Chapter 66 firefly

long long ago.Even so, it was only fourteen or five years ago, when I lived in an off-campus dormitory.I was only eighteen years old at the time, had just entered university, and was completely unfamiliar with Tokyo. In addition, I had never lived outside, so my family was worried and helped me find a dormitory.Of course, the cost is also related, the dormitory is much cheaper than living alone.Of course I hope that it will be refreshing to live alone in a rented house.But when it comes to registration fees, tuition fees, and living expenses sent by my family every month, I still don't want to be stubborn.

The off-campus dormitory is located on a high platform in Bunkyo District with a good view. It occupies a large area and is surrounded by tall concrete walls.Outside the gate, there is a tall and towering cherry tree, which is 150 years old or more.Standing at the root of the tree and looking up, the green branches and leaves almost hide the sky. The road bypassed the giant tree and stretched straight into the atrium of the dormitory.On both sides of the atrium are two parallel three-story steel-reinforced buildings.Very big dormitory.Radio music can be heard from the open window.The curtains are all creamy white, and the color is faded and inconspicuous.On the front of the road is the main building of the two-story dormitory.The restaurant and large bathroom on the first floor, the lecture hall, conference room, and VIP room on the second floor.A three-story third dormitory is parallel to this building.The atrium is wide and the lawn is equipped with sprinklers

The water vessel keeps rotating against the sun.There is also a baseball and football playground inside the building, and six tennis courts, which are well-equipped. The only problem with this dormitory (whether it counts or not depends on the perspective) is that it is run by several unknown right-wing consortiums.From the brief introduction of the dormitory and the rules of the dormitory, we can understand the general idea: "In-depth education to cultivate national talents." This is the founding spirit of this dormitory, and it is supported by the donations of many financial professionals who agree with this spirit..... . This is a superficial statement. What is going on inside is quite vague, and there is no definite statement.Some said it was speculation and tax evasion, some said it was speculation in the name of setting up dormitories, and some said it was purely for fame.Anyway, I lived in this dormitory from the spring of 1967 to the autumn of the following year.Whether it is right-wing or left-wing, hypocritical or evil, from the perspective of daily life, there is basically no difference.

The dormitory raises the national flag every day as the beginning of the day.Of course, with the national anthem, the relationship between the national anthem and the national flag is inseparable, just like the march music must be played when broadcasting sports news.The flag raising platform is located in the atrium and can be seen from every window.The work of raising the flag is in charge of the supervisor of the Dongdong dormitory where I live.The dormitory supervisor was a tall, burly man in his fifties with sharp eyes; his dry hair was mixed with a few gray hairs, and there was a long and thin scar on his tanned face.It is said that he was born in the Nakano Army School.Next to it stood a student as a flag-raising assistant.this

People shaved their heads, wore student uniforms forever, and their real identities were unknown.No one knew his name, which building he lived in, or touched him in the restaurant or the bathroom.No one knows whether he is a student or not.It's just that he looks like a student in his uniform.He was short and fair, the exact opposite of the Nakano Army School boys.Every morning at six o'clock sharp, just these two people stood in the atrium of the dormitory and raised the sun flag.When I first moved into the dormitory, I often watched the flag-raising scene from the window.Every morning at six o'clock sharp, the two appeared in the atrium on time.The one in school uniform is holding a wooden box.A man from the Nakano Army School is carrying a soNY portable tape recorder.Men from Zhongshu Army School put the stereo under the flag-raising platform; those in school uniforms opened the paulownia box, and there were neatly folded national flags in the box.Those in school uniforms handed over the national flag to the men of Zhongshu Army School.The boys from the Nakano Army School tied the national flag to the rope on the flagpole, and those in school uniforms pressed the sound switch.

(National Anthem) "Your Generation..." Then, the national flag was slowly hoisted onto the flagpole. "...like fine stones", the national flag was raised halfway to the flagpole, "for...", the national flag finally rose to the top.At this time, the two raised their heads to stare at the national flag, and stood at attention with their chests upright.On a sunny and windy day, it is a majestic scene. The rituals at dusk are roughly the same as in the morning, but in reverse order.The national flag slowly descends from the flagpole and is put into a paulownia box. The national flag does not fly at night.I don't know why the flag doesn't fly at night? At night, the country still exists.Isn't it unfair that so many people are still working and not protected by the flag? Maybe it's no big deal, maybe no one is paying attention at all, except for me - and I'm just a fleeting thought with no deep meaning.

