My grandfather calmly recounted the story of twenty-one years before, as Merlo shook his head, as if to say they had the wrong man, he had never been involved in politics. My grandfather, his explanation complete, then reminded his host that before pouring the oil down his throat, Merlo and his friends had encouraged him by means of caning to say, through his pinched nose, alalà. He himself, being a peaceful man, did not wish to use his cane for that, and so if Merlo would be kind enough to cooperate and say that alalà right away, they could avoid an embarrassing scene. So Merlo, with nasal emphasis, shouted alalà, which, after all, was one of the few things he had learned to do.
Then my grandfather stuck the bottle in his mouth, making him swallow all the oil along with whatever amount of fecal matter was dissolved in it, the whole solution nicely aged at the proper temperature, vintage 1922, controlled denomination of origin.
They left Merlo on his knees, his face against the brick floor, trying to vomit, but his nose had been held shut for long enough for the potion to make its way into the lower reaches of his stomach.
That evening, on his return, my dear grandfather was more radiant than Amalia had ever seen him before. And it seems that Merlo was so shaken up after September 8 -- when the king asked for an armistice and fled to Brindisi, Il Duce was liberated by the Germans, and the Fascists returned -- he did not go to Salò to join Mussolini's new Italian Social Republic, but stayed home instead and worked in his garden.
He too must be dead by now, the wretched man, Amalia said, and she thought that even had he wanted to avenge himself by telling the Fascists, he had likely been so terrified that night that he would have been unable to recall the faces of those men who had entered his house -- and who knows how many others he had made drink oil? "Some of the folks must have kept an eye on him all them years, too, and I reckon he gulped down more than one little bottle, I'm telling you and you can believe it, and that's the sort of business that can make a man lose his taste for politics."
That, then, is who my grandfather was, and it explained those underlined newspapers and Radio London. He was waiting for the turn.
-- excerpt from The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
Songs of Fish II
Before I forget, the last paragraphs of the last chapter:
"Oh, yes, and while I remember, and about time too," he said. "Perhaps you remember that I once took a gold coin off you, a long time ago."
"As if I hadn't forgotten all about that ages ago!" I said.
"Here is your gold coin," said the superintendent. "And may things go well with you. May things go for you accourding to the deserts of all those who have a purpose in life; be it great or small, it doesn't matter, just so long as they are determined not to harm others. And if you ever need a little money, then write to me, because I will soon be having difficulties in getting rid of my monthly pay."
My grandfather opened the door and peeped in to tell me that the boat that was to take me to the ship was on its way.
I kissed my grandmother as she stood there on the quay in her long skirt, with her black shawl over her head and shoulders. I had never embraced this woman before, because embracing was not a habit in our house. I was amazed at how slender and light she was, and wondered if her bones were hollow, like those of a bird. She was like a withered leaf in my embrace for that one brief fraction of a moment that I held her in my arms.
"God be with you, Grímur dear," she said, and added after a second, "And if you should meet a poor old woman like me anywhere in the world, then give her my greetings."
My grandfather Björn of Brekkukot kissed me rather drily and said these words: "I cannot give you any good advice at this stage, my lad. But perhaps I could send you a bundle of dried fish with the midwinter ship. After that, we can see. And now, goodbye."
When the boat had gone a few oar-strokes away from land they were still standing on the beach, gazing after the boy whom an unknown woman had left naked in their arms. They were holding hands, and other people gave way before them, and I could see no one except them. Or were they perhaps so extraordinary that other people melted away and vanished into thin air around them?
When I had clambered up with my bag on to the deck of the mail-boat North Star, I saw them walking back together on their way home: on the way to our turnstile-gate; home to Brekkukot, our house which was to be razed to the ground tomorrow. They were walking hand in hand, like children.
--- Brekkukotsannáll (1957) by Halldór Laxness
"Oh, yes, and while I remember, and about time too," he said. "Perhaps you remember that I once took a gold coin off you, a long time ago."
"As if I hadn't forgotten all about that ages ago!" I said.
"Here is your gold coin," said the superintendent. "And may things go well with you. May things go for you accourding to the deserts of all those who have a purpose in life; be it great or small, it doesn't matter, just so long as they are determined not to harm others. And if you ever need a little money, then write to me, because I will soon be having difficulties in getting rid of my monthly pay."
