Chapter 12 Chapter 7 The Picnic 1

1 Norman has been talking to her. He lay wide awake in his hotel room Thursday night through the long, dark midnight, and lay helplessly in bed until Friday morning.He turned on all the lights except the fluorescent light over the tub.The room was bright, and he liked it.It reminded him of looking at streetlights through thick fog.On that same Thursday night, he lay there in almost the same position as Rosie had been in bed before she went to sleep, except that Rosie had put both hands under her head and he had only one.He held a cigarette in his other hand, and from time to time picked up the bottle of wine on the floor and brought it to his mouth.

Rosie, where are you?He questioned his missing wife.Where did you go?How dare you run away, you silent, tiptoeing, frightened little mouse? What he cared about was the second question - how dare she run away.The first question didn't really matter because he already knew where she would be on Sunday.A lion does not pay attention to where the zebras are looking for food, it is enough for him to wait by the watering hole where they drink.So far so good, but...how dare she leave him?Even if he was going to die after their last conversation, he wanted to figure that out.Was her action premeditated, or just a coincidence, or a wrong decision made out of impulse?Did anyone help her (like the dead Mr. Peter Slowik or something)?What had she been doing since she'd walked out of the house at her own pace in this lovely lakeside city?A waitress cleaning up the bastards' trash at a place like this White Rock Inn?He doesn't think so.Just think of her looking after her own house, she's a lazy bum, and she can't handle such a lowly job.She doesn't have any kind of specialty.It seems that she can only make a living by selling her appearance.Now she might still be somewhere in the street.God knows, doing that kind of thing with a bitch like her is as boring as a pile of mud, but a man will always pay for a woman, even if he didn't do anything, just lie in bed and drool for a while after the show willingly.She must have been in the street.

He would ask her all about it.Once he had all the answers—all the answers he could get from a woman of her type, he would put a belt around her neck, silence her, and bite... and bite... His mouth and jaw still hurt trying to educate the "Jewish naive" in town, but he's never going to stop, not even need to slow down.There were three pills in the bottom of the bag, which he would swallow before dealing with the lost lamb, his sweet little Rose.As for after doing what you should do, the effect of the medicine will gradually disappear at that time... He couldn't care less about the future.He had a feeling that there would be no future, only darkness.He didn't care about it, maybe "darkness" was what the doctor was going to prescribe for him.

He lay in bed drinking the best scotch in the world and smoking one by one.The smoke ring, illuminated by the soft white light in the bathroom, turned into a blue mist that floated to the smooth ceiling.He stared at the layers of smoke and kept talking to her.He kept talking to her.One of his heavy punches missed and hit the water, missing anything.He was going crazy, it was as if she had been kidnapped.When he was most drunk, he tightly held a burning cigarette butt in his hand, imagining that it was her hand, which was being firmly clamped by his hand, and pressed tightly against the flame.The pain gnawed at him, and puffs of smoke drifted from his fingers. He murmured, "Rose, where are you? You thief, where are you hiding?"

Shortly thereafter, he fell into a coma.At about ten o'clock on Friday morning, he was drunk from the previous night.Waking up with restlessness and indescribable fear.He had some strange dreams all night.He dreamed that he was still awake on this bed in his room on the ninth floor of the White Rock Hotel, and the incandescent light in the bathroom was softly passing through the dark bedroom like this, and his smoke ring rose from the bed and finally turned blue. colored mist.The difference is that only in his dream can he see the movie-like scene in the smoke, and see the appearance of Rose.

He saw her walking through a dead garden in the pouring rain. "So you're here." He thought.Rose stood there naked for some reason, and he felt a sudden urge.For eight years or more he had been indifferent to her nudity, even terribly tired of it.But now she looked different.Actually pretty good. It's not that she's gotten thinner, he thought in his dream, although she does look thinner.Probably something in her manner made him feel that way.what is that? He suddenly remembered.She had the exuberant look of having just slept with a man that only a woman could have, evident on her face.If there's any doubt about that, just look at her hairstyle: She dyed her hair into that blonde bitch look, and she thinks she's Sharon Stone, or maybe Madonna.

He watched Rose emerge through the mist from the lifeless garden to a brook, black as pitch and glistening.She crossed the creek on stepping stones, balancing on her hands outstretched, one hand holding a ball of wet, crumpled fabric that looked like a nightgown.He thought, why don't you put it on, you shameless bitch?I really want to know, are you still waiting for your boyfriend to come and work together?Let me tell you—if I finally catch you and find you holding hands with a guy, the cops are going to find the guy with that goddam thing sticking up like a birthday candle in his crotch.

But in the dream no one came to her.Rose, Rose in the smoke, walked up a path through a grove above his bed.The woods were dead.She came to a clearing where there was only one living tree.She knelt on the ground, picked up some tree seeds, wrapped them in a strip of cloth that seemed to be torn from her pajamas, then got up and walked towards the village steps, and disappeared from there (in the dream. , you never know what the hell is going to happen next).He was standing nearby waiting for her to come back when suddenly he felt something behind him, like a draft from an open cold store, which made him tremble.During his career as a police officer, he has dealt with some formidable characters - the most terrible people he and Harry Bissington have often had to deal with are drug addicts - and thus develop a kind of The instinct to be aware of danger coming.At this moment he realized that someone was coming, this person was right behind him, and she was undoubtedly a very dangerous person.

A woman's voice whispered: "I will repay you." The voice was sweet and husky, creepy.There was nothing rational in that voice. "Brilliant, you bastard!" Norman said in the dream. "If you really want to pay me back, I will change your life." she screamed.The sound didn't pass through the ears, but went directly into the brain.She opened her hands and lunged at him.He took a deep breath and blew the smoke aside, and the woman was gone.Norman sensed that she had gone.For some time thereafter he floated quite peacefully in the darkness, undisturbed by all the fears and desires that had surrounded him when he was awake.

At ten ten on Friday morning he awoke.He moved his eyes from the alarm clock beside the bed to the ceiling, almost hoping that the ghost of last night would reappear from the smoky room.Of course there were no ghosts, nothing.Even the smoke was dissipating, leaving only the smell of cigarettes wafting through the room; only he, Detective Norman Daniels, lay in the sweat-soaked bed, reeking strongly of tobacco and alcohol. on the bed.He had a taste in his mouth, as though he had been gnawing at the toe of a freshly polished Cordovan boot all night.The blisters on the palm of his left hand were glistening, and the pain in his fingers almost turned him into a crazy bastard.A group of pigeons stood on the window lattice covered with feces, flapping their wings and whispering.Norman stared blankly at the blister, and it took him a long time to remember that he had burned it with a cigarette butt last night.He nodded secretly, that's right, he did this precisely because he couldn't find Rose... After that, he had crazy dreams all night, as if he had obtained a kind of psychological compensation.

