Athitaw Hla Aung - Eight-legged wanderer

A message from a Myanmar returnee

Humans are victims of the economic system. If we adopt a good and correct economic system, we are worthy of being human. If we establish an evil and wrong economic system, our life, which is as fleeting as a bubble of water, will be in vain.

Today is a time when the capitalist economic system and the socialist economic system are competing. The capitalist economic system is rotten and corrupt. The socialist economic system is young and upright.

The capitalist economic system brings prosperity to a small minority. The socialist economic system builds a worldly paradise for the vast majority of ordinary people.

So, which system is the correct revolutionary system?

I returned to Burma to see the rotten, corrupt, and evil capitalist economic system in its true form.

The victims of the capitalist economic system are not afraid to devour the hearts of others for their own gain, to crush and trample their lives to pieces, and to burn away their physical and mental well-being.

"They are also happy to create a sea of ​​blood for the people of the world who want peace in the sea of ​​​​evil and evil. Such evil deeds will be seen in detail in the eight-legged jinn.

"The capitalist opens one big company after another. He builds one big factory after another, and millions and millions of dollars flow into his pockets like a torrent of water."

What is the role of the oppressed, exploited, and exploited working class who have toiled to enjoy such benefits? The curtain of a corrupt and evil system has completely plunged them into darkness.

Here, I would like to begin by describing the turbulent life of the main character, Nassau (younger), a wandering jinn. Nassau was not yet fully educated. He had not yet tasted the milk from his mouth. He had never been sheltered by his mother's love, nor had he been able to touch and understand his father's love. He had also lost his beloved. At that age, at that time, and in his short life, his life was not dull. He was able to overcome the obstacles, blockages, and destruction of the world's path and succeed. If this kind of strength, determination, and determination were to be taken into the hearts of future leaders, it would be worth my while to translate this great book.

Assistant Hla Aung

Jonas

( 1925) 

A book

( 1)

As I flew over Reno, the sun was beginning to set over the white Nevada desert. I pointed the plane east. I could hear the faint sound of the wind as it touched the fuselage.

I smiled contentedly.

If my father saw this plane, he would be very angry. But he would not have any complaints about it. It was not worth spending any money on. It was just a plane that I won in a game of dice.

I slowly descended to 1500 feet. I came to Highway 32. The desert on either side of the road was a blur. I looked to the side, following the flight path. I saw him about eight miles away.

A factory that looks like a very ugly, ugly frog sitting on its back in the middle of the desert,

Kawthar ammunition factory.

As the plane slowly descended, I looked back. I could see them through the windows. Dark-skinned Mexicans and Indian women.

The women were dressed in bright clothes. The men were in worn-out work clothes. I could see their astonished eyes looking at me. I smiled fondly. Their lives were so boring. Let them meet their own children.

So he pulled the lever and soared to a height of 2,500 feet. Then he headed to the right, where the roof was painted with tar, and fell into a somersault.

The sound of the plane's engine was deafening. The wind was blowing hard on my eyes and face. I bit my lip tightly. My blood was boiling. My heart was beating faster. I felt a surge of strength and courage.

"Power. That's right. Power is the most important thing in the world. From here, the whole world is like a child's toy beneath me. When I hold the control stick with love, there is nothing else in my hand. No one. No father. No one to stop me. No one to oppose my will. No one to influence me. Absolutely nothing."

A large factory with a black roof stands tall in the white desert. It looks like a young woman lying on a white bed. I can't breathe. There's a lump in my throat.

Mom, I don't want to go to another village. I want to go home.

“I blinked my eyes and licked my lips. I felt the saltiness of my tears. I could see the tar-stained roof. I leaned back in my seat and lowered the plane. I descended to an altitude of 800 feet. I landed on the airfield behind the factory. I headed into the wind and carefully chose a landing spot. I felt a sudden sense of fatigue. I had flown a long way from Los Angeles.

As soon as the plane landed on the runway, Nevada Smith walked across the runway toward me. I turned off the engine and looked at him.

Nevada Smith hasn't changed. I first met him when I was five years old. He was walking toward the front door. The Nevada Smith of that time and the Nevada Smith of today haven't changed at all. He's strong and sturdy. He's always been a horseman, but he walks with a straight face. I first met him in 1909, so it's been 16 years now.

I was playing in a corner of the front room. My father was sitting on a bench near the front door, reading a Reno weekly. It was only eight in the morning, but the sun was already high. At that moment, I heard the sound of a horse's hooves, so I went out to the front door and looked in the direction of the sound.

A man was dismounting from his horse. His movements were very slow and seemed to be feigning. He tied the reins to the post and walked towards the house. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he stopped and looked up.

Dad put down the newspaper and stood up. He was a very stocky man. He was six feet two inches tall. His face was sunburned. Dad looked down.

"Nassle?" Nevada Smith asked, squinting upward. His father nodded in response.

"Yes"

The man tipped his big cowboy hat back, revealing dark hair.

"I came because I heard that someone wanted to borrow money." The father didn't answer yes or no, but asked again. "What do you do?"

The man smiled a meaningless smile. He glanced at the facade of the house. Then he looked out at the desert beyond and turned his face back to Fae Fae.

"I ride horses and herd cattle well. But you don't seem to have buffaloes or cows. And you also have well-fenced yards. That doesn't seem to be what you need either."

Dad was silent for a moment. Then he asked again, pointing to the gun in the man's waistband.

"Are you a gunsmith?"

Before my father could ask, I glanced at his waist. A gun hung loosely from his waist, the handle blackened, the bolt and trigger polished with oil.

"Look at me, I'm alive." "What's your name?" "Nevada."

"Smith, this is Nevada Smith."

Here he answered without hesitation. Dad went silent again. This time, however, he didn't wait for Dad to ask, but looked at me and asked.