Chapter 14 I

The years since taking infant Lilac from her sleeping mother had been the busiest years of Mrs. Underhill's long life (almost eternity, indeed).Not only would she be responsible for Lilac's education, but she would look after the rest, and there would be councils, meetings, counseling services, and ceremonies to attend.Things get complicated as their long-simmering events pick up pace.In addition, she has routine work, each of which is extremely trivial, and every detail cannot be missed. But look how successful she is!A year ago, Auberon had followed the imaginary Lylac deep into the woods and lost her; and on this November day, a year later, Mrs. Underhill looked the real Lyrac up and down with tact, eyeing her. height.At just eleven years old she was already as tall as the stooped Mrs. Underhill; her blue eyes, clear as streams, were at the same level as the old eyes that looked at her. "Very good," said Mrs. Underhill, "very very good." She wrapped her fingers around Lilac's slender wrist, lifted Lilac's chin, and placed a buttercup flower beneath it.She then measured Lilac's interpupillary distance with her thumb and forefinger, and Lilac felt itchy and laughed.Mrs. Underhill smiled too, pleased with herself and with Lilac.Her fair skin showed no signs of turning blue, and there was no trace of trance in her eyes.Mrs. Underhill had seen too many failures, too many children who had been swapped out to become bleak and feeble, often torn apart by some vague longing at Lyrac's age. , never recovered.Mrs. Underhill was glad that Lilac was raised by herself.What if she is so tired that she has a nervous breakdown?But it had succeeded, and she would have an eternity of time to rest before long.

rest!She pulls herself together.Must have physical strength to last till the end. "Now, boy," she said, "what did you learn from the bear?" "Sleep," Lilac said, looking uncertain. "Sleep, eh," said Mrs. Underhill, "and now--" "I don't want to sleep," Lilac said, "please." "Oh, how do you know if you haven't tried? Those bears are very comfortable." Lilac pursed her lips and flipped a buffalo that was crawling across the back of her shoe with her foot, then flipped it back again.She thought of bears hiding in warm caves, as unconscious as snow.Mrs. Underhill introduced them to her (she knew the names of as many creatures as any naturalist): Jo, Pat, Martha, John, Cassie, Josie, Norah.But they didn't respond, they just all inhaled, exhaled, inhaled together.Since waking up that night in Mrs. Underhill's dark room, Lilac hadn't closed his eyes except for blinking and playing hide-and-seek.She stood there bored looking at the seven sleeping bears (heavy and motionless like seven couches), repulsed, but she learned from them.When Mrs. Underhill came to pick her up in the spring, she had learned to sleep, so to reward her, Mrs. Underhill showed her sleeping sea lions floating in the waves of the northern seas, and flying by the southern skies. Albatross sleeping on the side.She still hasn't slept, but at least she knows how to sleep.

But the time has come. "Please," Lilac said, "if I have to sleep, I will, it's just..." "There's no ifs and buts," said Mrs. Underhill. "There are times that just pass and times that are coming. This time it's time." "Okay," said Lilac eagerly, "may I say goodnight to everyone?" "That's going to take years." "Then I want to listen to bedside stories," Lilac raised the volume, "there is such a thing." "Every bedside story I know is concentrated in this story, and in this story, you should sleep now." The child in front of her slowly folded her arms, still thinking about it, and then she A shadow appeared on his face, and he decided to fight to the end.And so, like any grandma faced with a stubborn child, Mrs. Underhill wondered how she could give in—with dignity, so as not to spoil the child.

"Well," she said, "I don't have time to argue with you. I'm going out for a while, and if you promise me to be a good boy and sleep when you get home, I'll take you with me. It might be right for you education helps..." "okay!" "Education is the point after all..." "yes!" "Well." Seeing her so excited, Mrs. Underhill felt for the first time something akin to pity for her child: sleep was about to take hold of her, and make her as docile as the dead.She stood up. "Listen now! Hold on to me, even though you're big. And don't eat or touch anything you see..." Lilac was already jumping up, naked in Mrs. Underhill The old house was as pale and bright as a candle. "Put this on," she said, taking a three-clawed leaf out of her dress, licking it with her pink tongue, and sticking it to Lilac's forehead. "So you can see what I'm saying. And I think..." There was a sound of wings beating outside, and a long shadow drifted across the window. "I think we can go. And I shouldn't have to tell you," she held up a finger warningly, "No matter what happens, you can't talk to anyone you see, not anyone. Lilac nodded gravely.

The stork they were riding flew high and fast, over patches of brown-gray November landscape after patch of November landscape, but they might not have left some territory, because Lilac, naked and naked, felt neither cold nor hot.She clung to Mrs. Underhill's heavy dress, and her knees clamped tightly around the stork's shoulders, and the stork's smooth, oily feathers felt soft and slippery against her thighs.Mrs. Underhill tapped here and there with her stick to guide the stork up and down, left and right. "Where are we going first?" Lilac asked. "Outside," said Mrs. Underhill.The stork descended in a circle, and a large house with a complex structure appeared in the distance below, and it was getting closer.

