Đã dịch [Song Hoa] Mảnh Đất Nơi Muối Xát Vết Thương - Bản chuyển ngữ sang tiếng Anh

[pdung31]

@Duẫn Thiên edit tại Ongoing - [Song Hoa] Mảnh đất nơi muối sát vết thương

Chú ý:

1. Truyện bạn đang đọc được cung cấp bởi Vòng Quay Tự Sát - Hội các editor/writer fandom Toàn Chức Việt. Bọn mình làm việc mỗi ngày để làm giàu cho fandom, hoan nghênh bạn tham gia!

2. Nếu đây là lần đầu tiên bạn vào box Convert, hãy ghé Thư viện truyện để biết thêm thông tin cho cả người đọc lẫn editor nhé.

Lời người post: Mảnh đất nơi muối xát vết thương là fic của tác giả viết Quốc chi lợi nhận. Bối cảnh là sau khi quân đội Mỹ rút khỏi Iraq, Tôn - thành viên tổ chức Bác sĩ không biên giới - và Lạc - một phóng viên chiến trường - tình cờ gặp nhau. Vì bối cảnh đặc thù của fic nên trong fic có rất nhiều địa danh tại Iraq, tên các tộc người ở vùng Trung Đông. mà QT không dịch ra được. Bất ngờ là gu gồ translate lại dịch fic này một cách rất mượt mà. Vậy nên mình quyết định up bản convert từ tiếng Trung sang tiếng Anh lên cho mọi người cùng đọc, hi vọng sẽ giúp mọi người đọc fic thấy hay hơn

Bản convert này được kết hợp từ kết quả của google translate và sogou.fanyi, ngoài ra mình cũng tự sửa mấy lỗi nhân xưng nhỏ.
Link gốc của tác phẩm ở đây (hi vọng có ai đó sẽ hứng thú chọn edit/dịch câu chuyện này)

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Land of Salt and Scorch
Posted 16 days ago 104 views

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Author: pika02 / flowers Planet

LOFTER homepage: deleted number

Word Count: 20660

Keywords of this article: modern; single cp;

We can’t be sure that making a sound will save lives, but we know that keeping silence can kill people.

——Dr. Robinski, Chairman of the International Parliament of Doctors Without Borders

>> Kirkuk Lament

The first time they met was on June 20, 2012, six months and two days had passed since the United States withdrew from Iraq.

However, for the Iraqi people, the nightmare never seemed to end. Artillery can destroy the local social order and infrastructure in an instant, but the declaration to withdraw the troops cannot restore the fragmentation of this place overnight. The eight-year war has left a huge wound that cannot be healed in this country. The streets of the prosperous and wealthy cities of the past are now all withered and bleak.

Zhang Jiale's local guide is a young man under 25 years old. The guide has a very tall body and skin tanned by the sun in northeast Iraq. "No one is a good thing" is his mantra.

"No one is a good thing," they were walking on the streets of Kirkuk's downtown that day because Zhang Jiale was invited to take a group of photos about post-war Iraq. When passing the business center of this oil town, the guide said to him: "Before the Americans came, we lived with a nightmare day. But after the Americans came, we didn't even have a day."

"They ruined everything." The Arab guy said.

Zhang Jiale made two steps around the dilapidated shopping mall door, trying to find an optimal shooting angle. Hearing this summary, he turned around and asked, "Who ruined these?"

The young man was silent for a while, "War." He said, "War destroys us."

Out of the instinctive sensitivity of his career, Zhang Jiale turned this sentence over and over in his heart for a while. The local guide neither nominated Saddam Hussein nor said he was American. Obviously, after today ’s war, the mood of the locals is still very complicated for these two. He secretly made a note in his heart, thinking about how he would discuss this issue with the locals in the future.

"You may be able to shoot across the street." The guide watched him move back and forth, shrugging impatiently, "Then I can show you other places."

Kirkuk in June had an average daily temperature of 39.8 degrees, and the scorching sun burned their naked skin like fireballs in the air. Zhang Jiale's shirt had been soaked for a long time, and there were large pieces of white crystals attached to his dry and wet back.

"Soon," the young reporter from China crouched down and pressed the shutter again: "It will be fine soon."

The guide mumbled a few words in Arabic and turned to a small shop across the street to buy Coke.

"I'm waiting for you across the street." He said.

Under the blue sky and the white sky, the explosion happened in an instant.

Zhang Jiale only heard a thunderous loud noise, and the strong shock wave generated by the bomb detonation had overturned him to the ground. He almost instinctively reached out to protect the camera, so he could only let his arms and body hit the ground like a bag of flour thrown out of the high-speed carriage.

"I am ..."

The bright and non-negligible pain prevented Zhang Jiale from making two swear words in his native language. While trying to get up from the ground, he tried to get rid of the palpitations and fear of being attacked for the rest of his life. "Hassan!" He shouted the wizard's name aloud in Arabic in the smoke and panic crying, "Hey, can you hear me? Hassan?"

The direction of the thick smoke was still more than 20 meters away from them. While Zhang Jiale was anxiously searching for the missing guide, he did not forget to take several photos in a row in the direction of the fire.

Okay, car bomb. A small, numb, sharp voice slipped through his heart, another.

The police who heard the news had begun to evacuate and drive away the crowd. "Leave, leave here!" They saw Zhang Jiale as an Asian journalist and shouted to him in half-baked English: "It's dangerous in front!

Zhang Jiale's six-year career as a field reporter made it clear that the ultra-high temperature brought by car bombs often has the risk of detonating the fuel tanks of other vehicles-but he can't just leave.

"My guide is still inside," he explained to the police more and more in Arabic, "He may have been injured! I saw him walking in this direction before the explosion!"

It may indeed be as Zhang Jiale's classmates said, he has a flattering face. The police looked at him and the camera in his hand. "Ten minutes," the old policewoman said, "Allah bless you."

Zhang Jiale didn't use it for ten minutes. Not far away, he saw his guide blasted by an explosive shock wave under another overturned car. The Arab boy was badly injured, and Zhang Jiale could only judge the life and death of the temporary colleague by his barely still chest. He stood up and shouted for help, waving his hands desperately like a flag, so that the medical staff who were checking the wounded would find them.

Half an hour later, they were taken to the local hospital along with other wounded on the scene.

"I heard the sound of an explosion." Zhang Jiale was exhausted by countless repetitions. "I didn't see suspicious characters. Yes, I was a reporter. I didn't interview anyone. I was filming the building diagonally opposite the explosion point. No, No."

The police and the Iraqi government intelligence personnel in Kirkuk changed in a row after another in front of him. They are interrogating all the witnesses at the scene. And this only made Zhang Jiale feel very and very tired-his nervous nerves along the way finally slackened after hearing the doctor declare that his guide's life was intact, and now he just wanted to find a place to fall asleep.

"He needs treatment and rest, not constant questioning."A doctor with a typical Asian appearance came up with a cart. The man was fluent in English, but his tone was not very kind: "If you allow me, can I treat my patient?"

Zhang Jiale intuitively believed that the "patient" was not referring to himself, so he voluntarily gave way to the side so as to make room for doctors-Kirkuk's medical system has been paralyzed for a long time, the only hospital in the city has a serious shortage of beds, and those who do not lack arms or legs can basically only make do in the treatment room or ward corridor.

Unexpectedly, the doctor laughed twice and reached for his arm, breaking away the arm he was holding the camera: "Don't you feel any pain?"

