Chapter 9 Chapter nine

When Harold awoke, the sun was brighter than ever.Everything is distant and uncertain, like the collapse of overdose.There was a circle of people around him, all of whom looked taller than usual, with exaggerated hands and feet.Harold closed his eyes and took a deep breath.When he opened his eyes again, he looked up and saw Martin Bellamy standing tall beside him, dressed in black and looking like a government official.He was still wearing that damn suit on such a hot day, Harold couldn't help thinking. Harold sat up, feeling his head ache.Luckily, he fell on a patch of grass, not the sidewalk.He felt as if there was something heavy and wet in his lungs, so he couldn't help coughing.

There was a cough, and then another, and the lungs seemed to be empty, leaving only a dry cough.Harold curled up, trembling uncontrollably.Countless little stars appeared in front of his eyes, flying away for a while, and appearing again for a while. When he finally finished coughing, Harold lay flat on the grass with a blanket under his head.The sun shone in his eyes and he was drenched in sweat. "What's the matter?" Harold asked, feeling something sharp and wet in his throat. "You've passed out," said Martin Bellamy. "How do you feel now?" "It's hot."

Detective Bellamy laughed and said, "It's been a really hot day." Harold tried to sit up, but his surroundings were spinning.He closed his eyes and lay down on the grass again.The smell of hot grass reminded him of his own childhood—a child lying in the grass on a hot June afternoon, and it was by no means fainting. "Where's Jacob?" Harold asked, eyes still closed. "I'm here." Jacob said, emerging from the crowd of onlookers just now.He and his friend Max ran to Harold in silence, then knelt beside his father and took the old man's hand. "I didn't scare you, kid, did I?"

"No, sir." Harold sighed. "That's good." Jacob's friend Max seems to be a very gentle and careful little boy.He knelt at the position of Harold's head, bent down, took off his shirt, and wiped the sweat from Harold's forehead. "Are you feeling better, Mr. Harold?" Max asked him. Max is a resurrected person from the UK, with a strong British accent, and he treats people very politely.They found him in the town of Brighton, not far from where the Japanese had been found a few weeks earlier.The town of Brighton seems to have become a hub, where the exotic people of the past can always be found.

"Yes, Max." "Mr. Harold, you look really sick. If you are sick, you have to go to the hospital." While Max had the calm, resolute look of a Risen One and a polished British accent, the little boy spoke like he was firing a machine gun. "My uncle was sick a long, long time ago," Max went on, "and he had to go to the hospital, and he was not only sicker, but also coughed like you just now, only worse than you, and then he died. gone." Harold kept nodding, indicating that he understood the little boy's story, although he couldn't catch what he said after the first sentence, "My uncle is sick".

"Very well, Max," said Harold, eyes still closed, "very well." Harold lay on the grass with his eyes closed for a long time, the heat of the sun wrapping his body.The sound of conversation reached his ears, even drowning out the footsteps of soldiers marching in unison around the fence around the camp.He had been so busy coughing that he hadn't realized how close he was to the fence, but now he did. A series of imaginations began to unfold in his mind. He imagined the land beyond the fence and even saw the sidewalk in the school parking lot.His mind wandered to the main thoroughfare of the town, past the gas station and the old shops along the street that had been there long ago.He saw friends and familiar faces, all busy with their business as before.They sometimes smiled at themselves, waved, and maybe one or two shouted hello to themselves.

Then Harold pictured himself driving the old pickup truck he bought in 1966.He hadn't thought about the car for years, but now he remembered it very clearly.Large and soft seats, and a powerful engine.Harold wondered if people today still appreciate luxury power steering, a technology that is as common and uncommon as a computer in every household. In this little imagination, Harold had already traveled all over the town, and slowly discovered that he didn't even see a resurrected person on all the streets.He imagined being at the edge of town again, driving the truck rumbling along the highway toward home.

When he got home, he pulled into the driveway and saw Lucille.She was young, beautiful, sitting on the front porch, soaking up the sun.Her back was straight and she looked elegant and dignified in a way Harold had never seen in any other woman in his life.Her long, wavy hair fell to her shoulders and glistened in the warm sun.She was an elegant, dignified woman who frightened him, and that was why he loved her so much.Under the oak tree in front of the front porch, Jacob was running in circles, yelling things like hero and villain. This is how their life should have been.Then the child ran behind the tree, but never came out the other side, and in an instant he was gone.

Agent Bellamy knelt at Harold's side, and two doctors stood behind him, watching him with concern, casting a shadow on Harold's sweaty face. "Have you ever had this condition before?" one of the doctors asked. "No," said Harold. "Are you sure? May I see your medical records?" "You can do what you want," said Harold.He regained his strength, and anger gathered in his heart. "Being a civil servant can enjoy such benefits, right? Feel free to put other people's information in the damn file." "I think we have the power," Bellamy said, "but we will take an easier way." He nodded to the two doctors, "give him a check, he won't cooperate with me, maybe you still alright."

