Chapter 4 War of the Three Possums

Seeds from the same fruit, Or the same litter of cubs, often very different from each other, Even if their parents and offspring are exposed to exactly the same living conditions The possum wars are on again on the back porch.However, on the one hand, this war can be said to be in full swing, and on the other hand, it can also be said to be quite inactive and passive.In any case, it provided a great research opportunity for me, because every night of the big battle, there is a fixed pattern: First, a big, fat and dirty possum popped out from under the house, intending to hunt Some kitchen scraps for breakfast tonight.Then it's bound to bump into a cat that's using the back porch as its territory outside a patrolling house, and it'll startle.The two small animals, who were also frightened, stared at each other with big, round eyes.Then, the possum let out a groan and fell to the ground.With its ugly mouth showing teeth as tiny as needles, its eyes glazed over, its tentacles motionless, it looked as if it was dying.

And the cat was dumbfounded every time, as if seeing such a scene for the first time.It cautiously approached the dead possum, sniffed the surrounding ground; then, arching the cat's back, stared contentedly at the enemy it annihilated, thinking that he had fulfilled his vocation.After a while, it felt bored, so it walked towards the kitchen door, hoping to beg for something to eat from Viola.As for the dead possum, it lay motionless for another five minutes, and then, suddenly, without a sound, it stood up and slipped away to continue looking for food as if nothing had happened. Throughout the summer nights, this battle was played out every day.Yet neither I nor the warring parties ever tire of it.In fact, it was satisfying to watch a war that was bloodless and in which both sides thought they were the winners.

Every morning, the possum came back on time at five o'clock sharp.It would crawl under the house and into the wall next to my bed, rustling like an alarm clock, waking me up on time.It is my five o'clock possum.I didn't tell anyone about it, though, because if Mom knew, she would have sent Albert, Sevanna's husband, to plug up the hole under the house and set a trap.I'd rather have that possum in our house and have a home of his own. (A question for the notebook: why do possums seem to know the time?) I ran to ask grandpa this question.He said seriously: Maybe, it also put a watch in its belly pouch, just like Alice's rabbit.

Oh, that's right.I wanted to hold back my laugh, but I couldn't help it.I wrote down what Grandpa said in my notebook so I could tell it to my best friend, Lula.Gates listens. One evening, I sat on a high stool next to my grandfather, watching him experiment with refining walnuts into wine.Grandpa hung more than ten high and low kerosene lamps on the ceiling of this old slave dormitory. If you are not careful, you will bump your head.These lights make this small space seem to be filled with dancing yellow lights.Mom was always worried that they would burn, so she ordered Albert to put big buckets of wet river sand in every corner.The windows here have no glass, and only a few pieces of burlap, which is better than nothing, are hung there to keep out insects, so this is also a paradise for moths.

Grandpa has been researching for several years and wants to refine walnuts into wine.I have no interest in the experiment itself, but with Grandpa, I'm never bored.I like to watch him do things while chatting with him.I would help him carry things and sharpen his pencils.His pencils are kept in a shaving cup. When the work was going well, he would hum a few verses of Vivaldi briskly; when it was not going well, he would sigh softly from under his beard.I picked one when he was humming and asked him: Grandpa, have you always been a naturalist? what is that?He said.He raised the beaker containing the khaki liquid, put on his glasses, and looked at the sediment that sank to the bottom of the beaker and was as thick as river mud under the warm flickering light.Oh no.Not all the time.

Was that grandpa's grandpa a naturalist?I asked again. I don't know.He said: I don't know him very well.He passed away when I was very young.Grandpa took a sip of the cloudy liquid and grimaced.Refining, taking a sip, making faces, and then swearing, this is his pattern. hateful!He cursed and drank like a ghost. His experiments apparently went nowhere. How old were you when he died?I will continue to ask. Oh, almost five years old.Then, as if anticipating my next question, he said: He was wounded and died while fighting the Kamanki in Oklahoma Territory. Oh, I'm still asking: Is he interested in science then?

I don't know.He was in the trade of beaver and buffalo hides, and I suppose he had only a commercial interest in them.Please filter it for me, please?It is then bottled and dated.Maybe it will get better after a while.It couldn't be any worse anyway. I took the beaker, sifted the contents, and filled it with a mother's Lydia.Inside the empty bottle of Pinkham Tonic Soup.Sometimes Mom can literally drink an entire bottle in one sitting, especially when my gang of brothers piss her off (which happens quite often).I corked the bottle and wrote the date with a red oil-based pencil: July 1, 1899.Then I put the bottle on the shelf, and let it keep company with its large group of unsuccessful comrades.

