The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

The dinner bell rang.The two people in the reception room stood up, picked up their coats, and walked through the long gray-green painted corridor to the dining room.The tables around the fireplace were already occupied. Mrs. Sanders, who was wearing a woolen cardigan, spotted the reporter at a glance. She called out "Boris, my little bear" and stood up with difficulty. The nurses hurriedly helped her back into the wheelchair and used The sticky pumpkin soup distracted her.The old man and the reporter sat by the window.From here, the night sky felt even more oppressive, only the fragile glass separated them from the wet darkness.

Prudence asked only for a cup of tea and a roll.The reporter asked for stew, and Albert, the nurse, brought the food, plus a glass of pear liqueur. Prudence winked at the reporter and beckoned him to try it.The reporter took a sip, the wine was sweeter than expected, with slight bubbles, like a drop of condensed summer melted in ice water.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Albert's family runs a small winery in Finistère - the westernmost department of Brittany - but he made up his mind to escape the rainy peninsula and run to I studied in Paris and took a nursing qualification certificate."

"Finally back to 'the peninsula where it doesn't stop raining.'"

"Life." Prudence tore off a small piece of bread and wiped the jam off the edge of the plate. "I haven't been to Cornwall since 1963. There's even less reason to go once it's become a tourist attraction. Alex seemed happy on the train heading to our last summer, and I think I did too, and we're all looking forward to a slow getaway: the beach, Sunny days, umbrellas, strawberries and wine."

The sudden lightning tore through the dark clouds, and the thunder rolled down from the gap. The reporter subconsciously looked up at the transparent glass ceiling. It disappears in seconds.The lighthouse in the distance briefly appeared in the reporter's mind, and he imagined the rain pouring into the dark light room.The lights in the restaurant flickered for a while, then returned to normal, and people lowered their heads again, returning their attention to the food.Prudence was the only one who was not disturbed by the thunder. He stared intently at the dark tea in the porcelain cup, as if looking for some kind of prophecy or answer from it.

"The driver was waiting for Alex at the train station and was a bit surprised to see me because he had been instructed to pick up Alex alone. Alex told him not to talk nonsense, Mr. Prudence was years old A friend from the past, 'He comes when he wants, no need to call in advance'. The driver replied 'Of course, sir', he had no choice. We got in the car and drove to the mansion."

The car stopped on the gravel road, and the driver took out the luggage for them.Martha was waiting in the hall as usual, looking pale and without a smile.She hugged Alex lightly, and without approaching Harry, she nodded stiffly and told them the Baron was waiting in the study.The two young men looked at each other worriedly, and went upstairs one after the other.

The fireplace in the study was burning, and it was the beginning of June. The air was dry and hot, full of musty old paper and the smell of pine wood, and it was difficult to breathe.The Baron sat behind his desk, buried in his writing, as if he didn't notice the presence of the visitor.Alex called him, and the baron pointed to the chair in front of the fireplace with a pen without saying a word, and the two sat down, waiting anxiously.There was no other sound in the vast room except the crackling of the logs in the fire and the slight rustle of the pen on the paper.Alex touched Harry's hand, who glanced at the baron to make sure he wasn't paying attention, squeezed Alex's fingers lightly, and let go.

"Is everything all right in Paris, Alex?" asked the baron suddenly, pushing aside his pen and paper.

"Yes, Dad."

"Still writing your little story?"

"No, not anymore."

"What about you, Mr. Prudence? I remember you were writing for a magazine."

Harry sat up straighter. "The paper, sir, The View, but I don't work there anymore."

"I'm sorry, why?"

"Just for a change of scenery, sir. I'm at The Post."

The baron snorted thoughtfully, said nothing more, got up, and walked towards the fireplace with an envelope in his hand.Harry glanced at Alex, who was looking at the envelope and gripping the arm of the chair the way people stare at a cobra crawling out of the grass.The baron put the letter on the coffee table in front of his younger son. Like the one sent to the editor-in-chief Schmidt, this envelope also had no postmark and address, and the right edge was neatly cut open with a letter opener.

