Chapter 2 Chapter One
"No! I don't want a mangosteen." Anderson Lake leaned forward, pointing at what he was looking for. "I want the one over there. Kaw pollamai nee khap. That red fruit with green hairs."
The peasant woman smiled, showing her teeth stained black by betel nuts, pointing to a pile of fruits at her feet, "Un nee chai mai kha?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Khap." Anderson nodded, forcing a smile, "What's that called?"
"Ngaw." Because she was afraid that he, a foreigner, would not understand, she deliberately said it clearly and handed him a sample.
Anderson took the fruit and frowned, "Is this a new variety?"
"Kha." She nodded affirmatively.
Anderson flipped the fruit back and forth, studying it carefully.Speaking of fruit, this thing looks more like a gaudy sea anemone, or a hairy puffer fish.Rough green tendrils sprouted from all over the skin, tickling his palms slightly.The skin of the fruit was rusty red, like blister rust, but when he sniffed it, he couldn't smell the rot.All in all, this is a very healthy fruit, despite its modest appearance.
"Ngaw," the peasant woman said again, and then, as if reading his thoughts, "New. Not rust."
Anderson nodded absently.Surrounded by the bustling Bangkok morning market.Durians exuding a strong smell are piled up in the alley, and there are fish with snake heads and red fins in the water basin, splashing water from time to time.Overhead, palm-oiled tarpaulins hung loosely in the hot tropical sun, so that the hand-painted Clipper Trading Company logo and the head of the venerable Child Queen cast shadows across the marketplace.A man pushed his way through the crowd, holding aloft several chickens with bright red crowns, struggling and crowing as they were about to be slaughtered.Wearing brightly colored and cheap square skirts, the women smiled and bargained with the stall owners, hoping to buy pirated Udex rice and newly introduced tomato varieties at a discounted price.
None of this affected Anderson.
"Ngaw," the peasant woman said again, hoping to make a deal.
The long tendrils of the fruit tickled his palms, as if mocking him for not being able to discern its origin.Thailand's genetic crack has succeeded again.This fruit, together with the tomatoes, eggplants, and red peppers on the nearby stalls, all prove the strength of the country's gene cracking technology.It was as if the prophecies in the denomination's Bible had come true.It's as if St. Francis himself restless in his grave, strutting back into the world with those calorie-rich crops that have disappeared.
"He will return with the sound of the trumpet, and the Garden of Eden will reappear..."
Anderson turned the strange fruit around in his hand to examine it.No second-generation tuberculosis stench, no red spots of rust, no gnaw marks from gene-hacked weevils on the peel.All the ornamental plants, vegetables, trees, and fruits in the world are contained in Anderson Lake's mind, but even so, he can't find any information that can help him identify this fruit in his mind.
Ngaw.It's quite mysterious.
He gestured that he would like to have a taste.The peasant woman took the fruit back and easily tore open the hairy skin with her brown fingers, revealing the translucent flesh with prominent texture and pale color.Looks like the pickled onions served with martinis at the Research Club in Des Moines.
She handed the fruit back to him.Anderson tried to sniff it, it was a sweet floral scent. Ngaw, this thing shouldn't exist.Only yesterday there was not a single fruit stand in all of Bangkok selling the fruit, yet now they are piled high at this stand, surrounded by dirty peasant women squatting in the shadow of oilcloths.Around her neck hangs a glittering gold amulet depicting martyrs.This amulet was used to protect her from the plague of crops unleashed by the Calorie Oligarchs.
Anderson was eager to observe the fruit's natural habitat, hanging from a tree or hidden under the foliage of a shrub?If he has more information, he may be able to guess what family and genus this thing belongs to in terms of biological classification, and he may also be able to detect the source of a certain gene that the Kingdom of Thailand intends to develop from this fruit.But now, there are no more clues.He put the smooth and transparent spherical pulp into his mouth.
A mellow and sweet taste seized his palate.For a moment, the rich pulp occupied his tongue.The moment reminded him of how he felt when he got his first little hard candy from an agronomist at a Midwestern complex in Iowa's Gaofa field.He was just a little farm boy then, walking barefoot on a path in the middle of a cornfield.It was the thrill of tasting something you've never tasted before—really delicious.
The sun shines down without hesitation.In the market, people crowded shoulder to shoulder and bargained, but none of this affected him.He closed his eyes, let the pulp turn in his mouth, savoring the bygone era: in the era before the second generation of tuberculosis, Japanese genetically modified weevils, rust and scab mold had not yet ravaged the earth, this fruit must have Once prosperous.
He stood in the hot tropical sun, surrounded by the moaning of buffaloes and the crowing of dying chickens.However, at this moment, he seemed to be in heaven.If he'd been a Grahamist, he'd literally be on his knees, devoutly thanking this delicacy from a lost Eden.
Anderson smiled and spat out the black core into the palm of his hand.He had read the travels of botanists and explorers throughout history, brave men who ventured into the jungles and wilds of the world in search of new species—but none of their accomplishments could compare to this one fruit.
What those men had achieved was nothing but discovery, and what he had found was redemption.
The peasant woman who sold fruit saw that the business was done, and she looked happy.
“Ao gee kilo kha? (How much?)”
"Are these fruits safe?" he asked.
She pointed to the Ministry of the Environment certificate laid out on the gravel beside her, deliberately gesticulating with her finger under the date of issue. "Latest variant," she said, "top-of-the-line."
Anderson carefully looked at the big shiny seals on the certificate.Can get all these stamps, probably because the peasant woman bribed the officials in white shirts, it is unlikely to really go through to ensure that the food is immune to the eighteenth generation of rust, and has the effect on the second generation of tuberculosis 111.mt7 and mt8 Resistance check procedure.The irony is that he didn't care how the seals came about.These scrambled, sun-shining imprints are meaningless, but consoling, to give people a little sense of security in this dangerous world.To be honest, if there is another outbreak of second-generation TB, this kind of certification will not be of any use at all.A new outbreak is definitely a new variant, and old-fashioned detection methods won't do any good.People will pray to pictures of Phra Sevub and His Majesty King Rama XII, make offerings at the City Pillar Shrine, and end up coughing their lungs out - no matter how many stamps are stamped on their certificates Great Seal of the Ministry.
Anderson put the core in his pocket, "I want one kilogram. No, two kilograms. Send."
He handed a sack to the peasant woman, not intending to bargain at all.No matter how much the other party wanted, he felt that he had taken advantage of it.In his view, this miraculous fruit is priceless.Any special gene that wards off the calorie plague, or uses free nitrogen more efficiently, is enough to send profits skyrocketing.At this very moment, if he scans the market, everything he sees bears out this fact.In this alley, Thais are in a hurry to buy various genetically modified products, including genetically cracked Udex rice and bright red mutant poultry.But all of these things are products of the past, based on the early gene-cracking work of Agro-Based, PureCal, and the Whole Nutrients Foundation.It's all the work of old-age science, the stuff of lab-made stuff in the Midwestern complex.
