Chapter 2 Chapter Two July 1978

1.About 16 steps After confirming the sound of the compressor closing the elevator door behind me, I slowly closed my eyes.Pulling the fragments of consciousness together, I walked 16 steps down the corridor toward the door.Close your eyes for 16 steps, no more and no less.Whiskey made the head heavy like a frayed clockwork.His mouth smelled of cigarette tar. Still - even as drunk as I could be - I can walk 16 straight steps with my eyes closed like I'm pulling strings with a ruler.This is the result of years of persistent self-discipline.Every time I get drunk, I straighten my back, raise my face, inhale the morning air and the smell of the concrete corridor into my lungs, then close my eyes and walk straight for 16 steps in the whiskey fog.

In this 16-step world, I have been awarded the title of "most polite drunk".It's actually very simple, just accept the fact of being drunk as a fact. No" but "no" but "no" just "no" but "nothing, drunk is drunk. In this way, I can be the most polite drunk, the first pulsatilla bird to rise, and the last wagon to cross the iron bridge. 5, 6, 7... Step 8 Stop, open your eyes, and take a deep breath.A little ringing in the ears, as if the sea breeze passed through the rusted barbed wire.That being said, it has been a long time since I saw the sea.

July 24, 6:30 am.The ideal season for watching the sea, the ideal moment, the beach has not been polluted by anyone.Only the claw marks of seabirds are sporadically printed on the water's edge like needles blown by the wind. ocean? I start over.Hai forget it, that thing has long since disappeared in the past. Step 16 Stand still and open your eyes to see that you are standing in front of the spherical door handle as usual.He took out two days' worth of newspapers and two letters from the mailbox, and put them under his arm.Then he took out the key from his labyrinthine pocket, held it in his hand, and pressed his forehead against the cold iron door.For a moment, there seemed to be a "click" sound behind the ear.The body is like cotton soaked with alcohol, only the consciousness is more authentic.

That's all! Open the door a third, slide into the body, and close the door.There was silence inside the door, an excessive silence. Later, I found a pair of red women's shoes without buckles and straps under my feet.The shoes are familiar, sandwiched between muddy tennis shoes and cheap beach slippers, they look like outdated Christmas presents with a fine dust of silence floating on them. She was sprawled at the kitchen table, with her forehead resting on her arms, her black hair covering the side of her face.A fair, unsunburned neck gleamed through the hair.The thin suspenders of the bra flashed faintly from the shoulders of the unimpressive printed dress.

I took off my jacket, my black tie, and my watch.She didn't move for a while.Her back reminds me of the past, before I saw her. "Hello!" I greeted, but it didn't sound like my own voice at all, as if the voice was specially transported from a far away place.As expected, there was no reply. It looked like she was sleeping, crying, or dead. I sat across the table, holding my eyes with my fingertips, and the bright sunlight separated the table.I am in the light, she is in the faint shadow, and the shadow has no color.On the table was a pot of withered geraniums.Someone outside the window sprinkled water on the road.There was the sound of water being sprinkled on the asphalt road, and there was a smell of water being sprinkled.

"No coffee or anything?" Still no reply. After confirming that there was no echo, I got up and went into the kitchen to grind enough coffee beans for two people, and turned on the transistor radio.After grinding the beans, I found that I actually wanted to drink black tea with ice.I always think of many things after the fact. The radio played one harmless pop song after another, perfect for the morning.Listening to songs like this, I feel like the world hasn't changed in the past 10 years.It's just that the singer and the title of the song are different. I just added 10 years old.

Seeing that the pot of water is boiling, I turn off the gas.Wait 30 seconds and pour water over the coffee grounds.The powder was fully sucked into the hot water and began to expand slowly. At this time, the warm aroma began to rippling in the room, and several cicadas screamed outside. "Come last night?" I asked, jug in hand. Her hair bobbed up and down slightly on the table. "Waiting for me all this time?" She didn't answer. The steam from the kettle and the strong sunlight made the room stuffy.I close the window over the sink, turn on the air conditioner, and set two coffee mugs on the table.

"Drink!" I said.The voice gradually changed back to his own voice. "Have a drink." After a full 30 seconds, she raised her face from the table with slow and balanced movements, staring wistfully at the withered potted plants.A few strands of fine hair cling to her wet cheeks, and the slight moisture moves around her like spiritual energy. "Never mind," she said, "I'm not going to cry." I hand out the box of tissues she uses to silently blow her nose and brush the hair from her cheeks with tiresome fingers. "I wanted to leave before you came back, and I didn't want to meet."

