Chapter 18 17

------------------ 17 I think I've fallen into an abyss, into the dark side of another world that's so miserable.I was robbed.Assaulted, frisked, humiliated.They, these Messengers of Peace, took my belt, my shoelaces, and wheeled me into the detention center - and while that belt was useful, it still couldn't lift my belt after I used its last buttonhole Pants.What are they afraid of?Afraid I end myself with shoelaces?what!As far as my current situation is concerned, if I really commit suicide, it would be the most ideal choice.If I'm lucky, there are plenty of opportunities, and purgatory does exist (and pious believers like Soski have been pursuing it).Unfortunately, purgatory means I have to re-live what I've been through, and I'm terribly terrified of what might happen.

Stinky shit!I muttered and kicked the gate with my foot in disgust.Called Leo three times, but the line was busy.Maybe I didn't want to let this sudden dream of reputation be interrupted, so I put the microphone out of the slot.Shit, but I have to find someone who lives in New York to prove who I am. "Hey, guard! Guard!" I yelled, shaking the fence, but no one came again.They must have gotten tired of me coming and going on the phone--but I haven't spent my dime yet, and I know I'm entitled to it, yes. If I hadn't found a lawyer by daylight, they promised to assign me a public defender.Hey hey.Am I looking for Perry Mason or for a drunk who's just getting kicked out of the bar?Hopefully I can figure out how to fix it, at least find someone with a clear head who can...  

"True gold is not afraid of fire." The chairman scrambled to get my attention. "Adversity builds character," added the ambitious theorist number one. "Oh, stop pretending. Take it easy." I shrugged them off.Are they sleeping or not? Not to mention anything else, I am extremely hungry now, and there is nothing in front of me except my own skin and bones.Don't get anything to eat before dawn, all you can get is the bad luck of being arrested after eating... If a person can be anything if he thinks he is, then I am a big hot dog with a variety of side dishes .If a person can become what he wants to eat, then I am not a thing, a zero, a code name for a zero, an insignificant villain.This is me.Third-class armed robbery, enemy number one.How ridiculous.Leaf would say again: "It's so ridiculous that I forgot to laugh."... Can you imagine all this?But shit, I have to admit that the way the city's laws work is absurd in favor of convictions... shit, I'm not as guilty as I am now.Maybe I should accept a negotiated guilty plea and bow myself to the court's mercy?

kindness?This is no small matter.You are not committing an ordinary crime.It is a first degree crime.serious crime.Long years in prison.I know they are trying to convict me (blackmail me) indiscriminately.Even their descriptions fit like that, you've heard it...but I'm starting to wonder if I really did that kind of thing-whatever it is...shit, you'll never Can't figure out what it is. 10 o'clock in the morning.Mr. Bernie Kaufman, my lord, where are you?It's been hours since I conceded and left you a message on the phone.They have already started lining up suspects in front of a large iron gate for trial.I also lined up among them tremblingly. The four people in the team look alike, although the social backgrounds may not be the same...

wait.wait.wait.It's all we can do.Once I'm out of the cage, I'm going to sue them assholes for wrongfully arresting me and wasting my precious time--that's a good way to make money, unless, of course, they conjure up some crime and get me sentenced. keep up.keep up.Impatiently I moved forward, let this circus do the rounds.As I stood there waiting for their nonsense, I suddenly had a question in my mind about "Gooberswell Is Crumbling."It may not be—as I had believed—about the breakdown of social order, law, and justice at all, but simply a difficult test of endurance, a precise measure of the What is the limit of punishment for people without being pulled off like a rubber band.It's an interesting thought, but if what I suspect is true, am I a pig?They prodded me, provoked me, to test my limits... Where the hell is Bernie?I shouldn't have been here for more than half an hour... Yeah, I have to admit, there's absolutely no need to go to extremes to revise a novel, no matter what it's about.

"All right. Line up." The prison guard opened the door. "After you get on the platform, you have to stand in the middle. You are not allowed to speak unless you are allowed to speak. Do you understand?" "Okay. Let's walk together." I thought and followed the team like a machine. "The show's on, guys." I walked like a model prisoner.I was ushered into a windowless, bare room, and it was pitch black except for the spotlighted spotlight on the platform where my "friends" and I were standing.I glanced nervously into the darkness, but I couldn't see anything except a few shadows swaying back and forth, and there was a so-called one-way mirror in front of the figures.

