Chapter 6 Chapter 2 Xavier

His ears were still filled with the noise between classes, and the sound became smaller and smaller.After a while, the old mathematics professor will walk into the classroom and start torturing his classmates with numbers all over the blackboard.The buzzing of a headless fly will fill the interminable period between the professor's question and the student's answer...but by then he'll be long gone! It was the spring of the year after the war, and the sun was shining brightly.He walked towards the Mordau River.Stroll along the pier.The world of the classroom is far away, and only a small brown schoolbag with a few notebooks and a textbook links him to the classroom.

He came to Charles Bridge.The row of statues leaning over the water beckoned him to pass.Almost every time he skipped school (he often skipped school, longed to skip school!) the Charles Bridge had a strong pull on him, pulling him across.He knew that today he had to cross the bridge and stop under the bridge, where there was a piece of land, next to an old yellow house, the windows on the third floor were flush with the stone pier of the bridge, only one step away.He liked to stare at the window (it was always closed) and wonder who lived there. This time, the shutters were open (perhaps because it was a very sunny day).A birdcage hangs on the wall.He stopped, looking at the intricate, slender cage of white wire, and then he noticed a figure silhouetted against the darkness of the room.Even seeing only the back of the figure, he could tell it was a woman, and he wished she had turned so he could see her face.

Sure enough, the figure moved, but in the opposite direction; it gradually disappeared into the darkness.But the window was open, and he firmly believed that this was an encouragement, a silent and intimate reminder. He couldn't help himself and jumped onto the pier.Between the window and the bridge was a ditch, the bottom of which was paved with stones.The schoolbag got in his way.He threw it through the open window into the darkened room, and jumped in after it, landing on the ledge. The rectangular window was exactly as tall as Xavier, and as wide as his outstretched arm.He surveyed the room from back to front (like those who are attracted by the distance), so first he saw the back door, then a potbellied wardrobe against the left wall, and a carved table on the right. A wooden bed at the end, a round table covered with a knitted tablecloth in the middle of the house, and a vase of flowers on it.That's when he noticed his schoolbag, lying on the cheap fringed rug at his feet.

Just as he was looking at the schoolbag and was about to jump into the room to get it back, the door at the back of the dark room opened and a woman came out.She saw him at once; the room was dark, and the rectangles of windows shone like night on one side and day on the other.To the woman, the man who appeared at the window looked like a black silhouette on a gold background, a man in balance between day and night. If the woman was blinded by the light and could not see the face of the intruder, Xavier was better off.His eyes had adapted to the semi-darkness, and he could clearly see the woman's soft lines and melancholy face, and her paleness could be seen at a glance even in the darkest place.She stood in the middle of the door, watching Xavier; she neither yelled, gasped, nor greeted him tactfully.

They looked at each other's blurred faces, and it took Xavier a moment to break the silence: "Here is my schoolbag." "Schoolbag?" she asked, Xavier's voice seemed to reassure her, and she closed the door behind her. Xavier squatted down on the window sill, pointed to the leather bag on the floor and said: "There are all important things in here. A math notebook, a science book, and a Czech composition text. I just wrote an assignment , the topic is: How did spring come this year. It took me a lot of work, and I don't want to rack my brains to do it again."

The woman took a few steps into the room so that Xavier could see her in the brighter light.His first impression was accurate: subdued and melancholic.In that blurred face he saw two large eyes floating, and he suddenly thought of another word: frightened.Not startled by his unexpected intrusion, but by an event long ago, which still remained in her wide staring eyes, in her pallor, as if in her In the expression of begging for forgiveness. Yes, the woman is indeed asking for forgiveness! "Sorry," she said. "But I really don't know how your schoolbag fell into our room. I was cleaning the room just now, and I didn't see anything that didn't belong here."

