Chapter 47 1948 46 Bernard

I expected Queenie to be taken aback.How can you blame her.The husband returns from death.But I didn't expect her mouth to be terrified for so long.Sit there and hold your belly.speechless.Paled face.trembling.The eye sockets are red.She looks older.Worry more.She gained weight.I watched her grow haggard in the early days of the war.day to day.I am not the only husband who feels powerless about this.So it's good that she looks a little plump. How is dad?I asked. She burst into tears.Wipe away tears with hands.I raised my hand to touch her head.But she moved away.Wiping her nose against her cuff, she never knew I was trying to comfort her.Thought it was just a random question.But she walked up and down the room in confusion.

oh bernard i am writing to you The letter was lost.The pain in the hearts of many brothers.We move too often.In India, it can take months for a letter to catch up with our repair team.Some letters never arrive at all.Unknowingly, how many misunderstandings have been caused in the job.Stupid question (I know), hardly worth asking, but I asked anyway.What happened to him? bernard, you have been away for a long time Who's to say I shouldn't explain it to Queenie?But explain what snow is to someone who has only lived in the desert.Describe blue to a blind person.Finding the right words is nearly impossible.How to start?My boat has been anchored in Southampton for over two years.I admit, it was a long time from there to here.After leaving the army, I went to Burleton without incident.Find a room in a boarding dormitory by the sea.There is only one elegant room.The landlady's name was Mrs. Happy.Miserable woman.But be cautious.Otherwise, at least he is too ignorant of etiquette to ask any questions.I just come and go freely.

Britain has shrunk, smaller than the place I left it.The streets, shops, and houses approached like a crowd, even muffled the penetrating twilight.I had to stare out at the ocean just to catch my breath.And behind every face I see is a memory of war trapped.Guarded by smiles.Wrapped in a frown.But everyone has these memories.Conflict in the dark.There are scars when you touch it.There's no point in living in your own poor story.It's the guy next to you who goes from bad to worse.The man over there is much sadder.Silence is the only way to heal. I never doubted that I was doing something wrong.Even during that period of longing for familiarity, that longing was as real as hunger.Lie down next to Queenie.Sit next to dad.Looking at objects that merge with memory.I don't know how long it will take for this sickness to take me.No doctor or treatment expected.That disease is tended by shame.My only worry is that I might lose my mind and lose my mind.I don't have reason to hold me firmly and do something reckless.

But while I was waiting to die, I felt quite integrated into life.Get a job wiping tables at a coffee shop.With his head down, there is work to be done, and it is over.The proprietor of the business was a rather skeptical fellow who needed book-keeping and I helped him.He told all his good friends.It was not long before several people asked for my services.Become full of small business.Everything is not formal, but very stable.I no longer work as a waiter.Double-entry bookkeeping helped me make enough money to pay for board and lodging. Of course, I also found Macy's house.Near the station in front.modest house.Painted pale blue, the outwardly curved windows were hung with thick yellowing netting.I often walk on the street of his house.My footprints marked the sidewalks where Macy must pass as he went about his errands.Get to work.Have a drink at the bar.Play a football game in the park.Or play cricket.Possibly even the church he goes to with his family on Sundays.

There is a cemetery nearby.I sat on the bench there.See his two sons come out of the house.His wife put on a kerchief to keep out the wind, and told the children to wait.Noisily, they ran into the street.Use your hands and feet to climb up a wall that is the same height as them, and walk on it to maintain your balance.The smaller one dropped the model car as it passed me.I help him pick it up.Seeing a faint smile.The little guy stared at me.Just like his dad.natural heir.He snatched the car from me and ran away.Macy never met his younger son.I felt like a thief, stealing the picture that was supposed to be in his eyes.

They soon got used to seeing me sitting in the cemetery.His wife would nod to me.Sometimes she lifts her brown eyes and says: It's a nice day.Attractive woman with black hair always hidden in hijab.small.Not much taller than the eldest son.I just greet her politely when I talk to her.Stupid, I know.But I aspire not to be friends, but just to observe.I never told them I knew Macy.I'm afraid she will ask me questions that I can't answer.To know what happened to us all in the Far East.As the war ended, even the truth seemed to be filthy.The memory of love is to let George.The best place for Maximilian's rest.

It was Mrs. Happy who called the doctor.I had a high fever and sweat drenched my shirt like a freshly used bath towel.I can feel every bone in my body.Even the smallest bones ache.Any movement, even turning over in bed, even blinking, felt unbelievably exhausting.I told her not to bother, but she dismissed me with nonsense.Can't blame her.It must be unbearable. After examining me, the doctor said it was influenza.I pull him aside.Out of earshot of Mrs. Joy Luck.To say it softly: I'm afraid it's not just influenza.After dismissing Mrs. Xifu, I told him: it was syphilis. He repeats: syphilis?Quite suspicious.

infected in India.He wanted to know why I thought it was syphilis.Tell him about the indiscretion and the disgusting pustule.How long has this sore lasted?he asks. A week, maybe two weeks. I detected a definite sense of disgust when he said: What else? I don't quite understand. Are there other symptoms? And this and this influenza. He said: Yes.He started taking notes.Checking something in his bag, asking: How long have you been from India?I said: two years. he stops.Slowly turn your head back to face me.two years? right. You're saying it's been two years since you found out you had this kind of wound on your private parts?It's been two years since that indiscretion?

