Chapter 7 Chapter VII

In the morning, he ran into Pastor McKay at the post office and thought he was good at preaching the doctrine.McKay was walking toward the harbour, to see if the crew of the Swedish fishing boat anchored there would stay until the day after tomorrow, and would like to come to church.He knew that there was also a Dutch fishing boat there, and he speculated that the crew should be believers of the Presbyterian Church. If they were willing to come, he would prepare a sermon in English for them. He apologized to Grant for the bad weather.Since it is the beginning of the year, the weather on the island is not very good at present, but he believes that when there is a holiday, he should enjoy it without being affected by the weather.

"You are the teacher at the school? Mr. Grant." no.Grant said he was a public servant.This is what he usually answers when people ask him what he does.People are more willing to believe that civil servants are human beings, but no one believes that police officers are human beings.The policeman is a flat stereotype with silver buttons and a register book. "You haven't been here before, and you'd be amazed if you could see the island in June, Mr. Grant. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, it was the same every day, and the air danced up and down in front of you, making you see and the desert Like a weird mirage."

"Have you been in North Africa before?" Oh! yes.Mr. McKay had spent some time in North Africa with the army. "Believe me, Mr. Grant, there are so many strange things to see from the windows of the vicarage here! I haven't seen them from Alamein to Tripoli. I saw the lighthouse hanging in the air, yes! It is really in the air.I have also seen the hillside gradually deform until it looks like a large mushroom.The stones by the sea, those big stone pillars, will become shiny and transparent and move, as if they are dancing a square dance. " Grant pondered this with great interest, and heard nothing further on from Mr. MacKay.They parted next to Ann Roughquist at Kottberg, and Mr. McKay hoped that Grant would go to the Ceilidh tonight, because all the Islanders would be there, and he would hear beautiful singing.

When he asked the hotel owner about the Ceilidh and where it was held, Mr. Todd said that it was a combination of singing and speeches, usually with dancing at the end, and that it was held in only one place, Falcon Hall , as this is the only place on the island suitable for such a party. "Why is it called a falcon?" "It was named after a lady who used to come to the island in the summer. She was a full advocate of increasing trade and helping the islanders become self-sufficient.So she built a nice rectangular house on the island, with big windows and skylights, so that they could gather together and weave without hurting their eyes by weaving in a small dark room.She said everyone should come together to make Grada tweed a brand that everyone wants to buy, just like Hari.

What a poor woman! Actually she could save energy and money.Since none of the islanders would walk a yard to work there, they would rather stay in their own homes and risk going blind.However, the house is just right now as a gathering place for the islanders.Why don't you go and see how their party goes tonight?" Grant said he would, and went out, to climb that lonely hillside in Grada. There was no fog today, though the wind still carried a strong humidity When he climbed to a high place, the sea spread under his feet, scattered with small islands, and the waves rolled up the lines. From time to time, straight lines can be seen on the sea, forming an unnatural part of nature, which is the trace of the passing of ships. At the top of the hill, the whole world of the High Brides was at his feet. He sat there thinking that this desolate, waterlogged world was to him the most desolate of all. A world that is shapeless and empty. Standing here looking down at Grada, the sea and the land are so perfectly integrated that it is impossible to tell whether you are looking at land full of lakes or islands. A sea like this is best reserved for gray geese and seals.

Anyway, he was glad to be here, watching the sea's surface change form, purple and gray and green; seabirds gliding high above as if to watch him;He thought about the sights and walking stones that Mr. McKay had mentioned.Thinking about Seven B like he never stopped thinking.This is basically Seven B's world, which fits his description. The singing sand, the talking beast, the walking stone and the still river.What on earth is Seven B planning to do here? Is it just to come here like him, and then look around? A few changes of clothes and a suitcase for the night.This obviously only means two things: either attending a meeting or visiting.Since he has not been found missing so far, it is obvious that he did not come to the meeting; in this case, it must be an inspection.A person can inspect many things: a house, a scene, a painting.But if the man is tempted to write verses along the way, they must be an indicator of the subject he is examining.

What made Seven B obsessed with this desolate world? Is it because he read too many books written by people like Patch Maxwell? Or he forgot that silver sand, wild flowers and aqua blue sea are all very beautiful things. Seasonal? Standing atop Grada, Grant pays homage and blessing to Seven B.Thanks to Seven B, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting in this wet world, feeling like a king, undergoing a new birth to be himself again.Now he is not only Seven B's supporter, but also owes him a debt, and is his servant. As soon as he was out of the shelter he was hiding in, the wind slammed into his chest, so he leaned forward as he descended, letting the wind hold him up, as he had done when he was a child.He looked extremely dangerous, as if he was about to fall down the mountain, but in fact he was safe.

