Chapter 23 Twenty-two, end or start

Twenty-two, end or start 225 At night when the leaves were falling, when the tourists were almost gone, I went to the ancient garden alone, walked through the quiet path, walked into the woods with mixed poplars and cypresses, and walked near the ancient altar. Where.A street lamp marked a bright circle in the night, and I saw him sitting there, reading in his wheelchair. I sometimes wonder: could he be me? The surrounding darkness covered up the rest of the scenery, the world became very small for a moment, just a small bright spot, C was tired of reading, stretched his waist, and turned the wheelchair, the fallen leaves on the ground were crushed and made a chirping noise Squeaking sound.

I sometimes think: Am I this disabled person C? I asked him, "Am I you?" C smiled at me: "Will you be me?" So he turned the wheelchair again, moving forward, backward, and turning in circles, 180 degrees, 360 degrees, 720 degrees... like a dance, like a newly invented game. "Every character in your writing night, who wants to play this game forever?" I am speechless. He looked at me seriously: "But, everyone is playing a similar game, don't you know?" "Sorry," I said, "maybe I hurt your pride..." "No no," he shook his head, "that's not the case."

C turns the wheelchair and walks slowly on the path.The street lamps are far apart, and between sections of bright and bright are sections of darkness and darkness. His shadow sometimes appears in the brightness, and sometimes disappears in the darkness.In light and darkness I heard him say: "You actually wrote very well in the first chapter—I was just a part of your writing nights, and all your writing nights were you, because you, too, were just a part of your writing nights." I was reminded of the first chapter.I asked, "Did you never meet that kid again?" "No," he said, "I run into them all the time."

"Where?" "All places and all times. Sometimes I meet them both, sometimes one of them." "I don't want to be kidding." "I don't want to either. There are so many jokes, do you need to trouble us?" "I'm telling you the truth." "Me too. Seriously, didn't you see one of them here and now?" I looked around, but it was dark and no one else was around. "Where are they?" "Now? On this path." "You mean me? You mean I'm still talking about you?" "It's not just you, it's not just me. They're all. In another place and another time, they could be anyone. For all were they. For all, were a boy and a girl."

The old man's prophecy: If you come here, / Whichever way you go, / Wherever you start, / It will be the same... C said: "Do you still remember the two young actors of the female director N?" "Yes," I said, "I see, they're everywhere and all the time." "Aren't they those two kids too?" "Yes. They are all the characters. They are all the characters and all the actors." 226 Finally one day, N recognized F on the films she had taken: a head of white hair, is that him? At that time, N was in a foreign country, and it didn't matter where he was, as N was in a foreign country.

On a lonely Sunday morning, she woke up but did not move, lying on the bed, her eyes wide open, listening to the birdsong outside the window for a long, long time.Birds were singing like this everywhere, and she felt like she was lying on the bed when she was a child, and the curtains of morning light were slowly growing and gradually becoming brighter, and she seemed to hear her mother or father calling her again and again: "Hey, Lazy girl, why don't you get up quickly, the sun is shining on your butt!" "Quick, hurry up, get up quickly, look at how sensible F is, and F is back from running!" "Hey, little F, let me tell you Can you also call our lazy girl when you go for a run?"... N sat up abruptly, but everywhere was quiet, there was no sound of her mother and father calling her, in a foreign country, only the chirping of birds.Birds are the same everywhere.Sitting on the bed, she even wanted to call—"Mom, come quickly, my skirt is on the balcony, bring it to me quickly..." But everything was quiet, and there was no and impossible mother's answer.She stared blankly at the door, almost on the verge of tears, knowing that the feeling would disappear as soon as she opened the door. Outside the door was someone else's motherland and hometown, without her childhood and history.

N sat alone with his knees folded for a long time, his eyes wandering around every corner of the room.Suddenly, she noticed those few films.They lay neatly and patiently in the bookcase, except for a cursory look at them when printing, I was too busy to bother to look at them again.How long has it been? They are lying there, just waiting for her to think about her hometown again one day.She jumped out of bed, took out the film boxes and walked to the window, opened the curtains, stretched out the film, and looked at the sun carefully, foot by foot.That's when she saw F. N didn't recognize the team right away, she just noticed that there was often a head of white hair around the two young actors, the white hair was so thorough and pure, shining brightly in the blazing sun. While watching, N admired the old man's passion and persistence, and wanted to see his appearance clearly.She searched foot by foot, and looked at each frame with a magnifying glass, but she still couldn't see his appearance clearly. This white-haired man always lowered his head slightly, as if he was praying, as if meditating. Thinking, as if perplexed.But N felt vaguely that this white-haired man seemed familiar, his every move was very familiar, he seemed to be calculating a difficult problem with his head down in puzzlement, his expression seemed to have been seen before, he must have seen it somewhere... Hehe , N suddenly realized: This is F, isn't this him?It's him!

At night, N borrowed a projector, pulled up the curtains, turned off the lights, and projected the films on the wall.Yes, it is F, that is her childhood friend and youth lover!I haven't seen you for so many years, but I saw you in this foreign country!I've heard that you turned gray overnight, but I haven't seen you since then... Where did the black hair go?Will it really disappear overnight?Your head is full of silver threads, shining like frost and snow, is it really you?For what... yeah yeah I just realized now, some things can’t be said, there’s no way to say them, they can only be stored in my heart, if you don’t die in your heart, it will climb to the tip of your hair and become a A burning icicle... But why don't you come to me?Why haven't you come for many years?why are you here nowWhy is it always around me, never away from me?You were still dodging me so I didn't see you then, I could see you were dodging my camera but you couldn't dodge and you were left on my film... are you looking for me?Yes, of course, but why didn't you come earlier?How long have I waited for you wow!Until you got married, until I got married too, I still thought you would come... I was not mistaken, you came after all, to find your lover in this turbulent summer...

