Chapter 10 Chapter 3 Little Caddles in London

Little Caddles is completely ignorant of the trend of current affairs, does not know that the French Open is tightening to all his brothers, and has no idea that there are still his brothers in the world.He picked the moment, decided to go out and see the world, and stepped out of his lime quarry.This is what his meditation finally led to.All his questions remained unanswered at Morning Abley; the new pastor was not as good as the old one, and the questions about his senseless labors ended up being exaggerated. "Why do I have to work all day in this mine?" he asked himself. "Why am I not allowed to go out into the world and see the good things outside? What have I done to deserve this punishment? "One day, he stood up, straightened his waist, and said loudly: "Quit!"

"I'm quitting," he said, and began to curse at the mine. After a while, he found the words and sentences, and turned the thoughts in his mind into actions.He lifted a cart half full of limestone, slammed it onto another cart, then grabbed a whole line of empty carts and rolled them down the hill, kicking hard enough to force a dozen Yards of rail were flipped out of their foundations.Thus began his destruction of the mine. "Let me do this for the rest of my life!" he said. For the little geologist, those five minutes were terrifying.The poor little creature, so engrossed in his work that he did not notice what little Caddles was doing, almost missed being struck by two large stones.He fled in a panic from the west corner in a hurry, and fled across the mountains into the wilderness. The rucksack jumped and the lantern shorts flashed, leaving behind the traces of Cretaceous echinoderms.And little Caddles, after sabotaging his own temper, also strode away and went to the world to fulfill his wish.

"Working in this old mine till I die and rot and stink! They think I'm a giant with maggots in me? Digging lime for stupid purposes that even God knows! I'll do it!" Perhaps it was the direction of roads and railways that led him, more likely it was accidental. He faced London and strode across the highlands and grasslands to an infinitely amazing world in that hot afternoon.The torn red and white notices with names on them flapped against every barn and wall, but it meant nothing to him; Jack of the Iron Fist, cast aside the status of entitlement.There was something called Caterham's "Edict" on the bulletin board at every police station along the road, declaring that whoever was over eight feet tall was not to be allowed more than five miles out of his "area" without a warrant, But that didn't matter to him either.The sluggish officers, thankful for their sluggishness, waved warning leaflets up his back as he went away, but it didn't matter to him anyway, he was off to see what there was to see in the world , the poor impossibly wooden head, but he felt that he should let any random fellow who had the audacity to yell "Hi!" at him stand in his way.He walked through Rochester and Greenwich, toward the denser houses.Now he walked slowly, looking around and swinging the big ax in his hand.

The Londoners had heard of him before, and knew he was stupid, but kind; knew Mrs. Wondershaw's stewards and vicars had disciplined him very well; and so on.Therefore, when they learned from the bulletin board of the newspaper in the afternoon that he had also "strike", many people couldn't help thinking that this was a long-planned and coordinated action. "They're trying to test our strength," said a man on the train home after get off work. "Fortunately we have Cadhan." "That's the answer to his announcement." The people at the club know better.They clustered around the telegraph tapes, or discussed in groups in the smoking-room.

"He was unarmed. If he had acted according to plan, he would have gone to Sevenoaks." "Caterham will deal with him." The merchant in the shop speaks to the customer.The restaurant waiter took a moment to read the evening paper while the food was being served.The cabbies read the gambling news after they read it. The main government-run evening paper has a very eye-catching announcement, saying that it is to "catch the nettles".The other evening papers relied on the "Giant Redwood Continues Meeting with the Princess" to attract attention. The "Echo" throws out an ingenious line: "The giants are rumored to rebel in the north of England. The giants of Sunderland set off for Scotland."

The Westminster Gazette struck its usual tone of warning. "Giants beware." The "City Minster" said that it was trying to get something out of it that would unite the Liberal Party, which at the time had been torn apart by seven utterly selfish leaders.Later papers became the same. "The Giants are on the New Kent Road," they declared. "What I want to know," said a pale young man in the teahouse, "why we don't hear from the little Cosars. Makes you think they're more important than all the other giants." "They said , there is such a giant who is disobedient again," said the maid, wiping a glass, "I have already said that it is dangerous to have them around. I said so at the beginning. It has to be resolved. Never mind Anyway, I don't want him here anyway."