Lilac had seen this house countless times in her dreams since she was a baby (she never thought about how she dreamed when she never slept, but the way she was raised, there were so many things that Lilac never I have thought about it, because that is how she perceives the world and herself, just as Auberon never wondered why she sat at the table three times a day and stuffed food into her mouth).But she didn't know that when she was dreaming, she was wandering in the long corridors of that house, touching the walls covered with wallpaper and pictures, thinking: what?What could it be?I don't know that her mother, grandmother and cousin were all dreaming at that time, but they were not dreaming of her, but dreaming of a person like her who was exiled elsewhere.Now she saw the whole house from the back of the stork, recognized it at once, and laughed: it was like taking off the blindfold in a blindfold game only to find the mysterious faces and nameless faces she had touched earlier. The clothes are actually someone very familiar, smiling at him.

The closer they got, the smaller the house became, shrinking as if trying to escape.If it goes on like this, thought Lilac, by the time we're close enough to look in through the window, I'm afraid I'll only be able to see with one eye at a time, and won't they startle when we fly past, blocking the window like a black cloud? One black! "Well, if it's always been the same house, that's true," said Mrs. Underhill, "but it's not. So they see storks, women, and children as big as mosquitoes, not at all. would pay attention, and I don't even think they'll see."

"Well," said the stork they were riding, "I can hardly imagine it." "Me too," Lilac said with a smile. "Never mind," said Mrs. Underhill. "Just follow me now." As she said this, Lilac felt as if his eyes were crossing and then returning to normal.The house grew larger and closer together, to the stork's proportions (though she and Mrs. Underhill were still on the small side, which was one of the things that Lilac would never think to ask).They flew from high above to Edgewood, square and round towers looming like mushrooms, all curving outward as they flew, walls, overgrown driveways, vehicle entrances and shingled The wing rooms also change naturally with their respective shapes from different perspectives.

Mrs. Underhill touched the stork with her cane, and it lurched sharply to starboard like a fighter jet.The house changed face as they swooped past: Queen Anne, French Gothic, American, but Lilac didn't notice.She held her breath, watching the trees and the corners of the house stand up straight, saw the eaves rushing towards them, and then she closed her eyes and gripped even tighter.When things had calmed down, Lilac opened his eyes to find them already in the shadow of the house, circling to land on a ledge on the coldest side of the house. "Look," said Mrs. Underhill, after the stork had folded its wings.With her crutch she pointed to a narrow Gothic window in a diagonal corner, the casement ajar. "Sophie is sleeping."

Lilac saw her mother's hair lying on the pillow, much like her own, her nose protruding from under the quilt.Sleeping... Lilac had been brought up to have fun (and purpose, though she didn't know it), so she wasn't familiar with things like affection and bondage.She might cry in the rain, but it was wonder, not emotion, that shook her young soul most.Therefore, when she looked at her motionless mother in the dark room, she felt many entangled emotions in her heart, but she couldn't tell what it was.Confusion when it rains.They used to laugh when they told her how she had grabbed hold of her mother's hair and how they had cut it with scissors to sneak her away, and she laughed too.Now she wondered what it was like to lie next to that person; to sleep between the layers of quilts, her cheek against his face, her hair between her fingers. "Can we..." she said, "come closer?"

