Documemt4：Toujours adieu（与E的信件）
文件三号：写完《黑城堡》后，海英慈向E的回信。
E的来信，在她与E绝交时，已无法找回。
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2022/4/29（发布于一个非公开的wordpress网站上）
Reflection on The Castles
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I have been considering seriously writing an afterword for the Black Castles for apparently, I have accomplished something that has never been done before. Ruefully yet still complying with my principle of honesty, I would admit it was so extraordinary for me that I even peep over my only reader’s social media account to see how would she feel towards the whole content.
She hadn’t really finished yet which to my regret since I wanted to know whether she would be disappointed about some obvious imperfection I sacrificed in exchange for my personal relief upon the last few chapters. Despite that I admit it should be sort of objective flaws, speaking of a technique in creating fiction, hardly will I regret the decision. I wrote it, mainly to free myself from that torturous nightmare, while the test of my skills comes only in the second place.
In writing it I repeatedly think, in some other’s eyes or maybe eyes of yours, what should be deemed as ironic and self-blindness, that it was but a normal coincidence I thought it as an inconsideration of what Virginia Wolf commented Charlotte Bronte being ‘at some intervals had her narration and atmosphere interrupted by her own thoughts and hesitation’. I knew at that moment, indeed, my distaste towards the remarks was due largely to my personal reflection, for all those good objective reasons. It’s no use trying to argue the righteousness of yours when there’s no opponent and I would like to spend the least necessary time with my imaginary foes.
I am also aware that one day when I set to finish my castle I would be in the scope of this criticism yet nothing could and nothing should be done on the matter as it was what is called the inevitable consequence. Besides, when free from the eyes of the critics, what harm would it do to me, these youthful albeit slightly Droit foolishness; the true yearning and reason of my commence? Even if you could have fancied it to be entirely good delicate, refined work, my recommendation for you is to stick to your essence.[1]
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2022/5/18
Re: Letter to a Friend
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在海英慈21岁时，她有一段时间无法用中文与人交流，其原因在这封回信中被提及。
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This letter is unexpectedly hard for me to reply. I would’t go through the process to make it an article but to list the point out, reasons for the hardship also presented below:
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I am afraid the timing is unfortunate, for my emotional state. Since I finished my letter, also the last communication with you, I have managed to drain my emotion out, and you are quite right to observe in your dream that I ‘leave’ the room. I told you I would return to my castle, yet I couldn’t tell for how long, and in what a way. I would return for relaxation but never in a way that happened in the past. The reason for that was simply I cease to live an emotional life, in many realities, the reality I share with you included, and choose to live a dutiful one, therefore answering for your words blending with wish, aspiration and of course, your very respectful emotion is, after a few tries, technically difficult. I respect your will, your dance, and your version of aesthetics as well as your probation into an unmitigated, unprecedented, and yet at the same time a harmonious way to finish that dance, which might have failed in public and worldly eyes, yet I fear that I could no longer respond in a matching way, since to articulate my understanding requires my evoking the past memories and emotion I decided, already to unclench.
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In specific, the letter I wrote to you last time seems to me now impossible to reproduce in sense of the writing style and emotional willingness. I wrote that in the last lingering from the castle, of my youthful misfortune, folly, and fruitless wandering, and I would like to now, cease to be that child while in real connection with anyone, as to fulfill my duty and to make myself in relief. I did not regret that and sure deep down in my heart I wish to be loved even in that broken way, yet it shall be unfulfilled as the reality should have it, and I will let what is more powerful has its way, in reality.
If any advice, I might say just dance, until you and she both sense that now it’s enough.
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I couldn’t find that post you have asked for, much to my regret. Likely I have deleted it. I couldn’t think of how I responded to you but I suspect that would be something of belittling myself, speaking untruthful feelings or searching for some hinting words to describe an entity in truth I know very little of. Was it your commenting on a paragraph on Irwin and Rustica? If that’s so that probably would be any possible handy gesture of modesty. Otherwise, I only had one candidate on hand which seems to me unlikely, nonetheless, I would attach it after the post.
I admit to you that looking through those posts brings me great shame which at one time nearly froze me.
