The Complete Works of Xu Zhimo's Classical Prose

Chapter 51
Mourning Shen Shuwei

Shen Shuwei was a cousin of mine. He was a classmate from childhood, and graduated from high school (Hangzhou No. [-] Middle School) in the same class. He died in September this year.

Shu Wei, you are dead, I often think about you, you are the closest person in my life, your death is an irreparable loss for me.Every time I think about the truth of life and death, I may feel that life is desirable and death is sad. My own experience and silent observation only make me believe that the essence of life is suffering rather than happiness, sorrow rather than happiness, and tears It's not laughter, it's restraint, not freedom: Therefore, from life to death, sometimes, in my opinion, it just dissolves the existence of the entity and breaks away from the world of phenomena. You used to be able to distinguish between pain and pleasure, and endure the torment of the soul. As soon as he was out of breath, he plunged into another strange adventure.We cannot easily conclude that there is no sunshine and human comfort on the other side, nor can we imagine the extinction of pain.But there is an undeniable difference between life and death, no matter how you think about it.Birth is a great event, and death is also a great event.When a baby comes out of the mother's womb, he has a relationship with the world he was born in, but this relationship cannot be buried with his body after he dies. No matter how short the distance is between this life and death, no matter how short the world is when he was born. This life and death is an indestructible fact: For example, every time the sea tide rises, the beach will be flooded again. In the sand of all of our lives, I think, the smallest fluctuations and influences are also stored...

Moreover, we humans are emotional animals.When you are alive, I can hold your hand, talk about our conversations, laugh at our smiles, look up at the stars in the sky together in the wild, or feel the sadness of the autumn wind and fallen leaves together... Shuwei, although you have been in the past few years It is not easy to meet with me, although the attitude towards each other is not as consistent as when I was a child, but I know that I believe that there is still a part of my love boy in your heart, because you will always occupy a considerable part of my chest. concern.I can't forget you, and you can't forget me.Every time I go back to my hometown, I often look for and revisit your partner eagerly before I unpack my luggage.But now the distance between you and me is no longer a measurable mileage, but the farthest distance between life and death among all distances.The next time I return to my hometown, I will never have the chance to talk and laugh with you, and I will never be able to indulge in the madness of my early years with you. When I go to your house again, I can only caress your lonely soul and look up at your love. Dismal remains, or take a handful of flowers to your grave to pay homage!

Shuwei, I am in my apartment in Beijing tonight, on a calm autumn night, listening to the sound of autumn leaves being driven by the wind, and chewing on my mourning for you. In this moment of expressing my own emotions, I seem to have once again approached your docile and humorous personality in life, as if seeing the dry smile on your thin face is more harmonious and closer than before life.

I don't have many words to say to you, Shuwei, you have to forgive me; when you were alive, we had very few opportunities to talk to each other.I came to see you on the day you passed away. At that time, the dark color of death was engraved on your head and between your eyebrows. I called you Shuwei, and you called me Zhimo back and forth from the side of the pillow. It is our last fate before farewell!I will never forget the scene before the sick bed!
I said earlier that life is not always gratifying, and death is not always scary: Shuwei, especially in your life, you have never tasted the possible pleasures of life. Although you are naturally optimistic, you will never envy the vain world; you continue as usual Living alone, supporting your sick bones, and entrusting you with a family that you have no attachment to, I dare say that such a life is not as clean as letting go!Besides, your dearest flesh and blood have long passed away, your biological parents, your adopted parents (your aunt), your sister, poor sister Juan, I have never paid tribute to your love Wife, they are all on the other side of the tomb with their family's arms full, waiting for their favorite "old five", sharing eternal peace...

November [-]st at [-]:[-] a.m.
your cousin zhimo
First published in "Morning News Supplement" on November 1924, 11

my peter

One night recently, I was listening to music in a certain place. A child I didn’t know, about eight or nine years old, came and sat next to me. I didn’t understand what he said, and I couldn’t make him understand me easily. It's okay, because within a few minutes we have become good friends, he took my hand, I took his hand, and listened to the music on the stage together.Although he is young, his interest in music is already very deep: he told me with gestures that he also has a violin, which he can play, and that those are the tunes he has already learned.His natural intelligence, gentle temperament, and graceful figure cannot make people love him; besides, I like children in the first place.

