9. [Chapter Nine: Passionate Lover]
[Sonoma, Sodom. Don't look back, or you'll turn into pillars of salt. That's a city of depravity.]
One summer day, Lawrence said to me, “Let’s go to California. It’s time for you to meet my mother.”
I was surprised. I had once thought he, like me, had no living relatives. What surprised me even more was that he had asked for it himself; I had never shown any interest in exploring his upbringing, at least I thought I had hidden it well. Well, actually, I was almost driven crazy with curiosity, I just didn't dare let him see it. Well, he is Lawrence after all, he probably already knew.
When people talk about California, they think of Los Angeles, football, sunshine and beaches, magnificent canyons, mountains and deserts, and scenic national parks. Yes, those are all wonderful things, but I don't think Lawrence is taking me on a vacation. Lately, the truck radio has been broadcasting news about the California wildfires every day. Whenever Lawrence mentions California, I think of billowing smoke, scorching heat, and death.
On our drive to California, Lawrence said again, "But before that, we have some things to do."
I didn't ask him what it was about; I just followed him. We passed a gas station and bought several large buckets of fire-retardant paint at the auto parts store. Lawrence really knew how to do everything. He diluted the paint with water until the dark gray powder turned into a light gray, cement-like substance, then used a roller to evenly apply it to the truck's surface, doing a clean and neat job. He didn't really need my help, but seeing me staring at him blankly, he asked me to hold the ladder so he could climb onto the top of the truck to paint. I was happy to help him, and that way I could openly see the taut muscles in his back and the beads of sweat on his biceps when he raised his arm. The lines were beautiful and very sexy.
Two days later, we arrived in Sonoma County, California. The truck drove along the highway, the sky dyed orange-red by the raging fires that blanketed the mountains, a desolate beauty reminiscent of the apocalypse—the Tyndall effect caused by the scattering of smoke particles. The heat distorted the air inside the truck, and every now and then, tongues of fire licked at the windows, giving me the illusion that I was in a fire. But it didn't matter; I was in a fire truck, and the driver was Lawrence.
This road is too dangerous, so only we dare to walk it. It's like a narrow log bridge, like eloping, like fleeing for our lives.
I thought we'd go to a nursing home, a secluded cabin in the mountains, or a small house with a garden. But no, Lawrence parked the car at an intersection. Opening the door, thick smoke billowed out, incredibly choking. I didn't understand why he'd stopped there, but I didn't ask. Even if he told me the next moment that we were going to suffocate here and then be burned to ashes, I wouldn't ask him why. I didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
After some time, Lawrence suddenly asked, "Have you ever heard of the 'Sadistic Queen'?"
Her name alone tells you she's a sex worker. A vise, a leather whip, a tight-fitting bodysuit, black high heels—a glamorous and sexy female sadist. "No. Is she famous?"
“In the whole of the United States, of course not,” he said. “But if you’re talking about Las Vegas, then yes.”
Suddenly, I heard a "whoosh—whoosh—" sound. It was the sound of a sports car engine coming from my right. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw a mint green Thunderbird convertible, its design both classic and elegant. The driver was a silver-haired elderly woman with sunglasses, bright red lipstick, and a polka-dot scarf around her neck—very cool and stylish. I wished I could be that dashing when I was her age. Thinking this, I instinctively looked at Lawrence: "Caesar, we…"
Lawrence suddenly slammed on the gas, flooring it. The truck roared out, billowing smoke. Caught off guard, I was thrown forward, only to be violently pulled back by the seatbelt. The airbag deployed, sandwiching me between it and the seatback, feeling like my internal organs were being squeezed out. My eardrums vibrated wildly with the deafening explosion. It felt like a car accident; my mind went blank for a moment, the ringing in my ears drowning out the piercing alarm. I felt like my eyes were bleeding. The shock came from the front, but the windshield hadn't shattered. I struggled to unbuckle my seatbelt and rushed to check on Lawrence. He was also secured in his seatbelt, but his forehead seemed to have been cut by something sharp, and blood was flowing freely. Lawrence's eyes were closed. In that instant, my blood ran cold. With trembling hands, I checked his breath, kissing him desperately, trying to give him air. It felt like an eternity before he coughed and finally regained consciousness.
"I..." Lawrence was somewhat confused, slowly straightening himself by gripping the steering wheel. Thank goodness, he didn't seem to have any other injuries. Lawrence's brows were tightly furrowed, the whites of his eyes stained red by the blood flowing from his forehead. Blood in his eyes must have been very uncomfortable, but thankfully he didn't feel any pain. I used my sleeve to wipe the blood away for him. When Lawrence saw me, his eyes cleared instantly, and he shoved me aside abruptly, then kicked open the car door and jumped out.
