Chapter 45 in the hour of grace (3)

The tea party at five o'clock would be nice.Mom kept everything in order: a gold-painted tea set with rose-and-green butterflies from Grandma, marzipan biscuits from La Dulay's, and brown sugar (a Leftist trick), all came in handy.Madame de Brogly, who had stood on the landing for a full fifteen minutes, looked embarrassed but contented.Not only that, but a little surprise.I think she must have imagined our family in a different way.After her mother showed her her elegant manners and high-society conversation, which also included a professional review of coffee from a famous designer, she tilted her head and said with a sympathetic expression: "So, dear Are you worried about your daughter-in-law, ma'am?" "Well, ah, yes," replied Madame de Brogley, almost forgetting the pretext for her visit, trying to find something to say. , "Yes, she has been depressed recently." This was the only sentence that came out of her.So, mother is fully armed.Now that he has accepted all these offerings, it is time to settle accounts.Mrs. de Brogly was entitled to a Freudian lesson that included romantic anecdotes about the sexual customs of the Redeemer and his apostles (also Melanie Klein Melanie Klein (1882- 1960), Austrian psychoanalyst, pioneer of child psychoanalysis.-- Annotated Love History), and cites the women's liberation movement and the French nature of the separation of education and religion as examples.In general.Madame de Brogly reacted like a devout Christian.She bore this insult with enviable stoicism, convinced that she could atone for her curiosity without costing much.They both said goodbye to each other with a sense of contentment, but for different reasons. At dinner in the evening, my mother said: "Mrs.

To make a long story short, Mr. Ozu is really a gentleman who fascinates everyone.Olympus Saint-Nice told Colombe (who hated her and called her "Prudish Holy Sow") that Mr. Ozu had two cats, and that she would die to see them.Jacente Rosen commented endlessly on the comings and goings of the fifth floor, and each time, it terrified her.As for me, I am also very interested in him, but different from others.Here's how it happened. The elevator I took with Mr. Ozu suddenly stopped between the third and fourth floors within ten minutes. Because a screw was loose, the fence door was not closed, so he gave up taking the elevator and took the stairs instead.In this case, it's just a matter of hoping that someone will find us, and if it takes too long, people will generally try to maintain their grace while encouraging each other to shout for help, which is not easy.As for us, we didn't yell.So we had time to introduce ourselves and get to know each other.Come to think of it, I'm in a situation every lady dreams of.And me, I'm satisfied because my strong Japanese side must be satisfied to be able to speak to a real Japanese person.But what particularly satisfies me is the content of the conversation itself.First of all, he said to me: "Your mother once told me that you were learning Japanese at school. How far have you reached?" I replied in Japanese: "Yes, sir, I know a little bit of Japanese, but not very good." He said the same to me in Japanese: "Do you want me to correct your pronunciation?" Immediately, he translated into French.And this is enough for me to appreciate.Most of the people would say, "Oh, that's really good, great! It's unbelievable!" Even if I pronounce it like Lande Lande, a place name in southwestern France, west of the Pyrenees on the Atlantic coast At the southern foot of the mountain, bullfighting competitions are often held. --The cow in the translation annotation is generally ugly.I said in Japanese: "You're welcome, sir." He corrected my pronunciation and said to me in Japanese, "Call me Gelang." I said in Japanese: "Okay, Mr. Gelang." The two of us Everyone couldn't help laughing, and from then on, our conversation (in French) became engaging.He said to me bluntly: "I am very curious about our concierge, Mrs. Michelle, and I would like to hear your opinion." A look of indifference.But he was so frank that he said, "I believe she is not what people think she is."

In fact, his question reminded me that there was a time when I had the same doubts about the concierge. From a distance, she was indeed just a concierge.But get up close...and figure it out...something is really weird.Colombe hates her, thinks she's human trash, doesn't fit her cultural standards anyway, and Colombe's cultural standard is social power plus a Biggness shirt.Mrs. Michel...how should I say it?She is a smart woman.And yet, she's always trying to hide it, well, it can be seen that she's playing herself as concierge as much as she can, making herself look like a goofy image of herself.But I, I watched her when she was talking to Jean Arden, when she was talking to Neptune behind Diana, when she saw the ladies in the building pass her by without greeting her.Mrs. Michelle, she has the elegance of a hedgehog: from the outside, she is covered with thorns, and she is an indestructible fortress in the true sense, but my intuition tells me that from the inside, she is exactly like a hedgehog. As delicate as it is, the hedgehog is a small animal that pretends to be lazy, likes to close itself in no one's land, but has extraordinary elegance.

Well, that's it, I admit, I don't have supernatural insight.If something hadn't happened, I'd probably still think, like everyone else, that she's a concierge who's in a bad mood most of the time.However, something happened not long ago, and it is strange that Mr. Ozu mentioned the same question at that time.Two weeks ago, Antoine Pallier, the son of Mr. Pallier, an industrial tycoon on the seventh floor, overturned the straw bag of Madame Michel who was opening the door, and the old gentleman Always giving Dad moral lessons about governing France while simultaneously selling arms to international criminals.His son was less dangerous by comparison, because he was a pure fool, but that was still unknown: harmfulness, which is usually the capital of the family.Let's get down to business, Antoine Pallier knocked over the straw bag of Madame Michel who was opening the door that day.Beets, noodles, condensed soup, and Marseille soap were strewn about, and among the fallen objects I glimpsed a book.I say glimpse because Madame Michel immediately picked up everything that was scattered on the floor and glared at Antoine angrily (he obviously didn't intend to lift a finger to help pick it up), There was also a hint of anxiety.And he, he didn't see anything, but it didn't take me long to know what kind of book it was, or what kind of book it was in Mrs. Michel's bag, because in I had read books of the same kind on Colombe's desk when she was studying philosophy.This is a book published by Wenhan Press, which is the designated textbook for philosophy majors in universities. A concierge put a copy of Wenhan Press in his bag, a French publishing house that specializes in publishing philosophy books. --What are the books translated and annotated for?This is obviously a question I need to ask myself, Antoine Pallier does not think so.

"I think so too." I said to Mr. Ozu. In this way, our relationship immediately became closer. It was a relationship between comrades in arms.Regarding Mrs. Michelle, we exchanged views with each other. Mr. Ozu told me that he had bet that Michelle was an anonymous and learned princess. When we said goodbye, we agreed to investigate Mrs. Michelle. This is my deep thought of the day: This is the first time I have met a person who can penetrate the psychology of other people so deeply and break the world's prejudices.This seemingly insignificant thing, in my opinion, is extremely profound.We have always been limited in our own deep-rooted perception, but we can't look at the world around us. What's more, we give up knowing others, and only know ourselves, but we can't recognize it in these eternal mirrors. clear ourselves.If we realize this, realize that we only see ourselves in other people's eyes, that we are lonely shadows in the desert, maybe we might go crazy.When my mother took out Ladule almond biscuits for Mrs. de Brogley to taste, she was telling the story of her life to herself, just savoring her own taste; when father was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, He used Coue therapy, a kind of psychotherapy for self-suggestion of patients, saying self-strengthening words to the mirror twenty times before going to bed and after waking up. -- Annotation to stare at herself in the mirror; when Colombe mentions Marien's lectures, she is struggling with her own reflection; they themselves.

And I, praying to fate to give me the opportunity to see something other than me and to know other people.