这是我和他待在地下室的第六天晚上。

我们还能知道时间，是因为他卡西欧运动手表的荧光指针，借着隔几个小时开亮一次的手电筒灯光，还在漆黑一片中微微发亮。一道值得庆幸的是，手表指针的每一次颤动，已不如起先那么次次都怵目惊心。它们拨动的轻微响声，此刻反而让我们觉得安心。

【旧约 ∙ 创世纪】上帝花了七天创造世界。

祂第一天创造了光，第二天创造了空气和水，第三天创造了陆地、海和各类植物，第四天创造了日、月、星辰和定昼夜、节令、日子和年岁，第五天创造各类动物，第六天上帝按着祂的形象创造了人。第七天创造工作完毕，上帝停歇了祂一切的工作，安息，并赐福给第七日，定为圣日。

他叫泰德。

第一次他和一帮朋友来我家派对的时候，一个个人轮着自我介绍，我对他是印象最深的。我叫泰德，他说道。泰德，我暗暗想，不就是泰迪熊的那个泰德嘛。他有点胖，隆着个小肚子，腮帮的地方肉嘟嘟的。棕黄色的头发有些稀松，中间一撮没经打理地贴在额头上。他穿着绛红色的花衬衫，上面大朵大朵的花是白色的。牛仔裤有些洗白。嗯，真是人如其名，活脱脱就是生活版的泰迪熊嘛。

派对的时候，他做了一杯兑了柠檬，冰块和椰子汁的伏特加端给我喝。我跳舞有些累了，坐在房间角落的沙发上。他坐在地上，身体倚着沙发的扶手，给我比划他心目中最经典的异形和柯洛弗档案里的怪兽。他给我讲解如果它们相遇，会如何大战出手的情形，一个人讲得投入时都没有顾得上看我。后来他请我跳舞，我太累了没有答应，他就跑去客厅中间自己跳。跳舞的时候，他手臂弯着，挥舞不开，腰扭得也有些硬。只有衬衫上白色的花朵，在黑暗中的荧光灯管映照下，竟显出张狂的斑斓来。我一口喝下他调的酒。酒里喝不出酒精的味道，我的身体却晕眩得陷在沙发里愈发不能动弹了。迷幻中，我竟以为自己看到他的脸上涔出几道细细的汗水。汗水精致而又挥发着酒精野性的味道。我想我是把自己灌醉了。

汗水的味道也弥散在地下室里。

这是一个学校储放卫生用品的房间，建在地下一层洗衣房的角落，比摆放洗衣机和烘干机的地方还要低下好多个台阶去。地下室三面都是堆满了洗手液，清洁剂，卷手纸和各类洁具的钢制储物架。另外一面就是通往上方的阶梯和紧挨着的仅有一个洗手池和坐便器的卫生间。不过我想我大概应该满足。上帝，坐便器还能冲洗，真是您赐予我们最仁慈的奇迹。

地下室里没有窗。门自然是关着的。于是小镇的闷热潮湿就在这显得愈发不堪忍受。我还算瘦弱，尚能挨在水泥地上，自求一份清凉。泰德却是一直淌汗不止，烦躁难安，不是站着来回走，就是半蹲着，不断换左右脚支撑身体。我让他坐下，能凉快许多。他说他倒不是烦热，而是不能忍受，声音的空隙。

我也体验过声音的空隙。

那是六天前了，我和泰德在学校餐厅外的遮阳伞下面坐着吃午餐。我笑话他吃樱桃芝士蛋糕，红色樱桃吃得嘴唇都泛出一润血红色，好像吸血魔一样。他倒不觉得好笑，反而一本正经地讲起自己的世界末日论来。他说吸血鬼本质与人类无异，加上怕阳光，大蒜和十字架，其实并不足为惧。僵尸倒是有前仆后继，摧枯拉朽的强大力量。至于外星人入侵和自然灭绝，实在防无可防，其摧毁力量远非人类想象所及。打个比方吧，那就好像我们喷杀虫剂杀死一个蚁堆一样容易。他这句话说得又快又紧，每个词段的最末一个音节都是直直地坠下去，语气之严肃几乎不容置疑。我听来不禁有些悚然，感觉这杀虫的场景早成为人类宿命里安排好的一项流程了。

虽想来恐怖，但泰德的这些理论，我其实听他讲过许多遍。世界末日类的话题我从来就兴趣不大，于是只是闷头吃我的三明治，一边嗯嗯啊啊地应着他。泰德也不需要我的关注，一个人讲得滔滔不绝。我四下张望，泰德背后的草地远端，午时的阳光洒在斜坡上，是一片灿烂的明黄色。几个人在躺着看书。我盯着他们惬意的样子出神。泰德拿出一本书，翻到其中一页的图片，说那幅遥远东方的壁画，可能是最早人类与外星生命接触的记录。我没有看那张图，目光仍落在看书的人们身上。泰德翻页时，老书本发出它们特有的，缺少水分，清脆欲裂的声音。我看到一个看书人像要侧身，他的身体却好像被脆化钉住了一样，一用力，竟硬生生把自己拦腰撕开。鲜血横飞。一霎那间，我仿佛看到各种惊恐的口型，却听不到任何声音。我被压在声音的间隙里，喘不出气。有惊恐的人也要从草坪上起身，却一样在用力处被扯开，躯干斩成两段。血如几展旌旗般在山坡上缓缓铺开。

泰德说他还真的有一只泰迪熊。

泰迪熊是两只手掌的大小。除了有一个异常坚硬的塑料鼻子，和一颗鲜红色的心，紧紧镶在左侧的胸口前，泰德说它与一般的泰迪熊并没有什么两样。但他爱他的泰迪熊。泰德说小时候他会用泰迪熊坚硬的鼻子来反击他同父异母的两个哥哥。他们总是嘲弄这个略显笨拙的弟弟。在他坐下的时候抽调椅子，在地板上撒弹珠，学怪兽踏翻他搭的城市模型。泰德唯一的回击手段就是用泰迪熊的鼻子砸他们，塑料硬壳生生地敲在脑壳上，直到他们讨饶为止。他们不还手吗，我问，那最多也只是个玩具啊。泰迪不只是个玩具，泰德赫然截断我的话。提高的分贝在狭隘的空间里左沖右撞，迟迟不去。过了些许，他好像意识到自己有些失态，轻声说，泰迪熊是三岁时他妈妈给他的生日礼物。

地下室里静了下来。我靠着储物架，看着泰德半蹲的身影。他低着头，手指在地上拨划着，静滞的空气中弥漫着独白开场的味道。他没说很多。只是说那是他三岁时的生日礼物。他从小独睡时会哭躁不安，于是母亲让泰迪熊与他作伴。五岁时母亲与父亲离异，他大闹。父亲一年后娶了现在的妻子。他的焦躁变得愈发明显。他说他害怕没有声音的环境，静默时无法安心。他会觉得自己陷到了声音的空隙里，止不停地下跌。所以他睡时要有一些声音，轻音乐，调到最小的电视，甚至开着的电扇，都行。当然，还有泰迪。他说他爱泰迪胸口的红心，虽然有些红色已经被磨蚀了。但心还在那里。泰迪熊从来不藏起它的爱心。它会明白地告诉你它爱你。没有人还这么爱我。

泰德说着就开始哭泣。我拽过他的肩膀，说，我也爱你啊。他没有挣扎，也没有挪动脚步，只是顺势跌到我的怀里。我看着他蜷曲着的身体，脸颊深埋着，手抓紧了我的裤管。我忍不住又说了一句，我爱你。泰德，一切都会没事的。他没有回应我，身体却慢慢平静下来，只是还小声抽泣。过了一会，他终于吸了吸鼻子，用自己的袖子擦掉了眼泪。他的声音还有些哽咽。他说，我很担心泰迪，我要去看它。

