Chapter 8 5-1

For a surfer like Bobby, this log cabin is simply the ideal place to live. The log house is located on the protruding bay point on the south side of Moonlight Bay, very close to the point, and is the only building within a three-quarter mile radius.Surrounded by crashing waves. Looking from the city, the lights of Bobby's house are very far away from the inner bay area. Foreign tourists often mistake it for a ship moored in the open sea.For long-term local residents, this wooden house is the best landmark. The cabin was built forty-five years ago, before many of the regulations governing coastal buildings, and it had never had neighbors, because in those days there was plenty of cheap land by the sea, and the wind and weather in most places were worse than those in the bay. The corner is suitable for living, and it is close to the urban area to facilitate the erection of various lines.After the division of the land by the sea was completed, the land on the hillside behind was immediately full, and then the California Coastal Commission issued an order to completely prohibit the construction of houses in the Bay Point area.

The log home has survived thanks to a grandfathered early clause.Years later, Bobby became the owner of the cabin.Bobby hoped that he could die in a very special place. He once said so. When he expressed his wish, the surroundings were filled with the sound of waves lapping on the shore. However, he planned to live until the middle of the twenty-first century, and even Live longer. There was no asphalt or gravel road leading to the corner, the only access being a broad stone path lined with shallow sand dunes loosely held in place by some tall, sparse weeds on the beach. The two bay corners in the north and south surrounding the bay are naturally formed terrains, like two curved peninsulas: they are both the remains of the outer line of a huge extinct volcano.The bay itself was a former crater, with layers of sea sand piled up after years of crashing waves.The sea at South Bay Point is about three hundred to four hundred feet wide, and narrows to about a hundred feet at the tip.

I got out of the car less than a third of the way from Bobby's house and started hiking.This section of the road was piled with soft sand less than a foot deep, and traversed the stone path like a small hill.Not an obstacle for Bobby's four-wheel-drive jeep, but crossing the road on a bicycle was a challenge. This section of the road is usually very peaceful, making it easy to lose yourself in contemplation.The Bay Point area is still quiet tonight, but it looks as strange as a rock vein on the moon. I kept looking back, for fear that someone might be chasing me from behind. The one-story log home has teak exterior walls and cedar shingle roofs.After being exposed to wind, sun, and rain, the wooden boards have a silver-gray luster under the moonlight, like a female body being caressed by a lover.On three sides of the house there are wide balconies furnished with rocking chairs and cradle chairs.There are no trees at all around, and the whole surface is only sand and short grass.All in all, it's not the up-close views that you want to see there, but the nighttime views of the sky, ocean and Moonlight Bay's twinkling lights, though downtown seems more than three-quarters of a mile away.

Taking the time to calm my nerves, I leaned my bicycle against the balcony railing by the front door and walked from the cabin to the top of the bay.There, Olsen and I stood on top of a sandy slope, the sand just ahead of us, dropping thirty feet down. The waves are so slow that one has to concentrate to see them, and each wave is not long.Although the last quarter moon has passed, it looks like the lowest tide. Due to the sea breeze, the tide is not very stable, and sudden winds often cause sudden changes in wind direction, although people in the urban area do not feel it at all. The wind blowing from the land to the sea is the best, which can smooth the sea.The land wind can stir up the waves, prolong the duration of the waves, and hollow out the waves before breaking through them.

Bobby and I have been surfing since we were eleven, with him during the day and the two of us at night.Many surfers like to do activities under the moonlight, but there are not many people who come out to do activities after the moon goes down.Bobby and I like to challenge the big waves in the dark night without even the stars. We went through the "three-legged cat" stage together, then became hopeless "surf monsters", and by the time we were fourteen, we had upgraded to "surf Nazis" and arrived at Barbie When I graduated from high school and I got the equivalent of a private school, we both had a good ability to surf.Now Bobby is not just a surfing master, he is simply a know-it-all in surfing. People from all over the world come to him to ask him when the big waves will appear.

God, I love the sea at night so much.It's a liquid distilled from darkness, and nowhere does it feel more at home than a surging black tide.The only light in the waves comes from the plankton whose bodies glow when disturbed, and sometimes they can give the waves a bright lime green glow, but the light doesn't please my eyes harm.On the night sea, I don't need to hide, I don't have to look away from anything. When I strolled back to the cabin, Bobby was already at the front door to greet me.As a result of our friendship, rheostats were installed in all the lights in his house; by this time he had dimmed them to candlelight.

