Chapter 60 fifty nine holtens

I never dreamed that Britain would look like this.Well, what obsessive fantasy is this of an English woman kneeling in front of me expecting me to take her black child?I cannot imagine such a strange dream.But Mrs. Bligh knelt before Gilbert and me, her beautiful blue eyes dissolving in tears, staring at us two Jamaicans, anxiously waiting for our yes or no.Can we take her child away as our own?Even Silia, whose nose is upturned and her mind is dreaming in the clouds.Lan Li couldn't imagine such absurd things happening in the motherland. Gilbert insisted that Mrs. Bligh stop kneeling.He lifted her up from the ground, but she was still crying.He carefully supported her waist with one hand, and led her to sit next to me on the couch.This isn't the time to talk about things like this, but the baby's bottom is already wet under my hands.I ignore it.Gilbert tried to squeeze himself into a chair between me and Mrs. Bligh.But there are no more vacancies.So, at that moment, he took a kneeling position.

Queenie, he said, with a soft voice like a woman's, how could you think of giving up the little baby?Those tender words made Mrs. Bligh weep bitterly, waking the sleeping baby again.But the deep concern in Gilbert's eyes made me forgive him.How can you believe that we will treat your child better than his mother treats him?We are strangers to him.But none of these questions helped, because the woman's anger had taken away her ability to speak.He still waited patiently for her to calm down.She was still crying and he squirmed again into the settee between us so that he could wrap his comforting arms around Mrs Bligh's shoulders.Mrs. Bligh put her hand on Gilbert's arm in return for his comfort.This delicate touch was enough to make Mr Bligh explode, stand up and say with a vehement reprimand: Get your dirty hands off my wife!

Gilbert immediately singled out the tall man.The two of them stood facing each other.Gilbert said: Dude, what's your problem? My problem is that you put your hands on my wife. Are you sure it's my black hand on your wife that's disturbing you, man? How dare you, you savage? At that very moment Mrs. Bligh, weary of all the harshness of it all, left the room with a sudden movement.I was left alone to comfort the crying baby. Now do you see what good things you have done?One of Mr. Bligh's fingers was almost in Gilbert's nostril.Gilbert pushed him away.And I stared down into the chasm of the baby's mouth, the little pink lump at the back of the throat wriggling with the wailing air.

Please think about children.I said with the thought of relieving the situation.But hardly anyone noticed me or the kids.I thought to myself: forget about joining this cute little baby in crying, because the situation has taken another bad turn. Gilbert braced himself, and I swear he ended up almost as tall as Mr. Bligh.Dude, listen up, your wife just asked us to take her baby away and all you're upset about is that a black person might try to comfort her. I don't want to hear you continue talking.Just shut up. Well, you'll still hear it.You will hear more from me. Mr. Bligh took a big step back, not out of fear of Gilbert, but so that he could look him up and down and show his contempt.He said: In the name of God, why would Queenie think of entrusting a child to someone like you?That poor little bastard might as well be begging in the slums!

Gilbert sucked in a breath through his teeth, and returned the man's scorn.Do you know what your problem is, man?It's your white skin.You think it makes you better than me.You think it gives you the power to dictate to black people.But you know how it gets you?You want to know what it does to you, man?It makes you white, that's all, man.white people.Not better than me, not worse than me, just white.Mr. Bligh fixed his eyes on the ceiling.Dude, listen to me, we both just got out of war.A bloody war for the better world we want.And it's on the same front you and me.Both of us saw the enemy in the other.You and I, fighting for the British Empire, fighting for peace.However, after we have experienced the suffering together, you still want to tell me that I have no value, but you have value?Am I supposed to be a servant and you are always the master?No, it's over, man, it's over now.Mr. Bligh, we can work together, can't you see that?We must all work together.Or are you going to fight me to the death?

Gilbert silenced the room.Mr. Bligh was not the only one dumbfounded.Even the baby was quiet.For Gilbert stood, his chest throbbing with the passionate words.I suddenly understood my husband Gilbert.Joseph was a man of position, a man of character, and a man of intellect.There is also an element of nobility that will make him a legend someday.Gilbert.Joseph, everyone yells, Gilbert.Have you heard about Joseph? Mr. Bligh looked Gilbert in the eye again and said softly, "I'm sorry.Of course, I thought, of course.Who would not be wary of the fluent speech of my wise, handsome, noble gentleman?But the Englishman just went on: I'm sorry but I don't understand a single word of what you said.

Gilbert's majestic expression slid off his face and fell to the ground, shattering into small pieces.He came down to me and took the baby from my arms.Standing up straight, he handed the swaddling baby to Mr. Bligh.Then he took my hand and led me out of the room silently. Gilbert went upstairs in a rage of resentment, the first two floors, three steps at a time, his footsteps thumping like giants.I decided I didn't have to chase him, because the stairs still rose before me like empty bookshelves.But by the third floor, either tired or thinking of me, he slowed down.Mrs. Bligh's anguished no can still be clearly heard in the dark and quiet hall.On the fourth floor, Gilbert stopped.The baby is crying.As I crawled toward where Gilbert was standing, the sound surrounding me seemed to grow louder.He covered his ears with both hands.As I approached him, he suddenly began pounding the wall, then, after thumping the wall lightly, jumped up in pain.He wailed: They really deserve to die, they really deserve to die.He slumped down on the stairwell.I stopped beside him and took his throbbing hand.

