The morning light has illuminated half of the sky, but the land of the West Asian Republic is still shrouded in darkness, as if the night that has just passed has condensed into a layer of black sediment covering it.
Mr. Grant drove a small truck full of garbage out of the gate of the United Nations humanitarian aid base. All the West Asian workers employed by the base had left, so they had to take out the garbage themselves these days, but this was the last time. Tomorrow, the last group of UN personnel left in West Asia will evacuate, and the day after tomorrow or later, war will come to this country again.
Grant parked the car next to a garbage dump not far away, got out of the car, grabbed a garbage bag from the car and threw it out. When he grabbed the second one, he held it in the air for a few seconds. In this dead silent world, he saw the first moving thing, a small black dot on the horizon. It jumped slightly, as if denying that it was part of this black earth all the time, like a sunspot against the bright white background of the morning light.
A sound drew Grant's attention back to the nearby area. He saw several dark shadows moving towards the garbage bag he had just thrown away, like a few stones on the ground moving. They were several scavengers who came every day, men, women, and children. This country, which had been blockaded for 17 years, was dying of hunger.
Grant looked up and could already make out that the black dot in the distance was a running human body. Against the brighter morning light, he now felt that the black dot looked like a small insect dancing in front of a flame.
At this time, there was a commotion among the scavengers. Someone picked up half a sausage, and he quickly stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with abandon. The others stared at him blankly, which made them stand still for a few seconds, but only a few seconds, and then they carefully searched in the torn garbage bag again. In their consciousness, which was numbed by hunger, the food in the garbage was brighter than the rising sun.
Grant looked up again. The runner was getting closer. From her figure, he could tell that she was a woman. She was thin. In Grant's third impression, she looked like a sapling swaying in the morning light. When she was close enough to hear her breathing, she still couldn't hear the footsteps. She ran to the garbage dump, her legs gave out and she fell to the ground. She was a teenage girl, dark-skinned, wearing a worn sports vest and shorts. Her eyes attracted Grant. Those eyes were surprisingly large in her thin face, making her look like some kind of nocturnal animal. Unlike the numb eyes of other scavengers, there was something burning in these eyes in the morning light, a mixture of desire, pain and fear. Her existence was concentrated in these eyes. In comparison, her small face and thin body seemed just a withered branch attached to the fruit. Her pale face and panting sounded like the sound of wind in the distance, and a layer of white dry skin appeared on her mouth. A scavenger muttered something to her, and Grant tried to catch the pronunciation of the West Asian language and roughly understood:
"Xinni, you're late again. Don't expect others to save food for you!"
The girl named Xinni lowered her eyes to the torn garbage bag, but it was very difficult, as if something in the infinite distance was strongly attracting her. But the feeling of hunger soon appeared, and she began to look for food in the garbage like everyone else. Now, the remaining food was almost picked up. She only found an opened can of fish, grabbed a few fish bones from it, chewed them, and swallowed them with difficulty. She wanted to get up again to look for it, but fainted beside the garbage pile. Grant walked over and picked her up. Her sweat-soaked body was so soft that it was unbelievable, as if it was a cloth bag placed on his arms and knees.
"She's hungry. She's done this many times." Someone said to Grant in very authentic English. The latter put Sinni gently on the ground, stood up, took out a bottle of milk from the cab, squatted down to feed her. Sinni quickly smelled the taste of milk in her coma and drank it in big gulps.
"Where is your home?" Seeing that Sinni had become a little more awake, Grant asked loudly in stiff West Asian.
"She is dumb."
"Does she live far from here?" Grant looked up and asked the English-speaking scavenger, who wore glasses and had a scraggly beard.
"No, she lives in a refugee camp nearby, but she runs from here to the river and back every morning."
"Riverside? That's more than ten kilometers round trip! Is she mentally ill?"
“No, she’s in training.” Seeing that Grant was even more confused, the scavenger continued, “She is the marathon champion of the West Asian Republic.”
