Chapter 7 seven

In the evening, Brinker.Hadley came to see me.I've gone through the shower to wash off the sticky salt stains of the Naguamunster and jumping into the Devon itself is like a refreshing shower, you don't have to wash afterward, but the Naguamunster is It's something else entirely.I'd never jumped into it before; it seemed only fitting that I'd been thrown into its waters in the middle of a fight when I was abluted in it on the first day of winter term. After washing off the water stains, I put on a pair of dark brown trousers, which Phineas loves to criticize when he isn't wearing them, and a blue flannel shirt.Then, with nothing to do until French at five o'clock, I began to think about physical education in my mind.

But Brinker came in.He probably thought it necessary to visit all the neighbors on the first day of this new term.Ah, Gene, his radiant face appeared at the door.Brinker was wearing a gray gabardine suit with what looked like hand-stitched square pockets, a conservative tie, and dark brown Cordovan shoes, looking like a standard prep school student.His face is full of straight eyebrows, mouth, and nose, and his 1.83 meter body is also straight and straight.But he didn't look anything like an athlete; he was too busy with maneuvers, manoeuvres, and public events.Brinker has no personality unless you look at him from behind; I looked at him from behind as he turned to close the door behind him.The hem of the gabardine jacket parted a little over his healthy hips, which, I recall without a sense of irony, was Brinker's standout feature, his healthy, bold, not overly exaggerated but very firm buttocks.

So comfortable alone, he went on kindly, I can see you have some influence.This big room is all yours.I wish I was as humane as you are.He smiled trustingly and sat down on my cot, reclining on his elbows in a casually relaxed manner. Brinker.It seemed unlikely that Hadley, the core of the class, would compliment me on my impact.I was just about to say that his roommate was terrified Brownie.Perkins, this fellow will never make Brinker uncomfortable. They have two rooms, the outer one has a fireplace.I'm not stingy about saying this to him.I like Brinker despite his strength in the winter term.Almost everyone loves Brinker.

But I paused for a moment before answering, and he resumed speaking in his easy-going way.As long as he can do it, he will never let the conversation become cold. I bet you already knew that Feeney wouldn't be back this fall.So you picked him as a roommate, right? What?I turned quickly in my chair, away from the table, and faced him.No, of course not.How could I know such a thing in advance? Brinker shot me a quick glance.You figured it out, he had a smile on his face, and you always knew it.I dare say it's all your work. Don't talk nonsense, Brinker, I turned back to face the table, moving the books on the table aimlessly, and you said that, it was crazy.My voice, even to my own throbbing ears, sounded overly tense.

ah.The truth is hard, eh? I looked at him with the sharpest eyes, and he had put on a posture of accusation. Of course, I laughed dryly, of course.Then, a sentence blurted out, but the truth will come out. His hand hit me hard on the shoulder.Take it easy, lad.In our free democracy, the truth will come out, even if it is fought for. I stood up.I want to have a cigarette, how about you?Let's go to the smoking room. ok, ok.Follow you to the dungeon. The smoking room is like a dungeon.Located in the basement, or the deepest viscera of the dormitory building.There are already a dozen smokers here.In German, everyone has many public faces; in the classroom, if we cannot say that we are all studious, at least we have admirable concentration on our faces; All innocent and extroverted; in the smoking room, we were extremely criminals.In order to discourage smoking, it is school policy to make the basement rooms as depressing as possible.The windows near the roof were small and dirty, the old leather furniture showed its contents, the table was broken and incomplete, the walls were the color of soot, and the floor was concrete.A radio with a bad contact played loud and harsh for a while, then stopped abruptly and began speaking in dumb words.

