‘‘I remember clearly that I’ve been gullible since childhood. I used to glorify everyone who was around me, and looked only at the bright side of people. If someone stole something of mine, I not only wouldn’t ask for it back, but I would also give him some other things. Touched by this, he would become my friend for life. Later, as a young person, I married the right man and regarded my husband as my protector god. I trusted him completely and was docile and obedient. I turned away from all outside temptations. Maybe my husband wasn’t as perfect as I had thought, and maybe he had already fallen ill with an unmentionable disease and hushed it up when we got married, but none of this could keep me from feeling great ardor. Even now, I feel this ardor and don’t waste it on outsiders. I’m bringing this up not because I want to overthrow the past but because I want to explain where the weak part of my character came from. When my husband was alive, someone mentioned a certain instance of his being unfaithful. I was so outraged I let out a stream of abuse at that person! To outsiders I was a very sexy young woman as beautiful as flowers, tied down by a nearly disabled man who had actually duped me. What kind of lamentable joke was this? Why couldn’t I get a little happiness by finding someone else?
Couldn’t I accomplish this just by crooking my little finger? A person’s nature sets the course of her whole life. I was doomed to stick up for the traditional morality. Today, I’m still proud of this.
‘‘I don’t deny my weaknesses, nor do I deny that my weaknesses have affected the course of history. If I were a little stronger, a little more vigilant, not so innocent and gullible, lots of things would now be different. This is the fatal weakness of ‘being a good sort.’ I want to take responsibility for the losses that came because of my weakness, and I also want to locate the reason deep in my soul, because I’m the key to everyone’s mistakes. All of this could have been averted. I’m ashamed of myself when I face this depressing situation.’’
Preoccupied by the massive surveillance of Madam X and her family, we had ignored Mr. Q. His nerves showed signs of cracking. As time went on he became an invalid. A strong woman in our community who hadn’t participated in the tailing launched her own creative initiative. After days and nights of observing and reflecting, she told us: two snakes were scrambling for control of Mr. Q’s body, which resulted in his becoming two completely different persons-one by day, one by night.
One day, she hid in the bushes beside the road and saw Mr. Q leave his home. He was unimaginably cheerful, dribbling a ball and running like a child. Watching this, the woman (she was the lame one) became indignant! Unbelievably annoyed! Supporting herself with her canes, she dashed up, blocked Mr. Q’s way, and shouted, ‘‘Hey!’’ Then she began rolling around in the middle of the road, glaring at him through the mist. The surprising thing was that Mr. Q actually ‘‘broke through,’’ leaving her rolling on the ground alone. In the blink of an eye, he ‘‘disappeared.’’ A few hours later, she noticed him twice near a warehouse; both times, he was happily dribbling the ball. As soon as he saw her, he disappeared again without a trace.
The same day, she had gone to Mr. Q’s work place to make inquiries. Some people wrapped from head to toe in heavy blankets told her Mr. Q even brings the ball to the office and bounces it from time to time, as if he were addicted. Everyone knows he’s abnormal; and the ball doesn’t sound right, either. No one dares talk to him. As soon as they see him coming, they run off, leaving him alone in the office, dribbling the ball all day long.
They grumble, ‘‘This menace will affect our sex life. The dust might give us tuberculosis. Now we all feel cold.’’ They sigh in despair and weep.
Mr. Q’s behavior stimulated this woman’s imagination. She continued her work even more actively and bravely. One day near evening, leaning on her canes, she chiseled her way into Mr. Q’s den. With blue-veined hands, she grabbed Mr. Q’s collar, stared into his eyes, and ordered him ‘‘to come to her.’’ People suppose that what she yearned for didn’t occur. What on earth did she desire? What was gnawing at her? Afterwards, she told others, ‘‘I wanted to play ball with him. I yearned for this constantly. Now I’ve achieved my goal. We shut his wife outside and played all through the night.’’ This was a certain woman’s (she adamantly requested that her background and name not be divulged) investigation of Mr. Q’s daytime activity. The facts in this report need further validation.
