Chapter 5 Section five

twenty three The figure of Mr. in the three-piece suit is like a thorn in his heart, which cannot be shaken off; it is even more unbearable when he is about to seduce a woman.How could he seduce her, when he was aching from the thorn in his heart? She could see that he was in a bad mood: "Why have you been away for so long? I thought you weren't coming back. You abandoned me." He thus knew that she cared about him, and it relieved him a little from the sting.He tried the twist again, but she was wary: "Stop joking. You've changed in an instant. Have you met someone you know?"

"No, no." Fan Sheng said. "Yes, there must be. You met a woman. And I hope, if you want to go with her, you can go. I didn't know you half an hour ago. I can go on without knowing you." She was growing sad, and there is no better comfort for a man than for him to cause a woman's grief. "Nothing, believe me, there are no women at all. There was a nasty guy, a miserable fool, and I argued with him for a while. That's all, that's all," he stroked her cheek with such sincerity, so tender that she Eliminate doubts. "You are still, Fan Sheng, completely different from before."

"Come," he invited her to the bar.He wanted to take that thorn out of his heart with whiskey.The elegant man in the three-piece suit was still there, with a few others.He didn't have any women in his identity, which made Fan Sheng feel comfortable with Julie as his companion, and he felt that she was more beautiful every moment.He took two more whiskeys, handed her one, leaned over and said, "Look over there, see that idiot in the three-piece suit? The one with the glasses." "That? Fansheng, he is useless, he is worse than shit, why do you need to worry about it?"

"You're right. He's a freak. An incompetent. A bastard," Vanson said, feeling that Julie's presence kept his frustrations at bay, because the only real victory that counts is in these close quarters. Quickly hook up a woman among the erotic queer entomologists. "Shit, shit, shit is worse, I mean it," Julie repeated. "You're right," Fan Sheng said, "if I still cared about him, I'd be just as idiotic as him." At this moment, in front of the bar, in full view of everyone, he kissed her. This is their first kiss. They went to the garden, took a walk, and stopped to kiss again.They saw the deckchairs on the grass and sat down.In the distance came the murmur of the river.Their hearts were drawn, and they did not know what attracted them; but I knew: they heard the sound of Mrs. T's river, the river of the night of love; from the well of time, the century of pleasure gave a secret greeting to mortals.

And he, as if perceiving it: "Once upon a time, in these castles, there was madness. Sade in the eighteenth century, you know. Marquis de Sade. Philosophy in the Drawing Room of a Lady" (La PhilOSOpie dans ieboudoir) , do you know this book?" "have no idea." "You must see it. I can lend it to you. It's a conversation between two men and two women during a carnival." "Good." she said. "All four are naked and having sex, together." "Oh" "You'll like it, won't you?" "I don't know," she said.But the phrase "I don't know" is not a rejection, but an exemplary humility and touching sincerity.

Extracting a thorn is not so simple.We can manage the pain, suppress it, pretend we don't think about it anymore, but this pretending is an effort.Fan Sheng talked about Sade and Carnival so eagerly, not because he really wanted to spoil Julie, but because he was trying to forget the wound that the elegant man in the three-piece suit had severely injured him. "It will," he said, "you know very well," and he hugged her and kissed her. "You know you're going to like that." He tried to list a few sentences, a few situations he remembered from this queer book called Philosophy in a Lady's Drawing Room.

Then they got up and went on walking.A bright moon emerged from the cracks in the leaves.Fan Sheng stared at Julie, and suddenly he was fascinated: the bright light gave the young woman a fairy-like beauty, a beauty that surprised him, a beauty that he did not perceive in her at first, elegant, slender, pure, inaccessible. beauty.Suddenly, for some reason, he imagined her asshole.Suddenly, unexpectedly, the image was there, and he couldn't get rid of it. Ah, liberated asshole!Because of it, the figure of the elegant man in the three-piece suit is (finally, finally!) completely gone.What several glasses of whiskey failed to achieve, an asshole completes in a second!Fan Sheng hugged Julie, kissed her, caressed her breasts, stared at her slender beauty like a fairy, at this time, he kept thinking about her asshole.He wanted to tell her, "I caress your boobs, but I only think about your asshole." But he couldn't, he couldn't say it.The more he thought about her asshole, the more white and transparent and holy Julie seemed to be, that it was impossible to say the words.

twenty four Vera fell asleep, and I stood by the wide-open window watching the two walk in the moonlit castle gardens. Suddenly I heard my breathing quicken, and I turned to look at the bed, I thought she was about to scream.I've never seen her have such nightmares!What happened in this castle? I woke her up, and she looked at me, her eyes wide open in terror.She narrated to me, hurriedly, as if in a high fever: "I was in a very long corridor in this hotel. Suddenly, in the distance, a man appeared and ran towards me. A dozen kilometers in front of me He started screaming. Can you imagine, he was speaking Czech! Some nonsensical sentences: "Mickiewicz is not Czech!Mikkiewicz is Polish! "And then he came up to me, threatening, just a few steps away, and that's when you woke me up."

