Chapter 2 Chapter two

Of course, even people who are resurrected from the dead have to be filed.The International Resurrection Bureau has received a steady stream of donations, and it has reached the point where it is too late to consume.All countries in the world are doing their best, even at the expense of debt, to invest in the Bureau of Investigation, in order to maintain their relationship with the Bureau of Investigation, because it is the only organization in the world that has mastered all the resurrected people and related events. Ironically, those inside the bureau know very little about the agency.The only thing they have to do is to count the number of people, and then tell the resurrected the way home.That's all.

It was almost half an hour before the turmoil on the front porch of the Hargraves' cabin subsided, and the hugs and kisses ended for a while.The Hargraves led Jacob into the kitchen, where he sat down to enjoy all the good things he hadn't been able to eat during his absence.Sitting in the living room with Harold and Lucille, the Bureau official pulled out a stack of papers from a brown suitcase and got down to business. "When did the Risen originally die?" he asked, introducing himself to the couple again as Agent Martin Bellamy. "Do we have to use that word?" Lucille asked.She took a deep breath, sat on the chair and straightened her back.Suddenly, she looked so grand and proud.When she was staring at her son just now, her silver hair was a little messy, but it has been combed and straightened now.

"Which word?" Harold wondered. "She was referring to the word 'death,'" Inspector Bellamy said. Lucille nodded. "Is there a problem with saying he's dead?" Harold's voice was louder than he expected.Even if Jacob couldn't hear him, at least he could see him now. "Hush!" "He's dead, there's no use pretending he's alive." Harold lowered his voice, although he didn't realize it. "Martin Bellamy knows what I mean," said Lucille.With her hands on her lap, she twisted, her eyes searching for Jacob every few seconds as if he were a candle in the wind.

Agent Bellamy smiled slightly: "It's okay," he said, "Actually, this is normal, I really didn't think about it. Let's start again, okay?" He looked down at the questionnaire, "When is the resurrected person... ..." "Where are you from?" "what did you say?" "Where are you from?" Harold asked standing by the window, looking at the blue sky outside. "You speak with the accent of a New Yorker," said Harold. "Is that an advantage or a disadvantage?" Agent Bellamy asked seemingly casually.In fact, he's been asked about his accent a dozen times since he was assigned to run the Risen in southern North Carolina.

"Very nasty," said Harold, "but I'm not much of a mind." "Jacob," interrupted Lucille, "will you please call him Jacob? That's his name." "Okay, ma'am," said Detective Bellamy, "excuse me, I know better now." "Thank you, Martin Bellamy," said Lucille.Her hands couldn't help clenching into fists again, and then she took a deep breath, concentrated, and slowly let go of her fingers. "Thank you, Martin Bellamy," she repeated. "When did Jacob leave?" Agent Bellamy asked softly. "August 15, 1966," Harold replied.He walked to the door, looking uneasy.He licked his lips, running his hands between the pockets of his well-worn slacks and the same old gray lips, but found nothing calming—that is, a cigarette—up and down. No.

Bellamy asked while recording: "How did it happen?" The day searchers looked for Jacob, the name seemed like a spell.Every once in a while someone would yell, "Jacob! Jacob Hargrave!" and the name would be passed around: "Jacob! Jacob!" At first, they shouted one after another, their voices were shrill, full of fear and despair.But after searching for a long time, the boy still disappeared.In order to save their voices, members of the search team began to call out in turn.The sun gradually turned golden red, slipped a little below the horizon, was swallowed by tall trees, and finally disappeared into the bushes.

Everyone raised their legs and stepped over the thorn bushes along the road, and their feet began to stagger.They were all exhausted, and their anxiety was exhausting.Fred Green was with Harold all the time. "We'll find him," Fred kept saying. "Did you see the look in his eyes when he unpacked that toy gun I gave him? The little guy must be so excited." Fred De said breathlessly, his legs were almost broken by this time. "We'll find him," he said, nodding, "we'll find him." It was finally completely dark, and flashlights flickered here and there in the dense pine forests of the Arcadia region.

The searchers made their way to the river, and Harold was thankful that he had persuaded Lucille to stay at home and wait. "Maybe he will come back by himself," he advised her. "At that time, he will definitely look for his mother." In fact, he knew in his heart that in such a situation, the only way to find his son was in the river. Harold stepped into the river, and even the shallows on the banks were knee-deep.He walked very slowly, and every time he took a step, he called the child's name, then paused for a moment, listening for a voice of agreement nearby, then took another step, called again, and kept going back and forth.

