Ida’s clothes on her shoulders were soaked with sweat, and her hair was wet and wet and stuck to her neck. She went back to her room and drank two spoonfuls of stream water, took off her hat and poured two more spoonfuls on her hair. Then she wrung water out of her hair. After wetting her face, she rubbed her hands and wiped her face with her sleeves. Then she went into the room, took her little desk notes outside and sat on the porch of the sun, waiting for her to get dry.

Ida dipped her pen in the ink and wrote to her cousin Lucy in Charleston. The silent nib scratched on the paper.
If we meet in the street, I doubt whether you can recognize me. In view of my poor appearance and lack of elegance at present, you may not be willing to ignore me even if you see me.
At this time, I bent down and sat here, put the paper on my knee to write to you. I was wearing a shabby printed lining dress, which was soaked with sweat when I chopped oak wood. I always wore a straw hat with a broken brim. Now it is as full of straw stalks as the haystack where we hid from the storm a long time ago. Remember, my fingers holding a pen are as black as stirrup leather, which was impregnated when peeling the smelly and wet shell of walnuts. My index finger nails are as uneven as the blade of an axe. I need to trim that carving urgently. The silver bracelet engraved with dogwood flowers is particularly dazzling against my dark wrist and skin. Today’s autumn is full of sadness. I will take a nap and wait for my clothes to dry before lighting the pile of firewood.
I engaged in these rough jobs after my father died. They changed my body for several months. It’s amazing that I turned as brown as a coin when I stayed outside, and the forearm muscles of my wrist became more or less firm. What I saw in the mirror was a firmer face than before, and the cheekbones were more sunken. I think when I think of a new expression, it will appear now. When I was working in the field for a short time, my brain turned white and I didn’t want to pass through my mind, although my senses were extremely sensitive to the surroundings. I’ll know the details of it when the crow flies over, but I won’t look for its analogy in black. It’s something empty without metaphor. Everything is unique. I think those moments are the seeds of my brand-new mentality. You’ve never seen this kind of emotion in me. I suspect it’s similar to some kind of satisfaction.
She read the letter again, feeling that it was a little strange and untrue without Ruby, which gave her the impression that she lived alone. Thinking of going to repair it later, she put the unfinished letter on the table. She found a rake, some matches and a shawl. Adam Bede, a British woman, George Eliot, took them to the branch by a small chair with a short leg and a straight back.
She Ruby has been busy sawing with a sickle and rake for most of every day for the last month, and then let the chopped branches fall to the ground. These large branches of blackberry, wormwood and cypress wood lacquer laid on the floor have been put together in the sun for several weeks, and now they have been quite dry. Ida rake has been busy putting the branches together for a while. When she finished, the pile of branches has been like a corn pile, and the smell of dead branches and leaves is full. She kicked some dead branches and leaves to the edge of the pile and lit them. When the fire was burning, she dragged the chair to heat. I sat and read Adam Bede, but it didn’t go well, because she had to get up from time to time to intercept the flames floating to the ground. She raked them out and then when the fire burned down, she had to gather firewood and pile it up high. Every round, the diameter of the fire would be reduced. When the color was getting late, the fire was conical and towering in the ground, and the flames rose in it, just like she had seen an erupting volcano painted in South America.
So she blamed the law on her work, but in fact, she had long lost patience with Adam Heidi and other characters. If she hadn’t seen it, she would have thrown it aside. She hoped that the characters in the story would be more open-minded and generous, instead of being influenced by the environment. What they need is more opportunities and wider areas. Go to India. She directs them or go to the Andes.
Her yarrow stick marked the position she saw, and then put it on her knee. She wondered whether writing would lose some attraction when she reached a certain age or felt that the course of life had been determined, and what she read might no longer give her a powerful motivation to change her life.
There stood a big thistle beside her. She remembered that when she was working with a sickle, she had bypassed it because she envied its fist-sized purple flower, but the flower had dried up and turned silvery white. She reached out and tore up the flower head. Her idea was that since every tiny corner of the world seemed to be able to become a home for some creatures, she would like to see that the tenant living in the thistle flower was a sacred thistle. Some of its corolla hairs soon drifted in the wind and stuck to her cigarette-scented clothes. She found a fierce little creature with a needle-tip crab. Living alone in this dry flower heart, one of its hind legs clung to a crown hair and waved a pair of tiny crab claws to make threats. She blew away the shiny crown hair in one breath and watched them soar through the air until they disappeared into the boundless sky like the dead people.
