Chapter 21 Chapter Twenty

Since returning to Sussex, Holmes has never thought much about the story he told Meggie in Shimonoseki that night, nor has he recalled the itinerary that has been haunted by the mystery of Matsuda.However, when he locked himself in the attic study, his thoughts suddenly brought him back there—the distant sand dunes where he and Mei Qi once walked together; more precisely, he seemed to see himself and Mei Qi on the beach, Walking towards those sand dunes again, the two stopped from time to time to look at the sea, or look at a few white clouds floating on the horizon. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes," agreed Holmes. It was their last day in Shimonoseki, and neither of them slept well (Holmes slept intermittently until he went to find Meggie, and Meggie couldn't sleep at all after Holmes went to him), but they were very energetic. Not enough, they continued to search for rattan pepper.That morning, the wind had died down completely, presenting a picture of a perfect spring day.When they left the hotel after a late breakfast, the whole city seemed to come back to life: people came out of their homes or shops to clean up the debris blown by the wind on the street; In front of the temple, an old couple is reciting Buddhist scriptures in the sun.They walked to the beach and saw a lot of homeless people picking up things on the beach in the distance—a dozen women and old people were rummaging among the sundries floating on the sea surface, picking up shells or other useful things that came with the waves. Stuff was gathered (they were already carrying heavy driftwood on their backs, and some had strings of thick seaweed hanging around their necks like filthy boa constrictors).Soon they were past the bum, and on a narrow path leading deep into the dunes, which widened as they went further, until at last they came to a shimmering, soft, open space.

The surface of the dunes is uneven by the wind and here and there are dotted with weeds, shell fragments or stones.Sand dunes block the ocean, and sloping hillsides seem to stretch endlessly from the beach, climbing and falling toward the far ridges to the east or the high sky to the north.Even on a windless day like this, the dunes changed shape as they advanced, swirling behind them, coating their sleeves with fine, salty sand.The footprints they left behind slowly disappeared, as if smoothed by an invisible hand.Ahead, where the dunes meet the sky, a mirage rises from the ground like water vapor.They could hear the waves crashing on the shore, the homeless people shouting to each other, and the seagulls calling on the sea.

To Meggie's surprise, Holmes pointed to the place they had looked for the night before, and then pointed to the place he thought they should look for now - the point on the north side of the dunes closest to the sea. "Look, the sand over there is more humid, which is the most suitable environment for the growth of rattan pepper." They kept on going, squinting their eyes to block the harsh sun, spitting sand out of their mouths, and sinking their shoes into deep holes in the dunes.Holmes nearly lost his balance several times, but fortunately Meggie held him firmly in time.Finally, the sand hardens beneath my feet, and the ocean seems to be just a few feet away.They came to an open field full of weeds and various shrubs, and here was a large piece of driftwood that looked like part of the hull of a fishing boat.They stood together for a long time, panting, brushing the sand off their trouser legs.Then Meggie sat down on the driftwood and took out her handkerchief to wipe the sweat dripping from her eyebrows down her face and down her chin.Holmes put an unlighted Jamaican cigar into his mouth, and began to forage the weeds earnestly, inspecting the vegetation around him, and at last he bent down beside a bush surrounded by flies (the vermin surrounded the bush and gathered in great numbers. around its blooming flowers).

"So you are here, my dear," sighed Holmes, putting his crutch aside.He stroked its twigs lightly, the leaves had pairs of short spines at the base for self-protection.He found that its male and female flowers grow on different plants (axillary racemes; dioecious, light green flowers, small, only about 0.2 to 0.3 cm long, with five to seven petals, white ), male flowers about five stamens, female flowers four or five carpels (each carpel containing two ovules).He looked at the black shiny round seeds. "It's so beautiful." He spoke to Fuji Sanjiao like a close friend.

At this moment, Mr. Mei Qi had squatted down next to the rattan pepper. He took out a cigarette and blew smoke at the flies to smoke them away.But what attracted his attention the most was not the rattan pepper, but Holmes' fascinated expression—his nimble fingertips touched the leaves, talking to himself like a spell ("singular pinnate compound leaves, two to five centimeters long; narrow, spiny main stem, three to seven pairs of leaflets, plus a final glossy leaf—"), with a smile on his face and sparkling eyes clearly expressing pure satisfaction and surprise Feelings. And when Holmes looked at Meggie, he also saw a similar expression, which he had never seen in the whole trip - a kind of inner ease and tolerance. "We found what we were looking for." He saw his reflection in the lenses of Mei Qi's glasses.

"Yes, I think we found it." "It's actually a very simple thing, really, but it just touched me, and I don't know how to explain it." "I feel the same way you do." Mei Qi bowed and straightened up immediately.At that moment he seemed eager to say something, but Holmes shook his head and stopped him: "Let us just enjoy the rest of this moment in silence, shall we? Talking too much will only spoil this rare moment." Chance—we don't want that, do we?" "certainly." "Very well," said Holmes. After that, neither of them spoke for a long time.Meggie finished smoking her cigarette and lit another one. He watched Holmes carefully looking at, touching and studying the vine salamander, while chewing on the butt of a Jamaican cigar.The nearby waves rolled up one after another, and the voices of the wanderers seemed to be getting closer.Later, it was this tacit silence that made the deepest impression on Holmes' mind (the two men, by the sea, by the rattan pepper tree, among the dunes, on a perfect spring day).He once tried to recall the small hotels they stayed in together, the streets they walked together, and the buildings they passed together on the road, but he couldn't remember any specific substantive content.Only the sand dunes, the ocean, the bushes, and the companions who had lured him to Japan remained in his mind.He remembered the brief silence between them, and the strange voices from the beach, faint at first, then louder, muffled voices and monotonous sharp chords breaking the silence between them.

"Someone is playing the Sanxian." Mei Qi stood up, looking at the distance of the weeds, the grass stalks scratching his chin. "Playing what?" Holmes grabbed his stick. "Japanese Sanxian, kind of like a lute." With the help of Mei Qi, Holmes stood up and looked into the distance of the weeds.They saw, by the beach, a long, thin procession moving slowly in the direction of the Rangers to the south.The line was almost full of children, but at the head of the line was a man in a black kimono with tousled hair who was strumming a three-stringed instrument with a large plectrum (the middle and index fingers of one hand were still pressed tightly against the strings).

"I know people like this," Mei Qi said after the procession passed. "They play instruments and beg for food or money. A lot of them are very talented, and in fact, in the big cities, they have a pretty good life." .” Like the enchanted audience in the fairy tale "The Piper," the children followed the man as he sang and played.When the procession came up to the wanderer, it stopped, and so did the singing and music.The team dispersed, and the children surrounded the musicians, each finding a place to sit on the beach.The children were joined by the homeless, untying the ropes and unloading the heavy burdens, kneeling or standing beside them.After everyone settled down, the musicians began to perform.His singing voice is rich in emotion, but it belongs to the expression of narrative; his high pitch and chords complement each other, with a feeling similar to electronic vibration music.

Mei Qi lazily tilted her head to the side, looked at the beach, and then added, as if thinking of it afterwards: "Shall we go and listen?" "I think we ought to go," replied Holmes, gazing at the crowd. But they did not leave the dunes in haste—Holmes was going to take a last look at the sansho, and he tore off a few leaves, which he put in his pocket (later, on the way to Kobe, where they were not known).He took another long look at the bush before crossing the sand. "I've never seen anything like you," he said to the plant. "I'm afraid I'll never see it again, never again."

After speaking, Holmes left, and he and Meggie walked through the weeds and onto the beach.Soon, he was sitting with the tramp and the children, listening to the musician strumming the strings and singing his own story (Holmes later learned that the musician was half-blind but walked on foot. all over Japan).Seagulls swooped overhead, as if attracted by the music; a ship slid past the horizon, headed for the port.All of them—the perfect sky, the attentive audience, the tenacious musicians, the exotic music, the calm beach—Holmes saw them clearly and considered them the happiest moments of his whole journey.What happened next flashed through his mind like a glimpse in a dream: the procession reunited in the evening, half-blind musicians leading the crowd across the beach, past piles of driftwood bonfires, Finally, I walked into the thatched-roof izakaya by the sea, and was greeted by Wakui and his wife. The sun shone on the window paper, and the black shadows of the branches were blurred.Holmes wrote "Xiaguan, the last day, 1947" on the napkin and put it away as a reminder to himself not to forget this afternoon.Like Mei Qi, he was already drinking his second glass of beer.Wakui told them that the special cake made with rattan pepper was sold out, but they could find something else instead.Holmes drank happily for a while, reflecting on his discovery.It was there, that evening, while he and Meggie were drinking, that he seemed to see the bush that was thriving outside the city again.It is lonely and infested with mosquitoes, and its prickly exterior is not beautiful, but it is unique and useful--it is no different from myself, he thought mischievously. Called by the sound of the shamisen, the guests kept pouring into the izakaya.The children all went home, their faces red from the sun and their clothes dusty, and they waved goodbye to the musicians and expressed their thanks. "His name is Takahashi Takeyama," said Wakui, "and he walks here every year, and the children surround him like flies." But the special cakes are sold out, and there's only beer and soup for the wandering musicians , Holmes and Mr. Mayge.As boats unload their cargo, fishermen wander the streets to the open doors of izakayas, breathing in the tantalizing aroma of alcohol like a calm breeze in their face.The setting sun heralded the coming of dusk, and Holmes sensed that something was complete—was it over his second, third, or fourth glass of wine?Or when you found the vine sansho?Or when you hear the beautiful sounds of spring music? —it was a wonderful, satisfying feeling, like waking up from a good night's sleep. Mei Qi put down her cigarette, leaned over from the table, and said as softly as possible: "If you allow me, I would like to thank you very much." Holmes looked at Meggie, as if he had blocked something, and said, "What's the matter? I should be the one to thank you. This trip is very interesting." "If you allow me, I want to thank you for solving the biggest mystery of my life. Maybe I haven't got all the answers I'm looking for, but you have given me more than enough. I thank you for your kindness to me. help." "My friend, I really have no idea what you are talking about," said Holmes stubbornly. "The important thing is that I said it, and that's enough. I promise, it will never be brought up again." Holmes played with his glass, and finally said: "Well, if you are so grateful to me, please help me to fill the glass. I seem to be almost done." Mei Qi's gratitude was palpable and showed in more than one way—he immediately ordered a round of drinks, and soon another, and another.He spent the evening smiling inexplicably, asking all kinds of questions about the vine sansho, and seemed to have suddenly taken an interest in the plant.He expresses his delight (bows, nods, raises his glass) to the other guests staring at him.After drinking, he was very drunk, but he could still get up quickly and helped Holmes stand up.The next morning, when boarding the train bound for Kobe, Meggie still maintained a considerate attitude. He sat in his seat with a smile on his face and a relaxed mood, obviously not suffering from a hangover like Holmes.He points out sights along the way (a temple hidden behind a grove of trees, a village where a famous territorial war broke out), and occasionally asks, "Are you feeling all right? Would you like something? Shall I open the window?" "I'm all right, really," Holmes always muttered.At such times, he missed the long silence of the previous journey immensely.He also understands that the return journey is often longer and more tedious than the departure (at the beginning, everything he sees is wonderful and unique, and each future destination offers all kinds of new discoveries. ), so, on the return journey, it is best to sleep as much as possible, and cross the distance of thousands of mountains and rivers in drowsiness, so that the tired body can go home quickly.But he was constantly disturbed in his seat, opened his eyes, put his hand over his mouth, and yawned, and he was beginning to get bored by Meggie's overly attentive face and the endless smiles that kept appearing around him. "Are you all right?" "I'm fine." Therefore, after arriving in Kobe, Holmes never imagined that he would be so happy to see Maya's serious and indifferent expression, and Kensui Lang, who has always been kind and close, was not as enthusiastic as Mei Qi.But even if he couldn't stand Meggie's tiresome smile and deliberate energy, Holmes knew that his intentions were at least good: he wanted to create a good atmosphere during the last few days of the guest's stay, and eliminate his inner turmoil. The moodiness and boredom let Holmes know that he had changed—it was Holmes' honesty that he benefited from, and he would be forever grateful for the truth of what he knew. But his changes did not change Maya (Holmes wondered, did Meggie tell his mother what she knew, or did his mother not care at all?) She avoided Holmes as much as possible, never paying attention to his existence, When he sat down at the table across from her, she would grumble his displeasure.In the end, it made no difference whether she knew or didn't know what Holmes told about Matsuda, and knowing would be no more liberating than not knowing.She'll go ahead and blame him anyway (naturally, the truth of the matter won't affect her at all).Even if she knew, she would only conclude that Holmes had inadvertently sent Matsuda to savage cannibal lands, leaving her only son fatherless (in her opinion, a devastating blow to the child , he has since lost an exemplary male role model, causing him to reject the love of all women except his mother).No matter which lie she chooses to believe - the letter Matsuda sent all those years ago, or the story Meggie learned late at night - Holmes knows she will hate him as much as ever and expect something else from her Attitude is just futile. Even so, his final few days in Kobe were uneventful but enjoyable (walking around town with Umeki and Kensuiro until exhausted, drinking after dinner, and going to bed early).The details of what he said, did, and talked about can no longer be remembered, and only the beach and dunes fill the gaps in memory.After getting tired of Meggie's endless concern, in Kobe, Holmes developed a real affection for Kensuiro—the young artist, without any ulterior purpose, grabbed Holmes' arm and passionately Inviting him to visit his studio and showing him the paintings, he modestly casts his eyes on the paint-splattered floor. "These paintings are very—I don't know how to put it—very modern, Kensuiro." "Thank you, sir, thank you." Holmes pored over an unfinished painting - battered, bony fingers desperately poking out from under the rubble, a big orange tabby cat biting its hind paws - and then he looked Look at Kensui Lang: his boyish face is so sensitive, and his shy brown eyes reveal innocence and kindness. "Such a gentle character, but with such a cruel point of view... I think the combination of the two is very rare." "Yes—thank you—yes—" Among the many completed paintings that lined the walls, Holmes approached one that was markedly different from the others.It is a fairly formal portrait of a very handsome young man in his early thirties, against a background of dark green foliage, wearing a kimono, kendo pants, a haori jacket, tabi socks, and Japanese geta. "Who is this?" asked Holmes.At first, he wasn't sure whether it was a self-portrait of Kensui Lang or Mr. Mei Qi when he was young. "This is my—brother." Kensuiro tried to explain that his brother was dead, but not because of war or any major tragedy.No, he scratched his wrist with his index finger, indicating that his brother committed suicide. "The woman he loved—you know—was like this—" He scratched his wrist again. "My only—brother—" "The two will die together?" "Yes, I think so—" "I see." Holmes bent down and looked carefully at the face in the oil painting. "This painting is very lovely. I like it very much." "Thank you very much for your compliment, sir—thank you—" Finally, a few minutes before Holmes was about to leave Kobe, he suddenly felt the urge to hug Kensuirou as a farewell, but he restrained himself, just nodded, and tapped his calf lightly with his crutch.Instead, Mr. Mayge, who was standing on the platform of the railway station, took a step forward, put his hands on Holmes' shoulders, bowed, and said, "We hope to see you again one day, maybe in England, maybe we can to visit you—" "Perhaps," said Holmes. Then he boarded the train and took a window seat.Mei Qi and Jianshuilang were still standing on the platform, looking up at him.But Holmes hated sad farewells, and exaggerated and solemn separations, so he avoided their eyes, busy setting up his crutches, and stretching his legs and muscles.The train left from the platform, he looked back at the place where the two were standing, but couldn't help frowning, it turned out that they had already left.As the train approached Tokyo, he found some gifts smuggled into his pockets: a small glass bottle containing two Japanese bees; an envelope with his name on it, and inside the envelope was a haiku written by Meiqi . Holmes was quite sure of the origin of the haiku, but was puzzled by the glass vial.He brought the bottle up to his eyes, and looked carefully at the two dead bees sealed inside—one tangled with the other, legs entwined.Where did this come from?Is it a bee farm in the suburbs of Tokyo?Or somewhere in his and Meggie's journey?He wasn't sure (just as he couldn't explain where all the odds and ends in his pocket came from), and he couldn't imagine Kensui catching the bees, putting them carefully in a bottle, and sneaking them into his pocket when.In addition to the bees, the bag contained torn paper ends, cigarette tobacco, a blue shell, some sand, sky-blue pebbles picked up from the miniature garden, and a vine sansanthum seed. "Where did I find you guys? Let me think about—" But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember how he got the glass bottle.But he apparently collected the two dead bees for some reason—either for research, or as a souvenir, or, to bring a present to young Roger (to thank Roger Jay tends to the apiary while he's away). Two days after Roger's funeral, Holmes discovered the letter with the haiku under a stack of papers on his desk.He brushed the crumpled edges with his fingertips, and sat slumped in the chair, with a Jamaican cigar in his mouth, and the smoke wafted straight to the ceiling.After a while, he put the letter down, inhaled the smoke, and exhaled it through his nostrils.He looked at the window, at the smoky ceiling, rising like clouds in the sky.Then he seemed to see himself on the train again, coat and crutches on his knees.The train passed through receding countryside, through the suburbs of Tokyo, and across bridges above the tracks.He saw himself sitting on a large Royal Navy ship, sitting or eating alone, surrounded by soldiers, like an out-of-date antique.He was largely silent; his memory was further hampered by the food on board and the monotony of the journey.On returning to Sussex, Mrs. Monroe found him asleep in his study.Then he went to the apiary and gave Roger the vial of bees. "This is for you. How about we call them Japanese honeybees?" "Thank you, sir." He saw himself waking up in the dark again, listening to the sound of breathing, his mind was blurry, but the day came. , the mind seems to come back, like an outdated old machine coming back to life.Anderson's daughter brought him breakfast, fried bread with royal jelly, and asked him, "Did Mrs. Monroe send anything?" He saw himself shaking his head and saying, "She didn't bring anything." .” What about the two Japanese bees?He suddenly remembered this matter, and leaned over to get his crutches.Where did the boy put them?As he thought, he stood up and glanced out the window—the dark clouds that had begun to appear when he was working at the desk at night hung over the sky, and the sky was overcast, suppressing the light of dawn. Where the hell did he put you?He was still thinking, at last, as he came out of the farmhouse, clutching the spare key to the cottage in his hand on crutches.