Chapter 22 ten

After a quarter of an hour, I ran up and down the room very impatiently, and occasionally ran to the screen to see what Lisa was doing through the gap.She was sitting on the floor with her head on the bed, presumably crying.But she still didn't go, which pissed me off.This time she knew it all.I totally insulted her, but... let's go without saying.She understood that my lustful impulse was nothing more than revenge, a new insult to her, and now I added a jealous hatred towards her to my almost objectless hatred.Then again, I'm not sure she understood all this clearly; but she fully understood that I was a villain, chiefly because I was incapable of loving her.

I know someone will say to me that it's impossible--impossible to be so bad and stupid as I am; and maybe add that it's impossible not to love her, at least not to appreciate her infatuation.Why is it impossible?First of all, I can no longer love because, I repeat, my so-called love means abuse and spiritual advantage.All my life, I can't imagine a different kind of love. Sometimes I even think that the so-called love is that the loved one voluntarily hands over the right to abuse him to the one who loves him.The so-called love I imagined in my basement fantasies was nothing more than a struggle, beginning with hatred and ending with spiritual conquest. As for what to do with the conquered object later, I could not imagine.Besides, why is this impossible? I have become so morally depraved that I am not used to seeing "living life". Just now I wanted to blame her and humiliate her, saying that she came to me to hear what I said "Poor words"; but I didn't expect that she came here not to hear me say "poor words", but to love me, because for a woman, love is all resurrection, love is all rebirth, no Fall again (whatever the fall), all born again, and nothing else.Then again, I didn't really hate her when I was running around the house and watching her from behind the screen.I just feel bad because she's here, I can't stand it.I want her to disappear.I want "quietness", I want to be alone in the basement.Because I am not used to it, "living life" makes me feel a kind of pressure, and I even have difficulty breathing.

But another few minutes passed, and she still didn't stand up, as if in a state of unconsciousness.I was so heartless, I went over and tapped on the screen lightly, trying to remind her...She suddenly shuddered, stood up from where she was, and ran over to find her scarf, hat and Fur coat, as if she was anxious to leave me and flee somewhere... Two minutes later, she slowly came out from behind the screen and looked at me with a heavy heart.I smiled viciously, but it was forced, and out of politeness I avoided her gaze. "Farewell," she said as she made her way to the door. I suddenly ran up to her, grabbed one of her hands, opened her fingers, stuffed them in...and closed them again.Then he turned around immediately and ran to another corner as quickly as possible, at least not to see...

I would have lied right away—that I had done it accidentally, that I had been carried away, that I had been confused, that I had been a fool.But I don't want to lie, so I'll just say that I broke her hand and stuffed it into her... as a malicious mockery.I wanted to do this back when I was still running around the house and she was still sitting behind the screen.But I am sure: I acted this cruelty, not from the heart, but from my wicked head, though willfully.This cruel act was done on purpose, so whimsical, so deliberate, so pedantic, that even I myself immediately regretted it—at first I hid in a corner so as not to see it, then I ran away in shame and despair. Go out and chase Lisa.I pushed open the door through the Taoist house and began to listen.

"Lisa! Lisa!" I shouted up the stairs, not daring to shout, but lowering my voice... There was no answer, and I thought I heard her footsteps on the stairs below. "Lisa!" I called again, louder. no answer.But just at that moment I heard the tightly closed glass door to the street below creak and slam open, and then slam shut again.The noise went all the way up the stairs. she left.I returned to the room thoughtfully.I feel very uncomfortable. I stood by the table, by the chair she was sitting on just now, staring blankly in front of me.About a minute passed, and I suddenly shivered: right in front of me, on the table, I saw... Anyway, I saw a crumpled blue five-ruble note, that is, a minute ago The ticket I let her hold in her hand.It must be that note; it cannot be any other note; I have no other note at home.It can be seen that when I hid in another corner, she threw the bills in her hand on the table.

So what?I should have expected her to do this.I should have expected it?No.I'm such a selfish person, I'm actually so disrespectful that I can't even imagine her doing that.This, I can't stand it.In an instant, like going crazy, I hurried to get dressed, put on any clothes in a hurry, and rushed out to chase her.She hadn't had time to walk two hundred paces when I ran up the street. The street was quiet, and it was snowing, falling almost vertically, and it seemed to have spread a big pillow over the sidewalk and the empty street.There was no pedestrian, and no sound could be heard.The street lamps flickered melancholy and uselessly.I ran two hundred paces, ran to the intersection, and stopped.

