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Stood in front of "The 3rd of May 1808: The Execution of the Defenders of Madrid", I trembled. Lotus asked
"What's wrong, Dad？" I couldn't utter a word. Tears free flew down to my chin and on to the marble floor.
It is a humongous oil painting on the wall of the Fine Art Museum of Madrid, painted by Francisco Goya.
Napoleon's armies entered Spain. On his balcony, Goya witnessed the brutal slaughter of innocent citizens in the
street. Next day, he went out and found piles of bodies by the wall of a ruin. In pain, he reconstructed the last moment
of these fallen citizens of his.
Those astonishing, despairing, and agonizing eyes! Those fallen, twitching, and curved bodies! They are so real
and so close to me. I could smell the smoke from the muskets of French invaders. I could hear the groan. And I was
standing right in front of this tragedy in progress!
Everything was just like Father taught me 42 years ago. Father taught me this story from this painting on a foreign
calendar. He pointed to the eyes of the victims and told me how scared they must have been. And I was standing right
in front of this original masterpiece in Madrid.
It stroke me hard that it was the time Father was frequently arrested by the Taiwanese KMT secret police when he
taught me about this oil painting and how to appreciate humanity and human suffering. I had never thought of Father
was telling me from his own experience before.
Father was brutalized and even mock executed in the dark cell in those days. He witnessed the real execution of
innocent people. But, he had never told me what happened to him. His interrogator, who sought Father's help for a job
after retiring from the secret police force, told Mother what his colleagues did to Father and apologized.
It was May 3 yesterday. My heart is very heavy. 5/4/2000
用英文寫了這篇短文之後，到今天都還沒法把它繙譯成中文。用別人的文字寫下這段事，痛心歸痛心的，還能忍得住。
像是記錄別人的事情似的。 用自己的文字寫，就肝膽俱摧，沒法繼續了。
大土佬兒於 03/03/2006 記於阿帕拉契山中