Chapter 20 -2

The painter's eyes are dull, sinking in his own dream. It took him a while to wake up: "What did you ask me just now?" "No, I didn't ask anything." "Just now, what did we talk about just now?" "love." "By the way, love. It's the same with love, it has to be worship, worship and... and "Conquer," O said, his voice too flat. "What, are you tired?" "Oh no..." Fortunately, it was dark, and Z couldn't see O's expression clearly. "Are you a little cold?" "Maybe... we should go back."

They walked back together.The ripples of the river also dimmed, and only the constant gurgling could be heard clearly. "Yes, conquer." The painter continued. "But, but it's not by power and force... but by your inner strength, by your noble spirit... to conquer... Hey, have you heard that piece by Borodin? The one about The opera of Eagle King's expedition?" "which country?" "Don't care which country it is from. It's not like you asked, you don't look like someone who doesn't understand art. Don't care what era it is, it doesn't matter."

"opera?" "Yes, you just have to remember that it's a story about a king's expedition." "Which one," Z said, "that King Eagle, he was defeated and captured. The enemy said that he could be released on the condition that he would promise not to be their enemy again. But this cannot be agreed, and King Eagle refused. humiliating conditions." "His look, do you understand," Z said, "or his posture, which shocked the enemy. Do you understand? It's not a simple death rather than surrender, it's not the kind of hysterical madness you see in movies." yelling, or yelling without dignity, or forcing a stiff posture and emboldening yourself with a sneer. No, absolutely not like that. In my opinion, the king just said, 'No, it won't work.' Like Talking to his subordinates is like telling his entourage to say 'no, this matter can't be done'. Because he was born like this, he was born not to know what kind of person other than noble, he was unfortunately captured, but This doesn't mean that anyone can insult him. He doesn't know the special language of the defeated. He was born with the habit of a king. His only regret is that due to the fatigue of the battle, his voice is not as thick and round as before Lang, he might arrange his clothes apologetically. As for the enemy's conditions? It's like a request made by an ignorant child, it is enough to say 'no, no' to him, and it is considered worthy of them."

"Have you seen?" "what?" "The opera?" "I heard it. From that music you can hear the whole image of him, his noble manner, noble manners and history. He won the admiration of his enemies by his noble will, so Polovts Khan ordered him to His subjects danced and sang for King Igor. I’m talking about the music at that time. On the wild grassland, with the setting sun shining, King Igor, a defeated man in this world, enjoys the respect of his enemies who seem to be stronger than him, Enjoying the singing and dancing performed by the subjects of the enemy country..."

Z paused for a while, maybe to calm down his emotions, maybe he was listening to the distant and empty music or the sound of nature. The sky is full of summer night stars. "King Eagle," said Z, "he is the true conqueror, the noble, the true king." "Of course," Z continued, "that Khan Polovitz is also good and noble, because... because he knows what to worship. That's what I mean by worship and...and conquest..." 199 That night, in the studio on Market Street, the opera was playing over and over again. The story of Eagle King's expedition.

Of course, what was spinning was no longer the old record on the gramophone, but the tape in the tape recorder.The old record left by my father did not escape the catastrophe of the Cultural Revolution. Z's love for this opera is almost paranoid and unreasonable. Z has at least three copies of its records and tapes.When you are depressed and proud, the first thing is to make it sound.When he can't think about it, when he accidentally puts down the pen and hits his mind, he must let it sound, and let the music resound deeply or enthusiastically throughout his studio.At such a time, I remember that the painter sat with his eyes closed like a devout believer, on the ground covered with paint, for a long, long time, whether it was late at night or early in the morning, he might suddenly jump up from the clanging rhythm, or , fell asleep in the deep and vast melody.

That night, the melody spread on the market street again, flowing through the empty stalls, as if stepping into this withered city from the wild grassland, and looking down on the hustle and bustle of modernity from the vibrant ancient times. O listens, looking at Z from time to time in the lamp and then in the moonlight. Z is still sitting far away from O, near the corner of the wall.There was a glass of wine beside him, but he barely moved.Neither lamplight nor moonlight could see his face. I think at that time, it was Z's peeping. Z's eyes are definitely not in this simple studio, or even in this world.

