直到红灯亮起 Until A Red Light
By Mike Jansen
Translate By Ninesnow
2015-04
彗星科幻
an image inspired by the story by a fellow dutch artist named Gidion van de Swaluw.
Your face is hardly visible behind the respirator, only your golden hair reminds me that it’s you sitting on your high throne, pillows supporting your brittle limbs, soft gurgling coming from the machines at your side. They keep you alive.
In the dying light of Trega II’s triplet suns your eyes are vivid, blue gray, the dark ice that first attracted me all these years ago, when you gave me your stern look, the one with the promise.
The view of the city from your hospital window is stunning, hundreds of skyscrapers surrounded by the eternal jungle of the polar continent we settled almost seven hundred years earlier. Humanity’s new home away from Earth. It’s wasted on us, we only see each other.
I kneel beside you and take your frail hand in mine. It’s a ritual we perform, once in a while. A matter of time really, before you either die, or get cured. Yet even after crossing the vastness of interstellar space, a cure for this, this illness, still has not been found. Your oncologist’s words carried their dreaded finality, a few weeks at the most. The genuine pain in his eyes told us enough.
I cannot live without you. That I decided more than a year ago. No matter the cost. You never asked about the medicine I provide. I never volunteered. That’s my cross to bear. I’m not a killer, but I will protect the one I love.
Notatlan understood that, when I went to see it in its desert hideout, only a day after hearing the verdict. We, me and my love, had been studying its people for years and Notatlan had learned our language faster than we were able to map their society.
“Your purpose has changed, human,” it said with its high, squeaky voice as I entered.
I nodded. “You are wise and observant, Notatlan. I seek your knowledge. And the reason you are still alive. Our first records show you here, seven hundred years ago. Yet your people rarely live past fifty.”
“Shshra, I have a tale of Long Shadows to tell, if you will listen…” It was lengthy and convoluted, but it taught me about the real gods of Trega II.
Right now, in these halls of the sick and dying, the false gods in white jackets, who call themselves doctors, dispense medicine and procedure. I expect a Shadow of Mercy to walk past the thrones of the kings and queens at any moment. Perhaps it is my hope, a decision taken without me, for I am just as much at the mercy of my own desire, to see you alive a little longer.
I could not believe that you, we, would one day end. A strong belief is a gift, it is conviction, a power of will that drives a man to extremes to attain goals that some would call improbable, if not impossible.
With a little help of the Long Shadows my will has so far overcome the obstacles of your illness, although it gets harder every time to obtain the essence needed to extend your life.
Looking into your eyes I see the need for release, an end to it all, but I shake my head. It’s not your time yet, no, not yet, I won’t let you go.
A god enters and looks at charts on your screen. He leaves, not feeling the daggers my eyes plant in his back, not noticing my hand in my right jacket pocket, clenching the scalpel I swiped from a tray outside the Sterile Kingdom.
I hold onto your hand and cry, while making up my mind and hardening my resolve. I mumble something about a bathroom and promise to return, soon. Your eyes follow me as I leave. There are tears, I know there are. I feel them too, in my eyes. Yours are for your situation and your loneliness. Mine are for the life I’m about to end.
“Is this the only way, Notatlan?” I asked.
The creature gave its version of a nod. “Our Gods are dark and vengeful. They require sacrifice…”
“…in exchange for what I need.”
“Shshra, pay the Long Shadows well and they repay in kind.”
The halls of this kingdom have many doors with red lights and green. Some lights are off; an absence not only of light, but of the soul that once occupied the throne inside. When I round a corner I see a god leave a room, gloves still on, carrying a tray with an auto-syringe I know contains heavy sedative. It’s my sign, my omen. I’m not one to ignore the hand that fate deals me.
Looking around I slide into the room, unobserved, my trembling right hand around the handle of the scalpel. A cold shiver runs down my spine. Always I feel reluctance, an almost tangible resistance against what I’m about to do, the tithe I’m about to deliver to gods other than the ones roving these halls. We can all be Shadows of Mercy if the moment is upon us and with great clarity I realize such a time has just arrived.
Soft snoring reaches my ears. It’s not a healthy snore, but the struggle of a sick body for oxygen, to keep its heart pumping, to keep its organs from failing. And for what? To maintain an incurable illness the body doesn’t even know is there. Such pitiful creatures, bound to our Earthly forms without regard for the world around us, not understanding the remorseless cycle that will grind us all to dust, eventually. For time is short. People in these halls know all too well, despite the reassuring susurrations of the white robed gods.
The low light of the room illuminates the throne. Yellow skin, limp hair nearly all gone, the man is gaunt, his skeletal form only partially covered by a thin white sheet. I slide up close, observe the slow, labored rhythm of his breathing, the thin line of his life clearly visible above him. I grab a piece of cloth from a side table.
The aspect of the Shadow of Mercy is upon me, obviously. Every time I have seen the line, was when someone needed to die, so that my love could live a little longer.