On the wall, the picture shakes—there will be chaos there, the camera wobbles up and down, the sky, the ground, the crowd, Shumuqing's legs and chaotic footsteps ...then the tape broke, it was gone, the walls were dark, and my heart and the room were dark. In the darkness, N remembered what she had said next to the camera: "The plot is very simple: first, the hero and heroine are in the frenzy of first love. Second, they accidentally lost each other in this turbulent crowd. "..."There is no script, not even a story and more plots. Now there is no time to think about anything except that the lovers are looking for each other."..."Because I believe that no matter when, we What may be lost and what we are looking for is love! Even now, I dare to say that within our field of vision, there are tens of thousands of "lovers" who are looking for each other and praying for love. "...

In the dark, N thought: I am really right, there is F among those who are looking for it.Did he hear what I said?He should have heard it. N thought: I should go back and see him, yes, "For love, any age is suitable..." But N did not know that Dr. F was no longer alive at that time. 227 Dr. F died shortly after the camera stopped rolling.Opinions vary about his death.There is a saying that he had a heart attack at that time, and it was never discovered that he had a heart attack, but it was out of control. It was only after N came back from abroad that she heard about this incident, and realized that the breakup many years ago was actually her farewell to F.

At the end of winter, when the snow was melting, N walked across the thawing river, walked across the bridge over the river, and walked into the gray houses.The alleys are like a net.The snow shrank and melted ugly on the side of the road, dripping leisurely on the eaves of centuries-old houses.The air smelled of soot, of cooking oil, of someone frying fish—what a familiar smell!The wind is not cold in the face, and the global climate has become unpredictable. N walks through the short and long narrow alleys alone, and walks through tall and short old houses, paying attention to every pedestrian on the road and every person coming in and out of the courtyard door, hoping to run into someone she knows, or just It is a familiar face... This is the path she used to walk when she was a teenager. She is familiar with every courtyard gate, even every telephone pole and every dilapidated old wall. Everything is still the same, like "It used to be like this, and you are still like this" sung in a song, but there are more people than before, and they are all unfamiliar faces.In addition to the warming of the climate, the number of people is increasing. N remembers that when he was a child, especially in the afternoon, he walked in this alley for a long time without seeing a single person... Heh, the small oil and salt shop is still there, but the doors and windows have been replaced. Plumb... And home, where's that nuclear-yellow building?Well, there, still there, just a little bit unrecognizable, how striking and beautiful it was once, but now it looks old, old, dusty and listless, the wind and rain have washed away the beauty The colors are washed out... The yard was piled up in a mess: bricks, tiles, gray sand, wood, iron pipes, bicycles and carts... And there was a brand new "Lincoln" car parked in this mess. N knocked on the door of F's house, but no one answered, and when he pushed, the door opened.Walking in lightly, there is an obvious musty smell in the hallway, the carpet is stained and stained, even stepping on the dust, there is no decoration on the wall, only dust, many places have fallen off the gray skin, many places, the dust is there A net was formed, and there were rings of rusty yellow water on the roof.Lots of doors, but all locked.Walking slowly into the depths, only one door is open, from which the back of an old man can be seen. N stopped at the door and recognized the old man as F's father, who was sitting in front of the desk.The room was large and empty, and the winter sunlight came in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on the carpet one by one, falling on the table and bed, deformed, and falling on the old man's hunched back. F's father turned his head: "Are you?" "I'm N, do you remember me?" "Heh...heh, of course." The old man stared at N for a long time, then walked out without saying anything.When he came back, he dragged a sack. "This is what F asked me to give you," said F's father. "what?" "I don't know. He put it here with me. I haven't seen it. Later, a man named L came to me and told me that F wants me to meet you one day and give you these things." N opened the sack and knew just by looking inside: those were all letters from F to her.The same type of envelope (he always