Chapter 7 II

"Cheerful, round, flushed Mr. Sun poked his clouded head out from behind the purple mountains, and shot long rays into the green fields." Robin Bird said in a triumphant and high-pitched voice He read this book almost backwards, "Not far from the stone wall between the green field and the old pasture, the field mouse family woke up in their hut in the grass, with father, mother and six eyes. Unopened pink baby." "The head of the family turned over, opened his eyes, shook his beard, and went outside the door to wash his face with the dew that had accumulated on the fallen leaves. As he stood there looking out at the green field and the morning scene, old Mother West Wind hurried Whispering, tickling his nose, and bringing news of Black Forest, Laughing Creek, Old Meadows, and the Big World. All messy and noisy news, better than The Times at breakfast time.

"The news has been the same for days, the world is changing! Soon everything will smell different than what you smelled today! Get ready, Vole! "The field-mouse heard what he could from the shy breezes around Mother West Wind, and then hopped across the long grass to the stone wall, where he knew there was a spot where he could sit and watch secretly. Come to this After the hiding place, he sat down and leaned back, stuffed a blade of grass between his teeth, and chewed while thinking. "What is the big change in the world that Mother West Wind and her little breezes have been talking about lately? What does it mean, and how can he prepare for it?

"Green fields couldn't be more hospitable to a field mouse than they are now. He eats all the grass seeds in the field. Many plants that he found unpalatable have suddenly grown dry pods filled with sweet nuts that he can gnaw with his strong teeth. The field mouse is happy and well fed. "Is everything going to change now? He thought about it and thought about it carefully, but he couldn't figure it out at all. "Look, boy, the field mouse is born in the spring. He grows up in the summer, when Mr. Sun smiles the brightest, walking slowly through the very blue, blue sky. It only takes one summer for the field mouse to grow up completely." (but not too old), got married and had a child, and the child will grow up soon.

"Now can you guess what the upheaval was? The upheaval that the voles couldn't possibly know about?" The younger children all shouted and raised their hands, because unlike the older children, they thought the answer really had to be guessed. "Okay," said Smoky, "everyone knows. Thank you, Robin. Now, can I ask Billy to read a paragraph?" Billy Bush stood up, and took it out of his hand without Robin's confidence. Take that tattered book. "Well," he read, "the field mouse thought he'd better ask someone older and wiser than he was. The wisest creature he ever knew was the black crow, which sometimes comes to the green fields in search of grain or worms, And he had something to say whenever anyone wanted to listen, and he would listen to what the Black Crow had to say, though the field-mouse always hid far away from the black crow's shining eyes and long, sharp beak. The Crow family doesn't eat mice, but then again, they've been known to eat just about anything they can get their hands on (or get their mouths on).

"The field mouse sat there thinking, and soon there was a flapping of wings and a hoarse cry in the blue sky, and the black crow himself landed in the green field not far from the field mouse! "'Good morning, Mr. Crow,' cried the field mouse, feeling safe in his hole in the wall. "'Is this morning safe?' said the Black Crow. 'You won't be saying that in a few days.' "'That's what I wanted to ask you,' said the field mouse. 'It seems the world is about to change. Do you feel it? Do you know what it is?' "'Ah, ignorant boy!' said the Black Crow, 'of course there will be changes. That change is winter, and you had better be prepared.'

"'What's winter like? How can I prepare?' "The black crow's eyes were shining, as if the vole's restlessness amused him. He told the vole about winter: that the cruel brother North Wind would blow through the green fields and the old meadows, and make the leaves turn gold-brown and fall from the trees. The grass. would die, and the grass-eating animals would starve and thin. He said it would rain cold and flood the houses of small animals like voles. He also described the snow, which the voles thought sounded great, but then He knew then that the terrible chill would drive to the marrow of his bones, that the birds would freeze dead and drop from the branches, that the fish would no longer swim, and that the Laughing Creek would no longer laugh because its mouth was closed. Ice.

"'But that would be the end of the world,' said the Field Mouse desperately. "'It seems so,' said the Black Crow briskly, 'to some fellows. Like me, for I can live. But if you want to live, Field Mouse, you'd better get ready! ' "Then the black crow flapped its heavy wings and flew away, leaving the field mouse there, more perplexed and frightened than ever. "But while he was sitting in the warm sunshine and chewing on the grass stalks, he figured out a way, and knew how to survive the terrible cold that Brother Beifeng was about to bring."

