Chapter 4 Chapter Four

Ever heard of the Borsalino hat (Borsalino) test? What quiz? The Borsalino Hat Test, used to prove whether a hat is a genuine Borsalino or a poor quality imitation.You know Borsalino, right? Sorry, I have to say I don't know. aha.Didier smiled.The smile was surprised, mischievous, and disdainful.Somehow, the smile composed of these three ingredients is so charming that it makes people surrender.He leaned forward slightly, his head tilted to one side, his black curls tossing, as if to emphasize the point of his explanation.Borsalino is top of the line clothing.Considered by many, myself included, to be the greatest men's hat ever made.

He held up his hands in the shape of a hat on his head. A wide-brimmed hat, black or white, made of lapin (rabbit) fur. So, just a hat, I added in my self-confessed genial tone, we're talking about a hat made of rabbit fur. Didier was furious. Just a hat?Please, bro!A bolsalino is not just a hat, a bolsalino hat is a work of art!It has been brushed tens of thousands of times by hand before going on the market.The discerning gangsters of Milan and Marseille have regarded it as a sign of the best taste for generations.The name Borsalino became a synonym for gangsters.The lawless young lads of the underworld in Milan and Marseilles are called Borsalino.Those were the days when gangsters had taste.They knew that if they were going to live a life of crime, stealing and shooting for a living, they couldn't dress casually, did they?

That's the least they should do.I agree with a smile. But you also know that these days, sadly, there is only personal style left, not taste.That is characteristic of this age, the age we live in, where taste becomes personal style, and not personal style becomes taste. He paused, giving me a moment to take in the depth of what he said. Having said that, he went on to say that to test the authenticity of a Borsalino hat, it is rolled into a tube, rolled into a very tight tube, and passed through a wedding ring.After being worn, if there are no wrinkles that cannot be eliminated, and it bounces back to its original shape without damage, then it is a real Borsalino hat.

you mean That's it!Didier yelled, pounding his fist on the table. We're sitting in Leopold's Bar, near the square arch in Cozweil Road, at eight o'clock.Some foreigners at the next table turned their heads at the sudden harshness, but the shop assistants and regulars ignored the Frenchman.Didier had been dining, drinking, and talking with Leopold for nine years.They all know that when getting along with him, he has an upper limit of tolerance, and if you cross that line, he is very dangerous.They also know that the line is drawn not on the soft sand of his own life, beliefs, or emotions, but on the hearts of those he loves.If those people's hearts were hurt, no matter what kind of hurt it was, it would make him ruthless and angry enough to kill him.But apart from actual bodily harm, no one's words or actions have really offended or enraged him.

Comme ca! (That's it) That's all I have to say!Your short friend, Prabaker, has given you the hat quiz.He rolled you into a tube and put it through your wedding ring to see if you were a real Borsalino.This is what he intends to take you to see and hear bad things about this city.That's the Borsalino Hat Quiz. I quietly sipped my coffee, knowing that he was right. The dark journey led by Prabaker was intended to be a test, but I didn't want to admit it, and I didn't want to make him happy. The tourists who came in the evening included Germans, Swiss, French, English, Norwegians, Americans, Japanese and people from more than a dozen other countries.They gradually dispersed and were replaced by night visitors, including Indians and expatriates who called Mumbai home.Every night, when the tourists return to the safety of the hotel, it is time for the locals to reclaim Leopold's Bar, Mocambo, Mondega Coffee House, and the Light of Asia.

