Chapter 17 Chapter 9 Complete Liberation · 2(2)

He hung up the phone. Of course I've read the papers--don't I hand them out to the public library reading room every morning?The little girl, Laurie Ann Winterbagil, was in the custody of her mother after her parents divorced in the spring of 1982.The police department believes that the development of the case is as follows: Laurie's father, Hunter, is a maintenance worker somewhere in Florida. Winterbagil, drove to Maine and abducted his daughter.They believe Hunt parked the car outside the house, called his daughter, and Laurie followed him - thus leaving no other traces.They said nothing about the fact that Laurie hadn't seen his father since he was two years old.The divorce of Laurie's parents was largely due to Mrs. Winterbacher's claim to Hunt.Winterbagil made at least two attempts to moleste Laurie.She asked the court to strip him of his right to see her daughter, which the court granted despite Hunt's strong objections.Riedmacher claimed that the court decision severed all ties between Hunt and his daughter and thus may have prompted him to kidnap Laurie.There might be some possibility in that idea, but imagine if Laurie would recognize her when her father, whom she had not seen for three years, called her?Reedmacher said yes, even though she was last seen when she was two years old.I don't think so.Laurie's mother said she had been teaching Laurie not to approach or talk to strangers - a lesson most Derry children had to learn early on.Reedmacher said he would request the Florida State Police's assistance in tracking Winterbagil, and that would be the end of his responsibilities.

"As for whether the detention is a lawyer or not, it has nothing to do with the police station." The conceited fat pig said so in an interview with "Delhi News". But that kid named Dorio...was another story.Happy family life, Dewang Tigers football team player, outstanding student.Participated in the 1984 Wilderness Summer Camp.No history of drug use.There is a girlfriend who is in love.There is no reason to live. But again, he also disappeared. What happened to him?Sudden attack by homeless people?Buried after being hit by a drunk driver?Or he was still in Derry, with dead boys like Betty Lipser and Patrick Hoxett and Edward Conklay.

I got to work again.Walking through the same places over and over again, doing the same things, just made my nerves grow more and more tense.I would jump up in fright when I heard any sound or saw any shadow.I was afraid that when I was arranging the books, a hand would suddenly stretch out from the row of books in front of me, a hand that was groping... This afternoon I had another almost insurmountable urge to call them.I've even cast 404, which is the Atlanta area code, and Stanley is in front of me.Julius' phone number.Holding up the microphone, I asked myself if I was convinced—100% sure; or if I was just so scared that I couldn't stand being alone any longer and wanted to talk to someone who knew (or would know).

At this moment, I seemed to hear Rich's familiar voice... So I hung up the phone.Because when you're so desperate to see Richie—or any of them—you can't be sure of your own motives.Lies told to myself are the best lies, and the truth is I'm not 100% sure yet.Now I have to assume that pompous pig Reedmacher might be right: Laurie probably remembers her father, maybe has seen pictures of him.I also assumed that no matter what the family taught the child, a well-spoken adult would be able to coax her into his car. Still another fear haunts me.Reedmacher said I might be crazy.Of course I don't believe it, but if I called them now, they'd probably think I was crazy.Worse, what if they don't remember me at all?Mike Hanlon?

who?I don't recall anyone named Mike Hanlon.I don't remember you at all.What oath? I feel like the time will always come when the time is right to call...and when that moment comes, I know it's time.It was as if two big wheels were about to slowly ram into a huge energy, one was myself and Derry; the other was a friend from my childhood. When the time comes, they will hear the voice of the Cape. I'm going to wait.Sooner or later I will know.Whether to make a phone call or not is no longer a problem. The only question is when. February 20, 1985 The "Black Spot" Bar Fire No one who has lived in the town of Derry for 20 years knows that a "special" company of recruits from the Derry Air Corps was once stationed in Derry.That barracks was half a mile from the other barracks on the Air Corps base. The weather in February, the cold wind is raging, and you may not believe that a half-mile journey will freeze or frostbite pedestrians, or even freeze to death.

