Chapter 2 Chapter One
We had two spinster teachers at our high school, and both said their fiancés had been killed in battle.If there were women like me who weren't married, widowed, divorced, life partners or boyfriends—let alone children—and who hadn't had a brief moment of intimate contact with a man, then this Women will be called derogatory nicknames as before.But unlike my two governesses, I'm not a spinster, and there are people who are optimistic about my current status: married female colleagues are always looking at my independence, my travels, and my life with envy. I can only smile meaningfully at being successful in my career and making up all the romances of my vacations.
I'm well paid and well maintained.I look better now at fifty-two than I did when I was younger.Oh my gosh, if only you could see pictures of me back then!A full twenty pounds heavier than he is now, wearing ugly glasses, awkward lace-up shoes, and a skirt with piping.At that time, I was the kind of woman who could do any difficult things together. In the end, I became more and more like an old scalper.Why didn't anyone tell me then that I could be another kind of person?I hate the un-"natural" look of paint and paint.I was depressed then, and now I am slim and well maintained, my clothes, my perfume are expensive, and above all my shoes are priceless.But what do these bring?
I was wearing piping skirts and studying law in college.Why do you want to study this major?Maybe it's because I have no particular gift for languages, and, to be honest, I don't have any gift for anything else.I naively thought I would be fine in this neutral major.I have been friends with Hartmut for many years.We've known each other since our first semester at university, but there's no real passion between us; we study together into the night until it's too late to go home, and a fixed relationship develops. I also thought that the result would be the marriage of two children and a joint law firm.But shortly before the exam, my mind was full of legal provisions, and he notified me in writing that he was going to get married soon, which was beyond my expectation, and I failed the exam.Hartmut passed his exams and soon became a father.I've occasionally seen him and his wife walking in our park with the stroller.
I wanted to do whatever it took to pass the second exam, but my body was broken, and I was fat and thin by turns.At that time, my mother had passed away, and my father was long gone.I have no siblings; I am lonely.
During the holidays, I often work for an insurance company that accepts legal protection.That company offered me a clerical position; nothing exciting and low pay.I took the job nonetheless, although I had a small inheritance from my mother, but after all I had to support myself.That was my life twenty-seven years ago.
I also spent eight years in Berlin.I didn't have much chance of advancement in the insurance company I worked for.I worked tirelessly and I had the ambition of a college student because I had no other path after all.At least it's good for me to be successful at work, I've taken a look at my appearance, I'm more confident, I'm in good shape, I go to the beauty salon a lot, I bought myself a very expensive and very British set of clothes .During my last years in Berlin, a boss took notice of me and started promoting me.
After a five-year hiatus from men, I have a second man.Maybe I really fell in love with him a little bit. He thinks I'm smart, fashionable, considerate, and even beautiful and generous. His appreciation is very important to me, so that my heart is really full of vitality.I don't care that he's married.After two years, everyone, including the youngest guy who delivered the office mail, knew about our affair, and his wife was the last to know.The affair would have been nearly over when the terror emerged.I am often woken up by phone calls at night.The mailbox was full of anonymous threatening letters.My car was covered in chewing gum.A piece of super glue got squeezed into the keyhole of my car once - something I knew only she could do.But he never spent the night with me, so I don't understand why she would call from home at four o'clock in the morning.I heard later that he had a new girlfriend at the time, and he probably spent the night with her.As long as his wife was alone in bed, she thought she could at least harass him on the phone.She took it for granted that he was with me.
In those days, I applied to many insurance companies in every possible city at the same time, but it took a full year before I found a job.Where to go, I don't care.I just want to leave and start over.
In my mid-thirties, I moved to Mannheim.I'm not familiar with the city, nor do I know anyone here.But after half a year, I suddenly remembered that my middle school girlfriend, Bi De, lived somewhere near here, a small town on a mountain.When I moved to Berlin after high school, the two of us cut off contact and had only seen each other at one class reunion over the years.
Bid and I lived in Kassel in our youth, me on one side of the street and she on the other.As for whether she is my girlfriend or not, I can't say.On the way to school, I had to walk by her house.And then I just stood there and whistled.I was always very punctual, but Bid was never.Sometimes I get this feeling that she wakes up after I whistle.I always waited and waited until she showed up at the gate, and I was often late through her fault.But I never went to school alone, I was just forced to stand in front of her house.Bid had one or two best girlfriends, and then several average girlfriends, and I was one of her average girlfriends.But maybe I only have two or three ordinary girlfriends, and I don't have any intimate girlfriends at all.
Bid was married to an architect, I don't know much about her.When I called her, she immediately invited me to a party she had arranged a few days earlier.I went and saw a happy family: three lovely children, a handsome man, a beautiful house, and a radiant Bid who prepared an exquisite meal for many well-meaning people meals.Everything is as seen in the picture book.Generally speaking, my heart is full of hostility, and there is too much sunshine on her.I was in a bad mood and went home with irreconcilable jealousy.But anyway, I got Bid back once, and when she was shopping in Mannheim, she occasionally stopped by me after the store was closed.Not often.
This not-very-close relationship suddenly changes when Bid's immaculate world breaks apart ten years later.Her cute kids became very difficult and disobedient, repeating grades, smoking marijuana, stealing, not coming home, etc.Her classy husband is having an affair with a much younger female colleague.Like the story of me and my Hartmut that passed long ago at the time, the female colleague ended up pregnant, and he got divorced and started a new family.Bid was so depressed that he wailed to me on the phone for weeks and came to my house crying.Somehow, she felt understood in me, and I suddenly had a good feeling that I could help and comfort her.Since then we have become confidants.