If that was testing me, and I finally admitted it, he must have thought I had passed.He invited me to visit his family, to his native village in the north of the state. Didier raised his eyebrows with an exaggerated expression of surprise. How long are you going? have no idea.I think, one or two months, maybe longer. Ah, there it is, he asserted, your short friend is in love with you. What you said is a bit outrageous.I retorted, displeased. Hey, you don't know.Here, you have to watch out for the person you meet to be emotionally attached to you.This is not like anywhere else, this is India.Everyone who comes here falls in love, and most of us have fallen in love many times.And the Indians, they love it the most.It's no surprise that your short friend may already be in love with you.Given the long history of this country, and this city in particular, this is not surprising.For Indians it happens all the time, it happens easily.There are more than a billion of them, and this is the reason why they can live together quite peacefully.Of course, they're not perfect.They know how to fight, how to lie and deceive each other, and all the things we do.But Indians know how to love each other like no other people in the world.

He paused to light a cigarette, then waved it like a small flagpole until the waiter noticed him and nodded for another shot of vodka. India was about six times the size of France, he went on, and wine and curries were also sent, but with nearly twenty times the population.Twenty times!Believe me, if a billion French lived in such a dense place, there would be rivers of blood.Blood flowed like a river!And everyone knows that we French are the most civilized and polite people in Europe, and even in the world.India cannot exist without love. Letitia came to join us and took a seat to my left.

Didier, what are you talking about now, you bastard?she asked, sounding like an old friend, her South London accent making the bastard's first syllable sound like something was splitting. He was just telling me that the French are the most civilized people in the world. Facts known to the world.he added. Brother, when you make a Shakespeare out of villages and vineyards, maybe I'll agree with you.Letitia put on a smiling face and said in a low voice, the smile was half kind, half superior. Don't get me wrong, madam, that I don't respect your Shakespeare, Didier retorted, laughing happily, and I like English because there's so much French in it.

Touche (that's right), I grinned, we say the same in English. Then Ulla and Modena came and sat down.Ullah was dressed as a prostitute in a black sheath dress with a tie neck that exposed her back and shoulders, fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, and bright fake diamonds around her neck and ears.Her and Letitia's outfits were in stark contrast.Letitia wore a fine ivory brocade jacket over a loose brown satin hakama, and boots.Their faces also form a strong and unexpected contrast.Letitia's eyes are seductive, direct, and confident, exuding sarcasm and mystery; although Ula is wearing heavy makeup and a sexy dress required by her profession, her big blue eyes only reveal innocence, honesty and emptiness.

Didier, you don't want to talk to me, Ulla opened her mouth as soon as she sat down, pouted sadly, I had a rough fight with Federico for three hours, and it was all your fault. Bah! (Ah!) snapped Didier, Federico! well!Letitia joined the battle, stretching one note into three long notes.The young handsome Federico has changed, hasn't he?Don't be a fool, my dear Ulla, and tell the story to everyone. Naja, Federico is converted, he's driving me crazy for that, Didier's fault. That's right!Didier added that the disgust was written all over his face.It was unfortunate that Federico was converted.He no longer drinks, smokes, does drugs, and certainly doesn't fuck anyone, not even himself!What a waste of money.That man was once a wonder of the fallen world, my best student, my masterpiece.It's unbearable to be like that now.He's the worst word for a good man now.

