Chapter 5 Ⅴ
Next morning Smoky and Delly Alice packed more bags than Smoky had brought from the Big City.They picked gnarled sticks from the big barrel in the hall filled with walking sticks and umbrellas.Dr. Drinkwater prepared them with a bird-and-flower identification manual (but they never opened it afterwards).They also had a wedding present from George Mouse, which arrived that morning in a package marked "unpacked elsewhere" and contained (as Smoky expected) a large handful of crushed coffee-colored weed , the smell is as strong as spices.
Everyone gathered on the front porch to see them off, to suggest where they should go, who to visit if they weren't at the wedding.Sophie said nothing, but when they were about to turn away, she kissed them both, especially Smoky, deeply, as if to say "Okay" to him, and hurried away.
After they were gone, Aunt Claude tried to track them down through the cards and report as much as possible about their journey.She thought they were going to have a lot of little adventures, and her cards were always the best at revealing such things.So after breakfast, she pulled the glass table over to the peacock chair on the front porch, lit her first cigarette of the day, and collected her thoughts.
She knew they would climb the "hill" first, but that was because they had said it.Through her mind's eye she saw them follow the path to the top of the hill and stand there looking out over the morning: a green field stretching across the heart of the county, past forest and farmland.Then they would descend on the wilder side, onto the land they had been looking at.
She pulled out the chalice and scepter, the knight of coins and the king of swords.She guessed that Smokey would not be able to keep up with Alice's long strides as they crossed the sun-whitened pasture "White Fields."Rudy Flood's dappled cow would be there looking at them with bushy eyelashes, and tiny insects would hop around their feet.
Where will they rest?Maybe by that rushing brook.The creek flows through the pasture, eroding the grass and growing willow forests on both sides.She put the big card named "cloth bag" into the card array, thinking: it's lunch time.
Stretched out in the sparse shade of the willow grove, they looked at the brook and its intricate work on its banks. "Look," she said, resting her chin, "don't you see the apartments, the river houses, the squares? Complete ruins of palaces? Balls, banquets, visitors?" He stared at the bumpy weeds with her , tree roots, and mud, though beams of sunlight came in, but failed to illuminate them. "Not now," she said, "when the moon comes out. I mean, didn't they all come out to play then? Look." He pressed his eyes to the shore, barely imagining.He frowned and looked hard.To pretend.He will try hard.
She got up with a smile and picked up the backpack again, so her chest puffed up. "Let's go up the stream," she said, "I know a good place."
So they slowly went up the mountain from the valley in the afternoon.Long, long ago, there used to be a big river flowing through it, but later only this babbling brook remained.As they approached the wood, Smoky wondered if Edgewood was sitting at the very edge of the wood. "God, I don't know," said Alice. "I never thought about it."
"Here we are," she said at last, sweating from the long climb. "We used to come here a lot."
The place was like a hollow cut in the wall of the wood.The top of the mountain under their feet was suddenly sunken, and he felt that he had never seen such a deep and mysterious "forest".The ground was covered with moss for some reason, but there was no jumble of vegetation such as bushes, brambles, and young aspens at the edge of the forest.It led down into the depths, drawing them into the whispering darkness, now and then the hum of a great tree.
Once inside, she happily sat down.The shadows are deep and deepen as the afternoon wears on.It was as silent and calming as a cathedral, and there were those inexplicable but reverent sounds that seemed to come from the nave, niches, and choir-places.
"Have you ever thought," said Alice, "that perhaps trees can move as well as we do, only more slowly? Perhaps our day, from getting up to going to bed, is their summer's worth, you know what I mean Maybe they have long thoughts and conversations, but the speed is too slow for us to hear." She put her cane aside, took off her backpack, and stuck her sweaty clothes to her body.She hunched her huge knees, gleaming with sweat, and rested her elbows on them.Her swarthy wrists were wet too, and the fine golden hairs were stained with damp dust. "What do you think?" She began tugging at the top laces of her high boots.He watched all this without saying a word, too happy to speak.It's like watching a Valkyrie disarm after a fight.
He came to help as she knelt and struggled to remove her crumpled, tightly-constricted shorts.
When Mom snapped the yellow light bulb on Aunt Claude's head, her card dream suddenly changed from dark blue to harsh and almost unreadable, but by this time she had roughly seen her two grandnieces and grandnieces. What will be the journey of the next few days for the nephew and grandson-in-law."Lucky kid," she said.
"You'll go blind here," said Ma, "and Daddy poured you a glass of sherry."
"They'll be fine." Aunt Claude said as she put away the cards and struggled to get up from the peacock chair.
"Didn't they say they would go for a walk in the woods?"
"Oh, yes," said Aunt Claude, "they will."
"Listen to the cicadas chirping." Mom said, "It's so loud."
She went into the house with Aunt Claude on her arm.That night they played cribbage on waxed folding boards, and one of the ivory nails was missing and a matchstick was substituted.From time to time they heard the sound of a large, lumbering June beetle slamming against the screen door.
Waking up in the summer house in the middle of the night, Auberon decided to get up and organize his pictures into some final order.
He didn't sleep much anyway, and he was past the age at which getting up in the middle of the night would be inappropriate or immoral.He lay there listening to his own heartbeat for a long time, feeling bored, so he put on his glasses and sat up.It wasn't night anyway, and my grandfather's watch showed three o'clock, but the six panes of the window revealed that the sky outside was not completely dark, but had a hint of blue.The insects seem to be asleep, and soon the birds will start chirping.But at this moment it was quite quiet.
He filled the kerosene lamp with oil, panting with each effort.It's a good lamp, it looks like a lamp, with a pleated shade and a blue ice skater on a Delft ceramic base.It did need a new casing, but he didn't want to.He lit it, turning the flame down, and the long hiss comforted him.It looked like it was going to burn out almost as soon as it was ignited, but it could still burn for a long time.He knows the feeling.
Those photos don't really need to be organized.He's spent a lot of time organizing them, but he always feels like he's out of order (neither chronologically, nor by size or subject category).Sometimes he seems to think that they are shots taken from a movie (or several movies), the gaps between the shots are long or short, and if they can be filled, they can become scenes: with a story A long piece of sex, varied and moving.But since so many shots are missing, how does he know that the order of the shots at hand is correct?He has always been reluctant to disturb the existing reference order in order to find a certain arrangement order that may not be correct at all, after all, this is still reasonable at present.
