Chapter 46 Chapter 45

At 10:40 a.m. on June 20, she hobbled out onto the balcony with coffee and toast, like every other day.The "Coca-Cola" thermometer outside the kitchen window pointed to 50+ degrees.It was midsummer, as far as Mama Abagil could recall, the hottest summer since her mother died at the age of 93 in 1955. She carefully sat down in a rocking chair without arms, feeling that there were not many people around her. One can enjoy such hot weather.But have they ever liked it?Of course there are those who have enjoyed it: young people in love and old people who still remember the onslaught of winter.Now, these young, old, and middle-aged, most of them are dead, and God has delivered a harsh judgment on mankind.

Some may be outraged by the verdict, but not Mama Abagil.He passed judgment once with water, and after a while he will pass judgment again with fire.She wasn't in a position to judge God, though she hoped he didn't think it proper to put a coffee cup to her lips—as he had done.But when it came to judging, she was content with an answer that God gave Moses when he came out of the burning jungle and felt he could ask questions. "Who are you?" asked Moses, and God returned from the jungle, dressed as you might imagine, and answered, "I am I." In other words, it was—Moses, stop messing around in the woods , stop doing stupid things.

She gave a little gasp laugh, nodded, and dipped a slice of toast into the wide rim of her coffee cup until it was moist enough to bite.It's been 16 years since she said goodbye to her last tooth.She was born from her mother's body without a tooth, and went to her own grave without a tooth.The great-granddaughter and her husband gave her a set of dentures as a Mother's Day gift the year after she lost all her teeth, the year she turned 93, but the dentures kept hurting her gums, and now , she only thought of wearing it when she knew Molly and Jim were coming.If there had been some time before Molly and Jim arrived, she would have made a face at herself in the speckled kitchen mirror, bared her big white false teeth, and laughed.She looked like an old black alligator in the Everglades.

Although she is old and frail, her thinking is very clear.Her name was Abagil Freemantle, she was born in 1882, as evidenced by her birth certificate.She had seen many things in her lifetime, but none of them could compare to what happened last month.No, there had never been such a thing, her time was now part of it, she hated it.She is entering old age, and between now and someday when God gets tired of watching her go about her daily activities and decides to call her to heaven, she wants to rest and enjoy the changing seasons and the passage of time.But what happens when you ask God?The answer you get will be "I am I", and that's the end.God didn't even answer when his own son begged to have the cup taken from his lips... She couldn't get used to the sound of sniffing, couldn't get used to it.She is just an ordinary sinner, and every night, when the wind blows through the cornfield, she thinks that God watched a baby girl be born from the mother's body as early as 1882, and she thinks to herself: "I have to let She had a good time, and she had assignments in 1990 — 1990 after a whole bunch of calendars turned over."

Her time at Hemingford Yards is drawing to a close, and the final season of her life will be spent near the Western Rockies.He had sent Moses to climb mountains and Noah to build ships.Seeing his son being nailed to a tree.How could he have cared, how Abby Freemantle was afraid of the man without a face, who had sneaked into her dreams? She had never met him, nor did she need to.He was a shadow across the cornfield at noon, a cold snap, an eavesdropper peeping through the telephone wires.He called to her in all sorts of voices that frightened her—quietly, the ticking of a death clock protruding from under the steps, heralding the death of someone beloved; loudly. , that is, the thunder in the dark clouds from the west in the afternoon, like the boiling Armageddon.Sometimes there was no sound at all except the whistling of the evening wind in the cornfield, but she knew he was still there, and that was the most frightening thing, because every now and then the man in black looked Only slightly smaller than God, and she was within reach of the black monster.He flew silently over Egypt, killing the eldest son or daughter of every household whose doorposts were not stained with blood.This frightened her the most.Fear made her seem like a child again.She knew that although others had heard of him and feared him, only she had truly recognized his terrible power.

"What a day," she said, popping the last piece of bread into her mouth.She rocked back and forth, drinking her coffee.It was a clear day, and no part of her body particularly ached, and she prayed a little, thanking her for what she had received.God is great, God is good; and the smallest child can learn these words, and they encompass the whole world and everything in it, good and bad. "God is great," said Mama Abagil, "God is merciful. Thank you for the sunshine and coffee and the good bowel movement last night. You're right, God is great..." Coffee Fast Gone.She put down the glass, rocked the rocker, and turned her face up into the sun, like some strange unpolished rock face with a seam of coal left.She dozed off, then fell asleep.Her heart was beating like it had been every minute for the past 39,630 days, and her walls were now as thin as tissue paper.Like a baby in the cradle, you have to put your hand on her chest to be sure she is breathing.

But the smile continued on his face. Things had literally changed over the years since she was a little girl.The Freemantle family came to Nebraska as freed slaves, and Abby's father bought the land on which to build their home with money paid to him by San Freemantle in Southern California. The money counted as salaries for her father and his brothers for eight years after the Civil War.Abagail's great-granddaughter Molly once called the money "conscience money" in a cynical tone.While Molly said this, Abagil remained silent, and neither Molly nor Jim nor the others were young enough to understand anything but the best and the worst.But she still thought about it in her heart: conscience money?So, is there any cleaner money than that?

In this way, the Abgail Freemantle family settled down in the Hemingford House, where the youngest child of the family, Abby, was born.Her father beat those who would not do business with Negroes by buying land a little at a time so as not to shock those who feared "the niggers from afar"; he was The first person in Polk to practice crop rotation and the first to experiment with chemical fertilizers. In March 1902, Gary Seitz went to their home to tell John Freemantle that he had been elected to the Conservation Farm Society (Grange).He was the first black person in Nebraska to join the Conservation Farm Society.It was a really good year.

Anyone, she thought, looking back on her life, could pick out a certain year and say, "This was the best."It seems that for anyone, there comes a time when smoothness, success and miracles come together.It's only later that you're amazed why things turned out the way they did, like 10 different appetizers were put in the cold kitchen at once, with each dish smelling like the others.The mushrooms took on the ham, the ham the mushrooms; the venison got a little game from the partridge, and the partridge got a little cucumber.Later in life, you may wish to spread out all the good things that happened in this particular year, so that you can take one of them and place it in a period where you cannot recall anything good or bad. 3 years, 3 quiet years, to see that things are going to work in a certain way, in the world that God created, in the world that Adam and Eve have not built, that's the way things are supposed to be—the way The laundry has been washed; the floors have been mopped; the children have been looked after and the clothes have been mended; for 3 years there is nothing to break the gloom except Easter, Father's Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas. the passage of days and time.But this hope has not been answered, and God still arranges miracles in his own way.1902 was a year of good fortune for Abbie Freemantle and her father.

Abby believes that, apart from her father, she is the only one in the family who understands how important and meaningful it is to join Conservation Farms.Father would be the first black member of the Farm Conservation Society in Nebraska, and most likely the first black member of the Conservation Farm Society in the entire United States.He has no illusions about the price he and his family will pay in the face of vicious jokes and racial attacks from a gang led by Ben Conwell, but he also recognizes that Gary Seitz has provided him with more than just A chance to survive, but also a chance to prosper with the Corn Belt.

