Chapter 53 Chapter 52

In the early morning, Abagal's mother was lying on the bed without any sleepiness.She wants to pray. She got up in the dark, and knelt down in the white cotton pajamas.She rested her forehead on the Bible, which was opening on the Acts chapter.That verse tells the story of how stubborn old Saul was inspired by the Holy Spirit on the road to Damascus.He was blinded by light from heaven, and on the way to Damascus, scales seemed to fall from his eyes and he regained his sight.In the "Bible", "Acts" is the last chapter that preaches doctrine by describing miracles. Can there be other miracles besides what God's holy hand has done to human beings?

However, when there are scales in her eyes, will anyone see the light of day for her? The only sounds in the room were the faint hiss of the oil lamp, the ticking of the watch, and her low murmur. "Lord, point out my sin. I don't know. I know I've turned my back on you, and there's something you want me to see that I don't see. I can't sleep, I can't do anything, I don't feel like Your presence, God. I feel like my prayers are speaking into a disconnected receiver, and this is the worst time for this to happen. How have I offended you? Tell me, I I'm listening, Lord. I'm listening to that quiet, small voice that comes from deep within me."

She was really listening.The arthritic knuckles of her knuckles swelled, and she shaded her eyes with the diseased hand, and leaned forward a little more, trying to be still.But all around was darkness, as dark as her complexion, as dark as the wasteland waiting to be plowed. "Lord, please, my Lord, please, my Lord..." But what emerged before his eyes was a deserted dirt road in a wheat field.There was an old woman there with a sack full of freshly killed chickens.Then came a pack of weasels.They galloped forward, pounced on the sack.They could smell blood—the old blood of crime and the fresh blood of sacrifice.She heard the old woman raise her voice to God, but her voice was weak and plaintive, a voice of anger, and whatever position God had placed her in should be done in humility. Yes, but instead of humbly begging God to do his will, she asked God to save her so that she could do the work... her work... as if she knew the mind of God and could bend it to her.At this time, the weasels became more daring, and the sack broke under their tugging.Her fingers were too weak with age to stop them.When the chickens were all eaten and maybe the weasels were not yet full, they would come and eat her.yes they will...

But those weasels suddenly scattered and fled, screaming and disappearing into the night, leaving behind half a sack of delicious food before they could swallow it.This time she was overjoyed: "God saved me after all! Praise the Lord! God saved His good and faithful servant." "It's not God, old woman, that's what I did." She turned sharply, and what she saw brought fear to her throat, hot with the smell of fresh brass.She saw a huge Rocky Mountain wolf coming across the wheat field like a scary silver apparition.Its huge mouth was open in a mocking sneer, and its eyes glowed.Around its thick neck was also a silver collar, and the thing was beautiful, with a primal beauty, and from it hung a small black stone... and in the middle of it was a small red crack like an eye.That or a key.

She crossed herself, trying to drive away the ghastly ghost's demonic eyes, but the gigantic grinning mouth opened wider, and she could see the pink tinge on the hanging tongue. muscles. "I've come for you, Mother. Not now, but soon. I'll hunt you like a dog on a fawn. Make me anything you can imagine, and I'll be more than you can imagine. I'm a Wizard. I am a seer of the hereafter. Your people know me best, Mother. They call me 'John the Conqueror.'" "Go away! For the sake of Almighty God, leave me alone!" But she was so scared.Not for the people around her, the chicken in the sack in her dream represents these people, but she is afraid for herself.She was terrified from the depths of her soul, and she was terrified of her own soul.

"Your God is useless to me, mother. His elect are so weak." "No! That's not it! I have 10 times the strength, I can fly like an angel..." But the wolf just grinned and came closer.She recoiled from its breath, which was heavy and savage.It was a fear she felt at noon, and it was more intense at midnight, and she felt afraid.She was terrified.And the wolf, still laughing grinningly, began to speak with two voices asking and answering himself. "Who made the water flow from the rocks when we were thirsty?" "It's me," replied the wolf in a grumpy, half-smug, half-shocking voice.

"Who will save us when we are weak?" asked the grinning wolf, whose muzzle was inches from hers now, and whose breath smelled of a slaughterhouse. "It is I," cried the wolf, coming nearer, its grinning muzzle full of the sharp breath of death, its eyes blood-red and haughty. "Oh, kneel down and praise me, I am the one who brought the water to the desert, praise me, I am the faithful and good servant who brought the water to the desert, my name is the name of the Lord..." The wolf opened its jaws to devour her. "...my name," she murmured, "praise me, praise the Lord in the name of all who are blessed, praise him in the name of all living beings in the world..."

She raised her head and looked around drowsily.Her Bible had fallen to the floor.The eastern window revealed dawn. "Oh, my Lord!" she cried aloud, trembling. "Who made the water flow from the rocks when we were thirsty?" Is that right?Dear God, is that so?Is that why there are scales covering her eyes, blinding her from what she should know? Bitter tears began to flow from her eyes, and she rose slowly and painfully to her feet and walked to the window.The pain from the arthritis was like a blunt needle pricking her hipbones and knee joints. She looked out the window and knew what she had to do now.

She went back to the closet and took off the white cotton nightgown over her head.She threw it on the ground.Now she is standing there naked, with wrinkles all over her exposed body, like the bed of a river of time. "Go do your thing," she said, and began to dress. An hour later, she was walking slowly on Mapleton Hill Street, heading west, towards the heavily wooded, throat-thin canyon outside the town. Stu was at the power plant with Nick when Gran barged in.He said bluntly, "Mama Abagil is missing." Nick looked at him sternly. "What did you say?" Stu asked, pulling Gran away from the group of workers who were winding copper wire around the steam turbine.

Gran nodded.He had ridden five miles to get here and was still out of breath. "I went to her and wanted to tell her something about the meeting last night, and play the tape if she would listen. I wanted her to know who Tom was, because I felt so bad about the whole thing. Very uneasy... I think what Franny said in the middle of the night worked on me. I wanted to go to her early because Ralph said there were two big groups coming today and you know she would love to meet them .I got there around 8:30. I knocked on the door and she didn't answer, so I just barged in. I was thinking if she was sleeping I'd go...but I had to make sure she wasn't...not dead or anything ...she's so old."

