Chapter 10 chapter Ten

"Poor kid, so pitiful." Lucille finished, holding Jacob tightly in her arms, "Poor kid, so pitiful." For Max's death, she could only squeeze out this A sentence, but she kept repeating it, full of sadness. What is going on in this world, she can't figure it out, why would such a thing happen?How is it possible for a child—whose family it is—to be alive and healthy one second and be in heaven the next? "Poor child, so poor," she repeated. Early in the morning, the Bureau's visiting room at Arcadia School was packed.A few guards patrolled around, occasionally giving each other a little nod and saying something insignificant.The guards didn't seem to care what the old man who was arrested with his resurrected son and insisted on staying with him was doing, nor did they care about the silver-haired old lady who came to visit them.

They didn't seem to care much about the resurrected little boy who just died yesterday, which made Lucille very sad.A life was lost, and they should have a mourning ceremony, and they should express their grief, although she herself couldn't say what she wanted them to do.Wear black veil on the arm or something?It seemed like it should be, but she felt silly when the idea came to her.People are always going to die, even children, the world is like this. The visiting room is made of corrugated steel plates and iron pipes. There are tables and benches scattered around the room. Huge fans hanging from the entrance and exit are humming, trying to circulate the humid air a bit.

Jacob sat quietly in his mother's lap, disturbed by her tears like all children.Harold was also sitting on the bench beside her, with his arms around her. "Come on, my old woman," he said.His voice is soft, calm, and graceful, and he forgets that he still talks like this, because for so many years, he has always been so... How should I put it, awkward?He hated to use the word, but... "It's actually...not surprising," he said, "the doctor said the cause of death was a ruptured aneurysm." "Children don't get aneurysms," Lucille replied. "Sometimes, they grow too. Maybe it was the first time he did it, maybe it was meant to be."

"They said that the child died of illness. I don't believe it, but they insisted that it was so." "What's sickness but stupidity?" said Harold. Lucille wiped her eyes lightly, then straightened the collar of her dress. Jacob broke free from his mother's arms.He was wearing the new clothes his mother bought, which were very clean and soft, which was the unique feeling of new clothes. "Shall I tell you a joke, Mom?" She nodded. "But no swearing, okay?" "No problem," Harold said, "I'll just teach him the Christian jokes..."

"I really can't do anything with you two!" "Don't worry about Max," said Harold, looking around the room. "Max went, well, where his relatives went long ago. It's just a shadow—" "Stop it," Lucille said softly, "Max is a good boy, and you know that." "Yes," Harold agreed, "Max is a good boy." "Is there anything different about him?" Jacob asked, his little face tensed in confusion. "What do you mean?" Harold asked him.This time, Jacob is very close to the topic that people in the world want the resurrected to talk about-themselves.

"Is he different?" Jacob asked. "I don't know, baby," Lucille finished, grabbing her son's hand.That's what people in TV shows do, she couldn't help thinking.She's been watching too much TV lately. "I don't know Max very well," she said. "You and Daddy have been with him longer than I have." "We don't know him very well either," said Harold, with a hint of displeasure in his voice. Jacob turned and looked up at his father's wrinkled face. "But do you think he is any different?" "Why is it different? When did it start?"

Harold let the question go back and forth between him and Jacob like a football.He really wanted to hear Jacob say something, to hear the kid himself admit that Max had died once; to hear him say that something extraordinary was going on in the world, which was not only strange but terrible, The main thing is that they do not conform to the laws of nature.Harold wanted to hear from Jacob himself that he was not the little boy who died on August 15th, 1966. Harold needed to hear those words. "I don't know," Jacob said. "Of course you won't know," interrupted Lucille, "because I'm sure he's no different at all, just as I know you are no different. We're all the same, but together they make a huge And a beautiful miracle, that's all. It's a gift from God, not the wrath of God as some say." Lucille moved Jacob closer and kissed his brow. "You're my favorite boy," she said, her gray hair falling over her face. "Thank God the Lord will take care of you and bring you home again. Or let me bring you home."