He took out a folder labeled "Contacts, 1911-1915."Although the label doesn't say so, these are some of his earliest photographs.Of course, these are not all, there are some early failures that he destroyed.He never tires of saying that photography used to be like a religion.A perfect image is like a gift from God, but a sin is punished immediately.This belongs to the creed of Calvinism, you never know when you are right, but you must always guard against mistakes.
Here's Nora standing on the white-painted kitchen front porch in a creased white dress and blouse.Her frayed high boots seemed too big.White cotton cloth, white colonnade, dark summer skin color, light summer hair color.On a sunny day, the white-painted front porch was always bright and shadowless, so her eyes were surprisingly light.She was twelve (he looked at the date on the back of the photo).No, it's eleven.
All right, Nora.Is it possible to start with Nora (which is not the beginning of the plot, but the beginning of his picture), and then, like a movie, wait until someone else is in the frame, and then switch to someone else?
Like Timmy Willie.Here it is, standing by Gate X at the exit of the "Park", in the same summer, maybe on the same day.The picture is not very clear because she is always moving around.He told her not to move, but she was probably talking, about where she was going.She held a towel in her hand and said she was going to swim.Remember to hang your clothes on the hickory tree.It was a perfectly sharp photo, except that everything the sun touched was overexposed: the weeds were like white flames, one of her shoes gleamed, and the ring on her finger was burning like fire.What a frivolous girl.
Which one does he prefer?
Timmy Willie had the little leather-bound Kodak on his wrist that he had lent them.Use it with care, he told them.Don't break it.Don't take it apart.Don't get wet.
He stroked Timmy Willie's line of eyebrows (thicker than real in the photo) with his index finger, thinking of her suddenly madly.Suddenly another stack of later photos appeared in his mind, as if a croupier was shuffling the cards in his mind.Timmy Willie stood in front of the frosted windows of the piano room in winter.Timmy Willie, Nora, tall Harvey Crowder and Alex Mouse get ready for an early morning butterfly hunt, with Alex wearing capri pants and looking hungover.Nora and Sparky the dog.Nora was a bridesmaid at Timmy Willie and Alex's wedding.Timmy Willie happily waving from Alex's convertible, hands leaning on the sloping windshield and wearing a ribbon-tied hat.Soon Nora married Harvey Crowder, but Timmy Willie looked pale and haggard at the wedding, and Auberon thought it was all because of the big city.Then Timmy Willie left and was never seen again, and the moving camera had to continue to follow other people.
Let's cut it.But how would he explain Timmy Willie's sudden disappearance from the crowd and the celebration?If you start with the earliest photos, it seems that you will unconsciously browse through all the photos, and the branches will continue to spread, but no one photo can tell the whole story without a thousand words.
Frenzied, he wanted to print them all into slides, stack them all on top of each other, and pile them up until those dark images were all on top of each other, nothing could be seen, no light could come through, but all exist.
No, not all of them.
Because there are other branches to follow, just like the symmetrical branches and roots of a tree, one is bright and the other is dark.He picks up again the picture of Timmy Willie in front of a certain door, with the camera on her wrist: this is the point of divergence, the place or time of parting.
He has always thought of himself as a rational and common-sense person who pays attention to evidence and knows how to balance various arguments. He was born in a family that specializes in crazy believers, witches and ghosts and fantasists. He is like a wrong child.He learned scientific method and logic at the Normal University, and received a new Bible—Darwin's "The Descent of Man".In fact, he tucked the photographs of Nora and Timmy Willie into the book after they had been developed and dried.
That evening, Nora handed him the camera with flushed cheeks, breathless with excitement.Out of doting, he took the camera to the darkroom in the basement, took out the negatives, soaked them in potion, dried them and developed them. "You can't see it," Nora told him, "because, uh..." She jumped on her feet, "There are a few pictures of us—naked!" He agreed, thinking of the Muslim readers, When reading a letter to a client, you have to plug your ears so as not to hear the content.
In a photo or two, they were indeed standing naked by the lake, which greatly intrigued and bothered him (it was his sister, after all!).He didn't look at the pictures again for a long time afterwards.Nora and Timmy Willie lose interest because Nora has become obsessed with Violet's old playing cards, and Timmy Willie met Alex Mouse that summer.So the photographs are sandwiched between the pages of Darwin's book, facing the coherent arguments and engravings of skulls.He later developed an incredible and inexplicable photo taken by his parents on a thunderous day.It wasn't until this time that he found those photos and looked at them carefully: using a high-powered magnifying glass and a reading magnifying glass to examine them carefully.He hadn't even been so focused on the game of "find your face" in St. Nicholas magazine.
And he did find faces.
Few of the photographs he examined later were as clear and distinct as the one of John, Violet, and the mystery man at the stone table.That photo seemed to be a stimulus, a promise, driving him to keep searching among more subtle and eccentric photos.He was an unbiased investigator, unwilling to claim that he had been "gifted" to catch that glimpse, that it was "destined" to spend his life searching for further evidence, to find something for all that incredible mystery. a definite answer.But the effect is the same.He happened to have no other rush in his life.
There must be an explanation, he was sure of that.It's an "explanation", not grandpa's illusory truths like a world within a world, nor are they subconsciously revealed by Violet.
At first he thought (and even hoped) that he was wrong: someone had tricked him, made him hallucinate.Aside from the unique photo of the stone table (which is scientifically an exception and of no reference value), isn't the rest just a vine that happens to be bent into the shape of a finger claw, a white vine that happens to be illuminated like a human face? Quetzal?He knew that light could create subtle surprises, and couldn't these be the same?No, it's impossible.Whether by accident or on purpose, Nora and Timmy Willie capture some creatures that are turning into ghosts.It was a bird, but the claw holding the branch was a hand, protruding from the sleeve.As long as you study it long enough, there will be no more doubts.This spider's web was not a spider's web, but the flowing skirt of a lady whose pale face was framed among the dark green leaves.Why didn't he give them a higher resolution camera?In some photos they appear to appear in groups, disappearing into blurred backgrounds.how big are theyAny size, or else the perspective is somehow distorted.Is it as long as his little finger?As big as a toad?He printed them out as slides, projected them on a curtain, and sat in front of them for hours.