He put two fingers next to the blister, squeezed it slowly and hard, then took a towel and wiped his fingers clean.He lay on the bed for a few more minutes, still looking at the finger—watching its twitching, savoring the piercing pain.Then he pulled the travel bag from under the bed and from the bottom of the bag took out a Sucrex tin containing a small amount of stimulants and more of a sedative.Generally speaking, Norman only needs medical help when he is sleeping, and usually does not need it after waking up. He swallowed the pills with a sip of whiskey, lay back on the bed, stared at the ceiling, started smoking one cigarette after another, and kept snuffing them out in the already full ashtray. cigarette butts. This time he wasn't thinking of Rose, at least not directly.He was thinking of the picnic that her new friends were going to have.He had been to Erdinger Quay, and the situation there was not encouraging.It's an open area with a large beach, picnic areas, and public recreation areas.There was no way he could monitor Rose and know exactly when she arrived and left.It would have been different if he had had six people (or even four if they knew what the job was like), but now it was just him.If she hadn't come by boat, there would have been three other entrances, and he couldn't keep his eyes on them all at the same time, or he would have to hustle through the crowd like a bastard.He hoped that Rose alone would recognize him tomorrow.But hope was always a shaky game, and he had to imagine that they would find him, and that they'd already got his picture from the women's group back home. This is one aspect of the problem.Another aspect was his belief, formed after more than one traumatic encounter, that concealment was a good way to deal with such catastrophic situations.In the open air, when you're trying to smash some bastard's head off, the most likely cause of failure is the now-fad communication facility.If a little guy occasionally maneuvers a radio-controlled boat or rowing boat into the area, it's likely that more than six months of surveillance and careful planning will come to naught.He thought: It doesn't matter, don't ask for trouble.I remember the old White Slater often said: the situation is the situation, no one can control it, the key is how you do it.Can't put it off any longer, there's only twenty-four hours left until that damned potluck, and if you miss her this time, you might not be able to find her until Christmas.Also, just in case you're careless: this is a big city. He got up and went into the bathroom, took a shower with his blistered hand outside the shower curtain, put on faded jeans, an indescribable green shirt, a cap, and finally a cheap pair of Sunglasses tucked into shirt pocket.He took the elevator down to the lobby and bought a newspaper and a box of Band-Aids from the newspaper cabinet.He was looking out the window behind the newspaper counter over the guy's shoulder while he waited for the change from the fool behind the counter.From this piece of glass, he happened to see the special elevator inside the hotel. At this time, an elevator was opening, and three chattering and laughing room attendants came out.They carried handbags, and Norman guessed they were going to lunch.The one in the middle was slender and pretty, with shaggy blond hair, and Norman had seen her somewhere before.He quickly remembered that he had crossed a crosswalk with the blond girl on his way to scout the Sisters' House.She was wearing red slacks and wriggling her cute little ass. "I'm looking for your money, sir," said the newspaper vendor to him.Norman stuffed the change into his trouser pocket without looking back.He walked past the three women without even looking at them, including the posing girl.He was already unconsciously comparing her to Rose.His knees were cramping, a cop's natural reflex.All his consciousness was focused on one single thing: how to find Rose tomorrow without being found himself. Just as he was walking out of the corridor, he suddenly heard a few familiar words: "Ettinger Wharf." At first, he thought these words came out of his own head.His sturdy steps suddenly became staggering, his heart was beating wildly, and the blisters on his palms were also violently twitching.In fact, he just changed the wrong step.After a brief hesitation, he lowered his head and walked towards the revolving door.A bystander would have thought he had just had a bout of pain in his knee or calf, which was exactly what he was hoping for.The problem is, he can't allow