Vol 8 Chapter 46: Hazy coast

In 1892, the United States.
DeWitt Detective Agency.
"Booker, how do you feel?"
"Every day is like hell."
"You can no longer gamble and drink, think about your daughter, you can't take care of the children every day when you are drunk."
Booker just stared, staring at the misty blue mist of cigarettes in the air. Sitting across the table was a tall Chinese man, dressed in cowboy clothing, and smelled of fresh cow dung and tobacco. Everyone in the town knows him, a stranger who came to the town temporarily a year ago, and a nosy rich man.
His face hides under the wide brim of a cowboy hat, and looks like a dark shadow. When he speaks, he can only see the opening of his lips, and there is no more expression. "Alcohol can't wash your hands." Indian blood. The water in the Wounded Knee River is still clear, do you know why?"
Booker's psychological trauma did not allow him to recall the Wounded Knee River massacre that he had participated in in 1890. He did not answer, but frowned.
"..." The rich man also fell silent.
The pale sunlight came in from the secondary window on the door, casting a very cold gray spot, pulling the broad-minded shadow into a long, deformed shape. Booker DeWitt just stared, from the smoke of the air to the light and shadow on the old wooden floor, he fell into hell, without the strength of words.
Every day is like in hell.
The often unreasonable sudden throbbing of the heart is as paralyzed as freezing. The chest is full of thick ice.
"You owe a lot of debts, I can help you pay them off."
"..." Booker finally set his sights on the rich man. Staring at the shadow under the brim of his hat.
"But you are going to give me Anna."
"That's my daughter."
"So are you selling?"
"...Have to add money."
The rich man finally showed a simple smile, "As much money as you want. Even making you the richest man in the United States is not a problem."
"Why me? Why Anna?"
"This is a deal. The favorite sentence of you Americans: Businessisbusiness. (Business is business.) I have no interest in this stupid, far-right dictatorship with cerebral palsy. I have to complete the deal. go."
The broad-minded snapped his fingers, the door opened, and the crowds of black suits carrying big sturdy suitcases first came to Booker and lined up to open the box and show them—the box was filled with thick US banknotes and printed paper money. The smell of ink is a bit pungent, and these money boxes are stacked in the corners of the house one after another. Booker stands up a little for each layer, until the people are high, and the two walls are full. Booker has stood up completely. At this time, more than a dozen blonde girls stepped on high heels came in outside, holding gold jewelry boxes of pearls, corals, and gems, which were also displayed in front of Booker's bowed waist and then placed on the table. The pale and plump hands of the girls gradually took away, just like a group of white wild pigeons flying on the table. The brilliant pearl light illuminates the room brilliantly. People's cheeks are soaked in gold, red, blue, pearl white... The eyebrows are golden, brown, and black; human eyes are blue, cyan, brown, yellow, and gray; human lips are red, dark red, gray, and white. The light outside the door beats, and the color on the face beats convulsively.
The tall, sturdy Chinese man in cowboy clothes stood up, and his broad-legged riding boots slammed on the wooden floor. His footsteps sounded unhurriedly, so his footsteps sounded unhurriedly, and he walked toward the children's room.
"Wait." Booker stopped the rich man, "I want to know the answer. Who did you make the deal with? What are the terms?"
"I made a deal with you on the condition of Anna. If you put it this way, do you understand?"
"No, I'm not worth so much money, Anna is not worth so much money, you still tell me," Booker walked around from behind the table, trying to stop him, but he was blocked by the rich black suit thugs and couldn't retreat. "Hey! Tell me who the trader is!"
The rich man opened the door and picked up the baby in the crib. The unfamiliar smell on him made the girl with beautiful sea-blue eyes burst into tears. Booker outside the door shouted, "I'm not selling! I'm not selling!"
"It's not something you can decide now. Just live with enough wealth to buy half of the United States, Mr. Booker DeWitt." The broad-minded left with the baby in his arms, his back disappeared into the pale. In the sky.
In 1912, New York, USA.
Mansion.
