Chapter 29 twenty eight queenie

It was my fault that Bernard volunteered for the RAF without asking me.A large number of soldiers in blue and khakis poured in, and men without uniforms began to look out of place on the street.When we needed to bring in GIs, he was still dressing the way he liked, which he was aware of and even apologetic about.But that's not why he joined the military. It's because of the disaster that comes with every time I come home from resettlement.When he turned to run away, he was faced with another war. His father's face was scarred.He had to join the army, and the RAF needed him.A scrawny bank teller who always blows his tea cold before drinking it, a man who can't muster the rage to scare the neighbor's cat out of the family's bomb shelter.Plus, the military could see that his wiry frame would fit in any seat no matter how small, and Bernard would be part of their war machine as they sent him overseas.Mr Todd patted him on the back and said: Well done Bernard, you are a good man.People who had never spent the day with me before now came to ask about my husband.And when I talked about him, I was almost as supportive of him as Aunt Dorothy was of Montgomery.I swear every time he comes back from vacation, his shoulders are wider and his hands are stronger.Even the nape of his neck, under the tight-fitting blue collar of the RAF, looked fearless.Now I'm almost jealous that others need him too.He is my husband, where are you sending him?He was at home more than usual while training at Skegness and Blackpool.But to overseas!Where overseas?How far?For heaven's sake, we live on an island, and wherever is damn overseas.

There was no ceremony when he left, it was like going to work at the bank.I want to hug him, whisper in his ear, make him tell me what he is doing, let me see what he saw in those strange countries.But he stiffened like fine mahogany, and bent down to kiss my cheek.Watching him walk to the other side of the road, with his military cap slanted on his head and military knapsack slung over his shoulders like a corpse, I thought to myself: He is so thin, the enemy soldiers need excellent aim to hit him .It was a weird thought, not one I would tell anyone, and the funny thing was, I found it soothing.Too bad he won't know that I'm watching him from the window, much less that I'm worried.When he was finally out of my sight, the whole road screamed from the void.I couldn't stop the next thought from entering my mind, and it came out from behind me, sighing on my shoulders: There's no way he could have sent something home, so now you can't get pregnant again, Queenie.

The teacher at Boxi Elementary School, Miss Early, taught us that in English grammar, an apostrophe is a sign that something is missing.That's how I've always seen Bernard's father, Arthur: a human apostrophe.He was there only to allow us to see something precious spoiled.When Bernard said he was sent overseas, I asked him who would take care of his father.All I saw was a confused look, indicating that I was responsible. Arthur never spoke.He shakes his head, he nods, he grunts, he sighs, and even clicks his tongue.But no words have ever passed his lips, and even when he sneezes, he will not accidentally say that I want a tissue.But I gradually noticed his eyebrows.Two deep, wide and bushy eyebrows hung on his forehead.Instead of waiting for his lips to move, I began to read the hairy eyebrows.They were more expressive than the words that came out of Bernard's mouth.He raised his eyebrows twice, he was asking me if I wanted some tea; once he raised his eyebrows, he wanted to know if I was sure.

Before long, I began to appreciate Arthur as a magician.He spends his days in the garden growing carrots, kale, potatoes, rutabagas, swede turnips, parsnips among the gravel blocks.One day, I caught him showing me an onion.The balls are generally large, with a golden brown surface and crispy skin, making them ideal for sampling.I asked: where on earth did you get it?He smiled, and slowly revealed another onion from the other hand.how beautiful!I could have sold them in the street for twenty guineas each. 】.No one had seen an onion in months, but Arthur had two.He also kindly cooked me sausage and mashed potatoes with onion sauce.

He would queue for hours for food.Row after row of women, and then Arthur.Wearing a gabardine suit and carrying a small cloth bag, the elderly man stood still, like a monument to patience.Sometimes the ladies put him in front of the queue: they felt sorry for him, just as I felt sorry for him once.In the past, whenever there was a disturbance, he would lose his soul and tremble.As soon as the pin fell, his face changed from bland and gentle to violent and terrified.Yet he wasn't upset.Without Bernard's excessive concern, pull, and persuasion, he bloomed like a flower, like a flower that finally feels the sun when there are no trees to cover the sky.This nasty guy always wins me when I play Monopoly at night.His metal trophies had crept up and concealed the entire game board until the only action I could take was to declare war, sound the sirens, and blow all his damn restaurants and houses to pieces.

