Chapter 13 Chapter 12

In the far corner of the living room stood a grandfather clock.Frannie Goldsmith grew up listening to the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.It judged the room, the room Franny had never liked, the room she hated even on a day like today. Her favorite room was her father's studio, a small space between the main house and the barn, with a small door, no more than five feet high, almost hidden by the old wooden conservatory in the kitchen.This door alone gave rise to infinite reverie: it was so small and hidden, and behind it seemed to be a fairyland of fairy tales and fantasies.Later, she grew up and grew taller, and she had to bow her head like her father when passing through this small door.Her mother never set foot in the workshop unless absolutely necessary.It was an Alice's Adventures in Wonderland door, and for a time her "game"—a secret even her father refused to tell—was to imagine that one day she would open the door and find Peter Goldsmith's studio suddenly disappeared without a trace.Then you will find another underground passage from Wonderland to Hobbiton, a low but comfortable tunnel with rounded side walls and a roof made of earth, with strong tree roots crisscrossing the roof. , Whichever piece you touch, it will leave a mark on your head.There is no damp earth and air, no nasty bugs and earthworms in the tunnel, but a scent of camphor trees and baked apple pie that will take you to the front pantry, where , Mr Bilbo Baggins is throwing his 101st birthday party for himself

... Of course, the cozy tunnel never came, but for Frannie Goldsmith growing up in the house, having the workshop (sometimes called the "tool room" by her father and the "tool room" by her mother) for "Dirty Places Where Your Dad Gets Beer") would suffice.There were odd tools and oddly shaped little toys, huge cabinets with a thousand drawers, each of which was stuffed to the brim with nails, nuts, blades, sandpaper (three types of sandpaper: fine, medium and thick), planes, levels, and all the things she couldn't name then and still can't.The light in the workshop is very dim, with only a 40-watt light bulb hanging from the roof hanging from the roof, the light is always aimed at the figure of the father working.The room smelled of dust and oil and pipe smoke, and she seemed to have a rule now: every father must smoke.Pipes, cigars, cigarettes, marijuana, Indian marijuana, lettuce, anyway, there is no escape from the word "smoke", because the smell of smoke was an indispensable part of her childhood.

"Hand me that wrench, Franny. Not the small one. What did you do at school today? . . . did you? . . . So why did Rhodes push you down? . . . Yeah, very Bad bruises. Matches the color of your dress though, don't you think? Now you just have to find Rhodes and let her push you down one more time and bruise the other leg, so the two sides will be symmetrical .Pass me that big screwdriver, will you? . . . No, the yellow one." "Frannie Goldsmith! Get out of that filth right now! Change your school uniform! Get on! You're going to be filthy again!" Even now, at 21, she bends through that door and catches the stars standing between her father's workbench and the old Ben Franklin stove that was snoozingly warm that winter A little bit of Franny Goldsmith growing up in this room.It was an unreal feeling, almost always with a touch of melancholy, remembering her little brother, Frey, who had died young, how strong he had grown up and flew away like a kite with a broken string .She stood there smelling the pervasive smell of oil, damp mustiness, and the faint smoke of her father's pipe.She could hardly remember what a little, little little girl she had been then, but when she was away from this place, she remembered it sometimes, and it was a pleasant feeling.

But now let’s talk about the living room. living room. If the workshop was like the hallucinatory smell of her father's pipe (he sometimes puffed it gently into her ear when she had an earache, but he'd always made her promise not to tell Carla first, because If she found out, she would be furious), is a symbol of childhood happiness, and the living room represents all the childhood memories you want to forget forever.Keep your mouth shut when not talking to you!Remember to eat but not to fight!Go upstairs and change immediately, don't you think it's inappropriate to wear this?Is your brain made of wood?Don't pick your clothes, Frannie, they'll think you've got fleas.What would your Uncle Andrew and Aunt Karena think?You have lost all my face! ... In the living room, you must keep silent; in the living room, you want to tickle but can't; The most unbearable thing was that I even had to hold back my yawn.

