Chapter 2 Immortal (2)

4 Agnes' father died five years ago.A year earlier, she lost her mother first.At that time, my father had already fallen ill, and everyone thought he was dying.At that time, my mother was in good health and full of life, as if she was destined to have a long and peaceful widowhood.Because of this, it was her, not his father, who left at the last moment, which made him uncomfortable, as if people would blame him for it. "People" refers to the people of the mother's family.His relatives were scattered all over the world, and Agnes had never met any of them except a distant cousin in Germany.Instead, my mother's family lived in one town: sisters, brothers, cousins, and a long list of nephews and nieces.My mother's father was a farmer in the mountains, and he spent his whole life suffering for his children; he gave all the children a good education, and allowed them to marry and start families comfortably.

When my mother married my father, she obviously loved him.Not surprisingly, he was a good-looking man, and by the time he was thirty he was a university professor, a respectable profession at the time.Of course she is happy to have such an eye-catching husband, but what makes her even more happy is that she can dedicate him to her family as a treasure.In accordance with the traditions of rural life, she has always maintained close ties with her family.However, Agnes's father was a man of few words and not sociable (no one could tell whether he was naturally shy or had other things on his mind, whether his silence was modest or indifferent), so Instead of making the family happy, this gift from the mother was embarrassing.

As the years passed, the two of them got older, and the mother became more and more inclined to her natal family.For example, her father always shut herself in the study, but she longed for someone to talk to, so she spent the day calling her sisters, brothers, cousins, and even nieces, and became more and more willing to mingle with them. thing.Thinking about it now, Agnes felt that her mother's life had drawn a circle: she stepped out of her own little world, bravely dealt with a whole new world, only to turn back.She lives in a garden villa with her husband and two daughters, and several times a year (Christmas, family birthdays) invites all her relatives to have a family feast; It has been quite a while, and even thought that his time has passed), her sister and niece can move here.

But the result is that the mother is dead, but the father is alive.When Agnes and her sister Laura visited him two weeks after the funeral, they saw him sitting in front of a pile of torn photographs.Laura picked up the pieces and yelled, "Why did you tear up Mom's picture?" Agnes, too, leans over the fragments on the table: they are not all pictures of her mother: most of them are his alone, some are of the two of them together or of her alone.Facing the two daughters, the father remained silent and did not give any explanation.Agnes hissed to her sister, "Don't yell at Daddy!" But Laura kept on yelling.The father got up and went into the next room, and the sisters quarreled for the first time.Laura left for Paris the next day, Agnes remained at home.Only now did my father tell her that he had found a small apartment in the city and was planning to sell the villa.This took her by surprise again.Everyone always thought that his father was a scholar, and his mother was in charge of housekeeping.They thought he couldn't live without his mother, not only because he couldn't take care of anything, but also, because he had already entrusted his will to his mother, people thought he might not even know anything about himself.Now, a few days after his mother's death, he suddenly decided to move out without hesitation, and Agnes suddenly realized that he was carrying out a long-established plan, and he knew exactly what he wanted.It was all the more inconceivable now, considering that it was impossible for him to learn that after his mother's death, the small apartment in the city was a dream and not a reality.He had lived in the villa with his mother, walked with her in the garden, entertained her sisters and cousins, seemed to listen to their conversations attentively, but his heart had been elsewhere, in the bachelor flat.After his mother died, he just moved back to the residence where he had been haunted by dreams and souls for a long time.

Agnes didn't think he was a bit mysterious until then.Why did he tear up the photo?Why have I been dreaming of a bachelor pad for so many years?And why, against the mother's wishes, did not let her sister take her daughter to move into the villa?Ordinarily, this is more practical. Sooner or later his illness will have to be taken care of by nurses, and they will at least be more attentive than nurses.She asked him why he moved, but the answer was simple: "What am I doing in such a big house by myself?" She was ashamed to let him take in his mother's sister and her daughter, because it was clear that he didn't want to do that.Then she thought that her father's life also drew a circle, and he also returned to his beginning.Mothers: From family to marriage and back to family.He, from loneliness to marriage.Back to loneliness.