"It's okay," Xavier said, still crouching on the ledge.He pointed to the floor. "I'm glad to see it's still here." "I'm glad you found it, too," she smiled. They were facing each other, separated only by a table with a knitted tablecloth and a glass vase filled with waxed paper flowers. "No, it would be a nuisance to lose it!" said Xavier. "The Chinese teacher just doesn't like me. If I lose my homework, he will definitely fail me." There was sympathy on the woman's face.Her eyes grew so large that Xavier felt nothing but them, as if the rest of her face and body were mere appendages to them.He wasn't quite sure what the woman's face or figure was like—those were his preoccupations.The main impression of the woman on him was actually limited to those large eyes that bathed everything in a brown light.

Xavier was now moving around the table toward those eyes. "I'm an old repeater," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder (ah, that shoulder was as soft as her breast!). "Believe me," he continued, "there's nothing sadder than going back to the same classroom a year later, sitting at the same old desks..." Then he saw the brown eyes look up at him, and a wave of happiness swept over him.Xavier knew that now he could move his hand down even further, touch her breasts, her belly, or whatever, and she was terrified.But he didn't move his hand; he took her shoulders in his palm, a beautiful hillock, so beautiful to look at, so satisfying; he wanted nothing more.

For a while they stood motionless.The woman seemed to be listening carefully, and then she whispered, "You have to go, hurry up. My husband is coming back!" Nothing could have been easier for Xavier to pick up his schoolbag and jump from the window onto the plinth, but he didn't.His heart is full of happiness, this woman is in danger, he must be with her: "I can't leave you!" "My husband! Go away!" she begged. "No, I'm staying with you! I'm no coward!" Xavier declared.At this moment, the footsteps on the stairs could be clearly heard.

The woman tried to push Xavier toward the window, but he knew he would never leave a woman in danger.From the depths of the apartment he could already hear the door opening.At the last moment, Xavier threw himself on the floor and crawled under the bed. The bed was supported by five wooden planks to support the torn mattress, and the space between the floor and the bed was about the same size as a coffin.But unlike the coffin, it smells nice (the straw of the mattress), is audible (footsteps resoundingly), and is visible (the gray mattress cover obliquely above the The face of a woman he knew he would never abandon, a face pierced by grass protruding from three bundles of mattress covers).

He heard the heavy footsteps and turned his head to see a pair of leather boots thumping across the room.Then he heard a woman's voice, and a deep sense of pain swept over him: the voice sounded just as melancholy, terrified, and moving as the one he had heard a few minutes ago.But Xavier was sane and held back his sudden pangs of jealousy; he understood that the woman was in danger, and she was protecting herself with the weapons at her disposal: her face and her melancholy. He heard a man's voice that seemed to match the black boots he had just seen striding across the floor.Then he heard the woman say, no, no, no.Footsteps hobbled toward his hiding place, and the top of the low bed he lay on sank even further, almost touching his face. He heard the woman say again, no, no, please not now, and Xavier saw her face against the rough mattress cover, a face that seemed to speak to him of its humiliation. He wanted to get up from his coffin, he longed to save the woman, but he knew he couldn't do this, her face looked so close, leaning over him, begging him, the hair protruding from her face Three bundles of grass are like three arrows.The wooden plank on Xavier's head began to shake rhythmically, and the straw that pierced a woman's face like three arrows scratched his nose rhythmically, causing him to sneeze suddenly. All movement in Xavier's head stopped; neither did the bed.There was no sound, Xavier held his breath, and then, "What's that?" "I didn't hear anything," answered the woman's voice, and after a