Chapter 7 Chapter 4 Octopus · 2

6 Rosie was surprised when she realized it wasn't Norman, and quickly accepted the invitation to eat.A little reassurance worked for her.When she got into his car, the voice of reason that had been silent in her head for a long time asked her what she planned to go out with a man, a strange man much younger than her, was she crazy?The question frightened her.But Rosie judged that it was only an illusion, and reason did not dare to ask her the really important question, because it would be too scary. What if Norman catches you?This is an important question.What if he catches you while you're having dinner with a younger, prettier guy?The fact that Norman is eight hundred miles away does not matter to reason, because it is not really what is called reason, but fear or perplexity.

Norman wasn't her only problem, however.Never in her life as a woman had she gone out alone with any man other than her husband, and now her emotions were a sumptuous bowl of chowder.Do you have dinner with him?Oh, of course going.I'm going.Her throat grew the size of a needle eye, and her stomach filled with bubbles like a washing machine. If instead of faded jeans and an oxford shirt he had been dressed smartly and crisply, or if he had glanced at her pretentious dress with the faintest suspicion, she would not have said yes; if he had taken her to The place was so troublesome (it was the only word she could think of) that she believed she would not leave his side.But this restaurant doesn't look so scary. A billboard along the street has a few words on it: Papa's restaurant, with ceiling fans hanging from the ceiling, and red and white checked tablecloths on the deli counter.The neon sign in the window reads: Papa's Serves Authentic Kansas Veal Steak.The male waiters are all dressed up as old-fashioned gentlemen, all wearing black leather shoes, and long aprons tied from under the arms to the back.To Rosie, the outfit looked as ridiculous as wearing tights over a white suit.The diners at the table looked a lot like her and Bill—no, like Bill, middle-class, moderate income, casual attire.Rosie felt that the cheerful, open atmosphere of the restaurant allowed her to take a breather.

It's lighthearted here, it's true.But they are not like you, she said silently.Don't think they're like you, Rosie.They're confident, they're happy, and most of all, this place is for them and it's not for you, and it never will be.You've been with Norman so long, how many times have you sat in a corner and vomited into your apron.You've forgotten what people are like, what they talk about... If you try to live like them, even in your dreams, all you get is a broken heart. Is this true?It's scary just thinking about it.She was so happy for Bill.Steiner was glad to see her, glad that he brought her flowers, and glad that he invited her to dinner.Little did she know how she felt about him, only that he was being dated...and it made her feel young and attractive.She can't say no.

Don't stop and be happy, Norman said.When she and Bill.When Steiner walked into Dad's restaurant, Norman whispered in her ear, his voice was so close and real, as if he passed them by.Take your chance while you're still enjoying it, because in a moment he's going to take you back into the dark, and then he's going to have a close talk with you.Or maybe he'll save the trouble of talking and drag you straight into the nearest alley and push you against the wall to teach you a lesson. No, she thought.The headlights in the restaurant suddenly brightened a lot, and she heard all the sounds, even the gasping sound of the ceiling fan vibrating the air.No, you are lying!He is a good man!

The answer is direct and relentless: there are no good people, baby—according to Norman, it's the Gospel.How many times have I told you?If you could see everyone's heart, I'm afraid everyone is street trash.You, me, all of them. "Rosie?" Bill asked. "Are you all right? You're looking pretty bad." No, she has something to do.She knew the voice in her head was lying, the voice from the part Norman had killed, but she knew and felt something else.She couldn't sit among so many people and smell their soap and cologne and shampoo and listen to their chatter.She couldn't stand the waiters bending over her, handing her a special menu, some speaking to her in a foreign language.She could hardly talk to Bill Steiner, or answer his questions; she was always curious to know what it would be like to run her hands through his hair.

She was going to tell him she wasn't feeling well, had a bad stomach, and that he'd better take her home, maybe make another appointment.Yet, as in the recording studio, she was reminded of the woman in the rose-red skirt in the oil painting, standing on top of a lush hill with her left hand held high and her bare shoulders gleaming strangely.She stands unafraid on the site of the eerie, haunted temple that Rosie has never seen before.The trembling in Rosie's stomach stopped as she recalled her blonde hair, the gold armbands on her arms, and her puffy breasts. I can handle it, she thought.I don't necessarily eat, but I'm sure I can find enough courage to sit with him in this bright place for a while.Are you still worried that he will not rape me?I don't think such a thought would ever enter this man's head.This is Norman's idea.He didn't think there was a single black portable radio that he didn't steal from a white man.

