Chapter 13 twelve

After a day, the story of "Butterfly Dream" was handed over.Mo Yu said that the film industry has gained a new force, which is something to be happy about.But I was not paid. This is a well-known story, and it must be passed.he tells me. But I don't know how to use the terminology of the screenplay.I said. Just write a literary script, and let me do the work of splitting scenes and mirroring for you. The matter is decided in this way, and the fire of hope is ignited in the heart. Another day later, Mahomet asked me to meet at Maxim's, and gave me 300 yuan, and told me to be careful with the money, not to turn the money into wine and drink it.

Speaking of his short story, I said: The writing is not bad, and it is much better than the general literary and artistic creation nowadays; it's just that the way of expression is still too old-fashioned and not progressive. He stared inquiringly, obviously asking for a more detailed explanation.I took a sip of my wine and continued: The current so-called literary novels are not even up to the standard of the May Fourth era.Some people work hard at this level of climbing, even if they reach it, they are still behind.In fact, compared with the world-class works of the same period, the novels of the May Fourth era are also backward.If today's novelists are still satisfied with reaching the level of the May Fourth Movement, we will never be able to occupy a place in the world literary world.This short story of yours has a very rigorous structure and has a surprising ending. If it appeared in Maupassant or O.Henry's era, of course, would be regarded as an excellent work; however, from today's perspective, it is undoubtedly backward.Literature is a kind of creation, and attempts to pursue ancient art forms and ideals in tradition will not achieve remarkable results no matter how enthusiastic they are.Realism is long gone, even Flaubert said so We have polyphonic ensembles, rich palettes, and a variety of media but what we lack are: (1) inner principles; (2) things (3) the mind of the plot.Flaubert is a master of realism, and his words are certainly not alarmist.In fact, the unilateral development of realism can never grasp the overall development of life, so even Chekhov would say this with emotion: Our souls are so hollow that they can be kicked like footballs!

I took two more sips of wine and added these words: Realism should die, and the modern novelist must seek the inner truth of human beings. Mehman nodded, agreeing with me.He asked me to introduce some works to him. I just mentioned the works of several excellent writers as far as I can remember: Thomas.Mann's "Magic Mountain", Joyce's "Ulysses" and Proust's "What Is Once" are the three treasures of modern literature.In addition, Graves' "I, Claudia"; Kafka's "Judgment"; Camus' "Black Death"; Forster's "To India"; Saudi Arabia's "Road to Freedom"; Na's "The Sound and the Fury"; Fucheniya.Woolf's "The Waves"; Busternac's "Last Summer"; Hemingway's "Farewell, Arms" and "The Old Man and the Sea"; America"; Moravia's "A Roman Woman", and the short stories of Akutagawa Ryunosuke, etc., are all must-read works for everyone who loves literature.

A strange expression suddenly appeared on Mehman's face. It looked a bit like a coolie carrying an object that was too heavy. Mehman is a very strong young man. He not only accepted my advice, but also thanked me repeatedly.He decided to accept literature as servitude.I think he is cute and silly, at least in Hong Kong it is not easy to find a fool like him. Another day later, Mr. Sima gave me a serious warning again, saying that if he molested his daughter again, he would go to court to sue me.I tried my best to deny it, but he didn't believe it. Another day passed and I had a dream.I dreamed that "Dream of Butterflies" edited by me had been filmed, and it was jointly screened in two theaters in Hong Kong and Kowloon that exclusively screened first-run western films.

Another day later, I met Zhang Lili in Gloucester.She was with a fat man, very well dressed.I look at her.She looks at me.We exchanged pleasantries with winks. Another day later, I found a bright and clean house with a monthly rent of 120 yuan, including water and electricity.The charterer's wife, surnamed Wang, is a mid-aged lady with fair skin. Her husband works on the ship and returns to Hong Kong twice a year.She has two children, both boys: a twenty-year-old; a nine-year-old.The 20-year-old named Wang Cheng didn't study and was an apprentice on the ship with his father; the 9-year-old named Wang Shi was stupid and was in the first grade of elementary school and had to stay in class.This family said there were four, but it was actually two, and it was very quiet.Mrs. Wang's floor is not big, with two bedrooms and one living room, and she rented one room to me.It seems that her financial situation is not bad. Her husband works on the ship and often brings some private goods, so there will be no difficulty in making money.Ordinarily, she shouldn't be subletting, but she thinks it's too calm, and the family needs an extra man.

