Chapter 12 Chapter Eleven

I think it should be the writer Paul.Goodman, he once said that stupidity is a defensive character and has nothing to do with intelligence.The so-called smartest and best people sent us to fight Vietnam and kill a lot of people, and the people who were smart enough to know how to accumulate wealth, always insisted on doing things that put them in jail. There is a German proverb, said to be the words of the German poet Schiller, which means that even the gods are helpless in the face of stupidity.Anyway, it was stupid of me to tell my wife and son about the gangsters.No, wait, the only reason I'm stupid is because I didn't give Bracegold's manuscript to the gangsters, or the gangsters wouldn't be interested in me.

Like I said, Emmarie is a saint, but even when God encounters hypocrisy or injustice, He will be angry enough to wither a fig tree.After she asked the whole story out of my mouth, she scolded me.Although English is not her mother tongue, she is fluent in English, but this time she ran out of words in English that can be used to insult my IQ, so she had to switch back to German and start insulting me.There are a lot of swear words in German, which I used to hear at home when I was a child.Stupid as the night is what Mom loves to say; and you make me sick.After I heard the words come out of Emma's mouth, she kicked me out.My attitude was almost utterly serene, accepting the outcome with a sort of perverted joy, for I had finally broken my wife's holy patience.The driver who came to pick me up got out of the car and opened the door for me, and then I noticed the driver was looking up at the sky, so I looked up too, just in time to see my orchids flying out of Emmalie's attic.I did a good job by making her angry and violent, and paid my down payment on the apartment in hell.

In the end, it turned out to be the best part of the night.When I got home, I had just put the key in the downstairs door when I noticed that the door had swung open before the key had been turned and someone had broken the lock.I was very nervous, so I ran up quickly.The door to my apartment was open. When I entered, I found Oma Ba on the floor of the narrow porch leading to the bedroom, moaning on his hands and knees. The oval pool of bright red liquid on the oak floor.A piece of the back of his head was cut off, and blood flowed down one side of his cheek.I quickly picked him up and put him on the armchair, took a clean rag, a basin of water, and a bag of ice cubes from the kitchen, cleaned the wound and stopped the bleeding, and asked him what happened.He was slurring his speech and began to describe what happened in Arabic.I remember I was so calm at the time, reminds me of when I was a medic in Vietnam and the helicopters were bringing in the wounded and the first thing you wanted to do was run away screaming and then there was this An unnatural calm that supports you in dealing with the badly wounded, broken boys.I also now want to run screaming and search my apartment to see what happened to Miranda, but I force myself to sit down and ask questions and listen.In fact, there is nothing to say. Omar was watching the news on the cable TV station in the living room. He suddenly heard a woman screaming and pounding, and ran from the living room. He didn't remember what happened afterwards.He didn't see anyone, Miranda was missing, of course, and so was Brice Godo's manuscript.

I found Agent Murray's business card in my wallet, called him and left an urgent message, dialed 119, and then out of nowhere a bunch of strangers came to talk to us.This sort of thing gets cut in crime or emergency episodes, but in real life it takes a lot of time and effort to deal with it.First the paramedics removed Omar, who insisted on going down the stairs; I went to the police, first two uniformed officers, then two more detectives, Simone and Harris , they checked the front door of my apartment and said someone had picked the lock, indicating that it was a major incident.I guess they came here thinking it was just an ordinary case: bleeding man, disappearing woman, rich man, dysfunctional relationship and their ignorance couldn't be concealed in their words.I think they probably want to find something smarter to say, want to learn the witty lines of the police detectives in the TV series.They wanted to know who Omar was, where he came from, and his connection to the missing woman; and where Omar's pistol came from, and why I thought someone was threatening Miss Kellogg, with people who might be Russians What the hell happened to the gangsters on the street.Was Miss Kellogg with you at the time?Why doesn't she go to the hotel?Is she your girlfriend, Mr. Mishkin?

No, she's not my girlfriend; no, I don't know who took her; they just want the manuscript.Mr. Mishkin, why did they want that manuscript?Is that worth the money?Not really, but some thought the manuscript held a clue to something very valuable.Oh, like a treasure map?At this point in the conversation, they started rolling their eyes and giggling. My speech was roughly like this: You can laugh if you want to, but a man was tortured to death because of the whereabouts of this thing, and now another woman is kidnapped, but you Take the whole thing as a joke.Then we discussed the case of Professor Bustrow.

To be fair, this is rarely the case for agents in the metropolitan area.They hope it's just a family case about a rich lunatic.The cops dusted everything with black fingerprint powder, took lots of pictures, and took away Omar's gun and his blood samples, and Omar got hurt because of me.The police said they would contact me again and left.As soon as they left I went out and drove to St. Vincent's Hospital to visit Omar.I wasn't surprised to see two detectives there, they were pressing Omar, but he didn't know anything, and I had to wait until they were done before I could go in.Omar had a concussion, and the hospital wanted him to stay overnight for observation, so I assured him that he would be in touch with his family, and he didn't have to worry about the cost.

I made this unpleasant call on my cell phone to report to his family.I was about to put my phone away when it vibrated again, and it was Miranda. where are youall right?I naturally asked the export.Of course it was a stupid question, but I knew she couldn't answer the first question, and the answer to the second question was too obvious to be scary. I am fine.The audio doesn't sound good at all. where are youidiot! I don't know, they put the bag over my head.Listen, Jack, you can't call the police, they told me to call you and tell you about it. OK, I'm not going to call the police.i lied.

