PART Ⅲ-2

  Theprimroseshadstarted.IsupposeitwassometimeinMarch.

  I’ddriventhroughWesterhamandwasmakingforPudley.I’dgottodoanassessmentofanironmonger’sshop,andthen,ifIcouldgetholdofhim,tointerviewalife-insurancecaseaveringinthebalance.Hisnamehadbeeinbyourlocalagent,butatthelastmomeakenfrightaodoubtwhetherhecouldaffordit.I’mprettygoodattalkingpeopleround.It’sbeingfatthatdoesit.Itputspeopleinacheerykindofmood,makes‘emfeelthatsigningachequeisalmostapleasure.Ofcoursetherearedifferentwaysoftagdifferentpeople.Withsomeit’sbettertolayallthestressonthebohersyouscareinasubtlewaywithhintsaboutwhat’llhappentotheirwivesiftheydieuninsured.

  Theoldcarswitchbackedupanddownthecurlylittlehills.AndbyGod,whataday!YouknowthekindofdaythatgenerallyessometimeinMarchwhenwintersuddeogiveupfighting.Fordayspastwe’dbeenhavingthekindofbeastlyweatherthatpeoplecall‘bright’weather,whenthesky’sacoldhardblueandthewindscrapesyoulikeabluntrazor-blade.Thensuddenlythewindhaddroppedandthesungotace.Youknowthekindofday.Paleyellowsunshialeafstirring,atouistinthefardistancewhereyoucouldseethesheepscatteredoverthehillsideslikelumpsofchalk.Anddowninthevalleysfireswereburning,andthesmoketwistedslowlyupwardsaedintothemist.I’dgottheroadtomyself.Itwassowarmyoucouldalmosthavetakenyourclothesoff.

  Igottoaspotwherethegrassbesidetheroadwassmotheredinprimroses.Apatchofclayeysoil,perhaps.TwentyyardsfartheronIsloweddownandstopped.Theweatherwastoogoodtomiss.IfeltI’dgottogetoutandhaveasmellatthespringair,andperhapsevenpickafewprimrosesiftherewasnobodying.IevenhadsomevaguenotionofpigabunchofthemtotakehometoHilda.

  Iswitchedtheengineoffandgotout.Ineverlikeleavingtheoldcarrunningiral,I’malwayshalfafraidshe’llshakehermudguardsofforsomething.She’sa1927model,andshe’sdoneabiggishmileage.WhenyoulifttheboandlookattheeremindsyouoftheoldAustrianEmpire,alltiedtogetherwithbitsbutsomehowkeepspluggingalong.Youwouldn’tbelieveanymaecouldvibrateinsomanydiresato’slikethemotionoftheearth,whichhastwenty-twodifferentkindsofwobble,orsoIrememberreading.Ifyoulookatherfrombehindwhenshe’srunningiralit’sforalltheworldlikewatgohoseHawaiiangirlsdangthehula-hula.

  Therewasafive-barredgatebesidetheroad.Istrolledoverandleanedacrossit.Notasoulinsight.Ihitchedmyhatbackabittogetthekindofbalmyfeelingoftheairagainstmyforehead.Thegrassuhehedgewasfullofprimroses.Justihegateatramporsomebodyhadlefttheremainsofafire.Alittlepileofwhiteembersandawispofsmokestilloozingoutofthem.Fartheralongtherewasalittlebitofapool,coveredoverwithduck-weed.Thefieldwaswinterwheat.Itslopedupsharply,aherewasafallofchalkandalittlebeechspinney.Akindofmistofyoungleavesorees.Andutterstillnesseverywhere.Notevenenoughwindtostirtheashesofthefire.Alarksingingsomewhere,otherwisenotasound,notevenanaeroplane.

  Istayedthereforabit,leanihegate.Iwasalone,quitealone.Iwaslookingatthefield,andthefieldwaslookingatme.Ifelt—Iwonderwhetheryou’lluand.

