Chapter 15 Sections 62-66 of Part V

Rebecca nodded.If Tom was calm enough, he could see emotion in her eyes.He would find that although her voice was steady, her breathing was rapid and deep. Tom handed her a white card, "This is my new address. If you want to find me, come here. The place is small, but I will let you know as soon as I can save money and rent a better place." .” Rebecca took the card with surprise in her eyes.The above address was no longer more than ten miles away, but a small village next to a drilling site of the Texaco Plus Company. "You live here?" Tom nodded. Rebecca looked at the card again.A second question flashed in her eyes, and Tom knew what it was.

"I got a job at Texaco Plus," he said, "starts on Monday. I'm never going to... I mean, I'm never going to work for one of those crooked sponsors The Texacoga job, I had to start as an ordinary driller, but I've got more experience than most of them and I'm going to be promoted soon." "Really? You started out as a driller? In Texaco?" "They're good, they're not as pretentious as Mobil or Shell, they're a good company." Rebecca nodded, silently startled.Three things startled her.One, Tom moves closer to her and Mitch instead of trying to convince them to move back.Second, he relegated himself.He was a very capable lead driller, and it was an insult to him to be paid an ordinary driller's wages--and Tom was never one to take insults.Third, Texaco.No matter what Tom said about it, they both knew it was a big oil company.He'll get paid, have decent working conditions, and nothing else.There is no "lease agreement", no "percentage of crude oil produced from the well".No guarantees, no lies, no scraps of paper -- in short, no illusions.

"I miss you," he said, "and I'm not going to live without the two of you again. This time I'll do it. It's always been...everytime until now, no matter what I've said in the past What. I'll be heartbroken if you don't want to see me." Rebecca sat down beside him, gently lifted the hat from his hand, placed its remains on the mahogany table nearby, and took his hand. "Why is that, Tom?" "Because of you, you and Mitch. I can't stand him growing up to be ashamed of his father." "We've always been here, Mitch and I. What made you change?"

Tom sighed, "Age, maybe. Age and wisdom." He smiled, and they both laughed. "Well, no intelligence, but maybe a little out of the way of stupidity. I feel ashamed. I realize I shouldn't...shouldn't be down to that level." She smiled kindly again.She is always very kind. The fact is this.The final straw was the first night with Harrelson.Boilermen need money.There's a good chance this isn't a down payment to a new boiler man, most likely a debt owed to the previous boiler man.Harrelson could have paid him right then and there.After he paid Tom and the other workers, his wallet was still bulging.But Harrelson didn't have to.He could play Tom so easily, and when he showed up that afternoon he was sure he could get a hundred and fifty dollars out of him, thirty of which had already been promised.Tom was just a means of paying off Harrelson's bad debt.

Tom knew Harrelson was a liar, but he was worse than a liar in this way.Harrelson had no intention of finding oil at all.To be honest he didn't care at all.He could sell his "share" in the well and make a living doing it.When it was discovered that the well was dry, he would disappear and leave the mess for Mrs. Holling to deal with a mountain of unpaid debts and broken promises. Tom is fully awake.He sat on the wooden steps in the corridor and listened to the chirping of insects in the trees.He inadvertently put his hand on something behind him: Mickey's toy train, glowing softly in the dark.He brushed off the dust and rolled the wheel in the palm of his hand.At this time, the little thing was close to him, as if he wanted to build a family with the two of them.Tom suddenly felt homesick.Mickey, Rebecca and him.It wasn't a terrific home, but, man, it was a home.

For the first time in a long time, he finally realized that he could forget about making a lot of money.He could forget the sense of confusion that Allen's success had caused him.He can forget about everything, he just needs to make his wife and children happy and comfortable.what?They are all young.He also wants another baby.Preferably a girl, but either male or female is fine.For the first time in his life, his obsession with oil was silent, and his old betrayal no longer mattered.It's time for something else to take their place. He ran his hands over where his face had been scraped by a fallen pallet.Rebecca reached out and touched the same spot.Her hands are as soft as a flock of butterflies.

"I'm glad you're here," she said. So is he. It was a beautiful silver-and-green Rolls-Royce Wraith, with brilliant luster and polished leather.Driving this car into London's East End would be a foolish thing to do. "Just leave it here, Ferguson?" Allen said. "I'd appreciate it if you could stop these kids from tearing it apart—and I'd be impressed, I gotta say." He handed the driver a bag of copper coins, hoping that Ferguson could use the money to buy off the group of urchins who had already surrounded the car, "I will be back as soon as possible."

There was a row of workers' housing on each side of the street, all crowded together, and smelling strongly of soot and toilets.There were no house numbers on any of the houses, so Allen asked a child to show him the way.The kid looked longingly at the Rolls-Royce, turned around and pointed at a door with his dirty fingernails, said, "That's my aunt's house," and went back to adoring the car. The door was not closed securely, and before Alan had time to knock, the door was pushed open completely.A shabby woman in her fifties bowed her knees on the steps as a man behind her yelled, "Get out, you parasite! Take that parasite with you when you go. Here we come A damned gentleman." The woman finished her salute, and the man finished his words.There was an expectant silence in the room.

