Captain Rudolf Wegener, at the moment traveling under the cover name Conrad Goltz, a dealer1 in medical supplies on a wholesale2 basis, peered through the window of the Lufthansa ME9-E rocket ship. Europe ahead. How quickly, he thought. We will be landing at Tempelhofer Feld in approximately seven minutes.
I wonder what I accomplished3, he thought as he watched the land mass grow. It is up to General Tedeki, now. Whatever he can do in the Home Islands. But at least we got the information to them. We did what we could.
He thought, But there is no reason to be optimistic. Probably the Japanese can do nothing to change the course of German internal politics. The Goebbels Government is in power, and probably will stand. After it is consolidated4, it will turn once more to the notion of Dandelion. And another major section of the planet will be destroyed, with its population, for a deranged5, fanatic6 ideal.
Suppose eventually they, the Nazis7, destroy it all? Leave it a sterile9 ash? They could; they have the hydrogen bomb. And no doubt they would; their thinking tends toward that G?tterd?mmerung. They may well crave11 it, be actively12 seeking it, a final holocaust13 for everyone.
And what will that leave, that Third World Insanity14? Will that put an end to all life, of every kind, everywhere? When our planet becomes a dead planet, by our own hands?
He could not believe that. Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life somewhere which we know nothing of. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be world after world unseen by us, in some region or dimension that we simply do not perceive.
Even though I can't prove that, even though it isn't logical -- I believe it, he said to himself.
A loudspeaker said, "Meine Damen und Herren. Achtung, bitte."
We are approaching the moment of landing, Captain Wegener said to himself. I will almost surely be met by the Sicherheitsdienst. The question is: Which faction15 of policy will be represented? The Goebbels? Or the Heydrich? Assuming that SS General Heydrich is still alive. While I have been aboard this ship, he could have been rounded up and shot. Things happen fast, during the time of transition in a totalitarian society. There have been, in Nazi8 Germany, tattered16 lists of names over which men have pored before.
Several minutes later, when the rocket ship had landed, he found himself on his feet, moving toward the exit with his overcoat over his arm. Behind him and ahead of him, anxious passengers. No young Nazi artist this time, he reflected. No Lotze to badger17 me at the last with his moronic18 viewpoint.
An airlines uniformed official -- dressed, Wegener observed, like the Reichs Marshal himself -- assisted them all down the ramp19, one by one, to the field. There, by the concourse, stood a small knot of blackshirts. For me? Wegener began to walk slowly from the parked rocket ship. Over at another spot men and women waiting, waving, calling. . . even some children.
One of the blackshirts, a flat-faced unwinking blond fellow wearing the Waffen-SS insignia, stepped smartly up to Wegener, clicked the heels of his jackboots together and saluted20. "Ich bitte mich zu entschuldigen. Sind Sie nicht Kapitan Rudolf Wegener, von der Abwehr?"
"Sorry," Wegener answered. "I am Conrad Goltz. Representing A. G. Chemikalien medical supplies." He started on past.
Two other blackshirts, also Waffen-SS,came toward him. The three of them fell beside him, so that although he continued on at his own pace, in his own direction, he was quite abruptly21 and effectively under custody22. Two of the Waffen SS men had sub-machine guns under their greatcoats.
"You are Wegener," one of them said as they entered the building.
He said nothing.
"We have a car," the Waffen-SS man continued. "We are instructed to meet your rocket ship, contact you, and take you immediately to SS General Heydrich, who is with Sepp Dietrich at the OKW of the Leibstandarte Division. In particular we are not to permit you to be approached by Wehrmacht or Partei persons."
Then I will not be shot, Wegener said to himself. Heydrich is alive, and in a safe location, and trying to strengthen his position against the Goebbels Government.
Maybe the Goebbels Government will fall after all, he thought as he was ushered23 into the waiting SS Daimler staff sedan. A detachment of Waffen-SS suddenly shifted at night; guards at the Reichskanzlei relieved, replaced. The Berlin police stations suddenly spewing forth24 armed SD men in every direction -- radio stations and power cut off, Tempeihofer closed. Rumble25 of heavy guns in the darkness, along main streets.
