Trixie looked at her. “Do you want to know how I did it?”
Zephyr nodded, drawn forward.
She slowly pulled the tape that sealed the bandage around her wrist and unraveled the gauze until the wound was visible: gaping and saw-edged, angry.
“Wow,” Zephyr breathed. “That is sick. Did it hurt?”
Trixie shook her head.
“Did you see lights or angels or, like, God?”
Trixie thought about it, hard. The last thing she could remember was the rusted edge of the radiator, which she focused on before blacking out. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Figures,” Zephyr sighed, and then she looked at Trixie and grinned.
Trixie felt like smiling back. For the first time in a long time when she told her brain to do it, it actually worked.
Three days after Trixie tried to kill herself, Daniel and Laura found themselves in Marita Soorenstad’s office, with Trixie between them Detective Bartholemew was seated to their left, and behind the desk the DA was ripping open a Pixy Stix. “Help yourselves,” she said, and then she turned to Trixie. “I’m certainly glad to see you’re with us. From what I understand, that wasn’t a sure thing a few days ago.”
Daniel reached over and took his daughter’s hand. It felt like ice. “Trixie’s feeling much better,Moncler Sale.”
“For how long?” the district attorney asked, folding her hands on the desk,cheap north face down jacket. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive, Mr. Stone, but the only thing consistent in this case so far has been the lack of consistency.”
Laura shook her head. “I don’t understand ...”
“As a prosecutor, my job is to present facts to a jury that make it possible for them to find, beyond a reasonable doubt, that your daughter was the victim of a rape perpetrated by Jason Underhill. However, the facts I’m presenting are the ones that your daughter presented to us. And that means our case is only as good as the information she’s provided me with and as strong as the picture she paints on the stand.”
Daniel felt his jaw tighten. “I’d think that when a girl tries to kill herself, it’s a pretty good indicator that she’s suffering from trauma.”
“Either that, or mental instability.”
“So, you just give up?” Laura said, incredulous. “You don’t try a case if you think it’s going to be a tough sell?”
“I never said that, Mrs. Stone. But I do have an ethical obligation not to bring a case to court if even I’m unsure a crime happened.”
“You’ve got evidence,” Daniel said. “That rape kit.”
“Yes. The same rape kit that allowed a laboratory to find evidence of semen in Trixie’s mouth, when by her own statement she did not have oral sex that night. On the other hand,Website, Jason Underhill says that the intercourse was consensual . . . and was both oral and vaginal.” The DA turned over a page in a file.
“According to Trixie,Shipping Information, she screamed no while she was being raped but said that her friend Zephyr wouldn’t have been able to hear her over the music. Yet according to other witnesses, no music was playing during the time of the assault.”
“They’re all lying,” Daniel said.
Marita stared at him. “Or Trixie is. She lied to you about going to her friend’s house for a quiet sleepover that night. She lied about losing her virginity the night of the assault...”
2012年12月5日星期三
But when he heard himself say this
But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry "Oh, my God!" again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt to distract him.
"How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute and answer my question. How long have you been married?"
"Twelve years."
"Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still--I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?"
The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light and whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it sounded to him like the car that hadn't stopped a few hours before. He didn't like to go into the garage because the work bench was stained where the body had been lying so he moved uncomfortably around the office--he knew every object in it before morning--and from time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.
"Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you haven't been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?"
"Don't belong to any."
"You ought to have a church,http://www.moncleroutletonlinestore.com/, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didn't you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn't you get married in a church?"
"That was a long time ago."
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking--for a moment he was silent. Then the same half knowing, half bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
"Look in the drawer there," he said, pointing at the desk.
"Which drawer?"
"That drawer--that one."
Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it but a small expensive dog leash made of leather and braided silver. It was apparently new.
"This?" he inquired, holding it up.
Wilson stared and nodded.
"I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it but I knew it was something funny,http://www.cheapnorthfacedownjacket.com/."
"You mean your wife bought it?"
"She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau."
Michaelis didn't see anything odd in that and he gave Wilson a dozen reasons why his wife might have bought the dog leash. But conceivably Wilson had heard some of these same explanations before, from Myrtle, because he began saying "Oh, my God!" again in a whisper--his comforter left several explanations in the air,Link.
"Then he killed her," said Wilson. His mouth dropped open suddenly.
"Who did?"
"I have a way of finding out,north face outlet."
"You're morbid, George," said his friend. "This has been a strain to you and you don't know what you're saying. You'd better try and sit quiet till morning."
"He murdered her."
"It was an accident, George."
Wilson shook his head. His eyes narrowed and his mouth widened slightly with the ghost of a superior "Hm!"
"I know," he said definitely, "I'm one of these trusting fellas and I don't think any harm to NObody, but when I get to know a thing I know it. It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak to him and he wouldn't stop."
Michaelis had seen this too but it hadn't occurred to him that there was any special significance in it. He believed that Mrs. Wilson had been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any particular car.
"How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute and answer my question. How long have you been married?"
"Twelve years."
"Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still--I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?"
The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light and whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it sounded to him like the car that hadn't stopped a few hours before. He didn't like to go into the garage because the work bench was stained where the body had been lying so he moved uncomfortably around the office--he knew every object in it before morning--and from time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.
"Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you haven't been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?"
"Don't belong to any."
"You ought to have a church,http://www.moncleroutletonlinestore.com/, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didn't you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn't you get married in a church?"
"That was a long time ago."
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking--for a moment he was silent. Then the same half knowing, half bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
"Look in the drawer there," he said, pointing at the desk.
"Which drawer?"
"That drawer--that one."
Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it but a small expensive dog leash made of leather and braided silver. It was apparently new.
"This?" he inquired, holding it up.
