Chapter 5 Chapter Four False Memories of Childhood

When I was seven years old, my father decided that I should go to school.To do this, he had to use force and grabbed my hand.I made such a scene that all the merchants came out of the counter to watch us go by.My parents successfully taught me two things: knowing the letters of the alphabet and writing my name.But after a year of school, they found that they had completely forgotten the preliminary knowledge of those extremely limited education.I am not wrong.During the school year, the teacher came to the classroom just to sleep there.The teacher's name was Mr. Traydale, and he pronounced his name in Catalan, which sounded a bit like "fried eggs."He was a queer man, with a long white beard parted into two sharp points, so long that it hung down to his knees when he sat down.This creamy beard was constantly stained with tawny spots like those on the fingers of a smoker and, occasionally, on the keys of a piano, though the piano was not smoked. .

Mr. Traydale doesn't smoke either.This prevents him from sleeping.To make up for it, every time he briefly came to life, he produced a tobacco so vicious that it spewed his whole soul into a bandanna stained with color-stained spots.He rarely changed the handkerchief.Mr. Traydale resembles a Tolstoy mixed with Leonardo.His light blue eyes suggest endless dreams, and no doubt a great deal of poetry.He was poorly dressed, wearing a top hat that was extremely rare in the area, and he had a strong stench all over his body.However, his reputation as a smart man kept him out of harm's way.Every Sunday, from his excursions in the country, his car always came back laden with Gothic sculptures and capitals which he had lost or bought cheaply in churches.One day he found a Roman capital in one of the bell towers, which he liked so much that he managed to dismantle it at night.But he dug the wall so far that the bell tower collapsed and two clocks fell on a neighboring house.Chung smashed a hole in the roof, waking up the family and the entire village.All that Mr. Traildale had to do was make a hasty escape under the flying debris.If the inhabitants of Figueres were ever a little moved by him, the fact immediately became a credit to the teacher, and he was from then on regarded as a lover and devotion to art.The most positive result of these explorations was a very gaudy villa built on the outskirts of the town by Mr. Tridedale, in which he happily piled up all the treasures of the local loot.

The reason why my father chose for me a school with such a special teacher as Mr. Traydale was because he was a Catalan with a free mind and a Barcelona with a lot of emotion. son of José Anselmo Clavier, member of the chorus of José Anselmo Clavier, fanatic of the Friel case, who made it a matter of principle not to allow me to be taught by the monks; go.So he decided to send me to the municipal elementary school, which was seen as a real oddity.No one knew Mr. Traildale's teaching ability, because no one but the poor entrusted their children to him.And so I spent my first year at school with the poorest children in Figueres.This incident was of great importance to the development of my natural tendency towards megalomaniac.How could I, the child of a rich man, not think of myself as utterly special, precious, and graceful, among the rags-to-riches that surrounded me?I was the only one who carried around a thermos of hot chocolate, wrapped in a sleeve embroidered with my initials.At the slightest scrape, someone would wrap a clean white bandage on my knee or hand.I'm wearing a set of sailor fetch with a gold logo embroidered on the sleeve.My well-combed hair is always perfumed, and the kids take turns approaching me to smell my head.I was always the only one to show off my polished shoes and shiny silver buttons, and when I lost them my gang of beggars would fight over them.I don't play with them or talk to them, and they themselves treat me the same way, they just approach me distrustingly, to admire a flowered handkerchief or my new silver-tipped quilt up close. Bamboo walking stick.

What can I do for a year at this poor elementary school?I was quiet and alone, surrounded by children playing, fighting, shouting, crying, and laughing.I was too far away from them to be able to express in the slightest the need for such an action which excited them!I'd rather go head on.I forget one thing every day.I admire these clever, nimble-fingered troublemakers who can mend their pencil cases and make many figures out of a single sheet of origami.They knot and tie the straps of their cheap espadrilles so deftly, and I'll be shut up in my room all afternoon because I don't know how to turn the doorknob.I am disoriented in any house, even the most familiar ones.I've never been able to take off a navy shirt by myself, and on the rare occasion when I can't resist trying to do it myself, my sheer initiative threatens to smother me to death.All practical activity is my enemy, and every day the objects of the external world become more terrifying.