I've never been able to figure out how on earth he knew I was coming, neither Orson nor I made a sound, but Bobby just knew. Even on a March day like this, he's still barefoot, though he's wearing jeans instead of all-over swim shorts—a concession he's made for the season that includes adding a pair to his short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt. A white cotton shirt with long sleeves and a round neck. The pattern on the shirt is full of colorful and peculiar parrots and palm trees. As I stepped up the balcony steps, Bobby gave me a shaka gesture, a surfer's customary gesture that's far simpler than the "sta Trek" handshake exchanged, Their gestures may also be designed after Shaka.The Shaka gesture is actually very simple. Bend the three fingers in the middle down to the palm, stretch the thumb and little finger to the sides naturally, and then wave your hands lazily.It has a lot of meanings - including hello, how are you, take it easy, have a good surf, etc., all of which are meant to express friendliness, and people will never take your gesture as a humiliation, unless you are gesturing to the person Not a surfer, but a gang member in Los Angeles, that's another matter, and maybe he will be shot to death.

I couldn't wait to tell him everything that happened after sunset, but Bobby was a man of leisure.If his attitude had been more relaxed, he might have died long ago.Except when surfing, he likes a quiet life, and it can even be said to be very cherished.If you're going to be bobby.If you are a friend of Holloway, you must try to understand his outlook on life: everything that happens half a mile from the beach has nothing to do with him, and no matter how serious the occasion is, it cannot be a reason to force him to wear a suit and tie.He is better at languid conversation than chatter, and prefers indirect rather than direct expression.

"Throw me a bottle of beer?" I asked right away. Bobby replied, "Corona, Heinegan, or Ruwinborough?" "Give me a Coke." As they walked through the living room, Bobby asked in passing, "Is the guy with the tail going to have a couple of drinks tonight?" "It wants a Heineken." "Light or strong?" "Strong." I replied. "Mr. Dog must have suffered a lot tonight." "Lead into battle." The cabin has a spacious living room, an office where Bobby keeps track of big waves from around the world, a bedroom, a kitchen and bathroom.Inside, the walls are all polished teak in a deep, rich colour, along with large glass windows with sweeping views, stone floors and comfortable furniture.The decoration of the house, except for the natural filling, is limited to eight Pias.Corrick's superb watercolor paintings, Bobby still loves her deeply, although she decided to leave him for a while alone in Waimea Bay on the north shore of Oahu.She calls it her spiritual home; the local harmony and beauty give her the peace of mind she needs to decide whether to accept her fate.

I don't know what that means, and neither does Bobby.Pia said she was away for a month or two, but it turned out that three years had passed in the blink of an eye.Most of the waves in Waimea Bay come from the deep sea, and the waves hit as high as a wall. Pia said that the waves there are like translucent emeralds. Sometimes I dream of walking on that stretch of sand, listening to the roaring waves. Once a month, Bobby calls Pia, and sometimes Pia calls Bobby. Sometimes they talk for just a few minutes, other times they talk for hours.She's not dating other men, and she really loves Bobby.Pia is one of the kindest, gentle and intelligent people I have ever met.I've never been able to understand why she did it, and neither did Bobby.As the days passed, he waited patiently.

Bobby pulled a Coke from the kitchen refrigerator and handed me the bottle. I unscrewed the cap and took a gulp, no lemon, no salt, no pretense. He opened a bottle of Heineken for Orson, "Half a bottle or a bottle?" I replied: "Tonight's battle is too intense." Although I have a stomachful of news to tell urgently, I can't help being deeply immersed in the tropical melody of Barbie's Paradise. He poured an entire bottle of beer into a frangipani bowl on the floor that was usually reserved for Orson.ROZE BUD is written on the bowl in bold letters, alluding to the writing on the kid's sleigh in Orso Wells's book Ctizen Kane. I don't mean to lead my canine friend to drink too much, he doesn't