used it when he wrote to her), all sealed, all stamped, but none postmarked. N took out a few letters and looked at them. Just from the postage stamps of different periods, he knew that he had been writing to her for so many years—a letter that he never sent. F's father sat in the sun, motionless and silent.The winter sun caressed his hunched back. "Where's my aunt? And... what about the rest of the family?" "Abroad." "where?" "It doesn't matter exactly where." "Then...are you alone?" "I heard, didn't you also go abroad?" "Yes. It's at..." "No, no, I don't ask this. I just want to ask, what do you, and people younger than you, think of traitors?" "traitor?" "Yes, a traitor. A person who is afraid of death and torture, not because he wants to get promoted and get rich, has become a traitor. What do you think of such a person? What do you think of such a traitor?" "I... I never thought..." "Okay, I see." "But I think . . . maybe . . . " "Okay, I see, I have nothing else to ask." 228 In fact, after more than 20 years, since F saw N, he began to feel uncomfortable in his heart, shortness of breath, and tachycardia. For more than twenty years, he has imagined the scene when he reunited with N, imagined N's appearance, imagined her changes, but when he imagined like that, he also understood that no matter how he imagined, it would not be consistent with reality. Same situation.That is to say, although the assumptions can be many, they are always limited and unlikely to be consistent with reality.It's the same with thinking about death. You know you're going to die one day, and you sometimes imagine how you're going to die after all, when and where, and under what circumstances, but it's rarely likely to match reality. Consistently, when death really comes, you are still caught off guard. For more than 20 years, looking from a distance among the crowds, N has not changed much, she is still so beautiful, fit, full of vigor and passion. F stood in the crowd and looked at himself in the mirror of a little girl beside him.The little girl played with a small mirror, dazzled her mother's eyes with the sunlight reflected in the mirror, dazzled her father's eyes, and then ran away laughing, and repeated the game from another angle. F asked her: "How old are you?" "Five and a half years old!" The little girl said, stretching out five small fingers at the same time, but looked at all ten fingers but didn't know how to express the half-year-old. F took the opportunity to look at himself in her small mirror, and he saw that he was almost an old man: his head was full of white hair, his face was wrinkled, and - what surprised him most - his face was dull and slack, with a Dazed and tired.His heart ached tightly: I really will never be worthy of N... A reporter there asked N: "What if the two actors are no longer suitable? For example, are they already old?" N stood by the camera and replied: "For love, any age is suitable. As long as I was alive at that time, I would still invite them, and I would photograph two gray-haired old men kissing each other to remember the past, kissing each other, recalling their hard search for decades and even their whole life.  … … His heart felt tense and stuffy, and the scorching sun made F dizzy.He found a place with fewer people to sit down, took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a while, and was quiet... The noise around him seemed to subside. He might have dozed off for a while, or even had a dream. F has never been to the south but dreamed of a summer night where fireflies dance in the south: a clear moon after the rain, insects chirping everywhere, a slightly drunk night wind blowing the soul, the soul seems to be floating away from the body, drifting away and drifting away , but gathered together under the banana leaves... At this time, I saw N walking in front, alone but still young and full of vigor, her light blue skirt was fluttering, moving silently... "Hey, yes Do you, N?" He called to her, but N didn't answer.On the banana leaves, black and shiny water droplets roll along the neat veins.He followed N Tingting's back and walked into an old-fashioned house... N stopped, and he stopped, and they watched together for a long time: the old wooden house with high eaves, the moon at the end of the eaves, the ground is clean, and a door is open , and several windows were open. N walked to the old house, walked up the steps, walked briskly, walked through the corridor, walked past the shadows of the pillars, and walked into the dark old house. Soon, there were candles lit here and there in the dark..."N , is that you?" Still no one answered. F also walked up the steps and walked into the old house, but there was only candlelight here and there, and there was no N. The candlelight was flickering but there was