Section 01 I got jaundice when I was fifteen years old. The onset was in autumn and the recovery was in spring.As the end of the year got colder and the days got shorter, my body became weaker, and it got better at the beginning of the new year.It was very warm in January, and my mother built a bed for me on the balcony.I can see the sky, the sun, the clouds and hear the kids playing in the yard.One evening in February, I heard a crow singing. Our family lived on the second floor of a huge turn-of-the-century building on Flower Street.The first section of the road I walked here was from Flower Street to Railway Station Street.One Monday in October, on my way home from school, I threw up.For several days, I have been extremely weak. I have never been so weak in my life. Every step is very difficult.I can barely lift my legs up the stairs at home or at school.I also have no appetite, and even sitting at the dining table hungry, I quickly lose my appetite again.I woke up in the morning with dry mouth and tongue, feeling uncomfortable all over, as if all the organs of the body were misplaced.I feel so shy with my body being so weak, especially when I vomit.It was the first time in my life that I vomited like that.I tried my best to swallow what was in my mouth, bit my lower lip with my upper lip, and covered my mouth with my hands, but the contents of my mouth still sprayed out along my fingers.I leaned against the wall, looked at the filth at my feet, and vomited white foam.

The woman who lifted me up, her movements were almost brutal.She took my arm and led me through the dark porch into a yard.Ropes were drawn between the windows in the yard, clothes were hung to dry, and logs were piled up in the yard.In an open shed, someone is sawing wood, and sawdust is flying.Next to the gate of the courtyard, there was a faucet. The woman turned on the faucet, washed my hands first, and then washed my face with water in her hands.I dried my face with a handkerchief. "You take the other one!" There were two buckets by the faucet, she took one and filled it up, and I took the other one and filled it up too.Follow her.She swung the water onto the road and the vomit was flushed down the drain.She took the bucket from me and threw this bucket of water on the road as well.

She stood up and saw me crying. "Little one," she said in surprise, "little one." She took me in her arms.I was almost as tall as her, felt her breasts against mine, smelled my own breath and fresh sweat from her in such a tight embrace.I don't know where to put the two arms.I stopped crying. She asked where I lived, put the bucket on the porch, and walked me home.She walked beside me, holding my schoolbag in one hand and holding my arm in the other.It is not far from Railway Station Street to Flower Street.She walked quickly and decisively, which made it easy for me to keep up with her.She said goodbye to me in front of my house.

On the same day, my mother called in a doctor who diagnosed me with jaundice.At some point I mentioned that woman to my mother.It didn't occur to me that I should see her, but my mother took it for granted.Whenever possible, she said, I should use my pocket money to buy a bouquet of flowers, introduce myself, and thank her.So, at the end of February, I went to the Bahnhofstrasse. Section 02 The house on Bahnhofstrasse is no longer there, I don't know when it was demolished for what reason.I haven't been back to my hometown for many years.The one built in the seventies or eighties was a five-story building with an attic, wooden bay windows and balconies, and was brightly painted.There are many doorbells, indicating that there are many small suites.People move in and out of this kind of apartment, like renting or returning a car.The ground floor is now a computer store, where previously it was a pharmacy, a grocery store and a video rental store.

The original old house was as tall as the new one now, but only had four floors.The ground floor is built of terracotta ashlar, and the upper three floors are built of brick, with oriels, balconies and window frames made of sandstone.To enter the house and go upstairs, you have to walk a few steps. The steps are wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. There are buttress walls on both sides, and there are iron handrails on them.There are columns on both sides of the door, and two lions reclined at the corners of the beam, overlooking the Bahnhofstrasse.The door through which the woman took me to the courtyard to wash my hands was a side door.

I noticed that house when I was very young.It stands out in a row of houses.I imagined that if it had been any wider and more bulky, the neighboring houses would have had to be pushed aside to make way for it.Inside, I suppose, there are plaster festoons, vaulted ceilings, long oriental rugs, and polished brass railings.I think there should be decent people living in such a decent house.The house was blackened by the smoke from years of train smoke.As a result, my imagination of the decent residents inside was also greatly reduced. They became weird people, either deaf or dumb, hunchback or lame.

For many years to come, I kept dreaming about that house again and again.The dreams were much the same, they were all copies of the same dream, or copies of the same theme.I was walking in a strange city and saw that house.It's in a row of houses in a town I don't know.I walked on, bewildered because I knew only the house and not the neighborhood.Then it occurred to me that I had seen that house before, but not in my hometown on Bahnhofstrasse, but in another city, in another country.For example, I dreamed of seeing that house in Rome, but recalled having seen it in Berne.This dream memory makes me feel very comforted.To see that house again in another setting was not so strange to me as to encounter an old friend by chance in an unfamiliar setting.I turn and walk back to the house, I go up the stairs, I'm going in, I push the doorknob.

If I dream of seeing that house in the country, my dream lasts longer, or I recall its details better afterwards.I was driving and saw the house on my right.I drove on, baffled at first, why would a house that clearly belonged on the side of a city street be built in an open field?Then I remembered that I had seen that house before, and I was doubly puzzled.If I remembered where I'd seen it, I'd turn around and drive back.The streets in my dreams are always deserted. I turned the car around and the tires squealed.I drove back at such a fast speed that I was afraid that it would be too late, so I drove even faster.Then, I saw it.It is surrounded by fields, rape fields, grains.The vineyards in the palace and the grasses and herbs in the French gardens.It's flat, a little hilly at most, and there are no trees.The weather was clear, the sun was shining brightly, the air was reverberating, and the streets shone with heat.A wall of wind and fire separated the house, making it difficult to see.That could be the wind and fire wall of a house.The house was not so dark as the house on the Bahnhofstrasse, but the windows were so dirty that you could make out nothing in it, not even the curtains.It was an indistinct house.