"Oh... But it seems like there hasn't been a national sports competition in this country for many years?"
"That's what people say anyway."
Xinni had recovered and was drinking the remaining milk from the bottle. Grant, who was squatting next to her, sighed and shook his head and said, "Yes, there are people living in dreams everywhere."
“I was one,” said the scavenger.
“You speak English very well.”
"I used to be a professor of English and American literature at West Asia University. Seventeen years of sanctions and blockades have made us lose all our dreams and end up like this." He pointed to the other scavengers who were still rummaging through the garbage. Xinni's fainting didn't seem to attract their attention. "My only dream now is that you guys throw out some of the leftover wine."
Grant looked at Sinni sadly and said, "She's going to get herself killed."
"What's the difference?" The professor of English and American literature shrugged and said disapprovingly, "When the war breaks out again in two or three days, you will all be gone, international aid will be cut off, and all roads will be blocked. We will either be bombed to death or starved to death."
"I hope the war will end soon. I think it will. The people of West Asia are tired of war. The country is already in disarray."
"That's right. We just want to have food to eat and survive. Look at him," the professor pointed at a young man with disheveled hair who was rummaging through the garbage. "He's a deserter."
At this time, Sinni, who was still leaning on Grant's arms, raised a skinny arm and pointed at the white temporary buildings of the UN rescue base not far away, gesturing with both hands. "She seems to want to go in," said the professor.
"Can she hear me?" Grant asked. Seeing the professor nod, he turned to Sinni, gestured with one hand, and said to her in unfamiliar West Asian language: "You can't, you can't go in. I'll give you some more food. Don't come tomorrow. We're leaving tomorrow."
Xinni wrote a few West Asian characters on the sand with her fingers. The professor looked at it and said, "She wants to go in and watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics on your TV." He shook his head sadly, "This child is hopeless."
"The opening of the Olympics was postponed by one day," Grant said.
"Because of the war?"
"What? You don't know anything?!" Grant said in surprise, looking at the people around him.
"What does the Olympics have to do with us?" The professor shrugged again.
At this moment, a hoarse engine sound interrupted their conversation. An old bus that could only be seen in West Asia drove up from the road and stopped at the side of the garbage dump. A man jumped out of the bus. He looked to be in his fifties with gray hair. He shouted to the group of people, "Is Sinni here? Weidiya Sinni!"
Xinni tried to stand up, but her legs went weak and she fell to the ground again. The man came over and saw her: "Child, why are you like this? Do you still recognize me?"
Xinni nodded.
"Where are you from?" the professor looked at the man and asked.
"I'm Claire, the director of the National Sports Administration," the man replied, and then helped Sinni up from the ground.
"Is there a Sports Authority in this country?" Grant asked in surprise.
Clare held Sinni's hand, looked at the rising sun and said word by word: "The Republic of West Asia has everything, sir, or at least will have everything!" After that, he held Sinni's hand and walked towards the bus.
After getting in the car, looking at Sinni slumped in the worn-out seat, Claire recalled the time when he met this girl a year ago.
That evening, after get off work, Claire walked out of the old three-story office building of the Sports Bureau and tiredly opened the door of his old Volga. Someone grabbed his arm from behind, and he turned around and saw Xinni. She gestured to him to get in his car. He was surprised, but her sincere eyes made people trust her, so he let her get in the car and drove in the direction she pointed.
"You, oh, are you from West Asia?" Clare asked. His question made sense. People who train in certain sports for a long time will have obvious characteristics. These characteristics are not only in body shape, but also in mental state. Although Sinni was wearing a loose long gown commonly worn by West Asian women, Clare's expert eyes immediately saw this feature in her. But Clare didn't believe that in this country that has been in a state of poverty and hunger for more than ten years, there are still people engaged in that kind of sport.
Xinni nodded.