Finally, he finally saw the child's body.The moonlight sprinkled on the river surface, reflecting the child's body into a beautiful silvery white, which is as unforgettable as the sparkling river water. "My God," Harold whispered.Since then, the word has not come out of his mouth again. As Harold told what had happened, he could hear the passage of time in his own voice.He spoke like an old man, hard and hoarse.As he spoke, he would stretch out his thick, wrinkled palms and brush the few remaining white hairs on his head.His hands are covered with age spots and the knuckles are swollen from arthritis.Compared with his peers, his arthritis is not severe, but the pain still makes him often realize that he no longer has the capital of a young man.Even when he spoke, he could feel a tingling pain on his tailbone.

His head is also going bald, and there are spots on both his big round head and his big wrinkled ears.Lucille tried to find suitable clothes for him to wear, but all the clothes still seemed to swallow his body when they were on him.Needless to say, he is an old man now. The return of Jacob—still so young and full of life—had suddenly made Harold Hargrave aware of his own age, inexplicably. Lucille was as old as her husband, with gray hair.As he spoke, she looked away, keeping her eyes on her eight-year-old son.At this moment, the child was sitting at the dinner table, eating a piece of pecan pie.Time seems to go back to 1966, everything is peaceful, and there will be no more misfortunes.Sometimes, when she raised her hand to brush away a lock of white hair on her forehead, she would inadvertently see her skinny hands covered with age spots, but she didn't bother about it.

