Chapter 8 Chapter VII
Recently, I have felt that the touching emotion of the love in my youth has been unconsciously weakened.It is difficult to tell whether it is because my thoughts are now unobstructed by this great subject, or whether it is because I feel sad for the impending empty old age.But it was strange, too, that at the same time a new feeling crept silently into my half-dream consciousness, as if love had slipped away.In this way, the vacuum of facing the loss of love is also counteracted.
It is difficult to describe this believably when I first discover it: I first discovered that strange sense of power in the cemetery.Then I suddenly noticed that in the middle of the street I felt a kind of pleasure: no one saw that I already owed two lives and would kill more if I wanted to.
On the car radio, I heard Lott Ray singing in praise of Jenny the Pirate: "My gentlemen, today you saw me clean the windows and now I'm making everyone's beds... ..." Jenny had avenged all his humiliation. "You don't even know who you are talking to now..." Lot Laiya said convincingly.I also thought in my heart that no one knew who he was talking to.My boss didn't anticipate that he kept pushing those nasty new tasks on a murderer, usually because he was too lazy to do them himself.Whenever I sit in my remote office and after dinner in the cafeteria, my co-workers gobble up the bullshit and go through my wise eyes, and then some people's brains will shake, and I will Just say "Ooh!"
A person who is in love is impotent, powerless and involuntary.But I really don't want to touch my love so easily, it affects my life too strongly, it gives me youth, vitality and energy, it gives me a new feeling of body and another a self-assessment.I hope to keep fighting for it, and I hope to experience such a carefree day again, like our hiking in Odenwald.
I made a vow and even prayed about it, even though my faith had been stripped away by a devout mother who was a bit cruel. "God, if there is you," I said, "give me once in my life the happiness of love which you have given to others without choice and without reservation. I I never begged you for anything. Now I am serious. If there is such a god as you, then you go and help me, let Witold love me, so that we can be husband and wife. But if you are unjust and If you have a heart of stone and don't heed my prayers at all, then I will never consider any of your precepts again."
Rosie, you're trying to blackmail dear God, I thought, laughing.
I haven't heard from Bid's child for a long time.Though I'd hardly ever wasted any time with them before, I now wondered about their present fate.Has Bidder's house been sold?One day, I made up my mind and called their home.One of Bid's sons answered the phone, at least I still know him.
"Hello, Richard," I said in a low voice, "I just called to ask if Bid has joined any associations or public welfare groups. If so, I can donate some money."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, as Richard thought.
"You could send the money to Greenpeace," he suggested.
"Oh, really? I didn't even know Bid was interested in that thing."
"That's not the case," he evaded the subject, "but Greenpeace is pretty good. Mom shouldn't object."
I asked his two younger sisters if they were okay.
"Grandpa came here not long ago and he said he must take care of us little ones, but of course it turned out the other way. Lacey still lives here, I only live here sometimes. Vivian has gone to Frankfurt again. How are we now?" —Of course it's bad. It's unbearable."
I asked Richard if Bid's house had been sold.He said not yet, all her things have not been cleaned up, because the matter itself has not been clarified.
"Our father suddenly cared about us in a way he hadn't done in the past ten years," Richard introduced, slightly reproachfully.I said goodbye to Richard and promised to donate money to Greenpeace.
I still heard that Vivian has moved to Frankfurt again, after all the new semester has started.Perhaps it is impossible for her to meet with Witold every day, because the one-hour journey to and from each other is too much time wasting on a normal working day.Don't young people care about this at all?Vivian still doesn't own a car, and it's possible she's driving Bidder's Polo now.
I called Witold.His voice sounded like weeping.He had a bad cold, he said, and the Yugoslav cleaning lady kept surprising him with hearty meals, even though she didn't have to cook for him at all.The workload in school is too great.But the autumn vacation is coming soon, and he originally wanted to go on a trip with Vivian for a few days.
"Why just 'originally'?" I asked with great interest.
