Chapter 19 Chapter 18

Nick opened the door between Sheriff Baker's office and the prison cell, and the prisoners started taunting him.Vince Hogan and Billy Warner are in the two cells the size of sardine cans to Nick's left.Mike Childress was in the cell immediately to the right, and the other cell was empty.Because Ray Booth escaped and was not caught. "Hey, dumb!" cried Childress. "Hey, you dumb! What will we do to you if we get out of here? Hmm? What will we do to you?" "I'm going to tear your eggs out myself and stuff them down your throat till I choke you to death," Billy Warner said to him. "You know what I mean?"

Only Vince Hogan didn't take part in the mockery.Mike and Billy weren't of much use to him on June 23, as they were being transported to the Kalber Center to be held pending trial.Sheriff Baker stood next to Vince, and Vince explained the situation exactly.Baker told Nick that he could charge these bastards, but when the charges went to the jury, it would be Nick against the three alone, or that if they caught Ray Booth, Nick would Against 4 people. During the last two days Nick had had a great deal of admiration for Justice John Baker.A former farmer who weighed 250 pounds, his constituents had earlier called him "Big Bad John."The kind of admiration Nick held for him wasn't because Baker had sent him sweeping the administration area to make up for his lost pay this week, but because he'd hunted down the men who beat and robbed him.In doing so, he seemed to treat Nick as one of the town's most respectable old residents rather than as a deaf-mute bum.In the south of the border, Nick knew many magistrates, and these magistrates often visited Nick on the labor camp or the prison road construction team for six months.

The two of them had driven to the sawmill where Vince Hogan worked, in Baker's personal car, an electric car, not the county police car.There's a gun under the bumper (Baker says, "the gun is always loaded and the safety is always off") and a light that Baker attaches to the bumper when he works in the police department.It was the same car he had been driving two days before when they turned into the sawmill parking area. Baker cleared his throat and spit out the window.He blew his nose again and wiped his red eyes lightly with a handkerchief.His voice had a rough, nasal quality.Nick couldn't hear, of course, but he didn't have to.It was obvious that he had a bad cold.

"If we see him, I'll grab his arm," Baker said, "and I'll ask you, 'Is this one of those?' You give me a nod of your head for yes. I don't care if he is or not. I want you to nod. Do you understand?" Nick nodded.He gets it. Vince was operating the wood planer, putting some rough planks into the machine, standing in the pile of shavings that nearly covered the tops of his work boots.He smiled unnaturally at John Baker, and glanced uneasily at Nick, who was standing next to the sheriff.Nick's face was pale. "Hey, Big John, what are you doing out with this old farmer?"

The rest of the sawmill watched, rolling their eyes from Nick to Vince to Baker to Nick, like a crowd watching some novel tennis match.One of them spit on the fresh shavings and wiped his chin with the palm of his hand. Baker grabs one of Vince's limp, tanned arms and pulls forward. "Hey! What's the matter, Big John?" Baker turned his head so Nick could see his lips, "Is this one of them?" Nick nodded firmly, and pointed at him. "What's this for?" Vince protested again. "I don't know the dumb guy at all." "So how do you know he's mute? Come on, Vince, you're going to the cubicle, baby. You can ask a kid to bring your braces."

Protesting, Vince was taken to the buggy and shoved into it.Protesting as he was being brought back to town.He was locked and stuffed for hours, still protesting constantly.Baker ignored him and read him his rights.He said to Nick, "Only fucking fools make trouble." When Baker returned at noon, Vince was frightened and hungry, and he was much more honest, and obediently told everything in one go. At 1 o'clock Mike Childress was taken to the cell, and then Baker caught Billy Warner at the house.At the time, Billy was packing his vintage Chrysler for a long trip, judging by the packed drink crates and bundled luggage.But someone sent Ray Booth a letter, and Ray slipped away quickly.

Baker took Nick home to meet his wife and have dinner together.In the car, Nick wrote on a note: "I'm so sorry for involving your brother-in-law in this. How is she going to take it?" "She'll make it," Baker said, his voice and the gesture of his body Almost all very orthodox. "I think she's going to cry a lot about him, but she knows what he is. And she knows that friends can be chosen, but loved ones are meant to be." Jenny Baker was a small, pretty woman.She did cry.Looking into her sunken eyes made Nick feel uncomfortable.But she shook his hand warmly and said, "Nice to meet you, Nick. I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I think I'm partly responsible for this."