  WhatIfeltwassomethingthat’ssounusualnowadaysthattosayitsoundslikefoolishness.IfeltHAPPY.IfeltthatthoughIshan’tliveforever,I’dbequitereadyto.Ifyoulikeyousaythatthatwasmerelybecauseitwasthefirstday.Seasonaleffethesex-glands,orsomething.Buttherewasmoretoitthanthat.Curiouslyenough,thethingthathadsuddenlyvihatlifewasworthliving,morethantheprimrosesortheyoungbudsonthehedge,wasthatbitoffirehegate.Youknowthelookofawoodfireonastillday.Thesticksthathavegoowhiteashandstillkeeptheshapeofsticks,anduheashthekindofvividredthatyouseeinto.It’scuriousthataredemberlooksmorealive,givesyoumoreofafeelingoflifethananylivingthing.There’ssomethingaboutit,akindofiy,avibration—I’tthinkoftheexactwords.Butitletsyouknowthatyou’realiveyourself.It’sthespotourethatmakesyounoticeeverythingelse.

  Ibentdowntopickaprimrose.Couldn’treachit—toomuchbelly.Isquatteddownonmyhaunchesandpickedalittlebunchofthem.Luckytherewasoseeme.Theleaveswerekindofklyandshapedlikerabbits’ears.Istoodupandputmybunchofprimrosesoepost.ThenonanimpulseIslidmyfalseteethoutofmymouthandhadalookatthem.

  IfI’dhadamirrorI’dhavelookedatthewholeofmyself,though,asamatteroffact,IknewwhatIlookedlikealready.Afatmanofforty-five,inagreyherring-boabittheworseforwearandabowlerhat.Wife,twokids,andahouseinthesuburbswrittenalloverme.Redfadboiledblueeyes.Iknow,youdon’thavetotellme.Butthethingthatstruckme,asIgavemydentalplatetheonce-overbeforeslippingitbatomymouth,wasthatITDOESN’TMATTER.Evenfalseteethdon’tmatter.I’mfat—yes.Ilooklikeabookie’sunsuccessfulbrother—yes.Nowomanwillevergotobedwithmeagainunlessshe’spaidto.Iknowallthat.ButItellyouIdon’tcare.Idon’twantthewomen,Idon’tevenwanttobeyoungagain.Ionlywanttobealive.AndIwasalivethatmomeoodlookingattheprimrosesandtheredembersuhehedge.It’safeelinginsideyou,akindofpeacefulfeeling,a’slikeaflame.

  Fartherdownthehedgethepoolwascoveredwithduck-weed,solikeacarpetthatifyoudidn’tknowwhatduck-weedwasyoumightthinkitwassolidandsteponit.Iwonderedwhyitisthatwe’reallsuchbloodyfools.Whydon’tpeople,insteadoftheidiociestheydospeimeon,justwalkroundLOOKINGatthings?Thatpool,forinstance—allthestuffthat’sinit.s,water-snails,water-beetles,caddis-flies,leeches,andGodknowshowmanyotherthingsthatyoulyseewithamicroscope.Themysteryoftheirlives,downthereuer.Youcouldspendalifetimewatgthem,teimes,andstillyouwouldn’thavegottotheehatonepool.Andallthewhilethesortoffeelingofwohepeculiarflameinsideyou.It’stheonlythingworthhaving,andwedon’twantit.

  ButIdowantit.AtleastIthoughtsoatthatmoment.Anddon’tmistakewhatI’msaying.Tobeginwith,ueys,I’mnotsoppyabout‘thetry’.Iwasbroughtupadamnsighttoooitforthat.Idon’twanttostoppeoplelivingintowns,orinsuburbsforthatmatter.Let‘emlivewheretheylike.AndI’mnotsuggestingthatthewholeofhumanitycouldspendthewholeoftheirliveswanderingroundpigprimrosesandsoforth.Iknowperfectlywellthatwe’vegottowork.It’sonlybecausechapsarecoughingtheirlungsoutinminesandgirlsarehammeringattypewritersthatanyoneeverhastimetopickaflower.Besides,ifyouhadn’tafullbellyandawarmhouseyouwouldn’twanttopickflowers.Butthat’snotthepoint.Here’sthisfeelingthatIgetinsideme—notoften,Iadmit,butnowandagain.Iknowit’sagoodfeelingtohave.What’smore,sodoeseverybodyelse,ornearlyeverybody.It’sjustroundtheerallthetime,andweallknowit’sthere.Stthatmae-gun!Stopchasingwhateveryou’rechasing!Calmdowyourbreathback,letabitofpeaceseepintoyourbones.Nouse.Wedon’tdoit.Justkeeponwiththesamebloodyfooleries.