"Sometimes I also think," sighed poor Witold, "that I am an old man. These young girls are too capricious. Our plan is very good, a week's vacation in Alsace. But she Now call me out of the blue and say she's going to amsterdam with a girlfriend because there's a party! Teeha, tell me she dumped me for a party! Oh, say 'dump' Maybe the word is too strong," he corrected, "in principle, I can understand those sudden decisions. But I have already arranged all the details of this Ferguson mountain hike..." I am actually I am pleased with his disappointed words, but I have to express my regret out of politeness.There was always a chance anyway, I joked, as an alternative, he could go on a one-day autumn trip with an old college student.
"It's a pity that you don't have a holiday," Witold said regretfully in a charming tone. "I was thinking about taking this carefully arranged trip with a group of colleagues and friends..." I immediately Cut him off decisively and insist that I can go on vacation any minute.
"Really?" he drawled. "So Teeha, I'm just waiting to see when you're going on vacation. I had a team of eight or ten in mind, but I haven't asked anyone right now. Once If there is news, I will let you know in time."
He didn't look excited.But it's also understandable that he's taking this trip with me now just because he can't help it, and he was going to take a love trip with Vivian.
Vivian!I'm having a heart-to-heart conversation with her, and it's weird that I'm putting myself in Bid's role.
"Exactly, Vivian," I said to her, "you go to Amsterdam! At your age, it's more appropriate to go out with people your age than to go to Mount Ferguson with a teacher twice your age. Just Let these men be restless! Let them suffer! Who knew you would have to suffer from them yourself!"
I have seen Vivian's fate: this deviant art student, she is not the type of woman who is a good wife and mother.Maybe she won't get married and have children like ordinary women at all.Even if she had a more dissolute past than mine, she would be an old woman like me.
All of a sudden, it seemed to me that Vivian was no longer a threat to me, and I wondered how I could clear her out with just a flash of the thought.
Without waiting to hear back from Witold, I submitted my vacation request to my superiors: next week I will travel to Alsace with my friends.
"No, Ms. Helt," he said resolutely, "that's autumn vacation, when Mr. Miller and Mrs. Florey will be on vacation. Besides, you know very well that we have to make many arrangements next week. Done. I suggested you take a vacation in September, but you didn't want to. Sorry!"
It was over for him, and he started his work again, waiting for me to leave by myself.I've become habitually obedient.
Back in my office, I was burning with anger.Over the years, I didn't care about remuneration, and worked overtime all the time, never expressed my wishes, always let him have no worries, and loyally supported him.This is the only time I made a little request of myself-he turned it down.In fact, what did his tirade of flattery mean?It's nothing more than his method of exploiting me unscrupulously.
I happily imagined the scene of my boss eating bread at ten o'clock in the morning. He used to store the bread in the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk.Rat Poison!He will die a painful death.But he died just because I didn't get a vacation, just because he gave me all his unfinished files?
I went to him a second time.
"If you are so disregarding my interests, which I have devoted my life to yours for years, then I would like to resign from my job here today," I managed to completely Said it in cold but clear words.
The boss was really taken aback.
"My goodness, Ms. Helt! Surely we can find a solution, you misunderstood me! So far, I've been very generous with the holiday regime for all my subordinates!"
Yeah, I thought, he should say a generous "Amen" if he agrees to his plan.
"Ms. Geert, your resignation is not serious! Something happened to you some time ago; I also heard about the death of your friend. Anyway, you can go on vacation this time, but I personally have to Let me share some of your work!"
Although this has been done, will this trip be possible?Did Vitodra take his friends instead of me in the end?But if that's the case, he shouldn't have told me that at all.
There is another problem that bothers me.Witold's other friends and colleagues, do they approve of me?And at the end of the day, I was a bit apprehensive about the trip: I'm not good at sports, I'm not professionally trained, and I'm probably the oldest person in the tour group.If this is a group of athletes with both ambition and perseverance, it is not a problem for them to walk on the mountain at a uniform speed for eight hours a day, and maybe they can carry a heavy travel backpack, then I can keep up up?no!
I warmly hope that Ernst Schröder will join us on this excursion.Firstly because he was the only one of Witold's friends I knew, and secondly because I remembered him as a fat, sluggish, unresponsive man who might even be older than me.Accompanied by such a friendly fat man, it seems that there will be no survival test.
