【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第六章（下）(4)
“For what it’s worth,” his father said, “I am proud of you, Wilbur. Proud of who you were, and who you are now. That will never be in question.”
“Thank you,” Wilbur replied softly, and meant it.
“I spent your childhood so clouded by worry.” The words rang true in the cave, in Wilbur’s heart. “So afraid, always, that you would be taken from me. I had seen what the world was capable of, and when you began speaking of voices, calling to you—Sometimes I could not even look at you without being absolutely paralyzed by fear.”
And how do I look at you, Wil? Father had once asked.
He’d dismissed the question before, insistent that it was disappoint that wrinkled his father’s brow and tugged his lips into a frown. Now, Wilbur thought, he might be closer to the truth. His father had never been sad because of him. He had been sad for him. It was as if Wilbur had been looking through a fog to his childhood, and now it lifted, leaving only clarity.
“But that was my own fault,” Father continued, his eyes shining. With tears, Wilbur noted with shock. It was a strange thing, watching a parent cry. Everything was backwards. And yet, everything was just right. “If I ever made you feel inadequate or unwanted or like you disappointed me—Wil, I want you to know you could never do that. I have lived this life for more time than you can comprehend. I have built empires and kingdoms. I have been a warrior, a ruler, a wanderer, an architect. But the greatest title I have ever had the honor of owning was Father.” He smiled, even as tears glistened down his cheeks. “Or, as Tommy used to call me, Dad.”
“Thank you,” Wilbur replied softly, and meant it.
“I spent your childhood so clouded by worry.” The words rang true in the cave, in Wilbur’s heart. “So afraid, always, that you would be taken from me. I had seen what the world was capable of, and when you began speaking of voices, calling to you—Sometimes I could not even look at you without being absolutely paralyzed by fear.”
And how do I look at you, Wil? Father had once asked.
He’d dismissed the question before, insistent that it was disappoint that wrinkled his father’s brow and tugged his lips into a frown. Now, Wilbur thought, he might be closer to the truth. His father had never been sad because of him. He had been sad for him. It was as if Wilbur had been looking through a fog to his childhood, and now it lifted, leaving only clarity.
“But that was my own fault,” Father continued, his eyes shining. With tears, Wilbur noted with shock. It was a strange thing, watching a parent cry. Everything was backwards. And yet, everything was just right. “If I ever made you feel inadequate or unwanted or like you disappointed me—Wil, I want you to know you could never do that. I have lived this life for more time than you can comprehend. I have built empires and kingdoms. I have been a warrior, a ruler, a wanderer, an architect. But the greatest title I have ever had the honor of owning was Father.” He smiled, even as tears glistened down his cheeks. “Or, as Tommy used to call me, Dad.”
电梯里的苏柔上瘾第六章