moment of silence, the man said, "Whose bag is that? ' Xavier heard loud footsteps and saw boots striding toward the window. "This guy is making love in leather boots!" Xavier thought angrily.He was angry and felt his time had come.He got on his elbows and crawled out from under the bed until he could see what was going on inside. "Who's there? Where did you hide him?" the man's voice roared, and Xavier saw dark blue breeches and a dark blue police uniform over the black leather boots.The man surveyed the room carefully, then ran towards the potbellied wardrobe, whose shape suggested that a lover was hiding inside.At that moment, Xavier sprang from hiding, light as a cat, quick as a leopard.A man in uniform opens a wardrobe full of clothes and reaches inside.At this time Xavier was already standing behind him, and when the man was about to reach in again to catch the hidden lover, Xavier grabbed his collar from behind and shoved him into the closet.He closed the wardrobe door, locked it, put the key in his pocket, and turned to the woman. Facing those wide-open brown eyes, he heard the groaning impact in the closet, the noises and shouts were muffled by a large amount of clothes, so that he couldn't hear the man's yelling clearly. He sat down under the gaze of those big eyes, caressing the woman's shoulders, and felt her bare skin with his palms, and only then did he realize that she was only wearing a thin dress, with her bare breasts exposed. It undulates seductively under the skirt. The banging in the closet continued, and Xavier held the woman tightly in his arms, wishing he could suck her body in, but her silhouette seemed to be melting away, leaving only those bright eyes in the end.He told her not to be afraid, and showing her the key that the wardrobe was securely locked, he reminded her that her husband's cell was made of solid oak, and that the captive could neither open the lock nor break the door. out.Then he began to kiss her (his hands were still around her shoulders, and he was so affectionate that he dared not move them down to touch her breasts, risking their dizzying allure), and his lips touched When she kissed her cheek, he felt as if he was submerged in a vast expanse of water. "What are we going to do?" he heard her ask. He stroked her shoulder and replied that there was no need to worry, everything was fine, he was happier than ever, and he was not interested in the noise in the closet any more than a storm from a record player or a storm from the other side of town. like a dog barking. To demonstrate his mastery of the situation, he stood up and surveyed the room with calm composure.Then he laughed, for he saw a leaden stick on the table.He picked it up, went to the wardrobe, and knocked hard on the side of the wardrobe a few times in answer to the banging sound from inside. "What are we going to do?" asked the woman again.Xavier replied, "Let's get out of here." "And what about him?" she asked. "A man can go two or three weeks without food," said Xavier, "and when we come back in a year we'll find a skeleton in a uniform and leather boots." before the furniture, smacking it with a stick, laughing, and looking at the woman, hoping she would laugh with him. But she was still serious, repeating, "Where are we going?" Xavier tried to explain, but she interrupted him to say that this was her home, and the place Xavier was taking her had neither her wardrobe nor her wardrobe. Nor her little bird.Xavier replied that home is neither a wardrobe nor a bird in a cage, but the presence of those we love.He went on to say that he himself had no home, or rather, that his home consisted of wandering.He said that he could only survive by passing from dream to dream, from one view to another, and that if he stayed too long in one place, he would surely die, just as her husband was in the closet if he stayed there. The last few weeks will definitely die the same. During the conversation, both of them felt that the closet had become quiet.The silence was so pronounced, as the blissful lull after a storm excited them; the canary began to sing, and the windows were filled with the afterglow of the setting sun.The scene was as good as an invitation to travel, as good as the grace of the Lord, as