Without realizing it, I hopefully devote my energy and time to the clothes I wear when I travel.I felt a little bit as if I had succeeded in blackmailing my dear God, and there was going to be a good and happy time ahead of me.
The good news really keeps on coming.Two days later, Witold called.He said he had organized a group of interested hikers who would meet at Schroeder's weekend cottage in Bückebach on Sunday to talk about next steps.I already knew where the hut was, I just had to be there at two o'clock in the afternoon, and if the weather was fine they'd like to wander there for an hour.Witold was very polite, and finally said: "I'm glad you can go together. See you the day after tomorrow!"
Oh, if he's happy, then I'll be overjoyed!On the same day, I bought a pair of sneakers and tried them on in front of the TV to see if they fit.
"Rosie," I said aloud to myself, "if your feet hurt like hell when you travel, don't complain! Just think of the little mermaid, who can bear it for the sake of her beloved prince." Woolen cloth."
By the way, at this time I really would rather be that charming and cute little mermaid than that bloodthirsty pirate Jenny.I kept myself a piece of medical tape I had on hand just in case.As for buying a travel backpack, I'd rather wait because I'm as inexperienced as a novice at this point.
At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon, I arrived in Bickelbach.I wore a new pair of super lightweight sneakers, a pair of jeans for the first time in my life, and a dark blue blazer.Witold's car hadn't arrived yet, only Ernst Schröder's car seemed to be there.Anyway, I knew him, and perhaps he had seen me from the room, and I walked up the worn stone steps as if it were summer.The door opened.A woman gave me her hand.
"I'm Pamela Schroeder, you must be the one invited by Reiner."
I introduced myself and entered the door.Ernst Schroeder took a nap on a wooden triangular stool, with several sofa cushions stuffed under him.I wanted to lower my voice, but his wife just smiled and said, "No one will disturb his rest. The louder the noise, the more comfortable he will be snoring."
She made tea and took a cup from the cupboard.She looked at me suspiciously.
"How many of us are there?"
I shrugged.Pamela Schroeder, redhead, was an immediate contrast to the man she was dozing off comfortably.She's a passionate activist, a woman who likes to control others, and she's very attractive in appearance.Although she wore overworn trousers with large patches, she refused to give up her high heels and a violet brocade blouse.She walked swiftly, holding the utensils firmly with red-painted fingers.She was also chatting with me lollingly with a cigarette in her mouth, and I was a little clumsy in helping her.Ernst yawned suddenly, opened his eyes, and looked half mischievously and half guiltyly at the preparations for coffee.Finally he stood up, greeted me, and went to the bathroom.
I heard the sound of the car and looked out the window.Finally Witold arrives, and next to him sits a young blonde.
They go through the door.I eyed his escort suspiciously.Witold explained feebly that three people did not want to go, but the Momsen couple expected to come.Pamela did the math: "So there are seven of us," she said, handing me a plate without explanation.I started setting the table, and the blond helped out knowingly.Witold introduced us.
"This is Frau Zoltan, a colleague of mine."
My good mood suddenly evaporated.Perhaps he had brought her here for his own sake.Schroeder went as a couple, and Momsen, who hadn't shown up yet, also went as a couple; then this time I became this familiar old woman role again.
Ernst came out of the bathroom, the tableware was set, Pamela brought a plum cake from the car, and Frau Zoltan was whipping the cream.After waiting for half an hour, before the suspicious couple showed up, we started drinking coffee.We didn't talk about travel at all during the dinner.
The cautious patriarch, Ernst Schroeder, advises future playmates to address you with "you."Actually, it was just for me because I had never met these two women before.Pamela Schroeder says everyone (except her husband) can call her Scarlat, and so can I.Mrs. Zoltan's name was Kitty, and there were no special requirements.Witold said without hesitation that my name was "Tiha", and "Rosemary" was brought up again.Everyone was immediately excited about this strange name. Witold took this golden opportunity to introduce Gorm Grümer's poem again, and recited it softly with Kitty. Just listen in amazement.
