Chapter 18 Chapter Four (3)

Of course I did not have an easy time in the humiliation of this imprisonment.Sometimes I sit on the cushion and stare at three stains on the wall, and my mind keeps wandering to that place, thinking about those questions for the thousandth time: Why are they lined up?Who put them up?Do they represent something?Or measuring steps around the room, counting as you walk: one, two, three, one, two, three... or unconsciously rubbing your face with both hands - I realize that they have compressed my world to How insignificant; how day by day I was becoming a beast or a simple machine, say, a child's toy spinning wheel surrounded by eight little figures: father, lover, Horse riders, thieves... The next thing I was dazed by this horrible rotation, I slammed my arms in the cell, pulled my beard, stomped my feet, and tried every means to remind myself that there was a colorful world outside.

There were other humiliations.They ignored my pleas to change into clean clothes.I had nothing to replace but to wear the old one.The daily exercise had to be done under the watchful eye of the guards, and I could only wash one or two of my things in cold water, a shirt or a pair of long underwear, and then take them into the cell to dry (the two shirts I left to dry in the yard Diva is gone).I always smell a musty smell of clothes that have not seen the sun in my nostrils. There are worse.The monotonous recipe of soup, porridge and tea every day has greatly hindered my bowel movements. I always have to hold back for a few days until my stomach is bloated and hard before dragging myself to the toilet and squatting to endure the bursts of pain and the pain of excretion. It is also accompanied by a tearing feeling when using toilet paper.

Nobody hit me, didn't starve me, and didn't spit on me.How can I see myself as a victim of persecution when my suffering is so insignificant and trivial?But all this is all the more humiliating because of its insignificant triviality.I remember smiling when the door closed behind me for the first time and the key turned in the lock.Going from being alone to being in a cell didn't seem to make much difference or cause much pain, because I still had a world of thoughts and memories with me.But now I understand what a low level of freedom is like.What freedom is given to me?Free to eat and free to be hungry; free to be silent or to chatter to oneself or to punch and kick or scream at a door.If what I encountered was just an ordinary injustice, then I am locked up here now, which is nothing more than the pain of a bunch of walking dead.

My dinner was brought in by the cook's grandson.I think he must have wondered that the old magistrate should be kept alone in a dark room, but he didn't ask any questions.He came in a little cheerfully, with a tray, and the guards left the door open. "Thanks," I said, "good to see you here, I'm so hungry..." I put my hands on his shoulders, trying to get closer to each other with human greetings, and he stood there with a serious face Waiting patiently for me to taste the food while complimenting him. "How is your grandma today?" "She's all right, sir."

"And your dog? Is it back?" (His grandma's voice is heard calling him from the yard.) "No, sir." "It's spring, you know, it's mating season: the dogs are out looking for a mate, they're going to be out for a few days, and when they come back they won't tell you where they've been. You don't have to worry, he'll come back. " "Yes, sir." I took a sip of the soup as he wished, and smacked my lips. "Go tell your grandma, thank you for the dinner, it was delicious." "Yes, sir." came the call again.He picked up his morning mug and plate to go.

"Tell me: Are those soldiers gone?" I asked him quickly. "No, sir." The birds were uttering their final cries in the trees under the vast violet sky, and I stood there with my hand on the door and listened for a while while the boy ran across the yard with the tray.I have nothing to give him, not even a button.I didn't even have time to teach him how to rattle his knuckles or squeeze his nose into a fist. I'm forgetting about that girl.I didn't think of her all day, but she appeared faintly and clearly before going to bed at night.Worse, I can't even recall what she looked like.From her empty eyes, it was all foggy and empty.I stare into the dark depths waiting for an image to emerge, but the only memory I have is of my oiled hands sliding over her knees, calves, and ankles.I try to recall our few moments of intimacy, but that memory is often blocked by other warm flesh I've penetrated in my lifetime.I am forgetting her, forgetting her, I know, consciously forgetting her.I know that I didn't desire her the moment I met her at the gate of the barracks and brought her into the house, and now I am gradually burying her in oblivion.As cold as the hand is, so is the heart: I remember this proverb, put my palm to my cheek, and sigh in the dark.

In the dream, someone was kneeling in the hidden place of the wall, the square was empty, and the wind blew the dust into swirling clouds. She huddled in her coat and took off her hat to cover her face. I stood in front of her and looked down at her. "Where does it hurt?" I asked.I felt the words weaken as soon as they came out of my mouth, and the words seemed to be spoken by another person, a disembodied ghost. She dragged her legs forward with difficulty, her hands stroking her ankles.She was so small that she almost disappeared under a man's coat she was wearing.I squatted down, took off the wool socks that covered my ankles, and opened the bandages.Two feet were bared to me in the dust—unreal, monstrous, like two stranded fish, two big potatoes.