When she just lit a fire and read it, the sun was still bright. The even day was from the horizon to the zenith, which was partly associated with a landscape that was not very high. Now the night is approaching the lush hillside pasture, and the sky presents a vortex with soft colors until the western world looks like her diary with a large stone lining. Canadian geese are singing and flying south in a V-shaped formation in search of a place to spend the night. A breeze blows over the scarecrow skirt in the vegetable garden.
Waldo has come to the barn door. He is waiting and will wake up soon. People come to milk. So Ida leaves her chair and takes the cow back to the barn to milk it. The air is calm and wet. As it gets late, it turns cold. When the cow turns to watch the milking process, she breathes with breath and smells of wet grass. Adali pulls the nipple and listens to the changes in the tone of the milk when they are injected into the milk bucket. First, it hisses sharply when it is injected into the bottom of the bucket wall, and then it swishes in the pink skin of the nipple.
Ida put the milk in cold storage and went back to the ground, where the bonfire was still burning slowly, gradually turning into fly ash, and it wouldn’t be dangerous to burn it later, but Ida didn’t want to do that. She wanted Ruby to come back along the mountain road and find her stationed in the work post covered in soot.
There was a hint of coolness in her breath. Ida wore a shawl. According to her estimation, it would be too cold at night for her to sit outside at sunset, even if it was wrapped in a blanket. There was dew in the grass, so she bent down and threw herself to the ground. Adam Bede picked it up and wiped it on her skirt. She walked over and raked the bonfire, which threw sparks at the edge of the ground. She dropped walnut branches and dried cypress branches, and threw them into the fire. The flame quickly flourished and warmed up the surrounding air. Ida pulled her chair over. And reached out to warm herself. She looked at the ridge arc and watched the shadows change when they disappeared in the distance. She carefully studied the sky. Only when she looked at its color could it gradually become indigo. The two navigation marks, Venus, the general planet, and the other one, according to her estimation, would flash in the low western sky to meet the dizzying night when the stars were gathering.
Tonight, she paid attention to the position of the sun when it set, because she has been practicing to record its setting point on the ridge for weeks. According to her observation, as the day gets shorter and shorter, the setting point of the sun gradually shifts to the south. If she makes up her mind to live in this Black Valley until she dies, she believes that she will erect two towers on the ridge to mark the ridge where the sun swings at the north and south ends in a year. This is a fun thing. Afterwards, people need to mark December and June when the sun bends over on its own action route and goes back for another round. However, on second thought, she also thought that the root tower should clear some trees at the turning point of the sun, and then she could carve grooves on the ridge and mark them year after year, hoping that the sun would gradually approach the grooves, then fall into the grooves on a certain day, then rise from them and turn back. That would be waiting for pleasure. Watching this process over and over again will make the years no longer look like a terrible one-way journey, but a cycle. Feeling this phenomenon will make a person find his place. It is like saying that you are here at this point at the moment.
After sunset, Ida was still sitting by the fire, waiting for Ruby, Venus and Saturn. Their bright starlight lit up the west. After the night, she sank to the horizon and disappeared. A full moon rose. At this moment, Ida heard a noise coming from the forest, stepping on fallen leaves and talking in a low voice. She picked up the rake from the ground and hid out of the range of fire light, watching the figure move on the edge of the ground. Ida retreated further into the darkness. She held the rake in front of her and pointed her five sharp teeth in the direction of the sound. Then she heard people calling her name.
Hi, Miss Ada Monroe, a soft voice cried.
The first and last names are called according to her father’s least pronunciation. He has always taken pains to correct people’s pronunciation of this name again and again. Ida’s voice should be short and crisp, and the second word in Monroe should be stressed. He always says this, but after this summer, Ida no longer forces her name to go against people’s pronunciation, but she is used to it and tries to accept the way Ada Monroe is called.
Ella Nagato reread.