Well, what you gain is what you lose, Letitia sighed and feigned sympathy, and you must not be discouraged by that, Didier.There are also fish that you can fry and fry for a feast. It should be me who deserves sympathy, Ulla scolded, Federico came back from Didier yesterday in a very bad mood, and is still crying outside my house today. Scheisser! (Shit!) Wirklich! (True!) Cried for three hours and excitedly told me about being born again.In the end I felt sorry for him.It pained me when I asked Modena to throw him and his Bible into the street.It's all your fault, Didier, and I will never forgive you. Fanatics, said Didier thoughtfully, ignoring Ullah's scolding, always seeming to have that animated, intent-eyed expression.They have the look of someone who doesn't masturbate, but thinks about masturbating almost all the time. I really love you, you know, Didier, Letitia stammered, interspersed with laughter, even if you were a despicable toad of a man. No, you beat him because he is a despicable toe of a man.said Ulla. Miss, it is toad (toad), not toe (toe).Letitia corrected patiently, still laughing, he was a toad man, not a toe man.Despicable toes don't make sense, do they?We don't love or hate him just because he's a man's toe, do we, miss, even if we know what that means? Letitia, you know I'm not very good at English jokes, Ulla insisted, but I think he's a big ugly hairy man toe. You know, protested Didier, my toes, and my feet, are beautiful. Carla, Maurizio, and an Indian man in his early thirties walked in from the lively night street.Maurizio and Modena joined us at a second table, and the eight of us ordered wine and food. Lin, Letitia, this is my friend Vikram.Patel.When everyone was quieter, Carla announced that he had been on a long vacation in Denmark and returned a week or two ago, and I think you two are the only ones here who haven't seen him. Letitia and I introduced ourselves to the newcomer, but my eyes really only fell on Maurizio and Carla.He sat next to her, directly opposite me, with one hand resting on the back of her chair.He was so close to her that they almost touched their heads as they spoke. When an ugly man sees a handsome guy, he will feel very uncomfortable. The feeling is not hatred, but more than disgust.The feeling was irrational and gratuitous, of course, but it lingered, hidden in the long shadow cast by jealousy.When you fall in love with a beautiful woman, that feeling creeps out and creeps into your eyes.I looked at Maurizio, and some of these feelings arose in my heart.His neat white teeth, smooth skin, and thick black hair made me hate him sooner and more firmly than any flaws in his character. Kara was beautiful: her hair was combed into a French curl, bright as a river flowing over a black stone, and her green eyes had a firm, joyful gleam.Wearing an Indian long-sleeved sawar [Note: salwar, the loose suits worn by women in South Asian countries generally have three sets, which are tops, scarves and trousers. 】The top, the hem exceeds her knees, and the lower body is loose trousers made of olive green silk fabric. Had a great time, yaar.The newcomer Vikram said, at this time my thoughts also came back to my eyes.Denmark is very trendy and very cool.The people there are very educated.They're so fucking homemade I can't believe it.In Copenhagen, I go to the sauna.It's a fucking big place, yaar, mixed baths, men and women together, walking around naked.Totally, 100 percent stripped, but no one reacted, not even peeked, yaar.Indian men can't do it.They will boil, I tell you. Are you boiling, brother Vikram?Letitia asked, her voice pleasant. joke?I was the only guy there wrapping a towel and the only guy with an erection. I don't understand.said Ulla, and we stopped laughing.The words were flat, neither complaining nor asking for further explanation. Hey, I've been there every day for three weeks, yaar, Vikram went on, and I think if I spend enough time there, I'll get used to it, like those super cool Danes. What are you used to?Ulla asked. Vikram frowned at her, troubled, and turned to Letitia. Ineffective, useless.Three weeks later, I still have to wrap myself in a bath towel.No matter how often I go