Chapter 15 Chapter Eight Long Live the Bull 1

1 He felt a little dizzy, however, when Gert, the dirty and shameful nigger, pissed on him, everything changed.Now his head was no longer erratic like a balloon, but like a flat stone thrown to the lake by a strong hand, instead of spinning, it jumped forward. He still couldn't believe what the fat black bastard had done to him.Yes, he knows, but knowing and believing are sometimes two different things. He remembers staggering to his feet from the back of the bathroom, bleeding from several cuts on his face and completely suffocating his nose, which was half blocked.The three-hundred-pound nigger Gert was on top of him, making his bones and guts shudder with pain.The repeated collision of the wheelchair made the pain spread to every nerve in the body.And though he could have endured all this—and even more pain than that—her sweat, smell, urine, and a woman's urine at that, finally drove him completely out of his wits.He wanted to scream just thinking about what she'd done to him, the world had gone completely mad.He still needs the world, though, if he doesn't have to sit behind bars in a striped prison jacket and live on unpalatable garbage every day.

grab her, grab her.For what she's done, you have to turn around and grab her and kill her, only then can you sleep in peace, and only then can you regain your normal mind.He couldn't stop thinking about it as he struggled along the fence. However, there is a voice in his heart reminding him: the best choice now is not to catch her, but to run away by himself.So he started running. Dirty Gert might have thought that the approaching shouts had frightened him away, but that was not the case.His ribs were so bad he couldn't even breathe, his stomach hurt unbearably, and his testicles were so desperately painful that only a man knows what it's like, that's why he ran away.

Pain wasn't the only reason he ran away.He was more worried about what was behind the pain.If the fight continues, Dirty Ghost Gert will not only be tied with him, but she will be far superior to him.He scrambled to and fro along the wide fence, but Geqing's voice still pursued him mockingly like a ghost: "Her kidney has a message for you through mine... a Little message, Norman . . . you see, this is . . . " That's when the leap takes place, a sort of brief leap in the mind, skimming the surface of reality upwards, out of the brain again.About forty-five seconds or so had passed by the time his thoughts returned to himself.He was now running down Central Avenue toward the playground, scurrying here and there like a headless bison, further and further away.He was running towards the pier and the lake.There the kids surrounded him, knocked him down with a soda bottle, and when he got up, knocked him down again, several times, for fun.

At this time, the voice of his father Ray Daniels screaming sounded in his mind: he was actually knocked down by a woman!How can you stay virgin in front of a whore, Norman?His father was truly one of the world's top villains. He squeezed the voice out of his head.The old man had yelled at him enough in his lifetime, and now that he was dead, Norman didn't have to listen to the bullshit.He could take on Gert, he could take on Rose, he could take on everyone here, but he had to get out of here before the local police started looking for a bald man with a bloody face.Too many people are staring at him already, why not?He smelled like urine, and his face looked like it had been scratched by a stray cat.

He turned into the alley between the film and television corridor and Nanhai Road, and ran aimlessly, all he wanted to do was to quickly leave the stalls on the way, where he once drew a lottery. The side door of the corridor opened, and a person stepped out of it.Norman guessed he was a child.In fact, it is difficult to judge accurately. He looked like a child and dressed like a child—jeans, Reeboks, a Michael McDermott T-shirt that said: I LOVE A GIRL NAMED RAIN, I don't know what the hell that means.His entire head is covered by a rubber mask with Ferdinand the Bull painted on it.It has a wide and happy smile on its face, and its horns are decorated with garlands of flowers.Norman stretched out his hand without hesitation, grabbed the mask off the kid's head, and tore off a bunch of damn hair.

"Hi!" the boy screamed.With the mask off, he looked about eleven years old.His voice sounded more like anger than fear. "Give it back to me, it's mine, I won it! Who do you think you are—" Norman reached out again, grabbed the boy's face, and fell back hard.The roadside of Nanhai Road is covered with tarpaulins.The child somersaulted onto the top of the tent, and the expensive sneakers flew into the sky. "If you tell others, I'll come back and kill you." Norman said to the undulating tarpaulin, then put the bull mask on his head, and walked forward quickly.The mask smelled foul of rubber, mingled with the sweat of its former owner's hair.None of these smells mattered to Norman, but the thought that the mask would soon be smelling of Gert's urine was what really annoyed him.

Another leap of thought took place in his mind, and for a moment he disappeared among the various smells.After returning this time, he ran at full speed to the parking lot at the end of News Avenue.He was a little out of breath, so he put one hand on his right rib.What he had feared had finally happened: Gert's urine had indeed smelled inside the mask.He took off his mask and breathed happily in the cold air.There was no urine smell in the air.He looked down at the mask and shuddered, the bland smile making his hair stand on end.It was a bull with a ring on his nose and wreaths on his horns, a bull with a bestial smile, a brute who had been robbed of something and knew nothing about it.His first instinct was to throw the damn thing away, but he refrained from having to think about the parking lot attendant.If he could clearly remember a man wearing a Ferdinand Bull mask driving away, he wouldn't immediately connect that man with the man the police were after.If the mask would buy him a little more time, it would be worth continuing to wear.

He got behind the wheel of the Accelerator, threw the mask into the seat, and fired the ignition.The strong smell of urine came out of the shirt, and his tears were stimulated.In the back of his mind he heard Gert's giggling as if from hell. "Rosie says you're a man with a penchant for kidneys..." she said to him.Now he was very worried that she would always appear in his mind like this, as if not only had he been raped by her, but she had left him a deformed baby. You're the shy guy who doesn't like to leave the mask. No, he thought, stop, stop thinking like this.

"Her kidneys have a message for you through mine..." And then she poured all over her face, the fetid, scalding urine that a child gets when he has a fever. "No!" he exclaimed loudly this time, punching the fender pad. "No, she can't do this! She can't do this to me!" He pulled his fist back and punched again. The fist hit the rearview mirror. The glass mirror fell from the iron rod, hit the windshield, bounced up, and finally fell to the ground.He had wounded his hand, and the police academy ring he was wearing on his finger was broken by him, making it look like a giant question mark.He finally got his sanity under control and was ready to start the vehicle.He looked up and saw the parking ticket stuck on the sun panel, and he tried to focus on the parking ticket and return to his normal state.

Norman remembered that he still had some money, so he took out his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a five-yuan bill.He put the Ferdinand mask back on his head, determined to put up with the stinking thing, and drove slowly towards the tollbooth.He leaned out of the window and watched the toll collector through the eye sockets of his mask.As the toll collector wobbled on the doorframe of the tollbooth and reached out to take the money, Norman realized something brilliant: the guy was drunk. "Long live the bull!" the parking lot collector said with a smile. "Yeah," said the bull, leaning against the Ford Accelerometer, "Cheers to the great bull."