In principle, dormitory rooms are allocated, first- and second-year students share one room, and third- and fourth-year students share one room.The two share a rectangular room with aluminum doors and windows and a depth of about six tatami mats.The furnishings are simple, with two desks and chairs, two two-section lockers, and two ready-made shelves.Most of the shelves held transistor radios, hair dryers, bowls and spoons for making coffee or instant noodles.The stucco walls were tacked with Playboy posters, and a few textbooks and popular novels lay on the desk.The men's dormitory is generally dirty and messy.There are moldy orange peels in the trash can, ten centimeters of soot on the empty can that replaces the ashtray, and coffee stains on the cups that cannot be cleaned.Tissue paper for instant noodles and empty beer cans are scattered on the floor.When the wind blows, the floor kicks up dust.Unpleasant-smelling laundry tucked under the bed; few people dry their quilts on a regular basis, soaking up sweat and body odor in every quilt.

My room was pretty clean by comparison.The floor is shiny, the ashtray is cleaned frequently, the quilt is dried once a week, and the pencils are neatly placed in the pen holder.Photos of Amsterdam's canals are posted on the walls instead of magazine pages: My roommate is a clean freak, and he cleans the entire room, even mine, without lifting a finger.As long as the empty can is placed on the table after drinking beer, it will automatically disappear in the trash can.My roommate majored in geography. "I study land, land, and maps," he told me at first. "Like maps?" I asked.

"Yeah, I want to work at the National Institute of Geography in the future, and make maps, maps." There are really all kinds of people in the world.Who exactly made the maps, and for what motives, never occurred to me.Furthermore, it is strange that a person who can stutter even when he says "map" wants to work at the National Institute of Geosciences.Sometimes he stutters, sometimes he doesn't.However, as soon as "map" is mentioned, stuttering is guaranteed. "What are you majoring in?" he asked me. "A play," I said. "Acting is acting in drama, right?"

"Not the same. Just reading and studying opera. Russini, Ionesco, Shakespeare, etc." "I've only heard of Shakespeare," he said, "and nothing else." In fact, I have almost never heard of it, it's just in the course. "I did it because I liked it?" he said. "I can't say I like it," I said. A perplexed expression floated on his face, getting deeper and deeper.I just realized it seemed like I had done something wrong. "I can read anything," I explained to him, "whether it's Indian philosophy or Oriental history. But I chose acting by chance, that's all."

"I don't understand," he said, "Like me, I, I like earth, land, and maps very much, so I choose to study earth and cartography. That's why I explained to my parents that I came to Tokyo after asking for money. , but you don't seem to be." He is right, and I refrain from explaining it to him.Then we drew lots to decide the upper and lower bunk beds, and he got the upper bunk.He always wears a white shirt and black suit pants.He is tall, with a shaved head and high cheekbones. He must wear a uniform when he goes to school. His shoes and schoolbag are all black. At first glance, he looks like a standard right-wing student, and everyone thinks so.In fact, he doesn't care about politics at all. He wears the same color clothes because it is troublesome to choose clothes.He didn't care about anything other than a change in the coastline, or a new railway tunnel.And as long as this topic is brought up, he will spend an hour or two talking non-stop until I stop yawning. He gets up on time at six o'clock every day, and the national anthem of "The Generation of the King" is his alarm clock (it can be seen that raising the flag is not completely useless).Put on your clothes, go to the bathroom and wash your face.It takes an extremely long time for him to wash and wash, which makes one wonder if he takes out his teeth one by one and brushes them.Back in the room, straighten the crepe of the towel and hang it straight on the hanger, put the toothbrush and soap back in the cupboard.Then hit the radio switch and start radio gymnastics.I belong to the late and deep sleep type, even if the gymnastics music is playing, I can sleep.But as soon as he starts jumping, I jump out of bed.How should I put it, every time he jumps (he is really good at jumping), my head must be bouncing up and down the pillow, and I can't