Chapter 9 chapter eight
Later that day, copies of Martin Frost's Turned Lives were thus destroyed.Maybe I should be thankful that I saw that film at that time, thankful that I was able to witness the last screening of that film in Qingshizhuang, but I still can't help but wish: If Emma hadn't turned on the projector that morning, and I had never touched the film An exquisite and haunting skit film; if I don't like it from start to finish, it doesn't matter if it's shot in the wrong direction or doesn't make sense.However, it is not at all sloppy, not at all incomprehensible, just because I know that such a good work is about to disappear from the world, it makes me feel that I have traveled more than two thousand miles to catch up. Come almost as if to take part in a crime.That July afternoon, when Flipping Lives was incinerated along with the rest of Haight's films, I felt like I had a tragic experience, as if the whole fucking world had come to an end.
Martin Frost's Turned Life was the only film I watched at the time; I didn't have time to watch another film because I only had enough time to watch it from beginning to end. Prepare notebook and pen.I'm not contradicting myself when I say this; I wish I had never seen that film, but I did, but now that those words and images are ingrained in my heart, I'm also grateful for the opportunity to retain them in some form. live.Those notes I wrote down that morning not only helped me recall many details that are easily overlooked and forgotten, but also kept the film alive in my mind many years later.I almost never looked down at the notebook during the filming process, but used the code shorthand method that I practiced hard in my student days. No matter how many strokes I made, even though the handwriting was messy and difficult to read, I was able to decipher 90% or even 95% of it later. Content.It took me several weeks to painstakingly re-transcribe the dialogue in the film, and the plot was dismantled into scene after scene in order, so that I had the opportunity to reconstruct the mood when I watched the film.I have to let myself enter a certain state of meditation to achieve it (that is to say: it does not work every time), but as long as I am focused enough, and the mood and atmosphere are well matched, those words can indeed awaken the image in my heart, just Like re-watching Martin Frost's Turned Lives, or at least playing some of it in the projection room of my head.Last year, when I was first contemplating writing this book, I consulted a hypnotist several times.The first time there was no effect, but the next three times had significant results.Just by listening to the recordings of those consultation sessions, some gaps can be filled in, and some memories that are slowly disappearing can be recovered in large quantities.Honestly, the ancient philosophers seem to have been right: once experienced, never disappears.
Just a few minutes after noon, the film ended.Emma and I were both hungry and needed a break, so instead of moving on to the next movie right away, we headed out on the porch with our picnic basket.Eating on the floor there is weird ass sitting on a dirty vinyl floor with a row of broken fluorescent lights going on and off overhead, each with their heads buried in a cheese sandwich but we didn't want to waste time looking outside for a better place.We talked about Emma's mother, about Hayter's other works, and about that film just now, which is absurd and serious, but it blends very well.I said that movies have the ability to teach people to believe in any bizarre things, but this time I was really fooled by him.When Claire was brought back to life in the final scene, I got goosebumps all over my body and felt like I was witnessing a real miracle.In order to save Claire's life, Martin burned his own novel, which was also Hayter's redemption of Bridget O'Fallon, just as Hayter burned his own film; Can't help falling in love with that film.I said, it's a pity that I can't watch it again. I really want to take a closer look at those winds and those trees.
I must have been oblivious to my babble; because Emma had just finished calling out the title of the movie we were about to watch (Return of the World) when the door slammed inside.We had just risen from the floor to pat food crumbs off our clothes, drank the last sip of iced tea from a thermos, and were heading back to the screening room.We heard the sound of flat shoes stepping on the plastic floor; after a while, Ah Huang appeared far away at the other end of the corridor, and when we saw him walking towards us, it was more like running than walking, and we knew: Fei Da is back.
For a while it was as if I wasn't there.A Huang and Emma were talking quietly in rapid and fluent sign language, but they used flustered sign language, kept waving their arms, and shook their heads heavily from time to time.I don't understand the content of their conversation, but from their movements back and forth, I can see that Emma is getting more and more angry; her gestures are becoming more and more forceful, and she is completely refuting A Huang. .I saw A Huang spreading his hands, looking helpless (as if saying: It’s useless to scold me, I’m just here to pass on a message), but Emma continued to scold him severely, and then saw A Huang’s face darken; First he punched his palm hard, then pointed at my face.It was no longer a conversation, but a quarrel, and I was immediately the spark of their quarrel.
I still can only continue to watch, and continue to try to understand what they are talking about, but I am really at a loss, and I can't see the slightest trick at all.Then Ah Huang turned around and left, using his stubby legs to stride vigorously out of the corridor, and Emma explained to me what happened just now.Emma said that Feida had returned to the manor ten minutes ago, and she was about to start.
I said, that would be too fast.
Hayter's body will not be cremated until five o'clock this afternoon. She doesn't want to wait in Albuquerque, so she decides to come back first; she will collect the ashes tomorrow morning.
Then what were you and Ah Huang arguing about just now?Although I couldn't understand what was going on, why did he suddenly point his finger at me?I don't like people pointing fingers at me.
We just talked about you.
I think so too.But what does Feida want to do with me?I'm just a visitor.
I thought you understood.
I don't know sign language, Emma.
But you just found out that I was very angry.
Of course I can see that; but I really don't know why you are angry.
Phaeda won't let you stay here any longer.She said that these matters are private matters, and it is best not to have outsiders present.
You mean she's throwing me out of the estate?
It's not so plain; but the meaning is almost the same.She wants you to leave tomorrow; she's going to drop you off at the airport when she leaves for Albuquerque tomorrow.
However, she invited me here, so she must have forgotten this, right?
That's because Hayter was still alive, and when he died, everything changed.
Well, that makes sense.I'm here to watch movies, right?Since there are no movies to watch, I have no reason to stay any longer.I've already seen one of them, and as for the others, I'll just see how they're destroyed, and then I'll leave obediently.
Herein lies the problem.Phaeda won't even let you see that.According to A Huang's report just now, she said: That's none of your business.
Oh, no wonder you lost your temper just now.
David, my losing my temper has nothing to do with you, I'm venting for myself.Phaeda knew perfectly well that I wanted you to stay.I made a deal with her this morning, and now she's turned on her back; I'm so pissed off, I just want to punch her in the face right then and there.
Where am I going to hide later when everyone is going to the campfire party?
You stay in my room first.She said you can stay in my room.But I still want to reason with her, I must make her change her mind.
Don't bother.Since she doesn't want me to see it, I don't want to argue with shame, right?I have no right to argue with her.This is Phaeda's domain, so I can do what she says.
Then I don't want to go either.Just let her, Ah Huang, and Conchita burn those damn movies by herself.
Of course you are going.That's the last chapter of your whole book, Emma, and you've got to witness it; you've got to see it to the end.
I want you to be there too.It's meaningless if you're not by my side.
Fourteen films, negatives plus prints, are enough to burn a big fire; by then there will be smoke and flames.If I'm lucky, I'll be in your room and I won't have to bother to see it through the window.
