Chapter 18 Chapter Ten The Real Rosie

1 Bill and the black woman—her name was Ducasse, not Wendy—had reached the path behind the temple.Rosie's dress was missing, which did not attract her attention.She trudged around the building with difficulty.She looked up, saw them standing by the buggy up the hill, and started walking towards them. Bill came to meet her.There was a look of concern on his pale, bewildered face. "Rosie, are you okay?" "I'm fine." She leaned her face against his chest.When he put his arms around her, she wondered what humans really knew about hugging—how wonderful it was, how one person could want to hug another human being for hours on end.She guessed most people didn't know.Perhaps its significance can only be fully understood after a large number of opportunities have been lost.

They walked up to Ducasse, who was standing beside the foal, stroking its white-striped nose.The foal looked up and looked sleepily at Rosie. "Where can I find..." Rossi stopped right after saying this.Caroline, she almost said: Where can I find Caroline. "Where's the baby?" Then she said boldly, "Where's our baby?" Ducasse smiled. "It's safe. She's in a safe place. Don't worry about her, Miss Rosie. Your clothes are in the back compartment of the carriage. Go there and change if you like, I bet you'll be tempted to take them off." That stuff on him."

"You won the bet." Rossi said, walking to the back of the carriage.When the thing was peeled off from her body, she felt indescribably relaxed.As she zipped up her jeans, she remembered what Rose Maddow had told her. "Your mistress said you had something for me." "Oh!" Ducasse sounded taken aback. "Oh, my God! If I forget about that, she'll skin me." While Rosie picked up the baggy coat and put it on, Ducasse took out something and handed it to her.Rossi took it, held it up curiously, looked it over and over again, it was a small and delicate ceramic bottle, not much bigger than a drop of tear.A small piece of cork sealed the bottle.

Ducasse's eyes looked around.Bill was some distance away, and the ruins of the temple below the mountain seemed to be in a dream.She turned her head, as if satisfied, and said to Rosie in a low but emphatic voice: "A drop. It's for him, and I'll give it when I get back." Rosie nodded, as if she understood exactly what Ducasse was talking about.This is simpler.She had many questions to ask, or should ask, but her mind was too weary to form them. "I regret giving you so much. He may need it later. But be careful, girl, it's a dangerous item!" As if nothing in this world was safe, Rosie thought.

"Hide it now." Ducasse watched as Rosie slipped the tiny bottle into the watch pocket of her jeans. "You must keep it a secret from him." She shook her head in Bill's direction, and then Looking back at Rossi again, the black face was firm and cold.The eyeballs inside her sockets are sometimes invisible in the dark, making her look like a Greek god. "You know why too, don't you?" "Yes," said Rosie, "it's a woman's secret." Dukas nodded: "That's right, that's what happened." "Secrets between women," Rosie repeated, and she heard Rose Mead say in her heart: Remember that tree.

She closed her eyes. 2 The three of them sat on the top of the mountain for an unknown amount of time.Bill and Rosie put their arms around each other's waists, and Ducasse sat at a distance from them, near the foal.The foal still looked very sleepy.It looked up at the black woman from time to time, as if wondering why so many people were still sitting here at this extraordinary moment, but Dukas didn't care, she put her arms on her knees and raised her head Sitting there, looking sadly at the late rising moon.Rosie thought she was the kind of woman who calculated the choices she had made in her life, and more than half of them were wrong... so many mistakes.Several times Bill tried to speak, and Rosie looked at him encouragingly, but each time he swallowed without saying a word.

When the moon was unexpectedly blocked by a large tree on the left side of the temple, the foal raised its head again, and this time it let out a low, excited neigh.Rosie saw Rose Maid coming down the hill.Her strong, shapely thighs gleamed in the dull moonlight, and her braids swung back and forth in a pendulum motion like an old grandfather's old pocket watch. Ducasse smiled contentedly, and she stood up.Rosie felt a complex mixture of realizations and premonitions.She put one hand on Bill's arm and looked at him intently. "Don't look at her," she said. "No, don't look at her," Ducasse agreed. "And don't ask any questions, Bill, not even if she asks."

He moved his eyes uncertainly from Ducasse to Rosie, then back to Ducasse. "Why not? Who the hell is she? Queen of May?" "She can be any queen she wants," said Ducasse, "and you'd better remember that. Don't look at her, and don't do anything to make her angry. There's no time left, and that's all I can say." ...put your hands in your trouser pockets, young man, and look into them without taking your eyes off them." "but--" "You'll go crazy if you see her," Rosie said simply.Ducasse nodded to her. "It was a dream, wasn't it?" Bill asked. "I mean... I didn't die, did I? Because if it's the afterlife, I don't think it matters." He looked at the woman who was approaching, and slapped Shivering, "It's too loud, too much screaming."

"It was a dream." Rossi agreed.Rose Maddow was close, a slender figure approaching through thin lines of light and shadow.Shadows transform her menacing visage into that of a cat or a fox. "It's a dream, so you have to do exactly what we tell you to do." "Follow Rosie and Ducasse, not Simon." "Yes. Ducasse said, put your hands in your trouser pockets and look in them until we tell you it's time to end." "Is that okay?" he asked, giving her a playful grimace of knowing knowledge that she thought was really a sign of bewilderment.

