Chapter 13 part three

I tried again to gather my mind and hold on to my love.However, what is the use of my peaceful happiness?The happiness that Marceline gave me and embodied by her is like the rest that is offered to one who is not tired.But I felt how tired she was, how much she needed my love, and I loved her so much, so affectionately, and pretended it was my need.I can't stand her pain and love her to heal her pain. what!A warm and caring, loving night!Just as some people magnify their beliefs with excess, so I magnify my love.I tell you, Marceline's hopes were instantly rekindled.She was still full of youth and vigor, and thought that I, too, had great hopes.We fled Paris as if we were newlyweds again.On the first day of the trip, however, she began to feel very ill; and as soon as we reached Neuchâtel we had to stop.

How I love the sea-green shores of the lake!There is nothing typical of the Alps here. The water of the lake is like the water of a marsh, which has been mixed with the soil for a long time and flows between the reeds.I took Marceline a room facing the lake in a very comfortable hotel and stayed with her all day. Her health was very bad, and the next day I sent for a doctor from Lausanne.He insisted on asking if I knew whether my wife's family had a history of tuberculosis, which was really unnecessary.I replied yes, without actually knowing, but would not reveal that I had nearly died of tuberculosis myself, and that Marceline had never been sick before nursing me.I attributed the cause to the embolism, but the doctor thought it was just an accidental factor, and he clearly told me that the disease had been latent for a long time.He tried to persuade us to go to the high Alps, saying that there would be fresh air and that Maceline would be cured; this was exactly what I wanted, and I was eager to spend the whole winter in the Engadine.As soon as Marceline was well enough to bear the roughness of the journey, we started again.

All the feelings during the journey are still fresh in my memory like major events.The weather was clear and cold; we put on our warmest fur jackets.When we arrived at Kuval, the hotel was noisy all night, and we hardly closed our eyes.I don't care, I don't feel sleepy after a night of insomnia, but Marceline... This noise is certainly annoying to me, but it is especially annoying to me that Marceline can't find peace in order to sleep.How she needed a good night's sleep!Before dawn the next day we were on our way again; we had reserved box seats in the Couval's coach, and if the stops were well arranged we could reach St. Moritz in a day.

Stephen Garstein Le Juli, Samadan... hour after hour, I remember everything, the freshness and coldness of the air, the tinkling of the horse bells, the hunger of my stomach, the noon strike in front of the hotel, I cracked raw eggs into the soup and remembered brown bread and cold sour wine.Marceline couldn't swallow these rough foods, and she ate only a few biscuits; fortunately I had some biscuits with me for the journey.Another vision of the setting sun looms before us: shadows swiftly creeping up the forested slopes; another pause.The air was getting colder and harder.When the stagecoach arrived at the station, it was already midnight, and the silence was transparent; transparent...it is not appropriate to use other words.In this strange transparent world, the subtle sound can show the pure sound quality and perfect sound.On the road again overnight.Marceline coughed... Could it be that she couldn't stop coughing?I thought of the Sousse stagecoach, and thought I had a better cough than she did, she was struggling... How weak and changed she looked!Sitting in the dim car, I could barely recognize her.How languid she looked!How can one bear to look at the two black holes in her nostrils? — She was almost choking with a cough.This is the unmistakable result of her nursing me.I hate sympathy; in sympathy lies all contagion; only the strong should be sympathized with. --Oh!She really can't take it anymore!Can't we get there soon? ... what does she do? ... She took the handkerchief, put it to her lips, and turned her head away ... Terrible!Is she coughing up blood too? ——I snatched the handkerchief out of her hand abruptly, and looked through the dim headlights... nothing.However, my expression of panic was too obvious, Maslin forced a sad smile and said in a low voice: "No, not yet."

It has finally arrived.Hurry up, seeing that she can't hold on anymore.I am dissatisfied with the room arranged for us. I will stay for one night and change tomorrow.No matter how good the room is, I don't think it's good enough, and I don't think too expensive a room is too expensive.Since it was not yet winter, the huge hotel was almost empty, and the room was available to me.I asked for two spacious, bright, and simply furnished rooms, connected by a large drawing room, with a large bay window at the outer end, facing a blue ugly lake, and a sudden mountain peak that I don't know. Those hillsides are either too densely forested or too bald with rocks.We ate by the window.Rooms are expensive, but so what!Although I am not teaching anymore, I am auctioning the Molinier estate.Take one step at a time.Besides, what do I want money for?What do I want all this for?Now I am stronger.I think that a radical change in the state of property will be as instructive as a radical change in the state of the body.Marceline needs a good life, she is weak.what!For her, I don't hesitate to spend any money, as long as... and I both hate and like this kind of luxury life.My lust washes and bathes in it, yet longs to roam.