Nick couldn't let go of Gran's lips. "But she wasn't there at all. I found this on her pillow." He handed him a tissue with these lines written in bold, broken strokes: "I had to go away for a while. I sinned and guessed God's will. My sin was pride, and he wanted me to reclaim my place in his work. I'll be back with you soon, God willing. Abbie Freemantle" "I'm such a jerk," Stu said. "Now what do we do? Look, Nick?" Nick took the note and read it again, then handed it back to Gran.There was no stern look on his face, only sadness. "I think we'll have to move that meeting to tonight," said Gran. Nick shook his head.He took out a small book, wrote a few words on it, tore off the paper and handed it to Gran.Stu also read the words from behind him. "It's up to man to make things up to God. Mother Abagil loved that line and quoted it a lot. Grant, you said yourself that she was often swayed by outside forces. By God or her own thoughts or her own. delusions or whatever. So what? She's gone. We can't change that." "But if something goes wrong..." Stu said. "Of course there's going to be trouble," Gran said. "Shouldn't we at least have a committee to discuss it, Nick?" Nick asked back: "What's the use? Why open it when you know it's useless?" "Well, we can organize a search party and she won't get very far." Nick drew two more circles on the sentence "It's up to man to make things happen", and wrote below: "Even if you find her, how will you bring her back? With iron chains?" "God, of course not!" cried Stu, "but Nick, we can't just let her run around like this! She's kind of crazy, always thinking she's offended God. If she's like the Old Testament What if I had to run off into the goddamn wilderness like some guy in the house?" "I'm almost sure that's exactly what she did," Nick wrote. "Oh, I have to go find her." Gran reached out and grabbed Stu's arm. "Wait a minute, East Texas. Let's see the impact of this first." "Fuck his influence! Let an old woman walk about day and night till she dies in the field, I don't see no influence in it!" "She's no ordinary old lady. She's Mama Abagil, and she's the Pope in this part of the country. If the Pope decides to go to Jerusalem, would you argue with him if you were a good Catholic?" "Damn it, you know it's not the same thing!" "No, it's the same thing, that is. At least people here in the Free State would see it that way. Are you going to say you're sure God didn't tell her to go into the woods, Stu?" "No, Abagil..." Nick had been writing, and now he showed Stu the note, some of which Stu had to guess at.Nick's handwriting is usually flawless, but this time he wrote in a hurry and possibly impatiently. "Stu, it's not going to change anything, except that it might hurt the hearts of the people of the Free State. Even that's not going to happen. People aren't going to be torn apart because she's gone. Which means, now we don't necessarily Change your plans for her. Maybe that's the best way." "It's driving me nuts," said Stu, "sometimes we make her like a hurdle we have to jump over, like she's a stumbling block. And sometimes you make her like the Pope, as long as There's nothing wrong with what she wants to do. But I like her. What the hell do you want, Nick? Hope someone trips over her dead body in a canyon west of town this fall? You want us Leaving her out in the wild so she can be...a sacrament for the crows?" "Stu," said Grant softly, "she decided to go." "Oh, damn it, what a mess," said Stu. By noon, word had spread throughout the neighborhood that Abagal's mother was missing.As Nick had predicted, the general reaction was not so much panic as painful resignation.It is believed that she must have gone to "pray for guidance" in order to help them choose the right path at the meeting on the 18th. "I don't want to call her God, it would be blasphemous," Gran said over a potluck in a park, "but she's one of those 'God's messengers.' If you want to measure the value of faith in any society As far as fidelity is concerned, you only need to see how much their faith weakens when what they used to believe in is gone." "Explain that sentence to me again." "Moses broke the golden bull, and the Jews stopped worshiping it. The flood flooded the temple of Baal, and the Mauryans thought that Baal was not a great god. But Jesus has been gone for 2,000 years, and people not only still Follow his teachings, and believe life and death that he will return eventually, and that his return is also a duty. That's how the people of the Free State view Mama Abagil. They are quite