Chapter 7 Chapter Six

In Kobe, and on their subsequent journeys westward, Mr. Meki sometimes asked questions about England.There are many questions, for example, has Holmes ever been to Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of bards, has he wandered in the mysterious Stonehenge, has he visited the world that has made countless artists over the centuries? Inspirational Cornish coastline. "I've really been there." He would usually answer like this, and then give a detailed explanation. Did Britain's great cities escape the ravages of war?Did the British people still maintain a strong will under the aerial bombing of the German army?

"By and large, yes. We are invincible, as you know." "Victory makes people stronger, don't you think?" "I think so too." And after returning to England, Roger started to ask him about Japan again (but he didn't ask Mr. Meiqi carefully).One afternoon, Roger pulled up the long weeds around the apiary, so that the bees could come and go freely without any hindrance, and then he accompanied Holmes to the nearby cliff.They walked carefully and step by step down the long and steep path, and finally came to the beach under the cliff.Looking to both sides, it is full of gravel and rubble extending for several miles, occasionally there are several shallows and full tide pools (every time the sea tide rises, the pools will be filled, forming an excellent sea bathing place).When the weather is fine, you can also see the small bay where the village of Cookmere is located in the distance.

At this moment, their clothes were neatly stacked on the rocks, and he and the boy had already comfortably laid down in one of their favorite pools. The sea water was up to the chest, and the shoulders were just above the water. The afternoon sun was reflected on the distant sea. sparkling.When they were lying down, Roger looked at him, shaded his eyes with a hand, and asked, "Sir, is the sea in Japan like the English Channel?" "It's almost the same, at least what I saw is similar. The sea is the sea, isn't it?" "Are there many boats there?" Holmes also stretched out his hand to cover his eyes, and he found that the child was staring at him curiously. "Yes," he replied, but he wasn't sure whether the tankers, tugboats, and barges he saw in his memory were seen in Japan or in Australian ports. "After all, Japan is an island country," he analyzed. "They are not far from the sea like us."

The boy raised his feet to the surface, twisting his toes nonchalantly in the foam. "They're all short, is it true?" "I'm afraid that's quite true." "Same as a dwarf?" "Taller than a midget. They're about your average height, kid." Roger dropped his foot, and the wriggling toe was gone. "Are they yellow?" "What are you asking? Skin or character?" "Is their skin—yellow? Do they have big teeth like rabbits?" "It's darker than yellow." Holmes put his hand on Roger's sunburned shoulder. "It's very similar to this color, do you understand?"

"And what about their teeth?" "I can't be sure," he laughed. "But if I ever saw teeth the size of a rabbit's incisors, I think I'd remember them, so, I guess, their teeth would be about the same size as yours and mine." "Oh." Roger muttered, and didn't speak for a while. Holmes guessed that it was the two bees that had aroused the boy's curiosity: the two small creatures sealed in the bottle were similar and different from the British bees, and they suggested the existence of a parallel world in which , everything is similar, but not exactly the same.

It wasn't long before they climbed back down the steep path and Roger's problems started again.Now, what the boy wants to know is whether there are any traces of the Allied bombing left in the Japanese cities. "In some places," replied Holmes.He thought that Roger's interest in airplanes, air raids, and war casualties might have something to do with his father's untimely death, and that he might be trying to find some answers in the brutal details of war. "Did you see where that bomb was dropped?" They stopped to rest and sat on the benches that marked halfway down the path.Holmes stretched his long legs towards the edge of the cliff, overlooking the English Channel, thinking of two words:

bomb.That's not an incendiary bomb, nor a landmine bomb, but an atomic bomb. "They call it a flash bomb," he told Roger. "Yes, I saw where one of them went." "Do all the people there look sick?" Holmes continued to stare at the sea, watching the gray water turn red with the setting sun.He said: "No, most people don't look ill. Some do, though—I can't describe it, Roger." "Oh." The boy looked at him with a puzzled expression, and said nothing more. Holmes found himself reminded of one of the most unfortunate situations that can arise in the life cycle of a bee colony: what to do if the queen is suddenly lost, and there are no resources available to breed a new queen.But how can he explain the deep pain and unexpressed despair pervading ordinary Japanese people, like a faint coffin hanging over the heads of the vast majority of Japanese people?Japan is a tolerant and silent nation. It is difficult for outsiders to perceive their despair, but it always exists—it echoes in the streets of Tokyo and Kobe, it is revealed on the serious faces of young people, and it is reflected in the hungry mothers and children. It was also reflected in the empty eyes in their eyes, which was also reflected in a popular saying in Japan the year before: "The kamikaze has not blown."