The simplicity of this made her feel a little relieved, and she couldn't help smiling at Bill.She smiled weakly, and the corners of her mouth trembled slightly, but she looked much better than not smiling at all. "I'm fine," she said, "just a little freaked out, and I'm fine now. Hope you learn to live with it." "You're not scaring me, are you?" You bastard, you have to be frightened.Norman said in her head that he was like a malignant tumor in her brain. "Not exactly." She raised her eyes, trying with difficulty to read his face.She felt her cheeks getting hot, and she could only try her best to control herself. "Because including this one, you're the second person you've asked me out on, the first real date since my high school prom. The last time was in 1980."

"My God!" he said.He said it softly, without any intention of joking. "Now I'm really scared of you." The owner—Rosie couldn't tell if he was the restaurant manager or someone else—approached and asked them whether they chose the smoking or non-smoking section. "Do you smoke?" Bill asked her, and Rosie shook her head quickly. "Go somewhere quiet, please," Bill said to the man in tuxedo, and Rosie produced a gray-green bill—a five-dollar bill, she guessed—and asked Bill to hand it to the barman. "Can you get us a corner seat?" "Of course, sir." He led them through the brightly lit dining room, where paddle-bladed ceiling fans spun lazily overhead.

Sitting down, Rosie asked Bill how he had found her today, though she had already guessed a little.Actually what she really wanted to know was why he came to her. "It's all thanks to Rabbi Lefferts," he said. "The Rabbi comes in every few days to see if there's any new books coming in—but they're actually old books, you know what I mean. what--" She thought of David Gooddis.Parry was brutally captured, completely innocent.She smiled at the thought. "I know he hired you to read Christina Beale because he came to tell me. He was very excited that day."

"Really?" "He said your voice was the best since Kathy Bates recorded it, which means a lot - the rabbi adored that taped novel, and Robert Frost read Death of a Female Employee. Although With some noise, it's still the best." Rosimer was silent.She is so excited. "That's why I asked him for your address. It's a bit hypocritical of me to say so, but I forced him to give it to me. The rabbi is a tough man. But you should trust him completely, Rosie..." The following words drifted away from her ears.Rosie, she thought.He called me Rosie.I haven't asked him yet, and that's what he calls me.

"Do you two want a drink?" The waiter appeared beside Bill.He was old, dignified, and handsome, like a professor of literature at a university.And a professor with a penchant for wearing royal eyeglasses over his suit, Rosie thought, almost giggling. "I want an iced tea," Bill said. "What do you want, Rosie?" He called me that again.How did he know I was always the real Rosie? "Sounds great." "Two iced teas, great," the barman said, before reciting to them the recommended specials of the day.Rossi was relieved that he spoke English.When he recited London Roast Chicken, she felt a little hungry. "We'll think about it and tell you," Bill said. The waiter leaves, and Bill turns to face Rosie. "There were two other things that worked in Rabbi's favor," he said. "He suggested that I drop by and visit the studio... You work in the Cole Building, don't you?" "Yes, the full name of the recording studio is the recording engineering company." "Anyway, he suggested that I take a tour of the studio so the three of us could go out for drinks in the afternoon after work was done. He was like a protector or old dad. When I told him I couldn't go, he Let me be absolutely sure, do call you first and make an appointment. I tried, Rosie, but I can't find your number in the phone book. Don't you have a public listing?" "I don't actually have a phone yet," she said, sideways.Of course, she did not apply to the telephone company to disclose her number, which would cost an extra thirty yuan, which she could