3333343D geometry
text｜Ian McEwan Translation｜Pampa
Hotel 1875At the "Exotic Treasures" auction held by Melton Mobray, my great-grandfather, accompanied by his friend M, photographed Captain Nichols's penis, who died in Horse Man Lane Prison in 1873. It was kept in a twelve-inch-high glass bottle, "beautifully preserved" as my great-grandfather described in his diary that night. At the same time, the auction was also "the famous part of the late Miss Barrymore. It was sold by Sam Islairs for more than fifty ninths." My great-grandfather wanted to use these two items as a pair of collections, but was dissuaded by M. This is a great interpretation of their friendship. My great-grandfather was a whim fantasy, while M was a practical man who knew how to bid at the right time. My great-grandfather lived for sixty-nine years, forty-five of which, before going to bed every night, sat down and wrote his thoughts into a diary. These diaries are now on my desk, forty-five volumes, bound in calfskin. On the left side of the diary, Captain Nichols sat quietly in the glass bottle. My great-grandfather lived on a patent for a female corset hand-button invented by his father until World War I broke out. He loves chat, numbers and theory; he also likes tobacco, the best Porto wine, simmered rabbit meat , and occasionally opium. He likes to regard himself as a mathematician, although he has neither taught nor published a monograph. He never traveled in his life and never appeared in Time magazine. In 1869, he married Alice, the only daughter of Rev. Toby Shadwell, who was the co-author of an unknown British wild flower monograph. I am convinced that my great-grandfather was an outstanding diary author and once I compiled his diary and was able to publish it, I am sure he will regain the knowledge he deserves. After I finish my work, I will take a long holiday and travel to a cold and treeless place, such as Iceland or Russian grassland. I have thought more than once that, if possible, after all that I would try to divorce my wife Messi, but now it is not necessary.
Macy often yells in her sleep, and I have to wake her up.
"Hug me," she always said, "It's a nightmare. I've done it once before. I'm on a plane, flying through the desert. But it's not really a desert. I let the plane fly a little lower, and I see thousands of babies piled up together, extending to the horizon, they're all naked, fighting each other. My fuel is about to run out, I have to land. I want to find a piece of open space, I fly and fly and find a piece of open space..."
"Okay, go to bed," I said yawning, "It's just a dream."
"No," she shouted, "I can't sleep now, I can't do it now."
"Okay, then I have to sleep," I said to her, "I have to get up early in the morning."
She shook my shoulders. "Don't sleep for now? Don't leave me alone."
"I'll sleep next to you," I said, "I won't leave you."
"But what's the use? Don't let me wake up alone..." But my eyelids have closed.
Recently I got into the habit of my great-grandfather. Before going to bed, I sat quietly for half an hour to reflect on the day. I have no mathematical whimsical ideas or sex theory to record. Basically I just wrote down what Messi said to me and what I said to her. Sometimes, for absolute privacy, I lock myself in the bathroom, sit on the toilet, with a writing board on my knee. In addition to me, there were occasionally a spider or two in the bathroom, climbing up the drain pipe and lying on the white glaze without moving. They must be wondering where this is. After hours of crawling, they turned around in confusion, perhaps feeling disappointed because they still couldn't get the answer. As far as I know, my great-grandfather mentioned it only once about spiders.On May 8, 1906, he wrote: "Bismarre is a spider."
In the afternoon, Messi would often pour tea and tell me about her nightmare. Usually I'm going through old newspapers, compiling indexes, sorting topics, putting down one volume and picking up another volume. Messi said she was getting worse. Recently, she has been staying in the house all day reading books about psychology and transcendence , and she has nightmares almost every night. Since we lie in ambush outside the bathroom door that time, we have attacked each other with the same shoes in our hands, I have no mercy on her. Her problems stem from jealousy in part. She was very jealous of my great-grandfather's forty-five volumes of diaries, and my will and enthusiasm for compiling them. But she did nothing. When Messi came in to serve tea, I happened to change into another diary.
"Can I tell you my dream?" she asked. "I flew through a desert-like place..."
