dk.solesurvivor-第24部分

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　　At　meetings　of　The　passionate　Friends；　Joe　had　never　seen　any　bereaved　parent　capable　of　this　effervescence。　He'd　never　heard　of　such　a　creature；　either。　Parents　who　lost　young　children　spent　five　or　six　years…sometimes　a　decade　or　even　more　…striving；　often　fruitlessly；　merely　to　overe　the　conviction　that　they　themselves　should　be　dead　instead　of　their　offspring；　that　outliving　their　children　was　sinful　or　selfish…or　even　monstrously　wicked。　It　wasn't　much　different　for　those　who；　like　the　Delmanns；　had　lost　an　eighteen…year…old。　In　fact；　it　was　no　different　for　a　sixty…year…old　parent　who　lost　a　thirty…year…old　child。　Age　had　nothing　to　do　with　it。　The　loss　of　a　child　at　any　stage　of　life　is　unnatural；　so　wrong　that　purpose　is　difficult　to　rediscover。　Even　when　acceptance　is　achieved　and　a　degree　of　happiness　attained；　joy　often　remains　elusive　forever；　like　a　promise　of　water　in　a　dry　well　once　brimming　but　now　holding　only　the　deep；　damp　smell　of　past　sustenance。
　　Yet　here　was　Georgine　Delmann；　flushed　and　sparkling；　girlishly　excited；　as　she　pulled　Joe　to　the　end　of　the　hallway　and　through　a　swinging　door。　She　seemed　not　merely　to　have　recovered　from　the　loss　of　her　daughter　in　one　short　year　but　to　have　transcended　it。
　　Joe's　brief　hope　faded；　because　it　seemed　to　him　that　Georgine　Delmann　must　be　out　of　her　mind　or　inprehensibly　shallow。　Her　apparent　joy　shocked　him。
　　The　lights　were　dimmed　in　the　kitchen；　but　he　could　see　the　space　was　cosy　in　spite　of　being　large；　with　a　maple　floor；　maple　cabinetry；　and　sugar…brown　granite　counters。　From　overhead　racks；　in　the　low　amber　light；　gleaming　copper　pots　and　pans　and　utensils　dangled　like　festoons　of　temple　bells　waiting　for　the　vespers　hour。
　　Leading　Joe　across　the　kitchen　to　a　breakfast　table　in　a　bay…window　alcove；　Georgine　Delmann　said；　'Charlie；　Lisa；　look　who's　here！　It's　almost　a　miracle；　isn't　it？'
　　Beyond　the　bevelled…glass　windows　was　a　backyard　and　pool；　which　outdoor　lighting　had　transformed　into　a　storybook　scene　full　of　sparkle　and　glister。　On　the　oval　table　this　side　of　the　window　were　three　decorative；　glass　oil　lamps　with　flames　a…dance　on　floating　wicks。
　　Beside　the　table　stood　a　tall　good…looking　man　with　thick；　silver　hair：　Dr。　Charles　Delmann。
　　As　Georgine　approached　with　Joe　in　tow；　she　said；　'Charlie；　it's　Joe　Carpenter。　The　Joe　Carpenter。'
　　Staring　at　Joe　with　something　like　wonder；　Charlie　Delmann　came　forward　and　vigorously　shook　his　hand。　'What's　happening　here；　son？'
　　'I　wish　I　knew；'　Joe　said。
　　'Something　strange　and　wonderful　is　happening；'　Delmann　said；　as　transported　by　emotion　as　was　his　wife。
　　Rising　from　a　chair　at　the　table；　blond　hair　further　gilded　by　the　lambent　light　of　the　oil　lamps；　was　the　Lisa　to　whom　Georgine　had　referred。　She　was　in　her　forties；　with　the　smooth　face　of　a　college　girl　and　faded…denim　eyes　that　had　seen　more　than　one　level　of　Hell。
　　Joe　knew　her　well。　Lisa　Peccatone。　She　worked　for　the　Post。　A　former　colleague。　She　was　an　investigative　reporter　specializing　in　stories　about　particularly　heinous　criminals…serial　killers；　child　abusers；　rapists　who　mutilated　their　victims…driven　by　an　obsession　that　Joe　had　never　fully　understood；　prowling　the　bleakest　chambers　of　the　human　heart；　pelled　to　immerse　herself　in　stories　of　blood　and　madness；　seeking　meaning　in　the　most　meaningless　acts　of　human　savagery。　He　sensed　that　a　long　time　ago　she　had　endured　unspeakable　offences；　had　e　out　of　childhood　with　a　beast　on　her　back；　and　could　not　shrive　herself　of　the　demon　memory　other　than　by　struggling　to　understand　what　could　never　be　understood。　She　was　one　of　the　kindest　people　he　had　ever　known　and　one　of　the　angriest；　brilliant　and　deeply　troubled；　fearless　but　haunted；　able　to　write　prose　so　fine　that　it　could　lift　the　hearts　of　angels　or　strike　terror　into　the　hollow　chests　of　devils。　Joe　admired　the　hell　out　of　her。　She　was　one　of　his　best　friends；　yet　he　had　abandoned　her　with　all　of　his　other　friends　when　he　had　followed　his　lost　family　into　a　graveyard　of　the　heart。
