Chapter 47 Chapter 46
The time is the evening of July 27.The place where they camped was called Kunkel Falhope, so said the signpost, which was badly etched by the summer storm.Conkel, Ohio is on the south side.There are traces of a fire, and most of Kunkel has been burned.Stu said it might have been caused by lightning, and Harold, of course, contradicted him.These days, if Stu Redman said fire trucks were red, Harold Lauder would cite countless facts and figures proving that most fire trucks were green these days.
Franny rolled over with a sigh.Difficulty sleeping.She was afraid of that dream.
On the left, 5 motorcycles are lined up on their respective kickstands. The chrome exhaust pipes and parts reflect the moonlight, as if the band "God of Hell" specially picked this place to make a fuss. one night.But they don't ride light bikes like these Hondas and Yamahas, she thought.They were supposed to be riding "flying cars"...or something she'd seen on TV in old America - the International Bicycle Age. "Wild elves, demonic elves, hell gods on wheels." In her high school days, there were huge billboards like this in the drive-in movie theaters.Welsh open air cinema, St Ford open air cinema, South Portland open air cinema...you pay, you choose, and you enjoy.It's all outdated now, gone are all the open air theaters, let alone hell gods and nice old American International pictures.
Write it in your diary, Franny, she told herself, turning over again, but not tonight, tonight she was going to sleep, dreaming or not.
Twenty paces from her, she could see other people, lying in sleeping bags, drunk, like "Gods of Hell" after a beer party where none but Peter Fonda and Nan Everyone on the screen, except for Shy Sinatra, would be lying on the floor drunk.Harold, Stu, Glenn Bateman, Mark Braddock, Perry MacArthur.Take some hypnotics and sleep...
Instead of hypnotics, they took half a Verona.It was Stu's idea.As the nightmare became more and more serious, some of them became a little eccentric and difficult to get along with.He dismissed Harold when he mentioned the idea to the others, because the way to please Harold was to ask his opinion solemnly, and because Harold knew too much.Knowing more is not a bad thing, but it also makes him very neurotic. Being with him is like traveling with a fifth-rate god-man. Although he knows everything, his emotions are changeable and he may collapse at any time .Harold had bought a second gun in Hoboken, where they had met Mark and Perry, and now he carried both guns low and slung across his shoulders.She felt badly about Harold, and Harold was beginning to scare her.She wondered if Harold was going to stop being just crazy one night and start shooting wildly with two guns.She found herself often thinking back to the day she met Harold, in the back yard in his bathrobe, mowing the grass and yelling, his emotional defenses crumbling.
She could imagine how Stu would tell him, must have been quietly, even conspiratorially, Harold, these dreams were a problem.I have an idea, but I don't know how to implement it, a little sedative maybe... it has to be the right dose, if the dose is too high, no one will be able to wake up if there is any abnormal movement.what you think?
Harold suggested that they each take a pill of Verona, which was available anywhere, and reduce it to three quarters of a pill if it stopped those nightmare cycles, and then to half a pill if it worked.Stu approached Gran in private, got the same opinion, and made an experiment.At a dose of 1/4 capsule the nightmares resumed creeping in.So they kept the dose down to half a pill.
At least that's the case for everyone else.
Franny takes medicine every night, but hides it again.She didn't know if Verona would hurt her body, she didn't dare to take the risk.Some say even aspirin can break chromosomes.So she endured the nightmare - endured, that's the word.One dream always predominates, and other, different dreams, slowly dissolve into it.She was at the house in Ogunquit, and the man in black was chasing her.Up and down the stairs, through her mother's lounge, where the clock was still ticking the dreary hours... she knew that if she wasn't carrying her father's body wrapped in the sheets, she would Can escape, but if she puts down the body, the masked man will act profanely.So she ran, feeling him getting closer and closer to her, and finally his hand would fall on her shoulder, his hot and disgusting hand.She'll go limp and her father's body in the shroud slips from her arms, and she'll turn around and say, take it, whatever you want, I don't care, but stop chasing me up.
He stood there, in a black mantle-like garment, with no features to be seen save for an unbridled grin.In one hand he held a twisted coat hanger.At this time, terror hit her like a punch in the face, and she struggled to wake up from the dream, sweating all over, her heart beating faster, and she could no longer fall asleep.
Because what he wanted was not the dead body of his father, but the child conceived in her womb.
She rolled over again.If she couldn't fall asleep quickly, she really wanted to take out her diary and write in it.She started writing a diary on July 5th.To a certain extent, she is keeping this diary for the child who has not yet been born.It was a gesture of confidence, a sign of her firm belief that the baby would survive.She wanted him to know the ins and outs of things.Including how the disaster hit a place called Ogunquit, how she and Harold escaped, and what became of them.She wants the child to understand what happened.
The moonlight is good, writing is more than enough, and two to three pages of diary are always enough to make her feel drowsy.Not much to say about her literary skills, she thought.She still wanted to give sleep another chance.
She closed her eyes.
Keep thinking about Harold.
If Mark and Perry hadn't entrusted each other for life, the situation might have eased with their arrival.Perry is 33 years old, 11 years older than Mark, which is nothing in this world.After they met, they hit it off right away, and walked together very contentedly, like glue.Perry had confided in Franny that they were planning to have a child.Thank God I've been on the pill and no rings, Perry said.Otherwise, in what name should I take it out?
Franny almost told her she was expecting a baby (she was more than three months pregnant), but she held back.She was afraid that speaking out would only make the already bad situation worse.
So now they've gone from 4 to 6 (Gran totally refuses to ride motorcycles and always sits on the back of Stu or Harold) but the situation doesn't improve with the addition of another woman.
What happened to you?what do you want?
If she had to live in a world like this, she thought, had to live until her body clock stopped in six months, she'd want a husband like Stu Redman—no, not like His kind of person.She wants him.To put it bluntly, that's it.
Civilization has ceased to exist, and human society has been stripped away layer by layer of all superficial decorations and useless things.Grant had often insisted on this view, and it always seemed to please Harold unduly.
Women's emancipation, Frannie thought (thinking that if she wanted to be frank, she might as well be frank at all), was simply a by-product of technological society.Women are always at the mercy of their bodies.They are getting smaller and weaker.A man can't have children, but a woman can -- every 4-year-old knows that.A pregnant woman is a vulnerable person.Civilization provides a legitimate umbrella for both sexes.The word liberation says it all.In civilized society, women have always been slaves under its thoughtful and benevolent system of protection.Let's not be overly groomed, we were slaves once, she thought.Then, those dark days were over.The Woman's Creed, which should have hung in the offices of Ladies magazine, said, "Thank you, gentlemen, for building the railroads. Thank you, gentlemen, for inventing the automobile and killing the Indians, who Think I came to this land first, so I should live longer in America. Thank you gentlemen, thank you for all your activities in hospitals, police stations, schools. Now I want to vote and have the right to control my own destiny. Previously I was a slave, but now slavery is abolished. My days as a slave are gone, and I don't need to be a slave anymore, just like I don't need to row across the Pacific in a canoe. A helicopter is faster and more efficient than a canoe Safety, freedom is more valuable and meaningful than slavery. I am not afraid to fly. Thank you, gentlemen."