"A total of two yuan and five..." "No more change." Norman said, handing him a five-dollar bill. After half a block, he pulls over and realizes that if he doesn't take the damn mask off, he's going to vomit and things will get worse.He grabbed the mask and yanked it off in panic, as if pulling a leech off his face.All this happened in a very short time.Then he took another leap, and his mind flew like a missile out of the plane of reality. When he was himself again, he was sitting bare-chested behind the dial waiting for the green light.On the far corner, the bank's clock was blinking, it was two past seven in the afternoon.He looked around, his shirt lying flat on the floor of the car, beside the rearview mirror and the stolen bull mask.Dirty Ferdinand looks flat and weird.Its empty eyes looked at Norman, and through them Norman saw the pavement floor.The bull's happy, bright smile shrunk into a wrinkle, which was good enough, at least the damn thing was out of his head.He tried to turn on the radio, only to find that the knob had been twisted off by him, and it was difficult to turn it on again, but luckily he managed to turn it on again.It was the same old station, Tommy James and Sanders were singing "Little Tricks," and Norman sang along. On another side street, a man who looked like an accountant sat behind the wheel of a Kerry, eyeing Norman with cautious curiosity.At first Norman didn't understand what this man was interested in, but soon he remembered that his face was still stained with blood. He touched it with his hand, and most of it was clotted; besides, he was still shirtless.He has to deal with these things as soon as possible, and then... He bent over to pick up the mask, reached in with one hand, lifted it to the car window, pinched the rubber lips with his fingertips to animate it, and to the rhythm of the music, Ferdinand joined Tommy James and Sanders Sing.He moved his wrist back and forth, left and right, and Ferdinand seemed to be playing a crazy jazz piece.The man who looked like an accountant sat there with his neck stretched out, staring blankly. He was so focused that he slammed into the car door beside the sidewalk. Norman snickered. He threw the mask on the floor and wiped his hands on his bare chest.He knew he must look queer, and very stupid.But it's even worse with that pee-smelling shirt on.The moto jacket was on the seat next to him, and at least the village of the jacket was clean.Norman put on his leather jacket, zipping it up to his chin.At this time, the traffic light had turned green, and the Kerry next to it rushed past the intersection like a bullet being fired.Norman also started the car and sang leisurely to the music on the radio: "I saw her go down the path... You know the first time I saw her, beautiful girl, alone... Hey Baby, can I take you home?" The song reminded him of high school, when life was so good.It was this sweet little Rose who screwed up and gave him all this trouble.At least not so much trouble until his senior year in college. Where are you, Rose?he thinks.Why don't you come to this bitch's picnic, where the hell are you? "She's gone to her own picnic," whispered the bull in a voice that was both foreign and familiar—like a simple but indisputable prophecy uttered without thinking. Norman pulled over to the side of the road, not noticing the "No Parking to Load" sign.He picked the mask up from the floor of the car, and it rubbed against the skin of his hands again.This time he turned the mask to face himself, and saw his fingers below through hollow eye sockets that seemed to be watching him in some way. "Her own picnic, what do you mean?" he asked hoarsely. He touched the bull's mouth with his fingers, and though he couldn't feel it, he could see it moving.He guessed he heard his own voice, but it wasn't like himself, and it didn't seem to come from inside his throat; it came from between the rubber lips of that playful face. "She likes the way he kisses her," said Ferdinand. "Don't you know? She likes the way he strokes her hands too. She wants him to play a little trick on her before they get back." The bull seemed sighing.Its rubber head dangled from Norman's wrist in some oddly cosmopolitan pose. "That's what women like, right? Little tricks. Dirty jazz all night long." "Who?" Norman snarled at the mask, veins in his temples bulging. "Who kissed her? Who touched her? Where are they? Tell me!" The mask fell silent, perhaps it hadn't spoken at all just now. "What are you going to do, Norman?" Norman knew it was his father's voice.There