追忆似水流年华

A sore throat, measles and many children have a fever. Several of my mother's girlfriends were puzzled when they saw her continuing to let me go to the Champs Elysees. Although they did not openly doubt her maternal love, they at least regretted her indiscretion.

Nervous people may be very few people who "listen" to their hearts, although this is contrary to the general view. They heard a lot of things on themselves, and later found that they shouldn't make a fuss, so they never heard them. Their nervous system often shouts "Help!" As if life was at stake, it was simply because it was snowing or they were moving. Over time, they were accustomed to ignoring warnings, just as a dying soldier, driven by the warmth of battle, ignored warnings and continued to live like a healthy man for a few days. One day, with the usual discomfort (I never paid attention to their constant internal circulation as well as the blood circulation), I ran into the dining room briskly. My parents were sitting at the table, so I sat down too. As usual, I said to myself, chilling may not mean heating, but Because I was scolded; not feeling hungry meant that it was going to rain, not that I didn't need to eat - but when I swallowed my first delicious steak, a burst of nausea and dizziness stopped me, an anxious answer to the initial pain. I used cold indifference to cover up and delay the symptoms, but the disease stubbornly refused food, so that I could not swallow. At that moment, in the same instant, I thought that I would not be allowed to go out if someone found me sick. The idea (like the instinct of the wounded) gave me courage. I hobbled back to my bedroom, measured my fever at 40 degrees, and then dressed up and went to Champs Elysees. Although my physical surface is weak and weak, my mind is laughing and urging me to pursue and pursue the sweet pleasure of playing the game of catching people with Hillbert. An hour later, my body couldn't support me, but I still felt happy around her and still had the strength to enjoy it.

As soon as she got home, Franois told the crowd that I was "not feeling well", and that I must have been suffering from "cold and fever". And immediately a doctor was called in. Doctors claim that the "extreme" and "viral" fever, which tends to be caused by pulmonary congestion, is merely a "straw fire" and will be transformed into a more "sinister" and "potentially" form. For a long time I felt suffocated and my grandmother thought I was alcoholic, but despite her objection, the doctor advised me to drink beer, champagne or brandy properly when I was on the verge of illness, in addition to taking breathless caffeine. He said alcohol-induced "comfort" prevents asthma attacks. Therefore, in order to ask for wine from my grandmother, I could not hide it, but had to show that I had difficulty breathing. Whenever I feel that I am about to fall ill and cannot anticipate the illness, I am worried that my body, perhaps too weak to bear the secret of the illness alone, or because I am afraid that others will not know that I am about to fall ill and ask to do something beyond or dangerous, makes me feel that I must feel uncomfortable. Tell grandmothers exactly, and that precision eventually becomes a physiological need. Whenever I find an unrecognized symptom in myself, I have to tell my grandmother, or my body will panic. If she pretends not to pay attention, then my body will keep me going. Sometimes I go too far, so there is pity and painful contracture in the face that is no longer as restrained as it used to be. Seeing her so painful, I was so miserable that I threw myself into her arms as if my kiss could erase her pain and my love could make her happy as my happiness. Now that she knows how uncomfortable I am, I feel relieved and my body no longer opposes me to comfort her. I repeat that this discomfort is not painful. She does not need to pity me at all. I assure her that I am happy. My body just wants to get the pity it deserves. As long as others know the pain on its right side, it is enough. It does not object to my saying that the pain is not a cause but an obstacle to my happiness. It is not. Philosophy flaunts itself, and philosophy has no affinity with it. Almost every day before I recovered, my asphyxia broke out several times. One night, when my grandmother left me, I was still safe, but she came to see me late at night and saw me breathing fast. She cried out in horror, "Ah! My God, how much you suffer!" She went out at once, and the door rang. Soon she came in with the brandy she had just bought, because there was no wine at home. Soon I felt relaxed. Grandmother's face was reddish, her face was not very comfortable, and her eyes showed fatigue and discouragement.

"I'll just walk away and relax you." She said, and suddenly left me, but I still kissed her and felt a little wet on her fresh cheeks. Was it the moisture left by the dark night air she had just crossed? I don't know. The next day, she didn't come to my bedroom until dark. It was said that she had to go out during the day. I thought she was showing me indifference, but I restrained myself from blaming her.

The congestion has been cured, but I continue to feel suffocated. What is the reason? So the parents invited Professor Godard. It is not enough for a doctor invited in this case to have knowledge alone. The symptoms he faces may be three or four different diseases, and ultimately it is his sense of smell and vision that determine which one is, although the symptoms are almost identical. This mysterious gift does not imply superior intelligence in other ways. A person who likes the worst paintings, the worst music, the least spiritual pursuit and the most vulgar can have this talent. In my case, the specific symptoms he observed may have multiple causes: neurospasm, newly-onset tuberculosis, asthma, enterotoxigenic dyspnea with renal insufficiency, chronic bronchitis, or syndromes consisting of several of these factors. The way to deal with neurospasm is different. Take it seriously, and deal with tuberculosis must be carefully engaged in excessive diet therapy, and excessive diet is very harmful to arthritic diseases such as asthma, enterotoxin dyspnea is extremely dangerous, and enterotoxin dyspnea required diet for tuberculosis patients is fatal. However, Godard hesitated for only a moment to announce the prescription in an irrefutable tone: "Diarrhea and strong diarrhea. You can only drink milk in a few days. No meat. No alcohol." Mother murmured that I needed nourishment urgently. I was already quite nervous. This laxation and diet would break me down. Godard's eyes were anxious, as if he was afraid of missing the train. I could see that he was asking himself if the words had come from his gentle nature. He was trying to recall whether he had forgotten to wear the cold mask (as if people were looking for a mirror to see if they had forgotten to wear a tie). He was doubtful and wanted to make up for it, so he said in a gruff voice, "I never repeat the prescription. Give me a pen. Only milk. When we have solved the problem of breathing difficulties and insomnia, you can drink soup. I don't object to eating mashed potatoes, but we always have to drink milk and milk. This will make you happy, since Spain is the most fashionable now, Ah Lai! Ah Lai! His students are familiar with the word game, because every time he tells a heart or liver patient to eat milk as the staple food in the hospital, he always says so. Then you can gradually return to normal life. However, as long as cough and asphyxia recur, you can do it again: laxatives, intestinal lavage, bed rest, milk." He listened coldly to his mother's last objection, ignored it, disdained to explain why he had taken the treatment and left. My parents thought that this kind of therapy not only could not cure my illness, but also uselessly hurt my vitality, so they refused to let me try it. Of course, they try not to let the professor know that they did not do what he said, and in order to be safe, they would not go to any social place where they might meet the professor. Later, as my condition grew worse and worse, they decided to follow Godard's prescription to the letter. Three days later, I stopped breathing, coughing and breathing. So we knew that Godard saw that my main cause was poisoning (although he later said that he thought I had asthma, especially a bit of "madness"). He flushed my liver and kidneys to make my bronchus unobstructed, thus restoring my breathing, sleep and energy. So we understand that this fool is a great doctor. I finally got up. But they no longer let me play in Champs Elysees, where the air is said to be bad. I think it's just an excuse not to let me see Miss Swan, so I forced myself to remember Hilbert's name all the time, just like the captives trying to keep their mother tongue, so as not to forget the motherland they will never see again. Mother sometimes touched my forehead with her hand and said:

"Why, the little boy no longer tells his mother about his troubles?"

Franois approached me every day and said, "Look at Mr. Franois's face! You don't look in the mirror, like a dead man!" If I had only caught a cold, Franois would have the same sad face. This sadness is more due to her "rank" than to my illness. At that time, I couldn't tell whether Franois's pessimism was painful or satisfying. For the time being, I thought it was social and professional.

One day, after the postman came, my mother put a letter on my bed. I opened the letter carelessly, because it could not contain the only signature that would make me happy - Hillbert's signature, and I had nothing to do with her except to meet on Champs Elysees Street. At the bottom of the letter there is a silver seal, which contains a knight in a helmet and the motto Pre viam rectam, which is arranged in a circle below. The letter was bold, and every sentence seemed to be reinforced, because the crossing on the letter "t" was not marked in the middle, but on the top, which was equal to a line under the corresponding words on the previous line. At the bottom of the letter I saw Hilbert's signature. However, since I don't think it is possible for me to have her signature in the letter I received, I don't believe my eyes and I'm not happy. Suddenly, this signature made everything around me lose its authenticity. This incredible signature is playing a corner game with my bed, fireplace and wall at a dizzying speed. Everything in front of me shook as if I had fallen off the horse's back. I was thinking about the existence of another life. It was quite different from or even contrary to the life we knew, but it was real. When it suddenly appeared to me, I hesitated, as if it were the stations in the sculptor's Doomsday Judgment. The same is true of those who die and come back to life at the gate of heaven. The letter said, "Dear Friend: I heard that you were seriously ill and no longer came to the Champs Elysees. I don't go there either, because there are many patients there. My girlfriends come to my house for tea every Monday and Friday. Mother let me tell you that you are welcome to come back when you are well. We can continue our interesting conversation on Champs Elysees Street at home. Goodbye, dear friend, I hope your parents will allow you to come to my house for tea often. Greetings. Hilbert."

While reading this letter, my nervous system received the message with amazing agility, that is, I met a happy event. However, my mind, that is, I myself, the principal client, did not know. Happiness, through Hillbert to obtain happiness, this is what I have always yearned for, purely ideological things, as Leonardo said painting is Cosa mentale. A letter full of words cannot be absorbed by thought immediately. However, when I finished reading the letter, I thought of it, and it became the object of my reverie, Cosa metale. I couldn't help but read it again every five minutes and kiss it again. So, I know my happiness.

Life is full of miracles that lovers can always count on. This miracle may have been artificially created by my mother. Seeing that my life has been dull lately, she asked Hilbert to write to me. I remember my first baths in the sea. At that time, I hated sea water because I could not breathe. In order to arouse my interest in diving, my mother quietly asked my swimming teacher to put beautiful shells and coral branches under the water, so that I thought I had found them. What's more, in life, in all kinds of different life situations, it's better not to try to understand anything about love, because they are sometimes harsh and ruthless, sometimes unexpected, as if they follow magical rules rather than rational ones. A billionaire, rich but lovely, was abandoned by a poor, unattractive woman who lived with him. In despair, he exerted all the power of money and all the influence of the world in order to get her back, but in vain. In this case, we had better not use logic to explain his feelings. Why is a woman stubborn, but should think that he is destined to be hit by this, destined to die of heart disease. Lovers often have to struggle with obstacles, and their painful and exciting imagination guesses where the obstacles are, and sometimes the obstacles are just women who can't turn them around.