Yellow submarine

Inspired by two small fragments of world history: the Soviet Union banned Western jazz and rock music from flowing into the country, the Beatles were heavily guarded as a representative, and in 1991, two Soviet astronauts experienced the collapse of the Soviet Union on the space station.

01

Honestly, I always felt like kino had a smell of flour on him. He walked to the left, and I remembered it clearly, and the smell wafting over me was not disgusting, but I slowed down and tried to avoid it. So I squatted down and pretended to tie my shoelaces, my fingers circling around a grass. Csilla caught up from behind, and I stood up and walked side by side with her. She took a plum out of her pocket, and I took it with my hand wrapped around the green grass stem. And Vic, striding up to the front, and both Csilla and I like him a little bit. In fact, it was Csilla who first announced her secret love to me, and out of a mentality of not being left behind, I racked my brains and finally found some charm in Vic, who himself knew nothing about.

The four of us were always inseparable, and Csilla and I were the elders of the small group, and she was my neighbor and best friend from memory to remember. Then there's kino, our mothers, who happen to be co-workers, who decide to perpetuate the friendships of their children from the previous generation. Many summers, kino would be sent during the day and taken care of by my grandmother. He was very lukewarm about the decision and sat at my family's dinner table all morning reading an unethicked book. In order to make myself feel like a competent master, I decided to share my secret with CSILLA to him. Our secret was almost the size of a saucer, as thin as a piece of paper. In the sweltering heat of the air, I closed the windows and closed the heavy curtains, and Kino looked at me with a bewildered look, seemingly only out of courtesy that he had not left the room and returned to the table. But when I put the secret on the phonograph and put down the pitcher, his expression changed suddenly, and the whole person relaxed, and his fingers gently beat the beat. That's the look people only get when they encounter something truly wonderful and incredible, and much later, Csilla showed the same expression on the engagement ring that Vic handed over, and that's about the same look on my face when I first looked out from the glass of the cockpit of an airplane.

When the music was over, I pulled the curtains back open, and the sunlight dispelled the music in the room. Kino looked at me and seemed to question the veracity of what had just happened. I knew that I gained his trust and friendship, and even a little bit of admiration. Csilla refused to talk to me for a whole week, but I knew she couldn't be angry with me forever, and kino's admiration spread from me to her, after all, the two of us were the original keepers of the secret. Csilla pouted and made a reluctant appearance while sneaking out more records from home. For work reasons, her father had permission to go abroad, and this kind middle-aged man knew how to use his position to develop his own little hobbies. He ordered directly from suppliers and smuggled in boxes of jazz records. Perhaps the other party was trying to recharge, and between these records, she inadvertently found something more worthy of guarding than the saxophone and the trumpet.

"What is this?" Kino asked, and each of us has asked the same question at one time.

I shook my head and took out the record sleeve, the secret transport that left it with some light-colored scratches, and Kino covered the marks with his fingers, stroking them gently, sweeping over the exaggerated cartoons on the covers. "It's a submarine." He said, pointing out the round portholes and the protruding bridge to me. Words read from textbooks and newspapers alternately flashed in my head, deep sea, secret launches, ghosts, precision, all out of place in front of a weird, wobbly yellow submarine. "If you put him on the battlefield, you will be found out immediately." I realized my mistake as I uttered these words, a submarine that had nothing to do with war, that could be won without hiding and assassination, and that behind it was something else that I could not accurately describe at the time.

These records, filled with guitar and drums, became a common secret throughout our teenage years. Vic was the last to join, he brought two of his own records as evidence, and we, like those in the booth, nodded solemnly and identified with his identity. At that time, we didn't know English, we didn't know anything about the lyrics, but we could lie on the carpet and gently hum along. Everyone was convinced that the lyrics must have something to do with something extremely important. To cover up the sound, we turn on the radio, and the announcer announces that a spy case has been cracked, and miniature material has been found in the suitcase he carries. In his dull, old-fashioned voice, imagination gradually formed in his mind, a bright yellow submarine, the huge bottom compartment filled with notes, placing itself in the mezzanine of the suitcase, slowly sneaking through the dark tunnels that emitted a pungent smell, crossing the border and the barbed wire, probing the periscope out of the sewer mouth to observe the situation, and finally knocking on my door.