Kitty was in love with Witold, and it became clear to me after an hour at most.But the admiration seemed not provocative, but quiet and dedicated, and she was reciprocated in degrees that were clearly not equal.Witold displayed his poise and humor, spending most of his time refuting what they had to say, smug about his success.But Scarlatte equaled him in a way, because she also liked the scene of a heated argument and longed for the publicity.With these two showmen and boasters, the other three of us were just spectators, but of course we enjoyed the show and gave them applause.
The Momsen couple did not come.
"We still have time to move around a bit before the forecast rain," Witold ordered.Dark clouds rolled in the sky.There are two umbrellas in the three cars and one at home.Witold also brought an extra raincoat.Whatever the case, we were prepared for the rain, because Pamela didn't want to go for a walk with us, but was at home waiting for the Momsons and doing the cleaning.
We're out the door.To my great regret, Witold and his friend were soon ahead, and when Kitty and I tried to catch up with them at a trot, they seemed to pick up speed again.Kitty laughed.
"These two must want to talk about Oleg!"
Who is Oleg?Kitty explained to me that the Schroeders had two children, daughter Annette, fifteen, and son Oleg, eighteen.The boy was a bright little rascal, had already stayed two grades, was very precocious, and was already having affairs with women.Ernst must have wanted Rainer Engelstein to say what the teachers were complaining about.I asked Kitty if she had taught Oleg, too.
"Yes, I taught him history, Reiner taught him French. I personally have a hard time resisting his charms, and for some reason he always gets into a little trouble with me."
I have a good impression of Kitty, and despite my concerns, she is still interested in Witold.Petite and wiry, she was part of a healthy-looking women's army; her appearance was modest, and her clothes unremarkable.She watched critically, sometimes with sarcasm, but never with malice.Occasionally, she also makes a matter-of-fact comment, with the utmost humor.I had the feeling that I had met someone who could be trusted and who was a bit introverted.I was surprised that Kitty didn't seem married yet.
It wasn't until we were back on the Holzweigstrasse in Bickerbach that the two men stopped and waited for us.Now Kitty and Ernst Schroeder went ahead so that she could talk to him about Oleg.I walked deliberately slowly so that I could have a few precious minutes with Witold all to myself.I asked him about Kitty.
"This is a very lovely female colleague," he emphasizes, "respected. We have held many school events together before and we are a perfect match."
Kitty is aptly described as a horse, though she is certainly not a plow horse, but a kindly pony.
"Is she married?"
"Not yet, it's surprising that she hasn't found a suitable one yet. But Kitty has her own requirements, which makes perfect sense," he said.Did she think he was the right man?
"How's Vivian doing?" I asked, which must have been a little too presumptuous a question.
But Witold doesn't dislike talking about the privacy issue.He had a rather annoyed look on his face.
"Our last conversation was very unfriendly. I had no idea if it was necessary to expend energy on my relationship with her; the age difference was obvious enough. It is possible that Vivian would put me and her The relationship is not what I thought it would be. What will happen next, I don’t know—maybe it won’t go on.”
We both fell silent.We've seen that hut.
"Before we go in, Witold," I whispered quickly, "for God's sake, tell me who that Pamela is!"
Witold liked me asking questions like this and grinned sarcastically.
"Her ass is on fire," he said, and my face went red. "This Scarlett was going to be an actress or a singer, but that didn't happen. Now she's just a mother and a pharmacist's wife."
He thought about it for a while, as if talking to himself: "A few years ago..." He stopped talking.I looked at him suspiciously.
"Oh, it's nothing," he smiled ecstatically, and I immediately got slight goosebumps on my arms.
The cottage was already clearly visible, and another car was parked on the lawn.
"Hey, your friend is here," I said to Witold, "how smart you are to have been waiting for this trip plan."
"They're not," Witold corrected me. "It's Scarlatt's car. Maybe the kids came."
We've caught up with Ernst and Kitty.Ernstella told us with a straight face that his son got his driver's license a week ago, but he was actually driving around in his mother's car before he got the license.Pamela Schroeder, the famous Oleg and his sister sat before the family's leftover plum cake, which had visibly shrunk.
