Chapter 2 Chapter 1

Arnett is a dingy, four-street town about 110 miles outside of Houston.Harper's Texaco gas station is on 93 just north of town.Tonight, the patrons are all there, sitting at the bar, drinking beer, chatting endlessly, watching the moths fly in and out of the sign's headlights. Arnett's life was tough, and in 1981 there were still two factories, one making paper products (mainly for picnics and barbecues), and the other a calculator factory.The paper mills are now closed, and the calculator factory is having a hard time; Taiwan-made calculators are much cheaper and of better quality, like those portable TVs and semiconductor radios.

Norman Brueter and Tommy had both worked in paper mills and had been out of work for some time and had been on the dole.Henry Carmichael and Stuart Redman worked in a calculator factory but rarely worked more than 30 hours a week, and Vic Palfrey was retired, smoking his own reeking cigarettes, He can only afford this. "What I'm going to say now," Harper said to the group, leaning forward on his hands and knees, "is that they've decided to stabilize inflation, and the national debt. We want news, we want paper, and we're going to print 5,000 Thousands of dollars in bills."

Palfrey, who had been a mechanic until 1984, was the only one in the room who still had the confidence to point out Harper's most obvious follies.Rolling a stinking cigarette, he said, "That won't do us any good. They'll be like Richmond two years after the Civil War. Back then, you wanted a piece of gingerbread." , give the baker a federal dollar, and he'll put that dollar on gingerbread, and he'll cut you this big piece. Is money paper?" "Not everyone thinks that way," said Harper angrily.He took out a grease-stained red plastic folder from the counter, "I owe money to these people, and they've already started to get impatient."

Stewart Redman, perhaps the most reticent of Arnetts, is sitting on a cracked plastic stool, drink in hand, looking out the large glass windows of Gas Station 93.Stu knew what it was like to be poor.Even though he grew up in this small town, he also got poor all the way.When Stu was seven years old, his father, a dentist, died, leaving his wife, Stu and two other children. Stu's mother got a job at the Red Bead truck depot on the edge of Arnett - if the depot hadn't been destroyed by that fire in 1979, you could see it from where Stu now sits, earning it Just enough to feed a family of 4.Stu went out to work at the age of 9, first working hard for Ruger Tucker, and he also owned the Red Pearl truck station.Stu helped out there after school for thirty-five cents an hour.Later, he went to a freight yard in the nearby town of Braintree, falsely reported his age, worked 20 hours a week, worked hard, and was paid minimum wage.

Hearing Harp and Vic talk about money, how things always went out of nowhere, reminded him of the first time his hands had bled from the wheelbarrow of endless entrails and furs.He tried his best to hide it from his mother, and within a week of actually doing it, her mother found out.Mother was not a woman who shed tears easily. She held his hand and wept for a while, but didn't tell him to stop doing it.She knows what's going on at home, and she's realistic. Part of his reticence is that he never had friends, or had no time for them.To go to school, to work.His youngest brother Dev died of pneumonia the year he started working in the stock yard.Stu has been unable to let go of Dev's death, and he feels guilty.His favorite was Dev...but Dev's death also means one less mouth to eat.

He fell in love with football in high school, and although it took up a lot of school time, his mother encouraged him to keep playing, saying: "Stu, if you want to get out of here, football is your ticket. Think of Eddie Warfield.” Eddie was a local hero, born in a poorer family than Stu’s, but became the quarterback for the district high school team, and went to Texas on an athletic scholarship to serve The Greenport Bakers played for 10 years, most of the time as a substitute, and also had a few memorable server experiences.Now, there are Eddie's restaurants from the West to the Southwest.In Arnett, this is a legendary image of suffering and success.When you say "successful," at Arnett, you mean Eddie.

