Chapter 3 3. Prelude to death

3. Prelude to death 14 In my mind, late at night.The doctor who was awakened by a burst of shouting and knocking on the door was Dr. F. On a sultry summer night, before the arrival of the ambulance, the panicked people suddenly thought of the doctor. I thought, could he be Doctor F? It is said that a nearby doctor rushed to the painter's wife's bed in the hope of snatching her from death.When I heard this rumor, Dr. F's snow-white hair immediately appeared in front of my eyes.So on writing night, the doctor who rushed over was F: forty-seven or eight, with gray hair. But it's too late.

F felt the pulse of the painter's wife and looked into her eyes... In fact, as soon as Dr. F touched her body, he knew that it was too late, it was too late.It is certain that she has done what she wanted to do: her pupils dilate, her heartbeat disappears, and her body temperature drops from moment to moment. Doctor F stared at the beautiful and pale face again for a second, then turned and left the bed. "How long?" Doctor F asked. Someone replied: "I heard it was fine ten minutes ago." The person who answered looked into the other room, where the painter sat silently.

"What did she eat?" "Could it be sleeping pills?" The person who answered looked at the painter again, but the painter still didn't respond. "No, it's impossible." Dr. F said, "There are no such powerful sleeping pills." Dr. F looked around and picked up a small glass bottle in the wastebasket. "Was this little bottle here just now? Didn't one of you throw it away?" Everyone shook their heads. There is no logo on the vial. F unscrewed the cap of the bottle, sniffed it, spread a sheet of paper on the table, turned the bottle upside down and licked it a few times, and a few crumbs of something fell out. F picked up a piece of debris with a camera, looked at it for a long time under the light, and then put it back into the small glass bottle.

"What does she do?" Dr. F asked. Someone replied: "Teacher." "Teach biology?" "No, teach history." Doctor F didn't say anything more, just stood there helpless like everyone present. F only knows one more thing than the others: she really wants to die, and her desire to die has been around for a long time. In another room, other people accompanied the painter.The painter sat motionless, his face was not necessarily better than his wife's, but his eyes were more perplexed than the dead man's.I feel that the depth of the confusion, if it does not lead to madness, is bound to lead to increasing confusion.

In the two rooms, people stood in two solitary groups, respectively surrounding the two silent people. It took a long time before the two arcs became loose, deformed, and wandered disorderly. In the two rooms and in the corridor, the walls are almost invisible, and the works of painters are hung everywhere. Dr. F couldn't care less about looking at those paintings, but he could still feel the turmoil in them—I couldn't tell exactly where, but there was always wisps of piercing cold colors that seemed to be floating, and even the sultry summer night couldn't counteract it. It is the hottest season of the year, and there are so many people in the house, even though it is late at night, it is still not cool.The windows were all open, and the occasional fragrance of flowers was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of human sweat.People walked up and down expressionlessly, scattered.The crowd used the lowest voice to inquire and describe what happened intermittently in the room, in the corridor, on the balcony, and at the bend of the stairs.Occasionally, it is always possible to hear these words in a cycle: ...why...who...is it...how could it be...don't know...but why...oh...then what about that person... No, I don't know....But as soon as these slightly clear words appeared, they seemed to be immediately blocked and absorbed by the stagnant air.Silence followed.It was the quietest time before dawn, with whispers and panting, fine and heavy.From time to time, people listened to the news of the ambulance.

Doctor F turned his back to the crowd and the budding gossip, and kept watching the dead man lying in the corner.That corner is dark and quiet, and there seems to be an edge where it connects with the surrounding world, as if there is another kind of existence overlapping there, or the time and space of this world has opened an exit there, and the female teacher's form and spirit are hiding there In another time and space, another dimension is taking her away.Death, Dr. F can't remember how many times he has seen it, but every time it surprises him and makes him doubt. Hope, maybe there is still happiness, so quickly, simply, and easily, all of them are reduced to 0?What is death?And the soul, where is the soul that just passed away?I even saw Dr. F look around for a bit.What is death, maybe just like what is love, I don't know where but there must be an answer.

