Wine and Gun

Herstal sat on the thin mattress, groping for a carefully folded piece of letter paper from the chest pocket of the prison uniform. A little moonlight shone down from the high window overhead, and the moonlight was dim enough to see things clearly indoors, but it didn't matter. He had read the letter several times during the days when the sun was good enough. , even with his eyes closed, is now enough to repeat clearly in his mind every word of the letter:

I'm going to kill the leopard, right in front of you. I'm going to peel it off, I'm going to dig its heart because that's your heart. I will press your hand into its rib, and that gurgling sound is the sound of your blood.

"I've never cut open an animal like that, and I'm at a loss. I disemboweled it in front of my stove and put my hand in its belly to get the guts out--it was still steaming hot, Herstal, I feel like my hands are buried in a river of blood when I do that."

I will shred your robe, illuminated by the sun, moon, and sky, and cover you with the skin of a leopard, and then I will kill your terrible chastity, until the ancient gods denounce me as unclean.

"I want to see you burn."

I'm going to gouge you out, I'm going to gouge you out! Like Michelangelo gouging out and gouging out his Virgin, and the swallow gouging out and gouging out the eyeball of a prince! I will make you bleed, because every drop of your blood makes me thirsty.

"I see beauty. Mr. Armalette, now.

"You look like Danae in the copper tower."

I will drink the fountain of your blood, or let it dip the Sahara into the Red Sea and drown Moses. I have his scepter! I will stab you, stab you, peel you open, I will overflow your eyes, I will block your mouth, and I will open your heart.

"That being the case, dismantle me, rebuild me, brand me, show me in front of them, maybe you will—"

I am your knife and butcher, and I am your snake and poison. I am your sheep and castrato. I will burn you with a shovel, I will bind you, I will eat you and suck you.

"Could it be that you ate the fruit from the tree that is inedible?"

"The snake tempted me, and I ate it."

I will write poetry with my blood, I will write poetry with the juice of my eyeballs, I will write poetry with my marrow and body fluid, and I will bite it into you letter by letter.

"As a work of art, you've become perfect."

I want to kill the nightingale! I will split it, like a flaming sword will split the earth, just as I will split you! I will break its heart, I will offer roses with it, and then I will give you this flower. I will give you flowers, I will give you the keys to my heaven, I will give you heaps of bones, and I will give you the living flesh that you hate!

"Clearly your time has come."

You have to hold your breath.

- Herstal opened his eyes.

Then, he did something he would never have done if Albarino had been there - he squeezed the letter in his hand and pressed his lips to it silently and carefully. The paper felt dry and rough to the touch, with a very slight bitterness of ink, but no blood, nor the faint scent that one's warm skin should carry.

He would imagine that scene, when the writer wrote those words, where was he sitting? That hut in the woods with dim lights? Did he cautiously put on rubber gloves to prevent any possibility of fingerprints being left on the stationery before picking up his pen?

This thought only lingered in his mind for a moment, and then he carefully folded the letter again and put it back in his previous pocket.

It was still pitch black outside the window, and the moonlight showed a faint rǔ white. Herstal was not in a hurry to fall asleep, he half closed his eyes and started to make his own plan.

After dark, "Sodom" is brightly lit, and the nightclub is the most lively moment of the day. Albarino was not blocked when he entered the venue - there were several tall security guards at the entrance to check whether the guests were adults and whether they tried to bring illegal items into the venue, but they did not look at Alba. Lino glanced at him and put him in like air. Albarino guessed that this was the result of what Gabriel Morgenstern had instructed.

It has not been a few months since Albarino dressed as a drug dealer and sneaked into Sodom last time, but when he entered the door this time, he found that the atmosphere in the store had completely changed: the decoration of the main body of the nightclub had not changed. (It is estimated that Morgenstern does not want to bear the loss of closing the store and redecorating), but the lights are no longer flashing with an epileptic frequency, and the whole store is shrouded in a cold blue light, scattered on various small stages in the store. Under the light, the skin of the pole dancers took on a stone-like texture, and they danced slowly, almost languidly, to the slow jazz tunes that hovered in the shop, The black cloth of the style slid on their smooth skin.

Gabriel Morgenstern sat on the second floor platform.

From the patio on the second floor, you can overlook the entire dance floor. The semi-circular platform is equipped with a soft sofa and a coffee table with a sense of design. The owner of this store just sits comfortably on the sofa. A bottle of Riesling Noble Rot.

—Albarino didn’t think it was common hospitality to put a bottle of wine on the table the night his father committed suicide.

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