Chapter 30 30. Maureen and Harold

A sad figure sat alone on the bench, hunched against the wind, looking at the sea, as if it had been sitting here for a lifetime.The sky is gray, and the sea is also gray. I don't know where the sky connects to the sea, and where the sea connects to the sky. Maureen stopped, as if a hammer had been struck in her chest.She walked towards Harold step by step, stopped again, and stood beside him, although he did not look up or speak.The end of his hair had already touched the collar of the waterproof jacket, and it was curled into a soft circle. She really wanted to reach out and touch it, and her heart ached.

"Hello, stranger," she said, "mind if I sit down?" He didn't answer, but just pulled his coat tighter and moved to the other side of the chair to make room.The waves broke into white foam on the sand, pushing pebbles and shell fragments ashore and leaving them there.The tide is rising. She sat down next to him, a little distance away. "How far do you think the waves traveled?" she said. He shrugged and shook his head, as if to say, that's a good question, but I really don't know.His figure was so hollow, as if something had eaten it up, and there were deep dark circles under his eyes, like bruises.He became another man again.It seems to be several years old.The remaining beard looked pitiful.

"How?" she asked. "Have you gone to see Queenie?" Harold still had his hands between his knees.He nodded without speaking.She said again, "Does she know that you will be here today? Is she happy?" He sighed, like something was split. "Did you—see her?" He nodded, keeping on, as if his brain had forgotten to send the signal to stop. "And did you talk? What did you say? Did Queenie laugh?" "Laughing?" he repeated. "Yes. Is she happy?" "No," his voice was weak, "she didn't say anything." "Nothing? Are you sure?" Another burst of nodding.His silence was like a disease, and it seemed to affect Maureen too.She pulled up her collar and took gloves from her coat pocket.She had thought that he might be sad, that he might be exhausted because the journey was over.But it's an indifference that sucks the life out of the surroundings.

She said, "What about the presents? Did she like them?" "I gave the backpack to the nuns. I guess it's for the best." He said softly, every word carefully, as if he was in danger of falling into an emotional crater at any moment. "I shouldn't have done that at all. I should have sent a letter, and a letter would have been enough. If I had simply sent a letter, I could have—" She waited, but he just looked toward the horizon, as if Forget that you are talking. "But," she said, "I'm still amazed—you've done so much—that Queenie hasn't said anything."

At least he turned his head and caught her eyes.His face was as silent as his voice: "She can't speak. She has no tongue." "What?" Maureen took a breath, loudly. "I think they removed the tongue. Half the throat and the top of the spine. It was a last-ditch effort, but it didn't work. There was no way to do surgery because there was nothing left to remove. Now there is a tumor growing from her face. grew up." He turned his face away, squinted his eyes, and looked at the sky again, as if he was trying to get rid of the external interference, so as to see the truth gradually forming in his mind more carefully: "That's why she can't answer my phone. She can't speak Talk."

Maureen turned to the sea again, trying to make sense of it all.The waves in the distance were flat and shone with a metallic luster.Do they know that the end of the journey is ahead? Harold's voice sounded again: "I didn't stay because there was nothing to say. Just like when I got her letter, there was nothing to say. Maureen, I am the kind of grateful clock that broke the silence How could I change anything? How could I have thought I could stop a woman from dying?" As if a powerful sadness was rampaging through him, Harold closed his eyes tightly and opened his mouth, letting out a series of silent sobs. "She's such a nice person, she's always trying to help. Every time she drives her, she's got a little thoughtful thing for the ride home. She's always asking about David, and about Cambridge—" He broke off. His whole body trembled, tears gushed out of his eyes frantically, and his facial features were distorted.Maureen took off her gloves. "You should have seen it. You should have seen her, Arlene. It's so unfair."

"I know." She reached out her left hand and squeezed Harold's hand tightly.She looked at his black fingers on his lap, with blue veins protruding from them.After weeks of not seeing each other, she was still so familiar with the hand that she knew it was it without looking.She held it until Harold gradually calmed down, and there were only two lines of tears streaming down his face. He said: "I remembered a lot of things along the way. A lot of memories that I didn't realize I had forgotten. There was David's, and you and me. I even remembered my mother. Some of the memories were not easy. , but most of them are beautiful. I am afraid. I am afraid that one day, maybe soon, I will lose them again, and this time I will never get them back." His voice wavered slightly.He took a brave breath and began to tell her all he remembered, with David's memories unfolding before him like the most precious scrapbooks. "I don't want to forget his face as a baby. And the way he fell asleep listening to your songs. I want to keep it all."

"Of course you will," she said.She tried to smile, not wanting to continue the conversation, although it was clear from the way he looked at her that he wanted more. "Yesterday I couldn't even remember David's name. How could I have forgotten? I can't bear the fact that one day I might look in your face and not recognize you." She felt a sting in her eyelids and shook her head. "Your memory isn't fading, Harold. You're just very, very tired." When she met his gaze, it was stark.He caught her eyes, she caught his, and the past twenty years were gone.Maureen saw again the wild, young man who danced like a devil all those years ago, the man who poured mad love into every vein of hers.She blinked hard and wiped it with her hand.The waves still plunged into the shore one after another, pushing higher and higher.With such a lot of energy, exhausting energy, crossing the ocean and sailing the boat, the final result is to become a ball of foam at her feet.

She began to think about the series of things that were going to happen from now on.Go to your GP regularly.It is possible to catch a cold and even develop pneumonia.Blood test, hearing vision test, cholesterol test.And maybe, God forbid, another surgery and then a recovery period.Of course, in the end, there will come a day when they will be alone forever.She was shaking.Harold was right, it was too much to bear alone.Having come this far, finally finding what is most important, only to find that I have to let go again.She began to wonder if she should go home via the Cotswolds, and stay there a few days; perhaps take a detour to Norfolk, and she would be glad to go to Holt.But it's also possible they won't.There are too many things to think about, and she is really not sure.The waves crashed on the shore.Another wave.Another wave.

"Little by little," she murmured, approaching Harold, her arms outstretched. "Oh, Arlene," he called softly. Maureen hugged him tightly until the sadness passed.He's tall, he's wooden, he's hers. "You lovely person," she groped for his face and kissed his salty wet cheek, "you stood up and did something. You didn't even know if you could get to that destination, but Still tried everything. If this isn't a small miracle, I really don't know what is." Her lips were trembling.She held his face in her palms, they were so close Harold's face was out of focus and all she could see was how she felt about him. "I love you, Harold Fry," she said softly, "and it's to your credit."