Chapter 21 Chapter Eighteen

"Here it is," Sister Bliss told her red-eyed driver. He pulled the Mercury up to the curb with the red fire hydrant in front of the Harlem Hospital, cut off the engine, and reached behind for his joint.There is also parking space both front and rear. "Stay away from that fire hydrant, you idiot," said Sister Bliss. "Do you want to be caught alive by the police?" "Fire hydrant?" He turned to stare. "I didn't see it." He shifted gears nonchalantly, shifting forward one notch. "Keep an eye on my dog, don't let anyone steal it," said Sister Bliss, getting out of the car.

"Who would want it?" She didn't hear him muttering to himself.She walked across the street to a surgical supply store with a glass exterior and white-edged stripes. The store was about to close, but she told the white clerk that she needed it urgently. She bought a large bag of absorbent cotton, an eight-ounce bottle of chloroform, a scalpel, elbow-length rubber gloves, a full-length rubber apron, a rubber sheet, and a large china basin. "You forgot the tweezers," said the clerk. "I don't need tweezers," she said. The clerk looked her up and down.She still had the parasol and the beaded bag with her, but the parasol was put away.He wanted to actually remember what she looked like in case anyone questioned her.

"You should go to the hospital and let them deal with it," he said gravely. "There are hospitals in the city that do it if needed." He thought she was going to have an abortion.She looks at him. "It's my daughter," she said. "I want to do it myself." He shrugged and packed his things up.She paid and left. When she got back to the Mercury rover, the dog was howling, perhaps thirsty or hungry.She got in the car, put the package on the floor of the car, and petted the bitch's head. "It's almost over," she said gently. She told the driver to take her to a cheap hotel on 125th Street--it was a block from the train station at 125th--and told him to wait while she went in.

A crooked glass-paneled door, a bit dangerous to get in and out of, leads into a long narrow foyer with a battered linoleum floor and peeling wallpaper that reeks of men's piss, whores, foul vomit and very cheap perfume taste.The graffiti left on the wallpaper, I am afraid that even the hawkers who sell obscene photos in the Montmartre district of France will be shocked. Under the back stairs was a battered wooden counter with a padded office chair behind which hung a letter box with a spare master key.The bell sits on the counter; an old-fashioned night bell button sits on the wall above the bell.There was no one in sight.

The Bliss Sisters slapped the hotel bell with a gloved hand.There was no sound at all.She picked up the bell and looked at the bottom.The hammer inside was long gone.She pressed the night bell again with her thumb.Nothing happened.So she took the handle of the parasol and banged on the side of the hotel bell.It sounded like a fire truck. After a while, someone appeared from the half door in the dark behind the office chair.It was a middle-aged man with brown skin, a pockmarked face, a head full of sores, and brown eyes that were dull and dull.He had what appeared to be a powerful, muscular frame, with a furry chest exposed by an open collarless shirt.He limped forward, his heavy body moved slowly, and then put his hands on the counter.

"Is there anything I can do for you, ma'am?" he said in the voice of a baritone singer.Wording is appropriate and pronunciation is clear and distinct. However, the Bliss sisters have long been accustomed to everything. "I want a quiet room with a security lock," she said. "All the rooms in this hotel are quiet," he said. "And you're as safe here as in God's lap." "Do you have a room available?" "Yes ma'am, we have rooms available at any time." "I reckon you've got some," she said. "Wait for me, I'll get my luggage first."

She went out, paid the driver's fare, and took the dog away, carrying the bundle with the bundle.When she returned to the hotel, the boss was already waiting at the stairs. One of his legs was atrophied from polio, so it looked like a spider was climbing stairs.The Blissful Sisters followed patiently. A high-pitched argument came from behind a door on the second floor: "Who do you think you're talking to, you stinky nigger!" "You better shut up, you angry black bitch..." Behind another door came the clang of pots and pans, and the smell of cooking ham and cabbage.

Behind the third door, there were sounds of people knocking over furniture and things, scuffling footsteps, panting grunts, and a shrill female voice: "When I'm free, just wait and see—" —” The boss didn't care at all, and walked slowly, as if he was completely deaf and couldn't hear. They walked slowly to the third floor.The boss opened a door with a small master key, and said: "Your room is here, madam, the quietest room in this building." One window looked down on 125th Street.It's rush hour.The sound of rumbling traffic poured in.Downstairs is the White Rose Bar.The jukebox blared, and Jay Hawkins' shrill voice blared.A high-decibel radio came from the next room, and the music was so loud that it broke the sound.