The fruit, called Ngaw, is different.It is not a Chinese or Western product.The Kingdom of Thailand is shrewd and capable, other countries are not.India, Burma, Vietnam, one after the other fell like dominoes as they starved themselves to beg the calorie oligarchy for new technological advances, but Thailand survived to this day.
A few people stopped by Anderson, who also seemed interested in the fruit.Although Anderson thought the price was cheap, others thought the fruit was too expensive and left again.
When the peasant woman handed Ngaw over, Anderson almost laughed out loud.This furry fruit should never have been in this world; it would be like carrying a bag of trilobites.If his guesses about its origins are correct, it would suggest the re-emergence of an extinct species would be as shocking as a Tyrannosaurus Rex walking down Sukhumvit Road.But on the other hand, this market is littered with potatoes, tomatoes, and red peppers; no nightshade has been seen in generations, and all of these vegetables produce in abundance. Serving city dwellers.In this low-lying city, anything seems possible.Fruits and vegetables have returned from extinction, and long-extinct flowers are blooming in the streets; and behind these achievements, the Ministry of the Environment has conjured up all this with genetic material that was lost nearly a century ago.
Carrying a bag of fruit, Anderson walked through the crowded alleys to the street.Oncoming is the noisy flow of people and cars. The Rama IX Boulevard during the early commuting rush hour is like a flooded Mekong River. Bicycles, rickshaws, dark blue buffaloes and shambling giant elephants crowded the entire street.
Seeing Anderson's figure, Lao Gu carefully snuffed out the cigarette in his hand, and walked out from the shadow of an abandoned office building.Nightshade again, everywhere.There are no such things elsewhere, but here they are just too much.Lao Gu stuffed the remaining stub of his cigarette into his tattered shirt pocket, and strode towards Anderson.
The old Chinese was ragged and skinny - but he was lucky.He got a job when the Malayan refugees who came here with him were crammed like chickens into stuffy expansion-era buildings.Although Lao Gu is thin, his muscles are very strong.Compared with other yellow card refugees, he is as lucky as a king.
Old Gu straddled the saddle of the rickshaw, waiting patiently for Anderson to settle awkwardly on the back seat. "The office," Anderson said. "Bai khap." Then changed to Chinese, "Let's go."
The old man stepped on the pedal and stood up, and the rickshaw was quickly submerged in the flow of traffic and people.The people around were obviously dissatisfied with their presence, and the sound of bicycle bells exploded around them, like the dying cough of a second-generation tuberculosis patient.Lao Gu ignored the noise and just drove the rickshaw deeper into the traffic flow.
Anderson stretched out his hand to eat another fruit, but immediately retracted it.He should have kept them.There was no room for him to devour such a precious thing like a greedy child.Thais have found new ways to unearth extinct creatures, and he just wants to eat the food as evidence?He tapped the fruit in the bag with his fingers on the outside of the bag, trying to restrain his greedy desire.
To distract himself, he took out a cigarette and lit it.Taking a deep breath, savoring the aroma, he recalled his initial sense of wonder at how successful Thailand had become, with its enormous nightshade blooms.He smoked and thought of Yates again.He thought of the two of them sitting face to face, the reborn species puffing smoke between them, and the man's disappointment.
"Solanum."
In the dark office of the Strong Spring Company, Yates' face was flushed by the burning match.He moved closer to the flame to light his cigarette, and took a deep breath.The cigarette papers were peeling and peeling.The butt glowed red, and Yates spewed smoke straight to the ceiling, where it was quickly blown away by the slowly turning ceiling fan.
"Eggplant. Tomato. Red pepper. Potato." He held a cigarette in his hand, his eyebrows quivered strangely, "and tobacco."
He took another drag on his cigarette, squinting at the burning butt.All around, desks and pedal computers crouch silently in the shadows.At night, after the factory is closed, those empty desks can indeed lead to misconceptions that the workers may just go home to rest and look forward to the hard work of the new day. However, the dust covering the chairs and pedal computers breaks this. an illusion.At this time, shadows covered all kinds of furniture, and moonlight seeped through the gaps in the reddish-brown shutters.In this dim environment, it is not difficult to imagine the glory days here.
The ceiling fan overhead was still spinning feebly, the Lao rubber transmission belt creaked rhythmically, and the transmission mechanism on the ceiling was slowly and steadily drawing power from the factory's central kink spring.
"The Thais are lucky in the lab," Yates said, "and you're here. If I were a superstitious person, I'd think they conjured you up with a tomato spell. Every organic system They all need consumers, I can understand that."
"You're supposed to report to the higher ups about the progress they're making," Anderson said. "Your job isn't just to run the plant."
Yates frowned.His face showed the typical features of a tropical depression, the damaged blood vessels in the cheeks were rosy, and the nose was full of red spots.He looked back at Anderson, his blue eyes blinking, moist as the city's stinking air. "I should have known you were here to fire me."
"It's not about you personally."
"Yes, it's just my life's work." He laughed dryly, and there was a crackling sound in his throat, reminiscent of the early symptoms of second-generation tuberculosis.All Agro-based personnel, including Yates, had been vaccinated against the latest variant. If Anderson hadn't known this, he might have fled out of the room as soon as he heard the sound.
“It took me years to build this place,” Yates said, “and you said it wasn’t about me.” He waved to the office window, which overlooked the workshop below. "My fist-sized kink spring can store a gigajoule of energy with a volume-to-weight ratio more than four times that of any other product on the market. I'm protecting a revolutionary advance in energy storage, and you're ready to kick it Kick it off." He sat there, leaning forward, "This is the most portable source of energy since gasoline ran out."
"The problem is that you can't produce this thing yet."
"It's pretty close," Yates insisted. "The only sticking point is the algae leach."
Anderson didn't speak.Yates seems to take his silence as a tacit acquiescence: "The basic idea is unquestionable. Once we can produce leachate on a large scale..."
“You should have informed us the first time you saw nightshades on the market. The Thais were able to produce potatoes at least five seasons ago. They have clearly taken the commanding heights of the seed bank and you didn’t give us Send back any information."
"Those things are not my responsibility. I do energy storage, not production."
Anderson snorted, "If food crops fail, where do you get the calories to tighten the springs? Today, rust mutates every three seasons, genetic hackers are cracking our whole wheat and fortified soybeans, our last A life-saver, High Fat's corn is only 60 percent resistant to nose bugs, and now we're suddenly hearing that you've got a genetic gold mine sitting under your ass. People are starving...”
