The Bridges of Madison County, a story as beautiful as the mermaid legend.

I should have seen this film, which was released many years ago, but I was not impressed. It was a sensation at that time, and it was a beautiful story about an affair.

I saw this book on the shelf in the library yesterday, so I returned it. I'm going to draw flowers this afternoon and then have a look.

At first, I thought it was a very common extramarital affair story.

A woman with a family is attracted to foreigners when her husband and children are away.

I have a condemnation of the heroine.

I only met him once, just to dress him up. I met him the next day and left a note at the covered bridge overnight.

It is not surprising to be attracted by this foreigner.

The residents in the town all have similar characteristics. Even today, such foreigners are extraordinary in the crowd. A photographer who has been on the road for a long time, with long hair.

I take pictures for National Geographic magazine, not any pretentious photographer.

She has been in this town for 20 years, and life is really boring.

So they have nothing to say for four days together.

In my experience, I fell in love with people at first sight and also had some magical ideas.

When leaving:

The truck stopped at the end of the alley and the driver's door bounced open. He came out and stepped on the pedal. He saw her a hundred yards away, and the distance became smaller.

He stood there staring, making Harry (who named the truck) turn impatiently in the heat wave. Neither of them moved; They have said goodbye. They just looked at each other, one was the wife of a farmer in Iowa, the other was the life at the end of species evolution, and the other was the last cowboy.

This reminds me of the parting picture I have experienced, and I feel a little emotional.

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Understanding of her is when the photographer asked her to leave with him, her struggle:

Yes, the lifestyle here is boring. This is my life. No romantic mood, no lust, no dancing by candlelight in the kitchen, no wonderful feeling for a man who knows how to love. The most important thing is not having you. But I have a strong sense of responsibility for Richard and the children. Just my leaving, my body leaving here will make Richard unbearable, and that alone will destroy him.

……

Besides, to make matters worse, he had to spend the rest of his life in local gossip ... Richard had to endure the pain, and the children had to listen to the whole Winterset talking behind their backs. As long as they lived here, they had to listen. They will feel pain, too, and they will hate me for it.

Her sense of responsibility and fear hurt her family, which made me forgive her-only secretly for her family, but I still blame her for her temptation to him.

I always say, don't get involved with people in marriage easily. They can attack or retreat. A person who can easily betray an extramarital affair will definitely betray love and choose marriage without hesitation.

Sha Yi's message in his last article:

Don't you see? Beautiful love is only in legend! There is no long-term love, only long-term patience! If there is no responsibility, there is not even a stable marriage! If you have love and responsibility, you will meet the right person! Love and affection are intertwined, marriage and family are intertwined! Maybe it is not the original love, but love exists! Love is here! Love is the best! Love is the most changeable! Maybe karma and marriage will meet their own love, but it is fickle love! The price of marriage change! The cycle of fickle love

-maybe not the original love, but love exists! Love is here!

So many people who are unfaithful to marriage, even if they are madly in love, will eventually return to their families, because there is his lasting love.

As a result, women stay and live their own lives, which seems to be no different from the past.

The man is gone.

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The beauty of this story lies in:

She found a special photo of an issue of 1967 (they met two years ago).

When she first saw this photo many years ago, she could see a small round card on the silver necklace around his neck ... Take it out with a magnifying glass and put it on the photo. "My God!" She gasped, and the words on the round card were "Francesca". (Her name)

He became a missing prisoner.

It was not until the seventeenth year after his departure that he was released. He is dead. Last wish: ashes scattered near her-covered bridge.

It was already 1982, and the lawyer forwarded his belongings, including a letter:

From 1965 to 1975, I was on the road almost all the year round. I accept all the overseas missions I seek just to resist the temptation to call you or come to you, but in fact, as long as I am sober, this temptation is always in my life. How many times have I said to myself, "Fuck it, I'm going to Winterset, Iowa, and I'm going to take Francesca away at all costs."

But I remember your words, and I respect your feelings. Maybe you're right. I don't know. I only know that driving the car out of your alley on that hot Friday morning was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and it will never happen again.