As a result, I did see the fire, but I saw more smoke than the fire; and since Emma's cabin had the windows open, I could smell more smoke than I could see.Burning film will emit a pungent, pungent smell. Even after the smoke is completely cleared, there will still be many chemical particles in the air, permeating everywhere and lingering for a long time.Emma told me that night, the four of them took more than an hour to move the film out of the underground film library; then put a stack of film boxes on the trolley, and then pushed the cart across the rough gravel, Transported to the clearing at the back of the dubbing booth.With the aid of newspapers and kerosene, they set fire to two empty petrol cans, one for the copies and the other for the negatives.The old nitrate-based film is easy to burn, but after 1951, the film is printed on the tougher, non-flammable triacetate-based film, which is very difficult to burn.Emma said that they had to manually unravel each roll of film and throw it into the fire one by one. It wasn't until six o'clock that everything was burned.
I spent those hours alone in the house trying to hold back the anger that I was about to be evicted, trying to put on a good face in front of Emma, but I was just as angry as she was inside.What Phaeda did was so bullying; how could you invite people into your home and then throw them out?Even if you want to drive someone away, at least give a reason in person, instead of sending a deaf and dumb servant to pass the message in the middle, and only pass the message to another person, and always point your finger at you.I knew that Feda had been upset that day and had been in a lot of grief since early in the morning, but even though I tried to find all kinds of excuses for her, I couldn't improve my mood.why am i thereWhy send Emma to Vermont, hold me at gunpoint, take me all the way there?Not because they want to see me.After all, Phaeda wrote the invitation herself; she was the one who asked me to go to New Mexico to see a film made by Hayter.Emma said she spent months convincing them to agree to take me there.At first, I thought it was Hayter who disagreed, and Emma and Faida tried to persuade me before I was willing to see me; later, after eighteen hours in the manor, I gradually realized that I had been wrong all along.
If I hadn't been treated so humiliatingly, I probably wouldn't have looked back and rethought the whole episode.Later, Emma and I ended our conversation in the post-production studio. We cleaned up the leftover lunch and walked back to her rammed-earth cottage about three hundred yards from the main house, which was built a little higher in the estate.As soon as Emma opened the door, she found my duffel bag lying on the ground by the threshold.I had left the bag in the guest room of another house that morning, and someone (probably Conchita) must have brought it up at Feta's orders and dropped it on the floor of Emma's house.I was amazed that Feda could be so arrogant and bossy.But I still pretended to laugh it off (I also said to Emma: that’s fine, save me having to take the effort to get it by myself), even though I pretended not to care at all, I was actually full of anger.Then Emma went to join the others, and for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, I was walking around the house from room to room, trying to hold back my anger.After a while, I heard the sound of trolleys moving back and forth in the distance, the sound of metal rolling over gravel, and stacks of laminated boxes squeezing and colliding with each other intermittently.The burning is about to begin.I went into the bathroom, undressed, and turned the water on to the max.
I soaked in hot water, let my thoughts wander for a while, slowly recalling everything that happened before; What happened in the past hour: Ah Huang and Emma had a fierce conversation, Emma became furious after hearing the instructions from Feda (she turned her face and refused to admit it, I wish I could punch her in the face), I was kicked out manor.It's all my own speculation, but when I think about the night before (Hite's welcome and eagerness to hear my review of the film) and compare it to what happened afterwards, I gradually suspect that Fei It is likely that Da had objected to my visit from the start.I haven't forgotten that it was she who invited me to Dreamland Town at the beginning, but the letters she wrote may not be her own intentions, and it is likely that after several months of disputes, she finally had to obey Heite's instructions.If that was the case, her order to evict her guests would not be considered a temporary change of mind; Haight was dead, and she finally had a chance to put things back on track.
Originally, I had always regarded them as equal partners.Emma told me a lot about their marriage, but it never occurred to me that they might have had completely different motives for their marriage at the beginning, and the two were not in perfect harmony in their thinking.They agreed with each other in 1939 to start making a film that would never be released to the world, and both parties agreed to abide by the agreement, and in the end they must completely destroy the works they collaborated with;Although the conditions are very harsh, only the joy of sacrificing the most important meaning of making a film and sharing it with the public can make him make up his mind.Those films, then, became a kind of redemption, his confession to the accidental murder, the unforgivable crime he had committed against Bridget.My life has been absurd; God has played tricks on me many times.The punishment continued in another way, and Hayter, under the tangled masochistic complex, decided to continue to pay for his sins to a God he never believed in.The shot he got in the chest at the bank in Sandusky got him married to Phaeda;Neither incident, however, relieved him of his responsibility for what happened on the night of January 14, 1929.Neither the physical pain of Knox's shooting nor the mental torment of the loss of his son Ted was enough to calm him down.But filming is fine.Dedicate your whole life to filming, exhaust your entire life to film, and then, when your life is over, all these films will also be destroyed; no traces are allowed to be left behind.
Although Feida cooperated all the way, the whole matter had different meanings to her.She committed no crimes; she didn't have to carry the weight of a bad conscience; she didn't have a history of putting dead women in the trunk of a California mountain for burial.Feda is innocent, but accepts the exact same punishment as Haight, giving up her ambitions and willingly investing in a creation that is ultimately empty.If she had watched with cold eyes from the beginning to the end and allowed Heite to get stuck in it, maybe secretly pity him for his obsession, but I think it is more reasonable for her to never participate in the operation of that matter.But Phaeda was his willing accomplice, his most loyal defender, and had been deeply involved from the beginning; she not only urged Hayter to reshoot the film (threatening him to break up), but also financed the entire shooting operation.She also sews costumes, storyboards, edits films, and designs sets by herself.None of us work so hard at a job if we don't enjoy it, or feel that the effort has some value.But Feida has spent years in vain, what fun can she get from it?On the other hand, Hite, he is at war between man and nature in the abyss of desire and self-abandonment, at least he can comfort himself that filming is a purposeful act.He didn't make the films to destroy them but recklessly; that's two different things, and best of all, he didn't have to watch that happen; by the time he destroyed the films, he was dead, for him There is no difference at all.For Phaeda, however, it was absolutely the same thing, the processes of creation and destruction merged into one and inseparable.From the beginning to the end, she is destined to be the last person who ignites and ends all works, and as time goes on, that idea will become stronger and stronger, and eventually it will be stronger than everything else.Slowly, it became an aesthetic principle of its own; even as she continued to film with Haydt, she must have felt that the work was no longer just filming; it was creation for the sake of destruction.That's the complete work, and it's not finished until the moment it's all destroyed; only at the moment of destruction, when the smoke rises from the hot New Mexico, is it all gone.
I could understand how deeply moved she was by this pathetic, beautiful thought, and when I rewatched the whole process through Phaeda's eyes, I also understood why she had to tell me to fuck off.I was there to defile an otherwise innocent moment; those films should have died chaste, never to be seen by the rest of the world.It would be a shame to allow me to watch one of these, and now that the terms of Hayter's will were in force immediately, she could have insisted that all the ceremonies be carried out exactly as she had conceived them.The film was born in secret, so naturally it should disappear in secret.No outsiders were allowed to attend the ceremony, and even though Emma and Hayt tried to draw me in at the last moment, Feida treated me as an outsider from the beginning to the end.Emma was a member of the family, so she was able to attend and witness as a matter of course; she was like a court historian, when her previous generation withered away, all their deeds would be preserved in the history books recorded by her.And I should be the witness of the witness, an independent observer who confirms the veracity of the records written by the witnesses one by one.I was supposed to be playing a small part in a big play, and Faida had decided to cut my part from the script; in her mind, I was never needed from the beginning to the end.