"Forget it," Harold muttered.He was lying on his back on the ground, unwilling to talk to anyone at this time.But he couldn't help it. Every time he wanted to sit up, Jacob would gently press his shoulder, with a worried look on his little face. Bellamy stood up and brushed the blades of grass off her knees. "I will go to his medical records myself, and of course I have to record today's situation on it." He waved his hand and gestured to the distance. Immediately two soldiers came up to him. "I'm fine, just old and tired." Harold said loudly, snorted again, and finally sat up.

"Take your time, take your time," said the doctor.He held Harold's arm with surprising strength. "Sir, you should lie down so we can examine you and see if you are all right." "Relax," Jacob said. "Yes, Mr. Harold, you should lie down," Max interjected. "You are very like my uncle, as I told you just now. One day he was sick and the doctor would not let him do it." Check, as soon as they come he yells and he dies." "Well, well, well," said Harold.The boy spoke so fast that he lost his temper completely.He suddenly felt a strong fatigue attack, so he decided not to argue, and lay back on the grass, allowing the doctor to examine him. If they did anything too far, he thought, sue them.After all, this is America. Max started babbling again about how his uncle died.Listening to his chatter, Harold gradually fell asleep. "We're going to be late," said the shaky black old lady. Harold sat up in his bed, wondering for a moment how he had gotten here.He was in his room now, feeling cooler because there was no sunlight coming in through the window.He guessed, therefore, that it was evening.His forearm was bandaged, and there was a spot in it that was slightly itchy, and Harold thought there must have been a needle there. "Doctor bastard." "That's an impolite word," said Jacob, who was sitting on the floor with Max playing a game.The two jumped up and ran to the bed. "I didn't say anything," Harold argued, but Jacob said, "But Mom won't let you say the word 'bastard.'" "That's an impolite word," said Harold. "Let's not tell mother, shall we?" "Okay," Jacob said, smiling, "Would you like to hear a joke?" "Well," interrupted Max, "that's a good joke, Mr. Harold. I haven't heard such a funny joke in a long time. My uncle—" Harold held up a hand to keep the boy from talking. "What joke, son?" "What is the caterpillar most afraid of?" "I don't know," said Harold, who, in fact, remembered very well that he had taught Jacob the joke, shortly before he died. "Afraid of the plush bear!" Everyone laughed. "We can't stay here all day," Patricia said, sitting on her bed. "We're late, and a lot late, and it's rude to keep people waiting. They might be worried about us!" ' She put a dark hand on Harold's knee. "Come on," she said, "I don't like being rude to people. My mother taught me to be polite. Can we go now? I've already changed." "Now," said Harold, though he didn't know why he said it. "Is she okay?" Max said. The kid talked a long way, so Harold waited to hear what he had to say next, but this time he didn't go on.Patricia fidgeted with her clothes, looking at them because they weren't ready to go, which made her unhappy. "She's just a little confused," said Harold at last. "I'm not confused!" Patricia said, pulling her hand away abruptly. "No." Harold said to her, then grabbed her hand and patted it lightly. "You are not confused. And we won't be late. They called just now to say that the time has changed and they put The event has been postponed." "Did they cancel?" "No, of course not. Just push back the time." "They must have canceled, right? They got mad at us for being late, which sucks." "That's not the case at all," said Harold.He went back to his bed, thank goodness he seemed to be recovering, and it looked like those two bastard doctors weren't too bad.He put his arms around her broad back and patted her shoulder lightly. "They just changed the time. I think there was something wrong with the food. The caterer passed out in the kitchen and it all went bad, so they wanted more time to prepare it, that's all." "you sure?" "I'm sure," said Harold. "We've got plenty of time now, and I think you might as well take a nap first. Are you tired?" "Not tired," she pursed her lips, and then said, "No," she began to cry, "I'm so tired, so tired." "I know that feeling." "Well," she said, "oh, Charles. What's wrong with me?" "It's all right," Harold said, brushing her hair. "You're just tired, that's all." She looked at him with deep fear on her face, as if she suddenly understood at that moment that this man was completely pretending, and everything was completely different from what she thought in her mind.The moment was gone, and she was the tired old woman again; and he was the same Charles she had known.She put her head on his shoulder and sobbed, as she felt she should do now. Not long after, the old lady fell asleep.Harold helped her lie flat on the bed, brushed a few stray hairs from her face behind her ears, and looked down at her as if she had riddles written all over her face. "Too bad," said Harold. "What's the matter?" Jacob asked, still in his usual steady and quiet tone. Harold sat at the end of his own bed, looking down at his hands.His index and middle fingers rub against each other like a little round stick between them, one of those delicious things that are loaded with nicotine and other carcinogens.He put his empty fingers to his lips, took a breath, held it, and let it out.The air in his lungs emptied and he coughed a little. "You shouldn't," Max said.Jacob nodded in agreement. "It helps me think," Harold said. "Then what are you thinking?" Max asked. "my wife." "Mommy's doing well," Jacob said. "Of course