Chapter 17 Seventeen. Fear

Seventeen. Fear 156 Anyone can be C. C, can overlap and confuse everyone in my impression. This does not mean that anyone can fall into the trap of disability.Or, Disabled C, he can have the history, mood, desire and pursuit of everyone in my impression. So C, could be anyone in my writing night.If disability is scheduled to wait for a person before love, then no matter who this person is, he is a C. 157 Childhood, C and Z, overlap on a snowmelt afternoon.Amidst the large, dark, old houses and the network of alleys, a boy walks through them, looking for a friend alone for the first time in his life—a girl of his age, a nine-year-old woman.At that time, this boy, he could be Z, he could also be C.

The snow shrank and became ugly by the side of the road, dripped on the eaves of centuries-old houses, and made a row of small puddles on the ground. With a secret passion, with an excitement that he didn't even realize, C walked through the short and long alleys to see the idol of his nine-year-old dream.Legs are thriving, years away from being disabled, and plenty of good times to pass.The sun in winter is very far away, and in the indifferent sunlight, the sound of the horn of the old man sharpening the knife is heard, "Wow———" must be a kind old man. C walks through the neat and dilapidated old walls, from time to time he caresses his cold and sore ears, and then puts his hands into his sleeves.Turning east and west, the nine-year-old C wondered where he had gone, whether he was far away from home, and whether he could go back?Suddenly, I saw the orange building, which was bright and stable among the dense gray houses, and the winter sun seemed to be particularly warm and bright there.

C walked into the beautiful house carefully.The window lattices against the light are light gray, and each piece of glass is dazzling and soft with the light of water mist and ice.The sun passed through the water mist and ice, spreading flat and obliquely on the floor, and when it touched the base of the wall, it folded up, turning into an empty green on the light blue wall.At this time, C saw his friend.That beautiful girl, standing in front of the window, standing in the winter sun, was fascinated by watching a beautiful feather fluttering in the flowing air. C stands by the door and looks at the girl, and will never forget her peace and turmoil for the rest of his life.

"Hey! Why are you here?" The girl turned her head in surprise. "Hi! Why did you come? Are you passing by my house?" C's beautiful friend jumped out of the shadow of fluttering white feathers, stepped on the sunlight on the ground, and came to meet him: "When did you come? Hey, where are you going?" Go? Where are you going?" The nine-year-old girl hugged nine-year-old C at once, took his hand, walked through the bright corridor, past the potted flowers that had just been watered, to her own Go to the room... "Hey! Do you want to read a book? These are my books. If you want to read them, you can take them yourself." She took out stacks of colorful books, spread them out in front of C, and gestured behind her back Standing against the wall, panting with a smile: "Oh, I really didn't expect you to come, I really don't lie to you. Is your home far away?" C shook his head, still staring at her blankly... "Look at me all the time What are you doing? How about we play with toys?" The girl jumped onto the chair, then onto the table, and took toys from the cabinet, all kinds of dolls.She just sat on the table, kicking her legs alternately in the air, arranging those beautiful and ugly dolls in a row on the window sill... "Why are you talking, why are you smiling?" The long cries rise and fall like breathing, or swing like a pendulum... "Do you like candy? Or do you want... um... bread?" The girl jumped off the table and walked to C : "Ahem, you just shake your head besides laughing, are you stupid?"... C didn't know what to say, but he never left the girl for a moment. Like the poet L, he discovered the beauty of a woman and was startled by that beauty. Clumsy tongue. "What time is it?" C said, "Maybe I have to go home." The nine-year-old commotion is indescribable, and the future will know what it is... The whole afternoon passed like this, and the north wind swayed outside the tall glass window The bare branches, the reunion, the reunion of the returning birds, the excited noise... The sun is about to disappear, turning into a trembling purple on the wall, and turning into the memory of C's first parting on the doorstep...

158 Later, C, or L. There is not a day when C does not want to see that lovely girl, and listen to the wind outside the window in her room.At the age of eleven or twelve, if C came up with a trick to deceive others, it must be: long-distance running.Imagination is limited by the pure cunning of a teenager, so the teenagers in my impression of love are all running on the same road, at the same time, with the same mood. C and L are indistinguishable from each other. Long-distance running in the name of exercising, towards the direction of the young lover, the L at that time was C.About three kilometers, morning wind and morning sun, ran with hope.But the fate cannot be changed, the disability is starting to walk towards C, the boy still doesn't know the terrible news, his legs are getting fit day by day.Along the river bank, past old people fishing, past chirping birds, fate is not worth paying attention to, past the stone bridge, past the small oil and salt shop...

The girl has changed: bright, quiet, strong.The girl is no longer a girl, she is walking into a girl.She sat on the steps reading, fascinated, as if there was nothing around her... She danced alone on the porch, drifting from one side of the porch to the other, twirling, jumping, skirts opening and falling, dancing lightly...often , I can hear her piano and singing: When I was young, my mother taught me to sing, and in her loving eyes, there were faint tears... "Hey——" boy C shouted from downstairs, "is it 'when I was young' or 'when I was young'?" "It's 'when'," the girl came out and stood on the balcony. "It was 'when I was a kid', hey, what are you doing?"

"Running. Is it worth it? Long-distance running." "How far?" "From my house to yours." "Oh really! Do you run every day?" "certainly!" Run every day. C seemed to know that his days of being able to run were numbered.A wheelchair is rolling towards him, ending with a young man, converging at the door of love.It was the same as L before, and C was L before.Tolstoy's famous saying may be extended as: happiness is the same, but disasters are different.Where disaster strikes, fates part ways, and the one in the wheelchair is clearly C.