Nor on his new wife. Maybe it's the female teacher O, maybe it's me, from the desolate and brilliant melody, from the intoxicated breath of the painter Z, I can hear: Your worship will become worship of you, and you must noblely conquer what you once worshiped noble…… What about Z?I thought that Z might hear the erhu that used to be on another street, so Z and I would see a teenager walk away in shame from his drunken stepfather, quietly hide from his suffering and humiliated mother, Running away beside his lovely half-sister, he walked towards a beautiful house, approaching the closed noble doors.But because of O's arrival, the painter Z sees the closed doors opening, and because of O's looking up to him.Because O walked into this humble studio, because of O's commitment to him, Z heard that all the doors were opening one after another as the music gradually became brilliant, opening, opening, opening faster and faster, endlessly

Maybe O was that little girl back then. Later, if they make love again, O will surely hear the passion of a conqueror again in the painter's peculiar erotic tendencies. But O loves him, there's no question about that. Even loved his conquests.Even the one who loves himself is conquered. Let his adoration become his adoration, O is willing.Let the nobility in his eyes be surrendered to him, O likes it. As long as he likes it, she likes it.As long as it is what he needs, she is willing. Oh, maybe it was the little girl in the beautiful house, because I heard, she said to herself in her heart (I heard all extraordinary women say this to themselves): I will not hurt him again, I will not hurt him again Let him be hurt, never let his noble heart accumulate pain and coldness, never let this genius heart add more... hatred...

O was startled, the last two words were unexpected. But she loved him, this man, unwaveringly. 200 When making love, the most profligate and the most unsuspecting time, O once heard Z say in her ear: "Remember, the one in this humble studio is the greatest painter in the world." Some panting, voice a little urgent. This voice will spread, expand, and swell in Z's endless peeping, chattering endlessly in O's memory or in my impression: ...Remember, only art is the most noble in this world, and no prince or dignitary is worth it It's a fucking passing moment, only art is eternal, remember... yes, my art!Art is not in all studios, art is not in all studies and on all stages, not all who call themselves artists know art, and my art will beat them, beat them all... They will know what art is from this humble studio, and they will see what is noble from the person in front of you. This is how this humble world can understand what is sacred, and those who have been insulted and damaged can understand what is noble. Find their spiritual follower, to my art!If they learn to see me, they will see that I am not in this filthy and kitsch market street, but in the wilderness, in the desert, in the snow, in the no-man's land where the jungle roars, in the silent hours, in the The place that can only be touched by sunlight and storms, yes, above the snow line, where the air is thin, the top of Mount Everest, is inaccessible, and only a few people have been there since the beginning of human beings... You have to learn to look up, from a " Learn to look up from a wild child, learn to look up from a cluttered street, from a cold winter night, from the feet of a child who is not yet sensible and keeps turning his head to look at you...

201'Z repainted the "Winter Night", realistically drawing O's nude body into the chaotic overlapping "doors". Various postures: leaning on the door; kneeling by the door; sitting with the back or sideways, playing the piano from a distance; standing alone, the sun is misty, casting shadows on the empty floor; dancing like a dance, with the deep corridor behind , flowers, and thick walls; the appearance of walking towards you, between doors, where sunlight and shadow intersect... But none of them are satisfactory. O watched him paint in silence.It was like this many nights. However, the image of O evolves in the "gate" day by day, forming a freehand rhythm, abstract whiteness, and a restless swaying, gradually O's naked body disappears from it, and the feather appears again, and it can be seen again. Silky to unwind and fly. It has to be it. Just like when Z first approached that beautiful, lonely, flowing and vigorous feather, he found that what he was looking for was exactly it, it was still it, and he must