Chapter 21 IV
"No, I understand now." Auberon said quietly in the woods, the truth was really simple. "I didn't understand it for a long time, but now I understand it. You can't 'keep' Others, it's impossible to 'own' them. I mean it's natural, it's a natural process really. Meet, fall in love, break up. Life goes on anyway. There's never a reason to expect her to be the same. I mean 'ever In love', you know." The lines are full of Smoky's skeptical quotes and accentuated. "I have no resentment. I can't hate her."
"You have a grudge," said Grandpa Trout, "and you don't understand it."
He was out at dawn.Ever since he became an alcoholic, he has been woken every morning by that annoying feeling of thirst and need.Unable to fall asleep again, unwilling to continue staring at the room, he got up and dressed (his room, but strange and unfamiliar in this ungentle dawn).He put on his coat and hat against the foggy chill.Then he walked through the woods, past the small island in the lake, the lower part of the white gazebo still shrouded in mist.He continued to go up, and came to the deep and dark pool, into which a waterfall poured into the pool with a pleasant sound.Well, he had done what his mother had told him to do, though he believed nothing, or tried not to believe anything.But believe it or not, he was a member of the Barnaby family, and his mother was also from the Drinkwater family, so his great-grandfather did not refuse his call.Even if it wants to refuse, it is impossible.
"Well, that being the case, I'd love to explain it to her," said Auberon, "tell her . I think, if you know where she is, it's just an approximate location..."
"I don't know," said Grandpa Trout.
Auberon sat back by the pool.What is he doing here?Why did he come here if he couldn't ask the only thing he wanted to know (although it was the last thing he should be asking any more)?Besides, how could it be that he deserved it? "What I don't understand," he said at last, "is why I have to keep making such a fuss. I mean, where is there no grass? She's gone, I can't find her, but why am I so attached to it? Why do I keep fabricating her existence? These ghosts and ghosts..."
"Oh, well," said Trout, "it's not your fault. Those ghosts are their work."
"Their masterpiece?"
"Don't want you to know," said Grandpa Trout, "but yes, it's their work. Just to whet your appetite and entice you, don't worry about it."
"don’t worry?"
"Just let them go. There will be more to come. Just let them go. Don't tell them I told you this."
"Their masterpiece," said Auberon, "and why?"
"Oh, well," said Grandpa Trout alertly, "why, oh, why..."
"Well," said Auberon, "well, look? You know what I mean?" He was an innocent victim, with tears in his eyes. "Well, let 'em die," he said. "It's all hallucinations. I don't care. It'll pass. Be ghosts or not. Let them do what they like. It won't be like this forever." A sad thing, sad but true.He sighed tremblingly. "It's normal," he said. "It won't be like this forever. It can't be."
"Maybe," said Grandpa Trout, "and it will."
"No," said Auberon, "no, you sometimes 'think' it's going to be like this forever. But it's going to pass. Love, for example. You think it's such a complete and permanent thing. So big, So—so out of your control. Has its own weight. You know what I mean?"
"I know."
"But it's not. Love is an illusion too. I don't have to obey it, it will wither by itself. After all, when it's over, you can't even remember what it was like." This is what he said in his little park. What I've learned here: It's doable (even wise) to throw away his broken heart like a broken cup.Who needs it anyway? "Love: It's totally 'personal'. I mean, my love has nothing to do with her - nothing to do with 'real' her. It's just how 'me' feels. I thought it would make me feel like She's related. But it's not. It's a myth, a myth of my own making, a myth of me and her. Love is a myth."
"Love is a fairy tale," said Grandpa Trout, "like summer."
"what?"
"In winter," said Grandpa Trout, "summer is a myth. A news, a legend. It should not be believed. Do you understand? Love is a myth. Summer is a myth."
Auberon looked up at the twisted, tangled trees above the pool.Tens of thousands of branches spit out young leaves one after another.What he found out was that he hadn't accomplished anything in that little park by mnemonics at all, he'd stayed where he was, his burden hadn't been lightened at all, and it would never be lifted.impossible.Is it really possible for him to love her forever, to be trapped in her room forever, and to live forever?
"In summer," he said, "winter is a myth..."
"Yes," said Trout.
"A kind of news, a kind of legend, should not be believed."
"yes."
He loved her, and she left him without reason, without even saying goodbye.If he loved her forever, if love never died, then she could leave him again and again, each time for no reason, each time without saying goodbye.And he will continue to be consumed between these eternal light and darkness.It can't be like this.
"Never," he said, "never."
"Always," said his great-grandfather, "just will."
That's right.He realized with tearful eyes and horror that he had expelled nothing, not a second, not a look, nothing.No, through mnemonics, he just made every moment of his time with Sylvie more detailed and brighter, and it was impossible to give it back.Summer is here, and the stillness of autumn and the tomb-like death of winter are myths and unhelpful.
"It's not your fault," said Grandpa Trout.
