Chapter 27 Twenty-seven

The next day, the sun still rose, the wind kept blowing, and the clouds were still floating... The yellow dazzling sunlight penetrated the old newspapers on the window, adding a lot of light to the walls and hay in the small earthen house. Spots arranged in rows.For a moment, I thought that I seemed to have done a very shameful thing yesterday, made a very big mistake, so I had an unpleasant and troubled mood.But it was soon replaced by another thought; if the people in the house woke up in the morning to find me dead, what would they have but surprise and fuss?Maybe they won't go to work in the morning, trying to bury me.But after the burial is over, they still have to go to work.My death, except for the grief of my distant mother, will probably not shock anyone else; death is a big thing to me, but a trivial thing to others, at most we can make up a few ghost stories to pass the long winter. night.

What is the value of such a death? The "director of the sales department" came back from the meal first, and occupied the stove with two elbows, and kept breathing on his hands: "It's really cold, it's so cold! It's so cold in this shitty day!" The old accountant held the stove carefully with both hands. With the lunch box in hand, she walked to her bunk and sat cross-legged with silent steps.He took off his gloves first, then his hat, and concentrated on looking at the barnyard rice soup in the lunch box as if praying, and then ate it quietly.He would never go near the stove to touch the light of the fire, and he was even afraid of disturbing others by the sound of his own eating, or he didn't even want to let others make the sound of eating.Seeing him in a cocoon and aloof from the world, I couldn't bear to cause him trouble after death.When the lieutenant went to Zhennanbao two days ago, he happened to be resting at the postal agency, and at this time he was cursing and preparing for another long trip. "Those bastards, they still have to rest while sitting at work!" He forgot that he used to take vacation while sitting at work.The demeanor and actions of the editor of the newspaper office and several other people were the same as usual, just like a woodcut printed on a calendar, without any change from day to day.I was very surprised: they didn't even notice my inner storm last night.It can be seen that whether it is my death, my inner storm, whether I become a dead person or a new person, the influence on some people who only care about themselves is actually very weak.The nerves of the people here seem to be blunted by a stagnant life.It was very easy for me to quietly start another life in the midst of a mass of numb nerves.This thought suddenly cheered me up.I lifted the cotton net cover, got up, wiped my face with a wet towel, and went to cook... The wild and desolate field, with its unpretentious majesty, moved me to tears again: Give me a little of your stern majesty!Even if I have the simplicity of that lump of dirt, I can stand up and surpass myself! "Dead Dog Pie" drove the car slowly with the handlebars, and walked to the field freely according to the wishes of the animals.Everywhere is bathed in the winter sun.The white-breasted magpie chirped for joy, following behind the cart to peck at the horse dung.The haystacks on the grain field are dazzlingly yellow, and a metallic flowing light radiates from the top of the stacks.Looking to the east, the train thirty miles away is slowly puffing out green smoke, spreading a strip of mist in the sky, which lingers for a long time.On the edge of the tumbling mist, the cyan gradually turned to purple, becoming extremely gorgeous under the blue sky.There is no wind, and the air is filled with the smell of dry ice grass, achnatherum and mala, mixed with the smell of dry dust flying up.The heat of the sun hung over me heavily, making me drowsy.The happiness of living is not in the moment when people are fully awake, but in the time between sleep and non-sleep.

The storm in my heart calmed down, and a carol rose from the bottom of my heart: harmonious, clear, simple, and happy, as if I was in a field full of birdsong and flowers, breathing fresh air.Death is tempting, but life is even more tempting; feeling itself is happiness, pain is also a feeling, regret is also a feeling, pain and regret are both experiences of life, so pain and regret are also the happiness of life . "Chirp, chirp", the sparrow flew over my head, flapping its small wings while looking around, and flew to the higher place.what!Such a small life is also trying to surpass itself.Get ahead of yourself!Go beyond yourself! ...After dinner that day, I didn't go to Lanta Hua's house, and sat down on my straw bunk.Leaning on the rolled up cotton net cover, I took out the "Das Kapital" that I hadn't flipped through for more than 20 days and had been using it as a pillow.