But what does it matter? Even if Doctor Goebbels is deposed26 and Operation Dandelion is canceled? They will still exist, the blackshirts, the Partei, the schemes if not in the Orient then somewhere else. On Mars and Venus.
No wonder Mr. Tagomi could not go on, he thought. The terrible dilemma27 of our lives. Whatever happens, it is evil beyond compare. Why struggle, then? Why choose? If all alternatives are the same.
Evidently we go on, as we always have. From day to day. At this moment we work against Operation Dandelion. Later on, at another moment, we work to defeat the police. But we cannot do it all at once; it is a sequence. An unfolding process. We can only control the end by making a choice at each step.
He thought, We can only hope. And try.
On some other world, possibly it is different. Better. There are clear good and evil alternatives. Not these obscure admixtures, these blends, with no proper tool by which to untangle the components28.
We do not have the ideal world, such as we would like, where morality is easy because cognition is easy. Where one can do right with no effort because he can detect the obvious.
The Daimler started with Captain Wegener in the back, a blackshirt on each side, machine gun on lap. Blackshirt behind the wheel.
Suppose it is a deception29 even now, Wegener thought as the sedan moved at high speed through Berlin traffic. They are not taking me to SS General Heydrich at the Leibstandarte Division OKW; they are taking me to a Partei jail, there to maim30 me and finally kill me. But I have chosen; I chose to return to Germany; I chose to risk capture before I could reach Abwehr people and protection.
Death at each moment, one avenue which is open to us at any point. And eventually we choose it, in spite of ourselves. Or we give up and take it deliberately31. He watched the Berlin houses pass. My own Volk, he thought; you and I, again together.
To the three SS men he said, "How are things? Any recent developments in the political situation? I've been away for several weeks, before Bormann's death, in fact."
The man to his right answered, "There's naturally plenty of hysterical32 mob support for the Little Doctor. It was the mob that swept him into office. However, it's unlikely that when more sober elements prevail they'll want to support a cripple and demagogue who depends on inflaming33 the mass with his lies and spellbinding."
"I see," Wegener said.
It goes on, he thought. The internecine34 hate. Perhaps the seeds are there, in that. They will eat one another at last, and leave the rest of us here and there in the world, still alive. Still enough of us once more to build and hope and make a few simple plans.
At one o'clock in the afternoon, Juliana Frink reached Cheyenne, Wyoming. In the downtown business section, across from the enormous old train depot35, she stopped at a cigar store and bought two afternoon newspapers. Parked at the curb36 she searched until she at last found the item.
VACATION ENDS IN FATAL SLASHING38
Sought for questioning concerning the fatal slashing of her husband in their swank rooms at the President Garner39 Hotel in Denver, Mr. Joe Cinnadella of Canon City, according to hotel employees, left immediately after what must have been the tragic40 climax41 of a marital42 quarrel. Razor blades found in the room, ironically supplied as a convenience by the hotel to its guests, apparently43 were used by Mrs. Cinnadella, described as dark, attractive, well-dressed and slender, about thirty, to slash37 the throat of her husband, whose body was found by Theodore Ferris, hotel employee who had picked up shirts from Cinnadella just half an hour earlier and was returning them as instructed, only to come onto the grisly scene. The hotel suite44, police said, showed signs of struggle, suggesting that a violent argument had . . .
So he's dead, Juliana thought as she folded up the newspaper. And not only that, they don't have my name right; they don't know who I am or anything about me.
Much less anxious now, she drove on until she found a suitable motel; there she made arrangements for a room and carried her possessions in from the car. From now on I don't have to hurry, she said to herself. I can even wait until evening to go to the Abendsens'; that way I'll be able to wear my new dress. It wouldn't do to show up during the day with it on -- you just don't wear a formal dress like that before dinner.
And I can finish reading the book.
She made herself comfortable in the motel room, turning on the radio, getting coffee from the motel lunch counter; she propped45 herself up on the neatly46 made bed with the new unread clean copy of The Grasshopper47 which she had bought at the hotel bookshop in Denver.
