Chapter 12 12. Harold and his mother on a bicycle

Curiously, it was Mr. Nabil who had paired Harold and Queenie together all those years ago.He summoned Harold to his boarded-up office and said he wanted Queenie to go down to the bar to check the accounts because he couldn't trust the little boss and wanted to do a surprise check.But Queenie can't drive, so someone has to take her there.He had considered it carefully, Nabil said, smoking a cigarette, and Harold, as a senior sales representative and married, was definitely the best choice.Nabil stood with his legs wide apart, as if taking up more space meant he was stronger, when in fact he was just a slick old man in a shiny suit, only about Harold's shoulder height.

Of course Harold had no choice but to nod.But in his heart he was very nervous about it.They haven't spoken since the awkward scene in the stationery cabinet.And he always regarded the time in the car as his private moment, after all, he didn't know whether Queenie liked to listen to Radio 2 or not.Let's hope she's not too chatty in the car.Those male colleagues are enough for him, and he really doesn't know anything about the female colleagues. "That's it," said Mr. Nabil, holding out his hand, small and wet, like a tiny lizard. "How is Ma'am?"

Harold faltered: "She's fine, your—?" He panicked.Mr Nabil has married his third wife in six years, this time to a former bartender with blond hair tied up high.Nabil doesn't like it when people forget their wives' names. "Veronica is fine. I heard that your son has entered Cambridge?" Nabil grinned suddenly, and when the subject changed, Harold had no idea that the next sentence would be: "You sissy who will die of studying. He exhaled a smoke ring from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and waited for Harold's reaction with a smile, knowing that his subordinates would not refute.

Harold looked down.On the table stands Mr. Nabil's beloved collection of Murano glass clowns, some with blue faces, some lounging on chairs, and some playing musical instruments. "Don't touch it," Nabil suddenly raised his finger, as if aiming at a pistol, "it was left by my mother." Everyone knew that this was an important collection of Mr. Nabil, but in Harold's eyes, these deformed dolls were extremely weird. The limbs and faces were like clay distorted by the sun, and the color was also congealed.He couldn't help having the illusion that they were all laughing at him, and a surge of anger rose in his heart.Nabil twisted the end of his cigarette into the ashtray and walked to the door.

As Harold passed he added, "Also, look at Hennessy. You know what kind of shit those whores are." He tapped his nose with his fingertip, and now his hand was some They shared secret pointers, not pistols anymore.It's just that Harold didn't understand what he was talking about at all. He wondered if Queenie was about to be driven away by Mr. Nabil even though she was so capable.He never trusts people who are more capable than himself.A few days later was the day when they collaborated for the first time.Queenie grabbed her square handbag and got into Harold's car, as if the two were going to the supermarket instead of going to the pub to check accounts.Harold knew the barkeeper, who was an unreliable fellow at best.He was really worried about Queenie.

"I heard you'd give me a ride, Mr. Fry," she said a little dryly.The two were silent all the way.She was sitting in the co-pilot seat with a very upright posture, holding her hands into two small pink balls and placing them on her lap.Harold had never turned a corner, pressed the clutch, or pulled the handbrake so carefully.Upon reaching him, he jumped down and opened the passenger door, and waited for her foot to come out slowly and hit the ground.Maureen's tiny ankles were Harold's weakness.Queenie had thick ankles, like his, Harold thought.She lacks some feminine physical features.

When he looked up, he was embarrassed to see Queenie staring at him. "Thank you, Mr. Fry." She finally said a word, and then walked away with small steps with her handbag in her hand. Harold was checking the stock of beer when he was surprised to see the barkeeper approaching, sweating profusely, his face as red as a beetroot. "Fuck," he said, "that woman is a monster, and nothing can be hidden from her." Harold suddenly felt admiration, and a little pride.On the way back, she fell back into silence and stillness.Harold even wondered if she was asleep, but if she was awake it would be reckless to find him visiting her.As the car slowed in the brewery parking lot she said suddenly, "Thanks," and Harold mumbled something like "Happy to help."

"I mean thank you for last time, at the stationery cabinet." "Never mind." He replied, sincerely not wanting to mention it again. "I was so down. You're so nice, I should have said thanks, but it's always a little awkward. It shouldn't be." He couldn't meet her eyes.Even without looking, he knew she must be biting her lip. "I'm glad I could help a little." He snapped the driver's glove back on again. "You're a gentleman," she said slowly, and for the first time Harold heard the real meaning of the phrase: gentleman, gentleman.After she finished speaking, she got out of the car and left before he opened the door for her.The sight of him gazing at her back in her brown suit as she strides across the parking lot snapped at her heart ached: there was such an honest simplicity to her.After bed that night, Harold secretly promised himself that whatever the reason for Mr. Nabil's rude comments about Queenie, he would stand up for her next time.

