A few days ago, British paleontologists discovered a new mysterious species of pterosaur from the fossils collected in the Segwick Museum in Cambridge and the Booth Museum in Brighton.
Paleontologists studied these fossils mainly to look for shark bones, and found that toothless pterosaur jaws similar to shark fin spines, but many subtle differences can distinguish them. They discovered two species of pterosaurs in their research, one of which is the ornithus pterosaur previously identified by scientists, and the other is this new species of pterosaur that has never been discovered, which is significantly different from other pterosaurs. Characteristics of pterosaurs.
he painter had peeked in the evening on his return from the city of his house and prowled attention with concern and listened if not a lighted window, a door going, a voice proclaiming him that his favorite was still sick and suffering. When he found everything quiet, calm and asleep, fear fell away from him like a heavy, wet dress, and gratefully he lay awake for a long time. And shortly before falling asleep late, he had to smile and wonder how little it takes to make a despondent heart happy. Everything that plagued and weighed down on him, the whole dull, gloomy burden of his life, became nothing, became light and insignificant next to the love concern for his child, and as soon as he saw this bad shadow disappear, everything seemed brighter and everything was bearable to him .
In a good mood he came into the house at an unusually early hour in the morning, found the little one still sleeping splendidly full of gratitude and took breakfast with his wife alone, because also Albert had not got up yet. It was the first time in years that Veraguth was here in the house and at Frau Adele’s table at this hour, and she watched him with almost suspicious astonishment as he asked for a cup of coffee in a friendly and cheerful mood, as if it were the most everyday thing like sharing their breakfast in the old days.
Finally he noticed the wait-and-see tension and the unfamiliar nature of the hour.
“I’m so glad,” he said in a voice that reminded his wife of better years. “I’m so glad that our little one seems to be all right again. Only now do I notice that I was seriously worried about him. ”
“Yeah, I didn’t like it yesterday,” she agreed.
He played with the silver coffee spoon and looked her almost mischievously in the eye, with a faint reflection of the suddenly erupting and never-lasting, boyish cheerfulness that she had once particularly loved about him and whose delicate radiance only Pierre had inherited from him.
“Yes,” he began cheerfully, “it’s really lucky. And now I’m finally getting around to talking to you about my latest plans. I mean, you should go to Sankt Moritz with the two boys in winter and stay there for a long time. ”
She looked down uncertainly.
“And you?” She asked. “Do you want to paint up there?”
“No, I won’t come with you. I will leave you all to your own devices for a while and travel. I want to leave in the fall and lock the studio. Robert gets a vacation. It is then entirely up to you whether you want to stay here on Roßhalde for the winter. I wouldn’t advise you to go to Geneva or Paris, and don’t forget Saint Moritz, Pierre will do well! ”
She opened her eyes to him, perplexed.
“You’re kidding,” she said in disbelief.
“Oh no,” he smiled half wistfully, “I’ve completely forgotten that. I mean it and you have to believe it. I want to go on a sea voyage and stay away for a long time. ”
“A sea voyage?”
She thought about it with an effort. His suggestions, his hints, his cheerful tone – everything was unfamiliar to her and made her suspicious. But suddenly the word “sea voyage” opened up an idea in her: she saw him board a ship, porters with suitcases after them, she remembered the pictures on the posters of the shipping companies and her own journeys in the Mediterranean, and in an instant you felt everything transparent.
“You are going with Burkhardt!” She shouted briskly.
He nodded. “Yes, I’m traveling with Otto.”
Both were silent for a while. Mrs. Adele was struck and foreshadowed the meaning of the news. Maybe he wanted to leave her and release her? In any case, it was a first serious attempt on this side, and she was shocked in her heart at how little turmoil, worry and hope she felt and how no joy at all. A new life might still be possible for him, but it wasn’t for her. She would have an easier time with Albert, and she would win Pierre, yes, but she would would be and remain an abandoned woman. She had imagined it a hundred times and it had looked like freedom and redemption; and today, when it seemed as if it could become reality, there was so much anxiety and shame and guilt that she gave up and was no longer able to wish. That should have come earlier, she felt, in times of hardship and storms, even before she had learned resignation. Now it came too late and useless, now it was nothing more than a line under things that had been done, it was only the conclusion and bitter confirmation of everything that was hidden, half-admitted, and there were no more sparks of new attraction in it.
Veraguth read his wife’s restrained face attentively, and he felt sorry for her.