not afford.But it cost her nothing to have her number pop up on the computers of her hometown police station.She learned from Norman's complaints that the police cannot casually look up numbers that are not listed in the phone book, because that is illegal. Allowing the phone company to disclose phone numbers is tantamount to giving up one's human rights, and random lookups are a violation. human rights behavior.So the courts made the rules accordingly, and like all the cops she'd ever met in her marriage, Norman had the same bitter hatred for the rules of the courts and their jobs. "Why don't you come and take a look? Have you left the city yet?" He unwrapped the napkin and placed it carefully on his lap.She noticed a change in his face when he looked up again, but it took her a moment to see that he had blushed. "Oh, I guess no one else is there when I'm out with you," he said, "You don't like talking to a guy that way. I just sort of want to... oh... get to know you." "Aren't we sitting together?" She said softly. "Yes, finally sitting together." "But why do you want to know me and date me?" After a pause, she continued, "I mean, am I too old for you?" He looked at her suspiciously, decided it was a joke, and finally laughed. "Okay, so I would like to ask if the grandma is twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old this year?" At first she thought he was joking—a not-so-smart joke, but then she realized that his lighthearted tone belied a deadly seriousness.It couldn't be more obvious that he wasn't flattering her.The thought startled her, and she began to wonder again, until she finally came to a clear conclusion: the change in her life didn't end with finding a job and a place to live; it was just the beginning.If everything that happened was just a series of pre-shocks before a big earthquake, this time it was a real big earthquake that broke out suddenly.It was not the earth shaking, but life shaking, and suddenly she felt hungry, and she felt the excitement in a strange way. The barman brought over iced tea as Bill began to speak.Bill ordered a steak and Rosie ordered a London broiler.When the waiter asked her how well done she wanted, and she said medium--that's how Norman ate steak, so she followed that routine--she changed her mind. "I want the tender ones," she said, "the tenderest ones." "Wonderful!" the barman said as if he really felt great, and as he left, Rosie thought how wonderful this was, exactly what a barman should be—in this perfect paradise. , all the options are great, very good, fantastic. She looked back to see Bill's gaze was still on her—sexy, worried eyes with pale green bases. "How bad is it?" he asked her. "What happened to your marriage?" "What do you mean?" she asked awkwardly. "You know what I mean. I met a lady at my dad's mortgage rental store and I talked to her for about ten minutes, and then the worst thing happened - I'll never forget her This kind of thing only happens in the movies, and occasionally in the boring magazines in the hospital waiting room. I never believed it. But it really happened now. When I turned out the lights, she appeared in the dark I was thinking about her while I was having lunch, and I—” He paused, giving her a worried look, “I hope what I said didn’t scare you.” She was literally terrified.She thought she had never heard such a beautiful language.She was hot all over (except for her cold feet), and she could still hear the hum of the ceiling fan overhead as it drove the air.It seems that there are at least tens of thousands of fans installed on the roof, and even an entire military barracks. "This lady came to our store to sell her engagement ring, which she had been thinking of as a diamond...Only she knew what was going on. When I found her address, I was holding flowers Went to see her and was shocked to see that huge sauce can just missed falling on my head." He held out his right hand, thumb and index finger half an inch apart. Rosie held up her left hand, separating her thumb and index finger an inch. "It's actually not that far