I lay in the bathtub until the warm water turned cold, then put on a few towels and dawdled for another twenty or thirty minutes to shave, dress, and comb my hair. I really liked being in Emma's bathroom. I stood in it, Looking around at the neatly arranged bottles and cans on the medicine cabinet, and the small wooden cabinet by the window that is also full to the top.A red toothbrush in a toothbrush holder above the sink, lipstick in a gold plastic tube, mascara brush and eyeliner, cotton swab case, aspirin, dental floss, Chanel No. 5 perfume, a bottle of antibacterial prescription facial cleanser Each object represents some kind of intimacy, a sign of loneliness and some kind of reflection; I can see her swallowing a few pills, applying lotion, and combing her hair. Now look in front of the same mirror.How much do I know about her?Little did I know, but I was sure at the time that I didn't want to lose her, and looked forward to seeing her again when I left the estate early the next morning, even if it cost me my life.The problem is that I am too slow; I know that the family is not harmonious, but I am not familiar with Emma enough to clearly measure the degree of her anger at Feda, and because I can't judge, I don't know whether it is right or not. Worried about subsequent developments.I had seen them sitting together in the kitchen the night before, and there was absolutely no sign of tension.I remember that Emma spoke with a caring tone, and Faida asked Emma to stay in the main house for the night in a soft voice, like a family member.Although it is inevitable that people with such a close relationship will speak ill of each other, and when they are angry, they will say a few ugly words that they regret later, but Emma's sudden outburst of temper seems to be particularly intense, and her words even revealed physical violence. I can't wait to punch her in the face.This is quite rare among women (in my personal experience).Does she often put those words on her lips?Could it be that she would drop such harsh, bluffing words at every turn?Or, was that the starting point for her relationship with Phaeda to change?The anger that has been buried for many years is finally about to explode?If I had been smarter, I wouldn't have had to wonder or wonder; I would have known right then and there that Emma meant what she said, and that those over-excited expressions were proof that the situation had already gotten out of hand.
I finally tidied up and left the bathroom, and continued to wander around the house aimlessly.It was a small, stripped-down house, solidly built and somewhat haphazardly designed, and though it was small, Emma did not seem to make good use of all the space;The entire wall inside and the adjacent half of the wall are filled with cardboard boxes, and a dozen discarded items are scattered on the ground: a chair with a leg missing, a rusty tricycle, a fifty-something-year-old machine A typewriter, a portable black-and-white TV with a broken rabbit-ear antenna, a pile of stuffed animals, a tape recorder, and half-used cans of paint.The other room was bare; there was no furniture, no mattress, not even a lamp.In the corner of the ceiling hung a great cobweb, so densely packed; three or four dead flies were stuck to it, and the carcasses were so dry that they seemed to crumble at the touch, so I guessed that the spider had given up the web and started a new job elsewhere.
All that remains is a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom and a study.I thought about sitting down and reading Emma's manuscript, but I didn't feel right to take it without first asking her permission.She had written more than six hundred pages by then, but they were all first drafts, and unless one of the original authors made an exception and asked for comments on his unfinished work, it was forbidden to peek at the unfinished manuscript.Emma had pointed to the pile of manuscripts earlier (and said to me): Well, the grinder is there, but she didn't mention reading it, and I don't want it to happen when the two of you are just getting started. To associate would be to abuse her trust in me.So I turned to other things in the four rooms where she usually moves to kill time. I checked the food in the refrigerator, the clothes in the bedroom closet, and the books, records, and videos on the shelves in the living room. .I learned from it that she drank skimmed milk, used unsalted butter to spread her bread, preferred blue clothes (especially dark ones), had a wide acceptance of literature and music, and tastes very similar to mine; from Hammett to Bougainton; from Pugolesi to Mingus; Translating poetry anthology I thought that I had never seen those six books together at the same time in a place other than my own home.On another shelf, there are works by Hawthorne, Melville, Emerson, Thoreau and others.I took out a paperback edition of Hawthorne's novels, turned to the "Birthmark" article, sat on the tile floor in front of the bookshelf, and read it on the spot; while reading, I wondered how Emma felt when she read that novel when she was a child .Just as I was getting to the end of the novel (the present world was too much for him; he couldn't get past the layers of time obscurity), I caught a whiff of kerosene wafting through the back window.
The smell made me a little annoyed, and I got up immediately and started pacing up and down again.I first walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water to drink, and then walked into Emma's study, wandering around for ten to fifteen minutes, repeatedly suppressing the urge to flip through the manuscript.If at this moment I am completely powerless to prevent the destruction of Haydt's film, at least let me understand why it has come to this point.None of the answers I've had so far is enough to explain everything; I've tried my best to understand what they're saying, to feel in my heart why they've chosen such a ruthless and decisive path, but when the fire was kindled, I suddenly felt that all that was too absurd, too unreasonable, and too tragic.All the answers are in that stack of manuscripts, and the original idea that led to today's situation is in the manuscripts.I sat down at Emma's desk.The manuscript was placed in a thick stack next to the computer, and a stone was placed on top to prevent it from being blown away by the wind.I removed the stone and saw printed on the bottom page: The Afterlife of Heitmann, by Emma Grande.As soon as I turned the top page, the first thing that caught my eye was a quotation, written by Bunuel, from his "Living Breath" (the same book I had stumbled upon in Hayter's study that morning).The quotation is as follows: After a while, I proposed to everyone to go to Montmartre to burn negatives in the hill square. At that time, as long as everyone agreed, I would indeed do it without saying a word.To be honest, even today, I still do it; I still dream of setting up a cremation altar in my small courtyard, and burning all the negatives and copies of all my films on it; (Oddly enough, it was Surrealists who were in favor of my proposal.)
After reading it, the spell in my heart was somewhat broken.I had seen a few of Bunuel's films in the 1960s and 1970s, but knowing so little about his autobiography, I took a moment to think about the passage I had just read.At this time, I raised my head slightly, and looked away from Emma's manuscript for a while, even though it was only for a moment to bring me back to my senses, I quickly told myself to stop and not continue to read.I put the first page back in place and put the stone back over the title.When I made those movements, I moved my body towards the front edge of the chair for a while, but it was only a change of position, but it was enough to make me notice something I hadn't seen before: on the desktop between the computer and the manuscript, lay a small book. about the size of a school workbook, and from the ragged condition of the cover and the creases and cracks on the cloth spine, I would guess that it had been used for quite some time; too old to be Haight's. diary?It turned out to be Height's diary.