Yates laughed. "Stop telling me your life-saving stuff. I know what happened to the Finnish seed bank."
"We didn't blow up the seed bank. No one thought the Finns could be so crazy."
"You go to any fool on the street and he'll predict it. Calorie oligarchs are notorious."
"It's not my doing."
Yates laughed again. "That's the excuse we use all the time, isn't it? Whenever the company does something, somewhere, we pull away, wash our hands, and pretend we're innocent. The company will When the enhanced version of soybeans was withdrawn from the Myanmar market, we all stood at a distance, claiming that the intellectual property disputes were not the responsibility of the department. But people still starved to death." He put the cigarette in his mouth and took a hard puff , "I really don't know how a person like you can sleep at night."
"Simple. I say some prayers to Noah and St. Francis and thank God that we're still ahead of the rust."
"So it's settled? Are you going to close the factory?"
"No. Of course I'm not going to do that. Production of the kink springs will continue."
"Oh?" Yates leaned forward hopefully.
Anderson shrugged. "It's a good cover."
The cigarette burnt Anderson's fingers.He let go, and the cigarette butt fell into the traffic.Lao Gu pedaled his bicycle through the crowded streets.Anderson rubbed his burned thumb and index finger as the streetscape of Bangkok, the City of Angels, flashed before his eyes.
Monks in orange robes walk the sidewalk under black parasols.The children of the monastery school ran wild in groups on their way to school, shoving each other, laughing and shouting.Street vendors hang outstretched arms with garlands of marigolds used in temple worship and hold aloft golden amulets in the image of monks - said to ward off various crop diseases.There is a hissing sound from the mobile food truck, and the smoke smells of fried snacks and fermented fish; while the Cheshire cat circles around the feet of customers, waiting for their food scraps, Their figures are constantly appearing and disappearing, disappearing and appearing again.
Along the street are towers of Bangkok's sprawling era, now covered in vines and mold.The windows had already been damaged in the explosion, leaving only the skeleton of the building.The buildings are not air-conditioned and have no elevators, making them virtually uninhabitable.They are just exposed to the sun.Black smoke wafts from cracks in tall buildings, caused by the illegal burning of excrement.Since there is black smoke, it means that the Malayan refugees are still anxiously baking Indian pancakes and brewing cat poop coffee inside. White shirts will come to sweep these sweltering high-rise buildings at any time, and give them a severe beating as a punishment for their illegal behavior. Punishment, the refugees must finish before this.
In the middle of the avenue, refugees from the coal war from the north lay prone on the ground, with their palms outstretched, in a very respectful gesture of begging.Bicycles, rickshaws, and carts pulled by giant elephants passed around them like water around boulders in its course.Cauliflower variants of cyanosis grew on the noses and mouths of the beggars.Their teeth were stained black from chewing betel nuts.Anderson reached into his pocket, took out some coins and threw them at the feet of the refugees. The refugees kept clasping their hands together to express their gratitude. He just nodded slightly, and the speed of the rickshaw did not slow down at all.
It wasn't long before he saw the whitewashed walls and alleys of the industrial zone.Warehouses and factories are huddled together here, and it smells like a rotten fish.Vendors scattered on both sides of the alley set up tarpaulins and blankets to shield them from the scorching sun, which looked like mange growing in the alley.At the end of the alley, you can vaguely see the shadow of Rama XII's coastal defense project. The entire system of dikes and sluices is used to prevent the blue water from pouring into the city.
Anyone who lives here can't help but think about these high dams and the huge water pressure outside the dams.The City of Angels is actually a place where disaster is destined to happen, but it's just not known when it will happen.But the Thais are extremely stubborn. They are determined to defend this noble royal capital and never let it be submerged by the sea.With coal-fueled water pumps and tall dykes, and an unrivaled reliance on the foresight of the Chakri dynasty leaders, they have so far managed to keep Bangkok from becoming like New York, Rangoon, Mumbai and Singapura. Orleans is swallowed by the sea like that.
Lao Gu drove a rickshaw into an alley at high speed, and at the same time rang the bell impatiently to drive away the coolies stuck in the middle of the road—boxes made of weatherproof materials swayed on their backs; The logos of Chinese twist springs, Panasonic anti-bacterial handles, and Polo ceramic water filters swung around in a sleepy slow pace.The walls of the factory are full of pictures of the Buddha's scriptures and the portrait of the noble young queen, crowded with the scenes of Muay Thai matches that were painted in the past.
Across this traffic-congested area, the powerful spring factory appears in front of you.It looks like a fortress with high walls.A huge fan-shaped object protruded from the hole in the upper part of the wall, slowly turning.Opposite the factory is a bicycle factory run by Teochew people, and the side road between the two is crowded with a large number of trolleys—they usually gather at the entrance of the factory to provide lunch and snacks for the workers in the factory.
Entering the courtyard of the strong spring factory, Lao Gu slowed down the rickshaw and stopped at the gate of the factory.Anderson climbed out of the car, grabbed the bag containing Ngaw, and stood there staring blankly at the eight-meter-wide gate for the giant elephant to enter and exit.It would seem appropriate to rename the factory "Yates' Folly."That guy is a hopeless optimist.He still seemed to hear the words of Yates arguing with him about the wonders of genetically modified seaweed; Scene of rummaging through diagrams and notes.
"You can't deny the results of my work just because of the failure of the Ocean Harvest Project. With proper modification, this seaweed can absorb torque exponentially. Forget about its calorie potential, just Speaking of its industrial application. If you just give me a little more time, I can put the entire energy storage market in your hands. Before making a decision, you should at least try a sample of my spring and clockwork ..."
As Anderson entered the factory, the loud noise immediately engulfed him, and Yates' last desperate growl died from his ears.
Groaning, the elephant pushed the handle on the rotating shaft.With their huge heads hanging down, they slowly rotated around the power shaft, and their trunks made an unpleasant scratching sound on the ground.The genetically modified animals form the heart of the entire factory drive system, powering conveyor belts, exhaust fans and manufacturing machines.As they struggled forward, their harnesses jingled rhythmically.Workers in red and gold uniforms paced around the animals in their charge, shouting at them, occasionally replacing overtired animals, and generally driving the elephant-turned animals as best they could. They exert more force.
On the other side of the factory, the production line spits out freshly packaged kink springs, passes them to the quality assurance department, and on to packaging.There, these products will be palletized and piled up, waiting for the right time to leave the factory.Everywhere Anderson went, workers stopped what they were doing to greet him with the traditional Thai ritual of clasping hands together and raising them to forehead level.