away," she said. "I'm actually a lot like Roger, Clemmons—I have incredible control." He laughed, and it was a good sound, a heartfelt laugh.She laughed too. "The lady didn't really kill me, she stood there with that scary weapon in her hands, like a kid peeking at her father's Playboy magazine and hiding it behind her back. She said: 'Oh my god, I'm so sorry.' I'd love to know who the hell you're dealing with, because I'm not that person. I'm curious, what the heck did that ex-husband do? When that A lady came into the shop with her wedding ring on. Do you remember?" "yes, I remember." "This is very important to me. Even if I'm nosy, but... I never expected, she surprised me so much, I don't want to see her so scared that every time I hear a knock on the door You're about to open the door with a huge can. Does what I'm saying work for you?" "Yes," she said, "my husband is a very bad man." She added without reason: "His name is Norman." Bill nodded solemnly: "I understand why you left him." Rosie put her hand over her mouth and giggled.Her face became hotter.But she managed to control herself, wiping her eyes with the corner of her napkin. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I think so." "Do you want to tell me?" Suddenly a vivid and vivid image like a nightmare appeared clearly in her mind.It was a pair of Norman's Prince tennis racquets, the kind with the black tape on the handles.As far as she knows, it still hangs next to the stairs in the basement of her home.He had used it to beat her countless times during their first year of marriage.About six months after her miscarriage, he brutally raped her with it.She shared many marriages with her sisters in the treatment room of the sisters' house (shared was a word they used that was both appalling and apt), but it was a secret she kept to herself— —A man straddles you with his legs spread apart, inserts a tennis racket handle wrapped in black tape into your vagina, bends down and tells you: If you resist, I will smash the water glass on the bedside table and cut it with it Break your throat.You lay there, smelling his stink, wondering how you'd feel when he tore you apart. "No," she said, thankfully her voice wasn't shaking, "I don't want to talk about Norman. He abused me, and I left him. The story is over." "That's logical," Bill said. "So he's out of your life forever?" "forever." "Does he know that? I'm asking you because the way you're opening the door for me is so weird, you know, like you're waiting for a representative from the Church of Latter-day Saints." "I don't know," was of course a reasonable question, and she thought for a moment before answering. "Are you afraid of him?" "Oh, yes, but that's not the whole story. I'm afraid of everything. Everything is foreign to me. My friends say I'll get rid of everything, but I'm not sure." "You're not afraid to come out to dinner with me." "Oh no, I'm afraid. I'm terrified." "what about this?" She was about to say what she had been thinking: he surprised her; but she shut her mouth again.Although what she said was true, she didn't say the most real part of it. The restaurant was just a place she didn't need to hide from.She didn't know what was going on between the two of them other than this meal at Papa's, and if there was, any kind of fantasy wouldn't be a good start. "Because I want to," she said in a low, clear voice. "Well, let's not talk about that anymore." "And no more about Norman." "Is that his real name?" "yes." "Rosie, can I ask you something else?" She smiled. "I don't have to answer." "That's fair. You said you were older than me, didn't you?" "Yes," she said, "I did. How old are you, Bill?" "Thirty. That would make us rivals in the age gamble. But your words give me the impression that you're not only older than I am, but much older, so my problem arises. Are you ready Yet?" Rosie shrugged uneasily. He bent over her, his pale green eyes staring into hers. "Do you know you're beautiful?" he asked. "I'm not trying to seduce you, or memorize lines, just out of simple, traditional