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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Epilogue
I helped Meg into the boat. It wobbled, but I quick-stepped to the middle, got it righted in time.
As she found a seat in the stern, I took up the oars1. They didn’t work.
We’re stuck.
The thick mud of the shallows had us in its grip.
Uncle Charles came down to the water’s edge, gave us a little shove. We waved to him, and to
my two aunts. Bye. See you in a bit.
Gliding2 across the pond, I gazed around at Althorp’s rolling fields and ancient trees, the
thousands of green acres where my mother grew up, and where, though things weren’t perfect,
she’d known some peace.
Minutes later we reached the island and gingerly stepped onto the shore. I led Meg up the path,
around a hedge, through the labyrinth3. There it was, looming4: the grayish white oval stone.
No visit to this place was ever easy, but this one…
Twenty-fifth anniversary.
And Meg’s first time.
At long last I was bringing the girl of my dreams home to meet mum.
We hesitated, hugging, and then I went first. I placed flowers on the grave. Meg gave me a
moment, and I spoke5 to my mother in my head, told her I missed her, asked her for guidance and
clarity.
Feeling that Meg might also want a moment, I went around the hedge, scanned the pond.
When I came back, Meg was kneeling, eyes shut, palms against the stone.
I asked, as we walked back to the boat, what she’d prayed for.
Clarity, she said. And guidance.
—
The next few days were given over to a whirlwind work trip. Manchester, Dusseldorf, then back to
London for the WellChild Awards. But that day—September 8, 2022—a call came in around
lunchtime.
Unknown number.
Hello?
It was Pa. Granny’s health had taken a turn.
She was up at Balmoral, of course. Those beautiful, melancholy6 late-summer days. He hung
up—he had many other calls to make—and I immediately texted Willy to ask whether he and Kate
were flying up. If so, when? And how?
No response. Meg and I looked at flight options.
The press started phoning; we couldn’t delay a decision any longer. We told our team to
confirm: We’d be missing the WellChild Awards and hurrying up to Scotland.
Then came another call from Pa.
He said I was welcome at Balmoral, but he didn’t want…her. He started to lay out his reason,
which was nonsensical, and disrespectful, and I wasn’t having it. Don’t ever speak about my wife
that way.
He stammered7, apologetic, saying he simply didn’t want a lot of people around. No other
wives were coming, Kate wasn’t coming, he said, therefore Meg shouldn’t.
Then that’s all you needed to say.
By now it was midafternoon; no more commercial flights that day to Aberdeen. And I still had
no response from Willy. My only option, therefore, was a charter out of Luton.
I was on board two hours later.
I spent much of the flight staring at the clouds, replaying the last time I’d spoken with Granny.
Four days earlier, long chat on the phone. We’d touched on many topics. Her health, of course.
The turmoil8 at Number 10. The Braemar Games—she was sorry about not being well enough to
attend. We talked also about the biblical drought. The lawn at Frogmore, where Meg and I were
staying, was in terrible shape. Looks like the top of my head, Granny! Balding and brown in
patches.
She laughed.
I told her to take care, I looked forward to seeing her soon.
As the plane began its descent, my phone lit up. A text from Meg. Call me the moment you get
this.
I checked the BBC website.
Granny was gone.
Pa was King.
I put on my black tie, walked off the plane into a thick mist, sped in a borrowed car to
Balmoral. As I pulled through the front gates it was wetter, and pitch-dark, which made the white
flashes from the dozens of cameras that much more blinding.
Hunched9 against the cold, I hurried into the foyer. Aunt Anne was there to greet me.
I hugged her. Where’s Pa and Willy? And Camilla?
Gone to Birkhall, she said.
She asked if I wanted to see Granny.
Yes…I do.
She led me upstairs, to Granny’s bedroom. I braced10 myself, went in. The room was dimly lit,
unfamiliar—I’d been inside it only once in my life. I moved ahead uncertainly, and there she was.
I stood, frozen, staring. I stared and stared. It was difficult, but I kept on, thinking how I’d
regretted not seeing my mother at the end. Years of lamenting11 that lack of proof, postponing12 my
grief for want of proof. Now I thought: Proof. Careful what you wish for.
I whispered to her that I hoped she was happy, that I hoped she was with Grandpa. I said that I
was in awe13 of her carrying out her duties to the last. The Jubilee14, the welcoming of a new prime
minister. On her ninetieth birthday my father had given a touching15 tribute, quoting Shakespeare on
Elizabeth I:
…no day without a deed to crown it.
Ever true.
I left the room, went back along the corridor, across the tartan carpet, past the statue of Queen
Victoria. Your Majesty16. I rang Meg, told her I’d made it, that I was OK, then walked into the
sitting room and ate dinner with most of my family, though still no Pa, Willy, or Camilla.
Towards the end of the meal, I braced myself for the bagpipes17. But out of respect for Granny
there was nothing. An eerie18 silence.
The hour getting late, everyone drifted off to their rooms, except me. I went on a wander, up
and down the stairs, the halls, ending up at the nursery. The old- fashioned basins, the tub,
everything the same as it had been twenty-five years ago. I passed most of the night time-traveling
in my thoughts while trying to make actual travel arrangements on my phone.
The quickest way back would’ve been a lift with Pa or Willy…Barring that, it was British
Airways19, departing Balmoral at daybreak. I bought a seat and was among the first to board.
Soon after settling into a front row, I sensed a presence on my right. Deepest sympathies, said
a fellow passenger before heading down the aisle20.
Thank you.
