Chapter 9 7

【Symptoms and speculation】 It’s been three days since I’ve been in London, and I still can’t wake up until dawn. I’m so tired during the day, but at night I lie on the hotel bed and stare at the darkness, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.British mountaineer leaves inheritance to woman he's been with for just a week.The summer house near Leksand under renovation in the winter of 1916.The key that connects everything is my grandmother, someone I only met three or so times as a child. The impression is very vague. Once at the beach, it must be California, but it doesn't feel like it.The old lady walked very slowly, her thick ankles sank into the sand with every step, and my mother was holding her.The wind blows our hair.Grandma smelled of musk perfume, her accent was weird, and her diction was even weirder.She gave me some candy canes.She also gave me a piece of advice, which I have long forgotten, and I only remember the embarrassment I didn't understand at the time.

The clock flashed 3:13 in the morning, I pushed back the quilt and got up to get dressed.The porter downstairs blinked when he opened the door for me, and he also opened the door for me at this time last night. Sir, is there still time difference? The concierge wore a frock coat and tie and a top hat over his gray hair. Very serious. Better go for a walk and tire yourself out a bit. I walked up Obermarle Street and zigzagged to Marble Arch.On the way back, I sat down on a bench by Grosvenor Square, took out the notebook in my coat pocket, and wrote down two names in capital letters: Ashley and Emmaine.List the focus of the investigation under each of the two names: World War I, Everest Expedition, London, Sweden.Draw arrows to link to the British Mountaineering Association, the War Archives, the British Library, and newspapers.Most of these are related to Ashley.I circled Emmagene, circled it again, joined Charlotte, then added Eleanor.

I pocketed my laptop and walked back to the hotel, hoping for a good night's sleep. Get up in the morning and check with Ashley first.In the dark basement of the British Mountaineering Association in the Gouan District, the archivist gave me a handshake.Price's ice axe.It was brought back from Mount Everest in 1924.It was heavier to hold than it looked, a balance of wood and metal, and the handle had a double-groove mark that Price had made to show that the ax was his.I raised the ax and looked at the light. The metal part was engraved with the name of the maker: CHR SCHENK, GRINDELWALD (CHR SCHENK, GRINDELWALD).

Where is Worthingham's axe? The archivist shrugged.I didn't find it. This is just the beginning.For the next four days, I went into the archives room early in the morning and left after closing time, only allowing one hour for lunch by myself.I went to the reading room of the Imperial War Museum in Southwark and ran a blanket search of all the typewritten catalogs of the Royal Geographical Society in Triangle Street, Kensington, and applied for access to all the material on the 1924 expedition.The librarian said that some files are stored in other institutions, and it may take days or even weeks to see them, but I still apply first.I read the yellowed letters and battered diaries and piles and piles of memoirs in the silence of the reading room.From those documents, I learned many things that I was not familiar with or heard before, such as trenches, parapets, fire steps, couloirs, moraines, Circular valleys (cwms) and glacial crevasses (bergschrunds).

On Saturday, I took the Northern Line subway to Colindale to look at the newspaper collection of the British Library. I sat there all morning and flipped through the old newspapers bound in red leather, looking for reports about the expedition in the musty smell, for fear of missing something.Then I looked at the never-ending microfilm, and went through the news of June 1924 one by one.The same stuff pops up again and again: headlines about failed expeditions, vague reports of Ashley's death, grainy remake snapshots of Everest base camp, formulaic eulogy for the king.Only one story interested me, a small sidebar seven weeks after Ashley's death.

□□□ Mount Everest Victims * The Great Lama's Warning Newspaper correspondent Reported from North Bengal︱Kalimpong □□□ The abbot of Rongbuk Monastery had long predicted the unfortunate death of Mr. Walsingham when he tried to reach the summit of Mount Everest.The abbot of Rongbuk Monastery is a big lama with big ears. Everyone thinks he has the ability to predict. He is said to have warned the porters when the expedition left base camp that disaster would befall any attempt to climb Mount Everest. He said that the mountain god has always been merciful before, but if anyone dares to disturb his tranquility again, he will never forgive him lightly, and he will surely bring disaster.

