Chapter 8 8. Crowd

8. Crowd 71 But, mother, it's in vain.Such a hard-working, forbearing, and tormenting mother, such a beautiful but haggard woman, wasted all her efforts.Although for the sake of her son's future, she remarried against her will and ruined her dream, but just as she never forgot the original man, no one has forgotten WR's biological father.Her ex-husband, WR's blood and origin, it turns out that no one has forgotten the man who has been reduced to the end of the world and has not been heard from until now. Although WR has no memory of his biological father, and has only seen his biological father in photos, but in the file of the young WR, his short history is simply a history of overseas relations. Alive, at any moment, gave him a terrible legacy: overseas ties.Overseas relations - a dozen years later this will mean a glory, a hope, a potential wealth, and even a road to happiness.These four characters, its image, pronunciation, and all the associations that these four characters can touch, will bring spring to this ancient land that has been closed for a long time like a strong typhoon landing from the southeast coast more than ten years later. And longing, at the same time, it sends Alzheimer's hypersexuality, and the mating season is in full swing, making even clean ladies, old women, monks and nuns retreat and burn.But more than ten years ago, it was notorious like a group of prodigal women infected with moxibustion disease, and people were afraid to avoid it.Boy WR is like us, like all Chinese teenagers in the 1960s. When it comes to overseas, he is sincerely horrified, evil, creepy, and even has nightmares at night: the bottomless dark sky, the lament of laborers in the mud, The old man's clothes are inappropriate, the women and children are dying...a dark blue light, the wind is blowing, and there is a hidden murderous intent...a group of white police sirens are running along the street, howling all the way...bejeweled, with a wide belly and fat buttocks, richly dressed A woman, a whore, or an unfortunate girl who has nowhere to go and falls into the world... The shackles and the whip and the sobbing are superimposed on the dark red rusty smile that is actually bloody....That is overseas, the overseas in my childhood impression.

Overseas Relations——WR was seventeen years old. On a hot summer morning, the mother will be frightened again, and find that these four words are written everywhere in the son’s only seventeen-year history, or there is nothing else but these four words Words, the eyes of the people around were always flashing vigilance, wary of the mother and the boy.The mother finally understood that because of these four words, her son would never get an admission notice from the university. What my mother has been looking forward to for seventeen years is this summer.There was very little sunshine and little rain this summer, the clouds were condensed and motionless, there was no wind, and it was extremely hot and muggy for several days in a row.But this does not affect the mother's happy mood. The son's homework is good, and his grades are among the best in the school. The mother is full of expectations day and night, and has made careful research on the several universities her son has applied for. She believes that hope will become a reality. All are good.Just like believing that WR's biological father is definitely not on the sinking ship, she believes that her son will definitely be able to pass the university entrance examination. Mother is always so optimistic.In the sweltering hut, she started to prepare the luggage for her son, lying down in front of the sewing machine to make two decent clothes for him, then sewed a thick quilt stitch by stitch, and took it apart halfway through sewing, perhaps what was needed was A thin quilt, I don't know if my son will stay in the north or go to the south.She laughed at herself for being so confused, old and confused, maybe she should die.She thought that she had finally brought up WR and sent him to the university. Even if she died, she would not be afraid of death, and she would die with peace, and be worthy of that person whose life and death are unknown.She sang softly by herself, the song when she was young, she hasn't sung for many years.After singing several times, she was startled by a sudden thought: Divorce?Maybe divorce now?There is no need to live with this man she doesn't love anymore, let's live alone, it's better to be alone, or wait for him - WR's biological father.She thought: If he is alive, he will always come back, he will come back sooner or later, no matter how old he is, he is not afraid of what he is old, since both of them are old, "even if we meet again, we should not know each other"...but what about this person in front of me?What about the son's stepfather?Wouldn't it be that he was framed by kindness and revenge?No, no, so my mother became sad again, shedding tears alone for a while, no no no, you must not do that...

In July, WR finished the entrance examination with a score much higher than the admission threshold. However, the mother was in vain. After waiting for almost a whole month of August, WR did not receive an admission notice from any university. At the end of WR's seventeen-year-old summer vacation, that is, the end of the summer that my mother had been waiting for for seventeen years, my mother realized that she hadn't really understood her uncle's early advice.For that husband and father who has no news of her, for that man who may already have a wife and child somewhere, or for a specter of unattached and laughing at the world above the vast ocean, what this woman may do may be just He was resigned to fate, even if he betrayed his most precious dream, he couldn't change his son's future.If WR still can't be admitted to any university with a score that is far beyond the admission threshold, the mother finally understands that her son may never be able to atone for his sins.whose sin?ah?who?

