Chapter 8 chapter eight

For three months Mr Harvey had been dreaming about the house.He dreamed of a corner of Yugoslavia where thatched-roofed huts stood on tall stilts, and the sky was blue. Suddenly, a flood surged up and the huts drifted away.On the banks of the Norwegian fjords and in hidden villages, he saw churches built of logs. The wood of the churches was transported by Vikings who built ships, and the statues of local heroes and dragons were also carved from wood.But he dreamed most often of the Church of the Transfiguration in Vologda, his favorite church the night I was murdered.After a period of time, he dreamed of women and children again, and the images in the dream swayed and swayed, never stopping.But after murdering me, he enjoyed a moment of peace, seeing only his favorite church in his dreams before those tumultuous images resurfaced.

I went back and saw Mr. Harvey lying in his mother's arms, staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the table covered with stained glass.His father stacked the pieces of glass according to their shape, size, width and weight, and carefully inspected each piece of glass like a jeweler to see if there were any cracks or flaws.George.Harvey only noticed the amber hanging around his mother's neck. The oval amber was trimmed with silver and contained a perfectly formed fly. He is a builder.That's what young Mr Harvey always said when anyone asked him what his father's occupation was.Then he stopped answering the question, how could he answer that his father worked in the desert, building huts out of broken glass and old wood?But he did learn some building lessons from his father, who taught him what constitutes a good house and how to build it to last.

So when those swaying figures reappeared in his dreams, Mr. Harvey always got out his father's sketchbook, and he buried himself in these pictures he didn't like, trying to forget the disturbing images in his dreams.Watching and watching, his mother will come to the dream.His mother was running in the field next to the road. She was dressed in plain clothes, with a tight white boat-neck shirt on her upper body and white cropped pants on her lower body, exactly the same as the last time he saw her.When she saw her mother for the last time, she and her father drove to a small town in the outskirts of New Mexico. They had an argument in the hot car, and her father forced her out of the car. George.Harvey sat in the back seat like a rock, his eyes were wide open, and he felt nothing in his heart. The things around him happened in slow motion. At this age, he has learned to watch quietly.Mother kept running forward, and her thin and pale figure was getting further and further away.Harvey clutched the amber his mother tore from his neck and handed him. His father looked at the road and said: Son, she is gone, and she will never come back.