But although I made a lovely little friend that night, I was not happy in my heart; for not only seeing him reminded me of you, my little Peter, but I wanted to see you in his lively look, Peter, if you If he grows up, he will be a shadow of the same age as him.When you were there, like him, you also loved music; although you just turned three years old when you went back, the story of your love for music has been told by your mother and your "big dad" many times since you were a baby. It's very funny and cute, and it can be said that you are a proof of your talent. In the days when you first started to speak, your mother wrote to me, saying that you were very happy when you listened to music, and that you often stretched in the car. Put your little hand on the car rail to follow the music; when you get naughty when you are a little older, your mother said, as long as you turn on the chatterbox, you will sit and listen obediently by the side, and never make a sound No trouble: And you have amazing tastes, you love Beidehuafen or Wagner, if it’s a Chinese drama, you can’t cover your small ears, and you’re determined not to let meaningless drums and drums disturb your clarity listen!Your big brother (how much she loves you!) told me the story of your violin acquisition: how that night when you bought the violin, you were already sleeping in your little bed, and how they quickly turned off the lights for fear that you would get up and make trouble Put the piano by your bed, why you little cleverness has already seen it, but you just kept silent. After your mother and Dadu got into bed, you sneaked up, touched your baby, and couldn't bear it any longer. You are so itchy to live in, stand by the dark bed, and start your ability to "cut mulberry firewood". Later, they interfered with you, so you obediently carried Qin into your bed, and slept peacefully together.They also talked about how you like to stand on the table with a short stick to imitate the instructor at the concert. Your serious look often makes everyone present laugh.In addition, there are many interesting stories, which I remember most clearly, and she told me all of them; but these few stories are enough to prove that your little spirituality has long grown the root of musical wisdom.In fact, your mother and I have already agreed to let you stay in Germany to study music when you grow up; who knows that we will not lose a possible Mozart in your early death: In the most famine days of Chinese music, It's rare to see this little bud of hope, and it's trampled by the ruthless fate of fate. How can I not hurt when I think about it?

Peter, sweet little Peter, I am "sort of" your father, but thinking of my past as a father, I have a lot of thoughts in my heart; you will never hear my words, but I want to use this condolences You have a chance to vent my feelings a little bit. In this unnatural world, there are not a few people who are in a similar or worse situation than me. Therefore, what I want to say may still be listened to, and some people may even sympathize.Even your mother, Peter, she never came close to happiness and happiness one day, but she proved her judgment, her patience, and above all her bravery and courage in her equally unfortunate situation; so at least she, I dare I believe that she can understand the depth and depth of my words, and only she, I dare say, is the most qualified to testify or interpret the reality of my emotions when she has the opportunity.

But my love!Is it resentment, hatred, repentance, or regret?Facing this incomplete and unsatisfactory life, who has no resentment, who has no hatred, who has no regrets?Except for those who are born sad, who hasn't eaten his food with sorrow in the course of his life, who hasn't wept in the lonely quilt in the middle of the night?We should thank God for his immeasurable ingenuity. Not only has he created countless varieties in the realm of creatures, but this sad life is also different from person to person. The same broken heart, but not the same The shattered marks are the same tear, but it is hard to find the same tear crystal.

Peter I love, I said I was your father.But you were not in April when I saw you for the last time. This time I came to Europe again and you went back a week earlier. All I saw was your portrait, which is so cute, and your ashes, which is too sad .Your mother once showed me the toy cars, ponies, gooses, qin, and books you used to play with every day when you were alive. I also took it out of the box with tears in my eyes and stroked it for me. At the same time, they told the story of your life, until your image came alive in front of my eyes, and your footsteps seemed to be kicking on the floor.You do not know your father, Peter, though I have heard that his name is always on your lips, and his portrait is often kissed by you with small mouths. Thank you for your great kindness and sincerity from your mother and you. You put you in the bottom of their hearts, and they also make it impossible for me to meet your father, know you, know you, love you, and engrave your image, vivaciousness, beauty, and loveliness in my heart forever .That day in the guild hall in Berlin, I was holding the tin bottle that kept your ashes in my hand. Your mother and your seventh uncle stood beside me and couldn’t stop crying. At that moment in front of the door, I, your father, felt a sharp pain in my heart. Only then did I realize for the first time that a little flesh and blood had been separated from my own life, and only then did I feel that paternal love was like a spring in my soul. It's a pity that it's too late, this loving nectar can't revive the withered flowers, it can only circulate silently around his anniversary forever.

Peter, I said I'd take this opportunity to sort out a little of my years of stagnation; but that's not always easy; the words seem to be on the lips when you want them, but they're not there when you want them: as if growing The young grass under the big rock, you have to have the strength to turn over the rock to get it up without damage. Who knows how deep the root grows!Is it hatred, resentment, repentance, or regret?Xu is hatred, Xu is resentment, Xu is repentance, Xu is regret.The thorns pierced the passerby's shins and ankles, and he knew that the road was difficult; but why are there thorns?Did they grow by themselves, or did someone deliberately plant them?Maybe you planted it yourself?At least you can’t completely complain about the thorns: firstly, because you walked this way voluntarily; secondly, because the thorns are the result of your own feet stepping on the thorns, and the thorns did not sting you automatically, but who knows?So I sometimes think how wise Peter is to be like you: you come a living, bright innocence, and you go away a bright, living soul; you come here as a short-term visitor, you know The love of a loving mother, the warmth of the sun and the beauty of flowers and plants, you left the embrace of your mother, and you returned to the embrace of your heavenly father. I think he will listen to your happy return. His old face must be full of smiles. Your little ankles have never touched ruthless thorns, and the white clothes you wear have never been stained with mud.

