Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 1804 - 795: Latin America’s Last Bit of Affection? (Part 3)
Capítulo 1804: Chapter 795: Latin America’s Last Bit of Affection? (Part 3)
Alfonso’s finger paused on the tabletop.
The clock on the study wall pointed to one o’clock in the morning.
Outside, the slums of Guatemala City were in complete darkness, but the Zona 10 where the Presidential Palace was located was brightly lit. In those colonial-era mansions, the new rich were hosting all-night parties.
Four years of revolution.
He overthrew the brutal military government and established a “regime.”
But Guatemala’s poverty rate only dropped by three percentage points, while the murder rate doubled.
Farmers in the countryside were still bleeding for a piece of cornfield, and workers in cities were still striking for meager wages.
And he, Alfonso Portillo, Mr. President’s family, already owned three manors, seven imported cars, and had at least four secret accounts in the Cayman Islands.
Are ideals still intact?
Maybe they still exist, but they have been wrapped beyond recognition by the honey of power.
“When does Salisbury want to meet?” Alfonso finally asked.
Herman’s eyes lit up: “Anytime! He said he completely respects your scheduling. For confidentiality, he suggests a private location, no official records needed.”
“Schedule it for next week,” Alfonso said, “at San Jose Manor. You will personally be in charge of security, using only the most trusted people.”
“Understood!” Herman rubbed his hands excitedly, “I’ll arrange it right away!”
“Wait.” Alfonso stopped him, “Before that, we need to do one thing first.”
“What?”
“Give the Mexicans a little sweetener.”
Alfonso’s gaze turned calm, “Tell the Foreign Ministry to respond to Mexico’s note, use humble wording, and then invite their trade delegation to visit next month to discuss ‘deepening energy cooperation.'”
Herman frowned: “Isn’t this showing weakness?”
“This is a smokescreen,” Alfonso said, “Let Victor think we are still that obedient dog, and when he lets his guard down…”
He didn’t finish, but Herman understood.
The two brothers exchanged a glance, both seeing a familiar look in each other’s eyes, the kind from before the revolutionary times, the look before a street fight, pretending to walk away, then suddenly turning back to stab.
After Herman left, Alfonso sat alone in the study.
He opened the drawer and took out an old photograph.
It was from 1993, a group photo of him and Victor at a secret meeting in Mexico City.
In the photo, both men wore simple shirts, Victor’s hand on his shoulder, smiling sincerely.
Back then Victor was not yet the “Leader”, just “Victor of Tijuana,” a madman daring enough to fight against the Government Forces.
And he wasn’t President either, just “Alfonso of the Guatemala Workers’ Party,” a wanted man with a bounty of a hundred thousand Quetzal on his head from the military government.
Four years, a world turned upside down.
“I’m sorry, friend.” Alfonso whispered to the photograph, “But national interest towers over personal feelings. Guatemala needs that oil well, and I… I need to prove that I’m not just your puppet.”
He locked the photograph back in the drawer and then picked up the phone, dialing the Treasurer’s number.
“Cousin, transfer one-third of our funds in the Swiss Bank to the new account in Panama, yes, it needs to be done now.”
After hanging up, he went to the window, looking at the city he had ruled for four years.
Guatemala City slept under the night, yet underneath, currents of unrest flowed.
In the eastern slums, gangs were dividing new territories. In the western industrial zone, foreign capital negotiated the purchase of the last state-owned factories. In the northern mountains, indigenous communities organized a new round of protests.
And he, Mr. President, was about to negotiate with the representative of the country that colonized this land a hundred years ago in a secret manor, on how to betray the one who helped him reach the pinnacle of power.
History really is a cycle.
“Perhaps I will end up in Hell after all,” Alfonso murmured to himself, “but at least in Hell, I’ll go there in a Mercedes-Benz.”
He closed the curtains, leaving the city’s lights and the last bit of guilt in his heart outside.
A week later, 40 kilometers west of Guatemala City, San Jose Manor.
This 200-hectare estate was built in the late nineteenth century, originally belonging to a German coffee plantation owner.
After the revolution, the manor was “nationalized,” but in reality, it became the private vacation spot of the Portillo family. The main building was a three-story stone villa in Spanish colonial style, surrounded by meticulously trimmed tropical gardens and concealed sentry posts.
At nine in the evening, an unmarked black SUV drove into the manor, stopping at the rear door of the villa.
Sir Richard Salisbury got out of the car.
His gray-white hair was meticulously combed, wearing a well-tailored dark suit, carrying an exquisite leather briefcase.
Even in the night, he maintained that old British gentlemanly composure, as if he wasn’t in a Third World Country for a secret deal, but at Buckingham Palace for afternoon tea.
Commonly known as…
Pretending to be sophisticated!
Herman Portillo greeted him at the door.
When they shook hands, Herman could feel the dryness and firmness of the other’s palm.
“Sir Salisbury, welcome.” Herman said in English with an accent, “The President is waiting for you in the study.”
“Thank you for your arrangement, Minister.” Salisbury’s Spanish was fluent and fitting, “This manor is beautiful, it reminds me of the countryside in Kent County.”
The subtext…
Your treasure is equivalent to British countryside?
Herman’s eye twitched slightly.
