June 1969 "Oliver, you are sick." "What did you say about me?" "I said you were not very ill." I was taken aback by this diagnosis, and the great medical scientist who told me in all seriousness dared to be a doctor at such a long age.To be honest, until yesterday, I only thought of him as a master chef who specializes in pastry.His name was Philip Cavilleri.His daughter, Jenny, was originally my wife.Then Jenny died, leaving the two of us with an order to support and take care of each other.So we visit once a month: either I go to Cranston to see him, and the two of us go bowling, have a quick drink or two, and eat exotic pizza; or he comes to New York Tell me about it, and we also enjoy all kinds of pastimes.But today when he got off the train, he didn't greet me with a few vulgar words that he had personally seen as usual, but yelled at me loudly:

"Oliver, you are sick." "Really, Philip? You are a very good doctor, and I may ask, what is wrong with me?" "You don't have a wife." Without further elaboration, he turned around, carried his artificial leather travel bag, and walked towards the exit. In the early morning light, the world of glass and steel in New York seemed less unpleasant.So the two of us hit it off and decided to walk to my "Bachelor's Den" (I like to call my current home a "Bachelor's Den") to cross a full 20 roads.Walking along Park Avenue to Forty-seventh Street, Phil turned to me and asked, "How do you spend your nights?"

"Oh, busy," I replied. "Oh, very busy? That's good. Who's your company?" "Midnight Commando." "What do midnight commandos do—street gangs, or rock gangs?" "Neither. It was us lawyers who volunteered to do some duty in Harlem in our spare time." ①A black ghetto in New York. "How many nights a week do you go?" "Three," I said. They fell silent again, and the two of them walked slowly, getting farther away from the downtown area. Walking down Park Avenue to Fifty-third Street, Phil broke the silence again. "Isn't there still four nights to spare?"

"There are still many things in the office that need to be brought home to work overtime." "Oh, that's true. You should work overtime or you have to work overtime." The cases I undertake involve many hot issues (such as the conscription issue). My case is so serious that Phil doesn't even seem to be moved when he hears it. move.So I had to nod a little bit more to let him know how important it was to know my cases. "I'm still in Washington a lot. I'm going to be arguing next month in a case about the First Amendment. This high school teacher in the case..."

① The first ten amendments to the U.S. Constitution are commonly known as the "Bill of Rights."The first article of the Amendment deals with freedom of belief, freedom of speech, and freedom of the press. "Oh, it's a good thing to defend teachers," Philip said.Then, as if casually following the line, he added: "How is the Washington girl?" "I don't understand that." I shrugged and just went my way. Walking down Park Avenue to Sixty-first Street, Phil Cavilelli stopped and looked me straight in the eye. "When the hell are you going to get your car back on the road?"

"It's not long, how can it be," I said.But I thought in my heart: the great philosopher said that "time can heal wounds", but he just forgot to explain how long it will take. "Two years," said Philippe Cavilelli. I immediately corrected him: "It's only eighteen months." "Ah, yes, but..." He replied, but his voice became hoarse and gradually became inaudible.It can be seen that he still feels the chill of that December winter day - this was only... only eighteen months ago. I had to cross several roads to get home, and I didn't want to make the bleak atmosphere any more bleak, so I bragged about my new residence.After his last visit to New York, I moved and rented another apartment.

Arrived: "Is this your new home?" Phil raised half of his eyebrows and looked around.The house was tidy and clean.I had specially hired a handyman to clean it up that morning. "What's the name of your residence?" he asked me. "Shouldn't it be called Shi Pai's Broken Shack Style?" "What are you talking about," I said. "Anyway, I can get by simply." "I think so. In our Cranston, even ordinary mouse nests have this level. Some are more refined. What are these books for?" "It's all legal reference books, Phil."

"Yes, yes," he said. "And what on earth do you spend your days doing--touching these leather covers for fun?" I figured that if this was litigated as an interference with privacy case, I would win the case. "I said, Philip, what I do at home alone is my business." "Who says no? But you're not alone tonight. You and I have to show our faces in the society." "Go to what?" "I bought this fancy top, not to wear it to a crappy movie—ah, yes, you haven't said a word about my new dress yet. I cut my hair like this on purpose Slippery, and not just to impress you. You and I have to walk around and have a good time. Got to meet some new friends..."

"What kind of new friend?" "Girl. Come on, come on, dress up well." "I'd like to go to the movies, Phil." "Come on, what the hell are you watching! Hey, listen to me, I know you ain't going to stop without a Nobel Prize, but I won't let you go on like this. Do you hear me? I won't let you go on like this!" He literally let go of his voice and reprimanded me. "Oliver," said Philip Cavilleri, suddenly transformed into a Jesuit priest again, "I have come to save your soul, I have come to save your life because you are in danger. Listen to me." My words. Do you listen to me?"

①A religious order of the Catholic Church. "I hear, Father Philip. Then tell me plainly, what am I supposed to do?" "Get married, Oliver."