Chapter 5 Chapter 3 The Manders Farm Incident 1

When Cap and Al Steinowitz discussed the future of Charlene McGee in Longmont, the subject of their conversation was sitting on the bed in Room 16 of the Dreamland Motel, yawning and stretching waist.The bright morning sun slanted into the room.It was a crisp autumn day outside, and there was not a single cloud in the tile-blue sky.During the day, everything looks much more optimistic. She looked at her father lying motionless under the blanket: only a tuft of black hair sticking out - nothing else.Charlie smiled.He always does his best. If both are hungry and they only have one apple, he will take one bite and let her eat the rest.During his waking hours, he always does his best.

But when he fell asleep, he snatched the blanket away. She went into the bathroom, took off her shorts and turned on the shower.She went to the toilet before the water got hot, and then walked under the shower, feeling the comfort of the hot water.She closed her eyes and smiled.The first minute or two of a hot shower is the best feeling in the world. (You did wrong last night.) A cloud of sadness passed over her forehead. (No. Dad said yes.) (Set that guy's shoes on fire, bad boy, very bad, you like the way a teddy bear burns all over?) The gloom intensified.Fear and shame were added to the anxiety.She never thought of Teddy Bear fully consciously, the bear existed only in her subconscious mind.And as usual, her guilt seemed to be concentrated in a smell of burnt paste.

The smell brought back the blurry image of her parents leaning over her: they were grown-ups, giants; and they were terrified; they were angry, and their voices were high and crisp, like boulders rolling down a hill in a movie . ("Bad boy, so bad! You can't do this! Charlie! Never again! Never again! Never again!") How old was she then?three years old?two years old?How old does a person have memory?She asked her father this question one day, but he said he didn't know either.He said he remembered being stung by a bee once, and his mother said he was fifteen months old at the time.

These are her earliest memories: the huge face bent over her; voices that sound like boulders rolling down a hill; and the smell of burnt omelets.The burnt smell came from her hair.She pulled her hair out and nearly burned them all.After that, Dad mentioned "help" and Mom was so unreasonable, laughing, crying, and laughing weirdly loudly again that Dad finally had to slap her.She remembered this because it was the only time she had seen Papa treat Mama like this.Dad said maybe we should think about how to get "help" for her.They were in the bathroom at the time.Dad put her under the shower just now, so her hair is all wet.Oh yes, Mom said, let's go to Dr. Varys, he'll give us a lot of "help" like he used to... and then laugh, cry, laugh, and slap.

(You were so bad last night.) "No," she murmured in the rushing water, "Daddy said no. Daddy said...it might be...his...face." (You were so bad last night.) But they need coins from the phone booth.Dad said so. (Very bad.) At this time, she thought of her mother again, and thought of herself five.When I was six years old.She doesn't want to think about this time, but the lingering memory is right in front of her eyes.It happened right before those bad guys broke into the house and hurt Mom. (Kill her, you mean kill her.) Yes, it was, before they killed her and took Charlie away.Papa held her on his lap and told her stories, except he didn't have the usual storybooks about the little things and Mr. Tiger and Mr. Toad.He only has some very thick books without illustrations.She wrinkled her little nose in disgust and said that she wanted to hear the story of the little thing.

"No, Charlie," said Pa, "I want to read you some other stories, and I want you to listen. I think you're old enough now, and so is your mother. These stories might scare you a little, But they're important. They're all real." She remembered the titles of the stories her dad read to her because they really terrified her.One of them was Behold! by a man named Charles Ford. by a man named Frank Edwards (stranger than scientific); one (Truth of the Night). There was another, Heat Split: Case Notes, but Mom wouldn't let Dad talk about it "I'll tell it later," Mom said, "when she's older, Andy." So the book was put away. Charlie was very happy.

Those stories are really scary.One was about a man who was burned to death in a park; Apart from that, everything else is intact.There were parts of the story that were too complicated for her to follow, but one thing she remembered: "We can't explain the death," said a policeman. The victims were left with teeth and some charred bones. A blowtorch and nothing around her was charred. We can't explain why the whole house didn't take off like a rocket." The third story is about an eleven.two year old boy.He set himself ablaze while at the beach.His father burned himself badly when he carried him into the sea, but the child continued to burn in the sea until he was burned out.There is also a story of a teenage girl who burned up while performing a confession to a priest in the confessional.Charlie knew about the confessional in the Catholic Church because her friend Deeney told her about it, and Deeney said you had to tell the priest all the bad things you did throughout the week.Deeney hadn't been to confession yet because she hadn't taken communion, but her brother Karl had been.Carl was in fourth grade, and he had to confess everything, including the time he snuck into Mom's room and took some of her birthday chocolates.Because if you don't tell the priest, the blood of Christ will not atone for you and you will go to hell.