sleep at all. "Excuse me," I said on the fourth day, "why are you doing radio gymnastics on the roof? You woke me up." "No," he said, "if you do gymnastics on the roof, you will be protested by people on the third floor. This is the first floor, so you won't disturb others." "Then how about going to the courtyard?" "Neither. Without a radio, you can't hear music. If you can't hear music, you can't do gymnastics." His radio has to be plugged in, and mine has batteries but only listens to FM. "Then, can you turn down the music and stop jumping? It's very noisy, sorry." "Jump?" He had a surprised expression, "What jump, jump?" "Just bouncing up and down." "Where does gymnastics have this part?" My head started to hurt and I wanted to forget it.But once you say it, you can't stop there.I had no choice but to hum the radio gymnastics melody of NHK Radio 1 while jumping up and down on the ground to show him. "Look, this is it, isn't it?" I said. "It's... isn't it? There is indeed this part, I didn't pay attention to it." "So," I said, "can this part be omitted? I can live with the rest." "No," he refused flatly, "How can I omit a part? I have been doing gymnastics for ten years, and I will unconsciously do everything until I do it. If I omit a part, I can't continue." "Then don't do it all." "That's not good, the one who gave orders to people." "Hey, I didn't give any orders. I just want to sleep until at least eight o'clock. Even if I wake up early, I hope I wake up naturally instead of being jolted awake, understand?" "Understood," he said. "What do you say?" "We get up at the same time and do gymnastics together, it's fine." I gave up and turned over and fell asleep.He never misses a day, continuing radio gymnastics. * She chuckled every time her roommate and his radio gymnastics were mentioned.Although I didn't mean to tell a joke, I ended up laughing myself. Seeing her smile, although only for a moment.It's been a long time too.She and I got off the tram at Yotsuya Station, and walked along the tram line towards Shiya.On a Sunday afternoon in May, the morning rain dried up before noon, and the low, sullen gray clouds were blown away by the southerly wind.The sharp green leaves of the cherry trees shimmered in the wind, and the sun brought the heat of early summer, and people took off their jackets or sweaters and draped them over their shoulders.On the tennis courts, young men in only shorts swing rackets whose metal frames glisten in the afternoon sun.Only the two nuns in black robes sitting side by side on the bench were talking happily, and looking at them, one knew that summer was still early. After walking for fifteen minutes, I was sweating profusely.I took off my thick cotton shirt and just wore a T-shirt.She had the long sleeves rolled up to the elbows of a pale gray tracksuit, an old one that had faded in the wash.It seems that she was wearing this dress a long time ago, but it may be just an illusion.I often have the illusion that everything happened in the past. "Do you like living with people?" she asked. "I don't know, I don't have much experience yet." She stopped at the water fountain to take a sip of water.He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, squatted down and tied his shoelaces. "Does it look like I'd like it?" she asked. "Live with someone?" "Yes," she said. "Many things will be more cumbersome than imagined, dense rules and radio gymnastics." I said. "Yes." She said, looking at me as if thinking.Her eyeballs were unusually clear. I have never noticed that its eyeballs are so clear, with an incredible sense of transparency, as if looking at the sky. "But I don't think this is good, that is..." She said, looking at me, biting her lips, lowering her eyelids, "I don't know, just whatever." The conversation ended, and she started walking. It was half a year before I met her again.In half a year, she was so thin that she was almost unrecognizable.The round cheeks that were originally characteristic became slender. In my impression, she was not so skinny. She was thinner and more beautiful than before.I want to say something about this, but I don't know what to say. She and I did not come to Yotsuya for any business.I met her by chance on the Central Line tram, and it happened that she and I had nothing special. "Get out of the car," she said.We got off the train together at Yotsuya Station.When there were only two of us left, we had nothing to say.Why she invited me to get off the tram, I don't know, we didn't talk much from the beginning. After getting off the tram, she