I parked the car on the side of the road, crossed the road to the door of the house, saw no one, heard no sound, not even the sound of a motor in the distance.There is no wind blowing, no bird singing, and the world is deathly silent.I walked up the steps and pressed the doorknob. But I can't open the door.I woke up and only knew I had grabbed the doorknob and pressed it.Then, the whole dream came to my mind again, and I remembered that I had such a dream before. Section 03 I don't know the woman's name.Holding a bouquet of flowers, I stood hesitantly in front of the doorbell downstairs.I really wanted to go back, but at this moment, a man came out of the door. He asked who I was looking for, and led me to Ms. Smith's house on the fourth floor.

No plasterwork, no mirrors, no rugs.The simple beauty that should have been in the corridor, which cannot be compared with the magnificence of the facade, has long since disappeared.The red paint had been worn away in the middle of the stairs, and the embossed green linoleum, which hung shoulder-high on the wall beside the stairs, was polished to a shiny finish.Wherever the stair railing struts were broken, they were roped up, and the stairs smelled of detergent - maybe that's something I noticed later.It's always in that disrepair, it's always that clean, it always smells like the same detergent, sometimes with cabbage or lentils, sometimes with frying or boiling or washing clothes .I don't know anyone else who lives here other than the smells, the doormats, and the nameplate under the doorbell button.I also don't remember if I ever encountered other residents in the hallway.

I also don't remember how I greeted Ms. Smith.Perhaps I recited to her two or three sentences I had thought up beforehand about my illness, her help, and my thanks for her.She took me into the kitchen. The kitchen, the largest of all the rooms, has an electric hob.Sink, tub, bath heater, a table, two chairs, a refrigerator, a wardrobe, and a couch.A red velvet fabric covers the armchair.The kitchen has no windows, and the light comes in through the glass on the door leading to the balcony. There is not much light, and the kitchen is lit only when the door is open, but in this way, you can hear the saw coming from the carpentry shed in the yard. Wood screams and smells wood. There is also a small, narrow living room with a sideboard.Dining table, four chairs, ear sofa and a stove.The stove was never fired in this room in winter, and it was barely used in summer.The window faces the railway station street, and you can see the old railway station site that was dug up in a mess and the construction site of the new court and government office buildings that have been laid.There is also a toilet with no window in the room, if there is a smell in the toilet, it can be smelled in the hallway of the room. I also don't remember what we talked about in the kitchen.Mrs. Smitz was ironing, spreading a wool pad and a linen towel on the table, and taking garments one by one from the basket, ironed them and folded them on one of the chairs.I sit in another chair.She was ironing her panties too, I didn't want to look but couldn't look away.She was wearing a sleeveless blue apron with pink flowers.She tied her shoulder-length blonde-gray hair back with a barrette.Her bare arms are pale.She took the iron and ironed it a few times, then put it down again, stacked the ironed clothes and put them aside.The movements of her hands are slow and focused, and the movements of turning around, bending down, and getting up are also very slow/mind.Her facial expression at that time was overwritten by my later memory.If I close my eyes and imagine her, I can't picture her facial expressions.I have to reshape her.She has a high forehead, high cheekbones, two light blue eyes, even and full upper and lower lips, and a very strong jaw, a flat, cold woman's face.I know, I used to think it was beautiful, and now I see it again. Section 04 "Wait a minute!" When I stood up and was about to leave, she said to me, "I want to go out for a while, and we can walk for a while." I waited for her in the corridor while she changed in the kitchen.The door was ajar, and she took off her apron and put on a light green blouse.There were two pairs of stockings hanging from the arm of the chair, and she took one down and rolled it into a cylinder with both hands, balancing on one leg and supporting the back of the other on the knee of one leg, He bent down, put the rolled stockings on his feet, put his feet on the chair, and raised the stockings from the calf to the knee, and then from the knee to the thigh.Leaning to one side, she