As a member of the Conservation Farm Society, buying good seed would no longer be a problem for him, nor would he have to haul his corn all the way to Omaha to find a buyer.Joining the Conservation Society might also mean the end of his dispute with Ben Conwell over water rights.Ben Conwell has always been very extreme when it comes to black people like John Freemantle and black champions like Gary Seitz.It might even mean that the town tax collector will stop his endless squeeze.John Freemantle therefore accepted the invitation and the election overwhelmingly favored him.There were vicious quips and jokes about how a black man got stuck in the attic of the Conservation Society, and a kid who went to heaven and got black wings and was called Bat instead of Angel.Ben Conwell goes around telling people that the only reason Conservation Farmers cast John Freemantle is because Children's Day is coming up and they need a black man to play the African gorilla.John Freemantle pretended not to hear all this talk, and at home he would quote passages from the Bible, "A gentle answer can ward off a wicked attack" and "Take a deep breath and sow what you will reap." ’” He would also quote one of his favorite quotes, “He that accepts what it takes will inherit the world,” in a tone of anticipation rather than humility. Gradually, he united his neighbors around him.Not all of the neighbors of course, not radicals like Ben Conwell and his half-brother George, nor the Arnolds and the Dragons, but uniting everyone but them . In 1903 they had lunch in the drawing room with Gary Seitz and his family, as suave as white men. In 1902, Abagall played the guitar in the halls of the Conservation Farm Society, not in a performance by a black troupe, but in a white elite performance at the end of the year.Her mother was steadfast in her disapproval, and she seldom disapproved of her husband's opinion in front of the children (except when the children were middle-aged and John himself had frostbite on his temples), which was one of the few One of the few exceptions. "I know why it's the way it is," she wept. "You, Seitz, and that Frank Fenner teamed up to set it up. They've got their reasons, John Freemantle, but you What's the matter? They're white! If Nat Jackson let you in his salon, you'd even go to town and have a little beer with them. Her! I know what you've been up to all these years- no Would do better than this. You can still put a smile on your face when your heart is hurting so badly. But this is different! This is your own daughter! If she joins them in a white gown What would you think if they laughed at her? What would you do if they threw rotten tomatoes at her like Brick Sullivan, who was going to sing in a black troupe show? When she was covered in tomatoes How do you explain it when you come home and ask, 'Why, Dad, why did they do this? Why do you put up with them?'" "Well, Rebecca," replied John, "I think we'd better let her and David decide the matter for themselves." David was her first husband and in 1902 Abgail Freemantle became Abgail Trotter.David Trotter was a black farmhand from Valparaiso.He walked nearly 30 kilometers to propose to her.John Freemantle once remarked to Rebecca that the desire to propose had made David more virtuous and well-behaved, and that he was as non-stop as a colt every day.Many people laughed at her husband, saying "we don't know who is in power in your family." But David is not a person who obeys orders, he is just introverted and considerate.When he told John and Rebecca Freemantle, "Everything that Abgail thinks is right, I think is the right thing to do," Abgail was grateful for it, telling her parents that she Intended to continue with the addition of white shows. And so, on December 27, 1902, three months after her wedding, she took the stage in the lobby of the Conservation Farm Society.After the host of the ceremony announced her name, the audience was followed by deathly silence.Before this, Grace Trion had just performed an elegant French dance, displaying her beautiful ankles and petticoats to a din of whistles, cheers and the beat of the male audience's feet. exhaustive. Standing in the dull silence, she realized how black her face and neck were against the new white gown.Her heart was pounding in her chest.She thought, "I forgot every word, even the simplest one, and I promised my father I wouldn't cry no matter what happened, but there was Ben Conwell standing there when he yelled 'Nigger', I think I'm going to cry. Why did I get this far? Mother is right, I'm over my social status and I'm going to pay