  Awarihehorizon,1941,theysay.Threemorecirclesofthesun,andthenwewhizzstraightintoit.Thebombsdivingdownonyoulikeblackcigars,areamlinedbulletsstreamingfromtheBrenmae-guns.Notthatthatworriesmeparticularly.I’mtoooldtofight.There’llbeair-raids,ofcourse,buttheywon’thiteverybody.Besides,evenifthatkindofdas,itdoesn’treallyeoohoughtsbeforehand.AsI’vesaidseveraltimesalready,I’mnhtehewar,onlytheafter-war.Ahatisn’tlikelytoaffectmepersonally.Becausewho’dbotheraboutachaplikeme?I’mtoofattobeapoliticalsuspeoonewouldbumpmeofforewitharubbertrun.I’mtheordinarymiddlingkindthatmovesohepolitellshim.AsforHildaandthekids,they’dprobablyicethedifferendyetitfrightehebarbedwire!Theslogans!Theenormousfaces!Thecork-linedcellarswheretheexecutisyoufrombehind!ForthatmatteritfrightensotherchapswhoareintellectuallyagooddealdumberthanIam.Butwhy!Becauseitmeansgood-byetothisthingI’vebeentellingyouabout,thisspecialfeelinginsideyou.Callitpeace,ifyoulike.ButwhenIsaypeaeanabsenceofwar,Imeanpeace,afeelinginyuts.Andit’sgoneforeveriftherubbertrunboysgetholdofus.

  Ipickedupmybunchofprimrosesandhadasmellatthem.IwasthinkingofLowerBinfield.Itwasfunnyhowfortwomonthspastithadbeeninandoutofmymindallthetime,aftertwentyyearsduringwhichI’dpracticallyfottenit.Andjustatthismomenttherewasthezoomofainguptheroad.

  Itbroughtmeupwithakindofjolt.IsuddenlyrealizedwhatIwasdoing—wanderingroundpigprimroseswhenIoughttohavebeengoingthroughtheioryatthatironmonger’sshopinPudley.Whatwasmore,itsuddenlystruckmewhatI’dlooklikeifthosepeopleinthecarsawme.Afatmaninabowlerhatholdingabunchofprimroses!Itwouldn’tlhtatall.Fatmenmustn’tpickprimroses,atanyrateinpublic.Ijusthadtimetochuckthemoverthehedgebeforethecarcameinsight.ItwasagoodjobI’ddohecarwasfullofyoungfoolsofabouttwenty.Howthey’dhavesniggeredifthey’dseeheywerealllookingatme—youknowhowpeoplelookatyouwhenthey’reinaingtowardsyou—ahoughtstruckmethatevennowtheymightsomehowguesswhatI’dbeendoierlet‘emthinkitwassomethingelse.Whyshouldachapgetoutofhiscaratthesideofatryroad?Obvious!AsthecarwentpastIpreteobedoingupafly-button.

  Ikedupthecar(theself-starterdoesn’tworkanylonger)andgotin.Curiouslyenough,intheverymomentwhenIwasdoingupthefly-button,whenmymindwasaboutthree-quartersfullofthoseyoungfoolsihercar,awonderfulideahadoccurredtome.

  I’dgobacktoLowerBinfield!

  Whynot?IthoughtasIjammedherintotopgear.Whyshouldn’tI?Whatwastostopme?Andwhythehellhadn’tIthoughtofitbefore?AquietholidayinLowerBinfield—justthethingIwanted.

  Don’timagiIhadanyideasofgoingbacktoLIVEinLowerBinfield.Iwasn’tplanningtodesertHildaandthekidsandstartlifeunderadifferenthatkindofthingonlyhappensinbooks.ButwhatwastostopmeslippingdowntoLowerBinfieldandhavihereallbymyself,o.?