"Nora, when you were out in the woods that day—" he was careful not to mislead her answer, "—did you see anything... er, 'special' worth photographing?"
"No. Nothing 'special'. Just... oh, nothing special."
"We can maybe go out again, bring a good camera and hopefully see something."
"Oh, Auberon."
He flipped through Darwin, and a hypothesis loomed.Although it is still far away, it is slowly approaching.
In the prehistoric forest, after eternal struggles, human beings finally separated from their close relatives, the long-haired orangutans.Humans seem to have tried to mutate more than once, but all failed, leaving nothing but the occasional unusual bone.They're all dead ends.Only humans have acquired language, learned to use fire and tools, and are the only surviving intelligent species.
Is that so?
Perhaps there was another branch of our ancient family tree that seemed destined to perish, but survived extinction, because they also learned some technology: equally novel, but similar to their cruder relatives (us) Learned tool-making is quite different from fire-making techniques.Perhaps what they learned was to become invisible, to shrink, to disappear, so that no one could see them.
Maybe they also learned to leave no trace.No tumulus, no flint, no carvings; no bones, no teeth.
It's just that now human technology has caught up with them and has discovered an eye dull enough to see them and record them. The retina is less fuzzy and harder to fool with sheets of celluloid and silver salts. This eye sees Whatever it is.
He remembered that it had taken man thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of years to emerge from the ignorance of the beasts and create all this art out of utter darkness.Also learned to make pottery (what an astonishment), and some poor fragments are still unearthed today mixed with fires that have been extinguished for thousands of years and among animal and human bones.And assuming that other species does exist, assuming data to prove their existence can be found, then they must have spent the same thousands of years perfecting their technology.Grandpa once told a story that the original residents of England were "little guys", and then they were forced to become smaller and play some mysterious tricks by some invaders armed with iron tools. Therefore, they have been afraid of iron since ancient times and rushed to avoid it. .Maybe!As the tortoise grew its shell, the zebra got its stripes (he flipped through Darwin's meticulous work); so, while humans groped like babies, these aliens learned the art of being invisible, Until humans, a species that can plow, create, build, and hunt with weapons, can no longer see their existence; I only hear that some hostesses will leave bowls of milk for them on the windowsill (but these stories are not necessarily credible), They have also been seen by drunks and lunatics, probably because they cannot or do not want to be invisible to these people.
Whether they couldn't or didn't want to, they weren't invisible to Timmy Willie and Nora Drinkwater.So they took their picture with a Kodak camera.
Since then, photography has been for him a tool, not entertainment, a surgical tool that allows him to dig out the core of secrets and examine them.Unfortunately, he found himself unable to witness any further evidence of their existence.No matter how eerie, the woods he photographed were just trees.He needs some medium, which always makes his job trickier.He still believes (how could he not believe it?) that the lens and the silver halide film behind it are indifferent, that it is impossible for the camera to forge or tamper with the image, just as it is impossible for fingerprints to appear on frosted glass out of thin air.But on occasions when he thought he was just taking random pictures, if someone was around (a sensitive child), faces would sometimes pop up in the pictures, showing that someone was there.It may not be obvious, but a careful study will reveal it.
But which kid is right?
Look at the evidence and data.For example eyebrows.He was convinced that Violet's line of eyebrows had something to do with it, though not everyone inherited it.August has them, thick and black above the nose, and sometimes a few extra long, cat-like whiskers.Nora had inherited a little bit, and Timmy Willie originally had it too, but when she got older she started plucking her eyebrows regularly.Most of the children in the Maus family looked like their grandfather, and most of them didn't inherit it, and there was no resemblance between John Storm and grandfather themselves.
Neither did Auberon himself.
Violet said that in her native England, when a person's eyebrows were joined together, it indicated that he was violent and criminal, and probably a madman.She scoffed at this statement, and also found Auberon's way of explaining it funny, so although there were many encyclopedia-like explanations and heterogeneous synthesis in the last edition of "Rural Architecture", there was no mention of eyebrows at all. .
Ok.Maybe the eyebrows were all just his way of explaining why he was excluded, why he couldn't see them.Both his camera and Violet could see it, and so could Nora for a while.Grandpa could spend hours talking about those little worlds, about who might be able to get in, but couldn't come up with any reason, or no reason at all.He would look at Auberon's photographs and talk about magnifications, dilations, special lenses, and so on.Not quite sure what Grandpa was talking about, but Auberon did experiment a bit with that method, trying to find a door.Grandpa and John later insisted that some of his photographs in a booklet be published; Opinions, but presented so disjointedly that in the end the book was ignored at all, even by (especially) children.Auberon never forgave them.It's hard enough just to look at the whole thing with an objective scientific attitude, provided you're not crazy and cheated, and no one says you're crazy or cheated.Or at least, none of the few who were willing to speak out said so.
Finally he came to a conclusion: in order to further exclude him, they used this method (a children's book!) to dwarf his efforts.The reason he allowed them to do it in the first place was because he felt deeply isolated.No matter from what point of view, he is an "outsider", not John's son, not really the brother and sister's elder brother, without Violet's peaceful mind, but not as brave and lost as August.No eyebrows, no faith.He, too, had been a bachelor all his life, without a wife or children, in fact he was almost a virgin.almost.He was excluded from that group and never got anyone he loved.
At this time, he no longer suffers from it.All his life he longed for what he couldn't get, and such a life would eventually reach some kind of balance, whether it was madness or sobriety.He can't complain.Anyway, they were all exiles here, at least they had this in common, so he didn't envy anyone's happiness.Of course he didn't envy Timmy Willie who fled from here to the big city, let alone the lost August.And he has always had these black and white windows, silent and unchanging, from which he can see the land full of crises.
He closed the folder (it smelled of worn black leather) and dismissed the idea of sorting the pictures, normal or psychic.He intends to keep everything as it is, carefully divided into neat chapters, but unfortunately there is not enough comparative data.He was not discouraged by this choice.In his later years anyway, it was a common occurrence: always trying to rearrange everything, but returning to the same ending each time.