Zhang Jiale lowered his head and found that the outside of his left arm was already covered with blood. He was stunned for a moment before he remembered that when he fell to the ground, he blocked the camera with his arm.

He stretched out his left arm slightly, but his right hand still held the camera firmly, like a defending gesture: "I was too nervous just now, I didn't notice."

The doctor checked and confirmed that no glass or other debris remained in the wound, and began to clean up the wound. It took less than a second for the hydrogen peroxide to hit the wound, and he listened to this person with a long breath of air: "Dammit it hurts !!"

This blurted-out Chinese made the doctor's movement stop: "Are you Chinese?"

The hydrogen peroxide cotton ball still wiping the wound hurt Zhang Jiale like a fish stranded on the shore. He was all wrinkled together beautifully, like a dried flower dewatered (more like his white shirt stained with blood). As he desperately inhaled into his lungs, he nodded scribbled.

"Oh," the doctor changed a cotton ball and pressed it up again without hesitation: "Me too."

When Zhang Jiale finally relieved his pain, the medicine and bandaging on his arm had been completed. "Change the medicine once a day," the doctor wrote a string of characters on the paper that Zhang Jiale didn't understand at all: "Don't get wet, don't expose the wound to unclean environment, don't tear it after scabbing, don't rub it after itching."

The doctor's white waistcoat had a red graffiti logo printed on his chest, and the black words Médecins Sans Frontières were clearly legible. In MSF's iconic white waistcoat, the man was wearing a military green T-shirt, with well-defined upper arm muscles in slightly tight cuffs and a light-colored long scar on his right wrist. Judging from his appearance alone, he seems more like a soldier than a doctor.

"If you don't have anything unclear, you can leave now." He threw the written prescription on Zhang Jiale and added a smile. ""By the way, since the memory card has been replaced in the ambulance, don't hold the camera so tightly anymore. Overacting will also arouse suspicion."

He uses Chinese for this sentence.

Obviously, Zhang Jiale, who hadn't expected her swapping plan to be seen, felt a little awkward. But he immediately put the camera into his backpack without changing his face: "Thank you."

The doctor just waved his hand and hurried to the next casualty.

"Be careful on the road."

In the groaning and crying in the hospital corridor, the doctor finally said such a sentence.

The Kirkuk car bombing that day killed 70 people and injured more than 180 people.

 

[pdung31]

The photos taken by Zhang Jiale were bought by Associated Press.That is one of the few on-site records.

But even so, most people, including Zhang Jiale himself, still believe that the war has really entered the end of clean-up and reconstruction.

>> Barren and withered

However, the war is far from over.

Sun Zheping thought.

An hour ago, he had just given first aid to a 13-year-old boy on the streets of Baghdad. The child became an orphan in the war, and he has learned to use superglue, a drug that is so cheap that it costs almost no money, with the street children before entering puberty.

These children put the strong glue picked up in the trash can or other places into the waste plastic bag, and then cover the mouth of the plastic bag on the mouth and nose, vigorously absorb the smell of the organic solvent volatilized by the strong glue to obtain the floating The euphoria of pleasure. They sat on the street in droves, holding a plastic bag in their hands and sucking their heads with their heads buried there. If it were not Sun Zheping passing by, they would never find that their companion had fallen into a coma.

The boy was suffocating because he failed to remove the plastic bag on his face in time due to hallucinations. When Sun Zheping saw him, the transparent plastic bag was still firmly attached to his face. Out of the professional instinct of the emergency doctor, Sun Zheping immediately realized that the child might suffocate-as expected, under the plastic bag, the boy's spitting foamy lips had cyanosis.

However, the small vendors on the roadside did not take it seriously.

"Why did you save him?" The middle-aged man with one leg missing sat on his shabby little bench, and his halting English clearly conveyed the indifferent meaning: "he is no different from dead anyway."

Without saying a word, Sun Zheping took out a 25,000-dinar note and bought him a bottle of mineral water and an up-to-date map of Baghdad.

The middle-aged man counted the change with his inflexible hands, and at the same time showed a disgusted expression of seeing rotten pork, "My neighbor's daughter was raped by them." He waved his hand and made it fly-like Action: "Maybe not this group, but this group is no different from that group. Anyway, sooner or later it will be the same. Why don't they die with their short-lived parents? Maybe it will be better!"

"I saved him because I was a doctor."

Sun Zheping put away the change and answered in a dull tone.

The Chinese embassy in Iraq was set up in the Mansour Hotel in Baghdad. Sun Zheping went to get a new passport and met the little reporter in the elevator next door in the hotel lobby.

Compared to the first meeting, the man's hair was much longer, and the owner obviously had no leisure time to take care of them often, and some faded burgundy hair was loosely tied into a loose bundle behind his head. Sun Zheping felt that the other party looked like he was in his early twenties, and he didn't know which intern.

"First, I am 27 years old," Zhang Jiale rolled his eyes. "Second, I am not an intern."

In order to celebrate meeting an old friend in another country (let's just say they are old friends, since Zhang Jiale thinks so), Sun Zheping proposed to have a drink. And this drink-probably because they haven't spoken their mother tongue for a long time-revealed everything from their surname to their ancestral home.

"So you are a reporter from Xinhua News Agency?" In addition to the Chinese Embassy in Iraq, there is also the Xinhua News Agency branch in Baghdad. Since Zhang Jiale came out of the Mansour Hotel, nothing more than two possibilities are Xinhua News Agency and the Embassy.

Before Zhang Jiale could swallow the whisky he had just drunk, he could not help choking and laughing, "Thank you for your flattering." He lifted his eyes from the cup, with amber pupils flowing like golden sparkling malt liquor. "I occasionally work for Xinhua News Agency, but most of the time I am a freelance writer."

"I wanted to be a war correspondent when I was studying journalism. But after graduation, everyone told me that we can't let you do this or that without your experience. "Zhang Jiale waved his glass and the ice crashed into the glass wall with a crisp sound. "So I applied for a visa myself."

"All classmates said I was crazy," Sun Zheping looked at Zhang Jiale's face under the bar lights. His facial features were generally dissolved in the shadows, and half of them were coated with a fluffy halo. "But I think it's worth it."

He said, "For me, this is more important than anything. So it's worth doing your best."

Sun Zheping nodded, "Your classmates are right, you are indeed crazy."

"..." Zhang Jiale turned his head and looked at the brother, who still had the MSF logo printed on his jacket, and said, " Do you have any position to say that, Comrade MSF in the war zone?"

"One another." Sun Zheping casually touched Zhang Jiale's with his cup, "Salute to idealism."

Zhang Jiale really laughed out loud this time.

"For a better tomorrow." He raised his glass seriously.

Utopia party did not last long. After the intermittent mobile phone signal revived, several text messages and WeChat were spit out in one breath.

"Ten explosions in Baghdad within one day" "Main road blockade in the city" "Dear passengers, we regret to inform you ..." "In today's eight car explosions and two roadside explosions, there are ... … "" The attacks mostly occurred in Shia gathering places, the police called ... "

Roads are blocked and flights are cancelled. Zhang Jiale and Sun Zheping's respective return plans have been disrupted.

As a freelance journalist, it doesn't make much difference to Zhang Jiale for returning to Mosul one day early or one day late. Sun Zheping happened to be on a monthly break, and is not in a hurry to get back to Kirkuk.