159 Meanwhile, eleven or twelve-year-old C, if not L, could be me. If, at the end of a semester, at noon, C was writing a blackboard newspaper in the teacher's preparation room, a young girl came to say goodbye to the teacher. The beauty of the girl caught C's eyes and made him discover the magic and beauty of the world again. Then C, he can also be me. C was born a restless boy.Like me, C was born a timid boy, timid but lustful.It's just that in the future, C doesn't make a living by writing, he lives by waiting, always waiting for his lover to come back from the south. On that final afternoon, C ran into that girl again on the street. C walked past her face to face, C's heartbeat accelerated and even his gait was unsteady, time seemed to gather together and make noise in his ears, making C unable to hear anything.I was afraid that she would find out my admiration, because C was only a boy, and I was afraid that she would see C as a very trivial boy. I walked by her, but she found nothing, not even The slightest indication of whether she recognized C.At that age or at that age, C may be me, and I can walk through C with the stretch and beauty that I am accustomed to. C turned to look at her, she didn't look back, she was wearing a blue suspender dress, the fluttering blue gradually became smaller, only occupying a point in the vast universe, but the blue fluttering would never go out in the infinite summer... …

C kept watching her, watching her walk into the orange-yellow building like the sunset. C looks at that place, that direction, that space, until his eyes turn into the gaze of doctor F or the distant travel of poet L in the tormented time... 160 Until one day, in the mirror, boy C's naked body undergoes a crucial change.The sign of a once small man seems to suddenly remember what he wants to express with all his strength. He is lonely and imaginative and timid, surprised, at a loss, happy and confused, full of passion like a jasmine bud in a summer evening, making him addicted to it and making him ashamed disturbed. C looked at it out of breath, knowing that it would be open for a period of time throughout the summer, but he didn't know what was opening, and why...

At that time he asked his mother like L: "Mom, am I bad?" "What's the matter?" Mother was washing clothes outside the window. C is depressed and full of dreams.He lay by the window, blinded by the shining sky. Mother shook the water off her hands and poked her head in through the window: "What's the matter?" The immature Adam's apple rolled a few times with difficulty: "Mom, why...why am I thinking about bad things all day long?" His mother watched him with her arms folded across her chest.Behind the mother, in the sky, a white bird flew very high.

"It's okay," said my mother, "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." But a wheelchair is ruthlessly approaching C, unstoppable.If C listened carefully at that time, would he have heard the prophecy of the rattling wheels?But so what? "Am I bad?" Mother shook her head.The bird flew very high, very high and very slow. Maybe the mother heard something?But that is God's business. If God chooses C, the mother will not be able to save her son. "Alas... Mom, you don't know what I'm thinking about." "I might know. But that's not necessarily a bad idea, as long as you can't rush it." "why?" "Because... because you haven't grown up yet. Oh, maybe you have really grown up, but you still don't understand fate. When you see fate, then you can really see love." Mother looked at the white bird flying like time in the sky, with the look of a prophet.The mother knew that fate was not kind, but did not know what it was, that it was about to snap off her son's lower body and touch his man's buds.I don't know what fate is, but I know what fate is. My mother watched the bird fly to the south for a long time... 161 The bird is like a light, like a phantom in a dream, now and then passing through the rolling clouds... Beneath it, under the same roof under the drizzling rain, in any room, if it is quiet, if the parents Not at home, across the high bookshelf, between the books arranged layer by layer, his hand touched the girl's hand, the eighteen-year-old C was once the young WR. They averted their eyes from each other and looked out the window, but there was nothing outside the window at that time.All the feelings are in the hands of each other, all the words, extraordinary language, hard to write.Two hands, ten fingers intertwined, like a newborn baby scratching, childishly catching the surprise in front of him, watching, and asking when and where this is.The light of day is very quiet, the rain is very quiet, and the birds are flying very quietly. It is indeed like the time of the newborn. C looks beyond the upper edge of the book, and can see the top of the girl's head, where the hair parted in a clear line and stretched straight to her fair neck.The girl's eyes fell, and from the lower edge of the book, she