That was a few years before his mother died, and he had a serious illness.Agnes took a two-week leave of absence and came back to be with her.But she couldn't be alone with him, mother always guarded them.Once, two colleagues from my father's school came to visit.They asked him many questions, and his mother answered them one by one.Agnes couldn't help it anymore: "Okay, Mom, let Dad tell it himself!" The mother was angry: "Didn't you see that he was sick!" At the end of the two weeks, his condition improved slightly , Agnes finally found the opportunity twice to go out for a walk alone with him.But the third time, the mother went out with them again.

A year after his mother died, his condition suddenly deteriorated.Agnes went to see him, stayed with him three days, and on the morning of the fourth day he died.It was not until these last three days that she realized her dream of being alone with him.She always felt that they liked each other, but they never really understood each other, because they never had a chance to be alone together.The only time they were close was when she was eight to twelve, when her mother was devoted to little Laura.They often took long walks in the country, and he answered her many questions.That's when he talked about the Creator's computer and many other things.She remembered only simple statements now, like fragments of antique pottery, which she wanted to put back together now that she was an adult.

His death ended their sweet three days alone.All the relatives of the mother attended the funeral.Because the mother was not there, no one arranged a vigil, and everyone dispersed in a hurry.Besides, my father had already sold the villa and moved into a single apartment. The relatives felt that this in itself was an act of severing diplomatic relations.All they could think of now was the inheritance before their two daughters, for the villa must have fetched a good price.But the notary told them that my father had left everything to the Society of Mathematicians which he had helped to found.This made them think he was a weirdo even more.As if he wanted to tell them through his will that it would be best to forget him.

A few days after his death, Agnes noticed that her savings had grown significantly.Only then did she understand everything.Her superficially pedantic father is actually very shrewd.She stayed with him for two weeks when he was dying for the first time ten years ago, and he persuaded her to open an account with a Swiss bank.Just before his death, he transferred almost all of his savings to this account, and donated a small change to the mathematician.If he left everything to Agnes in his will, he would needlessly hurt the other daughter; if he transferred all the money to her account without anyone knowing Leave a symbolic sum for the mathematician, and everyone will be anxious to find out where his money is going.

At first she felt compelled to share the inheritance with her sister.She is eight years older than her sister, and she has always felt a sense of responsibility.But she didn't tell her sister when she arrived.It's not greed, but she doesn't want to betray her father.This gift of his made it clear what he wanted to tell her, to express something, to give her some advice that he could not give her in his lifetime.Now, she sees this as a secret that belongs only to them. 5 She parked the car and walked towards the street.She was tired and hungry, but going to a restaurant alone was boring, so she decided to go to the first snack bar she saw for a snack.In the early days there were many small Breton restaurants in this area, and the cheap and good stuffed crepes or buckwheat flour cakes tasted very good with apple juice.But someday, these small shops will disappear and be replaced by modern restaurants specializing in so-called "fast food".Suppressing her disgust, she walked toward a restaurant.Through the shop window, she saw people sitting at the dining table, with grease-stained paper plates in front of them. A girl with fair complexion and bright red lips caught her eye.She had just finished her lunch, and the empty Coca-Cola glass was pushed aside. She tilted her neck and put her index finger deep into her throat for a long time, staring at the ceiling.A man sitting next to him was listlessly sitting on a chair, staring at the street with his mouth open.A yawn without beginning and end, as endless as a Wagnerian melody.A few times, his mouth closes, but not quite; it opens again and again, and his eyes, fixed on the street, open and close in time with the opening and closing of his mouth.In fact, there were several others yawning at the same time. Their teeth, carious plaques, metal crowns, and dentures were all exposed, and none of them raised their hands to cover them.A child in a pink smock hops across the dining table holding the leg of a teddy bear, which is also grinning, though not yawning, of course.The teddy bear in the child's hand collides with customers from time to time.The dining tables are so close together that they can be seen clearly even through the glass windows. The guests must have swallowed the sweat of the neighboring tables as they dine.The ugliness and filth hit her head and face through various channels such as sight, smell, and taste (she immediately remembered the taste of a greasy hamburger soaked in sweet water), and she turned around immediately, deciding to find another place to fill her stomach.