there, seeing those bouncy tits bouncing up and down and side to side makes me cock up.what can I say?I'm too Indian for that place. Indian women, too, Maurizio recalled, refused to take off their nudity even when making love. Alas, not quite, Vikram went on, after all, it was the man who was the problem.Indian women are willing to change.An Indian girl from a middle-class family, desperate for a change, yaar.They are educated to accept short hair, short skirts, short-lived relationships.They are willing to change, but men hold them back.Generally, Indian men become sexually mature around the age of fourteen. I want to hear this.Letitia whispered. Kavita.When Singh approached us not long ago, Vikram was standing behind Vikram when he delivered his discourse on Indian women.With her curly cropped hair, she was wearing jeans and a white knitted jumper emblazoned with the NYU crest.She is a real woman, the object of Vikram's talk just now, and now she is standing in front of her eyes. You are a wretch, Vikram, she said, taking a seat across from him to my right.You talk so much and it turns out you're as bad as any other man.Let's see what you'd say about your sister if she dared to wear jeans and a tight knit jumper, yaar. Hey, that skintight knit jumper I bought for her in London last year!Vikram retorted. But you still don't give her a good look when she wears it to a jazz concert, don't you? Oh, how did I know she would wear that outside?He said it knowingly, which drew everyone's laughter and ridicule.Vikram himself laughed the loudest. Vikram.Patel is average in build and height, but that's all he's average about.His thick curly black hair set off his handsome and intelligent face.The piercing hazel eyes exude self-confidence, the nose is long and aquiline, and the two ends of the mustache on the lips curve down along the mouth, with clear lines and very neatly trimmed.He was dressed in black, cowboy boots, jeans, shirt, leather vest, and a black Spanish flamenco flat hat draped over his back by the strap that hung around his neck.His bolo tie. 】, a belt decorated with dollar coin patterns, hat strap, all silver.He looks like the hero of an Italian western, when in fact he uses that character as a model for his style.Vikram is obsessed with Sergio.Leoni's movies "A Hundred Thousand Miles in the Sand" and "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly."Later, when I got to know him better, when I watched him win the hearts of the women he loved, when we stood together against enemies who wanted to kill me, I knew he was a hero and that if he had the chance, he would be with those he admired The screen tough guy is just as extraordinary. When we met for the first time, I sat across from him. I was deeply impressed by his self-satisfaction when he embraced his dream of black denim, and his self-confidence when he thought he could realize that dream.Carla said that Vikram was the kind of person who got his heart covered in lard.This is a joke between friends, and it is also a joke that each of us understands, but there is also a hint of cold contempt in the words.I didn't laugh like everyone else when she said that.People like Vikram, who are self-satisfied with their own persistence, always admire me, because their straightforwardness wins my heart. Really, really have!In Copenhagen, he insisted, there really were such clubs, and they called them the Telephone Club.There are tables like this, yaar, and each table has a number with a red light on it.If you see a hot and sexy woman sitting at table number 12, just dial number 12 and talk to her.What a fucking boring thing, bro.Half the time, you don't know who's calling, or the other person doesn't know who you are.Sometimes you talk for an hour and still don't know who you're talking to because everyone is talking at the same time and telling each other which table they're at.Let me tell you, I had a really good party there, but if I did it here, it probably wouldn't last five minutes because the men here can't do it.Too many Indian men are chutia, yaar.They would swear, say all sorts of nasty things, be childish and obnoxious, like I would say here.In Copenhagen, people are more upright. If India