What else is there to say?No.Southern rednecks can complain about burning meadows, and dissenters can play with words, but truth keeps its smile.Now, all that has changed, in a matter of weeks, by how much only time will tell.But lying here now, she knew she needed a man.God, she needs a man so badly.
It wasn't all about saving her and the baby she was expecting, and it wasn't all about finding the best (or second best, she thought) man.Stu attracted her, especially without Jesse.Stu was quiet, competent, and most of all, he wasn't what her father called "a smack-a-boo."
He is also attracted to her.She knew it all too well, she'd known it since that first Fourth of July lunch at the abandoned restaurant.For a moment—for just a moment—their eyes met, and there was a burst of heat, like the energy of a waterwheel when all its blades are turned to the load-bearing side.She guessed Stu knew that too, but he was waiting for her to make up her own mind in her own time.She followed Harold first, so she became Harold's slave.It was a smelly macho's idea, but she feared that the whole world was going to be the smelly macho's world again, rarely for a while.
It would have been nice to have someone else take Harold's place, but there wasn't.She worries that she won't be able to wait too long.She remembered the day when Harold had clumsily tried to make love to her, trying to prove that ownership was immutable, how long ago?two weeks?It seems longer.All the past has become distant and long.Stretches like a piece of heated taffy.Between her worries about what to do with Harold and what he would do if she did fall into Stu's arms - and the dreams she would have, she couldn't sleep at all.
Thinking about it, she was confused.
When she woke up, it was still dark.Someone was shaking her.
She complained under her breath that she was sleeping comfortably and dream-free for the first time in a week.Then I wake up reluctantly, thinking that it must be time to start in the morning.But why did they leave without waiting for daylight?She sat up and saw that the moon was setting.
It was Harold who was shaking her, and Harold looked startled.
"Harold? What's the matter?"
Stu was up too, she noticed.And Glenn Bateman and Perry were kneeling in the distance where they had had a little fire.
"Mark," said Harold, "Mark is sick."
"Sick?" she asked, and then she heard a low moan from the ashes of the fire, where Perry was kneeling and the other two men were standing.Frannie felt a sense of fear rising sharply in her body.Disease was the one thing they all dreaded most.
"It wouldn't be...not the flu, would it, Harold?" Because if Mark had any of the belated "Captain's Journey" symptoms, any of them could.Maybe that bacterium is still lurking around, maybe it has mutated in some way and is better suited to invading humans, God!
"No, it's not the flu. It's nothing like the flu. Did you eat those canned oysters tonight, Franny? Or did we have some at lunch?"
She tried hard to recall, but her mind was still a little blurred due to sleep. "Yes, I ate both meals," she said, "It was delicious. I like oysters. It's food poisoning, isn't it?" "Frannie, I'm just asking you. None of us know what it is .There is no doctor here. How are you feeling? Are you feeling well?"
"It's fine, just sleepy." Actually she wasn't, she wasn't sleepy at all.Another groan came from the other side of the camp, like Mark was accusing her of why she felt so good when he felt bad.
Harold said: "Gran thinks it might be his appendix..."
"what?"
Harold just smiled awkwardly and nodded.
Franny stood up and walked to where the others were gathered.Harold followed her like a sullen shadow.
"We have to help him," Perry said.She spoke mechanically, as she had said many times before.Her eyes shifted restlessly from one person to another, so full of terror and helplessness that Frannie felt accused again.Her mind selfishly thought of the baby in her womb, and she had to try to turn it elsewhere.Fit or not, they cannot be driven away. "Get away from him," one part of her heart cried out to the other, "get away from him quickly, he may be contagious." She looked at Gran, who was healing in the halo of Coleman's oil lamp. Appears pale and aged.
"Harold said you thought there was something wrong with the appendix?" she asked.
"I don't know," Gran said, sounding very disturbed and panicked. "But he did have some symptoms. He had a fever, his stomach was hard and swollen, and it hurt when he touched it."
"We've got to help him," Perry repeated, tearing up.
Gran rubbed Mark's stomach and wide-eyed eyes, and he let out a scream.Gran withdrew his hand abruptly, as if touching a hot stove.He saw Harold from Stu, turned back to Stu, and asked with undisguised panic, "What advice do you gentlemen have?"
Harold stood there, his Adam's apple twitching involuntarily, as if something was stuck there and preventing him from speaking.Finally, he blurted out, "Give him some aspirin."
Perry, who had been looking down at Mark through her tears, looked up at Harold at this. "Aspirin?" she screamed this time. ?Aspirin?"
Harold put his hands in his pockets, looked at her apologetically, and accepted the reprimand.
Stu said calmly, "Harold's right, Perry. Aspirin is indeed our best bet at the moment. What time is it?"
"You don't know what to do!" she yelled at them. "Why don't you admit it?"
"Fifteen past three," said Franny.
"What if he's dying?" Perry brushed back the hair that had slipped over her face, which was swollen from crying.
"Do as they say, Perry," Mark said suddenly, in a monotonous and languid tone, surprising everyone. "They'll try. If it keeps hurting like this, I might as well die. Give me some aspirin, or whatever."
"I'll get it," said Harold, eager to leave. "I've got some in my backpack. Strong and quick," he added, as if hoping for their admiration.Then he took the medicine in a hurry.
"We've got to help him," Perry said, resuming her old saying.
Stu pulls Gran and Franny aside.
"Is there any way?" he asked them quietly, "I can tell you there's nothing I can do. Harold's driving her crazy, but the idea about aspirin is better than all I can do." times."
"She's just upset, that's all," Frannie said.
Gran sighed, "Maybe there's something wrong with my stomach, and I've eaten too much coarse grains. Maybe it'll be better if I move around."
Franny shook her head: "I don't think so. Indigestion doesn't cause fever, and the stomach doesn't bloat like that." His stomach bulged like a tumor overnight.It made her sick to think about it.She could not recall a time (except in a dream) when she had been frightened like this.What did Harold say?There is no doctor in this house.It is indeed the case, what a terrible fact.God, everything happened in an instant around her like this, quite quickly.How isolated they are.The tension has been so high that even the necessary security has been forgotten.She saw Stu's same face in Gran's distorted face.Deep worry could be seen on their faces, but there was no answer on any face.