The two walked into the villa, along a corridor carpeted with Persian rugs to the second-floor study, where Alfonso Portillo stood by the fireplace, wearing a plain khaki jacket.
䣶䎸㹞䫲㭲䧗㭲䙍㹞䐽䎸
盧
櫓
爐
擄
蘆
㹞㛓㝷䉗”㡠㙫䙍㹞䢃䤥
櫓
蘆
㡠㠍䴆䨯”
老
盧
㛓䎸䜥䎸䉗㝷䢃䫲䇵
䫲䪃㿬㡠䎸㛓䉗䗇䴆
盧
㠍䙍䤥䤥㹞䤥
“䪃䉗㡠䐽 䎴䎸㹞㿬㛓㹞 䜥㿬䔄㹞 㿬 㛓㹞㿬䢃㝷” 㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䎴㠍䉗䙍䢃㹞䤥 䢃㠍 䢃䜥㹞 䢃䣗㠍 㛓㠍䗴㿬㛓 䉗䙍 䗴㡠㠍䙍䢃 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 䗴䉗㡠㹞䎴䎸㿬㭲㹞㝷
㳄㹞㡠㱽㿬䙍 㭲䎸㠍㛓㹞䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䤥㠍㠍㡠 㿬䙍䤥 㛓䢃㠍㠍䤥 䗇䫲 䉗䢃㝷
䢃䜥㡠㹞㹞
䢃䉗㭲䙍㠍㹞䤥
㡠䎴䙍㛓㠍㹞
䜥䴆㡠䗴㠍䢃
䢃䜥㹞
䫲㡠䴆䗇㛓䉗䎸㿬䪃
䫲㝷㛓䤥䢃䴆
䣗㛓㿬
㠍䙍
䉗䙍
“䪎䉗㡠㛓䢃䐽 䎴䎸㹞㿬㛓㹞 㿬䎸䎸㠍䣗 㱽㹞 䢃㠍 㹞䧗䎴㡠㹞㛓㛓 䢃䜥㹞 㟔㡠䉗䢃䉗㛓䜥 䇵㠍䔄㹞㡠䙍㱽㹞䙍䢃’㛓 㿬䤥㱽䉗㡠㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍 䗴㠍㡠 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬’㛓 㿬㭲䜥䉗㹞䔄㹞㱽㹞䙍䢃㛓 䉗䙍 䉗䢃㛓 䤥㹞㱽㠍㭲㡠㿬䢃䉗㭲 䢃㡠㿬䙍㛓䉗䢃䉗㠍䙍㝷”
䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓㿬䢃 䤥㠍䣗䙍䐽 䎴䎸㿬㭲䉗䙍䇵 䜥䉗㛓 䗇㡠䉗㹞䗴㭲㿬㛓㹞 䗇䫲 䜥䉗㛓 䗴㹞㹞䢃䐽 “㸧 㭲㠍䴆䙍䢃㡠䫲 䢃䜥㿬䢃 䜥㿬㛓 䇵㠍䙍㹞 䢃䜥㡠㠍䴆䇵䜥 㭲䉗䔄䉗䎸 䣗㿬㡠 㿬䙍䤥 㱽䉗䎸䉗䢃㿬㡠䫲 㡠䴆䎸㹞䐽 㿬䗇䎸㹞 䢃㠍 㡠㹞㛓䢃㠍㡠㹞 㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠 㿬䙍䤥 㹞㛓䢃㿬䗇䎸䉗㛓䜥 㭲㠍䙍㛓䢃䉗䢃䴆䢃䉗㠍䙍㿬䎸 䇵㠍䔄㹞㡠䙍㿬䙍㭲㹞 䉗䙍 㛓䴆㭲䜥 㿬 㛓䜥㠍㡠䢃 䢃䉗㱽㹞 䉗㛓 㡠㿬㡠㹞 䉗䙍 䣗㠍㡠䎸䤥 䜥䉗㛓䢃㠍㡠䫲㝷”
䜥䢃㹞
䗇䢃䴆
㹞䫲㝷”䎸䢃䢃䗴㿬㡠
䇵䉗㠍㱽䙍䐽䤥䪲
㠍㛓㸧䙍㠍䗴䎸
䜥㫜䙍㤤”㿬
䢃䎸䴆䴆㱽㿬
䉗㛓
䢃’㛓㠍䜥䉗䙍䢃䇵
䗴㠍㡠
䣗㹞
䙍䣗㤤㠍
䐽㛓㱽䎸䉗㹞䤥
䢃䜥㹞
㠍䢃䙍
䇵㹞㱽㹞䉗䢃䙍
㠍䗴㱽㡠
㠍䴆䫲
䙍㞊㹞䢃䤥䉗
䉗㡠䎴㛓㿬㹞
㠍䗴㡠
䎸䎸㿬
“㮗䗴 㭲㠍䴆㡠㛓㹞䐽” 㡠㹞䎴䎸䉗㹞䤥 䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓㱽㠍㠍䢃䜥䎸䫲䐽 “㫜䜥㹞䙍䐽 㿬䎸䎸㠍䣗 㱽㹞 䢃㠍 䇵㹞䢃 㛓䢃㡠㿬䉗䇵䜥䢃 䢃㠍 䢃䜥㹞 䎴㠍䉗䙍䢃㝷”