But this time, it was the female teacher's melancholy but distant, weak and decisive face that impressed Dr. F even more.Also: she was fully dressed, she had chosen for herself a modest and elegant outfit.In the future, when Dr. F is about to leave this world, I don't think he will miss this woman, or this face that has faded from the blood and the mortal world. ——The reasons for my judgment are: When the siren of the ambulance finally appeared in the depths of the night, and everyone panicked again, Doctor F turned around abruptly, but stopped for a while, and said, "If you don't want more eyes to eat up her dignity, In my opinion, just send all the ambulances back." I think that's what Dr. F said.He said this in a low voice, very slowly, but I think the painter could still hear him in the other room.

Then, Dr. F squeezed out of the crowd.Before he left, he put the small glass bottle in the most conspicuous place on the table and said, "The police are here, hand them over." 15 Dr. F came home, and his wife told him: The painter's name is Z.His wife, yes, the female teacher is called O.The lady went on to tell him that she had long seen that the woman was not quite normal. "From where?" "Nowhere," said Madame, "not necessarily from nowhere." "It turns out I was right," said the lady. Madam said: "Don't look at her being so quiet and easy-going on the surface. But she is absent-minded."

"Absent?" "Yes, have you noticed?" said Madame, "she is very pretty, but she has something on her mind." Madam said: "She has something on her mind, and we can all see it." "Who? Who? How many?" "Me! Did I lie to you? Of course there are many people!" The wife told him: Many people know that the female teacher always goes to the deserted garden to read books alone.Many people have seen it. Very late, she came out of the garden alone and went home. As the lady was about to go back to sleep, she told him that the female teacher put the book on her lap, and sometimes she didn't read it, but just looked away with empty eyes.But no one else was with her.

The wife told him: The female teacher is always alone in the old cypress forest.She was always sitting under that old dead cypress tree.Nobody remembers when it started, she was always going there.The grass is deep and flourishing there.There, the tree is very tall, the crown is huge, and the leaves are dense, but even so, it is not obvious that Yiyi is dead, and she often sits under that tree.There are lights there at night, the surroundings are dark but the lights are bright.Some people saw her there even in rainy and snowy days.No matter if she bury her head in the book, or put the book on her lap and stare at her with wide eyes, she won't see you when you walk past her.

The lady said, "I guessed right, she has something on her mind." The lady said, "I walk through the garden sometimes when I go to and from get off work. I have spoken to her a few times." Madame told Dr. F. that she had spoken to her several times in the street, at the station, perhaps somewhere else.In fact, the female teacher is very easy-going. She smiles very sweetly, even like a child. "But I can see everything," said the lady. Madam: "She seems to like talking to you, but soon you find that she is thinking about other things. She doesn't know where you are talking, and you can't figure out where she is thinking." Mrs.: "I'm sure this person is not normal." Madam: "Don't you believe it?" Then someone knocked on the door again. 16 A tired policeman, two still shaking street activists.The two trembling people took turns introducing the identity, surname, position, and purpose of a tired man.The cop tried to block a yawn, maybe a sneeze, with his fist. The policeman asked: "In your opinion, this is definitely not a homicide?" "I'm not a forensic doctor," F said. "We know that. But we also want to hear your opinion. You were the first doctor on the scene." "Everything was done in an orderly and poised manner." "That is to say, do you think it was definitely not murder?" "If it is, then the victim must have cooperated." "What's the meaning?" "In my opinion, this is another matter that has nothing to do with the law." "What did you say that has nothing to do with the law?" "A person who doesn't want to live anymore, is there any law that stipulates what he should do? This is just a story... involving a fish." F pointed to the small glass bottle in the policeman's hand. "Fish?" The tired man unscrewed the bottle cap and looked at the few pieces of debris inside. "Is this a fish?" "I think so." "What fish?" "A beautiful fish. But its guts and skin are poisonous. It's more poisonous than cyanide." "how do you know?" "I just happened to know." "What kind of fish is it?" "The chemist may be able to tell you its exact name. Puffer fish, I guess. "Where is this fish?" "The sea, only the sea." "Are we far from the sea here?" "It certainly didn't swim here by itself, don't you think?" "Oh, of course." "The fish has been roasted, or dried, and ground, and it seems to have been preserved