My prayers to the real gods of Trega II follow the patterns of the sick man’s breathing, synchronizing, making me one with the room, the situation, the need to create the perfect moment for his departure and the collection of the remainder of his energies.
“The Long Shadows will ride you and open your eyes to their world,” Notatlan warned. “You may not like what you see. You may not like what is expected.”
“I only care about keeping her alive, Notatlan. I’ll do anything.”
The creature finished its drawing in the sand. “Sometimes letting go is the ultimate sacrifice, human,” it said, just before the world turned dark.
I cut the valve that keeps sedative from flooding his veins. The clear liquid rapidly enters his body. His breathing seems to stop and I hope, I pray this one will go quietly. But then his eyes open, blood shot and yellow. I see the fear inside, the knowledge that Long Shadows are upon him and his time has come. He tries to open his mouth. I see his blotchy tongue, swollen, a slimy worm that writhes and attempts to escape. Of course, I cannot allow it.
With the cloth I grab his tongue, pull and then slice it clean off. I quickly wrap the tongue in the cloth, then push his mouth closed and lean on his jaw until the sedative gets him good. His eyes roll back, blood gushes from his nose and he drowns, leaving me with a trophy, the vessel the Long Shadows require to carry living essence back to a loved one.
Leaving no trails, I exit the room. The light is red, a sign that gods will converge on the hapless soul within, to snatch him back from the doorstep of oblivion, if they can.
In the bathroom the white light is icy cold. The mirror shows my face, ashen, with lines I never noticed before. I look down at the stained cloth in my hand and drop it in the sink before turning on the water to wash away the blood.
The piece of tongue without its fluids is a light pink color. The flesh is soft, salty, with a bitter aftertaste, reminiscent of the scents in the halls of this kingdom. Warmth suffuses my body; a rapturous elation floods my brain, making me at least the equal of the white robed gods, wielding a power they never could, bestowed by the aspect of the Shadow of Mercy. With near narcissistic delight I dispose of the piece of cloth, wash my hands and face and check for spatters on my clothes. I’m good to go, ready for my love.
Past gods and demigods that rush through the halls I make my way back to her throne. She rests, fitfully, her golden hair spread around her like some ancient crown. I sit beside her and hold her hand. A deep satisfaction fills me; for once again I can prolong her existence and keep her with me. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, I will do what the Long Shadows require. When I bend over her hand to give her the kiss of life, she pulls back.
Surprised I look up, straight into my love’s dark ice eyes. There’s no love there now, no anger, no determination, no guilt, no fear. I recognize resignation and it fills me with despair. She pulls the respirator aside; her hollow cheeks are yellow, like her hands and her arms. She whispers: “No more. Enough.”
I hold the metal bars on the side of her throne and squeeze. “I have been a Shadow of Mercy, my love, for you. Please, do not deny me. You are all that stands between me and murderous insanity.”
She smiles at me. “It’s ok. I forgive you.” Her hand rests on mine. I lay my head on it, feeling the cool touch of her fingers.
“You were always the strong one,” I murmur into her flesh.
“Be my Shadow of Mercy,” she whispers.
I look up at her. “I cannot do that. Do not ask this of me.”
“This is your cross to bear, my love.” Her breathing is labored and she replaces the respirator to regain some strength. After a minute she looks at me with tears in her eyes and whispers through the mask: “Release me… let me go…”
Slowly I realize that this moment in time is her final act of defiance, the final spark of strength that drives her to choose the time and manner of her passing. For me it is a moment of Satori when the thought of using the power I have acquired through taking of a life can also be used to take another life, even if that life is so very dear to me. I’m reminded of the words of Notatlan: “Sometimes letting go is the ultimate sacrifice.”
The aspect of the Shadow of Mercy descends upon me and I feed it, not only with the fires of the rage within me and the myriad emotions of this moment, but also with the sparks of life I so carefully hoarded over the past months, until its black wings stretch to infinity and darkness pervades the room.
There’s a price to pay, there always is, but I gladly comply to spend moments that stretch into eternity with my one true love, feeling our energies mix, our souls intertwine, until a red light comes on.