Not an idler.This is how Flanie, who worked with me at the placement center, described them.Pilot, 103rd Squadron, Lancaster.Honestly, Queenie, they deserve a little home.The three officers, who will be on leave for a few days, will stay in London until they return to duty at the Air Force Base in Lincolnshire.This is helping me, for real.And help my sister, she likes Xiaoji very much.Please, just a few days, I know you have a room available. If Bernard was still at home, whether he was a bomber or not, he would definitely refuse.I sought Arthur's permission, and he was astonished, as expressionless as white bread.He raised an eyebrow in thought before nodding in agreement.

The tea was too weak.The two officers looked down at the cup suspiciously, not wanting to swallow what was in their mouths.These are the last few leaves we have left, and to be honest, I've steeped them before.I hope the third officer will show up before the teapot cools, or I'll only be left with some boiled dandelion leaves to serve, a substitute that only Arthur finds tasty.The red-headed officer's skin was so pale it looked like it had been powdered.He was still young, and he always giggled nervously before and after speaking.He introduced himself, said his name was Walter, and said that everyone called him Ginger. I didn't ask why.But I asked another person why everyone called him Xiaoji.

Because of my name.Kipling's nickname.He was swarthy, with a bushy beard and a beard eager to protrude from his purple chin.He placed the unsoiled glass carefully on the table, and went on to explain that his mother was a longtime reader of Kipling.So there's a chance it's worse because she likes Bronte and Tropp too. I said: Well I was about to ask where the other guy was when there were three harsh knocks on the door. Xiaoji said: Ah, another member of ours has arrived. The RAF man raised his hand almost to salute height, ready to knock again.It wasn't the first thing I noticed though.I was lost again in the Africa of the Imperial Fair, and the little girl in the white organza blouse was flushed with the blood in her cheeks.He is a person of color.

Mrs. Bligh?It's the house number, right?I searched for three before they told me it was this one.He looked up at the street again and said: This is Sergeant Roberts.He grinned instantly, wide enough and white enough to show a movie on it.Are Jiang Pian and Xiao Ji here?Are you waiting for me?May I come inside? Arthur didn't even try to hide his surprise.He raised his eyebrows in fright and disappeared into his hair.I thought I had to shake him with my hands.At this time Xiaoji said: Michael.Roberts Oops, late as usual. It sounded like fifty tons had hit it head-on and the whole house was rumbling.I was on the landing facing a big blue ass that slid towards me from the banister and landed hard and painful on the banister post as another officer slid on top of him from behind.They both laughed.Ginger fell on the floor and rubbed his head, the colored Michel jumped down three steps at a time from the stairs, the frog jumped over Ginger's head and shouted: I won the bet, the stairs are faster, brother them.Quick, pay.I swear he flew the last step, landed in front of me and fell.I reached out to steady him, and before I knew it he had his arms around me, one hand on my arm and the other around my waist, saying: Mrs Bligh, please forgive me, I'm so sorry.

Upon hearing my name, Jiang Pian straightened up, and Xiao Ji did the same, saying, "Oh, Mrs. Bligh, just testing your stair railing."very strong.He clenched his fist and hit the armrest, groaning silently. I felt so old, standing there in my ugly turban and apron, with a potato peeled in half, with these three young men.My age walks around in front of me, trying to hold them back from laughing like their fierce mother.I've played it once before too.Beard, beard, silly, you can't join the army?Sadly, I can't remember the last time I couldn't stop laughing or jumped three flights of stairs at once.