The letter also wrote:

My heart is covered with dust. I can't think of a better way to put it. There were several women before you, but not after you. I didn't swear to remain single, but I'm not interested.

I once observed a black goose whose companion was killed by a hunter. You know this kind of goose is loyal to its mate. The geese wander around the pond all day, day after day. The last time I saw it, it was swimming across a wild rice field, still looking for it. This metaphor is too shallow and not very literary, but this is roughly my feeling.

The letter also wrote:

For the universe, four days and four trillion light years are no different. I try to remember that.

But I am a man after all. All the philosophical reasoning I remember can't stop me from wanting you. Every day, every hour, every moment, in the depths of my mind is the relentless cry of time, which is the time when I can never be with you.

1965, the year they met, they lingered for four days. When they left, he gave her all her home addresses and phone numbers, and also gave her the phone number of the office of National Geographic magazine.

He said:

"If you want to see me, or just want to chat, don't hesitate. No matter where I am in the world, you can call me collect, so it won't appear on your phone bill. I will stay here for a few more days. Think again about what I said. I can wait here and solve the problem neatly (talk to her husband), and then we can drive to the northwest together. "

After that, he never heard from her again. He will never know that on the day he left town, Francesca's husband drove a few blocks behind his car, and Francesca sat quietly in the co-pilot and watched him leave.

After that, he sent her the photos and articles he had promised to send before. I wanted to send her a postcard from India, but when she asked, she shook her head and he knew. He knew that she was afraid of bringing trouble to her life. So he didn't send anything extra.

I sentenced myself to life imprisonment for this disappearance.

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Before he met her, he wished for a dog for company a thousand times.

In the last letter, he wrote:

By the way, I have a dog now, the golden retriever. I call it "Luda", and it travels with me most of the time, sticking its head out of the window and looking for a good shot.

He also wrote:

1972, I fell off a cliff in Acadia National Park in Maine and broke my ankle. The necklace broke with the round card. Luckily, I found it nearby and asked the jeweler to repair it.

He wrote this letter in 1978.

Dear Francesca:

I hope you are all right. I don't know when you will receive this letter, but after my death. I am sixty-five years old now. We met thirteen years ago today, when I entered your alley to ask for directions.

I bet this package won't disturb your life (her husband has been dead for three years the year she received the package). I really can't stand letting these cameras lie in the second-hand window of the camera shop or become the hands of strangers. When they arrived at your place, they were very shabby, but I had no one else to leave for them, so I had to take the risk of giving them to you. I'm sorry

This is his personal belongings all his life. He became attached to her because he came here to shoot the covered bridge, and they were witnesses to this short time together.

Plus the note she left on the covered bridge, it was this note that conveyed her meaning to him.

He took it off the bridge in a hurry that morning and kept it until the end of his life. Only this note proves that everything is not an illusion.

She can see him in a magazine, and if she wants, a phone call and a letter can call him.

He can only imagine from memory.

For her, this is just a condiment in a boring life.

This is my feeling. No matter how the novel exaggerates her thoughts, from her irresponsible temptation to her unexpected refusal to leave with him, this tone has been formed.

Both men and women who took the initiative in these marriages, like the legendary mermaid, lured sailors to the depths of the sea with moving songs. Sailors don't know that it's not just warmth that awaits them. Mermaids feed on sailors, and only by eating them can they keep the fish young forever.

Just like these men and women, they use a series of extramarital affairs to inject a glimmer of life into the stagnant marriage and then move on to the next decade.

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Yes, although in the middle of this story, when I saw her reading his unforgettable thoughts through the magazine, I began to be moved, and tears could not stop flowing, especially the package sent by the law firm after his death. I can't help crying. Finally, I was entrusted by Francesca's children (whose children were moved by their stories) to write this story, and I followed the clue to find the story of his last years (I still want to tell the above).

-I call it the story of beauty in the end.

Stories told by saxophonists—

They also became attached to each other because of the photo, and he asked the photographer to take an advertising photo for him.