The prisoner is brought to you, gentlemen, announced Brinker, who grabbed me by the neck and shoved me into the smoking room ahead of him, and I hand him over to the proper authorities. The heightened emotions in the smoky smoking room froze.Beside the radio that just happened to be loud again at this moment, a languid figure finally stood up and said: What crime? Frame your own roommate so you can have the whole room to yourself.Extreme treachery.He paused for effect.It is actually killing brothers and killing brothers. I jerk my neck and break free from his grip, clenching my teeth, Brinker

He raised a hand to signal me to be quiet.Don't talk, don't open your mouth.You are on trial in court. hell!shut up!I swear to God, your jokes are way too long and over the top. It was a mistake; the radio went silent, and my voice was loud in the sudden intermission, which shocked everyone. So you killed him, right?A boy stood up nervously from the sofa. Ah, said Brinker emphatically, no real murder, Finny is now at home half dead, in the arms of his grieving old mother. I had to join in or risk losing control completely.I didn't do anything, I said as lightly as possible, I just put a pinch of arsenic in his morning coffee.

lie!Brinker glared at me, trying to get away with a fake confession, eh? I laughed out loud at this, uncontrollably for quite a while. We know the crime scene, Brinker went on, in that eerie tree by the river.No poison, not that meticulous at all. Ah, you know the tree, I tried to hang my face down in guilt, but it felt like it was being pulled down.Yes, hey, there was indeed a little unfortunate accident with that tree. No one was distracted by the ridiculous French pronunciation I was trying to put on. Tell it all, hoarsely, a younger boy at the table.There was an unsteady edge to his voice, a downright conspiratorial tone, as if he literally believed everything he said.I found his attitude almost obscene, as if someone had found out about your sexual secrets and promised not to tell anyone if you described them in detail to him.

Ah, I said in a louder voice, I stole all his money first.Then I found out he cheated on his German entrance exam and used it to rip his parents off, and then I made love to his sister in Mr Lutzbury's study, and then I got good results again, and it was all over the room Little smile, even the younger boy suspects he's being a little honest about a joke, will make a bad mistake in Devon, and then I'll just add pushing him off a tree, the chain It seemed impossible that things would be complete, and then I said just a few words, and maybe this dungeon nightmare would end. But I feel a blockage in my throat; I can't get the words out, absolutely can't.

I turned suddenly to the younger boy.What did I do next?I asked, and I bet you had a lot on your mind.Come, repeat the crime.We were in the tree, what happened next, Sherlock.Holmes? His eyes flashed back and forth guiltily.Then you pushed him down, I bet. Bad bet, I say immediately, plopping into a chair as if I've lost interest in the game.you lose.I think you are at best Dr. Watson [Note: Holmes' assistant. 】. Everyone laughed at him a few times, he tossed and turned, and seemed even more guilty.He didn't have much status in the group of people in the smoking room, and he lost face even more when I squeezed him out like this.Frustrated, he shot me a sideways glance, and I saw with amazement that my little teasing of him had brought upon me his genuine hatred.That's the price I'm willing to pay for my own escape.