Searching through my past posts wasn’t entirely futile labor. In doing so I could explain why I find delicate difficulty in writing Chinese: this tendency is linked to my distrusting others—— this language preference or proclivity, seeing that you have asked, I feel the necessity to specify. No doubt it could be explained in linguistics one way or another, yet simply still it was out of the very simple reason, that when I write in English I am mostly undisturbed, by negative emotion. My only time writing in Chinese undisturbed by emotion is when I write fiction, something that is not real. Or when I am not writing to communicate. Maintaining my duty in keeping others pleasant despite my uncomfortableness makes me tired such that when I have time alone, I choose to dissipate the burden into writing fiction. A mistrust needs further to clarify the belief in which the confidence that a mutual understanding would have otherwise be established, namely that I don’t believe anyone would accept me as what I truly am. Or even if they accept, we are not on the same path so the acceptance would be more indifference than the true comradeship. And moreover, I never try really, rather my trying in the past merely served me to see what others refuse to see. I don’t believe my arguing anything would affect anyone, so I cease to communicate in my mother tongues, and luckily, in other languages I could do some real-life argumentations, like what I am doing now, saving my own language only to a private space.
You have accepted me as I am that I know, however, our paths are too different for me to really trust you, to love you in a way that I love mine other self in my dream. I am unable to put my trust in a person different from me, yet how could anyone be like anyone. That should be my own problem, and I know it. Please do not let it concern you as I mean no offense and no harm.
For that dance, I could say very little, yet you wrote, then I have a duty to reply and to, really think about what I have to say despite that I didn’t have a thorough answer before writing.
The pursuit of beauty might not be an act of foolishness depending on who is making the judgment. Nonetheless, I come to know the world cares very little about how one is feeling, in respect of a word that holds a public meaning. When they are personal they could be anything, yet how ironic the word personal could be for different people. The people low in the hierarchy have their meaning of words dominated by people high in rank’s personal life. I am not sure how to respond, as a dance and its beauty for me is private, and for you, is going public thus entering an albeit hidden power grapple with the same word with different semantic meanings, to decide which shall hold. You probably want to rid of the influence of other people’s dance, but might I ask, could you really? I hope you could yet I sense I better hold my tongue here, as in that respect I already see other people’s eyes. They are annoying challenges, but I have courage in you that you will overcome the barrier.
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Still, I am spiritually foreign to that dancer you presented me in your midnight. Your dancer pursues the ultimate beauty and that induces my suspicion: I am a daughter of peasantry origin, and should I be a man, I am a man of my strength, it was born a quite earthly way thus not refined. I could never let go of the thought that, the concept of beauty, and later the discipline of aesthetics, was born from men like Plato, and I am no man like Plato. Sure dance, could also be warcraft, but we shouldn’t go too far from accuracy, as your dancer is self-aware that she is away from the manual labor despite all her sweating. I never wish to judge, which confuses my writing in replying a letter sometimes. I shouldn’t speak too much of’you’, but should speak from ‘I’ since I wish not to make too many groundless postulations.
Here is what I feel about that dance—— I didn’t think I will write in this detail but there’s no use dodging and my friend, you really have presented me a laborious work that I have to go through all these searching of my memories, good practice, and test, to my will.
I majored in science during high school and today I spend half of my day learning natural science concerning the heavy calculation, and the other half I spend, learning the knowledge I wish to know concerning our human society, the science of this simple species, human, since I feel there are great perils and vacancy created in our mind by the division of labor that we should, at least, attempt to be all-knowing in a sense, in order to be truly just and not to be deceived, even it seems to be somehow impossible.
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My feeling for aesthetics is that it is a discipline, trying to manipulate and deceive me in a way of power yet disguising it as scientific argumentation, that was the reason, despite that, I dislike the idea of artistic dance and work, I set for it since I wish to test if I am right. And I persuade myself, so I leave.
