Dear Mi Ying, you.

* It happened around 1983, during the Cold War.

When Arthur Kirkland walked into the meeting room, it was already full of people.

His secretary opened a chair for England, and when he walked in, he obviously felt that all the people who were talking had stopped, and all eyes were moving in this space with his footsteps. Those eyes contain many things, and curiosity accounts for the vast majority. But Arthur has no more patience to study their purpose. He just feels that his energy is weak.

I hope this meeting can be finished at least before 7 pm, so that he can go back to the hotel and fall asleep.

An American receptionist brought him a cup of hot tea, but Arthur just lowered his eyes and looked at the tea without moving.

"We're glad you came," a stranger in a suit stood up and held out his hand to Arthur Kirkland with a smile. "Hello, Englishman ... sir."

Arthur Kirkland stood up and pulled his hand back. "Where?"

When he said this, his eyes looked at the position of the gate.

The air was silent for a few seconds.

The secretary standing next to Arthur suddenly coughed. "No offense," he said, his expression as relaxed as possible. "Are we missing a participant today?"

"-the staff of all departments have arrived and everything is ready," the man answered him quickly, still maintaining a perfect smile. "You can start at any time."

The secretary was obviously offended. He stole a look at England's side face, and then walked half a step forward: "But that ..."

"-gentlemen." England, sitting in a chair, suddenly raised his voice and interrupted the name he was about to blurt out.

All eyes once again focused on the Englishman with flaxen hair and green eyes. He sat in his seat in a neat suit, with his fingers on the handle of the seat. He is pale, but very young. On the outside, he seems to be no different from any ordinary young man.

Arthur Kirkland looked around everyone around the conference table calmly, and then said, "Can we start discussing your new proposal?"

As soon as his voice fell, the secretary standing next to Arthur took a deep breath. He sat down next to Arthur, where he could not be seen under the conference table, and slowly clenched his hands.

In fact, this is the third "discussion" organized by the United States on the same issue this month. When the other person speaks, Arthur Kirkland relaxes his tight muscles and leans back in the chair. The window on the wall behind him was half open, which should be the negligence of the staff, but the tired British thought took advantage of it and slipped out along the gap in the windowsill.

He is so close to the window that he can hear the birds singing in the garden outside. The sun is already very weak, leaving only a breeze blowing through my ears and smelling of flowers.

At first, he simply felt that the taste was familiar, so that England finally began to think about things outside this meeting.

About a weekend a few months ago, he stood in the kitchen waiting for the hot water in the teapot to boil, without even changing his pajamas. Suddenly the bell rang outside the hall. Arthur paused, turned off the fire and dried the water stains on his hands on the hanging cloth towel.

He went to the porch and opened the door, but to his surprise, it was Alfred standing at the door.

The other party looked dusty, and Arthur subconsciously looked behind him, without any luggage. He descended from the sky like a so-called hero, wearing a light spring dress.

Alfred also looked him up and down. Americans put their hands in their jacket pockets and raise their eyebrows ... wow. Well, you look ... "He touched the tip of his nose. "I didn't expect-am I bothering you?"

Arthur kept the door open, quickly glanced back at the wall clock on the living room wall, then turned to him and said, "It's seven o'clock in the morning."

He looked at Alfred and said slowly, "I hope you are really in a hurry."

The blond young man smiled and shrugged at Arthur.

"-maybe I'm just passing by, really." He said, "Can I come in? I want a cup of hot tea. "

He is always good at convincing himself with this set, and Arthur knows it well. But the British finally made a compromise. He sideways made room for a person to pass through and let Alfred squeeze in smoothly.

Alfred changed his shoes on the porch, while Arthur went to the kitchen to look after his teapot. After all, Alfred is not a "guest" who needs to entertain himself-he knows Arthur's house like the back of his hand.

From the corner of his eye, the Englishman saw Alfred walking around in his small living room, caring about the carpets, fireplaces and paintings on the walls in this room with hypocrisy and interest, as if it were the first time he had seen them. At this time, he was parked on the windowsill, and suddenly he seemed interested in the scenery there-just because he could see the small garden behind Arthur Kirkland's house from the window.

Sure enough, half a minute later, Arthur heard Alfred call him.

"Do you need free watering service?" Alfred shouted at him that he had put the watering can on the windowsill.

Arthur Kirkland put sugar cubes and tea bags into two brand-new white bone China cups and replied without looking up, "No, you can sit in the living room."

But obviously, Alfred didn't care about his answer. When Arthur walked out of the kitchen with two cups of hot tea, Alfred had already left the house.

Arthur put the cup of tea belonging to Americans on a small round table covered with a plaid tablecloth and walked to the position where Alfred had just stood. Through the glass, he immediately saw each other's back. Alfred stood among the little roses, slightly bent, and was absorbed in operating the kettle with one hand.