"Hmm," said Mrs. Underhill, "I don't know." "If we are as small as you say," said the stork, "why not?" "Yes, why not?" said Mrs. Underhill. "Just try." They descended from the watchtower, and the stork stretched its neck, kicked its feet and flapped its wings vigorously.The windows in front seemed to be getting bigger and bigger as they approached, but they had not actually approached for a long time.Then, "This is now," said Mrs. Underhill, tapping the stork with her cane, so that they made a sharp turn and swooped down through the open window into Sophie's room, between the ceiling and the floor. Fly to bed.Had anyone seen them at the time, they would have looked about as big as two palms. "How did you do that just now?" Lilac asked. "Don't ask me how I did it," said Mrs. Underhill, "only here." They danced around the bedposts, and she added wistfully: "That's the whole point of this house, isn't it?" ?” Sophie's flushed cheeks were like hillocks, her open mouth was like a cave, and her golden curls topped her head.The sound of her breathing was low and slow.The stork stopped at the head of the bed, then flew back towards the patchwork quilt. "What if she wakes up?" Lilac asked. "Don't you dare!" cried Mrs. Underhill, but it was too late.In a mood that resembled naughtiness but was actually much stronger, Lilac had let go of Mrs. Underhill's cloak, grabbed a lock of blond hair and tugged.With such a tug that they almost turned over, Mrs. Underhill clutched at her cane and swung her limbs, and the stork stopped with a quacking sound.They circled around Sophie's head again, but Lilac still held on to the hair in his hands. "Wake up!" she yelled. "Bad boy! Oh, necrosis!" cried Mrs. Underhill. "Gah!" said the stork. "Wake up!" Lilac yelled, cupping his hand around his mouth in a bowl shape. "Go!" cried Mrs. Underhill, so that the stork flew towards the window.Lilac had to let go of his mother's hair so as not to fall off the stork's back.She tore out one of the thick strands of hair as long as a tow rope, and she laughed and screamed, shaking from head to toe, and finally had a chance to see the quilt shake a lot before reaching the window.Once outside, they resumed their normal stork size as if the sheets had been shaken, and flew swiftly between the chimneys.The hair in Lilac's hand had become only three inches long and too thin to hold, and it slipped from her fingertips and floated away gleaming gold. Sophie said, "What?" and sat up straight.Then she lay back slowly between the pillows, but kept her eyes open.Did she not close that window?The curtains were fluttering wildly.Very cold.What did she just dream about?Dreaming about her great-grandmother (she died when Sophie was four).There's a whole bedroom of pretty things, silver-backed brushes, tortoiseshell combs, a music box.A glossy ceramic figurine, and a bird carrying a naked child and an old woman on its back.A huge blue glass ball, as perfect as a soap bubble.Don't touch it, boy: a voice, faint as death, came from between the ivory lace-trimmed sheets.Oh please be careful.And then a whole room, all life, transformed inside the sphere, turned blue, became strange, gorgeous, uniform, because all became spheres.Oh boy, oh!Be careful: it's a weeping sound.Then the ball slipped from her palm and fell slowly like soap bubbles towards the parquet floor. She rubbed her cheeks and stuck out a foot in bewilderment to put on her slipper (the ball shattered silently on the ground, only the voice of the great-grandmother said: Oh, oh boy, what a pity).She brushed back her tangled hair, which Maddy called elf curls.A blue glass ball shattered, but what happened before that?She can't remember. "Okay," she said, yawning and straightening up.Sophie woke up. Mrs Underhill tried to regain her composure as the stork fled away from Edgewood. "Hold on, hold on," she said reassuringly, "the damage is done." Lilac behind her was silent. "I just," the stork stopped flapping his wings frantically, "do not wish to take any blame for this." "It's not your fault," said Mrs. Underhill. "If there is a punishment..." said the stork. "There will be no punishment. Stop talking about it." The stork spoke no more.Lilac felt that she should have volunteered to take all responsibility for reassuring the bird, but she hadn't done so after all.She pressed her cheek against Mrs. Underhill's rough cloak, again filled with rainy bewilderment. "I just have to go on living in this shape for a hundred years," grumbled the stork, "and that's enough." "Enough," said Mrs. Underhill. "Perhaps it's better that way. In fact it must be so? Now," she tapped with her stick, "there's a lot to see and no more time to waste." The stork turned a corner toward Edgewood Row upon row of roofs flew back. "Fly one more time around the house