Nick shook his head, rubbing his feet awkwardly on the ground. Baker said: "I got him a job in the neighborhood, and the gas station was gone because Bradley moved to Little Rock. Most of it was painting and digging. He had to do it anyway. Stay here for a while because... you know that." "Judgment, isn't it," she said. There was a silence that followed, a silence so heavy it even pained Nick a little. At this time, she forced a smile and said: "I hope you try the whiskey ham, Nick. There is also some corn and a big bowl of cabbage salad. Anyway, my cabbage salad can't match his mother's. He often does." Say."

Nick rubbed his belly and smiled. Over dessert (strawberry muffins—Nick ordered two, which he has seldom eaten for the past two weeks) Jenny Baker said to her husband: "Your cold seems to be getting worse. Baker, You take too much, don't eat so much, be careful to get fat." Baker looked at his plate for a moment as if he had done something wrong, then shrugged.He stroked his double chin. "I can live without a meal or two." Nick looked at them. One was so tall and the other was so petite that they could sleep in the same bed. They probably made do.He grinned, grinning, thinking.They seemed to be on good terms.Anyway, it's none of my business.

"You are also very red, do you have a fever?" Baker shrugged: "No burn...well, maybe a little." "Then you don't go out tonight. It's settled." "Honey, I want to see the prisoners. Even if they don't need special supervision, they need to eat and drink." Her tone was very firm: "Let Nick do it. You have to go to bed. Don't keep insomnia and insomnia talking endlessly." , It’s useless to say it all the time.” He softened and said, "But I can't send Nick, he's deaf. Besides, he's not my assistant." "Then you might as well make him your assistant at once."

"He doesn't have an account!" "If you don't tell me, I won't know," Jenny snapped at Baker.She got up and started clearing the table. "Then you go on with it, John." That's how Nick Andros went from a Shoyo prison inmate to Shoyo's judicial assistant in less than 24 hours.Just as he was about to go to the sheriff's office, Baker came down the hall, looking both monstrous and ghostly in a frayed bathrobe.He seemed ashamed to be seen in this attire. He said: "I don't want to wear it, but I can't tell her. I wouldn't wear it if I didn't feel unwell. My chest was tight and burned very badly the first two days of Christmas. I was too weak. " Nick nodded sympathetically. "I was stumped by the assistant thing. Bradley and his wife went to Rock Jr. after the baby died. SIDS. What a horrible thing. I can't blame them for leaving." Nick pointed to his chest and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. "Of course, you'll be fine. You're just doing normal care, you hear? There's a .45 in the third drawer of my desk, but you don't touch it. Don't take the key back either. Understand? " Nick nodded. "If you go back, stay away from them. If any of them try to pretend to be ill, you must not be fooled. It is the most common trick in the world. If any of them is ill, Dr. Soames can come in early in the morning." Conveniently see them. I'll be there then." Pulling a note from his pocket, Nick wrote: "I appreciate you trusting me. Thank you for locking them up and thank you for the job you gave me." Baker read the note carefully. "Boy, you're different. Where are you from? How can you come out like this?" "It's a long story," Nick wrote curtly, "and I'll write you the whole story tonight if you're interested." "Write it," Baker said, "I think you know I've got your name on it." Nick nodded.This is routine.But he is innocent. "I told Jenny to call a cab on the side of the highway. Those guys will complain about police brutality if they don't eat dinner." Nick wrote: "Let Jenny tell the motorist to drive straight in. Otherwise I can't hear him knocking on the door." "Okay." Baker hesitated for a long time. "You put the bed in the corner. The bed is hard, but it's clean. Nick, you have to be careful. If you're in trouble, you can't call for help." .” Nick