〈Butterfly-White Radish〉

每個人的起點是不是都叫做「父母」轉身他們朝著我說「你是誰？我從不認識你」並不是說誰是孤兒人總是舔舐著什麼名為狼還是蟲的而茁壯起點是「我」停不下來想像的我在說謊

The round white radish is cut in half from the middle, and then a thin circular slice of about 0.15 cm is cut out from the cross section (but not cut off), and then another thin radish slice of the same thickness is cut next to it, and this time the knife is broken. . After waiting for the symmetrical lines to be carved out like paper cuts, a page of butterflies can be revealed.

The knife was long and thin, like an awl, and was a special knife for fruit carving. Me's father's resolute fingers used the knife to draw lines as if writing, drawing lines with the same arc along the edge of the slice. , but the closer to the end, the thinner it becomes, and finally the pointed ones become the antennae of the butterfly. Using the same technique as the silhouette of the paper-cut butterfly, first cut out the outline and then hollow out the false eye patterns on the wings. The front and rear wings carved by his father were shaped like orchid petals. In order to be more fancy, hook-shaped tail wings extended from the rear wings. Some lines were deliberately cut out to fold into the shape of the facade. The moment he opened it, Me saw the wings that suddenly doubled in size. It becomes complicated and overlapping, and I feel dizzy and confused in an instant. This white butterfly was sitting next to a Phalaenopsis during the presentation.

When I was young, when my father was preparing ingredients, he would lie down next to a bucket of the same height and play with water. He has two teams of swimmers on the left and right, slapping the water with his fingers and driving them forward, causing water ripples on the lake. The left-hand team can jump into the air like a dolphin and perform fancy flips, and it doesn't matter how many turns they can make; the right-hand team sometimes falls behind but can always get ahead again because they don't need to breathe. The outcome of the battle between the two teams was always hard to determine, but his father had a different view and said sarcastically: "That's for people to eat, not to play with." This was an incomprehensible statement. Me was still indulged in the excitement of the competition and continued to cling to the bucket. side. After a while, he had a premonition that a large cooking spatula would fall from the sky, so he ran away before hitting his head. "I don't care about it!" I muttered to myself as I ran. It really doesn't matter. Children can play everywhere. In Me's impression, such a strict father only appeared once, he said.

I learned a new sentence from the teacher in class. Everyone thought it was funny, so I followed it. This sentence came in handy when I was arguing with my mother when I got home: "I'm sick!" After saying this, I immediately ran upstairs. Soon, my father came up, his tone warm and hesitant, like someone who knew he had a heart disease and was deliberately suppressing his anger. He said in a low tone that was deeply afraid of hurting others but had to be righteous: "You can't say that to mom." As if if Me keeps talking it will come true. When I was a kid, there was a small restaurant on the first floor of my house. If there was a dispute among the children in the game, there would always be a cute but cunning villain who would complain first and cry and yell on purpose. The already busy adults would immediately get excited and rush to the second floor. It was never Me's father who whipped a child into a corner with a clothes rack.

Under the light, the white butterfly reflects the translucent texture of the white radish, and its slender, curved tentacles seem to be swaying in the wind. A white butterfly lies next to a Phalaenopsis; the butterfly is like an orchid, and the orchid is like a butterfly, imitating each other. Guests' eyes will first focus on the gorgeous red and purple real orchids, and when they get tired of looking at them, they will move to the lifelike fake butterflies. Strictly speaking, the appearance of a butterfly carved from white radish is not realistic at all. However, this fictitious object that is neither an orchid nor a butterfly can attract people's admiration. Perhaps it is because it can fictionalize that the original butterfly "does not exist". ” characteristics that make it extremely precious.

Me's father died of illness in the intensive care unit in his early fifties. After a long time, he suddenly remembered the white butterfly that escaped from his father's heart. He said to me, as if he still had the faint and bright warmth of his father's fingertips.

The fluttering of the white butterfly's wings reminded Me of those thrilling moments when he told me stories of longing and guilt.