walked forward quickly without saying a word.I quickened my pace as if chasing her, keeping a distance of about one meter from her.I followed her back, and she turned her head from time to time and spoke to me.Some I answered, some I didn't know how to answer, and some she couldn't hear at all and didn't care.After she said what she wanted to say, she just walked forward in silence.We turned right at Iidabashi, walked out from Queen Hori Road, passed the Jimbocho intersection, the Ochanomizu slope, bypassed Hongo, and walked along the Tokyo Land Tramway to Koma Xun.Quite a long way.When we reached Juxun, it was almost dusk. "Where is this?" she asked me. "Ku Xun," I said, "goes around." "How did you get here?" "You go, I just follow behind." We went to a soba restaurant near the station and ordered a set meal.From ordering to finishing eating, he didn't speak.I was exhausted from walking, but she was silent and lost in thought. "You have good physical strength." After eating noodles, I said. "Accident?" "Ok." "I was a long-distance runner in middle school. And my father likes to climb mountains. He climbed mountains every Sunday since he was a child, so he has good foot strength." "can not tell." she laughed. "Take you home," I said. "Thanks," she said, "it's fine for me to go back, don't mind." "I'm fine." "No need, I'm used to going back alone." In fact, when she said that, I was relieved.It took an hour for the tram to get to her place, and during that time it was not pleasant to sit side by side in silence.In the end she went back alone, and I paid for the meal instead. "Oh, maybe we can meet if we don't bother? Of course there is no particular reason for this." When saying goodbye.she says. "There's no reason at all," I said in surprise. Seeing my surprised expression, she blushed slightly. "I don't know how to talk," she struggled, pushing the sleeves of her tracksuit to her elbows and pulling them down again. The hairs on her hands were reflected in the light and dyed golden yellow. That's it." She leaned her hands on the table, closed her eyes, and thought of a better way to say it.But there is no better way to say it. "I don't mind," I said. "I can't speak well," she said. "It's always like this. I really can't speak well. Whenever I want to say something, different meanings come out of my throat all the time. Or different meanings, or completely opposite .In order to correct what I said before, I often make the scene more chaotic. It seems that my body is divided into two parts, chasing each other around a pillar. The correct meaning is always in the other part, and this part of me can never catch up.” She put her hands on the table and looked into my eyes. "I said, do you understand?" "Everyone has times like this," I said, "everyone has times when they're not sure what to say and feel uneasy." After listening to me, she showed a disappointed expression. "That's not the case at all," she said, and said nothing more. "I don't mind seeing you again," I said. "I'm always free anyway. It's better for your health to walk around like this." We parted silently.I say goodbye, she says goodbye. The first time I met her was when I was a sophomore in high school.She is the same age as me and goes to a famous church middle school.We met because my best friend was his girlfriend.They have known each other since elementary school, and the distance between their homes is only two hundred meters.Just like most childhood sweethearts, they don't realize that there should be any secrecy in their interactions with each other. They often go to each other's home to play and have dinner with each other's family members.My then girlfriend and I used to hang out with both of them, and it often ended up being just me, him and her, and my girlfriend disappeared without a trace.We later found out that was actually the best thing to do, from a standpoint, I was the guest, he was the host, and she was his respectable assistant and heroine, that's all. He is the best at socializing, with a chic smile on the surface, but he is very sincere on the inside.He is a good chatter who can understand the timing and cut into the jokes at the right time.The two of them often chatted about lighthearted jokes and lively scenes. Whenever one of them was silent, the other would immediately pick up the conversation. He could quickly find several interesting parts in the words of the less interesting opponent.When chatting with him, I often indulge in the illusion that I am a very interesting person.But once he left the table for a