Is Omar okay?they hit him Omar is fine.what do they wantThey already took the damn letters, why take you? They wanted other letters, encrypted letters written in ciphers. I don't understand, your uncle gave me only those letters, I don't know what encrypted letters are. No, there were those letters when it was discovered.There is a woman here named Luo Li who said so, and I think they kidnapped it too. Russian? No, it was an American. She said that there was a letter written in code in the package, but someone did not hand it over as promised. Who didn't hand it over? It doesn't matter, these people said, those encrypted letters belonged to them, they paid cash to buy it from their uncle, a lot of cash, and uncle wanted to deceive them, Jack, they wanted

In fact, it’s so excruciating for me to rewrite these conversations at this moment, we’re all yelling at the phone. (It's true that a lot of people will talk loudly on their phones, making the street look like crazy people, but I usually don't do it. I often think that real crazy people see them yelling at the phone like this, don't know How do you feel.) She was halfway through when someone cut off the phone.The purpose of this call is obvious, if I don't find those coded letters from Brace Godou, they will treat her like her uncle; also, if they find out that the police have been involved, they will definitely kill her immediately .

A dense fog shrouded the lake, and there were three gunshots in a row, as well as the sound of an electric boat, which sounded like it was coming from far away.Hunter?Is it duck hunting season?I have no idea.As a precaution, I reloaded the gun, finding the action reassuring.Mickey's little house is located at the southernmost end of Lake Henry. There is a very detailed hydrographic map of the lake area on the wall of the living room. From the above, you can see that there were originally two lakes. Around 1900, summer came to this land. The rich dug a dam for summer vacation, the water level rose, and a series of small islands extending from the east coast appeared, which was very suitable for playing pirate games.But Mitch told me that boats couldn't get between those islands because of the reefs.To get to the house, either take a slow drive from New Weimar, a long, bad road, and another section of gravel road, as I did, or take the interchange at Underwood. Road, drive a short distance in the direction of Lake Henry.The town is at the northernmost end of the lake, and then take a mahogany speedboat and arrive after twelve miles.This way is more fashionable, and Mickey and his family almost always come this way.The land route is actually relatively short, about an hour faster, but less comfortable.If I were a mafia guy, I would also rent or buy an electric boat, start from the south of the town, and after killing the hostages, throw the body into the lake on the way back and tie something heavy so that the body can sinking.The deepest part of the lake was sixty feet deep, not very deep, but deep enough.

I went on to check my notes for the rest of the day and found that the morning meeting had been cancelled.I remembered that I could barely sleep that night and when I woke up I called my secretary, Miss Macdonald, asked her to cancel all appointments and reschedule, and then asked her an important question, and her answer was definitely.Miss Macdonald has two copies of everything, and she's the photocopier princess.She did make a photocopy of Brace Godou's manuscript.Omar had called to ask me to get him to the hospital, so I went to pick him up, he was holding the steering wheel, feeling happy, with a white medical hood wrapped around his head, looking more like his ancestors in the desert than usual.He proudly told me he still had a gun and I didn't want to press further. On my instructions, we went to the office to get a copy of Brace Godo's files, then took the East River Road north to Harlem.Although I asked him again about the events of the previous night, he still couldn't recall anything.He apologized to me again for not being able to help because he was sneaked; he said he didn't know how someone could sneak into an apartment and sneak up on him in that position.I don't understand either, and things are getting more and more complicated, adding another mystery. Our destination that morning was 151st Street, just past a group of buildings beyond Frederick Douglas Avenue that belonged to, or were managed by, my brother Paul.Because, officially, he doesn't own any property, and