However, Iraq is clearly not the first choice for a holiday. November 20 of the 13th year was the last day of the Shia Muslim religious festival "Ashura". A large number of Shia Muslims gathered in Baghdad, and the hotels were already overcrowded. Several vacant rooms are located in an international green zone where the entry and exit personnel are strictly controlled. It is impossible to enter without a customs clearance document.

"Go to the hotel now?"

Zhang Jiale glanced at Sun Zheping's mobile phone searching for a hotel, but could not help clearing his throat to awaken the attention of this fellow: "Today is the last day of the Shia Ashura festival. The Shia rally, and the Sunni extremists launched a crazy attack in the Shia gathering area. " As he said, he quickly sent a string of messages on the phone's touch screen, turning his head and saying, "Please, use your brain a little?" "Are you sure you want to stay in a hotel that may be the next target?" he looked at Sun Zheping with a look of sadness.

"I'm a doctor, not an expert on Middle East issues." Sun Zheping raised his eyebrows. His handsome face showed fearless carelessness, and he didn't seem to think it would be a very serious problem. But at least he turned off the APP on his phone: "So what do you say?"

"You must be fortunate to have met me today," Zhang Jiale carried his backpack on his back and lifted his chin confidently: "Come with me."

When Sun Zheping came out of the bathroom wiping his hair, he saw Zhang Jiale sitting cross-legged in front of the only desk in the room. This is a temporary residence provided by Zhang Jiale's informant in Baghdad, an apartment located in a residential area with less dense population and less obvious religious concentration.

Apart from the bedroom, this apartment has only a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. Judging by Zhang Jiale's proficiency in pulling keys from a false mailbox, this is probably where he often stayed in Baghdad. There are only two chairs in the living room and no sofas, they are destined to share the same bed tonight.

However, the temporary owner of this apartment does not seem to mind very much. Whether it is the dusty living room, intermittent hot water bathroom or the situation of sharing the couch with others, years of war reporter career seem to have smoothed down his requirements for quality of life. He sat cross-legged in a chair like a large cat back to his territory, sat on his feet and relaxed-no longer stretched his nerves tightly under the calm appearance as before.

Sun Zheping put down the towel (there is no doubt that this is also Zhang Jiale left in the bathroom), suddenly thought of this.He and Zhang Jiale spent most of the day together. The young reporter, who has been walking through the war for several years, has a brisk pace and quick response-not only because of his innate character, but also because of his alertness and quickness, which is mixed with too much attention and tension to the external environment.

He walked towards Zhang Jiale, his steps were very light, but the person sitting cross-legged in the chair turned around immediately: "... it's you."

For a moment, Sun Zheping felt that this person was vigilant like a rabbit running away from the eagle in the snow.

Sun Zheping was standing, so Zhang Jiale had to look up at him. The young doctor only wore a piece of clothing that could cover important parts, and the wet arms and chest had fresh water drops sliding down the muscle lines quickly.

This distance made Zhang Jiale suddenly feel a little panicked. His throat tightened unconsciously, as if an inexplicable hand was pinching his neck. Before his eyes and breath could reveal the secrets that he didn't even know, Sun Zheping said: "Are you writing a manuscript?"

Alert lifted. Zhang Jiale looked back at Sun Zheping's line of sight-his notebook, loyal and reliable Thinkpad, was opening on the interface of the writing software. The top "8 days before from dead line" flashes strikingly in large bold bold letters. And below this line of bold text is the title of the manuscript he is writing to Reuters.

Those titles about love, freedom, equality and religion fit so well with Zhang Jiale's current chaotic thoughts. In the reflection of the words he wrote himself, the little desire that emerged from the scorched heart was almost inescapable. But the dedicated young reporter still threw the messy thoughts aside and cheered up to answer the question he was facing: "Ah ... this is a kid I met by chance in a refugee camp in Lebanon last month. "

 

[pdung31]

>> Silent, trembling

The story was finished as early as the Shakespeare era, and the latecomers simply repeated the history that had passed away again and again.

After the withdrawal of the US military, nationalist and extreme religious forces are gradually gaining ground in Iraq.

"The editor I met at Reuters hoped I could go to the Beirut refugee camp and write a story about Iraqi refugees who were exiled by the Islamic State (ISIS). He was one of my interviewees.

For most people living in the 21st century today, homosexuality is no longer a problem to be fussed about. But for Iraqis who still view homosexuality as a disease, the unusual sexual orientation is likely to be a scourge of murder.

"My interviewee found himself a comrade when he was in high school."

Under the pressure of society and religion, with the help of friends, he secretly received psychological counseling and hormonal treatment. Except for a few close friends in the school, he did not confess his sexual orientation to anyone.

Zhang Jiale called up the folder in the computer, which contained the photos he took in the Beirut refugee camp. The tall, thin, curly-haired boy sat sadly in the corner of the mobile home, and several English textbooks were scattered on the not-so-clean bed. His fingers were deeply buried in the bedding, his face still with a daze that mixed sadness and panic.

"After five years of treatment, he thought he was 'normal'. Then he went to college and found out that this is not the case at all."

As Vladimir Nabokov said, we cannot hide poverty, cough and love.

The teenager who had long hidden his sexual orientation was finally hopelessly attracted by his friends. In a relatively tolerant environment on campus, at the risk of being exposed and spurned, the child took an extremely brave but irreparable step: he handed a love letter full of heart to the friend And happily received the same response.

Before things start to deteriorate, everything is fine. But they were eventually denounced by their classmates who joined ISIS: the father and brother were ashamed of his comradeship, and the younger brother threatened to hand him over to ISIS for execution. They could no longer endure this terrifying life, and and agreed to run away together.

With the help of his mother, he fled to Lebanon.

"... What about his boyfriend?" Sun Zheping did not see another boy in those photos.

His mother took him secretly to the station outside the city, where they arranged to meet. But no one came to the appointment after the scheduled bus left. With his mother's crying pleading, he finally boarded the next bus to the border province.

In later stories, their mutual friends told him via Facebook. That night, just a few hours earlier than the time they had agreed, ISIS armed personnel knocked on the poor boy's house. The men dragged away his boyfriend without hesitation and did not even allow a final farewell.

Two weeks later, he saw videos of ISIS killing homosexuals on social networking sites. Although the "prisoners" were blindfolded, he could recognize the lips he kissed at a glance. Across the frontier line and a narrow mobile phone screen, his blood-loving lover was pushed coldly from the three floors, and he was snatched a last breath in the turbulent rocks.

"Romeo and Juliet's story." After a brief silence, Zhang Jiale made a brief summary.

However, Sun Zheping's eyes remained on him, and the seemingly substantial line of sight revealed a too obvious sense of inquiry, making Zhang Jiale feel a little nervous again.

"I feel sorry for them." But in the end, Sun Zheping only said so.

It was like relief, and it was like ending something else.

Of course there is no Wi-Fi in this small apartment, and the data connection of the mobile phone is very slow, testing patience. After Sun Zheping arranged the schedule and various things for tomorrow, and returned to WeChat of several domestic friends and relatives, Zhang Jiale was still cross-legged at his computer, as if he had no intention of going to bed at all.

"Are you going to stay up all night?" Sun Zheping put down his phone and asked the person who was still inseparable from the keyboard and the manuscript.

Zhang Jiale seemed to be completely immersed in his own world. Hearing this problem only dealt with two ambiguities. It took a while before I turned back: "I don't need much sleep," his eyes did not look directly at Sun Zheping, who was leaning on the bedside, but stared blankly at the door of this small bedroom: "Well, You sleep well first. "

After speaking, he was once again caught up in the battle with the manuscript.

