Chapter 8 Section VIII

39 And what about Czech academics?Tongue licking the wobbly tooth, he said to himself: Here's what's left of my life: a wobbly tooth and the fear of having to wear braces.Nothing else?nothing?there is none left.In a sudden realization, what happened to him was not a sublime encounter, full of tragic and unique events, but a tiny part of a chaotic mass of events speeding across the earth, so fast that perhaps Baker was right in thinking of him as a Hungarian or a Pole, because, perhaps he really was a Hungarian or a Pole, or a Turk, or a Soviet or Even dying children in Somalia.When things happen so fast, no one can be sure of anything, anything, not even himself.

When I was talking about Mrs. T's Night, I was talking about a well-known equation from the first few chapters of the rulebook: Speed ​​is proportional to how quickly you forget.From this equation we can deduce many corollaries, such as the following one: Our age is dedicated to the demon of speed, and because of this, it easily forgets itself.Or I would rather turn the argument upside down: our age is haunted by the longing to forget, and to satisfy this longing it sacrifices itself to the demon of speed; it quickens its pace to make us understand that it does not wish us to remember it; It felt disgusting; it wanted to blow out the faint flickering flames of memory.

My dear countryman, comrade, famous discoverer of the Prague fly, heroic worker of the motherland, I can no longer bear to see you stuck in the water!You're going to have a bad cold!friend!brother!Do not be sad!Get out of the pool!Go to sleep!Be glad you were forgotten.Wrap around a soft scarf with amnesia.Don't think about that laugh that made you sad, it no longer exists, just as all these years in the motherland and the glory of persecution no longer exist.The castle is peaceful, open the windows and let the scent of the trees fill your room.Take a breath.These are three-hundred-year-old chestnut trees.Their whispers are the same that Mrs. T heard when she and the knight made love in the bower, you can see that night from this window but you can't see it tonight, a pity, because the bower is fifteen years later, one seven Destroyed by the Revolution of 1989, all that remains are pages of Mimond Denon's novel, which you have never read and probably will never hear.

40 Fansheng couldn't find his underwear, so he put on his trousers and shirt on his wet body, and ran behind Julie.But she was too quick and he was too slow.He walked down every corridor and found that Molly was gone.He didn't know which room Julie lived in, and although the chances were slim, he lingered in the corridor, hoping for a door to open, and Julie's voice said to him, "Come, mortal, come. Everyone is asleep, listen." In less than a sound, all the doors were open. He whispered, "Julie, Julie! "He raised the whisper, he yelled the whisper, and only silence answered him. He imagined her. He imagined her transparent face in the moonlight. He imagined her asshole. Ah, her bare asshole was so far away from him. close, and he missed it, totally missed it. He neither touched it nor saw it. Ah, the horrible sight reappeared, his poor penis came to life, stood up, oh it stood up, useless The place of martial arts is unreasonable and huge.

Entering the room, he collapsed on a chair, only thinking about Julie.He was ready to do anything to get her back, but nothing could be done.She would be in the dining room for breakfast tomorrow morning, and he, alas, would already be in his office in Paris.He didn't know her address, her last name, where she worked, nothing.He was alone with his great despair, embodied by that great useless organ. This organ, less than an hour ago, with commendable insight and knowledge of maintaining a proper size, confirmed its thesis with an impressive rationality in the excellent speech just now; but at this time, I doubt this The rationality of the organ, this time, completely loses its reason; without any defensible reason, it stands facing the whole universe, just like Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, in the face of the sad human nature, it shouts a hymn of joy.

41 This is the second time Vera wakes up. "Why do you have to have the radio blaring? You woke me up." "I don't listen to the radio. It's quieter here than anywhere else." "No, you were listening to the radio, you suck. I was sleeping "I swear not!" "Especially this stupid hymn of joy. Why would you listen to something like that." "Sorry. My imagination again." "What, imagination? Maybe you wrote Symphony No. 9? Are you starting to think you're Beethoven?" "No, that's not what I meant."

"I never found Symphony No. 9 so unbearable, so inappropriate, so obnoxious, so childishly pompous, so stupid, so ignorantly vulgar. I can't stand it. It's enough. The castle is haunted, I can't stay a minute longer. Let's go, shall we. It's daylight anyway." She got out of bed. 42 It's early morning.I think of the last scene in Mimond Denon's novella.The night of love in the castle chamber ends when a maid, a maid who knows, comes to announce the dawn to the lovers.The knight quickly put on his clothes and walked out of the secret room, but got lost in the corridor of the castle.Afraid of being discovered, he would rather go to the garden, pretend to have slept through the night, get up early for a walk, and his mind is still dazed, trying to figure out this affair: Mrs. T broke up with her marquise lover?Or are you breaking up?Or is she just mad at him?How will it continue after this night?