nodded and wrote, "I can take care of myself." "Yes, I'm sure you can. I'll get someone from town, though, if I think any of them will..." Jenny came in and cut him off. "Why are you still nagging this poor guy? You let him go now, otherwise, my stupid brother will let all the prisoners go when he comes back." Baker smiled faintly and said, "I think, by now, he should be in Tennessee." He took a long breath, coughed vigorously, and coughed up a lot of phlegm. "I think I should go upstairs and lie down, Jenny." She said, "I'll get you some aspirin to bring your fever down." As she accompanied her husband upstairs, she turned to look at Nick. "Nice to meet you, Nick. Whatever the situation, you have to do as he said." Nick bowed to her and she made a half curtsy.He thought he saw the tears glisten in her eyes. About half an hour after Nick returned to the prison, a pimple-faced, curious young man in a dirty waiter's top brought three plates of dinner.Nick gestured to the waiter to put the plate on the bed, and Nick scribbled, "Paid?" The waiter read the line as intently as a college freshman, dealing with the eccentric. "Of course I paid," he said. "The Sharif's office keeps the bill. Hey, can't you talk?" Nick nodded. The waiter cursed "fuck" and hurried away as if a ghost had him. Nick took one plate at a time, poking each plate with the broom handle down the slot under the cell door. He looked in just in time, and Mike Childress yelled, "You fucking bastard." Nick smiled back and pointed his middle finger back. Childress grinned disapprovingly and said, "Dumb, I'm going to make you miserable. When I get out, see if I..." Nick turned and walked away, leaving the rest of the plates behind. He went back to his office, sat down in Baker's chair, pulled out a few pages of notes from the middle of his notebook, sat there thinking for a while, and began by writing: Nick Andros Biography He stopped writing and smiled.He has been to some interesting places, but he never imagined in his dreams that he would be sitting in the sheriff's office as a judicial clerk, in charge of the three men who beat him, and writing his life story.After a while, he started writing again: I was born on November 14, 1968 in Kaslin, Nebraska.My father was a relatively wealthy farmer.He and my mother were always saving money and they owned 3 banks.When my mother was 6 months pregnant with me, my father took her to see a doctor in town.The truck's hitch opened and they fell into a ditch.My dad had a heart attack and died. Anyway, 3 months later, my mom gave birth to me, and I was born this way.Losing her husband must have been another heavy blow to my mother. She ran the farm until 1973, losing it to the "big ranchers," as she always called them.She had no home and had to write letters to friends in Big Spring, Iowa.One of the friends got her a job in a bakery.We lived there until 1977, when a car accident took her life.She was walking home from get off work and was crossing the road when a man on a motorcycle hit her.It's not his fault, it's just his bad luck, the brakes don't work.He didn't speed up or do anything else.The Baptist gave a charitable funeral for my mother.The same Baptist Church of Mercy sent me to the Christian Orphanage in Moines.This is where the churches funded and built together, and that's where I learned to read and write... He stops his pen.His hand is a little sore from writing too much, but that's no excuse.As he relived all of this again, he felt uncomfortable, agitated, uncomfortable. He went back to the prison quarters to check it out.Childress and Werner were asleep, and Vince Hogan was standing by the rail, smoking a cigarette and looking at the empty cell across the corridor, and if Ray Booth didn't run fast, he would Will stay there overnight.Hogan looked as if he had been crying, and Nick couldn't help feeling a sense of compassion.As a child, he learned a word in a movie, and that was "confinement".It was a word that had always had grotesque associations for Nick, a terrible word that echoed and clanged in his head, a word inscribed with