"Well, Billy. You know," said Smoky, "you don't have to say 'that' every time as 'one', that. Just say 'that,' the way you usually talk." Billy Bush watched him as if realizing for the first time that the word printed on the page was the same word he said every day. "That," he said. "Okay. Who is it now?" "What he's going to do," read Terry O'Sian (Smokey thought he was too old for this kind of stuff), "is to go around the world and ask every creature how they plan to spend the winter. Satisfied with the plan, he stuffed himself with seeds and nuts (a pity for such things now), said goodbye to his wife and children, and set off that afternoon.

"The first animal he encountered was a caterpillar on a branch. Although the caterpillar was not known for its intelligence, the field mouse asked him this question: How is he going to prepare for the winter? "'I have never heard of winter, whatever it is.' said the caterpillar in his small voice, 'but I am indeed going through some kind of change. I seem to have just learned how to make a beautiful white silk, don't ask. How I throw up, anyway I'm going to wrap myself up in this silk. When I'm all wrapped up and glued to this cozy branch, I won't be out for a long time. Maybe never. I don't know .'

"Well, that didn't sound like a solution to the field mouse, so he went on his journey, still feeling sorry for the stupid caterpillar. "He came across some creatures by the lotus pond that he had never seen before: huge brownish-gray birds with long graceful necks and black beaks. Reached into the water to eat. 'Birds!' said the field mouse, 'winter is coming! How are you going to prepare?' "'Winter is coming indeed,' said an old bird gravely. 'Brother North Wind has driven us here from home. Our home is cold now. Now he is after us, urging us on. But as fast as he is, we'll fly faster than him! We'll fly south, where he can't go, where we won't have to endure the winter.'

"'How far?' asked the field mouse, wishing he had a chance to outrun Brother North Wind. "'It's going to fly for days and days, as fast as we can,' said the old bird, 'and we're getting slow.' Then he flapped his wings and flew up from the pond, his black feet clung to him. white belly. The other birds took off after him, singing loudly and flying to the warm south together. "The field mouse went on sadly, knowing that he could not fly out of winter with wide and strong wings like them. He was so focused that he almost tripped over a brown mud turtle at the edge of the lotus pond. The field mouse asked him how he planned to survive the winter. . "'Sleep,' said the Mud Turtle sleepily, wrinkled like a dark old man, 'and I'll sleep in the warm mud from the winter. Actually I'm sleepy now.' "Sleep! That's not much of an answer to the field mouse. But along the way, he hears the same answer from many different creatures. "'Sleep!' said the Grass Snake, the Field-Mouse's enemy, 'and then you need not be afraid of me, Field-Mouse.' "'Sleep!' said the Brown Bear. 'Sleep in a cave or in a strong house of boughs. Sleep all the time!' "'Sleep.' In the evening, so did his kin, the bat, 'I'll sleep with my toes upside down.' "Well! Half the people just sleep in the winter. That's the weirdest answer a field mouse ever heard, but there are plenty of others. "'I store nuts and seeds in places known only to me.' said the Red Squirrel. 'This is how I winter.' "'When there was nothing, I was fed by humans,' said the tit. "'I'll build a house,' said Otter, 'and I'll build a house under a frozen stream, and live with my wife and children. Can I go on working now? I'm busy.' "'I'll steal,' says the raccoon in a thief's mask. 'Eggs from human farms and garbage from their buckets.' "'I will eat you up,' said the Red Fox, 'and I will not frighten you!' Then he started after the poor field-mouse, and almost caught him, but the field-mouse hid in the hole in the stone wall just in time. "Lying there gasping, he found that while he was traveling, the great change called winter had become more pronounced in the green fields. Now the green fields were not so green, and had become yellow and brown and white. Much The seeds were ripe and had fallen or been blown away by the wind. Gloomy gray clouds had blotted out the sun overhead. But the field mouse still had no plans to ward off the cruel North Wind. "'What am I going to do?' he cried. 