My grandfather opened the door and peeped in to tell me that the boat that was to take me to the ship was on its way.
I kissed my grandmother as she stood there on the quay in her long skirt, with her black shawl over her head and shoulders. I had never embraced this woman before, because embracing was not a habit in our house. I was amazed at how slender and light she was, and wondered if her bones were hollow, like those of a bird. She was like a withered leaf in my embrace for that one brief fraction of a moment that I held her in my arms.
"God be with you, Grímur dear," she said, and added after a second, "And if you should meet a poor old woman like me anywhere in the world, then give her my greetings."
My grandfather Björn of Brekkukot kissed me rather drily and said these words: "I cannot give you any good advice at this stage, my lad. But perhaps I could send you a bundle of dried fish with the midwinter ship. After that, we can see. And now, goodbye."
When the boat had gone a few oar-strokes away from land they were still standing on the beach, gazing after the boy whom an unknown woman had left naked in their arms. They were holding hands, and other people gave way before them, and I could see no one except them. Or were they perhaps so extraordinary that other people melted away and vanished into thin air around them?
When I had clambered up with my bag on to the deck of the mail-boat North Star, I saw them walking back together on their way home: on the way to our turnstile-gate; home to Brekkukot, our house which was to be razed to the ground tomorrow. They were walking hand in hand, like children.
--- Brekkukotsannáll (1957) by Halldór Laxness
The Alternative History of Yuri Gagarin
The title is of a short story I just wrote in Chinese, in a rare go at writing a story in Chinese ever since the ballad I banged up in the previous year turned my parents queasy. It was briefly posted on my Windows Live Journal before I decided to commit the blog to a totally private mode.
The story is set in Russia in 12 April 1961. Yuri Gagarin becomes the first man in space when the Lastochka spacecraft is launched into an orbit around Earth from what was to become the Baikonur Cosmodrome, while Premier Nikita Khrushchev follows Gagarin's journey closely from a ground station in Khabarovsk.
[Here goes!]
1961年4月12日，哈巴罗夫斯克航天中心。赫鲁晓夫同志望着东方一号火箭，载着加加林同志徐徐地脱离了发射台，脱离了地心引力，心里有几分感慨。伟大的俄罗斯民族啊！今天征服了外太空，明天征服全世界！
早上六点零十三分，哈巴罗夫斯克和加加林恢复了通讯。
（录音）加加林：火箭运行正常。今天天气不错，我几乎看得到整个地球， 不过离积云层还有一段路。
六点二十一分。东方一号飞越堪察加半岛上空。加加林为操纵室的内部概况做了报告。站在通讯员旁的赫鲁晓夫突然记起了什么，忙吩咐通讯员把对讲机传给他。
（录音）传对讲机的嘎啦嘎啦声。。。
赫鲁晓夫：加加林同志，你好吗？
加加林：回主席大人，我现在好极了！
赫鲁晓夫：你现在看得到什么？
加加林：我从这里看得到太平洋，就要到北美洲上空了。这地球实在美啊！
赫鲁晓夫：太好了，你还看得到什么吗？
