Wang Meng: Shi Qinxin

The most painful virtue in the world is the love of cleanliness. This is a sentence that is quite fresh and has stinging power. After several days of sleepless nights, in a state of half-asleep and half-asleep, she somehow came up with such a sentence as if doing a sentence exercise. I once had a brief hesitation: Can loving cleanliness be regarded as a virtue?

Love of cleanliness may not be considered a virtue, but age is a pressure. The pressure is so great. Age is only important after you have passed it. How carelessly childish she was at 17, 19, and even 25.

She doesn't like this window. She loves her new home. Because it is clean, tidy, and has only one spacious and bright room that smells of fresh paint. She carried carton after carton of books from downstairs to the sixth floor. She likes to live on the highest floor of this residential building, in order to hear less of the footsteps, laughter and panting of irrelevant people.

But she didn’t expect that a tall chimney would soon be erected in front of her window. The reddish-brown bricks, the neat and arrogant brick patterns, the stiff and upright body, and the attractive and strict iron ladder make people feel a bit warm in winter, even if they emit thick smoke full of harmful substances. Summer is just superfluous, just glaring, just silly, like a thorn in life.

Why are you so timid and evasive? Haven't you also experienced excitement, joy, pain and desire?

The experience of failure in making friends again and again. Each failure makes the next reaction more cautious, more suspicious, and more cold. Instead of agreeing to this person, it would be better to agree to that, that, that, that person two years ago, three years ago, five years ago, or eight years ago. What kind of unlucky regret and miscalculation is this.

So, Chinese language teacher Shi Qinxin turned 36 years old.

36 is an age that cannot tolerate chimneys standing stupidly.

There are some cute pigeons flying in the sky.

She couldn't imagine inviting a boyfriend of her choice to her place at the age of 36. The floor is covered with plastic floor decorations, a Japanese quartz electronic clock that plays a sweet tune every half hour is hung on the wall, and there is a statue of an innocent girl on the desk. She really envied these girls living in heaven. Her bed is spotlessly clean, and the sheets are changed every two days. Not only did she never allow anyone to sit on her bed, but her bed was never touched by any crude and vulgar eyes. When someone knocks on the door, she first checks whether the curtains are tightly drawn.

She couldn’t imagine letting a strange boyfriend intrude into the little world that only belonged to her, and find a tall, ugly and disturbing chimney amidst all the cleanliness, neatness, elegance and tranquility of everything. .

This chimney seems to have the character of a dirty demon. Its existence is a threat to her.

Pavarotti's visit caused a sensation. She asked an old classmate who worked in the Ministry of Culture for help to buy tickets for the last concert. Only then did she know what brilliance was. The brilliance of the song, the brilliance of the voice, the brilliance of the people, the brilliance of the hall.

She became a wave, rising and falling in the ocean of brilliant singing.

She suddenly noticed that a middle-aged man sitting next to her had tears in his eyes. She couldn't help but cry too.

Teacher Shi, you are here too. When the show was over, he spoke to her.

She was startled. My heart beat wildly.

My child is in your class, and I have participated in the parent-teacher meetings you convened. he explained. His voice was so peaceful and gentle. A person who has not thought deeply about the great misery of life will not make such a sound. The voice sounded so close yet so far away.

You cried while listening to the song, she said suddenly. (She could never forgive herself for her rashness. And she didn’t say shedding tears, she said crying. Crying belongs to children, and only children cry to children.) Among the brilliant lights, songs, applause and cheers, there was a Snow-white doves fly.

Drop after drop of water fell from the rockery. Like tears.

The man smiled, and I thought of the child’s mother. We sang this song together 20 years ago. How miserable we sang! Pavarotti, one can sing such a song, and one can hear such a song once in a lifetime. However, she, I mean the mother of the child, is no longer here.

(Did he say this? Did he really say this? Why did he say this? Why did she listen to this? Could it be that he didn’t say anything at all, but the singing and tears made her Did Shi Qinxin have hallucinations? A sensitive 36-year-old single woman probably had hallucinations. She read a stream-of-consciousness novel like this.) One night, she couldn't sleep. There were songs, songs, songs all around, and when Pavarotti's brilliant singing gradually faded away, a meditative, peaceful, gentle voice came into her heart.

