Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen

"You don't think I'd be foolish enough to follow you in, do you?" Fred cried, his voice piercing through the thin front door and walls and echoing through the house like a bell. "I really hope so," replied Harold, who was dragging the sofa over to block the door. "Come on, Harold. Let's not play this game between the two of us. If me and these old boys are cornered, I'll burn you all to death." "You should try it," Harold said, turning off the lights in the house. "That way you have to be close to the house. I don't think you should want to. After all, the gun in my hand is a real thing."

Harold turned off all the lights in the house, locked all the doors, and hid behind the sofa blocking the door.He heard them round the back of the house, pouring gasoline on the walls.He considered whether to go over and fire a few shots first, but if the situation turned out to be as bad as he expected, he would regret not taking the opportunity to kill one first. "I really don't want to do it, Harold." As much as Harold tried to harden his heart, he couldn't help feeling a trace of sincerity in Fred's voice, though he didn't know if it could be trusted. "But you still have to do it."

"We all have to do something, don't we?" Harold looked in the direction of the stairs, and he heard movement above his head. "Stay away from the windows, hell!" he yelled.Lucille came to the landing and shuffled downstairs, her knees slightly bent from arthritis and her movements slow. "Go back upstairs!" Harold growled. "I have to do something," Lucille responded, "It's all my fault, it's my fault!" "What a virtuous woman!" Harold was annoyed. "Isn't it said in your holy book? Greed is also a sin! Don't be so stingy, and share your guilt with me. If you always put The responsibility is all on my shoulders, so what should our marriage be like? You will bore me to death!" He puffed up his chest in her direction, "Hurry up and go upstairs!"

"Why? Because I'm a woman?" "No, because I let you go upstairs!" Lucille couldn't help but sneer. "I have to do something too." Connie said, feeling her way down. "Oh, damn it!" Harold groaned. "What are you doing downstairs, Connie?" Lucille asked her. "Go back upstairs." "You understand now?" Harold said to Lucille. "What should we do?" Lucille asked. "I'm trying to figure it out," Harold reassured her, "don't worry." Connie stooped and slid into the kitchen, keeping as far from the windows as she could, and grabbed the biggest knife she could find on the shelf.

"What can a woman do with a knife?" Harold asked. "Remember that woman named Bobbitt?" He shook his head, and then said, "Let's call it a day, Fred." ① In 1993, a woman named Lorena Bobbitt in the United States cut off her husband's genitals with a knife while he was asleep. The incident was a sensation. "It's not going to end well," Lucille said. "That's exactly what I was trying to say," cried Fred.Judging from the sound, he was already on the front porch. "Harold," he called, "Harold, come to the window."

Harold stood there and groaned. "Harold, are you okay?" Lucille reached out to help him. "I'm fine." "Let's talk," said Fred Green.He was standing on the porch in front of the window, and Harold could shoot him whenever he wanted.Jim Wilson's body still lay on the bed of the truck.He was really dead this time, which made Harold suddenly have an irresistible strong urge, wishing to pull the trigger immediately.But Fred, who was standing outside the house, did not have a gun, and he looked genuinely upset. "Harold," he said, "I'm really sorry."

"I want to trust you too, Fred." "Are you serious?" "really." "Then you should understand that I don't want any more bloodshed." "I don't want the natives to bleed anymore, right?" "Yes," said Fred. "You just want me to hand over this family and these children to you." "Yes, but you have to understand that we are not here to kill people, not for that purpose at all." "Then what do you want to do?" "We're reckoning, we're going to correct something." "correct?"

"We're going to return the world to the way it was." "What it was? When did killing each other become what it was? They've already been killed once, isn't that tragic enough? Now let them die again?" "We didn't kill it then!" Fred yelled. "'who are we?" "I don't know who did it," went on Fred. "An out-of-towner. Some lunatic passing by, and the family just ran into each other that day, that's all. Not us, not A Cadians, none of us will kill here!" "I didn't say you did it that time," Harold responded.