sure that she will return. You Have you spoken to them?" "Talk about it," said Stu, "I can't believe it. An old lady has gone off into the field and nobody's taking it seriously. I can't believe she's going to the meeting with a slate The 'Ten Commandments' are back." "Perhaps she can," said Grant gloomily. "It's not like everybody's taking it lightly, anyway. Ralph Brentner is pulling his hair out." "That's nice Ralph," he said, staring at Gran. "Honestly, what do you think? What's your part in this?" "I wish you wouldn't say that about me. It's not respectable at all. But I'm going to tell you...it's a little ridiculous to say. This East Texas is actually more stubborn than that old agnostic sociologist, People in this place think of her as "God's voice," which I don't think so. I think she'll come back, anyway, that's what I think. What does Franny think?" "I don't know. I didn't see her at all this morning. As far as I know, she went out to eat and sleep in the wild with Mama Abagil." He stared blankly at the towering figure of Fern in the afternoon dust. Latyrons Hill was in a trance: "God, I really hope the old woman is safe, Gran." Franny didn't even know about Abagal's mother running away.She spends the morning in the library, reading books on horticulture.She wasn't the only student there.She saw two or three people reading agronomy books, a young man with glasses, about 25 years old, reading a book called "7 Independent Power Sources for Home Furnishing", a 14-year-old blonde The pretty girl in is reading a tattered paper book titled "600 Easy Recipes". Towards noon she left the library and strolled down Walnut Street.On the way home she met Reilly Hammett, the older woman who had come with Dana, Susan, and Patty Kroger.Since then, Reilly's health has improved a lot.She looks like a sharp and pretty city lady now. She stopped to say hello to Franny and asked, "When do you think she'll be back? I asked everyone that question. If there was a newspaper in town, I'd be able to write a poll. Something like' What do you think of Senator Bunghull's views on the fuel crisis' kind of thing." "Who do you think will be back?" "Mother Abagil, of course. Where have you been, girl, in the freezer?" "What's going on?" Frannie asked in panic. "What happened?" "That's the problem, it's that no one knows what's going on." So Riley told her all that had happened to Franny while she was in the library. " "She just... left?" Frannie asked, frowning. "That's right. Of course she'll be back," Reilly added confidently. "That's what the note said," she said. "'If God Wills'?" "I'm sure that's just a way of saying it," Reilly said, looking at Franny a little calmly. "Well... hope so. Thanks for letting me know, Reilly. Do you still have a headache?" "No, it doesn't hurt at all. I'll vote for you, Franny." "Huh?" She was still thinking about the new news, her thoughts hadn't come back, and she didn't understand what Lei Li was talking about for a moment. "It's about the Standing Committee!" "Oh, thank you. But I haven't decided if I want to do that job." "You'll do it. You and Susan can do it. Just do it, Franny. Good-bye." They broke up.Franny hurried back to the apartment to see if Stu could know more.It had happened only last night after their meeting, and the old woman's disappearance had filled her with a strong superstitious fear.She was disturbed by not being able to leave several of their major decisions—such as sending people west—to Mama Abagal.With her gone, Franny felt that the responsibility on her shoulders was too heavy. When she got home, she found the apartment was empty.She missed Stu by about 15 minutes.Beneath the sugar bowl was a note that simply said: "Be back by 9:30. I'm with Ralph and Harold. Don't worry. Stu." Ralph and Harold?She thought for a moment, and felt a sudden fear, which had nothing to do with Mama Abagil.Why should I be afraid of Stu?God, if Harold tried to do something... that was kind of ridiculous... Stu would tear him in two.Unless...unless Harold sneaked up behind him or something... She hugged her elbows, feeling a little cold, wondering what Stu could do with Ralph and Harold. "Be back by 9:30." God, she thought that was too long. She stood in the kitchen for another moment, frowning at her backpack on the counter. "I'm with Ralph and Harold." Harold's hut outside Arapach would then be empty by nine-thirty.Unless, of course, they were there.If they were there, she could seek them out to satisfy her curiosity.She can ride right away.If no one was there, she might find something