Chapter 21 21. Harold and his followers

Someone was following him, Harold could feel it.He walked faster, and the people behind him also walked faster. Although there was still a distance between the two, he would be caught up soon.He looked forward, and there was no one on the street. Before he could figure out why he did this, he had already stopped suddenly and turned around.The asphalt road shimmers in the hot sun, passing through the yellow rapeseed field and extending into the distance.The car on the road flashed by, and before it knew where it got out, it had already roared away, and the people in the car didn't even have time to take a look.There was no one else on the road but him.

But when he took another step, the feeling reappeared, and the chill climbed up the back of his neck along the skin, and then spread to his scalp.Someone must be following him.Harold didn't want to look back, he found a gap in the traffic flow, crossed the road diagonally, and glanced to the left rear at the same time.There was no one in sight, but Harold knew after a while that the man was following him again.Harold quickened his steps again, his breathing and heartbeat quickened, and his whole body was wet. This kept turning around, walking and stopping, and after about half an hour, no one was still seen.But he knew he wasn't alone on the road.Only once, though there was no wind, the bushes shook slightly.For the first time in weeks Harold regretted not bringing his cell phone.That night he spent the night in a tool shed without a door lock. He lay in his sleeping bag and did not dare to move. Deep in his body, he knew something was hiding outside, waiting.

As he was walking towards Barnsley the next morning, Harold suddenly heard his name being called from across the A61.In the shade of a tree a thin young man in a tennis cap jumped up and down through the traffic and said, out of breath, that he had come to join Harold.He talks very fast and calls himself "LF".Harold frowned. "Wilf," the boy seemed to repeat.He still couldn't hear.The boy had no choice but to repeat the third time: "Wilf." He looked a bit malnourished, as if he hadn't reached twenty years old, and he was wearing a pair of sneakers with fluorescent green laces.

"I'm going to be a pilgrim, Mr. Frye. I'm going to save Queenie Hennessy." He held up the sports bag in his hand, which was obviously new like the sneakers, "I brought everything, and sleeping bag." Harold felt as if he was talking to David.They even moved their hands in the same way, trembling slightly. Before he had time to object, the young man named Wilf had already followed Harold, chattering nervously.Harold listened hard, and as soon as he turned his head, he could see the marks of David on him: only a small part of the nail was bitten against the pink flesh, and the words jumped out of his mouth like a machine gun. Come out, it seems that it is not for people to understand. "I saw your picture in the paper, and I begged God to give me a hint, whether I should go on the road with Mr. Fry. Guess what answer he gave me?"

"I don't know." A passing pickup truck slowed down, and the driver stuck his hand out the window and took a photo of Harold with his phone. "He sent me a dove of peace." "What?" The van drove away. "It could be an ordinary pigeon, but the point is that it's a hint from heaven. The Lord is good, Mr. Fry, as long as you ask him the way, he'll give you a hint." Every time he heard the young man call himself, Harold felt a little overwhelmed.It seemed that the young man already knew him from somewhere, was very familiar with him, but he didn't know it.They continued along the edge of the grass, though occasionally the space was so tight that it was almost impossible for them to walk side by side.Wilf's stride is shorter than Harold's, so he's always trotting.

"I didn't know you had a dog." "I didn't." The young man grimaced and motioned over his shoulder: "Then whose dog is it?" He was right.On the other side of the road, there was a dog staring fixedly at the sky, panting, with its tongue sticking out and hanging aside.The dog was small, with fur the color of autumn leaves, as thick as a brush.It must have been waiting all night outside the tool shed. "That dog isn't mine," said Harold.He started walking, the young man skipping and jumping beside him, and out of the corner of his eye Harold saw the puppy cross the road and follow them.Every time Harold turned his head, the puppy ducked into a nearby bush, pretending he didn't exist, or something.Maybe it's holding a dog statue.

"Go, go," cried Harold, "go home." The puppy tilted its head, as if Harold had just said something interesting.It trotted up in front of Harold and put a stone on the side of his shoe. "Maybe it doesn't have a home," Wilf said. "Of course it has a home." "That's why he doesn't like the house. Maybe his master will hit him or something, that's not uncommon. He doesn't have a collar either." The dog picked up the stone again, put it next to Harold's other shoe, and It sat on its hind legs and stared up at him patiently without blinking or moving.In the distance lay the gloomy wilds of the Peak District.

