light goes out.
A gurgling sound, water is flowing down the stone steps in places. Now and then a dim light flashes a few times.
The curtains open noisily. A woman’s bare back appears in front of the curtains. She opens the window, and outside is a mass of gray rooftops. Farther off, one after the other, are endless balconies and apartments of old buildings. The dark blue sky is unusually clear, but it could be morning or dusk. The woman turns and leans on the laced wrought-iron railing outside the window, wearily. Her face and body are in the dark and only her eyes glint, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. A bracelet on the wrist of her hand that grips the railing also has a faint glint. A car speeding by brings with it the rumbling of the waves.
Seagulls circle the sea, screeching, as if they have found something and are following the rising and falling of the waves. The waves are huge, and between the crests are expanses of smooth, deep blue sea.
Underfoot is withered grass, swaying in the strong wind, soundlessly. He is walking on a mountain slope and he goes behind the ruins of a wall where a few young people are waiting for him. One of them is wearing glasses, and the thick lenses for severe shortsightedness look likefish eyes. Another, a young woman with short hair and dark complexion, is eating melon seeds. She spits out the shells that float and then drop into the clumps of grass. Seeing him arrive, without a word, they head down the slope together. Below is a cluster of houses, a bell tower, and a football field.
In the underground cellar that has filled with seawater, the mattress soaked in murky water slowly floats up. The faint rumble of cars driving past sounds like the wind.
The young people go into a long corridor where sections of sunlight broken by pillars appear unusually bright. It is a classroom with the doors and windows wide open but empty of people. It is filled with tables and chairs that pass them, one by one, as their footsteps sound after they have passed.
At the end of the corridor is a room. The door is shut but there is a sign. They come to a halt and look at the sign that has nothing written on it, hesitate, seem to be having a discussion, then knock on the door. It opens instantly, soundlessly. Inside the room, teachers are sitting at desks as if they were students, all busy marking homework. While they are wondering whether to ask someone, a young teacher appears behind them. She is as young as she was in those times, only her face is pale and she looks to be made of wax. Fatigue shows all over her face; her eyes are puffy and have grayish shadows. She says she will escort them to the principal and also says she is delightedthat, so many years after graduating, they have come to visit their old school. She says she remembers the class, back then they were all children but full of mischief. As she talks and jokes, her voice is coming from a paper person. Of course she remembers the time when there was a cruel struggle right on those very desks. Someone had started banging on a desk and everyone unthinkingly followed, so that every desk was banging. As she mounted the dais, textbooks under her arm, her rounded eyes swept the class, but she couldn’t isolate the ringleader. Confused, she threw down her textbooks and ran out in tears. Everyone was scared stupid, then suddenly it was quiet and nobody made a sound.
There is a red-colored cross on the door of the medical clinic in the passageway. She points to the window. The small, dark room is piled with junk as well as some musical instruments— erhu , pipa , gongs, and drums—all of them covered in dust. He knows that this used to be where students were kept after class as punishment for failing to hand in homework. Those passing the window can see that miserable desk scarred with knife cuts and covered in ink stains and pencil marks.
He stares at the desk for some time and, from where he is looking, there clearly emerge, one on top
A gurgling sound, water is flowing down the stone steps in places. Now and then a dim light flashes a few times.
The curtains open noisily. A woman’s bare back appears in front of the curtains. She opens the window, and outside is a mass of gray rooftops. Farther off, one after the other, are endless balconies and apartments of old buildings. The dark blue sky is unusually clear, but it could be morning or dusk. The woman turns and leans on the laced wrought-iron railing outside the window, wearily. Her face and body are in the dark and only her eyes glint, like a cat’s eyes in the dark. A bracelet on the wrist of her hand that grips the railing also has a faint glint. A car speeding by brings with it the rumbling of the waves.
Seagulls circle the sea, screeching, as if they have found something and are following the rising and falling of the waves. The waves are huge, and between the crests are expanses of smooth, deep blue sea.
Underfoot is withered grass, swaying in the strong wind, soundlessly. He is walking on a mountain slope and he goes behind the ruins of a wall where a few young people are waiting for him. One of them is wearing glasses, and the thick lenses for severe shortsightedness look likefish eyes. Another, a young woman with short hair and dark complexion, is eating melon seeds. She spits out the shells that float and then drop into the clumps of grass. Seeing him arrive, without a word, they head down the slope together. Below is a cluster of houses, a bell tower, and a football field.
In the underground cellar that has filled with seawater, the mattress soaked in murky water slowly floats up. The faint rumble of cars driving past sounds like the wind.
The young people go into a long corridor where sections of sunlight broken by pillars appear unusually bright. It is a classroom with the doors and windows wide open but empty of people. It is filled with tables and chairs that pass them, one by one, as their footsteps sound after they have passed.
At the end of the corridor is a room. The door is shut but there is a sign. They come to a halt and look at the sign that has nothing written on it, hesitate, seem to be having a discussion, then knock on the door. It opens instantly, soundlessly. Inside the room, teachers are sitting at desks as if they were students, all busy marking homework. While they are wondering whether to ask someone, a young teacher appears behind them. She is as young as she was in those times, only her face is pale and she looks to be made of wax. Fatigue shows all over her face; her eyes are puffy and have grayish shadows. She says she will escort them to the principal and also says she is delightedthat, so many years after graduating, they have come to visit their old school. She says she remembers the class, back then they were all children but full of mischief. As she talks and jokes, her voice is coming from a paper person. Of course she remembers the time when there was a cruel struggle right on those very desks. Someone had started banging on a desk and everyone unthinkingly followed, so that every desk was banging. As she mounted the dais, textbooks under her arm, her rounded eyes swept the class, but she couldn’t isolate the ringleader. Confused, she threw down her textbooks and ran out in tears. Everyone was scared stupid, then suddenly it was quiet and nobody made a sound.
There is a red-colored cross on the door of the medical clinic in the passageway. She points to the window. The small, dark room is piled with junk as well as some musical instruments— erhu , pipa , gongs, and drums—all of them covered in dust. He knows that this used to be where students were kept after class as punishment for failing to hand in homework. Those passing the window can see that miserable desk scarred with knife cuts and covered in ink stains and pencil marks.
He stares at the desk for some time and, from where he is looking, there clearly emerge, one on top
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