Chapter 14 Fourteen, yesterday

Fourteen, yesterday 132 I have heard people talk about a person who disappeared at the beginning of the "Cultural Revolution" without hearing anything about it, and then suddenly came back alive ten years later, and his family called him by his name and called him should not.When the name was called, he turned a deaf ear to it, and only responded when it was called "No. XX".No matter who called: "Number XX!" He stood up and stood at attention, staring blankly at the person who called him. XX is his prison number.His family said: "He seems to be living in yesterday, and I'm afraid he will never get out of yesterday."

A person can ignore today, there is no tomorrow, but he will always see yesterday.No yesterday is no life.Yesterday, it can refer to the day before today, or it can refer to all the time before today. I've heard people say about another person who spent more than twenty years in a distant and unknown place, with black hair when he left, and frost on his temples when he returned.When he returned home to see his family, he didn't feel the joy and excitement of reuniting after a long absence, as if nothing had happened, and his calm expression seemed to have only lived outside for a few days.His family said that just like every time he came back from a business trip more than 20 years ago, he walked into the study after eating, sat down at the desk, showed a little doubt in a daze, and immediately asked his family: "Yesterday, when I was not at home, who moved my things?" The family looked at him tearfully, and said, "What are you looking for?" "Where is the manuscript I didn't finish yesterday? Why is it missing? "

I think this old man is N's father.His memory was lost for twenty years.Skipping over twenty years, writing off twenty years, his memory connects with the autumn weekend before he left this desk. Yesterday is erratic, it can be not long ago, or it can be a long time ago. Dr. F said it depends on the memory, on whether he has "recent memory loss" or "long-term memory loss". "You said yesterday, so where were you yesterday?" His mother asked him. "In the mountains," said the father, "in the great mountains." "anything else?"

"The mountain is very big and very quiet. There is no one there. It is so quiet that I can hear every blade of grass move..." "and after?" "No one came, no one came..." "I was going to see you," said the mother. "I went, but I didn't find you because..." "The moonlight is very bright, and there is no one in the mountain..." the father said, "We walked to a small pond, why don't we swim?" "You mean, yesterday?" His mother looked at him in surprise. "My daughter said, but we didn't bring a swimsuit! You said there is no one else here, what are we afraid of? You said let the wind blow our ass, let the moonlight see our bodies. But when your daughter grows up, you say, you Just let her go there by herself. We jump in the water, we swim in the water, the water is a bit cold, but our bodies are very hot and we want to make love... But you say no, what do you say? Okay, my daughter is already sensible when she grows up. But I still think, how much I wanted to have you at that time, I missed you every moment in that mountain, and wanted to cling to your warm body so that you would not go away , I want to enter your body and never leave, but you don't come, but you don't come... You said that your daughter is already sensible, she is not far there..."

"But was that yesterday?" said the mother, her voice trembling uncontrollably. "Yeah, just yesterday. We listened to Lin Tao, you and I, we looked at the moonlight and felt the wind everywhere... I said look at yourself, from the water, from the moonlight, look at you How touching, every inch of your skin is in the wind, how free you are. I said you come, you come, stick to my body, you see how anxious and hot he is, why don't you come when he looks forward to you so much How can you not have sex at a time like this? But you didn’t come, you said that your daughter has grown up, and you said that her daughter is over there and she is already sensible... "

According to Dr. F, this is medically known as "recent memory loss".But usually, says Dr. F., such people retain "long-term memories." The father said to himself: "But what does my daughter know? No, in fact, she doesn't understand at all. Otherwise, how could she hand over the love letter that the boy gave her to the Revolutionary Committee? How could she do that? She didn't Understand, that is when a man is the most honest, that is poetry, his purest wish, and that is the time when a person is most vulnerable! My daughter said, "As long as he changes, he will still be a good boy" , but what do you want that boy to get rid of? Sex or love? No, all he can get rid of is honesty, trust in people, and enthusiasm for the world. My daughter doesn’t understand anything, that boy Perhaps because of this, my son will leave a darkness in his heart that will never dissipate, and maybe others will always talk about this incident and use this incident to humiliate him... Alas, why, why is sex such a thing to be ashamed of? Why would a person’s longing and honesty for a person become the basis for others to attack you? How could those people think of posting a teenager’s poetic love letter on the wall? What do they want? What do they want to achieve? what……"

Mother held back her tears and slowly absorbed them back into her heart. "Think again," said the mother, "maybe you accidentally misremembered. How could it be yesterday?" My father said to himself: "I was alone in that mountain. Year after year, I saw the reunion of wild beasts, the homeland of wolves, the love affairs of waterfowl, and the wedding of stag and doe. Every autumn, The mountains and forests are silent and bright, they gather, they have been running for a whole year to survive, now they are walking into the long-awaited joy, showing off their strength and beauty on the grass and beside the stream, showing off their sexiness and pouring out their thoughts, without any worries They don't hide their admiration and unbearable longing, chasing, fighting, howling, bowing down as they like, copulating respectfully and forgetting death, pious and proud... But there is no humiliation. Frank and peaceful, there is no humiliation. With them I Seeing that there is no humiliation, expressing their natural desires frankly in the sun and moonlight, flirting between heaven and earth, obsessively possessing and giving, copulating, copulating...Drain yourself and give it all to the dream, in such a world In autumn, they are drunk and dreamy, ah, then I realized how beautiful the "drunk life and dream of death" is. Looking at them, I don’t think I’m rude or obscene. I’m full of respect. They seem to think so too. They don’t believe in the word “humiliating” in the world, and they don’t think of the embarrassing situation of this beautiful feeling in the world. , they, these innocent creatures, have not been expelled from Eden

"But when you say 'year after year,' you mean 'every autumn,'" his mother reminded him, "how could it be yesterday? " The father ignored him, and said to himself: "No, my daughter doesn't understand. But you didn't come either. You said you would come but you didn't come. I waited for a long time, and the mountain was so big that I couldn't get out. Quiet, there is no one there except me. The moon sets and the sun rises, the sun sets and the moon rises again, but you didn’t come. You said you would come yesterday but you didn’t come..."