The other seven barracks have oil heating, windproof glass and insulation facilities, and the inside is as warm as spring.But in the barracks of the Fifth Company of Recruits, where 27 soldiers lived, there was only a dilapidated small stove burning.The insulation is just some boards nailed to the outside of the house.One day, someone paid for the installation of windproof glass in the barracks; but on the same day, they went out for a mission at the base, and when they came back cold and tired at night, they found that all the glass had been broken, and there was not a single piece left. Down.

That was 1930. A soldier from the 5th Company returned to Derry Township after serving in 1937.He is my father. He once told me this story: "One day in the spring of 1930, I went out with 4 other comrades in arms. When I came back, I met a white sergeant Wilson from the south at the gate of the base. Seeing that he was not pregnant. Kindly, all of us saluted him. But I just said one more sentence: 'Good afternoon, Wilson Middle Earth.' He quickly kicked me and cursed: "'Have I allowed you to talk to me? ''No, sir. 'I say. "He drove my comrades away, and then asked me to take a shovel and follow him to an open field. He grinned, pointed to the ground and asked me: "'See that hole in the ground?nigger? 'There is no hole in the ground at all.But I figured that whatever he said, I'd better agree with him; so I replied that I saw it.He raised his hand and slapped me, knocking me down to the ground.Blood kept coming out of my nose, dripping onto the new shirt I had just put on.

"'Don't you see that hole has been filled by some talkative bastard?' he yelled at me, but still laughing. I think he enjoyed it. 'Dig the top out of the hole, quick! '” So I started digging the hole, and after about two hours, the hole was as deep as my chin.By the time I was done, the pit was up to my ankles and my shoes were full of water. "'Come out, Hanlon,' said Sergeant Wilson. He was sitting on the grass, smoking a cigarette leisurely. I was covered in dirt, not to mention wet blood on my shirt. He got up and went Come on, point to the hole and ask me, "What do you see, nigga? 'Your pit, Sergeant Wilson. 'I say.

"'Okay. I don't want it anymore,'" he said. 'I don't want a hole a nigga dug, fill it up. '" So I started filling in the hole I had just dug. By the time I was done, the sun was down and it was getting cold. He came over. "'What do you see now, nigger?' he asked. "'A pile of dirt, sir.' Before I could say that, he hit me again. God, Mike, I'd just jump up and split his head with the shovel; but if I did, I'll never see the blue sky again unless I'm through the iron bars. I really want to - but I hold back. "'That's not a pile of dirt, you stupid black pig!' He yelled at me, 'That's my pit! Dig it out now! Quick!'" I dug again, and then he let I dug, so I dug again, and he asked me: 'How did it go? ''Good job. ' I answered immediately.Because I have decided that even if I fall, I will never give up.Anger was burning in my heart.

"'Okay, I want to fix it, first you fill that hole. Hurry up!'" I could see the amused look on Wilson's face, and I knew it was just getting started.So I started digging again.But just at this moment, a friend of his came running up with a lantern, saying that he had been delayed by the officer's sudden inspection. "So he let me go. The next day I went to see if Wilson's name was on the penalty list and came back disappointed. Guess he must have told the officer he missed the inspection to educate a smooth-talking nigger, And, if possible, the officer would give him a medal. That was the case with the Fifth Derry Company of Recruits at that time."

