Chapter 2 The Miracle of Art (1)

2. The miracle of art My name is Renee and I am fifty-four years old.For twenty-seven years, I have been working on Rue de Grenelle Rue de Grenelle is located in the 6th and 7th arrondissements on the left bank of the Seine in Paris, where many government offices in France are located. ——Annotation as a concierge in a beautiful apartment on the 7th, a beautiful residential building with courtyards and gardens, divided into eight extremely luxurious, full of landlords, and extremely spacious apartments.I was widowed, short, ugly, fat, with calluses on my feet, and some mornings I was sick with the bad breath of my mammoth breathing.I never went to school for a day, and poverty was never far from me. I was a mediocre and insignificant little person.I live with my cat, a fat and lazy male cat. It has a characteristic that when it is in a bad mood, its paws will emit a very smelly smell.Like me, it doesn't make much effort to blend in with its kind.I'm cold and unsympathetic, yet I'm always polite, people don't like me, but put up with me because I fit the society's beliefs as a concierge, one of the complex building blocks that keep the great shared dream going. One, life has meaning according to this dream, but that meaning is easily deciphered.Since it is written in some places that the gatekeepers are old, ugly, and ill-tempered, on the lintel of the same Temple of Foolishness, it is also inscribed in exciting words: such gatekeepers have a dog that lies all day long. Big, lazy cat snoozing on a cushion covered in a knitted floral pillowcase.

Likewise, concierges give the impression of watching TV endlessly while their fat cats are naturally snoring beside them.Not only that, but it is reasonable to smell some cheap home-cooked dishes such as beef soup, vegetable soup, or assorted braised pork in the hallway.As for me, it is a great honor to be the concierge of this ultra-luxury high-end apartment, but because of my humble status, I cooked disgusting dishes against my will, even Mr. de Brogley, a member of Congress on the second floor Intervened.In front of his wife, he would give me a persuasive education by being polite but stern.You know, one of the main goals of this gentleman's life is to get rid of the peculiar smell in ordinary people's homes.It was a huge relief.To better disguise, I hid my real self under a façade of forced submission.

This is what has happened over the past twenty-seven years.Every morning since then, I’ve gone to the butcher’s to buy a slice of ham or calf’s liver, and put it in a net bag between a bag of noodles and a handful of carrots.I proudly show off these shabby foods that accentuate their rather important character, because I am the poor man in this fine house, buying them partly to satisfy their ingrained perceptions of concierges, and partly to feed me Lev the cat, who got fat from eating food that should belong to me.While he gorged himself on its pork and macaroni cream, I was able to satiate my appetite without smell interfering and without anyone questioning my personal food preferences.

The trickiest thing was the TV.While my husband was alive, I never thought the TV would be such a problem, because his regular TV viewing saved me from this drudgery.That's enough to keep caste prejudices alive whenever the sound of the TV spills into the foyer of a building.So when my husband Lucien died, I could only do my best to protect my face.While he was alive, I was not required to perform this unjust duty. After his death, I lost his uneducated shield for suspicion. Thanks to the buttonless device, I found a workaround. An electric bell connected to an infrared device always reminds me of every move of people in the hall. In this way, all the alarm buttons are ineffective. Passers-by in the hall ring the bell so that I can know their arrival even if I leave They are far away.Because in this case, I always spend most of my leisure time in a small room deep in the corridor, where there is no noise and stench, I can be myself, I can live as I want , and at the same time, like every concierge, you can get information at the first time: who comes in, who leaves, with whom, and when.

Thus, when residents passing through the lobby hear the slight blaring of a television, they conjure up, less than imagination rather than imagination, the image of a concierge sprawled on a sofa watching television.As for me, I am hiding in my mysterious hut, and I have blocked the gaps in the doors and windows. Although I can't hear any sound, I can know who is passing by.In the next room, I can hide behind the white gauze curtain, and through the cat's eye hole on the opposite side of the stairs, I can check the identity of every passerby without anyone noticing. The advent of videotape, and soon after, the DVD player changed my inner world even more fundamentally.Who would have believed that a concierge like me would be so moved by "Death in Venice" directed by Italian director Visconti (Luchino Visconti, 1906-1976), adapted from the Nobel Prize-winning German writer Thomas Mann (Thomas Mann, 1875-1955) novel of the same name, is an art film that combines film and literary narrative achievements. --Annotation of this movie?Who would believe in Mahler?Among them, "Song of the Earth" was composed by Mahler based on seven German translations of Tang poems written by Li Bai, Qian Qi, Meng Haoran and Wang Wei in Hans Bethge (1876-1946) "The Flute of China". --Is the music in the translation notes coming from a concierge's room?I took some hard-earned savings out of our joint savings and got another TV set to keep in my mystery cabin.While the TV in the concierge guarded my secrets with low-brow entertainment, I was teary-eyed in the mystery cabin, enthralled by the wonders of art.one of deep thought

chasing the stars in the goldfish bowl end this life