The centerpiece of the living room was the clock, the one that haunted her mother's mind.The clock was brought home by Carla's grandfather, Tobbins Bowen, in 1889, and almost immediately thereafter was regarded as a family heirloom, changing over the years, carefully wrapped and insured each time, as the family moved from one to the other. place moved to another place (this clock was born in Buffalo, New York, at a workshop called Tobias, which smelled of smoke and filth no less than Peter's workshop, although it (a comparison Carla would have dismissed as irrelevant if she had heard it), and the clock was sometimes moved from one part of the house to another when someone in the family died of cancer, a heart attack or an accident.Ever since Peter and Carla moved into the house some 36 years ago, the clock has stood in the living room, faithfully keeping its post, ticking, ticking, dividing the prosaic hours Come.The clock would be hers one day if she wanted to, Franny had thought seriously as she watched her mother's pale, shocked face.But I don't want it!I don't want it, and I won't!

In this room, there are dried flowers under a glass clock, a dove-gray rug inlaid with dark red roses, and an elegant oriel window overlooking Highway 1 below the mountain, with a large expanse between the road and the garden. The water wax hedge, which Kara, with an indomitable enthusiasm, kept urging her husband to plant when the gas station first appeared on the corner of the road.Once the hedge was planted, she urged her husband with undiminished enthusiasm to find a way to make it grow faster.Franny thought that if the radioactive fertilizer could help her grow, she would never abandon it.As the hedge grew taller, the noise of Carla's protests about the succulent tree gradually diminished, and it is estimated that in another two years or so, the noise will completely disappear, because by then, the height of the hedge will put that annoying gas on the tree. Standing completely covered, so that this sacred living room from desecration.

At least, the noise about the topic will die down. The pattern of huge green leaves and red flowers on the wallpaper was almost as dull as the roses on the carpet.Early American furniture and a set of dark mahogany double doors.A fireplace for display only, next to the fireplace is always spotless on the red brick floor, and a piece of birch is invariably placed.From Frannie's point of view, the piece of wood must have been as dry as a newspaper.From the birch hung a huge pot, big enough for a child to bathe in it.The jar had been passed down from Franny's great-grandmother, and it hung immutably on that everlasting piece of birch.Above the mantelpiece, ending this part of the picture, is the unchanging flintlock.

The ordinary time is divided into minutes and seconds. One of her earliest memories is of urinating on the dove-gray rug with the dark red roses.She was about three years old at the time, and had not yet undergone extensive training, and probably had not been allowed into the parlor reserved for important occasions, since young children have more chances of causing accidents.But somehow she went in, and then saw her mother sprinting over, grabbed her, and wanted to stop her before the fatal thing happened, but she couldn't hold it anymore, the pigeons around her butt The gray carpet slowly turned dull gray, and her mother screamed.The stain was finally washed away, but who knows how many patient washes?Maybe God knows, not Frannie Goldsmith anyway.

That time, Franny and Norman Burstein hid in the barn, their clothes were piled on the hay on one side, and they were bumped into by their mother when they were observing each other. Those who lecture are stern, unambiguous, and tireless in detail.When the mundane time was fragmented by the solemn ticking of the grandfather clock, Kara asked her, if you would take a naked walk on National Highway 1, would you like it?What will happen then? Six-year-old Franny began to cry, but she could not explain why, and she finally suppressed the approaching hysterical attack. When she was 10 years old, she was riding on a bicycle, turned her head to talk to Georgiat, and bumped into the mailbox.Her head was broken, her nose was bleeding, her knees were scratched, and there was a burst of gold stars in front of her eyes.After regaining consciousness, she staggered home down the driveway, tearful and horrified by the amount of blood she was bleeding from herself.She was going to ask her father for help, but her father went to work, so she had to stumble into the living room.Her mother was making tea for Mrs Werner and Mrs George.go out!she screamed.Then she ran and hugged Franny, and cried, "Oh, Franny, oh dear, what's the matter, look at your poor nose!" But she led Franny to the kitchen anyway, because The floors there are not afraid of being stained with blood.Despite her soft soothing voice, Franny will never forget that her first reaction was not "Oh, Franny!" but "Get out!" Odd time can pass minute by minute, while blood has no right to flow.Mrs. George will never forget this scene, and although Franny's eyes were blurred with tears, she caught a glimpse of the shocked and disbelieving expression on the lady's face at that moment.After that, Mrs. George almost never came to the door again.

In the first grade of junior high school, her conduct was rated as "poor" on the report card, so she was naturally invited into the living room to discuss this comment with her mother.In the year she graduated from high school, she was invited into this living room again because of her record of staying in school three times.The drawing room is the place where Franny's ideals are discussed, and her ideals here always seem to be dismissed as shallow; Discuss Franny's grievances, and her grievances here seem to be all vexations, not to mention her crying, whining, and dissatisfaction.