他拽着我的手开始狂奔起来。

我们向着远离那片草地的方向跑着。草地已离得很远，惨叫声仍不绝于耳。我回头看了一眼。我或许希望我永远都不要看那一眼，那是怎样的一副人间绝境啊。我看到前一秒还在走动的行人，下一秒已身足异处，没有腿的躯干跌出去，在路上没有规则地弹着。血在空中横溅。躯干不再弹了，但还有知觉，于是手臂就撑着身体往不知哪个方向挪。然后是手臂，被自己左右扭动的身体扯开。我的脚步大乱，手却被泰德死死地抓着往前拖着。我差不多要跌倒在地，哭出声来。不要回头看！泰德头也没回地大喊。我要死了，我就要死了！我的声音更高。死也不要回头看！不要拖我后腿。泰德没有回头，他的声音近乎冷酷。他没松手，我终于又渐渐赶上他的脚步。

我们跑到学校的橄榄球场。我们来这干嘛，我问道。我听说学校有当年独立战争时候造的地下通道系统，有一个入口在这附近，可以通到学校活动中心的地下室。泰德稍稍松了攥紧我的手，我这才意识到我的手掌已被捏得生疼。附近，附近又是在哪里。我不知道是真想求一个答案，还只是迫切地想听到些声音来应付自己的恐惧。泰德没有说话，他牵着我绕过球场解说台下最大的那扇入场铁门，拐进看台下橄榄球员的休息区。走廊里闪着白炽灯的惨淡白光，一面的黑板上写着，死，还是战斗。尽头处是主队的更衣室。我们推门而入。整齐的三排更衣柜，我们环顾四周，房间的角落有一扇狐疑的没有任何标识和锁扣的木门。泰德踹了几下把门踢开，门后是条伸延往下的阶梯。泰德取下别在腰间的钥匙圈，按亮上面便携的手电筒，我们由此拾阶而下。很快，阶梯变宽成一条庞大的地下通道，入口处被一扇铁栏栅的门守着。门没有锁，只有插销扣着。我们试着挪动插销，可插销显然是因为年代久远被锈住了。怎么办。泰德回答说，你在这等着我，我要上去一下。

泰德说走就走了。

我被独自一个人留在地下室里。电源早就断了。泰德把他的钥匙环手电筒留给了我，可我打算到最紧要的时候再用。什么是最紧要的时候，我却自己也说不清楚。我只知道与黑暗四目相对。空气好像也变得稀薄起来。我张着嘴大口呼吸，我大概是想确认自己还活着。可我不敢发出任何声音，在这个唯有我一个人的地下室里，我怕得很，恐惧随着吸入的空气似乎也一点点地把我吞噬了。

泰德去找他的泰迪熊了。他更爱它。胜过爱他自己的生命。他找到它了吗。也许他一切平安，正和泰迪熊拥抱呢。我突然闪过一阵寒意，水泥地板变得冰凉。我意识到我的怀中空空，并而感觉到近乎绝望的不安。我几乎是痉挛地从地板上跳起，扑到储物架上，疯狂地把一切我手臂所能触及的纸巾和厕纸卷统统扫到怀里和地上。一些清洁剂，洗手液也被我捋到地上， 发出打翻打碎的声音。储物架的钢板被我敲得颤动起来，在小屋里响如闪电轰雷一般。我吓坏了，哭着，揣着成卷的手纸跌倒在地上，蜷成一团。

我想起很多事情。回忆突然如打翻在地上的清洁液一样，四处流淌开来，淌过我的身体。我看到我四岁时溺水时，眼前的整个世界突然变成蓝色的一片，就连声音也被溶解了。我想起第一个生日蛋糕的味道。奶油的味道很香，就算朋友把整个蛋糕都扑到了我脸上，我还是在舔个不停。我想起家人。母亲，姐姐，和父亲，总在半夜时分拉开家门的那一瞬间的身影。他背后，木制的纱门总会摔在门框上，发出重重的一声。哦，我还想起我的少年恋人们。毕业舞会的对象，第一次亲吻，还有我失去童贞的那个晚上。我想起很多美好的事情。它们好像很沉淀，很粘稠，来回淌着不肯流走。我突然觉得有些困乏，身体好像也哭累了。睡一觉吧，也许醒来就一切都好了。我对自己说，也许，醒来就又能看到阳光洒下来了。

阳光洒在他走的路径上。

秋日的黄叶落了一地，踩上去清脆作响。有时也会听到树枝折断的声音，想来必是落叶下面也掩了几寸断枝。他走得不紧也不慢。他大概是不想打破这一刻的宁静吧。真的是安静呢，除了树叶被踩过和偶尔树枝折断的声音，听不到任何其他的响动。没有鸟叫，没有虫鸣，也没有人语声。

也许真的是大难之后的平静吧。他暗暗对自己说。想到这，他的心情不禁舒然起来，脚步也稍稍快了几分。

阳光从他的背后照过来，斜长的投影落在金黄的树叶上，竟有几分好看。他看着自己的影子变幻着形状投在平地上，树干上，灌木上，不禁笑了笑。察觉这些微小细节的快乐，此刻正如孩童的第一次般，感染着他。

泰德还是回来了。

可他又看上去不像是我认识的那个泰德。我大概永远都忘不了他从台阶上走向我的那个样子。他去换了身橄榄球运动员的装备。闪亮滚圆的钢盔，道道光束从后面射过来。护肩把泰德的肩膀衬得不可一世。腰围和大腿都被束紧了，几乎显出健美的状态来。靴钉敲在阶梯上，回音清亮干脆。我屏住了呼吸，看着泰德那异常高大的身影小碎步地从台阶上走下来，走到我面前。他有一些些流汗，但眼神坚定沉着。我来把门撞开，他说。我几乎呆了，只是诺诺地应声，然后避让到一旁。

泰德退了几步，半弓下身子，作出起跑的姿势。他沉下肩膀，侧过一侧身体，把头盔，肩膀，和手肘，探了出去。我看他在大腿上擦了擦手心的汗，手掌反复抓了几次，然后双拳也握紧了。他稍往后撤了撤身体，然后低吼了一声。我再次喘不过气来。但泰德已经冲了出去！

裆，铁栏栅被撞开了。

我想我还是要去找泰德。

我离开了地下室，小心翼翼地上到地面一层。这是学校的活动中心，大厅里的摆设一陈不变。阳光透过落地窗户透进来，倒是有许多暖意。墙上的钟显示这是第七天的早晨。我张开双臂，伸了个懒腰。我望着钟盘出神。钟盘上绘了只昂首挺立的公鸡，金黄的身体，鸡冠和尾巴都是大红色的，在阳光下显得新鲜。铜质的秒针正嘀哒走着。我突然有些恍然，不敢相信时间还这样具象地存在着。阳光的光束下，我几乎可以看到空气里细小的尘埃在漂浮，飞舞。我想起泰德，在派对，地下通道，储物室，和我前一晚梦里的样子。窗外投来的光线闪烁了一下，像是风撩动了树叶间的缝隙，又像是一股不明的召唤驱动着我。

我走向窗边，推门而出。

【旧约 ∙ 创世纪】神观看世界，见是败坏了。祂就对诺亚说，凡是有血气的人，他的尽头已经来到我面前。因为地上满了他们的强暴，我要把他们和地一起毁灭。再过七天，我要降雨在地上四十昼夜，把我所造的各种活物，都从地上除灭。

空气中一阵清风忽然吹起，树叶婆娑着。他忍不住停下脚步，抬头仰看这样的美好。

阳光下，风还在轻轻吹着。吹过处，他的落影截成两段，散在地上，悄然无声。一道鲜红如剑般划过金黄的落叶，煞是好看。

后记：从去年就开始写这个故事，中间断断续续，直到今天才算写完改完第一遍。那时恰值加州游行抗议禁止同性恋婚姻，于是大概就有了写个隐晦声援同性恋故事的想法（我本人的支持是不隐晦的）。曾有把故事委人贴到女性的空间上的想法，因为知道作者是男性，从而把“我”想作是男性，估计是再平常不过的阅读习惯了。但是如果有一两个片刻能产生“我也许是个女的吧”的想法，我的本意也算达成了。