"How long do storms usually last here?" he asked the innkeeper after dinner, stumbling through the darkness to the clubhouse. "Three days at least," said Mr. Todd. "But it's rarely so short. It blew for a month last winter. If you're used to this kind of howling wind, once the wind stops for a while, you'll think you're deaf. In this kind of weather, you'd better go back by plane." , don’t take the ferry anymore. A lot of people are flying now, even some old people who have never seen a train. They think flying is very logical.” It did occur to Grant that perhaps he should fly back; if he stayed here a few more days, if he had just a little longer to get used to his newfound happiness, he might try flying.It would be a very severe test, the worst he would put himself through.For any claustrophobic person, the mere thought of being packed into a small space, hanging helplessly high in the air, is scary enough.

If he can face it without backing down, and get through it without injury, then he can declare himself cured.He will be a real man again. But he'll have to wait, it's too early to ask himself that question. The Cemetery had been going on for twenty minutes when they arrived, and they were standing in the back with some others. There are only old people and women sitting on chairs in the hall. Of course, there is a row of men's heads in the front, which are important people on the island (such as Duncan Tavish, the supplier of Grada's underground king, two the presiding officer of the church, and some lesser ones).The men were all standing against the wall at the back, gathering at the entrance.As the people standing outside made way for them to enter, Grant noticed that the party was quite cosmopolitan: there were a lot of Swedes and Dutch, and he heard Aberdeenshire (on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands.—Translator's Note ) coastal accent.

One girl sang in a thin soprano, sweet and real, but without emotion, like someone trying to play a verse on a flute.The next, a confident young man, was greeted with considerable enthusiasm, but he seemed a little comical in accepting the applause with such an overt ego;He seemed to be so popular with the Gaels far from the British Isles that he spent far more time being applauded there than on his small farm.He sang affable ditties in a rough, overly artificial tenor, and it was a pleasure to watch the chorus.But to Grant's surprise, he didn't even learn the basic training of singing.In the process of his development to the British island, he will definitely meet some real singers who know how to use their voice skills.It is very surprising that he is so vain that he refuses to learn the basics of his professional art.

