Edgar asked me, "Did you like this pose when you did it with Andy Garcia?"
I tried to hurt him.
I said, "I love Anderson. I hardly ever say no to any gesture he proposes."
Edgar's face twisted ugly.
He lowered his voice, and suddenly put his hand around my throat: "Alan, you don't know what I have done for you. Don't tell me that you love Andymond in front of me."
A strong sense of suffocation.
I heard Edgar laughing.
"You know whose name you were calling in your sleep when you were brought here? Oh, Alan, if by choking you could get Andrémon Garcia out of your mind, I would This kills you..."
If it weren't for the sudden gunshot outside the door, I almost thought I would die like this.
Separated from the war, the world and the people I love.
Edgar let me go suddenly, rolled out of bed, and leaned against the door.
The gunshot outside the door was echoed clearly.
He listened for a while, walked back to the bed with a sullen face, uncuffed me, threw the clothes to me, and cursed: "Damn headquarters, you move so fast."
My heart was beating suddenly, and I longed to rush to the door. I imagined the moment the door opened, Andemond standing outside. I don't know who's out there, but I'm desperately hoping someone will come in and take me out of the dark room and back into the warm August sun.
Edgar cursed twice and put a gun to my head.
"Alan, if you dare to shout a word, I will dare to pull the trigger."
The voice is in the throat, but it cannot come out.
He suddenly smiled, bowed his head and kissed my cheek: "Relax, it's not your Andymond."
On the opposite wall hung a large canvas of mine in a white relief frame, the only brightly colored thing in the room. I thought it was just Edgar's personal hobby. However, he walked to the canvas, looked at the young man lying in the shade of the tree, and then took down the entire oil painting.
Behind the canvas is a small space, just big enough for two people to hide.
Edgar went in with the gun against me.
When the painting was hung up again, the world was in darkness. We are stuck together in a small space, isolated from the outside world. Outside sounds come through the canvas, humming and unreal.
First came the sound of gunfire breaking the lock.
Then there was the sound of several men's heavy leather shoes stomping on the concrete floor.
I actually heard German.
My German was taught by Anderson back then. It's not very good, and I can barely understand it.
"The young eagle hid Alan Custer here?" The speaker was an Englishman, speaking in suffocated German: "Why is there no one?"
The sound of finding something, the bed seemed to be turned over.
"Since the headquarters asked to kill Alan Custer, we have not been in touch with the young eagle for three days." The person who was questioned spoke pure German. He was silent for a moment, as if he was looking at something: "This behavior already constitutes a betrayal."
The sound of big-toed leather shoes kicking the wall: "Damn it, the mixed blood of the Italians is unreliable! I was so dazzled by an English kid! Hey, Ludwig, look, it's this kid!"
They stood in front of the oil painting.
I was afraid that the sound of our heavy breathing would be heard outside the canvas. In the dark, Edgar hugged me tightly and covered my mouth with his hand.
Later I asked Edgar why he did this.
He said that I was too desperate at the time, and he was afraid that I would choose to die under the guns of the organization.
The man named Ludwig seemed to tap the oil painting with his fingers: "Solid."
He looked at the canvas: "Well, it looks really good."
After waiting in the dark for an unknown amount of time, the group of people finally left. They left a companion to wait for our return, and then went elsewhere.
He took off the picture frame without a sound and slipped out, I heard a muffled sound.
He said, "Alan, you can come out now."
The whole room was in a mess, and all the boxes had bayonet marks. The bed was turned over and the sheets fell to the floor. The remaining German man lay face down in a pool of blood—Edgar held a suppressed gun in his hand.
In theory, this man was his companion.
He is protecting me.
I remembered Edgar's words.
"Oh, Ellen. You don't know what I've done for you..."
He didn't leave in a hurry, but found a small bag of glucose powder from the mess on the floor, poured it into a half-broken cup, and went to the sink next to it to fill up the water.
He came over, held my back, brought the cup close to me, and said in an almost begging tone, "Oh, Ellen, drink it, you want to live."
The hunger strike for several days and the tension just now made me very weak. I've never found glucose water so sweet. Edgar seemed satisfied. He watched me drink, then threw the glass away and opened the door of the room.
For the first time I saw what it was like outside.