"But they did get killed," said Fred. "This town has never been the same." He paused. Do it now." Neither Harold nor Fred had to look at Jim Wilson's body.His appearance and death are enough to explain the current situation of Arcadia, and also enough to explain the lives of Harold and Fred. "Do you remember what it was like here before these things happened?" Harold asked him at last. "Do you remember Jacob's birthday party? Talking and laughing. Mary was supposed to be singing that night." He sighed, "and then, well, everything changed, we all changed."

"That's what I'm trying to say," began Fred. "What happens in any place. Robbery, rape, shooting, and murder, and people die when they shouldn't. But That kind of thing shouldn't happen here." "But it did happen," said Harold. "Like the Wilsons, like Mary. And, look at us now, I guess we can't get away. The world's got us, Fred. Red Arcadia is being targeted, even if you watch Jim and Connie die again, it won't change anything." Then there was silence, and various unknowns and possibilities were brewing in the air.Fred Green shook his head, as if trying to get rid of the arguing voices in his head.

"We can't go on like this," Harold went on after a moment, "they've done nothing wrong. Jim was born and raised here; and so is Connie, whose family hails from Brighton. From the county, not far from where Lucille lives. She's not one of those nasty New Yorkers, and God bless me, if she was a New Yorker, I'd probably shoot her myself!" For some reason, both of them burst out laughing. Fred glanced back at Jim's body. "I'm probably gonna go to hell for this," he continued, "I know that, but I have to do it. At first, I just wanted to do the right thing and play by the rules, so I told the soldiers Well, the Wilsons are here. So they come, they take them away without any force, and that's the end of it. I'd like it to be over like that. But, look..." "He's just desperate to stay alive, to live to protect his family, isn't that what everyone does?" Fred nodded. "Now, Lucille, Jacob and I will protect them." "Don't do it, Harold," said Fred, "I beg you." "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about it," Harold replied.Then, he also looked at Jim's body outside, "Think about it, if he suddenly sat up now and asked me why I handed over his family to you like this, how should I explain it? I thought, if lying there It's Lucille..." He looked at his wife, "No." Harold shook his head, gestured for the gun in his hand, and signaled Fred to stay away from the front porch, "Whether you have anything to do with them or not?" What the hell, Fred," said Harold, "I advise you to accept the fact." Fred held up his hands and walked slowly down the front porch. "Do you have a fire extinguisher?" he asked. "I have," Harold replied. "Since you didn't shoot me and my people, I wouldn't shoot you," said Fred, "and when you figure it out, just hand them over and it's over. It's all up to you. I swear, we'll try not to destroy this house, and if you hand them over, we'll pull back." With that, he left the front porch.Harold told the children upstairs to come down, and at the same time they heard Fred Green shouting something.Then, there was a muffled sound from the back of the house, as if something was burning, and then they heard the faint sound of something exploding. "Why is this?" Harold said to himself, not knowing who he was asking. The whole room seemed to spin rapidly, and everything lost its meaning.He looked at Connie. "Connie?" Harold called. "What's the matter?" she answered, hugging the two children tightly. Harold paused, his head full of questions. "Harold..." Lucille interrupted them.The two have lived together for so many years, and they know each other's thoughts without saying much.She knew what he wanted to ask, but she didn't think it was appropriate to ask, but she couldn't stop him, because she wanted