Mr. Traildale himself, getting closer and closer to a vegetable state, fell into a state of sleep and sleep.His dreams seemed to shake him at times, soft as reeds now, heavy as tree trunks.Those short waking moments enabled him to sniff snuff, sneeze, and pull blood from the ears of the little urchin who woke him up.So what am I going to do with this empty year?There's only one thing, and it's the one thing I'm persevering about, and that's creating some "false memories."The difference between true and false memories is similar to that of jewellery; the false ones appear more real and more glamorous.As early as this period I loved to recall with anxiety a sight which became my first false memory.I stared at a naked child who was being bathed.I don't care about the baby's sex, but I saw a bunch of ants crawling around in a hole the size of an orange on one of his buttocks.The kid was flipped over so he was on his back for a while, and I thought the ants would have been crushed.But when the child stood up again, I could no longer see the ants.That pit also disappeared.This false memory is extremely clear, though I cannot date it.

When I was seven or eight years old, I lived in dreams and myths.Later, I couldn't separate reality from imagination.My memory blends the true and the false into a single entity, which can only be distinguished by objective examination of certain events of the utmost absurdity.So when a memory of mine happened in Russia, I had no difficulty in classifying it as false, since I had never been there. Those first images of Russia were given to me by M. Traydale. The so-called study schedule is over, and our teacher sometimes takes me to his room.For a long time, this place has always been in my mind the most mysterious place among those places that retain a lot of my memories.The room in which Faust worked must have been similar to this eccentric one.On the shelves of a large bookcase, a mass of grotesque and mysterious objects alternated with thick, dusty volumes that aroused my rage and my love of fiction.Mr. Traydale seated me on his lap and stroked my delicate smooth chin clumsily, pinching it between thumb and forefinger, his stained and smelly hands as if sunburned. Crumpled like a warm, slightly rotten potato.

Mr. Traildale always started talking to me by saying, "Now I'm going to show you something you've never seen." So he went off and came back with a big rosary, and he just He could barely hang it over his shoulder, and he dragged it behind him, making a horrible noise.He added: "My wife (may God bless her!) begged me to bring her a rosary from my trip to the Holy Land. I bought her the largest rosary in the world, made from trees on the Mount of Olives. Chipped." Mr. Traydale smiled secretly. On another occasion, he produced a gleaming red statuette of Mephistopheles from a large mahogany box lined inside with garnet-red velvet, and ignited an ingenious contraption in the shape of a devil-wielding trident, a bouquet of fireworks. Ascended to the ceilingless ceiling, he held his white beard in the dark, admiring my admiration like a loving father.

In his room hangs from a thread a skinny frog, which he calls amepllhlla one moment, "my dancing girl" the next, and who likes to repeat that he can predict the weather just by looking at it The change.The frog's posture changes daily.I was terribly afraid of it, yet unable to resist the temptation that dominated me, I couldn't resist approaching this monster.In addition to the large rosary, the Mephistophele, and the frog barometer, Mr. Traydale's room contained a great many other things which I do not know. They may be instruments for physical experiments, but they are accurate and reasonable. Shapes scare me.The most beautiful attraction consists in a kind of visual drama, to which I owe the most powerful illusions of my childhood.I never understood exactly what it fits: in my memory, one seems to see this drama through a stereoscope or a small box that is sequentially dyed in all the shades of the rainbow.To the eye, the images appeared like clusters of dots illuminated from behind, their moving pictures reminiscent of dream-like phantasms born from the first sleep.Whatever the precision of my various memories on the part, it was in Mr. Traydale's visual drama that I first saw the shocking image of the Russian girl.I felt her in a white fur coat in the interior of a three-set carriage pursued by a pack of wolves with phosphorescent eyes.She stared at me with a frightening arrogance in her expression that weighed heavily on my heart.Her nostrils are as animated as her eyes, giving her the appearance of a critter in the woods.This liveliness contrasts with the rest of the face, giving her a harmonious feature similar to Raphael's Madonna, is it Gala?I'm sure it's Gala.