Charlie knew what these stories meant to her, and she was terrified.After Dad told the story of the girl who burned in the confessional, Charlie burst into tears, "Am I going to burn myself?" she whimpered, "Burning my hair like I did when I was a kid? Am I going to burn to pieces? ?” Mom and Dad are very sad.After Mom turned pale and kept biting her own mouth, Dad put an arm around her and said, "No, honey. As long as you always remember to be careful and not to think about...that thing—on your That thing you do when you're angry and scared." "What's that?" Charlie cried. "What is it? Tell me what it is, I don't know. I'll never do it again, I promise!"

Mom said: "As far as we know it's called passive heat splitting, dear. It means that sometimes just thinking about fire can actually light a fire. It usually happens when people are in a bad mood. Some people obviously have lifelong This... this ability, I never knew. And someone... this power will control them in an instant, and they..." She couldn't continue. "They'll burn themselves," Pa went on. "Yeah, like when you got up on the couch when you were a kid. But you can control it, Charlie. You have to. God witness it's not your fault. When he said this, he and his mother looked at each other for a moment, and there was something in her eyes that Charlie couldn't read.

He hugged her shoulders and said, "I know sometimes you can't control it. It's an accident, like when you forget to go to the bathroom when you're a kid and you wet your pants because you're playing. We used to call that an accident— -Do you remember?" "I never did that again after that." "Yeah, of course you don't do that anymore. So in a while, you'll get the same thing under control. But for now, Charlie, you've got to promise us never. Never, never let your Get emotionally out of control of that thing. If you do that you'll start a fire. If you're really out of control, move it away from yourself, into the wastebasket or ashtray. Don't let it stay Inside the body. If there is water nearby, transfer it to the water."

"But never to a single person," said Mom.She is pale.The stiff face looked very serious, "That would be very dangerous, Charlie. Then you'd be a bad boy. Because you'd—" she struggled to get the words out—"you'd kill him." Charlie howled hysterically, tears of horror and regret.Because Mom's hands are bandaged, and she knows why Dad tells her those scary stories.Just the day before, when her mother wouldn't let her go to Denny's because she didn't clean the room, Charlie was so angry; , nodding her head and grinning grimly; she was so angry that she pushed it out of her body and toward her mother.Mom's hands were on fire.Things aren't too bad yet. (Maybe it would be worse maybe her face.) It wasn't too bad, since the sink was full of soapy water for washing dishes; but it was unfortunate, and she had promised them that she would never, ever— The warm water hit her face and chest.On the shoulders, it wraps her gently, like a cocoon, dispelling painful memories and anxiety.Dad had told her it was okay.If Dad said so, it must be so.He is the smartest man in the world. Her mind flicked back to the present, and to those who had chased them.Dad said they were government people, but not a good government department.They work for a government department called Ita.These people have been chasing them.Whenever they got to a place, it didn't take long for these Itha people to show up. I wonder what they'll think if I set them on fire?A voice in her head asked coldly.Guilty terror made her close her eyes tightly.It's scary to think that way.this is not right. Charlie reached out, grabbed the hot water faucet, and turned it off with a flick of the wrist.For the next two minutes, she shivered and hugged her shoulders, forcing herself to stand in the freezing water. When you have bad thoughts, you pay for them. Dini had told her so. Andy gradually woke up from the dream, and vaguely heard the sound of the shower.At first it was just a part of a dream: he was eight years old on Tasmore Pond with his grandfather, trying to