今天突然想起一个以前玩过的英语单词游戏： 给一个单词，要求每一次改变一个字母，最后变成另一个单词，而且中间的产生的每一个新单词都要有意义（不能是缩写、简写之类的，更不能是胡乱造的词）。用的步骤越少越好，每一步产生的单词越简单越好。

然后立刻给自己出了一道题，想了将近半个小时才想出来： 从Palm变到Rush

我的解法是： palm -> pale -> pace -> race -> rice -> rise -> wise -> wish -> dish -> disk -> dusk -> dust -> rust -> RUSH

这个解法应该不是最简单的，中间好多步骤是为了绕过一个没有的单词而弄出来的。然后随便想了另外几个题目，准备做来玩玩。

morn -> tank
kiss -> ware
skate -> quiet
priest -> mortal

字母一多难度就会陡增。有兴趣的朋友可以玩玩。都是随便想出来的题目，不一定做得出来的。

问起不少人，特别是不少常玩游戏的人，却很少有人知道《博德之门》这系列的角色扮演游戏。在大陆的宣传不够肯定是一个问题，当然肯定还因为它的背景太过庞大，系统太过复杂，剧情太过冗长，导致很多人望之却步。

但是这些特点是有原因的。这里不得不先说说这类游戏的起源。早在70年代，大家还不知道电子计算机为何物的时候，美国就在流行一种“Table Role Playing Game(TRPG)”的东西，中文译作“纸上角色扮演”。这个翻译很有些失真，因为“纸上”完全不能反映这种游戏的全貌。标准的TRPG是4、5个好友聚在一起，由一个“地下城主”带领，坐在一个桌子四周，每个人扮演自己创造出来的一个角色，在想像中的世界里冒险。所有的事件都有详细的规则，靠掷骰子来决定一切随机事件，小到撞一扇门能不能撞开，大到能不能成功躲避一次灾难。由于剧情是由地下城主完全操控，而且人与人的交互是实时的、面对面的，大家可以尽情发挥自己的想像力，做任何自己想做的事情。当然他们最经常做的还是当一队冒险者潜入地下城去发掘怪物守护着的宝藏（地下城主的名字由此而来）。所以说，这种游戏更应该叫做“想像角色扮演”，而纸只不过是一种记录的工具罢了。

自从有了电脑、电脑游戏以后，这种TRPG不再流行，毕竟玩这种游戏不但需要一定的人数，还需要大家对规则的熟练和热情的投入。但是大家还是相当地向往这种角色扮演的经历。于是，电脑上的TRPG应运而生。电脑上的这种角色扮演虽然继承了同样的规则，但是由于所有的剧情、人物、地点都是已经安排好的，游戏的魅力已经大减。要做一款成功的这种RPG谈何容易。博德之门是最成功的典范。它在构建世界的同时，在一个大的主干剧情下加入无数的小剧情，以及无数的人物、对话，好让玩家可以选择，可以有自由（当然仍是不比人与人玩的时候）做或者不做任何事。精细的画面，严密的世界设计，深入刻画的人物，无一不让这款游戏脱颖而出。

也许大部分中国玩家最熟悉的仍然是《仙剑》类的角色扮演游戏。这和欧美的受纸上RPG深刻影响的角色扮演风格迥然不同。《仙剑》类的游戏是像一部小说，玩家所做的是读者，虽然参与到游戏中，但是是在体验这个过程。而欧美的角色扮演游戏更加强调的是玩家是书写故事的人。正如纸上角色扮演中地下城主虽然定下了故事的梗概，但是玩家们有自由去决定整个剧情的走向。玩家在这里创造自己的神话。

当然，不好说这两种形式孰优孰劣，但是有一点是可以比较的。撇开别的不说，《博德之门》系列的创作者们确实下了相当大的功夫将这系列的游戏打造成精品。1000万字以上的对话，细致的画面（连贫民窟地上跑来跑去的老鼠，农场上的鸡，天上飞过的海鸥都精细地刻画出来），丰富的角色间互动，300小时以上的游戏时间（如果完成所有支线任务），这些不是每一个角色扮演游戏都可以做得到的。《仙剑》又快出新的一代了，我真的希望大宇可以少做一些宣传上的形式上的工作，多投入些资金将游戏的细节雕琢好，让这款游戏无论从哪个方面看都成为中国武侠RPG的登峰造极之作。