to know the answer just like everyone else. "What happened then?" "What's the matter?" Connie asked suspiciously. "Many years ago," Harold said, staring at the floor, "this town...was totally different, just look at us now. For so many years, no one knew the truth, everyone I was wondering, worried that the people in the town—one of our neighbors—did that thing.” He shook his head, “I always think, if they know the truth, maybe they won’t be tossing and tossing Maybe it won't be as bad as it is today." Finally, he looked into Connie's eyes, "Who did it?" Connie did not answer for a long time, looking at the children, who were both terrified and disturbed.She hugged them both to her chest and covered their ears. "I..." she began, "I don't know who that person is." She swallowed hard, as if something was stuck in her throat. Harold, Lucille, and Jacob didn't speak. "I don't remember very well," Connie went on, her voice sounding very far away. "It was very late, and I woke up suddenly, and I seemed to hear something. You know, sometimes you can't tell, Is that the voice in a dream or is it real?" Lucille nodded in agreement, but she dared not speak. "I was trying to get back to sleep when I heard footsteps in the kitchen." She looked at Harold and Lucille and smiled. "A parent can hear a child's footsteps," she said. The smile fades slowly, "So I know it's not the kids. That's when I get scared and I wake Jim up and he's dazed at first, but then he hears it too. "He was looking for a weapon he had on hand, but all he could find was an old guitar I had by the bed. He wanted to take it, but I think he was afraid he might break it because it was my father's gift to me before we got married. of. "Isn't it silly for Jim to worry about breaking the guitar at that point? But that's who he is." Connie wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, and continued. "I ran to the kids' room and Jim ran to the kitchen and yelled at the guy to get out. They were wrestling and it sounded like they were going to tear the kitchen down. Then I heard gunshots and then there was silence. That was literally the longest silence of my life. I kept waiting for Jim to say something, scream, yell, whatever, but he never came out again. I heard the man coming across the room Walking, as if looking for something, and took the valuables if I found them. Then, I heard footsteps coming towards the children's room. "I took the kids and hid under the bed, and from there I could only see the hallway, and I saw a pair of old work boots with paint spots all over them." Connie paused, thought, and sobbed. Continuing, "I know some painters came into town around that time, and they all worked on Johnson's Farm. I didn't see them much, but Jim went and helped with the painting—we always had some extra expenses to deal with. There was One day I was picking Jim up for lunch and I saw a guy with the same boots I saw in the kid's room. "I don't remember who it was in those boots, either. I just remember him with red hair and a pale face, and that's all. I didn't know him, and I haven't seen him since." She thought for a moment, then said, " He looks ugly," she shook her head, "maybe I imagined it, because I think that person should be ugly. "But I really don't know who did it. We didn't do anything, so it's not fair to us. But then I thought, it's not fair that this happened to anyone's family." Finally, she let go of her muffler. "The world is cruel sometimes," she said, "you just have to watch TV every day to know. But my family loved each other to the last moment, which That's what matters." Lucille was crying, and she put her arms around Jacob, kissed him, and whispered in her ear that she loved him. Harold put his arms around them both, and then said to Connie, "I'll take care of you, I promise." "What should we do?" Jacob asked. "We gotta do what we gotta do, son." "Are you going to hand them