After studying the registered letter from home, the lieutenant must have some good news for him, so he politely sent the lantern back and screwed it up a bit for me.I didn't dare to open it immediately, and silently and a little apprehensively touched the pale yellow hard paper.Now, this book is the only way I can "beyond myself"; if "beyond myself is heaven", then there is only such a road leading to "heaven" in front of me.Could she really teach me something?Does it really make me "beyond myself"?Can the cells of my art absorb the nourishment made of these abstract concepts? ...Although I have not read "Das Kapital" in the past, I have learned "Political Economy" by the Soviet Leontiev, which is "must-read for cadres" in my routine political studies.At that time, I thought that the book was full of dry dogmas and concepts that had nothing to do with reality, and it was particularly boring to read.

Now, when I reopen Capital, at least my stomach won't interfere with my head.With a perplexed and reverent mood, I turned to "Chapter Three Currency or Circulation of Commodities", which is where "Note 51" was interrupted more than twenty days ago.Several people in the group were chatting in a dull, forced tone. The "director of the sales department" provided the old accountant with a "remedy", saying that the best way to cure teeth grinding is to knock out all the teeth.Even this cruel joke didn't elicit an iota of laughter.But soon I lost all voices in the room, because I began to discover that Marx used a very graphic, very vivid, and very beautiful style when he expounded on profound economic problems.I haven't fully grasped the meaning of what he said, but his crisp and fluent literary beauty has firmly grasped me: every page has sentences that amaze me.

His thinking logic is rigorous, but he adopts the big leap and signification techniques of writing poetry in his elaboration.For example, he said: "If a commodity is to actually function as an exchange value, it must first give up its natural form, from imaginary gold to real gold-although this metamorphosis is more difficult for commodities than by The transition from necessity to freedom is more difficult for Hegel’s philosophy than forsaking the carapace for crabs, or for the godfather Hieronymus to get rid of the old Adam.” Next, he said very humorously Said: "If the owner of iron were to explain the price of iron as a form of money to some vulgar commodity owner, the vulgar commodity owner would be like St. Like Dante of the creed, he replied: "The weight and fineness of this coin are already 12 points, but tell me, do you have it in your purse?" It will be so unrestrained and unrestrained, without being bound by the connotation of any abstract concept.A person who has artistic synaesthesia is, in my opinion, a genius.I found that Marx actually had a kind of ideological "notification"-I couldn't think of the exact word to express this meaning at the moment.That is to say, he has a wonderful ability to communicate with each other and integrate different knowledge fields of human beings into one.The more I read, the more deeply I feel that Marx's books are condensed human wisdom: political, economic, historical, artistic, literary, and even poetry!There are many places where the solvent in my mind cannot dissolve this condensed crystallization of knowledge.But it doesn't confuse me; it's a fascinating mystery, and solving it will pay off a fortune.He also cites a lot of materials, and the notes under the pages and the confirmation of the text are full of wit and wit.Needless to say, the "tongue" I have seen before, he also used the plays and poems of Shakespeare and Sophocles as circumstantial evidence of the transformation of commodities into money, so this abstract proposition immediately popped up in a dramatic and concrete process. on paper.The small earthen house where I slept, which smelled of hay, rats, and soot, suddenly became the stage of a historical drama, and the commodity owners and money owners were all vividly performed with distinctive faces.As I read this, I have completely forgotten where I am.When discussing each issue, he also cited the views of bourgeois economists on this issue one by one, pointing out the relationship between inheritance and development in some places, showing his master demeanor that never plunders the beauty of others.In other places, he used extremely humorous and sharp language to relentlessly and sharply refute those bourgeois pseudosciences, showing the appearance of an ideological fighter again.In this way, every page of his book shines with the essence of history.Between the lines on every page, you can see the lecture process of human history and intellectual history.Ah, when I saw that Marx actually quoted Wang Maoyin, who served as the minister of the household department during the Xianfeng period, to the emperor, I felt a sense of intimacy spontaneously.Marx noticed us; when he wrote this great work, when he founded Marxism, he consciously included our ancient country in the East!