It was around 1958 when my father and I told this story.He was 50 at the time and my mother was only around 40.I asked my father, if Derry was like that, why did he come back? . My father replied that because the family was extremely poor, my grandfather had died in a machine accident on the farm, and the family had a child to support, my grandmother had no choice but to enlist him in the army and rely on his army to support the family.When he joined the army, his grandmother made him conceal his actual age.He was only 16 years old. He sighed, squirmed restlessly in his chair, and lowered his graying head. At that time our family owned a larger and perhaps the best farm in Derry. The three of us worked hard, and my father had to hire some helpers during harvest time. He said: "I came back to Derry because I found out that the same hatred existed whether it was in the North or the South. It wasn't Sergeant Wilson who educated me, it was the fire at the 'Black Point' pub that really convinced me .You know, Mike, in a way..." He looked up at my mother, who was sewing.Although my mother didn't look up, I knew she was listening attentively.I think my father knows too. "Part of that fire made me a man. Of the sixty men who died in the fire, 18 were from Fifth Company. After the fire the company was all withdrawn. Henry Whitson...Stoke Anson...Alan Snopes...Averett McCasry...Horton Sartoris...all my friends died in the fire. The fire did not It wasn't Sergeant Wilson and his friends that set the fire. It was the Derry Division of the Maine White Regiment. Some of the kids you went to school with, my son, it was their father who wiped the fire' black Click 'matches. I don't want to mention those poor kids here." "Why? Dad? Why are they?" "Well, it's partly Derry." Father frowned and lit his cigarette. "I don't know why it happened in Derry, I can't explain it, but at the same time I'm not surprised at all. The White Legion of Recognition is the northern version of the 'Klan Ku Klux Klan'. They wear the same clothes, do the same things, hate black people Most history books talk more about the Ku Klux Klan and less about the White Legion, and many people don't even know there is such a thing. I think it's probably because most history books are written by northerners who are ashamed Mention. There are organizations like that in many large cities, but in Maine, Derry is the only place where they have had success. They used to be rampant. " He stopped, gasping for air. "But after the fire, the members of the white decent regiment lied to each other and hid themselves." His words were full of contempt.Hearing this, the mother frowned and raised her head.He went on: "Don't forget, who got killed? 18 niggers from the army, 14 niggers from the town, 4 niggers from the jazz band...and a bunch of nigger lovers People. So what?" "William," said my mother softly, "that's enough." "No," I said, "I want to listen." "It's time for bed, Mike." He stroked my hair gently. "There's one more thing I want to tell you, but I don't think you'll understand because I'm not sure I understand either. What happened that night at the 'Black Spot' was so horrible... I don't think it's because we were That's what happens to black people, not even because the bar is close to West Broadway where the rich live. I don't think the white legion of decency eats in Derry because people hate black people more. It's because of the land, the more evil it is Stuff thrives in Derry. I've been thinking about it over the years. I don't know why.. but that's how it is. "But there are good people here now, and there were good people then. When the funeral was held, hundreds of people came out to see them off, most businesses were closed for a week, the hospital treated the injured for free, and many people extended a helping hand. That's when I met Dewey Conroe. You know his skin is as white as ice cream, but I feel like he's my brother. I'd die for him. Although one can't know another's heart, but I think he would die for me too. "Anyway, after the fire, the army came out, like