"I'll talk later, Messi," I said, "I'm doing halfway through it." After she left, I stared at the wall in front of the desk, thinking about M. For fifteen years, he came to chat and dinner with my great-grandfather, and suddenly one night in 1898, for no reason. Although M's identity needs to be confirmed, in addition to being a practical person, he is also quite pedantic. For example, on the evening of August 9, 1870, when they talked about sex positions, M told me that my great-grandfather's hind-entry style was the most natural way of sexual intercourse, which was determined by the position of the clitoris, and other primates also preferred this style. My great-grandfather had no more than ten sexual intercourses in his life, and they all happened within the first year of his marriage with Alice. He was surprised and loudly asked the church about this. M immediately pointed out that the seventh-century theologian Theodore believed that the sins of post-entered sexual intercourse and masturbation should be subject to forty days of ascetic practice. Later that night, my great-grandfather used mathematical method to prove that sexual intercourse posture cannot be greater than prime number 17. But M scoffed at the result and told me that his great-grandfather he had seen a collection of sketches by Raphael's disciple Romano, with twenty-four poses on it. And, he said, he also heard that a Mr. F. K. Ferberg had counted as many as ninety. When I remembered the tea that Messi put down on hand, it had already become cold.
An important section in the deterioration of our relationship occurs like this. One night I sat in the bathroom and wrote down the conversation between Messi and me about the tarot card, and suddenly she was outside slamming the door and twisting the handle.
"Open the door," she shouted, "I'm going in."
I told her, "You have to wait a few more minutes, I'll be fine soon."
"Let me in now," she shouted, "You're not using the toilet again."
"Wait." I continued to write down while answering. At this time, Messi began to kick the door.
"I have my period, I have to do it." I ignored her scream and kept writing this paragraph. I thought it was particularly important. If left for a while, some details will be lost. At this time, Messi's shouting could no longer be heard, and I thought she was in the bedroom. But when I opened the door, I saw her holding a shoe in front of me. She slammed her heels at my head. I turned around but couldn't dodge. The heels hung on my ears and made a big cut.
"It's fine now," Messi said, walking around me and walking into the bathroom, "Now we're all bleeding." After that, he slammed the door. I picked up the shoe and waited patiently outside the bathroom door without saying a word, covering my bloody ears with my other hand. Messi stayed inside for about ten minutes, and as soon as she came out, I was hit on the top of her head without any chance to turn sideways. After a while, she stood there motionless, staring at me straight.
"Poor." She spit out a few words, then walked straight to the kitchen to cook the wound, disappearing from my sight.
At dinner last night, Messi declared that if a person goes into seclusion in a secret room, he can learn everything with just a deck of tarot cards. She was reading these books that afternoon, and the plaques were all over the floor.
"Can he calculate the street map of Valparaiso from the card?" I asked.
"You are stupid." She replied.
"Can the brand tell him how to open a laundry, how to omelette, and how to make hemodialysis?"
"You are so narrow-minded inside." She muttered, "So narrow-minded, so mediocre."
"Is he okay?" I refused to give in, "Then tell me who M is, and why..."
"These are irrelevant," she roared, "It's not that we must know."
"But these are also knowledge. Can he calculate it?"
She hesitated for a moment, "Yes, he can."
I smiled and didn't say anything.
"What's ridiculous?" she said. I shrugged, she was so angry that she was so angry. She needs to be falsified. "Why do you always ask these nonsensical questions?"
I still shrugged. "I just want to know if you really mean everything."
Messi slapped the table and shouted, "You bastard! Why do you always choke me with words? Why don't you say anything real?" Speaking of this, we all realize that no matter what we talk about, we only have to keep silent in pain.