"Good morning, is Mrs Hardwick?" "It was Mrs. Hardwick," answered the woman quickly. "Mr. Hardwick gave up his wife for the country, sir, and now Mrs. Jeffson, sir, I am sorry." "May I come in, Mrs. Jefferson? I want to ask something." Alan was ushered into the cramped anteroom where a child was trying to kill the last bits of breakfast before being kicked away by Mr. Jefferson's boots.The room was filthy.The walls were once covered with wallpaper, but most of the wallpaper has peeled off due to moisture, and pictures clipped from magazines have been pasted where they fell off: Peasant Girls, Princess of Wales, Josephine Baker, Rudolph Wallen Tino, Greta Garbo, Clara Bow.Someone even cut some plain letter paper into intricate patterns and stapled it to a grimy shelf.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, sir." The two kept talking. "I'm sorry," Alan said, "I should be sorry for my sudden arrival. Please don't trouble me." Both the man and the woman adjusted their clothes.He put on a black-stained jacket that revealed his occupation as a coal carrier.He stomps on a giant cockroach ("I'm sorry, sir!") and sits down.The woman tucked in all the stained or patched parts of the skirt, leaving only a thin and worn thing stretched tightly around her legs. "I'm looking for a man named Hardwick, Edward Hardwick. The War Office gave me that address."

"Oh, yes, sir," said the woman, "this is the file—it's Shorty you're looking for, sir. Shorty is what we used to call him, sir, before the war." "Is he there now?" "Oh, yes, sir, it's just..." The two looked at each other. "He's been badly wounded in the field, sir. He's not a pleasant look, but the boy has a good heart." "I'm sure, Mrs. Jefferson," said Allen mildly, "that there are a lot of good boys badly hurt. I was there myself." The two looked at each other awkwardly before Mr Jefferson stood up. "I'm going to get him out. I believe he should come out for a breath too," he added, looking like a parody of Allen. behavior. He stomped to the back.Mrs. Jefferson tried to adjust her skirt again, but it was difficult to cover a pair of rather large buttocks with such a small piece of fabric.Another huge black cockroach lurched across the ground and they both stared at it hypnotically, then a door slammed open and Mr Jefferson walked in gasping, ex-Private Edward "Short" Hardwick lay crookedly on his arm. Shorty Hardwick lost his legs, so he got a new name - Dwarf.He looks disheveled.The shoulders and head were white with cobwebs and limewash.His face was as dirty as any kid in the East End.He smelled faintly of feces.For a second or two, Allen stared at him rudely with his mouth wide open before realizing what was happening.In a hurry to clear the downstairs space for their distinguished guests, the Jeffersons moved the litter from his usual chair to the only place they could think of: the toilet. "Short Hardwick, eh?" said Alan, holding out his hand. "My name is Alan Montagu, formerly Captain Montagu." "Sir, yes, sir." Suzi raised his hand to his forehead, making a gesture similar to saluting. "No, no, it's okay. We're all in civilian clothes now." "Okay, sir." "Look, I want to know something, and I have reason to believe that you might be able to help." "Okay, sir." "It was in France, August 1916. That night you raided the gun post with the utmost valor—" "Machine guns, sir. There are two of them." "Yes. Two. I think you were directed by a Mr. Cleary. Is that so?" "Yes, sir. He's a straight man. Picked me and Bobby Stimson because he didn't want wives to die." "Indeed, indeed. Now what I want to know is that you were there when Mr. Cleary was shot, weren't you?" "Yes, sir." "Please describe the circumstances as precisely as you can. I am particularly interested to know whether Mr. Cleary died there or was only seriously wounded." "Oh, no, sir, he dodged well. It's a wonder any of us survived. They've been heavily bulleted. I've lost both legs," he added, in case Alan hadn't noticed. Allen flinched from his flat tone, but he continued to press.Westfield was right.His dreams kept telling him eagerly that Tom was not dead.His dreams were almost certainly false, but, encouraged by Westfield, he realized: His nights would never be peaceful if he did not unearth the truth of the time.So he went back and checked the official simple dispatch form at that time.He found the names of the two privates who had been on the mission with Tom.He also used War Department pension records to discover (to his surprise) that one of them was alive, albeit badly injured, so he used the same records to find Hardwick's address. "Can you tell me exactly what happened?" Xiaozi is not a good storyteller, but Allen listened patiently to the end.The three of them climbed within striking distance of one of the machine guns.They had no real chance of taking it, unless the first wave of grenades could get away with panicking the Germans and running around.But before anything could happen, they were discovered by the enemy.A hail of bullets came from surprisingly close quarters. "Stimson, sir, he disappeared right in front of me like a meat grinder. I wouldn't be surprised if he got ten thousand bullets." He fired his gun and fell to the ground.He lay there mortally wounded, resigned to his fate, in a typical way of dying in World War I: lying in a shell crater within sight and hearing of the British front line, bleeding slowly to death. "I thought I was dead. Trying to remember what the chaplain said about life after death, but I really didn't think it made much sense. I passed out and didn't remember anything else until I found myself lying in bed. In the field hospital, screaming loudly, sir, forgive my French, but they were short of morphine, sir, those guys cut off my legs, it hurt me like hell." A corporal in the Army Medical Corps—for which he earned a Distinguished Medal and the rank of sergeant—rescued him, and he healed slowly but completely.But the strange thing is that when it comes to Tom, his description is almost exactly the same as Alan's dream. "A mass of bullets, sir, a terrible mass. I saw him go down. I knew he must have been shot. Unlike Stimson, sir. Stimson was shattered right in front of me. But badly wounded. .Definitely should be dead, sir. No one can live in those conditions." that's it. A burst of bullets--Tom fell--probably dead--then nothing.It's exactly like in a dream.Nothing was solved.Allen found himself feeling nervous in his stomach as he reflected on what he had heard.He stroked his non-existent beard to hide his uneasiness—again a wartime gesture. "Thank you, you were a great help." "Oh, sir, never mind. I'll be happy to help, sir." In that dreadful hut, Allen saw a photograph of a young man in the uniform of a private, with a long, pale, malnourished face, almost certainly underage. "Listen, Hardwick, I'm doing some work with the Infantry Prosthetics Committee a lot now. We're always looking for the right fit. Have you ever had your legs measured? They don't work as well as real ones, but they're better than nothing Much stronger." "Oh no, sir." Xiaozi's face was pale.The silence in the house became almost sacred as the family waited in awe. "Well, if you don't mind, I'll take you to a guy who's pretty good at prosthetics. What do you say?" "Oh, sir!" "I'll make an appointment for you and send a car to take you there. Is it convenient?" "Oh, sir!" "Good boy." Allen nodded.After Little Hardwick turns back into Shorty Hardwick, Alan will help him find a job in a factory of the Allen Soup Oil Company.He wanted to send some cash, but decided that this wasn't the best time to do it, so let's talk about it later. He stood up to leave.He shook hands with the Jeffersons, who stood there stunned.In their eyes, he was no less than the resurrected Jesus at this time. Ferguson drove around the block over and over again with different kids in his car, a method he used to keep the car safe from nefarious hands.The queue for another ride was already long.Allen drove the car back in silence. To his surprise, he didn't think much of Tom.Those thoughts come at night.When he was with Lottie, when he was with Dr. Westfield, he would shut down all connections with Tom until his head and heart ached from it.But now his mind was filled with something else: anger, anger that took his breath away and made him lose all sense of judgment. His mind was full of the names and