"I must say," said Auberon, wiping away his tears and snot with the sleeve of his coat, "that your consolation is not working."
Trout didn't answer anything, he didn't expect him to say thank you.
"You don't know where she is, you don't know why I have to be treated this way, you don't know what I should do, and then you tell me it's not going to pass." He sniffed, "Said it wasn't my fault. It really helped a lot.”
The two sides were silent for a long time.The white figure of Trout flickered, watching him and his sorrow without blinking. "Well," it said at last, "you'll get a present out of it."
"Gift, what gift?"
"Well, I don't know, not quite sure. But I'm sure there is a gift. There is something in return for anything."
"Oh." Auberon could feel the fish trying to be kind. "Okay, thanks. Whatever it is."
"None of my business," said Grandpa Trout.Auberon stared at the shimmering water, if only he had a net.Grandpa Trout sank a little and said, "Okay, listen," but didn't say anything after that, just dived slowly and was out of sight.
Auberon stood up.The morning mist had cleared, the sun was hot, the birds were singing wildly—everything was as they expected.He walked down the stream through this joy, and followed the path into the pasture.The house behind the woods was pastel in the morning light, as if it had just opened its eyes.He stumbled across the pasture field, a speck in the spring eyes, wet from the dew below his knees.This thing can be permanent and will be permanent.In the evening, there is a bus that can be taken. After a detour, you can transfer to a bus heading south. Take the second bus and you can follow the gray road through the increasingly dense suburbs and reach the wide bridge. Or that tiled tunnel, and turn into those dreadful streets, and wind along the old bus routes through the smoky, wretched marketplaces, to the old order farms and folding bedrooms in big cities, Whether Sylvie was there or not.He stopped.He felt like a dry stick, the same dry stick that the pope gave to the knight in the story: the knight was stained with sin because he fell in love with Venus, and he had to wait until the stick bloomed. to be redeemed.And Auberon felt that he would never be able to bloom.
In Grandpa Trout's pond, too, spring has come, and soft weeds have grown around his secret burrow, and insects have matured.It wondered if the boy would actually get any presents.Eighty percent will not.They don't give gifts unless they are forced to.But the boy was so sad, a little lie to him wouldn't hurt, would it?To cheer him up.After all these years there was no warmth in Grandpa Trout's soul, but it was spring after all, and the boy was his blood after all, or so they said.In short, it hoped that if there was any gift, it would not cause the boy too much pain.
"Of course, I've always been aware of their existence," Ariel Hawksquill told the red-bearded Emperor Frederick. "They were always a distraction during the internship or experimental phase of my research. Some elemental spirits. My experiments It seems to attract them, like peaches always attract a bunch of fruit flies for no reason, or a walk in the forest always attracts chickadees. Sometimes even when I am going up and down the stairs leading to the secret room-I Working in a back room with glass and mirrors, you know—there would always be a crowd around my feet or around my head. It was annoying. You could never be sure if they were affecting the results of your experiments."
She took a sip of the sherry the Emperor had ordered for her.He paced up and down the living room of the suite, not listening very carefully.The Noisy Bridge Sticks and Guns Club had left confused, not quite sure they had reached any conclusions, and vaguely feeling as if they had been put together. "Now," said Redbeard, "what are we going to do? That's the question. I think it's time to strike. The arrow is on the line. The revelation will come soon."
"Hmm." The trouble was that she never saw them as things with "will."Like angels, they are just powers, mysterious energies emanating or condensing together. In fact, they are just things in nature, and they have no will like stones or sunlight.As for why they have a body and seem to have a little will, with voices and expressive faces, and seem to fly around on purpose, she always thinks that it is because humans basically see faces in stains on plaster walls, See hostility or kindness in landscapes, animal shapes in clouds.As soon as you see a "force," you think it has a face, a personality, and that's a natural and involuntary thing.But "Country House Architecture" puts forward a very different view: it seems to think that if there is a living thing in the world, it is a manifestation of a simple natural force, a willless thing emanating from a dominant force behind If it is a medium sent by an independent spirit, then this creature should be a human being, not an elf.Hawksquill is unwilling to go so far, but she is forced to think: Yes, they do have will and strength, desire and responsibility, and they are not blind, but they are actually quite far-sighted.So what is she herself?
She really didn't think of herself as just one link in a chain of events run by other forces, out of the question, but that's how her country cousin seemed to see herself.She absolutely does not want to be their subordinate.She surmised that was how they viewed Emperor Frederick the Redbeard, whatever he himself thought.No: she's not planning to go all in on either side yet.Ordinary people just obey blindly, but the so-called magician is to manipulate and control these forces.
She is actually walking on eggshells.Noisy Bridge Clubs and Guns was never her match.As much as her power is higher than theirs, the power of the manipulator behind Russell Eigenbrick should be much higher than her.Well: Anyway, this is a worthy competition, and finally waited until this day.Now it is the peak period of her strength and sensitivity, and she can finally test her skills, and even if she finds out that her skills are not enough, there is no shame in losing.