for it..." The hall was full of white faces, and everyone looked up at her.There are people sitting on every chair, and there are two rows of standing spectators at the end.The lights of kerosene lamps flickered.The red velvet curtain was pulled open suddenly, and then fixed with a golden ribbon. She thought again, "I am Abgail Freemantle Trotter, and I play well and sing well; and I know this not because anyone told me." Next, she began playing and singing "Worn Old Crosses" in the face of still-like silence.Then there's the slightly more intense "I Love My God So Much" and the more intense "Meet in Georgia."People began to sway back and forth obsessively, and some even began to tap their feet with smiles on their faces. She sang a set of Civil War songs, "On John's Way Home," "Walking Through Georgia," and "Peanuts," (more people laughed at the last song, many of them Republican Veterans, during their service, often dug peanuts from the ground to eat).She ends with "Camping at the Old Camp Tonight," and as the last trace of the melody echoes in a slightly sentimental and thoughtful silence, she thinks: Now if you want to throw tomatoes or anything else, go ahead. do it.I've played and sung to the best of my ability, and I've done a good job. " When the lingering sound dissipated, the audience was silent. People, whether they were sitting or standing in the back row, their thoughts were taken thousands of miles away, and it was difficult to return to reality for a while.Then, there was an uproar of thunderous applause, one after another, sensational and lasting.She blushed with fright at the sudden scene, and her body kept shaking.She saw her mother, father and David.His mother was sobbing uncontrollably, and David smiled at her. She wanted to leave the stage, but immediately there was a cheer of "one more, one more" from the audience.With a smile on her face, she played "Digging Potatoes" again.Singing the song was certainly a small adventure, but Abby figured that since Grace Trion could show the audience her ankles, she might be able to sing a slightly less serious song, though She is a married woman. "Someone's digging my potatoes They put it in my case, Someone is coming here, Saw the trouble I was having. " There were six more verses like this (some of them less serious), and she sang them all, with the applause growing louder as she sang the last line of each verse.She thought afterward that if she did anything wrong that night it was singing this song, the song they were trying to hear from a black man. At the end, there was another thunderous applause and "one more" cheers.She re-entered the stage, and after the audience fell silent, she said, "Thank you all. I hope that if I sing one more song, you don't think I'm pushing my limits. I learned this song on purpose, but didn't intend to be here. Sing it. It's the best song I know because of what President Lincoln and what this country has done for me and my family from before I was born." The audience was silent, and everyone was listening intently.Her family sat stunned near the left aisle, like a white handkerchief stained with a speck of blackberry juice. "Because of what happened in the Civil War," she continued calmly, "our family was able to come here and live with so many good neighbors." Then she played and sang "The Star-Spangled Banner," and everyone stood up, some began to weep again, and when she finished the song, the audience applauded enough to lift the roof of the hall.This is the proudest day of her life. She woke up in the afternoon and sat up straight, the sun blinding her eyes.She is a 108-year-old woman.Because of the improper sleeping position, her back hurts, and she knows that this pain will last for another whole day. "What a day," she said, rising cautiously.She began to climb down the rickety stairs, stopping from time to time because of the pain in her back and the tingling in her legs.Blood circulation is no longer what it used to be, shouldn't it be?Over and over, she reminded herself, falling asleep in the rocking chair would have serious consequences.As she dozed off in the rocking chair, the old days would reappear, which was more exciting than watching a TV show, but there was a price to pay for it when she woke up.She could blame herself all she wanted, but she was as stubborn as a dog who likes to sleep by the fireplace.Once she sat in the sun, she fell asleep and there was nothing she could do about it. She finally came down the steps, paused for a moment to rest her legs, and then coughed out a mouthful of phlegm onto the floor.When she felt her