As the Nazi war swept across Europe, a Jewish couple fled to the United States with their family, leaving behind their small house and tattered furniture. Edgar picked the lock and we ducked in.
On the coffee table in the living room, there was a tea set that was too late to take away. It was chipped and covered with thick dust. There is a family photo on the fireplace, a young couple holding their five or six-year-old daughter in their arms. The little girl inherited a typical Jewish face, high nose bridge, curly black hair, and cherry-like plump and rosy lips.
About the same age as I was when my parents left.
When Edgar forced me from the bedroom to the living room, I subconsciously glanced at the photo, and finally sighed, what a happy family. Lovers and loved ones are together, and they will be happy forever.
Edgar gestured for me to sit on the couch, calm as if this was the expected end. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He blocked the door and talked with the visitor for a few minutes, then turned half of his body to let the visitor pass: "This is Allen."
He turned around and smiled at me comfortingly: "Alan, don't be afraid, it will be fine in a while."
The doctor wears a brown slack hat that hides his face. He put down the medicine box and looked in my direction, as if suddenly froze.
He walked over quickly, leaned over to look at me, and then scolded Edgar: "It's terrible. If you keep this prisoner, he will die."
My heart never beat so fast.
There is no rigorous environment like a laboratory. Glass test tubes and syringes are placed on the coffee table, and the solution is finally colorless and transparent. Ed, he rolled up my sleeves, and sat next to me, holding me tight with one arm, while covering my eyes with the other.
"It's time to start," he said.
Edgar's arm around me tightened suddenly as the needle advanced into the vein. I felt something moist against my bare|exposed shoulders, and I thought he was crying, but his voice was very calm.
He kissed my neck and whispered, "Ellen, it'll be a while..."
At that time, it was more nervous than feeling pain. I don't know what the fluid that is being injected into the vein is and what it will do. I believe the person who injected them into my body, the moment I saw him, my heart almost jumped out of my chest.
Arnold also comforted me: "Don't worry, it's okay, it will be fine in a while."
Edgar blindfolded me so I couldn't see his expression, but I could imagine his narrow eyes squinting under the bonnet. Arnold appeared, indicating that everything will turn around. Maybe my Andemon is not far away, silently controlling all this. I'm going to live until the end of the war, sober and happy.
I want to believe in Andrew, he can put an end to all this pain.
Later I asked Arnold what exactly he had injected me with. The psychiatrist raised his legs triumphantly and leaned on the sofa: "Physical saline. Little Alan, you looked terrible at the time, I didn't even dare to take sleeping pills."
Edgar finally let me go, he drew his gun, Arnold obediently raised his hands, turned his back, and walked slowly out the door.
When he reached the porch, he turned suddenly and drew his gun.
Edgar drew his gun at the same time.
But his gun was pointed at me.
"Put the gun down, or I'll kill Allen."
Arnold said: "If you really want to kill Alan Custer, you won't be hunted down by people from your own organization, will you?"
Edgar remained silent.
His gun was not put down.
"I'll kill Alan and kill myself." He said, then tilted his head childishly, asking for my opinion: "Alan, you're not afraid of bullets, are you?"
I stared into his eyes: "You're crazy."
Edgar seldom denied what I said, and nodded: "Yes, most talented painters are lunatics."
He stared fiercely at Arnold: "I'm crazy! If Allen is still useful to your intelligence system, put down the gun and get out!"
After half an hour of stalemate, Arnold finally shrugged and backed out. He made a reassuring gesture to me, then turned to Edgar: "Hilrath, you'd better look out of the window."
Edgar locked the door, held his gun against me and went up to the second floor. We don't use the room above, and every step kicks up little puffs of dust. He pushed open the window, looked out sullenly, then grabbed my arm and dragged me to the window, so vicious that it almost broke my arm.
"Alan, you knew from the beginning that the doctor was from Andrémon Garcia, didn't you?"
"Yes." I told him, "Because I don't want to become an idiot yet. Andymond waits for me to go back, the intelligence agency still needs me, and I still want to live."
Edgar pushed me toward the window, holding the gun to my temple.
I saw heavily armed soldiers standing on the street downstairs. Armed with submachine guns, they surrounded the building.
I saw Andrew.
He was wearing a straight dark blue military uniform, standing just outside the encirclement, still so handsome and handsome. Peter followed behind him. Arnold stood by and reported the situation, but he didn't seem to listen.
When I saw him, he also saw me. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something to me, but he finally gave up, shook his head, and just stared at me from a distance.
Oh that's great. At that moment, the gray sky in my memory suddenly became brighter, and I saw Anderson, Arnold, and my colleagues again. Bathed in the sun, they look fresh and beautiful.
Andremon asked for negotiations.
Yet there was no negotiation.
Not remembering how long this crushing confrontation lasted, Edgar suddenly let out a heavy sigh. He put down the gun, hugged my waist from behind, and said, "Alan, I lost because I was never cruel enough to you."
It's been a long time since Edgar hugged me so tenderly.
At that moment, he seemed to have returned to the prim and rigid youth in Cambridge.
He said: "Alan, I like your gray-blue eyes, they remind you of the mild skies in England... I have always wanted to travel with you after the war. Even if you don't remember who you are, if you don't remember I am Who can't even do simple calculations, I also want to take you to those places we planned to go to but never realized - the foothills of the Alps, the plains full of sunflowers in Russia, the vineyards on the Rhine... I Painting, you are my model."
I do not know what to say.
I can barely speak: "If you weren't German, if there hadn't been a war... the result might have been different."
Edgar broke my face and kissed me. This kiss was long and deep, no longer carrying his previous aggression and violence. Finally he let go of me, pointed to the stairs, and said, "Come on, Ellen."
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, he suddenly came after me, lying on the top of the dusty stairs on the second floor and waving at me. His smile is gentle and his eyes are shining, as if he is still the handsome young man studying in Cambridge.
"Alan, you'd better stay away from Andrew. Homosexuality is against the law."
It's like the usual parting when we were in the library a few years ago, waved, made a joke, then parted ways, see you the next day.
I walked out of the house where I had been imprisoned for a long time, and stepped into the sun.
Andrew is not far away. He ran towards me.
Overhead came the roar of planes, and air raid sirens blared through the neighborhood.
The earth began to tremble, and a heat wave swept across.
Someone yelled: "The German plane! The German plane! Bomb!"
There was a deafening explosion very close by. Andemon pressed me to the ground and shouted, "Don't move."
There were many rounds of bombs, women screaming and crying, men cursing and crying for help. By sunset, the entire neighborhood had been bombed beyond recognition, including Edgar's house.
The first bomb landed right on top of it, igniting a fire that reduced it to rubble.