thread a large writhing worm onto a fishhook.The dreams are unbelievably clear.He could see the wicker creel in the cabin, the red tire patches on Grandpa McGee's old green boots, and his own first battered, crumpled baseball glove.Looking at the gloves, he remembered that he was going to Roosevelt Field for group training tomorrow.But this is tonight, the last rays of the sun's afterglow and the gradually thickening night are perfectly coordinated into a kind of dim yellow.There is no sound on the pond, and you can see swarms of lemons and mosquitoes floating on the golden water.Heat lightning flashes in and out...maybe real lightning because it's raining.The first raindrops wet Grandpa's small white fishing boat that has been exposed to wind and sun.And then you can hear the raindrops on the lake, a low, mysterious hiss, like—like— —Shower, Charlie must be in the shower. He opened his eyes to an unfamiliar beamed ceiling.where are we Memories gradually pieced together.But for a moment, because I have been to so many places in the past year.There have been many near misses.Under too much pressure, he felt a frightening overwhelm. He reluctantly savored the dream just now, hoping to return to the dream to be with his grandfather again, even though he had passed away for twenty years . Hastings Grant.He is at Hastings Glenn.They are in Hastings Glen. He thinks about his own head.The head still hurt, but not as badly as it had been the night before when the bearded young man let them out of the car.The excruciating pain had subsided into a steady throb.If there is nothing abnormal this time, according to past experience, the labor pain will become a slight pain tonight, and it will all disappear by tomorrow. The shower was turned off,. He sat up in bed and looked at his watch: ten forty-five. "Charlie?" She went back to the bedroom and wiped herself vigorously with a towel. "Good morning, Dad.  … "Good morning. How are you?" "Very hungry," she said.She went to the chair where the clothes were placed, picked up the green shirt, held it up to her nose and smelled it, and frowned, "I have to change." "We've got to make do with it now, dear. We'll get you something later today." "Hopefully it doesn't take that long before we can go eat." "We can hitchhike," he said, "and get off at the first cafe we ​​see. "Dad, when I first started school, you told me not to ride in a stranger's car." She was already in shorts and a green shirt, and was looking at him suspiciously. Andy got out of bed and walked over to her.He put his hands on her shoulders. "Sometimes the devil you don't know is better than the one you already know," he said. "Do you know what that means, dear?" She thought hard for a moment: the devils they already knew must be those of Ita; those who had chased them through the streets of New York yesterday.The devil they don't know -- "I think most people who drive don't work for Ita," she says. He smiled at her. "You're right. And I was right when I said it before: When you're stuck, you sometimes have to do things you never do when things go well." Charlie's smile disappeared.Her countenance became serious and alert. "Like taking money off the phone?" "Yes," he said. "Isn't this a bad thing?" "No. In that case, it's not a bad thing." "Because if you get stuck, you have to do what you have to do to get out of it." "Yes. But there are some exceptions." "Which are the exceptions, Dad?" He ruffled her hair. "Never mind that now, Charlie. Take it easy." But she couldn't relax: "I didn't want to set that person's shoes on fire. I didn't mean to do that." "No, of course you are not." Then she really lightened up and gave a radiant smile that was so Vicki-like. "How's your head feeling, Dad?" "Much better, thanks." "That's good." She looked at him carefully, "'One of your eyes looks weird. "Which one?" She pointed to his left eye: "This one." "Really?" He went into the bathroom, drying a spot on the steamy mirror. He stared into his eyes for a long time, and his good mood gradually disappeared.His right eye was the same as usual, gray-green—the color of sea