If I don’t clarify the doubts surrounding M, the diary will not be organized. After coming to dinner from time to time for fifteen years and providing a lot of material for my great-grandfather's theory, M disappeared completely from his diary. On Tuesday, December 6, my great-grandfather invited M to have dinner on Saturday. Although M came, my great-grandfather simply wrote in his diary that day, "M come for dinner." In the past, their conversations between the meals were all spent a long time recording. On Monday, December 5, M also came to dinner. The conversation that day involved geometry, and the diary of the week since then revolved around this topic. It is impossible to tell that the two of them have had any conflicts. On the contrary, my great-grandfather couldn't live without M. M provides him with materials. M is well versed in the current fashion. He knows London well and has visited the European continent many times. He is familiar with socialism and the Darwinian theory, and has friends in the free love sports circle, and is familiar with James Hinton. In a sense, M really lives in this world, and my great-grandfather who only left Melton Mobray in his life to Nottingham is not considered. Since my youth, my great-grandfather has been fond of sitting by the fire to argue reasoning, and what he needs is the material provided by M. For example, one night in June 1884, M, who had just returned from London, told my great-grandfather how the streets in the city were stained with horse manure and were difficult to move. It happened that week that my great-grandfather was reading the book "HTM3 Population Principles " by Malthus. That night, he excitedly stated in his diary that he would write a booklet to publish it, the title was "About Horse Manure". The booklet has never been published and probably has never been written, but the diary has been well noted for the two weeks after that night. In "About Horse Manure", he assumed that horse populations were growing geometrically, and after careful consideration of road planning, he predicted that by 1935, London would be unpassable. What he refers to is based on the average thickness of horse manure on the main street by one foot (after dry shrinkage). He described the experiments done outside his stable to determine the shrinkage rate of horse manure and obtained mathematical expressions. Of course these are purely theoretical. His conclusion was based on the premise that all horse manure was not removed for the next fifty years. Later, the one who advised him to put down this topic was probably M.
One morning, after experiencing a long dark night full of Messi's nightmare, we lay side by side in bed, I said,
"What do you want? Why don't you go back to work? Go for a purposeless walk, these psychological analysis, staying at home, lying all morning, tarot cards, nightmare...what do you want?"
She said, "I want to correct my mind." She said this sentence many times before.
I said, "You have to know that your mind, your heart, is not the kitchen of a hotel, you can throw away the things inside like old cans. It is more like a river than a place, flowing and changing every moment. You can't correct a river."
"Don't do it again," she said, "I don't plan to correct a river, I just want to correct my mind."
"Don't do it again," she said, "I don't plan to correct a river, I just want to correct my mind."
m l6"You have to do something," I said to her, "You can't do nothing. Why don't you go back to work? In the past, you never had nightmares when you worked, and you have never been so unhappy."
"I have to get rid of all this," she said, "I don't know what the meaning is."
"Haughty," I said, "all are fashionable. Fashionable hidden things. Metaphor, fashionable reading, fashionable sickness. What do you care about Jung , for example? You read twelve pages in a month. "
" Stop talking," she begged, "you know there will be no results."
But I continue to say,
"But you have never come up with any results, "I said to her, "You are not enough to accomplish anything. I used to be a good boy, and God did not give you an unfortunate childhood. Your compassionate Buddhist scriptures, outdated metaphysics, incense burning therapy, and astrological magazines are nothing of your own, and you have never understood anything. You just got stuck in, trapped in a quagmire of intuition. Apart from feeling your own lack of pleasure, you don't have the sensitivity and passion to intuition other things at all. Why do you put other people's tricks into your mind and make nightmares keep? "I got up, opened the curtains, and started wearing them.
"You seem to be speaking at a novel seminar." Messi said, "Why do you always want to make my life worse?" Self-pity began to appear in her heart, and was suppressed by her. She continued, "When you talk, I feel like a piece of paper, being kneaded into a ball."
"Maybe we are talking about novels." I said coldly. Messi sat up in the bed and looked at her legs. Suddenly her tone changed. She patted the pillow beside her and said gently,
"Come here. Come here. Come here. I want to hug you, I want you to hug me..." But I sighed and walked towards the kitchen.
I went to the kitchen to make some coffee for myself and brought it into the study. I seemed to have a feeling that M's disappearance might be able to find clues from the accounts of geometry. I always rumored this in the past because mathematics really couldn't arouse my interest. On Monday, December 5, 1898, M and my great-grandfather discussed vescia piscis, which obviously falls under the category of Euclid's First Law and had a profound impact on the graphic design of many ancient religious buildings. I read the conversation carefully and tried my best to understand the geometric parts. Then I turned a page and found that just that night, after the coffee was served, cigar was lit, M told my great-grandfather a long anecdote. I was about to start reading when Messi walked in,
"What about you?" She said, as if our previous quarrels had never ceased, "You know the book. Climbing around on the pile of old papers, like flies stinging on a piece of shit."
Of course I was very angry, but I still smiled and looked kind and looked happy. "Climbing around? Well, at least I'm still moving."