"It was sent together with other letters the day before yesterday." The baron's voice was calm, and could even be described as indifferent, "Open it and have a look, Alex."

Alex shook his head.

The Baron picked up the envelope, poured out the photographs inside, and spread them out on the table.Alex turned his head and closed his eyes, as if he could wake up from this nightmare if he only waited long enough.Harry took a deep breath, "It was a prank, I can explain—"

"Shut up, Mr. Prudence," the Baron interrupted coldly. "Get out, you're not welcome here anymore. You should be glad I didn't let the police deal with this."

Harry sat where he was, until the baron repeated the eviction order, and then stood up stiffly.Alex wanted to go out, but was stopped by his father: "You stay here, I called Dr. Mercer, he and his assistant will arrive tomorrow morning, and they will decide whether you need to go to the nursing home for treatment .”

"dad--"

"One more word and I'll lock you in the basement."

"You have no right to keep him here." Harry grabbed Alex's hand. "You can save your doctors a trip. Let's go now."

The baron stepped over to the desk in two steps, grabbed the bell with a carved handle, and shook it vigorously.The study door opened, and two footmen entered, followed by Martha with an air of disbelief.She flinched when Harry was caught, as if she had been dragged out the door herself.The quarrels in the study could be heard all along the corridor.Harry struggled to his feet and punched one of the footmen, but the two men were unmoved, dragged Harry downstairs like a prey for slaughter, and pushed him roughly out the door, almost falling on the ground. Gravel driveway.The door slammed shut and locked.Harry ran up the steps, banged on the door, and yelled.Someone touched his shoulder, and Harry turned away, only to find that the car that had brought them was still parked, its engine idling, his luggage on the gravel driveway.The driver looked at him sympathetically and asked if he needed to take him to the train station.

"I replied, 'Fuck off'."

Prudence's voice rose unconsciously, and the nurse gave him a curious look, "I didn't leave, not for the next week. I waited stubbornly outside the door, even if it rained. Martha came out Once, I was advised to leave as soon as possible. I said I would only go with Alex, and she suddenly became angry, accusing me of infecting Alex with this despicable 'disease'. The anger passed quickly, and she Weeping for the unfortunate boys of the Loiseaus, first Georges and now Alex, I thrust a folded note into her hand and begged her to at least bring these words to Alex. Alex, she hesitated for a long time, neither agreed nor refused, closed the door, and never appeared again."

"Then they called the police. Two uniformed officers had to use batons and handcuffs to get me into a police car. I believe I still have a scar, right here at the corner of my eye, which is not very noticeable and can be seen in good light. Be clear. They took me to the train station and put me on the nearest train to London. I tried to sneak back on another train, but they were prepared for that too, and the police gave my picture and description to the train Long, I am often stopped before I have time to get out of the station."

"I figured out another way, got off the train a stop earlier, and rented a car to the mansion. Still failed to see Alex, and the baron threatened to send his son to a nursing home if I showed up at the door again. .I went back to London and dared not take any more chances."

"I don't really remember what I was doing between July and September, but I drank every day, wrote letters, mailed them, returned them, and put them all in a biscuit tin Tried calling too, but whoever answered the phone hung up on hearing my voice. By September, I started working at The Post as promised, purely for bread and rent. The salary was just enough I rented a small attic near the newspaper office, and I used to have stomach aches or migraines and couldn't sleep all night, so I had to read Alex's manuscript over and over again - I only had a few scattered pages, many years ago He sent it to me. The draft of "Summer" was in the luggage he took back to Cornwall, and if his father had found it, it might have been burned."

"And then, thank God, Lyra showed up."

"It was she who came to see me. She was waiting downstairs at the newspaper office. She drove a white convertible. It should have come directly into the city from the suburbs. The tires and body were splashed with wet mud. She handed it to me. An envelope, didn't say much. I asked her how Alex was doing, and she hesitated for a long time, saying not very well, maybe because of Dr. Mercer's medicine, Alex always looked like Like drunk, she doesn't trust this doctor very much. Dad may be overreacting. She then explained that Martha slipped the letter to her, and if I wanted to write something to her brother, she could bring it back for me. Cornwall, let's see if Martha can find a chance for Alex, maybe it will make him feel better."

