Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

How many years later did you realize that what destroyed you was not "unjust, false and wrongly decided cases", not hunger and being tied to the killing field.That's just a politician playing a joke on you. People have joked like this for as long as politics has existed and will continue to do so.As long as there has been a political party, that party has made mistakes, because a political party is really a bunch of people.A great political party is a party that keeps making great mistakes and is able to correct mistakes constantly and greatly.History progresses in this cycle; people are born and die in this cycle.What really destroys you is that you have to go all the way to see her.

Later, one winter, when you saw the plane trees on the streets of Paris, you thought of the elms and locust trees on both sides of the streets in City B. Their bare branches sent out anger to the sky, which was the same as the hair of Satan in hell.The winter sky is wider and brighter because the leaves are shaking off.You have Russian folk songs in your arms, and you think you should have taken the opportunity to go home, only because of the songs that nailed you to the ground.When you go uphill, you hum "Volga Tracker Song": "You can't walk the uneven road in the world", you hum and think so.You don't actually hum, the cold air and cold blood freeze the music on the throat.You only look at your toes, only at how your worn-out uppers are kicking up dust.The sun makes you sweat a little, and the hunger makes your stomach a little sour.As you walk, imagine her face and expression when she first saw you: surprise?stunned?grief?Sad?regret?fear?condemn? ... You are worried that she will faint due to the strong stimulation.

Your longing to see that delicate little face is the same as looking forward to picking up a delicate white flour steamed bun by the roadside.In Hamburg, a German doctor examines your stomach and tells you that your gastric ulcer is entirely the result of chronic hyperacidity, but you say "no"!You clutched your heart instead of your stomach and said it was all because of love.You know when you got sick.You know at the end of your life that everything happened as it should be.It can't be otherwise, and it can't be that.If you had found her then and married her as you wished then, you would not be awed by the vicissitudes of fate today in the Bois de Boulogne.You look around and no one pays attention to you, you lie on your stomach and bury a kiss deeply in this foreign land.You realized that you didn't get her, in fact, what she gave you has already exceeded your extravagant expectations at that time.

You finally came to the door of this hospital. Looking at the words "The Fourth People's Hospital of City B" on the white paint sign hanging at the gate, you feel "it's over"!Those big black characters were majestic and strict, but the handwriting of her address on the envelope was delicate and sad.You can't believe that the Chinese characters written on this big wooden sign and the Chinese characters written on her envelope indicate the same place. There should be a garden in front of the courtyard she pointed out to you, as she sang "the garden blooms in spring..."

You still had a keen sense of foreboding.You feel a voice telling you that today you will fall from the fairy tale to the grim world. You are swallowed by gray brick buildings.There is no sunlight or light in here.You can still see only because your body is bringing in the light from outside.A dark corridor shakes in front of you.Little signs were jumbled across every door.Looking along the shaky corridor, it looks like a bunch of moles born by a big wooden sign.Even if your nose is used to the smell, it cannot tolerate the smell here.The blood and feces are suffocating.All the expressions on all the faces oppress your breast; every one is like a wandering ghost spreading pain and misfortune to one another.You think that it is not the living who are healing the dead but the dead who are healing the living.

But you still walk tenaciously, taking advantage of the 900-mile turbulent Yu Yong.You found the little wooden sign not by eye but by intuition.The little wooden sign is the only fascinating baby in a string of freaks, and you hug it and sit down on a bench.Now you have forgotten how you met her. Have you asked other doctors?Have you asked the patient about it?In countless memories, you are the only one who saw her.What you did and thought before seeing her was blank.Her face obscures all your memories of the past. If you want to imagine it, you can imagine it like this: you sit on the bench blankly, you don't think about anything because you are hungry and tired, you have not only walked a long way but also because you are sitting the junction of the stages.You boredly peeled off your overlong fingernails, digging out the dirt hidden inside.You gouged out so much dirt and secretly rejoiced that it was your harvest. There are nine hundred miles of dust hidden in your fingernails.

At the junction of the two stages of life, you look back blankly, and you always don't know where you came from and where you are going, and you don't know why you are sitting here. Then a baby cry wakes you from thinking about nothing.You see a baby boy.The baby boy had a very big nose, and his forehead was stained with blood from either him or his mother.But then you realize you were wrong.You confuse waiting for your son to be born outside the delivery room twenty years later with when you were waiting for her to go out in the "Fourth People's Hospital of City B".When you imagined in your cell that you would have a child, conceived in your duet: "A surname twists and turns, thin and long, leading to the misty distance", your eyes trembled in both of you then one time.Twenty years later, you did have a child, but the child was not born to her.You put your face on the blood stain on the child's face, a blur, and finally you can't tell whether it is blood stains or your late tears.