Mother said: "I went, but I didn't see you. They didn't let me see you. But I went, I really went, but you didn't see me." My father said to himself: "The moonlight is so beautiful, but you don't come, don't come to make out with me. You swim in the water, flying like a white bird. You look free and dissolute, but you are far away from me. , I can't touch it, it's beautiful and cruel, I swim and you swim away, I swim and you're not there, still far away from me, always like that..." The mother said: "Think about it again, if it was yesterday, why didn't I come yesterday? We swam together, didn't we? When we returned to the residence that night, didn't we have sex right away? The daughter was so tired that she went back to her house immediately. Asleep in the house and we couldn't wait to make love, didn't we? It was so good, so good, wasn't it? You're just confused, if it was yesterday, if I wasn't with you yesterday, how could we make out Woolen cloth?"

Mother finally couldn't hold back the tears. The mother said with tears: "If it was yesterday, wouldn't I be very young yesterday? But now look at me, am I old?" The father looked at the mother blankly. "We're all getting old, can't you see?" said the mother. After a long time, my father said: "That's because you were wearing a purple-red cheongsam yesterday. Your hair is pulled up high and tied into a bun. Your neck will be very long, very long and wrinkle-free. Because Yesterday, candles were lit in that old house in the south, and your shadow would dance and your eyes would burn obsessively. Because it was raining then, and you said let's go outside, into the rain , the rain will wet your hair, and your jet-black hair will stick to your snow-white body..."

"But look, look at my hair, don't you see it's already gray?" She flipped her white hair to show him. He looked at it in astonishment for a while, and pinched his forehead anxiously, as if he couldn't figure out a question.But soon, his eyes turned to the distance, to the row of tall poplar trees outside the window, and his frowning brows stretched out to ignore her white hair again. This is what Dr. F said, "recent memory loss", the more recent things are forgotten the faster. "The rain has stopped," he said to himself again, "the moonlight illuminates a corner of the eaves of the old house, and illuminates a few dripping plantain leaves. The water droplets on the plantain leaves are black and shiny, rolling along the neat veins , falling, knocking on another leaf. Because yesterday we were in the south. The old house has high eaves, one door and one window are open, insects are chirping in the shadows, and fireflies are dancing in the surrounding darkness , flew into the light but disappeared. Because at that time you were standing in the shadow of the moon, standing under the plantain, you said 'don't move, don't come here, let me, let me give you'..." This is what Dr. F said, "long-term memory" is retained, the more distant things are remembered more clearly. "But, was I here yesterday?" "Yesterday you said you would come, but you didn't." "I didn't come yesterday, how can I give it to you?" Father lowered his head, thinking hard again. "Think about it, where were you alone yesterday?" "Where am I, alone?" The father raised his head and stared at the mother, as if trying to find the answer from the mother's face. But soon, his brows stretched out again, and his expression was like a boy in first love. "Oh, yesterday... I was walking on the street, and you didn't see me. I was alone, and I was still walking on the street, because you didn't see me. We passed by, and I was very nervous and even walked unsteadily. I I walk by you and hear nothing but the beating of my heart, I'm afraid you'll see my desire for you. I walk by you and you don't see anything, not even the slightest sign that you recognize it Me, you walked past me with the stretch and beauty you are accustomed to. With such stretch and beauty, I think you must be as clear as water and untainted by the world. If you know my desire for you, you will definitely despise me and leave me. I turned around to look at you, but you didn’t look back, you were wearing a blue suspender skirt, the fluttering blue gradually became smaller, you walked into the depths of the alley, into a house that was as beautiful as a mirage, and I was the only one left People walking on the street..." Mother said no more, she