and surrounding area," said Mrs. Underhill, "and then go." As they flew over the undulating and disorderly roofs, a small round window opened in one particularly strange dome, and a small round face poked out, first looking down, then up.Lilac recognized Auberon (though she had never actually seen his face before), but Auberon didn't see her. "Auberon," she said, not to call him (she was good now), but to point out his name. "Peeping Paul," said the stork, because the doctor had peeped at her and her chicks through that window every time she had nested here.Thank goodness that's all over!The round window closed again. As they went around the house, Mrs. Underhill pointed out Tessie's long legs.She rode her bicycle around the corner, toward the once neat little Norman farmhouse, rubble flying everywhere where the thin tires ran over.The small farmhouse was originally a stable, then a garage (with the antique wooden station wagon lying in the dark) and now a nesting place for Bamben and Jane Doe and their many children .Tessie dropped the bicycle at the back door of the farmhouse (to Lilac above, it looked like a sprinting compound suddenly split in two), and the stork flapped its wings and flew over the Park.Lily and Lucy were walking arm in arm along the park path and singing, and the singing came faintly to Lilac.Another path joined the path they were on, past a rambling, leafless hedge crowded with dead leaves and birds' nests of all kinds.Delly Alice lingered there, rake in hand, staring straight at the hedge, perhaps seeing some bird or animal there.Then, higher up, Lilac saw Smoky farther down the same path, looking down at the ground with some books under his arm. "Is that..." Lilac asked. "Yes," said Mrs. Underhill. "My father," Lilac said. "Well," said Mrs. Underhill, "it's one of them." She steered the stork in that direction. "Be careful now, don't play tricks." If you look at it from the top, the appearance of human beings is really strange: there is an egg-shaped head in the middle, a left foot seems to grow out of the back, and the right foot protrudes from the front, and then the left and right feet are reversed.Smoky and Alice saw each other at last, and Alice beckoned, a hand that protruded from the side of her head like an ear.When they met, the storks flew low beside them, so that they had a slightly human shape. "Are you all right?" Alice tucked the rake under her arm like a shotgun, her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. "I'm all right," said Smokey. "Grant Stone has thrown up again." "Spit it out?" "Outside, at least. It's strange that things like this always make everyone quiet, for a minute. It's an opportunity to teach." "about……" "About eating a dozen marshmallows in one go on the way to school? I don't know. Anyone with a physical body must suffer from illness. Mortals. So I said with a serious face: 'I think we can continue with the class.'" Alice laughed, then looked abruptly to the left, because something caught her eye, whether it was a bird in the distance or a fly nearby, but she saw nothing.Nor did she hear Mrs. Underhill say, "Bless you, dear, and watch the time." But she kept silent on the walk home, and she didn't listen to most of what Smoky told her about the school.She had a feeling of déjà vu: the earth, despite its size, seemed to her to be spinning just because she was walking on it, like a bicycle.very strange.When she was almost home, she saw Auberon rushing out of the house as if he had seen a ghost.He glanced at his parents, turned the corner and disappeared without saying hello.She heard someone calling her from the upstairs window. It was Sophie standing at the window. "What's the matter?" cried Alice, but Sophie said nothing, but looked at them both in surprise, as if she hadn't seen them not for hours, but for years. Storks flew over the walled gardens, then arched their wings and flew close to the ground on the avenue of sphinxes.The statue's features are now blurred and more silent than ever.Auberon ran ahead in the same direction.He wore two flannel shirts (one of which was worn as a jacket), both of which were too small due to his sudden growth, but the cuffs were buttoned.His head is long and narrow, his neck is very thin, and his feet are slightly set-back in sneakers.He ran a few steps, walked a few steps, and continued running, talking to