Chapter 16 fifteen gilbert

At first I thought, no, no, no, no, you're going out of your mind, dude your imagination is playing tricks on you.But an hour passed and he was still there.I bought a newspaper and walked past the church, next door to the half-dead cemetery.Sitting on the bench, I found that another pair of lovers carved their names on the wooden strips. The engraving was very deep. Through the fabric of the trousers, I could still feel ST's love for CM.And he's still there only I can see.Sometimes I roll my eyeballs to look at him, sometimes I turn my whole head away.Either way, the sullen-looking man had no desire to run away.Not an intelligence agent sent by the Queen.If he's a spy, he's a spy of the lowest order.A Nazi party member who worked as a spy would not be clearly dressed as a scruffy Brit, just an old raincoat, bloomers, and plaid socks would send him straight to prison.Whoever he was, the only thing that was certain was that he was following me.

But what is the reason for following me?I ask myself.Perhaps he wanted to touch the hair of a colored man, or rub the skin of a negro, to see if rubbing would make it whiter.Or maybe he's trying to touch me for luck (dude, if that's the case, the colored guy would be the luckiest guy in the world just by wiping his ass). I took him around.God knows how many times we've passed that old door and battered benches?I don't know, I'm too dizzy to count.I ran him across an open field and he followed me like a dog ten feet away.How could something so ridiculous be true.The ground has just been plowed and is messy and difficult to walk on.I heard his chest panting, struggling to keep up with me.Listen, good-hearted as I am, to slow down so that he can follow with dignity.Have you ever heard of such a thing?But not too slow, because I have to wear him out.I wanted him not to have the strength to punch me in the face, or to pull out a knife and run towards me.I want him too tired to even curse at me.I stopped when I was sure he was out of breath, turned a wide circle to face him, and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?"

Politeness has always been my strategy, even if it's just for a second or two, I want to make the British people change their minds about me.They thought us colonists were uneducated.Let's face it, some of us don't even expect us to talk at all.Someone once called behind my back: That one can talk, Mommy, that one can talk.Yes, that's right, Mommy, that one can talk and that one is usually polite.So I asked the guy if there was anything I could do to help, plus a little respect respect is usually given by the word sir. He looked overly frightened, I thought I'd turned him to stone.He said nothing, nothing.We just stood there, just the two of us on the field waiting for each other to explain.There was a rumbling above, the low-flying aircraft resonating like an earthquake.A Lancaster, I thought, a returning Lancaster.From the irregular sound of the engine, it can be seen that the fuselage was attacked and returned.The plane is depressed.I held my breath for fear that it would not be able to pass the bushes at the edge of the field.Just an inch, I swear it's only an inch away.Man, I see a pothole in the side of the fuselage the size of my fist.Come on, brother!As the plane went away, I shouted: Come on, brother! .

When I turned around, the man was gone, at least I thought so.I looked down and there was his coat.what would you thinkFor a moment I thought the ground had split open and swallowed the man in, leaving his coat at the mouth of the cave.But I have always been sane.No, the man rose slowly from where he fell, and when he got up, his face was as black as mine.Of course I laughed.He looks hilarious and is literally a comedian.His white eyes blinked at me, trembling, as if electricity was passing through his body.Calm down, here, man, calm down.As soon as those stupid words came out, I knew something was wrong with this man's head.He didn't want to fight, he wanted to find a nurse.

The aftershocks of another plane rumbled in the distance, and the man covered his ears, his face contorted into a silent cry.But the plane just flies through the sky.Two thoughts quickly crossed my mind.One: Fortunately, no one else was there. Anyone who saw us would probably think that I was attacking this person.Two: This stupid man just escaped from somewhere.He wasn't young, but he wasn't old either, and his gray hair didn't go well with his bushy black eyebrows.I guess it would be cool if he didn't look so scared. Fear makes him look dumb. But simple minded people are often unpredictable, I know that.The man puts a twitching hand in his pocket, and I'm alert.He may have a knife, he may have a gun.But he was shaking so poorly and weakly, let's see how he threatens me with a knife and a gun.His hand squirmed in his pocket like a mouse, and he fumbled in it for a long time. I was afraid he was touching himself for good luck.But just when I was about to call him a dirty bastard, he showed me a piece of paper.Well, paper doesn't hurt, everyone knows that, but sometimes the words written on it can.I approached the note uneasily, and the man jumped up as soon as he handed it to me. I'm not exaggerating, he jumped back five feet.

Whoa, I won't bite you.I told him, and that made him jump back another two feet.I stopped talking lest he jump out of the field while I was reading the note.Written on the paper: My name is Arthur.Bligh.If you find me, please send me back to 21 Neven Street, London SW5. Now, let me describe the scene: I'm standing in a field somewhere in Lincolnshire with this finite mind, maybe even in Nadtinghamshire, but that's beside the point.The point is none of us are anywhere near London.Sometimes things are so inexplicable that there's nothing to do but scratch your head.Now is one of those moments.Fortunately, the movement of scratching my head allowed me to see the writing on the other side of the note.It also says Arthur.Bly, but the address has changed.is a nearby farm.I know this farm and have passed it many times on my way out of base.

