The Everlasting Read Online Free PDF

hurries out after his grandfather, and it takes until they’re through the gate and out onto the village street before the old man speaks again.
    â€œThe day’s wasting away, boy, and you’re letting it pass you by. Sleeping in the day! I’m over seventy, and I still don’t have an afternoon nap! So what are you, Scotty? A young baby who needs a couple of hours tosee him through to bedtime? Or an old man recharging his batteries and waiting for the next meal to tick away another part of his life?”
    â€œNeither,” Scott says. It’s a familiar speech, a familiar game.
    Papa stops and leans close. “You sleep, and things might pass you by. You’ll miss things. And some things are too valuable to miss. You know?” He nudges Scott in the ribs and laughs, eyes twinkling like those of a man fifty years younger.
    They walk along the street until they reach the wide gate into the field. Across the field, past the old lightning-struck oak, the edge of the wood beckons with the promise of cool shadows and more stories from Papa. Scott never tires of these excursions, and any sleep residue has already been burned away by the sun. He’s excited, and he already knows what he’s going to ask Papa to talk about today.
    â€œSo, the war,” Scott says, and Papa grows quiet, and all the weight of his years presses him down toward the ground. He looks at his grandson and smiles a sad, lost smile. For a second it’s as though he died in the war, and this thing before Scott is the ghost of the man he used to be.
    Here the memory usually ends, fading away as the two of them step out into the field. But this time the memory goes on and Scott is living it, not merely observing. Before it was like watching a movie, but now he’s playing the lead role.
    â€œYou don’t want to know about the war,” Papa says.
    â€œI do.”
    â€œI’ve told you everything there is to tell, three times over.” They’re passing the old oak tree now, and Papa pauses to catch his breath. He leans against the side of the tree that is still sprouting.
    â€œBut there’s more,” Scott says. “I know there is. There has to be.”
    â€œAnd why does there have to be?”
    â€œThere’s always more with you, Papa.” Scott smiles, and revels in the smile his grandfather sends in return.
    â€œI only hope you never have to go through the things I did,” Papa says, and then he is telling Scott about his time in Africa fighting Rommel. It’s a familiar story, but Scott is content to let it flow because he senses that something else is coming. Papa is telling the story faster than usual, for a start. Almost as though he’s keen to move past the battles and death to reach somewhere else.
    They arrive at the edge of the woods, climb the stile, and enter the shadows with a grateful sigh. The heat is nowhere near as bad in here. Sunlight probes through the tree canopy and speckles the ground, and Scott tries to step only on shadows.
    Papa leads the way, taking a different route from normal and heading beneath the pine trees. Wood ants’ nests rise here and there from the forest floor, some of them as high as Scott’s waist, and he can see the creepy movement of thousands of ants as theywalk by. Sometimes when there’s no breeze he can stand still and hear the movement of countless ants over fallen leaves and pine needles. On those occasions it’s almost as if the whole forest is alive, and he is a living invader allowed passage through from one side to the other. He often wonders what would happen were he to abuse that permission.
    They come to a clearing where there’s a fallen tree. Papa brushes the tree off and sits, sighing as he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He has told Scott about the Battle of El Alamein, the devastation at Tobruk, and now he has fallen silent. But Scott knows that there is more to say.
    The