Chapter 2 two

Yes, I used to own a house.I said earlier that I got on the car at my door, not just my residence, but my house.Despite a meager salary and an unstable income, I managed to secure a home loan from the bank eight years ago.I had just turned forty-two, bought a small house I had seen many times, and fulfilled a dream of having a house and yard of my own on the wide plain between the Romulus Mountains and the South Coast. But I couldn't afford to repair the house, which left the weatherboards and window frames rotted in the gables, the paint was peeling, the roof was leaking in at least two places, and all the gutters around the house had to be replaced.My income is just enough to pay the interest on the mortgage, a little principal repayment, lumber, electricity and some maintenance, plus insurance, taxes, gas, food for myself and the dog.I think that after the government expropriates my house and auctions it in its current state, it should not contribute much to the national treasury.

Even though the house was run down and rather old fashioned and impractical, with cold and windy winters and hot and humid summers, at least it was my own home, my sanctuary, where no one could control me, my Dogs are free to run and I can work quietly most of the time.There are no noisy neighbors on the other side of the wall, no footsteps echoing up and down the stairwell, no noisy children in the public courtyard, and when I enjoy the sun outdoors, no family with children and relatives and friends will sit down next to me and eat loudly Dim sum party like I'm not here.In my house, I feel at home both inside and out.That's my place, and if a neighbor or friend happens to pass by and sees me sitting in the yard and walks in through the gate to have a chat or a coffee with me, at least it's me they want to chat or have a coffee with.If I don't have the time or the mood, I have the right to tell them so, and they have to go too.

I rarely ask people to leave.I don't have many friends, and I don't have many neighbors.If someone comes to my house unannounced, or at a bad time, I usually let them stay for a while too.If you live in the country, you really can't afford to push your neighbors away or fall out with them.From my personal point of view, if you live alone and no one needs you, you can't afford to turn against anyone.So whenever someone walks into the yard or the front door of my house, I'm always kind and welcoming, even though sometimes I'm at work and they really bother me. When I first moved into that house, I was still optimistic about the future, believing that it was not too late and I could still have a baby; or at least that my job would make a lot of money and keep me financially secure; or Yes I can find a partner who will love me and want to live with me.Almost until the end, I had small but desperate hopes for Nils.

Nils was a few years my junior, tall and athletic, with a high sex drive, and we shared the same secret desires, the same sexual fantasies, the same hopelessly politically incorrect attitudes.We were like a glove with just the right size on one hand, it fit perfectly.At that time, he was already living with another woman, and the two had a son.He never said he loved me, but it was a big deal for us to say it.But he said that he almost loved me, and said it several times, and I felt sweet after hearing it.Almost being loved is very, very close to being loved without really being loved. Perhaps it was this almost in love that kept our relationship going until, six weeks before my fiftieth birthday, when that date was approaching, I made one last attempt, because at least I had to claim immunity for myself.I begged Nils to save me.Yes, in desperation I did say that.I ask Niels to leave his partner and become my partner, whether he really loves me or not, and to submit a written statement to the authorities that he loves me.I made this request straight up and he became very distressed and began to cry.He sat naked on the edge of my bed and wept.That was the first and last time I saw him cry.He sat there with tears in his eyes, subconsciously pulled a corner of the quilt to cover his lower body, and said with a sob:

Dolly, I feel more for you than for any woman, and it's not just lust, you know.I admire you and I respect you, I almost love you and I would love to live with you and share my life.But number one, I want my son to grow up in an environment where his parents live with him.Second, I can't really say I love you because I can't lie.I am not this kind of person.I cannot say this to you and the competent authority.I can't sign an endorsement for something that isn't true, that would be a forgery, a crime.Please understand, Dolly, I He paused, took a deep breath, swallowed several mouthfuls of saliva, snot and tears, and rubbed his nose with his fingers before continuing, his voice was low, almost out of breath:

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.I know what you mean to me and what you mean to me.i will miss you so much i He was sobbing, stretched his arms around me, and wailed like a child.I didn't cry, I didn't cry then. When I said good-bye to York, tears rolled down my face.York is my dog, we have lived for many years, he is a Danish Swedish farmer dog, with white, black and brown markings, brown eyes, ears soft as velvet, one ear is black and the other is white.I entrusted the York to a nearby family I knew and trusted.The family was Lisa, Stan and three children. They had a small farm with horses and chickens, and they loved York.Those three kids loved York, and I knew York liked them too, and York could do well there.But anyway, it's mine and I'm its.The word love is really useful between it and me, so there is no need to worry about committing the crime of forgery.I believe not only do I have loving feelings about it, but so does it.But the dog's love doesn't count, the dog's dependence and loyalty are not enough.Tears welled up in my eyes as I left York at Stan and Lisa's house and drove away.

Love and separation cannot coexist, they are two opposing states.When external forces intervene to force love and separation to coexist, there must be an explanation.I can't explain that to York however, how do you explain this or anything to a dog?At least Niels could explain to me why he couldn't be with me and make me a needed individual, and I could understand that explanation.But if York is still alive, how can he understand why I drove away alone that day, leaving him behind?How could it understand why I never went back to pick it up?