你的脸庞被呼吸面罩遮住,让人很难看清你的面目,只有你的一头金发提醒我,那个高高端坐于王座上的人是你。你柔弱的四肢被软垫支起,身旁的机器发出轻柔的声音,汩汩作响。他们维持着你的生命。
在特尔喀II号星球上,三个太阳如同奄奄一息般散发出微弱的光芒,相比之下你的双眸如此鲜活,灰蓝色的瞳仁宛如坚冰;多年以前,你用这样坚定的眼神望着我,目光中饱含承诺,那是我第一次被它们吸引,至今未变。
从医院的窗户向外看,这座城市的景观令人头晕目眩。数百幢摩天大楼高耸入云,它们脚下是极地大陆上无边无尽的丛林。我们早在近七百年前就在这里定居,这里是人类在地球之外的新家园。窗外的一切对你我而言都毫无意义,我们的眼中只有彼此。
我在你身旁跪下,握住你脆弱的手。每隔一段时间我们都会举行这种仪式。或是死去或是被治愈,这真的只是个时间问题。尽管我们横穿过广袤的星际空间,却仍然找不到治愈这种病症的方法。最多只剩下几个星期,肿瘤医生的话语已经预示了可怕的结局,他眼中真诚的痛苦足以为证。
早在一年前我就已经决定,不论付出怎样的代价,我都不会一个人独活。你从来不问我给你吃的是什么药,我也从未主动提起。那是我必须背负的十字架。我不是杀手,但我会保护我爱的人。
听到诊断结果的第二天我就去了那个荒凉的隐居之所,去见诺泰特兰。它洞悉我的想法。我们,我和我的爱人,花费了数年时间研究它的子民,而在我们了解他们的社会之前,诺泰特兰就已经学会了我们的语言。
我一进门就听到它用尖厉刺耳的声音说:“人类,你的目的已经改变。”
我点头承认。“你是明智而擅察的诺泰特兰。我要求助于你的智慧,我想知道你长寿的原因。我们最早的记录表明七百年以前你就已经在这里。而你的子民却鲜有人能活过五十岁。”
“施世若,如果你愿意听,我要给你讲一个关于长影族的故事...”这故事漫长而曲折,它向我展示了存在于特尔喀II号星球上的真神。
此时此刻,自称为医生、穿着白色大褂的虚假神明在厅室中穿梭往来,他们为那些恶疾缠身、奄奄一息的病人分发药物,提供治疗。我期待慈悲之影会在某一刻走过国王和女王们的御座。也许我只是希望你能活得长久一点。我只是被自己的欲望裹挟,身不由已地做出这样的决定。
我无法相信在未来的某天,你,我们,终将死去。坚定的信仰是天赐之物,赋予持有者强大的意志和决心,让他们竭尽所能实现自己的目标,不论这目标是空中楼阁还是移山填海。
到目前为止,借助长影族的小小援助,我的意志总能战胜你的病魔,但是想要获得延长你生命的精华也变得越来越困难。
我在你眼中看到寻求解脱的愿望,你想让这一切都结束,可我摇头表示拒绝。还不到你生命终结的时刻,不到,远远不到,我不能就这样放手。
一位神明走进房间查看监控屏幕,然后离开,丝毫没有察觉到我如匕的目光正刺向他的背影,同样没有发觉我藏在右侧外套口袋中的手里紧握着一把手术刀。手术刀来自于这个无菌王国外的托盘。
我握住你的手哭泣,同时也下定决心绝不动摇。我含糊的说着要去盥洗室并保证会回来,很快。你含泪注视我离去,我知道你的眼中含着泪。我的眼中也同样饱含泪水。你为自己的处境和孤独流泪。我为即将亲手结束的生命而悲哀。
“诺泰特兰,这是唯一的方法么?”
那个生物用可以称作是点头的动作肯定了我的疑问。“我们的神生性阴暗,睚眦必报。他们要求献祭……”
“……以此为交换才能实现我的愿望。”
“施世若,投长影族以桃,他们回报你的必定是丰盛的李。”
在这个王国内,很多厅室的门上都安装着红灯和绿灯。有些门上的灯全都处于熄灭状态,那里缺失的不仅仅是光芒,同时缺席的还有曾经占据着厅内王座的灵魂。我转过一个拐角,看到一位神明刚刚离开某个房间,带着手套的双手端盛有自动注射器的盘子,我认出注射器里装的是镇静剂。这是上天给我的预兆,我不会错过命运之神给我的机会。
环顾四周无人,我溜进了那个房间,颤抖的右手握住手术刀的刀柄。我感觉到一股冷颤冲下脊柱。我一如既往的感到很不情愿,一种几乎能够触碰到的抵触情绪阻挡着我接下来的行动:我将要向神明献上什一税,只不过不是献给在这些厅室间徘徊的神明。只要时机成熟我们都能够成为慈悲之影,而我清楚地认识到我的时机就在眼前。
我听到轻微的鼻鼾声,不是健康的那种鼾声,而是为了心脏继续跳动,为了器官不至衰竭,病重之躯为了获取氧气竭力呼吸的声音。而这一切又是为了什么?只是为了延续甚至连这具身体都察觉不到的不治之症。多么可怜的生物,被禁锢在尘世的皮囊之内,对身外的世界毫无敬意,他们不明白在无情的生命循环法则面前,我们所有人终将被碾压成尘。人生苦短。不管披着白色长袍的神明们如何用轻声细语安抚他们,端坐在这些厅室中的人都十分清楚这一点。