'Should I go and live in Farmer Brown's barn with my cousin? Try my luck with Tom the cat and the furry dogs and rat traps and rat poison? I must It won't last long. Should I go to the south to see if I can outrun Brother Beifeng? He will definitely catch up with me and leave me naked far away from home, freezing to death in his air-conditioning Come on. Should I lie down with my wife and kids and cover myself with grass and try to sleep? I'm bound to wake up hungry in no time, and so will they. What the hell am I going to do?' "Just then, a gleaming black eye suddenly appeared staring at him, and he jumped up with a cry. It was a black crow. "'Mole,' said he, briskly, 'no matter how you try to protect yourself, there's one thing you should know, you don't.' "'What is it?' asked the Field Mouse. "'It's Brother Beifeng's secret.' "'His secret! What is it? Do you know? Can you tell me?' "'This,' replied the black crow, 'is the only good thing about winter, and Brother Northwind doesn't want any creature to know. I do know, but I won't tell you.' Because the black crow keeps his secret very tightly, just Like he guarded those shiny shards of metal and glass he found and hid. And so the cheapskate went away laughing, to join his brothers and sisters in the old pasture. "The only good thing about winter! What will it be? It will definitely not be cold, snow or rain. "Not hiding, digging through trash, sleeping like death, or running from a starving enemy. "It won't be short days, long nights, and the pale, absent-minded sun that the field mouse doesn't even know about. "What could it be? "That night, while the field mouse was huddled with his wife and children in his nest in the grass, Brother Northwind swept across the green field. Oh, how fast he walked! Oh, how the field mouse's frail brown house shook! Oh, the dismal gray clouds blown to pieces and blown away from the frightened face of the moon! "'Brother North Wind!' cried the field-mouse, 'I am cold and afraid! Can't you tell me what is good about winter?' "'That's my secret.' Brother Northwind said in a cold, commanding voice. To demonstrate his strength, he squeezed a towering maple until all its green leaves were orange, and then squeezed They were all blown away, and when he was done he strode away across the green field, and the field mouse was left there with his paws to his cold nose, wondering what his secret was. "Do you know the secret of Brother Beifeng? "Of course you do." "Oh. Oh." Smoky recovered. "I'm sorry, Terry, I didn't mean to keep you going. Thank you." He tried to hold back a yawn, and the children looked at him with interest. "Well, now please get out your paper, pens and ink, and don't complain. It's a beautiful day today." The morning lessons were reading and writing, which took time because Smoky taught his own italics (and that was all he could teach).This type of font is extremely beautiful if it is written correctly, but as long as it is slightly wrong, it will become ghostly. "The words need to be connected." He tapped a certain practice paper with his fingers with a straight face, and the writer would frown and rewrite it. "Words," he said to Patty Flower, and all year she thought he meant "words," an accusation she could neither answer nor evade, so that once, in frustration, she I poked the paper hard with the tip of the pen, and as a result, the pen stuck on the table like a knife. Textbooks for the reading class were randomly selected from the study at Drinkwater's house. The younger children read "Brother Northwind's Secret" and other stories written by the doctor, and the older ones read whatever Smoky thought was appropriate and informative. s things.Sometimes he would get so bored that his students would cry because they were reading in fits and starts, and he would end up reading to them himself.He likes to do it, and he likes to explain the difficult parts and why the author wrote it the way he did.Most children think these superfluous notes are part of the article, so when they grow up, a few people will read the books that Smoky read aloud privately. So far, it seems that some parts are missing. In the afternoon there was