"I can't take care of another dog. I have nothing to eat and I have to walk on the road with traffic. It's too dangerous. Puppy, go home." They tried throwing stones into the grass and then hiding in the bushes, but every time the pups ran to pick up the stones they ran right back to where they were hiding, wagging their tails. "The problem is, I think he seems to like you," Wilf whispered, "and he wants to come with us." They climbed out of the bushes and continued on, and this time the puppy swaggered beside Harold. .It is too unsafe to walk on the A61 national road.Harold turned to the B6132 National Highway with less traffic, although it would be slower this way.Every now and then Wilf would stop to take off his sneakers and shake the sand out of them.They only walked a mile.

To Harold's surprise, he was recognized by a woman picking dead flowers in the garden. "You're the pilgrim, aren't you?" she said. "I must say, what a feat you have done." She opened her wallet and gave him a twenty-pound note.Wilf wiped his brow with his hat and whistled. "I can't quite take it," said Harold, feeling the young man's eyes drill holes in him, "but a few sandwiches would be much appreciated, and perhaps some matches and candles. For light at night. And a pat of butter, I don't have any of those things." He glanced at Wilf's nervous expression, "I think we might need these things."

She insisted that he should stay for a potluck, and invited Wilf too.Let two men borrow her toilet and phone. "It's crazy," Maureen said. "Someone tried to break into the house, and Rex found a young man trying to remove a stone from the front wall." After taking a shower, Harold found that the hostess had invited a small group of friends to her impromptu lawn reception.When they saw him, they all raised their glasses and wished Queenie a speedy recovery.He had never seen so many gray-blue hair combed back, or so many mustard, gold, and russet corduroy pants.Under a table full of caviar, buns and frozen meat, lay the little dog just now, holding something with its two paws and biting it with relish.Occasionally, someone throws a bone far away, and the puppy will pick it up right away, waiting for the person to throw it again.