have it.What is buried among the feathers? I, and I think the painter is the same, can't make it clear. But it makes Z obsessed, as if once seeing it, he must follow it. Z's peeping, going back and forth, will finally reach it. It was like this many nights. Z must let it flutter like the wind and waves in those doors, or even sweep them away.So those "doors" also disappeared.Behind the turbulent whiteness, the color is sometimes gray and cold like a mountain rock, sometimes calm like stagnant water, or dark like bright clouds, or empty and quiet like a desert or a high sky... But Still not satisfied. Many nights, O watched her husband paint with bated breath. One day O blurted out and asked him without thinking, "Which one is more important, love or career?" Z responded casually: "Of course it's a career." O smiled and waited, thinking he would change his words.But no, Z is still engrossed in his pen. After a long time, O asked again in a low voice: "Why?" "Huh?" Z retreated to the corner, squinted his eyes and looked at his "Winter Night" from a distance, and asked casually, "What? What are you asking?" O said nothing, feeling a little disappointed. "Oh, is that still the problem?" Z put down his brush. "Do you think anyone could love a fool?" This sentence made the female teacher ask herself silently, and was speechless for a while. It was not until before going to sleep that O said again: "We'd better get rid of the physical mental retardation, because, because..." "Because of what?" "Because that's a special case." "Special?" Z shook his head gently, "But I think this particularity is the best explanation for the problem. Idiots, mentally retarded, low-energy, mediocre, ordinary people, that is just the difference in quantity, the difference in quantity under the same value coordinate That's all. Don't think I didn't notice your question just now, don't think I'm talking nonsense. Tell you, I dare say, my answer is the most honest answer in the world. If it were another occasion, I would also say that love is more important , I know exactly how to win applause. 'Love is love', 'love is unconditional', I would say things like that, but that's bullshit. Why don't you fall in love with an idiot? No, I don't mean sympathy and Compassion, we are not discussing charity, but love. Love must include worship, or admiration. What can make you worship and admire? Simply put, it is career." "Not necessarily," O said, "and kindness. Kindness may be more important." "Aren't idiots kind? Have you ever seen an idiot? I have. I have seen an idiot girl. You don't need to look too much. Just look at her eyes and you will believe that there is no one in the world who is purer and kinder than her. She cries and laughs without distractions. You can't find anyone who can laugh at someone else's happiness like her, and cry when someone's kite is broken on a branch. I look at her, never like that I was touched, but at that moment I also knew that I would never fall in love with her. I could pity her, sympathize with her, and if I had extra time and money, I could help her, but it is impossible for me to love her The reason is very simple, you can't adore her, admire her, and admire her, it's impossible, but love must include these, and even jealousy. You just have to ask yourself whether you are jealous of her. It's enough when you help her If you are honest, you will also find that you are always grateful in your heart, thank God that you are not her, thank God that she is not me. There are so many people who are willing to help her, but there is no one who is willing to be her. No." "Why do you have to be willing to be her?" "Yes, help is enough. I have no objection. I never appealed to Esmeralda to love the ugly bell ringer. It was either the plea of ​​the weak or the show of the strong. I am not at all Appreciate Hugo's compassion..." "That's because she's mentally disabled..." "Hugo?" "No. I mean the girl. That's an exception." "Is there an exception? But, how do you know that she is mentally disabled? Why is it not yours? What is the measure of mental disability or soundness? Can you tell me what to use?" O was momentarily at a loss for words. "I can tell you," Z said, "Using intelligence, ability, and achievements used to be called fame, but now it's called career. Try to refute me, you can't escape this logic no matter what." O didn't speak, maybe he was looking for examples to refute Z, maybe he was lost. Z said: "Because the standard of soundness and incompleteness is precisely