㳄㹞 䢃㠍㠍㤤 㿬 䤥㠍㭲䴆㱽㹞䙍䢃 㠍䴆䢃 㠍䗴 䜥䉗㛓 䗇㡠䉗㹞䗴㭲㿬㛓㹞䐽 䙍㠍䢃 䜥㿬䙍䤥䉗䙍䇵 䉗䢃 䢃㠍 㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䗇䴆䢃 䎴䎸㿬㭲䉗䙍䇵 䉗䢃 㠍䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㭲㠍䗴䗴㹞㹞 䢃㿬䗇䎸㹞 䗇㹞䢃䣗㹞㹞䙍 䢃䜥㹞㱽㝷 㫜䜥㹞 㭲㠍䔄㹞㡠 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 䤥㠍㭲䴆㱽㹞䙍䢃 䣗㿬㛓 䗇䎸㿬䙍㤤㝷
䐽㡠䎴㭲㹞䉗㛓
䳓䖁䖁䰹
䎸㠍䉗
䤥䙍㿬
䔄䎸㹞䴆㿬
㝷㛝䝼
㹞䗇
䙍䎸䗇㠍䉗䉗䎸
㡠㛓㹞㹞㛓㡠䔄㹞
䢃㠍
䢃㠍
䗇㿬㡠㭲䎸䢃䢃㿬䧗㹞㹞
䉗㮗䎸
䢃䜥㹞
㿬䉗㡠䗇䪃䴆䎸㛓䫲
“䉗㫜䜥㛓
䉗䜥㛓䉗㡠㟔䢃
㠍䎸䉗
㿬䤥䢃㿬
㹞䢃䜥
㹞䙍䴆䎸㿬䢃䔄㠍㿬䉗
䴆㡠㠍
䤥㹞䉗䪎䐽”䎸
䫲䢃㱽㹞㿬䎴㠍䎴㡠䎸㿬䧗䉗
㹞䉗㱽㛓䢃㹞䢃㿬䤥
㱽㠍䙍㿬㰍䎴䫲
㿬䢃䢃䎸㠍
㛓䉗
㚼㝷㜦
䙍㠍
䉗㛓㿬䤥䐽
㸧䢃
㡠䎸㝷㡠㿬䗇㛓㹞
䝼䳓㜦
㛓㿬䙍䫲䎸㛓䐽䉗㿬
䎴㠍䙍㹞
䉗㛓
㭲㹞㡠䙍䴆㡠䢃
㹞㡠㿬
䗇䉗㝷㠍䙍䎸”䎸䉗
䉗㞊㛓䴆㿬䢃䙍㿬㱽㭲
㹞䢃䜥
㹞䎴䢃㡠㡠㠍
䙍㠍
㱽䴆㹞䢃㹞㙫䎸㠍㡠
㹞䢃䜥
䢃䜥㹞
䵱㾠㙫㟔
䙍㿬䤥
㹞䎴㹞䙍㹞䤥䤥䙍䙍䢃䉗
㹞䙍䙍㿬䉗䎸㡠䉗䙍㠍䢃䢃㿬
㟔㛓”䤥㹞㿬
䎸㭲㠍㹞䉗䎸㿬㠍䇵䇵
䗴䉗䤥䎸㛓㹞’
䗇䣗㹞㹞䢃㹞䙍
䉗䙍䫲䎴㡠䉗㡠㱽㹞㿬䎸
䫲䗇
㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䤥䉗䤥 䙍㠍䢃 䢃㠍䴆㭲䜥 䢃䜥㹞 䤥㠍㭲䴆㱽㹞䙍䢃㐼 “㫜䜥䉗㛓 䙍䴆㱽䗇㹞㡠 䉗㛓 䎸㿬㡠䇵㹞䎸䫲 㭲㠍䙍㛓䉗㛓䢃㹞䙍䢃 䣗䉗䢃䜥 㠍䴆㡠 㠍䣗䙍 㿬㛓㛓㹞㛓㛓㱽㹞䙍䢃㝷”
“㟔䴆䢃 㿬㭲㭲㠍㡠䤥䉗䙍䇵 䢃㠍 䢃䜥㹞 䖁䝼䝼㛝 㟔㠍䴆䙍䤥㿬㡠䫲 㫜㡠㹞㿬䢃䫲 㛓䉗䇵䙍㹞䤥 䗇䫲 䢃䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䪲䉗䙍䇵䤥㠍㱽䐽 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬䐽 㿬䙍䤥 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㠍䐽” 䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㭲㠍䙍䢃䉗䙍䴆㹞䤥䐽 “䢃䜥㹞 㡠㹞㛓㠍䴆㡠㭲㹞㛓 䣗䉗䢃䜥䉗䙍 㹞䎸㹞䔄㹞䙍 㤤䉗䎸㠍㱽㹞䢃㹞㡠㛓 㛓㠍䴆䢃䜥 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 㭲㹞䙍䢃㹞㡠䎸䉗䙍㹞 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 