Booker DeWitt wakes up from the nightmare.
"Dear Mr. Booker, I'm sorry to interrupt your rest. Two special guests want to see you."
"Please come in." Booker, the good guy, woke up during a nap, and asked the servant to come in before he could tidy up his appearance.
After the door opened, behind the humble African-American maid, a pair of white men and women Ang Sochow smiled cautiously and gently at the well-dressed Booker.
"Oh, welcome to the humble house... have I met you?"
"It's strange." It was the woman with high cheekbones in the guest. Her features were strong and clear, her dignified hairstyle, considerate clothing, and beautiful accents made it difficult for Booker to speak out. Understand the words.
And the young and handsome man beside her echoed, "It's really strange, I have never seen such a strange one. The first one?"
"First."
Booker waited very well for these two uninvited guests to show etiquette, and the obese African maid saluted him and retired by herself. The guests talked cordially while walking towards Booker, and they kept looking up and down the owner of the house.
"You are Mr. Booker DeWitt, the richest man in the United States, and a great philanthropist in New York. I really admire you for a long time." The woman said compliments, but her tone was like reading a trial book, "but your child Not by my side."
"Anna...I used to have a child." Booker rubbed the scar on the back of his left hand with the word AD. AnnaDewitt, his daughter's name, he carved with a knife. This scar is already numb, but every time he touches it, it will bring him huge Torture. He has always been relying on his wealth to help the poor and the poor, trying to heal the wounds in this way, but the wounds cannot simply dissipate. Everyone says that he is a good man, but the good man’s hands will not be stained with the blood of the indigenous people, and the good man will not use his daughter’s money to live at ease. The Lord will not easily forgive such sins, and Booker also doesn't trust God.
"Do you still want to get her back?" The woman offered a condition that she couldn't refuse.
"Of course, I can exchange everything I have, I only want my Anna."
"We can help you, no doubt, but only to take you to the pier and the way to the lighthouse. You have to walk by yourself."
"What does it mean?"
"Be prepared and wait for us in Bar Harbor, Maine in a month."
The guests turned to go out, and Booker hurried to chase them, but they disappeared as soon as they turned.
A month later, Booker came to Bar Harbor as scheduled and found a decent hotel in the local New England-style town. That night, the strange pair of men and women appeared again, wearing yellow raincoats with yellow round eaves. Hat knocked on the door of his room in the stormy midnight.
Booker put down the newspaper, raised the oil lamp, and hurried to open the door.
The woman with strong facial features outside the door gave him a charming smile, "I hope you have prepared a raincoat. We don't have any spares. Are you ready? Please come with us."
Booker just copied his hands like this, UU reading www.uukanshu.com hooked the kerosene lamp with his tail finger, and followed the men and women step by step. They walked through the quiet and wet streets at night and followed a muddy and embarrassing path to the pier. . At a certain moment, Booker suddenly felt that the surrounding air was extremely quiet. At this moment, a light rain fell in the sky, and then the rain increased, and the natural sound returned. The raindrops noisily hit the raincoat. He felt the icy cold invading his body. Looking back, the hotel where he lived when he came, disappeared in the shadow of the low buildings in Bar Harbor following the sudden heavy rain.
Booker couldn't help being confused. His mind started to ache with stress, unable to concentrate on effective thinking, "Why am I here?"
The couple turned their heads to comfort him in a low voice, "You are here to complete the commission, please keep following up."
The guests prepared a small sampan for the distinguished Mr. Booker. They acted as boatmen and guides. The handsome man would be responsible for swaying and paddling, while the women continued to chat strange gossips with the men, the small mast of the bow. Hanging a bright kerosene lamp, the light is as full as a fat apple.
On board the small sampan, the worried and melancholy Booker DeWitt, amidst the whispering complaints of the rowing man, quietly sailed into the misty Atlantic Ocean in the rainy night. In the dark sea in the distance, the pale light of the Fresnel lens on the nameless lighthouse rotates slowly, attracting the boat to sail through the mist and approach it little by little.