Chapter 22 Part Three (5)

I had a good night's sleep without any nightmares.In the morning, the weather was fine and cold, and the aroma of fried breakfast came from downstairs.Normally, it took me a while to remember where I slept; but I figured it out soon enough, and I felt a sense of warmth and protection in my heart.I was lying on the bed, waiting for the next call to have breakfast; I suddenly remembered that I should ask for the name of this kind person who protected me like a mother, so I tiptoed around barefoot, looking for the name must be written on it, it was he who wrote it. Well.There was nothing in the bedroom except a bed, a chair, and an electric light, so I ran to his own room next door, and saw his wife on the wall, it was a magnified photo, I remembered something, a nausea, there There are three or two bookshelves.As I expected, there was one, with the author's name written on the back, on the spine—F. Alexander, God, I thought, his name was Alex, too.I turned around, in his pajamas, barefoot, but not at all cold, and the whole room was warm; but I couldn't see what the book was about.It seems to be written in a very crazy style, full of "what", "ah" and other nonsense, but the general meaning is that people these days have become machines, they, you, me, him, and me Flatter it - it looks like a naturally growing fruit. F. Alexander seems to think that we all grow in God's orchard of the world, which he calls the world tree, and that we exist because God needs us to quench his thirst, the hunger of love and so on.I don't like the noise at all, brethren, and wonder how mad F. Alexander is, driven mad perhaps by the loss of his wife.But at this moment, he called me downstairs to eat in the voice of a sane person, full of joy.Benevolent heart, so the narrator has come downstairs.

"You've been a long sleeper," he said, scooping out hard-boiled eggs and pulling burnt toast from under the grill. "It's almost ten o'clock, I've been up for a long time, and I'm working." "A new book, sir?" I asked. "No, no, I won't write now," he said, and we sat down as buddies, cracking eggs and biting the burnt toast, and put the big cup of milk tea we made in the morning aside. "I'm calling all kinds of people." "I thought you didn't have a phone," I said, not paying attention to what I was saying as I was spooning eggs.

"Oh?" he asked, alert as an animal stealing with an egg spoon. "Why do you think I don't have a phone?" "It's nothing," I said, "it's nothing, it's nothing." I don't know if he remembers that distant first half of the night, but I came to the door and made up a story about calling the doctor, and he said there was no phone .He gave me a long look, then returned to his loving, cheerful demeanor, and scooped up the egg.As he ate, he said: "Yes, I have called anyone interested in this case, and you see, you will be a very powerful weapon to ensure that the evil present government is not re-elected in the next general election. One of the great achievements of the government is that the recent Have cracked down on crime for months." He looked at me again, through the heat of the egg; again I wondered, I worried if he was watching, what part I had played in his life, but, he said: "Crafting savage punks into the police force, planning exhausting, mind-destroying reflex techniques." He used so many proper terms, brethren, and with a look of madness in his eyes, "We've seen it before ’” he said, “in a foreign country, the needle-pointed eye sees through the wind, and before we have time to understand our situation, a complete totalitarian state apparatus will emerge as the times require.” Dao, desperately eating eggs and bread.I say:

"What is my part in all this, sir?" Still with the frantic expression on his face, he said, "You are a living witness to this heinous plot. The common people, the common people must see it." He stood up from the table and paced up and down the kitchen Go, walk from the sink to the pantry, and say aloud, "Would they like their children to follow in your poor victim's footsteps? Doesn't the government arbitrarily decide what's a crime and what's not, and anyone who wants to offend the government will be punished?" Your life, courage, and will are all drained?" He calmed down, but he didn't continue to eat eggs. "I wrote an article, I wrote it this morning, and you're still asleep. It's coming out in a day or two, with a picture of your misfortune, and you're going to sign it, poor boy, as they clean up your file." ."I say:

"What do you get out of all this, sir? I mean, other than what you call the royalties you bring in for your articles? I mean, why are you so vehemently against the present government? Allow me to venture to ask. " He grabbed the edge of the table and gritted his teeth, stained with dirty smoke, he said: "Someone of us has to fight. The great tradition of liberty must be defended. Try to get rid of it. Party names are worth nothing, traditions of liberty above all. Ordinary people will ignore it, yes. They would trade their liberty for a quiet life. That's why they have to be mobilized, mobilized— —” As he spoke, he picked up the fork and poked it on the wall two or three times, the fork bent and threw it on the ground.He was very loving and said, "Eat well, poor boy, victim of the modern world," and I could clearly see that he was getting carried away, "Eat, eat. Eat my eggs too. "But I asked:

"What do I get out of this? Can I be cured of all my ailments? Can I listen to the "Choral Symphony" and not feel sick again? Can I get back to normal life? What will happen to me, sir?" He looked at me, brethren, as if he hadn't thought about this shit before, anyway, it's nothing compared to "liberty" crap like that, and he looked surprised when I said that, as if I It is selfish to ask for what you want.He said, "Oh, as I said, you're a living witness, poor boy, eat your breakfast and read what I've written, because the Weekly Bugle is going to have your byline published, unfortunate victim .”