Helpers in aprons clattered carts from the kitchen and set about clearing away the dishes.Only then did the reporter realize that he had only eaten half of his stew, so he hurriedly scooped up two mouthfuls.All the ice in the rum had melted, diluting the sweetness. The helper waited for the reporter to finish drinking the remaining wine before taking away the plates, knives and forks and glasses from the table, and then pushed the cart to the next table.The residents left slowly with the help of the nurses, and the lights were turned off one by one.The nurse came over, bent down and whispered something in Prudence's ear. The old man expressed his thanks, stood up, and walked back to the reception room with the reporter.

"Albert said this room should be locked after seven o'clock, but an exception can be made for us tonight." Prudence threw two pieces of pine into the fireplace, and instead of returning to the rocking chair, he sat down beside the reporter From the armchair, the two of them watched the jumping flames, the smoke and tiny sparks rising together, disappearing into the blackened chimney pipe.The small iron box was almost empty, and the old letters were scattered on the coffee table, with ink stains of different shades.

"In this way, with Lila and Martha, Alex and I finally reconnected with each other—metaphorically. Martha helped him smuggle out the novel manuscripts bit by bit, sometimes in thick stacks, Only a few pages on bad luck. Sandwiched in is Alex's letter, which isn't technically a letter, see."

Prudence picked out an unstamped envelope and placed it in the center of the coffee table.The reporter put on cloth gloves and carefully opened the envelope, which was filled with shredded papers of different shapes, which seemed to have been torn from different places in a hurry, one of which was a copy of a poem, and the other was a scene between two fictional characters. , a mother explaining the colors of bird feathers.The reporter smoothed out a wrinkled piece of paper with Harry's name on it, a whole page.

"We burned pretty much all the letters so they wouldn't be discovered. The Baron had allowed Alex to roam freely in the house, Lyra told me, but once he tried to escape through a window and he's been locked up in the West since then. Wing. 'Only the story stands between me and the precipice of madness here.' he told me in one of his letters. The ink is set in order to survive, like a bird instinctively leaves a dying tree. The doctor thinks I'm manic, the meds quiet the sounds for an hour or two, and honestly, I need the quiet, But it's a silence of the grave and it's scary. Here, Harry, you've become a concept of nothingness, and sometimes I'm not sure if you're real. Maybe only what I've written down is real , and perhaps I am a character myself, in a book without an end, and a crueler hand weaves our story. We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?’”

"I did my best to placate him and let him pretend to cooperate for a while, at least to fool the doctor first. For a month or two, the ruse seemed to work, and Dr. Mercer stopped sedating him and allowed him into the garden every morning. Take a walk. Martha took this opportunity to send more letters and manuscripts. However he started drinking again and Martha had to lock the cellar and wine cabinet, but Alex seemed to have secretly hidden wine in different corners bottle, she can't help it. The novel is drawing to a close. 'This is a specimen,' he wrote, 'so that you and I won't die with me, and I can sense that day is coming, maybe I won't wake up tomorrow, but you'll know where to find me.'”

"'We have to get him out of there and we can't wait any longer.' I went to Lyra and told her straight away. She said she would talk to Martha, and I said there was no need to talk, and even if you disagreed, I would Will go to Cornwall and burn the house down if necessary. She's clearly freaked out and for a few minutes I thought she was going to pick up the phone and call the police, but she eventually said, well, tell me what you need. "

"The plan was that we'd hire a Fruit and Vegetables van and wait at the railway station, the sort of van that usually goes unnoticed near the unloading yard. The doctor doesn't live in Cornwall, and every Friday He would take the train back to London and be at the mansion on Monday morning. Alex was watched over by two orderlies in his absence. The two orderlies had a half-day off on Sunday and they did not travel far, usually to the town. Go up to do some shopping and be back in an hour or two. It's not a big gap, but at least it's a gap where Martha can excuse herself for a walk and take Alex into the garden, from where he can climb over the fence and walk to the train The unloading yard at the station, about seven or eight miles, is indeed not close, but it should be possible. At the railway station, he will be able to find the truck. We will go north first, maybe to Glasgow, and we cannot return to London, because the baron will definitely Will find us there. Lyra's husband has a reliable friend in Glasgow, a classmate of his at medical school, and we'll go to his holiday home for a while. For safety's sake, I didn't include the plan in my letter. Tell Alex, just vaguely mention that I have an idea to make him wait for the weekend."