catches up with them and becomes so upright, there is still a long way to go. I think the situation has improved, Ullah took the initiative to speak, I am optimistic about the future of India.I think the future will be better, better than the present, and the lives of many people will be much better. We all turned to look at her.The whole table was silent.We are shocked, shocked that this young woman who sells her body for the entertainment of rich Indians can express such views.She was used and spoiled like a plaything. I thought she would be more cynical and pessimistic about the future.Optimism is the first thing that comes with love, and like love, it has three characteristics: aggressive, humorless, and showing up where you least expect it. My silly big sister, Ulla, actually nothing has changed.said Didier, pursing his lips in disgust.If you want human goodness to coagulate like milk, or turn sympathy into contempt, you can do it as a waiter or a cleaner.Two of the quickest ways to develop an intelligent distaste for man and his lot are to serve the dishes or clear the table after the guests have dined, for a pittance.I've had both jobs, in the wretched years I had to do to fill my stomach.It's tragic.Thinking about it now, I still have lingering fears.But it was there that I realized that the world hadn't changed at all.Honestly, I'm glad the world is like this right now.If the world turns better or worse, I probably won't make any money. Crap, Letitia said, it could get better or it could get worse.Ask the people in the ghetto how bad things could get, they know best.Isn't it, Carla? All eyes were on her.She fiddled with the cup on the saucer for a moment, then slowly turned it with her long forefinger. I think all of us, each of us, have to fight for the future, she said slowly, and I think the future, like anything important, has to be fought to get.Without fighting, there is no future.If we don't fight for it, if we don't deserve the future, we'll have to live forever in the status quo.Or worse, live in the past.I think the intention of love is probably here. Love is the way to fight for the future. Well, I agree with Didier.Maurizio opened his mouth and finished his meal with a drink of ice water.I like the status quo, and I'm happy that the status quo hasn't changed. And you?Carla asked, turning to look at me. I?I smile. If you could feel happiness, real happiness, just for a moment, but you knew from the beginning that it would end up making you sad, miserable, would you choose to enjoy that happiness, or would you choose to run away from it? The gazes of the crowd and the question made me uneasy, and the atmosphere of silently waiting for my answer made me very uncomfortable for a while.I think she was testing me by asking this question earlier.Perhaps she has asked others at the table, they have all answered, and now they are waiting to hear my answer.I'm not sure what she wants to hear from me, but my life has answered that question.When I escaped from prison, I made a choice. I will choose to be happy.I answered, and Kara responded with a half-smile, an expression that seemed to indicate approval or surprise, or both. I won't.said Ulla, frowning.I hate being sad, I can't stand being sad.I'd rather have nothing than be a little bit sad.I think that's why I love to sleep so much, na?It is impossible to be sad while sleeping.In a dream, you can be happy, scared, angry, but you have to be very awake to be sad, right? I agree, Ulla, Vikram agrees, there's a lot of fucking sad things in this world, yaar.That's why everyone always tries to numb themselves so much.I know that's why, I always try to numb myself. Mmmmm, no, I'll be like you, Lin.Kavita chimed in, but I didn't know to what extent she agreed with me, how much this was just a backlash against Vikram's instincts.If there is an opportunity for true happiness, it should be taken no matter what the cost. Didier became fidgety, quite annoyed at how the subject had turned. You are so serious, all of you. I don't!Vikram retorted, irritated by Didier's opinion. Didier raised an eyebrow and stared at him. I mean you guys make things more difficult than they really are, or unnecessarily