Post by bisal37 on Mar 10, 2024 19:41:06 GMT -8
When the teacher asked me about the Great Wall of China, I hung my head. At the same moment, Patarusha, my friend from the bank, turned pale in the face and had an involuntary seizure. The silence weighed on everyone. As they thought I had not learned, to help me, they began to whisper behind me: "It is three thousand kilometers long. Height six to eighteen meters. The width ranges from eight to ten. To erect it, work began in the fourth century and ended in the… But I didn't open my mouth again, I just sat on my feet. - How come, - the teacher was surprised, approaching me, - I don't know anything about the biggest wall in the world?! At least he admits he's the greatest? He can be seen even from the moon with the naked eye. Read also: Immigrants in the USA and Canada, who are the 4 policemen who helped the criminal groups LSI Vice President: CIA on alert, crime fighting institutions seized My eyes widened and I walked out of the classroom confused. Of course, I had learned the entire subject of the text.
I even had the chance to see a documentary film USA Phone Number or browse magazines, where articles and color photographs were published. I knew very well why the wall was once erected. It had separated the interior parts of China from the steppes, as barbarian tribes attacked from there. But how could I talk about an obstacle so far away, when another wall, which I had in front of my eyes day after day, cruelly separated me from Patarusha?! Our wall did not extend through mountains and valleys, tower after tower. It passed between two gardens of houses, my house and that of Patarusha. When we went out into the yard, the neighbors didn't see us, just like we didn't see them in their yard. Often, as I sat in solitude, I was tormented by a painful desire and I asked myself: "What is going on over there now?" But even if they met on the road, our fathers did not speak to each other.
Threatened by them with strict warnings, neither Patarusha nor I could speak our language. She bowed, pretended to roll up her socks, and so we passed without a greeting. I remember that at first I put all the blame on the wall. Because of him, when Patarusha and I were not yet born, our fathers were killed. The wall had been found by the grandparents, but the quarrels between them did not stop: To whom did the inheritance belong, who was the real owner? Every time this old grudge erupted, the mother was seized with the fear that some terrible mistake would happen. But even everyday life flowed full of boredom, everyone on their own account. If there was joy in one house, the ears were closed in the other. The silence between us was really convincing, until you came to believe that the neighbor did not live in this world at all. Once, when Patarusha got sick with bronchitis and didn't show up at school for a week in a row, I shed tears of nostalgia. I cried at night, after falling asleep. I had seen her in a dream holding out her hand, but I couldn't touch her, because she was scared, she left me as if I were a barbarian.
I even had the chance to see a documentary film USA Phone Number or browse magazines, where articles and color photographs were published. I knew very well why the wall was once erected. It had separated the interior parts of China from the steppes, as barbarian tribes attacked from there. But how could I talk about an obstacle so far away, when another wall, which I had in front of my eyes day after day, cruelly separated me from Patarusha?! Our wall did not extend through mountains and valleys, tower after tower. It passed between two gardens of houses, my house and that of Patarusha. When we went out into the yard, the neighbors didn't see us, just like we didn't see them in their yard. Often, as I sat in solitude, I was tormented by a painful desire and I asked myself: "What is going on over there now?" But even if they met on the road, our fathers did not speak to each other.
Threatened by them with strict warnings, neither Patarusha nor I could speak our language. She bowed, pretended to roll up her socks, and so we passed without a greeting. I remember that at first I put all the blame on the wall. Because of him, when Patarusha and I were not yet born, our fathers were killed. The wall had been found by the grandparents, but the quarrels between them did not stop: To whom did the inheritance belong, who was the real owner? Every time this old grudge erupted, the mother was seized with the fear that some terrible mistake would happen. But even everyday life flowed full of boredom, everyone on their own account. If there was joy in one house, the ears were closed in the other. The silence between us was really convincing, until you came to believe that the neighbor did not live in this world at all. Once, when Patarusha got sick with bronchitis and didn't show up at school for a week in a row, I shed tears of nostalgia. I cried at night, after falling asleep. I had seen her in a dream holding out her hand, but I couldn't touch her, because she was scared, she left me as if I were a barbarian.