Guo Jingming Yu Shi

2008.08 "The Minimal Story" - The Rainy World by Guo Jingming

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The heavy rain that I often recall happened in elementary school. At that time, I had not yet moved to live in the blue-tiled bungalow where I was born. There is a large courtyard in my hometown. My father planted orchids in a row near the eaves. Most of them were relatively cheap, but some were extremely expensive. The price of some of them, in that era, was about the equivalent of two months of my father's salary.

Whenever there was a heavy rain, my father would always put on a yellow raincoat, stand in the heavy rain, and quickly tear off the plastic film to cover the bluegrass.

In the heavy rain, my father’s expression was solemn and silent, like the distant mountain line blurred by rain.

On a night of heavy rain, my father woke up in the middle of the night and walked into the courtyard. Under the dazzling light of lightning, he saw a thief escaping over the wall, and the few expensive orchid plants under the eaves were stolen. Uprooted.

My father stood in the heavy rain for a long time, silent and did not speak. Finally, amid the rumbling rain, a vague and muddy sigh came out.

It sounded like a whimper.

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I accidentally saw a webpage when I was getting off work. It predicted that there would be concentrated rainfall in Shanghai in the next four days.

This is the largest and most concentrated rainfall in Shanghai in many years.

The sky outside the window has become extremely dark and depressing. The dark clouds rolled dullly, making a chest-swelling sound. Outside the completely soundproof floor-to-ceiling glass windows, lightning flashes across the sky from time to time, tearing the sky into black flocculent fragments without restraint. A silent, devastating flash struck the retina.

After a while, the heavy rain began to beat on the glass window.

The outer walls of the skyscrapers in the distance were all covered with a layer of splashing water mist.

I gently turned off the lights in the company and walked towards the elevator.

The heavy rain begins again every year.

During the first heavy rain last summer, my mother and father and I were in Lujiazui. The sudden dark cumulonimbus clouds and pouring rain made our family very embarrassed.

In the blink of an eye, another year has passed.

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After a heavy rain, autumn will follow. After many heavy rains have passed, time has cut off a large part of our lives.

Once I dreamed that heavy rain washed my father’s beard white. In the dream, my father looked at me without speaking. I looked at him crying and choking in the heavy rain. In the dream, I was in the car. I opened the door and asked my father to get in. My father shook his head, turned around and walked into the pouring rain.

My father is growing old in the chaotic light of time. Becoming rickety. become silent. Becoming more withdrawn.

In a recent conversation, he told me: "I went to the countryside when I was fifteen years old, leaving my parents and brothers and sisters. I was alone in the mountains, desperately trying to survive. So my feelings became very weak, I didn’t have too many friends, and I didn’t know how to get along with others. I was silent and unlovable. ”

At that time. My father was in Mount Emei, building a reservoir. More than twenty years later, when I was wandering around Mount Emei, which had been developed into a tourist attraction, as a tacky tourist, my father said to me over the phone: "Well, that reservoir was built by my father when he was seventeen. ”

When my father was seventeen years old, he lifted up huge rocks in the heavy rain, and the roaring thunderstorm echoed in the valley. When I was seventeen years old, I was extremely rebellious. He picked up a plate from the dining table and threw it against the wall. The vegetable juice splashed all over my father.

My father told me on the phone: "Obviously, I will go to a nursing home when I get old. If I don't come to Shanghai, my personality is not lovable and I will definitely not get along with others. I will follow you until the end. You're going to get tired of me."

After hanging up the phone, I lay on the floor and cried.

It’s like going back to my boyhood, a time when I was weak, incompetent, fragile, self-righteous but ignorant.

At that moment, I lost the decisiveness and cruelty that usually amaze me.

I was crushed to pieces by my father's blunt and heavy emotional blow.

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In yesterday’s dream, my father was planting flowers under the eaves of his hometown. It was pouring rain, and water poured down from the sky as if it had been smashed. Amidst the heavy rain, I called out to my father, but my father did not turn around, leaving me with a wet back in the heavy rain.

Under the dim light, my father was hunched and silent.

I think this is the end of the world.

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The year I turned twenty-five, my father turned fifty-three. I sometimes calculate on paper how much time we have left.

Sometimes when I am counting, my tears will fall onto the paper.

If you put your life, which you always thought was very long, into the infinitely long river of the universe, you will feel that it is only a short hour.

And once it’s gone, it will never come back.

You will never see their faces again. You can no longer hear their warm voices on the phone. You can no longer stay in bed and wait for them to come over and ask for help.

They left this cold world before you. To a colder world.

Section 5

After leaving his hometown in Sichuan, he began to live in Shanghai.