mathematics, which usually became a continuation of writing, for elegant italic numbers were as interesting to Smoky as italic letters.He had two or three students who were particularly good at numbers, and Smokey thought they might be geniuses, for they could do fractions and other difficult subjects even faster than he, and he would ask them to help guide the other students.Smokey believed in an old principle: music and mathematics were like sisters, so he sometimes played the violin to them just before school was over, which was sleepy and useless anyway.So in later days, whenever Billy Bush thought of his arithmetic lessons, he thought of those elusive mellow tunes, the smell of the fire, and the winter gathering outside. As a teacher, Smoky had a great advantage.He didn't really understand children, and he didn't like their innocence, and he was always confused and shy in the face of their crazy energy.He treats them the way he treats adults because it's the only way he knows to treat people; if a child doesn't respond in an adult way, he dismisses it and tries again.What he cared about was what he taught: the meaning of writing, the bouquet of words and the cage of grammar, the concept of the writer and the regularity of numbers.So that's all he talks about.It's the only game during school hours (even the brightest kids have a hard time luring him into playing other games), so when everyone finally gets tired of it, he leaves school early because he can't think of anything else to keep them entertained (This situation is most likely to happen on some good days, such as when the sky is falling with fine snow, or when the sun is out and there is mud). Then he himself walked home through the Edgewood gates (the classroom was next to the original gate, a gray Dorian chapel with a pair of large antlers hanging from it for some reason), guessing that Sophie was taking a nap. Did you wake up? This day he stayed to clean the smaller stove.If it is still cold, a fire will have to be lit tomorrow.After locking the door, he turned in front of the little chapel and stood on the leafy path leading to Edgewood's gate.He hadn't walked this way, or walked through this gate, when he arrived at Edgewood.In fact no one went through the front door now, the driveway through "the park" was flooded with sedge, and now there was only one path he had trod during the day, like the usual path of a huge, hulking beast. The towering gate in front of him is green wrought iron, shaped like a lotus flower in the 1990s. It is always open, and is firmly entangled in the ground by weeds and bushes.Now all that remains is a rusty chain across the driveway, suggesting that this is still an entrance to something, and do not enter unless you are.The main road stretched to his left and right, lined with horse chestnuts, heartbreakingly golden now, blown loose by the wind.Few people used this road except children who walked or cycled to school, and Smoky had no idea where it led.But that day, when he was standing ankle-deep in the fallen leaves, not knowing why he didn't want to go through the gate, he figured one end of it must lead to the dry gravel road at Field Creek, and turn up in front of Juniper's house. That asphalt road, which finally merged into the spurs and expressways that rumbled to the big city. What if he now turned right (or left) and followed that road back to where he started?Walking on foot, empty-handed, like when he came, like a movie reversed (leaves jumping back into the tree)? Well, he's not empty-handed right now. And he was becoming more and more certain that since stepping through the screen door into Edgewood that summer afternoon, he hadn't left.Although he seems to have stepped out through different doors later, he was actually only going to other parts of the house. The architect just made those places look like woods, lakes, farms, distant lands, etc. hills (he believed John Drinkwater was capable of that).The path would probably just loop back to another Edgewood front porch he'd never seen, with its wide, old steps and a door for him to enter. He no longer lingers, no longer indulges in these autumnal thoughts.It was the cycle of roads and seasons: he had been here before.Because of October. But he stopped again as he crossed