she's all right," said Harold. "Jacob's right," Max said. "Mothers will be fine because the earth won't spin without them. That's what my daddy said before he died. He said the world is the way it is. It’s all because of my mother; without my mother, everyone would have nothing to eat, would turn bad, fight each other, and nothing good would happen.” "Sounds reasonable," said Harold. "Dad used to say my mom was the best in the world, and he wouldn't change it in the world. I think all dads would say that because it sounds like a good thing. But I bet Jacob thinks that about her mom too— —that is your wife—for you must think so, too. It is the same with all..." The kid stopped talking suddenly and just looked at them blankly.Harold was happy to be quiet, but the sudden silence made him a little nervous.Max seemed to be distracted, as if something popped out of nowhere and took away everything in his mind just now. Then, the resurrected boy's eyeballs rolled white, as if a switch in his brain had suddenly broken.He fell down and lay on the ground as if asleep.But there was a faint trace of blood on his upper lip, proving something was wrong. They were all white, so she knew they wouldn't kill her.Also, they were Americans, so she knew they would be kind to her.She didn't care that they wouldn't let her go, she just wished she could help them more. Before they brought her here—though she couldn't tell where—she had been in another place.The place was not as big as here, and the people guarding her were different, but there was not much difference between them, because they both claimed to work for a place called "Investigation Bureau". They brought her food and a bed to sleep in.The blue and white shirt she was wearing was given to her by a lady from another place.The girl named Tatiana remembered that the lady's name was Keira, she could speak English and French, and she was very kind, but she knew that she could not help them much, which made her feel very sorry. Every morning at ten o'clock a man would come and take her to a windowless room and talk to her—he spoke slowly and steadily, as if he wasn't sure she understood English.In fact, she does well in school and English is clear and simple to her.His accent was weird, and she could sense that hers might be just as weird to him.So, when she answered his questions, she also used a slow and steady tone, which he seemed to be satisfied with. She felt it was important to please him, and if she couldn't please him (or them), she would probably be sent home. For many days, he would come to her every day, and then bring her to this room, ask her questions, and she always tried her best to answer him well.She was a little afraid of him at first, he was big and his eyes were firm and cold, like the winter land, but he was always very polite to her.Still, she knew, she couldn't be of much help. In fact, she was beginning to think he was quite handsome.Although there was not much emotion in his eyes, they were a refreshing blue, his hair was the color of a field of tall hay at sunset, and he looked very strong.She knew that handsome people should be very powerful. When he came to her today, his attitude seemed more indifferent than usual.He would sometimes bring a few candies, and they ate them as they walked to the windowless room.He didn't bring sugar today, even though he didn't bring it every day before, but she always felt different. On the way to that room, he didn't speak, but just walked silently, while she followed quickly, which also made her feel very unusual today.Maybe today's conversation is more serious. Once inside, he closed the door as usual.He paused, looking at the camera hanging in the upper corner of the room, something he hadn't done before.Then he started asking questions, speaking slowly and steadily as usual. "What's the last thing you remember before you were found in Michigan?" "Soldiers," she said, "and my homeland: Sierra Leone." "What are those soldiers doing?" "kill." "Did they kill you?" "No." "Are you sure?" "not sure." He has been asking these questions for several days, and she has already memorized the answers, and he is also familiar with these questions.In the beginning, he asked the same questions every day.Later, he started asking her to tell her story, which she loved.She told him about her mother: every night her mother would tell her stories about God and monsters. "People, miracles, and magic make this world," Mom always said. He spent an hour asking questions that both of them were already familiar with.Finally, he raised a new question. "What do you think will happen when we die?" he asked. She thought for a while, and suddenly felt very uneasy and a little scared.But he's white, and an American, so she knows he won't hurt herself. "I don't know," she said. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes," she said. Then she tried to remember how her mother used to talk to her about death. "Death is the beginning of the reunion, you just don't know you need this reunion." Mom used to say.She was about to tell this to Colonel Willis when he suddenly drew his gun and shot her. Then he sat and watched her, wondering what would happen next. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, and then he suddenly realized that he was alone in the room, surrounded by a lifeless body bleeding, and just now, this body was a young girl who liked him , considered himself a noble person. The Colonel felt a foul smell emanating from the room, so he got up and left.Tatiana's voice echoed in his ears all the way, and he pretended not to hear it.All the conversations they had ever had had recurred in his memory over and over again, clearly audible above the sound of the gunshots that also echoed in his ears.