Strange dreams
My first reaction was that of my dream of answering the phone. In a windowless house, there was a fixed telephone. When the phone line was connected to the ground, when the bell rang, the "I" in the dream had a headache.
I don't know if I should tell him about this dream at this time. In fact, I am faced with a choice at this time. I don't know which answer is good and which answer will kill me.
In the end I hesitated and asked: "What kind of dreams do you mean?"
He hesitated, and then said hoarsely: "All dreams are fine, as long as you think it is a strange dream."
Finally, I gritted my teeth and said that most of the dreams I had had problems, and the weird person in front of me must know something, which confirmed that there was a problem with my dream. If you miss this opportunity, it will be difficult to solve this doubt in the future.
I pondered the words and said: "This strong man, you said, what if I did have a strange dream recently?"
His breathing suddenly rose: "What kind of dream, describe to me."
I simply said, "In a wooden room with no windows, there is a phone in front of me."
After I finished speaking, there was another silence, and only his suppressed breathing was heard in the silence. After a long vent, he could only hear him whisper: "Yes."
I quickly asked: "What is it? Is there anything wrong with this dream?"
He did not answer this question, but turned and walked around in the dark, and then there was the sound of him rummaging for things. Only then did I realize that the space seemed to be very large, and there were many sundries piled in it.
I only heard him rummaging for a long time, listening to all kinds of voices. The last few clear lighter sounds came. A faint blue light lit up, and when I took a closer look, it turned out to be a candle.
He turned out several candles one after another, removed the oil paper covering the candles, lit them and placed them in every corner.
Only then did I see the full picture of the space in front of me.
Could not help taking a step back and sitting on the ground.
In front of me was a room without windows. A fixed telephone was placed in the middle of the room, and the telephone line extended to the ground.
The room was full of clutter, piles of military coats, old-fashioned pots and pans, piles of books, and messy beds in the corners.
This is a room built in an underground cave. The people in the room have lived here for many years.
I looked at the man again, like a savage, he couldn't find a clean place up and down. He rummaged in the corner and found a folding chair. He opened it and put it on the ground. He said: "Comrade, sit down."
I sat down, and the man took out a pile of firewood from the corner again. I took a closer look. Isn't it the postmodernist building that we demolished twice? He lit the firewood, set up a hanging pot on it, and brought up a small bucket of water in a corner. Seeing my doubts, he said: "There is a spring over there."
"Oh." I nodded. The cave system here is eroded by flowing water. It's not surprising that there are springs.
The man turned out another pack of compressed biscuits. Looking at the packaging, I don’t know how old it was. The military-green outer packaging is covered with a layer of greased paper. After opening, every compressed biscuits inside is waterproof. Oil paper bag.
"I don't eat this much." He said with a hoarse voice: "It's only cooked and eaten once in a while."
He didn't say what to eat at other times. The two people sat there in silence and watched the water in the pot tumbling, compressed biscuits floating up and down between the bubbles. I know he must have something to say, and this person must be the one who can answer my doubts.
He suddenly stood up and said, "I'll change my clothes."
After talking about the rickety figure, he pulled out another oil-paper-wrapped thing from a pile of debris, and turned it around in the corner to replace it. It was a neat and clean military uniform. But it's an old-fashioned military uniform from the 70s.
His figure was not as straight as a soldier, but after putting it on, he shrank and bound his hands and feet, like a monkey imitating people.
He washed his face, his face was full of wrinkles, and the hair had grown to the upper part of his cheeks. Surprisingly, his complexion was very pale. He found a pair of scissors again, cut off the hair and beard that was almost dragging to the ground, and then reluctantly sorted it out.
After everything was done, the wild man in military uniform sat in front of me. The compressed biscuits in the hanging pot had been cooked into a paste. He found an enamel bowl with the head of a great man printed on it, and found another one. Spoon. Bring it up and pass it to me.
Seeing I hesitate to eat, he said again: "Don't worry, comrade, the shelf life is very long."
People under the eaves should not die if they eat a little bit, so I took two bites of symbolic virtue.
He just sat there, thinking about it as if he didn't think it was right, then found a folding chair to open it, and sat down stiffly.
I saw that he seemed to have a thousand words to say the same thing, but in the end he opened his mouth and asked a question.
He asked: Is Chairman Mao his old man in good health
Before I could answer, he lowered his hand and waved his hand again: "Forget it, how many years is it now? It should be more than forty years?"
I said: "It's 2016."
"Ah..." He sighed, "How is the country, how is the party, the Soviets..."
I didn't know what to say for a while, I just thought it was too absurd. All signs indicate that this is a person who has lived in this depths for more than 40 years.
Seeing him looking at me, he was really waiting for me to answer his question. I could only answer: "The Soviet Union has long been disintegrated. We are now on the road of socialism with Chinese characteristics. Under the leadership of the party, we will host the Beijing Olympics in 2008. Since then, the world has known China, and its GDP surpassed Japan in 2010, ranking second in the world."
I didn't tell him about the reform and opening up. He was still a little excited and asked eagerly: "Comrade! The communist society..."
I interrupted him: "Did you ask these questions when you carried me here?"
He retracted the words in his throat, hesitated for a while, and then whispered: "You young people must be loyal to the country, to the party, and to the Maoists..."
Finally, I seemed to realize something and sighed: "It's been too long. There are many things. I don't know where to start."
It's been too long, people and things are nothing. Finally, I can only ask first: "You have lived here alone for more than forty years?"
"Yes." He nodded. "I've been since 1970."
"Then why are you still able to speak fluently and in vain when you speak?"
It stands to reason that a person who has lived alone for decades will lose language ability if he does not speak for a long time.
He sighed and replied: "The organization requires that Mao Xuan be recited every day. This is a necessary means to complete the task."
After a pause, he said: "As for the confession of texts and vain... This issue needs to be studied in depth." (End of this chapter)