  Iseemedtohaveitallplainmymindalready.Itwasallrightasfarasthemoherewasstilltwelvequidleftinthatsecretpileofmine,andyouhaveaveryfortableweekontwelvequid.Igetafht’sholidayayear,generallyinAugustorSeptember.ButifImadeupsomesuitablestory—relativedyingofincurabledisease,orsomething—Icouldprobablygetthefirmtogivememyholidayintwoseparatehalves.ThenIcouldhaveaweekalltomyselfbeforeHildakneashappening.AweekinLowerBinfield,withnoHilda,nokids,noFlyingSalamander,noEllesmereRoad,norumpusaboutthehire-purchasepayments,norafficdrivingyousilly—justaweekofloafingroundandlisteningtothequietness?

  ButwhydidIwanttogobacktoLowerBinfield?yousay.WhyLowerBinfieldinparticular?WhatdidImeantodowhenIgotthere?

  Ididodoanything.Thatartofthepoint.Iwantedpeadquiet.Peace!WehaditonLowerBinfield.I’vetoldyousomethingaboutouroldlifethere,beforethewar.I’mnotpretendingiterfect.Idaresayitwasadull,sluggish,vegetablekindoflife.Yousaywewereliketurnips,ifyoulike.Butturnipsdon’tliveinterroroftheboss,theydon’tlieawakeatnightthinkingabouttheslumpawar.easideus.OfcourseIkhateveninLowerBinfieldlifewouldhaveged.Buttheplaceitselfwouldn’thave.There’dstillbethebeechwoodsroundBinfieldHouse,aowpathdownbyBurfordWeir,andthehorse-troughinthemarket-place.Iwaogetbackthere,justforaweek,ahefeelingofitsoakiwasabitlikeoheseEasteriringintoadesert.AndIshouldthink,thewaythingsaregoing,there’llbeagoodmanypeopleretiringintothedesertdurifewyears.It’llbelikethetimeinaRomethatoldPorteouswastellingmeabout,whenthereweresomasthattherewasawaitinglistforeverycave.

  Butitwasn’tthatIwaowatavel.Ionlywaogetmynervebackbeforethebadtimesbegin.Becausedoesanyonewhoisn’tdeadfromtheneckupdoubtthatthere’sabadtimeing?Wedon’tevenknowwhatit’llbe,aweknowit’sing.Perhapsaerhapsaslump—noknowing,exceptthatit’llbesomethingbad.Whereverwe’regoing,we’regoingdownwards.Intothegrave,intothecesspool—noknowing.Andyou’tfacethatkindofthingunlessyou’vegottherightfeelinginsideyou.There’ssomethingthat’sgoofusiwentyyearssihewar.It’sakindofvitaljuicethatwe’vesquirtedawayuntilthere’snothi.Allthisrushingtoandfro!Everlastingscrambleforabitofcash.Everlastingdinofbuses,bombs,radios,telephonebells.Nerveswornalltobits,emptyplaourboneswherethemarrowoughttobe.

  Ishovedmyfootdownontheaccelerator.TheverythoughtofgoingbacktoLowerBinfieldhaddonemegoodalready.YouknowthefeelingIhad.ingupforair!Likethebigsea-turtleswhentheyepaddlinguptothesurface,sticktheirandfilltheirlungswithagreatgulpbeforetheysinkdownagainamongtheseaweedaopuses.We’reallstiflingatthebottomofadustbin,butI’dfouothetop.BacktoLowerBinfield!Ikeptmyfootontheacceleratoruntiltheoldcarworkeduptohermaximumspeedofnearlyfortymilesanhour.Shewasrattlinglikeatintrayfullofcrockery,andundercoverofthenoiseInearlystartedsinging.

  Ofcoursetheflyinthemilk-jugwasHilda.Thatthoughtpulledmeupabit.Isloweddowntoabouttwentytothinkitover.

