The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

"You... broke the rules."

“No,” Arthur said to the door, “I adhered to the core of the transaction: paying for the goods. As for the form of the payment, in your initial statement it was ‘one hundred dollars for my wife.’ But the ultimate purpose of the transaction is information. I have already paid the money. As for the form, I chose what I considered more efficient. The details of the rules can be discussed, but I have upheld the spirit of the contract.”

He paused, his tone softening.

"Tell me about Murphy, Jason. Then you can use this hundred dollars to buy some enhancement drugs, pay the rent, or get some pain medication for your kids. How you use it is your prerogative. That's true 'not taking advantage of you'."

A long silence.

Outside the door, Jensen's breathing was heavy and irregular.

He was struggling.

It's not a struggle about whether to speak or not, but a struggle about whether to admit that the distorted "rules" you're adhering to are completely unnecessary.

Admitting this is perhaps more unbearable than having his wife solicit clients.

Because that was the only spiritual barrier he built for himself in this abyss of despair.

"He..." Jason's voice finally broke through again, hoarse and weak, "He's in big trouble."

Arthur didn't urge him, and waited quietly.

"The foreman was a ruthless man. He forced Murphy to gamble, and Murphy lost all his money. Then the foreman pretended to 'show him the right way' and introduced him to loan sharks from the mob."

Jason sighed deeply and exhaled a breath of stale air.

"They threatened Murphy that if he couldn't pay back the money, they would kidnap his daughter and force her into prostitution to pay off the debt. In fact, the foreman wanted to keep the hardworking and capable Murphy under his wing for life, but Murphy refused."

Arthur's heart sank.

He remembered how Selena had come to him for help, her body covered in wounds and her face pale and haggard, the only money she had on her was in small pieces.

"Murphy has been missing for almost a week," Jason's voice trailed off. "His daughter... has probably been taken away. Those bastards are capable of anything."

Do you know which dock he's at?

"The docks in the old town. He said he would go there to work desperately to pay off his debts... but he didn't know that from the moment he borrowed the money, it was already a dead end."

He coughed twice, his cough dry and violent.

That's all I know. The deal... is done.

Arthur walked out the door, and Jason's face turned bright red. Arthur patted him on the shoulder.

He slammed the door shut behind him, the wooden door groaning softly as it closed.

Lock all the despair, distortion, waiting, and silence in this house back inside.

He stood on the dilapidated street and looked up at the window on the second floor that was letting in a faint light.

Behind the curtains, a still figure stood there.

Not moving at all.

Arthur looked away and turned up the collar of his trench coat to cover his neck.

The night wind grew colder.

He started walking back the way he came.

Arthur reached into his pocket again, his fingertips touching the worn-out photograph.

It has Murphy's kind smile and the light in Selena's eyes.

He gripped the photo tightly.

The road ahead remains shrouded in darkness.

But the direction seems to be a little clearer.

He quickened his pace.

The wind carried wisps of smoke from distant factories, pressing low over the rooftops.

The entire workers' residential area slumbered in drugs, exhaustion, and torment, completely unaware of and indifferent to the transaction that had just taken place behind the thin wooden door.

There are transactions here every day. One more or one less makes no difference.

The wheel of money, still lubricated by flesh and blood, slowly and steadily rolls forward on its rusty tracks, until all hope, dignity, and humanity are ground into a warm paste.

The city unfolds in the night, with abandoned buildings crumbling under the sweep of car headlights.

Jason's words were like poisoned needles, each one piercing his heart.

Murphy was framed by the foreman and the mob, his daughter was forced into prostitution to pay off debts, and he himself disappeared.

Who could he turn to in this darkness? A glimmer of light appeared in his mind.

He suddenly remembered his old friend, Reverend Dunbar.

Although Reverend Dunbar's church is dilapidated, it has always been dedicated to sheltering the homeless in the slums. His connections extend to the lowest rungs of the city, so perhaps he knows something, or perhaps he is the last glimmer of hope.

Arthur's gaze hardened, and he took out his phone and dialed a long-forgotten number.

"Arthur? Is something urgent that you're calling me so late?"

His voice trembled, tinged with uncertainty and intense hope, as he described to the pastor everything he had heard about Murphy, about his daughter, and about his greatest fears.

Reverend Dunbar's weathered voice came through the receiver.

He paused for a moment. "Murphy Callahan? That name... sounds familiar."

