Chapter 8 8. Harold and the Silver-haired Gentleman

"Dear Maureen: I'm writing these lines from a pew by a cathedral. Two lads are doing street theater and seem about to set themselves on fire. I've also made an X where I sat mark. H.” "Dear Queenie: Don't give up. Best wishes, Harold (Fry)." "Dear Gas Station Girl: (Glad you could help) I've been wondering, do you have a habit of praying? I Tried once, but it was too late. I'm afraid it won't work. Best regards, those on the way." "Also: I'm still holding on." It is already morning.Outside the church, a group of people surrounded two young people who were performing fire-eating, with an accompaniment CD player beside them.Suddenly a dirty old man in a blanket appeared.The two young men were dressed in greasy black clothes, their hair was tied into ponytails, and their movements were chaotic and chaotic, which made people worry that something might happen.They made the onlookers stand back a little and started tossing fire sticks, to bursts of nervous applause from the audience.The old man seemed to have noticed their existence only now, pushed away from the crowd and stood between the two young men, like a naive little pig.He is laughing.The young man told him to move away, but he began to dance to the music, jerky, unsteady and out of time.Suddenly the two young men turned decisive and professional, turned off the CD player, packed up their possessions and left.The crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed and became strangers again.The old man still danced leisurely and leisurely alone outside the church, with his arms open and his eyes closed tightly, as if the music had not stopped and the audience was still there.Harold also wanted to get back on the road, but felt that since the old man was dancing for a group of strangers, and now he was the only one left, it would be rude to leave.

He thought of the night Davy had won in Eastbourne.One by one, the other contestants dropped off, leaving the eight-year-old writhing wildly onstage and in embarrassment offstage.No one knows whether he is happy or painful when he dances like this.The host began to clap his hands slowly, making a joke, the whole ballroom burst into laughter, and the crowd became noisy.The confused Harold also laughed, not knowing how to behave as a child's father in such a complicated situation.He glanced at Maureen and saw that she was looking at him in surprise with her hands over her mouth.The smile disappeared from his face, and he felt like a traitor once again.

there are more.During his school years, David shut himself in his room, got top grades, and never needed any help from his parents. "He's introverted," Maureen said. "He has his own interests." They were loners themselves, after all.One week David wanted a microscope, the next a Dostoevsky portfolio, then a primer on German, and then bonsai.While they were amazed by their son's greed to learn new things, they satisfied his request one by one.David had an intelligence they didn't have, an opportunity they didn't have, and they couldn't let him down no matter what.

"Dad," he'd say, "have you ever read William Blake?" or "What do you know about drift speed?" "What?" "I knew it." Harold had spent his life keeping his head down and avoiding confrontation, but his son was determined to give him a fight.He wished he hadn't laughed the night his son danced.The dancing old man stopped, as if he had just noticed Harold.As soon as he threw the blanket, he bowed slightly, and lightly swept the ground with his fingertips.He was wearing some sort of suit, but it was so dirty it was hard to tell which was the shirt and which was the coat.He straightened up, still staring straight at Harold.Harold looked back to make sure the old man was looking at himself and not someone else.Passers-by hurried past without any intention of stopping.The old man must be looking at him, he can't be wrong.

Harold walked slowly towards the old man.It was so embarrassing that he couldn't help but pretend that something got into his eyes as he walked, but the old man waited patiently.When he was about a foot away from the old man, the old man suddenly stretched out his hand, as if to hug an invisible old partner.Harold had to raise his arms in the same pose.Slowly, the feet of the two found their positions one by one left and one right. They danced together without touching each other.Harold thought he smelled urine, maybe vomit, and something worse.All around are the sounds of traffic and passers-by.

The old man stopped again and bowed.Harold moved, bowed his head, and thanked him.But the old man had picked up the blanket on the ground and limped away, as if he had left the music behind.At a gift shop near St. Peters, Harold bought a set of embossed pencils, hoping Maureen would like them.As for Queenie, he had chosen for her a small paperweight with a model of the church in it, which, when turned, would be submerged in glistening crumbs.He found a strange fact: Tourists who come to such religious sites usually buy some inconsequential trinkets and souvenirs, because they don't know what else to do.