At six-fifteen in the evening she finished the book. I wonder if Joe got to the end of it? she wondered. There's so much more in it than he understood. What is it Abendsen wanted to say? Nothing about his make-believe world. Am I the only one who knows? I'll bet I am; nobody else really understands Grasshopper but me -- they just imagine they do.
Still a little shaky, she put it away in her suitcase and then put on her coat and left the motel room to search for a place to eat dinner. The air smelled good and the signs and lights of Cheyenne seemed particularly exciting. In front of a bar two pretty, black-eyed Indian prostitutes quarreling -- she slowed to watch. Many cars, shiny ones, coasted up and down the streets; the entire spectacle had an aura of brightness and expectancy48, of looking ahead to some happy and important event, rather than back . . . back, she thought, to the stale and the dreary49, the used-up and thrown-away.
At an expensive French restaurant -- where a man in a white coat parked customers' cars, and each table had a candle burning in a huge wine goblet50, and the butter was served not in squares but whipped into round pale marbles -- she ate a dinner which she enjoyed, and then, with plenty of time to spare, strolled back toward her motel. The Reichsbank notes were almost gone, but she did not care; it had no importance. He told us about our own world, she thought as she unlocked the door to her motel room. This, what's around us now. In the room, she again switched on the radio. He wants us to see it for what it is. And I do, and more so each moment.
Taking the blue Italian dress from its carton, she laid it out scrupulously51 on the bed. It had undergone no damage; all it needed, at most, was a thorough brushing to remove the lint52. But when she opened the other parcels she discovered that she had not brought any of the new half-bras from Denver.
"God damn it," she said, sinking down in a chair. She lit a cigarette and sat smoking for a time.
Maybe she could wear it with a regular bra. She slipped off her blouse and skirt and tried the dress on. But the straps53 of the bra showed and so did the upper part of each cup, so that would not do. Or maybe, she thought, I can go with no bra at all . . . it had been years since she had tried that . . . it recalled to her the old days in high school when she had had a very small bust54; she had even worried about it, then. But now further maturity55 and her judo56 had made her a size thirty-eight. However, she tried it without the bra, standing57 on a chair in the bathroom to view herself in the medicine cabinet mirror.
The dress displayed itself stunningly58, but good lord, it was too risky59. All she had to do was bend over to put out a cigarette or pick up a drink -- and disaster.
A pin! She could wear the dress with no bra and collect the front. Dumping the contents of her jewelry60 box onto the bed, she spread out the pins, relics61 which she had owned for years, given her by Frank or by other men before their marriage, and the new one which Joe had gotten her in Denver. Yes, a small horse-shaped silver pin from Mexico would do; she found the exact spot. So she could wear the dress after all.
I'm glad to get anything now, she thought to herself. So much had gone wrong; so little remained anyhow of the wonderful plans.
She did an extensive brushing job on her hair so that it crackled and shone, and that left only the need of a choice of shoes and earrings62. And then she put on her new coat, got her new handmade leather purse, and set out.
Instead of driving the old Studebaker, she had the motel owner phone for a taxi. While she waited in the motel office she suddenly had the notion to call Frank. Why it had come to her she could not fathom63, but there the idea was. Why not? she asked herself. She could reverse the charges; he would be overwhelmed to hear from her and glad to pay.
Standing behind the desk in the office, she held the phone receiver to her ear, listening delightedly to the long-distance operators talk back and forth trying to make the connection for her. She could hear the San Francisco operator, far off, getting San Francisco information for the number, then many pops and crackles in her ear, and at last the ringing noise itself. As she waited she watched for the taxi; it should be along any time, she thought. But it won't mind waiting; they expect it.
"Your party does not answer," the Cheyenne operator told her at last. "We will put the call through again later and --"
"No," Juliana said, shaking her head. It had been just a whim64 anyhow. "I won't be here. Thank you." She hung up -- the motel owner had been standing nearby to see that nothing would be mistakenly charged to him -- and walked quickly out of the office, onto the cool, dark sidewalk, to stand and wait there.