tied the stocking that reached her leg with the stocking string, then stood up, took her foot off the chair, and grabbed the other sock. I couldn't take my eyes off her, from her neck to her shoulders, from her shirt-covered but uncovered breasts to her shirt-covered ass.When she put one foot on her lap and sat down on the chair, her smooth thighs were visible, first bare, pale, then bound up in stockings. She felt my gaze, and deftly put on the other stocking, turned her face towards the door, and looked me in the eye.I don't know how she looked at me: in surprise, questioning, knowing, condemning?I blushed, and I stood there for a while, blushing, and then I couldn't take it any longer, and I ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house. I walked slowly. Railway Station Street, House Street, and Flower Street are the only ways I have to go to and from school these years.I know every house, every garden and every fence.Those fences are repainted every year, and the wood is so rotten that I can squeeze my hands through them.When I was a child, I used to knock on the iron bars of the iron fence with a stick on the side of the road.And those high brick walls, I used to imagine the beauty and horror inside, until I was able to climb up and saw that there were only rows of withered, untended flowers, berries and vegetables inside.I also recognize paving stones and paint on the pavement, and smooth rocks of various shapes and little basalt, paint, and gravel laid alternately on the pavement. I know everything here.When my heart stopped beating wildly and my face stopped flushing, the scene I saw between the kitchen and the porch was far away from me.I was mad at myself for running off like a little kid, not having the poise and confidence I expected from myself.I'm not a nine year old anymore, I'm fifteen!Still, what counts as poise and confidence remains a mystery to me. Another mystery is the scene itself between the kitchen and the porch.Why can't I take my eyes off her?Her body was strong, very feminine, and fuller than the bodies of girls I had ever liked and who had won my favor.I'm sure if I saw her in the swimming pool, she wouldn't attract my attention.She wasn't as naked as the girls and women I'd seen at the swimming pool either.Also, she was much older than the girls I dreamed about.She is in her thirties?It is difficult for people to estimate the age of people who have not experienced or reached the age group. It took me many years to understand that it wasn't her body itself, but her posture and movement that kept my eyes on me.I asked my girlfriends to wear stockings, but I didn't want to explain my request, and I didn't want to tell anyone about the scene between the kitchen and the porch that baffled me.In this way, my request became a desire for unbridled lust, for orgasm.Once this request of mine was granted, it too came in a coquettish gesture, not the kind that caught my eye.Hannah wasn't showing off, she wasn't coquettish, and I don't recall any posturing or coquettish she ever was.I just remember her body, her posture and movements, and they seemed a little clumsy at times.But that's not really clumsy, it's that she let herself go back to her inner world, it's that she doesn't let any order dictated by her brain interfere with her quiet rhythm of life, it's that she completely forgets the existence of the external world.This forgetfulness of the outside world is also reflected in her posture and movements in stockings.But that time, her movements were not slow, on the contrary, they were very quick, charming and alluring.But it's not breasts, ass, and thighs that are alluring, it's a force that draws you into her inner world and forgets about the outside world. At the time, I didn't know this - although I do now, and why.At that time, whenever I think about what makes me so excited, I get excited again.In order to solve this mystery, I must recall the scene.When I view that scene as incomprehensible, I actually distance myself from it.After this sense of distance was removed, everything that happened at that time was vivid again, and I was still staring intently. Section 05 A week later, I was standing at her door again. I tried not to think about her for a week.But I have nothing to do, nothing can divert my attention, and the doctor does not allow me to go to school.Reading, too, bored me after a few months of reading.Friends came to see me, but I had been ill for so long that their visits could no longer bridge our daily lives, and besides, their stays were getting shorter and shorter.They said I should go for a walk, a little more every day, and not get