加加林：还有什么呢？地球的对面不是太阳就是黑咕隆咚的宇宙。
赫鲁晓夫：没有上帝？
加加林：对啊，没有。
赫鲁晓夫：太好了！事实证明了他不存在！这可是人类文明思想的一大跃进！
加加林：哈哈，恭喜恭喜，赫鲁晓夫同志。
六点四十分。
（录音）加加林：那是金星吗？
通讯员：金星好像不在那里。
加加林：也不像是金星。。。咦？这东西怎么有点蓝。
加加林：（过了一会儿）蓝色的亮点呈人状。
赫鲁晓夫：（在一旁）不会吧。难道美国的太空人比我们先走了一步？
加加林：我离这个亮点似乎靠近了。是个人没错。
赫鲁晓夫悟知了其中的严重性，又拿来了对讲机。
嘎啦嘎啦声。
赫鲁晓夫：这人长得象什么？
加加林：他没有带任何徽章，不像是美国人。而且。。。他也不穿太空衣。
赫鲁晓夫：这怎么可能？
通讯员：（在一旁）加加林同志晕船了。
赫鲁晓夫：（在一旁）不准你胡说！
加加林：他穿的衣服有点像睡衣，又白又长。我暂时看不清楚他的脸，因为它的头在发光。
赫鲁晓夫同志愣了。这是真的吗？他的视线不禁转向了控制板上写着“中断连讯”的按钮。因为与此同时，全苏联的人民正在倾听他们之间的谈话。如果这一事件对他们证实了上帝的存在，苏联共产政府就完了。
加加林：这个人是天神吗？它离我只有两百米左右了。我从这里看得很清楚。
这其中一定有破绽！
赫鲁晓夫：你看得清楚他的脸吗？
加加林：很清楚。
赫鲁晓夫：说来给大家听听。
加加林：他看起来五十岁左右，神态很慈祥。
赫鲁晓夫：还有吗？
加加林：背上插着八双翅膀，周边有一些象小天使的东西围着。。。
赫鲁晓夫：他长胡子吗？
加加林：不长胡子。
赫鲁晓夫：（对着通讯员）太荒谬了！怎么能不长胡子？
东方一号的航程使苏联的太空计划首战报捷，加加林成了有史以来第一个进入太空的人。不幸的是，东方一号飞船在巴西上空与哈巴罗夫斯克突然中断了连讯，加加林同志从此下落不明。
后来根据官方调查，因为拜科纳尔航天中心航天技术员的过失，不小心让东方一号的行程转到了太阳的方向，使哈巴罗夫斯克无法继续接收出自太空船的讯号。不过，那天在场的工作人员和赫鲁晓夫都知道，加加林同志去见上帝了。
The story is set in Russia in 12 April 1961. Yuri Gagarin becomes the first man in space when the Lastochka spacecraft is launched into an orbit around Earth from what was to become the Baikonur Cosmodrome, while Premier Nikita Khrushchev follows Gagarin's journey closely from a ground station in Khabarovsk.
[Here goes!]
1961年4月12日，哈巴罗夫斯克航天中心。赫鲁晓夫同志望着东方一号火箭，载着加加林同志徐徐地脱离了发射台，脱离了地心引力，心里有几分感慨。伟大的俄罗斯民族啊！今天征服了外太空，明天征服全世界！
早上六点零十三分，哈巴罗夫斯克和加加林恢复了通讯。
（录音）加加林：火箭运行正常。今天天气不错，我几乎看得到整个地球， 不过离积云层还有一段路。
六点二十一分。东方一号飞越堪察加半岛上空。加加林为操纵室的内部概况做了报告。站在通讯员旁的赫鲁晓夫突然记起了什么，忙吩咐通讯员把对讲机传给他。
（录音）传对讲机的嘎啦嘎啦声。。。
赫鲁晓夫：加加林同志，你好吗？
加加林：回主席大人，我现在好极了！
赫鲁晓夫：你现在看得到什么？
加加林：我从这里看得到太平洋，就要到北美洲上空了。这地球实在美啊！
赫鲁晓夫：太好了，你还看得到什么吗？
加加林：还有什么呢？地球的对面不是太阳就是黑咕隆咚的宇宙。
赫鲁晓夫：没有上帝？
加加林：对啊，没有。
赫鲁晓夫：太好了！事实证明了他不存在！这可是人类文明思想的一大跃进！
加加林：哈哈，恭喜恭喜，赫鲁晓夫同志。
六点四十分。
（录音）加加林：那是金星吗？
通讯员：金星好像不在那里。
加加林：也不像是金星。。。咦？这东西怎么有点蓝。
加加林：（过了一会儿）蓝色的亮点呈人状。
赫鲁晓夫：（在一旁）不会吧。难道美国的太空人比我们先走了一步？
加加林：我离这个亮点似乎靠近了。是个人没错。
赫鲁晓夫悟知了其中的严重性，又拿来了对讲机。
嘎啦嘎啦声。
赫鲁晓夫：这人长得象什么？
加加林：他没有带任何徽章，不像是美国人。而且。。。他也不穿太空衣。
赫鲁晓夫：这怎么可能？
通讯员：（在一旁）加加林同志晕船了。
赫鲁晓夫：（在一旁）不准你胡说！
加加林：他穿的衣服有点像睡衣，又白又长。我暂时看不清楚他的脸，因为它的头在发光。
赫鲁晓夫同志愣了。这是真的吗？他的视线不禁转向了控制板上写着“中断连讯”的按钮。因为与此同时，全苏联的人民正在倾听他们之间的谈话。如果这一事件对他们证实了上帝的存在，苏联共产政府就完了。
加加林：这个人是天神吗？它离我只有两百米左右了。我从这里看得很清楚。
这其中一定有破绽！
赫鲁晓夫：你看得清楚他的脸吗？
加加林：很清楚。
赫鲁晓夫：说来给大家听听。
加加林：他看起来五十岁左右，神态很慈祥。
赫鲁晓夫：还有吗？
加加林：背上插着八双翅膀，周边有一些象小天使的东西围着。。。
赫鲁晓夫：他长胡子吗？
加加林：不长胡子。
赫鲁晓夫：（对着通讯员）太荒谬了！怎么能不长胡子？
东方一号的航程使苏联的太空计划首战报捷，加加林成了有史以来第一个进入太空的人。不幸的是，东方一号飞船在巴西上空与哈巴罗夫斯克突然中断了连讯，加加林同志从此下落不明。
后来根据官方调查，因为拜科纳尔航天中心航天技术员的过失，不小心让东方一号的行程转到了太阳的方向，使哈巴罗夫斯克无法继续接收出自太空船的讯号。不过，那天在场的工作人员和赫鲁晓夫都知道，加加林同志去见上帝了。
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Political Swearwords