water on a cloudy spring day.His left eye was also grey-green, but the white was severely congested and the pupil appeared smaller than his right eye. He also noticed for the first time that the eyelash of his left eye was hanging down strangely. Vicky's voice suddenly sounded in his mind.The voice was so clear, as if she was standing right next to her: Your headache scares me, Andy.When you "push" someone— Whatever you call it - you're hurting yourself too. Then there was another balloon in his mind that was inflating...bigger...bigger...until it finally exploded with a bang. He took a closer look at the left side of his face again, running his right finger lightly around, looking like someone in a TV commercial admiring his clean-shaven face.He found no sensation in three places on his face—one under his left eye, one on his left cheek, and one just under his left temple.Panic passed through him like the quiet mist of evening.Panic for himself, but more for Charlie - what if she was the only one left? As if he had called her name, he saw Charlie in the mirror. "Dad?" She sounded a little scared, "Are you okay?" " "It's all right," he said.The voice sounds normal, not trembling or overly confident.Forced to smile, "I was just thinking that I should shave my face." She covered her mouth with one hand and giggled: "Like a prickly haystack. Bah. It's very lush." He ran after her into the bedroom, rubbing his prickly beard against her smooth cheek.Charlie giggled and kicked him. While Andy was making Charlie giggle with his mustache, Orville Jaminson (aka Oja, aka Juice) was getting out of a black parked car with another Ita agent named Bruce Cook. Stepping out of the light blue Chevrolet sedan outside the Stings Hotel. Oja stood for a moment, looking down Main Street, at the town's parking lot, electrical store, grocery store.Two gas stations, a pharmacy and its wooden municipal building.A plaque hangs in front of the building commemorating a long-forgotten historical event.Main Street was part of Route 40, and the McGees were less than four miles from Oja and Bruce Cook. "Look at this little town," Oja said with disgust. "I grew up not far from here. A town called Lowell. Have you ever heard of Lowell, New York?" Bruce Cook shook his head. "It's close to Utica, too. Utica Club beer is made there. Leaving Lowell was the happiest day of my life." Oja reached into his jacket and adjusted the Wind Chaser in the holster. . "It's Tom and Steve," Bruce said.Across the street, a beige sports car parked in a space vacated by a farm truck.Two men in dark suits who looked like bank employees were getting out of the car.Farther on, at the traffic lights, two other Ita agents were questioning a prostitute who was soliciting business among the school's students.They were showing her pictures and she was shaking her head.There were ten Italites at Hastings Glenn, and they were all in touch with Norwell Bates.Betts is now waiting in Albany for Al Steinowitz, Karp's personal backup. "Ah, Lowell." Oja sighed. "I hope to catch these two guys at noon. I also hope that the next mission will be in Karachi or Iceland. Anywhere, as long as it is not in New York State North. It's so close to Lowell University. It's too close for me." "Do you think we'll have them before noon?" Bruce asked. Oja shrugged. "We'll catch them before the sun goes down. I promise. They went into the restaurant, sat at the counter and ordered coffee.A slim young waitress brought them coffee. "How long have you been on duty, little sister?" Oja asked her. "If you have a sister, I pity her," said the waitress, "if she looks like you." "Don't do this, little sister." Oja said and showed her his ID.She watched it for a long time.Behind her a little hoodlum in a motorcycle jacket is about to move. "I start work at seven," she said, "as usual. Maybe you want to talk to Mike. He's the boss." She turned to walk away when Oja grabbed her wrist.He doesn't like women making fun of his looks.Most women are bitches.His mother was right about that, though she wasn't necessarily right about the rest. "Did I say