All living beings in hell

Chapter 154 - Wednesday's White Wine
The lotus lantern at the entrance was lit up, and the office welcomed the one hundred and eighth guest.

An old man in a polo shirt walked into the office.The old man looked about 80 years old, dressed very cleanly, and had a faint smell of soap on his body, as if he had just been cleaned and bathed.His eyes look refined, reminiscent of a well-educated intellectual.

"Hello, what should I call you?" I asked.

"Shu Langjun." The old man replied, his voice was unexpectedly young, like a boy whose voice just changed during puberty.

"Okay, Shu Langjun, why are you looking for me today?"

The old man looked a little shy, and lowered his head for a while to think: "I want to tell the adults the story of my life, I wonder if it is possible?"

"Yes, yes, please tell me."

I said while making tea.

"When I was young, I especially wanted to be a writer. I thought writing was a very interesting thing. At that time, I was obsessed with it for a while. I wrote every day. I wrote like this for three years and accumulated a lot of manuscripts.

Some of these manuscripts were published in periodicals and magazines, and some were picked up by publishing houses, and they were compiled into novels and published.I am also very happy, and feel that I can support myself by writing, which is a lucky thing.

Why do you say this is a matter of absolute luck?
In our time, the status of cultural workers was very low.Everyone was busy with production and construction, and most of the content they wrote had to be related to the core ideas at the time.The room left for us cultural workers to develop freely is very small and very limited.

The young man who wrote the manuscript with me did not get as much money as I did.In order to support his family, he had to join the torrent of production and construction, so he gave up writing work.

So I say, I'm lucky.In that age, I could still support myself by writing. "

"and after?"

The old man's voice is eloquent, and it is very comfortable to listen to him.

"I also got to know my later wife because of writing. She was my reader at first, and she wrote to tell me how she felt about reading my article. I wrote back, so I became familiar with it after going back and forth.

Later, I asked her out to meet in a letter. I was really shy at that time, I didn't know how to express so many delicate emotions.When the two met, they looked at each other, unable to speak.We walked along Wutong Road, from the south of the city to the north of the city, until the sun was setting, and we only said three sentences in total. "

"Which three sentences?"

The old man smiled tactfully: "'Are you busy recently?', 'It's okay.'; 'Would you like to find a place to sit?', 'Let's go for a while.'; 'You are much quieter than I imagined.' ,'The same to you.'"

"So young."

"Yeah, when I write a letter, I talk about everything, and I don't talk about anything. When we meet, I can't say anything. My heart is beating so fast, but my mind is blank, and my palms are sweating desperately. Very nervous."

"and after?"

"Like most men and women in that era, we met each other's parents and we got married. I continued my writing life and she worked in a printing factory. After three years of this, she became pregnant. When we proposed Going abroad, taking advantage of the opportunity in her factory, the family went abroad.

We first went to Austria for three months, and then went to Belgium in Belgium.My wife gave birth to a son there, got local citizenship, named Auguste.

I still maintain the habit of writing, and I want to find a local publishing house to translate my work.

Language is a big difficulty. When I first went abroad, I knew nothing about other languages ​​except Chinese.I can barely understand a few basic sentences in English and Russian, but I am still at the level of a three-legged cat, and it is difficult to order food in a restaurant.

Most of Belgium speaks German, which is a really difficult language to speak and learn.When speaking, the saliva spewed out, and the tongue could not be rolled up or straightened.Raise your voice a little, like swearing.I really don't like it.

August later began to study locally and went to kindergarten.We had to learn to communicate with teachers and other parents. As the only Chinese parents in the whole kindergarten, we had to bite the bullet and learn German.The child's learning ability is very strong, and I don't know how he communicates with other children in the kindergarten. He can jump words in two or three months, and he can chat with local children after one or two years. "

Shu Langjun took a sip of tea, and said, "Very bitter tea."

"Sorry, only this kind of tea."

"Bitter is better, reminds me of the little shot of espresso that Belgians drink every morning, as bitter as this one."

"Have you been living in Belgium since then?"