He patiently packed 1911-1915, and then took out from the shadows a huge photo album bound in burlap.No volume label as it does not require a label.There are a lot of late photographs in there, starting about ten or twelve years ago, kind of a guide to some of his earliest work.Inside was another form of photography, from his left hand, but his scientific right hand never knew what it was doing.In the end, it's the left hand that matters because the right hand has shrunk.He became left-handed, but it's also possible he's always been left-handed.
It is easier to tell when he becomes a scientist than it is to discover when he ceases to be one.If there was such a moment, it was the moment when he was betrayed by his own crippled nature, quietly abandoned the great scientific pursuit, and turned to seek-seek for what, art?Are the precious images in this burlap-bound album art?And if not, does he care?
Love.Dare he call it love?
He put the booklet on top of the black folder.From here it sprang, like a rose, from a black thorn.He found his whole life piled up before his eyes, under the hissing kerosene lamp.A pale night moth crashed into the white lampshade and died.
In the mossy cave in the woods, Delly Alice told Smoky: "He used to say: let's go in the woods and see what we can see. Then he'd pick up a camera, sometimes a small one. , sometimes it’s the big one, the one with the tripod, made of wood and brass. Then we’d make a lunch, and we’d come here a lot.”
"We only come on hot, sunny days because then we (Sophie and I) can run around naked and say, 'Look! Look!' thing, and say: 'Oh, it's gone...'"
"Undressed? How old were you?"
"I don't remember. Eight. Probably until I was twelve."
"Do you have to get naked to see those things?"
She laughed, her voice low, for she had stretched out and lay down, letting the breeze blow her body.She is not wearing any clothes now either. "It's not a requirement to get naked," she said, "it's just fun. Didn't you like to get naked when you were a kid?"
He remembered the feeling, a wild joy, a freedom, as if in taking off his clothes, he was free of some kind of restraint, not quite the same as the adult sexual sense, but just as strong. "But I don't like it when grown-ups are around."
"Oh, Auberon doesn't count. He's not... well, he's not grown-up, I guess. We probably did it for him, actually. He's going to be as crazy as we are."
"Certainly," said Smoky grimly.
Delly Alice was silent for a moment.Then she said, "He never hurt us. Never, never made us do anything. We were the ones who suggested something! But he wouldn't. We were all sworn to secrecy, and he was sworn to secrecy. He was like ... like a faun or something. He gets excited and we get excited. We run and scream and roll on the ground. Or just stand still and let the big hum fill you up, Until I feel like I'm going to explode. It's magic."
"And you never said it."
"Of course not! In fact, it doesn't matter if you say it. Anyway, everyone knows, except for parents and aunt Claude, but they never have any opinions anyway. But I talked to many people later, and they all said: Oh! You Same? Auberon took you into the woods, too, to see what he could see?" She laughed again. "I guess he's been doing it for years. But no one I know has ever been disgusted. He's pretty picky, I think."
"Psychological trauma."
"Oh, don't be silly."
He caressed himself, his skin was pearly in the moonlight, and was slowly dried by the breeze. "Has he ever seen anything? I mean, except..."
"No. Never."
"Then do you have any?"
"We think so." Of course she certainly had, and they would brave the road on bright mornings, looking around expectantly and warily along the way.They'd wait for some sort of indication, and at the same time sense the need to turn and go somewhere they've never been but are terribly familiar, a place where they'll "take your hand" and say, "here we are."If you look away now, you will see them.
Then they would hear Auberon's voice behind them.Although he had brought them, they could not respond or point them out to him.He beat them out like a top, but the top left him and went on its own way.
Sophie?he would yell.Alice?
Except for the fading gas lamp, the summer house was blue.Auberon snapped his fingers and rummaged through the small space.He found what he was looking for, a large envelope in marbled paper.He had had many such envelopes before, but this was the only one left.A long time ago, someone had mailed him French platinum salt paper inside.
A sharp pain rose inside him, no worse than a longing, but it passed quickly, not as hard as the previous longing.He put the burlap-bound album in an envelope.He opened the bottle of ancient ink (he never allowed students to write with ballpoint pens and such) and wrote in his own teacher's handwriting: To Delly Alice and Sophie, but now the writing is crooked , as if placed in water.There seemed to be a huge pressure expanding inside him.He added another sentence: non-recipients, please do not open and read. I wanted to add an exclamation point, but in the end I stopped and just sealed it tightly.As for the black folder, there is no recipient's name on it.Anyway, this folder (and everything else) cannot be seen by anyone alive.
He enters the courtyard.For some reason the birds haven't started singing yet.He tried to urinate on the edge of the lawn, but couldn't, so he gave up and ran to sit on the dewy deck chair.
He had always fancied (but never believed) that he would experience this moment.He fantasizes that this moment will happen at the twilight that cannot be captured; that after he has given up for so many years and has become hopeless and even mournful, a spirit will appear before him in the twilight, emerging from the twilight without a sound, without the slightest trace. Did not disturb the sleeping flowers.It seems to be a child, the invisible flesh shimmering like in old platinum salt photos, the silver hair is like a flame in the sun that has just set or has not yet risen.He wouldn't say anything to it (because he couldn't speak at all), maybe it was already dead.But it will speak to him.It will say: "Yes, you know us. Yes, you alone have seen this whole secret. Without you, no one else can approach us at all. Without your blindness, they cannot see us; without your Lonely, they wouldn't love each other or even reproduce. If you didn't believe it, they wouldn't believe it. I know it must be hard for you to accept that the world works in such a weird way, but it's the truth."
At noon the next day, the clouds had gathered steadily and slowly, completely covering the sky, so low that it seemed as if you could touch it with your hand.
They walked on the road between Tianxi and the highlands, up and down, through an old forest.Mature trees grow so densely that the roots underneath must all be tangled together.The branches were so tightly intertwined overhead that it looked as if the oak had maple leaves and the hickory had oak leaves.They were covered with suffocating vines, especially the jagged, fibrous trunks of the dead trees, which leaned against the older trees beside them, unable to fall.
"Very lush," said Smoky.
"Protected," said Delly Alice.
"What's the meaning?"