looked at the two hands twisted together like a thousand words.I cannot recall how they found such a form, how they finally moved into such a position in that room full of bookshelves.All I know is that disability will come, this position will end, C will become C, and C will be just C.As long as my dream allows, C has to wait patiently, and even wait until the temperature of the earth has changed, and the structure of the celestial body has also changed, so that they can go to the current position again. The two young hands then parted and shrunk back in bewilderment, as if they had suddenly encountered a language barrier. Yes, because an unexpected language broke in.In the youth WR, it was because I had to leave my hometown to go to the world next door.In youth C, it is because of the arrival of a disability, and the arrival of a disability makes the place he is going to be more like a boundless roar or an inescapable silence in the sunflower forest. 162 Disability has finally arrived. Disability comes before love, here it comes. C gets into a wheelchair and becomes a narrow C, which looks like a joke from a distance.He turned the handle of the wheelchair, and the wheelchair moved forward, backward, and rotated... like a dance, like a game invented by someone recently, without background, land or even blue sky, the wheelchair moved lightly and rotated deftly, like this game He was ready to play obsessively forever.From a distance you want to call him: "Hey! What is this? Who gave you this thing?" You want to call him, you want to tell him: "Hey, come down quickly! Where did this thing come from? Huh? Come down quickly and let me play too..." But when you approached him, and when you approached him, you found his two sagging trousers fluttering in the wind, and then you slowly realized what happened.Especially if you have seen his bare legs—which were once so strong and now withering, and especially if you have seen his naked lower body—that young flower suddenly withers, and then fate reveals its truth.At that time, the background gradually appeared, the land under his wheels, the blue sky above his head, the wild grass and vines around him were lush, the wind rang through the old woods, C sat in the wheelchair and his legs would never be able to move again... Undoubtedly, this is not a game... Turn the wheelchair, turn it with your hands, and walk alone in that remote and almost forgotten ancient garden. That is C, and there is no doubt that this is his future journey. He is no longer someone else, someone else is just someone else...so real, undeniable and irresistible This is your future path, C - your path...you are just you, just yourself, just "I", like F As the doctor said: Desire will never die, and the name of desire will always be called "I". Then came love. One day, a young girl also walked into the ancient garden, and she was X. X walked into the ancient garden, approached C, approached C's disabled body and walked into his heart and soul longing for love.At that time, the whole background was suddenly complete, bustling and bustling, far and near boundless, with houses and crowds like mountains and seas.In my impression, in the image of a disabled person, there is life and time again. Here comes love.But lovers have to leave. That is still not within the reach of power. WR may not be able to understand it all his life: the domain of power is beyond the reach of power. 163 C didn't understand at that time: the realm of power is not as wonderful as the legend says.Twenties are the age that tends to be wonderful legends.My mother also joined the ranks of legends: "Don't always be so suffocated in the house, shaking your wheelchair and running around like you did when you were not sick. You have nothing to do with it. There is no reason to be ashamed. As long as you believe that you and others You are the same, and others will treat you as the same." A legend may be necessary.The problem may be that, in their twenties, they will listen to this legend as everything. Human nature is inclined toward the gospel. But the fundamental human condition is suffering, or disability. C went to find X for the first time, and I saw that on that night, the time seemed to go back many years ago: but it was not poet L's midsummer evening, but more like painter Z's winter night. A row of poplar trees, the end of the path is blocked, and a precarious street lamp hangs on the telegraph pole. C seems to have walked into Dr. F's time.None of this matters. C calls X under the row of poplar trees.The stairs are so high that you can't go up to find her. C asks a little boy to help him find it, and the little boy happily lives up to his divine destiny. C looked up at the lights of the windows and windows, calculating which balcony should immediately appear X, and there was her cry of surprise (like the little girl in her childhood): "Hey! Why are you here? I didn't expect it to be You. Wait for a while and I'll come down right