a second tool out of another pocket, but unfortunately the light was too low for me to make out what he was holding; however, unlike the previous tool, this one didn't have a lighted display screen. Amid the wind rustling the leaves, I heard a series of clicks and file-like noises.Then there was a "click", two, and a third. When it was the fourth sound, I suddenly recognized this unique sound, the Lockaid pistol that locks and locks freely.This device features a tiny steel plate that plugs into the main magazine channel under the striker spring.When you pull the trigger, the flat piece of steel springs up to fire several rounds in succession. Years ago, Manuel.Ramirez once demonstrated for me a Luo Kai pistol. This kind of gun that can be locked and released is only sold to government law enforcement units, and ordinary citizens are not allowed to illegally possess it. Even Jesse.Ping En's hypocrisy is comparable to Sandy's.Kirk, but a villain like him who helped the gangsters, cremated the remains of murder victims and helped cover up felony murders, presumably would not pay attention to the legal restrictions on the possession of guns. Maybe he has his principles, for example, he There is no such thing as pushing a nun off a cliff for no reason.But remember today In the evening, with Pin's mean face and those red-brown eyes that flickered when he approached the crematorium, I wouldn't dare to bet on the nun's ticket. It took five shots in a row to knock out all the nails and release the latch, and after a careful test of the door, he put the Lowe back in his pocket. He pushed the door open, and I could see his silhouette clearly in the light of the windowless basement.For about half a minute he stood listening in the doorway, his bony shoulders tilted to the left, his head to the right, his wind-blown hair looking like straw; A free-swinging scarecrow off its stand.Then he walked into the room and pushed the door, but didn't close the door completely. "You stay here." I whispered to Orson. I went down the steps, followed by my dog, who didn't know what it meant to obey orders. I put one ear to the half-closed door, but there was no sound in the basement. Olsen stuffed his nose into the door about eighteen inches wide and sniffed non-stop. I tapped his head lightly to signal him to back out, but he ignored it. I bent down and stuck my face in the door like Orson, but the purpose was not to smell, but to see the situation ahead.I squinted under the harsh light and peered inside, and what I saw was a room twenty feet by forty feet square, with concrete walls and ceilings, all furnished with supplies for the church and the Sunday school next door. The equipment used included five gas stoves, a large water heater, and some electronic panels and mechanical equipment that I did not recognize. Jesse.Pinn was three-quarters of the way across the room and continued toward a closed door, his back to me the entire time. I stepped back to the door and took off the sunglass bag clipped to my shirt pocket, the sound it made when it popped open reminded me of Snake Wind, I don't know why, I've never heard Snake Wind in my life It seems that my imagination is getting richer and richer. When I put on my glasses and looked inside again, Ping En had already gone into the second room and disappeared. The door leading to the second room was half closed, and there was a light in the crack of the door. "It's all concrete," I said in a low voice. "My Nikes don't make noise, but your paws do, so stay here and don't follow." I pushed open the door ahead and walked lightly into the basement. Olsen stayed outside the door, standing at the bottom of the stone steps.The reason why it obeyed the order so much this time may be because I gave it a good reason.Perhaps it was because it smelled something weird, and it clearly knew that it was an unwise choice to go on.Dogs' sense of smell is thousands of times sharper than that of humans. Even if all human senses are combined, they are not as good as dogs' sense of smell alone. With sunglasses, I don't have to be afraid of the light, allowing me to move around without worry.I avoided the middle of the room and kept as close to the stove and other appliances as possible, so that I could always find a place to