Ban Ya, the person in charge of the Quality Assurance Section, walked over quickly with a smile and saluted him with Namaste.
Anderson hurriedly returned the salute, "How is the quality?"
Banya smiled, "Dee khap. Good. Better. Come, look." He signaled the production line, and Naam, the foreman on duty for the day, immediately rang the alarm and ordered the production line to stop.Benja motioned Anderson to follow him. "Something interesting. You'll be glad."
Although Anderson was smiling, the muscles on his face were tense.He doubted whether what Benya had said would really be happy.He took out an Ngaw from his bag and handed it to Banya, "Is there any progress? Really?"
Banya nodded and took the fruit.He glanced at it briefly, then peeled off the peel, and put the translucent pulp into his mouth.He didn't look surprised at all, didn't react in any way, and just ate the damn thing without even thinking about it.Anderson frowned.No matter what was going on in the country, Fran was always the last to know about it—a fact he pointed out mercilessly whenever the skeptical Fussen felt that Anderson wanted to fire him.Perhaps Fusheng had known about the fruit's existence as well, or, if Anderson had asked, he would have pretended to.
Banya casually tossed the core into a box containing giant elephant dung, and led Anderson down the production line. "We fixed a small problem with the cutter press," he said.
Nam rang the alarm bell again, and the workers immediately backed away from their work positions.When the alarm bell was rung for the third time, the mahouts began to pat the animals under their care with bamboo sticks, and the giant elephant slowly stopped.The operation of the entire production line has also become slower.At the other end of the factory, industrial kink springs ticked as the factory's flywheel whined and turned, pumping energy into the mainspring, which would be used to restart the production line after Anderson's inspection.
Banya walked in front, and Anderson followed, inspecting along the quiet production line.Workers in green and white uniforms stood by and saluted them repeatedly.Pushing aside the chemical fiber curtain coated with palm oil, the two entered the purification room.Here's where Yates' industrial discovery comes into play: little remains of this serendipitous genetic treasure, but it's still being applied to newly produced twist springs.The female and child workers wearing three-layer filter masks looked up, quickly pulled off the masks, and saluted the person who gave them food.White powder and sweat formed streaks on their faces, and only the skin around the nose and mouth, which were protected by masks, was still dark.
Anderson and Benja walked across the room together, into the stuffy cutting room.Incandescent lamps glowed red, and the smell of seaweed from the sink condensed in the air.Overhead are rows of drying racks strapped with long strips of genetically modified seaweed.Dripping in the intense heat, the algae slowly twisted, blackened, and turned into a mush.The workers on the production line are sweating and barely wearing anything - just shorts, jugs and helmets.Despite the frantic whirling of the ceiling fan and the advanced ventilation, it still felt like a furnace.Sweat trickled down Anderson's neck, soaking his shirt almost instantly.
Banya pointed to a place, "Here. Look." He ran his fingers over a dismantled cutter next to the main production line.Anderson got down on one knee, carefully examining the surface of the thing. "Rust," Benya murmured.
"I thought we'd checked."
"It's salt water." Banya smiled uneasily, "The sea is very close to us."
Anderson frowned, looking up at the dripping seaweed on the shelf. "Neither the seaweed pots nor the drying racks are working. Who would be stupid to think we can solve this problem with waste heat alone. Saving energy."
Banya just smiled awkwardly and said nothing.
"So you changed the cutting tool?"
"Right now there's a twenty-five percent reliability."
"Improved so much?" Anderson nodded perfunctorily.He gestured to the tools foreman, who started yelling at Nam, who was across a purification room.The alarm bell rang again, the temperature in the room became higher, and as the electricity entered the system, the light of the incandescent lamp began to be dazzling.The sudden heat wave made Anderson cringe.These lamps and presses need to pay a carbon emission tax of 15,000 baht every time they are started. This is the part allocated to the strong spring company in the global carbon emission budget of the Kingdom of Thailand. Paid a lot.Yates has handled the bureaucracy well, at least by giving factories access to the state's carbon credits, but the bribes still cost a considerable amount.
The main flywheel system began to spin, the underground equipment was activated, and the entire factory trembled.The floor is shaking.The elastic potential energized the system like adrenaline, a harbinger of the energy that was about to pour into the production line.A giant elephant neighed, and was quickly whipped shut.The squeak of the flywheel turned into a high-pitched roar before breaking off abruptly—an indication that energy had entered the drive system.
The foreman rang the alarm again.Workers step forward and get into the work station of their own cutting tools.They want to produce kink springs that can store two gigajoules of energy.As the volume of the product shrinks, the required precision is higher.The next step in the line is the winding process, where hydraulic jacks hiss and lift the newly installed precision knives on the cutter.
"Please." Banya signaled Anderson to retreat behind the fence.
Nam's bell rang one last time, and the line began to spin and grind.When the system finally engaged, Anderson shivered slightly.The workers squatted on the ground, holding their protective shields in front of them.Actuated by a series of high-temperature rollers, the wire used to make the kink spring spits out between the flange and the threaded part.The stinking reactant is sprayed onto the rust-red wire so that Yates' powdered seaweed is evenly spread over it.
The cutter fell down.The heavy impact made Anderson's teeth ache.The wire is neatly cut and immediately sent to the purification chamber on the other side of the curtain. Thirty seconds later, the wire, covered in seaweed powder, reappeared, off-white and dirty-looking.They are then placed on another series of high-temperature rollers, and enter the process of shaping their final structure: they are twisted into a helical shape, and the machine fights the structural forces inside the molecule, eventually rolling it into a tight ball.There was a deafening screech as the metal was twisted.When the spring was extruded from the machine, a mixture of lubricant and seaweed powder sprayed out of the sheath and coated the surface of the spring, splashing workers and equipment.Next, the compressed twisted springs are sent away by the conveyor belt, put into boxes and sent to the quality inspection department.
A yellow LED light illuminates, indicating that the danger is cleared.Workers rushed out from behind the fence to reset the cutters as a fresh batch of rust-red metal hissed out of the sweltering room.The idling rollers trembled.The lubricant tube has stopped spraying, but still releases a mist of water to clean itself for the next use.After the workers reset the cutting machine, they hid behind the protective fence again.If the system fails, the unfinished kink spring spins out of control, turning into a high-energy knife that dances across the production floor.Anderson had seen severed heads that looked like overripe mangoes, severed body parts, and blood splatters—all caused by glitches in the production system.