no shadow of N anywhere? "N, are you there?" "Where are you, N?" "It's me, hello, can't you tell it's me?" "I'm here, hello, I'm always by your side you don't know Is it?" There was no piercing coldness.Suddenly, all the candles were extinguished suddenly, and it was pitch black... F was awakened with a start, and sat up with a yell.He looked around, afraid that he still hadn't woken up from his nightmare, but there was no one beside him.Then raise your eyes to look at the place where N was just now. N is gone, and everyone is gone. Where are they hiding? F got up in a hurry, ran eastward for a while and could not see N, ran westward for a while but still could not see N, she was nowhere, no one, just like the scene C saw when he was thinking about X, everywhere It's empty... Dr. F rubbed his eyes in astonishment, his heart felt stuffy for a while, his whole body felt weak, and he was spinning... F lay down under an old tree, and lay there quietly, no one noticed him.Wei Na's old tree is full of branches and leaves, every leaf is shaking, but there is no sound.A bird built a nest among the branches and leaves, took a piece of grass, fiddled with it demonically for a while, flew away, made no sound, flew back after a while, brought another ball of mud and continued to fiddle with it demonically, No matter what happens in the world, it just flies around and settles down its homeland. Dr. F looked at the bird, at the thick branches and leaves of the old tree, at the sky above the branches and leaves, the clouds and the wind made no sound... He felt his soul was floating away from his body, drifting away unobstructed Going, like in the dream just now, but no longer getting together, it's really annoying to get together, he doesn't want to get together, he just floats like this when he's happy... He thinks of the female teacher O, probably that's how O floats, right? O has probably been floating freely like this all the time, right?Is that what it is to enter into another existence?Am I entering another kind of existence... He looked at the old tree again, it was very strange that he seemed to be looking down at the old tree, he saw not only the old tree below but also everything that happened below... … Dr. F gasped and opened his eyes wide.What might he have been thinking as he lay dying? He will definitely think of the female teacher O's question: We are alive, walking, where are we going? Therefore, in my impression, Dr. F must think of the question he has always been interested in: what is the soul?Where is the soul, that is to say, where has the "I" always been? He must have remembered what he once said to the poet: Am I in my body?But I can't find me in every part of my body, I can't find me in every groove of my brain, yes poet you're right, it's a structure, the soul can't be found anywhere But the soul is everywhere, because the soul is a structure.Just like music, it is not in any note, but it is in each note, it is a message composed of all the notes.Just like painting, there is no single color and line, but if the color and line constitute the news of the past and the future, constitute movement and desire, constitute longing and calling, then painting is born... I think Dr. F must have a new idea at this time.He panted and opened his eyes wide, hoping for the poet to come, and wanted to tell the poet L: But, is the soul or "I" only in the structure of the body and brain? L You think about it, is it possible for the soul to exist outside the body? Can "I" leave others and still be "I"? Can "I" leave this land, sky, sun, moon, and stars and still be "I"? Is it possible for "I" to leave ancient messages and future calls and still be "I"? How can "I" leave everything that makes "I" and be "I" alone... Dr. F was panting, his eyes glowed with joy, I knew he was missing the poet: L, where are you?Come on, listen to me, I am not only in my body, I am also in all the news in this whole world, in all the known and all the unknown, in all the desires of all people, so that It is immortal...L Look at the ant colony, maybe every single ant is like you and me, unable to answer the question of the female teacher O, but all of them comprehend the same direction day and night. Going there... Look at those bees, they perform their own duties, does each bee know what it is for?No.However, the bee colony knows that the bee family is always on the road of creation...Look at the bird that builds the nest again, how smart, delicate and reasonable it makes the nest!But is that because of its intelligence, or is it because of its instinct?Is it because of its reason, or because of its desire?It is the latter, it must be the natural desire.Just like our stomach, L, do you understand?Is the work of the stomach not clever, delicate, or rational?They absorb useful