Under Sinni's guidance, the car drove to the Capital Stadium. After getting off the car, Sinni wrote a line on the ground: "Please watch me run a marathon!" At the starting point of the stadium track, Sinni took off her long gown, revealing her old sports shirt and shorts that she had been wearing since then. When Clare signaled to start the timing, she ran briskly. At this time, Clare was already convinced that this child was a rare long-distance running material, which in turn made him feel sad.
This largest stadium in the West Asian Republic, which can accommodate 80,000 people, is now completely deserted. Weeds and dust cover the runway. There is a big gap on the west side, which was blown open by a heavy bomb in an air raid in an unknown year. The setting sun is falling through the gap, casting a blood-like afterglow on the stands above the huge shadow of the stadium.
Before the war, sports in the West Asian Republic had a glorious era, but the war 17 years ago and the subsequent blockade and sanctions that have continued to this day have made sports a huge luxury in this country. The country's investment in sports has been reduced to a minimum, just to be able to send a few athletes to participate in international competitions sporadically to meet the needs of external publicity. But in recent years, as the country's living environment has become increasingly harsh, this investment has also disappeared, and the athletes have no idea where they are. There are only four staff members left in the National Sports Bureau, which may be abolished at any time.
The sun set in the west, and a dim full moon rose in the east. Sinni ran in circles, sometimes sinking into the shadows, sometimes running into the watery moonlight. Her light footsteps echoed in this huge ruin that was as desolate as the ruins of the ancient Roman Colosseum. Claire felt that she was a phantom from the good old days. Time was flowing backwards in this ruin under the moonlight. A sense that had long disappeared returned to Claire's heart, and he couldn't help but burst into tears.
When the moonlight illuminated most of the stadium, Xinni finished the 105th lap and reached the finish line. She did not do any relaxation exercises, but just stood there quietly watching Claire from a distance. In the moonlight, she looked like a slender statue on the track.
“Two hours, sixteen minutes and thirty seconds, plus three minutes to account for the difference in the roads inside and outside the stadium, is still the best result in the country so far.”
Sinni smiled. One of the characteristics of marathon runners is that their expressions are dull, which is due to the monotonous physical exertion they endure for a long time during training and competition. However, Claire found Sinni's smile in the moonlight very moving, but this smile was like a knife cutting his heart and making it bleed. He stood there, turning himself into another statue, until Sinni's panting subsided like the receding tide. Only then did he come to his senses, put the watch back on his wrist, and whispered:
"Kid, you were born at the wrong time."
Xinni nodded calmly.
Claire bent down to pick up the gown on the ground, walked over and handed it to Xinni: "Let me take you home. It's getting dark, and your parents will be worried."
Sinni gestured, and Claire understood. She said she had no parents and no home. She took the clothes, turned around and walked away, and soon disappeared in the huge shadow of the stadium.
The bus drove towards the suburbs. Xinni swayed weakly in the seat. Fatigue and weakness made her feel drowsy, but a word from a person in the back seat woke her up:
"How did you end up in jail, Sally?"
Sinni stood up and looked back, and saw the man called Sari. She recognized him immediately, but she could not believe that the poor guy in front of her was once the most dazzling sports star in the Republic of West Asia. Alex Sari was one of the three athletes in West Asia who won medals in international competitions during the blockade. He won the gold medal in men's double skeet shooting at the World Shooting Championships four years ago and became a national hero. Sinni still clearly remembered his glorious image when he drove through the central street in a van. Sari in front of her was skinny, with several scars on his pale face. He was wrapped in a dirty prison uniform and shivered in this not-so-cold morning.
Clare said: "He became a bodyguard for the head of a smuggling gang. He was attracted by his marksmanship."
"I don't want to starve to death," said Sarri.
"But you almost starved to death. What would prison be like nowadays when even free citizens can't get enough to eat? People die of starvation or disease there every day. I think you're about to die too."
"Mr. Chief, you did save my life by bailing me out, but why? Where are we going?"
