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Zhu Hui, male, born in 1963. He is the author of the novel "My Expression" and the novel collection "How Long is the Line of Sight". He has won the Lu Xun Literature Award, the Purple Mountain Literature Award, the Writer's Golden Short Story Award, and the Wang Zengqi Literature Award. He is now a professional writer of Jiangsu Writers Association.
Zhu Hui's "Events on February 28" - Creation Talk
Events occur on February 208
Zhu Hui
One
It was midday, the sun was shining and it was windy. The door to the east room opened and closed again, a string of crisp footsteps, from near to far, and the money went away. During the listening, the rhythm of the foot sounds changed, she was down the stairs, delicate high heels stepped on the soothing pause, can not hear. Li Hengquan approached the window, gently pushed it open, and saw the woman leaning over, gradually moving away along the path in front of the building.
In February, even at noon, the wind is still cold, like a needle. He closed the window and lay down on the bed. She was going to work, leaving at this time every day, and only came back in the middle of the night. In front of his eyes, her shadow shook. He wasn't sure what she was doing, but he had been living here for a month and knew the rules of her life. She came back after the New Year, dragging only a small suitcase, which he knew was an old resident. He got up and pulled open his door, and immediately a hint of aroma wafted from outside. Looking around, the window at the top of the corridor was dangling, and the place where the glass was broken was exposed to the blue sky; the ground was bright like a dusty mirror. No one. A rat jumped to the middle of the aisle, stopped, tilted its head, and whizzed away.
Only the aroma in this building is fresh, and everything else is dilapidated and stale. It was an old building, all the rooms were south-facing, and in front of the door was a corridor connected to a spiraling staircase. The concrete floor of the corridor has been rubbed by many people for many years, rough potholes, and the original floor paint is still left on the place only against the wall. The wall is still roughly white, mainly white, the wall skin shed is gray and black, and there are more strange traces, the shoe prints can of course be seen at a glance, but the position is very high; there are many round spots, the top has been on, Li Hengquan has not been in school for a long time, and when he first came, he did not understand what this mark was for half a day, until he found a deflated basketball. It landed in a glass cabinet inside the wall. The glass was broken, but the word "firefighting" could still be seen.
He loves the scent in front of him. He seemed to be able to see the scent, mixed with the sunlight, and filled the air like gold powder. He took a deep breath, reflexively entered the room, took a few things from the bottom of the cabinet in the corner, and tucked them into his sleeves.
His door was hidden and not closed, and he habitually left a way back for himself. The woman's room was on his east side, separated by an empty room. He walked over with a normal gait and approached the door. He looked at the door lock and straightened up, his hands in coordination. There was no sound, no sound in the aisle, only his hand could feel the sound. It rattled and the door opened.
He listened sideways, and the cat walked in. Of course, he wanted to be light-handed, but suddenly remembered something, laughed, and stood up straight. The layout in front of him was similar to his one, a bed, a cabinet, a table, but the woman turned the table into a dresser, a mirror leaning against the wall, and a lot of cosmetics in front of it. The wind whistled outside the building, and he saw that under the windows here, there was a water stain, just like he was there, a little leaky, and a little leaky.
This is the woman's dwelling place, her room. The fragrance was faint, and strangely enough, the scent of this source was not as strong as in the corridor. This was the second time he had come in. He noticed at once that there had been some changes here, a rope pulled between the window and the door, and the last time the rope was full of clothes, this time it was empty. He glanced at it and saw that the clothes were all tucked away on the bed, not folded. The clothes were scattered, red, white, pale yellow, and some indescribable colors, such as the messy flowers of the half-bed. One stocking curled up like a black snake, and the other peeked out from under her clothes. He couldn't resist pulling them out, his hand outstretched, and shrank back.
He inhaled the smell of the room hard. On the fifteenth of last month, he breathed in the long-lost free air, and here he once again smelled the beautiful human breath. His heart was pounding and his face was crimson. If he could, he really wanted to fold the clothes. Once, he had drilled into other people's homes countless times and taken some things with him, and he didn't mess up other people's homes, just to prevent others from discovering them, or to find them later. Now it was different, and he didn't want to go back to that slaughtering trumpet. He would never take anything from someone else's house again. As soon as he entered the door, he saw the purse at the head of the bed, small and cute, studded with glass diamonds, bulging sacs, which he habitually pulled open, a lot of money, and immediately pulled it up again and put it back in place. The purse was right next to the pillow, and the pillow was covered with a flower pillow towel with the imprint left by the head in the middle. He finally did not hold back, his head against the dent on the pillow, and lay down.
Very yummy. His hand disobeyed and touched the pile of clothes. He closed his eyes and pulled his hand over. The smoothness of the silk, the roughness of the knitting. His face was even redder, hot and baked, as if he had been smoked. He got up and walked over to the table.
Bottles, pipes, small tweezers, Li Hengquan does not understand these very well. Women are so complicated. All he could recognize was lipstick, several tubes. Suddenly remembering something, he put his right hand into his pocket. Just then, the wind added another blow, and in the sharp whistle, there was a thud in the corridor. He trembled as if he had been shot. He sped out and froze: his door, sucked in by the wind. Can't push it away.
He was a little dazed for a moment. What to do? Of course, he immediately remembered his own expertise, which was not a problem for him. There were so many doors, as long as he liked it, it was almost not a problem. The tools are readily available, right in the trouser pocket. The problem now is that he has never faced this situation, that is, he is going to open his own door with technology. He shook his head, freed from a temporary trance. When his hand reached into his trouser pocket, he touched something, and he was stunned, and he ran quickly back to her room, walked to the "dresser", and put the contents of the pocket on it. That's a tube of lipstick. Every time he saw her, her lips were shiny and red and black, and he thought it wasn't good enough, old-fashioned. It should be a little red, but not black.
He knew he would come in again. This place makes him nostalgic. A little reluctant to go, he unscrewed the tubes of lipstick on the table, drawing one by one on the back of his left hand, a row of colors. He recognized the one she used most often, and there was no doubt that the lipstick he had brought was the best looking. He was eager to tell her in person.
Of course not. He had seen her so many times that he had never dared to speak. He had also nodded his head and said hello and smiled at her, but she was wearing sunglasses and expressionless, and she had not paid attention to him. His eyes were always filled with her sunglasses, her black lipstick and her graceful posture, which were her generalizations, all shrouded in her scent.
He closed her door carefully, went back, and easily opened his lock. All the locks in this building are similar, class A locks, the easiest to open. He only needs less than ten seconds. On that day last month, at the moment of waiting for the tall iron door to open, he said fiercely in his heart: Li Hengquan, you will never do it again! Never come in again! He did. Before entering her room, he hesitated and struggled, but preparing a set of tools was too simple for him to get it all in a vacuum. The truth is that he really didn't take her money and made a secret suggestion to her with lipstick. He controlled his hand, to be precise, he only controlled a certain kind of movement of his hand, but he did not control it all. Not stealing, but giving gifts, thinking of this, Li Hengquan grinned.
With his technique, more than half of the city's locks, he could see nothing. All the houses, no matter how neat and rigid they were, or how complex they were, saw only locks: countless locks, rows, columns, volleys and suspensions. His goal at that time was to pick out the easiest and most worth opening. Now this building, located on the outskirts of the city, is surrounded by simple crowds and is inhabited by all kinds of people. The rents were low, and they were all unidentified men and women, similar to him. He could see the identity of a few college students, and a few people probably did the business he was familiar with. He doesn't say broken, he doesn't care. Now that you've washed your hands, don't mess around.
/ End of Trial /
eye
record
Novella
Lu Min tastes sweet and slightly bitter
(From Beijing Literature, No. 11, 2021)
Sheng can push the man out of the stroller
(Selected from Hunan Literature, No. 11, 2021)
Cheng Yongxin only saw it for the first time
(Excerpted from Jiangnan, No. 6, 2021)
Pan Ling Taiping has an elephant
(Excerpted from Ethnic Literature, No. 11, 2021)
Short Story
Zhu Hui happened on February 28
(From Zhongshan, No. 5, 2021)
Si Ji Dong Chuan Lantern
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Maping Living Water Park
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Ma Xiaotao has many interesting things
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Yu Chengnan Highland Rider
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Liu Jiandong's sparse audience
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Road to bristles with flycatcher paper
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Liaojing has nowhere to go
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