the stained white arch bridge over the pond (the plaster had come off here, revealing rough bricks underneath, which should be mended, because of the winter).Fallen leaves soaked in water whirled and tumbled with the current at the same rate as leaves whirled and whirled in the busy air, only at half the speed or less.Clawed orange maple leaves, broad elm and hickory leaves, and broken oak leaves a colorless brown.You can't keep up with their whirling speed in the air, but falling into the mirror stream, their speed in the water is as slow as dirge. What on earth should he do? Long ago, when he discovered that he was about to lose his old sense of anonymity and develop a personality, he had thought it would be like wearing a suit that was too big and had to grow up to wear it.He expected some discomfort at first, a sense of misfit; but as he filled those spaces, the paired shapes, the clothes creased in the bends, and the rubbing smoothed out, the discomfort would go away up.He expected this process to happen only once.He didn't expect to have to go through it several times, or worse: find himself in the wrong clothes at the wrong time, or have several parts wrong at the same time, stuck there, struggling. He looked at the incredible Edgewood, the windows lit in the dying daylight, a mask covering many faces, or a face wearing many masks, he didn't know which.I don't know who I am either. The only good thing about winter?Well, he knew the answer, he had read that book before.When winter comes, spring is not far away.But, oh yes, he thought: very far, very far. On the circular floor in the polygonal piano room on the first floor, Daili Alice, who is pregnant with her second child, is playing chess with Aunt Claude. "It's like every day is a move of chess," said Delly Alice, "and with each move you move further away from—well, the age of order. Before everything was alive and brought you It's a sign. You just can't resist jumping forward, just like you can't survive." "I think I understand," said Aunt Claude, "but I think that's just the surface." "It's not that I grew up to be like this," Alice said, dividing the red pieces she had eaten into equal piles. "Don't tell me that's the case." "Kids must be easier. You're an old woman now—with kids of your own." "What about Violet? What did Violet say?" "Oh, yes. Mmm. Violet." "I was thinking, maybe the world is getting older and less vibrant. Is it just because I'm old?" "People always guess like this. But I really don't think humans have a way to feel that the world is getting old. The life of the world is too long to feel it at all." She took a black chess piece from Alice, "You are in One of the things you probably learn growing up is that the world is really old, very old. When you're young, the world seems young. That's it." Sounds reasonable, Delly Alice thought, but she couldn't explain her sense of loss.It feels like those things that are clearly visible are being thrown away one by one by her, and the connections around her are being cut off one by one by her, every day.As a child, she always felt that she was constantly being seduced: something was drawing her to keep going, to follow.What she lost was this feeling.She was sure she would never again have the special sensitivity to glimpse clues of their existence and messages that had been left for her.Never feel clothes brushing her cheeks as she sleeps in the sun.They watched her in her sleep, but when she woke they fled, leaving nothing but the turmoil of the leaves around them. Come on, come on, that's what they used to sing when she was a kid.Now she can't move. "It's your turn to go," said Aunt Claude. "Well, did you do it consciously?" Delly Alice asked, not quite Aunt Claude. "What?" said Aunt Claude. "Grow up? No. Well, in a way yes. It's inevitable, you either get it or you don't get it. Welcome or not, Maybe treat it as an exchange, you're going to lose anyway. Or you can say no, and let that irreplaceable thing be forcibly taken away with no compensation, never seeing an exchange." She thought of O. Beron. Through the window of the piano room, Delly Alice saw Smokey shuffling home, his figure jumping from one piece of uneven old glass to the next, causing bursts of refraction.Yes: if what Aunt Claude