Chapter 37 Chapter 36

A small park in downtown Ogunquit completes the park with a Civil War cannon and a war memorial. After Gus died, Frannie Goldsmith came here, sat down by a small pond, and threw stones into the water boredly, watching the waves aroused by the stones in the calm water continue to spread, and kept hitting To the water lily by the pool, it becomes fine ripples. The day before yesterday, when she took Gus to the Henson's house by the beach, she had worried that if there was any more delay, Gus might not be able to walk, and Gus might end up in the hot and stuffy room next to the public beach parking lot. Spend the "last moments" in the hut.It was her ancestors' euphemism for death, and it was creepy, but apt.

She didn't think Gus would make it through the night, when he was feverish and in a state of madness.He fell off the bed twice, and even staggered around old Mr. Hansen's bedroom in a circle, knocking things over from time to time, falling and getting up again.He spoke aloud to people who weren't there, stared at them with ecstasy and despair, until Franny began to think that Gus's invisible companions really existed and that she was a phantom.She kept begging Gus to go back to bed, but to Gus it was as if she didn't exist.She had to avoid him from time to time, to make way for him.Otherwise, he would have knocked her down and stepped on her.

Finally, Gus collapsed on the bed, passed out from a state of extreme excitement, breathing so heavily, as if he was about to suffocate, that Franny thought the last moment had come.But the next morning, when she came in to see him, she found him sitting on the bed, reading a western she found off the shelf.He thanked her for her care and said, with all sincerity, that he hoped nothing embarrassing had been said or done last night. When she told him no, Gus scanned the mess in confusion and said he thanked her for saying so.She made some soup, and Gus drank it all with a whetted appetite.Later, Gus complained that he couldn't read without his glasses, which had been broken a week earlier while he was on duty at a barricade south of town.Despite his feeble protests, she took the book and read him the middle four chapters of the western written by the black woman who lived in the North.The title of the novel is "A Christmas in Linfair".The protagonist of the story, Sheriff Johns Tollner, seems to have had some trouble with the Wyoming rioters in Roaring Stone, and what's more, he can't find anything for Christmas to give his lovely young wife.

Franny left Gus in a rather optimistic mood, thinking that Gus might be recovering.But last night, his condition deteriorated again and he died at 7.45am this morning, an hour and a half ago.Gus was conscious through his final moments, just not aware of the severity of his current condition.He told her eagerly that he wanted ice cream soda, the kind his father gave him at the Bangor fairs every Fourth of July and Labor Day in the first week of September.But Ogunquit had lost power at the time, and by the electric clock it was 9:17 p.m. on June 28, so there was no ice cream to be found in the town.She didn't know if anyone in town had a gasoline generator, and there was a refrigerator hooked up to the generator's emergency circuit, and it even occurred to her to ask Harold Lauder when Gus gave his last gasps.This desperate gasp lasted a total of 5 minutes. During these 5 minutes, she supported Gus's head with one hand, and held a cloth under Gus's mouth with the other hand to block the thick phlegm from his mouth. .It's over in a moment.

Franny covered Gus with a clean sheet and left him in old Jack Hanson's bed, from which he could look down on the sea below.Then she came to the park and sat here throwing stones into the pond to get rid of the water, her mind was almost blank. She subconsciously felt that it was best not to think about anything now.It was different from the indifference that concealed her true feelings the day after her father died.After her father died, she gradually returned to normal.Later, she bought a rose plant in Nathan's greenhouse and planted it carefully beside Peter's tombstone.She thought it would be well guarded here.Thinking of nothing like this was a break for her after babysitting Gus for the last mile of his life.It was very different from the pre-mad feelings she had experienced before.It was like walking through a dark, dirty tunnel full of ghosts that could be felt but not seen.It was the kind of tunnel she never wanted to go through again.

She thought that she must immediately consider what to do next.She thought about Harold Lord, not just because she and Harold were the only two people left in the area at the moment, but also because she didn't know exactly what Harold was going to do when no one was watching.She doesn't consider herself the most practical person in the world, but right now she has to.She still didn't like him very much, but at least he'd been trying to be decent and decent, just in his weird way. They had met four days earlier, and Harold had left her, possibly out of respect for her, to give her the opportunity to express her grief to her parents alone.But she still sees Harold wandering aimlessly around in Roy Brannigan's Cadillac every now and then.Twice, she could even hear the crackling of his typing downwind from the bedroom window.The fact that Lauder could still be heard typing, even though he lived almost a mile and a half away, seemed to add to the sense that what was happening was real.She thought it a little amused that Harold, now that he had the Cadillac, hadn't thought of getting a silent electric typewriter to replace his manual typewriter.