body was back to normal (except for the pain in her back), she walked slowly to the toilet at the back of the building.The toilet was repaired by her grandson Victor in 1931.She went in, closed and bolted the toilet door solemnly, as if there were not a few sparrows but a crowd of people outside the door.After squatting for a while, she began to urinate while sighing in satisfaction.Another thing about old age that you probably haven't mentioned (or maybe you've never heard of it) is that it makes you no longer know when to pee. The bladder loses all feeling, and if you're not careful, you Had to change pants. She's clean so she goes to the loo six or seven times a day and she puts a potty next to her bed at night. Molly's Jim once said she was like a dog, never Passing by a fire hydrant doesn't take a piss. She laughs till the tears run down her cheeks and from her eyes. Molly's Jim is an advertiser in Chicago doing a good job... whatever Anyway, that was a thing of the past. She guessed he was gone now with the others, and Molly. God bless their hearts. Since last year or so, Molly and Jim have been the only two people left to see her here.The rest seemed to have forgotten that she was alive, which she understood quite well, for she had lived past her age.She's like a dinosaur with nothing to do but still has a living body whose proper place is in a museum (or in a tomb).She could understand why they didn't come to see her, but she couldn't understand why they didn't come back to see the land.There isn't much left of the place, it's just a piece of land in what used to be a large estate.However, it is their land.Black people don't seem to care about the land as much as they used to, in fact, some of them have come to feel ashamed of it.They went to the city looking for a career, and most of them, like Jim, achieved something.But when I think of the black people who turned their faces away from this land, there is a nameless pain in my heart.Molly and Jim had planned to install a flush bathroom for her the year before last.The offer was rejected by her, and they felt hurt.She tried to explain it to them, but what Molly kept saying over and over was, "Great-grandmother Abagil, you're 106 years old. What do you think I'm going to think, going out to bed knowing you're only 10 degrees outside?" Toilet? Haven't you thought that the stimulation of cold can hurt your heart?" "God calls me when He wants to call me," Abagail said quietly.She was knitting as she said this.They took it for granted that she hadn't seen them roll their eyes at each other. There are some things you can't give up.This seems to be another thing that young people cannot understand. 1982 - When she was 100 years old, Katie and David bought her a TV, which she accepted.When alone, TV is a great tool to help pass the time.But when Christopher and Susie say they're going to help her with running water, she says no to it like Molly and Jim did to the bathroom.They thought the well was so shallow that it would dry up if there was another summer like the one in 1988.That was true, but she continued to say "no."They thought she was old and confused, she was getting old little by little, like a floor being painted layer by layer, but she herself thought her mind was as clear as ever. She stood up slowly, sprinkled some lime into the pit, cleaned up, and staggered back into the sunlight.She always kept the toilet smelling fragrant, but no matter how good it smelled, it was just a shabby, dank place. When Chris and Susie offered to fill her with running water, God's voice seemed to whisper in her ear.When Molly and Jim try to buy her a Chinese chair with joysticks, God's voice echoes again.God did speak to man; didn't he talk to Noah about the ark and tell him how long, deep, and wide it should be?He must have talked to Noah.She believed God spoke to herself, too, not from a burning jungle or a blazing pillar of fire, but whispered, "Abby, you're going to need your hand pump. You can enjoy it Your zeal, but you'll keep your lamps full, and you'll trim your wicks as often as you want. You'll have to tidy up the cold kitchen the way your mother used to. Don't let any young man convince you to do anything against my will, Abby. They are your children, and I am your God." She stopped in the courtyard and looked at the large cornfields outside the courtyard. The cornfields were only disconnected at the point leading north to Duncan and Columbus.These dirt roads become asphalted 3 miles from her house.The corn had grown well this year, but it was a disgrace to her that no one but the vultures