Stu wasn't a quarterback, and he wasn't Eddie Warfield.But when he first entered high school, it did seem like he had a chance to take a chance and win a small scholarship.There was also a work-study program back then, and the superintendent told him about the National Defense Education Act loan program. Then the mother became ill and lost the ability to work.Got cancer.She died two months before Stu graduated from high school, leaving Stu with his brother Bryce.Stu ignored the athletic scholarship and went straight to find a job at a calculator factory.It was Stu's 3-year-old brother Bryce who finally stepped into Arnett, who is now a systems analyst at IBM in Minnesota.He didn't write very often, and the last time Stu saw him was at his wife's funeral—with the same cancer that killed Stu's mother.He felt that Bryce might also have a sense of guilt to bear... Bryce might have a little bit of guilt that his brother had become a well-behaved old boy in a dead Texas town, wasting his time in the calculator factory during the day and wasting his time at night. Beer and beer at Harper's or Indian Chiefs.

Getting married was the best time ever but it only lasted 8 months and that was 4 years ago.Stu also thought about leaving Anat and going outside for a while, but the inertia of the small town kept him—the familiar places and familiar faces were like a slow and long song.He was very popular in Arnett.At one point Vic Palfrey gave him the highest form of honor, calling him an "old-fashioned tough guy". Vic and Harper were babbling on and on, and the land was gradually melting into darkness, and there was still a little twilight in the sky.Cars mostly don't drive off Route 93 these days, which is one of the reasons Harper racked up so many bills.

But Stu saw that a car was coming. With about a quarter of a mile to go, the last rays of the day cast a gray haze on the car.With sharp eyes, Stu saw that it was a 1975 Chevrolet, with no lights on, and it was driving at no more than 15 miles per hour, shaking all the way.Stu was the only one who saw the car. "Let's say you're paying for this gas station in installments," Vic yelled. "Let's say fifty dollars a month." "That's too little." "Just for example, let's say 50 yuan. If the federal government prints a truckload of banknotes for you first, the bankers will ask you 150 yuan, and you will still be destitute."

"Not bad," agreed Hank Carmichael.Harper gave him a look, annoyed.Hank had never paid for a Coke from the soda machine, and Harpo knew of his habit, and Hank knew he knew.If Hank wants to be on one side, it should be on his side. "It doesn't have to be like this." After all, Harper has received 9 years of education, and he will not easily be poor.He went on to explain why. Stu found their rhetoric really boring.Harpo's voice faded to a meaningless hum in his ears.He turned to look at the swaying Chevrolet that was coming.Driving like this, Stu thinks, it can't go very far.The car crossed the white line, and the left tire kicked up a cloud of dust on the road.It wobbled back again, and had just returned to the driveway when it almost fell into a ditch again.The driver seemed to regard the neon lights of the Texaco gas station as a beacon, and the car shot straight along the asphalt road like a bullet that was about to run out of speed.Stu could hear the motor whine now, like a dying crab or a loose set of valves, wheezing and wheezing, as the car passed by the entrance and slammed into the curb.The light from the bar sign bounced off the Chevrolet's dusty windshield, and it wasn't very clear what was inside, but Stu could still see the driver's blurry figure crouching at the impact.Still at 15 mph, showing no sign of slowing down.

