Valparaiso

 　　The journey to Valparaiso has no end on the ground or in words.

　　——Neruda, "I confess that I have experienced vicissitudes of life"

　　"Valparaiso is mysterious, the terrain is undulating, and the road is twisty."

　　This is what Neruda said. It is not clear whether it is mysterious or not, but the terrain is ups and downs and the road is twisty. From Santiago to Valparaiso, we don't know how many hills we have crossed and how many turns we have turned before we hear the sound of the sea. Lao Song drove me with him and talked about Chinese literature in Latin America all the way. Lao Song, a professor at the University of Chile, invited me to teach students about Chinese literature and writing. Seeing that three months have passed, I haven't been to Valparaiso yet, and Lao Song felt that he was negligent, and he wanted to take me there anyway. Literary tour of Chile, this one is a prescribed action. There are three former residences of Neruda in Chile. I have been to both Santiago and Isla Negro, only one short of Valparaiso.

　　Over a hill, the sea gleamed ahead, and the May sun cast a layer of gold and silver foil on the sea. After a few more turns, we entered the ancient city of Valparaiso.

　　Not much different from travel guides and online introductions, this is a city you'll love when you meet it. Walking through the stone streets of the old city and among the scattered dwellings halfway up the mountain, you will indeed feel like the old days. Those large and small houses were painted colorful, like a pile of scattered Rubik's cubes, waiting for a pair of mysterious hands to sort them out. The gables of the house were covered in graffiti, in bold reds and greens, and I bet there were at least a hundred portraits of Neruda among the graffiti all over the hills. Sketch, watercolor, realistic, comic, half-length, full-body, single, collective. This is a city that pays tribute to Neruda, and it is also a city that belongs to literature and poetry. The only surprise was that Neruda's former residence was temporarily closed for renovations.

　　The former residence is on the mountain, 300 pesos per person, and the cable car took us to a platform halfway up the mountain. As Lao Song as a guide, we went up and down the steps, then up and down the steps, and walked through the scattered houses built on the edge of the mountains. Based on the increasing density of Neruda-themed graffiti, I knew the great poet's house was coming.

　　It was a small building with a main body of three floors, painted in bright sun red, with an oval-shaped attic on the third floor and a tree in front of the door. The yard is not big, but in the middle of the mountain, such a platform is quite rare. There is a sign on the door that reads "No visit due to repairs". The staff made sorry gestures to us inside the glass door. Lao Song felt very guilty and said that if he brought me earlier, he would not be closed. I said it’s good to have some regrets. This is the country farthest from China in the world. It’s not easy to come here without thinking about it. We circled around the house. I'm joking, ten laps around the outside is worth a look inside. Neruda picked a good place. Up there were houses that climbed up the stairs, and down, there were more houses that fell down in layers, all the way to the sea. Beyond the blue sea, there are mountains and cities. Neruda stood on his balcony, smoking a cigar, drinking tea, and composing poetry. His eyes could glide out obliquely like a bird, and a fairy-tale colorful world and a vast world unfolded before him.

　　Come down from the mountain and go to the old town. Valparaiso, in Spanish, roughly means "going to heaven", which is equivalent to Suzhou and Hangzhou in China. Of course, a good place is indispensable, and there are scenes everywhere. But a lot of good times means no good times. A table full of braised pork will make you feel full when you look at it. I invited Lao Song to smoke a cigarette in Sotomayor Square. We were sitting on the steps in front of the statue of General Platt, it was late May in Chile, and the stones were starting to freeze. General Platt directed Chile's Gulf War with Peru and Bolivia that year, winning more with less. At this moment, two seagulls are parked on the shoulders of the national hero, and more seagulls are flying above his head. The first cigarette had just been pinched out, and three middle-aged women came, one of them was a brown-red complexion who had been exposed to the sun for a long time by the sea or on the plateau. The sea breeze blew their hair, and their faces were shattered, making it impossible to tell who was who. Two women wore old leather boots that could be worn in the next month, and one wore a pair of embroidered cloth shoes. They reached out to us collectively.

　　I handed the cigarette I just pulled out to the woman in brown booties, she took it, said something I didn't understand, ignored it, and continued to smoke the other two women. They all picked it up, took out their lighters and lit them, stood in front of us smoking, and had no intention of leaving. Lao Song stood up, "Let's go and see the Chilean Navy." After speaking in Chinese, he repeated it in Spanish. "Go" and "Chile" in Spanish I understand. He probably thought the stone was too cold. We have already seen the Admiralty diagonally opposite. After leaving the square, Lao Song said:

　　"Gypsies, they want money."

　　No wonder they didn't leave after taking the draw.

　　All I have to say is that these women met again in the old port in the afternoon.