The room contained a single bed, straight chair, chest of drawers, six eight-cent-head nails fastened to the interior wall - serving as a wardrobe - a chamber pot and wash-stand with two taps . Sister Bliss walked over to try the tap.Cold water came out, but there was no water from the hot water tap. "Who would want to use hot water on such a hot day?" Lao Lu said, wiping his face carefully with a dirty handkerchief. "I rent it," said Sister Bliss, throwing her package on the bed. "Then please pay the rent of three yuan first," said the boss. She gave him three dollars in change.

After thanking him, he snapped the lock on the bolt inside and limped away.She closed the door and locked it from the inside, fastening the bolts neatly.She put the purse and parasol beside the parcel, took off her hat and wig, and sat on the edge of the bed to take off her shoes and socks.She was bareheaded and barefoot when she stood up. The dog started howling again. "Just a little more, honey," she said. She took out a pipe, filled it with shredded marijuana leaves, and lit it with her gold-plated lighter.The dog rested its head on her lap, and she stroked it gently as she inhaled the smoke deeply into her lungs.There was a knock on the door, and a sly voice said, "Hey, Jack, I hear you back, man. Give me some weed. I've got an old Playboy here."

Sisters of Bliss ignored it.After a while, the disgruntled voice said, "I hope you'll get caught, fucking cheapskate." Sister Ji Le finished her cigarette and moved aside.Then she rolled up her skirt, showing her birdlike legs, and pinned it over her knees.Then she took off the silk gloves and put on rubber gloves; then she put on a one-piece rubber apron over her head and tied it tightly behind her back. She took the cotton bag, the chloroform bottle and the chair, walked to the open window and sat down. "Come here, Sheba," she called. The dog came up to her bare feet and nuzzled.She hooked the dog leash handle to the lower half of the window frame lock, tore a piece of cotton soaked in chloroform, and held it over the dog's nose.The dog kicked its hind legs and broke free from the chain.She ran after her and stuffed the soaked cotton into her sleeve.The dog let out a mournful howl and rushed to the window.She grabbed the end of the dog's leash and pulled him back just before he jumped out of the window, and immediately grabbed the opened bottle of trichloromethane and poured it down the dog's nose.The howling ceased.The dog was dying and slowly slumped to the ground, its limbs stretched stiffly back and forth.Its grinning mouth showed clenched teeth, its eyes gradually became dull; it trembled violently, and then lay flat. She quickly spread the rubber sheet over the center of the floor and placed the porcelain basin on top of it.She dragged the dog over, put its head in the basin, and slit its throat with a scalpel.Then lift the dog's hind feet and let it bleed. It's bloody, dirty work.She disemboweled the dog and was indescribably disgusted.She threw up twice, but continued to work. The jukebox downstairs blaring, the radio next door blaring; voices in the street, horns blaring in traffic jams; The place was packed, and the line in front of the cafeteria stretched across the street. The hot and noxious air in the room, the smell of blood, chloroform, and the stench of dog guts are enough to suffocate the average person.But Sister Bliss held back.She is willing to do anything for money. At last, when she had finally convinced herself that there was nothing in the dog's body but bits of blood, she threw the scalpel into the dog's body and said, "Well, that's good." She climbed to the window and rested her arms on the sill, breathing the stale hot air outside. Then she stood up, took off the bloody apron to cover the body, and then took off the gloves and threw it beside the dog's body.The rubber sheets were covered in blood and filth, some of which had spilled onto the linoleum floor. It's no worse than some of the tricks I've done, she thought. She went to the washstand and washed her hands, arms and feet.She pulled a clean handkerchief from the bag, soaked it in perfume and wiped her bald spot, face, neck, arms and feet.She rearranged herself, put on her gray wig and black straw hat, sat on the bed and put on her shoes and stockings, then put down her skirt, picked up her beaded bag and parasol, locked the door behind her, and took the key with her. The hotel owner had just returned from the street when she was leaving. "You left the dog behind," he said. "I'll be back." "Will it behave when you're not around?" For the first time in more than 30 years, the Blissful Sisters felt like they were going hysterical. "He's the quietest dog in all of New York," she said.