Whose sin? Is it in the house in the south?In that old house in the south?Or under the banana tree illuminated by the moonlight in the south?She can no longer remember this woman, so many happy groans now think of it as hearsay, she can't remember, it seems like an ancient mystery that cannot be verified, where did WR come from?Which one of the so many ecstasy has caused this sin that can never be redeemed?But it must have been one of those times, when she was in her prime; where did the wind come from to surround her elegant and strong naked body?Where did the wind come from that destroyed her dignity, swept away her shame, and aroused her wild thoughts?She said to her husband, let's go to the wind, to the moonlight, to the drizzle, to the grass and the plantains, then we will have a smarter and more beautiful child, and our child will have good luck...that is Was it that time that the moonlight shone on the distant mountains and near trees, birds were singing and insects were singing? Was it that time that the night wind was blowing the eaves of the old house, stirring up the man’s excitement? Was it that time? ...Perhaps, in the wind, in the rain, in that moment of starlight and moonlight, all the news circulating in the world has already carried the sin of his son's doom.Where was the man who had sprayed soul into her life or poured life into her soul, the man who had committed sin with her?The person who is far away in the sky or the person who has long been wiped out, the mother smiled bitterly and said to herself: You never imagined that we never imagined that there are so many people who remember you for our mother and son.From the hot morning to the night when there was no wind and rain, my mother's thoughts were filled with despair, and she didn't even move when she sat by the window.Too late to regret, she shouldn't believe that the person she loves is still alive, especially she shouldn't reveal this confidence to outsiders.Now she kind of hopes to suddenly get the proof that WR's biological father is no longer alive, no, no, she doesn't know, she doesn't know whether she wants him to be dead or still alive, but whether he is alive or he is dead There is no way to inquire, and inquiring is even more sinful, and no matter whether he is alive or dead, the sin is still a sin, and the blood of the son cannot be changed.Mother thought that she had finally understood the advice of that era completely.But that era made her hard to guard against. When she was sitting blankly, the sun went from east to west. She didn't notice that her son was not home all day. In the hours of the earth's regular movement, she She never expected that her son WR had caused a catastrophe outside.

72 The young WR took the college entrance examination report card to find the school, the education bureau, and the admissions committee, asking for an explanation.He was told that sometimes test scores matter and sometimes they don't.Junior WR asks: When is it important and when is it not?He was told: What to recruit and what not to recruit is our policy, and we act according to the policy.Junior WR said: In that case, why didn't you announce this policy to me before the exam?He was told: everything is the need of the revolution, you should obey the arrangements of the motherland.Young WR's anger is very simple, real, and touching: If you announce this policy before the exam, I won't have to take this exam, "My mother won't have to wait for so many years in vain, and she won't have to save money for my exam This school has spent so much money to drink milk for me for three months, if you had told me earlier, I would have been able to earn money to support her!" The admissions committee members were speechless.

He couldn't get a satisfactory answer, or I couldn't find a way to save my mother's hope. Finally, he walked into a high-walled courtyard guarded by soldiers.Walking through the shade of old trees, the chirping of cicadas, the fragrance of flowers and plants, and the courtyards one after another, just like the terrible temple that I once walked into... The most important thing is Walked into the following conversations: "Excuse me, who is my father?" "I can tell you clearly that he is the enemy." "What did he do that you call him an enemy?" "I can simply tell you that he once oppressed the people and exploited the working people!"

"So who is oppressing me, who is depriving my mother of seventeen years of hope?" This boy, this ignorant child, said, "Please tell me, who is it?" Junior WR committed a heinous crime. At the end of that summer, when many of his classmates were sitting in college classes, when I walked into middle school, the teenage WR disappeared in the city.He was sent far away, to the inaccessible northwest frontier.Therefore, the mother has expectations again, and she has a reason to live again—she began to hope again, looking forward to her son being forgiven day by day, hoping to let him come back early for the sake of his youth and ignorance, just like she once a year I have been looking forward to my husband's return for years.