Mark screamed again behind them, and Perry echoed his screams, seeming to feel his pain too.In a way she did feel it, Franny thought.
"What should we do?" Franny asked helplessly.
She thought about the baby, and one question crept back and forth in her head: "What if I had a C-section? What if I had a C-section? What if..."
Behind her, Mark screamed again, like a dire prophecy, and she hated him.
They looked at each other under the flickering oil lamp.
[Excerpt from the diary of Frannie Goldsmith]
July 6, 1990
After some persuasion, Mr. Bateman agreed to come with us.Despite his many articles (“I wrote them all in all caps so no one could see how plain and simple they really are,” he says), and an extremely dry teaching career, he says , not to mention his proud sociology of abnormal behavior and rural sociology, he still decided not to give up this opportunity.
Stu wondered what he meant by opportunity.
"I think that's perfectly clear," said Harold, with his unbearably arrogant tone (Harold was sometimes lovable and sometimes hateful, and tonight was undoubtedly the latter. case.) "Mr. Bateman."
"Call me Gran," he said very quietly.But Harold stared at him like he'd once accused Harold of being a sociopath.
"Gran, from a sociologist's point of view, saw an opportunity to study on the spot how social knowledge is formed, I think. He looked at how facts confirm theory."
Long story short, Gran (as I'll call him from now on, because he likes it that way) agrees with the "chance" interpretation roughly but adds, "I've got a few more theories that I've written down that I hope will prove or disprove. I think that the human being born from the ruins of the flu sweep must be different from the human being born from the cultural cradle of the Nile Valley."
Stu said in his usual calm tone, "Because everything is falling around and waiting to be picked up again." Looking at him with a funny expression.
Gran just nodded and said, "That's right. Technological society is gone, but it left all the basketball. There's always someone who will recall the game of basketball and teach it to someone else. Pretty neat, isn't it? I'm late." It should be written down sometime."
But I wrote it down myself in case he forgot, who knows?That shadow knows, hi!
Harold continued, "It sounds like you think everything starts over again—the arms race, environmental pollution, etc. Is that another theory? Or a corollary to the first?"
"Not exactly," Gran was about to go on, when Harold broke in again.I can't take it down verbatim, because Harold always speaks very quickly when he gets excited.What he said boils down to the fact that he doesn't think people are that stupid, even though he generally has a low opinion of people.He said that he thought that after this time, some specific laws must be established.People don't get too busy with fission or carbon rays (he probably mispronounced it) or crap like that.I remember one thing he said because he said it so vividly. "The problem has been quickly and quickly solved. There is no reason for us to go to work and put the problem back in front of us."
I could tell he was getting a little hotheaded about braids.One of the reasons Harold was not liked was that he was always eager to show how well-informed he was (he did know a lot, I can't deny that, Harold was brilliant).But all Grann said was, "Time will tell, right?"
All of this ended about an hour ago, and I'm in an upstairs bedroom with Kojak lying on the floor next to me.What a dog!It's always so cozy and reminds me of my own home, but I have to try not to think too much about it because it always makes me cry.I know it sounds a little scary, but I really, really want someone to warm my bedding.I even had candidates in my head.
Stop thinking about it, Franny!
We're going to Stowington tomorrow, and I know Stu doesn't like the idea very much.He was terrified of that place.I like Stu very much, and I only wish Harold liked him a little bit more.Harold always put things in an awkward position, but I don't think he could go against his instincts.
Gran decides not to take Kojak.He felt guilty about the practice, and Kojak would have no difficulty finding food.There is no other way, unless we can find a motorcycle with a sidecar, and even then, Kojak may jump out of fear and die under the wheel.
Anyway, we're leaving tomorrow.
Memo: The Texas Rangers (a baseball team) had a guy who was known for his fastball, and he could throw a variety of off-hitters and other nice shots.Off-hitters are great.There is a kind of comedy that simulates laughter. The simulated laughter is equipped with recordings of people's laughter in the ridiculous plot, which will make you more involved and more enjoyable to watch.You can often get frozen cakes and biscuits in supermarkets, which you usually eat right after melting.Sarah Lee Strawberry Cream Cake is my favourite.
July 7, 1990
Can't write long.Been riding all day.His butt was numb, and his back was as heavy as lead.I had the same nightmare again last night, and Harold was also dreaming about that person, which upset him a lot because he couldn't explain why the two of us kept having basically the same dream.
Stu said he still had dreams about Nebraska and the old black woman.She always said he should come and see her sometime.Stu thinks she lives in a town called Holland or Herford or something like that, and says he thinks the place must be found.Harold scoffed at this, and went back to his rhetoric about dreams being the Freudian manifestation of things we dare not imagine in our waking hours.Stu was angry, I thought, but he didn't have a fit.I am terribly afraid that the quarrel between them will escalate into an open conflict.I hope things don't go in this direction.
At last Stu said, "So what explains you and Franny always having the same dreams?" Harold muttered something about coincidence and walked away.
Stu told Gran and me that he wanted us to go to Nebraska after Stowington.Grant shrugged and replied, "Why not? We've got to go somewhere.
Harold, of course, objected again.asshole!
Note: There was a shortage of gasoline in the early 1800s due to too many motorists in the US, and we used up most of our oil resources, and the Arabs took advantage of it to manipulate us.Arabs have too much money to spend.There was a rock band called The Who who used to smash their guitars and amplifiers at the end of their live shows, which is called "ostentatious profligacy."
July 8, 1990
It's late and I'm tired, but I'll try to jot down as many things as I can before my eyelids close.Harold had finished his sign about an hour earlier (I'd say he had been in a bad mood the whole time) and erected it on the grass in front of the Stowington Military Depot.Stu stood by to help him, keeping his composure over Harold's harsh taunts.
I had prepared myself well for disappointment.I don't think Stu is lying, and I don't think Harold thinks so either.So I was pretty sure everyone was dead, but what I saw still shocked me so much that I couldn't help crying.
I'm not the only one shocked, though.When Stu saw this place, his face turned pale.He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and I could see goosebumps all over his arms.His eyes, usually clear blue, had turned blue-gray at that moment, like the sea on a cloudy day.
He pointed to the third floor and said, "That's my room."
Harold turned to him, and I could see him making his characteristic Harold comment again, and seeing Stu's face put him off the idea of saying it.I think he's very sensible about that.
After a while, Harold said, "Well, let's go in and have a look."
