Chapter 9 9.Anthony went blackberry picking

For Anthony, sometimes things are pretty good and sometimes they're not.When those things satisfy him, he doesn't take it seriously, he's just happy with them.But when they didn't satisfy him, he didn't take it seriously and just tried everything he could to make things better.He was always trying to make things better, to make things a little more.One of his favorite games was pretending to be electricity on a telegraph wire, after his father had explained to him what a telegraph was.He would run a thread from tree to tree in the orchard, hang a telegram on the thread, and run as fast as he could by the telegram, patting the paper with his hands and Shoot from one end to the other.Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!He never felt like he was fast enough, never got there fast enough.Why are things always so slow?

Also, why are things always so same?We do the same things every day.Why do we live?One day Baba asked him to go for a walk, so he asked.Why do they always walk along the same road?Why can't they sometimes take their walks in the air like the birds, and down the earth like the moles? But that's just how frustrated Anthony is sometimes, because things are always so slow, always so same, always so disappointing.One thing that never failed him was going to Mrs. Rimmer.Mrs. Rimmer lives in Medwick, up a lane, down a lane, down a lane, a little bit down a lane, and a long way down a lane that house.It was a beautiful gray stone house with gables, like a small estate turned farmhouse.It stands high, overlooking several valleys, which undulate into the depths below.The best room in the house was the large kitchen with flagstones.The first time Anthony was there, Mrs. Rimmer sat him down at the table and gave him cream with plums, sweet purple plums, and thick yellow cream.Later, whenever he went back to Medwick, he always had a bowl of yellow cream and fresh fruit, sometimes raspberries, sometimes seedless grapes, strawberries, apricots, plums or greengages.He knew that Mrs. Rimmer's hospitality never failed, and was always as good as the first time he remembered it, and could be expected to always be so.

But other things should be delights and disappointments.Like Christmas and birthdays.He looked forward to them so eagerly, imagined so vividly what they would be like then.Most of the days on the calendar crept up to him in clothes of no particular color, at least he didn't think about wearing anything, and it was only later when they had passed that he saw what a lovely day and One such and such day passed by.He hadn't expected it at all, and it had come and gone with gusto.The unexpected surprises of those days did not disappoint him, because he had not expected them.But Christmas and his birthday he was looking forward to day and night, perhaps too much.He had seen them coming, dressed in gold, with gifts of all kinds in their hands.Sometimes the presents are all he wants, or very close to what he wants.But sometimes those presents seemed too few and not as magnificent as he imagined, and at this time, the splendor of Christmas or his birthday was a little blurred.

Lesser events, such as Fox Day (Guy Fawkes, the mastermind of the Gunpowder Plot, is celebrated by burning his effigy every November 5th), were also long-awaited, but seldom brought him to the fore. disappointment.Unless it's raining, unless you have a cold, there will always be a bonfire and fireworks, as the adults promise.Even if the bonfire doesn't light right away and the fireworks get a little wet, that won't really disappoint you.You have never stopped waiting anxiously and full of expectations. Any small result will ignite your hope, and any big result will exceed your hope.Hand-held Roman pyrotechnic tubes, as long as half of the success is the whole success.It's more successful than successful when a rocket goes off entirely - you don't have time to think about it when it goes high and explodes, sending golden rain and colorful stars in all directions, all you have to do is hold on Time to feel that burst of ecstasy.You are amazed by the joy you have longed for.

"Which do you like best, toys or fireworks?" Anthony asked his nanny. "Fireworks are beautiful, but toys take much longer to play with," Baba said. "Can they play forever?" Anthony asked. "As long as you don't break them." "Can I take them to heaven?" "Oh no, my little lamb," said Baba, "you cannot do that." Anthony suddenly felt that the world was dull.His little mouth pouted. "Nothing is useful, then, is it? What are your toys if you can't take them to heaven? You take care of them and they pretend to last forever, but they don't Can't keep forever..."

His dad sent another rocket into the sky in the garden. "Oh!" Anthony grabbed Baba's hand, and his gaze swept across the night sky, staring at the golden trail left by the high-flying flames.It bent down like a flower bud bending the branches, and then falling into the sky were some flowers that were as bright as stars, red ones, blue ones, white ones, and green ones.They were all floating towards him, and he stretched out his little hands, oh, he wanted to grab one, hold it in his hand, and look at it carefully!Save it!But before reaching his hands, these colorful stars melted and disappeared.But this wonder, kindled in Anthony's heart, can never be damaged, and can never be extinguished.

