La Ronde

For a true fighter, his life is May.

"...How could this be the best world?" Valentino heard Conrad's whisper from Night Breeze, and he didn't intend to answer, but Conrad stopped, unwilling to continue with him go on.

Valentino tried to bypass the subject as lightly as usual: "I just mentioned it casually, don't think about it, go home. Your mother and sister are still waiting at home."

What he originally wanted to express was: the world where he can be with Conrad is the best world for him.But he couldn't say it.

Still Conrad didn't move a step forward, he stood where he was, more silent than a statue.After this short silence, he said to Valentino word for word: "May is over, May has failed. We will never have a better world!"

After saying this, he seemed to have been exhausted, and took two steps back in an unsteady posture.Valentino leaned forward to read his expression to see if he was drunk, but Conrad turned his head away so he wouldn't.

Valentino knew that he might not be able to avoid this topic tonight, it was a wall between them that had to be completely torn down.

These days, too, a ghostly haunting thought haunted him: Rather than avoid talking about the Revolution, he might as well teach Conrad to speak his own language.

Maybe it was because of Conrad's weird dream, or because he was all these years older than Conrad, Valentino always felt that he had a responsibility to him.This is not only between lovers, but also the responsibility of a father to his son, an elder brother to his younger brother, and a teacher to his students.Although he has become his own father and understands that this is where everyone belongs, he can't bear to see Conrad grow up too quickly.He wasn't ready to teach Conrad's rhetoric.In his vision, it must be an enlightenment language that is both strict and gentle, thought-provoking but not obscure at all.It's a pity that there is no time now, so I have to prepare more for him.

"Conrad, you once said that I am like your brother and father, do you remember that?" He said in a deep voice.

Conrad turned slowly to face him, his face tensed, and he said nothing.Valentino saw his eyes through the faint moonlight, and those deer-like eyes revealed his inner desire: Of course I would like you to be my brother and father, if you can convince me, that would be great .You convince me.

Valentino sighed imperceptibly, he changed his usual gentleness, his well-defined side face was outlined by the moonlight with majesty and closeness: "Answer me a question, who are you?"

When Conrad heard this question at first, he showed a weird expression, but he intuitively felt that the answer Valentino wanted was not that simple, but he couldn't figure it out, so he had to answer like a child who had just been enlightened in the nursery: "...I'm Conrad."

"There is indeed a corresponding identity between the name and yourself, but it's not you. I'm talking about you specifically, for example, you could be a worker in a Paris garage, a boy growing up in Bamberg, or Ms. Hedwig's son. Have you counted, how many of you are there in this world?" Valentino said.

Conrad still couldn't understand Valentino's intentions, he said in a daze, "No... But I think, in this way, everyone has dozens of selves to talk about."

Valentino nodded. "Exactly. So what do you think you're fighting for when you marched in the streets in May?"

"Of course it's for me as a worker. What about you? Who are you? Which ego are you fighting for?" Konrad asked not to be outdone.

Valentino replied: "That's the problem. I'm nobody and I don't intend to fight for a specific 'you' or 'me.' If you put yourself into an identity and fight for it, For example, the status of aristocrat or intellectual, then the rights I have won must be special. At the same time, people with other status are excluded. The real struggle is for universality, and no status is excluded. Tolerance. So, do you understand? The struggle will never end unless people want privileges. Even a hundred more mays will never end as long as people answer 'who am I' with prejudice this problem."

Conrad was confused: "But...how could there be no 'I'? Without identity, how would people recognize each other?"

"No, it's not that there's no identity, it's the depoliticization of identity. You're still Conrad, you're still born in Bamberg, but it's just a de facto identity, you don't get favored or demeaned for it. If we want To have such a situation, one must be in a struggle with one's own ego throughout one's life, which has nothing to do with being on the street or not, and going to the street will not ease the tension of the ego's struggle." Valentino Explained calmly and clearly.

"So you're saying that May won't end?" Conrad was already drunk, and Valentino's words waltzed in his head, but he seemed to catch the words through the dance of words. Rhythm and spirit.

