Chapter 5 Chapter 3 Providence (2)

7 When Rosie returned to the sisters' home, she found Pol sitting on a folding chair in the reception room.She had a book on her lap, and her attention was on Gert Kenshaw and a scrawny little fellow named Cynthia who had been here only ten days.Cynthia wears a gorgeous and tacky punk hairstyle, half green, half orange, and she looks like she weighs more than forty kilograms at most.A piece of Bundy is awkwardly stuck to her left ear, and her shirt has a bold line: Never give up!Every time she moved her body, her teacup-sized breasts and strawberry-colored nipples were exposed from the oversized short sleeves.She was panting and sweaty, but looked ecstatically happy.

Gert Kenshaw was very different from Cynthia.Rossi would never be able to figure out whether Gert Kenshaw was a consultant, a long-term resident of the sisters' home, or just a friend of the board.Every time she came here, she only showed up a few times, stayed for a few days, and then disappeared.There are two treatment sessions a day at the Sisters' House, and residents here are required to attend four sessions a week.She often sat in the treatment group, but Rosie never heard her speak.She is tall and big, at least six feet one, with broad and soft dark brown shoulders, breasts as big as melons, and a big belly, and the three X oversized T-shirt was worn out of shape by her, covering the lower body. A pair of sweatpants that he never tires of wearing, and a messy curly braid on his head.If you don't count her hard biceps and fat, elastic thighs under her old sweatpants, and her huge breasts that keep bouncing up and down when she walks, she looks like the kind of sitting. Chewing snacks at the dry cleaners and flipping through the latest issue of Domestic Inquiry is no different.The only time Rosie heard her talk a little more was in seminars held in such reception rooms.

Gert taught self-preservation to all interested among the resident women of the Sisters House.Rosie had already taken several lessons, and planned to practice at least one of the six ways Gert called the most powerful ways to subdue a man a day.She wasn't good at it, and she couldn't imagine what it would do if she practiced it on a real man, like the guy with the crimson beard on the porch of Pooh's Bar.Still, she liked Gert a lot.What she especially likes is the big dark-skinned face. Whenever she gives lectures, she will change the face that is as permanent as a clay pot into a lively, meaningful and intelligent expression. She has become beautiful.Once Rosie asked her if she taught taekwondo, judo, karate, or something else.Gert just shrugged and said, "It's just a hodge-podge."

The ping-pong table was lifted aside, and the floor of the reception room was upholstered in gray.There are eight or nine folding chairs against the pine fence between the old stereo and outdated television, and everything here is pale green and pink.Pole was alone in the chair.She tied her hair behind her head with a piece of blue cotton yarn, her knees were neatly leaning together, and the book was still on her knees.She looked exactly like a school belle picked out at a high school prom.Rosie sat next to her, resting the carefully bound canvas on her lap. Gert, who weighs about 270 pounds, and Cynthia, who weighs less than a third of her weight, stood facing each other.Cynthia was laughing while panting heavily.Gert remained silent, kept calm, slightly bent the middle part of his body where the waist should be, and stretched his arms forward.Rosie watched them with interest and a little unease, as if she were watching a squirrel, a chipmunk to be precise, cautiously approaching a large black bear.

"I'm really worried about you," Pol said. "I actually thought about having a dating party." "I had a fantastic afternoon. How are you? Feeling better?" "Much better. What's the matter with you? Looks radiant." "Really?" "I'm not kidding you. Can you tell me a little bit? What's going on?" "Oh, so," said Rose, counting on her fingers as she spoke, "First, I found out my engagement ring was fake, and I traded it for a painting, and once I got my room, I'm going to hang it in there; second, I got a job..." She paused, with a thoughtful look, before adding, "I met a pretty interesting guy."

Bohr opened his eyes wide: "You're making it up!" "I swear to God, absolutely not. But don't get too excited, he's sixty-five years old." Although she was talking about Rabbi Lefferts, the memory showed a blue silk vest with long hair. An image of Bill Steiner with beautiful eyes.It's ridiculous.For years, she felt as utterly indifferent to love as she was to cancer.Besides, Steiner was at least seven years younger than she, and it was not difficult to see that he was still a fledgling. "He's the one who offered me a job. His name is Rabbi Lefferts. Shall we forget about him and see my paintings now."