Harold listened patiently as people relished sharing their yachting and archery adventures.He saw Wilf chatting with great interest to his mistress.There was always a sharp quality to her laugh that Harold had almost forgotten it had.He wondered if anyone would notice if he left secretly. As soon as Harold put the backpack on his shoulders, Wilf left the hostess and followed. “I had no idea that a pilgrimage was like this,” he said, picking up a smoked salmon pancake with five fingers and stuffing it into his mouth as if the fish were still alive. "Why are you leaving?" "I'm going on the road. It's not like that usually, usually I just find a place to put my sleeping bag and no one pays attention to me. I've been living on rolls for days and eating whatever I can find. But if you like If you want to stay, I think they will welcome you." Wilf stared at Harold, but he didn't listen to anything.He said, "Everyone is asking me if I'm your son." Harold suddenly smiled softly.Looking back at the guests at the reception, he suddenly felt that he and Wilf were somehow connected, as if they had more in common as outsiders than they actually did.They wave goodbye to the crowd. "You're too young to be my son." Harold patted Wilf's hand and said, "If we want a place to stay tonight, we'd better start looking." "Good luck!" the guests shouted, "Queenie will definitely survive!" The puppy had already run to the door, and the group of three "persons" left briskly.Their shadows fell like three pillars to the ground, and the air, thicker and thicker, was sweet with elderflower and privet.Wilf told Harold his story of how he had tried many things, but hadn't gotten anywhere.If it hadn't been for the Lord, he might be in prison by now.Sometimes Harold listened, and sometimes he watched the bats passing by in the dark.I don't know if the young man will really accompany him all the way to Berwickshire; and what about the little dog?Wonder if David ever tried to ask the Lord for help.The blackness of the chimneys in the distance accentuated the night. Only an hour later, Wilf's gait had obviously begun to limp.They barely covered half a mile. "Would you like to take a break?" "I'm fine, Mr. Fry." But he was already hopping.Harold found a place to stay, and the two settled down early.Wilf followed him by unfurling his sleeping bag next to a windblown elm, speckled mushrooms sprouting from its hollow trunk.Harold picked one, and Wilf hopped on one foot and yelled that they were dirty.Then Harold picked up the twigs with more leaves and filled them in the mud holes at the foot of the roots.It's been a while since I've put so much effort into a place to sleep for the night.Seeing him busy, the puppy picked up a stone and threw it at Harold's feet. "I won't play throwing stones with you." Having said that, Harold threw it once or twice. He reminds Wilf to check the blisters on his feet.It is important to deal with it in time, and he will teach him how to squeeze the water out after a while. "Can you light a fire, Wilf?" "I'll fuck, Mr. Fry. Where's your gas?" Harold explained again that he didn't have any non-essential luggage.He sent the young man to bring some wood, and he tore the mushrooms into pieces with his nails.The mushrooms were tougher than expected, but Harold hoped they tasted alright.He put the mushrooms on the fire in an old tin in his backpack, threw in the pat of butter, and some torn wild shallots.The aroma of fried garlic wafts in the air. "Eat." He handed the can to Wilf. "What to eat?" "Fingers. You can wipe your hands on my coat when you're done. We might find some potatoes tomorrow." Wilf refused, smiled, like a scream: "How do you know it's not poisonous?" "The eaves are non-toxic. And there is nothing else to eat tonight." Wilf stuffed a small piece of mushroom into his mouth and ate it with bared teeth, as if the piece of mushroom could sting. . "Shit." He kept complaining, "Shit." Harold laughed, and the young man ate more and more. "It doesn't taste bad," Harold said, "doesn't it?" "Tastes like fucking garlic, and mustard." "That's the taste of the leaves. Most wild foods are bitter, and you slowly You'll get used to it. It's tasteless, it's good enough. If it tastes good, you've hit the jackpot. Maybe we'll find red currants or wild strawberries later, and if you can find a ripe one, it's delicious Like cheesecake." They sat cross-legged and looked at the campfire.Sheffield was far behind him like a glowing block of sulfur, and if you were careful enough you could hear the car, but he felt that it was far away from anyone.Harold told the boy how he had learned to cook over a fire, and how he had learned the properties of various plants from an encyclopedia of wild plants he had bought in Bath.There are also good and bad fungi, he said, you must learn to distinguish them, for example, don't mistake the clustered clam mushrooms for the velvet shiitake mushrooms.Occasionally he blew on the campfire, and the dwindling fire grew stronger again.A little bit of sparks rose, and it only lit up for a moment before melting into the darkness.There was a beep beep boom in the air. "Aren't you afraid?" Wilf asked. "When I was a kid, my parents didn't want me. Then I met my wife and had a baby and screwed it up too. I've been out in the field for so many days anyway, it doesn't seem to be too scary." He wished David could hear these words. Harold wiped the can with a newspaper and put it back in the backpack. The boy picked up a stone and threw it into the bushes. The puppy barked excitedly and rushed into the darkness. After a while, he came back with the stone in his mouth and put it at Wilf's feet.Harold suddenly found himself used to being alone, to the silence. They lay in sleeping bags, and Wilf asked if they could go hunting.Harold said: "I have nothing against people doing it, but I won't go, I hope you don't mind." Wilf clenched his fists and closed his eyes.His nails were short, and the skin on his fingertips looked very soft. His head was bowed like a child, whispering something.Harold wasn't paying attention, hoping someone, or something, could be his audience besides himself.When the two fell asleep, there was still a ray of light in the sky, the clouds were low, and there was no wind.It