I spent the next four hours reading it twice, sitting on an ancient armchair in the living room with my notebook splayed in my lap.The whole book has a total of ninety-six pages, covering about a year and a half from the autumn of 1930 to the spring of 1932. The first article describes the situation where Height took Nora's English class, and the last paragraph records He took a walk one night several days after he had confessed his crimes to Feda.Even if I had any doubts about Emma's report before, after reading the diary, it will be wiped away.The autobiography written by Hyatt and Emma told me on the plane are exactly the same person, the one who fled from the Northwest, nearly shot himself in Montana, Chicago, and Cleveland, and went down with Sylvia Mills The man who was shot in the bank in Sandusky for six months and finally came back to life, the man who suffered the most.His handwriting is very small and densely packed. He frequently crossed out some passages with a pencil and rewritten them on top of them. He often made typos and ink stains. In addition, he wrote on both sides. .But slowly, with a little effort, I still understood most of them; every time I deciphered a certain paragraph of text, I could always echo Emma's statement, even the small places were consistent.In order to preserve Hayter's own first-hand account, I took out the notebook Emma gave me, selected a few important passages from the diary, and copied them down word for word.These include his last conversation with O'Fallon the Red at the Blue Bell Tavern, his desperate showdown with Sylvia in the back of the car, and the following passage from his stay in Sandusky (after being released from the hospital with the Spellings) The record is also the end of the entire diary:
On the night of March 31, 2032, I helped Fei Xiaogou.A black little thing with a tail that always wags violently, named after the Dada painter, named Apu.The streets were deserted.There was a fog all around, and it was almost impossible to see where I was.It might still be raining, but the drizzle was as fine as a mist.It feels like flying through the clouds while driving.As soon as you get close to where the street lamps stand, everything suddenly glows, glowing in the dark.All you can see are dots, hundreds of millions of refracted bright spots.A very strange and beautiful sight: brightly colored haze shaped into colorful objects.Apu pulled the chain all the way, sniffing everywhere.Walking and walking, I came to a street corner and turned a corner; I ran into another street lamp, Apu raised his leg as a gesture, I stopped, and at this moment, I caught a glimpse of something.There was a light on the pavement, a point of light shining out of the darkness.Very saturated blue with a tinge of indigo blue, just like the blue of Fei's eyeballs.I squatted down to check it out, and it turned out to be a small stone, maybe some kind of gemstone.I guessed wildly: Is it moonstone?Or sapphire?Maybe it's just a shard of glass.About the size of a setting on a ring, or a pendant on a necklace, bracelet, or earring.My first thought was to give it to Fey's four-year-old eldest niece Dorothy, little Doxie.She often comes to the house to play, and she is very close to her grandmother, she likes to play with Apu and Fei very much; she is a lovely little naughty, she loves those shiny gadgets and trinkets, and she often wears a pair of jewels appearance.I thought to myself: Pick it up and give it to Taoxi.So I reached out to pick it up, but as soon as my fingers touched the thing, I saw at once that it was not a rock