In Mr. Traydale's plays there are also scenes of Russian cities whose cupolas shone in the white-moving landscape, and I felt that my eyes "heard" the Under the snowflakes, all the precious flames of the East are crackling.The vision of this distant white country, combined with my need for something "absolutely strange," took on more and more weight and reality in me, finally bringing those weightless Jia The streets of Grasse were wiped out. It was snowing and I witnessed this view for the first time.I felt that Figueres and the surrounding countryside were wrapped in a perfect shroud.

I am not surprised, but intoxicated by the tranquility.I have seen the most beautiful events that follow in an incessantly active dream, and I only see them again when I relate them. About halfway through the morning, the snow stopped.I moved away from the frost-covered window; just now, in order not to miss a moment of this scene, I kept pressing my nose to the window.My mother took my sister and I for a walk.Walking on the snow, every step makes a sound, I feel like a miracle, someone else has stained the perfect white snow, I am sorry, I hope it is only mine. We go out of the city and the white becomes pure.Through a small forest, we came to a glade, and I stood motionless in front of this snow scene.But the main thing that stopped me was a small round brown object right in the middle of the clearing, a sycamore ball that must have cracked slightly when it fell, because from the way I saw it where I could make out a little bit of yellow fuzz inside it.The sun had chosen this moment to emerge from between the two clouds, illuminating the place all at once, and the sycamore ball cast a blue shadow on the snow, and the yellow down seemed to grow warm and alive.There were tears in my dazzled eyes.I approached it cautiously, picked up the bruised ball, kissed its wound tenderly, and said to my sister:

"I found a boru monkey, but I don't want to show you." I feel it moving in my handkerchief!An irresistible call led me to the "found spring," to which I insisted with my customary imperiousness on my walk.Not far from there, my mother met some friends, and she said to me: "Go play at the spring! But nothing will happen to you. I'll wait here." The friends made room for my mother on a stone bench that drained away the snow.But the stone was still damp, and I watched with utter disdain at the group who had the audacity to offer my mother such a seat with the finest comforts I can only imagine.I was relieved, however, by my mother's refusal to sit there on the pretext that she would be better able to supervise me standing up.So I went down those steps and turned to the found spring to the right.she is here!She herself, the Russian girl whom I saw in Mr. Traydale's marvelous play, is here.I called her Galuchika, a pet name for my wife, a title I trusted so deeply that the same female figure throughout my love life was forever associated with it.Galuch stuck here, facing me, sitting on a bench like she was in the sleigh.She seemed to have been watching me for a long time, and I was startled because my heart was beating so hard I was afraid I would spit it out.In my hand, the little ball under the handkerchief began to move like a living thing. Mother saw me coming back, noticed my distraught, and shouted to her friends: "Look at how capricious he is! He keeps asking us to go to the spring we've found, and now that we're here, he doesn't want to go there anymore." I replied that I forgot my handkerchief, and seeing her looking at the handkerchief I was holding in my hand, I hastily added: "I use this handkerchief to wrap my monkey, I have to have another snot handkerchief." Mother changed my snot with her handkerchief, and I set off again.But this time I took a detour and walked to the other side of the spring.This