he took over the hot potato a few years ago when the city auctioned off the estate.At the time the buildings were being set on fire almost daily, and he later renovated the houses into what he called the Urban Abbey.You might be a little surprised that Paul is now a Jesuit priest, because the last time I mentioned him, he was a bastard in jail.Luckily he's still a bit of a thug, so I didn't go to him until after Miranda disappeared, and he has a deep knowledge of violent crime. I think many surprising things often happen in my life.For example, Paul is actually very smart, probably smarter than me in many ways.Many families will give their children some fixed role titles. Take my family as an example. My sister Mi Rui is a brainless beauty, I am a smart guy, and Paul is a rebellious black sheep that is not easy to mess with.He never did his schoolwork, dropped out at seventeen, and spent twenty-six months in Auburn Jail for armed robbery.When a good-looking blond white boy like him goes to prison, you can imagine his fate: the most common choice is to be raped by every prisoner, or raped many times by some powerful gangster.Paul chose the latter, deferring to the villain because it was healthier and safer.Not long after, Paul built a little dagger himself, and stabbed the bad, strong man many times while he was asleep, but the man survived.Paul spent the rest of his prison time alone. The inmates in the same area were all child molesters or gang informants.I know he started reading, because every month I would take a big bag of books with him at his request, and I was amazed by his progress in prison, from low-level popular novels all the way to better-quality novels, and saw philosophy and history, Finally there is theology.By the time he was eligible for parole, he was already reading the works of Catholic Father Conn and Jesuit Father Lana. He joined the army as soon as he got out of prison because he had nowhere to go and he wanted an education.It was the height of the Vietnam War and the military wasn't very picky, I guess Paul had the SS grandfather's genes because he turned out to be a model soldier: Paratrooper, Commando, Special Forces, Silver Star medal.He served two stints in Southeast Asia, mostly in Shan territory, where Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia meet and are often in conflict with each other.What happened to him there is like the story of Marlon Brando in "Apocalypse Now".In fact Paul's only comment on the experience was: It was like a movie. Strangely enough, that horrible experience turned him not into a monster, but into a saint.He finished St. John's University on the benefits of the GI Bill and joined the Jesuits.When he told me, I thought he was joking, he was a priest?And still a Jesuit?But it turns out that you can never tell what is most important in a person's life.I was completely flabbergasted by his transformation. He came back to New York and wanted to find a slum and build a shelter, so he rolled up his sleeves and did it.However, he is Paul, and the Jesuits have always had a tradition of social experiments, so the approach must be a little different.He's a saint, but he's still a bastard, of which there are several in the saint calendar, including, for example, the Apostle Paul, who happens to be named after my brother Paul.My brother's theory was that human civilization was dying, entering a dark age, and that the slums of the metropolitan areas were a harbinger of this trend.He said that the so-called dark ages were the forgetting of civilization and art, coupled with the growing unwillingness of the ruling class to pay attention to civic life, this is what caused the decline of the Roman Empire.His belief, however, was that the people in the slums didn't need help because they would adapt better than the ruling class when all the institutions fell apart.He believed that slum dwellers had very low needs and were more willing to devote themselves to charity work, and they didn't need to learn anything, which is why Jesus loved them more.Yeah, it sounds crazy, but when I look at people around me who are middle class, or higher class, it's a situation of utter helplessness.We depend on electricity and cheap gasoline, and on millions of unseen people who do our work for us, but pay the price.We lock the gates, as if locking up our domain, and enjoy the comfort of our apartment house, doing nothing but manipulating symbols.I often think what he says makes sense. So Paul built a place that looked like a