had come to harvest it.Every time I think of the big red harvester parked in the warehouse in this golden autumn in September, I think that there will be no more busy bees and barn dances, and I think that for the first time at the age of 108, I can no longer Seeing Xia Quqiu coming here, she felt very sad.She was going to love this summer because it was going to be her last - she could feel it lucidly.She will not be arranged to spend the rest of her life here, she will go to a completely strange country in the far west.It's excruciating. She shuffled to the swing made of tires, sat on it and began to swing.It was an old tractor tire that her brother Lucas had hung up in 1922.The ropes have been changed countless times, but the tires have never been.Today, a piece of canvas covering it has been worn out in several places, and there are deep indentations in the tire rim due to the play of generations of young people.There is a deep soil groove below, the grass has stopped growing long ago, and the bark has peeled off on the big branch of the hanging rope, revealing the white trunk.The rope creaked and dangled when she said aloud: "Please, my God, I will let you do it for me, if you can, if I must. I am old and afraid, and I want to lie in my own homeland. If You want me to go, and I can go now. You'll get your work done, but Abby's just an old black person woman with a frail body and a shaky walk. You'll get your job done." There was no response but the creaking of ropes from tree trunks and the crowing of crows in the distance.She leaned her wrinkled forehead against the cracked trunk of the apple tree her father had planted long ago, and wept bitterly. That night, she dreamed that she was once again on the stage of the "Protection of Agriculture Society". The young, beautiful and pregnant Abagil wore a string of dark Ethiopian pearls in a white dress and a guitar around his neck. Slowly, slowly, in the silence, her thoughts flowed into one thought: "I am Abagail Freemantle Trotter and I play very well and sing very well. Not bad, I know this not because anyone told me." In the dream, she slowly turned to face the faces of the audience as white as the moon, to the hall illuminated by oil lamps, to the soft light coming in from the window, to the bright red eyes bound together by golden ribbons. curtain. She believed in her own ideas and began to play "Jesus Christ" with confidence.She played and sang, without the slightest tension or restraint, just as freely as in normal practice, her voice was sweet and full of emotion, like the soft light of a butter lamp.She thought: I will win them.With God's help I will win them over.I'd make David and my father and my mother proud of me, I'd make myself proud of myself, I'd bring them a voice like a stone through water... and that's when she saw him for the first time.He stood far in the corner, behind all the seats, with his hands folded on his chest.He was wearing jeans, a work jacket with button pockets, and black dirt-stained boots, like he was walking a long, long dirt road in the dark.His forehead was white as a gaslight, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were deep as sapphires, and they glowed with visceral pleasure, like the Son of Satan's expression after he took over Chris Kriging's job.He grinned warmly and slightly mockingly, showing his teeth as white as a weasel's. He raised his hands.Each hand was clenched into a fist like an old knot on an apple tree, and he was still smiling, that presumptuous and terrifying laugh.Blood started dripping from his fist.Her mind froze, her fingers froze; the hall fell silent after a cascade of dissonant notes, "God! God!" she cried, but God turned away. Ben Conwell rose to his feet, flushed, with twinkling wolf-like eyes. "Nigger!" he yelled, "what the hell is this nigger doing on our stage? No nigger can make real music!" What responded to him was a strong voice of approval.People were pouring towards the front.She saw her husband stand up and try to climb onto the stage.A fist hit him in the mouth, knocking him onto his back. "Get those niggers in the back!" Bill Arnold yelled, and someone pushed Rebecca Freemantle against the wall.The other - who appeared to be Dagon - covered Rebecca with red velvet curtains and bound her with gold ribbons.And he yelled, "Look here! A nigger in make-up, a nigger in make-up!" Others responded, pushing and shoving the struggling woman under the velvet cover. "Mom!" Abbie screamed. The guitar slipped from her unconscious hands and shattered on the edge of the stage. She frantically looked for the