"What's the matter?" Ernst asked.
Annette muttered, "Oh, Dad, my throat has been so sore since yesterday that I can't find a single throat lozenge in the whole house."
"What a pharmacist's house with all these things going on," Witold put in.
The kid's mother is a little irritated: "If you felt so bad yesterday, why did you only ask now if you have any pills?"
Oleg claimed: "She didn't want to trouble Dad on his day off. But it was getting worse, so I had to bring her here."
Witold winked at him.
Ernst sighed: "Well, my sick baby is here, and your pain hasn't stopped you from devouring the cake in front of you. Maybe I have some medicine in the car."
Pamela cast a sharp glance at her son: "Don't you think this kind of game is too easy to tell? You suddenly have a brother and sister now, just because you want to drive my car!"
Oleg retorted.He could have gone on an excursion to Frankfurt—then his parents would not have noticed it at all, instead of coming to Bickerbach.
Annette and her father came in again, sitting next to each other on the triangular stool, the daughter snuggled up beside her father.Ernst looked pleased.
Oleg had struck up a friendly conversation with his history teacher, made Witold laugh with his humor and tricked his own father into letting him bring two bottles of wine to the party.Scarlatt hoped that the children would be able to get home before dark because he was not yet sure about Oleg's driving skills.
"If you finally get a call in Bickerbach, it means we're calling from home, it means we've made it home alive," Oleg said tactfully.This topic does not seem to be new.
The fur boys are finally gone.I think we can finally get down to business now.But the proud mother has to take the child's visit as an opportunity to describe the outstanding child.And as for Annette, she was a serious little girl, so dear and so different from the rest of her companions, and she had no boyfriend, which was delightfully naive.I was suddenly furious.But then it was her turn to talk about her son.He plays percussion in a student band, and we're told there's a real artistry about him.I really wanted to walk away.But I'm here only for the next trip with Witold, so I have to put up with it for now.The woman who had been talking about her two spoiled children the whole time, and then apparently left them alone without hesitation, was yet to come.
Witold interrupted her.
"It seems that the Momsen couple has something to do. Let's start talking about our travel arrangements now."
Ernst smiled at me. "Attention, teacher!" he whispered.Witold took out maps and photocopied papers from a briefcase and distributed them to everyone.
"I'm giving each participant a list of items, please be sure to bring them with you, because not everyone is as experienced in travel as the two of us," he turned to Kitty, "I hope, you all have travel backpack?"
I shake my head.Others are looking at the list.
When everyone was silent, we suddenly heard Pamela's blunt voice: "Reiner, this is complete nonsense. As long as you consider that I am also traveling with you, what kind of bag are you carrying?"
"So what?" Witold asked.
"My God!" the red-haired woman blurted out. "We're not students! We should be able to fit our luggage in a car. I'm too old for hiking anyway. At the end of the day you have to think about tents and The fire thing, isn't it, Rainer Engelstein?"
Witold promised angrily that of course everyone would live in a hotel, perhaps the only time they would live in a family room in a youth hostel.He showed the map in front of everyone, and the back part was circled with orange highlighter.
Now Ernst was beginning to express his displeasure.
"Look, Reiner, it's all very well. But when I think of Alsace, I immediately think of food and Riesling. Why are we still wandering around?"
Witold sighed. "That's insane! We're planning a hike, and this guy doesn't want to walk!"
Ernst Schroeder is not a game breaker.He couldn't help laughing out loud: "Leiner, it's clear that I'm still willing to walk, otherwise I won't even be able to eat. But you have to consider my advanced age!"
"What do you have to say?" Witold turned to Kitty and me asking for help.
"Oh, I'm nothing," said Kitty, "I can go on long hikes, and I can carry a knapsack, and you know that. But, to be able to sit in a nice restaurant in a hotel and eat pickles, I think that's pretty good too."
I don't know exactly what to say.On the one hand, I want to help Witold, but on the other hand, I don't think it's worth it to be panting on the mountain with a heavy backpack on my back.
