【正文】 ts and slept in the fields. Then the weather became cold and we slept where we could, huddled together, in old fotten buildings and alleys. Sometimes I dreamed of my family and my home, and when I awoke I wished the dream could continue. The people of the town stared at us from the sides of their eyes as they passed us. They clenched their hands and muttered, and some of them spat on the pavement. A few of us were attacked and beaten in the dark, and driven from the parks and streets. All of the time, the Police told us to move on, move on. It is the end of the third month when it happens. The farmers hire coaches and send them into the Pla?a Colom. From four o39。clock in the morning we wait in shuffling silence, hands pushed deep into pockets, our hats pulled down tight against the cold and the watching policemen. By the time the coaches arrive there are hundreds of workers waiting in the darkness. We press forward as the doors open. The foremen stand on the bottom steps of the coaches and ask, Who has the permit? The men with permits hold them up and are allowed onto the coaches. Some of the workers are from the countries in Europe and do no need permits, so they are allowed on when they show their passports. I go from 中國(guó)最大的管 理 資料下載中心 (收集 \整理 . 大量免費(fèi)資源共享 ) 第 4 頁(yè) 共 47 頁(yè) coach to coach until I see a group of Chileans, who I know have no permits, climb aboard a waiting coach. The leader of their group speaks first with the foreman and shakes his hand, then they are taken on. I stand before the foreman. You have the permit? he asks me. He is broad and stout, and fills the doorway of the coach. His fat neck spills from the upturned collar of his leather jacket. His hair is shaven close to his head. I explain to him that my application was rejected but I have tried again. Come back when you have a permit, he tells me. He frowns as he pulls on his cigarette and looks down the avenue to where the policemen are watching the coaches. I explain to him that that I am a hard worker, that I have eaten only once in three days, that I am desperate to work and send money to my family. He looks at the policemen, who have started walking along the pavement beside the coaches, and he scowls at me and says, Go to Madrid and tell them. The Chileans are laughing and pointing at me through the coach windows. The foreman flicks his halffinished cigarette into the gutter by my foot and I punch him in the stomach. He folds over with a small cry. The policemen look at us and I begin to run, away from the Pla?a, away from the coaches, into the dark side streets and avenues. I hear loud running steps close behind me, and the roar of car engines. The shuttered buildings reflect the blue lights. I slide my body into the shadows of a shop39。s back door, behind two tall metal bins that stink of rotting meat and urine. I gasp, and each breath burns. My heart hammers against my chest. I wait for a long time until the sounds of the cars and people fade. I walk slowly to the end of the alley and look out, but the streets are empty. I have run almost to the river。 I can hear it rushing in the darkness beneath me. My right hand feels cold. I look down, in the yellow light of a street lamp, and see my hand still clenched into a fist. It looks like the hand of another person, not part of me. A short blade, no longer than my thumb, sticks out from the fist. The blade, my fist, and my sleeve are all stained dark red. 中國(guó)最大的管 理 資料下載中心 (收集 \整理 . 大量免費(fèi)資源共享 ) 第 5 頁(yè) 共 47 頁(yè) Paulo gave me the knife when I picked artichokes on the farms. The short thick blade is very sharp, made for slicing through the plants39。 thick stalks. I scrambled down to the banks of the river and threw the knife into the night. I heard it splash far away. The river touched my feet. I reached down and washed my sleeve and hand, although the water was so cold, like ice, that my hand became numb. Then I walked back up to the street. I found some of the other workers hiding in the deserted warehouse we had found. One of them went to find Paulo, who came and told me about the old farm buildings near to the coast road. Paulo was not smiling. I waited until darkness before I followed the road out of the town, throwing myself into the ditch if I heard a car approaching. The weather has been clear and I have seen the coast of Morocco every day. Across the blue sea flecked with sun, the land is a strip of dark brown and grey, and looks close enough for me to touch. Maybe I could find an old tractor tyre tube around the farm and float across the Straits? Or maybe I could walk along the shore and steal a boat? I do not want to bee a thief. I am an honest man who wants only to work and support his family. But what can I do? I will wait here for Paulo and listen to him. He will tell me what to do for the best. I know that he will help me. unit2 Timeless photographs I love to look at old photographs in the album(影集 ).My father had a big box of pictures in the cabi and some of the pictures go way back to the 189039。s. The women dressed with such dignity and had style back then. My Dad would linger around his precious box of photographs and teel me stories about each photo and very was one of those moments that you could not really appreciate when you were yound. It is only after he was long gone that I can look back and say thanks for taking the time to show me a tiny window into 中國(guó)最大的管 理 資料下載中心 (收集 \整理 . 大量免費(fèi)資源共享