The living room is also where her brother's coffin is placed. Roses, chrysanthemums and lilies of the valley are placed on the brackets, and the room is full of fragrance, and in that corner, the grandfather clock with an expressionless face sticks to its post, ticking, ticking, every minute Divide the ordinary time. "You're pregnant," Carla repeated again. "Yes, Mom." Her voice was dry, but she didn't allow herself to lick her dry lips. Instead, she squeezed them shut.She thought: In my father's workshop, there's a little girl in red, and she'll always be there, laughing, hiding under desks, behind tool cabinets with a thousand drawers, scabbed Knees against chest.That is a happy girl.But in my mother's living room, there was a much smaller little girl who couldn't resist pissing on the rug like a nasty puppy.A nasty little bitch.She'll always be there too, no matter how much I want her gone. "Oh, Franny," her mother said, very fast.She propped one cheek with one hand, like an offended girl. "How did this happen?" It's the same question that Jessie asked.She was really irritated that her problems were the same as his. "Since you've had two babies yourself, Mom, I think you know how it happens." "Don't make excuses for me!" Kara shouted.Her eyes were wide with anger, and her eyes almost burst into flames. That formation once made Franny's heart tremble when she was a child.She stood up very quickly (a movement that had also made Franny's heart skip a beat).It was a tall woman with gray hair elegantly tied in a topknot topped with a hair ornament, often the work of a skilled beautician.Tall, in a smart green coat and a perfect pair of beige trousers.She went to the mantelpiece, as was her custom when troubled.She stands there.Beneath the flintlock was a large scrapbook.Kara was a half-amateur genealogist, and her whole family was contained in that book...at least from as far back as 1638, when the first documented ancestor of the family had been raised from an unknown family in London. Prominent among the people, an old church contains his name: Merton Downs, Freemason. Four years ago, her family tree was published in The New England Genealogist, and Kara was the editor. Now she fingered the carefully crafted book, a safe place no one could set foot in.Are there no thieves among those names?No alcoholics?No unmarried mothers?Franny is suspicious. "How could you do this to me and your father?" she asked finally. "Is that Jesse?" "Yes. Jesse is the father." "How could you do such a thing?" Carla repeated. "We did everything we could to bring you up the right path. It's really..." She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. "How could you do such a thing?" she cried. "Anyway, we have done so much for you. Is this your reward? You went out with... with a man... like a man in heat Bitch? You are shameless! Shameless!" Her sobs turned to whimpers, and she leaned against the mantelpiece, shielding her eyes with one hand while she fumbled with the other on the green cloth cover of the scrapbook.The grandfather clock in the corner went on as always, tick, tick, tick. "Mother!" "Don't talk to me! You've said enough!" Franny stood stiffly.If wood trembles, her legs are nothing more than two pieces of wood.Tears began to well up in their sockets, and she let them flow freely.She didn't want this room to weigh her down again. "I'm leaving." "You eat our food!" Cara yelled at her suddenly, "We loved you so much...raised you...this is what we got in return! Shameless! Shameless!" Tears blurred Franny's vision.She stumbled forward, her right foot tripped over her left ankle, and she lost her balance.She fell to the ground, her head banging on the coffee table, and a vase was carried by her hands to the rug.The vase was not broken, but water was gurgling from it, and the dove-gray rug had turned a dull gray. "Look!" Carla shrieked, almost triumphantly.The tears formed black depressions under her eyes and left two trails on her made-up face.She looked haggard and hysterical. "Look! You've ruined the rug. It's your grandmother's rug!" Frannie was sitting on the floor, dumbfounded and covering her head with her hands, still crying.She wanted to tell her mother that it was just water, but now she had completely lost her confidence and was not sure if it was really just water.Is it just water?Or is it urine?what is it? In another nervous jerk, Carla grabbed the vase and waved it in front of Franny's eyes. "What's your next step, miss? Do you want to stay here forever? Do you expect us to feed you, house you, and fill you up in town? I think that's what you mean. Well, don't think about it." Don't think about it! I won't say yes. I won't say yes!" "I don't want to stay here," murmured Franny, "do you think I would?" "Where are you going? To live with him? I guess that's it." "Go to Dorchester for Bobby Lengleton, or Somersworth for Debbie Smith, I suppose." Frannie picked herself up slowly, and stood up. Come.She's still crying, but she's also starting to lose her mind at the same time. "It has nothing to do with you." "Nothing to do with me?" Carla repeated, still clutching the vase.Her face was as white as paper, "I have nothing to