began to admit the fact, finally accepted the fact that there was something wrong with my father's memory.His father's memory has been lost for more than 20 years, and his memory has gone farther and farther back in time.Mother wiped away her tears, exited the study, stepped back to the door and stood down again to look at father, sighing softly, thinking that this was probably all right, he would no longer have to suffer through those twenty years of pain.But what are those twenty years?What had turned her lover into what he was, what had turned such a happy, open-minded person into what he was now?Mother didn't dare to think about it. Father sat at the desk, spread out the manuscript paper, collected himself, and immediately began to write frantically.Until dark, until late at night, N's father kept writing. N and her mother listened to the movement in their father's room, and heard the pen brushing across the paper without stopping for a second, and the pages of the manuscript paper were flipping through, and every page was turned in about ten minutes. "I haven't heard the sound of writing and flipping paper like this for more than 20 years," said my mother, "but..." "But what, mother?" asked the daughter. "But he never wrote so quickly." "Dad, what do you want to write?" "No, I don't know." My mother said, "If his memory goes farther and farther against time, I think he will probably still write the fairy tale he couldn't finish. In the morning, the mother and daughter went into the father's room, and the father fell asleep, sleeping peacefully.The mother and daughter saw that he had filled dozens of pages of manuscript paper.Dozens of pages, without a single change, but there is not a word they can recognize.Look carefully: there is not a single character in Chinese, and there is not a single character that has ever existed on this planet.The mother and daughter looked at each other, and they could be sure: this is not writing, it is just random strokes, irregular lines, random scribbling... My father wrote every night until the early hours of the morning.In one year, it filled a full nine thousand pages of manuscript paper.My father is in good health. He gets up on time every day, eats, takes a walk, tastes tea, talks with his wife and daughter for a quarter of an hour, receives friends for half an hour, and spends the rest of the time on writing. Mother watched over him.Since my father came back, my mother has not gone anywhere, never left him a step.She followed her father wherever he went, talking to him, talking and laughing in a natural way, and trying to avoid involving the concept of time in her frank words.As soon as the concept of time was involved, my father's thoughts immediately became chaotic, as if he accidentally pressed the reverse button of the video recorder, and the picture on the screen ran further and further towards the past like crazy.Only when my father was writing in his study did my mother have the opportunity to relax for a while by herself.While she was doing her own thing, she kept her ears vigilant, and as soon as the doorbell rang, she rushed out to greet her, fearing that someone would tell the truth to her father and say to him, "The words you wrote, there is no one on earth. The second person can understand."The mother guarded the father and reminded every visiting friend: "Don't ask him what he wrote, okay? Don't ask him what he wrote, okay? Just let him write, let him write as he wants If you don’t let him write, you will let him die, and he won’t live too long, so let him write with peace of mind.” But I think there may be another reason why my mother keeps guarding my father every step of the way: she hopes My father would wake up suddenly one day, and one day a miracle happened suddenly, and my father's memory completely returned to normal when he woke up.If so, the mother thought, she must be by his side at that time, and she must not let him think that she did not come, and must not let the empty mountain wind blow into his anxious waiting, otherwise he would be lost in time again.Mother thought, then she must be right next to him and make love to him immediately, with two white hairs intertwined, two wrinkled bodies close together, cuddling, kissing, touching, desperately like when she was young Rolling, crashing, trembling like that, two dying flowers are dying and blooming in winter... Mother looks at herself in