tired.In fact, I need this kind of tiredness. What a nuisance to be sick in childhood and youth!The din of the outside world, the world of leisure in the courtyard, in the garden or on the street, is only faintly carried into the wards.The patients inside are reading, and the history and world of characters in the book are growing in the room.Fever dulls perception, sharpens phantasy, and the ward becomes a new room that is both familiar and strange.Penglai plantains showed its pattern on the curtains, and the wallpaper on the walls was making faces. The tables, chairs, bookshelves and wardrobes were piled up like mountains, like buildings, like ships. They were close enough to be touched, but very far away.The church bells and the occasional passing car's horn and its headlights reflected on the walls and quilts accompanied the patients through the long nights.Those were infinite but not sleepless nights, not empty but full.Patients alternate between longing, reminiscing, fearful, and joyous, nights when good and bad things can happen. This would decrease if the patient's condition improved.But if the patient has been ill for a long time, then.The ward will be enveloped in this atmosphere, even if there is no fever, this confusion will occur. I wake up every morning with a guilty conscience, and sometimes my pajama pants are soggy and filthy because of the indecent scene in my dream.I know that my mother, and the pastor whom I respect, who confirmed me, and the sister to whom I can confide my childhood secrets, will not blame me, but will, in a loving, caring way. way to comfort me.But for me, it hurts more to comfort than to blame.What's particularly unfair is that if I can't passively dream about those scenes in my dream, I will actively imagine them. I don't know where I got the courage to go to Ms. Smith.Is moral education somehow counterproductive?If the greedy gaze is as bad as sensual gratification, and if active imagination and fantasy are as indecent, why not choose sensual gratification and fantasy?It became clearer to me day by day that I couldn't get rid of this evil thought.Thus, I decided to put my evil thoughts into action. I have a concern that it must be dangerous to go to her place.But in reality there is no such danger.Ms. Smitz will be surprised at my presence, but she will welcome me, hear my apology for my erratic behavior that day, and take my amicable farewell.It's dangerous if you don't go. If you don't go, I will fall into dangerous fantasies and cannot extricate myself.Go is right, she will behave normally, I will behave normally, and everything will be normal again. In this way, I rationally turned my lust into a rare moral consideration and kept my guilt secret.But that didn't give me the courage to go to Ms. Smith.I thought it was one thing for my mother, the reverend priest, and my sister to encourage me to go to her instead of stopping me after careful consideration; quite another thing to go to her.I don't know why I went.Now, in what happened at that time, I see a pattern, a pattern that I have never jumped out of my thinking and behavior: I think about everything first, and then I come to a conclusion, and I stick to this conclusion when I make a decision. Only then did I know that doing things has its own laws, it may follow the decision, but it may not follow it.In my life, I've done many things I didn't decide to do, and many things I decided to do I didn't do.But doing whatever it takes.I went to meet women I didn't want to see again, tried my best to explain some issues in front of the judge, and even though I decided to quit smoking and gave up smoking as well, when I realized I was a smoker and wanted to stay that way , I continued to smoke.I'm not saying that thoughts and decisions have no influence on behavior, but behavior doesn't always happen as planned or decided.Behavior has its own way, and I have my own unique way of behaving, just as my thoughts are my thoughts and my decisions are my decisions. Section 06 She was not at home, and the door of the building was ajar.I went up the stairs, rang the bell, and waited there.I pressed it again.I could see through the glass of the door that the door inside the room was not closed.I can see and hear the clock ticking in the porch mirror, coat hanger and wall clock. I sat on the stairs and waited, it was not easy.How would a man feel if he felt powerless in making a decision, if he feared the consequences, if he felt happy that his decision was carried out without any ill consequences?I was not disappointed either, and I was determined to see her and wait for her return. The clock in the porch struck