When she stood up, dusting her shorts, the question of whether he could have an electric typewriter was no longer on her mind.Ice cream and typewriters are a thing of the past.It made her feel a little nostalgic, and she found herself wondering again how the disaster had come within a few weeks. No matter what Harold said, there must be someone else here.Although the government agencies are temporarily dismantled, they will definitely find the scattered people and rebuild it.But instead of thinking about how much "authority" is now so desirable, she's wondering why she can't help feeling responsible to Harold.That's the way it is.

She left the park and walked slowly down Main Street toward Harold's house.At this time, the weather has gradually warmed up, but the breeze blowing from the sea still makes people feel very refreshing.She had a sudden urge to walk down the beach to find a tender kelp and eat it bit by bit. "My God, you're such a nuisance," she exclaimed.Of course she wasn't annoying, she was just pregnant.Seaweed cravings this week, Bermuda onion sandwiches with hot sauce on top in a few days. She stopped on the corner a block away from Harold's house, wondering how long she had been thinking about her "delicate situation."In the past, she always felt that the idea of ​​"I'm pregnant" was hidden in some strange corner of her mind, like some messy things that she always forgot to pack up, and it popped up at no time.I'll have to take the blue dress to the cleaners by Friday, and I'll have to hang it in my closet in a few months because I'm pregnant.I should take a shower because I'm pregnant and in a few months I'll be showering like a whale in the bathroom.I've got to change the oil in the car so the engine doesn't fail, I don't know what Johnny at Sitgow will say if he finds out I'm pregnant.However, she's probably used to the idea by now.Anyway, she is almost 3 months pregnant and 1/3 of the way through her pregnancy.

For the first time, she wondered uncomfortably who would deliver her baby then. From the back of the Lauders' room came the monotonous click-click of the gears of the hand mower, and when Franny emerged from the corner of the room, she wanted to laugh out loud at the strange sight she saw, and she forced I couldn't hold back my laughter. Harold, wearing only a pair of tight blue swimming trunks, was mowing the lawn.Beads of sweat glistened on his fair skin, and his long hair, clinging to his neck, was a bit of a compliment, but it did look freshly washed.The waist pulled up by the shorts and the fat on the legs shook heartily, and the cut grass below the ankles was dyed green.His back was reddened, whether it was from work or the sun.

Harold wasn't mowing at all, but running wildly.The lawn behind the Lauders' house descends to a fancy vine-covered stone wall with an octagonal gazebo in the middle.She and Amy used to play here a lot when they were little girls.A sudden prick of nostalgia stung Franny as she recalled the old days.Then they would cry over the ending of Charlotte's novel, and they would cry with joy over Church Mayo, the cutest boy in the school.Lauder Lawn is a bit of an English style, green and peaceful, but now a man in blue swimming trunks broke into this idyllic scenery.A row of mulberry trees separated the Lauders' lawn from the Wilsons' lawn at the northeast corner of the lawn, and she could hear Harold's strange breathing as he turned the corner.He leaned over the T-handle of the mower and whizzed down the slope of the lawn.The blades of the lawn mower whirred, and the cut grass shot out like a green jet, covering Harold's calf.He's already mowed about half the lawn, and what's left is just a square lawn around the gazebo in the center of the lawn.He turned around at the bottom of the slope, roared back, disappeared behind the gazebo, then emerged, leaning over the mower like a Formula 1 driver.Halfway through the run, he saw her.At the same moment Franny called out timidly, "Harold?" and she saw tears welling up in his eyes.