"I'd like to see him," the young man beside the counter said happily, and then added, "I've seen that prince." "Do you think they will hurt him?" asked the maid. "It might have to be," replied the young man at the counter, finishing his glass.Among a thousand such claims, little Caddles came to London. When I think of little Caddles, I picture him on the New Kent High Road.The afterglow of the setting sun shone warmly on his bewildered face looking around.The roads are full of traffic, colorful vehicles, buses, trams, trailers, carriages, carts, bicycles, motorcycles, a surprising variety of pedestrians, vagabonds, women, nurses, women shopping, children, bold young men— They all clustered behind his carefully shifting heels.Billboards abound, jumbled with torn election propaganda.Inarticulate murmurs ebbed and flowed around him.Customers and shoppers crowded at the door of the shop, faces flashed in the window, children on the street ran and screamed, the policeman pretended to be calm with a straight face, workers stopped working on the scaffolding, all kinds of children People are boiling.They were shouting at him, encouraging, insulting, all inaudible, using the low-level but commonly used words of the year.He looked down at the people. He had never expected such a large number of creatures to exist in the world.

He had just now entered the City of London, and had to walk more and more slowly, for a large crowd had gathered about him. With every step, the crowd gets denser.At last he came to a stop on the corner of the intersection where two streets met, and the crowd swarmed up and surrounded him. He stood there with his feet slightly apart, his back facing the corner of a luxurious hotel that was two times his height, and there happened to be a big sign above his head.He looked down at the dwarves and wondered, he must be comparing this scene with other things in his life, with the valleys on the plateau, and the lovers at night, and the singing of the church, and the limestone he hammered every day, and Contrasted with instinct, death, and the sky, put these together, trying to see the connection and meaning.He furrowed his brows tightly, raised his huge hands to scratch his bristly hair, and moaned loudly.

"I don't see it," he said. His accent was rather rusty, and there was a loud murmur across the empty field—amidst the uproar, like red poppies rising from a field of corn, the tram rang loudly, stubbornly following its own schedule. The route plows through the crowd. "what did he say?" "Say he didn't see it." "Where is the sea?" "Where is the seat?" "He wants a seat." "Can't the idiot sit on a house or something?" "What are you doing, you little people? What are you all doing, what are you doing?"

"What are you doing here, you little people, when I dug lime for you, in that lime mine, what were you doing then?" [① "see", "sea" and "seat" are roughly the same pronunciation in English. 】 His strange voice, the one that had done so badly for school discipline in the days of Morning Abley, caused a silence, but when he had finished, there was another commotion. Some wise man could be heard screaming, "Speak, talk!" "What did he say?" The issue became a burden on the public mind.Then, a belief spread that he was drunk. "Hi-hi, hi!" shouted the bus driver, driving dangerously through.

