Chapter 32 Thirty One Hertens

Gilbert.Joseph said to me: It's not chips.Didn't your mommy tell you how to make fries? I told him: My mother taught me to be thankful for the food the Lord provided. But your mommy doesn't have to eat this here. This man made a fuss again, looking at his plate as if it was unpalatable.He finds fault with everything I do in this poor place.I removed his suit from the wall where it had hung precariously all day, jacket and trousers looking at me like human relics.Every time my eyes meet that empty suit, I swear, a hand moves or a leg swings.But when I stare at it suddenly, it stops.I put that suit in a wardrobe drawer so it doesn't threaten me again.Why touch his suit?His suit would wrinkle.It was his best suit.He was so angry that his lower lip was so high I could put a postage stamp on it.

I told him: I'm going to clean this place.But I annoy him even by cleaning this dirty place.get up, get up!The Lord can be my witness, this stupid man is simply unreasonable. How come you don't know what French fries are?he ask me.He picked up the potato with his fingers to show me.Any fool knows he's going to get burned.He dropped the potatoes again and cooled his hands.I told him the English woman downstairs assured me it was chips.Now his eyes are wide open.did you talk to queenie It was she who told me that French fries are potatoes cut into small pieces.Also reminded me twice, be sure to peel the skin first.So I followed the instructions and cut up the baby Irish potatoes.I only have a small stove for cooking, so I cook the potatoes in a saucepan with water.

Gilbert.When Joseph came in after get off work, the air-conditioning cloud followed him closely, and the whole room shivered under his footsteps.He went straight to the fire without even stopping to take off his coat.He drew the chair up to the fire and sat down on it loudly, blocking the heat like a storm cloud before the sun.And that stove is where I was going to cook his rotten fries.The stove I'm going to use has a blue flame snaking right in front of the hearth fire.I can't get around this rough man and get on with my work. I told him: you have to go away. Why? so that i can cook.

He moved his foot a little to the left and said: You can pass me. No, I can't make it through.Could you please go somewhere else?But the man just sucked in his breath through his teeth, lifted his legs, and kicked his feet up on the mantel over the fire. I told him: You can sit on the bed and wait for me to fix it. I will be cold. But your legs are in my way. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see me again, but his lips were still pursed in anger.He told me: You can slip under my legs. What?This man can't bear his wife kneeling on the floor to wash the floor, but he can watch me walk back and forth under his lap and cook for him with contentment.

I've just come in from outside and must get warm.He showed me the path I could walk under his thick legs, waved his hand back and forth, and said: There is a lot of room to pass. I told him: you move away.But the clown ignored me and just put his legs up a little.Before long he dozed off in his chair with his head resting on his hands and his mouth open.And I crawled under his lap with a pot of water like a servile dog.Holding potato chips and ducking at his feet, squatting and stirring the pot, crooked to see if it's cooking well. I also had to wake him up when the food was ready.When he got up he stared at me as if he had never looked at me.

I asked him: Can you take off your coat now? He said: don't.When I asked him to come to the table for dinner, he said no again. To eat is to be at the table. Miss Qianjin, you can eat where you want.I was too cold to move.He just reached out for the plate, then looked at the dinner in front of him and said: What is this?But I ignore him.Hortens, what kind of dinner is this, tell me? The British woman downstairs told me that the British like to eat French fries with eggs.It was just to my liking because I learned at school the British way to boil eggs: four minutes in boiling water.So what I served Gilbert was chips and eggs.I thought about removing the shell, but I also wanted to see how the person I married would eat the egg.In the home economics class, Ms. Han Li demonstrated the etiquette of eating eggs to us female students: cut the top with a knife, never use a spoon to knock the egg off the shell, and only rough people will let people see the bread dipped into the egg yolk .

What's this?He said again that the egg kept rolling around on the plate. It's french fries and eggs.I told him. He stared at me incredulously for a long time, during which only the breath was still functioning.Finally he said: You can't cook at all, can you? I told him: eat quickly, or the food will be blown off. He lowered his head, touched his chin with his hand, and then said: What? How long have you been in this country without knowing what a swish is?It is cold.Eat quickly, or the food will go cold.The man started muttering, and I knew he was wasting his efforts, calling the name of the Lord.

You can't even cook something as simple as french fries. Gilbert.Joseph, you really don't know how to repay your favor. Chips are fried.he huffed, popping the potatoes off his plate. Then your thick legs are blocking the way, what should I do?I told him. OK, he yelled, and I moved my leg away.Now you know how to make French fries? I avoid his gaze, leave the plate on the table, and sit on the bed.This scumbag won't make me cry.This vulgar rogue will not see tears in my eyes.He didn't even see how I cleaned this nasty little room.How do I make my bed with beautiful sheets.How do I clean the sink, scrub the walls.He didn't notice that his precious armchair was now resting on a wooden box instead of a Bible.He didn't see the dishes washed and put away.The blanket was patted.Didn't see the cloth on the table either.He would only block the heat around the fire with his bulk and let out steam from his coat like a dragon.I should be complaining about this intolerable situation.But it turned out that he was staring at me and sighing loudly.

I can teach you how to make french fries. Gilbert.Joseph, I don't need your help. Whatever you want, miss who can't cook.He started cracking the eggs in the way I expected, breaking the shells into small pieces and removing them.But when the heat started to come out of the egg, even I could smell the egg was spoiled, fidgeting like a gutter in the heat.He jumped up.Boy, the egg is broken. It's not my fault that you got the broken egg.The eggs were not bought by me.He threw the plate on the floor, the potatoes and the soft, stinking eggs onto the beaten rug. I can't stand this kind of thing any longer!He yelled for the whole house to hear.He rushed out of the room and slammed the door so violently that the armchair collapsed from the box.