difficult.The reality of life is simple.At first we were afraid of everything, animals, the weather, trees, the night sky, but not our own kind.Today we are afraid of our own kind, but hardly anything else.No one knows why someone else did such-and-such, no one tells the truth, no one is happy, no one is safe.Facing this world that is not right everywhere, the most unfortunate thing for people is to survive.And people have to survive.It is this dilemma that makes us believe in the lie that people have souls and that there is a God in charge of the fate of souls.So you have a soul. He leaned back on the back of the chair and twisted his d'Artagnan with both hands. ] The tip of the mustache. I don't know what he just said, Vikram whispered after a moment's pause, but for some reason I both agree with him and feel insulted. Maurizio got up to leave.Putting a hand on Carla's shoulder and turning to face the rest of us with a cheerful smile was as kind as it was charming.That smile made me have to appreciate it, but it also made my teeth itch with anger. Don't be confused, Vikram, he said kindly, Didier only wants to talk about one thing, himself. And what’s more, Carla immediately added, he thought that was an interesting topic. Merci (thank you), Miss Carla.whispered Didier, and offered her a small bow. Allora (then), Modena, let's go!We'll see you again later, at the President's Café, si (right)? Ciao (goodbye). He kissed Carla on the cheek, put on Ray-Ban sunglasses, and strode into the crowded night street with Modena.That Spaniard, Modena, didn't say a word or even smile the whole evening.But as their figures disappeared into the crowd passing through the street, I saw him speak excitedly to Maurizio, shaking his clenched fist.I watched them until they disappeared, and then I was startled and a little ashamed to hear Letitia say the smallest and meanest thoughts in my heart. He's not as good as he looks.she growled. Men are not as good as they look.Carla said, smiling and putting a hand over Letitia's. You don't like Maurizio anymore?Ulla asked. I hate him.No, I don't hate him.But I despise him and feel sick when I see him. My sister Didier, Letitia, was interrupted by Carla before she could finish speaking. Not now, Didier, not yet. How could I be so stupid.Letitia gritted her teeth, furious. Naja Ula said slowly, I don't want to say that I have told you before, but Oh, why don't you say it?Kavita asked. I love to say I told you so.I told Vikram I told you that, at least once a week.I love to say I told you so much more than eating chocolate. I like this guy, Vikram interrupted, do you know he's a good horseman?He can ride like Clint Eastwood, yaar.I saw him last week in Chaopati, riding horses on the beach with this sexy blonde Swedish chick.He rides like Clint Eastwood in The Revenant, really.It's fucking dead. Yes, he rode, said Letitia, how could I be blind with him?I used to trust him in everything. He also has a very high-end stereo in his apartment, Vikram added, seemingly unaware of Letitia's mood, and some great original Italian film scores. That's right!I gotta go!Letitia declared emphatically, got up, and grabbed her handbag and the book she had brought.Her curly red hair, trembling with rage, fell to frame her charming face.The heart-shaped face has soft curves and flawless white skin. Under the bright white light, for a moment, it looks like an angry marble Madonna, and I think of what Carla said: I think Letitia is the most beautiful of us. spiritual Vikram stood up abruptly to follow. I'll take you back to the hotel, drop by. is that so?Letitia asked, turning suddenly to him, and he moved a little.So where are you going next? I'm going, this, everywhere, yaar.I'm going for a long walk.So no matter where you are going, I will drop by with you. Well, if you must.she muttered, her teeth clenched, her eyes sparkling blue.Kara, see you tomorrow at Taj Café for a cup of coffee.I promise I won't be late this time. see you then.Carla agrees. Well, goodbye everyone!Letitia waved. Ha, me too!Vikram continued, trotting after her. You know, what I admire most about Letitia, said Didier thoughtfully, is that there is nothing French about her.Our French