A dance for the audience or a dance facing your life, for me is always a lesser and a less glorious form of war, and war only acknowledges victory however, one might feel otherwise. But if one dances only for oneself, dancing in the face of death and to the beauty of true forgiveness, a transcendence of human fear, the dance for me, is now exempted from the universal verdict of war, so despite that, I never like to dance—— I just did dance for a while and that’s probably where I can identify with her. Dance to my body and imagination is what poetry did to my words when I am in love. I love an entity so much that I can no longer hold myself. but that pursuer of beauty won’t be my occupation. Occupation is about living, and for my reckoning beauty is what makes me comfortable, and it makes me comfortable, to think love awaits me there on the edge of a dignified and well-fought end of life, it makes me comfortable in the courage I muster on my own, not from any form of inculcation. Our country is a poor country, would you deny so? Poor in wealth and poor still in spirits, and what beauty could be nourished, in a nation of poverty, might we answer, I daresay it should be dignity. And my beauty lies not in a feeling that could be felt by others but lies in the freedom and dignity one could feel for one’s own, and the benevolence as well as mercy one might show after all the torture after the barren of poverty. Povery is the pox of the world, and we the middle get caught in between of that misery, ugliness, of the indigence, and the delicate, refined sadness, of the rich and affluence.
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You have pitied that rich little girl in me, yet how I loathe and want to transform her into a true warrior, a true man despite that all that folly in this rebellion against her own self. My long hair, one day I will cut them off and reclaim what I intended to be, or I will let them fall off like a muddy slack of a man, and this is the only way I reckon that women truly be empowered. My not trusting my fellow human beings then goes like this: I do not trust women or the poor will be granted the same power waiting for the mercy from those powerful, as the true power seldom comes from anything other than violence so long as the poverty persists.
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We are in a war zone, yet somehow humans have this ability to detach themselves from reality somehow, is that your slipping away, your dancer’s floating state of mind when she tries to pursue what she felt one day in her childhood? If that’s so, I cannot reckon with her, ruefully, as I am too much of a war people while she, seems to me not.
I always think the beauty in war is never a beauty for art. I never need to know Guernica to taste the true brute of war.
It seems that you give me an aesthetic project yet I ask you about your dancer’s political inclination, sorry for the inconvenience. I danced for love, I couldn’t really tell what she danced for though I have a vague feeling. She danced for something I disapproved of, I might say. I am to be criticized here as aren’t I also having danced for… quite a long time? Well, I wouldn’t really say that was a dance…mostly I would say that was a battle and I have that military spirit, from my father. I was raised that way, to be thrown into hardship, to be forced to love the poverty, at least to truly respect and be acquainted with it. I fought a battle and I felt it too hard to fight alone. Somehow I think, to fight a battle does not mean to fight alone nor does it mean you have to fight with a clan before you are ready.
You see Noir waits for so long to be reunited with Maximilian, in which she has a form of a dancer, a wild girl named Narci who danced in her love. Noir never dances. A shadow only slides and waits, and when she is truly loved, she cried and she died. That was the girl in me, though she needn’t be a girl, anyway.
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Over time, when you write to me, when I tend to my brother and try to make him happy and try to spend some slow time with my mother, I would think how blissful it is, to study fully, justly, imaginatively, to be respected as a child, not an ignorant fool, when we were young, that we wouldn’t feel it a waste of time when you are simply in love, I tear over this simple loss of time and I shall end the letter here since how ruefully my life is running too fast that I must treasure every remaining second.
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Best wishes, sorry for causing the trouble in reading[2].