She held out a hand to see if it was raining, and was hit by a drop of rain on the palm, followed by another. "Oh, the trees here have never been cut down. At least not in a hundred years."
The raindrops fell steadily, without rush or slowness, just like the previous clouds.It's not going to be one of those showers that come and go quickly and should last all day. "Too bad," she said, taking a crumpled yellow hat from her backpack and putting it on, but they seemed to be doomed to get wet.
"How far is it?"
"Woods' house? It's not too far away. But wait a minute." She stopped to look back at the road she had just walked, and then looked ahead.Smoky was hatless, his head itchy from the rain. "There's a shortcut," said Alice. "There's a path that doesn't have to go all the way around. It should be around here, if I can find it."
They walked back and forth on the side of the road a few times, but they couldn't seem to find a fork in the road. "Maybe they don't maintain that trail anymore," they said as they looked for her. "They're kind of weird and withdrawn. They live here by themselves and hardly see anyone." She was at a looming gap in the trees. Pause: "Found it." But Smoky didn't think it sounded very sure.They go in.The rain fell steadily on the leaves and ticked, and the sound became more and more coherent, like a single note, so loud that it drowned out the sound of their advancing footsteps.The woods under the clouds were as dark as night, not even the silvery glare of the rain could light it up.
"Alice?"
He stopped.Only the sound of rain.He had gotten separated from her because he was so engrossed in the trail.He must have strayed from the trail, too, if such a trail existed.He called out again, his tone confident and non-joking, no reason to be nervous.There was no answer, but then he saw a real path between two trees, no doubt a distinct winding path.She must have found the way, so she was moving fast while he was scurrying among the creepers.He walked down the path, half wet.Alice should be up ahead at any moment, but she isn't.The path led him further and further into the woods, stretching out seemingly endlessly, and he couldn't see where it led, but it was always there.最后（由于下着这种雨，实在无法判断过了多久）他终于来到一片长着青草的宽阔空地边缘，周围长着一圈森林巨木，因沾上雨水而变得湿滑黝黑。
空地上矗立着一栋他所看过最古怪的房子，在绵绵细雨里显得很不真实。那是德林克沃特其中一间疯狂小屋的缩小版，但全漆成了彩色，顶着鲜红色的屋瓦，白色的墙壁上满是装饰。没有一英寸不是弯弯曲曲、雕刻过、上过色或饰有纹章。更奇怪的是，它看起来崭新无比。
好吧，一定就是这里了，但艾丽斯呢？迷路的人一定是她，不会是他。他沿着山坡朝小屋走去，穿过一簇簇因为下雨而刚长出来的红白蘑菇。圆形的小门上装有叩门环、窥视孔和黄铜铰链。他一靠近，门瞬间开启，一张尖尖的小脸出现在门边。那双眼睛闪闪发光且流露猜疑之色，但脸上笑容可掬。
“不好意思，”史墨基说，“请问是伍兹宅吗？”
“正是。”那男子说着把门打开些，“你是史墨基·巴纳柏？”
“没错！”他怎么会知道？
"Come in."
要不是只有我们两人，这地方一定会被挤爆，史墨基想。他从伍兹先生身旁走过。伍兹先生似乎戴着一顶条纹睡帽，伸出手对他展示房屋内部，史墨基从没看过这么长、这么扁、关节这么突出的手。“真谢谢您收留我。”他说，结果这矮个儿男子咧嘴笑得更开，史墨基简直难以相信自己的眼睛。他的嘴若再继续咧下去，那张棕色的脸铁定会从耳朵那里裂成两半。
屋内看起来似乎比实际大，或者说实际上比看起来小，他无法分辨是哪一种。他不知为何突然想笑。屋里有一座神情狡猾的落地大钟，书桌上放着插满白蜡烛的烛台和马克杯，还有一张软绵绵的大床，上面盖着他所看过最花哨、最好笑的拼布棉被。有一张上蜡过后亮晶晶、桌脚上了夹板的圆桌和一个造型嚣张的衣柜。除此之外还有其他三人，舒适地各自占据着一角：一名漂亮女子在低矮的火炉旁忙碌，木制摇篮里躺着一个婴儿，女子每推动摇篮一下，他就像机器玩具一般，发出咕咕声。此外还有一位很老很老的女士，几乎只看得见她的鼻子、下巴和眼镜，她正坐在角落里的摇椅上快速织着一条长长的条纹围巾。这三人都注意到他来了，但似乎都无动于衷。
“坐下。”伍兹先生说，“说说你的故事吧。”
史墨基整个人满心惊喜，内心原本浮现一个小小的声音，想说“搞什么鬼”，但随即像踩踏了一团灰尘那样爆开、消失。“这个嘛，”他说，“我原本好像迷了路。我的意思是黛莉·艾丽斯跟我都迷了路，但我现在找到了你们，却不知道她怎么了。”
“是哦。”伍兹先生说。他让史墨基坐在桌旁的一把高背椅上，从橱柜里取出一叠绘有蓝色花朵的盘子，像在发牌似的放在桌上。“来些点心吧。”他说。
仿佛约好了一样，女子从烤箱里抽出一张锡箔纸，上面放着一个热腾腾的十字面包。伍兹先生把面包放在史墨基的盘子上，期待地看着他。面包上的十字不是十字，而是用白色糖霜画出来的一颗五角星。他本想等其他人的面包也一起送上，但香味实在太引人垂涎了，因此他拿起面包，一口气吃个精光。吃起来就像闻起来一样美味。
“我刚结婚。”他说，伍兹先生点点头。“你们也认识黛莉·艾丽斯·德林克沃特。”
"That's right."
“我们相信我们在一起会很幸福。”
“你们对了，但也错了。”
"what?"
