Chapter 7 Chapter 6

It was about five or six o'clock in the afternoon when Franny came out of the house, and saw her father squatting in the bean field, concentrating on pulling weeds.My father is old and has a son. Now he is over 60 years old. He always wears a softball cap on his head, and his gray hair is exposed under the cap.Her mother lived in Portland and made a living selling gloves.Franny's best childhood friend, Amy Lauder, is due to marry early next month. She looked down at her father's back, her eyes full of love.There was something especially peaceful about the early afternoon sun in Maine in the early summer, and she loved it.She still remembers the sunshine in January, which always made her feel strong heartache.In the early summer afternoon, when the sky is getting dark, it will bring back countless good memories.She thought of the softball field at Little Rigg Park, where her father used to play; the sweet watermelon, the fresh corn, the cool iced tea, and her childhood.

Franny cleared her throat: "Can you help me?" He turned his head, a smile flitting across his mouth. "Here we go, Franny. See me, don't you?" "Probably saw it." "Is your mother back?" He frowned slightly, and then his face returned to joy. "It must be because she didn't, so she left. Quick, come here if you want to help. Don't forget to wash your hands when you go back." "Look at a woman's hands first." Frannie snorted a laugh as she teased her.Peter tried to look angry, but it didn't quite look like it. She squatted down in a field next to him and began to pull weeds.The sparrows were chirping non-stop, and the roar of cars coming and going could be faintly heard from Highway 1 in the distance.If it was July, the noise would be unbelievable, and there would be a serious accident or two every now and then.

Peter opened up and told her about his day.Franny listened carefully, not missing a moment to insert a few questions or nod.He was so engrossed in his work that he wouldn't notice her nodding, but he could see her nodding from the corner of his eye.He works as a mechanic in a large auto parts factory of Sanford Corporation. He is 64 years old and will retire in a year.The year wasn't too long since he had saved up 4 weeks of vacation and planned to finish it in September when her mother came home.He felt uneasy at the thought of retirement.He told her that he tried not to think of retirement as one long vacation; that he would have friends in retirement who would tell him that retirement was not bad.He didn't think he'd be bored like Harlan Enders, or down and out like the Cuarons--poor Paul Carrons, who'd hardly missed a day's work in his life, and who ended up being a mess. Still not in shape, I had no choice but to sell my house and move in with my daughter and son-in-law.

Peter Goldsmith has always been dissatisfied with the Social Security system. He has never believed in Social Security, and it has always been the case before Social Security was reconciled with depression, inflation, and unemployment.He told his daughter that in the 1930s and 1940s, the Democratic Party in Maine had no influence, but her grandfather was a Democrat, and her grandfather also educated her father to be a Democrat.During Ogunquit's heyday, the Goldsmiths were almost social pariahs, but his father had a catchphrase that matched the creed of the Maine Republican Party: Don't trust elites, they won't Let you have a good life, so to overthrow their government, never give up until the goal is achieved.

Franny laughed.She liked it when her father spoke like that.He wasn't always like that, because the woman—his wife, her mother—would have her knife mouth to silence him. You have to believe in yourself, he went on, and get the elites to be as kind as possible to the people who elected them.Usually it's not possible to please everyone, but that's all right, each other is equal, and no one owes anyone else. "It's money," he told Frannie. "Will Rogers said land is money because it doesn't get bigger, and it's the same with gold and silver. Money lovers are nasty villains. "People who don't know how to love money are fools, not hateful, but pitiful."

Franny guessed he was thinking of poor Paul Caron, who had been a friend of his father's before Franny was born.She refrained from asking. She didn't want her father to tell her how she had saved money to support the family in good times.He only said that she had never been a burden to them both, in good times and bad;Her mother didn't understand this.Times have changed for women, whether they like the change or not.But Kara couldn't figure it out. Franny was going to school, not looking for wild men outside. Peter said: "She saw that Amy Lauder was married and she thought, 'It should be our Franny. Amy is beautiful, but standing with our Franny, Then she'll be compared. 'Your mother has been an old brain all her life, and she can't change it now. So it's not surprising that you often have to be a little bit awkward with her. No one is wrong. But you have to remember, Franny, she's old and nothing will change, but you've grown up, and you should understand that."

Peter brought the topic back to his own work.He said that it was in a small printing factory. A colleague almost smashed his little finger. At that time, he lost his mind, but the finger was under the stamp. Lister Crowley is gone.He sighed, as if remembering that he, too, had left there afterwards.Then his voice was full of interest again.He told her he had an idea to hide the car antenna under the hood. He rambled on and on, very energetically.The shadows of the two became longer and longer, and the field row in front of them moved forward.The sight made her feel at peace.She had come to tell him something, but since she was very young, whenever she had something to say, she always listened to him first.She didn't dislike him, and as far as she knew, no one ever complained about him, except maybe her mother.He likes to talk and is good at talking.