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2022/5/22
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在英文版之后，海英慈设法回复了一篇中文信件。
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那我想我们的关系不会像我原先认为的那样断得那样彻底，毕竟我最终也要进入你的梦——见证无论是你在现实中‘英雄’的事业（亦即对他人有影响的创造），以及对你自己向内的回应，你意识完整而真诚的全貌。我们在人间的岁月，它唤起了我的回忆，我喜欢这个说法…
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你告诉我知道我在什么地方言出违心说不定最近让我最高兴的一件事。深刻的解脱感，即使很长一段时间内我都会因为四周迷雾重重而选择吸收整理而不是同人交互表达，我觉得这也多少安抚了一个长年的伤口。那不是完全的违心，很遗憾，有一部分是无可奈何地屈服休眠以至于被蒙蔽了；你的这封信帮助我结束了遵从某个文化习惯而所过的令人羞愧的一年。我不反感骑士这个角色，自然不是流行意义上的骑士，实际上，最终回顾我的确从很小的时候就有chivalry的倾向，从来不反感成为一个服务型的人，倘若不是，苦笑，请想象，遇不到由我信服的‘国王’。又或者说遇到了过于腐化的权利。这个人格失落了并只在一些女性角色中显示出来…你的直感实际上相当让人惊喜。她不妨是一个很忠诚的，且在大错之后对自己上刑的那一类。
不过如果我有‘服务’到你——即使途中有很多时候我都在being jerk，令人惭愧，还是让我感到安慰。我感到你似乎没有经历过那样完全被摧毁的过程；我在这里提起且似乎多次提起，作为期望和祝福，希望那样的绝望不要靠近你，是因为我很想向你明说那样的反应，那样的愤怒，嫉妒和敌意是我在企图挣脱束缚过程中张牙舞爪的结果。我已经完全被摧毁过一次了，要复原在一年以前都对我来说像一个不可能的任务。那好艰难，我很抱歉在这个过程中我伤害了你。没有你也许我不会这么快来到这里。或许，我想，如果外部的环境不是如此危险，而我还不是欠缺最终那个完整的知识体系，我会很愿意当你忠诚的朋友，不过你现在也可以相信我确实是你的同路人。我认同你的创作理念（即使那不是我的创作理念），也愿意相信你的善良。我的父亲也被他的官场生活所摧毁，鲜血淋漓的灵魂毁灭了一个家庭中的所有人，所以我希望你的善良不要被玷污和压抑。不过，我的确认为你仍然——我也，都在修行的道路上，因此除了善良之外，还希望真理也眷顾你。
上天堂或是下地狱——或许太极端了，但我的确认为我们，很奇妙地，由着一个相似的理由却因为不同的际遇向着两个不同的方向前进。我感到你的作品一定不会是我的作品，就像在向你阐述那个新故事的时候我感到一种微妙的不精准：它的大方向自然是如此，但它过于outward，过于向外展现了。那不是害羞或自卑的问题，而是一种情感上的空洞。在那个像企划简介的叙述中我无法看见他的脸，而对我来说那种感觉便是对insipid这个词完美的叙述。
我感到那个故事的这个展现方式是你的。
我完全是微笑着这么想的。让我诚实一些：我感到你的善良需要在展现中得到完整，你要向世界展现这种善良和信念的存在和正当性，所以你需要一个能被见证的故事，来驳回恶和倦怠。你要创造那个国王，并让她的存在comes into kingdom。真正的，区别于生命再造的创造，正是女性未曾获得过，撼动文明的伟业——如果它不仅仅是无数种人类活动的一种的话；女性的生产不算那种创造实在让我遗憾。那显然是我最喜欢的题材之一。至于我——感谢你，连日来我第一次察觉身体的放松，我仍然属于那片祈求治愈的荒野，几乎要用一生的探寻治愈一个刻在向着最初回归的伤痛。我很少想我对你意味着什么，我的情感习惯排斥这个行为，但最终，不是情感的客观事实有时用很小的时候告诉我我们曾经是很像的，而我似乎知道如果我遇见了一个和我很像的人会做些什么，想些什么。我最后向你写了这封信，因为我相信了你不会伤害我。和你相遇后我第一次真正知道了我是多么渴望爱；我的光，我的灰尘和所有的眼泪落在我的手上，我都尝到那种我渴求的爱，而是因为看见了你，我才第一次知道了我真正渴望的是什么。