Jill tried to be serious and said: Mrs. Bligh, we need to talk.We might be back later, would it be inconvenient? No, Arthur can open the door for you, I'll tell him. Thank you, you are really nice.He looked at the others as he spoke, apparently he had been their spokesperson all along.So, hope you have a nice evening. I said: You too. As soon as the front door opened, Xiao Ji took Jiang Pian's hat off his head and jumped down the stairs; Jiang Pian managed to kick Xiao Ji.But the colored Michael walked out slowly, turned around and gave me another trademark movie smile. In the morning, only Michael showed up.He stood by the kitchen door, his jacket open at the collar and sleeves rolled up, and waited a moment before saying: Good morning. I don't know why I jumped up, I know he's there.I just say good morning, put the kettle on the stove and light the fire.But I held the jug in front of me and said would you like some, completely forgetting the name of that tawny thing we used to drink. Tea?He said. I laughed out loud and said tea, pouring cold water from the kettle into the teapot. ok, thanks.Your house is very big. my sir uh arthur Arthur is your husband? No, no, no!I almost yelled. He held out his hands, pink palms carved with dark brown lines.Oh, sorry. No, it's okay, my husband is serving overseas. join the army?Navy? Yes. Which team? No, sorry, it's the Royal Air Force. RAF, are you sure? It was that damn silly laugh again.Sure.As I spoke, I picked up the teapot and poured tea into a cup.I could see that it was clear cold water with brown spots floating on it, but I couldn't think of anything to do with it. I picked up the kettle and put it on the stove.I tried to light a match, the first one broke, the second one flew out of my hand and flew out of the kitchen door, and the third one just fell to the ground when he said, "I'll help you."He took the match from me, his fingers gliding over mine.He was so close to me after the stove was lit that I wasn't sure if the heat I felt was coming from the gas nozzle or from him.He squeezed the corners of his mouth, which wasn't quite a smile, more like pity.I took a step back, away from him. What about the rest?I was talking and brushing my hair.There must be something wrong with me.is it my face?As far as I can remember, that morning was the first time I paid attention to my grooming.I've had curls in my hair, but some bangs still hang straight.I didn't have much lipstick left and had to dig my fingernails to the bottom to scoop some out.No foundation, no blush.I squeezed my face to make my cheeks flush, but maybe I was too hard and scratched my face.I know he's looking at me even when he's not looking.Am I wearing too much lily of the valley perfume? Jiang Pian is still sleeping, he had a great time last night.Jill, I can't lie to you, Mrs. Bligh Queenie, please call me Queenie.I regretted it when I finished, because his eyes, bright as Christmas tree lights, looked at me hesitantly, as if I had written the name upside down on a piece of paper. He said Queenie slowly before continuing: Xiao Ji didn't come back with us, his young female companion helped him think of other programs. What program?I asked. He sat down, looked up at me, and then I realized what a stupid question it was.Still, like a fool, I waited for his answer.Finally he said: Sorry, I don't know what it is. I went to the sink and turned my back on him.My feet are exposed and my legs are slightly spread.I put my feet together.I know I have a strange button on the front of my dress.I reached out and touched it, but the button was not fastened!I snap it on.I went to get the teapot and the damn bangs kept falling over my eyes.The dress I'm wearing is a little too short and a little too tight.I know he is looking at me.I tried to relax my position, shifting my weight to the other foot, and worried that it would make the dress look shorter and tighten the material around my hips, so I went back to standing upright.I clearly feel the movement of every part of my body.Small parts that used to work on their own suddenly required me to control them.The hand moves without shaking.Come on, my lungs, in and out, in and out.Throat, stop swallowing!I couldn't let the precious tea spill over: it was unbrewed, and Arthur had been queuing for hours to get it.I took the strainer and poured the water in, and the leaves in the water gathered in it.I kept thinking that he must be wondering what the hell I was doing.When pouring water into the strainer, the spout started making a loud gurgle.I put my finger over the hole to stop the disgusting noise before he thinks it's me.I smell burnt.Queenie?I turned around too quickly and the tea strainer fell off the drainer.Tea was spilled all over the floor, and my legs were covered in black spots from stray bullets.I know he saw it, but he hurriedly took the kettle off the stove and cautiously pulled down the sleeves of his jacket and hurriedly wrapped them around his hands.As he spoke, he shook the kettle a little to let me know: maybe we should put some water in it. When he stood in front of my house that night, all I noticed was his beard.I thought it was the dark shadow on his lips.But, in the pale light of the passage, I saw that it was a very small stubble.Leaning casually against the door frame, jacket draped over his shoulders, he asks: Do you happen to have a can opener? What do you want a can opener for? To open the can. I find this answer a bit offensive, and I'm not that stupid.I thought you were all out tonight. He straightened up and raised his arms high above the doorframe beside me.They both had dates and I was kind of tired. He started rummaging in his jacket pockets and took out a can of ham.He showed it to me and said: This needs a can opener.He still fumbles around for his jacket, yielding a bar of American chocolate and an orange I can barely recognize.And these need to be shared with someone. I hope I don't sound too eager when I say this.Well, why