I wanted to talk to the boss, little sister?" She was getting scared.This is exactly what Oja hoped for. "Go right." "That's right. I want to talk to you, not to someone who's been in the kitchen all morning scrambling eggs for burgers." He took a picture of Andy and Charlie from his pocket and gave her it, still Looking at her wrist, "You recognized them, little sister? Maybe they came for breakfast this morning?" "Let me go. You're hurting me." Her face began to turn pale, leaving only some redness from the rouge she put on. "Maybe she'd been a cheerleader in high school. The kind of girl Oja would laugh at when he asked them out because he was president of the chess club and not a quarterback on the football team. Lowell bitches. God, he Hate NY state. Even NYC is too close. "You tell me if you ever entertained them. Then I'll let you go, little sister." She glanced at the photo briefly: "No! I don't. Now let—" "You haven't read it carefully enough, little sister. You'd better read it again." She looked again. "No! No!" she cried. "I've never seen them! Let me go, will you?" The little ruffian in the leather jacket jumped over, the zipper rattling, fingers in his trouser pockets. "You're bothering the lady," he said. Bruce Cook looked at him with unabashed disdain. "Be careful we'll bother you next, Pocky," he said. "Oh," said the little ruffian in the leather jacket, his voice suddenly quieter.He walked away quickly, apparently remembering that he had an urgent matter outside in the street. The two old ladies who were eating were watching the small scene in front of the counter nervously.A large man in a cleaner white chef's coat—probably Mike the owner—was standing in the kitchen passage, also watching.He holds a butcher knife in his hand, but appears hesitant. "What do you two want?" he asked. "They're from the FBI," said the waitress uneasily. "They—" "Didn't entertain them?" Are you sure? asked Oja. "Little sister?" " "I'm sure," she said.She was on the verge of crying. "You'd better be sure. One mistake could get you five years in jail, little sister." "I'm sure." She whispered.A tear rolled down her cheek, "Please let me go. Don't hurt me anymore." Oja tightened his hand suddenly, enjoying the feeling of the little bones sliding under his hand, very proud to think that he could hold them even tighter and break them...then he let go.There was silence in the dining room, only the singing from the radio comforted the patrons of the Hastings Hotel, that all this would pass.The two old women got up and hurried away. Oja picked up his coffee cup, leaned over the counter, poured it on the floor, and dropped the cup on the floor.Thick shards of broken porcelain were scattered in all directions.The waitress burst into tears. "Bad coffee," Oja said. The shopkeeper waved the knife half-truthfully.Oja suddenly cheered up. "Come on, man!" he said, almost laughing "'Come on, let's see." Mike put his knife next to the oven and suddenly yelled in anger and shame: "I fought in Vietnam! My brother fought in Vietnam! I'm going to write and tell the Senator all this! You wait, see Dare I!" Oja stared at him closely.After a while, Mike lowered his eyes.He's scared. The two walked out. The waitress leaned over and began to pick up the shards of the coffee cup from the floor, still sobbing. Outside the hotel, Bruce asked, "How many motels are there?" Three motels, six vacation cabins. Oja said, looking at the train lights. This thing fascinated him. When he was young in Lowell, there was a sign in front of the town restaurant that said, "If you don't like our town , just look for a train timetable. "There have been countless times when he's longed to yank that sign off and stuff it down someone's throat. "There are people checking these places," he said.The two headed for the light blue Chevrolet sedan, part of a government fleet funded by taxpayers. "We'll find out soon." john.Mayo was on a team with an agent named Ray Knowles.They were driving along Highway 40 toward the Dreamland Hotel.They were driving a new black Ford.Just as they were about to climb