Chapter 3 Chapter Three Six Telephones (1985) １

1 Stanley Ulis... Patricia, Ulis told her mother afterwards, she had a premonition.She should be on the alert, because Stanley never took a tub bath early in the morning.He showers every morning and sometimes takes a late-night soak (magazine in one hand, glass of beer in the other), but tubbing at 7pm is not his style. When it comes to Stanley, we must first talk about those books.Stanley was fascinated by those books.Reading was supposed to make him happy, but what puzzled Patrik even more was that the books made Stanley feel depressed and uneasy.Just three months before that terrible night, Stanley had discovered that a childhood friend of his had become a writer—not really, Patricia told her mother, but a novelist.The author printed on those books was William.Dunbon, but Stanley sometimes called him "Stuttering Bill."Stanley has read almost all of the man's novels.In fact, Stanley had been reading the man's last novel until the day he took a shower—the evening of May 28, 1985.Out of curiosity, Patricia also picked up one to see what was written in it, but she gave up after reading three chapters.

Patricia told her mother that the book was hardly a novel, but a encyclopedia of horrors.She told her mother how the book frightened her and why it disturbed her. "It's full of monsters," she said, "monsters chasing children. There's killing everywhere, and... I don't know how to put it... very heavy. It's all stuff like that. But Stanley feels like he's found his childhood friend again... I know those stories hurt him too...and...and..." Patricia burst into tears. That night, away from George.It was 27 years after Dunbang met the clown who called himself Pennywise in 6 months.Stanley and Patricia are sitting in their den on the outskirts of Atlanta.

Patricia sat in her old place, mending and watching her favorite TV show, Family Feud.She has always admired that host Richard.Dawson, thought the watch chain he was wearing was simply too sexy.The second reason she likes that show is that she always agrees with most of the audience's answers to the questions asked in the game.Questions that seemed easy to her seemed difficult to the families involved in the show.She had asked Stanley about it once. "Maybe it's harder when you're facing the camera lens." Stanley replied.An imperceptible shadow passed over his face. "Whenever something is real, it becomes more difficult."

Maybe that's very true.Sometimes Stanley has great insights into human nature.Patricia thought that Stanley knew more about human nature than his so-called old friend William.Dunbang is far more perceptive.That Dunbang just wrote some horror novels, trying to discover the basics of human nature. Not that the Stanleys are having a bad day!Where they live now is pretty nice.They paid $87,000 for the house in 1979, and it could easily fetch $165,000.Sometimes driving her own Volvo car back from the shopping center, looking at the quiet and elegant house surrounded by fences, Patric could not help but feel complacent: I, Mrs. Stanley Ulis, live here!It's not just happiness, it's also mixed with a bit of pride.The feeling was so strong that it even made her feel a little sick sometimes.I remember when she was 18 years old, she went to the country club prom but was turned away.

How lonely she was then, how pitiful.But now everything is over. But all the painful experiences of being a Jew in the past gnaw at her heart from time to time.She always felt that someone around him was laughing at him and taunting her.At such times all her resentment and humiliation came together in her heart.She despaired for herself, for all of humanity.Werewolves!Dunbang's book is about werewolves.Shit werewolves.He knows what a werewolf is! For the most part she was still happy.She loves her husband, loves this family, loves life, loves life, and everything goes well.Of course, there have been bad times in the past.

When she agreed to Stanley's marriage proposal, her parents were very angry, and a hundred of them were unwilling.She met Stanley through a friend at her school's sorority.By the end of the party, she suspects she's in love with him.She was convinced of this when she took a short vacation in the middle of the term.The following spring, Stanley gave her a diamond daisy-shaped ring, which she happily accepted. Stanley was about to start looking for a job.The accounting business was fiercely competitive—there were young accountants everywhere, and Stanley had no family background.Although Patricia's parents were full of hesitation, they finally admitted the marriage.The daughter herself is willing to suffer with him, but they can't help it.After all, Patricia is already a 22-year-old girl, and she will soon graduate from college.