while, she and I immediately fell into a cold silence, and neither of us knew what to say.In fact, she and I had absolutely nothing in common.Most of us didn't say anything, we either put out our cigarette butts in the ashtray on the table, or quietly drank a sip of water, waiting for him to return to his seat.And as soon as he sat down, interesting topics would resume immediately.I only saw her once, three months after his funeral.I happened to have something to do, so I made an appointment at a cafe, and I had nothing to say after the matter was finished.I tried to find a topic, but I failed halfway, and her way of talking was very weird-she often got angry with me suddenly when I didn't even know why.Then I parted ways with her.Maybe she was angry because the last time she saw him was not her, but me.While that statement may not be appropriate, I can understand how she feels.If possible, I would very much like to change the situation for her, but it is impossible.Once it happens, no matter how hard you try, there is no way to change it. One afternoon in May, he and I went to the billiard room to play billiards for four weeks on our way from school (the correct term is skipping classes).I won the first week, he won the next three games, and I paid for the pool as a rule.He died that night in the garage.The exhaust hole of the Nissan 360 sports car was connected with a rubber tube and stuffed into the car, the gap between the windows was tightly taped, and then the engine was turned on.I don't know how long it will take until he dies.Anyway, by the time his parents, who had gone to visit their relatives, returned home, he was already dead.The car radio was on and there was a gas station receipt clipped to the windshield wipers.There was no suicide note, and no motive for suicide could be conceived.Since I was the last person to see him, I was called by the police to take a statement. "He's not acting weird, exactly as usual," I said.People who are about to commit suicide probably won't win three rounds of marbles in a row, so the police don't have a good impression of him and me.Nor do they think it is uncommon for high school students who skip class to play billiards to end up committing suicide.The newspaper published a short record, and soon the incident was over.The red Nissan 360 sports car was sold.For a while, a bouquet of white flowers was often placed on his seat in the classroom. After graduating from high school and coming to Tokyo, what I want to do is not to think too much about anything.The green velvet pinball table, the red Nissan N360 sports car, the white flowers on the classroom chairs all disappeared from my mind.The smoke from the tall chimneys of the crematorium, and the huge text box in the recording room of the police station are all forgotten.At first I forgot very well, very cleanly.However, there is a remnant in my heart. As time goes by, this airy remnant takes shape and becomes a concrete and simple thing.If I put it into speech, it's something like this: Death is not the opposite of life, but part of it. Putting it into words, it turned out to be a disgusting, mundane, old-fashioned saying.But I couldn't express it in words at that time, but I just felt that death existed in my body like air, in that piece of Wenzhen.It exists in the four marbles side by side on the pinball table.I breathe this thing called death into my lungs like dust and live it. Before that, I always thought that death was an independent existence.That is, "death will catch me at some point, but conversely, in the days before death, I have never been caught by death." This is a logical reasoning - live here, die there end. Since the night my friend died, I can no longer agree that death comes simply when it is time to die.Death is not the opposite of life. Death has already existed in me, and it has become a part that cannot be erased from my mind.On a May night, the same death that drove away my seventeen-year-old friend found me. I am very clear now.While figuring it out, I have thought hard, and hard thinking is a very difficult homework. At least for me at the age of eighteen, it was very difficult to find a point of view that could be compromised through hard thinking. * Since then I've been seeing her once or twice a month.Maybe it could be called a date, but I can't think of a better way to say it. She went to a small, tidy, reputable women's university outside Tokyo.Her residence is no more than ten minutes' walk from the school, and there is a cool ditch along the road.She doesn't seem to have