"Hey," Harold replied, or rather screamed.She had jolted him out of his own world, and for a moment she was afraid that waking him up in the midst of her work would give him a heart attack. Then he ran towards the house, kicking the cut grass flying.She smelled the fragrance of the grass in the summer sun. She took a step forward and asked loudly, "Harold, what's the matter?" By this time he was running up and down the porch steps.The back door of the house was open, and Harold slipped in, slammed the door behind him, and disappeared without a sound.A pine duck squealed, and some small animal rattled in the bushes behind the stone wall.The lawn mower was left not far from the gazebo where she and Amy drank from glasses in Barbier's kitchen, their little fingers cocked gracefully. Franny stood there uncertain for a moment, and finally she went to the door and knocked.There was no movement, but she could hear Harold crying somewhere in the house. "Harold?" No one agreed.The crying continued. She went into the back hall of the Lauders' house, which was dark and cool, and filled with a scent.The door to Mrs. Lowder's cold room was open in the back hall to the left, and she still remembered the tantalizing smell of dried apples and cinnamon. "Harold?" She walked across the back hall to the kitchen, where Harold was seated at the table.His hands were gripping his hair violently, and his grass-green feet lay on Mrs. Lauder's once-spotless, faded linen tablecloth. "Harold, what's the matter?" "Go away!" he cried with tears in his eyes. "Go away, you hate me!" "No, you're nice, Harold. Maybe you're not the best, but you are." She paused. "In fact, in this situation, I would say that you are my favorite person in the whole world right now." This passage seemed to make Harold cry even harder. "Would you like something to drink?" "Drinks," he replied.He took a deep breath, wiped his nose, and, keeping his eyes on the table, said, "It's kind of warm." "Yeah, that's right. You got your water from the town well, didn't you?" Like many small towns, Ogunquit still has a well behind the town hall, which has been lost in the last 40 years Because of the role of the water source, people regard it more as a nostalgic relic.Tourists often take pictures here.It is the kind of pressurized well in the seaside town we often go to on vacation, simple and exquisite. "Yes, that's where I fought." She poured a glass of water for both of them and sat down.We should drink it in the gazebo, thought, and put up a little thumb while drinking it. "Harold, what's the matter?" Harold let out a hysterical laugh, lifted the glass awkwardly to his mouth, drank it down, and put the glass on the table. "What's wrong? What's wrong?" "I mean, is there anything special?" She took a sip of his drink, trying not to frown.It was cold, and Harold must have just fetched water, but he forgot to put in the sugar. Finally, he looked up at her, with tears on his face, looking like he was about to cry. "I want my mother," he said. "Harold..." "The disaster happened when my mother died and I thought: 'It's okay'" he said, holding the glass tightly in his hand, looking directly at her, with a frightening haggard look. "I know it must sound scary to you. But, I have no idea how I'm going to take it when my parents die. I'm a very sensitive person. That's why I get bullied by those idiots in the horror house, town Parents at the school called that house of horrors high school. I thought their death might make me sad, at least for a year... When the disaster happened, my mom... Amy... my dad... …I said to myself: 'It's nothing.' I ...they..." He slammed his fist on the table, causing her to shrink back involuntarily. He cried, "Why can't I say what I mean?I used to be able to say what my heart wanted to say!It is a writer's job to use language to create superbly, why can't I express my feelings? " "Harold, please don't do this. I know how you feel." He stared at her dumbfounded. "You know...?" He shook his head and said, "No, you can't know." "Do you remember when you came home? Remember when I was digging a grave? I was so dazed I couldn't even remember what I was doing. I was trying to fry some potato chips and I nearly burned the house down ...so if mowing the lawn makes you feel better, so do it. But if you mow the lawn in swimming trunks, you'll get sunburnt. You see there's already a blister here." She stared at his shoulder reproachfully say.She took another sip of the damn drink out of politeness. He wiped his mouth with his hand and said, "I've never liked them, but I think grief is something you should feel. It's like when your bubble is swollen and you're about to pee. If your loved one dies, You should be very sad." She nodded in agreement, thinking it sounded weird, but it made sense. "My mother always hangs around Amy, she's Amy's friend." He said it with a pitiful childlike tone. "But I always annoy my father." Franny can understand.Brad Lauder was a big, brawny man who was the foreman at the Kennebunk sawmill.He couldn't figure out how his own son would look like this. "He took me aside once," Harold continued, "and asked me if I was gay. That's exactly what he said. I was crying and he slapped me and said Well, if I'm like this again, I'd better get out of town. And Amy... she didn't really mess with me. When she brought friends over, I was nothing more than an embarrassment. She Treat me like I'm a messy house." Franny finally bit the bullet and finished her drink. "So after they died, when I felt overwhelmed, I thought I was wrong. I said to myself, 'Grief is not a mechanical reaction.' But I was wrong. I was thinking about