way, I was able to see the Kaluki card from behind without her noticing me.I had to go through a thicket of thorns, and my mother cried out again: "He must do something different from everyone else, the steps are too easy for him." I climbed to the top of a small hill, and in fact I Seeing the Garou card on the back, I was reassured that she was actually there, because I actually didn't think I'd be able to spot her in the field anymore.Her motionless back froze me, but I didn't back away. I knelt in the snow, hiding behind the trunk of an old olive tree.I believe in an infinite amount of time: in a state of utter emptiness without any feeling or thought, I became as dumb as the Bible describes.If my mind was empty, on the contrary, I saw and heard everything with great keenness.A man came to the spring and filled a jug of water, and I heard the splash of the overflowing jug.And so, the magic is over.Standstill time begins its course again.I stood up, feeling overwhelmed by all my timidity.My knees are so frozen I don't feel them anymore.It is impossible to know whether the lightness that intoxicated me came from the exposure of my love or from the numbness of my knees.I was seized by a definite thought: I was about to get close to Galuchika and throw my arms around her neck with all my strength; but instead of fulfilling this desire, I took a knife from my pocket and decided to take the sycamore ball All the broken parts are cut off, leaving only those fine hairs, and I will give it to Jialuqika. The adorable little girl was on her feet, and she ran to the spring to fill her little pitcher, and I hadn't cut it yet.I hastened to action, intending to leave her my present as it was in a newspaper on the stool.But a mortal shame seized me, and I hid the ball under the newspaper.I was trembling and terribly disturbed: would she come back and sit on the newspaper that covered my little ball? Mother came to me, and she called me for several minutes, and I didn't hear.She was afraid that I would catch a cold, so she wrapped a big shawl around my neck and chest.She was terrified because my teeth were chattering when I tried to speak, I belonged to her; though I was very reluctant to leave these places, I became numb and submissive... The story of my beloved little ball has only just begun.It will be worthwhile to bear with me, for all the dramatic and startling circumstances surrounding my new encounter with this talisman of my delusion! The snow disappeared.Figueras and landscapes changed by it are like magic.Three days passed, during which time I didn't go to school.I continue to daydream.After so many unbearable adventures, I experienced a feeling of relief when I returned to Mr. Traydale's wearisome class.At the same time, returning to reality made me uncomfortable.My sorrow will slowly heal.I was sad about losing my ball and my pygmy monkey, and I consoled myself by staring at the dingy ceiling of our school.A few dank blotches reminded me of clouds, followed by various more specific images brought in by a very definite person.All the time I'm rediscovering and reconstructing those images I saw the day before and perfecting those hallucinations.As soon as one of them becomes too definite, I drop it immediately.The astonishment of this phenomenon (destined to later become the key to my future aesthetics) consists in the fact that I can always revisit one of these images at will, and not only Its final shape, and a shape so extended and adjusted to perfection, makes it seem as if it had arisen naturally. Galuchka's sleigh became a panorama of a Russian city domed with cupolas, and then a drowsy, bearded face—the face of Mr. Traydale, this time At this point, the faces turned into a group of hungry wolves, and they were brutally fighting in a forest glade.It was as if my mind were a real movie