现在我终于可以真心实意地说，我很高兴我遇见了你。如果现在你也要出发去你的意识和你的真相的尽头，我愿意见证你的旅途，并期望在不远的将来能接到从尽头发出的书信。那会是真正属于你的，使你获得自由的作品。
关于永生不灭的爱——我很喜欢你所创造的那个名为不死的爱的徽章。Undying Love and, Uncorrupted soul，这是我希望我在过去十年中获得的东西。
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至于我们的相似，我猜一部分正是因为，我们都在学校的走廊上郁闷地罚站过吧。在我们都还是孩子的时候。
让我拥抱你一次。谢谢你的善良，以及你向我伸出的那只手。我会在你开始的地方等你的好消息。
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[1] 我一直在认真考虑为《黑城堡》写一篇后记，因为显然我完成了一件前所未有的事。带着几分苦涩，但仍秉持诚实的原则，我必须承认这对我来说是如此非凡，以至于我甚至会偷偷查看我唯一读者的社交媒体账户，只为知道她对整本书的感受如何。
她其实还没有读完，这让我颇感遗憾，因为我很想知道她是否会因我在最后几章中，为了获得个人的情感解脱而牺牲了一些明显的不完美之处而感到失望。尽管我承认从小说创作的技巧层面来说，这些确实是客观上的缺陷，但我几乎不会为这个决定感到后悔。我写这部作品，主要是为了把自己从那场折磨人的噩梦中解脱出来，而技艺的考验仅是次要目的。
在写作的过程中，我反复想到，也许在别人的眼中，或者在你眼中，我的一些举动应当被看作是讽刺的、自我盲目的。比如我曾经认为，维吉尼亚·伍尔夫批评夏洛蒂·勃朗特说“她的叙述和氛围不时被她自己的思想和犹豫所打断”，那不过是一次普通的巧合而已。我知道，当时我之所以对这一评论反感，很大程度上是出于个人的映照，尽管也有客观的理由。在没有对手的时候去争辩自己的正确性是毫无意义的，我也不愿在与想象中的敌人周旋上浪费哪怕一分不必要的时间。
我也意识到，总有一天，当我着手完成我的城堡时，我也会成为这类批评的对象，但对此无可奈何，也无须采取任何应对措施——因为这正是所谓的“必然结果”。再说了，当我不再处于批评者的视线中时，这些带着些许拙劣却真实无伪的年少愚行，又能对我造成什么伤害呢？它们才是真正驱使我动笔的渴望与理由。即使你曾一度幻想这是一部完全优美、精致、洗练的作品，我仍会建议你，忠于自己的本质。
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[2] 这封信对我来说出乎意料地难以回复。我并不打算将它写成一篇文章，而只是列出要点，并说明其中的艰难之因如下：
我恐怕时机实在不巧，尤其是对于我的情绪状态而言。自从我写完那封信，也就是与你的最后一次通信，我设法将自己的情感耗尽，你在梦中察觉到我“离开”了房间，是完全正确的。我告诉过你我会回到我的城堡里，但我无法告诉你是多久之后，也无法说会以何种方式回来。我或许会为了放松而回来，但绝不会以过去那种方式。原因无他，只是我已不再过情感化的生活，在许多现实之中——包括与你共享的现实——我选择了过一种责任导向的生活。因此，在几番尝试后，我发现要回应你那些交织着愿望、抱负以及深切情感的言辞，在技术上变得极其困难。我尊重你的意志，你的舞蹈，以及你那种对舞蹈结尾的探索——一种毫无妥协、前所未有却又和谐的方式。也许那种舞在世俗的眼光里注定失败，但我恐怕再也无法用匹配的方式回应，因为要表达理解，我必须唤起那些我已决定松开的回忆与情感。
