Chapter 21 Chapter Eleven Derry Revisited 2

5 Come and watch it on March 28th! Wonderful rock concert! An evening of wholesome entertainment! Richie wanted to go to the show, but he knew it was impossible.Wholesome entertainment on Mom's mind doesn't include rock and roll.On this issue, my mother's opinion cannot be overturned - at least until he is sixteen or seventeen years old - and my mother firmly believes that the rock and roll fever in the whole country should die by then. But Rich thinks rock and roll will never go away.He likes rock music, and that rhythm brings him more than just joy.That rhythm made him feel more mature and stronger.There was a power in that music that belonged to all the skinny kids, the fat kids, the ugly kids, the shy kids—losers in this world.Someday he'll be able to listen to rock and roll whenever he wants - he's convinced that rock and roll will still be popular when his mother finally relentes and he can listen to it - but not on March 28, 1958... Or 1959...or...

He looked away from the canopy, and...then he must have fallen asleep.This is who can explain it, what happened next can only be in a dream. Richie, who now finally has the rock music he loves, is back here.His eyes fell on the awning in front of the city's central square again, and it was still written in the same blue font: July 14 Heavy Metal! Reverend Judas Iron Maiden also seems to have "a night of wholesome entertainment" written under it, but that's the only difference as far as I can tell, Riki. Rich looked back at the statue again—the legendary saint of Derry. Old Paul, he looked up at the plastic statue.What have you been doing here since I left?Created new riverbeds and dragged your big ax home wearily?Did you create a new lake because you wanted a tub big enough to soak in comfortably?Scared more kids like you scared me the other day?

Ah, suddenly he recalled everything that had happened. He just sat there, basking in the warm March sun, snacking, thinking he could catch the last half-hour of rock music when he got home.Suddenly a gust of warm wind blows on the face, raising the hair on the forehead.He looked up to see Paul.Ban Yang's big plastic face was in front of him.It brought that air when it bent over...although it didn't look like Paul anymore.It lowered its head, with clusters of nose hair protruding from its red nose; one of its blood-red eyes was squinting. The ax is no longer on its shoulders.Paul bent over to hold the handle of the axe, which made a deep hole in the concrete path.It was still grinning, but not the slightest bit of a smile.The huge yellow teeth smelled of animal decay.

"I'm going to eat you!" The giant made a low rumbling sound, like the loud noise of a boulder hitting in an earthquake. "If you don't return my hen, harp, and gold, I'll eat you without a bone!" The jet of air blowing off Richie's shirt as he spoke sounded like a sail in a hurricane.His hair stood on his head, wrapped in the smell of a mass of rotting corpses, leaning back on the bench. The giant laughed wildly.It held the handle of the ax with both hands, pulled the ax out of the big hole in the ground, and raised it above its head.The ax let out a lethal roar.Richie suddenly realized that the giant was trying to split him in half.

But he felt immobilized, a kind of lethargy.What does it matter? He was dozing, dreaming.At any moment the driver will honk at a child crossing the road and it will wake him up. "That's right," the giant said like thunder, "You'll wake up in hell!" At the last moment, when the ax stopped on top of the giant's head, Richie realized that this was not a dream at all... , is also a murderous dream. Richie wanted to shout, but couldn't make a sound.He rolled from the bench onto the flat sandy ground beneath the statue's pedestal.The ax fell whistling, and the giant's smile turned into a murderous face.Its lips were grinning, revealing red plastic gums.

The blade of the ax struck the bench Richie had been sitting on, splitting the bench in half, exposing the white stubble. Richie lay there, twisting his body, sand pouring in from his neck and pants.There was Paul, looking down at him with bell-like eyes, at a little boy curled up on the sand. The giant took a step closer to him, and when the black boot fell to the ground, the ground shook, sending up a burst of dust. Rich rolled over and struggled to his feet.Before he could stand still, he ran away, only to fall to the ground again.He saw cars in the distance coming and going leisurely as usual, as if nothing had happened, as if no one in the car could see Paul.Bunyan came to life, descended from his pedestal, and murdered a child with his giant axe.