She began to notice that he had stopped talking and was now sitting on a rock in the field, smoking his pipe and watching her work. "What are you thinking, Franny?" She stared at him blankly for a while, not knowing how to speak.She was going to tell him, but now she didn't know if she could say it.Neither of them uttered a word, just kept silent like this, and she finally couldn't bear this kind of silence. "I'm pregnant." She said simply. He stopped filling his pipe and looked her over. "Pregnant?" he said, as if he had never heard the word. "Oh, Franny, are you kidding, or are you..."

"It's true, Dad." "Come here, sit here with me." She walked over obediently and sat beside him.She felt a throbbing in her temples and a faint nausea in her stomach. "Really sure?" he asked. "I'm sure," she replied, sobbing involuntarily.He put an arm around her and paused for a long time.When the tears stopped, she reluctantly asked a question that was pressing in her heart. "Do you still love me, Daddy?" "What?" He looked at her, confused. "Love, the same as before." After hearing this, she began to cry again.This time he ignored it, and smoked his pipe one puff at a time.Under the breeze blowing, the smoke slowly drifted in the air.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked. "I don't know. I've never been through anything like this. I don't know what to do. Is that Jesse?" She nodded. "Did you tell him?" She nodded again. "How did he say?" "He said marry me. Or pay me to have an abortion." "Marry or abort," said Peter Goldsmith to himself, taking a drag on his cigarette. "He's not one-dimensional." She looked down at her hands on the top of her jeans, which had some dirt on them. "Look at the hands first when looking at a woman." The words that her mother often said often came to her mind again.The daughter is pregnant.I have to get out of the church.look at women...