I don't know if this passage has any effect on the morale of the coolies, but after he gave the warning, the porter did use this as an excuse to refuse to go to a higher place. I wanted to find more information about the abbot of Rongbuk Monastery, but I couldn't find it, so I went to the British Film Institute on the South Bank the next day to watch the official documentary of the Mount Everest expedition.The director is a man named J. B． L．Noel 10 people. 10. JBL Noel (1890︱1989), a member of the third British Everest Expedition in 1924 in real history and the photographer of the documentary "The Epic of Everest".

I sit in front of a screen with headphones on.The film begins with a rickety card with scratches on the negative and white letters flashing and flashing. The content is as follows: This is the story of a group of brave adventurers trying to reach the top of the world from afar. Where the clouds had broken there were stretches of mountains, and that great mountain towered over them.Then the camera zoomed in and showed the cone-shaped mountain top, just like looking through a telescope and seeing the wind and snow shuttle between the mountains. I realized it was a silent film, so I took the earphones off.Then came another word card:

There's no sign of humans or other living things here, and it's a glimpse into an uncharted world.Magnificent, majestic, and indescribably lonely, the Rongbuk Glacier on Mount Everest is revealed before our eyes. First, there are snow-covered mountain peaks, and then there are knife-like ridges, and the clouds and mist blow from Nepal to Tibet.Tibetan villagers in dirty robes stand by the door of their homes, staring blankly at the camera.Sheba porters walked by, wearing windbreakers and snow goggles.Finally, there are the British, who always appear from a distance, in the dense Sikkim jungle, wearing shorts and swinging canes, walking in twos on the cold wind-swept Tibetan plains, with yaks lined up beside them.Two climbers wearing sunhats sat in the sun with sketchbooks on their laps, squinting and sketching at the villagers.There was a group of people sitting on wooden boxes having breakfast in the open space. Behind them were a dozen lamas spinning prayer wheels in the wind. No one looked back at the lamas.

Walk into a piece of pure blue ice and snow, into a precious, cold, beautiful, lonely, fairy-tale world of ice and snow. There are glaciers in the picture, and thick glaciers surround the mountain sides.The expedition team walked into the glacial valley and meandered through the maze of ice peaks. In comparison, the people became very small, and they stretched their necks one by one to observe the mountain.The Englishman held out his gloved hand to touch the serac, asking questions about age, composition, origin, and other more unsolvable questions.A climber broke off a large icicle and used it as a walking stick, leaning on this unreliable transparent ice pick.