the last hill before reaching the Dreamland Hotel, a car tire blew up. "Fuck," John cursed.The car bobs up and down to the right. "Here's what the fucking government sent you. Fucking retreaded tires." He pulls to a stop on the soft shoulder and turns on the Ford's lights. "You keep going," he said, "I'll change the damn tire." "I'll help you," Ray said, "in less than five minutes." "No, let's go. It's over this mountain, it should be." "Are you sure?" "Yes. I'll catch you. Unless the spare tire goes flat too. I wouldn't be surprised if that happened." A creaking farm truck passed them.This was the truck that Oja and Bruce Cook had seen coming out of town as they stood outside the hotel. Ray grinned. "Better not. To get a new one, you have to fill out a quadruplicate application form." John didn't smile. "I don't know," he said sullenly. When they got to the trunk, Ray opened it.The spare tire is intact. "Okay," John said, "you go." "It actually takes less than five minutes to change a tire." "Yes, but those two will be leaving the hotel too. If it's going to take a long time, you'd better go first. They've got to be somewhere anyway." "Yes, all right." John took the jack and spare wheel out of the trunk.After a moment's hesitation, Ray Knowles walked along the shoulder of the road toward the Dreamland Motel. A little further from the hotel, Andy and Charlie McGee were standing on the shoulder of Route 40.It turned out that Andy's fear of being noticed that he wasn't driving was unfounded; the woman in the duty room was engrossed in a small Hitachi television set on the counter.She swept the keys Andy handed over into the drawer without taking her eyes off the screen. "I hope you had a good time yesterday," she said.She was eating a half-destroyed chocolate cocoa bagel. "Yes, it's been good." Andy said and left the room. Charlie was waiting for him outside.As he descended the steps, he slipped the woman's receipt for his bill into the pocket of his corduroy jacket.Coins from the Albany payphone box clinked dully inside. "All right, Dad?" Charlie asked as they walked down the road. "Looks good," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders.On the hill behind them to the right, the tires of the car in which Ray Knowles and John Mayo were riding had just exploded. "Where are we going, Dad?" Charlie asked. "I don't know," he said. "I don't like it. I feel nervous." "I think we've left them far behind," he said. "Don't worry. They're probably still looking for the taxi driver who took us to Albany." But they had escaped death; he knew it, and presumably Charlie knew it too.Standing on the road like this made him feel exposed, like a criminal in a striped jumpsuit in a cartoon.Forget about it, he told himself.Otherwise the next thing you'll think is they're everywhere—behind every tree, on that hill ahead, isn't someone saying that total hallucination and total consciousness are the same thing? "Charlie one by one," he began. "Let's go to Grandpa's house," she said. He looked at her, startled.The dream came back: fishing in the rain, and the sound of the rain became Charlie taking a bath again. "How did you get there?" he asked.Grandpa died long before Charlie was born.All his life he had lived in Tasmore, Vermont—a small town just west of the New Hampshire border.After Grandpa died, the place by the lake was left to Andy's mother; after she died, the place became Andy's.The town could have taken it back as a tax long ago, but Grandpa had left a small sum to cover the expense. Before Charlie was born, Andy and Vicky used to go there once a year during their summer vacation.It was twenty miles from the nearest two-way road, surrounded by trees.sparsely populated countryside.In summer, all kinds of people come to Tasmore Pond for their holidays. This is actually a lake, and on the other side of the lake is the small town of Bradford, New Hampshire.But this season, all the holiday camps may be empty.Andy suspected that no one would walk that way to camp in winter. "I don't know," Charlie said. "I just... just thought of it. In the blink of an