73 Z's mother also tried in vain. Z used to be an outstanding student in elementary school, and he was among the best in all subjects throughout the year, but since entering the middle school class, his grades have plummeted, so much so that he was given a grade. Now I think, Z is probably my middle school classmate.I feel now that I must have inevitably met him in middle school. Z was also a middle school student at the time, at least that is justifiable. It might even be that the painter Dong was in my class. In writing nights, reality in space and time is not important, but impressions.

Z stayed one grade, and when I entered that middle school, he had to go back to the first grade of junior high school in the same class as me.The precocious teenager sitting behind me, the wayward repeater sitting in the last seat in the seventh row, in my impression he is the painter Z. The reason for Z's repeating grades is: failing in politics and English.But he did well in other subjects.He loved reading very much, and the books he read were all titles that I had never heard of at that time.During English class, he secretly read, read, and read Tang poetry, Song Ci, and various foreign novels below.In political class, he read "Eastern Zhou Dynasty", "Historical Records", "General History of the World".But when it was time for the history class, he looked at the teacher with disdain, corrected the teacher's slip of the tongue behind my ear, and then read a lot about Hegel, Feuerbach and Marx.In the self-study class, he finished his homework as quickly as possible and began to recite poems and paint pictures.What he loves most are his few cheap brushes, and what he likes to talk about and yearn for is the beautiful but expensive brushes, inks, papers and inkstones in Rongbaozhai.At that time, he did not paint oil paintings, oil paints were too expensive, and canvas frames were expensive, and his family was poor. He only painted ink paintings. From the borrowed albums, he painted shrimps of Moqi Baishi, horses of Xu Beihong, and landscapes of Wu Changshuo, some of which were quite close to Badashan. People's style of distant mountains and near water, thin trees and dry rocks.He crumpled and rubbed the paper he picked up everywhere, and put ink on it, confident that it would have the effect of proclaiming: "Look, look, the pen is particularly vigorous, right?" (Thus, after the "Cultural Revolution" began, I remember that the reason why he occasionally showed up at school was just to find some pens, ink and paper for writing big-character posters and take them home quietly.) No matter how much the teachers worried about his homework and his future, he They all answered by closing their eyes and resting their minds.But since he inadvertently left a grade, he has paid a little more attention to all his homework, and no longer makes any test score lower than 60. He knows that he must finish this boring middle school, since If you have to read it, it is better to finish it quickly, especially if you can't let your mother pay for his tuition for another year.My mother often sighed and felt sad for this.It took more than ten years for me to understand the behavior of boy Z: it must be the experience of WR that gave him inspiration.More than ten years later, I guessed that Z must have heuristically comforted his mother at that time: "How good do you think my homework can be admitted to college?" It was only after more than ten years that I realized that the road of being a WR scares me When I sincerely hoped to be a good boy, Z had already seen through the state of the world and saw that no matter what university he had missed, the painter Z had discovered his talent and chose a way out for himself without hesitation.Although he believed he had a good musical sensibility, paper and pencil were more likely than a piano, and he was less picky than a piano teacher.He read Stendhal, Balzac, Tolstoy, Chekhov, and all the literary masterpieces he could find at that time, and he was confident that he might not be able to become a writer, but he already understood the literary inquisition of the past dynasties, and he did not want to aspire to To be a ghost.So he chose fine arts.The diverse world is right in front of your eyes, arousing your desire and imagination. As long as you are truly talented, you will follow the natural path, and nature is your teacher. You can gallop between heaven and earth and create as you please.And art, not just any idiot can understand, you can give them all kinds of nonsense explanations to make them feel at ease, that way, even if you paint them as Judas or Satan as hooligans, they will be honored Hang it on the wall without hesitation, and say "that's me" to the visitor nervously or excitedly, as if the person hanging on the wall must not be an idiot. Z said to his mother: "Why do you always expect me to go to that university? What about a Ph. D.? The pile of grass in the barren mound is gone'."