French, French, I exclaimed, enough of this unfortunate accident.I have to review my French.I walked out. As I was going up the stairs, I heard a voice in the smoking room say, "That's funny, he's come all the way here without even taking a puff." But it's a clue they seem to forget soon.I found no Sherlock among them.Holmes, not even a single Dr. Watson.No one showed any signs of stalking me, no staring, no sneering.The daily activities grow longer as the autumn light fades, and by mid-October, that summer, the first day of school, and even yesterday, all become something finished and forgotten because there is so much to do tomorrow. Do. In addition to classes, sports, and clubs, there is war.Brinker.Hadley could write the shortest war poems he has ever written if he wanted to. War is a rough sea but we all have to engage in more strenuous activities than writing poetry.First of all, in the local apple orchards, the fruit was going to rot because all the farmers were either in the army or in the military factories.We spent a few sunny days picking apples and earned cash for it.This inspired Brinker to write his Apple lyric. We were engaged in the heart of the war. The novelty and money of picking apples thrilled us.Devon's life shows that it is still very close to peaceful ways; war, as Brinker says, is at best a rough sea, no harder for us than a day we spend in the orchard. Not long after, snow fell, too early even for New Hampshire.One evening, the snow arrived dramatically; I looked up from my desk, and suddenly saw snowflakes swirl and fall into the square yard, on the carefully trimmed bushes beside the zebra crossing, on the three trees that still had many leaves. On the elms, landed on the still green grass.The snow piled up quickly, like invaders taking the city silently, because their occupation was so gentle.I watched them whirl past my window and don't take it too seriously, their playful way of landing seemed to imply that this was a little show, a harmless trick. It seems so.The school was thinly covered that night, but the next morning, a bright, almost mild day, all snowflakes were gone.However, over the weekend, it snowed again, and two days later, it fell even harder, and by the end of the week, the ground was completely covered in winter snow. The same goes for the war, which begins almost humorously at first with the announcement that the maids will be canceled for the new term, and then it invades the school with days of apple picking.This first snow became the forerunner of the war. Leiper.Lepellier did not suspect the snow.In fact, no one suspected it at first.But it seemed to me that in this respect Leper was the one who, among his fellow students, was often the one who felt this kind of thing, and all the other changes in Devon's life, all at once most deeply. Heavy snow paralyzed the train yard in a large town on the Boston-Maine Railroad just south of us.The day after the snow, in the chapel, two hundred of us volunteers were called to spend the day clearing the railroad to implement the emergency use policy that the university had put in place this fall.We were still being paid this time, so we all volunteered, me, Brinker, Chet.Douglas, I noticed, even had Quackenbusch. But no Leper.In church he usually made little sketches in the back of his notebooks, drawing birds and trees, so he probably didn't hear the announcement.The train to take us to work in the south didn't arrive until after lunch, and on my way to the station I took a short cut through the meadows not far from the creek and met Leper.I haven't seen him much all autumn and now I barely recognize him.He stood motionless on the top of a small slope, looking from a distance like a scarecrow left by summer.As I plodded toward him through the snow, I began to make out his clothing—a dark green hunting cap, brown earflaps, a thick gray fur neckerchief, and finally, among the objects, I Recognizing the face, Leper's pointed pink face, he gazed curiously at the distant woods through steel-rimmed glasses.As I got closer, I noticed that, beneath a long tan canvas coat with sagging pockets, and red and black plaid bloomers and green leggings, he was riding a pair of skis.The skis were very long, wooden, and worn out, with two decorations: an old-fashioned ball on the tip and one side of the ski. You say there is a road through the woods?He spoke in his gentle, careful voice as I approached.Leper's mind doesn't move quickly from one idea to another, and even though I'm an old friend he hasn't spoken to in months, he now takes my presence for granted, even in this wide open space. I don't mind that in an unlikely encounter in the backcountry snow. I can't say, Leper, but I think there's a way down the slope. Ah, I think so.We always called him Lepper to our faces; he couldn't recall saying yes to any other name. I couldn't help looking at him, couldn't help looking at his funny explorer.What are you doing, I finally asked him, Hey, what on earth are you doing? I am traveling. Travel around.I inspected the long bamboo ski pole in his hand, what do you mean, Zhou You? Travel around.This is the way to walk around the countryside in winter.Ski touring.Walk on land like this on a snowy day. Where are you going? Ah, I'm not going anywhere.He bent over to fasten the straps on his leggings and I just walked around. There's a place across the river where you can ski.It is the place with the cable on the steep hill opposite the train station.You might as well go there. No, I don't want to go there.He looked at the woods again, although his breath had frosted his glasses.That's not skiing. Skiing of course.It's a nice little slope where you can go really fast. Yes, but because of that, it doesn't count as skiing.Skiing should not be too fast.Skiing is for useful movement.He turned his searching gaze on me.Slipping down a slope will break your leg. Such