"Hey, let's practice together!" said Gert, standing in the middle of the room, her voice kindly, but with a hint of disapproval. "This isn't some high school dance, baby." Those last words sounded sweet. . The skinny girl with the vulgar hairdo gave her a shove, and her ill-fitting dress swayed.Gert dodged her body, hugged her around her waist with his forearm, and threw her into the air, causing Cynthia to roll over on her feet, and finally landed on her back on the cushion. "Wow!" she yelled, bouncing up like a rubber ball. "No, I don't want to see your picture," Pole said, "unless it's that guy. Is he really sixty-five? I don't believe your shit!"

"Maybe even older," Rossi said, "but there was someone else besides him. The one who told me my diamond engagement ring was really just a zirconia ring. He traded the painting for it." took my ring." She paused for a moment, then added, "This man is not sixty-five." "What does he look like?" "His eyes are hazel..." Rosie put the painting down. "I'll tell you when you tell me what you think of the painting." "Rosie, don't play tricks!" Rosie smiled happily.She had long forgotten the joy of good-natured banter.She continued to tear the wrapping paper off the painting, the first thing Bill Steiner had carefully packaged for her as a symbol of a new life.

"There!" Gert said to Cynthia, who circled her.Her breasts swelled, surging like ocean waves beneath her white T-shirt. "You already know how to do it, now do it again. Remember, you can't carry me. If you are an insignificant guy, if you want to turn over my heavy truck, you can only drag yourself down. But you can use me skillfully Take me down with your own strength. Are you ready?" "Come on for me! Look at me!" she said Cincy.Her smile widened, revealing her neat teeth.Rosie thought her teeth were more like some dangerous little midge-like creature. "Gertrude Kenshaw, fall down!"

Gert pushed.Cynthia grasped her fleshy forearms and turned her flat, boyish hips against Gert's protruding side with a confidence that Rosie envied...Suddenly, Gert looked like a gray man in a white shirt. The phantom of the sweatpants flew up and flipped into the air.Her shirt was torn, revealing the biggest breasts Rosie had ever seen in her life.The beige Lectra trophy resembles a World War I shell casing.When Gert was finally thrown onto the cushions, the whole room shook. "Hooray!" shrieked Cynthia, clapping her hands above her head and dancing merrily, "Old mama's been thrown down! Hooray! Hooray! Countdown! Damn it, countdown!"

A rare smile appeared on Gert's face, and she looked very scary. She separated her legs like tree branches, grabbed Cynthia, held it above her head for a while, and then spun like a propeller. "Holy crap, I'm going to puke!" Cynthia screamed, laughing.The half-green half-orange hair on top of her head and the fluorescent shirt were blurred by the rapid rotation. "Ouch, I really want to spit it out!" "Enough is enough, Gert," said a voice quietly.It was Anna Stevenson's voice, standing on the landing.Rosie seldom saw her wearing anything else. This time she was still wearing a black and white suit, a pair of black carrot trousers and a white silk turtleneck sweater. Her elegance was always envied by Rosie. Gert was a little embarrassed, and put Cynthia down gently. "Anna, I'm fine at all." Cynthia said, staggered and couldn't stand on the cushion, and fell down after walking a few steps. She took advantage of the situation and sat down, giggling non-stop. "I can see that." Anna said coldly. "You saw it just now," she said, "I knocked Gert down. Honestly, it was pretty exciting." "No doubt about it. But Gert will tell you that she actually fell on her own," Anna said. "You just helped her." "Yes; is it? I think it is probably true," said Cynthia.She stood up with difficulty, fell to the ground again with a plop, and laughed even harder. "Oh my God, I was so dazed by her just now." Anna comes to Rosie and Pol. "What good thing do you have here? Show it," she said to Rosie. "I bought a painting this afternoon. It's for my future residence, and I'll have a room of my own someday." Rosie then asked her in awe, "What do you think?" "I don't know... Let's take it to a bright place and have a look." Anna put the oil painting on the ping-pong table.Rosie looked up and saw five, no, seven women gathered around the painting to watch.Robin St. James and Consuelo Delgado joined them as they