Wilson stared and nodded.
"I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it but I knew it was something funny,http://www.cheapnorthfacedownjacket.com/."
"You mean your wife bought it?"
"She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau."
Michaelis didn't see anything odd in that and he gave Wilson a dozen reasons why his wife might have bought the dog leash. But conceivably Wilson had heard some of these same explanations before, from Myrtle, because he began saying "Oh, my God!" again in a whisper--his comforter left several explanations in the air,Link.
"Then he killed her," said Wilson. His mouth dropped open suddenly.
"Who did?"
"I have a way of finding out,north face outlet."
"You're morbid, George," said his friend. "This has been a strain to you and you don't know what you're saying. You'd better try and sit quiet till morning."
"He murdered her."
"It was an accident, George."
Wilson shook his head. His eyes narrowed and his mouth widened slightly with the ghost of a superior "Hm!"
"I know," he said definitely, "I'm one of these trusting fellas and I don't think any harm to NObody, but when I get to know a thing I know it. It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak to him and he wouldn't stop."
Michaelis had seen this too but it hadn't occurred to him that there was any special significance in it. He believed that Mrs. Wilson had been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any particular car.
2012年12月4日星期二
By and by the two dropped carelessly into the Com- missioner's room and reclined lazily in the b
By and by the two dropped carelessly into the Com- missioner's room and reclined lazily in the big, leather- upholstered arm-chairs. They drawled a good-natured complaint of the weather,Moncler Jackets For Men, and Hamlin told the Com- missioner an excellent story he had amassed that morn- ing from the Secretary of State.
But the Commissioner knew why they were there. He had half promised to render a decision that day upon their location.
The chief clerk now brought in a batch of duplicate certificates for the Commissioner to sign. As he traced his sprawling signature, "Hollis Summerfield, Comr. Genl. Land Office," on each one, the chief clerk stood, deftly removing them and applying the blotter.
"I notice," said the chief clerk, "you've been going through that Salado County location. Kampfer is mak- ing a new map of Salado, and I believe is platting in that section of the county now."
"I will see it," said the Comissioner. A few moments later he went to the draughtsmen's room.
As he entered he saw five or six of the draughtsmen grouped about Kampfer's desk, gargling away at each other in pectoral German, and gazing at something there- upon. At the Commissioner's approach they scattered to their several places,Moncler Outlet. Kampfer, a wizened little Ger- man, with long, frizzled ringlets and a watery eye, began to stammer forth some sort of an apology, the Commis- sioner thought, for the congregation of his fellows about his desk.
"Never mind,' said the Commissioner, "I wish to see the map you are making"; and,cheap adidas shoes for sale, passing around the old German, seated himself upon the high draughtsman's stool. Kampfer continued to break English in trving to explain.
"Herr Gommissioner, I assure you blenty sat I haf not it bremeditated -- sat it wass -- sat it itself make. Look you! from se field notes wass it blatted -- blease to observe se calls: South, 10 degrees west 050 varas; south, 10 degrees east 300 varas; south, 100; south, 9 west, 200; south, 40 degrees west 400 -- and so on. Herr Gommissioner, nefer would I have -- "
The Commissioner raised one white hand, silently, Kampfer dropped his pipe and fled.
With a hand at each side of his face, and his elbows resting upon the desk, the Commissioner sat staring at the map which was spread and fastened there -- staring at the sweet and living profile of little Georgia drawn thereupon -- at her face, pensive, delicate, and infantile, outlined in a perfect likeness.
When his mind at length came to inquire into the rea- son of it, he saw that it must have been,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings, as Kampfer had said, unpremeditated. The old draughtsman had been platting in the Elias Denny survey, and Georgia's likeness, striking though it was, was formed by nothing more than the meanders of Chiquito River. Indeed, Kampfer's blotter, whereon his preliminary work was done, showed the laborious tracings of the calls and the countless pricks of the compasses. Then, over his faint pencilling, Kampfer had drawn in India ink with a full, firm pen the similitude of Chiquito River, and forth had blossomed mysteriously the dainty, pathetic profile of the child.
But the Commissioner knew why they were there. He had half promised to render a decision that day upon their location.
The chief clerk now brought in a batch of duplicate certificates for the Commissioner to sign. As he traced his sprawling signature, "Hollis Summerfield, Comr. Genl. Land Office," on each one, the chief clerk stood, deftly removing them and applying the blotter.
"I notice," said the chief clerk, "you've been going through that Salado County location. Kampfer is mak- ing a new map of Salado, and I believe is platting in that section of the county now."
"I will see it," said the Comissioner. A few moments later he went to the draughtsmen's room.
As he entered he saw five or six of the draughtsmen grouped about Kampfer's desk, gargling away at each other in pectoral German, and gazing at something there- upon. At the Commissioner's approach they scattered to their several places,Moncler Outlet. Kampfer, a wizened little Ger- man, with long, frizzled ringlets and a watery eye, began to stammer forth some sort of an apology, the Commis- sioner thought, for the congregation of his fellows about his desk.
"Never mind,' said the Commissioner, "I wish to see the map you are making"; and,cheap adidas shoes for sale, passing around the old German, seated himself upon the high draughtsman's stool. Kampfer continued to break English in trving to explain.
"Herr Gommissioner, I assure you blenty sat I haf not it bremeditated -- sat it wass -- sat it itself make. Look you! from se field notes wass it blatted -- blease to observe se calls: South, 10 degrees west 050 varas; south, 10 degrees east 300 varas; south, 100; south, 9 west, 200; south, 40 degrees west 400 -- and so on. Herr Gommissioner, nefer would I have -- "
The Commissioner raised one white hand, silently, Kampfer dropped his pipe and fled.
