Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Scissors and Gravity

The scissors were a bird that had been perched on the dressing table for a long time, as if perched on the top of a magnolia tree.It designed its own movements and postures, then flew into my mind, and borrowed my hand to fulfill its expectations. The rainy day finally passed, and it came to an end when a gap suddenly opened between the leaden clouds, and the bright sunlight stabbed down obliquely like a dagger. On Sunday morning, I didn't even have to open my eyes to see—it was sunny. I'm lazy in bed and don't want to get up.Taking advantage of my mother not caring about me for a while, I simply let myself talk in my head.

Father reads the newspaper while eating breakfast.He must be reading fast, I can tell from the squirming of his tasteless, fast-chewing lips.His father's strong, focused career and his impatience always made it difficult for him to live a peaceful and leisurely life.His thinking is always lightning fast, and ordinary people generally can't keep up with him. When he said this sentence, his brain had already entered the next sentence in advance, or jumped to another topic, so that he couldn't put the words in his mouth. The clarity of what was being said often irritated him.He never waited in line to buy something or do something, and if he had to wait in line, he would rather not buy that thing than do that thing.

From my father's impatient and excited expression, I knew that my father was going out for a meeting again. It was the year when China's political situation took a huge turning point. From the few words my father said to my mother, I vaguely felt that his situation finally had a good turning point.However, I don't know much about the affairs of the adults outside, and I don't care.The outside world has nothing to do with me.All I care about is that the big turnaround outside doesn't bring much change to the atmosphere in my home.This still makes me unhappy. At this time, my mother was cleaning this and that in the room, turning around to do what she was doing.

I was lying on my bed, squinting from bottom to top, and saw that the windows of my house were open, and the distant rusty red in the distant sky seemed to be exuding intermittent breathing, that was the city I lived in——P The city is huge and heavy breathing.That breath permeated the room and filled my heart. Like the gray and dirty time, it always slipped and slipped silently close to the arms of kind people. My father was picking up his leather bag and walking out the door, saying, "Ao Yao can only sleep late, and he can't even speak. In the future, he will only be able to find a job as a mute."

Mom said, "She's not quite grown up yet." My father said, "How old do you have to be to grow up? You dote on her so much and teach her to fight against me. What's the use?" "You can't get along well with yourself, why did I teach you? You can't get along with everyone, even dogs are against you." Mother shot back. The father slammed the door hard and left the house. I am happy that today I can be alone with my mother at home again, without going to school or listening to my father lose his temper.Lying on the bed, I seemed to see the black car outside the yard, lying firmly outside the wooden door, waiting for the sound of my father's footsteps.Then, it automatically opens a door.It was like a giant eagle with one wing missing, flapping one wing suddenly, waiting for my father to get into its body, and set off from the sun at eight o'clock in the morning.

...But, for some reason, in the blink of an eye, the car turned into a panting police car, and my father turned into a prisoner in a brown prison uniform, his hands and feet were tightly shackled He was restrained, and he was trying to break free with his stubborn temper, but he was still pulled away by the police car.Pulled to a place where I can never go home... I woke up with a start, and came to my senses from the muddled dream that seemed to be sleeping but not sleeping.At this time, my father had disappeared and left home for a meeting. I continued the silent video in my head, and this habit allowed me to avoid the noisy crowd, even my mother, without feeling lonely.

At the same time, this habit also makes me like a real carrier, actively eager to avoid the crowd and immerse myself in my own mind. I continue to walk in my own train of thought: ... I first saw the long and narrow corridor in the elementary school. The red brick floor was bare, and there was a layer of silver and dark gray mottled on it, as if it had experienced a long time ago, and it had been trampled on it. The soles of her feet were worn out and riddled with marks, and the wrinkles of thought were engraved by those primary school students who were heavily loaded. Mr. T stood at one end of the corridor with a smile on his face, seemingly harboring malicious intentions.So I ran in the opposite direction and ran hard towards the other end.I turned back while running, but when I looked back, I realized that Mr. T's body had suddenly turned into my father. My father stood majestic and tall at the end of the corridor in the elementary school. I was full of suspicion.When I finally ran out of the corridor, I saw another me running out of the corridor. The two of them looked at each other and wanted to exchange opinions on who the man was just now, but they wanted to talk to each other and wanted to escape. In the end, they denied each other, and then walked away...

