Chapter 21 a friend's story

I knew him as a young man who had gone astray in life, a libertine, desperate for pleasure; I knew him as a delicate flower, blown by the wind of frivolity into the sensual world in the waves. I know that he is a bad boy in the village: he climbs houses and trees, smashes nests, and kills chicks; tears flowers and tramples them under his feet.I know that he refuses to work hard at school, blindly messes around, is lawless, and makes trouble everywhere.I know that he bluffed in the city, ate, drank, whored, gambled, and spent money like water, which completely embarrassed his father. But I still love him, and this love is mixed with pity.Not without regrets.I love him because his misdemeanors spring not from a mean soul, but from a weak one.hopeless heart.People!This heart has no choice but to deviate from the path of reason, and it always wants to get back on the right path.Because there are often storms of dust and sand in youth, people can't open their eyes and lose their way, making them understand many aspects for a long time.

I love the young man and am loyal to him.For to me his conscience is like a dove, and his vices like a hawk, and the dove was defeated not by cowardice, but by the fierceness of the enemy, and conscience is a just but weak judge, and weakness prevents him from doing his own thing. referee. I say I love him, and that love comes in all forms: sometimes with reason; sometimes with fairness; sometimes with expectation and waiting.I love him, and hope that the sunshine of his soul will dispel that momentary irritating gloom.But I don't know how dirt can be made pure, how cruelty can be turned into meekness, how frivolity can be replaced by reason.One will only learn afterwards how the mind is freed from material slavery.Only when the sunrise is shining, will you know how the flowers are smiling.

Day and night, as time goes by, I miss that young man sadly all the time.Whenever his name is mentioned, I can't help sighing, burning with worry and heartbroken.This was the case until yesterday.I had a letter from him yesterday in which he wrote: "Come to me, my friend! I want to introduce you to a young man who you will be delighted to meet, to know, and to delight in your heart..." I said, "Damn luck! Is he trying to make me have another friend like him, to double this sad friendship? Is he not typical enough to be known by himself?" signs of going astray? Is he now trying to supplement this pattern with his companion's bad deeds, so that I can read this book written by material desires verbatim?" Then I thought, "I Go! The heart can pick fruit from the prickly buckthorn bush by its wisdom, and draw light from the darkness by its kindness." When I arrived there at night, I found the young man reading a book alone in the room. This collection of poems.As I greeted him, I was amazed that he was holding such a book in his hand.I asked, "Where's that new friend?" He said, "It's me, friend! That's me!" Then he sat down very quietly, the way I've never seen him .He looked at me with a strange light in his eyes, which can penetrate your chest and know your actions.Those eyes, when I used to look at them, and saw nothing but brutality and ferocity in them, now become bright and fill one's heart with tenderness.Then he spoke—in a voice I thought was coming from someone else: "That schoolmate of your childhood, that friend of your youth is dead. His death brought new life to me. I am your new friend." , let's shake hands together." I held his hand——when I touched it, I felt a gentle soul flowing with the blood in that hand.The original rough hand has become soft; the fingers that used to be like tiger's paws are soft enough to touch your heart.Then I asked—I really don't know why my words came out so inexplicably: "Who are you? How did you come here and where are you going? Did the Holy Spirit transform you into a saint, or did you, in front of me, A role-play in a poetic drama?" He replied: "Yes, my friend! The Holy Spirit has come upon me and made me holy; great love has made my heart a clean altar. It's the woman, my friend! It's the woman I used to think was a man's plaything, who saved my mind and body from the dark hell, opened the gates of heaven before me, and I walked in. It's the real woman who took me Baptize me by the Jordan of her love. The woman whose sister I despised in ignorance exalts me to the throne of glory; I am pure—by her affections; I have enslaved her kind with money, but she set me free—by her beauty. The woman who drove Adam out of Paradise—by his cowardice and her strong will, and now bring me back to Paradise—by her tenderness and my obedience."

At this time, I looked at that friend, and saw his tears were shining, there was a sweet smile on the corner of his mouth, and there was a halo of love on his head.So I went up to him, and kissed his brow for blessing, like a priest kisses the Eucharist on the altar.Then I bid him farewell.On the way home, I picked up what he said eagerly: "The woman who drove Adam out of Paradise—by his cowardice and her strong will—now brought me back to that Paradise—because of her tenderness and my obedience."