different fears.It has kept him confined his entire life. He sat down and read the last sentence he wrote again.That's where I learned to read and write.In fact, this is not the case.He lives in a world of silence.Writing is a code name, and speech is the movement of the lips, the rise and fall of the teeth, and the dancing of the tongue.His mother had taught him to lip-read and teach him how to spell his name in gibberish, clumsy letters.She said, this is your name.Nick, this is you.But of course what she said was inaudible and meaningless.The initial connection was her tapping the paper and then his chest.The worst thing about being deaf is not living in a world of silent movies, the worst thing is not knowing the names of things.He didn't really start to understand the concept of names until he was 4 years old.By age 6, he learned about tall, green things called "trees."He longed to know everything, but no one thought to tell him, and he couldn't ask, he was "locked up." After his mother died, he almost kept withdrawing.The orphanage was a noisy and silent place, where he had a terrible face and was often teased by small children.Two boys kept coming to him, one put his hand over his mouth, and the other put his hand over his ear.If someone hadn't happened to pass by, they might have killed him.Why?No reason.It can only be said that he is weaker than the weak. He stopped the thought of communicating, and his thought process itself began to rust and crumble.He wandered about in a daze, looking at the nameless things that filled the world.He watched the murmured lips of groups of children in the playground, like white suspension bridges, the rising and falling teeth, and the fluttering and flying tongues accompanying speeches during ceremonies.He sometimes found himself staring at a cloud for as long as an hour. Then came Rudy.He was a big, pockmarked, bald man, 6-foot-5, maybe 200 pounds heavier than a stunted Nick.They first met in the basement, where there was a desk, six or seven chairs, and a TV that only worked when it pleased.Rudy sat with his eyes almost on level with Nick's.Then he stretched out his wide, menacing hands, covering his mouth, his ears. (I am a deaf person.) Nick turned his face away in pain, (who the hell cares about you!) Rudy slapped him across the mouth. Nick fell to the ground.His mouth was open, and silent tears began to trickle down the corners of his eyes.He didn't want to be here with this horrible big, bald donkey.He is neither deaf nor dumb, so this is a cruel joke. Rudy gently pulled him up and led him to the table.There is a blank sheet of paper in there.Rudy pointed to the paper, then to Nick.Nick looked at the paper, then at Rudy, and shook his head.Rudy nodded and then pointed to the blank sheet of paper.He sharpened a pencil and handed it to Nick.Nick put it down like it was hot.He shook his head.Rudy pointed to the pencil, then to Nick, then to the paper.Nick shook his head.Rudy hit him again. More tears are flowing.The ferocious face looked at him only with a kind of terrible patience.Rudy pointed again at the paper, at the pencil, at Nick. Nick clenched the pen in his fist and wrote some words he knew, wrestled out of the cobwebbed and rusted mechanism of the thinking brain.He wrote: Fuck, Andros, fuck you! Then he folded the pencil in half and looked at Rudy sullenly and defiantly.But Rudy laughed, and suddenly he crossed the table and took Nick's head tightly in his hard, callused hands.His hands are warm and soft.Nick could not remember the last time he had been touched by such love.His mother had touched him that way. Rudy's hands loosened from Nick's face.He picked up the half pencil with the nib.He turned the paper to the blank side, tapped the tip of the pen on the blank space, and then tapped Nick.He did it over and over again.Finally, Nick understood. (You are the blank sheet of paper.) Nick started to cry. Rudy stayed for another 6 years. ...that's where I learned to read and write.A man named Rudy Sparkman started helping me.I was very lucky to be with him. In 1989, the orphanage was