Chapter 22 Section 21

One thing he had been thinking about ever since his last meeting with Vaughn was that the eyes are the windows to the soul, the beautiful center of the face, the concentrated point of one's true nature.But at the same time, this optical instrument needs to be constantly scrubbed, moisturized and maintained with a special liquid containing salt.So the gaze, the greatest miracle of man, is always regularly interrupted by a mechanical scrubbing action, like wipers cleaning a windscreen.Now, you can even set the speed of the windshield wipers to stop for ten seconds after each wipe.This is a bit like the rhythm of eye danger.

Jean-Marc used to watch the eyes of the people he was talking to, watch their eye movements, and she found that not easy.Because we're never used to being aware of eye-catching movements.He thought: Nothing can look into other people's eyes more than I can, but I still haven't recorded that movement. He continued to think: When I was making pottery in the studio, God let me accidentally discover a state of the human body.We all have this passion for a while, but unfortunately, the way it happens is so casual.How can we believe that this man before us is a free, independent man, a man who is his own master?If these were determined, we would have to forget about our pottery.We are willing to forget.It is God who has imposed this forgetfulness on us.

But there was such a brief period between Jean-Marc's childhood and adolescence.At that time, he didn't know to forget, so he was stunned to find the eyelids sliding mechanically on the eyeballs: he discovered that the eyes are not the windows to reveal the incredible and unique soul, but a machine from A mechanical device that has been in operation since ancient times.That sudden discovery of adolescent insight was astonishing. "You stop," Fow said to him, "stare at me. And then you say in a strange but sophisticated tone: all I can see is how she blinks when..." Jean-Marc has Can't remember any of these.And if Fo didn't mention it to him, he'd rather forget about it.

He returned to the apartment thoughtfully, and opened Chantal's door.She was arranging something in the closet and he wanted to watch her eyelids slide over her eyeballs.Her eyes were to him the windows of an elusive soul.He walked to her, put his elbows on her, and looked into her eyes.Really, they were blinking, blinking fast, as if she knew she was being watched. He saw the eyes blink and blink, very quickly, too fast.He wanted to rediscover the old feeling, the sixteen-year-old Jean-Marc who was desperate and disappointed to find this optical instrument.But the abnormal movement of the eyelid, and the irregularity of its movement, touched him more than the disappointment.He saw that Chantal's eyelids were like a pair of wings of the soul, trembling and fluttering in panic.This feeling was like a spark ignited, and he immediately hugged Chantal tightly in his arms.

He finally loosened his grip on her hand and stared at her flustered and terrified face.He said to her, "I want to see the way your pupils scrub your cornea like wipers scrub a windshield." "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, suddenly relieved. He told her about the forgotten memories that Fev had brought up.