faces of the people he had known in France.Tom: Dead.Fletcher: Crippled.With so many people dying, missing, maimed or blind, it's sometimes surprising how many people are still in Britain.Lottie's bloodstained apron was as vivid as if she had seen it yesterday.He saw the baby face of Dwarf Hardwick brighten with hollow metal legs."Oh, sir, oh, sir" kept ringing in his ears, until the car drove out of the city and entered the West End, the noise of loud traffic swallowed his thoughts. The disappearance of the sudden plunge in the New York stock market spread throughout the world.Across the United States, economic volatility began to crush and destroy the bubble economy of the late 1920s.But in a small village in Texas, the job is still steady, the income is still good, and life is good. Tom had been working for Texacoga in the early spring of 1930, and managed to hold on to the job for nine consecutive months—the first time he had done it since he became an officer in the British Army.What's more, he didn't make a single mistake during those nine months.He didn't mess around with women.He doesn't fight anymore.He drinks moderately.Most importantly, he no longer handed over his money to any phony salesman who promised that these "must-have wildcat wells" (as paradoxical as that sounds) would bring untold sums of money. wealth.After six months of exemplary performance, Rebecca, still working as an accountant, believed him and sent him home. Of course, no one, least of all Tom, changes his mind overnight. It helped that the drilling area where he worked was a well developed old town.Whores, bars, brothels, it's a big part of any oil town, and now they've all moved elsewhere.The girls who remained looked dry and tired.And he works at Texaco Plus, which is a big company.Drilling towers stand on a large piece of land close to 3,000 mu.Wherever Tom went, he stood on Texacoga land.Sponsors who live off of small pockets from investors cannot work without leases.Sponsors showed up in Oklahoma.They chase Phantom in California.They dug oil wells in pine forests and cornfields in East Texas.They are not present in the large oil fields along the Gulf Coast. But Tom really did make progress.He's still a driller—advanced driller now—but he really doesn't care about gaining or losing his position.He just looked forward to hurrying back to Elvik Farm each day after drilling the well, to catch a glimpse of Mitchell (who was now six years old) before he went to sleep.He played with his son and taught him baseball—a game he picked up first.He taught his son the alphabet and arithmetic.He watched as Rebecca finished bathing her son before putting him to bed. And then there's Rebecca, the amazing Rebecca. Only now, after all these years, did Tom realize what a piece of treasure he had stumbled upon.She's smart, she's thoughtful, and she has amazing inner strength and determination, as firm as her inner compass.Strangely, Tom had never really found her beautiful before.But when he looked at her these days he couldn't even see her flaws: a face that was a little too thin, wrinkles that cast fine nets around her eyes.He only sees his true love, a woman who is attractive every moment, who has love and laughter among other important virtues. Tom is getting younger too.In his youth he had been attractive, even dazzling.He can make a woman laugh with just a few words.His own smile always evoked a corresponding smile.But after war, prison and a long failure in America, he has lost even the desire to please others.Now, it's all back.These days, he and Rebecca are laughing and laughing.If there was one thing that stuck with them during these days, aside from the myriad amusing details of Mitchell's childhood, it was laughter.Tom had grown his hair back, and every night when he came home he buried his head in the big bucket to wash off the oil and dirt of the day.And every night it would be like this: she'd push him under the water, and he'd respond by shaking his head violently at her, like a little thing shaking himself dry.They'll splash, play, laugh, and their laughter will last until they go to bed together.They make love a lot, and they do it beautifully. Even better news: Rebecca's parents