“好吧，你会怎么说呢，昂德希尔太太？幸福地在一起？”
“对了，但也错了。”昂德希尔太太说。
“但怎么会……”史墨基开口，一阵巨大的哀伤袭来。
“这都是故事的一部分，”昂德希尔太太说，“别问我怎么会这样。”
“请说清楚。”史墨基挑战地说道。
“噢，好吧，”伍兹先生说，“不是像那样，你知道的。”他的脸变得严肃而若有所思，一只大手托着下巴，另一只手长长的手指敲着桌面。“她给了你什么礼物呢？告诉我们吧。”
问这种问题还真不公平。她把一切都给了他。她把自己献给了他。她为什么还得给他其他礼物？但就在他这么说的时候，他想起她确实曾在他们的新婚之夜给了他一样真正的礼物。“她给了我，”他骄傲地说，“她的童年。因为我没有自己的童年。她说我随时都可以把她的童年拿来用。”
伍兹先生斜斜地看了他一眼。“可是，”他狡猾地说，“她给过你一个袋子把它装起来吗？”他太太（如果那是他太太的话）点了点头，对这一击表示赞同。昂德希尔太太洋洋得意地摇着摇椅。似乎连那宝宝都发出一阵咕哝声，仿佛他也得了一分。
“不是那个问题。”史墨基说。自从吃了那个星星面包后，似乎就有阵阵情绪轮番袭来，像季节迅速交替变换。他眼眶里泛起秋天的泪水。“反正也不重要。我不能收下那个礼物。你看——”这很难解释，“——她小时候相信有精灵的存在，他们一家人都是，但我一直不相信。我想他们到现在都还相信。这太荒唐了。我怎能相信那种事？我也很想相信啊。我的意思是，我也希望自己可以相信并看过精灵，但我就是没有。倘若我连想都没想过，我又怎能接受她的礼物？”
伍兹先生快速摇着头。“不不不，”他说，“那是个很棒的礼物。”他耸耸肩。“你就只是没有用袋子装起来而已。来吧！我们会送你一些礼物。真正的礼物，绝不藏私。”他掀开镶黑铁的凸顶箱，里面似乎透出微光。“看！”他取出一条长长的项链，“黄金！”其他人都看着史墨基，微笑着对这份礼物表示赞同，期待史墨基惊喜道谢。
“你们人……真好。”史墨基说。伍兹先生把熠熠生辉的项链挂在史墨基脖子上，又绕了一圈，仿佛要勒死他似的。那黄金不像正常的金属那样冰冷，而是像肉身一样温暖。它似乎重重地挂在他脖子上，让他差点站不直。
“还有什么？”伍兹先生说着，环顾四周，手指按在唇上。昂德希尔太太用一根毛线针指向橱柜顶上一个圆形的皮制盒子。“对对对！”伍兹先生说，“这个如何？”他在柜子顶上摸索一番，直到盒子掉下来，被他接住。他打开盒盖。“一顶帽子！”
那是一顶红帽子，帽形很深、材质柔软，周围绑着一条编织带，插着一根白色的猫头鹰羽毛。伍兹先生和昂德希尔太太发出一声“啊……”，然后专注地看着伍兹先生把帽子戴到史墨基头上。它像皇冠一样沉重。“不知道黛莉·艾丽斯怎么了。”史墨基说。
“这倒提醒了我，”伍兹先生微笑着说，“最后、最重要而且最好的是……”他从床底下拉出一个褪了色、被老鼠咬得乱七八糟的毡制轻便旅行袋，拿到桌边，温柔地放在史墨基面前。伍兹似乎也悲从中来，用大大的手掌抚摸袋子，仿佛爱不释手。“史墨基·巴纳柏，”他说，“这是我的礼物。就算她想，她也没办法给你。它很旧了，愈旧，容量就愈大。我敢打赌可以装得下……”他突然一阵怀疑，于是打开袋子的交叉扣环往里面看。他咧嘴而笑。“啊，空间可大了。不仅装得下她的礼物，还有小隔间可以装你的不相信，管它还有什么。你会需要它的。”
这个空袋子却是所有礼物里面最重的。
“就这样了。”昂德希尔太太说，落地时钟敲出悦耳的钟声。
“你该走了。”伍兹太太说，宝宝不耐烦地噎了一下。
“艾丽斯发生什么事了呢？”伍兹先生若有所思地说道。他在房里转了两圈，时而望着又深又小的窗口，时而瞄向角落。他打开一扇门，史墨基瞥见门外一片漆黑，听见一声悠长困倦的低语，伍兹先生赶紧关上门。他举起一根手指，灵光乍现地扬起眉毛。他走向角落里那个高耸的衣柜，打开柜门，结果史墨基看到了他先前跟艾丽斯一起走过的那片潮湿森林，还有远处的艾丽斯本人，在午后时光里漫步。伍兹先生示意要他进入衣柜。
“你们人真好。”他说着弯腰进入，“谢谢你们给了我这些东西。”
“不足挂齿。”伍兹先生说，声音听起来既遥远又模糊。衣柜的门在他眼前关上，发出一阵长长的声音，像某种遥远低沉的钟声。他穿过湿淋淋的树丛，不断被树枝打到，不禁开始流鼻涕。
“搞什么鬼。”看见他时，黛莉·艾丽斯这么说。
“我去了伍兹家。”他说。
“我猜也是。瞧你这副模样。”
他脖子周围不知何时缠上了层层藤蔓，顽强的尖刺刮破他的皮肉、勾住他的衬衫。“天杀的。”他说。她笑了，开始拣去他头发里的叶子。
“你是不是摔跤了？怎么会满头叶子？你拿着什么东西？”
“一个袋子，”他说，“现在没事了。”他举起手让她看，却发现自己拿着一个荒废已久的大黄蜂巢，有些地方已经破损，露出内部的条条隧道。一只瓢虫从里面爬出来、飞走，像一滴血。
“飞回家去吧。”黛莉·艾丽斯说，“现在没事了。小径一直在那里。走吧。”
他感受到的沉重负荷来自他湿透了的背包。他很想把它放下。他跟着她沿着一条有车轮痕迹的小路走去，不久就来到一大片满是垃圾的空地，就在一座快要坍塌的泥岸下方。空地中央立着一栋褐色的简陋木屋，屋顶是防水纸，屋子和树林间系着一条湿淋淋的晒衣绳。院子里堆着一些水泥块，上面放着一辆没有轮子的小货车，一只黑白花色的猫在附近晃来晃去，看起来又湿又生气。一个穿着围裙和雨靴的女子站在围着铁丝网的鸡舍旁对他们招手。
“伍兹家人。”黛莉·艾丽斯说。
"Ok."