房间内昏暗的灯火照在王座上。坐在上面的人面容憔悴,皮肤蜡黄,绵软的头发几乎都掉光了,瘦骨嶙峋的身体半盖着白色的床单。我悄悄地走近他,看着他不堪重负地呼吸,观察着他缓慢的呼吸节奏。我能清楚的看到他的生命线已经细若游丝。我抓起旁边桌上的一块布。
很明显,慈悲之影的神性已经附在了我的身上。每当我看到这条线的时候,就意味着某个人即将死去,而我的爱人又可以多活一段时间。
伴着病人的呼吸模式,我向特尔喀II号星球上的真神祷告,我要和这个人的节奏同步,我要让自己和这个房间、和当前的情景、和我的需求融为一体,创造完美的时机送他离开,收集他生命中剩余的能量。
诺泰特兰警告过我。“长影族会附在你的身上,让你看到他们的世界。你也许不会喜欢你看到的景象。你也许不会喜欢你所期待的事物。”
“只要能让她继续活下去,诺泰特兰。我会做任何事。”
面前的生物停止在沙地上写写画画。“有时放手即是最终的献祭。”它说,随后世界一片黑暗。
我拧开镇静剂输液管的阀门。透明液体快速流入他的体内。他看上去好像停止了呼吸,我希望,我祈祷,这一个能安静的上路。但他睁开了双眼,眼球遍布血丝和黄斑。我看到他眼中的恐惧,他知道长影族已经找上了他,他的大限将至。他费力张开嘴。我看到他肿胀生疮的舌头,像一条滑腻的蠕虫扭动着想要逃出来。我当然不会让它如愿。
我隔着手中的布片抓住他的舌头,向外一拉用刀切断。我迅速用布包好切下来的舌头,合上他的嘴,顶住他的下颌,直到他在镇静剂的作用下不再挣扎。他双眼翻白,鼻孔冒血。他淹溺在自己的血里,而我则拿到了战利品,一个长影族指定的容器中盛着我的爱人所需要的生命精华。
我离开房间,不留一丝痕迹。门上的红灯亮起,预示着这里的神明很快就会聚集在那个无助灵魂的身旁,把他从永恒的沉睡中解救出来,只要他们有那种能力。
在盥洗室冰冷的白色灯光下,我看到自己在镜中灰白的脸,还有一条我从未见过的线。我低头看着手中浸满血的布块,把它扔进洗手池,打开龙头冲洗血迹。
流光血的舌头呈浅粉色。舌肉柔软,味咸,余味略苦,让人联想到这个王国的每个厅室中的气味。我的身体激动不已;我的心中满是狂喜,我觉得自己不逊于那些穿白袍的神明,我操纵着他们从不可能拥有的力量,而慈悲之影的神性则操纵着我。带着近于自恋的欣喜,我处理掉那块布,洗净手和脸,确保衣服上没有溅到血迹。万无一失,万事俱备,我要去见我的爱人。
经过匆匆来去的神明和半神,我回到她的王座旁。她时而清醒时而沉睡,披散开的金发像古老的王冠。我坐在她身边,握住她的手。我有一种深深的满足感,我可以再一次延长她的寿命,把她留在我身边。不论付出什么代价,不管花费多少时间,我都会满足长影族的需要。我俯下身越过她的手,要给她生命之吻,她向后避开了我。
我惊讶的向上看,径直望进爱人深邃冰冷的双眼。她的双眸中已经没有爱意,没有愤怒,没有决心,没有罪恶,没有恐惧。我看到了放弃,我感到绝望。她把呼吸面罩推到一边,她深陷的双颊泛黄,她的双手双臂也是同样的颜色。她轻声对我说:“别再这样了。够了。”
我紧紧地攥住她御座一侧的金属栏杆。“亲爱的,为了你我已经成为了慈悲之影。求你不要拒绝我。没有你,我只是一个杀人狂。”
她对我笑着。“没关系。我原谅你。”她的手停留爱我的手中,我把额头贴上去感受着她手指的冰凉触碰。
“你总是比我更坚强。”我对着她的肌肤喃喃的说。
她轻声地说:“做我的慈悲之影吧。”我抬起头看着她。“我做不到。别让我做这种事。”
“这是你要背负的十字架,我的爱人。”她开始呼吸困难,重新戴上呼吸面罩恢复气力。过了一分钟她含着泪看着我,透过面罩轻声说:“让我解脱……让我走吧……”
我逐渐意识到此时此刻她在进行最后的抗争,她拼尽最后一口气力选择自己离开的时间和方式。而此时此刻的我猛然醒悟:通过夺取别人生命而获得的能力,一样也能用在另一个生命上,即使是我如此深爱之人的生命。我记起诺泰特兰说过的话:“有时放手即是最终的献祭。”
慈悲之影的神性附在我身上,我不仅仅用此时心中的怒火和五味杂陈的心绪奉养它,同时也向它献上这几个月来我精心囤储的生命之火,直到它漆黑的双翼无限伸展,暗影笼罩房间。
需要付出代价,总要付出代价。我欣然遵守这条规则,和我唯一的真爱一同度过这延展为永恒的一刻,我们的生命相互融合,我们的灵魂相互缠绕,直到红灯亮起。
「完」
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By Mike Jansen
Translate By Ninesnow
2015-04
彗星科幻
an image inspired by the story by a fellow dutch artist named Gidion van de Swaluw.
