Moscow Doesn’t Believe in Tears,but in Roses

By Zhu Chengyu

In 1998, I was studying abroad in Russia. On Valentine’s Day, it was snowing heavily in Moscow,with temperatures below freezing. Even so, the rose vendors were bustling on the streets to provide people with the token of love and some comfort for the lovers.

I felt a little detached, for the roses only made me feel colder, as if I was blown into the wasteland of love by a gust of a lovelorn whirlwind. I began to doubt how many lies were hiding in the pervasive oaths of love on earth.

I walked out of a café, where I broke up with Ye, my girlfriend. How ironic!It should be a day for lovers to hold hands while I chose to separate. Leaving without turning back, I knew it was over, like the sounds of steps left behind me, covered with the thick snow. I chose to forget.

I wandered in the street as if swimming in the tides of roses and lies—no matter what, I couldn’t get close to the shore.

“Would you like a bunch of roses,sir?”

“How much?” I asked casually.

“You decide it. Love is priceless, isn’t it?”

Not expecting she would say such thought-provoking words, I was a bit startled. I looked up at her, and saw her frozen purple face smiling at me.

The red roses were spread evenly over her stand, but the business languished.

I picked up a rose. Thinking of my loss in love, I threw one kopeck into the money box. “My love only values so little.” I shrugged my shoulders rascally.

That money was just enough to pity on a beggar.

Holding the rose with nobody to give it to, I felt that it was insulting me with its nobility. I threw it into the air with all my strength, the red petals drifting onto the street along with the snow.

At this moment, the old lady who sold me the rose caught up with me. I thought it might be my behavior which insulted her. “I put my wishes on every petal,” she complained. “You shouldn’t have ruined that rose.”

“But,” I spoke haltingly,“nobody is going to accept my rose.” I told her of my failure in love.

“Go and bring that girl back here, I will tell both of you a story,” she said in a commanding tone.

I was a little hesitant, but still dialed Ye’s phone number. Ye camefinally, braving the snow.

“My children,” the old lady said. “This is a household story here in Russia, but you Chinese may not have heard it. If you don’t mind, I will tell you.” Both Ye and I nodded simultaneously.

“During the Great Patriotic War,” she said, “here was a battlefield. A couple of newlyweds were forced to separate, for the man was going to fight for their country. Before leaving, he said to his wife, ‘Can you stay in this house to wait for me? I promise I will come back.’

“The battle raged on fiercely.One year later, their hometown became the frontline, too.According to the order of the local authority, the locals had to withdraw. But she didn’t, still remembering their appointment.She decided to stay in the house to wait for his return.

“She then became a nurse on the frontline, and the house became the field hospital. She carried the wounded soldiers away, braving a rain of bullets and buried the dead one after another with the other medical workers.

“The battle ended with a victory for the bold Soviet people. But it cost too much. Tragedy continued all over this country, where the people mourned the death of their beloved. She still stayed in the house. One year, two years, and three years passed, she still held the hope in her heart. She said he would come. So she planted many roses in the house, and decorated it as a paradise. She had been waiting for his return from her girlhood till she became an old lady.”

“Did he ever return?” Ye and I asked at the same time.

“No. But that hope is like a lamp lighting her every night,”she continued. “These roses are picked from there, every petal of which is a wish. I just don’t understand why you young people throw your love so easily. Like the rose you threw away, which breaks my heart.”

Ye and I lowered our head.Seeing each other’s reddish faces,we held our hands together again.

My face was burning. I began to feel ill at ease for my behavior—spending one kopeck to buy her rose and then throwing it away.I felt I was the black ash in the pure bright world, which would fl y away. I wanted to fl y away, but without wind I couldn’t.

I thought out a way to make up for my mistake. “Let’s help her sell the roses,” I suggested to Ye.

We found a piece of wood board on which we wrote a sentence,“Moscow does not believe in tears,but in roses.”

People came one after another to buy the roses.

As the light faded, there were only two roses blooming on our stand.

“This is the will of God, my children,” the old lady said, “Look,the two roses are yours. You deserve them, and you should be together forever, shouldn’t you?”

Holding those two “flames”in our hands, our eyes melted the snowflakes. We walked away from the hardship, step by step,to the sunny morning and the spring with strawberries scattered everywhere.

The old lady led us to a house as beautiful as a paradise, where there were flowerpots with a sea of roses in full bloom spread everywhere.

“Are you the heroine in that story?” Ye and I asked, as if it were a myth.

“No, she died a long time ago.I have been living in this house a while, though. With her last breath, she said that, no matter who lives in this house, please just keep the promise to wait for her love and keep the roses alive.”

The old lady continued, “Every Valentine’s Day, I take some of the roses to sell. I want to save some money to repair this house. I can’t stay long, and that is what I can do.”

At the same time Ye and I thought of living in this house,where the unfailing love grows unceasingly. It thaws everyone’s frozen heart, making every day as warm as spring. In its fl ame, I believe that I myself will become a tenacious rose, which beats the lies with an oath, and recalls the true love with its own.