Maureen's voice came through the darkness of the bedroom: "Don't you snore tonight." On the twenty-fifth day, a thick layer of dark clouds and ash covered the sky and the earth, and the heavy rain after another almost wiped out the color outline of everything.Harold stared ahead, trying to find some sense of direction, or a glimmer of light among dark clouds, but it felt like trying to see the world outside through the thick curtains of his home.All I could see was endless rain.He stopped to look at the guidebooks, because this ignorance of what lay ahead was too much to bear.He felt like his whole body was against him, and he was almost defeated.

The clothes are all wet.The shoes on the feet were full of water and changed their shape.Vitner, Westley, Viterbo, there are so many place names starting with the word "Wei".He forgot the razor and shaving cream in the public toilet of the small hotel and didn't have the energy to buy them again.Examining his feet closely, he noticed that the pain in his calf had become a visible problem: a startling crimson streak had appeared under the skin.For the first time Harold was genuinely frightened. In Sunflude, Harold called Maureen.He needed to hear her voice, and she needed to remind him of what he was there for, even if everything she said was out of anger.Harold didn't want Maureen to know about his hesitation and the condition of his calf, so he only asked about her and the house.She replied everything is fine.She asked if he was still on his way, and he said he had passed Exeter and Timberton, and was on his way to Bath by way of Taunton.She asked if she needed anything to send him?Cell phone, toothbrush, pajamas, a change of clothes?There was a kind of gentleness in her voice, but he must just be thinking too much.