From the traffic a gleaming new cab coasted up to the curb and halted; the door opened and the driver hopped65 out to hurry around.
A moment later, Juliana was on her way, riding in luxury in the rear of the cab, across Cheyenne to the Abendsens'.
The Abendsen house was lit up and she could hear music and voices. It was a single-story stucco house with many shrubs66 and a good deal of garden made up mostly of climbing roses. As she started up the flagstone path she thought, Can I actually be there? Is this the High Castle? What about the rumors67 and stories? The house was ordinary, well maintained and the grounds tended. There was even a child's tricycle parked in the long cement driveway.
Could it be the wrong Abendsen? She had gotten the address from the Cheyenne phone book, but it matched the number she had called the night before from Greeley.
She stepped up onto the porch with its wrought-iron railings and pressed the buzzer68. Through the half-open door she could make out the living room, a number of persons standing about, Venetian blinds on the windows, a piano, fireplace, bookcases. . . nicely furnished, she thought. A party going on? But they were not formally dressed.
A boy, tousled, about thirteen, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, flung the door wide. "Yes?"
She said, "Is -- Mr. Abendsen home? Is he busy?"
Speaking to someone behind him in the house, the boy called, "Mom, she wants to see Dad."
Beside the boy appeared a woman with reddish-brown hair, possibly thirty-five, with strong, unwinking gray eyes and a smile so thoroughly69 competent and remorseless that Juliana knew she was facing Caroline Abendsen.
"I called last night," Juliana said.
"Oh yes of course." Her smile increased. She had perfect white regular teeth; Irish, Juliana decided70. Only Irish blood could give that jawline such femininity. "Let me take your purse and coat. This is a very good time for you; these are a few friends. What a lovely dress. . . it's House of Cherubini, isn't it?" She led Juliana across the living room, to a bedroom where she laid Juliana's things with the others on the bed. "My husband is around somewhere. Look for a tall man with glasses, drinking an old-fashioned." The intelligent light in her eyes poured out to Juliana; her lips quivered -- there is so much understood between us, Juliana realized. Isn't that amazing?
"I drove a long way," Juliana said.
"Yes, you did. Now I see him." Caroline Abendsen guided her back into the living room, toward a group of men. "Dear," she called, "come over here. This is one of your readers who is very anxious to say a few words to you."
One man of the group moved, detached and approached carrying his drink. Juliana saw an immensely tall man with black curly hair; his skin, too, was dark, and his eyes seemed purple or brown, very softly colored behind his glasses. He wore a hand-tailored, expensive, natural fiber71 suit, perhaps English wool; the suit augmented72 his wide robust73 shoulders with no lines of its own. In all her life she had never seen a suit quite like it; she found herself staring in fascination74.
Caroline said, "Mrs. Frink drove all the way up from Canon City, Colorado, just to talk to you about Grasshopper."
"I thought you lived in a fortress," Juliana said. Bending to regard her, Hawthorne Abendsen smiled a meditative75 smile. "Yes, we did. But we had to get up to it in an elevator and I developed a phobia. I was pretty drunk when I got the phobia but as I recall it, and they tell it, I refused to stand up in it because I said that the elevator cable was being hauled up by Jesus Christ, and we were going all the way. And I was determined76 not to stand."
She did not understand.
Caroline explained, "Hawth has said as long as I've known him that when he finally sees Christ he is going to sit down; he's not going to stand."
The hymn77, Juliana remembered. "So you gave up the High Castle and moved back into town," she said.
"I'd like to pour you a drink," Hawthorne said.
"All right," she said. "But not an old-fashioned." She had already got a glimpse of the sideboard with several bottles of whiskey on it, hors d'oeuvres, glasses, ice, mixer, cherries and orange slices. She walked toward it, Abendsen accompanying her. "Just I. W. Harper over ice," she said. "I always enjoy that. Do you know the oracle78?"
"No," Hawthorne said, as he fixed79 her drink for her.
Astounded, she said, "The Book of Changes?"
"I don't, no," he repeated. He handed her her drink.
