Chapter 21 Part Three (4)

Home, home, what I need is home, and what I found is "home", brothers, I am walking in the dark, not towards the city, but towards the direction of the roaring farm machinery.I came to a village and felt familiar, maybe all villages look the same, especially in the darkness.There are a bunch of houses on one side, a tavern on the other, and a small lonely house at the end of the village. There is only a white number on the door—"home".I was drenched in the icy rain, and my clothes were no longer fashionable, but rather cold, pathetic; my hair was a dirty, sticky mess, spread out on Gulliver, and my face certainly There were cuts and bruises everywhere, and when I licked it with my tongue, I found a few loose teeth.My whole body was sore and thirsty, so I kept opening my mouth to drink cold rainwater. I didn't eat much in the morning, but I hadn't eaten or drank all day, and my stomach was gurgling non-stop.

"Home" on the door plate, maybe someone can help.I opened the gate and slipped all the way through, the rain had frozen; then gently.I knocked pitifully on the door, but no one answered, so I knocked longer and louder, and then I heard footsteps coming towards the door.The door opened, and a man's voice said, "Who is it?" "Oh," I said, "please help me. I was beaten by the police and left on the side of the road to die. Oh, please give me a drink and a fire, sir, please." The door was wide open, and there was warm light inside, and the fireplace was burning. "Come in," said the man, "whoever it is. God bless you, poor victim, come in and I'll see." I walked in trembling, brethren, I wasn't pretending, I was Feeling weak in all limbs, a kind person hugged my shoulders and pulled me into a room with a fireplace. Sure enough, I immediately recognized what this place was, no wonder the house number "home" looked so familiar.I looked at this man, he looked at me kindly, and I remembered him.Of course he doesn't remember me, because life was carefree at the time, and when I fought, teased, and stole with my so-called buddies, I always wore a good mask.He is a short middle-aged man who can look in his thirties, forties, and fifties, and wears glasses. "Sit down by the fire," said he, "and I'll get whiskey and hot water. Why, you've been beaten to death." He looked thoughtfully at my Gulliver and my face.

"It's the police," I said. "A vicious policeman." "Another victim," he sighed. "Modern victim. I'll get the whiskey, and then I'll have to wash the wound a bit." He walked away.I glanced around the cozy little room, which was literally full of books, a fireplace, some chairs; I could tell, somehow, that there was no mistress of the house.There was a typewriter on the table, and there was a lot of papers lying around. I remember this guy was a writer. ,that's it.It's funny how I can't get it out of my head.But I can't let it out, I'm in need of help and kindness from my master, and that's how those horrible bastards treated me in the White House, forcing me to desperately depend on help and kindness while also yearning for help and kindness myself , if anyone is willing to accept it.

"Okay, here it is," the guy came back, and he gave me a big steaming cup of pick-me-up, and I felt better immediately, and then he washed the cuts on my face.He said, "Take a hot bath. I'll run the water. While you're taking a bath, I'll cook a hot dinner. While we're eating, you can tell me exactly what's going on." Brother My fellows, I should like to weep for his kindness.He must have seen my eyes filled with tears, and immediately said, "Okay, okay, okay," and patted my shoulder. So, I went upstairs and took a hot bath, and he brought me pajamas and a robe to wear, both warmed in front of the fireplace, and another pair that was worn out!day slippers.Although I still have pain all over my body, I think it will get better soon.When I went downstairs, I saw that the kitchen had already set up a dining table, complete with knives and forks, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of "high-end spirits".He quickly brought out scrambled eggs, ham slices, burst sausages, and a big steaming cup of sweet milk tea.It was comfortable to sit and eat in warmth; I found myself so hungry that after scrambled eggs I ate slice after slice of bread and butter, while scraping herbal sauce from the big pot to smear it all over. "Much better," I said. "How can I repay the kindness?"

"I think I know who you are," he said. "If you're who I thought you were, friend, you've come to the right place. Wasn't your picture in the papers this morning? You're a terrible new technology Are you the poor victim? If yes, then you are a gift from God. Tortured in prison, then thrown out to be tortured by the police. I feel very sorry for you, poor poor child." I opened my mouth to answer He just couldn't interject. "You're not the first to come here in trouble," he said. "The police like to take their victims to the wilds of this village, but you are another kind of victim. It is God's will to come here. Maybe you have heard of me."

I have to be careful what I say, brethren.I said, "I've heard of it, I haven't seen it, but I've heard of it." "Ah," he said, his face glowing like a bright morning sun. "Now tell me about yourself." "There's nothing to say, sir," I said humbly to him. "It's a stupid child's prank. I was persuaded by a so-called friend. I should have been forced to break into the house of a godly old woman-oh, the old lady. I didn't want to do harm, but the old lady tried her best to drive me out. Originally I prepared to go out myself, and she died. I was charged with putting her to death, and so went to jail, sir."

"Yes, yes, continue." "Later, I was picked by the poor minister, that is, the Minister of Internal Affairs, to test Lu's technology on me." "Details," he said eagerly, the arms of his jumper scooping up a generous amount of strawberry jam on a plate I'd pushed aside.So I give it all away, and there's nothing left, brethren.He still listened eagerly, his eyes lit up, his lips parted, and the grease on the plate began to harden and harden.After I finished speaking, he stood up, nodded repeatedly, and kept making "hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm" sound, well cleared the cups and plates from the table, and carried them to the sink for washing.I say:

"I'll do it, sir, and I'll be glad." "Rest, rest, poor boy," he said, turning on the tap, and the heat gushed out. "I think you have committed a crime, but the punishment is disproportionate. They have made you into something inhuman, and you no longer have the power to choose. You have committed to socially acceptable behavior and become only doing good. This little machine. I can see that clearly—it’s nothing more than the survival of conscious limbic reflexes. Music, sex, literature, art, all must be a source of pain, not of pleasure.” "Yes, sir," I said, smoking the cork filter cigarette the good man had given me.

"They've always done too much," he said, absently wiping eleven dishes. "But whose basic intent is true crime, people who don't choose are no longer human." "That's what the teacher said, sir," I said. "It's the instructor in the prison." "Yeah? Yeah? Of course he'd say it. He'd have to say it, didn't he? He's a Christian, well, listen," he said, still wiping the dishes he'd wiped ten minutes ago, " We're getting some people to see you tomorrow. I think you can, poor boy. I think you can overthrow this tyrannical government, turn a decent young man into a clockwork machine, sure not What about political achievements, unless it's about showing off and suppressing." He was still rubbing the disc.I say:

"Sir, you're still wiping that plate. I agree with you about showing off. This administration seems to love showing off." "Oh," he said, as if seeing the plate for the first time, and put it down. "I'm not skilled enough in housework. In the past, my wife did everything and let me devote myself to writing." "Where's your wife, sir?" I said. "She left you?" I really want to know the situation of his wife, the memory is still fresh. "Yes, leave me alone," he said sharply. "She died. You know, she was brutally gang-raped and beaten. The violent shock happened in this room," the hands trembling while holding the tablecloth, "asked in the next room. Live here, but she sure wants me to live where she still smells. Yes, yes. Poor girl." I remember vividly the tragedy of that distant night, brethren; saw myself doing it Work, I started to feel nauseous, the pain in Gulliver kicked in.This guy saw it, because my face was suddenly pale and pale, and he could see it. "Go to bed," he said kindly, "the empty room is fixed, poor poor child, you must be miserable. A modern victim, exactly like her. Poor poor girl."