CHAPTER 32

  Specklovedtobebymovingwater.Mystromemoryisofheranimatedbythecurrehetictotheflow.Isawheronce,yearsago,strippedtotheskin,sittingwithherlegstuckedbehher,asthewaterrolledaroundherwaistandthesunshinecaressedhershoulders.Undernormalcircumstances,Iwouldhavejumpedandsplashedinthecreekwithher,butstruckbythegraceofhernedlimbs,thetoursofherface,Icouldnotmove.Onanotheroccasiohetownsfolkshotofffireworksinthenight,wewatchedtheexplosionsupriver,andsheseemedmoreentedbythewaterflowthanbytheloudflinthesky.Whilethepeoplelookedup,shewatchedthelightreflegontheripplesandthesparksastheyhissedonthesurface.Fromthebeginning,Ihadguessedwhereshehadgoneandwhy,butIdidnotactuponthatintuitionbecauseofafuallackofce.Thesamefearsthathadpreventedmefromcrossingattheriverbendalsomademebreakofftheseardebap.Ishouldhavefollowedthewaters.

  Thepathtothelibraryneverseemedaslongandforebodingasonthenightofmyfirstreturn.Thewayhadgedsincearted.Theforestthinnedarounditsedge,andrustys,bottles,andotherrefuselitteredthebrush.Noneofushadvisitedintheyearssincesheleft.Bookslaywherewehadleftthem,thoughmicehadnibbledthemarginsofmypapers,lefttheirsourolddleholdersandcoffeemugs.HerShakespearewaslousywithsilverfish.Stevenshadswollenwithdampness.Bydimdlelight,Ispentthenightrestorder,pullingdowncobwebs,shooingcrickets,lingeringoverwhatshehadonceheldinherhands.Ifellasleepediyblahathadlongagolostherst.

  Vibrationsaboveannouhearrival.Thelibrariansstartedtheirday,joistscreakinguheirweightaernsoftheirroutines.Icouldpicturetheirgoings-on:chegin,sayinghello,settlingattheirstations.Anhourorsopassedbeforethedoorsopenedandthehumansshufflediherhythmfeltnormal,Ibegantowork.Athinfilmofdustcoveredmypapers,andIspentmostofthatfirstdayreadisandpieorder,tyingtheloosepageswithentriesinMessjournal.Somuchhadbeebehind,lost,fotten,andburiedafterwehadbeendrivenawaythefirsttime.Reducedtoashortpile,thewordsdotedtimespassagewithdeepgapsandyawningsilences.Verylittleexisted,forinstance,fromtheearlydaysofmyarrival—onlyafewcrudedrawingsandpathetiotes.Yearshadgonebywithoutmention.Afterreviewingallthefiles,Iuoodthelongchoreahead.

  Whenthelibrariafortheevening,Ipoppedoperapdoorunderhechildreion.Uherforays,Ihadnodesiretopickoutanewbook,but,rather,tostealnewwritingsupplies.Behindtheheadlibrariansdesklaythetreasure:fivelongyellowpadsandenoughpenstolasttherestofmylife.Tointroduceaminorintrigue,IalsoreshelvedtheWallaceStevensthathadbeenmissing.

  WordsspilledfromthepenandIwroteuntilmyhandcrampedandpaiheend,thenightthatSpeckleft,becamethebeginning.Fromthere,thestorymovedbackwardtothepointwhereIrealizedthatIhadfallenihher.Awholeswathoftheinalmanuscript,whichisthankfullygone,wasgivehephysicaltensionsofbeingagrownmaninayoungboysbhtinthemiddleofasentendesire,Istopped.Whatifshewaogowithher?Iwouldhavepleadedforhertostay,saidthatIlackedthecetorunaway.Yetatraryideapulledatmysce.Perhapssheendedformetofindout.ShehadrunawaybecauseofmeandknewallalongthatIlovedher.IputdownmypenandwishedSpeckweretheretotalkwithme,toansweralltheunknowables.

  Theseobsessionscurledlikeparasitesthroughmybrain,andItossedandturhehardfloor.Iwokeupinthenightandstartedwritingonapad,determioridmymindofitsdarkestthoughts.Thehourspassedanddaysdriftedootheother.Forthesixmonths,Idividedmyselfbetweenthecampandthelibrary,tryingtopiecetogetherthestoryofmylifetogivetoSpeck.Ourwinterhibernationslowedmyprogress.IgrewtiredinDecemberauntilMarch.BeforeIcouldgobacktothebook,thebookcamebae.

  Solemn-eyedLuchógandSmaolachapproaasIchedafarlofoatsanddraihedregsfromacupoftea.Withgreatdeliberatioohersideofme,cross-legged,settlinginforalongtalk.Luchógfiddledwithanewshootofryepokingthroughtheoldleaves,andSmaolachlookedoff,pretendingtostudytheplayoflightthroughthebranches.