hide if Pinn suddenly turned back. Time and sweat had long since worn out the suntan lotion on my face and hands, but I still had a thick layer of sooty protection.My hands still look like I'm wearing black gloves, and I can imagine that my face must also look like I'm wearing a black mask. When I walked to the door on the inside, I clearly heard the voices of two people talking, both of which were male voices, and one of them was Pingdi.Their voices were muffled, and I couldn't hear what they were talking about. I looked out at the door, and Olsen looked at me through the crack of the door, one ear drooping, the other listening. From the inner door and beyond, there is a long, narrow and mostly empty room. Only a few lights were lit from the ceiling, hanging on chains between exposed plumbing and heating pipes, but I didn't bother to take off my sunglasses. Looking around, I realized that this room is only a part of the entire L-shaped room, and there is another connected room on the right, which is wider and longer than the one in front of me, but the light in the room is also dim.The first part of the room was used as a storage room, and I followed the sounds of their voices, sneaking past cardboard boxes of utensils and various holiday decorations, and filing cabinets filled with church records.There were shadows everywhere in the room, as if a group of priests dressed in fascists were holding a religious meeting inside, so I took off my glasses. As I approached, their volume also increased, but the sound quality was very poor, I still can't make out what they're talking about.Although he didn't yell, Ping was obviously quite angry, and I could hear the tone of hostility from his deep voice.The other's tone sounded like he was trying to calm down the other person's anger. There is a life-size nativity statue in the room, which occupies almost half of the room. The statue not only includes Joseph, the Virgin Mary and the Holy Child lying in the cradle, but also the background of the entire manger, including the sages. , a donkey, a sheep and an angel of good news.The entire manger is made of wood, and the bales of hay are real materials; the characters in it are made of iron wire and wooden strips wrapped in plaster, and the clothes and features they wear are all carefully drawn by the artist. The waterproof glaze paint gives them a heavenly glow even in dim light.Judging from the tools, paints and other materials scattered around, the entire statue is undergoing renovations. After the renovations, it will be covered with a cloth and put on display until next Christmas. Gradually I could pick out bits and pieces of Pinn's conversation with the strange man, and I continued to weave through the life-size statues, some of which were even taller than me.I found the overall view of the statue to be quite confusing, as the positions of the individual figurines had not yet been fixed, and their relative positions to each other were completely wrong.Among them, the face of a sage is buried in the mouth of a trumpet held high by an angel.Not only is the baby Jesus lying unattended in the cradle, but the cradle is also piled on the haystack beside it.The Virgin Mary sat aside, with a kind and caring smile on her face, but the target of her attention was not the Holy Child, but an inconspicuous iron bucket.Another sage gazes up at the rump of a camel. I made my way through this disorganized nativity, and towards the end I found an angel holding a lute for cover.I was in the shadows, peeping around the corner of the room to the right, about twenty feet away, Jesse.Standing in the light, Pinn yelled at another man who was standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the first floor of the church. "I warned you a long time ago," Ping En said with a loud voice almost screaming, "How many times have I warned you?" At first, I couldn't see the man because Pin was blocking me.He spoke in a very gentle tone, although I couldn't make out what he said. Pin looked disgusted, and began pacing excitedly up and down the room; ruffling his unkempt hair with one hand. Then I discovered that the second person turned out to be Tom.Father Eliot, Bishop of St. Bernard's Church. "You idiot, you stupid piece of shit," Pinn said in an angry and