  Therewasn’tmuchdoubtHildawouldfindoutsoonerorlater.Astogettingonlyaweek’sholidayinAugust,Imightbeabletopassthatoffallright.Icouldtellherthefirmwereonlygivingmeaweekthisyear.Probablyshewouldn’tasktoomaionsaboutthat,becauseshe’djumpattheceofcuttingdowntheholidayexpehekids,inanycase,alwaysstayattheseasideforamonth.WherethedifficultycameinwasfindinganalibiforthatweekinMay.Icouldn’tjustclearoffwithoutnotice.Bestthing,Ithought,wouldbetotellheragoodwhileaheadthatIwasbeionsomespecialjobtoNottingham,orDerby,orBristol,orsomeotherplaceagoodlongwayaway.IfItoldheraboutittwomonthsaheaditwouldlookasifIhadn’tanythingtohide.

  Butofcourseshe’dfindoutsoonerorlater.TrustHilda!She’dstartoffbypretendingtobelieveit,andthen,inthatquiet,obstinatewayshehas,she’dhefactthatI’dneverbeentoNottinghamorDerbyorBristolorwhereveritmightbe.It’sastonishinghowshedoesit.Suchperseverance!Shelieslowtillshe’sfoundoutalltheointsinyouralibi,andthensuddenly,whenyou’veputyourfootinitbysomecarelessremark,shestartsonyou.Suddenlyesoutwiththewholedossierofthecase.‘WheredidyouspendSaturdaynight?That’salie!You’vebeenoffwithawoman.LookatthesehairsIfoundwhenIwasbrushingyourwaistcoat.Lookatthem!Ismyhairthatcolour?’Ahefunbegins.Lordknowshowmanytimesit’shappened.Sometimesshe’sbeenrightaboutthewomanandsometimesshe’sbeenwrong,buttheafter-effectsarealwaysthesame.Naggingforweeksonend!Neveramealwithoutarow—andthekids’tmakeoutwhatit’sallabout.TheonepletelyhopelessthingwouldbetotellherjustwhereI’dspentthatweek,andwhy.IfIexplaiilltheDayofJudgmentshe’dneverbelievethat.

  But,hell!Ithought,whybother?Itwasalongwayoff.Youknowhowdifferehingsseembeforeandafter.Ishovedmyfootdownontheacceleratain.I’dhadanotheridea,almostbiggerthanthefirst.Iwouldn’tgoinMay.I’dgointhesedhalfofJune,whenthecoarse-fishingseasonhadstarted,andI’dgofishing!

  Whynot,afterall?Iwantedpeadfishingispeadthenthebiggestideaofallcameintomyheadandverynearlymademeswingthecarofftheroad.

  I’dgoandcatchthosebigcarpinthepoolatBinfieldHouse!

  Andonceagain,whynot?Isn’titqueerhowweghlife,alwaysthinkingthatthethitodoarethethingsthat’tbedone?Whyshouldn’tIcatchthosecarp?A,assoonastheidea’smentioned,doesn’titsoundtoyoulikesomethingimpossible,somethingthatjustcouldn’thappen?Itseemedsotome,evenatthatmoment.Itseemedtomeakindofdope-dream,liketheonesyouhaveofsleepingwithfilmstarsorwinningtheheavyweightchampionship.Awasn’tintheleastimpossible,itwasn’tevenimprobable.Fishingberented.WhoeverownedBinfieldHousenowwouldprobablyletthepooliftheygotenoughforit.AndGosh!I’dbegladtopayfivepoundsforaday’sfishinginthatpool.Forthatmatteritwasquitelikelythatthehousewasstillemptyandnobodyevehatthepoolexisted.

  Ithoughtofitinthedarkplaceamorees,waitingformeallthoseyears.Andthehugeblackfishstillglidingroundit.Jesus!Iftheywerethatsizethirtyyearsago,whatwouldtheybelikenow?松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

• 推荐自己的新书《天命讨债人》

  齐天大魔猴

  桀骜齐天圣，铮铮大魔猴
• 第817章 四公子当真与众不同？

  清穿后每天被迫撩

  【欢脱独宠，沙雕撩夫日
• 新书《谜城》开启

  神峰

  一次偶然， 他踏足修
• 第270章 酒吧偶遇

  网游之影子大师

  我，在黑夜中行走 我
• 007儿女成群

  婚城难入

  十八岁的她，一心想用高
• 第四百一十六章 邀请

  剑神之剑弑乾坤

  《剑神之剑弑乾坤》是一