Bill's father died a week after Bill turned eleven.
Big Bill was a porter at the dock. On the day of the accident, he was hit by a box full of frozen fish on his left toe, and the bone was shattered like a crushed peanut.
After being hastily treated at a hospital not far from the dock, Big Bill went home to rest. Unexpectedly, the wound turned out to be tetanus.
Big Bill had a high fever for three days, and finally passed away talking nonsense.
A strong man in his thirties died like this.
When watching his father's body being put away, Bill couldn't believe that all this was really happening.
He looked at his father's livid face, feeling that he would wake up at any time, and then laughed so hard that the beard on his lips turned up, and the wrinkles around his eyes spread to his cheeks, and then he said that this was just to tease him.
But the father did not wake up after all, and the body with a special smell was taken away by people.
Bill's mother left the father and son very early. His father was a rare man among dock workers who did not drink, and he was also very kind to Bill. They have a good relationship as father and son.
When something like this happened, Bill always felt that he should cry, but the strange thing was that he couldn't cry.
This made him feel a little panicked, like one day when the day was extremely long and the night went nowhere. When something like this happens, it always makes people feel panicked.
To deal with the panic, Bill did something.
He first cleaned up the house and tidied it up according to his father's teachings and requirements. The clothes were all hung up and sorted into categories, and the boots were polished.
His father once said: A man must live a decent life without a woman by his side.
Then he went to settle some personal scores.
The Woody Brothers were a bunch of little bastards from downtown. Once they blocked Bill in a public toilet and beat him because they didn't like him.
At this time, he didn't have any fear in his heart, so he went to the Woody brothers to settle the score. A man found them on the street and started fighting with them with wooden sticks. He beat the two brothers and two skinny followers until they lay on the ground. on the ground,
My father said: A man must maintain his dignity.
After this battle, he was seriously injured. One of his eyes was swollen, and he couldn't see anything. His ears were buzzing, and there was a slight pain in his chest when he inhaled. He suspected that his ribs were broken.
A few minutes after the fight, the pain finally surfaced, and he felt pain in several places all over his body that made him gasp for air.
Although it hurt, he still couldn't cry. My heart felt like I had been given an anesthetic by a doctor. The pain never appeared, which made people very suspicious.
He didn't want to go home yet, so he was limping down the street in the lower city. People who saw him didn't know what was wrong with him.
Soon, he walked near the park and saw a boy sitting quietly on a bench.
He held a red pen in his hand and was holding a brown book, writing something on it. His eyes were very serious, and there was a sense of contentment and leisure in that seriousness. Bill envied people with such eyes.
Bill had seen this boy of his own age, and he knew his name was Wordsworth. However, he didn't know what he was doing at the moment.
Seemingly attracted by the calm and comfortable atmosphere around Wordsworth, Bill sat next to him.
"What are you doing?" Bill asked.
Wordsworth raised his head from his own world, turned around and saw Bill who was obviously injured, but he didn't look too surprised.
He turned the notebook in his hand towards Bill at an angle so that he could see the beautiful handwriting on the notebook: "I'm trying to write an opera libretto."
"Opera? Script?"
"Well..." Wordsworth capped his pen, "That's the story.
“I’m trying to write my own story.”
"Why write a story?" Bill couldn't understand. It seems that you can’t make money by writing stories. If you don’t make money, how can a man support himself? ——Why write stories?
Wordsworth heard an interesting question. He frowned and tilted his head, showing an expression that an eleven-year-old boy would not usually show: "I don't know. Just like wanting to go out for a walk on a sunny day, nothing too specific. Reason. When I have free time, I want to write stories.”
Bill had just learned how to spell the words "seagull" and "steel" when this Wordsworth actually started writing stories.
This had to make him feel a little admired.
"Can I read your story?" Bill suddenly asked.
Wordsworth looked a little surprised, but soon calmed down. He looked at the lines of writing in the notebook and said, "Okay. But the notebook is not complete yet. Can I tell you the big concept of the story?"
Not one to refuse a story, Bill sniffed and nodded.
Wordsworth patiently opened the book to the first few pages and began to speak slowly.
It is a very simple story, but Wordsworth describes it brilliantly using all the words and phrases an eleven-year-old boy knows.
The story takes place in ancient times. There was a town surrounded by city walls that was targeted by an evil dragon. The evil dragon guarded outside the city. Anyone who dared to leave the city would be eaten by him. Therefore, no one dared to leave the city.
But if this continues, without anyone going out to hunt or buy things, people in the city will starve to death. They held a meeting and decided to send people to put on armor and hold swords to kill the dragon.
This matter should be completed by young people in the prime of life, but the young people in the city were busy marrying wives, having children, eating, drinking and having fun, and did not dare to go out of the city. In the end, the discussion came to nothing.
People would rather starve to death in the city than go out and challenge the dragon for everyone.
However, some people are different from everyone.
One night, an old man who was not popular with young people in the city put on his armor, picked up his sword, and went out of the city alone.
This old man had no family and no worries. He couldn't bear to watch the people in the city starve to death like this. So, since there were no warriors, he decided to be that warrior.
Choosing to set out at night was not only to avoid being noticed, but also to sneak attack while the evil dragon was sleeping.
The ending of the story is that after dawn, people found that the evil dragon was dead, and the old man in armor also died next to the evil dragon. He and the dragon died together.
Bill realized that Wordsworth had indeed written an opera libretto. He wrote rhyming lyrics for the old hero and sang them in an aria. Although his voice was childish, it was still inspiring.
Listening to Wordsworth telling the ending of the story, the soul that had been numb seemed to be awakened by something, like a frozen stream suddenly starting to flow.
Bill's nose felt sour, and a surge of heat surged in his heart, rushing directly to his eyes. The tears just flowed down.
Bill knew why he was crying: when Wordsworth was telling the story, he saw the figure of the old man who slayed the dragon.
Although the age did not match, the man he saw wearing armor and holding a sword was his father, Old Bill.
In this story, the father no longer died because he hit his toe while carrying a wooden box of frozen fish. He died like a hero.
Bill's tears flowed freely at first, then he cried bitterly, and finally burst into tears. Tears flowed like spring rain.
After reciting the script, Wordsworth was a little overwhelmed for a moment - he didn't know that his story could be so touching.
Because Bill was too involved in crying, he had to wait quietly beside him, waiting for the rain to gradually lighten up.
Tears were mixed with the dried blood on his face, and Bill's face was stained with tears. He sobbed and asked, "Why...why...this old man doesn't have a name?"
"I haven't decided on a name yet." Wordsworth knew that Bill was different from himself and was also a "little bastard." But what he didn't expect was that the little bastard would cry like this.
After a long while, Bill swallowed several times and said as if begging: "Can...can you let him call Bill?"
"Bill?" Wordsworth took out his handkerchief and gave it to the boy. "Same name as you?"
Bill wiped his face carelessly with a handkerchief and nodded. In fact, it's the same name as my father.
Dad died, but he died a hero.
Seemingly unable to refuse such a request, Wordsworth smiled and nodded: "Okay, let's call him Bill."
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