disbanded.They placed as many children as they could, except me.After a while, they said, I could get in touch with a certain family and the state would pay them to take me.I wanted to find Rudy, but Rudy was in Africa, working for the Peace Corps. So, I ran away.I was 16 and I didn't think they would try too hard to get me.I figured as long as I didn't get into any trouble, I'd be fine, and to this day, I've been fine.I took a high school correspondence course at one point because Rudy always said education was the most important thing.When I've settled down for a while, I'm going to take the National High School Diploma.I will pass soon, I like going to school.Maybe one day I'll go to college.I know it sounds weird that a deaf person like me wants to go to college, but I don't think it's impossible.Well, here's my situation. Baker walked in at about 7:30 yesterday morning when Nick was emptying the trash basket.The justice looked much better. "How does it feel?" Nick wrote. "Very well, I had a fever till midnight. It was the worst fever I've ever had since I was a child. Aspirin didn't seem to help. Jenny wanted to call for a doctor, but at half past twelve the fever just went away. .and then I fell asleep like a log. How are you?" Nick made a circular motion with his thumb and index finger to indicate OK. "How about our guest?" Nick opened and closed his mouth several times like a mime.Look angry.He made a gesture of striking an invisible fence. Baker turned his head away and smiled, then sneezed a few times. "You should watch TV," he said. "Didn't you say try to write about your life situation? Did you?" Nick nodded and handed out two sheets of paper written one stroke at a time.The magistrate sat down and read it carefully. When he finished, he stared at Nick for a long time. His eyes had a deep penetrating power, which made Nick stare at his feet uncomfortably for a moment. Look. When he looked up again, Baker said, "Have you been living on your own since you were 16? Has it been 6 years?" Nick nodded. "Did you really take all your high school classes?" Nick wrote for a while on a piece of note paper. “Because I learned to read and write very late, I was a long way behind. When the orphanage closed, I was just starting to catch up. I got 6 high school credits from there and then from Russell in Chicago 6 credits. I need to get 4 more." "What lessons do you need?" Baker asked, then turned his head and yelled, "Shut up there! You won't have scones and coffee until I'm fucking sick!" Nick wrote: "Geometry, advanced mathematics, two years of a foreign language, these are university requirements." "A foreign language, do you speak a foreign language like French, German, Spanish?" Nick nodded. Baker smiled and shook his head. "Shut up, a deaf-mute has to learn to speak a foreign language. It's nothing to you, boy. You know that." Nick smiled and nodded. "Then why do you keep wandering around?" Nick wrote: "When I was a teenager, I didn't dare to stay in one place for too long. I was afraid they would put me in another orphanage or something. When I grew up, I wanted to find a job. When I was working steadily, the situation turned bad again. It seemed to say yes...but since I'm deaf, I can't hear (ha...ha)." "You're going to go to most places for nothing," Baker said. "It's not so easy to show a human touch in hard times, Nick. As for steady work, I might be able to put you in something here. , unless those guys make you utterly disappointed in Soyo and Arkansas. But...we're not all like that." Nick nodded in understanding. "How's your tooth? You've been hit hard this time." Nick shrugged. "Have you taken those painkillers?" Nick held up two fingers. "Well, well, I'm going to do some paperwork with those guys. You go about your business. We'll talk about it later." Dr. Soames, the man whose car nearly hit Nick, came by about 9:30 that morning.He is about 60 years old, with a mess of white hair, a chicken neck like a crop, and two piercing blue eyes. "Big John told me you could lip-read," he said, "and he said he wanted to find you a lucrative