nutrients and get rid of superfluous things, but have they ever used their intelligence?Does the stomach know what this is for?It doesn't know.But I know.But I can't answer O's question.But my soul, which is everywhere, already knows the answer.I'm just a part of this world, so I don't know, but all parts of this world are me, so it knows the desires of this world, so it knows the movement of this world, so they know the hardships and dangers of this world, so this The prayers of the world it must know... And the soothsayer named Elliott, who knows: You come here / to where prayer has always been right / to bow your head.Prayer is not just / a word, the / waking activity of the praying mind, or the voice of supplication. / When the dead are alive, what cannot be expressed in words / They as the dead can tell you: The communication thoughts of the dead / Beyond the language of the living are expressed with fire. /... When the poet L arrived, Dr. F was already dying. L put his ear close to F's trembling lips, felt that he was still breathing weakly, and heard him murmur: "As for...as for myself, L, I have only...only one wish for many years, and that is to be in the next life , if... if there is an afterlife, no matter where it is, whether it's in... heaven or... or hell, I will... find N, answer her... answer her always wishing... Hope I answered: Outside of reality, love, is still true..." That is, L saw from F's eyes that a white bird was flying in the sky. F opened his eyes wide, without blinking, looking at the bird: white and shining, flying very high, flying very slowly, flapping its wings in the huge sky, comfortable and graceful, without sound, wearing Passing through the clouds, passing through the wind, passing through the sun, flying to the south... But maybe, that is the soul of F flying to the afterlife. 229 At that time, in my impression, it was the season when all lovers reunited. 230 At that time, if the lover came back from afar, there were many ways in my impression.The methods belonging to C have already been written in Chapter 2.There is another way, which belongs to the poet L. If the lover says in the letter: "As soon as I can get away from the matter over there, I will set off and come back immediately, never leave again, never leave again, never separate...", this is C's lover, this is It belongs to the way that the disabled C reunites with his lover.If the lover said on the phone: "Hey, how are you... Yes, I'm back... And my husband, my husband also greets you..." Then, this is the one from L Ri Si Ye Meng Man, this is how the poet L reunited with his former lover. "Hello, is that you L?" Her voice had changed a bit on the phone, but the poet still recognized her immediately. "Where are you? Hey, where are you now?" L's voice was still eager, as it was at the small station on that snowy night a few years ago. "I'm at home. Hello, how are you?" Her voice was very calm—or pretending to be. "Oh, it's... not bad. When did you come back?" "Soon. Yes, still living there, in the same building. And you, still living there, too?" "It's still there." pause.It seems that I don't know what to say all at once. "I..." L's voice trembled uncontrollably. "I want to go to you now, maybe... maybe I still have something to say..." "I want to see you too. I want to invite you to come tonight, okay?" Is it okay, why is it okay? "Of course, if you have something to do now, I will go tonight." "Okay, we'll wait for you." We—although we had already expected it, the poet still felt tense all over his body, and his heartbeat seemed to have stopped. "My husband, he also greets you." "Oh...thank you." There was a long pause, and there was only the sound of breathing on the phone on both sides. "I thought, we're still friends, we're all friends... Hey, L, L, are you listening?" "Oh yes, it's a friend..." "I believe we can still be friends and should still be friends." friend? L thought: Is this pulling closer, or pushing away?Or is it zoomed in from a distance, and then pushed away from a near one? "Hey, hello—!" "Oh, I'm listening." "I think we can still be really good friends." But friends in general—that would seem complete. L thought: neither far nor near, an appropriate distance. "Hello, okay? I want to ask you to come tonight, okay?" Is it okay again, but if it’s not okay, what should it be? "Oh, of course." "very good, thank you." thanks?How could it be thank you? "Seven at night, okay? We're all ready." Ready? "Okay, seven o'clock." There seemed to be no choice. Years of anticipation, the reunion that has been imagined many times, will it be realized at seven o'clock or will it be shattered at seven o'clock?Are you alright, friend? Thank you for being ready—these words made L feel that the world is impermanent and life is like dust.For a whole afternoon, L was in a trance and couldn't think about anything. 