Chapter 7 Chapter 5: True Memory of Childhood (2)

My heart is filled with the strongest admiration for these paintings, painted in an Impressionist way boldly adopting the principles of Pointillism.The systematic juxtaposition of orange and purple arouses in me a delusion and an emotional delight very similar to what I see through a prism dyed the colors of the iridescent.In the dining room, there happens to be a crystal flask stopper through which everything becomes impressionistic.I keep it in my pocket and take it out at any time to see things from an "impressionist" perspective.These early morning silent stares delayed my time, and I had to scramble to tackle that bowl of coffee with milk, only to see the liquid drain down my chin and neck and wet my chest.I get a strange pleasure from feeling the hot coffee dry on my skin, leaving a sticky, comforting trail.I even liked doing it on purpose.I took a quick look to make sure Julie wasn't paying attention, so I poured a little coffee with milk into my shirt, and it trickled down to my stomach.One day, while I was committing a crime, I was caught red-handed by Mr. Pechaut.For many years, he and his wife have been talking about it, just as they like to tell the vast collection of odd little things about my disturbing personality.They always start with the same few words:

"You don't know what El Salvador did! Then all ears were turned to one of my overwrought oddities, which at least had the value of a good laugh.Only my father doesn't laugh.A shadow passed over his face, and he worried about my future. After breakfast, I headed for a large whitewashed house where ears of corn and sacks of millet were drying on the ground.Mr. Pichot kindly gave me the house as my studio, determined because of the sunlight that flooded in all morning.I have a big painting box with which I immediately start working on the pictures and sketches that I hang on the walls.My roll of canvas is quickly used up.So, I decided to use an old door panel that was removed and useless.I laid it across two chairs, and decided to only paint the central panel, and use the surrounding moldings as the frame of my work.For several days I eagerly drew a picture of a bunch of cherries.I dumped a basket full of cherries on the table, and the sun roasted the cherries spread there through the window, stirring them with a mass of flame.I then paint my painting with only the three colors squeezed out of the tin tubes.I hold two tubes of color tightly in my left hand, a tube of vermilion for the sunlit parts of the cherry, and a tube of bright red for the shadowed parts.Next, I started to work, I started to paint those cherries, put three color strokes on each cherry, Kaka, Kaka, Kata... Boron, dark, reflective, Kacao, Kata, Kaka The click...light, darkness, reflection...the regular creak of the grinder imparted its rhythm to my work.Kaka, Kaha, Kata... My painting becomes a charming juggling, the important thing is to get better with each new cherry.The truth is, I feel my progress is amazing and the imitation is perfect.My growing proficiency complicates the game. "To make it more difficult, instead of showing cherries in piles like the existing ones, I started to draw some cherries one by one, in this corner for a while, and in that corner for a while. However, in order to follow the grinding I had to dance step by step from end to end of the fallen door. In this way, it was as if I were dancing a mysterious dance or being controlled by a bewildering spell. Kaka , jump here, kaka, jump there, kaka, jump here again"...Kaka, kaka, kaka, kaka, with every loose button of the mill, countless vermilion, scarlet and white The fire of fire is kindled on my improvised canvas.I am the master, master and creator of this unique method in the chronicles of painting.

The picture surprised everyone.Mr. Pichot regretted that it had been painted on the heavy, awkwardly manipulable door panel, which was in many places worm-eaten.The farmers opened their mouths wide, and stood in front of these cherries that were so real that people wanted to reach out and grab them.People only remind me of one thing: I forgot to draw the stems of those fruits.I picked up the cherries and started eating them, sticking the stalks on the painting after each one was eaten.These collages give my work an amazing sense of relief.As for the bugs that gnawed at the panels and made holes in my stain, people could literally mistake them for bugs in real cherries on the panels.Keen to pursue a greater realism, I started swapping them with a single tack.I picked up a worm on the door panel, put it in a cherry, and stuck the worm I just picked out of the cherry into a hole in the door panel.I had succeeded in some of these strange and insane metamorphosis when I found Mr. Pichot present, no doubt he had been behind me for a while without my seeing him.He didn't smile the way he usually does at my absurd behavior.This time, instead, I heard a soft murmur to myself after deep thought: "This kid is a genius." Then he quietly walked away.