himself to take another wrong step.Had the woman been from the women's establishment in Durham Street, she would have recognized him by any indiscretion on his part.If the woman who had said "Ettinger's Wharf" had been Baby who had crossed the street with him, she might have recognized him.But he knew it was impossible.As a police officer, he had experienced firsthand that most ordinary people are surprisingly numb and unobservant of their surroundings.But there are occasional exceptions.Even if those murderers, kidnappers, and bank robbers can get away with it for a long time and become the top ten most wanted criminals of the FBI, they will inadvertently fall into the hands of a 711 chain store employee who likes to read "The Insider" or someone The female traffic policeman who must watch every episode of the "Crime Revealed" program broadcast on TV.In order not to attract their attention, he dared not stop.But—but he had to stop. Norman suddenly knelt down on the left side of the revolving door, with his back to the three women, bowed his head and pretended to be tying his shoelaces. "It's a pity to miss the concert, but if I really like that car, I won't say no to this..." They go out.Norman heard only half a sentence, though—it was enough to convince him that they were talking about the picnic concert that would make the day unforgettable.According to this reasoning, it is possible that this woman knew Rose.The chances are not necessarily great, many people who have nothing to do with the "Sisters' House" will also go to Erdinger Quay tomorrow.But either way, it's always an opportunity.Norman was a firm believer in the impermanence of fate.But the trouble was that he didn't know which of the three women he had just spoken to. He stood up quickly and walked out of the revolving door, praying silently.I wish it was the blond girl who was talking, the blond woman with the big eyes and alluring ass.I wish it was her. Stalking is obviously dangerous.You can't tell when one of them will take a casual glance around and recognize the face, earning a big bounty.But now he has no other choice.He staggered after them, tilting his head on purpose, as if all he really cared about was the rubbish in the windows by the side of the road. "Have you counted those pillowcases today?" the fat woman walking in the farthest asked the other two. "Not one less this time," said the older woman outside. "How are you, Paul?" The blond girl replied, "I haven't counted it yet, it's such a depressing job." All three laughed.The high-pitched laughter made Norman feel like his nerves were bursting.He immediately drew back his footsteps, inspected a window displaying sporting goods on the side of the road, and let the women continue to go away.Well, it's her, that's right.The blond girl was the woman who said the magic words "Ettinger's Wharf."It might have changed everything, it might have changed nothing, and at the moment he was uncontrollably excited, sure, unexpected good luck was shining on him, which is the kind of thing you always do when you're working on a case where the odds of winning are slim. Looking forward to the kind of good luck that will come, and people obviously don't believe that good luck will often come. As for now, he wanted to keep this auspicious omen deep in his heart and continue with Plan A.He wouldn't even invite the blond girl back to the hotel, at least not yet.He knew her name was Pol, and that was enough for him to start working on everything. Norman walked to the bus station, waited fifteen minutes, and hopped on a scheduled shuttle to the airport.The road is far away and the airport is on the edge of the city.After the car reached the terminal, he hurriedly put on his sunglasses and walked to the long-term parking lot.The first car he was going to get into had been parked for so long that the battery had died.The second was a featureless Ford "Accelerator" that started reasonably well.He told the ticket office that he had lost his ticket after living in Dallas for three weeks.He said he was always missing things and often couldn't find his laundry list, so he kept showing his driver's license.The man at the check-in station nodded impatiently as if listening to a boring story he had heard a thousand times, and his spirits suddenly perked up when Norman humbly handed over the extra ten dollars.He quickly put the money in his pocket. Norman Daniels pulled out of the long-term parking lot; almost at that moment Rabbi Lefferts made a proposal to his fugitive wife of what he called "a firmer