formulated with this logic. This is the value standard that the world follows. Under this value standard, your spirit, your charm, your cuteness and even Your kindness depends on the success of your career." "Then you, did you succeed?" "I will be successful. Besides, whether I am successful or not depends not only on what those in power say, but at least many people who really understand art recognize me. There is a momentary success, and there is a success that is always charming. Those journalists and commentators who are like flies and mosquitoes, they can’t see you now, but one day you can’t blow them away.” "I didn't know you were so..." "So arrogant, isn't it? No, it's self-confidence." O nodded wordlessly, lowering his head to avoid Z's gaze.She felt that there was something else behind Z's self-confidence, and she couldn't tell what it was at the moment, maybe it was exactly the opposite of self-confidence. "Then," said O after a while, "didn't that King Eagle fail? Why is he respected?" Z pondered for a moment, and said: "It's quite complicated to say. First of all, he is a king, and he is already a successful man. If you don't believe me, try another pawn, try another penniless person, and he will be hacked earlier, just because he is Eagle. King, he can still have a chance to be respected when he is defeated. Secondly, after all, the real winner is not King Eagle..." "Is that Porovets Khan?" "No, no. The real success is the composer of this opera." O looked up and looked at Z in surprise.The surprise was so deep that even I didn't expect it.That is to say, I didn't expect Z to say this before. It was only when I wrote his answer that I realized that he had to say this, and he could only say this. But Z didn't notice O's surprise, and went on talking to himself: "The one who is truly immortal is he, not the Igor king. Because... because people don't call Borodin the 'Igor king', but Borodin's 'King Igor', just as one does not speak of Beethoven in "Ode to Joy", but Beethoven's "Ode to Joy"..." 202 One winter evening, O, a middle school history teacher, was sitting at home preparing a lesson (it could have been shortly after marriage, or a few years after marriage, it doesn’t matter, it’s never clear when it’s writing night anyway).The topic to be discussed on the second day is: who created history?On this issue, textbooks have always given only three views: heroes made history; slaves made history; heroes and slaves made history together.Among the three views, only the second one is affirmed by textbooks, the so-called "slave history view", which is highly praised. In the other room there was music that I still tend to think of as some passage from the opera, the most powerful part. Speaking of "in the other room," then obviously this was after they had moved into their new house, so it could be assumed that this was at least six years after their marriage. Under the headlight, O wrote the lesson plans carefully and densely. At this time Z came from another room, holding a wine glass, and said, "Go and see what I have drawn." O looked up at him, and saw the wine glasses in his hand trembling. In another room, Z's new studio, the white feather fluttered on an entire wall.The background is completely iron-gray, like a mountain, like a part of a mountain or just the color of a mountain rock, or like a haze that is boundless, sluggish, stiff, and oppressive.In front of the background, the feathers of the big bird stand out vividly, and the different shades of white paint the trajectory of its curling, bending, and stretching. The tiny fibers are all white, quiet and elegant, but flexible and proud, stretching and shaking like the wind. The waves, broken and drifting parts are also swaying and still full of vitality.It should be said that this is a successful creation. O stood under the other wall with his eyes wide open, and was so shocked that he was speechless for a long time, not knowing what to think.But she felt cold for a while, and she even wrapped her clothes tightly and hugged her arms tightly, and even wanted to curl up her whole body. It was not cold to the bone marrow, but cold to the bottom of her heart. The whiteness penetrated into her heart as if it was about to freeze into ice Frozen into a huge glacier. O felt that if glaciers could burn like flames, this would be it. The kettle in the kitchen whined. O hurriedly turned off the stove and filled the thermos bottle. The washing machine in the bathroom beeped again. O went to hang the washed clothes