故事也是写给无神论和无神论者的，如我自己和前室友泰德（Ted）。故事很多部分确是以他为原型。现实当中的泰德是个想法剑走偏锋，文笔颇好，酷爱科幻，很有导演天赋的有趣人物。我还记得第一次见面时，他说他会讲中文和他的形象，实在给我印象深刻。不过一见钟情和日久生情的浪漫故事，还是不幸没有发生。

泰迪熊的原型(Teddy Bear)属于前女友。曾经活着的男人的题目借鉴于07年的电影，曾经安静的男人（He Was a Quiet Man）。电影有些怪，但是很不错。最后，如果本文带来任何不快的阅读体验（任何方面的），特此致歉，烦请原谅。

“你最后再对她说点什么吧。”

他望向她。她站在船栏边，海风有些大，吹散了她的头发，一些发绪在风中飞着。但是她站得很直，直挺挺地，几乎是固执地背对着风站着。她也望着他，但是视线却好像能穿过他，很空冥地，消失在他后方无尽的远方。

她的手中端着一个紫红色的檀木盒子。盒子不大，但是她却很小心地端着，双臂紧紧地夹着身体。

他挪开看她的视线，转而将其投向海上。船舷上，海浪拍打着，不断地溅起一些飞沫。云灰沉着。天水相接的地方，是一片白芒。

“小时候…”

一周前

他撩下电话，手却还没放开，依然紧紧地抓着听筒。另一只手支在一旁公用电话与公用电话之间的隔板上。他低垂着头，整个身体的重量似乎都撑在了两个手臂搭起的架子上。已然可以看到他手背上略微鼓起的青筋，随着力量的增加，从这几道换到另外的几道。塑料的电话听筒挤压着金属材质的公用电话，几乎可以想象出塑料在压力和摩擦的共同作用下，由变型而发出尖烈却无从捕捉的吱吱声。

过了几分钟，他长舒了一口气，松开了握紧了的手，终于直起身子来。他下意识地拉过搭在另外一边隔板上的黑色羊绒风衣，披到了身上。可眼神却还是停留在电话挂着的那一面墙上，没有移开过。

电话里护士说她现在的状况还算稳定，特别是在听到他要回来，见上她最后一面以后。嗯。他又深深地舒了一口气。这一次，你几乎可以看到那本还是绷着的双肩随着呼出的这口气而松弛下来。随之，他紧了紧风衣，把左右胸襟在身前对扣起来，挪开盯在墙上的视线，转身向安检口处走去。

安检口前，他看到一对情侣正在告别。他们是一对黑人。男的留着一头玉米地的发型。女的打着一个鼻钉。两人拥抱，亲吻。女子把男子的粗毛线围巾在他脖子上又绕了一圈。男子握着她戴着手套的双手。两个人的鼻尖互相蹭着，一副情意满满的样子。人流被分成两股，从他们身边绕过，纷纷投以盈着微笑的目光。他也想扯起一些笑意，可是抓着一侧衣襟的手，直到走到安检口处，也始终没有松开过。

安全检查。他，只有他自己这一件行李，需要运回祖国。

啊，祖国，如此陌生，而每每提起，又如此拂人心弦的一个词汇。恰如她常常被赋予的那个含义。

机票上，一列拼音字母写着他的中文名字。FANG YU。方喻。

“欢迎乘座加拿大航空。”机舱口，一个中年的盘着发髻的女乘务长向他问候。他点头回意。从狭长的登机通道，到密闭的飞机机舱，他一直矜持，隐藏的微微不安，现在却好像因为转换的场景，这被限制空间里的压抑而奇特的安全感，而缓缓舒然开来。

他找到自己挨着窗的座位，脱去大衣，坐了下来。乘客还在进来，挪动着，置放行李，前后轻声言语。他已扣紧了安全带，双手环抱着大衣，身体深深地沉到座椅里面。

半个小时后，飞机准点起飞。引擎的巨大推力，把他愈发地陷到椅背里。压力刺激着他的耳膜。他努力挣扎着弯下身子，从前排座椅后的杂物袋里摸出一次性的耳机，使劲拧着，塞进耳朵里。耳塞并没有减少多少的压力。他想，他也许只是更喜欢被填充着的感觉吧。在压力让耳膜的听力麻木的时候，这样能让丧失的知觉，继续延续着。

他望向窗外。这个城市的灯火在黑幕中铺陈着，排成街道和建筑的轮廓。这是一张光华的地图，黄金色的针尖缀成它的纹路。他从没有这样看过这个他生活了二十多年的城市，然而此时，这个城市看上去竟是如此的陌生。地图上，他找不到自己的家的位置。家失落在一群相似的细小麦芒般的光亮中。寻找时，他紧盯着窗外，脸颊几乎要贴到玻璃上。然后巨大的陌生感和迷失感几乎如窒息般地把他推离开窗户。他看到自己的脸映在玻璃里。黑暗的影子。看不清五官。然而，他还是看到自己。他眨眼，以确认这个不是幻觉。

他曾经在高处看过自己的另一个家乡。他与她结伴爬上高山的山顶，从高处俯瞰已是夜幕下的家乡，一个小村庄。只有几户稀落的人家，夜晚的煤油灯的灯火赢弱，却显得莫名的绵长。他可以很容易地分辨出自己家的位置。他甚至仿佛能看到灯火下，母亲编织缝补的样子。远处，幽暗的海水浴在银色的月光下，显得无比的神秘。

静静地，他和她常常能坐上很久。虫鸣声，海涛声，呼吸声。

有时她也会问，“海的那一边是什么呢？”

“我也不知道，”他顿了一顿，扭头看向她，她的面庞在皎洁的月色下也显出特别好看的颜色来，“也许有一天我们可以一起去看看呢。”

她点头，谁都没有再作声。他们的身影湮没在庞大的无边的沉寂里。

“先生，请问您需要喝点什么？”乘务员的声音打断了他静止的思绪。“咖啡，黑咖啡，谢谢。”

他接过乘务员递来的咖啡，泯了一口，接着又大口喝了一口。没有糖和奶的咖啡很苦，可是显然他业已习惯。然而此时此刻，入口后的黑咖啡的苦味，却好像在他的身体里扩散，浓稠起来。他深咽了一口口水，苦涩的味道却被搅得愈发翻涌了，那感觉像是被人当腹砸上了一拳。他张开口呼吸着，从胸腔里，忍不住发出痛苦的低鸣的哀嚎声来。“能给我加些糖吗？”他努力扭过头向乘务员说出这一句。他不知道他已然哽咽的声音，是不是有表述清楚。万幸的是，乘务员递过来一个糖包。“谢谢。”道谢的时候他没有看她。他没有办法看。泪水已然盈满了他的眼角。

不，他并不是一直就习惯这个苦味的。儿时，他是一个被娇惯了的孩子。苦味，似乎并不存在于他熟知的世界里。即使是那一场大病，他不得已要喝那些奇苦无比，难以下咽的中药的时候，母亲也会先让他吞下好几件大白兔奶糖，然后趁甜味充满味蕾的时候，就下一碗汤剂。而另外几件剥好了的奶糖，早已在一旁等候。一个月的中药，他吃了一个月的大白兔。而那些奶白色的糖果，在当时，对于这样一个渔村，这样一个家，还是太过甜蜜的奢侈。

啊，母亲。

他许久没有喊出的这个名字，此刻却好像充盈着他的身体，嘶喊不出，但势若千钧。他抓着，扯着，撕掉填在耳朵里的那套耳塞。奔流着的，要从他身体所有可奔流的通道里，同眼泪一道地，冲出来。他握着拳头，手腕狠狠地压着放下的桌板。桌上的咖啡在杯中振颤着。他张着嘴，没有声音发出来。可是那狂吼的声音，那个名字，却已然了压塌了整个机舱。张牙舞爪地，怕打着所有的玻璃窗户，要冲杀出去，填满整个寰宇。

啊，你，母亲。

是的，您，在一场出海后的风暴之后，成为了家里唯一的依靠。那是艰难的一些年月。但那，也是平静的一些年月。他过着与伙伴们无差的童年。那是永远值得铭记的时光。

是的，他狠命地抓着自己的头发，想回想起那个童年的一些细枝末节。然而，如果他没有抹去那段记忆，他的嘶吼不会如此痛苦，如此不能自己。

时间的深处，是一片烈火焚烧后的荒芜。

“各位乘客，飞机现在正遇到气流，请各位乘客系好安全带，收起小桌板，调直座椅，谢谢您的合作。”