over, Dad?" "No." Lucille said. "We're going to do what we have to do," said Harold. The fire spread faster than Harold expected. The house was very old when Harold moved in.Harold had lived in it all his life, and had always felt that nothing could destroy it—or at least it was very difficult to destroy it.But facing the raging fire, he found that this was just a house after all, made up of only a pile of wood and full of memories, and these two things are often vulnerable. Flames climbed the back wall, and billows of thick smoke drove Hargrave and the Wilsons through the living room and back to the front door of the house.Fred Green was waiting outside the door with the gun in his hand. "I should have procrastinated a little longer." Harold coughed as he said, silently praying that he would not pass out from coughing this time like the previous two times, "I should have procrastinated a little longer and prepared more bullets. "He said. "My God, my God, my God," repeated Lucille.She twisted her hands, and kept counting in her mind how she made mistakes again and again to get to this point.She seemed to see Jim Wilson standing before her, alive, tall and handsome, surrounded by his wife, daughter, and son, who surrounded him, embraced him, and cuddled him.Then she saw him shot in the streets of Arcadia, frozen and lifeless. "Daddy?" Jacob was a little scared. "It's okay." Harold reassured him. "That's not right," Lucille said. Connie held the baby to her chest, still clutching the meat cleaver tightly in her right hand. "What did we do that they did this to us?" she asked. "That's just wrong," said Lucille.The children burst into tears. Harold opened the pistol's magazine again, made sure that all four remaining bullets were in order, and put the magazine back into the pistol. "Come on, Jacob," he called. Jacob coughed from the smoke as he came.Harold grabbed the boy's arm and began pushing the sofa away from the front door.Lucille looked at it for a while, and stepped forward to help without asking anything.She believed that her husband had already planned in his heart, just as she believed in God's own arrangements for everything. "What are we going to do?" Jacob asked his father. "We're getting out of here," said Harold. "But what do they do?" "Just do as I tell you, son. I won't let you die." "Then what do they do?" the child asked again. "I've got enough bullets," said Harold. There is no moonlight tonight.In the dim countryside, clear gunshots sounded one after another, three in total. The front door opened and a pistol flung out, streaked through the air, and fell to the floor of the van, next to Jim's body. "Okay." Harold shouted loudly, and walked out of the door with his hands raised high.Lucille followed, and Jacob, who hid behind her, came out together. "Damn it, you win," Harold yelled, his face full of gloom, "you're going to make them miserable, I know, or you won't be satisfied, so I let them off, you The bastard." He coughed. "My God, my God, my God," Lucille kept whispering. "I'm afraid I'll have to see it to believe it," said Fred Green. "My old friends are waiting around the back of the house, in case you play any tricks, Harold." Harold walked down the front porch steps and leaned against the van. "What about my house?" "We'll take care of it, but I have to check first to see if you're telling the truth." Harold coughed again and again, one after another, and couldn't stop for a long time.Finally, he was completely curled up on the ground, and Lucille held his hand and crouched beside him. "What have you done, Fred Green?" she demanded, her face glowing in the light of the fire. "I'm sorry, Lucille," he said. "The house is all ruined," Harold gasped. "I'll take care of it." Fred said, walking from his van to Harold's side.He held his rifle at his waist, still pointed at the corridor, in case the damned didn't die. Harold was still coughing, and