away!" After a long time, a few figures appeared on the balcony, shaking and looking down, but there was no sound or it would be accompanied by whispers, and then disappeared.After a while, the little boy ran out and said, "Her family said she was not at home." C looked up at the balcony again, but the light was off, but there must be someone on the balcony looking towards C.What does light off mean?They want to see C, but they don't want C to see them. The way home merged into Z's winter night, confused into the confusion of nine years old.A person has more than one nine-year-old in his life. He keeps going from reality to legend, and from legend to reality. Every time he gets confused, he is not more relaxed than when he was nine years old.I heard C's breathing again like the whirling wind in the alley. In that wind, C walked alone in the wheelchair.Stop and go, look back, legend and reality seem to be uncertain. After crossing small streets and passing street lights, C stopped the wheelchair and lit a cigarette.Smoke fluttered.At this time, footsteps and a voice suddenly sounded from the depths of the dark alley: "Hey, why are you here alone?" Head up: it's X. It was her, C still felt happy immediately, and felt that he could sleep peacefully tonight. X: "Why are you smoking again!" Well, no smoking.Put out the cigarette. X: "I went to find you, but your mother said you came out alone. Where have you been?" C: "I'll look for you too. They said, you're not home either." "Did you go to my house?" X asked in surprise, with a strange expression on his face. This expression exposed the truth of those legends. C does not answer. X didn't ask any more. silence.This silence fixes reality. They walked across the small stone bridge together in silence.Under the moon, there are still a few fishing rods pointing to the center of the river.The sound of the river was monotonous, and the noise of the day seemed to sink to the bottom of the river through the surface of the water.Silence is saying: the legend was originally incomplete. C's silence is saying: the legend turns out to be like this, so is it like this? X's silence is saying: This is the case, it has been the case for a long time, and you will know it is the case one day. From then to now I don't understand how C could be so reckless that time, how he didn't think that he was a danger, disability is an appropriate prop for a wonderful legend, for a daughter or sister in reality... It's a real disaster... But that's not necessarily incomprehensible.Not necessarily incomprehensible—this is C's real misery. 164 It is understandable, because of this matter, even C himself has little confidence.In his hut, looking at X's beauty and health, tranquility and turbulence, the surging passion will suddenly fall into confusion... Bottomless, there is only one hope: time stops...or pray: when the legend does not go away Let it all end in time before entering reality.Every time the old wall clock ticks on the wall, and a string of poplar flowers fall outside the window, it makes him more afraid of the future: the legend will definitely fall into reality in a certain tick, just like poplar flowers. The silence of the fall... Kiss in time, fervently, but quietly, kiss, caress... Excitement and panic when you are sure no one will come, that is an acknowledgment of future danger... Someone knocked The door, they jumped out of the excitement in a hurry to accept the necessary calm and calmness, which is to admit the hopelessness of reality... The guests came in and stayed away for a long time, without suspecting that this might be the exclusive time for C and X— — A unique territory for a pair of lovers.Perhaps no wonder, since they haven't announced it, neither C nor X have said it to anyone else. "Let's talk." "How to say?" "Tell you and my best friend." "You already said that?" X nodded: "I already said..." leaning on C's shoulder. C panicked and didn't know what was going to happen, whether he should object or thank him, but he remembered that it was an eternal memorial day, and felt that losing any cold wind-swirling alley would be full of hope, and no one would let him jealous. 165 Everyone at the writing night, however, expressed apprehension about C's love interest: "Is this okay? C, is he okay?" Z or WR's voice. O or N or T sound.Even L's voice.This sound can have any picture as the background: for example, on a crowded bus; for example, a corner of a dimly lit bar; come and fly... "Can C get married? Oh, poor man, how can he get married?" Many people sighed like this and shook their heads.Arbitrary pictures do not necessarily correspond to the above-mentioned sounds: for example, the rain in the south, plantains in the rain; for example, the wind in the north, the sunflower forest in the wind; A modern play is being rehearsed on the stage... "C him, how to make love? Can he..." the men thought.Women thought so too.Silent images: For example, rows of broad-leaved trees, full of leaves