They've had fights since they got married in 1972, but they haven't starved.Patricia's teaching job is going well.Stanley also found a job delivering bread, earning $100 a week.After a Trina mall opened that November, he found a new job in the accounting department, earning $150 a week.The two earn a combined $17,000 a year -- a lot of money for them. In 1975 Stanley quit his job and started his own company.All of Patricia's relatives thought it was too early for Stanley to start the company, and they all thought it was a foolish move.Patricia had suffered enough, and this would add to her burden.In the end they came to an agreement—that people like Stanley can only start their own companies when they become more stable and mature, say 78 years old.

However, Stanley came across as more confident.First of all, he thinks he is young, smart and personable.Second, he worked as an accountant in a shopping center for a while.But he didn't expect that a newly established CV company was going to explore the emerging video tape market in Trina, and finally chose an unknown young man like him-a young man with a smile on his face, a crooked walk, and a young man. A young man with still acne, and a Jewish Yankee at that. CV worked with him so successfully that he finally offered him a full-time job—starting at $30,000 a year. But this is just the beginning.He is like a duck to water in CV company, and he does it with ease.He made the acquaintance of some of the richest and most powerful men in Atlanta, and they trusted each other and worked well together.Pat Regina remembers a letter Stanley wrote her parents: "The richest men in America live in Atlanta. I made some of them richer here, and they made me richer." I already had Patricia—my wife; no one could have me but her.” By the time they left Trina, Stanley had formed his own company and had six employees.By 1983, their annual income had reached six figures-a sum that Patricia had only vaguely heard of before, but never dared to think about.It seems that there will be pie in the sky.This sometimes terrifies her.At one point, she joked uneasily that it was probably the devil's deal.Stanley laughed when he heard it, but she didn't think there was anything funny about it.

"Turtles won't help us." Patricia didn't know what that meant.This sentence Stanley once said when she was applying for a job.But sometimes, for some unknown reason, she would wake up in her sleep and think of this sentence, and then she would have to turn around and feel that Stanley was still there.Their lives were good—they didn't drink too much or have extramarital affairs; they didn't use drugs or fight.The downside of Tui Yi is that they have no children. They all want kids.The couple had also seen a doctor, but nothing was wrong.Patricia remembers Stanley being very cranky on the way home from the doctor's visit.That night, when she was lying in bed, thinking that Stanley had fallen asleep, Stanley said suddenly in the dark: "It's me, it's all my fault." His voice was calm but choked.

Patricia rolled over, groped, and hugged him tightly. "Don't be stupid," she said.Her heart was beating very fast—it wasn't just that Stanley had scared him; it was as if he had read her mind and learned the secret she'd been keeping but only now.She felt—she knew—that Stanley was right.There was a problem with them, but it wasn't her fault, it was her husband, Stanley. "Don't be stupid!" she begged in a low voice, looking at her husband's back.He is sweating!Patricia suddenly realized that Stanley was in fear.Waves of that fear emanated from him; lying next to him was like lying in front of an open refrigerator, chilling.

"I'm not a fool," he said, still calm and choked up. "You know, it's my problem. But I don't know why." "You don't know such a thing." Her voice became a little shrill.Patricia was scolding Stanley, but suddenly a chill ran through her like a whip.Stanley sensed it and put his arms around her tightly. "Sometimes," says Stanley, "sometimes I think I know why. Sometimes I have nightmares and I wake up and I'm like, 'I know now. I know what's the problem.' It's not just that you can't get pregnant, It's everything—everything in my life." "Stanley! There's nothing wrong with your life!" "I'm not talking about the inner stuff," he said, "the inner stuff is good. I'm talking about the outer stuff. Something that should be over, but isn't over. Sometimes I wake up from a nightmare and think , 'The whole of my happy