"What on earth are you doing this for?" Stu retorted, sounding hysterical but trying to control himself at the same time.This frightened me, because he was usually as calm as ice water, which was in stark contrast to Harold's uncontrollable self-control.
"Stu." Just as Gran was about to speak, Stu interrupted him.
"Why go? Can't you see it's a dead place? No marching band, no corporals, nothing, believe me," he said, "if they were here they'd be mobbing, We went into those houses like a bunch of stupid guinea pigs." Then, he looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, Franny, I didn't mean to talk like that. I think I was too distracted. "
"Well, I'm going in," said Harold. "Who's with me?" I could see that Harold, despite trying to appear fearless, couldn't hide his fear.
Gran said he would go in with him, and Stu said, "You go in too, Franny. Take a look and satisfy your curiosity."
I was going to say I'd rather stay outside with him because he doesn't look too good (and because I really don't want to go in, you know), but it would give Harold an excuse to create more trouble , so I agreed to go in together.
If we—Glenn and I—were still in doubt about Stu's story, the moment we opened the door it dispelled all doubt.It was the smell that convinced us of Stu's story.We have smelled it in any village we pass through, kind of like rotten tomatoes.Oh god, I'm crying again, but people do not only die but rot, like...wait
(later)
There I had a bitter cry, the second time in the same day, like the weeper in the story.No more tears tonight, I promise.
We went in anyway, out of morbid curiosity, I think, and I don't know how the others felt, but I was more or less eager to see the room where Stu was being held.Not only is the smell scary, but also the coldness that is completely different from the outside world.Lots and lots of granite marble and really good insulation.The upper 2 floors are slightly warmer, but the smell and coldness when going down are like a tomb, making people creepy.
The place is also very dark, like a house that is often haunted.The three of us huddled together like sheep, and I was glad I had the rifle with me, even though it was only a .22 caliber.The sound of our footsteps echoed around us, like someone was following us.I thought of that dream again, and thought of the man staring.No wonder Stu didn't want to come with us.
We finally fumbled our way to the elevator to the second floor.Nothing but an empty office... and a few dead bodies.The third floor is a bit like a hospital, but every room is equipped with pneumatic doors (Harold and Grann both say pneumatic doors) and special observation windows.There were piles of dead bodies in the rooms and corridors, but very few women, did they finally manage to clear them away?There are so many things I can't understand, but why should I understand?
At one end of the hall below the main staircase we found a room with an open pneumatic door.There was a dead person inside, but obviously not a sick person (they were all in white hospital gowns) and certainly not from the flu.He was lying on a pool of dried blood and looked like he had tried to crawl out before he died.There was also a broken chair and everything was messed up like a fight had happened.
Gran looked at it for a long time, then said, "I think we'd better not tell Stu about this room. I reckon he almost died here."
Looking at the curled up corpse, I felt even more creepy.
"What do you mean by that?" Harold asked, his voice was much duller, and it was rare for Harold to speak loudly like an announcement, this time it was considered one.
"I think the man came here to kill Stuart," Gran said, "but Stu got the upper hand in a way."
"Why?" I asked. "Why would they want to kill Stu if he's immune? It hardly makes any sense."
He looked at me with scary eyes, as dull as those of a mackerel.
"It doesn't matter if it has meaning, Franny," he said. "The meaning seems to have no connection with this place, judging from its various phenomena. There is obviously a psychology that believes in cover-ups. They believe in cover-ups. Crazy as much as a religious group's belief in a god. Because, for some, it's all that matters to cover up the damage after it's been done. I wonder if, after the catastrophe ended his life, the end of the massacre How many immune people did they kill in Atlanta and San Francisco before full stop. This guy? I'm glad he's dead. I'm only sorry for Stu because he's going to have nightmares about this guy for the rest of his life .”
Do you know what Gran did after that?A dreadful scene was put on by that mild-mannered man.He walked over and started kicking the dead man in the face.Harold let out muffled grunts, as if he had been the one being kicked.Then Gran pulled his foot back.
"Don't!" With Harold yelling, Gran kicked the dead man's face again, then turned around and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, rarely, his eyes no longer looked like dead fish Godless.
"Come on," he said, "let's get out of this place. Stu's right, it's a dead place."
So we went outside, and Stu sat outside with his back against the iron gate under the fence, and I thought... go on, Franny, who are you going to tell if not your diary?I want to run over, kiss him, and tell him how ashamed we were for not believing him, how guilty we were for over-describing our own suffering in that disaster, because he was ashamed that he almost died at the hands of others Not a word was mentioned.
Darling, God, I'm in love with him, I think if it wasn't for Harold, I would have gone up and hugged him tight, tight.
Anyway, (always "whatever," even though my fingers are stiff now) that's when Stu told us for the first time, seriously, that he wanted to go to Nebraska and try out his dreams.He had a stubborn, slightly embarrassed look on his face, as if he already knew he was about to be taunted again with even more condescension by Harold, but Harold hadn't returned from our trip to Stowyton yet. Zhong came back to his senses, so he didn't say much other than a symbolic disapproval.But even this symbolic disapproval did not last, for Grann now spoke with reservations about dreaming of the old lady the night before.
"Of course, it could just be that Stu told us about his dream," he said, blushing a little, "but it bears a striking resemblance to Stu's dream."
Harold says there's nothing weird about that, but Stu interjects, "Wait, Harold, I've got an idea."
He suggested that each of us take out a piece of paper and write down all the details of the dream we could recall, and compare them.This approach was quite objective and scientific, so Harold couldn't complain much.
