Picture and text 丨 Would rather ken
This spring, the annual Helvar Literature Forum was held in the conference hall of the European Times in Vienna, where Chinese writers from More than a dozen countries, including France, Spain, the Czech Republic, Hungary and Germany, gathered to discuss literature and art.
Hai Liao, a Chinese female writer who published "Chongqing You Are Early" in Germany and caused a sensation, told her first trip to Europe: she left with more than twenty years of necessities of life, including books selected left and right, and as a result, her luggage was overweight and she had no money to pay. Among the necessities, you can only give up the books that occupy the weight, and take them out one by one, just like before the moon landing. In the end, only two magazines remained: Contemporary, 2001 issues I and II, which contained the novel "The Masked City" (Part 1 and 2). For eighteen years, "The Masked City" has been her cherished novel, and she has read it an unknown number of times. I was present when she told this story, I didn't know HaiLian before, I didn't know anything about it, I was very surprised, in this musical capital I felt a melody rise, a most familiar note ringing, I had not yet gone to the Beethoven House not far away, I was preparing to go but seemed to be there.
Beethoven's House, a white apartment building, without any obvious signs, without any noise, now it's not Beethoven knocking on the door, it's me knocking on Beethoven's door. The whole white building is still inhabited, like any apartment building on the left, but a path in front of this building is planted, which does not interfere with the surrounding life, or even has any signs, but everyone knows that this path is the famous "Beethoven Trail". It was still an ordinary path, and Beethoven had walked countless times on the path of despair, the heavy path, the quiet path of ecstatic sadness, the path that embraced the stars and the sun and the twilight and the morning.
The house was on the fifth floor, climbing a spiral staircase—Beethoven climbed an unknown number of times, often stopping to sigh, with his stormy hair low—and only on the fifth floor did he have a very small ticket window. After buying tickets, a tall old man in an open sweater took us on a tour, and Li Su, the translator of "Tianzang", gave me a translator. The fifth floor is the top floor, Beethoven rented three rooms here, lived for seven years, the old man said that one year Beethoven had to punch a hole in the wall of the north room, so that he could see far, the landlord did not agree, Beethoven and the landlord had a fierce dispute, "according to reason" to argue, and finally angrily left, not rented. Beethoven moved away, but the landlord expected Beethoven to return, and sure enough, beethoven returned silently soon after.
The piano is very old, there are shadows flickering on the piano stool, the hour hand stops forever, manuscripts of different ages, letters to lovers who cannot be examined, Beethoven masks--tight mouths, tightly closed and drooping eyes,more Beethoven than any portrait of Beethoven, almost Beethoven. Then there's Bey Five, the great Manuscript of Destiny. I don't know German, and with the modification of the Dragon Flying Phoenix Dance, it's on the stave, and at least for me personally, the manuscript from two hundred years ago looks like the QR code now. I was very surprised, could it be that the QR code existed two hundred years ago? Was it beethoven's invention? The invention of Destiny? Is Beethoven a match made in heaven with today's world? I stared at the manuscript hard, almost wanted to use my mobile phone to scan it, did not dare, really sweep out of what is not good, in such a place can not be rash, really see Beethoven what to do?
In the innermost room of the house, on a simple clamshell table, there is a headset to listen to "Destiny", an equally simple chair. I put on my headset, as if I had listened to it before, or too casually, and as a result, at the push of a button, if I hadn't had a chair, I would have to sit on the ground: a huge sound "3331" note fell from the sky. Of course, falling from the sky I am familiar with and have heard countless times, but there is another direction here that is very unfamiliar and has never been. That is almost from heaven at the same time I felt a pair of large hands behind my back on my shoulders: "Fate" knocked on the door ...
I didn't dare to move, but the whole person flew up with the wind and fell, a moment of sky, stars, a moment of moonlight, the surface of the sea. Eighteen years ago, a man who traveled across the ocean only brought my novels with her, and the magazines she showed were even gray hair. When ms. Fang Lina, the moderator of the forum, invited me and Li Su to do a theme dialogue, she said that I have many Chinese readers and fans in Europe, I think it is a bit exaggerated, to be honest, I am a person who never cares about my readers, I only write mine, I always think that I do not have many readers. Hailian is a shock, but it does not mean that I have many readers, on the contrary, Hailian is accidental, that is, all the inevitable will not shock me, only chance will really shock me. Chance is much more valuable than necessity. This is also expressed in "The Masked City".
In Destiny or in Beethoven's QR code, my mind plays a flood of memories at the same time, and the sea like a meteor accidentally crosses the current sky and reminds me of thirty-five years ago, when I was very young, lying in a stone house in Lhasa to write "The Masked City": it was winter, there was no stove, the water in the basin would freeze at night, and I was lying on a simple two-drawer desk writing about a person's fate. I don't know what the future holds, but I just write, dream, listen to music, and sleep in music. Waking up in the temple trumpet and to the sound of early cattle grazing, mooing, mooing, writing letters to someone far away, including possible lovers, is practically impossible, a bit like Beethoven. Then continue with The Masked City, in writing love, pouring out, sadness, and unyielding. The morning call came, turned on the electric stove, the stove was red, and the circle was very happy. In a moment the water boiled, and the door was opened to face the white mountains behind the snow. It was not until fifteen years later that "The Masked City" was finally completed, but it encountered difficulties in publication, went to the Internet, caused a sensation, and then published the full text in "Contemporary", two issues, honors poured in, all the honors can not be compared with the story of Hai Liao. A few years ago, when I heard a Chinese newspaper in South Africa serializing "The Masked City", I was very surprised, incredible, and now HaiLian.
What is destiny? It is by no means a straight line, but a dotted line, some isolated points, these isolated points are slowly strung together by time, like a necklace. Everyone's point is more or less, even if Beethoven is so great I don't think his point is too much. And I don't like people who have too many successes, I like successful losers in a sense, or successful people who have failed, such as Kafka, Van Gogh, China's Haizi, Wei'an, Liu Yeyuan - how many people know the latter two? But it doesn't matter. On July 2 this year, Liu Yeyuan passed away, and I stepped on the train to Jinan to send him off, and not many people sent him off, which was equally irrelevant. How many people have sent Kafka off? Liu Yeyuan dictated by him in the final "To Friends", and his wife recorded: "My night sky is gradually cracking - youth has not left me, passion is still there, I am just tired, commemorating those who have not returned from the sea." This is the words of Ba Paustovsky, which Liu Yeyuan quoted at the end, and he liked this sentence, he was the one who had not returned from the sea, he was still in the wind and waves, on the boat.
In August this year, my eight-volume collection of essays was published in Shanghai, and to be honest, I didn't dare to think about it until I got a thick set of hardcover books; at the Sinan Mansion, I talked to Yongxin, the master of "Harvest", and Xie Jin of Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, and I didn't believe that this was true, but I was talking, talking, almost starring myself, and even acting superbly, but was it really me? Is it the one who wrote in a Tibetan stone house trembling? I always felt like I was a kitten in the cold wind. In the past, I only felt that talents like Mr. Lu Xun produced anthologies, so why did I come out? What is this fate? I'm not afraid of loneliness, the wind, but a little afraid of honor, and I always feel like I have someone else's stuff on me.
Listening to "Destiny" in the room of "Destiny", feeling Beethoven's big hand on his shoulder, there is a warm wet mix of feelings, something unknown. I feel that Beethoven has always been in the room, as long as you listen with your short or long life, he must be there.
I came a little late, but it wasn't too late. I want everyone to have a chance to knock on Beethoven's door, or, their own door.
Source: Harvest Public Account
The image comes from the Internet
Ning Ken, born in 1959, a native of Beijing, novelist, whose main works include the eight volumes of the Ning Ken Anthology, published by Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, including "Heaven. Tibetan", "The Masked City", "Three Trio", and the novel "The Gate of Silence", which has won many awards, and the works have been translated into Czech, French, Italian, and English.
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