Chapter 62 reject

Our small town does not rely on the border at all, absolutely not, it is still far away from the border, and probably no one in this small town has ever been there. rich area.Just imagining a part of that road tires, and one cannot imagine anything but a part of it.There are also several big cities on that road, which are much larger than our small town. Even if ten of these small cities were lined up, and ten more were added to the top, they would not be as large and crowded as one city.If you can't get lost on the way there, you will certainly get lost in the towns, and it's impossible to get around them because they're so big.

Yet there is farther than the frontier—if I may compare this distance, it is like someone saying that a man of three hundred is older than a man of two hundred—that is farther than the frontier The place is the capital.From time to time we still hear something about the war on the frontier, but we know almost nothing about the capital.I mean those of us of the bourgeoisie, because government officials are closely connected with the capital and can get news there every two or three months, or at least they think so. It is strange, and I am constantly struck by new shocks, that in this small town we obey all orders from the capital in silence.We have had no political change initiated by the citizens themselves for hundreds of years.The upper rulers of the capital changed successively, the old dynasty was overthrown or abolished, and the new dynasty started again. Even the capital was destroyed in the last century, and a new capital was built far away from it. They were also destroyed, and the old capital was rebuilt, but these had no effect on our small town.Our officials, big and small, always perform their own duties. The high-level officials are all from the capital, the middle-level officials must at least be foreigners, and the low-level officials are from us. This has always been the case, and we are also satisfied with this.The top official is the top tax collector, who has the rank of colonel, and is called as such.He's an old man now, but I've known him for years, because he was a colonel when I was a boy.At first he moved up the ranks quickly, but then he seemed to stall.For this small town, his rank is enough, if the rank is higher, we won't be able to accommodate him here.Whenever I try to picture him, I always see him sitting on the terrace of his house, leaning back, with a pipe in his mouth.The Imperial flag flies from the roof of his house, and the platform is very large, and sometimes small military drills are carried out there, with clothes drying on both sides of the platform.His house looked out on the market square, and his grandchildren in beautiful silks played around him, but they were not allowed to go to the market below. They can poke their heads out between the railings, and when other children are fighting below, they fight together above.

That is to say, the colonel rules the town.I don't think he's ever shown anyone the document that empowers him.Perhaps he did not have such a document.Perhaps he was indeed the top tax collector.But this document is everything?Does it give him the power to rule over all jurisdictions?His office is of vital importance to the state, but not to the citizens.In our place, almost everyone has the impression that people seem to say: "You have taken everything we have, so please take us as well." In fact, this rulership was not taken by him. No, he wasn't a tyrant either.The Chief Excise Officer is the Chief Official, that is an ancient tradition, and the Colonel follows the same tradition as we do.