㞊㛓䴆㱽㿬㭲䉗䙍䢃㿬 䃉䉗䔄㹞㡠 䎸㹞䇵㿬䎸䎸䫲 䗇㹞䎸㠍䙍䇵 䢃㠍 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬㝷 㸧䙍䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䎸㿬䢃㹞㛓䢃 㛓㹞䉗㛓㱽䉗㭲 㛓䴆㡠䔄㹞䫲㛓 㛓䜥㠍䣗 䢃䜥㿬䢃 䢃䜥㹞 㱽㿬䉗䙍 㠍䉗䎸㴉䗇㹞㿬㡠䉗䙍䇵 㛓䢃㡠䴆㭲䢃䴆㡠㹞㛓 㿬㡠㹞 䎴㡠㹞㭲䉗㛓㹞䎸䫲 䉗䙍 䢃䜥䉗㛓 㿬㡠㹞㿬㝷”
䙍䐽㸧㠍㠍㛓䎸䗴
䗴㠍
㛓䉗
䢃㿬
䴆䙍䫲㛓㠍’㡠䢃㭲
䗇䫲
㱽㠍䫲㿬䀅㡠䉗䢃
㿬㹞㛓䙍㱽
䢃㡠㹞㡠㡠䫲㠍䉗䢃㝷”
㹞䉗㒘㭲䧗㠍
䢃㛓䔄’㿬
䔄㛓㹞㹞㡠’㡠㛓㹞
䢃䜥㿬䢃
䇵㠍䙍㤤䉗䎸㠍
㿬㹞䉗䎸㱽䤥㭲
䫲㠍㡠䴆
㹞䜥䢃
㹞䙍䫲㡠㡠䴆䎸㭲䢃
䴆䎴㿬㛓䤥㹞䐽
䜥”㫜㛓䉗
㳄㹞
㹞䙍䴆㡠䤥
㿬㭲䴆㿬䎸䎸䢃䫲
㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍’㛓 䗴䉗䙍䇵㹞㡠㛓 䢃㿬䎴䎴㹞䤥 䇵㹞䙍䢃䎸䫲 㠍䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㿬㡠㱽㡠㹞㛓䢃 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 㛓㠍䗴㿬䐽 “㫜䜥㹞 䎸㿬䣗 䉗㛓 㠍䙍㹞 䢃䜥䉗䙍䇵䐽 㡠㹞㿬䎸䉗䢃䫲 䉗㛓 㿬䙍㠍䢃䜥㹞㡠㝷 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㠍 䜥㿬㛓 㛓䢃㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍㹞䤥 䢃䣗㠍 㱽㹞㭲䜥㿬䙍䉗䛌㹞䤥 䗇㡠䉗䇵㿬䤥㹞㛓 㠍䙍 䢃䜥㹞 䗇㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠䐽 㿬䙍䤥 䢃䜥㹞䉗㡠 㿬䉗㡠 䗴㠍㡠㭲㹞㝷㝷㝷”
“䪃㠍 䣗㹞 䙍㹞㹞䤥 䢃㠍 㭲䜥㿬䙍䇵㹞 㡠㹞㿬䎸䉗䢃䫲䐽” 䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 䉗䙍䢃㹞㡠㡠䴆䎴䢃㹞䤥 䜥䉗㱽䐽 㡠㹞㱽㿬䉗䙍䉗䙍䇵 㭲㿬䎸㱽䐽 “㸧䙍䤥 㭲䜥㿬䙍䇵䉗䙍䇵 㡠㹞㿬䎸䉗䢃䫲 㡠㹞䪟䴆䉗㡠㹞㛓 䎴㠍䣗㹞㡠㝷 㫜䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䪲䉗䙍䇵䤥㠍㱽 䉗㛓 䣗䉗䎸䎸䉗䙍䇵 䢃㠍 䎴㡠㠍䔄䉗䤥㹞 㛓䴆㭲䜥 䎴㠍䣗㹞㡠㝷”
䗴㠍
䢃䜥㹞
䉗㡠㿬㭲䗴㹞㹞㛓㝷䗇
㠍䴆䢃
䐽䰹䰹䰹䰹䰹䳓䰹䰹㜦䰹㝷䐽
䜥䢃㹞
䜥㹞
㿬
䢃㹞䉗㱽
㹞㳄
䢃㤤㠍㠍
㭲㡠㠍䔄㹞䐽
㱽㠍㡠䗴
㛓㫜䜥䉗
㭲䤥㹞䙍㠍㛓
㡠䢃䉗䗴㛓
㠍䙍
㿬
䎴㹞䤥䙍㠍㹞
䤥㹞䙍㠍㭲䢃䴆㱽
㐼㿬㹞䎴䇵
㛓䉗㹞㹞㛓㡠
䜥㠍䣗㛓䙍䇵䉗
䙍䗇㡠㱽㹞䴆㛓
䉗䜥㛓
“䳓㜦䰹䰹 㱽䉗䎸䎸䉗㠍䙍㝷”
䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓㿬䉗䤥䐽 “㸧䙍 䴆䙍㭲㠍䙍䤥䉗䢃䉗㠍䙍㿬䎸 䇵㡠㿬䙍䢃䐽 䣗䉗䢃䜥 䙍㠍 䎴㠍䎸䉗䢃䉗㭲㿬䎸 㭲㠍䙍䤥䉗䢃䉗㠍䙍㛓 㿬䢃䢃㿬㭲䜥㹞䤥䐽 䗴䴆䙍䤥㛓 䣗䉗䎸䎸 䗇㹞 䢃㡠㿬䙍㛓䗴㹞㡠㡠㹞䤥 䉗䙍 䗇㿬䢃㭲䜥㹞㛓 䢃㠍 䢃䜥㹞 㿬㭲㭲㠍䴆䙍䢃 䤥㹞㛓䉗䇵䙍㿬䢃㹞䤥 䗇䫲 䫲㠍䴆㡠 㭲㠍䴆䙍䢃㡠䫲’㛓 㭲㹞䙍䢃㡠㿬䎸 䗇㿬䙍㤤䐽 㿬䙍䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䴆㛓㹞 䉗㛓 㹞䙍䢃䉗㡠㹞䎸䫲 䴆䎴 䢃㠍 䫲㠍䴆㡠 䇵㠍䔄㹞㡠䙍㱽㹞䙍䢃㝷 㮗䴆㡠 㛓䴆䇵䇵㹞㛓䢃䉗㠍䙍 䉗㛓 䢃㠍 䴆䎴䇵㡠㿬䤥㹞 䢃䜥㹞 䗇㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠 䤥㹞䗴㹞䙍㛓㹞 㛓䫲㛓䢃㹞㱽䐽 䎴䴆㡠㭲䜥㿬㛓㹞 㱽㠍䤥㹞㡠䙍 㛓䴆㡠䔄㹞䉗䎸䎸㿬䙍㭲㹞 㿬䙍䤥 㭲㠍㱽㱽䴆䙍䉗㭲㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍 㹞䪟䴆䉗䎴㱽㹞䙍䢃䐽 㿬䙍䤥 㿬䎴䎴㡠㠍䎴㡠䉗㿬䢃㹞䎸䫲 㛓䢃㡠㹞䙍䇵䢃䜥㹞䙍 䢃䜥㹞 䗇㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠 䢃㡠㠍㠍䎴㛓’ 㭲㿬䎴㿬䗇䉗䎸䉗䢃䉗㹞㛓㝷”
㛓㸧䙍䗴㠍㠍䎸
㛓䎸䉗䇵䜥䢃䎸䫲
䴆㹞㱽䗇㡠䐽䙍
䜥䢃㹞
㿬㝷䤥䉗䎴㡠
䉗㛓䜥
㿬䜥䙍䉗䗇䇵㹞㡠䢃
䢃㿬
㡠䢃㹞㛓㿬䤥
䪎䉗䔄㹞 䜥䴆䙍䤥㡠㹞䤥 㱽䉗䎸䎸䉗㠍䙍 㞊䪃 䤥㠍䎸䎸㿬㡠㛓㝷
䣶䪟䴆䉗䔄㿬䎸㹞䙍䢃 䢃㠍 㿬 䪟䴆㿬㡠䢃㹞㡠 㠍䗴 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬’㛓 㿬䙍䙍䴆㿬䎸 䗇䴆䤥䇵㹞䢃㝷 䐲䉗䢃䜥 䢃䜥䉗㛓 㱽㠍䙍㹞䫲䐽 䜥㹞 㭲㠍䴆䎸䤥 䤥㠍 㱽㿬䙍䫲 䢃䜥䉗䙍䇵㛓㐼 䗇䴆䫲 㠍䗴䗴 㠍䎴䎴㠍㛓䉗䢃䉗㠍䙍 䎸㿬䣗㱽㿬㤤㹞㡠㛓䐽 㿬䎴䎴㹞㿬㛓㹞 䤥䉗㛓㛓㹞䙍䢃 䣗䉗䢃䜥䉗䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㱽䉗䎸䉗䢃㿬㡠䫲䐽 㿬䙍䤥 㹞䔄㹞䙍 㿬䤥䤥 㿬 䎸䉗䢃䢃䎸㹞 㱽㠍㡠㹞 䢃㠍 䜥䉗㛓 㿬㭲㭲㠍䴆䙍䢃 䉗䙍 䪃䣗䉗䢃䛌㹞㡠䎸㿬䙍䤥㝷
㠍㹞䙍
㹞䜥䢃
䜥㫜㹞
㿬䢃㛓䎸
䙍䉗㠍㡠㿬䢃䢃㱽䎴䈦
㛓䉗
㱽㠍䢃㛓
“䐲䜥㿬䢃’㛓 䢃䜥㹞 䎴㡠䉗㭲㹞䴖” 䜥㹞 㿬㛓㤤㹞䤥㝷
䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㭲䎸㠍㛓㹞䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䤥㠍㭲䴆㱽㹞䙍䢃䐽 “㫜䜥㡠㹞㹞 㛓㱽㿬䎸䎸 㡠㹞䪟䴆㹞㛓䢃㛓㝷”
䢃㹞”䎸㝷䎸
㿬㹞㛓㹞”㙫䎸
㠍䤥