drink beer every day, and usually shares a bottle with me.Besides, it has its pleasures, and I don't want to deprive it of those pleasures.Thinking about its burly weight, how could it be easily drunk with a bottle of beer. However, if you dare to give it two bottles, you can be sure that it will refresh the definition of "party beast" for you. While Orson was licking his Heineken, Bobby opened himself a Coke and leaned on the refrigerator. I leaned against the counter next to the sink.There is a dining table with chairs next to it, but in the kitchen Bobby and I are used to talking sideways. There are many similarities between us, the same height, the same weight, and the same body type. Although he had very dark brown hair and eyes that were as black as a crow and turned blue, we were often mistaken for brothers.We both have quite a few surf calluses too, and when Bobby was leaning against the fridge, he would absently rub the sole of one foot against the callus on the instep of the other from time to time when he was leaning against the fridge. Lumpy calcium deposits; usually caused by pressing on the toes and insteps as you paddle forward on your stomach.We have it on our knees too, and some on Bobby's ribs below. Of course, my skin is not tan, not like Barbie.He's not just bronze, he looks like a sun god in all brown.Throughout the year, especially in summer, he is like a slice of toast spread evenly with butter.He is used to mambo with melanin melanin, maybe one day we will die under the same sun, the sun that he embraced passionately and I desperately avoided. "There were a couple of unusual waves out there today," he said. "Six-foot-tall, perfectly shaped waves." "It seems to have calmed down now." "Yeah, it fades away after sunset." We chatted over beers, and Orson happily licked the beer from his bowl. "So," said Bobby, "your father died." I nodded, Sasha must have told him. "Okay," he said. It wasn't that Bobby was being cruel or inconsiderate, he meant that his father would no longer have to suffer from his illness. Our conversations mean so much with so few words that people often mistake us for brothers, not just because we are similar in height, weight, and build. "You got to the hospital just in time, so everything is cool." "yes." He didn't ask me how I felt because he knew it without asking. "After being in the hospital;" he said, "you made some guest appearances in the black choir." I run my sooty hand over my face. "Someone murdered Angela Freeman, and tried to set fire to her house to cover up the evidence. Even I almost went to heaven with her." "Who is someone?" "If only I knew, it's the same people who stole my father's body after all." Bobby drank some beer without saying a word. "They killed a hitchhiking bum and traded his body for his father's. You probably don't want to know about that nasty stuff." In that split second, the intellect of minding his own business and the drive for curiosity weighed on his scales. "If necessary, I can always forget what I have heard." Orson took a break, beer tends to make his intestines flatulence. When it wagged its tail and looked up at Bobby pleadingly, Bobby said, "Not for you, Momolian." "I'm starving," I said. "And it's filthy, go take a shower and get some of my clothes to wear while I make some quesadillas." "I thought I would wash it off after going out for two laps." "It's freezing cold outside." "It feels like about sixty degrees Fahrenheit." "I'm talking about the temperature of the water. Listen to me. The water is too cold. It would be better to take a hot shower." "Olsen also needs a facelift." "Take it in and wash it together, there are plenty of towels anyway." "You're such a good buddy," I said. "Yeah, how can a devout Christian like me surf? Why not just walk on the sea instead?" After spending a few minutes in Bobbyland, I feel so much more relaxed, I think I can slowly cut into the topic. For me, Bobby is not only a close friend, but also my tranquilizer. Suddenly, he stood up straight in front of the refrigerator and listened. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Someone." I heard nothing but the dying wind.With the windows closed and the waves calm, I couldn't even hear the waves, but I noticed that Orson was alert too. Bobby walked out of the kitchen, wanting to see who the visitor was, and I quickly stopped him: "Brother." Then I handed him the Glock pistol. He looked hesitantly at the pistol, then at me. "Take it easy." "The bum, they even gouged his eyes out." "Why did you do that?" I shrugged ignorantly, "Just to prove they're capable of that?" Bobby thought about what I said, and then he took out a key from his jeans pocket, and opened the cabinet where the broom was kept. The cabinet had never been locked, and he took out a pneumatic broom from the long and narrow cabinet. shotgun. "This is new," I said. "The best eviction tool." This is not the usual way of life in Bobby Paradise, and I couldn't help but turn to him and say, "Take it easy." Olson and I followed Bobby through the living room to the balcony at the front door, where the sea breeze smelled faintly of seaweed. The log house faces north.There were no ships in the bay at this time—at least we couldn't see any lights.Looking to the east, the city lights along the coast are twinkling, and the lights of Wanjia in the mountains are connected to form a sea of ​​lights. At the end of the corner around the wooden house, there are sand dunes and weeds covered with silvery moonlight.There was no one in sight. Olson walked to the steps and stood stiffly. He raised his head and looked forward, sniffing the air endlessly, as if eager to sniff out another more interesting smell from the smell of seaweed. Bobby presumably only acted on his sixth sense, and he didn't even have to watch Olsen's actions to prove his intuition. "Stay here and don't move, and if I kick anyone out, tell him not to leave until we authorize it on his parking ticket." He walked down the steps barefoot, crossing the dune and looking down at the sand from the steep slope.Someone may be lying on the slope, using the slope as a cover to peep at the cabin.Bobby walked along the protruding slope to the apex of the bay, while checking whether there were suspicious people on the slope, and at the same time kept turning his head to watch the movement in the area between the cabin and the cabin. Shotgun in both hands, ready to fire, he searches with almost military proficiency.It's obviously not the first time he's experienced anything serious and will be the first to tell me. I suspect he has something to hide from me. Olsen turned away from the steps, and squeezed his nose between the two railings on the east side of the balcony. Instead of looking west toward where Bobby was, he watched intently eastward along the bay toward the city. There was a low roar from the depths. I followed the direction it was looking at.Even with a full moon and no clouds to obscure the moonlight, I still couldn't see anything. With his vocal cords working steadily, Orson's low growl continued. Looking west, Bobby has reached the apex, but continues to move along the top of the slope.Although I can still see him, in my line of sight, he looks like just a gray figure in the dark sea and sky. Someone might give Bobby a sudden, hard knife while I was looking east, and he might be cut down before he could scream, and I might not even notice it.Therefore, the happy shadow walking back from the apex along the south side of the bay point to the cabin at this moment could be anyone. I said to the growling Orson, "You're scaring me again." I looked as far as I could, but I still couldn't see any figures or suspicious threats to the east.Ourson's eyes were still fixed in that direction.I only saw tall and sparse weeds swaying in the wind.At this time, the wind is so weak that it can't even blow the sand accumulated on the dunes. Ourson stopped growling and thumped down the balcony steps like he was chasing prey. As a result, it hopped into the sand a few feet to the left of the stairs, raised one hind foot, and let its bladder go. When it returned to the balcony, the sides of its body visibly trembled.It looked east again, but instead of returning to its original growl, it murmured nervously. This sudden change can't help but make me uneasy. To be honest, I would rather hear it barking excitedly. I crossed the balcony backwards and walked to the west corner of the cabin, trying to keep Bobby out of my sight as much as possible while watching the movement in the front yard—if that was indeed Bobby.However, it didn't take long for him to disappear behind the house along the southern slope. When I realized that Orson was no longer crooning, I looked back to see that it was gone. I thought it must have been chasing something, but