By the way, Bid hadn't always been a cowardly sort of woman, it wasn't in her nature.She is not cynical and unsociable, but a kind of person who is good at fighting and working.Of course she had to move out of the house as the kids left for college.The house was sold.Bid received a three-bedroom home and corresponding child support payments from her ex-husband.But she still wanted to earn her own money, and at the age of forty-four she began to live a life of work for wages for the first time.Of course, she wasn't idle in the years before that, because learning how to deal with budgets, business accounting, and demanding men requires hard work and organizational flair; in the latter case, she's a real There is no achievement to speak of.At that time, she worked as a half-time secretary in an amateur university, and at first it was only a temporary help.After two years, she left that store to devote herself wholeheartedly to her new job.Bid is always excited about new short courses that are available for free.She began to learn how to be a potter and draw silk paintings, then she learned to dance belly dance, learn transcendental meditation, learn Italian, and discuss women's social status with other women.
I hardly had any company except Bid.My house is also too small for many people.Bid sometimes came to see me without saying hello, and I had nothing to object to.There is one exception, an older colleague of mine named Mrs Roemer.She will retire soon and has been working in our unit.Mrs. Roemer knew everything, she knew everyone, and enjoyed all kinds of privileges: she had a very comfortable private office, but from the reality of her work, it was completely unreasonable, and she You can also bring your old dog.After her daughter married and moved out a few years ago, Mrs. Roemer went mad for the first and only time because the dog, which had been in her daughter's care, could no longer be left alone all day.She complained that she couldn't keep the dog anymore because she lived alone, otherwise she would have to go home at noon (she didn't have a car) and take the dog for a walk outside.In the end she was so worn out that all her colleagues took turns to intercede with their chief, who was also so troubled by the dog that he allowed her to bring the dog on a trial basis; The dog was old, fat and lazy, lying under her desk, not moving at all.But the boss earnestly appealed to everyone that this was just a special case.
Mrs Roemer was also different: she had an illegitimate daughter.In their day, the misstep of having an illegitimate child was a disastrous event, and she told me that she was logically kicked out of the house by her father.It was not until the father died that the mother dared to reconnect with her daughter.Mrs. Roemer didn't say a word about her daughter's biological father; whenever there was a celebration in the unit, whenever the atmosphere was relaxed, if she was asked this question, she would just say that it was a long story, but She doesn't want to talk about it.She never mentioned it, even to me, although as time went by we became perfectly acquainted, almost friends.One day, she ran into dog trouble again.I suggested to her on the spur of the moment that she would let the dog into my house once in a while.Generally speaking, I don't like animals, and I'm even a little scared of dogs - but this old dog I know enough in the office, I dare to spend a weekend with him.Mrs Roemer was delighted.Every four weeks she would go away and leave the dog behind, so the fat spaniel lay under my bed.Over time, I even developed an amicable relationship with the dog, and I suddenly found, annoyingly, that I was admonishing him in the same language I used to admonish a baby.
Anyway, I was surprised that Mrs. Roemer had an illegitimate child at that time.When I was young (before birth control pills were used in that era) I was always terrified of being pregnant or something, and I regret that I have now reached the age of infertility.Really, I almost felt a pity that I wasn't able to have at least one abortion or miscarriage like so many women, because even such a fruitless experience gave me a taste of what it's like to be pregnant for weeks.This life as a woman is completely lacking in me.And my experiences with men have not been very pleasant.Hartmut's story left me with festering wounds.The boss in Berlin was equally unpleasant, almost humiliating in retrospect.Later, I never had any relationship with my colleagues, because I didn't want to cause any rumors.I'm considered a very decent person in the company, and people respect me and even trust me.Many years ago, when I was on vacation, I often met a strange man or two, but the last encounter happened five years ago, and I still have dull memories.Maybe love is too old for me now, and it's time to end this chapter with a huge deficit.
Mrs. Romell and Bid were my only guests.My home is small, but tidy, and perhaps devoid of character.I am not a creative woman.Unfortunately, I have no interest at all in music, theater, painting, and whatnot.Of course I will read books, but compared to the so-called literature, I prefer to read some popular professional books, economic newspapers or detective novels.Bid sometimes wanted to be concerned about my love life, and she found my clothes, my furniture, and my tastes too dull.In fact, the problem of taste has always played a vital role in my life, but I have no ability to put my strange ideas into practice.
Bid's house is of course completely different from mine. Her house is a mess. I see a lot of dried flowers, popular posters, and baubles she made by herself.Personally, I think her dress is too youthful.I think it's more suitable for my age to wear this kind of clothes.But despite this, we are still good friends.I was wearing a gray tweed dress with an ivory silk shirt, a pearl necklace, and two pullovers that Peed said I looked like a Grace Kelly, while Peed wore eccentric breeches and fancy vest.My furniture is japanese, black and white, serious and timeless, the best quality; hers, always a completely different style, "IKEA" for a while - all solid wood, then paint them yourself into gold and purple.Bid wanted me to accept her "lifestyle" too.She likes to bring me around, invite me to her parties, and repeatedly wants me to join their amateur college classes.I promised her that I would occasionally go to lectures and the like.