descended the stairs.They looked over Cynthia's bony shoulders.Rosie waited for someone to break the silence... she was sure it would be Cynthia.But after talking for a long time, Rossi began to get nervous. "How is this painting? Who can say a few words." "It's a very strange painting," said Anna. "Exactly," added Cynthia. "It has something of a mystery to it. I've seen a picture like it before." Anna looked at Rosie. "Rosie, why did you buy this painting?" Rosie shrugged, feeling even more nervous. "Honestly, I don't know how to explain it. I seem to be fascinated by this painting." Anna's words took her by surprise, and she did give her a great deal of comfort.Anna nodded and said with a smile: "I think this is the charm of art. It exists not only in paintings, but also in books, novels, sculptures, and even desert castles. The authors of art works seem to be Talking to us, they fascinate us, that's the way it is. But then again, Rosie, do you think this painting is beautiful?" Rosie stared at it, trying to feel the irresistible charm of the silent language for her in the way she admired that day in the store, so that she no longer felt cold, and there was nothing but this painting in her mind. No more distracting thoughts.She saw the blonde girl in a rose red tutu standing on the knee-deep grass on the top of the hill, and she noticed again the braid on her head hanging straight behind her back and her right arm Put on the golden armband.At this time, her eyes turned to the ruined ancient Greek temple at the foot of the mountain and the collapsed "Oh, God!" "Idol.A woman in a sleeveless skirt is looking at them. How do you know she's looking at these statues?Why do you think so?You can't see her face! Of course you can't see it.But what else could she see but the statue? "No," said Rosie, "I didn't buy it because it was pretty, but because it had a charm. It attracted me very strongly at the time. Do you really think that a good picture is only good if it is beautiful?" "Not really," Consuelo said. "Think about Jackson Borrock, his stuff isn't pretty, but it has a life. And Diana Albers, what do you think of her?" " "Who is she?" Cynthia asked. "A photographer who specializes in bearded women and short women who smoke." "Oh," Cynthia thought hard, as if she remembered something, her eyes suddenly lit up. "I saw a painting at a potluck where I was eating appetizers, and it was in an art gallery, and there was a guy named Robert Epshorpe, who specialized in grabbing other people's fantasies! No Lie to you guys! It's not some fake drawing in one of those money-making magazines, the guy works hard enough, he works overtime to get a good deal. You can't imagine how a guy can get from a used Got so much on the broomstick..." "Mapplethorpe." Anna said coldly. "Who?" "His name is Mipthorpe, not Epplethorpe." "Oh, that's right. That's probably the name." "He is dead." "Oh, really?" asked Cynthia. "How?" "AIDS," Anna answered absently, still looking at Rosie's painting. "This disease is called broomstick disease in some places." Gert said in a low voice: "You said you've seen this painting of Rossi before, young man, where did you see it? In that art gallery?" "No," said Cynthia, who had been excited about the topic of Mapplethorpe just now, her cheeks turned pink, and the dimples at the corners of her mouth showed a defensive smile, "It's not the same art museum, but……" "Go on," said Rossi. “My father was a Methodist minister in Bakersfield, California,” Cynthia said, “and that’s where I came from. We lived in the vicarage, and there were all kinds of old paintings in those parlors downstairs. There's the governor, there's the flowers, there's the dog. No one cares what's painted on it, they're on the wall, and the house doesn't seem so empty." Rosie nodded, remembering that when the painting was in the shop it was surrounded by dusty easels surrounded by paintings—a gondola in Venice, fruit in a compote, a dog and a fox, and so on.They hang there just to keep the room from looking too spacious.Like a mouth without a tongue. "There's this painting in there...it's called..." Cynthia frowned, trying to remember, "I remember it was called De Soto Looking West. The adventurer stood on the top of the cliff with these Indians standing around him. He looked out of the thick woods at the big river in the distance. I guess it's the Mississippi. But listen to me... actually..." Cynthia looked at them hesitantly.Her