church and a school, similar to an early medieval monastery, with two buildings and an open space in the middle.The place faced the street through a wall and a gate, and Omar and I walked through the always-open gate that day.We parked the big car directly on the street, and because of the sanctity of the place, I didn't have to worry about someone trying to steal my car.The former buildings are now a monastery-like space, with vegetable gardens, a fountain, and playgrounds.One of the buildings is the school, which caters from kindergarten to secondary school; the other part is the residence, with office dormitories and event spaces.There is a resident club for the severely handicapped, a part-time clinic, and a kitchen run by Catholic social workers serving soup.The place is perpetually chaotic, with crazy or handicapped people doing their own thing; a gang of reformed gangsters in robes, juggling various jobs; schoolchildren in clean uniforms running around like a medieval scene. scene.Omar always feels at home here. I'd go to Paul because he's got a witty side to him, so much like our dad, I'm a baby compared to him.Although I often feel ashamed of relying on my brother like this, I still rely on him occasionally, and he says it helps my soul. We found him in the basement of the school building, dirty in his blue burqa, talking to a construction contractor about some kind of boiler, but dirt looks good on Paul.He is a little shorter than me, and his figure is much more elegant. In my eyes, compared with when I went to the airport to greet him after he retired and returned home twenty-five years ago, in fact, he is not much different except that his hair is longer. He still looks very handsome. Like Ruger in Blade Runner.Hauer, or the model for the Waffen-SS conscription poster.He hugged us both, grinned wide, his teeth gleaming in the dim basement, and he spoke to the contractors to keep them working before leading us to his overstuffed office with a view of the balcony , clock tower, and amusement park.Of course he asked about Omar's head injury.I think he likes Omar more than me.No, that's not true.Paul loves me and it's driving me crazy.I want to be nice to him, but I can't always do it.I think it's Dad Izzy playing tricks on me. Paul learned the whole thing from Omar, and heard Omar tell a lot of silly things about his family, and how much his Arab relatives suffered in the West Bank and so on.Omar then retired to go to midday prayers.After he left, a handsome boy with brown skin ran in. He was wearing a good school uniform, a dark blue single-breasted jacket, gray trousers, a white shirt, and a black and white striped tie. The boy left after delivering a message up.After the boy left, I was quite surprised and said: Are you interested in this now?Peachy butts glistening in the dim light of the sacristy Older nuns are enough to satisfy my remnants of lust, thank you.He said, still smiling, Speaking of lust, you seem to be caught in some woman's web again, who is this Miranda? It's nothing special, it's a party, and I let her stay because someone seems to be following her. Yeah, you know what, Emma called me this morning and she was very upset. Really, my God, Paul, I'm so sorry I upset her.I know!Why don't you just marry her and forget it, you two are a match made in heaven, I can continue to perish, and be with Mi Rui Mi Rui is also very worried about you, what is going on with these Russian gangsters? The other thing that drives me crazy is my family always talking about me behind my back, apart from my sex life, I try to live a flawless life, one of the reasons is to avoid gossip, but obviously I fail.I endured it for the time being, because I came to see Paul this time, hoping that he would give me some advice on this matter.Of all the people I know, Paul has the widest network, he knows all kinds of people in New York, from the street people to the mayor.I told him the whole story: Buscher, the manuscript of Bruce Goddou, the murder, the street attack, my conversation with Miri (although he had already heard it from Miri), meeting Miranda , she was kidnapped, and that phone call and so on. After he listened to me quietly, he waved his hand and turned around and said: Then what? then what? do you have?Fucking that Miranda?Don't try to lie, I can tell from your expression. Is this all you care about?Did I fuck that woman?Is murder and kidnapping less important than where I put that stick? It's not that important, but whether you sleep with her or not