good as the death of a policeman. The woman caressed Xavier's face. This was the first time she touched him voluntarily, and it was also the first time Xavier saw her real, solid outline.She said, "Okay, let's go. We'll go wherever you want. Wait a minute, I want to get a few things." She stroked him again, smiled, and walked toward the door.He looked at her, his eyes suddenly filled with peace; he saw that her gait was as soft and graceful as that of an aquatic animal. Then he lay down on the bed.He feels good.The closet was quiet, and the man seemed to have fallen asleep, or hanged himself.In the silence came the whispers of space, the murmur of the Mordau River and the oppressive sounds of the city. This sound was so far away, like the rustling in the forest. Xavier felt himself wandering again.There is nothing better than the time before a trip, when Tomorrow's Horizon comes to visit us and announce its promise.Xavier lay on the rumpled blanket, and everything melted into a wonderful unity: the soft bed like a woman, the woman like water, and the water like the soft, springy bed. The door opened and the woman returned to the room.She was dressed in green, green like water, green like the ever-fascinating horizon, green like the sleep he was slowly and helplessly drifting into. Yes, Xavier was asleep. Xavier didn't sleep to regain energy for waking life.No, that monotonous pendulum—sleeping, waking—that oscillates back and forth three hundred and sixty-five times a year was unknown to him. For him, sleep is not the opposite of life—sleep is life, and life is dream.He passed from one dream to another, as from one life to another. It was dark, except for the lantern.Large swirls of snowflakes swirled under the night-piercing cone of light. He ran through the station gates and quickly through the waiting room to the platform where a train with its windows brightly lit was hissing and steaming.An old man waving a lantern beat him past, and closed the door of the carriage.Xavier jumped on the train quickly, the old man arced in the air with his lantern held high, the calm siren echoed from the other side of the platform, and the train moved on. Once inside the car, he stopped, trying to catch his breath.Once again he arrived at the last minute, a coincidence that was something he was especially proud of.Others always arrive on time according to the scheduled timetable, so their lives are as ordinary as if they were copying a test assigned by the teacher.He pictured them sitting in the pre-reserved seats in the carriage, having those pre-known conversations—the mountain house where they planned to spend the week, the routine of everyday life they had known at school, so They can always live blindly and mechanically without going overboard. But Xavier, on a whim, unexpectedly arrived at the station at eleven o'clock.Now he was standing in the aisle of the carriage, not knowing what had brought him on a school excursion with his obnoxious classmates and the bald professor with fleas in his beard. He began to wander the car: the boys stood in the aisle, breathing on the frosted windows, peering through the holes where the frost had melted; others lounging on the car seats, their skis The clogs are crossed on the luggage rack overhead to support the suitcase.Someone in the back was playing cards, and someone in another car was singing loudly a simple interminable song, repeating seven words over and over again: My canary is dead, my canary is dead Alright, my canary... He stopped in this carriage and looked in.There were three older boys and a blond girl in his class.She blushed when she saw him, but continued to sing to cover it, her eyes fixed on Xavier: My canary is dead, my canary . . . Xavier walked away, passing other carriages that echoed with the singing and frolic of the students.He saw a man in a conductor's uniform approaching him, stopping at each car door to check tickets.Xavier was not fooled by the uniform—beneath the conductor's hat he recognized the unmistakable face of the Latin professor, and he knew he had to dodge him at all costs, not only because he had no ticket, but because it had been a long time (he can't even remember how long) He didn't go to Latin class anymore. He