Finally, after a long time, we decided to listen to a report on the lyrics of the War of Liberation.The lecture started at eight o'clock in the evening, and I arrived at Bid's house on time at seven-thirty.I heard an out-of-tune piano at the top of the stairs. It must be one of her children playing the piano.Bid opened the door. "Haiti, Haiti, the mountains are your world," I heard someone say harshly.Her youngest daughter, a twenty-year-old who seemed to me very naive, was on vacation.Bid showed a strange face. "Hi, I'm going to be a grandmother!"
I went in and saw Lenore singing at the piano.I looked at Bid suspiciously.She nodded and said, "Yes, Lacey is pregnant!"
I couldn't help but exclaimed: "But people can also think of ways!"
Lacey jumped up from her seat and asked in unison with her mother, "What?"
Not only did the mother and daughter never think about having an abortion at all, but they seemed delighted to be pregnant.But Lacey's life is still completely unknown: no regular boyfriend, just beginning her education and training as a physical education teacher, and still just a baby.I'm annoyed at the irrationality, but also kind of envious of these two innocent lambs.
"Don't be angry with me," Bid said, "I only found out about this ten minutes ago, and I can't leave now. You go alone and tell me about today's situation tomorrow, okay?"
I went out, and I wanted to go home right away.In fact, I'm only listening to this literary nonsense to please Bid.If I had gone home immediately, the fate of several people would have been completely different.
But I went anyway, absent-minded.Originally, I had already arranged this evening well, but now I don't care.The small hall was packed with people.When the speaker came in, the hall burst into applause.He is handsome, with curly brown hair and dark blue eyes.Dress was casual, but clearly considered.Medium height, or rather, well-proportioned, a handsome man, I had forgotten Bid and Lacey.Then he started his lectures and I completely forgot about everything around me, and when he mentioned Ernst Moritz Arndt, Theodor Köllner and Friedrich Rü When I saw Kurt, I had no idea what he was talking about.His voice rings in my ears and I feel dizzy, my heart races and my stomach churns.This is not love at first sight as people often say, but love at first "listening".His warm voice produced a sexual fascination in me, so that I was completely immersed in dreams.An hour later, I went home half asleep and half drunk.
And just like that, his voice caught me, the old woman I had stubbornly thought I was completely immune to handsome men and exciting voices.
At noon the next day, I called Budd.But all she wants to talk about is her pregnant daughter, and I'm going to have to listen to her babble for a while.She finally asked about last night's lecture, and I had a chance to ask her if she knew anything about the speaker.
"Well, you know, I know a little bit about all the local teachers. But he's not local, and he gives us lectures at least once a term. I don't really know anything about him."
I'm certainly not the type to immediately confide my confused emotions to my best girlfriend.There's nothing worse than making fun of yourself.I speak very carefully, in order to obtain more information from Bid.
"I can ask for you," she finally agreed. "Someone must know him. Besides, he must have written a book or something."
The next day is Saturday.I went into a bookstore in Mannheim, and I avoided the bookstore where I usually buy books, just to be prudent.I asked if there were any books by the author Rainer Engelstein.The saleswoman flipped through her thick catalog, and finally she said, yes, there is this author of Rainer Witold Engelstein, who wrote a treatise on fourteenth-century painting , asked if I wanted to pre-order the little book.Of course I said I would buy it, and I could pick it up the next day.
At the same time, I felt like I was young again, no, I was in my teenage years.It was only when I was young and adolescent that I often fell into fantasies and had unrealistic wishes.Am I being childish now?
I spent the weekend dawdling, smiling, humming, and in front of the mirror.I wonder if I'm really too old?I made up my mind to buy myself something impressive, maybe a thin summer dress and a skirt with a lot of swing.In fact, I've always had only straight skirts, austere women's suits and trousers, so maybe I can still hope for a romantic vibe?For thirty years, I've had this unruly girl's hairstyle. Should I get rid of it?But what is this for?I didn't know this man at all, and he didn't even know me.He's definitely married, has kids, and has a completely different circle of friends than I do.
I went to retrieve the little book that was pre-ordered.He was, I thought, a man of many talents: his report was on Romantic literature, and this pamphlet was on the real world of fourteenth-century painting—or did he like to study everything?The author's biography is on the back cover of the booklet, along with his photo.A wonderful man, I thought without hesitation.He is three years younger than me, married, a teacher, and lives near Heidelberg.At university he studied German language and literature, art history and French.
I have read this booklet twice.I have never heard of this publishing house before, and the print run is very small.As far as I can judge, I feel the article is written objectively, but not scientifically.I have also mentioned that I have no interest in art, but the traces of slippers, candlesticks, materials, buildings, etc. would be of interest to virtually anyone, and it is worth reading about this Discussion of cultural background.He is undoubtedly an excellent teacher!
It was Frau Roemer who brought me back from my dream.She went for a physical examination and had to go to the hospital again next week, suspected of breast cancer.She is calm and strong.She looked at me earnestly: I knew it was about the dog.Of course, I would be selfish if I didn't immediately agree to watch over the four-legged animal for her while she was in the hospital.I even lied and insisted that I was happy to have this dog, because it would accompany me through lonely times.In hindsight, I think, if I had shunned the care of Frau Roemer's Spanish dog, perhaps something else would have happened.
