one I went back to the German school not long ago and I find it odd that it looks newer than it did when I went to it fifteen years ago.The windows were narrower, the woodwork brighter, as if a varnish had been applied to everything for better preservation, and it seemed more sedate, more towering, more restrained than I remembered it to be.But, of course, fifteen years ago there was a war.Maybe the schools weren't in good repair in those days, maybe the varnish, along with everything else, was used up by the war. I'm not a big fan of the shiny new look because it makes the school feel like a museum.Even though it's a museum to me, it's not what I want it to be.Deep down, in that tacit way in which thought is subordinate to emotion, I always feel that the existence of the German school began on the day I stepped into the gate of the German school.When I was a student there, its existence had been that living reality; the day I left it, it went out like a candle.

And at this moment, at last, it was varnished and waxed and preserved by some thoughtful and considerate hand.Preserved with it, like the stagnant air in a closed room, was the famous fear that surrounded and filled every day of that year, a fear so great that I didn't even know it existed.Because, I was not familiar with the feeling of no fear, I didn't know what it would be like to be without fear, so I couldn't recognize the existence of fear at that time. Looking back now, looking across fifteen years, I can see very clearly the fear I used to live in then.Presumably this means that, after all this time, I finally understand: If I had known the fear then, I would have run away desperately.

I feel that fear has an echo.Along with the fear, I experienced that chaotic, uncontrollable joy that was the accompaniment of the fear, the other face of it.The joy of the year was bursting from time to time, like the northern lights suddenly across the dark sky. There are two places I would like to take a look at right now.Both are places of fear, which is why I want to watch them.So, after lunch at the Devon Hotel, I headed for school.Towards the end of November, one of those indescribably bleak times of the year, one of those dank, self-pitying days when every blemish is so clear.Fortunately, there are not many weathers like this in Devon. Its more notable feature is that it is either a cold winter covered with ice and snow, or a scorching hot New Hamp summer. But what is blowing around me today is It was a moody wind mixed with drizzle.

I walked down Gilman Street, the nicest street in town.The houses here are as beautiful and different as I remember them.On both sides of the street are cleverly modernized old thirteen-state mansions, and spacious Greek-style churches with Victorian wood extensions that are as imposing and austere as ever.I barely saw anyone entering the buildings, or playing on the grass, or even an open window.In this day of drooping vines and falling leaves, the houses were more graceful than ever, and less lifeless than ever. Like all other established schools, Devon is not surrounded by high walls and gates, but emerges naturally from the town that created it.Therefore, when I walked towards it, there was no such sudden encounter.The houses on Gilman Street were beginning to take on a more defensive stance, which meant that I was approaching the school; by the time the houses on the street looked more tired, I was already in them.

It's early afternoon now and there's no one on campus or in the house because everyone is exercising.As I walked across the wide open field called the Far Common towards a building, nothing attracted me.This building is the same as the other main buildings, all made of red bricks, harmonious and stable, except that it has a large dome, a clock and a watch, and above the door is written in Latin: the first teaching building. Through swinging doors I came to a marble foyer and stopped at the foot of a long white marble staircase.Although the stairs are old, the crescent-shaped marks worn out in the center of each step are not very deep.Marble must be exceptionally hard.It seemed very possible, very likely, that although the steps were always in my mind, I had not imagined them to be so hard until now.It's amazing how I've overlooked this, this extremely important fact.

With nothing else to note, the stairs are of course the ones I climbed up and down at least once a day while living in Devon.The stairs remain.and I?Ah, I naturally feel older. At this moment, I began to reflect emotionally and noticed how much I had changed. I was taller, and bigger relative to these steps.I have more money, more success.I also feel a lot more secure now than when it seemed like a ghost accompanied me up and down those steps. I turned and walked back outside.The far public lawn is still empty, and the path is lined with very republican, somewhat banker-like trees. ] Elms, I walked alone on the wide gravel path towards the far end of the school.

