Chapter 4 4. Harold and the Inn Traveler

Harold Fry was a tall man, but he lived his life stooping, as if he was always on guard against a low beam suddenly appearing in front of him, or a paper airplane that someone else missed.On the day he was born, his mother looked at the baby in her arms and was completely at a loss.She was still young, with a small cherry mouth, and she married a man early. The man was a good husband before the war, but he was not so when he came back from the army.A baby waiting to be fed was the last burden she needed at the time.Harold had learned at an early age how to make a living—to keep a low profile, to be invisible.He also played with the neighborhood kids, or at least watched them from the sidelines.When he was studying, he tried his best to blend into the background, and became an inconspicuous and stupid child in the eyes of others.When he was sixteen years old, he left home to venture into the world. He was always alone until he met Maureen in the ballroom one night.It was the distillery that brought the newlyweds to Kingsbridge.

His job is a sales representative, and he has been doing it for forty-five years. He is diligent and humble, and he is alone. He has never planned to be promoted and raise his salary.Others traveled around the world, or sought other jobs, but Harold never had any of these thoughts.He had neither friends nor enemies, and he retired as he wished, without even holding a farewell party.Although a little girl from the administration department gathered the people in the sales department and said a few words, there were not many people who were familiar with Harold.Someone had heard somewhere that Harold was a man with a story, but no one knew what that story was.He came straight home from his last day of work one Friday with nothing but a color-book Great Britain Motorcycle Tour Guide and a wine coupon to show that he had spent his life at the distillery.He put the books in the best room, with other things that no one bothered to look at.The coupon was still sealed in the envelope—Harold was a teetotaler.

Waking up hungry from sleep, Harold felt that the mattress was strangely hard and that the position was different.A strange light casts on the carpet.What had Maureen done to make the bedroom window go over there?When did you change the little floral wallpaper?Only then did he remember that he was in an inn north of Lodisway.He was going to walk to Berwick, because Queenie Hennessy couldn't die. By Harold's own admission, some places were not well planned.He had no shoes for the long journey, no compass, much less a map or a change of clothes, the least of which was the journey itself.Originally, he didn't realize what he was going to do until he got up, not to mention the details, he didn't even have a rough plan.He still knows a little about the road in Devonshire, but what about after going out?Anyway, go straight north.

He patted the pillow and sat up.My left shoulder felt a little sore, but I was in good spirits. This was the best night I slept in these years, and none of the scenes I saw in my dream at midnight on weekdays appeared.The pattern of the bed sheets and the curtains were exactly the same, and the pine wardrobe on the side looked very old, and his sailing shoes were placed underneath.In the far corner there was a mirror, under which was a washbasin, and a blue velvet chair, the color of which was almost faded, and his shirt, tie, and trousers were neatly folded and placed above.For some reason, Harold suddenly remembered his childhood home, where his mother's skirts were always thrown everywhere.He glanced out the window, thinking of something else.Did Queenie know that he was walking to see her?Maybe she's thinking about it now.

After calling the nursing home, he continued to walk along the B3196 National Highway.High and low, going round and round, he just followed the clear direction in his heart, walked past farmland, houses, trees, crossed the small bridge over the Avon River, and passed by countless vehicles.None of these things mattered to him except the distance between him and Berwickshire.Every time he walked for a while, he would stop to take a breath, wipe off his sweat, and straighten the sailing shoes on his feet.At Lordesway he stopped for a drink, and it was there that he met a man selling satellite dishes.The young man was shocked when he heard Harold's big plan, and patted him on the back to make everyone in the bar quiet down and listen carefully; when Harold said the simplest plan ("I'll go all the way north, as far as Berwickshire"), the lad yells, "Well done, mate!" That's what makes Harold rush into the phone booth and call Maureen .

He wished Maureen would tell him the same. "I don't think so." Sometimes Maureen used these words to block his words before he even spoke.After talking to Maureen, his steps got heavy.Couldn't really blame Maureen, but he still expected her to react differently.As he walked, he came to the entrance of a small hotel. The palm trees in front of the shop were all tilted in the same direction by the sea wind.Harold asked for a room.He has long been used to sleeping alone, but staying in a hotel is a novelty after all. You know, when he was in the brewery, he would be home before dark every day.As soon as he touched the pillow, Harold fell into a deep sleep.Leaning against the soft headboard, he bent his left knee, held his ankle, and then straightened his leg, trying to maintain his balance.He put on reading glasses to examine his left foot carefully, the toes were soft and pink, the edges of the nails and the joints in the middle were a little sore, and there was a blister on the heel, which might have been worn out while walking.Considering his age and his inactive body, Harold was quite proud.He did the same experiment on his right foot, and carefully checked the condition of his right foot.

"It's not bad," he said to himself.A few pieces of tape, a good breakfast, and he's on his way.Harold imagined the nurse telling Queenie that he was walking and all she had to do was stay alive.Her face seemed to be right in front of him: dark eyes, small lips, black curly hair, so real.He wondered why he was still in bed and had to go to Berwick.Harold rolled over, got out of bed and stood up. He felt his leg jerk violently, and the pain passed through his entire right torso like an electric current.Harold tried to raise his legs and lie back on the bed, but the pain got worse.What should we do at this time?Straighten your feet?Tighten your toes?He staggered out of bed, jumping from one end of the carpet to the other, breathing heavily.

Maureen was right: he'd be good enough to last up to Dartmoor. Leaning against the window sill, Harold stared at the road downstairs.It was rush hour, and the traffic flow in the direction of Kingsbridge increased significantly.He thought about his wife who was making breakfast at No. 13 Foss Bridge Road at this time, and wondered whether he should go home, so that he could take his mobile phone, pack some luggage, check the map online, and order some things for the road. supplies.Maybe the travel guide that I gave when I retired can finally come in handy, but planning at the beginning will take a lot of thinking and waiting, and now the most precious thing is time.Besides, Maureen would not deny the reality he had been trying to avoid.Long gone are the days of expecting assistance and tender encouragement from her.At this moment, the blue sky outside the window was clear and transparent, as if it would break at the touch of a touch, with a few wisps of white clouds entangled in it, and the golden sunlight warmly sprinkled on the ground; the branches and leaves bathed in it swayed with the breeze, as if encouraging him to move forward.He knew that if he went home now, even if it was just to find out the map and check it, he would never make it.So he washed up, got dressed, and went out following the smell of breakfast bacon.

Harold hovered outside the restaurant, hoping it was empty.He and Maureen could sit in the same room for hours without speaking, but she was there like a wall, and you knew she was always there even if you weren't looking.Finally he reaches for the doorknob—he's ashamed of himself for being afraid to face a room full of strangers after all these years in the brewery. As soon as the door was opened, six eyes looked at him.Among them are a young couple with a child in their arms, dressed in festive attire; two middle-aged ladies who are sitting dignifiedly, all covered in gray; and a frowning businessman, holding a newspaper in his hand.There were two empty tables left, one in the middle of the hall, the other huddled in a far corner, next to a potted fern.Harold coughed lightly.

"Morning you—" he began, not realizing that he had no Irish blood at all.That sounded more like something his former boss, Mr Nabil, would have said.In fact, Mr. Nabil is not of Irish descent either, he just likes to joke. Everyone agreed and then buried their heads back to their own affairs.Harold thought it was too awkward to stand like that, but it seemed rude to sit down without being invited. A girl in a black dress burst into the hall through the swing door marked "Kitchen important area, no one is allowed to enter".She had auburn hair which, like many women, did not know how to blow it up.Maureen has never been a big fan of blowing out her hair.She would whine about "there's no time for a haircut" as if it was Harold's fault.The girl put the boiled eggs on the table of the two slender ladies and asked over her shoulder, "Will you have a full morning meal, Mr. Fry?"

With a moment of shame, Harold suddenly remembered.It was the girl who had taken him to his room the night before, and told her, tired and excited, that he was walking to Berwick.He wished she had forgotten everything.He tried to answer, "Yes, thank you," but he couldn't even look her in the face, and the "Yes, thank you" was barely audible. She pointed to the middle of the hall, where Harold didn't want to sit at the table.He moved towards the table step by step, and suddenly realized that the pungent smell that he had been smelling since he went down the stairs was coming from himself.He really wanted to rush back to his room to wash up again, but it would be too rude, especially after she asked him to sit down and he sat down obediently. "Tea or coffee?" she asked. "Okay, thanks." "Both?" she said very patiently.Now he had one more thing to worry about: even if she didn't smell him, even if she couldn't remember what he said last night, she might think he was old. "A cup of tea will do," said Harold.She nodded, and Harold breathed a sigh of relief as she disappeared behind the swinging door like a gust of wind.The dining room was quiet again.He adjusted his tie, then put his hands on his lap.If he didn't move, maybe all this would disappear. The two women in gray started talking about the weather, but Harold wasn't sure if they were talking to each other or to other customers.He didn't want to appear nonchalant, but he was afraid they might think he was eavesdropping on their conversation, so he pretended to be busy, studying the "No Smoking" sign on the table and reading the "No Smoking" sign on the wall. Customers please do not answer the phone in the restaurant", wondering what happened in the past that made the boss so taboo. The wait girl reappears with a teapot and milk in hand.He made her pour a cup of tea. "The weather is just right for traveling," she said.She did remember.Harold took a sip of his tea, which burned his mouth.The girl was busy around him. "Do you do this kind of thing often?" she asked. Harold noticed a tense silence filling the room, amplifying her voice.He glanced lightly at the other customers, everyone was still, and even the plants in the corner seemed to be frozen.Harold shook his head, avoiding her eyes. "The funny thing is," she went on, "I've always wanted to try this, but never got it started. There's so much to do, and there's always something else to do first. Of course it's easier to say, because men are more rigid. I didn't offend you, sir?" Harold's face was burning red, as if burned.He wanted to reassure her that he wasn't offended, but he hoped she wouldn't bring up his plans again, that she had spoken so boldly and mysteriously that everyone around them was listening and guessing what she was talking about thing.Since he was a child, he was afraid of being the center of attention. Since he was a child, he was used to living quietly like a shadow. He could even observe his mother for a long time without her noticing, watching her put on lipstick, and watch her staring blankly. Travel Magazine.The girl didn't intend to stop: "You are good. I really think so. If we don't take advantage of the moment to go crazy now and then, there will be nothing to look forward to." She patted him on the shoulder lightly, and returned to Behind the no-break-in swing door. Once again Harold felt that he had become the focus helplessly, even picking up the teacup became a deliberate movement, and bumped into the saucer with a bang, which really surprised him.The smell, if anything, could only be worse.He blamed himself for not putting the socks under the tap the night before and rinsing them, as Maureen would have done. "Then what is your mysterious plan?" The man sitting in the corner suddenly asked.He was wearing a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, with thick black body hair curling up his chest and arms.He lay on the chair carelessly, with his legs kicking the ground, leaving only two hind legs of the chair on the ground, shaking tremblingly, which was the movement Maureen hated David the most.While maintaining his balance, the man also put his arms around his wife and children. Now Harold had to explain.If he talks about this plan enough times, maybe he can gradually become a person who can make it happen. "I'm going to walk," Harold replied, "to Berwickshire." All the people in the restaurant turned their heads collectively again, focusing on him. "Berwickshire on the Tweed?" the Hawaiian shirtman asked, a silent smile—it looked more like an open mouth—and looked around the hall, as if inviting others to join, "but That's the most northerly point, across all of England. It's all the way to Scotland. It must be—how far—almost five hundred miles?" Harold had no idea.He didn't dare to figure it out yet. "Yeah," he said, "but maybe more if you're going around the M5." He reached for his teacup, but couldn't. "Are you serious?" the man in the shirt asked with a smile. "I started walking yesterday." "How long will it take?" "I'm afraid I don't know either." The man in the shirt glanced at the businessman, their eyes met, and the corners of their mouths turned up into a smile.Harold wished he hadn't noticed, but he saw it again.Of course they are right. "The gentleman is a hiker, then?" said the shirt man's wife suddenly.Her curls hugged her face softly, and she looked kindly. "Honey, he knows what he's doing. He must have been training. A lot of people are like that now, you see people jogging everywhere." The businessman folded the newspaper and leaned forward, waiting for Harold to respond.Harold didn't know if he should lie, but deep down he knew he shouldn't. "I'm not much of a hiker. The decision was a bit sudden. I'm doing it for someone else, and she has cancer." Everyone stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. "You mean a religious hike?" the lady in gray finally said, "Like a pilgrimage?" She turned to another lady in gray, who sang softly: "He's like a samurai He is as heroic as you are." Her singing voice was pure and firm, and her thin face became rosy.Harold hesitated again, was it for her girlfriend or for everyone?But anyway, it should be inappropriate to disturb the singing.After the lady sang, she fell silent again, with a smile on her face.Harold laughed too, but that was because he had absolutely no idea what to say next. "Does she know your plan?" the man in the Hawaiian shirt asked suddenly. "I left a message on the phone and sent a letter." "That's it?" "There's no time for anything else." The businessman stared at Harold with his sarcastic eyes, obviously seeing through him. "Do you believe in Buddhism? Or do you believe in something else?" The man in the shirt asked again. His wife moved in her chair, smiling, trying to whisper to her husband to stop talking. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being a Buddhist," he continued, "I just think it sounds like something they do. You've seen them walking down Oxford Street, and that's what they do all the time." "There were two young men who came from India," said the lady in gray who didn't sing, "the peace march in 1968, they gathered in the four countries with nuclear powers, and called on their heads of state to press red The moment you press the button, you should stop, have a cup of tea, and think again." Her companion nodded cheerfully. "We don't think we've ever seen a pilgrim," said the friendly lady.The hall was hot and stuffy, and Harold wanted to breathe.He stroked his tie, trying to sit gracefully, but felt that something was wrong. "You're just too tall," his Aunt May once said to him, as if being tall, like a leaking faucet, is something that can be repaired and corrected.Harold wished he hadn't discussed his plans with these customers, and wished they hadn't brought up the subject of religion just now.He has nothing against others believing in God, but to him, religious belief is like a world that doesn't fit in with him, where everyone has the same set of rules of purpose, but he doesn't.There were times when he needed faith, but religion didn't help him.But now, these two well-meaning ladies in gray clothes are talking about Buddhists and world peace, which has nothing to do with him at all. He is just a retired old man who received a letter and went on the road for a wish, that's all .He began: "My friend and I worked in a brewery a long time ago, and my job was to make sure the taverns were running properly, and she was in the finance department. Sometimes we all had to run errands in the tavern, and I'd give her a ride. "He felt his heart beating faster and faster, almost popping out. "She did me a favor once, and now she's seriously ill and I can't let her die like this. I want to help her live on." This naked confession frightened him himself, as if he was standing naked in front of the crowd.He lowered his head, and the restaurant fell silent again.Now that Queenie was mentioned, Harold really wanted to continue reminiscing about the past, but he really couldn't ignore the curious or suspicious eyes around him.Finally those fragments of memories gradually faded away, just as Queenie had quietly withdrawn from his life all those years ago.He still vaguely remembered standing in front of Queenie's empty seat, unable to believe for a long time that she had left and would never come back.Harold felt that he was not hungry at all, and he was about to go out to get some fresh air, when the waitress rushed out of the kitchen with a full morning meal in her hand.He tried his best, but he couldn't eat much, so he lined up the bacon slices and sausage in small pieces and hid them under the knife and fork, as David had done before, and got up leave. Back in the room, Harold tried to imitate Maureen and spread the sheets and quilts evenly, as if to erase the traces of his lying here.Then he went to the washbasin and wet his hair, brushed it aside, and cleaned between his teeth with his fingers.Many traces of his father can be found on the face of the person in the mirror, except for the same pair of blue eyes, and the same slightly protruding lower lip, which seems to always contain something in the mouth, and the wide one that originally covered the mouth. bangs on the forehead.He leaned closer, trying to find a trace of his mother, but apart from their height, there was really no other similarity between them. Harold is already an old man, let alone a pilgrim, he usually doesn't even take a few steps on the road, who can he lie to?He had spent his life sitting in a small office, his loose skin hanging in wrinkled folds.Thinking of the long distance between myself and Queenie, and Maureen's saying that the farthest distance he has traveled is only from the door to the car, and the laughter of the man in the Hawaiian shirt and the suspicion of the businessman.They are right.He knew nothing about sports, or maps, or the countryside.He should obediently take out his change and take the bus home.Harold closed the door softly, feeling like he was saying goodbye to something he hadn't had a chance to start yet.He walked downstairs slowly, paying attention to his footsteps, his shoes trampling on the thick carpet without a sound. Harold was changing his wallet into his trouser pocket at the back when the door of the restaurant opened suddenly, and the waiter walked out from inside, followed by the two ladies in gray clothes with flushed cheeks and the businessman. "We were worried that you had already left." The waiter straightened his red hair, panting lightly. "We want to say, have a good trip!" the singing lady burst out. "I really hope you succeed," continued her friend.The businessman stuffed a business card tightly into Harold's palm: "If you pass by Hexham, remember to come to me." They all believed him.They have all seen his sailing shoes and heard what he said, but they persuaded reason with their hearts, chose to ignore all evidence, and looked forward to a possibility that was bigger, crazier, and better than the self-evident reality.Harold felt ashamed when he thought of his hesitation a quarter of an hour ago. "You are so kind." He whispered softly, shook their hands one by one, and thanked them.The little waiter leaned closer to his ear and kissed him lightly through the air. Perhaps the moment Harold turned around, the businessman smiled or even made a face, or maybe someone in the restaurant was trying to suppress a giggle, but he didn't mind.He's so grateful he laughs with them even when he hears it. "Then we'll meet in Hexham." He promised, turned around, and strode out onto the road. The silvery sea spread out behind him, and in front of him was the Kangzhuang Avenue leading to Berwickshire and another sea.The journey has finally begun, and from this step, his destination is clearly in sight.