Shu Langjun shook his head: "Actually, I regret going abroad. I have thought about it. If the family lives in China, they will have a good life. The children just run around in the city. When I grow up, I continue to write my own books, surrounded by familiar people and familiar languages. In the morning, I can drink Wuyishan Dahongpao and eat sweet-scented osmanthus cakes instead of bitter espresso and greasy snacks.

But ah, I thought again.Here I can write and say anything.European readers are curious about a writer from the East, and they like my small-town characters and observational text full of personal opinions.

Here, I don't have to worry about what can and cannot be written.

Later, a publishing house I contacted found a reliable translator for me. This translator not only translated my works, but also took time to teach me some German.I translated most of my previous works, and those banned works were very popular in the European market.

But ah..."

"but what?"

"My book became a bestseller in this strange environment, and I didn't want to write it."

"why?"

Shu Langjun sighed: "I have some heartache."

"Why do you feel sad?"

"My lord, I don't know if you will feel the same? I originally wanted to write to the people of my motherland. Those are the people I care about. The young people in my small town, the old and the old, the young men and women, I wrote for These characters write about themselves and want to see themselves. But alas, current events don't allow it.

Instead, this group of strangers, with some curiosity and curiosity about the East, read my words carefully.In their eyes, cultural differences become some kind of playful drawers, which are opened one by one, and they don't know what surprises will pop out inside.

The more my books sell well in Europe, the sadder I am.

I felt a part of me abandoned by my country. "

"Actually, there is no such thing as whether to abandon it or not. It's just that the review system and cultural preferences of each country are different. In fact, you have done nothing wrong."

"Maybe I'm too nostalgic. The more I live abroad, the more I miss the town where I grew up. The older I get, the less I'm used to Western food. No matter how delicate steak risotto is, it's better than a bowl of millet The porridge is really good."

"Then did you return to your hometown afterward?"

"Yes, when I returned to my hometown, I was already very old. August already had children. He married a German and had three daughters, all of whom are very cute."

"How does it feel to go back to your hometown?"

"It's very friendly...but also very strange. I remember many places like that, but when I went back, they changed a lot. High-rise buildings were built, and wires were pulled everywhere. There were more mosquitoes in summer, and there were wild cats in the city. They all ate chubby.

The small street shops that I used to eat in the past have long since disappeared, and have become a comprehensive shopping mall.No one likes to read newspapers, and even fewer people read books.Over the years, the status of cultural workers has not improved at all.

Everyone was talking about investing in real estate and which bathhouse to take a bath tonight. There were more potbellied men and more smart and capable women.

I thought that as soon as I returned to my hometown, the familiar feeling would come back, but before the first week in my hometown was over, I started to miss my apartment in Brussels.

Every Wednesday afternoon, my next-door neighbor would come to me for a chat with white wine and cheese.I could complain to her about the recent bad weather, or that the croissants on the corner of the street are getting greasy.

My neighbor is a young female college student of literature. Because she has read my book, she often comes to chat with me.I had been divorced from my wife for decades, and having a young girl visiting often made me feel attractive.

In the second month after I returned to my hometown, I contracted some kind of gastrointestinal disease and started vomiting and diarrhea.This was a major blow to me, an old man in his 80s, and my body collapsed immediately.

At that time, I lived alone in the best hotel in the area, and every day a waiter came to deliver food and medicine to me, and by the way, check whether I needed to call a doctor.

Although this is unfair to the hotel, I don't want to die in the hospital.The hotel probably saw this, and frequently sent people to knock on the door to check, for fear that a bad old man like me would suffocate and die in their room.

During that week, my eyes were like a revolving lantern before dying.The scenes from birth to leaving this town flashed before my eyes.The people I've met, the breakfasts I've eaten, the girls I've had a crush on, my ex-wife...

Many of these people are no longer alive.After I separated from my ex-wife, I haven't contacted her for many years. I don't know if she is well now?
As I thought about it, I thought of my neighbor, the Belgian girl from the Department of Literature.

The girl has pale blond hair, so light that it is almost white.Gray-blue eyes, round face, and small brown freckles on the bridge of the nose.She usually wears black round glasses and a rose gold ring on her index finger all the year round.There was no jewelry on the ring, just a sentence in French.I haven't read this French sentence carefully, nor have I asked it. I always feel that it is the privacy of the other party, and it is indecent to ask.