invisible man at the back of the hall, but he was running like an engine started, and ran to another place. "Mom!" She continued to cry, and a pair of rough hands reached out to her on the stage, under her clothes, grabbed her, pinched her, and pinched her buttocks.Others grabbed her hand and twisted her arm back, leading her to something hot and hard. Ben Conwell's voice rang in her ears: How do you like my Jesus so much?you nigger! " The whole hall was uproarious.She saw her father trying to hold her mother up—a shadow struggling under the red cloth, and she saw a pair of white hands lift a bottle from behind a folding chair and smash it, its jagged neck gleaming in the oil lamp glowing, stabbing at the father's face again.She saw her father's eyes protruding like two grapes. She began to cry hysterically, and the crying seemed to tear the entire hall, letting the darkness shine through.She's 108-year-old Mama Abagil again, too old for God, too old (but still for God's work to be done), and she walks in cornfields with shallow and wide roots ; she lost her thoughts in the moonlight shining and shadow-dappled cornfields; she heard the summer wind blowing slowly by her ears, blowing the large cornfields; she could even smell the cornfields growing Smell, she has been used to this living smell all her life (she has thought many times that corn is the closest plant to her life, its smell is the smell of life itself, the smell at the beginning of life, she and 3 Three men were married and buried in succession, David Trotter, Henry Hardesty and Nat Brocco. She had slept with all three men, as a woman greets a man greeted them; and every now and then, there was a longing and a joy, and a searing thought, "Oh God, how I want to make love to my man, how I want him to make love to me, to get what he wants Yes, give me what I want." Sometimes, in the split second of orgasm, she would think of corn, as always, corn with no deep roots but a wide extension, and she would alternate between flesh and corn. When it was all over, The husband lay next to her, the room smelled of sex, the smell of the man's sperm inside her, the smell of the orange water she used as lube, like the smell of peeled corn, mild and sweet, a wonderful smell .) She was a little frightened, a little ashamed, of this closeness to the land, to the summer, to the growing corn.Because she wasn't alone, he was here with her, two rows of corn to the left or right, or trailing behind or wandering ahead.Here is the man whose face cannot be seen, his dusty boots stuck in the mud, he took them off and threw them into the sky, smiling all the time, that smile is like a guiding light in a storm. He spoke, speaking out loud for the first time.She could see his shadow falling on the path she was walking under the moonlight, huge and eerie.His voice was like the night wind through withered cornstalks in October, the swish of those rotten cornstalks speaking of the end.The sound was very soft, but it was undoubtedly the sound of death. It says, "I have your blood in my hand, old lady. If you pray to God, please pray that he will take you before you hear my footsteps. You shouldn't be playing real music, in my hand." With your blood." Then she awoke, at the hour before dawn.At first, she thought she was wetting the bed, but in reality she was just sweating like dew in May.Her frail body trembled helplessly, and every part ached unbearably. "My God, please take me." Her God didn't answer.Only the morning breeze tapped on the window frame, which had long since loosened and creaked and needed to be puttyed again.最后，她起身下床，将老火炉里的炭火拨旺，放上咖啡。 接下来的几天，她还要做很多事情，因为她有客人要来。无论做不做梦，无论累或者不累，她从来都没怠慢过客人，现在也不打算开始怠慢。但她必须慢慢地做每一件事情。否则她会忘记很多事——她这些天老是健忘——经常将物品放错了地方。要做的第一件事是去艾迪·理查森的养鸡场，路程不短，大概有4至5英里。她发现自己在幻想着上帝是否会派一只鹰驮她飞过这4英里地，或让伊利亚那飞快的马车捎她一程。 “真是对神的不敬呀！”她洋洋自得地说，“上帝赐予我力量，不是出租汽车。” 她刷完了为数不多的几只碟子，穿上一双厚重的鞋，拿起拐杖。即使到了现在她也很少用拐杖，但今天她得拿上它。去4英里，回来4英里。16岁的时候她可以一路飞奔过去，然后蹦蹦跳跳地返回，但现在16岁已经是很遥远的过去了。 她在早晨11点出发，希望正午之前赶到理查森农场，好在一天中最热的时候能睡上一觉。接近傍晚的时候把鸡杀了，黄昏时返回。天黑了才能到家，让她不由想起前天夜里作的那个梦。但那个男人离她还很远，相比来说，她的客人要近多了。 她走得很慢，甚至比想象得还慢，因为早上8点半太阳光已经很强了。她没有流多少汗——身上已没有多少肌肉能分泌出汗液了——但走到古德尔家的邮箱时，她不得不停下来歇会。她在他们家的胡椒树下坐下来，嚼了几只无花果。看不见有鹰或出租车过来。她为自己的这个想法笑出了声，站起来，捋平身上的褶皱，继续赶路。仍然没有出租车。上帝只帮助那些自己成就自己的人。她浑身的关节又一次紧张起来。今晚将有一个音乐会。 行进过程中，她越来越弯向那支拐杖，手腕开始吃不住劲了。镶着黄边的劳动靴在尘土中颤悠着前行。太阳直射到她身上，时间一点点过去，她影子越来越短。她在这个早晨见到的动物比她20岁以来见到的所有动物还要多：狐狸、浣熊、豪猪、食鱼貂……到处都有乌鸦，啼叫着在空中盘旋。如果她听见斯图·雷德曼和格伦·巴特曼讨论变幻莫测的流感——对他们来说甚少是这样——夺走一些动物的生命而让另一些幸存下来，她一定会发笑。那场流感杀死了家禽，却留下了野生动物，就这么简单。少数家禽幸存下来，但总的说来，灾难带走了人和人类最好的朋友。它带走了狗，却留下了狼，因为狼是野生而狗不是。 一种烧灼般的疼痛慢慢渗入到臀部、膝盖、脚踝和拄着拐杖的手腕。她边走边和心中的上帝交谈，时而安静，时而大声，并没有意识到两种方式有什么不同。她又陷入了对过去的回忆之中。