England certainly wouldn't believe that he was really just passing by. After all, now everyone doesn't know that the United States is one of the busiest countries in the world. How can it pass by his window on such a dark morning?

Only occasionally when he looked at Alfred and his blue eyes did England feel that something had changed, and he could see it. How could he not understand? Alfred's visits to himself increased last year. Although he habitually tells some nonsense jokes loudly as usual and scolds and complains about every British humor that he doesn't think is funny at all, in fact, everything seems to be deliberately flawed.

Sometimes, Arthur Kirkland felt that he was forced to play an endless human game with Alfred. This room is like a tangible game rule for him and America. They will do what all loving couples here do, making tea, eating, chatting and watching TV. Alfred would kiss his lips hard, or put his head on his lap, then pull him down and press Arthur on the sofa.

He never asked Alfred what he had done in England before he came to his home. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know anything It's just that once America and he set foot here, the game must start; And when they turn around and leave, everything will end temporarily.

It was they who worked out the rules of the game together. So even if no one really says it, they always put it into action tacitly. It is strange that they always have such a tacit understanding.

England never thought about what would happen if this rule was broken. He suspects that there is no such thing in America, because they have already started having sex before trying to think.

So Alfred really worked in Arthur's backyard all morning, watering flowers and weeding, and finally even helped him repair the old fence that Arthur had never had time to deal with.

"Do you have blue paint?" Alfred suddenly asked when he was sitting at the table. He crossed his legs at random, but his eyes rolled back and forth with Arthur Kirkland holding the plate. "Next time I want to paint the fence blue. It may match your blind. "

Arthur was noncommittal, as if the garden mentioned by Alfred did not belong to him. The man with green eyes put the disc full of food on the mat in front of Alfred, and then went across to him and sat down.

The American picked up a piece of beef with a silver fork, looked at the slightly black part at the bottom and asked knowingly, "I hope you added cinnamon for helping you work all morning."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Forget it, I never take care of uninvited guests."

Alfred gave a vague grunt at once, and then began to bury himself in lunch.

Generally speaking, Alfred is the active party in their relationship. When Americans stop talking, the air between them will calm down immediately.

Arthur stared at the same food on his plate and seldom knew what he was thinking.

After about five minutes, before the air was really completely quiet, the Englishman suddenly said, "I received an email."

Alfred stopped chewing. But he didn't answer the phone.

There was no special expression on Arthur's face, as if he were just talking about Mamai sauce and continuing to stir the beans on his plate with a fork. He waited for a while and saw that Alfred didn't respond before continuing: "You have been in Europe these days."

"Your information is correct," Alfred looked at him, but Arthur didn't recognize his attitude. "Then what?"

So he was silent for a while, as if making a final balance.

"For what, America?" He finally asked.

"-is it just to see those people holding banners here hand in hand?"

Arthur's ending was interrupted by a harsh noise. Alfred's knife and fork were smashed into white plates by him.

The Englishman immediately stopped talking.

They just sat opposite each other at the two ends of the table. Alfred looked at him while Arthur looked at his knife.

Arthur thought Alfred would get mad, jumped up and accused him of crossing the line foolishly, or at least slammed the door angrily. Because he broke the rules of their game and added a handful of dry wood to their precarious balance.

But to his surprise, Alfred did nothing, as if the rude noise just now was really just a small mistake.

They were so silent for a few minutes. Alfred picked up the tableware and ate the last few potatoes. Then he stood up with the plate, bypassed Arthur Kirkland, who was still sitting motionless, and put the dirty plate in the kitchen sink. Then he leaned out of the kitchen door frame and said to the Englishman, "I didn't bring a change of clothes."

That night, Alfred stayed at Arthur's home in London. Arthur didn't say anything, but acquiesced to lie on the soft mattress in the master bedroom as usual, and then hugged himself from behind like a giant koala.

Alfred put his chin against the slight depression of the scapula between Arthur's neck, and the warm snorts regularly fell on the sensitive skin. Americans didn't fall asleep until after midnight. Arthur turned his back on him until Alfred's breathing was completely calm, and then slowly and carefully turned around in his arms.

In the dark, there was only an ambiguous moonlight outside the curtains that were not taut. Arthur stared at his young face without glasses for a long time, and then slowly closed his eyes until dawn.

He has been suffering from insomnia for the past few weeks. Even the heavy work didn't make things better. Then that night, England had a rare dream. Dreams are not strange to him, but perhaps because of the sudden visit of the United States today, he dreamed about the grasslands of the New World for a long time.

