轻微艾格迫害向预警
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女士们先生们，我说，你们有谁知道你与世界的距离吗？
哦，这可是个难以计算的量。安东尼奥说，但看上去并不紧张。
很远，艾格说，你早就知道我的故事了。
很近，杰克说，我每天绘画的就是世界。
杰克看起来还想补充些什么，但最终什么也没说。
伽拉泰亚看起来在想心事，雕刻刀砸在大理石上迸出许多碎屑。
怎么了，伽拉泰亚？我问。怎么不说话？
我从来就不属于这个世界。她突然很快地说。有谁曾注意过我真正用心塑造的作品？蚂蚁们只会追风逐流，说别人早已重复过一千次的话！
冷静点，伽拉泰亚。我说。你明知道这里没有一个人的故事不是悲惨的。你也不过是万千分之一。
好吧，她说，我忘记了。
你呢，杰克，我说，你刚刚想说些什么？
我不再想说了，他回答。
哦，我说，亲爱的杰克，不要因你是唯一自认距世界很近的而自卑，没人敢在这方面取笑你。
好吧，他说，既然你执意——一个画家是不能脱离现实的，否则他就画不出卖得出去的作品。
就好像你画画是为了谋生一样。安东尼奥说。
这至少是我的职业，杰克反驳，宫廷乐师是无法理解潦倒艺术家的烦恼的。
仅凭这点，杰克，艾格说，你就永远也无法沉浸在艺术的美好中。
是啊是啊，杰克转向我，我怎么可能不为此而自卑呢？
不必如此，伽拉泰亚轻笑着，越是自卑，越是无法抛下一切而去单一地欣赏自己的作品。
完美的作品难以获得，有瑕疵的作品我又不屑一顾，还何谈欣赏呢？艾格说。我只会想撕掉它们。
事实上，我也一样。伽拉泰亚承认。
谁不是呢，安东尼奥说，可惜完美的作品不是人类的耳朵可以聆听的。
也不是人类的眼睛所能观看的。艾格点头。
杰克一直坐着没说话。
是被至高的艺术震撼了吗？伽拉泰亚笑着问。
大概是吧，这个以绘画谋生的人。艾格说。
别怪他，我说，家境不是能轻易改变的东西。
我倒还挺羡慕他的呢，安东尼奥说，被五十个贵族追在身后只为一首写出来我自己都不屑去看的小提琴曲可不是什么享受。
我就相信你这一次好了，伽拉泰亚说，这听起来确实是个折磨人的职位。
不懂装懂还和你大谈绘画的人才更折磨人呢，艾格说，我几乎无法想象我曾经是如何忍受那种生活的。
是吗？伽拉泰亚疑惑地眨着眼睛。多谢提醒，以后我会避开他们的。
这就是众生，不是吗？安东尼奥说。庸庸碌碌，就连超凡脱俗也只是为了追名逐利。
但我们除外。艾格说。
我们除外。安东尼奥点点头。
要把这个家伙算进去吗？伽拉泰亚指指正闭眼沉思的杰克。
他像是个真正搞艺术的吗？艾格笑。
白天画画晚上杀.人可不是谁都能做到的，安东尼奥指出，还是把他算进去吧。
好吧，艾格说，我们四个除外。
等等，伽拉泰亚说，今天菲利普还没来。
他不会来了，我说，我根本没邀请他。
都二十世纪了，竟然还有人相信颅相学这种东西。艾格说。
咦？安东尼奥显得很疑惑。我觉得这种学说很有道理。
颅相学？那是什么？伽拉泰亚问。
他们说看一个人颅骨的形状可以判断他的性格。艾格说。我当然不信，自从有一个这样的术士告诉我，我的老师是个温柔而善良的人。
你从来没提起过。伽拉泰亚说。
我又何必？艾格说。这不是什么值得回忆的历史。
好了好了，我说，我们是不是偏题了？我们不是在谈论与世界的距离吗？
可是关于这个话题我们已经谈完了啊，伽拉泰亚茫然地看着我。我们不是全都表达过自己的想法了吗？
你还打断了我们如此兴高采烈的谈话。艾格说。
不管如何，感谢你为我们提供了这样一次畅谈的机会。安东尼奥抓起小提琴起身。既然谈话已经结束，我想我也该离开了。
艾格抓起画刷，什么也没说，而伽拉泰亚已经摇着轮椅远去了。
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2022-6-28
我也是有点无语
第三章不说我水这里反倒说水了
本来是想借鉴艾格信在英文版里偷偷加点东西进去的
要是过不了那就删，不就是三千字吗（
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2022-4-16补
因为无聊和我妈给的灵感而把这个东西译成了英文
那个古老的输不进空格的机制终于没了（欣喜）
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Ladies and gentlemen, I said, do any of you have the idea of your distance to the world?