have finally moved, away from Vilnius and its dangerous life there, to Leipzig, Germany.Her father owns a pharmacy: smaller than his in Vilnius, but already doing well.Her mother, a seamstress, had become as busy in her new surroundings as ever.They've settled down nicely, with friends around and a synagogue that welcomes them.Of course, there are some unpleasant undercurrents in the country they're naturalized to.But there is unhappiness everywhere.The point is that they settled down again.They are very happy.They are safe. But even in heaven, people complain.Tom and Rebecca are whining in their paradise. They rented a cottage on Mrs. Elwick's farm.If they make noise, it's not allowed.If they play with water in the garden, that's not allowed.They had to go to church sooner or later on Sunday (although Rebecca believed in Yom Kippur), and sat through a long, tedious English bake-off dinner. It's time to move, but the problem is they don't have the money. "You go and ask her to teach you Christian etiquette, while I run upstairs and steal her jewels." "That's all fake, I bet." "Fake!" cried Tom, imitating Mrs. Elwick's scream, "how dare you say that, you ungrateful little slut!" They laughed.It was a hot day and Mickey was sleeping in bed with the little thing snoring at his feet while the two adults took turns stripping naked and soaking in the bucket behind the house.Tom had made some wooden fences so that no one would peep, but even so they spoke softly so as not to attract attention.Rebecca put her head under the water, took a gulp of the cool green water, and spat on Tom, who held her under the water. When she looked up again, her expression became serious. "How much do you think we need to buy a place of our own?" "Well, that depends on exactly what kind of house you want," Tom said in that drawn-out Texan voice, drawing on at least three syllables for each vowel, "we can provide you with There are all kinds of options, from wooden houses to bamboo sheds to garbage dumps to utility rooms to cellars. The only thing we lack at the moment is a pigsty and a prison.” "Be serious." "Well, let's be serious, our garbage dump is not in perfect condition right now. The wooden house is almost eaten away by termites." Another jet of green water poured on Tom, "It's hopeless, it's absolutely hopeless." "Those damned termites." Rebecca washed her hair from her forehead, her forearms resting on the rim of the barrel, her chin resting on them. "Three thousand yuan to buy a decent place to live?" "Yeah, about three thousand. I want to stay away from Mrs. Eyre too, but I don't want Mickey to grow up in a slum." "How many do we have now?" "Whoa, honey—" Tom turned Texan again, "I'm a million-millionaire. I got you, didn't I?" "Where's the dollar?" "One thousand one hundred and sixty-eight dollars." Rebecca grimaced.Her income was as much as Tom's, and even with her income, they were still a long way from being independent. "Tommick?" she sometimes mischievously pronounced his name into sweet Eastern European syllables. "Ok?" "In theory we have more money than that." "But not in terms of bank deposits." "No, not from bank deposits." "You have the prettiest eyebrows in the world," she traced his with wet fingers. "The cutest mouth. I'm so lucky." "Crazy lucky." They kiss. "No, actually... Listen, do you think there's any way you can get some money back from that crook Harrelson?" "what!" Tom jerked his head back and choked.He has mixed feelings.One feeling is that this is a good idea.Tom stuffed Harrelson's pockets with cash in exchange for a pile of useless paper.It would be nice to get some money back, and it would be even better if his family could have their own place.But, on the other hand, Harrelson's foolish miracle of the dry well is Tom's remaining fantasy and hope.In theory, if Harrelson tapped oil, Tom would get a big cut.It was a silly daydream, but Tom clings to it because the cloud of failure weighs too heavily around him. "Oh!" "Can you get something back from him?" asked Rebecca. "Well, loosely speaking, there's no refund plan, that's for sure..." Tom paused.His stake in the hopeless well at Titch Harrelson was his only hope of success.Tom closely followed