The Long Summer of Monsieur Loiseau

The lighthouse is an empty shell, only stone stairs without handrails are left, winding upwards along the mottled walls, like frozen vines stretching towards the gray sunlight - if there is not a skylight on the top of the tower, then a small landslide occurred .The bricks, peeking out from the flakes of peeling paint, were mossy, a tan like dead leaves.The sandbags piled up at the bottom of the stairs have been pressed as hard as a stone for a long time.A lone bicycle wheel leans against a wall, next to a pair of mouse-gnawed leather boots that slowly rot along with discarded oars.The reporter stepped over the oars, approached the curved stone steps, and looked at the scorched marks and square grooves on the top. They should be used to fix the handrails. The wooden handrails were destroyed by a fire at an unknown time.He turned to Prudence. "Are we going up?"

"Why not? I never do things halfway."

The footsteps echoed in the lighthouse, and so did the voices, so that when Prudence spoke the words crashed between the curved walls like moist grapes in a rolling barrel.The reporter deliberately slowed down so as not to overtake Prudence, which was not an easy task, because the old man had to stop every three or four steps and lean on the wall to catch his breath.

"Alex wrote four suspenseful novels, all short, under the name 'R Bishop'. The Wake was followed by Letters from the Black Border, 11 Lycon Street and The Harvest, and then His passion for suspenseful stories was gone, and just like that," Prudence snapped his fingers, "the flames went out and Alex dropped 'R. Bishop' and went off to find other adventures. Press Wrote four letters asking what happened to 'Mr Bishop' and Alex wrote back to tell them 'Mr Bishop' tragically drowned while on vacation in Andalusia."

Drowned, the echo of the lighthouse repeated faithfully, drowned.

"Then he wrote 'The Kite of Agnes' under the pseudonym 'M Sears,' which was his first book in the public eye," said the reporter, who was also a little out of breath. , the two just climbed to the middle of the lighthouse, and the spiral staircase extended in both directions, and there seemed to be no end to either side.The dim towers and the sunlight leaking from above created the illusion that they were now deep underground and climbing up the mine.

"Did you know that 'The Kite of Agnes' was originally published as a children's book?"

"I know. That's why I voted for "The Kite" for critics who felt that "Eternal Summer" was Loiseau's first successful film. Thinking about the part where the ghost of the pilot and Agnes is running the kite in the cemetery, I would have had nightmares for a week if I was a kid."

"I think it's beautiful, but also very sad."

"True, but still creepy."

"Are they still using the 'Sears' name? I mean, what's the name on the cover of Agnes's Kite that's been reissued in recent years?"

"Uniformly use 'Alexander Loiseau'. This is the case with the boxed collector's edition launched by Random House last year, which included "The Kite" and two other novels describing life after the war. The publisher believes that the same series of books should not be With two names, readers will get confused, and 'Loiseau' is clearly more recognizable than 'Sears'."

"Recognizability." Prudence chewed on the term and shook his head, "Who would have thought of that?"

Who would have thought?The lighthouse learns the tongue quietly.

"Alex doesn't like the name very much."

"Sears?"

"'Alexander'. Nobody ever called him that, and he called himself 'Alex' even in formal settings, and signed it too. He said the name 'Alexander' was 'too heavy' and 'like a sandbag' and he I am not happy to carry such a sandbag."

"Interesting statement."

Directly below the lighthouse was the abandoned tower keeper's bedroom, a semicircular space with a ladder to the top next to a bare mattress.There have been other visitors here, and the walls are covered in graffiti, most notably a two-headed snake emerging from boiling sea water, scattered with paintbrush swear words and death threats, because the pervasive sea The fog has eroded, and it has faded into a brown color similar to old bloodstains.An overturned old-fashioned lantern lay on the mattress, along with some used needles and cigarette burns.Dust lay on the ground like dirty snow, and Prudence stepped on an old damp calendar, the design of which was blurred, and he could barely make out the outline of a sail, and beneath it in dim cursive letters was the words "cloth Littany Sailing Association, 1979".

The ladder is riveted in place and the welds are carefully painted to prevent rust and still look solid.The reporter climbed up first, and then helped Prudence up.There is not much glass left in the lighthouse, with air leaking from all sides, and the lamp socket is empty, but the huge lens has not been removed, facing the vast sea to the west. Looking down from this height, the sea water turns into algae-green crepe, and every wrinkle They all look like they were carefully drawn.

"Alex has a lot of fantastic ideas." Prudence brushed aside the shards of glass on the ground with the toe of his shoe. Carriers, writers are hosts, stories screaming in their minds, demanding to be expressed, to be reproduced, to live on in other souls. Some stories are forgotten and die. Other stories touch each other, fight, merge, One day a whole new spore hatches and becomes more ecstatic, sadder, or more frightening in order to continue to have a place in people's memories."

