Why it never ends

Chapter 173
There was no moonlight that night, and the night sky was full of stars.

Near midnight, Hesta came to St. Anne's Monastery again. Not far behind the black memorial stone, a rose made of paper and a glass bell jar were buried in the ground—this is the unmarked grave she erected for the deceased.

She silently lit the candle in front of the tomb, and the soft halo illuminated the small piece of land.Hesta, who has entered the bullet time, just sat in front of the tomb like this. She opened a book of poems, stroked the thin pages, and finally stopped at the cornered page of tonight.

With this faint candlelight, she read poems to her mother in a very low voice.

"Flowers live in people's hearts, and I secretly read in their books, about those borders without marks, about those buds that didn't bloom...

"I understand the soul, such as lavender, I understand the girl of mimosa, I understand the rose, and how to use her to weave a flower belt in my heart..."

On winter nights, every breath Hesta exhales turns into a thin white mist.In the past, she often felt hot at this moment, and tears would well up in her eyes.

But now it won't be, and there is a kind of peace in her heart.

Even though everything tonight has not yet started, this tranquility is already like a buoy in the torrent, it briefly separates the pain of the past from the cruel blood that is coming, and lifts her up warmly.

Hesta read aloud slowly, and her eyes followed the words through the branches of laurel, through the gaps of black leaves, through the discs of lilies, until the end of the poem.

"Those who are dead and forgotten are given the language of acacia white. And my soul, this old hearth, grows this withered weed - exhaustion."(1)

Hesta was silent for a moment, then raised her head again, "I read this poem at Ava's a few days ago, Mom, I don't know why, I feel it hit me... Would you like this poem?"

The night wind suddenly blew away the second half of Hesta's sentence, and the cold wind brought a needle-like touch, and also rattled the poetry collection in her hand.

She felt a little tired, and the upcoming revenge no longer made her look forward to it like the previous few times.

She had considered these people her lifelong enemies, and even generously planned to spend the next five years taking their lives.But now it seems that these people are not worthy of this honor at all. Their evil is as stupid and ugly as themselves, and even if it is wiped out in one go, it will not bring her any pleasure or glory.

But she has to keep everything from beginning to end, which is a decision she has made long ago.

Hesta closed his eyes briefly, and the conversation with Campbell in the afternoon suddenly appeared in his mind.

"Did you know that Aya told me in the afternoon that before the court session, everyone should put their hands on the "Bible" or other religious books and swear never to lie in court, because the promise made on this occasion is very important... I think it's ridiculous, Mom."

She looked down at the cover of the poetry collection, "I will not keep any oath, even if I have to swear to something, I would rather put my hands on this collection of poems."

In the strong wind, all the previous warmth slowly dissipated, and the world became clear and concrete again.

She turned back to look at the city light coming from Tan Yi in the distance—it didn't come from any directly visible lamp, but the light of the whole city dimly illuminated the piece of night sky that belonged to it.

Tonight will be a sleepless night for many, but that's okay, the bigger the obstacles they set up, the stronger she will be able to demonstrate, and the deeper the fear for the living will be.

Hesta adjusted her breathing, "It's time for me to go, Mom."

She stood up again, and the moment she lowered her head, Hesta found that the collection of poems in her hand happened to stop on another short poem:

"Though we search through our letters,

No one can fathom the meaning:
How treacherous we are, that is--

How true we are to ourselves. "(2)

……

At Tanyi North Station in the early morning, the square was quiet and deserted.

The curfew is still in place. After the riots last night, there are more policemen on Tanyi Street tonight.Several riot planners have been arrested, and a large number of radical demonstrators have also been detained. The city is much quieter tonight.

Surrounded by a number of mercury needles, Schmidt, wearing a mask, got off the car at the entrance of a passage.Instead of crossing directly across the square, they cautiously made their way directly to the platform through a nearby building passage.

According to Schmidt's request, a priest was already waiting for his arrival in a waiting room.Because the bishop who was familiar with Schmidt and others was accompanying Rich at the Clier Farm tonight, the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Candlestick sent another highly respected old priest.

In principle, the confession ceremony can only be performed in the church’s confessional, but considering Schmidt’s special fate at the moment, the church thoughtfully made a change: they arranged a small office here as a temporary confessional.

In such a small dark room, no matter whether the confessor is a nobleman or a commoner, whether he is just young or very old, all people can kneel down before the statue of the Father on an equal footing and confess their sins in a low voice.

At this moment, Schmidt can't wait to see a priest. He has too much anxiety to dump, and he doesn't even care who the other party is, as long as this person is harmless.

He thought of the counselor Fernan had relied on for many years—although he once sneered at it, thinking it was a game for the weak, but now it seems that it was just a kind of honesty to himself... He realized it too late , maybe everyone has a moment when they need to talk but can't let anyone hear.

These feelings tormented him like a fire, reaching a peak tonight, and the more he tried to stop, the more intense the clashing thoughts became.until he passed a mirror.

Schmidt just inadvertently cast a glance into the mirror, and his steps stopped suddenly.In just a split second, his gaze was completely attracted by the image in the mirror—the person in the mirror under the dim light and shadow made him feel extremely strange.His haggard profile at the moment was like any limp old man on the street, and his former air was gone.

As if overnight, he really aged.

This sudden self-examination was like a wake-up call, causing Schmidt to straighten his back immediately and widen his eyes consciously.

"What's the matter with you?" Avinash also stopped and asked back.

"It's nothing." Schmidt said in a deep voice, his voice returned to its former majesty, but then, he murmured very softly, "...No one can knock me down...Yes, No one...no one!"

-

(1) Quote from Cherubina de Gabriac's "Flowers"

(2) Quoted from Marina Tsvetaeva's "Gypsy-like Desire to Separate"

(End of this chapter)