Chapter 5 5. Harold, the bartender, and the childless woman

What a beautiful spring day.The air is sweet and soft, and the blue sky is high and clear.Harold swore that the last time he looked outside through the curtains, the trees and hedges of Forth Bridge Road were still like a dull pile of bones and spindles pointing to the sky; but standing here now, no matter where he looked, the grass , the garden, the tree, and the fence all exude vitality that cannot be hidden.The new branches and leaves are lush and thick, covering the top of the tree to form a canopy.All the yellow forsythia and the purple Nan Ting Ji are amazing.The tender green willows sway slightly in the wind, shining brightly.The first potato sprouts had sprouted, and the dwarf gooseberry bushes were covered with tiny buds like the earrings Maureen had worn.Harold was suddenly dazzled by the abundance of new life.With the hotel behind him and the sporadic cars whizzing by, Harold suddenly realized how small he was, all alone, without his cell phone.If he fell accidentally, if someone attacked him, who would hear him cry for help?He was startled when he heard a cracking sound suddenly, and took a few steps to look back, only to find that it was a white pigeon that almost lost his balance on the tree, and his heart was still beating rapidly.After a while, he settled down and found a trace of confidence.The land of England is spread out under his feet, the feeling of freedom and exploration of the unknown is exciting, and he can't help but smile a little, but he feels that I am walking alone in the vast world, and nothing can stop him, let him go back to the small world. Weed the garden.

It was unbelievable that he was actually going to walk to Berwickshire.Beyond the hedge, the meadow spread out.A clump of low shrubs had been blown sideways by years of wind, like some man's comb.Harold remembered that he had thick hair when he was a teenager, and he used hair gel to stand up this lock of hair every day.The next step is to head north, towards South Brent, and maybe find a small hotel to deal with at night.Then I walked along the A38 national road to Exeter. I don’t remember how far it is, but if I used to drive slowly, it would take about one hour and twenty minutes.Harold continued to walk along the path, which was surrounded by tall and dense hedges, making the path look like a trench.As the cars whizzed by, Harold was surprised to find that he didn't have to sit in the car to realize how fast they were going.He took off his waterproof jacket, folded it and held it in his hand.

He didn't know how many times he drove this road with Queenie, but he still didn't remember any of the roadside scenery.It must be that my mind is full of the schedule of the day, always thinking that I must arrive at the destination on time, always thinking that the front is just another piece of green land, with an unattractive mountain as the background.But after going through it for real, he found that it was not the same thing at all.The land between the ridges is undulating and divided into squares, surrounded by high and low hedges.He couldn't help but stop and look into the distance, feeling ashamed: the shades of green can have so many variations, some are as deep as black velvet, some are so light that they are almost yellow.The sunlight must have accidentally caught a passing car or a window in the distance, for there was a point of light far across the cascading hills, like a flickering star.How did you not notice this before?Little unknown flowers, almost pale, with a tinge of lilac-yellow, clustered at the foot of the hedge.I don't know that in those years, Queenie in the passenger seat saw all this through the window.

"It smells sweet in the car," Maureen said once, taking a deep sniff of the air in the car, "the scent of violets." Harold solved the problem by always driving home at night with the windows open. When you arrive in Berwickshire, you must buy a bouquet of flowers.He imagined himself striding into the nursing home, Queenie sitting on the edge of the sunny window, waiting for him to appear; all the nursing staff stopped their work to watch him go by, and all the patients would applaud and even cheer because he It's been such a long journey; and when Queenie took the flowers from his hands, she would laugh quietly, in her own way.

