Chapter 33 people by the threshold

Bioy Casares brought back from London a curious dagger with a triangular blade and a vertical I-shaped hilt; our British Council friend, Christopher Dewey, said that this weapon was an Indian Commonly used by Stans.That insight led Casares to open up, saying he had worked in the region between the two world wars. (I remember that he also misquoted a poem by Yuwena, saying in Latin that "the waters of the Ganges come up from the sky.") I compiled the following story based on what he told that night.The content must be faithful to the original meaning: may Allah help me to avoid the temptation to add syllables, or, like Kipling, add narratives and arguments to exaggerate the exoticism of the story.In addition, this story has a simple and ancient meaning, which may be comparable to the story in "Arabian Nights", so it is a great pity to let it disappear.

It doesn't matter exactly where the story I'm about to tell takes place.Besides, in Buenos Aires, does anyone remember the precise location of places like Amritsar or Ude?So I'll just say that when there was a riot in an Islamic city, the central government sent a strongman to restore order.The man came from a prominent Scottish warrior family with a violent tradition in his blood.I only saw him once, but I never forgot his dark hair, high cheekbones, greedy nose and mouth, broad shoulders and strong Viking frame.Let him be called David Alexander Glencairn in my story to-night; both names suit him well; for two princes who rule with iron scepters are called each.I guess David Alexander Glencairn (I've got to get used to calling him that) is scary; once a notice is posted that he's taking office, the town is safe.But he still issued many cruel laws.A few years passed.The Sikhs and Muslims had put aside their old feud, and the city and surrounding areas were peaceful when Glencairn suddenly disappeared.Naturally, there were many rumors in the street, some that he had been kidnapped, others that he had been killed.

I heard this from my superiors, and because of the heavy censorship, Glencairn's disappearance was not commented on (or even reported, as far as I recall).There is a saying that India is bigger than the world; Glencairn may cover the sky in a city governed by edict, but it is only a small part in the administrative machinery of the British Empire.Investigations by the local police were fruitless; my superiors thought that sending a private visit with a WeChat server might reduce suspicion and achieve greater results.Three or four days later, (the distance between Indian streets being great enough), I ran through the streets of that city that swallowed up a grown man, without much hope.

Almost immediately I sensed a vast conspiracy to conceal Glencairne's whereabouts.It seems to me that there is not a soul in this city who is not aware of the secret, and who is not sworn to keep it secret.Most of the people I questioned were clueless; they didn't even know who Glencairn was, never saw or heard of him.Others, on the contrary, said that they saw him talking to so-and-so fifteen minutes ago, and even accompanied me to the house where the two entered, but the people inside said that they had never seen the two at all, or Said he just left.Some people spoke eloquently, but they didn't tell the truth. I was so angry that I punched them in the face.Witnesses got a taste of my strength and made up another set of lies.I don't believe it, but I dare not ignore it.One afternoon, someone left me an envelope with an address written on a note inside...

When I arrived, the sun had already set.The address in the letter was in a slum; the house was low; and from the sidewalk I could see several yards with mud in it, and the innermost one was an open space.Some kind of Muslim celebration was taking place in the last courtyard; a blind man entered with a red wooden lute. An old man crouched on the threshold at my feet, motionless as if in a heap.I'll have to describe it because he's such a big part of the story.The long years have worn away his edges and corners, shrinking a lot, like a stone washed by running water or a proverb that has been tempered by generations.His clothes were knotted, at least it seemed to me, and the turban was a rag.He raised his head to me, and in the twilight all he could see was his swarthy face and snow-white beard.Anyway, I had no hope, so I asked him straight to the point about David Alexander Glencairn.He didn't get it at first (maybe he didn't) and I had to explain that Glencairn was the Sheriff and I was looking for him.As I spoke, it seemed ridiculous to ask an old man for whom reality was nothing but a vague whine.I thought the old man might be able to talk about the riots or Ackbar, but nothing about Glencairn.What he said afterwards confirmed my suspicions.