they were ashamed...I guess so. I was in Fort Runds for 6 years after that. I met your mother there, and we went Married at Gan Winston. But during that time Derry never escaped my memory. I took your mother back here after the war. And then there was you. We're here from the one where the original 'Black Spot' pub It's less than three miles away. I think you should go to bed, man." "'I want to hear about the fire,' I exclaimed, 'tell me, Papa!' "He looked at me with a frown that shut me up... maybe because he wasn't that often, most of the time he was always smiling. "That's not what a kid should hear. he said seriously. "Next time, Mike."Let's talk about it in a few years. "I ended up waiting another 4 years to hear what happened that night at the 'black spot'. And my dad's life was coming to an end. He lay awake in a hospital bed." A moment of stupor finished the story, while bowel cancer was eating away at his body. February 26, 1985 Last night I re-read what I had written in this notebook.Thinking of my father, I couldn't help crying.It has been 23 years since his death.Who knows how long the grief will last?Is it possible that thirty or forty years after the death of one's child or brother or sister one still feels the emptiness of that loss?A void that even death cannot fill. In 1937, my father received a disability pension and left the army forever.While training recruits, one fearful recruit threw a grenade at his father's feet—luckily, the grenade didn't fully explode, so Dad only lost most of his left foot, rather than all of his torso below the chest. Because of that pension, he married my mother a year early.But he returned to Derry—Derry, as he said, had never escaped his memory.Now I don't know if it was some providence that he returned to Derry so that I could take my own place in that circle that August night.If there is reincarnation in the universe, evil is always compensated by goodness. Even goodness can make people awe-inspiring. My father saved a fortune and bought a farm in Derry, where they settled. "It didn't go our way at first," my father once said. "People around us didn't want black people as neighbors. We knew it was going to be like that - I never forgot the fire at the 'Black Spot' bar. Kids passing by would throw rocks or beer cans. The first year I changed 20 times glass. Sometimes it's not a child either. I woke up one morning to find a swastika painted on the side of the chicken coop and all the chickens were dead. Someone poisoned the chicken food. I haven't since Never raised chickens. "But the sheriff -- Derry didn't have a police department at the time -- looked into it; and as I said, there are bad guys and good guys in Derry. He finally found out who did it. You guessed it? Who did it? You can guess three times!" "I don't know." I replied. My father laughed until tears flowed.He took out a handkerchief, wiped away his tears, and said, "Bach Bowles! The father of the most bully kid in your school. I'm a villain, and my son is a bastard." "The kids at school say Henry's dad is crazy," I went on. Said the father, "Well, I tell you, it ain't too wrong to say he's a madman. They say he hasn't been right since he came back from the Pacific, where he was in the Navy. The sheriff took him into custody; he yelled, That's all made up by the nigga lover, and he's going to sue everybody. The sheriff told him he had to pay me $200 or I could go to jail for two years.At first he was unconvinced, saying that it was no big deal to kill a few nigger chickens, but when the sheriff said that he was charged with painting swastikas on chicken coops, he had to give in.He got my brother to sell one of his new cars for $200.Later he preached everywhere that he would burn me to death.One afternoon he was out in an old car and I caught up with him from behind.I stopped him by the railway freight yard on Wissam Avenue and forced him with my rifle to call him out. "'I'll let you taste a black person's steel if you set fire,' I told him. "'You can't talk to me like that, nigger,' he said. He almost cried out