I wanted to find the figure of Ashley, but the camera was too far away and the people were too small.I hit fast forward. The great mountain above us frowned, annoyed that we had defiled this untrodden land. The porters shouldered the heavy burden, climbed the rope ladder, set foot on the ice slope, and climbed the steep limestone slope. Will the obstacles we face in this battle be beyond reality, beyond the reach of human power and Western knowledge? The screen fades to black.I reversed the video, searched back and forth, and didn't press the play button until I saw the climber. Eight people stood in front of the cooking tent, their faces were sunburned, their beards were unshaven, their mouths were moving, but no sound could be heard.Colonel 11 stands among the crowd, looking happily at the camera.He was taller than the others, but equally lean, with snow goggles hanging from his hat brim.Next to him was talking a very handsome man, hatless, with his hands in his coat pockets, leaning back at the colonel and laughing.This man is Hugh.Price, the famous mountaineer.Behind Price stands a tall, slender man with a pipe and someone's hand on his shoulder.I recognized the face I had seen in the newspaper, it was Ashley. 11. This refers to Colonel Edward Felix Norton, the leader of the Everest Expedition in 1924. I let the machine play the ten-second picture in a loop, and leaned in front of the screen to watch it carefully. Ashley wore a tweed jacket with big pockets, a long scarf around his neck, and was clean-shaven. He looked younger than the others. Although his skin was also damaged by the Tibetan sun, his whole person was still childish.He held a briar pipe but did not smoke, smiled, looked away, and coughed a few times.As soon as Price spoke, Ashley's cough turned into a smile.For half a second, Ashley looked into the camera and met mine.Immediately afterwards, the film went back to ten seconds ago and replayed it again. I was having dinner at the Indian restaurant on Drummond Street, and I kept thinking about Ashley, and there was something in the film that I didn't expect, something that didn't feel right, though I couldn't put it into words.I paid for my meal, bought some sleeping pills at the pharmacy at Euston Station on the way back to the hotel, and came out of the station with an idea.These days I've been reading about those grueling expeditions that talk about altitude sickness and the weeks-long snowstorms that keep some climbers from even reaching the higher camps.But Ashley in the film is neither crazy nor depressed, and looks happy.He stood in front of the camera with his friends, unaware that he would not survive a month. Or maybe he actually did.I muttered to myself. The next morning, I started to look up the line of Yin Mozhen.I went to the Internet cafe on Oxford Street and searched for her name in various digital directories and genealogy sites, and for hours I found nothing.I learned from the website of the National Archives of Sweden that most of the records of birth and death in Sweden have not yet been digitized. For hundreds of years, these records have been kept by the parish priests. They not only record the time of birth and death, but also record baptism and communion. and the time of moving in and out of the parish, there are even things like household registration records, which record who lives in each family, how old they are, and what their occupation is.The archives of the Leksand Church are in Uppsala, a religious university town fifty miles north of Stockholm.But even if I went to Sweden, I might not find anything useful. In the afternoon I go to the Tower of London, hoping that the rest will help me think.It was raining today, and there were a lot of foreign tourists in the tower. I saw the armory and the glittering royal jewels.Sceptres, orbs, and crowns in thick glass cases rest on blue French velvet and glisten in the staggered light of countless halogen lamps.There was a tour group standing next to me, and an elderly American tourist asked the tour guide how much the jewels were worth. 12. The original text is orbs, and the full name should be Sovereign's Orb.It is a hollow gold ball with a diameter of about 16.5 cm and a weight of about 1.3 kg. There is a vertical ribbon inlaid with gemstones on the waist and upper half of the ball.There is also a diamond-encrusted cross on the top of the ball.This is a symbol of the King of England as the supreme leader of the Church of England. The tour guide said: Of course it is priceless. Americans can't accept this answer: there will always be someone who knows the approximate price. The guide shook his head.These things are not for sale, and they are not even insured, because no insurance company will undertake them, and these things must not be stolen. The Americans pondered for a moment and came to a conclusion. Well, it's totally worthless. As I stepped out of the Tower of London, it was getting dark.I'm standing on the bank of London Bridge, with reflections swirling in the midnight water beneath the bridge. I muttered to myself: This is a glimpse of this unknown world. On the way home, I kept thinking about Yin Mozhen. It was too difficult to check her directly, so I had to start with her sister like those lawyers.Eleanor is a painter, and it is more likely that her letters and files have survived to this day, and there may be mention of Yin Mozhen in them.I list a number of art libraries and archives in London, of which the V&A Museum's National Art Library seems to have the