Two Cities

Chapter 8 The Shoemaker (1)
"Good day!" said M. Defarge, looking down at the head with its gray hair hanging down.The man is making shoes.

The man raised his head, and he answered with a feeble voice, as if it came from far away.

"Good day!" "I see you are tired from this job?"

After a long silence, he raised his head.The voice replied, "Yes—I'm working." He looked at the man but there seemed to be no light in his eyes, and then put his head back to work.It was pathetic and frightening in its smallness, not because of physical weakness, although the confinement and poor-quality food no doubt played a role.It was his physical weakness, caused by prolonged solitude and abandonment, which was his miserable characteristic.He seemed to be the faint, near-death echo of a distant, ancient voice, devoid of all the vitality and resonance of a human voice, like a poor blurred stain of faded once beautiful colour.The voice was very deep, as if it came from the ground, and one could not help but think of a tired, hungry traveler walking alone in the wilderness, the homeless and hopeless creature lying down to prepare It is the sad sound of mourning for family, relatives and friends at the time of death.

After working for a few minutes without saying a word, he looked up again.There was no expression of interest or curiosity in his eyes, just a vague awareness that the place where the only guest was standing just now was not vacant yet.

"I want to let in a little more light." Defarge looked at the shoemaker without turning his eyes. "Can you accept a little more?"

The shoemaker put down the work in his hands, and with a look of ignorance listening, looked at the floor beside him and the other floor, and then looked up at the speaker.

"What did you say?" "Can you take in a little more light?"

"You're going to let it in, and I'll have to bear it." (The word "has to" is lightly emphasized).

It's just that the door on the first line was opened a little wider, and it was temporarily fixed at that angle.A great patch of light came into the attic through a crack in the door, revealing that the shoemaker had stopped working.An unfinished shoe lay on his lap.A few very common tools and various leather goods are kept at the feet or on the bench.He had a white beard, not very long, and it was trimmed messily.The cheeks are sunken and the eyes are unusually bright.Because of the thin and sunken cheeks, the still-black eyebrows and tousled hair seemed to make the eyes large, although they were not—they were naturally large, but now they looked unnatural.His tattered yellow shirt was open at the collar, exposing his scrawny body.Due to the long-term lack of direct exposure to sunlight and air, he and his tattered clothes all faded to a grayish-yellow color like parchment paper, blending together and making it difficult to distinguish.

He kept blocking the light in front of his eyes with his hand, which seemed to be transparent even to the bones.He just sat there, stopped working, and stared.Before looking directly at the figure in front of him, he always looked around, as if he had forgotten the habit of associating sound with place.The same is true before speaking, looking east and west, and forgetting to speak.

"Are you going to finish those shoes today?" asked Defarge. "What did you say?" "Are you planning on finishing those shoes today?" "I can't tell, I think so. I don't know."

But the question reminded him of his work, and he put his head down and went to work again.

Mr. Lorry stopped the girl at the door, and went forward.He stood beside Defarge for a minute or two before the shoemaker felt his presence lift his head.He wasn't surprised to see the other, but one of his trembling fingers was misplaced at sight of him, landing on his lips (both his lips and nails were gray as lead), and then the hand Back at work, he bent down and continued working.Those gazes and body movements are just a matter of a moment.

"You have a visitor," said M. Defarge. "What did you say?" "There's a guest here."

The shoemaker looked up as before, his hands still working. "Come!" said Defarge. "This gentleman knows shoes well. Show him your shoes. Take them, sir." Mr. Lorry took them. "Tell this gentleman who made it and what kind of shoes it is." After a while, the shoemaker replied, "I forgot what you asked just now?" "I said, can you introduce this kind of shoes? Tell this gentleman about the situation." "These are a pair of women's shoes, which young ladies like to wear when they walk. They are a popular style. I have never seen that style. But I have a pattern in my hand." He was a little proud Looked at his shoes.

"What's the shoemaker's name?" said Defarge.Now that his hands were free of artifacts, he squeezed the knuckles of his right knuckles with the palm of his left hand, pinched the knuckles of his left knuckles with the palm of his right hand, and wiped his unshaven chin with one hand.He kept touching and stroking in turn, and his mind went blank every time he uttered a word.To think of him recalling that episode was like keeping a very debilitated patient from going into shock, or keeping a dying man alive, hoping he would reveal something.

"Are you asking for my name?" "Yes."

"North Tower 0." "This is it?" "North Tower 0."

He made a weary sound that was neither an admiration nor a moan, and then stooped and went on with his work until the silence was broken again.