Caroline Abendsen said, "Don't tease her."
"I read your book," Juliana said. "In fact I finished it this evening. How did you know all that, about the other world you wrote about?"
Hawthorne said nothing; he rubbed his knuckle80 against his upper lip, staring past her and frowning.
"Did you use the oracle?" Juliana said.
Hawthorne glanced at her.
"I don't want you to kid or joke," Juliana said. "Tell me without making something witty81 out of it."
Chewing his lip, Hawthorne gazed down at the floor; he wrapped his arms about himself, rocked back and forth on his heels. The others in the room nearby had become silent, and Juliana noticed that their manner had changed. They were not happy, now, because of what she had said. But she did not try to take it back or disguise it; she did not pretend. It was too important. And she had come too far and done too much to accept anything less than the truth from him.
"That's -- a hard question to answer," Abendsen said finally.
"No it isn't," Juliana said.
Now everyone in the room had become silent; they all watched Juliana standing with Caroline and Hawthorne Abendsen.
"I'm sorry," Abendsen said, "I can't answer right away. You'll have to accept that."
"Then why did you write the book?" Juliana said.
Indicating with his drink glass, Abendsen said, "What's that pin on your dress do? Ward10 off dangerous anima-spirits of the immutable82 world? Or does it just hold everything together?"
"Why do you change the subject?" Juliana said. "Evading83 what I asked you, and making a pointless remark like that? It's childish."
Hawthorne Abendsen said, "Everyone has -- technical secrets. You have yours; I have mine. You should read my book and accept it on face value, just as I accept what I see --" Again he pointed84 at her with his glass. "Without inquiring if it's genuine underneath85, there, or done with wires and staves and foam-rubber padding. Isn't that part of trusting in the nature of people and what you see in general?" He seemed, she thought, irritable86 and flustered87 now, no longer polite, no longer a host. And Caroline, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, had an expression of tense exasperation88; her lips were pressed together and she had stopped smiling entirely89.
"In your book," Juliana said, "you showed that there's a way out. Isn't that what you meant?"
"Out," he echoed ironically.
Juliana said, "You've done a lot for me; now I can see there's nothing to be afraid of, nothing to want or hate or avoid, here, or run from. Or pursue."
He faced her, jiggling his glass, studying her. "There's a great deal in this world worth the candle, in my opinion."
"I understand what's going on in your mind," Juliana said. To her it was the old and familiar expression on a man's face, but it did not upset her to see it here. She no longer felt as she once had. "The Gestapo file said you're attracted to women like me."
Abendsen, with only the slightest change of expression, said, "There hasn't been a Gestapo since 1947."
"The SD, then, or whatever it is."
"Would you explain?" Caroline said in a brisk voice.
"I want to," Juliana said. "I drove up to Denver with one of them. They're going to show up here eventually. You should go some place they can't find you, instead of holding open house here like this, letting anyone walk in, the way I did. The next one who rides up here -- there won't be anyone like me to put a stop to him."
"You say 'the next one,' " Abendsen said, after a pause. "What became of the one you rode up to Denver with? Why won't he show up here?"
She said, "I cut his throat."
"That's quite something." Hawthorne said. "To have a girl tell you that, a girl you never saw before in your life."
"Don't you believe me?"
He nodded. "Sure." He smiled at her in a shy, gentle, forlorn way. Apparently it did not even occur to him not to believe her. "Thanks," he said.
"Please hide from them," she said.
"Well," he said, "we did try that, as you know. As you read on the cover of the book. . . about all the weapons and charged wire. And we had it written so it would seem we're still taking great precautions." His voice had a weary, dry tone.
"You could at least carry a weapon," his wife said. "I know someday someone you invite in and converse90 with will shoot you down, some Nazi expert paying you back; and you'll be philosophizing just this way. I forsee it."
"They can get you," Hawthorne said, "if they want to. Charged wire and High Castle or not."
You're so fatalistic, Juliana thought. Resigned to your own destruction. Do you know that, too, the way you knew the world in your book?