squeezed past the Latin teacher as he stooped to the front of the carriage, where two doors led to two small rooms: the lavatory and the toilet.He opened the door of the bathroom and saw a strange couple locked in an embrace: the Czech teacher, a serious woman of about fifty, a classmate of Xavier, who always sat in the front row, Xavier hadn't paid him much attention during the few sessions he had in class.Upon seeing Xavier, the terrified lovers parted quickly, bent over the vanity, washing their hands diligently under a trickle of water from the tap. Xavier didn't want to disturb them, he went back to the aisle between the cars; the blond schoolgirl stood there, looking at him with her big blue eyes; Sing that canary song again, a song that Xavier thought would go on forever.Oh, how crazy, he thought, to believe that a song would go on forever, as if everything in the world wasn't meant to be from the beginning. With this in mind, he looked into the blonde girl's eyes, knowing that he would never approve of that false game in which the ephemeral is considered eternal, in which smallness masquerades as greatness, he would never appreciate that falsehood called love. game.So he turned and went into the bathroom again to see the tall Czech teacher snuggling up to the little boy again, with his arms around his waist. "Sorry, please don't wash your hands again!".Xavier told them. "I want to wash up." He carefully squeezed through them, turned on the faucet, and leaned over the washstand, so that he could be alone in a corner and the awkward lover standing behind him would not be disturbed. "Let's go next door," whispered the governess firmly.Then Xavier heard the click of the door and the sound of four feet walking toward the next bathroom.Now he is alone.He leaned contentedly against the wall, lost in the vain thoughts of love, sweet thoughts illuminated by large, pleading blue eyes. The train stopped, and there was a blast of horns, noise, thumping, stomping; Xavier left his hiding place to join the crowd rushing to the platform.He saw the hills, the big moon, the blinding snow; they were walking through the night as bright as day, in long processions, skis pointing upwards like sacred symbols, like arms uttering holy oath. The line was long, and Xavier walked with his hands in his pockets, for he was the only one without skis, without the token of the oath.As he marched, he listened to the conversations of his listless companions.He turned his head and saw the frail, petite girl with blond hair falling behind the line all the way, stumbling under the heavy skis and bogging down in the snow.After a while he turned his head again and saw the math teacher put her skis on his shoulders, overlapping his own, and supported the girl with his free hand.It was a bittersweet picture of unhappy old age comforting unhappy youth; Xavier looked at it and thought it was not bad. Then they heard the faint sound of dance music, which became louder as they came to a restaurant.The restaurant was surrounded by wooden houses where Xavier's classmates began to settle.But Xavier had no reserved room, no skis to pack, no clothes to change.So he went straight to Lang Hall, where there was a dance floor, a jazz band, and some guests at tables.He immediately noticed a woman in a crimson sweater buttoned up and tights surrounded by men drinking beer.He saw immediately that the woman was elegant, proud, and she was getting bored.He walked up to her and asked her to dance. They danced in the middle of the dance floor, just the two of them.Xavier noticed the beautiful gauntness of the woman's neck, the beautiful creases of the skin around the eyes, and the deep lines in the face.He was very happy, holding in his arms a man who had gone through many vicissitudes. He, but a student, held a life that was almost completed.He was proud to dance with her, and he wished that the fair-haired girl would come and see his arrogance, as if his partner's age were a mountain, and the young girl was only a blade of grass at the foot of which looked up pitifully. His wish came true: boys started pouring into the lobby, surrounded by girls who had swapped their ski pants for skirts; they took up all the empty tables so that Xavier could be