"Don't talk to me anymore." She said, "You'll have fun by playing with me like a pinball machine."
"Good morning, Hamlet." I replied, sitting in the chair and waiting patiently for her next sentence. But she said nothing, gently took the study door and left.
"September 1870," M began to say to my great-grandfather,
I have mastered some important documents, which not only completely negate the cornerstone of today's three-dimensional geometry, but also deviate from the basic principles of our laws of physics, which makes people have to re-examine the existence of the self under the framework of nature. These treatises are worth more than the sum of Marx and Darwin's works. They were from a mathematician, Scotsman David Hunter, and the one who entrusted me with these documents was another young American mathematician whose name was Goodman. My father and I have been in communication for many years because of his writings on menstrual cycle theory. Incredibly, this theory is still widely regarded as absurd in its own country. I met Goodman Jr. at Vienna . He was attending an international mathematical conference with Hunter and mathematicians from various countries. When I saw him, Goodman looked bleak and looked down, and was preparing to return to the United States the next day, although the meeting was less than halfway through. When he handed over the documents to me, he told me that if one day he would know David Hunter's whereabouts, he would return them to him. Then, after my repeated persuasion and persistence, he told me everything I had witnessed on the third day of the meeting. The meeting begins at 9:30 a.m. every day, a paper is read out and a routine discussion is followed. Refreshments are served at eleven o'clock, and mathematicians will stand up from the long, shiny and storied long table they sat around, and communicate informally with their peers in an elegant and elegant conference room. The meeting will take place for two weeks, and as usual, the paper will be read first by the most outstanding mathematicians, then the turn of those who are slightly inferior, and so on, a full two weeks later, so it will inevitably occasionally arouse strong jealousy among these extremely intelligent gentlemen. Although Hunter is an excellent mathematician, he is still young and no one knows when he comes to his own University of Edinburgh. He applied to read a paper (as he described himself) in the field of three-dimensional geometry, but given his slightest words in the Mathematics Hall, he was arranged to play on the penultimate day before the end of the meeting, by which time most of the heavyweights had returned to their respective respected kingdoms. Therefore, on the morning of the third day, just as the waiter presented the refreshment, Hunter suddenly stood up and expressed his views to his colleagues who had left their seats. He is tall and ungrateful. Although he is young, he has a kind of demeanor, which makes the buzzing conversation silent.
"Gentlemen," Hunter said, "I have to ask you to forgive this abrupt move, but I have extremely important conclusions to tell you. I have found a surfaceless plane." In amid contemptuous mockery and a confused smile, Hunter picked up a large piece of white paper from the table. He cut with a knife about three inches long along the surface, with the cut slightly tilted to one side. He lifted the paper so that everyone could see clearly, and then after a series of quick and complex folds, he seemed to pull a corner from the cut, and then the paper disappeared.
"Look, gentlemen," Hunter raised his empty hands to everyone, "a surfaceless plane."
Macy walked into my room, just after taking a shower, and emitted a faint smell of soap. She walked behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.
"What are you reading?" she said.
"I didn't pay attention to some clips in my diary before." She began to gently knead the bottom of my neck. If we were still in the first year of marriage, I would feel soothing. But now it is the sixth year, and what it generates is a tight rush that spreads throughout the backbone. Messi is expressing a certain desire. To suppress her, I held her left hand with my right hand, just as she was showing concern, she leaned forward and kissed my earlobe, breathing with the smell of toast and toothpaste. She pillowed on my shoulder.
"Go to the bedroom," she murmured, "We haven't had sex for almost two weeks."
"I know," I replied to her, "Look... I have to be busy with so many things.""I have no desire for Messi or any other woman. I just want to continue reading my great-grandfather's diary. Messi pulled her hands off my shoulders and stood beside me. Her silence suddenly became full of malice, and I couldn't help but tighten my whole body like a player squatting at the starting line. She reached out and fucked the glass bottle containing Captain Nichols, and as she raised her hands, the penis inside floated from one end to the other dreamily.
" made you feel complacent. "Messi shouted sternly and smashed the glass bottle at the wall in front of my table. I instinctively covered my face with my hands to resist the glass splash. After opening my eyes, I heard myself saying,
"Why do you do this? That's my great-grandfather's. "Between the broken glass and the steaming stench of formalin , Captain Nichols lying dejectedly on the cover of a diary, weak and gray, and ugly, turning from a strange treasure into a terrifying offense.