at all.The thing I was trying to pick up was so soft that it shattered into a wet, sticky, rotten mess when I squeezed it; what I thought was a gemstone turned out to be a lump of thick phlegm.A passer-by passed by here and spat on the sidewalk, and the phlegm clumps up into a smooth sphere that refracts light in all directions.The light is projected on the blue surface, which looks like a solid hard rock.As soon as I realized I was mistaken, I withdrew my hand as if on fire; I felt sick to my stomach, really nauseous.Someone's phlegm is all over your fingers; maybe it's not so uncomfortable to get your own saliva on your hands, but when you get someone else's filth on your hands, it's really disgusting.I took out my handkerchief and wiped my fingers with all my might; when I was done I couldn't put the handkerchief back in my pocket.I can only stretch out my hands, carry it far away, and quickly walk to the end of the street, and throw it away as soon as I see the trash can.
Three months after writing these words, Hayter and Phaeda were married in the living room of Mrs. Spelling's own house.They drove to New Mexico for their honeymoon, bought a piece of land, and decided to settle there.I finally understood why they named their residence Qingshizhuang. Heite had seen that blue stone with his own eyes, and he knew that the bluestone did not exist. He knew that the two of them were about to start a life based on the phantom.
At about six o'clock the film was finally finished burning, but Emma didn't get back to the cabin until nearly seven o'clock.The sun was just about to set at that time, but the sky was still very bright; I remember the moment before she stepped into the house, the whole room was still full of sunlight: floods of light poured in from the windows, and the purple-bright golden light splashed everywhere, flooded every corner of the room.That was the second sunset I experienced in the desert, and I didn't know how to resist such a strong light.I moved to the sofa, turned my back to the glare of the light, and sat down in my new position, and within a few minutes I heard the sound of twisting the doorknob behind me.Suddenly more light poured in: like a red liquid sun, like a bright tide.I turned and turned my head, shielding my eyes with my hands, and I saw Emma appear in the hallway, unrecognizable for a moment, like a ghost with gold rims on the outside and rays of light shooting through the tips of her hair, as if her whole body was on fire.
When she closes the door, I can see her face, watching her walk across the living room toward the couch.At the moment I really don't know how she will react next.cry?Or lose your temper?Or other intense emotional displays?But Emma looked very calm, no longer so irritable, but just tired and exhausted.She walked around the couch from the right side, apparently ignoring the birthmark on the left side of her face, facing me openly, which I realized was the first time she had done so.I wasn't sure if I should take that as a breakthrough of sorts, or if, in fact, it was just an oversight; maybe she was too tired to care.She sat down next to me without saying a word, and rested her head on my shoulder.Her hands were dirty; her T-shirt was covered in soot.I put my arms around her and held her quietly for a while, not wanting to rush to ask and urge her to speak when she didn't want to speak.In the end, I just asked her if she was okay, and she replied, well, it's fine.I understood that she didn't want to talk about that much.She said it was really embarrassing, it took so long to do it.But she only briefly explained why it was so late (that's why I knew they were carrying gas cans, pushing carts, etc.), and we didn't come across that topic at all that night.