"How? How?" said the emperor and sat down heavily.
"No big revelations," she stood up, "and if there were, it wouldn't be now."
Startled, he raised his eyebrows high.
"I changed my mind," Hawksquill said. "Maybe being president for a while is the best thing to do."
"But you said..."
"As far as I know," Hawksquill said, "the powers of the presidency are still legally valid, they're just not being exercised. Once you're in office, you can use them against clubs. They won't expect that. Throw them away. Enter……"
"Prison. Put them to death in secret."
"No, but at least it puts them in judicial limbo, which, if recent history is anything to go by, is sure to keep them in limbo for a long time. Then they'll be crippled and financially crippled; as we've said before, by being poor." die."
He grinned at her from the chair, a long wolfish, conspiratorial smile that almost made her laugh.He clasped his fat fingers on his belly and nodded with satisfaction.Hawksquill turned to the window and thought: Why him?Why is it him?Then I thought: If the mice in the house were suddenly given the right to vote, who would they choose to be the housekeeper?
"And I think," she said, "in a lot of ways, being president of this country today is not that different from being emperor in the old empire." She smiled back at him, and he raised a red flag. He looked at her with his eyebrows, wondering if he was being laughed at. "I mean, the same splendor," said Hawksquill mildly, raising his glass to the light from the window, "the same joy. The same sorrow... Anyway, how long do you plan to reign?"
"Oh, I don't know," he yawned lazily, "I think from now on. Forever."
"That's what I thought too," said Hawksquill. "If that's the case, there's no need to worry, is there?"
On the sea in the east, twilight was growing; in the west, a gorgeous fiery sunset was being staged, and the sunset seemed to splash out of a cracked container.Standing in front of such a high window, looking out from this arrogant big glass, you can see the war between day and night, as if it is a drama specially arranged for the powerful people who live in high places.Forever... Hawksquill looked at this war and felt that the whole world seemed to be falling into a long dream at this moment, but it might also be waking up from a dream, and it was hard to tell which.But when she turned her head to express her thoughts, she found that the red bearded Emperor Frederick had fallen asleep on the chair and was still snoring lightly. As peaceful as any sleeping child: as if, Hawksquill thought, as if he had never really woken up.
"Aha," said George Mouse, when he finally opened the door of Old Order Farm and saw Auberon standing on the steps.Auberon had been knocking and shouting for a while (he had lost all his keys while he was on the streets), and now he, the returned prodigal, was confronting George with shame.
"Hi," he said.
"Hey," said George, "I haven't heard from you for a long time."
"yes."
"I'm really worried about you, old man. What's the matter with you running away like this? It's bad." "I'll go to Sylvie."
"Oh yeah. Hey, you left her brother in the fold. He's such a sweet guy. Did you find her?"
"No."
"Oh."
They stood there facing each other.Auberon was still bewildered as to how he had suddenly reappeared in these streets, and although he seemed to have come here to hope that George would take him in again, he did not know how to say so.George just nodded with a smile, his black eyes a little dazed: Auberon guessed he was probably on LSD again.Though in Edgewood May was just beginning, in the big city the week-long spring had come and gone.Summer is already in full swing, and the strong breath is everywhere, like a lover in heat.All these Auberons had forgotten.
"So," said George.
"Therefore," said Auberon.
"Back to the big city?" said George. "Did you think--"
"May I come back?" said Auberon. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, don't say that. Great, there's a lot of errands happening right now. There's no one in the camp... How long are you going to stay? . . . "
"Oh, I don't know," said Auberon, "I think from now on. Forever."
He was a ball thrown, as simple as that, and he sees it now: first thrown out of Edgewood, high up, into the big city, and then Frantically scurrying through the maze, his path determined entirely by the walls and objects he hit, until he was (involuntarily) thrown back to Edgewood, where he bounced a few times at an angle of incidence equal to the angle of reflection, and then bounced back again The streets bounce back to the farm.Even the most bouncy ball has to stop one day, bound to bounce lower and lower, lower and lower until it just rolls and pushes the grass sideways.Then, under the resistance of the grass, it must roll more and more slowly, and finally shake slightly for a while, and then stop just like that.
George seemed to realize that they were standing before an open door, so he stuck his head out quickly to see if anyone was approaching in the dreadful street.Then he drew Auberon in and locked the door, just as he had done on that winter night, though it seemed a lifetime ago.
"You have some mail." He led Auberon down the corridor and down the stairs into the kitchen.Then he said something about goats and tomatoes, but Auberon couldn't hear him because he had a sudden ringing in his ears, an uneasy thought of a gift, and his head was getting dizzy.George was aimlessly rummaging through the kitchen looking for the letters, pausing now and then to ask questions and comment, but the ringing in his ears and the thought kept coming to Auberon's head.When George found that Auberon had neither heard nor answered, he began to search earnestly, and finally produced two long envelopes, which he placed on the toast rack, along with some old dunning letters and some souvenir menus.