The sun was blocked, and Ricky lay in the giant's shadow. He got up, flung his arms and ran away.Behind him he heard the horrible whispering grow louder, pressing against his skin and eardrums. The ground shook.Richie's teeth clink together like china plates in an earthquake.He didn't have to look back to know that Paul's great ax landed deep in the pavement behind him. He ran out of the giant's figure and couldn't help laughing.Panting heavily, and feeling a sharp pain in his ribs, he dared to turn around. There is only the statue of Paul Bunyan standing on a pedestal, with an ax on his shoulder, looking up at the sky, with the optimistic and eternal smile of a mythical hero on his mouth.The bench that had been split in two was intact.

The place where the giant Paul's big foot stepped on just now is as smooth as before, only the place where Richie rolled down has some scratches, when he--(dodging the giant) dreaming.There are no footprints on the cement road, and no trace of the axe.There was no one around. "Damn." Richie's voice was still trembling.Then he laughed suspiciously. He stood there a little longer, waiting to see if the statue would move again—maybe blink, maybe switch its ax from one shoulder to the other, maybe come down and chase him again.But nothing happened. drowsy.a dream.That's all.

It's time to go home.Although it was closer to cross the central square of the city, he decided not to go that way.He never wanted to be near that statue again.So he went around for a long time, and at night he almost forgot about it. until now. Here sits a man, he thought, here sits a handsome man, remembering a boy's dream.Here sits an adult looking at the same statue. Dark, Paul, big Paul, you haven't changed at all, you haven't fucking aged at all. He still believed in the previous explanation: a dream. His eyes felt that sharp pain like needles again.So suddenly, he couldn't help crying out in pain.This time it was the worst, the pain was deeper and lasted longer.He covered his eyes with his hands, subconsciously wanting to take out the contact lenses.Maybe it's an infection, he thought.But god, it hurts.

He was about to take off his glasses when the sudden pain disappeared.It flowed for a while, but soon stopped.He lowered his head slowly, his heart beating faster, ready to take off his glasses at any moment.But his eyes didn't hurt anymore.He suddenly remembered a horror movie that really terrified him as a child.Maybe it's because he pays too much attention to his glasses and keeps thinking about his glasses.That movie was called "Crawling Eyes."Watching that sticky, tentacled eye appear on the foggy screen, Richie gasped for breath.He later dreamed that he had stuck a large needle in his pupil.When his eye sockets were filled with blood, he only felt numb, watery and limp.He remembered--and still remembers--waking up to a wet bed.He is thankful that his eyesight is still there.

"Fuck it." Richie cursed in a low voice, his voice trembling, and stood up. He was going to go back to the Derry Town Hotel and get some sleep.If this is "memory passage," he'd rather be on the Gazette Highway.His eye problems were likely the result of over-tiredness and jet lag, and the tension of seeing all of his old friends at once was too much.He didn't like his thoughts bouncing back and forth like this.I've had quite a few scares, and it's time to go back to sleep and rest my brain. When he stood up, he saw the awning on the central square of the city again.Sitting there paralyzed all of a sudden. Rich.The Thousand Voices of Dorje returned to Delhi to celebrate the return of Li Qi to the city center and sincerely dedicated Li Qi.Dorje's most exciting rock concert welcomes Richie home! You are dead too! He felt as though someone had taken his breath away... and then he heard the sound again, the sound of pressing the skin and the eardrum.He rolled off the bench and onto the sand all at once. He rolled over and looked up at the statue of Paul—and saw that it was no longer Paul Bunyan.Standing there is that dazzling, gorgeous, weird clown.A well-painted face jutted out of the big ruff that comedians used to wear.Orange plastic pompom buttons, the size of volleyballs, adorn the front of the silver coat from top to bottom.Instead of carrying an ax, it grabbed a handful of plastic balloons.Engraved on each balloon are these two lines: To me it's still rock 'n' roll; Ricky.Dorje's most exciting rock concert. Richie scrambled back, sand pouring into his pants.He somersaulted, stood up, and staggered as he ran, looking back.The clown was looking at him, his wet eyes rolling