Your face is hardly visible behind the respirator, only your golden hair reminds me that it’s you sitting on your high throne, pillows supporting your brittle limbs, soft gurgling coming from the machines at your side. They keep you alive.
In the dying light of Trega II’s triplet suns your eyes are vivid, blue gray, the dark ice that first attracted me all these years ago, when you gave me your stern look, the one with the promise.
The view of the city from your hospital window is stunning, hundreds of skyscrapers surrounded by the eternal jungle of the polar continent we settled almost seven hundred years earlier. Humanity’s new home away from Earth. It’s wasted on us, we only see each other.
I kneel beside you and take your frail hand in mine. It’s a ritual we perform, once in a while. A matter of time really, before you either die, or get cured. Yet even after crossing the vastness of interstellar space, a cure for this, this illness, still has not been found. Your oncologist’s words carried their dreaded finality, a few weeks at the most. The genuine pain in his eyes told us enough.
I cannot live without you. That I decided more than a year ago. No matter the cost. You never asked about the medicine I provide. I never volunteered. That’s my cross to bear. I’m not a killer, but I will protect the one I love.
Notatlan understood that, when I went to see it in its desert hideout, only a day after hearing the verdict. We, me and my love, had been studying its people for years and Notatlan had learned our language faster than we were able to map their society.
“Your purpose has changed, human,” it said with its high, squeaky voice as I entered.
I nodded. “You are wise and observant, Notatlan. I seek your knowledge. And the reason you are still alive. Our first records show you here, seven hundred years ago. Yet your people rarely live past fifty.”
“Shshra, I have a tale of Long Shadows to tell, if you will listen…” It was lengthy and convoluted, but it taught me about the real gods of Trega II.
Right now, in these halls of the sick and dying, the false gods in white jackets, who call themselves doctors, dispense medicine and procedure. I expect a Shadow of Mercy to walk past the thrones of the kings and queens at any moment. Perhaps it is my hope, a decision taken without me, for I am just as much at the mercy of my own desire, to see you alive a little longer.
I could not believe that you, we, would one day end. A strong belief is a gift, it is conviction, a power of will that drives a man to extremes to attain goals that some would call improbable, if not impossible.
With a little help of the Long Shadows my will has so far overcome the obstacles of your illness, although it gets harder every time to obtain the essence needed to extend your life.
Looking into your eyes I see the need for release, an end to it all, but I shake my head. It’s not your time yet, no, not yet, I won’t let you go.
A god enters and looks at charts on your screen. He leaves, not feeling the daggers my eyes plant in his back, not noticing my hand in my right jacket pocket, clenching the scalpel I swiped from a tray outside the Sterile Kingdom.
I hold onto your hand and cry, while making up my mind and hardening my resolve. I mumble something about a bathroom and promise to return, soon. Your eyes follow me as I leave. There are tears, I know there are. I feel them too, in my eyes. Yours are for your situation and your loneliness. Mine are for the life I’m about to end.
“Is this the only way, Notatlan?” I asked.
The creature gave its version of a nod. “Our Gods are dark and vengeful. They require sacrifice…”
“…in exchange for what I need.”
“Shshra, pay the Long Shadows well and they repay in kind.”
The halls of this kingdom have many doors with red lights and green. Some lights are off; an absence not only of light, but of the soul that once occupied the throne inside. When I round a corner I see a god leave a room, gloves still on, carrying a tray with an auto-syringe I know contains heavy sedative. It’s my sign, my omen. I’m not one to ignore the hand that fate deals me.
Looking around I slide into the room, unobserved, my trembling right hand around the handle of the scalpel. A cold shiver runs down my spine. Always I feel reluctance, an almost tangible resistance against what I’m about to do, the tithe I’m about to deliver to gods other than the ones roving these halls. We can all be Shadows of Mercy if the moment is upon us and with great clarity I realize such a time has just arrived.
Soft snoring reaches my ears. It’s not a healthy snore, but the struggle of a sick body for oxygen, to keep its heart pumping, to keep its organs from failing. And for what? To maintain an incurable illness the body doesn’t even know is there. Such pitiful creatures, bound to our Earthly forms without regard for the world around us, not understanding the remorseless cycle that will grind us all to dust, eventually. For time is short. People in these halls know all too well, despite the reassuring susurrations of the white robed gods.
The low light of the room illuminates the throne. Yellow skin, limp hair nearly all gone, the man is gaunt, his skeletal form only partially covered by a thin white sheet. I slide up close, observe the slow, labored rhythm of his breathing, the thin line of his life clearly visible above him. I grab a piece of cloth from a side table.
The aspect of the Shadow of Mercy is upon me, obviously. Every time I have seen the line, was when someone needed to die, so that my love could live a little longer.