vicious tone, "you old bastard who talks nonsense about God all the time." Father Tom was about five feet tall, slightly stout, with a natural comedic face.Although I am not a member of him or any other church, I have spoken to him on several occasions and he seems to be a man of good nature, self-humor and a childlike zest for life.No wonder the members of his church love him so much. Pinn obviously didn't love him at all.He held up his bony hand and pointed a finger to the priest's nose: "You really disgust me, you self-righteous bastard." Apparently Father Tom had decided not to respond at all to his annoying humiliation. Ping paced back and forth, gesturing excitedly in the air with one hand raised high, as if struggling with frustration, trying to spell out his message in a way the priest could understand. "We won't take your business any more, and you won't get in the way of it. I don't need to threaten you with breaking your teeth, though I'd be more than happy to do so. I've never been a dancer, you know, But I'm sure it would be fun to dance on your stupid face. But I won't threaten you with the old trick again, no, not this time, because I think you just like to play it. Brave martyr Viniot Father, sacrifice for God. Oh, you like this one the most, don’t you think? As a martyr, even if you are tortured to death, you have no regrets.” Father Tom stood with bowed head, his eyes downcast, and his arms at his sides, waiting patiently for the storm to pass. The priest's indifference made Pin fly into a rage.He clenched his right hand into a sharp fist and struck hard on the palm of his left hand, as if he had to hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh to vent his anger. He said in a tone full of contempt and anger: "One day when you are at night When you wake up, you will find them all around you. Maybe they will surprise you while you are praying in the bell tower or kneeling on the altar, and you will surrender to them in ecstasy , suffer in morbid ecstasy, when the time comes you will be well Sacrifice for your god--that's just your own wishful thinking--sacrifice for your god, bah, you'll suffer all the way to heaven, you bloody ass, you hopeless idiot .You'll even pray for them, you'll pray for them even when they're tearing you apart, won't you, Father? " To this series of provocations, the chubby priest only responded with lowered eyes and silent acceptance. I tried not to make a sound, I had a lot of questions to ask Jesse myself.Ping, very many questions. Too bad there's no incinerator here, otherwise I could have grabbed his feet and forced him to answer my questions. Ping En stopped pacing and came to the priest with an oppressive manner. "I'm not threatening you anymore, Father. That's pointless and only adds to the thrill of your sacrifice for God. So, let me tell you, if you don't step aside again, we'll kill you." for your sister, beautiful Laura." The priest looked up into Pin's eyes, but remained silent. "I will kill her with my own hands." Ping En vowed, "Use this pistol." He pulled a pistol sideways from the inside of his suit jacket, apparently from a holster slung over his shoulder.Even at this distance and in the dim light, I could clearly see that the gun had an unusually long barrel. In self-defense, I also reached into the pocket of my jacket and grasped the grip of the Glock. "Let her go," the priest begged. "We'll never let her go, she's so... interesting. In fact," Pinn said in a wicked tone, "before I kill Laura, I'll rape her first, she's a beautiful woman after all, She's starting to get a little weird though." laura.Elliott, my mother's colleague and friend, was indeed a beautiful woman.Although I haven't seen her for a year, her appearance is still clearly in my mind.She should have found another job in San Diego by the time Graytown fired her.My father and I also received a letter from Laura when we were a little disappointed that she hadn't come to say goodbye in person.That was obviously just a cover, she was still here, forced to be locked up in one place and unable to move freely. When the priest finally spoke, he said, "May God help you." "I don't need help." Pinn retorted: "When I put the gun in her mouth, before I pull the trigger, I will tell her that her brother