Years later, the desperate noodles returned to New York. In the bar of an old friend, loyal and foolish, he slowly asked him: "How have you lived in these 35 years?" Quietly answered: "I just go to bed every morning." It's hard to say a word, full of vicissitudes. His temples were covered with white hair. He was no longer a gangster on the street, and he was no longer a gangster in the sky. He was just a calm, stumbling old man. He had nothing but memories ...His life was about several brothers who were born and died, and a beautiful girl; about friendship and dreams, about youth and love, and about loyalty and betrayal. In those years, when a person was silently displaced and traveled far away, what was he holding in his heart? Is it the betrayal of the ringing phone reminder after years? Is it a girl who is ignorant of the angelic dance peeping through the teenager's doorway?Years later, he finally realized that he had been guilty for 35 years, which was originally pure loyalty and friendship; the brother he devoted to and maintained for life had deceived him for 35 years.There is nothing new under the sun, and the key to good movies lies in the way they tell stories. The yellowish color of the film seems to be covered with a layer of mist, so that each lens is like an old yellowed picture; the high and distant pan flute is awkward. The music and the plot blended together to complement each other, and several transitions were made to happen. In the four-hour movie, the plot is clear when you see the second pass. If you watch it a few times, you will find that almost every shot is instructive and indispensable. The people behind the camera used Noodles to vent the concept: the void of the void, everything is the void.
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A torrent of emotion rushes throught my mind pleasure mingled with pain, pleasure, in having my dear mother and sister with me, and pain, at the thoughts of parting and the long time that will probably intervene before I shall see them again, but, I must turn from the sad musings to the scene around me. I have so much to say to you that I find writing a poor substitute for talking with you. Our darling Willie is now recovering from the measels, he was quite sick for a few days. What would I not have given to have had Dr Bisley with us then. We have every reason to be thankful that he is getting along so well.
Day after day he feels as if he had spent his nights in a sleeping-car. It actually takes him weeks to find out that it is those persecuting torrents that have been making all the mischief. It is time for him to get out of Switzerland, then, for as soon as he has discovered the cause, the misery is magnified several fold. The roar of the torrent is maddening, then, for his imagination is assisting; the physical pain it inflicts is exquisite. When he finds he is approaching one of those streams, his dread is so lively that he is disposed to fly the track and avoid the implacable foe.
I went to Buffalo, determined to make another effort. The preliminaries of the meeting threw me into the same nervous tension, but when I faced the audience, there were no visions to inflame my mind. In an endless, repetitious manner I made my speech about the waste of energy and time the eight-hour struggle involved, scoffing at the stupidity of the workers who fought for such trifles. At the end of what seemed to me several hours I was complimented on my clear and logical presentation. Some questions were asked, and I answered them with a sureness that brooked no gainsaying. But on the way home from the meeting my heart was heavy. No words of exaltation had come to me, and how could one hope to reach other hearts when one's own remained cold? I decided to wire Most the next morning, begging him to relieve me of the necessity of going to Cleveland. I could not bear to repeat once more the meaningless prattle.
I threw myself into the work with all the ardor of my being and I became absorbed in it to the exclusion of everything else. My task was to get the girls in the trade to join the strike. For that purpose meetings, concerts, socials, and dances were organized. At these affairs it was not difficult to press upon the girls the need of making common cause with their striking brothers. I had to speak often and I became less and less disturbed when on the platform. My faith in the justice of the strike helped me to dramatize my talks and to carry conviction. Within a few weeks my work brought scores of girls into the ranks of the strikers.