Everyone in the "home" fell asleep.The lights are dim, and I'm not in anyone's way.The old accountant is still grinding his teeth desperately, the lieutenant is snoring loudly, the editor of the newspaper office is talking in his sleep... and I am drunk by the huge logical power and profound wisdom.Being able to express the results of rational thinking artistically, visually, and starting from concrete life is a rare skill for thinkers and artists, and Marx reached the peak in this respect.At this time, I began to read Marx's book seriously, and I probably regarded her as a treasure of art; every sentence in her was worth my pondering.Language and writing can create miracles.The miracle they perform is in the human heart.They can smash, split, and rearrange the reader's inherent thoughts.

Art intoxicates, and ideas intoxicate.If art and thought are top grade, then this is a double wine.Although I can't fully taste the beauty of this wine for a while, the wine will naturally work.When the rooster raised by the crippled custodian crowed for the first time—the roosters of other people had already been eaten, so I read all of "Part Two".Never again does the text of the last page explain so clearly what all the sounding ideas of the realm of bourgeois humanist reason are!Marx put it this way: The buying and selling of labor power is carried out within the boundaries of the field of circulation or the field of commodity exchange.This realm is actually the true paradise of natural rights.

It is Liberty, Equality, Property, and Bentham that rule there.free!Because the buyers and sellers of a commodity (such as labor power) are determined only by their free will.They entered into a contract as free men with equal rights.The contract is the final result, where their wills obtain a common legal expression.equality!Because they are related to each other as commodity owners, exchanging equivalents for equivalents.ownership!Because they only dispose of their own things.Bentham!Because both parties only care about their own interests.The only force that unites and relates them is their egoism, their particular interest, their self-interest.Just because everyone only cares about himself and does not care about others, everyone is guided by the predetermined harmony of things, or under the guidance of God who takes care of everything, and only does what is beneficial to each other, useful to all, or beneficial to all. Work.

Marx has already dissected it so clearly, I really hate seeing it too late, and at the same time, it is strange that later generations have to take the trouble to write so many articles to expose the hypocrisy of the bourgeois rational kingdom.The sum of these articles can fill a huge library, but it is not equal to Marx's text of less than 300 words.Moreover, no one who criticized me in 1957 used this passage to wake me up from the sleep of so-called humanitarian literature.I am a little angry, what I am angry is not their criticism of me, but their failure to make a decent criticism of me, turning the criticism into a ridiculous farce of yelling, which makes me baffled, and I have no choice but to become Ridiculously cynical.

That last paragraph made me laugh even more in this small earthen house in this barren village.Marx is so indescribable that he outlined the relationship between capitalists and wage laborers with a few strokes: leaving the field of simple circulation or commodity exchange... The image of the people in the play seems to have changed a little.The original owner of money has now become a capitalist, and he walks ahead with his head held high; the owner of labor power, becoming their laborer, follows him.One is smiling, aggressive, and absorbed in his career; the other is timid, as if sending his hide to market, expecting nothing but peeling. I still have this vivid image in my head after I fall asleep, but it turns out to be like this: In front, my uncle, my father, and the "career-focused" Morgan they adore They; and after them came a great company of their employed laborers.But the picture changed in an instant: now, the workers are walking in front, "smiling, valiant, and concentrating on their careers", while the former ones are following behind, "retreating, as if It’s like shipping your own skin to the market without expecting anything but to peel it off.”As for me, a disheveled beggar-like figure in a shabby cotton-padded jacket, I could neither "smile, valiantly, and concentrate on my career" like the workers walking in front; Between the two, there is no way to advance or retreat...