A glance at Auberon knew that neither was from Sylvie.Although it was meaningless, his hand to open the letter still trembled slightly.Petty, Smilodon & Ruth were delighted to inform him that Dr. Drinkwater's will had finally been settled.Attached to the letter was an accounting form, informing him that after deducting the advance payment and handling fees, the total property grant he could get was thirty-four dollars and seventy-one cents.All he has to do is sign some documents in the past, and he can get the amount at a dime.Another envelope was thick paper with an expensive-looking logo printed on it, and inside was a letter from the production team.They had read his script carefully.Thought the story content was great and lively, but the dialogue wasn't very convincing.But if he's willing to revise these scripts one more time or try to write another one, he should be able to join the show's junior writing staff before long.They hoped he would reply, or so they hoped last year.Auberon smiled.At least he'd have a chance of finding a job, and maybe he'd actually continue the Doctor's endless chronicle of green fields and black forests, though not in the Doctor's way.
"Is it good news?" George asked, making coffee.
"You know," said Auberon, "there's been a lot of strange things going on in the world lately. It's terribly weird."
"Tell me," said George duplicity.
Auberon realized that only after sobering from that long drunk had he begun to notice things that everyone had taken for granted.As if suddenly turning to his fellow man and declaring: Hey, the sky is blue, or pointing out that those old trees in the street have sprouted leaves. "Has there always been a big tree on this street?" he asked George.
"That's not the worst thing," George said. "The roots are tearing my basement apart. You might try contacting the Parks Department. There's no hope." He put a cup of coffee in front of Auberon. "Creamer? Sugar?"
"No need."
"It's getting weirder," George said, stirring his coffee with a little souvenir spoon, though he didn't add anything, "I do want to blow up the city sometimes. Back to making fireworks. I Bet you're making a lot of money doing fireworks right now, there's so much celebration."
"uh-huh?"
"Eigenblick's a bunch. Parades, shows. He loves that. Fireworks."
"Oh." It was Auberon's policy not to think or ask anything about Russell Eigenbrick since the nights and mornings he'd spent with Bruno.Love is strange: it can change the color of the whole world, and the color of love can never be washed away, whether it is bright or dark.He thought of Latin music, of souvenir T-shirts, of certain streets and places in the big city, of nightingales. "Have you ever made fireworks?"
"Of course. Don't you know? Hey. I'm the biggest pyrotechnics dealer. My name's in the paper, man. It's really funny."
"No one ever mentioned it at home," said Auberon, with that familiar sense of isolation again. "No one ever mentioned it to me."
"No?" George looked at him strangely. "Well, it all ended quite suddenly. About the year you were born."
"Yes? How come?"
"Situation, man, situation." He stared at his coffee, lost in some deep thought that was very out of character for him.Then he seemed to make up his mind, and said, "You know you have a sister named Lilac."
"Sister?" This is very fresh, "Sister?"
"Uh, yes, sister."
"No. Sophie had a baby named Lilac that went away. I had a fictional friend named Lilac. But no sister named Lilac." He thought for a moment, "but I I always thought there were three Lilacs. I don't know why."
"I'm talking about Sophie's baby. I've always thought that story was... well, forget it."
But Auberon had had enough. "No, hello! Wait a minute. What do you mean by 'forget it'?" Hearing Auberon's tone, George raised his head in surprise and guilt. "If there is a story, I want to know it."
"It's a long story."
"That's better."
George considered it for a while.He got up and put on his old smock, then sat down again. "Well, you asked for it." He thought about how to start.Thanks to decades of eccentric drugs, his stories are vivid, but not always coherent. "Fireworks. You mean three Lilacs?"
"One of them is fictional."
"Damn. I wonder what the other two are made of. Anyway, one of those two is fake: like a fake nose. I mean exactly the same. That's the story of the fireworks: the fake goods.
"Well, one day long ago, Sophie and I...well, it was a winter's day, and I went to Edgewood, and she and I...but I don't think it's going to work, you know? Kind of A moment of madness, a moment of indulgence. I don't take it seriously. I mean she played me. Also, I know she's having an affair with Smoky." He looked at Auberon. "Everyone knows, right?"
"wrong."
"You don't know...they don't..."
"They never told me anything. I knew Sophie had a baby named Lilac. Then she disappeared. That's all I know."
"Well, listen. As far as I know, Smoky still thinks he's Lilac's father. So you know, there's nothing to say about it. What's the matter?"
Auberon was laughing. "No, it's nothing," he said, "yes, it's really just a matter of silence."
"Anyway. I don't know how long ago? Maybe twenty-five years ago. I got into fireworks because of 'Action Theory.' Right. Action theory is about... God, now even I don't quite remember the principles, but it's about how life works, arguing that life is action, not thought or object: action is both thought and object, it's just that it has Form, you know, so it is analyzable. Every action, no matter what it is (holding a cup, living a lifetime, or completing evolution), the form of each action is the same. Put the two An action taken together is another action of the same form; life is just one big action made up of a million smaller actions, understand?"
