Chapter 6 Chapter Two (1)

She knelt in the shadow of the fence a few steps away from the gate of the barracks, wrapped in a coat much larger than her own body, and a fur hat was placed upside down on the ground in front of her.She had straight, jet-black eyebrows, and the smooth black hair of a savage.What could a barbarian woman beg for in a town?There were only a few pennies in the hat. I passed her twice a day.Every time she looked at me like a stranger, staring straight ahead until I approached her, then slowly turned her head away from me.The second time I passed, I tossed a coin in her hat. "It's getting late and it's too cold to be outside," I said.She nodded.The sun was gone behind a cloud; the wind from the north predicted snow; the square was empty; I walked there.

She wasn't there the next day.I asked the doorman, "There was a woman who sat there all day yesterday begging. Where did she come from?" The woman was blind, he answered.She was one of the savages brought back by the colonel.When others repatriated her, she was dragged here. A few days later I saw her walking across the square, walking slowly on crutches, her sheepskin coat trailing in the dust behind her.I had her taken into my room.She stood in front of me on crutches. "Take off your hat," I said.The soldier who brought her in took off her hat.It was the begging girl, with the same black bangs that covered her forehead, the same wide mouth, and the black eyes piercing my gaze.

"They told me you were blind." "I can see," she said.Her eyes moved away from my face and stared straight at somewhere in the back of my head to the right. "Where are you from?" I subconsciously looked over my shoulder: what she stared at was the empty wall.But her gaze was firm and stagnant.Although I already knew the answer, I repeated my question.She answered with silence. I sent the soldiers away.The two of us are alone. "I know who you are," I said. "Will you sit down?" I took her crutches and helped her sit on a stool.Under her coat she wore a pair of wide sackcloth drawers tucked into heavy boot shafts.There was a smell of tobacco, musty laundry, and fish.Her hands were rough and callused.

"Do you beg for a living?" I asked. "Did you know that you can't stay in this town. We can drive you out any time and send you back to your own people." She sat there, staring up bewilderingly. "Look at me," I said. "I'm looking at you. That's how I see people." I waved my hand in front of her face.She blinked.I brought my face closer and looked into her eyes.She turned her gaze from the wall to me.The black pupils set off the milky whites of the eyes, like the eyes of a child.I touched her cheek with my hand and she jumped up. "I just asked what you do for a living."

She shrugged. "I can do laundry." Where do you live? " "I have a place to live." We don't allow homeless people to roam the town.Winter is coming.You must have a place to live.Otherwise you have to go back to your own people. " She sat there obstinately.I understood that I was inquiring about her affairs on the sidelines. "I can give you a job. I need someone to clean up the room and do some cleaning at the same time. There's always a lady who's doing the job that's not very satisfying." She understood that I was giving her an errand.She sat stiffly with her hands on her knees.

"Are you alone? Tell me." "Yes." She whispered.Cleared his throat again. "yes." "I've given you such a job that you can't beg in the street anymore. I won't allow it. You must have a lodging here. If you work here, you can share a room with the cook." "You don't understand. You wouldn't want me like this." She leaned on her cane.I know she can't see. "I am..."—she held out a forefinger, twisting it tightly with her other hand.I don't understand what this gesture means. "Can I go?" She walked straight to the stairs, and then stood there waiting for me to help her down the stairs.

One day later, I looked at the square, where the wind was playing and blowing dust.Two little boys were there playing roulette.They rolled the ring in the wind.The ring moved forward for a while, slowed down for a while, wobbled for a while, rolled backwards for a while, and finally fell down.The two boys ran towards the ring on their backs, their hair swept back in the wind, revealing their clear foreheads. I spotted the girl and stood in front of her.She sat with her back against a stump in the old walnut grove: it was hard to tell whether she was awake or asleep. "Hey," I said, touching her shoulder.She shook her head. "Hello," I said, "everyone else is in the house." I took her hat and dusted it and handed it to her, helped her to her feet, and walked her slowly across the square, which was empty, Only the doorman stood there, looking at us with his hands over his eyes.

The fire was on.I drew the curtains and turned on the lights.She didn't want to sit on that bench, so she put down her crutches and knelt on the carpet. "It's not what you think it is," I said.I say this with a little reluctance.Can I really forgive myself?Her lips were tightly shut, and so must her ears. She didn't need old men and their feeble consciences. I walked softly beside her, telling her about the no-vagrant law and order, Feeling sick of myself.Her skin slowly glowed in the warm room with the doors and windows closed.She tore off her coat with all her might and pointed her neck to the fire.I realized that there was not much difference between me and her tormentors; I trembled suddenly. "Show me your feet," I said to her in a deep voice that sounded like my own. "Look what they've done to your feet."

She neither declined nor cooperated.I fiddled with the laces and buttonholes of her coat, then took off her boots.She was wearing men's boots.Much bigger than her feet.The protruding feet were wrapped in long strips of cloth, and the shape of the feet was lost. "Let me see," I said. At first she refused to untie the dirty foot wraps.I left the room, went downstairs to the kitchen, and brought back a basin of water and a jug with a spout of hot water.She was sitting on the sofa waiting for me, barefoot, swollen and swollen feet, ten toes stubby and stubby, and the toenails were full of dirt.

She reached out with a finger and felt the outside of her ankle. "It's broken here. So is the other one." She propped herself up on her hands, her legs stretched out. "Is it hurt here?" I said.I stretched out my fingers and touched the part she mentioned, and I didn't feel anything unusual. "It's nothing now. It's all right. Maybe the cold will come back again." "You have to sit," I said.I helped her take off her coat and started washing her feet.At first, her feet were a little stiff, but slowly they relaxed. I washed slowly, top to bottom, holding tightly to her muscular calves; rubbing the bones and tendons in her feet; rubbing between her toes.I changed my kneeling position, turned to her side, and put her feet between my elbows and waist, so that I could scrub with both hands together.