And I always dreamed, rather stupidly, that one day I would bowl at Lord’s. He looked around him at the panicstricken throng. No one was going to mind very much. OK, said Ford wearily. Get it over with. I shall be over there, he added, being bored. He went and sat down on a patch of smoking grass. Arthur remembered that on their first visit there that afternoon, the cricket ball had actually landed in his bag, and he looked through the bag. He had already found the ball in it before he remembered that it wasn’t the same bag that he’d had at the time. Still, there the ball was amongst his souvenirs of Greece. He took it out and polished it against his hip, spat on it and polished it again. He put the bag down. He was going to do this properly. He tossed the small hard red ball from hand to hand, feeling its weight. With a wonderful feeling of lightness and unconcern, he trotted off away from the wicket. A medium-fast pace, he decided, and measured a good long run-up. He looked up into the sky. The birds were wheeling about it, a few white clouds scudded across it. The air was disturbed with the sounds of police and ambulance sirens, and people screaming and yelling, but he felt curiously happy and untouched by it all. He was going to bowl a ball at Lord’s. He turned and pawed a couple of times at the ground with his bedroom slippers. He squared his shoulders, tossed the ball in the air and caught it again. He started to run. As he ran, he saw that standing at the wicket was a batsman. Oh, good, he thought, that should add a little… “而我常常想——很傻地想，要是有一天能在羅德板球場投球，該有多好啊。” 他看看周圍混亂的人羣，估計沒人會在意的。 “OK。”福特覺得很疲憊，“快去快回。我就在那兒等着，”他補充道，“無聊地等着。”他走開去坐在一塊冒煙的草皮上。 阿瑟還記得，今天下午第一次過來的時候，有顆板球恰好落到他的包裏。他伸手進去找。 還沒想起這其實不是那個包，他就已經把球握在手上了。這顆球，就安靜地躺在一堆希臘紀念品中間。 他掏出球來，在屁股上蹭了蹭，吐上一點唾沫，又蹭了蹭。他放下旅行包。他要好好投。 他用兩隻手將板球拋來拋去，感受着它的質感 輕鬆愉快，感覺棒極了。他朝球門相反的方向一路小跑。距離要適中，他想。他來到了恰當的位置。 他擡頭望天。空中有小鳥飛翔，輕雲疾掠。本來還有警察的吼聲、急救車的警笛、人們的尖叫和哭喊，但他是那麼的快樂，所以全然不爲所動。他就要再羅德球場上投球了。 他轉過身來，穿着他的拖鞋在地上劃拉兩下。他挺挺胸，把球拋向空中，又接住。 他起跑了。 他一邊跑，一邊發現三柱門邊站着一位擊球手。 噢，不錯嘛。他想，這就更……