This is the basement of an abandoned building, and outside the door is a long upward concrete staircase. There was supposed to be a door at the end of the stairs, and the first shot we heard was the sound of a German spy shooting through the lock - now that the door was open, the faint light of the sky came in from the far end, as if from heaven.
Half of my strength was on Edgar, and I was almost dragged out of the basement by him.
Walking into the warm sunlight again, the bright light almost stung my eyes so that I couldn't open them.
There was the sound of planes whistling overhead, and the piercing air-raid sirens pierced the air.
It took me a long time to get used to it.
I found myself standing in a bombed out neighborhood. Half of the street is gone, and the ground is full of crumbling ruins. Collapsed windows, a child's toy wooden horse beside the ruins. In some places, there were unwashed blood stains, dark red, glaringly left on the wreckage of the gray brick wall.
Edgar stood behind me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "The London raids have been going on for days."
It was a period of hiding, we changed a lot of places.
Edgar was on the run from his own organization, German Nazi spies lurking in Britain. If found, he will be secretly sent back to Berlin for trial, and I will be shot on the spot.
I asked him, do you regret it
Edgar didn't speak, he just smiled, walked over, and hugged me tenderly.
It was a long time before he seemed sorry and said: "Allen, I can't let you help Britain break the code, but I can't hand you over to Berlin either."
The lingering sound of the air-raid siren was outside the window, and we were hiding in the old crumbling house, with German planes dropping bombs at any moment. Edgar still locked me up, and I gave up dying and began to eat. He seemed satisfied. London under the air raids was terribly short of supplies, and the lines for ordinary patriotic bread and limited butter could be lined up from one end of the street to the other, yet Edgar always managed to get us food back, even milk.
Once he brought back a bag of cellophane-wrapped candies, little balls, flavored with almonds, wrapped in transparent light-blue wrappers. At that time, the sky was always a dry and pale gray, accompanied by the roar of fighter jets. He fed me a candy, smoothed out the candy wrapper, and showed me to the window.
"Alan, look at you, what a blue sky, does it look like Cambridge?"
I kept that candy wrapper all the time, and took it out to face the window when no one was around. Through the cellophane, the roses on the window sill will be dyed light blue, but if you look up a little, you can see a whole blue transparent and clean sky.
I don't know what Andymond was doing during my captivity, whether he was busy with the Battle of Britain or if he found time to find me. I know that Andrew's time is beyond his control, so gradually I no longer expect him to stand outside the door when I hear the lock turn.
Edgar didn't mention LSD again. He lost touch with the doctor who would prescribe the drug, but I know that doesn't mean his attempts are over.
Every time he looks at me, there is affection in his eyes, as if he wants to engrave the current me in his mind, because maybe the next day, or the next hour, the living Alan Custer he loved It will go away with the medicine.
In order to prevent air raids, all houses will turn off their lights in the evening. In the evening, he always came back on time, handcuffed my other hand to the bedpost, and then took off my coat and went to bed. The night wind blew the white gauze curtains, and I saw the burning sunset fall from the end of the street, staining red the remains of the bombed buildings in the adjacent street.
Every evening, there will be a rape|violence, until the golden glow disappears from the window sill, and the world and my consciousness fall into darkness together.
Edgar was never gentle. We sit on the bed and he likes to hug my waist and get into me from behind. He never looked at my face during sex, but forced me to call his name over and over again.
If I called Andremon, his actions would be so fierce that people could not breathe, and when he woke up the next day, there were clear bloodstains on the sheets.
He pressed every gesture that Andrew and I had used, and then repeated them all in the dark, with greater violence and violence.
During that time, the day was terribly empty, and the night was terribly empty. Thoughts seem to be floating in the air, never returning to this body.
Edgar even recorded the scenes of our making | love on his drawing board, using realistic oil painting style and delicate brushstrokes. He'd force me to look at them, hug me tight, and say, "Ellen, I love you."
I don't know how long this empty and painful day lasted. Until one morning, Edgar hurried back from the outside, uncuffed my handcuffs, put a gun against my chin, and said, "Alan, follow me to America. The ship at night is leaving now."
I told him, "Go away."
I noticed he had changed back into the dark black suit and looked a little sad.
He said, "Alan, I've got in touch with the doctor, and I'll give you LSD in a moment."