it was amazing how quietly it ran away.Nervously, I crossed the balcony back to the stairs along the same path, and I couldn't see Olsen's figure anywhere in the moonlit sand. Later, I found it standing at the half-closed front door, peering cautiously out of the house.It turned out that it had retreated to the living room and hid by the threshold.Its ears were attached to its head, its head was lowered, and all the hair on its neck stood on end, as if it had been electrocuted.It neither roared nor groaned, but the sides of its body kept shaking. Ourson has a lot of qualities - oddly enough, just one of them - but he's definitely not a coward.Whatever it is avoiding must be something to be afraid of. "What's the matter, buddy?" I asked. It didn't even look at me to show that it listened to me, but just stared intently at the desolate dunes outside the balcony.Although it pulled back its black lips to show its teeth, it did not growl.It obviously no longer has the intention of attacking, and the bared teeth are only showing extreme disgust and disgust. When I looked back to observe the movement around me, I suddenly caught a glimpse of a moving object from the corner of my eye. It looked vaguely like a person running in a half-squat, running from the east side past the wooden house to the west side. Very nimble, with long strides and nimble strides across the nearest mound of dunes by the crest, only about forty feet from me. At that moment, I wondered if that person could be Ping En, no way, it's impossible for Orson to be so afraid of Jesse.Pinn or any guy like him. I walked across the balcony, down three flights of wooden steps, and stepped on the sand, trying to take another close look at the surrounding sand dunes.Scattered weeds rise and fall like waves in the breeze, and the lights on the distant shore flicker in the middle of the waves hitting the shore. Apart from this, there is no movement. A narrow strand of cloud fell from the moon's chin like a tattered bandage from the shriveled face of a pharaoh's mummy. Maybe that running figure was just a shadow of a cloud, maybe, but I don't think so. I looked back toward the open front door of the cabin. Orson had retreated far behind the threshold, far back in the living room.It was the first time he had felt so uncomfortable at night. I also feel uncomfortable all over. The stars, the moon, the sand, the weeds and a sense of being watched. Someone was watching my every move from the crest of the drop-down beach, the gap between dunes and dunes, or the cracks in the grass.The gazing gaze has weight, and this gaze is like wave after wave sweeping towards me, and it is not a gentle wave, it feels like being hit by a huge wave as high as two people. At this moment, it wasn't just Orson who felt the creeps. Just as I began to worry about Bobby's safety, he suddenly appeared from the corner on the east side of the cabin.He was walking towards me, his bare feet covered in sand, not looking at me, his eyes constantly darting from dune to dune. I said, "Olson was scared to death." "Unbelievable," Bobby said. "Scared to death from head to toe, it's never been like this, my dog ​​always looks like he's eaten the guts of a leopard." "Well, if it's really scared," said Bobby, "I don't blame him. I was almost scared to death myself." "Someone's there." "More than one." "Who are they?" Bobby didn't answer, he adjusted the posture of holding the gun, and continued to maintain the state of being ready to shoot, while carefully observing the surrounding night. "Have they been here before?" "Ok" "Why? What do they want?" "I do not know either." "Who are they?" I asked again and again. Just like the previous time, he didn't want to answer the question. "Bobby?" A huge white mist hundreds of feet high gradually appeared on the dark sea surface on the west side, and a white mist whitewashed by moonlight extended to the north and south sides at the same time.It was unknown whether it would move inland or stay where it was all night, but whatever it was doing, there was always a quiet force pushing forward in front of it.A colony of gannets fluttered silently low over the peninsula, disappearing into the dark waters of the bay.When the last trace of the sea breeze was still, the slender weeds also hung down and remained motionless.I could finally hear the waves lapping slowly on the shore more clearly, although the rustling sound