Maureen used to put a bunch of flowers or a yellow autumn leaf in the buttonhole of her skirt when they must have just been married.If the dress didn't have buttons, she'd run little flowers through her hair, letting the petals fall between them, almost comically.He hadn't thought of this picture for many years. A car slowed to a sudden stop, forcing Harold to lean against a nettle bush.The windows of the car were rolled down, and the deafening music sounded from inside, but the faces of the people in the car could not be seen clearly. "Grandpa, are you going to see your girlfriend?" Harold gave a thumbs up, waiting for the group of strangers to leave.The place where the nettle stings is hot.Step by step, keep going.As he accepted the slow progress, he started to wonder how far he had come.At the end of the field of vision is just a touch of blue as light as water, there are houses and trees, but sometimes the edges of the sky and the earth gradually melt, as if they have penetrated into each other and become an inseparable part.He passed two trucks that were deadlocked, the two drivers arguing over who should back out of the way.Every inch of his body was calling for food, and his stomach writhed violently at the thought of the breakfast he hadn't eaten.

At the California Crossing Tavern, Harold stopped for an early lunch of two ready-to-eat cheese sandwiches from a basket.Three ghostly men, thick with dust, discuss a house they're renovating.A few drinking people looked up at him, but this is not a place where he hangs out, luckily he doesn't know those people either.He brought his lunch and lemonade outside to the patio, blinking to adjust to the sudden glare.He raised his glass, mouth full of saliva eager for delicious food.One bite of the sandwich, the richness of the cheese and the sweetness of the bread burst out on the taste buds, as if you have never eaten anything in your life.

As a child he worked hard to practice eating without making a sound.Father didn't like the sound.Sometimes he would say nothing, just cover his ears and close his eyes, as if the boy was a thorn in his side; other times he would just call Harold a dirty little beggar. "Only a beggar can recognize his own kind." My mother would reply while twisting a cigarette when she heard it.Dad was too nervous, he heard from a neighbor.War makes people very funny.Sometimes, as a little boy, he would have the desire to touch his father, to stand next to him, to feel what it was like to be surrounded by the arms of a grown-up.He also hesitated to ask his father what happened before he was born, why his father's hand always trembled when he reached for the cup.

"The kid is staring at me again," my father would say sometimes.Mother would pat his little hand lightly, as if waving a fly, and say, "Go, little one. Go outside and play." It was a shock that he remembered these things.Maybe it's the way out.Maybe the endless stretch of land isn't the only thing you see when you step out of your car and actually walk on your legs. The sun seemed to sprinkle a layer of warm liquid on Harold's head and hands. He took off his shoes and socks and carefully observed his feet hidden under the table.The fingers were wet and red like fire, and the skin on the heel of the shoe seemed to be burning when the shoe touched it, and the blisters were swollen.He put his feet on the soft grass, closed his eyes, very tired, but knew in his heart that he must not fall asleep.Once you stop for too long, it's hard to continue.

"Enjoy it while you still have the chance." Harold turned away, afraid of running into someone he knew.Only the figure of a bartender partially overlaps with the shadow of the sun.The bartender was about as tall as Harold, but stockier, and wore a rugby shirt, baggy shorts, and sandals, as Maureen called them, "like a Cornish pie."Harold quickly slipped his foot back into his sailing shoe. "Don't pay attention to me." The owner of the store didn't move, just said something loudly.In Harold's experience, the tavernkeepers always felt obligated to act as if a conversation was going on, even when there was actually silence around them, which was really funny. "The weather is so good that people can't help but want to do something. Take my wife, as soon as the sun comes out, she will clean out the cupboards."

Maureen seems to be doing hygiene all year round.The house doesn't know how to clean itself, she would mutter to herself like this.Sometimes she scrubs the things that have just been cleaned, making people feel that they don't really live in this house, but just passing by for a short period of time.But he didn't say that, he just thought about it in his heart. "You're unfamiliar," the boss said, "here you come to play?" Harold explained that he was just passing by, and told him that he retired from the brewery six months ago, and that the old days were more suitable for him, when the salesman Driving out early in the morning, there is not so much high technology.