is some pain in the buttocks, but it is not terrible, but the sound just now is terrible.Even if it was his own voice, it terrified him. "Find her," he whispered, "I'm going to find her and teach her tricks, my way." Well said, but how do you find her? His first thought was the women's institution on Durham Street, where there must have been a record of Rose's residence.But that's not a good idea, the place is a converted fort.He needed some kind of key card, maybe something like the credit card she had stolen, to get in.And some other tools may be needed to ensure that the alarm does not go off. What if someone is there?It doesn't matter, he can shoot with a gun when necessary, killing some people and scaring the rest away.His military service revolver was hidden in a hotel room safe so it would be easier to get on the bus, and shooting was usually the worst solution.What if her address was stored in a computer?Everyone uses this stuff now.It's likely that he wandered around and grabbed one of the women, and by the time she gave out the password and the file name, the cops showed up and shot him in the ass. At this moment, another voice rang in my ear, flickering out of my memory like a cigarette: "...I regret to miss the concert, if I want that car, I can't say no... " What is this sound?What is it that its owner cannot refuse? He quickly figured out the answer to the first question.It was the voice of the blond girl, the blond girl with the big eyes and the ass.Her real name was Pol or something, and she worked at the White Rock Hotel, and probably knew his wandering little Rose.What was it that Pol couldn't refuse, and what exactly did her words mean?When you put a hunting cap on your head and think about this question with a hunter-like clever head, the answer is not difficult to come up with, isn't it?If you want that car, the only thing you can't say no to is extra pay for overtime.Since the concert she was going to miss was tonight, she was probably already in the hotel by now.Even if it's not there now, it won't be too long. If she knew, she would tell.The mean bitch who dyed her hair in a punk rocker didn't speak up because he didn't have enough time to discuss it further with her.And the time now is as much as he wants. He wants to make everything clear. 2 Captain Hale's partner, John Gustasson, drove Rosie and Gert Kenshaw to the Lake Shore Police Station on the third block.Bill followed in his Harley.Rossi turned around frequently to make sure he was still behind.Gert noticed this but made no comment. Hale introduces Gerstasson as "my better half"; Gerstasson refers to Hale as the alpha dog.Rosie sees this when she sees these two together.That's the look Gerstasson was looking at him, even as Hale entered the unmarked Caprese Shooting Center.Rosie had seen this happen many times in the past in her own home. They passed a big bank clock—the same one Norman had passed not long ago, and Rosie looked up. The time on it was 4:09 in the afternoon. very long. She glanced over her shoulder, worried that Bill would leave her.Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was sure that Bill would leave her.Instead of leaving, however, he grinned at her and waved her quickly.She also raised her head and waved her hand in reply. "He seemed like a nice guy," Gert said. "Yes." Rosie agreed, but she didn't want to talk about Bill.The two policemen in the front row were undoubtedly listening to their every word. "You should go to the hospital and get checked to see if you were injured by the stun gun." "Nonsense, this kind of thing is good for me," Gert said with a grin.She was wearing a large blue and white striped bathrobe from a hospital bathroom, over a torn sleeveless jumper. "Ever since I lost my virginity in a Baptist youth camp in 1974, I've felt totally sober." Rosie tried her best to show an appropriate expression, but only squeezed out a bleak wry smile. "Oh, I guess he's on a summer trip, right?" she asked. Gert looked puzzled: "What do you mean?" Rossi looked down at his left hand, which had already been clenched into a fist, and was not surprised. "I mean Norman, that goddamn bastard at the picnic." Hearing the word "damn" come out of her mouth, she could hardly believe she said it, especially as she sat There were two detectives in the back seat of a police car.She suddenly clenched her left hand and punched out diagonally, hitting the window frame of the car door, which surprised even herself. Gerstassen jumped behind the wheel.Hale looked back expressionlessly, then turned his head to look straight ahead.He may have whispered something to his partner.Rosie wasn't sure, and didn't care. Gert held her trembling hand, tried to comfort her, and opened her clenched fist. "It's all right, Rosie," she told her gently, her voice low and booming like a big truck in neutral. "No, no!" Rosie cried, "No, don't say that!" Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't care anymore.For the first time in her adult life, she was crying not from shyness or fear, but from anger. "Why didn't he go away? Why didn't he leave me? He hurt Cynthia, he ruined the picnic...Damn Norman!" She started banging on the car door again, but Gert caught her fist. "Damn bastard Norman!" Gert nodded: "Yes, damn bastard Norman." "He's like a... birthmark! The more you try to wipe it off, the darker it gets! Bastard Norman! Bastard, damn it, villain Norman! I hate him! I hate him!" She paused to catch her breath, her teary cheeks twitching, but she didn't feel terribly bad. Bill!where is bill She turned her head, thinking he had left early.Yet he still followed.He waved.She waved her hand too, and turned her face away again, calming down a bit. "Rosie, you're going crazy, but—" "Oh, yes, I'm crazy." "—but he didn't ruin our party." Rosie blinked: "What did you say? But how could they keep going after all this happened?" "How can you go on living after he's beaten you so many times?" Rosie just shook her head, not understanding. "Part of it is our tolerance," Gert said, "and part of it I guess is our tenacity. But the bottom line is this: We're going to tell the world that we're not intimidated. You'd think it's the first time it's happened." Something like that? Oh no. Norman was the worst, but he wasn't the first. When this damn guy shows up at a picnic and does all sorts of shit, all you have to do is wait for a gust of wind to blow him Go and continue the picnic. They are probably doing this at Erdinger Quay. Our activities continue because we have to convince ourselves that we are not broken by life...we have a right to exist. Oh I guess some of them For example, Lana Klein and her patients may leave, but the remaining people will resume gathering. As soon as we left the hospital, Consuelo and Robin rushed back to the Erdinger Pier." "You guys did a great job!" said Captain Hale from the front seat. "How did you let him run away?" Rosie asked him reproachfully. "God, don't you know how he got away?" "Well, strictly speaking, it wasn't us," said Hale mildly. "It was the Dock Guard guys who let him go. By the time the first downtown police arrived, your husband would have been gone." "We think he stole a kid's mask," Gerstassen said, "the kind that goes over the whole head. It's completely unrecognizable when you put it on. He got lucky. All I can tell you so much." "He's always lucky," Rossi said bitterly.They were turning into the police station parking lot now, Bill still following them.Rossi said to Gert, "Now you can let go of my hand." Gert let go, and immediately Rosie's fist hit the car door again.The hand hurt more this time, but something in her just awakening eased the pain. "Why didn't he leave me?" she asked herself again.A sweet, husky voice from the depths of her heart answered her. You should divorce him.The voice said again, you should divorce him, brave Rosie. She looked down at her arm, which was already covered with goosebumps. 3 When that sexy bitch Marylian McCall started singing, Norman's thoughts flew up again, drifting away from his mind.He was leisurely driving the Accelerator into another parking lot when he was in his head again.He didn't know exactly where he was, but he figured it might be the underground parking half a block from the White Rock Hotel, where he'd parked the Accel.When he bent down to turn off the engine, he glanced at the gas gauge and found something interesting: the pointer was always pointing to the F position.He must have stopped to fill up the gas on the last block.Why did he do this? Because gasoline isn't something I really want, he said to himself. He bent down again, intending to check his appearance in the rearview mirror.Only then did I remember that the rearview mirror had fallen into the floor of the car.He picked it up and looked at himself carefully.His face was bruised and swollen in several places; he had obviously fought, but the blood was gone.In the break room of a gas station, he had wiped the blood clots clean as the automatic pump slowly pumped up the Accel.Going to the streets is no problem now—as long as there are no more unfortunate