"Mood changed?" "Where, just go anywhere. But I'll be leaving soon, don't worry." "Anyway, let's have a cup of coffee first." I sipped my coffee while listening to traffic information on the radio, and cut the seals of two letters with scissors.One is a notice from a furniture store, saying that if you buy furniture during the specified period, you can reduce the price by 20%.The other was a reluctant letter from someone who didn't want to think about it.I crumpled up two letters and threw them in the wastebasket at my feet, chewing on the remaining cheese cracker.She clasped the coffee cup with her hands as if she was trying to keep out the cold, and pressed her lips against the edge of the cup and looked at me fixedly.

"There's a salad in the refrigerator." "Sara?" I looked up at her. "Tomatoes and lentils, that's all I have left. Cucumbers go bad and throw them away." "Well." I took out the deep blue Okinawa glass dish containing the salad from the refrigerator, and poured all the salad dressing that was only 5 cm from the bottom of the bottle on it.Tomatoes and lentils shrank like shadows and tasteless.The biscuits and coffee are also tasteless, probably because of the morning light.The morning light unraveled everything.I stopped drinking coffee, took out a crumpled cigarette from my pocket, struck a completely unfamiliar match and lit it.The end of the cigarette made a dry sound of "chacha".Purple smoke outlines geometric figures in the morning light.