"Then you must know Nabil?" The question startled Harold.He cleared his throat and said that Nabil had been their boss until the car accident that killed him five years ago. "I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead," said the tavernkeeper, "but he's a wretch. I saw him beat a man half to death once, and we had a hard time pulling him away." It would be best not to continue discussing Nabil.Harold turns to explaining how he suddenly decided to go after receiving Queenie's letter, and then realized that he was not prepared enough.Before the tavern owner could ask a question, he honestly confessed that he didn't have a cell phone, hiking boots, or a map.He himself knew it sounded absurd. "I don't hear that name very much now—Queenie," said the tavernkeeper. "It's an old name." Harold agreed, saying that she was indeed a very traditional person.Very quiet, always wearing a brown woolen suit, even in the summer. The tavern owner folded his hands in front of his chest, just placed them on the soft belly, and opened his legs, as if he had set up a long speech.Harold prayed secretly that he wasn't trying to emphasize the distance between Devonshire and Berwickshire. "I knew a girl before, a very lovely girl, lived in Tonbridge. The first girl I ever kissed, and some other firsts, you know. The girl would do anything for me, But I just didn't understand at the time, Jing was busy getting ahead. It wasn't until many years later, when I received her wedding invitation, that I realized how lucky the guy who married her was." Harold felt he should explain that he didn't feel that way for Queenie, but it would be too reckless to interrupt now. "I totally broke down, started drinking, and got in a lot of trouble, if you understand." Harold nodded. "I ended up in prison for six years. After I got out, I did handicrafts. My wife always made fun of me. It was actually table decorations, buying little baskets and knickknacks from the Internet. In fact," he said here and back with his hands Rubbing one side of his ear, "We all have a past, we all have regrets, and I hope some things were done or not done. Good luck, I hope you find your lady." He put his hands in front of his eyes, Frowning and studying carefully, "If all goes well, maybe you will be there this afternoon." There is no need to correct his words.You can't expect everyone to figure out the nature of the journey, or how far Berwickshire really is.Harold thanked him and started on his way again.He remembered that Queenie used to keep a little notebook in her handbag, recording the exact miles they had traveled.She wasn't born to lie, at least not knowingly.A sense of guilt drove him on. By the afternoon, the blisters on his feet had gotten worse, and he had discovered a way to push his toes forward vigorously to keep the heels from rubbing against his ankles.Neither Queenie nor Maureen was on his mind, and he didn't even look at the hedges around him, or the passing cars, or the distant horizon.He has become one sentence: "You will not die." This sentence is every step he takes, but sometimes the sentence order is wrong.He suddenly realized that his mind was singing "Die, you, won't" or "Won't, you, die", or even just "Won't, won't, won't".Sharing the same sky overhead with Queenie, he became more and more convinced that Queenie knew he was on his way and that she must be waiting for him.He knew he could reach Berwick, all he had to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other.The simplicity is delightful.As long as you keep going forward, of course you will be able to arrive.The surroundings are still, only the rustling sound of the whizzing cars rolling over the fallen leaves on the ground breaks the tranquility from time to time.The sound almost made him think he was back at the seaside again.Harold suddenly found himself deeply caught up in the conjuring up of memories. They went to Bantham together when David was six, and David swam far and wide.Maureen yelled desperately, "David! Come back! Come back right away!" But the more she yelled, the smaller the little guy became.Harold followed Maureen to the water's edge, stopped to untie his shoelaces, and was about to take off his shoes when a marine patrolman rushed out, took off his T-shirt and threw it back while running, and he just I remembered that I hadn't taken off my clothes yet.With one thrust the lad was waist-deep in the water and plunged headlong through the breaking waves until he grabbed David and swam him back to shore in his arms.David's ribs were bulging out like rows of fingers, and his lips were purple. "Lucky for him," said the patrolman to Maureen instead of Harold, and Harold took a step or two back. Glittering in the sun.Maureen never said it, but Harold knew what she was thinking, and he was thinking the same question himself: Why did he stop to untie his shoelaces when his only son was drowning? Years later, he asked David, "Why didn't you stop that day at the beach? Didn't you hear us calling you?" David, who must have been a teenager at the time, looked calmly at his father, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "I don't know. There's been a lot of trouble anyway. It seems easier to stay here than to come back." Then Harold told him that he'd better not swear, especially when his mother was around, and David seemed to say "go away". Harold wondered how he could think of such things.His only son, rushed to the sea for relief, then told him to go away years later.The images in memory all came back, pieced together: dots of light flickering on the sea, David's intense eyes staring at him.He was scared at the time, it's true.He untied the shoelaces because he was afraid that after all the excuses had been exhausted, he would not be able to save the child in the end.More importantly, they all knew it: Harold, Maureen, the patrolman, even David himself.Harold forced himself to move on. He was afraid that more memories would come—images that had filled his mind so many nights that he could not sleep.Years later Maureen still blamed him, saying several times that he almost let their baby drown in the sea.He tried to bring his attention back to reality. The path stretched among the dense hedges, and the sunlight filtered in through the gaps in the branches and leaves.Sprouts popped up, and a bell tower in the distance rang three times.Time is passing, and his steps are getting faster. Harold was aware of the dryness in his mouth, which soon seemed to have been sanded.He tried not to think about water, but as soon as the image of a bottle of water appeared, he thought of the feeling of cold liquid flowing in his mouth one after another, and his body became weaker and weaker because of this desire, as if the blood flow was even slower , the inside of the body is slowly melting together.He walked carefully, trying to maintain his balance.A few passing cars slowed down, but he waved them on, not wanting them to pay too much attention.Every breath of air he breathed in seemed to grow horns, passing through his chest cavity.With no other choice, he had to stop at the door of the nearest house ahead, holding on to the iron gate, hoping the family didn't have a dog. The bricks of the house were gray and new, the hedges of evergreens were as thick as walls, and the tulips were neatly arranged in rows of flower beds without any weeds.A few baggy shirts, trousers, and women's skirts and corsets were hanging to dry.He turned his head away, not wanting to see something he shouldn't.When he was a teenager, he used to stare at his aunt's corsets, bras, panties and stockings, when he first discovered that the world of women contained secrets that he wanted to know.He reached out to press the doorbell and leaned against the wall. When the woman who answered the door saw him, her face sank.He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he couldn't control his body, he couldn't even lift his tongue.She hurried to bring him a glass of water, but his hand was trembling when he took the glass.The cold water passed over the teeth, gums, upper jaw, and rushed down the throat.He almost sighed in comfort. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked when he drank the second glass of water she brought.It was a fat woman in a rumpled dress with a rear that looked like she had given birth—so Maureen would have judged.Her face looked weather-beaten, the skin hanging off her bones. "Do you want to take a break?" Harold said he was fine.He wanted too much to get back on the road, and he didn't want to bother a stranger rashly. Besides, he felt that he had broken an unwritten rule of the British by asking for help. Things are connected.In just a few words of dialogue, he tried to calm his shortness of breath, and comforted her that he had just started a long journey, but his state might not have adjusted yet.He hoped the other person would laugh at this, but she didn't seem to think it was funny at all.It had been a long time since he had been able to make a woman laugh. "Wait a minute," she said before disappearing into the still room again, returning with two more folding chairs in her hand.Harold helped her open the chair, repeating that he should continue on his way, but she sank back into it as if she too had just trekked a long way, and insisted that he sit down too. "Just sit for a little while," she said, "it'll be good for both of us." Harold sat down on the chair next to her, a heavy feeling spread over him, and he closed his eyes after struggling for a while.The sun shines through his eyelids, and he sees a faint red light. The singing of birds and the sound of motors passing by cars echo in his body, but it seems very far away.When Harold woke up, she had placed a small table on his lap, with a plate of bread and butter and slices of apple.She pointed to the plate, signaling him not to be polite: "Come, eat whatever you want." Although he hadn't been aware of hunger before, his stomach seemed to be completely empty after the first glimpse of the apple.It would be rude to refuse, after all, she had prepared so much without taking the trouble.He ate greedily, apologizing, but he couldn't slow down.The woman looked at him with a smile, and kept playing with a piece of