The cutting machine came down hard, snipping the wire for the next product.The production line can produce 50 twist springs per hour, and it is estimated that about 75 percent of the products will be destroyed under the supervision of the Ministry of Environment.The things they pay a fortune to make and spend even more to destroy - it's a double-edged sword, and it keeps on swinging.Yates broke something, whether by accident or vandalism, and it took them more than a year to realize the magnitude of the problem.During this year, they tested the seaweed powder that had a revolutionary impact on the twist spring, redeveloped the synthetic corn fat that closes the contact surface of the mainspring, changed the work flow of the quality inspection department, and studied the impact of an environment close to 100% humidity all year round on production. What impact does the process have.
The curtain was lifted, and a cloud of gray-white smoke rushed into the workshop, followed by a worker who stumbled out of the purification room.His dark face was streaked with sweat mixed with dust and oil.His colleagues could be glimpsed through gaps in the curtains as they swung, and the room was covered in a cloud of grayish-white dust to keep the wires fully exposed to the seaweed powder that would lock them up under high pressure.All of it—the blood and sweat, the calories, the carbon allowance—is designed to give Anderson a credible guise to help him unravel the secrets of Solanaceae and Ngaw.
As long as it is a rational operator, this factory will definitely be closed.Anderson doesn't know much about the production of so-called second-generation kink springs, which he has no doubt about doing.但如果他想让他的工人、工会、穿白衬衫的官员和这个国家的诸多耳目相信他的确是个充满野心的企业家，他就必须让这个工厂运转，而且是全力运转。
安德森与班雅热情握手，对他出色的工作表示祝贺。
真是遗憾，真的。这玩意儿确实有成功的潜力。当安德森看到耶茨的发条真正工作起来的情况时，他几乎不敢呼吸。耶茨是个疯子，但他并不蠢。安德森曾目睹数亿焦耳的能量从一个小小的扭结弹簧盒中奔涌而出，连续满负荷工作了数个小时——比它重两倍的发条都不一定能储存它四分之一的能量，能量输入的时候，巨大的压力很可能会让发条的分子结构崩溃。有些时候，安德森也会觉得耶茨的梦想很诱人。
安德森深吸一口气，猫着腰返回提纯室。很快他又从提纯室的另一端走了出来，带出一团海藻粉和烟气。他呼吸着满是巨象粪便臭味的空气，走向通往自己办公室的楼梯。在他身后，一头巨象又尖叫起来——动物只有在遭到虐待的时候才会发出这种声音。安德森转过身，凝视着下方的车间，将那个看象人记录下来：四号转轴。长长清单上的又一个待解决的问题。他打开门，走进管理人办公室。
这个房间与他当初第一次来到这里时没有多大区别。依旧是光线暗淡，办公桌与踏板计算机静静地蹲伏在暗影中，仿佛欲择人而噬的怪兽。数道阳光如利剑般从百叶窗的缝隙中射进来，照亮烟雾缭绕的供品——不知道是供奉给哪些神佛的。不过，这些神佛并没能拯救马来亚的华人，亦即陈福生的同胞们。檀香散发出的香烟充斥了整个屋子，更多的烟雾从角落中神龛前面的香炉中散发出来。神龛中端坐的金色神像面带微笑，俯视着面前的贡品——盛在盘中的尤德克斯米饭和爬满苍蝇的芒果。
福生老早就坐在他的计算机前。他瘦骨嶙峋的腿迅速而有力地踩着踏板，为微处理器和12厘米显示器提供能源。在显示器的灰色微光中，安德森可以看到福生眼中闪过的惊慌。那是一种对血腥大屠杀的恐惧，每当门被推开时，那些回忆都会浮上心头。这个老头的畏惧心理其实跟一只柴郡猫的身影一样虚幻——这一刻出现了，但下一刻就马上消失，让你对自己是否真的看到产生怀疑——但安德森对于这个黄卡难民已经很熟悉了，足以辨认出那强压下来的恐惧。他关上门，将制造车间的噪音挡在门外，老人也镇定下来了。
安德森咳嗽两声，用手扇开旋转上升的烟雾，“我记得告诉过你别在房间里烧这些东西。”
福生耸耸肩，脚上和手上的动作却都没停，“要不然，我把窗子打开？”低哑的声音听着就像竹子在沙子上划过。
“上帝啊，别这样。”安德森看到那透过百叶窗的热带阳光就不禁皱起了眉头，“你在自己家里烧吧。我不想在这儿闻到这种气味。再也不想了。”
“好吧。当然。”
“我是说真的。”
福生的双眼轻轻朝上一翻，然后再度转到他面前的屏幕上。在显示器的微光照耀下，他那高耸的颧骨和深陷的眼窝形成尖锐的对比，如蜘蛛足般细而长的手指仍旧噼噼啪啪地敲着键盘。“这是为了求得运气。”他喃喃道，随之而来的是带着痰音的低沉笑声，“就算是外国鬼子也需要运气。现在工厂有这么多麻烦事，我想你应该需要布袋和尚的帮助。”
