Blade and Poetry

After the script was reviewed for the second time, the lead actor was finally finalized.After going through several supporting roles, the rehearsal of the script was finally on the right track.In addition, the preparation of props and scenery, choreography, etc. have to be planned separately.Because it is difficult to rent theater venues on campus from time to time, we chose an off-campus rehearsal; this place used to be an old church.As spring draws to a close, our rehearsals have advanced to the last few acts.

"If you want to betray me, I won't say anything..."

Little Huaniao seems to have encountered unprecedented obstacles in this scene.This is his second time coming back.Judging from his performance, it seems that the object of his confidant is not a vivid black-haired girl, but a wooden stump covered with ice and snow.Maybe it's not as exaggerated as my metaphor, after all, everyone is sitting in the long row of tables and chairs watching with relish—but compared to his previous performance, there always seems to be something crucial missing here.His eyes were too wandering, and his expression was not deep enough.

I was thinking about how to tell him after this monologue, when Karajan, who was sitting next to me, suddenly flipped through the script and closed it on the cover page.He said in a very low voice:

"I never asked, why is it named "Elma" when it is obviously Eugene's story?"

I thought about it: "I think Elma's character image is clearer than Eugene's. It is her personality that drags Eugene to make every major change, and is entwined with Eugene's fate as a dark thread."

"Oh?"

"And, the play is written from Eugene's point of view - I think he'd be happy to put Alma's name on his piece of history."

"I guess the latter is the main reason," Karajan said insightfully. "It's kind of like using a lover's name as the title of an autobiography, right?"

I nodded.

"So, if one day you decided to write your autobiography, what would you title it?" he asked.

My eyes slipped from the standing two to Karajan.The dim lights of the church looked very hazy in our place, and I could only catch the outline of his facial features when I looked closely.It seems that he is not focusing on the script, but is facing me.

The words that came to my mouth seemed to change suddenly, and the movement of my tongue seemed to be more chaotic than my thinking at that moment.I casually and quite confidently replied:

"I've always wanted to read The Life of the Great Vicente."

"...if I see the shadow of death pass before my eyes, I still feel sweet in that moment, for its edge is icing with the icing of old days..."

Karajan's figure moved, and his attention seemed to return to the rehearsal ahead.

"Listen, this sentence is too much for a martyr." He held his chin and commented casually, "Eugene doesn't recognize the sweetness of death; otherwise, he wouldn't have fled all the way from the capital. But if the cause and effect of this death is related to His distant lover is inseparable, so he is willing to offer his heart and soul before the blade of death.——Does the writer of the script believe in love and vows so much?"

What he raised was a question sentence, as if there was a subtle emotion deeply buried in it.I'm not sure if there's a challenging sarcasm there too - it's too much of a question.

"The writer of the script can't give you a definite answer. On the contrary, he just thinks that most vows are not binding, and most loves don't last as long as first hoped." I said, "But their Existence has meaning. If not in me, it must be in someone else."

His fingers had been gently caressing the hem of the coat, but now he stopped suddenly and grabbed it tightly.His sitting posture was still facing the rehearsal, and all visible responses were silent in that hazy silhouette.In fact, even if he looked again, his eyes would not allow me to distinguish them clearly in this bad lighting.

But I felt for a moment that he seemed to have a lot to answer.They were hidden in the folds of the coat hem.

"—can you feel it throbbing in your chest? This is all I have to give you."

Xiaohuaniao's lines have reached this point, and it will be Minnelli's turn next.I jumped over the long table in the first row and called a timeout here.

"Ladies who have been standing for a long time can take a break," I said to Minnelli.

I originally thought that she, who can wield a heavy knife non-stop for a long time, would definitely refuse me politely, but I didn't expect that she would turn around and leave with a slight smile at Xiao Huaniao.

I looked at the little flower and bird who took over the smile; he had an expression of staring at the ceiling collapsing.

