Chapter 56 fifty five queenie

Some words, once spoken, will tear the world in two.There will be a life before you said those words, and a life that will change after you say them.It takes a lot of time to find such words.These words make you hesitate, choose carefully, say as little as you can, and keep your world intact.But no matter from which point of view, I have to give Bernard an explanation. I waited for a long time for him to come back.I've given up on starting over since we stopped.I'm not the only one doing it myself and getting ready to reap the consequences. (For years, I only used my half of the bed so that I didn't have the bad habit of hogging the whole bed when he came home.) For a long time, I just had nothing to do.I have looked for a job.But when there are capable men who are more competent, why put married women to work?They told me: Miss, go back and pass the time elsewhere.I've never been so lonely. (Well, maybe, I felt that way too when Aunt Dorothy had just passed away.) I wake up every morning for a blissful two seconds of forgetting everything and being whoever I am before letting a dull, heavy Longing to be brought back to reality.

It was already dark, and there was a knock at the door, and I told Arthur to open it.He has been dead for three years.But whenever there is a knock on the door at night, I call his name.It's stupid, I know.I yelled, and yelled: Oh, don't worry, Arthur.I will open the door.This makes me feel safer.I only opened a crack in the door.But even with one eye and one faint light, I knew it was him.He stands like a cowboy with informality.The coat hung over one shoulder and was hooked with a finger.I opened the door again and he turned his whole face towards me.I said: Michael.Sergeant Roberts.But instead of a uniform, he wore a handsome dark double-breasted suit and a stylishly cocked hat.

No, now it's just ordinary people Michael.roberts.he answered. Of course I would invite him in.Didn't think much about it.He entered timidly, looking around as if someone might jump out and shout.call.He's not dead, because I occasionally wonder about his whereabouts.No, not at all dead, he filled every corner of the living room with life. are you alone right. I seem to hear you call it your father-in-law? no.I turned my face away so as not to blush and reveal that I was lying when I made up the story. you sir? no. Slowly, his playful smile in the family photo illuminated his face like a bright light on a stage.And she disappeared.That Mrs. Bligh.The old woman who has nothing to do and just finished washing her clothes not long ago.Her hands were still rough from scrubbing with soap.The nag who hasn't worn makeup or perfume in weeks.She took off her dirty apron and slipped away.Because this woman, this woman he looked delicious, charming, breathtaking, the most coveted thing he had ever seen.It was so delicate that he could not take his eyes off and dare not blink, lest he suddenly disappear.

He was flying a Lancaster during a raid on Germany and was shot down over France.The plane burst into flames.They climb out of the plane.He was separated from the rest of the crew when he landed with a parachute.The pilot, Xiao Ji, fell to the ground with the plane and was never found. (Flannie's sister collapsed when she heard it.) Ginger slices came out.Michel saw him float down to the ground like the glimmer of a cigarette in the dark.His parachute wings caught fire and he was never seen again.Michael was lucky.He even landed slowly.Just a sprained ankle, that's all.Spend the next few days digging up kale in the ground and eating it raw.Finally, it was discovered by the farmer.Funny enough, his dark skin saved him.They saw him more as an alien than a threat.The locals came to rub his skin.They hid him and gave him to the Americans, who finally lost him to the British.So he went home.Uh, back home in England.Never flew again.

He was upset about that raid because he forgot to bring his lucky charm.He doesn't like flying without a lucky charm.The whole group, he told me, had: a length of ribbon in his girlfriend's hair, a tooth from an old pet dog.Jill apparently always carries a can of corned beef with him.And I think Michael's lucky charm is that little wallet.It contained photographs of Negro old gentlemen and ladies sitting.And that little girl. I told him excitedly that I had found the wallet and kept it for him.His lips trembled as he took the photo wallet from me, on the verge of sobbing like a child.But he didn't shed tears, just holding a Bible with a reverent heart.He opened it carefully, for fear that the contents inside would float away and fly away.He took turns looking at each photo with nostalgic and hopeful eyes, and I breathed a sigh of relief.But here's the thing: There were times when I almost lost my wallet.The filthy thing escaped by being pushed to the bottom of the drawer and kept there.I thought about telling him that I had gone to the station looking for him with my wallet.Return him before his train leaves.And the explosion that stopped me.But my story seemed so petty and silly beside his heroic deeds that I did not mention it.

Are these pictures of your family? He did not answer for a long time.Just sit and soak in every shade and crease of the photo.I didn't ask a second time because I knew he heard me.It was by accident that he whispered: I lost them in a hurricane.If I asked any more, he would surely burst into tears. But he arched his back suddenly and unexpectedly, and I jumped up too.He raised his head, and his surrounding eyes began to look at me carefully.He put his big hand on mine.Tell me, have you ever felt the power of a hurricane?One by one his fingers slid between mine, forcing my fingers apart while gently increasing the grip.