business partnership." Two miles up the road, Norman pulled over behind a billboard and changed the plates.We drove another two miles and stopped in front of Rob's car wash.He bet that the "accelerator" must be dark blue, but he lost the bet, and it was actually green.It didn't matter that the man at the ticket window lifted his eyes from the little black-and-white TV only once when he stuck the ten-dollar bill under his nose.It's better to play this game on the safe side and at least add some comfort. Norman turns on the radio and finds an outdated old station where Shirley Ellis is hosting the show.He followed Shirley's instructions and sang along. "If the first two letters are the same, omit them and sing later, as in 'Barry-Barry', leave out the bar and sing Ali, that's the only rule." Then he sang.Norman caught every word of the corny old song.I don't know what's wrong with the world when you're only two years out of high school and can't remember the damn quadratic equations and the different forms of French verbs, and you're almost forty years old and you can still make "prison-prison" ——Imp—Bick, Banana—Fana—Lieutenant—Fick. Bounty—Fermore—Mick—Nick" This kind of boring nursery rhyme is memorized by heart, what kind of a thing is this? world child Norman thought calmly, yes, it seems to be true, the world has fallen behind me.Like an astronaut in a sci-fi movie watching the Earth shrink before his eyes, the world seemed to me first as a ball, then as a penny, then as a reddish blob, and finally disappeared.That was the picture in his mind right now—the spaceship advancing on a five-year mission to develop a new, uninhabited world.The Norman spacecraft is approaching cosmic speeds. Shirley Ellis was on the air, followed by some sort of Beatles music.Norman didn't want to hear stupid good pips repeating "Nee. Judy" nonsense today.He turned the volume down so hard that the knob came off with too much force. A few miles from the edge of the city, he passed a place called Base Camp.A tall, conspicuous billboard proclaimed "Army Surplus You've Never Seen Before."For some reason, the ad made him laugh out loud.This, he thought, was the most special advertisement he had ever seen in his life.It seems to contain something, but it doesn't say it directly.But the ad wasn't important, and there might be something in the store he'd been looking for.He really found it. A large billboard hangs in the middle aisle, which reads "absolutely safe, no regrets".Three different shapes, Norman saw, gas lamps, tear gas, trebuchets (an excellent self-defense weapon if you happen to be attacked by a blind quadriplegic in your home), an air gun that fires rubber bullets , slingshots, plain and tacked brass finger cots, foreskin lead sticks, whips, whistles, etc.When Norman was almost halfway down the corridor, he finally found in a glass case what he thought was the only really useful thing in the entire "base camp": a stun gun.He bought it for 63 yuan and 50 cents.When the trigger is pulled, the gun sends a powerful electric current (though probably not the 90,000 volts promised on the label) from two steel electrodes.Norman believed that every shot of it would kill like a small-bore pistol, and best of all, it didn't require a signature at all to buy it. "Do you want to buy a nine-volt battery?" the clerk asked.A young man with a harelip and a bullet-headed head, he wears a T-shirt that reads "It's better to have a gun and not use it than to not have it when you need it."To Norman, this guy looked like the offspring of some kind of inbreeding. "Want the battery, nine volts?" Norman understood what he wanted to say and nodded: "Give me two. Keep one as a spare." The young man laughed as if he had just heard the funniest joke ever, better than "Army Surplus You've Never Seen"!Then he bent down and pulled out two nine-volt batteries from under the counter, snapping them next to Norman's Omega stun gun. "One five!" cried the young man, laughing even harder.Norman counted out the money, and laughed along with Mr. Harelip who was overjoyed.Then he thought that it was at this moment that he started the cosmic speed and all the planets went into orbit.All -- this time we're going via the Clinton Empire. Returning to town in his stolen Accelerator, he passes a barbershop with the catchy name: All You Want Barbershop.The smiling cigarette girl on the billboard in front of the store has begun to darken.Stepping into the porch, a young black man with a cool mustache was sitting in an old fashioned barber chair with