most extensive collection. I was standing on the steps in front of the museum before nine forty in the morning.I took a photo of the museum's cratered facade, the remains of the bombing of London.The guard opened the door and directed me to the library on the third floor.There I got a library pass and borrowed the first books, mostly on British modern art.Eleanor only appears a few times in the book, and they are only briefly mentioned, but I found the Camden District Art Association and Omega Workshop through the annotations, painter biographies and monographs in the book.I borrow all these books to read, but if the role of Eleanor hadn't been for Charles.Kinnear (Charles Ginner) or Mark.The acquaintances of Mark Gertler are the members who participated in group exhibitions at Adelphi Gallery or Devereux Brothers Gallery.There are two references to her as the sculptor and medal designer Vivian.Soames' daughter.After 1920, Eleanor's name never appeared again. I wonder if she stopped painting after that. Before I got back to my computer, I looked up the exhibits Eleanor had participated in in the library catalog.Here are some records of exhibitions at the Adelphi Gallery, but they are all before 1925, and Eleanor was exhibited in 1927.I can't even find the Deflo Brothers Gallery, only in the appendix of a book, it says that the Sunday Club exhibition in 1929 was held in that gallery, and Eleanor had two paintings in the exhibition:< The Four March Hare> and <Odessa>. I pointed to the screen and asked the librarian: Have you ever heard of the Deflo Brothers Gallery? She squinted at the name, frowning. Sounds familiar, I'll check it out. Librarians use their own computers for inquiries. We can't find it here, but the Tate Archives have it.The address of the Deflo Brothers Gallery is at 158 ​​New Bond Street.There are two boxes of materials, from 1919 to 1936.Includes exhibit catalogue, personal correspondence, balance sheet, profit and loss statement What time do they close? Five o'clock, but usually requires an appointment.I'll call for you. The librarian persuaded the other party to make an appointment with me at three o'clock.I took the tube to Pimlico station and ran along the river bank to the museum, sweating profusely in the sun.The people at the archives have prepared a box of materials for me. Inside are thick black leather-bound ledgers, including sales and accounting records; and exhibit catalogs and shipping bills bound in colored paper.Although the gallery is called Deflo Brothers, the recipients are all Roger.Deflo.Occasionally, Ilinor's works appear in the inventory: <Night Scene (Black Field)>, <Four March Hare>, <Kronburg>. I carried the box back to the information desk to exchange for the second box.The label on the side of the box reads Roger.Deflo: Letters, 1911-1927.There were dozens of letters in the box, all in envelopes, the envelopes were neatly torn, and most of them were in the same handwriting, the handwriting was very small and very formal.The man, surnamed Coutts, who appears to be in charge of the day-to-day running of the gallery, sent frequent letters to Surrey, suggesting that Deflo was away from London for several weeks. I glanced at the letters quickly, looking back at the clock on the wall every now and then.Eleanor's name appears in two letters, one briefly mentioned in July 1919 when discussing future exhibitions; the other in March 1921 with a list of her paintings sold work.Afterwards, I found another confusing note: □□□ March 19, 1923 Dear Mr Deflo: I have received your letter of the nineteenth and have dealt with it immediately.Mr. Brogner was so disappointed that he was willing to double his bid for the painting, but in the end he had to understand the situation, asked for the larger one, and desperately wanted to buy the one he hadn't seen in person, though he said he wouldn't First bid, but I'm very skeptical.Did Mrs. Grafton say whether or not the picture would ever be put on the market? The other two portraits (<The Matron>, <Dr. Lindbergh>) and <Kronburg> were brought in this time.I have received the inventory list and prices of these works, please confirm whether they can be displayed and sold. William.Sincerely, Coutts I read the letter three times, then took it to the librarian to make a photocopy for me, and returned the box to him. Can you lend me the first box again? I went back to my seat, took out my inventory, turned to the page of 1919, March 14th and listed three works by Grafton: "Kronburg", "Dr. Lindbergh" and "Study for a Nude" >.The last one was deleted.Turn to the next page, there are two other works of hers in July 1919: "April Rabbit" and "Unconquered". I leaned back in the chair, looked at the ceiling, and couldn't help but smile.I knew I shouldn't laugh because everything was uncertain, but I kept laughing anyway.I didn't want to look at the other things in the box, and the librarian also started to turn off the lights after a while. It was warm rain outside and I called Pitcherd on the pay phone as I walked towards Victoria.The secretary said he was in a meeting.As soon as I entered the hotel room, I saw the red light on the phone and picked it up. Downing & Hooper Law Firm, good night, may I ask you to be Tristan.Mr. Campbell? Yes. Please hold on, James.Mr. Pitcherd is looking for you. I sat on the bed and took out my notebook and photocopied materials from my bag.The scarlet letter on the digital alarm clock shows 6:17, Pitcher must be working overtime. Wonderful Mr. Campbell, please don't say