The stepfather said to his mother on the pillow: "Your son is extraordinary." Mother said, "So you like him?" The stepfather said, "I might be a little afraid of him." "Him? He's just a boy." "Just because he was a kid." 74 I can even see the junior high school student Z jumping and catching the fried soybeans thrown in the air with his mouth.Boarding student Z, I remember that his stepfather was the cleaning monitor of a large hospital. I remember that he had a half-sister and then a half-brother. Z's mother can only give him ten yuan a month for food and three pocket money. Z, as unusual as he is, at least once had the usual teenage yearning for a tracksuit.He looked enviously at those classmates who were running on the playground in brightly colored sportswear, his eyes were obsessed like a little lover.It must be that the beating colors have an unusual temptation for future painters, but such a sportswear is exactly equivalent to his one month's food.But the grit in his character was born.Since he made up his mind to have a beautiful sportswear, he saved half of the food expenses his mother gave him every month, and bought flour and soybeans with the other five yuan, fried the flour and soybeans, and his classmates went to the cafeteria to eat At that time, he ate his fried noodles and fried soybeans in the dormitory with great hope, claiming that it was the most sensible recipe in the world.He happily threw the fried soybeans into the air one by one, and then caught them with his mouth, chewing loudly.A group of equally happy teenagers cheered him on.The son of a bureau-level cadre said: "Hey, if you can catch a hundred times in a row, I will lose to you the meal ticket for this month." "Really?" The boy Z's eyes lit up, as if I saw that the sportswear had been woven in the factory.He didn't win, of course, but he lost brilliantly, eating a whole bag of beans in this way, and he came close to winning at least seven times in a month.That time the boy Z's sensitive heart was not stained with the slightest bit of humiliation, it was indeed just an innocent game of boys; besides, everyone, including me and the son of the bureau-level cadre, felt Z's extraordinary will from it. . Z was still a naive and pure boy at that time. Z was still a kind and happy junior high school boarding student at that time.