himself in a low voice. "Good prince," murmured Mrs. Underhill, as she caught up with him, "a lot of hard work." She shook her head.Auberon heard the flapping of wings in his ears, and he crouched suddenly as the stork flew past him.Although he didn't stop, he looked up for the bird he couldn't see. "That's fate," said Mrs. Underhill. "Come on!" Lilac looked down as he lifted off, watching Auberon shrink and shrink.Growing up, Lilac often spent long days and nights alone (even though this was strictly forbidden by Mrs. Underhill).But Mrs. Underhill had her own responsibilities, and the servants she sent to accompany Lylac usually had games they wanted to play, but this stupid human child of flesh and blood could never understand or play with them. Together.Oh, they caught Lilac loitering in hills and woods where she wasn't supposed to be (and threw a rock in a pond to scare her brooding and lonely great-grandfather), but Mrs. Underhill thought Unable to find a solution, she can only mutter: "It's all part of her education." Then go about her business.But there has always been a playmate who is always by her side when she needs it, obeys her orders, never gets bored or angry (others sometimes do, and not only angry, but even cruel), and has a view of the world Always be with her.He's a fanciful friend ("Who's that kid talking to?" Mr. Woods once asked with folded arms, "and, why can't I sit in my own chair?"), but even so, he and Lilac A lot of other things in Weird Childhood were the same.Even if he found an excuse to leave one day, she was not surprised.Only now, as she watched Auberon scurry toward the castle-like summer house, she actually wondered what the real Auberon had been up to all these years (not unlike her own Auberon). Not exactly alike, but certainly the same person, no doubt).Now he was very small, and he was opening the door of the summer house, looking back as if to make sure that no one was following him.Then Mrs. Underhill yelled, "Come on!" and the summer house surrendered at their feet (with its mottled roof, like a monk's bald head), and they flew high into the air, faster and faster. Once in the summer house, Auberon unscrewed the cap of the pen before he sat down (but he closed the door firmly and hooked the latch).He took out a locked diary from the desk drawer. The cover was made of artificial leather. It was a five-year diary, but the five years recorded in it were already in the past tense.He took a small key from his pocket, opened it, turned to an unrecorded March day long ago, and wrote: "But it does move." The "it" was the old astrolabe on the top floor of the house, from the round window of which he had looked out when the storks carried Lilac and Mrs. Underhill by.Everyone said that this ancient machine was covered with thick rust and would not move for many years.Auberon himself did try, and really couldn't move those gears and levers.But it does move: he had a vague feeling that the positions of the planets, the sun, and the moon were different every time he went up, and now this has been confirmed by rigorous experiments.It did move: he was sure, at least with certainty. He didn't care at the moment why everyone lied to him about the stargazer.He just wanted to gather the facts: first to prove that the astrolabe does move (which is the much harder part, but he will succeed because the evidence is piling up), and then to prove that they all knew it did, and didn't want to. tell him. He looked at the words he had written and wished he had more to say.But he slowly closed the diary, locked it, and put it in a drawer.Well, how could he ask at dinner?How can you say a sentence as if nothing happened, so that someone will accidentally confess?Auntie?No, she was too good at hiding the truth, too good at faking surprise and confusion.Or his mother, or his father?But Auberon sometimes felt that his father might be as excluded as he was.He might say, "Slowly, steadily, like the planets in the old astrolabe," as they passed the mashed potatoes, and watch their faces... No, that would be too bold, too explicit.He pondered it, wondering what he was going to have for dinner. The summer house had not changed much since Grandpa Auberon lived in it and died.No one knew what to do with the boxes and volumes of photos, and no one wanted to disturb what seemed to be a carefully choreographed