I sat down directly on the sun-heated corn cobs on the ground and thought about Mr. Pichot's words.It must have been deeply imprinted in my heart.I'm sure I can really accomplish something "out of the ordinary", even better than this one.Someday the whole world will be amazed by my genius.And you will too, you, Dulita, Galuchka Hedeviva, you too will be more shocked than anyone else! The contact with the cobs made me so comfortable that I changed places in search of a hotter pile of cobs.I dream of glory.I want to wear my crown, but to do so I have to go back to my room to find it, and I think it's good to sit on the corn.I took out the cork and looked through it at the cherries, then at my painting and at the ear of corn on the ground.The latter aroused in me an indescribable melancholy.A deep laziness took hold of me and I dropped my pants.My skin should be in direct contact with the scorching corn.I dumped a sack of grains on me until I built a pyramid on my stomach and thighs.I believe Mr. Pechaut is out for a morning excursion and won't be back until lunch time, and I'll have plenty of time to put the corn back in the bag.I was pouring out the second bag when Mr. Pichot suddenly appeared at the door.I thought I would die of embarrassment at the discovery of such a pleasant posture, but he stared at me dumbfounded, turned away without saying a word, and never came again.An hour passed, and the sun no longer warmed my makeshift bed.My joints felt stiff and I had to put the five rice grains back into the bag.Using my hand as a spoon, I began a tiring labor that seemed to never end.I didn't want to do it several times, but a strong sense of guilt forced me to continue, the last ten handfuls were torture, and I felt that the last corn was so heavy that I couldn't believe I could lift it from the ground.I breathed a sigh of relief when my work was done.I barely had the energy to climb the stairs to the dining room, where a foreboding silence awaited me.People just talked about me.Mr. Pechaut said to me in a serious tone:

"I decided to tell your father and ask him to find you a painting teacher. "No," I replied excitedly, "I don't want a painting teacher. I'm an impressionist." I don't quite understand what the word "impressionist" exactly means, but I find my answer to have an irresistible force of logic.Mr. Pechaut laughed and exclaimed: "Look at this kid! He's declaring to us that he's an Impressionist!" I became timid and continued to suck the marrow of my broiler chicken.Mr. Pichot was talking about gathering oak blossoms next weekend.This acquisition will inevitably have some incalculable consequences for me.But before telling this amusing and brutal story, I first want to finish with you the schedule of my unforgettable garden home at Tower Mill; environment, which is indispensable.I ask you to forgive me if I prefer to summarize in a few words how I use my time and to revisit the omitted details later.

Ten o'clock: Waking up with the pain of exposure.An aesthetic breakfast in the face of the Impressionism of Lamon Pichot.Hot cappuccino poured into my shirt.11:00 to 12:30: In the studio this is the time to work on my pictorial creations, reinventing impressionism, redefining my aesthetic hubris. Lunch: Binaural conversation, often full of euphemisms, is good for adjusting my schedule and anticipating my (often inescapable) pleasures in solitude based on work at home necessary.For all the events of "Tower Mill," agricultural or otherwise, can be pretexts for the creation of new myths, just as they bring into their natural setting new characters, the mower, the plowman, women in fields, picking fruit or collecting honey.

Afternoon: Dedicated almost entirely to the animals, I keep them in a big chicken coop surrounded by wire, so dense that I can even keep Jianxi in there.My collection of animals includes two porcupines (one big and one small), some spiders, two cute birds, and a turtle.A little house mouse.The little house mouse was originally kept in the flour of the mill, but now it lives in a tin biscuit tin. People will unexpectedly find a picture of a row of little house mice eating biscuits on the biscuit tin.I built specialized cages for each animal out of cardboard boxes, a material that facilitated my contemplative experience.I ended up collecting twenty or so animals, and sinking into their astonishing observations.

The monster in my zoo is a two-tailed lama, one of which is very long and the other is an embryo.To me, it already symbolizes the myth of bifurcation, which is all the more perplexed by the fact that it takes on a limp, living being.Forked shapes have long aroused my interest.Whenever I see a prong, whether mineral or vegetable, it puts me in a dream.Forked lines, and forked objects, what does the question mean?A practical aspect arose out of it, but I could not grasp it at all.This is something that serves life and death, pushing and pressing: "weapons and defenses, threats and caresses that both determine and are determined by content." Who knew?Who knows?Dreaming, I run my fingers over the spot where the two tails separate, leaving this void between them that only my wild imagination will one day fill.I looked at my hands and the four forks of my fingers, imagining that somehow I might always stretch them to death, to infinity.But who knows?Is this the resurrection of the body?The evening when the sky was dyed red brought me back from my dream, and nothing could make me forget this dream.

The setting sun meant that it was time to run off to eat, and to eat was to squeeze the sap of sin out of the gardens of the earth, overrun by the evening breeze of original sin.I chew on everything: beets, melons, onions that are as tender as a new moon.In order to avoid boredom, I only bite with my teeth.If I don't run from one fruit or vegetable to another, my various desires are weakened by gluttony, and in my taste organs, their taste is like starting to light up in the undergrowth As fleeting as the light of a firefly.Sometimes it is enough for me to pick up a fruit and kiss it or press it against my burning cheek.I love feeling the soft, cool plum skin on my skin like a dog's muzzle.I found excuses to stay in the vegetable garden until halfway through dusk.However, I spend my time taking into account the violation of the rules, especially if collecting fireflies (which I use to end my garden visits) has the potential to pay off.Threading a thread through them, I want to use them to make a unique effect necklace to wear around Julie's neck.But she'll be terrified of it soon, and then I'll be able to give it to my little Duolita.I pictured her standing there, wearing this necklace, completely intoxicated with pride.