not join us then? Are you gambling?I asked.I didn't stay in the kitchen very long, but when I came out Michael and Arthur each had a deck of cards in their hands, and the table between them was covered with piles of copper coins. No, it's just me gambling.Michael didn't look at me when he spoke, your father-in-law knew he was going to win. What's the meaning? Because he cheated. I thought to myself: Shameless like a guy.He may have brought us food, but he was a guest.I said to him: Arthur will not cheat. Oh, he will.I don't know how he does it, but he will. I think you're being rude. Queenie, if he didn't cheat, then I assure you your father-in-law is the luckiest man in the world. I really think you should apologize and Arthur looked up at me and blinked.That wink was for me, but nothing can fool this RAF eye, he's a machine gunner after all.Or are people like them all so sharp-eyed?His eyes flicked from me to Arthur and back.So, I was right.But it's okay, you know why?Because of Mr. Bligh, the way you cheat is brilliant.Let me play it again and see if I can see your way. Arthur shuffled with dizzying speed.Michel said: So now, Queenie, if I'm not mistaken, it's you who are going to apologize to me.Then I added: But it’s okay to apologize later. He kept flicking the corners of the playing cards, and let out a murmur of contemplation from the back of his throat.He would shake his head slowly, leaning from one side to the other, looking at Arthur, who sat still, like a balmy Sunday afternoon.Michael's skin color is the fruit of the horse chestnut tree, not the fresh red and tender one that has just been peeled, but the color after it has been in the pocket for a while.He leaned over to draw a card, revealing the dark skin on his chest under his jacket.Will you know he's naked when he takes off his clothes?Or will he look like he's wearing a layer of leather? Mr. Bligh, would you like to teach me your trick? I told him: he doesn't speak. I know, I'm watching those brows. Does his hair feel like hair, or is it a brush used to scrub pots?Does it chaff your skin, or brush it off like angora wool? You win again.The inside of his mouth was pink like a powder puff and his lips were full like sausages when kissed, did your lips bounce back, or did his lips soften? Please, Mr. Bligh, you take all the money and don't reveal something in return. Arthur stood up, put away the playing cards, and counted the copper coins on the table, just as efficiently as Bernard. You can't whet my appetite like this, tell me how you play? Arthur pocketed the jingling coppers, nodded good night to Michel, put a finger on one nose, then winked at me again before leaving the room.Michel looked up at me, and I thought he had something to say, so I stared at him.But he didn't say anything.One of us had to look away first, and that had to be me.My face is hot. I didn't know he cheated, he often didn't play by the rules.Michel was still staring at me, still silent.I said: Well, I should go to bed. Can you stay with me for a while? It's getting late. I'm leaving tomorrow, why don't you ask all the questions that were on your mind when you sat there quietly just now? what is the problem? I don't know, you tell me. Why do you think I have questions to ask? You're not at all curious about this colored person in your house? He can't read minds, I made it too obvious.well where are you from Where am I from?He repeated it twice. Is this question too difficult?Should I ask you something simpler? jamaica. in africa He made strange noises, as if trying to suck out the cartilage stuck between his two front teeth.Why does every Brit I meet think Jamaica is in Africa? isn't it? No, it's not, it's an island in the Caribbean Sea. Oh well, I haven't been anywhere else.I'll take the call right away. A man who has never been anywhere else will believe that mothers are the best cooks.Do you like your mother's cooking?There was a warm smile on his face. I don't like it very much. Then you must have been somewhere else. Don't you miss your family? I have no family in Jamaica, my mother and father are both deceased and no other relatives. Don't have a lover?He looked at me again.Embarrassed, I said: You must want to be with your fellow man. my compatriots?He frowned, but his eyes stayed on me. I mean, you're so far from home. He came over and knelt on the floor next to me, with his elbows on the edge of the armchair I was sitting in.I felt his foot lightly touch mine.There is a bird in Jamaica, he said in the soft voice of a bedside story, called the hummingbird, our national bird.His breath was on my cheek.It's small in size, but beautiful.Blue, green, purple, red, you can see every color on its feathered petite body.When it flies, it flaps its wings so fast that you can't see them.It would circle the sky, flapping its wings for balance while being as determined as a man with a gun, thrusting his long yellow beak into flowers to feed his hands in gentle movements close to my face, his fingers Vibrating wings, his pouting mouth is a long beak.Once London was attacked and there was devastation as far as I could see.do you know what i seeHis hands are flying high.A hummingbird.Among the gravel tiles, a hummingbird.Amid the hustle and bustle of a city, a hummingbird.Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square with a hummingbird.I thought my dim eyes were fooling me, it was all flying too long in the war.But I'm not the only one seeing it.He sank into the realm of fantasy, staring at the ceiling of my house, as if that beautiful bird was flying close to our cornices and vaults, and he pointed so that I could see the bird too.A hummingbird in London, I look at that bird like an old friend.It looks much more pale in this gray light in England, without the sun to brighten its brilliance.But there it is, in this far country, relishing the chance to drink the nectar of England.His hands fluttered down, his fingers gracefully stroking my hair.