there were stars in front of his eyes.Lucille wiped his face. "Bastard, Fred Green! You gotta do something!" she cried. "At least get my truck off the side of the house," Harold struggled. "If anything happens to Jim's body, I'll kill you all!" Jacob knelt beside him, holding Dad's hand—to make his cough better, but also to get behind his parents and avoid Fred Green's rifle. Fred Green passed Harold, Lucille, and even Jacob, went up the steps, and walked towards the open door. Huge columns of smoke were constantly rolling out.From where he stood, he could see the flames spreading from the back of the house to the front.He didn't see the bodies of the Wilsons, and hesitated to enter the house. "where are they?" "Heaven, I hope," Harold said, laughing, but only a few times.His coughing has stopped, but his head is still light, and countless small stars are still flying around in front of his eyes, endlessly dispersing.He gripped Lucille's hand tightly. "It's all right," he said, "just keep an eye on Jacob." "Don't play tricks on me, Harold," Fred yelled from the front porch, "if you can't, I'll let the whole house burn down." Coughing, moaning or crying, but only the crackling of the flames, "If you let them go to the back door, some other brothers will probably catch them. If you come out from the front door, I will stay here, Not to mention the fire." He took two steps back, avoiding the heat wave of the flames, "Anyway, you bought insurance, Harold, and you will get a lot of compensation, I'm sorry." "We are each other," said Harold, standing up. Harold stood up and took a few steps up the steps to the front porch, surprised even by his sudden agility.Fred Green was still standing on the front porch watching the burning house, the crackling flames drowning out the sound of Harold climbing the steps.When he heard it, it was too late, and a meat cleaver went into his right rib. Harold bent his whole body ninety degrees as he inserted the knife.Fred Green was pissed with pain, but his finger pulled the trigger anyway, and the rifle recoiled, snapping Harold's nose in two. But at least, Fred is no longer able to kill the Wilson family. "Come out!" Harold coughed again. "Come on!" The pistol fell beside him on the front porch floor, but neither of them had the energy to snatch it now. "Lucille?" Harold yelled. "Help them!" He gasped. "Help them..." She didn't answer. When the house first caught fire, Connie and the children hurriedly wet a few blankets to hide under.Now, they barely heard Harold's voice through the crackling of the flames, and they all ran out in blankets.As soon as they got a breath of fresh air outside, the children coughed, but Connie dragged them past where Fred Green lay, writhing and moaning with the knife still in his body. "Get on the wagon!" Harold yelled. "The bastards are coming soon." The Wilson family stumbled past Harold and Fred down the front porch steps and onto the driver's side of the van.Connie checked to see if the key was in the ignition, and yes, the key was there. Just then, the first bullet flew.Connie happened to be lucky enough to be on the other side of the car—the old car was still pretty good at stopping bullets.This is a Ford car produced in 1972. At that time, people were reluctant to use fiberglass for family travel vehicles, so Harold has been insisting on driving this classic car for so many years, because the later built Even a car cannot withstand the bullets of a double-barreled shotgun. But, in contrast to Connie and her children, the Hargraves were on the outside of the van, exposed at gunpoint.In the light of the burning fire, Lucille was lying on the ground, covering Jacob under her body, and Jacob covered his ears with his hands. "Stop shooting again, damn it!" Harold yelled.He was facing away from the men with the guns, so he knew they probably couldn't hear him.Even if they could hear, they wouldn't listen