Chapter 11 chapter Ten

Doorbell rang. Ottilie asked in a low voice, "Do you think it's Lo and Ellie?" "No," Anna said, looking out the window, "it's Mr. Harold." She immediately got up and went to open the door.Ottilie also went down the corridor to meet her brother. "How do you do, Ottilie," said Harold Deckers. "Is anyone with Mama now?" "No. I just met Mr. Tacoma on the road, and he came to see mother. Look, he's asleep now. I'll stay here until he wakes up." "Then I'll go and stay with my mother." "You look awful, Harold."

"Yeah, I don't feel well. I feel sore..." "Where does it hurt?" "It hurts everywhere. Heart, liver—everything... Well, tomorrow is a big day, isn't it, Ottilie?" "Yes," said Ottilie darkly, "tomorrow ... they really don't want to bother—no banquet, no wedding in church." "Luo invited me to be a witness." "Yeah, you and Steyn are his witnesses, and Dr. LeLoves and Delborough are Ellie's... Anton declined the invitation..." "Yeah, Anton never cared about such things." He walked slowly upstairs, knocked on the door, opened it and went in.The escort was sitting with the old lady, reading the newspaper to her in a single tone.Seeing Harold, she got up from her chair:

"Mr. Harold is here, ma'am." She leaves the room.The son leaned down and placed a tender kiss on the mother's forehead.It was getting dark, and the crimson twilight filtered through the curtains and the short tall curtains, which could barely reflect the face of this elderly woman with few wrinkles and like porcelain.She sat upright in a chair, her baggy cashmere skirt stacked up to look like she was sitting on a throne.Her slender fingers, covered with black mittens, quivered softly in her lap.The son sat in the chair next to his mother—no one would sit in the chair by the window, because that was reserved for Mr. Tacoma—and chatted with his mother without saying a word.They talked about Mother's body, about the weather, about Ellie and Lo's wedding tomorrow.Harold's gray, parchment-colored face was occasionally marked by a look of pain: his mouth suddenly twisted in pain, as if twitching.Whenever he sat beside his mother and talked about her body, the weather, and Luo, the scene would resurface in front of his eyes as usual, dragging a ghostly veil slowly past, passing by. Dead leaves, rustling.Day after day, year after year, the scene moves so slowly, it seems that it will never be the past, it seems that he will watch them forever, and walk slowly along the long road of time.

When they talked about his mother's body, about the weather, about Luo, that incident, that terrible scene was repeated before his eyes as usual: that rainy night, in the desolate village of Tegal, he seemed Again I heard whispers, the whispers of the nanny, the tense, angry and frightened voices of the tacoma, and the desperate sobs of the mother... and of course his own cry, the cry of a child who was only 13 years old. Voice.He knew what was going on because he had heard it all and seen it all.But he alone heard all this and saw all this.Now, he is a frail old man, and all his long life, he has seen that scene again and again, so slowly; and the others, they have heard nothing and seen nothing I don't know anything... He often asks himself, is there no one else who knows, hears, and sees except him?Le Loves must have seen Dad's wound, but Le Loves never mentioned it, and he denied all rumors.There had been vague rumors going around about tribal women, knife wounds, and blood on the ground.How many rumors have been circulated outside!But in the end, people still thought that his father drowned in the river on a sultry night... He first went to the garden to breathe, then got soaked and died in the torrential rain... Alas, that night The terrible scene passed by his eyes again, it took a step forward, then turned around and stared at him.Why can they endure the torture of sin and live to this age?Why is this thing leaving so slowly?He already knew more than others, but now, he knew more secrets... because he heard those rumors, and because he grew up later, he could instinctively guess what happened at that time based on what he had experienced. What really happened: first his father heard the voice, the voice from his wife's room, the voice of the tacoma, the closest friend of the family... so he got suspicious, really?Is that a tacoma?Yes, the tacoma... the tacoma was in his wife's room!His eyes were red with rage and jealousy, and his hands groped for weapons, but found nothing but the short knife, the beautiful ornamental knife that the magistrate had given him the day before, and nothing else.He sneaked into his wife's room, and there, right there, he heard their voices clearly, they were laughing, laughing under their breath... He slammed on the door, and the bamboo latch flew open, and he rushed Go in!At this moment, the two men glared at the same woman... Their fierce fighting spirit and anger made them too impulsive to control themselves, and the desperate struggle like animals was repeated on humans.But in the end, Tacoma snatched the short knife from Harold's father... It's no longer a man, no longer a human being, just two male animals fighting each other for a female mate!There is no rational thinking in the angry brain, only strong impulse, terrible jealousy and uncontrollable anger in the fiery eyes!Then his father was fatally stabbed...but all the time, Harold Deckers didn't see his mother: he didn't see her, he didn't know what she was doing, he didn't know that the two big beasts What did she do while the man was fighting... He didn't see the action of this important female protagonist, and he couldn't guess it intuitively, no matter how many times he stared at the passing thing, no matter how many times .Year after year, time after time, he sat beside his mother, talking about her body, about the weather... He could always see that terrible thing, but he could never guess how she felt at that time.Today, he feels the torment more intensely than ever.So, he finally couldn't help but asked the old woman in her dying years:

"Nurse was reading the newspaper to you just now, wasn't she?" "Ok." "Is she a good reader?" "Good. But sometimes she doesn't know exactly what to read to me." "Aren't you interested in politics?" "I'm interested in war, war is terrible, so many people died." "That was murder, mass murder!" "Yes, that was murder..." "Does she read you novels?" "No, no, I don't like novels." "I dont like it either." "We're too old to listen to that."

"Yeah, our old man's own story can be written into a serial novel..." "Yes, it's best to live a peaceful life." "So you have a clear conscience." He watched her twig-like fingers tremble.She betrayed her husband, how could she still have a clear conscience?Although he never saw what she did with his own eyes, the secret of that night always, always dragged its ghostly veil, brushed against the dead leaves, and rustled... "Didn't she read you the murder?" "What murder?" "In England, there was a woman..." "No, no, she never reads that to me!"

Her tone of voice was almost pleading.How old she was, how old she was!The toothless mouth trembled and grunted, and the fingers shook violently.He, this son of hers, knew something of the past and had doubts about what he did not know.But at this moment, his heart was full of sympathy, because he knew that although the mother's soul had become dull and dull in the process of waiting for the death of the body, her soul had also had passion; The soul, too, once forgot the whole world and life itself for the sake of momentary pleasure... perhaps, there was also hatred!He knew that she hated her father, even though she had loved him deeply; she hated him, because before his passion dissipated, her love had already been extinguished and turned into a pile of ashes... Year after year, he had No longer a child, he has grown up and understood many things.Now, as he looked back, the memory pieced together pieces he could understand, and gradually, something became clear to him.He doubted it because he knew her soul.But that soul is so dull now.She is so old, so old!Compassion softened his own soul.Old, he himself is old, full of sorrow for the things that have passed away in his life, for his mother, and for himself-he is also old now, and she is an old woman who is dying!Shhh, oh, be quiet: let her be a little older, and it will all be over, and that dreadful thing will be all over!In its ghostly veil the last fold will fade, and in the endless, endless way the last leaf will give its last sound.But though there had been vague rumours, whimpering dolefully, hovering among the shadowy branches, they had never become clear indictments.In the swaying shadows, no one stood up, stretched out his hand, and grabbed that thing.That gloomy, ghostly secret that still drags itself along the long way, year after year...