Why, what he writes is long and tearful; and I feel sorry for the poor boy as I read it.He told of his own suffering, how the government had emptied his will; for this reason, it is the duty of all ordinary people not to let the corrupt and evil current government continue to rule him.Of course, I realize that this suffering child is the narrator, my humble self. "Very good," I said. "Fun. Well done, sir." He stared at me and said: "What?" As if he had never heard me speak. "Oh," I said, "that's our nacha oddity, teenagers say, sir." Then he went to the kitchen to do the dishes, leaving me in my borrowed pajamas and slippers, waiting for something to happen to me Happened because I had no claim, brethren.

The great F. Alexander was still in the kitchen, when there was a tinkling sound at the door, "Hey," he cried, coming out wiping his hands, "it's those people, I'll go." He answered the door and let them in, There's a chirping in the hallway, hello, bad weather, what's going on, and then they pop into the room with the fireplace, and the books, and my accusations in it, and come and see me, and go "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"There were three of them, and F. Alex told me their names. Z. Dorling was a wheezing smoker, coughing and coughing with a cigarette butt in his mouth. The ash was sprayed all over his body and he immediately brushed it off impatiently with his hands. He was a short, fat man with wide-rimmed glasses.And there's So-and-so Rubinstein, tall, polite, very gentlemanly, very old, with an oval goatee, and lastly D.B. da Julva, who's quick, There is a strong perfume smell on the body.They looked at me for a while, overjoyed at what they had seen, and Dorin said:

"Well, well. The boy would make a wonderful tool. Of course he'd better be more morbid and unreasonable. It's all about the cause. No doubt we'll figure it out." I don't like nonsense, brethren, so I said, "What are you doing, brethren? What the hell are you trying to do with your young lads?" At this point F. Alexander chimed in: "Strange, strange, the voice pierced me. We have been in contact before, I am sure." He frowned in thought.I've got to watch out, brethren.Da Silva says: "The main thing is to hold a mass meeting. Exhibiting you at the mass meeting will definitely have a great effect. Of course, the newspaper's views are all correct. The starting point is to destroy a life. We must arouse the hearts of the people," he bared more than 30 teeth , black face and white teeth, looks like a foreigner.I say:

"Nobody told me what I got out of it. Tortured in prison, kicked out by my own parents and dirty, arrogant tenants, beaten up by old men, beaten to death by cops - how would I end up? said Rubinstein: "You'll see, boy, that the party doesn't burn bridges. No, you'll get a little surprise when it's all over. Just wait and see." "I just have one request," I yelled, "and that's to be the same as before, to be healthy again, to have a little fun with real buddies, not with self-proclaimed buddies who are more traitors at heart. You can do Is there? Can anyone restore the old me? That's what I'm asking, and that's what I need to know."