The end of dusk drew me irresistibly to that tower, to which I had been gazing from afar, with expectation and devotion shining in my eyes.I murmured softly, "I'm coming." Although the sun had gone down, the tower was still rosy with excitement.Above it, three large black birds are flying.Seen from a distance, my visit to the top of the tower is the most solemn moment of the day.But the moment I climbed up, my extreme anxiety was always mixed with a kind of touching fear.Once, from my tower, I looked for a long time at the peaks, though they were only a dark mass, but by a band of scarlet and gold that showed the setting sun on the horizon, blurred by the pure air of transparency The whole landscape is clear and three-dimensional, and one rolling hill after another can still be recognized.From the top of the tower I could regain my most magnificent dreams, those of my Figueres house.Over time, they took on a more definite social and moral content, even though there was persistently an element of confusion and ambiguity which was always contradictory.One moment I imagined myself a bloodthirsty tyrant enslaving all contemporary men merely to satisfy my most extravagant eccentricities; The pariah, sacrificed in the most romantic of deaths.From cruel demigods to lowly laborers, through genius artists, I always come back to... El Salvador, El Salvador, El Salvador!I repeat my name tirelessly.I know the inevitable sacrifice, and in the shadows of night I look around me with loathsome vileness, for one thing is already certain: the victim will not be myself.

After much eloquence in the tower, dinner in the dimly lit dining room was a wonderful moment of recuperation.Sleep sat in the adjacent chair, waiting for me.Sometimes it even touches me with its feet under the table and I just let it attack me.One day, at the close of supper, in a drowsy state, I heard Mr. Pichot, in a muffled murmur, announce that the newspaper-picking would begin the day after tomorrow.The day has finally arrived and now is the story you've been waiting for: The Story of Abducting and Picking Root Tree Flowers The story of the scorching sun and the storm, of love and fear, of the pepper tree and the abduct; it may be said that in the process of telling this story, the ghost of death will not leave me. On the agreed day, I got up earlier than usual in the morning, and I, Julie, and two maids went up to the attic of the tower to find a ladder for picking.This attic is big and dark, full of miscellaneous things.Before this, I have not been able to visit it.From the moment I entered, I found two things whose "personality" was immediately apparent from the otherwise nameless junk.The first was a heavy laurel wreath of gilt, from which hung two ribbons with an inscription in a language I did not understand. The second thing that excites me about "personality" is a cane.I've never seen a crutch, and I'm amazed by its peculiar shape.I grabbed it right away and realized that I could never part with it again, but I couldn't explain why.It was the pinnacle of power and majesty, and immediately took the place of my old scepter (it was an old leather-like one, which I dropped behind the wall, and whoever loses it should cling his armpit to it) Worn and scorched on a support of fine baize; leaning on it, I learned to rest my delicate cheeks and brooding forehead with pleasure. One hand waving Turning, I walked back to the garden. This thing gave me a confidence and arrogance that I had never had before. People have just erected three retractable ladders under the tall root tree, and white cloth has been laid on the ground to connect the heavy branches with flowers at first.On these ladders stood three unknown women, two of whom were very beautiful and very much alike, and one in particular showed a wonderful bosom, with two very fine breasts so high that one could recognize Every detail is wrapped tightly in