Devon is sometimes considered the most beautiful school in New England, and even on this gloomy afternoon its strength was evident.This is the well-ordered beauty composed of several small areas. A large yard, a forest, three similar dormitory areas, and a circle of old houses live together in that harmonious state of dispute.You might think a debate could start at any moment, and it is: The debate takes place at the Provost's Mansion, a pure and true thirteen-state house.The house now spawns a wing with a large picture window without any decoration.Someday the provost will probably live entirely in a glass house and be as happy as a sandpiper.Everything in Devon is slowly changing, slowly reconciling with what is gone.So it's logical to hope that, because these buildings, and the provosts, and those schedules, can do this kind of growth and self-alignment, and I can do it, maybe unconsciously.

I'll know more about this after I've seen the second place I've come here to see.So I strolled past the harmonious and stable red brick dormitory, the walls of which were covered with leafless vine nets.I made my way through the crumbling overhang of the town that encroached on the school for a hundred yards or so.I walk past the solid gymnasium, which at this moment is full of students, but its exterior is as silent as a monument.I walked past the track gym called the Cage (I now think of how mysterious the name Cage was during my first few weeks at Devon, and I thought it must have been a place of severe punishment) and I came to the A large field called a sports field.

German students love both study and sports, so the sports field is very large, and it is always used except during this period of the year.The playing field is now damp and empty, stretching out in front of me in the distance, with an empty tennis court to the left, a huge rugby field, soccer field, and hockey field in the middle, and trees to the right.There is a small river at the other end of the sports field. Looking from here, you can distinguish the existence of the small river by the few bare trees on the bank of the river.It's so gray and foggy today that I can't see across the creek where there's supposed to be a small stadium.

It took me a while to start my trek across the field before I noticed the soft, muddy ground, and my city shoes must be gone this time.I didn't stop.As I approached the center of the stadium, puddles of mud and water appeared, and I had to go around.As I stepped out of the mud, my shapeless shoes made a nasty sound.With no shelter, the wind threw gusts of drizzle at me; at any other time I would have felt like a fool for wading through the mud in the wind and rain just to look at a tree. There was a mist hanging over the river, so that, as I approached the creek, I felt cut off from everything but the river and a few trees beside it.The wind is getting tighter here, and I'm starting to feel cold.I never wore a hat and forgot to wear gloves.There were several trees bleakly shrouded in mist, and any one of them might be the one I was looking for.It's hard to believe that other trees here look just like it.In my memory, it once stood out on the river bank like a lonely and big spike, daunting like a gun and tall like a beanstalk.However, there are few trees growing here and there, none of them is particularly majestic.