made many friends, and she rarely speaks except intermittent words.Since she didn't say anything in particular, I hardly had anything to say either.When we meet, we just walk around.But not without some progress.By the end of the summer vacation, she had already walked beside me quite naturally.We walked side by side, uphill, downhill, across bridges, across roads.We kept walking, with no particular place to go or anything in particular to do.After walking for a while, I went into a tea shop to drink coffee, and continued walking after drinking coffee.Like slides one by one, season after season passed.Autumn came, and the dead beech leaves in the atrium of the dormitory covered the ground. Wearing a sweater, I could smell the breath of the new season. I bought a new pair of shoes.At the end of autumn, when the cold wind blows, her body is used to leaning against my wrist.Through the thick coat, I can feel her breath.But that's all. I kept putting my hands in the pockets of my coat and walked invariably.The soles of our shoes made no sound of footsteps, except for the dry sound of the dead sycamore leaves.What she wants is not to grab my wrist, but someone else's wrist.What she wants is not the warmth of me, but the warmth of someone else, at least that's what I think.I feel her eyes are more transparent than before, a transparency that goes nowhere.She stared at me from time to time for no reason.At this time, I felt a layer of sadness.Whenever she called, or when I went out on a Sunday morning date, I was often taunted by my dormmates, who thought I was in a relationship.I didn't want to explain it, and I didn't explain the reason, so I let it go.Every time I come back from a date, someone must ask me if I went to bed.Well, well, that's how I respond all the time. This is how I spent my eighteen years.The sun rises, the sun sets, the flag rises, the flag falls.In Zhoukouli, I dated the lover of my deceased friend.What I was doing, and what happened after that, I had no idea.I study Crowder, Russell, Egghuttin in drama class, they're all in the book.It also exists in the book.I have almost no friends, and I only know a few in the dormitory.I've been studying and people think I want to be a novelist, and I don't want to be a novelist at all, I don't want to be anything.Several times, I talked about this feeling with her, and she seemed to understand what I wanted to express.But I'm not very good at speaking, and as I said before, I'm always thinking of the right word, and the right word stays in utterly unreachable darkness.Every weekend night, I would sit in the dormitory hall and wait for her call.Sometimes she didn't call for three weeks, sometimes for two weeks.And I always sit on a chair in the hall on weekend nights and wait for her call.Most of the weekend night students went to play, and the hall was almost empty.I always sit in a silent space, staring at the light particles floating in the air, struggling to see myself clearly.Everyone is chasing people or objects, but I don't know what the future holds. I reach out and only touch a blank wall of air. I worked part-time at a small record store in Shinjuku that winter.For Christmas I gave her favorite Henry.Mancini's "dear heart" record as a gift.I wrapped the presents in Christmas tree wrapping paper and pink ribbon.She made me a pair of woolen gloves, the fingers are a little shorter, but still warm.She didn't come home for Christmas, and I went to her place for dinner during the New Year.A lot happened that winter.At the end of January, my roommate had a high fever of 40 degrees and fell into a coma for two days, and my date with her was ruined.He looked like he was dying, and I couldn't let it go.No one else seemed to take care of him except me.I bought ice cubes, put them in plastic bags to make ice pillows, wiped his sweat with ice towels, and took his temperature every hour.He had a fever all day long, but he got up early the next morning as if nothing had happened, and his body temperature dropped to thirty-six point two degrees. "Strange," he said, "I've never had a fever in my life." "You still have a fever," I said, showing him the two concert tickets I didn't go to. "Fortunately, it's just a coupon," he said. In February, it snowed several times. At the end of February, I quarreled with the senior students in the dormitory over a small matter.The opponent's head hit the concrete wall, but luckily it didn't cause a big wound.I was called to the dormitory room for training, and because of this, the feeling of living in the dormitory