Hesitating to say yes or not.Then I realized that the answer might not be right. He closed the book and put it away.To put it succinctly: Mr. Bligh, I said it was influenza. but india If you want, I can give you the Fahrenheit Response Test for your peace of mind.But you'll be wasting everyone's time.two years!You should be mad or dead by now.No, it's influenza.This is your disease, Mr. Bligh.The nasty, nasty flu.But this disease requires care.I'll tell your landlady when I go out. are you sure?I called after him. Influenza, Mr. Bligh, believe me.It's influenza.You will be healthy and healthy in a few days.

I am indeed healthy and healthy. Not even a miracle.I've never had that bad disease.The abscess might have just been picked up from some stray bug after all.Or something septic.Nothing to do with that crazy little thing in India.Of course, I have nothing to tell anyone about my stupid mistake.Feel better now?That was all Mrs. Happy asked. much better.I can only answer in this way.Should be a sigh of relief, I know.narrow escape.But I have to admit that there is a sense of liberation in the imminent death that makes me a passenger, a bystander.Unexpectedly, it has now returned to my life.Cleanse the war.Get ready to start over.thrown back into the crowd.Suddenly, I realized that this war-torn Britain was now a welcoming home.God!

Macy's family moved out.The yellowed curtains were gone.The house is empty.Neighbors are useless.looked at me suspiciously.Why am I interested in where they move?What am I to them?I must go.I didn't expect to go back to London, I just found myself on a train.If it was sleepwalking, then I woke up on our street corner not long after.It's hard to believe this has been my hometown for most of my life.Nothing is familiar.Has my hometown always looked so exhausted, so fragile?Buildings collapsed.Corrupted window frames.Cracked plaster.Where houses and dwellings once stood is a nasty gap.I've been here a few times and each visit has been less of a shock than the previous. I wish someone could spot me (I admit it).Dad came to say hello.Queenie smiled with relief.Getting closer.But still approached like a stranger. The first thing I saw was a black girl.What a picture!on our street.Never seen anything like this before.I was petrified to see that the white woman she was walking with was Queenie.What happened?Without knowing it, I was already standing in front of them.And then back to our living room without thinking about it. what happened to dadI have to ask Queenie again. where have you been?Why not just come back?Her terrified eyes demanded more urgent answers. I'm a little out of my mind.I said. What does this mean?Have you lost your memory? right.A bit like. Where are you from? south coast. Are you in the UK? Bradton. Bradton!she screamed.Do something.Bradton!What are you doing in nasty Braden? You haven't said anything about Dad.What happened? I need the answer first, Bernard.I have a right to know.I am your wife.I thought you were dead.For several years.And you just popped up and said Braden!Are you on vacation with buckets and shovels?Why in Brighton? She replaced the sideboard in the living room.This one used to be in the upstairs room.Mom made it come out.It was taken for granted that the cabinet was too large for the living room.Pa's chair was no longer by the fire. Please, Queenie, if you have anything to say just let me know. She sat down again.Wringing hands.The dry skin rubbing makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.Your father is dead.she said, speaking a little too quickly. I knew it, of course.As soon as I walked into the house, it felt like he wasn't there. I said: Oh. oh.Are you just talking? That's what war has done to me.Let death be justified.But she was quite emotional. Don't you want to know how he died?Do you have no questions to ask?He was shot.Here it goes through the chin.His head looked like meat on a chopping board.Someone more cruel might tell her to figure things out.Get her back to her senses.Even told her to shut up.Shot by Yankees.The Yankee shot him.But everything was suppressed.No one even asked why they shot him.There is no trial.Nothing at all.His brains were all over the sidewalk.And they just cleared the sidewalk, handed me the debris, and carried on like nothing had happened. The bones of her neck stood out like scaffolding.She was yelling at me.Then came a loud knock on the door.I thought the man was going to knock on the door.After answering the door, I found that the person standing at the door was a black man.He looked away from me and called out: Queenie, Queenie, are you all right?Then this shameless guy looked at me and said: Who are you? I should be asking who you are.I told him firmly. He ignored me.Queenie.He barked again, trying to push me away from him.I block the door.Tried to close the door.But he jammed the door. I said: Who are you devil?this is my house. He said: Brother, don't mess with me, I must see if Queenie has any problems. Queenie quickly appeared behind me.It's relatively stable.She said to the black boy: It's all right, Gilbert. I asked her: Who is this person? She told me: a tenant. I said: I'm used to coming in, aren't I?And the black person still babbled. Who are you?What's going on with all this fuss? Gilbert, he is my husband.It's Bernard. Then shut him up.Eyes protrude from the head like monsters.Look me up and down.Stand back and see me clearly.Scratching his head and saying: Uh, uh and then this shameless guy reached out to shake my hand. I just shut the damn door in his face.