projector, because what it happened to me became visible to the outside world through my own dazzled eyes.One day, staring more absorbedly than usual, I felt two hands on my shoulders, and I sprang up, inappropriately hesitant, with a wholesome cough that could To cover my flushed face.I recognized the child who appeared to me in this way as Bout Chakas. He was obviously taller than me, and he was called catchacas, which means pocket in Catalan, because of the unusual abundance of pockets on his fancy dress.For a long time I thought of him as the prettiest of them all, and I only let him look at me furtively, and whenever our eyes met the blood in my veins froze.Undoubtedly, I fell in love with him, because there was no other reason for the uneasiness his presence caused me, and for some time, in my dreams, because his image was confused for a moment with Galuchka, A moment later it was a different figure, his image less dominant. I can no longer understand what Butchakas is saying to me.As I was about to lose consciousness, all I could hear in my ears was a wonderful tinnitus that separated me from all the noise in the world.All I know for sure is that Butchkas immediately became my only friend, and that we kissed long and hard every time we parted.I think he's the only one who knows my pygmy monkey's secret.He believed or pretended to believe my story.Several times we went to the "found spring" in the evening to try to "recapture" my pygmy monkey, my beloved ball; during this time my imagination gave it all the qualities of a life. Bout Chakas has blond hair (I brought home one of his hairs, which is real gold, and I lovingly treasured it in a book).His blue eyes and pink skin contrasted sharply with my worried, dusky tawny skin, over which loomed the meningitis that had killed my brother. shades of approx. I thought Boutchakas was girlishly beautiful, despite his big knees and his butt tight in trousers that were too narrow.However, an irresistible curiosity drove me to stare at the taut trousers, each time, with a sudden movement, they seemed to burst open.One night I confided my feelings for Galuchka to Butchakas.I was delighted to find that not only was he free from jealousy, but he had promised to love my ball and garuchika as much as I did, and we hugged tenderly and talked endlessly about these fantastical creations.However, we save the kissing for the moment of parting.We await this wonderful moment with growing affection.Butchakas was everything to me, and I gifted him my most precious toys.He collected them more and more greedily.When I had no more toys, I began to loot various objects: my father's pipe and medal, a china canary, and finally a faience soup-basin which I found very beautiful and poetic. Of course Boutchakas's mother would have noticed this somewhat conspicuous gift, and she brought the soup bowl to my mother, who immediately found a clue to how many things were missing in the house, which no one would have guessed .I felt so unlucky that I burst into tears and cried out, "I love Butchakas, I love Butchakas." My mother, always an angel, did her best to comfort me and bought me a luxurious copy of We put many pad prints in it, and gave it to my sweetheart, Bout Chakas. But the importance of this meeting diminished by not seeing me for some time, and it no longer appealed to Butchakas.He began to play with the other children, and he gave me only brief moments during this tumultuous play.Full of life, he seemed to draw me into a whirlwind of madness that drove me away from my idyllic sweetheart every day.One night I claimed to have found my ball, my pygmy monkey!I'm eager to get him interested in me again by this ruse!In fact, he did his best to insist that I show him my monkey and accompany me to our door.We hid behind a staircase door.It was already dark, and with a