with the woman in the crimson sweater There was dancing in the center of the large audience.He was content to see Goldilocks at a table.She was wearing a beautiful dress, too beautiful for the dark hall, and the soft white dress made her look even more fragile.Xavier understood that she was wearing this dress for him, and he was determined not to let her go, that he would spend the night entirely for her. He told the woman in the crimson sweater that he didn't want to dance anymore: he couldn't stand those stupid faces staring at them from beer glasses.The woman agreed and laughed.Even though they were just the two of them on the dance floor in the middle of the band, they stopped (in plain sight for everyone) and left the dance floor, arm in arm, past the tables and out into the snowy outdoors. The cold air hit him, Xavier thought, and the sickly girl in white would soon follow them out into the cold.He took the crimson woman's arm and led her further into the wilderness.He felt like a tramp whose dance partner was the flute he was playing. After a while, the door of the restaurant opened, and Goldilocks came out.She looked weaker than ever, and her white clothes mingled with the snow, making her look like snow moving in the snow.Xavier hugged the woman in the sweater—a warmly dressed, regal old woman—and he kissed her, touched the body beneath the sweater, and out of the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the little Snow White gazing sadly at them. Then he threw the old woman down in the snow and threw himself on top of her.He knew that the day was getting late, the girl's skirt was very thin, and the severe cold was stroking her calves, her knees, touching her thighs, moving higher and higher until reaching her crotch and abdomen.Then they got up and the old woman took him to a residence where she had a room. The room was on the ground floor and the windows were almost level with the snow field.Xavier saw Goldilocks watching him from a few steps away.He didn't want the girl out of sight, he was so full of her image, so he turned on the light (the old woman laughed lewdly when she saw he needed it), took her by the hand, and went to the window, He hugged her, pulled up her thick rough sweater (a warm sweater for an old body), thinking about the girl, she was probably frozen, frozen unconscious, freezing There was not a faint quivering spark in the numb body, which had lost all touch, and was but a soul to which Xavier loved--ah, he adored souls with such love-- Dead shell. Who can bear such deep love?Xavier felt his arms go weak, too weak to even pull the heavy sweater up, exposing the old woman's chest.His whole body felt a kind of heaviness, so he fell down on the bed.It's hard to describe his blissful contentment.When a person is extremely happy, sleep comes as a reward.Xavier smiled and fell asleep.He sank into a beautiful and enchanting night, where two frozen eyes shone, and two cold moons. Xavier's life was by no means a long gray thread that ran monotonously from birth to death.No, he wasn't living—he was sleeping, and in that sleeping life, jumping from dream to dream.He dreamed, then fell asleep in the midst of the dream, and then dreamed another dream, so that his sleep was like a stack of boxes, one inside the other. look!He was sleeping at the same time in a house by the Charles Bridge and in a house in the hills.These two sleeps resounded like two organ tones, now joined by a third: He was standing looking around.The street seemed empty, and some figures passed by from time to time, and soon disappeared into corners or door openings.He also didn't want to be seen, tiptoeing through suburban alleys.From across the city came the sound of gunfire. Finally, he entered a house and went down the stairs.Several doors lead to a basement hallway.He fumbled for the door on the right, then knocked three times, and then knocked three more times. The door opened, and a young man in overalls let him in, and they passed through rooms littered with clothes on racks and guns piled in corners.Then they walked down a long passage (they must have gone far beyond the confines of the house) to a small basement where about twenty-five people sat. He sat down on an empty chair and looked