A drunken American sailor tearfully asked, "What the hell does he want?" A scrap dealer with a swollen face sat in a small horse-drawn cart, and with the superiority of his voice, he overwhelmed the noise around him, "Go home, you bloody giant!" he shouted, "Go home !You bloody dangerous big bastard! Can't see you scaring the horses? Go back! Didn't anyone with brains tell you about Fazin?" Above all this commotion, little Caddles watched, wondered, waited, and said nothing. From a side-street came a small, dignified squad of policemen, walking straight into the stream. "Stand aside," said the small voice, "please move." Little Caddles felt a small dark blue figure tap his shin.He looked down and saw two white hands gesturing. "What?" he said, leaning over. "Can't stand here," cried the inspector. "No! You can't stand here," he cried again. "Then where should I go?" "Go back to your village. Go back to where you were. Anyway, now—you've got to move. You're blocking traffic." "What traffic?" "Traffic on this road". "To where? From where? What does it mean? They're all around me. What do they want? What are they in? I want to know. I dig lime, I'm all alone, I'm tired .What did they do for me while I was digging lime? I'd better find out now, here." "Sorry, we're not here to settle things like this. I have to tell you to go." "You do not know?" "I have to tell you to go—if you like. I strongly advise you to start and go home. We haven't got special orders yet—but you're breaking the law. Get out of here. Go away." The sidewalk to his left cleared , little Caddles walked slowly.But he couldn't control his tongue. "I don't understand," he muttered, "I don't understand."He always turned to the changing crowd beside and behind him. "I didn't know there was a place like this before. What are you all doing? Why are you doing it? What is it all for? Where did I come from?" He had already dropped the point.Some young, sharp, spirited people were joking to each other like, "Hey, Harry Okirk. What's all this for? Eh? It's all 'God Food' for what?" To this question, a lot of competing witty answers popped up, but most of them were not very polite.The most popular and used one seems to be "Shut it up," or, in a tone of detached disdain -- "Go away!" There are other answers, almost equally popular. What is he looking for?He wanted something that this dwarf world had given him, he sought what this dwarf world tried to prevent him from attaining, which he could not even see clearly, and he had never seen clearly.It was what the lonely, silent monstrosity was calling for for his whole giant society, for his race, something that was close to him, something he could love, something he could serve, something Something he could understand, something he could obey.And, you know, it's all silent.There was only rage in his mind, and even if he had met another giant, he would have found words to express it.All his life he had known the world but a dreary country, and all the words he had known were village chatter, meaningless when they met the smallest practical needs.He doesn't understand money, the big fool, he doesn't understand trade, he doesn't understand the incomprehensible hypocrisy on which the social structure of these little people is built.He needed, he needed—whatever was needed, he never found what he needed. All day, and that summer night, he wandered, hungry but not tired, watching the various vehicles in the different streets, and the inexplicable movements of all these infinitely small animals. Activity.It all came together and seemed to him nothing more than a mess. Legend has it that he picked a dame out of a car in Kensington, a dame in the most fashionable evening gown, just to get a closer look, pinched her shoulder blades and her skirt, and then put She put it back—somewhat roughly carelessly—and sighed deeply.I can't confirm this statement.In Piccadilly he watched for an hour how people fought for seats in buses.He was seen looking down at Kensington Oval for a while in the afternoon, but groaned away when he saw that the thousands crowded there were obsessed with hockey mysteries and paid no attention to him. When he returned to Piccadilly Circus between eleven and twelve at night, he saw a somewhat different crowd.They all seemed very absorbed: for no reason, their minds were constantly occupied with thinking about the things they might do and the other things they might not do.They watched him, laughed at him, and went their own way.The cab drivers lined up along the crowded sidewalk, one by one, their eyes like hawks searching.People came in and out of restaurants looking serious, eager, dignified, warm and excited, or sharp and alert -- and the most astute, hypocritical waiters.The giant stood in the corner, watching all this. "What's all this about? They're all so serious. Why can't I figure it out?" No one seemed to see as he did the pathetic spectacle of painted, drunken women on street corners, the ragged spectacle of slinking to and fro by the gutter, and the endless futility of it all. thing!Endless nonsense!It seemed that none of them could feel a little bit of the giant's need, could see a little bit of the future, and this was already in their way. On the high place across the road, mysterious letters flashed and disappeared. If he could understand them, it might help him measure the interests of human beings, and tell him the life and basic needs of these little people.First it flashes: tower; Then came the waves. Tabo; Then comes the cards, Peibo brand; By the end, the skies hold a full inspirational message for those who feel life Toil is a burden: Tabor brand tonic wine. shoot!It disappears into the night, followed by the name of a second common commodity, equally slowly unfolding: beauty soap Mind you, this isn't just a washing chemical, it's an "ideal," as they say.Then, the three pillars of this little life are completed: Yang Keji Yellow Tablets After that there was nothing else, and out came Tabo again, bright fuchsia letters, clap, clap, across the sky. tower - wave - In the middle of the night, it seems that little Caddles came to the dark and quiet Ruijin Park, stepped over the fence, lay on the grass slope next to the place where people skated in winter, and slept for nearly an hour. At six o'clock in the morning he found a sleeping woman covered in mud and water in a ditch near Hampstead Heath, and he spoke to her, asking quite earnestly what it was all about. Caddles' promenade in London came to a head the next morning.He is very hungry.In one place, people were packing bread into their cars. He hesitated, smelling the hot smell, then quickly knelt down and began to rob.He ate up the truckload of bread, and the baker