do with me? You are under my roof, and you still say you have nothing to do with me? You ungrateful little bitch!" She slapped Franny, hard.Franny swung her head back.She took her hand from her head, covered her cheek, and looked at her mother in disbelief. "We sent you to a good school, and that's what we got in return," Carla said, grinning grimly grimly. "Now you'll never have a chance of graduating. When you marry him..." "I'm not going to marry him. And I'm not going to leave school." Kara's eyes widened.She stared at Franny as if something was wrong with Franny's head. "What did you say? Abortion? You mean abortion? Are you going to kill the child like a whore?" "I'm going to have my baby. I'll have to take a break this semester in the spring, but I can finish my studies by next summer." "What do you want to do with your education? Spend my money? That's a pretty good idea of ​​yours. A modern girl like you doesn't need to be supported by parents, does she?" "I can support myself," Frannie said easily, "Money...I can earn it myself." "You are so shameless! You don't think about others at all, you only think about yourself!" Kara yelled, "God, how will your father and I see people in the future if you do this kind of thing! You don't care at all! Your father Will break my heart for you, and..." "It's not that serious." Peter Goldsmith's calm voice came from the door, and the two turned their eyes to him in unison.He stood far away in the doorway, his feet in work boots frozen in place not far from where the worn rug in the hallway met the precious rug in the living room.Franny suddenly realized that was exactly where she had seen her father stop so many times.When was the last time he was in the living room?She can't remember. "What are you doing here?" Carla asked sharply, and the worries about her husband's heart just now disappeared. "I thought you were working late in the afternoon." "Harry Master and I turned off the machine," Peter said. "Frannie told me, Carla. We're about to have a grandson." "Hold grandson!" she screamed.Then a terrible, vague laugh broke out of her throat. "You gave me the ball. She told you first, and you kept it from me. All right. That's what a good husband is. But now I'm going to close the door and let the two of us figure it out." She sneered bitterly at Franny. "Only... us 'women'." She grabbed the handle of the living room door and closed it.Frannie watched, still dumbfounded, unable to comprehend her mother's sudden outburst of rage and viciousness. Slowly, reluctantly, Peter put his hand out against the half-closed door. "Peter, I want you to leave it to me." "I know you want that. I've gone with you in the past. Not this time, Kara." "It's none of your business." "You're wrong." He replied calmly. "dad!" Carla turned to her, red cheekbones standing out against her paper-pale face. "Don't talk to him!" she screamed. "It's not him you're dealing with this time! I know that no matter how weird your idea is, you can convince him to believe you, and you can use it to poke a hole in the sky." You tricked him into supporting you with sweet words, but it's not him you're going to deal with today, miss!" "Okay, Carla." "go out!" "I didn't go in. You see." "How dare you make fun of me! Get the hell out of my living room!" Before she finished speaking, she had already started pushing the door.She arched her back and pressed her shoulders like a fighting bull.At first, he pushed the door against it easily, then had to use some effort, and finally got a vein in his neck, even though she was only a woman, a woman who weighed 70 pounds less than him. Franny wanted to scream, so that they would stop, so that her father would get out of here, so that the two of them would not have to face Carla's face again: the irrational venom that had been looming over her all of a sudden overwhelmed her. , her lips were tightly shut, like rusty hinges on a door. "Get out! Get out of my living room! Get out! Get out! Get out! You bastard, let go of the damn door and get out!" At that very moment, he hit her. The voice was not crisp, almost unnoticeable.The grandfather clock was not disturbed by the sound, it ticked, ticked, ticked as always, at its never-changing pace.Nor did the furniture groan at the sound.But Kara's roar stopped abruptly, as if the roar met a sharp scalpel.She knelt down on the ground, the door that had lost its external force was fully opened, and lightly touched the Victorian high-back chair with patterns embroidered on the armrest. "No, oh, no," Franny said in a low voice, like a wounded bird. Carla put one hand to her cheek and stared straight at her husband. "I've endured it for 10 years, maybe more, and I've reached the end of it," Peter said.His voice trembled. "I keep telling myself, I don't hit you because I don't approve of hitting women. I never do that. But when a person, whether it's a man or a woman, turns into a dog and starts biting, then other people Had to dodge it. I just hope, Kara, that I have the courage to leave you sooner. It will hurt you and me less." "dad!" "Shh, Franny!" he stopped gently.She fell silent. "You said she was selfish," Peter said, continuing to look