During this period, Marceline's condition improved, and my day and night guarding was effective.As she ate very little, I ordered delicious dishes to whet her appetite; we drank the best wine.I like the foreign specialty wines we taste every day, and I believe Marceline will also be addicted to them: the sour wine with Rhineland, and the sweet Tokai wine with refreshing fragrance.I remember that there was also a special wine called Barba Grisca, and there was only one bottle left at that time, so I have no way of knowing whether other wines have this strange smell. We went out for excursions every day, first by car, then by sled when it snowed, but we covered our bodies tightly.Every time I come back, my face is hot, my appetite is boosted, and I sleep very well.However, I did not give up academic research completely, and spent more than an hour every day thinking about what I felt should be said.Naturally, there is no question of history.My interest in historical research has long been merely a method of psychological exploration.I have said before how I was fascinated again by the past when I saw its striking similarities; at that time I actually wanted to bully the ancients and get some secret instructions for life from their left ink.Now young Atalarik rises from his grave to talk to me; I no longer listen to the past.How can an ancient answer solve my new problem!What else can man do?This is what I wish to know.Has what men have said hitherto been all they can say?Is there no point of confusion about oneself?Can one just repeat old tunes? ... I am increasingly becoming increasingly dimly aware of the intact wealth that culture, manners, and morals veil, conceal, and contain.

I then felt that I was born to discover something that had never been done before; I was passionate about this kind of exploration, and knew that for this the explorer had to renounce culture, manners, and morality from himself. Later, I actually only admired the expression of wildness in others, but lamented that this expression would be suffocated by slight restrictions.In the so-called honesty, I see almost only formality.Worldly and cowardly.If honesty could be valued as a rare quality, I would gladly do so; but our custom reduces it to a banal form of a contractual relationship.In Switzerland, it is an integral part of comfort.I understood Maceline's need, but I did not hide from her my new way of thinking.At Neuchâtel, hearing her praise this honesty, saying that it seeped out of the walls and the faces of the people there, I went on to say: "It is enough to have my own honesty, and I hate those who are honest." .Even if there is nothing to worry about them, there is nothing to learn from them. Besides, they have nothing to say... Honest Swiss! Health means nothing to them. No crime, no history, no literature, no art , but a stout rose without flower or thorn."

I hated this honest country, as I had expected, but after two months, the distaste grew into abhorrence, and I was determined to leave. Right in mid-January.Marceline's health improved and improved greatly: the persistent low-grade fever that was slowly tormenting her subsided, her face began to rosy, she was no longer as tired as before, and she liked to go for a walk again, although it was not far.I told her that the tonic effect of the mountain air had been fully exerted on her, and that it was best now to go down to Italy, where the spring weather would help her recover.It didn't take me much lip-sounding to convince her, let alone myself, because I was so tired of these mountains.

However, while I was idle to write at this time, the loathed past came back again, and especially these memories troubled me: the speed of the sled, the sharp whip of the wind, appetite; walking in the fog, strange echoes, sudden sights; Reading in the warm living room, outdoor scenery, ice and snow scenery; longing for snow, the extinction of the outside world, comfortable meditation... Ah, and, skating alone with her on the remote and pure small lake surrounded by larch, in the evening with her Returning together...going south to Italy, for me, it was dizzying like landing.it's clear.We gradually penetrated into the warmer and denser atmosphere, and the lush trees of larch and fir on the high mountains gradually gave way to the beautiful and light lush vegetation.I seem to leave abstract thinking and return to life; even though it is winter, I imagine fragrance everywhere.oh!We've been laughing at shadows for too long!A life of asceticism intoxicates me, and I am drunk with thirst as others are drunk with wine.The frugality of my life is considerable, and all my desires burst forth as soon as I set foot on this land of tolerance and hope.I am swelled by the great store of love, which rushes from the depths of my flesh to my mind, and makes my thoughts frivolous.