" is so terrible. Why do you do this? "I said it again.
"I'm going to have a walk. "Messi replied, this time she slammed the door and left.
For a long time, I sat in the chair without moving. Messi destroyed an item that was of great value to me. It once stood in his study room before it, and now it has always stood in my study room, connecting my life with him. I picked up a few pieces of glass from my knees and stared at the body of another person on the table 160 years ago. Looking at it, I thought of the countless little sperm that had been congested. I imagined the place it had been Square, Cape Town, Boston , Jerusalem , wrapped in Captain Nichols's dark and smelly leather pants, traveling around the world, occasionally taking out pissing in public places, only to see the dazzling sunshine. I also imagine everything it touched, all the molecules, Captain Nichols's hands groping in the long night of loneliness on the sea, the slippery vaginas of those young girls and the prostitutes with weak colors, their molecules must have remained until now, a small particle of dust floating from Chepsy Street to Leicester County. God knows that it can still be How long does it last in the glass bottle? I cleaned up the mess. I took a trash can from the kitchen, swept up the glass as much as possible, and dragged the formalin away. Then I picked up Captain Nichols from one end and tried to spread him on a newspaper. When the foreskin began to slide in my fingers, I felt nauseous, and finally closed my eyes. Finally, I successfully wrapped him up carefully in the newspaper, carried him to the garden, and buried it under the geranium. In the process of dealing with all this, I tried not to let my resentment towards Messi fill my heart. I thought about the development of M's story. Back to my seat, I wiped away a few lightly. Formalin dripping soaked on the ink mark, continue reading.
The air in the house solidified for almost a whole minute, and as every second passed, the atmosphere became more and more solemn. The first one to speak was Dr. Stanley Rose of Cambridge University . His reputation was mostly based on his book "Principles of Three-dimensional Geometry", so he suffered heavy damage from Hunter's so-called surface-free plane.
"bold." gentlemen. How dare you use this worthless juggling trick to tarnish this solemn meeting. "A buzzing noise sounded behind him. He continued, "You should feel ashamed, young man, very ashamed. "At this time, the whole room seemed to erupt. Except for the little Goodman and the waiters standing aside with a snack, the whole audience pointed at Hunter and responded to him with stupid and unconscious rebukes, abuses and intimidation. Some people slapped the stage angrily, while others waved old fists. A weak German gentleman suddenly fell to the ground and had to be held onto the seat. At the same time, Hunter stood firmly in his original place, with his appearance calm, his head slightly tilted to one side, and his hand gently stroked his hand on the shiny long table. The worthless juggling trick attracted just a proven how deep the lurking uneasiness was, and Hunter must have fully realized it.He raised his hand and everyone suddenly returned to silence. He said,
"Gentlemen, your worries are understandable. Now I will prove it again, the ultimate proof." After speaking, he sat down and took off his shoes, stood up and took off his coat, and asked for help from a volunteer. At this time, Goodman stood up. Hunter strided through the crowd to a sofa placed against the wall. When he sat on it, he asked Goodman, who looked confused, to bring his paper when he returned to England and save it until he came back to retrieve it. When the mathematicians all surrounded him, Hunter bent forward, his hands stretched behind him and held each other tightly, and his arms formed a strange posture. He asked Goodman to hold his arm in order to maintain this position, and lie down on his side and do some stretching movements until he put one of his feet into arm rings .他让辅助的古德曼帮他把身体转到另一侧，然后重复同一套动作，成功地把另一只脚也伸到手臂之间，与此同时他弯曲上身使得头从与脚相反的方向进入臂环。 With Goodman's help, he began to get his head and legs to pass in the arms. At this time, all the respectable scholars present burst into incredible exclamations in unison like a person.亨特在开始消失！ His head and legs were gradually softening in the arms, and both ends seemed to be pulled by invisible forces, and he was about to disappear completely... Finally, he disappeared, disappeared, and disappeared without leaving any trace. The story of
M made my great-grandfather excited in a difficult manner. In his diary that night, he recorded how he attempted to "successfully convince my guests to send someone to pick up those papers immediately", although it was two in the morning.不过M则更对整件事抱怀疑态度。 He said to my great-grandfather, "Americans are often addicted to weird rhetoric." But he promised to bring those papers the next day. According to the records of the next day, M did not have dinner with my great-grandfather because he had an appointment, but he came here for a while with his thesis in the afternoon.
