Before the rain fell in summer, I and Faliao liked to stand on the top of the barrack building to listen to an old meteorologist broadcast about the incoming heavy rain. It would cover from here to there. From our side, for example, those apartment rooftops with pigeon coops and potted plants, a few wooden buildings with overhanging eaves, black tiles, and lush wild grass growing on them, would all be drenched before our eyes. Faliao usually stood there in big shorts, one hand on his waist, the other hanging down, wearing wooden clogs, looking into the distance at the dark clouds coming over the mountain. Now both of Faliao's hands have been broken and are hanging around my neck. We stand on the rooftop as pigeons fly overhead. The sky is greenish. Behind us is the battlefield where we just fought, and there's also a large Nongfu Spring bottle. Water spills onto the cement outside. I can't see Faliao's face, I don't know what expression he has. The sunlight is dazzling, because from my angle, ignoring the reflection of two red broken buckets, I can still watch the distant primary school. Behind the flagpole on the playground of that primary school is a church. Carefully looking, you can see the colorful church windows. Faliao broke out in a slight sweat, but as lazy as the withered grass on the rooftop, kicking a couple of pebbles down with his slippers. I was just thinking that the flagpole and the church's cross will soon be soaked by the heavy rain too. They, like the pedestrians in the alley, won't hear the weather forecast from this elderly meteorologist. He is already very old.
When I heard this, I lifted his hand which was drooping on my neck, re-wrapped it behind my neck, took a few steps towards the edge of the rooftop, and looked towards the direction of the distant playground, trying to identify the five stars on the flagpole. But my eyes were inadvertently attracted to the distant Western Hills. At this time, there were a few people and dogs in the park of the Western Hills. They were equally lethargic. They didn't know about the impending heavy rain. A lame dog was restless, jumping back and forth around a child who was running around. There was also a smaller girl behind him. The road curved behind them and disappeared behind the Western Hills. Then, the elderly meteorologist slowly said, the rain was about to fall. I tried to search for the wet clothes within my sight. Faliao just coughed up two mouthfuls of blood. The rain started to fall heavily.
Living with Faliao is another man who believes that such an active thymus lymphatic hyperplasia constitution is caused by Faliao's own faith. As for death from external injuries, it's just a matter of time. He said while pouring me a black-colored tea mixed with tea sticks and some leaf fragments. Do you believe that disease is a kind of faith? Or every disease corresponds to a kind of faith? He asked me. I neither confirmed nor denied it. I just played with a drumstick, randomly picking things from the stuff this man had packed for me. You don't need to look, he left nothing behind, except these two photos. Normally, he doesn't make phone calls, I mean regular phone calls home. I think you're also looking for his hometown or other relatives' contact information. He put down the kettle and took out two photos from under the glass on the writing desk, handed one to me and looked at the other himself. He seemed near-sighted, so he found a brighter spot and tried to hold the photo far enough from his eyes. This girl's back view is quite pretty, isn't it? In the photo, a girl is lying in an S-shape on a big grass slope. In the distance is a large farm granary with a wooden door chained and slightly open, revealing a high pile of hay inside. The tips of the hay are covered with raindrops, showing a scene after the rain. On the other photo, still the back view of the same girl, in a rural market. On the left is a water buffalo head looking at the camera, and the girl stands among the crowd, wearing a floral dress, seemingly at a loss. In the distance, there's a circus tent and colorful flags fluttering in the wind, along with her hair and dress. On the back of the first photo, it says, "Pucheng, Luoshan Gang, you caught a cold again." On the second photo, it says, "Pucheng, Ping'an Town, miss that hand-guided tractor in the heavy rain." The date is last summer.