was softer than the murmur that lulls one to sleep. A strange call of the Abby bird came from the top of the bay, piercing the deep silence.Another answering cry, rising from the sand dunes near the cabin, sounded as shrill and terrifying as the previous one. I can't help thinking of the Indians calling each other's secret signals at night in old westerns. Before launching an attack on the pioneers' stagecoach group, they usually imitate the calls of birds and jackals to coordinate their attacks. Bobby fired a shotgun into the adjacent dune, nearly threatening to rupture my aorta. The echoes of the gunshots bounced back from the bay and faded away. When the last echo was also absorbed by the fog to the west, I couldn't help asking: "Why did you shoot?" Bobby didn't answer my question right away, he just cleared out the shell and listened carefully to the movement around him. I remembered Pinn deliberately shooting his pistol at the church ceiling, reinforcing him against Tom.Intimidation by Father Elliott. Finally, when the Abiu-like cry stopped completely, Babi murmured to himself: "Maybe it's not very necessary, but let them taste the taste of lead bullets flying over their heads once in a while." It doesn't matter." "Who are they? Who are you trying to warn?" I've always known him to be a mysterious figure, but he's never been this unpredictable. The movement near the sand dunes still grabbed his full attention. After nearly a minute of mental stalemate, Bobby suddenly turned his head and looked at me, as if he just remembered that I was standing beside him. "Let's go in. You wash off that awful Denzel-washhigh disguise first, and I'll get some fucking tacos for a midnight snack." I know it's not appropriate to continue asking questions now.Either he was trying to be mysterious to pique my curiosity, or he was trying to solidify his reputation as an oddball baby, or he had a good reason to keep it from me.In either case, he was now in that unreachable barbie-forbidden place, as if he were standing on a surfboard through a huge wave that rolled into a hollow. When I followed him into the house, the feeling of being watched was still with me.Those unexplained stares made the hairs on my back like hermit crabs walking across a flat sandy beach.My eyes circled the night again before closing the front door, but the intruders remained in the shadows. Barbie's bathroom was both spacious and luxurious, with a solid black granite floor, a vanity, exquisite and beautiful pumped wood cabinets, and large mirrors with beveled edges one after another. The shower room is big enough for four people and just right for a dog bath. Cnuky Chilins, who built the log cabin long before Bobby was born, is a genuinely good man, but he is very addicted to the enjoyment of life.This four-person, marble-lined foam tub diagonally across from the shower is one example. Maybe Corky, whose real name was Toshiro Tagawa before he changed his name, likes to fantasize about bathing with three beach beauties, or maybe he's just an extremely clean person. Back then, Jun Lang was still a young man—in 1941, only 21 years old, a brilliant student who had just graduated from the Faculty of Law—he was unfortunately trapped in Manzanar (Manzanar), that is, World War II Concentration camp where countless loyal Japanese American soldiers were imprisoned.After the war, anger and humiliation turned him into an active activist, desperately seeking justice for the oppressed.Five years later, he is disillusioned with the possibility of achieving fair justice and deeply aware that the so-called oppressed, given the chance, can also become self-serving oppressors. So he turned to specialize in personal injury law. Relying on his ability to learn like a huge wave rolled up by a typhoon in the South Pacific, he soon became the top personal injury lawyer in the entire San Francisco area. After another four years, he resolutely left the legal profession with the considerable bank investment of these years.In 1956, when he was thirty-six years old, he built this wooden house on the corner of the bay on the south side of Moonlight Bay, and spent a lot of money to connect underground water, electricity and telephone lines.With the last trace of dry humor, he tried not to turn his cynicism into bitterness, and Tagawa Toshiro officially changed his name to Koji from the day he moved into the cabin.Collins, and then