With a hand at each side of his face, and his elbows resting upon the desk, the Commissioner sat staring at the map which was spread and fastened there -- staring at the sweet and living profile of little Georgia drawn thereupon -- at her face, pensive, delicate, and infantile, outlined in a perfect likeness.
When his mind at length came to inquire into the rea- son of it, he saw that it must have been,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings, as Kampfer had said, unpremeditated. The old draughtsman had been platting in the Elias Denny survey, and Georgia's likeness, striking though it was, was formed by nothing more than the meanders of Chiquito River. Indeed, Kampfer's blotter, whereon his preliminary work was done, showed the laborious tracings of the calls and the countless pricks of the compasses. Then, over his faint pencilling, Kampfer had drawn in India ink with a full, firm pen the similitude of Chiquito River, and forth had blossomed mysteriously the dainty, pathetic profile of the child.
Real easy
Real easy, I head for the staircase. Even though I tiptoe, the dishes in the sideboard jangle, the floorboards groan. I walk so slowly up the stairs, I can hear my own breathing. At the top, I turn down the long hall. I pass wide open bedroom doors, one, two, three. Door number four, down on the end, is closed except for an inch. I move in a little closer. And through the crack, I spot her.
She’s sitting on the yellow twin bed by the window and she’s not smiling. The package I toted in from the mailbox is open and on the bed are a dozen bottles filled with brown liquid. It’s a slow burn that rises up my bosoms, my chin, my mouth. I know the look of those flat bottles. I nursed a worthless pint drinker for twelve years and when my lazy, life-sucking daddy finally died, I swore to God with tears in my eyes I’d never marry one. And then I did.
And now here I am nursing another goddamn drinker. These aren’t even store-bought bottles, these have a red wax top like my Uncle Toad used to cap his moonshine with. Mama always told me the real alcoholics, like my daddy, drink the homemade stuff because it’s stronger. Now I know she’s as much a fool as my daddy was and as Leroy is when he gets on the Old Crow, only she doesn’t chase me with the frying pan.
Miss Celia picks a bottle up and looks at it like it’s Jesus in there and she can’t wait to get saved. She uncorks it, sips it, and sighs. Then she drinks three hard swallows and lays back on her fancy pillows.
My body starts to shake, watching that ease cross her face,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings. She was so eager to get to her juice, she didn’t even close the damn door. I have to grit my teeth so I don’t scream at her. Finally I force my way back down the stairs.
When Miss Celia comes back downstairs ten minutes later, she sits at the kitchen table, asks me if I’m ready to eat.
“There’s pork chops in the icebox and I’m not eating lunch today,adidas shoes for girls,” I say and stomp out of the room.
That afternoon Miss Celia’s in her bathroom sitting on the toilet lid,cheap north face down jacket. She’s got the hair dryer on the back tank and the hood pulled over her bleached head,Moncler Jackets For Men. With that contraption on she wouldn’t hear the A-bomb explode.
I go upstairs with my oil rags and I open that cupboard for myself. Two dozen flat whiskey bottles are hidden behind some ratty old blankets Miss Celia must’ve toted with her from Tunica County. The bottles don’t have any labels fastened to them, just the stamp Old KENTUCKY in the glass. Twelve are full, ready for tomorrow. Twelve are empty from last week. Just like all these damn bedrooms. No wonder the fool doesn’t have any kids.
On THE FIRST THURSDAY of July, at twelve noon, Miss Celia gets up from the bed for her cooking lesson. She’s dressed in a white sweater so tight it’d make a hooker look holy. I swear her clothes get tighter every week.
We settle in our places, me at the stovetop, her on her stool. I’ve hardly spoken word one to her since I found those bottles last week. I’m not mad. I’m irate. But I have sworn every day for the past six days that I would follow Mama’s Rule Number One. To say something would mean I cared about her and I don’t. It’s not my business or my concern if she’s a lazy, drunk fool.
She’s sitting on the yellow twin bed by the window and she’s not smiling. The package I toted in from the mailbox is open and on the bed are a dozen bottles filled with brown liquid. It’s a slow burn that rises up my bosoms, my chin, my mouth. I know the look of those flat bottles. I nursed a worthless pint drinker for twelve years and when my lazy, life-sucking daddy finally died, I swore to God with tears in my eyes I’d never marry one. And then I did.
And now here I am nursing another goddamn drinker. These aren’t even store-bought bottles, these have a red wax top like my Uncle Toad used to cap his moonshine with. Mama always told me the real alcoholics, like my daddy, drink the homemade stuff because it’s stronger. Now I know she’s as much a fool as my daddy was and as Leroy is when he gets on the Old Crow, only she doesn’t chase me with the frying pan.
Miss Celia picks a bottle up and looks at it like it’s Jesus in there and she can’t wait to get saved. She uncorks it, sips it, and sighs. Then she drinks three hard swallows and lays back on her fancy pillows.
My body starts to shake, watching that ease cross her face,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings. She was so eager to get to her juice, she didn’t even close the damn door. I have to grit my teeth so I don’t scream at her. Finally I force my way back down the stairs.
When Miss Celia comes back downstairs ten minutes later, she sits at the kitchen table, asks me if I’m ready to eat.
“There’s pork chops in the icebox and I’m not eating lunch today,adidas shoes for girls,” I say and stomp out of the room.
That afternoon Miss Celia’s in her bathroom sitting on the toilet lid,cheap north face down jacket. She’s got the hair dryer on the back tank and the hood pulled over her bleached head,Moncler Jackets For Men. With that contraption on she wouldn’t hear the A-bomb explode.