a white linen top.The third woman was ugly, with mayonnaise-colored teeth protruding from swollen gums, and she seemed to be constantly laughing.In addition to these three women, there was a little girl of about twelve years old, who stood below and watched her mother's movements. I liked her immediately. caused by the action) immediately made me think of Du Rita.Without seeing her face, I could easily confuse the two girls, just as I had already conflated Durita with Galuchka Hedeviva.I touched the little girl on the back with my crutch, she turned to me, and I said to her in a tempered and authoritative tone: "You will be the Magnificent Tower!" Her dark face had an angelic beauty.It took the place of the two apertures of the Magnificent Tower, and so the three figures of my dream merged into one figure.My enthusiasm for this image expanded to an irresistible level.This new-faced reality brought new life to my love.My libidinal anxieties, suppressed for years by restless solitude, crystallized into a tetrahedron-cut gem in which I could at last see the union of my three unsatisfied loves.Can I be sure it's not Du Rita herself?I tried to spot the traces of Garuchika's paleness on the sunburned face of the country girl, who looked more and more like Garuchika with each passing minute. My voice hoarse with excitement, I repeated: One you will be the magnificent tower!one Startled, she backed away.My lordly look must have washed out of the child all her innocent trust.When I approached her, she climbed up the rungs of the ladder and approached her mother, before I could touch her head with the silk to show her the idyllic tenderness of my feelings.If she knows what is left of our future, which is only the beginning, then beautiful Durita has every reason to be afraid of me!I myself could not watch without horror the development of certain impulses in my eccentric character.How many times have I felt an irresistible urge to jump off a great wall or a cliff, when I was walking alone in the fields, chasing some dream.I closed my eyes and jumped into the air, rising only a little dazedly, but my heart was relieved. So I said to myself: "At last the danger of today is over. This makes me feel better." A feverish interest in the rediscovered surrounding reality. Realizing that I couldn't deceive Sherita's trust after initial contact, I walked away and cast a long, gentle look at the ground, which said "nothing to fear, I'll be back". I then wandered about in the garden, which, under normal circumstances, I should have been concentrating on the giant painting in the studio.But everything on this day was so unusual that I earned the right to violate the rules once.The ensuing anguish and guilt were so heavy, that just feeling them tortured my soul, and I only half-eyed before going back to the studio and shutting myself in there.But in the studio, my misfortune did not point to relief.I would have liked to be another me somewhere else, and I wandered randomly in other corners of the garden, planning to think about her without outside interference and make plans for our next meeting.However, all kinds of attractive images of Du Rita kept attacking me.Invisible hatred roared in the blue sky to her who had just destroyed my temple of narcissism and disturbed the solitude I had rebuilt in Tower Mill.I should fight, and in order to fight, I have to work, such as drawing the sketches I want to paint for my animals.Mus musculus should be sought out who would make the best models.I could create a sketch in the style of the painting of the cherries, and instead of representing the same aesthetic element, I would endlessly repeat different poses.Mus musculus has a tail too, I will be able to recreate a collage.Actually, I didn't really believe in this new work, and I wasn't deceived by my own fanaticism, but I made the restlessness that the apparition of Durita aroused in me work for