said was true, she got Smoky in the deal.And what she gave in exchange was the living sense that her marriage to Smoky was brought about by them, that Smoky was chosen for her by them, the eyes that drew him to her, the long engagement and the This comfortable marriage that has been successfully cultivated is all arranged by them.Therefore, although she got what she promised, she lost the feeling of "everything comes from destiny".It makes what she has (Smoky and ordinary happiness) seem fragile and volatile, as if it were just a coincidence. Fear.She is afraid.But how is it possible?If the deal had really been done, and she had done her part, paid so much, and spared no effort to make so many preparations, how could she lose him?Are they that cunning?Is she really so ignorant?But she was still scared. She heard the front door close carefully, and a moment later saw the doctor in the red plaid jacket, carrying two shotguns and other equipment, go out to join Smoky.Smoky looked surprised, then widened his eyes suddenly, patted his forehead as if remembering something, and resignedly took a shotgun from the doctor.The doctor was pointing out possible routes, the wind blowing orange sparks from his pipe.Smoky turned and walked out into the park with him, the doctor still gesticulating.At one point Smoky looked back at the upstairs windows. "It's your turn." Aunt Claude said again. Alice looked down at the chessboard, which had become incoherent and disorganized.Now Sophie walks through the piano room, wearing flannel pajamas and Alice's cardigan.For a moment, the two women stopped playing.It wasn't that Sophie was distracting them, in fact she seemed to ignore them; she saw them but turned a blind eye.The fact is that as Sophie walks by, for a moment they both seem to have a strong sense of the world around them: the wild wind and the brown earth outside, the hours of evening, the day itself, and the house moving through time. .At this moment, whether it was because of Sophie's sudden and comprehensive induction, or because of Sophie herself, Delly Alice suddenly understood something that she had never understood before. "Where is he going?" Sophie said to herself, spreading a hand across the curved pane of the window, as if she had just found herself in a cage, and the glass was the screen or bars of the cage. "Hunting," said Delly Alice.She ate a king and said, "It's your turn." Dr. Drinkwater's grandfather owned a lot of shotguns, kept in a cabinet in the pool room.About once a year, Dr. Drinkwater opened the cabinets, took out one of the guns, removed the chamber, cleaned it, loaded it, and went out to hunt birds.Despite his love of animals (or maybe because of it), the Doctor considers himself as much a carnivore (if eating meat is in his nature) as a red fox or a barn owl.The visceral joy with which he eats meat (gnawing on bones and cartilage, gleefully licking the grease off his fingers) reinforces his conviction that he was indeed born that way.But he believes that if he wants to be a carnivore, he must be able to kill the food himself, instead of letting others do the bloody work and sitting back and enjoying the processed and unrecognizable finished product.Hunting once or twice a year, ruthlessly shooting a few bright-feathered birds from the sky and carrying them home bloodied and gaping, seemed to satisfy his scruples in this regard.He was always a little hesitant when partridges or pheasants popped from the bushes, but his knowledge of the woods and stealth made up for that, so he usually had a good catch.This way he can see himself as a fearless predator, feasting on cattle and sheep throughout the year. After convincing Smoky with his logic, he often took Smoky with him these days.The Doctor is left-handed and Smoky is right-handed, so it should be less likely that the two will be bloodthirsty shooting each other.Although Smoky is not very serious or impatient, he is a natural gunslinger. "Are we still on your land?" asked Smoky as they passed a stone wall. "It's Drinkwater's land," said the doctor. "Did you know this flat silver lichen that grows here can live for hundreds of years?" "I mean your Drinkwater land," said Smoky. "Actually, do you know?" said the doctor, setting the gun in place, picking a