for a long time." The police officer tightened the cap and finally let out a yawn, not a sneeze. After a tired person and two trembling people left, Mrs. F continued to tell her husband: "It is said that this matter started a few days ago..." Doctor F opened the curtains, and it was daylight.On the balcony, the tuberoses are shrinking their yellow petals, and the morning glory is opening its purple buds. 17 Obscure morning light emerged from behind several huge black shadows.In other words, the dark night sky began to fade from the corners of some giants. It is said that a few nights ago, a friend, yes, a man, came to the home of the painter and the female teacher.Now, no one can guess what this person is all about.Now, that man has disappeared without a trace... At the foot of the huge buildings, the dim street lights were suddenly extinguished, and the power was obviously insufficient. After the street lights were extinguished, the dark blue night was still heavy and heavy, with layers upon layers.The wide long street in my impression is like a dead worm.The gray buildings stretch in different shades, like endless barren hills. Where there was glass began to glow, gray and shiny, like large and small salt crystals. On the street, the crowd who had just woken up was still sparse, dull, and moving slowly.The city is still very quiet.No birds chirping either. It is said that the man was a friend of the female teacher O, or a mutual friend of her and the painter Z.That shouldn't be wrong.The man came around six o'clock, and Z and O had dinner with him.They drank together until late, probably because they missed the bus because it was too late, and the man stayed in another room No birds, nowhere, long gone. We had to wait for the city to wake up by itself. Some said the man was from far away, but others said he might live in this city. It is said that during the entire dinner, the three people's conversations were nothing special, very ordinary, even plain, and they were very polite to each other.The wine was also dull.Although the wine was drunk very late, O and the man didn't really talk about anything, they just asked each other about other people's affairs and told about other people's affairs.The three of them were just chatting together.I have talked about some unbelievable rumors, such as the supernatural powers of the human body, such as flying saucers and aliens, such as the possibility that there may be higher intelligence in the universe, and it is said that only at this time O asked seriously—how does the higher intelligence exist? what can i doIt is said that the wine was drunk until very late, and when the man was about to leave, he found that the time for the last bus had passed... When the morning came and there were no birdsong, no one could tell what year it had started.People rarely notice that there are no birdsong in the morning.There is no bird habitat here.Even the crows fled elsewhere. The dawn once a day seems to be a burst of desire rolled up from the stomach.Behind the shadowy buildings, from the hinterland of this vast city, a huge stomach or a huge engine began to groan, roar, and clatter, and the sound spread, accumulated, collided, Soaring into the sky and flying away... But if you go in, into the streets as sticky as the retina, you won't find it, neither the hungry stomach nor the perpetually moving machine; You just join in with a faint "gululu". You just can't believe it.This is a really strange thing.But you have to believe it.Legends are everywhere: that night, the husband woke up, the wife was not in bed, the door was open, the painter got up and went into the hall, the toilet door was open, the kitchen door was open, and the balcony door was open.Now you should have guessed which door is closed... Between the buildings, there are canyon-like cracks, and the light of day rises and expands from those places.The domesticated pigeons became the only birds, their grandparents were brought into the city because of an accidental loss, and they have been flying here and there ever since, singing hummingly and sadly, in the air Draw some enclosures, large or small.From the peaks and valleys of the building, you can see a regular and dirty river. The black and green foam drifts on the river like a big sampan with no end and no tail, and gently disappears among the low houses like bunkers. Fumigated in the brilliance, rising with the smoke of thousands of households.The chirping of cicadas near and far began to be loud.The old people looked back on the past in the song of cicadas, and the young people excitedly walked out of the house to run around for the good dream of last night. The female teacher was with the other man, yes, only the door of that room was closed.It was very quiet inside the closed door, with occasional murmurs.There are different opinions.They—O and the other man, of course, might not necessarily be in bed, but what happened between them, and to what extent, differ.Because when the neighbors woke up from their dreams and came running, they saw that all the doors were open, the painter was yelling at his wife, and the female teacher was silent. 