As she drove home dejected, the world seemed blurred, as if blinded by tears.In fact, she was crying, even though she didn't realize it.She drove the car into the courtyard, and the rumbling sound of the truck slowly stopped, and she saw the tall wooden house standing on the ground, empty, waiting to swallow her in her mouth.She wiped her eyes and cursed herself for crying. She crossed the courtyard, holding in both hands the empty plastic lunch boxes she'd been using to carry food to Jacob, Harold, and Detective Bellamy.She concentrated on the food and kept thinking about how to make the three people eat well.She thinks food is amazing in its ability to soften people's hearts and strengthen their bodies.

She thought, if everyone could spend more time cooking and eating more, the world might not be so violent. Lucille Abigail Daniels Hargrave always hated being alone.Since she was a child, her favorite thing is to get together with the whole family.Lucille was the youngest child in a family of ten.Back then, they lived on the outskirts of a small town called Ruperton, North Carolina, in a house not much bigger than a gray shack.Her father worked in a lumber company, and her mother worked as a maid for a well-to-do local family, and also took on some mending jobs when she had the opportunity.

Her parents never complained to each other, and Lucille's own marriage experience with Harold also proved that speaking kindly between husband and wife is the magic weapon for maintaining a long-term relationship.No amount of kisses, flowers, and presents will help if a husband denigrates his wife, or if the wife goes around gossiping about her husband. Lucille, like many people, has been missing her childhood even as an adult, hoping to get rid of the power of time and go back to the past.Jacob's birth presented her with new difficulties and challenges as a mother, but she didn't feel sorry for herself, and she didn't even cry when the doctor came to announce the news that day.She just nodded, because she already knew it, she couldn't explain why, she just knew it.Having Jacob was enough, she said.