direction. "I'm not from the Drinkwaters. My last name is not Drinkwater." It reminded Smokey of what the doctor had said to him. The first sentence: "I am not practicing." He said so at the time. "Technically I'm an illegitimate child." He pushed his tartan hat down even lower, thinking about it without resentment. "I was born out of wedlock, and I was never legally adopted by anyone. Mainly Violet made me And I brought up Nora and Harvey Crowder. But it was never formalized." "Oh?" Smoky looked interested, but he knew the story. "It's the old story in the family," said the doctor. "My father had a, uh, affair with Amy Meadows. You met her." "He fucked her and got her pregnant with you," Smoky almost blurted out the words unforgivingly. "Yes," he said, "it's Amy Woods now." "Married to Chris Woods for many years." "Yeah." Is there some kind of memory in Smoky's consciousness that is about to come out, but suddenly pulled away at the last second?Is it a dream? "I'm their product." The doctor's Adam's apple twitched, but Smoky couldn't tell if it was from a surge of emotion. "I think if you go to the grass, you should find a good place." Smoky obeyed.He mounted his old English vertical double-barreled shotgun, the engraved safety on it.Unlike the rest of the family, he didn't like to wander aimlessly outside, especially when it was raining.But if there is a representative purpose, such as today, he can bear all kinds of discomfort.But he wished he could at least fire a shot, even if it didn't hit anything.While he was thinking about it absently, two shots were heard from the tangled bushes ahead, sending brown bullets flying into the sky.Smoky exclaimed, but the doctor had hardly yelled "Here!" before he raised the barrel of his gun.Then, as if the barrel of his gun were tied to their tails, he aimed at one, fired, aimed at the second, fired again, and put his gun down to watch in amazement as both birds fell through the air and hit the brown Weeds fell heavily to the ground. "Oops," he said. "Good shot," the doctor said briskly, with only a little horror mingled with guilt. They took a long circle before walking back to the house with the four prey. The evening weather was as cold as winter.Now they were passing something that had baffled Smoky before.He was used to seeing abandoned architectural plans here, including conservatories and temples, deserted but not obtrusive, but how could there be an old car rusted out of shape in the middle of the field?It was very old indeed, lying there for fifty years, and the half-buried wheels had a lonely, ancient flavor, like those broken caravan wheels buried in the Midwestern prairies. "Yes, it's a Model T," said the doctor. "It used to be my father's." They stopped by a stone wall and shared a mulled jug of wine like hunters, the old car still in sight. "When I grew up," said the doctor, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "I started asking about my parentage. They did tell me about Amy and August, but you know, Amy always tried to fake it all." Never happened, pretend she's just an old friend in our family, even if everyone knows it, even Chris Woods. And every time I visit her, she cries. As for Violet, well. She seems to have completely forgotten about August, but you'll never know her. The only thing Nora said was: 'He's gone.'" He handed back the flagon. "I finally worked up the courage to ask Amy about her story, and she became... er, shy, very... I guess I can only describe it as girlish. August was her first love. Some people just never forget, right? In a way, I'm proud of it." "Bastards used to be very special in people's eyes," added Smokey, "very polarized. Like Pearl in R. And Edmund..." "I was at an age when I really wanted to find out about it all," the doctor went on, "to find out who I really was. To find out who I was, you know." Smoky didn't really know. "I think my father ran away, as far as I know, from the world. Is it possible for me to do the same thing? Would I have the same inclinations? If I found him after wandering for an unknown amount of time , I'll force him to recognize me. I'll grab his shoulders with my hands—" The doctor poses, but the intensity of the image is greatly reduced by the fact that he holds a flagon in his hand "—and