From Sun Zheping's perspective, this lifestyle is certainly not very healthy. However, he and Zhang Jiale only met once and are not yet familiar enough to the point where they can instruct others to work and rest. So he said good night and turned off the bedside table lamp.

At seven o'clock the next day, Sun Zheping woke up in the ringtone of his mobile phone alarm clock and unexpectedly discovered that his temporary cohabitant had already gotten up. If it weren’t for the messy sleep marks on the other half of the bed, Sun Zheping would have suspected that Zhang Jiale had really stayed up all nigh. This made him feel a little admiration for this person: how strong-willed and iron-willed should he be who can resist the temptation of a warm bed?

He walked into the bathroom, and the determined warrior was brushing his teeth.

The man's mouth was covered with snow-white foam and crumbling drops of water were still hanging on his lashes. When he walked in, he made a series of grunting sounds with his cheek gang, probably a hello.

"Good morning," Zhang Jiale finished his mouth, and finally added a formal greeting slowly, "Are you left-handed?" He gave up the position in front of the bathroom mirror, curiously watching Sun Zheping pick it up with his left hand. Razor.

"No." He changed the razor to the right hand that had just applied shaving foam to his face, and lifted it up to show Zhang Jiale: "Severe injuries, it is not stable when holding the knife."

On his right wrist, a long longitudinal light-colored scar was meandering like a scary poisonous insect, and the right hand holding the razor did have a slight jitter.

"I'm sorry." Zhang Jiale quickly apologized and told him intuitively that there were no pleasant memories.

Sun Zheping glanced at him through the mirror, "It's not your fault." He used his left hand to hold the razor skillfully and smoothly, as if he had been used to it for a long time. "You know what a car bomb is like." "

And Zhang Jiale just wiped off the drops of water on her face in silence.

Later that morning, they said goodbye at Baghdad Airport.

The ten consecutive bomb attacks yesterday made security personnel particularly nervous. When they passed the security checkpoint, the flight to Mosul had already begun boarding. "Have a chance to see you again!" Zhang Jiale threw a note with his mobile phone number and social networking site account into Sun Zheping's arms, and hurried away to the boarding gate after saying goodbye..

Sun Zheping, who watched his figure disappear at the other end of the corridor, took out his phone and added Zhang Jiale's Instagram and Facebook.

After Christmas that year passed, MSF's personnel department in Iraq sent Sun Zheping back for a vacation.

"I hope we didn't let you miss the Spring Festival." The head of the personnel department is a capable woman in her early fifties. When she personally came to convey the news, she was a little apologetic: "Enjoy your holiday and see you next spring."

In fact, Sun Zheping is not very keen on vacation, especially the Spring Festival. Or in other words, it may be because it was the Spring Festival, and he felt that the vacation was a bit unbearable. Seven aunts and eight aunts, who have almost no contact with each other, have sprung up one after another on the dining table. The questions they ask are always the types that people really don't want to answer, such as how old this year is, how much you earn each year, whether you have any partners and how willing you are to marry.

Occasionally, there will be a few times. Don’t know if it ’s drunk or spitting out the truth. Those relatives who Sun Zheping is too lazy to remember to address will ask at the dinner table aggressively: "China is so big, where is it not good for you to show love? Why do you have to leave your parents and go to a place full of foreigners to offer love? "

Those who are either sober and sharp or drunkenly irradiate unreasonable and arrogant questions: "Are you admiring foreigners? Are you unpatriotic?" "What benefits do they give you, it is worth your risk to give them Work? "" If you are so loving, why not go to the countryside to teach? "" Why don't you get married? Why go so far away from home to let parents worry? Where did your filial piety go? "

He dismissed those questions that were like guns and arrows indifferently, just like interrupting unreasonable questioning by military police on the streets of foreign countries.

The value of life has never been something so simple and clearly measured. In a life of extremely limited width and breadth, no one can grasp everything they desire. This or that, gain or loss, pick up or put down, everyone is constantly making choices.

However, this does not mean that those who are forced to give up do not have an important place in our hearts.

But Sun Zheping also knows that no one can make everyone understand or respect their choices: there will be nagging questions from his great-aunt and uncle, and there will be nieces and nephews chasing him around and saying "Doctors Without Borders is really cool!"

This world will be as cold as the snow and ice in the winter, and once warm as the coal in the furnace.

On New Year's Eve, Sun Zheping received WeChat voice from Zhang Jiale. In addition to the simplest "Happy New Year" and a few words of New Year's greetings in the background, you can also hear a few words of Arabic shouting in the background - he doesn't know which corner of Iraq that man has gone to.

Sun Zheping returned with a congratulation. After a while, he hung up his mobile VPN and opened Zhang Jiale's Instagram.

He apparently staggered the time of returning to the country with this freelance writer who couldn't stop. Two months ago, Zhang Jiale photographed a brightly lit Christmas tree in the lobby of the Capital Airport, with the words "So hungry, hungry, and hungry." After snapping and smashing professional photos for more than a month, the latest update on Zhang Jiale ‘s Instagram was a photo of him waiting for a flight from Beijing to Baghdad.

Sun Zheping thought that they might not see each other again for a long time.

This made him feel a sense of untimely disappointment in the city's firecrackers and the song "unforgettable tonight".

>> the earth cries

"why is it you again?"

Zhang Jiale blurted out after seeing who the man was.

"I just wanted to say this." Sun Zhe's plane color was bad, and the helicopter's propeller stirred the mountain breeze, making a deafening roar. "How did you get up?"

Zhang Jiale's condition is not very good, he looks abnormally haggard, it seems that he hasn't slept for a long time. Dry and cracked lips are covered with fresh blood stains, and the whole person is accompanied by symptoms of mild dehydration and heat stroke.

"Don't worry about me." He picked up a bottle of mineral water from the ground and waved them to Sun Zheping with some fatigue. "Go to the refugees first."

They were full of supplies just dropped by US helicopters. In addition to a lot of mineral water, there are food and other necessities. But now is the scorching sun in August. In this northwestern part of Iraq, the average daily temperature can reach more than 43 degrees Celsius. On this remote and barren Sinjar mountain, the Yazdi people who have been hiding to avoid the ISIS massacre need more than water and food.

The medical assistance team sent by Doctors Without Borders is here to help these refugees who are homeless but cannot return.

Zhang Jiale almost fled into Sinjar with the Yazidi. He has been in Iraq as a freelance journalist for many years, and he can get acquainted with the locals without much effort. Right now he is walking with Sun Zheping behind the aid team and a chief of Yazdi, whispering to them in English to explain the situation on Sinjar.

"It's not just medicines," Zhang Jiale said, because of severe abrasions on his legs, the steps he followed seemed a bit difficult. "Whether they want to move on or not, a large number of hygiene kits and support tools are necessary."

Another surgeon from Australia shook his head frequently, “We cannot cross the Sinjar region that has been surrounded by ISIS on the ground unless using a helicopter. But throughout Nineveh province, MSF can only mobilize a private person Helicopter. "He looked sternly at the shelter of the fugitive Yazidi temporarily built on Mount Sinjar. "There is very little we can do."

"Non-food materials are very precious. We can't throw them down like throwing mineral water and food." Sun Zheping added, "But if they are ready to move, we can set up humanitarian aid transfer stations on their way to provide medical aid and supplies in this way."