她說，全部忙完之後，她送斐妲回主屋；她們先把隔天要辦的事安排好，然後她送斐妲上床，還餵她吃了一顆安眠藥。本來她可以直接回小屋，但是想到小屋的電話線路有點毛病（有時暢通，有時不通），剛好，她索性就近利用主屋的電話幫我訂好隔天早上飛波士頓的機位。那班飛機八點四十七分從阿布奎基起飛；開車到機場得花兩個半鐘頭，因為斐妲不可能起得那麼早，一定來不及送我們到機場，所以不得已只能預約接送小巴來載我。艾瑪說她很想自己開車載我到機場、親自送我去搭飛機，可是她十一點必須陪斐妲到殯儀館；她說她實在沒有辦法趕在十一點前跑兩趟阿布奎基。解不開的算術題。就算她一大早五點陪我出門，也不可能在七個半鐘頭內趕回來、又趕出去、然後又趕回來。她說：我辦不到的事情教我如何辦到啊？當然她不是耍賴、使性子，只是說出她的難處，宣洩她的滿腹委屈。我辦不到的事情教我到底要如何辦到啊？一說完，她轉頭埋進我的懷裡，突然放聲哭了起來。
我帶她進浴室，接下來那半個鐘頭我就坐在地板上，先幫她搓背、抹手洗腿、接著洗胸、臉、手掌，然後洗頭。她一直哭一直哭，久久停不下來，但是慢慢地，那些步驟似乎逐漸奏效了。我說：把眼睛閉上，別動，別說話，把自己泡進水裡，放鬆，完全放鬆。我很吃驚她居然乖乖聽從我的每一道指令，即使在我面前赤裸身體也絲毫不感到羞赧。那是我頭一回在明亮的光線下看見她的身體，但是艾瑪卻表現得就像她的身體已經完全屬於我，彷彿我們早已度過彼此需要遲疑的階段。她整個身子軟攤在我懷裡，溫馴地任由熱水包圍著她，溫馴地接受我就是命中注定要來疼惜她的人。There is no one else.過去七年來她一個人住在這棟小屋，我們都知道：該是她結束獨居生涯的時候了。我開口說：搬來佛蒙特跟我一塊兒住吧，妳可以在那裡把書寫完，我會天天幫妳洗澡；我翻譯我的夏多布里昂，妳寫妳的曼恩傳，該休息的時候，我們就幹一回；我們要在屋子裡到處幹；我們要在後院、樹林子裡大幹三天三夜。我們要大幹特幹、幹到天昏地暗，然後我們再乖乖回去繼續譯書寫書，等到全部譯完寫完，我們就離開佛蒙特、搬到別的地方去住。艾瑪，任何地方妳說了算，怎麼樣我都願意，完全沒有一點問題。
置身當時的情況，說那些話未免操之過急，我的提議實在超沒水準，簡直無理取鬧，可是時間所剩不多，我不想在兩人關係混沌不明的情形下離開新墨西哥。於是我決定冒險一試，我還故意用最粗鄙低俗、最生動刺激的字眼表達我的意圖。艾瑪真不是蓋的，她毫無畏色。我開口說出那些話的時候，她眼睛是閉著的，直到我一口氣講完，她依然閉著眼睛，不過，中途我看到她的嘴角不經意略微提了一下（想必就在我頭一次從嘴裡吐出幹那個字眼的時候），隨著我愈講愈起勁，她嘴角的笑意好像也愈來愈明顯。可是等到我全部說完，她仍不發一語，兩眼也依舊閉著。我說：怎麼樣？妳覺得好不好？她這才緩緩地回答：我覺得，如果我現在張開眼睛，可能會發現這裡根本沒有你這個人。
我說：好吧，我明白妳的意思；不過話說回來，妳要是一直閉著眼睛，就永遠不會知道我到底是不是真的，對吧？
我膽子小，不敢張開。
妳膽子才不小咧。何況，妳忘了我兩隻手現在都還泡在澡缸裡，摸著妳的背脊和小屁屁哩。如果我不是真的，怎麼可能碰觸妳，對不？
那也可能是因為可能摸我的是別人，別人假裝成戴維；存心騙我。
哪個騙子這麼厲害？他把妳騙進浴室裡頭幹嘛？
他故意用甜言蜜語害我滿腦子胡思亂想，害我以為自己想要什麼都可以成真。而且怎麼會有人剛好一字不差說出我心裡頭的話呢？剛剛那些話搞不好全是我一個人自言自語呢。
搞不好喔。不過會不會是因為那個人心裡頭想的跟妳想的一模一樣呢？
怎麼可能一模一樣？絕對不可能一模一樣；可是他真的說出我心裡頭想的，那個人的嘴巴也太厲害了吧。
對呀，那個人的嘴巴就是這麼厲害，天底下最厲害的一張嘴巴。
那我得見識見識那個人的嘴巴有多厲害；在哪兒？快點湊過來。先生，把你的嘴巴貼在我的嘴巴上。讓我考慮考慮要不要相信從那張嘴巴說出來的話。
艾瑪閉著雙眼，兩隻胳臂往上一伸，模樣就像個小孩要人抱抱、要人哄於是我俯低身子親吻她，緊緊貼住她的嘴，用舌頭撥開她的雙唇。我當時兩膝跪地兩隻手都泡在水裡，手掌扶著她的背、兩肘抵靠著浴缸邊艾瑪突然伸手繞過我的頸背，把我牢牢抱緊，我一時失去平衡，整個人跌落浴缸、壓在她身上。兩人的頭當場沒入水中，沒一會兒，我們趕緊爬起來，這時艾瑪眼睛睜開了。洗澡水濺得到處都是，雖然兩個人都嗆著了，但沒多耽擱喘氣，立刻換好姿勢，重新熱吻起來。接著便是為時甚久、一次接著一次吻個沒完沒了。我無法描述後來那些高難度動作，總之我將艾瑪抱離浴缸，兩人嘴唇全程沒有片刻分離、舌頭依然緊緊糾纏；等她出了浴缸，我甚至還騰出雙手，拿浴巾從頭到尾擦乾她的身體。我想起來了；我還記得等她身體乾了之後，她動手剝掉我身上的濕襯衫，然後解開皮帶、脫掉我的褲子。她當時的動作如今仍歷歷在目，我清清楚楚記得我不斷親吻她，兩人躺在一堆浴巾上，就地做起愛來。
我們從浴室出來的時候，已經天黑了。前面窗口還有些些微光，一片淡淡發亮的薄雲迤邐在地平線上，最後一抹夕陽。我們先穿好衣服，在起居室喝了幾口龍舌蘭，然後走進廚房草草弄了一頓晚餐。冷凍玉米餅、冷凍豌豆、馬鈴薯泥反正又是一頓奇特的什錦雜燴，不管找得到什麼，能吃就行。我們毫不在意；不到十分鐘就吃得乾乾淨淨，然後我們回到起居室，又各自喝了一杯。接著，艾瑪與我的全部話題都圍繞著兩人的將來，一直聊到十點鐘上了床，我們還繼續計畫這計畫那，還不斷討論等她搬到佛蒙特山上、跟我住在一起之後，我倆將會共度什麼樣子的人生。我們都不知道她何時才能動身前往，但我們一致認為她留在莊園把該處理的事情辦完，應該不會超過一兩個星期。這段期間，我們有事就靠電話聯絡，若是時間太晚或太早，不方便打電話，我們就傳真給對方。我們約好：不管有什麼困難，一定要天天保持聯絡。
我沒再與斐妲碰面便離開新墨西哥州；艾瑪原本指望她會到小屋跟我道別，可我並不期待她會那麼做。她早已將我從演員名單中剔除了，而且我動身時間非常早（接送小巴排定五點半來接人），她八成不會大費周章為了我而犧牲睡眠。由於斐妲沒有出現，艾瑪把原因歸咎於前一晚就寢前她餵她服了安眠藥。我覺得艾瑪太樂觀了；根據我對情勢的研判，斐妲無論如何都不可能特地趕來送我就算載我的小巴中午才走。
當時，我覺得那件事小之又小、根本不重要。五點鬧鐘響了，出門前只有半個鐘頭可以準備，我根本懶得管斐妲來不來送我。那天早上最要緊的，是能和艾瑪一起醒來、跟她一起坐在屋前臺階上喝咖啡、還能夠再次觸摸她。一切都是那麼迷迷糊糊、沒頭緒，一切都是那麼傻裡傻氣、心花怒放，整個人黏膩膩的，陶醉在溫存性愛、肌膚相親，以及對於未來人生的種種思考之中。要是我當時能夠多一點警覺，或許就會察覺自己即將失去一切，可是我當時太慵懶、太倉猝，只能容我再做幾個最簡單的動作：最後一次擁抱、臨別最後一吻，小巴就已經開到小屋前、催促我動身。我們進屋拿我的行李，正要往外走時，艾瑪隨手從門邊小桌上抓了一本書遞到我手裡（她說：帶著在路上看），於是我們最後再一次擁抱、最後再一次相吻，然後我便直奔機場。車子開到半路上，我才發覺艾瑪忘了把贊安諾給我。