“那也别在这儿烧。”安德森把刚买来的Ngaw丢在桌子上，自己一屁股坐进椅子里，抬起手擦了擦额头，“回家去烧。”
福生轻轻点了点头表示知道了。头上的吊扇依旧懒洋洋地转着，竹子制成的扇片在闷热的办公室中吱吱呀呀作响。两人坐在各自的椅子上，遥遥相对，周围是耶茨留下的伟大蓝图。一排排空书桌和工作站静静地蹲伏着。在原来的计划中，这一层应该坐满了销售人员、物流装配人员、人力资源师和秘书。
安德森把袋子里的Ngaw清点了一遍，然后拿出一个，“你见过这种东西吗？”
福生抬眼一瞥，“泰国人管这东西叫Ngaw。”说完，他立刻又将注意力转回自己的工作上，制作那些永远不会填满的数据表，统计那些永远不会得到填补的赤字。
“我知道泰国人管它叫什么。”安德森站起来，走向福生的办公桌。当他把Ngaw扔在福生的计算机旁边时，年老的华人明显畏缩了一下：他看着这水果的眼神就像在看一只毒蝎。安德森说：“市场上的农民都能告诉我它的泰国名字。你在马来亚也见过这东西吗？”
“我……”福生刚一开口就停了下来。看得出来，他试图控制自己，他的脸上闪现出了复杂的情感，但都是稍纵即逝。“我……”他又一次尝试说话，但还是停了下来。
安德森观察着福生脸上不断出现又消失的恐惧表情。在那次事变中幸存下来的马来亚华人不到总数的百分之一。不管怎么说，福生都称得上幸运，但安德森对他只有同情。只是一个简单的问题，一个普通的水果，而这个老人看起来就像是又一次经历从工厂中逃亡的事件一样。
福生瞪着面前的水果，急促地喘息。终于，他喃喃说道：“马来亚没有这种东西。这方面只有泰国人精通。”然后他就又开始工作，双眼紧盯着小小的计算机屏幕，将回忆再度封锁。
安德森等待着，希望福生能告诉他更多的情况；但福生却没有再抬眼看他。Ngaw的秘密看来还得保留一段时间。
安德森回到自己的办公桌前，开始翻看邮件。福生整理好的收据、税单等文件资料整整齐齐地摆放在办公桌的一角，这些都需要立即处理。他在巨象工会的工资单上签名、在废物处理提案上盖下公司的公章。办公室里越来越闷热潮湿，安德森扯开衬衫，不断给自己扇风。
过了很久，福生抬起头，“班雅一直在找你。”
安德森点点头，继续心不在焉地翻看表格，“他们发现切割机上有部件生锈了。换了新部件后，可靠度上升了百分之五。”
“那现在的可靠性是百分之二十五喽？”
安德森耸耸肩，把环境部碳排放分配的文件翻过几页，在上面盖下私章。“他是这么说的。”说着，他随手将文件放回原来的信封里。
“这种状况仍然不足以赢利。你的发条都扭紧了，却没有释放的机会。它们只是很好地保护着里面的能量，就像摄政王保护幼童女王那样。”
安德森的脸上露出不悦的表情，但他并没有费口舌去指出这比喻的荒谬之处。
“班雅把培养槽的事也告诉你了吗，”福生问道，“给海藻用的那些？”
“没有，他只说了生锈的事。怎么了？”
“那些培养槽被污染了。有些海藻已经不能产生……”福生犹豫了一下，“那层膜。它们失去了生产上的作用。”
“他根本没提这件事。”
又是微微的停顿，显示出说话者的犹豫，“我确定他尝试过了。”
“他说了这事有多严重吗？”
福生耸耸肩，“没什么，只是那层膜不能达到特定的要求了。”
安德森满面怒容，“我要解雇他。不敢把坏消息告诉我，这种质检部经理要来何用！”
“也许只是你没注意听他说话。”
对于那些试图挑起话题却不把话说完的家伙，安德森有的是话来责骂他们，但他被楼下传来的巨象的尖叫声给打断了。那声音大得连窗子都为之震动。安德森停下来，仔细倾听随之而来的叫喊声。
“是四号供能转轴。”他说，“那个看象人完全不能胜任他的工作。”
福生继续打字，连头也没抬，“他们是泰国人。泰国人都这样。”
福生的评价使安德森禁不住想大笑，但他还是忍了回去。“也许吧，不过这一个更糟糕。”他回到那一堆邮件旁边，“我要换掉他。四号转轴。记住了。”
福生放慢了踩踏板的节奏，“我看这事有些麻烦。在巨象工会面前，就连粪肥巨头也得毕恭毕敬。如果没有巨象的强大力量，你就得用人力。这可不是个有利的谈判地位。”
“我不管，一定要换掉那个人。万一发生惊跑事件我们就完了。想个礼貌点的法子把他弄走。”安德森又拉过另外一堆等着他签名的工资单。
福生再次尝试说服他，“Khun，跟工会交涉是件很复杂的事。”
“那就是我雇用你的原因。这叫做委派。”安德森继续翻着手头的文件。
“好吧，当然。”福生冷淡地回答道，“感谢您的指示。”
“你一直说我不理解这里的文化，”安德森说，“所以我把这事交给你负责。弄走那个人。我不在乎你是有理有节，还是搞得大家都没面子，总之你得想个办法把他开掉。让这种人混在我们的能源链中是很危险的。”
福生抿紧双唇，但并没再表示反对。安德森觉得他应该会遵循命令了，于是翻开另一份环境部寄来的许可证，脸上又现出忧色。只有泰国人会绕这么多弯，把索贿粉饰得像行政许可一样。他们很有礼貌，就连要把你弄得崩溃的时候也是如此。或者是因为海藻培养槽有问题。班雅……
安德森在办公桌上把文件整理了一下，“福生？”
老华人没有抬头，“我会处理看象人的。”他边打字边说，“就算这会导致他们又问你要更多的奖金，我也会把这事办妥。”
“很高兴你告诉我，但那不是我想问的事。”安德森用手指轻轻敲打着桌面，“你说班雅在抱怨海藻膜的事。出问题的培养槽是新的还是旧的？”
“我……他没说清楚。”
“你不是告诉我说，我们换上的新设备是上周刚从码头运来的吗？新的培养槽，全新配制的营养液？”
有那么一会儿，福生敲打键盘的声音放慢了节奏。安德森假装翻找文件，尽管他知道货款单和检疫表格都不在这里。“我这儿应该有个单子。我记得你告诉我那单子很快就送来了。”他抬起头来，“我越想越觉得不应该有什么污染问题。既然能通过海关的检查，安装也顺利，那新设备就不该出现这种问题。”
福生没有回答，像根本没有听到一样继续敲打着键盘。
“福生？你是不是有什么事忘了告诉我？”
福生的双眼仍旧盯着发出灰色光芒的显示器。安德森等待着。一片寂静中，只有吊扇发出的有节奏的吱呀声，以及福生踩踏板的声音。
“没有载货单。”年老的华人终于开口说道，“货还在海关那里。”
“上周就应当交清关税了。”
“有些延误。”
“你告诉过我不会有任何问题，”安德森说，“而且说得非常肯定。你说你会私下跟海关官员接触，加快通关进程。我也给了你额外的资金用于你的私下活动。”
“泰国人的时间观念很拖沓。也许今天下午就能送来，也许是明天。”福生脸上的表情像是在笑，“他们和我们华人不一样。他们很懒。”
“你真的贿赂过他们吗？贸易部也应该得到一份，再由他们去给那些穿白衬衫的检查员打招呼。”
“我付过钱了。”
“付够了吗？”
福生抬起头，眼睛眯了起来，“我付过了。”
“你没有自己留下一半？”
福生发出神经质的笑声，“我当然是把所有的钱都付给他们了。”
安德森仔细观察着这个黄卡人，试图判断他说的是不是真话；但最后他还是放弃了，把文件丢在桌上。他不清楚自己为什么要在意这些跟自己不相干的事，真正使他愤怒的是这个老华人觉得他是个好骗的人。他又瞥了一眼那个装着Ngaw的袋子。或许福生已经感觉到这工厂并不重要……他强迫自己赶走这个想法，再次向福生施压，“那么，确定是明天到？”
福生微微点头，“很有可能。”
"I am looking forward."