on the balcony again. Then there was another knock on the door. "Who?" "Check the meter." After sending off the meter checker, the history teacher returned to her desk and saw the artist flipping through her lesson plans. "Do you still want to teach such a class?" Z pointed to those lesson plans and said to O, "What is the use of this besides wasting your life?" O silently looked at the topic again, and asked suddenly: "Then, which of these three viewpoints do you agree with more?" "The fourth." Z said, "but if I have to choose one of these three, I will choose the first." "why?" "Quite simply, the other two are complete nonsense. That's tantamount to saying that history is what history creates. It's tantamount to saying that existence creates existence, facts create facts, yesterday creates yesterday, and the future creates the future. The point is that it's not just nonsense, And it's not just a lie, it's the most hateful hypocrisy and cunning!" "why?" Z said: "Because it is a trophy awarded to slaves by heroes." Z said: "But whose glory is it? The real glory, who took it? The slave only got the trophy, and at the same time the hero took the glory. I don't need to explain this logic anymore? The slave is forever If you are a slave, you are still a slave with a trophy, no matter how high the gold content of the trophy is, it is still a reward you are lucky to receive from a hero." Z said: "Who created history? Do you think slaves have the ability to ask such questions? Aren't all kinds of historical views defined and announced by heroes? Slaves can only accept. Heroes create History? Well, the slave kowtows and appreciates. Did the slave make history? Well, the slave cheers and appreciates. However, the person who swears that 'the slave made history' is willing to stay in the position of the slave himself? Didn't he intend to create a remarkable history when he announced this? Yes, he wanted to make history, but he never stayed in the position of a slave, but he wanted to say that 'the slave made history'. See Seems funny isn't it? It's normal, he can only be a hero in the cheers of slaves, and this is a smarter hero, he knows that gratitude after cheering is much more voluntary and therefore much more solid than gratitude after kowtow .” In my memory, O went to the window and sat down with his back against the radiator, maybe it would be warmer that way. In my imagination, Z was walking up and down the house, drinking constantly, and talking drunkenly on this winter night.Maybe it was because a piece of work excited him when it was finished. "History has never been the history of common people," Z went on, "this world has never been a paradise for billions of fools. This world is a world of winners, a paradise for a few elites. The so-called dedication is called sacrifice, and the so-called saving the world , Purdue sentient beings, freedom, democracy and fraternity, what else is "slaves made history", it is just a method and way for a small number of elites to obtain value. Can it really save sentient beings? I don't believe it. The only thing that benefits is the name of the savior, and the saved has already It is the humiliation of the saved person, which already means the suffering that the saved person must have—otherwise, why should he be saved? The Buddha said, "If I don't go to hell, who will go to hell?" I will not become a Buddha", but when they say this, they have already escaped from the sea of ​​suffering, compassion and peace, they have already escaped from the common world and won the holy name, but what about hell, or hell, the sea of ​​suffering, is it not the sea of ​​suffering? All living beings are always just the foil of this world, It is the bottom, how can heaven and holy land be supported without hell and sea of ​​suffering? Hell and sea of ​​suffering are solid foundations on which heaven and holy land can be built.” O shrank and sat by the window: "You really see it that way?" "It's too cruel, isn't it?" Z said, "But what do you want to hear? Endure the humiliation and save the world and save the people. I can say it more beautifully than WR." Z glances at O.Accidentally mentioned WR's name, Z thought it would touch O's pain, thought she would avoid the topic.But no, she seemed to be stuck in the question just now, thinking deeply for a while before looking up at Z, brushing her hair back. O: "Do you think he is that kind of person?" Z didn't know how to answer for a while. "Oh," he looked at the wine in his glass, "I would rather believe