"I'm fine," he said. "So you're almost in Somerset, aren't you?" "I'm not sure, but you must be." "How far today?" "I don't know, maybe seven miles." "Okay, okay." she says. The rain beat on the top of the phone booth, and the dim light outside the window turned to liquid.He wanted to stay and have a good chat with Maureen, but there was nothing left to say.The silence and distance that had been cultivated between the two for twenty years was already too deep and too far away, and even clichés felt hollow and piercing. Finally she said, "I'm hanging up, Harold. There's a lot to do." "Yes, yes, me too. Just to say hello and see if you're all right." "Oh, I'm fine, I'm just busy. Time flies, and I almost forget you're not here. What about you?" "I'm fine, too." "That's good." "Yeah." In the end, he really had nothing to say, and he said goodbye, because that was a sentence anyway. In fact, he didn't want to hang up, just like he didn't want to continue walking.He looked out at the rain, waiting for it to stop.A crow bowed its head, its feathers were wet and shiny like a star.He wanted it to move, but it just stood there, alone and soaked.Maureen was so busy that she almost forgot he wasn't there. It was nearly noon when Harold woke up on Sunday, the pain in his leg hadn't improved, and the rain outside the window hadn't abated.He heard the sound of the whole world outside: the flow of cars and people, all running in his direction.No one knows who he is or where he is.He lay in bed, unwilling to move, unwilling to face the tasks of the day, but he knew there was no way out for him.He recalled Maureen sleeping next to him, thinking of her naked, so perfect, so thin.He misses the feel of her soft fingertips gliding over his skin. Harold groped to find the sailing shoes, the soles of which were worn as thin as paper.He hasn't shaved, showered, or checked his feet, and when he puts on his shoes it feels like he's barely able to fit them into a box one size smaller.He was dressed properly, and his mind was completely empty, because no matter what he thought, he would only come to an obvious conclusion.The proprietress called him to have breakfast, but Harold refused.If he accepted the offer, even if he only allowed him to make eye contact with her for a moment, Harold was afraid that he would cry. He set out from Senflud, and every step was very difficult.He let his face contort from the pain, whatever others thought, he was just an outsider anyway.His body was screaming, longing for rest, but he didn't stop, angry at himself for being so weak.Large swaths of rain hit the body head-on, and the shoes on the feet were rotten as if they were not worn.He missed Maureen so much. How did things get to where they are today?There was a time when they too had happy days.As David grew older, a rift opened up between them, as if the two events were connected.Maureen is such a good mother, of course she will stand with the children. "Where's David?" Maureen asked sometimes, and Harold answered when he heard the door knock as he was brushing his teeth. "Oh! That's right," she would reply, acting as though it was no problem for her son, who had just turned eighteen, to be out at night.If he expressed his concerns honestly, it would only make her more worried.She was still willing to cook at that time, and she hadn't moved out of the room at that time. On the eve of Queenie's disappearance, everything finally fell apart and fell apart.Maureen complained, sobbed, and pounded his chest with her fist: "Are you still a man?" she howled.Another time she said to him: "It's all about you, everything is about you. If it wasn't for you, everything would be fine." It's heartbreaking to hear all of this.Even though she cried and apologized in his arms afterwards, the words were out of her mouth and could not be undone.Everything was Harold's fault. And then it's gone.Communication, noise, eye contact, all gone.She didn't even have to say it out of her mouth, he just had to look at her to know that nothing he said or did would work.She stopped blaming Harold, stopped crying in front of him, stopped letting him hold her for comfort.She moved the clothes to the guest room, and he lay on the bed they bought when they got married and watched, unable to approach her, but was tormented by her sobbing.When the sun rises, they will stagger the time to go to the toilet, he dresses and eats breakfast, and she walks around in several rooms, as if he does not exist, as if the only way to suppress the inner cry is to keep busy. "I'm leaving." "Okay." "Goodbye." "See you tonight." In fact, those sentences have no practical meaning at all. It is better to speak a foreign language directly.The rift between two souls is irreparable.On the last Christmas before retirement, Harold proposed to Maureen whether to go to the celebration party at the brewery together. She reacted and stared at him with her mouth wide open, as if he had done something to her. Harold stopped looking at the sky, at the foot of the mountain, at the trees, for signs that would mark the progress of his journey.Walking headlong against the wind, all you see is rain, because the only thing left between heaven and earth is this endless rain. The A38 National Highway is much more difficult than expected. Although he only walks on the shoulders of the road and tries to choose the road behind fences and roadblocks, the passing vehicles are always too fast, and the splash of water often makes him drenched and dangerous. .A few hours later, Harold suddenly found himself, immersed in past sorrows and memories, walking two miles in the wrong direction.He had no other choice but to turn back the same way. The road when I came back was more difficult than the first time, as if I was always spinning in circles.The pain became more intense, and every step I took seemed to be biting my body.West of Bagley Ping, he finally gave up and stopped at a farmhouse that said "Accommodation Offered." The owner, a man with a worried face, told him that there was another room available.The rest were rented to six women who cycled across England. "They all have children," he said, "and it gives a sense that they can finally relax this time." He reminded Harold that it would be best to keep a low profile here. Harold had slept badly this time.He started dreaming again. The group of women next door seemed to be having a party. He woke up, worried about the condition of his calf, and wanted to forget this worry.The voices of the group of women gradually became the voices of the female companions beside the father one after another, there were laughter, and the humming at the moment when the father finally let go.Harold's eyes widened, his shins hopped and he prayed that the night would pass, that he was anywhere else. In the morning, the leg pain intensified again.The skin above the heel was streaked with purple, and the foot was so swollen that it barely fit in the shoe.Harold squeezed hard, shivering with pain.In the mirror, my skin was sunburned, my face was full of stubble, and I looked haggard and sickly.At this