Zhang Jiale nodded and shook his head again: "But not every Yazidi wants to leave." He said. "Someone will stay, and you will know soon." The heavy tiredness on his face was so obvious that even the Australian surgeon suggested that he find a place to sleep.

He looked at the ground weirdly for a while. "Don't care about me," Zhang Jiale murmured softly, "let's hurry to the temporary camp."

The situation is not optimistic. It can even be said that it is worse than anyone's imagination.

There are tens of thousands of Yazdi refugees in Sinjar Mountain. In this panic and desperate escape, many people have varying degrees of collapse symptoms, and there are countless minor injuries-in a dirty and hot environment, some people have serious infection and pus discharge. "Fortunately, we arrived early," the medical staff repeated the steps of debridement, medication, dressing, and drug delivery in an orderly manner. "If you drag on further, amputation may be the best assumption."

 

[pdung31]

The Yazdi people who were expelled from their homes by guns endured hunger and fear, and silently endured the pain and anger of the massacre of their compatriots. The older Yazidi people sat together in silence, with the little property they brought out when they fled their homes. The young children didn't know what this migration meant for their people, still leaning on their mother's lap while sucking their fingers, looking at everything around them blankly and novelly.

Despite the heavy cloud of suffering above the head, people still voluntarily ceded the few shaded locations on the mountain to families with young children or injuries. Zhang Jiale sat quietly away from the crowd, and let the sun and the dry ground roast him like steamers and iron plates.

Sun Zheping shouted to him at the break of work, beware of sunburn. Zhang Jiale took out a jar from his bag and shook out the jingling sound: a bottle of spray sunscreen. This man was really prepared. When he lowered his head to give the woman three days of antibiotics due to wound infection and inflammation, Sun Zheping raised his eyebrows slightly. He knew there must be something wrong with Zhang Jiale, but his duty as a doctor without borders gave him no time to look after this guy who was still alive.

After a rough visit to the refugees stranded on Mount Sinjar, it was almost dark. Out of fear that a helicopter call at night would provoke an ISIS attack, the medical assistance team decided to spend the night on Mount Sinjar and used this time to observe the situation of several critically ill patients. This gave Sun Zheping enough time to get Zhang Jiale into a simple medical tent.

This man's trauma is no worse than when they first met. Just like that time, Zhang Jiale shouted with pain at the bare wound when the hydrogen peroxide cotton ball touched the bare wound, but he lacked the energy of the last time. There are many rocks and low shrubs on Mount Sinjar. This long and shallow wound that cut through the jeans, Sun Zheping glanced at it and could roughly guess what was going on.

"The entire Sinjar area is surrounded by ISIS," he put a bandage on Zhang Jiale's wound and fastened the buckle, and asked, "Which direction did you feel from?" Sun Zheping knew that these war reporters would never stay in hotels waiting for "official news", but he did not expect Zhang Jiale to go into ISIS's actual control zone alone.

Everyone knows that ISIS slaughtered the Yazidis because of religious differences. And Zhang Jiale, an atheistic freelance writer from mainland China, is the same as the Yazdi in the eyes of ISIS-the same "Kaffir" who does not believe in Allah. The threat he faces is no less than that of yazdi who suffered genocide.

Zhang Jiale didn't seem to care. He closed his eyes, looked tired and sleepless: "ISIS occupied Mosul," he calmly and tiredly stated the mutation two months ago, "I was outside the city and I got an informant report. Left Mosul as soon as possible. "

Most of the reporters went to the more secure Kurdish armed occupation area or Kirkuk province, and Zhang Jiale went against the trend of crowd movement and went deep into the Nineveh area.

"I know ISIS wants to occupy Nineveh, so I have to see for myself what they will do."

On the morning of August 3, ISIS captured the city of Sinjar, and 250 armed Kurdish soldiers stationed in the area chose to evacuate because they were outnumbered. In the face of the defenseless Yazidi in the Sinjar region, ISIS launched a genocide against them.

Zhang Jiale received this news on the afternoon of August 3, when he was in Waldier, just ten kilometers from Sinjar city. But he did not choose to escape the first time, but quietly infiltrated near the city of Sinjar. After seeing the Kurdish forces return to the Sinjar region again and started fighting with the ISIS forces, he quickly rushed in. Sinjar city was completely washed by blood.

"I took a picture and met the survivors of the slaughter on the way out. I talked to them and then followed the large army of refugees up the mountain." He said so briefly, as if he didn't realize he had just jumped off a special express train from hell.

Without a flashlight, Sun Zheping can also see the red bloodstains in this man's eyes. He dismantled a small package of eye drops and handed it to Zhang Jiale. The tight lines of his face were filled with disapproval: "You are killing yourself."

"The field reporter can't stay away from the battlefield," Zhang Jiale clumsily fiddled with the little plastic tube. He was too sleepy, and the movements in his hands became slow and dull: "And this is my job."

A sense of mission, Zhang Jiale said. Sun Zheping felt the same about heroic word.

He has no doubt that even if this career is a poisoned dagger smeared with honey, this person will still hold it with open hands and kiss it.

They-whether they are Zhang Jiale or Sun Zheping, or other journalists and humanitarian workers running around here-threw themselves into this war-torn scorched earth because they truly recognized the value of their work.

"... I can't turn my head and turn my back to them." Zhang Jiale closed his eyes, and some overflowing transparent liquid medicine were sliding down his cheeks with his slightly trembling eyelashes, as if silent tears: "I cannot pretend that I know nothing about all this when atrocities are happening on this land and in front of my eyes."

Like the Yazdi refugees, the medical assistance squad dinners were all canned food dropped by the US military. Sun Zheping was opening the can in his hand. Zhang Jiale, who was resting against the wall, heard a sound. He leaned forward like a curious cat and leaned out his head behind him: "...... alas."

The man showed a disgusted expression, "I hate canned luncheon meat."

"... Are you still picky?"

People who dare to choose food in this land of poor mountains and bad waters of course must have the capital to do so. "Supplies from the motherland," Zhang Jiale pulled out a piece of vacuum-compressed biscuit from his bag. "The people of our country have great wisdom in the matter of 'eat'."

Sun Zheping turned the brick-like vacuum compression packaging over and over, " People's Liberation Army's 09 Compressed Dry Grain? Awesome comrade Zhang Jiale."

"Thanks to the great Taobao," Zhang Jiale took a bite of biscuit with mineral water, "benefiting compatriots at home and abroad from all aspects."

After all this, he can still play poor. Sun Zheping thought about whether or not to knock this person down immediately: "You haven't slept in a few days?"

Zhang Jiale blinked, blankly recalled: "... two or three days?" The sudden look in Sun Zheping's eyes made him shrink his neck, and added a sentence: "I have also slept intermittently. A few hours."

Throwing a bottle of mineral water at him, Sun Zheping reached out and poured two pills into his hand, with a bad tone: "It is amazing and tenacious vitality."

Zhang Jiale, who depends on the media industry for a living, will certainly not be foolish enough to think that this is a compliment to him. But he had neither the strength nor the position to refute, so he withdrew his hand and stared at the two pills. "What kind of drug?"

"Anti-inflammatory drugs." May be Sun Zheping's cold tone is too deterrent, Zhang Jiale's brain has not turned around yet, but he has swallowed the pills and water obediently.

The long-lost sleepiness soon overwhelmed him like a gentle tide on the beach.