Usually, as long as I come home from get off work, I don't have any motivation to go out.I take a shower, change into my pajamas, wash or iron my clothes, eat a piece of bread, and then lie down and watch TV.Nothing too exciting, but that's probably how most people go about their lives.But the dog didn't seem very content.Although it wants to go home to eat and drink - after all, it also spends day after day in the office, but maybe it thinks it has the right to go for a walk.Whenever I am at home on weekends, I usually go to the park at noon, and I am less interested in the evening.At this moment, an adventurous idea lingered in my mind.I flipped through the phone book.Where does my Rainer Witold Engelstein live?Can I call him Witold?At first I searched in vain, but I finally found his phone number.Leigh Engelstein, Rattenburg -- that's what we're looking for.Oh my goodness, it's only a quarter of an hour drive there during off-rush hour.I also had a map of Rattenburg and found the street where he lived, about outside the old town.The dog looked at me suspiciously.I feel younger and more adventurous.I bought a tracksuit during my last recuperation in Bad Saasbach, which I have never worn since.So put it on now, grab the dog, go downstairs, get in the car and go!
My heart skipped a beat when I saw the twin towers of the Church of St. Gallen in Rattenburg appear.I turned into Weinheim Strasse and finally stopped at Trajan Strasse.This place is not near his house, but at least three blocks away.Then I got out of the car, and the spaniel was sniffing around the street corner, and his walk was unassuming.Anyway, the area where Witold lived was beautiful: country houses, unremarkable, and luckily not as extraordinarily well-groomed as the old town.There are a lot of new houses on the street just mentioned, almost at the end of the street is No. 29, surrounded by wild vines.Of course I wouldn't just stop and stand looking at the house.It was still early; I was walking across the street, looking intently at the single house.There were no lights, and it looked a bit lonely, but there was a small car parked at the gate.My reckless heart was beating faster and faster, as if I were carrying out an act of the utmost audacity.I walked a short distance until the end of the street, then turned back again.Across the street - that's his street!I'm on my way home, and now I'm looking at the house from a different angle.There are foxgloves and mallows in the front garden and a weedy fruit garden behind the house.The land around the house does not yet have any buildings.I let the dog go where he pleases, and allowed him to rummage in the fields full of nettles and rue.This way I can stand for a while.
It's just that the dog didn't want to keep rubbing like this at all, so I led it with a rope again.
My heart is always excited.We must cross the next street again.Since this is a quiet and peaceful area, I'm not particularly on my guard.It wasn't until the bicycle bell rang that it woke me up like a dream.
My breathing stopped suddenly.It's Witold!I almost knocked over his bike.He slammed on the brakes, saw me, and smiled at me.I smiled back, utterly bewildered, with ringing in my ears.He must have said something like "Be careful!" and left.He saw me!Smile at me!I am as happy as a child.I went home singing and hugging the dog and kissing the dog and I lay in bed but couldn't sleep.Witold had been watching me all night, sitting on his bike, casually dressed in jeans and a red jumper, smiling at me.
The next night, I did the same trip at the same time, but in nicer clothes.This time, the window in the upstairs room was open, and I heard the radio coming softly.Right now, all I have is patience; I can try once a day for him to see me and smile at me.Maybe the dog will run into his yard and I'll have to run after it and catch it.Witold would stand in front of a fragrant rose tree with a pair of pruning shears in his hand, and he would definitely look me in the eye, smile, and perhaps strike up a conversation.What I always think about is the opportunity for more and more happiness.
Another day passed.I promised Mrs. Roemer that I would visit her in the hospital today.I already knew that the doctor removed her right breast, and I was shocked.I leave work on time.For the past few days I have been sitting in Mrs. Roemer's office, because the dog has become accustomed to the old place under the desk, which has been approved by the superior.Years ago, since it came to this office, it has been lying there holding its breath, but one day the boss came in and kindly asked about this pet.Back then, the dog was called Mickey or something like that.When the dog saw the boss from in front of the desk, it began to bark in a soft voice.
"Hey," the boss said in surprise, "you are a well-maintained baritone. Are you a Disco who loves to eat fish?" From then on, Mickey changed his name to Disco.
I drove directly from the office to the hospital with Disco, bought flowers on the way, put the dog in the car, and climbed the clean stairs of the hospital by myself to Mrs. Roemer's ward.Mrs Roemer was in bed with a drain protruding from her pajamas, but otherwise she looked the same.She didn't feel bad either.
"Do you know that I am over sixty years old, and my body at this age will not be so strong. If the cancer is really gone after the operation, I won't have any complaints."
She asked about her disco in particular, and she seemed delighted when I told her about some pleasant nights out.Of course I didn't tell her where we were going.
This day's outings are later than usual. I don't get home until after seven in the evening. I have to take a shower, eat, and finally stand in front of the clothes closet for a long time.What should I wear this time?In any case, you can't wear sportswear, it's slate gray and monotonous.Do you wear a suit?Don't want it, so you will become a typical professional woman again.In the end, I chose a pair of white pants, a dark blue jumper, and flat shoes.It was already beginning to slowly turn dark.This time I ran into Witold on the parallel road, but he wasn't riding a bike.He hurried past me without looking at me, absent-mindedly; it was obvious that he wanted to go to the city again.The car was parked in front of his house, the windows and doors of his house were closed, and there was no light in the room.I took the disco back to my car.As we sat in the car, I immediately decided to get out again and leave the dog alone in the car.Dogs have no objection to treating a car as their second home.
I walk to the old town.The street was wet. It must have just rained.Luckily, I was wearing well-fitting shoes, and the stone road is not suitable for wearing high heels.Witold must be somewhere here, perhaps in a tavern.I never went to the tavern in the evenings, only occasionally with acquaintances.So I'm not sure.The first tavern I could see quite well, could see the patrons from outside through the low open window, but I couldn't find him.