Immersed in these questions, he suddenly saw the Marquis in front of him, Mrs. T's lover.He had just arrived, and hurriedly walked up to the ride: "How is the matter?" He asked him eagerly. The ensuing conversation finally brought Qi Shang to the light of the affair: her husband had to turn his attention to a fake lover, and the role fell to him.Not a good role, rather absurd, the Marquis admitted with a smile.As if to make up for the knight's sacrifice, he confided in him some little secrets: Mrs. T. was a wonderful woman, and above all extremely faithful.Her only weakness is: frigidity.

The two of them returned to the castle to say hello to her husband.He was very polite when he spoke to the Marquis, but he was contemptuous when facing the knight: he hoped that he would leave as soon as possible, so the kind Marquis suggested that he go back in his own carriage. Then the Marquis and the knight went to see Madame T.At the end of the meeting, at the door, she finally spoke a few words of love to the knight; the following final sentences are written in the novel: "At this moment your lover calls to you; the one who is worthy of your love. (... ) Farewell to you again. You are charming...don't let me and the Countess break up."

"Don't break me with the countess": these were the last words Madame T said to her beau. Immediately afterwards, the closing lines of the short story: "I got into the carriage that was waiting for me. Looking for a moral in this adventure, . . . but I couldn't find it." However, here is the moral: embodied by Madame T—she lied to the Monsieur, she lied to the Marquis mistress, she lied to the young knight.She is the true disciple of Epicurus.Pleasant friends.Gentle supporter of lies.Happy Guardian. 43 This short story is narrated by Knight in the first person.He had absolutely no idea of ​​what Mrs. T was really thinking, and hadn't given much thought to his own emotional thoughts.The inner worlds of the two protagonists are hidden or half hidden.