in fright. "You can't talk to a white guy like that. I've thought about it, Mike. If I don't scare him forever, he will always pick on me. Seeing no one around, I walked over and grabbed Pull him out of the car by his hair. I put the muzzle of a gun to his chin and say, "Call me a nigger again, and I'll blow your head off!Believe me, if you dare to set fire, not only you, but your wife, your little brat, and your useless brother will all have to taste my bullets.I've had enough. "He began to cry. I've never seen anything uglier in my life. He cried, "Look what the hell this is, a black...someone's pointing a gun at a good guy in broad daylight s head. ’ I said, ‘The world really seems to be going wrong.But that's okay.The question now is do we have a tacit understanding, or do you want to open a hole in your head?Of course he didn't want to have a hole in his head in the end.That could be anything other than the death of your dog Chippy, me and Bach.One final bit of trouble for Powers.There is no evidence that he killed the dog.Chippy probably ate the poison bait. "Since then, no one has bothered us anymore. Looking back, I have nothing to regret, we have a good life here. If I sometimes dream about the fire in my dreams, that's okay. There's never been a normal person who didn't have some nightmares." February 28, 1985 It’s been a while since I sat down to write about the “Black Spot” pub fire, and I still can’t figure it out.It's like reading a detective novel, full of suspense and mystery everywhere. I still remember my father's voice—low and slow, but time-tested. It's 10 o'clock and the library closed an hour ago.Writing under the lamp, I can hear the rain and snow hitting the window.I could also hear other sounds - cryptic squeaks and crashes.I tell myself it's just the sound old buildings have...but I don't know...is there a clown somewhere selling balloons in a storm like tonight's?Well...that's ok.I think I've got my father's last story.I heard that story at his bedside in the hospital just 6 weeks before he died. Every afternoon after school, my mother and I went to see him.In the evening, mother had to stay home to do housework.I rode alone to the hospital to chat with him and take care of him.It was a harrowing six weeks for a 16-year-old.I love my father—seeing him twitching by the day, seeing his sickly tormented face, is almost unbearable.Cancer wasn't just killing my father, it was insulting his dignity! As time went on, I found that I couldn't think of anything to talk to him again.Even though every day I had something different in mind to talk about, we both ran out of topics to talk about.We never talked about cancer, but there were a few moments of silence where I just couldn't help myself and wanted to bring it up—so I tried desperately to think of something else to deflect. In that frightening silence, I asked him again about the Black Spot fire.He had just taken painkillers and anesthesia that night, and he was awake for a while, and dazed for a while;There was no real reason for asking about that, it just popped into my head. His eyes lit up.He smiled. "You never forgot it, did you, Mike?" "Yes." I replied.Even though I haven't thought about it for over 3 years, I still add his usual quote: "It never escaped my memory." "Okay, I'll tell you," he said, "fifteen is old enough, and your mother isn't here to stop me. And, you should know, things like that can only happen in Derry, so you have to Be careful. Be careful, remember, Mike?" "Remember." I said. "Okay." After saying that, his head fell on the pillow. "That's good." I thought he was going to faint again—his eyes were closed—but he started talking again. "From 1929 to 1930; Division, there was a Sergeant's Club at Derry Air Corps Base. It was really just a makeshift barracks, but it was nicely furnished—carpeted, cubicles, jukeboxes— —Soft drinks on the weekends...there are often bands on Saturdays...if you're white, it's all good." "Of course the soldiers of the 5th Company - all black - were not allowed near that place. There were also a few