"Yes," said Rosie desperately, "yes, all right, in God's name, take your eyes off her!" He put his hands together and lowered his eyes obediently. Now Rosie could hear footsteps approaching, the rustle of grass on skin.She lowered her eyes herself.After a while, she saw a pair of legs as white as the moon stop in front of her.Then there was a long silence.It is punctuated by the sound of a few sleepless birds in the distance.Rosie raised her eyelids to look to the right and saw Bill sitting next to her in absolute silence looking at her folded hands. next to the master.

Finally, she bowed her head shyly and said to her: "Dukas gave me something you wanted me to have. I put it in my trouser pocket." "Okay," the sweet husky voice answered her, "very good, the real Rosie." A mottled hand reached under Rosie's eyes and placed something on her leg, which lay on the pale In the moonlight, there was a faint golden light. "This is for you," Rose Maddow said. "A gift, you can use it if you like." Rosie picked it up from her lap and looked at it curiously.It was engraved with the words Service, Loyalty, Public Interest, arranged in a triangle around the diamond, forming an obsidian ring.The diamond is like an evil eye, reflecting a blood-red light. There was still silence all around.It has a desired effect.Does she want me to thank her?Rossi would love to know that.She won't do it, but she will tell her how she really feels. "I'm glad he's dead," she said softly, without any accent. "I can finally breathe a sigh of relief." "Of course you're happy, of course you can breathe a sigh of relief. Now you can go, and go back to the real Rosie's world, with this animal. From my judgment, he's a good animal." She was implying something, Ro West couldn't believe it was a lust. "Good tendon, good loin." Pause, then run a mottled hand over Bill's lovely mess of hair.He took a deep breath under her gaze, but didn't look up. "A good beast, if you protect him well, he will protect you." Rossi looked up.She was very afraid of what she saw, but she still couldn't help herself. "Please stop calling him a beast," her voice trembled with anger, "get your sick hand away." She saw Ducasse wince in horror, she only saw her out of the corner of her eye.Most of her attention was on Rose Maid.What else could she expect to see in that face?She was looking at her in the pale moonlight and still couldn't quite say it.Maybe Medusa, one of the three Gorgons.But the woman in front of her was not like that.Not so long ago her face was extremely beautiful, comparable to the Trojan beauty Helen in ancient Greek mythology.Now she was haggard and beginning to blur.A black mass covered the left cheek and extended to the eyebrow.The shining, burning eyes looked angry and sad in the shadows.It wasn't the same face Norman saw, at least she knew that, but she could see another face hidden beneath it.If she put on this face like a disguise for Rosie's sake, it would make her sick.Beneath the beauty lies madness...and not just madness. Rosie thought: This is a symptom of rabies, she is being consumed by this disease, all her form, magic and charm are out of her control, and soon this will all collapse, if I look away now from Move away from her, she'll probably do to me what she did to Norman.She will regret it later, but what use is that to me? Rose Maddow's hand dropped again, and this time she stroked Rosie's head, first the brows, then the hair, the braids beginning to loosen after a long day. "You are brave, Rosie. You fought hard for your...friend. You have courage and a good heart. But before I send you home, may I give you one piece of advice?" She smiled, or tried to, but Rosie's heart stopped for a second or two before her crazy smile appeared.Rose Maddow's lips were parted, and the round hole in her face definitely didn't look like a mouth, and she didn't even look human from a distance.Her mouth is the spider's stomach, used to devour live or dead insects unconsciously. "Of course." Rosie's lips felt numb and cold. The mottled hand stroked smoothly on the temple, the spider's mouth was grinning, and the eyes were twinkling. "Wash your dye out of your hair," whispered Rose Maid. "You don't want to be blonde." Their eyes met and looked at each other for a long time.Rosie found she couldn't take her eyes away; their gazes were locked on each other's faces.Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bill continue to look steadily at her hands.Sweat glistened on his cheeks and eyebrows. Rose Maid looked away: "Dukas?" "lady?" "The baby—" "I'll bring her when you're ready." "Okay," said Rose Maddow, "I'd love to see her, we should go. Rosie, you and your man should go too. You see, that's what I might call him—your man , your man. But before you go..." Rose Maid held out her hands. Rosie felt as if she was hypnotized, she stood up slowly, and walked into her arms.The clumps of black substance growing on Rose Madder's flesh were so hot that Rosie could almost feel them wriggling against her skin.Strangely, the woman in the classic sleeveless tunic was as cold as a corpse. But Rosie no longer had to be afraid. Rose Maddow kissed her on the cheek and whispered to her, "I love you, little Rosie. It's a pity we couldn't meet in better times, in good light. But we did our best, and did We did everything we had to do. We didn't waste time. Don't forget that tree." "What tree?" Rosie asked bluntly.But Rose Maddow shook her head, ended the conversation indisputably, stepped back, and let go of her embracing arms.Rosie took one last look at the anxious, mad face. "Am I you?" she asked quietly, "Tell me the truth—Am I you?" Rose Maddow smiled, and although it was only a smile, Rosie shivered when she saw a monster disappearing from the room. "Never mind, little Rosie. I'm too old and in poor health to deal with such matters. Philosophy belongs to the realm of the good, and if you can remember the tree, it doesn't matter anyway." "I do not understand--" "Shh!" she pressed a finger to her mouth. "Turn around, Rosie. Turn around and don't look at me. Game over." Hands—still tensely crossed in her lap, she pulled him to his feet.At this time the easel disappeared, and the oil painting on the easel that accompanied her every night returned to its normal size.But it's not a painting, it's still a window.Rossi turned and walked towards it, intending to walk out of this mysterious world and leave it behind forever.Bill tugged on her wrist to stop her.He turned to face Rose Maddow, but kept his head down. "Thank you for helping us," he said. "You're welcome," said Rose Maid, calmly. "If you want to repay me, be nice to her." repay?Rosie thought, and she shivered again. "Come on," she said, taking Bill's hand. "We must go." He hesitated for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I'll be kind to her." "A very nice fellow," said Rose Maid calmly.Her tone changed again, becoming very excited, and she said almost frantically: "If you really are Rosie, take him away before it's too late!" "Let's go!" Ducasse shouted, "You two get out of here quickly!" "Give me back my things before you go!" Rose Maddow yelled.Her voice was long and high-pitched, and it sounded ridiculous, "Here you are, damn it!" A bristly thing waved in the moonlight, sliding up and down Rosie McClendon's arm.Rosie was shaking all over. Rosie screamed too, and she took the ring from her arm and threw it at the shadow's feet.She felt Ducasse put her arms around the shadow, and Rosie didn't want to look any further. She grabbed Bill's arm, gave it a jerk, and stepped out of the window-sized oil painting. 3 Did not feel tripped.But instead of walking out, she falls out of the frame, and so does Bill.They fell side by side on the floor of the closet, the moonlight filtering in through the shuttered doors.Bill knocked his head against the door, hearing the sound was not light, but he didn't seem to feel it. "It turned out that these were not dreams," he said. "Jesus, we're in the picture! It's the painting you bought the day I first met you!" "No," she said deadpan, "not at all." The moonlight began to narrow and shrink around them, and soon became a halo of eyes.The door seemed to be closing slowly behind them, and Rosie wanted to look back to see what was going on behind her, but she restrained herself.When Bill started to look back, she placed