them more and more every day. Missing my mother especially. Wish I could see her.. There used to be times when I needed her and she wasn't around... She was always busy with Amy and around her, but she never treated me badly .So this morning when I thought about it, I said to myself, 'I'm going to mow the lawn. Then I don't think about it anymore.' But, I thought about it anyway. I started mowing very quickly, and the more Come on...as if I'm going to get past those thoughts...I think that's when you came. Am I looking crazy, Franny?" She reached across the table and took his hand. "You're not wrong to think so, Harold." "Are you sure?" His eyes were wide open, staring at her like a child. "yes." "Will you be my friend?" "willing." "Thank God," Harold said, "Thank God you're my friend." His hands were sweaty in hers, and he seemed to feel it when she realized it, reluctantly. Withdrew his hand. "Would you like some more drinks?" he asked her timidly. She smiled and seemed very grateful. "In a moment," she replied. They ate lunch in the park, which included peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fried eggs, and a large bottle of Coke each.They chill the Coke in the pond beforehand and it tastes great. "I've been thinking about what I'm going to do next. Harold said, 'You eat the rest of your omelet. " "I won't eat, I'm full." Harold ate the fried egg in one gulp.Frannie noticed that his belated grief hadn't dampened his appetite, but immediately felt that was being too demanding. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "I'm thinking of going to Vermont," he said hesitantly. "do you want to go?" "Why go to Vermont?" "There's a government-run infectious disease center in a town called Stowington. It's not as big as the one in Atlanta, but it's definitely closer to us. I think if anyone is alive there to study this flu, There will be a lot of people." "How do you know they're alive?" "Of course, they could be dead too," Harold said cautiously. "However, people in places like Stowington are used to dealing with contagious diseases and they take precautions. If they are still working, I think they are looking for people who are immune like us. .” "Harold, how do you know this?" She looked at Harold with admiration in her eyes.Harold flushed with pride. "I've read a lot that those establishments are no secret. What do you think, Franny?" She thought it was a good idea.This reawakened in her still unresolved desire for authority and agency.She immediately stopped thinking about the possibility that all the people in the center that Harold said just now were dead.They should go to Stowington, where they will take them in, they will examine them, and the results of various examinations will surely find the difference between them and the people who get sick and die.At this point she didn't realize what an effective vaccine would mean. "I think we should get a map and see how to get there tomorrow," she said. He immediately blushed.For a moment she thought he would kiss her, and at this moment she would let him kiss her, but this moment passed quickly.She is grateful for this result. From the map, the distance shrunk down to the length of a finger, and getting there seemed easy.Take Exit 1 to Interstate 95, then from Interstate 95 onto State Route 302, then go northwest on State Route 302, passing through several Lake District towns in western Maine across the same road The New Hampshire Pass, and then into Vermont.Stowington is just 30 miles west of Barrie, either on Vermont Route 61 or Interstate 89. "How far is it?" Frannie asked. Harold took a ruler and measured it, and checked the scale of the map. "You probably won't believe it when you tell it," he said gloomily. "What's wrong? 100 miles?" "Over 300 miles." "My God!" Franny was taken aback. "I can't believe it. I've read somewhere that you can walk across most of the New England states in one day." "That's a lie," said Harold in his scholarly voice. "It's possible to go through Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and cross the Vermont line in 24 hours if you go the right way, but it's like a Rubik's cube, it's easy if you know how, otherwise , it won’t work.” "Where did you know these things?" she asked curiously. "The Guinness Book of Books," he said triumphantly. "Actually, I was thinking of getting two bicycles just now. Or... I don't know if it would work... two motorcycles." "Harold," she said solemnly, "you are a genius." Harold coughed twice, blushed again, and was very happy. "Tomorrow morning we can cycle all the way to Wales. There's a Honda motorcycle shop there... Can you ride a Honda, Franny?" "If we ride slowly at first, I'll learn." "I don't think it's wise to go too fast," said Harold gravely. "No one will ever know if you're going to turn the corner and there's going to be three rammed cars blocking the way." "Yes, no one will know, who will know? But why wait until tomorrow? Why not go today?" "That's right, it's past two o'clock now," he said. "We can only go as far as Wells, and we need to equip ourselves. It's easy in Ogunquit because we know where things are. Naturally, we need a gun." This is indeed a bit strange.As soon as he said the word "gun", she thought of the baby in her stomach. "What do we need guns for?" He stared at her for a while, then lowered his eyes, his neck flushed red. "Because the police and the courts are gone, and you're a woman again, and you're so pretty, some people... some men... might not be... not decent people. That's why." His face was even redder, almost purple. She thought he was talking about rape.rape.But how could they rape me?I am pregnant.But