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Chapter 13 ★now

Hunger Interlude 勒.克萊喬 5110Words 2023-02-05
That was the end of the day, perhaps.On a July day in Paris, the hotel room was unbearably hot.In order to escape this suffocating air, I walked aimlessly in the streets from morning to night.I didn't go to see those monuments.In a way, I don't feel like a tourist.Something connects me to this city, even though I'm thousands of miles away, and what it is, I don't know.A strange feeling, somewhere between guilt and suspicion, perhaps a quarrel between lovers.Instinctively, my footsteps and the route of the bus lead me to the south of the city, to the neighborhood I know well.It was the name of a succession of streets, avenues, avenues, squares, and piazzas, which my mother had been saying constantly since I was a child, and which I had stuck in my mind.Every time she mentions Paris, these are the names that come up again and again:

Fagu Yehe Street Doctor Hu Street Volunteer Street Vijay︱Lebhang Street Rue Cotentin Ahmoshik Street Ojiha Street Main Street Avenue Montparnasse besides: Entrepreneur Street Lumeler Street commercial street Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Help I searched for the place where the winter bike velodrome used to be [note]. 【Annotation】The original site of the Winter Velodrome is located in the 15th arrondissement of Paris, on the south bank of the Seine River. It was demolished in 1959. Now it is called Platform (Plate︱Forme). A large square raised above the ground, desolate and swept away by the wind, several children were playing on it.Surrounded by buildings, the 15-story high-rise building, its dilapidated appearance makes people think it is a closed and uninhabited building at first glance.It was only later that I saw clothes drying on the balcony, a satellite dish, and curtains on the windows.In the flower bed were some geraniums scorched by the sun.

It was a desert, a high no man's land.Each building has a weird, campy name attached to it, like a science-fiction setting: they're called the Island of Orion, Cassiopeia Building, Alpha Orion, Cosmos, Omega, Nebula Building, Reflection Building.If it was before, people would have named it after Greek, Indian, and Nordic goddesses.When the platform was built, the architects dreamed of space, they came back from other worlds, they were abducted by aliens or maybe, they watched too many movies. I walk on platforms that are cracked everywhere.There were no shadows, and the sunlight reflected off the concrete and the walls of the building was scorching.The little ones I met just now reappeared, and their voices echoed like some kind of echo.One of them, I heard others say his name, Harkin, he came up to me and asked: What are you looking for?He looked provocative and aggressive.This large abandoned square, these high-rise buildings, belong to them, this is their place of play and adventure.Here, at their feet, fifty years ago, something atrocious, unimaginable, unforgivable, had happened.Perhaps the same sound of children chasing and playing, laughing and calling each other among rows of seats!There are echoes of the same, which once echoed between the closed walls of this stadium, drowning out the complaints and accusations of the women.On the platform, chunks of concrete peeled off the walls.The Yingying building is pasted with turquoise tiles.Orion is night blue.There are long balconies across the universe. There is a round wheel on the balconies, and some kind of cross with a circle is nailed in the middle. It used to be golden, which reminds people of Anke, the talisman of life in ancient Egypt.These tall buildings are the pyramids of our time, as vain and useless as their glorious ancestors and certainly cannot last as long.There was a tall, thin building, cylindrical, like the minaret of a mosque, overlooking the whole block.Given the location of the building, I calculated that it should be approximately at the geometric center of the lanes of the Winter Velodrome.

Walking to the end of this terrace, past the abandoned Chinese restaurant, past the decaying Behenys Staircase (another weird name), I saw the city again.Below the platform, covered streets, several parking lots, a Fenner Petroleum gas station, a super or something, rows of empty, almost suspicious offices.Peno Four Brothers Street, Linova Street, Hope︱Keller Engineer Street.Where is the ladder seat?Where is the door where Leonora stepped out of the police van and walked into the stadium with all the prisoners?Who is waiting for them there?Was there someone checking in there, like checking invitations to a celebration?Or just put them down, at the door, in the hot sun, and have them there looking out over the huge driveway of the arena, as if the game was about to start?She was probably looking around, looking for a familiar face, a seat to sit down, a shaded corner, or maybe she was looking for a toilet.She should have understood at once that she had fallen into a trap, all the men and women here, all the children, had fallen into a trap, she understood that it would not be a matter of one or two hours, it would not be a matter of a day , but forever, there will be no exit, no hope