The sidewalk is crowded with people and it is very inconvenient to walk.In front of her were two big white, blond Yankees pushing their way through the crowd, a man and a woman towering head and shoulders above the surrounding French or Arabs.Each of them carried a pink canvas bag, with a child on their chests.But in a blink of an eye, the two disappeared.Now in front of her stood a woman in knee-length culottes, the fashion of the year.The costume made her buttocks even bigger, almost touching the ground.The exposed white calves looked like a pair of rough porcelain jugs, and the protruding veins on them were like little snakes coiled into balls.Agnes thought to herself: This woman could find more than a dozen styles of coats to hide her veins and make her butt less ostentatious, but why didn't she?When people go out to be with others, not only do they not want to make themselves more conspicuous, why are they even unwilling to do the very least of covering up their ugliness! She made up her mind that once the ugliness became unbearable, she would go to the flower shop and buy a forget-me-not, only one branch, and a bunch of small and exquisite blue flowers bloomed on the slender stems.She would go out into the street like this, holding the flower up in front of her, staring at it so hard that she could only see this beautiful blue dot, the only thing she would keep in a world she no longer loved.She will walk through every street in Paris like this, and she will soon become a familiar figure, children will follow her, laugh at her, throw things at her, and all Paris will call her a crazy woman with a forget-me-not ... She walked on.Her right ear is filled with the sound of music, the rhythmic drumming of percussion instruments in shops, hair salons, and restaurants; her left ear is distinguishing the sounds of the road: the low hum of a car, the rattle of a bus as it starts to leave the station .Suddenly, the sharp roar of a motorcycle came face to face.She had to search for the source of this annoying noise: a girl in jeans, with long black hair floating behind her head, was sitting stiffly on a small motorcycle, as if sitting in front of a typewriter, and the muffler of the motorcycle was blocked. Unloaded, making a harsh noise. Agnes thought of the young woman in the sauna a few hours earlier.In order to let everyone know her self and accept her self, she announced that she hates hot showers and humility when she enters the door.Agnes was sure that the dark-haired girl had removed the muffler from her motorcycle for the same reason.It is not the machine that makes the noise, but the brunette's ego; to be heard, to penetrate the consciousness of others, she connects the clamor of exhaust emissions to her soul.Agnes watched the loose hair of the roaring soul, and realized that she wished to see the girl die immediately.If a car had run over her right now and she was lying in a pool of blood, Agnes would feel neither fear nor pity for her, only satisfaction. She was suddenly terrified by her hatred, that the world was at a point where everything would turn into madness: people would walk down the street with forget-me-nots in their hands, or they would kill each other.A little more wine glass will overflow, maybe only one drop; maybe one more car will make it bigger, one more person, one more decibel, and the same will happen.There is always a quantitative boundary in things that cannot be crossed, but no one checks it, and no one is even aware of the existence of the boundary. She moved on.The sidewalk was getting more and more crowded, and no one would give way to her, so she had to walk down the curb, clinging to the edge of the sidewalk, avoiding oncoming cars and walking forward.She's used to doing that in the past because people won't move out of the way.She was aware of it herself, felt bad luck, and was always trying to get over it: she wanted to muster up the courage to go forward, follow the established line, let the oncoming people give way to her, but she never succeeded.In this boring daily contest, she is always the loser.Once, a child of about seven years old was walking towards her, and Agnes tried not to let her go, but in the end, she had to give in so as not to collide with the child. She also remembered a past event: when she was about ten years old, she once went for a walk in the mountains with her parents.They walked along a wide forest path, and suddenly two village boys jumped out. They stood in the middle of the road with their arms and legs outstretched, and one of them leaned on a tree stick, blocking their way. "This is a private path! Leave the road money!" He yelled and lightly touched his father's chest with a tree stick. It was probably just a childish prank, and at most the children had to be shoved aside, or, if they were begging for money, the father could pay with a coin.But my father stepped aside, picked another path and continued on.Of course it's okay, because they are walking aimlessly, it doesn't matter which way they go, but the mother is very angry with the father, she can't help complaining: "Even to two twelve-year-old hairy children to admit defeat!" Subdue!" Agnes was also disappointed by her father's performance. Another noise interrupted her recollection: Workers in hard hats were digging tarmac with hammer drills.And amidst the noise, the piano playing a fugue by Bach came from overhead, as if falling from the sky.Someone in the attic must have opened the windows and turned the stereo knob to the max. Bach's unpretentious beauty is a warning to the already distorted world.But Bach's fugue was no match for the steam hammer and the car; perhaps