"Number three," said a voice suddenly, "come out." pause. "Number three. You. Come out!" "Who? Me?" I asked.The person called was number three from any side of the five criminals. "Yes, you!" I took a step forward obediently, my legs trembling slightly. "Go. I order you to say your name loud and clear." I was angry and hungry, and all eyes were on me.I stood there with my mouth shut. "Talk," exclaimed the director who cast the scene. This was my first and last voice audition for a character I didn't want to play. "What's your name?"

silence. "Speak quickly!" "Say! Or we'll get your tongue out!" a voice threatened me in the dark. "Oh, sir, er(my) name, Sjosey Jimmy," I grinned with a twitch of my face. "The flowers you asked for (what you said) were ugly, ugly—" "Cut his tongue!" shouted a hooligan in the front row. If there were not so many people present, he would definitely want to help cut my tongue off. "Ay, you Sisosan (meaning number three)?" I said in Yiddish numbers, trying to play a little joke on them. "Resume (meaning) him, boss?" There was a racial slur in my voice.

"Okay. Number three, return to the team." "Oh no, I'm not returning to the team. Since you asked me to speak, then I'll speak." My face was as red as a beetroot, and the sweat dripped down my cheeks in anger.Oh no, gentlemen, you can't get rid of me so easily. "Now I'm going to ask all of you a few questions. Like," I rage, "What about my rights? What about my citizenship? What about my human rights?" "Return to the team!" "Of course, I'll go back to the team, but what about my rights under the Constitution? What about the Miranda principle? Where's my lawyer? Where's my belt? How are you going to make me walk up and down the platform without a belt? ?If I drop my pants you'll arrest me for public humiliating exposure. This is a false accusation. I've made it clear, let's see! You have a reason for arresting me, right? Come on, I'll give you a reason .I want all of you to know—all of you here today—that you will regret this. I want you to be arrested for conspiring to disenfranchise me.I want to sue,not just the city department and The police department, I want to sue each of you. I will take off your medals, withhold your wages, and I will..." No. 3 kept talking, and he was dragged off the platform by two strong men. The team waiting for trial was sent back to the detention room. "Acquittal, conspiracy, brutality! You can all testify. I will subpoena each of you..."

①It refers to the U.S. Supreme Court's regulation that before interrogating a suspect in custody, investigators must inform the other party of the right to remain silent, not to make self-incriminating statements, to hire a lawyer and to require the presence of a lawyer during the interrogation, etc. My guardians beat and kicked me on the way back to the detention cell; venting my displeasure lest I forget them.After I came back, I was taken out of the cage in a hurry before I could stabilize myself. "What's the matter?" I asked.They showed me to a table on which were scattered all my business which had been withheld during the night.