Anthony looks forward to special seasons as well as special days.There is blackberry season and there is snow season.Snow never disappoints, it comes and goes, always unexpectedly.You can't calculate exactly when it's coming and when it's going, so you don't count on that.But when it comes, you can fully enjoy the joy.Snow fun never gets old, and this winter is just like last. But blackberry picking can be disappointing.Anthony always counted on blackberries to be plentiful and tasty.They are sometimes plentiful, but rarely taste as good as they did last summer.They are either not big enough or not black enough.He never had the best blackberry bush in all of Somerset.And it was the best blackberry bush in Somerset for Anthony to pick.When he was picking a clump of blackberries, the best clump was always the next clump, and when he pounced on the next, the best clump was the one further away.And this clump, in the end, was not as good as the one we had just left.Often when Anthony returned home and searched through his collection, he always seemed to feel that these were not good enough for his mother.Before he took it to his mother, he grabbed the inkwell to darken the largest blackberry in his basket.Then he put them on top of the basket and took them to his mother's room to dedicate to her.She took it down with admiration, his face and hands smeared with blackberry juice and ink, and he left almost contented, thinking his mother really believed his blackberries were extra black.He himself almost believed them to be extra black.He made it nearly as well as he'd hoped, only because God didn't make them as well.

But his mother sighed and smiled a little, because the world wasn't all that Anthony wanted it to be. One day Anthony's eye was shot blue.It was Bertie Davis who beat him up like this, and he came home with a headache.Baba fussed as usual. "Who made you like this?" "Berti." "That little rascal. I'll have to teach him a lesson. Just watch!" Anthony's mother came into the room. "What is it, Baba?" Baba pointed to Anthony's eyes. "That's what Berty Jr. did. I'm going to get him!" "You had a fight with Berti, Anthony?"

"Yes, Mom." "For what?" Anthony himself didn't know. "Ah, it's all right. We'll make up." Anthony's head was really hurting, and his mother put medicine on his eyes and sent him to bed.Anthony wished that.He didn't want to embarrass Berti at all.He bled Berti's nose until Berti bruised his eyes.Now he could enjoy Baba's indignation and his mother's tenderness at the same time.When the two of them were with him, he very quietly put his head on the pillow and asked Baba to close the curtains leaving only a crack to let the sunlight in so that Baba could read to him.When he was alone, he used to get out of bed and go to the mirror to look into his eyes.That look was really conspicuous, and every once in a while it got a little more conspicuous than before.

The next morning his eyes were even more horribly blue, but to his surprise his head didn't hurt anymore, and his eyes almost stopped hurting when touched.How did that happen?His eyes are like blackberries, whether they are ripe blackberries or raw blackberries, they must hurt anyway, it is unreasonable not to hurt.Anthony was convinced that his situation was much worse, so when Baba came in, he lay very, very still. "What's the matter with you, lazybones?" "Do I have to get up?" Anthony's voice was so weak that even he was deeply moved.A tear trickled from his eye.Baba bent down and saw the tear.

"You don't feel well, little lamb?" Anthony shook his head. Baba went and got his mother. "Must I have to go to school today, Mom?" Anthony was already attending a small rural elementary school.His mother drew back the curtains and looked closely into his eyes.He frowned when the light found his eyes.Eyes like his must not stand the sun. "Does your head still hurt, Anthony?" Anthony nodded.His conspicuous eye has one patch of red, one patch of blue, one patch of blue, and one patch of purple.He was sure his head must be hurting. "You don't have to go to school today!" said his mother. "Must I get up, mother?" "After the rebellion is over, let's see your situation." Breakfast in bed is a great perk.After breakfast, Anthony's condition did not improve. He asked Baba to close the curtains and lay down again.His mother looked at him and thought about it for a while, and it seemed that she should be considerate of him and not bother him. The day passed very slowly.In the afternoon Anthony got a book and hid it under his pillow.Being sick is a great thing, but it's kind of dull if there's no one in the room who cares about him.He felt good about not going to school though.Early the next morning, before Baba came, Anthony looked into his eyes in the mirror.He was annoyed to see that his paint had faded.An interesting dark yellow spot replaced the blackberry-like mass, but the golden eyelids didn't even cause a little alarm in his mind.He got up and looked for the ink bottle, trying to find a way to restore his eyes to their original shape.Even if it's a bit different than before, it's somehow darker than before.He was back in bed before his mother came to visit him in her gray pajamas. "Good morning, dear!" She went to the window. "Oh, mother, don't draw the curtains. Please! My eyes are sick." His mother came and sat on the edge of the bed. "Let me see your eyes." She gently pulled the quilt from his head. "My God, my God!" she muttered. "Does it look bad, Mom?" Anthony asked tremblingly.He began to feel very weak again. "It's dark," said his mother. "I reckon we'll have to lighten the room a little, dear." Anthony's head fell on the pillow like a dying man.His mother opened the curtains and looked again. "Hmm!" she said, touching his eyelids lightly, "it's not as bad as it looks." "Really, mother?" "I think we can get some of it off," his mother said cheerfully, and got a sponge and hot water. "It's not all a bruise, just a good wash." So she washed him. "Has it gone, mother? Am I better?" "Well, it's much better." "I'm not well enough to go to school, are I, mother?" "Oh, I think you're good enough, dear." Anthony sat up, his energy restored.She brought him a small mirror.He looked at his bruised eyes and got out of bed.It's good that he's back on the ground.He was clothed and felt like a man snatched from the jaws of death.Even if it's not true, it's pretty much the same. At school he described his eyes to Berti in detail, and Berti told him how many handkerchiefs he had used before he stopped the bleeding, and blood stained his clothes.They are very proud of themselves and of each other.