Walking over the wet, matted grass, I began to examine each tree carefully, and finally by some sort of series of small scars running upwards on the trunk, and by a branch reaching out to the river, and growing next to it. Another slender branch of the tree recognized the tree I was looking for.This is the tree, it seems to me, standing here, really like those people, those giants of your childhood.When you meet them again after many years, you will find that they are not only smaller because of your growth, but also absolutely smaller because of their own age.Through this double downgrade, the former giant becomes a dwarf, and you are the exact opposite. Not only had the tree been stripped of its leaves by the cold winter, but it seemed worn out with age, it was weak and withered.I'm very, very lucky to have seen it.Therefore, the more things keep themselves, the more they change. The more things change, the more they keep themselves.Nothing lasts forever, not a tree, love, not even violent death. Everything changes.I walked through the mud and walked back.I was drenched; anyone could tell it was time to take shelter from the rain. The tree was formidable, a raging, iron-gray spire that towered over the river.I would never climb it without even thinking about it.Only Phineas could have such a crazy idea. Of course he wasn't timid at all.He will not be timid, or, if he is, he will not admit it.Phineas will not. What I love most about this tree, he said in his characteristic voice, is that it's like a mesmerist talking with his eyes, what I love most about this tree is that it's so effortless to climb!He opened his green eyes and looked at us wildly.A smug grin spread across his wide mouth, with a comically slightly protruding upper lip, the only way to convince us that he wasn't really being silly. This is your favourite?I said sarcastically.I said a lot of sarcasm that summer; that was my summer of sarcasm, 1942. Oh oh, he said.That New England word for affirmation always made me laugh, and Feeney knew that, so I just laughed, which made me feel less ironic and less afraid. There were three other people who were with us in those days Phineas was almost always in a small group, about the size of a hockey team. Look at him, then at the tree.In the tall black trunk were driven crude pegs, which in turn led up to a stout branch, which jutted far out to the river.Standing on this branch, you can leap forward and jump safely into the river.That's what we heard.At least those seventeen-year-olds could do it; but they were a crucial year older than us.This is not something we third graders have tried.Naturally Feeney would be the first to try, and naturally he would coax the others, all of us, into trying with him. We weren't quite in the third grade in the true sense then.Because it was the summer term, it was set up to keep up with the pace of the war.That summer, we were nervously going from servile second graders to almost respectable third graders.The first class above, the fourth graders, the bait of the draft bureau, were almost soldiers, and they rushed to the battle ahead of us.As they worked through the accelerated course, they were learning first aid and building up their physical training, which included jumping from this tree.We, on the other hand, were still reading Virgil quietly and numbly, fiddling with the wire beside the fake bait far down the creek.Until Finny remembered the tree. We stood there looking up at the tree, four of us looking terrified and one of us excited.Do any of you want to be the first to try it?Feeney asked us eloquently.We just stared back at him silently, so he began to strip off his clothes, leaving only a pair of underpants.Even though he was still a junior, Feeney was already the best athlete in the school, but although he was a good athlete, he was not big.He is as tall as I am at 1.74 meters (before he shared the room with me, I always claimed that I was 1.75 meters, but he used his simple and surprisingly confident tone to say in public: No, you and I Same height, 1.74m. We're both in the short camp.).He weighed one hundred and fifty pounds, an annoying ten pounds more than I did, and the ten pounds of flesh grew inconspicuously on his legs, torso, shoulders, and arms in a powerful coordination. and a strong neck. He began to climb the wooden pegs that had been driven into the trunk, the muscles of his back throbbing like a leopard.The pegs didn't seem strong enough to bear his weight.Finally, he finally stepped on the branch that stretched out to the river.Did they jump from this branch?None of us know.If I dance, you all dance too, right?We didn't say anything clearly.Well, he cried, let me contribute to the war!He jumped out, fell over some branches below, and splashed into the water. So cool!Immediately he came up to the surface and said, his wet hair in comic fringes stuck to his forehead.This is the funniest thing I've done this week.Who is next? I am.The tree gave me a sense of panic that permeated me all the way down to my fingertips.My head began to feel unnaturally light, and there was a faint rustling sound from the nearby woods, which seemed to leak out after being muffled.I must be going into a mild stupor.With nothing but fear in my heart, I took off my clothes and climbed onto the wooden peg.Now I don't remember what I said at the time.The branch he jumped from was thinner and taller than it looked from the ground.It was impossible to walk along it, to get above the river.I had to jump forward, risking falling into the shallow water on the shore.Don't stand still, Finny said in a drawn out voice from below, don't just stand there posing.With involuntary tension, I realized that standing here and looking at the scenery is beautiful.He shouted: You can't stand and enjoy the view while the enemy is firing torpedoes at the troop carrier.Jump! What on earth am I trying to do when I run to such a high place?Why did I let Finny talk me into doing something so stupid?Is he controlling me? Jump! With a feeling of throwing my life away, I jumped into the air.The tips of some branches whizzed