231 At seven o'clock, the poet L walks into the horror of Doctor F. Through the dense branches and leaves of the poplar tree, looking at the window of the former lover, L walked into F's fifth scenario of the reunion: she happened to be on the balcony, standing in the faint sunset, saw him, and was stunned for a few moments Seconds and then waved to him, and quickly came downstairs to meet him. "Hey, hello." "Hello." The tone of the popular greetings is not special, as if they were just two acquaintances who met by chance. "You're really on time." "Really?" Shall we shake hands?No, hesitated but didn't reach out - thank God, that is to say the old days hadn't been polished off. "Then, shall we go up?" There is no way out. Walking through the very familiar building doors, stairs, and corridors, and entering the very familiar halls and corridors, what you see is completely unfamiliar decorations and furnishings. "Let me introduce, this is my husband... this is L..." "Hello." "Hello." "I have heard of you for a long time, and I have read your poems." "Hey, it's not worth reading..." "Hey, that's the bathroom, over here, over here, don't you know me?" I don't know anymore.Once you walk into the house, you don’t recognize everything, not even the teacup, not even the tone of your voice, not even the smell of the air... At this time, L began to understand: Dr. F was right ——Kong Ming's conjecture can carry any dream scene, and the real answer must limit the real pain. "Tea, or coffee?" she asked. "Oh, tea, or tea." "Smoking?" She offered the cigarette. "Oh, I'll do it myself." "Hey, you better stop smoking, okay?"—No, it's not about L, it's about another man. "Oh, his heart is not very good." She explained politely, and then a trace of imperceptible anger flashed across her face, and she turned to the other man: "Hey, did you hear that? Your heart, did I say something wrong? " That's right, that man's heart is not very good, and you have no right to interfere with this man's heart. What else does F say - a beautiful location? "But the poet smokes too," said another man. "Should I smoke one with the poet?" Anger retreated politely, and put on a smile: "Okay, just this one..." All three laughed, although it wasn't funny, although L felt a dull pain in his heart. "L, are you in good health?" "It's okay, um...you can make do with it." "Are you still running?" "Occasionally, occasionally run." "Hey, listen to me! But you don't move..." Who is not moving?Oh, it was another man.And this one is already a family. The other man said nothing, relying on the cigarette to keep a smile on his face. It was slowly getting dark.Turn on the light, pull up the curtains, and the curtains flutter gently, stirring up a scent of flowers. It was very lively outside the window, a group of shouts were enthusiastic or angry, arguing, and five or six high-pitched throats were scolding each other.The room was very quiet, and there was no topic to talk about for a while.Isn't it ready? It seems that no matter how prepared it is, it will not be very good. F’s original words are as follows: If God does not allow a person to forget all his dreams, let the dream stay in the most beautiful position... The so-called most beautiful position is not necessarily the happiest position, The most painful position is fine, the saddest and most tormenting position is also fine, just exclude...just exclude what? "Busy? What have you been busy with?" Finally, an urgent topic came up. "Oh, generally, I don't know what I'm fussing about, what about you? What about you?" "It's all the same, so what else?" "Drink tea, you're welcome, this tea is good..." "Hey, good, good..." "How about the real 'Longjing', this year's new tea?" "Yes, Not Bad……" Can't find the topic again.In the distance, the fight between those few people was not over yet.It’s not that I can’t find a topic, but I’m carefully avoiding some topics, some forbidden areas, on such occasions, at this time, in this world, in the rules established by this world, in such distances and in such smiles, Buried or marked restricted areas... Dr. F was right again: not all words in the world can be said... But something must be said on such occasions.What do you say?Remember not to foul, the main thing is not to foul, and the second is not to be cold. The wine and tea are on the table.It is true that the car must be on the road before reaching the mountain, at least there is no threat of a cold spot right now.Everyone seems to be relieved, and the topics suddenly become infinite: you can talk about fish, you can talk about meat, you can talk about the benefits of eating more vegetables on blood pressure and heart, you can praise and criticize cooking skills, you can raise a glass