"So I said, the more money in circulation, the more you..." "Better turn off your pump, Harp," said Stu. "Pump? What did you say?" Norman Bruett turned and looked out the window. "Christ rode a pony," he said. Stu got up from his chair, turned sideways to Tommy Wanamaker and Hank Carmichael, four in each hand, and pulled all eight switches in one fell swoop, only he didn't see the Chevrolet crash into the high Oil pumps on the ground and breaking them one by one. Tommy Wanamaker swore at the Indian Chief the next day that the car's headlights hadn't even been on, and the Chevrolet was coming at 15 mph like a Rose Day parade float.The front bottom of the car scraped the raised ground, and the moment the wheels hit, everyone except Stu saw the driver's head rushing forward, hitting the windshield hard, and the glass split radially in all directions. . Shelley Buddha, like an old dog that had been kicked by someone, jumped up and rushed straight towards the oil pump.The nozzle of the refined oil pump snapped and rolled aside, the air was filled with the smell of gasoline, and the detached nozzle shone yellow under the light. They saw the sparks from the Chevrolet exhaust on the concrete.Having seen gas station explosions in Mexico, Harpo instinctively puts his hands over his eyes, waiting for the imaginary fireball he's seen to appear.The back of the Chevrolet wobbled a few times, then slid to the other side.The front end of the car dived into the low-lead gasoline pump, thumped and knocked down another one. The Chevrolet unhurriedly made a great 360-degree circle and hit the gas pump again, this time with the bodywork.The tail turned around and knocked a regular petrol pump to pieces.Then the old Chevrolet stopped, its rusty exhaust pipe trailing behind.It knocked out all three oil pumps on the pump island closest to the road.The motor idling for a few seconds before quieting down. "Jesus," said Tommy breathlessly, "is it going to explode, Harpo?" "It's going to blow up sooner than later," said Harper, standing up.He felt an indescribable joy. His pumps are all insured, and the insurance has been paid for.Insurance, everything, Mary was nagging. "This guy must be drunk," Norman said. "I'm looking at his headlights," said Tommy, his voice high with excitement, "and they ain't even turned on. Jesus, if he'd been driving sixty miles, we'd be done." They rushed out of the house, Harpo in the lead and Stu in the rear.Harp, Tommy, and Norman ran to the car together.They smelled gasoline and heard the slow, alarm-clock ticking of the Chevrolet's cooling engine.Harper opened the door, and the man behind the wheel rolled out like a sack. "God!" Norman screamed.He turned around, clutching his fat stomach, and felt sick, not the one who got out (Happ caught him before he hit the ground), but the smell, blood, feces, The stench of vomit mixed with rotting human bodies. Harpo turned and dragged the driver from under his armpits, and Tommy grabbed the trailing feet and joined Harpo to carry him back to the office.In the dim neon light overhead, their faces livid and disgusted, Harper had forgotten his insurance money. The others looked into the car, Hank immediately turned around, covered his mouth tightly with one hand, walked quickly to the grass south of the gas station, and vomited out all the food he ate at night. Vic and Stu looked into the car for a moment, exchanged glances, and looked in again.The passenger seat was a young woman, her pajamas ripped up to her thighs.A child of two or three was leaning against her.All breathless.The neck was swollen into a small bucket, and the flesh was purple.The flesh under the eyes bulged.They watched, Vic said later, like baseball players putting soot under their eyes to scare each other, the woman holding the child's hand.The mucus that comes out of the nose clots.A mess of flies, some sucking mucus, some crawling in and out of her open mouth.Stu had been through war, but never seen such a tragic situation, and he stared straight at the two hands that were joined together. He and Vic walked back together, looking at each other blankly.Harper was yelling something frantic in the payphone booth.Norman walked behind him, turning his head from time to time to look at the broken car.The Chevrolet driver's door is open, and a pair of children's shoes can be seen hanging from the rearview mirror. Hank stood by the door, wiping his mouth with a dirty handkerchief. "Jesus, Stu," he looked sad, and Stu nodded. Harper put down the phone, and the driver of the Chevrolet lay on the floor. "The ambulance is here in 10 minutes, you think they...?" He shook his thumb at the Chevrolet. "They're dead," Vic said.His face was sallow, and he scattered the tobacco on the floor when he rolled the cigarette. "These are the two worst deaths I've ever seen." He glanced at Stu, and Stu nodded, putting his hands in his pockets, his stomach churning. A deep moan escaped from the throats of the people on the floor, drawing their attention to it.After a while, when the man started to speak or tried very hard to do so, Harper knelt beside him, since this was his gas station after all. The symptoms of the women