Exeter surprised Harold.He had established an inner rhythm these days, and the hustle and bustle of the city seemed to disrupt this rhythm.In the open space, Harold was comfortable and safe, everything was in his place, and he felt like he was part of something bigger than just Harold.But in the city, when the field of vision becomes so narrow, he feels that anything can happen, and no matter what happens, he is not ready yet.He looked down for traces of the earth, and all he found were bricks and asphalt.Everything made him uneasy: traffic, tall buildings, crowds, loud phone calls.He smiled at every face he passed, so many strangers, it was exhausting for him.

Harold wasted the whole day just wandering around.Every time he wanted to leave, he saw something that distracted him, and an hour passed.He looked at things he didn't realize he needed, and wondered if he should buy them.Send Maureen a new pair of gardening gloves?A clerk brought five different gloves and tried them on him one by one until Harold remembered that Maureen had long since left her vegetable garden.He stops to eat, sees a long list of sandwich options, forgets he's still hungry, and leaves. (Does he prefer cheese or ham, or is it the special recommendation of the day, assorted seafood? In addition, do you want to eat something else, such as sushi? Peking duck?) Things that are as clear as a mirror when walking alone in the wilderness, at this moment In front of the abundant choices, noisy streets and glass windows displaying all kinds of goods, it gradually becomes blurred.He really wanted to go back to the field as soon as possible.

Now that he had the opportunity to buy equipment, he began to hesitate again.After listening to an enthusiastic Australian young man for an hour, after looking at professional hiking boots, rucksacks, small tents and sound pedometers, Harold finally bought only a retractable flashlight, and he apologized to the clerk repeatedly.He told himself, anyway, with the pair of canvas shoes on his feet and the plastic bag in his hand, he has come so far. As long as he uses his brain, toothbrush and shaving cream can be stuffed into the trouser pocket, and antiperspirant and washing powder can Put it in another trouser pocket.So he went instead to a coffee shop next to the train station.

Queenie must have been in Exeter twenty years ago.Did she go straight to Berwick from here?Does she have any relatives there?Where are your friends?Never heard her mention it.Once I heard a song on the radio in the car, it was "Clanging Rose".she cried.The deep male voice filled the carriage, steady and heavy, and it reminded her of her father, she said between sobs, who had died recently. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's fine." "He's a good guy." "Of course." "You'll like him too, Mr. Fry." She told him a father's story.As a child, her father would play a game with her, pretending she was transparent. "Here I am! Here!" she laughed.And he would keep his head down, as if he couldn't see her at all, and shout, "Come here, Queenie, where are you?"