Both Harold and Lucille were lanky.The two had grown old in the past few years, and Lucille looked even taller than Harold, or, rather, Harold shrank faster than her.As a result, when the two were arguing now, he had to look up at her.Lucille also had the advantage of not losing weight like Harold's—which she blamed on his constant smoking.Her skirt still fitted her well, and her slender arms still moved so nimbly; while Harold's arms dangled in the baggy shirt, making him even less confident than before, which made Lucille Days are increasingly taking precedence. Lucille was proud of this and felt okay, although she sometimes felt that she should be a little embarrassed. Agent Bellamy's hands were cramping as he kept taking notes.He relaxes for a moment, then writes down.He also thought about recording the conversation, but he still thought it would be better to record it with a pen.When people meet and talk with government officials, only to find out that the officials don't remember anything, they don't feel comfortable.And it fits the way Agent Bellamy works.His brain was better at processing visual information than auditory information.Even if he doesn't keep records now, he will have to sort out a paper file later. Bellamy began writing at her child's birthday party in 1966.While sobbing, Lucille recounted everything that happened that day, her tone full of guilt.She was the last person Jacob saw while he was still alive.She only vaguely remembered her son rushing to a corner of the room to chase another child, waving a pale arm.There were so many people at the funeral that there was hardly room in the church.Bellamy took it all down. But some of the conversations he didn't remember.Out of respect, some details were kept in his mind rather than in official documents. Harold and Lucille, while grieving the loss of their child, are coming to terms with it, but that's about it.For the next fifty years, their lives were filled with a kind of unspeakable loneliness.This kind of loneliness often came unexpectedly, and it came up indiscriminately during Sunday dinner, making the topic of the two awkward.They can't describe that feeling, and they rarely talk about it.They can only hold their breath, sitting on pins and needles in loneliness.As the days passed, the feeling dwindled, but remained inscrutable and inescapable, as if a nuclear particle accelerator had appeared out of nowhere in the bedroom, unwaveringly predicting the most ominous, The most rambunctious side. Maybe that's the way it is. Over the years, they have become accustomed to avoiding this loneliness, and have even become familiar with it.It's like a game: don't mention Strawberry Picking Day, because Jacob's favorite day; don't keep staring at those beautiful buildings, because it reminds you that you said that Jacob will be Architects; completely blind to those children who resembled Jacob in a way. The few days around Jacob's birthday every year are always depressing and relatively silent.Lucille would be sobbing for no reason, and Harold would be a little more smokey than usual. But that was only in the beginning, only in the sad first few years. They grow old slowly.They shut the door of memory. Harold and Lucille have kept as far away from the tragedy of Jacob's drowning as possible.However, they saw the boy standing at the door of their house again—the smile on his face was so familiar, and it hadn't changed with the years.He was still their precious son, still only eight years old, and all this was so far away from them that Harold even forgot the child's name for a while. After Harold and Lucille finished what they had to say, they fell silent.But the solemnity lasted only a moment, for Jacob, sitting at the kitchen table, was making all sorts of noise: he was clinking his fork and plate, he was gulping his lemonade, Then he burped with satisfaction. "Sorry." The child yelled at his parents. Lucille smiled: "Excuse me for this next question." Agent Bellamy spoke up, "Please don't take this as an accusation, but in order to better understand the... special circumstances at the time, we have to ask." "Here it is, after all," said Harold.He put his hands in his pockets, and finally stopped fumbling for the non-existent cigarette.Lucille spread her hands indifferently. "How was the relationship between you and Jacob, I mean, before that happened?" Agent Bellamy asked. Harold snorted and shifted his weight from his left leg to his right.He looked at Lucille. "Do you want us to say that we kicked him out of the house or something? Isn't that what it's all about on TV. Should we say we hit him, didn't feed him, or abused him like they did on TV ?” Harold walked to a small table in the front hall facing the door, and there was an unopened pack of cigarettes in the first drawer. Before he had time to return to the living room, Lucille fired first: "No smoking!" Harold tore open the package, mechanically, as if those hands were not his own.He took out a cigarette, didn't light it, just held it in his mouth.He scratched his wrinkled face and let out a deep, slow breath. "I'll just taste it," he said, "it's not really smoked." Agent Bellamy said mildly, "I don't mean that you or anyone else caused your son's... Well, I really don't know how to express it." He smiled, "I just want to ask Situation. The bureau is trying to figure out what happened, and everyone wants to figure it out. We may be able to connect resurrected people with their families, but that doesn't mean we know how they were resurrected, or, What brought them back." He shrugged and added, "The biggest problem remains unresolvable and elusive. But we try to collect every clue and ask every question, even though some questions are really offensive. We hope this will help us get to the truth step by step and get the situation under control before it gets out of hand." Lucille leaned forward on the old couch and asked, "How did things get out of hand, what happened?" "It's going to happen sooner or later," said Harold. "I'll bet you the Bible." Agent Bellamy just shook his head professionally, his face was expressionless, and then he returned to the question just now: "How was your relationship before Jacob left?" Lucille felt Harold's answer on her lips, and in order to keep him from speaking, she answered first: "It's all right, it's fine. Everything is normal. He's our son, and of course we love him. Like all parents. He loves us too. He did it then, and he loves us now. We love him, and he loves us. Thankfully, we are all three again." She rubbed her neck and held up her hands . "It's a miracle," she said.Martin Bellamy recorded it. "And you?" he asked