It was a strange train, no one knew where it came from or where it went, and it passed by all the strange names of places. All Shavon knew was that he was going to a seaside town for a vacation, and the rest, like the railroad at his feet, was out of sight and out of mind.
The train's curiosity also lies in the fact that the seventeenth car has been turned into a small free market, where travelers bring in all kinds of goods from all over the world, and as long as they are registered, they can be put on the shelves for sale. Sharvin often went to visit, taste the local flavor of snacks, to appreciate the strange small crafts.
A small note in the corner caught Shavon's attention:
"I am selling a ticket for a concert in Nadas Village, if you are interested, please contact Mr. Lin in compartment twenty-nine."
Lin was a middle-aged man, born with a pair of brown eyes and a tired look. When he saw Shavon, he smiled faintly and stroked his head, "I knew you'd come, boy."
At a small, lonely station, Shavon got off the train alone. Even though it was early fall, there was a windy, wild landscape in front of him. Shawen has some regrets, he lowered his head to look at the ticket in his hand - what is drawn on it? Seems to be broken non-connected lines, fluttering recklessly, splashed with stunning colors, vaguely revealing a non-human, non-beast monster. I could see his feathered hair flying, his jade arms ringed, his snake waist curling, his muscles rigid and strong, but it was in pieces.
"This, is God." Lin's meaningful words were still ringing in his ears, and Shavon couldn't help but chill all over. Yet what of the village of Nadas? The train had long since whistled past, and Shavon realized he was lost.
Shavon walked in a daze across the wilderness, the route Rin had indicated long since carried away by the wind. The sun slowly slipped down the western mountains, and Shavon spotted a faint light in the distance.
It was already dark when Shavon arrived at the cabin. The door was opened by a cold looking girl. Her gaze stretched beyond Shavon into the distance, without a smile, without words, and not as if she expected it.
Inside the house was an old man with gray hair. A simple but hot dinner made Shavon a little tired. When he took out his music ticket and asked the owner of the house for directions, the old man's serenity changed to a look of surprise, and the girl broke the dishware in her hand, "You can't go there, it's a horrible place!"
The old man pondered for a long moment, "Child, do you really want to go to Nadas?"
"Why can't I go?"
"I didn't think anyone would remember that place, even I myself forgot about it for a long time. It's a music ticket from fifteen years ago, yet it's still valid. The concert at Nadas is their traditional annual program. If you really want to go, let Joan show you the way. Alas, no one has visited it in so many years,-it is indeed a place that should not be forgotten."
"I only command you one thing, child: the poppies are most beautiful."
Jon led Shavon up a small hill and was greeted by another sunset. Shavon wiped the sweat off his face thinking that this time yesterday, he had seen the light from Joan's grandfather's hut. Today, another full day of trekking, what could he find? He had long since run out of strength. Joan was like a man carved in stone, she knew no rest, she could not speak, she was as cold as if she had no feelings.
Joan, always silent, was suddenly different, her steady steps became brisk, she breathed nervously and sharply, and suddenly turned her head back to look at Shavon, her lips tightly closed all the way, twitching like she was going to say something, and her eyes let out a different kind of look.
Heaven ......
Shavin stood in the setting sun, he wasn't sure if he was going to kneel or not. The village of Nadas, the village of Nadas! He saw it, oh God, he saw it! Across the way at the top of that mountain, it shone like a jewel. The colored city, the flying city, the city that cried and laughed and had life in it, the beast of wings and long hair and serpentine body and skeleton, which crouched there, amidst the mountains, above the wilderness, and you could see the beating of its heart, and you could hear its long, mournful howl, it was a city! Rin was right, not so much the devil as God!
Shaven gasped, he was moved to tears. He didn't know what to think, he forgot that he still had a body, forgot everything around him but Nadas, Nadas ......
At the entrance to the village, Shavon saw a man covered in blood completing a sculpture - snake-like two arms, twisted into the shape of a flower. The flower's snow-white petals were slender, clear, and looked soft and strong; the two arms were high and low, comfortable and contained, covering and hiding, so natural, not stiff, not staged; and how harmonious and enchanting the flower was, it was simply skillful.