to reassure herself...or...but she stopped thinking about it. "Reassure yourself?" a voice in the back of my mind whispered, "Or make this messier? What if you did find something ridiculous? And then? What would you do?" she does not know.In fact, she didn't have a single idea in her mind. "Don't worry, Stu." But it does cause concern.That thumbprint in her diary was meant to be worrying.A person who peeks at other people's thoughts because of peeking at other people's diaries must be a person who does not speak of any principles or scruples in his actions.Such a man would sneak up behind the man he hated and push him down from his height.He may also use a stone, or a knife, or a gun. "Don't worry, Stu." "But if Harold does that, he's finished in Boulder. What else can he do?" But Franny knew what to do.She didn't know if Harold was the kind of man she'd imagined--not yet, not sure--but she knew in her heart that there was a place for such a man now.I am very sure of that. She quickly put on her backpack and walked out the door. Three minutes later, in the bright afternoon sun, she was riding down Broadway toward Arapach, thinking, "They'll all be in Harold's living room, drinking coffee and talking about Everyone is fine with Mum Bagher. Business as usual." But Harold's cabin was dark and empty... and it was locked. That in itself is an anomaly in Boulder.In the past, people had to lock the door when they went out, so as not to steal the TV, stereo or their wife's jewelry.But now that the stereo and TV are useless, it might be more beneficial for them to be unusable because they're out of power.As for jewelry, head to Denver to pick up a bag of jewelry from any age. "Why did you lock the door, Harold, when it's all useless? Because no one is more afraid of being robbed than a thief? Is that so?" She didn't slip through doors and pick locks.Just when she had no choice but to leave, she suddenly remembered that she could try the cellar window.The windows were only slightly higher than the ground and were covered with dust.The first window she tried would slide and barely open, shaking off a lot of dust onto the cellar floor. Franny looked around, and it was very quiet.Because no one lived this far beyond Arapach except Harold.This is also very strange.Harold is the kind of guy who always has a smile on his face, he can talk to you with an affectionate pat on the back, he spends all day with family and friends, and if you ask him for anything, he is willing to help, sometimes even without People will also take the initiative to help.He can, and does, have everyone like him—in fact, his popularity in Boulder is high.But where he chooses to live... that's another story, isn't it?That suggested something different about Harold's view of society and his own place... probably.Or maybe he just likes to be quiet. She got in through the window, soiled her clothes, and finally jumped to the ground.The cellar windows were at her eye level now.She is neither a picklocker nor a gymnast, so she will have to find something to stand on when she goes back through this window. Franny looked around.The cellar was built as a recreation room, a place to play.Her father used to talk about wanting to build a place like this, but it didn't work out, and it made her a little sad to think about it.The four walls are made of knotted pine, with several four-channel speakers embedded in it, and an Armstrong-style ceiling above the head. There is a large box in the room, which contains many puzzles and books. There is also an electric train and an electric toy racing car.There was also a pool table, on which Harold had casually placed a case of Coke.It was supposed to be a nursery, and the walls were dotted with posters—the largest of which, now quite worn, showed George Bush waving his hands, smiling, as he stepped out of a Haarlem church.The headline in bright red font reads: "Welcome the King of Swing with HOT MUSIC!" She suddenly felt extremely sad. In fact, she couldn't remember when it was the first time she was so sad.She had experienced shock, fear, utter dread, and a numb, chaotic state of pain, but this deep, agonizing heartbreak was something she had never experienced before.With a sudden rush of nostalgia for her hometown of Ogunquit, the sea, the beautiful mountains of Maine and the pine forests.Out of nowhere, she suddenly thought of Gus, the Ogunquit waterfront parking lot attendant, and for a moment she felt as if her heart would break with loss and pain.What was she doing here, among the plains and the mountains