I go upstairs with my oil rags and I open that cupboard for myself. Two dozen flat whiskey bottles are hidden behind some ratty old blankets Miss Celia must’ve toted with her from Tunica County. The bottles don’t have any labels fastened to them, just the stamp Old KENTUCKY in the glass. Twelve are full, ready for tomorrow. Twelve are empty from last week. Just like all these damn bedrooms. No wonder the fool doesn’t have any kids.
On THE FIRST THURSDAY of July, at twelve noon, Miss Celia gets up from the bed for her cooking lesson. She’s dressed in a white sweater so tight it’d make a hooker look holy. I swear her clothes get tighter every week.
We settle in our places, me at the stovetop, her on her stool. I’ve hardly spoken word one to her since I found those bottles last week. I’m not mad. I’m irate. But I have sworn every day for the past six days that I would follow Mama’s Rule Number One. To say something would mean I cared about her and I don’t. It’s not my business or my concern if she’s a lazy, drunk fool.
2012年12月2日星期日
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of the vigil,Replica Designer Handbags. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight--watching over nothing.
正在人们对盖茨比的好奇心达到顶点的时候，有一个星期六晚上他别墅里的灯都没有亮——于是，他作为特里马尔乔的生涯，当初莫名其妙地开始，现在又莫名其妙地结束了，我逐渐发觉那些乘兴而来的一辆辆汽车，稍停片刻之后又扫兴地开走了。我疑心他是否病了，于是走过去看看——一个面目狰狞的陌生仆人从门口满腹狐疑地斜着眼看我。
“盖茨比先生病了吗？”
“没有。”停了一会他才慢吞吞地、勉勉强强地加了一声“先生”。
“我好久没看见他了，很不放心。告诉他卡罗威先生来过。”
“谁？”他粗鲁地问。
“卡罗威。”
“卡罗威。好啦，我告诉他。”
他粗鲁地砰的一声关上了大门。
我的芬兰女佣人告诉我，盖茨比早在一个星期前就辞退了家里的每一个仆人，另外雇用了五六个人，这些人从来不到西卵镇上去受那些仟店的贿赂，而是打电话订购数量不多的生活用品,LINK。据食品店送货的伙计报道，厨房看上去像个猪圈，而镇上一般的看法是，这些新人压根儿不是什么仆人。
第二天盖茨比打电话给我。
“准备出门吗？”我问。
“没有，老兄。”
“我听说你把所有的仆人都辞了。”
“我需要的是不爱讲闲话的人。黛西经常来——总是在下千。”
原来如此，由于她看了不赞成，这座大酒店就像纸牌搭的房子一样整个坍掉了。
“他们是沃尔夫山姆要给帮点儿忙的人。他们都是兄弟姐妹,fake uggs。他们开过一家小旅馆。”
“我明白了。”
他是应黛西的请求打电话来的——我明天是否可以到她家吃午饭？贝克小姐会去的。半小时之后，黛西亲自打电话来，似乎因为知道我答应去而感到宽慰。一定出了什么事。然而我却不能相信他们竞然会选这样一个场合来大闹一场——尤其是盖茨比早先在花园里所提出的那种令人难堪的场面。
第二天天气酷热，夏日几乎要终结，然而这也无疑是夏天中最热的一天。当我乘的火车从地道里钻出来驶进阳光里时，只有全国饼干公司热辣辣的汽笛打破了中午闷热的静寂。客车里的草椅垫热得简直要着火了。坐在我旁边的一个妇女起先很斯文地让汗水渗透衬衣，后来，她的报纸在她手指下面也变潮了时，她长叹一声，在酷热中颓然地往后一倒。她的钱包啪的一声掉到了地下。
“哎哟！”她吃惊地喊道。
我懒洋洋地弯下腰把它捡了起来，递还给了她，手伸得远远的，捏着钱包的一个角，表示我并无染指的意图——可是附近的每一个人，包括那女人，照样怀疑我。
“热！”查票员对面熟的乘客说，“够呛的天气！热……热……热……你觉得够热的吗？热吗？你觉得……”
我的月季票递还给我时上面留下了他手上的黑汗渍。在这种酷热的天气还有谁去管他亲吻的是谁的朱唇，管他是谁的脑袋偎湿了他胸前的睡衣口袋！
……盖茨比和我在门口等开门的时候，一阵微风吹过布坎农的住宅的门廊，带来电话铃的声音。
“主人的尸体？”男管家大声向话筒里嚷道，“对不起，太太，可是我们不能提供——今天中午太热了，没法碰！”