Prudence stared at the fire, but not really looking at the fire, more like looking through the mist at a coastline that no longer existed.

"The night I handed this letter to Laila, Martha called. She called the landlord, to be precise. There are no telephone lines in the attic. At four o'clock in the morning, the landlord knocked on the door angrily. , and threw me a note paper with a message from Martha on it."

-

The first train out of London usually arrives at 35:[-] and departs at [-]:[-].Harry will be there at five o'clock.The conductor kept looking suspiciously at the trembling stranger, pushed the ticket and the change together in front of Harry, and slammed the shutter shut, as if afraid of being infected with some deadly germ.Harry walked to the platform alone, sat on the bench, clutching the note paper, looking at the empty railway tracks.

The carriage was empty and dimly lit.Silhouettes of buildings flitted past the windows, fading away to give way to pitch-black fields.Harry leaned against the window, flipping the note over and over. "He's gone, please be right back", why didn't Martha make it clear?Or maybe she'd made it clear and his brain just refused to understand.Harry stood up abruptly, and walked unsteadily towards the narrow bathroom between the cars. Hearing the sound of footsteps, the conductor poked his head out of the compartment, glanced at Harry's face, and asked if he was feeling well.Harry shook his head, closed the bathroom door, retched, and slid down the door to the floor.The train conductor knocked on the door and asked loudly if he needed help and the driver could tell the doctor to wait at the next stop.Harry stood up with difficulty, opened the door, and said everything was fine, thank you.Back to the seat.

He's gone, please come back right away.

He fell asleep for a while, and was awakened by the long siren.It was already dawn, and it must have been expected that he would take the first bus. Martha and the driver were waiting at the terminal. The housekeeper bent her back and pursed her lips tightly, just like she was in the basement 22 years ago, waiting for the Nazi Air Force as when the bombs fell.No one spoke along the way, and the car bumped on the uneven road, passing through the wilderness covered with thin morning fog.

There seemed to be no end to the gravel road leading to the mansion, and the wheels rolled on it, and there was a sound of clicking.The wilted rosebushes on either side looked brown-black, charred.The door was open, and the vestibule was dead silent, with shadows twining like vines.Harry stood hesitantly in the gloom, just as he had done twenty-two years ago when he first came to this place.

"Sunroom," Martha said.

The hallway echoed, duplicating the footsteps of two men as an army.The sunroom door was ajar, letting in pale light.Harry stopped and looked back at Martha, and the housekeeper nodded.Harry took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in.

The first thing he noticed were books and manuscript paper, which were all over the floor.Alex was on the recliner by the French window, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if asleep.Carefully avoiding the books on the floor, Harry walked towards him.An empty wine bottle sits on the coffee table, with cigarette butts strewn next to it, and a teacup full of ashes.A pen rolled to the floor, and the leaked ink soaked the manuscript paper like blood, and it was completely dried.Harry knelt beside the chair and kissed the back of Alex's cold hand.

"The doctor said it was around two o'clock in the morning." He vaguely heard Martha's voice, weak and distant, as if separated by a layer of glass, "The reason is alcohol and drugs, mainly alcohol. The police have also come, and they think Nothing suspicious."

Harry didn't answer.There was a half-folded piece of paper under the bottle, with his name scrawled on it, and Harry pulled it out, unfolded it, and realized his hands were shaking.Alex wrote only a few sentences, the handwriting was askew, and the tip of the pen scratched the paper.

"Dear Sailor,

I humbly offer my story, every word in it is mine, but yours.I finished writing the ending, and now that all the sounds have quieted down, I think I can finally sleep. "