具体来说，我上一次写给你的信，在我看来如今已无法再复制出那种写作风格与情感意愿。我是在那场对城堡的最后依恋中写下它的，那是一段关于我年少的不幸、愚行与无果漂泊的记忆。而现在我愿意停止作为那个孩子的存在，在与任何人真正建立联系时，我只愿履行自己的责任，并令自己得以解脱。我并不后悔这一点，内心深处我确实仍渴望被爱，即使是以那种破碎的方式。但现实终究使其无望，我也愿意让更强大的力量在现实中自行主宰。
若你要我给予什么建议，那我只能说——跳舞，直到你和她都意识到：现在，已经足够了。
你问的那篇帖子我找不到了，深感遗憾。很可能我已经删掉了。我不记得我当时是如何回应你的，但我怀疑那大概是一些自轻的言语，或者是不真实的感受，或是寻找一些暗示性的词语来描述一个我其实知之甚少的事物。是否是你评论过的一段关于Irwin和Rustica的段落？如果是，那也许只是某种出于谦逊的惯常姿态。否则，我手头只有一个不太可能的候选，但我还是会附在信后。
我必须承认，翻阅那些帖子让我羞愧难当，一度几乎冻结了我。
不过查找过去的帖子也并非全然徒劳。在这个过程中，我能够解释为何我在写中文时常感困难：这种倾向与我对他人的不信任有关——你问了这个问题，所以我觉得有必要说明。毫无疑问，这种现象可以用语言学角度解释，但其实最直接的理由很简单——我在用英文写作时，基本不会被负面情绪打扰。而唯一不会被情绪困扰的中文写作时刻，是当我在写小说——某种非现实之物——或者当我并非为了交流而写时。日常生活中，为了保持他人愉悦而克制自己，这让我疲惫不堪，以至于一有独处时间，我就选择将这些负担消解于虚构创作之中。信任的缺失还意味着我对所谓“相互理解”本身缺乏信心，也就是说，我不相信有人会真正接受我本来的样子。即便接受，我们也未必走在同一条路上，那么这种接受也更接近冷漠，而非真正的同志情感。再者，我其实从未真正尝试过建立这种信任，我以往的“尝试”不过是让我看清别人拒绝去看到的事实。我不相信我的任何辩解会影响到任何人，所以我停止用母语沟通。幸运的是，在其他语言中我还能进行一些现实生活中的“论争”，就像现在所做的那样，而我的母语仅保留于一个私密的空间。
我知道你是接受我本来的样子的，但我们的道路太过不同，以至于我无法真正信任你，无法用我爱梦中另一个自我的方式去爱你。我没法将信任交付给一个与我不同的人，可是谁又能和谁一模一样？这应该是我自身的问题，我清楚这一点。请你不要放在心上，因为我无意冒犯或伤害。
至于那支舞，我说不了太多。但你写了，我就有责任去回应，并认真思考自己到底要说些什么，尽管在动笔前我并无完整的答案。
对于美的追求，也许不一定就是一种愚行，这取决于谁在做判断。只是我逐渐明白，这个世界其实并不在乎一个人感受如何，尤其是在那些具有公共意义的词语面前。私人的情感可以是任何东西，但“私人”一词对不同的人来说，又何其讽刺。社会阶层较低的人，他们对词语的理解常常被社会上层的“私人生活”所定义。我实在不知该如何回应，因为对我而言，舞蹈及其之美是私人的；而对你来说，它正在走向公开，因此进入了一场隐性的权力博弈，争夺同一个词的语义归属权。你大概想摆脱他人之舞的影响，但我能问一句：你真的能做到吗？我希望你可以，但我感到自己最好还是闭嘴，在这方面我已然看到他人的目光。那是恼人的挑战，但我相信你有勇气跨越它。
不过，说到底，我对你午夜呈现的那位舞者，始终感到精神上的疏离。她追求终极之美，而这让我心生怀疑：我是农民之女，若我是男子，那也是凭借体力而生的男子，出身接地气，并不精致。我始终无法放下一个念头：美的观念、以及后来的美学规范，诞生于像柏拉图那样的男人，而我不是那样的人。当然，舞蹈也可以是战争的技艺，但我们不能偏离事实太远。你的舞者是自知的：尽管她满身汗水，却始终脱离体力劳动。我从未希望评判别人，这种犹豫常常混淆我写回信时的表达。我不应多谈“你”，而应从“我”出发，因为我不愿进行过多无据的猜测。
关于那支舞，我的感受如下——我原本不打算写得如此详细，但既然已无可回避，亲爱的朋友，你确实给我出了一份艰难的作业，我不得不在记忆中搜寻，接受锻炼，这也是对我意志的一次考验。