Harold again. Harold took the unlit cigarette out of his mouth, rubbed his head, nodded and said, "Just like she said." These words were also recorded. "Now I have to ask a bit silly question, are you two religious?" "Yes!" Lucille said, sitting up straight suddenly, "I believe in Jesus, I am loyal to Jesus, and I am proud of it. Amen." She nodded in Harold's direction, "As for him, he is a heretic. .For God's sake, I keep telling him to repent, but he's as stubborn as a donkey." Harold chuckled like an old lawnmower. "The two of us take turns to be religious. Thank God, it has been more than fifty years, and it has not been my turn yet." Lucille waved. "Which denomination?" Agent Bellamy asked, taking notes. "Baptists," Lucille replied. "how long it has been?" "Lifelong Faith." Keep recording. "Actually, it's not accurate to say that." Lucille said again. Agent Bellamy paused his pen. "I used to be a Methodist for a while, but I didn't understand certain doctrines with the pastor. I also tried to find answers in the Holy Church, but they were always too loud, singing and dancing. I can't keep up, I thought I was attending a party at first, how is it like being in a church? And I don't think Christians should be like this." Lucille leaned forward and saw Jacob was still at the dining table: he He was nodding slightly to the table, exactly the same as before.Then she went on to say, "It's been a while, I tried..." "You don't need to talk so much," Harold interrupted. "You shut up! He asked me, and I said that, didn't I, Agent Martin Bellamy?" The detective nodded: "Yes, ma'am, you are right. What you said may be very important. According to my experience, often inconspicuous details can explain the problem the most, especially for such important matters as the present. " "How big is it?" Lucille interjected immediately, as if she'd been waiting for this opportunity. "Do you mean how many incidents like this have occurred?" Bellamy asked. Lucille nodded. "It's not too much," Bellamy said carefully, "I can't reveal the exact number, but it's really not serious, not too much, not too little." "Hundreds of pieces?" Lucille didn't relax, "Thousands of pieces? No more, no less?" "Anyway, there's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Hargrave." Bellamy said, shaking her head. "It's just a bit of a surprise." Harold laughed out loud and said, "He's already pinched your weakness." Lucille just smiled. By the time Detective Bellamy had written down all the details of the Hargraves, the sun had set and night had fallen.There was the sound of crickets outside the window, and Jacob lay quietly in the middle of the couple's big bed.Lucille used to carry Jacob from the dinner table to the bedroom and had always enjoyed it.But she felt that at this age, with her old waist, she must not be able to hold Jacob anymore. When it was bedtime, she went to the dining table, bent down, put her arms around the child's body, and gritted her teeth to pick up Jacob.What she didn't expect was that Jacob stood up and snuggled into her arms, feeling light.Lucille seemed to be back in her twenties, young and flexible, all these years and pain seemed to be a vain dream. She picked up the child and went upstairs smoothly all the way.She covered him with the quilt, leaned against the bed, and hummed softly as before.He didn't fall asleep right away, but she didn't care. He has been asleep for too long. Lucille sat for a while, watching him, watching his chest rise and fall, not daring to take her eyes away for fear that the magic—or the miracle—would suddenly wear off.But he's still there, thank God, she couldn't help thinking. When she returned to the living room, Harold and Bellamy were in an awkward silence.Harold stood on the front porch, his cigarette already lit, puffing on it, fanning the smoke with his hands into the night beyond the screen door.Agent Bellamy stood beside the chair he had just sat in, looking suddenly thirsty and tired.Only then did Lucille realize that since he entered the house, she hadn't even poured him a glass of water, which made her feel bad.However, judging from the appearance of Harold and Bellamy at the moment, she had a premonition that the two of them were about to do something that would make her feel worse. "He wants to ask you something, Lucille," said Harold, putting the cigarette in his mouth with trembling fingers.Lucille decided not to blame him this time, and let him smoke for now. "What's up?" "Maybe it's better for you to sit down first." Then, Agent Bellamy gestured to help her sit down. Lucille took a step back: "What's the matter?" "It's a very sensitive issue." "I can see it, but how bad can it be?" Harold turned his back to her, lowered his head and smoked silently, without speaking. "Anyone," Bellamy began, "will think this question is very simple at first hearing, but, believe me, it is actually a very complicated and serious question. And, I hope you will think carefully before answering. Clear. It’s not that you have only one chance to answer, but you have to make sure you think twice before answering. I hope you don’t let your emotions cloud your reasoning. It’s hard, but you have to do it as much as possible.” Lucille's face flushed red: "What are you talking about, Mr. Martin Bellamy! I really didn't expect you to be a male chauvinist. Don't think that I will have a nervous breakdown just because I am a woman." "Okay, Lucille!" Harold growled, even though his voice sounded a bit lacking in confidence, "listen to what he wants to ask first." He coughed, or maybe sobbed. Lucille sat down. Martin Bellamy also sat down.He lightly dusted his trousers, but there was nothing on them, and then he examined his hands carefully. "Okay," said Lucille, "let's get down to business. I can't stand your lingering." "This is my last question for tonight. You don't have to give an answer right away, but the sooner you answer the better. The quicker you make a decision, the less likely it is to overcomplicate matters." "What the hell?" Lucille almost pleaded. Martin Bellamy took a breath: "Do you want to keep Jacob?" Two weeks passed.Jacob was now part of the family, and that was irreversible.The guest room has been reorganized into Jacob's bedroom, and he has returned to normal life, as if he never died and returned.He is so young, with his father and mother, this is his whole world. Harold had been in a state of disarray since the boy's return, and he could not explain why.He smoked so much that he had to stay out in the porch all day, so as not to listen to Lucille nagging about his bad habits all day. Everything was changing so fast, how could he get along