nervous and cautious attitude, I took out a sycamore ball I picked up in the woods from my handkerchief.Boutchakas suddenly snatched the ball and the handkerchief from me, went out into the street, held the ball by the stem, hung it upside down for me to see and laughed at me, then threw it into the air.I didn't even run to pick it up because it wasn't my "real" ball. Boutchakas spit into the air this way, then walked away.He has become my enemy.I wanted to say something, but held back, and went back to my room, where I hid myself and cried like hell.Let him wait and see! I believe I live in Russia, although I didn't see snow covering the country this time, perhaps it was a hot summer afternoon.Some men water the avenues of a large park.A graceful group of people (mostly women) came slowly to either side of the boulevard.On a platform that seemed to be made of precious stones, a military band was trying out its instruments.The reflections from the dead wind instruments were as dazzling as the reflections from the altar of the Eucharist at a country mass.These sonorous preparations aroused an anxious anticipation. For my part, at the age when this scene took place, anxiety always took the form of a desire to urinate; the first beats of the couplet that finally tore the dusk into blood-red shreds. Desire will explode.At the same time, an uncontrollable tear, as hot as a small waterfall that wets my trousers, scalds the corner of my eye.On this day, this extreme feeling was redoubled, because I suddenly discovered the presence of Kalukika, standing on a chair, in order to better watch the parade coming.I was sure she saw me too, and I immediately ducked behind a tall nurse who offered me a hiding place from Galuchka's irresistible gaze.This unexpected meeting made me dizzy.Everything around me seemed to dissolve, and I had to rest my head on the back of this nanny who was the wall of my desires. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, I saw only a lady with arms holding a piece of chocolate. A scene brought to the lips.The strange sense of absent-mindedness and emptiness which prevailed over me greatly enhanced the sharpness of my vision, and the lady's hand had shown me its details with unbelievable clarity.Everything takes on a demented concreteness. I huddled more and more on the nurse's back, and the rhythm of her breathing reminded me of the deserted beaches of Cadaques.I can only think of one thing: let it get dark!Hurry up and take a photo!I will no longer feel constrained in the dark, I will be able to look at Garuranka without her seeing me blush.But every time my eyes turned to her, I would notice her staring at me firmly.Her eyes were so powerful that the thick nurse's back suddenly thinned, as if a real window had just been opened in it, exposing me mercilessly to that destructive look.The hallucinations changed so quickly that I actually saw a window in the nurse's back.Instead of crowds and Garuchkas, however, it drove toward a large deserted beach lit up with the criminally melancholy rays of a setting sun. When I suddenly came back to reality, I was terrified by a terrible sight.I no longer have a nurse in front of me.In her place, a horse in the procession had just slipped and fell to the ground.I quickly dodged and leaned against the wall to avoid being stepped on by it.Every time the horse twitched, I was worried that I would be crushed by its hooves.A shaft of the wagon it was dragging sank into its side, and a thick spurt of blood spattered everything around it.Two soldiers rushed to the animal, one held its head down, and the other stabbed a small knife into the center of its forehead with both hands.After a terminal spasm, the horse was motionless, pointing one stiff leg at the first stars in the sky. From the other side of the boulevard, Galuchika made a