seems to determine the course of your life, and it will get the person I love into trouble, so I ask. Oh, I thought the church only cared if people went to bed or not.Or are you not speaking as a church clergyman now? That's right, you always feel that your problem is excessive indulgence. From the perspective of Catholicism, lust is not a problem, and it will naturally be resolved in twenty years.Your sin is laziness, it has always been, you have to cultivate yourself, but you have been refusing to cultivate yourself.You are responsible for all the bad things that happened to our house, maybe even WWII But you are in jail, who will take care of family affairs if I don't? True, but that's irrelevant.God doesn't go to jail and you refuse to seek God's help; you just take it on your shoulders and fail.You have never forgiven yourself, and therefore you don't feel you deserve any forgiveness, so you go out of your way to hurt those who love you.In short, the reason for all this is that Jack.Mishkin has fallen so deep that he has lost all hope of heaven. Anyone who loves him must be delusional, and therefore cannot be trusted.You guy, why are you smiling at me?Every time you come, I have to repeat these words. You clearly know that what I said is true, but you will still ignore it.You are so lazy, such a sin kills hope, and you know that one day you will die for it. Like mom?Do you really think so?He waited for the high-pitched grinding noise from the bike repair machine shop downstairs, and he waited for the noise to die down: Yes, I do think so.You should also know that, as the saying goes, God created us without our help; so if we won't let God help us, He can't do anything.Either you pray for grace, forgive others and be forgiven, or you die. As you command, Father.I threw my head back, looking devout. He sighs, tired of this pathetic game I've forced him to play; I'm tired of it too, but it's like an unstoppable itch, one that you can't stop reaching for.He said: Yeah, you manipulated me into making me start preaching so you win, congratulations.Now what are we going to do with your problem? I don't know, that's why I came to you. What do you think of this Russian Puccio?Shavnov involved? Pretty sure, but I can't think of who's behind the scenes. Why bother?The manuscript was gone, and the disappearance of this woman was the police's business. I was told not to call the police, she said they would kill her. You feel it is your duty to save her. I said I would protect her but I didn't, so I do think I should save her. You want to continue the affair because you're in love. What the hell does it matter?Her life is in danger! He rested his chin on the back of his hand and looked directly at me, making me a little uncomfortable.Now instead of beating me, he uses this method to make me uncomfortable.Then he said: Of course, I will help you in various ways. I have some connections in the police station. I will make a few calls to ask about Shafnov’s background, and I will also send a message to ask them to be more serious. Don't do this, don't involve the police!You have other pipes. I do, well, I'll ask around on the street. Thanks.My biggest concern is Emma and the kids if the bad guys try to put pressure on me I'll take care of that too.He answered me like this.That's why I'm here, of course, and Paul knows a lot of tough guys in the area who are called natural gangsters.They had a strange relationship with Paul, and he felt that they were all former Germanic barbarians or Slavic barbarians.After the missionaries went deep into the dark world, they met those barbarians and made them believe in religion.Those people are vain and violent, but they don't know what they want either.When Paul first started this church, he had to fight these guys on the street, showing that he was tougher than they were, and he was pretty tough.In the past, he was still a little famous in the Jianghu, stabbing people in prison, let them know about it; besides, it is mentioned that he alone killed more people on the battlefield than all of them combined. Things are also a plus. Also, Paul said, New York gangs weren't too difficult to deal with compared to Vietnamese villagers.New York gangsters have never been hungry, even if they have been in prison, compared with ordinary homes in Vietnam back then, the prison cells are like luxury beauty salons.He said his brethren over there in Vietnam could eat all the New York gangsters for breakfast, call your gang black gangsters, blood gangs, or