Another day passed; I moved.Apart from the books, there was only simple furniture: a bed, a writing table, two chairs, a chest of drawers, and a bookshelf almost twice the size of the chest of drawers.I hired a van, and two coolies carried the furniture downstairs.Sima and his wife went out to play cards, only Sima Li was sitting in the living room listening to Tony."Only You" by Williams. Come here, I have something to tell you. When the coolies were moving things, she suddenly said to me in a rough voice.I walked up to her and asked: What's up? Tell me your address! Why?

Does this also need a reason? Yes, there must be a good reason. Afraid that I will eat you? I'm afraid you will create rumors again.she laughed.She lights a cigarette.She sprayed smoke rings in my face.She opened her eyes wide.she says: Tell me your address. When you are twenty years old, come to me again. I moved towards the bedroom.She caught up and put her mouth next to my ear, her voice was as low as a mosquito: Let me tell you a secret. What? You must swear never to tell anyone else. Then, don't tell me. I went to pack my things.She caught up and put her mouth next to my ear, her voice still as low as a mosquito's chirping.

You are a stubborn man. Yes, I am a stubborn man. I like your stubbornness. There is no need to say such things again. So I am still willing to tell you my secret, and I forgive you for not telling others. (A seventeen-year-old girl, what kind of secret would she have? I think. Cheating on an exam; or stealing someone else's compact?) Take a puff of cigarette and spit out the words along with the green smoke: I had an abortion when I was fifteen! The words were like a bolt from the blue, which surprised me greatly.I stared at her with wide eyes, and she was smiling.Her smile is very serene.

Ali, I said.You are too young to give up on yourself. She threw the long cigarette butt on the floor, stamped it out with her leather shoes, and said: You are a novelist; but too old-headed. For a seventeen-year-old girl, it is very dangerous to have a new mind. Danger?What's the danger? In another ten years, you will understand what I said today. The coolies have already moved everything down.This small stilted room is empty, only some garbage and old newspapers are piled on the floor waiting to be cleaned. goodbye, i say. You haven't given me the address yet. It's better not to say it.

Walking out of the gate of Sima's house, I heard Sima Li crying loudly from behind. (Tears are a woman's weapon, I think. They can make a soft-hearted man fall into a trap.) I'm no fool, especially when I'm sane. Another day later, I found that there was a lot of foreign wine in the wine cabinet of the charterer. I thought she was also an alcoholic, but later I found out that she was not addicted to alcohol. Since you don't like to drink, why put so much wine in the wine cabinet? Her answer was: With a wine cabinet, you can't live without wine! Another day later, the charterer treated me to a half bottle of black and white whiskey.Her reason is: no one drinks anyway.

Another day later, I not only drank the remaining half bottle of black and white whiskey; I also drank a few glasses of VAT69 whiskey.Wang Tai praised me for drinking well.I think her smile is like a blooming flower. Your husband comes back twice a year?I asked. Yes. Your husband sends you money every month? Yes. Your husband writes you a letter every day? No. Write one every week? No. every month? nor. Has he never written to you? He cannot read. Why not ask someone else to write it for you? He is too busy. Aren't you so busy that you don't even have time to write a letter? When he was on the boat, he was busy gambling; when he was ashore, he was busy looking for women.As long as those who work on the ship are willing to bring some private goods, it doesn't take much effort to make money.We, Mr. Wang, have excess energy and must try to consume it. Therefore, almost every dock has a woman. Are you one of them? Yes, I am his Hong Kong wife; in addition to London, New York, San Francisco and other big cities, needless to say, there are even Brazil, Saigon, and Yokohama. You raised two children for him? Yes. What about the lady elsewhere? I'm afraid he can't even figure it out himself. (This Mr. Wang is really a very interesting character, I think. He has been circling the earth in a big ship for many years, earning some easy money by smuggling; using this money to support countless wives and children.) does he love you have no idea. Do you love him? I?What I love is money.As long as he has money to send back every month, I will go to Wharf to pick him up when he arrives. Do you feel lonely when he is not in Hong Kong? she laughs. Another day passed and I was drunk.A pair of hungry eyes search for lost joy.It was already dark, and the child named Wang Shi was already sound asleep.The air condensed into solid, just as the pedestrian walked into the black forest.Thoughts are straw, suddenly forgetting yesterday's wind and rain and passing cicadas; but seeing the witch climbing up the ladder, desire to land on the moon.Two lonely travelers met in a gazebo on a rainy night, and ended up playing a game of chess.The shadow pressed against the nameless stone, and the stone sweated.Spring is hiding in the corner, peeking at the footsteps on the clouds.I am drunk. Another day later, I received a notice from that newspaper asking me to write that martial arts novel until the end of the month, the reason being: my martial arts novels do not have as many moves as others.As a result, I have no income at all.My self-esteem was hurt, and I didn't even dare to plan for the future.I went into the drawing room, opened the wine cabinet without asking the charterer's permission, and took out a bottle of brandy.As soon as I poured a glass, the charter woman came back from the market with a vegetable basket. Seeing me holding the wine, she hurriedly came to dissuade me: Can't drink anymore. Why? It wasn't because of drinking a few cups that he wouldn't do that kind of thing. I was very upset. I was very upset. Afraid that I will entangle you? No, no, absolutely not. Then, listen to me and stop drinking for a while. Even so, I raised my glass and drank the wine in one gulp.The charter woman saw that I was worried and asked again and again. Tell me what's on your mind, she said. I am a person who relies on selling articles for a living. I just received a notice from the newspaper saying that my martial arts novels are not well written, and my manuscripts will not be used in the future. Oh, so it is. From the tone of your voice, you don't seem to think this is a serious matter. She smiled, there was so much meaning in that smile, but I couldn't catch it at all, I longed for a glass of wine.She generously gave me a bottle. Another day passed, and I spent a whole morning writing the script of "Butterfly Dream".I count on this money to sustain me for a time; and at the same time to pay my debts to Mehman. For inspiration, I have to drink. To calm the agitation I had to drink. For some unspeakable reason, I must drink. Another day later, "Butterfly Dream" has written the thirty-first scene, and I think it is quite brilliant, so I drank more wine. Another day passed, and there were only two bottles of wine left in the charterer's wine cabinet. "Butterfly Dream" was written to forty-eight scenes. Another day later, "Butterfly Dream" was written to sixty-two scenes.There was only one bottle of wine left in the charterer's liquor cabinet. Another day later, "Butterfly Dream" was written.The charter woman also drank all the wine. Feeling relieved, he immediately called Mo Yu.Mo Yu asked me to meet in Gloucester, and he spoke very excitedly.I hadn't been out on the street for several days, and when I went outside, I was refreshed.Maybe it's because the script of "Butterfly Dream" has been completed, maybe it's because I have changed to a new environment, maybe it's because the charterer is a generous woman who doesn't drink alcohol. In short, I am in a good mood.Arrive at Gloucester and hand over the script to Mo Yu.I hope he will pay me the script fee as soon as possible.He nodded, biting his cigar.He didn't speak.I had to confess my embarrassment to him frankly.He listened, but still didn't speak, just turned on the lighter and lit the long-extinguished cigar.He exhaled a cloud of smoke.The smoke not only made me feel like looking at flowers in a fog; it also made me cough violently.He smiled, unnaturally.I must ask him to give a specific answer, and he said this: Call in a week. Another week and I'm starving to death! Are you really that poor? No newspaper wanted my martial arts novels. Why not write dirty novels? Didn't you persuade me to rewrite the script of the movie a few days ago? Alas, it's hard to say anything about things in the film industry.However, since you intend to change careers, of course I will help you.