"I'm an untrained person," I said.
"Well, then there's no need for a backpack," Witold said, looking at his friend scrutinizingly, "but then we'll have to use two cars for the complicated shuttle back and forth: take the luggage and drive in two." The car goes to the next destination, then one car stays where it is, and the other returns. Walk forward, and then we drive the car that stayed where we meet the other car, get it?"
Ernst laughed loudly: "Reiner, you are always too experienced and too precise in planning. Can't we just drive the car into the field? We can spend the night in Weissenburg on the first day, and we can stay there around the neighborhood, and then, if interested, we can drive on for a while."
Everyone except Witold nodded in agreement.He backed down with a sigh, and put away his maps and hiking charts again, somewhat sadly.
"Stop being so sad," Scarlatte said.
Ernst interceded: "Look out the window, it's pouring rain. It's entirely possible that we'll have the same weather next week, and if that's the case, days with luggage, cars, and hotels will be great." Much more comfortable. But we can finally enjoy it now. I turned on the fireplace to light the fire, and Pamela has thrown some goodies into the oven, Reiner, you open the red wine."
At this moment, there is a warm family atmosphere in the room.The kitchen is connected to the living room, and the entire basement is the living room.Scarlatt gave everyone a division of labor: Kitty chopped onions and tomatoes at a large dining table, and I scrubbed and halved the large potatoes, then spread them with salty garlic butter, and finally wrapped them in aluminum foil .
"What is there to eat?" Witold asked greedily.
"I can't make a feast for everyone, I don't know in advance how many people will come, when and who will be there. It's just home-cooked potatoes, chicken legs, tomato salad."
"Wonderful, isn't it," Witold said approvingly, opening a bottle of claret.Ernst sat pensively by the fireplace, worrying about the smoke that filled the room.Kitty coughed badly, and hurried outside for fresh air.Pamela accused her husband of abusing Kitty's sensitive lungs, that he smoked too much, and was responsible for their and Witold's health.
On the wooden shelf of the fireplace, the iron gate of the stove is very old, and there are many keys stained with rust in front of the gate.Quite Scarlatt.
The chicken and potatoes were frying in the oven, the work was done, and the fire was now burning properly.Witold, already through the wind, called Kitty back again.We all sat around the fire, waiting for more and more fragrant dishes.
"What's your cock doing?" Ernst asked.
"Wait a little longer," Scarlatt replied.
Kitty began to sing: "The rooster is dead, the rooster is dead," and Witold echoed in French with a soft voice.Ernst was the third to join the chorus.I was silent, just because I didn't know the canon very well, and I also felt a little uncomfortable.
"Sing, Scarlatt, you're the only one here who can sing! Why doesn't our nightingale make a sound?" asked Witold.
"Reiner, I don't fit in with your children's chorus," Pamela responded.
Kitty sang the second song tirelessly, and Witold echoed in unison.Finally, he asked again: "How can we get your love and cooperation, lovely nightingale?" After speaking, he bowed deeply in front of Pamela.
"If I'd sung it earlier, I wouldn't have needed all your babbling," she said contemptuously. "I don't sing about 'the most beautiful place in our time' by the campfire!"
At this moment Ernst interrupted: "She wants us to invite us three times. Ladies and gentlemen! What you are going to hear now is the famous Brecht dramatist singing songs from the "Triangle Opera"!"
I also suddenly opened my mouth and said, "Please! A song by Pirate Jenny!"
Scarlatt looked at me thoughtfully, then nodded.She made a gesture, and in silence, she grabbed a plate and a napkin as props and stepped nimbly onto the iron box by the stove.
Everyone was fascinated by her singing.Although Scarlatt doesn't have a very sweet voice, her pronunciation is clear and crisp, and she is so charmingly penetrating that we have transformed this cozy farmhouse into a nondescript hotel in a very short time , and the housewife who was cooking just now suddenly became a female singer.Although the applause was thunderous, the actress did not add another song. Instead, she poked the potatoes and chicken with a chopstick to see if they were cooked to the desired level.I was very conflicted, these people I met through Witold I had never met in the insurance company!If only I had the same singing voice as this red-haired witch, if there was something I was so good at that could draw everyone's applause, how wonderful it would be!