Picture a bad day in the art studio. You're nailing two pieces of wood together when suddenly you hit your thumbnail with the hammer. Ow! You exclaim. Damn this politically correct hammer! Your nail is broken so you try to find a band-aid to try to hold it together, at least. You must do it fast, because art lesson is starting in two hours.
The cupboard where the band-aid box lies is too high for you to reach, and you grumble once again about the paternalistic society and the glass ceiling that obstructs your way to the band-aid box. But you forget your pains, as you find a ladder that you could climb on.
Pain is throbbing in your thumb, but there is no time to waste (at least, not after twenty minutes of rolling about the floor whining about neoconservative media) You grab the wooden ladder and mount it against the sink below the band-aid box cupboard. The ancient timber creaks and strains under your weight, but you manage to reach the cupboard. At last!
Your hand opens the cupboard door, whereupon the ladder, up till then conforming to Hooke's law of elasticity, chooses to defy the conventions of society and gives way to your descent.
The gesture of falling apart proves to be a controversial one on the part of the ladder, because while it has stripped you of your fundamental human rights to be provided adequate medical aid, it has in fact put forth a bold critique of your stereotypes and preconcieved notions pertaining to how ladders should behave.
A great step forward for ladderhood, you think, as you get up and look at the sorry splintered wreck. As there are no ladders left, you resolutely repressed the pain in your thumb, wrapped it up in traditional toilet paper instead, and prepared for class.
The cupboard where the band-aid box lies is too high for you to reach, and you grumble once again about the paternalistic society and the glass ceiling that obstructs your way to the band-aid box. But you forget your pains, as you find a ladder that you could climb on.
Pain is throbbing in your thumb, but there is no time to waste (at least, not after twenty minutes of rolling about the floor whining about neoconservative media) You grab the wooden ladder and mount it against the sink below the band-aid box cupboard. The ancient timber creaks and strains under your weight, but you manage to reach the cupboard. At last!
Your hand opens the cupboard door, whereupon the ladder, up till then conforming to Hooke's law of elasticity, chooses to defy the conventions of society and gives way to your descent.
The gesture of falling apart proves to be a controversial one on the part of the ladder, because while it has stripped you of your fundamental human rights to be provided adequate medical aid, it has in fact put forth a bold critique of your stereotypes and preconcieved notions pertaining to how ladders should behave.