in their sockets. "Scared you, man?" Its voice thundered and rolled. Richie was in shock. "It was just a false alarm" The clown nodded with a smile, grinning his blood-red lips, revealing razor-sharp fangs. "If I wanted to kill you, I could kill you now," it said. "But it's more fun this way." "It's funny to me, too." Richie heard his own voice. "It'll be more fun when we get your dog's head. Baby." The clown's grin widened.It raised a white-gloved hand, just as it did 27 years ago, and a gust of wind lifted the short hair on his forehead.The clown pointed his index finger at him.Thick as a pillar. Thick as a pillar - Ricci thought.Suddenly there was a sharp pain, as if a rusty iron nail had been pierced into the eye.He screamed and covered his face. "Before you take a grain of sand out of your neighbor's eyes, watch out for this pillar yourself." The clown murmured like thunder.Richie smelled that rotting corpse again. He raised his head and took a few steps back.The clown is bending over. "Want to play, Ricky? What if I pointed at your testicles and gave you bladder cancer? Or do I point to your head and make a big tumor grow in your head?I can point to your mouth and make your stupid babbling tongue rot into pus.I can do it, Richie.Want to try it? " Its eyes widened, black pupils the size of softballs.Richie saw the terrible darkness that only Skyrim had; he saw the mean pleasure in those eyes that drove him mad.That's when he understood that it was omnipotent. Still he heard himself speak.But this time it wasn't his own voice, but a completely new one - sonorous, brash, self-deprecating, sharp. "Pull it off, you bloody white-faced bastard!" he yelled, and burst out laughing. "Stop talking nonsense there, bastard! If you dare to talk nonsense again, you will die! Understand, you white-faced bastard!" Richie felt the clown cringe, but he didn't dare to stay there to see what happened.He tossed his arms and ran so fast that he didn't even notice a father with a child in his arms looking at him warily like a madman.Actually, guys, thought Richie, I feel like I've lost my mind.Oh god, I'm crazy.It must have been the worst imitation in history, but it worked, somehow—the clown's deafening voice behind him.The father didn't hear it, but the toddler burst into tears.The father picked up his son in puzzlement and held him tightly in his arms. The clown's voice was mixed with anger and joy, maybe only anger: "I have an eye here, Rich...do you hear me? That can only crawl If you don't want to leave yet, you come here to see this giant eye! You can come and see it anytime. Do you hear me, Richie? Bring your bumball. Let Beverly wear a pair of Big skirt with four or five petticoats. Let her wear the wedding ring her husband gave her around her neck! Let Eddie wear his straw sandals! We're going to play some jazz, Richie! We're going to play all the blockbusters !" He ran all the way to the sidewalk before Richie dared to turn his head. What he saw made him unable to relax.Paul Bunyan is gone, and so is the Joker.There towers a 20-foot plastic statue of Buddy Holly.The narrow collar of its plaid sweatshirt has a button that reads: RICH.Dorje's finest rock performance. One of Buddy's glasses was taped. Ricky walks back... (My legs must not be soft) try not to think about... We're going to be playing all the... hits! Everything that just happened. He turned his head again and saw Paul back in place with the ax over his shoulder, smiling on his back, which made him feel better.Richie quickened his pace and started to run.Just as he thought that this might be an illusion, he felt a piercing pain in his eyes, which made him cry out.This time he raised his index finger, so quickly that he almost stabbed himself in the eye.He opened his lower eyelids, thinking, I'm sure I won't be able to get glasses.If I can't take off my glasses, the pain will continue until my eyes become blind, but when he blinks, the glasses fall out, and the clear world becomes blurred.Although he searched the sidewalk for a full 15 minutes, he couldn't find a single lens. Richie thought he heard the Joker laughing behind him. 6 Bill didn't see Pennywise that afternoon--but he did see a ghost.A real ghost.Bill believed it must be a ghost, and the events that followed did not change his opinion. Walking down Wisham Street, he stopped for a moment at the sewer mouth where George died in May 1957.He knelt down and looked in.His heart was beating violently, but he still faced the black hole. "Come out, why not come out!" he whispered.Bill felt that his voice would echo across the dark, dank passages