job, so I thought you'd better make sure you didn't die at his hands .Please take off your shirt." Nick unbuttoned his blue work shirt and took it off. "Gosh, check him out," Baker said. Soames looked at Nick and said flatly, "Everything is working, everything is fine. You almost lost your left nipple, lad." He pointed to a crescent-shaped scab just above the nipple.Nick's belly and chest looked like a Canadian sunrise.Soames touched and pressed it and examined the pupils of his eyes carefully.Finally, he examined Nick's remaining front teeth.It's the only place he's really hurt right now, and the scars are conspicuous. He said, "It must hurt dearly." Nick nodded sadly. "You can't keep those teeth," continued Soames. "You..." He sneezed three times in succession. "Sorry." He began to put the tools back in the black bag. "The prognosis is good, lad. This prediction does not include lightning or trips to Zack's Tavern. Is your speech impediment congenital or caused by deafness?" "Birth flaw," Nick wrote. Soames nodded. "I'm really sorry. Think about it, thank God he didn't decide to make your mind a mess. Put your shirt on, please." Nick put on his shirt.He liked Soames because Soames was the same as Rudy. Soames said, "I'll have them fill you up with some more painkillers at the pharmacy. Let the rich man pay for it!" "Hey, hey, what do you say," said John Baker. "He's saved a lot of money," continued Soames. He sneezed again, wiped his nose with his hand, then rummaged in his bag and produced a stethoscope. Baker smiled and said, "Old man, you have to be careful, or I will handcuff you for drunkenness and obstructing official duties." Soames said, "Yes, yes, yes. One day you'll open your mouth too wide and you'll fall right in. Take off your shirt, John, and let me see if your tits are what they used to be." Big." "Take off my shirt? Why?" "Because your wife asked me to look it up for you, just for that. She thinks you're sick, and she doesn't want you to get worse, God knows why. If you're done, she and I don't have to sneak in, I don't know How many times did she say, come on, John. Show your skin." "Just a cold," Baker said, reluctantly unbuttoning his shirt. "I feel fine this morning. Seriously, Amboise, you don't seem to be any better than I am." "It's the doctor's call, not yours," said Soames, turning his face to Nick as Baker took off his shirt. "But, you know, colds are fun to catch. Mrs. Lathrop Got sick. The Riches and the Bakers almost had a bad cough, and even Billy Warner who lived there was coughing too much." Baker slowly took off his underwear. "Well, what shall I tell you?" asked Soames. "Look at those big tits, like a woman's. Even a wretched old man like me would be turned on by them." As soon as the stethoscope touched Baker's chest, he grasped it. "My God, it's so cold! What are you doing, keeping it icy cold?" "Breathing in," said Soames, frowning, "now breathing out." Baker's exhalation turned into a faint cough. Soames searched the back of the Sheriff's chest for a long time, and finally put down the stethoscope and used the tongue depressor to examine Baker's throat.After reading it, he folded the tongue depressor in two and threw it into the waste paper basket. "What's wrong?" Baker said. Soames pressed the flesh of Baker's neck with his right finger.Baker flinched back in pain. "I don't have to ask if it hurts, John, you go home and lie in bed. This is not a doctor's order, but an order." Soames said. The sheriff blinked.He said calmly: "Come on, Amboise. I can't do that, you know, and I have three other prisoners who must be taken to Camden this afternoon. I left the lad with the prisoners last night." together, but I had to, and I won't do it again. He's a mute. Had I been in my right mind last night, I wouldn't have agreed." "John, you leave them alone. Now it's you who has the problem. It's some kind of respiratory infection, a disease that's really transmitted by speech, and then there's a fever. John, there's something wrong with your respiratory system. It's no joke for a man like you who has overgrown