"Yes, so to speak. For a true fighter, his whole life is May, and even more intense than May, a climax mixed with extreme pain and pleasure, because the struggle with ego, It's the hardest thing in the world to do, much harder than hitting someone with a rock in a crowd." Valentino said firmly to him.

Conrad felt that he was about to be convinced, but before he could figure out the meaning of these words, the feeling of dizziness hit him first.He drank a lot of wine in the evening, and stood here blowing the night breeze again.Valentino saw that he was not in good condition, so he helped him to sit down on the side of the road and rested for a while, but no one spoke.

The town is quiet and the sky is full of stars.Conrad didn't have the heart to appreciate the scenery, he felt himself sinking in a long chaotic dream.At this moment he felt that the angry storms and the grotesque barricades on the streets of Paris were the truth, and the splendid fireworks on the Rue du Sands and the laughing faces in the beer tents were all lies.But at the next moment, he felt that what happened in Paris was a distant dream, and the calm water of the Regnitz River and the verdant pea sprouts in the yard were his life.

He buried his head between his knees and hugged his head with his hands, trying to integrate the overlapping far and near scenes in his mind into something he could understand and accept.

Valentino wraps his arms around him gently, letting him lean against him, taking some of his weight.

Conrad slowly lowered his hands and looked up at Valentino.As a result, those images visible in the brain disappeared into the sea of ​​consciousness, and even the wind fell silent, only the body temperature pulsating on his shoulders was so real and palpable.

He gazed at Valentino's stern facial features in fascination, suddenly realizing what a puzzle this man was to him.Valentino never talked about his family, nor did he talk about his manuscripts and paintings. Even when he reasoned with Conrad, he always chose the simplest way to express and tell the most necessary content.Indeed, although they spoke the same language, he could not understand the other's world.Thinking of this, he tied his tongue and said, "Valent...Valentino, you...you should marry a princess who can understand you..."

Valentino's face changed slightly after hearing this: "Did you see those letters?"

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized that Conrad couldn't read Italian.Recently, the sisters at home have written more than once, urging him to return to Milan, meet the visiting Austrian princess, and consider marriage matters.He refused, but the sister was much more stubborn than he thought.

Conrad wondered: "What letter? I just think... a princess, this suits you... But, but I don't want you to be someone else's father..."

Valentino's heart was moved when he heard this, but he couldn't laugh or cry. He only thought that Conrad had drunk too much: "Little bear, what father? If I marry the princess, then I will be her husband."

Conrad shook his head, his eyes became sober: "No... Valentino, you are enough to be anyone's spiritual father." After saying this, he became confused again: "Besides, who stipulated Lover and father can't be the same? You are my lover and my father..."

Valentino remained silent, but intense and incomprehensible emotions surged in his heart.But he just hugged Conrad and patted him on the back like a comforting child.

When he helped Conrad go home, Lena and Hedwig had already fallen asleep.He was afraid that the drunk Conrad would not be able to take good care of himself, so he stood outside the bathroom, watching him take a bath.After he finished washing, he dried him carefully and helped him put on his pajamas.

He took Conrad back to his room, and Conrad fell asleep as soon as he touched the bed.Valentino smiled helplessly, and gently tucked in the quilt for him.

He also wanted to take a shower and sleep, but he sat beside Conrad involuntarily, watching the starlight pouring down from the skylight in his house.Conrad fell asleep on his side, and from his back, he seemed to be looking up at the stars.The faint starlight lingered on Conrad's clean face, making him seem to have some kind of mysterious connection with the eternal celestial body, but the sleeper's body was clearly impermanent and perishable.Valentino watched for a while, then left.After washing up, he returned to his room, lit the candle, unscrewed the ink bottle, and spread out the elegant letter paper.

He wanted to write a letter and send it back to Milan, but in the end he just silently sang an ancient poem:

"...my Astor, you look up at the stars.

I wish I could be a star,

So I can gaze at you,

With thousands of eyes..."＊1

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The number of words in this chapter is a little less, forgive me~ mainly because of the rhythm problem.

*1 A poem written by Plato to his friends in his youth.