A great step forward for ladderhood, you think, as you get up and look at the sorry splintered wreck. As there are no ladders left, you resolutely repressed the pain in your thumb, wrapped it up in traditional toilet paper instead, and prepared for class.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
The Four Horsemen XII
Backwards Time
Despite the long centuries of folklore and popular imagination by the followers of the book, angels are not superhuman beings who live in abodes above the clouds warmed by eternal sunshine. But we always grasp the point that they tended to be quite unattainable and, in most cases, rather strange people.
We also guess that they live in a far-off place. In fact, the other side of the universe does not quite do justice to its farness. That's because if you placed the universe's timeline upon a time-space graph (a world line), it would form a circle: a closed temporal loop of everything. Thinkers in India tend to a cyclical worldview, which is correct, except that in this model, time only goes in one direction.
Visualise the universe's world line as a circle on a cartesian plane. Let the bottommost point be the moment of its birth, and the topmost point be the big crunch. Are you comfortable now? Now if we move upwards from the big bang moment, the universe would branch off both ways, and our known universe is the line on the right.
It would be a different matter if we consider things locally. Causality patterns in the circle travels around it, that is to say that each event can only be caused by another event which precedes itself on the circular path, which is to say that half of space-time will have an opposite causality orientation to the other half.
And the other half is where the Angelic race resides, where things in the future cause things in the past.
The cause for their weirdness is now easily understandable, given the way that they think. Because of the reversed cause-effect relationship between all things, their minds are invariably geared towards remembering what will happen in the future and and speculating about what has happened in the past. In short, extraordinary precognition and dismal memory.
One angel may open the cookie jar and ask another:
"Why will you steal all the cookies from the cookie jar?"
And the other would reply:
"I'm sorry, but I will be starving."
Walk around this oddly familiar otherworld and you would find science fiction novels about the past, fantasy novels about the future, hot debates on whether Eschatology should be taught in schools, and coins and documents whereon dates like 284 BC are proudly emblazoned.
And they tend to see humans in similar terms as we see them, because it would take no less than a miracle for a human to transgress such impassable temporal boundaries and for an angel to do the same (and at the same time, being conditioned to follow weird paths of logic); like angels, humans who land on the opposite world-line are as good as having grown seven pairs of wings, and had their appearances dutifully predicted and, in rare cases that demanded public attention, documented.
Despite the long centuries of folklore and popular imagination by the followers of the book, angels are not superhuman beings who live in abodes above the clouds warmed by eternal sunshine. But we always grasp the point that they tended to be quite unattainable and, in most cases, rather strange people.
We also guess that they live in a far-off place. In fact, the other side of the universe does not quite do justice to its farness. That's because if you placed the universe's timeline upon a time-space graph (a world line), it would form a circle: a closed temporal loop of everything. Thinkers in India tend to a cyclical worldview, which is correct, except that in this model, time only goes in one direction.
Visualise the universe's world line as a circle on a cartesian plane. Let the bottommost point be the moment of its birth, and the topmost point be the big crunch. Are you comfortable now? Now if we move upwards from the big bang moment, the universe would branch off both ways, and our known universe is the line on the right.
It would be a different matter if we consider things locally. Causality patterns in the circle travels around it, that is to say that each event can only be caused by another event which precedes itself on the circular path, which is to say that half of space-time will have an opposite causality orientation to the other half.
And the other half is where the Angelic race resides, where things in the future cause things in the past.
The cause for their weirdness is now easily understandable, given the way that they think. Because of the reversed cause-effect relationship between all things, their minds are invariably geared towards remembering what will happen in the future and and speculating about what has happened in the past. In short, extraordinary precognition and dismal memory.
One angel may open the cookie jar and ask another:
"Why will you steal all the cookies from the cookie jar?"
And the other would reply:
"I'm sorry, but I will be starving."
Walk around this oddly familiar otherworld and you would find science fiction novels about the past, fantasy novels about the future, hot debates on whether Eschatology should be taught in schools, and coins and documents whereon dates like 284 BC are proudly emblazoned.
And they tend to see humans in similar terms as we see them, because it would take no less than a miracle for a human to transgress such impassable temporal boundaries and for an angel to do the same (and at the same time, being conditioned to follow weird paths of logic); like angels, humans who land on the opposite world-line are as good as having grown seven pairs of wings, and had their appearances dutifully predicted and, in rare cases that demanded public attention, documented.
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