curiosity. Don't you know you're beautiful?" She opened her mouth, and there was nothing but a faint sound of drafts from the back of her throat.It was more of a whistle than a sigh. He put his hand on hers and held it gently.It was a slight movement, but it went through her nerves like an electric shock, and he was the only thing she could see—his hair, his lips, and his eyes.The whole world disappeared, as if there were only two of them standing on the stage, all lights were turned off except the spotlight. "Don't make fun of me," she said, her voice shaking. "Please don't make fun of me. I won't be able to bear it." "No, I would never do that," he said casually, as if the issue didn't need to be discussed at all.The topic is over. "But I will tell you what I saw." He reached out and touched her hand again, "I will tell you what I saw. I promise to keep my word. 7 She said he didn't have to bother to walk her upstairs, and she was glad he insisted.When the food arrived, the conversation turned to less personal issues.He was delighted to discover that Roger Clemons hadn't been a fluke, that he had knowledgeable fans with an understanding of baseball, and they ate and chatted a lot about the city's baseball team.She almost completely forgot about Norman, until after a while, she began to imagine that if she opened the door and found Norman in the room, sitting on her bed, drinking a cup of coffee, or looking at her picture of the woman on the hilltop. How does she feel when the portrait is contemplating. As they climbed the stairs, Rosie in front and Bill a step or two behind, she realized that there was something else worrying her: what if he was going to kiss her tonight?What if he proposes to come in after the kiss? Norman told her gravely and patiently that of course he was coming in.It's the tone whenever he's trying not to be angry but actually is.In fact, he will insist, spend fifty yuan to treat someone to dinner, what else can he not ask for? My God, you should be rewarded—there are girls prettier than you on the street, and they don't share half of their fifty dollars.He wants to come in and he wants to sleep with you.Maybe this is right up your alley, because you're dreaming. She took the key out of the purse without dropping it, but the tip of the key trembled near the keyhole and could not be inserted.He took her hand in his and opened the door for her.When he touched her hand, she felt another electric shock and had no idea how the key got into the middle of the lock. She walked in.No Norman, unless he's hiding in a closet.Just cheerful cream-coloured walls, portraits hanging by the windows, and sun-drenched sinks.Although it is not yet a home, it is a step closer to the dormitory of the sisters' house. "It's not bad, you know," he said concerned. "It's not a suburban duplex, but it's pretty good." "Would you like to come in?" she asked with numb lips that seemed injected with novocaine. "I can make you a coffee..." it is good!Norman cheered in her head.Everything is going so well, huh?You give him coffee and he gives you cream.Such a deal! Bill seemed to think carefully before shaking his head. "It doesn't feel right," he said, "at least not tonight. I don't think you feel how you affect me." He smiled a little uneasily. "I don't think I felt how you affected me." He Seeing something over her shoulder made him laugh and throw up his hands. "You did exactly the right thing about buying that portrait—I didn't think of it at the time, but you did. I suppose you've got a place for that?" She shook her head and also smiled: "I didn't know this house existed when I bought the painting." "You must have telepathy. I'm sure you'll look great hanging here in the afternoon and evening, with the sun shining on the screen from the side." "Yes, it's beautiful every time." Rosie didn't add that it was fine in every way--painted and hung in a perfect place--every time. "I guess you're not tired of it yet?" "Absolutely not." She wanted to add a sentence, which is interesting.Why don't you come over and take a closer look, maybe