swaying in the wind, but there is no sound; For example, a boat on a lake, with oars moving the water, there is no sound; For example, there are no people in an empty mountain, let alone a voice ... "Oh C! Unlucky man, what can he do?" Everyone's expressions showed such meaning.In particular, there should be no people in the frame at this time (empty shot), because every face may be suspected of having such a meaning, and everyone is bound to have their own misfortunes, so everyone is innocent.On the screen, it could be a counter selling game consoles in a supermarket. All the game consoles are running, but no one is there, and all the games are played automatically... Everyone at the writing night, expressed doubts about X's love: "Good man X, you are actually just sympathy, pity." Her best friend said to her. "You don't admit it, of course you won't admit it, X you are blinded by sympathy and pity." T said. O and N stand by T's side, and O and N are silent.The frame must not be in alignment, it will ruin my writing night.The picture is the sea, a pot of green grass without flowers, or a leisurely horse whose ears flick away a fly that has just landed... "Sympathy and pity, that's not love." A motto with impeccable logic.The picture is a trumpet blowing, or a hissing pipe, it doesn't matter. "Do you really love him? X, can you promise that you will never leave C?" X hoped so, but why did she promise?Why promise someone else?The screen disappears. "Because otherwise, not only will you not love him, but you will harm him." The picture still does not appear. "X will leave C sooner or later, see, she will make C more miserable." This prophecy is remembered when it wins and forgotten when it fails--almost all prophecies are like this.The picture gradually shows: that abandoned ancient garden, the old cypress trees stretch out their branches and leaves for a thousand years, clouds walk in the sky, birds fly in the clouds, the wind walks through the grass, and the weeds drop and take root from generation to generation.There is a long silence.The wall is dilapidated but still strong. There are green and dry moss on the wall, and there are delicate webs of spiders. A snail that died halfway trails a line of scale-like footprints. There are 3.1415926 written down by an unknown boy over and over again. Writing night, everyone I remember said: C, you are too selfish. C, don't ruin the youth of a good girl. X, you are too selfish. X, don't make a suffering person suffer more just to satisfy your sympathy and pity. X, why don't you just treat C as a friend, a general friend, even the closest friend. C, you let X go, you can still be her friend, ordinary but closest friend. 166 Whether it is day or night, his heart is crying.I know.I know how weak C is, there are tears behind his seemingly strong expression. Get back to your place.The position where you are judged is called "friend", "general friend", or "but the closest friend".Back off from "love" there, back off, and close the door.Love is spread everywhere in the most precious name, but in your life, C: You have to erase it. Why can't we just be friends? C, why can't you just go back to that position?The line that was emphasized was clear: give up sex.Why not?Why are you so stubborn, C, why are you crying about sex like this? Can't give up? There was no sound in C's tears. For many years, under the wall of the ancient garden sat a person who was not bothered by the gods.But there was an answer in my heart long ago, buried in shame and fear over the long years.Many years later, I went down to the wall of the ancient garden, and in the rotten leaves under the wall and the swollen buds of wild flowers, the despair left by C made a voice: "I can't." Deprive, but not give up." The voice was much younger than it is now: "It's all or give up." "What makes love different from others is that it is all." "All of me, in all of her , to regain freedom and peace." Touching nudes, that's because she said: Well, she allows your eyes. ... Trembling, taking off the clothes of the world, no longer covering up the lonely heart, that is to say: Yes, freedom and peace are all here. ...make love, anywhere there is no one else, all possible gestures are all possible languages, "make love" is excellent, the word is accurate...not "want", "want" can be asked in other places , I don't know why people often choose the word "want", but at that time, C's soul seemed to be floating, as if falling, and he just went to defect and take in. ...The indifferent clothes came off, and the vigilance fell beside her bare feet, and the warm legs stepped out from there, kicking the danger away...The main thing is: at that moment, there was no difference.It means: okay you badass you crazy, are you so weak, so shameless, okay you, are you always kneeling and begging like this... that's all: all your freedoms are judged For Lovely, yours, and mine, every wish is granted, and every liberty finds peace. …close your eyes and