spent his life with the beach and the vast ocean. He had calluses on his toes and the top of his feet, as well as his kneecaps and below his ribs. In order to fully enjoy the sound of churning waves, Corky does not always wear earplugs when surfing, and thus slowly develops nasopharyngeal cancer; every time the inner ear canal is filled with cold water, it involuntarily contracts, and develops a benign lung over time. Tumors that block the ear canal.By the time he was fifty, Corky was suffering from severe intermittent hard of hearing in his left ear.Every surfer has the experience of running nose water after rolling in a big wave. You have to touch out the salty sea water inhaled by your throat and nose when you are hit by the waves like a volcanic eruption; a similar situation usually happens when you wear a three-point bikini. Fire-breathing beauties in swimsuits while talking.After two decades of crashing waves and subsequent Niagara-like runny nose, Corky developed nasopharyngeal cancer, necessitating surgery to relieve headaches and restore patency to the nasopharyngeal cavity.On the anniversary of the operation, he would hold a banquet to celebrate the unblocked nasal cavity.Years of exposure to the sun and salt water had caused Corky's eyes to develop what's known as "surfer's eye" - corneal pterygium, a thickening of the conjunctiva over the white of the eye and eventually the cornea.His eyesight gradually deteriorated. Nine years ago, he passed away without an eye surgery - he didn't die of skin cancer. Sharks attack, but are killed by the sea himself.Although Corky was sixty-nine years old at the time, he was still surfing in the wind and waves, with a twenty-foot mad dog pie and rumbling waves, even a young man who was only a third of his age dared not take it easy try.According to eyewitnesses, he was enjoying himself alone, screaming excitedly from time to time. Several times, he was rushed into the air by the waves, and he tried to gallop in the extremely terrifying straight waves as he competed with the waves. As a result, he was empowered by big waves again and again—until he finally succeeded in avenging his shame, but was thrown into the sea by an overwhelming wave.A huge wave of that size can weigh several thousand tons, and a large amount of water hits it, no matter how hard people struggle, it will be useless. Even a good swimmer will inevitably be trapped at the bottom of the water for more than half a minute without being able to breathe, or even longer time.Unfortunately, Corky surfaced at the wrong time, and was immediately hit by the next big wave as soon as he emerged from the water. He was thrown into the water twice in a row and drowned. Surfers from north to south in California agreed that Corky's life was a good one, and a well-deserved one.Corky didn't complain about the nasopharyngeal carcinoma of the ear, nose and throat, and the pterygium in both eyes. The sum of these ailments was not only better than boring heart disease, but also more interesting than spending a lifetime in the office in exchange for a good income.Surfing is life and death, and the power of nature is boundless. Thinking of Corky's enviable life in this world, I can't help but feel a throbbing in my heart. For many people, this world brings them more troubles than anything else. Bobby inherited the log house. Bobby was quite shocked by the development of the matter.We've known Corky since we were both eleven.Collins, we used to explore the end of the bay on our bikes with our surfboards in our arms. Every little three-legged cat eager to gain experience and improve his surfing skills is his protégé. He never put on the air of a landowner, but everyone respected him as if he were a landowner on the coast from Santa Barbara to Santa Cruz.He's only impatient with troublemakers who cut through good waves so that everyone can't play. He hates people who think surfing is like driving on the highway, and he doesn't like people who daydream all day long, but He was not just a good friend, but an inspiration to all of us who love the ocean and are in tune with it.Corky had a large circle of friends and admirers, many of whom he had known for over thirty years, so it was a source of bewilderment that he left his entire estate to Bobby, whom he had only known for eight years. To explain why, the man in charge of the estate handed Bobby a letter from Corky, a masterpiece