that divided the country in two?This is not her place.She doesn't belong here. She uttered a whimper involuntarily, and the sound sounded so bleak and terrible that she hurriedly covered her mouth with both hands, this was the second time in a day. "That's it, brother Frannie. You can't get rid of it so quickly with such a big thing. Then take it a little at a time. If you have to cry, wait a while, not here, at huh Crying in Rod Lauder's cellar. Business first." On her way to the stairs, she passed the poster.Seeing George Bush's smile and that perpetually cheerful face, a wry smile crossed her face.They must have played you a hit, she thought.Somebody must have done it anyway. When she climbed to the top of the cellar stairs she was sure the door was locked, but it opened easily.The kitchen was tidy and clean, the dishes from lunch were washed and drying on the drainer, even the little gas stove was polished...but there was still a smell of fried stuff in the air The smell of oil, like the ghost of the old Harold when she was attending Dad's funeral and Harold came to their house in Roy Brannigan's Cadillac, broke into her life. She thought, "If Harold came back at exactly this time, she'd be in a bind." The thought terrified her, but she half expected to see Harold standing in the living room doorway, smiling at her. .There was no one there, but her heart was beating wildly in her chest. There was nothing in the kitchen, so she went into the living room.It was dark in here, too dark for her to walk.Harold not only locked the door, but drew the curtains as well.Again she felt that she had discovered an unintentional revelation of Harold's personality.Why would a person put down all the curtains in such a small town? You must know that here people use the curtains to signify that someone is dead in the house. Like the kitchen, the living room is relatively tidy, but the furniture in the room does not look very good, even a bit tattered.The most exquisite thing in the house was the fireplace, a large stove, all of stone, with a hearth big enough to sit on.She actually sat there for a while, looking around thoughtfully.She moved her body and felt that one of the furnace bricks seemed to be loose, so she wanted to get up to see what happened, when someone knocked on the door. A suffocating fear suddenly enveloped her.The sudden fright nearly knocked her limp.She was out of breath, and it wasn't until she felt wet that she woke up a bit. The knock on the door rang again, much faster than before, and sounded firmly. "My God," she said to herself, "it's a good thing the curtains are drawn, thank God." As soon as she thought of this, she suddenly felt cold, and then thought that she must have left the bicycle outside, and everyone could see it.Is it like this?She tried her best to remember, but she couldn't remember anything for a long time, and there seemed to be a familiar sentence echoing in her mind: "Before you brush away the dust in other people's eyes, first remove the specks from your own eyes..." There was another knock on the door, and a woman's voice called, "Is anyone home?" Franny sat motionless.It occurred to her that she had parked her bicycle in the back, under Harold's clothesline, out of sight from the front of the house.But if Harold's visitor is determined to try the back door... The handle of the front door—the hall was so small that Franny could see it from here—began to turn futilely from side to side, only half a turn, of course. "No matter who she is, I just hope she can't do anything about locks like me." Frannie thought to herself, and then hurriedly covered her mouth with both hands, almost laughing nervously.Because she looked down and found that she was so scared that she peed her pants. "At least she didn't scare the shit out of me," Frannie thought, "at least not yet." She was on the point of laughing again, a hysterically frightened laugh. Then she finally heard footsteps leave the doorway, down the concrete path in front of Harold's house, and she felt an indescribable sense of relief. What Frannie did next did not go through her conscious consideration at all.She ran quietly across the hall to the door, and put her eyes to the gap between the curtain and the window to look out.She saw a woman with long hair, dark with gray streaks.She stepped onto a low-seat scooter parked by the side of the road, and when the scooter started, she threw her hair back and pinched it. It's the woman named Cross, the one with Larry Underwood!Does she know Harold? Nadina then started the