"Where has she gone? What am I after her for? For what? Kneeling to her, weeping in repentance, kissing her feet, begging her forgiveness! That's all I want to do; my heart The whole thing is broken, I will never, never think about this moment indifferently. But 'what am I going to do?' I can't help thinking. Could it be that because I kissed her feet today, tomorrow I might not hate her Can I give her happiness? Didn’t I realize my worth again for the hundredth time today? Wouldn’t I torture her to death?” I stood in the snow, staring at the white snowy night, thinking about this.

"It's better, it's better," I fantasized later, already at home, I suppressed the sharp pain in my heart with fantasy, "It's better to let her take this humiliation away now forever? You know, humiliation can Cleansing everything: this is the most powerful and painful awareness! Tomorrow I may stain her soul with what I have done, and wear her out. Now this humiliation will never be wiped out of her heart, no matter what the future waits. Seeing how detestable her filth is--this humiliation will use... hate... um... maybe forgiveness... to uplift and purify her soul... Then again, will it all ease her heart? ?”

Seriously: I'm going to ask myself a boring question right now: what's better—cheap happiness, or sublime misery?You say, what is better? That night, I sat in my own home, almost unable to live with the pain in my heart, and I thought a lot in a trance.Never before have I suffered so much pain and remorse; but can there be any doubt that, having run away from home, I will not come back halfway?I never saw Lisa again, nor heard anything about her.I should add that, though I was not nearly sick with vexation at the time, I was pleased, and for a long time, with the empty talk about what good humiliation and hate would do.

Even now, all these years later, thinking about it all makes me very uncomfortable.There are many things that I feel uncomfortable when I think about them, but... Is it time to end my "Notes" after writing this?I think I made a big mistake when I started writing this "Notes".At least, I always felt ashamed when I was writing this novel: it can be seen that this is no longer literature, but a punishment for reforming prisoners.You know, for example, to tell long stories about how I wasted my life by being alone in a corner because of immorality, environmental defects, living in basements out of living life, and chasing vanity and cynicism--really, it's too It's boring; there should be heroes in novels, but here all the characteristics of anti-heroes are deliberately collected, and the main thing is that all this will give a very unpleasant impression, because we are all out of life, everyone has flaws, and anyone can There are more or less problems in this regard.Even to such a degree of detachment from life, there is sometimes a certain distaste for real "living life," so that when it is mentioned to us we find it overwhelming.You know, what's more, we almost regard the real "living life" as labor, almost like working in the government office. We all secretly agree that it is better to follow the books.Sometimes why do we have to be a dog, why do we have to mess around, why do we have to work hard?We don't know why.We'd only be worse off if our surly demands were followed through.Well, you might as well try, um, let's say, you might as well give us a little more independence, give any of us a free hand, expand our range of activities, loosen our guard, and we'll... I'm sure : We'll ask right away it's better to go back to supervised situation.I know you're probably going to get mad at me for that, yell at me, stomp your feet, say "You're talking about you alone and your poor bastards in the basement, so you're not allowed to say 'we all'. "I'm sorry, everyone, you know, I'm not using the word "everyone" to defend myself.As for me, you know, I have only carried to extremes in my life half of what you dare not do, and you have taken your cowardice for wisdom, you have deluded yourself, and consoled yourself with it, so that you are more For you, I may have a little more "liveness".Please take a look carefully!You know, we don't even know, where is this living thing now, what is it, what's its name?If you leave us alone and tell us to leave our books, we shall be at a loss and bewildered at once--not knowing which side to join, what to follow, what to love, what to hate, what to respect and what to despise?We are even tired of being a human being, a real human being of our own flesh and blood, feel ashamed, consider it a disgrace, and try our best to be a non-existent pan-human.We are all stillborn, and we were born and raised by people who have long since ceased to be the living parents, but we like it, and we like it more and more.Our interest is growing.Soon, we will try to let the thoughts give us birth.But enough; I don't want to write "The Basement" anymore...

However, the "Notes" of this strange talker is not finished here.He couldn't help but continue to write straight.But we think we can stop here.