eye." Over the hill, John Mayo was opening the trunk of the Ford, checking the spare wheel. "I had a dream about Grandpa this morning," Andy said slowly. "I think it's the first time I've thought about him in a year or two. So I guess you could say he just popped into my head." "Is it a good dream, Dad?" "Yes," he said, smiling slightly. "Yes, a good dream." "So what do you think of the idea?" "I think it's a great idea," said Andy. "We could go out there for a while and figure out what to do next. How to deal with this. I think if we could find a newspaper, we'd Tell what happened to so many people that they may have to stop hunting us." A battered farm truck creaked toward them, and Andy held out his hand.Over the hill, Ray Knowles was walking up the hill along the shoulder. The truck stopped, and a young man in a baseball cap looked out at them. "Ah, there's a lovely lady." He smiled. "What's your name, lady?" "Roberta," Charlie said quickly.Roberta is her middle name. "Oh, Bobby, where are you going this morning?" asked the driver. "We're going to Vermont," Andy said. "St. Johnsbury. My wife's having a little trouble with her sister's." "Really? The farmer didn't say anything, but he looked at Andy keenly from the corner of his eye. "Have a baby." Andy said with a big smile on his face. "This kid has a little brother again. It's one forty-one this morning." "His name is Andy," Charlie said. "Isn't it nice?" "That's a nice name," said the farmer. "You jump on it, and anyway, I can drive you ten miles, and bring you closer to St. Johnsbury." They got in, and the farm truck creaked back onto the main road, into the bright morning sun.Meanwhile, Ray Knowles was climbing up the hill.He saw an empty highway stretching all the way to the Dreamland Hotel.Farther on, the farm truck that had passed them a few minutes earlier was disappearing from his view. He saw no need to be anxious. The farmer's name was Mendes—Yves Mendes.He had just delivered a truckload of pumpkins to town and sold them to the owner of the A&P chain.He said he used to do business with First Nations malls, but the owners there didn't know anything about pumpkins.He doesn't know anything but jump up and chop meat, which is Yves.What Mendes thinks of him. The boss of A&P was different, and he was a wonderful guy.He told Andy and Charlie that his wife had a tourist shop in the summer and he had a roadside stand selling produce.I had a good time. "You sure don't want me meddling in my business," Yves Mendes said to Andy, "but you and your daughter shouldn't be hitchhiking here. God, you shouldn't. There's not a lot of people on the road these days. Black Stings. There's a coach station behind Grant's, you should go there." "This—" Andy felt embarrassed, but Charlie stepped in cleverly. "Daddy's out of a job," she said sharply, "so Mommy's going to have the baby at Aunt Em's. Aunt Em doesn't like Daddy. So we're staying home, but now we're going to see Mommy. Isn't it, Daddy?" "It's a family business, Bobby," said Andy, sounding uncomfortable. He was really uncomfortable.There are too many holes in Charlie's story. "You don't have to say that," Eve said. "I understand family disputes. Sometimes things can get really tricky. I understand. There's nothing to be ashamed of." Andy cleared his throat but didn't speak.He didn't know what to say.For a while they sat like this in silence. "Hey, why don't you come to my house and have lunch with my wife?" Eve asked suddenly. "Oh no, we can't—" "We'd love to go," said Charlie. "Aren't we, Dad?" He knew that Charlie's instincts were usually right, and he himself was too devastated to refute her.She is opinionated.Aggressive little girl, Andy asked himself more than once who was in control of the situation. "If you think there's enough one," he said. "Always enough," said Yves Mendes, shifting the car into third gear.The trees that lined the road danced in the autumn sun: maples, elms, poplars. "Glad you're here." "Thank you very much," Charlie said. "You're welcome, kid," said Eve. "My wife will be glad to see you, too." Charlie smiled. Andy rubbed his temples.The nerves in the patch of skin under the fingers of the left hand appear to have died.