you'll see something more startling than a lady who's about to smash your head out with a canning jar.Tell me, Bill—is that painting really going from regular to widescreen, or is it just my imagination? Of course, she didn't say anything. Bill put his hand on her shoulder, leaned forward, and kissed her lightly between her eyebrows, and she looked up at him gravely. "Thank you for eating with me," he said. "Thank you for inviting me." She felt a tear fall on her left cheek and wiped it away with the back of her hand.She wasn't afraid of what he saw, she wasn't ashamed, and she could at least trust him for this tear, because it was wonderful. "Look here," he said, "I have a motorcycle, a big old Harley, it's big and noisy, it sometimes stalls at long stops at traffic lights, but it's pretty comfortable...I'm absolutely sure I'm safe. I'm one of only six helmeted Harley riders in the US. If the weather is nice on Saturday, I can take you out in the morning. I know a beautiful place on a lake thirty miles from here. There's still some swimming It's cold, but we can have a picnic." At first she could hardly answer anything—she was flattered by another invitation.And riding on the back of his motorcycle... what would that feel like?For a moment Rosie had only one thought on his mind, riding through the streets at fifty or sixty miles an hour on the back of the two-wheeler, with his arms around him.A hot air rushed out of her body completely unexpectedly, like a fever feeling, and she couldn't identify what it was, although she remembered feeling this way a long time ago. "Rosie, what do you think?" "I... oh..." What should she say?Rosie nervously pressed her tongue against her upper lip, trying to look away from him and clear her mind when she saw a stack of pornographic advertisements on the counter.She looked back at Bill with disappointment and relief. "I couldn't go. Saturday was picnic day at the sisters' house. They helped me when I first got here. They were my friends. There was softball, running, live crafting—things like that. And then music at night Yeah, maybe make some money. Indigo Girls choir this year. I promised them I'd go to the t-shirt sale at five o'clock, and I should. I'm grateful for them." "I can take you there without trouble at five o'clock," he said. "Four o'clock if you like." She wanted to do it...but there were many things that frightened her more than selling T-shirts in public.If she told him, would he understand?If she said, I like to put my arms around you when you drive fast, I like it when you wear a leather jacket, so my face can smell that good smell on your shoulder, when you exercise You can still hear the friction sound from it.I love it all, but I'm worried about what I might find after the orgasm has passed... the Norman in my head might have been following around what you really want.What scares me the most is having to investigate the basic premise of my husband's life, something he never said because there's no need to: the way he treats me is impeccable and perfectly normal.It's not pain that I'm afraid of; I know what pain is.What I'm afraid of is that this good, sweet dream will end.You know, I rarely have such dreams. She realizes what she should say, then realizes she can't say it, maybe because she's seen in so many movies what sounds like a whine: Don't hurt me, that's what she wants to say.Please don't hurt me.If you hurt me, the best part of me that's left will die. But he was still waiting for her answer, for what she had to say. Rosie said no, she should really go to the picnic and the concert, maybe another time.Then she saw the portrait hanging by the window.Rosie thought, she didn't hesitate any more, she would count the time with her fingers, wait for Saturday, and when she finally climbed on the iron horse behind him, she would keep urging him to gallop as fast as he could. Flying, Rosie could almost see her sitting in the car, the folds of her rose red dress fluttering in the wind, her bare thighs wrapped tightly around his hip. In an instant, the hot feeling