Arthur gripped the phone tightly; the pastor's voice gave him a glimmer of hope. Murphy, where was he? Was he alive or dead?

Arthur's palms were sweating with nervousness as he anxiously awaited the miracle Pastor Dunbar might bring and the will of God.

A few blocks away, at the end of a dimly lit alley, Selena was huddled in a worn-out folding chair, her thin jacket offering little protection from the chill of late autumn.

This is where she works, a makeshift pick-up point hidden behind trash cans and graffiti walls, just a few minutes' walk from the cheap hotel.

She was shivering from the cold, clutching a worn-out book of poems to her chest. It was a birthday gift from her father, Murphy, and the only warmth she could hold onto.

The alleyway was filled with the damp smell of garbage, cheap perfume, and moldy food. Occasionally, a drunken homeless man would utter incoherent curses, but this was easier to bear than the screams or cries of the other girls in the hotel.

She heard footsteps coming from the alley entrance, the soft rustling of leather shoes against the cobblestones. Her heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively gripped the book in her hands tighter.

Usually at this time, it's the guests who smell of alcohol or medicine.

She forced herself to look up, having already been beaten for this before, but saw a tired but familiar face. It was Arthur, the private detective who had promised to help her find her father.

The moment Arthur saw Selena, he slowed his pace, his face a mixture of exhaustion and guilt.

This girl, only eighteen or nineteen years old, should have been sitting in a university classroom, but instead, she became a defiled and trampled wildflower in the dirtiest alley in the city.

Arthur walked toward her, each step heavy.

He stopped in front of Selena, the chill in the air temporarily dispelled by the faint smell of tobacco on him.

He didn't say anything polite, but simply took a folded photo out of his pocket and handed it to her; it was a picture of Murphy and Selena together.

Selena took it, her fingertips trembling.

She looked at Arthur, her eyes filled with a silent question. She stood on the thin ice of hope, her teeth chattering involuntarily, making a cracking sound as if the ice was breaking.

Arthur looked at her and saw the girl that Jason had described, forced into prostitution to pay off debts; he saw the poverty on the Mexican border; he saw a youth utterly crushed by the "American Dream."

He could sense the deep-seated despair within the girl, a numbness born of accustomed misfortune, yet a tiny flame stubbornly burning in her eyes—a faint hope that her father was still alive.

"Reverend Dunbar said he saw your father before," Arthur said, his voice low but clear enough to reach Selena's ears. "He seemed very ill but still forced himself to work. He may have collapsed on some unknown street corner by now."

Selena's shoulders twitched, and the book almost slipped from her hands.

She gripped it tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Seriously ill? Collapsed? Isn't this exactly what she feared most? She bit her lip, her eyes dry and stinging, without tears.

"Where did he go?" Selena's voice was hoarse, with a faint plea.

Arthur stared at her, then hesitated for a moment.

He couldn't lie, nor could he directly bombard the girl with Jason's cruel conjecture.

He organized his thoughts, trying to find a balance between the harsh truth and clinging to a sliver of hope.

"Jansen said that his last destination was probably the docks in the old town."

"The docks?" Selena paused slightly, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes. "He's been working there illegally."

She looked up at Arthur. "He's looking for work that can pay off his debts, and he'll do it no matter how dangerous it is."

"Is the mob threatening you?" Arthur asked, knowing the answer. Jason had provided enough background information. He wanted to hear the same cold confirmation from Selena.

Selena nodded slowly, her gaze falling on the book in her hands, stroking the faded words on the cover.

"Yes, they found my father and demanded that he pay off his gambling debts. They said if he couldn't pay, they would take me away. And I... I've already been taken away by them and forced into prostitution to pay off the debts. When my father found out, he was furious and desperately tried to find a way to get me back. He said he would definitely pay it all off."

The girl lowered her head. Even though she might be beaten, she still squatted by the roadside with her head down, her hands covering her face, her body trembling slightly, and tears spilled from her palms onto the ground.

"And then?" Arthur asked in a low voice, he could guess the gist of it.

"My father started working like crazy, working on construction sites during the day, washing dishes in restaurants at night, and unloading goods at the docks in the early hours of the morning. He only slept two or three hours a day, and soon became emaciated, and then he started coughing up blood."

Selena sobbed as she recounted her and her father’s suffering, but her language and cultural level were barely enough to describe even a tenth of what she had endured.