This vision of spring is fleeting.I was momentarily misled by the sudden drop in altitude; but as soon as we left Bellagio, where we had been staying for a few days, and the shores of Como's lake screened by mountains, it was winter and rainy.The Engadine is high in the mountains, and although it is cold, the weather is dry and clear, and we can bear it; but now we are in a damp and gloomy place, and our life begins to be difficult.Marceline coughed again.So, in order to escape the damp and cold, we continued to go south, from Milan to Florence, from Florence to Suma, and from Rome to Naples; but Naples in the winter rain is the most miserable city I have ever seen.In desperation, we returned to Rome, unable to find warm weather, or at least a superficial comfort.We rented a room on Bin Hill; it was very spacious and in a great location.When we arrived in Florence, we didn't like hotels, so we rented a beautiful villa on Cory Avenue for three months.Another person would be willing to live there permanently, and we only stayed for twenty days.Even so, at each stop, I always arrange everything carefully, as if we are never leaving.A more powerful demon is driving me away.Not only that, we carried at least eight suitcases, one of which was full of books; but during the whole journey, I did not open it once.

I kept Marceline from even trying to cut our costs.Our expenses are too high to last long, I know that.I no longer count on the money from the estate of Molinier; the estate has yielded nothing, and Bogage wrote that he could not find a buyer.However, I am looking forward to the future and simply spend more freely.snort!This is the only time in my life, what do I need so much money for?So thought I, and at the same time I observed with trepidation and anticipation that Maceline's feeble life was draining faster than my fortune. Although I would take care of everything and she needn't worry about it, the quick changes of place had worn her out; but now, I quite dare to admit, it was the fear of my thoughts that wore her out even more. "I quite understand," she said to me one day, "that I understand your doctrine—and it is indeed a doctrine now. It is a splendid one, perhaps." She added, in a low, mournful voice: "But it To destroy the weak." "Of course." I couldn't help but answer immediately. So I felt that this fragile person curled up and trembled in fear after hearing this cruel sentence.Oh!Maybe you think I don't love Marceline.I can swear I love her passionately.She has never been so beautiful, especially in my eyes.She has a morbid beauty of weakness and softness.I hardly leave her anymore, take care of her in every possible way, guard her day and night, and never relax for a moment.However light her sleep breath was, I practiced it myself even lighter than hers: I watched her fall asleep and wake up first.Sometimes I think of walking alone in the field or on the street, but somehow I feel tender and attached to her. I am afraid that she will be bored, and my heart will be lost, and I will return to her soon.Sometimes I arouse my will to resist this kind of control, thinking to myself: "Fake great man, your value is nothing more than that!" So, I force myself to go outside for a while, but when I go back, I have to bring my arms full. Flowers: Those are the early spring flowers in the garden or the conservatory flowers... Yes, I tell you, I love her dearly.But how to describe this feeling? ... As my self-respect weakened, I respected her more.How many hostile passions and thoughts coexist in man, who can tell? The rainy weather is long gone; the season moves on, and the apricot blossoms suddenly open.It was March 1st, and in the morning I went to Plaza de España.Farmers have already cut off the snow-white apricot branches in the field and put them in flower baskets.I was overjoyed when I saw it, and immediately bought a lot, and three people held it for me.I brought back the whole spring spirit.The flower branches scratched on the door, and the petals fell on the carpet like snow.Marceline was not in the living room; I placed vases and bouquets