When, that morning, the Marquis spoke of his mistress's indifference, the horseman could have laughed to himself, for this woman had confirmed to him the contrary.But other than this certainty, he has nothing else. Were Mrs. T and his hand a regular part of her life, or was this unusual, even unique, for her?Was her heart moved, or was she indifferent?Did she mean the last words she said to the knight, or was she trying to save herself?Would the knight be sad to leave her, or just not care? As for him: when the Marquis laughed at him that morning, he answered soberly, successfully grasping the situation.But how exactly does he feel?How did he feel when he left the castle?What would he think?Thinking of the pleasure he had just enjoyed or the young man's absurd reputation?Does he feel triumphant or defeated?happy or unhappy? In other words: can we have pleasure, live for pleasure and be happy at the same time?Is the ideal of hedonism possible?Does this hope exist?At least like a faint ray of light exists? 44 He was exhausted.He wanted to lie in bed and sleep, but he couldn't risk oversleeping.He had to leave in an hour, and he couldn't delay any longer.Sitting in a chair, he pulled his motorcycle helmet over his head, thinking the weight of the hat would keep him from falling asleep.But sitting on a chair with a hard hat on your head and not being able to sleep really doesn't make any sense.He got up and decided to go. The haste before leaving reminded him of Peng Defan's image.Ah, Peng Defan!He will definitely ask him.What should he tell him?If he told him everything, he would die laughing, that's for sure, and everyone would be like him.Because when the narrator plays a comic character in his own story, it usually looks funny.Besides, no one knows this trick better than Peng Defan.For example, that time he talked about the experience of pulling the typist's hair because of the wrong person.But watch out!Peng Defan is not a fuel-efficient lamp!Everyone believed that there was always a more enviable truth hidden in his funny stories.The audience covets the girlfriend who wants him to behave rough, and jealously imagines what good things will come out of him with this beautiful typist.But if Vincent told the story of the failed poolside sex, everyone would believe him, make fun of him, mock his failure. He walks around the room, trying to revise a little bit of the story, reinventing it, adding a few strokes.The first thing to do is to change the fake sex to real.He imagined those stepping out of the pool, attracted and overwhelmed by the taboo sex scene; they hurriedly took off their belts, some just watching from the sidelines, some imitating immediately.When Fan Sheng and Julie saw that the scene around them was naked and they had carefully directed the group sex scene, they stood up and looked at the playful men and women again, like the creator created the world and then drifted away , they left.They left just as they met at the beginning, and went in different directions, in order to never meet again. As soon as the last few scary words of "to never meet again" came into his mind, his penis immediately became aroused; Fan Sheng really wanted to bang his head against the wall. The strange thing is that when he fantasizes about this orgy, his disgusting excitement goes away; on the contrary, when he thinks that the real Julie is no longer there, he goes crazy with excitement.So he clung to the story of the orgy, imagining it, telling it to himself: they were making love, other couples came, looked at them, and began to undress; The number of people doubled.After several repetitions of this little porn scene, he finally felt better and his cock returned to normal, almost calming down. He fantasized about being in the Café Gasco, with his companions listening to him.There are Peng Defan, Matthew showing his charming smirk, Gu Jia inserting his knowledgeable comments, and others.At the conclusion, he would tell them: "My friends, I did a good job for you, all of you dicks were featured in this big orgy, I'm your agent, I'm you Your ambassadors, your fucking MPs, your dildos, your dicks are all on me!" He paced the room repeating the last sentence aloud several times.Yours is all on me, what a discovery!Then (the unpleasant excitement was long gone) he picked up the bag and went out. 45 Vera went to the counter to check out, and I carried a small suitcase and went downstairs to the car parked in the atrium.It's a pity that the vulgar Ninth Symphony made my wife unable to sleep, and urged me to leave this place where I felt very comfortable early.I looked around wistfully.Castle stairs.It was there, at nightfall, that a magnificent carriage pulled up on the steps, and the courteous and indifferent husband appeared to greet his wife, who was returning, accompanied by a young knight.There, ten hours later, the knight stepped out of the castle, and this time, he was alone. As the door of Madame T.'s room closed behind him, he heard the Marquis laugh, and at the same time another laugh, female, joined it.At this second, he slowed down: what are they laughing at?Are you laughing at him?Then, not wanting to hear anything more, he walked towards the exit without delay; yet, in his soul, he heard the laughter constantly; he could not get rid of it, in fact, he never could.He remembered Marquis's words: "So you don't feel the joy in your character?" When Marquis asked him this malicious question that morning, he didn't freak out.Knowing that the Marquis was wearing a cuckold, he told himself happily, either Mrs. T was planning to leave the Marquis, then he would definitely see her again; Those who take revenge will still want to take revenge tomorrow).He could still think about this for an hour, until Mrs. T said the last sentence, everything became clear: there would be no follow-up to that night.There is no future. He came out of the castle and walked through the cold solitude of the morning; the night he had just spent left no trace, he thought, but the laughter: the anecdote would be told, he would be a ridiculous figure.We all know that no woman will fall in love with a ridiculous man.They had pressed a funny hat on his head without his consent, and he didn't feel strong enough to bear it.He heard a rebellious voice in his soul begging him to tell his story, to tell the story exactly, to say it out loud, for everyone. But he knew he couldn't.Being uneducated is worse than being ridiculous.He can't betray Mrs. T, and he won't betray her. 46 Fan Sheng came out from another more secret door leading to the counter and walked to the atrium.He'd been trying to memorize stories about the poolside orgy, not because it would take away the high (he wasn't high anymore), but to crush the unbearably sad memory of Riley.He knew that only fabricated stories could make him forget what happened.He would have