“It’s supposed to be an attempt,” he said gently. “You should live together undisturbed for once, you and Albert – and Pierre too, let’s say for a year. I thought you would be comfortable, and it would certainly be quite good for the children. You both suffer a little from the fact that – – that we haven’t really come to terms with life. Even to ourselves everything will become clearer with a longer separation, don’t you think? ”
“It may be,” she said softly. “Your decision seems to have been made.”
“I’ve already written to Otto. It will not be easy for me to leave all of you for so long. ”
“From Pierre, you mean.”
“Especially from Pierre, yes. I know you will take good care of him. I cannot expect that you will speak to him much about me; but don’t let it go with him like it did with Albert! ”
She shook her head defensively.
“It wasn’t my fault, you know it.”
Carefully he put his hand on her shoulder, with awkward tenderness that had long been inexperienced.
“Oh, Adele, let’s not talk about guilt. It’s supposed to be all my fault. I want to try to make amends, nothing else. I just ask, don’t let me lose Pierre if you can! We are still connected through him. Make sure that his love for me is not made difficult for him. ”
She closed her eyes as if to protect herself against seduction.
“If you’ve been gone that long -” she said hesitantly. “He is a child -”
“Certainly. Let him stay a child! Let me forget him if there is no other way! But I think he is a pledge that I leave you, and I think I have to have a lot of trust to be able to leave it to you. ”
“I hear Albert coming,” she whispered quickly, “he will be there in a moment. We’re still talking about it. It’s not as easy as you think. You give me freedom, more than I ever had and ever wished for, and at the same time you impose a responsibility on me that takes away all impartiality! Let me still think about it. You probably didn’t make up your mind in an hour either, so let me have a little time too. ”
Steps could be heard outside the door and Albert came in.
He was amazed to see his father sitting there. He greeted unfree, kissed Frau Adele and sat down at the breakfast table.
“I have a surprise for you,” began Veraguth comfortably. “You can spend the autumn holidays with Mama and Pierre wherever you want, and also the Christmas season. I will be traveling for several months. ”
The youth could not hide his joy, but he tried hard and said eagerly: “Where do you want to go?”
“I do not exactly know yet. First of all, I’m going to India with Burkhardt. ”
“Oh, so far away! A school friend of mine was born there, I believe in Singapore. There are still tiger hunts. ”
“I hope yes. When I shoot one, of course, I bring the fur with me. But mainly I want to paint there. ”
“I can imagine. I read about a French painter who was somewhere in the tropics, on such an island in the South Pacific, I think – it must be wonderful. ”
“Not true? And by now you will be happy and play a lot of music and ski. But now I want to see what the little one is doing. Do not feel disturbed!”
He was out before anyone answered.
“Sometimes Papa is great after all,” said Albert in his joy. “I like this trip to India, it has style.”
His mother smiled hard. Her balance was disturbed and she had the feeling of sitting on a branch that was being sawn. But she was silent and brought together a friendly expression, she had practice in that.
The painter had gone to Pierre and sat down by his bed. Quietly he took out a slim sketchbook and began to draw the little sleeper’s head and arm. Without tormenting Pierre with meetings, he wanted to hold on to him as often and as best as possible and to memorize himself during this time. With tender attention he took care of the lovely shapes, the fall and the line of the delicate hair, the pretty, nervous nostrils, the thin, willlessly resting nostrils Hand and around the idiosyncratic classy line of the tightly closed mouth.
He seldom saw the boy in bed, and it was the first time that he had not seen him sleep with his lips parted like a child, and while observing the precocious, expressive mouth, he noticed the resemblance to his father’s mouth, Pierre’s grandfather, who a bold and imaginative, but passionately restless man, and while he looked and worked he was occupied with this meaningful play of nature with the features and fortunes of fathers, sons and grandchildren, and it touched him, who was not a thinker, with worry delicious riddles of consequence and necessity the soul.
And suddenly the sleeper opened his eyes and looked into the father’s, and again it struck the father how unchildly serious this look and this awakening was. He immediately put the pencil down and closed the little book, now he leaned over the awakened man, kissed his forehead and said cheerfully: “Good morning, Pierre. Is it getting better? ”
The little one smiled happily and began to stretch. Oh yes, it was better, it was much better. He slowly thought about it. Yes, yesterday he had been sick, he still felt the shadow of the ugly day threatening. But now it was much better, he just wanted to lie down a little longer and taste the warmth and calm gratitude of this state of affairs, then he would get up and have breakfast and go to the garden with Mama.