"The charges are over," said the thin gray-faced warden. "It's over?" I asked in surprise, grabbed my belt and shoelaces and tied them.it's over?Like just now?I was very surprised, and it suddenly occurred to me that there must be some kind and authoritative person helping me. Sign here, they say.I scribbled my name and hurried down the stairs behind the guard and through the final doors. What's next?I was throwing up and thinking.My heart skipped a beat.Who did I see?None other than the businessman and writer, good man Bernie Kaufman.He was standing at the other end of the room staring at the toe of his shoe, thinking intently. "Bernie!" I said happily, walking quickly towards him, who was staring absently at the freed prisoner who was about to embrace his rescuer—Mr. It seems that he has not recovered from the shock.Seeing me unkempt, this business tycoon who has always been eloquent and eloquent, a master of the English language, stammered. "F-fa-what-what happened?" he stammered.He looked me up and down, his face red and white like a neon light, with alertness and surprise. "Look, I'm really, really sorry I had to call you here," I apologized, remorse for dragging Bernie into the mud of my life. "Did the police do that to you?" he asked, taking a step back, maybe to stand in a safer place, maybe to see my rags and scars - it's hard to say why. "No. No. Compared to what I've been through, it's been a pleasure to be with them." It was there, standing on the concrete floor of the police station, that I told him everything, told him what happened yesterday A series of unfortunate events: how I was beaten and robbed, how the hooligans didn’t give me a penny, even took away the bus ticket, how I wandered around in the subway at a loss, and how I was arrested by the police Take away, how they charged me with hooliganism and a whole bunch of made up crimes. "I really don't know how to thank you. I've called all my friends in town and can't find a single one. I've tried and tried and blah blah blah blah blah. Even my The lawyer was on vacation in Hawaii too - can you imagine? You were the only one I could get in touch with at the end of the day," I gushed at the end of my admiration, "I'm so sorry to have to…" "Okay. Alright," said Bernie a little coldly, and I'm not sure which of us would believe that shit. "I don't know how to repay you," I smiled and took his hand and shook it vigorously, then walked quickly towards the door. "But where are you going!" he yelled after a moment of hesitation, and ran down the stone steps after me into the cold Bronx air. "Go home." I said naturally.The cold wind blew through the cuts in my trousers, and I felt chilled from the bottom of my heart. "Go home? How are you going to get home?" "How did you get home?" "Your bus ticket. I think it has been stolen." "Car—? Oh! Yes!" I smiled awkwardly, and patted my forehead as if acting. In the cab to the Port Authority bus terminal, the always talkative Bernie didn't say a word, not even about him, just looked out the window.I thought to myself, is he angry?Hate me?Sad and unwilling to show his feelings?indifferent?Lord, Bernie, would you say something? The car drove to midtown Manhattan, and the counter had jumped to a considerable amount.Bernie finally turned to me and asked softly, "Have you had breakfast?" "No." I lied to him without thinking.But what is one little lie in the middle of a big lie?Besides—if my calculations are right—I also think it's time for Bernie to treat me.If you don't take advantage of it now, who knows when you will have a chance?I was thinking, if we want to break up, let's have a meal and then break up. In the middle of 50th Street, exactly where Stephen dropped me off, Bernie stopped the driver.We got out of the car after Bernie put a wad of bills in a little basin under the bulletproof windshield and headed for a diner.I was acutely aware, and Bernie didn't, that Mr. Kaufman kept his distance from me as we crossed the street. Next we entered the small restaurant that was warm and smelling of fragrance. Like a child, I twisted my ass on the swivel chair and reached out to grab the menu.In one breath, I ordered to the waitress what I wanted: a large piece of hot cake with syrup and heavy cream, with bacon, orange juice, hot coffee, a piece of fresh plum cake, and a slice of watermelon.Bernie just wants a cup of coffee.Black, thank you.Bernie sipped his coffee, the ring on his little finger twinkling.I began to gulp down the food in front of me, occasionally looking up at my benefactor with my grateful dog eyes, while giving a grateful mental wag of my invisible tail.It's strange how, despite last night's horror, despite being detained, inhumanely treated, humiliated, torn, and up all night, I felt so much joy - the healing power of food witness.But at a time like this, if someone is willing to knock you on the head, I'm afraid it will feel better. "More?" Bernie asked me.At this point I began to express my gratitude again, offering permission to lick his ringed hand like the Pope's. Afterwards, I quickly wiped the food residue on my lips with a napkin, and took a taxi for a short distance. Two or three minutes later, we both stood in the queue in front of the Greyhound ticket office. The money bought me a one-way ticket to Goobsville.Hi, it's embarrassing for someone to take care of me like a child. "You really don't have to wait to drive," I said, still filled with the sense of duty and longing that at least a pet has, assuring Bernie that I'd write Heart and Hymen with care, as long as it wasn't a big lie. "I've already wasted too much of your time." I stretched out my hand to him, and he looked at me for the first time today, as if he wanted to see something from me. Bernie looked into the back of my eyeballs, looking for something he'd lost.I suddenly had a very interesting idea: what if "The Heart and the Hymen" is completely fabricated, a product of a rich imagination?What if Bernie hadn't been unfaithful to his wonderful wife who sat at home all day knitting?What if, in fact, he never had sex with her?On the surface, Bernie looks like the beautiful buildings on Wall Street, but he is a married chaste man who pins all his fantasies on paper.Such a thought is certainly absurd, although it is not impossible for such things to happen in this absurd world.Of course I'll find out eventually, I thought, looking at the two penetrating brown puddles on his face, looking for - as Leo said - all the dirty details, and nothing could not find it. "Be careful." Bernie nodded, a mysterious smile appeared on his face for the first time, and then disappeared into the crowd.I stood there for a few minutes, then walked towards the ticket office to get my ticket refunded... 19 RMB 35 cents.Not a small amount, I thought about folding the bills in my pocket and heading for the subway in the Bronx...not bad at all...there must be a way for the car to reach the mountain.