Who is it? she asked
It’s us
One of Stebrod’s companions walked into the flames, and Stebrod held his harpsichord bow in his left arm. The other man leaned his shoulder against a rough banjo, a strong musical instrument. He held the piano in front of him like people showed their identity documents when crossing the border. They both narrowed their glasses because of the glare of the flames.
Miss Monroe, Stebrod said again, we
Ida approached them and put her hand on her forehead to block the fire.
Ruby is not here, she said
We just dropped in on Stebrod and said you didn’t mind company.
His other man put on the musical instrument, and Stebrod sat down next to her chair. Ida pulled the chair away from him and sat down.
Pick up some more branches for us and set the fire on fire, said Stebrod to the man with the banjo.
Without saying a word, this man walked into the darkness of the forest. Ida could listen to him pick up tree skills and fold them into lengths suitable for burning. Stebrod fumbled for a bottle full of brown liquid on the surface of his clothes. The worn glass bottle was full of scratches, and the fingerprints were almost gone. He pulled out the cork and shook the bottle on his nose. He held the bottle to the bonfire again and again, watching it shine through the whiskey and sipped it. He gently blew a whistle with two beats from high to low.
It’s absolutely wonderful to me, but I have to drink it anyway, he said
After a long drink, he pressed the cork back with his thumb and then lifted the bottle.
We haven’t seen you for a while. Ada said, are you okay?
Generally speaking, he said that living in the mountains like a fugitive is not that interesting.
Ida remembered that she had heard the story told by the prisoner in the prison. She told Stebrod a warning about what it would be like for him to wait for deserters, but he already knew the story. It was regarded as news several times in this county, and then it became an anecdote, and finally it became a mystery.
The gang is helping the executioner, said Stebrod, especially when they are outnumbered.
When the man came back from collecting firewood and threw some broken branches into the fire, he went to the forest several times to pick up more firewood piles. After that, he sat down next to Stebrod. The man did not speak or look at Ida, but tilted his body at an angle opposite to the bonfire, and his eyes could fall on Stebrod.
Who’s your partner? Ida asked
He is a Swansea boy or a Ponzi. When he said this, he said it again, but neither family recognized him because he was a retarded child. But in my opinion, he looks a little like the Ponzi family and simply called him Ponzi.
This man has a big round head that he doesn’t match. It’s like a joke, but there are so few of them inside. Although according to Stebrod, he is nearly thirty, people still call him a child because his intelligence is so low that he can’t even solve the simplest riddle. For him, the world is out of order and there is no convention. He sees everything is new, so every day is full of surprises.
He is a soft, fat man with a wide hip, just like he grew up eating coarse powder and fat. His chest hangs like a sow outside the shirt collar. When he walks, they keep patting him and stuffing his trousers in his boots. His feet are so small that he can hardly bear his weight. His hair is almost white and his skin color is slightly gray. Therefore, on the whole, he gives the impression that he is a ceramic dish for holding snacks, sausages and gravy. Except for his talent of playing banjo, he has almost no skills unless people look at him with warm and kind eyes.
So Stebrod talked about the process of them getting together. When he talked about it, Pong didn’t seem to know at all or didn’t care about himself. According to Stebrod, Pong grew up in a state of mind to a certain extent. Generally speaking, he is a worthless man because he can’t think often or be forced to work, so he will sit and whip him, and he will bear it and remain motionless. Therefore, he was let wander in the cold mountains as an adult, and he gradually became familiar with it. He eats whatever he meets, and he can hardly tell the difference between grubs and venison. He doesn’t go at all. In the middle of the day, he mainly moves at night. In summer, he piles up beds with fragrant rotten leaves of hemlock gum and fir trees, and when it rains for several days, he goes to the rocky ridge to avoid winter. He makes a nest in a cave by learning from the way of toad, mole and bear, and hardly moves in cold months.
When Pong was somewhat surprised to find that the deserters were living in his cave, he placed himself among them, loving the piano music, especially attached to Stebrod. For him, Stebrod was a man with profound skills and deep understanding of the spirit. When Stebrod pulled the piano bow on the strings, Pong would hum along from time to time, but his pronunciation was like a duck. After being stopped by others, he got up and stomped for a mysterious dance, an ancient Celtic convulsive dance just like him. After the children won the battle against the Romans, Jutes or Anglo-Saxons, the British performed that kind of Pong jumping left and right, exhausted and sweating, and then he would throw himself on the ground of the cave where the dust had been compacted, listening carefully to the piano, and his nose painted music tunes in it, just like a person watching a fly hover.