powerful gesture to me. She waved a small brown object. I couldn't believe the miracle, but it was true!My precious orb lost at the fountain has been found!I lowered my eyes in shame.I was in an intolerable perplexity, from which I felt that I could only get out of it by performing a heroic and utterly incomprehensible deed.I walked up to the horse's head and kissed the teeth protruding from its upturned lips with all my heart.Then, overtaking the animal, I ran towards Galuchka and came within a meter of her.But my newfound timidity froze me, and I turned and slipped into the crowd.This time Galuchka came up to me and I couldn't back down any longer, so I put my head back in my sailor collar, sure to be suffocated by the strong smell of violet perfume soaked in the collar.A breath of rebellion rushed to my head; Garuchika touched my clothes lightly.I kicked her hard, and she let out a yelp and stretched her hands to her knees.She limped away and sat down at the far end of the park, between the last row of chairs and an ivy-covered wall.We sat there facing each other now, our cold, smooth knees pressed together so that they ached.We were short of breath and speechless. From where we stood, a long slope led off into the distance, joined by a path above.Children with skateboards climbed the slope on foot and slid down dizzyingly with a terrifying crash.I wasn't offended when I spotted Butchakas' red, sweat-dripping holes in the midst of the yelling and screaming urchins!I thought he was ugly and cast hateful glances at him.I saw the same look in his eyes too.He swung a skateboard and slammed it against my chair, yelling and laughing like a punk.Together with Galuchka, I tried to hide between the wall and a tall plane tree, so that she avoided the possible blows, but I was still vulnerable to the madman's violence. Every time I slid down, this maniac tried frantically to smash me.The intermittent danger that swooped down on us made our moments alone seem wonderful.A sense of connectedness builds up that cannot be explained clearly.The most diverse affections are born and die at the entrance of our souls.Each new assault of Boutchakas only increases the purity and enthusiasm of our ecstasy, and increases the danger of our wonderful misery.Galuchka began to fiddle with a beautiful necklace she wore around her neck, as if she wanted to point out to me with this amorous and mischievous charm that something precious is closely related to adversity. In fact, from her blouse slowly revealed something I hadn't seen but hoped to see, and my eyes were fixed on the delicate snow-white skin of her bare breast and shoulders, however, plus Luchka pretended to let the little necklace slip, and it hid itself again with the dexterity of a snake.She resumed her little game, holding the little necklace between her teeth, and tilting her head back to redisplay the thing. "Close your eyes!" I obeyed, because I already knew what I would see when I opened my eyes again. It was my precious ball, my pygmy monkey!However, as soon as I showed that I wanted to take it, Jialuqika immediately hid it back in her pocket. "Close your eyes." I obeyed again, my eyes hurting from closing.At this time, Jia Luqi took one of my hands, and resolutely led it lightly to her blouse that was in contact with the delicate skin. A button was undone, and my numb hand was clumsily placed on the warm chest. move up.I finally got hold of a handful of fiery medallions, and among them I could make out the highly desirable presence of the rough path of the ball.Before I could enjoy my bliss, a powerful hit from Butchakas' skateboard knocked us down.I found myself on the ground.This blow broke the necklace, and I pretended to look under the chair for the ball and the medallions.Galuchika's gaze made me realize that she was not fooled by me, and I