"Look closely at that hand." Joan's voice was like the carver's flipping knife, sharp and calm.
Shavon only fixed his eyes and sucked in his breath in shock - no wonder the flower was superbly beautiful and chilling - each of the hands that made up the flower was born with six delicate fingers!
"This is me giving her my fingers." The sculptor suddenly smiled and opened his mutilated hands, knife marks and blood visible, "I named her Poppy. Do you know why Venus is a symbol of beauty?" The sculptor's smile was mysterious and wide, "Because she had no arms." He shaved off half of the petals with his knife and they fell in a flurry of his smile.
2 With fragrance on her lips, she chants to the moon - Poppies (by Liu Yan)
Shavin followed Joan into the village. The concert will be held in three days. Nadas was literally a living art gallery. All kinds of strange music floated in the air, with no rhythm, no theme, but containing deep rhythms, like voices from beyond the universe, or from the hand of a baby - who knew nothing of scores, or chapters, or even music, but who knew what he had listened to in his mother's womb, and what he felt in nature, and what he really wanted to express and what he was really trying to express.
Savin was fascinated by the murals that covered the walls and floors: stark as a beehive, or random as the murmurings of a dream. But all of them had the same ****ing characteristic: you couldn't tell what it was painting, but you seemed to understand what it was saying.
Each painting has a strange title: 'The Fission of Cancer Cells,' 'The Song of Blood,' 'The Rhythm of Heredity.' ......
"This is not my art," says the biologist, who has not yet put down his brush. "It's man's own art."
The small square in the center of the village is paved with black and white bricks.
"Is that art, too?" Shavon paced, studying the pattern the dots and lines made on the sky-blue background.
"No." An eager passerby stopped, "Don't you see? It's a game of Go."
"Do the villagers of Nadas love Go?"
"No, it's the owner of the black-and-white hut on the east side of the square, who was originally a Go master, who plays a game of Go with himself every night."
The passerby squinted up towards the square as he was leaving, "Black won last night."
As night fell, the people of the small village were surprised to see two figures appear in the small square. The teapot leisurely pours out some flavor as Shavin from the east and the chess sage face off on the large chessboard, Shavin holding black and the old man holding white. The old man danced on the chessboard with his bagua steps:
"Open your eyes, the road should be clear, close your eyes and the board should be clear. Chess is like marching troops, and the pieces fall like a sound. Life is like a chess game, you walk on the chessboard, but also learn to jump out of the game. Also remember that the human brain is always stronger than the computer - its chess is calculated, mine is chanted and drawn. Also it doesn't matter if you lose: you're playing for more than a decade, I'm moving for five thousand years ......"
Before dawn, the old man laid the last brick chess piece and hid in the hut. When Joan appeared, Shavon was standing, embarrassed, in a square almost engulfed in white.
Shavon and Joan met a girl named Wild over lunch at the diner.
"My father was a policeman." The girl took a sip of her coffee and said quietly, "Twenty years ago, he saw his best friend beaten to death, and to avenge his death, he implanted the wolf gene in his mother. Mother died after giving birth to me. Father's enemy was killed when I was two years old. My father was so incensed by not being able to avenge the death himself that he soon took me into seclusion here. There were not so many mundane things to annoy him here, not so many moral laws to accuse him of, and I think he had forgotten them all, or was afraid to remember."
"This store cooks good horsemeat. My father used to bring me here when I was very young, teaching me to experience the kill for myself, pointing out the most vulnerable parts of the animal, reminding me not to forget that I was a wolf, now his appetite is no longer good, but a horse a month is his constant recipe. In fact he doesn't consume any meat except horses. I often think it must have been Mom's favorite food back in the day."