my project, for my desire to represent Mus musculus. The excitement of this painting serves that it is still possible.So I ran to the henhouse to look for him, and he was in mourning, his very thin and slender body rounded out like a gray furball.It was motionless, but its breathing was rapid.I picked it up by the tail like a cherry, but in fact it was like a gray cherry.I placed it carefully on the bottom of its box, when suddenly it jerked violently, hit me in the face, and fell back exhausted.The jump came so suddenly that it took me a long time for my heart to return to its normal rhythm.The unbearable discomfort forced me to close the lid again, leaving only a small air gap.Before I had recovered from the excitement, I discovered the same discomfort.The hedgehog, which I thought had escaped and hadn't seen for a week, suddenly appeared in the corner of the chicken coop, dead behind a pile of bricks and Zunma.I approached it with disgust.Its spine-covered back was covered by a swarm of unheard-of excited and crazy bugs.And that stubbornness gathered above its head, one could not help but call it a real squirt of corruption. My legs gave way, and a shiver ran up my back.Tempted by the filthy orb, despite my disgust, I walked through it.I had to take a closer look at it, and an indescribable stench made me wince.I escaped from the coop and ran to the gathering women, who breathed deeply the purifying oak.However, I couldn't resist the thought of going back to the dead hedgehog, even though I might stop breathing while observing it, so several times I ran to the animal and several times to the root tree flowers that filled my senses with aroma.Every time on the way, I took the opportunity to pour the dark waters of my gaze into the wells illuminated by the eyes of the incomparably beautiful Tower of Magnificence.These exchanges became so feverish and hysterical that I gradually felt unable to control my actions.On approaching the Litune, I impulsively did something irreparable, pounced on it and touched it.Likewise, every time I approached the Magnificent Tower, I could not shake off the irresistible desire to hold her in my arms and drink the soul of her country timid angel from her mouth, which opened like a fresh wound.On a dizzy ride back to the hedgehog, I couldn't stop my blind run and decided to jump over it.I almost fell over the pile of moving worms.This kind of stupid thing aroused my disgust, but it also aroused my desire to touch the hedgehog with a crutch.Before, I'd at least tried throwing rocks, but the thrill would be even stronger if I could finally move the stinking ball.So, I took the end of the crutch, stretched it forward, and used its support to rest on the hedgehog.Going on like this, in the end I don't know whether the stabbing hooked the abductee or the hook hooked the profit criminal.Then, shaking the handle so hard, I turned over the rotting corpse, and I almost passed out.Between its four claws, I found a mass of things that looked like fists of wriggling worms that had broken through the naughty membrane of spines and crawled all over the floor.Fear took hold of me, I dropped my crutch and fled towards the slow tree.It took me a long time to recover from this blow and it dawned on me that touching a bug soiled my beloved items so that I just gave it a sentence, a good mascot turned into a symbol of death . But I couldn't bear the idea of ​​giving up the crutch, and my admiration for it had grown from the moment I discovered it this morning.I found a solution where after certain rituals I was able to get my property back.It should be brought back and soaked in the clear water of a brook, where the current is very strong.After a long soak I dried it in the thurstralia, and then carried it to the heights of the tower to purify it with nights, dawns, and dews I regret. I did.My evidence has been placed under the flowers, but in my calm