liked to tell this new story aloud at once, to transform it into a majestic bugle music, and to unravel the loss of Julie by his sleazy feigned lovemaking. "Your ones are on me," he repeated, as if answering, he heard Peng Defan's complicit laughter, and he saw Matthew's charming smile telling him: "Ours is all On you, we'll just call you the one from now on." The thought pleased him, and he smiled. As he walked towards the motorcycle parked on the other side of the atrium, he saw a man, slightly younger than himself, wearing a dress from a distant era, walking towards him.Fan Sheng stared at him, dumbfounded.Ah, how faint he had been since that absurd night: he could not rationally explain the vision to himself.Is he an actor in historical costume?Maybe it has something to do with the woman on the TV station?Maybe they shot a commercial in the castle yesterday?Yet when their eyes met, he saw in the man's eyes a trace of genuine astonishment that no actor could ever fake. The young man rode up and watched the stranger.The hat must have caught his attention.Two or three centuries ago, a rider wearing a helmet was ready for battle.But just as startling as the helmet was the man's vulgarity.Long trousers, baggy and shapeless, the kind of clothing worn only by the poorest peasants.Or else a monk. He felt very tired, exhausted, and extremely uncomfortable.He may have dozed off, may be dreaming, or may be cranky.Finally, the man approached him and opened his mouth to confirm his surprise: "Are you from the eighteenth century?" The question was strange and absurd, but the way the man said it was even more strange, with an unfamiliar tone, as if he were an envoy from a strange country who had learned French at court but knew nothing about it.It was this strange tone and specious accent that made the knight think that this man might really be from another time. "Yes, what about you?" he asked him. "Me? The twentieth century." Then he added: "The end of the twentieth century." And he added: "I just had a really good night." This sentence shocked the knight: "Me too." He said. He thought of Mrs. T. and suddenly felt a surge of gratitude.God, how could he care so much about the Marquis' laughter?It seemed that the most important thing that night was not the beauty of the night, not the beautiful night he saw the ghost, which seemed like a dream, as if he was outside the torrent of time. The man in the armor, repeating in his wacky accent, "I just had a really good night." The knight nodded as if to say yes, I understand, friend.Who else can understand you?Then it occurred to him: because he had promised to keep it secret, he couldn't tell anyone what he was going through.But even if it is a leak, will it still be a leak after two hundred years?He felt that the god of the libertine had sent this man so that he might tell him; so that he might tell the secret without breaking his promise of secrecy; in a corner; sublimated into eternity, transformed into glory. "Are you really from the twentieth century?" "Of course, man. So many amazing things have happened in this century. Socio-moral liberation. I just had, I repeat, a fantastic night." "Me too," the knight said again, and he was about to tell his own story. "A strange, very strange and unbelievable night." The man in the armor repeated, staring at him firmly. From this gaze, the knight saw the determination to confide.There was something in this determination that made him uncomfortable.He understands that to be eager to talk is to be unwilling to listen.When encountering the other party's desire to talk, he lost the interest in saying anything after riding on the horse, and felt that there was no reason for this meeting to continue. He felt another surge of new weariness.He stroked his face with his hands, feeling the breath of love that Mrs. T had left between his fingers.This breath brought a burst of sadness in his heart, and he wanted to sit alone in the carriage and be driven slowly and in a daze to Paris. Fan Sheng felt that this man in ancient costume looked very young, so he must be interested in the older man's confession.When Vanson told him twice "I had a wonderful evening" and the other replied "Yeah too", he thought he saw a trace of curiosity on his face, but then, suddenly and inexplicably, the curiosity disappeared and replaced him. into an almost arrogant indifference.The friendly atmosphere suitable for talking lasted for less than a minute, and it disappeared immediately. He looked angrily at the costume the young man was wearing.Who the hell is this idiot?A pair of shoes with silver pins, white shorts wrapped around the legs and buttocks, and a pile of indescribable piping, velvet, and lace around the chest, he clamped the ribbon knot around the neck Between two fingers, he looked at him with a ridiculously envious smile. This presumptuous move annoyed the young man in costume.His face stiffened, filled with hatred.He raised his right hand as if to slap the impolite fellow.Fan Sheng let go of the ribbon and took a step back.The man gave him a contemptuous look, then turned and walked towards the carriage. The contempt he threw at him pushed Fan Sheng further into his confusion again.Suddenly, he felt very weak.He knew he couldn't tell anyone about the orgy.He won't have the strength to lie.He was too sad to lie.He had only one desire: to quickly forget about this night, this screwed-up night, to wipe it off, erase it, obliterate it—and then he felt an indescribable thirst for speed. With firm steps, he rushed to his motorcycle, he longed for it, he was full of love for his motorcycle, because riding on it, he could forget everything, and riding on it, he could forget himself. 49 Vera just got in the car and sat next to me. "Look there," I said to her. "where?" "There! It's Mortal! Don't you recognize him?" "Fan Sheng? The one on the motorcycle?" "Yeah. I'm worried he's riding too fast. I'm really worried about him." "Does he like racing too?" "Not often. But today he rode like a madman." "This castle is ominous. It brings bad luck to everyone. Please, hit the road!" "Wait a moment. I will gaze again at my knight as he ambles to his carriage.I want to study the rhythm of his steps: the further he goes, the slower the steps.In this slowness, I believe I have rediscovered the marks of happiness. The coachman salutes him; he stops, puts his finger to his nose, gets in, sits down, curls up in a corner, legs spread out, the carriage begins to rock, and soon he will fall asleep, and then he will wake , and during this time, he will try his best to get close to the memory of that night that will eventually be hidden in the light. There is no future. There is no audience. Please, friend, be happy.I have a vague feeling that your ability to find happiness is our only hope. The carriage disappeared into the fog and I started the car.