her palm gently on his cheek, bringing his face to hers. "Don't look," she said. "What's the use? Whatever happened, it's over now." "but--" Light began to gather above their heads.Rosie thought wildly that if Bill put his arms around her and danced her around the room, the bright beam would spin with them. "Never mind it," she said, "don't mind anything, just let it go." "But where's Norman, Rosie?" "Dead," she said, and then, with an absurd look on her face, said troubledly: "My sweater and the jacket you rented for me are gone. Sweaters aren't too expensive, and as for the jacket, I'm very happy." Feel sorry." "Well," he said nonchalantly, "don't worry about such little things." The swirling beam of light above her head shrank to a point of light like a match, then shrunk to the size of a pinhead, and finally disappeared, leaving only a small light in her vision.She glanced back at the closet.The painting still hung where she had first hung it, only with some changes.Now only a bleak moonlight can be seen on the screen, shining on the top of the mountain and the ruins of the temple below.For Rossi, the lack of human breath in the quiet picture makes it look more like a classical work. "Jesus," Bill said, rubbing his sore throat, "what's going on, Rosie? I can't figure out what's going on." Not long, actually; for the tenant Norman had shot and wounded was still screaming. "I should go and see what I can do to help him," Bill said, trying to get to his feet. "Can you call an ambulance? Also, call the police." "Okay, I think they're on their way. But I'll call." He walked towards the door and looked back suspiciously again, still massaging his throat. "How do you explain all this to the police, Rosie?" She hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "I don't know...but I'll figure it out. Go ahead and do what you have to do." "I love you, Rosie. That's the only thing I'm sure of right now." He left without waiting for her answer.She followed him a step or two, stopped again, and she could see a dim light downstairs that looked like a candle.Someone was saying, "Hey! Did he get hit?" Bill's murmured reply was drowned out by the growls of the wounded.He did get hurt, but probably not seriously.If he had been seriously injured, he could not have uttered such a deafening roar. Was it too mean, she said to herself, picking up the handset of her new phone and dialing 911.Whether it's true or not, Rossi has begun to see the world with new eyes. "It doesn't matter as long as I remember that big tree." She didn't even feel what she was talking about. The phone rang once and someone answered it. "Hi, this is 911, this call has been recorded." "Yes, I believe. My name is Rosie McClendon, and my address is 897 Ivy Avenue. I live on the H floor. One of my upstairs neighbors needs an ambulance." "Madam, please tell me about him—" She was pretty sure she could tell about him, but she remembered something else, something she didn't understand and now understood.One thing that must be done right now.She put down the phone and took out the small and exquisite ceramic bottle from the watch pocket of her jeans with her fingers. Such small things are sometimes convenient, but they are also very annoying. She is an obvious discrimination against left-handed people like her.It is made by and used by right-handed people, as a general rule, similar inconveniences exist everywhere.But it's okay, if you're left-handed, you can learn to live with it, that's all.Rossi thought, no problem, I can do it.Just like Bob.Dylan's song: Oh yes, it's easy to do. She took out the small ceramic bottle that Ducasse gave her, and looked at it intently for two or three seconds. When she raised her head, she heard a sound outside the door.At the other end of the corridor, someone joined them again.The man who had been shot was speaking to them, gasping and crying, and Rosie heard the sirens of an ambulance coming in the distance in the distance. She walked into the small kitchen and opened the small refrigerator. There were three or four slices of red sausage, a quart of milk, two cartons of fragrant yogurt, a pint of fruit juice, and three bottles of Pepsi.She took