1902年是不错的一年。从那以后，时间似乎加速飞逝，大叠大叠的日历一天天翻过，从来不曾停下……肉体的生命是这样转瞬即逝，为什么肉体还会对生存感到如此疲倦呢？ 她和戴维·特罗特生了5个孩子；梅拜尔是其中的一个，她在老宅后院里被一块苹果噎死了。那时阿比正在晾衣服，她转身看见婴孩仰面躺着，手掐着脖子，脸已发青。她终于将苹果抠了出来，小梅拜尔已经手脚冰凉，全身僵直。她生下的唯一一个女孩就这样死去了，这也是她众多孩子中死于意外事故的唯一一个。 现在，她坐在瑙格尔家院子里的榆木树下，在路前方约200码处，她可以看见土路和柏油马路交汇在一起——交汇的地方也就是弗里曼特尔路变为德克路的地方。白天的热量使柏油路闪烁着微光，地平线上则如水银般光亮，又像梦中的水面，波光粼粼。在炎热的白天，在肉眼可以看到的最远处，你总可以看见这种如同水银的光芒，但你却永远无法走近它。甚少她是不曾走近过。 戴维在1913年死于一场流行性感冒，那场流行病和后来这次没什么区别，也是使无数人丧生。1916年，她34岁那年，嫁给了亨利·哈德斯蒂，一位从威尔郡来到北部的黑人农场主。亨利是一个带着7个孩子的鳏夫。7个孩子中的5个相继长大成人离家远去。他比阿巴盖尔大7岁，和她生了两个男孩。1925年仲夏他驾驶的拖拉机翻车，他在这场事故中丧生。一年之后，她嫁给了纳特·布罗科，人们对此议论纷纷，人们总是喜欢议论，有时这好像就是他们不得不做的一切。纳特曾是亨利·哈德斯蒂的雇工，对她来说，他无愧是个好丈夫。也许不如戴维和蔼可亲，也一定不如亨利体贴如微，但他的确是个好男人，在大多数事情上都按她的意旨办事。当一名主妇开始年复一年地面对无数琐事时，知道自己享有决定权无疑是一件快事。 她的6个儿子为她产出32个孙子孙女。这32个孙子孙女又为她制造出91个曾孙曾孙女，在那场流感盛行的时候，她已有了3个曾曾孙。如果不是现在女孩子们用避孕药，她还会有更多的子孙后代。对现在的女孩来说，性似乎成为她们的又一个娱乐场。阿巴盖尔妈妈为她们这种现代生活方式感到遗憾，但她从未说过什么。该由上帝来判定她们服避孕药究竟是否有罪（而不是由罗马那个秃头的家伙，阿巴盖尔妈妈一直是卫理公会教徒，她十分庆幸自己没有和天主教徒发生过联系），但阿巴盖尔妈妈知道她们错过了什么：她们错过了站在幽谷边缘时的欣喜，错过了将自己交给自己的男人和上帝时的欣喜，错过了在上帝的注视下重行亚当和夏娃的罪恶时最后的欣喜，而这层罪恶现在才由耶稣的鲜血而使之变得清白圣洁。 哦，多好的一天…… 她想要一杯水，她想躺在家中的摇椅上，她想独自呆着。现在，她能够看见左前方掠过养鸡场屋顶的阳光。最多就1英里了。时间是10点15分，对一个老太太来说，她做得不坏。她将允许自己一觉睡到傍晚天气转凉的时候。这不是罪过。在她这个年纪，这不是罪过。她颤悠着前行。那双厚重的鞋现在已布满了灰尘。 想来，她有很多亲戚为她的长寿祝福，这倒不是一件坏事。有一些亲戚，像琳达和她那得过且过的推销员丈夫就不屑于来看她，但也有很好的晚辈，像莫利、吉姆、戴维、卡蒂，这足以弥补1000个琳达和她挨家挨户出售一次性炊具、得过且过的推销员丈夫所带来的不快。她的最后一个兄弟，鲁克死于1949年，死的那年大约八十几岁；最后一个孩子，萨穆艾，在1974年——他54岁那年去世。她比所有的孩子都要长寿，这似乎有悖常理，但看起来的确是上帝对她另有安排。 1982年，她满100岁，照片登到奥马哈报纸上，他们还派了一名电视记者来采访她。“什么使你长寿？”那个年轻人问，但很快就对她简短甚至有些草率的回答失望了。“上帝。”她答道。他们想听她说她如何服用蜂蜜，或如何不吃熏肉，或睡觉的时候如何将腿抬高。但她根本没做过这些事，她又怎么能撒谎呢？上帝能赐予人类生命，也能随时将它带走。 卡蒂和戴维给她买了一台电视，她从新闻上看见自己。她还收到里根总统（那时已不再年轻）的一封信，祝贺她的“长寿”，并感谢她自从有选举权以来一直投共和党的票。就是，她还能选什么人呢？罗斯福和他的一班人马都是“共和党人”。她100岁之后，赫明福德镇永远地取消了她的税金，原因和里根总统祝贺的一样，都是因为她的长寿。她获得了一张证书，证明她是内布拉斯加最老的人，就像从很小的时候就致力于一项事业而最后终于得到了肯定。无论如何，取消税金算是一件好事，而其他的都无外乎是无稽之谈——如果他们不作出取消决定，她也许连仅剩的这一点土地都会失去。大部分土地和房产都已失去；弗里曼特尔家和“保护农业社”的权力在1902年都达到了顶峰，从那以后就开始一蹶不振。现在仅剩下4亩地。其余的或被纳税或被变卖成现金……大部分的变卖都是她的儿子们干的，她羞于启齿。 去年，她收到一封来自纽约某个组织的信。那个组织自称为美国老年协会。信里说，她是全美国排名第六的高龄老人，在女士中排名第三。年龄最大的老人是加利福利亚桑吉·罗沙的一位122岁的老头。她让吉姆把这封信放到镜框里，和里根的信并排放在一起。吉姆直到这周五才顾得上把它挂上。想到这儿，她才想起这是她最后一次见到莫利和吉姆。 她终于到了理查森的农场，人已精疲力尽。她在离谷仓最近的一棵篱笆上靠了一会儿，以一种渴望的心情注视着这栋房子。里面肯定凉爽宜人。她觉得自己可以睡上一个世纪。但睡之前，她还有一件事要做。许多动物都死于这场疾病——马、狗、耗子——她必须先弄清楚鸡是否在此之列。如果她走了这一路却只发现几只死鸡，她会哭笑不得。她蹒跚地走向谷仓旁边的鸡圈，听到里面咯咯咯的鸡叫时，她停下了脚步。不一会儿，还传出公鸡的打鸣。“太好了，”她嘟哝着，“真是太好了。” 她转身四处看看的时候发现木头上摊着一具尸体，一只手遮着脸。认出是她的妹夫比利·理查森，尸体已经被四处觅食的动物啄得体无完肤。“真可怜，”阿巴盖尔叹息道，“太可怜了。愿你的灵魂能升入天国，比利·理查森。” 她转身走向凉爽的房子。房子看起来有好几里远，而事实上它却就在院子的另一边。她不知道自己还能不能走那么远，她实在太累了。 “愿上帝保佑！”她说着便迈开了步子。 阳光从窗户中泻进来照着整个客厅，她脱下劳动靴美美地睡了一觉。醒来时，她一时半会儿还没弄明白光线为什么会那么强，这感觉颇有些像拉里·安德伍德在新汉普郡的石头墙旁突然醒来。 她坐起身来，身上每一绷紧的肌肉和脆弱的骨头都嘎吱作响。“上帝！我睡了一下午加整整一个晚上！” 如果真是这样的话，她可就的确是太累了。她现在是如此虚弱以至于她花了整整10分钟才从床上走到浴室；又花了10分钟才穿上鞋。走路是件痛苦的事，但她知道她必须走动走动，要不然，身子骨就会像生铁一样僵硬下去。 她踉跄着走到鸡圈里，酷热、鸡和鸡粪臭味令她不时皱皱眉头。水是自动供应的，由一个水泵从理查森家的自流井中抽上来，大部分饲料都吃光了，加上炎热的天气，最老最弱的鸡早已被饿死或被同伴啄死。尸体横七竖八地躺在星星点点的饲料粪便中间，就像一小堆一小堆极不情愿融化的雪。 余下的在她靠近之前都扑腾着翅膀飞远了，要孵卵的母鸡却坐着纹丝不动，傻傻地眨着眼看着她慢慢地走近。有这么多种可以让鸡死亡的疾病，她一直担心流感早已夺去了这帮生灵的生命，但看来它们活得还不错。上帝允许它们活下去。 她挑了3只最丰满的，将它们的头埋在翅膀下装到一只袋子里，这时，她却发现身子僵硬得没法把袋子扛起来，只好在地板上拖着往外走。 剩下的鸡站在高处，谨慎提防着老妇人的脚步，直到她走远，才又回到原处为渐少的饲料进行殊死的搏斗。 现在已是早晨9点钟的光景。她坐在理查森家院子里橡树周围的环形椅子上慢慢地思考。看来，她最初打算在黄昏凉快的时候往回赶的想法还是最好的。她浪费了整整一天，客人到来的日子一天天临近。她可以利用今天把鸡收拾了，还要好好休息一下。 她的肌肉稍微松驰了一点，胸骨下面有一种久违的，让人觉得舒服的轻微疼痛感。她花了好长时间才意识到——她饿了。这个早晨，她实实在在地觉得饿了，谢天谢地，多少天来她都只是出于习惯进食。就像一个火车司炉工定期地上煤一样，仅此而已。但现在，在她杀完3只鸡以后，她就可以去厨房看看艾迪都剩下了些什么，然后，她将享受她所发现的东西。多好。现在该明白了吗？她训斥着自己。上帝自然知道什么是最好的安排。一定要按旨行事，阿巴盖尔，一定要按旨行事。 她一边咕哝着喘着气，一边拖着装鸡的袋子绕过谷仓和木棚间的木头桩。她发现比利·理查森的斧子挂在门后的木钉上，刃上整整齐齐地套着橡皮套。她取了它，转身又走出门去。 “我的上帝”，她把袋子放在脚下那双满是尘土的黄靴子旁，抬头看看盛夏万里无云的天空，“你赐予我力量走到这，我相信你还会赐予我力量走回去。你的预言家以赛亚说，如果一个人相信上帝就是主宰，他就会插上鹰的翅膀。我不太了解鹰，我的上帝，除了知道它们是最难看的鸟并且能看得很远以外，我装了3只鸡，我想宰了它们但不伤着我的手。愿上帝保佑我，阿门。” 她拿起袋子，打开瞅了一眼。一只鸡还把头埋在翅膀底下熟睡。另外两只互相挤撞着，谁也没移动太多。袋子里很黑，3只鸡大概都认为是到了晚上。比静坐着的母鸡更呆愣的，只有纽约的民主党人。 阿巴盖尔拎起一只，在它还没明白怎么回事之前将它放到了木桩上。她费劲地抽出斧子，听见斧刃砍入木头发出致命的“嘭”的一声时，她习惯性畏缩了一下。鸡头从木桩另一边应声落地，无头的鸡身大摇大摆地走到院子中央，喷着血扑着翅。不一会儿，就大大方方地倒地而死。唉，老母鸡，纽约民主党人，我的天呀，我的上帝。 工作顺利完成，她担心弄得一团糟或是伤着自己的顾虑都不复存在。上帝听见了她的祈祷。3只肥肥的母鸡在手，现在她要做的就是把它们带回家去。 她把鸡重新放进袋子里，将理查森的斧头挂回原处。然后她进了农场住宅，想看看能不能找着些吃的。 中午她先是打了一会盹，梦见客人越来越近；已经到约克镇南，搭着一辆顺路的旧卡车。他们一行6人，其中有一个虽然聋哑但意志十分坚强的男孩，这是必须要谈话的对象之一。 她大约3点半钟醒来，浑身有点发硬，但还觉得很精神了不少。接下来的两个半小时，她一直给鸡拔毛，手指关节疼痛难忍时，就停下来歇会儿，然后继续。干活儿的时候，她哼了几首歌——“入城的七道门”，“信任并服从”和她最喜欢的那首“在花园里”。 当她收拾完最后一只鸡时，每一只手指都开始了周期性的疼痛。天空泛上一层祥和的金色光芒，预示着黄昏的将临。现在已是6月下旬，白天开始变短。 她进到厨房里，又咬了一口面包。很硬但没有发霉——理查森的厨房里永远不会有发霉的东西——她还发现了用剩的半罐上等花生酱。她只拿一块夹着花生酱的三明治，另外还做了一块放进口袋，饿了的时候可以拿出来吃。 现在是6点40分。她拿起袋子，走到门外，小心翼翼地走下台阶。她拔毛的时候，将毛都放进了另一只袋子，但还是有几支羽毛飞了出来，飞过了理查森家的树篱，树篱现在缺水缺得厉害。 阿巴盖尔重重地叹了一口气，说，“我走了，上帝，回家去。我会慢慢地走，不指望在午夜之前能到家，《圣经》上说不要害怕夜晚的黑暗，也不要畏惧正午的太阳。我在尽我所能地按你的意志办事。请与我同在。愿上帝保佑我。阿门。” 当她走到柏油马路和土路交汇的地方时，天已经全黑了。蟋蟀和青蛙在某个潮湿的地方低鸣，也许就在古德尔家的池塘里。看起来会有月亮升起，在升入正空中之前会一直呈现那种血红的颜色。 