spread all over her body again, this time it came stronger and more charming. "Well," she said, "I promise you, but on one condition." "Just say it," he said with a grin.He was obviously overjoyed. "Please take me to Erdinger Quay, where the Sisters' House event is taking place. Then we'll enjoy the concert together. This time I'm in for a treat." "It's a deal," he said urgently. "Can I pick you up at eight-thirty? Maybe it's too early?" "No, the time is just right." "You need a coat and a sweater," he said. "You can put it in your car bag, and it's going to be cold outside." "Okay," she said, and it had already occurred to her to ask Pol Hayward, who was about the same size, to borrow them.Rosie's closet of all outdoor clothing is just a light jacket, so can't budget any expenses in this room, at least in the short term. "I'll see you then. Thank you again for tonight." He wanted to kiss her again, and finally took her hand and held it for a moment. "you are welcome." He turned and ran down the stairs like a child.She couldn't help but compare Norman's movements—he walked slowly and heavily with his head down, or walked with a certain nervous briskness.She watched his elongated figure on the wall until it disappeared, then closed the door, locked every lock, and leaned against the door to admire the painting from a distance. It has changed again.She was almost sure of it. Rossi crossed the room and stood in front of the portrait, hands folded behind her back, head tilted slightly forward, in a pose that resembled a caricature of an art gallery patron or frequenter in The New Yorker. Yes, she saw it, and while the extent of the portrait remained the same as before, she must have widened somewhere.To the right of the squinting second head in the lush grass, she could see a path leading to a glade.To the left of the woman on the hilltop, she can now see the head of a shaggy foal.It was blindfolded and was sowing knee-deep grass, and it looked as if it had a harness. It could have been a cart, or a four-wheeled carriage, or a four-wheeled hansom.That part of Rosie is invisible, at least so far it's out of the picture.However, she could see two shadows inside.She thought that the second shadow was probably a person's head and body.Perhaps someone was standing by the harnessed pony, or— Maybe you're crazy, Rosie.You don't really think the painting gets bigger, do you? But the truth is, she believed it, she saw it, and she found herself more thrilled by the idea than terrified.She wished she had asked Bill for his opinion.She wished to know if he saw what she saw—or thought he saw, too. Saturday, she promised herself, Saturday I might be there. She began to undress, and as she sat in the tiny bathtub brushing her teeth, she had forgotten all about Rose and the Woman on the Hill.She also forgot about Norman, Anna, Pol, and the Indigo Girls on Saturday night.She was thinking about the dinner she had with Bill Steiner, their rendezvous replaying in her mind bit by bit. 8 She was lying in bed falling asleep, listening to the crickets chirping in Bryant Park. Her mind began to wander, unconsciously recalling 1985, which was far away from her, and her daughter Carolina.From Norman's point of view, this Carolina never existed.He agreed with Rosie's hesitant suggestion that Carolina was a good girl's name, but that didn't change his mind.For Norman, there was only one embryo that died prematurely. 1985—what a year that was, a year of no return.She lost her baby, her Carolina, and Norman almost lost his job (he was actually almost arrested).Her ribs were broken, a split bone nearly punctured a lung, and, more horribly, she was raped by him with the handle of a tennis racket.That is to say, from that year on, her previously stable heart began to shake slowly. She hardly noticed that half an hour on the rocking chair became as short as five minutes. After Norman went to work, she sometimes had to take a shower eight or nine times. . She must have conceived in January because she threw up every morning since then and missed her period again