cheeks were getting pinker, her smile had faded away, and the large, striking white Bundy on her ear seemed to have become a strange appendage transplanted to the side of her head.Rosie often wondered, not for the first time since she had been at the Sisters' House, why men were so mean.What's the matter with them?Is Violence Genetic?Or is it their inherent, unreasonable personality, like a broken circuit board installed in a computer? "Going on, Cynthia," said Anna, "we won't laugh at you. Will we?" Everyone nodded. Cynthia put her hands behind her back, like a schoolboy about to recite a text in front of the class. "The thing is," she went on, much softer than her usual voice, "that the river seemed to flow, and that fascinated me. The picture hung in a house where my father was There was a pre-Easter Bible class, and I went to that class too, and sat in front of that painting, sometimes for an hour at a time, looking at that painting like watching TV, probably wondering if the river would Flow. I was only nine or ten years old, I don't remember exactly. One thing I remember very well, I think, if it flows, sooner or later there will be Indian rafts or boats passing by, and by then I would know. Until one day, when I went in, the painting was gone. Oh, my mother must have noticed that I was always sitting there looking at it, just..." "She was worried about you and took it away," Robin said. "Yes, quite possibly in the dustbin," said Cynthia. "I was only a child. Your drawing, Rosie, reminds me of such things." Pole moved closer. "Really," she said, "it's no wonder you love it so much. I can feel your loss." Everyone laughed in understanding.Rosie laughed too. "Not only that," said Cynthia, "it looked like one of those old-fashioned... like the ones posted in the classroom... and it was very dark. Except for the clouds and her dress, the colors were too dark. My Deso Thor's painting is also very dark. Except for the river, the river is shining with a silvery light. This is the most striking thing in the whole painting." Gert turned to Rossi and said, "Tell me about your job. I hear you have a job." "Tell us everything!" said Pole. "Yes," Anna said, "after you finish speaking, can you come to my office for a few minutes?" "Is it... the thing I've been thinking about day and night?" Anna smiled: "Actually, I think so." 8 "It's a decent room, one of the best on our list, and I hope you'll like it as much as I do," said Anna.In the corner of her desk rests precariously a stack of flyers calling for the House of Sisters to take part in a summer potluck and concert that will be part fundraiser, part social connection and part celebration Activity.Anna picked up one, flipped it to the back, and drew quickly. "This is the kitchen, here's the built-in bed, and here's a small sitting room. This is the bathroom, too small to turn around, and to sit on the toilet you have to put your feet under the shower. Although It's smaller, but it's yours." "Yes," Rosie whispered, "mine." The feeling that she hadn't had it for weeks, that it was just a dream, that sooner or later she would wake up next to Norman crept into her heart. . "The scenery is beautiful, although it is not Lake Shore Drive. But Bryant Park is also a very beautiful place, especially in summer. Your house is on the second floor. The neighbors are an old couple in their octogenarians. It is a good thing, but it is now gone much better." "As if you lived there yourself," said Rosie. Anna shrugged her shoulders, completely in a slender and graceful posture, and drew the foyer and the set of stairs at the front of the house again.It's not an exaggeration to say that her sketches look exactly like a draftsman's drawing.She continued with her head down. "I've been in this room many times," she said. "Of course you don't really think so, do you?" "right." "I have to say goodbye to every woman when they leave, it sounds old fashioned but I don't care because it's important. What do you think?" Rosie embraced her impulsively, finding Anna stiff and immediately regretting it.I shouldn't have done this, Rosie thought as she let go.Ana is kind, no doubt about it, and holy, but with a strange arrogance, and she doesn't like people in her space.Anna especially dislikes being touched by others. "I'm sorry," Rosie said, taking a step back. "Don't be a fool," said Anna abruptly. "Did you like it?" "I like it," Rossi said. Anna smiled, with a bit of