My father said: "I didn't want to ask more about other people's private affairs. Did he or you not pay attention?" "I took the pill," she said, "and it didn't work." "If it wasn't for the two of you, I wouldn't have much to say. I really wouldn't blame anyone. What a person looks like at 21 can't be remembered at 64. So let's not Let me elaborate." She felt a stone in her heart fall to the ground. "Your mother can blah, blah, blah. I can't keep her from talking, but I'm not booing her. Do you understand?" She nodded.Father had long since lost the intention of bickering with mother, at least he would not make a scene.He once told Frannie that his mother's mouth was not forgiving, if she said anything or someone said something, she would definitely miss the mark, and it would be too late to regret it after her words hurt someone.Frannie felt that her father might have faced two choices many years ago: Either fight against her and end up in a divorce; or she had to give way to her everywhere.He chose the latter, but he has his own opinions. She asked softly, "Dad, are you sure you won't think about it?" "You mean follow your mind?" "I have no idea." "What are you going to do?" "To mom?" "No, to yourself, Franny." "I have no idea." "Marry him? Two people live as much as one, that's what they say." "I don't want to marry. I don't think I love him anymore. Maybe I did." "Because of the child?" His pipe was smoking hot, and there was a lovely fragrance in the summer air.The crickets began to beep. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with the baby. Anyway, it's already there. Jesse, he..." She was in the middle of the sentence.She wanted to scold Jesse, because the sudden arrival of the child had her problems, and Jesse naturally couldn't get rid of it, but she never thought about it in the past.If you rush into marriage, you will regret it sooner or later.This is a catchphrase of her mother. "He's a weak man," she said. "I can't quite tell." "Don't you trust him a lot, Franny?" "Yes," she said.She felt that her father had seen the root of the problem by this time.She really doesn't trust Jesse. "Jesse's a nice guy. He wants to do better, he's doing okay. But …Two semesters ago, we attended a poetry reading.The man who read the poem was Ted Enslin.many people.Everyone listened very carefully, very seriously.But I...you know me..." He stretched out an arm and wrapped it gently around her. "Frannie laughed." "Yeah, that's right. Let me just say, you know me very well." "Know a little bit," he said. "I don't know why, I mean, I just laughed anyway. I kept thinking: 'This sloppy, this sloppy, let's all hear a sloppy read poetry.' The poetry reads in cadence, like It's like listening to singing on the radio. I just laughed, I didn't mean to. It has nothing to do with Mr. Enslin's poems. Pretty funny." She glanced at her father to see his reaction.He just nodded slightly, motioning her to continue. "Anyway, I can't sit still. I have to go. Jesse lost his temper with me. I know he has his reasons for losing his temper... I'm too childish, my mind is too childish, really. But I It’s often like this. I can do well in whatever I have to do.” "Yes, you can do well." "But sometimes..." "Sometimes Kim Raff knocks and you don't turn him away," said Peter. "I don't think so. But Jessie would do that. If we were married, he'd come home every now and then to see if I'd let the unwelcome guest in. Not every day, though. A few times is enough for him to lose his temper. That's when I'll have to try hard... I guess..." "I don't think you'll be happy," Peter said, holding her tightly. "I don't think I'll be happy," she said. "Then don't change your mind just because of your mother." She closed her eyes, feeling more at ease in her heart.It's kind of amazing that he can understand everything. "What do you think of my abortion?" she asked after a while. "I think that's the real question." She gazed at him in astonishment. With a smug smile as if he had seen through the sky, he raised his thick left eyebrow slightly.Even so, she still felt that he was very serious. "Perhaps so," she replied slowly. "Listen," he said, but broke off inexplicably.She was really listening, her ears filled with the chirping of sparrows and crickets, the distant roar of planes and the din of cars. Just as she was about to speak, he grabbed her hand and said, "Frannie, Dad is indeed old, and there's nothing I can do about it. I didn't get married until 1956." He watched her thoughtfully. "Kara wasn't what she is now. She was, at least she was young. After your brother Frey died, she changed. People started to age. She never grew up after Frey died. Yeah. That might be a little off-putting, but don't think I'm speaking ill of your mother. I think Carla never grows up after Freddie dies. She always wears Wearing a thick layer of tinted glasses, I thought it was good." "What was she like then, Dad?" "This..." He pondered for a moment, then silently looked out of the garden. "She's just like you, Franny. Loves to laugh. We used to go to Boston to see the Red Sox play, and she'd hang out with me in the seventh inning and have a beer at the food stand." "Mom...can drink beer?" "I know how to drink. When the 9th inning was played, she spent most of the time in the bathroom. After she came out, she yelled at me, saying that I let her delay a very exciting game. In fact, she had to go to the next game. She is the one who drinks at the food stand." Franny tried hard to imagine her mother holding a glass of beer in one hand, looking up at her father like a girl in love looking up from ear to ear.But she found it impossible to imagine. "She has never been pregnant." He said thoughtfully. "We went to the doctor together to check who was wrong with the two. The doctor said that both of them were normal. Then in 1960, you were born. Brother Frey. Your mother loves it so much. Frey is her father's name, you know that. She had a miscarriage in 1965, we all thought it was the last. And then you in 1969, a month premature , but everything is normal. I like you very much. We all have children we like, but Frey is dead." He didn't make a sound anymore, with a painful expression on his face.Frey Goldsmith died in 1973, when he was 13 and Franny was 4.The man who hit Frey with his car was driving under the influence and had committed multiple violations.Frey died seven days later. "I think abortion sounds so good," said Peter Goldsmith slowly, as if every word hurt him. "I think it's almost deliberate infanticide. I'm sorry, I shouldn't say this, I'm too rigid, and anyway, you have to think about it now. As I said, I'm old." "You're not old, Daddy," she murmured. "Old, old." He suddenly became very rude, looking distraught. "I'm old and preoccupied with pointing out young people. A DUI driver took the life of my son 17 years ago and my wife has been insane ever since. When I think about abortion I think of Frey , there is no way, like you can't help laughing out loud at a poetry reading. Your mother will object with a straight line. She will say, this is a moral issue. This is a morality with a 2,000-year-old tradition. The right to life. The whole morality of us westerners is based on the right to life. I only saw Frey. He had internal injuries and there was no way he could be saved. I saw Frey. He was in bed for 7 days, covered in bruises Bandages. Human life is cheap, and with abortion, human life is even cheaper. I read more books than her, but Frey's death made her think more than I. What we do, what we think—these sometimes It's all too arbitrary. I can't forget this incident. It's like a lump in my throat. I don't know why. A lot of logical things are deduced from absurdity, deduced from belief. Am I talking nonsense?" "I don't want to have an abortion." She said softly, "I have my reasons." "What's the point?" "The child is the flesh of my body." She raised her chin slightly and said, "Even if I only think about myself, I don't care." "Are you going to give up?" "I have no idea." "Do you want to?" "No. I'm going to have it." He doesn't speak anymore.She seemed to feel that he was a little disappointed. "You're thinking about my studies, aren't you?" "No." As he spoke, he stood up, put his hands on his back, and his knuckles creaked a few times. "I was thinking, we've had a long conversation. You don't have to make a decision right now." "Mum's back," she said. He followed her gaze.Carla's car pulled up the drive in the afterglow of dusk.Carla saw them, honked her horn a few times, and waved her arms vigorously at them. "I've got to tell her," Franny said. "Yes. But in a day or two, Franny." "Ok." She helped him pack his tools, and then they walked towards the car together.