Zhang Jiale's consciousness didn't even have time to struggle, so he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

His fingers were still tightly attached to the strap of the backpack with the camera and laptop.

>> Secrets

"I rely on your uncle's anti-inflammatory drug Sun Zheping!"

When Zhang Jiale opened his eyes again, it was already 3 o'clock the next day. He froze for two seconds and immediately understood what was going on last night.

Sun Zheping, who was distributing first aid medicine to several elderly Yazidi, looked back at him, "Recover quickly."

Zhang Jia was anxious, "You fucking--" He suddenly paused again, "You can't--"

"If I told you that it was a sleeping pill, would you still take it?" Sun Zheping asked while writing a label on the paper bag containing the pills.

"Of course not." Zhang Jiale replied conditioned reflex.

Sun Zheping looked at him with clear eyes.

"... you all know."

After a long time like the birth of the universe, Zhang Jiale finally murmured.

Sure enough. In the deep corner of the heart, the young field reporter tiredly told himself that that man is a doctor, and he has exposed too much: : weakness and pain are like incurable diseases that fester from the inside, and will eventually erode to the surface of the skin, leaving clear and discernible scars.

Sun Zheping did not comment on this. "When did your insomnia start?" His tone was calm, as if this was an ordinary consultation.

Zhang Jiale clenched his arms unconsciously, as if vaguely preventing something: "Last year."

To be precise, it was in the spring of last year, eight months before he met Sun Zheping again. But Zhang Jiale didn't feel the need to describe it in such detail.

Aware of the obvious resistance of this person, Sun Zheping did not ask more. Insomnia, nightmares, and over-alertness—the fragments of all the details put together to form the thread that leads to the only answer.

Sun Zheping did not directly face the battlefield of the crossfire, but he did face the bloody death many times. He experienced an exploding car bomb, witnessed the concentration of artillery on the other side of the hospital building, and more blood-stained casualties gradually stopped breathing in the emergency room.

"Fear of death is not shameful," he said.

Zhang Jiale breathed out violently, as if he was holding his chest tightly, squeezing out all the air in his lungs.

It ’s already 2014, and Zhang Jiale certainly doesn’t know what PTSD is. Faced with death and threatened closely for many times, it will inevitably bring psychological trauma to the reporters in the field: before becoming reporters, they are first and foremost human beings, and the fear and sorrow brought by death are the common emotions that human beings cannot escape.

This is the imprint of the war on Zhang Jiale. The horror left behind by the passing of death is the scar inflicted by the war on every survivor.

But psychological trauma-whether it is PTSD or other-is far more difficult to heal than a physical scar. The high complexity of the human brain determines that psychological trauma is by no means a negative emotion that can be swept away with a wave of the hand "if you want to open up". It is a wrong self-protection mechanism, a nightmare staring at the abyss, a heart that is broken and bleeding many times.

In the battlefield memories, terror recollections and nightmares he experienced, he felt that his weakness was being chased and he had nowhere to hide, while his painful words had nowhere to pour out. Zhang Jiale knew that friends who had not experienced these would tell him, "It's okay, everything has passed." But only people who have the same memories as him can understand that what happened before them has completely changed them. All of this will never "past."

Now Sun Zheping is in front of him. But his self-esteem, which is still fighting desperately, and his little burning desire are not ready to share the pain with others.

So Zhang Jiale had to change the subject very stiffly but very firmly: "You haven't left yet?"

However, he did not expect that he would get an answer that "the others have left".

"... Who's crazy in the end?" Zhang Jiale stared at Sun Zheping incredulously. "So you just stayed?!"

"The patient is old and the resistance is very weak. The deterioration of the situation last night proves that if he does not undergo surgery as soon as possible, he will die here soon." Sun Zheping distributed the packaged drugs to the people who came to receive them: " Helicopters have limited space, so if you want to take the patient away, you have to leave someone here." Of course, it is impossible for him to grab this position with his patients. He will stay one more night on Sinjar and wait for the helicopter to come back tomorrow. For Sun Zheping It's not a problem.

Zhang Jiale understood that he was actually right, but he could not help but whisper, "Then why did you stay?"

"Why can't I be the one who stayed?" Sun Zheping looked at this man strangely. "This is a problem for you?"

Of course not. Zhang Jiale murmured something, and sat on the ground violently.

There are three people in the medical assistance team. In this situation, everyone has the possibility to stay. Of the 1/3 chances, it happened to be Sun Zheping. This made Zhang Jiale unable to resist the desire to have different expectations.

However, reason reminds him coldly that this kind of thought is really romantic.

 

[pdung31]

"Where are you going after?" Sun Zheping suddenly asked him.

Long-term stay on Sinjar Mountain is certainly not a long-term solution, because there is, after all, limited room for people on the mountain, and a steady stream of Yazdi people are still fleeing here. Most refugees have begun to prepare to descend from the north of Mount Sinjar, reach the national border north, and then fled all the way northeast into Syrian territory, and then return to the Kurdish control area in Iraq via Syria. But as Zhang Jiale said, there are also many Yazidi people who are not willing to leave. The Sinjar region has been the hometown of the Yazdi people since ancient times, and they have said resolutely that they will never leave the Sinjar region.

"They killed our father and brother, took our children, and raped our sisters," said a young Yazidi who insisted on staying on Mount Sinjar. "If they came up the mountain, we would die with them in this land."

Of course, things are different for Zhang Jiale. His first priority is to send out photos and reports about the ISIS genocide against Yazidi in the Sinjar area, and entering Syria with refugees can be considered as a temporary measure.

But before he could say what he was going to do, the agitated vocals took away their attention.

The young women, whose belly was so obvious that she couldn’t hide, wept and whispered in the shade, and the older Yazidi women whirled around her anxiously. "Is she about to give birth?" Zhang Jiale was shocked.

No one had seen the Yazidi girl in Rokko before. It is estimated that she escaped to Sinjar Mountain in the past two days. The surrounding Yazidi women told them that her husband was killed by ISIS and she was dragged away by her neighbors. The girl trembled in pain, and her sobs and cries made the Yazdi people around her who had not yet started to flee northward feel pity.

Sun Zheping is not a gynecologist and obstetrician, and the harsh environment on Mount Sinjar in August is a harsh test for both pregnant women and babies who have not yet been born. He quickly connected to the phone of Doctors Without Borders in Kirkuk branch, but he was forewarned of a disastrous news: the helicopter crashed while flying over ISIS-controlled areas.

"We are not yet able to determine the casualties." The clerk employed by MSF in the local area stumbled and told him in a fluent English, "To ensure safety, I hope you stay where we are. We will strive for the next batch of rescue as soon as possible.”

Zhang Jiale, who can do nothing to help, can neither eavesdrop on other people's phone calls nor get close to the pregnant woman (he has seen conservative Iraqi customs), and can only move around under the sun with his camera. His lens sweeps through Sun Zhe in the shade of a tree. The man was talking with the obstetrician and gynecologist in Kirkuk while consulting the pregnant woman. When he saw the serious look on Sun Zheping's face, Zhang Jiale immediately realized the seriousness of the problem.

"She must be taken as soon as possible to the place where there are obstetrics and gynecology hospitals. She will give birth in half a month at most." Sun Zheping briefly stated the reality they faced and made a final decision. "Are you going to come together?"