The father went to get mom. Pierre blinked at the window, where the bright, happy day shone through the yellowish curtains. It was now a day that promised something that smelled of all sorts of joys. How stale and cold and dull it was yesterday! He closed his eyes in order to forget that and felt the dear life stretch in his sleepy limbs.
And now his mother came, she brought him an egg and a cup of milk to his bed, and Papa promised him new colored pencils, and everyone was kind and tender and took pleasure in seeing him healthy again. It was almost like a birthday, and that the cake was missing, it didn’t do any harm, because he was still not really hungry.
Immediately after he was dressed in a fresh, blue summer suit, he went to Papa’s studio. He had forgotten the ugly dream of yesterday, but an echo of horror and suffering still trembled in his heart, and he now had to see and enjoy that really sun and love were around him.
The father measured the frame for his new picture and received it with joy. However, Pierre didn’t want to stay long, he just wanted to say hello and be loved a little. Then he had to go on, to the dog and to the pigeons, to Robert and into the kitchen, and had to greet everything again and take possession of it. Then he went into the garden with Mama and Albert, and it seemed to him a year had passed since he had lay here on the grass and cried. He didn’t like swings, but he put his hand on the swing board, he went to the bushes and flower beds, and a dark memory like from a previous life Waved at him as if he had once here alone, abandoned and strayed desolately among the flower beds. Now everything was light and alive again, the bees were singing and the air was easy and happy to breathe.
He was allowed to carry mother’s flower basket, they put carnations and large dahlia flowers in it, but next to it he made a special bouquet, which he wanted to bring to his father later.
When you came back into the house, he was tired. Albert offered to play with him, but Pierre wanted to rest a little first. He sat deep in Mother’s large wicker chair on the veranda, the bouquet for Papa still in his hand.
He felt pleasantly exhausted, he closed his eyes, turned towards the sun, and was pleased to see how the light shone red and warm through his eyelids. Then he looked down at his pretty, clean suit with satisfaction and stretched his shiny yellow shoes into the sunlight, alternating the right and the left. He thought it was nice to sit so quietly and somewhat dull in comfort and cleanliness, only the cloves smelled too strongly. He put it down and pushed it away from him on the table as far as his arm could reach. He had to put them in the water soon so that they would not wither before Father saw them.
He thought of him with unusual tenderness. How was it yesterday? He had visited him in the studio, and Papa had worked and had no time, and he was so alone and industrious and stood in front of his picture a little sad. So far he remembered everything exactly. But later? Hadn’t his father met him later in the garden? He tried to remember with an effort. Yes, Father had walked back and forth in the garden, alone and with a strange, painful face, and he had wanted to call him … How had that been? It was something terrible or gruesome that had happened yesterday, or what he’d heard about yesterday, and he couldn’t find it again.
Leaning back in the deep armchair, he followed his thoughts. The sun was yellow and warm on his knees, but the cheerfulness was slowly fading by him. He felt that his thoughts were getting closer and closer to that horror, and he felt that as soon as he had found it, it would again have power over him; it stood behind him and waited. Whenever his memory came close to that limit, an oppressive feeling like nausea and dizziness arose in him, and his head began to ache a little.
The carnations bothered him with their overpowering smell. They were lying on the sunny wicker table and were withering, and if he was going to give them to father, it was time now. But he didn’t like anymore, in fact he liked, but he was so tired and the light hurt his eyes. And above all, he had to think about what had happened yesterday. He felt that he was very close to it and only had to reach for it with his thoughts, but it always disappeared again and was gone.
The headache increased. Oh, why did that have to be? He had been so happy today!
Frau Adele called his name at the door and came in immediately. She looked at the flowers lying in the sun and wanted to send Pierre for water, then she looked at him and saw him hanging limp and sunken in the armchair, with big tears on his cheeks.
“Pierre, child, what is it? Are you not well? ”
He looked at her without moving and closed his eyes again.
“Speak up, heart, what are you missing? Do you want to go to bed? Do we want to play a game? Do you feel any pain?”
He shook his head and made a defensive face, as if she were molesting him.
“Leave me alone,” he said in a whisper.
And when she lifted him up and took him to her, he shouted, flaring up for a moment as if in anger, in a distorted high voice: “Leave me alone!”
Immediately afterwards his reluctance subsided, he slumped in her arms, and when she picked him up, he groaned weakly, lowered his pale face in pain, and shook himself in a fit of vomiting.