at all.He shielded his wife and son with his body and began to pray. "God, help us," he said for the first time in fifty years. Harold discovers Fred's rifle.He still can't get up, but that doesn't mean he can't draw the enemy's attention to himself.He sat up, legs stretched out in front of him, and despite his head throbbing and his nose bleeding, he struggled to unbolt his gun, loaded a 30-06 round, and fired into the air. one shot.All of a sudden there was no sound. His house was still burning, and beside him was Fred Green lying on the front porch, his stab wounds wrapped in his shirt.Harold tried his best to keep the situation under control. "That's enough, I say." Harold said after the lingering sound of the shot dissipated. "Fred? Fred? Are you all right?" cried one of his accomplices, who sounded like Clarence Brown. "No, I'm not!" cried Fred. "I've been stabbed!" "He asked for it," Harold retorted.The blood from his nose was running to his mouth, but he couldn't wipe it off because he had to keep his hands dry so he wouldn't lose his grip on the gun, and besides, his hands were already stained with Fred Green's blood, "Now, you guys Why don't you go home?" "Fred?" Clarence called.Their cries were drowned out as the house was collapsing in flames.Smoke rose from every crack and crack in the bricks and rose into the sky in a thick black column. "Tell us what to do, Fred!" "Connie?" Harold called. "What?" There was a response from the cab of the truck, the voice was a little low, as if he was covering the seat cushion. "Let's go with this car," Harold said, never taking his eyes off the men with guns. After a while, the roar of the truck started. "What are you going to do?" Connie asked him. "We're fine." Connie Wilson rumbled off into the night in a van with her children and the dead body of her husband.She said nothing, and Harold didn't think she even looked back. "Very good." Harold said softly, "Very good." He wanted to ask them to dispose of Jim's body properly, but everything seemed to be on the table.Moreover, his broken nose bone was hurting like hell, and the heat of the burning house was becoming unbearable.So he just gasped and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Clarence and the others watched the van drive away, but their guns were still pointed at Harold.If Fred told them to do something else, they would have done it, but now the chief was staggering to his feet without saying a word. Seeing him stand up, Harold pointed his rifle at him. "Damn you, Harold," Fred said, taking a step closer to Harold and the gun in his hand. "Try if you can." Harold raised his gun and aimed it at his throat. "Lucille?" he called, "Jacob?" The round mound, Lucille still lying on top of the child. Harold wanted to say something to calm everyone down, although it seemed too late now.But the severe pain in his chest made him unable to say anything, and he coughed like a knife, and it hasn't stopped since he got into the melee.There seemed to be a huge black foam surging in his lungs. "This house next to you is going to fall down," said Fred. The heat wave of the flames became more and more scorching, and Harold knew that if he wanted to survive, he must leave as soon as possible, but the damn cough refused to let him go, as if it was about to roar out and knead him into a ball Knocked to the ground until he was completely unconscious. And what happens to Jacob? "Lucille?" Harold called again, but she still didn't answer.As long as he can hear her voice, he will feel that there is still hope for everything. "Leave immediately." Harold pointed at Fred with the barrel. Fred followed his advice and turned away, walking slowly. Harold stood up at last, feeling pain all over his body. "Damn it." He snorted. "I'll help you." It was Jacob's voice.He popped out of nowhere and came back to him.He helped Dad stand up. "Where's your mother?" Harold whispered. "Is