"I don't quite understand."
"That's okay. But that's why I started working on pyrotechnics, because rockets take the same form as actions: start, burn, explode, go out. It's just that sometimes, that rocket, that action, triggers another start, burn, explode, so that By analogy, got the concept? So you can arrange a show that is the same form as life. Action, action, is action. Shells. You can fill a shell with other shells, each of which is the same as the big outer shell , stuffed full, like a chicken stuffed inside an egg. And that chicken has more eggs, and the egg has more chickens, and it's endless. Spray flowers, the form of spray flowers is the same as the living It feels the same: a series of small explosions and burns, extinguishing, igniting, extinguishing, all added together to form a pattern, as the human head imagines the pattern out of thin air."
"What is spray flower?"
"It's just fireworks, man. Chinese fireworks. You know, two warships shooting at each other, and then it turns into an American flag or something."
"right."
"Yeah. We call it combo guns. Like thoughts. A few people understand that too, some detractors." He was silent for a moment, remembering vividly the times he'd fired Sequences and other performances on riverboats.It was dark all around, the slippery water splattered, and the air smelled of tinder.Then the sky is radiant, like life, igniting, burning, and extinguishing, painting fleeting totems in the air, unforgettable, but in a way that never existed.Running around like a madman, yelling at his assistants, shooting fireworks, his hair scorched, his throat parched, his coat riddled with embers, but his thoughts take shape above his head .
"About Lilac," said Auberon.
"Huh? Oh, right. Well, I've been working on a new show for weeks. I've come up with some new accessories, and that's—well, that's my life, Boy, I was so busy day and night. So one night..."
"Accessories?"
"Accessories are the part of the rocket that turns into a pattern when it finally explodes, such as a flower. That's right, assuming this is a rocket, the launch fuel is placed in this box over here, and above here is... the so-called top cover , your fittings are here—full of stars, captured and stuffed inside—”
"Okay. Go ahead."
"I was in my studio on the third floor. I had my studio on the top floor in case something exploded and took the whole building up, you know. It was late and I heard someone pressing Electric bell. The doorbell still rang in those days. So I put those things in the box and couldn't just leave a room full of fireworks, you know, but the doorbell kept ringing and ringing, so I went downstairs and found There's a smart guy leaning against the doorbell. It's Sophie.
"I remember it was very cold and raining that night. She had a shawl wrapped around her body, and only her face was exposed. It was ashen, as if she hadn't slept in days. Her eyes were as big as plates, and she was still crying. , but it could just be the rain. She was carrying a big bag wrapped in another shawl, and I asked her what was the matter, and she said, 'I brought Lilac.' and lifted the shawl, Show off that bag."
George shuddered.It was a deep tremor that seemed to start from his torso and travel up until it flew out of the top of his head and made all his hair stand on end—as if someone had stepped on his future grave, as the saying goes. past. "Don't forget, man, I never knew these things. I didn't know I was a father. I haven't heard from them for a year. Then Sophie appeared at the door like a nightmare, standing on the steps Say 'this is your daughter' and show me this baby, if that thing can be called a baby.
"God, there's something wrong with this baby.
"Looks so 'old'. I guess it was about two years old at the time, but it looked like forty-five, a wrinkled, bald little old man with a sly little face, like one of those troubled Chinese Fur processor." George gave a wry laugh. "And don't forget, it's theoretically supposed to be a girl. God, I'm freaked out by it. We're standing there, and this kid holds out his hand like this—" Palms open, palms up, "check Chayu Then he pulled the shawl over his head. Hey, what can I say? The kid meant it all. I had to bring them in.
"We went into this room. She put the baby in the high chair. I was afraid to look at it, but I couldn't stop looking at it. Then Sophie told me what happened: she and I, That afternoon, it sounded weird, but she'd counted the dates and so on, and Lilac was my child. But—understand—not this one. She had figured it out: the real Lilac was somewhere Got switched one night and got this one. This isn't real at all. Not the real Lilac, not even a real baby. I was dumbfounded. I kept pacing back and forth, saying, 'What! What! ' And all this time—" He couldn't help laughing again, "the kid just sat there with a look on his face that I can't describe... a sneer, like, 'Okay Well, I've heard this story a million times', it looked boring; and I had only one thought at the time: just put a cigar in its mouth and the picture would be complete.
"Sophie seemed to be in some sort of shock. She was shaking and trying to tell me the whole thing. Then she stopped and couldn't go on. The kid seemed to be fine at first, and she didn't see anything wrong. Difference, don't even know which night it happened, because she was totally normal. And beautiful. Just very quiet, very quiet, very obedient. Then, a few months ago, it started to change. At first it was very Slow, then faster and faster. Seems to be starting to 'wither'. But it's not sick. The doctor checked it out at first, it's fine, big appetite, laughs a lot - just getting old. Oh God ...and I put a blanket over her and I started making tea. I said, 'Calm down! Calm down!' and she told me how it dawned on her - but I still couldn't believe it, man, I thought it was The baby should be taken to a specialist - and she said she hid the baby afterward, so they started asking: Hey, how is Lilac, why haven't I seen her lately." Another burst Can't help laughing wildly.By this time George had stood up, gesticulating what had happened, especially the part where he was stunned and bewildered, and then he turned to the high chair with wide-eyed eyes. "Then we looked over there. The child was gone.