incidents. When the engine was turned off, he wanted to know what time it was, but he couldn't tell, he was not wearing a watch, there was no watch on this garbage "accelerator", and he was in the underground parking lot.Does it matter?Will it- "No," said a familiar voice softly, "It doesn't matter, the time has been messed up." He looked around.The rubber mask stared at him from the floor of the backseat: empty eyes, anxiously frowning smiley faces, horns ridiculously adorned with garlands.He felt instantly that he needed it.It was stupid, and he hated the wreath on its horns, its flat, lifeless smile, even...but it might bring good luck.Of course, the mask doesn't really speak, all of these are just thoughts in his head.But there was no way he could have escaped from Erdinger's Wharf without the mask, that's for sure. Well, he thought, cheers for Mr. Bull.He bent down and picked up the mask. From the perspective of time, it didn't seem that long had passed. He swooped over, wrapped his arms around the blonde girl's waist, and pressed her hard so that she couldn't scream.The blond girl had just come out of a room marked "Housekeeping" with a trolley.He must have been waiting for her outside for a while.But that didn't matter now, because they were going back to housekeeping, and it was just the three of them: Pol, her new friend Norman, and the great Mr. Bull. The blond girl kicked him hard in the shin, but Norman could hardly feel her kicking him in her sneakers.He let go of her waist, walked quickly into the room, and locked the door from the inside.He took a quick look around to make sure there was no one else there but the two of them.It was Saturday afternoon, halfway through the weekend, and here was what it was supposed to be... The room was long and narrow, with a small row of wardrobes at the far end.There was a wonderful smell in the air--the scent of clean, freshly ironed linen.Norman remembered that when he was a child, he had this scent every time he washed his eyes at home. There was a large pile of neatly folded sheets on the crude little bed.The laundry basket was filled with fluffy bath towels.Pillowcases are stacked on the shelf.A pile of bedspreads was stacked against the wall.Norman pushed Pohl into the pile of quilts.Pol's smock skirt rolled up his lap, and Norman watched without interest.His sex drive had died down over the holidays, perhaps into "retirement" forever, and that might have been better.His darling had given him enough trouble over the years.This thing from hell that a man doesn't pay attention to for twelve years in his life, yet spends the next fifty or sixty years like some crazy Tasmanian bald devil Forces you to revolve around it. "Don't scream," he said, "don't scream, Pol, or I'll kill you." The threat didn't do anything to her, at least not yet, but she didn't know it. Paul took a deep breath and let it out silently.Norman relaxed a little. "Please don't hurt me," she said. "I don't want to hurt you," he said gently, "Of course I won't." Something slapped his back pocket, and he reached out to touch it. He felt the rubber, it was the mask, and he wasn't surprised. "Pol, you just need to tell me something I want to know, and then we'll go our separate ways." "How do you know my name?" He simply answered her with a shrug that reminded one of an interrogation room.This action shows that he knows many things, it's just his job. She sat on the pile of fallen dark maroon bedspreads, her skirts slid down over her knees.The coverlet resembled the one on his bed on the nineteenth floor.There was a peculiar blue in her eyes, and a tear quivered on her left eyelid before finally sliding down her cheek, leaving a trail of mascara. "Are you going to rape me?" she asked.She looked at him with those special, childlike blue eyes (Pohl, do you want to seduce men with those eyes), but there was nothing in them that he wanted to see: The eyes seen in the room.You spend all day and half the night torturing a guy with all kinds of questions until he breaks down and it's that submissive, pleading look in his eyes that tells you, He's going to tell everything, just beg you to let him go.And in Ball's eyes he didn't see this. still has not now. "Pol—" "Please don't rape me, please don't, and if you have to, please wear a condom. I'm afraid of getting AIDS." He stared at her blankly, and suddenly burst out laughing.He laughed until his stomach hurt, his diaphragm hurt even more, and the wound on his face was especially painful, but he just couldn't stop.He told himself to stop