"Shoemaking isn't your job, is it?" said Mr. Lorry, looking at him.His haggard eyes turned to Defarge, as if wishing to give him a question to answer, but when he got no answer, he searched the ground for a while before turning again to the questioner.

"Shoemaking isn't my job, no. I—I just learned to make shoes here. I learned it on my own. I beg to let me—" He lost his memory again.This time lasted for several minutes, and at this time his two hands began to search in order again.His eyes eventually return to the face they left off.When he saw that face, he was taken aback, but calmed down again, like someone who just woke up, and returned to the topic of last night.

"I made a request to teach myself how to make shoes, and after a lot of effort and time, I was finally allowed. I've been making shoes since then."

He stretched out his hand to return the stolen shoe, but Mr. Lorry still looked at his face and said:
"Mr. Manette, don't you think of me at all?" The shoe fell to the ground, and he sat there staring blankly at the person who asked the question. "Mr. Manette," said Mr. Lorry, putting his hand on Defarge's arm, "is it true that you don't think of this man at all? Look at him, look at me. Is there something in your heart? Remember the old bank clerk, old occupation and servant, Mr. Manette?"

The man who had been imprisoned for many years sat gazing now at Mr. Lorry and now at Defarge, the long-erased traces of a brilliant and deep intellect in the center of his brow gradually piercing the veil that covered it. The haze came out, but was immediately covered, blurred, and disappeared, but that phenomenon did appear.But these expressions of his were truly reflected on a young and beautiful face.The girl had already walked gently along the base of the wall to a place where he could be seen, and was watching him now.She raised her hand at first, if not with a desire to separate herself from him, afraid of seeing him, then with a timidity mingled with sympathy.Now the hand reached out to him again, trembling, and eagerly laid his ghostly face on her warm young breast, resurrecting him with love, making him hopeful--the expression was so young and beautiful in hers. The repetition was so real on his face (although it showed a strong character), it seemed that a living light was transferred from him to her.

The darkness covered him again, his gaze on the two gradually relaxed, his eyes searched the ground for a while with a vague and frustrated expression, then looked around as before, and finally let out a deep and long sigh, Then he picked up the shoes and started working again.

"Do you recognize him, monsieur?" asked M. Defarge. "Recognized, just for a moment. At first I thought it was hopeless, but at that moment, I saw the face I knew so well without a doubt. Shhh! Let's move further away, shhhh! "

The girl had left the attic wall and approached the old man's bench.The old man was working with his head down, and the figure who approached him almost reached out to touch him, but he didn't know anything.There is something awe-inspiring in this.

No words were spoken, no sound was made.She stood beside him like an elf, while he bent over his work.

Finally, he wanted to change his tool, to get a cobbler's knife.The knife was beside him—not the side she was standing on.He picked up the knife and bent over to work when his eyes caught sight of her skirt.He looked up and saw her young and beautiful face.Two bystanders were about to come forward, but she made a gesture to tell them not to move.She was not afraid that he would hurt her with a knife, although the two were a little worried.

He looked at her with a little fear, and after a while his lips made some speaking movements, although no sound came out.His breathing was rapid and strenuous, and he paused from time to time, but he heard him say it word by word:
"What is this?" The girl broke down in sobs, tears streamed down her cheeks, put her hands to her lips and kissed, then reached out to him.Then hugged him tightly, as if to put his decayed head in her arms.

"Aren't you the guard's daughter?" She sighed, "No." "Then who are you?"

Concerned about her voice, she sat down on the bench beside him.He backed away slightly, but she put her hand on his arm, and a tremor palpable passed through him.He gently put down the shoe knife in his hand, and sat there staring at her.

Her long blond hair, which had been hastily swept to the side, now fell to her neck again.He slowly reached out to pick up the hairpin and looked at it.Only halfway through this action, he began to feel confused again, let out a deep sigh again, and started making shoes again.

But he didn't do it for very long.She let go of his arm, but put her hand on his shoulder.He looked at the hand two or three times suspiciously, as if to make sure it was there, and then he stopped what he was doing, put his hand around his neck, and removed a dirty piece of rope with a coiled piece. cloth.He opened it carefully on his knee, and there were bits of hair inside.It's just two or three golden long hairs, which were torn off after being wrapped around his fingers many years ago.

He held up her hair and observed carefully. "It's exactly the same, how is it possible! When did that happen? What happened?"

When the expression of serious thinking returned to his forehead, he found that she had the same expression, so he pulled her completely to the light and looked at her carefully.

(End of this chapter)