The next day she saw a flock of pigeons flying around an abandoned chimney in the summer.

She saw their tiny red paws raised in fists. She saw their gray-black furry wings and white breasts. There is a dove whose wings are as white as snow and its fan-shaped tail is jet black. The pigeons suddenly distanced themselves, suddenly gathered into a group, suddenly scattered diagonally into the sky, and suddenly stopped one after another, perching on the bare chimney. What a masterpiece.

Perching on the chimney, some on the highest chimney mouth, some lingering around, choosing the best iron pedal, up and down, back and forth, the chimney becomes the dove's The resting ground became a pigeon tree and a pigeon tower. The pigeons on the chimney are so free, safe, at ease, and inviolate. They pecked their feathers, cooed, and flapped their wings. A pigeon just took off and suddenly landed in its original position. It probably doesn't know how to enjoy and use its freedom. Shi Qin smiled heartily.

Why do you think chimneys are ugly and bulky? Don’t pigeons like it and need it?

The free-flying dove without any prejudice gives the chimney new qualities.

Perhaps you can invite this new student’s parent to be a guest. He will also like pigeons.

She suddenly felt a huge pressure again. Any similar visit was a threat and an invasion. She had such a peaceful night of her own that was never disturbed.

The chimney has become a symbol of freedom and independence, and has become the proud shore of the ground against the sky. It provides the free-flying pigeons with a place to rest and stop, and provides the lively and unruly creatures with an unruly atmosphere. Violated rest. How pleasant it is to be a white dove perched on a summer chimney that towers into the sky. How pleasant it is to be a chimney silently accepting the gathering of flocks of pigeons.

The world must be more brilliant at high places. What did he say? Such a glorious song can only be heard once in a lifetime. Aren't his tears reflecting the glorious my sun?

There should be such a tall tower that can be inhabited.

There should be such a pigeon flying.

She cried, her eyes burning with tears.

The afterglow of the setting sun gradually faded from the gray tile roofs of the bungalows downstairs and from the dust particles suspended in the air. There is no glory anymore, only tenderness. Night has not yet fallen. Forgot? A white dove suddenly swooped down from the chimney and landed on the window sill of Shi Qinxin's new six-story house.

Pigeon, pigeon, you should have brought a letter.

Shi Qinxin stared at the timid pigeons through the window glass. The pigeon stared at the timid Shi Qinxin through the glass window.

Time just slips away like this, second after second, minute after minute, day after day, year after year. This is how happiness slips away from the side, from the corner of the eye, from the palm of the hand. Shi Qinxin and the pigeon stared at each other, helpless.

At this time, the electronic quartz clock on the wall sounded wonderful music, and there was a knock on the door, soothing, determined, rhythmic, and in time with the wonderful music.

He is here:

How brilliant

The bright sunshine

But in my heart

There is still A Sun

She rushed to the door and opened it desperately. She was stunned.

There was a strange young man standing outside the door. His hair was permed into small flowers standing on his head. He was wearing a beige short-sleeved hunting suit and a pair of extremely short sports pants. , revealing plump and strong thighs and calves, and wearing a pair of muddy sneakers. Under the luster of his dark skin, he opened his mouth, revealing his white teeth, and said flatteringly:

Mr. Shi, I, I, I'm here to catch pigeons. My pigeons are on the window sill of your house. Go up, I'm sorry

Shi Qinxin didn't understand what he said at all. She probably nodded subconsciously, and maybe even made a "please" gesture. The young man had already entered the room. Please turn off the lights. the young man said. Shi Qinxin didn't react, so the young man turned off the light himself, as if he was familiar with the room. He skillfully opened the window, caught the pigeon, thanked him, turned on the light, and left.

There were footprints of the young man’s dirty sneakers on the ground. The window was not closed properly.

In the night, the chimney becomes gloomy and stubborn.

Only then did Shi Qinxin realize that the curtain covering her bed was actually wide open.

Perhaps all this happened for only a minute or two. The pigeons, the chimneys, the windows, the young men, they all had no ill intentions toward her, but what she valued was trampled upon.

She started to cry, thinking of failed love again and again. She hated all these people who would meet her, and she was unwilling to do so. She felt it was unreasonable and unfair.

Later she fell asleep. In her dream, there was a sky full of sunshine, a sky full of doves, and a sky full of songs.