laughing, that some hotel waiter or even the owner might pass by and come in and see what happened.It was no use, he still couldn't stop, and finally caused a sharp pain in the wound. Goldilocks looked at him in surprise at first, then she smiled tentatively herself, she smiled hopefully. Norman finally manages to get his emotions under control, tears welling in his eyes.When he was able to stop laughing and make what he said sincere, he said, "I didn't intend to rape you, Pol." "How do you know my name?" she asked again.This time her voice was stronger than before. He pulled the mask out, put his hands in it, and manipulated it like he was fooling the accountant in Kerry's car. "Poll-Poll-Fana-Bud-Fermore-Mick-Nick." He shook the mask back and forth, side to side, making it sing.He didn't have any reason to like the damn thing, but he actually kind of liked it. "I kind of like you, too," said Ferdinand the Bull, looking at Norman with his empty eyes, then turned to Pole, moving his lips as Norman said, "Do you have a question?" "No, no, no," she said.She still didn't have the look Norman expected, but it was getting better, and she was afraid of him—fear of them, that's for sure. Norman crouched down, his hands dangling by his thighs, and Ferdinand's rubber horns pointed to the ground.He looked at her sincerely. "You want to see me out of this room and out of your life, don't you, Pol?" She nodded vigorously, her hair flapping her shoulders. "Well, I thought so too, and that's good for me too. Just tell me one thing and I'll blow away like a cold wind, it's easy." He leaned toward her and Ferdinand's horns touched. to the ground. "What I want to know is where Rose is. Rose Daniels, where does she live?" "Oh, my God." The two original blushes on Ball's cheeks disappeared, and his eyes were wide open, as if they were about to fall out of their sockets, "Oh, God, it's you, you are Norman .” He was taken aback, and exasperated—he was supposed to know her name, and she wasn't supposed to know his—and everything else went on because of it.While Norman was still thinking about his name coming out of her mouth, she was on her feet, away from the pile of bedspreads, almost completely.Norman jumped up behind her, grabbing her with his right hand, still clutching the mask.He heard himself mumble that she couldn't go anywhere and that he wanted to talk to her, very close. He grabbed her throat.She screamed in terror and struggled with all her might.If it weren't for the mask, he would have been able to catch her.The mask slid onto his sweaty hands, and she broke free from his grip, falling toward the door, her hands outstretched.At first Norman didn't understand what was going to happen next. First there was a loud bang, like the sound of a champagne bottle being popped suddenly.Pole began banging on the door frantically, his head thrown back stiffly at an odd angle, as if saluting the flag during a solemn patriotic ceremony. "Oh!" Norman said, and Ferdinand, who was hanging crookedly on his hand, also raised his eyes.Ferdinand looked excited. "Ouch!" said the Bull. Norman jerked the mask off his hands and stuffed it into his pocket.He heard the ticking of rain, and Norman looked down for the sound.The sneaker on Ball's left foot is no longer white, it has completely turned red.Blood pooled at her feet and flowed toward the door in a long trail.Her hands were still trembling, and Norman thought they looked like a pair of birds. Norman took a few steps forward, only to realize that Pohl was almost nailed to the door.There is a coat hook behind the door.When she broke free from him and rushed forward, she bumped her head against the clothes hook, which pierced her left eye. "Oh, Pol, you bloody idiot," said Norman, feeling both angry and frustrated.He stared at the bull's stupidly open mouth and heard it keep saying "oops," like some character in a Warner Bros. cartoon. He pulled Pole off the coat hook with a frightening movement.Her undamaged eye gazed at him with silent terror.Norman felt bluer than before. 她张开嘴巴凄厉地尖叫了起来，诺曼丝毫没有料到她会这样大声喊叫，他的手不由自主地抓住她的脸颊，巨大的手掌在她那线条精致的下巴底下只一扭，便发出了尖锐的断裂声——就像脚踩上杉木板时发出的声响。她倒在他的手臂上。她死了，她所知道的有关罗丝的一切都随着她的死而不复存在了。 “哦，你这傻女孩儿，”诺曼喘着气，“竟然把自己钉在那该死的衣钩上，瞧你有多愚蠢！” 他用胳膊摇晃着她。她的脑袋像没有骨头似的软弱无力地搭拉着，来回晃了几下，她的白制服浸泡在血泊中，就像围着一个湿透了的红色围裙。他把波尔抱回到床罩那里放下来。她两腿分开躺在地上。 “你这肮脏的婊子，”诺曼说，“即使死了也别想逃脱，你说对吗？”他跨过她的双腿。她的一只胳膊从膝盖上掉下来，落在了床罩上。他看见她的手腕上有一个编结的紫色手镯——看上去很像是用短短几截电话线扭在一起做成的，手镯上挂着一把钥匙。 诺曼看了这玩意儿一眼，然后转身向房间另一头一只带锁的衣柜那里走去。 你不能去那儿，诺曼，他的父亲在说。我知道你在想什么，但是只要你走近位于杜汉大街附近的那个地方，那你就是个傻瓜。 诺曼笑了。如果你去那儿你就是个傻瓜。这话想想都觉得可笑。此外，如果不去那里还能去哪里呢？