然而，就算他们已经坐在那儿喝咖啡、跟埃米和克里斯·伍兹闲话家常，就算他的背包已经躺在地上、在亚麻油毡上弄出一块水渍，史墨基还是觉得有一股重量压在他身上，甩也甩不掉，后来他才慢慢习惯。他认为自己还承受得了。
关于那天接下来发生的事，还有那趟旅程上的其他经历，史墨基后来都不大记得了。黛莉·艾丽斯会在无话可说时重提那些事件，仿佛常在思绪空白时温习那趟旅程，而他会回答：“噢，对呀。”也许他真的想起了她说的事，但也可能没有。
就在同一天，克劳德姑婆坐在前廊上的玻璃桌旁，一心只想完成追踪，却翻出了一张名叫“秘密”的大牌。正要把它放进牌阵时，她抽了一口气，开始颤抖，眼中突然盈满泪水。妈妈过来叫她吃午餐时，红着眼眶的克劳德姑婆还在讶异自己先前怎么没发现或没料到。她毫不犹豫，也毫不怀疑地告诉了妈妈她刚得知的事。因此当史墨基和黛莉·艾丽斯晒得黝黑、浑身是伤、开开心心返家时，却发现屋子正面的窗帘全拉上了（史墨基不知道这项古老传统）。德林克沃特医生严肃地站在前廊上。“奥伯龙去世了。”他说。
一群秃鼻乌鸦（史墨基猜想是秃鼻乌鸦）归家时横越一片多云的寒冷天幕，从一片刚翻过的三月田野上空飞过（他颇确定是三月），逃向对面光秃秃的树林。田野和道路中间有一道篱笆，上面布满了好看的裂缝和节孔。路上有个旅人踽踽独行，看起来有点像插画里的但丁，戴着一顶尖帽。旅人脚边有一排白梗红顶的蘑菇，他脸上露出错愕（或惊奇）的表情，因为最后一朵小蘑菇掀起了红帽子，带着狡猾的微笑从帽檐底下看着他。
“这是原版画。”德林克沃特医生拿着雪利酒杯朝那幅画一指，“是那个艺术家送给我祖母瓦奥莱特的。他是她的仰慕者。”
由于史墨基童年的读物只有恺撒和奥维德，所以他从没看过此人的作品，没见识过这种被剪去了树梢、长着人脸的树，也没见过他晚期精准的画风。史墨基受到的震撼无以名状。画名“一路上”，听起来很像一阵耳语。他啜了口雪利酒。门铃响了（是那种必须转动一把钥匙才会响的门铃，还真吵），接着他就看见妈妈从客厅门外匆匆走过，一边在围裙上擦着双手。
由于受到的打击不像其他人那么大，他帮了不少忙。他跟鲁迪·弗勒德挖了个墓穴，紧邻着德林克沃特家族众人的坟墓。有约翰、瓦奥莱特、哈维·克劳德。那天酷热无比，背负着沉重树叶的枫树上空挂着一团水汽，仿佛那些树在令人晕眩的微风里吐出了阵阵气息。鲁迪熟练地挖出一个洞，汗湿的衬衫黏在硕大的啤酒肚上。虫子纷纷逃离，躲避他们的铲子（也可能是躲避日光）。他们翻出来的清凉黝黑的泥土很快就干燥变白了。
第二天，参加葬礼的人纷纷抵达，他婚礼上的宾客全数，或至少有绝大多数突然现身。有些人还穿着跟婚礼那天一样的衣服，因为他们没料到德林克沃特家这么快又出事了。奥伯龙下葬时没有牧师，也没有祷词，只有簧风琴悠长的安魂曲，这回乐声听起来平静，且不知为何充满了喜悦。
妈妈从门外进来，手里拿着包着锡箔纸的天蓝色耐热玻璃餐盘。“为什么大家都觉得葬礼过后就是要大吃一顿呢？唉，还挺好心的。”
克劳德姑婆把湿掉的手帕塞回黑色的袖子里。“我想到所有的孩子。”她说，“每一届的学生，今天全来了。弗兰克·布什和克劳德·贝里就是'大抉择'后第一届的学生。”德林克沃特医生咬着一根很少用的石南根烟斗。他把它从口中取出，用力瞪视，仿佛很惊讶竟然不能吃。
“大抉择？”史墨基说。
“贝里等人对抗艾德董事会。”医生严肃地说。
“我猜现在可以用餐了，”妈妈探头进来说，“家常便饭。把你们的酒杯也拿来吧。酒也拿来，史墨基，我要再来一杯。”索菲满脸泪痕地坐在餐桌前，因为她准备餐具时不假思索就帮奥伯龙也准备了一份。他从前每周六都会过来吃饭，而今天正好是周六。“我怎么忘得了。”她用一张餐巾盖住自己的脸，“他这么爱我们……”她快速跑了出去，脸上还覆着餐巾。史墨基似乎打从来到艾基伍德以后就很少看到她的脸，通常只看到她离去的背影。
“他最爱你们两个。”克劳德姑婆拍了拍黛莉·艾丽斯的手。
“我也许该上楼看看索菲。”妈妈说，却不甚坚定地站在门边。
“坐下吧，妈妈。”医生轻声说，“现在时机不对。”他帮史墨基弄了碗马铃薯色拉，葬礼后人家送来的慰问食物里，光是马铃薯色拉就有三碗。“好吧。贝里等人。已经是三十年前的事了……”
“你真没时间概念。”妈妈说，“应该是四十五年前吧。”
“随便啦。我们这地方真的鸟不生蛋，但我们也懒得去麻烦州政府帮我们处理小孩的事，所以我们自己在这儿开了一所小小的私立学校。一点也不贵。后来才发现我们的学校似乎必须符合'标准'。州的标准。当然啦，孩子跟大家一样都会读书写字，也学了数学，但'标准'规定他们还得学历史，还有公民课，鬼才知道那是什么，还有其他一大堆我们根本不认为有必要的东西。毕竟你只要识字，书本的世界就在你眼前，你若想读，就会去读。你若不想读，就算有人逼着你读，也是读过就忘。我们这儿的人又不是不学无术，我们只是对于该学习哪些事，自有一套看法，或者应该说有很多套不同的看法，偏偏我们重视的东西，学校几乎都没教。
“所以呢，后来我们的小学校就被迫关闭，所有的孩子都到外面去上了几年的学……”