I picked up one and put it on my lap and rubbed it.Tears trickled down her cheeks from behind her eyelids. "It hurts!" she cried softly. "Shh," I said, "I'll warm you up." I picked up my other foot and hugged them together.The wind blows dust towards us, and my teeth chatter.I woke up with sore gums and blood in my mouth.The night is so still, the moon is very dark.I lay there staring into the darkness for a while, falling back into sleep. I walked into the corridor of the barracks, facing the courtyard, and found that it was as vast and endless as a desert.I couldn't see from one end to the other, but I staggered forward, carrying the girl, my only key to the maze, her head hanging over my shoulders, two Only an unconscious foot dangled on the other side.

It was another dream in which the figure I called the girl changed shape, gender and size.In that dream two figures woke me up: huge and blank, and they grew and grew until they filled the whole room in which I slept.As if choked, I woke up and tried to scream, but my throat was blocked. On the other hand, these days are as bland as porridge.I've never been so caught up in idle days.The events of the outside world, my own moral dilemma (if that's a dilemma), the prospect of going to court to defend myself, this animal-like daily life confined to starve and sleep, all of it seemed to me All have lost interest.I caught a cold, and I kept sneezing and blowing my nose all day long. My whole body became a painful body, and I only thought about the pain and wanted to feel better.

* * That afternoon, the rhythmless "beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep" of the bricklayer outside the wall stopped suddenly.I lay on the cushion and listened: the low, weak, electric sound humming in the distant air in the quiet afternoon, and I felt nervous because I couldn't resolve it into a distinguishable sound.Is it a blizzard?I put my ear against the door and couldn't hear anything.The barracks compound was empty. Later, the sound of "Di Didido Chi Chi Chi Cha Cha" sounded again.

In the evening, the door opened, and my little friend brought dinner again.I could tell he was anxious to tell me something, but the guard followed him in and stood there with his hands on his shoulders.Only his eyes, his cheerful expression, suggested to me: I could swear he wanted to tell me that the soldiers had returned.But if that were the case, why were there no bugles and cheers, no sound of horses tromping in the square, no bustle of preparations for a feast?Why did the guards hold the boy so tight that he dragged me away before I could kiss that freshly shaved forehead?The exact answer is that the soldiers returned, but not triumphantly.If so, I have to watch out. Later in the night, a commotion broke out in the yard.Doors were slammed open and shut, and footsteps were strutting around.I could hear some voices clearly: what they were yelling about was not about strategies and tactics or about savage enemies, but about how their legs and feet were sore and how tired their bodies were, and who should be bedridden for the wounded.An hour later all was quiet again.The yard is empty again.There are no prisoners, at least that should be a blessing. It was almost noon and I hadn't eaten breakfast. I was pacing up and down the room, hungry, and my stomach was regurgitating like a cow's stomach.I can't help but swallow my saliva at the thought of salty porridge and black tea, I can't help it. There is no sign that I have been forgotten, and today is supposed to be a day to go out and exercise.The bricklayer was still at work, and there was the movement of daily life in the yard, and I could even hear the cook calling for her grandson.I knocked on the door, but no one answered. In the afternoon the key turned in the lock and the door opened. "What do you want?" my guard asked. "Why knock on the door?" I must have made him feel very annoying!So natural for a man who has spent his whole life watching a closed door—watching the movements of another animal-like being!He too was deprived of his liberty and had to see me as the one who deprived him of his liberty. "Did you forget me today? I haven't eaten anything until now." "That's why you called me? I'll give you something to eat. Just be patient, you're getting fat too." "Wait a minute. I asked for the commode to be cleaned. It stinks in here. The floor should be flushed too. I have to do the laundry. I can't stand in front of the colonel in this stinking suit. Disgraceful. I need hot water, soap and rags. Let me scrub the toilet and get hot water from the kitchen." It must have been the colonel's hand that played a role, and he didn't dare to fight against me immediately.The door was opened again, and he stood aside and urged: "Hurry up!" There was only one washerwoman in the kitchen.She was startled when the two of us entered, or rather tried to run away.What have people heard about me? "Give him some hot water," ordered the guard.She hunched over to the stove, where a large pot of steaming hot water was always tumbling.I turned to the guard and said, "Big bucket—I want a big bucket for water." I strode across the kitchen into a dark corner where sacks of flour, salt, and milled flour were piled up. millet, and dried peas and beans, mops and brooms.On the wall at the height of a person is a nail for hanging things. On it is the key to the single cell, and there is a piece of mutton next to it.I put it in my pocket right away.When he turned around, he picked up a wooden barrel by the way.I carried the bucket, and the girl scooped scalding water into the bucket with a ladle. "How are you?" I said to the girl.Her hands were trembling and she could barely hold the spoon, so I took the spoon from her hand. "Can I have some soap and an old rag?" When I got back to the cell, I happily washed it with hot water.I washed a pair of long underpants that stink like rotten onions, and I washed and wrung them out and hung them on a nail behind the door, then poured all the water in the bucket on the floor.When I was done I lay down and waited for dark.