Zhang Jiale looked at the sky at the moment and recalled the map again in his mind: " The nearby hospital that is still in operation has to be in Dohuk Province." Then entered the Kurdish control area, from the overall direction The direction of the evacuation of Yazidi refugees is also the same. "The distance is at least 60 kilometers. We don't have any transportation to carry. How can we take her to Dohuk province?"

"Squeeze with those families with cars." Sun Zheping said.

Having said that, among the tens of thousands of Yazidi people stranded on Sinjar, there are still very few families with cars - the vast majority of refugees must rely on their feet to escape, and the Yazdi family that rescued the young pregnant woman is also one of the vast army of hikers.

Families who can own cars want to be able to drag all their belongings away. Life is not easy. It is also human nature to want to take away as much property as possible in this ups and downs. Fortunately, the stalker skills developed by Zhang Jiale for many years as a reporter in the field of war have played a role again. A family who drives a truck with five people to flee is willing to let them squeeze up and hitch a ride.

"My sister is also pregnant, I don't know where she went." The young father started the engine and said to Zhang Jiale sadly: "If she is also on the way to escape, I hope she can meet people like you.”

"May the Peacock Angel bless her."

>> we will die eventually, but ...

When the truck descended Sinjar from the northwest along the bumpy and bumpy path, the sun was already sinking. Somehow, the little pickup truck with several hands turned slowly forward on the uneven road, like a metal tortoise crawling only on the road.

The hostess of this family had two children. She put the young pregnant woman's head on her lap and comforted the young girl softly. Her children leaned tightly in Grandpa's arms and looked at the strangers in the car with shy eyes.

Like other families, this pickup truck is full of all kinds of furniture. There was a small cabinet behind Zhang Jiale's head, and there was a huge and heavy wooden box at his feet. He wasn't curious about what was inside, but only felt the pain when he knocked his head occasionally.

Sun Zheping paid close attention to the situation of the pregnant girl, while throwing a question to Zhang Jiale in Chinese: "What are the peacock angels they just told you?"

"Yazdi people believe that peacock angels lead mankind instead of God." Zhang Jiale felt that the part of his head that always hit the cabinet behind him may have been swollen, so he couldn't help but bring a little hissing tone when he spoke: " In the legend of Yazidi sect, God made Adam out of dust, and asked all angels to bow down to Adam. However, the Peacock Angel refused on the grounds that he was made in the glory of God, and Adam was made in dust. God praised the peacock angel so much that he made the peacock angel the head of the other angels. "He paused for a while." It is precisely because the legend of the Peacock Angel refused to bow down to Adam is similar to the legend of Satan, so the Yazidi people have always been regarded as' devil believers'. "

For the bystanders, this is only a slight difference in the details of the myth story, but it is the main reason why they have suffered many genocide in history.

"Historians believe that the Yazidi are descendants of the Assyrians." Zhang Jiale rubbed his head, he really felt very painful, so he tried to divert his attention: "And Assyria is an important part of the civilization of the two rivers. In short, the religious beliefs and cultural traditions of the Yazidi people should also be regarded as one of the descendants wives of Mesopotamian civilization. "

The land called Nineveh under their feet carried the glorious years of the Tigris Basin. It not only gave birth to a splendid and magnificent civilization, but also made an immortal contribution to the preservation of other Mesopotamian civilizations- the clay tablet inscribed with "Epic of Gilgamesh" is from Assyrian king Banibar. The block was unearthed from the remains called "Nineveh Library". In the process of studying the history of Mesopotamia, which has been dating for a long time, the preciousness of the contents written on these clay tablets is self-evident.

However, in the long years of war, the glory of the past has finally become an old dream that vanished in the smoke of gunpowder. In this land that was once the center of the world, there is no longer a heroic king to build a wall for them to resist foreign enemies, and there is no god-made clay figurine has ever stood on the gate to defend his friend's country. Only the weary and terrified people are marching on the road of displacement and escape on the barren land in despair.

This association makes Zhang Jiale somewhat sad. When he recovered, he found palm-sized ice bag behind his aching head. Sun Zheping's hand was under the ice bag.

The pain of a pregnant girl is not regular, the amniotic fluid has not been broken, and the expected date has not yet been reached. After the sudden bursts of pain finally subsided, she fell into a tired lethargy, resting on the legs of older Yazdi women. This made Sun Zheping and Zhang Jiale slightly relieved.

In the low night, the narrow highway that is only 100 meters away from the national border line meanders into a thin line. This road almost stretches forward in line with the border of the northeast. As long as they drive forward, they may encounter the next border checkpoint that allows them to enter Syria, or they may continue to drive into Dohuk province.

Either way means ushering in a short period of safety and rest. As long as they keep going along this route.

Most parts of Nineveh province have been captured by ISIS. Only the area bordering Dohuk in the north is temporarily unable to be won by ISIS due to the strong resistance of the Kurdish forces stationed in Dohuk. This narrow corridor-like area has also become the main channel for the Yazidis to escape from their homes.

But for the Chinese people accustomed to the vast land of 9.6 million square kilometers Iraq is only a tiny place. The distance between them and the Sinjar region, which has been bloodied by ISIS, is no further than from Hongqiao to Pudong.

Zhang Jiale knew that in such a buffer zone, the accident might happen at any moment. But he did not say such a fact. Whether it is the Yazidi who fled or he and Sun Zheping, if they really face the heavily armed thugs, they have no choice but to surrender.

The stars of this night are still bright. In the night sky, which has not been polluted by the flood of neon lights, the stars are just like the diamond fragments sprinkled on the black velvet under the laser light. They flicker without knowing the sufferings of the world.

He turned his head slightly to see Sun Zheping holding the ice pack on his right hand behind his head. The scar was sharp and twisted, and it was possible to imagine what a shocking scene it was at that time.

"Do you feel scared?" Zhang Jiale asked.

As soon as he spoke, he felt his problem was too abrupt. But deep down in his heart, he felt that they had already done enough foreshadowing on this topic.

Do you feel scared at the moment of death approaching, when the bomb was detonated close behind? When you walk through a wasteland full of unknowns and variables in your night. Have you ever been overwhelmed by fear, so frightened by the recurring fragments of the nightmare? After giving everything you can, do you still feel powerless and helpless? Have you ever questioned the decision you have made and are ashamed of your life because of the death of others?

"I will." Sun Zheping answered frankly and frankly.

Not everyone will be happy to mention their fears to others, but this does not mean that they are truly fearless. MSF ’s work is full of despair at some moments: the conditions are harsh and crude, the resources are limited or even scarce, and the war situation is unpredictable and never stops. The medical staff have done all they can, but still can only watch the patient towards death-and they also clearly know that if it is in a hospital in a developed area, this is a case that can be completely saved.

Before his right hand could not hold the scalpel, Sun Zheping said flatly that he used to be a surgeon. In the rescue operation of the wounded on the streets of Kirkuk, they sacrificed two colleagues, and he said goodbye to the operating table forever.

No matter how great the ambition is, it will be eroded by the difficulties and hardships day after day.

No one can pretend that it never happened. Because it did happen, and the impact left behind will never fade away

No one can abandon the past neatly and open a brand-new life on the next page.

However, life is a leap forward from the moment of sinking, with footsteps overlapping and scars overlapping.

He said: If you can save others, you can save yourself.

 

[pdung31]

"Sometimes," Zhang Jiale finally spoke after a long silence. "I will meet people who think that field reporters are also warmongers."