02

At this moment I'm willing to trade anything for a record of that kind, any. They put music in the playback system that can be listened to for a year, classical music, folk songs, pop songs, I can't apply, hey, give me some rock music is not good, that is, you ban playing and destroy it centrally, I am not so crazy. But I'd rather go to them now and ask for a little rock 'n' roll, at least that means the communication is smooth. It would have been better if the other side had started yelling, revoking my title, and immediately expelling me from this damn space station back to the ground. Since 48 hours ago, communication between the space station and the ground has been interrupted. Not the kind of interruption of a solar storm, there was silence, and the red lights kept flashing. On the contrary, the link is perfectly normal, but the correspondent does not say a word. To compensate, they started playing Swan Lake to me endlessly. Everyone in this country knows that once something inexplicable happens, the news program on the radio becomes Swan Lake. To the soothing sound of the violin, the mournful cries of swans echoed between the bulkheads, and the palms of my hands were covered with sweat. Further out, between me and my hometown, the vacuum of cosmic silence was filled.

The space station has enough food, water and air circulation system to function properly. My "long trip" was supposed to end ten days later, with new astronauts coming to take over, and I would return to Earth, receive medallions, garlands, and applause, kiss my lover, and wait until the tiring routine was over, pour myself a glass of red wine, pull down the curtains, and sneak a little rock 'n' roll. Now everything is possible to fail, and worst of all, without any instructions coming, we are people so good at obeying them that we are able to read out all kinds of latent intentions in a silence. The same was true for rock 'n' roll, which Csilla learned from her father and contagious it to me and others. Our existence for these records is strictly confidential, not only because it symbolizes the close friendship between small groups. Although no one has told us, we can also understand from the air and the eyes of adults that this raucous and frivolous music is not suitable for playing in a booming city, and that yellow submarines must always hide underground.

It wasn't until the summer when Vic was going to go to vocational college that we realized we weren't the only ones with secrets. He was assigned to an English-taught class and gradually was able to translate the lyrics to us, and I was very disappointed when I found out that it was nothing more than some girls and love. Vic felt this, "It doesn't feel right when translated. He said, ending his translation work. Csilla didn't think much of it, pestering vic and asking for the lyrics. At the same time, he was able to bring back some gossip. On a sweltering afternoon, everyone gathered at my house as usual, and when I closed the window and returned with lemon juice, I saw a look of excitement on everyone's faces.

"VIC heard that this band used to stop at our airport to refuel while on a global tour." CSILLA struggled to keep the volume down, her voice sharpened with excitement. Kino, by contrast, seemed more calm, "We should take a look." He suggested.

At that time, the airport was not a public transportation facility, and only big people with names and surnames, and people who needed to perform tasks in complete anonymity, needed to take a plane. I found a map, and Csilla grabbed it straight over and stuffed it into the bag, "We can look at it on the way." She said, while pointing out that we should go east, because the black sedan that came to pick up Dad always disappeared in that direction.

So we set off, and four children, who had barely reached adulthood, left the city along the newly repaired asphalt road, leaving the secret prohibition, and headed for a rumor. I left my grandmother a note mentioning that we were going to "hang out" and promised to go home for dinner. We walked for a long time and no one complained or even wanted to stop and rest. I put Csilla's plums in my mouth, the sour juice running between my teeth. "I think he loves me." CSILLA whispered in my ear as I looked forward, and VIC's back loomed no more clearly than the airport or a band.

I brought up a group photo, Csilla in a wedding dress, holding Vic's arm, Kino standing aside against the messy hair, with a shy smile, and I guess he still smelled of flour on his body. I was selected for the space program, so I missed the wedding. CSILLA sent the photo with some blessing words on the back that looked like they had been copied from some tool book, the kind that would work perfectly in any situation. I don't blame her, the wedding was tiring and I left too early. Grandma did not find the note we left behind, she received an even more important message that her daughter had been transferred to the capital and that the family was about to move out of the city.