the mirror, convinced that there are still endless desires buried in her body and soul, which can be endlessly handed over to her. Him and contain him... 133 The so-called "yesterday" may be better to simply say "the past".But no, it's not the same.For example, saying "our past" is just stating a fact, while saying "our yesterday" includes an attitude towards that time.For example, "We have come from the past" is just a statement of a process, but "We have come from yesterday" is proud of a kind of progress. "Past" is only an objective description of time, but "yesterday" contains subjective feelings about history. I remember, the year N's ​​father came back, WR also came back to the city from far away.After many years, when WR and O meet, it is inevitable to talk about the past.But when talking about the past, they all used the word "yesterday". They walked along the bank of the river.The river flowed wearily in its own direction, its gurgling sound drowned in the roaring sun.On the banks of the river in midsummer, the vegetation is verdant, and there are still fishing rods protruding from the dense bushes, pointing to the river, but the fishermen must have changed for a generation.But without the birdsong, the birds have already moved away.On the bank of the river, there are tall buildings rising like peaks and peaks. Under the sun, all the windows are tightly closed to resist the heat wave, and no sound can be heard.Only the road in the distance is filled with the noise of traffic.They walked to the place where the small stone bridge was, and stood silently, their eyes seemed to look beyond the present to the past, and they seemed to look from the past to see the present.The small stone bridge has disappeared without a trace, and a reinforced concrete bridge runs through the two banks. I think the female teacher O meant: "But everything is like yesterday." And WR I think his answer is: "But everything is already yesterday." It is not difficult to hear that O's "yesterday" is bringing the past closer and closely connecting the past with the present.But WR's "yesterday" is to push the past far away, to push the past away from today. They must feel the difference between these two "yesterdays" as I did. Between these two completely different "yesterdays" they stand face to face.Take a straight line between them and take the midpoint, where their eyes sometimes meet and sometimes separate.It seems that there is no door, as if there is a transparent wall between two people - two "yesterdays", standing on both sides of a "today" high wall, can see each other, but there is no door to communicate .Or, two completely different "yesterdays" are two completely different keys that can only open two different doors.This reminds me of what the future O is going to say to me: "You push this door and not that door, and if you push It's not this door but that door, and if you walk in, the result will be very different. " "Why is it different?" "No, no one knows what lies in the door that has not been opened." Well, but through the two gates one goes into two different worlds, and even these two Worlds never intersect again. " It seems that O didn't have such an idea when he passed by painter Z, but it was buried when he passed by WR. Yes, O doesn't know what WR's yesterday was (just like N's mother can't imagine N's father's yesterday), don't know, maybe never really know.Because two yesterdays can't even tell each other, because probably, those are two languages ​​that can't be translated into each other. They stood on both sides of the transparent high wall, said some innocuous words politely, and kept a fixed distance, that distance was the thickness of the high wall, but the thickness can not be measured by size but by years , It is necessary to use the years that have been soaked beyond recognition by suffering. "Uncle, is he all right?" "fine." "Where's Auntie?" "Yeah. She's retired." "Has uncle retired too?" "No, he hasn't." "What about the cat, is it still alive?" "have no idea." "I don't know? Why?" "It's lost." "How could it be lost? It won't get lost?" "One day it didn't come back, and it never came back." "when?" O looked at WR and shook his head: "It's been a long time." It wasn't until the setting sun rippling brilliant blood on the river, and the doves flitting dazzling white in the narrow evening sky, that O didn't have any doubts: one can expect a person to come