down at his wife's still, utterly shocked face. "Actually, you are the one who is selfish. Since Frey's death, you have stopped caring about Franny, because you concluded that the more love you give, the more you will be hurt, so you think it's better to just It's safer to live for yourself. That's where you start, everything you do. This house. You care about every dead person in your family, but you ignore only the living. When she walked into this When I come to tell you about her difficulties and ask for your help, I dare say the first thing that comes to your mind is what the ladies of the garden club will say, or whether it will affect your participation in Amy Lauder's Weddings. Hurt can be a reason to change, but all the hurt in the world won't change the fact. You've always been selfish." He reached out to help her.She stood up, sleepwalking.His face still retains the previous expression; his eyes are still wide open, filled with disbelief.The coldness has not yet returned to this face, but Frannie faintly feels that it will only happen in an instant. really. "It's my fault for always accommodating you, because I wanted to avoid any unpleasantness, because I wanted to keep the marriage boat. You see, I was also selfish. Then Franny went to school, and I thought, well, Cara can Do as she pleases, and she doesn't hurt anyone but herself. Although people don't know when they hurt others, oh, they probably think they don't hurt others. But I was wrong. I used to It's always been wrong, but it's never been as serious as this time." He stretched out his hands, gently but firmly, and grabbed Carla's shoulders. "Listen: I'm speaking to you now as a husband. If Franny needs a place to stay, she can have it here as before. If she needs money, she can take it from my purse as before. Makes no difference. If she decides to have this baby, look, she'll have her own baby shower too. You'd think no one would come, but she's got friends, best friends, and they're bound to come Yes. I'll tell you one more thing. If she wants a baby to be christened, it's in this house. In this damn parlor." Carla opened her mouth and voices began to come out of it.At first it was a strange sound, like a teapot chugging on a fire, and then it broke into a high-pitched whine. "Peter, your own son lies in the coffin in this house!" "Yes. So I can't think of a better place to baptize a new life," he said, "Frey's blood, living blood. As for Frey, he died many years ago, Carla. His body has already become food for worms." She screamed and covered her ears with her hands.He leaned over and took her hand away. "But the worm hasn't eaten your daughter and your daughter's baby. It doesn't matter how the baby got here, what matters is that it's a living being. You're acting like you're trying to drive your daughter away, Carla. If If you do this, what will you have? You will have nothing but this house and a husband who hates you for it. If you drive your daughter away, you will lose the three of us, and you will lose the Ray lost me and Franny." "I want to go upstairs and lie down," Carla said. "I feel sick. I think I'd better lie down." "I'll help you," Franny said. "You don't touch me. Go find your dad. Seems like you and him can make things work out perfectly. In this town, you're going to ruin me. You'll break into my living room and throw mud on the rug , put ashes in my clock, Franny? Why not? Why?" She laughed, pushed Peter past him, and entered the hall.She was crooked like a drunk alcoholic.Peter tried to wrap his arms around her shoulders and she bared her teeth and hissed at him like a cat. Relying on the mahogany railing, she slowly climbed up the stairs step by step, the creepy laughter gradually turned into sobs; the sobs were mixed with a bit of tearing and helplessness, and Franny wanted to scream, want to Vomit.Her father's face was like a gray linen.On the stairs, Carla turned around, and the way she wobbled made Franny's heart rise in her throat. For a moment, Franny even felt that she was going to roll down entirely.She looked at them as if to speak, but finally she turned away.Moments later, the bedroom door closed with her heartbroken cries. Franny and Peter stared blankly at me and I at you, and the grandfather clock in the corner ticked nonchalantly. "Let it be," said Peter quietly, "she'll change her mind." "Yes?" Franny asked.She walked slowly up to her father, leaning against him, and Peter put his arms around her. "I don't think so." "Never mind. Let's not think about it now." "I have to get out of here. She won't let me stay here." "You have to stay. When she figures it out and finds that she still needs you to stay, she should be able to see you right away." He paused, "As for me, Franny, I need you now Leave." "Daddy!" she said, resting her head on his chest. "Oh, Dad, I'm sorry for you, I'm really sorry for you." "Shh," he stroked her hair with his hand, not letting her continue.Looking over the top of her head, he could see the afternoon sun pouring softly through the oriel window into the house, the golden, silent sun that shines on the museum as well as on heaven, as every day before. "Hush, Franny; I love you. I love you."