The reporter paused by the lens, "Sounds disturbing."

"But you agree with the metaphor?"

"I love the metaphor."

"I saw it with my own eyes." Prudence walked to the broken glass, looked down at the desolate bay, and chose his words carefully, "I mean, it's like watching an ivy slowly cover the entire outside Wall, Alex as a student and his stories are still figuring out their voices and shapes, so we have the sensual 'Petersen', the blood-obsessed 'Bishop' and the imagining of a white kite. 'Sears', Alex smashed himself apart and put himself back together, and finally Alex was born. Luckily for him, he was the story, and I was lucky enough to be in his supporting role. But in the book Ha Leigh is not me, but a puppet that Alex created after me, and the puppet is still his after all. They will live forever on the stage, and you and I, Mr. Rivers, we are off the stage , never existed."

-

"What if." Alex said suddenly.

Harry turned a page and waited for the next sentence.The blanket was warm, and so was Alex's body.The beds in the new apartment are big enough that they finally don't have to worry about someone falling out of the cramped single bed in the student dormitory in the middle of the night.The pair had moved into 55 Juniper Street after Christmas, and Alex claimed he had had enough of the crazy first graders and needed a clean place, and the Baron paid the bills for him, no questions asked.There were two bedrooms, the extra one being of course the utility room, where most of Harry's luggage was still cluttered.Most would be confused and suspicious if seen by an unsuspecting visitor, but they don't expect any visitors in the foreseeable future.

The wind outside became stronger, and Xiaoxue was no longer Xiaoxue, and the windows made a slight rattling sound.Harry turned the page again, read two lines, closed the book, turned sideways, and looked at Alex: "What if?"

"How can we be sure we're not a manipulative character?"

"Isn't that part of your pathogen theory again?"

"For example, the ghost of Agnes and the captain, they would never think that their every move and every word is designed."

"Alex, they don't 'think' at all, that's your imagination, and ghosts don't exist."

"Leila says she's seen the ghost of her grandmother, sitting in front of the piano in the restaurant."

"How old was she?"

"Can't remember, eight, I guess."

"She's just trying to scare you."

"Harry, your imagination is less than a rock."

"One imaginative person between the two of us is enough." Harry sighed, put the novel on the bedside table, and lay down. "I'm sure no one can keep me from sleeping. You Should have spent less time sitting in front of the typewriter, since you've already finished Agnes' Kite."

"There will be other stories." Alex climbed onto Harry, put his hands on his shoulders, and looked down at him. "I am their host, and they need my typewriter to live."

"It's a romantic idea, albeit a bit scary."

Alex laughed and leaned down to kiss Harry on the lips. Harry reached up to caress the nape of his neck and fumbled to unbutton Alex's pajamas.The doorbell rang right at this time, both of them were startled, they spent several seconds looking at each other, then hurriedly got up, put on their coats, and ran into the living room.

Outside the door were two men in long coats, one with a felt hat and the other without one, with snow falling on their hair and shoulders.The cold wind poured in along the stairs, and Harry couldn't help shivering.The intruder looked them up and down and asked who M. Loiseau was.

"I am," Alex replied. "Need I remind you two that it's past eleven?"

The man in the felt hat took off his gloves, took out his ID from his pocket, and waved in front of them: "MI[-], my name is Connelly. You have a very close relationship with Mr. Brandon Morton, don't you?" Monsieur Loiseau?"

"I don't know what your definition of 'close' is, Barry and I met at school."

The MI[-] employee without a felt hat took up the conversation: "We need to talk to you, Monsieur Loiseau, in our office."

Alex pulled his coat tighter. He was obviously freezing too, but determined not to let the other party see. Harry wanted to put his arms around his shoulders, but he didn't dare to do so in front of strangers.

"You have no right to do that," said Harry.

"This is not an arrest, as I said, just a need to speak to Mr. Loiseau. We have every reason to suspect that Mr. Morton is a dangerous instigator. To be safe, we will speak to everyone who knows Mr. Morton, And we'll be very polite." The man in the felt hat took a step forward, and Harry could now see the outline of the butt of his gun under his coat. "If Monsieur Loiseau still refuses, we might not be so polite."

Harry wanted to say something more, but Alex grabbed his elbow and shook his head.The two men from MI5 gave Alex five minutes to change before escorting him down the stairs and into the back of the car.Harry stood on the icy side of the road watching the car drive away, completely forgetting that he was only in his pajamas.

tbc.