"We're going to the airport. I don't know what we're going to do there. We're just ordered to gather the players from the national teams in various sports."
The car stopped and several more people got on. Like most West Asians, they were all pale and thin, with ragged clothes. Some of them kept coughing, and hunger and poverty were clearly written on their faces. What was different from ordinary people was that they were all very tall, which made them look even more haggard. They were bent over in the car, like a row of prawns that had been out of water for a long time and had withered. Xinni quickly recognized that they were all players from the former national men's basketball team.
"Hey, everyone, how have you been these years?" Claire greeted them.
"Before we have the energy to tell you, Mr. Director, let's have breakfast first!", "Yes, as a senior official you can't understand the feeling of hunger. You are still eating sports, but what do we eat? Our daily ration is only enough for one meal.", "This meal is almost gone, humanitarian aid has stopped!", "It doesn't matter, wait a little longer, once the war breaks out, human flesh will be sold on the black market again!"... ...
While the men's blue team members were complaining, Xinni looked at them one by one and found that the person she wanted to see the most was not there. Clare asked the question on her behalf: "Where is Murad?" Yes, Gary Murad, Jordan from the West Asian Republic.
"He's been dead for half a year."
Clare didn't seem surprised: "Oh... what about Isia?" Sinni tried hard to recall the name, remembering that she was a former member of the national women's blue team and Murad's wife.
"They died together."
"Oh my God, what happened?"
"You should ask what's wrong with the world... They are just like us, they can't do anything except play ball, and they have been starving all these years, but they shouldn't have had a child. The situation worsened when the child was born, and the rations were reduced by half. The child only lived for three months and died of malnutrition, or starvation. The night the child died, they quarreled until midnight, sometimes quarreling and sometimes crying, and then they calmed down and started to cook. Then the two of them ate in silence, finally having their first full meal in these years. You know how much they eat, and they ate up all the rations for the second half of the month. After dawn, the neighbors found them dead in bed together, having taken some poison."
Everyone in the car fell silent until the car stopped again and another person got on. Then someone said, "Wow, we finally see someone who is not hungry." The person who got on was a beautiful girl with dyed red hair like a ball of fire, dark eye shadow and lipstick, and gaudy and revealing clothes, which formed a sharp contrast with the poverty of the whole car.
"Maybe she's more than just full, she's living a good life!" someone else said.
"Not necessarily. The capital has become a hungry city now. How can the business in the red-light district be good?"
"Oh, no, poor fellow," the girl said, smiling at the speaker, "I mainly serve the United Nations peacekeeping forces."
A few laughs were heard in the car, but they were soon drowned out by a violent cough. "Riley, you should have some sense of shame!" Claire said harshly.
"Oh, Uncle Clare, no matter if you have any shame or not, anyone who starves to death will have maggots growing on his body." The girl waved her hand disapprovingly and sat down next to Xinni.
Xinni stared at her with wide eyes. Oh my god, this is Wendell Riley?! This is the pure and beautiful girl who won the bronze medal in the World Gymnastics Championships, the dazzling flower of West Asian sports?!
The rest of the journey was completed in silence. Twenty minutes later, the car drove into the tarmac of the Capital Airport. Two large buses had already arrived. They were carrying former athletes of the national team. Including this bus, there were more than seventy people in total, including a men's basketball team, a men's football team and athletes from eleven other competitive events.
At the start of the runway was a huge Boeing passenger plane. In the more than ten years since the West Asian airspace was designated as a no-fly zone, it was obviously the largest and most luxurious plane to have landed at this airport. Clare led the athletes from the West Asian Republic to the front of the plane. Several foreigners in suits and leather shoes walked out of the cabin door. When they walked to the middle of the gangway, one of them waved and said something loudly to the crowd below. The athletes were surprised to recognize that this person was the chairman of the International Olympic Committee, but what shocked them most was the sentence Clare translated:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have come to the Republic of West Asia on behalf of the international community to take you to the 29th Olympic Games!" (To be continued)