It's not that reality shatters all imaginations so that you dare not imagine anymore, but that you hope so much that you dare not hope anymore. She did appear at noon.Years later you still wonder how you found her.She comes to you on time as if on a date.You see her coming out of the room with the small wooden sign, it is absolutely impossible for her to be someone else.But you are really back from the fairy tale to the grim world. You can see that her face is no longer delicate, it is as gray as mold growing in a corner of this gray brick building, and the sun will not reflect light on it.You have to look at her hands, the hands that you have held tightly so many times, the skin has obviously been soaked by the potion.I don't know which trash can the skin that has been in contact with you has been put into.Around her nose was a dark spot that anyone could have peeled off but she didn't.That white coat is so dirty that it makes you feel distressed.You feel bad that your dreams are also polluted.From then on, you don't believe in life, don't believe in memories, don't believe in dreams, and don't believe in yourself.You can't remember how you were destroyed any more than a bullet can't hear a gunshot.And of course, her big belly that makes you sad forever.That part of her body that protrudes proudly tells her story after she leaves you better than a novel.You saw two thin little hands protruding from her belly and shaking them outside, rejecting all interference from the outside world.She didn't see you.You could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn't want to look at anything at all.She looks more tired than you after nine hundred miles of jolting.Her cotton shoes were a little stained; her cotton pant legs trailed to the ground.Whether it is a coat, cotton trousers or cotton shoes, they are all too long and too big.In the corner of a large white cardboard box were scattered parts of her body.you sit there.You are shocked by her indifference.You know she'll be overwhelmed by your enthusiasm if you walk up to her and stop her.And calling the past back would have been cruel to her.The two of you are already cracked china that will shatter when shaken by indifference or by enthusiasm.The two of you will fall into a heap and be buried by the wind.She dragged and dragged past you.It is best to have mines buried under this section of the corridor.A sudden explosion will suddenly find you home.In the song you will return to the best time.However, nothing happened.How many times have you fantasized that the earth will explode under your feet, when you are being criticized, when you are being censored, when you are writing a review book, when you are tied up in the killing field, until you are writing a novel now.You regard writing a novel as writing a review.Because the content is also half-truths and half-false.You are tormented by the truth and tormented by the false.This self-destructive desire of yours starts from there.

Not only did you sit on the bench without making a sound, you didn't even move.You lose the desire and strength to reenact your story.You watched every part of her body in a big broken cardboard box being dragged away by a ray of light at the end of the corridor, and you broke up completely.She's going to have a baby after being dragged out of the corridor, so what are you going to do when you leave here?The singing has been shattered, and the wind blows it up like a handful of ashes, how do you gather it with your blank eyes? I don't know how to write the novel until here, I hesitate between truth and fiction.If you write it truthfully, it is just that you left the hospital after a while, like a dog leaving a bone without meat.And writing like this will never satisfy readers. According to them, you should hug your head and cry.Readers always like stimulation, thinking that the characters in the book will react violently after a strong stimulation.But after thinking about it, you didn't do anything out of the ordinary at that time.Your uncharacteristic behavior is so extraordinary that it baffles me.

You sit for a while.You didn't cry or howl.You wait until the doctors are all off to step out into the sun.The earth didn't explode, and the streets remained straight and monotonous.Looking at the sun, it was already noon, and the bitter wind stopped on the yellow roof.You feel lucky that you still have a five dollar bill in your pocket. You finally found a soba noodle stall on the corner of the street, so you walked towards it. The world and life cannot be viewed head-on, but you have to stubbornly look at the face.Then you saw her face whenever your conscience found you. She said that she thought she was so small that you fell in love with her all at once.Yes, you loved her to the end, but you actually gave all your love to her little body.You think you have forgotten her but in fact she has become an ancient poem in your heart.Although she has lost her youth, she will never age again.You understand her differently in different situations and emotions.Especially that night when you bid farewell to the girl from the massage parlor and got into the subway in New York, you clearly saw her through the dirty window.Her eyes were weeping.So you touched it carefully, but your fingers felt cold, and in front of your fingers was just an advertisement for going to Paris made by a travel agency.

In Paris, you are amazed that in March the sun never shines in Paris and the lawn is still green.