"Nothing," Claire said. Impossible to explain. She had violated all the rules: decency, kindness, caution. She would never be able to laugh it off in the morning. Muttering an apology she went to her own room and sat on her bed, trembling. Since her mother's arrival every detail of her childhood kept dogging her. Her present life, her work, the friends she had, seemed insubstantial compared with all that had happened before. She used to love to slip into the chapel, alone, in the daytime, praying that she would die before her mother did, in order to escape being the scapegoat of her father. How could she have known that twenty years later, zipped into a heated, plastic tent, treating herself to a steam bath she would suddenly panic and cry out convinced that her sweat became as drops of blood. She put her hands through the flaps and begged the masseuse to protect her, the way she had begged her mother, long ago. Made a fool of herself. The way she made a fool of herself with the various men. The first night she met the Indian she was wearing a white fox collar, and its whiteness under his dark, well-chiseled chin made a stark sight as they walked through a mirrored room to a table, and saw, and were seen, in mirrors. He said something she couldn't hear.
“我没说什么，”克莱尔说。这下她不可能解释清楚了。她已违背了所有的行为准则：礼貌、 善良、谨慎。她永远不可能一觉醒来对刚才自己的无礼一笑了之。她含糊地道了个歉就回到了自己的房间，坐到床上，浑身颤抖。自从她母亲到来以后，她不断想起童年时期的那些往事，每一个细节。她当前的生活、她的工作、她的朋友，跟以往发生的那些事相比， 似乎都不重要。那时她喜欢白天独自一人溜进小教堂，祈求上帝让她死在她母亲之前，以免成为她父亲毒打的替罪羊。她当时怎么会知道20年之后，当她拉开加热的塑料帐篷的拉链去享受蒸汽浴的时候，她会突然觉得她的汗水变成了一滴滴的鲜血，而因此惊慌得叫喊。她把手伸出帐篷门帘，恳求女按摩师保护她，就像很久以前她求母亲救她那样。那天她真是出丑了，就像她与不同男人在一起时出丑一样。与那个印度人相遇的第一个晚上，她脖子上围了个白色的狐皮领套，在他们穿过四壁都是镜子的房间走向餐桌时，他们两人，以及周围的人.在镜子里都注意到，他轮廓鲜明的深色下巴和她领套的白颜色形成了非常明显的对比。他说了句话，但她听不见。