returned the treasure hidden in the seam of the tie of the sailor suit to her.Galuchka left me and sat down next to a sycamore tree, stroking the little ball in a playful gesture that still contained a very innocent maternal tenderness. Bewildered by so much passion, I remained motionless in a chair heaped with the clothes of two very beautiful ladies, who sat beside me, accompanied by a soldier who courted them, There was a burst of laughter.On another chair lay the soldier's red cloak and sword, the gleaming hilt of which caught my attention.A fierce thought of revenge flashed through my mind, and no one could stop me from committing murder. With no other emotion in my heart under the control of irreparable and cruel judgment, I calmly turned to the high place of the slope, and the T'Chakas is climbing there, dragging his skateboard behind him.Silently, I reached out to the unsheathed hilt, a shining sharp blade!dash forward!Bout Chakas will be punished horribly... In order to commit the murder, I must act quietly and with such quickness that only my vengeful passion and jealousy can do it.In fact, I should have hidden it under my clothes as soon as I drew the sword.This first move was especially important to keep the frightened Garozhengka from discovering.She was the last person I would reveal my cruel intentions to.But her eyes never left me.After I drew the sword, I was supposed to slip it between those two chairs, just at the very moment when the butchkas on the skateboard were slamming into us like a meteor.Since it was nearly dark, he would not have discovered the sword in time, and would have been mortally wounded. I should have pre-distracted the Garou cards that were chasing my every move.So I pretended to crawl to her to snatch the ball.我那坚决的姿势让她吃惊，她在我们之间放了一把椅子，我把头塞进了椅子的横档中，我马上就感到自己成了这个陷院中的囚徒。我们谁也不动、相互在昏暗中对视着，这种昏暗掩没了她面孔的细节、她微笑的酒窝、她肘部和膝盖的小窝。在远处，军乐声微弱了，一只猫头鹰孤零零地持续歌唱取代了它。加露棋卡借口给我看小球，把她的上在全解开了。披散的头发盖住了她那嘴角上闪耀着一点唾沫星的面孔。我想接近她的各种努力，只使我卡在椅脚横档间，拖着椅子朝她那边挪动了几厘米。束缚在这个陷队中，我的两胁受了伤。加露棋卡带着动人的温柔，把小球送到我嘴边，接着又小心地把它收回去。我被卡住的尾骨病得很厉害，加露棋卡又把小球送过来，可又非常残忍地把它拿走了，我为此流出了泪水。她差不多纹丝不动地呆在那儿，她那被染成金黄色的、神圣的椭圆形面孔上，只有调皮的微笑。然而，我看到这微笑极迅速地消失了，只有能观察到花朵瞬间即逝的生命的高速电影放映机能同它相比。我愤怒地前进着，最终会咬到藏着我的小球的那一把纪念品的欲望完全把我弄得发狂了。加露棋卡把这珍贵的东西贴在我贪婪的嘴上，在尝到纪念品中小刀的味道同时，我也尝到了我自己受伤牙龈的金属般的涩味。 布特查卡斯正好选择这个时刻向我猛撞过来。我的头猛地被抛向地面，砂石把我的脸颊擦破了。我痛苦地喊叫着，朝我的敌人抬起头来，他那困妒忌涨得通红的面孔，像鸡冠一样难者。他后退着闪开身子，重又向斜坡攀登。但他改变了主意，回来踢了我一脚。加露棋卡也被我的椅子撞了一下，倒在离我一米远的地方。她的额头上出现了一块血迹，呆呆地望着我。她那双半开的腿，不知羞耻地摊在那儿，我第一次发现她没穿长裤。像梦一般，一片柔和的暗影淹没了她那混淆在裙子的深黑色中的大腿根。尽管她的身体消失在一团黑暗中，我仍然能依稀感到她里面是完全裸露的。她朝我微笑，我站了起来。这回，我的复仇不可动摇了。在我们旁边，那名军人同两位夫人聊着天，丝毫没注意我们。多亏了隔开我们的一棵法国梧桐，没有人能看到我抽出刻来。用一条手帕缠住手，好使它不受伤，我将这把剑藏在背后，用鸭舌帽盖住闪光的剑柄头。第一步行动成功了，我把这雪亮的兵器偷偷放在衣服下，以便在恰当的时刻照我的心愿把它对准市特查卡斯滑下来的方向。 我这些准备工作还没全干完。我默默地计算着布特查卡斯牺牲的各种细节。我应该加强我充满爱情的目光的力量，让加露棋卡能呆在原地不动。在受到那一台后，她一直像怕冷似地蹲在那儿，我让她不动的方式使她瘫痪了，我一秒一秒地感到成为了她至高无上的主人。 留给我的只是不移动我的剑，等待布特查耘斯下一次滑过来。完全出乎意料，他来了，这次没想撞击我，他从滑板上下来，不敢注视我，走过来问道： "where is she?" 我没回答，他很理解这种情况，绕过法国梧桐，他姿势笨拙地站在那儿不动了，久久地凝视着加露棋卡，加露棋卡仿佛没看到他，只是目不转睛地看着我的眼睛。 "如果你把达利的保儒猴给我看看，我就不再那么干了。"他对加露棋卡说。 她打着寒战，紧紧地把我珍贵的小球贴在胸口上。 他再次说道："我们一起玩吧。" "玩什么？" 我的回答使他相信我原谅了他。他怀着一种令人讨厌的感激之情注视着我。 "我们玩小偷与国民卫队的游戏吧。" "很好，我们玩吧。" 我们握着手，但我永远用左手抓着剑柄头。 他问道："由谁开始？" "我们两人中个子高的那位。" 他一下子就同意了，因为他知道自己个头高。 我们靠着法国梧桐树干，量出两个标记，他赢了。该我和加露棋卡藏起来了，他登上斜坡，给我们留出必要的时间。一旦到了高处，他应当尽快用滑板滑下来。迎合着他的自尊心，我坚持他要这么做。布特查卡斯走上斜坡，我注意到他用不雅观的步子登上去，极瘦的长裤紧绷住他的屁股，渐渐地，我感到我的良心又恢复了平静（因他那种假和好引起的内疚感，曾刺激着我的良心），我赶紧校正我血腥计划的最后一些细节。布特查卡斯的身高标记留在了法国梧桐树上，因而我能算出剑刺入他咽喉的确切位置。我把那些椅子放稳，它们将成为我武器的支点。 "布特变卡斯就要下来了。"我对加露棋卡说。 她走到我身边，迫使我停止那些准备工作。为了转移她的目光，我请她盯住有特查卡斯，布特变卡斯已经准备从那边的高处下来了。我温柔地把她紧紧抱住，并用那只自由的手臂，几乎不动地准备好那把剑。在夜色中，勉强能看到这把兵器，它闪耀着正义之神的全部冷冰无情的高贵光彩。布特查卡斯滑板全速前冲的撞击声已经响了起来，快逃吧！ 我们混杂地奔向那群散步者，就像盲目的蝴蝶一样在不情愿地慢慢散开的人流中撞来撞去。一首双步舞曲的最后几小节在夜幕里沉寂下去。我们停在了我看到那匹马立即死亡的地方。在人行道上，一大滩血迹勾勒出一只展翅飞翔的黑鸟的形象。天气突然非常冷了，我们身上的汗水让我们发起抖来。我们浑身是全，脏得要命。我们的衣衫褴褛不堪。我擦伤的脸颊，伤口痛得灼人，使我的心狂跳。我抚摸着布满肿块的头，这些肿块让我感到一种惬意的忧伤。加露棋卡面无血色。她前额上的那块血迹犹如淡紫色的光环。 那么布将查卡斯呢？他的血在哪儿闭上了眼睛。