order.So they just patched up the roof and sealed the windows, and the summer house remained as it was while they pondered.Images of the summer house would come back to them from time to time, especially the doctor and Aunt Claude, and then they would recall the old memories stored there, but no one wanted to unpack it.So when the summer house was occupied by Auberon, no one had a problem.It's now his base, and he has everything he needs to investigate: his magnifying glass (old Auberon's, actually), his clack-clack folding ruler and tape measure, the final edition, and the diary in which the conclusion was written.There are also all the photographs of the old Auberon in the room, but the young Auberon has not yet started to look through them.Because there are too many ambiguous evidences in those photos, little Auberon will give up the pursuit just like old Auberon back then. But at the moment he couldn't help wondering if the astrology thing wasn't too stupid, if the lines and pencil marks he'd made led to more than one conclusion.A cul-de-sac, like other cul-de-sacs he had ever walked, was full of unspoken mysteries.He no longer leaned back the old chair under his buttocks, no longer biting the pen holder hard.The twilight is getting darker, and there is no more suffocating twilight than this month.But at the age of nine, he still doesn't know how to attribute this sense of oppression to this moment in this kind of life, and he doesn't know that it is called oppression.He just finds it difficult to be a spy because of pretending to be one of his own family, getting to know them, making them think he already knows, and unsuspectingly reveal the truth to him—so he doesn't have to ask a single question (After all, if you ask, you will reveal your stuff). Crows quacked and flew to the woods.A voice drifted from the direction of the park, calling him to dinner, with odd inflections in its tone.He was sad and hungry hearing those drawn, melancholy vowels. Lilac saw the sunset in another place. "Beautiful!" said Mrs. Underhill, "and awe-inspiring! Won't your heart beat faster?" "But it's all clouds," Lilac said. "Hush, my dear," said Mrs. Underhill, "you might hurt someone by saying that." It should be said that all of them are sunsets: all of them, thousands of striped battle capes disappearing in the orange bonfire smoke, and the curled pennants are also dyed with streaks of sunset colors.As far as the eye could see, horses or infantry (or both) outlined black lines, their weapons gleaming silver; A large military camp, or a huge fleet fully armed and sailing? "A thousand years," said Mrs. Underhill gloomily, "defeat, retreat, rearguard action. But not again. Soon..." She tucked her knobby cane under her arm like a baton, Raise your chin high. "See?" she said. "There! Isn't he brave?" A man in heavy armor, who appeared to be in charge, was walking on the aft deck, or otherwise inspecting the makeshift protective wall.The wind blew his snow-white beard that was about to fall to the ground.He is the commander in chief of the army.He held a baton in his hand, and just then the sunset changed and the tip of the stick caught fire.He made a gesture with it to light the holes of the cannons (if those things were cannons), but he didn't.He lowered the stick, and the fire at the tip went out.He took out a folded map from his wide belt, spread it out, squinted at it for a while, folded it up, put it back, and continued to pace up and down with his heavy steps. "It's the last stand," said Mrs. Underhill. "There is no retreat. We have fought back." "Have you seen enough?" said the stork in a weak voice, panting with difficulty. "This height is too high for me." "Excuse me," said Mrs. Underhill, "it's all over now." "We storks," panted the stork, "are used to flying a few leagues, and sit down to rest." "Don't sit there," Lilac said, "you'll just sink." "Go down, then," said Mrs. Underhill.The stork stopped flapping its short wings and began to descend with a sigh of relief.The Commander-in-Chief, with his hands on the ship's gunwale (or else on the watchtower with the battlements), stared into the distance without seeing Mrs. Underhill saluting him. "Oh well," she said, "he's been as brave as he can be, and it's been a great show." "It's all false," Lilac said.As the altitude decreases, the picture in front of you becomes less and