0 stared at her husband sluggishly, without explaining anything.The other man stood nearby, his face was pale, and he disappeared soon after, and slipped away at some point... No one but the painter can attest to the details of the time.But the details don't matter. It is said that after this, the female teacher only said one sentence until she died, and she only insisted on one point: she only loves painters in this life.Painter, understand?her husband. At the mention of the man, the escaped fellow, it is said that the governess only half-smiled. Someone said: I have never seen her smile so disdainfully and indifferently.Someone said: It was hard to believe that she would laugh so contemptuously on that occasion.Some people said that she also said: "That person, no one needs to worry about him... The gray earthworm moves like a colorful centipede, and the colorful traffic looks like gorgeous snakes.When a hoarse voice in the resplendent smoke imitates sorrow and sings excitedly all over the corners, the daytime of the city officially begins. The morning bell at the station, once and for all, is clear and melodious. A few days later, yes, late last night, when there were other people present, when the painter and his two friends were talking in another room, the female teacher entered the bedroom, closed the door, and found a small glass bottle , unscrewed the bottle cap calmly, and poured some crumbs of something into his mouth. It is said to be a fish.A very venomous but rather beautifully colored fish, dried and ground up, probably long preserved. It is said that when the painter and his two friends found out, the female teacher was already having difficulty breathing.She gestured to the painter to look at the suicide note on the table.When he bent down to his wife, Z's eyes were full of confusion, never before. Oh, she stared into the painter's eyes until she died, and said with all her strength, "No, you don't...don't, you mustn't..." I don't know what she means by this, what does "don't" mean , what if she doesn't want him? 18 It is impossible not to spread such things.Opinions vary about O's death, her relationship with the man, and whether she still loved her husband as she said. O's lack of explanation from the beginning to the end makes people tend to believe that there was indeed an escapade between her and that man.The man's escape gave this speculation an upper hand. What about a woman who, without telling her husband, is with another man late at night behind closed doors—not simply with him, of course?Generally, it is the woman who no longer loves her husband.The most common and simplest interpretation is that either she is inescapably infatuated with another man, or she is taking an over-the-top approach to the relationship. But among 0's friends, no one does not think that 0 has always been strict in sexual behavior and believes in traditional values.The facts obviously don't support the prevailing guess. If 0 was the kind of woman who could sleep with a man casually, she wouldn't die so decisively, especially calmly.Her friends said that if she needed someone, she could have had more than one more wonderful lover, but all she needed was a lover and more than one friend.Her friends said that some of her friends of the opposite sex had fantasized about her for years, and she knew, they knew she knew, she knew they knew she knew.But the events of that summer night happened after all.What happened to Zero, with such a humble and cowardly man (who ran away so quickly and was never seen again), caused pain not only to those who had admired her for many years, but also to her. All the friends were puzzled.Maybe "mean, humble and cowardly" is just a prejudice born of jealousy?Maybe that man really has some extraordinary twist, whichever woman he likes, which woman is doomed?Maybe 0 is really obsessed with him, in love with him? But people who understand O (it seems that they just think they understand) believe without exception that at least in love, O is a person who cannot escape surprises. Besides, since she has decided to die, why should she lie?In O's suicide note, there is only one sentence addressed to the painter, which is still the only sentence she emphasized in the last few days: I only love you in this world. If I have the strength to love again, I will still love you. choose you.I would rather believe the truth of this statement.My gut told me that was the only thing she wanted to say in the end, and the only thing she could articulate.Just like a Zen saying, whether you can understand it or not depends on the comprehension of the listener. I didn't doubt it, and none of her friends doubted that O was just the kind of person who could never maintain a relationship with someone she didn't love, not even for a minute.In this regard, she does not follow the tradition, not at all, but recognizes postmodern concepts from her nature.The impression