of brevity. Bobby: What most people value, you don't.This is wisdom. You are ready to give your head, your heart, and your soul to all that is important to you.This is noble. We only have the sea, love, and time.The sea is a gift from God.With your own actions, you are sure to find true love.So I give my time to you. Corky saw in Bobby a kind of innate wisdom that, though he was a boy then, he already had a realization that he hadn't seen until he was thirty-seven.He wanted to express his respect and encouragement for that wisdom.It is rare for him to have such a heart, may God bless him. Bobby finished his freshman summer at Graytown College, paid his taxes, formally inherited the log house and a small cash sum, and then quit his studies, much to the fury of his parents.He doesn't care about his parents' anger, after all, the beach and sea are his, and his future is his own. In addition, his parents were either angry about this matter or dissatisfied with that matter all their lives, and Bobby has long been immune.They run and edit local newspapers, and always present themselves as crusaders for public policy reform, because they feel that the majority of the population is either too selfish and unjust, or too ignorant and stupid to know what to do to improve their society.利益。他们希望巴比能将他们这份“经营当代伟大刊物的狂热'发扬光大，但是巴比只想逃离家人叫骂的理想主义，逃离所有骨子里掩饰不住的嫉妒、积怨和自我中心。巴比想要的只是平平静静地过日子。他的父母也渴望平静，他们要我们整个星球，要地球这座大太空船的每个角落都充满和平，问题是他们连自己家门内的和平都无法摆平。 靠着那栋木屋和少许的本钱，巴比开创了他现在赖以维生的事业，而且找到了他梦寐以求的平静。 每一个时钟的两个指针都像是一把大剪刀，将我们一点一滴地修剪；每一个数位题示的计时器，都一闪一闪地将我们引向爆破。寸金难买寸光阴。事实上，寇基赠与巴比的不是时间，而是一个可以不需要仰赖时钟，也不必意识到时钟度日的宝贵机会，让生命走得更温柔顺畅，减低被时间修剪的愤怒。 我的父母试着给予我同样的礼物。不过，由于我的XP症，时间滴滴答答的声音总是在我耳际环绕。或许巴比偶尔也会听见这样的声音。或许没有人能完完全全摆脱时间的意识。 其实，欧森那一夜之所以失魂落魄，沮丧地遥望星辰，又拒绝我任何抚慰，或许正是因为对自己生命一点一滴流逝的体认。人们总是说动物的头脑简单，根本不可能想到它们有一天会死的事实。但是无可否认地，每一只动物都有与生俱来的求生意志和意识到危险的本能。如果它们懂得努力求生，它们就应该了解什么是死亡，无论科学家和哲学家是怎么说的。 这不是新世纪多愁善感的言论，这只是一般的常识。 此刻，在巴比的冲澡间里，当我替欧森洗刷身上的煤灰时，它还是一直不停地发抖，当时的水很暖和，它的颤抖显然和洗澡本身无关。 等到我用好几条毛巾将狗的身体擦干，又拿琵雅留下来的吹风机将它的毛吹蓬的时候，它才停止发抖。我穿上巴比的一条蓝色牛仔裤，和一件长袖的蓝色棉质休闲衬衫，欧森则如雾蒙蒙的玻璃看了好几次，好像很担心外面有什么怪物似的，可是它的自信心显然正在逐渐恢复当中。 我用纸巾擦拭我的皮夹克和棒球帽。它们还是带有浓厚的烟味，帽子的味道尤其严重。微光中，我只能隐约看见帽檐上方的文字“神秘列车”。我用大拇指的圆顶抹拭这几个绣上去的字，脑海里浮现当初发现这项帽子的地点，那个不见天日的水泥密室位于卫文堡最荒凉的区域内。 Angela.费里曼说过的话再度在我耳畔响起，当时我说卫文堡已经关闭了一年半，她则回应我的话说：“有些事情不会死，也不能死，无论我们多么希望它们死。” 我的记忆接着回到安琪拉家的浴室，她惨死时惊煌的双眼和无声的“噢”嘴形赫然浮现脑脑。一种强烈的直觉再度将我紧紧套住，我忽略了她身上的一个重要线索。但是就像上次一样，我愈努力召唤记忆中她那被鲜血溅满的脸，我的印象不仅没有变清楚，反而愈来愈模糊。 我们把事情搞砸了，克里斯……比我们从前闯过的祸还要严重得多……已经没有任何办法可以……挽回已经犯下的错。 包裹着鸡肉丝、生菜、起司和烧沙酱（salsa ）的墨西哥饼美味可口极了。这次我们不斜靠在洗碗槽旁，改坐在厨房的餐桌上一边大快朵颐，一边拿啤酒将食物灌下肚子里。 虽然萨莎早先已经喂过欧森，但是它还是替自己乞讨到几块鸡肉，不过它休想再从我这里骗到另一瓶海尼根。 巴比已经将收音机打开，转到萨莎主持节目的频道，节目刚刚才开始。已经是午夜了。她没有提到我，也没有介绍要将这首歌献给谁，但是她播放的是克里斯·艾萨客（Chris Isaak ）的“心形的世界” （Heart Shaped World），因为那是我最喜欢的歌曲。 我将今晚发生的一切尽量浓缩地说给巴比听，包括在医院停车场、寇克殡仪馆的火葬室，以及在殡仪馆后山被一大群看不见脸孔的人追赶的事。 听完这一连串的事情经过，他只淡淡地问我一句：“来点塔巴斯客辣椒酱吗？” "What did you say?" “让墨西哥饼更够味。” “不要。”我说：“现在这样已经很够味了。” 他从冰箱取出一罐塔巴斯客辣椒酱，洒了几滴在他已经吃了一半的墨西哥饼上。 此刻萨莎正在播放克里斯·文萨客的“两颗心”（Two Hearts）。 我忍不住一再地往餐桌旁的窗外观望，心想不知道有没有人在外面监视我们。起先，我以为巴比没有这种感觉，后来我才发现，他每隔一阵子就会聚精会神地向黑漆漆的窗外凝视，虽然他始终刻意摆出一副轻松自在的样子。 “要不要把百叶窗拉下来？”我建议。 “不用。这样做反而欲盖弥彰。” 我们继续装出一副一点也不受威胁的模样。 "Who are they?" 他默不作声，但是我总算等到他开口，他最后说了一句：“我也不是很确定。” 那不是真话，但是我决定放他一马。 我继续描述今晚的经历，为了不想冒被巴比嘲讽的危险，我故意不提那只猫引我走出山路的事，但是我向他描述排在下水道最后两个台阶上的骷髅头。我告诉他我看见史帝文生局长和那个戴着耳环的光头先生交头接耳，还有在床上发现这把手枪的事。 “好家伙。”他用赞叹的语气看着枪说。 “老爸特地选了有雷射瞄准器的。” “帅。” 有时候，巴比可以稳若磐石，他会沉静到让你怀疑他到底有没有在听你说话。他孩提的时候就偶尔会这样，但是随着年纪愈大，这种近乎不可思议的泰然自若就愈根深蒂固。我费了好大的劲将这样一段惊人离奇探险故事告诉他，而他的反应却跟听完篮球比赛一样。 我瞥了漆黑的窗外一眼，心想或许外头有人正拿着枪对准我，搞不好我正在夜视瞄准器的准星上。然后我又想到，假如他们有心要枪杀我们，大可以趁我们在外面沙丘上的时候将我们统统解决。 我将在安琪拉。费里曼家里发生的每一件事告诉巴比。 他略带嘲讽地说：“杏桃白兰地。” “我没有多喝。” 他说：“那玩意儿，喝个两杯，包准你和海豹聊天。”那是冲浪人对呕吐的代号。 等我讲到杰西。平恩在教堂威胁汤姆神父的时候，我们已经各自吃了三个墨西哥饼。他又去包了两个，端来桌上。 萨莎在播放“毕业日”（GradUation Day）。 巴比说：“这可是标准的克里斯。艾萨客特别节目。” “她是为我放的。” “是，我还以为克里斯。艾萨客正在电台拿着枪抵着她的头呢。” 接着我们两个人一句话也没说，一直到我们吃完最后一轮墨西哥饼为止。 巴比最后问我一个问题，他唯一想知道的是安琪拉说的一句话：“所以她告诉你那是一只猴子但又不是一只猴子。” “她确切的用字，假如我还记得的话，是……'它外表看起来像一只猴子，它是一只猴子，是又不是，那就是问题所在。”'“她似乎把口风守得很紧？” “她那时心情很沮丧，很惶恐，极度地惶恐，但是她并没有醉。而且，有人为了堵她的嘴不惜将她杀害，可见她要告诉我的话一定隐含什么内幕。” 他点点头继续喝他的啤酒。 他安静了好久，我最后终于忍不住开口：“现在该怎么办？” "you ask me?" “难不成我在和狗说话？” “别管闲事。”他说。 “什么？” “把这件事忘了，继续过你的日子。” “我就知道你会这么说。”我坦白地说。 “既然这样你干嘛问我？” “巴比，或许我母亲的死不是意外。” “听起来不仅仅是或许。” “而且我父亲的癌症不仅仅是癌症那么单纯。” “难道你要走上报复一途？” “怎么可以让那些杀人犯逍遥法外。” “当然可以。逍遥法外的杀人犯到处都是。” “不管怎么说，就是不应该让他们得逞。” “我没有说他们应该。我只是说他们常常得逞。” “你知道吗，巴比，或许人生不仅仅是冲浪，性爱，食物和啤酒而已。” “我从来没有说人生就是如此。我只说过人生应当如此。” “反正，”我凝望着漆黑的窗外说：“我不怕。” 巴比叹了一口气，身体向后往椅背一靠。“比方说，你一直在等着上浪，情况十分壮观，大浪在海岸激起，一波波二十尺高的浪紧接而来，那是对你极限的挑战，但是你知道你的能力可以勉强应付，结果整个过程中你始终像个救生圈似的待在起点，那样才叫做懦弱。