But we, who have lived longer than you, Peter, are not here to be guests; we are exiled, and the invisible messenger is always behind us urging us to go: why suffer, where is the future, we never understand, we understand It's just the bloody shin and ankle, just this long road without thinking. It's too late to turn back at this time, and it's impossible to stop. We really envy, Peter, the simplicity of your banishment period.

On this road, what Peter suffered was not only suffering, but the most embarrassing thing was the ridicule of chasing each other step by step, like a shadow, he couldn't get rid of it.Since I am your father, Peter, why, for example, could I not give you the love you deserved during your lifetime, though the days were short? linking?And if I don't go to Europe this time, if I receive news of your death thousands of miles away, I'm afraid I can only be seen as the shadow of the clouds on the water, coming and going, just as I didn't know joy when you were alive, I don't know how to cherish when you are here, and I can't move my emotions too much when you are gone.I am not ruthless or thoughtless, why am I so unreasonably indifferent to my own flesh and blood?Peter, I asked why, and the back of this question was infinite pain; I can't complain, I can't hate, and I can't regret it, I'm just lost, I can only ask!I know it's a self-sufficient tease, but I can only bear it.What's more, the ridicule is more than that, my own parents, why don't they love me from the bottom of their hearts; but their love is the cause of my pain: I also don't love my relatives, but I can't do my best. Responsibility, not only did not give them the happiness they expected, but I, their only son, also added to their worries and caused their pain. Why?Here, I also generally cannot hate, cannot complain, let alone regret, I am just disappointed and I can only ask.Yesterday I was a child, and today I am a grown man: Yesterday I still had round dimples on my cheeks, and today I have white hair with stars on my head; They are just teasing ghosts; when we occasionally stop to reflect on this road, we can only throw a virtual circle of "what if", mocking everything in the past.But the lessons of the past, even if there are, can't benefit us, because the future is still as bleak as when we set off, and we still can't choose the path to take. Until that day when we are invisible, our only right, we Guessing is just throwing another "what if" with a bigger virtual circle to complete the whole process of loneliness, and that is the end.

载于1925年8月15日《现代评论》第2卷第36期

death of my grandmother
一
a simple child,

Live his happy days,
with the hasty, lively,
How can we distinguish between life and death?
These quatrains are the beginning of a famous little poem by the English poet William Wordsworth called "We are Seven", which is the idea of ​​his whole poem.This poet who loves nature and children once met an eight-year-old girl with lovely curly hair. He asked her how many brothers and sisters she had. She said there were seven of us, two in the city and two One is in a foreign country, and one sister and one brother are buried in the cemetery of the church near her home.But her child's psychology does not distinguish the boundary between life and death. She takes her dry snacks and small plates to the grass in the cemetery every night, eats alone, sings alone, sings to her The brothers and sisters sleeping in the mound listened, although they were silent and there was no response, her innocent childlike innocence never felt the inconceivable barrier between life and death; so despite Hua Weng's various explanations, she just opened her eyes with a pair of smart little eyes. Eye, replied: "But, sir, there are still seven of us."

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In fact, Hua Weng's own innocence did not allow the little girl to be complete: he once said, "When I was a child, I couldn't believe that one day I would have to lie quietly in the grave, and my bones would turn into dust." ’” Once again he said to people: “When I was a child, what I couldn’t figure out the most was that it would be my turn to die in the future.”

Children are curious by nature, they want to know why the cat eats the mouse, where the little brother came from, or whether the chicken came first or the egg; They can only see it vaguely. We can't expect all the children to be Danish princes scratching their heads.When they die, they often cry with the adults; but as soon as the tears dry up, he will go to the yard to kick the shuttlecock and catch butterflies, making it their own father or mother, elder brother or younger sister who will sleep forever in the house. However, we can't hope that the sorrow of mourning death can completely eclipse their joy like sheep and puppies.If you tell your child that your mother is dead, do you know that nine out of ten times he just stares at you in a daze; There were tears shed.But a child's natural expression can often move people the deepest.One of the movies I will never forget in my life is the innocent scene of a child in love with his dead mother.She was looking at planting flowers in the garden, and the gardener told her that the flowers would grow up if they were watered in the mud.It rained heavily that night, she slept on the bed, was awakened by the sound of the rain, and suddenly remembered what the gardener said, and a wonderful idea came into her little mind.She secretly climbed out of the bed, went down the stairs, went to the study and took down the photo of her dead mother on the table, and put it in her bosom, ignoring the pouring rain, she walked straight to the garden. The ground was loosened with a gardener's hoe, and the mother in her arms was carefully taken out, planted in the mud to cover the loose mud; The girl, wearing white pajamas, was squatting on the ground in the open air during the heavy rain in the middle of the night, hoping wholeheartedly for her dead mother to grow out of the soil like flowers and plants!

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(End of this chapter)