culture is so pervasive and influential that almost everyone in the world is at least a little bit French, especially women.Almost every woman in the world is French in some way.But Letitia, she's the least French woman I've ever met. You talk a lot, Didier, said Kavita, you talk a lot tonight, what's the matter?In love, or out of love? He sighed, staring at his folded hands. A little bit of both, I think.I feel so blue.Federico, you know him, he is a convert.It was really annoying, and I admit it made me sad.In fact, his piety broke my heart.But never mind.Imtiaz.Daker has a new exhibition in Jahangir.Her work is always pleasing to the eye, and a little bit wild, which brings me back to my senses.Kavita, would you like to go see it with me? Of course, Kavita smiled, gladly. I'll walk with you to King's Crossing, Ulla sighed, I have to see Modena. They got up, took their leave, and walked through the Kozwe Arch, but Didier came running back and stood beside me.He put one hand on my shoulder as if to steady himself, then smiled and looked down at me with a strangely affectionate expression. Go with him, Lin, he said, go with Prabaker to that village.Every city in the world has a village in its heart.You can't know the city without first knowing the village, go ahead.When I come back, I will see what India has made of you. Bonne chance! He turned and hurried away, leaving Carla and me alone.The restaurant was noisy when Didier and the others were present.Suddenly, it was so quiet, or seemed to be so quiet, that I felt like every word I said would be echoed in this large space, heard by every table. You want to leave us?Carla asked, kindly speaking first. Oh, Prabaker invited me to visit his parents' village.Where he was born, he said. you want to go? Yeah, I think I'll go.It is an honor to receive such an invitation, and I gladly accept it.He told me that he goes back to the village to visit his parents once a year, and he stays there for about six months.He has been like this every year in the nine years he has been a tour guide in Mumbai.But I was the first foreigner he invited to go there with him. She winked at me, a smile on her lips. You may not be the first person to be invited by him.You might be the first tourist foolish enough to say yes to him, but it makes no difference. Do you think I'm stupid to agree? Absolutely not!Or at least as dumb as the rest of us.Where is the village? I don't know anything about it except it's in the north of the state.He told me to take one train and two buses. Didier was right.you should go.If, as you say, you want to stay in Bombay, you should spend some time in the country.The countryside is key. We ordered our last meal from the passing waiter, who brought Carla's banana yoghurt and my tea some time later. How long did it take you to get used to it, Carla?I mean, you always seem so at ease, like you've always lived here. This, I don't know.It made me feel like a duck to water here, if you know what I mean and the first hour of being here on the first day, that's what it was.So, in a way, I was comfortable from the start. I'm surprised you say that, I feel the same way myself.Within an hour of getting off the plane, I had this unbelievably strong feeling that I would feel right at home here. I guess the real breakthrough has to do with language.After I started speaking Hindi in my dreams, I knew I was no longer out of place here.Since then, everything has suddenly become clear. Is this how it is now?Are you going to stay here forever? Nothing lasts forever in this world, she replied in her usual slow and deliberate tone, I don't know what people use this word for. you know what i mean. That's right, that's right.I'll stay until I get what I want, and then, maybe, go somewhere else. What do you want, Carla? She frowned intently, then averted her gaze and stared straight into my eyes.It was an expression I had come to understand, and it seemed to say that even if you had to ask this question, you had no right to ask me to give you an answer. I want everything.She replied, with a faint self-deprecating smile.You know, I was talking to a friend about this once, and that friend told me that the really good life is