除了那个地方，还有什么事情值得一试呢？他的时间已经不多了，他身后所有的退路都被毁掉了。 “时间搞乱了。”诺曼·丹尼尔斯念叨着，从波尔的手腕上揪掉了那只挂有钥匙的手镯。他径直走到衣柜前，用牙齿咬住手镯，留出足够的长度，以便将公牛面具固定在手背上。然后他举起费迪南德。让它浏览一遍衣柜上的标签。 费迪南德说：“就是这个。”用它那只橡胶脑袋轻轻点了点标着“波尔·哈沃弗特”的衣柜。衣柜上的锁被打开了，里面有一条牛仔裤，一件体恤衫，一件运动胸衣，一只浴袋，还有一只波尔的皮包。诺曼把皮包举到一只洗衣篮上，将里面的东西倒入篮子里铺着的一条毛巾上。他举着费迪南德，让他巡视房间里所有的东西，手里就像举着一只奇怪的间谍卫星。 “就在这里，大男孩儿。”费迪南德低语着。 诺曼从化妆品、面巾纸和纸张中抽出一张薄薄的灰色塑料卡片，它肯定能够打开她们那个机构的大门。There is no question about that.他挑出了这样东西后，正准备走开—— “等一下。”公牛先生低语着说，这声音传进了诺曼的耳朵，用花环装饰的犄角在上下晃动着。 诺曼点了点头。他再一次从满是汗水的手上扯下了面具，放进衣兜里，然后又向波尔皮包里倒出的那堆东西弯下腰去。这一次他检查得非常仔细，就像在“作案现场”进行侦察时一样。区别只是在于，他现在只能用手指头做这件事了，而不能像通常在作案现场那样使用钢笔或铅笔的笔尖。 现在指纹绝对不是个问题。他想到这一点不由得笑了。不会再是个问题了。 他把她的钱包拿到一边，从那堆东西里面又挑出了一本印有“通讯录”字样的小红本。他在“口'字头下寻找姐妹之家，没找到他所需要的东西。又往前翻了几页，在波尔随手画下的一些眼睛和蝴蝶结周围写着大量的数字，看起来全都像电话号码。 他翻到最后一页，这里也同样，有着更多的电话号码。眼睛、蝴蝶结……在最中间，整齐地画着一个方框，在方框的两边各注着一个星号。 “哦，伙计，”他说，“拿上你的卡片，带上你的人。我想咱们要成功了，对吗，波尔？” 诺曼把最后一页纸从波尔的小册子上撕下来，塞到上衣前兜，踮着脚尖走到门口。他听了听，外面没有人。他长出了一口气，摸了摸装进兜里的那张卡片：正在这样做的时候，他的思维又跳入了另一个空间，有那么一会儿工夫，一切事物都不复存在了。 4 黑尔和格斯塔森带领着罗西和格特来到了很像是一排对话室的一个房间里，这里的家具已经十分陈旧，但看上去很舒服，而且里面没有专供侦探们使用的办公桌。他们坐在一张褪色的绿沙发上，它位于饮水器和咖啡机之间。咖啡机上没有贴吸毒者或者爱滋病人凄惨的图片，而是贴着瑞士旅游广告。侦探们既冷静又极富同情心，谈话是低调而又充满尊重的。但是，无论他们的态度或者周围非公事公办的气氛都不能对罗西有所帮助。她仍然怒火中烧，比她一生中任何时候都更感到愤怒，但是她也有些害怕，毕竟是在这种地方。 在讯问进行的过程中，有好几次她几乎要失去控制了，每当这时，她就将目光投向房间外面，寻找站在写有“警察公务，非公莫入”的横栏外面耐心等待的比尔。 她知道自己应该走到他身边，告诉他不要再继续等下去了——他可以先回家，明天再给她打个电话。但她就是做不到。她需要他在那儿等候，就像侦探们驱车带她们来的路上他始终骑在“哈利”车上紧紧相随一样；她需要他，就像一个想象力过于丰富的孩子在午夜醒来的时候需要灯光一样。 问题在于，她的头脑中在不断地转着疯狂的念头。她知道这些念头是疯狂的，可就是克制不住地要去想。只有当她简单地回答他们的问题的时候，这些念头才会消失，然后它们又回来了。她仿佛看见他们将诺曼带到了地下室，把他藏在了那里。一定是这样的，执法机构就像个大家庭，警察们都是兄弟，无论是为了什么原因，他们也不会允许警察的老婆出走，去过自己的生活。诺曼一定是被安全地隐藏在一间很小的地下室里，在那儿即使你喊破了嗓子，也不会有人听到。那个地方有潮湿的水泥墙，有一只光秃秃的灯泡从入口处用绳索吊了下去。当这场毫无意义的讯问结束以后，这些侦探就会把她带到他那里，带她去见诺曼。 你疯了。她抬起头，看到比尔站在低低的横栏外面注视着她，等待她被问讯完毕之后用哈利车带她回家，想到此，她便明白这些想法太疯狂了，但是她无法制止自己这样想。 他们一遍又一遍地反复讯问着，一会儿由格斯塔森发问，一会儿又轮到黑尔，这时罗西还没有意识到这两个人一个在扮演好警察，另一个扮演坏警察。她希望这些侦探赶快结束这场无休止的问话，让她们离开。也许只有当她走出这里以后，这些介于强制和恐吓之间的令人心力交瘁的问题所产生的挫折感才会减弱一些。 “肯肖女士，请你再说一遍，为什么正巧你的钱包里有张丹尼尔斯先生的照片？”格斯塔森说，他面前放着刚刚完成了一半的报告。他可怕地皱着眉头，在罗西看来，他更像是一个孩子在参加一场期末考试，考卷上的题目他从来没有学过。 “我已经跟你说过两遍了。”格特说。 “这是最后一遍。”黑尔平静地说。 格特看着他：“以侦探的名义？” 黑尔得意地笑了——一种获胜者般的笑容——并且点着头，“以侦探的名义。”于是她再次告诉他们，她和安娜如何尝试着将诺曼·丹尼尔斯和杀死彼得·斯洛维克的凶手联系起来，又是如何通过传真得到了诺曼的照片。从这儿开始，她又讲述了她是如何在售票处的人喊那个坐轮椅的男人时注意到他的。尽管罗西对这个故事已经耳熟能详，格特的勇气仍然使她感到着迷。她像背诵购物单一样不厌其烦地将她与诺曼在洗手间后面的打斗故事又讲述了一遍，罗西托起她的大手，紧紧地握着。 格特说完时，扬起眉毛看着黑尔说：“怎么样，好了吗？” “是的，”黑尔回答说，“非常好，辛西娅·史密斯欠你的救命之恩。假如你是个警察，我会发给你荣誉证书的。” 格特哼着鼻子说：“我通不过体格检查这一关，我太胖了。” “没有关系。”黑尔说，面色严峻地迎着她的目光。 “好吧，我欣赏这次讯问，但我真正想听到的是你们将会抓住那个家伙。” “我们会抓住他的。”格斯塔森说，语气中充满了自信。然而罗西却在想，你不了解我的那位诺曼，警官先生。 “咱们之间的事情办完了吗？”格特问。 “你的问题已经问完了，”黑尔说，“我还有一些问题要问麦克兰登女士……你还能坚持一会儿吗？不行的话可以让他们等一等。”他停顿了一下，“不过真的不该让他们再等了，其实我们都知道这一点，对吗？” 罗西闭了一下眼睛，又张开。她朝比尔看看，他仍然站在横栏外面，背朝着黑尔。 “你想问什么就问吧，”她说，“不过请尽快结束，我想回家。” 5 这一次当他的思维回到他自己的大脑中时，他正在一条静谧的街道上从“加速度”中迈步出来。他几乎立刻就意识到这已经是杜汉大街了。他把车停在距离这所野猫宫殿一个半街区远的地方。天还没有完全黑透，但已经逐渐暗下来了，树荫浓密而舒适，散发着一股好闻的气味。 他低头看了看自己，意识到在离开旅店之前他肯定回过一趟自己的房间。他的皮肤散发着香皂味儿，而且换了身衣服。对于他的工作来说，这身衣服就算很不错了：一件白色的圆领体恤衫和一件蓝色制服衬衫，下摆放在裤子的外面。他看上去就像一个周末上门检查煤气管道或其他这类问题的家伙。 “或者去检查报警器。”诺曼屏着气说，咧嘴笑了，“老奸巨猾的丹尼尔斯上尉——” 一阵恐惧突然像晴天霹雳般袭击了他。他下意识地拍了拍裤子左后兜，那里除了隆起的钱包什么也没有。他又摸了摸右裤兜，当手碰到那只柔软的橡胶面具时，他长长地出了口气。他显然忘记了他的左轮手枪还留在房间的保险柜里，但他没有忘记带上面具。现在面具似乎比手枪更为重要。这种想法几近疯狂，但确实如此。 他站在人行道上观望着街对面的251号，如果那里只有几个婊子的话，他就会把她们全部抓起来当做人质。如果人多的话，他也要尽可能多抓几个——也许五六个，把剩下的人赶到小山坡上。然后开始向她们开枪。一个一个地来，直到有人说出罗丝的地址。如果她们中没有人知道，她就把他们全都打死，然后开始寻找有关的文件……但他不认为他需要等那么久。 假如警察在那儿，你该怎么对付，诺曼？他头脑中父亲的声音紧张地问。假如里里外外布满了警察，为了防止你闯入，他们把这地方全部保护了起来？ He doesn't know and doesn't care. 他经过245号、247号、249号。在人行道与最后一幢房子之间有一个村篱，他走到树篱的尽头时突然停住，用谨慎而怀疑的目光紧盯着251号。如果看到这里已经采取了各种防备措施，他无疑会有充分的心理准备，但是这里居然没有丝毫动静，这令他感到意外。 姐妹之家坐落在又窄又深的草坪尽头，三层楼的影子投射在依然散发着热气的地面上。这里就像废墟一样宁静，门廊左边的窗户没有挂窗帘，里面黑洞洞的，没有任何移动的人影。门廊上没有一个人，车道上也没有一辆车。 他想，我不能就这样站在这里，于是又开始移动起来。他经过这座建筑物，向后面的庭院看了看。他来侦察时曾在这儿看见过两个婊子——他在洗手间后面抓住的便是其中之一。今晚庭院里空荡荡的，他能看见后院也空无一人。 这是个圈套，诺曼，他的父亲说。你了解这种事情，对吗？ 诺曼快步向前走，一直走到257号大门前，然后转过身，仿佛闲逛一般沿着人行道又走回来。他知道这虽然看上去像是一个圈套，父亲也许是对的，但是不知怎么，他感觉到它不是。 公牛费迪南德像一个漂亮的橡胶精灵出现在他眼前——诺曼早已把它从后裤兜里拿出来并套在了手上，只是他自己没有意识到。他知道这不是个好主意：任何站在窗口向窗外观察的人都会对这个肿着脸的大个子竟然会和一个橡胶面具说话而感到好奇……并且他还摆弄着面具的嘴唇，让它回答他。不过这些都没关系，生活已经变得非常……哦，简单化了。诺曼有些喜欢这种生活。 “不，这不是圈套。”费迪南德说。 “你肯定？”他问，他几乎又走到了251号前面。 “是的。”费迪南德说，并晃动着它那装饰着花环的犄角，“她们恰巧去参加野餐会了，就是这么回事。现在他们也许都围坐在烤蜀葵旁边，一些把自己穿成老祖母似的同性恋者正在唱着《风中之烛》呢。对于他们来说，你只不过是生活中的一场小小的风波而已，并不意味着更多东西。” 他在通向姐妹之家的小路前停住了脚步，低头看了看面具，公牛的这番话令他大为震惊。 “嗨，伙计，对不起，”公牛先生略带歉意地说，“但你知道，这些消息并不是我编造出来的，只是向你如实反映情况而已。” 诺曼痛苦地发现，有些时候你的感觉简直和老婆拿走信用卡并离家出走同样糟糕，那就是在你遭到冷落的时候。 遭到一群女人的冷落。 “好吧，那就教育她们别这么做了，”费迪南德说，“给她们个教训。干吧，诺曼，让她们知道你是谁，好让她们这辈子也忘不了这个教训。” “她们这辈子也忘不了这个教训……”诺曼喃喃地重复着它的话，面具在他手中鼓励地点了点头。 他又把它放回了后裤兜，同时边往前走，边用手指从左前胸衬衣口袋里夹出波尔的钥匙卡和从她通讯录上撕下来的那张纸条。他沿着门廊的台阶走上去，同时漫不经心地（他希望看上去如此）扫了一眼安在门上的摄像机镜头。他虽然把钥匙卡贴在了腿上，但眼睛却仍然可能被人监视到。不管运气如何，他得牢牢记住：费迪南德仅仅是个橡胶面具，诺曼·丹尼尔斯的手才是它的大脑。 