实际上他讲的是：“是……是……我去瞧瞧。”
他放下了话筒，朝我们走过来，头上冒着汗珠，接过我们的硬壳草帽。
“夫人在客厅里等您哩！”他喊道，一面不必要地指着方向。在这酷热的大气，每一个多余的手势都是滥用生活的公有财富。
这间屋子外面有这篷挡着，又阴暗又凉快。黛西和乔丹躺在一张巨大的长沙发上，好像两座银像压住自己的白色衣裙，不让电扇的呼呼响的风吹动。
“我们动不了了。”她们俩同声说。
乔丹的手指，黝黑色上面搽了一层白粉，在我手指里搁了一会。
“体育家托马斯•布坎农先生呢？”我问。
就在同时我听见了他的声音，粗犷、低沉、沙哑，正在用门廓的电话与什么人通着话。
盖茨比站在绯红的地毯中央，用着了迷的目光向四周张望。黛西看着他，发出了她那甜蜜、动人的笑声。微微的一阵粉从她胸口升入空中。
“有谣言说，”乔丹悄悄地说，“那边是汤姆的情人在打电话。”
我们都不说话。门廊里的声音气恼地提高了：“那好吧，我根本不把车子卖给你了……我根本不欠你什么情……至于你在午饭时候来打扰我，我根本不答应！”
“挂上话筒在讲。”黛西冷嘲热讽地说。
“不，他不是。”我向她解释道，“这是一笔确有其事的交易。我碰巧知道这件事。”
汤姆猛然推开了门，他粗壮的身躯片刻间堵住了门口，然后急匆匆走进了屋子。
“盖茨比先生！”他伸出了他那宽大、扁平的手，很成功地掩饰住了对他的厌恶，“我很高兴见到您，先生……尼克……”
“给我们来一杯冷饮吧！”黛西大声说。
他又离开屋子以后，她站起身来，走到盖茨比面前，把他的脸拉了下来，吻他的嘴。
“你知道我爱你。”她喃喃地说。
“你忘了还有一位女客在座。”乔丹说。
黛西故意装傻回过头看看。
“你也跟尼克接吻吧。”
“多低级、多下流的女孩子！”
“我不在乎！”黛西大声说，同时在砖砌的壁炉前面跳起舞来。后来她想起了酷热的天气，又不好意思地在沙发上坐了下来，正在这时一个穿着新洗的衣服的保姆搀着一个小女孩走进屋子来。
“心——肝，宝——贝，”她嗲声嗲气地说，一面伸出她的胳臂，“到疼你的亲娘这里来。”
保姆一撒手，小孩就从屋子那边跑过来，羞答答地一头埋进她母亲的衣裙里。
“心——肝，宝——贝啊！妈妈把粉弄到你黄黄的头发上了吗？站起身来，说声——您好。”
盖茨比和我先后弯下腰来，握一握她不情愿地伸出的小手。然后他惊奇地盯着孩子看。我想他以前从来没有真正相信过有这个孩子存在。
“我在午饭前就打扮好了。”孩子说，急切地把脸转向黛西。
“那是因为你妈要显摆你。”她低下头来把脸伏在雪白的小脖子上唯一的皱纹里，‘你啊，你这个宝贝。你这个独一无二的小宝贝。”
“是啊，”小孩平静地答应，“乔丹阿姨也穿了一件白衣裳。”
“你喜欢妈妈的朋友吗？”黛西把她转过来，让她面对着盖茨比，“你觉得他们漂亮吗？”
“爸爸在哪儿？”
“她长得不像她父亲，”黛西解释说，“她长得像我。她的头发和脸形都像我。”
黛西朝后靠在沙发上。保姆走上前一步,replica louis vuitton handbags，伸出了手。
“来吧，帕咪。”
“再见，乖乖！”
很懂规矩的小孩依依不舍地回头看了一眼，抓着保姆的手，就被拉到门外去，正好汤姆回来，后面跟着四杯杜松子利克酒，里面装满了冰块喀嚓作响。
盖茨比端过一杯酒来。
“这酒绝对凉。”他说，看得出来他有点紧张。
我们迫不及待地大口大口地把酒喝下去。
“我在什么地方看到过，说太阳一年比一年热，”汤姆很和气地说，“好像地球不久就会掉进太阳里去——等一等——恰恰相反——太阳一年比一年冷。”
“到外面来吧，”他向盖茨比提议说，“我想请你看看我这个地方。”
我跟他们一起到外面游廊上去。在绿色的海湾上，海水在酷热中停滞不动，一条小帆船慢慢向比较新鲜的海水移动。盖茨比的眼光片刻间追随着这条船。他举起了手，指着海湾的
Chapter 8
I couldn't sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby's drive and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress--I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about and morning would be too late.
正在人们对盖茨比的好奇心达到顶点的时候，有一个星期六晚上他别墅里的灯都没有亮——于是，他作为特里马尔乔的生涯，当初莫名其妙地开始，现在又莫名其妙地结束了，我逐渐发觉那些乘兴而来的一辆辆汽车，稍停片刻之后又扫兴地开走了。我疑心他是否病了，于是走过去看看——一个面目狰狞的陌生仆人从门口满腹狐疑地斜着眼看我。
“盖茨比先生病了吗？”
“没有。”停了一会他才慢吞吞地、勉勉强强地加了一声“先生”。
“我好久没看见他了，很不放心。告诉他卡罗威先生来过。”
“谁？”他粗鲁地问。
“卡罗威。”
“卡罗威。好啦，我告诉他。”
他粗鲁地砰的一声关上了大门。
我的芬兰女佣人告诉我，盖茨比早在一个星期前就辞退了家里的每一个仆人，另外雇用了五六个人，这些人从来不到西卵镇上去受那些仟店的贿赂，而是打电话订购数量不多的生活用品,LINK。据食品店送货的伙计报道，厨房看上去像个猪圈，而镇上一般的看法是，这些新人压根儿不是什么仆人。
第二天盖茨比打电话给我。
“准备出门吗？”我问。
“没有，老兄。”
“我听说你把所有的仆人都辞了。”
“我需要的是不爱讲闲话的人。黛西经常来——总是在下千。”
原来如此，由于她看了不赞成，这座大酒店就像纸牌搭的房子一样整个坍掉了。
“他们是沃尔夫山姆要给帮点儿忙的人。他们都是兄弟姐妹,fake uggs。他们开过一家小旅馆。”
“我明白了。”