in February.The case urging "official discipline" for Norman came down in March, including one that awaits his retirement. What is his name?she asked herself.She was still in bed, floating between sleep and wakefulness.Getting closer to sobriety now.What's the name of the man who keeps stirring things up? The man's name refused to come out for a long time, only remembering that he was black... In Norman's words, he was dancing a jig.Now she remembered— "Bender," she muttered in the dark, listening to the fading crickets, "Ricky Bender. That's his name." 1985, never to return.Life is gone forever.Now I have this life again.this house.this bed.With the sound of crickets. Rosie closed her eyes and finally drifted off to sleep. 9 诺曼在离他的妻子不到三英里远的地方，躺在自己的床上，即将进入梦乡，黑暗之中静听着九层楼下面湖滨大道上传来的汽车喧闹声。他的牙齿和下颌还在隐隐作疼，在阿司匹林和苏格兰威士忌混合物的作用下，已经变得不那么厉害了。 当他处于游离状态时，发现自己也在想里奇·班德，他们两个人好像在完全无知的情况下产生了心灵感应。 “里奇，”诺曼在黑暗的旅馆房间里嘟哝着，把手放在紧闭的眼睛上，“里奇·班德，你这令人恶心的垃圾，令人呕吐的狗屎。” 那曾是一个星期六，是1985年三月份的第一个星期六。大约是九年前。那天上午十一点左右，一个像跳快步舞般走路的家伙走进了60街和萨兰奈路之间拐角处的便利店，两颗子弹射进了出纳员的脑袋里，他洗劫了现金提款机，然后走掉了。当诺曼和他的搭档审问隔壁旧瓶回收中心的出纳员时，另一个跳快步舞的家伙走了进来，这人穿了一件水牛比尔运动衫。 “我认识那个黑人。”他说。 “哪个黑人，兄弟？” “就是抢劫便利店的那个黑人。”跳快步舞的人回答说，“他出来时我正站在外面的信箱旁边。他名叫里奇·班德，在他住的汽车旅馆门外卖偷来的东西”。他模糊地往东边火车站方向指了指。 “那是个什么样的汽车旅馆？”哈里。毕辛顿问。哈里在那倒霉的一天是诺曼的搭档。 “瑞路汽车旅馆。”黑人说。 “你不会正巧知道房间号吧？”哈里又问，“你对似乎认识的恶棍了解那么多吗？棕色朋友？” 哈里总是这么讲话。有时能使诺曼爆发。他经常使诺曼想用他那条编织的领带勒死他。 棕色皮肤的朋友知道，好吧，当然他知道。毫无疑问他本人每周来两三次，也可能五六次，假如他的现金流动状况良好的话，就从那个坏黑人里奇·班德手里买宝石。他们的棕色皮肤朋友以及所有跳快步舞的棕色皮肤的伙伴们，很可能这家伙有什么把柄捏在里奇·班德的手里，但那对于诺曼和哈里没有意义；他们想知道的是哪里能抓住那个开枪的人，这样他们就能把他打出屎来，赶在五点钟喝鸡尾酒之前了结此案。 穿比尔运动眼的跳快步舞的黑人没有回忆起班德的房间号码，但他能告诉他们那间房子的位置：一楼，侧面那排房，可乐机和售报机之间的那个房间。 诺曼和哈里抡着拳头进了汽车旅馆，很明显这是全市最好的罪犯隐匿之地。他们敲响了可乐机和售报机之间的房门，一个邋遢的黄种女人懒洋洋地开了门，透过红色尼龙丝套裙可以把里面的胸罩和紧身内裤看得通通透透，一看便知她是那种吸毒的美国人。两名警察看见在电视机上放着三只很像破瓶子的东西，诺曼问她哪里能找到里奇·班德。她犯了一个错误。她不该嘲笑他。“我没有什么威林·布兰德，”她说，“现在听着，小家伙，夹着尾巴从这里滚出去。” 一切都显而易见，诺曼和哈里说温蒂·亚洛女士从皮包里拿出一只指甲挫，用它向诺曼刺了两次。当然他的前额和右手背有两处很浅的伤痕，但亚洛女士声明说手上的伤是诺曼自己割破的，眉毛上是他的搭档帮他割的。他们把她推进火车站汽车旅馆12单元以后，打断她的鼻子和四根手指，不断地踩她的左脚，以至于踩碎九块骨头，揪掉了大量的头发，还不停地打她的腹部，然后他们就把自己的手和额头弄破。她告诉风纪警察，矮个的那人还强奸了她。肩膀很宽的那个人也想强奸她但没有成功。开始他一直不能勃起，便在她的脸上和乳房上使劲打，后来他就勃起了。她告诉他们：“他还没有等到进去就射精了，弄得我满腿都是精液。后来他又打了我。他告诉我，他想紧挨着我谈一谈。但是他所有的谈话都是用拳头进行的。” 诺曼躺在白石旅馆的床上，这是她妻子的手曾经铺过的床单。他翻到自己这一边，竭力把1985年从脑子里赶走，但它却不想离开。毫不奇怪，1985年总是像幽灵一样在附近徘徊，只要一出现就不再走开，就像一个你总是无法摆脱的爱喋喋不休的邻居。 我们犯了个错误，诺曼想。我们不该相信那个走路像跳舞一样的穿足球衫的混蛋。 是的，那是一个相当大的错误。我承认。她看起来好像是里奇·班德的女人，果真如此的话，她所在的房间就应该是里奇·班德的。这是他们犯的第二个错误，或者说，是第一个错误的延伸，无论第几个都没关系，因为结果都是同样的。温迪·亚洛是业余女招待和业余妓女，还是个专职吸毒者。但她不是在里奇·班德的房间里，从来不知道有这样一个人。里奇·班德被确认抢劫了便利店，杀害了出纳员，但是他的房间不在可乐机和售报机之间，那是温迪·亚洛的房间，她始终一个人住在那里。至少在不寻常的那一天她是一个人。 里奇·班德的房间在可乐机的另一边。这一错误使诺曼和哈里·毕辛顿几乎丢了饭碗。最后，风纪警察相信了关于指甲挫的说法，由于没有找到精液，亚洛女士关于遭到强奸的指控未得到支持。她肯定说两人中老一点的，就是强奸成功的那名警察使用了避孕套，后来扔进了抽水马桶中。这一断言也没有证据。 还有其他问题。公寓中其他人也承认丹尼尔斯探员和毕辛顿一心想征服这位手拿指甲挫的一百一十磅重的野猫，她的确断了几根手指。因此他们遭到正式惩罚，这还不是一切。那个盛气凌人的贱货发现了那个犹太人……那个秃顶的小犹太人…… 但是这世界上到处都是狂妄自大的贱货，她们不断地给你制造麻烦，例如诺曼的妻子就是其中之一。不过他能够对付得了她这号人。这样想，他就能够睡着了。 诺曼又翻到了床的另一边。1985年终于渐渐远去了。“在你毫无准备的时候，罗丝，”他喃喃低语着，“我就在那个时候找到你。” 五分钟后，他睡着了。 10 他叫她作“那个邋遢女人”，罗西躺在自己床上想。他即将睡着，可是还差一点。她仍能听见公园里蟋蟀的叫声。那个邋遢的黄种女孩儿，他真恨她！ 是的，他当然恨她。内务部调查员曾经乱成一锅粥，诺曼和哈里不失体面地应付了他们的调查，仅仅发现那个邋遢的黄种女孩儿给她自己找了个律师，代表她呈报了一大堆民事诉讼申请备案。按照诺曼的说法，那个犹太秃头律师专办交通伤人案件。他们点了诺曼、哈里以及整个警察署的名。而且，在罗西流产前不久，温迪·亚洛被杀。她的尸体是在湖西岸谷仓中一个专门用来运送谷物的电梯后边被发现的。她被刺了一百多刀，她的乳房被砍掉了。 诺曼告诉罗西，是一些令人恶心的事情。虽然他放下电话以后再没有笑（警察商店一定有人很激动，因为打电话时他在家），他的声音却抑制不住地流露出满意的语调。她参加这种游戏大频繁了。灾难。当时他轻轻抚摩着她的头发，用手慢慢持着它，对着她笑——不是那种使她想大叫的辛辣的笑容，但她仍想高声尖叫，因为她知道温迪·亚洛那个邋遢的黄种女孩发生了什么事。 看你有多么走运，他对她说。他用那双巨大坚硬的手按摩着她脖子后面，肩膀，隆起的胸部。看你有多走运，罗丝，不用出去谋生。 后来，可能是一个月或六个星期以后，他从车库里出来，看到罗西在读爱情小说，便决定跟她谈谈他在娱乐方面的口味。当然，必须距离很近才能谈这件事。 1985年，可怕的一年。 罗西躺在床上，把手放在枕头下面，即将进入梦乡。她仍能听见蟋蟀的叫声从窗户外面传进来，声音那么响亮，好像她的房间被一种魔力抬到了公园里的室外音乐台上。她想起了一个女人，她坐在角落里，她的头发粘在甜美的脸颊上，当鲜血像虫子般恶毒地舔着她的大腿内侧时，她的肚子硬得像石头一样，她的眼睛在乌黑的眼眶中转动着。从看见床单上面的血滴到现在已经过去很久了，那个女人那时并不知道世界上有姐妹之家这种地方和比尔·史丹纳这种人存在，那个女人交叉着双臂，抱着肩膀向上帝祷告，祈求上帝这不是流产，不是她那个甜蜜梦想的终结；当她感到一切已经发生时，她想也许这样更好些。她已经知道诺曼是怎样尽丈夫的义务，他又会怎样尽一个父亲的义务呢？ 蟋蟀的叫声渐渐低了下去，变成了一支催眠曲。她甚至能闻到在遥远的地方，在五月才能闻到的那种带有浓烈甜味的青草的芳香。它使她联想起八月的干草场。 我以前从来没有闻到过公园里的青草味，她睡眼矇眬地想。是爱情冲昏了头脑吗？在使你发疯的同时，也使你的感觉更加敏锐吗？ 她隐隐约约听见了隆隆声，很可能是雷声。这真奇怪，因为比尔带她回家时天空很晴朗，她曾抬头看着天空，想知道她能看见多少颗星星，如果把橘黄色的、密密麻麻的路灯也算在内的话。 她飘浮着，来到了远方，坠入了无梦的睡眠之中，黑暗前她最后想到的是我怎么可能听见蟋蟀的叫声，而且还能闻到青草的香味？窗户并没有打开；临睡前我已经关上了窗户，并且上好了锁。