密码锁的钥匙孔正是在他想象的那个地方，旁边有个语音箱，上面有小小的标记，指示来访者可以按下按钮后说话。 诺曼按下了按钮，身体向前倾斜着说：“我是中部煤气公司，来检查104号煤气管道泄漏情况。” 他松开按键等待着，并往头顶上看了一眼摄像机镜头。如果是黑白摄像机，就显不出他的脸肿得很厉害……他希望如此。他笑了笑以表明自己毫无敌意，而在这同时，他的心像一只马达一样嘭嘭地跳，好像要蹦出胸膛。 no answer.nothing. 他又接了一下按钮：“煤气公司。有人在家吗？” 他等着，慢慢地数到20。他的父亲在他耳边低语着：这是个陷阶，正是他自己在此情景下也会设计的那种陷阱。让这个混蛋进来，让他相信此地空无一人，然后，把他像一堆砖一样放倒。是的，这正是他自己也会玩的那种诡计……但是这儿一个人也没有，他几乎可以肯定。整个地方像被扔掉的啤酒罐一样空空如也。 诺曼把钥匙卡插入钥匙槽，发出一声清脆的咔哒声。他抽出卡片，转动门把手，走进了姐妹之家的大厅。左边传来低沉、持续的毕扑——毕扑——毕扑的声音。是防盗警报器，它的信息屏上一亮一灭地显示着“前门”二字。 诺曼看了一眼手中的纸条，暗暗祈祷这上面的数字就是他此刻所需要的，然后按下了D471四个数字。警报器仍旧毕扑——毕扑地响了一两声，随后停了下来。诺曼长长地出了一口气，关上了大门。他想也没想就重新设置了警报器，这是任何一名警察在工作时出于本能都会做的事情。 他打量着四周，发现楼梯通往二楼，他没有上楼，而是走进了大厅。他把头伸进右边第一间房子，它看来像是一间教室，椅子围成了一圈，房间尽头有一块黑板，黑板上写着“尊严、责任和信念”。 “智者之言，诺曼。”费迪南德说。它好像有魔法一样又变回到诺曼手中。“智者之言。” “你真是这么认为的吗？要我说纯粹是狗屎。”他左右看看，提高了嗓门。在这种恼人的静谧中大声喧哗好像是一种亵渎，但是一个男人就得干他想要干的事。 “嗨，有人吗？我是中部煤气公司！” “喂！”费迪南德在他手臂上喊道。它用空洞的眼孔快活地打量着四周，它的语调中带有一种滑稽的德国口音，有点像诺曼的父亲喝醉酒后说话的语调。“喂，这里有人吗？” “住嘴，你这白痴。”诺曼低声道。 “遵命，上尉先生。”公牛先生答道，它立刻安静下来。 诺曼慢慢转身进入了大厅。旁边还有一些别的房间——客厅、餐厅，还有一间看上去好像是小型图书馆的房间——但到处都是空无一人。大厅尽头的厨房里面也是空荡荡的。他想到了一个新问题：他要去什么地方寻找什么东西？ 他深吸了一口气，闭上了眼睛，他需要思考一下，同时也想制止住试图卷土重来的头痛。他想吸支烟，但不敢点燃，因为这里很可能装有烟雾探测器，烟一点着它就会尖叫起来。 他又深深地吸了一口气，一直送进肺部的最底层，他终于辨出了这里的气味——不是尘土味儿，而是女人味儿，是那种长期自我坚守。把自己用正义的保护罩包裹着躲开现实世界的女人的味道。是夹杂着罪孽和狂迷的血液、盥洗、香粉、除臭剂和香水气味儿的混合体，是她们喜欢吃的蔬菜和喜欢喝的果茶的气味儿，是某种像酵素一样无法彻底清除的气味儿，是没有男人的女人的气味儿。这味道一下子就充满了他的鼻孔、喉咙、心脏，他的头直发晕，几乎要被它窒息了。 “兄弟，坚持住！”费迪南德锐声说，“你闻到的所有气味儿其实不过是昨天晚上的意大利面条酱汁味儿！” 诺曼呼出一口气，又吸进一口气，睁开眼睛。意大利面条中的那种酱汁，是的，红得像血似的酱汁，但是真的是酱汁的气味。 “抱歉，我刚才有点昏昏然了。”他说。 “是呀，谁又不是呢？”费德说。它空洞的眼孔好像在表达着同情和理解。“毕竟这是个女妖把男人变成猪狗的地方。”面具在诺曼手腕上旋转，用它空洞的眼孔扫视着周围。“是的，正是这个地方。” "what are you saying?" “我什么也没说。请别介意。” “我不知道该怎么走。”诺曼说着，也扫视着周围。“我必须尽快找到，可是上帝，这儿这么大！看上去至少有二十多个房间。” 公牛的犄角朝厨房对面的一扇门点了点。“试试那一间。” “哦，那可能只是一间餐具室。” “我可不这么想，诺曼。我想她们不会把私人用房的牌子挂在餐具室的门上，你觉得呢？” 是有点道理。他穿过大厅，把面具塞进兜里，同时注意到，在洗涤槽旁的搁架上放着一只煮意大利面条用的滤锅，正在那里晾干水分。他敲敲门，没有回答，又试着转了转把手，很容易便打开了，他把手伸进里面，在门的右侧摸到了一个开关，啪地一声打开了大灯。 吸顶灯照亮了一只巨大的书桌，桌上堆满了各种杂物，其中最上面有一只金色镜框，写着“安娜·史蒂文森”和“上帝保佑这个傻瓜”的警句。墙上挂着一幅镶镜框的合影照片，上面的两个女人诺曼都认识。其中一个是已经死去的伟大的苏珊·蒂，另一个白发女人看上去像是安娜。她俩用胳膊搂着对方，相视而笑，就像一对真正的女同性恋者。 房间另一头排列着文件柜，诺曼走过去，弯下一条腿，开始查看标有“D—E”字母的抽屉，但他很快停了下来。罗西不再使用“丹尼尔斯”这个姓了，他记不起来这是费迪南德还是他自己的直觉告诉他的，但可以肯定，她已经重新开始使用婚前姓名了。 “你到死都是罗丝·丹尼尔斯。”他说着，走到标有字母“M”的抽屉前，猛拉了一下。没用，它上了锁。 这是个问题，但不算太难。他得去厨房找件工具把它撬开。他转身打算走出房间时，忽然看见桌角上有一只柳条篮，便停住了脚步。篮子的提手上插着一张卡片，上面印着古老的花体字“小小的信儿去吧”，篮子里放着一堆像是要寄出的邮件，在一张有线电视节目的账单底下，他看见两行露出一半的字迹： ——兰登 ——藤街 ——兰登？ 该不是麦克兰登吧？ 他眼中露出疯狂和贪婪的神情，一把将信抓了出来。篮子翻倒了，信件全部散落在地板上。 没错，是麦克兰登，以上帝的名义，正是罗西·麦克兰登！恰恰就在这名字底下，清晰而规范地打印着诺曼为了找到它而搜遍了整个世界、甚至下了一趟地狱的那个地址：春藤街897号。 在一堆文件中露出一把裁纸用的长把不锈钢刀。诺曼一把抓起来，迅速打开了信封，然后几乎想也没想就把刀插进了后裤兜中，同时掏出面具，套在了手上。信里只有一页纸，信纸的顶部用大字印着“安娜·史蒂文森”和稍微小一些字体的“姐妹之家”。 诺曼飞快地扫了一眼这个私人印章，将面具举到信纸上方，让费迪南德为他读这封信。安娜·史蒂文森的字体大方得体，甚至显得有些傲慢。诺曼汗湿的手指颤抖着，在费迪南德的脑袋里面尽量握紧，举着它一行一行送了下去。橡胶面具在读信的时候，不断地颤抖、畏缩甚至斜眼。 亲爱的罗西： 我只是想给你的新“窝”送一张字条，我知道这最初几封信有多么重要！这些信是为了告诉你，你来到姐妹之家，我们能给你帮上一点儿忙，我感到由衷的高兴！我还想说，我为你的新工作而高兴——我觉得你住在春藤街的日子不会太久了。 每一个来到姐妹之家的妇女都使其他所有人的生命得到了新生——那些和她一起度过最初恢复期的人们，以及那些在她离开后到达的人们，因为每一个人都给后来者留下了她的经历、她的力量和她的希望。罗西，我希望你能常来，不仅因为你的全面康复是一条漫长的路，你的一些情感问题（我想主要是愤怒）还没有得到很好的处理，还因为你有责任把在这里学到的东西传递下去。我也许没有必要跟你说这些。but-- 虽然是一声轻轻的咔哒声，在静寂中却显得很响。接着是另一种声音：毕扑——毕扑——毕扑——毕扑。 是报警器。 诺曼有伴儿了。 6 安娜根本没注意到停在离姐妹之家约一个半街区远的路边那辆绿色的“加速度”。她深深地沉浸在纯属私人性的幻想之中，这种想入非非她从未告诉过任何人，包括自己的治疗师。她保留着这些幻想是为了对付像今天这样的恐怖日子。在幻想中她被登上了《时代》周刊，成为封面人物。但那不是她的照片，而是一幅有着深蓝色背景的、栩栩如生的油画，深蓝色是最合适她的颜色，而且有助于淡化她近几年来开始粗起来的腰围。她面部向左看去，让画家画出她最好看的侧面，她的头发搭在右肩上，像雪花一样飘扬起来，十分性感地飘扬着。 油画下面是一行简单的标题：美国妇女。 她转上机动车道，很不情愿地放弃了刚刚进入一半的幻想（她刚刚进入了这里，文章作者写道：“虽然她使一千五百名受尽摧残的妇女获得了再生，安娜·史蒂文森如今仍然谦虚朴素得令人惊讶……”）。她关闭了通向虚无世界的发动机，在汽车里休息了一会儿，仔细地按摩着眼睛底下的皮肤。 彼得·斯洛维克，在他们离婚前她有时叫他大彼得，有时叫他疯狂的马克思主义者，他在世时是个思维混乱、滔滔不绝的家伙，她的朋友们好像仅仅记住了这一点。在他生前的那些聚会中，谈话一直持续不断，每一段“纪念性的恭维话”都比前一段更要长（她真想用机枪扫射这些整天沉浸在构思恭维话的政治靶心上），直到四点钟才终于决定吃些东西、喝点酒，如果那天轮到彼得采购，一定是国产的烈性酒，她常坐的那把折叠椅一挨屁股就会嘎吱作响。然而她从未想过在吃一小块三明治、抿一口酒之后一个人悄悄地溜走。人们会观察并评价她的举止。毕竟她是安娜·史蒂文森，一个在本市享有重要政治地位的女人，在正式仪式结束后她必须和一些人谈话，这些谈话也是故意为了让别人看见才进行的，因为这正是这些狂欢和聚会的最终目的。 她费了好大劲才把胡思乱想的念头赶走。今天，她希望没有人在野餐会上过于疲倦，没有谁家的孩子被马踢中了脑袋，而最重要的是，她希望罗西的丈夫别露面。然而她怀疑他已经出现了，他对那儿的情况太了解了。 她迈出车门，锁上车，心想即使在这样治安良好的社区也该多加小心。她走上了门廊台阶，用钥匙卡打开了前门，想也没想就关掉正在毕扑——毕扑——毕扑不停喧叫着的安全系统。甜蜜的白日梦片断仍然在她头脑中回旋。 “你好，我的房子！”她喊了一声，走进了大厅。 正如她所想象的那样，只有静谧回答了她的问候……让我多享受一会儿这种静谧。幸运的话，在晚上格格的笑声、哗啦的淋浴声、嘭嘭的关门声和嘀咕的说话声到来之前，她还能享受两三个小时宝贵的宁静时光。 她走进厨房，心里盘算着要不要悠闲、从容地洗个澡，把一天的晦气冲掉。然而她停下来，皱起了眉头，她的书房门半开着。 “见鬼，”她喃喃地说，“真是活见鬼！” 她最讨厌自己的隐私被人侵犯。她的房门没有装锁，因为她不相信自己虚弱到需要锁门的地步。无论如何这是她的地盘。那些姑娘们和女人们能来这里全都多亏了她的大度和恩准。她不需要在门上装锁，她有非请莫入的愿望已经足够了。 大多数情况下确实如此，但总会有某个女人认为自己真的需要从安娜这里找份文件；真的需要使用安娜的复印机（它跟台阶下那间屋里的复印机相比，不需要那么久的预热时间），真的需要盖章等等，干是这个失礼的家伙就闯了进来，在不属于自己的领地里走来走去，随便翻看别人的东西，于是，空气中充满了廉价的香水气味…… 安娜的手在书房门把手上停留了一下。这个房间在她还是个小姑娘时曾经做过餐具室。她的鼻翼扇动了一下，眉头皱得更紧了一些。什么地方飘过来一股气味，但绝不是香水味儿。这气味儿让她想起那位疯狂的马克思主义者。this is…… “我们的人要么穿英国皮衣，要么就什么也不穿。” Oh my God!耶稣基督！ 她的胳膊上起满了鸡皮疙瘩。她是一个为自己的职业自豪的女人，但是她轻而易举地想象出彼得·斯洛维克的鬼魂在书房