moment, all he could think of was his father in the nursing home. His father even wore the slippers on his feet backwards. "Say hello to your son," said the nurse.He looked at his son and trembled all over. Harold wanted to finish his breakfast before the mothers on bikes got up, but just as he was about to drink his coffee, a group of figures in fluorescent tights appeared with loud laughter. "You know," one of them said, "I don't even know how I got back on that bike." The others laughed.She was the loudest among the six and seemed to be their leader.Harold hoped that his silence would go unnoticed by them, but she caught his eye and winked at him: "I hope we didn't bother you." She had a dark complexion, a thin, prominent face, and hair so short that a gray scalp could be seen.Harold couldn't help but wish she could wear a hat.These girls were her inspiration for survival, and she told Harold that she didn't know where she would be without them.She lives in a small apartment with her youngest daughter. "I'm not the kind of person who just wants to be safe," she says. "I don't need a man." She goes on to list a bunch of things she can do without a man.It seemed like a long list, but she spoke so quickly that Harold had to watch her mouth very intently to understand.It is not easy to see, listen, and digest when the leg hurts like this. "I'm as free as a bird," she said, opening her arms in gesture, revealing the black underarms. There was a ring of whistles all around, and a few "Well done!" Harold thought he'd better give it a shot, but in the end it was just a few claps.The woman laughed and high-fived several of her companions, and Harold couldn't help worrying about her independent frenzy. "I sleep with whoever I want. I slept with my daughter's piano teacher last week, and I slept with a Buddhist who swore abstinence during a yoga retreat." The mothers cheered . Harold had only ever been with Maureen.Even if she threw away all the recipes, cut her hair short, even if she locked the door at night when she went to sleep, he never thought of looking for anyone else.He couldn't imagine life without her, it would be equivalent to cutting off the living part of his life, leaving only an empty skin.He suddenly found himself congratulating the mother, because he really didn't know what to say, so he got up and wanted to leave.A hot sting hit his leg, and Harold stumbled, holding onto the table.He hurriedly followed the movement and pretended that he actually wanted to scratch his arm, and tried his best to hold back the sharp pain in his leg. "Bon voyage," said the mother on the bicycle.She stood up and gave Harold a hug. She smelled a mixture of orange and sweat, refreshing and pungent.She drew back while laughing, and hung her arms on Harold's shoulders: "It's as free as a bird." The word "freedom" was also written all over her face. Harold felt a chill.He saw pink, tender scars crawling across her arms, some with black scabs that hadn't fallen off.He nodded stiffly and wished her good luck. Within fifteen minutes of walking, Harold felt compelled to stop and rest his right leg.His back, shoulders, neck, and arms were so sore that he couldn't concentrate.The nail-like rain hit the roof and the road, and bounced back to him. He did not dodge or dodge.After only an hour, he was already limping, eager to stop.There are trees in front, and a little red, maybe a flag.People drop the weirdest things on the road all the time. The rain washed the tops of the leaves to a glisten, and there was a smell in the air similar to that of rotting soft leaves underfoot.Getting closer to that point of red, Harold bent slightly.It's not a red flag, it's a Liverpool jersey hanging from a wooden cross. Along the way, he also saw a few mourning objects placed on the side of the road, but none touched him like this jersey.He told himself to go around the other side, not to look at it, but finally couldn't help it.He was fascinated by it, as if it were something taboo that shouldn't be seen much.Apparently, a loved one or close friend used bauble bauble to create a Christmas tree shape on the cross and hung a plastic holly ring.Harold looked carefully at the wilted flowers wrapped in cellophane, which had lost their color.There was also a photo in a plastic folder of a stocky, dark-haired man in his forties, with a child hanging around his neck.He is smiling broadly at the camera.The soggy card read: "To the best dad ever." What's the eulogy for the worst dad ever? "Fuck you," David said out of his mouth, his legs couldn't move, and he almost fell down the stairs, "I fuck you!" Harold wiped the rain from the photo with the clean corner of the handkerchief, and then put The rain wiped off the bouquet.On the next road, he could only think of the mother on the bicycle.What kind of loneliness caused her to draw scars on her arms and let the red blood flow out?And who found her, and how did they rescue her?Does she want to be rescued?Or just when she thought she had successfully escaped from life, they tied her back forcefully?Harold wished he had said something so that she would never think about this path again.If he had tried to persuade her, he could let her go now.Now that he has seen her face and heard her voice, there is another weight on his heart. He really doesn't know how much more he can bear.He tried to ignore the pain in his leg, the bitter cold, and the confusion in his head, forcing himself to take a longer step. Towards evening, Harold reached the outskirts of Taunton.The houses here are densely stacked together, with round satellite dishes on top.The windows are all hung with gray curtains, and some are equipped with metal anti-theft nets.The few small gardens in the concrete forest were flattened by the rain, and the small flowers of a cherry tree fell to the ground like sodden confetti scattered on the sidewalk.The passing vehicles were so fast and loud that people's ears hurt, and the road surface seemed to be coated with oil. One of Harold's worst memories resurfaced, and he tried to turn his mind to Queenie, but to no avail.With all his strength, he walked faster and faster, his elbows swayed more and more, and his feet pressed harder and harder on the ground. He even forgot to keep up with his breathing, but nothing could help him escape the period of twenty years ago. Memories - the afternoon that ended all happiness.He saw himself reaching out to push open the wooden door, felt the warmth of the sun falling on his shoulders, smelled the slightly fermented warm smell in the air, and heard the unusual tranquility. "No!" He opened his arms and swung in the rain.Suddenly he felt as if his calf had exploded, and the skin covering the muscles seemed to be torn apart.The ground suddenly rose, and he stretched out his hand to block it, but his knees bent involuntarily at this moment, and he fell to his knees all at once.The palms and knees ached violently. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me for letting you down.The next thing he knew, someone grabbed his arms and started yelling for an ambulance or something.