on the contrary, the car and the steam hammer internalized Bach as part of their fugue, and Agnes had to cover her ears with her hands and hold that position keep going. At this moment, a passerby walking opposite gave her a look, and slapped himself on the forehead with his hand. According to the internationally accepted sign language, this means that the other person is crazy, his mind is wandering, or his brain is not working.Agnes noticed his glance, that look of loathing.She stopped in a flash of rage; she wanted to pounce on the guy, wanted to punch him.But no, the crowd was pushing her forward, and someone bumped into her again, and she couldn't stop on the sidewalk for three seconds. She had to keep going, but she couldn't help thinking about him: they were both surrounded by the same noise, and he felt the need to make her understand that she had no reason, or even the right, to cover her ears.The man was blaming her for the wrong action.Just because all men are equal, she was severely reprimanded for not enduring what all must endure.Because we are all equal, she is not allowed to be creative in the world we all live in. The idea of ​​killing that man was not a sudden impulse.After the initial excitement subsided, the thought still lingered, the slight difference being that it was mixed with a little surprise at how she could have such hatred.The image of a person slapping her forehead stuck in her mind, like a fish full of poison slowly rotting, but she just couldn't spit it out. She thought of her father again.Ever since she saw him give in to the two twelve-year-olds, she had often imagined his behavior in this situation: on a sunken ship, lifeboats were limited, it was impossible for everyone to board, and there was panic on the deck.The father ran with the crowd at first, but suddenly he saw that people were pushing each other, trying to trample others under their feet, and a woman in a hurry was hammering him hard, saying that he was in her way, So he stopped and stood aside.In the end, he watched helplessly as the overloaded lifeboat was slowly lowered into the rough sea with shouts and curses. What is the name for this attitude?cowardice?wrong.Cowardice is the fear of death and the desperation to survive.noble?No doubt, if his behavior was indeed motivated by concern for his companions.But Agnes doesn't believe that's his motive.So what is it?She couldn't tell.One thing seems to be certain: on a sinking ship, if it takes hard work to get on the lifeboat, then the father would rather accept the judgment of the doom in advance. Yes, that's for sure.But there was another question: did the father hate the people on board?Just like she hated the motorcyclist at the moment, hated the man who laughed at her and covered her ears?No, Agnes couldn't imagine her father hating.Hatred binds us so closely to our enemies that it draws us into the trap too.Such is the filth of war: the intimacy of mutual loss, the lewd proximity of two soldiers glaring at each other and fighting with bayonets.It was this intimacy, Agnes concluded, that my father resented.The melee on board disgusted him so much that he would have preferred to be drowned.In his opinion, the physical contact between people punching, kicking and killing each other is far worse than dying alone in the pure sea. Memories of her father freed her from the grip of her hatred.Little by little the vicious image of the man slapping his forehead disappeared, and another sentence gradually emerged in her mind: I can't hate them, because I have nothing to do with them; I have nothing in common with them. 6 Agnes attributes her failure to become German to Germany's defeat.For the first time in history, the vanquished were not allowed to show off, not even painfully about their doom.The victor was not content with a general victory, he wanted to judge the vanquished, the whole nation, and therefore it was not easy to speak German or be German in those days. Agnes's mother's ancestors were farmers who lived on the border between the German-speaking and French-speaking parts of Switzerland.Although administratively speaking they belong to French-speaking Switzerland, they speak both languages ​​very well.My father's parents are Germans who settled in Hungary. He studied in Paris since he was a child, so he can speak French well.After marriage, German naturally became their common language.It was only after the war that my mother returned to speaking her parents' official language, and Agnes was sent to a French public school.The father was allowed only one traditional Germanic pleasure: reciting Goethe's poems to his eldest daughter in the original language. Here is one of the most famous German poems ever written, and one that all German children will remember: top of the mountains A stillness overflows, all tree tops you can't hear A sigh. The birds in the forest are speechless. just wait, soon You also rest. The content of the poem is very simple: everything in the woods has fallen asleep, and you will sleep too.The purpose of poetry is not to show us some amazing thought, but only to make the existence of a certain moment unforgettable and worthy of unbearable looking back. The poem is no longer a poem when it is translated word for word, but how beautiful it is only when you read it in the original language: Uber allen Gipfeln Ist Ruh, in allen Wipfeln Spurest du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Uogelein schweigen im Walde, Warte nur, balde Ruhset du auch. The number of syllables in each line varies, and the rhythm is constantly changing. Iambic, iambic, iambic, and the sixth line is surprisingly long. Although the whole