他是应黛西的请求打电话来的——我明天是否可以到她家吃午饭？贝克小姐会去的。半小时之后，黛西亲自打电话来，似乎因为知道我答应去而感到宽慰。一定出了什么事。然而我却不能相信他们竞然会选这样一个场合来大闹一场——尤其是盖茨比早先在花园里所提出的那种令人难堪的场面。
第二天天气酷热，夏日几乎要终结，然而这也无疑是夏天中最热的一天。当我乘的火车从地道里钻出来驶进阳光里时，只有全国饼干公司热辣辣的汽笛打破了中午闷热的静寂。客车里的草椅垫热得简直要着火了。坐在我旁边的一个妇女起先很斯文地让汗水渗透衬衣，后来，她的报纸在她手指下面也变潮了时，她长叹一声，在酷热中颓然地往后一倒。她的钱包啪的一声掉到了地下。
“哎哟！”她吃惊地喊道。
我懒洋洋地弯下腰把它捡了起来，递还给了她，手伸得远远的，捏着钱包的一个角，表示我并无染指的意图——可是附近的每一个人，包括那女人，照样怀疑我。
“热！”查票员对面熟的乘客说，“够呛的天气！热……热……热……你觉得够热的吗？热吗？你觉得……”
我的月季票递还给我时上面留下了他手上的黑汗渍。在这种酷热的天气还有谁去管他亲吻的是谁的朱唇，管他是谁的脑袋偎湿了他胸前的睡衣口袋！
……盖茨比和我在门口等开门的时候，一阵微风吹过布坎农的住宅的门廊，带来电话铃的声音。
“主人的尸体？”男管家大声向话筒里嚷道，“对不起，太太，可是我们不能提供——今天中午太热了，没法碰！”
实际上他讲的是：“是……是……我去瞧瞧。”
他放下了话筒，朝我们走过来，头上冒着汗珠，接过我们的硬壳草帽。
“夫人在客厅里等您哩！”他喊道，一面不必要地指着方向。在这酷热的大气，每一个多余的手势都是滥用生活的公有财富。
这间屋子外面有这篷挡着，又阴暗又凉快。黛西和乔丹躺在一张巨大的长沙发上，好像两座银像压住自己的白色衣裙，不让电扇的呼呼响的风吹动。
“我们动不了了。”她们俩同声说。
乔丹的手指，黝黑色上面搽了一层白粉，在我手指里搁了一会。
“体育家托马斯•布坎农先生呢？”我问。
就在同时我听见了他的声音，粗犷、低沉、沙哑，正在用门廓的电话与什么人通着话。
盖茨比站在绯红的地毯中央，用着了迷的目光向四周张望。黛西看着他，发出了她那甜蜜、动人的笑声。微微的一阵粉从她胸口升入空中。
“有谣言说，”乔丹悄悄地说，“那边是汤姆的情人在打电话。”
我们都不说话。门廊里的声音气恼地提高了：“那好吧，我根本不把车子卖给你了……我根本不欠你什么情……至于你在午饭时候来打扰我，我根本不答应！”
“挂上话筒在讲。”黛西冷嘲热讽地说。
“不，他不是。”我向她解释道，“这是一笔确有其事的交易。我碰巧知道这件事。”
汤姆猛然推开了门，他粗壮的身躯片刻间堵住了门口，然后急匆匆走进了屋子。
“盖茨比先生！”他伸出了他那宽大、扁平的手，很成功地掩饰住了对他的厌恶，“我很高兴见到您，先生……尼克……”
“给我们来一杯冷饮吧！”黛西大声说。
他又离开屋子以后，她站起身来，走到盖茨比面前，把他的脸拉了下来，吻他的嘴。
“你知道我爱你。”她喃喃地说。
“你忘了还有一位女客在座。”乔丹说。
黛西故意装傻回过头看看。
“你也跟尼克接吻吧。”
“多低级、多下流的女孩子！”
“我不在乎！”黛西大声说，同时在砖砌的壁炉前面跳起舞来。后来她想起了酷热的天气，又不好意思地在沙发上坐了下来，正在这时一个穿着新洗的衣服的保姆搀着一个小女孩走进屋子来。
“心——肝，宝——贝，”她嗲声嗲气地说，一面伸出她的胳臂，“到疼你的亲娘这里来。”
保姆一撒手，小孩就从屋子那边跑过来，羞答答地一头埋进她母亲的衣裙里。
“心——肝，宝——贝啊！妈妈把粉弄到你黄黄的头发上了吗？站起身来，说声——您好。”
盖茨比和我先后弯下腰来，握一握她不情愿地伸出的小手。然后他惊奇地盯着孩子看。我想他以前从来没有真正相信过有这个孩子存在。
“我在午饭前就打扮好了。”孩子说，急切地把脸转向黛西。
“那是因为你妈要显摆你。”她低下头来把脸伏在雪白的小脖子上唯一的皱纹里，‘你啊，你这个宝贝。你这个独一无二的小宝贝。”
“是啊，”小孩平静地答应，“乔丹阿姨也穿了一件白衣裳。”
“你喜欢妈妈的朋友吗？”黛西把她转过来，让她面对着盖茨比，“你觉得他们漂亮吗？”
“爸爸在哪儿？”
“她长得不像她父亲，”黛西解释说，“她长得像我。她的头发和脸形都像我。”
黛西朝后靠在沙发上。保姆走上前一步,replica louis vuitton handbags，伸出了手。
“来吧，帕咪。”
“再见，乖乖！”
很懂规矩的小孩依依不舍地回头看了一眼，抓着保姆的手，就被拉到门外去，正好汤姆回来，后面跟着四杯杜松子利克酒，里面装满了冰块喀嚓作响。
盖茨比端过一杯酒来。
“这酒绝对凉。”他说，看得出来他有点紧张。
我们迫不及待地大口大口地把酒喝下去。
“我在什么地方看到过，说太阳一年比一年热，”汤姆很和气地说，“好像地球不久就会掉进太阳里去——等一等——恰恰相反——太阳一年比一年冷。”
“到外面来吧，”他向盖茨比提议说，“我想请你看看我这个地方。”
我跟他们一起到外面游廊上去。在绿色的海湾上，海水在酷热中停滞不动，一条小帆船慢慢向比较新鲜的海水移动。盖茨比的眼光片刻间追随着这条船。他举起了手，指着海湾的
Chapter 8
I couldn't sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby's drive and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress--I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about and morning would be too late.