less lethal. Poor boy, thought Mrs. Underhill angrily.That's convincing enough...well.Maybe they shouldn't have given it all to the prince: he was too old.But that's the point, she thought: We're all too old, too old.Have they waited too long, endured too long, withdrew too much?She could only hope that when the time finally came, that the old fool's cannons would not all fail, at least it would cheer up the hearts of the allies and scare the enemies away for a while. Too old, too old.For the first time she doubted the outcome of all this, although the outcome could not, "couldn't" be doubted.Well, soon it will all be over.Does not this day, this evening, mark the beginning of one last long vigil, before all forces are at last united? "Well, this is the journey I promised you earlier," she told Lilac over her shoulder, "and now..." "Ouch," said Lilac. "Don't complain..." "Ouch..." "Take a nap." Surprisingly, Lilac's deliberately drawn-out complaint had become something else in her throat, and she suddenly opened her mouth involuntarily, as if possessed by a ghost.Her mouth opened wider and wider (she never thought her mouth could open that wide), and then she closed her eyes, shed tears, and took a long breath into her expanding lungs.Then the apparition suddenly disappeared again, releasing her upper and lower jaws, allowing her to exhale. She blinked and licked her lips, unable to figure out what was going on. "You're sleepy," said Mrs. Underhill. Because Lilac had just yawned for the first time in his life.It wasn't long before she hit a second one.She pressed her cheek against Mrs. Underhill's broad, rough-made cloak, and closed her eyes, feeling somehow relieved of her reluctance. Auberon began collecting postmarks at an early age.Once he went to the post office in Tianxi with the doctor. Since he had nothing to do, he began to search the wastebasket idly, and immediately found two treasures: two envelopes from other places.The place name seemed unimaginably far away in his eyes, and the envelope was still clean and tidy after such a long distance. Before long it became a small hobby, like Lily's collection of bird nests.As long as someone came to do business near the post office, he insisted on following.He read the letters of his friends intensively, and he loved to see the names of distant cities, the names of states beginning with I, and the rarest of all—names of overseas places. Then one day, Joy Flower gave him a big brown paper bag full of envelopes from all over the world, because one of her granddaughters had lived abroad for a year.There's hardly a place on the map that doesn't appear on these thin blue envelopes.Some places were so far away that names weren't even written in an alphabet he knew.His collection was completed in one go, and the fun of collecting was over.It was impossible for him to find new collections from the Tianxi Post Office, and he put them away from then on. The same goes for the photographs of old Auberon: young Auberon finally discovers that they are not just long records of a great family.He started with the last one, which showed a beardless Smoky, in a white suit, sitting by the birdbath with the effigy of the dwarf on the base, which still stood by the door of the summer house.He first tentatively flipped through it, then sorted it out curiously, and finally searched greedily among the thousands of photos, large and small, startled and horrified (here! This is the secret, those hidden things A picture is worth a thousand words).So for a week he could barely speak to his family, for fear of revealing what he already knew (or thought he was about to know). But those pictures say nothing after all, because there is nothing that says them. “注意那根拇指。”老奥伯龙在一张模糊的黑白照片背面这么写，照片里是一片树丛。纠结的旋花植物里确实有个看起来很像拇指的东西。very good.这就是证据。但这个证据却被另一张照片一笔勾销，因为竟然出现一个完整的身影（照片背面只无言地画了好几个惊叹号），树叶间有个鬼魅般的小女孩，拖着蜘蛛网构成的闪亮裙摆，美丽无双。而前景里是个失焦的金发人类孩童，正兴奋地看着镜头、指出那个小小的陌生人。这种事谁会相信？而且假若这张是真的（根本不可能，奥伯龙不知道这种照片是如何伪造的，但伪造得这么真也实在太蠢了），那么先前那张“也许是根拇指”的树丛照片跟其他上千张同样模糊的照片又有什么意义？他先把十几箱照片归类，找出少数几张“不可思议”和许许多多的“无从分辨”，结果发现还有好几打箱子和册子，因此他把它们全部合上（有种既轻松又失落的感觉），从此极少回想起它们。 而他自己那本老旧的五年日志也再没打开过。他把最终版本的《乡间宅邸建筑》放回书房的原位。他自己的小小发现（那个观星仪、他姑婆和外婆不小心说漏嘴的几句有趣的话）曾经如此令人震惊，但一发现老奥伯龙那满坑满谷折磨人的照片和更加折磨人的注记，这些就变得微不足道了。他把这一切抛诸脑后。特务的日子已经结束。 特务的日子虽然已经结束，但由于卧底了太久，他已在不知不觉间变成这个角色、无法抽离了（这种毛病在特务身上屡见不鲜）。老奥伯龙的照片没揭露的秘密就藏在他的亲人心里，由于小奥伯龙长久以来都假装自己知情（希望他们会因而说漏嘴），他到后来真的认为自己确实跟他们一样清楚真相。