1998年，我正在俄羅斯留學。那一年的情人節，莫斯科很冷，氣溫達到了零下38度，而且天空飄滿了雪。盡管如此，兜售玫瑰的小販們依然不停地穿行于大街小巷，讓這愛情的信物無止無息地燃燒，溫暖著那些置身愛情中的人們。

我是個例外。那些玫瑰只會讓我更加寒冷，因為我被失戀的旋風刮到了愛情的邊緣。我開始懷疑，這漫天飛舞的誓言的雪里到底攙雜著多少謊言的碎屑？

我從傷心的咖啡館里走出來，我剛剛在那里跟葉分手。多么諷刺，這分明應該是一個讓情人們牽手的節日，而我卻選擇分道揚鑣。我頭也不回地走掉，我知道一切都結束了，就像身后的腳印，我走過，然后被厚厚的雪覆蓋住，我忘記。

我漫無目的地走著，穿行在玫瑰和謊言的潮水中，無法靠岸。

“買束花吧，先生。”

一個穿得很單薄的老婦人用干癟的手輕輕拽了拽我的衣角。

“多少錢一束？”我隨口問了一句。

“您看著給吧，感情是沒法標價的不是嗎？”

我微微一怔，沒想到她會說出這樣一句讓人尋思的話來。我抬頭看了看她，冷風將她的臉凍成了醬肉般的顏色，卻沒有阻止她對我微笑。

她的小攤上擺滿了紅紅的玫瑰，可是生意并不好。

我隨手揀了枝玫瑰，想到自己失敗的愛情，便往她那個裝錢的紙箱里扔了1戈比，“我的感情就值這些錢”我聳聳肩，無賴似地說。

那個數目相當于施舍一個乞丐。

我把花拿在手里，無人可送。我感覺到玫瑰異常刺眼，似乎在用它的高貴嘲弄我，我將它奮力地向空中拋去，紅色的花瓣隨著雪花一起飄落在街上。

這時，那個賣花的老婦人從后面追上我，我想大概是我的舉動侮辱了她。“我可是在每一片花瓣上都許下了祝愿的”她埋怨道，“你不該這樣糟蹋鮮花。”

“可是，”我囁嚅著，“再沒有人要我的玫瑰花了。”我向她訴說了剛剛失敗的愛情。

“去把那個惹你傷心的姑娘帶來，我給你們講個故事聽。”她略帶些命令的口吻說。

我有些猶豫，但還是撥響了葉的電話。葉披著雪來了。

“孩子們，”老婦人說，“這是我們這里家喻戶曉的故事，可你們中國人未必聽過。不嫌煩的話，我就給你們講講。”我和葉不約而同地點了頭。

“衛國戰爭的時候，”她講道，“我們這里曾經是戰場。有一對剛結婚不久的青年男女，被迫要分離了，男的要去保衛祖國，臨走前，他對她說，你就在這座房子里等我，我一定會回來。

“戰斗進行得很激烈，也很殘酷。一年后，他們的家鄉也成了前線，按照上級的指示，當地群眾必須全部撤離，但她沒走，她記著他們的約定，她要守在這座房子里，她要等他回來。

“她成了前線的一名護士，而這座房子就成了戰地醫院，她和戰地上的醫護人員們一起冒著槍林彈雨，把受傷的戰士一個一個地抬走，把死去的戰士一個一個地埋掉。

“戰爭結束了，英勇的蘇聯人民取得了最后的勝利，但損失是慘重的，全國都沉浸在哀悼親人的悲痛里。她守在那座房子里，一年，兩年，三年，她始終懷揣著那個希望，她說他一定會回來，她在房子里種下很多玫瑰花，她把那座房子裝扮得像天堂，她等著他回來，從一個少女一直等到一個老太婆……”

“最后她等到了嗎？”我和葉同時問道。

“沒有，可是那個希望就像是一盞燈，堅強地亮著，照耀著她的每一個夜晚。”老婦人接著說，“這個攤子上的玫瑰花就是從那里摘來的，每一片花瓣上都有祝愿的。我真不明白你們這些年輕人，這感情怎么說扔就給扔了呢？就像你剛剛扔掉的玫瑰花，看著讓人心疼……”

我和葉都低下了頭，我們彼此看到了對方微紅的臉，兩雙手又疊到了一起。

我的臉忽然發起燒來，我為自己用1戈比買她的玫瑰花又隨手扔掉而局促不安了，我感到自己像個急切地想飛起來的黑色的灰燼，到處是明晃晃的雪，到處是純凈的世界，只有我，這黑色的極不協調的灰燼，我想飛起來，可是沒有風，我逃不掉。

我想到一個彌補過失的辦法，我對葉說，“我們來幫她賣花吧。”

我們找到一塊木板，在上面寫下很詩意的一句話：莫斯科不相信眼淚，但相信玫瑰。

善良的人們紛紛前來，買走了一束束玫瑰。

天色漸暗的時候，我們的小攤上就只剩下兩束玫瑰在燃燒了。

“這是天意，孩子們，”老婦人說，“你們看這最后的兩束玫瑰，這是你們的，你們應該始終在一起，不是嗎？”

我和葉捧起了那兩束火焰，我們相互凝視的目光融化了很多雪花。我們從愛情的背面一步步地走回來，漸漸走到陽光明媚的早晨，漸漸走到布滿草莓的春天。

老婦人把我們領進了一個天堂般美麗的房子，偌大的房子里到處都擺滿了盛開著鮮花的花盆。

“難道那故事里的主人公就是您？”我和葉像發現了神話一般問道。

“不，她早已去世了。我已經是第十二個住進這房子的人了。她在臨終時說過，不論誰住進這房子，都請替她履行等待的義務，別讓那些玫瑰們枯萎。”

老婦人接著說：“每年的情人節，我都會拿一些玫瑰花去賣，我想攢些錢把房子好好修葺一下，我待不了太久，我能做的只有這些了。”

我和葉幾乎同時想到了要住進這房子中來，這里生長著永不泯滅的生生不息的愛。它讓我們一顆顆冰冷的心慢慢解凍，讓所有的明天都溫暖如春，在它的火焰里，我相信自己最終也會挺立成一株頑強的玫瑰，用誓言去擊敗謊言，用真愛去喚回真愛。