no one knew that, not even Harold.If you say to a rapist: Please don't because I'm pregnant.Can you expect the rapist to say, ma'am, I'm sorry, I'm going to rape other girls. "Okay," she said, "put your guns on. But we're still going to Wales today." "I have some work to do here," said Harold. The heat was unbearable in Moses Richardson's barn dome.Sweat was already running down her body by the time they reached the hayloft, but it trickled down her body like a rivulet as they climbed the rickety stairs to the dome, soaking in sweat. The torn pullover clung tightly to her body, showing off her breasts. "Do you think it necessary, Harold?" "I don't know." He was carrying a bucket of white paint and a tape brush still covered with transparent paper. "But this barn is under State Highway 1. I think many people will pass through this place. In any case, it will not do us any harm." "It's bad if you fall and break your bones." The heat made her head ache, and the coke she drank at noon was surging in her stomach, making her nauseous. "Actually, if that's the case, you're finished." "I'm not going to fall," Harold said nervously.He glanced at her. "Frannie, you look bad." "It's too hot," she replied feebly. "For God's sake, go downstairs and lie down under a tree for a while. Watch how the man who defied death flew down the steep roof of Moses Richardson's barn." "No kidding. I think it's a stupid decision, and it's dangerous." "Yes, but I'd feel better if I did it. Come on down, Franny." She thought to herself: Well, he did this for me. There he stands, sweating and terrified in his eyes, aged cobwebs hanging from his bare, fat shoulders, his belly folded in folds at the waist of his tight blue jeans. She stood on tiptoe, kissed him lightly on the mouth and said, "Be careful." Then she ran down the stairs, only feeling the coke in her stomach surging up and down in her stomach; even though she ran very fast Fast, but still saw the color of surprise in his eyes.She ran faster from the hayloft to the bottom of the barn strewn with straw because she felt like she was about to throw up.She knew it was the heat, the Coke, and the baby in her stomach, and what would Harold think if he heard her throw up?So she was going to run outside the barn out of Harold's ear to vomit.She threw up as soon as she got outside. Harold stepped down at 4:15, the sun tanned and his arms splattered with white paint.While he was busy, Franny took a nap under the elm tree in Richardson's front yard, not quite asleep because of the nervousness, her ears still twitching, waiting for the barn roof. The sound of shingles snapping and the desperate scream of poor Harold as he fell from the roof of the 90-foot barn to the ground.But, thank God, none of that had happened, and now he was standing proudly before her, with grass-stained feet, white-painted arms, and red shoulders. "Why did you bring down the paint bucket?" She asked him curiously. "I don't want to leave it on. It might catch fire and ruin our writing." She thought again of how steadfast and meticulous he had been in keeping his promises.It's scary. The two stared at the roof of the barn. The newly painted paint was particularly dazzling against the strong contrast of the green shingles. The words written on it reminded Franny of the ones written on the roof of the barn in the south. Slogan: God bless, kill Indian Reds.What Harold wrote: "We've gone to the plague center in Stoweton, Vermont. Take State Highway 1 to Wales Then take Interstate 95 to Portland State Road 302 to Bari Interstate 89 to Stowington Left Ogunquit on July 2, 1990 Harold Amy Lauder Franny Goldsmith" "I don't know your middle name," Harold said apologetically. "It's all right," Frannie replied, her eyes still fixed on the large lettering on the barn roof.The first line was written in large characters just below the barn dome window, and the last line her name was written just above the rainpipe. "How did you write that last line?" she asked. "It's not difficult." He said coyly. "I have to hang my legs out a little bit, that's all." "Hey, Harold, why don't you just sign your name?" "Because we're a group," he said, then looked at her with concern and said, "Are you right?" "I think so... as long as you don't kill yourself. Hungry?" He smiled gratefully and said, "Very hungry." "Let's go get something to eat, then. I'll put some baby oil on your burn later. You've got to put on your shirt, Harold. You can't sleep at night lying on a burn." "I'll sleep soundly," he replied, smiling at her.Franny smiled back.They ate canned goods and a drink Franny had made for their supper (she added sugar), and soon, as it was getting dark, Harold came to Franny's room with something under his arm. "It's Emmy's," he said, "I found it in the attic. I think my parents gave it to Emmy when she graduated from high school. Don't know if it still works, but I got it from the storage room I found a few batteries." He patted his pocket, and there were a few batteries bulging. It was a portable record player, the kind with a plastic case designed for little girls of thirteen or fourteen to take to beach and lawn parties.The record player held 45 singles, including recordings by Osmonds, Liv Garrett, John Travolta, and Sean Cassidy.She looked at the record player carefully and felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Here, see if it still works," she said. It really works.They each sat at one end of the couch, the portable record player on the coffee table in front of them, with calm and sad concentration on their faces, silently listening to the music of the lost world echoing in the summer night.