at the people present, only a few he knew.At the front of the venue, three people sat behind a table.One of them, wearing a peaked hat, was speaking—about a secret date that was coming soon and that would decide everything.Everything will go according to plan: leaflets, newspapers, radio, post office, telegram, weapons.Then he asked everyone what tasks they were assigned.Finally he turned to Xavier and asked if he had brought the list. It's a really scary moment.To make sure the list was in a safe place, Xavier had copied it down on the last page of his Czech notebook.The notebook is in his schoolbag with other textbooks.But where is the schoolbag?It's not on his side! The Man in the Hat asked him again. God, where is the schoolbag?Xavier racked his brains, and then, from the depths of his mind, a vague but salient memory came to the surface with a burst of sweet ecstasy.He tried to grab the memory, but it was too late, all faces were turned to him, waiting.He had to admit he didn't have a list. The faces of all—his trusted comrades—turned stern, and the man in the hat said in a icy tone that if this list fell into the hands of the enemy, the operation on which they had placed all their hopes would be ruined. Once, it will be the same as before: futility and death. Just as Xavier was about to answer, a door behind the rostrum opened, and a man put his head in and whistled sharply.Everyone knew it was a warning sign.Without waiting for the man in the hat to issue an order, Xavier shouted: "Let me go first!" because he realized that it would be a dangerous journey waiting for them, and those who rushed to the front would risk their lives. Xavier understood that he had to make up for his mistakes by forgetting to bring the list.But it wasn't just guilt that led him to take the risk, he scoffed at the narrowness that made life merely alive, that made man incomplete.He wanted to put his life on the scale, with death on the other end of the scale.He wanted to make his every act, every day, yes, every minute, worth the same amount as the terminal - death.That's why he wanted to be ahead of the pack, to walk the tightrope over the abyss, his head illuminated by the halo of bullets, and finally grow up in everyone's eyes until he was as vast as death itself... The man in the hat looked at him grimly, and there was a spark of understanding. "Okay," he said, "you lead." He squeezed through a metal gate and found himself in a small courtyard.It was getting dark, and he could hear the sound of gunfire in the distance. He raised his head and saw the searchlights sweeping around on the roof.A narrow iron ladder has been built from the ground to the top of the fifth floor.He started to climb.The others followed into the courtyard and gathered under the wall, waiting for him to climb to the roof and signal that the way was clear. Then they crawled across the roof, quiet and cautious, with Xavier leading the way.He moved like a cat, eyes peering into the darkness.He stopped at one point, beckoned to the hatted man, and pointed to the scurrying figures in the distance below, who appeared from all directions, with short guns in their hands. "Go on," said the man to Xavier. Xavier resumed his arduous march, jumping from roof to roof, climbing short metal ladders, hiding behind chimneys, avoiding the annoying searchlights that kept sweeping down houses, eaves, and street valleys. It was a fine trip, and the silent people turned into a flock of birds, flew over the heads of the enemy, and landed on the roofs on the other side of the street, where there was no danger.It had been a nice, long trip, but it had become too long, and Xavier began to feel a fatigue that dulled the senses and filled the mind with hallucinations.He seemed to hear a funeral song, the famous Chopin Funeral March usually played by a brass band at country funerals. He didn't slow down, but tried to cheer up and dispel this ominous hallucination.In vain; the dirge lingered obstinately in his ears, as if foretelling that his doom was approaching, as if trying to draw the veil of approaching death over the battle. Why did he resist this illusion so strongly?Didn't he yearn for a noble death to make his rooftop adventure an unforgettable feat?Was