"I knew he was sick and urged him to go to the hospital, but he refused. He said that if he went to the hospital, the medical expenses would make all his efforts go to waste, and he would never be able to pay off his debts. I would really be taken away and would never be able to go back to him."

"The foreman forced him to gamble and introduced him to gangsters to borrow money. It's a trap, does he know that?" Arthur clenched his fist.

Jason's experience, Murphy's fate—he witnessed too many stories like these, like inescapable nets that trapped the people at the bottom of society.

"He knew," Selena said softly, wiping away her tears. "But he had no choice, none of us had a choice. In Mexico, we could die in the streets at any moment. Drug dealers, riots, hunger. Here... at least we can live."

Arthur remained silent for a moment.

He looked at Selena's eyes, which had lost their luster due to the trials of fate, and felt a pang of sadness in his heart.

He recalled the news of the president's crackdown on illegal immigration and the people who had given everything for the so-called "American Dream."

"Our hometown..."

Selena's voice carried a hint of distant memories and a chilling fear.

"It's a small village in Oaxaca. It used to be very lively, with many relatives and kind neighbors. But then... drug traffickers came, and warlords came too. They fought each other, kidnapping young people to be cannon fodder and women to be 'playthings.' Our village was burned down several times, and many people died. My mother... was also killed by a stray bullet in one of the fighting."

Her eyes were vacant as she stared at the dark sky at the end of the alley, blocked by tall buildings.

"Those who survive either join drug cartels or warlords, or they endure hardship and struggle to survive, but either way, they'll be killed sooner or later. Or they have to find a way to escape. My dad and I, we don't want to become like that. We want to live."

"Hell is also divided into eighteen levels."

Selena suddenly looked up and stared directly into Arthur's eyes, which were now devoid of tears.

She saw hell, the hell she would arrive at sooner or later.

"Mexico is like the lowest level of hell, where you never know if you'll be killed any second. Here... at least there are rules. As long as we work hard, we still have a chance to survive. I know this place is hell too, but it's... a little better, isn't it?"

When she said these words, the expression on her face seemed to have been stripped of all emotion, leaving only numbness and exhaustion.

Arthur listened to her words, his heart heavy. He had seen far too many faces like her, far too many stories.

Those who fled war, poverty, and hunger regarded this land as their last refuge, unaware that it also harbored an invisible abyss, waiting to devour their hopes.

"I just want him to live," Selena almost murmured, clutching the poetry collection tightly.

"I hope he can find a slightly safer place, even if it's just to work illegally, so he won't be forced to gamble anymore. I still want to be with him, even if it's in some run-down corner. As long as we can be together, I'm not afraid."

She choked up, and Arthur choked up too.

"I'm not afraid of hardship, I'm not afraid of continuing to sell myself, as long as I can keep him alive. As long as he's alive, we can still support each other and survive in this country. We can leave Emerald Dream City, go to other cities, and start over."

The voice was filled with a desperate determination, a stubbornness that was like someone who had been driven to the brink of despair but was still trying to grasp at the last straw.

Arthur looked at her, and he knew how slim this girl's hopes were.

But he also knew that this faint hope was the only reason she could survive in this hell. She wasn't naive; she simply needed something to hold onto and rely on in the face of cruel reality.

Arthur sighed; he made no promises. He simply stood up and patted Selena on the shoulder.

I will do my best to find him.

His words were simple and straightforward, without exaggerated promises or false comfort.

Selena looked up at him, her eyes shining faintly yet resolutely. Arthur knew that this light stemmed from her deepest love for her father, the fuel that sustained her and kept her alive. He couldn't extinguish that faint flame.

He turned and left the alley, leaving Selena behind in that smelly corner.

The night wind swirled up the trash on the ground, making a rustling sound.

Arthur walked down the street, the city lights casting long shadows behind him.

This city, this country, is built upon these abandoned hopes and despairs.

I hope Murphy is still alive. As long as he's alive, there's a chance; as long as he's alive, there's hope.

Arthur got back into the car and lit a cigarette.

Smoke rose and swirled, casting a hazy gray-white hue over the city behind the windshield.

He still had many things to do and many places to go. The docks in the old town would be his next destination.

Perhaps there they could find clues to Murphy's true disappearance, perhaps they could even find Murphy. Selena's hopes rested on his shoes, about to tread into the mud.

He started the car, the engine humming dully as he drove into the deeper night.