Day 07 21:00
He Zhiyuan only learned the news of Boob's illness after a regular call at night.
Song Ran originally planned to hide it to the end, but he knew that He Zhiyuan would not be able to fly back for a while. If he knew that Bu Bu was ill, he could only worry about it in the distance. But he overestimated his concentration. As soon as the phone was connected, He Zhiyuan's magnetic voice entered his ears. He was like a leaking kettle with seven or eight eyes, and leaked all the secrets.
After the leak, he worked hard to remedy it, saying that Boo Boo's fever had subsided, so He Zhiyuan should not worry.
This is not a lie.
Bubu's spirit is really good, lying in Songran's arms chatting with his father, his words are crisp, and he is particularly energetic. It's just that the sick child is more or less fragile than usual, chatting and chatting, suddenly pursed his mouth and rolled down two strings of tears.
"Baba, I miss you so much." Bubu said sobbing, "I haven't seen you for a long time, a long time."
Mr. He has been away on business for a week, which is a long enough separation for the four-year-old. Song Ran hugged Bu Bu, comforted him with her body temperature, and lowered her head to kiss his little face.
The rest of the time belonged to the father and son, Song Ran stayed by the side, listened to He Zhiyuan's kind words to comfort Bobu, and occasionally added a few words just right.
He Zhiyuan promised to return to China on April 18, and Songran cooperated by saying that he would draw a calendar with hollow footprints for Bobu, and Bobu painted one with a crayon every day. When it was full, Dad would go home. . He Zhiyuan said that when he came back from a business trip, he would tell stories to Boob every night, and Song Ran cooperated and said, let's pick out our favorite story books one by one, and let Dad tell which one we want to listen to.
It's amazing that young children always have a precise sense of sincere care, and children who are loved and bathed will never cry for too long.
Bu Bu quickly stopped his tears and said to the other end of the phone, "Baba, come back early, my brother and I... Well, we're all waiting for you."
"I will." He Zhiyuan said, "You also have to listen to your brother's words, take good care of your illness, and tell him if you feel uncomfortable, understand?"
Boob nodded: "Okay."
It was half past nine after the call was over, and it was time to go to bed. Song Ran checked the pimples all over the place, and there were dozens of them scattered, not too serious, so he left a glass of warm water on the head of the bed, put a small pillow in his arms, and patted his back lightly. , coax him to sleep.
When I came out, the phone on the coffee table was vibrating.
It's He Zhiyuan's number.
Song Ran was surprised, bent down to pick up the phone, and answered the call: "Mr. He?"
"Songran, I just remembered something that I need to confirm with you." He Zhiyuan said straight to the point, "Have you ever had chickenpox before?"
"what?"
He Zhiyuan emphasized: "You should know that chickenpox is very contagious. If you haven't had chickenpox as a child and lack antibodies, you should stay away from Boob now."
"This... this is no problem." Song Ran threw himself into the sofa relaxedly, and said indifferently, "Didn't I say before, I have a large group of younger siblings. There are so many children in the family, one has acne and the other has acne. I have to follow along, I'm sure I can get through."
To be honest, Song Ran has never had anything to do with the word "lucky" since he was a child.
He has lived in the orphanage for ten years. He stumbles and scrambles in the pile of children all the way to adulthood, and every unfortunate thing has to happen again. To say that this kind of constitution can escape chickenpox by luck, he doesn't believe it himself.
It's a pity that his "reasoning" is too far-fetched, and in He Zhiyuan's eyes, it's completely unsatisfactory.
He Zhiyuan asked again: "Are you sure?"
Song Ran smiled: "I'm not very sure, but it should be..."
"There is no should, only 'get it' and 'haven't got it'." He Zhiyuan was persistent, not allowed to be fooled, and his tone became unprecedentedly severe. He raised his wrist and glanced at his watch, calculated the time difference, and said, "It's not yet ten o'clock, so I shouldn't have slept at home? Song Ran, call your parents to confirm, otherwise I won't worry."
Song Ran was stunned: "For... For parents... "
He Zhiyuan keenly caught a trace of strangeness: "Is there a problem?"
"No, no!" Song Ran hurriedly covered up, "Then... I hang up first?"
"Okay." He Zhiyuan said, "Remember to send me a message after asking."
After hanging up the phone, Song Ran sat alone on the sofa, holding the phone and rubbing his knuckles silently.
People cannot lie.
The first lie has to be filled with hundreds of subsequent lies, and the more you make up, the more holes you will leave. When the holes can no longer be filled, lies will be ruthlessly exposed.
He beautified the experience of the orphanage and pretended that he had a big lively family in front of Mr. He, so now, he was pushed into a new predicament - at ten o'clock in the middle of the night, the staff of the orphanage in T city had already left work. Who to call? Even if it does get through, who will remember if a child who left seven years ago had chickenpox
No one will remember.
there has never been.
Ten minutes passed in a blink of an eye, Song Ran couldn't drag it any longer, and his fingers jumped on the keys, sending a message.