"Not on the chair. Not under the chair.
"The door was open. Sophie got dizzy and she yelled: 'Ah!' and looked at me. Well, I'm the daddy, I should do something. That's why she came to me .Gosh, just thinking about this thing running around my house gives me the creeps. I run down the hallway. Nobody. Then I see it go up the stairs. Step by step. It looks so ...how to describe it...very purposeful: like knowing exactly where I'm going. So I said, 'Hey, wait, dude—' I couldn't get it to be a girl—and I reached out Pulled on its arm. It was weird to the touch, cold and dry, like leather. It looked back at me with hatred - as if saying who the fuck are you? Then tried to break free and I pulled it again Come back, and—” George sat down again, looking defeated. "It's broken. I tore a hole in the goddamn thing. Hey... it has a hole in the shoulder, you can see inside, like a doll - it's empty. I put it right away手。它好像不痛，只是抖了抖那条手臂，一副'他妈的被你弄坏了'的样子，然后继续往上爬。它的毯子掉了，所以我看到它身上还有别的裂缝——膝盖上有，你知道吧，脚踝上也有。这孩子正在分崩离析。
“好吧。好吧。我还能怎么想？我又回到这房间。索菲紧紧裹着毯子坐在那里，眼睛瞪得老大。'你说得没错，'我说，'那不是莱拉克。也不是我的小孩。'
“接着她好像支离破碎一样地崩溃了。那是最后一根稻草。她就这样被压垮了。老天，那真是我看过最悲哀的一件事。'你得帮我，你得帮帮我'——你知道吧。'好啦好啦，我会帮忙，但我他妈的到底要怎么帮？'她也不知道。就我来决定。'她在哪里？'索菲问我。
“'上楼去了，'我说，'说不定它很冷。楼上有火炉。'结果她突然投给我一种眼神（极度惊吓，但又累得完全无法行动，可能连感觉都没有了），我没办法形容。她抓住我的手，说：'别让她靠近火，拜托，拜托！'
“这又搞什么鬼？我说：'听着，你只管坐在这里取暖，我去看看。'我他妈的连要去看什么都不知道。于是我拿起棒球棍，有备无患，你知道吧，然后就出去了。她还在哀求：'别让她靠近火。'”
乔治假装鬼鬼祟祟爬上楼梯，进入二楼的客厅。“我走进去，它就在那里。就在火炉边。坐在那个叫什么来着的……炉床上面。我没办法相信自己的眼睛，因为它一边坐在那儿，一边把手伸进火堆里，取出……你知道吗，发红的煤炭：把它们取出来，一块一块丢进嘴里。”
他朝奥伯龙靠过来。要不是他抓住奥伯龙的手腕、发誓自己句句属实，这种事根本让人无法置信。“然后大口大口地嚼着。”乔治模仿那个动作，像在吃胡桃。“咔嚓。咔嚓。而且还对着我笑，竟然还在笑。你可以看见那些炭块在它的头里面发光。活像个万圣节南瓜灯。接着炭块就会熄灭，这时它就会再拿一块来吃。老天爷，这让它变得大有活力。整个活泼起来，你知道吧，好像吃了点心。它跳起来，跳了一小段舞。这时它已经没穿衣服。就像一尊破掉的邪恶小天使石膏像。我对天发誓，我从来没有、没有这么被惊吓过。我吓得完全无法思考，我只是行动。你知道吧？惊吓到都不懂得要害怕了。