对于这明显的讽刺，福生没有任何反应。安德森甚至觉得他根本没有听明白。福生的英语说得很好，但即使如此，他们还是经常遇到无法沟通的窘境，因为很多时候，语言并非简单的词汇组合，而需要相应的文化背景。
安德森又开始伏案工作。这边一份税单，那边一份工资单。人工方面的费用本来可以缩减一半。这是与泰国打交道的另一个问题。泰国的工作机会要给泰国的工人。马来亚的黄卡难民在街上挨饿，但他不能雇用他们。准确地说，就连福生也不应该得到工作，他应该在街上和所有事变的幸存者在一起。如果他没有语言和会计方面的能力，或者没有得到耶茨的庇护的话，他肯定也在挨饿。
安德森拿起另外一个信封，不由得停了下来。这是一封寄给他的私人信件，但封口明显被打开过。福生似乎完全不能理解和尊重他人的通信隐私。他们两人已经多次讨论过这个问题，但福生还是不断“犯错”。
安德森从信封里拿出一张不大的邀请卡。是罗利，他提议进行一次面谈。
安德森用手中的邀请卡轻轻拍打桌面，心中紧张地思索着。罗利，扩张时代的遗民。在那个时候，石油还可以用便宜的价格买到，人们在几个小时之内就可以来往于地球上的任何地方，而不像现在这样动辄就要几个星期的时间。罗利就是从那个时代经历过来的人。
最后一架大型喷气式客机轰鸣着从素万那普机场起飞之时，罗利就站在齐膝深的、仍在不断上涨的海水中，眼看着那些人逃走。他和他的女友们一起挣扎求存，后来他的女友都死了，他又找了新的女友。他的生活中充斥着芸香草、泰铢和上等鸦片。信不信由你，他经历过政变和反政变、卡路里瘟疫和大饥荒，而且现在还活着。如今，这个老人像只长满疱疹的蟾蜍一样蹲坐在他位于奔集的“俱乐部”里，自满地微笑着，指导初到此地的外国人学习失传的收缩时代之前的堕落生活方式。
安德森将邀请卡扔到桌面上。不管这个老家伙想干什么，邀请本身倒没什么害处。要是没有点偏执狂的话，罗利恐怕也不会在泰王国生活这么久。安德森微微一笑，抬眼瞥了瞥福生。这两个老东西还真是登对：都是无根的游魂，都是远离故乡，而且都是靠狡猾的智慧和偏执狂的性格才生存下来……
“如果你除了盯着我干活之外没别的事可做的话，”福生说，“巨象工会正要求跟你重新商讨薪资问题。”
安德森比了比桌子上成堆的工资单，“我看他们不会那么客气吧。”
福生停了手头的工作，“泰国人总是彬彬有礼，即使是在威胁你的时候也一样。”
那头巨象又开始尖叫起来。
安德森意味深长地盯着福生，“我想这又给了你一个谈判筹码。给我开掉四号看象人。见鬼，我真应该拒绝付钱，直到他们把那个杂种给我赶走。”
“工会很有势力。”
又一声尖叫，震动了整座工厂，安德森不由得哆嗦了一下。“工会的人都是蠢货！”他朝观察窗那边看了一眼，“他们在对那个可怜的畜生做什么？”他朝福生打了个手势，“去看看他们。”
福生的样子看起来像是要反驳，但安德森怒气冲冲地盯着他。老华人慢慢站起来。
福生还没来得及抱怨，巨象又发出宏亮的吼声。观察窗剧烈地震动起来。
“他妈的怎么……”
又一声痛苦的咆哮震动了整座建筑，紧接着是机械系统发出的尖锐啸叫：供能链已被扭紧。安德森从椅子上跳起来冲向观察窗，但福生却后发先至。老华人睁大眼睛，张开嘴剧烈地喘息着。
如餐盘般大小的黄色眼珠升到了与观察窗齐平的高度。巨象抬起两条前腿，仅靠后腿站立，狂乱地摇摆着。出于安全考虑，它的四根长牙早已被锯掉，但就算如此，它仍是一头庞大的巨兽，不算头部也有十五英尺高，超过十吨重的强健身躯充满了怒火，摇摇摆摆地以后腿保持着平衡。它用力拉着将它绑缚在转轴上的链子；这畜生张开大嘴，露出大而深的喉咙。安德森赶紧用双手捂住耳朵。
巨象的尖叫声毫无阻碍地穿过玻璃。安德森被震得双膝跪在地上。“上帝啊！”他的双耳轰鸣着，“那个看象人在哪儿？”
福生只是摇着头。安德森甚至不能确定福生是否听见了他的话。在他自己听来，他的吼声也是模模糊糊的，像是从很远的地方传来的。他爬起来，跌跌撞撞地走向门口，用力把门推开。就在这时，那头巨象用力撞击四号转轴。传动转轴开始摇晃起来，柚木的尖利碎片四处飞舞。安德森迅速后退，但还是被木头的碎屑划破了皮肤，伤口如针扎一般地疼。
车间里的看象人们正在慌忙地解开捆绑巨兽的锁链，将它们赶开，远离那头发狂的畜生。他们又喊又叫，强迫这些大象形状的动物按照他们的意志行动。巨象摇着硕大的头颅，不情不愿地哼哼着，甚至也开始试图挣脱锁链；生物性的冲动使它们更想去帮助它们的同类。其他泰国籍工人则在向车间外逃跑，眼下的情况街道上明显比工厂里更安全。
发狂的巨象再度对禁锢它的转轴发起攻击。辐条开始晃动起来。控制这头巨兽的看象人如今已成了地上的一堆血、肉、骨头的混合残渣。
安德森以半蹲姿势跑回办公室。他绕过一张办公桌，又滑过另一张的桌面，准确地落在公司的保险柜前。
他拨动密码锁的时候手指都在颤抖。汗滴落到了他的眼睛里。23-右，106-左……他的手又移向下一个密码盘，同时祈祷自己不要把顺序弄乱，否则就得从头再来一次。更多的木头碎片从车间飞射出来，随之传来的还有离巨象太近的不幸者发出的惨叫声。
福生出现在他身旁，同样是半蹲的姿态。
安德森挥手示意他走开，“告诉他们赶紧出去！清场！所有人都出去！”
福生点点头，但当安德森继续与复合密码锁搏斗时，他还原地不动。
安德森愤怒地看了他一眼，“快去！”
福生默默地弓着身子跑到门口，在那里高声呼叫，但他的声音很快就被逃跑的工人发出的尖叫声和硬木折断的声音淹没了。安德森拨动最后一组密码，用力拽开保险柜：里面是一些文件、各种颜色的钞票、保密记录，一支压缩来复枪……一把发条手枪。