In fact, when he pushed open the familiar wooden door again, Arthur realized that he was dreaming. But he walked softly to the only bed. In his memory, that little America curled up into a shrimp lying in the soft and fluffy bedding, and a humble robin embroidered somewhere under his pajamas.

His bed was filled with beautifully packaged gift boxes, large and small, and filled the whole room. Alfred was surrounded by them, but he had a handful of wild flowers picked from somewhere in his hand. ?

Is this a flower for me? Arthur wants to ask him this.

But he didn't want to wake the sleeping child, so he wanted to reach out and touch his golden hair scattered on the white pillow.

And when his fingertips were about to touch there, the Englishman suddenly woke up.

He lay flat on the big bed at home and looked at it with his eyes open for a long time, so long that he couldn't tell when it was a real dream until there was a faint fragrance of flowers around him.

England paused. He propped himself up on one elbow and sat down. A rose with morning dew lay beside his pillow, which was hastily broken from his small garden.

Alfred has already left.

When the other negotiator was reading the document in his hand, the secretary around Arthur Kirkland seemed to notice his absentmindedness, so he turned slightly gently and whispered to him, "Sir," he said, "What happened?"

Arthur shook his head, rubbed his right hand on the white cup handle, and then answered him in the same light tone: "It's October," he said. "Fortunately, today is the last day."

The meeting lasted much shorter than they expected, and the documents on the desk in front of Arthur were never opened.

After the meeting, Arthur unbuttoned his suit jacket, hung it on the living room hanger prepared by the United States, and then dialed the lady in Britain with their phone. They greeted each other and then briefly exchanged the results of the meeting.

"Actually, this is the answer we were expecting," the lady on the other end of the phone told him. "Isn't it?"

Arthur put his other hand in his trousers pocket and looked out of the window at Pennsylvania Avenue from the third floor. "It can't be worse anyway." He played a humorous joke.

"Maybe when you come back, we can talk about it in detail."

Arthur answered the phone, replaced the receiver with a hand, raised his wrist and glanced at his watch ... I might stay for one night, or two nights. At the latest 15. "

"I'll do it as soon as possible." He said yes.

Then, he heard the lady on the other end of the phone smile in a low voice: "I have no doubt."

Arthur Kirkland was relieved and sincerely thanked each other for their rare thoughtfulness and frankness.

Hardly had he hung up the phone when he was interrupted by the secretary's knock at the door. Arthur Kirkland beckoned him in, and the secretary came in and handed him a golden invitation.

"The dinner downstairs has already started." He said this.

Arthur waved at him: "I'm going out."

The secretary showed a surprised expression. Before he remembered to ask questions, England took out a car key from his trouser pocket and threw it to him from a distance.

The secretary caught off guard and caught it with both hands. Before she could ask a question, she heard the voice of England say, "It's all yours."

"You can drive around the city or flirt in bars," Arthur said. "The streets and people here are beautiful, aren't they?"

The secretary was helpless: "You know I won't do that, sir."

England looks like a rare person who is amused. He leaned back on the sofa and relaxed his hands. "I'm just kidding. Seriously, you can do whatever you want. Just make sure it stays where it belongs before nine o'clock tomorrow morning. "

He casually took off his coat and put it on. As he passed the secretary, he reached out and patted the young man on the shoulder. "Leave me alone and go to your own American night." I'm just getting some air. "

The secretary couldn't stop him, so he looked back at England, opened the door handle inside the living room, and suddenly said, "You had a new phone call half an hour ago."

Arthur Kirkland paused. After a long time, he said, "I see."

"Do you need to call him back now?" The secretary's expression looks hesitant.

"... no, no," England turned his back on him, so he couldn't see the expression clearly. "Not bad for the time being. Go ahead. "

He went downstairs through the passage, left the gate and turned to the street outside the white building. The night wind, which lost the sunshine temperature during the day, gradually penetrated into the bones from the skin texture. Arthur buried his chin in the erect trench coat collar and walked slowly forward.

Arthur Kirkland made way for the oncoming elderly tramp, and then continued to turn into an unknown fork in the road along the street lamp.

He is unwilling to admit that he is easily trapped in the past, and England usually shows great disdain for such accusations. But recently, he always thinks of something he thinks he has forgotten for a long time. His brain seems to be frozen, like an old clock in disrepair. Every time he moves, the meshing gears will moan///sing. He wrote all this in his diary, but because everything was related to only one person, when Alfred's name appeared on a piece of paper for the third time, Arthur felt that he should not go on like this.

Alfred F. Jones didn't come to attend today's meeting.

Not only today, but in fact Alfred has not attended any seminars on this topic.

Today, Arthur Kirkland still has hope. But Alfred's absence made him realize again that maybe he was the only one who was really unprepared.