（外文电子版资料）Terry Bisson - England Underway.pdfVIP

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Terry%20Bisson%20-%20England%20Underway.txt England Underway a short story by Terry Bisson Mr. Fox was, he realized afterward, with a shudder of sudden recognition like that of the man who gives a cup of water to a stranger and finds out hours, or even years later, that it was Napoleon, perhaps the first to notice. Perhaps. At least no one else in Brighton seemed to be looking at the sea that day. He was taking his constitutional on the Boardwalk, thinking of Lizzie Eustace and her diamonds, the people in novels becoming increasingly more real to him as the people in the everyday (or real) world grew more remote, when he noticed that the waves seemed funny. Look, he said to Anthony, who accompanied him everywhere, which was not far, his customary world being circumscribed by the Boardwalk to the south, Mrs. Oldenshields to the east, the cricket grounds to the north, and the Pig Thistle, where he kept a room--or more precisely, a room kept him, and had since 1956--to the west. Woof? said Anthony, in what might have been a quizzical tone. The waves, said Mr. Fox. They seem--well, odd, dont they? Closer together? Woof. Well, perhaps not. Could be just my imagination. Fact is, waves had always looked odd to Mr. Fox. Odd and tiresome and sinister. He enjoyed the Boardwalk but he never walked on the beach proper, not only because he disliked the shifty quality of the sand but because of the waves with their ceaseless back and forth. He didnt understand why the sea had to toss about so. Rivers didnt make all that fuss, and they were actually going somewhere. The movement of the waves seemed to suggest that something was stirring things up, just beyond the horizon. Which was what Mr. Fox had always suspected in his heart; which wa