“他们说我们的'标准'没办法让学生适应外面的真实世界。”妈妈说。
“外面的世界哪里真实了？”克劳德姑婆恼怒地说，“我最近看到的都没什么真实感。”
“我们说的是四十年前啊，诺拉。”
“从那时开始，也没变得更真实。”
“我上过一阵子公立学校，”妈妈说，“似乎没那么糟糕。只是你每天都得在固定时间到校，不分季节、不分天气。而且每天都得等到同一时间才能离开。”她语带惊奇，回想这段往事。
“至于像公民课那些课程怎么样呢？”黛莉·艾丽斯问，一边在桌下偷偷捏了捏史墨基的手，因为答案是个令人肃然起敬的重要论点。
“你知道吗？”妈妈对史墨基说，“公民课的事我一件都不记得。一件都不记得。”
史墨基眼里的“教育系统”正是这个样子。他认识的大部分孩子都是一离开那些（对他而言）很神秘的讲堂就把学过的东西忘得一干二净。“天啊，”他常说，“你们该去跟我爸上课的。保证你每样东西都记得。”但另一方面，若被问起学校的活动，例如效忠誓言、植树节或航海家亨利王子，他就一无所知了。他们都觉得他很怪，倘若他们曾注意到他的话。
“所以克劳德·贝里的爸爸因为拒绝让他上公立学校而招来了麻烦，后来变成一件诉讼案，”克劳德姑婆说，“一路告到了州立最高法院。”
“让我们的银行账户大失血。”医生说。
“最后我们赢了。”妈妈说。
“因为，”克劳德姑婆说，“我们宣称那是基于宗教理由。就像门诺派中的严紧派，你知道他们吗？”她露出狡猾的微笑。“宗教理由。”
“那是个里程碑式的抉择。”妈妈说。
“但却没有人听说这件事，”医生擦擦嘴巴，“我想法院也被自己的判决吓了一跳，所以封锁了消息。不想招致揣测、引起公愤，可以这么说。但我们从那时起就没再遇上麻烦了。”
“我们有良好的建议。”克劳德姑婆说着垂下眼睑，他们全都默默同意。
因为不知情，史墨基又拿过一杯雪利酒，开始谈论“标准”里一个他知道的漏洞（就是他自己）；就算没上学，他还是受到了更为优质的教育，而且无怨无悔。此时德林克沃特医生突然拍了一下桌子，就像法官在敲槌子，然后喜滋滋地看着史墨基，双眼因为灵光乍现而闪亮。
“怎么样呢？”当天晚上躺在床上时，黛莉·艾丽斯这么说。
"what?"
“爸爸提议的事啊。”
由于闷热无比，他们身上只盖了条被单，过了午夜才开始有阵阵微风吹来。她修长白皙的身躯形成了山丘与溪谷，她每动一下就形成一番截然不同的景致。“我不知道。”他觉得呆滞且无法思考，昏昏欲睡。他试着想出一个较清楚的答案，但却陷入了梦乡。她再次不安地换了姿势，他这才又醒来。
"What's the matter?"
“我在想奥伯龙。”她小声说道，用枕头擦了擦脸。他把她搂进怀里，因此她把脸埋在他的肩窝里小声啜泣。他轻触她的头发，安抚地拨弄她的发丝，直到她睡着，她最爱这样，跟猫一样。她入睡后，他反而躺在床上瞪着闪闪发光的天花板，讶异自己竟然无法入睡，因为他从没听说过夫妻之间的睡意是可以转移的（这项规则可没写在任何婚姻契约上）。
好吧，他觉得怎么样？
他在这里已经受到收留与领养，离开似乎已经不可能了。由于之前不曾讨论过他俩的未来，所以他自己也从没思考过：事实上他根本不习惯去想自己的未来，因为他向来连自己的现在都弄不清楚。
但他现在已经有了身份，他必须抉择。他小心翼翼地把手枕在脑后，尽量不去惊动刚睡着的她。倘若他现在已经成为一个“人”，那么他是哪种人呢？从前他了无特征，什么都是、什么都不是，但他现在会发展出一些特质、一种个性，有所喜好也有所厌恶。那么他想不想住在这间房子里，在他们的学校教书呢？当一个……呃，有信仰的人（他猜他们会这样说）？这适合他的个性吗？
他望着身边的黛莉·艾丽斯模糊雪白的身影。他若有个性，也是拜她所赐。而他若是个角色，八成也只是个小角色：演的是别人故事（他卷入的这个荒唐故事）里面的小配角。上场、退场、念念台词。这角色究竟是满腹牢骚的教师还是什么人物似乎不怎么重要，时间到了自会决定。Ok.
他细细审视自己的思绪，看看是否有什么怨怼之情。他确实有些怀念自己消失的无特征性，怀念当中蕴含的无限可能，但他也感受到她在他身边的气息，还有周围一整栋房子的气息。最后他终究随着这个节奏进入梦乡，什么也没决定。
当艾基伍德的影子在月光下悄悄从这一头挪到另一头时，黛莉·艾丽斯梦见自己站在繁花盛开的田野中，小山丘上长着一棵橡树和一株荆棘，枝叶如手指般紧紧交缠。大厅另一端，索菲梦见自己的手肘上有一扇小门，开了一条缝，风从那儿吹进来，吹在她的心坎上。德林克沃特医生梦到自己坐在打字机前写下这段文字：“有一只很老很老的昆虫住在地下的一个洞里。某年六月，它戴上它的夏季草帽，用只剩下一半的手拿了它的烟斗、拐杖和灯笼，尾随蠕虫和树根爬上楼梯，进入了蓝色的夏季。”这对他似乎意义非凡，但他醒来后却一个字也记不得，怎么想都想不起来。他身旁的妈妈梦到丈夫不在书房里，而是跟她一起在厨房里。她不断从烤箱里拉出一张张烤饼干用的锡箔纸，上面有一个个圆形的咖啡色糕饼，而当他问她这些是什么时，她说：“岁月。”
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