他盯着那片荒芜，焦黑色的灰烬，被风卷起来，吹起来，向他的脸扑来。

“先生，请收起小桌板。”

一片黑色蒙住了他的脸。他努力瞪大眼睛，看到的除了是黑暗，还是黑暗。他再次觉得窒息。

“先生。”

烈火过后的点点星火，此时，似乎也因为黑暗，因为窒息，而慢慢黯淡下去。他不知道，他突然迷糊，那熄灭的，不知是谁的生命。

有人摇他的肩膀。他终于从生死和另一个世界里醒过来。是坐在他旁边的乘客。“先生，你没事吧？”

“哦，我没事。”他用整个手掌擦着眼睛，“我只是有些不舒服。”

“嗯，那请麻烦您收起小桌板。我们正遭遇一股气流。”乘务空姐甜美的声音说道。

“好的。”

飞机在颠簸着。他身前的桌板已经被扣起来。他重新跌进座椅里，眼泪已被擦去。椅背传递来机体在气流中的起伏。有一刻，他甚至希望气流能够更强大一点，掀翻，摧毁这架航班。而他们，就这样从几万米高空坠入下面这一片茫茫的海洋，万劫不复。海，作为最后的归宿，也算是不错的选择。他真的开始暗暗希望。家，千万波涛，最终也许会又将我们融在一起。

“小时候，妈妈对我讲

大海就是我故乡。”

他的耳畔，突然响起这两句歌声的旋律。脑中浮起的是，一长一矮的身影，牵着手走在海滩上的场景。波浪在舔着脚。一大一小的脚印，在潮湿的沙滩上，弯弯曲曲地爬向远方。

“小时候，妈妈对我讲

大海就是我故乡。

小时候，妈妈对我讲

大海就是我故乡…”

然而，不管他如何努力，他再也想不起这首歌其他的歌词了。飞机也在气流过后，再度平稳下来。他环抱着大衣，大口喘着气，却突然觉得无比绝望。就好像一层塑料的保鲜膜，密封了他全部的身体。

你还记得什么。

关于那个叫母亲的人物，你还记得些什么。他记得大白兔。他记得他与她爱在涨潮的时候，跑向滩涂的深处。有一次，他们跑得太远，海水涨得太凶，他们几乎溺了自己。在水底挣扎，视眼里只有一片白蒙蒙的时候，他看到一个瘦高的身影。她的手腕攥住他们两个，把他们拖了回来。那也是他的母亲。然而，时至今日，他却只能记起那个瘦高的身影。站在浪中一言不发的，瘦高而倔犟的身影。而关于她的面容，依如当日在水下时候看到的，是一片模糊。

这就是你记得的母亲吗。

还是你抹去了太多。

一股气流袭来，飞机又小小地颠簸了一下。他环顾了下四周，时至深夜，周围的人很多已进入梦乡。机舱里除了几处的座位上还开着灯，已陷入一片黑暗。黑暗中的灯光显得有几分昏黄，无力，却温暖如有催人入睡般的魔力。他看得有些恍然。这个场景似曾相识，在那晚他在山顶，最后一次回望月夜下的家乡的时候。

那一个晚上，弱冠之年的他，拉着她离开了他们的家乡。那个伴海而息的渔村。那个每个夜晚的昏黄灯火。那个，母亲的所在。他不满意母亲试着为他安排的婚姻。他觉得逃离，是见证爱情，兑现去海另一端看看的诺言的方法。他没有回头，后来也不曾回头。他，不知道如何回头。他拒绝任何来自那个渔村的消息。不去想那座山，因为有个人可能会在山头终日等待。不去想那间屋，因为有盏灯可能会在每夜准时点亮。他无法面对这些，将它们在记忆里擦除也许是最好的办法。多年之后，他真的去了海的彼岸，而她还是辗转返回了渔村。他不知道，那时的他，是仍在兑现那个诺言，还是距离只是更好的遗忘的方式。

但是不管怎样，无论是那一晚，还是之后的任何一天，他都未曾流泪。他知道泪水并没有价值。真正能止住泪水的，是忘记能让人流泪的那些过去。

直到这一刻，他才觉然，忘却的，模糊的面容，瘦高的身影，竟让他此刻无声地，泪流满面。

“小时候，妈妈对我讲

大海就是我故乡…”

这两句歌词，就如夜幕下的海浪一样，绵绵不休地向海滩和岩石拍来。无声地，轻轻地，淡定而义无反顾地，直到拍到岩石上，化成万千飞沫。

直到泪水流尽。

机舱里，他身边的小灯们，一盏盏地黯去，后来又一盏盏地亮起。睡意和轻微的鼾声，如潮水涨退。只有他，始终坐在座位里，双手紧抓着把手，把全身用力地推陷到椅背的深处。他需要被包覆的感觉，往事如黑夜下的深色巨浪袭来时，辨不清方向的他，需要知道他仍有所依附。

电视屏上，最后一部电影已经演完，开始给出距离目的地尚有多少里程数的提示。示意图里，飞机沿着一条曲线，变化微小几乎不可察地移动着，盘恒过这片大洋的上空。但是他看得很出神，出神到几乎可以看出飞机在地图上每一个细小的挪动。他觉得那条线在收紧。那条，连着加国和祖国的线，拉扯着他身体的线，和拽着如鹞子般的飞机的线。

飞机终于即将到达。他再次望向窗外。建在郊外的这个机场旁，还见不到太多的城市的华灯。黑夜的大地沉睡在稀落的几处幽幽灯火中。机舱里已一片通亮，他又一次看到自己的脸庞在玻璃上的倒影，这一次，他能看到自己抿紧的嘴唇。是的，也许在那，总有一盏灯是为我而亮。

“当地时间晚上二十一点十四分。地面气温摄氏七度。今夜后半夜至明晨降雨可能性为百分之八十。”他想起他的母亲是一个看天的好手。每个暴雨将至的夏日中午，她都会送伞到学校。而当下午大雨如期而至的时候，他总能搏来小伙伴们的阵阵艳羡。那是一把粗油布伞，暴雨时巨大的雨滴打在上面，是结实而安稳的。飞机的起落架着地了，他在座位里被轻轻地震了一下，似曾相识的感觉。嗯，就好像那时雨滴的打击透过伞柄传到掌心的感觉。他的身体终于松弛了下来。

机场里，他看到她站在出口处等她。人流来往中，她直直站立着的样子，欣长的身子，似乎与周遭显得有几分格格不入。她没有四处环顾，只是持久地望着出口处，眼神坚定而仿佛穿透一切。

他上去拥抱她。他抱得很紧，几乎要把她嵌进自己的身体里一样。“对不起。”她在他耳畔轻轻耳语道，手心柔软地拂过他的脊背，“她只是想让你回来一次。”

“对不起。”

“对不起…”

他慢慢松开她。这次，他没有哭，他低头望向眼前的这个女子。他看不到她的脸，垂下的头发，遮住了她的面庞。她低着头，在他的左袖别上一道黑纱，然后又替他拉了拉袖管，左右拍了拍，整齐了衣服。他有些恍惚。

“我们走吧。”

“嗯。”他下意识地环上她的手臂。

“喻，你再说些什么吧。”

在海风中，她说喻字的声音，显得有些飘忽。喻，是他的名字。喻，也是他母亲的姓。风把它吹得很远。啊，母亲。他以为自己许久没有喊出这个字眼了。然而，直到此时，他才意识到，在异岸的那个国度，这个植根于他身体里的字，曾被千万次地呼唤起。

如歌一样。

从未停息。

“小时候，

妈妈对我讲

大海就是我故乡。

海边出生海里成长

大海啊大海

是我生活的地方。

海风吹，海浪涌

随我飘流四方。

大海啊大海

就像妈妈一样

走遍天涯海角

总在我的身旁。”

悼友人逝世的亲人。致母亲节，祝所有母亲一生平安。还有深藏的共同记忆。

祭逝去的生命。

Footprint

Side A

#1 A Familiar Stranger

She quietly turned to the man lying beside her and looked at him. She didn’t move at all for several minutes, eyes riveting on his face. A sleeping face. The small gloomy room didn’t offer her a clear view of it. But somehow she could still feel his breath, gently touching upon her face. It was slow, and, peaceful, and almost in the same rhythm of the nightly breeze outside, sweeping through their door mildly. But for some moment, she found herself lost, lost in such a blurry picture but with a reliable scent. She stared at the man, but still couldn’t look through. He began to snore, his breath going deep. “He was supposed to be my husband”, she thought, while she closed her eyes and tried to imprint his image into her mind. But when she opened eyes again, nothing had turned clear yet.