如果換作其他日子，我極可能會叫司機趕緊折返開回莊園。當時我差點就那麼做了，不過一旦考量那麼做之後可能連帶造成種種麻煩趕不上飛機、明白告訴人家我膽小怯懦、再次確認自己神經衰弱的事實我決定還是按捺自己心中的恐慌。上回和艾瑪同行那一趟，沒吃藥也沒事，現在姑且賭賭看單獨搭機是否照樣有效。既然如此，我非常需要轉移注意力，事後證明艾瑪臨時塞給我的那本書居功厥偉；那本書厚達六百頁、重量將近一．五公斤，整趟航程一路陪伴著我。那是一部野花野草的百科圖鑑，書名十分直白、毫不拐彎抹角，就叫《西部野草誌》，由七個人掛名組成的作者群共同執筆（其中六位被稱作草本植物推廣專家，另一位則號稱懷俄明州在地花草植栽達人），出版單位名稱也很貼切，分別是西部雜草研究學會與美西授地大學聯合推廣服務中心。平常我對植物並沒多大興趣；我叫得出名字的花草樹木不超過十來種，可是那本圖鑑裡頭的九百幅彩色照片外加四百多種植物的生長習性、特徵的翔實文字說明，足足讓我聚精會神了好幾個鐘頭。我不曉得自己為何看得那麼投入，或許是因為我才剛剛離開那片長滿帶刺、保水植物的土地，覺得意猶未盡、很想再多看幾眼吧。書中大部分照片都是近距離的植物特寫，除了空蕩蕩的天空之外，沒有任何背景；偶或幾張，鏡頭會帶到主體周圍的幾束草或一坏土，遠處的岩壁或山巒更是難得一見；完全沒有人入鏡，人類活動的參考資料是微乎其微。新墨西哥州從幾千年前開始就有人類居住，但是光看書裡頭那些照片，會以為這裡什麼都沒發生過，整個歷史好像都被抹去了。裡頭看不到遠古穴居原住民、看不到任何考古遺跡、沒有西班牙征服者、沒有耶穌會傳教士、沒有派特賈瑞與比利小子的蹤影、印地安不曾在那兒形成聚落，也沒有任何人在那兒製造原子彈。那裡只有無盡綿延的土地，還有覆蓋在土地上的東西：全部文明匯集在區區幾株野花閒草當中。那些植物本身沒多大看頭，卻個個都有音樂般響亮、悅耳的名字，我仔細看過圖片、詳細讀完搭配圖片的解說文字（葉刃外緣從卵圓形到矛尖形不等所結之瘦果呈扁平狀，外殼有稜紋及皺痕，表面覆以微細而堅硬的冠毛）之後，我暫時擱下書，從中抄錄幾道花草名稱在筆記本上。我翻開新頁面從左邊開始寫起，緊接著的前幾頁是不久前讀海特日記時抄下來的短札，更前面則是馬丁佛洛斯特的翻轉人生的電影紀錄。那些花草名稱都帶著某種拗口的厚實感，我口中喃喃逐一唸出聲來，感受舌頭上傳來一陣陣紮實、響脆的共振，覺得挺有趣。現在重看當時抄下來的花草名單，我驚覺自己幾乎是在瀏覽天書，那些字就好像是由某種早已失傳（或許曾經流傳於火星上）的語文隨機組成一般。
參三七；金絲桃葉毒狗草；唇狀馬利筋；骨葉豬草；苦艾蒿；垂頭鬼針草；節毛飛廉；方瑰矢車菊；多毛飛蓬；剛毛菘菠；卷苞膠草；斑點貓耳菊；狗舌草；瑞德千里光；水飛薊；小花假蒼耳；無骨馬鬃草；刺蒼耳；西部大鬼針；小籽亞麻芥；葶藶；菘藍；抱莖葶藶；白玉草；蕁葉鵝掌藜；菟絲子；伏生大戟；雙槽紫雲英；大花山黧豆；絹毛棘豆；蟾色燈芯草；寶蓋草；紫花野芝麻；馬刺蔓錦葵；椎序柳葉菜；絨葉山桃草；直梗雀麥；墨西哥千金子；秋黍子；鼠尾牛茅；尖刺溝繁縷；達耳馬提亞柳穿魚；二裂水苦賈；沙漠曼陀羅。
一回到佛蒙特，一切彷彿都變得不一樣。我只不過才離開三天兩夜，可是每樣東西似乎都趁我不在的時候縮小了：顯得閉塞、幽暗、陰森。圍繞在我家四周的綠意看起來假假的，與沙漠中的焦褐色調相較之下，簡直過分綠油油。空氣則濃稠、朝濕，連踩在腳底的地面都變得軟趴趴；不管上哪兒，舉目所見的每株植物都張牙舞爪、生氣盎然；處處呈現懾人的腐敗跡象：沿著小徑蔓生的爛熟細枝、剝蝕的老死樹皮；樹幹上層層疊疊的菇菌；屋宇牆面上的黴斑。過了一陣子之後，我才恍然大悟，原來我是用艾瑪的眼光觀看外界事物，為了配合她的到來預作準備，企圖從中看出新的條理。飛往波士頓的航班很順利，比我事前斗膽期盼的結果更好，步出飛機時我甚至覺得自己完成一件了不起的大事。比起真正的豐功偉業，那根本不算什麼，但是以微小的標準而言，用尋常人生當中的起起伏伏、小勝小敗的日常小事來衡量，那可就是非凡的成就了。我感到自己比過去那三年的任何時刻更堅強。我告訴自己：快了，快達成了，幾乎就快重新活過來了。
接下來幾天，我盡量讓自己忙個不停，一口氣辦好幾件事。我繼續翻譯夏多布里昂、把撞得稀巴爛的貨卡送廠大修，還把房子從頭到尾徹底打掃了一遍擦地板、給每件家具上蠟磨光、撢清書架。我曉得那棟房子難看到家，缺點根本藏也藏不了，但至少我可以把房間整理得稍微看得過去，讓房間罩著前所未見的光輝。唯一讓我傷腦筋的就是堆放在多出來那間房裡的一大堆紙箱那間房我打算騰出來給艾瑪當書房用；她得有個可以專心寫書、可以一個人安靜獨處的空間，那是唯一還空著的房間。可是，屋子裡剩下可用來堆放東西的空間實在少得可憐，既然沒有閣樓、車庫可以利用，我不得不考慮地下室了。但是移到那兒也有個麻煩：地下室地面是泥地；每逢下雨必定積水，紙箱要是堆在那兒，一定也會跟著泡濕。為了防止災難發生，我買來九十六塊空心磚、八片長方形三夾板。我先在地面上鋪設三層空心磚，架出一個比歷來淹水最高水位更高的平臺。接著又加上另一道防潮措施：給每個紙箱裹上垃圾袋，開口處再用膠布封起來。照理說那樣應該萬無一失了，不過我又猶豫了兩天才鼓起勇氣把那些紙箱抱下樓。我家人的每件遺物都放在紙箱裡。海倫的洋裝和裙子；她的牙刷與絲襪；她那件鑲著毛皮兜帽的冬季大外套；塔德的棒球手套、漫畫書；馬可的拼圖與公仔；鏡面有裂痕的金色粉餅盒、乒乒乓乓玩具熊、支持華特孟岱爾的胸章。那些東西我再也用不到了，但是我始終沒能把它們丟掉，也從沒考慮過要捐給慈善機構。我不想讓別的女人穿海倫的衣服，也不想讓別家小孩戴上我兒子的紅襪隊棒球帽。將那些東西搬進地下室就像把它們埋到地底下。雖然不是結束，卻也算是結束的起點，通往遺忘這條道路的第一個里程碑。難歸難，到底沒有獨自搭飛機回波士頓那麼難。清空房間之後，我到伯瑞特波羅為艾瑪添購家具；我幫她買了一張紅木書桌、一張附按鈕、可調整前後角度的皮椅、一只橡木文件櫃，外加一塊上好的七彩花紋地毯；全是那家一流家具店裡頭最棒的東西。全部算下來總共三千多元，我照價以現金支付。
我好想念她。不管我們的計畫有多魯莽，我心中始終沒有一絲一毫猶疑、後悔。我天天都莫名地感到欣喜，殷殷盼著她終於翩翩到來的那一刻，每當我想她想得太過火，就會打開冰箱、看看那把手槍。那把槍在在證明艾瑪曾經來過既然她確實來過，就有十足理由相信她一定還會回來。剛開始我忘了槍膛裡頭有子彈那件事，過了兩三天之後想起來，我開始不安起來。自從那把槍放進冰箱之後我就一直沒再動過它，可是某天中午，為了保險起見，我將它從冰箱取出來，拿到樹林子裡，朝地上連開六槍、射光所有子彈；槍響就像中國的長串鞭炮，也像拍破充氣的紙袋。我一回到屋子裡，便將手槍收到床頭桌的上層抽屜。儘管無法再用那把槍殺人，但並不表示它從此就變安全、不具危險性了。它仍然蘊藏意念的威力，每當我看著它，我就會想起自己曾差點被那個意念逼上絕路。
艾瑪小屋裡的電話脾氣怪怪的，不是每次都能順利撥通。她曾告訴我，配線太馬虎了，不曉得哪個點沒接好。換句話說，就算我撥了她的號碼，聽到電話接通的聲音、間歇的鈴響，她那邊的電話很可能根本沒發出半點聲響。不過，若是從那個電話往外撥，成功機率倒是比較高。我回到佛蒙特那天，打了好幾次電話給她都失敗了；當艾瑪於十一點（她那邊九點鐘）打來，我們便定下幾道規則：往後盡量由她打給我，而不是我打給她；每講完一通電話，掛斷之前要先約好下一通電話的時間；接下來連著三天晚上，我們依照規則運作，簡直像臺上變戲法一樣順暢流利。舉例來說，我們約好七點通電話，我會在六點五十分在廚房守著電話機，給自己斟一杯純龍舌蘭（我們仍維持一起喝酒的習慣，即使分隔兩地亦然），七點整一到，牆上掛鐘的時針才指向數字七，電話就響了。我愈來愈倚賴規律的來電。艾瑪按時打電話代表她堅貞不移、信守承諾，也證明了兩個人即使天涯海角各在一方，也能時時刻刻一條心。
然後，第四天晚上（從我離開夢土鎮那天算起是第五天），艾瑪沒來電。我猜八成是她的電話又出毛病了，於是我沒有立即採取任何行動。我繼續坐在廚房裡，耐心等電話鈴響，可是又等了二十分鐘沒有動靜，然後過了三十分鐘還是靜悄悄的。I'm starting to worry.假如電話壞了，她應該會用傳真告訴我為什麼沒打電話來。艾瑪的傳真機接的是另一條線路，那條線從來沒出過問題。我拿起話筒，逕自撥了她的號碼雖然明知沒用果然，一如預期，打不通。然後，我又猜斐妲可能臨時有事找她，她被絆住了也說不定，於是我撥打主屋的號碼，結果一樣打不通。我重撥一次，這次還特別注意沒撥錯號碼，但是仍然沒人來接。我使出最後一招，寄了一封簡短的傳真：艾瑪，妳在嗎？一切安好？困惑中。若電話故障，請盡速回信（傳真）。愛妳，戴維。
我屋裡就只有那麼唯一一部電話機，放在廚房。要是我上樓回臥房，萬一艾瑪更晚才打來，我擔心自己聽不見鈴聲就算聽得到，也來不及跑下樓來接。我當下沒了主意，不曉得該怎麼辦。我在廚房裡待了好幾個鐘頭，希望出現轉機；等到凌晨一點多，我才走到客廳、躺在沙發上。那張彈簧嘎吱作響的沙發，正是和艾瑪初識那天夜裡，我幫她鋪床單、打算讓她將就睡一晚的同一張沙發真是一個可以讓我胡思亂想的好地方啊。直到天色微亮，我滿腦子淨想到車禍、火災、急病發作、摔下樓梯想著想著，不知何時，屋外傳來陣陣鳥鳴；接著，我便昏昏沉沉睡著了。
我萬萬料想不到斐妲會用對待我的方式對待艾瑪。海特生前要我留在莊園觀賞他拍的影片；後來他一死，斐妲便想盡辦法不許我看片。海特承諾讓艾瑪為他立傳；既然他已不在人世，我怎麼沒有絲毫警覺斐妲也會百般阻撓、硬是不讓那部傳記公諸於世？兩個情況幾乎一模一樣，我卻完全沒有察覺事態也會有相似的發展。或許就因為那兩件事在數量上天差地別使然。讓我看片頂多才花四五天工夫；艾瑪那部書可是耗了將近七年光陰。我完全沒想過居然有人會那麼心狠手辣，將別人七年的心血結晶摧殘殆盡。I can't even think about it.