not the elegy that foretold his death an ode to his courage?His battle was a funeral, and his funeral a battle—wasn't it perfect that life and death were so beautifully combined? No, Xavier is not afraid of death's call, but that at this moment he can no longer rely on his senses, and because his ears are drugged by mournful funeral music, he can no longer hear the treacherous trap being laid by the enemy (his words to his comrades Safety guaranteed!) But is it possible that an illusion is so similar to reality?Is it possible that an imaginary Chopin march could be so full of heady rhythms and monotonous trombone notes? He opened his eyes and saw a room with a simple wardrobe and a bed on which he happened to be lying.He noted with satisfaction that he had been sleeping fully clothed, so that he didn't have to put on any clothes, just put on the shoes he kept under the bed. But where did this sad dirge, this brass band that sounds so real come from? He went to the window.There was almost no snow on the ground, and a small group of people stood there motionless.They were dressed in black, with their backs to him, as sad and desolate as the surrounding countryside.The remaining white snow was like a dirty rag on the wet ground. He opened the window and leaned out.Suddenly he understood.Sombrely dressed people were gathering around a coffin beside which was a deep cavern.On the other side of the tomb, another group of men dressed in black held brass instruments with small music books clipped to them.They played Chopin's march while looking intently at the notes. The windows are almost level with the ground.He jumped out and joined the mourning crowd.At this time, two burly men put the rope under the coffin, moved it above the tomb, and then lowered it slowly.An old couple standing among the mourners began to sob, and the rest took their arms and tried to comfort them. The coffin was at the bottom of the cave.People in black clothes stepped forward one by one, and emptied handfuls of dirt onto the top of the coffin.Xavier was also at the end of the line, grabbing handfuls of dirt mixed with snow to build a grave. 在场的人中，唯有他是陌生人，唯有他了解所发生的一切。他是唯一知道那个金发姑娘是如何死的，为什么死的。唯有他知道那只摸过她小腿，腹部和胸部的冰冷的手。除了他没人知道是谁造成了她的死亡。唯有他知道她为什么希望埋在这个地方，在这里她曾备受折磨，在这里她曾渴望死而不愿看见她的爱遭到背叛和遗弃。 他是唯一了解实情的人。其余在场的人仅仅是一无所知的公众，或是一无所知的牺牲品。他看见他们背后衬着巨大的山影，觉得他们仿佛消失在无边的远方；就象那个死去的姑娘消失在尘世的无垠之中一样。他觉得自己知道一切的人好象比潮湿的乡间还要广阔无边，以至于一切——送葬者，死去的姑娘，手拿铁锹的掘墓人，草地和山岗——都进入了他，消失在他的广大里。 他心里充满了这幅景象，充满了幸存者的悲伤和女孩的死亡，他感觉体内有个东西在延伸，仿佛那里有颗树在生长。他感到自己正在变大，现在他把自己的身躯仅仅看成是一件外套，一个面具，掩饰自己羞怯的面具。这般伪装了自我后，他走到死者的父母身边（父亲的面孔使他想起了死者的容貌，尽管这张脸哭得很红）表示了他的同情。他们毫无感觉地同他握手，他觉得他们的手在他手掌里是那样虚弱无力。 他久久地待在曾经最后看见金发姑娘和睡着了的木头房子里，靠在墙上，望着送葬的来宾三三两两消失在朦胧的远处。突然，他感到什么在抚摸他的脸。是的，他的确感到一只手的触摸。他深信自己懂得这一表示，于是感激地接受了它。他明白这是原谅的手。金发姑娘在告诉他，她还爱着他，这爱的存在是坟墓隔不断的。 他在梦里飘荡。 最美妙的时刻是：当一个梦还很生动，而另一个他意识到的梦已经开始出现。 当他站在高山平地上时，那双抚摸他的手已经属于下一个梦中的女人。可是，泽维尔还不知道这一点，因此这双手是独立存在的；在空荡的空间没有实体、无所归属、神奇的手，在两次冒险之间的手，在两个生命之间的手，不承受躯体和头颅负担的手。 噢，让那双神奇的手永远抚摸下去吧！ 接着，他感到不仅一双手，而还有一个柔软的大胸脯紧紧压在他的胸上，于是他看见一个黑发女人的脸，听见她的声音。"醒醒！看在上帝面上，快醒来！" 他正躺在一张蓬乱的床上，昏暗的小房间里还有一个大衣柜。泽维尔回忆起他是在大桥旁边的房子里。 "我知道你还想再睡一会儿，"她说，仿佛在求他原谅，"但是，我不得不叫醒你，因为我害怕。" "你怕什么？" "天哪，你什么都不知道？"她说。"听！" 泽维尔仔细倾听。远处传来枪声。 他跳下床，跑到窗户前，一队队穿蓝色工作服的人，端着自动步枪，正在桥上巡逻。 象是一个记忆穿过几道墙发出回声。泽维尔明白了，这些武装工人正在保卫街道，但他仍然觉得自己好象忘记了什么，这种事能解释他与眼前情景的联系、他知道，他实际上属于这个情景，由于某种错误，他脱离了它，象一个演员在适当的时候忘记了出场，这台受到削弱的戏在没有他的情况下继续演下去。蓦地，他回想起来了。 就在这一瞬间，他扫视了一眼房间，松了一口气，书包还在那里，靠在墙边，没有人拿走它。他扑过去，把它打开。所有的东西都在里面：数学笔记本，捷克语练习簿，理科课本。他取出捷克语练习簿，从后面翻开，再次松了口气。那个黑头发男人问他要的名单就在本子里——字迹虽小，但很清楚。泽维尔再次为自己聪明的念头感到得意，把这份重要文件藏在练习簿里，前面还有一篇作文，题目是"今年春天是怎样到来的。" "你到底在看什么？" "没什么，"泽维尔回答。 "我需要你，我需要你的帮助。你瞧瞧发生了什么！他们正在挨家挨户搜查，把人拖出去，处死他们。" "别担心，"他笑道。"不会有谁被处死的！" "你怎么知道？"她反驳道。 How does he know?在革命的第一天将被处死的所有人民敌人的名单还在他的笔记簿里：因此，不会有谁被处死的。不管怎样，他对这位漂亮女人的焦虑并非漠不关心。他听见了枪炮声，看见了人们在保卫桥梁，他一心只想着他与同志们曾热情计划过的那个事件已经突然来临了，而他正好睡过了它。他一直在别处另一个房间，另一个梦里。 他想跑出去，出现在穿工作服的同志们的面前，把那份只有他才有的名单交出去，没有这份名单，革命便是盲目的，不知道该逮捕谁，处死谁。但他随即意识到这是不可能的：他不知道当天的口令，他早已被视为叛徒，没有人会相信他。他在一个不同的生活中，一个不同的故事里，再也无法挽回另一个生活，一个他已抛在后面的生活。 "你怎么啦？"那女人焦急地问。 于是泽维尔突然想到，如果他已不能再挽回失去的生活，他至少可以使此刻正在过的生活变得崇高。他望着那位美丽顺从的女人，知道他必须离开她，因为生活在外面，远在窗户的那边，从窗外传来柔和的枪声，就象鸟儿的咕咕声。 "你要到哪儿去？"她叫道。 泽维尔微笑着指着窗外。 "可你答应带我一道走的！" "那是从前。" "你是想背弃我？" "是的。我要背弃你。" 她跪在他面前，抱着他的腿。 他低头看着她，觉得她是多么可爱，要离开她还真有点依依不舍。但是，窗外的世界更加美丽。如果他为此而离开一个可爱时女人，这个世界会因为他付出了背弃爱情的代价而更加迷人。 "你很美丽，"他说，"但我必须背弃你。" 于是他挣脱她的手臂，大步朝窗户走去。