a small slope, no. Ah, no difference.This is part of the whole misconception.They're ruining backcountry skiing, lifts, chairlifts, and all that stuff.You're transported up and then swished down.You can't see trees or anything like that at all.Ah, you see many trees flying by, but you can never really see a tree, a tree.I just like to walk along the road, see what I pass, and enjoy myself.His thoughts were running low, and now he was slowly beginning to accept me, noticing layer upon layer of heavy clothing on my body.What are you doing?he asked mildly and curiously. Go to work on the railroad.He continued to gaze at me with mild curiosity as he shoveled snow off the railroad.Said this live in the chapel this morning.You should remember. Have a nice day, he said. Will do.Have fun too. So will I, as soon as I find what I'm looking for, a female otter.It used to be in a little tributary of the upper Devon.It's interesting to see how the otters adapt themselves to the winter.Have you seen it before? No, I've never seen it. Ah, if I find that place, you may want to visit it later. Found it and let me know. If you're seventeen and you're in an exciting, competitive school, being around Leper and avoiding making fun of him is a real struggle, and it's a real struggle with yourself.But as I got to know him better, it became easier to win that fight. Unhurriedly poking with his long bamboo stick, he slid forward, slowly slid away from me, and slid down the gentle slope. His body was straight, and the two sleds were wide apart, In case his balance is threatened, his ski poles protrude from the sides, as if to fend off any interference. I turned and trudged on to shovel New England out of the snow for the war. We spent half a day working hard in the yard.By the time we got there, the snow had turned dark brown and was wet and sticky.We were divided into squads, each of which was directed by an old railroad worker.I was in the same group as Brinker and Chet, but the playfulness in the orchard was gone.All we could see of the town were dark red brick mills and warehouses surrounding the yard.We worked hard under the command of old railroad workers, surrounded by hideous wagons called so-called rolling wagons from all over the country, unable to move in this heavy snow.Brinker asked the old worker if he should call them dead cars now, and the old worker gave him a somewhat disgusted look without answering.The day's fun was lacklustre, and the work became hard and monotonous; I was wearing too many clothes and started sweating.By the time three o'clock came in the afternoon we had lost the freshness of our volunteers, the filth of the railroads and the weariness of manual labor were all revealed to us; we seemed to be one with the yard, the mill, and the warehouse.The old worker is upset with us, or we're stressing him out, or maybe he's as sick as he looks.Whatever the reason, he was muttering and spitting, yelling orders and rubbing his puffy belly. At half past four, there was a moment of cheering.The main line was cleared and the first train rumbled slowly through.We watched it come by, the locomotive belching clouds of steam, adding gloominess to the thick clouds overhead. We all stood on both sides of the track, ready to cheer the engine master and passengers.The windows of the carriage were open, and the passengers leaned out in astonishment; they were all men, as far as I could tell, all young, all alike.This is a car of soldiers. Over the rumble and clang of the wheels and couplers, we cheered and they shouted at us too, somewhat startled on both sides.They were not much older than us, and although they were probably recruits, they gave us the impression that they were the elite as they drove past our monotonous ranks.They looked like they were going to have a good time, their uniforms new and smart, their people clean and fresh, and they were out and about. After they were gone, we workers looked at each other, at each other, at ourselves, across the freshly cleared tracks in such emptiness that even Brinker couldn't think of a well-timed quip.let's go.The older workers let us go to other parts of the yard, but there wasn't much real work to be done this afternoon.We stand in this mill town railroad yard while the whole world is converging elsewhere, and we seem to be little more than children playing among heroic men. The day is finally over.It has been gray from the beginning, and its end is announced by darker grays, gray skies, gray snow, gray faces, gray spirits.We filed into the old waiting cars, dimly lit, slumped in the uncomfortable green seats, and neither of us spoke much until we had driven several miles. When we do talk, we talk about the flight training program, about the brothers in the army, about what it takes to get into the army, what goes to school doesn't matter, and how we'll have absolutely no war stories to tell our grandkids.And how long the war will last, who ever heard of learning dead languages ​​at such a time. Quackenbusch seized a break in the conversation to announce that he would definitely finish the year at Devon, while others who weren't ready might rush off.He needed no encouragement to talk about the benefits of a German fitness program and the benefits of completing basic training on time and getting a high school diploma.Personally, he wants to step into the army step by step. Personally.Someone imitated it contemptuously. Just you.said another. Which army, Quackenbush?Mussolini, right? No, he's a German. He is a German spy. How many railroads have you wrecked today, Quackenbush? I thought they seized all the Quackenbush after the Pearl Harbor attack. To that, Brinker added: "They didn't find him.He hid himself under a cluster of Quackenbush. 