she left on everyone from her previous divorce was quite deep. 19 Seven years ago, when 0 met the painter, fell in love with the painter, and did not know that the painter could not fall in love with her, she left her then husband.It was the third time after O went to the painter's studio to watch him work, he came out of that simple and dim studio, and suddenly walked into the afternoon sun in April, when the mature poplar flowers were floating around and drooping everywhere, maybe It was the strong and illusory breath of the poplar flowers, and O felt dizzy in his heart (not in his head). This dizziness does not make people fall down, but makes people feel that space and all things are floating, and everything is trembling Shocking and drifting away boundlessly.I felt that she wanted to shout, run, and cry. In my impression, she resisted the sudden excitement and sat down on the side of the road, hoping to find out what was behind this never-before-seen emotion. what.Sitting there for nearly three hours, there was only one thing she could figure out: she had never loved before, she had never really experienced love before. When the sun is about to go down.Someone asked her in her ear, do you want a ticket to a fake sleeper somewhere?She looked around and found that she was sitting near the train station. (She felt mysterious about this matter until her death. The painter's studio is ten kilometers away from the train station. How did he get there? Later, she often thought that it might be an illusion, and the subsequent trip was just a dream, but she Obviously still kept that ticket.) She bought the refunded ticket.She called the school and said that her grandmother, who was thousands of miles away, was critically ill. For various reasons, "I had to go."Not being able to lie and not being able to lie are two different things.Then.She was so thoughtful that she called her husband at the time. "Business trip?" "Yes." "Is it in such a hurry?" "Yes, the train is about to leave." "Where are you going?" She took out the ticket again and looked at it before remembering the place, which came to her ten minutes ago. Say it doesn't exist. She didn't know and didn't even have time to think: whether the painter would love her, whether he would accept her love.It doesn't seem to matter at this moment.She sat on the train all night, during which she seemed to be asleep and didn't think about anything.When the car stopped at dawn, she got out of the car ignorantly. She thought she had arrived at that place, and got out of the car with the people who got off the car.As the train moved on, she realized that this was another place she had never heard of—a small town whose name was completely different from the one on the ticket.She sat down on the empty platform and sat for a while before she slowly woke up.Was it the quiet dawn of the small town that dissipated her dreams?Or was she dreaming of the dawn silence of this small town?I think that's not an important thing either. She walks aimlessly in the town.Where is the painter now?What are you doing and thinking?have no idea.But that still doesn't matter.She didn't come here to find anything, she came here to escape.To flee from a form that did not fit with her dreams, from a state that did not fit with her true will.what is that?That's what I've come to understand: she's running away from the place she once called home, from the man she's been in bed with, from her legal husband, from an innocent man .Fleeing, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, these words came to her mind, she even heard them in voice.Hurt, torment, guilt, to an innocent person and to herself, she has thought of it all, she has seen it as a picture, she has smelled it as a smell, and she knows it is destined to become a reality It can never be destroyed.But there is no other way.It had to be so, there was no other way, just as the smell in that humble studio could never be extinguished.A long time later, during the many years when she became a painter's wife, she would often think of this town, and at that time she could smell two kinds of smells: the fresh air in the distant town, and the thick oil paint in the painter's cottage. As for the scenery in the small town, she has never seen it clearly, so in her memory or in my impression, there are only a few illusory and deserted small streets, or simply some geometric patterns with uneven arrangement and monotonous color. shape.By the time the sun came up, she had reached the edge of the town.She climbed up a section of the ruined city wall, and saw a sea of ​​green as vast as the sea; it was a sunflower that hadn’t grown up yet, and the fresh and immature leaves rolled up and down to reach the sky, and the fresh green shone in the morning wind and the morning sun. Like the tide, like the waves, as if the ground is shaking.She knelt down like no one else when she was a child, knelt in the weeds along the city wall, and stared blankly.She seemed to have seen this scene before, but she didn't know where it