The King's army

Author: (USA) Robert Penn Warren / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: Unfortunately, I am not standing in the shadows of the fields, with mist swirling around my knees, and the tranquility of the night is not ticking softly in my mind. I am sitting in the car, driving towards the Boardman dock; and Boardman dock is named after the family surname I inherited, where I was born and raised. We are driving through the boundless fields on both sides, occasionally passing through a small town. Under the rows of trees along the street, the houses are already dark. Only the entrance to the movie theater on the main street is still brightly lit. Moths buzz towards the lights, then rush to the ground, landing on the cement-paved sidewalk, where they make a popping sound if stepped on. The person standing in front of the billiard room will look up and see a large, dark shadow rushing across the street. Someone might spit on the cement ground and curse, "Damn son of a bitch, he thinks he's so great." But in his heart, he wishes he were sitting in the black car, a car as large as a hearse, with springs as soft as his mother's breasts, traveling at a speed of 75 miles per hour, with the engine humming gently and steadily. He hopes to sit in the black car and drive towards some place in the dark night. Yes, I am speeding towards a place. I am about to return to Boardman dock. We will follow the newly built boulevard along the bay to Boardman dock. The air at the dock is salty, though mixed with a faint, sweet fishy smell from the tidal marshes, it is still very fresh. We might arrive at Boardman dock at midnight. The three streets of the downtown area are dimly lit, with complete silence. Past the downtown area and the small houses in the center, along the bay, behind the magnolia and oak trees, there are still houses. The white walls flicker and appear and disappear among the dark shadows of the trees. During the day, they are green blinds, but now, against the white walls, they appear dark. In the rooms behind the blinds, people lie sleeping, covered only by a single sheet. Yes, I am behind the blinds, and since I was still bedwetting as a child, I have spent countless nights here. I was born in a room behind the blinds. Tonight, my mother is sleeping behind a row of blinds. She is wearing a nightgown with lace trim. Her cheeks are as smooth and delicate as a teenager's, though there are a few fine wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, which are not easily noticed in the dark. One of her bare arms is resting on the sheet, her manicured hand thin, fragile, and aged. The handsome Theodore Merriel, with his fine golden mustache, is also sleeping in this room. His breathing is slightly wheezing because he suffers from chronic laryngitis. However, he is perfectly entitled to sleep there, because my mother married Theodore Merriel. P42