"I'm sorry," I said to her, "you're under the influence of my wild imagination." "how come?" "It's as if your dreams are the trash can I throw away my scrapped drafts." "What nonsense are you talking about? Are you writing a novel?" she asked me worriedly. I nod. "You used to tell me one day you were going to write a novel full of laughing and cursing. One big stupid thing to do just for fun. I'm afraid that time has come. Just I want to remind you: be careful." I nodded my head even lower. "Do you remember what your mother used to say? It sounded like yesterday to me: Milankun, stop joking. No one will understand. You offend everyone and everyone will hate you. Do you remember?"

"Remember," I said. "I want to remind you that you need to be serious to protect yourself. Laughing and cursing will cause wolves to attack. You know they are waiting for an opportunity, those wolves." After uttering this dire prophecy, she fell asleep again. 25 About this time the Czech scholar returned to his room, disappointed and tormented.Baker's taunting burst of laughter still filled his ears.He was still dumbfounded: Can people really turn from admiration to contempt so easily? In fact, I also wonder where the favor of the sublime global historic moment has disappeared to him?

This is where current affairs obsessives get wrong.They don't know that history puts the spotlight on an event for only the first few minutes.Any event is called a current event, not in its duration, but only in the first moment of the brief time it takes place.Are the dying children in Somalia watched by TV viewers no longer dead?How are they doing?Fat or thin?Does the country of Somalia still exist?Or, did this country ever exist?Or is it just a fancy name? The way people tell history today is like a series of grand concerts interpreting one hundred and thirty-eight works of Beethoven, but only playing the first eight bars of each piece.In the same concert ten years later, the performance may be the first note of each work, and one hundred and thirty-eight notes are strung together to form a melody.Twenty years later, all of Beethoven's music will be summarized as one long high note, like the one he heard the day he was deaf, endless and high-pitched. The Czech scholar lost in his melancholy, and as a consolation, he thought of the heroic job of being a construction worker, which everyone wanted to forget, but he retained a practical and concrete memory: a perfect musculature.A contented smile crept onto his face, because he believed that no one present had muscles like his. Yes, believe it or not, this seemingly ludicrous idea made him feel better.He took off his coat and lay face down on the ground.He did push-ups, twenty-six times, and was very pleased with himself.He recalled going to the small pond behind the construction site to swim with his construction worker friends after work.In truth, he was a hundred times happier then than he is today in this castle.The workers called him Einstein and they liked him. He suddenly had a boring idea (he found it boring, and was even happy about it) that he wanted to go for a swim in the hotel's splendid swimming pool.With pleasant and self-conscious vanity he wanted to display his physique before the feeble intellectuals of this affected, cultured, perfidious country. Luckily, he brought his swimming trunks from Prague (he takes them everywhere), and he put them on and looked at himself half-naked in the mirror.He arched his arms, his biceps bulging perfectly. "If anyone wants to deny my past, look at my muscles, irrefutable proof!" He imagined his body strolling by the pool, showing a very basic value to those Frenchies, which is the perfection of body shape. He can take advantage of it, and people have not thought of the advantages at all.He felt that it was inappropriate to walk half naked in the corridor of the hotel, so he put on an undershirt.But what about the feet?Neither bare feet nor shoes were suitable; he decided to just put on socks.When he was dressed, he looked in the mirror again.Once again, his melancholy is mixed with pride, and again, he's brimming with confidence. 26 butthole.We can also use other words for it, such as Guillaume Apollinaire said: the ninth door of the body.There are two versions of his poem about the ninth door of the woman's body: the first was sent to his mistress Lou in a letter he wrote in the trenches on May 11, 1915, and the other One version was sent from the same place to another mistress, Madeleine, on September 21 of the same year.Both poems are beautiful, different by imagination, but the same by type: each stanza describes a door in his beloved: one eye, another eye, one ear, another ear, right The nostril, the left nostril, the mouth, then, in the poem to Lou, "the door of the buttocks," and finally, the ninth door, the vulva.But in the second poem, addressed to Madeleine, the door at the end of the poem is subtly changed.The pussy regresses as the eighth door, and the asshole opens from "the twin peaks of the pearl" to become the ninth door: "more mysterious than the rest", "the door of sorcery" that no one dares to mention, "the sublime Door". I thought of the four months and ten days between these two poems. Apollinaire was immersed in a strong lust fantasy in the trench for four months, which made him change his point of view and brought him such a revelation: The asshole is the magic point where all the nuclear energy of the naked body is concentrated.Yangmen is of course very important (of course, who dares to deny it?), but it is too important to be official. place.The vulva is just that: a noisy crossroad where noisy human beings meet, a tunnel through which generations have passed.Only a fool would think it was a secret place, when it was nothing more than public.The really secret place, to which even a porn movie has to bow down, is the asshole.The sublime gate is sublime because it is the most mysterious and secretive. This wisdom took four months under the rain of guns and bullets in Apollinaire, and Fansheng got it in a walk with Julie, who was washed white by the moonlight. 