motorcycle, which jolted a few times at first, but quickly disappeared from her view.Franny breathed a sigh of relief as feeling returned to her leg.She opened her mouth to laugh, a laugh she'd been holding back for a long time, and she'd known what it was going to be like - shaky but relieved.However, she shed tears. Five minutes later, she went out again through the cellar window, because she was too nervous to investigate further.She dragged a willow chair to get her feet on, and once she got out she managed to push it far away from the window, so that it was less obvious that someone had used it to climb too high.Even though it's still not where it used to be, people generally don't notice this sort of thing. ...and, aside from storing Coca-Cola, Harold didn't seem to use the cellar at all. She closed the window and found her bicycle.Still feeling drained and terrified, and a little nauseous from being terrified.At least the pants are dry, she thought.She said to herself, Frannie, remember to wear extra pants next time you sneak into someone's house. She rode away from Harold's house, out of Arapach as fast as she could, and back downtown on Canyon Avenue. After 15 minutes, I returned to my apartment. The room was silent. She opened her diary, stared at the dark, dirty fingerprint, and wondered where Stu would be now. She wondered if Harold was with him. "Oh, Stu, please come home, I need you." After lunch, Stu said goodbye to Gran and returned home.He was sitting dazed in the living room, wondering what happened to Abagil's mother, and whether Nick and Gran were right to let things be, when there was a knock on the door. "Stu?" it was Ralph Brentner's voice calling. "Hey, Stu, are you home?" Also came Harold Lauder.Harold still had a little smile on his face, but it wasn't as obvious.He looked like a happy mourner at a funeral trying to look serious. Ralph, distressed by the disappearance of Abagal's mother, had met Harold half an hour earlier, on his way home from a water haul at Boulder's Creek.Ralph adores Harold, he always seems to have time to listen to and offer sympathy to anyone who is grieving...and he never seems to ask for anything in return.This time Ralph told him all about Mama Abagil's disappearance, along with his own fears that she might have a heart attack or break an old bone or die from being out all night in the field. "You know it rains every damn afternoon," said Ralph at last, while Stu was pouring his coffee. "If she gets drenched she'll catch a cold, and then what? Pneumonia, I think." of." "What can we do about it?" Stu asked. "We can't force her to come back if she doesn't want to." "True," admitted Ralph, "but Harold has a good idea." Stu turned to look at Harold and said, "How are you doing, Harold?" "Excellent, how about you?" "good." "How's Franny? You've been protecting her?" Harold didn't avoid Stu's eyes, and they both kept a slightly restored and happy look in their eyes, but for a moment, Stu had a feeling Well, Harold's smiling eyes were like the sunlight in his home town of Blackman Quory - the lake looked so lovely, but stretched and stretched till a sun never shone. To the dark depths, 4 children have lost their lives in Blackman Quory Lake over the years. "I do my best to protect her," he said. "What do you think, Harold?" "Well, look, I know Nick's opinion, and Gran's opinion. They think people here in Liberty see Mama Abagil as a symbol of theocracy... they're pretty much That's an accurate statement of the state of the place, isn't it?" Stu took a sip of his coffee and asked, "What do you mean by 'theocracy'?" "I call it the human symbol of the covenant with God," said Harold, his eyes averted. "Like communion or the sacred cow in India." Hearing this, Stu's eyes lit up: "Yes, that's it. Those cows...they walk on the street casually, and people don't care if they cause traffic jams, right? They can come in and out of the store, or Go out of town in droves." "Yes," Harold agreed. "But most of those cows are sick, Stu. They're dying of starvation, and some have warts. It's all because they're a symbol in general. People trust God to take care of them, like ours here人确信上帝会照料阿巴盖尔妈妈一样。但是我个人对这个忍心让不会说话的、可怜的牛痛苦地四处乱走的上帝可不那么有信心。” 拉尔夫突然看起来有些不安，斯图知道他心里的感受，同时这也使他有机会衡量一下自己对阿巴盖尔妈妈的感情。他觉得哈罗德几乎是在亵渎神灵了。 “不管怎样，”哈罗德不再想印度神牛了，轻松地说，“我们没法改变人们看待她的方式……” “也不想改变。”拉尔夫很快地加了一句。 “不错！”哈罗德大声说，“毕竟，是她把我们结合在一起了，而且也不是靠短波的作用。我的主意是咱们开几辆性能可靠的车，今天下午到博尔德西边去搜索一下。只要咱们离得比较近，就可以靠无线电保持着联系。” Stu nodded.这也是他一直想做的事。不管是不是神牛，不管有没有上帝的照料，让她一个人四处乱走总之是不对的。这与宗教无关；这样做就是无情的漠不关心。 “要是咱们找到她的话，”哈罗德说，“咱们可以问问她是不是需要点什么。” “比如说拿车把她带回城什么的。”