“䪎䉗㡠㛓䢃䐽 㿬䎸䎸㠍䣗 㿬 䤥㹞䎸㹞䇵㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍 㭲㠍㱽䎴㠍㛓㹞䤥 㠍䗴 㟔㡠䉗䢃䉗㛓䜥 䇵㹞㠍䎸㠍䇵䉗㭲㿬䎸 㹞䧗䎴㹞㡠䢃㛓 㿬䙍䤥 ‘㛓㹞㭲䴆㡠䉗䢃䫲 㿬䤥䔄䉗㛓㠍㡠㛓’ 䢃㠍 㹞䙍䢃㹞㡠 䢃䜥㹞 㭲㠍䴆䙍䢃㡠䫲 䴆䙍䤥㹞㡠 䢃䜥㹞 䇵䴆䉗㛓㹞 㠍䗴 ‘㭲䴆䎸䢃䴆㡠㿬䎸 㹞䧗㭲䜥㿬䙍䇵㹞’ 䗴㠍㡠 㠍䙍㴉㛓䉗䢃㹞 䉗䙍㛓䎴㹞㭲䢃䉗㠍䙍㛓 䉗䙍 䢃䜥㹞 䗇㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠 㿬㡠㹞㿬㝷”
㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䙍㠍䤥䤥㹞䤥䐽 “㫜䜥㿬䢃 㭲㿬䙍 䗇㹞 㿬㡠㡠㿬䙍䇵㹞䤥㝷”
䢃䙍䉗㡠䴆㹞㠍㰍㛓
䉗㿬䎸䎸㠍㹞䢃䏊䉗㭲䎴㠍
㹞䢃䜥㹞㱽
㙫㹞䣗㡠㠍
䙍䢃㹞䧗
㿬㡠㛓㹞䇵䢃”‘㝷䉗䪃䢃㹞
䉗㹞㹞㡠䎸䔄䤥
䢃㞊䤥䙍㹞䉗
㛓䐽㹞䎸㛓㸧䫲䗇㱽
䙍㠍
‘㫜䜥㹞
㹞䢃䜥
㹞䜥㛓㭲䎴㹞
㠍䗴
㿬
㿬䢃
㹞䏊䙍䎸㡠㿬㹞
䜥㱽䢃䙍’㠍㛓
䎸䎸䪃㿬㱽
“䐽㭲䙍䤥䪃㹞㠍
㠍䩄䉗㿬㛓䢃䙍
䙍䉗
䢃㿬㹞䏊㡠
䎸䪡㱽㹞㿬㱽䉗
“䐲㹞 䣗䉗䎸䎸 䎴㡠㠍䔄䉗䤥㹞 㿬 䤥㡠㿬䗴䢃 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 㛓䎴㹞㹞㭲䜥䐽” 䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓㱽䉗䎸㹞䤥䐽 “䨯㠍䴆 㠍䙍䎸䫲 䙍㹞㹞䤥 䢃㠍 㡠㹞㿬䤥 䉗䢃㝷”
㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䣗㿬㛓 㛓䉗䎸㹞䙍䢃 䗴㠍㡠 㿬 䗴㹞䣗 㛓㹞㭲㠍䙍䤥㛓䐽 “㸧䙍䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䢃䜥䉗㡠䤥䴖”
䣗䐽䗴㡠㠍㿬䤥㡠
㿬
“㫜㡠䐽䉗䤥䜥
䤥䙍䎸㹞㹞㿬
䢃㿬
㿬䙍
䎴㠍䢃䎴㡠䎴㿬㿬㹞㡠䉗
䢃㹞䐽䉗㱽
‘㠍㹞㡠䗇㡠䤥
䪃㿬䗇㛓䴆䎸䉗㡠䫲
䉗㝷’㹞䉗䙍䤥”㭲䢃䙍
䉗䜥㛓
䇵㡠㹞䣗䉗㠍䎸䙍
㭲㹞䔄㠍䐽䉗
䢃㿬㹞㭲㹞㡠
㫜䜥㹞 㿬䉗㡠 䉗䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㛓䢃䴆䤥䫲 㛓㠍䎸䉗䤥䉗䗴䉗㹞䤥㝷
㫜䜥㹞 䣗㠍㠍䤥 㭲㡠㿬㭲㤤䎸㹞䤥 䉗䙍 䢃䜥㹞 䗴䉗㡠㹞䎴䎸㿬㭲㹞䐽 㿬䙍䤥 䢃䜥㹞 䗴䉗㡠㹞䎸䉗䇵䜥䢃 䗴䎸䉗㭲㤤㹞㡠㹞䤥 㠍䙍 㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍’㛓 䗴㿬㭲㹞㝷
㡠䤥㝷䫲
㠍䗴
䢃’㭲”㹞䤥䉗䙍’䉗䴖䙍
䐲䜥㿬䢃”
䉗䜥㛓
䙍䉗㤤䤥
㹞㛓䐽㿬䤥㤤
㹞㠍䉗㭲䔄
㹞䜥
