第一篇 “What do you mean, Hitler, you have to be six for this? It can’t be done.” Gershwin said. He knew the rules, and the man had just violated them. His heart was heavy with disappointment. The world was going to hell; there wasn’t anything more anyone could say, or think about. If they were going to lose, then the game would go down with them. And they didn’t even want it anyway; it hadn’t been their idea, after all. They wanted to be playing, not fighting, and yet here he was, sitting by himself in a booth in some club that he couldn’t remember the name of, drinking beer from a cup his parents had made for him as a birthday present, listening to some girl on the radio sing about how she was ‘the first girl ever to fall in love’ and that the war was over, because ‘he had won!’ But she was wrong, he thought to himself. He didn’t feel happy at all, and it was all her fault. She had ruined everything; they were never going to play anymore. They never did finish their round, though, and when the night started winding down, everyone left. Gershwin stayed where he was for several moments, staring into his cup before finally getting up and walking back out onto the street, leaving the bar behind. He found a taxi outside and gave him directions to his apartment; if he couldn’t get home, he’d at least go somewhere where he would be safe. As soon as he arrived, he locked the door behind him and leaned against it for support, letting tears flow freely from his eyes. “What are you crying for?” Hitler was standing in front of him. Of course he was. Gershwin sighed, trying to catch his breath before responding. “It’s just… I don’t know why my parents let me leave. What kind of parents let their son miss a party like that? How can they let me do such a thing? You know that I hate parties, Hitler. Why would we ever want to be anywhere near those people?” “Because we live in England, Gershwin. There’s nothing worse than being forced to attend an English party. Especially if your friends aren’t invited. They should never have allowed us to go to Germany – now, we’re paying the price for it. We’ll have to start from scratch. I told you, it’s hopeless.” Hitler continued. “But, don’t worry, Gershwin. We’ve got enough money to make our dreams come true! After all, I’m rich, aren’t I, Gershwin? I bet you haven’t seen a diamond ring before, have you?” He turned to look at his hands. “Yes, I have. This time yesterday I held one in my hand. Now I’ll never have that luxury again.” Gershwin laughed bitterly. “That’s right. You won’t have any of that. No, not ever. That means we’re going to have to keep running away from England. And you know what we have to do, Gershwin. You know exactly what we’re going to have to do.” “What will we do, Adolf?” Gershwin asked quietly. “We’ll run as far away as we possibly can, Gershwin. Until we find ourselves somewhere else. Somewhere far away. And that way we won’t have to go through any of this anymore. We’ll be free again!” “Where do you think we can go? Do you really think we can escape without getting caught?” Hitler paused for a moment. “I don’t know. Wherever we go, we’ll have to move quickly. And fast. We need to be gone before the British find us again.” Gershwin looked up at Hitler, surprised. “Are you saying that we’re going to run away? That we can actually try it? Is that possible?” Hitler laughed bitterly. “You can’t run from a war. If you did, you’d never escape. You’d be caught eventually.” “So why run away now, instead of later, when we’re less afraid? When we don’t have to hide?” Hitler smiled slyly. “Because, Gershwin, someday you’ll realise that this isn’t worth it. Someday someone who doesn’t deserve our hate will be born, and they’ll save us from our hatred, and we’ll have a chance at life again. A chance of being free. And maybe we’ll be happy, then. Maybe we’ll be safe. Maybe we’ll forget all about England, for a little while.” Gershwin took another drink from his cup. It was getting late, and he was tired. So tired. “Well, Adolf,” he said, standing up slowly, “good luck.” The sun rose, shining brightly on to Britain and its many nations. For once, peace ruled the land, and the British Empire stood strong and proud. But inside a house in Hampstead, two young children woke up, wondering what had happened during the night. Their parents were still sleeping soundly, and the children ran downstairs in search of breakfast. But it was already too late, for the kitchen had been cleaned, the pots washed, and the breakfast laid out in the dining room. As the children sat at the table, they wondered how they could eat anything that morning, knowing they wouldn’t be eating anything else for days. Not until their parents came downstairs, looking groggy and disoriented. “Good morning!” said their mother, sitting down next to each child and smiling. “How are you boys feeling today?” “Not so good,” replied the younger one. “Me neither,” added the older boy, “but you see, I didn’t sleep very well last night.” Their father sat down, yawning. He reached across the table for his tea, noticing the untouched plate of food. “What’s this for?” “Breakfast,” their mother replied. “Don’t worry, we’ll put something together in a moment. It’s not very nice this early in the day, anyway.” “Well, I suppose it isn’t the best time to eat,” their father agreed, sipping his tea slowly. “Still, it’s much better than nothing. Thank you, dear.” The children watched their father and mother converse calmly, unaware of the tension that lay within the family. Neither parent noticed the way that their youngest son kept glancing nervously towards the living room, or the way that he kept fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve 第二篇 “Solitary and Unwelcome.” (In Russian it means, “To be alone is to be miserable.”) - The German philosopher Wilhelm Friedrich Schopenhauer. When a man walks into the room and sits down on a chair, they can assume he has come there for business rather than pleasure. The man must know how to make an impression on people. Otherwise he is here just as much to observe them as to listen to their conversation. In this case, it is not at all clear who will be making the impression. The young man sitting across from him seems neither pleased nor unhappy with being there. There is nothing in his expression to indicate what might be going through his mind. But it is not difficult to tell that he does not intend to stay long. The young man is dressed in neat, conservative clothes but lacks a tie or jacket of any kind. There may be something about him that attracts attention. Perhaps his appearance suggests an intellectual quality. Perhaps there are thoughts running through his mind which he chooses not to express. Perhaps he feels uncomfortable in someone else's presence. Perhaps his silence conveys indifference, even though he must feel quite at home in his own office. It would be easy enough to imagine him as a student. He is no more than twenty-one years old or so. His hair is thick and dark, slightly curly but still neatly combed in a fashion common among young men of his class. His features are sharp, almost boyish and yet strong. His complexion looks healthy, but he carries himself with grace. For a moment he looks up from his notebook and meets my gaze. I think I detect a trace of amusement there. It disappears before I can decide whether it was there at all. He takes another look around, apparently dismissing everything in sight, before returning to his notebook. He does not seem interested. The fact that he is there, and sitting at such an unadorned table, speaks volumes about his character. A person who spends time working alone usually finds some sort of workstation to engage him with. It doesn't matter if the project is related to something other than his chosen discipline. If the subject matter is not important enough he'll find it somewhere else, usually to his personal detriment. When he does choose to work independently he always has a purpose. That, in turn, makes his isolation very obvious. It does not mean he lives an isolated existence. But it is possible the young man believes he deserves solitude, that he needs to be alone to think things over and put them into practice. Or perhaps he thinks he belongs there because it is where he feels comfortable. I have met quite a few students like him, who prefer solitude to a large group of acquaintances and friends. They feel less at ease in the company of strangers. It is hard to say what the exact nature of his reasons for choosing such a solitary life may be, but it is surely not based on a lack of desire to interact with others. I would hazard a guess that the reason for his solitude is his inability to make connections. Not only that, but perhaps he sees his isolation as an opportunity to learn something by himself. In other words, he intends to isolate himself from all human contact until he is ready to deal with the world again as if nothing had ever happened. If he comes here today solely for peace of mind it would be best for all concerned if we leave each other alone. I am not here to cause problems. However, I am curious to see what he intends to do when he finally arrives. For the moment, there is little chance he will arrive. His presence here indicates that he expects no visitors, and that there is little hope of him leaving before morning. It would be most unusual to receive guests at this time of day unless something of grave importance has already occurred.