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第31章 让心灵去旅行7（第1页）

第31章让心灵去旅行（7）

Iwasrightaboutthetar:itledtowithinhalfamileoftheshore。ButwhenIgotbackthere，withmyboy，aoaearafarmhouseandintothekindofsummertimeIhadknown，Icouldtellthatitwasgoiymuchthesameasithadbeenbefore—Ik，lyihefirstm，smellingthebedroom，aheboysandgooffalongtheshoreinaboat。IbegantosustaintheillusionthathewasI，andtherefore，bysimpletransposition，thatIwasmyfather。Thisseed，keptgupallthetimewewerethere。Itwasirelyigrewmuger。Iseemedtobelivingadualexistence。Iwouldbeinthemiddleofsomesimpleact，Iwouldbepigupabaitbdownatablefork，orIwouldbesayihing，awouldbenotIbutmyfatherwhowassayingthewthegesture。Itgavemeasation。

&fishim，Ifeltthesamedampmthewormsidsawthedragonflyalightoipofmyrodasithoveredafewihesurfaceofthewater，itwasthearrivalofthisflythatebeyondanydoubtthateverythingwasasitalwayshadbeen，thattheyearswereamirageandtherehadbeehesmallwaveswerethesame，gtherowboatuheaswefishedatandtheboatwasthesameboat，thesamecreenandtheribsbrokeninthesamepladerthefloor，boardsthesamefresh-waterleavihedeadhellgrammite，thewispsofmoss，therustydiscardedfishhook，thedriedbloodfromyesterday’scatch。Westaredsilentlyatthetipsofourrods，atthedragodweipofmihewater，tentatively，pensivelydislodgingthefly，whichdartedtoised，dartedtwofeetbadcametaiheruptherod。Therehadbeeweenthedugonflyaheroastofmemory。Ilookedattheboy，whowassilentlywatghisfly，anditwasmyhandsthatheldhisrod，myeyeswatg。Ifeltdizzyanddidn’tknowwhichrodIwasattheendof。

&wobass，haulingtheminbrisklyasthoughtheyullihesideoftheboatinabusinesslikemaanylauhablowonthebackofthehead。Whebabeforelunch，thelakewasexactlywherewehadleftit，thesamenumberofihedodtherewasosuggestiohisseemedanutterlyehislakeyoucouldleavetoitsowndevicesforafewhoursao，andfindthatithadhistandtrustworthybodyofwater。Intheshallows，thedark，water-soakedstidtwigs，smoothandold，wereundulatingihebottomagainsttheribbedsand，araussellain。Asinnowsswamby，eaowwithitssmallindividualshadow，doubliendance，sodsharpi。Someoftheothercamperswereinswimming，alongtheshore，ohacakeofsoap，aerfeltthinanddunsubstaheyearstherehadbeehthecakeofsoap，thiscultist，aherehadbeennoyears。

Uptothefarmhouseththeteeming，dustyfield，theroadunderoursneakerswasonlyatwo-traiddletrackwasmissihthemarksofthehoovesachesofdried，flakymaherehadalwaysbeeoingwhichtracktowalkin，nowthechoiarroo。Foramomeerriblythemiddlealterheastthetennisdsomethingaboutthewayitlaythereinthesuhetapehadloosehebae，thealleysweregreenwithplantainsandotherweeds，aalledinJuneaember）saggedinthedrynoon，andthewholeplacesteamedwithmiddayheatandhuiherewasachoiceofpiefordessert，andonewasblueberryandonele，aresseswerethesametrygirls，therehavingbeenime，onlytheillusionofitasiairesseswerestillfifteen;theirhairhadbeewastheoheyhadbeentothemoviesaheprettygirlswiththehair。

&ime，ohsummertime，patternoflifeihefade-prooflake，thewoodsuhepasturewiththesweetfernandthejuniperforever，andever，summerwithoutend;thiswasthebad，andthelifealongtheshorewasthedesigagerswiththeiriraheirtinydockswiththeflagpoleandtheAmeriflagfloatingagaiethebluesky，thelittlepathsovertherootsofthetreesleadingfrompahsleadingbacktotheouthousesandtheef，andatthesouvehestoretheminiaturebirch-barkdthepostcardsthatshowedthingslookingalittlebetterthantheylooked。ThiswastheAmerifamilyatplay，esgthecityheat，wwhetherthehecampattheheadofthecovewere“on”or“nideriwastruethatthepeoplewhodroveupforSuhefarmhousewereturnedawaybecausetherewasn’tenough。