headphones on his head and a copy of Jet on his lap. "What kind of hair do you want?" asked the black barber.His tone was rather abrupt for a Negro, but not offensive.You shouldn't talk like that to a white guy without a good reason, especially if you're alone in the store.Norman was at least 6-foot-2, with broad shoulders and strong thighs, and he smelled like a police officer. Above the mirror are pictures of Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley and Alan Rose.Jordan is wearing a Birmingham Jazz baseball jersey with the slogan, "Once and Forever Bull," printed on a photo.Norman pointed to the photo and said, "Give me this hairstyle." The black barber watched Norman carefully, first deciding whether he was drunk or out of his mind, and then trying to figure out if he was joking.It seems to be more difficult to judge this point. "Brother, what are you talking about? Are you trying to shave your head?" "Exactly, that's exactly what I meant." Norman ran his hand through his hair.He has thick black hair with just beginning to show gray at the temples.The hairstyle was neither long nor short, and he had kept it that way for twenty years.He stared at himself in the mirror and tried to imagine what he would look like as a white man with a shaved head like Jordan's, but he couldn't.Take a chance, Rose and her new friends won't be able to imagine his new look. "Are you sure?" Norman felt a sudden nausea, an urge to knock the man to the ground, put his knee on his chest, and lean over and bite off his entire upper lip, cool mustache, and everything on his face.He knew how he got the urge, the guy looked a bit like that gay fool Raymond Saunders who tried to get cash on a credit card stolen by lying bitch Rose. Huh, barber, barber.You're not far from hell, Norman thought.If you dare to say one more word or say one wrong sentence, you are completely finished.Too bad I can't warn you, not even if I wanted to, because right now I have a bunch of burning nails in my throat.So, better start now. The barber was watching him carefully again.Norman stood there, motionless as he watched.He felt much calmer, if anything happened, he could do it, everything was under his fist. "Well, I guess you've made up your mind," said the barber at last.There was a gentleness in his voice that dispelled doubts.Norman slowly released the handle of the stun gun in his trouser pocket.The barber put his magazine down on the counter next to a pile of potion and perfume bottles (the brass labels on them read "Samuel Roy") and stood up, holding a plastic apron. "You want to be like Jordan, let's do it." Twenty minutes later, Norman looked at himself thoughtfully in the mirror.Samuel Roy stood by the chair admiring him.Roy looked concerned and interested, as if discovering something familiar in a new look.Two more customers came, and they looked at Norman looking in the mirror with obvious expressions of appreciation on their faces. "This man looks really energetic." A customer said.There was a slight hint of surprise in his voice, and it sounded like he was talking to himself.Norman couldn't believe that the man in the mirror was himself.He blinked, and the man in the mirror blinked; he smiled, and the man smiled; he turned around, and the man turned around too.But it's no use.He used to have the eyebrows of a policeman, but now he has the learned eyebrows of a mathematics professor.For a moment it was difficult for him to accept the round, sensual curves and the pallor of his bald head.He didn't think his complexion was tanned, but compared with his pale head, the rest of his skin was as dark and shiny as a security guard's.His head seemed particularly fragile, and it was so impossibly perfect in a man like him, or in any man, especially a man, as fine as a piece of white-glazed and blue-glazed china. Roy said tentatively, "You've got a pretty good head, dude." Norman didn't realize he was trying to suck up to him.It was better that way, because Norman was in no mood for flattery at the moment. "Looks good, much younger, doesn't it, Dale?" "Not bad, not bad," another customer agreed. Norman asked Roy, "How much did you just say?" When he wanted to leave the mirror, he found that his eyes were still on the top of his head, eager to see what the back of his head looked like.He was depressed and worried, feeling more and more torn apart.He was not the man in the mirror with the scholarly bald head and bushy black eyebrows.How could he be like this?It was some stranger, some urban weirdo, a malicious prank, that's all.After all, he thought, none of these things mattered. What mattered was to catch Rose and talk to her. Talk closely. Roy looked at him cautiously again, and then with a quick glance at the other two customers, Norman knew he was judging whether the two customers would be willing if the tall, strong, bald-headed white man suddenly went berserk. Ken gave him a hand. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to sound gentle and friendly, "are you talking to me? What did you say?" "I mean thirty dollars is more reasonable, what do you think?" Norman took a folding wallet from his shirt pocket, and from under the tarnished wallet, he took two twenty-dollar bills and handed them over. "Thirty is too little," he said, "take the forty and my apology. You did a good job. I had a terrible last week." You don't know anything, he thought , man. Visibly relieved, Samuel Roy took the money and said, "It's all right, bro. No kidding, you've got a really nice head. If you're not Michael, nobody's Michael." "Except for Michael himself," said a customer named Dale.The three blacks looked at each other and nodded, then laughed heartily.Norman was able to finish off the three blacks without much trouble, but he just nodded and laughed with them.New arrivals changed the situation.Now he needs to be more careful.He still walked out with a smile. There are three black teenagers leaning against the railing next to "Acceleration". They didn't buy the car, maybe because they thought the car was too broken and not worth doing.They stared at Norman's pale, bald head with interest, then glanced at each other, rolling their eyes.The three boys were all in their carefree mid-teens, and the middle one said, "Are you looking at me?" It sounded like Rob De Niro in the movies.As if aware of this, Norman stared at him as if the other two were completely absent.The boy quickly came to the conclusion that his imitation of De Niro had to be practiced and he gave up. Norman got into his stolen car, which had just been cleaned, and drove away.He drove six blocks downtown and entered a thrift store called "Sam, Again."The eyes of the few wandering people in the shop were all on him.It didn't matter, Norman didn't care about being looked at, much less if it was his new bald head that attracted them.What these people pay attention to is his head, and they won't remember anything about him five minutes after he leaves here. Here he found a motorcycle jacket, gleaming with studs and zippers and tiny silver chains, rattling as it came off the hanger.The clerk opened his mouth and asked for 240 yuan. When he saw the ghostly eyes under the frightening freshly shaved head, he changed his mouth and said it was 180 yuan, plus tax.If Norman haggled, he could lower it even more, but Norman didn't bargain.He was so tired, his head was pounding, and he just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep.He wants to sleep until tomorrow.He needs a good rest because tomorrow will be a busy day. He made two more stops on the way back.The first time was at a store that sold all kinds of mechanical equipment. He bought an old wheelchair without a motor, which folded up just enough to fit in the "accelerated" luggage.Afterwards, he went to the Museum of the Women's Cultural Center and bought a ticket for 6 yuan. He neither visited the exhibits nor went to the auditorium to listen to the discussion on the natural childbirth method being held there. He just walked around the gift shop quickly. After a circle, he left soon. Back at the White Rock Hotel, he didn't ask anyone about the blond girl with the alluring buttocks, but went straight upstairs.In his current state, he couldn't even bring himself to ask for a soda.Inside the freshly shaved head was a blacksmith pounding heavily, eyes throbbing in their sockets, teeth aching painfully, and jawbones twitching.Worst of all, his mind floated up and down like a float in a Thanksgiving parade, free from his body, as if tied to a fragile thread that might snap at any moment.He must immediately lie down and sleep. ·Maybe after a nap he will return to normal sanity.As for the blond girl, the best course of action is to scare her.This is a secret trump card that should only be played when absolutely necessary.This is an emergency measure taken in an emergency. At four o'clock on Friday afternoon, Norman fell asleep.His temples no longer twitched as they did when he was drunk, but a headache ached.This headache has become his patent, and it will happen whenever he works hard.Twice a week had been the norm since Rose ran away from home and his drug case was busted.He was lying on the bed looking at the ceiling, his nose dripping uncontrollably, the strange, zigzag lines on the ceiling formed various patterns.His head ached like a berserk fetus struggling to get out of his head.He had no choice but to squat down and wait for the attack to pass.