the quarter, the half, and the hour.I counted the soft ticks of the pendulum, counting from one strike to nine hundred seconds before the next.However, my attention is always distracted.There was a shrill scream of sawing wood in the courtyard, and voices or music could be heard in the corridor from other rooms.Then, I heard the sound of someone's footsteps going up the stairs evenly, steadily, and slowly.I want him to live on the third floor, how can I explain to him what I'm doing here if he sees me?However, the footsteps did not stop on the third floor but continued to go up, and I stood up. It was Mrs. Smith, carrying a basket of coke in one hand and a basket of briquettes in the other.She was wearing a uniform, jacket and skirt, and I could tell from her attire that she was a tram conductor.She didn't notice me until I was on the landing.She didn't look annoyed, surprised, mocked, nothing that I feared.She looks tired.When she put down the coal basket and was looking for the keys in the pocket of her jacket, the coins dropped and I picked them up and handed them to her. "There are two more baskets in the basement downstairs. Can you fill them up and bring them up? The door is open." I ran downstairs, the basement door was open and the lights were on.After a long flight of steps, I reached the basement, and saw a boarded-up room, with the door ajar, and an open ring lock on the latch.The room was large, and the coke was piled up to the height of the little window under the roof through which the coke was poured in from the street.On either side of the door, coal slabs are neatly stacked in layers on one side and coal baskets are placed on the other. I don't know, what am I doing wrong.I've also lifted coal up from the basement at home and never had a problem, except ours doesn't stack as high.There was no problem when I loaded the first basket, but when I picked up the second basket and prepared to put it in, the coal mountain began to shake, bouncing and sliding down from above, large and small lumps of coal, and piled up on the ground again. pile.The black soot spread like a cloud, and I froze, watching the coals fall one after another, and in a few moments my feet were buried in the coals. When the coal hill was quiet, I stepped out of the coal pile, filled the second basket, found a broom, swept the coal from the basement passage and the woodshed together, locked the door, and carried Two baskets went upstairs. She had taken off her jacket, her tie had been loosened and the top button unbuttoned, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk in her hand.When she saw me, she giggled, then burst out laughing.She pointed at me with one hand and knocked on the table with the other: "Look at what you look like, little guy, look at what you look like!" At this time, from the mirror above the sink, I also saw my black face , I laughed with her. "You can't go home like this. I'll fill you with bath water and clean your clothes." She walked to the tub, turned on the faucet, and steamed hot water flowed into the tub. "Be careful undressing, I don't need coal in my kitchen." After hesitatingly taking off my sweater and shirt, I hesitated again.The water rose so fast that the tub was almost full. "Do you want to shower with your shoes and pants on, little one? I don't look." But when I turned off the tap and took off my panties, she was watching me quietly and carefully.I blushed, stepped into the tub, and dived into the water.When I emerged from the water, she was already on the balcony with my things.I could hear her tapping her shoes against each other, and I could hear her shaking my pants and sweater.She was yelling "soot" downstairs, and the people below were yelling "sawdust" up, and she laughed.Back in the kitchen, she put my stuff on the chair.She just gave me a quick glance, "Wash your hair with some shampoo and I'll get the towels right away." She took something from the closet and left the kitchen. I was washing, and the water in the tub was dirty, and I put clean water on it so that I could rinse my head and face.Then I lay there, listening to the roar of the water heater, feeling the cold air in my face from the slit-open kitchen door.My body soaked in hot water, I felt very comfortable, so comfortable that I was excited, and my genitals became firm. I didn't look up when she walked into the kitchen until she was at the tub.She opened her arms and held a large bath towel in her hand: "Come on!" When I stood up and stepped out of the tub, I turned my back to her.She wrapped me in a towel from behind and dried me from head to toe, then she let the towel slide to the floor.I