Juliana said, "The oracle wrote your book. Didn't it?"
Hawthorne said, "Do you want the truth?"
"I want it and I'm entitled to it," she answered, "for what I've done. Isn't that so? You know it's so."
"The oracle," Abendsen said, "was sound asleep all through the writing of the book. Sound asleep in the corner of the office." His eyes showed no merriment; instead, his face seemed longer, more somber91 than ever.
"Tell her," Caroline said. "She's right; she's entitled to know, for what she did on your behalf." To Juliana she said, "I'll tell you, then, Mrs. Frink. One by one Hawth made the choices. Thousands of them. By means of the lines. Historic period. Subject. Characters. Plot. It took years. Hawth even asked the oracle what sort of success it would be. It told him that it would be a very great success, the first real one of his career. So you were right. You must use the oracle quite a lot yourself, to have known."
Juliana said, "I wonder why the oracle would write a novel. Did you ever think of asking it that? And why one about the Germans and the Japanese losing the war? Why that particular story and no other one? What is there it can't tell us directly, like it always has before? This must be different, don't you think?"
Neither Hawthorne nor Caroline said anything.
"It and I," Hawthorne said at last, "long ago arrived at an agreement regarding royalties92. If I ask it why it wrote Grasshopper, I'll wind up turning my share over to it. The question implies I did nothing but the typing, and that's neither true nor decent."
"I'll ask it," Caroline said. "If you won't."
"It's not your question to ask," Hawthorne said. "Let her ask." To Juliana he said, "You have an unnatural93 mind. Are you aware of that?"
Juliana said, "Where's your copy? Mine's in my car, back at the motel. I'll get it, if you won't let me use yours."
Turning, Hawthorne started off. She and Caroline followed, through the room of people, toward a closed door. At the door he left them. When he re-emerged, they all saw the black-backed twin volumes.
"I don't use the yarrow stalks," he said to Juliana. "I can't get the hang of them; I keep dropping them."
Juliana seated herself at a coffee table in the corner. "I have to have paper to write on and a pencil."
One of the guests brought her paper and pencil. The people in the room moved in to form a ring around her and the Abendsens, listening and watching.
"You may say the question aloud," Hawthorne said. "We have no secrets here."
Juliana said, "Oracle, why did you write The Grasshopper Lies Heavy? What are we supposed to learn?"
"You have a disconcertingly superstitious94 way of phrasing your question," Hawthorne said. But he had squatted95 down to witness the coin throwing. "Go ahead," he said; he handed her three Chinese brass96 coins with holes in the center. "I generally use these."
She began throwing the coins; she felt calm and very much herself. Hawthorne wrote down her lines for her. When she had thrown the coins six times, he gazed down and said:
"Sun at the top. Tui at the bottom. Empty in the center."
"Do you know what hexagram that is?" she said. "Without using the chart?"
"Yes," Hawthorne said.
"It's Chung Fu," Juliana said. "Inner Truth. I know without using the chart, too. And I know what it means."
Raising his head, Hawthorne scrutinized97 her. He had now an almost savage98 expression. "It means, does it, that my book is true?"
"Yes," she said.
With anger he said, "Germany and Japan lost the war?"
"Yes."
Hawthorne, then, closed the two volumes and rose to his feet; he said nothing.
"Even you don't face it," Juliana said.
For a time he considered. His gaze had become empty, Juliana saw. Turned inward, she realized. Preoccupied99, by himself. . . and then his eyes became clear again; he grunted100, started.
"I'm not sure of anything," he said.
"Believe," Juliana said.
He shook his head no.
"Can't you?" she said. "Are you sure?"
Hawthorne Abendsen said, "Do you want me to autograph a copy of The Grasshopper for you?"
She, too, rose to her feet. "I think I'll go," she said. "Thank you very much. I'm sorry if I disrupted your evening. It was kind of you to let me in." Going past him and Caroline, she made her way through the ring of people, from the living room and into the bedroom where her coat and purse were.