I have written down the dream I had earlier, so I won't repeat it here.我写给他们看的纸条保留了关于我父亲的部分，但省略了关于婴儿的部分及他手里一直拿着的衣架。
比较的结果让我们大吃一惊。
哈罗德，斯图和我都梦见了那个黑衣人，就让我暂且这么称呼，斯图和我都看见他穿着披风而且没有清晰的五官——他的脸总是在阴影里。哈罗德的纸上写着他总是站在黑暗的过道里，“像男妓一样召唤着他。”有时，他能看见他的脚和他眼里射出的光——“像黄鼠狼的眼睛”，这是他的描述。
斯图和格兰关于那个老妇人的梦也非常相似，相似之处几乎难以一言道尽（这似乎是我在“手指发麻”之外又发明的一种可以从简的写法）。无论如何，他们都一致认为她住在内布拉斯加，尽管他们对那个小镇实际的名字没能达成一致——斯图说是赫林福德，格兰说是赫明福德。很相似。而且他们看上去也都坚信一定能找着它。（记好了，我的日记：我猜的是“赫明福德”。）
格兰说，“这真是非同寻常。”我们似乎有着可靠的心理经历。哈罗德有些表示轻蔑的举动，但他似乎一下子有了太多可供思考的材料。他只同意“我们得去某个地方”这个基本观点。我们在早晨出发了。我有点受惊，有点兴奋，但更多的还是高兴。为能离开斯托威顿这个死亡之地而高兴。我将在脑海中把那位老妇人放在黑衣人之前优先考虑一阵。
备忘：“稍安勿躁”的意思是不要烦躁不安。“秋毫未犯”是指一样东西完好无损。“高枕无忧”是指你一点都不担心，“爽一把”的意思是痛痛快快地玩一场，很多人的Ｔ恤上写着“鬼话连篇”，事实也的确如此。“水到渠成”是形容凡事进展顺利。“住处”是很老的一个词，现在正代替“房间”“寓所”等词来表示流感侵袭以前你所居住的地方。“我挖到了你的住所”是很酷的一种说法。这些都有些滑稽，是不是？但这就是生活。
时间是正午12点以后。佩瑞在马克身边沉沉地睡了过去。他们在两个小时之前把马克挪到了荫凉的地方。他的'知觉时有时无，没知觉的时候大家觉得更为轻松一些。他在后半夜一直都忍着疼痛，但天亮之后他最后再也忍不住了，当他神志清醒的时候，他的尖叫会让他们的血液凝固。他们只有站在一边，无助地相互看看。没人想吃午饭。
“是他的阑尾，”格兰说，“我对此毫不怀疑。”
“也许我们该试试……对他进行手术，”哈罗德说，他看着格兰，“我不认为你……”
“我们会害死他的，”格兰平静地说，“你知道这点，哈罗德。即使我们能在不让他失血过多的情况下剖开他的肚子，我们也没法辨别阑尾和胰腺，肚子里的内脏可没贴标签，你要知道。更何况我们还没法在手术过程中止住他的血。”
“可如果我们不给他做手术的话，也就等于害死他。”哈罗德说。
“你想试试，是吗？”格兰气急败坏地说，“有时我真弄不明白你，哈罗德。”
“我想你在现在这种状况下也没太大用处，”哈罗德说着涨红了脸。
“停停，别吵了，”斯图说，“你们这样吵又有什么用呢？”除非你们打算拿口袋里的大折刀给他剖开肚子，不然手术根本就是不可能进行的。 "
“斯图！”法兰妮几乎有些透不过气来。
“怎么啦？”他问，同时耸耸肩，“最近的医院在莫米。我们没法把他送到那儿。我想我们把他抬回到高速公路都几乎是不可能的。”
“当然，你是对的，”格兰小声嘀咕着，不时地拿一只手摸摸自己粗糙的面颊。“对不起，哈罗德，我过于烦躁不安了。我知道这类事情可以发生。噢，对不起，应该是会发生，但我想我只从理论上知道这一点。这与以前坐在研究室是截然不同的。”
哈罗德不太情愿地接受了道歉，两手深插在兜里走开了，那模样就像一个生气的、发育过于充分的10岁孩子。
“我们为什么不能挪动他呢？”法兰妮看着斯图和格兰绝望地问。
“因为他的阑尾现在已经肿大发炎了，”格兰解释道，“如果破裂，会释放出足以杀死10个人的毒素。”
斯图点点头，“腹膜炎！”
法兰妮的头有些发胀。阑尾炎？现在可算不上什么病。为什么有时你因为胆结石或别的什么病住院时，他们会按照惯例顺便就摘除了你的阑尾呢？她想起她语言学校的一位朋友，大家都叫他比基，他在五六年级之间的暑假就割除了阑尾，他也就在医院住了两三天。从医学上讲，摘除阑尾倒真算不了什么。
从医学上讲，怀着一个小孩也算不了什么。
“但如果让他就那么呆着，”她问，“他的阑尾就不会破裂吗？”
斯图和格兰尴尬地相互看了看，没有答话。
“那么你们就和哈罗德说的一样糟糕！”她终于忍不住大叫起来。“你们得做些什么，即使是拿一把大折刀来做。你们必须做点什么。”
“为什么是我们？”格兰愤怒地问，“为什么不是你自己？看在上帝的份上，我们几乎连一本医书都没有！”
“但……你们……不应该是这样的。摘除阑尾不应该是什么大事。”
“对，在过去是不是什么大事，但现在可是一件大事，”格兰说道，到这时，她已经跌跌撞撞地边哭边跑开了。
她在3点左右回到住的地方，心里为自己的言行感到愧疚，打算道歉一番。但是格兰和斯图都不在营地。哈罗德情绪低落地坐在一棵倒下的树上。佩瑞盘着腿坐在马克身边，拿一块布擦着他脸上的汗。她的脸色苍白而平静。
“法兰妮！”哈罗德叫了她一声，抬起头来，神情振奋了许多。
“嘿，哈罗德。”她朝着佩瑞走去。 "How is he?"