But one day.One day when he was washing his bright red or dark green sportswear in the bathroom, the son of the bureau-level cadre threw him a piece of underwear: "Hey, can you wash one for me by the way?" "But— Yes!" Z replied casually, whistling.But almost at the same time, a strange yet familiar gaze turned towards him in the bathroom.After the bureau-level cadre's son left, Jing felt that two eyes were glued to his back from time to time, like a pair of estrus flies rolling up and down for fun.The painter's sense is seldom wrong by nature.Soon, those eyes finally couldn't bear to turn from the corner to him, and stopped very close to him. I have to admit that they were a pair of pretty and well-nourished eyes, but—beautiful, and cold; the nose The structure is also quite reasonable but-beautiful and arrogant.The mouth must have made a sound: "Is it still for a month's meal ticket?" That mouth, the lines are too revealing. "What did you say?" Z couldn't understand his words right away.Those eyes, the mouth below, and the whole face began to smile contemptuously: "Little citizen, what a rarity is the bureau! Are you so willing to give him the right to wash his stinky pants?" When the boy Z finally understood these words, it was a pity that The vice-face is gone.It took a long time for him to understand the meaning of bureau level, and he realized that the owner of that mouth is also the son of a high-ranking official, and that pair of beautiful and cold eyes and that face were created by a pair of senior officials. Made by tall men and women. Z originally wanted to find an opportunity to spit on that senior face in public, or slap loudly on the face, even if he received double revenge for this, it would be totally worth it, but he didn't want to cause trouble for his mother, and he didn't want to see her do it for him again. Sigh repeatedly.He endured and endured, and in the end it was Beethoven's proud famous saying that saved him and made him abandon his youthful recklessness—"There are many lords in the world, but there is only one Beethoven!" I think that the sportswear is probably not red or green, but a sunflower-like strong yellow.After those sneering eyes disappeared, there was probably only Z left in that too-quiet bathroom, and it was very possible that the sunflower-like strong yellow permeated too deeply at that moment, bringing back all his childhood memories , the drizzle of Basho in the south and the lonely expectation of his mother, the fields of his hometown in the north, the advice of his uncle, and the ship he had heard about since he was born, the ship that sank in the vast ocean... the tenderness in his heart The fluttering feathers might have dissipated with the progress of time, but now they are violently touched again, and once again they are noisy and turbulent in the silence.Little Bourgeois and Wild Children.The sensitive and strong heart of young Z, from that unexpectedly beautiful house, from the small street where he came home on that winter night, connects the painter Z's longing for the future in an instant.It was expected to be at noon on a Sunday, he stayed in school and did not go home, the singing in the corridor was intermittent and wandering, the playground outside the window was empty, and the strong yellow color like sunflowers gradually burned in Z's eyes.I guess, from then on, the burning in Z's eyes never went out, but that color was permanently expelled from painter Z's palette. (Perhaps I have finally found the reason why Z's paintings never appear bright colors. Of course, it may not be so simple. Any phenomenon is more complicated than what we see or think.) During the one-year parent-teacher meeting (annual parent-teacher meeting), several high-end cars were parked on the playground. We—me and six or seven classmates but did not move around the group of cars to watch: Volga, old Mercedes-Benz, Jim, Hongqi ... We looked at it from a distance, and then looked at it closer, and wanted to go up to touch it, but we didn't dare. The driver or guard sat in the car unsmiling.At the parent-teacher meeting, Z's mother also came.It can be felt that Z's mother was once very beautiful, and the old etiquette remained in her gestures and conversations, but her face was haggard, tired, lacking in color, her eyes were full of timidity, black cracks on her fingers were hastily pasted with adhesive tape, her feet The shoes on are homemade. (She reminds me of the aunt in that beautiful house, the babysitter who babbled with a southern accent.) Maybe that was the first time I met Z's mother, maybe not, maybe I've seen her many times, But now I remember that I asked Z softly, softly, but maybe still showing a little surprise: "Oh, is she your mother?" Z didn't answer, maybe he didn't hear. Z watched his mother leave without saying a word.Although the mother is no longer young, she can still vaguely see the charm of the past. Although she walks in a hurry, her gait is still elegant, and her neat clothes are clearly worn when she goes out. She is carrying a vegetable basket swinging until disappear into the distance. Z looked at his mother's back, his gaze was once filled with love.But suddenly I saw that he turned around and stared at me. After watching for a long time, hatred grew in that gaze, and gradually grew bigger than love in his eye sockets, drowning a young man there like tears.Then the corners of his mouth suddenly curved up, revealing a chilling smile: "Yes, that's my mother." After that soft but firm announcement, I remember that an unprecedented revolution came to the world. 75 Twenty-three years have passed since the reunion of C and X, and it was also early summer. At that time, I hadn’t grown to my current height, and C’s legs, which were destined to be disabled in the future, were still growing and growing day and night. The same warm wind Blowing in bursts, twenty-three years ago in the fresh green shade, it was the time when boys began to pay attention to girls. Every move of girls affected my or the poet L's secret exclamation and fantasies, and they suddenly became clear. The voice of the boys is more and more frequently harassing the boys' day and night dreams. In such a season, some thoughts that he had never had before suddenly hit the fifteen-year-old poet, day and night.Some images, some visions, made him excited and uncontrollable, thrilled, made him addicted to them and made him ashamed and uneasy.At that time, the future poet was growing suddenly from a chubby boy, becoming taller and thinner. He was no longer a boy and not yet a man, just like the permafrost muddy in early spring, flourishing and ugly.His appearance and voice made him worry, and he was ashamed of himself in the mirror.Especially when those wonderful visions appeared one after another, especially when some terrible desires made him irresistible, he thought: Is there any girl who would like this ugly guy in the mirror? "Mom," he said to his mother one day, "am I mean?" "What's the matter?" Mother was outside the window. L was lying on the bed, depressed and bored, by the window, with an open book clasped to his