life is in the eye of the storm where I am completely immobile.' I am terrified of the happy life . . . disappearing; it is like a dream." Patricia knew he had frequent nightmares.In his sleep, Stanley often struggled and moaned in pain, which woke her up.But when he was asked, he always said the same thing: "I can't remember." Then he would light a cigarette and smoke quietly, waiting for every breath of the nightmare to come out of his body like profuse sweat. a pore. no kids.Until the night of his bath—May 28, 1985—their parents were still waiting for the grandson (or granddaughter) to show up.That cabin is still vacant.Although Patricia's mother has always been concerned only with her own affairs, she is not indifferent to her daughter's pain.In the letter, she has stopped asking about the child.While Stanley and Patricia were on their biannual visiting obligations again, Stanley himself stopped talking about the kids.But she always saw a shadow on his face, as if he was trying to remember something. If it weren't for the cloud, their life would still be very happy-until the phone rang suddenly in the middle of watching the TV entertainment program "Family Enmity" on the evening of May 28. Patricia was mending and doing some tailoring; Stanley was reading William.A new novel by Dunban.The cover of the book is a roaring beast with teeth and claws, and on the back is a handsome man wearing glasses. Stanley sat closer to the phone.He picked up the receiver and said, "Hello—this is Julius's." As he listened, he frowned, and then asked, "Who the hell are you?" Patricia's heart suddenly twitched. "My mother?" she asked Stanley, wondering if something had happened to her father.Her father was too fat and often complained of stomach pains when he was 40 years old. Stanley shook his head at her, then smiled into the receiver and said, "You...it's you! God!Mike!How do you..." He fell silent again, listening quietly, the smile on his face disappearing.Patricia felt as though Stanley was analyzing something, as if someone had told him about a sudden turn of events or something strange and interesting.Probably the latter, she thought.a new client?an old friend?Maybe.Then her attention turned to the TV, which showed a woman with her arms around Richard.Dawson kisses.She thought she would be happy to kiss Richard anytime. As she searched for a black button, she had the vague feeling that the phone conversation was getting to the point—Stanley hummed here and there and asked, "Are you sure, Mike?" Finally, after a long pause, he said, "Okay, I get it. Yes, I... Yes.Yes, everything.I have photos.I... what? ...No, I can't promise, but I'll think it over.what do you know? ...has he already done that? ……certainly!I will too.yes...no problem...thank you...yes.goodbye. " Then hung up the phone. Patricia glanced at her husband, who was staring blankly at the TV.The family on TV got high marks for answering the questions, and they were jumping and jumping with joy.But Stanley frowned, his face was ugly.But Patrik didn't pay much attention at that time, she thought it was the lamp, because the shade of the lamp was green. "Whose phone is it, Stanley?" "Huh?" He turned his head.Patricia felt that Stanley was a little absent-minded, with a slightly sullen look on his face. That expression went over and over again in Patricia's mind afterwards, and she believed it was the expression of a person's mind completely disconnected from reality, as if suddenly plunged into darkness. "Who is calling?" "Nothing," he said, "nothing, really." I had to take a bath. "He stood up." "What? Take a bath at 7 o'clock?" He didn't answer, just left the room. When a new family was introduced on TV, Patricia wondered what other stunts host Dawson would pull up.And she'd been looking for that black button, though she knew there were plenty of them in the box.Otherwise, she'd ask Stanley if something was wrong, or even run after him and ask if his stomach hurts—someone like him who, when he's in a bad mood, might have an excuse to say to take a shower. So Patricia let Stanley go, and didn't think of him until she saw the empty chair after watching the show.She had heard the tub running upstairs, and then heard the water stop.Five or ten minutes later...but now she realized she hadn't heard the refrigerator door open and close.That said, it wasn't Stanley's habit to take a bath without drinking beer.Did she say even a word of sympathy when someone called him and annoyed him?No.Have