拉尔夫插口道。 “至少咱们可以照看她。”哈罗德说。 “好吧，”斯图说，“哈罗德，我觉得这的确是个好主意。等我给法兰妮留个条吧。” 但是在他匆匆写留言条的时候，一直有种冲动想回头看一眼哈罗德——想看看在斯图没有看着他的时候哈罗德在做什么，在他的眼睛里此时会有什么表情。 哈罗德已经知道了从博尔德到尼德兰的那段曲曲折折的路，因为在他看来在这块地方能找到她的可能性最小。他认为连他也不可能在一天里从博尔德一直走到尼德兰，就更别说那个发了疯的老家伙了。但沿着这段路骑车兜兜风倒是挺不错，而且他还能有个机会想想事。 现在是差15分7点，他已经在回来的路上了。他的本田牌摩托车停在路边，自己坐在一张野餐桌边，一边喝可乐一边吃着。挂在摩托车把上的无线电通话器天线已拉到了最长，里面伴随着轻微的劈啪声响着拉尔夫·布伦特纳的声音。那只是短距离通话器，拉尔夫正远在弗拉格斯塔夫山里的某个地方呢。 “……日出剧场……没看见她……这儿雷阵雨停了。” 然后听到斯图的声音，更响也更近了。他是在桥塘公园，离哈罗德的位置只有4英里。“拉尔夫，再说一遍。” 拉尔夫的声音又响起来，实际上是在大声喊了。大概他会给自己来上一下子的，要是那样的话这一天就结束得太美妙了。“这里没她的影子！我要赶天黑前下山了！完毕！” “10－4，”斯图说，声音听起来有点泄气。“哈罗德，你在听吗？”哈罗德站起身来，把手上的机油抹到牛仔裤上。“哈罗德？呼叫哈罗德·劳德！你听到吗，哈罗德？” 哈罗德向通话器伸了伸中指——就是他在奥甘奎特上高中时那些厄字德特人说的“骂人指”；然后他按下通话键用欢快的声音同样传递了令人沮丧的消息：“我在这儿。我刚到一边去了……还以为在沟里发现了什么呢，只不过是件破夹克。完毕。” “啊，好吧。哈罗德，你干嘛不到桥塘公园来呢？咱们在那儿等拉尔夫吧。” 就爱发号施令，是不是，你这混蛋？我会给你点儿教训的，没错，我会的。 “哈罗德，你听到了吗？” “我听到了。对不起，斯图，刚才我有点心不在焉。我15分钟后能到那儿。” “你听到了吗，拉尔夫？”斯图大喊道，喊声把哈罗德吓了一跳。他对着斯图的声音又用中指做了那个手势，做的时候偷偷地笑了。这个你收到了没有，你这西部荒原的杂种。 “收到，你们要到桥塘公园去。”静电干扰的噪音中传来拉尔夫微弱的声音。“我上路了。完毕，关机。” “我也上路了，”哈罗德说，“完毕，关机。” 他把通话器关掉，折起了天线，又将它挂在了车把上，熄着火在车上坐了一会儿。他穿着一件防空夹克，是军队剩余物资；在海拔6000英尺以上的地方骑摩托车，穿着这件厚重的衣服相当不错，尽管这是在8月份。但他穿这件衣服还有另一个目的。这衣服有许多带拉链的口袋，其中一个里面装着一支0．38口径威森手枪。哈罗德把枪拿了出来，在手里翻来覆去地把玩着。枪里上满了子弹，拿在手里沉甸甸的，似乎连这枪也知道自己的目标都是重大的：死亡，破坏，暗杀。 今晚就干吗？ why not? 他建议这次搜索就是希望有机会能与斯图单独在一起以便做了这事。现在看来，15分钟内在桥塘公园，他就要得到这个机会了。但这次旅行也达到了另一个目的。 他本来并不想一直跑到尼德兰去，那只是座落在博尔德高处的一个糟糕的小镇。要说这个镇还有什么名声的话，就是帕蒂·赫斯特在当逃犯的时候据说在这儿呆过一次。他越骑越高，座下本田摩托的马达发出平稳的轰鸣声，冷风像个磨钝的剃刀片一般吹在脸上。 如果把一块磁铁放在桌子的一端，把一个小铁块放在另一端，那么什么动静也不会有。如果你把铁块一小点儿一小点儿地推近磁铁（有一会儿他脑子里一直想着这一情景，提醒着自己晚上写日记时要把这一点写进去），会有这样一个时刻，就是给予铁块的推力似乎把它推得太远了一些。这时铁块停下来，但它似乎并不情愿停，就像是它变活了，而它的一部分生命就是对有关惯性的物理定律的不满。再轻轻地推上一两下，几乎能够——有时甚至确实能够——看到铁块在桌上颤抖，似乎在轻轻地振动和战栗，就像在新品店里能买到的那种墨西哥跳豆似的，它们看起来像是指节大小的木头节，但每个里面都真的有一条活虫子。再推一下，则磨擦力、惯性和磁铁吸力之间的平衡开始向另一端倾斜。那铁块现在已经完全活了，自己动起来，越来越快，直到最后撞到磁铁上，贴在那里。 那是一个可怕而又富有吸引力的过程。 一直到6月份过完，他仍然对这种磁吸引力不甚明白，尽管哈罗德知道（他的头脑从来不具有理性的科学的天赋）研究这种事的物理学家认为这一现象与地心引力密切相关，而这一引力是整个宇宙的基石。 在去尼德兰的路上，他越走越向西，越走越向上，觉得空气越来越冷，看到雷暴云在离尼德兰极远处的更高的山峰顶上慢慢堆积，这时哈罗德感觉到那个磁力吸引的过程开始在他身上发生了。他正在接近那个临界点……再稍微过去一点儿，他就要到达那个移动点了。他就是那个小铁块，与那磁铁之间正处于这样一种距离，就是如果轻轻再推一下的话，将使他走得比一般情况下这样的推力能做的远得多。他能感觉到自己身上的那种震颤。 这是他所做的所有事中最接近于一种神圣经历的事情。年轻人往往抵制神圣，因为接受它也就意味着接受了所有经验主义东西的最终死亡，所以哈罗德也是抵制它的。他认为，那个老妇人从某种意义上讲是个女巫，那个黑衣人弗拉格也是。他们自身就是个电台，只此而已。他们真正的法力存在于围绕他们各自的信号组合成的团体中，而这两个团体间存在着多么大的差异啊。That's what he thinks. 但停车在尼德兰这条糟糕透顶的主街的尽头，望着他本田牌摩托车的头灯亮起来像猫的眼睛，听着寒风吹过松树林和杨树林发出的哀鸣声，他感觉到了一些超过磁吸引力的东西。他感到有一种巨大的、非理性的力量从西部发出，那种吸引力是如此的强大，以致于他觉得要是再专注地想它的话他会发疯的。他觉得，要是他在这平衡臂上再冒险向外走一些的话，就会失去所有的主见。他就会和原来一样，两手空空。 要是那样的话，尽管不是他的错，那个黑衣人也会杀了他的。 于是他把思绪转开，体会到一个准备自杀的人终于摆脱掉长期困扰他的对于死亡的设想的那种冷冷的解脱感。但要是他愿意的话，今晚就可以去。是的，他可以杀了雷德曼，在近距离内只用一发子弹就能了事。然后他可以一动不动地、冷静地等在那儿，直到那个俄克拉荷马的混蛋出现。再给他的太阳穴来上一枪。听到枪声也没人会吃惊的；因为这儿的活动丰富多彩，许多人都到这里来打鹿。 现在是差10分7点，到7点半的时候他就能把他们俩全干掉了。到10点半或者更晚一点儿，法兰妮才会注意到出事，而到那时候他早走远了，骑着他的本田一路向西，包里装着他的账本。但如果他只是像这样坐在车上听任时光流逝的话是办不成这件事的。 第二下打火的时候本田就起动了，这是一辆好车。哈罗德露出了微笑，接着哈罗德大笑起来，然后完全是在欢呼了。他向桥塘公园开去。 当斯图听到哈罗德的摩托车驶进公园的声音时，已经是暮霭时分了。过了一会儿，他看见那辆本田车的头灯光在山坡车道两侧的树木之间闪烁。然后就看见哈罗德戴着头盔的头在左右转动着找他。 斯图坐在一个石头烧烤台的边上招着手大声喊他，片刻之后，哈罗德看到了他，也招了招手，转弯挂二档骑了过来。 在他们三个渡过了这样一个下午之后，斯图对哈罗德的印象相对好了些……实际上比以往任何时候都要好。哈罗德的主意实在不错，尽管并没有成功。而且哈罗德还坚持选了去尼德兰的那条路……尽管他穿着厚夹克也一定冷得要命。他停下车来的时候，斯图看见哈罗德脸上那始终挂着的微笑看起来却是一副苦相；他脸上紧绷绷的，面色也太过苍白。斯图想，他一定是因为事情没有任何好转而觉得失望。他忽然为自己和法兰妮对待哈罗德的方式感到内疚，他们一向认为他总是笑容满面和对人的那种过分热情是一种伪装。也许，这个人正在努力为自己的生活揭开新的一页，而他行事的方式有点怪正是因为以前从来也没有尝试过做这样的事，他们可曾真心考虑过这种可能性呢？斯图认为他们从来也没这么想过。 “什么也没找到吧？”他问哈罗德道，同时轻快地从那烧烤台上跳了下来。 “没有，”哈罗德说，他脸上又出现了笑容，但那是不由自主的，有气无力的。脸色看起来仍然有些古怪而且没有血色。双手都插在衣袋里。 “没关系。这是个好主意。就咱们现在看来，她应该已经回家去了。如果没有的话，明天咱们再来找。” “那可能就得找尸体了。” 斯图叹了口气说：“可能是……唉，可能是的。哈罗德，你来跟我们一起吃晚饭好吗？” “什么？”在越来越暗的树影里哈罗德看起来像是吃了一惊。他脸上的笑容显得更加勉强了。 “吃晚饭，”斯图耐心地说，“你看，法兰妮也会高兴你来的。不骗你，她真会很高兴的。” “嗯，可能吧，”哈罗德说，仍然看起来很不安。“但是我……嗯，你知道我做过对不起她的事。咱们现在最好还是不谈这事吧。说真心话，你们两个在一起挺好的。我知道。”他微笑着，显得更加真诚。那是富有感染力的；斯图也冲他笑了笑。 “随便你，哈罗德。但我们的门对你是敞开的，任何时候都是。” "thanks." “不，我要谢谢你。”斯图严肃地说。 哈罗德眨眨眼，不解地问：“谢我？” “在其他人都准备听天由命的时候谢谢你帮我们找她。尽管我们什么也没找到。你愿意和我握握手吗？”斯图伸出了手。有一会儿哈罗德只是茫然地看着他的手，斯图以为他的好意不会被接受了。但哈罗德把右手拿出了衣袋——手里原来像抓着什么东西，大概是拉链吧——和斯图的手短促地握了一下。哈罗德的手是温暖的，还有一点汗湿。 斯图走了几步站在他前面，向下望着车道。“拉尔夫现在该来了。希望他从那该死的山下来的时候可别出事。他……啊，他来了。” 斯图走到路边上；车道上有另一道车灯光正闪动着向上移，在树屏后闪闪烁烁地像在捉迷藏似的。 “对，那是他。”哈罗德用一种奇怪的呆板板的声音在斯图身后说。 “还有人跟他在一起。” "What, what?" “看那儿。”斯图指着第一道灯光后面的另一道摩托车灯光说。 “噢。”又是那种奇怪的呆板的声音。斯图禁不住回过头来。 “你没事吧，哈罗德？” “只是觉得累。” 另一辆车是格兰·贝特曼的；那是一辆低动力的机动脚踏两用车，尼克·安德罗斯骑在拉尔夫身后的车座上。尼克邀请他们大家都到他和拉尔夫共用的那间房子里去喝咖啡还有白兰地。斯图同意了，但哈罗德谢绝了，他看起来仍然很紧张也很累。 “他是多么失望啊。”斯图心想，他突然意识到这不但是自己头一次对哈罗德产生同情，而且这份同情也来得太迟了一些。他又代尼克邀请了他一遍，但哈罗德只是摇了摇头，告诉斯图今天他简直要不行了。他想他会回家睡上一觉的。 到家的时候，哈罗德浑身颤抖得很厉害，几乎没法把钥匙插到前门的锁孔里去。当门终于打开的时候，他一下子冲了进去，就像怕有个疯子跟在身后似的。他砰地一声关上门，把锁锁上，再上好了闩。然后他倚着门呆了一会儿，头朝后仰着，双目紧闭，觉得自己几乎要歇斯底里地大哭起来了。然后他终于控制住了自己的情绪，就摸着黑穿过门厅来到起居室，把里面的三盏灯全都点亮了。房间里明亮起来，他觉得有这光明就好多了。 他坐在自己最喜欢的那把椅子中闭目养了一会儿神。当心跳不再那么急的时候他起身走到壁炉前，将那块活动的石头搬开，把那本账本拿了出来。