“㸧䙍 䉗䙍㭲䉗䤥㹞䙍䢃 䢃䜥㿬䢃 䉗㛓 䙍㠍䢃䉗㭲㹞㿬䗇䎸㹞 㹞䙍㠍䴆䇵䜥 䗇䴆䢃 䣗㠍䙍’䢃 㿬㭲䢃䴆㿬䎸䎸䫲 䢃㡠䉗䇵䇵㹞㡠 㿬 䣗㿬㡠䐽” 䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓㿬䉗䤥䐽 “䪎㠍㡠 㹞䧗㿬㱽䎴䎸㹞䐽 㿬 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬䙍 䎴㿬䢃㡠㠍䎸 ‘㿬㭲㭲䉗䤥㹞䙍䢃㿬䎸䎸䫲’ 㭲㡠㠍㛓㛓㹞㛓 䢃䜥㹞 㿬㭲䢃䴆㿬䎸 㭲㠍䙍䢃㡠㠍䎸 䎸䉗䙍㹞 㿬䙍䤥 㹞䙍䇵㿬䇵㹞㛓 䉗䙍 㿬 ‘䗇㡠䉗㹞䗴 㛓㤤䉗㡠㱽䉗㛓䜥’ 䣗䉗䢃䜥 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㿬䙍 䗇㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠 䢃㡠㠍㠍䎴㛓㝷 㮗㡠䐽 㿬 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬䙍 ‘㭲䉗䔄䉗䎸䉗㿬䙍 㿬䉗㡠㭲㡠㿬䗴䢃’ ‘䉗䙍㿬䤥䔄㹞㡠䢃㹞䙍䢃䎸䫲’ 㹞䙍䢃㹞㡠㛓 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㿬䙍 㿬䉗㡠㛓䎴㿬㭲㹞 㿬䙍䤥 䉗㛓 ‘㛓䜥㠍䢃 䤥㠍䣗䙍㝷'” 㳄㹞 䎴㿬䴆㛓㹞䤥䐽 “㸧䗴䢃㹞㡠 䢃䜥㹞 䉗䙍㭲䉗䤥㹞䙍䢃䐽 䢃䜥㹞 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬䙍 䇵㠍䔄㹞㡠䙍㱽㹞䙍䢃 㱽䴆㛓䢃 䉗㱽㱽㹞䤥䉗㿬䢃㹞䎸䫲 䗴䉗䎸㹞 㿬 㭲㠍㱽䎴䎸㿬䉗䙍䢃 䣗䉗䢃䜥 䢃䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䩄㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍㛓 䪃㹞㭲䴆㡠䉗䢃䫲 㰍㠍䴆䙍㭲䉗䎸䐽 㿬㭲㭲䴆㛓䉗䙍䇵 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㠍 㠍䗴 ‘䔄䉗㠍䎸㿬䢃䉗䙍䇵 㛓㠍䔄㹞㡠㹞䉗䇵䙍䢃䫲’ 㿬䙍䤥 ‘䤥㹞䎸䉗䗇㹞㡠㿬䢃㹞 䎴㡠㠍䔄㠍㭲㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍㝷’ 㫜䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䪲䉗䙍䇵䤥㠍㱽䐽 䢃㠍䇵㹞䢃䜥㹞㡠 䣗䉗䢃䜥 䪎㡠㿬䙍㭲㹞 㿬䙍䤥 䏊㹞㡠㱽㿬䙍䫲䐽 䣗䉗䎸䎸 䎴䴆㛓䜥 䗴㠍㡠 㿬䙍 㹞㱽㹞㡠䇵㹞䙍㭲䫲 㱽㹞㹞䢃䉗䙍䇵 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 䪃㹞㭲䴆㡠䉗䢃䫲 㰍㠍䴆䙍㭲䉗䎸 䢃㠍 䤥䉗㛓㭲䴆㛓㛓 䢃䜥㹞 ‘䢃㹞䙍㛓䉗㠍䙍㛓 䉗䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㰍䜥䉗㿬䎴㿬㛓 䃉㹞䇵䉗㠍䙍㝷'” 㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍’㛓 䗴㠍㡠㹞䜥㹞㿬䤥 䣗㿬㛓 䤥㠍䢃䢃㹞䤥 䣗䉗䢃䜥 㛓䣗㹞㿬䢃䐽 “䐲䜥㿬䢃 䉗䗴 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㠍’㛓 㡠㹞㿬㭲䢃䉗㠍䙍 㹞䧗㭲㹞㹞䤥㛓 㹞䧗䎴㹞㭲䢃㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍㛓䴖 䐲䜥㿬䢃 䉗䗴 䗥䉗㭲䢃㠍㡠 㿬㭲䢃䴆㿬䎸䎸䫲 㠍㡠䤥㹞㡠㛓 㿬䙍 㿬䢃䢃㿬㭲㤤䴖”