At this time, my mother came over and asked me to get up and have breakfast. I answered, but my body lay motionless on the bed. I bypassed the train of thought just now, I really don't want to think about that, about men. Mother sat on the edge of the bed, looked at me sideways, and put her hand on my thin back.My mother's slanted waist was just out of sight of me lying on the bed. My gaze passed through the long aisle of the outer room, and passed under the long dining table where my father had breakfast just now, and happened to fall on the open door at home. Some broken wooden doors.

I vaguely heard a woman's singing that seemed to seep in from a distant place outside. The voice was so weak that it seemed to pass through countless ruined walls and enter my ears after a long time. Looking back now, I remember, it seems to be a song about love, it seems to be singing the sadness of an abandoned woman.Although the melancholy voice was so weak that it could hardly be heard by any rough ear, I still heard it very clearly at that time. "... Please open this door for me, the door I knocked with tears, time has passed and I am still here..." The voice seemed to be a wave staying in the distance, lingering in the corridor and the whole room, Spinning and stretching, the rhythmic soft footsteps lead me through the sun-dappled courtyard outside the door, along the bunches of slanted and scattered light outdoors, and finally the fluctuating sound flow stops at the wooden door of the opposite neighbor’s house Previously, the singing came from the house of Widow He who lived here. Her voice was always like a cool plaster, softly applied to any wound on the human body.

Widow He's voice is especially special in rainy days. The sound quality is thick and brittle, not soft. The humidity of rainy days has coated her brittle voice with a very moist shell, making the voice exude a sexual magnetic field.A hybrid sex, or transgender motherhood. In the heavy and long years that followed, her magnetic voice, which suddenly breaks and then connects, can always penetrate the chaotic network of thoughts and memories bypassing my left and right, and reach my ears directly, like Hear as clearly as you really can.The wet sound that is unique to this rainy day (actually, the brief clear weather after the rain) always reminds me of those trivial fragments of my old life, which are disorganized and unorganized , such as a mass of tangled hair that cannot be washed smoothly with clean water.There was nothing I could do about the underlying thoughts in my head that stretched out to many possibilities.

In the midst of the women's singing mixed with the hollow cicadas that summer, I couldn't help feeling sad for no reason. I withdrew my body from my mother's hand, then jumped to my feet, stood on the bed and began to dress.Through a window on another wall, I saw several children chasing and playing on the gray withered grass outside the window.I saw the June sunshine spread like a mist in the clear sky. mother said. "Get up, wash and tidy up, let's go out to watch a movie today." So.I dress quickly.Make quilts.I was a little excited. I just vacated the bed.My mother put a pair of milky white wool trousers flat on my bed, and then ironed them horizontally and vertically with an iron.I could tell at a glance that they were the pants my father often wore when he went out to meetings.Mother looked clumsy, and the constant steam made her movements tense and exaggerated. My grandma used to do this thing, so I didn't feel how important it was. Now my mother does it, it's like a difficult move, very conspicuous. In short, when my mother did this, I felt an indescribable revulsion in my heart. After my mother finished her work, she put the iron in the kitchen, and then washed something in the kitchen sink. At this time, I had finished washing my face and felt that my eyes were much brighter. I immediately glanced at my bed, my eyes silently groped for a while on the clean and tidy bed, and then fell on the pair of milky white woolen trousers. As I was applying the rejuvenating cream to my face, I noticed that the door to my room was tightly shut, standing there like a meditator with pursed lips, silent.There was only the sound of water rushing through the open windows. When I put the skin rejuvenation cream back in the dresser drawer, my eyes suddenly hit the scissors, which were cold and glowing with a faint blue luster.I dodged backward, as if avoiding a mistake. I went to the window, tiptoed, leaned as close as I could to the open window, and listened to the sound of the faucet in the kitchen, which I could see in my empty room without actually looking. The lonely faucet is like a slender and thin neck, and the cool waterline hangs down indomitably. I felt that the numb time seemed to have an uninterrupted sense of flow because of the existence of that voice, and I also had an inexplicable power because of it. I turned around quickly, picked up the scissors, and went straight to the woolen trousers on my bed, aiming at the flat trouser legs and making a scissor.The clicking sound of the scissors biting the woolen trousers was like a flash of cold lightning, giving off a dangerous pleasure.My arm was hit like a popsicle by the white lightning, some kind of orgasm-like cold numbness. The thrill of the game makes me both nervous and comfortable. Then, like a panicked rabbit, I hopped and left the house.