couldn't move, she was standing so close to me that I felt her tits on my back and her belly on my ass.She was also naked.She put her arms around me. "Isn't that why you came here!" "I..." I didn't know what to say, neither no nor yes.I turned around and didn't see her or anything, we were standing too close.However, I was overwhelmed by her nakedness in front of me. "How beautiful you are!" "Oh, little one, what are you talking about!" She smiled and put her arms around my neck, and I hugged her too. I'm afraid, afraid of touching, afraid of kissing, afraid that I can't satisfy her, afraid that I can't satisfy her.But after we cuddled for a while and I smelled her body odor and felt her warmth and strength, it all fell into place.I explored her body with my hands and mouth, and finally kissed her mouth.My eyes were closed, and I tried to control myself at first, and then I yelled loudly.I was screaming so loudly that she had to cover my mouth with her hands. Section 07 On the second night, I found that I was in love with her.I can't sleep well, miss her, dream about her.I felt like I was hugging her, only to find out later that I was hugging a pillow or a quilt.My mouth hurt from kissing yesterday.I want to be with her. Is she sleeping with me in return for my loving her?So far, after every night I've slept with a woman, I've had the feeling that I've been pampered, and for that I have to repay her, and the world I'm in, with love. I don't have much recollection of my childhood, but one winter morning when I was four is still fresh in my memory.At the time, the room I slept in was unheated, and it was usually cold at night and in the morning.I still remember that there was a heavy iron stove in the warm kitchen, and a pot of hot water was always burning on it. If you remove the round stove cover with a hook, you can see the red flames.In front of the stove, my mom put up a chair for me to stand on while she scrubbed and dressed me.I still remember that feeling of warmth and comfort, the warm enjoyment I got when I bathed and dressed.I still remember, whenever this situation came up in my memory, I thought, why is my mother doting on me like that, am I sick?Did my siblings get something that I didn't?Are there still unpleasant and difficult things that I have to endure today waiting for me? It was also because of the woman whose name I didn't know who doted on me so much the first afternoon that I went to school again the next day.Also, I want to show the manliness I already have.I felt strong and powerful, stronger than anyone else.I want to show my strength and sense of superiority to my schoolmates and teachers.Also, although I haven't talked to her, I can imagine that a streetcar conductor will often work into the evenings and nights.How could I see her every day if I was only allowed to stay home and take walks for recovery? When I got home from her, my parents and siblings were already having dinner. "Why did you come back so late? Your mother is worried about you." My father sounded more angry than worried. I said, I'm lost.I planned to take a walk from the Mausoleum of Honor to Mukenkur, but after walking around, I ended up in Noshlauch. I had no money with me, so I had to walk back from Noshlauch. "Can you give me a ride!" My sister occasionally takes a ride, but my parents don't allow her to do so. My brother scoffed at my words: "Mukkenkur and Noshlogh are not in the same direction at all." My sister also looked at me scrutinizingly. "I want to go to school tomorrow." "Then learn geography carefully, distinguish between east, west and north, and the sun is on..." My mother interrupted my brother: "The doctor said another three weeks." "If he can walk from the Memorial Hall to Noshloch and back again, he can go to school too. What he lacks is not physical strength, but intelligence." My brother and I fought a lot when we were little , and later bickered when they grew up.He is three years older than me and has the advantage over me in every way. At some point, I stopped fighting back and let his aggressive behavior find no opponent.From then on, he could only complain. "What do you think?" My mother turned to my father.He put the knife and fork on the plate and leaned back in the chair with his hands in his lap.He didn't speak, and looked thoughtful.Like every time Mom asks him about the kids or about the chores, I'm left wondering if he's really thinking about Mom or his job.Maybe, he also wants to think about his mother's problem, but once he gets lost in thought, all he thinks about is his work.He is a professor of philosophy, thinking is his life, his life is thinking, reading, writing