here and there, and the living room was white.I was very happy, thinking that Marceline would be happy to see her.I heard her coming, here she is.She opens the door.What's the matter? . . . she swayed . . . she burst into tears. "What's the matter with you? My poor Marceline..." I hurried over and comforted her gently.So, as if apologizing for her crying, she said, "I feel bad when I smell flowers." It's a light, faint honey scent.I was in a hurry, my eyes were bloodshot, without saying a word, I grabbed these pure and delicate flower branches, broke them all, took them out and threw them away. --Ugh!Just such a little bit of spring, she can't stand it! ... I have often thought of her tears, and I think now that she felt her time had come, and wept for another spring.I also think that the strong have their own strong pleasures, while the weak are adapted to weak pleasures and are easily hurt by strong pleasures.As for Marceline, she was intoxicated by a trifle of pleasures, and she could not help them if they were more intense.What she calls happiness is what I call peace, and I just don't want to and can't live in peace. Four days later we set off again for Sorrento.I'm so disappointed that the climate isn't warm there either.Everything seemed to be shaking, and the cold wind kept blowing, which made Marceline feel very tired.We also had to stay at the hotel we stayed at on the previous trip, even the original room.But we were astonished to see, under the overcast sky, that the whole scene had lost its charm, and the inn's garden lifeless; how charming it had seemed to our love, when it was in its lounging days. We heard the good weather of Palermo, and we decided to go by sea, and return to Naples to board the ship, but there we were delayed for some time.To be honest, at least I am not bored in Naples.This is a vibrant city that does not bear the burden of the past. I was by Marceline's side almost all the time.She was tired and went to bed early at night.I watched her fall asleep, sometimes I lay down, and then, listening to her breathing gradually, and guessing that she had fallen asleep, I crept up again, dressed in the dark, and slipped out like a thief. outdoor!what!I was so happy that I wanted to cry.what do i doI don't know until now.The dark clouds covering the sun have dissipated, and the eighth or ninth moon is shining brightly.I walked aimlessly, without emotion or desire, and without restraint.I see everything with new eyes, I listen to every sound, I suck the moisture of the night, I pass my hands over objects; I walk and wander. The last evening we spent in Naples, I prolonged this debauchery and came back to find Marceline in tears.She told me that she woke up suddenly just now and found that I was not around, so she was scared.I tried to explain why I went out and promised not to leave her in the future, finally calming her down.However, on the evening of my arrival in Palermo, I couldn't help myself and went out again.The first flowers of the orange trees are in bloom; a little breeze brings their scent. We only stayed in Palermo for five days; then, after a long detour, we came to Taolmina again; we both longed to see that village again.Did I mention it sits on a high mountainside?The station is by the sea.The carriage took us to the hotel, and I had to be taken immediately back to the station to collect my luggage.I stood in the car so I could chat with the driver.The coachman was a Sicilian boy from Catania, as handsome as a line of Theocritus, as colorful, fragrant, and sweet as a fruit. "What a beautiful lady!" he said, looking at Marceline who was going away, and his voice was very pleasant. ①The original text is Italian. "You are beautiful too, my boy," I answered; and as I was bending over him, I soon lost my patience, and drew him to kiss him.He just giggled and let me kiss and hug. "The French are all lovers," he said. ①The original text is Italian. "Not all Italians are cute." I also laughed.In the next few days, I looked for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. ①The original text is Italian. We