"The Sheriff!" he said, slightly surprised. "Sir is missing, you're looking. It happened to me when I was a kid. I don't remember the date, but it was before Carl Sine (Nicholson) was killed at Derry. Past Time stays in memory; I certainly remember what happened at the time. God allowed people to be corrupt in a fit of wrath; so people cursed, lied and cheated. That being said, not all people are evil, when the rumored Queen When someone is sent to this country to enforce the laws of England, those who are not too bad celebrate their foreheads, because they think that the rule of law is better than chaos. The man who abused his power, oppressed the people, corrupted the law, and committed heinous crimes At first, we did not blame him, because no one knew the British judicial system he introduced, and the apparent perversion of the new magistrate may have his own secrets. We always think on the bright side, thinking that he always He has his reasons, but his resemblance to all the corrupt officials in the world is so obvious that in the end we have to admit that he is an out-and-out villain. He became a tyrant, poor people (they once treated him I have high hopes, and now I realize that I have misjudged the person, and I am very angry) I have made up my mind to kidnap him and put him on trial. It is not enough to say no; the plan must be put into action. Not believing that this audacious plan would come true, yet thousands of Sikhs and Muslims kept their word and in one day did in incredible what none of them thought was possible. They kidnapped the sheriff , and imprisoned him in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Then they visited those he had harmed, or (in some cases) found orphans and widows, for all those years the butcher's sword never rested .The last, and perhaps most difficult job, is finding and appointing a judge to try the sheriff."

At this time, several women entered the room and interrupted him. After a while, he continued slowly: "Everyone knows that in every generation there are four upright people who secretly supported Tianyu and proved themselves worthy before God: there must be one of the most competent judges among these four. But the crowd is vast and unknown, Meeting each other is not necessarily acquaintance, let alone they themselves do not know that they have a secret mission? So someone suggested that since we have no chance to identify a sage, we should look for it from among the idiots. This opinion prevailed. Scholar, doctor of law, Sikhs who are called lions and believe in one god, Hindus who believe in many gods, monk Mahavira who preaches that the shape of the universe is like a man with two legs spread apart, Zoroastrians and black Jews who believe in Judaism formed the court , but the final judgment is left to a madman."

At this time, several people came out of the celebration and interrupted him. "A madman shall judge," he repeated. "So that the wisdom of God may come through his mouth, and shame the arrogance of man. The name of the madman is forgotten, or is not known at all, and he walks the streets naked or in rags , always pointing his fingers with the thumb, or teasing the trees by the road." I don't think so.I said that the final judgment was made by a madman, and that the interrogation was useless. "The defendant accepts this judge," he replied. "Perhaps he understood that he would be in danger if the conspirators released him, and that he could only get a non-death sentence from a lunatic. He is said to have laughed when he was told who the judge was. Due to the large number of witnesses, the trial continued Many days and nights."

The old man fell silent, appearing preoccupied.I had to find something to say, so I asked him how many days the trial had been. "Nineteen days at least," he replied.He was interrupted again by people who had come out of the festival; alcohol is forbidden for Muslims, but those who came out looked and sounded as if they were drunk.One of them yelled something to the old man and left. "No more, no less, exactly nineteen days," he corrected. "That ruthless fellow listened to the verdict and put a knife in his neck." He was beaming, but his tone was cruel.Then, with a change in his voice, the story ended.

"He died fearless; those rascals are hard sometimes." "Where did your story come from?" I asked. "In a farmhouse?" He looked up at me for the first time.Then slowly and carefully said: "I said they imprisoned him in a farmhouse, not that there was a trial there. It was in this city: in a normal house, a house like this one. The house is not so different from the house, the important thing Is that house built in hell or in heaven." I inquired about the fate of those conspirators. "I don't know," said the old man patiently. "These things have been forgotten for many years. Maybe they were condemned, but it was man who condemned, not God."

He stood up after speaking.I think he ordered me to leave, and from that moment on, I no longer existed for him.A stream of men and women of all ethnicities in the Punjab, some praying, some chanting, rushed towards us and almost swept us away: so many people came out of those narrow courtyards not much larger than the long hall, It really surprised me.Others came from the neighbourhood; they must have jumped over the short wall... I pushed and swore and swore to make my way.In the last courtyard I met a naked man with a crown of yellow flowers on his head, kissed and donated, and he had a sword in his hand, stained with blood, because it had killed Grange Well, Glencairn's mutilated body was found in the stables in the backyard.