out a bottle of Pepsi, unscrewed the cap, set it on the counter, and glanced back quickly, expecting to see Bill appear on the porch.what are you doing?he will ask.What kind of mixed drink do you concoct there?The porch was empty.She could hear his calm, considerate voice on the other side of the corridor.She had grown to like the sound of it. She used her fingernails to remove the cork cap from the mouth of the small ceramic bottle, and held up the ceramic bottle, shaking it from side to side under her nose, as if smelling perfume, but she knew it was a bitter metallic smell.And yet eccentrically fascinating.The bottle contained a few drops of water from the stream behind the Temple of the Bull. Ducasse: Just give him a drop.I'll give it later when I go back. Yes, just one drop.Too much can be dangerous.But one drop might be enough.All the problems and all those memories—the moonlight, Norman's screams of pain and terror, the woman who wouldn't let him see her face—all would go away.Her fears and fears that those memories would drive him insane would also go away.It's also possible that their budding relationship will melt away.And it might turn into a specious worry—that the human mind is much stronger and more adaptable than one might think, and if fourteen years with Norman had taught her nothing, Could this be an opportunity?What if things went the other way?Which is more dangerous: memory, or forgetting? Girl, be careful.THIS IS A DANGEROUS ITEM! Rosie's eyes shifted from the small ceramic bottle to the drain, then back to the bottle. Rose Maddow: A good beast.If you protect him well, he will protect you. Rossi thinks its conclusions may be rash and wrong, but it's not a bad idea.Slowly and carefully, she places the small ceramic bottles on the neck of the Pepsi bottle and slowly tilts it downward, allowing a drop of liquid to flow from one bottle into the other. Boom. Now dump all the rest down the drain, be quick. She started to pour, and suddenly remembered another sentence Dukas said: I should have only given you one drop, but maybe he will need another drop later. Yes, what should I do?she asked herself, slipping the tiny cork back into the mouth of the bottle and putting her in that inconvenient watch pocket.What on earth should I do?Will I need a drop or two in the future to keep my bowels from breaking? She doesn't think she needs to.also…… "Those who are not good at learning from history are doomed to repeat the old mistakes of the past," she murmured.She didn't know who said this, but she knew that it was too reasonable to ignore.She hurried back to the phone, picking up the mixed drink with one hand.She dialed 911 again, and it was the same operator's voice, with the same opening words: Please note, ma'am, this call has been recorded. "I'm still Rosie McClendon," she said, "we were interrupted just now." She paused, then laughed nervously, "Oh my God, that's not exactly what happened. I was so excited that I accidentally pulled the phone plug off the wall. There was a lot of chaos in here." "Yes, ma'am. An ambulance has been dispatched to 897 Ivy Avenue at the request of Ms. Rosie McClendon. There was a report of a shooting at the same address. Ma'am, your report is about a gun hurt?" "Is such that." "Do you want me to contact the police?" "I'd like to speak to Captain Hale. He's a detective, so I reckon I should go to the Detective Agency, but maybe you have another name here." There was a pause, and then the 911 operator started talking again, and this time his voice sounded less robotic. "Yes, ma'am, we have a detective agency here, which is the detective agency you are looking for. I will connect you right now." "Thanks. Do you need my phone number? Maybe you've taken notes?" This time she was undoubtedly shocked. "I already have your number, ma'am." "I think so too." "Wait a moment, I'll connect you." While she was waiting, she picked up the bottle of Pepsi, swirled it under her nose a few times, and sniffed it like a small ceramic bottle.She thought she could smell the faint bitterness...but maybe that was just her hallucination.It didn't matter whether he drank or not, she thought.How about drinking?What if I don't drink it? Before she had time to think about it, someone answered the phone. "Detective, Officer Williams." After she gave him Hale's name, she waited.In the hallway outside her room, the mumbling and moaning continued.The siren of the ambulance was getting closer. 