接着，差不多就在他把搜集到的证据全部抛诸脑后时，他也连带抛下了这件事。既然大家也都忘记了（前提是他们真的晓得什么他不知道的事），或至少像是忘了的样子，那么他们就平等了，他已成为他们的一员。他潜意识里甚至觉得自己跟他们处于同一阵线，正在策动一场密谋，只有他父亲一人被排除在外：史墨基并不知情，而且不知道他们晓得他不知情。但不知为何，史墨基没有因此被孤立，反而跟他们更加亲近，仿佛大家是在为史墨基本人策划一场惊喜派对。因此有一阵子，奥伯龙跟他父亲的关系才稍微缓和了些。 但尽管奥伯龙已不再仔细检视别人的动机和行为，他自己的神秘作风还是丝毫未改。他常毫无理由地掩饰自己的行动。这肯定不是为了故作神秘，因为他连担任特务的时候都不想让人觉得神秘，毕竟特务就是不能启人疑窦。他若有理由，可能就只是想以一种较柔和、较清楚的方式呈现自己，因为他眼中的自己是很幽暗狂热的。 “你匆匆忙忙要去哪里？”黛莉·艾丽斯问，他一放学就在厨房里狼吞虎咽地吃掉饼干和牛奶。今年秋天，他成了史墨基班上最后一个巴纳柏家族的人。露西去年就毕业了。 “去打球，”他嘴里塞满食物，“跟约翰·沃尔夫他们。” “噢。”她又在他杯里倒了半杯牛奶。感谢老天他最近已经长得很高。 “好吧，请约翰跟他妈妈说我明天会带些汤和东西过去，看她还需要什么。”奥伯龙只是盯着自己的饼干。 “她好些了吗？你知道吗？”他耸耸肩。 “泰西说……哎，算了。”从奥伯龙的态度判断，他应该不大可能跑去对约翰·沃尔夫说泰西说他母亲快死了。说不定连她刚才那个简单的口信他都不会传过去。但她还是没把握。 "What position do you play?" “捕手，”他回答得很快，“通常啦。” “我以前也是捕手，”艾丽斯说，“通常啦。” 奥伯龙若有所思地缓缓放下杯子。“你觉得，”他说，“人们是独处的时候比较快乐，还是跟人相处的时候比较快乐？” 她把他的杯盘拿到水槽边。“我不知道，”她说，“我猜呢……呃，你怎么想？” “我不知道，”他说，“我只是在猜……”他只是在猜测是不是每个人（至少是每个成年人）对这个问题都有个笃定的答案：不论是独处快乐还是与人相处快乐。“我想我跟别人在一起比较快乐吧。”他说。 “噢，是哦？”她露出微笑，但她面对着水槽，因此他看不到她的表情。“那很好呀，”她说，“个性外向。” "Maybe." “好吧，”艾丽斯轻轻说道，“我只希望你不要又缩回自己的壳里。” 他已经准备出门了，正把多余的饼干塞进口袋。他没停下动作，但突然有一扇古怪的窗子在他内心开启。壳？他之前都缩在壳里？还有（更怪的是），人们都当他是缩在壳里吗？这是大家共同的认知吗？透过这扇窗户，他第一次看见了别人眼中的自己。与此同时，他已经从厨房宽阔的门跑了出去（门板还在他身后嘎嘎作响），穿过弥漫着葡萄干味道的食品储藏室、越过寂静的长形餐厅，赶往那场虚构的球赛。 水槽前的艾丽斯抬起头，看见一片黄叶从窗外飘过，因此叫了奥伯龙一声。她听见他的脚步声愈来愈远（他的脚简直跑得比他的人还快），因此她拿起他忘在椅子上的夹克，追了出去。 等她出了前门，奥伯龙已经骑上脚踏车不见了踪影。她又叫了他一声，走下前廊的阶梯，这才意识到自己一整天都没出过门，外头的空气清新浓烈，而她不知该往何处去。她环顾四周，刚好可以在屋子转角处看见花园的一小部分。转角处有个石雕，上面停着一只乌鸦。乌鸦看着她四下张望，然后拍着重重的翅膀从公园上空飞走。她不记得自己在这么靠近屋子的地方看过乌鸦，它们虽然很大胆但总是很有戒心。嘎、嘎……（史墨基说乌鸦讲的是拉丁文）嘎、嘎：“明天，明天。” 她到有围墙的花园附近绕了一圈。小小的拱门半开半掩，仿佛在邀请她进去，但她没进去。她绕过那条两侧都是绣球花的滑稽小步道，这些花原本的用意是要修剪成挺拔整齐却又呆板的装饰树丛，但多年来已经变成了单纯的绣球花丛，蔓生到步道上、遮蔽了它们原本应该展现的景色：两根多立克柱，后方就是通往山上的小径。艾丽斯漫无目标地踏上那条步道，往山丘上走去，最后几朵绣球花即将凋零，干燥如纸的花瓣被她扫落，像褪色的碎纸片纷纷飘下。 奥伯龙在石墙边的路上折返，然后下车。他从墙上爬过，把脚踏车也拖过去（那儿倒了一棵树，对面则有一座杂草丛生的圆丘，可以充当台阶）。他推着车子穿过沙沙作响的金色山毛榉林来到小径上，再次跳上车，往背后瞥了一眼，随即朝夏屋骑去。他把脚踏车藏在老奥伯龙搭建的棚子里。 夏屋里寂静、满是尘埃，九月的阳光从大窗户洒进来，温暖了屋子。桌上原本放的是他的日记和窥探工具，后来他又在那张桌子前整理老奥伯龙的照片，现在桌上则躺着一大叠写满潦草笔记的纸张、格雷戈罗维乌斯的《中世纪罗马》第六册、其他几本大书，还有一张欧洲地图。 奥伯龙仔细读了读最上面那张纸，是他前一天写的： 他思考了一会儿，在心里把最后一句话划掉。他想表达的不是累。任何人都有可能流露出累的样子。但在他的最后一场战役前夕，红胡子腓特烈皇帝看起来……呃，看起来怎样？奥伯龙打开笔盖，想了一下，又把笔盖上。 他这部关于红胡子腓特烈皇帝的戏剧脚本或电影剧本（两种都有可能，甚至可能改写成小说）里面有撒拉森人、教皇的军队、西西里游击队、武术高强的侠客，还有公主。一大堆浪漫的地名，一票浪漫的人物在这儿交战。但奥伯龙喜爱的却不是任何称得上浪漫的东西。事实上，他写这么多就只为了带出那个人物，那个独自坐在椅子上的人物：一个在两场剧烈活动之间抽空休息的人物。不论刚才是打了胜仗还是吃了败仗，他都已筋疲力尽，坚硬的盔甲在战争中磨损严重。最重要的是那道眼神：一种冷静评估的眼神，不抱任何幻想，明白进攻的机会十分渺茫，但必须进攻的压力又无法抵挡。他对周遭氛围毫无所觉，而根据奥伯龙的描述，这氛围就跟他的人一样：严厉、冷淡、毫无温暖。背景很空旷，只有远方一座看起来跟他很像的高塔，也许还有一个骑马捎来讯息的远方信差。 奥伯龙给这剧本取了个名字：荣耀。就算荣耀一词不是这个意思，他也不在乎。他对剧情发展（谁会主宰一切）也没有太大兴趣，反正他向来搞不懂教皇和红胡子到底在吵什么。倘若有人问他为什么会想写这位皇帝的事，他恐怕也说不上来（但没有人会问，因为这作品是个秘密，多年后也会被他偷偷烧掉）。也许是因为这皇帝的名字听起来很严酷。也可能是因为他那张画像：年迈的皇帝骑着马、穿着盔甲进行他最后一场无谓的东征（每一场十字军东征在年幼的奥伯龙眼里都是无谓的）。接着在亚美尼亚一条无名的河流里因为坐骑突然退缩而穿着那身盔甲被水卷走。荣耀。 “大帝看起来不真的是累，而是……” 他愤怒地把这个也划掉，再次盖上笔盖。他想写作的雄心壮志突然显得难以忍受，而他又为自己得独自承受而悲哀。 我只希望你别又缩回壳里。 但他可是费尽心力才让那个壳看起来跟他本人一模一样。他以为自己骗过了大家，其实不然。 依然有大片阳光洒进夏屋，点点尘埃在阳光下飞飘，但屋里已经愈来愈冷。奥伯龙收起笔。他身后的架子上放满了老奥伯龙的一箱箱、一册册照片。会一直这样下去吗？永远都有一个壳，永远都有秘密？他自己的秘密很可能也会像他们的秘密一样，在他和他们之间形成一道隔阂。而他只想成为自己想象中的红胡子腓特烈：不抱幻想、没有困惑、没有任何可耻的秘密——时而残忍，也许胸中有恨，但从里到外都是一个样。 他颤抖了一下。他的夹克到哪去了？ 爬上山坡时，他母亲把他的夹克披在肩上，心想：谁会在这种天气打棒球？小路两侧，年幼的枫树提早转红，如烈焰般立在依然青翠的大树旁。这种天气不是该打橄榄球或踢足球吗？外向的个性，她心想，然后微笑着摇摇头：那愉快的手势、那轻松的笑容。噢，天啊……自从她的孩子不再长得那么快之后，季节就开始加速流逝了。以前她的孩子从春天长到秋天就仿佛变了个人似的，因为一个漫长的夏季里就学了太多知识，有太多感受、欢笑和泪水。但她却几乎没注意到今年的秋天已经到了。这也许是因为她现在只剩一个孩子要上学。一个孩子和史墨基。今年秋天，她早上几乎都没什么事做，只要准备一份午餐、把一个睡眼惺忪的孩子从浴室拖到早餐桌前、找出一条绑书带和一双靴子就好。 然而她步上山坡时，却觉得仿佛有什么重责大任在等着她。 她来到小山顶上的石桌旁，有点气喘吁吁地在石板凳上坐下。她在板凳下瞥见了露西六月时弄丢、整个夏天都念念不忘的那顶漂亮草帽——现在已经烂了一半，变成一团糟，很有秋天的感觉。一看到这草帽，她就强烈感受到她孩子们的脆弱与危疑，还有他们面临失落、伤痛和无知时的无助感。她在心里依序念了他们的名字：泰西、莉莉、露西、奥伯龙。听起来就像不同音高的铃铛，有些比较真实，有些不是，但都响应着她：他们很好，真的，四个都很好，她向来这么告诉沃尔夫太太或玛吉·朱尼珀，或任何询问他们近况的人：“他们很好。”不，她直觉自己即将面临的重责大任不见得跟他们或史墨基有关（她此时坐在山顶上的阳光下，这种感觉更加强烈）。不知为何，那些责任攸关这条上山的小径、这多风的山巅，攸关那片缀满灰白色羽状云的天空，攸关这个充满希望与期待的初秋（奇怪的是每个初秋似乎都充满了希望与期待）。 这感觉强烈无比，她仿佛被它攫获，一动不动地任由它摆布。她有些惊奇又有点害怕，预期它会跟那些似曾相识的感觉一样在片刻后消失，但它没有。 “什么？”她对着时光说，“怎么了？” 时光是哑巴，无法回答，但它似乎对着她招手、熟稔地拉扯着她，仿佛把她当成了别人。听见她的声音后，它似乎一直要回过头来——仿佛这段时间她看到的其实都是它的背面（还有她看见的其他所有事物也都一样），而她现在才即将看见它的庐山真面目；时光也一样，但它还是无法说话。 “噢，到底怎么了嘛。”黛莉·艾丽斯说，却没意识到自己开了口。她觉得自己正不由自主地融入她所看见的东西，但又有十足的能力驾驭它；轻盈得可以飞翔，但又沉重无比，仿佛她的座位不只是那张石板凳，而是一整片岩丘。她心生敬畏，但当她得知自己的任务是什么时，她却不感到惊奇。 “不。”她回答。 “不。”她轻声说道，仿佛面对的是一个把她误认成自己母亲的孩子，拉住她的手或她的裙摆、满脸疑惑地抬头仰望她。 "no." “你走吧。”她说，于是时光走了。 “时候未到。”她说，把子女的名字又默念了一遍。泰西、莉莉、露西、奥伯龙。史墨基。尚未完成的事还太多，但总有一天，不管未了的事情还有多少、不管她每天的责任是增是减，总有一天她将无法再拒绝。她并非不愿意，也并不害怕，但她一直以为当时候到了，她一定会害怕但又无法拒绝……真是太惊人了，她竟然能无止境地扩大。几年前她就已经认为自己庞大到没办法再长了，但其实她根本还没开始长。“还没，还不行，”时光转身时她说了，“还不行，该做的事还太多，拜托，时候还未到。” 眼睛看不到的远方树林里，黑乌鸦（或某个像它的人物）叫着飞回家。 嘎、嘎。