I went into the second tavern and looked around. "Hey Mom, are you here to see your wife?" an alcoholic asked me.I went out at once, not having the courage to go into any other tavern.Finally, I found a fancy tavern, sat down in a corner, and ordered a mixed drink with wine.Of course he wasn't here either.I paid and wandered around the market square and saw the fountain on tall columns with the statue of the Virgin on it.Here and there are ruins of ancient walls; in front of a school—are they also ruins?The above text reads: In 90 A.D., Roman soldiers built a stone castle near the Celtic settlement of Robodonu.
Did Witold watch a movie in the cinema?I looked at the film's schedule and considered whether to go to the evening movie.Then I looked in the window and wandered around.In an old timber-frame house, people are celebrating a wedding, and the clotheslines in the archway are covered with children's miscellaneous objects.
When it got dark, I went to Witold's house again.At this moment, the lights on the ground floor were on.There was not a single person outside, and the whole neighborhood looked quite deserted, after all, it was summer and vacation time.I tiptoed across the neighborhood, where the cherry and walnut trees grew, until I came to Witold's yard.It is not difficult to cross the broken barbed wire fence, and it does not require physical strength to go under the fence.Naturally, I didn't choose the right white trousers: firstly, they are not stain-resistant, and secondly, they tend to glow in the dark more easily.
The walnut leaves were darkened against the dark sky.I hid behind a very thick apple tree and felt very well hidden.My pulse is racing.I felt like a thief, like someone else, as if she had nothing to do with that blameless clerk.
The door on the wider side of the house leading to the courtyard from the back is open, while the door on the front side of the house is closed. Perhaps the aisle, toilet and kitchen are adjacent to the street.It can be seen from a large glass sliding door that there is a living room with lights on, a writing desk directly leaning against the glass door, and a figure sitting in front of it, maybe Witold.I cautiously and slowly groped forward and approached.Wet branches brushed against my face, and the shell of a trampled snail creaked under my feet.Luckily, the luxuriant grove of fruit trees hid me heavily from the light, but I could see clearly the object of my desire.Does he just work at the desk, grading students' homework?No, it's a holiday now.Maybe it's writing a new book, a report to an amateur university, or a letter.He repeatedly stopped what he was doing and looked thoughtfully into the dark depths of the yard—it seemed to me that he was looking into my face.But he sure can't see me.