was, and she couldn't remember where she might have seen it.Maybe it is in the past, maybe it is in the future, the past is left in the dream, or the future has entered the dream ahead of time.I have had a similar experience: a situation, or a feeling, as if it has happened, happened or experienced before, but I can’t remember the reason, and I even know that it is impossible to see it, but it is undoubtedly so familiar .How can this be explained?Maybe it was seen in a previous life?But more likely it was a long-forgotten dream, one not remembered from the start, or a daydream - the future.Creation in your mind.But the dream scene became an emotion that permeated the mind and did not stay in the brain, and it was difficult to get it back with the intellect. The female teacher O is kneeling in the weeds, she is very lucky-I found a dream scene for her, so a long-lost dream of hers came unexpectedly: the green is also swaying like this, the The sky is also so vast and boundless, but there is no sound at all, the sky is full of brilliant clouds, a white bird flies into the picture stretchingly, its wings open and close without making any sound. From this side of the sky to the other side of the sky, there is an old house on the far horizon, and the bird is flying towards that, the bird flies freely, gracefully and clearly, and flies freely Not exaggerating, but the old house is quite illusory and ethereal, as if it is just a condensation of breath, only the breath of the old house really exists, and the bird is flying towards there, the white bird, flying There is no sound at all...Maybe she told me about this dream, maybe she didn't.But in my impression or on the night of writing, there is clearly such a dream scene that belongs to her.Is this my dream or the dream of female teacher O?It doesn't matter.Is it a past experience or a vision for the future?It doesn't matter.But the appearance of the old house in the dream can only be described with hope after waking up.I sometimes guess that there must be such an old house in O's hometown in the south, or in her longing for the south. O couldn't figure out the reason for this dream, and couldn't remember at what age she started having it, but it was very early, the bird flew into her dream very early, and the breath of the old house flowed into her It must have been earlier in her dream. She had had this dream many times, but she hadn't had it again for a long time. O stayed in that town for three days.On the last day, she had that dream again. The difference was that the dream turned into a painting—a painting hanging in an art gallery.The painting hangs in an unnoticed corner. The art museum is a splendid and elegant modern building. The halls and corridors are stacked one after another. How can it be impossible to get out? There is no one there, only her own on the bright and wide ground. Shadows, footsteps, and the sound of footsteps were gradually swallowed up by the huge void, but she couldn't find the painting, and she couldn't find it after searching everywhere, but she could smell its breath, a vague and definite breath that permeated everywhere. Can smell... "Is it the smell of that old house?" I asked O many years later. "No, no, not at all," she said, "it's nothing like that breath." When she woke up, she thought she understood the meaning of this dream all at once.She sat there in a daze for a while, wondering what it was to be so obsessed with the painter?Is worship?or love?She believed it to be the latter; and if it wasn't love still, she couldn't imagine what it could be.In the next seven years, she will continue to follow this logic and continue to come to the same conclusion until she dies.until death.But the first time she felt the temptation to die was when she came to the above conclusion.She left that small town and came back, and the closer the train was to the end, the more death seemed to be a gentle strange bird (of course it was not white, and it couldn't fly) coquettishly in her heart, and she couldn't get rid of it.She has seen death, and I have seen it. I saw an old man die at the age of seven, a middle school teacher jumped into a chimney more than ten meters high at the age of fifteen, and a woman died of dystocia in the countryside at the age of twenty. Many men died of landslides, at first they were horrified, panicked, bottomless annihilation and grief, then just occasional depression, and then without thinking too much, death became the same as life, and it became a perennial question. Think again. But O has never been like this, the thought of death gives birth to strands of tenderness, and he feels relaxed and peaceful, like a flute and flute in the quiet night that lulls people into dreams.No, no, O definitely didn't mean that if the painter didn't accept her love, she would die, no, absolutely not, but rather: if her then husband insisted on refusing to divorce her, she thought she would never survive.As for the painter, she hadn't even had time to think about whether she needed to confess her