and teaching. Sometimes I get the feeling that we—his family members—are like house pets to him, like a dog to walk with, a cat to play with—huddled up in one’s lap. In his arms, the cat was petted while purring.Household pets may be good for people, and people even need them to a certain extent, but buying food, cleaning up poop, visiting the veterinarian is too much, because life itself is not here.I very much hope that we—his family—should be his life.Sometimes, I wish my complaining brother and naughty sister weren't like that.However, that night, I suddenly felt that they were all very cute.My sister: She is the youngest of four children, probably the youngest is not easy to be, she can't do it unless she is mischievous.My brother: We share a room and he must be more inconvenient than I am.Besides, how can he not complain since I have been sick and he has to give me the room completely and sleep on the couch in the living room?My Father: Why should us children be his life?We will soon be adults and leave this home. It seems to me that this is the last time we sit together around a round table with a five-pointed lamp made by wheat core hanging on it, it seems that this is the last time we eat on an old plate with green edges, it seems that this is the last time we trust each other chat.I feel like we are saying goodbye.Although I am here, my heart is gone.On the one hand I longed to be with my parents and siblings, but on the other hand I also longed to be with that woman. My dad looked at me and said, "I have school tomorrow. That's what you said, right?" "是的。"他注意到，我问的是他，而不是妈妈，而且这之前也没有提到过。我在想，我明天是否该上学。 他点头说："我们让你去上学，如果你觉得受不了的话，那就再呆在家里。" 我很高兴，同时也感到，现在和他们告别过了。 第08节 在随后的几天里，那个女人上早班，十二点钟回家。我一天接一天地逃掉最后一节课，为的是坐在她房门前的楼梯台阶上等她。我们淋浴，我们做爱，快到一点半的时候，我匆匆地穿上衣服，快速离开。我们家一点半吃午饭。周日十二点就吃午饭，而她的早班上得晚，结束得也晚。 我宁愿放弃淋浴，可她干净得过分，早晨起来就淋浴。我喜欢闻她身上的香水味、新鲜的汗味，还有她从工作中带回来的有轨电车味。我也喜欢她湿淋淋的、打了香皂的身子，也乐意让她给我身上打香皂，也乐意给她打香皂。她教我不要难为情，而要理所当然地、彻底地去占有她。当我们做爱时，她也理所当然地采取占有我的做法，因为她在和我做爱，在从我身上获得情欲的满足。我不是说她不温柔，也不是说我没有得到乐趣。但在我学会去占有她之前，她只是顾及她的感受和乐趣。 学会占有她，那是以后的事——但我从未做到完全学会，因为我很久都觉得没有这种必要。我年轻，很快就能达到高潮。当我的体力慢慢恢复后，我又接着和她做爱。她把两手支撑在我的胸上，在最后一刻使劲抓我，抬起头猛地发出一种轻轻的抽咽般的喊叫声。第一次，我被她的这种叫声吓坏了，后来我开始渴望地期盼听到她的这种声音。 之后，我们都精疲力尽了。她经常躺在我怀里就睡着了，我听着院子里的锯木声和淹没在锯木声中的工人们的大喊大叫声。当听不到锯木声的时候，火车站街上微弱的交通嘈杂声就传入了厨房。当我听见孩子们的喊叫声、玩耍声时，我就知道学校已放学，已过一点钟了。中午回家的邻居在阳台上给鸟儿撒上鸟食，鸽子飞来，咕咕地叫着。 "你叫什么名字？"在第六天或第七天的时候，我问她。她在我怀里刚刚睡醒。这之前我一直避免用"你"和"您"来称呼她。 她一下子跳起来说："什么？" "What's your name?" "你为什么想知道？"她满脸不信任地看着我说。 "你和我……我知道你姓什么，但不知道你叫什么。我想知道你的名字，这有什么……" 她笑了："没什么，小家伙，这没什么不对的。我叫汉娜。"她接着笑，止不住地笑，把我都感染了。 "你刚才看我时的表情很奇怪。" "我还没睡醒呢。你叫什么名字？" 我以为她知道我的名字。当时时兴的是把上学用的东西不放在书包里，而是夹在腋下。当我把它们放在厨房桌子上时，我的名字都是朝上的，在作业本上和用很结实的纸包的书皮的课本上都贴上了小标签，上面写着课本的名称和我的名字，但是，她却从未注意这些。 "我叫米夏尔·白格。" "米夏尔，米夏尔，米夏尔。"她试着叫着这个名字。 "我的小家伙叫米夏尔，是个大学生……" "中学生。" "……是个中学生，有……多大，十七岁？" 我点点头，她把我说大两岁，我感到很自豪。 "……十七岁了，当他长大的时候，想当一个著名的……"她犹豫着。 "我不知道我要当什么。" "但你学习很用功。" "就那么回事吧。"我对她说，她对我来说比学习和上学还重要，我更愿意经常地到她那儿去。"反正我得留级。" "你在哪儿留级？"她坐了起来，这是我们之间第一次真正地交谈。 "高一。在过去的几个月里，由于生病我落下的课程太多了。如果我要跟班上的话，就必须用功学。这真无聊。就是现在也应该呆在学校里。"我告诉了她我逃学的事儿。 "滚！"她掀开鸭绒被子，"从我的床上滚出去2如果你的功课做不好的话，就再也别来了。学习无聊？无聊？你以为卖票、验票是什么有趣的事吗？"她站起来，一丝不挂地在厨房里表演起售票员来。她用左手把装票本的小夹子打开，用戴着胶皮套的大拇指撕下两张票，右手一摇就把挂在右手腕上来回摇摆着的剪票钳子抓在了手里，喀喀两下说："两张若坝河。"她放下剪票钳子，伸出手来，拿了一张纸票，打开放在肚子前的钱夹把钱放了进去，再关上钱夹，从钱夹外层放硬币的地方挤出了零钱。"谁还没有票？"她看着我说："无聊，你知道什么是无聊。" 我坐在床沿上，呆若水鸡。"很抱歉，我会跟班上课的，我不知道我能不能跟上，还有六周这个学期就要结束了。我要试试。可是，如果你不允许我再见到你的话，我就做不到。我……"起初我想说"我爱你"，但是又不想说了。也许她说的有道理，有一定的道理。但是，她没有权利要求我去做更多的功课，也没有权利把我做功课的情况作为我们能否相见的条件。"我不能不见你。" 过廊里的挂钟敲响了一点半的钟声。"你必须走了，"她犹豫着，"从明天起我上白班，五点钟就上班，下了班我就回家，你也可以来，如果在这之前你把功课做好的话。" 我们一丝不挂地、面对面地站在那儿。她对我来说是不可抗拒的，如果她穿着工作制服，其不可抗拒性也不过如此。我弄不明白所发生的事情。这到底是关系到我，还是关系到她？如果说我的功课无聊话，那么她的工作才是真正的无聊，这样说是对她的一种伤害吗？不过，我并没说谁做的事情无聊。或许她不想让一个功课不好的人做她的情人？可是我是她的情人吗？我对她来说算什么呢？我磨磨蹭蹭地在穿衣服，希望她能说点什么，可她什么都没说。我穿好了衣服，她仍就一丝不挂地站在那儿。当我和她拥抱告别时，她一点反应都没有。 第09节 为什么一想起过去我就很伤心？这是一种对过去幸福时光的怀念吗？——在随后的几周里，我的确很幸福愉快，我拼命地用功学习而没有留级；我们相亲相爱，仿佛世界上只有我俩。还是由于我后来知道了事实真相？ Why?为什么对我们来说那么美好的东西竟在回忆中被那些隐藏的丑恶变得支离破碎？为什么对一段幸福婚姻的回忆在发现另一方多年来竟还有一个情人之后会变得痛苦不堪？是因为人在这种情况下无幸福可言吗？但是他们曾经是幸福的！有时候人们对幸福的回忆大打折扣，如果结局令人痛苦。是因为只有持久的幸福才称得上幸福吗？是因为不自觉的和没有意识到的痛苦一定要痛苦地了结吗？可什么又是不自觉和没有意识到的痛苦呢？ 我回想着过去，眼前出现了当时的我自己。我穿着一套讲究的西服，那是我一位富有的叔叔的遗物，它和几双有两种颜色的皮鞋——黑色和棕色、黑色和白色、生皮和软皮，一起传到了我手里。我的胳膊和腿都很长，穿妈妈为我放大的任何制服都不合身。我胳膊腿不是为穿衣长的，而是为动作协调长的。我的眼镜的式样是疾病保险公司所支付的那种，价钱最便宜。我的头发是那种蓬松型，我可以随心所欲地梳理它。在学校里，我的功课不好不坏。我相信，许多老师没有把我当回事，班里的好学生也没把我放在眼里。我不喜欢我的长相，不喜欢我的穿戴举止，不满我的现状，对别人对我的评价不屑一顾。希望有朝一日变得英俊聪明，超过其他人，让他们羡慕我。不过，我有多少精力，多少信心？我还能期待遇到什么新人和新情况呢！ 是这些令我伤感吗？还是我当时的勤奋努力和内心所充满的信念令我伤感？我的信念是对生活的一种承诺，一种无法兑现的承诺。有时候，我在儿童和青少年的脸上能看到这种勤奋和信念。我看到它们时，我感到伤感，一种令我想起自己的过去的伤感。这是一种绝对的伤感吗？当一段美好的回忆变得支离破碎时，我们就一定伤感吗？因为被追忆的幸福不仅仅存在于当时的现实生活中，也存在于当时没有履行的诺言中？ 她——从现在起我应叫她汉娜，就像我当时开始叫她汉娜一样，她当然不是生活在承诺中，而是生活在现实中，仅仅生活在现实中。 我问过她的过去，她的回答仿佛像从布满灰尘的老箱子里折腾出来的东西一样没有新意。