king ran to the police, and he reached into the shop again and wiped out the counter shelves.Arms tucked and mouth open, he walked off to find another place to continue his meal.At this time, it happened to be a season when it was hard to find a job and food was very expensive. People living nearby expressed sympathy for him getting the food everyone wanted, even if he was a giant.They applauded him for robbing stores, and enjoyed the way he smirked at the police. "I'm starving," he said with his mouth full. "Yeah!" the crowd yelled. "OK!" When he started to loot the third bakery, he was stopped by half a dozen policemen who beat him on the shin with batons. "Look, my good giant, come with me," said the leading officer, "you are not allowed to leave the house like this. Come back with me."They did their best to arrest him.There was, it is said, a barrow, which at that time went up and down the street, carrying coils of chain and ship's hawser as handcuffs for this great arrest.There was no plan to kill him. "He was not involved in the plot," Caterham said. "I don't want innocent blood on my hands." At first, Caddles didn't understand the importance of this focus.When he understood, he told the police not to be stupid, and strode forward: leaving them behind. The bakery was in Harrow Road, and he walked across the London canal to John's Wood, where he sat picking his teeth in a private garden, and soon he was onslaught by another squad of policemen. "Leave me alone," he snarled, lolling across the garden--brushing a few patches of grass, kicking down a fence or two. The energetic little policemen followed him through the garden and along the path in front of the house.There's a gun or two here, but they're useless.When he came out onto the Edgewell Road there was a new cry and a new activity in the crowd.A mounted policeman rode over one of his feet, tried his best, and fell over. "Leave me alone," Caddles said to the gasping crowd. "I didn't do anything to you." He didn't have a weapon at this time, because he forgot the ax he used to chop limestone in Ruijin Park.But now, poor fellow, he seemed to feel the need for some weapons.He turned to the freight yard of the Great Western Railway and pulled out a tall arc lamp post, which became a terrible iron rod in his hand, and he carried it on his shoulder.When he found that the police were still messing with him, he walked back to Edgewell Road and walked sullenly north towards Creekle Woods. He reached Wortham, turned westward, and then London, passed the cemetery, climbed Highgate Hill, and by about noon saw the great city again.He turned aside and sat in a garden with his back to the house overlooking the City of London.He was panting, his head bowed, and now people were not crowding around him as they had been yesterday, but were hiding in the nearby garden, peeking out from safety.They knew that things were more serious than they thought. "Why can't they leave me alone?" muttered little Caddles. "I have to eat. Why can't they leave me alone?" He grimly, bit his fingers, and looked down at the city of London.All this weariness, annoyance, bewilderment, and impotent anger that had come with his wanderings had come to a head. "They don't mean a thing. They won't let me go, they're going to mess with me," he said to himself again and again, "No way. Oh! These little people!" He bit his fingers harder, getting more and more gloomy. "Lime them," he said softly, "The whole world is theirs! I plugged in—nowhere." At this moment, he saw a now-familiar policeman riding on the top of the garden wall, and he couldn't help rushing up with anger. "Leave me alone," whispered the giant. "leave me alone." "I have to complete the task," the little policeman said with a pale face, but he was determined. "You leave me alone, I have to live, just like you. I have to think. I have to eat. You leave me alone." "According to the law," the little policeman didn't go any further, "the law was never made by us." "I didn't order it either," said Caddles Jr. "You little people set everything up before I was born. You and your laws! What should I do and what should I not do! If I don't work like a slave, I will have nothing to eat, no rest, no a place to sleep, nothing, and you say "I've got nothing to do with that," The policeman said, "You have nothing to argue with me. All I have to do is enforce the law." He put his second leg across the wall as if to come down.Other policemen appeared behind him. "I'm not arguing with you—listen," said little Caddles, clenched tightly on his big iron rod, pale, and pointing at the policeman with his long, thin fingers. "I have nothing to do with you. But—leave me alone." The policeman tried his best to appear calm and commonplace in dealing with the huge tragedy clearly before him. "Give me the bulletin," he said to an out-of-sight attendant, and a small white paper was handed to him. "Leave me alone," Caddles said darkly, nervously, defensively. "It says," said the policeman before the reading, "go home to your lime mine. Otherwise, you're going to be in trouble." Caddles let out an incoherent growl. When the announcement was finished, the policeman made a gesture.I saw four people holding long guns, standing along the wall pretending to be very casual.They were wearing the uniforms of the Interpol.Upon seeing the gun, Caddles flew into a rage.He remembered how much it hurt from Farmer Rixton's gun. "You want to hit me with that thing?" He pointed and asked, and the police thought he must be scared. "If you don't hurry back to the lime mine—" Then, in a split second, the officer scrambled back over the wall and the big electric light pole slammed down sixty feet above his head, killing him. Bang, bang, bang, the big gun rang out, bang, the wall fell down, the dirt on the wall, the dirt on the ground flew across, and something flew with it, dripping blood on the hand of one of the shooters. The man with the gun ducked and ducked, turned around bravely and fired again. Little Caddles, who had been hit twice by this time, still turned to see who had hit him so hard on the back.boom!boom!He saw houses, conservatories, gardens, and people at their windows, all shaking horribly and mysteriously.He seemed to stagger three more steps, raised his club, and dropped it again, clutching his chest with his hands.The pain was tormenting him. What is this thing, in hand, warm and moist? A man saw his face from the bedroom window, saw him contorted in terror as if looking at the blood on his hands, and then his knees buckled and he fell to the ground with a crash. It was time to begin to settle the first thorny problem of embarking on Caterham's resolute action, the last of his original calculations.