feel that a naked person is always in the arms of a naked person, and there cannot be a line between them Can not give up.Can't give up either. But C: You shouldn't.You should only be a "friend" who is jovial or sanctimonious. C burst into tears. C's heart never stopped crying.Destined disability, C knows, is unalterable.Loveliness is also unchangeable.Who came up with this torture?is love.That old man who is like a prophet must know that when fate changed C's body, he forgot to change his heart and soul. 167 But this may not be the case, the parting of C and X is not just because of physical disabilities.I didn't realize until many years later on writing nights that it was because of fear.In the final analysis, because: fear. It's also two words, but this time it's not "traitor", it's "fear". afraid of what? C is afraid that he is not a good person. So there are two words: good people. (Very funny, "traitor" is scary, and "good guy" is scary; your fear of being a "traitor" is the same as your fear of not being a "good guy.") What is a good person?Who is going to decide if you are a good person, and, what does it mean to be a good person?This is a difficult question.The simpler logic is: let others judge. "Good people" can only be produced in the eyes or words of others.Being celibate on an isolated island, if you have always been celibate on an isolated island and always been celibate on an isolated island, the word "good man" would not exist, but "good man" would be born among mountains and seas of others. C once asked his lover: "Am I... am I a good person?" "You..." X said, "why doubt this?" "If I love you, if I don't want you to leave, if I want you to be my wife forever with me... am I still a good person?" "Why not?" "Because... if a man can't stand up anymore, he will always be in a wheelchair, but he still wants the woman he loves to be his wife, and wants that woman to abandon her own happiness and walk into this man's life Suffering, so isn't this man too selfish? Can he still be considered a good person? " "That woman, why did she abandon her own happiness? She felt so happy that she came here. If she felt unlucky, she would not come. If one day she felt unlucky, she would go away." "If this man's legs are like two dry branches, if his lower body...you know...it's not easy to be high, if he even has a different way of making love, then he..." "Oh, don't be so rude... being different is not a bad thing... don't wonder if you're a good man. You are. You're a good man in my opinion." "why?" "because I love you." Love, perhaps, is the root of judgment.If people need love, it means that people need the judgment of others.But if you need to, you will be afraid.Others, not just your lover, other people like mountains and seas will judge you.You can't escape. (This is very similar to what happened to me many years later: when a reporter knocks on your door or connects to your phone, you have no choice but to be interviewed, no matter whether you say you are interviewed or you say You refuse to be interviewed, you have already been interviewed.) Fear comes from this. Many years ago, when X walked into C's desire, C's fear at that time was not whether he was a good person, but whether his desire could be recognized by everyone. If he followed his desire, then he, Can he still be regarded as a good person by everyone? C's worries will prove to be far from superfluous. Many years ago, when I was passing through the love history of a paraplegic, I heard a voice that sounded in all directions and also in C's own heart: "You love her, you shouldn't love her." "She loves you, and you shouldn't love her even more." Why? "You love her, you shouldn't hurt her." "She loves you, do you want to hurt her instead?" harm her?How could it hurt her? "You can love her, but do you really want to drag her down for the rest of your life?" "You are already disabled, do you want to destroy her youth?" "If you really love her, you shouldn't pursue her anymore, and don't pester her anymore... Otherwise, wouldn't you have harmed her?" Disability, for a long time, has been a plague. C: Whoever you love, you'd better leave her alone and let her go, then you'll be like a good person. This reminds me of the logic of "traitor" again: if you are killed, you are a good person who should live; if you survive, you are a bad guy who should be killed.This time it's not "traitor", this time it's "disabled".This time life or death is not life, but love: let your love die, and you will be a respectable and lovely person; let your love live, and you will be a humble and terrible person. C: Either you give up the right to love and be a well-known "good person", or don't be afraid, follow your desire and be a "selfish ghost" who is accused.It's either one or the other, let's see. C: You choose. 