Wild picked out a white horse and led it to the playground in the backyard. The horse had no saddle leather janes, a smooth spine, and not a line of mixed color on its body. Wild stroked its back and nuzzled its neck. The horse instinctively panicked, ducking back uneasily, gasping for breath, terror glaring in its eyes. Wild smiled and rubbed it, whispering something in its ear. Suddenly she leapt up onto the horse's back, and the white horse stood up with a whinny, neighing and running about; and Wild, like a locust, clung firmly to the horse's back.
Sha Wen watched the white horse carrying the black girl drifting away and coming, watching the horse like thunder general long whistling up in the air, the wild scattered black hair in the wind fluttering.
When everything was clear again, Wild wrapped herself around the horse's neck and sucked greedily and comfortably.
The horse did not fall until it was dead, and Wild licked the blood from her mouth, something indefinable rolling in her turquoise eyes, a deep smile on her face.
Jon still had the same face that had been there for ages.
In the small clearing at the edge of the village, Shavon discovered Einstein's tomb. The headstone and the platform around it were carved everywhere with stone clocks, stars and all sorts of difficult symbols.
"Is Einstein ......"
"No." The lady owner of the small bar explained. It was filled with all sorts of ugly faces, and the name of the bar was "The Faces of Jesus". "Not far from here lives a man named Val J., a physicist. He disproved Einstein - or at least he was convinced of it - but no one could understand him, just as no one could understand Einstein. He had caused a furor in the physics world, but was soon forgotten. You know what he said about that? He said, 'I'm sorry for God - I must be right.' He built Einstein's tomb here and buried his books. But not long ago he went mad, completely mad, by his own theories. Unfortunately no one could understand him when he was lucid, and now it's even more so just him and his own universe. No one knows if he is a genius or a fool."
3 Chanting to the Moon with Fragrance on Her Mouth - Poppies (by Yoo Yeon)
Shavin asks Joan, "What do you think it means to be crazy?"
Jon looks at him coldly, "Do you consider yourself sane?"
At the end of the alley sat a street painter. Shavon was drawn to him by a strange glow, and was surprised to find that shining brightly in the sunlight was a piece of metal - one of the painter's metal legs.
The painter raised his head, "Portrait, Miss Sir?" It was a young face with young eyes and a mature smile.
Involuntarily, Shavon sat down,
The painter buried his head deep into the panel, and when he peered up at Shavon, he still had that deep smile. Shawen could feel a lot of things from that smile, a little vicissitude, a thread of fatigue at dusk (Shawen was afraid that it was his last customer), a work of fastidiousness, a wave of strength, a wisp of lightness. The feelings of life in a smile in his combination so perfect, and each kind of feelings are so clear and light do not interfere with each other, each other fusion.
Savin began to pity him: he had experienced too many vicissitudes at a young age.
"Done. " the artist raised the panel in his hands, a bit of mischief popping out of his laughter this time.
Shavin took the sheet before he was suddenly startled out of his reverie - the picture was of a pair of legs, a sketch of a pair of able-bodied legs, and every line that flowed, every muscle that quivered, every hair of sweat that stood and fell, even the breeze that slid over his legs, was brought to life.
Shavon shrieked out in shock, and went to look at the painter's leg again: there was no muscle, no skin, and there could be no blood flowing, just a section of metal, cold and reflecting the sun's rays.
"I just want to examine my bones at all times." The painter said, slowly disappearing down the alley.
Jon picked up the fluttering piece of drawing paper.
Shavon felt himself surrounded by a certain sweetness, excitement, and nervousness. The concert, the concert was about to begin.
The glorious central hall came into view. Here, in the eye of the beast, were the four walls of golden light, crystalline and transparent, which Shavon guessed was crystal!
Jon, however, uncharacteristically pulled at Shavon, "Please don't go, okay?" Panic filled her eyes.
"Why?"
Jon twisted her face to avoid Shavon's gaze and murmured, "It would be horrible, horrible ......"
Shavon had long since been captivated by the Nadas, and even though he'd felt a marrow-soaking beauty and fear, the feeling had cut him off.
Jon shook her head without speaking.
Cheers rang out in the center hall as the concert opened.
Jon let go of Shavon, "Go ahead and listen, you have a right to. But come out as soon as I call you, understand?" She was back to that cold, icy expression.