“我来到火炉边，拿起火铲。我从火堆深处铲了一大堆滚烫的东西出来。我把东西亮给它看：嗯嗯，嗯嗯，真好吃。跟我来、跟我来。好吧，它想玩这游戏，热腾腾的栗子，滚烫烫的栗子，来呀，来呀，我们走出房间，往楼上爬去。它一直朝铲子伸出手。噢噢，不行，不行，我继续引诱它前进。
“好啦，听着，老弟。我不知道我那时是疯了还是怎样。我只知道这东西很邪门：我的意思不是真正的邪恶，因为我认为它什么也不是，我的意思是它就像个娃娃或傀儡或机器，只是它自己会动，就像梦里那些恐怖的东西，你知道它们没有生命，例如一堆堆旧衣服或一坨坨油脂，突然爬起来恐吓你，懂吗？是死的，但却会动，好像活的一样。但很邪门，我的意思是世界上有这种东西存在真是太恐怖、太讨厌了。我只有一个念头：消灭它。管它是不是莱拉克。就、是、要、消、灭、它。
“总之呢，它就这样跟着我。而三楼的书房对面就是我的，你知道吧，我的工作室。懂吗？明白了吗？门当然是关上的，因为我下楼前关了门，我向来会关门，毕竟谨慎是不嫌多的。我摸索着想开门，而那东西就用它那双不是眼睛的眼睛盯着我看，天杀的它随时都会识破我的诡计。我把铲子送到它鼻尖底下。那扇该死的门偏偏打不开、打不开，接着就开了，然后——”
乔治使尽浑身解数比画出那个假想的动作，把那整整一铲燃烧中的煤炭丢进塞满烟火的工作室。奥伯龙屏住气息。
“接着是那小孩——”
乔治迅速又谨慎地用脚一踢，把假莱拉克也踹进了工作室。
“然后关门！”他用力把门关上，瞪着奥伯龙，事发当晚他的眼神一定也像现在这么惊恐仓皇。“成了！成功了！我从楼梯狂奔下来。'索菲！索菲！快跑！'她还坐在那把椅子上，就是那把，全身动弹不得。所以我把她抱起来，也不完全是抱着她，但就像在赶人一样，因为我已经听到楼上的声音了。然后把她弄到走廊上去。砰！咻！从前门冲出去。
“然后我们就站在外面的雨里往上看。或者说往上看的是我，她只是抱着头而已。接着我的一整场秀就从工作室的窗户射出来。星星、火箭、镁、磷、硫磺。亮得跟白天一样。声音很大。一大堆东西掉在我们四周，躺在水坑里嘶嘶作响。接着呼咻！有个很大的东西射出去，把屋顶射穿了一个洞。烟雾弥漫、火星点点，老天爷，整个区都被我们照亮了。但雨已经愈下愈大，不久火就被浇熄了，也差不多就是警察和消防车赶到的时候。
“好吧，我的工作室防护做得很好，你知道吧，有钢板门啦、石棉啦，那一大堆的，所以建筑物本身没倒。但老天爷，那小孩……或管它是什么东西……铁定是尸骨无存了……”
“那索菲呢？”奥伯龙说。
“索菲，”乔治说，“我告诉她：'听着，没事了。我把它搞定了。'
“'什么？'她说，'什么？'
“'我搞定了，'我说，'我把它炸了，荡然无存了。'
“接着，嘿！你知道她对我说了什么吗？”
奥伯龙不知道。
“她抬头看着我。老天爷，我觉得她那一刻的脸比我当天晚上看到的任何东西都可怕。然后她说：'你杀了她。'
“她是这么说的。'你杀了她。'就这样。”
乔治筋疲力尽地在厨房的桌子旁坐下。“杀了她，”他说，“索菲是这么想的，认为我杀了她唯一的孩子。也许她到现在都还这么想，我不知道。认为老乔治杀了她唯一的孩子，也杀了他自己唯一的孩子。把她给炸死了，随着星条旗灰飞烟灭。”他低下头。“老天，我希望这辈子再也不会有任何人用她那天晚上那种眼神看我，再也不要。”
“好一段故事。”终于能说话时，奥伯龙这么说。
“你看，假设……”乔治说，“假设那真的是莱拉克，只是诡异地变了形……”
“但她知道，”奥伯龙说，“她知道那不是真的莱拉克。”
“她知道吗？”乔治说，“鬼知道她知道些什么。”一阵凝重的沉默。“女人啊，根本猜不透。”
“可是，”奥伯龙说，“我不懂的是，他们一开始干吗给她那个东西？我是说如果它这么假的话。”
乔治狐疑地看了他一眼。“谁是'他们'？”他问。
面对表舅的追问，奥伯龙移开目光。“呃，就是他们啊。”他说，很惊讶且有点尴尬自己竟然说出这样的解释，“偷走真正的莱拉克的那些家伙。”
“嗯哼。”乔治说。
奥伯龙没再说话，因为这件事他已经没什么好说的了，但他倒是第一次清楚了解到他从前窥视的那些人为什么这么能守口如瓶。他们的解释其实就等同于没有解释，而他现在发现自己竟然也不由自主地陷入了同样的沉默。但他还是觉得从此以后，自己不管解释什么事物都势必要动用那个集体代名词：他们。them.