The camera lens enables Zhang Jiale to directly attack the suffering of others at close range: he has seen the convulsions of dying people falling to the ground, and he has also witnessed war orphans rummaging through garbage and rubble for food to feed themselves. He saw young soldiers kissing family photos, as well as elderly captives who had been beaten by soldiers He saw RPG rockets flying overhead in an arc, and he passed the bullet.

He follows death like a shadow and must live under the shadow of unknown wings. Daytime's adrenaline faded, but the shocking picture would still be replayed repeatedly after closing his eyes. When emotions are heavily beaten and squeezed time and time again, the tiredness of the impending wood will eventually rise to the surface of the water.

"But my job is not to sit there and look forward to their death. My job is to expose the truth of the war."

Zhang Jiale entered Sinjar city the day after the massacre.

Along the way, there were only corpses. Men, women, children, no one gets the mercy of the executioner group. Just a cursory glance can identify the various forms of slaughter that these people have encountered in their lifetime. Some of them had their heads smashed by stoning and could not distinguish their complete faces.Others have broken limbs or taken bullet holes and blood stains that have already dried up.

The smell of corruption emanating from the bodies in the hot weather made scavengers flock. The self-protection instinct made Zhang Jiale not remember exactly what he saw, and refused to check the photos he took again. Strong nausea and fear hit him head-on, like a solid golf ball striking his head in high-speed flight.

Even after more than ten years, this day is still regarded by Zhang Jiale as his closest day to the word "hell on earth"

"The truth never comes too late. But it is better to come a little bit more in time before more mistakes are made."

But as human beings, how can he not be moved by the sufferings of others? All the pain that happened under his lens will eventually become a nightmare to hurt himself in the sleepless nights.

Zhang Jiale understood that his current state was as if he had reached out and grasped the lava of the volcano, and he had thought that he would be doomed to become eternal ashes with this turbulent liquid flame in the future.

At some point in our lives, we have all been knocked down by pain. Bitterness and pain are more powerful than human willpower. They overwhelm us and exceed the limits we can bear.

But this is by no means the end.

>> go to the boundless tomorrow

The short tens of kilometers of road seems to be as long as it crosses Eurasia in the bumpy and slow speed of the truck and the anxiety and anxiety. Zhang Jiale was surprised in his heart while carefully pondering his words.

By counting, it didn't take long for him to meet Sun Zheping. I have known each other for three years and met three times in total. The frequency is stable and comparable to the Spring Festival Gala- although he has always been only injured without rehearsals. Zhang Jiale is really good at getting acquainted with people within three minutes (the object does not have to be human, and cats, dogs, and the like are not a problem for Zhang Jiale), but he has never rashly made friends with people. Although he is often said to have a face that does not look like an adult, he is not as young and naive as he looks.

However, Sun Zheping gave him the illusion that they had known each other for a long time and would continue to do so for many years. This person would like to give a thumbs-up to the Instagram that he sent seven months ago. Zhang Jiale stared at the close-up of the large-plate chicken for an afternoon that day, but he couldn't understand what this person meant by merely giving this picture a heart.

If they concealed and briefly mentioned each other's wounds when they met for the second time, with some thought of "not seeing you again next time", then this time they were honest with each other. But it happened quite rightly, just like Sun Zheping.

Zhang Jiale carefully combed all his intellect in his mind, trying to find a piece of evidence for the reasonableness of the conversation. In the end, he ended up giving up and changed to a more practical question: "Uh, are you sore?"

Sun Zheping looked at him with the eyes that clearly said "You are stupid," said: "." You just remember now, isn't it a bit late?"

You are really not at all polite, Zhang Jiale grinded her teeth: " Why don't you rub them?"

" No. It is our duty to help the dead and heal the wounded." Sun Zheping threw the ice pack to him, rubbed his arms by himself, and asked, " Does your head still hurt?"

The pain is no longer so strong, but the feeling of the blood vessel jumping from the place where it was hit is still very vivid, just like the restless heart in Zhang Jiale's chest: " Hmmm."

Sun Zheping grabbed his head and took a photo with a mini flashlight: "There may be blood clots."

But the attention of the owner of the head is all on Sun Zheping's hands. The man's finger went through his hair (Zhang Jiale at this moment still pondered how many days he hadn't bathed and washed his hair. On second thoughts, he realized that Sun Zheping was in the same situation as himself. No one stood against him and settled down again). When he accidentally touched his ear and face, it was like falling several sparks on a haystack.

Zhang Jiale was embarrassed and pulled his head out of Sun Zheping's hand: "Hey, she seems to be awake."

The pregnant girl groaned slightly again. The days of fugitive life made her tired and scared. She always suspected that she could not protect the children in her stomach. This girl, who has never had any experience in childbirth, whispered again and again to Sun Zheping and the older Yazidi women. Do I have a miscarriage? Will my child die? Will we die?

Her sorrow grieved Zhang Jiale. In the night, he watched her bulging abdomen with difficulty, and her messy long hair soaked in sweat spread in front of her. He wanted to pick up the camera, but eventually put it down again.

At this moment, Zhang Jiale sighted the street sign ahead.

They finally entered the province of Dohuk safely.

Kurdish armed forces have set up a refugee transit camp at the border between Dohuk and Nineveh, allowing Yazdi refugees and other ISIS-expelled refugees to rest here and then move to other cities in Kurdish-controlled areas. Sun Zheping took the young lying-in woman to the local hospital. When he came back, he saw Zhang Jiale sitting on the ground at the gate of the transit camp.

"Except for the pilot, everyone is sure to survive." Sun Zheping was referring to the crashed helicopter.

Zhang Jiale nodded, "The administrator said that according to the reports of these days, more than a dozen refugees have died on the road."

Escape on foot under high temperature is not easy, not everyone will be as lucky as the two of them and the girl. With the continued transfer of large numbers of refugees, this number is likely to continue to rise.

So they fell into a brief silence.

"Where are you going later?" Sun Zheping asked him.

Zhang Jiale realized that this was the second time Sun Zheping had asked him this question. We have entered the safety zone, he thought a little flustered, what kind of answer does Sun Zheping expect for this question?

"I have money on my body. I will take a bus to Erbil tomorrow." That is the capital city of Dohuk province and the main stronghold of the Kurdish armed forces-for now, it is the safest place in Iraq. "Then send out the manuscript and perhaps go around the city." Mosul, occupied by ISIS, can no longer go back, but fortunately all his belongings: two cameras and two laptops, satellite phone and charger, And other small bits and pieces, all in his backpack behind him.

Sun Zheping handed him a bottle of medicine-this time a properly labeled sleeping pill that had not been unpacked: "If you decide to see a psychologist, come to Kirkuk to find the doctor's clinic of MSF."

"Can I go to you too?"

Zhang Jiale tucked the medicine bottle into his bag, and raised his head to ask quickly.

There was no one around them, only the roaring voices could be heard in the tent in the distance. Zhang Jiale has a feeling that if he misses this time, he may not have the chance and courage to confide his heart again.

The word ‘love’ is too heavy, he is a little nervous, not sure if he should resort to it so easily. But the hot words in the chest finally broke the hesitation of looking forward and backward, concisely and succinctly, and exposed the thoughts that were no longer secret:

"I like you."

And Sun Zheping looked at him deeply.

——It seems that under this starry night, in the gaze of hundreds of millions of stars, through their eyes and pupils, they can see another equally naked and hot soul.

"And I think," Sun Zheping said, "I love you."

>> At the end of a long day, I came to you.

>> You will see my scar and know that I was injured and healed.


End.