barcelona summer

In the morning, he came to the lobby.

Roland was already sitting there, completely integrated with this surf hotel, as if he couldn't find another more suitable person to be the owner.He saw that there was no trace of staying up late on Roland's face, but maybe it was because the other person's complexion was dark, but he himself had sunken eyes and was very tired.No wonder, after sitting on the beach in the storm for an hour, I am thankful that I did not catch a cold again.

He greeted Roland, and Roland also said good morning to him.

"After this week's room fee is due, I will not continue to live."

He said, watching Roland's reaction with his eyes.

"I understand."

Roland said, what about the reaction?No, as always.But after the scene last night, he already knew that Roland was not without emotion, but just hid his strong emotions in his heart.

"It's almost September, isn't the peak surfing season over?" He asked casually.

"It doesn't matter, there are people surfing in winter." Roland replied.

"Aren't they afraid of the cold?"

"The sea is no colder than the land, and this is Spain."

He nodded, wondering what kind of brave man would dare to surf in winter.

At this time, Garcia and the others walked down the stairs with their luggage, and when they saw him, they greeted him warmly:

"Hello, Mr. Writer."

"You are leaving?"

"Yeah, surf season is over," Garcia said.

He smiled and said that he was still talking about this topic with Roland just now.Garcia looked at Roland, then at him, and smiled.Then they hugged him one by one.Each of the four surfers is tall and big, and he is very close to each other, but it is a pity that he can't understand their language, otherwise they will definitely become better friends.

"Are you coming next year?"

"Come again," Garcia said.

Another also said:

"Of course, life goes on and surfing goes on."

He couldn't understand this fanaticism, which might be similar to his own obsession with reading, so he said:

"Do you really don't want that "One Hundred Years of Solitude"?"

"Forget it, you'd better take it back to China, it's cheaper than the souvenirs sold at the airport."

"Too."

Then they hugged again, and the surfers walked out of the hotel with their bags.He watched them leave.He didn't exchange contact information with them, which was what they agreed, because he knew very well that the more indifferent some relationships are, the longer they can last. If they meet here again a year later, they will still be friends at that time.But if they have exchanged contact information, it will only be awkward when they meet again.He is Chinese and a writer, and he knows it all too well.

After the surfers had left, the hotel fell silent except for him, the late Swiss.But it is said that the Swiss will leave tomorrow, so when he leaves too, will Roland feel lonely without guests in the hotel?

He felt that he was worrying blindly, because Roland always had Pedro in his heart.

He came to the small restaurant to eat alone. This time he saw that the outdoor seats were empty, so he chose to eat in the outdoor seats. For more than 20 days, the proprietress of the restaurant has become very familiar with him, that is, the somewhat bloated blonde woman. At first he thought she was a waiter, but unexpectedly it turned out to be the proprietress, and the proprietress is a chef. Contrary to her, she is tall and thin , with a full beard.

"There are so few people this morning."

When ordering, he greeted the proprietress in English.In fact, she can also speak English, but she always refuses to speak it, as if speaking English in Barcelona is embarrassing.Of course, after getting acquainted with him, I don't have so many scruples. This is a woman who is as bold as a surfer, and every time she serves him a big plate full of dishes.

"Because it rained yesterday, the weather is too cold."

Indeed, it was a bit chilly when I woke up in the morning.

"But it will be hot for a while?" He asked the proprietress. "Summer shouldn't end so soon?"

"Yes, it's usually hot until October, but it's already autumn." The proprietress said.

He ordered sausage, simple and croissants, and for drinks he ordered orange juice.

The proprietress confirmed the menu and returned to the restaurant. He stayed in the open-air seat and was the only customer here.Looking at the cool sea, his heart was clear, he was not thinking about anything, and he didn't care about anything.The sunlight is not strong, and the sparkling light emanating from the sea level seems to be the light of the water itself.Glowing water?What's the moral?There was nothing, but he suddenly wanted to write something, so he waited for the landlady to bring the food and asked her if she could find him a pen.

"And a piece of paper, any paper will do."

"What are you doing? Writing letters to your family?"

The proprietress said it unintentionally, but it pierced his heart—he had no real family anymore, and no one he knew could make him feel concerned if he died on the return flight.

Who said no?No one can tell what will happen in the future. Didn't Pedro die on the same rainy night as last night?

"No, I want to write something, please, I'll pay for it."

"No, it's just a piece of paper, wait a minute."

Soon the proprietress brought an exercise book, probably the homework book used by the couple's children.He thanked her, and then he was not in a hurry to eat breakfast, and pressed the ballpoint pen to write down the thoughts that came out of his heart in the notebook, about life and love.After writing two or three hundred words, when I suddenly looked back, I found that I had formed a genre of my own, as long as I filled in some plots, it could be a novel: a surfer met another surfer, fell in love with him irresistibly, but because of the two Everyone is a man, so where should this love that will not be recognized by the world go?And when they were hesitating and confused, the sad news of his death suddenly came, leaving another person washed by waves of emptiness and regret, washing his heart into a void.

The so-called life is actually like that.

After breakfast, he went back to the hotel in no hurry and took another walk on the beach.

Sometimes I pick up a shell, and sometimes I play with water floats. In short, I do whatever I think of, and I feel extremely relaxed and happy physically and mentally. I neither feel tired nor want to smoke.It seemed that this trip had played a role, but he knew that his change was because of meeting Roland, because of those surfers, and because of all the tourists on this beach who had just met once.It was the stories of all these people that made him understand the truth, which is what was written above: the so-called life is actually that.Being able to let go does not mean that there is no longer any pursuit. You want to be happy, but it is not contentment, but dissatisfaction.He will not give up his pursuit of literature and beauty, but at the same time, he also recognizes the limitations of his abilities and life.The only remaining question was, did I also fall in love with Roland?

He didn't know the answer to the question, and his heart that had finally calmed down felt a little turbulent again.

"Even so," he asked himself again. "So what? Roland only has Pedro in his heart."

Back at the hotel, Roland was typing behind the computer, he came to him without hesitation and asked him:

"Are you writing a novel about Pedro?"

"Um……"

"...I'm not sure if that's the case, but I might have a crush on you."

Roland looked up at him without saying a word.

He didn't say a word either.

Time passed, and the Swiss left the hotel in a blink of an eye, and on the morning he was leaving, two more surfers checked in at the hotel.They were two Frenchmen from Paris. Like Garcia and the others, they were dark-skinned, well-built, and their faces were full of self-confidence after being scorched by the sun.

They waited behind him while he checked out.When he was done, they asked him if he was a surfer too.He smiled, shook his head and said no, it was impossible based on his body shape and skin color.The two Frenchmen laughed too, and there was a false sense of joy in the hotel.

This time, he waited for them to complete the formalities in order to say goodbye to Roland for the last time.

"I'm leaving," he told Roland. "I leave this "A Dream of Red Mansions" to you. You can read it when you have time. It is really well written."

Roland no longer refused and accepted the book.

"I can't say when, but I will come here again, and I will probably learn to swim by then."

"In that case I'll teach you how to surf."

"Okay, I'm afraid I won't be able to learn it no matter how well you teach."

The two looked at each other in silence. For some reason, he suddenly felt that he might never meet Roland again. This was his intuition as a novelist.

In the evening, the plane arrived at Beijing Capital Airport.

No one came to pick him up, of course, because no one knew he was back.He went to the hospital the next day, and the doctor said he was tanned a lot while checking.

"It's not even close to being a surfer."

The result of the examination was gratifying, the shadow in the lungs had disappeared, the doctor smiled, but he was not very happy.

Half a year later, he received a notice from the publishing company that his new book had passed the internal review and was about to be published.

In March, he met a girl, one year younger than him, who was a junior in college, and met him by chance because of her new book promotion work.He didn't have particularly warm feelings for her, but they felt comfortable together, like a soft breeze in the coming Xiao Yangchun.

In April, they officially dated.He had suggested it, and before agreeing to confess, she first asked him if the story of the Barcelona surfer in his book was true.He admitted that there were indeed two surfers in love, one alive and the other dead.

"What about you?" she asked him, looking him straight in the eyes. "Do you like boys too?"

"Spiritually, maybe a little bit, but that has nothing to do with gender."

"Physically?"

"Physically, no."

The girl finally breathed a sigh of relief and said with a smile:

"Because senior was not close to women in college before, and the girls are saying that senior actually likes boys. You also know that girls are generally rotten, right? They will fantasize about these things, so don't be angry, senior... "

He wasn't angry, and even smiled.Suddenly, the question that had troubled me for a long time was awakened by the girl's words. It turned out that I was only attracted by Roland's pure love-a beautiful love that is far from desire.

The author has something to say:

The story has come to an end here. In fact, it can be written again, but I think it is more interesting to stop abruptly~