I opened the door and walked into the photo gallery next to the synagogue.My instinct told me that this should be the vertical line of the big white chimney in the center of the platform.I'm not particularly interested in places of religious ceremonies.Here, it's different from other places.The face in the photograph pierced my thoughts, opening a path, straight to my heart, into my memory.The faces here are nameless and have nothing to do with me, yet I feel the shock of their reality, just as I used to see Nantes, Bordeaux, Marseilles in the archives of Rue Oudinot[Note] Register of the slave trade in these ports.

[Annotation] Rue Oudinot: The seat of the Ministry of Overseas Departments and Territories of France. Marion, a native of Capri [Note 1], Ile-de-France [Note 2].Quinbao, Capri people, Ile-de-France.Lagon, a native of Malaba [Note 3], Pondicherry City [Note 4].Lanava, Malagasy, Antongil Bay [Note 5].Thomas, mulatto, Isle of Bourbon [Note 6]. [Annotation 1] Kafferi people: A discriminatory term for blacks in southern Africa, just like negro (black ghost) in the English context.But on the islands of the Indian Ocean, the word is widely used to refer to people from Africa or Madagascar, and is not derogatory.

【Annotation 2】Ile-de-France: The old name of Mauritius Island. [Annotation 3] Maleba people: Refers to the Indians of Reunion and Mauritius. [Annotation 4] Pondicherry City: A port city in southeastern India. In 1673, the French East India Company bought this small town and became a colony. [Annotation 5] Antungil Bay: The largest bay in Madagascar, located in the northeast of the island, facing the Indian Ocean, was an important trading center for black slaves in the southeast of the Indian Ocean in the 18th century. 【Annotation 6】Porbon Island: The old name of Reunion Island. The kids stood by the driveway, the adults behind.In Delancey, under those straight-lined buildings. (The buildings were too much like those new ghettos in Satuville, Houyer, LeHanchy.) They wore coats that were too hot for the season, and the kids wore berets.One of them, standing in the front, has a star hanging on the heart.They smile for the camera, they pose as if for a family photo.They don't know they are about to die.

[Annotation] Satuville, Houye, and Lehangy: They are all towns located on the outskirts of Paris and belong to the Greater Paris area. On a map, I read the horrific geography[Note]: Fuhlsbuttel Neuengamme Neuengamme Esterwegen Esterwegen Ravensbruck Ravensbruck Sachsenhausen Orianenburg Orianenburg Treblinka Hertogenbosch Hertogenbosch Bergen︱Belsen Bergen︱Belsen Kulmhof Kulmhof Moringen Moringen Dora Dora Lichtenburg Lichtenburg Sobibor Sobibor Niederhagen︱Wewelsburg Niederhagen︱Wewelsburg Bad︱Suza Bad︱Suza Lublin︱Majdanek Lublin︱Majdanek Buchenwald Buchenwald Saxonburg Sachsenburg Gross︱Rosen Gross︱Rosen Belzec Belzec

Theresienstadt Theresienstadt Plaszow Auschwitz︱BirkenauAuschwitz︱Birkenau Hinzert Hinzert Flossenburg Natzweiler︱Struthof Natzweiler︱Struthof Dachau Mauthausen 【Note】These concentration camps are located in Germany, Austria, and Poland. And the names of the depots, Delancey, Jouarrieux, Pithivier, San Sabal, Bolzano, San Dalmazzo, Ventimiglia.Definitely go around and get to know each of these places, how life got back on track there, and see the trees that people planted there, and the monuments, the inscriptions, and especially the faces that are now Kong, look at all the people who live there, hear the sound of them talking, shouting, laughing, the sound of the city built nearby, the sound of the passing time