and children in the car were all manifested in this man without exception.There was a constant flow of snot, and there was a strange watery sound when I breathed, a violent churning sound coming from somewhere in my chest cavity.The area under the eyes was also swollen, not yet black, but already dark purple, and the neck also looked thick, with the flesh protruding upwards, giving him two chins.He has a high fever.Being close to him was like squatting next to a barbecue with the coals blazing. "Dog," he muttered, "did you let him out?" "Sir," said Harper, shaking him gently, "I called an ambulance, and you'll be all right soon." "The clock turned red," the man on the floor grunted again, and then began to cough, a series of piercing bursts, thick mucus splattered from the mouth, and then trailed in long filaments.Harper stepped back quickly, making a hopeless grimace. "Better roll over," Vic said, "or he'll suffocate." They were about to do so when the coughing changed to a howling and breathing resumed.He slowly opened his eyes, scanning the people staring at him from above one by one. "This is where?" "Arnett. You knocked out my gas pump," and then, hastily added, "But it's okay, it's all insured." The man on the floor tried to sit up, but failed.He reached out a hand and put it on Harper's shoulder to stabilize himself. "My wife and my little daughter..." "They're all right," Harper said, grinning like a dog. "I seem to be very ill," the man said.The cough is slow and sometimes urgent, and the breathing is also sometimes absent. "They're sick too. We left two days ago, from Salt Lake City..." He slowly closed his eyes again. "I'm sick, I still can't go in time..." They could hear the siren of Arnett's ambulance, still far away but getting closer. The patient's swollen eyes opened again.They now feel a strong sense of concern.He struggled to sit up again, beads of sweat rolling down his face.He grabbed Harper sharply. "Are Sally and Laffoon all right?" he asked.Spit stars splashed out, and Harper could feel the heat radiating from the man.He was sick, deranged, and reeking.Reminds Harper of the smell that old blankets used to cover dogs sometimes smell. "They're all right," said Harper, looking agitated. "You just lie down and relax, okay?" The man lay down again, breathing more rapidly.Harp and Hank helped him turn on his side, breathing more evenly. "I was fine until last night," he said, "except for a cough. I woke up coughing again in the night. Can't walk fast enough. Is the child all right?" The voice gradually weakened, and no one could hear what he said at the end. The ambulance and siren are getting closer.Stu went to the window and peered while the others continued to gather around the man on the floor. "What's the matter with him, Vic, do you know?" asked Harper. Vic shook his head, "I don't know." "Could have eaten something," Norman Brueter said. "Car with California plates. They probably ate a lot at a roadside diner. Maybe a poisoned hamburger. Possibly." The ambulance came in, skirted the rammed Chevrolet, and stopped in front of the gas station.The red light overhead spun wildly.It was completely dark. "Give me your hand, and I'll pull you out!" The man on the floor yelled suddenly, and then fell silent. "Food poisoning," Vic said. "Yeah, I hope so, because..." "Why?" Hank asked. "Because other than that, it can only be an infectious disease." Vic looked at them with a flustered expression. "I've seen cholera in 1958, around Nogales, it looked like this." Three people came in, pushing a stretcher. "Harpo," one of them said, "you're lucky you didn't blow up your gas station. Is that the guy?" Everyone stepped aside to let them in. Billy, Monty, and Carlos were all acquaintances. "There's two more in the car," said Harper, pulling Monty aside. "The woman and the little girl are dead." "A crime, really?" "Yes, the man doesn't know yet. Are you sending him to Braintree?" "Probably." Monty looked at him, a little at a loss, "What about the two in the car? Harp, I don't know what to do." "Stu will call the patrol. I'll go with your car, okay?" "of course can." As they moved the man onto the stretcher, Harper stepped up to Stu's side as they pushed out. "I'm going to Braintree with this guy, can you call the patrolman?" "Row." "And Mary, tell her what happened here." "OK." Harper trotted into the ambulance.Billy closed the door behind him and called the other two into the car.They were looking at the Chevrolet with curiosity. After a while, the ambulance drove out, the siren screamed, and the red light flashed like blood, flashing non-stop.Stu went to the phone and put in the fifteen cents. The man in the Chevrolet died 2 kilometers from the hospital.He took his last breath in deeply, let it out, then took another small breath, and then died. Harper took his wallet from his coat pocket and looked at it.Inside was $187 in cash.A California driver's license named Charlie B. Campion. A military ID, and plastic-covered photos of his wife and daughter.Harper didn't want to look at the pictures. He put the wallet back in the dead man's pocket and told Carlos to turn off the siren. It is already 9:10.