"I went to a funeral. Then I went to Shinjuku to drink, and I drank alone all the time." The cat came from nowhere, gave a long yawn, and jumped onto her lap in a flash.She scratched the cat behind the ears several times. "There's no need to explain," she said, "that's none of my business." "It's not an explanation, it's just a talk." She shrugged slightly and tucked her bra straps into her dress.There was absolutely no expression on her face that could be called an expression.This reminds me of the submerged market I saw in the photos. "A general acquaintance in the past, you don't recognize it." "yes?" The cat stretched its limbs on her knees and let out a "huh" breath. I remained silent, looking at the flames of the cigarette butt. "How did you die?" "Traffic accident, 13 bones were broken." "girl?" "Ok." The 7 o'clock regular news and traffic information ended, and the radio began to play soft rock music again.She puts the coffee cup back on the saucer and looks at my face. "Hey, will you drink like that when I die?" "Drinking has nothing to do with funerals, it's just the first drink or two." A new day outside is about to begin.A new hot day.From the window above the sink, the tall buildings could be seen, far more dazzling than usual. "No cold drinks or anything?" She shook her head. I took out a can of completely chilled Coke from the refrigerator, and drank it all in one go without pouring it into the glass. "The girl who sleeps with everyone." I said.It's almost like a eulogy, the old friend is a girl who sleeps with everyone. "Why are you telling me this?" I don't know why. "In short, a girl who sleeps with everyone?" "Exactly." "But you are an exception?" There was something special in her voice.I look up from the salad plate.Looking at her face through the withered potted plants. "Think so?" "Kindly," she whispered, "you, the type." "which type?" "You have a place like a sand clock. When the sand is gone, someone must come and fill it up." "Probably so." Her lips parted a little, and then recovered immediately. "Come to pick up the leftovers. Coats, hats, etc. for winter. They've been sorted and packed in cardboard boxes. Can you send them to the transport agency when you have time?" "Ship it to your house." She shook her head quietly: "Forget it, I don't want you to come, understand?" indeed so.I'm talking too much in the wild. "Do you know the address?" "know." "That's it. Sorry for taking so long." "Does that work?" "Well, it's all over." "Simple enough. Thought it was a lot more verbose." "People who don't know think so. It's actually very simple, once it's over." Saying so, she raised the cat's head again. "Twice divorced, almost an expert." The cat closed its eyes and stretched its waist, its neck gently resting on her wrist.I put the coffee mug and salad dish in the sink and use the bill as a broom to gather up the cookie crumbs.The inside of the eyeball hurts like gouging out. "Every little thing is written on a sticky note on your desk—where you put your various papers, when you pick up the trash, that's all. Call if you don't know." "thanks." "Want to have a baby?" "Where," I said, "don't want any children." "I was quite hesitant. But since that's the case, it's fine if you don't have it. Or maybe it wouldn't be so if you have children!" "There are many divorces with children." "Yeah," she said, and she fiddled with my lighter for a while, "I like you now, it's definitely not a problem in this aspect. I know this very well myself." 2.her gone, the picture gone, the dress gone After she left, I drank another can of Coke and took a hot shower to shave.Soaps, shampoos, shaving creams, everything started to dwindle. Get out of the shower, comb your hair, put on perfume, and clean your ears.Then I went to the kitchen to warm up the rest of the coffee.There was no one sitting across the table anymore.Looking quietly at the chair where no one is sitting, I feel as if I have become a child, left alone on the strange and unfamiliar street in Chirico's oil painting.But I'm certainly not a kid.I sip my coffee without thinking about anything.Take the time to drink it slowly, stay in a daze for a while, and then light a cigarette. I haven't slept for 24 hours, but I don't feel sleepy for no reason.The body is tired and lazy, but the head is like an aquatic animal familiar with the environment, shuttling back and forth mindlessly in the criss-crossing waterways of consciousness. When I stared blankly at the unoccupied chair, I remembered an American novel I had read in the past.After the wife left home, the husband hung his wife's tube skirt on the opposite chair for several months.Thinking about it this way, I began to feel that this idea was not bad.Not that it can solve anything, but it is much smarter than putting geraniums in pots that have long since withered.Even the cat might be somewhat quieter with her stuff. She opened her drawers in the bedroom one by one, and they were all empty.An old bug-eaten scarf, three clothes hangers, a few packs of sanitary balls, nothing else.She swept everything away.Fragments of cosmetics, hair curlers, toothbrushes, hair dryers, inexplicable medicines, menstrual supplies, boots, wooden boots, slippers and other things that were originally placed in the bathroom, hat boxes, and a whole drawer of accessories , handbags, satchels, suitcases, wallets, underwear that was always neatly folded, socks, letters—everything that smelled of her was gone, not even fingerprints, I think.Book cases and about a third of the record rack were also missing.It was books and records that she bought herself or that I gave her. Opening the album and looking, all her photos were taken down, and there was not one left.In the photo of me and her, her part was cut out, and only I remained.My solo photos and landscape and animal photos remain the same.In this way, what is stored in the three albums becomes the past that has been completely trimmed.I was always alone, interspersed with photographs of mountains, rivers, deer, and cats, as if I had been born alone, remained alone, and would remain alone.I close the album and smoke two cigarettes. I thought it would be a good thing to leave a long skirt, but of course this is her problem, so I can't make irresponsible remarks.She decided to leave nothing behind, and I just had to obey.Or, as she wished, had to pretend she didn't exist in the first place.Where she does not exist, neither does her gown. I submerged the ashtray, turned off the air conditioner and the radio, thought about her dress again, and went to bed. I agreed to a divorce and it's been 1 month since she left the apartment.This 1 month is almost meaningless.One month that was illusory, like lukewarm curry.I don't feel like anything has changed at all, and in fact nothing has changed. Get up at 7 am to make coffee, toast, go to work, have dinner outside, drink two or three glasses of wine, read a book in bed for an hour at home, turn off the lights and go to sleep.I don't work on Saturdays and Sundays, and I started going to a few movie theaters early in the morning to pass the time.After that, I ate dinner alone, drank, read and slept alone as usual.This is how I spent a month, as if someone blacked out the numbers on a calendar. Her disappearance, in a sense, I feel helpless, nothing more than what has happened.No matter how smooth our four years are, it is no longer an important issue, just like an album that has been stripped of photos. Likewise, if she and my friend have been sleeping regularly for a long time and one day they just move in together, it's not a big deal.That sort of thing can happen and actually happens a lot.Even if she did, I don't think anything special happened.After all, it was her own problem. "At the end of the day, that's your problem," I said. It was a Sunday afternoon in June, when she filed for divorce, and I was playing with the beer can's pull-tab on my finger. "You mean it doesn't matter?" she asked, very slowly. "It's not that it doesn't matter," I said, "it's just that it's your problem." "To be honest, I don't want to break up with you," she said later. "Then, it doesn't matter if it doesn't matter!" "But with you, I can't get anywhere." She didn't say anything further, but I don't think it is difficult to understand what she wants to say.I'll be 30 in a few months and she'll be 26.Compared with the scale of things we will face on the road before, what we have built so far is really too small, or zero. For 4 years, I was simply sitting on my savings. The responsibility is basically on me.I probably shouldn't have married anyone.At least she shouldn't have married me. At first, she thought she was socially unacceptable and I was socially acceptable.We played our respective roles with relative success.But just when the two thought they could go on like this forever, something broke.Although insignificant, it is irreparable.We are in elongated, quiet dead-end streets.That's the end of us. To her I became the lost one.How much she continued to love me was another question.We're so used to each other's roles.I have nothing more to give her.She knew it instinctively, and I knew it from experience.It's hopeless anyway. In this way, she disappeared from my eyes forever together with several tube skirts.Something is forgotten, something disappears, something dies, and there is little tragedy in it. July 24, 8:25 a.m. I confirmed the four numbers on the electronic watch, then closed my eyes and fell asleep.