Stebrod will play a string of notes over and over again. After a while, it will work like a spell on Pong’s mind. Pong Stebrod’s playing brings him feelings, so he is infatuated with the piano player. He always follows Stebrod with the loyalty of a dog waiting for food. At night, he will lie awake in the cave of deserters. When Stebrod falls asleep, he will climb over and lie next to his hunched back. When he wakes up in the early morning, Stebrod will push the boy and his hat to pull him a proper distance with himself.
Stebrod got the banjo from Pong by chance in an attack. The attack was carried out by these cavemen to describe their recent robbery. Anyone who had offended one of them had a vague hatred for this member. This new habit of theirs was somewhat respectable. Ten years ago, a trivial matter would also be an excuse for the attack. A man ran across the muddy road and spilled mud on you. When you walked by the store, someone hurried by and bumped into your arm without apologizing. Someone hired you, but he was deducted from the work. When I give you a commission or give you an order, my tone can be interpreted by you. He thinks highly of you. No matter how long it takes to neglect, belittle or ridicule, it can be an excuse. There is no better opportunity to settle accounts than now.
They robbed a man named Walker, who is also one of the few nobles in this county. First, he was a major slave owner, which contradicted the caveman group. Recently, their basic views changed, blaming the slavery for the troubles caused by the war. At the same time, among those who were regarded by Walker as inferior to him, according to his judgment, this almost included people’s eyes. He was an overbearing bastard caveman for a long time, and people ruled that he should be punished.
They arrived at the farm at dusk, tied the Walker couple to the stair railing and slapped Walker in the face. They had searched the warehouse outside and looted them. They were able to find food, ham and pork loin, and pickled several bags of coarse grain corn flour. They also took a mahogany table, silver tableware, candlesticks, beeswax candles, a portrait of General Washington from the dining room wall, British porcelain and Tennessee wine. Later, they decorated their cave with these benefits, and put the portrait of Washington in the recess. The silver candlestick table is decorated with Waikichwood, a ceramic trademark made by Waikichwood and his descendants. Waikichwood 1731795 is a famous name for British ceramic craftsmen to make utensils, although many of them have been eating utensils for a generation.
From a certain point of view, Stebrod’s attention was not always focused on robbing Walker’s property. The only thing he did was to hook it from one of Walker’s tools. It was a little ugly. The round part of the piano body was asymmetrical, but the piano head was made of cat skin, and the strings were catgut, and its sound quality was extremely soft. He slapped Walker in the face to get revenge, because a long time ago, he had heard Walker say that he was a fool. At that time, he sat on a roadside stake in vain and tried to play the piano. Now I have mastered the skill of playing the piano. After hitting Walker’s blushing cheek, Strode said that in retrospect, the attack on Walker made him uneasy. For the first time, he thought that he might be punished for his actions.
Back in the cave, Stebrod gave the banjo to Pong and gave him a little knowledge of playing. He twisted the string shaft to tune the thumb and forefinger, flicked the string, and grabbed the string like an owl pouncing on a rabbit. Obviously, he was very talented and eager to play the proper accompaniment for Stebrod’s piano. The boy didn’t have much strength to know how to play it, just like people beating drums.
After the robbery, he was almost absorbed in music, thirsty for them, and Walker and other good wines didn’t eat anything but steal and freeze them. They only slept when they were drunk, and they didn’t even go to the cave often to know whether it was night or day outside. However, Pong is now familiar with the Stebrod music, and they formed a duet group.
When Ruby finally came back, she got back a small piece of paper wrapped in bloody beef breast and a can of apple wine, because Adams wanted to sell much less beef than she had hoped. Ruby looked at her father’s boy without saying a word. Her eyes were cold when she was on her way, and her hair was tied up and hung over her shoulders. She wore a dark green and light yellow striped cotton skirt, a gray man’s felt hat and a small peacock feather on the ribbon. She held the paper bag in her palm and weighed it.