After a while, he started taking pictures, and then he asked me if I could play autumn leaves, and I did. I played for about ten minutes, and he kept pressing the shutter there. ...

……

He came out and asked me where I played, and I said, "a shoddy band."

……

Since then, he has come once a week, always on Tuesdays, always drinking beer, but not much.

……

He always asks me politely if I can play autumn leaves.

……

Later, they met, and they would watch the water and boats together in the harbor and sit on a long bench and chat.

He often takes his dog with him. It's a good dog. He called it "the road".

One day, I asked about the little thing under the chain around his neck. If you look closely, you can see "Francesca" engraved on it. I asked, "What's the special significance of this?"

He didn't speak for a long time, just stared at the water and then said, "How much time do you have?" ……

He talks like a tap, all afternoon, all night. I think he has kept this secret for a long time.

……

Boy, he said and cried. He burst into tears. ...

……

I'm beginning to like this kid. A person who can love a woman so much is also worthy of love.

..... so I said to myself, "I must exert that kind of strength and love and let the' old way' blow out of my pipe. There's some fucking lyricism here. "

So I wrote this song, which took me three months.

……

He sat there quietly, listening attentively as usual, and I said through the microphone, "I want to play a song I wrote for a friend named Francesca."

..... As soon as I said "Francesca", he slowly looked up at me, put the long ash back with both hands, lit a camel cigarette and looked at me with two blue eyes.

I blew the horn with a voice I had never heard before, and I made it cry for the years when they were separated, and for the thousands of miles they were separated. In the first bar, there was a small theme that seemed to call her name: "Fran … Sisi … Ka."

……

I will play this song every time he comes here in the future. In return for writing that song, he framed an old photo of the covered bridge and gave it to me, and now it is hanging there. He never told me where he took it, but his signature said "Roseman Bridge".

/kloc-Tuesday, 0/965, the day after he met her, he was invited to her house for a beer chat again. She turned on the radio, and when the dance music started, he invited her to dance ... She took out two white candles and a bronze candlestick she bought specially that day. He used to light them, but she turned off the ceiling light.

Music is just right for them at first, it is the slow processing of autumn leaves.

He picked up her hand, put one hand on her waist, and she entered his arms. ...

With this memory, he shared his story with others until the last moment of his life. At the last moment of his life, he got a response-the storyteller wrote him Francesca and played it to him every Tuesday night.

Maybe seven or eight years ago, he didn't show up on a Tuesday night. Not next week. I thought he might be ill or something happened, and I began to worry, so I went to the port to ask. Nobody knows him. Finally, I found a boat to go to the island where he lived. That is an old house by the water, but it is actually a shed.

While I was wandering there, a neighbor came over and asked me what I was doing. I told him. The neighbor said he died ten days ago.

……

I asked my neighbor about dogs, but he didn't know. He said he didn't know Kincaid either. I called the animal shelter, but the "main road" is there. I went there and took it to my nephew. The last time I saw it was making out with a child, and I felt quite comfortable.

……

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Even the dog has not been forgotten, and it has been properly placed, so the story is beautiful.

However, the photographer's true feelings and affection, in my opinion, are just a sacrifice.

Dedicated to this woman, her marriage and her family.

As the woman wrote in her last letter to her children:

Paradoxically, without Robert Kincaid, I might not have been able to stay on the farm for so many years. In four days, he gave me a lifetime, gave me the whole universe, and integrated my scattered parts into a whole.

……

He is both beautiful and enthusiastic. Of course he deserves your respect and maybe your love. I hope you can both give it to him. He treated you well through me in his unique way.

On his deathbed, the woman's husband said to her, "Francesca, I know you have your own dreams, and I'm sorry I couldn't realize them for you." So the woman guessed that maybe her husband had discovered her hidden secret.

After the death of a woman, a woman's child wiped her tears in the kitchen where she spent a good time with the photographer, sitting at their old table drinking and chatting, thinking about her mother's greatness ...)

Mermaid ashore means abandoning family and relatives. Do you think he/she can do it for your love

Otherwise, would you like to be a sacrifice to the sea?