Writer saves the world

Leaving Erye Tingming's bookstore and walking for about 15 minutes, you will see a dark alley.In the long and narrow alleys without sunlight, there are two or three-story low buildings - the walls are always dirty and full of stains, and the wall skin is peeling off to expose the bricks inside.The ground is slippery and covered with moss, the gutters on the side of the road emit a foul smell, and mosquitoes and flies hover around the garbage everywhere. People on both sides dare not even open their windows in summer.

Lan Tang rented a room on the second floor of the innermost building in this alley, next to small vendors, gangsters, and down-and-out students.

In the dark and cramped room, it is difficult for sunlight to penetrate through the windows. The old furniture and tatami mats are full of holes and mildew. Fortunately, the room is fully equipped with water and electricity, and there is a narrow bathroom with a water heater, even if the bathtub is small. You can't even stretch your legs when you sit in it, and being able to soak your whole body in hot water is also a luxury after a tiring day at work.

After Lantang moved in, he installed air conditioners, heaters, kotatsu and other equipment in the room. Although it ensured the warmth of the house all year round, the monthly utility bills were also horribly high. The quality requirements are very high, and cheap clothes and bedding will make him feel uncomfortable. When he got his first salary, he immediately changed into a full set of three-piece silk suits that are silky, soft and skin-friendly.

The wages of the casino guards are actually not bad, but with Lantang as a trick, even if the wages are increased by ten times, it seems too meager.

Lan Tang was sent to the gate downstairs by Erye Tingming. The tenant living on the first floor heard the sound of the car and opened the door a little to peek out.Lan Tang quickly noticed his gaze, and turned his eyes to look over - the other party was not embarrassed to be discovered by him, so he greeted him with a smile.

"Good day, Mr. Lantang."

The young man was so cold that the tip of his nose was slightly red. The cotton padded jacket he was wearing looked very worn out. It had been patched several times, but it was washed very clean.He put his hands in his sleeves, and when he poked his head, he was shivered by the cold wind passing through the hall.

Lan Tang glanced at the nameplate pasted on the door of his room, and nodded coldly, "Good day, Kindaichi."

This young man named Kyosuke Kanedaichi is an old tenant here, and when Lantang moved in, he enthusiastically came to deliver snacks.According to the landlady's wife, Kyosuke Kindaichi was a high-achieving student in a certain university. After graduation, he made a living writing articles for newspapers, and occasionally did some research on characters.

When the weather was fine, Lan Tang saw Jin Tianyi sitting at the door reading, although he was dressed plain and simple, the books were carefully protected.

Those books were just like the two books in Lan Tang's arms. They were carefully wrapped with wrapping paper or old newspapers, pressed so that the four corners were sharp, horizontal, and vertical, and the titles and authors of the books were pasted on them. stickers, one on the front and one on the spine.

Lan Tang and Kindaichi have not had much contact, and the number of times they usually meet is very small.Lan Tang is not a talkative character, he said hello and went upstairs. He heard voices in the room of the other party, as if he was entertaining some guests, and quickly put the stranger's matter behind him at the corner .

In the room belonging to Lan Tang on the second floor, the air conditioner was turned on, and the stove was burning hot. As soon as he opened the door, he could feel the warmth rushing towards his face, which warmed Lan Tang's stiff body from the cold outside.

The temperature in the kotatsu is also just right.

Lan Tang took out the book in his arms and put it on the table, and immediately burrowed into the kotatsu and wrapped himself tightly with the quilt. After a while, he let out a long breath of cool air, and his body was like a cat being pampered comfortably. That relaxed into a puddle of liquid, and let out a contented sigh.

warmed up.

Usually, after warming up, Lan Tang would quickly hang up the thick coat worth three months' wages, and change into the old clothes worn at home before doing other things, but today's situation is very different. Immediately picked up the "Rimbaud's Poems", whispered the inexplicably familiar name, and couldn't wait to turn to the first page.

He is eager to know his past, a blank memory makes him have no place to stay in this world, living like a dead ghost - even the name [Lantang] is a member of the rescue team It was given to him by the spelling of the letters on the hat he still clutched when he was unconscious.

The hat was carefully placed in the cabinet by him, like the last hope of implicating him in the past.

Lan Tang often feels that the only reason why he is still struggling to live is to pursue the shadow of his past.

The first page of that "Rimbaud" was a portrait.Like a sketch drawn with a pen or black pen, a young man with long hair in a hat is drawn, standing leisurely and casually with a pipe in his mouth and hands in his pockets.

A few lines of French were written on the side of the portrait, and the artist's signature was written on it. The scribbled and blurred handwriting curved and twisted like vines, but Lan Tang trembled slightly, as if he had been hit hard on the head by something.

"Save……"

He touched the signature lightly, carefully as if he was afraid of breaking the name that was about to come out on the tip of his tongue.

"Paul..."

"Paul..."

Lan Tang imitated the pronunciation in his head over and over again, a woman's voice, a man's voice, loud or small, and said the name intimately or tenderly.

Paul, Paul Verlaine.

Such a kind, yet such a strange name.

After speaking Japanese for too long, Lantang's tongue was so stiff that he couldn't pronounce the proper sound, but he knew in his heart how to pronounce the name—he seemed to have recited the name countless times, and he didn't know What is the relationship between the person named Verlaine and himself? It's just that when this name surfaced from the deepest part of his memory, the warm and flickering bubbles that made him happy, but full of bitter aftertaste, bubbled up together.

Rimbaud.

Someone called him that way again, and the flash of blue was like the sea in the night, filling his memory with a cold mist.

——In the past, if I remember correctly, my life was once a grand banquet, where all hearts opened up on their own, and the wine flowed endlessly... I only hope to find the if that opened the old feast, maybe in that way At the banquet, I may regain my appetite, my desire...