became worse and worse. I am nineteen years old and a sophomore in college.In a few subjects, the grades are almost C or D, with very few Bs.She passed all subjects and successfully entered the second grade.The seasons cycle again.In June, she turned twenty.She couldn't understand at all that she was twenty years old.For me, for her, we were always between eighteen and nineteen.Eighteen comes nineteen, nineteen comes eighteen—this is understandable.But she is already twenty, and I will be twenty the following winter.Only the dead man is seventeen forever. It rained on her birthday.I bought cakes in Shinjuku and took the train to her place.The tram was crowded and wobbly, and by the time I got to her place, the cake had crumbled like a Roman ruin.Anyway, we put in twenty candles, lit matches, drew the curtains, turned off the lights, and there was still a bit of a birthday vibe after all.She opened a bottle of wine, had cake, and we ate briefly. "It's kind of funny to be twenty," she said.When the meal was over, we cleared the dishes and drank the remaining wine while sitting on the bed.The speed I drink one, she can drink two. It was rare for her to say a lot that day.Things about childhood, school, and family are dense and delicate.When she talked about A, she did not know when to include B.Soon it started from B but then talked about C, and it continued without stopping.I tried to interrupt, but gave up after all.I play the record, and when it's over, I put another one down, play it all over, and go back to the first one.The rain outside the window kept falling, time passed slowly, and she was the only one who kept talking.When the clock hit eleven o'clock, I really started to feel uneasy.She has been talking non-stop for four hours.It was almost time for the last bus home and I didn't know what to do.Let her finish talking, or wait for an interruption? I'm a little confused, she really said a lot. "It's late, sorry, but it's time to go," I said, "let's get back in touch." I don't know if she heard it, but she stopped for a while, but started talking again.I had no choice but to light a cigarette. In that case, let her say enough, and then I have to figure it out.But she finally said stop.When I was alert and stopped, she had already finished speaking.The head of the story was twisted off, floating in mid-air.Properly speaking, she did not stop talking, but disappeared suddenly.Although she wanted to continue, there was nothing suddenly, as if the words had fallen somewhere.Her lips parted slightly, she stared blankly at me, her sight seemed to be separated by an opaque film, I was alert that I had done something wrong. "I didn't mean to interrupt," I said carefully, "but it's too late, and..." Tears welled up in her eyes, and within a second they rolled down her cheeks and landed on the record jacket.Once the tears burst, she couldn't stop, and she leaned her hands on the bed, crying like vomiting.I reached out and touched her shoulder lightly.Her body trembled weakly, and I hugged her tightly almost intuitively, she leaned against me, crying silently, the hot breath and tears from her breath wet my shirt.Her index finger groped on my back hesitantly as if looking for something.I supported her body with my left hand, and stroked her fine hair with my right hand.For a long time, she remained in the same position, waiting for her to stop crying.She never stopped crying. * Tonight, I slept with her.I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but what else? It's been a really long time since I slept with a girl.And it was the first time she slept with someone.I tried to ask why I didn't sleep with him... This question is really inappropriate, and she didn't answer.Her hands left my body, her back to me, looking out the window at the rain.I look at the ceiling.Smoking.By dawn, the rain had stopped.She fell asleep with her back to me, maybe she was awake all the time, but to me it was all the same.As always, silence enveloped her completely.I looked at Bai Zhe's back without moving, and finally gave up and got up from the bed. It was as if time stopped suddenly.Last night's record sleeves were scattered on the floor, a half-crushed cake was left on the table, a dictionary and a list of French verbs were on the desk, and a calendar was taped to the wall—no photography or painting, just a digital calendar.The calendar is blank, without writing, and without any markings.I picked up the clothes that had fallen under the bed.The chest of the shirt was still cold and wet, and she smelled her hair close