she all right?" "Not good," Jacob said. To be on the safe side, Harold kept pointing a gun at Fred and let Jacob hide behind him.Clarence's old boys were still standing by their vans, and he had to keep them from going crazy and shooting again. "Lucille?" Harold called again. Jacob, Harold, and Fred Green, with his rifle, staggered from the front porch into the yard.Fred clasped his hands to his stomach while Harold walked sideways like a crab and Jacob hid behind him. When they were far enough from the house, Harold finally put the gun down. "Okay," he said, "that's enough for us to get here." His gun fell to the ground, and it wasn't that Harold let go of his hand, but coughed, and the pain in his chest was like a heavy boulder rolling over him. Finally couldn't stand it anymore.Once again, it was as if a small knife was constantly cutting his lungs, and gold stars began to appear in front of his eyes again, and he fell to the ground.Lightning was everywhere, and coughing made him feel countless lightning and thunder, which almost tore his body apart.He didn't even have the energy to swear, which, of all things, was the only thing that really made Harold feel better. Fred picked the gun up from the ground and checked it. There was still one bullet in the gun. "I said, if anything happens next, it's all your fault," Fred said. "Let this child be a miracle," said Harold with difficulty. Death was not far away, and Harold Hargrave was getting ready. "I don't know why she didn't come back," Jacob said suddenly.Both Harold and Fred couldn't help blinking, as if he had just appeared out of nowhere. "Your wife," Jacob said to Fred, "I remember her, she was beautiful and she could sing." The little boy with the bushy brown hair actually blushed. "I like her very much," he said, "and I like you too, Mr. Green. You gave me a toy gun for my birthday. She promised you'd sing a song before you went home." Burning The house fire was still bright, illuminating his face, and his eyes seemed to twinkle, "I don't know why she didn't come back like I did." Jacob went on, "Sometimes people go away I won't be coming back." Fred took a breath, he held it in his chest, his whole body tensed, as if the breath would explode him, as if it was his last breath, everything contained in it.Then he sighed, put the gun down, got a lump in his throat, and started crying, right in front of the little boy.The child miraculously came back from the dead, but did not bring his wife back with him. He knelt on the ground and collapsed into a ball. "Get out of here. Go . . . go," he said. "Leave me alone, Jacob." So, there was only the sound of the burning house, Fred's crying, and Harold's soft panting as he sat on the ground.Smoke and ash rose behind him in a thick column, like a long black arm reaching up to the sky, like a parent reaching out to embrace a child, a husband reaching out to touch his wife. She looked up at the sky.The moon has slid to the tip of the eyes, as if it is going to leave her, or it may be to lead her way, who can tell. Harold came at last, and he knelt beside her, thankful that the blood was dripping on the soft ground so it didn't look as bright red as it actually was.The house was still burning, and in the flickering light the blood looked like black spots, and he could imagine it to be anything but blood. She was still breathing, but very weakly. "Lucille?" Harold called softly, putting his lips close to her ear. "Jacob," she called. "Here it is," said Harold.She nodded and closed her eyes. "Come on," said Harold, wiping the blood from his face, and it was only then that he realized that his face, mixed with soot and grime, must look terrible. "Mom?" Jacob called.She opened her eyes. "Hey, baby?" Lucille agreed softly, a slight tremor in her chest. "It's all right," Jacob said.He leaned down, kissed her on the cheek, and lay down next to her, his head on her shoulder, as