to toast, What do you wish?Everything goes well, yes, everything goes well...you can express confidence in your appetite but be humble about your appetite, you can point out the current disadvantages of extravagance and waste, you can shake your head dissatisfied with the current prices, you can recall the New Year when you were a child, and you can nostalgic for the appetite of your youth But this is a kind of limited infinity (be careful not to foul): what can be said can be said indefinitely, what can’t be said must be imprisoned in the heart, what can be said is not necessarily what you want to say, what you want to say , but most of them are inappropriate to say.There is also propriety, caution, vigilance, concealment, fake humor, necessary smiles, neither humble nor overbearing, neither hot nor cold, neither far nor near, polite... By the way, F means: only exclude mediocrity . F means: only rule out marking you as a guest without being rude, pushing you away from a certain distance, and limiting you within a certain distance—by the way: friends.This location, this distance, is a magic valley, a ghost wall, an ugly, cruel, and soul-eating floating cloud, floating lightly with the wind... The fluorescent lights hummed lightly, non-stop.It was quiet in and out of the window now. L felt very tired and smoked one cigarette after another—he was an unruly man anyway.The smiling muscles on the face are very tired, the eyes measuring the distance are very tired, and the nerves of avoiding the restricted area are very tired... I think everyone is the same, very tired, including the few people who quarreled just now must be tired too. Where are you lying and panting for a while... "Hey, do you know where Zhang Liang is now?" Great, thinking about a topic that can be said without fouling. "Oh, he's still at the bank..." "Accounting?" "No, cashier. Count the bills every day, but it's someone else's." "Hey, drink, don't just talk." "Hmm - no, no, I don't have a lot of alcohol." "Just kidding, how much did you drink? Come on, come on..." "Where is Li Daming, what are you doing?" "Lian Tan'er, I rented a shop room." "What are you selling?" "Clothing, traditional Chinese medicine, furniture, ham. Sell whatever you can." "Oh no, he can't drink anymore, his heart. The shrimp is not very fresh, so let's eat it." "Well, it's pretty good, really..." "Well, what have you written recently?" "No, I didn't write anything, um..." "Hey, I just found out, are your shoes nice, how much are they?" "You make an offer?" "Two hundred...well,...two hundred and five!" "sell to you." "One hundred and nine?" "I'll sell it to you at 50% off." "what?!" "eighty." "Nonsense, impossible!" "It's dealt with. I bought the last two, one size 42 and one size 43." This time I can laugh a little longer. L thought: Is it okay to say goodbye?No, it seems inappropriate to leave so soon... "No no no, I can't drink any more. Really." "Would you like some soup?" "Soup? Well soup... um--enough is enough." "It is said that this summer will be even hotter. Have you installed an air conditioner?" "Yes, it's time to pretend to be one." “听说何迪已经是局长了，是吗？” “不错，那家伙是个当官的料。” “楚严呢，最近你见过他没有？” “没有，没有，这么多年一点儿他的消息都没有，怎么样，他？” “几年前在街上碰见过他一回，他和几个人一起办了个心理咨询中心” “是吗！他不是学兽医的吗？” “改行了，他说他早改行了。嘿，你怎么又抽？第几支了？” “最后一支。” “楚严那家伙尽歪的，有一阵子老给人家算命，见谁给谁算。” 远处车站的钟声又响了。可以了吧？也许可以告辞了吧？ “吃点儿水果吧，L？” “呵不，厕所在哪儿？” 诗人在厕所里磨磨蹭蹭呆了很久，心想是不是可以走了？无论如何还是走吧，否则非累死不可。诗人在镜子里看看自己，表情倒是没什么不当的地方：但是这个人是我吗？你是谁呢？是那个找遍世界痛不欲生的人吗？是那个从荒原里走过来从死的诱惑里走过来的人吗？你千里迢迢到这儿来，就是为了这样一场客客气气的相见？等了多少年了呀，昼思夜梦的重逢，就是为了说这些话和听这些话吗？是呀是呀，F医生早就对你说过：这么看重实现，L，你还不是个诗人…… “怎么，你要走？” “真抱歉，我还有些事。” “那怎么行，你才吃了多少？” “噢，饱了，真的饱了。” “那，再坐一会总可以吧？” “是呀，别吃饱了就走哇。” 好像没有推脱的理由。虽然是玩笑，但吃饱了就走总归不大合适，这儿毕竟不是饭馆。 L只好又坐下。大家只好重新寻找话题。 从刚才的算命说起，说到手相和生辰，说到中国的“河图”和“洛书”，说到外国一个叫作诺查丹玛斯的大预言家，说到外星人，说到宇宙的有限或无限……L几次想走但还是没有走，又说到一些不可思议的传闻，说到人体特异功能，说到有人可以隔墙取物，有人能够穿门入室，说到二维世界、三维世界、四维世界，说到空间和时间……L想，不走就是为了说这些事吗？又说到另一个世界，另一种存在，说到天堂，说到了这宇宙中是否存在更高级的智慧…… “更高级的智慧又怎样呢？”这时候女主人说，表情忽然认真起来。“无所不能吗？在他们那儿，就没有差别了吗？” 两个男人都摇头，无以作答。 “呵，我真的得走了，跟一个朋友约好了，我得去……” "Really?" “真的。他们在等我呢，已经有点晚了……” 可是三个人一同看表，才发现已经很晚了，末班车的时间已经过了。 L苦笑一下。很明显，并没有谁在等他，这是一个借口。但是谁也不想揭穿这个谎言。 “要不，今晚你就别走了。”她推开另一个房间的门说，“住这儿。” L朝那间房屋里看了一眼，犹豫了一下。在那犹豫里间可能发生了很多事。 “太晚了，就住下吧。这间屋子没有别人。” “不了，我走。” “可是没有车了呀？” “用不着车，”L故作轻松地笑笑，“我不是擅长长跑吗？” "okay then." “好。认识你真高兴，以后有时间来吧。” “谢谢，我也是真……真高兴。” 她送他出来。在楼梯最后的一个拐角处，只剩了他们俩的时候，L认真地看了一下她的眼睛——从七点到现在他还没有真正看一看她。灯光昏暗，L看她，也可能只是一瞥，也可能竟是很久，她的目光像被烫了似地躲开去，躲开诗人。还好，这样还好，诗人一直不敢看她的眼睛就是害怕会看见一双若无其事的眼睛。还好，她躲开了，就是说往日并未完全消散。继续走下楼梯，谁也不说话，走出楼门，走上那条小路，走过那排白杨树，两个人一直都没有说话。这样好，否则说什么呢？还是不说话的好——这是从七点到现在，从若干年前的分手直到现在，也许还是从现在直到永远，诗人所得的唯一安慰。 “好了，再见吧。” "goodbye." 又都恢复起平静，整理好各自的表情，符合了流行的告别，符合了这个世界舞台的规则。L终于听懂了F心底的固执和苦难：如果自由但不平安，如果平安却不自由，就让往日保存在一个美丽的位置上吧，不要苛求重逢，不要独钟实现，不要怨甚至不要说……那美丽的位置也许只好在心里，在想象里，在梦里，只好在永远不能完成的你的长诗里…… L独自走在寂静的夏夜里。当然，没有谁在等他，没有什么约会。然后他跑起来，长跑，真正的长跑…… 可惜F医生已不在人世，否则可以去找F，在F那儿过夜，F会彻夜倾听诗人的诉说。 