168 If C chooses the former, C, can be F. I said that everyone on my writing night, who can be a C, is a disabled person. On the night that C chose to finally break up with X, C did not speak, almost silent, just like Dr. F, who just silently shed tears into the suffering heart of a "good man".No matter what X said or how he said it, begging him to open his mouth no matter what, was of no avail. ... Don't be afraid of anything, X said, no matter what others say, no matter what they think, X said, don't be afraid... X came from the edge of the woods where the night wind was blowing, walked out of the darkness, and walked under a street lamp Bright, walked to C's wheelchair... As long as we are not afraid, as long as we persist, X said that we are not wrong, if we really love each other, she said, we don't have to be afraid of anything... The old cypress tree is full of even fat Fragrance, the fallen leaves of poplar trees are scattered all over the ground, X walked away and came, walked away and approached... She said, if you once said you love me, it was true, if it is still true now, X said I remember we said to each other that only love can never be wrong. She said that if love is true love can never be wrong, if it is wrong it is not love at all... The sound of wheelchairs and footsteps, a lamp Far away from a street lamp, periods of light and light in between periods of darkness and darkness, there is an old cypress tree dying, its bare branches stretching in vain against the night sky... Now I want to hear what you think, x Tell C, what is your real thought, at least if it is true, at least people can’t deceive themselves, please, can you open your mouth... C, like F, already understands that not all words in the world can be said, and not all are meant to be said, and even the tears that flowed into his heart were exhausted by the unspeakable suffering. X恨不能揍他，X说：“你的骨头，你的男人的骨头呢？”C仍旧无言，让爱，在“好人”的心里早早死干净吧…… C leaves his lover, goes home along the alleys with street lamps.Gusts of autumn wind blew the dead grass on the old wall, dust and fallen leaves on the road, and the sound of lonely wheelchairs rang all night in the alley like a net.At dawn, C returned home. If his black hair was already dyed like frost like Dr. F, then nothing is impossible. 169 If love survives and is finally unstoppable, and love and desire flood over the dam of "good people", then the situation, C, is even very similar to N.If the parting is already doomed, on the night or those nights when the parting is doomed, lover C and lover N, although they are of different genders, will also overlap and confuse in the confusion of fate. As for X, it overlaps and confuses into F.The image is vague, but such news in the world has never stopped. ...The sound of footsteps and wheels startled the pigeons in the ancient garden, and white birds flew all over the sky above the altar... C said that I am not afraid of anything, no matter what others say about me, no matter how they look at me, C said ，我不再害怕……X走向祭坛的石门，走进落日，又一声不响地转身回来，站在落日里看着C，茫然若失……只要你也不怕，C说，只要你坚持， C对他的恋人说，我相信我没有什么不应该，我不再像过去那样相信我不应该，我不再相信别人的指责……我现在相信，如果我们是真心相爱，C说这残疾就不能阻挡我…… ……C转动轮椅，走过那盏路灯，走过明亮的灯光下秋风翻动着的落叶，走过那棵老柏树，抓住X的胳膊，摇撼她，看她愁苦的面容……我不想指责别人我尤其不愿意伤害他们，你懂吗？我是说所有你的亲人和朋友，你的兄弟姐妹，你的同学同事，以及所有不赞成你爱我的人，我不恨他们，至少我不想恨他们，但是……但是我不再放弃…… ……C的车轮声，和X的脚步声，响彻寂暗的小街，雨停了，收起伞，但是风把树上的雨水一阵阵吹落，落在脸上没有感觉……我知道我没有错，我们的心愿和我们的欲望都没有错，如果你曾经说你爱我那是真的，如果现在这还是真的，我们怎么会错呢…… ……X没有来，在车站上等她但是总不见她来……在那座古园里走遍找遍也没有她的踪影……她的窗口黑着，她到哪儿去了呢……半夜回到家，C埋头灯下，给X写信，一封封并不见得都会发出的信：要是我不知道我错在了哪儿，要是我们并没错，我为什么要放弃？我们凭什么要分离…… ……X走在前面，沿着那座古园荒记的围墙走在前面，走在月光和墙影之间，淡蓝色的头巾以及躜动的肩膀时隐时现……C追上来，跟在X身边，目光追随着她肩头上的那块凄迷的月光……C说请你告诉我，是不是残疾可以使爱成为错误？是不是有什么人本来就不应该爱，就不应该希望爱情？C说我不是指现实，我是指逻辑……现实，也许就随它去吧，我只是想知道我的梦想是不是也错了…… ……C转动轮椅，走进星空下清冷的草地。远处有一座被人遗弃的大铜钟，一人多高，底部陷进了土里身上爬满铜绿，铭文已经锈蚀不清。C望着那座大钟在午夜中的影子，等着X走来，等到听见她在他身后站下，很久……C说，我能够承认现实，我也许不得不接受现实，C说，如果残疾注定要剥夺我，至少我不想让它们再剥夺你……C对她的恋人说，你就走吧，去吧，到南方去吧，到爱情一向是正当的地方去吧……但是我必须得知道这仅仅是现实，这并不就是一切…… ……X站起身，走开，走进祭坛的石门，走进祭坛上的星空……祭坛上下全是C暴烈的叫喊：现在我只想听听你是怎么想，你真实的想法是什么，你总得有一句确定的回答，总得把你真实的心愿告诉我……我不再奢望其他，我只想证实这个世界上除了现实之外还有没有另外的什么是真的，有还是没有，另外的，我不要求它是现实，我只想看见现实之外你的真实，我求你无论如何开开口好吗…… ……X，C的恋人，站在祭坛上，泪水犹如星光……那星光中全是她的诉说：就让我们永远作朋友吧，好吗……只作朋友好吗……我们还是朋友，行吗……一般的但是最好的，永生永世的朋友…… ……不，不不！C喊，为什么？凭什么我被判定在那个位置上？告诉我，你是不是真的爱我…… ……原谅我，饶恕我，我是个软弱的人，我害怕……X在那祭坛上说，我害怕那些山和海一样的屋顶和人群，害怕那些比星光还要稠密的灯火，害怕所有不说话的嘴和总在说话的眼睛……在那样的躲躲闪闪的表情后面，我好像是一个不正常的人……我害怕我总要解释，我害怕其实我并没有解释的机会，我害怕无边无际的目光的猜测和探询，我们的爱情好像是不正常的，在那无尽无休的猜测和探询的目光之下，我们的爱情慌慌张张就像是偷来的……我害怕，也许我们永远就是这样…… ……嫁给我，好吗？做我的妻子…… ……我害怕我的父母，他们会气疯的，他们会气死的……我害怕别人的谴责，我的兄弟姐妹，还有别人，我害怕他们谴责的面孔……我也害怕你的追问，害怕你这样不肯放弃……我害怕我不能嫁给你，我害怕别人说我只是怜悯，说我只是为了满足自己的怜悯却让你痛苦，这些都让我害怕……人们曾经说我是一个好人，这样的称赞让我害怕，我害怕因此我得永远当这样的好人，我害怕我并不是人们所认为的那样的好人，我并不是为了做一个好人才走近你的，我害怕有一天我想离开你我就不再是一个好人……让我们分开吧，我是个软弱的人，不管别人说什么我都害怕，每时每刻我都感到恐惧……就让我们永远只做朋友吧，好吗……天涯海角永生永世的朋友 ……星光渐渐寥落，祭坛空空独对苍天……不，不！Why?Why is that?这毫无道理！不，回来，你回来，你回来呀……但是X已经离去，恋人已在遥远的南方，让男人翘首终生的南方呀…… 170 C独自走出那古园，只剩下沉默属于他。 喧嚣的城市，走到哪儿都是沉默。雨，仿佛落进无人的荒野……树在风中摇，树叶疯狂地翻动着但失去声响……阳光循规蹈矩，冷漠地铺展……颤抖的空气无孔不入……所有的沉默都讲述着同一件事：命运。命运并不是合情合理的，否则不是命运。C：你不要妄想向命运要求一个合情合理的回答。就像你的病，那个小小的肿物从哪儿来？从什么时候来？为什么来到了你的脊髓里？ F医生曾经切开C的脊椎，看见一条年轻平凡的脊髓，像众人的一样，细巧、精致、神秘又娇嫩，在它的某一段，颜色和形状微微地改变；微微的，是指与命运的复杂相比，但对于这娇嫩的脊髓可是不得了哇。F医生心怀敬畏地看了一会儿，知道这个青年还蒙在鼓里，他求救般的眼睛还梦想着回到过去，他不知道这确实就像时间一样不可逆转，C：你的命运已经被这个不明由来的小小肿物决定了。