  "Go,lads.What’sonyourminds?"

  "Wevebeentothelibrary,"saidSmaolach.

  "Haventgohereinages,"saidLuchóg.

  "Weknowwhatyouvebeenupto"

  "Readthestoryofyourlife."

  Smaolachturnedhisgazetowardmine."Ahuhousandapologies,butwehadtoknow."

  "Whogaveyoutheright?"Iasked.

  Theyturheirfacesawayfromme,andIdidnotknowwheretolook.

  "Youvegotafewstorieswrong,"Luchógsaid."MayIaskwhyyouwrotethisbook?Towhomisitaddressed?"

  "WhatdidIgetwrong?"

  "Myuandingisthatanauthordoesntwriteabookwithouthavingoneormorereadersinmind,"Luchógsaid."Oghthetimeandefforttobetheonlyreaderofyourownbook.Eventhediaristexpectsthelocktobepicked."

  Smaolachpulledathis,asifdeepinthought."Itwouldbeabigmistake,Ithink,towriteabookthatnoonewouldeverread."

  "Youarequiteright,oldfriend.Ihaveattimeswonderedwhytheartistdarestsomethioaworldwhereeverythinghasbeendoneandwherealltheanswersarequitewellknown."

  Istoodandbroketheplaheirinquisition."Wouldyoupleasetellme,"Ihollered,"whatiswrongwiththebook?"

  "Imafraiditsyourfather,"saidLuchóg.

  "Myfather,whatabouthim?Hassomethinghappeohim?"

  "Hesnotwhoyouthinkheis."

  "Whatmyfrieosayisthatthemanyouthinkofasyourfatherisnotyourfatheratall.Thatmanisanotherman."

  "ewithus,"saidLuchóg.

  Aswewoundaloh,Itriedtountahemanyimplicationsoftheirinvasionintomybook.First,theyhadalwaysknownIwasHenryDay,andnowtheyknewIkheyhadreadofmyfeelingsforSpedsurelyguessedIwaswritingtoher.TheyknewhowIfeltaboutthem,aswell.Fortuheycameacrossasgenerallysympatheticcharacters,abitetric,true,butsteadfastalliesinmyadveheirlineofquestioningposedanintriguing,however,asIhadnotthoughtaheadtohowImightactuallygetabooktoSpeoretothepoint,aboutthereasonsbehindmydesiretowriteitalldown.SmaoladLuchóg,aheadorail,hadlivedinthesewoodsfordecadesandsailedthrougheternitywithoutthesamecaresortheowritedownandmakeseall.Theywrotenobooks,paihingonthewalls,danonewdatheylivedinpeadharmonywiththenaturalworld.WhywasntIliketheothers?

  Atsu,westeppedoutofcoverandwalkeddownpastthechurchtoascatteringofgravesinagreenspaceadjattothecemeteryenclosedbyastonewall.Ihadbeenthereoncebefore,manyyearsago,thinkingitashortcutbacktosafety,orperhapsmerelyagoodhidingplace.Weslippedbetweentheironbarsintoatranquil,rowngarden.Manyoftheinscriptionsooneswereweatheredandfaded,asthetenantshadlaiheirvanishingnamesformanyyears.Myfriendstookmeonawindingpathbetweenthegraves,aoppedshortamongthememorialsandweeds.Smaolachwalkedmetoaplotandshowedmethestone:WILLIAMDAY,1917-1962.Ikdownonthegrass,ranmyfingeralongthegroovesofletters,sideredthenumbers."pened?"

  Luchógspokesoftly."Wehavenoidea,HenryDay."

  "Ihavehatnameinawhile."

  Smaolachlaidhishanduponmyshoulder."IstillpreferAniday.Youareoneofus."

  "Howlonghaveyouknown?"

  "Wethoughtyoushouldknowforthetruthofyourbook.Youdidntseeyourfatherthatnightwelefttheoldcamp."

  "Andyouuand,"Luchógsaid,"thatthemaninthenewhousewiththebabyotbeyourfather."

  Isatdownandleanedagainstthemarkertosavemyselffromfainting.Theywereright,ofcourse.Bymydar,fourteenyearshadpassedsiheenddateonthatgravestone.Ifhehaddiedthatlongago,WilliamDaycouldnotbewhoIthoughthewas,andthatmanwasnotWilliamDaybuthisdouble.Iwoomyselfhowsuchathingcouldbepossible.Luchógopenedhispouch,rolledacigarette,andcalmlysmokeditamidtheheadstohestarscameouttodefihesky—howfaraway,howlongago?Myfriendsseemedonthevergeofrevealingadditios,buttheysaidnothing,sothatImightfigureitoutformyself.