gang disciples.Paul was not afraid of them like other socioeconomically advantaged people, and he hadn't been afraid of anyone since he was ten years old.The pathetic foolishness of these New York gangsters aroused sympathy in him, and he took them as seriously as wild tribes, like the Jesuits in history.Paul singled out the gang leader, the most brutal one, and made some kind of agreement with them, mainly to ensure that there would be no drugs, no prostitutes, and no escape from street violence in the streets around Paul's house. People can seek shelter here.Many people send their children or younger siblings to his school to be educated, which is very suitable for the needs of the dark world, and it is only natural for a person like my brother. Now I can see that Paul threw me out as soon as he decided he wanted to help me.My brother is not a comfortable person, a bit like Jesus in Matthew, always on the run, very impatient with the apostles, always feels that time is running out, need to find out the successor quickly, let them hurry Prepare for the day when Jesus must leave.He turned to talk to some boys, so I went to Ouma and left gracefully. We drove west and south until the campus of Columbia University came into view.I can usually handle Mickey.Haas' schedule, so I know Thursday mornings are his office hours.He was in the office when I called and could have lunch with me.This time we changed places and ate at the staff club.I always think that if you want to have lunch in New York, the restaurant on the fourth floor of the Columbia Faculty Building is a great place. It is beautifully decorated, airy, and the high windows can see one of the best views in the city. You can eat all you want at noon. The buffet prices are also very reasonable. (Mitch prefers our usual Sorrentino's, I think because he likes to get a little tipsy at lunch but doesn't want his co-workers to see him drunk; maybe also because he likes My car will pick him up.) We were almost at the club when my phone rang and it was my sister. You're right, she said: Osip.Shavnov would love to see you. So quickly, I said: He must owe you a favor. Osip never owed people, Jack, he made people owe him.The fact that it was he who called me and asked me to arrange it was not a good sign. I'm sure it'll be fine.I said, not sure at all.Where and when? Do you know Rasputin's restaurant?The one on Lafayette Street? Are you kidding me, it's like meeting the godfather of New York gangsters at the godfather's pizzeria. what can I say?Osip.Shavnov is very humorous.Anyway, he said he'd be there after ten o'clock tomorrow night, and I'm trying to tell you to be careful, but it's so old-fashioned, but you're going to be careful, aren't you?If something bad happens to you, I think you'll want to be buried in Greenwood Cemetery, next to your mother's grave, and I'll send you the cheesiest wreath in the world. I remember the day Mitch and I had roast beef and shared a bottle of Cabernet de Merfair, which he joked was too good for a professor of English literature.Mitch was in a really good mood. I asked him if his financial situation was improving, and he said yes. We talked about hedge funds, real estate securitization funds, and commodity futures, but I went in one ear and out the other.Mickey, sensing my lack of interest, politely changed the subject and asked me what was going on.I took out the photocopied copy of Bracegold's letter that I had gotten from Miss Macdonald that morning and pushed it over to his desk.this one.I said. This is it?Bustrow stuff?God!Of course, he read Jacobean handwriting as easily as a normal person reads printed English, and he absorbed it immediately, ignoring the waiter who came to ask if he wanted dessert, which was the first time I saw it.He turned over for about twenty minutes, and occasionally let out a faint exclamation: Oh my God!I drank my coffee, looked at the other diners, and flirted with an attractive brown-haired woman at another table.There's a play going on in my little theater of the heart, and every time I visit my brother, it usually goes like this: constant, constant, outright cursing at him and his job, who does he think he is?The blue-eyed, white-skinned god who descended on the slums brought salvation to the dark world without authorization!It's ridiculous, it's blasphemy!The arrogance is almost Nazi-like.This shadow puppetry brought a wave of sad joy until Mickey sitting next to me yelled whoa!Before he stopped, he was so loud that even the brown-haired woman