　　'Joey；'　she　said；　'you　worthless　sonofabitch；　are　you　back　on　the　job　or　are　you　here　just　because　you're　part　of　the　story？'
　　'I'm　on　the　job　because　I'm　part　of　the　story。　But　I'm　not　writing　again。　Don't　have　much　faith　in　the　power　of　words　any　more。'
　　'I　don't　have　much　faith　in　anything　else。'
　　'What're　you　doing　here？'　he　asked。
　　'We　called　her　just　a　few　hours　ago；'　said　Georgine。　'We　asked　her　to　e。'
　　'No　offence；'　Charlie　said；　clapping　a　hand　on　Joe's　shoulder；　'but　Lisa's　the　only　reporter　we　ever　knew　that　we　have　a　lot　of　respect　for。'
　　'Almost　a　decade　now；'　Georgine　said；　'she's　been　doing　eight　hours　a　week　of　volunteer　work　at　one　of　the　free　clinics　we　operate　for　disadvantaged　kids。'
　　Joe　hadn't　known　this　about　Lisa　and　wouldn't　have　suspected　it。
　　She　could　not　repress　a　crooked；　embarrassed　smile。　'Yeah；　Joey；　I'm　a　regular　Mother　Theresa。　But　listen；　you　shithead；　don't　you　ruin　my　reputation　by　telling　people　at　the　Post。'
　　'I　want　some　wine。　Who　wants　wine？　A　good　Chardonnay；　maybe　a　Cakebread　or　a　Grgich　Hills；'　Charlie　enthused。　He　was　infected　with　his　wife's　inappropriate　good　cheer；　as　if　they　were　gathered　on　this　solemn　night　of　nights　to　celebrate　the　crash　of　Flight　353。
　　'Not　for　me；'　Joe　said；　increasingly　disoriented。
　　'I'll　have　some；'　Lisa　said。
　　'Me　too；'　Georgine　said。　'I'll　get　the　glasses。'
　　'No；　honey；　sit；　you　sit　here　with　Joe　and　Lisa；'　Charlie　said。　'I'll　take　care　of　everything。'
　　As　Joe　and　the　women　settled　into　chairs　around　the　table；　Charlie　went　to　the　far　end　of　the　kitchen。
　　Georgine's　face　was　aglow　with　light　from　the　oil　lamps。　'This　is　incredible；　just　incredible。　Rose　has　been　to　see　him　too；　Lisa。'
　　Lisa　Peccatone's　face　was　half　in　lamplight　but　half　in　shadow。　'When；　Joe？'
　　'Today　in　the　cemetery。　Taking　photographs　of　Michelle's　and　the　girls'　graves。　She　said　she　wasn't　ready　to　talk　to　me　yet。。。　and　went　away。'
　　Joe　decided　to　reserve　the　rest　of　his　story　until　he　heard　theirs；　both　in　the　interest　of　hastening　their　revelations　and　to　ensure　that　their　recitations　were　not　coloured　too　much　by　what　he　revealed。
　　'It　can't　have　been　her；'　Lisa　said。　'She　died　in　the　crash。'
　　'That's　the　official　story。'
　　'Describe　her；'　Lisa　requested。
　　Joe　went　through　the　standard　catalogue　of　physical　details；　but　he　spent　as　much　time　trying　to　convey　the　black　woman's　singular　presence；　the　magnetism　that　almost　seemed　to　bend　her　surroundings　to　her　personal　lines　of　force。
　　The　eye　in　the　shadowed　side　of　Lisa's　smooth　face　was　dark　and　enigmatic　but　the　eye　in　the　lamp　lit　half　revealed　emotional　turmoil　as　she　responded　to　the　description　that　Joe　gave　her。　'Rose　always　was　charismatic；　even　in　college。'
　　Surprised；　Joe　said；　'You　know　her？'
　　'We　went　to　UCLA　together　too　long　ago　to　think　about。　We　were　roomies。　We　stayed　reasonably　close　over　the　years。'
　　'That's　why　Charlie　and　I　decided　to　call　Lisa　a　little　while　ago；'　said　Georgine。　'We　knew　she'd　had　a　friend　on　Flight　353。　But　it　was　in　the　middle　of　the　night；　hours　after　Rose　left　here；　that　Charlie　remembered　Lisa's　friend　was　also　named　Rose。　We　knew　they　must　be　one　and　the　same；　and　we've　been　trying　all　day　to　decide　what　to　do　about　Lisa。'
　　'When　was　Rose　here？'　Joe　asked。
　　'Yesterday　evening；'　Georgine　said。　'She　showed　up　just　as　we　were　on　our　way　out　to　dinner。　Made　us　promise　to　tell　no　one　what　she　told　us　。　。　。　not　until　she'd　had　a　chance　to　see　a　few　more　of　the　victims'　families　here　in　L。A。　But　Lisa　had　been　so　depressed　last　year；　with　the　news；　and　since　she　and　Rose　were　such　friends；　we　didn't　see　what　harm　it　could　do。'
　　'I'm　not　here　as　a　reporter；'　Lisa　told　Joe。
　　'You're　always　a　reporter。'
　　Georgine　said；　'Rose　gave　us　this。'
　　From　her　shirt　pocket　she　withdrew　a　photograph　and　put　it　on　the　table。　It　was　a　shot　of　Angela　Delmann's　gravestone。
　　Eyes　shining　expectantly；　Georgine　said；　'What　do　you　see　there；　Joe？'
　　'I　think　the　real　question　is　what　you　see。'
　　Elsewhere　in　the　kitchen；　Charlie　Delmann　opened　drawers　and　sort