4 "Hello, I'm Halle!" A loud shout from the receiver startled her.It was nothing like the preoccupied man she had seen before. "Is that you, Ms. McClendon?" "yes--" "How are you?" he was still shouting loudly.He reminded her of the cops who had been guests in her living room, their shoes off, and the smell of their feet could be smelled all over the house.She couldn't wait for the other party's news, and was eager to tell him what happened here; however, he was not what she had guessed, and now he could only dance around her, barking like a dog. Man, she thought, rolling her eyes resignedly. "Yeah," she said slowly, like a playground overseer trying to calm crazy kids somersaulting in a gymnasium, "yes, I'm fine. Bill, no, Stan Mr Na is fine too. We are all fine." "Is the guy who shot your husband?" He sounded so brusque that it almost shocked her. "Is that Daniels?" "Yes. But he's dead." She hesitated, then added, "I don't know where he is." I guess it was hot and the air conditioner wasn't working. "We'll find him," Hale said. "I assure you, Ms. McClendon—we can find him." "Good luck, Captain Hale," she said softly, turning her eyes to the open closet door.She touched her left arm, still feeling the warmth of the armband. "I gotta hang up. Norman shot an upstairs neighbor, maybe I can do something for him. Will you come here?" "you are right." "Then we can meet then. Goodbye." She hung up before Hale could start a new topic.Bill came in and turned on the lights in the hall. He looked around, surprised. "So he's in the basement." Before he could finish, he coughed again.He coughed badly.He bent down, grimacing, and pressed his hands on his swollen, chapped throat. "Look," she said, hurrying past him. "Drink this. I just took it out of the freezer and it's still cold." He took the Pepsi, took a few sips, then removed the bottle and looked at it strangely. "It's kind of quirky to be in the dark," he said. "That's because your throat is swollen. It may still be bleeding, and you may taste blood. Come on, cheers, I don't want to hear you coughing." He drank the rest of the water, put the bottle on the coffee table, and when he looked at her again, what she saw in his eyes was demented and empty, and she was horrified. "Bill? Bill, what's the matter with you? What's the matter?" That vacant stare lasted a moment, then he shook his head with a smile. "You'll never believe it. I guess it's today's special. But..." "What? Don't believe in what?" "For a second or two, I couldn't remember who you were," he said. "I can't remember your name, Rosie. But what's even more incredible is that for a few seconds I can't even remember my own name." She smiled and took a step forward.She heard footsteps coming upstairs, but she didn't care anymore.She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "My name is Rosie," she said. "I'm Rosie, the real Rosie." "That's right," he kissed her temple. "Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, Rosie. Rosie." She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest, and in the dark, behind her closed lids, she saw a preternatural spider's mouth and the black eyes of a vixen.She saw these and knew she would be able to see them for a long time.In her head, there are three big characters that sound like a bronze bell: I repay. 