low-class bars in Derry, and they were filled with loggers; some had prostitutes, so a lot of people went there. But for kids like me and my friends, paying for prostitutes is something to think about." Dad took a narcotic that night; otherwise I don't think he would have said those things to me, his 15-year-old son. "Then the representatives from the town council came forward and they protested that we were harassing white women and drinking bootleg alcohol illegally. But after that it went on as usual because the white whores and the loggers didn't mean anything to us. Even a worker once Tell me I'm a brown white guy." At this point my father laughed, and I laughed too. He was laughing so hard that his stomach started to hurt badly.He pressed his stomach, rolled his eyes upwards, and bit his lower lip tightly with his teeth. I quickly asked, "Do you need a nurse?" "No... no. I'll be fine in a minute. The worst thing is, Mike, you can't laugh when you want to. It wasn't like that before." He lay still for a while.Now I realize that was the only time we ever came close to mentioning the cancer that was going to kill him.Then he took a sip of water and started talking again. "In the end, the five old men in the town council were angered. They negotiated with the base leaders, saying that the black ghosts from the fifth company polluted the environment there. "Then Major Fowler found an old shed in what is now Memorial Park and called up the Fifth Company and told us it would be 'our' club and that we were forbidden to go near the pubs in Derry. "Thanks to everyone's joint efforts, we converted that old shed into a bar - partitioned off at the back, used as a small kitchen; set up a bar against the wall, selling soda and beer - of course we know, Sneaky for a strong drink. The floor was a little rough but we painted it well...just in midsummer the pub was up and running. We were still trying to decorate it until it burned down. Friday night, McCasley and I put up a store sign outside the bar, with two big characters 'black dots' written on it; under the two big characters, a line of small characters was written: 'Open to Wulian and guests'. It feels really Excellent! "Later, the sergeant's club also began to be renovated, adding a lounge and a coffee shop, which seemed to want to compete with us, but that is not the competition we want to participate in." My father smiled at me and went on, "Except for Snopes, we were all young, but we were not stupid. We understand that white people want you to compete with them, but if you want to lead, someone will Will break your leg. We had what we needed, and that was enough. Yet something happened." Father fell silent and frowned. "What's the matter? Dad?" "We turned out to be a pretty good jazz band," he said slowly. "At the beginning they were not very skilled, but by the end of August. Every weekend, 'Black Spot' would hold jazz performances, and it got better and better... Slowly, people in the town began to play in 'Black Spot' , appeared, and even some white soldiers on the base... and there were more and more of them. "With those white guys, we forgot to be careful. They came with hard liquor that was prohibited by law - we wanted to stop that too, but we didn't know how. They were from the town! He Damn, they're white! "As I said, we were all young and proud of what we did. But we underestimated how dire things were. We forgot that it was only a quarter of a mile from the 'Sgt. A big event in town. Everything is driving us a little crazy. Wait until it's almost October and it's not just Derry people coming to the 'black spot' but people from all around. The whole pub is full of people, no People were just standing there and writhing around. We had to keep the bar open from 7pm until 3pm. It was almost deafening at midnight." He stopped to take a sip of water, then spoke again.His eyes brightened. "Colonel Fowler would have liked to have outlawed the 'black spot' sooner. We'd have killed fewer people. He'd wanted to. But I think he's afraid of the same thing as us—some The townspeople