and several other guests noticed. His fat fingers point to these papers, do you know what this is? A bit of a concept, Miranda read it and explained the value of the document to me, but I couldn't understand it like a scholar. Miranda.Kellogg?She has seen this thing?He looked a little unhappy. Yes, she is the legal owner of the original. But now you keep the file? So I told him what had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and he was terrified. so terrible.He said.Absolutely a disaster! Yeah, I'm worried about her. No, I mean the manuscript, the original document.His manner of speaking was rather cold, and he was qualified to be a lawyer.Without that, this item is worthless, and he patted the pile of photocopied documents and said, oh my god, we have to get it back!Do you know the seriousness of this matter? Everyone asks me that, and my answer is that I don't know.Some kind of literary charade with dynamite hidden?My tone was cold, but he didn't care, because this was the new Mickey, not the laid-back gentleman scholar who found it amusing and satisfying to watch his peers struggle to climb the slippery ladder of academia.There was fire in his eyes, and I listened to this new Mickey expounding on the enormous scholarly value of the Buchner manuscript as if I were listening to someone describe a tiresomely complex surgical procedure. After a while I couldn't help but chime in: So does it matter if Shakespeare was a Catholic? Discover anything about Shakespeare that matters!I have already told you that he is the greatest writer in the history of mankind, but we know almost nothing about his private life.Let me give you an example: a woman recently wrote a book, she is not a professional academic, but she definitely did research.She claimed to have read almost all of Shakespeare's works, especially the plays. The conclusion in the book is that Shakespeare's works are all a set of exquisite confessions written in code, admitting that she is a Catholic, and praying that the royal family can relax the control of Catholics.I mean, she literally cites hundreds of texts to assert her theory, and cites all of the plays; and she also says that powerful Catholics protected Shakespeare at the time, so Shakespeare wasn't traced, and the ciphers he wrote It could have been easily read in the public theater of the time.So it's a very comprehensive and original idea that can explain all of Shakespeare's works.what do you think? I shrugged and asked: So, the author of that book, is she right? I have no idea!no one knows!He almost growled, and more customers in the restaurant noticed him.I now finally understand why Mitch is so reluctant to eat here.She's probably right, and that's the damn point, Jack!Or someone could analyze the same plays with the same thoroughness and write a book arguing that Shakespeare was gay, Protestant glass, Royalist, leftist, or that he was the Earl of Oxford, you name it.All scholars who study Shakespeare's life or intentions will encounter the most fundamental unsolvable problem, that we don't know, and here we are!He tapped on the papers.If it's true, I mean, if Shakespeare research started in the eighteenth century, this document would be, I don't know, the most important event ever. How important is this letter? Nope, that's just the first part, a whole little hors d'oeuvres, but Jack he lowered his voice and put his mouth in my ear as if he was telling a secret Jack, if this guy spied on Shakespeare, if he wrote the report, if he described自己悲慘的生活，也同樣描述了莎士比亞的生活，喔，老天啊，那我們可就有了真憑實據，不只是看了該死的《李爾王》第二幕，再根據其中的意象去猜測，而是真正的資訊！他見過誰、他說了什麼、他平常說話的方式、他相信什麼、他吃什麼、喝什麼、給小費大不大方、老二有多長傑克，你他媽的根本一點都不懂。 我可知道那份劇本手稿價值多少。 他翻了個白眼，故意擺出用手給臉搧風的樣子，那個啊，我們根本還不用想到那地方去。不，要是我們能拿到那些提到的密碼信，我現在就會興奮到射了！難怪老布斯卓會玩得這麼險，那個可憐的混蛋。雖然不該說死人壞話，但是我為他做了那麼多事，他拿到這東西至少也該給我瞧一眼。 他一定是被弄瘋了，他對他姪女也沒說過一句。 是啊，那個可憐的女人。你不知道這些間諜寫的加密信件在哪裡？ 我不知道，但是我現在想要知道的是，或許你可以幫得上忙，為什麼一個俄國黑道份子會對這個產生這麼大的興趣，不惜犯下聯邦重罪，他該不會是現代語言學會會員吧？ 學會有很多黑幫份子，或是更糟的人，米奇微笑著說，但是我明白你的意思。他暫停了一下，瞬間露出了一種很奇怪，如同做夢一般的表情，好像剛吸進一口鴉片，眼睛半閉著，好像想著天堂就在伸手可及的地方。接著他回過神來說：除非 我知道他要說什麼，是啊，除非布斯卓去英國的時候發現什麼，證明了那個東西的存在。假設這東西真的存在，而這些人，或者說雇用這些人的傢伙，知道了這件事，想得到這東西，但是後來才發現，那些密碼信藏著能指向這東西的線索。這些人到底是否已經拿到信了？ 你在問我？ 是啊，除了布斯卓，或許還有米蘭達之外，你是最懂這東西的人了，而現在那兩個人都連絡不上。很顯然有人給了布斯卓這份手稿，萬一那堆要賣的文件裡還有其他的信，而布斯卓沒買下呢？ 不可能，要是能到手整份文件，他連祖母跟外婆都可以賣掉。 是啊，但現在可沒有人要買祖母跟外婆，這是空頭市場。他得出價多少錢才能買下布瑞斯葛斗的信？ 我不知道如果賣家急著想求現的話，可能會賣到五萬塊左右吧。但要是拿到拍賣會，天知道會衝到多少，或者要兩倍，甚至三倍 布斯卓有那麼多現金嗎？ 怎麼可能，那個哈姆雷特偽本事件讓他快被律師搾乾了。他要來這裡當客座，我還得幫他預支薪水當旅費，等一下！ 是啊，要是他沒有錢，他怎麼拿到那手稿的？兩個可能：他付給那個賣家的價錢很低，那賣家不知道這是什麼東西，又被騙說這個布瑞斯葛斗不值得那麼多錢；假設賣家有那些密碼信，他一定根本沒有拿出來給布斯卓看。