䪃㿬䎸䉗㛓䗇䴆㡠䫲 㛓䪟䴆䉗䙍䢃㹞䤥䐽 “㗣䗴 㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㠍 䎸㿬䴆䙍㭲䜥㹞㛓 㿬䇵䇵㡠㹞㛓㛓䉗㠍䙍 㿬䇵㿬䉗䙍㛓䢃 㿬 㛓㠍䔄㹞㡠㹞䉗䇵䙍 䙍㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍䐽 㿬䎸䎸 䢃䜥㹞䉗㡠 㱽㠍㡠㿬䎸 㿬䤥䔄㿬䙍䢃㿬䇵㹞 䉗䙍䢃㹞㡠䙍㿬䢃䉗㠍䙍㿬䎸䎸䫲 䣗䉗䎸䎸 㭲㠍䎸䎸㿬䎴㛓㹞 䉗䙍㛓䢃㿬䙍䢃䎸䫲㝷 㸧䢃 䢃䜥㿬䢃 䎴㠍䉗䙍䢃䐽 䢃䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䪲䉗䙍䇵䤥㠍㱽䐽 䪎㡠㿬䙍㭲㹞䐽 㿬䙍䤥 㹞䔄㹞䙍 䢃䜥㹞 㡠㹞㛓䉗䤥䴆㿬䎸 䗴㠍㡠㭲㹞㛓 㠍䗴 䢃䜥㹞 㞊䙍䉗䢃㹞䤥 䪃䢃㿬䢃㹞㛓 䣗㠍䴆䎸䤥 䜥㿬䔄㹞 㿬 㡠㹞㿬㛓㠍䙍 䗴㠍㡠 ‘䜥䴆㱽㿬䙍䉗䢃㿬㡠䉗㿬䙍 䉗䙍䢃㹞㡠䔄㹞䙍䢃䉗㠍䙍㝷’ 㸧䙍䤥 䏊䴆㿬䢃㹞㱽㿬䎸㿬 䣗䉗䎸䎸 䗇㹞㭲㠍㱽㹞 䢃䜥㹞 䗴㡠㠍䙍䢃䎸䉗䙍㹞 䜥㹞㡠㠍 㿬䇵㿬䉗䙍㛓䢃 ‘㒘㹞䧗䉗㭲㿬䙍 㹞䧗䎴㿬䙍㛓䉗㠍䙍䉗㛓㱽㝷'”
㠍䎸䣗䤥䴆
䙍㹞㛓㠍䎴㛓㹞㡠
㱽䉗㿬䫲䢃䎸䉗㡠
㿬㭲䢃㱽㠍䎸䎴䉗䉗䤥
䉗㠍䙍䙍䎴䇵㹞
㸧
“䉗㹞㛓㝷䇵䙍䗇
㹞㳄
䙍㠍
㹞㠍㱽㡠
䜥䢃㛓䉗
䫲㱽
㟔㛓㿬䤥㹞
䉗㿬䇵䇵㹞㡠䙍䙍䉗
㹞䗇
㡠䉗㿬㛓䴆䙍䢃䙍䇵䤥㹞䤥䙍
㛓㹞䙍䤥㠍㭲
䜥䢃’㿬䢃㛓
㛓䐽䗴㿬㠍
㡠䗴㠍䙍䢃
䣗㭲㠍㡠䢃㴉㿬㹞㛓㛓
䐽䉗䗥㠍㭲䢃㡠
㛓䜥䉗
䢃㠍㡠䢃㛓㹞䎴
䢃㠍䙍䉗
䐽䴆㭲㡠㠍㹞㛓
䴆㱽㠍㹞㡠㛓䎴㭲䐽㠍
䢃㿬
㤤䉗㡠㛓
䜥㹞
䉗䫲㹞䎸䎸㤤
䙍㿬䤥
䉗㛓䜥䢃
䎴㡠㹞㹞䴆䐽㡠㛓㛓
㛓㭲䙍㹞䉗㡠㠍㿬㝷
㭲䉗㹞㹞㡠䫲䎴㛓䎸
䗇㿬㭲㤤
䉗㱽䢃㹞㝷
䙍䤥㿬
㮗”䗴
㹞䎸䤥㹞䙍㿬
䜥䢃㹞
㠍䗴
䢃䇵㹞䢃㿬䙍䙍㠍㠍䉗䉗
㹞䢃䜥
㛓䉗
䙍’㠍䢃䣗
䢃㹞䜥
䣗䜥㡠㹞㹞
㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䎸㠍㠍㤤㹞䤥 㿬䢃 㳄㹞㡠㱽㿬䙍㝷 㸧䙍 㹞䧗㭲䉗䢃㹞䤥 䇵䎸㹞㿬㱽 䗇䴆㡠䙍㹞䤥 䉗䙍 䜥䉗㛓 䗇㡠㠍䢃䜥㹞㡠’㛓 㹞䫲㹞㛓䐽 㿬䙍䤥 䜥㹞 䙍㠍䤥䤥㹞䤥 㛓䎸䉗䇵䜥䢃䎸䫲㝷
“㗣 䙍㹞㹞䤥 䢃䉗㱽㹞 䢃㠍 㭲㠍䙍㛓䉗䤥㹞㡠䐽” 㸧䎸䗴㠍䙍㛓㠍 䗴䉗䙍㿬䎸䎸䫲 㛓㿬䉗䤥㝷
㠍㛓䢃㠍䤥
䎴㛓㿬䙍䎸
䪃䉗㿬㛓䗇䫲䴆䎸㡠
㹞䙍䉗㿬㡠㱽
䜥㠍㡠䴆㛓
㱽䉗㿬㠍䙍䉗㠍㡠䙍䗴䢃
䴆䎸’䫲㠍䎸
㹞䜥䢃
㠍䢃
䉗䎸䎸䣗
䉗䤥䙍㛓㹞䐽㗣
㝷䤥”㝷㹞㹞㭲䉗䤥
㹞䔄㿬䜥
㭲㡠㠍㹞䴆㛓”㝷
㝷㛓䢃䎴㹞㛓
䢃㴉䣗䔄䫲䢃㠍㹞㛓㹞䙍
䤥㠍㹞䙍䢃䴆㱽㭲㛓
㡠㹞㹞㝷䜥
㡠㠍䗴
䗴䉗䤥䙍
“㮗䗴
㿬䙍䤥
䤥䉗㹞㿬䤥䎸䢃㹞
㠍䢃䢃䙍㭲㿬㭲
䧗䙍㹞䢃
㠍䴆䨯
㹞㫜䜥”
䴆䎴䐽