F医生小心翼翼地试图把那可恶的肿物尽量剥离，但那肿物的顽固或者那命运的坚决，并不是医生能够摘除的。 C走出古园。在喧嚣和沉默的人间，C与诗人L的不同之处在于，他不能走遍世界去寻找他的不知所在的恋人。C的手上也有一幅1 ：40000000的地图，C像诗人一样明白，他的恋人肯定就在巴掌大的这块地方。但那儿，有他过不去的千山万水，尤其那儿还有他过不去的如山如海的房屋和人群，目光和语言…… 残疾和爱情，C：那就是你的命运。活着，就是这喧嚣中的沉默，就是这拥挤中的孤独，活着就是没有道理的苦难。What about death? 当然你可以去死，因为海里有一条美妙的小鱼，有很多条那样美妙而有毒的小鱼。你完全可以去死，把一条小鱼买来（也许捉来，也许捡来），晾干或者焙干，研碎，装在只小玻璃瓶里，在冬天或者夏天，秋天或者春天，在人间一如既往的某一时刻，享用它……当F医生赶来的时候，你的形神已隐遁进另一个时空、另一种存在。C可以是O。当F医生发现那条美妙小鱼的残渣之时，一切都已经晚了，肯定，C已经把他想做的事做成了。o已经把她想做的事做成了，C也可以。C可以是O，可以已经死了。一个活着的残疾人可以去死，F医生会知道你是真的想死，你的赴死之心由来已久。但是，世上还有很多很多活着的残疾人，其中的一个仍然可以是C。这样的C是不死的。某一个不死的残疾人仍然是C，仍然有着和C一样的命运。这样的命运是不死的：残疾和爱情。 在我的写作之夜，C是一个活着的残疾人，还是一个活着的残疾人是C，那都一样。 因而C的寻找，就会是像F医生一样的眺望…… 171 C似乎早曾走进过未来那个不同寻常的夏天。在他并不接受的那个位置上，在X远去南方的那些日子里，C一次次看见，往日里喧嚣不息的这座的城市在沉默中变得空空洞洞 ……条条街道上都没有人，也没有车，雨水未干的路面上映着洪荒时代的天，和云。好像世界上只剩了他的车轮声。高楼如无声排立的荒岗，门窗都关着，血色的夕阳从这块玻璃跳到那块玻璃。阳台上没有晾晒物，没有女人鲜艳的衣裳，没有孩子飘扬的尿布，唯坚硬的水泥和它们灰色的影子，甚至没有了生命的迹象……C沿着河边走，落日涂染着河边砖砌的护拦，孩子画下的鸟儿和波浪还在上面。立交桥如同一个巨型玩具摊开在那里无人问津，游戏的孩子都已离开，跟随他们的父母逃出了历史。而C独自走来，仿佛他被缩小了千万倍走进了这个被弃置的玩具。河面上晚霞渐渐灿烂，飘浮的雾霭牵牵连连。也许是这条河，还有C，一起流入了一段奇怪的时间通道，流入远古，神秘的玛雅人刚刚离开，不知什么原因，繁荣兴旺的玛雅人忽然觉得厌倦、彻骨的无聊，抛弃灿烂的文明一齐离去，留下这一群群奇异的建筑给一个“朋友”去猜想……扑啦啦飞起一群鸽子，在死寂的城里或死寂的心中响起往日的哨音。白色的鸟群似乎在那儿等待C，久久地在河上盘桓，等C仰起脸把目光投向它们，它们便忽然一齐转身都朝一个方向飞去，似乎提醒C，引导他，都朝那座美丽房子的方向飞去…… ……那儿，有一条小路，有一排白杨。白杨树岁岁枯荣，逐年高大起来，此外一切都还是老样子。满天垂挂着杨花，满地铺散着杨花，C又望见那个久违的窗口了，窗上是一片凄艳的斜阳……C从没有进去过，这是他不比L、F、以及Z的地方。只在一个夏夜，X要他看看她的小屋，“你不是想看看我独处的样子吗？”C跟着X一起走到她窗口对面土岗上，“看见了吗？三层，挂绿色窗帘的那一个！”“绿色？呵，天太黑了。”X转身跑去：“记住，绿色的窗帘。”X跑进那楼门，不久，那绿色的窗帘亮了。接着，绿色的窗帘拉开了，X冲窗外的黑暗招手，在屋子里来回走，像是替C在那儿走，在那儿看遍C常常梦见的每一个角落……那是C的目光第一次走进X的窗口，C躲进白杨的树荫里去，久久地屏息伫望……现在，C又在大鸽群的引导下来到这儿，躲进白杨的树荫，躲到白杨粗壮的树干后面，远远地朝那儿眺望。像当年一样，甚至，C眺望那个窗口的姿势都没有改变。从午后眺望到黄昏，那窗口里和那阳台上都不见人，唯夕阳慢慢走过，唯栉风沐雨的一只箩筐移转着影子，X好像不在家，好像她仅仅是出去一会儿马上就会回来，还没有下班，要么去看电影了，一会儿就回来，好像她并没有到遥远的南方去……或者南方就在这儿，就在此刻，这样的眺望既是时间也是空间因而这就是南方……白色鸟群在昏暗了的暮天之中，雪白，闪亮，时远时近盲目地盘旋，一圈又一圈地飞，飞得很快但一点儿声音都没有，轻灵得似乎并不与空气摩擦。C不时地仰望它们，心想：这群白色的鸟儿是不是真的…… 待那鸽群消失，等那群白色的鸟又不知落向哪里，C的目光缓缓降落。这时他看见阳台上的门开了，一个陌生的男人走出来，继而一个陌生的女人走出来，最后，一个孩子蹦蹦跳跳地出来。像一幕剧，换了演员，像一个舞台换了剧目。太阳从东到西，南方和北方都笼罩在它的光照里。男人深深地呼吸，做几下操，阔胸运动或者体转运动……女人晾衣服，一件又一件，浇花，一盆又一盆……那个孩子捧着一钵草莓，往年轻母亲的嘴里放一颗，往年轻父亲的嘴里也放一颗，尖声笑着跑回去……太阳落了，万家灯火展开沉沉夜幕…… 因而C的寻找，只能是满怀梦想地眺望。因而C也可以是F。 月亮升起来，照亮着现在和过去、眺望和梦想。 如果这月光照亮你，如果我们相距得足够近，你的影像映入我的眼帘，这就是：现实／如果这月光照亮过你，如今我们相距已足够远，但你的影像仍飘留在茫茫宇宙，这就是：过去／如果这北方的月光中只剩下我，但我的意识超越光速，我以心灵的目光向沉沉夜空追踪你南方的影像，这就是：眺望／如果现实已成过去，如果过去永远现实，一个被忽略的欲望在没有地点的时间或在抹杀了时间的地点，如果追上了你飘离的影像那就是：梦 172 梦中永远的眺望，会把L的远寻变成C的梦景。 C曾经梦见，L到了一个不知名的小车站。或者是未来，L把C的梦想带到过一个不知名的小车站。 列车“咔哒哒－－咔哒哒——咔哒哒——”奔驰在黑夜的大山里。“空嗵嗵——空嗵嗵——空嗵嗵－－”驶过一座座桥梁。“轧轧轧－－轧轧轧——轧轧轧——”穿过长长短短的隧道。L裹着大衣，坐在C梦见的那列火车上。旅客蒙头或团目，昏昏地熬着旅程。断续的鼾声，含糊不清的梦呓，悄悄打开的收音机低声报告着世界上的战争和明天的风雪。过道的门开了，瑟缩地摆来摆去，随着车厢一阵剧烈的晃动“嘣”地一声关上。婴儿从睡梦中惊醒，年轻的母亲把沉甸甸的奶头送进孩子啼哭着的嘴里，孩子呜咽几声又香甜地睡去。母亲在自已缤纷的梦里轻轻地哼唱着，摇着，安慰着还不会梦的孩子。“咔一哒哒——咔一哒哒——”列车奔驰的声音小下去，漫散开去，走出了大山，走上了平原。L坐在C梦见的那个座位上，不断擦去玻璃上的哈气，看着窗外的黑夜，看C梦中见过的冬夜的原野。葵花早已收获，裸露的土地和月光一样，浩瀚又安静。过道的门忽地又开了，一阵寒风溜进车厢，过道的门醉汉似地摆来摆去。一个失眠的老人走到车厢尽端，把门关上，再拧一拧门把手，低头看看，希望它关得牢靠。老人回到座位，看见满车厢的人只有L睁着眼睛，老人冲L笑笑说：“要下雪了。”窗外没有了月光，也许是L看见也许是C梦见，原野漆黑如墨。 列车渐渐减速，开进葵林中的一个小站。站台的前沿铺上了一层薄雪，很像月光。旅客们都揉着眼睛看窗外：这是哪儿呀……到哪儿了……怎么又停了？这要晚点到什么时候去呀……哎，越晚点就越要晚点嘛……前面也许出了什么事……看，在这儿等着的并不止咱们这一列呢…… C的梦，或者L的旅程。 L乘坐的那列火车停下来，停在C梦见的另一列灯火辉煌的列车旁。两列火车平行着停在那个不知名的小站上，一列头朝东，一列头朝西，紧挨着。寒冷的冬夜，风雪越来越紧了。两列车的窗都关着，但相对的窗口距离很近，可以看见另一列车上的人，看见他们在抽烟，在喝茶，看报，发呆，聊天……但听不见那边的声音。那边也有人在擦去玻璃上的哈气朝窗外看，朝这边看。 这时C的梦想重叠进L的现实：看见了找遍万里而不见的他的恋人。 她就在对面的车厢里，坐在他对面远端的那个窗口旁。隔着两列车的车窗，隔着对面车厢里晃来晃去的旅客，他看见了他的恋人就在那儿，坐在窗边，一个陌生人的旁边和一个陌生人的对面，她扭过脸去，对着车窗的玻璃梳头，咬开一个发卡，推进鬓边…… “喂！喂！”C或者L敲着玻璃喊她的名字，她听不见。他急忙打开车窗，喊她，挥着手喊她，她还是听不见。对面车厢里的一两个旅客莫名其妙地朝这边看，又过回头去四处寻找，弄不清这个人在喊谁或者要干什么。 “喂喂……”他喊着，心想是不是跳出窗去？又怕列车就要开走，不是怕自己的这列开走，而是怕她的那列开走。 “嘿，嘿！”有人冲他嚷了，“关上窗户嘿，这么冷的天！” 风吹进来，夹着细碎的雪花。 “对不起，对不起，就一会儿。” 这时一列风驰电掣的火车从另一条轨道上开过来了，隆隆的声音淹没了他的喊声，半天半天那列火车才走完，才远去了。 “喂！喂喂！这儿，在这儿！是我！喂……”他喊她，声嘶力竭地喊她，但那边，她理下头去开始看一本杂志。 “嘿，有完没完嘿，凉快够了吧那位？” “关上，关上嘿，本来就够冷的了，说你呢，关上窗户行不行？” “对不起，谢谢，谢谢，我看见了我的……一个熟人。” “熟人？哼，疯子！” “喂！喂！喂……”他喊她的名字。也许那不是她？ 但是，现实会弄错，梦不会弄错。 列车动了，不知道是那一列还是这一列，平稳地开动了，两个相对的窗口缓缓错开，错开，错开……远了，飞速地离开，看不见了，窗外只是风雪，冬夜中慢慢变白的原野。关上窗，再不关也毫无意义。L在C的梦中颓然坐倒，坐在旅客们纷纷的怨声里，愣愣地甚至弄不清发生了什么，两眼空空。很久，他才想起忘了一件最重要的事。L忘了看看那列火车是开向哪里的了。也许不是L忘了，而是因为C没有梦见这一点。因为C不知道他的恋人去向何方，所以从来梦不见。 173 谁都可以是C，以及，谁都可能是C。但是没有谁愿意是他，没有谁愿意终生坐进轮椅，那恐惧，仅仅是不能用腿走路吗？ 人们闭口不言C的爱情。不管是他追求还是他放弃，都没有反响。不管是他被追求还是他被放弃，都没有反响。都像在梦里，无声，有时甚至没有色彩，黑白的沉寂。没有赞美，也没有惋惜，当他追求或被追求的时候甚至没有人开他的玩笑，当他放弃或被放弃的时候也没有责难，曾经没有现在也还是没有。喧嚣中的沉寂从过去到现在…… 很像是走进了他人的聚会。C总是梦见我走进了一个他人的聚会，人们看看你或者毫不理会你，看你一眼很快转过脸去，都不认识你。我怀疑是不是走错了地方，定神想一想，确信我正是被邀请到这儿来的（活着就是被邀请到这儿来）。你被邀请来，但又不知是谁邀请你来的，我也没问问是谁邀请我来的我就兴高采烈地来了。现在你只好找一个位子坐下来，谨慎地喝一杯饮料，东张西望想发现一个熟人，但是没有，一张桌上在热烈地赞美什么，另一张桌上在痛心地惋惜什么，再一张桌上是愤怒地谴责什么，我悄悄把椅子挪近无论哪一张桌试着插两句嘴，但是风马牛不相及，赞美和惋惜和谴责我都在行，但哪边你也参加不进去。尴尬地坐一会儿我就想走了，你想不如快快地离开这儿吧，你必然会离开，你不可能还愿意在那儿耽下去，继续耽下去是无比的重负，终于会让你喘不过气来。C于是懂了，X就是这样离开的。X：到温润的南方去吧，这儿确实不好耽了，这儿让你不寒而栗，让你受尽苦难，你去吧，离开吧，你走吧，到南方去，我能懂了…… 童年中那个可怕的孩子，在我漫长的写作之夜，早已经走出那座庙院改作的校园。那个可怕的孩子，他已经长大，神秘莫测，无处不在，幽灵一般千变万化。当诗人成为这个世界的消息之时，那可怕的孩子，也成为这个世界的消息，处处都能听见他，看见他，听见和看见他天赋的力量。 来自远方的预言：如果你到这里来，／不论走哪条路，从哪里出发。／那都一样……来自远方的预言。在编织非人力所能解脱的／无法忍受的火焰之衫的那双手后面。／我们只是活着，只是叹息／不是让这样的火就是让那样的火耗去我们的生命……来自远方的预言：是谁想出这种折磨的呢？／是爱…… 来自远方的预言在写作之夜得到验证：C无论是谁那都一样。残疾和爱情——命运和梦想的密码随时随地显露端倪：无论对谁，那都一样。