if her life wasn't over yet and she was just taking a nap under the stars. she laughed. "It's all right," she said. Harold wiped his eyes. "You horrible woman," he said, "I told you it wasn't worth it." She is still smiling. She spoke again, but so slowly that Harold had a hard time understanding. "You pessimist," she said. "I'm a realist." "You are against humanity." "You Baptist." she laughed.The three seem to have returned to many years ago, their lives are connected with each other, and their hearts are connected.This moment lingers in everyone's heart.Harold held her hand tightly. "I love you, Mom," Jacob said.After hearing what her son said, Lucille finally left with peace of mind. After his mother died, he kept wondering if what he said was right.Hope right.Or at least, he said enough.His mother always knew what to say, and words were her magic—words and dreams. The house is still burning.In the firelight, Jacob knelt beside his mother, thinking back to the old days, going all the way back to the day when he walked to the river.He remembered that sometimes his father would leave him and his mother alone when he had to go out to work for a few days.Jacob knew that his mother wasn't very happy when his father was away, but he still enjoyed the time alone with her.Every morning, they sat face to face at the dinner table, talking about the dreams they had just had, their omens, and their expectations for the new day.Jacob always forgot his dreams at night when he woke up in the morning, but his mother could recall every vivid detail of the dreams.There is always magic in her dreams: incredible mountains, talking animals, moonlight in strange colors. Mom thinks every dream has a meaning.Dreaming of mountains is a sign of difficulties, talking animals are old friends who will be reunited, and moonlight of different colors represents different emotions the next day. Jacob loved hearing his mother explain these amazing things.他记得有一次爸爸要外出工作几个星期，一天早上，轻风扫过前院那棵橡树的枝叶，飒飒作响，阳光从树顶一点点洒下来，两人一起做早饭。他负责看着炉子上滋滋作响的培根和香肠，妈妈就负责鸡蛋和小薄饼。同时，她还给他讲了一个梦。 梦里，她一路向河边走去，不知为什么，只有她一个人。她来到河边，只见水面如镜。“水面斑驳的蓝色简直难以想象，只有当油画在潮湿的阁楼上搁久了，才会有这样的画面。”她停下来看着他，这时他们已经坐在饭桌边，准备用餐了，“你明白我的意思吗，雅各布？” 他点点头，尽管他其实并不太懂她的意思。 “那种蓝与其说是一种颜色，倒不如说是一种感觉。”她接着说，“我站在那里，好像能听到河水深处传来的音乐声。” “什么样的音乐？”雅各布打断了妈妈。他听妈妈讲故事听得入了迷，几乎忘了吃饭。 露西尔想了想，说：“很难描述这种音乐，像歌剧一样。就好像有人在很远的地方，隔着广阔的田野唱歌。”她闭上眼睛，屏住呼吸，似乎在重温脑海里的天籁之音。过了一会儿，她睁开眼睛，看上去陶醉而愉快。“就只是音乐，”她说，“纯粹的音乐。” 雅各布点点头，在座位上动了动，又挠挠耳朵。 "and after?" “我沿着河边走，大概走了几英里的样子。”露西尔接着说，“河岸上有很多果树，很漂亮、很纤弱的果树，跟我们在这个地方见过的那些果树都完全不一样，那些花也比我在所有书上见过的都好看。” 雅各布放下叉子，把盘子往前一推。然后他抱起胳膊趴在桌子上，下巴埋在胳膊里，垂下来的头发遮住了眼睛。露西尔笑着伸出手，把遮住他眼睛的头发拨到一边，说：“我得给你理发了。” “你发现什么了，妈妈？”雅各布问。 露西尔继续说下去：“最后，太阳落山了。虽然我已经走了几英里，但那音乐声还是那么遥远。太阳开始落山的时候，我才意识到，那音乐不是来自河的下游，而是来自河的中央。那音乐就像是海妖的歌声一样，召唤着我走到水里去，但是我一点都不害怕。”露西尔接着问了一句，“你知道为什么吗？” “为什么？”雅各布回答，仔细琢磨着她的每一句话。 “是因为那片森林，还有河岸边那些开花的果树，我还能听到你和你爸爸一起玩、一起笑的声音。” 听到妈妈提到了他和爸爸，雅各布的眼睛睁得大大的。 “接着，音乐声更响了，也许不是变响，而是更强烈了吧。我能更深切地感受到它，那种感觉就好像我在院子里干了一天的活儿，然后泡进了热水里。它就像一张柔软温暖的床。我一心想要朝那片音乐走去。” “那爸爸和我还在玩吗？” “是的，”露西尔叹了口气说，“你们两人的声音也更大了，好像在跟河水中的音乐比赛，想先引起我的注意，召唤我回去。”她耸了耸肩，“我得承认，有那么一会儿，我确实不知道该往哪里走。” “那你是怎么决定的？怎么弄明白的？” 露西尔伸手揉了揉雅各布的头发。“我跟从了我的内心，”她说，“我转过身，向你和你爸爸走去。接着，河里的音乐突然变得不那么动听了，没有任何声音能胜过我丈夫和孩子的笑声。” 雅各布脸涨红了。“哇。”他说。他的声音听起来很遥远，仿佛冲破了妈妈讲的故事的魔咒。“你的梦最好玩了。”他说。 他们继续吃早饭，都没有说话，只是雅各布会不时地望向餐桌对面，看着他那神秘而又充满魔力的妈妈。 在她生命的最后时刻，当他跪在她身边低头看着她的时候，心里在想，妈妈会怎样看待这世界上发生的一切呢？这片土地曾是她养育孩子、与深爱的丈夫共同生活的地方；然而正因为这个世界，她现在却奄奄一息地躺在这里，沐浴在房子燃烧的火光之中。他想向她解释，事情为什么会变成这样，想解释他为什么会在离开了那么久之后，又回到她身边。在那一个个两人单独度过的温馨的早晨，妈妈曾向他解答世间的一切奇迹，现在，他也想为她做同样的事。 然而他们在一起的时间太短了，就好像生命短暂，他也不知道这一切是怎么发生的。他只知道，整个世界都陷入了惊恐，整个世界都想知道死人是怎么复生的，每个人都惊疑不定。他想起贝拉米探员问过他，是否还记得在中国醒来之前发生的事；死亡和复生之间这段时间，他还记得些什么。 事实是，他只记得一个柔美而遥远的声音，如音乐一般，仅此而已。那回忆如此精致，他甚至不确定它到底是不是真的。自从他复生之后，那音乐每时每刻都在他耳边回荡，低声呼唤着他。最近，这声音似乎更响了一些，是在召唤他吗？他很想知道，这音乐和妈妈梦里听到的是不是一样。他很想知道，此刻她刚刚告别了人世，是否也能听到那音乐，它稀薄而脆弱，有时就像家人在一起的欢笑声。 雅各布唯一能够确信的是，此时此刻，他活着，和妈妈在一起。更重要的是，在妈妈闭上眼睛的那一刻，他们在一起的时光就要结束了，他不想让她害怕。 “我还活着。”在她生命垂危的时候，他几乎要对她这么说。但是他看得出，她已经不害怕了。于是，他最后只是说道：“我爱你，妈妈。”这才是最重要的。 然后他和爸爸一起哭了。