David Copperfield

Chapter 20: An Unforgettable Birthday (1)
Chapter 9 Unforgettable Birthday(1)
When my birthday came in March, I forgot everything that had happened at the school before, except that Steerforth was more respectable than before.He was leaving at the end of term, if not earlier, and he seemed to me more lively, more independent, and therefore more likable than ever.This memory, which at that time was most vivid in my mind, seemed to swallow up all other details and remain alone.

I myself believe it had been two months since my return to Salem School to that birthday.The fact that I know now is this; otherwise I would have thought my birthday followed the event.

I remember it well! I can still smell the fog in that place; I can see the ghostly hoarfrost; I can still feel the frosted hair falling wet and cold on the face; I can still see the dim scene in the church, where In the foggy morning, a few scattered candles flickered and the students breathed on their hands and stomped their feet, their breath lingering like smoke in the bone-chilling cold.

I was in the classroom after breakfast when Mr. Sharp came into the classroom and said to me:

"David Copperfield go into the drawing room."

I supposed that Peggotty had brought me a basket of things, and I was very happy at the order.When I hurriedly stood up from my seat, my neighbors also told me not to forget them when I want good things.

"Don't be busy, David," said Mr. Sharp. "There's plenty of time, boy. Don't be busy."

He spoke with a tone of sympathy which, if I had noticed at the time, would have surprised me; but I did not think much of it then.I hastened to the sitting-room, where I saw Mr. Crigul sitting at his table with his cane and newspaper before him, and Mrs Crigul holding an open letter in her hand, but no basket.

"David Copperfield," said Mrs Creigle, "I have called you here on purpose to speak to you. There is one thing I would like to speak to you, my boy."

Mr. Crigul (I looked at him, of course) looked away, shook his head, stuffed a large piece of toast into his mouth, and sighed.

"You're too young for fickleness," said Mrs. Crigul. "There's good and bad, but we all go through it, David. Some people go through it when they're young, some people go through it when they're young." It happens when you are old, and some people go through this kind of thing all their lives.”

I looked at her earnestly.

"When you come home from the holidays," said Mrs. Crigul, after a pause, "how are they all?" After another pause, "how is your mother?"

I shivered for a while, not knowing why, but still looked at her earnestly, not wanting to answer.

"Because," said she, "it's hard to say, but I heard this morning that your mother was very ill."

A mist suddenly rose between Mrs Creigle and me, and her shadow seemed to move for a moment in the mist.Then I felt hot tears streaming down my face, and then her shadow settled down.

"She is very ill," she added.

I totally know it now.

"She's dead."

Mrs Creigle didn't need to tell me that.For I have wept miserably, feeling that I am an orphan in the vast world.

Mrs. Crigul was very kind to me.She left me there all day, sometimes alone, and I cried myself to sleep and woke up crying again.I started thinking about it when I had had enough crying.At that time the pressure on my heart was terribly heavy, and my sorrow was a dull pain from which I could not escape.

But my mind was disorganized again—not focused on the stress in my mind, but wandering idly around the matter.I thought of our house with the shuttered windows; I thought of the little baby, who, according to Mrs. Krigul, had grown thin, and they believed he would not live long; I thought of my father's grave, and my mother lying The figure under the tree.When I was alone in the room, I stood on a chair and looked in the mirror at my red eyes, my sad face.After a few hours, I wondered if my tears were as dry as I felt? Then as I was getting home - because I was going back to the funeral - there was something in my dead that reminded me The most touching thing? I deeply appreciate the respect I receive among other students; because of my sorrow, I have become famous.

If ever there was a child who truly felt grief, it was me.But I saw that that afternoon, other students were teaching in the classroom, and I was walking on the playground, which made me feel proud.When everyone was in class, I saw them looking at me from the window. I thought I was very unusual, so I made a more forlorn look and walked more slowly.After class, they walked out of the classroom to talk to me. At that time, I said that I was fine, not proud of any of them, and answered exactly the same as before.

The next night I will ride in a heavy night vehicle called "Farmer".This kind of car is mostly used by people who travel short distances in the middle.We did not tell stories that night, and Traddles insisted on lending me his pillow.I don't know why on earth he did that to me, but it was the only thing he had, along with a letter paper full of skulls.At parting, he gave me the letter paper as a consolation.

I left school the next day.It never occurred to me at the time that once I left, I would never come back.The train drove all night, very slowly, and did not reach Yarmouth until nine or ten o'clock the next morning.I looked out of the car for Mr. Bagis, but he wasn't there, but there was another fat, short-breathing, high-spirited little old man in black with a pair of faded shorts tied at the knees. Black belt, black socks, and a wide-brimmed hat, he went to the window and said:

"Master Copperfield!"

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, master," he said as he opened the car door, "I'll take you home."