拿着它他就感到莫大的安慰。账本是用来记载所欠的债，重要的账单和累计投资额的。所有的账在这上面最后都要结掉。 他走回来坐下，翻到上次中断的地方，犹豫了一会儿，然后写道：“1990年8月14日”。他一直写了近一个半小时，手中的笔疾速地来回移动，一行又一行，一页又一页。在写的时候，他的脸上诸般表情依次转换，或是残忍的嘲笑或是阴郁的正直，或是恐惧或是兴奋，或是痛心疾首或是露齿而笑。写完以后，他读着自己写出的东西（“这是我写给全世界的信，而从没有人写信给我……），一边读一边揉着写痛了的右手。 他把账本和那块覆盖的石头放回原处。他感到很镇静；他已把心中的一切都写出来了；他已把他的恐惧和愤怒都倾注在那一页页的纸上而他的决心依然坚定。这感觉很好。有时候把一些事情写下来反而使他的神经更紧张，那时候他心里知道他写的不够真实，或者说没有尽最大的努力把事实之剑的钝刃磨得可以用来砍削——锋锐处可见血。但今夜他能以一种镇静安详的心态将那本子放回去。他的愤怒、恐惧与沮丧都被安全地转移到那本子中了，在他熟睡的时候它就保存于大石之下。 哈罗德拉起一幅窗帘向外面清静的街道望去。仰望着弗拉蒂龙斯山，他镇静地回想着他是多么危险地就要动手了，差一点就要拔出那只0．38口径手枪，打算把他们4个都干掉。那就把他们那个臭不可闻又假充神圣的特别委员会给收拾了。他要是干掉了他们，那剩下的就连个该死的法定人数也凑不够了。 但在最后一刻，仅存的一线理智反而占了上风。于是他放下了枪而与那个无耻的骗子握了手。他也许永远也不知道自己怎么能这么做，但感谢上帝他是这么做了。天才的标志就在于能忍耐——他要忍。 他现在觉得困了；这是漫长而不平静的一天。 他解开了衬衫，熄灭了两盏油灯，拿起最后一盏要带到卧室里去。在穿过厨房的时候他停下了，登时觉得浑身一片冰凉。 通向地窖的门开着。 他走了过去，把灯举高，下了三级台阶。心里忽然感到一阵恐惧，没法再保持镇静了。 “谁在这儿？”他叫道。no answer.他能看见那张台球桌，那些海报。在远处的屋角处，有一套漆了鲜艳的彩色条纹的曲棍球棒放在架上。 他又下了三级台阶。“那儿有人吗？” 没有；他能感觉到没有人。但这并没有减轻他的恐惧。 他走完余下的几级台阶，把手里的灯高高地举过头顶。对面的墙上映着巨大的影子，像只大猩猩，连做的事情都很像。 好像那边的地板上有什么东西？没错，是有点什么。 他从电动火车的轨道后面走到窗下，这正是法兰妮进来的那扇窗子。在地板上有一小堆浅褐色的土。哈罗德把灯放在了土的旁边。在它的中间，留有一个运动鞋或是网球鞋的印子，就像指纹一样清楚……那花纹不是饼干形或锯齿形的，而是由一组组的小圆圈和线条构成。他狠盯着这个足印，把它烙在了脑子里，然后把这堆土踢成了一团尘灰，毁去了那个印子。在灯光的映照下，他的脸就像是个蜡像一样。 “你会付出代价的！”哈罗德轻声喊道，“不管你是谁，你会付出代价的！你一定得付！一定得付！” 他又走上楼梯，把房子整个查看了一遍，寻找着其他闯入的痕迹。但他并没找到。最后他在起居室停了下来，现在一点睡意也没有了。他正想着定是什么人——可能是个孩子——只是出于好奇闯了进来，但突然脑子里灵光一闪，仿佛夜空中亮起一颗照明弹似的，他想起了那个账本。闯入的动机是那么明显，又是那么可怕，他却差一点完全忽略掉它。 他奔到壁炉前，掀起那块石头，把账本抓了出来。他第一次完全清醒地意识到这个本子是多么的危险。要是有人发现了它，就一切都完了。他应该比任何人都更清楚这一点；难道发生这一切都是因为法兰妮的日记本吗？ 账本。脚印。后者的出现是否意味着前者已经被发现了呢？of course not.但怎么能肯定呢？没办法肯定，这是再清楚不过的事实了。 他把那块炉石放回原处，带着账本进了卧室，把它放在枕头下面，和那支威森左轮手枪放在了一起，心想着应该烧了它，却知道自己永远不会这么做。那本子里面是他一生中写得最好的东西，也是他基于诚信和亲身亲历写成的唯一的东西。 他躺了下来，准备好渡过一个不眠之夜了，脑子里不停地想着可能用来藏它的地方。放在一块松动的墙板下？放在一个碗柜后面？有没有可能采用那古老的盗窃术里的一招，就把它大胆地放在一个书架上，和其他许许多多的书本放在一起，左边来一本《读者文摘精华本》，右边是一本《完全的女人》？不行——那太过大胆了；要是那样他就再也没法安心地离开这所房子了。在银行租一个保险箱怎么样？不，那不行——他要把它留在身边，要能看到它。 最后，他真的开始睡意沉沉了，而他的思绪被袭来的睡意释放了，迷迷茫茫、漫无目的地飘游着，像一个缓缓滚动的弹球似的。他想：必须把它藏起来，那件东西……要是法兰妮把她的日记藏得好一点的话……要是我没读到她对我的真实想法……她的伪善……要是她…… 哈罗德突然一下子坐了起来，嘴里轻轻喊了一声，眼睛睁得大大的。 他就那样子坐了很久，过了一会儿他不禁发起抖来。她知道了吗？那会是法兰妮的脚印吗？日记……杂志……账本…… 最后他又躺了下去，但好长时间睡不着觉。他一直想着法兰妮·戈德史密斯平时是不是总穿一双网球鞋或是运动鞋。要是的话，那鞋底的花纹是什么样的？ 鞋底的样子，灵魂的样子。当他终于睡着的时候，做了很多噩梦，不止一次地在黑暗里痛苦地叫出声来，就像要赶开一些已经永远侵入了的东西。 九点一刻的时候斯图进了家。法兰妮蜷缩着身子躺在双人床上，身穿一件大衬衫——那衣服几乎盖住了膝盖——正读着一本书，书名叫《五十种友好的植物》。他进来的时候她起了身。 “你上哪儿去了？我急坏了！” 斯图告诉了她哈罗德的计划，说他们去找阿巴盖尔妈妈了，以便至少能看顾着她。但他没提到神牛。他最后一边解着衬衫一边说：“我们本来想带你一起去的，宝贝儿，但是到处找不着你。” “我那会儿在图书馆呢，”她说，看着他脱下衬衫，又把它塞进挂在门后的洗衣网袋里。他的体毛很多，前胸和后背都有，她发现自己正在想的是，在遇到斯图之前，她总是觉得体毛多的人令人反感。她想，是看到他回来的宽慰使她高兴得脑子都有点糊涂了。 哈罗德看过她的日记，她现在知道了。她一直非常担心哈罗德可能会密谋骗得斯图孤立无援然后再……嗯，对他做出点什么来。但为什么是现在呢，正是今天，正当她刚发现这件事的时候？如果哈罗德已经让那睡着的狗躺了那么久，那么设想他根本就不想惊醒那只狗不是更合逻辑一些吗？是否也有可能哈罗德读了她的日记后已经知道对她追求不停是全无用处的？再加上阿巴盖尔妈妈失踪的消息，使她理所当然地预感到恶运当头，但事实是，哈罗德只是读了她的日记，而不是全世界罪行的忏悔。如果她告诉斯图她发现的事，只会使自己看起来很傻，可能还会使他憎恨哈罗德……还可能同时也恨她一开始就这么傻。 “根本就没看见她，是吗，斯图？” "Yes, no." “哈罗德看起来怎么样？” 斯图一边脱着裤子一边说：“他很痛苦。因为他的主意并没使事情好转而难过。我邀请他来吃晚饭，什么时候愿意来都行。我希望你不介意。你知道，我真的认为自己会喜欢起那个傻瓜的。我在新罕布什尔州遇到你们俩的时候你怎么劝我我可都没法喜欢他。我邀请他是不是错了？” “没有，”她想了一下才说道，“你没错，我也想和哈罗德好好相处。”她心里却在想，我坐在家里想哈罗德可能会要敲掉他脑袋的时候，斯图却在邀请他来吃晚饭。 斯图又说：“要是天亮了阿巴盖尔妈妈还没回来的话，我想我会去问哈罗德愿不愿意和我再出去找。” “我也想去，”法兰妮很快地说，“这儿还有些别人也不相信她能靠乌鸦供养着过活。迪克·沃尔曼是一个，拉里·安德伍德也是一个。 “太好了，”他说着，也躺到了床上来，“我说，在这衬衫下面你都穿了些什么？” “一个像你这么高大、这么强壮的人没有我的帮助也应该能发现的。”她含蓄地说。 当然他最后发现，那下面实际上什么也没有。 第二天的搜索组是在大约早晨8点钟出发的，有6个人——斯图，法兰妮，哈罗德，迪克·沃尔曼，拉里·安德伍德，以及露西·斯旺。到了中午队伍扩大到20人，而到了黄昏的时候（山里也像往常一样，电闪雷鸣地下了一阵暴雨）在博尔德西边这块地方已经有50多人了，他们搜索着一个个灌木丛，淌过一条条溪水，在峡谷里上上下下，用通话器彼此呼来叫去。 一种奇怪的无可奈何的恐惧情绪慢慢代替了昨天的平静接受。尽管那种赋予了阿巴盖尔妈妈在这一地区半神地位的理想化的力量十分强大，但还是有大部分的人开始以现实主义的观点来看待她的生还问题了：这老妇人很可能已超过了100岁，她已经孤身一人在外面呆了一夜，而现在第二个夜晚又来到了。 那个带着12个人从路易斯安那的乡下跋涉到博尔德的家伙倒是把这事概括得很精辟。他和同伴是前一天的中午来的。当得知阿巴盖尔妈妈出走的消息时，这个叫诺曼·克罗格的人把棒球帽摔在地上说：“我真他妈的倒霉……你们都派了谁去找她？” 查理·英彭宁，或多或少已成为自由之邦这地方居民的恶运预言家了（有关9月里大雪的那个“好”消息就是他传播的）。他现在开始向人们建议道，既然阿巴盖尔妈妈已经撤离这儿了，那么这可能就是一个征兆，表明他们都应该撤离。毕竟，博尔德是离得太近了。离什么太近？无所谓，你知道离什么太近，而纽约和波士顿都让梅维斯·英彭宁的儿子查理觉得安全得多。但没人听他的。人们太累了，宁愿坐下来等。要是马上要冷了，而这儿没法取暖的话，他们倒是可能会搬走，但在这事发生之前是不会搬的。他们正在休养生息。曾有人礼貌地问英彭宁是否打算自己单独离开。他说，他会留下来等更多的人醒悟过来再走。格兰·贝特曼跟人议论说，查理·英彭宁会成为可怜的摩西的。 格兰·贝特曼相信，这地方人的感觉也就是到“无可奈何的恐惧”为止了，因为尽管他们有着种种幻想，尽管他们对于落基山西边可能发生的事情怀着极度的忧虑，但他们毕竟仍然是有理性的人。迷信也像真爱一样，需要时间去培养和表现。当他们因为天已太黑而结束了今晚的搜索以后，他给尼克、斯图、和法兰妮打了个比方：当你建好一个谷仓时，你会在门上挂一个末端朝上的马蹄铁来留住好运，如果有个钉子掉了下来或者那马蹄铁掉了个方向，你也不会因此就把谷仓废弃掉。 “可能有一天我们或者是我们的后代会因为挂着的马蹄铁放走了运气就把谷仓废弃掉，但那得是好多年以后的事了。就现在而言我们只会觉得有点不舒服和有点失落。但我想那会过去的。要是阿巴盖尔妈妈死了的话——向上帝保证我希望她没有死——那么对于这地方人的精神健康而言，这件事这时候发生可能还算是最好的呢。” 尼克写道：“但是她本身就是魔鬼作恶的障碍，是他的对头，是用来保证善恶的天平保持平衡的……” “是的，我知道。”格兰阴郁地说，“我知道。人们不在乎马蹄铁的日子可能真的正在过去了……或者可能已经过去了。相信我，我明白。” 法兰妮问道：“格兰，你不是真的认为我们的孙儿们会成为迷信的土人吧？会烧死女巫而且从手指缝里吐痰来测运气？” “将来的事我可不知道，法兰妮，”格兰说，在灯光下他的脸看起来又衰老又疲倦——这可能就是一个失败的术士的脸。“要不是那天晚上在弗拉格斯塔夫山斯图给我点出来，我甚至都不能正确地认识到阿巴盖尔妈妈对我们这地方的影响。但我确实知道这一点：我们都在这个镇里只是因为两件事。