"I asked my mother, I had chickenpox."
His eyes were fixed on the screen of the mobile phone, and he saw that the symbol of this information bubble changed from "sent" to "read", and after more than ten seconds, a new white bubble jumped out - "Okay, I'm relieved ."
Song Ran threw the phone aside, closed his eyes, and exhaled wearily.
The next day, Boob's fever subsided, his body temperature dropped to 37 degrees, and his appetite basically returned to normal. After breakfast, Songran took him to the balcony to bask in the sun, killing germs by the way. He sat on a velvet mat in a little yellow duck pajamas, read picture books for a while, played a game of push ball with Budoudou, and stepped on each other's tails. Play.
Ducks have short tails, cats have long tails, and Boobu has the advantage of the species. You can win by twisting your butt flexibly, and you're in a good mood.
Song Ran stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and made a call to the T City Welfare Institute.
He wanted to confirm his medical history.
City T is a small fourth- and fifth-tier city in an inland province. The children's welfare home occupies a small area, with short buildings and poor facilities. The quality of the employees employed is uneven. The uncle in the archives was 50 minutes late in the morning, brewed a jar of coarse leaf tea, spread out a mimeographed magazine, tore off a page of advertising paper and rolled up pancakes to eat, and soon became immersed in the erotic story of a senior official and a mistress. So much so that when he was interrupted by an unknowable phone ring, he "tsk" extremely displeased.
Song Ran politely explained his intention, the uncle chewed two pancakes, and perfunctory him in a strong local accent: "Yes, yes, none of our children here can't pass."
As he said that, he wanted to hang up the phone.
"Wait! Can... Could you please check it out for me?" Song Ran hurriedly asked, "Mr. Jiang said before that our medical records will also be kept on file, and they should be in the archives."
The uncle's face immediately turned ugly.
He put down the pancake heavily, pushed aside the magazine with the bust of the actress, opened the registration form, and asked impatiently, "Name, age, year of admission."
"Song Ran, Song Ran, of course Ran, 23 years old, admitted to the hospital in February 2001."
The uncle scribbled down the information and threw the pen away: "I'll check it out now."
He said so, but the actual action was to open the magazine, find the article "Senior Officials and Mistresses, a Bloody Rose Trap" just now and continue reading. Five minutes later, after reading this cliché story, he opened his mouth and scolded the mother, only to remember that Song Ran was still hanging on the other end of the phone, so he picked up the receiver and said indiscreetly, "After checking, you have chickenpox."
Song Ran didn't hear the table and chairs moving, and he didn't hear the sound of walking. He only heard the flipping of pages nearby. Naturally, he was puzzled and asked, "What year did I get it?"
The other side lost patience and got angry: "What's the matter with you child? You have to pass if you can. I only check it once, believe it or not!"
Then, the phone was hung up.
Song Ran put down the phone, looked at the pitch-black screen, shook his head and smiled sarcastically—seven years later, the orphanage is still the same, unchanged, and it makes people feel chills across the phone.
A long time ago, there was a faded banner hanging at the gate of the orphanage in Songran's memory, with slogans such as "belonging to the happy family shared by children". Adults always like to say, this is your home, you are brothers and sisters, teachers are father and mother, how happy life is. During Chinese New Year and festivals, TV stations and newspapers routinely come to interview, as long as they can guide the children to face the camera and say, "The orphanage is my home," the task is considered a successful completion.
But every child knows that the orphanage is not a real home.
The concept of "home" is too slender and too fragile. It is like a glass sculpture held on pearl velvet, and a small impact will break it into pieces. Sometimes, when the children are about to believe, a remark that is too sympathetic, close to humiliation, a cold look that is openly caring and secretly disgusting, or like today, when they are sick and ask the uncle in the archives to help, they will Immediately wake up and realize - this is not home.
No matter how many colorful decorations are on the walls or how many bouquets are on the table, this is not home.
Song Ran raised his head, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the twelfth floor, there were rows of very similar glass windows on the opposite side. He turned his head to look at the balcony again, and a blurred beam of sunlight penetrated the clouds and sprinkled evenly into the room. Boob hugged the big fluffy ball of hair, bare feet, curled up under the dangling bluebells and fell asleep.
He quietly walked over, sat beside the child, and covered him with a small blanket.
So, what is home
Home should be a place where some people who accompany each other live, and one person's life will become a common memory for others. Your family will remember which year and month you suffered from chickenpox, whether you had a fever, whether you shed tears, and how you survived day by day until you recovered. When you grow up, you lose the fragmented and vague memories of your childhood, and only your family members keep them intact for you.
Because they remember each other, they won't be helpless wherever they go.
Song Ran stretched out his hand and poked Bo Bu Bu's small round face.
it's okay.
Although no one has collected his memories, he is not sure whether he has had chickenpox or not. However, he and Bobu have been together for so many days, and they are a little grasshopper on a rope. It's contagious, so why worry too much.
Now, taking care of Boob is the most important thing.