Also, a contralto sang another emotionless song; a man told a funny story.Geert doesn't understand Gaelic at all, except for a few words he learned from a few old men in Scotland as a child, so he listens to these performances as if he were listening to Italian or Tamil (the language used in South India and Sri Lanka. ) sideshow.Apart from the fact that the performers themselves had a good time performing, the whole show was boring enough.Those songs were not musical at all, and some of them even sounded obnoxious.If that's what people gather for in the High Brides, the party isn't worth coming to.A few stirring songs, like all works of genius, have wings of their own to tour the world.As for this bad imitation, let it run its course. During the whole concert, the men standing on the sidelines kept coming and going. Grant didn't pay attention at first. He didn't realize until someone pushed him on the shoulder and said, "do you want a drink?" The islanders were ready to treat him with the rarest merchandise on the island.It would have been rude to refuse, so he thanked the man and followed him into the darkness.Leaning on the downwind of the outer wall of the conference hall, several Grada men remained contentedly silent.The man stuffed a small bottle of about two gils (volume liquid unit, equal to 0.142 liters.——Translator's Note) into his hand, said: "Dry it!"Before his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, the man had reached for his bottle back and wished him well.He then followed the unknown friend back into the brightly lit hall.Then he saw someone mysteriously tap Mr. Todd on the shoulder, and then Mr. Todd followed the man into the darkness like him to accept the offer to drink the bottle.No wonder the Scots have a silly, timid and playful view of whiskey, Grant thought, since such a thing was unheard of anywhere except in Prohibition America (of course, in Striespey, where whiskey is made, they put a whole bottle of Whiskey sits at the center of the table, as much a matter of course as the Brits do, and maybe a little more proudly); no wonder they act as if drinking whiskey is a daring, even brave thing to do.The surprised or sly look that the average Scot looks at when he speaks of his "national drink" is precisely the result of ecclesiastical or legal prohibition. He was warmed up by the drink, and he listened more patiently to Duncan Tavish speaking confidently in a long series of words in Gaelic. He was introducing a speaker from afar, a man who really needed no introduction because his accomplishments were already well known (even so, Don Ken said a lot).Grant did not catch the man's Gaelic name, but he noticed that those who had slipped outside swarmed in as soon as they heard the cheers of welcoming guests.I don't know if it's the speaker who's sparked interest or if the whiskey outside has run out. Grant watched with lazy curiosity a small man stood up from the seat in the front row, stepped onto the podium and walked to the middle with the accompaniment of the piano. That's Archie Brown. Archie looked even weirder in Gradda than he had been in the Kernu Wastes, smaller and more gaudy in his clothes.Kilts are not an island costume, so Archie looked more like a souvenir doll among the plainly colored and heavily dressed and stiffly clad.Lacking a flamboyant Scotch hat to adorn, Archie is a bit naked, like a policeman without his helmet.His hair is very thin, with thin strands combed back from the top of his head, covering the bald parts.He looked like something plucked out of a cheap Christmas stocking. However, these did not detract from the audience's welcome to him.Apart from members of the Royal Family, Grant could not think of anyone, individually or collectively, who had been so lavishly welcomed as Archie.Even those who were stealing drinks against the walls were attracted, which is quite surprising.Then, the silence of the audience after he spoke was simply a compliment.Grant wished he could see the faces of these people.He thought of what Bella and Pat had thought of Archie, but what about these islanders who were far away from the outside world, far from diversity? What about someone like Archie? The island is very simple, you can get what you want, self-conscious and self-centered, all the material that fits Archie's dreams.It is impossible for the islanders to change their rule, because no one has ever really ruled them.For these islanders, the government is nothing more than a group used by the islanders to extract profits and collect taxes.Yet their sense of detachment can be manipulated into compassion; their opportunism can be fueled by stalking interests. In Grada, Archie wasn't an embarrassing insignificant, as he was at Little Dever Lake; in Grada he was a possible force.In ultimate value, Grada and the surrounding islands represent a submarine base, smuggling point, watchtower, airfield, and patrol base.What did these islanders think of Gillis Big Marabruisan and his dogma? He wished he could see their faces. Archie spoke in a thin, angry voice for half an hour, passionate and uninterrupted; the audience listened in silence.At this point Grant glanced at the rows of seats in front of him, and it seemed to him that they were more empty than they had been at the beginning of the evening.Because the situation was somewhat unusual, Grant turned his attention to Archie to think about it.He noticed someone moving furtively along the fifth and sixth rows, so his eyes followed to the end of the row.There, the shadow stood up, and it turned out to be Katien.Katiean paid no attention, her eyes still fixed on the speaker, before moving back through the line of standing men and disappearing into the air outside. Grant continued to watch for a while, and found that this process of "disappearing" continued, not only the sitting audience, but also those standing.These audiences quietly disappeared before Archie's eyes.This is very unusual, usually country viewers stick to the last minute, no matter how boring the show is.So Grant turned and whispered in Mr. Todd's ear, "Why are they leaving?" "They want to see the ballet." "Ballet?" "TV, that's their great pleasure. Everything else that's on TV, they've seen it all, like plays, singing shows, etc. But they haven't seen the ballet, they don't miss it for anything or anyone Dropping ballet...what's the fun in that?" But Grant isn't interested in the Isle of Gradda's enthusiasm for ballet. He's actually admiring Archie's oddly broken, poor, bewildered Archie, who's overwhelmed by ballet moves.It's oddly reasonable. "Are they not coming back?" "Oh! No, they'll come back and dance." They really came back in droves.Everyone on the island was there, the old folks sat around, and the wild sounds of the dancers nearly knocked the roof off.This dance was not as light and graceful as the Home Island dance that Grant was used to, for in the Highland dance the dancers wore short skirts and moccasins and made no sound on the floor, and the men could dance like flames running from the point of a sword.But the dancing here is a little Irish, with so much sad and static Irishness that it's just the movement of the feet, rather than being full of joy, spilling over to the flailing fingertips of the arms.While the dancing itself lacks artistry and glee, a mass of joy fills the stomping performances.The space was a bit cramped for three groups of eight dancers, but it didn't take long for the Swedes and the Dutch to join in the party.A violin and a piano made a beautifully smooth melody (a melody like that would require a whole orchestra, Grant thought as he flung Katien into the arms of a jovial Swede; and like This melody usually requires a double drum beat, followed by a still period; here it's certainly not perfect, but the effect is good), and those who are not dancing are just beside the beat.The wind howls outside the skylight on the roof, while the dancers in the house roar, the violinist plucks the strings, the pianist thumps the keys, and everyone is having fun. Including Aaron Grant. He stumbled and swayed back in the relentless southwest wind and fell into bed, drunk on exercise and fresh air.What a happy day today. It was also a very rewarding day.When he got back to town, he had something to tell Ted Hannah.He Knows Archie Brown's "The Raven" Now What the hell is it. Tonight he no longer looks worriedly at the closed window, not because he has forgotten the window at all, but he feels happy looking at the closed window. He had bought into the idea of ​​the island in its entirety: Windows were meant to keep out the bad weather. He hid himself under the blanket to shield him from the storm and bad weather, and then fell into a sleepless night without dreams.