meat. Go to bed. If you still feel okay tomorrow morning, then deal with these prisoners. Better call the State Patrol to take them take away." Baker looked at Nick apologetically.He said, "You know, I'm just feeling a little out of breath. Maybe take a break and..." Nick wrote: "Go home and lie down. I will do my best. Besides, I must earn enough money to buy medicine." "Nobody works for a workaholic like you," Soames said, giggling. Baker picked up the two pages with Nick's biography written on it. "Can I take it home and show Jenny? Nick, she really likes you." Nick scribbled hastily on the letterhead: "Of course. She's very nice." "It's all one of a kind," Baker said.He sighed as he buttoned his shirt. "The fever is violent again this time. Do you think I can stand it?" "Take an aspirin," said Soames, buttoning his bag. "It's the glandular infection I hate the most." Baker said: "There's a cigarette case in the bottom drawer of the desk and a small spare cash in it. You can go out to lunch and get your meds back. Those guys are worse than thugs. They'll be fine. Just put a note on how much you're taking. I'm going to get in touch with the State Patrol and you'll be out of them by later this afternoon." Nick made an OK gesture. Baker said solemnly: "If you have something urgent, you should come to me in time. Jenny said it's okay, and you have to be careful." Nick nodded. Jenny Baker came by about six o'clock last night with her supper covered in a plate and a carton of milk. Nick said, "Thank you very much. How is your husband?" She smiled, a small woman with chestnut brown hair, neatly dressed in a plaid shirt and faded jeans. "He wanted to come in person, but I told him he couldn't. He had a high fever this afternoon and it freaked me out. But he kind of quit tonight. I think it's the State Patrol's fault. John doesn't yell at the State Patrol There's no real pleasure in a temper." Nick looked at her curiously. "They told him they wouldn't be able to send the criminals until 9:00 tomorrow morning, there were so many people on sick leave, there were more than 20 people not on duty, and the people on duty were busy sending people to Camden or Pine Bluffs. The hospital, the disease is prevalent nearby. Soames said it was nothing, but he was also worried." She herself seemed anxious.Then she took two folded pages of note paper from her breast pocket. "It was a touching accident," she said quietly, and handed him the two pages. "You are the most unfortunate person I have ever heard. I think your spirit of overcoming disability is admirable. I must apologize to you again for what happened to my brother." Nick was so embarrassed that he could only shrug his shoulders. "I hope you'll stay with Soyo," she said, standing up. "My husband likes you, and I like you too. Be careful of those people inside." "I will," Nick wrote, "please tell the sheriff, I hope he recovers." "I'll pass on your best wishes to him." she left.Nick slept intermittently all night, getting up from time to time to check the three cells.They were not desperadoes, and before ten o'clock they were all asleep.Two people from the town came in to check and were relieved to see that Nick was fine.And Nick noticed that they both seemed to have a cold. He had some strange dreams.All he could remember upon waking was that he seemed to have been walking through endless fields of green corn, looking for something and terrified of something else that seemed to be following him. He got up early this morning and gave the back of the prison a good sweep, ignoring Billy Warner and Mike Childress. When he was about to go out, Billy followed him and called him: "Ray is coming back, you know? He's going to catch you, I'm afraid you will not only be deaf and dumb, but also blind!" Nick had already turned his back and missed most of Billy's words. He returned to his office, picked up an outdated issue of Time magazine, and read it.He put his feet up on the table and decided that it would be best to get the trouble out of the way when the sheriff returned. By eight o'clock he was anxious and anxious to know if Justice Baker had relapsed during the night.Nick had been looking forward to him so far, ready to transfer the three inmates from prison to the state when the state troopers came.Plus, Nick's stomach was rumbling all the time.No one at the roadside station showed up.He looked at the phone with disgust rather than desire.He is very fond of science fiction, and often collects loose hand-bound volumes for eight cents on the dusty shelves of back issues in the old library.