My prayers to the real gods of Trega II follow the patterns of the sick man’s breathing, synchronizing, making me one with the room, the situation, the need to create the perfect moment for his departure and the collection of the remainder of his energies.
“The Long Shadows will ride you and open your eyes to their world,” Notatlan warned. “You may not like what you see. You may not like what is expected.”
“I only care about keeping her alive, Notatlan. I’ll do anything.”
The creature finished its drawing in the sand. “Sometimes letting go is the ultimate sacrifice, human,” it said, just before the world turned dark.
I cut the valve that keeps sedative from flooding his veins. The clear liquid rapidly enters his body. His breathing seems to stop and I hope, I pray this one will go quietly. But then his eyes open, blood shot and yellow. I see the fear inside, the knowledge that Long Shadows are upon him and his time has come. He tries to open his mouth. I see his blotchy tongue, swollen, a slimy worm that writhes and attempts to escape. Of course, I cannot allow it.
With the cloth I grab his tongue, pull and then slice it clean off. I quickly wrap the tongue in the cloth, then push his mouth closed and lean on his jaw until the sedative gets him good. His eyes roll back, blood gushes from his nose and he drowns, leaving me with a trophy, the vessel the Long Shadows require to carry living essence back to a loved one.
Leaving no trails, I exit the room. The light is red, a sign that gods will converge on the hapless soul within, to snatch him back from the doorstep of oblivion, if they can.
In the bathroom the white light is icy cold. The mirror shows my face, ashen, with lines I never noticed before. I look down at the stained cloth in my hand and drop it in the sink before turning on the water to wash away the blood.
The piece of tongue without its fluids is a light pink color. The flesh is soft, salty, with a bitter aftertaste, reminiscent of the scents in the halls of this kingdom. Warmth suffuses my body; a rapturous elation floods my brain, making me at least the equal of the white robed gods, wielding a power they never could, bestowed by the aspect of the Shadow of Mercy. With near narcissistic delight I dispose of the piece of cloth, wash my hands and face and check for spatters on my clothes. I’m good to go, ready for my love.
Past gods and demigods that rush through the halls I make my way back to her throne. She rests, fitfully, her golden hair spread around her like some ancient crown. I sit beside her and hold her hand. A deep satisfaction fills me; for once again I can prolong her existence and keep her with me. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, I will do what the Long Shadows require. When I bend over her hand to give her the kiss of life, she pulls back.
Surprised I look up, straight into my love’s dark ice eyes. There’s no love there now, no anger, no determination, no guilt, no fear. I recognize resignation and it fills me with despair. She pulls the respirator aside; her hollow cheeks are yellow, like her hands and her arms. She whispers: “No more. Enough.”
I hold the metal bars on the side of her throne and squeeze. “I have been a Shadow of Mercy, my love, for you. Please, do not deny me. You are all that stands between me and murderous insanity.”
She smiles at me. “It’s ok. I forgive you.” Her hand rests on mine. I lay my head on it, feeling the cool touch of her fingers.
“You were always the strong one,” I murmur into her flesh.
“Be my Shadow of Mercy,” she whispers.
I look up at her. “I cannot do that. Do not ask this of me.”
“This is your cross to bear, my love.” Her breathing is labored and she replaces the respirator to regain some strength. After a minute she looks at me with tears in her eyes and whispers through the mask: “Release me… let me go…”
Slowly I realize that this moment in time is her final act of defiance, the final spark of strength that drives her to choose the time and manner of her passing. For me it is a moment of Satori when the thought of using the power I have acquired through taking of a life can also be used to take another life, even if that life is so very dear to me. I’m reminded of the words of Notatlan: “Sometimes letting go is the ultimate sacrifice.”
The aspect of the Shadow of Mercy descends upon me and I feed it, not only with the fires of the rage within me and the myriad emotions of this moment, but also with the sparks of life I so carefully hoarded over the past months, until its black wings stretch to infinity and darkness pervades the room.
There’s a price to pay, there always is, but I gladly comply to spend moments that stretch into eternity with my one true love, feeling our energies mix, our souls intertwine, until a red light comes on.
