Wine and Gun

Herstal did not speak, but Albarino knew that the other party was still staring at him.

He squatted on the ground and picked among those wood hibiscus. He had maintained a sufficient posture for more than twenty hours for too long, and now his legs were aching, but Albarino didn't really care. He asked lightly: "What? After accusing me of doing whatever I want, it's strange that I would make such an arrangement?"

Not quite, just look at this well-appointed log cabin and you'll know that he's not completely freewheeling. Hestal had several thoughts in his mind, and then carefully picked one and asked, "Is this what your mother taught you?"

"What? No!" Albarino laughed in surprise, his laughter sounded even sullen. "She taught me nothing but death itself."

When he said this, he didn't stop at all, and skillfully put those wooden hibiscus between the ribs of Sharp Kong dàngdàng, carefully adjusting the position of each flower, making sure that they were not too crowded, and the flowers were not accidentally turned over to the back Face up and don't be too rigid.

Some people also think that the flowers of the Sunday gardener are random. Herstal snorted inwardly.

Herstal didn't know if he should urge the other party to continue talking, he didn't know if Albarino really cared about his mother's death - this was ridiculous, the other party rudely drenched his wound with blood. ripped, and he was still struggling with politeness when he asked Albarino. But then again, that's exactly what differentiates them.

"She really died by suicide?" Finally, Herstal asked.

"In front of me, I watched her sink, and in the end I called the police." Albarino said simply, he took out a wood hibiscus from the mud, and cut off its stem with scissors. "If that's what you're asking—yes, I didn't do anything."

Herstal frowned slightly: "Why?"

Albarino shrugged his shoulders, his voice relaxed: "Because she wants to - choose how she wants to die, while living a happy life, killing enough people and not being caught by the police? I guess that It's part of her purpose in life. I don't fully agree with that, but I don't stop her from choosing what she wants, just as she wouldn't stop me from choosing."

"But, even your father for this—" Suicide.

"My father didn't all die because of her passing," Albarino replied.

He placed another wood hibiscus, then pulled a red poppy from the bouquet next to him, and stood up, hissing inhaling from the numbness in his legs. Then he looked at Herstal, and there was some kind of strange shadow hovering in his eyes.

Then he said: "It was a combination of many reasons: because of her death, her suicide note - my father didn't really mention it, but I believe there was something like that, and from what I knew about her , she probably told in the letter that she had killed at least fifty-three patients — and his guilt for his oversight."

Albarino paused briefly.

"Maybe there's a little more," he whispered, with a smile. "I'm so much like her that it might make my father want to escape what's going to happen in the end."

Herstal was silent for a moment, then commented: "It sounds like she ended up killing him."

"'Be true', isn't that the true meaning of marriage?" Albarino laughed lightly, "In the legal sense, she really has nothing; but it is long-term depression and remorse that kills slowly He's dead, so maybe that's right."

"And you? How do you feel about these things?" Herstal asked.

"Are we back to this segment again? It's about 'Does a Sunday gardener really have a heart'?" Albarino's voice still had a trembling smile that sounded almost right and wrong at a moment like this Human, he took a step forward, almost touching Herstal's body, still holding the bright red poppy in his hand, which looked like a pool of blood.

"Shouldn't I be worried?" Herstal asked rhetorically.

"You should." Albarino's voice was low enough to whisper, "because I don't feel it."

—Herstal stared at him.

"When my mother first died, my father was in a very bad state." Albarino continued, "I had to handle most of the funeral—you know what happened next, within two years, two At the funeral, their colleagues in the hospital praised me for being calm and firm, but no one saw through the essence of the matter. At that time, the priest of the Diocese of Westland even refused to preside over the funerals of the two of them.”

"Because they stubbornly believe that suicides can't go to heaven." Herstal sneered, and that reminded him of the Catholic Church in Kentucky, which was not a good memory.

"The girls on the plain are also very beautiful, no less than the princesses in the marble palace. They are all daughters of Eve, and there is no difference in the kingdom of heaven." Albarino said happily.

Herstal glanced at him. "What is that?"

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