back from a distant place, but one can hope that a person will come back from the long yesterday. come back?After all, it is easy to come back from a distant place, but is it possible to come back from a long yesterday?Under the bloody sunset and the snow-white pigeons, O gradually understood: when she was looking forward to reuniting with WR during the long yesterday, the long yesterday was leading WR elsewhere.So many years later, in another midsummer on the river bank, they are like two roads, north-south and east-west, passing through the intersection of an overpass. This is just an abstract confluence without a concrete reunion. They stood where the small stone bridge was, and stood beside the steel and concrete bridge now, until night fell. "Are you still," O asked with last hope, "cross the bridge?" After crossing the bridge, WR knew that he would find the small oil and salt shop.In the distant unknown place and the long unknown yesterday, how many times has he dreamed of that small oil and salt shop, dreamed of the facades facing north and south, mottled doors, windows and counters, dreamed of The old shopkeeper made a deep sound when he poked the long-handled wooden handle into the oil drum... I dreamed that he happily turned around and ran out of the store, looking at the beautiful house... But no, in the dream, not only was there no girl O, And there is no more that beautiful house, that house has been demolished as if the sunset has disappeared, only the weeds are swaying among the broken bricks and broken tiles... But now, just cross the bridge and walk for a while along the small alley that turns east and west When WR knew it, he could see the beautiful house again. It was still there, as if it was waiting for his return, as if carefully preserving a happy time for him. But WR said, "Oh no, I have something else to do." He held out his hand to her.It gives the impression that it is necessary to make up for a etiquette that was neglected due to ignorance when we parted many years ago. They shook hands and said goodbye. Her hand was in his again, which she had been waiting for all yesterday. "But, why is that?" O finally said, and finally asked with tears in his voice. "I'll go," he said, "I'm always going to see my uncles and aunts." "If you," he said after a moment of hesitation, "if you want, I think we can still be friends. If you think it's okay, I will also visit you from time to time." "You can't tell me, this... in the end, why?" "Simple, I think," he said. "Simple, perhaps, would be better." She looked up at him carefully, more hastily than when they parted many years ago, as if as the dusk faded into the night quickly, he would no longer exist. "As for why," he pretended to smile relaxedly, catching her gaze, "I'm afraid that maybe no one can understand..." O left in tears, or walked across the bridge in tears. WR is still standing on the bank. Her fluttering skirt was buried in the noisy flow of people, and he sat down on the concrete fence by the river, behind a thick bush, still looking at the direction she was walking, thinking about how she walked in the small alley that turned east and west Here, I thought about how she walked in a daze or even in a daze, past dim street lamps, children's pictures on old walls, and rows of weeds sown by wind and rain on the eaves of old houses. , shed tears, let the tears flow freely, walked past the attention and speculation of strangers, passed the small oil and salt shop, stopped, wiped away the tears, and could not let the parents see the tears, because they were not waiting for their daughter Tears, she stood under the row of poplar trees and waited for the wind to dry the tears, and then walked into the beautiful house.No matter how long she lingered under the poplar tree, she would always walk into that beautiful house, and her parents would always ask, "What about him, why didn't he come?" Still not hiding it, her parents would have guessed what happened... WR, sitting on the bank of the river late at night thinking: Am I a heartless person?Do I have to be a ruthless person?Do I dare to be a person scolded as "ruthless and ungrateful"? 