Chapter 8 8

Mr. Weller drove me to Adirondack. It was the day after Christmas, and the gray sky was full of snow, fat and heavy on our heads.I also felt overstuffed, dull and depressed.It always felt like the day after Christmas, no matter what the pine branches, the candles, the presents tied with gold and silver ribbons, the birch fires, the Christmas turkeys, and the chorus at the piano might have given one hoped for. accomplish. Every Christmas, I literally wish I were Catholic. Mr. Wei Le drove first, and then I drove.I don't know what we talked about, but the face of the field was getting grim under the thick layers of snow, and the thick fir trees from the gray hills to the roadside, so dark and dark green, it made me more depressed up.

I almost asked Mr. Wei Le to go by himself, and I wanted to hitchhike home. But I glanced at Mr. Wei Le, and immediately knew that I would not be self-willed. His short silver hair was cut in a childish way, his blue eyes were clear, his cheeks were pink, and his whole face seemed to be covered with sweet icing on a wedding cake, exuding innocence, An expression of trust.This visit can't be done halfway, I have to stick to it. At noon the haze lifted and we turned onto the icy side road and parked there to share the tuna sandwiches, oatmeal biscuits, apples and black coffee in a thermos that Mrs. Weller had packed for lunch.

Mr. Wei Le looked at me benevolently, cleared his throat, and wiped away the remaining scum on his knees.I knew he was going to get serious, he was a very shy guy, and I've heard him give important economics speeches before, and he cleared his throat like this before he started. Nali and I have always wanted a daughter. At that moment, I suddenly had a crazy idea: Mr. Wei Le was about to announce that Mrs. Wei Le was pregnant with a baby girl!He went on to say: But, that daughter can compare to you. Mr. Weller must have thought that I was crying with joy when I heard that he was willing to be my father.Well, well, he patted me on the shoulder and cleared his throat once or twice.We know each other, right.

He opened the car door on his side and strolled over to me, exhaling a warped beacon of smoke in the gloom.I moved to his place, he started the car, and we drove on. I don't remember exactly what I expected from Baodi's nursing home. Perhaps I expected to see a European-style wooden house on the top of a hill, young men and women with rosy cheeks, very beautiful, but with burning eyes, lying on the open-air balcony under a thick blanket. Tuberculosis is like living with a bomb in your lungs, Baodi wrote to the school to tell me.You just lay there and hope it doesn't explode. It's hard to imagine Baodi lying quietly.His philosophy of life is to be relentless.Even when we went to the beach in the summer, he never lay in the sun and dozed off, unlike me.He's always taking the time to run around, play with a ball, or do some quick pushups.

Mr. Wei Le and I waited for the afternoon rest treatment to come to an end in the reception room. The color system of the entire nursing home seems to be based on the liver.The woodwork was dark and angry, the leather chairs were burnt brown, and the walls might have been white at one time, but mold or damp was ravaging them beyond recognition.The floors were covered in mottled brown linoleum. A low coffee table, round and semicircular smudges have etched into the dark surface, on which are several rotten Time and Life magazines.I picked up the latest one I had and hurried to the middle.Eisenhower smiled at me, hairless and dazed, like an embryo in a bottle.

After a while, I heard the faint sound of water.At first I thought the water-soaked walls were venting, until I saw that the sound was coming from a small fountain in the corner. Water spouted from a rough length of hose, only a few inches high, throwing up hands in the air in surrender, collapsing, and the falling droplets finally drowned in a stone trough of yellow water.The sink was made of the white hexagonal tiles you see in public restrooms. The bell buzzed.The distant door opens and closes.Brother Bao is here. Hello, Dad. Baodi hugged his father, then approached me, and stretched out his hand, the joyful look was really annoying.I shook hands with him, and his hands were wet and fat.

Mr. Weller and I sat together on the leather sofa.Baodi sat on a slippery armchair opposite.He kept smiling all the time, as if the corners of his mouth were hung by invisible iron wires. The last thing I expected was that Baodi became fat.Whenever I think of him in a nursing home, I see the shadows carved under his cheekbones, his eyes burning, sunken and almost fleshless. But all the sunken places on Baodi's body suddenly bulged.The white nylon shirt hugged her big belly tightly, and her cheeks were round and red, like candied marzipan.Even the laughter is full. Brother Bao and I have eye contact.Too much, he said.He was stuffed to his stomach every day and was not allowed to move, so he had to lie still.But now I'm allowed to go out during my walk time, so don't worry, I'll lose weight in another two or three weeks.He jumped up and smiled like a happy host.Want to see my room?

I followed Baodi, and Mr. Wei Le followed me. We walked through the frosted glass sliding door in the middle and walked into the dark, liver-colored corridor. Gardenia. Baodi slammed open the brown door, and we filed into a small room. A lumpy bed with a thin white coverlet, streaked with blue, took up most of the room.On the bedside table was a pitcher, a glass, and a silver thermometer poking out of a bottle of pink antiseptic.Another table, full of books and papers and some rotten clay pots, burned and painted but not glazed, was squeezed between the corner of the bed and the wardrobe door.

Ah, Mr. Wei Le took a breath, looking quite comfortable. Brother Bao smiled. what are these?I picked up a pottery ashtray in the shape of a water lily leaf, with yellow veins carefully drawn on the dark green background.Baodi doesn't smoke. It's an ashtray, Baodi said.for you. I put it down.I don't smoke. I know, Bao Di said.But I thought you might like it. Well, Mr. Wei Le pursed his lips as thin as paper.I have to go now.let you two kids OK, Dad, you're on your way. I was taken aback.I thought Mr. Weile would stay overnight and drive me back tomorrow. Shall I go too?

no no.Mr. Wei Le took a few banknotes from his wallet and gave them to Baodi.Get Esther a good seat on the train.Let her stay for a day or two.Baodi sent his father out. I feel abandoned by Mr. Weller.He must have made arrangements long ago, but Baodi denied it, saying that his father just couldn't see other people getting sick, especially his own son, because he believed that all diseases were a manifestation of willpower sickness.Mr. Wei Le has never been sick for a day in his life. I sat on my brother's bed.No place to sit other than that. Baodi flicked through the paper documents seriously, and then handed me a thin gray magazine.See page eleven.It was published somewhere in Maine, and it was full of mimeographed poems and narratives, separated by asterisks.On page eleven I found a poem titled Daybreak in Florida, and the images came one after another, dizzying: watermelon-colored light, tortoiseshell-green palms, conch shells singing like Greek buildings.

Very good.I feel like shit. Who wrote it?Baodi asked with a silly smile. My eyes moved to the name in the lower right corner of this page: Bao.Wei. Let me say first: I don't know.Then he changed his words: Of course I know, Baodi, it was you who wrote it. Baodi moved to my side. I move back.I know very little about tuberculosis, but I have a vague feeling that this disease is very insidious, spreading in places where the human eye cannot see it. Baodi may be shrouded in a vicious atmosphere of tuberculosis. Don't be afraid, Brother Bao said with a smile.I am not masculine. Positive? It is not contagious to you. Baodi seemed to be climbing a steep slope, and stopped halfway to catch his breath. I want to ask you.I don't know when he got into this annoying habit of piercing my eyes with his gaze, as if determined to poke through my head in order to analyze the thoughts inside. I wanted to write a letter to ask. A scene suddenly flashed in my mind: a light blue envelope with the Yale University crest on the back flap.Later, I decided to wait for you to come and ask you face to face is better.He paused.Don't you want to know? what do you know?I asked in a low voice and a low profile. Baodi sat next to me, hugged my waist, and brushed my hair behind my ears.I didn't move, just listened to him whisper: "You are willing to be a treasure brother."Mrs. Weller? I almost burst out laughing. Think about it, I have a crush on Baodi from afar.During Wei Le's five or six years, if I heard him ask this question, I would be overjoyed. Brother Bao saw that I was troubled. Alas, I know I'm not looking good now, so he speaks quickly.I'm still on p-aminosalinate and may have to remove a rib or two, but should be back in med school next fall.no later than the spring of the year after next Brother Bao, I have something to tell you. I know, Baodi said bluntly.You met someone else. No, not like that. what is that? I will never get married in my life. You are crazy.Baodi said happily.You will change. No, I made up my mind. But Baodi still seemed very happy. Remember, I said, you and I hitchhiked back to school after theater night? I remember. Remember you asked me if I would like to live in the country or in the city? you say I said, I want to live in both the country and the city, remember? Brother Bao nodded. What about you, I continued with a sudden force, and laughed, saying that my arrangement showed typical signs of neurosis, and that you took psychology that week, and the questionnaire you got had this question, remember? Baodi's smile dimmed. you are right.I do have neuroses.I could never choose whether to live in the country or in the city. You can live in between, Baodi wants to help out.In this way, you can sometimes go to the city and sometimes go to the countryside. Say, what does this have to do with neuroses? Brother Bao didn't answer. talk!I asked sharply, thinking that I should not pamper the patient too much, this is the easiest way to do bad things, and the patient will be spoiled. It doesn't matter, Baodi's tone is dull and stiff. Neurosis, ha!I smiled disdainfully.Since neurosis is the simultaneous desire for two incompatible things, I am neurotic.All my life I've been flitting back and forth between two incompatible things. Brother Bao stretched out his hand to cover mine. Let me fly with you. I stood at the top of Pisgah Mountain's ski slopes and looked down.I'm not qualified to be here.I've never skied in my life, but with the beauty in hand, I wanted to take the opportunity to enjoy it. To my left, the tow ropes put the skiers one by one on the snow-covered mountain peaks, and the snow was crushed back and forth, melted a little in the midday sun, and then froze into glass-solid and smooth ice.My lungs and sinuses felt strangely refreshed from the torment of the cold air. On all sides of me were skiers in red, blue, and white jackets flying down blinding slopes like splinters escaping from an American flag.At the bottom of the ski slope, the sound of pop songs came from the hut with the imitation log cover, breaking the silence under the head cover. Chalet on Everest You and I look down through the window The brisk and lively tune meanders around me, like an invisible river flowing through the snow field.With just one easy gesture, I was thrown out, rolled all the way down the hill, and ran straight to a small khaki dot outside the field, which was Baodi in the crowd of spectators.Wei Le. Baodi taught me how to ski all morning. First, Baodi borrowed ski boots and ski poles from a friend in the village, ski boots from the doctor's wife, which were only one size larger than mine, and a red ski jacket from the intern nurse.It is surprising that he is so earnest and seductive in the face of stubborn mules. So I remembered that Baodi had won an award in medical school, because he had the best performance in persuading bereaved families to donate their bodies.He is good at mobilizing bereaved families for the benefit of science, and donating their remains for slaughter. As for whether the deceased needs to be dissected, it is a matter of course.I forget the name of the award, but I can imagine Baodi in his white coat, his stethoscope protruding from the side pocket like a part of his body, laughing and bowing to the numb and tongue-tied survivors until they said Sign the autopsy consent form. Next, Baodi borrowed a car from his attending doctor. The doctor himself had suffered from tuberculosis and knew the psychology of patients very well.The walk-time bell buzzes through the sunless sanatorium corridors as we drive away. Baodi has never skied before, but he said that the basic principles are very simple. He often observes the ski instructors giving lessons to the students, and he is sure to pass on the necessary know-how to me. For the first half an hour, I was very obedient. I climbed up a small slope with the snowshoes facing outwards, and then slid straight down the slope with the support of the ski pole.Baodi is quite satisfied with my progress. Well done, Ethel, he praised, as I conquered the slope for the twentieth time.Time to practice on the summit cable. I stopped halfway, blushing and panting. Brother, I don't know how to zigzag.Everyone who slides down from the top of the mountain can zigzag. Alas, you just need to go up to the middle of the mountain, so that the momentum will not be too great. Brother Bao accompanied me to the climbing cable, taught me to put my hands between the ropes, and then told me to hold the rope and go up. I didn't expect to resist. I clung to the snake, rough and prickly, gliding and rising between my fingers. Unexpectedly, the rope dragged me up so fast. I staggered and tried to maintain my balance. It was impossible for me to abandon the rope halfway.There is a skier in front of me, and another skier behind me. If I let go, I will be knocked over and trapped by a pile of skis and poles; At the top of the slope, I changed my mind. Brother Bao recognized that I was wearing a red jacket and hesitated.He chops the air with his arms, like a khaki pinwheel.He motioned to me that there was a gap between the stream of skiers and told me to go down that road.But I was still hesitating, my heart was flustered, my throat was dry, and the plain path from my feet to his feet was gradually blurred. One skier forks across the trail from the left, another from the right, Baodi's arms still flailing feebly, like antennas at the far end of a field; And like so many curved, bright exclamation marks. My eyes left the bubbling depression and gradually moved up. The sky looked back at me with huge gray eyes, and the sun in the mist seemed to be wearing a shroud, shooting pale and silent light in all directions, crossing gray hills one by one, and finally gathered and stopped at my feet. The voice in my heart kept chattering, telling me not to be stupid, save my skin, take off my snow shoes and go down the mountain, use the dwarf pine forest on both sides of the ski slope as cover, and escape like a mosquito that can't be hurt.I might die, and the thought grew in me like a tree, a flower. I used my eyes to estimate the distance between Baodi and Baodi. He was standing with his arms folded in front of the horizontal fence, a part of the fence that was equally numb, brown, and insignificant. I moved toward the edge of the summit, dug the tips of my ski poles into the snow, gave a hard push, and flew forward.I know that no matter whether I rely on technology or want to regret halfway, I can't stop. I rushed straight down. The wind, which hadn't been seen before, came into my mouth, raked my scalp, and sent my hair flying back, parallel to the ground.I descend, but the white sun does not rise.It hangs above the peaks and seas in the sky, and is the hub of all things, but it has no consciousness itself; without the sun, the world does not exist. I have a small corresponding point in myself, flying towards the sun.I feel that the scenery invades the heart and spleen with the air, mountains, woods, and crowds, making the lungs full and swollen.I thought: So this is the feeling of happiness. I plunged straight down, leaving snaking novices and masters behind, through the accumulated pretense, smiles, and compromises into my past. The people and trees on both sides kept retreating, like the black walls on both sides of the tunnel. I continued to rush to the still and bright point at the end, which was the stone at the bottom of the well, and it was the baby in the mother's belly, cute and white. My teeth rattled and bit the gravel in my mouth.Ice water soaked into the throat. Baodi's face hung above me, very close and large, lingering like a lost planet.Other faces floated in the back of his mind.Further back, the white plane is crowded with tiny black dots.It seems that a fairy godmother is waving a dull fairy stick and pointing, and the old world jumps back to the original place one after another. You skated well, the familiar voice said in my ear, but then someone rushed into your slide.Someone unbuttoned my shoe.My ski poles had already slanted into the sky, and then fell into the snowdrift, and people picked them up separately.The fence outside the hut stood straight behind me. Baodi bent down and took off my boots for me, and then took off the layers of white wool socks lining the boots.His fat hand covered my left foot, and slowly moved towards my ankle, examining and stroking it carefully, as if detecting a hidden weapon. The white sun shines carelessly on the earth from the zenith.I want to grind myself in the sun, to be as holy, thin and pure as a blade. I'm going up, I said.I'm going to go up and do it again. No, no. A strange but satisfied expression appeared on Baodi's face. No, no, he said again, finishing with a smile.Your foot is broken in two places.You'll be in plaster for months.