Rochas signified by a nod of the head that he had heard
Rochas signified by a nod of the head that he had heard, and Jean did not go away at once, but stood smiling at Maurice, who was lighting a cigarette. Ever since the occurrence in the railway car there had been a sort of tacit truce between the two men; they seemed to be reciprocally studying each other, with an increasing interest and attraction. But just then Prosper came back, a little out of temper.
"I mean to have something to eat unless my officer comes out of that shanty pretty quick. The Emperor is just as likely as not to stay away until dark, confound it all."
"Tell me," said Maurice, his curiosity again getting the better of him, "isn't it possible that the news you are bringing may be from Bazaine?"
"Perhaps so. There was a good deal of talk about him down there at Monthois."
At that moment there was a stir outside in the street, and Jean,Moncler outlet online store, who was standing by one of the doors of the arbor, turned and said:
"The Emperor!"
Immediately everyone was on his feet. Along the broad, white road, with its rows of poplars on either side, came a troop of cent-gardes, spick and span in their brilliant uniforms,replica louis vuitton handbags, their cuirasses blazing in the sunlight, and immediately behind them rode the Emperor, accompanied by his staff, in a wide open space, followed by a second troop of cent-gardes.
There was a general uncovering of heads, and here and there a hurrah was heard; and the Emperor raised his head as he passed; his face looked drawn, the eyes were dim and watery. He had the dazed appearance of one suddenly aroused from slumber, smiled faintly at sight of the cheerful inn, and saluted. From behind them Maurice and Jean distinctly heard old Bouroche growl, having first surveyed the sovereign with his practiced eye:
"There's no mistake about it, that man is in a bad way." Then he succinctly completed his diagnosis: "His jig is up!"
Jean shook his head and thought in his limited, common sense way: "It is a confounded shame to let a man like that have command of the army,LINK!" And ten minutes later, when Maurice, comforted by his good breakfast, shook hands with Prosper and strolled away to smoke more cigarettes, he carried with him the picture of the Emperor, seated on his easy-gaited horse, so pale, so gentle, the man of thought, the dreamer, wanting in energy when the moment for action came. He was reputed to be good-hearted, capable, swayed by generous and noble thoughts, a silent man of strong and tenacious will; he was very brave, too, scorning danger with the scorn of the fatalist for whom destiny has no fears; but in critical moments a fatal lethargy seemed to overcome him; he appeared to become paralyzed in presence of results,fake louis vuitton bags, and powerless thereafter to struggle against Fortune should she prove adverse. And Maurice asked himself if his were not a special physiological condition, aggravated by suffering; if the indecision and increasing incapacity that the Emperor had displayed ever since the opening of the campaign were not to be attributed to his manifest illness. That would explain everything: a minute bit of foreign substance in a man's system, and empires totter.
"I mean to have something to eat unless my officer comes out of that shanty pretty quick. The Emperor is just as likely as not to stay away until dark, confound it all."
"Tell me," said Maurice, his curiosity again getting the better of him, "isn't it possible that the news you are bringing may be from Bazaine?"
"Perhaps so. There was a good deal of talk about him down there at Monthois."
At that moment there was a stir outside in the street, and Jean,Moncler outlet online store, who was standing by one of the doors of the arbor, turned and said:
"The Emperor!"
Immediately everyone was on his feet. Along the broad, white road, with its rows of poplars on either side, came a troop of cent-gardes, spick and span in their brilliant uniforms,replica louis vuitton handbags, their cuirasses blazing in the sunlight, and immediately behind them rode the Emperor, accompanied by his staff, in a wide open space, followed by a second troop of cent-gardes.
There was a general uncovering of heads, and here and there a hurrah was heard; and the Emperor raised his head as he passed; his face looked drawn, the eyes were dim and watery. He had the dazed appearance of one suddenly aroused from slumber, smiled faintly at sight of the cheerful inn, and saluted. From behind them Maurice and Jean distinctly heard old Bouroche growl, having first surveyed the sovereign with his practiced eye:
"There's no mistake about it, that man is in a bad way." Then he succinctly completed his diagnosis: "His jig is up!"
Jean shook his head and thought in his limited, common sense way: "It is a confounded shame to let a man like that have command of the army,LINK!" And ten minutes later, when Maurice, comforted by his good breakfast, shook hands with Prosper and strolled away to smoke more cigarettes, he carried with him the picture of the Emperor, seated on his easy-gaited horse, so pale, so gentle, the man of thought, the dreamer, wanting in energy when the moment for action came. He was reputed to be good-hearted, capable, swayed by generous and noble thoughts, a silent man of strong and tenacious will; he was very brave, too, scorning danger with the scorn of the fatalist for whom destiny has no fears; but in critical moments a fatal lethargy seemed to overcome him; he appeared to become paralyzed in presence of results,fake louis vuitton bags, and powerless thereafter to struggle against Fortune should she prove adverse. And Maurice asked himself if his were not a special physiological condition, aggravated by suffering; if the indecision and increasing incapacity that the Emperor had displayed ever since the opening of the campaign were not to be attributed to his manifest illness. That would explain everything: a minute bit of foreign substance in a man's system, and empires totter.
2012年11月26日星期一
The Ballad of the Sad Café The town itself is dreary
The Ballad of the Sad Café
The town itself is dreary; not much is there except the cotton mill, the two-room houses where the workers live, a few peach trees, a church with two colored windows, and a miserable main street only a hundred yards long. On Saturdays the tenants from the near-by farms come in for a day of talk and trade. Otherwise the town is lonesome, sad, and like a place that is far off and estranged from all other places in the world. The nearest train stop is Society City, and the Greyhound and White Bus Lines use the Forks Falls Road which is three miles away. The winters here are short and raw, the summers white with glare and fiery hot.