134 I, like O, don't know what WR was all about yesterday.Like O, I hadn't seen him since the train that carried him started slowly and then sped away from the city many years ago.The train threw off a cloud of white steam, rolled, entangled, entangled in strands and then scattered by the wind in the hollow sunlight of the afternoon. Since then, like O, I have not received any news from WR.The intricately intertwined railroad tracks spread quietly into the distance, as if this person no longer existed in the world. "Where have you been all these years?" I asked WR. "I," he said, "feel like you, out of this world." We sat on the bank of the river late at night.I, and WR, sat face to face in the brief silence of the city. The night made me unable to see his appearance clearly but I could feel his expression.Occasionally, a little light came on from the tall buildings on the bank, and I saw a funny smile on his face just as I felt it. "Or, just next door in this world," he said. "It's like being next door," he said, "but it's a special wall where you can hear this side, but you can't hear that side. No matter how much I shout there, it's useless." "Shouting, shouting, crying, trying to knock on the wall so that this side can hear it," he said, "but it's no use, it's very lively here, it seems like there's always something going on here, the festival is full of gongs, drums, trumpets and cannons People can hear my voice." "I had to be quiet. An annoying child is tired of crying and screaming. If you ignore him, he will be quiet. You can try it if you have a chance. This is a very effective way to deal with an annoying child." "The boy, when he quiets down, he grows up a little," he said. "The annoying boy sat down under the wall, and slowly began to understand." "Understand what?" "Fairy tales are unfinished lies. I sat under the wall and suddenly remembered that Andersen, a liar, always said half a sentence. What happened to the kid who broke the 'Emperor's New Clothes' Andersen didn't say anything. , he didn't say it, he just wanted that child to say it, but he didn't dare to say it himself..." "I don't see it that way..." "If you don't think so, you'd better shut your stinky mouth first, don't say that the emperor has a bare butt, because... because the emperor's butt is much more useful than your stinky mouth!" I heard him picking up the weeds on the river bank in handfuls and tearing them to shreds. The sound of every fiber breaking in the silence of midnight was clearly audible.Then the sound stopped, and I felt that he was smelling the torn weeds vigorously, holding them up, and smelling their pure and cool fragrance. I think I should say something.I said, "What happened next?" "Do you mean Andersen's kid or me? Oh, it's the same thing anyway. But I don't think that kid may be as lucky as me. He probably died next door." He scattered the torn weeds into the river. "Have you ever heard of a kind of prison wall in ancient China?" His tone calmed down. "It's a double-layer sandwich wall filled with sand in the middle. This design is really wise and great. Don't worry about the prisoners." would break through the wall and run away because, because if you could really cut a hole in that wall the sand would keep coming out and bury you." "Is that what your wall is like?" "No, it's not sand in my wall, it's people like sand, it's an era that can flow out and bury me." He smiled faintly: "I never expected that I would come back to this world again." There was a burst of baby crying from the tall buildings on the bank, and then a window was lit, and then the crying stopped abruptly, presumably the mother's nipple blocked the baby's greedy mouth.For a long time, the person in front of me and the person in my heart remained silent. "What do you think?" "I think, if I don't come back now, if I don't come back after all, there is actually no one next door. So I think, many people in the next door where we thought there was no one are crying..." "What are you going to do, from now on?" "I'm going to—you'd better get ready or you'll be freaked out. I'm going to be an officer!" "Be an official? You said you want to be an official?" "It's not a question mark, it's an exclamation point. You heard the rest right." "What officer?" "Of course the bigger the better." "why?" "Because I really have nothing to do while I'm staying next door, I'll just listen to your voices, and from the few words I can hear, I'll see how I can prevent anyone from being sent to Next door to the world." "What way? What do you think there is a way?" "What can a person who has been forgotten next door do? At that time, it was just a way to play, a way to pass the