How did you become interested in science, grandpa?I asked. Grandpa stopped what he was doing, and his eyes seemed to be looking out of the sackcloth window; but, I know, at night, you can't see out at all, you can only look in from the outside. After a long time, he said: It was an evening in 1865.That day, to me, was as clear as yesterday.In fact, it's even clearer than it was yesterday.Kapurnia, old age is so sad.He looked at me and said: Don't be like me. Yes, Grandpa.I said: I won't. I was a commanding officer leading a team of soldiers drafted from all over Texas.These boys were all good riders who grew up on horseback. They thought they would be cavalry, but they turned into infantry in the end, and they had to march every day.God!It is conceivable that they will definitely complain endlessly.You never imagined in your life that there are so many eye-opening swear words.They didn't bother to walk, let alone ask them to walk in unison.However, complaints are complaints, I really haven't seen young people who are stronger than them.

It was April, and we set up our winter camp on the Sabine River.One day, when the sun was about to set, the scouts we sent came back.I raised my hand and signaled him.Suddenly, with a bang, I don't know what hit my hand.I was startled, I clenched my hand unconsciously, and then felt a ball of warm hair against my palm.When I saw it, it turned out that what was in my hand turned out to be a petrified little bat that had just been born. God!I took a big breath.No way! it is true.Grandpa said: I was just as petrified as that little guy. What about you? I looked at it for several minutes.It has a pair of smart eyes and soft fur, just like a miniature fox.Moreover, although its wings are as tough as leather, they are not cold or annoying; on the contrary, they are soft and comfortable to the touch, like lambskin gloves warmed by a lady's hand.

I imagined how I would react if a bat flew into my hand?I guess I'd probably scream and shake it off; maybe even pass out.I thought about it again, I have never passed out in my life, this should be a very interesting experience. I wrapped it in the last handkerchief I had left and tucked it into my shirt to keep it warm.It doesn't struggle at all.I took it back to the tent.Then, before bedtime, I unwrapped my handkerchief, turned it upside down, and scratched my foot to touch a line that I had hung to dry in my tent.Although it is still ignorant of the surrounding environment, its feet instinctively grabbed the string, and then folded its body in a unique way, hanging on the rope naturally, like a beautiful little package .