poem is composed of two couplets, the first line is asymmetrical according to the grammar. It doesn't end until the fifth line. The melody formed in this way is unprecedented in any poem before. It seems ordinary, but it is extremely beautiful. Agnes' father had memorized the poem in Hungary, where he had gone to a German public school, and Agnes was exactly his age when she heard it from her father.They recite the poem as they walk together, deliberately exaggerating each stressed syllable so that the walk follows the beat of the poem.Due to the irregular rhythm of the poem, this is not easy to do until the last two lines War-te nur-bal-de a ru-hest du auch!The last word, auch, they couldn't help shouting out loudly, which could be heard even miles away. The last time my father recited this little poem to her was two or three days before his death.At first, she thought he was trying to speak his mother tongue again and return to childhood; then she found him looking lovingly into her eyes, hoping to evoke her memories of their happy walks together; and finally she realized that the poem said It was death: he was going to tell her he was dying, and he knew it.It had never occurred to her before that those innocent and romantic lines, the lines that schoolchildren love, could have this meaning.Her father was lying on the sickbed, his forehead sweating due to fever, and she held his hand tightly; to restrain her tears, she nursed and recited with him: Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch.Soon you too will be resting.She recognized the sound of her father's death approaching: the peace of the silent bird in the treetops. After his death, peace did come.It was the peace she felt in her soul, and it was beautiful; and I repeat: it was the peace of the silent birds in the treetops.As time went on, the father's last wish came out of the silence more and more clearly, like the sound of a hunting horn in the depths of the forest.What was his gift telling her?live free.Live how you want to live, go wherever you want.He never dared to do it himself.To that end, he gave his daughter everything she needed to venture boldly. Ever since she got married, Agnes has lost all enjoyment of being alone: ​​at work, she stays in a room with two colleagues eight hours a day; The rooms belonged to her: a large living room, the husband and wife's bedrooms, Brigitte's one, and Paul's small study.Whenever she complained, Paul said she could think of the living room as her room, and he promised (with unquestionable sincerity) that neither he nor Bridget would bother her.But how could she feel at ease in this room with a dining table and eight chairs, reserved for entertaining guests? Perhaps it was time to understand why she was so happy after Paul left the house that morning, and why she walked softly through the living room to avoid Bridget's attention.She even liked the erratic elevator because it afforded her a moment of solitude.She was also looking forward to driving because no one in the car spoke to her or looked at her.Yes, the most important thing is that no one is looking at her.Alone: ​​Sweetly away from all eyes.Once, two colleagues were on sick leave, and she worked alone in the office for two weeks.She was surprised to find that the end of the day was much easier. After that, she understood that the eyes of outsiders were the weight that pressed her to the ground, the kiss that sucked her strength, and the steel needle that carved wrinkles on her face. Waking up in the morning, she learned from the news broadcast that a young woman had died of an extremely simple operation due to inadvertent anesthesia.Three doctors were on trial, and a consumer protection association has suggested that all future operations should be videotaped, and the film should be permanently preserved.All hail this suggestion!Every day we are stabbed by thousands of eyes, but this is not enough: at the end there is always one eye that does not stop staring at us, following us in the street, in the woods, at the doctor, on the operating table, in bed; The real picture of our lives, down to the last detail, will be archived for future use, on call, for court investigation, or for the amusement of the public. These thoughts rekindled her yearning for Switzerland.In fact, she's been there two or three times a year since her father's death.Paul and Brigitte always speak with a broad smile when they talk about her emotional health needs: she sweeps leaves from her father's grave, breathes fresh air through the wide windows of a Swiss hotel.But they were wrong: even if her lovers were not there, the trip to Switzerland was an act of her deep and systematic betrayal of them.Switzerland: The song of the birds in the treetops.She dreams of staying there one day and never coming back.Have even looked at apartments for sale or rent several times, even thought up letters to write to them, telling her daughter and husband that although she still loves them, she has decided to live alone and leave them.She begged them to write to her often, though, because she wished them all the best.This was the most difficult to express and explain: she wanted to know about them, even though she had no desire to see them or live with them. Of course, these are just dreams.How could a sane woman give up a happy marriage?However, a seductive voice came from a distance, constantly breaking the peace of her married life: it was the voice of being alone.With her eyes closed, she listened to the sound of hunting horns from far away in the depths of the forest.Those forest paths, her father was standing on one of them, smiling, beckoning her to come along.