embarrassment in her smile.She drew an "X" next to the rectangle that represented the only window in the living room. "The painting you bought... You must put it in this place." "I certainly will." Anna put down her pencil and said, "Rosie, I'm glad I could help you a little bit, and I'm honored that you came to see us. Look, you've got some rain again." Anna has done this since the last time she received her in this house. He handed her the Kleenex a second time, but it was another box; she thought, there must be a lot of Kleenex being consumed in this house. Rosie picked one up and wiped her eyes. "You know, you saved me." She said hoarsely, "I will never forget that you saved me." "Thank you," Anna said in the same dry and cold voice, "I saved you just like Cincy Ash fell Gert, which is not the case. You just seized the opportunity and left the man who hurt you , so you saved yourself." "No matter what, I still want to thank you. Thank you for taking me in." "Don't be so polite," said Anna.For the first time since Rosie came to the sisters' home, she saw tears in Anna Stevenson's eyes.She smiled and gave her the tissue across the table. "Look, it's raining on you yourself." Anna smiled, wiped her eyes with a Kleenex, and threw it in the wastebasket. "I hate crying, it's a deep secret of mine. I've had it all the time, I've shut it down, and then I end up doing it again. That's how I feel about men." Rosie found herself thinking about Bill Steiner and his hazel eyes. Anna picked up the pencil again, scribbled a few strokes under the sketch she just drew, and handed it to Rosie.The address was written on it: 897 Ivy Avenue. "Here's your address," Anna said. "It's almost across the city, but you can take a car. Do you know how?" Rossi smiled and nodded with tears in her eyes. "You can give the address to the friends you meet here, and you can tell people outside in the future, but now only the two of us know." For Rossi, Anna is like giving a well-rehearsed farewell speech. "Don't let anyone know how to get from here to you, it's the way people use it in sisters' homes. I've worked with abused women for almost two decades and I know it's the only sure way." Pole, Consuelo Delgado, and Robin St. James had all told her before that it was during the happy hours every night, which was their name for the chores, which were actually therapy sessions, social Things like etiquette.This is what is on Anna's schedule, and it is also her rule.Rossi felt no need to attend. "Are you still worried about him?" Anna asked. Rosie was a little absent-minded. She collected herself and began to wonder who she was referring to. "Your husband - are you worried about him? You were worried for the first week or two here that he'd be tracked down here, 'caught in the act' as you put it, how are you feeling now?" Rossi considered the question carefully.In the first place, the word fear is far from adequate to express her feelings for Norman; even horror is too trivial, because the part of her feeling that involves him is overwhelmed by other feelings, namely: shame due to the failure of the marriage, The longing and nostalgia for the things you love (such as rocking chairs, etc.), the euphoria brought by the freedom of having fresh content every day, the sense of relief when a tightrope walker keeps his balance and trembles through the canyon... There is no doubt that fear was the dominant theme of her inner feelings.During the first two weeks at the sisters' home, she kept having the same dream: she was sitting in the doorway when a brand new red Sandra's car pulled up to the side of the road and pulled up in front of her. In a rocking chair, the car door opened, and Norman stepped out.He was wearing a black T-shirt with a map of southern Vietnam printed on it.Sometimes the map reads: Home is where the heart is; sometimes it says: I have AIDS and I am homeless.His trousers were spattered with blood, earrings that looked like finger bones dangled from his ears, and he held a bloody mask in one hand.She struggled, unable to get up as if paralyzed, and could only sit there watching him walk slowly down the sidewalk, the bone earrings bouncing up and down in her ears.She talked closely with him as he said.He smiled, his teeth stained with blood. "Rosie?" Anna called her softly. "You seem a little distracted?" "No," she was a little out of breath with excitement, "I'm fine. You're right, I'm still afraid of him." "It's