这样从一次发作到另一次，好像一个人在踩着踏脚石一步一步过河一样，他一次又一次地忍受着。这种束手无策的忍耐引出他心底一些遥远而又模糊的记忆，却不能使他摆脱无情的痛苦。诺曼不再顾及它了，他用手在头顶上来回磨擦着，光滑的头皮似乎不属于他自己，倒像是在摸刚打过蜡的汽车前盖。 “我是谁？”他向空空的房间发问，“我是谁？我怎么会在这儿？我在干什么？我到底是谁？” 他还没来得及找到任何答案，就已经昏睡过去。疼痛像一个不肯离去的坏小子，伴着他在无梦的深渊中走了一段很长的路，诺曼最终把它甩掉了。他的头歪向枕头一边，分不清是眼泪还是鼻涕流过脸颊，枕头上弄湿了一大片。他开始大声打鼾。 十二个小时之后，星期六早晨四点，诺曼一觉醒来，头痛已经消失了。他觉得精神饱满，精力充沛，正像每次头疼发作过去时的感觉一样。他坐起身，把脚放在地板上，看着窗外阴郁的世界。鸽群站在墙沿上，睡梦中还在互相喁喁细语。他毫不怀疑，新的一天将是大结局的日子，很可能也是他自己结局到来的一天，但这算不了什么。他将再也不会头痛了，永远不会再发了，仅仅知道这一点，就足以让人觉得它是一桩公平交易。 房间对面，新买来的那件摩托夹克挂在椅背上，像一个没有脑袋的黑色幽灵。 早点儿醒来，罗丝。他几乎是在温馨地遐想着，亲爱的，早点儿醒来吧，把自己打扮得漂亮些。今天应该是你最漂亮的一天，因为你将最后一次展露容颜。 2 星期六早晨四点刚过几分，罗西便醒来了，她惊恐地摸索着床边的台灯，相信诺曼就在她的房间里，她能闻到他的香水味儿。 她惊慌失措地打开台灯，匆忙间差点儿把台灯碰翻到地板上。台灯的底座悬在半空，但终于还是被打开了，她的恐俱也很快消散。这是她自己的房间，小巧玲珑，干净整齐，而且布置得有条有理。房间里惟一的气味儿是她自己的皮肤散发出的、带有卧室特有的那种温暖的香气。这里只有她……当然，还有“罗丝·麦德”。但罗丝·麦德正安全地锁在壁柜里，她可以肯定它仍然在那儿，举起一只手遮住眼睛，遥望着山下神庙的废墟。 她一边起床一边想：我一直在梦见他，我又做了一个关于诺曼的噩梦，所以才会惊醒过来。 她把台灯放回床头柜上，灯罩叮当作响。罗西举起台灯来看了看。奇怪，你怎么才能记住—— 那些你必须记住的东西。 她是怎么弄到这件饰物的？是因为它看起来像油画上的女人戴着的那样东西，所以她才从比尔的店里买来的吗？she does not know.真麻烦。你怎么才能忘记—— 那些你必须忘记的东西。 例如这一件？ 罗西拿起了臂环，它像金子一样沉，但很可能只是镀金的合金材料，透过它看房间，就像是从望远镜里往外看。 这时，梦中的情节断断续续浮现出来，她明白了这梦完全与诺曼无关。是比尔。他们骑在他的摩托车上，但他不是带她去湖边的野餐营地，而是从一条小路下去，弯弯曲曲，越走越深，最后进入了一座可怕的枯萎的小树林。不一会儿，他们来到了一片林中空地，空地上惟一的一棵有生命的树结满了玫瑰红色的果实，颜色就像罗丝·麦德的古典短裙。 “噢，多棒的一道开胃菜呀！”比尔兴奋地喊了起来。他跳下摩托车，冲向那棵大树。“我听说过这些果实，吃一粒能预知未来，吃两粒能长生不老！” 梦境正是从这里开始，从令人不安跨入了真正的噩梦之中。她知道树上的果实并没有神奇的魔力，而是有剧毒，她向他跑去，想在他开始咬那诱人的果实前拦住他。比尔却不相信，他用一只胳膊搂着她，轻轻地拥抱一下，然后说：“罗西，别犯傻了——我认识石榴，这不是石榴。” 正在这时她醒来了，在黑暗中剧烈地颤抖着，脑子里浮现的不是比尔，而是诺曼……仿佛诺曼就躺在附近什么地方的一张床上，正在想着她。想到这里，罗西双臂交叉在胸前，紧紧地抱住了自己。他太有可能这么做了。她把管环放回到桌上，冲进浴室，拧开了淋浴喷头。 关于比尔和剧毒果实的恼人的噩梦，她在哪里和怎么弄到那个臂环的问题，她对那幅画的复杂感情，买到手以后，却不为它安装镜框，又像隐藏一个秘密一样把它藏进了壁柜中……所有这些事都在一个更强烈、更直接的事件下变得黯然失色了：她的约会。约会就在今天，她一想起来就异常兴奋。她既害怕又快乐，而更多的是好奇。这是她的约会。不，他们的约会。 假如他根本就不来呢？心中一个声音在不祥地低语着。你知道，这也可能完全是个玩笑，你也可能会把他吓跑。 罗西迈步进入了水中，才发现她还穿着内裤。 她弯腰脱下内裤，喃喃地说：“他会来的。没事儿，他会来的。我知道他会。” 当她钻到喷头下，伸手去摸洗发液时，一个声音——这次是个完全不同的声音——在她脑海深处低低地发出回声：“兽类之间会互相撕咬。” “什么？你说什么？”罗西手里拿着洗发水，僵住了。她觉得恐怖，但不知道这种感觉来自何方。 nothing.她甚至不能确切记得她刚才想的是什么，只知道它与那幅该死的油画有关。这幅油画已经深入她的脑海，就像在一首歌曲中无法忘掉合唱部分一样。罗西往头发上涂满泡沫时，突然决定把这幅油画扔掉。于是她觉得好过多了，就像戒掉了吸烟或午餐喝酒之类的不良嗜好一样。走出浴室时，她已经哼起了歌儿。 3 比尔没有用迟到来折磨她。罗西已经将一把餐椅拿过来放在了窗前，以便能够看见他。淋浴后又过了整整三个小时，她已经坐在窗前了。八点二十五分，一辆后架上夹着一只微型冰箱的摩托车开进了楼前空地。驾驶员戴着硕大的蓝色头盔，从她的角度碰巧看不到他的脸，但她知道这是他。她已经熟悉了他那宽阔的肩膀的轮廓。他又轰了一下油门，然后关掉了马达，用皮靴后跟踢了下脚撑。他抬起腿，大腿的线条透过褪色的牛仔裤清晰可见。罗西感到一阵羞怯，明白无误的欲念引起了一阵战栗，她想：这一切正是我今晚入睡前想要得到的东西，它正是我所梦想的，如果我真的幸运的话，我将会得到他。 她想在这里等着他上来，就像一个在父母舒适的家里等待着舞会男伴的姑娘。这男孩从他父母刚刚擦洗并打过蜡的汽车中走出来，脸上藏着诡秘的微笑，在门口不自然地整理着领带或者拉一拉皮带，而她会在他到了之后还让他等上一会儿，让他透过卧室的窗帘看她换上无背带礼服。 她想着这些，打开衣柜，取出一件运动衫，然后匆匆走向过道，边走边往身上套。当她来到楼梯边时，他已经上了一半，正在抬头看她。一个念头冒了出来；她年华正好，已经不会再忸怩害羞，但还没老到不相信正义会战胜邪恶的年龄。 “嗨！”她站住脚打招呼，“你真准时。” “当然，”他抬起头看着她说，好像有些惊讶，“我从来就准时，而且经常受到称赞，可能是天生的吧。”他像电影里的骑士一样，把一只戴手套的手伸向她，笑着说：“你准备好了吗？” 这是一个她不知道该怎么回答的问题，因此她只是迎上去拉着他的手，在他的牵引下走出了大门，跨入六月第一个星期六的灿烂阳光中。他站在摩托车旁，审视地上下打量着她，然后摇摇头：“幸亏我的童子军训练技术还没荒废。” 车后座两边各有一只挂包，他解开其中一个，拿出一件跟他身上那件很相似的皮夹克：胸前两侧上下都有带拉链的衣兜，除此之外看上去很一般，没有钉饰、肩章，也没有闪光的铜扣。这件比他身上穿的小了一号。她带着疑问看他展开了皮夹克。 他看到她询问的目光，明白她的意思，便摇了摇头说：“这是我父亲的夹克。他教我骑一辆老式摩托车，那辆车是他用一张餐桌和一套卧具换来的。他二十一岁就骑着它走遍了全国。是那种带有反冲式起动器的老车，如果你忘了把变速器调到空档，它就会从你屁股底下窜出去。” “后来发生了什么事？他把它撞坏了？还是你把它撞坏了？”她微笑了。 “谁也没有。它太老了，已经寿终正寝了。史丹纳家族都骑'哈利'牌车。这一辆是家里的车，1344CC。”他轻轻拍着发动机壳，“爸爸骑了还不到五年。” “他不要它了？” 比尔摇摇头：“不，他得了青光眼。” 她穿上夹克。比尔的父亲看来至少比儿子矮3英寸，轻40磅，可衣服在她身上仍然滑稽地晃荡，长及膝盖。但是很暖和，她把拉链一直拉到了下巴，觉得很快活。 他说：“看起来很不错，像个专爱打扮的可笑的小女孩儿，不过这样子很好看，真的。” 她想，现在她可以说出当她和比尔坐在长凳上吃热狗时没能说出的话了。她突然觉得这句话非说出来不可。 “比尔？” 他仍然在笑着，眼睛里含着惊讶。 "Oh?" “别伤害我。” 他想了想，脸上还带着微笑，但目光十分严肃。他摇摇头说：“不，我不会的。” "you promise?" “我保证。来吧，爬上来。你骑过铁马吗？” She shook her head. 他弯腰到车后摸索了一会儿，拿出了一个头盔。她毫不惊讶地发现它是浅紫色的。“戴上头盔吧。” 她把它套在头上，向前弯着身子，从车镜中严肃地看看自己，爆发出一阵笑声。“我就像一名橄榄球队员。” “也是本队中最漂亮的一位。”他扳着她的肩膀让她转过身来。“扣子在下巴底下，在这儿，让我来。”有一会儿功夫，他的脸紧紧地挨住了她，她的脑袋直发晕，心里明白，如果他想在这洒满阳光的人行道上，在这星期六早晨悠闲的人群中吻她，她会让他吻的。 他退回了一步。 “带子太紧吗？” She shook her head. “肯定？” She nodded. “那就说两句话。” 她口齿不清地胡乱哼了几句，大笑起来，他也笑了。 他又一次问她：“你准备好了吗？”他还在笑，但眼睛已经恢复到最初的严肃思索中，好像他知道他们已经开始了一项庄严的使命，一举一动都会造成深远的后果。 她用拳头敲了敲头盔，神经质地咧嘴一笑：“我想是准备好了。谁先上，你还是我？” “我。”他抬腿跨上了车座，“现在你上来吧。” 她小心地跨过腿去，双手放在他的肩上。她的心剧烈地跳动起来。 “不，抱着我的腰，好吗？我需要保持胳膊灵活才能开好车。” 她的手顺着他的胳膊两侧滑下，在他平坦的小腹前握起来。她突然觉得好像又在做梦。所有这一切真的源自于床单上的一滴血吗？一个从前门走出去的冲动决定？is it possible? 尊贵的上帝，别让这一切变成一场梦。she thinks. “把脚踩到支架上，看到了吗？” 她把脚放好，比尔发动了摩托，把撑架踢到后边，现在他用脚支撑着车身的平衡。她既恐慌又感到了陶醉，觉得像一只停泊的小船脱开缆绳，在码头旁飘浮，在波浪中自由自在地摇摆不停。她稍微向他背上靠紧了一点儿，闭上双眼，深深地呼吸。被太阳晒得暖烘烘的皮革味道很浓，这真好，一切都很好。有点儿害怕，可是很好。 “希望你喜欢它，我真心地希望。” 