leave Taolmina and go to Syracuse.We are dismantling our first trip step by step, returning to the beginnings of our love.During our first trip, I got better week by week, but this time as we headed south, Marceline got worse week by week. With what absurdity, with what self-indulgence, with what self-indulgence, I cited the example of my recovery in Biskra, not only to convince myself, but also to persuade her that she needed more sunshine and warmth? ...Actually, the climate in the bay of Palermo has warmed up and is quite pleasant; Marceline likes that place very much, if she stays, she may be able to... However, can I choose my own wishes?Can I make my own decisions about my desires? When we arrived in Syracuse, we were obliged to wait another week because of the rough sea and irregular sailing time.In addition to staying by Marceline's side, I spend the rest of the time at the old pier.Ah, the little pier of Syracuse!The smell of sour wine, the muddy alleys, the stinking tavern where drunken stevedores, bums and sailors rolled.These untouchables have become my pleasant companions.Why should I understand their words, since my whole body understands what they mean.It seemed to me that this debauchery gave a false appearance of health and strength; thinking that I could not have the same interest in their wretched lives as they did, but it was no use...  … Ah!I longed to roll under the table with them and not wake up until the dreary morning.When I was around them, I hated the luxuries, the comforts, the care I received, the protections that became superfluous as I grew stronger, the precautions one takes to avoid accidental contact of the body with life.I further imagined their lives, and desperately wanted to follow them and squeeze into their drunkenness... Then, the image of Maslin suddenly appeared in front of my eyes.What is she doing now?She was moaning in pain, maybe crying... I got up quickly and ran back to the hotel; there seemed to be a sign on the door of the hotel: Poor people are not allowed. Every time Marceline sees me going back, she always keeps her attitude, trying to keep a smile on her face, without saying a word of reproach, and without a trace of suspicion.We dined alone, and I ordered her the best food this ordinary hotel can offer.I ate and thought: a piece of bread.A piece of cheese and a stick of capsicum would suffice for them, and indeed for me; perhaps somewhere else, perhaps near by, there are people who are starving and cannot eat even this, while I have enough for them on the table. Eat for three days!I longed to break through the walls and let them swarm in to eat; for my heart was terrified to feel that someone was starving.So, I went to the old pier again and casually distributed the coins full of pockets. When a man is poor, he is enslaved, and to eat he has to work, which is no fun; I thought that all labor without fun is despicable, so I paid for several people to rest.I said, "Don't do it, you're not doing it very well." I dreamed that this leisure should be available to everyone; otherwise, nothing new, no crime, no art could flourish. Marceline didn't misunderstand my thoughts; I didn't hide from her what poor people I met there every time I returned from the old docks.Man contains everything.Maceline also vaguely saw what I was trying to discover; and since I said that she often believed in the virtues she had been imagining in everyone, she replied: Satisfied. You know, when we fixate on one point of a person, it is easy to magnify and exaggerate it to make it what we think it is. Don't you know this situation?" I hope she is wrong, but I have to confess in my heart that the worst instincts of man seem to me the most frank.Besides, what do I mean by frankness? We finally left Syracuse.Memories and longings for the south are always haunting.At sea, Marceline felt better... I saw the style of the sea again.The sea is calm, and the ripples of the boat seem to last forever.I heard the splashing and sweeping of the water, which was washing the deck, and the deck was clacking and pattering under the bare feet