that he is sincere..." O: "But, but? You didn't finish your sentence." Z: "But in fact, that's bullshit. It's either hypocritical or childish." O: "You're saying he can't succeed, are you?" z: "Maybe this will enable him to succeed, but his grand goals will always be just a dream come true." O: "I don't understand. If his wish can't come true, how can he succeed himself?" Z: "Oh, in this world, you are the only one who is so pure that I am moved. With all due respect, although he can't save anything, he may be a savior that everyone loves. There have been people like this in history, and there will be people like this in the future. There will be more, and there will always be, but the essence of history will never change. It is impossible for the world not to be a pagoda-like structure, with a few heroes, saints, nobility, glory, happiness on the top and a bottom-most majority of slaves, mortals, and lowly ones. , mediocrity, and misery. How should I put it? The world is fundamentally one big market, and the latest and greatest goods will always be rare, and always owned by a few.” O: "Actually, you still say that he is hypocritical." Z: "It can only be like this. Maybe he doesn't realize it himself." O: "What about you? What are you doing?" Z: "The only difference between me and him is that I don't pretend that I want to save anyone. I don't save anyone. Yes, I don't save anyone. But I don't want to be a slave just like the person who declared that 'slaves made history'. " These words brought my thoughts back to that winter night when Z was nine years old.I think this sentence already existed on the way home, but I couldn't make a sound at that time, and I couldn't find the appropriate words.Later, he returned to his bedroom, turned the record up, and let the sad and majestic music sound in the dark. At that time, the nine-year-old boy was silent, and he must have been looking for an expression for the resentment in his heart... The sky is blue, the wild is vast, the setting sun is like wind and smoke in a different place, the arrogance of the king or Z's desire to avenge the shame resounds in the turbulent song and dance... What did Z finally find?Maybe it is that feather, its solitude and silence contain all the sounds that Z is looking for, and all the expressions of Z are buried in its sensitive strands. In my memory, O's face was expressionless at that moment, and it took a long time before she raised her head to look at Z, and asked suddenly, "Who do you hate?" The intuition of a woman is really astonishingly sharp, and I feel that the painter was hit to the core. "Me? Who do you hate?" Z thought for a while, but I felt that he seemed to have thought about it for a long time, and all the deep memories in his life gathered together. "What have you been hating all this time?" O said again.But her eyes were full of pity, even apology. "Oh no," Z said after those memories were concealed one after another, "maybe, maybe what one should hate is..." O stared at him and asked, "Who?" Z said: "Himself." At this time, I remember that the eyes of O and Z met each other, and then quickly moved away from each other. The meeting and moving away were very harmonious.In this way, Z had time to hide himself again.However, I think both of them understood in their hearts at that moment that Z's words were not finished, and there was a long history behind Z's words. Fluorescent lights buzzed.The old clock ticked away, and the two engraved hands were about to come together. O opened a corner of the curtain: there were no insects on the river bank in winter, and the river was completely frozen there in winter, with the moonlight shining, supporting the shadows of the buildings.On the other side of the river, there have been no major changes in decades, and there are large tracts of dark and old houses surrounded by alleys like a net. Twelve steady bells. O turned around.The two engraved hands are gradually staggered. There was a sneer at the corner of Z’s mouth, and he said, “Yes, I admit that I used to hate others, but then I found out that it’s not right. The weak hate the strong, there’s nothing more ridiculous than this, it’s useless to show the weakness of the weak You can even judge who is weak based on this logic. When two dogs face each other, the one that yells the most is the one that is about to run away. As I said, there are only two kinds of people in this world— —Heroes and slaves. If you are not a hero, you might as well be your slave willingly. Don’t blame others, or, go