not really surprising, I suppose, in a sense that you'll always be afraid of him, but as long as you remember, you'll have nothing to be afraid of for a long time . . . without even thinking about him." , you'll be fine. That's not what I want to ask you, I want to know, are you still afraid that he will find you?" Yes, she was still afraid.Not just a matter of fear.In the past fourteen years, she had heard him talk about work on the phone countless times, and heard him discuss a large number of cases with his colleagues, sometimes in the downstairs living room, sometimes in the yard.Few noticed her when she brought them snacks for their beer and coffee.Most of it was Norman who was talking, and when he bent down, holding almost half a beer can in his huge palm, he impatiently urged the others to finish quickly, suppressing their doubts and refusing to consider their inferences.Occasionally he would discuss cases with her.Of course, he has no interest in her opinion, only wants to use other people to reflect his self.He always wanted a result in the most impossible time, and when a case dragged on for three weeks, he lost interest in it.He called them chowder, as Gert called them when he taught self-defense. Is she still his chowder now? She believes as much as she can.She did her best.But... she still couldn't do it. "I don't know," she said. "One part of my mind thinks that if he really wanted to find me, he would have found me. Another part thinks that he might still be looking. He's not a taxi driver or a porter. , he's a cop. He knows how to find someone." Anna nodded and said, "Yes, I know. This means he is more dangerous, and you have to be very careful. Another thing you have to keep in mind is that you are not alone. Rosie, the old you is the past forever. .Mark my words, will you?" "OK." "Really?" "real." "What will you do if he does show up?" "Slam the door in his face and lock it." "and then?" "Call 911." "Without hesitation?" "Absolutely," she said, and she meant it, but she was still afraid.Why?Because Norman was a policeman, the people she called were also policemen.Because Norman is an alpha dog, she knows he can get away with it.Also because Norman had told her over and over and over and over again that all cops were brothers. "After calling 911, what are you doing?" "I'll call you." Anna nodded. "You'll be perfectly fine." "I know." She said confidently, but she still felt a little puzzled. When she opened the door one evening and found Norman knocking on the door, all her life in the past month and a half-the sisters' house, The White Rock Hotel, Anna, her new friends - will it fade into a daydream, will it happen? Rosie shifted her gaze to the painting, leaning against the office door, feeling the impossibility.Her oil painting was facing the wall, so she could only see the back, but she could still see it, and the image of the woman on top of the thunderstorm hill and the half-burned temple below had become integrated in her mind. Luminous, all of this definitely did not happen in a dream.She felt that nothing could turn her painting into a dream. Luckily, I'll never be asked these questions, she cracked a smile. "Anna, how much is the rent?" "320 yuan per month. Can you live there for at least two months?" "No problem." Of course Anna knew that if Rosie didn't have enough methods to ensure that she went out safely, they wouldn't have today's conversation. "It seemed reasonable. Even to pay the rent, I had to start working as soon as possible." Anna rested her chin on her hand and looked at Rosie eagerly. "Let's change the subject and talk about your job. It sounds really good, but..." "Is this job too uncertain? Or is it just a coincidence?" She had actually mulled it over on the way home... and at the same time she was thinking that, despite Rabbi Lefferts's enthusiasm, She won't know if she'll get the job until next Monday. Anna nodded. "I wouldn't say that. To be precise, I don't know what to say. The point is, after you leave the White Rock Hotel, it's very difficult to come back. It's harder. As you know, there are always new people joining the sisters' house, and I have to prioritize them." "Of course, I totally understand." "Of course I'll try to help you, but—" "If Mr. Lefferts' job doesn't work, I'll be a waitress," said Rosie calmly. "My back is much better and I can do it. Thanks to Don, I can still get an evening secretary job." ’” She was referring to Don