of the sailors.I see white Malta again; Tunisia is approaching... How changed I am! The weather is hot, the sky is blue, and everything is gorgeous.what!I wish the full harvest of pleasure had been distilled into every sentence here.Helpless, my life is not very organized, and it is useless to force my narrative to be more organized now.For a long time I thought about telling you how I got here.oh!Free my mind from this unbearable logic! . . . I feel that I have nothing but noble emotions. Tunisia.Sunny, but not intense.The shade is also bright.The air is like a stream of light, bathing everything in it, and people swimming in it.This pleasurable land satisfies, but does not quell desire.Any gratification stimulates desire. A land devoid of art.I despise those who appreciate beauty only when it has been described and fully represented.One thing about the Arab nation is admirable: they see their art, they sing about it, but they destroy it day by day, they don't fix it at all, they don't turn it into a work and pass it down from generation to generation.There are no great artists here, both for cause and effect.I always think that such people are great artists: they boldly endow extremely natural things with the right to be beautiful, and make people who have also seen those things sigh: "Why didn't I understand that this is also beautiful?..." I didn't bring Marceline, and went alone to Kairouan, which I haven't visited yet.The night was beautiful, and I was about to go back to the hotel to rest, when I suddenly remembered a group of Arabs sleeping on mats in the open air of a small cafe, so I huddled with them to sleep.I came back with a whole body of lice. The seaside climate was so hot and humid that it weakened Maceline considerably; I convinced her that we must get to Biskra as soon as possible.It was the beginning of April. This journey has been long.On the first day, we rushed to Constantine in a hurry; on the second day, Marceline was very tired, and we only reached Kantara.In the evening, we searched and found a shady place, which was more beautiful and refreshing than the moonlight at night.The shade is like an inexhaustible spring of water, flowing to us.On the slope where we sat, we could see the red plain.That night, Marceline could not sleep; the surrounding was strangely quiet, and even the slightest noise disturbed her.I worried that she had a low-grade fever and heard her tossing and turning in bed.The next day, I noticed that she was even paler.We're on the road again. Biskra.This is exactly my destination.Yes, this is the park; the benches... I recognize the benches I sat on when I was recovering from a serious illness.What book did I sit and read?Homer; I haven't opened it since. — This is the tree whose skin I stroked.How weak I was then! ……what!Here comes the boys... no; I don't recognize any of them.How serious was Maceline's face!She has changed just like me.Such a good day, why is she still coughing? —The hotel has arrived.This is the guest room we've stayed in; this is the platform we've been on. ——What is Marceline thinking?She didn't say a word to me.As soon as she entered the room, she lay down on the bed; she was tired and said she wanted to sleep for a while.I'm going out. I didn't recognize the kids and they recognized me.When they heard the news of my arrival, they all came running.How could it be them?What a disappointment!What happened?They have grown so tall; in just a little over two years—it's impossible... These faces, which were so youthful at first, are now so ugly, how tired, how sinful, What kind of laziness caused it?What despicable business has distorted these handsome bodies early?The scene in front of me is like a company closing down... I asked one by one.Bazier washes dishes in a café; Ashur smashes pavements to earn a few bucks; Amatar is blind in one eye.Who would believe it: Sadek behaved himself, helping one of his brothers sell bread at the market, and looking stupid too.Ajib followed his father as a butcher, he became fat, ugly, and rich, and no longer wanted to talk to his lowly companions... How stupid a decent job makes a person!Shall I see in them what I hated among us? —Where's Boubakey? --he has married.He is not yet fifteen.It's ridiculous. — Actually no, I saw him that night.He explained that his marriage was purely fake.I think he's a bloody slut!Really, he's been drinking, he's out of shape...is that all that's left?This is the masterpiece of life! —I came to see them to a large extent, and I couldn't help feeling sad. —Meynard is right: memory is asking for trouble. How about Moktil? --Oh!He was out of prison, hiding; no one else knew him.I want to meet him.He was the prettiest of all the kids back then, so should he disappoint me? ...someone found him and brought it to me. --fine!He hasn't degenerated.He was not so handsome even in my memory.His fitness and handsomeness reached perfection.He recognized me and smiled. "What did you do before you went to prison?" "Nothing." "Did you steal something?" He shook his head in denial. "What are you doing now?" He laughed again. "Hey! Moktil! If you have nothing else to do, you can accompany us to Turguert." ——I had a sudden whim and wanted to go to Turguert. Marceline is not well; I don't know what's on her mind.When I went back to the hotel that night, she clung to me, her eyes closed, and she didn't say a word.Her fat sleeves were raised, revealing her thin arms.I stroked her and rocked her like a baby to sleep for a long time.Was she trembling like this from love, from fear, or from fever? ……Oh!Maybe there's still time... Can't I just stop? ——I thought and found my own value: a person who is obsessed with obsession. ——But, how could I open my mouth and tell Maslin that we are going to Tuguierte tomorrow? ... Now, she is sleeping in the next room.The moon had long since risen, and now the platform was filled with brilliance, almost startlingly bright.People have nowhere to hide.My room has a white slate floor, and the moonlight looks particularly bright.Light streamed in from the open windows.I recognize its splendor in my room and the shadow of the door.Two years ago, it shone farther...yes, exactly where it stretches now—when I woke up when I couldn't sleep.My shoulder rests on this door.Remember, the palm didn't move at all... What did I read that night? ……Oh!Yes, it is what Christ said to Peter: "Now, do whatever you want, go wherever you want..." Where shall I go?Where am I going? ... I haven't told you yet, that the last time I was in Naples, I went to Postum again one day by myself... Oh!I really want to face those stones and cry!The beauty of monuments appears simple, perfect, and bright, but it is abandoned.Art has left me, I already feel it.But give way to what?What has been replaced no longer presents the crisp harmony it once did.Now I also don't know the mysterious God I serve.O new God!Also let me know new types, unexpected types of beauty. At dawn the next day we set off in a post-coach.Moktil followed us, happy as a king. Xieka, Kefirdor, Mleye...the stations are lifeless, and the endless journey is even more lifeless.To be honest, I thought these oases would be much more cheerful. Unexpectedly, there are stones and yellow sand everywhere; then there are a few bushes with strange flowers; Prefer deserts to oases; deserts are places where splendor fades and fame fades.Artificiality looks ugly and pathetic here.Now I hate anywhere else. "You love inhumanity," said Marceline.Look at the way she looks at herself!How greedy those eyes are! The next day the sky changed somewhat, that is to say, the wind picked up and the sky became dark.Marceline felt bad: the sandy air she breathed irritated her throat, the bright light dazzled her eyes, and the hostile landscape ravaged her.However, it was too late to go back.In a few hours we will be in Thugurt. The final stage of this journey, though so close, made a very weak impression on me.The scenery of the next day's journey, and what I did when I first arrived in Thugurt, I can't recall now.Still, I remember how eager and hurried my mood was. It was very cold in the morning.In the evening, a dry and hot sirocco wind blew.Maceline, tired