For eight years she was an only-child mother, and for the next fifty she was a wife, a Baptist, a litterateist, but no longer a mother.The interval between these two periods of her life was too long. But now, Jacob beat time, and he lived in another, out-of-sync time, a more perfect time.He remained the same as he was years ago, all Risen ones, and she just realized it.For the rest of the night, she didn't cry and felt a little lighter.When drowsiness hit, she fell asleep quickly. That night, she dreamed of many children, and the next morning, she couldn't wait to cook. Lucille washed her hands under the tap, bacon and eggs were frying on the stove, and a pot of oatmeal was simmering on a grate in the back.She looked at the backyard through the window, and there was always a feeling of being watched, which made her uneasy.Of course, there was no one outside.She focused on the stove and the overcooked pile of food at hand. Harold's absence had caused her the greatest annoyance of not knowing how to cook a meal for one.It's not that she doesn't want him, she misses him terribly, but recently, she has been throwing away food, which is too shameful.Even after packing some food to send to school, there was still so much left in the fridge that it overflowed, and she never wanted to eat leftovers.She has a very keen sense of taste, and food that's been in the fridge for too long, no matter what it is, tastes like copper. Every day she had to send some food to the school, or rather, the prison camp where grumpy old men and resurgents were kept.Even if they were prisoners, Jacob and Harold Hargrave had to be well-fed prisoners.But she couldn't deliver breakfast, because Harold had been driving the car for more than twenty years, so now Lucille's legs were weak when she sat behind the wheel.She really doesn't have the confidence to drive back and forth three times a day to deliver hot meals.So she had to sit alone in the deserted room, eating breakfast alone, talking with her own voice. "What's wrong with the world?" she asked in the empty house.Her voice sweeps across the hardwood floor, past the front door and the little table where Harold sits his cigarettes, and falls into the kitchen, where the refrigerator is overcrowded and no one has sat at the table for a long time.Her voice bounced off the other rooms and floated upstairs, into the equally empty bedroom. She cleared her throat, as if to call someone's attention, but only the still air answered her. Watching TV might help, she thought, at least leaving it on would give her some pretense.There was laughter and conversation and scraps of phrase on the TV, which she could imagine coming from the next room, where a big house party was taking place, as it had been all those years ago.Jacob hadn't sunk to the bottom, and her and Harold's lives hadn't gone cold. A voice in Lucille told her to turn to the news channel and find out if there was any news about the missing French artist, who seemed to be Jean Something.Reporters can't stop talking about how he came back from the dead, took up the carving knife again, and made a fortune.When he was alive for the first time, he must have never dreamed that he could earn so much money.He later disappeared with a woman in her fifties who is said to have "rediscovered" him. Lucille never imagined that there would be riots over the disappearance of an artist, but they did happen, and it took the French government weeks to get the situation under control. However, there is still no trace of the famous French artist.Some people said that he could not bear the great fame, and some people said that a successful artist is no longer an artist, so Jean had to run away in order to go back to the days of starvation and cold, so as to find his own artistic inspiration. Thinking of this, Lucille couldn't help laughing, only a pure fool would want to go back and starve. "Maybe he just wants to be alone for a while," she said heavily. Lucille pondered for a while longer, feeling the silence of the room weigh on her again like a heavy boot.So she went to the living room, turned on the news, and got a little buzz in the room. "The general situation seems to be getting worse," said the announcer.It was a Spaniard with dark features and a light suit.Lucille thought he was talking about the finances, or the global economy, or the price of oil or something, which was getting worse year by year, but no, he was commenting on the condition of the Risen. "What's going on here?" Lucille said softly, standing in front of the TV with her hands clasped in front of her. "If you've just started watching our show," said the man on TV, "there's a discussion on 'The Responsibilities and Responsibilities of the International Resurrection Bureau.' It's a new, growing agency. In previous reports, the Bureau has secured financial support from NATO members, as well as funding from several other non-NATO countries. But the exact nature of this funding, or the exact amount, remains unknown." A small logo appeared above the announcer's shoulder, a simple gold frame with a line in the middle: International Resurrection Bureau.Then the sign disappeared and the TV screens again showed trucks full of soldiers and armed men running from the side of the tarmac into gray planes.The planes were so large that they seemed to fit the entire church without any difficulty, without showing even the spire. "My God," said Lucille, turning off the TV and shaking her head. "My God, my God, this can't be true." She still wondered how much the world really knew about what had happened in Arcadia, whether it knew that the school had been commandeered, whether it knew