　　After lunch came out of the restaurant, Lao Song parked his car in the open space next to the port, and we both got sober by the beach. I didn't drink much, two people had a bottle of dry dew red wine. Grilled cod and ham, Valparaiso people call it "boat", the lady boss said, this dish is spoiled without red wine. Of course not to waste, this wine has to be drunk. Sure enough, with wine as a meal, fish and meat are not tired. You can't drink and drive, and no one can check. Lao Song is very enlightened. He also wanted to show me the old port while I was sober.

　　There are many idlers in the port, and there are more stones. It is hard to imagine that so many bizarre boulders can come together. The layers of stones by the sea are like houses piled up on the Valparaiso Mountains, and the shore is full of tall and majestic concrete piers, shaped like a chaotic jungle. Young men hide behind these flood-proof mounds and kiss, and the homeless, covering their faces with hoods, leans against the concrete mounds, dozing off in the sun as they curve. When Lao Song and I were walking through the jungle, three women emerged from behind a concrete block. Although I can't tell their faces, I'm sure they're right, two pairs of short boots that are about to wear out, one pair of bare feet, the embroidered shoes tucked into the belt tied at the waist. They stretch out their hands. I took a cigarette out of my pocket and gave each of them one. By the time they reached the third one, Lao Song and I were already separated by two cement blocks from them. Safe. We descended from the breakwater to the boulders by the sea. The waves crashed against the black stone, hitting the snow like a peacock's screen. In the distance there is a ship larger than a stone, and in the distance there is still a ship, and then there is the vast sea and sky. Valparaiso is bright and clear.

　　The sea breeze blew for more than an hour, and the alcohol of ten degrees dissipated. We patted our sober foreheads and decided to go back to San Diego. When I got to the breakwater, I even looked around. There was no shadow of the three women, and I felt a sense of relief. Lao Song drives. I opened the passenger side door to get in the car, and a pair of bare feet appeared beside the car. Looking up along the woman's feet, there is no suspense. I first saw the embroidered cloth shoes on the waist, then the face covered by the messy hair, and finally her hands. Holding a deck of playing cards in his hand.

　　I went back to my pocket for a cigarette. She blocked me and casually split the cards in half, pinching half in one hand. I glanced at the card, and with the only knowledge of tarot cards, I recognized that it was the Waite Tarot, because each card had a story screen that could be linked to each other.

　　"You can't leave." The barefoot woman said quietly. She spoke for the first time, in English, "Here's what it says." She clasped her hands together, the tarot hitting the tarot with a startling dull sound.

　　In a panic, I shoved the half-pack of cigarettes I took out between her hands, hunched over and got into the car, slamming the door. I said to Lao Song:

　　"Quick, drive."

　　The woman was still standing outside the car window, and there seemed to be a smile behind her gray messy hair. Our car left the old port.

　　Pass by the sea and into the hills. Twenty minutes later, Lao Song stopped the car on the side of the road, and we decided to get out of the car to have a look. It's been bumping all the way, like it's been passing the speed bump. It was not very obvious at first, the car jumped occasionally, we thought it was an illusion caused by the nervous heartbeat, but we didn't take it seriously. The frequency of jumping became higher. We thought it was a problem with the road. I also opened the car window and stuck my head out, and found that there were indeed many small stones on the ground. Continue to go. Until there was a rhythmic rhythm, Lao Song and I looked at each other and suddenly stopped talking.

　　The right rear tire is flat. Yesterday, he had just overhauled the car wash in front of his home. The experienced car wash master patted the front of the new car and said that it would be no problem to go back and forth to Punta Arenas. Punta Arenas is the southernmost city in Chile and the southernmost mainland city in the world, 3,000 kilometers from Santiago. We only came to Valparaiso, 120 kilometers, and the road conditions couldn't be better.

　　The tires were limp on the road. "Someone moved." Lao Song was an old driver.

　　"Could it be," I said, "those three gypsy women?" There was no

　　other possibility. We briefly reviewed the story: there were more than one car parked in the vacant lot of the port, but only our SUV was the largest, dazzlingly white, and completely a horse out of a flock. They must have seen us get out of the car. During our time at the beach, it was enough for them to tear the car into eight pieces and put it back together. A stab at the tire for two seconds is enough.

　　"This kind of thing happens often?"

　　Lao Song said, "Everything is possible."

　　All right. But Lao Song did not bring a spare tire. We stood on the side of the road and watched the car collapse to the right rear. This is a white horse that always wants to sit back. Going back to Valparaiso would definitely not work, the wheels of the car could not stand it; if he continued to run with an injury, Lao Song had no idea, he couldn't remember how far there was a car repair shop in front of him, if it was too far, go back to Valparaiso Just as unrealistic. Lao Song made a road rescue call first, and it was not connected until the third time. He replied that there were many accidents today, and several teams were busy, and it was expected that they would arrive at the accident site in three hours. Lao Song was so angry that he wanted to drop his mobile phone. After three hours, he could call the rescuers from San Diego to come and go. But no way, this place belongs to Valparaiso. Call the repair shop in Valparaiso, they don't do it. Besides, there is no evidence. If you "funny you", who will pay for it? It's useless for me to blame myself. If it wasn't for my panic and stinginess, those three women might not have made such a cruel attack. Lao Song told me not to worry, there are always more methods than problems.

　　At 4:30 in the afternoon, the sunshine in Chile is not as good as before. Time did not wait, and the result of the discussion was that Lao Song returned to Valparaiso by car, and took the money to bring the master of the car repair shop directly. I stayed to watch the car. This is the most efficient way we can think of.

　　Lao Song took an Audi. Before that, the two of us pushed the car onto a safe slope five meters from the curb. The grass on the slope is yellow, and a few Chilean channeling birds are jumping on the branches of the bushes. I picked a flat stone and sat down. After reading five or six of Neruda’s poems, my drowsiness rose from the collection of poems, “A House on Earth.” I climbed into the car, put the seat down, and lay down.

　　When I woke up, there was a dark shadow in the sky, and when I looked at my mobile phone, the screen was also black and the battery was out. Old Song was sparse, and he didn't leave the car keys when he left. He couldn't charge the car in the car, nor did he check the time in the car. I stretched out of the car. Seeing that the night was like a black curtain falling from the sky, Lao Song couldn't get in touch with me. If he was in a hurry, he might have missed it when he stepped on the accelerator. I climbed into the car, sat on the roof and lit a cigarette. In this wilderness, you can't see a car and the person sitting on the roof, and it is easy to find the cigarette butts that are clearly extinguished. Sure enough, at this gentle turn, most of the vehicles passing by occasionally slowed down in order to understand why a small red light suddenly flashed in mid-air. Another guy opened the car window and yelled at me:

　　"Good job."

　　It was completely dark, and I don't know what time it was at night. Two headlights came over, obviously not on the right track, the lights came straight towards me. I didn't stand up all of a sudden. I sat cross-legged for a long time, and my legs were numb and soft. The lights froze, and I covered my eyes. I knew it wouldn't be Lao Song. It was coming from the direction of San Diego. I still asked,

　　"Is Lao Song?" The

　　window was lowered, and a female voice spoke Spanish. Seeing that I didn't answer, she switched to English and asked, "Do you want to help?"

　　"Thank you, then tell me what time it is." The

　　other party must think this request is a bit weird, she laughed and said: "Chile time, 6:26 pm."

　　"Thank you." My legs regained consciousness and I jumped out of the car.

　　The other party also got out of the car. In the peripheral vision of the headlights, you can see that it is a beautiful girl, tall, with long hair, wearing a black leather jacket. "The car broke down?"

　　"Well, my friend went to the repairman."

　　"Can't start?"

　　"The keys were taken away. How do you know the car can't start?"

　　"It's cold, who would sit there? The roof of the car is heated by smoking?" I

　　met a smart and interesting person. I shrank my neck and jumped on the spot, handed over the cigarette case, "How about one?"

　　She was polite, took out one, sniffed it on her pursed upper lip, and said, "China Japanese? I guess Chinese."

　　"Why is it Chinese?" "It 　　tastes

　　like."

　　I reached out to her, "Old Revolutionary."

I took my hand. "I've been in Cuba for half a year."

　　I said, "Comrade."

　　She laughed again, "Comrade." When she lit her cigarette, she shuddered, let out a puff of cigarette, and said, "It's dewy, come to my car. pumping."

　　Royal blue Chevrolet. She drove the car up the slope, parked next to Lao Song's Nissan, and I sat in the passenger seat. There's a bottle of perfume above the dial, which I love about lavender. She closed the bottle cap. "Let it work when you're done smoking."

　　One, two, two girls. "Chilean?"

　　"Maybe Mexican too."

　　The answer was unique. "Dual nationality?"

　　"The nationality is Mexican. My dad is Chilean, of course that's what my mom said." It happens all the time

　　. If you go on to ask about privacy, that's it. I took out my phone and asked if I could borrow the power supply in her car to recharge it. I asked cautiously. If you want to charge, you will waste time. This night, she is still in the barren mountains and mountains, and she is a big girl. Unexpectedly, she readily agreed.

　　"Charge for as long as you like," she said, finding the charging cable. It turns out to be omnipotent. I don’t know if it is produced by us in Yiwu. Anyway, there is always an interface suitable for you. "Just be in Valparaiso before twelve o'clock."

　　"Anything?"

　　"Meet my mother. Tomorrow my father's birthday, she has to celebrate with me."

　　"I take the liberty to ask, where is your father?" 　　"

　　Who knows. Don't talk about me. What do you do?"

　　"Test your eyesight."

　　"An artist?

　　"

Do a little divination. Don't you believe it? Are you cold? I'll turn on some warm air."

　　"Of course I do," I said. An understanding girl, it's a bit cold. "I believe that you are an angel." The

　　girl laughed. "Another one." She held the cigarette between her lips and brought her head to catch the fire. I pressed down the lighter, and the red and yellow flames illuminated her face, with a high nose bridge, thick eyebrows, big eyes, and clear and soft lips. Whiter than a Mexican, her mom was right, and his dad was probably Chilean.

　　"What are you looking at? Fire!"

　　"Sorry sorry," I handed the fire up. "I've lost my temper. I've never seen a girl as beautiful as you

　　.

　　" Girl, I never lie." She might be pissed if she went on talking, and after a while, she could turn on the phone.

　　"Really?"

　　I said the truth. The phone was on and it was quiet. No calls came in, no text messages. She stood up suddenly and gave me a quick kiss on my left cheek. I turned my face to look at her, and she got up again and brought her mouth over at the same speed. She wanted to laugh after the kiss, but I didn't give her a chance. I was faster than her and wrapped my arms around her neck. Can't let her go back. There are no more than three things. Of course, things cannot exceed three times. Two times are enough.

　　How long the two mouths full of flue-cured tobacco taste have been seamlessly connected, without a watch, and without a mobile phone, I can't estimate. There is no need to estimate. We have time this late autumn night. I can't wait for Lao Song for a while, and she doesn't seem to be willing to see her mother early. Putting the time aside, I focused my attention on her tongue, which was a ballerina, flexible, powerful, and jumping superbly.

　　Finally able to catch her breath, her eyes suddenly focused, she stared at me for more than five seconds, her voice spoke an octave, almost in a whisper, and said, "Go to the back."

　　I got out of the car, the lights were turned off. By the time I opened the back door, she had passed through the space between the two front seats and into the back seat. She is not small and much more flexible than I imagined. The three seats in the back are also more spacious than I thought.

　　The boundless darkness of Valparaiso shrouded. The dew fell on a lonely, wobbly, royal blue Chevrolet sedan. Of course, in the eyes of the awake Chilean stray bird, this strange car must also be black at the moment.

　　The phone suddenly rang in the front seat. I chose the incoming call alert music, jingle bells. It should be Lao Song, and he finally believed it. I reached out to touch the phone, and she pulled it back.

　　"No pick up," she said.

　　We let the bell go on and on until only the two of us were left in the car.

　　Finally, we also quiet down. I called Lao Song back. Lao Song kept saying sorry on the other end of the phone. He didn't expect the house to leak and it was rainy. It took him a long time to find a car repair shop. He managed to convince the master to work in the field. He couldn't eat hot tofu in a hurry. . After a long time, the traffic police just finished the formalities. Don't worry, you'll be there in half an hour. I translated Lao Song's words into English for her to listen to. She straightened her clothes and lowered her head shyly and said,

　　"Tell him, don't worry, we are very fulfilled during this time."

　　I laughed. Her name is Elena. She turned on the headlights and found water for me to drink from the bags and convenience bags that had been hastily pushed off the seat. First fish out a bag behind the front seat, and then find a cloth bag under the rear seat. The bag is embroidered with Mexican flowers, and there is a cactus flower on each side of the cloth bag.

　　"What is this?" I asked.

　　"My mother's shoes. She only wears cloth shoes."

　　"Can you enjoy it?"

　　She handed over a bottle of mineral water. I opened the bag straps, and the first thing I saw was the embroidered pattern on the toe cap. I put the straps on, like I can't see anything.

　　"Why does Lingtang only wear embroidered cloth shoes?"

　　"I like it. To be precise, my father likes it."

　　I hesitated and then asked: "Where is Lingzun now?"

　　"You have to ask God. Ever."

　　"Dead?"

　　"Maybe. My mom thinks he's just missing, hiding somewhere in Chile and won't come out. Not even if he doesn't come out. My mom swears he'll be in a mouse hole. He finds it out."

　　"So she searched all over the world, even at the expense of begging for food?"

　　"That's right. The women in our family are all stubborn, and they will never let go until they die. You can pinch them too. Can you count?"

　　"I've read a few pages of tarot cards. What do you mean by eye-to-eye?"

　　"I don't know." She said, rubbing her cheeks slowly on my beard that had grown for a day, More and more words, "Do you know tarot cards? I also know a little bit, my mother taught it. She is accurate. So I don't advise her to do anything, and it's useless. By the way," she turned her head to I stepped back and held my face in my hands. The dim light flashed in the eyes that came closer, inch by inch, "What's your name?" The

　　phone rang again, it was Lao Song. I gestured to Elena and said,

　　"Wait a minute, take a call first."

　　I wanted to ask Lao Song how much he knew about those stray gypsy women besides cigarettes and money.