27 It's very embarrassing when we want to say something but can't: the ass hole that can't be said is left in Fan Sheng's mouth like a gag.He looked to the sky as if asking for help.The sky does what it wants: it gives him a poetic inspiration: Fansheng shouts: "Look!", pointing to the moon: "She's like an asshole embedded in the sky." He turned to look at Julie.Transparent and gentle, she smiled and said, "Yes," and for an hour she was ready to compliment anything he said. He heard her "yes", but he was still not satisfied.She looked like a goddess, and he wanted to hear her say "asshole."He wished to see her fairy mouth utter the word, oh, how he wished!He wanted to say to her: Follow me, ass, ass, ass, but he didn't dare.Forced by his eloquence, he is increasingly caught in a metaphorical dilemma: "Go forward, facing the endless asshole!" I can't help but make a small comment on Vanson's extemporaneous remarks: by means of his admitted ass entanglement, he wants to practice his love for the eighteenth century, for Sade, for that gang of libertines; unfortunately he doesn't Sufficient strength to carry it to the end, without another very different, even opposite, legacy coming to the aid of the next century; in other words, he can only speak poetically; .Therefore, he gave his lascivious thoughts to Shi Xing.Asshole, he thus transformed it into a female form in the sky. Ah, what a pity this transformation is, how sad it is to see it!I follow Fan Sheng along this path with interest: he hustles, gets caught up in his own metaphors like a fly stuck to a flypaper; Eye!" Seemingly aware of each other's exhaustion, Julie interrupted Fan Sheng's poetic deduction, pointing to the brightly lit hall behind the window hole: "Almost everyone has left." They went in: yes, there were only a few slow-moving ones left at the table.Gone are the elegant men in the three-piece suit.But his absence strongly reminded Fansheng of his words, and he seemed to hear his cold and malicious voice again, mixed with the laughter of his companions.Again he felt humiliated: how could he have been so bewildered then, so sadly silent?He tried to brush the thought away, but he couldn't, and he heard the words again: "We all live under the camera. From now on, this will be part of the state of existence." He completely forgot about Julie, and paused on these two sentences in surprise; how strange: what the elegant man said was almost the same as his own thoughts, Fan Sheng had refuted Peng Defan before: "If you want to intervene in a public conflict, attract Public attention to an injustice, how can you, in our day and age, not be or look like a dancer?" Is this the reason why he is so embarrassed in front of elegant men?His own theories are so close to his that he can't attack, are we all in the same trap, caught in a world that suddenly becomes a stage with no exit beneath our feet?So there's no real difference between the ideas of mortals and elegant men? No, the statement is intolerable!He despises Baker, he despises gentlemen, and his disdain precedes his judgment.He struggles doggedly to find out what makes him different from them, until he sees a glimmer of light: they, like pathetic lackeys, happily cater to the state of existence to which they must exist: willing dancers.And he, despite his desperation, still gritted his teeth and refused to agree with the world.He thought of the answer that should be thrown in the face of the elegant man at that time: "If living under the camera becomes our state of existence, I will resist. Because I did not choose it!" That is the answer!He leaned over and said to Julie without explaining anything: "The only thing left for us to do is to fight against the state of existence that we did not choose!" Accustomed to Vanity's nonsense, Riley thought it was a good remark, and replied in a fighting tone, "Of course!" As if the word "resist" filled her with joyful energy, she said, "To your room." Let's go, both of us." Suddenly, once again, the elegant man disappeared from Fan Sheng's mind. He looked at Julie and marveled at what she said. She was also intoxicated.There were a few men at the bar, and she stood with them before Vincent spoke to her.These people acted as if she didn't exist at that time, and she felt insulted.Now, she looked at them, flawless as a queen.She didn't feel anything for them anymore.She had a good night of love before her, and it was what she had asked for, what she had bravely earned; she felt fuller, luckier, and stronger than those. She leaned into Fan Sheng's ear and whispered: "Those people are useless." She knew that this was Fan Sheng's term, and she said it to let him understand that she gave herself to him, and she belonged to him. She was like putting a happy grenade in Fan Sheng's hands.He could just go straight to his room with his beautiful asshole woman right now, but as if obeying orders from afar, he felt like he had to make a fuss here first.He's in a drunken chaos, with images of assholes, the imminence of sex, the mocking voices of elegant men and the presence of Penderfan, who is like Trotski from his bunker in Paris , directing a big bombing, a violent riot. "Let's go swimming," he said to Julie, running down the stairs towards the now empty pool, which looked like a stage from above.He unbuttons his shirt.Julie ran towards him. "Let's go swimming," he repeated, pulling off his trousers. "Take off your clothes."