Wanting to know who he was, I followed him to a narrow alley with the words "Omer, Draper, Clothesmaker, Clothing Merchant, Funeral Goods Merchant" and so on.The room was stuffy, full of clothes, made and unmade, and a window full of bonnets.We went into a small parlor at the back of a shop, where three young women were making dresses out of a pile of black stuff on a table, and the floor was strewn with scraps of cloth.The fire in the living room was very hot, and there was an overwhelming smell of hot black gauze.

The three young women were working very easily and swiftly. They raised their heads and glanced at me, then resumed their work, sewing one stitch at a time. The sound of the hammer "bang-dah, bang-dah, bang-dah..." remained unchanged.

"Well," said the old man to one of the three young women, "how are you going, Minnie?"

"We'll be done when we're fitting." She didn't look up, but said briskly, "No problem, Father."

Mr. Omer took off his wide-brimmed hat and sat down to catch his breath.He was so fat that it took him a while to say:

"very good."

"Father," Minnie said jokingly, "you're a fat pig!"

"Oh, I don't know why, my dear," he mused a little, "I'm getting fatter and fatter."

"That's because you're a casual fellow and get by with everything," said Minnie.

"What good is it not to be careless, my dear," said Mr. Omer.

"No good, really," replied his daughter. "We're all happy here, God bless! Isn't it, father?"

"I hope so, my dear," said Mr. Omer. "I am now out of breath to measure the young scholar. Come in, will you, Master Copperfield?"

I followed his instructions and walked in front of him to the shop.He showed me a roll of cloth and said that it was special, and it would be great if it wasn't for wearing filial piety for parents.Then he measured my size and wrote it down in a notebook.As he memorized, he told me about his inventory, some styles were "just in fashion" and some were "just out of style".

"Styles come and go, so we lose money from time to time," Mr. Omer said. "But styles are like people, and no one knows why they work or not. The way I see it, it's all like life."

I was too distressed to talk to him, and I probably wasn't in a position to discuss that at any point in time.After Mr. Omer finished measuring my size, he took me back to the living room, panting with difficulty.

He rushed down a narrow little step behind the door and called, "Bring some tea and bread and butter." I sat looking around, listening to the sewing in the house and the hammering in the yard. tune.After a while of this, the tea and bread and butter came, which were intended for me.

"I've known you for a long time," Mr. Omer said, looking at me for a while, and at that moment I didn't touch the breakfast because the black things turned me off. "I've known you for a long time. It's time, my young friend."

"Yes, sir?"

"Yes, since you were born," said Mr. Omer, "or earlier. I have known your father. His grave is five feet nine and a half inches wide and twenty-five feet long."

"Bang-da-da, bang-da-da, bang-da-da", the voice came from the yard.

"The field where he was buried was twenty-five feet long and five feet nine and a half inches wide," said Mr. Omer cheerfully. "It may have been his request, or your mother's instructions, I don't remember exactly. "

"You know how my little brother is, sir?" I asked.

Mr. Omer shook his head.

"Bang-da-da, bang-da-da, bang-da-da."

"He was lying in his mother's arms," ​​he said.

"Oh, poor little boy! Is he dead too?"

"Don't worry about what you can't do," said Mr. Omer. "Yes, the boy is dead."

When I heard this, I was sad again, and I left my scarcely touched breakfast, and went to the corner of the room, and laid my head on a table, which Minnie had hurriedly cleared, or my tears would have covered it. His filial piety was dirty.She was a good-looking, easy-going girl, and she pushed my hair away from my eyes with her gentle hands; it was just that she was glad that she was nearly done with her work.

Soon the hammering stopped, and a dashing young man came in from the yard.He is holding a hammer with a small nail in his mouth.He spits out these nails in order to speak.

"Hello, Yoran!" said Mr. Omer, "how are you doing?"

"Well," said Yoran, "it's done, sir."

Minnie blushed, and the other two girls smiled at each other.

"What! Then last night, when I was at the club, you made it through the night? Did you?" said Mr. Omer, with one eye closed.

"Yes," said Yoram, "because you said, if I finish it, we can take a little trip, and we'll go together, Minnie and I—and you."

"Oh, I thought I didn't count!" Omer said, laughing until he coughed.

"Since you are so kind, you promised us to do that," the young man went on, "so I worked hard. Would you like to see how I am doing?"

"Well," said Mr. Omer, rising to his feet, and turning to me again, "my dear, you like to see your—"

"Not good, father." Minnie stopped.

"I think that may be all right, my dear," said Mr. Omer, "but you may be right."

Realized that they were looking at the coffin of my dear, beloved mother.I have never heard the sound of a coffin being made, nor have I ever seen a coffin, but when that sound came, I knew what that sound was.After the young man came in, I also knew what he was doing.

(End of this chapter)