Another time, in Königsberg, my people, having lost everything in Popelan, were too poor to afford decent schooling for Herman and myself. The city's rabbi, a distant relative, had promised to arrange the matter, but he insisted on monthly reports of our behavior and progress at school. I hated it as a humiliation that outraged me, but I had to carry the report. One day I was given a low mark for bad behavior. I went home in trembling fear. I could not face Father --- I showed my paper to Mother. She began to cry, said that I would be their ruin, that I was an ungrateful and willful child, and that she would have to let Father see the paper. But she would plead with him for me, although I did not deserve it. I walked away from her with a heavy heart. At our bay window I looked out over the fields in the distance. Children were playing there; they seemed to belong to another world --- there never had been much play in my life. A strange thought came to me: how wonderful it would be if I were stricken with some consuming disease! It would surely soften Father's heart. I had never known him soft save on Sukkess, the autumnal holiday of rejoicing. Father did not drink, except a little on certain Jewish fêtes, on this day especially. Then he would grow jolly, gather the children about him, promise us new dresses and toys. It was the one bright spot in our lives and we always eagerly looked forward to it. It happened only once a year. As long as I could think back, I remembered his saying that he had not wanted me. He had wanted a boy, the pig woman had cheated him. Perhaps if I should become very ill, near death, he would become kind and never beat me again or let me stand in the corner for hours, or make me walk back and forth with a glass of water in my hand. "If you spill a drop, you will get whipped!" he would threaten. The whip and the little stool were always at hand. They symbolized my shame and my tragedy. After many attempts and considerable punishment I had learned to carry the glass without spilling the water. The process used to unnerve me and make me ill for hours after.
I have therefore no exact recollection of what took place during the following hours. I have a confused impression left of continuous explosions, loud detonations, a general shaking of the rocks all around us, and of a spinning movement with which our raft was once whirled helplessly round. It rocked upon the lava torrent, amidst a dense fall of ashes. Snorting flames darted their fiery tongues at us. There were wild, fierce puffs of stormy wind from below, resembling the blasts of vast iron furnaces blowing all at one time; and I caught a glimpse of the figure of Hans lighted up by the fire; and all the feeling I had left was just what I imagine must be the feeling of an unhappy criminal doomed to be blown away alive from the mouth of a cannon, just before the trigger is pulled, and the flying limbs and rags of flesh and skin fill the quivering air and spatter the bloodstained ground.
If the coming up this river, slowly making head against the stream, be an irksome journey,the shooting down it with the turbid current is almost worse; for then the boat, proceeding at therate of twelve or fifteen miles an hour, has to force its passage through a labyrinth of floatinglogs, which, in the dark, it is often impossible to see beforehand or avoid. All that night the bellwas never silent for five minutes at a time; and after every ring the vessel reeled again,sometimes beneath a single blow, sometimes beneath a dozen dealt in quick succession, thelightest of which seemed more than enough to beat in her frail keel, as though it had beenpie-crust. Looking down upon the filthy river after dark, it seemed to be alive with monsters, asthese black masses rolled upon the surface, or came starting up again, head first, when the boat,in ploughing her way among a shoal of such obstructions, drove a few among them, for themoment, under water. Sometimes the engine stopped during a long interval, and then before herand behind, and gathering close about her on all sides, were so many of these ill-favouredobstacles that she was fairly hemmed in; the centre of a floating island; and was constrained topause until they parted somewhere, as dark clouds will do before the wind, and opened bydegrees a channel out.
In good time next morning, however, we came again in sight ofthe detestable morass called Cairo: and stopping there to take in wood, lay alongside a barge,whose starting timbers scarcely held together. It was moored to the bank, and on its side waspainted "Coffee House;" that being, I suppose, the floating paradise to which the people fly forshelter when they lose their houses for a month or two beneath the hideous waters of the Mississippi. But, looking southward from this point, we had the satisfaction of seeing thatintolerable river dragging its slimy length and ugly freight abruptly off towards New Orleans;and, passing a yellow line which stretched across the current, were again upon the clear Ohio,never, I trust, to see the Mississippi more, saving in troubled dreams and nightmares. Page 219 Leaving it for the company of its sparkling neighbour was like thetransition from pain to ease, or the awakening from a horrible vision to cheerful realities. 2ff7e9595c
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