will be reunited with her soon, in hell Reunite with her, and I'll shoot her and blow her brains out." "God help me." "Did you say 'May God help me'?" Pinn asked in a deliberate sarcasm. "God help me? I don't think so. After all, you're not hers anymore, are you?" "Think of your sister's beautiful face." Ping said triumphantly, "Now imagine her distorted bones and blossoming head." He fired a shot at the ceiling.It turned out that the gun barrel was very long because of the built-in silencer. Therefore, apart from a sound like a fist sticking to a pillow, there was no deafening gunshot. At the same time, the bullet hit the metal lampshade hanging directly above Pinsi, making a clang.The fluorescent tubes themselves were shattered, only causing the chandelier to swing violently; the white light like ice knives swept across the room like a curved sickle for harvesting. Although Ping En stood motionless, with the rhythmic swing of the lights, his scarecrow-like figures rose and fell one after another, interlaced and overlapped, looking like a flock of myna birds flapping their wings. He then tucked the pistol into a holster concealed inside his coat. When the swinging lamp chain began to twist, the rings of the chain rubbed against each other, making a strange ringing sound, just like the chaotic sound of a wizard with lizard eyes wearing a blood-stained Taoist robe performing evil spells in front of the altar. The sharp sound and beating light and shadow seem to make Ping En extremely excited. He makes a strange sound like a beast, primitive and crazy, it sounds a bit like the sound of a cat meowing in the middle of the night, which makes you wake up from your sleep and can't figure it out. What is the sound of something.when that mixed with saliva As the cry came out of his mouth, he threw out his fist, and gave the priest two hard blows in the stomach. Seeing this, I immediately stood up from behind the statue of an angel playing the lute. I intended to draw out my pistol, but unfortunately it got caught in the inside of my pocket. Unable to resist these two heavy punches, the priest was so sick that he bent down, and Ping En took advantage of the situation and punched the priest hard on the back of the neck with his hands clasped. The priest fell to his knees, when I finally pulled the pistol out of my pocket. Ping En kicked the priest's ribs forcefully. I raise the pistol, activate the laser sight, and aim it at Pin's back.When the fatal red light spot shot on his shoulder, I had reached the point where I couldn't bear it anymore, but he suddenly relented and walked away from the priest. In silence, I listened to Pinn say to the priest, "If you can't help solve a problem, you're creating it. If you don't want to be a part of the future, get out of my way." Sounds like a farewell message.I turned off the laser sight and stepped back behind the angel statue, when Pinsi turned around, but he didn't see me. Accompanied by the swaying sound of the iron chain, Ping En left along the same road. In an instant, the unsettling noise seemed not to come from the chandelier on the ceiling, but from his body, as if locusts were in his blood. agitate.His shadow moved back and forth with the flickering light until he stepped out of the semi-arc of light and shadow, until he merged with the darkness and disappeared around the corner of the L-shaped room. I put the pistol back in my pocket. Under the cover of the statue, I secretly watched Father Elliott from the sidelines.He was lying at the bottom of the stairs, curled up in pain. I considered whether to step forward and ask about his injuries, and to get a behind-the-scenes look at the conflict, but I decided not to reveal my identity and stayed where I was. Anyone who is Jesse.Ping En's enemy should be my comrade - but I can't determine the priest's position.In spite of his opposition to Ping En, both of them were evidently players in a mysterious game, the nature of which I had been ignorant of until tonight.In any case, the two of them definitely share more in common than I do.If I appeared in front of the priest now, I can imagine that he would call Jesse loudly.Pin, and then that villain would come running back in no time, flapping his black suit jacket, his mouth vibrating, making