Slowly get used to the indifference and steel and concrete in Shanghai. Sometimes when driving past some top-notch real estate projects, you will see some of their slogans. What impressed me most was a quote from Bill Gates, which said: "The world is unfair, and you have to learn to get used to it."

Gradually erase the inner feelings Weakness and emotions similar to "relentless". Survive in the business field exploding at the speed of light with a metallic appearance. The aggression inside me is multiplying day by day, like a crazy exterior climbing up to the blue sky wantonly. On the other hand, the weak self retreats deeper and deeper into the heart, wrapping itself up heavily.

Every time I talk to my mother on the phone, she will ask me first: "Aren't you busy? Will talking now disturb you?" Communication with family has become increasingly difficult due to the distance barrier. My mother doesn’t call me less and less frequently, and I am often so busy that I forget to contact my family. I often sleep on the floor and get woken up by my cell phone.

In fact, like my father, I left home and lived on campus alone when I was in high school. Independent, slightly withdrawn character. There was even a period of intense depression during my freshman year of high school. Not wanting to talk, suddenly irritable. I like to write some words talking to myself, venting my emotions or begging for self-pity.

This situation gradually improved later. I have not always retained such a withdrawn character like my father. I dropped them halfway. Later, I gradually became a sociable person. Make friends in various situations and on various tasks. Take advantage of each other and use up all the traps. After the goal is accomplished, he turns around and walks away without any regrets.

Gradually become such a person - in childhood, when we saw on TV, we would ask our mother "Is he a bad person?"

One day, during a meeting, I received a call from my mother.

Unexpectedly, my mother didn’t ask me if I was busy. Just when I was about to tell her, “I’m in a meeting and I’ll call you back later,” my mother called me A sad cry that could no longer be suppressed came.

Chapter 6

How to describe that feeling——

The pain of being caught off guard by a dagger stabbed into the chest.

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How much time do we spend in our lives living for ourselves?

My mother said: "Over the years, I have lived for fifty years. When I looked back that day, I realized that I had no time to live for myself. When I was young, I lived for my brothers and sisters. Marry you After becoming a father, I became a wife. And after having you, I worked harder to live for you. Maybe when I die, I will recall that there is no part of my long life that is my own life. "

In fact, there is a huge balance in each of our lives.

What do we gain and what do we lose. Every day new weights are put on the table, and every day old values ??are pushed down.

Beside this scale is the eternal and huge hourglass.

The countdown of our lives.

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Since I never hold an umbrella, I have experienced heavy rain countless times in my life.

Many times it falls short. But there are many clear memories.

Once in Yunnan, after the event, the organizer invited me to take a bath in a hot spring in the mountains.

The empty valley was filled with smoke. The fog at night turns the street lights into yellow cocoons. It lights up all the way as the flash rises and falls.

Temporary assistants and company personnel have always been by my side, taking good care of me with great care.

I waved my hand to them and said it didn’t matter.

Then a man found a hot spring pool and sat on the rocks inside.

There was no one around.

At that moment, I even felt that someone was talking to me in the complete silence.

Later it started to rain, a torrential, overwhelming, roaring rainstorm.

Countless ripples were created on the water surface of the hot spring. My hair was wet and I was motionless in the heavy rain.

The rest of my life in the darkness, the cold touch, and the despair that enveloped me at that moment.

For the first time in my life, I considered what I was living for. With a huge halo above his head, he survived with all the holes in his head.

Lost and gained over the years.

The home lost, the high-rise apartment gained. Family love lost, wealth gained. The partners are becoming increasingly rare, and the mobile phone contact list is slowly growing. Increasingly cold faces and more and more official opening remarks.

That night, I shed a lot of tears in the heavy rain with no expression on my face.

The air smells of sulfur.

The whole valley made a rustling sound that echoed my voice, like weeping.

All the trees were washed and shone in the heavy rain, and the rich green was illuminated by the street lights with a verdant halo.

I sank my face into the warm spring water.

Part 9

For many, many years, I have not cried.

Although the tears still flowed as always, what can be done is to keep an expressionless face.

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What confronts goodness is not necessarily evil. Probably cruel too.

What confronts ideals is not necessarily just the world. Maybe naive too.

Under the heavy rain, the rain turned into continuous water columns flowing down the eaves.

My father was wearing a raincoat and bent down to pull off the plastic film covering the bluegrass.

In the kitchen, my mother coughed violently with red eyes in the fumes.

On the way home from school, I didn’t hold an umbrella.

I ran through the mud and potholes, my wet hair sticking to my forehead, making me look particularly stupid and weak.

Many, many years ago, I ran like this in the heavy rain, running with all my strength to my parents and my home.

In the endless dim rain and fog in the evening, the yellow light is like a complete and gentle cocoon.

It is also like a huge and silent core of the universe.