Moments later, another presence.
Thanks…very much.
Most passengers stopped to offer a kind word, and I felt a deep kinship with them all.
Our country, I thought.
Our Queen.
—
Meg greeted me at the front door of Frogmore with a long embrace, which I desperately22 needed.
We sat down with a glass of water and a calendar. Our quick trip would now be an odyssey23.
Another ten days, at least. Difficult days at that. More, we’d have to be away from the children for
longer than we’d planned, longer than we’d ever been.
When the funeral finally took place, Willy and I, barely exchanging a word, took our familiar
places, set off on our familiar journey, behind yet another coffin24 draped in the Royal Standard,
sitting atop another horse-pulled gun carriage. Same route, same sights—though this time, unlike
at previous funerals, we were shoulder to shoulder. Also, music was playing.
When we got to St. George’s Chapel25, amid the roar of dozens of bagpipes, I thought of all the
big occasions I’d experienced under that roof. Grandpa’s farewell, my wedding. Even the ordinary
times, simple Easter Sundays, felt especially poignant26, the whole family alive and together.
Suddenly I was wiping my eyes.
Why now? I wondered. Why?
The following afternoon Meg and I left for America.
—
For days and days we couldn’t stop hugging the children, couldn’t let them out of our sight—
though I also couldn’t stop picturing them with Granny. The final visit. Archie making deep,
chivalrous27 bows, his baby sister Lilibet cuddling the monarch’s shins. Sweetest children, Granny
said, sounding bemused. She’d expected them to be a bit more…American, I think? Meaning, in
her mind, more rambunctious28.
Now, while overjoyed to be home again, doing drop-offs again, reading Giraffes Can’t Dance
again, I couldn’t stop…remembering. Day and night, images flitted through my mind.
Standing29 before her during my passing-out parade, shoulders thrown back, catching30 her half
smile. Stationed beside her on the balcony, saying something that caught her off guard and made
her, despite the solemnity of the occasion, laugh out loud. Leaning into her ear, so many times,
smelling her perfume as I whispered a joke. Kissing both cheeks at one public event, just recently,
placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, feeling how frail31 she was becoming. Making a silly video
for the first Invictus Games, discovering that she was a natural comedienne. People around the
world howled, and said they’d never suspected she possessed32 such a wicked sense of humor—but
she did, she always did! That was one of our little secrets. In fact, in every photo of us, whenever
we’re exchanging a glance, making solid eye contact, it’s clear: We had secrets.
Special relationship, that’s what they said about us, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about the
specialness that would no longer be. The visits that wouldn’t take place.
Ah well, I told myself, that’s just the deal, isn’t it? That’s life.
Still, as with so many partings, I just wished there’d been…one more goodbye.
Soon after our return, a hummingbird33 got into the house. I had a devil of a time guiding it out,
and the thought occurred that maybe we should start shutting the doors, despite those heavenly
ocean breezes.
Then a mate said: Could be a sign, you know?
Some cultures see hummingbirds34 as spirits, he said. Visitors, as it were. Aztecs thought them
reincarnated35 warriors36. Spanish explorers called them “resurrection birds.”
You don’t say?
I did some reading and learned that not only are hummingbirds visitors, they’re voyagers. The
lightest birds on the planet, and the fastest, they travel vast distances—from Mexican winter
homes to Alaskan nesting grounds. Whenever you see a hummingbird, what you’re actually seeing
is a tiny, glittering Odysseus.
So, naturally, when this hummingbird arrived, and swooped37 around our kitchen, and flitted
through the sacred airspace we call Lili Land, where we’ve set the baby’s playpen with all her toys
and stuffed animals, I thought hopefully, greedily, foolishly:
Is our house a detour—or a destination?
For half a second I was tempted38 to let the hummingbird be. Let it stay.
But no.
Gently I used Archie’s fishing net to scoop39 it from the ceiling, carry it outside.
Its legs felt like eyelashes, its wings like flower petals40.
With cupped palms I set the hummingbird gently on a wall in the sun.
Goodbye, my friend.
But it just lay there.
Motionless.
No, I thought. No, not that.
Come on, come on.
You’re free.
Fly away.
And then, against all odds41, and all expectations, that wonderful, magical little creature
bestirred itself, and did just that.
1 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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2 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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3 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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4 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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5 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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6 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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7 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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9 hunched | |
(常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦)耸肩弓身的,伏首前倾的 | |
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10 braced | |
adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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11 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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12 postponing | |
v.延期,推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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13 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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14 jubilee | |
n.周年纪念;欢乐 | |
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15 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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16 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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17 bagpipes | |
n.风笛;风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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18 eerie | |
adj.怪诞的;奇异的;可怕的;胆怯的 | |
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19 AIRWAYS | |
航空公司 | |
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20 aisle | |
n.(教堂、教室、戏院等里的)过道,通道 | |
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21 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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22 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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23 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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24 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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25 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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26 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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27 chivalrous | |
adj.武士精神的;对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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28 rambunctious | |
adj.喧闹的;粗鲁的 | |
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29 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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30 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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31 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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32 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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33 hummingbird | |
n.蜂鸟 | |
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34 hummingbirds | |
n.蜂鸟( hummingbird的名词复数 ) | |
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35 reincarnated | |
v.赋予新形体,使转世化身( reincarnate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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37 swooped | |
俯冲,猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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39 scoop | |
n.铲子,舀取,独家新闻;v.汲取,舀取,抢先登出 | |
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40 petals | |
n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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41 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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