5 Captain Hale lit a cigarette without permission.He sat with his legs crossed, watching Rosie McClendon and Bill Steiner, who were suffering from lovesickness.Every time their eyes meet, Hale reads a message of mutual admiration.What intrigued him most was whether they had managed to get rid of the troublesome and tiresome Norman...he didn't know.They're not that type of people.These two people are not like each other. He pulled a chair from the kitchen, put it in the living room, and sat back in it, with one arm thrown over the back of the chair.Rosie and Bill sat on the loveseat, imagining it as a sofa.It had been more than an hour since Rossi called 911.The injured tenant upstairs, John Briscoe, had been taken to East Ambulance at his request, where he suffered "flesh injuries," according to one paramedic. Now things are finally looking a little brighter.Hale likes to do things that way.There was one more thing he wanted to know, and that was where the hell Norman had hidden himself. "There's one instrument here that doesn't quite fit," he said, "and it messes up the whole band." Rosie and Bill looked at each other.Hale was sure Bill Steiner was looking puzzled; he wasn't so sure about Rosie.But there was one thing he was almost sure of, and that was that Rosie was keeping something from him. He flicked through his notebook slowly, passing the time, hoping the two of them would lose patience first.But none of them.It surprised him that Rosie seemed so composed that he neither forgot anything about her nor initiated any action.She was never actually interrogated by the police, but she heard thousands of discussions and arguments as she quietly made coffee and cleared ashtrays for Norman and his friends.He is familiar with those professional techniques. "Well," said Hale resignedly, when he realized that neither of them had revealed anything, "now we've got a clue that Norman was here and that he was going to kill Alvin Terry. Officers Moss and Lee Babcock. Babcock stepped into the seat that had been shot, Timothy entered the car, Norman knocked out the light in the hall, then went into the basement, shut the The switch went off, although they were securely fastened in the switch box. Why? We have no way of knowing. Maybe he was an idiot. Then he went back into the broad daylight and pretended to be Officer Timothy. When you and Mr. Steiner When he emerged, he attacked you from behind - scared Mr. Steiner out of his wits, he followed you all the way upstairs, and when Mr. Briscoe burst in Norman immediately shot him, then broke into you room. Did I miss anything?" "Yeah, I think so," Rossi said. "It's all that chaotic, but how it all happened is the least clear." "There's one thing I don't understand. You two are hiding in the closet—" "yes--" "—but Norman is in this grisly picture under the guise of Freddie Jason or something—" "Oh, not quite—" "—and he went around like a bull in a china store, found two bullet holes in the shower curtain...and rushed out of the bathroom. Is that what you're going to tell me?" "That's true," she said. "Of course we didn't see him go around attacking because we couldn't see anything in the closet, but we heard it." "This demented cop came after you, killed two cops, and then... what happened? Murdered the shower curtain and ran away? Is that what you're going to tell me?" "Yes." She could see that there was no need to say anything more.He didn't suspect her of breaking the law—because if he had, he would have interrupted her several times—but if she hadn't simply given her consent, he might have been screaming all night long, and now It gave her an unbearable headache. 黑尔看了看比尔：“你记得是这么回事吗？” 比尔摇了摇头。“我不记得了，”他说，“我所记得的最后一件事就是我在那辆警车前面发动了我的哈雷车。以后就变成了漫天大雾的天气。” 黑尔讨厌地挥了一下手。罗西握住比尔的手，把它放在自己的腿上，然后用自己的两只手盖在上面，抬起头，对他甜蜜地微笑着。 “没事儿了，”她说，“我可以肯定你的问题都会及时弄清楚的。” 6 比尔向她保证，他会留在这里。他信守了诺言，他的脑袋刚刚挨到枕头就立刻睡着了。这并没有使罗西感到吃惊。她躺在狭窄的床上，睡在他身旁，看着街头路灯下雾浪翻滚，等待自己的眼皮变得沉重起来。她失望了，便站起身，走进壁柜，打开灯，双腿交叉坐在油画前。 ·寂静的月光使它更加富有活力。神庙像是一个缺乏生气的墓穴，一群食腐尸的鸟群在头顶盘旋。她很想知道，明天当太阳升起来的时候，它们会用诺曼的尸体做早餐吗？她并不这样认为。罗西·麦德把诺曼放在一个鸟群进不去的地方。 她又看了一会儿油画，然后用手指抚摩着僵硬突出的笔触。这一下她放心了，关了灯，回到床上。睡神很快便降临了。 7 她在一生中第一个不再有诺曼的早晨醒来了，而且吵醒了比尔。她是被自己的尖叫声弄醒的。 “我要报答！我要报答！哦，上帝，快看看她的眼睛！那双乌黑的眼睛！” “罗西！”他摇着她的肩膀说。 "Rosie!" 她毫无表情地看了看他，脸上冒着汗珠，被汗水湿透的棉布睡衣紧贴在曲线分明的突出部位上。“比尔，是你吗？” He nodded. “没错，是我。你没事了。我们都没事了。” 他打了个冷战，紧紧地抱住了他。舒服的感觉很快便转变成了别的东西。她躺在他的身体下面，用双手抱住他的脖子。比尔的呼吸急促起来，那发烫的手在罗西丰满的乳房上抚摩着、搓揉着……罗西挺着身子，迎合着那男性的进攻。比尔身下那坚硬的东西进入她的身体时（当她和诺曼在一起时她从来没有体验过如此的优雅和自信），她的眼睛转移到了掉在地板上的牛仔裤上，小瓷瓶仍然在表袋里，她判断那里至少还有三滴苦涩诱人的溪水——或者更多。 我要用它，她想道，我会在不能清楚地思考之前使用它。我当然会。我将遗忘一切，这是最好的结果——谁会需要这样的噩梦？ 但是她内心世界的最深层、比她的老朋友理智还要隐藏得更深的地方知道答案是什么：她需要这种噩梦，恰恰是她自己需要。她虽然保留着那个小瓶子，以及小瓶子里的东西，她并不是为自己保存的。因为谁要是忘记了过去，谁就注定要重犯历史的错误。 她抬起头来看着比尔。他正在低头看她，快乐的眼睛睁得大大的，看上去一片迷茫。她发现，他的一切便是她的一切，她让自己任他带领，紧紧地跟随其后。他们就这样在小床上停留了许久，就像勇敢的水手在她的小船上航行着。 8 大约在中午时，比尔去拿周末报纸并去熟食店采购食品。罗西冲了一个淋浴，穿上衣服后，赤脚坐在床边。