Before leaving, he told my great-grandfather that he had read these papers several times, "There is no truth to draw." He did not realize how much he underestimated my great-grandfather as an amateur mathematician. After a glass of sherry, the two agreed to have dinner together again this weekend Saturday in front of the fire in the living room. For the next three days, my great-grandfather buried himself in Hunter's deduction and slept and slept. There is no distraction in the diary, and the paper is covered with graffiti, symbols and illustrations. It seems that Hunter must develop a new set of symbols, essentially a new language, to express his views. By the end of the next day, my great-grandfather made his first breakthrough. After painting a page of mathematical formulas, he wrote in the corner, "Dimensions are functions of perception." Turning on the diary of the next day, I read such words, "It disappeared in my hands." He had reconstructed the surfaceless plane. What unfolded before my eyes was a step-by-step guide on how to fold that piece of paper. After turning another page, I immediately understood the mystery of M's disappearance. There is no doubt that at the instigation of my great-grandfather, he was probably involved in a scientific experiment that night as a skeptic. Here my great-grandfather outlined a set of illustrations, which at first glance looked like a yoga pose. Obviously, they are the secret of Hunter's disappearance performance.
I trembled and cleaned up a countertop, picked up a clean sheet of printing paper and spread it in front of me, took a razor blade from the bathroom, then rummaged through the cabinet and found an old compass, and then sharpened the pencil and put it in; finally, I searched the whole house and finally found an accurate steel ruler, which I used to embed the pane, and now I was finally ready. First of all, I had to cut the paper to a certain size. The piece of paper that Hunter picked up from the desktop was obviously carefully prepared in advance. The length of each edge must meet a special proportion. I used a compass to determine the midpoint of the paper, and drew a straight line parallel to one side from the midpoint, extending to the right to the edge of the paper. Then I need to draw a rectangle, the size of the rectangle is specifically related to the side length of the paper.矩形的中点对直线作黄金分割。 Draw a pair of crossing arcs above the rectangle, and the radius is also of a specific proportion; make the same arcs below the rectangle.两条弧线的交点连接就得到切割线。然后我开始确定折叠线。 The length, inclined angle, and intersection points with other lines seem to transmit a mysterious inner harmony between numbers. When I took the arc, drew straight lines, and folded it, I felt that I was ignorantly controlling a supreme and intimidating knowledge system, an absolute mathematics. When I finished the last fold, the shape of the paper became an geometric flower surrounded by three concentric circles with the cutting line as the central axis. This shape has a unique tranquility and perfection, a loneliness and dazzlingness. When I look at it, I can't help but get out of my mind, and my heart becomes clear and peaceful.我使劲摇了摇头，把目光移开。现在该把纸花内折，拉过切割线了。 This was a very delicate movement, and my hands began to tremble again. Only by looking at the center of the flowers could I calm my emotions. When I took action, I felt a numbness in the back of my head. I pulled a little further forward, and in an instant the paper turned whiter and seemed to be about to disappear. I said "it seems" because at first I was not sure that I felt it was still in my hand but could not see it, or I could see it but had no feel, or I realized it had disappeared and its nature as a matter is still there. Numbness spread throughout my brain to my shoulders, and my senses seemed unable to grasp everything in front of me. "Dimensions are functions of perception," I murmured in my mind. I spread my hands, and there was nothing in my hands, but even when I stretched out my hands again and didn't see anything, I wasn't sure that paper flower had completely disappeared. The impression is lingering, and the visual residue of is not only printed on the retina, but also in the heart. At this moment, the door behind me opened, and I heard Messi say,
"What are you doing?"
I seemed to wake up from my dream, return to the room, and return to the faint smell of formalin. Captain Nichols' destruction had been long, long, but the smell awakened my resentment and ran through my body like a numbness. Messi was standing lazily at the door with a thick coat and a wool scarf.她似乎很遥远，当我看着她的时候，心中的怨恨同婚姻的疲惫感交织在一起。我心想，为什么她要打碎玻璃瓶？因为她想做爱？因为她想要一根阳具？ She wanted to smash the bond with my great-grandfather because she was jealous of my job?