Well, I thought, I have it, it's just that no one knows it; all the other people's combined power isn't as strong as mine.But it's a pity they cheered the redhead instead of me.Even if she sings for me, I can't forgive her for her success.
The food has been served on the table.Witold wore an apron and served everyone gracefully.
"Would you like some more chicken, lovely lady? Would you like a glass of claret, gentlemen?"
There was no tablecloth on the table, and the housewife just wiped it down with a suspicious rag that was stained with soot and onion skins.Recalling that I had prepared an elaborate, albeit dull, meal for Witold, I felt reflexively ashamed.
Two people who can entertain everyone are in excellent spirits.After two glasses of wine, Kitty chattered and chattered like an impudent little girl, and Ernst showed his charming side.Suddenly, Scarlatte said, drinking red wine makes people tired and lazy, and they should have a glass of champagne.She took a bottle of champagne. "Who wants it?" No one answered.她就从橱柜里拿了两只杯子，倒了一杯香槟酒给我。
“你一点儿精神都没有，来上一小杯香槟酒对你肯定会有好处！”
尽管对由咖啡、蛋糕、红葡萄酒、香槟酒、鸡肉和土豆组成的混合物是否真的能让我精神特别振作起来感到怀疑，但我还是不敢不听从她的话。
斯卡拉特拿起酒杯，喝了一大口，然后抓起鸡大腿，站在她的椅子上面，仿佛还要演唱一首歌曲以助大家的兴。我顿时脸色苍白，呻吟了一下。璧德就站在我面前那个高高的塔的护栏上，一只手拿着香槟酒，另一只手拿着鸡大腿。
“我的天哪，你怎么啦？”人们纷纷围上来问我。我好不容易才发出话来，说我感觉不舒服，最好还是回家吧。
“可是你还得等会儿才行，你这样子是没法开车走的，”药剂师担心地劝我，想给我服用一粒什么药。但我只是站在那里不动，急忙说声“谢谢”就离开了房间。
我打开车门，维托德赶了过来。我坐在自己的位子上，他敲了敲右车门的窗玻璃，我去打开了右车门。
“要不我送你回家，好吗？”他问道，很温柔体贴，“你究竟出什么事了？”
既然他如此用心，我禁不住痛哭不已。“香槟酒和鸡肉，这就是璧德最后的晚餐，”我哽咽着。维托德拥抱我。
“蒂哈，我完全能了解你。当我和施罗德一家在一起时，在某种情况下总是会出现希尔柯的影子，因为我们在这个小屋里已经聚过无数次了，举杯畅饮，庆祝联欢。然后，欢笑转眼之间就在我面前消失不见了。”
我点点头，轻轻地靠在他的肩上。这种触摸是那么神奇，以至于我的套衫全被这眼泪彻底弄湿了。