He lives among us, and though the difference in status is not so different, he is still quite different from ordinary citizens.If a delegation came to him with a request, he stood there like a wall against the world.There is nothing behind him, and people imagine hearing whispered voices over there. This is probably an illusion. He is the barrier that separates us from the whole, at least for us.Only see him in such an interview.When I was a boy, I was there once when a delegation of citizens went to see him to get government funding because the poorest districts had been completely burned down.My father, a horse blacksmith, well respected in the village, was also a member of the delegation, and it was he who took me there.This is not a particularly important matter, but with such excitement, all the people squeezed in to watch, and it was almost impossible to tell who was the real delegation in the crowd.Because most of these interviews were held on the platform, many people climbed up from the square with ladders and watched the things above through the railing.At that time, it was arranged like this, about one-third of the entire platform was reserved for him, and the rest was full of people.A few soldiers watched over everyone, and they formed a semicircle around him.In fact, only one soldier is enough to deal with everything, and we are very afraid of them.I don't know where these soldiers came from, but they are far, far away, and they are so similar to each other that they don't need uniforms at all.They are short in stature, not strong, but very agile.The most eye-catching thing on them is the big rough teeth that occupy the mouth, and the disturbing gazes from their thin eyebrows and small eyes.So they were horrors to the children, but they were also a pleasure, because the children wanted to startle them with those teeth and that look and run away as fast as they could.This childhood fright doesn't seem to go away in adulthood, at least it's still working.Of course there are other reasons.These soldiers spoke a dialect that we didn't understand at all, and ours couldn't understand them, so they were somewhat isolated and inaccessible, but this was their role.They were so taciturn, so serious, so deadpan, and while they had done nothing really bad, they were in a sense almost intolerably bad.For example, a soldier walks into a shop, buys some small things, and then leans on the counter to listen to the conversation in the shop. He probably doesn't understand anything, but pretends to understand it, and doesn't say a word himself. , just staring at the person who spoke for a while, and then at the obedient person for a while, holding the handle of the saber hanging on his belt.This was very disgusting, everyone lost interest in chatting, the shop gradually became empty, and the soldier didn't leave until the shop was empty.As soon as these soldiers appeared, our active people immediately fell silent.It was the same at that time.Like all solemn scenes, the colonel stood upright, holding two long bamboo poles with both hands stretched forward.It was an old custom, and it meant, roughly, that as he upheld the law, so the law upheld him.At this point everyone knows what's going to happen on that platform, but people are used to being surprised all over again.At that time, the person appointed to speak was unwilling to speak. He had already walked opposite the colonel, but he lost his courage again, and found various reasons to squeeze back into the crowd.Besides, there was no longer any suitable person willing to speak, and the few who volunteered were not suitable. It was such a mess that people hurriedly sent letters to some citizens who were famous orators.The colonel stood motionless the entire time, save for his chest to visibly sink in as he gasped for breath.It wasn't that he had trouble breathing, it was just that his breathing movements were very clear, like a frog, for example, but frogs always did this, and it became special to him.I slipped between the adults, watching him through the space between two soldiers, until someone knocked me away with a knee.During this time the pre-determined speaker regained his courage, and began to speak, supported by two townspeople.He had been smiling throughout the solemn speech describing the catastrophe, a smile of the utmost condescension, very touching, but in vain, without evoking the slightest reaction on the Colonel's face.At last he made the request, as I recall, only for a year's tax exemption, and presumably for the purchase of building materials in the Royal Forest at a reduced price.Then he bowed deeply and kept bowing. Except for the colonel, the soldiers standing behind, and a few officials, everyone else bowed and bowed.To my child's absurdity, those who stood on the ladder at the edge of the platform descended several rungs, so as to avoid being seen during this decisive interval, and to be curious at any time close to the platform floor. Inquire about news.This went on for a while, when an officer, a short man, approached the colonel, who was still motionless except for his breath, stood on tiptoe as best he could to listen to him whisper something, then clapped his hands and heard all the applause. Everyone straightened up.He announced: "Demand denied. All leave." There was a palpable sense of relief in the crowd, and all pushed out, almost without notice, as the colonel became like us again. I only saw that he let go of the bamboo pole exhaustedly, and the bamboo pole fell down immediately. He fell into a chair dragged by the officials and hurriedly stuffed his pipe into it. mouth.

The whole thing is not special, it usually turns out that way.While there were occasional cases where minor requests were met, it seemed that the colonel was personally responsible for doing so in a strong personal capacity, and this had to be formally kept secret from the government.In our little town today, as far as our judgment can tell, the colonel's eyes are also the government's eyes, but there must be a difference here, a difference that cannot be pursued at all. It is certain, however, that the townspeople are always rejected in matters of importance.It is also strange that one can hardly live without this refusal, and that refusal and acceptance of refusal are not at all a matter of form.People went there again and again energetically and solemnly, and when they left there, although they were not full of energy and elation, they were not pessimistic, disappointed or exhausted either.I can't ask anyone about these things, and like everyone else, I feel them inside myself.I've never had the curiosity to see how these things are related.

However, as far as I can see, there is a certain age group who are dissatisfied, and they are young people from about seventeen to twenty years old.They were all very young lads who could not have foreseen from afar the power of this most insignificant and above all a revolutionary idea.Dissatisfaction was creeping silently among them.