#2 The Big Brother

It was approaching to the middle of the day. Bai could tell it from the shortening shadow of the wooden statue of Buddha. He had pushed a small dune around its root to help it stand. The statue was no more than one foot tall and had a roughly carved face of Buddha. It had once been a trunk of a dead tree, which somehow you could still tell, for it was too light to stand alone in the wind. But it had become quite heavy for Bai’s family after he reshaped it into a Buddha. People did need some spirit to live in the desert. And that was the reason why Bai always kept it in a cabinet inside his home and never exposed it to the severe outdoor condition of desert. However today, the Buddha together with the desert would witness Yin and him swear to brotherhood.

He took a look at the man sitting beside him. He was Yin. Bai and Yin were both in their late thirties, but by being away from the daily contact to sandy winds, which sometimes hurt as badly as cutting knives, Yin looked much younger in appearance. He got to know Yin several years ago, when they both herded sheep at the edge of the desert where some plants still grew. Sometimes Yin would drop by to get some water before he went back. Yin was a quiet man, and talked little during his visits. However the words he said last week did surprise Bai a little bit:

“How about we swear to be brothers?”

Bai didn’t refuse, neither had he figured out why Yin wanted to be brother with him. But he didn’t take great pains to do it. He knew Yin was a trustworthy friend from his eyes, which always looked stable whenever he spoke or just stayed in silence. Years of trying to make a life in the heart of desert had embedded him with the instinct to choose against any changeability.

But the desert could be peaceful too. Just like the moment they were enjoying now. No fierce wind, no sand in the air. They sat at the top of one big dune and sun was right above them. The shadow of the Buddha diminished. Its face lighted up as if it had relived.

Yin took out a camel-hide bag of wine and passed it to Bai. According to tradition, it was the older one that was supposed to host the ritual. In the first turn, some wine was spilt into the sky. Then some was poured onto the sand, which soon evaporated without any trace. Finally Bai had a big suck of it and then Yin did the same, with which the ritual ended and they joint in brotherhood.

“Big brother.”

Bai nodded but answered not. He thought Yin wasn’t looking for a response but just confirming their brotherhood. He was looking at his son, coming uphill and carrying another bag of wine for them. He patted on Yin’s shoulder and was ready to introduce him to his new nephew.

But it seemed Yin did want to say something this time:

“Big brother, err…I have a daughter, named Yu…and would you like your son to marry her?”

#3 Secret under the Basin

Yu sat up from the bed, embracing her knees in her arms. She looked around, and the walls seemed to push towards her in the darkness. She looked up, and nose almost touched the roof. More precisely speaking, it was a cave rather than a room. A cave half way under the sand. The only way they could survive in the desert. A weird feeling always emerged when she thought of this fact: she was buried under this infinite sea of sand, but somehow she felt secure.

Yu sighed and pulled herself back from those thoughts. The breeze outside seemed to stop now and the silence returned. She pushed the door open with force. Some sand had blocked the door. She shoveled it away. It was not the worst day.

She was glad to see the wind didn’t bring much trouble to her newly-planted trees. They looked thin and fragile, but stood in a stubborn manner to her. She trampled on the sand around their roots tenderly, hoping it would help them stand the rest of the night.

But there was more to check at the other end of the dune. It was her basin. Yes, a basin covering her most precious secret. She kneelt down and gazed for a long time, before she carefully began to remove the sand around the basin and lifted it up. Little by little, moonlight lit up the shadow under the basin. Thank Buddha. It was still there.

There was a footprint.

A footprint left by the first passer-by she saw in 40 days.

======================================================

Side B

#4 My Sleepless Night

I didn’t fall asleep that night. I knew Yu was looking at me. When she put her face close to mine, I smelt a subtle fragrance, a special one that only belongs to girls at her age. She was too delicate for this desert. For me either. I could understand why she was sleepless, and I could also hear her sigh in the darkness. I knew all of these were too much for her, so I didn’t move and pretended to sleep. For some reason, I felt I could finally give her something by doing so.

She had walked out the door. I kept lying still, though it was an awkward position. Yes, Yu was such a big gift for me that I hardly had anything to pay her in return. I had never imagined I could have a wife, neither had I thought I would get married like this. I knew if it hadn’t been an arranged marriage, no one would have ever married, or even discovered a man like me, a cave man living in the middle of nowhere. She was definitely a gift sent by Buddha, though I didn’t quite understand why her parents arranged so. My father said it was because they wanted to repay our favor. I didn’t understand that either: it was merely several cups of tea that we offered to her father when he dropped by from herding. But what I did understand was her unwillingness and distress. I could read from her face, even for the first time I met her, after she had traveled for a whole day in a sand storm and saw me crawl out of my cave to meet her.

But at last, she managed to smile at me and stayed.

Now I could see Yu walking on the sand while I hid myself behind the door. The wind had stopped and I could almost hear the tiny sound from every step she made on the sand. Moon hung high in the sky and shed a long shadow behind her. It was a tranquil scene, quite unusual in the desert, but still not enough to cover her solitude. In the far sight, she stopped walking, kneelt down, lifted up the basin and looked into it. She moved so slowly that she seemed to be in great fear that it would somehow disappear.

Maybe above all, it was her loneliness that I could never resolve. I’m a quite man, just like my father Bai. I felt helpless upon such a scene. I moved my sight away, turned around, closed the door and leaned my back against it. Tears began to fill my eyes, but I held not to cry. I saw the statue of Buddha in the corner of the room. Someone needs to stand, anyway.

Wind blew again outside. I could hear the sound of leaves on those young trees. Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t it a nice time to fall asleep? I went back to bed and lay down. It was time to get some sleep after all. I still had work to do tomorrow. Carrying bricks for a factory in town, miles away, hard work, but the good thing was: they were willing to pay me in saplings.

#5 A Symphony of Fate 

Yin Yuzhen: 19 Years’ Blood and Sweat; 10,000 Acres of Forest

By People’s Daily

Even the greatest novelist would fail to write a story for his character as dramatic as Yin Yuzhen’s. However, Yu, the Heroine of Sand-Fight, has successfully directed such a play with her life experience. It is a play of both tragedy and comedy, a play of great sorrow and pain and a play of even greater fortune and achievement. It might seem a little bit unbelievable at the first glance, but in the light of her legendary life and the 10,000 acres of forest behind her, even man with an iron hear will tremble.

Yin Yuzhen was married to the Bais and thus moved into the deep heart of Maowusu Desert when she was nineteen. And in the year of 1986, she and her husband began to plant trees on their own under extreme conditions. After almost two decades, about 10,000 acres of desert has been turned green. Because of her great achievement, she was honored with several national rewards. In the year of 2005, she was nominated for the Noble Prize of Peace…

Bonus Track: The Passer-by

I am the guy who left that footprint.

At that time, I didn’t know her name. But I did see her plant all those trees, how she erected them again and again, and how she stood against the wind to protect them. However, I escaped before she noticed me. Yes, I escaped. I was too humble for such greatness.

You may ask me who I am. But for someone who has walked through fear, despair, darkness and death, who he is matters no more.

Now I've made this cassette for Yu, in memory of the footprint she has ever carved on the hearts of any passers-by.