you managed to get him to reveal a little bit of the truth?No.Did you notice what happened?still none.All because of the damn TV—she couldn't even blame the button anymore; it was all an excuse. Alright - she'll get Stanley a can of beer, sit by the tub, give him his back, wash his hair if he wants, and find out what's wrong... Who the hell is calling. She took a can of beer from the fridge and went upstairs.The bathroom door was closed--not ajar, but firmly closed--and it made her uneasy.Stan never closes the door when taking a shower. Patricia knocked softly on the door.She suddenly felt that the sound of nails knocking on the door was like the sound of insects crawling.Knocking on the door gently like a guest is something they have never done since they got married. Anxiety suddenly swelled in her heart. "Stanley? Stanley?" This time she no longer tapped on the door with her fingers, but slapped it hard.Still no sound from inside.She banged hard on the door. "Stanley!" She was still answered by silence.At this time, a sound that frightened her came from the bathroom—the sound of water droplets dripping—tick.Dita.tick.drop…… Only that voice. She suddenly realized, madly, that it wasn't her father that had happened to Stanley! With a groan, she grabbed the doorknob and turned it hard.But the door is locked.It occurred to Patricia: Stanley never took a bath so early at night; he never locked the bathroom door except to go to the toilet; Stanley never locked the door against her. Did Stanley really have a heart attack?Patricia licked her lips with her tongue and called his name again.Except for the constant dripping of water, there was no sound.She looked down and found that the can of beer was still in her hand.She stared at the beer can stupidly, her heart beating like a rabbit in her throat.She stared at it like she had never seen a jar like it in her life.The beer can seemed to turn into a black snake-like earpiece.Fear almost made her lose her mind. She looked around and found that she had returned to the living room without knowing it.Only now did she remember that she had thrown the beer outside the bathroom and went downstairs again.She vaguely wanted to stand: it was just a mistake, and we're sure to laugh about it afterwards.After filling the tub, Stanley found himself out of cigarettes again, and went out to buy cigarettes—yes.He locked the door inwards, and then found it too troublesome to open it, so he climbed out of the window.Of course it is.Of course—boundless fear rose from her heart again.She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off.She stood still, like a pale statue, with only her pulse throbbing in her throat. Yes, she stumbled downstairs to make a phone call.Yes, but who to call? Anyway, she grabbed the receiver and started dialing "0".But how was she going to tell the operator all this?Stanley locked himself in the bathroom and didn't answer her?The sound of dripping water in the dissolution chamber drove her crazy?She had to get help, anyone—she put the back of her hand in her mouth and took a bite.She had to think, to force herself to think. spare key.correct.There is a spare key in the kitchen cupboard. Her foot knocked over the button pocket on the side of the chair.Some buttons splashed out like blinking eyes under the desk lamp. Inside the kitchen cabinet hangs a key dish in the shape of a key—one of Stanley's clients made himself.There are many small hooks on the key plate.On each hook was a sticker that read: Garage, Loft, Lower Bathroom, Upstairs Bathroom, Front Door, Back Door.There are also two spare keys for the car. Patricia grabbed the key marked for the upstairs bathroom and ran upstairs, but she managed to make it by herself.Running only scares her.If you walk, you'll be fine.Even if something "happens" does happen, God sees she's walking instead of running and thinks, well - I made a big stupid momentary mistake and let me take it back in time. She walked upstairs calmly, toward the bathroom, as if she were in an important meeting. "Stanley?" she called, trying to open the door with her hands, the key being the last to be used.Her fear was suddenly greater than before: if God didn't change his mind before she opened the door, then he had made up his mind.Miracles, after all, are things that happened in the past. She tried to insert the key into the hole, her hands trembling.Turning around, she heard the sound of the lock being opened.She fumbled for the handle, but didn't