by, and I fell hard into the water.My legs touched the soft mud of the river bottom, and I was immediately congratulated as I surfaced.I feel good. I think you dance better than Finny.Erwin said that people call Erwin Lepper Lepper.Lepellier, who is making allies for the discord he foresees. Alright buddy, Finny said in his piercing, passionate voice that was like a bell in his chest, don't rush the awards, finish this training session first.The tree is there waiting. Leper closed his mouth, as if never to speak again.He didn't argue, and he didn't refuse.He didn't back down.He wilted.But the other two, Chet.Douglas and Bobby.Zane, on the other hand, babbled, screaming about school rules, complaining about stomach cramps, complaining about physical problems they hadn't mentioned before. You, buddy, Finny finally said to me, just you and me.He and I walked across the field, ahead of everyone else like two nobles. We were best friends at that moment. As soon as I stimulate you, you will shine.Finny said happily. You provoked no one and nothing. Ah, I'm excited.It works for me.Otherwise, it is easier for you to choose to retreat. I have never backed down in my life!I exclaimed, my indignation at the accusation being all the greater, for it was right to the point.You are a fool! Phineas just continued to walk, or rather float, quietly.Wearing white sneakers, he moves forward with such unimaginable coordination and fluidity that the word walking is not enough to describe it. I walk with him across the huge playing field, towards the gymnasium.The strong green turf beneath our feet was covered with dew, and ahead, we could see a faint green mist over the grass, pierced by the afterglow of the setting sun.Phineas stopped talking for the first time, so now I can hear crickets, and birdsong in the evening.A gymnasium truck chugs along the empty track road 400 meters away, a faint solitary laugh comes from the back door of the gymnasium, and then, over everything, cold and matriarchal, is the school building Six o'clock chimes from the dome.This is the most peaceful and touching bell in the world, civilized, calm, invincible, and unchangeable. The bell rang over the spreading canopies of all the elms, over the pitched roofs and huge chimneys of the dormitory buildings, over the narrow and weak old roofs, over the open sky of New Hampshire, to our return from the river here.We'd better hurry up or we won't be in time for dinner, I said, walking what Feeney called my West Point gait.Phineas doesn't really dislike authority in specific West Point or in a general sense, but that authority is a necessary evil, and happiness can be obtained by fighting against authority through reaction.Authority is the backboard, it bounces off every offense he throws at it.My West Point stride was more than he could stand; his right foot flew into my trot and I fell forward on the grass.Move me one hundred and fifty pounds of rotten meat of yours!I yelled as he sat on my back.Feeney stood up, patted my head affectionately, and walked on.Walking across the field, not condescending to look back at my counterattack, but relying on his extraordinary hearing, he can feel in the air that someone is coming from behind.He sidestepped easily as I lunged at him, and I only had time to kick him as I sprinted past him.He grabbed my leg and there was a short wrestling match on the grass, which he won.Come on, he said, or they'll put you in detention.We started walking again, faster.Bobby, Leper, and Chet were at the front urging us to hurry, and then Feeney once again set me up with one of his most effective tricks, which was that I was suddenly his henchman.As we walked briskly all the way, I suddenly hated the bell and the West Point pace, the haste and obedience.Feeney is right.There's only one way to show him that.I slammed my hip into his hip, caught him out of the blue, and he fell over, gleefully.That's why he likes me so much.He couldn't have been happier when I threw myself on top of him with my knees on his chest.We fought like this for a while, and then, when we were sure it was too late for dinner, we let go of each other. He and I walked through the gymnasium and walked towards the first group of dormitories, which were dark and quiet.This summer, Devon only has two hundred of our students, not enough to fill most of the school.We walked past the principal's house, which occupied a large area. The house was empty, and the principal was doing something for the government in Washington; A teaching building, some of its many windows were dimly lit, and the teachers were working in the classrooms; Tall Georgian buildings spill light over the common lawns.A dozen or so boys hung out on the grass after supper, and as they talked, came the sound of chaos from the kitchen on one side of the building.It was getting darker, which made dormitory buildings and old houses turn on the lights; in the distance, a gramophone played "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" loudly, and the singing stopped abruptly, and "They're Either Too Young or Too Old" , then into the more contrived Warsaw Concerto, then the sweeter Nutcracker Suite, and then it all stops. Me and Finny went to our room.Under the yellow desk lamp, the two of us read Hardy's masterpieces arranged by the teacher; I read half of "Tess", while he continued to study "Far from the Madding Crowd", happily thinking that there is someone named Gabriel El.Oak and Bathsheba.everdon.Our illegal radio, tuned so low that no one else could hear it, was broadcasting the news.Outside, with the cool breeze of early summer, the fourth graders could stay out later than we did, and the big clock struck ten solemnly, and they returned quite quietly.The lads sauntered past our door, toward the bathroom, and then there was the constant sound of the shower.Then, the lights of the whole school were turned off.We undressed and I put on a pajamas; Phineas had heard that pajamas were against military code, and he didn't wear them.In the silence, we were praying, and that was tacitly understood.Then, another campus summer came to an end.