Chapter 11 Chapter 4 Qin Yu, a family of three (2)

Chapter 4 Qin Yu, a family of three (2) The cat I used to raise, the cat named "Needle", likes to sleep on my lap in winter.I spent the winter vacation at home, and spent most of the day sitting like this, sleeping happily with the syringe on my lap.I put my hands on its curled up body—a little in front of its hind legs—and I can clearly feel the ups and downs of its body when it breathes, and its breath seems to be very long.I put my hand on my stomach again, but I couldn't feel any ups and downs. At that time, I was afraid for a while, thinking that I was going to die.In fact, I don't quite understand how cats like Syringe can live so meaninglessly: Syringe has never caught a mouse-I guess it doesn't know what a mouse looks like, if it is judged by whether it knows what a mouse looks like If it is a cat, then I am more like a cat than it; and other students who have cats at home have never seen their cats catching mice; for them, the most important meaning of life is to sleep, sleep early, They also sleep late, looking for a warm place to sleep in winter, and a cool place to sleep in summer. After sleeping, they wake up, bow their backs and yawn, eat a small fish leisurely, and then go to sleep; occasionally they also play: they can chase You can turn your tail around for a long time, or you can wholeheartedly try to smash a high-hanging rope into pieces—anyway, this is the purpose of a cat's life, and I look at the syringe, it is very happy, Very satisfied, it "snoring" dozed off, like a proud emperor.

I thought, if people could have the awareness of cats, then the world would be much more suitable for survival—it’s a pity that people don’t have this awareness.For example, I, a silly, unlucky guy, can hardly even stay at home right now. It was already late, very late, and it was raining unluckily outside the window at some point.I remember when I was in kindergarten, sometimes my father was called out late at night to operate on his hundreds of millions of patients, and my mother would not sleep, either to accompany my father to the hospital, or to sit in the bedroom and read magazines-I know this, because when I was young, I They didn't sleep very deeply, but when the two of them sleepily flipped through their shirts and socks, they kept making a series of noises.One night, when Dad was called out by the hospital, it was raining heavily, and there were thunder and lightning every now and then. I was woken up by the sound of the two of them looking for things and discussing, and fell asleep contentedly.I don't know how long it took—maybe ten minutes, maybe several hours—I woke up unhappily after being pushed and shoved, and in a daze, I heard my mother's voice saying: "Qin Yu? Qin Yu... "To be honest, I don't want to be woken up, because I am having a dream, and the dream is the same as outside the window: rain, wind, thunder, lightning - so I closed my eyes, hummed, and only listened to my mother "Qin Yu, are you important? Are you afraid of thunder? Do you want to come and sleep with my mother?" I stretched out my hand to scratch my chin, and hummed again in a daze, saying that I don't need it, I don't care about the shit, and I plan to continue dreaming.I guess, she probably went back to the bedroom.But immediately after that, there was a "crash" thunder, and I didn't know whether it was the thunder in the dream or the thunder outside the window. I only vaguely felt that there was light outside my eyelids for a moment, and then I was pushed and shoved again—it seemed I must open my eyes, or my mother will never let me live.When I opened my eyes, I saw my mother's face, and the bedside lamp was on behind her, outlining the outline of her face.But I couldn't see her nose and eyebrows clearly with the light behind me, only a pair of her eyes, the white part of which was clear and bright.She held my shoulders with both hands, and asked a little out of breath, "Are you afraid of thunder?" I shook my head. "Do you want to go to my mother's place?" I shook my head.She paused, and then asked, "Aren't you afraid?" I looked at her for a while, then sat up on the bed—because I felt it was too much effort to nod on the pillow—nodding and said, "Okay, I'll go and talk to you." Sleep." I found it too difficult to nod my head on the pillow, so I sat up.My mother grinned, and her exposed teeth were blue under the lightning flashes outside the window. She took my hand and went to the big room next door.There was a bedside lamp in the big room, pink—the shade my mother picked out, one of those old-fashioned shades that look like lead barrels upside down and covered with gauze, and I thought it was so pretty—and the bed was messed up and spread out. A few books and magazines, my mother went to sleep on the right side of the bed, and I went to sleep on the left side of the bed-the side where I slept, there was a stuffing on the sheet, which was left by my father.My mother asked me if it’s okay not to sleep, and if it’s okay to read to me.I said yes.So she let me lean on the pillow, and she leaned on it too—she made the pillow, and she also embroidered the flowers on the pillowcase, which were light pink peach blossoms. I’ve seen embroidery on pillowcases in other people’s homes. Peonies, chrysanthemums, morning glory, butterflies, and goldfish are embroidered, but I have never seen one embroidered with light pink peach blossoms like my mother. Just this, I think my mother is up to standard.That night, there was a heavy thunderstorm outside the window, the raindrops under the lightning were like steel needles, the sky was black and white for a while, and the thunder rolled for a while and exploded for a while; indoors, under the pink light, leaning against the pillow embroidered with light pink peach blossoms , my mother read to me - I didn't know until I was in junior high school that books are my mother's favorite.Later, she read this book to me countless times; she probably had an ambition to read this novel of more than 2.4 million words to me from beginning to end, but every time she read it, she always read it to me. I forgot where I read it last time, so I had to start from the beginning, so until now, I have only listened to the first ten or so pages of this masterpiece; besides, I have not been able to sit down and listen to this hapless Proust in recent years. My mother also lost confidence in my literary appreciation.However, when I was a child, especially during the thunderstorm that night, I was deeply attracted by the words read by my mother's soft voice, although I did not understand the meaning that I would never understand.I remember my mother turning the pages of the book, holding the book in her hands, and solemnly reading as if starting some major project:

"Reminiscences of Things Past - Marcel Proust. Volume 1, Over at the Swanns. Volume 1, Combray. One. For a long time, I lay down early Sometimes I close my eyelids as soon as the candle goes out, and I don't have time to murmur, 'I'm going to sleep.' It's half an hour before I think I should go to sleep; and the thought wakes me up. I I was going to put away the book I thought I was still holding in my hand, and blow out the lights... I heard the sound of the train whistle, which was far and near, like the chirping of birds in the forest, indicating the distance. The sound of the whistle In the middle, I seem to see an empty field, hurried travelers rushing to the nearby station..."

Mother's voice was soft and kind, forming a counterweight to the thunder outside the window.She read and read tirelessly, fascinated by the descriptions in the book, until I interrupted her and asked: "Mom, why do you refuse to sleep every time Dad goes for surgery?" She stopped, turned to look at me, and smiled.Stretch out your finger, and gently rub it back and forth on the edge of the page.After a while, she replied: "Dad didn't sleep, how can mom sleep?" After finishing speaking, she smiled at me quickly again, and then said: "Dad is undergoing surgery, and Mom is a nurse, so I want to stay with him." Saying: "Father is the one who saves people's lives, and mother should be here to accompany him."

I looked at the rain outside the window and asked again: "Mom, are you afraid of death?" She gazed at me tenderly, held my hand, and replied, "Mom doesn't like to see people die, but mother is not afraid of death." "Then, are you afraid of thunder and lightning?" When she heard this, her eyes changed slightly. After thinking about it, she said: "As long as you are with Dad, Mom is not afraid of anything—as long as Mom and Dad are with you, you don't have to be afraid of anything." I understand that my mother is afraid of thunder and lightning—all women are like this.And they still refuse to speak out.Since that night, I've loved my mom more than ever, because I know she has things to fear, and she turns to me when she's scared—just once, and I'm proud of it.But I also know that my father is more important to my mother than me: if my father hadn't left, she wouldn't be afraid, if my father hadn't left, she wouldn't have come to look for me, if it hadn't been for my father, she wouldn't have waited for anyone, No one wants to accompany me. She let me sleep on the big bed, read to me, talk to me, and smile at me, all because she wants to stay with Dad and stay awake-it doesn’t matter whether I am, I have understood since I was a child.In the end, she would only say one bad word to me:

"Why didn't you tell us?" People in this world are all crazy, exactly like crazy, and they are all looking forward to me telling them about the punishment—the funny thing is, since they already knew it, why must I tell them? God knows, I used to believe that my parents would never lie to me.But I was wrong.It gives me goosebumps to think that the two of them already knew about it when I was trying to hide the punishment.Looking back on the past week or so now, I realize that they have been spying on me all along!I used to trust them because I thought they were the best dad and mom, but I was wrong.These parents, they gave me a kitten, they never forced me to do this or that, they engaged in the sacred profession of saving lives and healing the wounded, they fell in love before my eyes, they used peach blossom embroidered pillowcases and pink lampshades— — but they only said one sentence to me:

"Why didn't you tell us?" Why must this matter be told to the whole world?Why should I tell anyone about a decision made by a bunch of potatoes?Why should I be tricked and tricked by others?I knew early on that they were all for themselves: Wang Haiyan did it to satisfy her desire to care about whom; Teacher Li did it to treat me as her son’s rags for a long time; It's easier; my good parents, they're trying to keep their parentage. I admit it.Anyway, it was me who made Wang Haiyan think that I needed her bullshit help, anyway, it would take at least a year for me to leave Teacher Li with swollen eyes, anyway, I couldn’t get rid of Fan Bin who was as unlucky as me, anyway, I couldn’t fire my parents.I'm so bored, I'd rather be shot because of the chemistry problem I revealed to Fan Bin than so many people caring about me—why do they care about me?What they cared about was their own pain, their own hurt, and they never cared whether I was going to be smothered to death in order to show their own sadness.

All the people in the world are like this.Even if Teacher Li's son died, all she thought was: I will never see him again!Who can't see who, isn't it the same life?Only a hypocritical and boastful person like Wang Haiyan will talk about the "inseparable connection" between people. Don't you know that I don't want to have any terrible connection with her anymore, whether she is beautiful or smart, It doesn't matter if it's a crazy college student from F University, in short, I don't want to see her again.Let him die well, and let him live honestly. Why do you keep talking about disgusting words such as "responsibility", "emotion", "fate" and "love"? To make a fuss about it, to mess it up on purpose, and then self-righteously confess, like that shameless nasal Mr. on the nightly talk show, is really just trying to prove the nobility of a shit.

Parents are also hypocritical.If you want to know so much, just ask me.Hesitating and spitting these days, spying here and there, holding back his anger and asking for guilt.In the past, I needed their attention, and they said "busy", but now I don't want them to take care of me, and they are heartbroken.They let me down, who are they to blame?You don't have to take the title of "enlightened parent" so seriously—even if you do, you don't have to pretend to hold it up. It was raining lightly outside the window.I got up from the bed and went to open the window.The wind blows the rain into the house—the raindrops are very thin, but dense, and when you walk around, you can only feel a coolness on your face, and when you touch it, it is already dry—what is this?Drenched or not drenched?I miss the needle again.Syringe is such a happy cat, it doesn't think, and it doesn't get confused; unlike me, once it's past bedtime, it can't sleep.