I asked this person: you want me to take you home?I was talking too loudly, I know, and too slowly, like I was talking to a child, but somehow it seemed like shouting was the way to go for this nervous idiot.But he remained expressionless and blinked at me twice.I approached him, trying to take his arm and escort him.He backs off.After a couple of rounds I gave up and accepted his preference for keeping a distance.I walked forward, and he followed ten paces behind. I knew he was still there without looking, his panting told me someone was following.I pricked up one ear and listened in case the wheezing got worse.When we got to the trail that led to the farmhouse, I walked at a slow Jamaican pace (landing on the front foot, following the foot behind me, rushing, no hurry) so the man could keep up with me.

I've been in the UK long enough to know how nervous it is to have my face on people's doorsteps.When I first arrived in England, every door looked the same to me.Turns out I made a mistake and knocked on the wrong door.My God, the woman who answered the door came to the door and waved the poker in front of me, yelling that devils are not welcome in her house.I asked her: since when did the RAF have devils?Just that day, I learned: Stand back, smile, and stay alert! Once at the farmhouse, the door was answered so quickly I was sure someone had seen us approaching.The woman who opened the door was Queenie.Bligh, but obviously I didn't know her name at the time.All I knew was that a beautiful woman recognized an acquaintance and stared at me excitedly for two seconds.Two seconds later she realized that I was not the person she thought, and two seconds later she suddenly realized that I was a stranger.She pointed to the man following me, and the first thing she said to me was: Where did you find him?

that's all.It's not hello, what's the matter, it's not hello either.Just where did you find him?No jokes, no jokes.She didn't even care that the white man's face was dark now. I told her: He seems to have been following me. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, and she was as beautiful as a doll, with golden hair, blue eyes, a strong slim waist, and beautiful legs. I, like all servicemen from my country, are very good at taking in the whole picture of a woman without noticing it.Every part is evaluated, categorized, compared, in the blink of an unguarded eye.For Jamaicans, specialists in this field, it is difficult to tell whether it is training or innate talent.The beauty of this woman makes me want to rub my hands back and forth and kiss the maniac who was following me and sincerely thank him for leading me to this house.But instead, I clamped my arms like a gentleman, telling myself not to spit out any inappropriate intentions.

He follows you?the woman asked. Yes, it's been a while, we've been together most of the afternoon.Except for the moment when he himself fell to the ground, he followed me a few steps. Were there any loud noises at that time?Does he shake? Yes, ma'am, both. Don't worry, it's not your relationship. My question is, why on earth is he following me? Oh, I know why he followed you, he thought he knew you and wanted to bring you to me. I looked at the man again: if you looked closely, perhaps with a measuring instrument, you could see an expression on his face that could be interpreted as a smile.The man walked past me, without saying hello or thanking me, and walked into the house.

Can this person talk?I asked. He didn't say anything to you did he? I shook my head, and the woman turned her head to him and said: Come on, you idiot is not him.She looked at me and said: He thought you were someone else. Don't tell me it's Paul.Robertson [Annotation: American famous singer, actor and black social activist. 】 Paul.Robertson.You think highly of yourself.She frowned and said, but even Paul.Robertson fell on top of him, and he wouldn't know it. I told her: Ma'am, if Paul .Robertson literally falls on top of him, and you don't have to answer the door.I just stick him on the door.This is a very funny joke, because Paul.Robeson was strong, and this man was small and would have been crushed like a hut in front of a tank.But the woman didn't seem to understand the joke. Arthur, go wash it, she yelled at the man, your face is scary.Then take off those dirty clothes.She turned to me and said: Well, thank you for bringing him back.Then he came to close the door. So I asked: Excuse me, is this gentleman all right? It's nothing to blame, what do you think?I asked, and of course I didn't know the answer.She went on: "Since the last war, there has been something wrong with him.He hates loud noises.I brought him here, away from those annoying beeper bombs in London, but you people are so loud, I was thinking of taking him back for some peace and quiet. I'm not ready to leave such a beautiful woman.So, if it wasn't for Paul.If Robertson, then who does he think I am?God, she blushed.Her face was so red that I felt the temperature around me rise. Oh, it's just that I know someone who looks a bit like you. Is it the Royal Air Force? It's a black guy like you. Oh ma'am, I can assure you there's no other black dude like me. No, you look a little bit like him. May I ask which point? No, you can't ask, but thanks for making the trip and bringing him back.I'm sure you want to leave now. She was wrong! Is he your father? who? The one who is washing his face right now. No, he is my father-in-law.He was my wedding present. Wedding Gifts?You are lucky that your husband is generous.In my hometown, new wives usually receive old, toothless, nasty mother-in-laws. Suddenly the woman laughed out loud.Laughter for no reason.Not a smile or a gradual smile.It was very serious one moment, and the ear-splitting laughter the next moment, the ear-splitting level would make the little pig sit up and look for his mother.My instinct told me to either run or stare.I stared, and then she held out her hand, restrained herself, and said: This is Queenie.Bligh.Please call me Queenie.Mrs Bligh. i am gilbertJoseph I said, shaking her hand gracefully.Please call me airman gilbert .Joseph. The laughter started again. You have a special laugh.I said. I think I'd better make you a cup of tea and see you come all the way. And I finally made you laugh. Oh, do you want me to laugh, airman? Laughter is part of my service to war. Well, then I'd better be a landlord. What, sir, do you mind if you entertain me? Since you mentioned it, please wait a moment.I am going to write to him now.Others are in India.You should hear back within a year.You don't mind waiting a minute, do you?She stood aside to let me pass.Come in then, Air Force Sergeant Gilbert.Joseph, or I'll change my mind.