你的脸庞被呼吸面罩遮住,让人很难看清你的面目,只有你的一头金发提醒我,那个高高端坐于王座上的人是你。你柔弱的四肢被软垫支起,身旁的机器发出轻柔的声音,汩汩作响。他们维持着你的生命。
在特尔喀II号星球上,三个太阳如同奄奄一息般散发出微弱的光芒,相比之下你的双眸如此鲜活,灰蓝色的瞳仁宛如坚冰;多年以前,你用这样坚定的眼神望着我,目光中饱含承诺,那是我第一次被它们吸引,至今未变。
从医院的窗户向外看,这座城市的景观令人头晕目眩。数百幢摩天大楼高耸入云,它们脚下是极地大陆上无边无尽的丛林。我们早在近七百年前就在这里定居,这里是人类在地球之外的新家园。窗外的一切对你我而言都毫无意义,我们的眼中只有彼此。
我在你身旁跪下,握住你脆弱的手。每隔一段时间我们都会举行这种仪式。或是死去或是被治愈,这真的只是个时间问题。尽管我们横穿过广袤的星际空间,却仍然找不到治愈这种病症的方法。最多只剩下几个星期,肿瘤医生的话语已经预示了可怕的结局,他眼中真诚的痛苦足以为证。
早在一年前我就已经决定,不论付出怎样的代价,我都不会一个人独活。你从来不问我给你吃的是什么药,我也从未主动提起。那是我必须背负的十字架。我不是杀手,但我会保护我爱的人。
听到诊断结果的第二天我就去了那个荒凉的隐居之所,去见诺泰特兰。它洞悉我的想法。我们,我和我的爱人,花费了数年时间研究它的子民,而在我们了解他们的社会之前,诺泰特兰就已经学会了我们的语言。
我一进门就听到它用尖厉刺耳的声音说:“人类,你的目的已经改变。”
我点头承认。“你是明智而擅察的诺泰特兰。我要求助于你的智慧,我想知道你长寿的原因。我们最早的记录表明七百年以前你就已经在这里。而你的子民却鲜有人能活过五十岁。”
“施世若,如果你愿意听,我要给你讲一个关于长影族的故事...”这故事漫长而曲折,它向我展示了存在于特尔喀II号星球上的真神。
此时此刻,自称为医生、穿着白色大褂的虚假神明在厅室中穿梭往来,他们为那些恶疾缠身、奄奄一息的病人分发药物,提供治疗。我期待慈悲之影会在某一刻走过国王和女王们的御座。也许我只是希望你能活得长久一点。我只是被自己的欲望裹挟,身不由已地做出这样的决定。
我无法相信在未来的某天,你,我们,终将死去。坚定的信仰是天赐之物,赋予持有者强大的意志和决心,让他们竭尽所能实现自己的目标,不论这目标是空中楼阁还是移山填海。
到目前为止,借助长影族的小小援助,我的意志总能战胜你的病魔,但是想要获得延长你生命的精华也变得越来越困难。
我在你眼中看到寻求解脱的愿望,你想让这一切都结束,可我摇头表示拒绝。还不到你生命终结的时刻,不到,远远不到,我不能就这样放手。
一位神明走进房间查看监控屏幕,然后离开,丝毫没有察觉到我如匕的目光正刺向他的背影,同样没有发觉我藏在右侧外套口袋中的手里紧握着一把手术刀。手术刀来自于这个无菌王国外的托盘。
我握住你的手哭泣,同时也下定决心绝不动摇。我含糊的说着要去盥洗室并保证会回来,很快。你含泪注视我离去,我知道你的眼中含着泪。我的眼中也同样饱含泪水。你为自己的处境和孤独流泪。我为即将亲手结束的生命而悲哀。
“诺泰特兰,这是唯一的方法么?”
那个生物用可以称作是点头的动作肯定了我的疑问。“我们的神生性阴暗,睚眦必报。他们要求献祭……”
“……以此为交换才能实现我的愿望。”
“施世若,投长影族以桃,他们回报你的必定是丰盛的李。”
在这个王国内,很多厅室的门上都安装着红灯和绿灯。有些门上的灯全都处于熄灭状态,那里缺失的不仅仅是光芒,同时缺席的还有曾经占据着厅内王座的灵魂。我转过一个拐角,看到一位神明刚刚离开某个房间,带着手套的双手端盛有自动注射器的盘子,我认出注射器里装的是镇静剂。这是上天给我的预兆,我不会错过命运之神给我的机会。
环顾四周无人,我溜进了那个房间,颤抖的右手握住手术刀的刀柄。我感觉到一股冷颤冲下脊柱。我一如既往的感到很不情愿,一种几乎能够触碰到的抵触情绪阻挡着我接下来的行动:我将要向神明献上什一税,只不过不是献给在这些厅室间徘徊的神明。只要时机成熟我们都能够成为慈悲之影,而我清楚地认识到我的时机就在眼前。
我听到轻微的鼻鼾声,不是健康的那种鼾声,而是为了心脏继续跳动,为了器官不至衰竭,病重之躯为了获取氧气竭力呼吸的声音。而这一切又是为了什么?只是为了延续甚至连这具身体都察觉不到的不治之症。多么可怜的生物,被禁锢在尘世的皮囊之内,对身外的世界毫无敬意,他们不明白在无情的生命循环法则面前,我们所有人终将被碾压成尘。人生苦短。不管披着白色长袍的神明们如何用轻声细语安抚他们,端坐在这些厅室中的人都十分清楚这一点。