无论如何，他可不喜欢这种感觉。而且，他强烈地感觉到那些人又近了。 二十分钟前在梦乡旅馆为安迪办理退房手续的那个女人现在有些紧张。她已将电视节目忘到了九霄云外。 “你肯定是这个人？'、雷·诺累斯已是第三遍这样问了。她不喜欢这个瘦小。齐整。有些严厉的男人。也许他是为政府工作，但这对莱娜·卡宁汉并不是什么安慰。她不喜欢这人的刀条脸，也不喜欢那双冷酷的蓝眼睛旁边的皱纹；而最重要的是她讨厌这人总是把那照片在她鼻子下晃来晃去。 “是的，是这个人。”她再次说道，“但并没有一个小姑娘和他在一起。是真的，先生。我丈夫也会这样说的。他值夜班。所以我们除了吃晚饭，很少能见面。他也会——” 另外那个人又闯了进来，莱娜更加惊慌地看见这人一手拿着步话机，一手拎着一支大号手枪。 “是他们。”约翰·梅奥气急败坏地说。由于愤怒和失望，他已经有些发狂，“有两个人在那床上睡过觉。一只枕头上是金发，另一只是黑发。他妈的那个轮胎！见他妈的大头鬼！浴室里挂的毛巾还是湿的！喷头还在滴水！我们也许只晚了五分钟，雷厂他愤怒地把枪插回肩套。 “我把我丈夫叫来。”莱娜蹑嚅道，“没关系。”雷说，他抓着约翰的胳膊把他拉出门外。约翰还在咒诅着那个轮胎。“忘了那轮子，约翰。你和镇上的奥贾通过话了吗？” “我告诉了奥贾，他又告诉了诺威尔。诺威尔正从奥尔巴尼往这儿来，阿尔·斯但诺维茨和他在一起。阿尔不到十分钟前刚刚降落。” “那很好，听着，约翰，想一想。他们一定是搭了车。” “是的，我猜也是，除非他们偷了辆车。” “那男人是个英语老师。他连从盲人院的特许地摊上偷根糖棍都不会。所以他们一定是搭车走的。昨晚他们搭了车，今天早晨又搭了车。我拿一年的工资跟你打赌，我爬那座山时，他们肯定正站在路边伸手拦车呢。” “要不是那个轮胎一一”约翰的眼睛在镜片后显得凄苦万分。 他眼睁睁看着一次提升机会慢慢地。懒洋洋地飞走了。 “去他妈的轮胎！”雷叫道，“什么从我们旁边经过？轮胎瘪了之后，什么从我们旁边经过？” 约翰一边想一边把步话机挂回到腰问。“一辆农场卡车。”他说。 “我记得也是。”雷说。他四下扫了一眼，看见莱娜·卡宁汉满月般的大脸正从旅馆办公室的窗子里盯着他们，她看见雷注意到了她便将窗帘放了下来。 “相当破旧的卡车。”雷说，“如果他们还在大路上，我们应该能追上他们。” “那我们走吧。”约翰说，“我们可以用步话机通过奥贾与阿尔和诺威尔保持联系。” 他们奔向汽车打开车门。片刻之后黑色的福特便狂吼着冲出停车场，后轮下飞溅出片片辗碎的白色石子，莱娜·卡宁汉看着他们离开，大大松了一口气。开个旅馆和以前可大不一样了。 她走回房间叫醒了丈夫。 约翰·梅奥拿着枪，雷·诺累斯开着车，以每小时七十多英里的速度在40号公路上疾驶（其它十或十一辆类似的现代型号的汽车正从周围搜索地区向黑斯廷斯·格兰集中）。这时，伊夫·曼德斯伸出左手示意，将车开离高速公路；驶上一条大致伸向东北方的没有标志的沥青小路。卡车沿路上下颠簸。吱嘎作响。在他的怂恿下，恰莉已经唱遍了自己所会的九首歌，包括热门金曲如、《这个老人》，（那稣爱我）和《凯普顿竞赛》。伊夫和安迪与她一起合唱了最后这支歌。 道路婉蜒曲折，经过一系列树木掩映的山脊，开始往下向比较平缓的地带延展。这里已被开垦并且收割过。一次，一只鹤鸡从左侧的花草丛中蹿了出来，伊夫大叫：“捉住它，伯比！”恰莉一边用手指比划着一边喊着“砰一吧一砰”，然后开心地咯咯大笑。 几分钟之后，伊夫把车开到了一条土路上。走了一英里之后他们看见了一个红。White.蓝三色的破旧信箱，边上印着“曼德斯”。伊夫将车驶进一条几乎半英里长。布满车辙的车道。 “冬天要在这里犁地一定非常困难。”安迪说。 “我都是自己干。”伊夫骄傲地说。 他们来到一所白色的农场房屋前。房子有三层，四周漆成薄荷绿色。在安迪看来，这类房子在开始时显得很普通，但随着时光的流逝，会变得越来越奇特。屋后有两个小棚子，一个向这边斜着，一个朝那边歪着。南面又加盖了一排温室，一个很大的封闭门廊从北面伸出来，像件浆过的衬衫。 房子后面是个曾经很漂亮的红色谷仓。房子和谷仓之间就是新英格兰人所谓的后院——一块平坦的土地，几十只鸡正在上面啄食踱步。当卡车吱嘎着朝它们开去时，这些鸡尖叫着四散奔逃，扑闪着毫无用处的翅膀越过一块劈柴的垫木，垫木上面插着一把斧子。 伊夫把车驶进谷仓。谷仓里面有一股稻草甜甜的气息，这使安迪记起了自己在佛芒特度过的夏天。 当伊夫关闭发动机后，他们都听到了从谷仓深处某个阴暗的角落里传来的一阵低沉。悦耳的哞哞声。 “你有一头牛。”恰莉说。一阵像是狂喜的表情掠过她的面颊，“我听到它了。” “我们有三头。”伊夫说，“你听到的是波西——非常新颖的名字，是不是，小朋友？她觉得一天得给她挤三次奶。如果你爸爸允许的话，一会儿你能看见她。” “可以吗，爸爸？” “我想可以。”安迪说。他在心里已经让步了。他们走到路边想搭车，没想到却被带到了这个偏僻的地方。 “进屋见见我妻子。” 他们慢慢穿过后院，不时停下来等着要和小鸡们玩耍的恰莉。后门开了，一个大约四十五岁的女人走出来站在台阶上。她用手掂住阳光叫道：“是你，伊夫！你带谁回来了？” 伊夫笑了：“这个小朋友是罗伯塔。这是她的爸爸。我还不知道他叫什么，所以不知道我们是不是亲戚。” 安迪走上前说：“我叫弗兰克·伯顿，大太，您丈夫邀请我和伯比到家来吃午饭，希望没给您带来什么不便，很高兴见到您。” “我也很高兴。”恰莉说。她对小鸡比对这女人更感兴趣—— 至少现在如此。 “我叫诺玛·曼德斯。”她说，“进来吧，欢迎你们。”但安迪看见她困惑地看了丈夫一眼。 他们走进屋，穿过门洞来到一间宽敞的厨房。里边最显眼的是一个炉子和一张铺着红白格油布的长桌。空气中有一股似有似无的水果和石蜡的味道。安迪想：罐头的味道。 “弗兰克和他的女儿要去佛芒特。”伊夫说，“我想路上吃点热东西对他们没什么坏处。” “当然。”她同意道，“你的车在哪儿，伯顿先生？” “这——”安迪张开嘴。他看了一眼恰莉，可这次恰莉不会帮他忙了；她正踏着小碎步在厨房里转来转去，带着孩子毫不掩饰的好奇心寻视着每件东西。 “弗兰克碰到点麻烦。”伊夫·说着，直直地盯着妻子，“不过我们不用谈这些。至少现在不谈。” “好吧。”诺玛说。她长着一张坦诚，甜甜的脸——一个习惯于辛勤劳作的女人。双手通红，很粗糙，“我已经做好了鸡，还可以弄道很好的色拉，还有很多牛奶。你爱喝牛奶吗，罗伯塔？” 恰莉没有回头。她忘了这名字，安迪想。嗅，上帝，事情真是越变越好了。 “伯比！”他大声说。 她转过身笑了笑：“噢，是的。”她说，“我爱喝牛奶。” 安迪看见伊夫警告地看了一眼他妻子：不要问问题，现在不要。安迪感到一阵颓丧的绝望。他们的故事中残留的可信部分已烟消云散。但他们别无选择，只能坐下来吃饭，等着看伊夫·曼德斯究竟想干什么。 “我们离汽车旅馆有多远了？”约翰·梅奥问。 雷看了眼里程表：“十六英里。”他说着把车停了下来，“已经够远了。” “但是没准——…… “不，如果我们能追上他们，那现在就应该追上了，我们回去和其他人碰碰头。” 约翰将手掌击在仪表盘上。“他们一定是从哪儿下了公路。” 他说，“那见鬼的轮胎！从一开始这事就不走运，雷：一个疯子和一个小姑娘。而我们总是抓不到他们。” “不，我想这回我们抓到他们了。”雷说着掏出他的步话机。 他将天线伸出窗外，“半小时之内我们要在整个地区设一条警戒线。而且我打赌用不着搜查十几所房子就会有人认出那辆卡车。 六十年代后期深绿色的国际收割者，前面带雪犁，车上有载重物的桩杆。我仍然认为傍晚以前我们能抓住他们。 " 片刻之后，他和已快到梦乡旅馆的阿尔。斯但诺维茨通了话。 阿尔继而把情况向他的特工们进行了传达。布鲁斯·库克还记得那辆出镇去的卡车。奥贾也记得。它曾停在A＆P连锁店前。 阿尔把他们派回小镇。半小时之后，他们就知道那辆几乎可以肯定捎载了两个逃亡者的卡车车主叫伊夫·曼德斯，车号RFD＃S，住纽约州，黑斯廷斯·格兰镇，贝灵斯大街。 这时时间刚过十二点三十分。 午餐非常丰盛。恰莉狼吞虎咽——三份肉片鸡块，两块诺玛·曼德斯做的饼干，一份色拉和三条家制的睫黄瓜。午餐以抹奶酪的苹果馅饼结束——伊夫评论说“吃苹果馅饼而不加奶酪就像搂着个姑娘而不能紧抱。”这话使他妻子用胳膊时亲呢地捅了他一下。伊夫转着眼珠，恰莉放声大笑。安迪的胃口让他自己都吃惊，恰莉打了个嗝，赶紧犯了罪似地捂住了嘴。 伊夫朝她笑了：“现在里边又有地方了，小朋友。” “如果再吃，我想我要炸开了。”恰莉答道，“过去我妈妈总……我是说我妈妈总这么说。” 安迪疲惫地笑了笑。 “诺玛，”伊夫说着站了起来，“干吗不带伯比出去喂喂那些鸡？” “不过，午饭桌子还没有收拾呢。”诺玛说。 “我会收拾的。”伊夫说，“我想和弗兰克在这儿聊聊。” “想去跟我喂鸡吗，亲爱的？”诺玛问恰莉。 “当然想。”她的眼睛褶褶放光。 “那就走吧。你有没有带一件夹克？天气有些凉了。” “哦……”恰莉看看安迪。 “你可以穿我的毛衣。”诺玛说。她和伊夫又交换了一下眼神，“把袖子卷起来些就行了。” "OK." 诺玛从门后拿来一件已退色的旧夹克和一件磨边的白毛衣。 恰莉松松荡荡套上毛衣，把袖口卷了三。四次还显得长。 “它们啄人吗？”恰莉有些紧张地问。 “只啄它们的食物，亲爱的。” 她们走了出去，将门关上。恰莉还在叽叽喳喳他说着什么。 安迪看着伊夫·曼德斯，伊夫平静地注视着他。 “来杯啤酒，弗兰克？” “我不叫弗兰克。”安迪说，“我想你已经知道。” “我想是的。那你怎么称呼？” 安迪说：“知道的越少对你越好。”。 伊夫说：“那么，我就叫你弗兰克好了。” 外面隐约传来恰莉惊喜的尖叫。诺玛说了些什么，恰莉同意了。 “我想我可以来杯啤酒。”安迪说。 "OK."