Chapter 80 Chapter Four Twenty-two and a half degrees south latitude

Take another sip of wine-flavored, slightly sour purple plum juice. The sun has already slanted to the west. On the treetops in the distance, an early nightingale made a few high-pitched calls, and then returned to silence.The sun was a soft pink in the misty sky, and the weather was very clear, and the fog came from the wind and dust all over the sky. Marty sat on a rail of planed eucalyptus trunks.In front of her were two donkeys with charming eyes, and beside her sat He Nei, a middle-aged, thin, nagging black Merier who spoke a little French. This is the edge of the arid wasteland in southern Madagascar, a small town of Asario that cannot be found on the map, 80 kilometers away from the southern city of Tuliari.

From Antananarivo, the capital in the east of the island, bypassing the northern border, and then traveling south from the vast prairie in the west, Marty bought a jeep with money from Hai'an, and cut off the road in the passing city of Mahajanga. I have long hair.There is a small inn opened by an old French couple in the city of Mahajanga, which gathers some French people who come to find romance in the southern country.Marty's oriental face caused a commotion there, because the French did not expect oriental sentiments in their itinerary.In the inn filled with French tweety love songs, Marty hung out with a blond boy named Shaker for a few days, ending her thirty years of conservative life with oriental thinking.On a cool morning with light rain, she cut off her long hair with scissors, loaded her luggage into the jeep, and continued her journey south.

After staying away from the city of Mahajanga, it has also been away from the French-speaking area.The further south you go, the farther you go from the Madagascar you read in high school.Most of the Asian-African mixed races in the textbooks are concentrated in the big cities in the east, and the original impression of green rainforest has also been changed into brown and yellow endless short grasslands.Among the yellow sand all over the sky, only lonely palm trees dotted the grassland.This land is inhabited by Meriya people from Africa, most of whom make a living by farming and herding. They are wrapped in large linen robes with African style, hidden in clusters between the yellow grassland and the yellow wind and sand.In the extremely sparse scenery, Marty felt like an audience who bought a movie ticket. He sat down excitedly, only to realize that he had gone to the wrong screening hall, and this unexpected movie had already opened with grandeur.

This is the enlarged and relaxed Taiwan on the map?Probably as long as it is an island of more than 100 square miles, its shape is only meaningful on the map.Now we are on the widest plain in Madagascar. Looking to the left, there is boundless desolation; looking to the right, there is boundless desolation; looking forward, there is boundless desolation; . The outline of the familiar island has been blurred. So far, the most precious things are the wind and sand and the scorching sun. Sitting on the rail, Marty stretched.He Nei graciously poured her another glass of purple plum juice.They sat here together, waiting for the bus going south every two days.

I can't tell when the bus will come, but I only know that there will be one in the afternoon of every even-numbered day.Now, sitting for nearly three hours, looking at the end of the brown dirt road, where the dry autumn wind blows smoke and dust billowing from the road, and a few bold long-legged chickens circling Marty's feet for food. Marty's jeep was at the end of its life when it reached Asario, the nearest city eighty kilometers away.Although the chief of the small post office and gas station here was willing to help her fix the car, and had kindly telegraphed the roving mail truck to deliver the parts, Marty was not optimistic.After she inquired about the route of the bus going south, she resolutely left the whole batch of luggage at the post office and carried a line of personal items in the army bag, and Marty decided to go on the road alone.

"I'll come back within a month to pick up my luggage," Marty said to the honest postmaster, "or longer, and I'll settle the shipping fee with you when the time comes." "No, no." Through He Nei's translation, the director repeatedly refused, showing white teeth on his dark face.He said: "No money. We only charge postage. There is no money to send things." So Marty sat here, waiting for the bus that was supposed to show up on even-numbered days.He Nai sat beside her.Since arriving in this town two days ago, I bought a glass of purple plum juice from He Nei, and happened to find that he could speak a few words of French with a strong local accent. He Nei followed her faithfully and acted as her interpreter and tour guide .Of course, Marty gave him a lot of tips, but judging from He Nei's happy expression, the tip was second to none. The reason why He Nei followed Marty was that he could show his superiority of being educated, and also There is, because of the sheer boredom of that.

This is a small market formed by the intersection of two streets. Most of the commodities traded are daily necessities, as well as some simple processed foods. The aborigines in the surrounding vast grasslands come to the market regularly to purchase some small commodities.The long journey made them feel tired after arriving. At this time, He Nei, who was selling purple tree plum juice with a huge tin jug on his back, appeared in good time.Although the juice he sells is slightly sour and has dregs, it is already a fashionable urban enjoyment for the aborigines. He Nei's tin pot is very special, with a round belly and a slender neck, and a large, gracefully curved handle, which fits He Nei on his shoulders. The whole pot is as tall as a child.When someone bought fruit juice from He Nei, he took out a small tin cup from the cloth bag at his waist and let the customer hold it. He tilted his shoulders sideways, and the juice poured into the small cup from his slender mouth. , not a drop will be splashed.After the guests finished drinking, He Nei took back the cup and wiped it clean with a cloth towel.Marty didn't dare to use this cup, she used her own steel cup.