我高中学的是理科，如今一天之中有一半时间学自然科学——充满了繁重的计算，另一半时间则学习人文社会知识——我们这个简单物种所造出的科学。因为我觉得分工造成了我们心智中的巨大空洞与危险，我们至少应当尝试成为“全知者”，这样才可能真正做到公正、不被欺骗，尽管这几乎是不可能的。
我对美学的感觉是：它是一种权力的伪装，借着“科学论证”之名来操控与欺骗我。正因如此，我虽然不喜欢艺术性的舞与作品，却还是选择走近它，只为了验证我自己的判断是否正确。我说服自己，因此离开了。
对于我来说，面向观众的舞，或是面向人生的舞，总是战争的一种较轻与较不荣耀的形式。而战争只承认胜利，尽管旁人也许并不如此认为。但若一人只为自己而舞，在死亡面前舞，在真正原谅的美面前舞，超越了人类的恐惧——那么，对我来说，那样的舞便不再受战争通行裁判的约束。所以，尽管我从不喜欢跳舞——我确实跳过一会儿，那或许就是我能与她产生共鸣的地方。舞对我的身体与想象力而言，如同诗歌之于我恋爱时的言语。我爱一个存在太深，以至于无法自持。但对美的追求不会成为我的职业。职业关乎生存，而我所理解的“美”，是令我感到舒适的东西。它令我舒适，因为它让我相信爱将等候在生命尊严而奋战终结的边缘。它令我舒适，是因为那是我自己鼓起的勇气，而非任何灌输。我们的国家是个贫穷的国家，你否认吗？不仅物质贫乏，精神亦然。在一个贫困的国家里，能滋养出的美是什么？我斗胆回答，那应是“尊严”。而我所拥有的美，不在于一种可被他人感知的感觉，而在于一个人对自身所感受到的自由与尊严，以及在经历贫穷与苦难后，仍能施予的仁慈与宽恕。贫穷是世界的疮痍，而我们这些中间人，则困于那贫穷所带来的苦难、丑陋，以及富贵阶层所拥有的精致却悲伤的悲哀之间。
你曾怜悯我心中的那个富家小女孩，而我却多么厌恶她，渴望将她变成真正的战士，真正的男人，尽管这场反叛本身充满了愚行。有朝一日，我会剪掉我的长发，去重拾我真正的志向。或者，它们会如一个满身泥泞的男人的疲惫一样自然脱落——这是我认为女性真正获得力量的唯一方式。对我而言，不信任人类，具体地说，是我不相信女性或穷人能从那些拥有权力者那里等到同等的恩惠。因为只要贫穷存在，真正的力量就很少来源于其他东西，除了暴力。
我们身处战区，但人类似乎总有办法将自己与现实分离。这是否是你滑开的方式？你那位舞者在追寻她童年时感受到的东西时那种“漂浮的意识”？如果是这样，遗憾地说，我无法与她共鸣，因为我太过属于战争，而她，在我看来不是。
我一直觉得，战争中的美从来不是艺术之美。我不需要看《格尔尼卡》就能体会战争的残酷。
看来你给了我一个审美的课题，而我却问起了你舞者的政治倾向，抱歉造成困扰。我是为爱而舞，我说不清她为何而舞，尽管我有些模糊的感觉。我可能会说，她所舞之物，是我不认同的。我应当在此受批评，难道我不也舞过……许久了吗？但我并不真的把那看作舞蹈……我更愿称之为“战斗”，我确实有那种军事精神，来自我父亲。我是被那样养大的，被扔进困苦之中，被迫去爱贫穷——至少去尊重并与之相识。我打过一场仗，发现独自作战太过艰难。但我想，战斗并不意味着孤身，也不意味着你得在尚未准备好时就去为族群而战。
你看Noir等了那么久，才与Maximilian重逢。在她身上有个舞者的形态——一个叫Narci的野女孩，为爱而舞。而Noir从不跳舞。她只是一个阴影，滑过、等待，当她被真正地爱了，她哭了，然后死去。那是我心中的那个女孩，尽管她也不必是个女孩。
随着时间流逝，当你写信给我，当我照顾弟弟、努力让他开心，与母亲共度缓慢时光时，我会想，若我们年少时能被全然、正义、富于想象地对待，若我们被当作孩子尊重，而非无知的傻瓜，那是何等幸福。若你只是因为爱而沉溺其中，也不会觉得是在浪费时间。我为这一段简单时光的流逝而落泪，如今我也该在此结束信件了——因我的人生实在流逝得太快，我必须珍惜每一个剩余的瞬间。
祝好，抱歉让你读得辛苦。
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