On the second evening in Kobe, Holmes sat with his hosts in a crowded tavern, enjoying delicious sake.A drunken guest in a tattered outdated military uniform staggered from table to table.When the shopkeeper invited him out, he walked and shouted loudly in Japanese: "The kamikaze is not blowing! The kamikaze is not blowing! The kamikaze is not blowing—" Mr. Mei Qi explained the meaning of this sentence The interpreter was given to Holmes. And just before the drunk man went berserk, they happened to be discussing the status quo of Japan after the surrender.Or to be more precise, it was Mr. Mei Qi who suddenly jumped the topic from the travel schedule and asked Holmes if he had noticed the so-called freedom and democracy of the allied forces occupying Japan and their continued suppression of Japanese poets, writers, and artists. The behavior is fundamentally contradictory: "Don't you think it's inexplicable that so many people are starving and we can't openly criticize the occupying forces? We can't as a nation mourn what we've lost You can’t even write a public eulogy for a dead relative or friend, otherwise it will be considered as advocating the spirit of militarism.”

"To be honest," admitted Holmes, lifting his glass to his lips, "I don't really know much about these things, I'm sorry." "No, don't say I'm sorry, I shouldn't mention this." Mr. Mei Qi's already flushed face became even redder, showing fatigue and drunkenness. "By the way, where are we?" "It should be Hiroshima." "By the way, you'd like to see Hiroshima—" "The kamikaze didn't blow!" A drunken man a few tables away suddenly shouted, everyone was shocked, but Mei Qi remained calm. "The kamikaze did not blow—"

Mei Qi was not disturbed in any way, he poured himself another glass of wine, and then poured another glass for Kensui Lang, Kensui Lang drank the sake every time.After the drunken man made a scene, he was quickly invited out of the tavern, and Holmes found himself sizing up Mei Qi secretly.Mei Qi's expression became more and more gloomy with each glass of wine - he stared thoughtfully at the table, his face full of frustration, like a child pouting at being scolded (this atmosphere infected Jianshui Lang, his usually cheerful face also showed a cold and withdrawn expression).Finally, Mr. Meiqi finally took a look at him: "Well—where did we go? Oh, by the way, we are going west, and you wonder if we will pass through Hiroshima on the way. Yes, I can tell you, yes Passed by."