I can't get out of this picture.I am a lookout woman!This thought keeps flashing through my mind.Witold was wearing corduroy trousers, a pair of black slippers made in Hong Kong, and a green wool sweater with no buttons and holes at the elbows.I will not let such sloppy.Missing buttons can be mended immediately, and torn sweaters can be put in the bag waiting to be mended.His wife was probably a pretty careless person.By the way, where is she?The living room was not tidy at all, the woolen blanket next to the sofa fell to the floor, the rhododendrons on the window sill had dried up, the ashtray was full, and the newspapers had been piled up.Either the housewife is a slovenly woman, traveling or sick, or she is a woman who demands too much of her career.I wish this person didn't exist at all.
Witold wrote incessantly, during which he took off his glasses, sometimes smoked a cigarette, and sometimes walked back and forth.Once, the phone rang.He spoke agitatedly, with an annoyed face, hung up the phone with a bang, and immediately lit another cigarette.Then he stopped writing and ran around the room like a man in a kennel.再接下来，他给一个人打起了电话，讲了很久，沉默一会儿，然后又讲了很长时间，尔后突然把电话挂了。他离开房间后，我从迷宫般的树丛里爬了出来，差点被一棵折断的树枝绊倒。快要下雷雨了。我终于往回家的路上赶了；天已经很晚，我的心里一片乱糟糟。
尽管好长时间不必再减肥了，但我最近还是瘦了，我睡眠很差，眼圈发黑，而且我发现，眼睛下面皱纹多了许多，眼睛充血，让我感到疼痛，而迄今为止充血的事我还没碰上过。在办公室里，我无法集中思想工作，我也不再加班加点，我还得尽量寻找一些合适的措辞。我的头儿已经觉察到这一点。他和气地断定说，兴许是罗默尔太太的病让我伤心过度了。
“您是一位出色的心理学家。”我发自内心地说。他开心地微微一笑。
周末，我和璧德一起出去购物。我想让她出出主意。这自然是件挺难的事。最后，她在“喜嘉艾”商店买了两件闪闪发光的女衬衣，一件给她即将出世的外孙的婴儿短上衣，一条大减价的裙裤，一双样子奇特的鸭嘴鞋。我买到了一件昂贵的紫罗兰花朵图案装饰的夏装，而且我还当场穿上了我们俩一致看中的惟一的一件衣服。
走在街上，我们碰上了两名男子，璧德真是什么人都认识。看样子，是她的丈夫以前给他们造过房子的熟人，其中一位是版画家，另一位是一家百货商店的采购员。我们找了一家咖啡馆喝咖啡，璧德毫无拘束地跟这两名男子调情。反正我有这样的印象，自从离婚以后她并不是清心寡欲地生活着，但她没有和我谈起过这些事情，也许是出于礼节考虑吧。穿着漂亮的衣服，面颊由于刚喝过咖啡而绯红，身体里充满一种过分激动的全新感觉，我忽然发现，因为意味深长的微笑、娇滴滴的笑声和给对方递眼色，我也同样受到了他人的重视。我的天哪，我为什么不是在三十年前就懂得这个道理呢？
两名男子走后，璧德说：“这两个人是非常好的一对，他们已经一起生活了十年。跟他们俩胡扯真是太美妙了。顺便说一句，我刚听说了莱纳·恩格斯坦的一些情况。”
我恨不得立马怒吼着跳起来：“你干吗不早说呀！”但我顿时恐惧起来：难道他也是同性恋吗？因为璧德正好说起同性恋时才提到他。我是没法将这些喜欢调情的男人分门别类的，我对此实在毫无经验可言。
“好了，你得注意了，”璧德开口道，“莱茜有一个女友，叫爱娃，爱娃和恩格斯坦的一个儿子是朋友。”
“那他是谁？”我马上问道。
“我不知道，也许是一个讨人喜欢的小青年吧，正在服民役。”
“不，我是说那个父亲！”
“哦，他是拉滕堡的老师(这我早就知道了，我在想)，学生们叫他恩格斯蒂恩，他很受学生的爱戴。是莱茜说的，她去过那儿。”
“那母亲呢？”我问。
“哦，是这样，”璧德向我暗示道，“这里肯定出了点问题。据说她出门旅行好久了。”
更多的我不敢再问了，但快乐在我的内心掠过。一定有什么不对劲的地方！简直太棒了，然后或许我就可以拥有我的维托德了。
回到家里，我又被怀疑折磨、纠缠着。如果他真的是我觉得合适的人，那么他是否也会偏偏选中我呢，前提条件当然是，我们必须相互认识啊。现在我常常站在镜子前，将我过去整整二十年的次数加在一起也没有现在这么多。我批判性地看着自己。是否我应该进行一下面部整容呢？尽管我对此始终有那么一点反感。他今年四十九岁，外表出众——这个年龄的男人，人们始终这么说，可不会喜欢我这种年龄段的女人的。