】. We were all bored by the end of the day. We were walking back to school from the station in the growing darkness when we encountered a figure gliding along a snow-covered street. Look at Leper, Brinker said irritably.Who does he think he is, Snowman? He was just out to ski around, I hasten to say.I don't want to see today's tense anger take out on Leper.Then we came up to him and I said: Did you find the mother beast, Leper? He turned his head slowly, without stopping the ski poles he was alternately lowering. The skis were chugging forward, and he continued the rhythmic but feeble movements, like a homemade piston engine.guess what?I really found it, his smile spread across his face, but it was aimless, as if he was smiling not at me alone, but at anyone and anything who wanted to share this happiness with him, well worth seeing, I took a few pictures and developed them to show you. What female animal?Brinker asked me. One, a female he knew up the river, I said. How come I don't know what kind of female beasts are in the upper reaches of the river. Ah, not on the Devon, but on one of its tributaries. tributary!Into the Devon River? You know, it's a stream. He frowned in confusion.What kind of beast is it? Ah, he couldn't be dealt with so ambiguously, a female otter. Brinker seemed to have been slapped after hearing this, and his shoulders drooped.The world war is going on, and here I am.A photography school that takes pictures of female otters! Otters are rarely seen.Leper said. Brinker turned to him painfully.Yeah? Yes.But I was a little clumsy when I approached it, so it was entirely possible that it could hear me and be startled. Ah, Brinker's jubilantly disorienting tone suggests that this is a huge irony.arrive! Yes, Leiper agreed after a thoughtful pause, here we are. Let's go, I said, pulling Brinker around the corner we arrived at to our dorm.Goodbye, Leper.I'm so glad you found it. Ah, he raises his voice behind us, how are you today?How is the job? It's like a man's party, Brinker roaring back, it's winter wonderland, every minute.He said to me through the corner of his mouth: The people in this place are either Germans trying to avoid drafts, or the power of contempt in his tone makes the word a curse, naturalist!He grabbed my arm excitedly.I'm dropping out of school, I'm going to enlist in the army.tomorrow. I felt a thrill of excitement when he said this.It was the logical culmination of this despicable day, and the logical culmination of Devon's entire disjointed semester.I feel, for a long time, that I have been waiting for someone to say this, so that I myself may be entertained by the bold words. Enroll in the military.Impulsively slamming the door to the past; stripping off all clothes down to the last scrap of cloth; shattering the pattern of my life that intricate pattern woven with all its black threads since I was born, in which the impossible The symbol of interpretation is set against a background of home white and boys' school blue, and its tangled strands that require an artist's dexterity to keep it flowing I yearn to lift the giant army scissors against it, click!Snipped in a snap, all that's left in your hand are spools of yellow thread that can only weave plain, flat khaki, no matter how twisted the threads may be. Not that being in the military is a good life.After all, war is life and death.But I'm used to looking for something mortal in what attracts me; there's always something mortal in anything I want, in anything I love.If it's not there, like a relationship with Phineas, then I'll add it myself. But in war, there's no question you're going to die, and it's there. I broke up with Brinker in the quad because a club he belonged to had a meeting and he couldn't go back to the dorms I was hosting a meeting of the Golden Fleece tonight, he said with startling contempt, Golden Fleece Debating Club!All of us are crazy.He walked away mumbling incoherently in the dark. This is a night designed for hard thinking.The cold stars pierced the darkness alone, not in patches, or clusters, or forming a galaxy like the stars that might be seen in the south, but individual, cold bright spots, like blades Lack of romance.Under the stars, snow-covered Devon was silent; the cold stars of New England ruled the night.The cold stars here did not make me think of God, or of standing before the mast, or of some great love, as the starry night sky at home would have made me think; , I think about the decisions I face. Why follow through with an education and watch the war slowly take away little by little the peace I love here, the infinite peace of carefree German summer?The rest of the world, Quackenbusch and his like, could watch this war approaching them with equanimity, and finally jump into it at the perfect moment, like buying stocks on the stock market.But I can't. No one can stop me except myself.Putting aside the clichés of what I owe Devin and my responsibilities to my parents, I imagine my responsibilities in the light of this unsentimental night sky, and I know I owe no one anything.I thought I should have faced this crisis in my life at the time I chose, and I chose. I happily jumped up the stairs of the dormitory.Maybe it's because I still have the image of the cold stars in the night sky, the few motionless bright spots in the dark, or because the warm yellow light from under my door is so overwhelming up.This is a simple case of a change in expectations.The lights should be off.But it seemed as if it lit itself again, and a faint yellow light spilled from under the door, illuminating the dust and cracks on the corridor floor. I grabbed the handle and flung the door open.He sat in my chair by the desk, looking down and adjusting his thick, cumbersome legs, so all I could see were the familiar ears pressed against his head, and his cropped brown hair.He looked up, with a provocative smile on his face, hey, buddy, where's the band? Everything that happened that day faded away like the first fake snow of winter.Phineas is back.