The music would melt all life away.
There was no stage in the venue, all the musicians were scattered among the listeners; all the listeners were musicians if he wanted them to be. People played as much as they wished, a thousand instruments, a thousand unconnected sounds at the same time. Each man played and sang with that indefinable sound that floats over the nadas at times; there was no rhythm, no theme, no melody; all kinds of strange music were ****ing together; there was no conductor, and no scruples; there was only a myriad of hubris coming together and melting into madness. But there is always one loudest voice in the whole room: and when he finishes a movement, another voice automatically rises high and brightens up to take over the lead, and everyone else indulges in self-importance underneath the high notes. No one was appointed, no one was consulted, and the whole concert proceeded with such harmony and unity. These heavenly voices were enough to infect everyone present, tearing him apart, kneading and mixing, molding a new whole, a new life.
This is not Vienna, nor Bremen, this is Nadas!
Only the music of Nadas is called music, for it is unthinking and comes from the soul. The music of the brain only reaches the flesh, but the music of the soul reaches the heart and captures the mind!
Savin was shaken and overcome. He wanted to scream, to howl, to run wild, to tear from his heart what had been pressed upon it from his very birth: he heard the sound of life in the midst of conception, the sound of death whistling as it flew through the air, the sound of blood rushing through his body, the sound of souls weeping against flesh, the sound of winds singing, the sound of God confessing to himself, the sound of heaven crumbling, and the earth trembling! Voices ......
Jon rushed into the meeting like a wounded eagle, pulling Shavon down and screaming so loudly that Shavon woke up in a trance from his drunken sleep, and the earth literally trembled beneath his feet.
"Come on!" Joan was shouting, "It's too late!"
The houses began to shake, the crowd was in ecstasy, the central hall was in ecstasy, and all of Nadas was dancing wildly. Shavon and Joan pushed their way through the jostling crowd to escape out of the central hall and run towards the outskirts of the village. The concert was still raging. With a loud crash, the house collapsed, and Joan was crushed beneath a row of white brick walls - the wings of the beast. Shavon's face twisted out of shape by the disaster, he flung himself onto the rubble, fought his way through the broken bricks, picked up the dying Joan and ran out of the village.
On the spot where he had first seen the village of Nadas, they watched as it crashed away into rubble, dust and smoke filling the air and covering everything up.
Jon looked at the vanished village, a rueful smile filtering through the corners of his mouth, and muttered and chattered, "It's destroyed, the most beautiful thing destroyed ...... It spied on God, and God destroyed it ...... "
Savin listened to Joan tell the story of the village of Nadas.
"The village of Nadas was founded by my great-grandfather, and at that time it was the Nadas Sanatorium, which specialized in hosting those who were well known: scientists, poets, painters, musicians ...... It was separated by the wilderness and blocked by the mountains, and it was like a paradise, and a lot of people settled down to escape the world and to dive in to The people here have settled down, avoiding the world and concentrating on their work. Here gradually formed a village. But geniuses have a **** the same characteristics - schizophrenia, a person can be integrated into the world, the same as the world can not become a genius, but here can be unrestricted, no obstacles, as if the greenhouse to let it develop ...... music will be handed down for a long time Traditionally, at first there was nothing different from the outside world, but later when the characteristics and quirks of each person were manifested in great detail ...... they brewed all the horrible things into beautiful ones, and everyone got caught up in it and couldn't get out of it, and it felt like a drug addiction ...... they Captured the souls of all, including my great-grandfather, my grandmother, and both of my parents, as well as all the sane people that were ...... It was fifteen years ago, and I was still a kid who didn't know any better, but that last concert is still fresh in my mind, as it was just a moment ago, and I... ...grandfather escaped with me, and after that, it was as if Nadas had disappeared from this world, forgotten by the world ......"
Joan's face was always rippling with that woeful smile as she told the story, and the blood stained her body red, which was actually An unparalleled beauty ......
Shavin dreamed of mountains of red and purple poppies ......