without a bad habit or two? "They're devils!" Lucille's voice always echoed in Harold's head. The rain is ticking, it is getting late.Twilight came in from behind the bushes.The room was already quiet, except for the sound of rain, there was only a slight panting sound, which came from an old lady who had been chasing her child for a long time.She pushed open the screen door and entered the room, wiped the sweat off her brow, and collapsed in the rocking chair. "My God!" said Lucille, "I'm dying of running with that kid." Harold stubbed out his cigarette and cleared his throat—he always did that every time he tried to give Lucille a run for his money. "You mean the devil?" She waved at him: "Shut up!" she said, "Don't call him that!" "You called him that, you said, they are all devils, don't you remember?" After chasing for a long time just now, she was still a little out of breath: "That was before," she said angrily, "I was wrong at the time, but now I understand." She smiled and leaned back exhaustedly, " They are babies, god-given babies, a chance to be born again!" They sat in silence for a while, Lucille's breathing gradually calming down.Although her son is only eight years old, she is already an old lady and gets tired easily. "You should spend more time with him," Lucille said. "He knows you're keeping him at a distance, he can see it. He knows you're different from him than you were when he was home. "She thought she was right and smiled. Harold shook his head: "What will you do when he disappears again?" Lucille's face tightened: "Shut up!" she said, "'Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from deceit'—Psalm 34:13." "Don't talk about the Psalms with me. You know what they say, Lucille, you know as much as I do. Sometimes they disappear, leave us, and are never heard from again, as if the other side has finally called them back Same, what will you do then?" Lucille shook her head: "I don't have time to think about this mess." She stood up, completely ignoring that her legs were as heavy as lead, "It's all rumors, it's nonsense. I've got to get supper, don't sit outside all the time, lest you get pneumonia! You can't stand the rain." "I'll be in the house right away," said Harold. "Psalm thirty-four verse thirteen!" She closed the screen door behind her and locked it. From the kitchen there was the clatter of pots and pans, cupboard doors opening and closing.The smell of meat and flour and spices permeated the humidity of the May drizzle.Harold was half asleep when he heard a boy's voice. "Daddy, can I go out?" Harold shook his head to drive away the drowsiness: "What?" In fact, he understood the child's question very well. "Can I get out? Please." Despite the large gaps in Harold's memory, he still remembered that hearing Jacob say "please" in the past would instantly defeat him. "Your mother will lose her temper," he said. "Just for a while." Harold suddenly wanted to laugh. He fumbled for a cigarette, but couldn't find it—he could have sworn there was at least one.He fumbled through several pockets, but couldn't find any cigarettes, but found a small silver cross—probably a gift from someone, and he really couldn't remember the details.He didn't even remember having it in his pocket, but he couldn't help but stare down at it as if he had a murder weapon in his hands. The place where Jesus was crucified on the cross was originally engraved with a line of words: "God loves you", but now the words have been worn away, leaving only an O and half a Y.He stared at the cross for a long time, as if the hand was not his own, and he couldn't help rubbing the cross center of the cross back and forth with his thumb. Jacob stood in the kitchen behind the screen door, leaning against the doorjamb, hands behind his back, legs crossed, looking as if he were in deep thought.He looked back and forth at the distant horizon, at the wind and rain outside, and at his father.He sighed heavily, then cleared his throat. "There's no harm in going for a walk," he said exaggeratedly.Harold smiled slightly. In the kitchen, Lucille was frying something and humming a song. "Come on out," said Harold. Jacob ran out and sat down at Harold's feet.His action seemed to anger the rain. The raindrops didn't seem to be falling from the sky, but instead swooped down towards the ground, slapping the railing of the front porch and splashing on the father and son.But they didn't care.The old man and the boy who died once just sat there, relatively silent.The boy had light brown hair, his face was round and freckled, his skin was smooth, his arms were extra long, and his body was just beginning to grow as it had been fifty years ago.He looks so healthy, Harold thought suddenly. Harold licked his lips subconsciously, his thumb still rubbing the center of the cross.The boy was so still that Harold would have thought him dead if his eyes hadn't blinked. "Do you want to keep him?" Agent Bellamy asked at the time. "I don't say anything," said Harold. "It's Lucille's decision. You'll have to ask her, and whatever she says, I'll listen to her." Detective Bellamy nodded: "I understand that, Mr. Hargrave. But I still want to ask you, I need to know your opinion. You know this, I will not tell others. If you feel If necessary, I can turn off the recording equipment, but I still need to know what you think, do you want to take him in?" "No," said Harold, "not at all, but do I have a choice?" He was in Ontario when he woke up; she was outside Phoenix.He used to be an accountant and she was a piano teacher. The world has changed, but it's still the same world.Cars are quieter, buildings are taller, and nights are brighter than ever.Everyone seems to be busy, but that's about it, no big deal. He went all the way south, and he picked up a few trains, which he hadn't done in years.Purely due to luck or fate, he has never met anyone from the Bureau of Investigation.She started to go northeast. For some reason, she was determined to go in that direction.But it wasn't long before she was found by the Bureau of Investigation and sent outside Salt Lake City, where it was being converted into a regional processing plant.He too was found by the Bureau not long after, when he reached the border between Nebraska and Wyoming. Ninety years after their death, the two reunited. She hasn't changed at all, and he seems to have lost a little weight, but this is only due to the fatigue of the journey. Although the two of them are a little defensive and hesitant, they are not as scared as others. From time to time, there is music in my ears.It seems that since the two of them got together, that melody has been lingering and lingering.