“睡着了，”佩瑞说，他不是睡着了，就连法兰妮都能看出这点，他是昏迷过去了。
“其他人去哪儿了？你知道吗，佩瑞？”
是哈罗德回答了她。他一直跟在她后面，法兰妮可以感觉到他想摸她的头发或拥住她的肩。她不想让他这样做。哈罗德已经开始让她在任何时候都感到别扭了。
“他们去了孔克尔，想找一家诊所。”
“他们可以找到一些书籍，”佩瑞补充道，“和一些……一些器械。”她哽咽了一下，嗓子眼发出一丝声响。她继续替马克擦着脸，不时地将布放到盛水的罐头盒里沾上水再拧干。
“我们非常抱歉，”哈罗德难堪地说，“我们不是故意的，但我们的确非常抱歉。”
佩瑞抬起眼来，勉强地笑了笑，说：“我知道，谢谢你！这不是哪个人的错，当然是除非有上帝在。如果有上帝，那就全都该归咎于他。当我看到他时，我真想狠狠地踢他。”
她长着一张马脸，身板厚实得像个农民。法兰妮在看到别人长相的缺陷之前总是能先发现它们的优点（就拿哈罗德来说，他的手就生得不错），她注意佩瑞的头发带一点金棕色，比较招人喜爱，她那一双深蓝色的眼睛也显出睿智。佩瑞告诉过他们，她曾在一所大学教人类学，她曾一度活跃于女权、爱滋病患者的平等待遇等一系列政治领域。她从没结过婚。她有一次告诉法兰妮，马克比她想象中的男人还要好，她碰到的其他男人不是过分忽视她就是把她与其他放荡或吸毒的女孩儿混为一谈。她承认，如果外界条件没发生变化和以前一样的话，马克也许同样会成为忽视她的男人们中的一员，但事实是外界条件变化了。他们在奥尔巴尼相遇，当时佩瑞正在那儿和父母一道消夏避暑。简单的交谈之后，他们决定在潜伏于腐尸中的细菌侵袭他们这些流感没能击垮的人之前离开那个城市。
于是他们动身了。第二天晚上他们成了情人，与其说是出于相互吸引，还不如说是出于近乎绝望的孤独寂寞（这话也许过于刻薄，法兰妮甚至都没把它写进日记里）。他对她很好，佩瑞曾这样告诉过法兰妮，她说这话的时候，语调特别柔和，还带着一种惊讶，就像所有在这个艰难世道中发现了一位出色男人的妇女一样。她爱上了他，而且每天都爱得更深一点。
然后就像现在这样了。
“很有意思，”她说，“这儿除了斯图和哈罗德之外的其他人都是大学毕业生，哈罗德，如果世事如常的话，你也一定会大学毕业。”
“是的，我想是这样，”哈罗德答道。
佩瑞转回身去，继续为马克擦去额头上的汗，很轻，很柔，充满爱意。法兰妮不禁想起了他们家《圣经》中的一副黑白画，画面上三位妇女正在为耶稣的尸体作好下葬前的准备——她们拿油和香料在涂抹着他的尸体。
“法兰妮主修英语，格兰是社会学老师，马克即将拿到美国历史博士学位，哈罗德，你也会学英语，准备当一名作家。我们可以坐下来开一个相当精彩的学术会之类的会议，事实上我们也开过，对不对？”
“对。”哈罗德表示同意，他一向具有穿透力的声音现在低得几乎无法听见。
“自由派艺术教育教会你如何思考——我在某个地方看到过这句话。人们看到的严酷的事实是从属于他们的思想方法的。从学校学到的最大本事莫过于以一种建设性的方式进行演绎和推理。”
“很好，”哈罗德说，“我赞成。”
现在，他的手已如愿以偿地放到了法兰妮的肩上。法兰妮没有甩开它，但她确实很不情愿感受到它的存在。
“这样不好，”佩瑞愤怒地说，哈罗德吃了一惊，把手从法兰妮肩上撤了下来。她顿时感到一阵轻松。
“不好？”他怯怯地问。
“他快死了！”佩瑞叫道，声音不大，但充满了愤怒与无助。“他快死了，因为我们花了太多的时间在大学的宿舍和廉价公寓里学习如何胡侃一气。是的，我可以告诉你新几亚美第印第安人的情况，哈罗德你也可以解释近代英国诗歌的文学手法，但这对我的马克又有什么好处呢？”
“如果我们能有一个来自医科学院的。”法兰妮小心翼翼的开口说话了。
“是的，如果我们有这样一个人的话会好一些。我们甚至没有汽车，没有一个农业大学毕业，看过一次兽医给牛或马作手术的人。”她看着他们，深蓝色的眼睛更加深邃，“尽管我很喜欢你们大家，但在这一刻，我宁愿拿你们所有的人去换个医生。你们谁都害怕动他，尽管你们知道不动他会是什么结果，我也一样——我并没有把我自己排除在外。”
“至少那两个……”法兰妮打住了。她本来想说至少两个男人去找药了，但随即又想到有哈罗德在场，这话产生的效果绝不会好。“至少斯图和格兰去了。这不是件小事，对吧？”
佩瑞叹口气道：“是的，这算得上一件事。去那儿是斯图的主意，对不对？他是我们中唯一一个最后决定试试做点什么总比束手待毙好的人。”她看着法兰妮，“他告诉过你，他以前是干什么的吗？”
“他在一家工厂工作，”法兰妮不加思索地答道，她没注意到哈罗德对她如此迅速地回答上了这个问题已经眉头紧锁，“他向电子计算器里面安装元件。我想你可以称他为电子技术员。”
“哈！”哈罗德苦笑道。
“他是我们中唯一知道把事情区别开对待的人，”佩瑞说，“他和贝特曼先生所做的也许会害死他，我想是这样。但他因为有人想拯救他而死去总比我们袖手旁观地看着他死去，像看着一条流浪于街头的狗悄然死去要好得多。”
法兰妮和哈罗德一时无言以对。他们都站在她身后，看着马克苍白平静的脸。过了一会儿，哈罗德又把他那汗涔涔的手放到了法兰妮的肩膀上，这让她想尖叫一声。
斯图和格兰在3点45分回来了。他们合骑了一辆摩托，摩托车后系着一个装着医疗机械的医生药箱和几本大黑皮书。
“我们来试试。”斯图就说了这么多。
佩瑞抬起来。脸色苍白而压抑，声音却非常平静。
“你来吧，我们都想让你来动这个手术。”她说。
时间是4点10分。斯图跪在树下摊开的一个橡皮毡上，脸上的汗一股股地流下来，他两眼看上去十分机警而着迷。法兰妮拿着一本书举在他面前，在两张彩页之间根据斯图眼神和点头的示意动作来回地翻着。斯图旁边，格兰拿着一卷白线，脸吓得煞白。他们中间放着一个盛放一尘不染钢制医疗器械的箱子，箱子上已经溅上了星星点点的血迹。
“在这儿！”斯图叫起来。他的声音突然提高，变得果断而兴奋。两眼眯成了两条线，“这就是那个小玩艺儿，这儿，就在这儿！”
“斯图？”佩瑞问。
“法兰妮，让我看下一页，快，快！”
“你能弄出来吗？”格兰问，“上帝，你真认为你可以吗？”