move—her palms were sweaty.With another effort, she opened the door. "Stanley? Stanley? Stan—" She stared at the tub.She forgot how to say her husband's name.She just stared at the tub.His face was as serious as a child's first day at school.At that time, if she screamed, the neighbors next door would hear and call the police, saying that someone had broken into Julis's house and was about to kill someone. But at the moment Patricia just stood there quietly, her arms folded, her face serious, her eyes wide open.Then her divine expression slowly changed.The eyes seemed to protrude, and he grinned fearfully.She wanted to scream, but couldn't. The bathroom is brightly lit with fluorescent lights.The water in the tub turned bright pink. Stanley was lying on his back with his head thrown back on the edge of the tub.His mouth was opened wide, and there was an expression of utter terror on his face.A box of Gillette razor blades sat on the side of the tub.The inner sides of his two forearms were cut from the wrist to the elbow, and then a vertical cut was made at the wrist, forming two bloody "Ya" characters.The wound glowed pink under the white fluorescent light. Another drop formed on the faucet, growing bigger and bigger. "despair".Crystal drops of water fell down. On the blue tile above the tub was written a word—his right hand.Patricia could see the hand floating in the water.It must have been Stanley's own handwriting—that was his last impression of the world—and then he lost consciousness.The word was crooked and dripping with blood, as if it was accusing her—it! Another drop of water fell into the tub. "despair" Patricia finally cried out.Staring into her husband's dead, glowing eyes, she began to scream. 2 Rich Dorje. Richie thought he was doing pretty well until the vomiting started. He listens to Mike.Hanlon told him everything, answered it easily, and even asked a few questions.He was vaguely aware that he was speaking with one of his own voices.Not that weird, outrageous voice he used to say sometimes on the radio, but a gentle, confident voice.A sound where everything is fine.Sounds good, but is a lie.Like every other voice he excels at is a lie. "How much more can you remember, Rich?" Mike asked him. "Very little," Richie said, and then said after a pause, "I think enough." "will you come?" "I will." Richie finished and hung up the phone. He sat behind the desk for a while in thought.Leaning back in the chair, he looked out the window at the Pacific Ocean.A bunch of kids were surfing on the beach - not too many waves, they were just running around and playing. Today is May 28, 1985.The quartz clock on the table reads 5:9 pm. It has been 3 hours since Mike called.it's getting dark.He suddenly had goosebumps all over his body.He randomly pulled a record from the shelf and listened to it.The shelves were full of records, all rock music--rock music had become as much a part of his life as those sounds. Mavi Gaye, from what Ricky sometimes calls "All Dead," sang: "Oh-oh, you want to ask me how I know..." "Good." Richie said.He even smiled.In fact, the situation is very bad, and he has been dragged into a noose.But he felt he could handle it, effortlessly. He started packing up and getting ready to go home.A thought came to me.He suddenly felt that he was dead and just preparing for his own death...and his own funeral.But he feels he's still doing pretty well.He called his travel agent and told her what he needed.She made him wait a quarter of an hour. Just as he was looking for a pair of sneakers, the phone rang again.It's Carol.She has already arranged the itinerary for him.At 9:00 p.m., he'll be flying first class from Los Angeles.Changing planes at Logan and Boston, he will arrive at Bangor Airport in Maine at 8:20 tomorrow morning.From there the town of Derry is only 26 miles away. Only 26 miles?Rich thought. "No more, Carol? Maybe you don't know how far it is, and neither do I. But, God! I gotta find out." He hung up softly—let them laugh—and dialed the information desk again, asking for the number of the Derry Hotel.It was strange that if Mike hadn't called, he might never have thought of Derry again in his life.At least there are calendar years.There was a time in his life when he passed the red walls of the Derry Hotel every day--and more than once he ran there, followed by Henry Powers, Beltz Huggins, and a Big guy named Victor or something.They were chasing after him, and they were yelling, "Damn! Where are you