that the Bureau of Investigation had become a terrifying organization with enormous power. She stitched together a complete picture of recent events in Arcadia in her mind, realizing that the Risen had become ubiquitous.They had reached the hundreds, as if drawn by a magnet to this place, this town.Although the President has ordered the resurrected to stay at home and not go out, there are still too many people who cannot go back because their hometown is on the other side of the world.At times, Lucille would see soldiers arresting these men, the most sinister pacifier in history. Other times, Lucille would see these people hiding.They understood their situation very well, and they always stayed far away from those soldiers, and tried not to appear in the center of the town as much as possible, because the school where the resurrected were held stood behind the isolation fence.However, a few steps further along the road, on the main road, they can be seen hiding behind some old buildings that are no longer inhabited, looking out.Lucille always waved to them as she passed, her polite manners drove her to do so, and they waved back, as if they knew her, connected with her heart.She was like a magnet, destined to draw them here, to help them. But she is just an old lady living alone in a house that should have a family of three.If it were to end it all, it should be done by someone else.This is a consistent rule.Big things like this often have to be done by big people, like those protagonists in movies, young, strong, and eloquent.How can a little-known small-town resident compare? No, she convinced herself, it wasn't her job to help the Risen, not even Jacob and Harold, it was someone else's job.Perhaps Reverend Peters, but Agent Bellamy was more likely. But Bellamy didn't have to be a parent, and didn't have to suffer in an empty home, and Lucille didn't think he had that kind of appeal to the Risen.It was her, and it had always been her. "Something must be done," she said to the empty room. The house fell silent, the lingering sound of the TV news faded away, and Lucille returned to real life, as if nothing had changed except her mood.She washed her hands under the kitchen sink faucet, dried them, and cracked a few more eggs into the skillet, turning them gently.She had fried too much bacon and now she has put it on a kitchen towel and patted it twice with the spatula to get the excess fat out - her doctor kept saying no Eat too greasy.Then she popped a piece into her mouth and crunched it as she stood there continuing to fry the eggs, stirring the oatmeal in the pan now and then. She thought of Harold and Jacob, so far from home, shut up in the school, with soldiers, fences and barbed wire, and worst of all, government bureaucrats.The soldiers followed their husbands and sons and took them from the river where they had lived so long that the river almost belonged to them.Thinking of this made her very angry. She sat at the table, eating and thinking about it all, not hearing the footsteps on the front porch. The warm, smooth oatmeal slid into her stomach, leaving a hint of creaminess.Then there's the saltiness of the bacon and the sweet tenderness of the fried egg. "I'm going to build you a church," Lucille said loudly over the food on her plate. Then she laughed, feeling a little guilty, even blasphemous.But God has a sense of humor, too, Lucille knew, though she would never let Harold know that.God knows, she's just a lonely old lady living in a spacious but lonely house. In the middle of breakfast, Lucille noticed a girl standing outside, and she almost jumped out of the chair.The thin, blond girl stood outside the screen door in the kitchen, covered in mud and her hair disheveled. "My God, it's a child!" cried Lucille, putting her hand over her mouth. Lucille remembered that it was one of the Wilson children—Hannah, she should have remembered correctly.Lucille hadn't seen the family since the town's assembly at church some weeks before. "I'm sorry," the girl said. Lucille wiped her mouth. "No," she said, "it's okay. I just didn't realize there was anyone there." She went to the door. "Where are you from?" "My name is Hannah, Hannah Wilson." "I know who you are, dear. Jim Wilson's daughter. We're a family." "lady." "Your father and I are first cousins. We have an aunt in common...but I can't quite remember her name." "Yes, ma'am," Hannah said cautiously. Lucille opened the door and beckoned the girl in. "You look famished, boy. How long has it been since you ate?" The girl stood calmly in the doorway, smelling of dirt and the air outside, as if she had just fallen out of the sky this morning and crawled out of the dirt again.Lucille smiled at her, but the girl still hesitated. "I won't hurt you, child," said Lucille, "but if you don't come in and get something to eat, I'll find a whip for you till you sit down to eat." Seeing Lucille's smile, the revived girl said casually and indifferently, "Okay, ma'am." The screen door creaked softly behind her as the girl entered the room, as if cheering Lucille's loneliness for a reprieve. The girl ate up the food Lucille gave her.Considering the amount of food Lucille cooks, she eats quite a lot.Seeing that she was about to finish all the breakfast Lucille made, Lucille began to rummage in the refrigerator. "It's all leftovers. I don't like it very much. I can't give you these." "Well, Mrs. Lucille," said the girl, "I'm full, thank you." Lucille reached into the back of the refrigerator and fumbled around. "No," she said, "you're not full yet, and I don't know if your stomach is a bottomless pit, but I want to see how much you can eat. I'm going to