time. It's the same way as ordinary people. It's just a game of hope after being full and warm. But it has to be a happy game, and no one wants to play a dangerous game. What scholars and writers, their methods are just more serious, a kind of logical gymnastics that are serious, it is just a habit of life, In any case they will always find a place to practice those pleasant and noble gymnastics." "I don't know what the hell you're going to say." "Only power can really accomplish anything. Even though that may be, the emperor's old ugly ass." "What? What do you mean?" "Everything. Like not sending anyone to the next door in the world anymore." "You believe in power so much?" "What else do you make me believe? Democracy, don't you? But democracy isn't created by democracy, it's a very, very simple logic, like you weren't born by yourself. What freedom wow equality Oh the rule of law, when they were both gymnastics they were just a chance for a few people to get a gold medal." "I don't want to talk politics with you, I've seen enough of those tricks." "Oh, I remembered that politics is dirty. I forgot for a while, please bear with me. Yes, really, don't dirty yourself, your precious souls must be enshrined in a place called holy place, so that you can stand there confidently and honorably and look around, praising one with tears, holding your nose and loathing that, saying how much you want to kiss the cow dung on the feet of the poor, To say that they are as numb and ignorant as cow dung is a half-dead thing. You stay in the house and you swear that you will be the sons of the people, but when you walk out on the street, you find that there are vulgar and vulgar faces everywhere. Of course Of course, what can best reflect the holiness is dirty politics, and businessmen, they are extremely greedy for profit, a group of villains, intriguing and short-sighted, they are just a group of disgusting philistines, animals who don’t understand the value of life at all Is...what else? These guys deserve hell anyway. But you are angels, you are saints, you are saints with a cross, so your pain is noble pain, your joy is extraordinary joy, your Crying and laughing, sorrow and resentment, sadness and anger, poverty and loneliness are all beautiful, and others can't see this beauty only proves that they are hopeless. But occasionally you also fall into your own trap, for example, when What are you trying to say when you say "we are the real rich"? Do you say you are the lucky ones, or are you the unlucky ones? If it's the latter, you're overthrowing your own values. It’s just that the grapes are sour. If it’s the former, how do you lucky people think of looking down on those unfortunate people? The lucky ones look down on the unfortunate. This is simply bullying the weak by the rich, right? Isn’t the holiness of a person very suspicious? To be honest, I agree that the richness and holiness of the soul is the real wealth. I envy such a person. I want to be that kind of person when I study. But I don’t understand, why do such lucky people look down on those poor souls? Especially why do they frown at them, hold their noses, and look at them with sarcasm, sarcasm, disgust and contempt It's like pouring pots of sewage on their heads? So there are poor people with souls, how can your holy hearts not know that it's because of robbers with souls... Oh, now I understand a little bit How can you compare your wealth and holiness if you don’t do this? How can you make a holy place look more holy if you don’t make a dirty place even dirtier? How can there be a soulless victor in a war without a soul... ..." "You may be right, but..." "Maybe? Did you mean 'maybe'?" "Well, you're right," I said, "but who would rather be dirty?" "I'm talking about O!" Without waiting for his answer, I said, "What about O? Do you really not love her?" He doesn't answer. This sudden question made him stunned, and he didn't know how to answer it for a while. The obscure morning light gradually emerged from behind the huge black buildings.The dark night sky slowly faded from the corners of the cliff-like tall buildings on the shore.Dawn begins with the pale flash of the river. "You don't answer because you dare not answer," I said. "But if you don't answer, you are actually answering." I said. "You can't fool me," I said, "you loved her and you still love her." "After all these years," I said, "you can't fool me by thinking of her no matter where you are!" "It's the same with her." I said, "Don't you know how many people have pursued her for so many years but she refused, and she has been waiting for your news?" I felt tears in his eyes, twinkling like rivers at dawn.