mind, I still feel the black ball of death moving. After a quiet lunch, it was already afternoon.I walked into the garden and watched people gathering silver tree flowers casually.Durita stared at me intently, exactly like Kalukika.She never took her eyes off me for a moment, and I am sure she will obey me like a slave from now on.This, I have no doubt, gave me a foretaste of all the pleasures of this purely loving luxury.Every minute was sacred when they all paid no attention to her watching them, while a loving being stood aside.Only evil can give us the power to ignore this life, to treat it almost like a dog, even though we all know that before long we ourselves are ready to bow to it like a dog. Knowing that Durita was fastened to the end of my seductive yellow leash, I looked elsewhere.Especially look at the armpits of the woman with the high breasts of the silver tree flower.This armpit revealed a deeply fragrant pit in the lovely pearly skin surrounded by tufts of black hair.My gaze moved from the socket to the overly full breasts, whose extraordinary volume I felt weighed heavily on my eyelids.After staying for a while, shaking off the numbness, I felt a crazy thought take hold of me.This is what El Salvador wants to do now!I want to dig the crutch out of its flowery tomb, touch the peasant woman's sun-heated breasts with the same support that turned over the hedgehog, and catch it with its smooth and soft arc. they. My whole life has been made up of such whims, and at any moment I am ready to forego the most luxurious trip to India for a pantomime as childish as the above pantomime.However, such a thing is not as easy as it seems on the surface.Convinced by my experience that there was no such thing, I drew up countless plans in my head, in which my strength, my cunning, and my hysteria came into play, in order to achieve this astonishing success.After that, my token will become my king's scepter! The sun went down, the Pyramid of Flowers was built, and the Tower of Magnificence lay on it.The desire to touch the woman's breast with my crutch became so strong that I felt that I would rather die than give it up.Better act now, better I play king from now on.Then I'll walk down in all my clothes and lie among the flowers next to Du Rita who can only feel dead for love.I ran into my room and put on an anti-Faust wig and a crown.Never in my life have I found myself so beautiful as I was this afternoon.A waxy pallor invaded my darkened face, despite the sun and wind.I left the room with the idea of ​​going down. On the second floor, I needed to walk along a front hall. It had a small window facing the garden facing the sun. Ripe melons.I paused and watched them, and like lightning I suddenly had an idea to solve and fulfill my intractable whim.Despite the small windows, the vestibule stretched out in half-darkness.If the woman had placed the ladder very close to Fukang to a considerable height, I could have seen the windows frame her breasts while leaving the rest of her body out.I could see everything and not feel ashamed of being seen by her.When I see those breasts, I use the crutches to gently pick up a melon hanging from the ceiling.I find this action far more head-turning than originally planned, as the melon now symbolizes the full ripe gravity of my desires, plus the fruit is of course sweet and just right for the farmer I imagined Women's raised breasts.Not only will I touch this melon with my crutch, but I will continue to chew it. Part of the puzzle was how to get the silverbud woman to come to the window.I only found one way.I climbed to the upper floor and let my diabolo fall, so that it hung on the clumps of plants that covered the facade of the building.I twisted the wire distance branches together with a pole and it took a while to untie them.Then I ran to the garden and, with fake tears, begged this woman with the gorgeous breasts to help me hook