"Water for you, Comrade Francisco, please maintain a normal mentality, every revolution must be accompanied by the sacrifice of fighters." I handed him his cup, and he took it and took a few sips, "For example, Yu What King said was actually more of a confession than a persuasion of some scourge he fears. I think you did a great job auditioning."

"I'm not afraid," he seemed to be in a complicated mood, covered his face and wailed, "I'm not... forget it, I'm..."

"Why don't you let the lady rest for a while, and you read it to me?" I suggested.

He immediately dug his fingers into his hair to show a more distressed expression, "No, Vicente. Unlike you, I am not someone who can easily confess to male friends."

I couldn't help interjecting: "When did you see me confess my love to my male friends easily?"

He turned a deaf ear: "You don't appreciate the importance of a good rehearsal object to people's emotional world. The point is: Ms. Ms. Ms—ah, professor?"

He looked behind me helplessly.

"Why don't I come?" Karajan suggested.

I don't even understand how the rehearsal got to this point inexplicably: everyone jumped out of the long table and crowded into a small circle in front of the open space in the church; and every face was swept away by the dim light The drowsiness that just surfaced in the next day seemed to be much more exciting than before, and someone even took out a big bag of sun nuts to pass and share.

"Are you ready?" Karajan said.

The little flower and bird sat on the ground and whistled carelessly.

Minnelli seemed to be smiling a lot today—everyone seemed to be smiling too much at this moment.

I looked straight at Karajan and nodded in a trance.

"If you're going to turn your back on me..."

He stood before me, uttering Eugene's lines fluently and empathetically.I didn't even have time to guess when he memorized it.Even if I were its creator, I'm not sure I'd be able to say such a long passage verbatim in real time.Those words seemed to elicit buzzing echoes in this extraordinarily silent space, surrounding people from front to back.I can no longer remember how I agreed to be the demonstration "Erma" in a few words, and I was just slowly digesting the lines I wrote.

No one understands the meaning of Eugene's words better than I do.Eugene wasn't hopeful at this point, he wasn't even hopeful—he was just confessing himself.He could have picked a good time to say this, and waited until Alma's heart was gradually softened by him, and all barriers were removed, and he could frankly admit that he loved him too.But fate briefly merged their two paths, and then irresistibly separated them.

The road ahead is bleak and the road ahead is cut off. He no longer has the right to look forward and backward, so he wasted until the last moment to say everything.Lest his love be buried in the dust without anyone knowing, and become an unswept grave after the loved one is gone.

Of course I understand this—"But," I thought, "this man in front of me, does he understand too?"

The lights in the old church were still very dim.I could feel my shoulders bathed in the lamplight and the vision of the dome-damaged god, and let Karajan's voice take me to the land where Eugene and Alma walked by.I saw the broken leaves under their feet and the dust like red sand.There is also the gray-blue pool water, coming towards us, changing from static to surging, and finally turning into a river flowing into the distance under the setting sun.Like every word that comes out of Karajan's mouth - every word flows through my chest.

He finished talking about Eugene, but he didn't move, his hand was still covering his heart.A group of onlookers who joined in the fun didn't move, probably not yet escaped from the shock or bewilderment.Neither did I—I picked up Alma's next line automatically.

"But you know, no church will be open to me," I said, "I'm the kind of person..."

What kind of person?Deportees who have no place of origin or family, bearers of hatred from the past, assassins who run counter to peace and have blood on their hands, lonely people walking down the cliff path with heavy distrust and anger.

Karajan half-knelt down and looked up at me.His fingers took mine, and his lips touched the back of his hand tenderly.

"I know," he said, "I would never betray you."

There seemed to be deafening booing sounds all around, but they were all reduced to an indistinguishable noise at that moment.I still can't turn my eyes away, almost thinking that the person in front of me is the affectionate little Eugene who came out of "Erma" - but his image swayed and changed back to the one in front of me Karajan.

"Thank you," Xiaohuaniao came over to pat me, her expression still looking dazed, "I think I'm a little enlightened on how to act. I just don't believe my own eyes—God."