哈罗德已经不在这儿了。他早早地离开了大伙儿，一只手掩着嘴。他在一排小树下站着，背冲着大家站了有一刻钟。现在他转过身来，大而圆的脸上透着希望。
“我不知道，”斯图说，“但我有可能，极有可能。”
他盯着法兰妮展示给他的彩页看了一会儿，脸涨得通红，就像猩红的晚宴手套。
“斯图？”佩瑞又说话了。
“它是上下自成一体的，”斯图嘀咕着。他的两眼兴奋地闪着光芒。“阑尾。这么点小玩艺儿。它……法兰妮，替我擦擦额头上的汗，上帝，我怎么出了这么多的汗……谢谢……上帝，我可不想割掉他任何有用的东西……那是他的肠子……上帝！我看见了，我看见了。”
“斯图？”佩瑞又一次开口。
“给我剪刀，格兰，不是那个，是那把小的。”
“斯图。”
他终于看了看她。
“你不用再试了。”她的声音平静而轻柔。“他已经死了。”
斯图看着她，眯着的两眼慢慢睁大。
她点点头，“大概在两分钟之前。但还是得谢谢你，谢谢你做了努力。”
斯图长时间地盯着她，“你敢肯定？”最后他低声问道。
她点点头，泪水顺颊而下。
斯图转过身去背朝着大家，扔掉了手里抓着的小解剖刀，以一种彻底绝望的姿势捂住双眼。格兰站起身来走开去，头也不回，缩着两肩，像挨了一记重击。
法兰妮伸出胳膊紧紧地拥抱着斯图。
“怎么会这样，”他说，他反反复复地低声重复着这话，“怎么会这样，全完了，就是这样，就是这样。”
“你已经尽力了，”她说着更紧地抱住了他，生怕他飞走了似的。
“就是这样，就是这样。”他又绝望地反复道。
法兰妮紧紧地抱着他，她在过去三周半时间里的所有想法，她的“最易破碎的混乱”统统都被她置之脑后了。她曾时刻提防着不要流露自己的感觉。和哈罗德的情形已大有千钧一发之势。即使现在，她也没有流露出对斯图的真实感受，没有完完全全地流露出来。她给予他的并不是情人之间的那种拥抱，而只是幸存者之间相互依存的拥抱。斯图似乎理解了这点。他抬起手也紧紧地抱住了她的两肩，血手印印在了她的卡叽布衬衫上，让她看上去像是在一场不光彩罪行中的同谋。远处某个地方乌鸦在叫唤，近处佩瑞开始哭泣。
哈罗德·劳德没能理解幸存者之间和情人之间拥抱的差别，他带着越来越明显的怀疑和害怕盯着法兰妮和斯图。过了一会儿，他愤怒地冲向树林，直到晚饭后很久才回来。
第二天早晨她醒得很早。有人在摇晃她。我睁开眼会发现是格兰或哈罗德，她迷迷糊糊地想。我们要再经历一次，我们要再来一次直到弄对了它，那些不能从历史中吸取教训的人……
但摇她的人是斯图。天已露出一丝鱼肚白，晨雾中清晨就像裹在薄沙当中的亮澄澄的金子。Others are still sleeping.
“怎么啦？”她坐起身来问道，“出什么事了？”
“我又作梦了，”他说，“不是那个老妇人，是另一个……另一个人。黑衣人。我害怕极了，所以我……”
“别说了，”她打断他，被他脸上的表情吓着了，“请说你真正想说的话。”
“是佩瑞。佛罗那。佩瑞从格兰的袋子里拿了佛罗那。”
她屏住了呼吸。
“噢，上帝，”斯图断断续续地说，“她死了，法兰妮。上帝，这真是一片混乱。”
她试图说点什么但终于没能说出来。
“我想我得把其他两个人也叫起来，”斯图心不焉地说。他摸着粗糙而长着胡子的两颊。法兰妮还能记起昨天拥抱时它们贴着自己脸颊时的感觉。他转身看着她，满脸疑惑地问，“何时才能结束？”
她轻轻地说，“我想永远不会结束。”
他们在晨曦中互相注视了很久。
［摘自法兰妮·戈德史密斯的日记］
我们今晚在代尔岛（纽约）西部驻扎下来，终于上了80－90号高速公路。昨天下午碰见马克和佩瑞（你不认为这是个好听的名字吗？我可认为是这样。）的兴奋劲儿已经或多或少地消退下去了。他们同意加入我们……事实上，是他们在我们之前提出这个建议的。
这并不是说，我认为哈罗德会提出这个建议。你该知道他是个什么样的人。他对他们带的一些真家伙，包括半自动来福枪（两支）都有一些厌恶（我想格兰也是这样）。但大部分时候，哈罗德总是要说点什么或作出点什么，要知道，他必须让人们意识到他的存在。
我想我写了无数页关于哈罗德心理的日记，如果你到现在还不了解他，你也就不会了解他了。在他满口大话的外表下，掩藏的却是一个毫无安全感的小男孩。他从没有真正意识到事情已经发生了变化。他的一部分思想——我想，应该是大一部分——仍然相信总有一天他那些高中时代的同窗会从坟墓里站起来朝他扔弹丸，或者叫他“挨打的劳德”。就像埃米所说的他们过去常干的那样。有时我想我们没有在奥甘奎特走到一起的话，对他来说也许会好一点（对我也一样）。我是他旧日生活的一部分，我曾是他姐姐的好朋友，等等，等等。我和哈罗德之间不可思议的关系总结起来就是：在我知道了现在所知道的一切之后，看起来尽管有些奇怪，但我仍愿意挑哈罗德出来做朋友而不是埃米。后者总是对驾着漂亮汽车的男孩和各类奇装异服羡慕不已，是一个（请原谅我对死去的人还说三道四，但说的这些都是事实）地道的奥甘奎特势利小人，只有一个终年住在小镇上的乡巴佬才会那样。哈罗德虽然有些古怪，但要冷静理智得多，当然是他不集中所有精力做一个挑三拣四令人讨厌的人的时候。但哈罗德一定不会相信竞然有人会认为他是理智的。他的一部分思想非常守旧。他决心背负着他遇到的所有问题，背负到这个不怎么活跃的新世界中来。他最好将所有问题和最爱吃的巧克力棒棒糖一起装到旅行包里。
唉，哈罗德，我不知道该怎么说他。
备忘：吉莱特鹦鹉。“请别挤。”走动的投手常说，“噢……呀！”“Ｏ．Ｂ．卫生棉条由一位妇科医生发明。颠倒星条旗。行尸走肉人的夜晚。唉，后一个词太容易让人联想到家了。我就此搁笔。
下午饭时我们对这些天来的噩梦作了长时间的严肃讨论，以至于停下来吃饭的时间比预计的要长了很多。顺便说一句，我们现在在纽约巴达维亚的北部。
昨天，哈罗德非常漫不经心地（对他来说是这样）建议我们加大佛罗那的剂量来看看能否打破梦循环，这是他的叫法。我同意了他的建议以免被人看出破绽，但实际上我仍打算把发给我的药藏起来，因为我不知道它会不会对腹中“孤独的徘徊者”造成伤害（我希望他是孤独的，我可不敢保证我能受得了双胞胎）。
关于佛罗那的建议被采用之后，马克作了一番评论。“你们知道，”他说，“这类的事情真不值得考虑太多，第二，我们似乎都把自己想成了摩西或耶和华，好像能听到上帝打来电话。”
“那个黑衣人并不是从天堂打过电话来，”斯图说，“如果是个投币电话的话，它也是从低得多的地方。”
“这就是斯图吓唬人的方式。”法兰妮尖声说道。
“可那是一个很好的解释，”格兰说。我们都看着他，“噢，”他继续道，“如果你从一个理论角度来看，我们就像天地之间连结着的绳上的一个结，对吧？如果还有任何流感幸存者的话，他们也一定会感觉到我们的。”
这让马克笑得直摇头。我没完全弄明白他的意思。但我也没说什么。
“我认为整件事都很可笑，”哈罗德播话道，”你该讲到埃德加悬念和灵魂转世了。”
他发错了一个音，我纠正了他，他冲我皱眉头，很典型的哈罗德皱眉方式。他可不是那种感激你能指出他的错误的人，唉！
“当一些有悖常理的事情发生时，”格兰说，“最合适的也是最符合内在逻辑的解释就是神学的解释。这就是为什么心灵感应总是和宗教相联系，一直延续到今天，而且治愈了不少信徒。”
哈罗德开始小声反对，但格兰继续着。
“我个人内在的感觉是心灵感应……心灵感应是我们身体的一部分，以至于我们很少注意到它。很多人排斥这种感应，所以它不常引起人们的注意。”
“为什么？”我问
“因为这是一个消极因素，法兰妮。你们读过卡姆·斯汤顿关于1958年火车飞机事故研究？最初登在社会学杂志上，后来被新闻杂志到处转载。”
我们都摇摇头。
“你们应该看看的，”他说，“卡姆·斯汤顿是被我20年前的学生称作“真正聪明绝顶”的人物——他是一个临床社会学家，热衷于研究超自然的事物。他在深入第一手研究之前就写了许多关于现实和超自然相联系的文章。
哈罗德对此嗤之以鼻。但斯图和马克却带着微笑倾听，我想我也是。
“那就告诉我们有关飞机和火车的事吧。”佩瑞说。
“好的。卡姆·斯汤顿收集了从1925年起关于50多架飞机失事的资料和从1900年起200多起火车事故的资料。他将所有这些资料都输入到一台微机中。作为基础，他将三个因素联系起来考虑“乘坐在这些失事的交通工具中的人；死亡者；交通工具的载客量。 "
“看不出来他想证明什么。”斯图说。
“等着，他接着又输了第二批数据——这次是没有出事的数量和前一批相等的飞机和火车。”
马克点点头，“一个主导群体和一个实验群体，看上去很严密。”
“他得出的事实很简单，但这一事实的内涵却很惊人。在研究了整整16张数据表格之后才得出了如此简单的事实，倒真不是件很光彩的事。”
“什么事实？”我问。
“坐满了人的飞机和火车极少出事。”格兰说。
“简直是胡说八道。”哈罗德大叫。
“完全不是，”格兰平静地说道，“这就是斯汤顿理论，计算机也帮他证实了这一点。在飞机或火车事故中，这些交通工具的载客量是61％，在没出事的飞机或火车中，载客量约为76％。根据微机数据，大概有15％的差别，这种明显差别的意义是重大的。斯汤顿指出，从数据角度来看，3％的差别就值得引起注意，他是对的。这个差别都有得克萨斯那么大了。斯汤顿得出的结论是人们知道飞机和火车将要出事……他们毫无意识地预感到将来。”
“萨莉大婶在61号班机从芝加哥飞往圣地亚哥之前患上了严重的胃痛。当这趟班机坠毁在内华达沙漠的时候，每个人都说，嗨，萨莉大婶，肚子痛可真救了你的命。但直到卡姆·斯汤顿调查这次事故之前，没人意识到那趟班机竟然有30个人事先都患上了肚子痛或头痛，或腿上出了点什么毛病，总之，身体在告诉人们的大脑，有什么事会不太正常。”
“我真不敢相信。”哈罗德说着痛苦地摇摇头。
“你们知道，”格兰继续说，“在第一次读到卡姆·斯汤顿文章之后约一周，一架大型客机在洛根机场失事，机上的人全都当场死亡。我在事后访问了洛根机场的大型客机办公室。我告诉他们我是曼彻斯特联合领导报的记者，这当然是一个善意的谎言。我说我们在作一项关于失事飞机的调查，问他们能不能告诉我，那架飞机有多少乘客因故没有乘坐。那人看上去吃了一惊，因为他说机组人员也曾谈论过这事。没来的乘客是16人。我问他，从丹佛到波士顿的747飞机缺席乘客的平均数是多少，他回答说是3个。”
“3个！”佩瑞惊叹了一声。
“对。那人还提到，那趟班机起飞前有15个人取消了订票，平均数字却是8。所以，报纸上讲的洛根空难，94人丧生真应该改成洛根空难，31人幸免。”
接下来，我们围绕心灵感应谈了很多，远离了我们“梦”的主题，也忘了讨论它究竟是不是上帝的预示。重新提到这事儿的是斯图，他问（在哈罗德满脸厌恶地走开了之后）了一个问题，“如果我们都有心灵感应的话，为什么当一个所爱的人死去或我们的家园被狂风卷走时我们不知道呢？”
“的确有这样的事，”格兰说，“但我得说，它们可不太常见，也不太容易借助微机进行验证。这是一个有趣的问题，我有一个理论……”
（他总是有那么多理论吗？）
“……这个理论和进化论有关。你们知道，人类，或人类祖先以前有尾巴，而且浑身都长满了毛，感官也比现在灵敏得多。为什么现在都没有了呢？快，斯图，这可是你抢先他人一步的机会。”
“原因嘛，我想和人们现在骑摩托时不用再带风镜和穿风衣一样，有时你会觉得有些东西跟不上你进步的速度，也就是说，你再也不需要它。”
“一点没错。除非有实际意义，带着心灵感应这种功能又有什么作用呢？你在办公室工作得好好的，突然感到，你妻子在从超市回来的路上死于车祸又有什么好处呢？迟早有人会电话通知你，对吧？即使我们以前有这项功能，它在很久以前也已萎缩退化了。它和我们的尾巴和皮毛一样。”
“这些梦让我感兴趣的一点是，”他继续道，“它们总是预示着将来的某种斗争。我们总是梦见一些关于一个正义主角和他对手的阴暗画面，或与此相反。这情形就像看着一架计划要乘坐的飞机……然后突然肚子开始痛。也许，我们真具有预测未来的本事，一种无拘无束的第四维空间，一种在事发之前供选择的机会。”
“但我们不知道那些梦的含义。”我说。
“对，我们不知道．但我们会知道。我弄不清，一丁点儿的心灵感应是不是预示着我们是神圣的；有很多人在不相信上帝存在的情况下享受了很多美妙景色，我也是其中之一；但我相信，尽管这些梦让我们害怕，但它们的确包含一种积极的力量。我不太赞成服用佛罗那。服用它，有点近似于服用一些止痛片止住肚子痛之后再