03

I was immersed in the memories, not even noticing that the music of Swan Lake had stopped, and that the other party was a nervous, talking young man who seemed to have spent a long time on a piece of scratch paper to consider what he was going to say, and decided to pour out the final result in one breath, without giving me any chance to ask questions.

"Madam, there are some situations that I am not allowed to disclose, which have nothing to do with your safety, please rest assured, but we can't pick you up now, I am only allowed to say this, and I wish you good luck."

What is this? I shouted at the call, and Swan Lake was back, laughing at my powerlessness. It seems that I have more time to spend with memories and good luck.

We kept until dusk fell, and Kino pulled a flashlight out of his backpack, with little success, barely illuminating the stones in front of him. The light instead exposed us, and the watchtower some distance away suddenly pointed its searchlights at us, and then there was a lot of noise, the sound of iron doors rubbing against the ground, and I stood at the back, unable to see anything clearly.

"Traffic is not allowed here." After a while, a voice appeared. The lights flickered between us, casting shadows between my friends' bodies. I saw Kino take a step back, the man had a gun, and I suddenly realized that.

"We just want to go in and have a look." VIC's voice sounds less certain.

"Go home to the child, it's late, how did you find it here?" It's not really a question, it's just self-talk, and every child is well aware of this self-talk, and adults don't expect any valuable answers from you.

"We heard that a band used to stop here." Csilla suddenly spoke out loud, and she held my hand hard, as if to draw courage from me. On the contrary, I was frightened, and she just shook the secret out. It's over, I think, he's on that side. Everyone is talking, the enemy is on the other side, and they have ill intentions, trying to find from our few words a weakness worth attacking. For us, the enemy is on the other side, also on this side, and now they have discovered our weakness.

Vic shifted his center of gravity and tried to protect Csilla behind, and I suddenly saw the man's face, thin lips, and the bridge of his nose a little crooked, very young, like those students in the graduating class of the school, and the uniform was worn on him even as if he were passing through the house. He did hold a gun, but the muzzle was downwards, listlessly facing the ground. "You're wrong, this is not the airport." He reiterated that there was a seriousness in the tone that was not commensurate with age. Kino whispered something to Vic, and he wavered, maintaining a wary posture while slowly retreating backwards.

"Wait a minute." When we had turned around, the young man called out to us, his tone became light, and we looked back suspiciously. The young man touched his nose shyly, "There was a thunderstorm that day, and they couldn't land smoothly, so they chose another city to transit." He whispered the words quickly, then waved at us, "You really should leave." ”

It was like a spell, and we even forgot to say goodbye to him, striding back in the direction we went, without saying a word, while everyone was reminiscing about what had just happened. Whether we got to that airport or not, whether the band actually visited, has been pondering this question over and over again in later years. It doesn't matter if the answer is accurate, what matters is that we know that there are other allies in this world who whisper records in the rooms with windows closed. We briefly recognized each other in the darkness, and that evening became our glorious moment.

04

After that, my parents and I moved to the capital from a remote industrial town. I began to keep an eye on it, trying to find more allies. The guy who was rhythmically tapping his fingers on the table in the shop line, the guy at school who was kicked out of the class by the director of instruction for having long hair, they could all be my secret allies.

I did find a bunch of guys like that, and their secrets were deeper and more dangerous, a band, why don't we try it too. We applied for a room in one of the most remote buildings of the school in the name of the activity group, and the janitor happened to be a deaf elderly man. We picked up the honor guard's discarded drums, and Alex made a guitar as it looked like on the picture. We had a little trouble with the pickup, and then someone said that the structure of the thing was similar to the telephone coil, so I ran to the public telephone booth and found that many of the coils of the handset had been removed. Alex not only did not feel regrets, but was very happy" It seems that we have a lot of friends who have not yet appeared. He said. Occasionally the school would send someone to check on our "progress", I tucked the guitar under my skirt and alex immediately picked up a Baralaika. Another singing boy would sit at the piano and if asked to perform, he would lie that he had sprained his wrist, in fact the strings in the piano had long since been removed and moved to the guitar. To this end, Alex even made a small guitar that would get stuck perfectly between my thighs and push the head up to a dangerous place. At the same time, the hem of my skirt was getting bigger and bigger, "This is not good, you seem to be a noble lady." The people sent from the school shook their heads, but they couldn't find a bigger problem, fussing that a set of speakers had to be equipped with a fire extinguisher, and ordered us to fill out more forms.