diabolos with a ladder.At the same time, I found the trick from the pile of flowers.At Tower Mill, all were ordered to satisfy my whims, and besides, the woman might be glad to take a break from work.Although her arms were tightly hooked to the ladder posts, she descended the ladder with the utmost grace.A bead of sweat was plucked from the cell nest exposed on the ground, and it hit my forehead like a large warm raindrop heralding a summer storm.Durita helped her drag the ladder under the wall of the house, and stood it carefully, and it took some time, which I took advantage of to run to my room and get naked.I found myself too pretty.Those two women must have seen me the same way.But unable to bear to expose myself too suddenly, I slung my burley-skin cloak over my shoulders.Then I went to the vestibule.The woman was already on the ladder, and her body was thrown through the window.My calculations are spot on.The lower window sill shut her out from below her thighs, and the upper window kept her head out.Before my eyes, her body unfolded, darkening the already dimly lit vestibule.The heat was suffocating, and I let the burley leather cloak slip off me.The thread I had carefully messed up was tangled in the rosebush, and while she untied it, I had plenty of time to satisfy my desires, and by the time she came down, I was hidden by the wall.At this point, I gently placed the crutch's support on a melon, my vision blurred with emotional tears.The pulp exceeded my expectations.It was so ripe that it turned into a trap.I turned my gaze to the breasts, which I could only see in the backlight, but the blurring of the two spherical masses intensified my desire even more.In passing a rhythm to my crutch, I put more pressure on the melon and it cracked open and the slimy juices trickled down my body, first in drops and then in a real squirt.I opened my mouth to accept the sweet juice with the taste of ammonia.Crazy thirst dominates me.My eyes moved from the melon to the breast and from the breast to the melon in such a jerky rhythm that it wasn't long before I was aware of my movements.The abductee mashed the melon, and it turned into a puddle of paste, which eventually fell on my head, just at that moment when the woman with the magnificent breasts finally untied the diabolo and stepped down the ladder.I threw myself on the ground to hide, but fell on my white fur cloak soaked in melon juice.Panting exhaustedly, I waited for the peasant woman who had found me naked in the hall to remount the ladder to verify that she hadn't been dazzled; Waited for nothing.The slanting sun climbed the wall instead of her, climbing to the level of the two untouched melons.I don't want to play with them anymore.The magic is gone, never to reappear.Extreme boredom made me go limp.The shadows of the two melons no longer brought to mind the breasts of the Jasmine woman; on the contrary, they reminded ominously of two rotten balls.I shivered, went up to get dressed again, and lay down on the bed.In the evening, he returned to the room and reunited with me. I must hurry to take advantage of the last light on top of the tower.Walking crutches in hand, I stepped up to the platform to discover a starry sky that weighed heavily on my solitude, and I lacked the courage to pursue any of the long-held dreams I was accustomed to.In the center of the platform, there is a small cement seat with a hole in it, which may be used to plant national flags or colored flags in various festivals. I put the crutch in the hole, and its very thin handle didn't hold very well in the hole, leaning to one side, which I preferred to the fully upright position.I left the tower, dreaming that if I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, I would be relieved to think that my dear object was up there to watch over me, covering me with its shelter.But will I wake up?A leaden sleep was already humming in my head, and with such a packed schedule, I just wanted to sleep.