——As a person who has been sent to hell, this is my notebook, and I will tear off these extremely disgusting pages and give them to you.

The preface of the collection of poems is the beginning of hell. The broken past that floats up in the deep sea is a cold floating ice, with sharp edges and corners that ruthlessly plunged into Lan Tang's blank memory. Blue, he was trembling all over and couldn't hold the book, the various colors in front of his eyes were mixed into splashed watercolor paintings, his body was so cold in the warm kotatsu that his teeth chattered.

The huge impact made Lan Tang almost unconscious, and his consciousness struggled to float in the grotesque world.The words in the verses turned into light, turned into air, and became like soldiers lined up, enveloping his soul like a storm, giving him sweet sweetness like honey at one moment, and piercing through his body like a wind knife and frost at another moment, turning those intense emotions Intoxicated poison/drug-like emotions poured into his veins.

The twinkling sun has jumped over the proud mountains, and the light spots in the valley are like foam floating...

My eternal soul, I watch your heart...

The whole sun is cruel, the whole moon is bitter...

……

……

—I have embraced the dawn of summer.

The book fell to the ground, and the black-haired youth trembled and curled up into a ball, moaning/groaning in pain, his cheeks were hot and sickly red.

Who is calling him?

Who is watching him?

Whoever cursed him sighed like mourning...

[I am looking up at the moon while smoking a pipe.Depressed with nothing to do.

Wait until the pipe fire is out before you go.After I've passed, after my hollow footsteps, probably only death and blood, pain and sin remain. *】

The stairs outside the room creaked again. It was the tenant who lived on this floor coming back. The landlady downstairs cursed the rent arrears in a shrill voice, and the newborn baby next door cried in fright.

In the room, only Lan Tang struggled alone on the edge of reality and dream. The golden light flickered on and off in the room, distorting the air and folding the light. It was quiet and silent, and the pain was like broken glass all over the floor.

The sun went down early, and the moon shone a little light through the narrow window. The wild dogs and cats were vying for food by the trash can.

One day passed, and another day passed.

The long and cold night chased the moonlight away, and the sun rose slowly, shivering in the cold wind as if afraid of the cold, only weakly shining pale white.

Finally, a pair of eyes in the room opened, staring blankly and quietly out of the window.

The three-story building on the opposite side blocked most of the skylight. With better eyesight, you can see the figure of the woman living on the third floor taking off her makeup by the light from the window. A few birds are parked by the window sill, chirping endlessly .

Arthur Rimbaud lived in such a poor and desolate place for more than half a year - if this kind of thing was known to his former colleagues, they would probably think that he was talking about outdated and silly jokes.

Mallarme might give him a laugh or two, and pat him on the shoulder to let him recognize his personality.

And usually Mr. Verlaine, his partner, is never interested in his jokes to lighten the atmosphere. He just looks at him with those cold eyes, or frowns and asks him to "stop making trouble" and "be serious".

"what."

He couldn't help laughing, and lay down for a long time before he felt his consciousness return to his body.

Those floating, bubble-like memories are interspersed with intermittent memories in his head - he hasn't been able to remember all of them, there are still worrying blanks, but at least his origin and name are clear , no matter the name "Paul Verlaine" given to him by his parents when he was young, or the name "Article Rimbaud" exchanged with his partner, he resettled his wandering soul back into this world.

"Rimbaud sounds better." He said to himself, since his partner probably still uses the name "Verlaine", then the name "Rimbaud" should belong to him.

How strange... Rimbaud thought, he obviously didn't miss the wonderful scene of his partner stabbing him in the back, thanks to him, he was seriously injured and lost his memory, living in a foreign country and almost freezing to death on the street. anger.

Only the sadness and melancholy, which was so faint that it made his stomach sick, pierced into his heart like a rose.

Rimbaud couldn't help cursing, and the blurted "Baga" stunned him again, then he covered his eyes, and let out a bitter smirk in his throat.

The birds outside the window flew away, and the woman who had removed her make-up pulled up the calico curtains to catch up on sleep. The sound of pots and pans collided with the smell of food at noon, but Rimbaud only felt that he was so smelly that he was about to be marinated up.

Rimbaud knew he had to sit up, clean up the mess and take care of his terrible self.He was in a coma for two days, and some embarrassing physiological reactions were inevitable. Just thinking about it for a moment made him want to take off this layer of skin and burn the house down. His stomach convulsed with nausea.

But he just lay there in the end, the inexplicable fatigue made him exhausted even if he moved his fingers.

He thought that Verlaine had probably taken [the child] away.Verlaine will find an ordinary good family for that child, and let him grow up like an ordinary child—not a test object, not a weapon, and grow up as a "human being".

Then the pair of them, no matter whether they were regarded as betrayed and disappeared or died, there was no way for them to return to the motherland.

——Unless Rimbaud truthfully reports what happened, then when he returns, the betrayed Verlaine will be hunted down, and the child who was taken away will become the next "valuable thing".

He will be forcibly taken away from the good family that Verlaine found for him, and even for the sake of secrecy, many, many people will die because of this.

……

This is no longer necessary.

Rimbaud watched another sparrow parked by the window, jumping rhythmically to the buzzing and vibrating sound of the mobile phone.

He lay down for a while, until the phone rang for the third time before he sat up with difficulty and reached for the phone on the table - the caller ID was [Tingming Erye], whose identity was unknown, but never Just an ordinary gambler or bookstore owner.

——Ha, I have committed an occupational disease.

Rimbaud twitched the corners of his mouth, waved away all his speculations about Erye Tingming's identity, and connected the phone.

It's no longer necessary, it's all over.

"I'm Lan Tang." He heard himself say, the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

A cold, mechanical, muscle-memory smile, with no warmth in the eyes.