"If you have no objection, I should really like to see that place." "Of course it's no problem. I want to see it too. To be honest, I went there before the war, and then I just passed by on the train." Holmes could hear concern in Mr. Mayge's tone, but then he thought that maybe he was just too tired.After all, that afternoon, after Mr. Mei Qi met him, he went to other places to attend to his own affairs. When he came back, he was completely different from his thoughtful and attentive appearance at the station, and seemed to be exhausted.Accompanied by Kensui Lang, Holmes visited the city and took a good nap, but was fully awake at night, which was in stark contrast to Mr. Mei Qi's extremely exhausted state (fortunately, Mei Qi kept drinking and smoking , so that others will not find him bored). In fact, Holmes had long noticed his fatigue.Before, when he opened the door of Mei Qi's study room, he found him standing behind the desk, lost in thought, with his thumb and forefinger pressed against his eyelids, and a bundle of unbound manuscripts in his hand.He was wearing a hat and coat and had obviously just arrived home. "I'm sorry..." Holmes suddenly felt that he was being too abrupt, but when he woke up, he was facing a silent house, all the doors were closed, no one else could be seen, and there was no movement at all. Therefore, he rashly broke into the study.He didn't mean to be offensive, but he was still violating a principle he had always followed: a lifelong belief that one's study is sacred, a sanctuary of personal reflection, a safe haven from outside distractions, a place where important work gets done. place, or at least a place of intimate intellectual communication with various authors through words.So, his attic study at home in Sussex was his most cherished room, and although he never said it, Mrs. Monroe and Roger knew that once the study door was closed, they were persona non grata. . "I don't want to disturb you—but an old man like me, for some reason, always likes to break into other people's rooms." Mr. Mei Qi raised his head without the slightest surprise: "On the contrary, I'm glad you're here. Please come in." "I really don't want to bother you anymore." "Actually, I thought you were still asleep, or I would have asked you to come here. Come in, look around, and tell me what you think of my study." "Then respect is worse than obedience." Holmes walked towards the teak wood bookshelf that occupied the entire wall. Take off the hat on your head and carefully cover the manuscript. "I'm sorry that I went to deal with my own affairs before, but I think my comrades should take good care of you." "Ah, yes, yes, apart from the language barrier, we had a great time together today." At this moment, Maya shouted from the other end of the corridor, her tone a little impatient. "I'm sorry," Mr. Mei Qi said, "I'll come when I go." "Don't worry." Holmes had already stood in front of the densely packed bookshelves. Maya yelled again, and Mei Qi hurried towards her, forgetting to close the study door behind her.Holmes had been gazing at the books since he had left, his eyes sweeping from one shelf to the next.Most of them are hardcover hardcover books, and most of them are printed in Japanese on the spine.But there is a shelf full of Western books, carefully divided into different categories—American literature, English literature, drama, and a lot of poetry (Whitman, Pound, Yeats, and many books on the romantic poets. Oxford Textbook).The shelf below this is almost completely filled with works by Karl Marx, with only a few books by Sigmund Freud stuffed at the very edge. Holmes turned and surveyed the whole study room. Although small, it was well organized: a reading chair, a floor lamp, a few photographs, and a framed mirror hanging high on the wall behind the desk, which seemed to be a university diploma. .At this moment, he heard the conversation between Meiqi and Maya. He didn't understand it, only that they were arguing fiercely and falling into sudden silence at other times.Just as he was about to take a sneak peek in the corridor, Mr. Mei Qi came back and said: "She didn't figure out the dinner menu, so we may have to delay our meal time. I hope you don't mind." "of course not." "In the meantime, I'd like to have a drink. There's a bar nearby, which is very comfortable, and we can arrange our trip with a drink-of course, if you think it's okay." "It sounds pretty good." So they went out.It was dark by the time they strolled leisurely to the crowded tavern, and they stayed a little longer than they had planned—they didn't go home until the tavern was getting more crowded and noisy.Dinner is simple, fish, vegetables, steamed rice, miso soup, all brought to the restaurant by Maya.They repeatedly invited her to eat with them, but she declined.Holmes' knuckles were sore from holding the chopsticks. As soon as he put down the chopsticks, Mr. Mei Qi suggested to go to the study: "If you don't mind, I want to show you something." Leaving from the dining table, they walked into the corridor together, leaving Kensui Lang to face the unfinished dinner alone. The mixture of alcohol and food made Holmes weary that night, but he had vivid memories of what had happened in Meggie's study.Meggie was completely different from before, and became extraordinarily active. He smiled and asked Holmes to sit down on the chair, took out another Jamaican cigar, and lit a match.Holmes sat comfortably, with his cane crossed on his knees, smoking a cigar leisurely, watching Meggie open a drawer of the desk and take out a thin hardcover book from it. "What do you think this is?" Mr. Mei Qi stepped forward and handed him the book. "This is the Russian edition." Holmes took the book, noting at once the imperial ornamentation on the cover and spine.He looked carefully—running his hand over the red cover and the gold mosaic around the ornamentation, his eyes