developments in the oil industry, and he knew every detail of Allen Soup's success: the ever-increasing oil production in Persia; the exploration program in Iraq; the distribution network in Europe and Asia.Tom felt sick at the thought.All he can boast is the stupid ten percent he owns in a barren well.Maybe it's time to put his faint hopes behind him. "...Of course, I'm sure I can get some money back from that guy." "you can?" Tom sighed.There was something difficult he needed to admit. "He's sold that well so many times that almost everyone along this side of the Mississippi owns something. All I have to do is threaten him with the courts and he'll buy me off. That's all he has to do." Rebecca listened in silence.Tom was wasting her money and her life, and his own.She has the right to be angry, but she only said, "The money, does he have money?" "Ticky? Damn, no, of course not. But he can get the money, that's how he survives." "How much did you give him?" "To him? Nothing. I was investing." Tom smiled uneasily.The subject made him more and more miserable.It was his second confession in a minute, "Cash plus salary, I think the old bastard took about four thousand." "Oh, Tom!" Tom had been coy about his income, and Rebecca had never considered how much money he had wasted over the years.She was shocked, but now that her husband was a prodigal son, none of that mattered. Tom was lost in thought.The water had dried on Rebecca's back, but her hair still hung down from her forehead in a smooth, unbroken piece as she rose from the basin.Tom took a piece of tobacco and began to chew, trying to keep the habit only around the rig, but without complete success.Red saliva with black silk began to appear on the ground in spots. "If you can't do it, honey, forget it. Either way, I don't want to start another war." "no no." Tom spat again, pressed the tobacco into a ball between his teeth, and set it aside.He couldn't get Alan and Alan Tang out of his mind.How easy it would have been if Alan had failed in Persia!He took a deep breath. "I'll do it," he said, "and if I can't do it for myself, I'll do it for you and Mitchell." "Are you sure? You can think again." "No, next week is fine. There's something wrong with the rig, and we're going to be out of drilling for a week until the builders fix it." That's true, but that's no excuse.Tom suddenly felt determined to drive the shadow away.It would be better to act while his resolution was still strong, than to wait to dim it again.Rebecca shivered suddenly and violently in the water.She had been in the water for so long that the nights were starting to cool.She stood up, beautifully naked, and crawled into an old curtain they had used as a bath towel. "I love you," she said. "Me too. I love you too." Her deep black eyes looked at him again as usual. "You're brave. It's not going to be easy." The night wind blew by, and she trembled again.She felt a sudden chill.They are very happy here.Everything is beautiful.Was she a little crazy to send Tom back into his obsession?Right or wrong, she was playing with fire. Allen sat at the end of the bed.Lottie sat on the bed with her back propped against a pile of pillows.Her white dressing gown was half uncovered.It was March 12, 1930.Their third child, Polly, who was born four months ago, had fallen asleep after eating, her mother's nipple still in her little mouth.Lottie gently lifted the baby away and pulled on her dressing gown.She smiled slightly. "Aren't you tired?" Allen asked. "It's three in the morning, honey, of course I'm tired." Ellen grabbed Lottie's feet under the covers and massaged her.Of all the women he knew--or rich women, for that matter--his wife was the only one who took care of the babies herself, breastfeeding them tirelessly, even at night.Even now, after their third baby was born, Ellen wasn't sure whether he admired Lottie for doing it or would rather she didn't. "You have to take care of yourself too," he said. "That's exactly what I'm doing." "We can just hire someone to babysit at night, if you want." "Yes, I can if I want to." Allen shook his head and smiled.Trying to change his wife's resolve was like digging for oil in Piccadilly.He didn't know why