他按下右手柄上的一个按钮，“哈利”像一支利箭般猛射出去。罗西跳了起来，身体靠住他，双手抓得更紧了，她感到一阵头晕。 他喊：“你还好吗？” 她点点头，想起他是看不见的，就大喊一声：“是的，一切都好。” 这时，左边的路面向后退去。他用目光越过她的肩膀扫了一眼后面的车流，迅速向右拐上了春藤大街。摩托车拐弯时不大像汽车那么平稳，它像一架小型飞机一样斜着飞了起来。比尔转动油门，“哈利”向前猛冲，带起一阵风沙，吹进她的头盔里，令她直想大笑。 “我想你会喜欢它的！”当他们在红绿灯前停住时，比尔回头冲她喊道。他的脚踩在地上，他们好像又一次回到了牢靠的地面，不过和它的联系只是一根最细的丝线。绿灯亮时，摩托更加自信地轰鸣着奔腾而去。他们转向鹿街，沿着布莱茵特公园里老槐树投下的阴影穿行。她透过比尔的右肩可以看见前方的太阳。阳光在她眼中闪烁，就像太阳反射器一样。他侧弯着拐进卡鲁迈特路，她斜靠在他身上。 我想你会喜欢它的，他们出发时他曾说过。但她只是喜欢跳跃般地穿过城市北部的郊区住宅区。那些摩肩接踵的建筑物使她想起“家庭录像”节目中的一切，好像每个街角里都隐藏着一个维尼酒吧。走上高架公路时，她觉得自己不仅是喜欢，简直是爱上了这种感觉。他们沿着湖边从另一侧的27号公路离开高架公路。她真希望永远这样走下去。如果比尔问她，一直骑到加拿大多伦多去玩捉坚鸟的游戏怎么样，她会把戴头盔的脑袋放在他肩膀上，让他能感觉到她在点头。 27号高速公路是最好的公路之一。如果在夏末，即使一大早也会交通拥挤，而今天路面上空荡荡的，一条有黄色斑点的黑色标志带从道路中间穿过。在他们右侧，树影飞掠而过，巨大的湖面闪烁着蓝色的涟漪；左侧一一闪过了奶牛场、旅游者小木屋和只有夏季才开放的旅游纪念品商店。 她觉得不需要再说话；即使需要，她也不知道能不能说出来。他已经开足了马力，迎面吹来的强风钻进了头盔，在耳边不停地呼呼作响。罗西想起了她曾经做过的飞翔之梦，梦中的她像风一样飞过茂盛的草地、石墙、屋顶和烟囱，头发像旗帜般向后飘拂。从这种梦中醒来时，她总是惊喜交加地发现自已被汗水打湿了衣衫。现在她感到自己已经进入了梦境。 她向左侧看去，她的影子随着她而移动，正如梦中景象，可是现在有另一个影子在它旁边，比梦中的情景好得多。她不知道在她的一生中，还有什么时候能比此时此刻更加快乐。身边的世界完美无缺，在这世界中的她也白壁无瑕。 气温有了一些轻微的变化。当车子飞驰进浓密树丛的阴影中时变得凉爽宜人，来到阳光下又感到温暖无比。一只杂种狗躺在一辆卡车后面，对他们的到来毫无兴趣。当比尔驶过一片农田时，驾车的农夫举起一只手向罗西打招呼。罗西看见他晒得红红的皲裂的面孔，从比尔胳膊下面抽出一只手来，冲着灿烂的阳光向他摇了两下。农夫笑了，卡车渐渐远去。 离城10到15英里时，比尔用手指向天空，那里有一个发光的金属物体。不一会儿，她听到直升机翼发出了有节奏的敲击声，接着看见两个男人坐在透明机罩里。飞机轰响着从他们头上掠过，她看见那个乘客斜过身对着驾驶员的耳朵喊着什么。 “我能看见这一切。”她想，又奇怪为什么这一点使她惊奇。毕竟她并没有看见无法从小汽车里看到的东西。但是我能看见，她想。我能看见是因为我不是从车窗玻璃往外看，从车窗里看到的只是风景，而我看到的是真实的世界。我就置身于这世界之中，我正飞过这个世界，就像在梦中一样。不过我现在不是独自一个人在飞。 发动机在她两腿之间轻轻颤动着，它引起某种舒服的感觉。她非常清楚他们之间将会怎样。当她不再看路边田野时，她被比尔脖子上的细小绒毛迷住了。 不知道用手指抚摩它时会是什么感觉。 离开高架路后约一个小时左右，他们驶入了乡间小路。比尔谨慎地把“哈利”调到二档。他们接着来到一块写有“湖滨野餐营地，未经许可不得入内”字样的标牌前，比尔越过第一条路，转向一条石子路。 “抓牢，小心颠簸。”他说。现在风已不再像飓风那样在她耳边呼啸，她可以听得更清楚一些了。 路面的确十分颠簸，但“哈利”轻松驰过，只是有些上下起伏。five minutes later.他们开到一个小小的聚餐区，在郁郁葱葱的草地上散布着一片片野餐桌和烧烤炉。草地逐渐变成多岩石的鹅卵石湖滩，波浪缓慢而有节奏地拍打着湖礁，湖水在地平线上无限地伸展开，水天连成了一线。一岸边只有他们两人。比尔关掉“哈利”，寂静随之来临，静谧得令她喘不上气。水鸥在湖面上一圈圈盘旋，向着岸边发出尖叫。远远的，从西边传来了发动机的噪音，声音十分低沉，听不出是卡车还是拖拉机。除此之外偌大的湖边了无声息。比尔用皮靴尖挖出一块扁平的石头，踢到摩托车旁，放下了脚撑，用石块撑紧。他迈下车座，笑着向她转过身来。看见她的面孔，他的笑容立即变成了关切的神情。 “罗西，你没事吧？” 她惊讶地看着他：“是的，怎么啦？” “你脸上的表情十分可笑——” 她说：“我很好，只是觉得自己好像在梦里。我奇怪自己怎么会在这里。”她神经质地笑了一声。 “你是不是头晕或有别的什么不舒眼？” 罗西这一次笑得自然一些了。“不，我很好，真的。” “而且你很喜欢？” “我非常喜欢。”她摸索着想解开头盔的扣，但没有成功。 “头一次比较难，我来帮你。” 他斜过身来帮她解开了扣子，他的脸又紧挨着她，这次他没有退步。他把头盔从她头上托起，用左手的两个指头拎着带子，右手搂着她瘦削的后背，轻轻吻她的嘴唇。她觉得这吻好极了，他嘴唇的感觉、手掌的力量给了她一种回家的感觉。她开始轻轻啜泣，但是没事儿，这不是受到伤害的眼泪。 他稍稍退后了一点儿，他的手还放在她的背上，头盔还提在另一只手中，轻轻碰着她的膝盖。他看着她的脸问道：“你还好吗？” “是的。”她想说话，但发不出声音，只能点一点头。 “好极了。”他说。然后，他像千一件工作那样庄重地轻吻着她那又冷又湿的面颊——先吻右眼的下面，再吻左眼下面。他的吻像眼睫毛的抖动那样轻柔，她从来没有体验过这种感觉。突然，她伸出双臂搂着他的脖子，用力拥抱了他，她的脸紧靠在他穿夹克的肩膀上，两眼紧闭，流出了眼泪。他拥抱着她，用那只放在背上的手抚摩着她的头发。 过了一会儿，她从他的怀抱中抽出身来，用手揉着眼睛努力地微笑着。“我不经常哭，你可能不会相信，但这是真的。” “我相信。”他说着，拿掉了他自己头上的头盔，“来，帮我把冰箱卸下来。” 她帮他松开系冰箱的橡皮扣，一起将它抬到一张野餐桌上。她抬头望着湖水说：“这一定是世界上最美的地方了，简直不能相信除了咱俩再也没有别人。” “是的，一般游客不走27号高速路。我和伙伴们第一次到这里来的时候还是小孩儿呢。我爸说他完全是骑着车盲目乱跑时偶然发现这块地方的。” “即使八月份这儿的人也不会多，那时候其他的湖滨野餐地早就挤满了人群。” 她迅速地看了他一眼：“你带其他女人来过吗？” “没有。”他说，“你喜欢走一走吗？等到吃午餐时胃口会变得更好。我还想给你看一样东西。” "what?" “最好是你自己去看。”他说。 "Ok." 他带领她向湖边走去。他们在一块大石头上坐下，脱掉了鞋袜。她惊奇地发现他穿的是一双她认为只有初中生才穿的蓬松的白运动袜。 她拿着帆布运动鞋问：“把它们留在这儿还是拎着走？” 他想了想说：“你的拎着，我的留在这儿。该死的靴子如果湿了就不可能恢复原样，即使脚是干的也没有用。”他脱下白色运动袜，整整齐齐地横在短粗的靴尖上。他做事情的样子和摆放东西时的仔细劲儿使她发笑。 "What's the matter?" 她摇摇头：“没什么。走吧，给我看看那样东西。” 他们沿着湖岸向北走，比尔走在前边，罗西左手拎着鞋跟在他身后。刚踏进水时她感到冰凉得喘不上气，几分钟以后就好了。她能看见自己的脚在水里像微微发光的白色小鱼，因为光线折射的关系，脚裸处和身体其他部分被截然分开。水底有许多鹅卵石，脚踩在上面并不觉得痛。她想：“你已经冻麻木了，亲爱的。你可能会被割伤而并不知道。”但是她的脚并没有被割破。她觉得他不会让她的脚受伤的，这念头很荒唐，但对她却很有说服力。 顺湖岸走出约40码，他们来到一条草木丛生的小径，盘旋而上通向堤岸，低矮浓密的灌木丛底下是白色的细沙。她有一种幻觉，仿佛依稀记得梦中走过这条小路，不由得打了个寒噤。 他指着前方低声说：“我们走到那条路上去。尽量安静点儿。” 他等她穿上运动鞋，好带她往上面走。他在坡上等着她，当她上来对他说话的时候，他把一只手指放到唇边，然后往前指了指。 他们站在一块小小的林中空地上，比湖面高出50英尺左右，空地中间有一棵大树倒在地上。在裹着泥土的树根底下，一只漂亮的红狐狸正在给三只小狐狸喂奶，旁边还有一只小家伙在树叶缝隙闪闪烁烁的阳光中追着自己的尾巴玩儿。罗西盯着它们，简直看呆了。 他靠在她身旁低声对她细语，弄得她耳朵直痒痒。“前天我到这儿来过一次，想看看野餐地还能不能使用。已经五年没来过了，所以不能确定。我随便乱走时，发现了这些小家伙。是红狐狸。小狐狸可能才出生六个星期。” “你怎么知道这么多？” 比尔耸耸肩说：“我喜欢动物，所以读这方面的书，还经常到野外观察它们。” “你打猎吗？” “哦，上帝，不。我连照片都不拍，只是观察。” 雌狐已经看到了他们。它没有移动，相反变得更加安静起来，眼睛闪闪发光地看着他们。 “别死盯着它们看。”罗西忽然想。她不知道这想法意味着什么，只知道这不是她自己脑子里的声音。“别死盯着它，它不是为你们这类人准备的。” “它们太美了！”罗西呼出了一口气。她抓起他的一只手，用双手握住了它。 “是的，的确很美。”他说。 雌狐把脑袋转向那第四个小家伙，它已经不再追自己的尾巴，而又跟自己的影子玩了起来。它尖叫了一声；小家伙回过头，冒冒失失地看了一眼站在小路尽头的不速之客，接着就飞跑过来，躺在妈妈面前。雌狐舔着它的脑袋，仔细地梳理着，但眼睛一秒钟也不离开比尔和罗西。 “它有伙伴吗？”罗西悄悄地说。 “有，我以前见过，一条健壮的公狗。” "where is he?" “周围什么地方，正在狩猎。可能有不少断了翅膀的海鸥，拖回来可以给小家伙们当晚餐。” 罗西的目光转向树根底下，狐狸们正在那儿做窝。她觉得幻觉又产生了，树根好像闪着寒光在向她面前移动，要攫住她，然后又溜走了。 “咱们吓着它了吗？”罗西问。－ “可能有点儿。如果咱们再靠得近一些，它会跟咱们搏斗的。” “是啊，要是咱们搅乱了它们平静的生活，它会报复的。” 他有点奇怪地看看她说：“当然，我想它会。” “我真高兴你带我来看它们。” 笑容照亮了他的脸庞：“我也很高兴。” “咱们该走了。我不想吓着它，再说我也觉得饿了。” “好吧，我也饿了。” 他庄重地举起一只手挥了挥。雌狐用它明亮而平静的眼睛看着他，然后皱着鼻子发出无声的咆哮，露出一排整洁的牙齿。 “你是个好妈妈，好好照管你的孩子吧。” 他转过身，罗西跟上他的步伐。她回头又看一眼这双明亮而平静的眼睛。雌狐还在柔和的阳光下喂着孩子，它的皮毛不像红的，倒像是橘红色的。这色调与周围惬意的绿色形成了强烈反差，其中似乎有什么东西让她又一次发抖。一只水鸥从头顶猛扑下来，阴影掠过了地面。即使此刻，雌狐的眼睛仍然没有离开罗西的脸。当她转过身去跟上比尔时，她还能感到它那平静的眼睛满含着深情的关切落在她背上。