他不止一次发现自己在想，如果有一天科幻小说中预示的那种电话显示屏最终能变成实际使用的话，那么对于世界上的聋哑人来说将是多么的欢快。到了9点15分，他真的耐不住了。他走到各牢房的门前并往里望了望。 比利和迈克都站在各自牢房门边上。他们俩一直在用鞋子使劲敲打栏杆。文斯·霍根还躺着。当尼克来到门前时，他只是回了一下头，凝视着尼克。霍根的脸色苍白，只有两腮带有潮红，双眼下面出现暗斑。他的前额不断地冒出汗珠。尼克碰到了他这种冷漠的，仇恨的凝视并意识到这家伙病了。他的不安也随之加重了。 “嘿，哑巴，给我们弄点早点怎么样？”迈克冲着他喊叫，“老东西文斯看来可能需要医生了。告密者不同意，是吧，比利？” 比利不想开玩笑。“对不起，先生，先前我喊过你。文斯他病了，就这些。他需要医生。” 尼克点点头，他寻思着下一步应该怎么办。他俯在桌子上，在便笺纸上写道：“贝克司法官或其他人：我去给犯人弄些早餐并且看一看是否能为文斯·霍根请来索姆斯医生。文斯看来是真病了，不是在装病。尼克·安德罗斯。” 他从便笺上撕下这一张，把它放在桌子中间。然后，把便笺装进他的口袋里，向门外走去。 第一件使他猛然感到的事情是白天的炎热和青枝绿叶的气味。到了下午，这些青枝绿叶全都打了蔫儿。碰到这种天，人们都喜欢早一点干完杂活和跑腿的差事，这样他们就能尽可能平静地度过下午。但是对尼克来说，今天下午，硕尤的主要街道看起来有些怪，死气沉沉，不像是平常工作日，倒像是星期天。 商店前大部分斜线停车位都空空如也。街上只有很少几辆小车和农用卡车跑来跑去。五金商店看来开门了，可是商业银行的遮阳窗帘还没有拉开，虽然现在都过了9点钟了。 尼克往右转了个弯，向5条街区以外的停车站走去。走到第3个街区的拐角处时，他看见了索姆斯医生的车子正缓慢地朝着他们所在的街道开来，车子从一边到另一边有点摇摆，好像没油似的。尼克使劲儿地挥舞着手，他不敢肯定索姆斯是否会停车，不过索姆斯在道路边上停靠下来，不在乎地占据了4个斜线停车位。他没有下车而是坐在方向盘后面。这位先生的面容使尼克感到震惊。自从上次看见他同司法官无拘无束地斗嘴取乐以来，索姆斯一下子老了有20岁。一部分是劳累所致，但劳累不能成全这种解释，这一点连尼克都能看出来。好像是为了证实他的想法，医生从上衣胸袋里掏出皱皱巴巴的手绢，就像一位上了年纪的魔术师在玩弄老掉牙的把戏一样，而这种把戏不再使他有丝毫的兴趣了。他对着手帕连续打了几个喷嚏。打完喷嚏后，他把头往后靠在了车座上，嘴半张着，吸着气。他的皮肤像死人一样腊黄。 接着，索姆斯睁开了眼睛说：“贝克司法官死了。他是今天凌晨2点多钟死去的。现在珍妮也病了。” 尼克两眼睁得大大的。贝克司法官死了？可他妻子昨天晚上刚刚来过并且说他感觉好多了。另外，她……她一直很好嘛。不，这简直不可能。 “死了，真的。”索姆斯说，好像看懂了尼克的心思。“不只是他一个人。在过去的12小时内，我已经签署了12份死亡证明书。我知道还有另外20个人午前将会死去，除非上帝表示出仁慈。但我不信这是上帝干的。从良心上讲，上帝不会置若罔闻的。”尼克从口袋里抽出便笺纸写道：“他们是怎么回事？” “我不知道，”索姆斯说着，慢慢地把纸揉成一团扔进路边的雨水沟。“不过镇上的每个人看来都要病倒，我一生中从未像现在这样害怕过。我也病了，不过我现在主要是累，毕竟不年轻了。你知道，不付出代价我是不能坚持这么长时间的。”他的声音夹带着一种疲倦和恐惧，幸好尼克听不出来。“我感到伤心的是我没有回天之力。” 尼克没有看出索姆斯正在为自己感到伤心，他只能眼巴巴地看着他，充满疑惑。 索姆斯从车子里出来，为了支撑自己，他握住尼克的胳膊呆了一会儿。他的握法是老人的那种，软弱无力，却抓的很死。“尼克，到那边的长椅上去。你我好好地谈谈。我猜先前有人告诉过你了。” 尼克向后指了指监狱。 “他们哪儿也去不成，”索姆斯说，“如果他们染上这种病而倒下，我也只能把他们列在死亡名单里。” 他们坐在长椅上，长椅刷着明亮的绿漆，靠背印着当地保险公司的广告。索姆斯欣喜地把脸扭向温暖的太阳。 他说：“打冷战和发高烧，自从昨天夜里10点左右就开始了，稍后不久，就开始发冷。还好，感谢上帝，没有腹泻。” 尼克写道：“你应该回家卧床休息。” “我应该这样，我会的。我刚好想先休息几分钟……”他慢慢地合上双眼，尼克认为他已经睡着了。他不知道应不应该继续到车站去给比利和迈克弄些早餐。 这时索姆斯医生又开了口，但两眼没有睁开。尼克看着他的双唇。“这些症状都是很常见的，”他说着，开始用手指一一进行了列举，直到所有10个手指在他胸前像扇子一样展开为止。“发冷、发烧、头痛、发软和全身无力、食欲不振、小便作疼、扁桃腺从轻微到严重逐步肿大、腋窝和腹股沟肿胀、呼吸器官衰弱和衰竭。” 他看着尼克。 “这些都属于一般性感冒、流行性感冒和肺炎的症状。所有这些我们都能医治，尼克。如果病人不是太小或太老，或者不是由于原先有病而造成身体虚弱的话，用抗菌素就能治愈。但这次不行。病人发病很快，或者很慢。好像没什么问题，但药物治疗无效。病症首先恶化，然后好转，接着又恶化，衰弱，浮肿，最后死亡。” “有人犯下了错误。” “他们竭力想掩盖这件事情。” 尼克疑惑地望着他，不知道从医生的嘴唇上得到的话是否理解正确，他很想知道索姆斯会不会在讲胡话。 “听起来是不是有点胡言乱语？”索姆斯问道，双眼天真地看着尼克。“你知道吗？过去我总是担心年轻一代的妄想狂。总是害怕有人在偷听他们的电话……跟踪他们……操作计算机对他们进行检查……现在我发现他们是对的，我是错的。生命是一种美好的东西，尼克，但是我发现上了岁数的人将会对自己一味固执的偏见付出令人不快的高昂代价。” “你是什么意思？”尼克写道。 索姆斯说：“硕尤没有一部电话能打出去。”尼克不知道这是对他提问的答复（索姆斯似乎对尼克最后一张便条只是匆匆地扫了一眼），还是医生昏头昏脑想到某个新的问题——他猜测发烧可能正在使索姆斯神志不清。 医生注意到尼克迷惑不解的神情，似乎认为这个聋哑人可能不相信他的话。“确实是真的，”他说，“如果你想要拨打这个镇线路上没有的任何电话号码，你就会得到录音回话。另外，收费公路进口和出口都用障碍隔挡住了，上面写着'道路施工'。但是没有施工，只有障碍。我去看了。我认为把障碍移到一旁是可以的，何况今天上午收费公路的车子不多。大部分障碍看来都是由军队的车辆组成的，有卡车和吉普车。” “其他道路怎么样？”尼克写道。 “镇东头63号公路被挖开了，是为了重修排水沟，”索姆斯说，“镇的西头似乎有一起相当严重的车祸。两辆车横在公路上，把路全都封死了。遍地都是一些乱七八糟的坛坛罐罐，不见州警察或救险车的踪影。” 他停顿下来，拿出他的手巾，擤了擤鼻子。 “住在那带的乔·拉克曼说，挖排水沟的那些人干得非常慢。大约两个钟头前，我到了拉克曼那里，给他的小男孩看病，小孩确实病得不轻。乔说，他认为挖沟的那些人实际上是当兵的，虽然他们穿着养路班工人的外套和开着州的卡车。” 尼克写道：“他怎么知道的呢？” 索姆斯站立起来说：“工人们很少彼此敬礼。” 尼克也站起来了。 “有辅路吗？”他草草写道。 “有可能。”索姆斯点点头，“但我是一个医生，不是个英雄。乔说他看见在卡车驾驶室里有枪。军队配发的卡宾枪。如果有人企图通过辅路离开硕尤并且被看见的话，谁知道会怎么样呢？人们在硕尤之外又可能发现什么呢？我再说一遍：有人闯下了大祸。而现在他们在竭力进行掩盖。疯了，真是疯了。当然，像这类情况会传出去的，要不了很长时间。与此同时，有多少人会死呢？” 尼克吓傻了，只是眼睁睁地看看索姆斯医生回到车旁并慢慢地爬进去。 索姆斯从车窗里探出头来对他说：“你呢，尼克。你有什么感觉？发冷？打喷嚏？咳嗽？” 尼克对每一问题都摇了摇头。 “你打算离开镇子吗。我认为你可以，如果你穿越田地的话。” 尼克摇了摇头并写道：“那些人还被关押着。我不能不管他们。文斯·霍根病了，不过其他那两个看起来是好好的。我要给他们弄点早饭，然后去看看贝克太太。” 索姆斯说，“你这孩子考虑问题真周到。真是难得。在这种堕落了的年代里一个孩子具有责任感，那就更可贵了。尼克，我知道，她会感激你的。卫理公会教长布拉赫曼先生也说，他要顺便去看望一下。我担心今天结束前会有很多电话找他。你要小心你关押的那3个人，行吗？” 尼克认真地点点头。 “那好。今天下午我设法到你那儿去并给你查查。”他一脸疲惫，眼睛红红的，十分憔悴，他把车挂上了档，开走了。 尼克在他后面凝视着，脸上布满了愁云，接着他又开始朝停车站走去。 餐馆是开着的，可是里面的两位厨师有一位不在，早7点到下午3点这一班的4位服务员有3位还没露面。尼克不得不花很长时间来等他订的早餐。当他回到监狱时，比利和迈克俩人看起来都被吓坏了。文斯·霍根神志昏迷说胡话。