As she was putting her coat on, Hawthorne appeared behind her. "Do you know what you are?" He turned to Caroline, who stood beside him. "This girl is a dathnon. A little chthonic spirit that --" He lifted his hand and rubbed his eyebrow101, partially102 dislodging his glasses in doing so. "That roams tirelessly over the face of the earth." He restored his glasses in place. "She's doing what's instinctive103 to her, simply expressing her being. She didn't mean to show up here and do harm; it simply happened to her, just as the weather happens to us. I'm glad she came. I'm not sorry to find this out, this revelation she's had through the book. She didn't know what she was going to do here or find out. I think we're all of us lucky. So let's not be angry about it; okay?"
Caroline said, "She's terribly, terribly disruptive."
"So is reality," Hawthorne said. He held out his hand to Juliana. "Thank you for what you did in Denver," he said.
She shook hands with him. "Good night," she said. "Do as your wife says. Carry a hand weapon, at least."
"No," he said. "I decided that a long time ago. I'm not going to let it bother me. I can lean on the oracle now and then, if I do get edgy104, late at night in particular. It's not bad in such a situation." He smiled a little. "Actually, the only thing that bothers me any more is knowing that all these bums105 standing around here listening and taking in everything are drinking up all the liquor in the house, while we're talking." Turning, he strode away, back to the sideboard to find fresh ice for his drink.
"Where are you going now that you've finished here?" Caroline said.
"I don't know." The problem did not bother her. I must be a little like him, she thought; I won't let certain things worry me no matter how important they are. "Maybe I'll go back to my husband, Frank. I tried to phone him tonight; I might try again. I'll see how I feel later on."
"Despite what you did for us, or what you say you did --"
"You wish I had never come into this house," Juliana said.
"If you saved Hawthorne's life it's dreadful of me, but I'm so upset; I can't take it all in, what you've said and Hawthorne has said."
"How strange," Juliana said. "I never would have thought the truth would make you angry." Truth, she thought. As terrible as death. But harder to find. I'm lucky. "I thought you'd be as pleased and excited as I am. It's a misunderstanding, isn't it?" She smiled, and after a pause Mrs. Abendsen managed to smile back. "Well, good night anyhow."
A moment later, Juliana was retracing106 her steps back down the flagstone path, into the patches of light from the living room and then into the shadows beyond the lawn of the house, onto the black sidewalk.
She walked on without looking again at the Abendsen house and, as she walked, searching up and down the streets for a cab or a car, moving and bright and living, to take her back to her motel.
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dealer
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wholesale
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accomplished
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consolidated
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deranged
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fanatic
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Nazis
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8
Nazi
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| n.纳粹分子，adj.纳粹党的，纳粹的 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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10
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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11
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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12
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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13
holocaust
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| n.大破坏；大屠杀 | |
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14
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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15
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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16
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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17
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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18
moronic
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| a.低能的 | |
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19
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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20
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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21
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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22
custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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23
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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25
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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26
deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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27
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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28
components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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29
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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30
maim
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| v.使残废，使不能工作，使伤残 | |
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31
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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32
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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33
inflaming
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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34
internecine
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| adj.两败俱伤的 | |
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35
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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36
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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37
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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38
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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39
garner
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| v.收藏；取得 | |
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40
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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41
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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42
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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43
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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44
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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45
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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47
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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48
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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49
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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50
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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51
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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52
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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53
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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54
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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55
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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56
judo
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| n.柔道 | |
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57
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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58
stunningly
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| ad.令人目瞪口呆地；惊人地 | |
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59
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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60
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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61
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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62
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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63
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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64
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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65
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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66
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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67
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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68
buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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69
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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70
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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71
fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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72
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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73
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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74
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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75
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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76
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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77
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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78
oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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79
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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80
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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81
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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82
immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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83
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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86
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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87
flustered
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| adj.慌张的；激动不安的v.使慌乱，使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
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88
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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89
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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90
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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91
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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92
royalties
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| 特许权使用费 | |
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93
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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94
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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95
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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96
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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97
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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99
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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100
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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101
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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102
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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103
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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104
edgy
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| adj.不安的；易怒的 | |
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105
bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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106
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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