then Say 'I'm your son'." He leaned back and took a glum sip of his wine. "Did you run away in the end?" "Run away, let's just run away." "result?" "Oh, I didn't really travel very far. And the family always sends money. I qualified as a doctor, but I never practiced much. It's kind of seeing the world. But I'm back." He smiled shyly, "I guess they knew I was coming back. Sophie Dyer knew I was, at least that's what she's saying now." "Your father was never found," said Smoky. "Well," said the doctor, "it can be said to have been found, or it can be said not to be found." He stared at the pile of scrap iron in the field.Soon it will be a mass of hills without shape or grass, and then there will be nothing left. "I guess it's like, you know, going out on an adventure and finding out what you're looking for is in your backyard." Down beside them, a vole watched them motionless from its hiding place on the stone wall.It smelled the fish of their prey, and their mouths moved as if they were feasting, but they were not eating.它蹲在一片它和它祖先不知蹲了多久的粗糙地衣上，百思不解。它一思考鼻子就会动个不停，还朝他们出声的地方竖起半透明的耳朵。 “追问太多是不行的，”医生说，“不要去追问那些既定的事。那些无可改变的事。” “对啊。”史墨基说，但却没那么肯定。 “我们。”医生说，而史墨基认为自己明白这“我们”包含哪些人、不包含哪些人。“我们有我们的责任。不能就这样跑去追逐某种东西，完全不理会其他人想要或需要什么。我们必须想想他们。” 田鼠想着想着就睡着了，但当这两个庞然大物站起来收拾好他们那些古怪的东西时，它又蓦地惊醒。 “有时我们就是无法完全了解。”医生说，仿佛这是他付出某些代价才学到的智慧，“但我们有自己的角色要扮演。” 史墨基喝了口酒，把酒壶盖上。难道他真的意图抛弃责任、甩开角色，做出这么可怕、这么不像他、这么绝望的事？你寻寻觅觅的东西就在自家后院里：以他的个案而言，还真是个阴郁的笑话。好吧，他无从分辨，也求助无门，但他知道自己已经厌倦挣扎了。 况且，他心想，这反正不会是史上第一遭。 每年享用狩猎大餐的这一天都堪称年度大事。一整个礼拜都有人来访，跟克劳德姑婆密会一下、缴付租金或解释他们为何付不出租金（由于对地产和地产价值毫无概念，史墨基并不惊奇德林克沃特家的土地有多广大、管理方式有多奇特——但这场年度盛会在他眼里倒是很有封建社会的味道）。访客大多也会带份小礼，例如一加仑苹果酒、一篮苹果，或一些包在紫色包装纸里的西红柿。 弗勒德一家人、汉娜和桑尼·努恩就任何角度而言都算是他们最大的佃户，他们留下来吃晚餐。鲁迪自己也带了只鸭子来加菜，桌上铺着散发薰衣草香气的花边桌巾。克劳德姑婆打开了她那盒打过蜡的结婚银器（她是德林克沃特家唯一收过这种礼物的新娘，因为克劳德家人很注重这种事），烛光照得它们亮晶晶的，也照耀着水晶杯的琢面，只是今年打破了一只杯子，让人很心痛。 他们拿出很多喝了令人昏昏欲睡的深色葡萄酒，是沃尔特·欧西恩每年酿造、来年再倒出装瓶的，那是他带来的礼物。大家举起酒杯，在油亮亮的禽鸟肉和一碗碗秋收的食物上方互相祝酒。鲁迪站起来，啤酒肚有点越过了桌子边缘，说道： 那一年，小孩包括了他自己的孙子罗宾、桑尼·努恩刚出生的双胞胎，还有史墨基的女儿泰西。 妈妈也高举酒杯说了： 史墨基开始一段拉丁文的贺词，但黛莉·艾丽斯和索菲发出哀嚎，因此他只好重新来过： “'逐渐消退的影子'很不错，”医生说，“还有'受到征召的骨灰'。” “我倒是不知道你抽烟。”鲁迪说。 “而我也不知道你有一颗慷慨的心，鲁迪。”史墨基开朗地说，闻到了鲁迪的旧香料牌古龙水。他又为自己倒了些酒。 “我就念一段我小时候学过的吧，”汉娜·努恩说，“然后就别啰唆了。” 晚餐过后，鲁迪从餐具柜里翻出一堆堆沉重的旧唱片，已经多年没使用了，积着一道道圆弧状的灰尘。他挖到了一些宝藏，不时因为找到暌违已久的老朋友而发出欢呼。他们把唱片放上唱盘，随之起舞。 黛莉·艾丽斯跳完一轮就无法再跳了，因此她用手按着自己巨大的腹部，看别人跳舞。身材高大的鲁迪把他娇小的老婆像个娃娃般甩来甩去，艾丽斯猜想他一定花了很多年才学会如何跟她一起生活而不弄碎她。她想象他沉重的身躯压在她身上。不，她八成会爬到他身上，就像爬一座山。 史墨基眼神明亮、手脚灵活，开朗的模样令她发笑，就像个太阳。所谓“个性阳光”就是这个意思吗？他这个跟世俗脱节的人又怎会知道这些疯狂歌曲的歌词？他跟索菲共舞，身高勉强可以带舞，勇敢但不熟练地踩着舞步。 像个太阳，却是她内心的小太阳，由内而外温暖她。她有种似曾相识的感觉，仿佛自己正从远方或从高处看着他、看着他们大家。她曾经觉得自己很渺小，舒适又安全地住在史墨基这栋大屋里，有空间可以活动，但又永远不会跑出去。现在她却更常有相反的感觉：随着时光过去，似乎换他变成了小老鼠，住在她这栋大屋里。她确实感觉自己愈来愈庞大。她的外围不断扩张，她觉得自己总有一天会把艾基伍德塞满，变得跟它一样大、一样老、一样稳健地踏在地面上、一样有空间。而她忽然想到，随着她的体型愈来愈庞大，她爱的人一定也相对变小了，从她身旁离去、把她留在这儿。 “我没乱来，”史墨基用一种梦幻又贫弱的假音唱道，“全部的爱都留给了你。” 她周围的谜团似乎愈来愈多。她笨重地起身，史墨基朝她走来，但她说：不，不，你留下吧，然后吃力地爬上楼梯，仿佛抱着一颗巨大脆弱且即将孵出来的蛋（这也是事实）。她认为自己也许该去寻求一点建议，否则等到冬天就没机会了。 她在床边坐下，隐约听得见下方传来的音乐，他们似乎不断重复唱着“铁皮杯”和“高帽子”。她已经明白去寻求建议时会得到什么建议：她只是需要把她已经知道的事再清楚地听一遍，因为它已被日常生活、无谓的希望和同样无谓的绝望磨得黯淡模糊。倘若这真是个“故事”，而她是故事中的一角，那么她和其他人的任何动作（不论是起身跳舞、坐下吃喝、祝福、诅咒、喜悦、渴望、犯错）都必是故事的一部分。就算他们想逃离或抗拒这个故事，那也是故事的一部分。他们为她挑选了史墨基，接着她自己也选择了他；或者说是她先选择了他，然后他们才为她选择了他。不管怎样，故事就是这样。倘若他一英寸一英寸悄悄远离了她，经由日常生活里一些她偶尔才能明确察觉的小动作与她渐行渐远，那么失去他、失落的程度、造成“失落”的每一种动作（眼神、逃避的眼神、缺席、愤怒、安抚、欲望）也全都是故事的一部分，隔绝了他俩，如同层层亮光漆隔绝了漆器上的彩绘鸟、层层雨水隔绝了冻结在池塘里的树叶。就算出现新的转折，就算眼前的幽暗巷道突然柳暗花明又一村，甚至引领他们来到十字路口，有路标谨慎地指出各种可能性，也都是故事的一部分。还有黛莉·艾丽斯眼中所有的智者、那些她认为会把这个故事不断转述下去的人也一样。故事的叙述跟德林克沃特和巴纳柏家族的人生是同步的，一天一天、一小时一小时。而那些说故事的人不必为故事情节负责，因为故事其实不是他们编的，也并非真正由他们说出，他们只是透过某种她不懂的方法得知故事会如何发展而已。这点对她而言应该就够了。 “不，”她大声说，“我不相信。他们有力量。只是我们有时不大懂他们打算如何保护我们。而你就算知道，你也不会说。” “对啦，”鳟鱼爷爷似乎阴郁地这么回答，“驳斥长辈，以为你比较懂。” 她平躺在床上，交握双手支撑腹中的孩子。她不觉得自己比较懂，只是任何建议她恐怕都听不进去。“我会怀抱希望，”她说，“我会快乐。有些东西是我不知道的，例如他们的礼物，时机到了就会送来，而且会在最后一刻出现。故事都是这样写的。”她知道鳟鱼爷爷一定会讥讽地响应，但她不愿倾听。当史墨基吹着口哨开门进来、身上散发着酒气和索菲的香水味时，她内心那份不断扩大的东西（那道浪潮）终于冲上浪峰，于是她开始哭泣。 看见一个从不哭泣、向来平静理智的人流出眼泪是很吓人的事。她似乎被眼泪的力量给撕裂了，使劲闭着眼睛、咬着拳头想把泪水逼退。害怕又惊恐的史墨基慌忙赶来，仿佛要抢救身陷火堆的孩子：不假思索、也没想过自己究竟要怎么做。他试着握起她的手、柔声对她说话，但她只是抖得更厉害，烙在她脸上的红色十字变得更加显眼。因此他环抱住她，试着扑灭火焰。他不顾她的反抗，尽可能将她抱紧，隐约知道自己可以借着温柔攻势全力击溃她的悲伤（不论这悲伤是什么）。他不确定自己是否就是罪魁祸首，不确定她会抱紧他寻求慰藉还是愤怒地将他撕碎。但他反正没有选择的余地，拯救也好，牺牲也好，只要能让她停止受苦就好。 虽然一开始并不愿意，但她软化了，用力拉扯他的衬衫，仿佛想撕碎他的衣服。“跟我说，”他说，“跟我说。”仿佛说了就没事似的。但他无力阻止她的痛苦，如同此刻他已无力阻止她在临盆之际浑身冒汗、大叫出声。况且她也不可能告诉他自己哭泣是因为心头浮现这样一个画面：森林里的一汪黑潭，不断有金色落叶如流星般落下，每片叶子落水前都在水面上方盘旋一会儿，仿佛精心挑选自己的溺水地点。还有水里那条被诅咒的大鱼，冷得无法说话或思考：虽然她还是她自己，但那条鱼却被故事牺牲了。