  "Letusawaythen,lads,"Smaolachsaid,"andthinkonthistomorrow."

  tthegateattheerandtrekkedhome,ourversatitosmallermistakesinmyownstory.Mostoftheirsuggestionsescapedscrutinybecausemymindwandereddownlong-edlanes.Speckhadtoldmewhatsheremembered,butmuchremainedmysterious.Mymotherfadedinandoutofview,thoughIcouldnowseequiteclearlythefacetoftwinbabysisters.Myfatherwasanearlytotalvoid.Lifeexistedbeforethislife,andIhadnotsuffitlydraggedtheriverofmysubscious.Latethatnight,whiletheothersslept,Isatawakeinmyburrow.TheimageofOscarLovecrystallizedbeforeme.entmonthsiigatingthatboy,findingoutinexcruciatiailthenatureandshapeofhislife,hisfamilyhistory,hishabitsofmind—alltoassistIgelinthege.IfweknewOscarsowell,thehersmusthaveknownmyhistory,infinitelybetterthamyself.NowthatIkrueherewasnolongeranyreasonforthemtohidethetruth.Theyhadspiredtohelpmefet,andnowtheycouldhelpmeremember.IcrawledoutofmyholeandwalkedovertoLuchógsspot,onlytofinditvat.IntheadjatburrorappedinChavisorysarms,andforamomeatedtodisturbtheirpeace.

  "Luch,"Iwhispered.Heblinked.",andtellmeastory."

  "Aniday,fortheloveof—tyouseeImsleeping?"

  "Ioknow."

  Bythistime,shewasstirringaswell.Iwaiteduntiltheydisentahemselves,andherosetoeyelevel."Whatisit?"hedemanded.

  "YouhavetotellmeeverythingyourememberaboutHenryDay."

  HeyawnedandlookedatChavisorycurledintothefetalposition&quhtnow,Imgoingbacktobed.Askmeagaininthem,andIllhelpwithyourbook-writing.Butnow,tomypillowandtomydreams."

  IwokeSmaoladBékaandOnionswiththesamerequestandutoffbyeamuchthesameway.Despitemyexcitement,Idrewnothingbuttiredglaresatbreakfastthem,andonlyafterthewholehadtheirfilldidIdareaskagain.

  "Iamwritingabook,"Iannounced,"aboutHenryDayIknowthebroadstorythatSpeckgavemebeforesheleft,andnowIneedyoutofilliails.PretendImabouttomakethege,andgivemethereportonHenryDay."

  "Oh,Irememberyou,"Onionsbegan."Youwereababyfoundlinginthewoods.Yourmotheredyouinswaddlingclothesandlaidyouatthegreyhoundsshrine."

  "No,no,no,"saidBéka."Youaremistaken.TheinalHenryDaywasnotaHenryatall,butowoidenticaltwingirls,ElspethandMaribel."

  "Youareb,"saidChavisory."Hewasaboy,acute,smartboywholivedinahouseatthetipoftheforestwithhismotherandfatherandtwobabytwinsisters."

  "Thatsright,"saidLuchóg."MaryandElizabeth.Twolittlecurly-tops,fataslambchops."

  "Youcouldnthavebeehaornine,"saidChavisory.

  "Seven,"saidSmaolach."Hewassevenwhenwenabbedhim."

  "Areyousure?"askedOnions."Couldasworehewasjustababy."

  Theversationtihisfashionfortherestoftheday,intestedbitesofinformation,ahattheendofthediscussionwasthedistantcousinofthetruthatthebeginning.Allthroughthesummerandintothefall,Ipepperedthemseparatelyandtogetherwithmyqueries.Sometimesananswer,whenbihmyprodigalmemoryorthevisualcueofadrawingorapieceofwritiedafamybrain.Slowly,overtime,apatternemerged,andmychildhoodreturome.Butohingremainedamystery.

  Beforethelongsleepofwinter,Iwentoff,iuponclimbingthehighestpeakinthehillssurroundingthevalley.Thetreeshadshedtheirleavesandraisednakedarmstothegraysky.Totheeast,thecitylookedliketoybuildingblocks.Offtothesouthlaythepactvillagetwobytheriver.I,theriverbendandthebigtrybeyond.Tothenorth,raggedforest,afarmortwohackedoutfromthetreesandstone.Isatonthemountaintopandread,dreamtatnightoftwoSpecks,twoDays,whatweare,ouldbe.Saveforaflaskofwater,Ifastedandreflecteduponthepuzzleofexistehethirdday,mymindclearedaheanswer.Ifthemanearedasmyfatherwasnotmyfather,whowashe?WhomdidImeeti?WhowasthemanbythecreekonthenightwelostbothIgelandOscarLove?Theonewhochasedusthroughthekitdoor?Helookedlikemyfather.Adeer,startledbythesnapofmyhead,boltedthroughthefallenleaves.Abirdcriedohenotelihendisappeared.Thecloudsrolledonandrevealedthepalesun.Whohadtakenmyplacewheolemeaway?

  Ikhatmanhadwhathadbeenintendedforme.Therobberofmyealerofmystory,thiefofmylife:HenryDay.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

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