would say no. But in the end the Legion of Respect put an end to it all. They came to the 'Black Spot' in white sheets in early November to cook themselves a 'barbecue'." Having said this, he stopped again.This time he didn't drink any water, but just stared at the corner of the wall sadly.I could hear the bell in the distance, and the creaking of the nurse's footsteps on the linoleum. "Some of them came from the green belt between the base and the Siberau River," he continued. "They must have had a meeting in somebody's house there. White sheets and white hoods on, torches made. I've heard--I won't say where--other Some arrived in a brand new 'Panco'; they were also in the same attire. "Many of them aren't young, and sometimes I wonder how many of them will have angina and bleeding ulcers two days from now. I hope there are many, filthy, vile murderers. "They went around to the back of the 'black spot', lit torches dipped in gasoline, and threw them through the back window, which was our kitchen. In a minute and a half, the place was in flames. "The people outside were all wearing pointed white hoods. Some of them were yelling, 'Come out, nigger!Come out, nigga!Come out, nigga! 'Maybe trying to scare us, but I'd rather believe that most people wanted to warn us - like believing that the torch thrown into the kitchen was an accident. "Whatever it was, it didn't matter. The band was blowing over everything. Everyone was yelling and having a great time. No one in there knew something was wrong until Gerry told Karoo to open the kitchen door." —he was working as an assistant chef that day—the fire snake sprang out and burned his jacket and burned most of his hair. "I was sitting against the east wall with Trevor Dawson and Dick Halloran and at first I thought it was a gas stove going off. Then I got run over by people running towards the door I had about 20 people on my back. I guess that was the only time in my life I was really scared. I heard people screaming that the house was on fire. Every time I tried to get up, I was Someone stepped on my back and it made my eyes shine. My nose was pressed against the floor, I smelled dust, I coughed and sneezed. I felt a high-heeled shoe hit hard from the middle of my buttocks. Stepped on it, oh my god, if my pants had been torn that day, I'd have been bleeding out there till now. Sounds funny now, but I was literally stomped to death. I don't I kept screaming, but no one paid me any attention. "It was Trivor who saved me in the end. Seeing the big brown hand appear in front of me, I grabbed it. He pulled hard and I was about to stand up, but another foot stepped on my neck. Here-" He massaged the area just below the base of the ear.I nod. "—it was so hard I thought I fainted for a minute, but I never let go of Triver's hand, nor did he let go of mine. I finally stood up. The wall of the hall collapsed with a bang. Some escaped and others were crushed underneath. "It's hell in the kitchen, the flames are so hot, it's so hot that it almost burns your skin. "'Get out of there!' Trivor yelled, pulling me around the corner. 'Get me!'" Then Dick Halloran caught me.He is only 19 years old, but his mind is clearer than ours.It was he who saved our lives. 'Not over there! ' His eyes were as big as billiard balls. 'It's this way! ' He pointed his finger in the direction of the band... towards the fire, you know. "'You're crazy!' Trivor yelled. 'You die if you want! William and I are going out!'" He still dragged me toward the door, which was so crowded it was impossible to see. .I was petrified, not knowing how it would end.I just know I don't want to be roasted like a 'man chicken'. "Dick rushed up and grabbed Triver by the hair with all his strength. When Triver turned his head, he slapped Triver in the face. I remember Triver's head slamming back on the On the wall, I think Dick has lost his mind. Then he howls loudly in Trivor's face, "Get out of there and you're doomed!They've locked the door!nigger!You do not know! "Tryver had just finished calling when a bass drum cracked with a 'bang'. Overhead beams and paint on the floor were also on fire. "'I KNOW!' Dick screamed again, 'I KNOW!'" The two of them tugged at me, and it was a tug-of-war.Then Triver glanced toward the door and ran after Dick.Dick led us to a window, grabbed a chair, and slammed the window open, letting the heat rush in.He reached out and grabbed the back of Triver's trousers and lifted him up in a jerk. 