When I was in a daze, I thought of this girl. Her image was like a ray of light in the dark, shining in from the other side of the taller reeds.My old heart was beating again, and in order to see her again, I had the desire to continue living.

I stayed in that hotel for another month and recovered.After recovering, my mental state seems to be better than before, and I seem to have the motivation to write again.The fountain of inspiration that had been dry for a long time began to flow again, and I couldn't wait to get on the plane and head back to Brussels.

The day I landed happened to be a Wednesday, and as soon as I got off the plane, I could smell the sweet smell of white wine.I reached out to hail a taxi and returned to my apartment in a happy mood.

The furniture in the apartment was covered with a thick layer of dust, and a letter was stuffed under the door.I picked up the envelope, the envelope was very clean, it should have just been stuffed in these two days.

The new cover is beautifully handwritten in English, and the recipient writes my name.

This is a farewell letter.

The girl said that she finished her studies and wanted to travel to southern Europe next.She thanked me heartily every Wednesday afternoon for three years, saying I was the most approachable writer she knew.At the end, she also wrote that she looked forward to my new works, wished me a long and healthy life, and finally signed her name.

I read the letter calmly, refolded the letter and stuffed it back into the envelope.Put the envelope back under the door where it had been slipped.The dust on the floor was pushed aside by the friction of the envelope, showing a clean trail.I followed that trajectory, pushed open the apartment door and walked out.

It was a fine day, one of those rare cool autumn afternoons.I ordered an espresso and a greasy croissant at the corner coffee shop.I took a sip of the Italian, tore the bread into small pieces and threw it to the pigeons on the side of the road.

The wind is cool and the sun is warm.A wave of drowsiness surged, and I fell asleep like drinking white wine. "

I listened quietly, almost holding my breath.

"That's the story of my life."

"Any regrets?" I asked.

"I shouldn't have gone back to my hometown back then. It's good to keep my hometown as it was in my memory, so maybe I can say goodbye to the girl and wish her all the best in the future."

"Anything else?"

"Although it may seem a bit late to say this, I really hope that I don't blame others so much. I just write my own words. Why bother to give up writing for many years because of the secret competition with the audience? If I continue to write, May be able to write more wonderful works, who knows?"

"Do you regret going abroad?"

"I regretted it when I was alive, but I don't regret it now. It's useless to regret it. The environment makes people, but the heart shapes me."

"Would you like to continue writing in the next life?"

"Not necessarily, let's talk about the next life in the next life. I have just arrived here not long ago, and everything I see is novel. It's really interesting to say that I didn't like traveling when I was alive, but now I am interested in strange places. gone."

"I feel very comfortable chatting with you, as if a part of me has been comforted." I said sincerely.

"For a person who likes to write, it should be a very happy thing to hear so many things."

"Yes, yes. For a long time, I haven't just listened to and written in silence like this."

"You are a bit like that girl, both have their own set of principles for observing things."

"Is it the same for you?"

"Writers must be biased, and must not be afraid to look at the world with prejudice. Bias is inevitable. We find a way to coexist in reading other people's prejudices. This is my principle and the principle of my writing. "

"It was a pleasure to have such a conversation with you."

"I'm glad you're willing to listen to me, too."

"May I see how you recorded my dictated story?"

I handed Shu Langjun the manuscript paper on the table, and he read it carefully for a while with his eyes closed.The office is very quiet, the sound of reading is like the tail of a dragonfly tapping on the water, there are traces but no sound.After a while, Shu Langjun put the manuscript paper back on my desk and said with a smile: "Your writing reminds me of a certain writer, but it is actually a collection of several writers."

"I was inspired by many European and Asian writers during my lifetime, and my writing style has also been influenced to a certain extent."

"Keep writing."

"Well, keep writing."

Shu Langjun got up slowly, still smiling gracefully: "I still want to walk around here by myself, so I won't bother you anymore."

I also got up and stretched out my hand to please: "Don't disturb, goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Shu Lang Jun gave me a slight nod, his old body turned and left.I watched him leave the office from the same spot, until the door closed, and everything returned to silence.

(End of this chapter)