到了晚上，我才有了一个明确的计划：我想在夜里带着迪士高去见我的梦中情人。我摸黑在他的院子里爬来爬去，狗并没有带在身边——再说我穿的是黑裤子；我穿着那种盗贼似的专业制服。此外，我偶尔也拨过他的电话号码，不过由于害怕我从没有用自己家里的电话打(我看到过太多电话窃听的报道)，而是到外面的电话亭里打。我听到他先报上自己的名字，声音有时很爽朗，有时很疲惫。我总是马上挂上电话，于是我就知道，他在家，也许就坐在那张写字台前。有一次，我差点儿又撞上了他的自行车，不过完全是我故意这么做的。他只是微笑着，像第一次一样，然后以他那令人窒息的声音说道：“晚上好，老是心不在焉的，不是吗？”
我报以莞尔一笑，但遗憾的是，我并没有聪明应对或者对答如流。两周后，罗默尔太太出院了，我将迪士高还给了她。现在没有了伴儿，我心中半是高兴，半是悲伤。可是，没有狗我为什么就不能晚上出去散步了呢？但罗默尔太太还有件心事没了结呢：她还想马上去疗养，这样又会出现狗无人照料的问题。她的妹妹对动物毛发有过敏反应，她的女儿已经去美国一年了。我当然马上向她解释，乐意再为她看管四个星期。
没有迪士高的第一个晚上，我没有出门。这两个星期里我有好多事情都没做，很需要我好好处理一下呢。我的小家已经差不多疏于整理，我的衣箱已经堆满，我还得去赶紧修修头发，做做护理性的面膜。可我感觉自己上了瘾，上了瘾的人只能以最大的意志力克制自己去寻找自己的欲望这一目标。
不过，第二天没有狗的陪伴我照样又上路了。我路过维托德住宅时，天已朦胧，另外一辆小车停在大门前面。有客人！一个念头惊恐地朝我袭来，是璧德的女儿，她早已和她的女友来过这里，也许是偶然来这儿看望他吧。但说不定这是一次大巧合呢；无论如何，这辆车看上去不是年轻人开的，车子显得太没有派头。我在拉滕堡逛了一圈，直等到天完全暗下来。在此期间我已经熟悉了这里的地形。在夜色的保护下我开始了第二回合。就像上次一样，我又在苹果园里爬来爬去，脏物溅到了我的眼睛里，我将自己砰砰跳动的心视为新活力的象征。不错，是有客人在。显然不是他的儿子，而是一个女人。偌大的玻璃门敞开着，我断断续续地能听到一些声音。难道是他的老婆吗？我俯下身，几乎是用四肢爬行，蹑手蹑脚地走近。这个陌生女子估计四十出头，但看上去气色不佳。她瘦小，黑头发，一张脸长得挺有吸引力，但根本算不上漂亮。她穿的绿衬衣上别着一件很别致的东方饰物。她一刻不停地抽着烟，看起来维托德也抽了不少。我讨厌这种烟雾缭绕的场景。我要是他的老婆，早就让他戒烟了。一只空葡萄酒瓶滚到了地上，那女人还用脚将酒瓶挡住了，一瓶打开的酒放在桌子上，旁边的两杯酒还差不多满着没喝呢。
维托德说话不多，声音始终很轻，我都听不清楚他在讲些什么。但女人在叫嚷着，用的几乎是歇斯底里的刺耳的最高声部。我这才忽然明白她究竟是怎么回事了：原来她是个酒鬼。不是说她现在喝醉了，在我整个青春岁月中，我亲眼目睹过我的一个酗酒阿姨身体恶化的全过程，此刻我还以为，我的阿姨在这儿又复活了。
兴许她真的是他的老婆吧。就我所能想象的，她对他进行了猛烈的指责，他应为他们关系的失败负责。有一次我还清楚地听到维托德说道：“希尔柯，这是你的最后一次机会，你千万别再放弃了！现在不是一切从头开始了嘛！”
哦，原来是这样，这个希尔柯因为受不了戒酒治疗而逃出来了。在过道后面，可以看到有两只旅行手提包还没解开。我非常同情维托德，这个可怜的人，他可不该有这样的女人啊。连家务活都不做，还不管丈夫和孩子！我觉得对维托德的不幸开始渐渐明白过来了。
尽管是盛夏，但在潮湿的苹果树下我还是冷得发抖。我又往维托德的家靠近了一步。一只苹果喀嚓一声从树枝上掉落下来。维托德和希尔柯似乎也听到了响声，不过又继续谈下去，他们继续抽烟、喝酒。这样的场景我以前仅仅在电影里看见过。俩人解开行李，互相道歉，其实是在折磨自己，更深地讨厌自己。她叫他“莱纳”，这我非常清楚，对我来说他就是“维托德”。
我偷听了好久，努力使自己砰砰跳动的心保持平静，这样就可以不至于让他们俩在客厅里也能听到这种犹如炸弹的滴答声了。有时，维托德会习惯性地穿过客厅，有一次将还在燃烧着的香烟头从敞开的门扔到了院子里；烟头就落到了我的跟前，我还担心烟头的微光可能会变亮，继尔他就可以看见我呢。烟头熄灭了，我也决定现在该是离开的时候了。虽然我非常兴奋，但我还是觉得很累，毕竟现在已经很晚了。
就在我转身的时候，我听到希尔柯突然大声吼道：“那我就把我们俩一起杀了！”话音刚落，她就从夹克袋里拔出一把左轮手枪。由于惊恐，我的右腿绊倒在地，感觉很疼。我的天哪，她是疯了！我正想冲过去，站在维托德的面前。可他早已经迈开大步冲到她面前，一把将她的手枪抢去了。她并没有动手反抗。
这个时候我可不能回家去。一切在大约五分钟沉默之后又重新开始了。在这期间，俩人只是互相瞧瞧。维托德坐在沙发上，手里拿着那把左轮手枪。她的手枪从哪儿搞来的，他已经不感兴趣了。现在他们俩又继续谈起过去、其他男人、其他女人，谈起他的岳母和儿子们，谈到了钱，当然也还谈到了这座攀满了葡萄的宅院。大多数谈话内容我都无法理解，因为我不知道它的来龙去脉。忽然间，希尔柯冷淡尖刻地说道：“如果我不和他睡觉的话，你那狗屎就永远出不了。”
维托德顿时脸色煞白。
他举起手枪，朝她射去。听见枪声，我一个激灵，冲向充满灯光的阳台。希尔柯倒下了，翻着白眼，鲜血从她的绿衬衣里涌出来。
维托德已经赶到她的身边，朝她叫喊着，跑到电话旁边，又停下来，拿出电话簿，翻了翻，才发现自己没戴眼镜，骂了一声，重新朝流血的妻子瞅了瞅，似乎失去了理智。
我进了房间。看来他根本没吃惊。
“快，快去叫大夫。”他脸色苍白地说，一屁股坐在一张椅子上。我给他点上一支烟，将眼镜递到他手上。
“所有的事都由我来管.”我尽可能镇静地说道。他毫无表情地注视我，似乎是戴着一副厚潜水镜游泳，他喝了口酒，但没抽烟。受惊吓了，我在想。然后我看了看那个女人：她皮肤松弛。听不到她的呼吸声。他就像一个特写镜头。我看见，现在将她的珊瑚、银子和珍珠母制成的首饰衬托得很鲜明的，不再是绿衬衣的底色，而是完全浸润着鲜血的发出黑光的衬衣。
“您太太已经死了。”我说。他发出大声的呻吟。
“叫警察。”他终于挤出话来，拿着酒杯指着电话方向。我走到电话机前。不，你不能这么做，我的脑海里突然冒出这个念头，他会被判刑，而现在我们才刚刚相识啊。他会坐几年牢的。
“您该想想别的办法，”我说，“否则您会因为谋杀而终身监禁，至少也是打人致死罪。”
他再次无助地看着我，突然哽住了。
“您家里有白酒吗？”我问，因为我在一本书上看到过，酩酊大醉后的行为不能认定为有预谋和故意。他摸索着走到柜子前，拿起一瓶已打开的威士忌，将酒瓶递给我。
“您这下该注意了，”我说，试图给他暗示，“您现在把整瓶酒喝完。一旦您跌倒在地上，失去知觉，我会在十分钟后报警。在审讯时您就说什么也回想不起来了。”
维托德本想反对，尽管受到了惊吓，但他似乎觉得这一计划还是有点不符合逻辑，或者不合适。他“可是可是”地说了几次，然后端着那瓶酒。不知怎么，他觉得这就像演戏似的，马上神志模糊地躺在地上，昏睡好几个小时，这是最好的一种情况。还有一种可能是，他不停地喝，然后喝不下去了，这时我就非常担心，也许他就会马上和盘托出。
五分钟后，我们只是互相对视了一下，他便将整瓶威士忌酒一饮而尽。我将手放在他的手上。“一切都会好的。”我慈母般地说道。他突然像傻子似地讪笑着，不由自主地躺倒在地毯上。
OK, now what?这就报警吧，我想道。这时我听见后面传来呼噜声。我吓死了。我转过身来：希尔柯动了动身子，呻吟着，活转过来了。这可怎么行啊，维托德必须永远除掉她才是。我拿起左轮手枪，它就在我面前的长沙发茶几上，我走到阳台门那儿，瞄准，开枪——击中了她的头部。她无力地倒下。维托德发出呻吟声，可他什么都不理解。
我马上明白，我犯下了一个错误：一旦第一次没有击中，那么第二次开枪就不会像打人致死那样属于冲动行为了。就是说，现在看上去要像正当防卫，毕竟希尔柯也是想要开枪的啊。我必须要从她的座位那儿朝维托德的方向射击。
我慢慢变得歇斯底里起来，我必须马上离开这个混乱不堪的是非之地。但刚才那件事必须得做啊。于是我站在希尔柯椅子的位置上，朝维托德大腿旁边的地毯上开枪。只听见维托德一声惨叫，又突然呻吟了一下，我这才发现：原来他的大腿在流血。一定是击中或擦伤了他的腿。我将他的裤腿捋开，还好谢天谢地，只是擦伤了点儿皮，这样我就可以不用多管了。
是不是有人听见枪声了呢？幸好维托德的宅院很偏僻，房子周围是空地，再旁边的邻居全都度假去了。但真的全都走了吗？我得赶紧离开。我穿过阳台门离开了屋子，再重新爬进苹果树。wait!我忽然告诉自己：你还留下指纹了呢！究竟怎么搞的？我又回去。很清楚，手枪上，眼镜上，维托德身上都留下了指纹。我将手枪和眼镜藏在我的手提包里。将这两样东西上的指纹擦掉，我现在可是一点力气也没有了。我飞速地奔出门外。是不是有人看见我了呢？终于，我走到了我的车子跟前，上了车，全身颤抖着开车跑了。我的心情很沉闷，是我把事情彻底搞砸了。后来我才想到，我一定要报警，我向维托德许诺过。
我在一个早已熟悉的电话亭边上停下车来。幸运的是，我一下就看清楚了电话簿最前面的报警电话号码，这时候我连自己家的电话号码都想不起来了。我以一种完全陌生的声音说道：“我刚听到了枪声……”有人马上打断了我，想先知道我的名字和我的住址。可是我没有回答，而是喊道：“请马上到那儿去！”并报上了维托德的地址，然后挂了电话。我急匆匆地上了车往回家的路上赶。在家里我开始号啕大哭，真想一直哭下去。
我的牙在打战，我完全筋疲力尽了，可脑子异常清醒。我无法想象，数小时后就得坐在办公室里上班，可这是很有必要的，因为我平时从不生病，现在无论如何不能缺席。我把热水送上，钻进浴盆，只露出头部，以止住牙齿打战。等到我泡在热水中时，我才惊慌地想起：也许警察还不清楚具体的地址呢，维托德也许还在流血，到最后死了——由于我的过失而流血致死，再不能看我一眼，朝我微笑。我必须给他打个电话确证一下。可是我心里始终存有电话窃听装置这样一个摆脱不了的念头。那就到大街上去，到一个电话亭，往他家打电话吧！可要是附近有人夜半时分在电话亭里看到我，那一定会引起怀疑的。可是我可不能让维托德失血而死啊！
我痛苦地从浴缸里出来，匆匆擦了擦身子，穿上浴衣，拿了女邻居家的钥匙。她去度假了，我每天给她浇花。我走到走廊，打开房间门，拿起电话，拨了维托德家的电话。“喂，您是谁？”一个陌生男子的声音问道。我挂下电话，一切都挺好的。大夫该是给维托德包扎过了，维托德应该躺在床上了吧。我稍稍轻松了点，又把陌生的房间锁上，重新回到热乎乎的浴盆里。
可是，如果有人看到女邻居家竟然亮起了灯，那该怎么办？她不是去度假了吗！——这一念头忽然在我脑海里一闪而过，那么这也会引起人们警觉的！而一旦他们有电话窃听装置，那么从一个恰好这时在意大利度假的女人房间里往外面打电话，这就更加会引起怀疑了。
Oh my god!我的手提包里还放着一副陌生眼镜，尤其还有那把杀人凶器。我在浴缸里无法平静下来了。第二次出去，第二次擦干身子，第二次穿上浴衣。那副眼镜被包在一条毛巾里，我对着厨房的桌子砸了几次。碎片扔进了垃圾桶，我可以明天将垃圾倒掉。难道左轮手枪也同样应该采取这种方式吗？这自然就太不谨慎了，我得采取更加巧妙的方式将这把手枪脱手掉。
可是终于，我考虑到，我并没有处在直接的危险之中。谁也不会将这件事和我本人联系起来，在拉滕堡，谁也不认识我。维托德不知道我是谁，仅仅见过我三次，其中两次根本对我不感兴趣，第三次见到我是在惊吓之中。另外，他真的不可能回想起任何情形，我第二次开枪射击时他还没恢复知觉呢。
警察对这一切如何看待呢？此外，我有没有犯下错误，是不是有什么东西遗忘在他那儿了？不，我不抽烟，不会留下香烟烟蒂作为在犯罪现场的罪证，也没丢失什么口袋书之类的东西。可这时我猛然想起：我在潮湿的院子里留下了脚印，最后甚至还有地毯上的脚印。为了能特别轻手轻脚地溜走，我才穿着体操鞋。平时我从不穿这双鞋子，这双鞋和那条鼠灰色的运动服一样是我在疗养时带回来的。这些必须消除掉才是！I thought.我马上拿起鞋子，将它放在那只装得半满的红十字会袋子里。下个星期会有人把它取走。那把左轮手枪我放在了废物间的一只箱子里，准备第二天寻找一个更好的藏匿之地。
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