如果能料到事情會變成這樣，當初我就不會把艾瑪一個人留在莊園。那天早上我無論如何也要強迫她帶著那批書稿跟我一起上接送小巴，不由分說硬把她帶到機場、跟我一塊兒搭機離開。就算不那樣蠻幹，我也有得是機會採取其他措施。回到佛蒙特之後，我們通過四次電話，沒有一次不提到斐妲。可是我總懶得花力氣聊她，我覺得那些對我來說已經全部成為過去式了，我只對規劃未來人生有興致。我在電話中對艾瑪嘰哩呱啦講個不停，講房子的事、講我幫她準備的房間、講我幫她訂購的家具。我真該抽空問問她、要她仔細說說當時斐妲的心理狀態，可是艾瑪好像也很喜歡聽我講那些家居瑣事。她說她已經著手準備搬家陸續將衣物打包、裝進紙箱，衡量哪些東西該帶走、哪些東西要留下；還問我書架上有哪些書跟她的重複那時候她壓根沒料到自己會碰上任何麻煩。
我離開莊園三個鐘頭之後，艾瑪與斐妲開車到阿布奎基的殯儀館領回骨灰。回到莊園之後，她們在庭院選了一個沒風的角落，將海特的骨灰灑在玫瑰花叢與鬱金香花圃內。那個地點正是當年泰德遭蜜蜂螫傷的地方，整個過程斐妲強忍激動，憋了一兩分鐘之後她終於泣不成聲，久久不止。那天晚上艾瑪在電話中告訴我，她從未見過斐妲那麼無助、那麼瀕臨崩潰邊緣。然而，隔天一大早，她走到主屋，發現斐妲已經起來了獨自趺坐在海特書房地上，逐一端詳散置、堆疊她周圍的大量文件、照片、圖畫。她對艾瑪說，等會兒先燒腳本，然後她會按部就班把其他所有與拍片有關的記錄統統找出來分鏡表圖冊、戲服設計稿、布景施工圖、燈光配置表、導演摘要等等。她說，那些全部得銷毀，連一小張紙頭都不能留下。
已經開始不對勁了；我離開莊園才一天，毀跡滅證的界線又修改了，海特的遺囑被擴大解釋；不再只是銷燬影片，舉凡足以證明那些影片曾經存在的任何一件東西都難逃連帶命運。
接下來兩天，天天燒個不停，可是艾瑪兀自忙她自己的事情，讓阿璜與康琪塔去幫忙，她並沒有參加。到了第三天，連景片都從攝影棚後頭拖出來燒了。道具燒了，戲服燒了，海特的日記也統統燒了；甚至連我當初在艾瑪屋子裡看的那本日記也燒了，事到如今，我們卻仍渾然不覺事情的走向。那本筆記寫於一九三〇年代初，遠遠早於海特重新拍攝新片。一旦銷毀那份資料，就算艾瑪寫的那部書最後問世，裡頭的內容將變得不足採信。我們理應及時想通這一點，可是那天晚上我們通電話的時候，艾瑪只略略提及那件事；那天談話的重點集中在海特的默片上。由於那些影片都已經有複製拷貝流落在外，斐妲擔心萬一有人發現莊園內存放了那些默片，難保不會有人查出海特史貝林就是海特曼恩，所以她決定要將那批默片也一併銷毀。斐妲已殺紅了眼，艾瑪向我轉述她說的話：當然非得斬草除根不可；只要遺漏一件沒清除乾淨，辛辛苦苦燒掉那麼多的東西就全成了做白工。
我們在電話中約好下一次通電話的時間是隔天晚上九點（相當於她那兒的七點）。艾瑪那天下午會在索羅口待上好一陣子去超市購物、處理一些私人事務就算開車回夢土鎮得花一個半鐘頭，我們估算她應該能在六點前回到小屋。但後來一直等不到她的電話，我立刻開始胡思亂想，等到我一點鐘過後躺在沙發上，我已經斷定艾瑪一定沒有回家，她一定出了什麼嚴重的意外。
結果，我既猜錯也猜對了。除了我誤以為她沒有回到家，其他部分全都猜對了，但並非我原先瞎猜的那些意外。艾瑪六點剛過幾分鐘就把車子停在她的小屋前。她向來習慣不鎖門，所以當她看見小屋的門敞開，並不以為意，但是煙囪冒著煙令她相當詫異，完全無法理解。就算阿璜或康琪塔送乾淨衣物來或是過來清理垃圾，當時是七月大熱天，幹嘛生火呢？艾瑪撇下後座的食品雜貨，先進屋瞧個究竟。只見斐妲彎身蹲在客廳火爐前面，不斷將紙頁揉成一團、丟進火爐，整個姿態、動作，就像馬丁佛洛斯特的翻轉人生的最後一幕搬到現實世界重演：諾博史登豪斯燒掉自己的小說稿，只求能讓艾瑪的母親起死回生。室內飄散著紙屑餘燼，宛如折翼的黑色蝴蝶，在斐妲周圍翻飛；蝶翼邊緣原本閃現的橘色火光，剎那間變成慘白死灰。海特的遺孀埋頭專注做自己的事，一心一意要完成這件事，連艾瑪進門她都沒抬頭看一眼。尚未丟進火堆的紙頁散落在她膝旁，只剩一小疊八吋半寬、十一吋長的紙張，約莫二三十張，頂多四十張；如果全部只剩那些，那表示其他六百頁書稿均已化為灰燼。
艾瑪（根據她自述）當場氣瘋了，一邊狠狠咒罵、一邊瘋狂咆哮與吶喊。她往起居室急撲過去，斐妲站起來抵擋時，艾瑪用力把她推開。她說，她只記得她推了斐妲一把；很粗暴地推了一把，撂下斐妲，她急忙跑到書房放置電腦的地方。被斐妲燒掉的只是列印稿。整部書稿還存在電腦裡，要是斐妲沒有動硬碟裡的檔案、或是沒找到任何備份磁片，那就算毫髮無傷。
一腳跨進房門，她還抱著一絲絲希望、盡可能教自己保持樂觀，結果，希望破滅了。艾瑪走進書房，一眼就看見原本擺放電腦的地方空空蕩蕩；桌面上什麼東西也沒有：裝著二十一片標示得清清楚楚的磁片的藍色塑膠盒不見了，五十三份不同內容的研究檔案也不見了。斐妲把所有東西清光了。阿璜一定幫了不少忙，如果艾瑪對形勢判斷無誤，當下不管採取什麼舉動都來不及了。電腦應該已經砸爛了；磁片八成早已經變成碎片。就算那些東西還沒砸爛還沒剪碎，她又能從何找起？整座莊園占地超過四百畝；只要隨便找個地方、挖個坑，書稿永遠別想重見天日。
艾瑪不確定自己在書房究竟待了多久。她覺得應該有好幾分鐘，不過也可能不止，或許是十五分鐘也說不定。她只記得自己坐在桌前，兩手捂著臉。她說她當時好想哭、好想不管一切放聲大哭、大叫、大吼，卻因為驚嚇過度，當下怎麼也哭不出來，只能束手無策枯坐在那兒，聽自己透過指尖不斷喘息。坐著坐著，她突然發覺屋子裡好安靜。艾瑪心想斐妲一定走了：斐妲一定已經離開她的小屋，回主屋去了。艾瑪心想，走了也好；反正再多的指責、再多的辯解都無濟於事，反正她從此以後不想再理斐妲了。real?real!她暗暗下定決心，絕不再理她。既然如此，再留在莊園也沒意思了。她大可當場收拾行李、跳上車，到機場附近隨便找一家旅館住一晚；隔天搭頭班飛機飛往波士頓。
心意已定，艾瑪起身走出書房。雖然七點還沒到，但她很了解我，知道我一定會乖乖在家待在廚房電話機旁邊、給自己斟好一杯龍舌蘭、靜待她打電話來。她決定不等約定好的時間；多年人生橫遭劫奪，她快氣炸了，她必須馬上跟我說話，她必須趁眼淚奪眶而出之前趕緊找人傾吐，免得泣不成聲、無法言語。她的電話放在臥房，就在書房隔壁。她一出書房只需往右手邊拐個彎，不用十秒鐘就能坐在床邊撥電話給我。可是，她跨出書房時遲疑了一下，反而走向左手邊。起居室剛才還到處火星亂竄，她想先確定火已經滅了，好安心跟我聊久一點。那個判斷完全合理，絕對是當時情況下的正確做法。於是她臨時改變方向，轉向小屋另一邊，