她能够闻到他们两人不同的香味儿，还能闻到他们混合出来的香味儿。她觉得还从来没有闻到过这么美好的气味。 最好的吗？太简单了。床单上没有血迹。到处都没有血迹。 她的牛仔裤掉到了床底下。她用脚指头把它勾了出来，然后从表袋里拿出了小瓷瓶。她把牛仔裤拿进浴室，门后挂了一只塑料洗衣袋。小瓷瓶会被放进药品柜里，至少在那里放上一段时间，它很容易隐藏在别的瓶子后面。在扔进洗衣袋里之前，她翻遍了所有的裤兜，这是一个古老的、家庭主妇们习惯做的事情，她甚至完全没有意识到自己在做什么……直到她的手指在最常用的左兜深处摸到了某样东西。她拿到面前，当罗丝·麦德在她的头脑中说话时，她打了个哆嗦。一件礼物……你可以随意使用。 这是诺曼的警校指环。 她把它套在手指上，转来转去地察看着，让浴室雾气腾腾的玻璃反射的亮光照亮上面的字：服务，忠诚，公众利益。她又一次发抖了，她完全能感觉到，诺曼已经和这个邪恶的护身符紧紧连接在一起了。 又过了半分钟，她已经把杜卡丝的小瓷瓶藏进了药品柜里，匆匆回到乱糟糟的床边，这一次她没有注意到继续飘散在空气中的男人和女人的香味儿，她要寻找和考虑的是床头柜。上面有一只抽屉。她会把指环放在那里。然后她会考虑用它干什么；现在她想要做的便是，让自己的视线离开它。让它留在外面无疑是很不安全的，黑尔上尉随时会来，带着几个新问题和一大堆老问题，让他看见诺曼的警校指环没有什么好处。 她打开了抽屉，把那只指环放到最里边……突然她的手指僵硬了。 抽屉里已经有一样别的东西了。一只蓝色的小包，小心翼翼地折叠成一个包裹的形状。小包上撒满了罗丝·麦德那种玫瑰红的污迹，看上去像是半湿半干的血迹。 “哦，上帝，”罗西悄悄地说，“那些种子！” 她把从便宜睡衣上撕下来的那只小布包拿出来，双腿突然支撑不住自己的身体，便在床边坐下来，把小包放在腿上。她在心里听见杜卡丝嘱咐她千万不要尝那些种子，也不要把摸过种子的手指放进嘴里。石榴树，她这样叫它，但是罗西认为它并不是这棵树的名字。 她打开了小包的一角，看着那些种子。她的心脏像一匹野马般在胸中狂奔不已。 不要保存它们，她想到。不要，不要。 罗西把前夫的指环暂时放在台灯旁，便站起身，又走进浴室，手掌上平摆着打开的小包。她不知道比尔什么时候走的，她已经失去了时间的概念，但是一定过了好大一会儿时间了。 求你了，她想，让比尔去熟食店的时间尽量长一些。 她放下马桶坐垫，跪在上面，从小包里拿起了第一粒种子。她有一种感觉，好像这个世界使种子失去了原有的魔力，但是她的手指尖立刻麻木了，她知道是怎么回事。并非她的手指真的麻木僵硬了，而是种子向她的肌肉传递了某种奇怪的记忆缺失症。尽管如此，她还是拿起了种子，目不转睛地看了它一会儿。 “一粒给雌狐。”她说完，把种子扔进马桶中。水里立刻泛起了一股罗丝·麦德那种邪恶的红色。种子看上去像是从手腕或是喉咙上切下来的残渣。飘进她鼻子里面的不是血腥味儿，而是公牛神庙后面那条小溪散发出的苦涩的、略带金属味的矿泉水气昧儿。那气味儿太强烈了，她的眼睛竟被刺激得流出了泪水。 她从小包里拿起了第二粒种子，举到眼前。 “一粒给杜卡丝。”她说着，将它也扔进马桶中。颜色加深了——一现在已经不是鲜血的颜色，而是凝成血块的深红色。气味如此强烈，她的眼泪沿着脸颊滚滚落下。她的眼睛好像受到洋葱汁的刺激而变成了粉红色。 她拿起了最后一粒种子，举到眼前。 “给我一粒，”她说，“给罗西一粒。” 但是当她试图扔进马桶时，种子粘在她的手指上不肯离去。她又试了试，还是同样的结果。不同的是，那个疯女人的声音出现在她的心里，它神志健全地劝说她：记住那棵树。记住那棵树，小罗西，记住—— “那棵树，”罗西耳语着，“记住那棵树，是的，我明白了，可是到底是哪棵树？我该做些什么？以上帝的名义，我该怎么做？” 我不知道，理智的声音回答了她，但是无论如何你得快点儿。比尔随时都会回来。 她冲了厕所，眼睁睁地看着紫红色的液体被清水所取代，然后回到床上，坐在床边注视着脏兮兮的破布上那最后一粒种子，接着又把目光转向了诺曼的警校指环，最后又把视线转回到种子上。 我为什么扔不掉这个该死的东西？她问着自己。别管那该死的树，请你告诉我，为什么我扔不掉最后这粒种子？ There is no answer.回答她的是砰的一声响，以及从窗口传来的摩托车驶近的声音。她对比尔哈雷车的声音已经很熟悉了。她不再向自己提问了，匆匆地将指环和种子一起放进这块柔软的蓝色小包中，又重新将它包好，焦急地来到梳妆台前，拿起了皮包。这只皮包已经既肮脏又过时，但是对于她来说它意味着许多。这是那年春天她在埃及买的。她打开了皮包，把蓝色小包一直塞进最底下，让它比药品柜里面的小瓷瓶还要保险。做完这件事以后，她来到打开的窗口，饱饱地吸了一口新鲜空气。 比尔拿着厚厚一沓星期日报纸和多得令人无法容忍的面圈回家了。罗西转过身，用灿烂的笑脸迎接他。“什么事让你耽搁了这么久？”她问道，心想，你多么狡猾，小罗西。你真是个狡猾的家伙。 他脸上露出了笑容，突然回答了她的问话：“罗西，你没事吧？” 她笑得更加灿烂了。“很好。我猜想一定是有一只呆头鹅从我的坟墓上走过，我刚才打了个哆嗦。” 9 那天下午，黑尔上尉给他们带来了关于安娜·史蒂文森的惊人消息：由于她不喜欢任何人未经允许进入她的办公室，他们直到那天早上才发现了她的尸体。 罗西和比尔半晌说不出话来。罗西自言自语地说：“安娜，多好的人……” 又是星期天，罗西采纳了罗丝·麦德那条建议，他们一起向林荫道上的20世纪发廊走去。美发师明白了罗西的意图，仍简短地表达了自己的看法。 “你现在的发式看起来很美！”她说。 “是的，的确如此。”罗西回答了她，“但是我有点儿不喜欢。” 美发师做了她该做的事情，她以为会听到比尔表示吃惊并且反对，她的期望落空了。 “你的头发短了一些，但是看起来很像你第一次来我商店时的样子，”他说，“我觉得这种发型更好一些。” 她拥抱了他。 "great." “晚餐想去中国餐馆吗？” “只要你答应再回到我这里来。” “我答应你所有的要求。” 10 星期一的大字标题：流氓警察在威斯康星州被发现 星期二的大字标题：警察对凶手丹尼尔斯警官保持缄默 星期三的大字标题：安娜·史蒂文森被火葬；2000人举行默哀游行以示纪念 星期四的大字标题：据知情者猜测，丹尼尔斯可能死于自杀 星期五，诺曼的消息从头版头条转到了报纸第二版。 到了下一个星期五，诺曼从媒体报道中消失了。 11 7月4日独立日刚过去没几天，拉比·利弗茨让罗西开始为简·史密利的作品（千亩地产）录制有声小说。这是一部关于依阿华州家庭农场的故事。罗西上高中时曾经在学生话剧团当过三年的服装设计师，尽管她一次也没有登上过聚光灯通明的舞台，但是如果面对面遇到了，她仍然能够认得出莎士比亚剧中的疯狂王子。史密利把李尔王演得颠三倒四，不过疯子毕竟是疯子。 他使她想起了令人恐惧的诺曼。当她结束了这本书时，罗达告诉她说：“这是至今为止你做得最好的一本书，也是我所听到过的最好的之一。”罗西回到自己的房间，看着那幅没有镜框的油画，自从诺曼那天夜晚……哦，消失之后，它就一直放在壁柜里。这是罗西自那晚之后第一次看见它。 她看见的东西并没有令她过于吃惊。画面上又变成了阳光灿烂的日子。山脚下面还是老样子，长满郁郁葱葱的灌木丛和杂草。山下的神庙也没有变化（或者基本没有变化，罗西感觉到神庙那种倾斜得有些古怪的透视图已经变得正常了），那个女人仍然不在画面上。罗西感到杜卡丝带那个疯女人最后去看一眼她的孩子……罗丝·麦德很可能独自一人去了一个她这种人该去的地方。 她带着油画，站在通向焚化炉的大堂里，像以前那样小心翼翼地拿着油画的一角，好像害怕自己一不留神滑入那另外一个世界。说句实话，她真的担心会发生这种事情。 罗西在焚化炉的烟囱旁又停了下来。她目不转睛地向油画送上最后一眼，它曾经靠在租赁商店里一只落满灰尘的画架上，用只属于罗丝·麦德本人的那种迫切的、命令般的声音召唤过她。她对着焚化炉的滑道举起了油画，然后犹豫了片刻，她的眼睛看到了以前没有看到的东西：在距离小山不远的一个长满青草的地方，她看见了两样东西。她用手轻轻沿着这两样东西滑动，皱着眉头，努力猜想它们可能是什么。She finally remembered.那个粘乎乎的三叶草似的粉色斑点是她的毛衣，它旁边那个黑色的斑点是比尔为她租来的夹克衫，准备沿27号公路骑车外出时穿的。她一点也不在乎那件毛衣，那只是一件便宜的奥伦制品，可是她为那件夹克衫感到遗憾。虽然不太新了，但还可以穿很多年。此外，她希望归还别人的东西。 她甚至只用过一次诺曼的信用卡。就那一次。 她看了看油画，然后叹了一口气。再保留它已经没有任何意义；她很快就要离开安娜为她找的那个小房间了。她无意留下任何一样过去的东西，她猜想有些东西会像子弹碎片残留在大脑中一样留在记忆里。But-- 记住那棵树，罗西，一个声音在说，这一次听起来很像是安娜的声音——当她需要帮助而没有任何人可以向她提供的时候，是安娜帮助了她，她但却不能依照自己的愿望前往哀悼……尽管她为可爱的波尔眼泪流成了河（她的那双美丽的蓝眼睛永远够得上“有趣的人”），她仍然感到难过。她嘴唇颤抖，鼻子刺痛。 “安娜，我很难过，”她说。 It doesn't matter.那个声音干巴巴的，还有一点傲慢。我不是你发明的，诺曼也不是你制造出来的，你用不着为我们两个人承担责任。当铺天盖地的暴风骤雨恐吓说要将你吞没的时候，你必须牢记住你叫罗西·麦克兰登，而且你必须记住—— “不，我不会，”她说，就像合上了一本书似地把油画对折了起来。用来固定油画用的旧木条折断了，画布本身并没有破，油画暗淡无光，显得毫无生气。“不，我不会的，我不会记住任何事情的，如果我不想记住，我就绝不会记住。” 那些忘记过去的人—— “妈的！该死的过去！”罗西大声地喊了起来。 我要报答你。一个声音回答了她。它在悄悄地说，它带着哄骗和警告的语气对她说。 “我不听。”罗西说。她把焚化炉的风门打开，随着喷出的一股热浪，闻到了烟灰味儿，“我不想见我没有听见，该结束了。” 她将折叠起来的油画塞进了风门板，就像给地狱里的什么人寄去了一封信，随后用脚尖站起来，注视着它向炉底的熊熊大火坠去。