If you walk along the main street on an August afternoon there is nothing whatsoever to do. The largest building, in the very center of the town, is boarded up completely and leans so far to the right that it seems bound to collapse at any minute. The house is very old. There is about it a curious, cracked look that is very puzzling until you suddenly realize that at one time, and long ago, the right side of the front porch had been painted, and part of the wall -- but the painting was left unfinished and one portion of the house is darker and dingier than the other. The building looks completely deserted. Nevertheless, on the second floor there is one window which is not boarded; sometimes in the late afternoon when the heat is at its worst a hand will slowly open the shutter and a face will look down on the town. It is a face like the terrible dim faces known in dreams -- sexless and white, with two gray crossed eyes which are turned inward so sharply that they seem to be exchanging with each other one long and secret gaze of grief. The face lingers at the window for an hour or so, then the shutters are dosed once more, and as likely as not there will not be another soul to be seen along the main street. These August afternoons -- when your shift is finished there is absolutely nothing to do; you might as well walk down to the Forks Falls Road and listen to the chain gang.
However, here in this very town there was once a café. And this old boarded-up house was unlike any other place for many miles around. There were tables with cloths and paper napkins, colored streamers from the electric fans, great gatherings on Saturday nights. The owner of the place was Miss Amelia Evans. But the person most responsible for the success and gaiety of the place was a hunchback called Cousin Lymon. One other person had a part in the story of this café -- he was the former husband of Miss Amelia, a terrible character who returned to the town after a long term in the penitentiary, caused ruin, and then went on his way again. The café has long since been closed, but it is still remembered.
The place was not always a café. Miss Amelia inherited the building from her father, and it was a store that carried mostly feed, guano, and staples such as meal and snuff. Miss Amelia was rich. In addition to the store she operated a still three miles back in the swamp, and ran out the best liquor in the county. She was a dark, tall woman with bones and muscles like a man. Her hair was cut short and brushed back from the forehead, and there was about her sunburned face a tense, haggard quality. She might have been a handsome woman if, even then, she was not slightly cross-eyed. There were those who would have courted her, but Miss Amelia cared nothing for the love of men and was a solitary person. Her marriage had been unlike any other marriage ever contracted in this county -- it was a strange and dangerous marriage, lasting only for ten days, that left the whole town wondering and shocked. Except for this queer marriage, Miss Amelia had lived her life alone. Often she spent whole nights back in her shed in the swamp, dressed in overalls and gum boots, silently guarding the low fire of the still.
The town itself is dreary; not much is there except the cotton mill, the two-room houses where the workers live, a few peach trees, a church with two colored windows, and a miserable main street only a hundred yards long. On Saturdays the tenants from the near-by farms come in for a day of talk and trade. Otherwise the town is lonesome, sad, and like a place that is far off and estranged from all other places in the world. The nearest train stop is Society City, and the Greyhound and White Bus Lines use the Forks Falls Road which is three miles away. The winters here are short and raw, the summers white with glare and fiery hot.
If you walk along the main street on an August afternoon there is nothing whatsoever to do. The largest building, in the very center of the town, is boarded up completely and leans so far to the right that it seems bound to collapse at any minute. The house is very old. There is about it a curious, cracked look that is very puzzling until you suddenly realize that at one time, and long ago, the right side of the front porch had been painted, and part of the wall -- but the painting was left unfinished and one portion of the house is darker and dingier than the other. The building looks completely deserted. Nevertheless, on the second floor there is one window which is not boarded; sometimes in the late afternoon when the heat is at its worst a hand will slowly open the shutter and a face will look down on the town. It is a face like the terrible dim faces known in dreams -- sexless and white, with two gray crossed eyes which are turned inward so sharply that they seem to be exchanging with each other one long and secret gaze of grief. The face lingers at the window for an hour or so, then the shutters are dosed once more, and as likely as not there will not be another soul to be seen along the main street. These August afternoons -- when your shift is finished there is absolutely nothing to do; you might as well walk down to the Forks Falls Road and listen to the chain gang.
However, here in this very town there was once a café. And this old boarded-up house was unlike any other place for many miles around. There were tables with cloths and paper napkins, colored streamers from the electric fans, great gatherings on Saturday nights. The owner of the place was Miss Amelia Evans. But the person most responsible for the success and gaiety of the place was a hunchback called Cousin Lymon. One other person had a part in the story of this café -- he was the former husband of Miss Amelia, a terrible character who returned to the town after a long term in the penitentiary, caused ruin, and then went on his way again. The café has long since been closed, but it is still remembered.
The place was not always a café. Miss Amelia inherited the building from her father, and it was a store that carried mostly feed, guano, and staples such as meal and snuff. Miss Amelia was rich. In addition to the store she operated a still three miles back in the swamp, and ran out the best liquor in the county. She was a dark, tall woman with bones and muscles like a man. Her hair was cut short and brushed back from the forehead, and there was about her sunburned face a tense, haggard quality. She might have been a handsome woman if, even then, she was not slightly cross-eyed. There were those who would have courted her, but Miss Amelia cared nothing for the love of men and was a solitary person. Her marriage had been unlike any other marriage ever contracted in this county -- it was a strange and dangerous marriage, lasting only for ten days, that left the whole town wondering and shocked. Except for this queer marriage, Miss Amelia had lived her life alone. Often she spent whole nights back in her shed in the swamp, dressed in overalls and gum boots, silently guarding the low fire of the still.
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