或者，布斯卓看到了整組文件，而賣家知道這東西的價值想要大撈一筆。但為什麼布斯卓不去找專業的福格圖書館？或是去找老兄弟米奇．哈斯博士談這件事？ 米奇苦笑，因為他知道我也破產了嗎？ Does he know?但是有可能他也對文件存疑。說不定這個賣家本身就是個惡棍，但是他知道這些信的價值，可以引領他找到更重要的東西，所以布斯卓去找某個大人物，跟他談交易說：幫我買下這些信，我們可以找到這世界上最珍貴的東西。Then This is ridiculous!我是說，布斯卓當然可能使壞騙了某個天真的賣家，但是布斯卓根本不認識什麼大人物，他在紐約幾乎誰也不認識。 想到這裡，我覺得米奇說的可能是對的，米蘭達也說過類似的話，我想了想，又說：那這件事裡一定有個第三人。 你是說有某個人知道布斯卓手上東西的價值，又認識黑幫？還想大賺一筆？有這種人嗎？ 有啊，我說，我就是其中一個，我認識你這位傑出的英國文學教授，也認識一些不好惹的人。無論如何，布斯卓可能去找了一個這樣的人，告訴他那東西不難到手，這個人，不管是為了什麼原因，告訴了某個壞蛋。布斯卓去了英國又回來，知道有人跟蹤他，所以把包裹塞給我，然後黑道就抓住他刑求，直到他說出我的名字，所以我也就被他們發現了，米蘭達被綁走，也解釋了為什麼他們想要拿到密碼信。 不管是你還是米蘭達都沒有那些加密信件，因為信根本就不在布斯卓手裡。那些加密信件到底存在嗎？ 第三人肯定知道信件的存在。告訴我，布斯卓有沒有跟你說那個賣他手稿的人叫什麼名字？ 從來沒有，我的老天爺，他為什麼不來找我呢？如果要用合理的價錢買下那些文件，來找我幫忙是最簡單的方法了。 我告訴他米蘭達跟我說過的事，布斯卓對於那次哈姆雷特偽本事件覺得很丟臉，所以變得疑神疑鬼。米奇搖搖頭說：那個可憐的傢伙！如果他來找我，他現在還會活著，但是你知道的，要找到這個賣家的名字應該不難，布斯卓有訪客日誌，或者他可能給了那賣家一張支票。麻煩的是，他的日誌和支票簿都在警方手裡。 沒錯，但總有辦法拿到的。我想，我是負責布斯卓遺物的律師，也是他繼承人的律師，我去問問警察是否願意讓我看看那些東西。 事情大概就是如此，我很確定就是那時候才想到要去查那個賣家。跟米奇分開之後，莫瑞探員打我的手機，回覆我前一晚打給他的電話，他當然已經聽說了我家被人闖空門，偷了東西還綁架客人的事情，想要跟我談談。我編了個故事給他聽，我說沒有綁架這件事，凱洛格小姐已經打電話給我說她沒事，她說在發生攻擊之前她就已經離開公寓了，也已經把文件帶走了。基本上，那些文件是屬於她的，所以沒必要為了一個成年女人突然想去某個地方而感到緊張。他說這樣很好，因為我的古老文件和安德魯．布斯卓的死沒有關連，那起謀殺案今天已經結案了，殺手是一個叫做奇可加薩的十九歲同性戀男妓，警方已經拘留他，他也自白了，就像警方猜的一樣，性遊戲玩得過火了。那男孩會被抓到，是因為他想用布斯卓的信用卡。所以你是對的，我用一種鬆了一口氣的語調說，街頭攻擊、預謀搶劫跟攻擊、失蹤的女人，全都是巧合罷了。我為了曾經懷疑他而道歉，他很有風度地回答說，驚悚片常常讓市民把事情複雜化，但真實的犯罪往往很愚蠢簡單，就像這個案子一樣，常常發生這種情況。 我同意事情很可能是這樣，並且說如果調查已經結束，我又是布斯卓的律師，不知道警方同不同意讓我去翻翻關於布斯卓財產的文件？他說沒問題。 第二封加密信 爵爺，您一定要相信，我了解您在一月十六日密函當中對我的指責，今後會努力遵照您的指示把致您的信寫短一點。因為我最近才知道，我有點不知分寸，無法分辨哪些是廢話，哪些事不值得大人您的關注。我們的計畫有了以下的進展：在伊莉莎白公主生日的那天，如你所說，在懷特霍爾有慶祝活動和宴會，我們受命要去演《無事生非》和其他的一些假面劇。自從上一封信之後，我成為了他們劇團的人，不只是管帳的，也包括所有雜工，類似事務總管。我不但要搬東西、抬東西，還要幫忙漆、建舞台。除了這些工程勞務外，我也要上台撐場面，當士兵、隨從之類的，穿著廉價的長袍、鋼盔，手上拿錫劍等。這麼做，雖然等於冒著靈魂墮落的危險，但我想，主會諒解一切的，因為我在舞台上沒有台詞。這幾週我大多和莎士比亞在一起，他很喜歡我，挽留我住在他黑僧劇院旁的房子。演出當天，我原本只要演守衛和侍從，但就在表演前一刻，有個叫亞瑟先生的演員意外從舞台上摔了下來，站不起來，於是我也必須演出男童的角色。這個角色有台詞，只有兩句而已，但我發誓我寧可在戰場上面對塞維爾的西班牙大軍大舉來襲，也不願在觀眾前開口，就算是在皇室前也一樣。但最後，雖然我抖個不停，演的也還算可以。 國王在第三幕的時候睡著了，他們跟我說他總是這樣，不過王后和公主則熱烈鼓掌。之後，我們在側房享用蛋糕和馬姆齊甜酒。此時高貴的羅勃．維瑞爵士進來了，穿著相當華貴。他是屬於羅徹斯特爵爺那一派。他和莎士比亞、波比莒先生說了一些話，莎士比亞便滿臉疑惑地叫我過去，我照他的話過去，維瑞爵士帶著我走到房間的另一邊，只有我和他，他問我知不知道現在的計畫。爵爺啊，因為先前您在密函中已經告訴過我了，所以我回答：我知道，先生。 .他偷偷給我另一封密函，他說：孩子，你現在臉上最好露出恐懼的神情，像看到鬼一樣。他離開後，我把信塞入胸中。此時要我假裝身體顫抖，臉上露出膽怯的神色實在一點兒也不難。 後來，他們都想知道維瑞爵士對我說了什麼，但我不說，只說是私人的事。他們全都嘲笑我：爵士跟你這種人哪會有什麼私人的事，大概就只有性方面的事吧。他們便開始以此做文章，抓著陰囊放蕩地嬉笑，稱我為維瑞爵士的姘頭。但我發現莎士比亞沒有加入，甚至神情有些嚴肅，靜靜望著我。 隔天在黑僧劇院，他來到我的廂房。我獨自一個人在裡面寫帳本。他坐了下來說：理查，你看起來很英勇，但我不覺得你能帥到令羅勃．維瑞爵士慾火焚身，而且你天生就是異性戀。所以，說吧，我不是你的好表哥嗎？告訴我你跟這位先生之間的事。如果以榮譽之名無法完整的明說，那也可以輕輕地簡單帶過去，讓我知道大概的情況，確定和我以及劇團無關就好。我說：先生，你為什麼會覺得這件事跟你有關呢？他按著他制服外套的皇室徽章說：老弟，你也不是笨蛋。我們是國王的手下，維瑞則是羅徹斯特爵爺的親信，而所有人都知道爵爺控制著國王。所以，如果爵爺需要向我們劇團吩咐什麼，他就會找我或其他負責人。因此，我一定要問：為什麼他會找一個無名小伙子，一個最近才加入的小伙子，一位聲稱是我表弟的小伙子。一位吃飯時，會暗自在胸口劃十字的小伙子。他很仔細地審視我，表情十分嚴肅，我從來沒看過他這樣看過別人。我以為他已經看穿了一切，我要完蛋了。但我鼓起勇氣，心中也暗想：啊，他上鉤了。 於是我跪倒在地哭喊：喔，我的表哥啊，雖然我是個叛徒，但別對我生氣。我是羅徹斯特爵爺派來監視你的間諜。他臉色發白說：這怎麼可能？我沒有對那位高貴的爵爺做任何不對的事，他看起來對我十分友善。我說：喔，先生，都是有關信仰、政治、分權之類的大事，我只是一個可憐的孩子，歷經船難的水手，我為什麼會蹚入這混水之中呢？我開始哭泣，這些淚水是真的，我想。他問：你是我真的表弟嗎？還是只是憑空胡說的？我說：不，全是真的，我以母親的墓發誓，爵爺就因為我是你的表弟才會選我，這樣你才會更加信任我。 後來，他扶我坐到一張椅子上，說：兄弟，那現在你能老實跟我說所有的事嗎？於是，我就照您在上一封密信中說好的計畫告訴他：國王為了和平，希望能替王子亨利促成一樁天主教的婚事，但議會中的清教徒可能會反對、鄙視這件事。爵爺十分贊同國王的想法，決定一手全權負責，因此清教徒都十分怨恨他。這些無賴大罵，之前伊莉莎白女王都沒有這樣不尊重他們，並辱罵說，國王只是天主教婊子掛的臭小子。國王漸漸注意到他們把自己和前女王相比，也發現他們看不起自己的母親瑪麗女王。因此，他希望自己能成為比伊莉莎白更偉大的君主。爵爺現在想出了一個辦法。他覺得不如寫一齣劇來述說蘇格蘭瑪麗女王的故事，以增加眾人對她的了解，並將伊莉莎白女王描繪成暴虐的老太婆，長期受偽善的清教徒所控制。這齣劇流傳出去之後，也許就能平熄眾人對蘇格蘭女王的閒語和不滿。這類的劇以前就曾出現過：亨利四世篡位不就因此變得高尚了嗎？而理查二世不是變成邪惡殘忍的小人嗎？而這樣的一齣劇不就會令清教徒派系感到難堪嗎？人民不就會對他們感到反感嗎？英國又有誰最會寫這樣的劇呢？ 說到這邊，他了解了我的意思，並發聲大叫：什麼？他要我來寫這齣劇？我說：是的，表哥，爵爺是這麼吩咐的。莎士比亞大叫：但是，這類的劇我從來都沒聽過。你知道國王當初因為《愛德華二世》劇中有一點點反蘇格蘭，就解散了黑僧劇團的人，毀掉他們的劇團。他怎麼可能想做一齣劇來侮辱偉大的伊莉莎白女王和整個新教教會？damn it!我不相信你，小子。這一定是我敵人設計要來陷害我的。 聽到這裡，我有點不安，大人，因為我想他就快發現我們的陰謀了，但我說：不是的，先生，這是爵爺自己的命令，你想想：這就是為什麼維瑞爵士要來找我，而不是找你或其他負責人。我們都被間諜監視著，這消息絕對不能被發現是從爵爺那裡來的。這齣劇一定要暗中寫出來，只有我和你知道，事成後拿去給爵爺，他會說服國王讓這齣劇能上台表演。雖然國王陛下有能力擊敗清教徒，但他不敢，至少現在不敢，因為他很膽小。這未完成的劇只是巨大陰謀的一部分，其他還需待更多時間來達成，包括西班牙的聯姻、新主教上任、通過反對清教徒秘密集會新法和赦免天主教徒等。我說這些的時候，仔細注視著他，但我無法從他的臉上看出任何端倪。他說：為什麼國王現在偏愛天主教徒，他們早先不是差一點就害死他嗎？我回答：都是政策啊，表哥，我們這類人是無法理解的。我們唯一一定要做的，就是遵循皇室的命令。不過有一件事是確定的：國王一定要讓他的主教統管教會，現在比起新教，他比較支持天主教。他說：我還是不信。於是我拿出胸中的信，上面印有羅徹斯特爵爺偽造的彌封印，我說：那相信這封信吧。並遞給他。他便打開來看。後來我問：爵爺希望聖誕節前寫完，你那時候寫得完嗎？他說：可以，我有一個小作品要寫，一齣有關新大陸、船難、魔幻之島的劇，你的水手長也在裡面，再兩週就寫完了。接著也許我就可以開始寫這齣劇，願主保祐我們所有人。他說完之後，像我一般在胸前劃了十字，我此時心想，爵爺，我們逮到他了。 然後忽然，他的臉一變，露出十分專注的表情，微笑說：你答應過要教我怎麼用新的方法算術的。他試著說出正確的字。我說：你是指阿拉伯計數法（ａｌｇｏｒｉｓｍ）。他把這個新詞寫在筆記本裡，問我這個詞是從哪來的。我說我的老師說是阿拉伯文，他重複唸了幾次。於是我們開始研究算術。爵爺啊，我覺得我們必須先做好準備，隨機應變，才能抓到這個人。因為我從來沒看過一個人如此內斂、如此深沉，其他人完全無法看穿他。其他演員在台上的確很稱職地扮演自己的角色，但下台之後，就回復到自己的身份；但這位莎士比亞每一秒都在演戲，我想沒有人能看見這位演員之下真正的他。我謙卑地執行自己的義務，並向爵爺您致上無上的榮耀，願主幫助你戰勝真實信仰的仇敵。 一六一〇年一月二十六日星期五，於倫敦 Richard.布瑞斯葛斗