After that, I went to a dedicated flight school and Alex came too, with his guitar. In the end, he poked out Lou Zi and was expelled from school along with the guitar, but this did not affect our previous relationship. I love him, I love his unblinching optimism, he loves me, and I am his perfect partner in crime. How is he doing now? I was on an island, listening to Swan Lake, not even sure where it was safer, why couldn't they pick me up? What the hell is going on? Anything bad can happen, and I'm reminded of other rumors, looking through portholes in vain for mushroom clouds left behind by nuclear weapons on the surface of the earth where models are generally hanging. I even started singing the songs in my head, one after another, and if someone was going to check the camcorder, let them panic, at least they had to pick me up before they could do it.

Three days later, when the Void Rock and Roll Control Department finally detected my deviant behavior, another voice appeared, much calmer than the previous one, "Ma'am, the control center can't pull out enough resources right now." "There will be other people who will be responsible for sending you safely back to Earth." "Again, they didn't leave me a chance to ask questions at all, and another signal came in, asking for a docking. I stared at the source of the signal as if I were looking at another language. In a way, it was indeed another language, from the other side of the iron wall, the neighbors who were never ill-intentioned on the radio, who extended a helping hand to me.

05

During the long and suffocating wait, I tried to pack my bags, only to find that there was nothing really needed to be taken away. After all, this was not a trip, and the only personal belongings I had were a small pile of alex letters. The docking went very smoothly, and I opened the hatch and was surrounded by a sudden influx of sounds that were too much for a man who had lived alone for six months, noisy and noisy, rising upwards until it hit the ceiling and turned into rumbling thunder. "What happened?" I stumbled in the other person's language and asked questions. The men had a look of regret on their faces, and they took me to a display, and I was stunned, and the contents of the picture were more shocking than the most bizarre fantasy movies I had ever seen. A middle-aged man sits in the news room, calmly reading out the manuscript in his hand to the camera, and in his voice, the picture switches to the location, no nuclear war, no ruins, and people enjoying the sunshine in the streets. The only difference was the flag hanging everywhere, and I looked down at the badges sewn from my clothes, and then at the ties that the announcer and the new flags matched in color, and there was absolutely nothing in common.

I tried to organize some language, and the moment I opened my mouth, all the words slipped away. "Go back to your post and let her rest for a while." I hear someone say. With a hand on my shoulder, I broke free and walked in the direction of the porthole. At a hundred thousand feet above, I tried to find familiar contours on the continental plates, but to no avail, those vital national borders did not exist, the little planet spun freely and never stopped, and any quarrel in the vacuum of the universe would be silent. Yet there were other sounds, some familiar notes in the dry air. I pressed my forehead against the cold porthole and hummed softly to the music. It was the first time I opened the curtains to enjoy these songs and I have to say, the view is nice. On the night of his expulsion, Alex blocked the idea that I would intercede on his behalf, "These things represent the last position of my life." His tone was cut to the point. It was one of the few fights we had, and he had a lot of positions, and I didn't really care. This allowed me to sit comfortably in a laboratory in the deepest part of the country, swearing allegiance while playing forbidden music.

We've wasted too much time on these futile things, and if it were possible, I'd like to get everyone to look at this, to look at this planet of flat, harmonious movement, and the only difference we see is not ideas, not doctrines, still less positions, but blue and white, nothing more. Like that record cover, blue and white, there was a large, ridiculously shaped yellow submarine that kept shuttling between all the boundaries that existed and didn't exist.

end