he was bothering. "You didn't sleep either," she said. "I was a light sleeper and heard you wake up. That's it." "Are you still dreaming?" He looked at her sharply.It was the first time in quite some time that she had mentioned his night dreams. "Yes," he said, "or no. Yes and no." "What a clear answer. Glad I asked that question." Allen laughed. "It's weird. I tried to explain it to Westfield before. The dream itself hasn't changed at all. I have dreams every night. It's always Tom. It's always war. It's always Tom falling under a barrage of gunfire." go down." "Oh dear!" Lottie's voice was full of worry, but Allen shook his head, "It's strange that the dream has changed. I used to wake up in nightmares. Not anymore. It's not that my feelings have changed, it's more like It’s that they’ve completely disappeared. I feel like I’m watching a newsreel, and I don’t really believe it’s fundamental truth.” Lottie stroked the baby's little head.Little Polly began to snore, milky white bubbles blowing from the corners of her mouth. "What did Westfield say?" she said, softening her voice for Polly's sake. "He said my subconscious didn't accept that Tom was dead. He asked me to... consider the possibility that Tom is still alive." "My God! Do you really think he might be alive?" Allen shook his head, "No, of course not. For months, Westfield kept telling me that, but I still couldn't help but feel that I was right. Nothing else, if Tom is still alive, he must have come to me by now. Anyway, the war is over long enough." "Yes," Lottie continued the subject for a moment, then changed the subject, "I haven't told you, my dear, we are very lucky to have Polly with us now." "Oh, of course...why? What? What are you talking about?" "When Polly decided to come out, she got tangled up in the umbilical cord. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck. Every effort I made to get this little naughty guy out was literally strangling the umbilical cord further and further around her neck. tight." "My God! I don't know a thing! I..." Alan wasn't there once when his wife gave birth.He was never asked, and never told, these gory details. "It's fine. I have a doctor and a midwife with me and they know exactly what to do." "Thank goodness." "Yeah, it got me thinking, it made me miss my days as a nurse." Allen swallowed.He had guessed partly what Lottie was up to, and was not sure he would like the idea. "You wouldn't want to...I mean, you wouldn't really..." "No, really." Allen swallowed again. "In which respect?" "Not babies, if that's what you're referring to," Lottie said. "Part of what I like about nursing is that I like the soldiers I met. I felt for them then. I still feel for them. Like, you The guy I was talking about—what's his name? Shorty or something? The one you got the leg for." “哈德威克。爱德华·哈德威克。那些假腿还不错，就是走起路来会发出咯吱声。”艾伦咧嘴一笑。爱德华·哈德威克现在是艾伦汤公司的最新职员之一，“他们现在喊他拐子。” 洛蒂也还以一笑，然后又严肃起来，“有上千个像他这样的人。整个伦敦。整个英国。他们的祖国忽视他们。这些可怜的家伙没有钱去寻求帮助。哦！我们不贫穷，我希望我们不要忽视他们。” 艾伦摇摇头，“我也这么希望。” “爸爸给了我很多钱，我几乎都用不上的钱。我想在东区成立一家医院。为退役军人和他们的家人。我们可以提供力所能及的最好的帮助，完全免费。” 艾伦沉默了片刻。 他爱洛蒂，也爱和洛蒂共同创造的家庭生活。如果她忙着成立医院，他们的生活就会改变。他已经很忙了。她也会变得同样地忙。他们平静的家庭生活将永远改变。 “那你的工作会是……” “把医院建起来。” "and then?" “我知道好的护理人员和不好的护理人员之间有什么区别。我知道什么管用。我会负责护理这一方面的事情。如果我不时想带上围裙去病房看看的话，我想我会这么做的。” 艾伦不快地微笑了一下，“我想你也会。” “而且你错了，你知道吗？” “错了？” “你说战争已经结束得够久了。其实没有。你在梦里仍然受着它的折磨。还有上千个矮子哈德威克渴望成为拐子哈德威克。还有其他无法正常呼吸的人。那些每晚都会尖叫着惊醒的人。那些失明，失聪，或是因为旧伤没有得到正确护理而仍然受到折磨的人。而且，战争对德国人民来说也还没有结束，因为我们仍然觉得有必要严厉惩罚他们，而事实上他们自己对这一罪行并没有任何决定权。” 艾伦叹口气。小波莉满足地叹口气，打了一个奶味儿十足的饱嗝，往下滑到妈妈的肚子上。一只小手仍然平放在洛蒂的肋骨间，像是要防止自己再次滑动。艾伦伸出手，将洛蒂脸上的发丝拂到一边。 “我想你是对的。”他说，掩饰着自己对妻子提议的持续不快。 她微微一笑，“而且韦斯特菲尔德说的对，”她说，“你确实认为汤姆还活着。你从没放弃过。” “亲爱的，我——” "speak out." “你跟韦斯特菲尔德一样坏。” “我很希望自己更坏一点。说出来。” "Say what?" “说汤姆还活着。” “可是如果我非常清楚他并没有活着，为什么——”他本想继续抗议下去，可他从洛蒂的脸上看出这并没有太大的意义。“汤姆还活着。”他觉得自己这么说就像一个傻子。 “不是那样的。大声点。就好像你真的这么想。” “汤姆还活着。” "Come again." “汤姆还活着。他还活着。汤姆还活着，他没死。汤姆，我的兄弟，我的——” 但他没能再说下去。就像是一个万桶喷油井一样，他的情感全都爆发出来，将障碍物击得粉碎。艾伦·蒙塔古，艾伦汤石油公司的常务董事，军功十字勋章的获得者，三个孩子的父亲，坐在妻子的床边哭得就像个婴儿。 洛蒂等到激烈的哭泣过去，然后柔声说道，“告诉我，亲爱的，不管这听上去有多么不切实际：你想怎么做？” “我想找到他，”艾伦说。 “你当然想，那就去找。” 哈勒尔森在小木屋后面高高的草丛里到处乱踢。 “那样可找不到石油，蒂奇。你得去钻井。” “嘿，朋友！欢迎回来！你消失得太突然了。” Tom shrugged.哈勒尔森一直踢到有只脚卡在一片该死的草丛里，然后他单脚四处跳着，一边诅咒一边将那根带刺的小种子从腿上拨出来。 “呀，该死的……听着，这里是不是放过一个打捞工具？” “那边的小棚子，木材后面。”汤姆用手指了指方向。 “该死，你应该早跟我说。我在这儿踢了半个多小时了。” 哈勒尔森走进棚子，然后拿出一个锈迹斑斑的打捞工具，用来从油井里捞出断折钻杆的那种。 “这么说井钻得还不错？”汤姆微笑着说。他在德士古加用的是一个像样的钻塔，他不会经历锅炉故障，油井下陷，钻杆拧断，钻头碎裂。在德士古加，他甚至都没见过打捞工具。 “真是见鬼，”哈勒尔森啐了一口。“自从你不见了之后，整套该死的东西就毛病一个接一个。”汤姆带有一丝兴趣地注意到哈勒尔森的愤怒。也许他看错了哈勒尔森。当然，他是个骗子。这是毫无疑问的。但也许他身上有一小部分也在意着能不能找到石油。汤姆喜欢这点。 “我来要回我的钱，蒂奇。” "what?" "You heard it." “见鬼的没有钱给任何人。我没有，朋友，你也绝对没有。” 哈勒尔森块头比较大，但他没什么力气，还挺着个大肚子。汤姆没他那么重，但他的肌肉就像钻塔上的缆绳一样结实。汤姆把手放到哈勒尔森的胸前推着他，他的动作并不粗暴，但力度足以把他推得顶到小棚子的角柱上。 “蒂奇，你偷走了我的钱，就像你偷走其他每个人的钱一样。有些钱你花在了油井上。大多数儿你都放进了自个儿的口袋。我要进了你口袋的那部分。” “天啊，汤姆，天啊，”哈勒尔森用双手推着汤姆的胳膊，汤姆在抵抗了片刻之后，放下他的钳制。“以前你很相信这口井的，朋友，你是我能依赖的家伙之一。” “你把钱给我弄来，不然我就上法庭告你。他们都是些穷人，那些被你欺骗的人。你骗人骗得够久的了，也许现在是时候让你停手了。” “见鬼……天啊……你离开这儿之后肯定开始信教了。”哈勒尔森揉着胸部，就好像汤姆伤着了他一样，事实上绝对没有。“以前从来不知道你还会这么菩萨心肠。” “那笔钱，蒂奇，那笔钱。” “你要多少？” “你偷走的那些。” “我得有开销，朋友，你不知道的开销。” “给霍林太太买的法国奢侈品？” “嘿，我尽我所能了。” “把钱给我弄来，蒂奇。” “是，是，好，明白了。” "do not forget." "it is good." 汤姆点点头，然后走远一点，不再正对着哈勒尔森那张脸。紧张气氛散去了。汤姆曾经在心底惧怕的那一刻变得非常容易。现在，他站在这儿，终于看清了整件事是多么愚蠢。他不想再跟哈勒尔森混在一起，也没想要再赌最后一次……他为自己骄傲，他迫切地想要回到深爱的妻子和儿子身边。 “好吧，蒂奇。” “咝。” 汤姆从口袋里拿出一些烟草，递给哈勒尔森一些，他感激地接过。他们俩都默默地咀嚼了片刻。 “听着，朋友，不废话，我会给你弄到些钱。” Tom nodded. “可现在给我挖油井的那帮家伙是一群笨蛋。我们现在在挖三号井。二号井已经毁了。三号井——见鬼，你知道我们是怎么决定这口井的地点的吗？就在我们搬动钻塔的时候底梁倒塌了，钻塔就倒在尘土里。我们没法再搬动它。木材厂不会让我们拿十块钱买个底梁，所以我们就停在那儿了。内利·霍林三号井。” Tom laughed.在德士古加公司的油田上不会出现这种事。 “刚好你在这儿，朋友，帮我个忙，把那截钻杆捞出来。昨天折的那根。我现在找的那帮牧牛工捞一百年也捞不上来。” "no problem." “再帮我提取一个岩芯。我的想法是我们可以提取一个岩芯。我们现在是三千两百英尺，已经很接近了。” “我七天后就得回去。你在六天内把钱给我弄来。在这期间，我会尽我所能。” “我们现在应该已经快到了。油砂。” “对，对。” “该死，如果什么也挖不出来，那我就不管了。谁也不能说我没有尽力。” 哈勒尔森的神情中有一丝绝望，一丝沮丧。并不是因为汤姆来要钱，而是因为他们没能找到石油。几乎是他们认识以来第一次，哈勒尔森达到了让汤姆尊重的级别。 军事档案室在四楼。屋子很小，只够摆下一张窄窄的金属桌子和一对窄窄的金属椅子，桌椅上写着“陆军部”，就好像什么人会想要偷走它们一样。一名中校站在窗前抽烟，背对着门。 艾伦敲敲开着的门。 “打扰一下，我想找——” 那名军官转过身。艾伦注意到的第一件事就是他只有一只胳膊，左手空荡荡的袖筒松松地别在上衣上。艾伦注意到的第二件事是他的脸：一张他很熟悉的脸，几乎是他在法国前线见到的第一张脸。黑色的胡子，咧向一边的微笑，肩膀上的肌肉块。 “我的天啊，弗莱彻！” “蒙塔古！” 艾伦先是震惊，接着是诧异，然后是高兴。类似的情感也在另一个人的脸上掠过。弗莱彻大步穿过屋子，将手上的烟头扔开。“再见到你真是该死的好极了。真是该死见鬼的惊喜。” 两人带着真正的暖意握了握手。弗莱彻看上去比以前要老——老，而且不再拥有从前那种具有威胁性的强健。但他的面孔仍然年轻，握手仍然有力。 “看到我这丑陋的样子肯定吃了该死的一惊吧？是不是以为你能避而不见？” “一点都没有，”艾伦微笑着。他的右手举起很随意地敬了一个礼。“这是最美好的惊讶。”他几乎是咬掉舌头才忍住没有脱口加上“长官”。“你还好吧，我想？你看上去……” “我看上去就像个该死的残废，蒙塔古。你可能觉得应该往我的帽子里扔两个便士或是从我这儿买一盒火柴。但至少我没死，对吧？这是最主要的。你看上去不错。四肢健在无损。” “对，他们把我拼凑了起来。” “说到拼凑，那不是你妻子吧，那个……” “没错，在东区为战争伤员设立的医院。她刚买下房子和地基，现在正等着那些建筑工人把地方弄好。这类设施非常有必要，你知道。” “对，我确实知道。事实上……”弗莱彻的脸因为困窘而微微发红，“我听说了这顶工程。我捐了些东西——当然了，很少——没法跟那些——不管怎样——觉得最好——可能不该说这些——该死的笨蛋。” “一点都没有。你很善良。” “对，没错，没错，”弗莱彻哼走困窘，突然改变了话题，“另外那个家伙呢？你的朋友。克瑞里。皇家军队里穿着最邋遢的中尉。他……还是说他已经……”弗莱彻顿住，试着记起克瑞里是否死在那场大屠杀中。 艾伦勉强一笑，“事实上我正是为此而来。克瑞里被派出去突袭一些枪哨，设防严密的机枪哨位。” “天啊，对！准将的意思，对吧？以为这场该死的战争是上帝为他安排的获得晋升的机会。他如愿以偿了。头一天晋升，第二天心脏病发作。脑袋一头扎进整盘的牛肉。不过这都是我听说的，管他呢，你说什么？” “失踪，假定死亡。”艾伦轻声说。 “假定死亡……我很难过。他是个非常优秀的军人，克瑞里，最优秀的军人之一。在阅兵场上会是个该死的玩笑，不过在战场上……你也是。非常优秀。我很幸运。”弗莱彻的手抚上左肩的残肢，紧紧握住。 “谢谢你，汤姆会非常高兴的。” 弗莱彻点点头，把手移开，“对，我很幸运。” “问题是，我不确定克瑞里真的牺牲了。” “嗯？真的吗？我记得那些枪哨。说到德国鬼子的长处，他们很擅长用枪。” “确实。只是，跟克瑞里一起执行任务的人里确实有个人活了下来。他受的伤很重，但他还活着。我认为克瑞里有可能也活了下来。没死，但是被俘了。” “战俘是吗？所以你来了这儿？寻找答案？”弗莱彻用惟一的胳膊冲出狭小的屋子和外面的走廊挥了挥，“陆军部档案室，嗯？” Allen nodded. 弗莱彻的表情变得更加严肃，“战俘。对。嗯，听着，严格说来，你来对了地方，只是……” "only……" “嗯，我们这儿有两种名单。当时前线会送来报告——'克瑞里中尉，非常优秀，失踪，假定死亡，'那一类的记录。问题是，当时的报告非常的愚蠢，而且它们并没有因为时间的流逝而变得不那么愚蠢。就跟我们一样。很多我们假定死亡的家伙最后被证明是被俘了。很多我们以为被俘的家伙最后被证明是牺牲了。浪费了该死的时间。” "I see." “然后，还有些人是停战后我们从德国人那儿带回来的。我们的名单本应该是非常完整的。我是说，我们需要知道谁还在，谁不在了。陆军部里那帮该死的办公人员也想知道，因为抚恤金和这一类的原因，更别提哪些家伙死里逃生了。” “死里逃生？” “对……我想你应该知道战俘营是什么样的地方吧？那可不是该死的度假营，这是肯定的。” “我略有耳闻。” “嗯，可能还不够多。我们那些庄园主和领导人不想对德国人挥起仇恨的鞭子，仅仅是因为我们应该和他们言归于好。不能说我很同意。惟一比德国佬更坏的只有该死的法国人。不过，转念想想，惟一比该死的法国人更坏的是……” 艾伦脸上的某种神情让他停住了对国际关系的分析。弗莱彻耸了耸肩。失去胳膊的那边肩膀是全然的僵硬。他的耸肩是不对称的，一半轻松，一半被毁。整个英国现在都是那样。 “不管是哪样，”他继续说道，“我们每进入一个战俘营，都会记下姓名、军衔和编号。当然了，法国佬也这么干。可你得明白，有些时候，当我们赶到的时候战俘营已经瓦解得差不多了。如果已经输了该死的战争，那就没有太大的意义再让战俘营里关满犯人，也没有太大的意义再去管什么档案。” “所以说有些犯人就自己走了？” “他们会非常饥饿，你得明白。该死的德国鬼子不会让他们吃饱——记住，到了最后他们连自己都喂不饱——所以说，如果我被关在监狱里，我可能也会走掉。荷兰，瑞士，法国，离得最近的随便哪个国家。” “你说到饥饿……”艾伦的声音不太平稳。他在想汤姆。饥饿的汤姆。饿极了的汤姆。 弗莱彻收紧下巴，试着让他的声音缓和地进入艾伦的耳朵。当他开口时，他的声音奇怪地混合了粗暴和温和，“不仅仅是饥饿，是快要饿死。我们有些人回来的时候只有七英石重，六英石重，肚子向外鼓起，里面全是空气和肠气……被俘的人中每八个会死去一个，主要都是因为缺少食物。” “每八个一个？” “而且，当然了，你知道，克瑞里应该是'失踪，假定死亡'。” “我不太明白。” “食品包裹。红十字会不会去管死人，那不是他们的工作。对不起。” “我明白了。我一点都不知道。”艾伦低语着。 "and……" “而且？” 弗莱彻的脸色更加严峻，“我们那些可怜的孩子们，你，我，克瑞里，所有人，我们在索姆河被打得七零八落。1916年。8月。那表示克瑞里得熬过两年。不止，不止两年。不止两年的时间内没有足够的食物。我觉得十分的抱歉。” That's it.他们继续坐在那儿闲聊着。他们追忆着过去的战友，过去的煎熬，过去的恐怖。他们一根接一根地抽着弗莱彻的香烟，空气里弥漫着蓝色的烟雾。他们许诺再次见面，也许他们会这么做。 可是汤姆。 任何的追忆都改变不了关于汤姆的事实。他几乎肯定是死在枪弹之下。如果没有，他也会在被俘后饿死。他生还的可能性好像只有一百万分之一。