“来，来，这不挺好的嘛，”他安慰我，“你知道吗，我们俩都在为一个亲密的人伤心，却又放不开来。我已经决定去作一次治疗，没有心理医师的帮助，我是无法经受住失去希尔柯这种打击的。通常说来，为了散心而和一个年轻姑娘开始一段暧昧关系其实也是在胡闹。”
“你为何无法经受住失去希尔柯这种打击呢？”我的声音从鼻腔里发出来，只是为了能够紧紧地倚靠在他的肩头，好让他的手抓住我的手。
但维托德又将手松开了。
“我感到自己有罪。她是因为我而死的。我不怪你。”
“可是，你们的关系不是已经不怎么样了……”我插了一句。
“这丝毫改变不了我的罪过，否则这种罪过更大。你想想，希尔柯喝酒，不管怎么说，我总是要负责任的。”
“那究竟为什么？”
维托德这时完全放开了我，自顾自地点起一支烟。
“问题早就发生了。希尔柯出身在工人家庭，她读完了初中。我后来不停地给她上课，教她读书，多年来她深受其害。我本人根本就没注意到这一点。是啊，我也不够坦率。”
“那后来呢？”我问。
“这样就持续了好多年。她因为反抗我最终也欺骗了我。或许你现在以为我有什么有罪情结，也许这一点没错，但可以肯定的是，我让她受了好多罪，部分当然也不是故意的。”
他突然在我额上轻轻吻了一下，说了声再见，他会在明天打电话给我。后来他就没谈到送我回家的事。
我躺在床上，又一次失眠了。一幅幅画面从我脑海里掠过：璧德在塔上，斯卡拉特在椅子上，年轻的基蒂在车里，旁边坐着维托德。
另外，照耀在维托德身上的光环在略带悲哀中开始变得苍白，不过毕竟他也是血肉之躯，我也不是什么狂热地将一个男人加以理想化的黄毛丫头。我的生活经历已经够丰富的了，能够接受一个人可爱的缺点。我早就注意到，我的这位主人公爱虚荣，而且求名心切。和我在一起时，他可能是绷着脸的，但也可能是挺关心人的，一旦到了社交场合他就变成妙趣横生的一个人。同时，我发觉他有一种变化无常的情绪和潜伏着的忧郁——而现在他还活得好好的。
他和他的朋友恩斯特·施罗德是一种同事间的关系，有时是一种竞争性的关系：不可小看了这位随和的药剂师；他装出一副天真烂漫的样子，可他似乎始终能够达到自己的目的。他的老婆对他并不好，常常挖苦他，弄得他挺尴尬的，但尽管如此她好像到最后一刻总是听从他的。即便对维托德，她也是直接到寡廉鲜耻的地步。这两个嘴皮子厉害的舌战很能吸引我；只要有点火星，就会很容易燃起大火。
斯卡拉特和维维安，这两个极乐鸟，是否挺合维托德的胃口呢？基蒂和我，我们一定成了他们的对立面，我们是灰姑娘。在童话故事里，倒霉蛋成了胜利者。但在现实生活中该是怎样呢？
大约到了早晨，我才睡着，做了一个非常有趣的梦。我躺在床上，不得不马上回忆刚才的一幕。我的头上戴着极难看的卷发夹，我年轻时曾经用过这种卷发夹，我脸上戴着面具。我穿着早已拆下来的最恶心的长睡衣。房间不透风，表面已经结了一层残羹剩饭的餐具散落在地上，镜子上沾满了苍蝇屎的斑点。
我，罗塞玛丽·海尔特，尽管在用卷发筒和润肤霜抗争着，但已经开始走向腐烂了。
门突然打开了：维托德、恩斯特、基蒂、斯卡拉特、海尔特、璧德和维维安，一个个蹦蹦跳跳地进来了，大家穿着时髦的休闲服，除了维维安外全都晒得黑黝黝，穿得也很轻便，一副兴高采烈、功成名就的样子。
“我们给你带了点东西，”维托德说，他真是个好心人，并且给我戴上了迷迭香做成的一只小花冠。这实在是没必要的，我痛苦地呢喃道：“喔……喔……”连“喔唷”都说不上来了，就像仙鹤哈里发念不出“穆塔博尔”，阿里巴巴的兄弟念不出“芝麻，开门吧”的咒语一样。但基蒂帮了我的忙，她跪在我身旁，在我耳边轻轻低语着救我一命的“喔唷！”来。我将“喔唷”大声地说了出来，这时六个人头顿时滚到了我的床底下。作为对基蒂的奖赏，她一点事儿也没有，为了彻底通通气，她拿起扫帚打扫房间。
她用这把树枝扎成的旧式扫帚扫除人头，就像在她面前扫除腐烂的水果一样。转眼之间这些人头已经没有了他们先前晒成黝黑的外表，变成了相应的苍白色，只有维维安活着时那病恹恹的脑袋呈现出血红的朝气来。就连迷迭香花冠上的露珠也滴血一样粘乎乎地滴落到我的额上，并以殷红的血迹攀升至我那涂脂抹粉的脸上。
我惨叫一声从梦中惊醒过来。
Notes:
Notes: