Chapter 12 9 of spades...he always sees visions of life that others don't...

While I sat in the backseat of the car reading the Bun book, my dad chatted with me as we drove, but I couldn't put the book down because the "Rainbow Soda" section was so good.Only when my father commented on the scenery along the way, I raised my head and looked out the window to perfunctory him. "Wow, it's so beautiful!" I always exclaim. When I read the passage in the attic of Hans's house, my father pointed out the window and said to me that the traffic signs and town names on both sides of the road were written in Italian.At this time, we were passing through the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland; the landscape we saw along the way was very different from the German-speaking part.Even while I was absorbed in the section on "Rainbow Soda," I had noticed that the trees and flowers growing in the valleys that lined the road were supposed to belong to the Mediterranean coast.

My father, who once traveled all over the world, pointed to the rare plants on the roadside and told me their names: "Mimosa, magnolia, heather, rhododendron, Japanese cherry blossom." We also saw several palm trees, although we hadn't yet crossed the border into Italy in southern Europe. "We're almost at Lugano," Dad said. I quickly put down the book and suggested to my father that we will spend the night in Lugano tonight.But Dad kept shaking his head: "We have already agreed. We will not find a hotel until we cross the border and enter Italy. The border is coming soon, and it's still early. It's not long after noon."

In the end we took a compromise and stayed longer in Lugano.My father and son wandered the streets, visiting gardens and parks throughout the city.I took the magnifying glass with me and took the opportunity to observe the plant ecology here, while my father bought an English newspaper, lit a cigarette and sat down to read. I found two very peculiar trees.One has large red flowers and the other has small yellow flowers.The shape of the flowers is also quite different, but the two trees clearly belong to the same botanical family, because from my observation with a magnifying glass, I found that the leaves, veins and texture of the two trees are very similar, almost identical.

Suddenly, we heard the singing of the nightingale.It chirps from time to time, whistling from time to time, chirping from time to time, and chirping from time to time, singing so happily and melodiously alone.Listening, I was so moved that I almost shed tears.Dad was also fascinated, with a smile on his face. The weather was so hot that even my father couldn't bear it, so he asked me to buy two popsicles. I tried to lure a big cockroach to climb on the popsicle stick so that I could observe it with a magnifying glass, but this cockroach seemed to be very afraid of the "doctor" and refused to climb up after being killed.

"As soon as the temperature rises to 30 degrees Celsius, the cockroaches will come out of their nests." Dad told me. "When they see a popsicle stick, they run away," I said. Back in the car—before he died, Dad went to buy playing cards, just like ordinary people often buy magazines.Dad wasn't particularly interested in poker; he didn't like playing alone the way I did.So why does he always buy playing cards? I have to explain. Dad worked as a mechanic in a major garage in the town of Allendale.Outside of his nine-to-five job, he spends his time exploring the question of immortality.The bookshelves in his room are filled with various philosophical books.But he also has a fairly ordinary hobby—how ordinary, of course, depends on which angle you look at it from.

Many people like to collect things, such as stones, coins, stamps, and butterfly specimens. Dad also has a hobby of collecting things.What he collects are the "clown cards" in playing cards (joker, translation note: also known as flying card, can be used as any point, usually printed with a jester or clown pattern).He had developed this adultery before I was born, when he was still earning his living at sea.He kept a whole drawer of assorted buffoons. The main way Dad collects Joker cards is by asking for them directly from the people who are playing them.Every time he saw someone playing cards in a cafe or on the pier, he would go up to them and tell them that his greatest hobby in life was collecting clown cards. If they don't need this card in the game, can they Give it to him as a souvenir.Usually, the player would immediately draw out the Joker card and hand it to him, but there were also some people who just stared blankly at him as if they had suddenly bumped into a madman.Some declined politely; others were harsh.Follow Dad.I used to feel like a gypsy kid dragged into the streets by my parents to beg for a buffoon card from behind my ass.

Of course, I am also curious about how Dad's unique hobby came into being.In a deck of cards, he collects only one card.From this point of view, his hobby seems to be exactly the same as collecting postcards from all over the world.But let's also not forget that the Harlequin card is the only collectable card in the entire deck.He can't be reckless, break into a game that is in progress, and ask the player for "9 of Spades" or "K of Clubs". Most importantly, there are often two Harlequin cards in a deck of cards.We have seen decks of three or four Joker cards, but usually two.Moreover, the common card game does not use the Joker card, even if it is used occasionally, one is enough.There was a deeper reason why Dad was particularly interested in the Harlequin cards.

In fact, Dad considered himself a buffoon.Of course he wouldn't say it publicly, but I've watched from the sidelines over the years and realized that he really does see himself as a buffoon in a deck of cards. The Harlequin card is completely different from other cards.It is neither clubs, diamonds, hearts or spades, nor 8 or 9, king or page.He is an outsider.It is placed in a deck of cards along with other cards—blocks, but it has no sense of belonging.Therefore, it can be withdrawn at any time.No one will miss it. I guess Baba had felt like a buffoon card growing up in the town of Allendal as the illegitimate son of a German soldier.But Papa also considered himself a buffoon for a special reason: he liked to talk about the philosophy of life, just like those jesters or jesters in the court before.He often feels that he always sees strange phenomena in life that ordinary people cannot see.

So, when Dad bought a deck of cards in Lugano.It's not about owning the whole deck.For some reason, he was anxious to know what the buffoon in this deck looked like.After receiving the deck of cards from the shopkeeper, he immediately took it apart and took out one of the clown cards to look at. "Just as I expected," Dad said. "I've never seen this card before." He stuffed the Joker card into his shirt pocket.Now it's my turn. "Can I have this deck?" I asked. Dad handed me the other card - the brain.There was an unwritten agreement between us, father and son: whenever Dad bought poker spleens, he kept only the Harlequin cards—never more than one—and I accepted the rest.Unless I don't want it, he will deal with it otherwise.

Over the years, I have collected nearly a hundred decks of playing cards.I'm an only child and my mother has run away, so I enjoy playing solitaire, but I'm not much of a collectible.These one hundred decks of playing cards are enough for me.Sometimes when Dad bought a deck of cards, he would pull out the clown card immediately, and throw away all the other cards. It felt like throwing away a banana peel. "Trash!" Sometimes Dad would curse after drawing a "good card" from a pile of "bad cards" and throw the other cards into the trash can. However, he usually disposes of this "waste" in a more compassionate way.If I didn't want the deck, he'd just find some kid on the street and, without a word, shove the whole deck into his hand.Over the years, he had solicited too many clown cards from the players, and giving the whole deck of cards to a strange child could be regarded as a reward.In fact, he didn't take advantage of it.

After we were on the road, my father suddenly said that the scenery in this area was so beautiful that he wanted to go around and see the scenery along the way.He had originally planned to take the motorway from Lugano straight to Como, but changed his mind and drove slowly along Lugano's lakeside instead.After halfway around Lake Lugano, we drove across the border into Italy. I quickly understood why Dad chose this route.After leaving Lake Lugano, we came to a larger lake - Lake Como.The boats on the lake are constantly coming and going, and the traffic is very busy.Driving south from here, we pass a town called Menaggio, which I pronounce backwards, and call it Oigganem.We drove several miles along the shores of Lake Como and arrived in Como in the evening. As Dad drove, he pointed to the trees on the side of the road and told me their names: "Stone pine, cypress, olive tree, fig tree..." I don't know how Papa knew the names of these trees.I've heard of two or three of these trees, and the names of the others were probably made up by my father to trick me. While enjoying the scenery along the way, I also try to find opportunities to read the bun book.I was anxious to know where Hans the Baker got his luscious Rainbow Soda, and where the goldfish came from. Before I opened the book, I dealt out the cards and pretended to be playing a game of solitaire, lest Dad should be suspicious, and then secretly read.I promised the kind old baker in Dulph that I would never tell anyone the secret of the bun book.