Forever the door

Ancient town south of the Yangtze River. An ordinary little courtyard with an old well. Eight or nine ordinary families lived in the courtyard. An old flat house, the pattern has not changed for many years, but the room is more and more modern furnishings.

Two of the eight or nine households had one resident each. Bachelor Zheng Ruokui and spinster Pan Xuee.

Zheng Ruokui lives next door to Pan.

"Good morning." He greeted her.

"Out? "She replied, passing by without slowing her pace.

How many times had anyone been lucky enough to see him meet her in the yard and heard these words. This simple, unsentimental repetition really discourages the neighbors.

Pan Xuee is probably over forty. A slender figure with an oval face, fair complexion, and dignified features. The clothes are simple and fashionable. The charm is still there. She works in the flower shop on West Street. Neighbors did not know why this beautiful woman lived alone, except that she had a right to love but had never married.

Zheng Ruokui, who moved here five years ago after Pan Xuee, is a movie theater artist who is said to be a responsible and inhibited artist who lacks genius. He looks like an old man in his mid-forties. The hair was yellow and disheveled, and it was conceivable that the number of combs was rare. My back is a little stooped. Thin face, thin shoulders, thin hands. But his big eyes were always shining with the light of youth and his desire.

When he came home, he often brought back a bunch of flowers, roses, roses, begonias, lamei, you name it.

He always put his flowers in a tall vase of clear blue.

He is not in the habit of visiting. When he came home from work, he stayed in the house for a long time. Sometimes he went to the well to wash his clothes, wash the dishes, wash the clear blue vase. After washing the vase, he always filled it with clear well water and carried it back to the house with a pout.

A thick wall separated his bedroom from Pan's.

An old, one-man-high bookcase of flowers and bamboo was pressed against the wall beside the bed. On the upper right of this bookcase is the permanent position of the vase.

In addition, the interior hangs or rests on some Chinese, foreign, other people's and his own paintings.

The arrangement of the furniture and the degree of dust showed the lack of a woman, the lack of that warm air that only a woman could produce.

However, the vase has always been host to wipe clean, the water in the bottle is always cleared LieLie bottle of flowers is always bright and blooming.

His neighbors had been so eager to see the flowers he brought back one day appear in Pan Xuee's room next door to him. Of course, this miracle never happened.

Therefore, people naturally have a deep regret and continuous sympathy for Zheng Ruokui.

A rainy autumn morning.

Zheng Ruokui holding an umbrella to greet her: "you early."

Pan Xuee holding an umbrella still answered him: "Go out?"

In the evening, the rain stopped and she returned from work, but he did not come home.

Immediately came the news: Zheng Ruokui was painting in the studio of the unit, the heart beat abnormal, suddenly fell to the ground, just sent to the hospital, fell asleep forever.

There was crying in the common yard.

Pan Xuee did not cry, but her eyes were red.

Wreath of flowers. One by one. She had given him the large, flower-studded wreath, which had no elegiac couplets.

It was a great loss to be deprived of a common, loveless bachelor in this ordinary courtyard.

A few days later, Pan Xuee moved away, leaving in a hurry and suddenly.

People had to express surprise when they were sorting through the painter's belongings. Although his room was gray, the vase was as bright and blue as if it had been cleaned recently, and the bunch of white chrysanthemums in it did not wither.

When the old bamboo bookcase was removed, the eyes of all present widened.

The door! On the wall was a bright purple door with a brass handle.

Hearts rose and sank. -- So it is!

The neighbors made a noise. All the sorrow and respect for the single man of a few days before had evaporated into an unspeakable, even unspeakable, resentment.

But whoops when someone reaches up to pull it open -- the brass handle is flat, and the door and jamb are as smooth as walls.

A door painted on the wall!