going! Stop! Four-eyed pig!" Did they catch him? When Rich was struggling to remember, the operator asked him where to look. "Derry Town—" Derry!God!What an unfamiliar name; saying it is like kissing an antique. "Please look up the telephone number of the Derry Hotel." "Wait a minute, sir." Everything will pass.As one song goes: "Glory days...gone in the blink of a girl's eye." Who's the girl... Beverly, of course. The hotel may change, but disappearance is unlikely, as a mechanical, hollow voice comes through the phone: "The number...is...9418282. Repeat: The number...is..." But Rich got it right the first time.Better to hang up early on that monotonous hum -- it's reminiscent of one buried somewhere in the ground.An octopus-like monster with countless tentacles.Year after year, digital ghosts and terrified humans co-exist uncomfortably in this world. It was so easy to dial that number.He held the receiver close to his ear and looked out the window.The surfing kids were gone, and a couple was strolling slowly down the sand holding hands.That field can be used as a poster by a travel agency.Too bad they both wear glasses. "Stop! Fuck! Smash your broken glasses!" Chris!Richie suddenly remembered.The big guy named Victor was named Chris. oh!God!He didn't want to think about these things at all!I don't want to think of it at all! The door of his record room opened. A record isn't a record anymore.You are no longer the hottest person on the radio, you are no longer the "man of a thousand voices". He wants to get rid of these messy thoughts. I'm fine, just remember this.not my fault.you are good.Rich Dorje is good. Just a cigarette. He quit smoking 4 years ago.But he can smoke one now, yes. It's no use hiding here.Those things were not records but dead bodies.You buried them, but there was a big earthquake and everything was exposed.You are no Richie. "record" Dorje, but Rich.four eyes.Dorje.You are scared to death here.There are no doors, no exits, just cellars.The cellar burst open, and all the vampires you thought were dead flew out.One cigarette, just one.For God's sake, any brand will do. "I'm going to catch you! Four Eyes! I'll tell you to eat all the fucking rotten schoolbags!" "Derry Hotel." A man's voice.Strong northern accent.The sound reached his ears across thousands of mountains and rivers. Rich asked if he could reserve a room starting tomorrow.The voice said yes, then asked how long. "I can't tell. I just..." He paused. What on earth is he going to do?A picture emerged in his mind: a little boy with a checkered schoolbag was running away desperately, while several older children were chasing after him.The child wore a pair of glasses, was thin and pale.But what is surprising is that the child was still provocative while running: "Come, come and hit me!" He closed his eyes. "I'm just in Delhi for a business trip. I don't know how long it will take. Should I book for 3 days first and then renew? " "Continue?" the voice asked suspiciously.After a while, the voice finally said, "Okay, that's it." "Thank you. I... hope you will vote for us in November's general election." Rich changed to John F. Kennedy's voice, " Jack wants to...re-dominate the Oval Office, and I'm rooting for my brother...." "You are Mr. Dorje?" "yes." "...Someone called in." Suddenly a chill ran through his body.He was almost desperate and he was comforting himself: nothing, Dorje. "I heard that too," Richie said. "There must be a cross-wiring. How's the room?" "No problem," said the man, "the rooms here are never full." "yes?" "Yes." Richie shuddered again.He had completely forgotten to say it—"Yeah"—in typical Northern New England dialect. "Where are you going! Sycophants!" cried Henry Powers ghostly.More cellars were cracked; instead of the stench of dead bodies he smelled musty memories—and that was worse. Rich gave the man his account number and hung up. Then he called his boss, Steve Cower, the program director of Colander Radio. "What's the matter, Richie?" Steve asked.According to a recent survey, Colland's radio station ranks first in the entire Los Angeles area, and he is in a good mood. "Maybe you'll regret asking," Richie told Steve. "I'm going to get away." "Kick off—" He could hear Steve frowning, "I don't understand what you're saying." Richie spent a lot of time, but couldn't explain it clearly to him.But in the end Steve backed down. "Okay," Steve said, "I'm going to make a few changes—put Mike in your place. For the sake of my colleagues