“好吧，总之呢，”最后他终于说道，“这样就两个了。”
乔治疑惑地扬起眉毛。
“两个莱拉克，”奥伯龙说着把她们列出来，“我一直认为有三个莱拉克，其中一个是虚构的，我幻想的，我知道她在哪里。”事实上他可以在内心深处感受到她的存在，而她也注意到他提起了她。“另一个是假的，就是被你炸死的那个。”
“但假设，”乔治说，“假设那个就是真的莱拉克，只是被变形了……不。”
“不，”奥伯龙说，“剩下的那个，下落不明的那个，才是真正的莱拉克。”他望向窗外，薄暮已经悄悄笼罩了老秩序农场和大城的高楼。“我真想知道。”他说。
“我真想知道……”乔治说，“我真的非常想知道。”
“她在哪里？”奥伯龙说，“在哪里、在哪里？”
在很远很远的地方，而且在做梦：在睡梦中不安地翻身，期待着醒来，但她还得等好多年才能醒，鼻子痒痒的、喉咙里藏着一个哈欠。她甚至眨了眨眼睛，但除了梦境什么也没看见：她在春天里沉睡，梦到了秋天：梦到那座灰色的溪谷，出游那天，载着她和昂德希尔太太的鹳鸟最后就是在这里降落，双脚踩上了“陆地”，或至少是某种像陆地的东西。梦到昂德希尔太太叹了口气从鹳鸟背上下来，莱拉克则用手臂圈住昂德希尔太太的脖子，让她抱她下来……她打了个哈欠。自从学会打哈欠以后，她似乎就停不下来了，而她也无法确定自己究竟喜不喜欢这种感觉。
“想睡。”昂德希尔太太说。
“这是哪里？”被放到地面上后，莱拉克说。
“噢，一个地方，”昂德希尔太太轻声说道，“来吧。”
她们面前立着一道残缺的拱门，雕刻得很粗糙，再不然就是原本雕得很精细，只是被风雨刮得粗糙了。拱门两侧并没有围墙，它就这样孤零零地横跨在那条满是树叶的小径上，这是唯一的一条路，通往后方那片荒凉的十一月树林。莱拉克有点害怕，但还是顺从地伸出她年幼的小手拉住昂德希尔太太年老的大手。她们朝大门走去，就像祖母带着孩子走在一座寒冷的公园里，夏天与欢乐皆已远离。鹳鸟用一只红色的脚独自站在原处，整理着她乱糟糟的羽毛。
她们穿过拱门。拱门的花格镶板和浮雕上都是老旧的鸟巢和青苔。雕刻的图样很模糊，是一些刚诞生或是正回归混沌的生物。经过时，莱拉克伸手摸了摸：材料不是石头。是玻璃吗？莱拉克揣测。骨头？
“是角。”昂德希尔太太说。她脱下层层斗篷当中的一件，用它包住赤裸的莱拉克。莱拉克踢了踢山谷内的褐色落叶，觉得若能躺在叶子堆里应该会很棒，而且要躺很久。
“好吧，好长的一天。”昂德希尔太太说，仿佛感应到她的想法。
“结束得太快了。”莱拉克说。
昂德希尔太太圈住莱拉克的肩膀。莱拉克踉跄一下朝她身上倒去，双腿似乎不听使唤。她又打了个哈欠。“哦。”昂德希尔太太温柔地说，接着就用强壮的手臂利落地将莱拉克一把抱起。莱拉克往她身上靠过去，昂德希尔太太帮她把斗篷拉得更紧。“好玩吗？”她问。
“好玩。”莱拉克说。
她们在一棵巨大的橡树前停下，整个夏天落下来的叶子都堆在树根周围了。树洞里有一只刚醒过来的猫头鹰，对着自己咕咕低语。昂德希尔太太弯下腰，把莱拉克安置在窸窣作响的叶子之间。
“梦吧。”她说。
莱拉克说了些语无伦次的话，有云朵、有房屋，接着就静了下来，因为她已经睡着了。陷入梦乡，连她自己什么时候睡着的都不知道，从此展开了那场会不断持续下去的悠长梦境。梦见她所见过的一切以及即将发生的一切；梦见她在春天睡着并且梦见秋天，又梦见她在冬天苏醒。在她错综复杂的梦境里，她一边做梦一边改变这些事物，同时它们则在另一个地方成真。她不自觉地把膝盖往上缩、把双手放在下巴旁、收起下巴，形成还在索菲腹中时的S形。莱拉克睡着了。
昂德希尔太太再次小心翼翼地为她盖好披风，然后站直身子。她把两手按在腰背上向后弯了弯，一如往昔地感到疲倦。她指向躲在树洞里微张着眼睛望着她的猫头鹰，说：“你啊，小心一点，好好看守。”她知道这双眼睛绝对信得过。她仰望上空。即便在这暮色漫长的十一月天，日光也已消失殆尽，而她的工作全都还没完成：一年之末尚未终结，而年终的雨水（还有百万只幼虫、百万个球茎与种子）也尚未洒下。天庭的地板堆满了肮脏的云朵，冬季的星空也还没点亮。北风哥哥则摩拳擦掌、蓄势待发，这点她很肯定。她很惊奇白天与黑夜竟然还会交替、地球竟然还会运转，因为她最近实在太少去关心这些事了。她叹了口气、转过身去，开始向上向外扩张，着手处理这些工作（变得比莱拉克所认识的她更大、更老、更有力量，远远超出了莱拉克所能想象或做梦的范围）。她把这个领养的孙女留在树叶间沉睡，不曾回眸看她一眼。
Notes:
Notes: