Chapter 8 Chapter VII

Dr. Willis is a better mind reader. When Akland's request to return to the military was denied in late June, the last person he was likely to confide in was the psychiatrist.For no reason, he was convinced, Willis' first words would be "I told you so."Indeed, most of Willis' predictions have come true.Ackland was indignant at his own naivety—he had always thought that in a modern combat force, there should be a place for a disabled officer. The findings of the Medical Council are decidedly negative.Charles Ackland's unequivocal willingness to return to duty was appreciated, but the severity of his disability did not match his ambitions.His blind side would become a disadvantage in his mission, and his tinnitus and increasingly frequent migraines would affect his decision-making.The medical council's first duty is to consider the safety of all service members, and it was the opinion of its members that if Lieutenant Ackland was allowed to resume his post, it would pose a threat to the safety of others.

Even in his own mind, Akram shied away from leaving the army.He handles his disappointment in a terrible way, rejecting any clerical job offers and rejecting those who try to help him.He thought he had become an embarrassment—a member of the group rather than a member—and when he packed up and left, he knew that he would never see any of these comrades again.Without a farewell ceremony, without saying goodbye, he, a lonely, angry man, with deep fear for himself and the future, exited the barracks gate. Ackland once offered this opinion to Robert Willis about his time at Susan Campbell's - "Too many people... They all stared at me like idiots..." - So his decision to live in London this time seems a bit odd.But despite his distinctive physical features, he knows that in this metropolis he can remain anonymous.Passers-by might stare, but that's nothing compared to the attention he attracts in a relatively small community.In his parents' village, people said his inquisitive tendencies would drive him mad.He longed to be lost, to be forgotten, to have the chance to rethink his life without distractions or outside pressures.

With no dependents to depend on, a salary that was never spent while in the hospital, and a war disability compensation from the Department of Defense, Ackland's savings were substantial and he didn't have to rush to find a job.In the Waterloo area, he rented a first-floor apartment for six months, scrimmage and lived like a pauper, spending next to nothing, stopping occasionally at a small bar for a beer. He passed his days running, telling anyone who approached him that he was training for the London Marathon to raise money for wounded veterans.At times he even believes that running is an act of charity in itself, rather than a way for him to switch off his brain and get away from the crowd.He became increasingly reluctant to make eye contact, carefully avoiding people's well-meaning interest in who he was and what he was doing.

He had developed a physical aversion to people wearing Arab or Muslim attire.Willis hadn't expected him to feel such a sense of disgust or fear.Every time he saw a bearded face in a white robe, his body would shake with adrenaline, and he always chose to cross the road or turn into a side alley to avoid contact.His dislike grew to include a dislike of all non-Caucasian people.His significant other admitted that the reaction was irrational, but he didn't try to control it.He would feel better if he could shift responsibility for things to someone he didn't understand and didn't want to understand.

Willis had warned him that he might have some startling reactions.The psychiatrist spoke in general terms about the aftermath of trauma and how grief, especially grief about oneself, can distort reality and affect future prospects.He advised Akelan not to dwell on the tragic side that he could not control.Guilt is a powerful and confusing emotion, made worse when you lose all memory of the accident.Akram always steered the subject away, avoiding discussing the deaths of comrades-in-arms. "My feeling is not guilt," he said. "what is that?" "It was anger. They didn't deserve to die. They had wives and children."

"You mean you should die, not them?" "No, it was the Iraqis who should have died." "I think we should discuss this, Charles." "No need, Doctor. You want an answer, and I'm giving you one. I want to kill those Iraqis before they do, but I'm not planning a war against Muslims in Britain because of that." But he does want to wage war on someone.He had dreamed of pulling the trigger of a pistol to the side of a head and seeing the white cotton hood blooming in blood.He also dreamed of holding a miniature submachine gun at a moaning group of women in burqas, making them move at eight hundred revolutions per minute.He would suddenly wake up sweating in his sleep, believing he had made it, his heart beating wildly out of control, but he couldn't tell whether it was guilt or ecstasy.

He knew he was in trouble—his migraines got worse with the darker dreams—but he greeted the pain with stubbornness and absurdity, thinking it was some form of punishment, Natural justice: Somebody has to pay, and if so, he might as well be that person. Akram's precarious peace of mind was shattered five weeks after he moved to London.He was quietly drinking a pint by himself in a small pub in Bermondsey as a group of well-dressed city agents jostled in.They talked excitedly about the day's money, and after a few drinks their voices grew louder and more annoying, and two or three times Acklan was nearly pushed back and forth. He was asleep, but he wouldn't have reacted if one of them hadn't talked to him.The man who could only see Aklan's right side patted him on the shoulder after getting no answer from Aklan.

"Are you deaf?" he said, waving a glass of orange juice under Acklan's nose, and raised his chin, motioning to Acklan for an empty stool on his left. Move around and make room for us." His words were monotonous, his voice flat, with a distinctly Pakistani accent, and Akram's replies were immediate and automatic.He hooked the man's neck with his right arm, swung his left fist, and hit the man squarely in the face.With a howl of pain, the manager fell, crashing into his friends, blood gushing from his nose. The rest immediately looked at Aklan in horror. "God!" said one of them, "what's the matter with you?"

"I don't like murderers," Ackland told them, and sat down to drink beer. After a moment of surprised silence, someone bent down and helped the guy on the ground up.He took a napkin from the automatic bar dispenser, covered his nose, and glared angrily at his attacker.Regardless of his religion or nationality, he was dressed in a shirt, tie and a dark suit, completely Western in appearance.Only his fringed beard and drink of choice hint at his Islamic background. "In this country, you can't do that." "I was born here. I can do whatever I want." "I, too, was born here."

"That doesn't mean you're British." "Did you all hear that?" the Pakistani asked his friends excitedly. "This man attacked me for racial reasons. You are my witnesses." Compared with Akram, he is shorter and more stocky. , he weighed his chances of winning with the support of his colleagues.He held up a finger and shook Akram in warning, "You're a lunatic. You shouldn't have been let out." "Wrong," said Ackland, in a deliberately gentle tone, "I'm an angry lunatic, and even a foolish Bucky can see that." It's like waving a red cloth at a bull.Exasperated by the insult, the manager put his head down, ready to go.If he was on Akram's left, he'd stand a better chance, but he's on the right, as any fool knows, he can't match Akram in terms of strength, speed or physical fitness - the life of a broker is to sit and deal Desk work - the only way they know how to fight is by pumping their fists and hoping to land one another.He didn't expect Akram to pick up the stool so quickly, nor did he expect Akram to actually step forward and smash the stool at him.He slammed his head against the bar, and Acklan kicked him right after.

He could have stopped there, but he didn't.He was aware of the urgency behind the bar and the cries of his Pakistani friends, but the hatred he had suppressed for months was always looking for a target, and now this loud broker came to his door, how could he Ken let it go. "You should have shut up," he murmured, getting down on one knee and squeezing the man's jaw with both hands, ready to twist the head around and crush the bone. "Stop!" A woman shouted loudly, while several hands pulled him away and threw him aside. "I said... stop!" When one of the managers hit Aklan in the ribs with the toe of a shoe, the woman snarled again, "No one moves until the police arrive!" She blew a piercing whistle , "Jackson! Here, man! Hurry up!" Her words fell on deaf ears, and they fell on deaf ears.Other brokers rushed forward, punching and kicking Aklan violently, and the guests who had nothing to do with him scattered in a hurry to avoid the war zone.The situation became even more chaotic as the Pakistani staggered to his feet, grabbing anything or anyone who might help him to his feet.As he threatened to overturn a table, a dark-haired giantess emerged from behind the bar. "Take it easy," her voice was low and sweet, without sounding agitated, "you're bleeding like a pig with a slit throat, friend. Let me put you in a safe place." With a grunt, she lifted Acklan's victim and dropped him casually on the counter. "It's all yours, dear," she said, joining in enthusiastically. "Didn't you hear that lady?" She slapped the Pakistani friends on the backs of the heads with her fleshy hands, "Stop it. This is a law-abiding place. All damage must be paid for." She elbowed the other two guys, parted the way, and walked to Acland. "Are you all right?" He sat on the floor and squinted at her.From the bottom up, she looks like a hill of white muscle, her calves, thighs, shoulders and neck like inflated skin sacs, bulging out of tight gym shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt and high boots .He curled up in horror as she lifted a boot and dropped it in front of him like a giant. "The lady said, don't move," she said in a low voice, her heel on one of the moccasins, "including kicking." "God, Jackson!" he yelled, "you fucking hurt me!" "If you don't back off, I'll make you hurt even more." She moved her heels and let him go. "Who else wants to mess with a 300-pound weightlifter? I eat steak for breakfast, and you butter muffins are right." I'm a piece of cake." No one volunteered.She held out a hand to Acklan and pulled him up. "Over there," she ordered, nodding and pointing to a bench next to the wall, "You guys, sit by that table." She told the agent, "We'll just sit here and wait for the police to come." She smiled "Then, you can spend a few hours in prison doing nothing before you are called in to make your statement." They stared at her in protest. "Give us a chance to fix it, Jackson," said one of them. "We all have families waiting for us to come home." "Is that my problem?" "We're all good customers, and we didn't do it first." "So what? This is my home. I can't just hail a cab and drive away like you guys and leave this mess alone." She spread her huge legs and took a step forward, arms folded across her chest, Invite them to challenge her, "Daisy and I won't go to your house and fuck around your house like spoiled kids. Who gave you the right to mess around with us?" "We didn't. It was the racist bastard. He punched Rasheed in the face for no reason at all and called him a stupid Pakistani." Jackson's gaze shifted to Acland, "Is that so?" Akram fumbled under the eyepatch with one finger, massaging the damaged nerve in the empty eye socket, "Almost." "How much difference?" "I have a reason." She waited for him to continue, but he didn't, so she said, "I hope that's a good reason, my friend, because you're lucky you can still see. If Rashid Mansour was a fighter or Boxer, he'll make your other eye glass and you'll be blind." The arrival of the police ended their conversation.Mansur, still in a rage, wiped his nosebleeds as he announced his name and accused Aklan of calling him a racial slur and trying to kill him.Aklan didn't say anything except giving his name.Migraines were tormenting him, and Jackson wasn't the only one to notice how pale he was.An officer asked if both of them needed medical help, but they both said no.Mansoor was too absorbed in making a tiresome tirade of indictments, and Akram was too weak to move. The rage caused the Pakistani to raise his voice, the high-pitched squeaking was hard to understand, and the officer cut him off and turned to Jackson for an explanation.She described exactly what she saw when she came out, but couldn't say who started the war because she was in the kitchen.Her partner, Daisy, a shapely blonde with deep cleavage, is also in the dark.She was serving customers at the other end of the bar and didn't realize there was a war breaking out until they started shouting.The group of brokers, who occasionally glanced at their watches, said they only noticed when their friend was on the ground with blood on his face and Acklan said he didn't like the killer. The officer turned his attention to the two parties involved. "Well, gentlemen, how did this all happen? Which of you said it first?" Akram stared at the floor. "It was me," Mansour argued, "but I was very polite. I asked him if he would mind moving to an empty stool next to it to make room for someone else. He didn't even bother to answer, but grabbed me neck, hit it with a punch." "Only this?" The Pakistani hesitated. "I had to repeat. He didn't hear it the first time, so I tapped him on the shoulder and asked him again." He remembered saying, "Are you deaf?" In other words, "I can only see one side of his face." He ended his answer with some guilt. The police officer frowned, "What's the difference?" "I wouldn't even talk to him if I knew he was," Mansoor shrugged awkwardly, searching for a suitable expression, "Look, he had an accident... had an operation... whatever .you know." "Not really. Your words seem incomprehensible to me. What racist name did he call you?" "He said I was a murderer, an ignorant Pakistani." "Then what do you call him?" "madman." The officer turned to Akland, "What do you want to say?" "No." The officer sized him up for a moment, then looked at Jackson suspiciously, "This man either had too much to drink, or he needs a doctor. He's pale." "He got a kick from Rasheed's friends...so unless Rasheed thinks otherwise, I think they're pretty much even this time around." The officer looked at the Pakistani and he shook his head, so the officer nodded, "And you, Jackson? The property is yours. You want me to arrest this group of people for criminal damage and bring them back to the police station," his There was a twinkle of pleasure in their eyes, as if they'd done this before, "Or give them a warning and throw them outside? No exception for our 'Pirate King', Captain Kidd." "What kind of choice is that?" she said grimly. "If the word gets out that I hand over a patient to you people, what will my business do...if these guys have to step on him and rush to the gate If you do, it will be even worse.” The officer grinned, "I guess if you let me drag him to the police station, he'd look worse than he does...it'd make your job harder." "Yeah." She took out an empty ice bucket from the counter and put it on the table in front of the manager, "For the loss caused to me by your atrocities, each of you pay 5 pounds, and I will let you go... …but at £50 each for these two idiots,” she said, pointing at Akram and Mansour with the index fingers of both hands, “it’s impossible to leave this mess to me and Daisy, so either you guys Pay the cleaners, or you all get down on your knees and wipe the blood off the ground." Brokers eagerly took out £5 and rushed to the door before the rules were rewritten. "It's my fair verdict," Jackson said, handing Daisy the ice bucket and winking at the police, "that the victim be compensated instantly, and that official time was not wasted on paperwork." She thumbed and He rubbed his index finger under Mansur's nose, "Okay, Muslim kids, it's your turn, pay." Mansur reluctantly pulled out his wallet, "What about him?" "Oh, he will pay, you don't have to worry about that." She took the money from the Pakistani, "But, first, I'm going to do you a favor and keep him alive, or you'll be sent to the police, answer questions about Murder." She bent over Acklan, "Where is your pain?" He continued to stare at the floor. "Head," he whispered through clenched teeth, fighting back the bile welling up in his throat with every eye movement, "migraine." "Have you ever had a migraine before? Can you recognize the symptom?" "yes." "What did your surgeon say caused it?" "Phantom pain." "Because of the missing eye?" "yes." "Do you have pain anywhere else? Ribs? Back? Did they kick you anywhere?" "No." "Can you stand up?" Aklan tried to stand up, but this action immediately made the bile he was holding back rush up.He covered his mouth with both hands and retched convulsively. "Great!" Jackson said angrily. "Give me a towel, Daisy." She took the towel and handed it to Ackland. "Use this," she said, pulling him up and using professional rescue Picking him up on the shoulder, "Don't get my clothes dirty, or it will cost you another 50 pounds." She paused in front of the two policemen, "If he's a madman and gets mad again, I'll put him down Beaten," she warned, "so if he complains to you then, don't charge me with causing grievous bodily harm." "You're a good man, Jackson." She carried the grown man as effortlessly as if she were carrying a child. "It's true," she agreed. Ackland remembers Jackson putting him on a bed and telling him to use a bowl next to his pillow if needed.Not long after, she came back with a briefcase and asked him about the injuries on his face, such as, where was the operation done?Are you using any medicines?When was the last time you saw a doctor?How Often Do Migraines Occur?How did he handle it?Is the situation getting worse?Do you always get nauseous every time?What remedies did he use? He did his best to answer well, using mostly monosyllabic words.His retching continued unabated, and she suggested giving him an antiemetic shot to help him receive some fluids and a painkiller to swallow.Exhausted, he agreed.Soon after the painkillers kicked in, he fell asleep.But before that, he had revealed far more about himself to Jackson than he had ever told Willis. When Akram woke up the next morning, the sun was streaming in through the cracks in the curtains, and he could hear the clink of dishes in the kitchen downstairs.He knew exactly where he was or what happened.He remembers everything that happened last night—or so he thinks he does—until Jackson gives him an antiemetic shot, and he asks her last question, "Are you a doctor?" But he doesn't remember her There is no answer. He is lying on his left side, facing the window.He noticed his shoes and socks were on the chair by the window.He was mostly naked except for a pair of underpants, but he didn't know when his clothes were taken off, and he was allowed to do so.He propped himself up and sat up, looking around.The house is small but functional, with a pine wardrobe standing in one corner.A trestle washbasin and a mirror are mounted on the wall opposite the window.The vomiting bowl, clean and tidy, along with his wallet, watch, and eye mask, was placed on the bedside table, and a towel was folded next to the pillow.His jacket, shirt and trousers were missing. He put on the blindfold and looked at his watch. It was nearly nine o'clock.He was careful not to make a sound, lest the kitchen should notice that he had woken up.He slipped out from under the duvet and tiptoed to the wardrobe.He hoped to find at least one nightgown, but there were nothing but five empty hangers.He felt stupid.He put on his socks and shoes, tucked his wallet into the waistband of his underpants, then peeled off the pink duvet cover from the duvet and wrapped it around his waist. He opened the door gently, poked his head out, and searched the bathroom, but all adjoining rooms were closed.To his left was a staircase, from which the voices of the kitchen came up clearly.And of course, the scent.He couldn't tell whether the house he was in was a complete private space or whether the rooms next to it were all rented out, and he felt more and more embarrassed.He sidled quietly down the hallway, looking for signs that might indicate a bathroom. When he finally worked up the courage to pull open a door, Murphy's Law came into play, and he found Jackson facing the door, legs apart, straddling a barbell bench press.Her arms reached shoulder height, and two huge fists held a dumbbell in each.She bent her elbows and brought the dumbbell back to her chest. Seeing Aklan's appearance, she giggled in a low voice. "Nice dress," she said. "If you're looking for the bathroom, it's across from your room. You can borrow the bathrobe behind the door, but don't use my razor. I'll be done in five minutes." .” The lieutenant blushed, apologized to Jackson in a low voice, and then backed out.Wasn't he actually 30, Jackson wondered?Last night she estimated he was in his thirties.With such a short haircut and such a disfigured face, it was difficult to judge his age, but she had decided that he was older than Mansur's gang.As she stretched her arms again and raised the dumbbells, she went back to the medical history he had told her. What caused your injury?a piece of metal.In a car accident?Say so if you like.What does it mean?Nothing... just an accident.Have you ever had a migraine before?No.What do you use for pain relief?I don't stop the pain, I endure it.Why?This way my bodily functions can function normally.Most people function better without pain.I can do it.Of course you can, you look embarrassed, you attack the first person who annoys you, what kind of function is this?I live, don't I? ... After he stopped retching and before the painkillers kicked in, his answers were even funnier.who diedMy two men.are you in the armyNot now.why not?I am not good enough.How does Rashid Mansour annoy you?I've been trying to avoid them.Pakistani?murderer.Does no one worry about you?only me…… When Jackson showed up at Acland's door after his morning workout, he was sitting on the bed with the door open.Wearing Jackson's dark blue bathrobe, Akram greeted her with a little more confidence than five minutes ago, "Are you a doctor?" She folded her muscular arms across her chest for him to examine.She looked to be in her forties, about Ackland's height, over six feet, but her strong jaw, short, spiky hair, and sloping shoulders made her look more man than woman.She was wearing a similar outfit to the night before, undershirt and shorts, and her thighs were so ostentatiously muscular that she had to stand with her feet wide apart. "You've asked me that question more than once...I've told you more than once that I am...but I can't seem to convince you. Don't I look like a doctor?" He gazed at her inflated biceps and disproportionately flat chest. "Not the kind of doctor I've seen. You called yourself a 300-pound weightlifter yesterday." "I'm exaggerating a bit. I'm around 250 pounds, but it's not as deterrent as 300 pounds. Have you ever met a doctor who does weight training?" There isn't a woman like you, he thought, "I don't think so. I've never met a doctor who runs a bar." She saw him trying to catch her eye. "It's Daisy who runs it. I'm only interested in the property. I used to be a full-time GP and I'm now employed by a local primary care trust providing after-hours I am also responsible for drunks and drug addicts in the police cell. This means that I am on call on weekends and two or three nights a week. Yesterday evening was my rest time. It should rest with Erlang's legs crossed, not be your nurse." He couldn't tell if she was angry or mocking, "I'm sorry." "No need. After agreeing to let me give you something, you fell asleep immediately." She saw his doubts, "I injected you with metoclopramide antiemetic to stop you from dehydrating , the painkiller is a mixture of codeine and paracetamol. Nothing more sinister. What do you think I'll give you? Heroin?" Akram found it difficult to read her.Her serious, piercing stare was discouraging, and he decided it would be more comfortable to look at his hands. "I don't take drugs." "You told me last night. You said you'd function better without these drugs." She paused, as if expecting his answer. "How are you feeling this morning?" "fine." "hungry?" "yes." "Okay. Daisy cooked enough cooked bacon and eggs that I would never eat alone. I am very concerned about my cholesterol levels. Your clothes are in the laundry room, you can come down in your bathrobe...don't forget you You owed me £100 last night, £50 for Rashid's blood, £50 for vomiting on your back - and an extra £5 for Daisy's breakfast." He followed her to the landing, "Do you want to pay for your bed?" "It's free last night, but if you get in the habit of getting sick at my pub every time you use it, it'll cost you £30 per use. No cheques." She started down the stairs. He wanted to say that he wasn't going to go to her bar anymore, but when he got to his lips, he stopped, and just said: "This is a one-off, and it won't happen again." "We'll see. You haven't had Daisy's breakfast yet." Daisy was the complete opposite of Jackson—warm, friendly, curvy, blonde, and looked ten years younger than Jackson.She was also rather uninterested in money.When Akram asked to pay for the breakfast, she laughed and told him not to be so stupid, "If you don't eat it, Jackson will. She's a household dumpster." Jackson had no such qualms. "Where's my 100 pounds?" She took a sip of tea and helped swallow a full mouthful of fried bread. "Daisy is a left-leaning liberal. She thinks profit is a dirty thing." All criminals come from broken families." She held out her hand, "And I expect people to pay what they have to pay." "You gave me a choice," Akram reminded gently, "either pay, or clean up." "It's too late. Daisy cleaned it up last night. Once blood and vomit seep through, it's as hard to remove as the devil." Daisy frowned, as if to refute her, but Jackson spoke first, "You're very Luckily I didn't charge you for a new vest. Need at least ten washes to get the beer you spit on my back." Acland counted out five 20-pound notes, plus the 5-pound note that Daisy refused, and handed them to her.Jackson took the money, twisted in his chair, and put it in the drawer behind him.Before she closed the drawer, he caught sight of another small wad of money, topped by a £10 note.She met his gaze as she turned. "Mansour's contribution," she said, "wasn't a too bad night overall." He suddenly didn't like her, maybe he didn't like her all along, and now it was distrust that made him uncomfortable.She's an ugly woman - bloated and greedy - and she clearly enjoys bullying the underdog.For a moment he wondered what was Daisy's role in their relationship?Is she Jackson's docile minion?An eye-catching vase ready to be replaced by something prettier?Is she out of love?Or is it forced by life?Are they equal partnerships?He saw her butter Jackson's toast, and it dawned on him that he really didn't have to worry about it.He jumped up from his chair in disgust at what he saw, legs scraping the floor with his sudden movement. "I need my clothes," he said gruffly, "and I can get them myself if you point me in the right direction." Dai Er was surprised by his tone, she smiled doubtfully, "Are you all right?" "I'm fine...but I have to go. I'm late." "Okay." She pointed to the door behind her. "From there, in the first room on the right, you'll see your things on the ironing board. After changing, continue down the corridor to the end , you'll find the exit to Murray Street. Can you find your way back from there?" Aclan nodded. "Just be sure to leave my bathrobe when you go," Jackson said, picking up another slice of toast and inserting a butter knife into the jam. "I paid a fortune for that." He took a deep breath and said to Daisy, "Thank you." "why?" "Help me clean up...make breakfast...do laundry." Daisy smiled slightly, "You shouldn't believe everything Jackson said, you know. She sometimes deliberately distorts the facts just to make herself feel better." This illogical comment puzzled him. "I do not understand." Jackson broke in again before Daisy could answer, "That bathrobe cost two pounds from the Oxfam shop," she told him, "but that doesn't mean you can take it .” "I didn't intend to do that," said Ackland coldly.He undid his belt and shrugged his shoulders to take off his bathrobe. "Here." He draped his bathrobe over the back of the chair. "I don't want you accusing me of stealing after I'm gone." Her pleasant eyes wandered between his panties, socks and shoes, "You jump to too many conclusions in a hurry, friend, and none of them reflect you well. One eye does not make a person blind or blind." To be stupid - or not to be - yet your situation makes me suspicious. You can come back, after you've learned to be tolerant... but not before." "That's not going to happen," he said, walking toward the door, "and I sure as hell can't afford it." "Of course you can," she said lightly. "Daisy's giving a 10% discount to guests who stay for a week."