Oh, that’s a sum hard to calculate. Antonio said, but looked quite at ease.
Far. Said Edgar. You already know my story.
Near. Said Jack. I paint the world every day.
Jack looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end caught himself.
Galatea looked like she was wandering, carving knife landing hard on marble.
What, Galatea? I asked. Why keep silent?
I never belonged to this world. Suddenly she spoke very quick. Was there ever anyone noticing the work I brought to life with heart? The ants only know to follow, speaking praises others have spoken for thousands of times!
Calm down, Galatea, I said, you know that everyone here has their story. You are just one in millions.
Alright, she said, I forgot.
Jack, I said, what was it that you wanted to share?
I no longer want to. He answered.
Oh, my dear Jack, I said, do not feel abased just because you are the only one who thinks themselves as near the world. Nobody dares to make fun of you in that.
Alright, he said, if you insist——an artist must not leave himself too far from the world, else he can draw nothing that can sell.
As if you draw to make a living. Said Antonio.
At least this is my career. Jack protested. The royal musician cannot understand the life of a poor artist.
Just for that, Jack, Edgar said, you may never walk deep into the paradise of art.
Yeah yeah, Jack turned to me, how may I not feel abased about this?
You need not. Galatea giggled. The abased is those who never can put down everything and appreciate their own work.
Perfect artwork hard to create in itself, said Edgar, blemished work discontent to observe, lest to appreciate. Destroy might be the word.
Actually, me too. Admitted Galatea.
Who isn’t? Said Antonio. A shame that perfect melody is not something human ears can hear.
Nor do perfect sketches human eyes can see. Edgar nodded.
Jack sat there, saying nothing.
Overwhelmed by sublime art? Smiled Galatea.
Probably, this one who makes a living by his paint. Said Edgar.
Do not blame him, said I, wealth is not something one can change easily.
Actually I quite admire his life. Said Antonio. Chased by fifty nobles just for some violin tune I would never think of hearing is not an enjoyable experience.
I shall believe you this once. Said Galatea. This does sounds like a frustrating job.
Fake know-it-alls who kept disturbing you to talk about art is what’s frustrating. Said Edgar. I can’t believe I could once bare that life.
Really? Galatea blinked. Thanks for the advise. I will keep away from them from now on.
This is human, isn’t it? Said Antonio. Eyes held high like actors on stage, only to fight for power in another way.
But except for us. Said Edgar.
Except for us. Agreed Antonio.
Shall we include this one? Galatea pointed to Jack, who had his eyes closed.
Does he look like a real artist? Laughed Edgar.
Drawing all day and killing all night is not a thing most can manage. Said Antonio. Count him in.
Alright, said Edgar, except for us four.
Wait, said Galatea, Philippe isn’t here yet.
He won’t. I said. I never invited him.
Can you believe that, even at the twentieth century, somebody still believes in phrenology? Said Edgar.
Huh? Antonio looked puzzled. I always believed this theory to be quite sensible.
Phrenology? What is that? Asked Galatea.
They say the shape of one’s skull represents his character. Said Edgar. Of course I don’t believe it, after one of those cheaters told me my instructor is kind and honest.
You never mentioned it. Said Galatea.
And why should I? Said Edgar. It is not a past worthy of memorizing.
Okay, I said, are we not off the topic? Weren’t we supposed to talk about our distances to the world?
But we have already finished that topic. Galatea stared at me. Haven’t we all expressed ourselves?
You have also interrupted such an interesting conversation between us. Said Edgar.
Nevertheless, I must appreciate you to provide this chance of talking. Antonio picked up his violin. But if the talk is over, I think I must go now.
Edgar said nothing but grabbed his paint brush, and Galatea was already on her way in her wheelchair.
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