darting rapidly across the inside pages—and concluded that it was an extremely rare translation of a popular novel:” .Only this edition ever printed, I suppose." "Exactly," Mr. Mei Qi said in a very happy tone, "it is a version specially designed for the Tsar's private collection. As far as I know, he likes to read stories about you." "Really?" Holmes returned the book to Meggie. "Of course it is true, absolutely true." Mei Qi walked back to the desk, put this rare collection of books into a drawer, and added, "I think you can guess it, this is the most precious book in my study A book that did not cost me a fortune to buy it." "That's natural." "You must have a lot of books about your adventures—translations in different languages, editions." "Actually, I don't own any, not even the cheapest paperback. To tell you the truth, I've only read a few stories, and that was many years ago. I can't get Watson to Figured out the basic difference between inductive and deductive, so I don't bother to educate him. I don't want to see his story made out of facts, and the inaccurate details are driving me crazy. You know what, I Never called him Watson, I called him John, just John. But he is a very skilled writer, very imaginative, better at fiction than fact, I daresay." Mr. Mayge stared at Holmes with a hint of perplexity. "How is it possible?" He asked, slumping down on the chair in front of the desk. Holmes shrugged his shoulders, exhaled smoke, and said: "I am afraid that what I have said is true." Holmes remembered very clearly what happened next: Mr. Mayge, still flushed from drinking, let out a long breath, as if he were also smoking.He was silent for a while thoughtfully, before speaking again.He admits with a smile that he wasn't terribly surprised to learn that the stories weren't entirely true. "Your ability—or, I should say, the ability of the protagonist in the story, strikes me as inconceivable. It's also amazing to draw definite conclusions from various trivial observations, don't you think? I mean Yes, you really don't look like the character I read about in the book. How should I put it, you don't look that exaggerated, you don't look that interesting." Holmes sighed slightly reproachfully, and waved his hand as if to fan the smoke away. "Well, you're talking about my youthful arrogance. I'm an old man now, and I was retired when you were a kid. Looking back now, I'm ashamed of my youthful ego. Really. You know what, we've screwed up a lot of big cases too - it's a pity. Of course, who wants to look at failures, I don't anyway. But I can tell you for sure , Some successful cases may be exaggerated, but the incredible conclusion you mentioned through observation is not an exaggeration." "Really?" Mr. Mei Qi was silent again, he took a deep breath, and then said, "I think Know what you know about me? Are you going to retire without talent in this area?" In retrospect, Holmes feels that this may not be exactly the same as what Mr. Mayge said at the time.However, he remembered raising his head, staring at the ceiling, holding a smoking cigar in one hand, and slowly said: "What do I know about you? Well, your fluent English shows that you have received formal education abroad, Judging from the old Oxford books on the shelf, I dare say that you should have studied in England, and the diplomas hanging on the wall can also prove my deduction. I also guess that your father may be a diplomat , like western things very much, otherwise, how could he choose such an unconventional style of home - if I remember correctly, this house is inherited from you - besides, if he doesn't like western things, he won't He sent his son to study in England, and there is no doubt that he has some connection with England." He closed his eyes, "As for you, dear Minmu, I can easily infer that you are a writer who loves writing and People who read poetry. In fact, we can learn a lot about a person from the books they own. In your case, you clearly have an interest in poetry—particularly Whitman and Yeats's poems—that tells me that you have a soft spot for poetry. But you don't just read poetry, you write poetry a lot, very often. You probably don't even realize that you are today The note I left this morning was actually in the form of a haiku, I think, a variation on the five-seven-five format. I'm also guessing that the manuscript sitting on your desk is probably your unpublished collection , of course, unless I see it with my own eyes, I can't be sure. The reason I say unpublished is that you started to hide it carefully under the hat. This reminds me of you leaving before saying that you will do You came back with your manuscript—and, I may add, you looked somewhat dismayed—so, I suppose, you went out this morning with your manuscript. But what would require What about a writer with his unpublished manuscript? Why does he come back with his manuscript in a bad mood? Chances are he met a publisher, but the meeting didn't go well. I thought, Maybe he felt that the quality of your work has not met the requirements for publication, but after thinking about it, it should not be. I think it is the content of your writing rather than the quality of your work that has been questioned. Otherwise, why would you express your indignation against the alliance? Protests against the military’s continued oppression of Japanese poets, writers, and artists? A poet who has a large collection of Marx’s works in his study should not be a supporter of the emperor’s militarism. Therefore, sir, most likely, you are a comfortable Communists. Of course, this also means that both the occupying allies and those who still respect the authority of the emperor will regard you as an object of censorship. You called Kensuiro a comrade tonight, in the I think it's a bit strange to use this word to call your brother, but it also implies your ideological leanings and your ideals. Of course, Kensuiro is not your brother, is he? If He is, no doubt your father will send him to England too, to follow in your footsteps, and then he and I will be able to communicate better. It is strange that you two live in the same room, wearingDressing is so similar, you always use 'we' instead of 'I', like a married couple.Of course, all of this is none of my business, but I still believe that you are actually the only child in the family. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the clock on the mantel began to strike. "Finally—I hope you're not mad at me—I've been wondering how you've been living when times are so hard. This comfortable life?I don't see a trace of poverty in you, you have a butler in your house, you are proud of your expensive glass art collection - all this is beyond the bounds of the middle class, don't you think ?On the other hand, if a communist has a small black market deal, I think he is less hypocritical, especially if he charges a reasonable price and makes the capitalists who occupy his country pay. For a certain price. Holmes sighed deeply, and fell silent. Finally he added: "There are, of course, other details, I am sure, but which I have not noticed at present."You see, I really don't have as good a memory as I used to. After saying this, he lowered his head, stuffed the cigar into his mouth, and cast a weary look at Mei Qi. "It's amazing." Mei Qi shook her head in disbelief, "It's really incredible." "It's nothing, really." Mei Qi tried hard to calm down.He took a cigarette from his pocket and held it between his fingers, but did not light it. "Except for a mistake or two, you really see me right. I do go out and about the black market occasionally, but I never just buy things. In fact, my father is very rich, which ensures that the family is well taken care of, But that doesn’t mean I can’t support Marx. Also, it’s not quite accurate to say I have a butler at home.” "My reasoning isn't exactly an exact science, you know." "Already shocking. But I have to say that your observation of Kensuirou and me is not very accurate. With all due respect, you are a bachelor yourself and lived with another bachelor for many years." "I can assure you that it was a friendship of pure spirit." "If you want to say that, just say it." Mei Qi continued to look at him, and suddenly showed a shocked expression, "This is really incredible." Holmes' expression became confused: "Did I make a mistake? The woman who cooks for you - Maya, she is your housekeeper, isn't she?" Mr. Mei Qi obviously chose to be single , but at this moment, Holmes also felt strange. In retrospect, Maya behaved more like an unfavored spouse than a hired help. "It can also be said semantically. I don't know if you mean it, but I still don't want to regard my mother as a housekeeper." "Of course, of course." Holmes rubbed his hands and exhaled blue smoke rings, but he was actually trying to cover up his negligence: he actually forgot about the relationship between Maya and Maya, which Maya must have told him when she introduced Maya.Or, on second thought, Mei Qi himself forgot to introduce—maybe he didn't know about it from the beginning to the end.In any case, it wasn't worth worrying about such a small thing (even if he was wrong, it was completely understandable, after all, the woman looked too young to be like Meiqi's mother). "I beg your pardon, but I must take my leave now," said Holmes, taking his cigar from his mouth. "I am tired. Shall we set off early tomorrow morning?" "Yes, I'm going to bed soon too. I just want to say once again, thank you so much for stopping by." "Stop talking nonsense," said Holmes, standing up on crutches, with his cigar in the corner of his mouth. "I should thank you. I wish you a good night's sleep." "You too." "Thank you, I will. Good night." "Good night." Having said this, Holmes walked into the dim corridor.The lights have been extinguished, and everything in front is immersed in darkness, but there is still a little light coming through a gap in the front door.He walked slowly towards the light, and finally stood at the brightly lit doorway.He peeked into the room and saw Kensuiro at work: In a poorly decorated living room, Kensuiro stood shirtless, hunched over a canvas.From Holmes' vantage point, the canvas appears to be a blood-red landscape, dotted with various geometric figures (straight black lines, blue circles, yellow squares, etc.).He observed carefully and found that there were many completed paintings of different sizes piled up beside the bare walls, most of them were red, and in the works he could see, they all presented an absurd and desolate style (crashing buildings, Pale bodies spread out on a blood-red ground, twisted limbs, clenched hands, faceless heads and jumbled heaps of viscera).On the wooden floor around the easel were countless drips of paint, like blood splatters. Later, as he lay in bed, he reflected on the repressed relationship between poet and artist—two men who professed to be brothers, but lived as husband and wife under the same roof, undoubtedly sleeping in the same room. bed.Although Maya is loyal to them, she can't help but look at them with a critical eye.They lead a secret life, and must be cautious in every way.But he suspects that they have other secrets, and maybe he will learn one or two of them soon.He speculates now that Mr. Mei Qi's motivation for writing to him may be far more than what is written in the letter.The letter was just an invitation, and he accepted it without thinking too much.The next morning, he and Mei Qi are about to embark on a journey, and Kensui Lang and Maya will stay in this big house.Before he fell asleep, he thought to himself, you really tried your best to lure me here.But at last, thinking about it, his eyes slowly closed and he fell asleep, until a low, familiar hum suddenly stung his ears.

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