"Why do you do that?" I asked loudly unconsciously.梅茜用鼻子哼了一声。 She saw me lying on the table staring at her hands as she opened the door.
"You were sitting there all afternoon thinking about this?" She burst into laughter. "Okay, how is it? You won't lick it, are you?"
"I buried it," I said, "under the geranium."
She walked into the room a little and said in a serious tone, "I'm sorry, really. I don't know what I did. Can you forgive me?" I hesitated for a moment, and the fatigue suddenly made me think of it. I said,
"Of course, I forgive you. It's just a pickled dick." We all laughed. Messy walked over to me and kissed me, and I kissed her back, pried her lips with her tongue.
kissed, and she said, "Are you hungry? Do you want me to make some dinner?"
"That's great." I said. Messy kissed me on the forehead and walked out of the room, while I turned back to the study and made a secret decision to be as good as possible to treat Messy at night.
Afterwards we sat in the kitchen to enjoy the dinner made by Maisie. A bottle of wine made us feel slightly drunk. We smoked a marijuana together, and this was the first time in a long time we smoked it together. Massy told me she would do an errand at the Forestry Commission and would go to Scotland to plant trees next summer. I told her about M's arguments about the post-entry style of my great-grandfather, and my great-grandfather's theory that sex cannot exceed 17 prime positions. We all laughed, and Messi pinched my hand, and the atmosphere of lust rippled between us, permeating the warm turbid air in the kitchen.接着我们披上外衣出去散步。The moon is about to be full. We walked along the main road in front of the house for a while, then turned to a small street where the roadside was densely packed with houses with mini front yards. We didn't go too far, but our arms were always tangled with each other, and Messi told me how happy she was. We walked past a small park, which was locked. We stood outside the gate and looked up at the moon on the tree branches. After returning home, Messi took a leisurely hot shower, while I browsed it again in the study, consolidating several details. Our bedroom is a warm and comfortable room, which can be considered luxurious in terms of bedrooms. The bed was 7 feet by 8 feet, which I made myself in the first year of our marriage. Messi made sheets , dyed them into a thick and strong dark blue, and embroidered a pillowcase. The only light in the room was reflected through an old handmade sheepskin lampshade, which Messi bought from a hawker. We wrapped side by side between the cover and the blanket, and after the shower, Messi stretched out, lazy and sexy, while I supported her body with her elbows. Messi said sleepily.
"In the afternoon, I walked along the river. The trees are beautiful now, oaks and elm trees... After crossing the footbridge, there are two beech trees about a mile. You should take a look... Oh, it's very comfortable." I asked her to lie on the bed, and I stroked her back while talking. "Blackberries are all the way, I've never seen them grow so big and elderberry. I'm going to make some wine by myself this fall..." I leaned over and kissed her neck, bringing her two arms behind her back. She is happy to obey my mercy. "The river is particularly quiet," she said, "reflecting the tree, and the leaves fall to the water again. Before winter comes, I will go to the riverside with you to see the fallen leaves. That little world was discovered by me, and no one else goes..." I used one hand to keep Messi's arm posture and the other hand to help her stretch her legs into the armband. "...I sat there for half an hour, motionless like a tree. I saw a water mouse running along the other side, and several ducks of various shapes flew up and down on the river. I heard a thumping sound in the river, but I don't know where it came from. I also saw two orange butterflies, which almost flew into my hands." When I put Messi's legs in place, she said, "The 18th position." We couldn't help laughing. "Let's go tomorrow, go to the river." As Messi said, I was carefully putting her head gently into her arm. "Be careful, be careful, it will hurt." She suddenly screamed and her hands and feet began to struggle. But it was too late, and her head and legs were already stretched into the arms loop, and under my push, she was ready to wear each other. "What's going on?" Messi shouted. At this moment, her limbs show amazing beauty and the nobleness of the human structure, just like a paper flower, its symmetry has a fascinating magic. I felt dazed again and my scalp was numb. As I pulled her legs through the arms, Messi rolled up like a sock. "Oh God," she yelled, "What's going on?" Her voice seemed very far away. Then she disappeared...and it had not disappeared: her voice was very subtle, "What's going on?" Only the echo of her asking was left on the dark blue sheets.