"It's funny," she pinched the tip of her nose with a handkerchief, "I miss him so much." Even her sadness had a condensed dignity. The station café is buzzing.Harold watched the vacationers with their suitcases and backpacks negotiating in the small space between the tables and chairs, and asked himself if Queenie had also settled here.He imagined her alone in that outdated suit, pale and looking straight ahead.He really shouldn't have let her go like this. "Excuse me," came a gentle voice, "is there anyone in this seat?" He shook his head and brought his thoughts back to reality.A well-dressed man stood to his left and asked, pointing to the chair opposite him.Harold wiped his eyes, surprised and ashamed to find himself crying again.He told the man that the seat was empty and he could sit wherever he wanted. The man wore a smart suit, a dark blue shirt with tiny pearl chain buttons, was thin and dignified, had neatly combed silver hair, and even sat down with his feet carefully positioned so that the creases of his trousers Can be aligned with the knee.He raised his hand to his lips and held his head in a graceful gesture, looking exactly the kind of man Harold had always wanted to be.In Maureen's words, it means being born in a superior family.Maybe he was watching too intently. After the waiter served a pot of Ceylon black tea (without milk) and a plate of tea cakes, the gentleman said with emotion: "It's always difficult to say goodbye." He poured a glass Tea, with lemon.Harold explained that he was walking to see a female friend he had failed years ago, hoping that it would not be a farewell, but that she would live.He didn't look the gentleman in the eyes when he said this, but stared at the tea cakes on the table.The butter on the cake had melted and looked like golden syrup.The gentleman cut the tea cake out of it, cut it into thin slices, and listened to Harold while eating.The cafe was noisy and chaotic, and the windows were foggy. "Queenie's not a very likable woman, she's not at all cuddly like the other girls in the brewery. She's got some hair on her face, not a beard, but people make fun of her, It makes her sad to call her a nickname." Harold wasn't even sure if he could hear him.He marveled at the neat way the gentleman put the tea cakes between his teeth and wiped his hands after each one. "Would you like a little too?" said the gentleman. "No, no, no." Harold raised his hands to block it. "It's enough for me to eat half of it. It's a pity to waste it. Please don't be polite." The silver-haired gentleman neatly arranged several slices of tea cakes on a napkin, then turned the plate to Harold, and put the complete one Hand him half. "May I ask you a question?" he said. "You seem like a decent fellow, too." Harold nodded, because the tea cake had already been put into his mouth, and it was impossible to spit it out before answering the question.He suddenly reached out to pick up the butter that had slid down the tea cake, but the butter slid up to his wrist and stained his sleeves. "I come to Exeter every Thursday. I come by train in the morning and I take the train back the next morning. I'm here to meet a young man and we'll do something. Nobody knows this side of me. " The silver-haired gentleman stopped to pour a cup of tea.With the tea cake stuck in Harold's throat, he could feel the other's eyes searching for his, but he couldn't lift his head. "May I go on?" said the gentleman.Harold nodded.He swallowed hard, and the piece of tea cake squeezed through the tonsils and down the esophagus, causing pain all the way. "I love our time together, otherwise I wouldn't have come. But I've grown to like him. Afterwards he'll fetch me a glass of water and sometimes say a few words. He had polio as a child, so walking is a bit of a pain." In this industry, he only has a few years left." The silver-haired man hesitated for the first time, as if he was fighting with his heart.When he picked up the teacup and handed it to his mouth, his hands were trembling, and the tea spilled over the rim of the cup and onto the tea cake. "He touched me, this young man," he said. "He touched me in a way that words can't express." The brown liquid trickled down his clean chin. Harold looked away, trying to stand up, but realized that wasn't going to work.After all, he ate other people's tea cakes.But at the same time he felt that it was aggression to witness the helplessness of others, who had treated him with kindness and politeness.He wished the man hadn't spilled his tea, wished he'd wiped it off, but he didn't.He just sat there, letting the tea flow down, not caring at all.The tea cake was about to be destroyed. The man continued with difficulty, his speech slowed down, and gradually became a few words. "I lick his sneakers, that's one of the things we do. But I just found out this morning that he has a little hole in the toe." His voice trembled. "I want to buy him a A new pair, and I'm afraid of offending him. But I can't stand him walking on the street in worn-out sneakers, and his feet will get wet. What should I do?" His mouth was tightly pursed, as if trying hard Swallow back the pain that was about to spew out. Harold imagined a gentleman standing on the platform of a railway station, in a smart suit, looking exactly like everyone else.Gentlemen all over England are like this, buying milk, filling up their cars, or posting a letter, but no one knows what they are carrying deep inside.Sometimes it takes an almost inhuman effort to act "normal," every day, and normal.That inhuman loneliness.Touched and ashamed, Harold handed over a napkin. "I think I'll get him a new pair of shoes anyway," said Harold.He finally looked up at the silver-haired gentleman.His irises are aqua blue, and the whites of his eyes are red, and it hurts to look at them.Harold felt bitten in the heart, but he didn't look away.The two sat facing each other like this for a while, without saying a word, until Harold's heart lighted up and he laughed.He understood that during this journey of making up for his mistakes, he was also accepting all kinds of inconceivable things from strangers.Standing in the position of a passer-by, not only the ground under his feet, but also everything else is open to him.People would talk freely, and he could listen as much as he wanted.Along the way, he absorbed something from everyone.He had overlooked so much, he owed Queenie and the past a little generosity. The gentleman laughed too. "Thank you." He wiped his chin, his fingers, and then the rim of his glass. "I don't think we'll see each other again, but I'm glad I met you today. I'm glad we talked." They shook hands and parted , and left the unfinished tea cakes where they were.