During that cold and long night, I never closed the tent curtain.Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly and the air around me was vibrating. Sorry, I can't describe it better. It was the bat flying around my head.It flew around me for a while, then flew out into the night.I can only silently wish it a safe journey. Listening to grandpa's words, I suddenly felt a very strange feeling in my heart.I don't know whether to cry or laugh? However, the story is not over yet!He said: Can you pass me that rubber tube, please?I got up before dawn.Since there was no fire, my subordinates sent me a basin of cold water to freshen up.When I put on my clothes and was about to leave the camp, the air around me suddenly swirled again.Turns out it was my friend who was back and parked on my clothesline. it came back?I yelled out. my bat.He said: "Or should I say, I think it's my bat.To the untrained eye, every bat looks the same.It hung upside down on the rope, looked at me calmly, and then fell asleep.I think it must be a male bat; however, I have no way of confirming that.I later learned that the sex of the little bat is not difficult to distinguish, but I didn't understand it at the time. So did you keep it?I asked: Is there any? It slept like a guest in my tent all day.Grandpa's face showed a smile in the flickering yellow light, as if immersed in good memories.But after a while, his face changed again. I will never forget that day.He said: The Northern Army launched an attack on us two hours before dawn, and the fire did not cease until sunset.They hauled in some twelve-pound guns, and blasted us out of the water, leaving nothing but gunfire and smoke in our ears and eyes.The Minier rifles took a heavy toll.We are surrounded. I was fighting in and out all day, trying to find ways to boost the morale of the brothers.I sent brother after brother downstream with a message to Major Duncan.However, they never came back.Grandpa rubbed his forehead. Every time before going into battle, I can't help but look back at my camp, worrying about the bat.Worrying that it might get into the flames of war by mistake because it is disturbed by noise and smoke.Do you understand?I already see it as my bat. I nodded.I really understand. The air was filled with powder smoke of gunpowder, which obscured the sun.Can't see anything beyond five feet. After the sun went down, the killing finally subsided gradually.Probably the Northern Army wanted dinner.My brethren stayed in the trenches eating cold biscuits.Someone with paper and pen wrote a suicide note, handed it to me and begged me: If I survived, I must hand it over to their family.They shook my hand, said goodbye, and asked me to pray for them and their families.A little brother who didn't write a letter followed me back to the camp, and asked me to write a letter for him.I lifted the curtain anxiously, thinking that my bat must have been scared away long ago. I sat there quietly, holding my breath, and listened like a statue without moving. Unexpectedly, it was still there, and it was sleeping soundly. It looked like it had been hanging upside down and sleeping there all day without waking up.I don't know if the little brother noticed this strange little package.However, even if he saw it, he didn't speak.He only cares about his family far away. I wrote him a letter to his mother and sister in Elgin.He told them not to spend too much time mourning and crying for him, and told them to harvest the corn before June.He told me that there were no more men in his family.Without him, I don't know what they would do?When he thought of their situation, he was so sad that he wept.He wasn't worried about himself.I held his hand and swore to him that I would do my best to help his family.He hugged me, called me Captain, and thanked me again, saying that I had relieved his worries, and he could die on the battlefield without any worries.After speaking, he left my tent and returned to his post. Grandpa took his large white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face. I looked at my bat, and he said: I pulled a chair over, sat in front of it, and watched it carefully.No matter how you look at it, it is beautiful.It is very beautiful.It probably also sensed my presence, so it opened its eyes to see me.Its expression is surprisingly calm, no matter how many noises and vibrations there are outside, it seems unmoved.Then it stretched its wings, yawned, folded up again, and fell asleep.I really don't want to leave my tent. However, the war started again.I stayed there, watching it, until someone came to me.I really don't want to leave. We sat in silence for a while before I asked: Is he dead? Grandpa looked at me. I mean the little brother, I say: the little brother from Elgin. He didn't die that day.Grandpa paused for a moment, then said: He took a bullet to the knee and was lying on the ground among the dead and dying people crying for water, mother, and mercy.We had no choice but to listen to those shrill wailings becoming weaker and weaker until midnight before we could crawl out and drag them back.Military doctors worked around the clock to treat the wounded, while others held up rush candles to help illuminate.Those who were not too seriously injured were left to be treated; those who were too serious were pushed aside and given a jug of water, a gram or two of morphine, and the priest's comfort.Those whose hands or legs were blown to pieces had to be amputated urgently before they bled to death or developed dry gangrene or wet abscesses. When the sun came out again, it was the turn of the little brother from Elgin.He looked terribly weak.Everyone carried him to the operating table already covered with hot blood.I gave him some chloroform for the pain.When I put the funnel in his face, he still looked at me and smiled and said: Don't worry!captain.I am okay. Then, I hugged his leg with all my strength and gave the doctor a saw.All of a sudden, the leg came loose and fell into my arms; I held it and stood there like I was holding a child.do you knowYou must have no idea how heavy a person's legs are.I stood there, holding that leg, and I really didn't want to throw it on the pile of broken hands and broken legs.But, in the end, I had to do it anyway. You saved him.I said: no? After a while, Grandpa said: He never woke up again.He stared at the corner for a long time before saying: Two days later, we received news that the war was over.We were asked to bring home all the food and equipment we could, but there was not much left.A handful of bullets, a pound or two of beans, and a moldy blanket were all the perks.I know I will probably need my tent badly, but my bat is still in there.I don't know how I'm going to leave it, and I don't know how I'm going to take it away.Finally, I went to the medic's shed and stole a little yellow flag out of his chest.Do you know what a little yellow flag is? I have no idea.I whispered. That was the flag for yellow fever, and when you saw it, you knew that place was off limits.You know, thousands of soldiers, even an entire regiment, died from yellow fever, no less than the number died from the artillery fire of the Northern Army.I took a leather cord and tied the little yellow flag to my tent, and cut a hole in the roof.In this way, my bat can stay safely in it for a long time, and no one will disturb it.That's all I can do for it. I was heartbroken as I said goodbye to my bat.However, when I set fire to the pile of broken hands and legs as high as a hill, I was numb.I didn't feel much when I threw the little brother from Elgin in the ditch with the others. Later, it took me eighteen days to reach Elgin.I told the little brother's mother and sisters about him in the front hall of his house.I said: The child in their family died like a hero.I didn't say: In fact, his sacrifice was meaningless in the end.His family replied that they were honored that I could personally deliver the letter to them.Later, I stayed at their home for three months, helping them harvest corn and clear the land.I asked someone to tell your grandma that it will be a while before I can go home.I don't think she ever forgave me for not coming back to her right after the war.However, with everyone's cooperation, we finally completed the harvest.Everyone had to take turns driving the mules, even the youngest sister. Grandpa suddenly remembered something and looked at me in surprise.oops!She was as old as you are now. I pictured myself driving mules in the fields like the laborers my family hired.Those people were all grown men, and each of them had thick arms and big, scarred hands; and, depending on the season, their whole bodies were either covered with gray sand or wrapped in black mud.I can't imagine it anymore. I shouldn't have told you this.Grandpa wiped his face, and his expression suddenly became very old, which shocked me.You are too young. I walked over to him and snuggled up to him.He also reached out and hugged me.We stood like this for a while.He kissed me on the forehead. After a few minutes, he said: Where are we going?Ah, I remembered!Get me the filter, will you? I fetched him the filter, and we got on with our work without talking. I thought of the veterans who lined up along the corridors in front of the cotton factories.They're always blowing smoke rings and telling old stories that have been told for decades.The grandchildren of those old people have already closed their ears to them.I pass them every day. One after the other, large and small, frenzied moths bumped into me and Grandpa before jumping into the light.One of them got caught in my bangs and scratched my forehead.I snatched it off and threw back the sackcloth door and flung it into the dark night; but then, as if caught in a jet, it flew right back into my face.I sighed.I've learned one thing a long time ago: you've got to throw in the towel when you meet this kind of insect, lepidopteran. We must take a closer look at this little guy.me and grandpa.