她在七座堡长大，十七岁去了柏林，曾是西门子公司的一名女工，二十一岁时去当了兵。战争结束以后，所有可能的工作她都做过。有轨电车售票员的工作，她已经干了几年了，她喜欢那套制服和这种往返运动，喜欢变换的风景还有脚下车轮的转动。除此之外，她并不喜欢这份工作。三十六岁了，仍没有成家。她讲述这些的时候，仿佛讲的不是她自己的生活，而是另外一个她不熟悉、与她无关的人的生活。我想详细知道的事情，她往往都不记得了。她也不理解我为什么对诸如此类的问题感兴趣：她父母从事什么职业？她是否有兄弟姐妹？她在柏林是怎样生活的？她当兵时都做了什么？"你都想知道些什么呀！小家伙。" 她对未来的态度也是如此。当然，我没有想结婚组建家庭的计划。但是，相对而言，我对朱连·索雷尔与雷娜尔的关系比他与马蒂尔德·德拉莫尔的关系更为同情。我知道，腓力斯·科鲁尔最后不愿在他女儿的怀里，而愿在他母亲的怀里死去。我姐姐是学日耳曼学的，她曾在饭桌上讲述过关于歌德和施泰因夫人的暧昧关系的争论。我强词夺理地为他．们辩护，这令全家人感到震惊。我设想过我们的关系在五年或十年之后会是什么样子。我问汉娜她是怎么想的，她说她甚至连复活节的事都还没想。我们曾商定，复活节放假时，我和她骑自行车出去。这样，我们就可以以母子身份住在一个房间里，可以整夜呆在一起了。 我的设想和建议很少有不令我痛苦的时候。有一次和妈妈一起度假，我本想为自己力争一个单间。由妈妈陪着去看医生，或者去买一件新大衣，或者旅行回来由她去接站，这些我觉得都已与我的年龄不相称了。如果和妈妈在路上遇到同学的话，我害怕他们把我当做妈妈的宝贝儿子。尽管汉娜比我妈妈年轻十岁，可也够做我妈妈的年龄了。不过，和她在一起，我不但不怕别人看见，反而还为此感到自豪。 如果现在我见到一个三十六岁的女人，我会认为她很年轻，但是，如果我现在看到一个十五岁的男孩，我会认为他还是个孩子。汉娜给了我那么多自信，这使我感到惊讶。我在学校取得的成绩引起了老师们的注意，他们已对我刮目相看。我接触的女孩们也察觉到，我在她们面前不再胆怯，她们也喜欢我这样。我感到惬意。 我对与汉娜最初的相遇记忆犹新，当时的情景历历在目，这使得我对后来发生的事情，即从我与她的那次谈话到学年结束之前的那几周内发生的事情，反而记不清了。其中原因之一，是我们见面、分手都太有规律了。另一个原因是，在此之前，我从未有过这么忙碌的日子，我的生活节奏还从本这么快过，生活从未这么充实过。如果我回想我在那几周内所做的功课的话，我仿佛感觉到我又坐在写字台旁，而且一直坐在那儿，直到把我生病期间所落下的功课都赶上为止。我学了所有的生词，念了所有的课文，证明了所有的数学习题，连接了所有的化学关系。关于魏玛共和国和第三帝国，我在医院的病床上就读过了。还有我们的约会，在我的记忆中，这时约会的时间持续最长。自我们那次谈话之后，我们总是在下午见面。如果她上晚班的话，就从三点到四点半，否则就到五点半。七点钟开晚饭。开始时，她还催我准时回家，可是，过了一段时间以后，我就不止呆一个半小时了，我开始找借口放弃吃晚饭。 这是由于要朗读的缘故。在我们交谈之后的第二天，汉娜想知道我在学校都学什么。于是，我向她讲述了荷马史诗、西塞罗的演讲和海明威的的故事——老人怎样与鱼、与海搏斗。她想知道希腊语和拉丁语听起来是什么样。我给她朗读了《奥德赛》中的一段和反对卡塔琳娜的演讲。 "你还学德语吗？" "你是什么意思？" "你是只学外语呢，还是自己的本国语言也有要学？" "我们念课文。"我生病期间，我们班读了《爱米丽雅·葛洛获》和《阴谋与爱情》。这之后，我们要写一篇读后感。这样，我还要补读这两本书。我每次都是在做完其他作业之后才开始阅读它们。这样，当我开始阅读时，时间就已经很晚了，我也很累了，读过的东西第二天就全忘记了，我必须重读一遍。 "读给我听听！" "你自己读吧，我把它给你带来。" "小家伙，你的声音特别好听，我宁愿听你朗读而不愿自己去读。" "是吗？原来如此？" 第二天，我仍去她那儿。当我想亲吻她时，她却躲开了："你得先给我朗读！" 她是认真的。在她让我淋浴和上床之前，我要为她朗读半个小时的《爱米丽雅·葛洛获》。现在我也喜欢淋浴了。我来时的性欲，在朗读时都消失了，因为朗读一段课文时要绘声绘色地把不同的人物形象表现出来，这需要集中精力。淋浴时，我的性欲又来了。朗读、淋浴、做爱，然后在一起躺一会儿，这已成了我们每次约会的例行公事。 她是个注意力集中的听众，她的笑，她的嗤之以鼻，她的愤怒或者是赞赏的惊呼，都毫无疑问地表明，她紧张地跟踪着情节。她认为爱米丽雅像露伊莎一样都是愚蠢的、没有教养的女孩。她有时迫不及待地求我继续念下去，这是由于她希望这段愚蠢的故事应该早点结束。"怎么会有这种事呢／有时我自己也渴望读下去。当天变长的时候，我读的时间也长些，为的是在黄昏时才与她上床。当她在我怀里入睡，院子里的锯木声沉默下来，乌鸦在唱歌，厨房里也只剩下越来越淡的和越来越黯的颜色时，我也沉浸在无限幸福之中。 Section 10 复活节第一天，我四点钟就起床了。汉娜上早班，她四点一刻骑自行车去有轨电车停车场，四点半她就在开往施魏青根的电车上了。她对我说过，去时车上往往很空，只是回来时，车上才满满的。 我在第二站上了车。第二节车厢是空的，汉娜在第一节车厢里，站在司机旁边。我犹豫着是上前面的车厢还是上后面的车厢，最后我还是决定上了后面的车厢。后面的车厢很隐蔽，可以拥抱，可以接吻，但是汉娜没有过来。她一定看到了我在车站等车，也看到我上了车，否则车也不会停下来。可是她还是呆在司机旁边和他聊天说笑，这些我都能看到。 车开过了一站又一站，没有人在等车。街道上也没有人，太阳还没有升起来，白云下面，一切都笼罩在白茫茫的晨曦中：房屋、停着的小汽车、刚刚变绿的树木、开花的灌木丛、煤气炉还有远处的山脉。因为好多站都没有停车，车现在开得很慢，估计是由于车到每站的时间是固定的，车必须按时到站。我被关在了慢慢行驶的车厢里。最初，我还坐在那儿，后来，我站到了车厢前面的平台上，而且尽力注视着汉娜。她应该能感觉到我在她身后注视着她。过了一会儿，她转过身来仔细地打量着我，然后又接着和司机聊天。车继续行驶着，过了埃佩尔海姆之后，铁轨不是建在街上，而是建在街旁用鹅卵石砌成的路堤上。车开得快些了，带着有轨电车那种均匀的咔哒咔哒声。我知道这条路线要经过好多地方，终点站是施魏青根。此时此刻，我感觉自己与世隔绝了，与人们生活、居住、相爱的正常世界隔绝了。好像我活该要无目的地、无止境地坐在这节车厢里。 后来，在一块空地上，我看见了一个停车站，也就是一个等车的小房子。我拉了一下售票员用以给司机发出停车或开车信号的绳子。车停了下来，汉娜和司机都没有因为我拉了停车信号而回头看看我。当我下车的时候，好像她对我笑了笑，但我不敢肯定。接着车就开走了。我目送它先是开进了一块凹地，然后在一座小山丘后面消失不见了。我站在路堤和街道中间，环绕着我的是田地、果树，再远一点是带着花房的花园。这里空气清新、鸟语花香，远处山上的白云下，飘浮着红霞。 坐在车上的那段时间，就好像做了一场噩梦。如果我对那后果不是如此记忆犹新的话，我真的会把它当做一场噩梦来对待。我站在停车站，听着鸟语，看着日出，就好像刚刚睡醒一样。但是，从一场噩梦中醒来也并非是件轻松的事，也许恶梦会成真，甚至人们梦中的可怕情景也会在现实生活中再现。我泪流满面地走在回家的路上，一直到了埃佩尔海姆我才止住了哭泣。 我徒步往家走，试了几次想搭车都没有搭成。当我走了一半路程的时候，有轨电车从我身边开了过去，车上很拥挤，我没有看到汉娜。 十二点的时候，我伤心地、忧心忡忡地。大为恼怒地坐在她房门前的台阶上等候她。 "你又逃学了？" "我放假了，今天早上是怎么回事？"她打开房门，我跟她进了屋，进了厨房。 "你为什么装做不认识我的样子？我想要……" "我装做不认识你的样子？"她转过身来，冷冰冰地看着我的脸说，"你根本不想认识我，你上了第二节车厢而你明明看见我在第一节车厢里。" "我为什么在放假的第一天早上四点半就乘车去施魏青根？我仅仅是想要给你个惊喜，因为我想你会高兴的。我上了第二节车厢……" "你这可怜的孩子，在四点半就起床了，而且还是在你的假期里。"我还没有领教过她嘲讽的口吻。她摇着头："我怎么知道你为什么要去施魏青根，我怎么知道你为什么不想认得我，这是你的事情，不是我的，现在你还不想走吗？" 我无法描述我的气愤程度。"这不公平，汉娜，你知道的，你一定知道的，我是为你才去坐车的，你怎么能认为我不想认得你呢？如果我不想认识你的话，我也就根本不会去乘车了。" "啊，行了，我已经说过，你怎么做是你的事，不关我的事。"她调整了自己的位置，这样，我们之间就隔了厨房的一张桌子。她的眼神、她的声音、她的手势都说明她正把我当成了一个破门而入者来对付，并要求我走开。 我坐到沙发里。她恶劣地对待了我，我想质问她。但我还根本没有来得及开始，她却先向我进攻了。这样一来，我开始变得没有把握了。她也许是对的？但不是在客观上，而是在主观上？她会或者她一定误解了我吗？我伤害她了吗？我无意伤害她，也不愿伤害她，可还是伤害了她？ "很抱歉，汉娜，一切都搞糟了，我没想伤害你，可是看来……"。"看来？你的意思是，看来你把我伤害了？你没那能力伤害我，你不行。现在你总该走了吧？我干了一天的活，想洗澡，我要安静一会儿。"她敦促地看着我。看我还没站起来，她耸了耸肩，转过身去，开始放水脱衣服。 现在，我站起来走了。我想，我这一走就一去不复返了。可是半小时之后，我又站在了她的房门前。她让我进了屋。我把一切都承担了，承认我毫无顾及地、不加思考地、无情无爱地处理了这事。我知道她受到了伤害。我也知道她没有受到伤害，因为我没有能力伤害她。我明白我不可能伤害她，因为她根本就不给我这种机会。最后，当她承认我伤害了她的时候，我很幸福。这样看来，她并非像她所表现的那样无动于衷，那样无所谓。 "你原谅我了吗？" She nodded. "你爱我吗？" 她又点点头。"浴缸里还有水，来，我给你洗澡！" 后来我自问，她把浴缸里的水留在那儿，是不是因为她知道我还会回来的？她把衣服脱掉了是不是因为她知道我忘不了看到她脱衣服时的感觉，因此，会为此再回去的？她是否只是为了在这场争执中取胜？当我们做完爱，躺在一起时，我给她讲了我为什么没有上第一节车厢而是上了第二节车厢的原因。她以嘲弄的口吻说：小家伙，小家伙，你甚至在有轨电车上也想和我做爱吗？"这样一来，引起我们争吵的原因就似乎无关紧要了。 可事情的结果却至关重要。我在这场争吵中不仅仅败下阵来，在短暂的争执之后，当她威胁着要把我拒之门外时，当她回避我时，我屈服了。在接下来的几周里，我没有和她争吵过一次，即使是很短暂的一次也没有。当她一威胁我对，我立刻就无条件地投降。我把所有的过错都揽到自己身上。不是我的过错我也承认，不是故意的也说是故意的。当她的态度冷淡和严厉的时候，我乞求她重新对我好，原谅我，爱我。有时候，我感觉到，她似乎也为自己的冷淡无情而苦恼。好像她也渴望得到我的温暖、我的道歉、我的保证和我的恳求。有时我想，她太轻易地就征服了我，可是无论如何，我都没有选择的余地。 我和她无法就此交谈。就我们的争吵来交谈会导致一场新的争吵。我给她写了一封或两封长信，可她对此毫无反应。当我问起此事时，她反问道："你怎么又开始了？"