make you empty out the grocery store!" She laughed and said, her voice echoing in the room, "but my meal is not for nothing," Lucille said, unwrapping the sausage she found in the back of the refrigerator, "not everyone can eat for free .Even if Jesus wants to eat the food I cook, he has to exchange something. So, you have to do something for me here.” Lucille held her back with one hand—the old woman’s The shambling oldness was suddenly revealed - and then with a loud moan, "I'm not young anymore." "Mom said I shouldn't beg people," said the girl. "Your mother was right. But you didn't beg, I asked you to help, that's all. I gave you food in return, it's fair, isn't it?" Hannah nodded.The chair at the dinner table was too big for her, and she sat in it, her feet still unable to reach the ground, and she dangled back and forth. "Speaking of your mother," said Lucille, still dramatically unwrapping the sausage, "she's going to be worried about you, and so is your father. Do they know where you are?" "I suppose so," said the girl. "What does it mean?" The girl shrugged, but Lucille, with her back to her, was too busy unpacking the sausages to see her.After a while the girl realized this and said, "I don't know." "Come on, kid." Lucille said as she greased the iron frying pan, preparing to fry the sausages, "don't do this. I know you and your family. Your mother, like your father... has come back to life, So is your brother. Where are they? Last time I heard you've been gone since the soldiers started grabbing people." Lucille put the sausages in the frying pan and turned on a low heat. "I can't tell," said the girl. "Oh, my God!" said Lucille, "that sounds serious, and secrets are usually serious." "Yes, ma'am." "I don't like secrets very much, because if I am not careful, I will cause all kinds of troubles. Girl, I have been married for so many years, and I have never kept anything from my husband." Lucille said.Then she walked up to the girl and whispered in her ear, "But do you know what's actually going on?" "How is it?" Hannah asked quietly. "Actually, that's not the case. Don't tell anyone, it's a secret." Hannah smiled, a broad, bright smile, much like Jacob's. "Did I tell you about my son Jacob? He's like you, like all of your family." "Where is he?" the girl asked. Lucille sighed. "He was at school, and the soldiers took him away." Hannah's face turned pale all of a sudden. "I know," said Lucille. "Aren't you frightened? He was taken with my husband. They were lying by the river together, and the soldiers went and took them." "By the river?" "Yes, boy," said Lucille, as the sausages began to sizzle, "the soldiers always like to go down to the river, they know it's a good place to hide, so they go there to search and catch people. Well, those Soldiers aren't actually bad people, at least I hope they aren't. These soldiers didn't hurt anyone other than taking people from their own homes. Yes, they don't hurt you, they just take you away from all you Loved ones, people you care about, and…” She turned around only to find that Hannah was gone, and only the slam of the screen door woke her up like a dream. "I'll wait for you to come back." Lucille said to the empty room.She knew that the house would not be so empty anytime soon. Didn't she just dream about a lot of children the night before? "The boy's incident was an accident, he didn't have any illness, he just disappeared." The young girl was very nervous and reported the news to the man sitting across the table.The man was dark and wore a well-tailored suit. "I have no idea what's going on," she said, "but it doesn't sound good, does it?" "It's all right," said Detective Bellamy, "it's just that the circumstances are unusual." "What's going on now? I'd rather go to Utah than stay here." "You won't have long to wait," Bellamy said. "I'll take care of it. Didn't Agent Mitchell promise you I'd take care of it." Thinking of Agent Mitchell brought a smile to her face. "This lady is very nice," she said. Agent Bellamy stood up, walked around the table, placed a small chair beside her, sat down, and drew an envelope from his sleeve. "Their address." He handed the envelope to Alicia. "They don't know your situation yet, but from what I have so far, they want to know. They really want to know." Alicia took the envelope and opened it with trembling hands.The address is Kentucky. "My dad is from Kentucky," her voice trembled suddenly. "He always hated Boston, but Mom didn't want to leave. I guess Mom couldn't hold him back in the end." She hugged the dark-skinned man in the fine suit The agent, kissing him on the cheek, said, "Thank you." "There is a soldier named Harris outside. He is very young, about eighteen or nineteen years old. Anyway, he is about the same size as you. You must follow him after you leave my office, and do as he tells you. Go wherever he tells you to go. Where, he will take you out of here." He patted her hand, "It's a good thing they went to Kentucky, the Bureau of Investigation mainly operates in densely populated areas, and there are many places where you can hide." "And what about Agent Mitchell?" she asked. "You want me to help bring back another message?" "No," Agent Bellamy said, "it's not safe for you or her. Just remember to follow Harris and do what he says. He'll bring you to your parents." "Okay." With that, she stood up.When she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment, but she still couldn't hold back her curiosity after all. "The so-called 'disappeared,'" she asked, "what does she mean by that?" The well-dressed agent sighed. "Honestly," he said, "I don't know if this is the end or the beginning."