and make yourself a hero.” O: "Then you, of course you want to become a hero?" Z drank the wine: "There is no doubt." Z: "However, a real hero is not a person who gains power by cunning, nor is he a person who relies on Lao Tzu to make his fortune, nor is he a person who gains fame by flattery. Such people are not really respected. They may still be philistines, fools, still may one day be looked down upon. The real victor is a man of noble spirit, a man who by his own strength makes himself recognized as noble, and even his enemies I also have to admit his nobility, even those rich and powerful would feel ashamed in front of his nobility." I believe that at this moment, for at least a second, Z reappeared in Z's mind the sunset-like house he walked into when he was nine years old. There were many, many doors, and many, many doors were closed again, or, Among the many open doors, there appeared many closed doors, and a beautiful and cold voice lingered there. O: "I don't know what you mean by nobility." Z "art." O: "Just art?" Z: "A noble person is a lonely climber. He is gifted with self-confidence. When this mediocre man is constantly fighting for profit and fame, he is walking towards a mountain that no one can imagine, in the dark night At that time, the people in the warm nest and the people in the bright dance hall did not know where he was. For a moment, the mediocre people will think that noble people do not exist. But, One day people will see him on the roof of the world, his footprints are all over the Himalayas, his voice resounds on Mount Everest, he stands on that brilliant snow peak, standing in the sun, then everyone will see What is noble and beautiful. This scene, all this, is art in itself." O: "But..." Z: "But it's selfish. I know you're going to say that. If no one grows wheat, how can you possibly climb? Isn't it?" Z's voice rose, like a boxer who feels he has evaded his opponent's worst Fatal blow, now that he is excited, he has already dodged his softest part, and now he is at his fingertips. "But there are people who grow wheat. I have already said how the world is made up. There are still people who can't eat wheat. But this does not affect that some people are tired of eating wheat. There are heroes and there are slaves, and there are nobility and nobility. This is not a problem. .The question is, you, what to do, what are you." O: "The question is, what is the nobility of such selfishness?" Z: "Sure, we're going to talk about salvation again soon. That's another mountain, don't worry, there are many people scrambling to climb there. They sing the praises of the people but they think of being the savior of the people; They praise believers because believers will praise them in turn; they claim to save...for example, the poor, but in fact, isn't that their own cause or is it to realize their own value? Is this cause really able to save the poor and It doesn't matter, the important thing is that the poor admit that they are saving the poor. That's enough. If you don't believe me, try it. If a poor person opposes them, they will scold their mother, and they will say that the poor person is the enemy of the poor. If you don't believe me, just look at history, they would rather have poor people fight each other for their 'poor people's cause'." There was another long silence. O: "So what about your nobility? No one cares?" Z: "Everyone should only care about himself. Whether he is a slave or a hero is entirely his own business. No one can save anyone." O thought for a moment in silence, and it seemed that this would fit one of the most famous lines. O: "Then, what is your fourth view of history?" Z: "History is history, no one can create it. It is history that creates heroes. The meaning of the universe is to create some great and noble souls. In other words, existence is to use them to show meaning." O: "I don't think so. I don't think there is a distinction between high and low, and all people are equal." Z: "So do you think that people should have value?" O: "Of course." Z: "But value, it's a question of the level of a person. Of course you can think that a beggar is more valuable than Marx, it depends on your values, but it's still a matter of level, it's just a change of position, a change of soup It’s just not changing the medicine. But if you say that a beggar has the same value as Marx, it’s hypocrisy, it’s a sophistry, but it’s actually canceling the value. By the way, unless you cancel the value, regardless of the value, talents are