Chapter 44 forty three

When I opened my eyes, there was a porcelain vase on the window sill, and there was a withered rose in the vase.The flower swayed lazily in the morning breeze. (If I hadn't been drunk, I wouldn't have forgotten to close the window, I suppose. But who sent me back?) Memory is like frosted glass, with vague outlines.After thinking hard, I remembered that someone once used clogs to kill cockroaches on the wall.Other than that, nothing is clear. The sun is excellent.A few schoolchildren put paper kites on the opposite balcony.It was Sunday morning, and the blessing bells of the church were creating an atmosphere of serenity.I had a dream, dreaming of the crossing of two lines.

What an absurd dream.What an absurd reality.I am a ridiculous person. It was time to get up; the sudden appearance of a small sparrow made me curious.I admire how this lost bird jumps gracefully on the window sill.I remember when I was studying in elementary school, I used to perform sparrows and children at the ceilidh.That was a long time ago; thinking about it now makes me blush. Sparrows pecked at the window sills.There was a withered petal on the window sill.I worry that when the morning wind picks up, more petals will fall.A sparrow cannot be foolish enough to use flower petals for food.

Yo! There was a sharp cry.The sparrow fluttered its wings.Instinctively, I got out of bed, opened the door, and hurried out, only to find Mrs. Lei standing by the old lady's door dumbfounded.Mrs. Ray opened her startled eyes and put her hands over her mouth. Walking along the door of Mrs. Lei's bedroom, I saw the most tragic scene: Mrs. Lei was lying on her back on the bed, holding a small knife in her left hand, and the vein door in her right hand was cut.There was blood on the white sheets; there was blood on the floor. Mr. Lei fell on the old lady's body, weeping unceasingly.

Tiptoing in, I reached out and pressed Mrs. Lei's forehead.As cold as ice.This kind old lady has passed away. Why?I asked. Mr. Lei wept very mournfully and did not answer my words.I went into the living room and asked Mrs. Ray: Why? Last night, you came back drunk.The old lady blames you for drinking so much wine.You fire up and growl loudly. What am I talking about? You say you are not Xinmin; nor her son! How did she express it? She shed tears; but still not angry.When she spoke, her voice trembled violently.She said: Xinmin, why are you so drunk again? How can I answer her? You stare at each other, and yell as if you were trying to quarrel with her: God, don't talk about the long and the short, it's harsh!Quickly open your eyes and take a closer look, am I your son?

and after? She cried, clapped her hands and stomped her feet and cried.We tried to comfort her as much as we could, but it was of no avail.She said she gave birth to a bad son and there was no reason to live on.We thought it was okay for the old man to complain, but we didn't expect that she would cut her veins with a knife! This is what happened last night.I killed a kind old man with vicious words while drunk.She has been good to me; yet I have done such a cruel thing.I should have gone into the old lady's bedroom and begged her forgiveness; but I had not the courage to do so, and I began to pity myself, and sat alone in the room like an orphan, and shed many tears.My thinking apparatus suddenly failed, and I didn't really need any thought; however, it was the first time this had happened in my waking life.I just stared with tears at the porcelain vase on the window sill and the wilting rose in it.Mrs. Lei is a simple woman who has a special hobby for roses.I had to pray over and over for peace of mind.The whole morning, I sat in front of the window in a daze, and someone called me Xinmin in my ear. The voice seemed far away; it seemed very near.If I were Lei Xinmin, I would be blessed.Human relationships are always so wonderful, and blood is a bit like the glue of emotions.The suicide of a mentally ill patient would not have caused great grief; but why do I always sit there in a daze.That rose is wilting, and has completely lost its value of being appreciated.I could not think of any reason to explain my feelings, but I fell in love with a withered flower.I gazed at it greedily, wondering if my feelings were misplaced.I can't understand myself, but feel restless.My rationality has just been soaked in salt water, preventing me from adapting to my current circumstances.I had to move so I could get rid of all the painful memories.

This afternoon, I wrote this sentence in my diary: quit drinking from today.However, in the early evening, I had a few glasses of brandy in a restaurant. (End of the book)