她坐下来稍作歇息，吃了半块夹着花生酱的三明治（如果她能有一杯黑葡萄汁该有多好，艾迪的葡萄汁都放在地下室里，要下去得走太多级的楼梯）。袋子就在她旁边。她又开始浑身犯疼，前面还有两英里半的路要走，但她似乎已经没有力气支撑下去了。她莫名其妙地觉得精疲力尽。天黑下来，繁星出现已经多久了？它们和以往任何时候一样在天空闪耀，如果运气不错，她也许会看见一颗流星以供她许愿。这种夏日的晚上，这样的星空以及刚从地平线上露出红红脸蛋的月亮都让她又想起自己的童年时光，回忆起童年时光，回忆起那时的点点滴滴，那时的炎热，以及那时在圣餐礼上的又惊又喜。她也曾是一个小女孩。有人不会相信这点，就像他们没法相信一棵参天的红杉曾也是一棵不起眼的绿芽。但她的确曾经就是一个小女孩。那个时候，作为孩子对黑夜的惧怕已经减退，作为成人对黑夜万籁俱静可以听见自己灵魂之声的惧怕又还没有到来，在这段空隙，夜晚对她来说就像一块带着芳香的七巧板，可以抬头看着繁星密布的天空，感受阵阵晚风带来的醉人花香，你顿时觉得自己可以听见宇宙的心跳，可以感受到爱与生命的脉搏。你好像会永远这般年轻，好像…… 我手心里有你的血。 突然有一样东西在狠狠地抓她的袋子。她的心跳一下加速了。 “咳！”她以自己特有的粗哑的老太太嗓音叫了一声，把袋子往身边拽了拽。 有一种低低的吱吱声。在砾石路边缘和玉米地之间蹲伏着一只硕大的棕色黄鼠狼。它冲她转着眼珠，身上反射着点点红色的月光。随后又冒出来一只，两只，三只…… 她看了一眼路对面，那儿蹲着一排黄鼠狼。狡黠的小眼睛透出冒险一搏的神情。它们闻到了袋子里死鸡发出的气味。但怎么会有这么多只呢？她左右徘徊着，越来越害怕。她被黄鼠狼咬过一次。那次她走到台阶下去捡橡皮球，突然感觉就像一个满嘴含针的东西咬住了她的小臂。这种意想不到的恶毒一击，以及随之而来的一种热辣辣的疼痛和反常让她大叫一声，缩回小臂，黄鼠狼没有松口，一直悬在她的小臂上，渗出的点点血迹都已开始滴下来，它的身子像蛇一样在空中来回晃悠。她不停地尖叫并甩动着胳膊，都无济于事，黄鼠狼就是死咬着不松口，像已成为她身体的一部分。她的兄弟迈卡和马修斯在院子里，父亲则在台阶上看一份邮单。听到叫声他们迅速跑过来，但都不由得被眼前的景象惊呆了：12岁的阿巴盖尔站在台阶前的空地上哭泣，一只棕色的黄鼠狼像块披肩挂在胳膊上，后爪在空中不停地扑腾，像要抓住什么东西。血已经滴滴嗒嗒地溅落到了衣服上，腿和鞋子上。父亲最先反应过来。约翰·弗里曼特尔操起一根木棒，大喝一声，“站着别动，阿比！”这是她从小以来第一次听见父亲以彻头彻尾的命令口吻对她说话。这声音使她稳过神来，尽管她也的确除了站着不动之外做不了什么别的。她静静地站着，木棒呼地一声落下，胳膊上的疼痛顿时瞬间转移到了肩膀了（她以为自己的胳膊就这样断了），那团带给她疼痛和惊讶，在这种时候这两种感觉已完全交织在一起的棕色东西掉到了地上，它的皮毛上仍沾着她的血。迈卡也随着跳起来，双脚落地踩住它，踩出最后“扑”的一声，就像硬水果被牙咬成两半时在脑袋中产生的声响一样。如果黄鼠狼在这之前还尚存余息的话，那这次一定是必死无疑了。阿巴盖尔没有昏倒，但她开始抽泣，发疯似地尖叫。 这时理查德，家中的长子也跑了过来，他的脸吓得苍白。和父亲相互交换了一个严肃而担心的眼色。 “我这辈子还没见过一只黄鼠狼干这样的事！”约翰。弗里曼特尔说着将哭泣着的女儿搂到怀里。“感谢上帝，你母亲还一无所知地走在路上。” “它可能有狂……”理查德想开口说话。 “闭嘴！”父亲打断了他，但他自己的声音却同样带有战栗、愤怒和恐惧。理查德马上住嘴了，迅速而决绝，事实上，阿比都几乎听见了那“叭”的一声闭嘴的声音。他父亲对她说，“让我们带你去水泵那儿洗洗，宝贝儿，洗掉身上的血迹。” 一年之后，鲁克才告诉她，父亲不想让理查德大声说出来的一个事实是：那只黄鼠狼一定是患上了狂犬病才那样咬人的，如果真是那样，她将死得十分可怕，像人们所知道的那样，除了肉体上的折磨，还会有很多别的骇人症状。但那只黄鼠狼并没有染上狂犬病，伤口也愈合得很好。尽管如此，她还是从那天起至今就开始害怕黄鼠狼，就像有人天生害怕耗子害怕蜘蛛那样。要是那场流感使它们而不是使狗毙命该多好！但事与愿违。she…… 我手心里有你的血！ 众多黄鼠狼中的一只跳到跟前，开始咬那只袋子。“嗨！”她冲它尖叫起来。那只黄鼠狼又跳回去，嘴上似乎挂着笑，牙间叼着一块撕下来的布条。 他派它们来的——那个黑衣人。 恐惧几乎淹没了她。现在已有了成百上千只黄鼠狼，灰的，棕的，黑的，无一不闻着鸡的味道。它们在马路两边一行行排开，冲着闻到的味道蠢蠢欲动。 “我得把袋子扔给它们，别无办法。如果我不给，它们会把我撕成碎片来得到它。别无办法。” 在记忆的一片空白之中，她似乎看见了那个黑衣人的笑脸，看见了他伸出滴血的拳头。 另一只跳上来咬了一口袋子，接着又是一只。 路那边的黄鼠狼也开始朝她这边蠕动，肚子贴在地上，身子压得低低的。它们野性十足的小眼睛就像月光下的冰块一样闪着光。 ……但相信我的人，请看，他是不会消亡的……因为我已赋予他我的神符，任何人都不可以碰他……他是我的，上帝说…… 她站直了，虽然还是惊恐万分，但已经完全明白了自己该怎么做。“滚，”她在吼，“袋子里装着鸡，没错，但这是为我的客人准备的！你们都给我滚！” 黄鼠狼退下去了。它们的小眼睛透出无限的不安。突然间，它们像股烟似地全消失了。真是个奇迹，她想，她心里充满了狂喜和对上帝的赞美。瞬间，她觉得浑身发冷。 远在西部某个地方，地平线上无法看到的落基山脉的那一边，她可以感觉到有一只眼睛——一只闪烁着的眼睛——突然睁大了转向她，搜索着什么。她如亲耳听见他大声说出来一般听见了一句话：“谁在那儿？是你吗？老太太？” “他知道我在这儿，”她在黑夜里喃喃低语，“请帮我一把，上帝，请帮助我们所有的人。”拖着那只袋子，她又开始往家赶。 他们在两天之后，也就是7月24日那天到达。她没能按照预期的设想完成准备工作；她再一次得借助拐杖才能一瘸一拐地走路，还差一点卧床不起；她也几乎不能从井里泵水上来。杀完鸡又遭遇黄鼠狼的第二天，她昏昏沉沉地睡了一下午，心力交瘁。她梦见自己置身于西部落基山脉的幽深峡谷之中。6号公路蜿蜒盘旋于悬崖绝壁之间。崖壁的影子在上午11点45分至中午12点50分以外的任何时候都笼罩着峡谷。她梦见的不是白天，而是没有一点月光漆黑的晚上。狼群在某个地方嗥叫。突然间，一只眼睛在黑暗中张开，随着松林和云杉之间的呼呼风声吓人地左右乱转。是他，他正找她。 她从长时间的沉睡中惊醒，感觉还不如躺下的时候舒服。她再一次祈求上帝放了她，或至少改变他想让她走的方向。 “北方，南方或东方，上帝，我将唱着圣歌离开赫明福德的家园。但不是西方，不要朝着那个黑衣人。落基山脉已挡在他和我们中间，安第斯山脉也挡在他和我们中间。” 但什么都是无济于事的。或迟或早，当那个人觉得自己足够强大的时候，他会找上门来，寻找那些反对他的人。如果不是今年，那就是明年。狗已经被那场灾难夺去生命，但狼却在这个高山国家幸存下来，准备为撒旦的后代服务。 而且，服务于他的，将不仅仅是狼。 在客人最后到来的那天早晨，她7点起床，一次两根地搬了好几次木头，直到炉火烧得旺旺的，房内装木头的盆子也盛得满满的。上帝赐于她一个多云的阴天，这可是好几个星期来的第一次。傍晚也会有雨，她在1958年摔折的大腿骨预先告诉了她这一点。 她首先开始烤小饼，用的是厨房架子上罐头和花园里新鲜的大黄和草莓。草莓刚长起来，感谢上帝，知道它们这次不会浪费总是件让人高兴的事。烤小饼让她感觉更好，因为这就是充满生机的生活的一部分。一块黑莓小饼，两只草莓大黄，一只苹果……它们的味道充满了早晨的厨房。她像往常一样将它们放在厨房的窗台上晾着。 她尽己所能地调好了原料，尽管由于没有新鲜鸡蛋它们略显干硬——她前几天就在鸡场，但没想起鸡蛋的事儿，所以除了自己以外她谁也怨不了。无论有没有新鲜鸡蛋，到中午的时候，那间有着坑坑洼洼的地板和褪色的油毡的小厨房里就已经充满了炸鸡的香味儿。鸡块已经酥透了，她松了口气，蹒跚地走到走廊上读她的每日一课，不时用《上等房间》卷了边角的最后一页扇着风。 鸡块出锅的时候，色泽金黄，十分诱人。客人们到时一定可以拿着鸡翅，走到外面，就着加黄油的玉米棒子，美美地饱餐一顿。 她将鸡块放在纸巾上，带着吉它走到阳台上坐下来，开始边弹边唱。她唱了所有自己喜欢的歌，高昂而略带颤抖的声音在静静的空气中飘荡。 “我们受过考验，也有过诱惑， 我们是不是负担着烦恼？ 我们不应该沮丧， 我们应该在祈祷中将它交给上帝。 " 这音乐感觉真是好极了（尽管她的听觉已不再灵敏，无法判定旧吉它的调子准不准），她一首接一首地弹唱了很多首。 当她正打算唱“进入天堂”时，她听见从北方传来发动机的声音，沿着公路一步步靠近。她不唱了，但手指仍有意无意地拨弄着琴弦，头也不时地晃着点着。Oh!上帝，他们来了，一路上很顺利，现在她已可以看见卡车正从柏油路拐上通向她家院子的土路，扬起一阵阵尘土。她感到一阵欣喜和激动，很高兴自己穿上了最好看的衣服。她把吉它放在膝盖上，眯起双眼，尽管没有太阳。 发动机的声音越来越大，一会儿，在玉米地中古德尔家的牛踩出的那条小路上…… 她看见了它，一辆老雪佛莱农用卡车正缓缓地驶过来。驾驶室里坐得很满，好像是挤了4个人（她视力不成问题，尽管已有108岁），车厢上还站了3个，低头看着驾驶室。她看见一个瘦瘦的白皮肤男人，一个红头发的女孩，中间是……噢，对，中间就是他，一个刚刚明白什么是男人的男孩，黑头发，窄脸，高高的前额。他一看见坐在阳台上的她就开始发疯似地挥手，那个白皮肤男人也加入了。红头发女孩却只是看着。阿巴盖尔妈妈举起手也开始挥起来。 " “感谢上帝让他们顺利到达！”她激动地喃喃自语，两行热泪顺颊而下，“我的上帝，万分感谢你！” 那辆卡车晃晃悠悠叮呤哐啷地进了院子。开车的男人戴着一顶系着蓝丝带插着羽毛的草帽。 “嗨！”他大声叫起来，挥着手，“嗨！这儿，妈妈！尼克说他想你会在这儿，你果然在这儿！哈哈！”他按响了喇叭。和他一起坐在驾驶室里的有一位50岁左右的男人，一个同样年龄的女人和一个穿着红灯芯绒连裤衫的小女孩。小女孩害羞地挥了挥一只手，另一只手的拇指紧紧地含在嘴里。 带着眼罩的黑发男孩——尼克没等车停稳就从卡车的一边跳了下来。站稳后，他开始慢慢地朝她走来。他神情庄重，流露出抑制不住的喜悦。他在台阶上停下，开始环顾四周……院落，房屋，老树，轮胎做的秋千，最后，定睛看住了她。 “你好，尼克。”她说，“很高兴见到你，愿上帝保佑你。” 他笑着，泪水却一个劲地往下落。他拾级而上，抓住了她的手。她把满是皱纹的脸转向他，让他轻轻地吻了一下。卡车停稳后，所有的人都下了车。开车的男人抱着那个穿红灯芯绒裤，右腿上打着石膏的女孩。女孩的胳膊紧箍着他晒得黝黑的脖子，紧挨着是那位50岁左右的女人，然后是红头发女孩和那个白皮肤略带胡子茬的男孩，噢，不应该是个男孩，阿巴盖尔妈妈想，他该是一个男人了，只是有些虚弱。站在最后的是坐在驾驶室的另一个男人，他正擦着自己的眼镜片。 尼克急切地看着她，她点了点头。 “干得不错！”她说，“上帝带你来这儿，阿巴盖尔妈妈要把你喂饱。”