I was stunned for a few seconds, then it dawned on me. I'd been so focused on Lawrence that I'd lost my mind! We'd hit another car! It was a car accident! How was the old lady? I quickly followed him out of the car and stumbled towards the scene. The beautiful convertible was completely overturned, the undercarriage relatively intact, the two wheels on the ground were flat, and the two upside-down wheels were still spinning with inertia. There was no smoke. I quickly went around to the other side of the car to check on the old lady. Lawrence had already pulled her out; she was lying on the ground, unconscious. Her right leg was bent at an odd angle, a section of bone protruding.
Lawrence told me to get our truck out. This truck was incredibly sturdy; despite the violent impact, only one headlight was missing. I got into the driver's seat, turned the key to start the engine, and carefully drove around the mess, pulling out of the intersection. Lawrence gestured for me to turn the truck around, perpendicular to the overturned convertible, so we might be able to use the rope at the back to right it.
I slowly adjusted my position, and Lawrence yelled "Stop!" I then stepped on the brake and pulled the handbrake. The rest was up to Lawrence. I sat in the passenger seat, looking at the raging fire ahead. It looked like a towering, burning wall, or a giant curtain of fire hanging from the sky. I suddenly thought of Sodom, burned by God.
"The Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, burning them to ashes as a warning to the ungodly in later generations; but He rescued only Lot, the righteous man, who was always distressed by the adultery of the wicked. The Lord knows how to rescue the godly from temptation, but leaves the unrighteous under punishment for the day of judgment. This is especially true of those who follow the flesh, indulge in impure desires, and despise the Lord."
Sonoma, Sodom. Don't look back, or you'll turn into pillars of salt. That's a city of depravity.
Lawrence returned to the driver's seat. I asked him, "Is she alright?"
“He’s still alive,” Lawrence said. “He’s living a very fulfilling life.”
Lawrence didn't start the car immediately. Instead, he rested his arm on the window, a cigarette between his fingers. He didn't light it; he just held it there, as if asking someone outside for a light. The fire ahead grew larger, and the dry, hot wind blew in plumes of thick smoke. Sparks flew through the air, brushing against the cigarette butt, which spontaneously combusted in the intense heat. The outside temperature was scorching, almost enough to burn a person, yet Lawrence felt no pain. Even though his arm was red as if it were about to be cooked, he maintained that posture, as if embracing the flames.
I watched him silently. The temperature inside the car rose sharply, but I felt no pain. I could sit here for a century, as long as I could look at Lawrence. Lawrence withdrew his hand and slowly smoked his cigarette. The smoke blurred his profile, making him incomparably handsome. His eyes flickered in the firelight, the whites of his eyes completely red, but the irises remained azure, like an icy lake that could not be stained by blood.
I heard sparks crackling. I heard screams. I heard the wind. I heard Lawrence call me "Ray".
“Ray, do you know? Fire is a form of natural selection. Fires don't kill all the animals in a forest; they usually only destroy the food or shelter of small animals, or both. If they can escape in time, they might survive, but if they can't, like the weak or old, they'll be directly exposed to predators. Large carnivores, like various birds of prey, always benefit from forest fires. Falcons will even pick up burning branches, fly to unburned grasslands, drop the branches, and start new fires there, driving their prey out of their nests. It's not cruel; it's just natural selection, survival of the fittest.”
He said, "I've been waiting for this fire for two whole years."
“Luckily you waited,” I said. “You found her before Death itself.”
Lawrence laughed, released the handbrake, shifted into drive, and slammed on the gas. This time, I gripped the door handle tightly and didn't lurch forward. The large truck plunged headlong into the inferno at incredible speed, the flames swallowing us whole like the gaping maw of a monstrous beast. I felt my eyebrows burning, my skin cracking, and the sweat I was sweating evaporate instantly. The flames didn't even need to touch me; the blinding light alone burned my eyes. In the brief darkness of blindness, I seemed to see the woman Lawrence called "Mother," sitting in the convertible being towed behind, screaming as she turned to ashes in this infernal hell.
I wasn't the raptor Lawrence described, someone destined to be eliminated by the law of the jungle, but he didn't mind using his talons to lift me into the air. I didn't know which was more painful, childbirth or self-immolation, and Lawrence knew even less, but as we drove the burning truck out of the flames, we were like two infants born of Mother Nature, reborn from the ashes. I cried, and Lawrence laughed; our lips were cracked like desert, but we embraced and kissed, like fish dying of thirst sharing their last drops.
After the kiss, Lawrence said, "We're over, Ray."
He released his grip, and I fell from the sky.
A note from the author:
Jehovah intended to destroy the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah because of their sins. Abraham pleaded with Jehovah for mercy, and Jehovah promised that if ten righteous men could be found in the city, he would not destroy it. When the two angels Jehovah sent went to the city, they found only Lot and his family among the righteous. The angels told Lot to seek refuge on a mountain and not to look back while fleeing. Lot's wife disobeyed the commandment and looked back; she turned into a pillar of salt.
A little bit of torture is good for the soul, but too much torture is harmful to the body.
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