and through the criss-crossing sewers. "Come out, or we'll go in and catch—catch you." He waited nervously, but there was no response. He was about to get up when a shadow was cast over his head. Bill looked up sharply, eager at the same time, ready for whatever might happen... just a kid with a popsicle in one hand and a skateboard in the other. "Are you always talking into the sewer, sir?" asked the child. "Only in Derry," Bill said. They looked at each other seriously and laughed in unison. "I want to ask you a stupid question," Bill said. "Speak." The child was very straightforward. "Did you hear voices coming from the sewers?" The kid looked at Bill as if he was insane. "Forget it, forget it," Bill said, "forget about my question." He had just taken a few steps—he was walking up the hill to see his old house—when the boy called out, "Sir?" Bill turned around.The kid looked him over carefully, as if regretting his talk.Then shrugged, as if to say, "Oh, nevermind. I've heard that." "Have you heard it?" "yes." "What did you say?" "I don't know, it's in a foreign language. I heard that voice coming from a pumping station in Banron." "I see what you mean. Is it a child's voice?" "It was a child's voice at first, and then it sounded like an adult." The child paused. "I was terrified. I ran home and told my dad. He said maybe it was an echo from someone's pipes. "Do you believe?" The child shook his head reluctantly. "Did you hear those voices again later?" "One time when I was in the bath," said the child, "it was the voice of a little girl. Just crying and not talking. I was so scared that I pulled the plug because I thought I might drown her." Bill nodded. The child's large, bright, charming eyes looked at Bill frankly. "Did you hear those voices too, sir?" "Yes," Bill said, "a long, long time ago. Did you know any of the kids who got killed?" The child's eyes dimmed, full of vigilance and anxiety. "My dad said don't talk to strangers. He said anyone could be a murderer." The child stepped back, standing in the dappled shadow of an elm. "I'm not, boy," said he. "I've been living in England, and I was in Derry only yesterday." "Then I shouldn't talk to you either." The child answered him. "That's right," Bill agreed. "This is a free, free country." After a while, the child said again, "I used to play with Johnny Fury. He was a good boy, and I cried." The child put all the remaining popsicles into his mouth. "Keep away from the sewers," Bill said quietly. "Don't go to empty places. Don't go to the freight yards. But most of all, don't go near those sewers." The child's eyes were bright again.He stood there without speaking for a while. "Sir? Would you like to hear a ridiculous story?" "certainly." "You know that man-eating shark movie?" "Who doesn't know. Shark, Shark, Shark Kiss" "I have a friend named Tommy. Viknanza, he's not quite out of his head. A little out of the ordinary, understand?" "clear." "He said he saw a shark in the canal. He went to the canal in Bass Park by himself a few weeks ago, and he said that the fin of the shark he saw was eight or nine feet high, and the light fin was as high as that. He Said, "That's the thing that killed Johnny and the other kids.I know it's the shark because I've seen that movie before. ' I said, "The canal is so polluted that even a small carp can't live. You said you saw a shark. Something is wrong with you, Tommy." Tommy said the shark jumped out of the water and tried to bite him, but he dodged Just in time. Funny, isn't it, sir?" "There's something wrong with your brain, isn't it?" Bill hesitated. "Stay away from the canal, boy. Do you understand?" The child sighed in disappointment.He seemed ashamed, drooping his head. "Yes. Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with my head." "I see what you mean." Bill walked over.The child looked up at him, but this time he didn't look away. "That skateboard will break your knees, kid." The child looked at his bloody knee and smiled. "I think so too. Sometimes I jump off the top." "Can I try?" Bill asked suddenly. The child looked at him with his mouth wide open and laughed. "It must be fun," he said. "I've never seen an adult skateboard before." "I'll give you twenty-five cents," Bill said. "My dad said—" "No money or candy from strangers. Good idea. I'll give you a quarter anyway. What do you say? Just slide down to the corner of Jay Jackson." "Forget about the money," said the child.He laughed, so innocently. "I don't want your money. I just got two dollars. Rich. But I want to see. Don't blame me if it breaks somewhere." "Don't worry," Bill said, "I've