for many years, I just let it go.But I will never forget that you caught me off guard.Rich. " "Oh, don't say that," Richie said.His head hurt even more.But he did know what he was going to do. "I need a few days off, that's all. Don't make a fuss." "A few days off. What are you taking off for? Just because you swore when you were 11? My God! Kids never take vows seriously! Not only that. You know, what we do here is not insurance, not law, It's the entertainment industry! Low, vulgar, swindling, don't you fucking know that? Fuck! You're getting me over the top. Don't think I'm a fool. Bustiff almost screamed out loud. Ricky shut Eyes closed. Eleven-year-olds take vows seriously. Steve won't understand. Richie can't remember what kind of vow it is - and he doesn't want to remember it - but it's true Really serious. "Steve, I have to go." "Okay! I told you I'll take care of everything. Let's go! Let's go!" "Steve, I—" But Steve was already on the phone.Richie put the receiver down.But just as he was about to start packing, the phone rang again.Rich knew it was still Steve without answering.There's no use talking to him at this point - he'll just grow angrier and his words will only get worse.Richie flipped the switch on the phone to the right.The bell stopped. He went upstairs and took out two suitcases from the wardrobe, which were full.It was the usual stuff—jeans, shirts, underwear, and socks.He didn't realize that all the clothes he packed in were kid clothes!He picked up the box and went downstairs again.Downstairs in the cabin was a picture of Ansel.Black and white photo of Adams.Rich turned it around to reveal a safe.He opened the safe and flicked through it with his hands—it was full of important paperwork and deeds—the deed to this luxurious and comfortable house, the certificate of ownership of his 20-acre woodland in Idaho, and a large Put the stock.He just bought these stocks at will, who would have thought that the market value would rise year after year.Sometimes he was amazed at the thought that he had almost become a rich man.Not only does he have rock records...but he's also known as "The Man with the Dry Voice"... House, woodland, stocks, insurance, even his will.These things tie you tightly to the map of life.he thought. Suddenly he had a frenzied urge to set the whole thing on fire, whatever the hell it was.What he had stashed in the safe lost all meaning in an instant. He realizes how easily life can be ruined.There was no supernatural element in it at all, which was what he was afraid of.The things you have worked so hard to accumulate will disappear in the blink of an eye.It's easy.Burn it or let it go with the wind, or get away sooner. Beneath those paperwork contracts is the real good stuff.cash. 10 yuan, 20 yuan, 50 yuan. 4000 yuan.Rich grabbed the money and stuffed it into his jeans pocket. When I saved money, I didn't expect it to be useful.Over time.Now it's money for escape. "It's horrible," he muttered, barely realizing what he was saying.He raised his head and looked blankly at the beach outside the window.There was no one on the beach.The surf kids are gone.The couple also left. He closed the door of the safe, and then put the picture back in place.Suddenly he thought of Stanley Ulis.That's what some of the older kids called him back then: "Hey! Bullshit! Fuck the guy who killed Jesus!Are you going to find your cronies again? " Where the hell is Julius?How long had he not thought of Julius?理奇还记得自己是在1960年的夏天从德里镇搬走的。他又想起他的那些可怜的小伙伴们，一群天生的失败者。他们的脸孔消逝得多么快！他都快记不起来了。 那时他们天天在班伦低地玩耍，还在那里修了一个俱乐部。他们说自己是丛林探险家，抗击日军的海岸警卫队；还说自己是筑坝者。 牛仔、丛林世界中的外星人。但是，他们真正干的事情是躲藏。东躲西藏是怕让那些大孩子们抓住。他们成天让亨利·鲍尔斯，贝尔茨·哈金斯，维克多·克里斯一伙人追得四处逃窜。他们是一群可怜虫——长着犹太人大鼻子的斯坦利·尤利斯，说话给巴的比尔。邓邦，身上总是伤痕累累、衣袖里老爱藏着烟卷的贝弗莉。马什，肥胖臃肿的班恩。汉斯科，当然还有他自己——那个戴着宽边眼镜，学习成绩优异，伶牙例齿的理奇·多杰。用一个什么词来形容他们呢——无能。 Everything came back.怎么回来的呢？他站在那里，不停地战栗。战栗并不是因为那些他不能记起的伙伴。而是其他的东西。他多年没有想过的东西。 血淋淋的东西。 dark.吞没一切的黑暗。 在内伯特大街上的那栋房子里，比尔在大声叫骂：“你杀、杀死了我弟弟，该、该、该死的！” Does he remember?忘不掉。不管怎样，还是忘不掉。 垃圾场的臭气，屎臭，还有其他的难闻气味。更糟的是一种野兽的气味，它的恶臭。它就潜伏在德里地下的某个地方。 理奇想起了乔治——可是他已经忍不住想吐了。他朝洗手间跑去，绊在了椅子上，几乎摔倒……他猛地扑倒在马桶上，吐得翻江倒海。 他突然仿佛又见到了乔治。邓邦。1957年的秋天，就在一场洪水过后，乔治被谋杀了，他的一只手臂不见了。理奇曾经成功地忘记了这一切。可是现在它们又回来了。实际上，它们有时会回来的。 呕吐过去了。理奇闭着眼去冲马桶。他的晚餐都冲进了下水道。 进入了可怕、黑暗的下水道。 他把头靠在马桶上，哭了起来。这是自从他母亲在1975年死后的第一次。 40分钟之后，感觉心情好了一些，他把手提箱扔进了汽车行李箱里，然后把汽车从车库里开了出来。看着自己的熟悉的住所，看着那金色的海滩，那灯光掩映下绿色的海水，他的心沉了下来。他突然觉得自己再也看不到这一切了。他只是行尸走肉。 “回家吧，”理奇·多杰低声对自己讲，“回家。上帝会帮我的。回家吧。” 他挂上了档。The car rushed out. 安稳的生活是多么容易被打破！生活总是这样，才渡过难关，又得经受考验。就是这个样子。前方的路途什么事都可能发生。