I said: no. He put his lips next to my ear, licking the earlobe lightly with his tongue.Do you want to feel it?He bites me. And I say: Herefordshire, Hertfordshire, Hampshire are rare hurricanes. He stayed with me for three days and three nights.We stay indoors and live like mice.Avoiding the windows and the inquisitive light, I would run quickly to make something and serve him on a plate.Mostly bread and jam.We would eat in bed like newlyweds.Feed each other, lick the corners of each other's sticky mouths, and move around to remove the crumbs. But I know it won't last long (and not just because the jam is gone).He is going to Canada.Toronto.He was trained locally and also spoke about it.He stretches out his arms, revealing the vast sky.In this wonderfully wide world, there are endless vistas.Not an island that can be described by just a few fingers and a cupped palm.He didn't want to go back to his native Jamaica.Every time I asked why, he covered the answer with a kiss.Until he finally asked me: Why do you care so much?Mind your own business, can't you?Then sullenly, folded his hands, and closed his eyes.I have to scratch his toes with my hair to see him smile again.

I dreamed that he would beg me to go to Canada with him (not just me, every Queenie in the mirror dreamed this way).We all know my decision and I will go.Lock the house, say goodbye to the neighbors, and start a new life.But he didn't ask me.And I didn't ask.He left at nine o'clock on Monday morning.I watched him walk away, hoping for a moment of hesitation, if only to glance over my shoulder and sigh.But his coat was slung over his shoulders as usual, his hat was high, and he walked with the determination of a fleeing thief. I didn't lie to myself that Michael liked me, that I was his best girlfriend, or anything like that.He had nowhere else to go while he waited in London for the ship to sail, and I would at least or at most let him try his luck and spend his last few nights with a beautiful lonely widow.Damn I don't care.I know I'm pregnant.If that poor doctor I saw before the war was right, I must be pregnant.Strictly speaking, this may not be a marriage relationship, but God, I thoroughly enjoy this relationship.

But I was so sick that precious rations were pouring down the toilet every morning and evening.At first I wanted to get rid of this child.I wrapped myself in an old roll of bandages I found in a drawer.Hold your breath and squeeze yourself into that unwelcome bloat.I wrapped myself up like a mummy, round and round, until it took almost a morning to bend over to put on my shoes.I even had to wrap my chest when it resembled two clogging balloons.I don't want to be known to those who are at home and at home, especially Mr. Todd and his horrible sister.Pushing back and forth, pointing, whispering.Do you really want to say how are you?Poor Bernard, what has that blessed man done to be worthy of her?Those niggers were bad enough, now there's another bastard.What infamy is next for the house?I am not ashamed.I just don't want Thieves' Eyes to make it so bad.

I moved things around the house, I moved chests of drawers from one side of the room to the other, wardrobes had to be moved up two floors.The heavier the better.In between, I hopped three steps to the top floor and two steps to the first floor.Every time I play back the bath water is so hot that I worry about blisters.But none of the methods worked.I curse the nonsense.Wouldn't one of them work?Then, one night, as I sank into the tub for another scald, I felt a little kick.There was a pop in the stomach.A little foot protested that the bath water was too hot.The little elbow pushed and asked what I was doing.I was so scared that I turned on the cold water tap.As I doused myself in the cold water, I could swear I heard him sigh.It made me uneasy to think that the poor little thing might be afraid of me.Who else is alive to protect him?I am so sorry, I have to say sorry to the little baby again and again.

I'm lucky my stomach didn't get too big.Not bulky, panting against a street lamp or rubbing a sore back like some pregnant women I've seen.At night I would undo the wrap and let the little thing breathe and my stomach would swell like a fat man.And I would talk to the baby and tell him about my plans.Maybe we can use the rent money I saved to go to Canada.I could make up a story that his heroic father died in wartime.What can stop us?The war has been a huge bombardment.Everything was thrown upwards, tumbled, twirled, and scattered high through the air.Now that the war is over, the whole group of people returned to land.But they all live in different places.Orphaned and widowed, we might be a little unusual, but that's not a bad thing. However, Bernard's return to earth soon shatters the dream. Some words, once spoken, will divide the world in two.Your life before and after you say it. He listened to me from beginning to end.Didn't say a word.There were no interruptions or requests for clarification.He didn't shake his head, just clicked his tongue.Never exclaimed, Queenie, how could you do this.He sat across the table, smoking a cigarette across from me, and lightly shook off the ash, but he didn't raise his eyes to look at me, not even glance at me.When I had finished speaking and had nothing else to say, he dragged back the chair on the linen rug, stood up and left the room.And for the first time I was so grateful that I didn't have to answer Bernard.Bligh.