Chapter 13 twelve red roses

When the summer came that year, all the flowers in the rose garden were in full bloom. Knowing that I have a subtle sensitivity to roses, the owner of the rose garden specially wrote to invite me to his house to see the flowers. Three days later, at dusk, I sat in the living room of the owner of Rose Garden, looking out of the window, looking at the blooming roses, silent.It wasn't until the host reminded me that the tea in my hand was going to be cold, I turned my head and gave the host a very bitter smile. The master stood up, brushed off the cigarette ash from his clothes, went to the window, nodded triumphantly, and said to himself:

"Thirty-seven flowers, sixteen trees." Then turning to me, he said in a mocking tone: "One of them is still yours, can you still recognize it?" Lying on the sofa, I nodded slowly, took a deep breath of the cigarette, and slowly spit it out again. The confused smoke led me into a confused field, which was not an old dream, but a city of sorrow shrouded by old dreams. It is the rose that grew by the corner of the wall, and now it bears another flower—it is still a solitary one, and its bright red dyeing reflects its gorgeous appearance. It does not have the rich and vulgarity of peony; This kind of king's heavenly fragrance, it just opened silently, opened, revealing its beauty and loneliness in a secluded way.

I still remember seeing it in the garden for the first time.It was a foggy morning, and the cold dew of midnight had just washed its delicate branches, and the water droplets on the young leaves seemed to be a heavy burden to it, and the petite buds curled up tightly, like timid More open, but also timid to become slim and mature. Among the wild flowers, I chose this little creature that has not yet grown up, carefully held it back, and planted it in front of my window with a little water, a little fertilizer and a little Mormon's mysterious blessing in the grass.The damp wind of May blowing on this southern island also blows away the petals and vitality of this rose. It flinches and stretches its body, as if making an uneasy temptation to the strange world.

Probably I knew her, and it was around this time. In all fairness, she is really a lovely little woman. It is not a coincidence that her Latin name is spelled the same as Rose. According to Zhuang Zhou's dream of a butterfly, who dares to say that she is not the incarnation of Rose?The first impression she gives is a rare lightness and freshness. From her glittering eyes and sly smile, I can't see the depths of her soul, and I don't want to see the depths of her soul , the tangible part of her body has satisfied me enough to keep me from brooding on further dreams. But the dream oppressed me, it forced me to drift to the illusion beyond Liuhe, where her ghost came, so we lived together, we watched the sunrise, the moon, the twinkling stars, and the vast sea of ​​clouds ; We listen to the singing of birds, the chirping of insects, the whistling of the evening wind, and the singing of Ariel, we are intoxicated beyond the line of life and death; There is no one else but her and me; there is no one else in my eyes but the rose.When the milestones stand like barren mounds, and the station of death finally appears in front of us, the dust rises in the distance, and the gray horse in "Apocalypse" comes running, leading us to the vast land of nothing. , the universe has since disappeared our footprints, her beauty and her sea-like gaze...

However, dreams are after all fog and light smoke, which take you out of ideals and push you back into reality.What the reality showed me was: Needs and acquisitions are inversely proportional to mathematics. I didn't ask her to give me a lot, but she gave me less.In the short period of May, there was no closeness between me and her, but when the last day of May passed away, I felt that our distance was even more distant.Just like the two pieces of duckweed on the water, they got together and floated away again, that can be said to be a beginning.It can also be said to be an end. When the red rose is in full bloom, it also sows the message of withering. The poet sees a heaven in a flower, but what about me?But from a flower, I see the dimness and return of my dream.The premature withering reminded me of Francis Thompson's emotion. From the old notes, I dug out the four lines of verse that I retranslated in my early years:

The most beautiful things have the fastest endings, Even when they wither, their lingering fragrance is still intoxicating, But the fragrance of the rose is painful, For him, he likes roses. Yes, I like roses the most, but I don't want to see them again. It arouses too many associations in me, but these associations are obviously superfluous for a cynical literati. At the beginning when the owner of Rose Garden enthusiastically managed his garden, he received my little flower that had been tuned early. Although I said repeatedly that it was a gift from me, he insisted on treating it as a naked flower with a smile." parasite".After spending half an hour, we worked together to plant it under the corner of the rose garden. The owner wiped off the mud from his hands, and while wiping his sweat, announced his prophecy:

"Buddhist scriptures say that sentient beings plant seeds, and the fruit of the cause will come back to life. We may be able to see some philosophy in this little flower. Next year, maybe next year, it will still bloom. The smoke has gradually disappeared, I turned back from the mountain road I used to go, the host walked to the table, connected a cigarette for me, then pointed out the window and said: "Look at your parasite! Last year I said it was going to bloom, and it bloomed again this year. It's still one flower, and it's still as lonely as you!" Looking at the twilight hanging in front of the window, I stood up, hesitated for a long time, and finally said:

"Yes, it is blooming, but besides the historical significance, what other significance does it have? It is no longer the one from last year. Last year's red rose withered too early!" (postscript) On June 9, 1950, I was serving in the vicinity of Xinhua, when I suddenly received a letter from Rosa, who set the title - "Red Rose" and asked me to write an essay for her.On June 14th, I finished writing and sent it off. I later found out that she had edited a few words and published it in the "Newsletter of Foreign Languages ​​Students of National Taiwan University for 48 Years".After retiring from the army, I revised it slightly and published it in the supplement of Taipei's "United Daily News" on April 6, 1961.Now I have changed a few words and collected them in this little book.In retrospect, she changed this article once before and after, and I changed it at least six times.

Now that Rosa has gone to the United States, it has been like a lifetime away.I miss this little woman who makes me nostalgic, and I look at this article more and more differently.As far as the article is concerned, it is one of the rare works of mine that does not talk about laughing faces. After reading it, many friends feel that it has a dark and gloomy atmosphere, thinking that it is "not quite like Li Ao's style". Writing this (postscript) late tonight, I feel somewhat heavy. I copied out a little poem by AE Housman that I translated three years ago (I once copied a copy for Rosa) and used it to express A Pain in My Heart (3:30 AM, May 22, 1963).

Farewell You smile Upom Your Friend Today You smile upon your long illness, You smile upon your friend today, Shen Yan seems to want to get rid of; Today his il1s are over; Wan Yufeng sued again, You heard to the lovers say, Yu Huan is like floating clouds. And happy is the lover, Is late to hearken, late to smile, Consolation is better than nothing: But better late than never: The soul has not endured, I shall have lived a little while The bier immediately hesitated. Befor I die for ever. Revised on the night of July 19, 1960. "Consolation is better than nothing" is a rewriting of Tao Yuanming's poem