must not rain. Despite this wish, Wilf suddenly trembled and screamed in the middle of the night.Harold took the boy into his arms, and the boy was soaking wet.He began to worry that he might have misidentified the mushroom, but he had never had a problem in so long. "What's that sound?" Wilf asked tremblingly. "It's just a fox. It could be a dog. And sheep. I'm sure there must be a sheep sound." "But we haven't seen a sheep all the way." "No, but at night you'll hear all kinds of animal sounds, and you'll get used to it quickly. Don't worry, nothing can hurt you." He rocked the boy and put him to sleep, just as Maureen had put him to sleep after David's scare in the Lake District. "It's okay," he repeated over and over, imitating Maureen.He regretted that he hadn't found a better place for Wilf to spend the first night. A few days ago, there was a glass pavilion with an open door and a wicker chair inside, and Harold slept very comfortably.Even sleeping under a bridge would be better than here, though it might be too conspicuous. "It's fucking scary." Wilf gritted his teeth.Harold took out Queenie's knitted hat and put it on the boy's head. "I used to have nightmares sometimes, but they stopped once I got on the road. You will too." For the first time in weeks, Harold stayed up at night.As he took care of the boy, he recalled the past, asking himself why David had chosen the way he did, and whether he should have seen the clues sooner.Would everything have been different if his father had been someone else?This kind of question has not bothered him for a long time.The puppy lay quietly beside him. As dawn came, the moon faded into a pale halo and surrendered to the rising sun.They walked across the dewy meadows, the grass and plantains brushing their shins with pink feathery tips, cool and wet.Dew hung like gems on the branches, and cobwebs were like soft pads on the tips of the grass.The sun was very low, but it was very bright, and it changed the shape, color and shape of the surrounding things, as if they walked into a fog.He showed Wilf the light marks left on the grass. "That's what we left," he said. Wilf's new sneakers were still grinding his feet, and the lack of sleep was keeping Harold from getting up fast.It took them two days to reach Wakefield, but Harold could not leave the young man on his own.The young man would still be awakened by nightmares at night. He said that he had done many bad things in the past, but the Lord would surely save him. Harold wasn't so sure.The boy was pitifully thin and had great mood swings.One minute he was playing and running forward with the puppy, and the next minute he was silent.Harold tried to distract him by telling him how he had worked out the laws of the shrubs and the weather of the sky.He told him the difference between low-altitude stratus and pebble-like high-altitude cirrus clouds, and how to judge the direction of walking through the shadow: the side with lush foliage obviously receives more sunshine, and it is the south, so the two should walk in the opposite direction .Wilf seemed to be paying attention, but every now and then he would ask a question that showed he wasn't paying attention.The two sat under a poplar, listening to its branches and leaves swaying in the wind. "The swaying trees," said Harold, "you can see them at a glance. They sway so badly that from a distance they seem to be covered with light." He told Wilf about the people he met along the way.There's the woman who lives in a straw hut, the couple who drive down the road with a goat, and the retired dentist who walks six miles a day to get water from a natural spring. "He told me that we should accept everything that the earth gives, and that is the gift of the earth. From then on, I decided to drink the spring water I met on the road to quench my thirst." Telling all this, Harold realized how much he had changed.He enjoys boiling water in a mug over a candle, a little at a time, for Wilf to drink, making scented tea from buds off the lime tree, and teaching him to eat ox-eye daisy, pineapple grass, cloud blue, and hop buds .He felt like he was making up for what he hadn't done for David before.He has so much to teach Wilf. "These are vetch pods. They are sweet, but eating too much is bad for your health. The same goes for vodka, you have to be careful." Wilf just stuffed his mouth full, and spit it all out at once. "I'd rather have some vodka, Mr. Fry." Harold pretended not to hear.The two squatted down by the river, waiting for a goose to lay eggs.When he finally saw the goose egg, the boy screamed and jumped with excitement, and the huge white goose egg lay wet on the grass. "Damn it stinks! Coming out of its ass! Do you want to throw something at it?" "The goose? No. Throw a stone to the puppy." "I'd rather throw more geese." Harold took Wilf away, pretending not to hear that sentence.They sometimes chatted about Queenie Hennessy, and her kindness in the details.He described the way she sang in reverse, always like asking people to guess riddles. "I don't think anyone else knows that about her," he said. "We tell each other things we don't normally say to other people. It's easier to open up on the road." He showed the young man the gift for Queenie in his bag.The boy particularly liked the paperweight at Exeter Church that shone brightly when turned upside down.Harold noticed that Wilf sometimes rummaged through the paperweight from his bag to play with, and reminded him to be careful.The boy himself brought more souvenirs, a flint and steel, a guinea fowl feather, and a stone with a ring on it.Once he produced a small garden gnome, which he said he found in a trash can.Another time he brought back pints of milk and kept saying it was a free gift.Harold told him not to drink too hard, but he didn't seem to hear it, and after ten minutes he began to feel dizzy and nauseous. There were a lot of other gadgets, so Harold had to sneak away while Wilf wasn't paying attention, and he had to be careful not to let the puppy see it. It liked to bring back the lost things and put them at Harold's feet.Sometimes the boy would turn around and yell at him with delighted face when he discovered a novelty, and Harold's heart would be mixed.Davy could have done the same.