这样，诗人只能在沉睡的城市里独自跑到黎明，跑来找我，惊醒我的好梦，对我说：一个美丽的位置才可能是一个幸福的位置，它不排除苦难，它只排除平庸。 Beautiful location? By the way, it must not be a position where you retreat from honesty to politeness. A beautiful location? 对了，那必木能是一个心血枯焦却被轻描淡写的位置。 232 恋人们重逢的季节，在我的印象里，诸多重逢的方式中有一种属于葵林中的那个女人。 如果从一代人到又一代人，一代又一代的人群中“叛徒”这个词仍不熄灭，仍然伺机发散出它固有的声音，它就会在这样的季节里搅扰得一个老人不能安枕。如果在沸沸扬扬的那些日子，六月不平静的白天和夜晚，这可怕的声音又一次涌动、喧嚣起来，传进一个老人晚年的梦中，他必定会愕然惊醒，拥衾呆坐，在孤独的月光里喃喃地叫着一个纤柔的名字，一连数夜不能成眠。 这个老人，这样的老人，无疑就是Z的叔叔。 果真如此，这个老人——Z的叔叔或者并不限于Z的叔叔，就终于会在我的写作之夜作出决定：回到北方的葵林去，到他多年前的恋人身边去，同她一起去度过最后的生命。 那样的话，在诸多的重逢方式中，便有了属于葵林中那个女人的一种： 星稀月淡，百里虫鸣，葵林依旧，风过葵叶似阵阵涛声，那女的忽然听见Z的叔叔穿过葵林，向她来了。 女人点亮灯，烧好水，铺好床，沏好茶，静静地等着。 年年月月，她能分辨出这葵林里的一切声音，能听出是狐狸还是黄鼬在哭，是狗还是谁在笑，是蜻蜒还是蝴蝶在飞，是蛐蛐还是蚂蚱在跳……她当然能知道是他来了，她已经听见他衰老的喘息和蹒跚的脚步。 她梳理一下自己灰白的头发，听见他已经走到了院门前。 院门开着。 她再从镜子里看一看自己被岁月磨损的容颜，听见他已经站在了屋门外。 “进来吧，门没插。” 他进来，简单的行李仍在地上，看着她。 “渴了，先喝点地茶吧。” 他坐下来喝茶，看着她。 “我去给你煮一碗面来。” 他呆呆地坐着。好像从年青时入梦，醒来已是暮年。 一会儿，她端了一碗热腾腾的场面进来。 "Let's eat." 他就吃。 “慢慢地吃。” 他就吃得慢一点儿。 好像几十年都不存在。好像他们早已是老夫老妻。好像他娶她的时光因为遥远已经记不清是何年何月了。她像他只是出了一趟门刚刚回来。好像她从来就是这样在等他回家，等他从那混乱的世界上回到这儿来。 “我，”他说，“这次来就不走了。” 她点点头：“我知道。” "you know?" “嗯。我知道，要么你再也不会来了，要是你又来了你就再也不会走了。” “你知道我会再来？” 她摇摇头，看着窗外的月光。 “那你怎么知道，我就再也不会走了？” “因为，我一生一世只是在等待这一天。” 233 这样的季节，如果有一个男人去寻O的坟莹，他会是谁呢？ 我看着他默立的背影，竟认不出。 只有猜想。 WR吗？或者，Z？No, neither. 在满山落日的红光里，在祈祷一向是正当的地方，他便像是O的前夫，更像是写作之夜所忽略的那个人。 只是一块一尺多高的小碑，普通的青石，简单地刻了O的名字、被荒草遮掩得难于发现。四周的坟茔，星罗棋布，墓碑高低错落，都比她的漂亮、高大、庄严或辉煌……似乎仍在宣布一个不可或缺的消息，仍在争抢着告诉这一个世界关于：另一个世界里的差别。 O的前夫．或者我猜想中的那个男人，把一蓬素朴的野花捧在碑前，折开，一朵一朵让它们散落在O的坟上。那样，O就仍然是一个蹲在草丛中的孩子，在夕阳的深远和宁静里，执拗于一个美丽的梦想了。 当然我们还会想到一个被忽略的人：F夫人。在这样的忽略里，她走近F医生如女教师O一样的坟前，或者正从那儿走开……怀念他或者从此忘记他。 234 在这季节，WR独自一人，走进那片黑压压拥挤不堪的老屋群。 走过条条狭窄的小巷，走过道道残破的老墙，走过一个个依稀相识的院门……WR发现，有很多辆搬家公司的卡车往来于如网的小巷中，这儿那儿，人们都在呼喊着把家具搬出院子搬上卡车，这儿那儿都有老人们借别的目光和青年人兴奋的笑闹。what happened? WR驻步打听，人们告诉他：这一片老屋都要拆了，这一带的居民都要迁往别处了，噢，盼了多少年了呀…… WR愣愣地站了一会儿，忽然跑起来。当然，必定是朝着那座美丽房子的方向。 是呀，很多院子都已经搬空了……可不是吗，有些老墙已经推倒了，很多地方已是一片瓦砾……是呀是呀，远处正传来推土机和吊车的隆隆声……他一路跑一路担心着，那座楼房呢，它还在吗？O的家还在吗？他加快脚步，耽误了这么多年他忽然觉得时间是如此地紧迫了，慢一点儿就怕再也见不着它了……东拐西弯小巷深深……唔，那排白杨树还在，只是比过去明显地高大了，夏天的蝉声依旧热烈……唔，那个小油盐店也还在，门窗紧闭已经停业了……噢—— 红色的院墙。绿色的院门，那座漂亮的楼房还在！ WR站下，激喘着，久久仁望。 肯定，他会想起过去的日子，所有已经过去的岁月。 但是，那是它吗？这么普通、陈旧、苍老？唔，是的，是它，凭位置判断应该就是它！只是认不出了。它曾经灿烂得就像一道雨后的初晴的晚霞，可现在却是满面尘灰无精打彩，风吹雨打已把昔日美丽的颜色冲剥殆尽了…… WR轻轻地走过去，走近它，一步步迈上台阶，走进去……沉寂得让人一阵阵晕眩，好像仍是在远方的恶梦里。在这世界的隔壁，远方，罕为人知的地方，他屡屡梦见过它，梦中的它就是现在这样子：空空的甬道，空空的走廊，空空的墙上没有任何装饰，冷漠的灰皮一块块剥落，脚步声震动了墙角上尘灰结成的网，门都开着，所有的门都失魂落魄般地随风摇摆，厅回廊绕不见一个人，仿佛远古遗留下的一处残迹…… “喂有人吗？” No one answered. “喂——，还有人住在这儿吗？” 只有回声。 WR一间屋一间屋地看，快走或者慢走，踢开被丢弃的塑料瓶或罐头盒，在明亮和幽暗中快走或者慢走，找O的家。 Here it is.不错，就是这儿。地上满是尘灰，平坦的细土上有老鼠的脚印。nobody.当然也没有钢琴声。所有的东西都搬走了。厨房里没有了烟火味。卫生间的龙头里拧不出一滴水。客厅里得有花也没有描。四周环顾，从一个敞开的门中可以望见另一个敞开的门，从一个敞开的门里可以望见所有敞开的门…… 走进那间他最常去的房间，也没有了林立的书架。他回忆着那些书架的位置，在回忆中的那些书架之间走，走到当年与o面对面站着和望着的地方。伸出手去，仿佛隔着书架地伸过手去，但是那边，o的位置，是一片虚空…… 转身走到窗前，夏天的阳光都退在窗外，抬头仰望，万里晴空中也没有了那只白色的鸟。 靠着窗台默默地站着。不知他在想什么，不知道他怎么想起要在这样的季节里到这儿来。我想，很可能，WR又与那个曾经袭扰过他的悖论遭遇了吧，很可能他终于明白：他将要不断地与那个讨厌的悻论遭遇，这就是他的命…… 站在那儿，一声不响，直到夜幕降临。 这时，远处的一个门的缝隙里闪出一缕灯光。 朝那缕灯光走去。敲敲门，没有人应。轻轻一推，门开了。 门里的房间并不大，到处堆满了一捆捆一摞摞的稿纸，山一样重重叠叠。山一样的环绕之中，闪现一盏台灯．灯下一个脊背弯驼的老头。 "Excuse me……" 老头转过身来，看着WR。 “请问，o家搬到哪儿去了？” 老头摇摇头：“对不起，我不大清楚。” “这一带不是都要折迁了吗？这儿的人都要迁到哪儿去，您不知道吗？” “不知道，我昨天才回来。” “您呢？您的家要迁到哪儿去呢？” “呵，我哪儿也不去。不写完我的书，我哪儿也不去。” "That……" 老头已经回过身去继续写他的书了。 “对不起，打扰了。”WR退步出来。 退步出来的过程碰倒了一座纸山，稿纸散落一地。WR慌忙去捡时，看见了纸上奇怪的文字……呵，这写的是什么呀？这是哪国的文字？这是哪一个世界的文字？门外来风把地上的稿纸吹打，吹得在地上跑，吹得在空中飘。随手接住一张，再看，仍然没有一个认识的字，而且可以肯定：这不是文字，这只是任意地走笔、毫无规律的线条，随心所欲的涂画。WR呆楞在那儿，想起女导演N曾经对他说起过这样一个老头…… 这时一个老太太进来了，惊慌地看着WR。 “哦，您别怕，”WR赶紧解释，“我是来找人，我只是来问问O家搬到哪儿去了。您知道吗，O家搬到哪儿去了？” 老太太捉住WR的手腕，拉着他走到旁边的屋里，低声说：“请你别告诉他，好吗？什么也别告诉他。” “您指什么？” 老太太指指WR手里的稿纸，又指指隔壁：“随便他写什么吧，随便他怎么写去吧，别告诉他真象，行吗？因为……因为要是告诉了他，他倒活不成了。” WR望着屋顶屏息细听：走笔声、掀纸声一刻不断，墙那边正是“文思如涌”。 “就让他这么写下去？” “嘘——小声点儿。反正他也活不久了。这不碍谁的事。 有我陪着他，有纸和笔陪着他，他就足够了。 " “他要写什么？” “一部真正的童话。” “他不是早晚也要拿去发表的吗？那时还不是要揭穿吗？” “不，不会。他永远也写不完的。死之前，看样子他不会停F来。这样，他就永远都在那些快乐的童话里了。” “就让地，死也不明真象？” “这也是一个悖论。” “修论？” “两难。” "Oh?" “是对他隐瞒真象，以使他快乐地活着呢？还是对他说出真象，而让他痛苦地去死？” WR告辞那老太太，走出曾经美丽的那座房子时，已是繁星满天。这让我想起在童年，也是在这样浩渺的星空下，我们曾一路同行，朝世界透露了危险和疑问的那个方向，张望未来。那时我们都还幼小，前途莫测。现在也是一样，前途莫测。我写下了WR，或者我创造了他，或者他走进和走在我的一种思绪里，但是在这样的季节，在生命的很多种悖论面前，我仍不清楚他以后的路途。他只好就在这写作之夜将尽时消失，或者隐遁，或者在我的希望里重新起程——无论队哪儿起程都是一样，去走以后的（并非比以前更为简单的）路……但那是我还不能知道的事。现在还不能知道。 235 与此同时母亲又到南方。WR或者Z的母亲，或者并不限于他们的母亲，在我的希望里终于回到南方。 七十岁也并不晚，八十岁也埋没不了她的梦想。这样母亲必然与她并不爱的那个男人离了婚，去南方，去迎接她一向所爱的那个人的骨灰，并在月色或细雨中，把爱人的骨灰葬在那老宅院里，葬在芭蕉树下，葬在她自己也将走尽人生的地方。 我在第七章写过：所有可敬可爱的女人，她们应该来自南方又回到南方，她们由那块魅人的水土生成又化入那块水土的神秘……我在第七章里写过：我大约难免要在这本书中，用我的纸和笔，把那些美丽的可敬可爱的女人最终都送得远远的，送回她们的南方。现在这一心愿已经完成。 236 画家Z呢？O死后，再也没有见到Z。谁也不知道他去了哪儿。 如果在北方，苍穹如盖阔野连天的一处地方，碎石遍布，所有的石头上都画着白色的羽毛，我想那就是Z唯一的踪迹。 暗红色的石头，小如斗，大如屋，形态嵯峨，散布数里。石头上，白色的羽毛寂静、飘展、优雅、傲慢、动荡……千姿百态。若从高空（比如飞机上）俯看，黄色的土地上，暗红色的石头就像凝结的血，根根雪白的羽毛清晰可辨，仿佛很久以前有一只大鸟在这天空中被击中，挣扎着、哀叫着、扑打着翅膀依然飞翔数里，羽毛纷纷飘落在地上…… 我猜想那必是Z之所为，Z曾经到过那儿。 但是没有人见到过他。 或者没有人知道，Z画下那些羽毛之后又去了哪儿。 237 那么，我又在哪儿呢？ 如今我常常还能听见F医生对我说：是差别推动了欲望，是欲望不息地去寻找平等，这样上帝就造就了一个永动的轮回，或者，这永动的轮回就使“我”诞生。 我就在这样的消息里。 不不，我梦中的F医生会纠正我：并不是“我”就在这样的消息里，而是，这样的消息就是“我”。 一九九五年五月十八日完稿 六月二十六日修改完成