got insurance." Bill flicked a wheel with his finger, loving the way it spun.The beautiful voice awakened the feeling that had been brewing in his heart for a long time-the earnest desire, the sincere love. "What are you thinking?" the child asked. "I think I'll fall myself to death." The child couldn't stop laughing. Bill put the skateboard on the sidewalk, put one foot on it, and tried to slide it back and forth.He imagined himself flying on a skateboard.Suddenly, I thought of myself being covered in plaster, lying in the hospital, listening to the doctor scolding me. He bent down to pick up the skateboard and handed it to the child. "I guess I'll let it go," he said. "Coward," said the child curtly. "Okay, I have to go home." "Be careful." Bill warned. "How can you be careful when you're skateboarding?" The kid looked at Bill like he, too, was out of his mind. "Yes," Bill said, "but make sure you don't go near the sewers. Make sure you don't leave your friends." The child nods. "My house is nearby." So does my brother, Bill thought. "This nightmare will be over soon," Bill told the kid. "can you?" "I think so," Bill replied. "Okay, there will be a period later... coward!" The child stepped on the skateboard and disappeared around the corner of the street. Bill passed his old house, but he didn't stop, he just slowed down.A mother was sitting with her baby in her arms, watching the two older children play in the grass. The house was still the same dark green color, and the fan window on the door was still there.But mother's garden is gone.He saw the "Jungle Gymnasium" that his father built for them with the waste pipes he picked up in the backyard, and remembered that one day George fell from it and knocked out a tooth.He cried to death! Looking at these things (some are still preserved, some have disappeared), I want to go over to greet the woman with the baby.Tell her that she used to live here.What else?Could he ask her if the face he had carefully carved on the beams of the attic where he and George practiced whoring was still there?Could he ask her if her child slept on the enclosed porch at the back of the house on a particularly hot summer night, whispering under his breath?He thought he might be able to ask some of those questions, but felt that if he did, he would stutter so hard that he couldn't utter a word... Besides, did he really want to know the answers to those questions?The family had been cold since George's death, and that was not the purpose of his return to Derry. So without looking back, he turned the corner and turned right. Bill walked down Kansas Avenue, back into town.He stood for a moment by the fence on the sidewalk, looking out at Banron.Everything is as it was before.The only difference is that the billowing smoke from the incineration of garbage in the past has disappeared, and a modern garbage treatment plant has been replaced.A long flyover flew over Banron, the toll highway that extended here.Everything was so familiar, the sound of the trickling water, the wide Kentucky River, and the smell—the smell of decay, the breath from the ground. It ended there before, and it will end there this time.Thinking about it, Bill couldn't help shivering.There...under the city. He stood there a little longer, believing he must see the appearance of something—the demon with whom he had returned to Derry to duel.Nothing but the jingle of running water, reminding him of the dam they had built there.A breeze brushed the treetops lightly, but there was nothing, not a sign of it. He continued walking downtown, half asleep, thinking about the past, and on the way he met a little girl again—with a ball in one hand and a doll in the other. "Hi!" Bill called to her. She looked up. "Hi!" "Which shop is the best in Derry?" She thought about it. "To me, or to someone else?" "You," Bill said. "Second-hand roses, second-hand clothes," she replied without hesitation. "That's the name of a store?" "Sure. My mom says it's a junk store, but I like it. There's all kinds of old stuff. Records you never heard. And postcards. It smells like an attic. I'm going home, bye." She didn't look back, hugged the doll, patted the ball, and left. "Hi!" Bill called her loudly. She turned around strangely. "What's the matter?" "The store! Where is it?" She looked back and said, "It's on the road ahead, at the foot of Mount Apzil." The feeling of overlapping time surged in Bill again.He didn't want to start a fight with that little girl at first, and those questions were just said casually. He got off Apu Guer Mountain and walked towards the city center.Most of the