耶茨。
他脸上布满了阴郁的怒火。这个老杂种今天简直是阴魂不散，就像上了他的身一样。安德森扭紧手枪的发条，把它塞进腰带里，又伸手取出那支来复枪，检查了一下子弹——就在此时，外面又传来一声尖叫。至少耶茨为这种情况作了准备。那杂种虽然心理幼稚，但的确不蠢。安德森给来复枪压上气，提着枪大步走向门口。
在下面的车间里，驱动系统和质量检验线都沾满了血迹。很难分辨哪些人已经死了，应该不会只有那一个看象人。空气中弥漫着人类遗骸散发出的甜腥气味。一根人类的肠子绕在疯狂巨象的周身以及转轴上面。那畜生再度抬起两只前腿，这座经过基因改造、充满巨力的肉山开始对束缚它的转轴发起最后的攻击。
安德森将来复枪架在肩上，端平。在他视线所及的远端，另一头巨象也抬起前腿，发出共鸣的悲吼。看象人正在失去对局势的控制。他强迫自己不去注意现场逐渐蔓延的混乱景象，只是将眼睛凑到瞄准镜上面。
来复枪的准星在一堵满是皱褶的锈红色肉墙上飘移着。在瞄准镜下，巨兽大到不可能打不中的地步。他将来复枪调整到全自动模式，深吸一口气，然后扣动扳机，放出气室的压缩空气。
大量飞镖从来复枪中射出。巨象的皮肤上出现了星罗棋布的亮橘色斑点，这些都是被击中的地方。农基公司研制的提纯黄蜂毒素注入巨兽的体内，开始袭击其中枢神经系统。
安德森放下枪。没有了瞄准镜的放大效果，他几乎看不见巨兽身上的弹痕。但再过一小会儿，那畜生就会死掉。
巨象转过身来，将注意力集中在安德森身上，眼中闪烁着更新世的狂野怒火。尽管安德森不愿承认，但这头巨兽的智能的确令他震撼。它的表现就好像知道他对它做了什么。
巨象使足力气，猛地挣脱束缚它的锁链。铁制的链条断裂开来，呼啸着飞了出去，掉落在传送带上。一个正往向外奔逃的工人被锁链绊倒在地。安德森把来复枪扔到地上，抽出腰间的发条手枪。面对怒火冲天的十吨重巨兽，这玩意儿就是个玩具，却是他仅剩的武器。巨象向他冲来，安德森连连开火，尽力用最快的速度扣动扳机。带刃的飞盘在雪崩般凶猛的冲击面前毫无用处。
巨象用象鼻从侧面攻击，将他撂倒在地。灵活的象鼻像大蟒蛇一样卷曲起来，缠住他的双腿。安德森拼命踢打试图挣脱，同时努力尝试抓住门把手。象鼻却缠得更紧。他的大脑开始充血。这头巨兽或许想将他拍死在地上，就像掐死一只吸饱血的蚊子，他心里想着。但就在这时，巨象开始把他拖向阳台。安德森极力把握最后的机会——抓了一下阳台的栏杆。紧接着，他的身体飞了起来。毫无阻碍地飞了起来。
巨象欢欣鼓舞的叫声在工厂中回响，而这个时候，安德森已经在空中飞出很远了。工厂的地面冲向他。他撞在水泥地面上，无边的黑暗立刻将他吞噬。躺着等死吧，一了百了。但安德森还是下意识地挣扎着。他想站起来，想打个滚，想随便做点什么——但他完全动不了。
视野中逐渐出现了彩色的色块，似乎在尝试组合起来。巨象已经很近了。他能闻到它的味道。
大片的色块组合起来。巨象的身影还在逼近，那锈红色的皮肤，包裹着熊熊燃烧的上古的怒火。它抬起一只脚，要把他踩成肉泥。安德森向一边滚去，但他的腿完全不能动弹。他甚至连爬都不能爬。他的手在水泥地面上急切地抓挠着，却完全无法着力，就像在冰上爬动的蜘蛛。他的速度太慢了，没法躲开。上帝啊，我不想这样死掉。不想在这种地方就这样死了……他就像一只被抓住尾巴的蜥蜴，既不能起身也不能逃跑，只能等死，等着在巨象脚下变成一摊肉冻。
巨象呻吟着。安德森回头看去。那畜生的脚已经放了下来，它开始如喝醉了一般摇摇晃晃，长鼻子喷着粗气，然后，它的后半身再也支持不住身体的重量，像条狗一样一屁股坐在地上，让人在恐惧中生出荒谬之感。它的脸上似乎露出了迷惑的表情，那是发现自己不能再控制身体的惊讶。
巨象的前腿缓缓在它的脑袋前面摊开。它呻吟着，整个儿倒在了稻草与粪便之中。巨象的眼睛落在与安德森齐平的高度。这双大眼睛如人眼般凝视着安德森的双眼，不断的眨动显示出它的困惑。那根象鼻再度向他伸来，笨拙地拍打着他的身躯；这象鼻仍如巨蟒般充满了力量，但已失去了协调性。巨象张开大嘴，不住地喘息，口中呼出的甜腥热气吹过他的身边。巨象的鼻子戳向他，推动着他，但没法再把他卷起来。
安德森拖着身体，缓缓移出巨象可以够到的范围。他先是双膝跪地趴着，然后强迫自己站立起来。他头晕目眩，摇摇晃晃，但最终控制住了自己的双脚，牢牢地站在地上。巨象的一只黄眼睛紧盯着他的一举一动，狂怒已经消散，长着长睫毛的眼皮眨动着。安德森想知道这动物心里在想什么。它能感到毒素正在破坏它的神经系统吗？它是否知道自己马上就要死了？或许它只是感到疲倦而已？
站在远离巨象的地方，安德森对它产生了同情。四根被野蛮地锯掉的象牙只留下粗达一英尺的椭圆形残桩，表面灰暗且凹凸不平。巨象膝盖上的疮仍在流出脓液，连嘴里也全是疮痂。这即将死去的动物无声无息，肌肉已被麻痹，只剩下胸口还在起伏。它只是一头遭到虐待的动物，虽然充满巨力，却从来不以战斗为使命。
巨象呼出最后一口气，身体彻底松弛下来了。
人们蜂拥至安德森的身边，大声叫喊着，用手拉扯着他。穿着红色和金色工会制服的人、穿着绿色的强力弹簧公司制服的人，以及吃力地爬上巨象尸体的看象人，他们四处奔跑，试图帮助伤者、寻找死者。
有那么一瞬间，安德森似乎感到耶茨正站在他身边，吸着香烟，幸灾乐祸地看着这一团糟。“你还说你一个月就走。”然后，福生出现在他身边，低沉沙哑的声音，单眼皮的黑眼睛，一只瘦骨嶙峋的手伸向他的脖子，然后带着一手的鲜血收回来。
“你在流血呢。”他喃喃道。
Notes:
Notes: