Chapter 2 1948 - Hertens

This brings back the past.Celia.Langley.Celia.Lan Li stood in front of me with his hands on his hips, fantasizing unrealistically.She said: Oh, Hertens, when I was a little older her dreams started when I was a little older.Holtens, when I'm older, I'm leaving Jamaica, and I'm going to live in England.At this time, her voice became noble, her nose turned up to the sky (how high her round and flat nose can be raised), and her body swayed when the image appeared in her mind.Holtens, in England I would have a big house with a bell at the front door and I would ring the bell.She made a jingle jingle sound.When I live in England, I'll be ringing the house doorbell like this.It will come true when I'm a little older.

I didn't say anything at the time, just nodded and said: You will, Celia.Lan Li, definitely will.I dare not dream that one day it will be me who will come to England.One day it will be me on a huge ship, feeling the heat of the sun on my face gradually turn from scorching to caressing.But I'm here!Standing at the door of a house in London and ringing the bell.Press your finger and wait to hear the jingle jingle.Oh, Celia.Lan Li, where are you with lofty ideals and your nose up to the sky?did you see meDid you see me in London?Holtens.Roberts was married, wearing a gold ring, and had a wedding dress in his suitcase.Mrs. Joseph.Gilbert.Mrs. Joseph.What do you think, Celia.Langley?I'm in the UK, ringing the doorbell, and it's one of the tallest houses I've ever seen.

I rang the doorbell, but didn't hear it.No jingle jingle.I press it again so the doorbell doesn't fall into disrepair.I can see that the house is a bit run down.I say, shabby but still slightly brilliant.I'm sure the house might have been the home of a doctor or a lawyer or a friend of a king's friend.Only the doorways of famous homeowners have colonnades.There are intricate designs on the ornate swirling columns, and the glass is painted with colorful pictures like a cathedral.True, something fell off, replaced with cardboard and white tape.But who knows what Herr Hitler's bombs did in wartime?Apparently no one answered, so I rang the doorbell again.I put my thumb on it and put my ear against the window.A light appeared, and a woman's voice yelled: OK, OK, here we come!wait a second.

I stepped back two steps, avoiding the litter and a little lump of dog gold in the leaves.I straightened my coat, tightened it where it had unfortunately lost a button, and adjusted my hat so it wouldn't collapse in the humid air and make me look funny.I straighten my back. The door was answered by an English lady.A blond, pink-cheeked English lady with eyes as blue as the brightest things on the street.She looked at my face, opened her thin lips, and said: What's the matter? This is Gilbert.Mr. Joseph's house? What are you talking about? Gilbert.Joseph?I said, slow down a bit.

Oh, Gilbert.who are youShe read Gilbert's pronunciation so strangely that I panicked for a moment, thinking that I had found the wrong person. Gilbert.Joseph is my husband.I am his wife. The lady looked both puzzled and happy.She looked back into the room, raising her head as she looked.Then she turned to me and said: Didn't he pick you up? I didn't see Gilbert.I told her, and continued: But is this his residence? Upon hearing this, the British lady said: What?She frowned, and looked over my shoulder at the big suitcase on the sidewalk, where the taxi driver had put it.She asked: Is that yours?

Yes. As big as the Isle of Wight.How did you get it here?She laughed.Giggle, a smile around the eyes and mouth. I laughed too, don't let her think I don't know the white island she's talking about. 】.I said: I came by taxi, and the driver repeatedly assured that the address was correct.This is Gilbert.Joseph's house? The woman stood in a daze for a while before replying, "Wait here for a while."I see if he is in the room.Then close the door in my face. I wondered how a man who was only five feet six inches (five feet seven inches if he wore wedding heels) could climb to the top of this tall building?Ropes and pulleys are the only way I can think of.Hoist me up by ropes and pulleys.We have stairs in Jamaica.Even though the house has only one floor, there are stairs that take guests to the porch and another flight of stairs that takes them to the kitchen.My university also has stairs that lead to two floors of student housing.I am very familiar with stairs.I looked up at the tall building, but all I could think of was ropes and pulleys.Apparently I've been on the boat too long.

Gilbert.Joseph assured me in his last letter that he would meet me there when my ship reached the London docks.His two pages of instructions told me how he would greet me.He wrote: "You'll see me waving with joy at my newlyweds who finally arrived in the UK.I'll jump up and down, shouting your name with eagerness in my voice.I did think, too, that since I hadn't seen Gilbert for six months, he might have forgotten what I looked like.The only way he'd be sure of recognizing a bride was to see a woman frowning and staring awkwardly at the flailing fool he'd just married.

But it doesn't matter anymore.He wasn't there at all.No one fit his description.The only people waving and jumping were the Jamaicans who arrived in London and disembarked.The woman was trembling, in her best Sunday dress, with bows and lace flowing down her cotton dress, her hat and white gloves looking gaudy against the gray night.Men in suits, bow ties and cool hats.They wave and jump.Waves and leaps to those who come to greet them.Negroes in scruffy dark coats and hand-knit scarves, hunched over in the cold, squinting trying to find a bag or hairstyle or shoes or a voice or a face they know, staring wide-eyed in terror, looking across the ocean , who now have to lug their luggage through the streets of London, greet excited relatives with the same words: Have you got some guava and rum bars?You have some sweet potatoes in that bag, right?

As soon as my feet set foot on British soil, an English lady came over.She was short of breath, panting, flushed, and turned me so hard that a button of my coat shot into the crowd with the speed of a bullet.Are you sweet?she asked me.I'm still trying to follow the path of the poor button, hoping to find it later, the coat cost me a fortune.But the British lady leaned close to my face and must know: Are you sweet? I straightened up and told her: No, I am Hortens. She clicked her tongue twice, as if this information made her a little annoyed.She took a deep breath and said: Have you seen Tiantian?She is on your ship.She was coming to be my babysitter and I arrived later than expected.You must know her.Sweetie.Where's Sweetie?

I think I must try to use those vowels to pronounce sweet, so that the word can be dragged on forever.Authentic British accent.Sweetie.Then politely tell the lady: No, I'm sorry, I don't know this But she shook her head and said oh, I didn't even have a chance to pronounce a vowel.Then the English lady burst into the crowd and quickly circled another woman, the newly arrived Jamaican spotted a white woman close at hand and yelled sweety sweety in her face Well, in an instant the Jamaican was screaming too. I waited two hours for Gilbert.Spend two hours watching people hug lost relatives and friends; laughing and wiping away tears with handkerchiefs; arguing about who is going where.The man lifted the suitcase and carried it on his shoulder panting and sweating; the woman fussed over the hat and straightened her gloves.The crowd passed into the cold night through the archway like an open mouth.After the crowd dispersed, I searched for buttons on the ground.But finding something that small is impossible in the fading light.

A white man was working, pushing a cart that was sometimes empty and sometimes full.He whistled and nodded to the tune as he passed.I thought: This white man who works might know how to get me there.I raised my hand to get his attention.Excuse me, sir, I am going to Neven Street.Do you know where it is? The white man scratched his head, picked his left nostril, and said, "Honey, I can't take you all the way there with a cart.I don't think I've made my point clear, otherwise this white working man thought I'd be so stupid as to want him to drive me through the streets of London in that two-wheeler.Why do you want me to cling to his back and wrap my feet around his waist?When he finished laughing at his own joke, he told me: You should take a taxi. I stared into his face and said: Thank you.Could you be kind enough to tell me where to take this kind of transportation? The white man looked confused.What are you, dear?He said, as if I was speaking the vernacular. After I spoke several times, a clear light appeared on the face of the taxi driver.Please drive me to No. 21 Neven Street, SW5 District.21 Neven Street.Nai︱文︱Street.I have my best accent.The accent that got me the first place in the class in Miss Stewart's English pronunciation competition.I recited "Ode to the Nightingale" and received a medal of excellence and the honor of ringing the school bell for a week. But the taxi driver still couldn't understand what I said.No, I'm sorry, dear.Did you write it down or something?Write it on paper?Have you written it down on paper?I showed him my husband's last letter, with the address clearly printed on it.Oh, 21 Neven Street.So I know. There is a moon.Sometimes visible, sometimes hidden by clouds.But there was a moon that night.Moonlight distorted through the mist I exhaled on the car window.Honey, this is what you're looking for.Neven 21st Street.The taxi driver said, just go and ring the doorbell.You know doorbells and knockers, right?Where did you come from? There are those things, right?Just go over and ring the doorbell, and someone will come.He put my big suitcase on the side of the road.There must be someone to help you move it inside, dear.Ring the bell.He slowed down and exaggerated the last words the way I used to speak when teaching young children.It occurred to me then that maybe white laborers were destined to work because they were dumb. I didn't see clearly what was coming out through the door now, the speed was too fast.The thing that jumped and bounced at me was probably the big dog, but I didn't realize it was my husband until I heard Hortens coming out of its mouth.Hortens, here you come!Here you are at last, Hortens!I folded my arms, sat on the big suitcase, and looked away.He stopped in front of me, his arms still outstretched, waiting for me to jump in.It's no use calling me Hortens, Gilbert.Joseph. Slowly dropping his hands to his sides, he said at the same time: Are you upset to see me, Hortens? I quote his letter verbatim: I will meet you at the pier.You'll see me waving and jumping there, shouting your name with eagerness in my voice. The man said only one thing: How did you find this place, Hortens? That's how I found it without your help, Gilbert.Joseph.Without your help.where have you beenWhy don't you come pick me up?Why didn't you wave your hand and shout my name with eagerness in your tone? He was out of breath when he spoke: Hortens, I'll tell you.I went to the pier, but there was no boat.So they told me to go later when the boat arrives.So I went home and took the opportunity to tidy up the place because his shirt was unbuttoned by the time you came.The collar is upturned on one side and turned down on the other.The two buttons are missing and there is no hole to wear.The shirt is only tucked into the trousers in the front, and the back hangs out, like a mischievous student.One of his shoelaces was untied, and he looked shabby.Where is the man I remember?He was handsome: a double-breasted suit, his hair parted and shiny, clean shoes, short nails, a neat mustache, and a straight nose.The chattering people standing in front of me looked dark and brutish.But it was Gilbert, I could tell.I can see it from the way the fool jumps up and down while he's making excuses. So I happened to be making another trip to the pier.But here you are.You come to the door.Oh, my God, what a joy!Hortens!You are finally here. Only then did I notice that the English lady who answered the door was watching us from the top of the stairs.She called from above: Gilbert, can I close the door now, please?The nasty wind blows in. Then he shouted to her in his usual tone: Come right away. So I whispered to him: Well, do you want the whole of England to know about us? I approached the porch, and the English lady was still looking at me.Looked at me as if I wasn't there to see her staring at me.I nodded to her and said: Thank you for helping me find my husband.Hope it didn't cause you too much inconvenience.I hope that by speaking directly to her, she will take her eyes off of me and go about her business.But she didn't, she just shrugged and remained the same.I heard Gilbert dragging my big suitcase.The two of us stood listening to him puffing and puffing like a broken steam train. Then he ran through the door and said: Hortens, what's in your suitcase, your mother? The English lady was still watching us, so instead of swearing, I smiled and said: everything I need is in that suitcase.Thank you, Gilbert. So you brought your mother too.said Gilbert, laughing violently.I remember that laugh.A strange snort came from the back of his nose, making his gold teeth flash.I was still smiling and he started rubbing his hands together and said: Well, I wish you had guava and mango and rum and The British lady chimed in: I hope you don't bring any smelly things into the house. The question wiped the smile off my face.I turned to her and said: I only brought my But Gilbert took my elbow, and said come on, Hortens, as if the English lady hadn't said a word.Come, let me show you around. I went up a few steps with him, and I heard the woman call: Where is this box, Gilbert?You can't just put it here. Gilbert smiled over my shoulder and replied: Don't worry, Queenie, it's coming soon, all right. I had to hold on to the railing to pull myself up one step after another.There was almost no light, just one extremely dim light bulb, and it was hard to tell whether it was emitting or absorbing light.At each landing there was another flight of steep stairs, which stood before me like empty bookshelves.I long for the ropes and pulleys I thought before.Sometimes I feel like a blind man. There is no light on the road ahead, only the footsteps of Gilbert still climbing ahead.He shouted, like Moses on a mountaintop: Hortens, we're almost there.My heart was pounding when I arrived, and Gilbert stood by the door grinning and said: Here we are. There are so many stairs.Can't you find a place with fewer stairs? We go into the room.Gilbert hastily covered the messy bed with a blanket.It must still be warm.Apparently he had just gotten out of bed.I smell gas.Gilbert waved his hands, as if showing me a beautiful scene. All I see are dark brown walls.The broken chair was uneven, with a bible on one foot.The curtains of one window were torn, and Gilbert's suit, the double-breasted one, was hanging from a rail on the wall. I said: Well, Gilbert, show me somewhere else.The man just stared at me.Show me other places.After a long journey, I'm tired.He scratched his head.The other rooms, Gilbert.You were so busy tidying up for me that you forgot the rooms where you came to pick me up from the pier. Gilbert's voice was so soft I could barely hear it.He said: But that's it. I said: What did you say? That's it, Hortens.This is the room I live in. It takes three steps to get to the other side of the room, and four steps to the other side.There was a sink in the corner, with a rusty faucet protruding from the wall above.A table and two chairs, one of which has a broken back, were pushed against the bed.On the armchair were shopping bags, pajamas, and a teapot.The gas from the stove hissed and burst into blue flames. that's all?I had to sit on the bed and my legs were limp.I sat down with no springs underneath.that's all?This is where you live?that's all? Yes, that's it.He waved his hands around again, as if it was a room in a palace. that's all?that's all?You brought me all the way here, and that's it? The man sucked in air through his teeth and shot me an angry look.What else do you want, woman?Yes, that's it!What else do you want?Everyone has been like this.Wars have been fought here.Houses are blown up.I know many people who live worse.What else do you want?If you want to be comfortable, go live with your mother.Wars have been fought here.Everyone has been like this. He looked down at me, his unbuttoned chest heaving.In the middle of the room there was a worn carpet with a loaf of bread on it.He sucked in another breath through his teeth, and walked out of the room.I heard him bang down the stairs.He left me alone. He left me alone to watch.