warehouses and canneries in my memory are gone.A drive-thru bank and a bakery have been added.A sign at the site of the former Turek Brothers subsidiary reads, "Secondhand Roses, Secondhand Clothes." Bill walked slowly, feeling a resurgence of yesterday.He later told everyone that he knew what he was going to see before he saw it. Among a pile of miscellaneous second-hand goods, Bill's eyes fell on it at once.He stared suspiciously at the thing with wide eyes, goosebumps all over his body, hot forehead, cold hands.At that moment, it seemed that the memory gates were all opened, and he remembered everything. The rusty and tattered silver arrow stood there. Bill wiped away the tears running down his face and walked into the shop. The store smelled of decay and decay, and the goods were piled up in a mess.A radio sits on a high shelf against a collection of 19th-century portraits.The owner—a skinny man in his 40s—sat under the shelf, his feet propped up on the table, absorbed in a novel.On the floor in front of the table, a barbershop spinner spins incessantly. "Do you need anything?" The owner looked up from behind the desk. "Yes." Bill wanted to ask the price of the bicycle in the window.But before he could speak, a sentence that often came to mind occupied his entire brain, crowding out all his thoughts. He slammed his fist hard on the pillar, still thinking that he saw a ghost. God, what the hell does this mean? (forcefully) "Is there a goal?" Although the owner's voice was very polite, he was looking at Bill carefully. "Yes, I'm interested, interested, interested—" (slams a fist on a pillar) "—look at the pillar, pillar, pillar—" "Are you referring to the barber shop's revolving sign?" The shopkeeper's eyes showed the anxiety of a stuttering person, as if he wanted to jump up and finish the second half of the sentence for him.To shut up the poor boy.This look has made him hate him since he was a child.But I don't stutter!I got over it long ago!I don't fucking stutter!I— (still think) These words are so clear, as if there is another person talking in his mind, and he seems to be controlled by a demon.However, he could tell that it was his own voice.Bill felt sweat dripping down his face. "I can give it to you--" (he saw a ghost) "Cheaper," said the shopkeeper. "I'll tell you the truth, I wouldn't sell it for two dollars and a half less. But how about a dollar and seventy-five cents? It's the only real antique here." (Pillar) "Colorful columns." Bill almost screamed, and the shopkeeper stepped back. "It's not the pillar that I like." "Are you all right, sir?" asked the innkeeper.The calm tone belied the alertness in his eyes.Bill understood that the shopkeeper thought he was going to rob. (He punched Du Zi hard, still feeling like he saw a ghost) This sentence disrupted all his train of thought.Where did it come from? (he exerts force) Repeat over and over. Bill mustered up his courage and fought back the sentence that was entangled in his head. "I don't need that crap." He took a deep breath. "Let's do it again," he said, "assuming I just got in-in." "Okay," said the owner kindly, "you just walked in. What do you need?" "That bike in the window," Bill said, "how much?" "$20." The owner sounded much more relaxed.His eyes studied Bill. "Big bike. You can ride it." Reflecting on the kid's green skateboard, Bill said, "I think my bike days are over." The shopkeeper shrugged. "To the son?" "Yes, it is." "How old is he?" "Ten, ten, eleven years old." "It's a big enough car for an 11-year-old." Bill took out a traveler's check and filled in twenty dollars.The owner checked the handwriting carefully and wrote the bill. The shopkeeper picked up the bicycle, turned around, and placed it in the open space of the house.Bill gripped the handlebar and felt another shudder run through him.silver arrow.again.The silver arrow was in his hand again. (He punches the pillar hard, still thinking he saw a ghost) He tried to get the thought out of his head, because it made him feel dizzy and weird. The shopkeeper opened the door for him.Bill pushed his bicycle, turned left, and walked toward Main Street.He stopped on the corner of Center Street and Main Street. The chains are rusted, he thought.Whoever owns the car simply did not take good care of it. He stood for a moment, frowning, trying to remember about Silver Arrow.Did he sell it?Give it away?lost, maybe?I couldn't remember, but I remembered that crazy sentence again. (He punches Du Zi hard, still feels) Bill shook his head.The sentence shattered into a puff of smoke. 