from the journey, lay down as soon as she arrived.I expected to find a more comfortable hotel, but the rooms were terrible; the sand, the sun and the flies made everything look dark, dirty and old.We had scarcely eaten since daybreak, and I at once ordered dinner to be prepared.However, Marceline didn't think there was anything tasty, and no matter how I tried to persuade her, she couldn't swallow it.We took refreshments with us.All these chores are taken care of by me.For dinner, I just eat a few biscuits and drink a cup of tea; and the local water is dirty, and the boiled tea does not taste good. The benevolence has faded away, and in the end it was still vain. I stayed by her side until dark.Suddenly, I felt as if I was exhausted.O the smell of ashes!Lazy!O grief of extraordinary effort!I dare not look at her, knowing that my eyes are not looking for her gaze, but fixed on the black hole of her nostril.The look of pain on her face was heart-wrenching.She doesn't look at me either.I felt her terror as if I had personally touched it.She bites so hard that she falls asleep, but trembles from time to time. The night might change, and before it was too late, I wanted to find out who to turn to for a solution, so I went out.The Thugurt Square in front of the hotel, the streets, and even the atmosphere were so strange that I didn't think I was seeing them myself.After a while, I returned to the guest room.Marceline slept soundly.I didn't need to panic just now; it is absurd to think that there is danger everywhere in this strange land.I finally felt relieved and went out again. The strange scene of nighttime activities in the square: vehicles passing by quietly, and white cloaks cruising quietly.Strange fragments of music torn apart by the wind came from nowhere.A man came towards me...it was Mokteel.He said he was waiting for me, and he decided that I would go out again.He giggled.他经常来图古尔特，非常熟悉，知道该领我到哪儿去。我任凭他把我拉走。 我们走在夜色中，进入一家摩尔咖啡馆。刚才的音乐声就是从这里传出去的。 一些阿拉伯女人在跳舞——如果这种单调的移动也能称作舞蹈的话。——其中一个上前拉住我的手，她是莫克蒂尔的情妇；我跟随她走，莫克蒂尔也一同陪伴。我们三人走进一间狭窄幽深的房间，里边惟一的家具就是一张床。床很矮，我们坐到上面。屋里关着一只白兔，它起初非常惊慌，后来不怕人了，过来吃莫克蒂尔的手心，有人给我们端来咖啡。喝罢，莫克蒂尔就逗兔子玩，这个女人则把我拉过去；我也不由自主，如同沉入梦乡一般。 oh!这件事我完全可以作假，或者避而不谈；然而，我的叙述若是不真实了， 对我还有什么意义呢？ 莫克蒂尔在那里过夜，我独自返回旅馆。It was late at night.刮起了西罗科焚风，这种风卷着沙子，虽在夜间仍然酷热，迷人眼睛，抽打双腿。突然，我归心似箭，几乎跑着回去。也许她已经醒来；也许她需要我吧？ ……没事儿；房间的窗户是黑的； 她还在睡觉。我等着风势暂缓好开门；我悄无声息溜进黑洞洞的房间。 ——这是什么声响？ ……听不出来是她咳嗽……真的是她吗？ ……我点上灯……玛丝琳半坐在床上，一只瘦骨伶什的胳膊紧紧抓住床头栏杆，支撑着半起的身子；她的床单、双手、衬衣上全是血，面颊也弄脏了；眼睛圆睁，大得可怕；她的无声比任何垂死的呼叫都更令我恐怖。我在她汗津津的脸上找一点地方，硬着头皮吻了一下；她的汗味一直留在我的嘴唇上。我用凉水毛巾给她擦了额头和面颊。床头下有个硬东西硌着我的脚，我弯腰拾起，止是在巴黎时她要我递给她的小念珠， 刚才从她的手中滚落了；我放到她张开的手里，可是她的手一低，又让念珠滚落了。我不知如何是好，想去找人来抢救……她的手却拼命地揪住我不放。Oh!难道她以为我要离开她吗？她对我说：“噢！你总可以再等一等。”她见我要开口，立即又补充一句：“什么也不要对我讲，一切都好。” 我又拾起念珠，放到她的手里，可是她再次让它滚下去——我说什么？实际上她是撒手丢掉的。我在她身边跪下，把她的手紧紧接在我的胸口。 她半倚在长枕上，半倚在我的肩头，任凭我拉着手，仿佛在打瞌睡，可是她的眼睛却睁得大大的。 过了一小时，她又坐起来，把手从我的手里抽回去，抓住自己的衬衣，把绣花边的领子撕开了。她喘不上气儿。——将近凌晨时分，又吐血了……我这段经历向你们讲完了，还能补充什么呢？——图吉尔特的法国人墓地不堪入目，一半已被黄沙吞没……我仅余的一点意志，全用来带她挣脱这凄凉的地方。 她安息在坎塔拉她喜欢的一座私人花园的树荫下，距今不过三个月，却恍若十年了。 米歇尔久久沉默，我们也一声不响，每个人都有一种莫名的失意感。well!我们觉得米歇尔对我们讲了他的行为，就使它变得合情合理了。在他慢条斯理解释的过程中，我们无从反驳，未置一词，未免成了他的同道，仿佛参与其谋。他一直叙述完，声音也没有颤抖，语调动作无一表明他内心哀痛，想必他厚颜而骄矜，不肯在我们面前流露出沉痛的心情，或许他出于廉耻心，怕因自己流泪而引起我们的慨叹，还兴许他根本不痛心。至今我都难以辨别骄傲、意志、冷酷与廉耻心，在他身上各占几分。 过了一阵工夫，他又说道：“老实说，令我恐慌的是我依然年轻；我时常感到自己的真正生活尚未开始。现在把我从这里带走，赋予我生存的意义吧，我自己再也找不到了。我解脱了，可能如此；然而这又算什么呢？我有了这种无处使用的自由，日子反倒更难过。请相信，这并不是说我对自己的罪行厌恶了，如果你们乐于这样称呼我的行为的话；不过，我还应当向自己证明我没有僭越我的权利。 当初你们同我结识的时候，我有一种坚定的信念，而今我知道正是这种信念造就真正的人，可我却丧失了。我认为应当归咎于这里的气候；令人气馁的莫过于这种持久的晴空了。在这里，无法从事任何研究，有了欲念，紧接着就要追欢逐乐。 我被光灿的空间和逝去的人所包围，感到享乐近在眼前，人人都无一例外地沉湎其中。我白天睡觉，以便消磨沉闷的永昼及其难熬的空闲。瞧这些白石子，我把它们放在阴凉地儿，然后再紧紧地握在手心里，直到起镇静作用的凉意散尽。于是我再换石子，把凉意耗完的石子放去浸凉。时间就这样过去，夜晚来临……把我从这里拉走吧，而我靠自己是办不到的。我的某部分意志已经毁损了，甚至不知道哪儿来的力量离开坎塔拉。有时我怕被我消除的东西会来报复。我希望从头做起，希望摆脱我余下的财产，瞧，这几面墙上还有盖几。我在这儿生活几乎一无所有。一个有一半法国血统的旅店老板给我准备点食品。一个孩子早晚给我送来，好得到几苏赏钱和一点亲昵；就是你们进来时吓跑的那个。他特别怕生人，可是跟我一起却很温顺，像狗一样忠诚。她姐姐是乌莱德——纳伊山区人，每年冬季到君士坦丁向过客卖身。那姑娘长得非常漂亮；我来此地头几周，有时允许她陪我过夜。然而一天早晨，她弟弟小阿里来这儿撞见了我们两个。那孩子极为恼火，一连五天没有露面。 按说，他不是不知道他姐姐是怎样生活，靠什么生活的；从前他谈起来，语气中没有表露一点难为情。这次难道他嫉妒了吗？——再说，这出闹剧也该收场了，因为我既有些厌烦，又怕失去阿里，自从事发之后，就再也没有让那位姑娘留宿。她也不恼，但是每次遇见我，总是笑着打趣说，我喜爱那孩子胜过喜欢她，还说主要是那孩子把我拴在这里。也许她这话有几分道理……（全文完）