[Annotation] Delancey, Huayarrieux, Pithiviers are in France; the rice mills of San Sabal, Bolzano, San Dalmazzo, Ventimiglia are in Italy. It makes people dizzy and nauseous here.I walk down the street and along the platforms.On the Gehennel Causeway, cars and buses lined up in a long iron snake, its links colliding at intersections and honking their horns.The Seine should be the same as these few days in July 1942. Perhaps Leonora and others also glimpsed it from between the iron bars of the window when the large prison van of the police station drove towards the velodrome. Same sight.The history of river washing is well known.The rivers let the bodies disappear without a trace, and nothing can stay on the banks for long.

My mother never mentioned Swan Boulevard to me.Instinctively, however, I descended the steps to this long path in the middle of the river, in the shade of the ash trees.Although the scenery here is beautiful, there are few people walking.A couple took an eight-year-old girl with them, a few tourists from South America or Italy, and a young Japanese woman in black was there taking pictures of trees.Two or three lovers sat on benches, confiding in low voices, without looking at the Eiffel Tower. I stopped by a crooked old tree.The tree was by the Seine, and the lower branches looked like some kind of reptilian poking out of the mud in the river.Under the trees, between the roots, long black algae swayed like hair in the waves. Straight ahead, on the other side of the river, the platform seemed unreal in the steaming heat.I looked at those tall buildings. Under the sky that was about to end the day, they were no different from black stone monuments.In the center, there is a tall building that looks like an illusion, without a head, without eyes, soaring into the sky.I understand that it is not necessary to go further.The history of the missing is rooted here, forever. The river still flows slowly, and the city drifts, letting its memory flow away.Harkin, the little guy on the platform, he was right.With cold eyes, smooth forehead, and gloomy eyes, he said: What are you looking for? Swan Island, Mauritius. Isla Cisneros [Note].I never thought they were so close.That's what I'm thinking about now as I'm walking to the other bank, and I'm quickening my pace because a torrential rain is coming down the Seine, and I can't help but smile from the bottom of my heart. [Annotation] Mauritius Island was first discovered in Western history in 1511 by the Portuguese Dominique.Fernandez discovered it and named it Ilha do Cirne (Portuguese, Swan Island). Isla Cisneros should be Spanish, but the spelling of the swan Cisneros is slightly different from the modern Spanish cisnes. The last few bars of "Bolero" are tense, violent, and almost unbearable.The music rose and filled the entire performance hall. At this moment, all the audience stood up and watched the dancers on the stage spin and speed up their movements.People were shouting, their voices drowned out by the sound of gongs and cymbals.Ida.Rubinstein [Note], the dancers have become puppets, swept by madness.Flute, clarinet, English horn, trumpet, saxophone, violin, bass drum, fret, timpani, all the instruments yielded, all strained to snap the strings, to strangle themselves, to force their voices, to strike Break their voices, break the selfish silence of the world. 【Annotation】Ida.Rubinstein (1885︱1960): A dancer of Russian origin and patron of the arts, Ravel created "Bolero" for her, and she was responsible for the production and performance of the premiere. When my mother told me about the premiere of Bolero, she told me about her excitement, the shouting and cheering and booing and uproar.In the same hall, somewhere, there was a young man she had never met Claude.Li Wei ︱ Shi Tuo 【Note】.Like him, my mother confided to me long afterward that this music changed her life. 【Annotation】Claude.Li Wei︱Stor (1908︱2009): French anthropologist, one of the founders of structuralism, author of "Wild Thinking", "Raw Food and Cooked Food" and other books, for the twentieth century The humanities have had a huge impact. Now, I understand why.I know what this repeated phrase, regulated by fixed rhythms and crescendo changes, meant to people of their generation. The musical work "Bolero" is different from other pieces.This is a prophetic prophecy.It tells a story of anger, of hunger.When it ends in violence, the silence that follows can be horrifying to the unwary survivor. I wrote this story in memory of a girl who, without intending to, was already a heroine at twenty. (End of the book)
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