apple in her hand, fiddling with her fingertips, as if it was something interesting she picked up by accident. "You think walking is the easiest thing in the world?" she finally said. "It's just putting one foot in front of the other. But I've always been amazed that things that are so instinctive are actually done." How difficult." She moistened her lips with her tongue and continued. "And eating," she said, "is the same thing, some people have trouble eating. Talking too, and love. Those things can be hard." Her eyes were on the garden, not on Haro. Germany. "And sleep." Harold continued.She turned around: "Can't you sleep?" "Sometimes." He reached for another apple.There was another silence.Then she said, "Kid." "What?" "The same goes for the kids." He glanced again at the clothes line and the meticulous flower beds.He could feel the absence of a young life, the emptiness humming. "Do you have children?" she asked. "There is one." She nodded and wiped her face with the heel of her palm. "I'm so sorry," said Harold.He empathized with her grief. "It's okay. It's all the same." Harold thought of David, but it was too complicated to explain.He saw the toddler David, his small face gradually tanned in the sun, like a ripe nut.He wanted to describe the little dimples on his fat knees, and the way he walked with his first pair of shoes, always looking down, as if not sure if they were still hanging on his feet.He also thought of how he was lying in the crib, with ten amazingly small fingers, safely placed on the thin woolen blanket, looking so perfect that people would feel worried if they touched them lightly. will melt away. Maureen's motherhood came so naturally, as if there had always been another woman waiting inside her, ready to emerge.She knew how to rock to put a baby in her arms to sleep, how to make soft sounds, how to bend her arms to hold a baby's head, how hot to put in a bath, when he wanted to sleep, and how to knit Little blue woolen socks.He never knew she would do this, he could only look at her in amazement, like a convinced audience.This not only made him love her more, but also raised her status. Just when he thought their marriage would be stronger, the opportunity passed by again, leaving the two of them in different positions.He tried to gaze at his little son carefully, in a solemn way, but was struck with terror.What if he is hungry?What should I do if I am not happy?What if he was bullied by other boys at school?There were too many things to guard against to protect him, and Harold suddenly found it difficult to deal with.He wondered if other men felt the responsibility of being a new father was a little daunting, or if he was the only one who felt that way.It's different now. You can see careless fathers pushing strollers and feeding babies everywhere, without panicking at all. "I didn't upset you, did I?" asked the woman beside her. "No, no." He stood up and shook her hand. "I'm so glad you knocked," she said. "I'm glad you asked me for a glass of water." Harold turned back to the road before she could see the tears on his face. The lower terrain of Dartmoor loomed to his left.Now he could see the blurry blue patch on the distant horizon, a series of purple, green, and yellow mountains, with large grasslands stretching between the mountains and large stones piled up on the top of the mountains.A bird of prey, perhaps a vulture, whirled by, hovering high overhead. He thought about the childless woman and asked himself if he shouldn't have forced Maureen to have another child all those years ago. "It's enough to have David," she said, "and it's enough for us to have him." But sometimes he feared that the burden of having only one child would be too much.He thought that if there were more children, would the "deep love and deep pain" be divided a little bit?The process of children's growth is to constantly push away their parents and get farther and farther away from them.When their son finally rejected their care for good, they had a hard time adjusting.There was an angry day at first, and then it became something else, like a silence, but just as powerful and brutal.In the end, Harold came down with a cold and Maureen moved into the extra room.For some reason, neither of them mentioned it, and Maureen never moved back. Harold's heels were throbbing, the backs of his feet were burning, and now the soles of his feet were burning.Even the tiniest sand made him so painful that he had to take off his shoes to pour out the sand after walking a few steps.From time to time, he would hear his knees click, and there was no reason, as if his joints had turned into jelly, making him stagger.The ten fingers were swollen and throbbing, but that might be because they seldom dangled back and forth like this.Apart from these, he felt that he was really alive.The sound of a lawnmower suddenly starting in the distance made him laugh out loud. Harold walked on the A3121 national road towards Exeter and walked for about a mile. He left the traffic jam behind him and turned onto the B3372 national road along the edge of the grass.A group of professional hikers from behind caught up with Harold, who stepped aside and waved them goodbye.They exchanged a few words about the lovely weather and the terrain, but he did not tell them of his plans to walk to Berwickshire.He preferred to keep the plan as firmly in his head as he kept Queenie's letter in his trouser pocket.As the group left, he noticed that they were all carrying large hiking bags, some of them were wearing tight Lycra shorts, and others were equipped with visor helmets, binoculars and retractable trekking poles.Not a single one was wearing sailing shoes. A few people waved at him, and one or two laughed.Harold didn't know if it was because they thought he was unlucky or admirable, but either way he found he didn't care anymore.He was no longer the man who had set off from Kingsbridge, nor the man in the inn, nor the man who only went to the mailbox to deliver letters.He was on his way to see Queenie Hennessy.He took another step.Harold was taken aback when he first heard that Queenie was coming to the brewery. "I heard that a new person is coming to the finance department, and it's still a woman." He said to Maureen and David.They were eating in the best room of the house, which was reserved for family meals when Maureen was still an avid cook.Now that he remembered, it was Christmas, and the Christmas paper hats around made the conversation especially light. "So? Is it fun?" David said.It must have been the year of his prep school advanced exams, and he was dressed head to toe in black, with hair almost shoulder length, and no Santa hat.He put his hat on the fork. Maureen smiled.Harold didn't expect her to be on his side, because she loved her son too much, and there was nothing wrong with that.He only wished he could feel less of an outsider now and then, as if what kept mother and son close was that they were both distant from him. "Women don't last long in breweries," says David. "I hear she's good!" "Who doesn't know Nabil? He's a rogue, a capitalist pretending to be masochistic." "Mr. Nabil is not so bad." Davy laughed out loud. "Father," he said in his usual tone, as if the connection between the two was not blood but ironic jokes. Knee is crippled. Everybody knows." "I don't think so." "Because the man stole his change box." Without saying a word, Harold picked up the vegetables and dipped them in the gravy.He had heard all these rumors, but he didn't want to think about them. "I hope that woman isn't some kind of feminist," David continued, "and she's not a gay or a socialist, is she, Dad?" It's clear that he's no longer on the subject of Nabil and wants to talk about it Things related to their family. Harold faintly saw the challenge in his son's eyes.Those eyes still had a sharp feeling at that time, and it made people feel very uncomfortable after looking at them for a long time. "I'm not saying everyone should be exactly the same," he said, but the son just gritted his teeth and glanced in his mother's direction. "Do you still read the Daily Telegraph?" After he answered this sentence, he pushed the plate and stood up, hunched over, his skin pale, and Harold hardly dared to look at it. "Eat more, honey," Maureen called.But David shook his head and slipped away, as if he couldn't have a proper Christmas lunch with his father. Harold looked at Maureen, but she had already stood up and started clearing the dishes. "He's a bright boy, you know that," she said.The implication is that the word "smart" is enough to do everything, including increasingly alienating parents. "I don't know about you, I'm too full for the sherry." She put her head down, took off her Christmas paper hat as if it was too small, and started to clean up the mess. Harold arrived in South Brent before dusk. Looking at the cream-colored house, the front garden, and the garage with a central security system, he felt a sense of accomplishment after returning to civilization after a long journey.Finally, I stepped on the artificial stone slabs again. It turned out that these slate slabs were so small and neat. He bought plaster, water, spray antiperspirant, comb, toothbrush, plastic razor, shaving cream, and two packs of biscuits in a small shop, and asked for a single room with extinct animals hanging on the wall. parrot pictures.In his room he examined his feet carefully, applying plasters to the worn blisters and swollen toes.Every muscle in my body was aching, and I was exhausted.He had never tried to walk so far in a day.But he had already covered eight and a half miles, and he longed for more.After eating and contacting Maureen on the pay phone, get a good night's sleep. The sun was setting on the edge of the Dartmoor Plateau, and the sky was covered with reddish-brown clouds.The mountains were plated with an opaque blue, and the cattle grazing on them had a soft pink shimmer in the fading daylight.Harold couldn't help but wish David knew of his feat of walking.I don't know if Maureen told him, what words would he use to describe it?The stars pierced bright spots one by one in the night sky, and the thickening night began to tremble.For the second night in a row, Harold had no dreams.