这是我Creative Writing的最后一篇故事。不是说想贴在这说自己写得有多好。只是想写一个故事，关于一个伟大的女性。

当然，她自己可能不觉得自己伟大。她可能只是做着简单的事情。

或者必需的事情。

但愈发让我敬畏。

嗯，感谢所有有耐心读到最后的人。

如果感兴趣，可以搜索下殷玉珍这个名字。

当然，另外也欢迎留言咯。

Here goes a story about a lonely person, whose loneliness can only be read and recorded by me.

Gently he tells, as I types.

Lights are turned off as he requires.

Voice goes slow and deep, so is his mind, as well as my heart.

Darkness dominates the room where we are.

We sit still, with the sound of the Rhythm and Blues music, sometimes interplayed with the noise of the traffic coming through the window.

Music is a little bit noisy, in such a silent night, as I observe.

But “I can therefore hind myself behind it”, he insists.

I drink cola; He stirs his coffee, drinks a little now and then.

“I’m not pretending,” he begins, “not at all.”

“I just feel like that, as if I am always one person, only one.”

“No more, no less,” he emphasizes.

He asks me whether I would use someone to replace him as I write; I agree.

In fact I hate to always use quotation marks, which makes me feel that I am a copier, copying whatever others say.

Someone is what I prefer anyway, with which I can finally form a story of others as well as myself.

There is no clear definition to loneliness, but it does exist in some people’s eyes. In his too.

Suddenly the music comes to a soft narration, and unconsciously I stop and only restart again when the noisier part goes on.

Loneliness is so vast that everyone who tries to comprehend it, sinks.

The lonely person has been to many places, alone.

He travels, wanders, sees and goes, all by himself.

In those cities, he stands in the landscape of the viewers, like an outsider who never exists.

In his city, he does his own business, with familiar viewers and, however well-kept distance.

Between those cities and his city, run his journeys.

Late night train, he sits alone, by the window, looking through the infinite darkness, with all the people around, sleeping nice and sound.

In fact, the lonely person wants to be accompanied, very much.

Sometimes he doesn’t care who it is, he just feels tired of doing all that by himself.

He asks many for permission, yet in most cases, he fails.

Finding someone to go together is never so impossible.

But he is just the one, who never easily compromises.

So, eventually, he still does his business alone, reluctantly but with a pride of sticking to his self-independence.

He cherishes it.

Lonely people are hard to change.

Even if he would lose the battle against loneliness, he would not lose his own traits, merely by which he both defines himself and divides him away from others.

He hates to be recognized with similarity.

He loves peculiarity.

However, lonely person is not always lonely, as it seems.

He has many friends, male and female.

He talks much and plays often.

But after all of it end, it has nothing to do to help with his loneliness.

Actually he seldom mentions it in front of others.

Loneliness cannot be understood, but can only be felt.

His loneliness just grows instead of diminishing, when comes across big gatherings with others, even sometimes with friends.

They accompany him around his body, but it’s his mind that needs accompanying.

Neither is lonely person a sad one.

He smiles and laughs, jokes and makes funs.

He used to think that loneliness can be somehow diluted by happiness.

But, as he sees loneliness has no link to sadness, it’s the same with happiness.

Friends and laughter, are where he conceals himself.

But it’s dark nights, single trips and individual introspections, that are the real places containing his loneliness.

He just hides it well.

He likes to ride fast, especially in the late nights.

Several hours are spent, wiping off all the dust on his favorite bicycle, carefully and lovingly with a piece of soft cloth, before he really rides it.

His bicycle is always new, but never does he intend to show off in front of others.

Without dust, he just believes that, it will be quicker.

Facing the night breeze, on the empty street overshined by the dim lamp lights, is the most wonderful moment for him, ever.

Speed slows a little bit, hands leave off, arms stretches as if he were embracing the wind, and head upwards with eyes fascinated by the misted city lights.

Sometimes he shouts at those moments, sometimes he doesn’t-his heart has already been released even if not a single sound is uttered.

And then, faster and faster he rides, hearing only the voice of the wind, fleeting past his ears.

By the way, the lonely person loves to regard himself as wind.

Being a wind is free anyway.

Maybe, I shall not add “a” before wind, as no one actually knows the particular number of wind. And maybe I shall even not use “wind” to refer to the wind, in his mind.

Maybe wind, maybe breeze, gust, storm or tornado, whatever.

Maybe none of them is accurate, but they just go well-there is not such a thing as certainty to wind, and he also wishes so.

Wind never has a form.

In fact, he doesn’t know, where, when, or why he shall stop, store and shape a wind.

The wind is still blowing, as it always has been.

Some friend says to him that, he doesn’t seem to settle down because he’s yet seeking for the very thing, a special reason for him to do so.

He agrees with it very much.

But where is that thing?

He wants a stable life too, but nothing he has ever acquired guarantees him.

So, he just walks on, on a path lacking ones in the same direction.

The loneliness is still dispersing, as it always has been.

He used to think that his loneliness totally belongs to himself, the means to touch, to feel and to understand it is inaccessible.

But he was wrong.

There is someone, to know it.

Vagrant was her word to define him, as a reply to a psychological quiz he sent to her, beyond all the suggested answers.

Only one word, but on seeing that, he could hardly restrain crying.

Wandering on the roads that he had never known, leisurely and aimlessly, he couldn’t help stopping walking, when hearing her say, “that was the thing only you would do.”

Human logic is weak.

At least he will never figure out how his carefully protected loneliness was so easily read by the girl.

Once the shield is penetrated, he finds it unnecessary to rebuild it.

For some time, he forgot the loneliness, and gradually accepted the idea as well as the happiness of being accompanied.

“Maybe,” he said to himself, “forever.”

But, only maybe.

At the fear of losing her, he quitted

Life returns to normal.

The lonely one picks up his inclinations, which he once thought he would abandon ever since.

He listens to all sorts of songs, but repeatedly to those with a sense of time.

He watches many movies, but only looking for the ones rendering him shed tears.

He plays basketball often, but scores as if there were no others whenever alone or with a team.

He dates with many, but all truly in the name of friends.

He waits for the new film on show, but never goes to the cinema since it’s one of the few things that he will not do by himself.

He needs no coffee to stay late, but likes the taste it leaves on the lips.

He seldom has calls, but replies all the received messages sincerely and lengthily.

He handles all, but sometimes acts as a child longing for care from sisters.

He argues frequently, but more often withdraws the arguments inside his heart.

He is lonely, but more capable of bearing greater loneliness.

All in a sudden, the compact disc comes to an end, so does his talk.

It just ends without any indications.

“That’s all,” he thinks for a few seconds in the silence and speaks out lowly.

“All?” I’m surprised at his words, “Is that all?”

“Yes, surely” this time he seems more determined.

“Okay”, I sigh with pity, clicking the SAVE icon.

“Err,” he utters a word, interrupting my thoughts, “What would you do with this?”

“This? What I’ve typed?”

He nods.

“Possibly, I will put it on my blog,” I say, “maybe, I will, after some reorganization.”

“So, many people will read it?”

“Maybe, and maybe not,” I answer, “in fact my blog have some certain readers, and there’re not so many of them.”

“That’s all right, then can I say something more?” he asks eagerly, “to thank a person.”

“Okay, just continue.”

By the time he’s remembering, I clicks a soft song, waiting for his story.

“Actually she is a girl.” He finally starts in a mood of being absent from where we are, “I met her on the train back. You know huh, just the girl sitting beside me.”

“Yeah, I remember. Then?”

“What do you think of her?” he stops telling his story but turns to ask me.

“She’s just fine. Fine.” I repeat.

“And she’s not beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah, not so beautiful.” comes my opinion.

“But you know, she’s just so easy-going, relaxing and, and so happy all the time,” he recalls with his eyes shining, seemingly imagining something nice indeed, “that she released my loneliness, which I would always have been carrying in such journey.”

“But!” I can’t help stopping him, “I go with you this time. Remember?!”

“Yes, I do” he looks not a bit annoyed by my rudeness, “it’s my own problem. I just can hardly restrain feeling it.”

He looks at me, and goes on his story, “we have only seats, so it’s hard to find a comfortable position to fall in sleep. You know once I just unconsciously laid my head on her shoulder. When waken up, I felt it and asked her if she had noticed or minded. You know, though we had talked a little before that, we were still strangers, huh? So I consider it might be a little bit embarrassing for her. But she just answered no, and she said that she even didn’t notice.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she said so.” He answers, “But I don’t think so. She might just be pretending, as I believe, so as to somehow release my nervousness.”

“Really a kind girl huh?” he smiles to me, “but you know, much to my greater surprise, she, after a few minutes, after changing a few sleeping positions, turned round and asked me.”

“Ask you what?”

“She smiled, touched my shoulder, as if to check it’s soft or not, and asked if I could lend her my shoulder.”

“Are you serious?” I say, with some kind of an evil smile.

“Yes, I am, absolutely.” He replies with a serious expression, “but, I think she didn’t mean what you mean. You know, she smiled so sincerely that I could hardly refuse her. And what’s more, the way she felt my shoulder with her hand, is, just, so lovely. You know, really.” He acts to me by saying.

“Ha”, I smile too, “really, like a child.”

“Yes, you got it. Lovely like a child.”

“Okay, then what happened?”

“Nothing more actually,” he says, “she slept on my shoulder, maybe for an hour or so. But you know it’s still not comfortable enough to get truly asleep. So I stood against the wall that night till the dawn and left my seat for her to lay down and sleep.”

“Gentleman, huh?”

“Maybe,” he seems no interest in my question and continues, “about 6 a.m. she woke up and I sat down. Half asleep, we sat for a couple of hours. Tired I am and sometimes I just couldn’t help have my head on her shoulder. Much better than to sleep sitting straight still. Just like finding some kind of reliance. For some moment, you know, I just wanted to hug her.”

“What?” I screamed, “What on hell did you want to do?”

“Take her in my arms,” he responses with such an ease, “nothing serious. I just could better stretch my arms in that way. And after all, I didn’t do that. I was afraid that I would offend her.”

“But, really,” he stresses, “she was a nice girl.”

“For just sharing each other’s shoulder?” I throw my doubt on him.

“No,” he slows down, “for her let me know that, I could be not as lonely as I used to think.”

I stop typing and look up to him. I realize that the final conclusion may come out, “Only lonely?” he smiles with some kind of self-negation, “there’s always someone to rely on.”

“She’s just a girl who never, ever, has a touch with the loneliness.” He says, peacefully, “Though I don’t know her name, I’d like to express my gratitude, anyway, if possible.”

The music is still playing.

However, we’ve submerged ourselves in the endless silence.

很早写的一篇东西,有点自我,算代二十周岁的生日记吧.

生日已经过了几天了,不过还是谢谢当时收到的大家的祝福:-)

~接上…

相爱的时光是幸福的，快乐的人认真地挑选着朋友的名字，期望与他们分享，得到祝福。寒冬的时候，男生要去女生在的城市打比赛。去程的火车上他兴奋地告诉她这个消息，希望能给她个惊喜。女生的反应很淡。男生有些奇怪，但想到女生学校的功课很忙，也就安慰了。五场比赛，一个星期，男生期待的身影始终没有出现在场边。打电话也是关机。突然的落差，无端的猜测，他想得心痛。男生的学校实力不强，他一个人苦苦支撑，转身四顾的时候愈发无助。回去的火车上，他终于拨通了她的号码，问她原因。女生说是因为少数的朋友，让太多的人知道了他们的事，她很烦，想避一避。男生以为这是托词。害怕面对自己制造的要失去她的巨大想象，他说分开一段时间吧。说这个话的时候他很平静，心很痛。她答应了。

男生说的是一段时间，说完却发现马上变成了永远。就这样分手了，一切结束得显得那么无法挽回。男生有些后悔，但他给不了自己回头的理由。倔强的人，也根本不愿意回头。他想他也许会喜欢上其他人吧，那样会很快遗忘，时间会慢慢疗治伤口。

他继续打球，打的时候也有很多人来看。他一个人孤军奋战，却常常挽回不了败局。他忍不住失落，旁人的赞美更是让他觉得孤单，再没有人能体味的孤独。不过，有天男生居然在场上听到了有人喊自己的名字，罚球的时候他看了她，是个漂亮的女生，个子不高，但很可爱，很自然地喊着让他加油。面熟，叫不出名字，比赛结束完找人问了她的名字号码，发短信感谢她。其实男生自己也说不清是不是真的只想谢她。她是大他一届的学姐，是真正的姐姐，不过也像妹妹。找借口接触了几次，男生渐渐喜欢上了她，或许他太需要这样的一个寄托了。无意中，他告诉她，他喜欢她。她没有什么表示，说怕再被受伤害，暂时不想。两个人还像以前一样地交谈，他欣赏她的随和，不过，只是觉得，喜欢两个字出口的时候，感情也淡在空气中了。没有进展的进展。他开始感觉终究是两个世界的人。突然，不想勉强了。又一次篮球比赛，他最后一次买东西给她吃，是她喜欢的草莓味的冰激凌，谢谢她来看。晚上两个人发短信聊了很久，结束地也很随和。他不知道他是该高兴还是悲哀，又多了一个女生朋友，没有可能的那种。

很不争气地，男生又想起她，以前的唯一的女朋友。每多一次失败的转移，男生就越加觉得她不能代替。这一次，他终于想清楚，想求她回头。或许这一次，再没有热恋时的感情，却真的想到了一辈子的责任。走过千万人的身边，却最终发现对的人就在起点。这是文中的原话。故事临近结束的时候，男生还是和女生说了，希望她回到他身边，说即使现实有诸多阻挠。女生还是拒绝了，说是对爱情失望了，以后会一个人过。男生没有勉强，他知道那是自己犯错的代价，他只是错过了一个一生的女孩。

一年后男生去了加拿大。再一年，女生去了意大利。三十岁的时候，男生变成了男人，男人终于要结婚了，与另一个很爱他的女子，虽然他知道自己只是无以为报她的付出，惟有承担起疼她的责任。

结婚的前一夜黎明，是夏天的早晨，天亮得很早。他发消息给女生，请她来参加她的婚礼。很诧异，她醒着，不过婉言谢绝了，说还没准备好如何面对。

如十几年前，他没有勉强，只是叹了口气，说好的，一切都随她。宛如当年的口吻。

几分钟后，她问他在干什么。他倚在篮球架上回说，在后花园打球，一个人。

女生说，这才像你会做的事。

就短短的一句，他突然无力跌坐在地上，泪流满面。

故事结束了，我不知道后来两人如何了。总之在我看来是没有，也不可能有完美的结局吧。或许，这样也算一个好结局吧，起码曾经完美过。完美的东西总是遭人妒忌的。也或许像原文中那个女生说的一样，有回忆就好，那会好过平淡空白。我这里也到黎明了，从窗帘缝忘出去，天已经大亮了，只有我旁边的台灯，还给我深夜的错觉。伤心与伤心的比较，似乎它的威力也在交锋中丧失了，暂时不那么难过了。浑身乏力，恐怕是到该睡了的时候吧，趁身体累得还没有力气重新想起它们。再过两个多小时就是我们队的比赛了，希望有个好结果。我写不出来的话，也希望尽在无言中了。如果伤心总是难免的，你又何苦一网情深。也对，我又何苦一相情愿地想表达。自然会有懂的人。就像那个女生之于那个男生。

最后摘录原文结尾处两人对话如下：

十几分钟后，男人终于又有勇气拾起手机，发短信给女生说

还醒着吗？

是的

这些年怎么样？

不好也不坏

犹豫了下，男人还是问了，按发送键的时候目光一直看着远方

现在还一个人吗？

女生躺在床上，看了看厚厚窗帘下那道投到地板上的白光，说

现在一个人，一个人等待天亮

……

二零零六年六月四日晨

P.S.:好象是因为文字上限的关系，这篇东西不得不分两部分来发了。一在二的下面。影响阅读之处还请包涵。你看我都这么客气了，看完要留言的也麻烦两篇都踩踩啦，如果有文章没有人留言的话我会比较失落的（似乎有完美主义的倾向…），虽然本来是一篇的…谢过先:-)

开了电脑想写点什么东西，却憋不出来，手指都麻木了。翻出超级古老的爱在西元前来听，把音量开到最小，发现JAY ZHOU的歌还不是那么吵的。虽然听不清他唱什么，但总得来说还是不错。开始喜欢在中文里夹英文，令自己鄙视的做法。哎，对自己失望了，现在伤心得很，懒得改了，懒得找周杰伦三个麻烦的中文。什么时候他的影响力能大到智能ABC把这也收做词组。现在的智能尚且停留在马克思恩格斯毛泽东等伟人的水平上，不过倒是符合中国的国情。

晚上应该看书的，下周的这个时候我已经考完G了。不过提前了一个星期透支堕落的资本，似乎非常的疯狂，不可理喻。毕竟还有单词没背，麻烦得很。只有今天做了点数学找到了自信，果然我们的基础教育不是白强的。似乎美国人给的答案也有问题，4根号5乘a的平方与40乘a平方比大小，他居然楞说成是前面一个大。明显没考虑为0的情况。失败。不过也不排除新东方盗版的时候某个适合美国国情的老师把答案算错了。还好，错一道还是属于美国人完美的标准，虽然后面还有一道计算的也出错了。

还会写中文，庆幸庆幸，我还没有忘本。还算有几句流畅的。找到点信心了。大概明天小牛把太阳淘汰了我会更好受点，相对的吧。很期待热队进决赛的，觉得他们还没成气候。不过真把活塞淘汰了，也就那么点感觉了。活塞扮演了一个让我失望的值得敬畏的对手，他们打得很糟糕，战斗力似乎一下子就完全瓦解了。他们应该向太阳看齐，虽然太阳现在正与我们队激战。太阳才是够资格的对手，起码他们的精神让人钦佩。

东扯西扯，突然才发现最伤心的东西是表达不出来的，非要写看不懂的人说不定还觉得我矫情。男儿有泪不轻弹，只是未到伤心处。古人也不见得对，真伤心过了大概也像我现在这样，能轻松地装得开心。把伤心流露出来是没有意义的，惹人怜？我还没不济到这个地步。一个人走走停停的时候，视线会迷离下，偶尔感触下，估计就是全部了。只有貌似嚣张地闲逛的时候，侧身看到玻璃里反射的不清晰的自己，才会发现伪装原来是那么脆弱。

下午听到一个同学说她有男朋友了，都是我认识的人。很高兴还努力克制的口吻，不禁感动于她的幸福。和她经常会拿心理测试的短信开头，交流彼此最近的心情，想不到的是这次居然有这样的故事。没有追问细节，其实知道又如何呢，知道他们在一起快乐就好了，也许有一天大家都会知道，可我会珍惜她的信任。有一点羡慕，又差她一个可以交换的秘密了。她说我也快了，再没有下文。我解释得很无力，是无力面对现在的状况。看来一切都是遥远的奢望。

很晚很晚有同学发短信来，都是女生，说好久没联系了。努力保持微笑的风度，短信还是可以掩饰背后真实的心情的。装得很心酸，不是累了，是悲哀于自己的默默习惯。没有什么理由我总是该高兴的样子，无聊的想法。其实我也可以直说，只是不愿忤逆了别人的好意罢了。和前面一样的道理，流露是没有意义的，开心下，即使是扮出来的，可说不定什么时候把自己都骗了呢。确实大家都是很好的朋友了。不过是彼此联系，不是彼此怜悯而已。所以穿插着装出来的高兴和摁下去的不高兴，发着短信，还好时间不久，就是配合的表情有点木。

讲个伤心的故事吧，不得不说这个故事对我现在的心境起到了推波助澜的作用。是在网上看到的，梗概地说下吧。

有个篮球打得不错的男生，还是高中的时候，就是学校篮球队的了。篮球是那个学校的传统，每次比赛很多人来看。有次学校参加市里的比赛，恰好在主场，领队特意请了学校的体操队来串场助威。表演很精彩，学校也很早大比分领先。男生被换下。打球的时候他喜欢沉默不说话，专注于自己的世界。休息的时候也是，默默地看队友打。体操队的女生也坐在旁边，随时准备上场。有专心看球的，也有的不感兴趣四处张望，但都坐着。只有一个女生，很无所谓地走过来，找教练和每个队员聊天。她似乎和大家都不熟，但很有话讲。女生也和男生聊了几句，最后在他身边坐下了。男生很例外地讲了挺多话，比赛失去了悬念也没有再暂停，女生也没再上场表演。两个人聊到比赛结束。回家的时候，男生的心有点乱，觉得她是不是对他有意思，胡思乱想了一路。

不过没有再联系，因为那天根本就忘记了留通讯方式。直到学校的传统篮球赛要开始，男生被学校的杂志社采访，采访他的居然就是那个女生，他这才知道他们是同一级的，她的教室在对面楼的下一层。那天采访完很晚了，她的车又坏了，是男生载她回家的。之后，偶尔就会通电话的样子，恰巧见面打招呼。男生还会在坐在窗边的时候往她们教室张望，虽然看不到什么。很自然的进展，不过，似乎，过于自然了。男生还拿不准她的感觉，他想追求她，但犹豫不决，直到一天他听女生谈起另一个他的队友。男生的直觉告诉他他们现在在一起。他很自然地他放弃了犹豫，在本来还不坚定的时候退出，他觉得一切都还不算太糟。淡淡地，两个人还保持联系，很个别的时候，男生会有些许感伤，不过这时候说服自己忘记这样的念头还是不难的。

后来似乎女生的故事慢慢地没有了发展，不过和男生也是一样。唯一暧昧的大概是偶尔通信。男生把信放在她们班级的信箱里，等她来收。她是她们班的生活委员，收发信件是她的日常工作。她会在见面的时候把回信给他，不过次数比见面的机会更少。只是他比赛的时候，她都会到场，没有表演的时候也是。

终于要毕业，两人各奔东西，男生以为一切都会慢慢地这样下去。他已经习惯，好朋友的语气互相关心。离开的时候她来送他，他一个人走，两人在火车上聊了聊，然后作别。火车开了，站台上的她和他挥手告别，她没有跑，她发短信说那样太煽情了。他赞同，毕竟，还不到那个份上，有人来送，他已经很动容了。窗外景物加速倒退的时候，男生的视线突然有些迷离。

两个人还是淡淡地互相联系，打电话，继续写信，只是现在，他寄出的信有了地址和邮票，她的信有了信封。男生认识了新的女生，但却莫名地觉得有隔阂。有时候他会怀念过往的时光，想到她，想到他们不多的见面，但淡定的交谈，她的奇怪念头，他的玩笑嘲讽。不过，怀念的时候，他会忍不住唏嘘，毕竟回不了头了。更有一次，她发短信回他的心理测试，关于用一件东西形容他。她写的是流浪，一个选项里根本没有的答案。就看到的那一瞬间，男生哭了，心情一下子沉了下去。他一直以为自己把不安定的心伪装得那么好，却想不到被女生轻易戳穿了。又是感慨，确实，在他看来，即使这样又能如何呢，两个分隔两地的人是没有可能的，他只是以前没有意识到吧，一点点难过，之后，也不得已释怀了。

两个人的故事到这里也似乎该归与平淡了。连男生自己都是这么想的。直到有一天，她打来电话问他有没有心仪的人。他否认了。很惊讶她的问题，还有惊讶一般都是他打过去的。不过，男生还是坚持己见，这大概也和以前一样，是她小小的怪想法吧。直到那一天，她问他肯不肯做她的男朋友，第一反应男生就应了。不过，或许是不想显得太随便，他说需要考虑下。几个小时后，他还是答应了。落叶的深秋，他为她拾起飘飞的树叶，在上面小心翼翼地写上蹩脚的小诗，夹在书中，在她生日那天寄到了她的城市。两个人相爱了。生命中第一次有了另一个人的位置，男生很开心，也很感动于她的真诚。那时候的他决心从此往后要好好对她。

~待续…