Now Honey took the tin jug off his shoulders and set it aside to sit with Marty on the rail.The company was unnecessary, but Marty let him sit beside him.He Nei is willing to sit here, not only because of the little friendship he has been with these two days, but also because of the pure boredom. Because time stretches out here.For Marty, the first thing to get used to here is the vast land, the long road, the slow people, and the slow cars.In the small grocery store not far from the wooden fence, the black and fat Mélière woman was sitting in front of the pile of bacon, agricultural tools, plastic buckets and dark brown soap, looking at Marty with a surprised expression, This expression has been maintained for half an afternoon, and I am not too tired.This woman has nothing else to do. Beyond this small crossroad, there is an endless short grassland. Living here is an endless view of the grassland.The woman likes the special view in front of her.

The houses here are built with eucalyptus trunks, and they are raised about one foot from the ground, so the chickens can stroll leisurely under the roof.There is a balcony as big as the room at the door of each household, or arcade, with a sunshade covered by palm leaves.In the long afternoon, people gather on the balcony, generally doing nothing, just avoiding the sun and looking at it leisurely.If time can be converted into money then there is serious inflation here.Marty thought, half out of boredom, half out of her anguish.Her watch mysteriously broke down a few days ago. The second hand was stubbornly stuck between fifty-four and fifty-five seconds.Without the timer, Marty fell into a melancholy mood.

Unable to see the measurement of timing, Marty also seems to have lost his autonomy in time.People here probably don't care about the time, because she couldn't find a watch in the market.Now even though the watch was broken, Marty couldn't help but glance at his wrist every few moments.The river of time is still flowing, but Marty, who is used to precision, is at a loss.But in such a slow and boring place, why is she at a loss?But more boring urban habits.Marty tossed his short hair, and simply pulled out a cigarette from his pouch. The menthols she was accustomed to couldn't be bought here, so Marty cherished the two remaining packs.After lighting one, Marty was happy. She let out a long smoke and said in French: "C'est la vie." He Nei laughed.

He Nei took out his own cigarette, lit one, and said: "C'est la vie." That means: this is life.This is Marty's favorite sentence at the beginning of learning French. It is also what He Nei learned in the primary school run by the French. He thinks it is the most elegant and civilized sentence. "This is life." He Nei said, and he began to chatter in extremely broken French, "Let me tell you a story." "Ok." "Look at my pot," He Nei stroked his tin pot with his rough palm, and said, "This is a good pot. My uncle's pot. My grandpa gave him this pot, and they all use this pot to sell Juice. When I was young, I liked this jug very much. I wanted to touch it, but they wouldn’t let me touch it. They told me to go to school. My mother told me that this jug has magical powers. Children can’t carry it on their backs, and they can’t take it off for a lifetime .” "Oh?" "Uncle died. I was twelve years old and my mother said I couldn't go to school anymore because I had no money. I carried this jug to sell juice. Guess what? Haha, I really carried it all my life. This jug, I carried it all my life. " He Nei laughed heartily, so Marty couldn't see that he was really joking or sentimental. "What did you study here?" "No." He Nei curled his lips in disdain, and said, "People here don't go to school. Tamatave, I went to primary school in Tamatave for five years." "Oh, Tamatave, big city." Marty remembered Tamatave, where she bought her jeep. "I read French, I read geography, I read history, and I read mathematics. People here don't go to school." "So you know Taiwan?" Marty asked.She had told He Nei two days ago that she was from Taiwan, but at that time Marty had no expectations of this black man's geographical view. "Yes. Taiwan is very similar to Madagascar, twins. Taiwan is a good place." There was some dust and smoke at the end of the road in the distance. They climbed to the wooden fence to look over and saw that the shepherd had just brought a flock of sheep. The two sat down again and continued to chat in broken French.The river of time flows slowly, and it is almost sunset time. It turns out that the people here, those who have read some books and have some culture, all know Taiwan.The people here, living in the vast and primitive wilderness, are tired of this kind of spaciousness and barrenness, and feel sorry for the colorful, compact, and exciting urban civilization they missed. They dream of another life, They dream of Taiwan. Across the equator, and across the impossibly interchangeable lives, the people here and those there look at each other from afar. The sun is down to the horizon.Day after day.This is the southernmost limit of direct sunlight, where the sun returns to the north every year.Marty and Honey sat on the top of the fence, with two silent donkeys as companions in front of them.Both of them watched the sunset in silence. The magnificent sunset looks the same as Taiwan, but here is twenty-two and a half degrees south latitude.