Flick, who taught an introductory secretarial class in a back room.Rossi was a dedicated student. Anna was still watching her eagerly. "Still, do you still hold out hope for that job?" "Yes." She glanced at the painting again, "I believe it will be successful. Anyway, I owe you too much..." "You know what to do?" "Don't pay attention, keep going." Anna nodded: "Exactly." "Anna, can I ask you a question?" "Just ask." "I wonder why your parents started the Sisters' Home? Why do you continue to do it?" Anna opened a drawer, rummaged through it for a while, took out a thick paper book, and threw it across the table.Rosie picked up the book and stared at it for a moment, vivid flashbacks flashed before her eyes.In that brief moment, she not only recalled the bloody inner thigh scene, but relived the feeling: Norman snatched the paper book from her hand before hitting her and tore it to shreds. from his shadow she saw him talking on the phone, endlessly contemplating the huddled telephone wires; In the room, I picked up pieces of broken books from the floor, and a red-haired girl was printed on the cover of the book. The cover of the book Anna throws at her also features a redhead. It's a mess, Norman said.How many times have I told you that I'm not interested in this kind of crap! "What's the matter with you, Rosie?" Anna asked worriedly.Her voice seemed to come from a distant place, and it seemed to be heard in a dream. "Rose, are you okay?" The title of the book, Bitter's Lover, was also covered in red foil, and beneath it read: Paul Shelton's Best-Selling Novel!Rosie looked up from the book and forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's a hot book." "The internal massager is my secret hobby, it's better than chocolate because it won't make you fat. It's better than a real man because it won't wake you up at four in the morning, drink some Wine, here you go again. But they're crap. You know why?" Rossi shook her head. "Because the whole world is designed according to them, and they explain it. Everything in the world has a reason, and they make it up like a story in a supermarket tabloid. In a book like "The Bitter Lover" In the books, Anna Stevenson will undoubtedly run the Sisters House because she is an insulted woman herself...or her mother is. But I have never been insulted, as far as I know Well, neither has my mother. My husband often ignores me, but he never insults me. I don't know if Gert and Pol told you, but I've been divorced for twenty years." Rosie nodded slightly.She thought of the days when Norman beat her, hurt her, made her cry...he would give her half a dozen roses one night for no reason and take her out to restaurants.When she asked him what day it was and why he did it, he usually shrugged his shoulders and said no reason, just "would like to treat her once."No doubt Norman made up for all his shortcomings by entertaining her in this occasionally stormy way.Offset all faults he called "bad temper".It would never have occurred to him that this behavior frightened her more than one of his rages.At least she knows how she should deal with it. "I don't like doing things to give back," Anna said quietly. "It doesn't resonate with me. But it's perfectly understandable in a book like Paul Sheldon, and it's comforting. Believe My word is, God is perfect, and nothing will happen to the characters of people's favorite books. Please return the book, and I will read it cup after cup of hot tea tonight." Rosie smiled, and Anna smiled back. “罗西，你会来参加艾丁格码头的野餐吗？我们需要尽可能多的帮助。我们做事总是这样。” “好的。除非利弗茨先生认为我是个奇才，叫我周末上班。” “不会的。”安娜绕到桌子这边来；罗西也站了起来。谈话结束后，她才想起一件重要的事情。 “安娜，我什么时候能搬进去？” “如果你愿意，明天就可以。”安娜弯腰拿起那幅画，她深沉地看着油画背面硬纸板上的碳笔字，然后翻过来。 “你为什么说这幅画很奇特？”罗西说。 安娜用食指抚摩着镜框上的玻璃。“因为这女人在画的中间，却只有背影。这种画法对于这种传统手法的画作来说是一种极其奇特的尝试。”她看着罗西，开始略带歉意地继续说，“顺便说一句，山下的神庙没有透视感。” “卖给我这幅画的人也注意到这一点了。利弗茨先生说，作者很有可能是故意这样做的。否则会丢失一些东西。” “他说得很对。这里面的确是有些东西，一种充满的感觉。” "I don't understand what you mean." Anna smiled. “其实我自己也不懂……只感到里面有些东西使我想起我读过的浪漫小说来。进发着荷尔蒙的强壮男人和性欲旺盛的女人，充满是我所能想得起来的惟一能准确表达我的意思的字眼。天空给人一种暴风雨来临前的宁静感觉。”她又把镜框翻了过去，更仔细地研究背面的碳笔字。 “是不是你的名字在上边才引起了你的注意？” “不，”罗西说，“我已经决定要买这幅画以后才看到背面写着罗丝·麦德几个字。”她笑了，“这只是个巧合——这种事情在你喜欢的浪漫小说里是绝对不允许出现的。” “我知道。”安娜的表情看上去一点也不像知道了的样子。她的大拇指从碳笔字上划过。它们极容易弄脏。 忽然，罗西没来由地感到烦躁不安起来，好像在黑夜已经降临的另外一个时区里，有人在挂念她。“不过，罗丝毕竟是个通俗的名字，不像伊万吉蓝或者佩特罗尼拉等那么少见。” “你说得有道理。”安娜把画递给她，“不过碳笔字也很有意思。” "how?" “碳笔很容易被抹掉，如果背面的字一直没有保护起来，它早就被弄脏了。所以玫瑰红这几个字一定是后来加上去的。可是为什么要这样做呢？画本身不像是近期的作品，它至少有四十多年了；应该有八十到一百年左右。它还有些奇怪的地方。” "what?" “没有画家的署名。”安娜说。