'climb! ' he cried. 'climb!fuck you! ' Trevor flipped out. "Then he lifted me up again. I grabbed the window frame - my hands were full of hugs the next day - and the wood was on fire. My head went out first; if Triver hadn't caught Me, my neck would have to be broken. "We turned back and saw that the window had become a fire hole; behind the fire there were two brown hands dangling - Dick's hands. Triver lifted me up and I reached through the I opened the window and grabbed Dick's hand. I propped myself up on my stomach against the wall. It felt like I was stuck on top of a hot stove. Black smoke was coming from Dick's back and he was going into shock. "I was about to let go, but I yelled so hard and pulled him out. He had lost one of his shoes. "I jumped off Trevor's hands, and then Dick jumped off on my head. Here I tell you, black person's skulls are hard. I lay on the floor, almost out of breath. "Then I slowly got up. I could see some shadows running towards the green belt. At first I thought they were ghosts, then I saw the shoes. It was like daylight around the 'black dot'. Seeing the shoes , I realized that they were people in white sheets. One of them suddenly fell down, and then I saw... he licked his lips and stopped." "What did you see, Dad?" I asked. "Nothing," he said. "Give me some water, Mike." He drank the water and handed me the glass.I put it back on the table again. "Will this story give you nightmares, Mike?" he asked me. I was about to lie, but then thought that if I did, he might be done with it.He was not so confused. "I guess so," I replied. “那并不是一件坏事。”他说。“在噩梦中，我们能想最坏的东西。” 他伸出手来，我拉住了它。 “我环顾四周，看见特里弗和迪克绕到了前面，我连忙追了上去。 外面逃了出来的人大概有四五十个，有人在哭喊，有人在呕吐，有人尖叫，还有的好像是在同时干这三件事。一些人开始撞那扇门。但是门已经被人挤死了。 “那天晚上要不是特里弗·道森，也许死的人就不只是80个，而是100或者可能200个。当时只见我的'老友'——威尔逊中士正站在一辆卡车面前发号施令；当然没人听他的指挥。特里弗拉着我的胳膊，跑到了威尔逊面前。 “'中士，用一下你的卡车！'特里弗叫着。 “'一边去！黑鬼！'说着，威尔逊一把推倒特里弗，然后破口大骂。但是特里弗一个鱼跃站了起来，然后重重一拳打在威尔逊头上。 那家伙的头可真硬，竟然没跌倒。他的嘴角和鼻子上都是血，叫嚷着要杀掉特里弗。然后特里弗又是重重一台，打在特里弗的肚子上，那家伙疼得弯下了腰。这时我伸出双手，用尽全身的气力在他的脖子后面就是一台。从后面偷袭是懦夫行为，但是紧急时刻需要采取紧急措施。麦克，如果说当时我袭击那个婊子养的家伙没感觉一点愉悦，那可是说谎。 “那家伙倒在了地上。特里弗上了卡车，发动起来，然后绕到'黑点'侧面，撞了过去。我看见鲜血从他的头上流了下来；然后他向后倒车大概50码，又撞了过去。只听得轰的一声！酒吧侧面的墙一下倒了下来。火舌腾地从屋里窜了出来，火焰冲天。麦克，人们真是比想象得更坚强。尽管那里已经变成了一个大熔炉，但是还有人从里面冲出来。跑出来的人那么多，特里弗不敢再倒车，恐怕压上他们。于是他跳下车，跑到我身边。 “我们就站在那里，看着大火熊熊燃烧，直至结束。人们都说大火只不过燃烧了5分钟，但是我感觉它就像是永远在燃烧。特里弗抓着我的手，我也紧抓着他的手。我们站在那里紧握着双手，就像现在我们俩这样，麦克。我们看着火里的那些人——他们是我们那天晚上见到的真正的幽灵——他们想从特里弗撞开的那个缺口冲出来。他们的全身都在燃烧，一个接一个地倒在火里。 “最后出现的是一个女人。她几乎变成了一根蜡烛。最后她似乎朝我看过来；她的眼睑都着火了。当她倒下后，一切都结束了。整个地方完全成了火场。等救火车赶来时，一切都已经烧完了。那就是'黑点'大火，麦克。” 他将剩下的水喝完，然后把杯子递给我，叫我到大厅的自动饮水器那里再装满水。“今晚我要尿床了，麦克。” 我打水回来，看见他正在沉思着什么。我把水杯放在床头桌上。 他嘟哝着说了一句'谢谢'。我看了看桌子上的闹钟，几乎8点了，我得回去了。 我弯下腰就要和他吻别……但是听见我自己又问了一句：“你看见了什么？” 他那微闭着的眼睛一下子朝我这边看过来。 "Ok?" “你看见的东西。”我低声说。我不想听，但是我不得不听。我的全身冷热交加。 “是一只鸟。”他说。“那些披着白被单的人逃走的时候，它就飞在最后一个人的头上，也许是一只猫头鹰，但是它非常大。你不要告诉任何人。那只鸟的双翼展开大概有60英尺长，简直就是一架日本'零'式战机。但是我看见、看见了它的眼睛……我想……它看见了我。” 他的头转向了窗户那边，外面黑暗正在降临。 “它俯冲下来，一下抓起了那个人。它抓住了白被单……我听到了翅膀发出的声音……那声音就像是大火在燃烧……然后它盘旋着……我想鸟是不能盘旋的……但是那只鸟可以，因为……因为……” 他停住不讲了。 “为什么？爸爸？”我小声问道。“为什么它能盘旋？” “它不是在盘旋。”他回答。 我静静地坐在那里，觉得他就要睡着了。在我的一生当中，从来没有那么害怕过……因为4年前，我见过那只鸟。尽管我几乎忘记了那样的梦魔，但是父亲又把它带了回来。 “它不是盘旋。”他说。“它在飘浮。它飘浮。它的每个翅膀上都系着许多气球，它就那么飘浮着。” 父亲睡着了。 1985年3月1日 它又回来了。Now I know.我将等待，但是在我心中，我已经知道了。我不知道自己能不能忍受。小的时候，我能够对付它，但是现在不同了。在许多基本方面，已经不同了。 昨晚我疯狂地写完了所有的东西——要不是那样，我早就回家了。德里被厚厚的冰遮盖了；尽管今早出了太阳，但是冰一点没有融化。 我一直写到早上3点，而且越写越快，想要写完全部的东西。我已经忘记了自己在11岁的时候见过那只巨大的鸟，是父亲的故事又把它带了回来……我再也忘不掉它了。一点也忘不掉。我想那是父亲给我的最后的礼物。一个可怕的礼物，也许你会说，但是它似乎很神奇。 我就枕着胳膊，在桌子上睡着了。今早醒来，我的全身都有些麻木，但是感到某种自由……某种被那个故事净化了的自由。 然后我看见了当我熟睡的时候，一直和我陪伴的东西——在地上有一道淡淡的痕迹，一直从图书馆的前门（那扇门我总是锁得严严实实的）通到了我坐的桌子旁。 不管它是什么，它曾在夜里来到我这里，给我留下了它的纪念物……然后就消失了。 我的台灯上面系着一个气球。它就在早晨的阳光中飘浮着。 气球上面画着我的脸。眼睛没有了，鲜血从两个黑洞中流淌下来，那张嘴痛苦地扭曲着。 看着它，我尖叫起来。尖叫声在整个图书馆里回响。 气球啪地一声进裂了。