7 Bill pushed the Silver Arrow into Mike's garage and leaned the car against the wall.The two looked at the bicycle and didn't say a word for a long time. "It's the Silver Arrow." In the end it was Mike who broke the silence first. "I thought you might be mistaken. But it is.How are you going to pass it off? " "I wish I knew. Have you got a pump?" "Yes. I still have the tools to fix the tire. Is the inner tube broken?" "It used to be bad." Bill bent down to look at the flat tire. "Yes, the inner tube is broken." "Are you still going to ride this car?" "Of course, no," Bill said grimly, "I just don't want to see him lying, laying, lying in all this shit with a flat tire." "No matter what you say, boss, you are the boss." Bill turned his head angrily. Mike had already gone to get the pump and the tire repair tool.Bill looked at the brand new locket with interest. "You didn't get this thing just for decoration, did you?" "No," Mike agreed, "just bought it last week." "Do you have a bicycle?" "No." Mike looked at him seriously. "Just bought it by chance?" "On impulse." Mike's eyes were still on Bill. "Woke up thinking this thing might come in handy. It's been on my mind all day. So... I bought this box of tire repair kits, and you're here to use them." "I'm here to use it," Bill echoed. "What does it all mean, honey?" "Ask the others," Mike said, "tonight." "Do you think they'll all come?" "Don't know, Bill," he continued, after a pause, "I think there's a good chance none of them will come. One or two slipped away. Or..." He shrugged. "What would we do in that case?" "I don't know." Mike pointed to the box of tire repair tools. "I bought it for 7 bucks. Are you going to do something with it or just look at it?" Bill turned the car over, stood upside down, and carefully turned the rear wheel.He didn't like the squeaking sound of rusty axles.A little oil would do the trick, he thought.It doesn't hurt to oil the chain either.It turned out to be rusted like this... and the cards.There should also be some playing cards pinned to the reels.Mike sure will.Very good poker.The cards, yes, had to be held in place by clothespins—he stopped suddenly, feeling cold all over. What the hell are you thinking? "What's wrong, Bill?" Mike asked softly. "It's nothing." That strange sentence came to mind clearly again: "He punched hard on the pillar, and he still thought he saw a ghost." But this time, his voice was followed by his mother's voice : "Again, Bill, you almost got it right." He couldn't help shivering. He shook his head.I still can't finish that sentence fluently.He thought, suddenly feeling that he was about to understand the meaning of that sentence.But suddenly disappeared again. He opened the box of tire repair kits and got to work.Mike has been standing against the wall, humming a ditty.It took Bill a long time to get the car into shape.He almost forgot about Mike's existence.He was about to turn the car over when he heard the sound of playing cards behind him.He turned sharply.I saw Mike standing there, holding a handful of blue bicycle cards in his hand. "Need this?" Bill breathed a sigh of relief. "I assume you have the clothespins ready too?" Mike took four clothespins out of his shirt pocket. "I guess it was bought by chance?" "Yes, I bought it by chance," Mike said. Bill took it and tried to shuffle the cards.His hands trembled, and the cards scattered all over the floor.It's all over the place...but only two cards face up.Bill looked at the two cards, then at Mike.Mike bit his lip and looked at the scattered cards in surprise. Those two cards were both Aces of Hearts. "Impossible," said Mike, "I just opened this deck. How can there be two Aces of Hearts in one deck?" Bill bent down, picked up the two cards, looked at them, and handed them to Mike.One back is blue and one back is red. "God, Mike, what have you got us into?" "What are you going to do?" Mike said coldly. "Oh, don't even go up to the film Bill burst out laughing." I guess I should, don't I? "If there are prerequisites for using magic power in the world, then these conditions are already in place. Right?" 麦克没做声，看着比尔把那些纸牌一张一张地别在后轮上。比尔的手还在颤抖，费了好半天的功夫才弄好，深深地吸了一口气，屏住呼吸，转动后轮。在寂静的车库里，那些纸牌发出一阵机关枪的声响。 “来吧，”麦克轻声说，“进来吧，老大。我给咱们弄点儿吃的。” 他们狼吞虎咽地吃了几个汉堡，坐在那里抽烟，看着后院里越来越浓的暮色。比尔拿出钱夹，抽出一张名片，把那句让他一天都不得安宁的句子写下来，递给麦克。 “你能看懂吗？”比尔问。 Mike nodded. “是的，我知道这是什么意思。” “那好，告诉我吧。或者给我点提示，让我自己去想？” “不，”麦克说，“这一次我想告诉你也没关系。这是一句绕口令。 常用来训练那些口齿不清和结巴的人。那年夏天你妈妈总是让你练习这句话。 1958年夏天。你走到哪儿说到哪儿。 " “是吗？”比尔自问自答。 "right." “你肯定特别想讨你妈妈的欢心。” 比尔突然觉得自己想哭，却只点了点头。此刻，他不敢开口讲话。 “你从来都说不好，”麦克告诉他，“我得清清楚楚。你费了九牛二虎之力，可你的舌头还是绕不过弯。” “但是我真的流利地念出过那句话，”比尔说，“至少一次。” "when?" 比尔一拳砸在小餐桌上，非常用力，弄疼了自己的手。“我不记得了！”他大喊，然后又麻木地说：“我真的想不起来了。”