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，我正在俄罗斯留学。那一年的情人节，莫斯科很冷，气温达到了零下38度，而且天空飘满了雪。尽管如此，兜售玫瑰的小贩们依然不停地穿行于大街小巷，让这爱情的信物无止无息地燃烧，温暖着那些置身爱情中的人们。

我是个例外。那些玫瑰只会让我更加寒冷，因为我被失恋的旋风刮到了爱情的边缘。我开始怀疑，这漫天飞舞的誓言的雪里到底搀杂着多少谎言的碎屑？

我从伤心的咖啡馆里走出来，我刚刚在那里跟叶分手。多么讽刺，这分明应该是一个让情人们牵手的节日，而我却选择分道扬镳。我头也不回地走掉，我知道一切都结束了，就像身后的脚印，我走过，然后被厚厚的雪覆盖住，我忘记。

我漫无目的地走着，穿行在玫瑰和谎言的潮水中，无法靠岸。

“买束花吧，先生。”

一个穿得很单薄的老妇人用干瘪的手轻轻拽了拽我的衣角。

“多少钱一束？”我随口问了一句。

“您看着给吧，感情是没法标价的不是吗？”

我微微一怔，没想到她会说出这样一句让人寻思的话来。我抬头看了看她，冷风将她的脸冻成了酱肉般的颜色，却没有阻止她对我微笑。

她的小摊上摆满了红红的玫瑰，可是生意并不好。

我随手拣了枝玫瑰，想到自己失败的爱情，便往她那个装钱的纸箱里扔了1戈比，“我的感情就值这些钱”我耸耸肩，无赖似地说。

那个数目相当于施舍一个乞丐。

我把花拿在手里，无人可送。我感觉到玫瑰异常刺眼，似乎在用它的高贵嘲弄我，我将它奋力地向空中抛去，红色的花瓣随着雪花一起飘落在街上。

这时，那个卖花的老妇人从后面追上我，我想大概是我的举动侮辱了她。“我可是在每一片花瓣上都许下了祝愿的”她埋怨道，“你不该这样糟蹋鲜花。”

“可是，”我嗫嚅着，“再没有人要我的玫瑰花了。”我向她诉说了刚刚失败的爱情。

“去把那个惹你伤心的姑娘带来，我给你们讲个故事听。”她略带些命令的口吻说。

我有些犹豫，但还是拨响了叶的电话。叶披着雪来了。

“孩子们，”老妇人说，“这是我们这里家喻户晓的故事，可你们中国人未必听过。不嫌烦的话，我就给你们讲讲。”我和叶不约而同地点了头。

“卫国战争的时候，”她讲道，“我们这里曾经是战场。有一对刚结婚不久的青年男女，被迫要分离了，男的要去保卫祖国，临走前，他对她说，你就在这座房子里等我，我一定会回来。

“战斗进行得很激烈，也很残酷。一年后，他们的家乡也成了前线，按照上级的指示，当地群众必须全部撤离，但她没走，她记着他们的约定，她要守在这座房子里，她要等他回来。

“她成了前线的一名护士，而这座房子就成了战地医院，她和战地上的医护人员们一起冒着枪林弹雨，把受伤的战士一个一个地抬走，把死去的战士一个一个地埋掉。

“战争结束了，英勇的苏联人民取得了最后的胜利，但损失是惨重的，全国都沉浸在哀悼亲人的悲痛里。她守在那座房子里，一年，两年，三年，她始终怀揣着那个希望，她说他一定会回来，她在房子里种下很多玫瑰花，她把那座房子装扮得像天堂，她等着他回来，从一个少女一直等到一个老太婆……”

“最后她等到了吗？”我和叶同时问道。

“没有，可是那个希望就像是一盏灯，坚强地亮着，照耀着她的每一个夜晚。”老妇人接着说，“这个摊子上的玫瑰花就是从那里摘来的，每一片花瓣上都有祝愿的。我真不明白你们这些年轻人，这感情怎么说扔就给扔了呢？就像你刚刚扔掉的玫瑰花，看着让人心疼……”

我和叶都低下了头，我们彼此看到了对方微红的脸，两双手又叠到了一起。

我的脸忽然发起烧来，我为自己用1戈比买她的玫瑰花又随手扔掉而局促不安了，我感到自己像个急切地想飞起来的黑色的灰烬，到处是明晃晃的雪，到处是纯净的世界，只有我，这黑色的极不协调的灰烬，我想飞起来，可是没有风，我逃不掉。

我想到一个弥补过失的办法，我对叶说，“我们来帮她卖花吧。”

我们找到一块木板，在上面写下很诗意的一句话：莫斯科不相信眼泪，但相信玫瑰。

善良的人们纷纷前来，买走了一束束玫瑰。

天色渐暗的时候，我们的小摊上就只剩下两束玫瑰在燃烧了。

“这是天意，孩子们，”老妇人说，“你们看这最后的两束玫瑰，这是你们的，你们应该始终在一起，不是吗？”

我和叶捧起了那两束火焰，我们相互凝视的目光融化了很多雪花。我们从爱情的背面一步步地走回来，渐渐走到阳光明媚的早晨，渐渐走到布满草莓的春天。

老妇人把我们领进了一个天堂般美丽的房子，偌大的房子里到处都摆满了盛开着鲜花的花盆。

“难道那故事里的主人公就是您？”我和叶像发现了神话一般问道。

“不，她早已去世了。我已经是第十二个住进这房子的人了。她在临终时说过，不论谁住进这房子，都请替她履行等待的义务，别让那些玫瑰们枯萎。”

老妇人接着说：“每年的情人节，我都会拿一些玫瑰花去卖，我想攒些钱把房子好好修葺一下，我待不了太久，我能做的只有这些了。”

我和叶几乎同时想到了要住进这房子中来，这里生长着永不泯灭的生生不息的爱。它让我们一颗颗冰冷的心慢慢解冻，让所有的明天都温暖如春，在它的火焰里，我相信自己最终也会挺立成一株顽强的玫瑰，用誓言去击败谎言，用真爱去唤回真爱。