我像个梦游者，握着陆，每次都重复着跟你将是杜丽塔，你将是杜丽塔问，走下了楼梯。 第二天，仍然进行着采摘。壮丽塔在场。太阳升到中天，那位采摘女用一些白布单收集着极树花，她的那对乳房像昨天挂在天花板上的甜瓜一样沉甸甸的，但是它们的吸引力已经消失得无影无踪了，就连要在我心灵中找到它的一丝痕迹都不可能。相反，当我再想到它们时，我就会被真正的反感控制住。我不再觉得被甜瓜汁弄脏的白动皮斗篷和这对乳房有同样的美学功效，我感到不能把哪怕一点点感伤的诗意送给它们。相反地，我现在受到杜丽塔身材的诱惑，她那身材比我昨天感觉的还要苗条，随着太阳渐渐升高，地上的一切阴影减弱消失后，她的身材就显得更苗条了。 我什么都没向我的加露棋卡·何地维瓦说，但我想："今天我将把整个日程献给她。"于是我开始抖空竹。我玩得非常熟练。让它上下左右翻转滑动，接着我把它抛向空中，抛得那么高，简直令人不能置信，随后再用扯开在两根短律上的线接住它。杜丽塔看着我，我猜她在欣赏我。意识到她的目光，我创造出一些极漂亮的动作。最后，我把空竹抛得太高了，结果这回我没接住它。她跑过去抓住它，犹疑了一下，把它交给我，问我她能不能跟我一起玩。我没搭理她，继续着我的活动，把空竹越抛越高。当我没接住它时，杜丽塔就跑去寻找它，我生气地试图阻止她这么做。她温柔地笑着，听从了我。甚至不能答应她的请求所造成的悔恨，很快就变成了仇恨。她竟然愿意独自去玩，而不来赞赏我！我把空竹高高抛向晴空，这回我又没接住它，它落在很远的地方。杜丽塔以伤人的方式大笑着，跑去捡它。我随她这么做，因为掌握着那对短律，我是唯一能玩的人。她没把空竹给我拿回来，于是我向她走去，眼中闪着愤怒的光。这次她明白了我的意思，在我前面奔跑着，似乎准备抗拒我。我们在花园里跑了好几圈，直到她扑倒在一堆橡树花上。人们刚把这堆极树花与其他的花分开来，因为它们是枯萎的。当我接近她时，我同情起她来了。可是杜丽塔翻过身，想把空竹藏得更好。她的背部、地隆起臀部的圆形，都美得出乎意料。用一个膝盖顶住她，我轻轻用双臂抱住她。 "把空竹给我。" "不。"她用流露出恳求的口吻说。 我更紧地搂住她。 "把空竹给我。" "不。" 我越来越紧地搂住她，抽泣使她浑身抖动，她听凭藏在胸前的空竹掉下来。我抬起它走开了。她站起来，没看我，重又回到她母亲站在上面干活的梯子那儿。靠在防止两个支柱移开的粗索上，她开始哭起来，但是她哭得并不难看，而是带着一种让我愧疚的高贵优美的神态。我想避开这不友好目光的视野，专心于某种特殊的活动，例如爬上塔楼，从那上处用全力把空竹抛到空中。如果它排在平台外，我就会失掉它，那就算了！这时，朱莉姬叫我去吃饭。可在吃饭前，我必须至少试一次抛掷。飞快跑上平台，把空竹抛起来，它落下时有点儿偏外了，我俯身在护墙上，一半身子伸到了空中，用一种神奇的灵巧把它接住。这种危险的疯狂举动，使我感到非常眩晕，我不得不直接坐在石板上来恢复平静。护墙和斜立在洞中的拐杖都在我周围旋转起来。下面，有个声音喊了我好几次。我像个晕船的人，跌跌撞撞地走下去。我吃不下饭，发觉皮朝特先生的状态也不比我好，由于偏头痛，他的头上绑了条奇怪的白头带。在保证不再用生命冒险的条件下，我匆忙转向自己的游戏，我立刻就为杜丽塔在场感到懊丧了，她妨碍我全身心地投入我极为有趣的活动。不过我要在黄昏时分再回到塔楼来。 耐心点，萨尔瓦多，在这个夜晚，你将是你一生中最激动人心场面之一的见证人。等一等吧！等一等吧！ 午餐结束了，皮朝特先生亲自关上百叶窗，并吩咐整所住宅都要这么办。他认为暴风雨就要来了。我看到的天空就像一片静水那样蔚蓝光滑。可是皮朝特先生把我引到阳台，让我注意天边的小小积云正在天空中升起。 "你看到这些旋转的云团了吗？在领略它之前，我们会看到闪电，或许还有雹子。" 我一直抓住阳台的栏杆，欣赏突然让我想到特拉依代尔先生教室天花板的霉斑的这些云朵。我觉得在它们那儿重新看到了童年所有混乱的奇想，这些奇想已掩埋在遗忘里，可又奇迹地在光线转瞬即逝的积云泡沫和肌肤的光辉中复活了。一些长着翅膀的马匹鼓起它们的胸膛，我欲望中的所有的乳房、甜瓜和空竹从中盛开了。一朵像长着人头的大象的云彩，分裂成两片更小的云彩，随后它们又变成两名巨大的满脸胡子的角斗士，他们身上隆起一块块肌肉。一瞬间他们分开了，接着又迅速地靠近了。震动是吓人的。我看到两个身体相互渗透、混合形成了一个混乱纷繁的团块，可它立即又变为另一个形象：贝多芬的胸像。忧郁地俯向原野，这位作曲家的胸像增大起来，上面布满了同石膏粉很相似的暴风雨的灰色。没多久，贝多芬的整个面孔就被他巨大的前额吞没了，变为一个沉重的头顶。一个闪电撕裂了它，从裂缝中闪现出一角天空。一声雷鸣隆隆地传向我，使"塔楼磨坊"的玻璃震得直响。一阵迅猛而又令人窒息的旋风把椒树的花与叶掀了起来。燕子掠过地面，发出尖厉的叫声。几滴沉重的雨犹疑地落了下来，预示着在花园上空爆发并鞭打它的大雨。土地已经干渴了两个月，这是近似情欲的动物性干渴。在雨下，土地散发出它所有潮湿苔藓和新鲜花朵的香气。 整个下午，风暴和大雨持续着，它们仿佛是要在我与杜丽塔之间演出的戏剧的同谋，这出戏剧将发生在以自然力和我们自身灵魂的爆发为标志的一天结束之际。 为了得到庇护，她在房间重又来到我身边，我们心照不宣地登上塔楼顶部的阁楼，躺在那几乎完全被一派黑暗统治了的地方。阁楼低矮的顶棚、永久的阴影和孤单的状况，会造成我们危险的亲密。呆在这儿，我感到恐惧消失了，现在由壮丽塔陪伴着，我觉得她孤零零地，一切都听凭我的热情摆布，外面的倾盆大雨完全驱散了这个地方阴森的特点，使它成了世界上最神圣的地方之一。闪电穿过关着的护窗板，摇动着我们的阴影，使给我留下深刻印象的那顶著名的镀金桂冠闪闪发光。 我的新杜丽塔，我的加露棋卡·何地维瓦跨过这个桂冠，闭上眼睛，像死人一样躺在阁楼的中央。一种预感紧紧地压在我的心上，仿佛在我们两人之间就要发生某种可怕的事情了。我跪在她面前，怜惜地凝望着她。习惯了黑暗，我能分辨出她面孔上的所有细节。我更靠近她，直到我的头碰到了她的头。她睁开双眼，向我说： "我们玩碰舌头吧。" 她的嘴唇张开来，把伸直的粉红色舌尖伸向我。我被一股强烈的困窘淹没了，突然站了起来，同时极其愤怒地推着她，结果她的头咯咯地撞在了桂冠上。我的姿势变得那么可怕、那么坚决，她流露出一种听人由命的神态。她那屈服的目光，她那讨好的样子，增强了我想伤害她的欲望。我一跃，就跳到她身后，她显出害怕的姿势，可仍然勇敢地坐在桂冠中间。一个闪电划破了黑暗，我一瞬间就看到她苗条的背影、她的细腰，如同大白天一样清楚。我扑到她身上，紧紧搂住她，就像这天早晨在花堆中做的那样。她无力地抵抗着，我们的搏斗减慢了速度。杜丽塔认为这是一个体贴的征兆，她用温柔的双臂抱住我。越来越有气无力的搂抱使我们紧贴着倒在了地上。在这期间，我计划好了想对她干的事。我必须把她转过来，因为我想弄痛的正是她背上娇嫩的突起部，这可能就是让桂冠的金属叶刺入她细嫩的皮肉。为了更好地让她一动不动地呆在地上，我用目光寻找某个笨重的东西。我的眼神落在一个破旧的衣橱上。我能把它翻倒吗？一阵风吹开了阁楼门，雨停了，我们看到一个新的青灰色天空。 "我们上塔楼去。"我说着，放开她，跑向楼梯。 杜丽塔没马上听从我。她想向我表示她因我们的抚爱突然停止而伤心吗？一直没看到她来，我愤怒地走下来，扑向她，像野兽一样狂暴地扯住她的头发。我成功地拉起她，把她拖了三四级台阶。当我停下来喘口气时，她挺起身来，跑向平台。现在她再无法摆脱我了！我怀着超自然的平静态度，走完最后几级台阶。费格拉斯的梦实现了。即使杜丽塔不算是在我的洗盥间里，至少她登上了我塔楼的平台。多辉煌的胜利啊！我想慢慢地品味它，用了很久的时间才登上这些最后的台阶。我终于到达了平台。在平台中央，我那个拐，拖着不祥的影子，满是雨水浸泡的痕迹，微斜着立在那儿。在它一边，我的中央部分紧箍住一个金属环的空竹在闪闪发光。淡紫色的云消逝了，彩虹用它的双臂环绕着一片深蓝色的天空。坐在护墙上，杜丽塔擦干了泪水。我用在我一生中那些最重要时刻从不缺少的歇斯底里态度向她说： "如果你不再歪坐在这个护墙上，我就把空竹送给你，你会跌下去的。" 杜丽塔跑去拾起空竹，转回去斜依在那儿，欢呼着： "呵，多漂亮呵。" 一抹嘲弄的微笑，使她的面孔焕发着光彩。她相信我刚才被她的眼泪打动了，可我做了个受惊的动作，用手蒙住了眼睛。正如我预料的那样，这种情况激发了她的娇态，她坐在矮墙上，双腿悬在空中。 "等一下，"我说"我去给你拿另一件礼物。" 于是我拿着拐，假装商开了，可我又悄悄地跟着脚尖走回来。现在我来了！我静悄悄地拿着拐的支脚向前走去。杜丽塔把掌心按在石头上，来回地晃动她的双腿，凝神望着铅灰色天空中一大块形同鳄鱼的云彩。夜就要降临了。 我怀着无限的小心，把拐的支撑部移近杜丽塔那么苗条的身躯上方。我非常紧张，浑身颤抖，我不得不咬紧嘴唇，一丝血流到了我下巴上。我打算干什么？ 杜丽塔无疑猜到了我的动作，她转过身来，一点儿不感到吃惊，她本人向后斜依着，让拐的支撑部紧箍住她的身子。她的面孔变成了世界上最美的面孔，她的微笑变成了一个与我的微笑相交的彩虹。我垂下了眼睛，把拐插在两块石板的缝隙间。接着我走近她，从她手里抢过空竹。 "不给你，也不给我！" 我把它抛向空中，它消失了。 祭献终于完成了囫。 从这时起，这个拐对我来说一直是死亡和复活的象征。