Didn't your mother tell you that the walls are hard? For a split second, he gazed at my face before dropping his head on his boots.Hortens, what should we do?what should we do?I can't just walk away.To leave that poor little nigger alone in this country, surrounded by people like Mr. Bligh.He and his kind.What kind of life will that little guy have?They really deserve to die. I squeezed his hand to show kindness, but I had to stop when he said it hurt.The man is still a buffoon.Instead, I started saying: Do you want to hear how much I know about Mommy?Flowing skirts, black bare feet jumping over stones, the smell of boiling milk, and soft songs whispering my dear baby, finally my eyes can only be closed.That's all I remember about her.I was also sent away when I was a child and raised by my relatives because I was born with golden skin.He put his hand on mine and lifted his chin to kiss my cheek.

So, what about that Michael?he asks. Oh, Mike.roberts.He is the son of my relative and we grew up together. Are you pissing him off? certainly. Jean opened the door of her own room with just enough room to poke her nose out.She smelled Hei Zai in the stairwell, so she closed the door and laughed again. They took me away from Mommy, I had golden skin and everyone agreed I had a bright future. Well, then, you must have a bright future, Miss Dirtyfoot. I mean so, Gilbert.Joseph.I just have this plan.The cry of the baby surrounded us again.I asked: Gilbert, do you want us to adopt this kid?

What made him pause was not hesitation, but the breath filling his lungs again.Oh, Hortens, maybe you're right, I'm an idiot.Do you know why?Come on, I honestly believe that's all we can do to help. Mrs. Bligh put all the baby's things in a drawer, kissed each piece of clothing and folded it away.Then she held her baby until the hug made him whimper before carefully handing him to me.Michael.Joseph knew his mother not by the smell of boiling milk, or whispering songs, or black bare feet, but by the taste of salty tears in memory.That day, those tears dripped from her eyes to his lips one by one, and flowed onto his tongue.

They made a fuss about my suitcase.Gilbert asked me: Do you mind if we just throw the damn thing out the window?He had barely managed to lift the boxes up those stairs a few weeks ago, and now it was too difficult to move them down.I opened my mouth to scold him, but he said: What, don't you know this is a joke? Oh yes, I told him, jokes are funny things. It was Winston who told Gilbert to try to lift it again.Gilbert wondered what was in it. I packed everything I could use, Gilbert.Joseph, I will use every single one. Oh, they groaned and strained, knocking my good suitcase against the door, hitting the floor of the stairwell, pounding on every step.The baby was rocked from bed to bed in this commotion.The cradle-drawer bounced around the room with every slam.I picked him up from where he was lying and softly calmed him down.Drowsy, he looked at my face with sleepy eyes before a brief smile appeared on his parted lips.One day the boy will want to see the nest and I will have to pick him up and show him.He tortures spiders and dresses up cats.I said my kiss baby and kissed his forehead. I was about to put him back when I bumped into a hard lump on the back of his buttocks.Thinking of his diaper needing straightening, I tried to smooth it out.But it didn't work.After laying him down, I found that sewn into his clothes was a woven money bag.I need to find scissors to cut these strips and get things out.The baby was as good as Mrs. Bligh had promised.He fell asleep again while I searched for the purse.Opening it up, I found a bag of money tied with soft pink wool and secured with a delicate bow.Dirty three hundred pound notes.Never before has so much money touched my fingertips.But at the bottom of this bag is a photo.I'm sure Mrs. Bligh was taken when she was happier.A bust of Mrs Bligh, eyes to the photographer, looking out with a gentle smile.It never occurred to me to ask who the father of the child was?What dumb Jamaican would pay attention to the legs of a pretty white woman.where is he?Run as far away from her as possible?I thought about calling Gilbert and showing him the package.But the man's self-respect must have insisted on returning it to her.And I have other uses for these things in my mind.Well, I will put these things to good use when I need them.Putting things in my bags, I was determined to keep the money and the photos a secret. When I finally close the door to that nasty little room, I clumsily hold the baby.There was no regret that made me look back.There is no mourning that makes me sigh over the loss of a gas stove, cracked gutter, or crumbling plaster.I stopped at Mrs. Bligh's door and knocked three times.no respond.I hit it again.Call her name this time.Still no one came.But there was only a thin plank between us, and I could feel her on the other side.stumbling and panting misery.The frightened hand rested unsurely on the doorknob.She's there, I know it.I yelled: Goodbye, Queenie.But she still didn't come. Gilbert charged at me and nearly knocked me over.His shirt was unbuttoned over his trousers, panting like a dog.I put the suitcase in the car.Come on, come on, here.He took the baby from my hands.I adjusted my hat so it wouldn't collapse in the humid air and make me look funny.The curtains by the window moved very slightly, but enough to let me know it wasn't a breeze.But I ignore it.I straightened my back and straightened my coat against the cold wind.