to her face.I wrote "I hope to call soon" on the note pad on the desk.Walk out of the room and quietly close the door. No calls for a week.Since her residence didn't answer the phone, I wrote a long letter.I try to express my feelings as truthfully as possible. "...I don't know a lot of things. I try to figure it out, but it's a waste of time. As time goes by, I don't understand where I am. But I try not to let myself think too deeply. Think When you get too deep, the world becomes very unreal. And the ending mostly just pushes the people around you somewhere, and I don’t want to push others into a corner at all. I really want to see you, but as mentioned above, is it right or not, I do not know either……" A letter with content like this. In July, the reply came.Very short letter. ... I decided to take a year off from school.This is the case for the time being, so I don't think I will go back to school again.The so-called suspension of school is just a matter of formalities.I'm going to move tomorrow. It seems to be in a hurry, but it's actually something I've wanted to do for a long time.Although I wanted to talk to you several times, I still couldn't.Talking to people is a scary thing.A lot has happened, please don't mind it.No matter what happened, or what didn't happen, that's how it should end.Maybe I hurt you by saying this, and if so, I'm sorry.All I'm trying to say is, don't blame yourself for me, or blame someone else, I owe it all to myself.I confused you, but this is... this is the limit. I heard that there is a good nursing home in the mountains of Kyoto. It is not a hospital, but a facility where people can move freely.In short, I want to go there first to calm down.For trivial matters, I may write again when I have a chance.This letter is poorly written, although I have rewritten it ten times.This year, with you by my side, I am really... really indescribably grateful.Please believe it... I can't say more.You gave me the record, I have been listening carefully.Maybe we can still, in this uncertain world, maybe we will meet again.At that time, let's talk. ? goodbye I have read her letter hundreds of times.Every time I reread it, I can't help but feel sad.Just like the sadness I felt when I was stared at by her.I couldn't take this feeling anywhere, or end it.It was like the wind, so shapeless and weightless that I couldn't even keep it in myself.The scenery receded slowly before my eyes, and the conversations of people around me couldn't reach my ears at all.On weekend nights, I sat in a chair in the hall unchanged and let the time pass.No one called me, and I didn't want to call anyone.I don't know what else to do but sit there.I would always turn on the TV, pretend to watch a baseball broadcast, and stare into a trance-like space between myself and the TV, and I would divide that space into two parts, and divide the divided part into two parts, over and over again Repeat this action.In the end I made a very small space that can be stored in the palm of my hand. At ten o'clock, I turn off the TV, go back to my room, and go to bed. * At the end of the month, my roommate gave me an empty bottle of instant coffee.There is a firefly, a blade of grass, and a little water in the bottle, and the cap is pierced with a few holes for air circulation.很久没有靠近瞧萤火虫了，当周围明亮时，它看起来只像水边的小黑虫罢了，但仔细瞧，确实是一只萤火虫。每当萤火虫尝试攀上光滑的坡璃瓶壁，就不断跌下来。 「在院子抓的，大概是从附近大饭店的庭园不小心飞到我们这里。」 他一边将衣服和笔记本塞进背袋一边说着。暑假已放了好几周，留在宿舍里的大概只有我们两个。我不想回家，他则是有实习科目，不过实习一完，他也要回家了。 「送给女孩子不错，一定会恨高兴。」他说。 「谢了。」我说。 黄昏的宿舍悄然无声，国旗从旗杆降下。餐厅开了灯，因为学生人数减少，餐厅只开半边的灯。关掉右半边，只开左半边，空气里传来晚餐的气味，奶油汤的味道。我拿着装萤火虫的空瓶，来到屋顶。屋顶没有人影，晒衣绳挂着一件忘了收的白衬衫，像蛇的蜕皮般在晚风中飘摇着。我走到角落生绣的铁梯，爬上蓄水塔。圆形的蓄水塔，白天里吸饱了太阳的热量，现在还温温的。我靠着狭小的栏杆坐下，眺望天际，缺了一角的明月浮现眼前，右手边是新宿的街道，左手边是池袋街道。汽车行列的头灯，宛如鲜亮的河流巡行一条又一条街道。城市的声音柔和地混合，云朵般飘浮在街道的上空。瓶底的萤火虫发出微光。但那光芒太过微弱，颜色十分浅淡。记忆里，萤火虫光芒似乎应更加明亮，在夏夜的黯异中晶亮地飞舞才对。 也许萤火虫已奄奄一息吧。我抓着瓶口稍稍摇晃，萤火虫被瓶壁碰撞几下之后飞了起来。然而光芒还是一样微弱。也许只是我记忆的缘故，只是我自己一厢情愿，而萤火虫实际上并没有那么光亮也许在我记忆里，四周应更加黑暗才是。究竟，最后一次看到萤火虫是在何时?在我记忆里，只有暗夜里的水声。砖瓦筑成的水闸。以轮子旋转开闭的那种水闸。岸边浓密的牧草覆盖了河流，周遭十分黑暗，在水闸的水溜处，有上百只的萤火虫飞舞。点点汇聚的黄色光芒，宛如燃烧的火药般映照水面。到底是何时的事?还有，在哪里?想不起来。眼前、过去，时间前后混乱。我闭上眼，深呼吸，整理自己思绪。我初次在日落以后攀上这座水塔。风的声音清晰可闻，轻吹的风，却在我的身上留下强烈的痕迹。我紧闭双眼，一如记忆里的当时，溶入夏夜的黑暗之中。时间缓缓经过，夜色终于包覆了大地。都市之光再怎么强调其存在，夜色仍将全部带走。我打开瓶盖，放在蓄水塔边缘，等待萤火虫逸出。萤火虫彷佛没有把握置身何处，踉踉跄跄在瓶身绕一圈，稍停在墙上剥落的油漆上。一下往右摸索前进，一下往左转，像要确定什么似的，萤火虫花了好长的时间爬上钉帽，静静蹲踞着，彷佛停止气息般，动也不动。我靠着栏杆坐着，静静凝视着萤火虫。很长的时间，我们静止不动。只有风在我俩之间，河流般地穿梭而过。榉木叶子在黑暗里互相摩 挲。 我一直等待。 过了许久，萤火虫起飞，忽然想到什么似的开始展翅。像找回失去的时间一般，在蓄水塔边缘描出一道弧形，稍事停留在风微弱处，一瞬间，穿过栏杆，漂浮于夜色的闇黑，朝东飞去。萤火虫飞走之后，那光线的轨迹在我的心中长期留存。闭上眼睛，厚密的黑暗之中，微微的光芒宛如无处可去的游魂，徘徊不已。黑暗中，我几度尝试伸出手指，却什么也接触不到。一丝微弱的光芒，永远停在指尖的稍前端。