the same, Only the world is peaceful, and it is "all brothers in the world" that can return to the Garden of Eden. Unfortunately, the world is not like this. The demand for value is not only justified, but also considered sacred. In such a world, a person regardless of value If you insist that people of no value are the most valuable people, then I can't help it, but this in itself is a mockery of no value." "But in love, people are of no value. Love is priceless." "Oh, my God! There's nothing you can do with women, why do you have no brains when it comes to love? It's like the most... bad poets. Oh forget it, why bother to be so serious ?Your logic is messed up. Hey, it's time for us to sleep." After finishing speaking, Z patted O's head, smiled, and went to the bathroom. O sat still, listening to Z washing up in the bathroom, blushing with anger.After a while, she seemed to understand something all of a sudden, jumped up, and rushed into the bathroom. O: "It's you, not me, who are confused in logic! You talk about career and value at one time, and you are the one who is confused! The value you talk about is just social and utilitarian value. In fact, it is better to say that it is price, exchange price, but I It’s about the ultimate value of human beings!” Z: "Is there, that thing?" O: "Why not?" Z: "Can you tell me what it's all about?" O: "For example, why are you alive after all?" Z: "Why? Why are you alive?" O: "Do you really still want to ask me?" Z: "I sincerely ask for advice." O: "It's hard to say comprehensively at this moment, um... For example, equality, for example, love." Z: "Do you think people can really be equal? ​​When have you seen people equal? ​​It is impossible for people to be equal! Because people are born with differences, such as body, intelligence, and opportunities. They are simply not the same. You This person who has studied in college always admits that the world is contradictory and sports, right? But equality means that there is no difference, how can there be contradictions without differences, how can there be movement?" O：“我不是说这个，我是说人的权利！所有的人都有平等的权利！” Z：“那是一句哄小孩儿的空话！谁给你兑现那份权利？要是事实上人就不可能平等，这个权利除了能拿来说一说还有什么用处？说的人，只是比不说的人多得些虚伪的光荣罢了。至于爱嘛，就更不可能是平等的，最明显的一个事实——如果你能平等地爱每一个人，你为什么偏要离开你的前夫，而爱上我？” 这句话太欠考虑，一出口，Z就后悔了，但已不能收回。 果然，O立刻闭口无言，愣愣地坐着，很久，泪水在她眼眶里慢慢涨满。 “喂，我没有别的意思，”Z说。 O一动不动，泪滴脱眶而出。 “真的，我不是那个意思。” “不，我听懂了。” “你听懂了什么？” “也许是你说对了……人总是有差别的。” 203 夜里O睡不着，听着老挂钟敲响了三点，听见Z睡得安静。她起来，披上Z的棉大衣，轻轻走进画室，再去看那幅画。 巨大的白色羽毛仿佛一炬冲天的火焰，那是一种奇怪的燃烧，火焰越是猛烈越是让人感到寒冷。好像铁灰色的画面上有一种相反的物质：冷，才能使它燃烧，冷才能使它飞舞，越冷，它就越具活力，越有激情和灵感似的。 这真是奇怪。真是画如其人吧，O想。 O坐在地上，裹紧棉大衣倚在墙角，大衣上有着浓烈的Z的味。头靠在墙上，她继续看那幅画。 她想起一只白色的鸟，在巨大的天空或在厚重的云层里飞翔。久违了，白色的鸟，这么多年中世事沧桑，它真实一直都在这样飞着吧，一下一下扇动翅膀，又优雅又自由，在南方也在北方……但是，一个恶作剧般的念头跳进O心里——但是如果它被一枪射中呢……“嘣！”O仿佛真的听见了一声枪响，随即眼前出现了一幅幻景：白色的羽毛纷纷飘落，像炸开的一团雪，像抛洒开的一团飞絮，漫天飞落……其中一根最大的在气流中久久悬浮，不甘坠落似地在空中飘舞，一丝一缕就像无数触脚，伸展、挣扎，用它的洁白和无辜在竭力嘶喊……那喊声必定是寒冷的，又必定是燃烧着的，因为，寒冷不能使它甘于沉寂，燃烧呢，它却又没有热度…… O睁开眼，恍惚像是做了个梦。她如果就是美丽房子里的那个小姑娘，她会想：那个寒冷的冬夜给Z造成的伤害竟会这么大这么深吗？如果O不是那个小姑娘，她必定会猜测：在画家的早年，到底遭遇过什么？ 差别，这人生注定的差别可真正是个严重的问题。忽然，O的脑际有一个非常清晰的思想闪现，但是Z进来了，一闪的清晰又掉进模糊里去…… Z走进画室。Z把战栗的O抱住，吻她。 “是我把你吵醒了？”O问。 Z显得很兴奋：“不，是这幅作品，它终于有个眉目了。” 两个人一同看那幅画。 O想起很久以前，她曾经问过Z，他为什么爱她？那是当O从陌生的小镇上回来，当她离开了前夫再次走进Z的画室，是在那间老屋里他们头一次拥抱并且匆忙而放浪地做爱之后。那时画室外面市声喧嚣，画室里一时很静，窗帘飘动起阳光、树影和远处的一首流行歌曲。O慢慢穿起衣裳，Z坐在画室一角久久地看着O，那样子容易让人想起罗丹的“思想者”。O向他走去，走近他，问他：“你为什么爱我。”Z却浑身一阵痉挛似地抖动：“告诉我，告诉我你曾经住在哪儿？” Z为什么这样问呢？O曾对我说，以后她问过Z，是不是觉得她就是当年那个九岁的小姑娘。 如果O这样问过，是在什么时候呢？ Z走进画室把战栗的O抱住，兴奋于他梦寐以求的作品终于有个眉目了——可能就是在这时候。 他把她抱起来，放在一块染满了画彩的地毯上，如果O那样问过，料必就是在这个夜里。他们俩都从卧室来到画室，继而做爱。他把她的衣裳扔得到处都是，肆意地让那些傲慢的衣裳沾染上他的画彩。他捧起她，看遍她洁白的肌肤上的每一个毛孔，酒气未消，在那洁白上面留下他的齿痕。他让她看镜子里面，让她看他怎样拥有她，让她看她怎样成为他的。但无论在镜子里还是在镜子外，O总能看见那根巨大的羽毛在墙上、或者在山上或者在阴霾的天空里，飘摇跳耀风飞浪涌。像往常一样，Z有些施虐倾向，每一回都是这样，这夜更加猛烈。O不反感，最初她曾惊讶，现在她甚至喜欢。他能够使她放浪起来，让她丢弃一切，丢弃她素有的矜持、淑雅、端庄……O甚至愿意为他丢弃得更多。她知道她甘愿如此，这是O之命运的一个关键。可能就是这夜就是这样的时刻，O抑或我，终于看懂了墙上的那幅画。在性爱的欢乐之中，刚才一闪而过的那个清晰的念头再次不招而至：Z，他的全部愿望，就是要在这人间注定的差别中居于强端。 就是在这时候，O迷迷离离地问道：“你是不是觉得，我曾经就住在那座美丽的房子里？” “哪座？” “你不曾料想到的那座。” Z停止了动作。 “你是不是感到我就是那个小姑娘？你是不是认为，我就是他们……” O感到Z的头埋进了她的怀里。 很久很久，O听见Z喃喃地说：“杀了它，杀了它，杀了它们……” O相信这绝不是对着他的继父，从童年，这就不仅仅是对着那个酒鬼。O把画家搂得更紧些，如同搂着一个受了委屈的孩子，就差在他耳边轻声说“对不起”了。 那句可怕的话在O温暖的怀中渐渐消失，但喃喃自语并未结束：“呵你们，你们……你们为什么，为什么那样美，而又那样冷啊……” 但O听不清Z到底爱谁，或者恨谁，是那个九岁的小姑娘，还是她的姐姐、她的哥哥、她的家人……或者是那座房子里的一切。但O在那夜之后却听清了两个字：雪耻。Z没有这样说，但O听到了。O相信这两个字才应该是那幅画的题目。 很久之后，Z终于清醒过来了，听着深夜的寂静，深深地看着O。 O搂着Z，看墙上那根羽毛。 “你原谅我了吗？”Z问。 “原谅什么？” “你忘了？呵，忘了就好，别再说他了。” O的头里又像似“嘣”地响了一声，心想：真的，我又把那个人忘了，真是让Z说对了，什么平等平等平等，我怎么这么容易忽视他呀……那个无辜的人他现在在哪儿，在干什么，在想什么……他是爱我的，我知道……可是为什么我不能像爱Z一样地爱他呢？Why?价值吗…… 然后他们做爱。一边做爱，O一边又流泪。 “怎么了你？”Z可能感到了，O在敷衍他，O第一次在这样的时候失去热情。 O不回答他。O在心里自问：是不是我又让一个人，积下了对这个世界的深重的怨恨……