you have a new theory. I told Pitcherd the conviction, and I told him about the inventory.He was silent for a moment before speaking. So far you've only found these? Yes, but it's important, don't you see I know I know.Pitcherd sighed.You think the person in that painting is Yin Mozhen. That's right. That's why it needs to be destroyed. right. The reason for destroying it is because? Because that's her nude, because she's pregnant.and that would give away her whereabouts, she was in sweden, she was in sweden the eve of charlotte's birth Interrupted by Pitcherd: These are pure conjectures, maybe Eleanor just wants to destroy the immature practice work.It sounds like the painting was sent to London by mistake, maybe she just didn't like it and that's why it was being destroyed. But someone wants to buy it, why destroy a painting that has a buyer's bid? There are many possible reasons.You don't know which painting was destroyed, and you can only speculate that it was the nude study based on circumstantial evidence.It's just your speculation that both sisters are in Sweden.You want to find evidence to support your speculation, so you see what you want to see, but this speculation may ruin the entire investigation and cause you to draw wrong conclusions.Let me give you an example. You said it was a letter from 1919. When was Charlotte born? In 1917, but there might not be a market for paintings at that time, and Eleanor would not sell paintings during the war, and she had to wait until the end of the war.What's more, they were in Sweden at the time. maybe.But this is still a theory, you need actual evidence. i have enough evidence Flipping through my notebook, I crackled and said: I know they renovated the house in Sweden in the winter of 1916 so that Eleanor could live in the villa that was never occupied in winter.I know Charlotte was born there.I know that a certain work that Eleanor painted there was shipped to London in February 1919, just a few months after the war, and the content of the painting bothered her so much that she had to destroy it directly in the gallery , cannot be stored on site, nor can it be transported back.I know there is a painting in the gallery's inventory called "Study for a Nude" that arrived in February 1919 Wonderful, but none of that counts as proof. But can lead me to the evidence. What evidence? For example, a birth certificate.I found out from the information that birth certificates in Sweden are kept in the local parish. Maybe we can find out the names of her parents from Charlotte's records. Maybe the information there is different from that in England.The diocese will also keep the household registration records every year, maybe we can find out who lived in that house at that time, maybe Yin Mozhen lived there.Has anyone checked the information on Sweden? Pitcherd said: The birth and death records were checked at least three times, and the people from the company did the checks in China. I don't know how, but I heard that the checks were very detailed.Of course, I don't know about the diocese's declaration of household registration.Are you going to go to Sweden? The voyage is short, and this is by far the most useful clue. Pitcherd sighed.I will not stop it. If you want to go, the sooner the better, no matter whether the direction is right or not, you must know as soon as possible.Mr. Campbell? Well? What you are looking for is not a picture, but evidence. I hung up and went downstairs to ask the hotel desk to buy me a cheap ticket to Stockholm.He taps on the keyboard. Tomorrow's seats seem to be full, and the day after tomorrow Ryanair has a ticket for seventy pounds. He smiled wryly.But that flight leaves at six, and Stansted is far away, so I'm afraid you'll have to sleep at the airport Can people sleep at the airport? He looked up at me, hesitantly. Some people sleep at the airport, but I don't recommend it. I handed him my credit card, got an itinerary, and went to the business center to email the local archives in Uppsala, saying that I would be in their reading room on Thursday and ask them to prep.What I want to look up are: Leksand's birth records from 1906 to 1920, and the two parish registers from 1910 to 1916 and 1917 to 1931 record. I spent my last morning in London shopping for reference books, a battered cloth-bound history of Everest climbing in Charing Cross Road, a paperback from the 1970s called Daily Life in the Trench , 1914-1918" and an extremely heavy "Guessing Fate: The War on the Western Front".Then email my dad and half brother.I couldn't tell them what I was looking for and didn't want to lie, so the letter was short and vague, but sent anyway. In the evening I went back to the hotel to collect my luggage, and when I went out I gave the porter a five-pound note as a tip, but he refused to accept it.We shake hands and say goodbye. Where are you going? Sweden? The porter winked at me. He said: Be careful, Europe is different from here, they have their own way of doing things. It was past ten o'clock when I arrived at Stansted Airport, the planes for tonight had already taken off, and the next one would wait until tomorrow morning.Here and there travelers slept under their coats on benches.There are even backpackers sleeping with newspapers on the floor of the terminal. I brush my teeth in public restrooms, fill water bottles, spread sleeping bags under deserted airline check-in counters, get into sleeping bags, and eat hotel chocolates.Safety announcements are made every half hour throughout the night.