Chapter 10 Chapter nine

Before sunrise Holmes had quite forgotten the note to Roger; the note would remain in the book until, weeks later, he would rediscover the flattened paper (he would put the I hold it in my hand, I can't understand it, and I can't remember that I have written it).And among the many books in the attic, there were many other hidden notes that he eventually forgot—urgent letters that were never sent, messy memos, address books, and the occasional poem.He does not remember having a personal letter from Queen Victoria in his collection, nor does he remember being with the Sassenov Shakespeare Company (he played Horatio in Hamlet at the London Playhouse in 1879) ) where is the playlist placed.He also forgot that he had included a crude but detailed sketch of a queen bee in Quimby's "Beekeeping Secrets"--that drawing was made when Roger was only twelve years old two summers ago, And slipped it in under the attic door.

But in any case, Holmes noticed that his memory was gradually fading.He knows that he may make false revisions to past facts, especially if he is not sure of the truth of the facts.He couldn't help thinking, which ones have been modified by his own memory, and which ones are the truth?What else could he be sure of?More importantly, what has he forgotten?He couldn't tell himself. Even so, he clings to the unchanging, the tangible—his land, his home, his garden, his hive, his work.He enjoyed smoking cigars, reading, and occasionally a glass of brandy.He liked the evening breeze and the night after midnight.He certainly found the chatty Mrs. Monroe annoying at times, but her soft-spoken son was always his favorite company.However, at this point, his modification of memory actually changes the truth of the matter, because he didn't like the boy when he saw him at first sight - when the shy and awkward child hid behind his mother. , peeping at him gloomily.In the past, he would never have hired a housekeeper with children, except for Mrs. Monroe, whose husband had just died and who was in desperate need of steady work, and whose referrals spoke highly of her.What's more, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find reliable assistants by then, especially in the isolated countryside.So he told her explicitly that she could stay as long as the boy's range of activities did not exceed the guest cabin and as long as the child's noise did not disturb his work.

"Don't worry, sir, I promise, my Roger will not give you trouble, I can promise." "So you get the point? I may be retired, but I'm still very busy. I can't tolerate interruptions." "Yes, sir, I quite understand. You have nothing to worry about the child." "I won't worry about him, dear, but I think you should worry about him." "Okay, sir." It was not until nearly a full year later that Holmes saw Roger again.That afternoon, he took a walk in the west corner of the farm and came to the guest house where Mrs. Monroe lived. From a distance, he saw the boy entering the house with a butterfly net.Since then, he has often seen the boy alone - either across the lawn, or doing homework in the garden, or studying small rocks on the beach.It wasn't until he met Roger in the apiary that they began to have direct contact.At that time, he saw the child facing the hive, holding the wrist of the other hand, examining the stung in the middle of the palm of his left hand.Holmes grabbed the child's stung hand, picked out the bee needle with his nails, and explained to him: "You are right that you didn't squeeze the wound hard, otherwise, all the venom would have been squeezed into the wound. You use your fingernails like this." Just push it away, don’t squeeze the poison sac, understand? Fortunately, I saved you in time—look, it hasn’t swelled yet—let me tell you, I’ve seen it worse than yours Many wounds."

"It doesn't hurt that much." Roger squinted his eyes and looked at Holmes, as if there was bright sunlight shining on his face. "It hurts quickly, but I don't think it hurts too much. If it gets worse, you put your hands in salt water or onion juice and it will be much better." "Oh." Holmes had expected the boy to cry (or, at least, be embarrassed by being caught sneaking into the apiary), but he was surprised to find that Roger's attention was quickly turned from his wounds to the hive superior.He seemed fascinated by the life of the bees, watching the small swarms of bees that were about to fly out or had just returned, circling the entrance to the hive.If the boy had cried, or shown the slightest cowardice, Holmes would never have encouraged him to go on, would not have taken him to the hive, opened the lid, and shown him the little world inside (formed with white beeswax) honeycomb, with the large hive where the drone lived, and the dark hive below where the worker bees lived); nor would he think about the child once more, and would not regard him as his old friend (but he always thought , excellent children often have the most ordinary parents); not to invite Roger to come back to the hive the next afternoon and let him see for himself the various routines to be done during the March beekeeping period: checking the weekly weight of the hive Changes, how to merge two colonies when the queen dies in one hive, how to ensure that the young bees get enough food in the hive, etc.

Gradually, the boy changed from a curious bystander to a capable assistant, and Holmes also gave him a set of outfits that he no longer wore—light gloves and a beekeeping hat with a veil—and he was getting used to it. After taking care of the bees, don't wear them anymore.Soon, the relationship between the two became relaxed and natural.Most of the time, after school in the afternoon, Roger would meet Holmes at the apiary.In summer, Roger would get up early, and before Holmes arrived at the apiary, he was already busy.Together they tended the colony and sometimes sat quietly on the lawn as Mrs. Munroe brought them sandwiches, tea, or a dessert she had made that morning.

When the weather is at its hottest, they finish their work and head for the tidal pools filled with cool sea water.They walked along the winding cliff path, and Roger walked beside Holmes, picking up small stones on the road from time to time, or looking at the sea at their feet, and often bent down to check things found on the road (fragments of shells, industrious beetles, or fossils embedded in rock walls).The warmer, saltier smell grew stronger the further down they went.Holmes admired the boy's strong curiosity and thirst for knowledge.It was one thing to notice something, but for a bright boy like Roger to examine and touch the thing that caught his attention.Holmes was sometimes sure that there was nothing extraordinary on the road, but he would stop with Roger to see what it was that fascinated him.

When they first walked on this path, Roger looked up at the uneven and vast rocks above his head, and asked, "Is this cliff really limestone?" "It's made of limestone, but also sandstone." Under the limestone, there are clay, green sand and Weldon sandstone in sequence. Holmes explained as he walked down: In the long history of hundreds of millions of years, after countless storms, the clay layer and the thin sandstone Limestone, clay and chert are covered on top of the rock. "Oh." Roger took a casual step towards the edge of the path. Holmes threw away a crutch, and hastily pulled him back: "Be careful, boy, you have to watch your feet. Come, take my hand."

The path can barely accommodate an adult to pass by, and an old man and a boy walking side by side are obviously a bit crowded.The road was less than one meter wide, and in some places it was quite narrow due to the subsidence, but the two men moved forward without difficulty—Roger walked very close to the edge of the cliff, and Holmes clung to the rock wall, keeping the child firmly on his feet. hold his hand.After walking for a while, the path widens in one place, and there is a bench for people to rest and watch the scenery.Holmes' original intention was to go straight to the end (because the tide pool can only be visited during the day, and at night, the rising tide will submerge the entire beach), but he suddenly felt that it would be more convenient to sit on a bench to rest and chat .With that, he sat down with Roger.He took a Jamaican cigar out of his pocket, but soon realized that he had no matches, so he had to chew the end of the cigarette dryly against the sea wind.Finally, following the child's gaze, he looked at the seagulls that were constantly circling and swooping, singing loudly.

"I heard the call of the nighthawk, did you hear it? I heard it last night." The howling of the seagull obviously brought back Roger's memory. "Really? You're lucky." "People say they suck the blood of goats, but I don't think they eat goats." "Most of the time, they eat insects. They can catch prey while flying, you know?" "Oh." "We still have owls here." The expression on Roger's face lit up: "I've never seen an owl before. I really want to keep one as a pet. My mother doesn't think birds are suitable as pets, but I think it's fine to have one at home."

"Well, maybe we can catch an owl for you one night—there's plenty of them here, so we're bound to catch one." "That's great." "Of course, but we'd better keep the owl somewhere your mother can't find it. My attic study might do it." "Won't she go there?" "No, she doesn't dare to go in. But if she does, I'll tell her it's my owl." There was a sly smile on the child's face: "She will believe you, I know she will." Holmes winked at Roger as if to say that he was only joking about the owl.But anyway, he's thankful the boy trusts him so much—they share secrets that make their friendship stronger.Holmes was so happy that he made a promise which he never kept. "Anyway, Roger, I will have a word with your mother. I think she will at least allow you to keep a small parrot. Then, in order to further their friendship, Holmes suggested that they should start early the next afternoon and walk to the tide pool before dusk.

"Shall I fetch you?" Roger asked. "Okay, you go to the bee farm to find me." "When will it be, sir?" "Three o'clock should be early enough, don't you think? We should be able to walk to the pool, have a bath, and walk back. We started too late today, and I'm afraid it will be too late." The sun is getting darker and the sea breeze is getting stronger and stronger.Holmes took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes against the setting sun.In his blurred vision, the distant ocean looked like a black area fringing violently erupting flames.We should go back, he thought.But Roger seemed in no hurry--and neither did Holmes, who turned his head to see the young, intent face looking up into the sky, with clear blue eyes fixed on a sea-gull circling high above his head.Stay a little longer, said Holmes to himself.The boy seemed unaffected by the glare of the sun and the strong sea breeze. He opened his mouth slightly, showing a fascinated expression. Holmes couldn't help smiling as he watched.