Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty Eight

The next morning, Albinus went to a travel agency and a German inn to inquire carefully, but failed to find out the address of Udo Konrad. "We don't have much to say anyway," he thought. "If you stay here for a while, you might run into him. It's nothing to regret if you don't." One morning a few days later, he woke up earlier than usual.He lifted the shutters and looked out at the blue sky and the verdant hillsides with a smile.The hillside is sunny, but misty, like a colorful illustration under the cover of thin paper.He longed so much to climb the mountains, to roam the mountains, to breathe the thyme-scented air.

Margot woke up. "It's still early," she said sleepily. He made her get dressed quickly, and then went out with him all day—just him and her. "Go yourself," she muttered, turning over. "Oh, you lazybones," Albinus said disappointedly. At about eight o'clock, the morning sun slanted, and the street was half bathed in sunlight and half hidden in shadow.He quickly crossed the narrow street and started climbing. He walked past a small house painted pink and heard the click of scissors.He saw Udo Conrad trimming something in a small garden on a rock.Oh, by the way, Udo usually loves gardening.

"Finally caught you." Obinas said happily.Udo looked back, but didn't smile. "Oh," he said coldly, "I don't expect to see you again." A lonely life made him sensitive like a spinster.Instead, he gets a weird pleasure when he feels his feelings are hurt. "Take it easy, Udo," Albinas said, brushing aside the feathery mimosa leaves by the roadside, and walked forward. "You know, I didn't miss that bus on purpose. I thought the car was going to drive around the village and come back." Conrad's face softened a little. "That's all right," he said, "it's human nature. People run into an old acquaintance from years ago and suddenly get terrified and try to avoid him. I thought you wouldn't want to do something like that on a bus." Talk to me in the cell. You did escape."

Obinas smiled: "Actually, I've been asking about you for the past few days. No one knows where you live." "Yes, I have only rented this cottage for a few days. Where do you live?" "Well, I'm staying at the Britannia Hotel. Really, it's a pleasure to meet you. Udo, tell me about your experiences over the years." "Shall we go for a walk together?" Conrad asked hesitantly. "Okay, I'm going to change my shoes." When he came back after changing his shoes, they followed a shady path up the hill.Sandwiched between two stone walls covered in vines, this winding mountain road has asphalt not yet warmed by the rising sun.

"Is everyone all right?" Conrad asked. Albinus hesitated for a moment, and said: "Forget it, Udo. A couple of unfortunate things have happened to my family lately. Last year we got separated—Elizabeth and I. Then my little Irma died of pneumonia. If you don't mind, we'd better talk Anything else." "Unfortunately," said Conrad. Both fell silent.Albinas thought it would be interesting to talk about his love affair with this old friend, because in Udo's eyes he was a shy and honest man.But Albinas decided to save the subject for another day.Conrad felt it was a mistake to go for a walk this time—he liked the company of carefree, happy people.

"I didn't know you were in France," said Aubinas. "I thought you usually lived in Mussolini's country." "Who was Mussolini?" Conrad asked, frowning in confusion. "Ah—you're still the same," Albinas laughed. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to talk about politics. Tell me about your work. Your latest novel is brilliant." "I don't think," said Udo, "that my work is not appreciated in my country at the moment. I would like to write in French, but I don't want to give up the experience and the wealth I have gained in my own language."

"Don't say that, Udo," Albinas said. "A lot of people love to read your book." "Not as much as I love them," Conrad said. "It will take a long time, maybe a whole century, before people can really read my work-if writing and reading have not been forgotten by then. I think that for half a century, the Germans I can neither write nor read." "How do you say that?" Obinas asked. "If a literature depends mainly on describing people's stories to maintain its life, it means that this literature is already dying. I don't feel much for Freudian novels or novels describing idyllic scenes. interest. You might say that the quality of literature is not determined by the likes and dislikes of the public, but by two or three really good writers who are lonely and neglected by their rigid and arrogant contemporaries. At any rate, the situation It’s embarrassing at times. I just can’t stand seeing people take those books seriously.”

"No," said Albinus, "I cannot agree with you. If our age is concerned with social problems, then there is no reason for talented writers to stand idly by. The world wars and the social upheavals that followed . . . " "Stop it," Conrad said softly. They fell silent again.The winding mountain road brought them to a pine forest.The chirping of cicadas is very similar to the sound of a toy clockwork being continuously tightened and unwound.A stream flowed over smooth rock, and where the current rippled, the stones beneath the water quivered.They sat down on the fragrant dry turf.

"Always living abroad, don't you feel lonely and helpless?" Obinas looked up at the swaying pine treetops like water plants in the blue sea. "Don't you want to hear German voices?" "Oh, I also occasionally meet our compatriots, and sometimes I find it very interesting. For example, I find that German tourists always think that no one understands their language." "I don't want to live abroad forever," Albinas said.He lay on his back in the grass, and through the gaps in the trees, he gazed enchantedly at the blue bays, lagoons, and creeks.

"The day I met you," Conrad said, lying down too, with his head resting on his arms, "I saw two of your friends in the car. It was interesting. You knew those two, didn't you?" "I know him, not very well," Obinas said with a slight smile. "I thought so too, so they had a good time after you missed the train." ("What a naughty girl," Albinas thought affectionately. "Tell him all about me and her? No.") "I listened to them talking with great interest. But I didn't miss my hometown because of it. It's strange that the more I miss my country, the more I feel that artists may no longer need it at a certain time. Like those who first lived in in the water, and later colonized the land."

"I will long to return to the cool water from the bottom of my heart," Obinas also fantasized seriously. "By the way, I found that the opening paragraph of Baum's new book "The Discovery of Taplobana" is quite good. It talks about a Chinese traveler going to India through the Gobi Desert a long time ago. One day, on a mountain in Ceylon He stood in front of a huge Jade Buddha in the temple of the city and watched a merchant offer a Chinese silk fan, and then..." "So," put in Conrad, "'homesickness'. That's the thing for sure, though I've never read, and never will read, the last book written by that tedious fool. .Anyway, the businessmen I meet here are not very good at inspiring homesickness." They fell silent again.Both were bored, and for a while they stared at the pine forest and the sky. Conrad sat up and said: "Well, man, I'm so sorry, shall we walk back now? I have to write something before noon." "Okay," Obinas also sat up. "I should go back too." They descended the hill in silence and reached Conrad's door, where they shook hands affectionately and said goodbye. "Well, it's over," thought Albinus, feeling relieved. "From now on, never visit him again!"