that inhuman wail. Besides, the priest's sister was being held somewhere by Ping En and his accomplices.With her as a hostage, I am not afraid that the priest will not obey their orders, but I have nothing to do with it. The creepy sound of the iron chain twisting gradually became blurred, and the sickle-like light solitary also slowly stabilized at this time. Without swearing, not even a groan, the priest managed to get himself up from his knees.He couldn't straighten his body, he was hunched like an orangutan, and there was no comic color on his face or whole body. Holding on to the escalator with one hand, he struggled to climb up the steep and rattling stairs step by step . When he got to the top of the stairs, he'd turn off the lights in the basement, and I'd be in a darkness so dark that even St. Bernard himself would have been terrified.If you want to go, you have to take advantage of the present. Just before I detoured back from among the life-size statues, I had my first chance to look up at the painted eyes of the lute angel before me—I thought I saw a pair of blue eyes exactly like mine.I looked closely at the other facial features painted in plaster and glaze. Although the lighting was a little dim, I was pretty sure that this angel had the same face as me. This vivid resemblance immediately plunged me into a lot of doubts, and I tried hard to understand why this Christopher Snow angel was waiting for me in this place.I rarely get a chance to look at my face in the light, but I often see my reflection in the dim bedroom mirror, the light is similar to my bedroom at this time, there is no doubt that it is me, he is happy, I Unlike him, although it is somewhat idealized, it is absolutely me. Since that incident in the hospital parking lot, almost everything that has followed has been significant.I can no longer convince myself of pure coincidence, and wherever I go, incredible things happen one after another. If this goes on like this, sooner or later you will go crazy, thinking that all life is just a few A conspiracy carefully designed and manipulated by Shu Qingying.Anyone with a sane mind knows that humans are incapable of large-scale conspiracies, because human beings are characterized by their inability to pay attention to too many details, their tendency to panic, and their big mouths.On a cosmic scale, we have trouble even tying our own shoelaces.If there are any secret laws of the universe, they are not at the level we can get our hands on, or even beyond our comprehension. 神父走到台阶三分之一的地方。 我望着天使的肖像，近乎出神。 年复一年，每当圣诞假期来临时，我总会连续好几个夜晚骑自行车沿着圣相纳教堂所在的街道经过。这座圣婴诞生像一向被放置在教堂前方的草坪上，每一个塑像都安放在正确的位置，但是我从未在那里见过这尊天使像，或许我从未留意过他的存在。当然，比较可能的解释是，由于展示塑像的照明灯光太强，所以我从来不敢正服好好欣赏过它。这尊仿造克里斯多福。雪诺的天使塑像也许一直都在其中，只是我总是眯着眼将股转开。 此时神父已走到楼梯的一半，而且愈走愈快。 然后我突然忆起安琪拉。费里曼一直都是圣相纳教堂的教友，以她制作洋娃娃精湛的技术，无庸置疑的，他们定大力借重她的才华制作这座塑像。 谜底揭晓。 我还是不太明白她为什么要把我的验放在天使上。如果非得要将我放在马槽一景里，以我的长相，拿来当作驴子的脸最合适，她显然把我高估了。 虽然很不愿意，安琪拉的影像不禁浮现在我脑海。我最后一次见到她的时候，她躺在浴室的地板上，两眼盯着临死前最后的景象，仿佛凝望着比天边仙女座更遥远的某处，她的头往后倾倒在马桶里，喉咙已经被人割断。 我突然想到当我发现她的尸体时，忽略了一项很重要的线索。 当时，我整个人被泉涌而出的鲜血吓得倒退三步，满心的哀痛，加上极度的恐惧和惊吓，让我不敢对她多看一眼——就和多年来，我始终不敢欣赏矗立在教堂外的圣婴诞生像的道理一样。当一天和尚撞一天钟时我无意间目睹到一项关键性的线索，可是我没有下意识将它说下来，而今，那道线索却在我的潜意识里蠢蠢浮动。 当神父走到楼梯顶端时，他忽然放声大哭起来，他坐在楼梯上伤痛欲绝地哭泣。 我没有办法在脑海里看清安琪拉的脸，或许过一阵子之后我自然会想起来，到时候我就可以仔细地回想当时的情形，尽管我内心百般不愿意。 我悄悄地穿过圣婴诞生像，从天使到骆驼到东方三贤，从约瑟到驴子到圣母玛利亚，再从绵羊到另一只绵羊，然后经过档案整理拒和一箱箱的用具，转入L 形房间较窄短和空旷的另一侧，朝通往电机设备室的门前进。 神父充满哀伤的哭泣声在水泥墙内回荡，他的声音愈来愈微渺，到最后只剩下如鬼魂般的游丝永远无法穿透另一个世界的啜泣。 我心情沉重地想起母亲过世那一夜，父亲在仁爱医院太平间伤痛欲绝的景象。 我也不明白为什么，但是我总是将自己的哀伤掩藏起来。每当我想放声大哭的时候，我总是咬紧牙关直到把精力耗尽为止，然后把所有的哀痛咽下去，什么话也不说。 即使在睡梦中，我也照样紧咬牙关，直到颚骨疼痛地在半夜里醒来——这对我来说没什么大不了的。或许我只是不想在梦中泄露不愿为人知的情感吧。 在步出地下室的那一刻，我以为脸色惨白，眼睛像脓血胞的平思会纵身出现在我面前，或者从我脚底下的黑影飞出来，甚至像盒子里则杰克小丑那样从火炉冒出来。结果，我一路走出来都没看到他的踪影。 我一走出门外，欧森便从墓碑附近跑出来，那是它躲避平息的藏 身之处。从它的行为举止看来，平恩应该已经离去。 它用相当好奇的眼神望着我，或许这只不过是我的想象，于是我说：“我也不知道里面到底发生了什么事，我不知道该对这件事作何解释。” 它露出半信半疑的表情，它最擅长做出这种半信半疑的表情：率直的脸，坚定的眼神。 “是真的。”我坚称。 欧森陪着我回到停靠脚踏车的地方。为我看护交通工具的石头天使看起来一点也不像我。 躁动的狂风乍歇，取而代之的是轻拂的微风。四周的橡树也安静无声。 飘过银色月亮的几抹黑云也染上银白色的光彩。 一大群褐雨燕从教堂的屋顶俯冲而下，回到枝头上栖息，几只夜营也在这时回巢，仿佛平思一走，墓园才乍然回复原先神圣居所的地位。 我双手握着脚踏车的手把，望着成排的墓碑沉思，不自觉朗朗上口：“……他们四周的黑暗愈来愈密实，最后化为一片尘土。”那是路易斯。葛路克（Louise Gluck）的诗句，他是个伟大的诗人。 " 欧森唤了一声表示赞同。 “我不知道这到底该如何解释，但是我有预感在这件事尚未结束之前，还有许多人要送命，当中可能包括我们深爱的一些人，甚至连我也包括在内，或许还有你。” 欧森露出严肃的眼神。 我从墓园望向我熟悉的街道，突然间，那些街道看起来比任何墓地都来得阴森恐怖。 “走，我们喝啤酒去。”我建议。 我跨上单车，欧森兴奋地在草地上趴来趴去，在那一刻，我们暂时将死亡抛诸脑后。