真是不太好，把自己的地方弄得那么阴郁，好像我就是这么个人似的。不不……

 

以两天的时间看完了Jonathan Kellerman和他妻子Faye Kellerman2005年合写的新书---Double Homicide。总算给烦闷的学习找了点调剂。感觉还很奇特，第一个案子很有意思，我喜欢，第二个感觉就生硬，粗糙。估计第一个是Jonathan写的，很熟悉的笔触，幽默也细腻。有时候觉得看闲书挺有味道的，别人的生活所感形成的东西，你来品品，没有什么高雅的，却总是很舒服。虽然更喜欢有起伏有惊险的情节，读完了还是感觉挺惬意的。故事总还是有起因和经过的，至于结尾，那是最重要的，尤其在看whodunit的时候。

 

P.S. Bookreporter上的一个人Joe Hartlaub居然说第二个Still Life更好。看来有必要再看一遍。总还是觉得剧情很混乱的样子。那两个侦探的背景描写好像有点离题了，印第安人的家族情节和一个画商没太大关系吧。而且，艺术世界的纷争错综复杂，有时候让人看了失去兴趣，倒不如分析一个血管瘤来的直接。

（今天的事情终于办完了。前一晚还心里忐忑不安的样子。天气很好，阳光在照着。这种仪式总是让我对家庭的庞大慨叹不已，一双双温暖的手，一句句感动人心的话，还有热切的拥抱------任何事情发生了都不该失去希望。）

 

……

公墓里很静很静，没到鸟叫虫鸣的季节，感觉这里只有你和孤独的灵魂。

 

你已经安歇了，净净的身贴近了上帝，我为你感到高兴。

癌症从此远离你的领域，你是不可战胜的。

 

……

爸爸辛苦了，四天没有合眼。你非要等到他到来，才撒手离去。

“今天~礼拜~几了？”你朦朦胧胧的问，“礼拜二，四哥。”

“还早。还不是时候。”

没有疼痛的呻吟，瘦的皮包骨的你静静的躺在那里。

多多还是那么善解人意，它好像也心痛，眼皮低垂的，将头垂在你的腿隙，合着你微弱的呼吸。

主麻日的夜晚，你走了，在自己满意的日子卸下了两年的重担。留下了妻女。

我想飞到你的身边，再握一下你那枯黄的手。

妈妈说，好人不长命。

今晨我看见了你，巴兰香中，白色下的你，犹如一张薄纸，没有了往日的幽默和风趣，没有了那微弱的呼吸。

你就这么坚强了两年，每个人都对你的毅力和顽强称奇。

我还清楚的记得，医生遗憾的摇头，和那几个月的限期。这两年，除了你，家中的人都暗自吞下泪水，在你面前强装开心。记得你拖着沉重的步子走到我身旁，给我讲这两只心爱八哥的趣事。我不敢面对你的双眼，怎么敢想你躯体中有日益猖狂的魔鬼在吞噬你。

 

没有发生奇迹，你还是走了。

我今天来送你，送你上天堂，陪安拉在天堂里。

 

你在最前面，后面的车队缓缓的行进，不论大车小车，都用双向指示灯悼念你。这去墓地的路显得那么长，仿佛车子想开到天际。我一直凝望着后面的车，跟近些……任思绪飘离。

 

山里很静，只有脚踩干草的声音，和低声私语。阿訇的经文传得很远，我们齐齐的跪在你旁边，再多陪你和上帝说几句。

 

铁锹最后一次拍向你的土地。

我们要离开了，可没有人舍得你。

你妻一步三次的回头，泪水止不住的滴。“你不孤独……我会常来看你的，你记住……”抽噎着，让你消失在了待泛绿色的树枝间隙。

坟地本不许女人进去，可谁又能控制得了这种至亲的冲动；坟地本不许有哭声，可谁又能望见这一切要与你远离的种种而摒住呼吸……

 

腰间的孝带在空中飘着，我视线所及一片白色，一张张凝重的脸庞告诉我，个体的生命有多少意义。

 

今天结束了，但留下的是铭记。

 

你走好。

有上帝陪伴你。

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Recently I felt I've been in the most occupied period I have ever experienced before. No weekends, no holidays and so, no sleeping late. I won't call it a crisis, but sometimes patience does help me a lot the time I get agitated. I figure this must be a challenge though I don't quite know where it is going to lead me. Sometimes it occurs to me that as this goes on, I will completely be the stereotype of Chinese college student in westerner's eye: pair of glasses, non-stop studies, non-athletic...But what if I don't strain myself?)

 

It seems that I have forgotten there was a place for me to relax my mind......Frankly, no. I had a clear idea that there gonna be sometime I return. So here I am. It's not that I am a free soul right now. Just the opposite. To come back I got some reason, which makes my heart even more heavy.

 

My mind got stirred up by grieving...

Walking silently in graveyard gives you peace of mind but also ripples of yearning echoing within.

I remember the first time I was taken to the Hui Min Cemetery, not pleasant for a kid to see so many white tombstones and heaps of earth one after another. It's not like merely a tombstone for each, the mound behind it always makes it more glum. Kin gathered around the small rectangle, heads down on the chest, some mutely wiping, some like me, innocently looking around with widely-open eyes. When Mr.Wang began chanting prayer, we were all on the knees. No other sound was made. Even the birds on near branches stopped flapping. His voice was like hymns for God, sacred and soulful. At that time, I understood: this is a place for quietness, motionlessness and sadness, place of remembering. The picture of my big family mourning was like a shot fixed in my brain. From that day on, everytime I ambled in the woods of death, I breathed deeply, reading every character stamping deeply on the shining stones, some from big families, some having no offsprings, and some just anchoring in the world less than a decade. Everything we were born without, leaves us the second we cease breathing. How absurd we are quarreling over trivial affairs...knowing not time elapses without looking back.

Every time I get chance walking in graveyard I taste the meaning of loss, and the cherishing after loss. I hate myself feeling less until the moment I'm convined no chance is left for me to embrace him/her again, speak to him/her again, see him/her again. All that once were related to him/her soon fade though I strive so hard to grasp...They always said wounds heal over time. I believe in it. People do not live in grieving. Yet how strong must an old people be, after seeing so much death, and how can I imagine the scenes attending funerals of my parents, my friends, my relatives, all my dearest...

 

We need courage to live well, indeed. And esp. when it comes to death, facing other's death, then our own death...you see little in the street about the sense of death because nobody keeps that in mind all the time, let alone expressing it through expressions, but when in darkness some will ponder over it again and again, and that is the time we need God's interpretation.

 

"The cry of the city is like a siren song,

whirling over the rooftop whole nignt long.

Sunshooting star is like a diamond in the sky,

must be someone's soul passing by."

                                            ----Shine Your Lignt

 

May all of you rest in peace!