房间内昏暗的灯火照在王座上。坐在上面的人面容憔悴,皮肤蜡黄,绵软的头发几乎都掉光了,瘦骨嶙峋的身体半盖着白色的床单。我悄悄地走近他,看着他不堪重负地呼吸,观察着他缓慢的呼吸节奏。我能清楚的看到他的生命线已经细若游丝。我抓起旁边桌上的一块布。
很明显,慈悲之影的神性已经附在了我的身上。每当我看到这条线的时候,就意味着某个人即将死去,而我的爱人又可以多活一段时间。
伴着病人的呼吸模式,我向特尔喀II号星球上的真神祷告,我要和这个人的节奏同步,我要让自己和这个房间、和当前的情景、和我的需求融为一体,创造完美的时机送他离开,收集他生命中剩余的能量。
诺泰特兰警告过我。“长影族会附在你的身上,让你看到他们的世界。你也许不会喜欢你看到的景象。你也许不会喜欢你所期待的事物。”
“只要能让她继续活下去,诺泰特兰。我会做任何事。”
面前的生物停止在沙地上写写画画。“有时放手即是最终的献祭。”它说,随后世界一片黑暗。
我拧开镇静剂输液管的阀门。透明液体快速流入他的体内。他看上去好像停止了呼吸,我希望,我祈祷,这一个能安静的上路。但他睁开了双眼,眼球遍布血丝和黄斑。我看到他眼中的恐惧,他知道长影族已经找上了他,他的大限将至。他费力张开嘴。我看到他肿胀生疮的舌头,像一条滑腻的蠕虫扭动着想要逃出来。我当然不会让它如愿。
我隔着手中的布片抓住他的舌头,向外一拉用刀切断。我迅速用布包好切下来的舌头,合上他的嘴,顶住他的下颌,直到他在镇静剂的作用下不再挣扎。他双眼翻白,鼻孔冒血。他淹溺在自己的血里,而我则拿到了战利品,一个长影族指定的容器中盛着我的爱人所需要的生命精华。
我离开房间,不留一丝痕迹。门上的红灯亮起,预示着这里的神明很快就会聚集在那个无助灵魂的身旁,把他从永恒的沉睡中解救出来,只要他们有那种能力。
在盥洗室冰冷的白色灯光下,我看到自己在镜中灰白的脸,还有一条我从未见过的线。我低头看着手中浸满血的布块,把它扔进洗手池,打开龙头冲洗血迹。
流光血的舌头呈浅粉色。舌肉柔软,味咸,余味略苦,让人联想到这个王国的每个厅室中的气味。我的身体激动不已;我的心中满是狂喜,我觉得自己不逊于那些穿白袍的神明,我操纵着他们从不可能拥有的力量,而慈悲之影的神性则操纵着我。带着近于自恋的欣喜,我处理掉那块布,洗净手和脸,确保衣服上没有溅到血迹。万无一失,万事俱备,我要去见我的爱人。
经过匆匆来去的神明和半神,我回到她的王座旁。她时而清醒时而沉睡,披散开的金发像古老的王冠。我坐在她身边,握住她的手。我有一种深深的满足感,我可以再一次延长她的寿命,把她留在我身边。不论付出什么代价,不管花费多少时间,我都会满足长影族的需要。我俯下身越过她的手,要给她生命之吻,她向后避开了我。
我惊讶的向上看,径直望进爱人深邃冰冷的双眼。她的双眸中已经没有爱意,没有愤怒,没有决心,没有罪恶,没有恐惧。我看到了放弃,我感到绝望。她把呼吸面罩推到一边,她深陷的双颊泛黄,她的双手双臂也是同样的颜色。她轻声对我说:“别再这样了。够了。”
我紧紧地攥住她御座一侧的金属栏杆。“亲爱的,为了你我已经成为了慈悲之影。求你不要拒绝我。没有你,我只是一个杀人狂。”
她对我笑着。“没关系。我原谅你。”她的手停留爱我的手中,我把额头贴上去感受着她手指的冰凉触碰。
“你总是比我更坚强。”我对着她的肌肤喃喃的说。
她轻声地说:“做我的慈悲之影吧。”我抬起头看着她。“我做不到。别让我做这种事。”
“这是你要背负的十字架,我的爱人。”她开始呼吸困难,重新戴上呼吸面罩恢复气力。过了一分钟她含着泪看着我,透过面罩轻声说:“让我解脱……让我走吧……”
我逐渐意识到此时此刻她在进行最后的抗争,她拼尽最后一口气力选择自己离开的时间和方式。而此时此刻的我猛然醒悟:通过夺取别人生命而获得的能力,一样也能用在另一个生命上,即使是我如此深爱之人的生命。我记起诺泰特兰说过的话:“有时放手即是最终的献祭。”
慈悲之影的神性附在我身上,我不仅仅用此时心中的怒火和五味杂陈的心绪奉养它,同时也向它献上这几个月来我精心囤储的生命之火,直到它漆黑的双翼无限伸展,暗影笼罩房间。
需要付出代价,总要付出代价。我欣然遵守这条规则,和我唯一的真爱一同度过这延展为永恒的一刻,我们的生命相互融合,我们的灵魂相互缠绕,直到红灯亮起。
「完」
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