The call floated close at hand, and it sounded very urgent. It was so urgent that Dominic thought he would be slapped twice if he didn't respond.
The double image flickers in front of my eyes, like dark paint poured into a drainage ditch, pulled into a circular arc by the water flow, rotating with the vortex background, and sucked into the dark core in the middle.
The voice also became slow, elongated and deformed. His dry lips opened and closed slightly, and it was also difficult to hear what was said, and it was even difficult to determine whether he was making a sound.
Then came the pain. The skull seemed to be as big as a prayer hall, and it took a while for the most intense physical sensation to flow from the back of the head to the forehead, buzzing like an echo in the empty consciousness.
The cold touch on the side of the neck was gratifying. My companion’s first reaction was to check the pulse rather than physically wake him up. The first aid course was not in vain.
Fortunately, the pulse of the arteries was quite obvious. Even if Field's touch position was a lot off in a hurry, he could still feel the strong and frightening blood flow coming from the heart. Every pulse was like the last struggle before falling into the abyss.
This is not kind to blood vessels, but it is very good for the chest - successfully avoiding the fate of several ribs being broken on uneven ground.
Dominic could feel the chaotic footsteps around him, and his body was lifted up and brought to the bright outdoors, away from the dark and rotating confined space.
The drum-like heartbeat was still pounding the eardrums. Vision calmed down first, followed by hearing and position perception.
Field shook three fingers in front of his eyes and said a random number until the guy started to panic before he changed his words.
Even more panicked than Field was the owner of the house. He dropped the half-woven rattan basket and stood beside it helplessly, frightened by the unexpected situation.
The moment Dominic fell, a thousand serious consequences of a priest dying in his own home may have flashed through his mind. He stumbled and prayed to Heavenly Father, asking the almighty Lord to show up and save his life, or at least leave him alone.
tone.
Although I don’t know if the Lord heard it, Dominic did. A few words were repeated over and over again and were most commonly taught to ordinary believers. It seems that in the years when the monastery was vacant, traces of faith were still passed down.
"It's okay, just let me take a rest." Dominic sat up against the wall and comforted Little John, who was about to kneel down and beg him not to die, "It's just dizziness, it's not your fault."
The feeling came and went quickly. Poor health and missed breakfast were more likely to be the culprits than the influence of the roof design and the unique style of hand-woven fabrics.
Some people may interpret physical discomfort as some kind of evil spirit, but the monks in Dunling have always scorned it. The orthodox view does not deny the existence of evil spirits and devil intrusions, but it also emphasizes that it is an extremely special and low-probability event and should not be considered as such.
Ignoring the prevalence of diseases caused by eating disorders, environmental sanitation and other causes.
"It's funny. You may not believe it. I'm usually in good health, but I haven't been able to adapt to it since I came here."
After this experience, the distance between the two sides seemed to be getting closer. Little John moved a homemade cushion and let the two monks sit down in the sunny place in front of the house to rest for a while.
Once again, Dominic noticed the weaving method, which is almost everywhere in the works of basket makers. It has good adaptability and can be cleverly twisted into various extended shapes with slight adjustments.
"It's really good. Even in Dunling, I haven't seen anything better than this."
Although he didn't know where Dunling was, it didn't prevent Little John from hearing that this was a compliment to his craftsmanship. It was very helpful to be recognized by the monks, but he still had to appear humble:
"Actually, many people are good at it, but my father is better at it, and he taught me how to do it."
"That's more than just one thing. Your father must also be an excellent basket maker." Dominic handed the pendant that he had not given away to the other party, and moved the cushion closer to him, sitting down side by side like a friend.
Family craftsmanship is a good option to open up the topic, and it is also suitable to extend to the parents.
"Can you tell us something about him, such as how he inherited the family craftsmanship? The brothers in the previous monastery must also like his works. Have you ever asked him to help weave the flower baskets for sacrifices?"
"Well, it actually started with my father. Our family is dedicated to this. Grandpa still wants him to concentrate on farming. I remember they had a few quarrels over this matter, but not much after I was ten years old."
"Your father convinced him?"
"Father convinced him with his craftsmanship." The corners of Little John's lips pursed unconsciously, which seemed to be a trace of envy, the pure envy of craftsmen for those with better talents, "He can always do the same thing better."
"My grandfather only taught me how to make hats and baskets. But one day, he took out the basket, and then cushions, stools... and even the roof."
"A genius." Field exclaimed in admiration. When a person like this studies for a bachelor's degree, he certainly doesn't have to worry about not being able to write innovative points in his lecture notes.
It is a pity that he was born a few years too early and missed the peak period of the development of the church. The world lost a promising scholar and gained a gifted basket maker.
"I'm so glad his skills are being carried on."
"Actually, I didn't inherit all of my father's craftsmanship. At most, I was better than my grandfather." Little John's pursed lips drooped, regret and unhappiness flashed alternately.
"He left too early, and he didn't have time to teach him too many things. He also caused a lot of trouble to the family before his death..."
"Please have your condolences." Dominic stepped forward and held his hand. "Heavenly Father's love is broad. His service to the village during his lifetime will be remembered, and his soul must have ascended to heaven."
"well……"
The persuasion didn't work. When he mentioned ascending to heaven, the other party's expression became even darker.
Dominic and Field looked at each other, and something unexpected happened.
"If you have anything that is unspeakable, you might as well tell us. In the name of Heavenly Father, we will keep it a secret. All sins can be redeemed after sincere repentance."
When the time comes, the two of them tacitly agree to leave time and space to Little John, who is struggling in his heart.
Appropriate silence is more powerful than verbal questioning. It can be trust and tolerance, or it can be solemn and pressure.
The basket maker tightened his grip on the Holy Emblem Pendant, and in the silence he could hear the wooden wings rubbing against his metacarpal bones through his skin.
"There's something about my father that caused a lot of trouble at the time."
Dominic patted the back of this man who was much older than himself, like a father comforting a child who has made mistakes, encouraging him to continue talking. Some of the jobs that he had watched the priest do were mastering the work without a teacher in a short period of time.
"Will you keep it a secret?"
"In the name of our Heavenly Father."
After being reassured again, the man loosened his tight lip line:
"I wasn't sure at the time, but now that I think about it, he may have done something he shouldn't have done..."