love to him. 20 She goes home.Seeing the man who was still her husband, her first thought was: Where does she sleep?The most pressing question is: where does she sleep tonight?She could no longer spend the night in the same room as the man in front of her.This is certainly not a question of law, nor even a question of feelings, conscience, or desires.If it is about feelings, she is even willing to die to comfort him now, to make him happy, to protect him from harm, and to make him happy.In terms of conscience, she has no responsibility to the painter now, so she can share the same bed with this man who is still her husband.What about desire?She looked at the man in front of her, and believed that she had no physical dislike for him in the past and still does not have any physical dislike for him. If she changed her mood, she believed that she could still have sex with him.But not now.Will it never be possible from now on?Maybe, but don't know.why?It seems to be simply a matter of form, a formal hindrance, or a matter of ritual, a misplacement of ritual, at least for now.It's like saying, you must never use a funeral ceremony at a wedding, and you must never play a wedding march at a funeral.At this time, form is crucial.But she herself couldn't figure out why she valued form so much, and treated a form so harshly.Probably because: For example, a liar, others do not know that he is cheating.But it is impossible for him not to know what he is doing, so that he cannot deceive himself in the same way.This is the key point—any form is to speak, it is a public or secret confession, and a form either expresses a true meaning or sells a true meaning.You can close your eyes and listen, but you cannot close the eyes and ears of your soul. No one can escape this form of confession.For example, sex, that naked meeting, is either a naked confession of the sincerity and frankness of love, or a naked declaration of contempt and obliteration of love. "I'm so tired I want to go to bed early, I'll sleep in the living room by myself tonight." She dared not look at her husband when she said this, dared not look at anything or anywhere, and turned abruptly into the living room in a way that must have been weak and trivial and embarrassed and funny.That night she hated herself so much and cursed herself that death flapped its wings and chattered endlessly in her heart all night.She thought, this must be love?That form of avoiding a legal marriage must be reserved for love?Then she may have been in love with this innocent person beside her in the past, but it is definitely not love now?But how much she hopes that he will not be hurt, and that he is happy and happy-this is true, it is undoubtedly true, isn't this kind of feeling love?what is it then?Oh, death, why do people think death is the most terrible thing?Like a fifteen or six-year-old girl, she asked herself with fear and confusion or excitement: What is love?Love is not a law, yes, no.Love is not conscience, yes, at least it does not begin and be determined by conscience.Love is more than physical pleasure, yes, more than that.So, isn't love also a feeling of love?no.At least not all of them.Mainly not.Fundamentally, no.Otherwise, the object of love can be many people.Loving feelings, plus sexual desire, that's it?Of course not, at least that is by no means a question of addition.So what is it? I asked myself the same thing. At dawn, O heard that innocent person lingering in front of her door for a long time, almost two hours, she was motionless and breathless.After the footsteps left, she began to cry silently.The footsteps left the house, went downstairs, could not be heard, could not be heard... She looked at the photos of him and her on the wall, as if thousands of years had passed, and all the memories about him had become conceptions , without lively content.She knew him; she knew his name; he was her husband, yes, she had sex with him; My child, because she insisted on not wanting it, he accompanied her to undergo two "artificial abortions"... These are all like a file, just lifeless printed records. A written record covered in dust and the paper has turned yellow and brittle has a long history.She tried her best to recall the day when she had the last time she had a close relationship with him?when?In what way?But she couldn’t remember it anyway, forgot, completely forgot, she believed he wouldn’t remember either, but that was the last time, it was a pity not realizing it, it was an irreparable pity that she couldn’t commemorate it a little bit ……她光着脚在总共两间屋的家里慢慢走，随心所欲地哭，在墙根下蹲一会，在地板上抱拢双膝坐一会，眼泪肆无忌惮地流淌，心里却明白一切都已无可挽回：她得跟他离婚。 ２１ 关于那个无辜的人，我一无所知。我没有见过他。有人说他是个心地善良、宽厚而近于窝囊的人，只要狠一狠心谁都可以轻易把他甩掉，他无从反抗也无以诉说。也有人说，他绝不是个软弱可欺的人，相反，他的自制力太强了，他早已觉察了O的变化但是不问，只等她自己说，他太自视清高了，O 刚把自己的想法说了个开头，他就转身去收拾了自己的衣物，说声“好，我不会麻烦你”，就拖起个大旅行袋走了。办理离婚手续的那天两个人又见了一面，但他一句话也没说，一句O 的解释也不听，以后O 再也没见过他。还有人说，那个无辜的人看似豁达大度但骨子里并非如此，他实际上是说了：“很好，但我会报复。不过你放心，我的报复不会那么小气。”但是没有谁说过那无辜的人不爱O，或者对O的离去无所谓，也没有人认为O应该爱他，从始至终没人说起过O离开他是对还是错。人们在说起O的时候顺便提起他，对他作一点儿很不深入的推测，仅此而已，其余的时间里他不存在。至少在我的印象里，还没有他再次出现的丝毫迹象。