Cough cough, Dorin coughed. "Martyrs of the cause of liberty," he said. "You have a role to play, don't forget. In the meantime, we'll take care of you." He started stroking my left hand like I was an idiot while giggling stupidly.I yelled: "Don't think of me as something you can use for nothing. I'm not an idiot for you to fool, you stupid bastards. Ordinary prisoners are stupid, but I'm not ordinary. I'm not an idiot. You hear me?" "Idiot," said F. Alexander thoughtfully. "Stupid, Dim. What's the name. Stupid." "Huh?" I asked. "What's Dim got to do with that? What do you know about Dim?" Then I said, "God bless us." I didn't like the look in F. Alexander's eyes.I rushed to the door, ready to go upstairs to get Platy and leave. "I can almost believe it," said F. Alexander, showing his stained teeth, his eyes wild, "but such a thing is impossible. Christ testifies, if it is, I will tear him. God, I will tear He, yes, I will." "Okay," da Silva stroked his chest like a comforting puppy. "It's all in the past, people who don't fit in at all. We must help this poor victim. This is an urgent matter. Remember the future and our cause." "I'm going to get the platties," I said from the foot of the stairs, "that's the clothes, and leave alone. I mean, thank you all very much, but I've got my own way in life." Brothers, I gotta get out of here fast No.But Dolin said: "Ah, don't go. My friend, we have you and we must keep you. You follow us and everything will be fine. Just watch." He ran up and grabbed my hand.Now, brethren, I think about fighting, but thinking about fighting makes me paralyzed and nauseous, so I just stand.Then, seeing the madness in F. Alexander's eyes, I said: "Whatever you say, I'm in your hands. Let's get to it right away, quick, brothers." My intention now is to get out of this place called "home" as soon as possible.I began to dislike F. Alexander's gaze at all. "Okay," Rubins said. "Get dressed, we'll start right away." "Dum Dum Dum," F. Alexander muttered under his breath. "Who is Dim? What does Dim do?" I quickly ran upstairs and got dressed in two seconds.Then I followed the three out and got into the car.Rubins sat on one side of me, Dorin Kekeke sat on the other, and da Silva drove into town to an apartment complex not far from my old home. "Come out, boy," said Doring, coughing so that the butt of his cigarette was burning red like a small stove. "You'll be housed here." We walked in, another "Dignity of Labor" on the foyer wall, and we took the elevator up into an apartment like all the apartments in every apartment building in the city.Very small, two bedrooms, a living-dining studio, the desk is full of books, papers, ink, bottles, etc. "This is your new home," da Silva said. "Stay here, boy. The food is in the pantry. The pajamas are in the drawer. Rest, rest, restless mind." "Huh?" I said, not quite understanding all this. "Okay," said Rubins' but decrepit voice. "We're leaving you. Work has to be done. I'll be with you later. Try to be as busy as you can." "Something," Dorin coughed. "You saw the torture our Alexander friend remembered. Didn't you, what if—? That is, did you? I think you know what I mean. We won't spread it." "I've paid," I said. "God knows I paid for my actions. Not only for my actions, but for the bastards who called themselves buddies." I felt violent, so I felt sick. "I'm going to lie down," I said. "I've had a horrible horrible time." "Yes," da Silva said, showing all thirty teeth. "You lie down," They left me, brethren.They go about their own business, I think it's about politics or something.I was lying in bed, all alone, everything was so quiet.My shoes were kicked off, my tie was loose, and I was in a daze, not knowing what the future looked like.Gulliver flicked through all kinds of pictures, all kinds of people he met in school and the national prison, and all kinds of things that happened; in the vast world, no one can be trusted of.Then, I dozed off in a daze. When I woke up, I could hear the music coming from the wall, very loud, and it was pulling me out of my little bit of slumber.It was a symphony I was very familiar with, and I hadn't enjoyed it for several years.It is the "Third Symphony" by the Danish Otto Skadrik. It is a loud and enthusiastic work, especially the first movement. This is the chapter that is being played. I listened to it for two seconds with great interest and joy. , and then the pain and nausea overwhelmed and I started moaning deep in my stomach.Just like that, I, who loved music so much back then, climbed out of bed, yelled ouch, and then banged on the wall, yelling, "Stop, stop, turn off!" But the music was still playing, And it got louder.I punched the wall until my joints were covered in red blood and peeled skin, shouting and shouting, but the music didn't stop.Then I thought, I gotta get out, and staggered out of the cubicle and rushed to the front door of the apartment, but it was locked and there was no way out.Meanwhile the music grew louder, as if to torture me, my brethren.So I inserted my fingers deeply into my ears, but the sound of the trombone and the drums was still very loud through my fingers.I yelled again to stop them, pounding on the wall, but to no avail. "Ouch, what should I do?" I cried alone. "God help me." I groped around the apartment in pain and nausea, trying to turn the music off, moaning that seemed to come from deep inside my belly.Now, on top of the pile of books and papers on the living room table, I found what I had to do, what the old men in the library, Dim and Billyboy pretending to be cops hadn't told me to do, That is to kill himself, die, and leave this evil and cruel world forever.I saw that the word "death" was on the cover of a leaflet, even though it was "Death to the Government".As fate would have it, another leaflet had an open window on the cover and said, "Open the windows and let in fresh air, fresh ideas, fresh ways of living." I got it, it told me, window jumping can end Everything, maybe a moment of pain, and then a sleep forever and ever. The music is still pouring through the walls, brass, drums, and violins from miles away. The window of my bedroom is open. When I get closer, I find that it is far away from the cars and pedestrians below.I shouted to the world, "Goodbye, goodbye, may God forgive you for ruining a life." I climbed onto the ledge, and the music was blasting to the left;