to do nothing and succeed in getting there. Later, we made our way through the crowds of Cosway Road and Strand Street, past the arched streets behind Colaba Market, and stopped at a bench under a tall elm near her apartment.The Colaba market was silent after nightfall, and the streets behind it were deserted. It's actually a paradigm shift, I said, trying to explain a point I made along the way, a very different way of looking at things and thinking about things. You are right, exactly. Prabaker took me to what looked like a hospice for the terminally ill, an old apartment building near St. George's Hospital.It was full of sick and dying people who had begged for a little floor to lie on and die.The man who runs the facility, who has a sort of saintly reputation, goes around putting tags on patients with symbols showing how many organs that person has available.It was actually a huge organ bank, which housed many living people who were willing to provide their organs to the operator, and those living people used this to earn a quiet and clean place to die, so as not to die on the street.Those people were grateful to the operator for this, and respected him very much, and looked at him as if they loved him deeply. Your friend, Prabaker, has given you a severe test the past two weeks, hasn't he? Ah, there are harsher ones than that.But the real problem is that there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.See those children alas, their life is so hard.See people in the slums.He took me to the slum where he lived, the open latrines stink, the environment is messy, the house is dirty, the residents stand at the door and stare at you and you just stand by and watch, nothing changes.Things can only get worse, never get much better, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, you just have to accept it. Knowing what's wrong with the world is a good thing, Carla said after a while, but it's equally important to know that no matter how much is wrong with the world, you can't change it.There are some unfortunate things in this world that actually become more unfortunate when someone wants to change. I don't know if I should believe it or not, but I think you're right.I know that sometimes, the more we try to improve, the more we end up making things worse.But I tend to think that everything and everyone can be better if we do it right. You know what, I stumbled across Prabaker today.He wants me to ask you about the water, though I don't know what that is about. OK, I laugh, just yesterday I came down from the hotel to meet Prabaker in the street.But in the stairwell, some Indian men walked upstairs one by one carrying large water jars.I leaned against the wall to let them pass.走到一樓時，我看一個附有鐵輞輪的大木桶，類似水車。另有一個漢子拿著水桶，從木桶裡舀水，注入那些大水罐裡。 我盯了好久，那些漢子上下樓梯好幾趟。普拉巴克來時，我問他們在幹什麼。他告訴我，那就是我沖澡的水。沖澡的水來自屋頂上的水槽，而那些人用罐子替水槽注滿水。 indeed. 咦，妳知道，我是現在才知道，昨天我第一次聽到。這種熱天氣，我一直有一天沖澡三次的習慣。我一直不知道得有人得爬六段樓梯，替水槽添水，我才能沖那些澡。我為此覺得愧疚，妳知道嗎？我告訴普拉巴克，從此不在那飯店沖澡，絕不。 How did he say? 他說，不，你不懂。他說那是人們的飯碗。他解釋說，正因為有像我這樣的遊客，那些人才有工作做。他還告訴我，他們每個人都靠這些工資養活一家子。你應該每天沖澡三次、四次，甚至五次。 她點頭認同。 然後他要我看他們如何準備就緒，以便推著水車，再度穿過這城市。我想我知道他的意思，知道他要我看什麼。那些男人強壯、自傲又健康，他們不乞討也不偷搶，努力工作養活一家人，為此而自豪。他們跑步，衝進車陣裡，展露健壯的肌肉，引來一些印度年輕姑娘的偷瞄，那時，我看到他們昂著頭，眼神直視前方。 而你住在那飯店仍然沖澡？ 一天三次。我大笑，對了，莉蒂希亞為什麼那麼氣毛里齊歐？ 她望著我，那天晚上是第二次這麼定定盯著我眼睛。 莉蒂希亞跟外國人登記處的某個人很熟。那人是個高級警官，很愛收藏藍寶石，莉蒂希亞以批發價或更低的價錢賣藍寶石給他。有時，藉以換取特殊照顧讓她可以延長簽證期限，幾乎是無限期延長。毛里齊歐想把簽證再延長一年，於是假意愛上莉蒂希亞，哎！也可以說是勾引莉蒂希亞。達到目的後，就把她甩了。 莉蒂希亞是妳的朋友 我警告過她，毛里齊歐這個男人不值得愛。妳跟他做什麼都可以，就是不能愛上他。她不聽。 妳仍然喜歡毛里齊歐？即使他那麼對待妳朋友？ 毛里齊歐的所作所為，就和我預想的一模一樣。在他看來，他拿愛情當買賣換取簽證，兩不虧欠很公平。他絕不會找我試這種事。 他怕妳？我問，笑笑。 沒錯，我想他是有點怕我，這是我喜歡他的原因之一。一點都不怕我的男人就是笨，我絕不可能尊重這種男人。 她站起身，我跟著起來。街燈下，她綠色的眼眸是引人遐思的明珠，水汪汪泛著光澤。她的嘴唇張開，似笑非笑，那表情、那時刻只有我一人獨享，而我的心如乞討者，開始期盼、懇求。 明天，她說，你去普拉巴克的村子時，試著完全放鬆，跟著感覺走。放開自己就是了。有時，在印度，得先認輸才能贏。 妳總是能給人智慧的建言，不是嗎？我說，輕聲笑。 那不是智慧，林。我認為明智被過度高估了。智慧只是把所有主觀感情都抽離掉的聰明。我寧可要聰明，不要智慧，永遠。我認識的智者，大部分都叫我頭疼，但我遇過的聰明男女，沒有一個我不喜歡。如果我給了智慧的建議我其實沒給我會說別喝醉，別把錢花光，別愛上村裡的漂亮姑娘。那就是智慧，那就是聰明與智慧的差別。我偏愛聰明，因此我才會告訴你，到那村子去時，不管碰上什麼，都要認輸。OK, I'm leaving.回來時來看我。我很期盼那一天，真的。 她吻了我的臉頰，轉身離去。我忍不住想把她抱在懷裡，吻她。我看著她走，黑色的身影沒入夜色。然後她走進她公寓大門附近的黃色溫暖燈光中，彷彿我注視的眼神已使她的影子復活，彷彿光靠我的心就能讓她從黑暗中跳出，替她染上愛的光澤與色彩。她再度轉身，看到我在看她，然後輕輕關上門，上鎖。 那時候，我很篤定地認為，跟她在一起的最後一小時是個博爾薩利諾帽測驗。走回飯店途中，我問自己是否已通過那測驗，或者沒有。那之後這麼些年，我仍然在想這問題，依舊不得其解。