She is Finchka. He is Jin Ruobai.
When he first appeared in front of her, she pulled her hair and slapped the dust on a carpet in front of the door. Just like any housewife, she was wearing an old-fashioned dress, slightly bloated, with signs of aging on the corners of her mouth and neck. Facing the strange traveler, she was slightly restrained, clasping her arms from time to time, smiling shyly, and eagerly leading him to the covered bridge.
She hid in the bridge shed and watched him adjust the camera from different angles, patted her flushed cheeks gently, and love might start to tiptoe at this moment. He picked small blue wildflowers for her, and she suddenly wanted to be naughty, saying that the flowers were poisonous. He let go and looked at her stupidly.
She apologizes to him and treats him to iced tea and dinner. Putting the flowers on the dining table, they drank brandy, and told anecdotes about his journey, she leaned forward and back, smiling like a child. He talked about the vast grasslands of Africa and the changing sky, and she also talked about her life. She tried her best to describe her life as happy and warm, but there was a sense of loneliness in her expression. She loves listening to the blues of 1410, but her daughter always switches the channel unintentionally. No doubt she has dreams, but as a wife and mother, she has long buried these deep in her heart.
They had a short walk that summer night, and he read a poem that she knew was Keats. She looked awkward. He looked at her, tenderly and sincerely, and said, you are not wrong, we are not wrong.
She was still hesitant, he understood, so he took out the film and left. Only then did she realize how important he was to her. She desperately drove to the covered bridge at night, pinned a note to the bridge, and then went to town to buy a dress, a dress with a double V-neck back. Restrained joy.
When she put on the dress, she walked out awkwardly, folded her hands stiffly in front of her, and looked at her at a loss. He said that you are so beautiful, that beauty makes people feel distressed. He turned on the music and embraced her to dance.
In the middle of the night, she looked at him sleeping beside the pillow, knowing that it was such a beautiful dream, and wept softly. He tenderly begged her to go with him. She packed her bags, but finally stayed. He said, such a certain love, only once in a lifetime. She chased out the door with tears in her eyes, watching him disappear at the end of the twilight.
In town a few days later, she and her husband went shopping for food. She looked at the heavy rain outside the car window, a vast expanse of white. He got out of the car in the rain. looked at her from a distance. So gentle and so sincere. He gave her the chance to make a final choice. She was crying beside her husband, holding the door switch tightly, wanting to rush into the rain to hug her lover, but he waited too long, guessing that she should have made her own choice , and finally left.
She has since started subscribing to National Geographic and seems to be following in his footsteps. They didn't see each other until the gray hair, but on her birthday every year, she would walk alone to the place they once walked, silent in the afterglow of the setting sun. When she received the package after his death, which contained the note she had nailed to the bridge, the cross necklace she gave him, and the photo book he made for her, she took off her reading glasses and wiped the corners of her eyes gently. Tears, and I was choked with tears.
The ending seemed happy, and she told her children the story in her journal, asking them to cremate her and sprinkle her ashes on the covered bridge. When her ashes were scattered in the wind, it seemed that their souls also met in heaven. They don't have to be separated anymore, they won't be alone anymore. . .
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