但是他说： “你们这些圣洁的人真是厉害，好像没有什么能瞒得过你们。” “那为什么你，要对她这样？你以为就只你一个人受了苦，所以你就……” “这回你说错了——当然，这是圣洁的人们之美丽的错误。” “我想提醒你，你也在挖苦，你也在傲视别人。” “哦，真的，这可是怎么回事呀？而且将来，不不不，也许就是现在，正有一个人把你我都写进一本书里去，把你我都彻底地挖苦和嘲讽一顿以显示他的圣洁。多有意思呀你不觉得吗？你说，我们不应该预先也给这个写书的家伙来一点儿嘲讽吗？” “这种时候我希望你严肃点儿，”我在那黎明中喊，“直接回答我，你为什么要那样对待O？” “对我来说其实非常简单，”WR说，“我只是想，怎么才能，不把任何人，尤其是不把那个看见皇帝光着屁股的孩子，送到世界的隔壁去。其他的事都随它去吧，我什么都可以忘记，什么都可以不要，什么骂名都可以承担，单是不怕死那不过是一首诗还是让L去写吧……” “这么说你才是一个圣洁的人，对吗？” “你又说错了。告诉你，我很快就要结婚了。” "Who?" “别急，你很快就会知道了。很快就要在圣洁的人们中间传开了，然后遗臭万年。” "You love her?" “我需要她。” 135 我跟O一样，不知道WR的昨天。但是多年之中我听说过一些关于犯人的故事。我听到这些故事，总感到那里面就有WR或者，那就是WR。古往今来关于囚徒的故事，在我的记忆里形成WR的昨天。 我听说过一个人初到监狱就被同牢房的犯人打断锁骨的故事。那是一个起因于尿桶的故事。一间窄小的牢房住八个人，八个人共用一只尿桶，一天到晚那尿桶挥发着让人睁不开眼的气体。挨着尿桶的位置永远是新来者的位置，这是犯人们自己的法律。新来者似乎给寂寞的牢房带来了娱乐的机会，老犯人们把95％的尿撒在桶里，其余的故意撒在桶外，以便欣赏新来者敢怒而不敢言的动人情景。但是这个新来者却不仅敢怒而且敢言——这也很好或者更好，这不见得不是枯燥的时间里一个改善口味的良机，七个人立刻向他围拢过来，脸上挂着兴奋的微笑，那样子就像百无聊赖的孩子发现了一只新颖的玩具……平素的屈辱蓄积成现在的发泄，以往的压抑变成了此刻的手痒难耐，十四只老拳不由分说兜头盖脸朝着这个不知天高地厚的雏儿打来，很快就把他的锁骨大致变成了三块。我感到这个新来者有一双天真而惊奇的眼睛，他就是WR他倒在墙角里嘴上都是血，但浑身的疼痛并不如眼睛里的惶惑更为剧烈…… 我听人说起过牢房里关于床位的故事，那其实是关于地位和权利的故事。牢房只有一个小小的窗口，紧挨窗口的地方是八个床位中最舒适的床位，离尿桶最远，白天可以照到太阳，晚上可以望见星星，有新鲜的微风最先从那儿吹来，那是八个人中“头儿”的床位。当然，这个床位的意义主要不在于舒适，（到底它能够舒适到哪儿去呢？）而在于对比其他七个床位的微弱优越，但这点儿可怜的差别一样可以标明尊卑贵贱，一样可以启用为权力和服从的象征——谁占据了那个床位，谁就可以在看守之外颁布这间牢房里的法令。也许它最美妙的意义还在于：谁占据那个床位并不由看守决定，而要由囚徒们认可。看守的决定在这个故事里是一句废话，除非看守永远看守着他的决定。看守可以惩罚那个“头儿”，但无法罢免那个“头儿”，久而久之看守也就不去自寻烦恼。看守的命令于此遭到轻蔑这里面带着反抗的快慰，同时，囚徒们的意志得以实现这里面包含着自由的骄傲。但是，要得到那个位置，靠什么呢？我听说在某个犯人到来之前，主要靠的是拳头，是亡命之下的勇猛。但我听说有一个年轻而文弱的犯人到来不久，靠心计，靠智谋，很快便从挨近尿桶的位置换到了紧挨窗口的位置，而且一当他得到了这个位置他就废除了这个位置。当然他不能在空间中把这个位置取销，他废除这个位置的方法是宣布：这个位置由八个人轮流占有！我想象这个年轻而文弱的犯人不可能是别人，他就是WR。 我听说过男犯人们渴望女人的故事。讲这个故事的人说：“牢墙上那小小的窗口的美妙并不止于太阳、月光和微风的来临，从那儿还可以望见远处田野里的一个女人。”春天，小窗外是辽阔如海的一片绿色，那是还没有长大还没有开花的向日葵，晨风和朝阳里新鲜的绿叶牵连起伏铺地接天，天空浩翰无涯静静地没有声音，灿烂的云彩变幻不住，这时候就会有一个女人走进画面，像一条鲜活自由的鱼在那绿浪里游。远处的地平线上有一座房子，很小很缥缈，那女人想必就是从那儿走来的。八个脑袋挤在窗口十六只眼睛早已等在那儿，屏息静气地张望，看她走来，看她锄地，看风吹动她的衣裳，八张嘴紧闭着或微张着，盯着她衣裳里沉甸甸颤动的胸脯，盯着她弯下腰时胀鼓鼓的臀部，想遍她美妙身体的各个部分。日头慢慢升高，那女人忽然扔开锄头走到绿叶浓密的地方双手伸进腰间动了几下然后蹲下去，讲这个故事的人说：“她蹲下去你懂吗？她蹲下去到她再站起来，那窗口里响起一阵发情的公狗一般的呻吟。”日在中天时，田野上又来了一个人，一个男人，那女人的丈夫，那男人来了挨着那女人坐下，两顶草帽下面他们吃喝谈笑，吃喝谈笑差不多半点钟。“这半点钟，”讲这个故事的人说，“那窗口里射出的目光简直能把那个男人烧死。”“别讲了。”“不，你听下去。”那饥渴的目光，无奈的十六只眼睛，望着天上，那儿飞着一只白色的鸟，从天的这边飞向天的那边，翅膀一张一收一张一收，朝着地平线上的那座房子飞，飞得没有一点儿声音。讲这故事的人说：“这时田野上男人和女人忽然不见了。”那男人一把搂过他的女人倒在绿叶里，那一团绿叶簇簇地响，浪一样地摇荡不止。讲这故事的人说：“这时那窗口上呢，一只眼睛也没有了。”那窗口里面，和外面的天空一样寂静，直到深夜才响起梦中的哭声……向日葵长高了，越来越高了越来越看不见那个女人了，那时窗口里的日子倒要平静一些，八个人的心绪倒要安逸些。我想，这八个人中有没有WR？我希望他不在这里面。讲这故事的人说：“后来有一天，八个人中的两个得到一个机会走近了地平线上的那座房子。”两个人拉着粪车走过那座房子，他们停下来想把那女人看看清楚，那女人不在家，柴门半掩院子里没人，但院前晾晒着花花绿绿的女人的衣裳，他们慌慌张张拿了一件就跑。不，他们当然不是因为缺一件衣服。讲这故事的人说：“那天夜里，八个人轮流吻着这件衣服，有人流着泪。”他们闻着那件纺织物，闻着那上面的女人味儿，人的味儿，人间的昧儿，闻见了地平线上那座房子里的味儿，闻见了自由的味儿……他们知道这东西藏不住，天亮时他们把它撕开，撕成八块。讲这故事的人问我：“你猜，他们怎么着？”“怎么？”“吞了。”“吞了？”“每人一块把它吞进了肚里。”“哦，别说了。”我立刻又想起了WR，我想那八个人中没有他，我希望没有他。我说：“不可能。”“你不信？”“不，我不是指的这件事。”“你指什么？”我对自己说：那不是他，那里面没他，没有WR。我常常想起这个故事，对自己说：WR不在那八个人里面，不在，他不在那儿，他在另外的地方……当然我知道，这仅仅是我的希望。 我希望他在另一个故事里。因此我希望他走进另一个故事，他跳过无论是什么样的昨天，走进这部书里的WR中去。 136 事实上，WR立志从政，那不过是由于我的一种顽固的感觉，是我全部生命印象中的一个摆脱不开的部分。或者说，是我在那部分印象中所展开的想象、希望、思考和迷惑。这些东西成年累月地在我心里飘浮纠缠，期待着凝结成一个形象，它们总在问“一个从政者他是谁？一个立志从政的人他是谁？诸多从政者中的一个，他要使所有的人都不再被送到世界的隔壁去，那么，他就像是谁呢？”它们曾屡屡地飘向当年那个大胆而且诚实的少年，但很多年里它们像我一样看不见那个少年，找不到那个少年，甚至以为那个少年已不在人世。但是有一天，当那个少年又回到这座城市，他已不再是一个少年他以一副饱经沧桑的面孔出现在我眼前时，那些飘浮着的想象、希望、思考和迷惑终于找到了他，不容分说地在他身上聚拢起来，终于凝结成一个形象了。 真的，我不认为我可以塑造任何完整或丰满的人物，我不认为作家可以做成这样的事，甚至我不认为，任何文学作品中存在着除作者自己之外的丰满的人物，或真确的心魂。我放弃塑造。所以我放弃塑造丰满的他人之企图。因为，我，不可能知道任何完整或丰满的他人，不可能跟随任何他人自始至终。我经过他们而已。我在我的生命旅程中经过他们，从一个角度张望他们，在一个片刻与他们交谈，在某个地点同他们接近，然后与他们长久地分离，或者忘记他们或者对他们留有印象。但，印象里的并不是真确的他们，而是真确的我的种种心绪。 我不可能走进他们的心魂，是他们铺开了我的心路。如果在秋雨敲着铁皮棚顶的时节，在风雪旋卷过街巷的日子我又想起他们，在一年四季的任何时刻我常常会想起他们，那就是我试图在理解他们，那时他们就更不是真确的他们，而是我真确的思想。如果在晴朗而干旱的早晨而且忘记了今天要干什么，在慵懒的午睡之后听见隐约的琴声，或在寂寥的晚上独自喝着酒，在我一生中的很多时刻如果我想起他们并且想象他们的继续，那时他们就只是我真确的希望与迷茫。他们成为我的生命的诸多部分，他们构成着我创造着我，并不是我在塑造他们。 我不能塑造他们，我是被他们塑造的。但我并不是他们的相加，我是他们的混淆，他们混淆而成为——我。在我之中，他们相互随机地连接、重叠、混淆，之间没有清晰的界线。就像那个秋天的夜晚，在游人散尽的那座古园里，凭空而来的风一浪一浪地掀动斑斓的落叶，如同掀动着生命给我的印象。我就是那空空的来风，只在脱落下和旋卷起斑斓的落叶抑或印象之时，才捕捉到自己的存在。 我不认为只有我身临其境的事情才是我的经历（很多身临其境的事情早已烟消云散了如同从未发生），我相信想象、希望、思考和迷惑也都是我的经历。梦也是一种经历，而且效果相同。常听有人说“那次经历就像是一场梦”，那为什么不能说“那场梦就像是一次经历”呢？我经常，甚至每时每刻，都像一个临终时的清醒的老人，发现一切昨天都在眼前消逝了，很多很多记忆都逃出了大脑，但它们变成印象却全都住进了我的心灵。而且住进心灵的，并不比逃出大脑的少，因为它们在那儿编织雕铸成了另一个无边无际的世界，而那才是我的真世界。记忆已经黯然失色，而印象是我鲜活的生命。 那个诚实而大胆的少年，以及所有到过世界的隔壁一旦回来就决计要拆除它的人，在我之中跳过他们各自的昨天，连接成WR的真实。