chest, blinded by the shining sky. Mother approached the window and poked her head in: "What's the matter?" The little Adam's apple rolled a few times with difficulty: "Mom, how can I..." Mother shook the water off her hands and folded her arms across her chest. "Why am I thinking about bad things all day long?" Mother looked at him, thinking.Behind the mother, there is a white bird flying in the early summer sky, very high. Mom said, "It's okay, that's not necessarily a bad thing." "You know what I'm thinking?" "Boys at your age will have some ideas, but at this age, you can't rush." "Am I bad?" Mother shook her head.The bird flew very high and flew very slowly. "Ah," sighed the future poet, "you don't know what I'm thinking." "I might know," said my mother, "but that's not necessarily a bad idea, you just can't rush it." "why?" "Oh, because, because you haven't grown up yet. In other words, although you have grown up, you still don't understand this world. There are many people in this world, and this world is much bigger than what you see .” The bird flapped its wings one by one, as if that was all, barely moving in the vast blue sky. L didn't know that his mother had already seen traces of him becoming a man on the bedding. 76 In my impression, the unprecedented revolutionary storm started on a sunny morning with the ignorant shouting and cursing of a group of young girls. Maybe when the poet L and I were dreaming day and night, when the bird was flying or landing, what happened everywhere in the world made a great man who couldn't be lonely have an unprecedented thought.Maybe so.So when that summer came, the girls suddenly abandoned their beautiful dresses and hid their increasingly attractive bodies in fat old military uniforms.This makes the poet L secretly disappointed.But soon the girls thought of tying a belt around their slender waists, and tied them tightly so that the expanding bust and hips could exist in a legitimate way.Their radiant faces and swaying bodies dance arrogantly and unscrupulously in front of the poet's eyes, entering the sunshine, green shade, and dreams, regardless of the excitement and pain of young boys.Then, all the long braids seemed to disappear overnight, and the neat short hair fluttered on the tall and beautiful neck, which not only made up for the little disappointment in the past, but also surprised people with its freshness and encouragement. Arouse the passion of young boys. On a certain morning in the early summer when I often look forward to their arrival, I remember clearly that a group of them came from a distance along the shaded path in front of the school, riding a cart, like riding a horse.That morning was no different from the previous ones. The red teaching building was full of sunrise. Between breakfast and the first class, I walked out of the school gate and sat down by the duckweed ditch to memorize foreign language words for a while.Those boring letters annoyed me, and I was even more annoyed when I thought about the final exam, but I was looking forward to the exam soon. After the exam, there would be a long summer vacation, and I would have almost two months to spend freely.I walked up the little bridge thinking about that glamorous vacation.At this time, I heard them coming, and there was their loud laughter on the path by the canal, and I couldn't hear what they were shouting from a distance.Then, at the bend at the end of the path, they appeared, getting closer and closer, and the shade of the trees swept over them like a school of happy fish. Their wonderful age complement each other.In the poet's heart, he is full of vitality.But what are they shouting.What are they shouting?A group of them rode a car like a horse, with beautiful short hair fluttering, beautiful shoulders fluttering, beautiful breasts undulating, they flew past me and they shouted or sang: "I am a hero, I am a hero, I am a reactionary!" Bastard,... whoever doesn't make a revolution, fuck off! Fuck off!" Oh my god, what nonsense did Guiyi say? "Just fuck off, fuck off her balls, fuck balls..." Oh, what's the matter, are you crazy?Like a group of beautiful fishes, they fled away on the small road in front of the school, shouting frantically, extremely proud, not paying attention to poets, everyone, or the world.What's the matter, what's the matter? The poet L stood blankly by that small road for a long time, and in my memory the "Cultural Revolution" started like this.It was June, 1966 AD, and the day was sunny and sunny.That day a couplet shook the eardrums of a quarter of mankind. 77 By the time the scorching sun was burning like fire, I was already standing in the airtight crowd.There are huge crowds of people, but everyone has nowhere to hide. They must express their attitude towards the revolution by expressing their attitude towards the revolution, whether they are heroes created by heroes or men or bastards left over from many reactionary events.In my vision, no one ever could object to that couplet. Doctor F, the female director N, the female teacher 0, the future disabled person C, me and the poet L, all tried their best to show their loyalty to the revolution, whether it was the glory or confusion of a "hero" or the bravery or fear of a "bastard". Fear, are raising their arms and shouting, drifting with the tide. However, there may be one person who is not. I think if there's one person who doesn't, it's Painter Z. There is another person who will not be like this-WR, but at that time he had long since disappeared. Z was standing next to me, and I thought I'd see him raise his arms again and again but couldn't hear him shout.I believe, or I think, that Z will. He raised his fists to the sky like everyone else, but he didn't cry, he didn't make a sound, he didn't make any sound.His face was pale, and he turned slightly sideways to me. On the other side, there was exactly a colorful flag. There was no wind, and the rose-colored flag was hanging withered, so that only I could see Z's eyelids.He stared at me.He knew I saw his trick, and his cold gaze fixed on my frightened eyes in a rather terrible way.I don't know what will happen to him if his actions are exposed.Painter Z said, "If anyone insults my mother, I will fight him desperately."Maybe many people have said this, but I have indeed heard the painter Z say this.But maybe he didn't dare to go all out, but in that case he would have to be ruined.Even now, even if he just raises his fist and keeps silent, he is almost ruined—his heart is full of hatred. The shouts around him gradually faded away, and Z walked out of the crowd.I was frightened and couldn't hear any sound, as if the whole world was stunned for a moment.Painter Z gave me a contemptuous look, then walked out of the crowd without looking at anyone.He lowered his head, looked only at his feet, squeezed his sweaty back sideways, walked out of the sea of ​​people, or walked into the sea of ​​people and disappeared for many years. I didn't see him for many years after that. But year after year, I saw his contemptuous eyes, so I heard his silent cry when he raised his fist high.What would that cry be?