"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"

这句话想必很多人都听过吧。这是windows默认的字体选择或查看程序显示的一句话。我以前一直弄不明白为什么要用这样一句奇怪的话，某日在设置字体的时候，突然想到这句话中好像所有字母都出现了一遍，检查一遍证实我的猜测果然是正确的！整句话只有35个字母，26个字母都是不一样的，真的不容易啊。

将这句话拿到google里查询，发现有一页wikipedia专门介绍这种句子。这些每个字母都出现的句子叫Pangram，一般用做打字机或者电报的测试范例，在现代当然是用做字体效果的测试样板了。这句话并不是最短的pangram，但是其他的pangram要么是用了缩写，要么是用了诡异的语法或者奇怪的单词，总之这句话是最容易记，而且最make sense的pangram了。这句话还有悠久的历史渊源，早在19世纪末20世纪初这句话就广泛地被人接受和使用。

但是中文就没有那么好的字体测试范例了。中文字浩如烟海，怎么也不可能把全部字体显示效果都简单地测试一遍。那么windows用什么来做中文字体的范例呢？去网上搜索一下，发现简体中文的版本比较中规中矩，就是“中文字体范例1234567890”，而繁体版的就比较有意思了，有几个版本：

1.视野无限广，窗外有蓝天。 2.微风迎客，软语伴茶。 3.Windows 興國安邦，巨擘八方！

前两个比较有诗意，有点意思。第三个就简直是windows的大广告了……瀑布汗……据说还是繁体XP用的字体范例，实在是……

终于堂堂正正地没有用赖皮地方法将红龙Firkraag干掉了，而且连续用不同方法干掉3次，相当有成就感~~

红龙是有名的BT生物，全游戏经验值最高的几个生物之一，也是最难对付的生物之一。龙对魔法的抗力达到60%以上，豁免极低，命中和防御等级极高，伤害每下都有30以上，挠两三下一个战士就挂了。而且还有龙威，让接近的生物恐惧，放弃战斗。最可怕的是龙翼拍击和吐息，先将面前的生物拍走，没有通过豁免的昏迷几轮，然后立即追加一个龙息，大面积的火焰伤害，一下基本就可以全灭我的队伍，剩下几个奄奄一息的同伴在昏迷不醒的情况下呆呆的看自己被加速过的龙冲上来挠死。正面对抗基本没有胜利的希望。

从前都是用赖皮的方法，牧师使用伤害术，然后冲过去打龙一下，如果人品足够好打中了，就可以直接将其HP减少到1,追加一个魔法飞弹，世界就清净了。但是这个概率相当低，要不断的S/L，纯粹赖皮。

这次不同了。屠龙之前，早已制定了周密的战术。所有人加上防护恐惧，法师加上石肤，召唤生物（4只狼和一只火元素）将龙围住，战士喝巨人力量药水，群体加速、祝福，战前准备结束（龙在我们出手之前是不会出手的，这是最大最大的弱点啊）。然后随着第一发攻击法术的发动，战斗正式开始。首先是法师和牧师分别用降低抗力来降低龙的魔法抗力，紧接着剩下4个人用毒咒、灾难术降低豁免。这时龙已经给自己放了石肤术，开始解除面前生物的魔法，并降低火焰抗力。龙翼拍击只能针对红龙正面的敌人，所以主角和Minsc从后面包抄上去，法师同时用破解术去掉龙的石肤。紧接着，龙翼拍击第一次发动，面前的4只生物全部飞走，包括主力的Minsc，还好主角没事（这里龙的AI有Bug，只有所有敌人都飞走的时候才会追加龙息，如果身边还有敌人就会转过身来继续攻击）。然后龙竟然对Minsc使用定身术，而且Minsc很不幸地中了。只有主角靠着石肤在那里扛了。Aerie开始用闪电术攻击红龙，Jaheira用投石索。龙又一次龙翼拍击，主角也被拍飞……不过接下来的龙息因为主角飞得太远没有击中（人品啊……），然后它开始冲向旁边站着没事的Anomen。还没反应过来，Anomen只剩下一半血。立刻让他撤退，召唤的生物们也从远方赶了回来。Anomen又被挠中，已经濒死了，所幸有加速术，跑得远了，龙的注意力又被火元素吸引。主角这时也冲回来了，在龙的尾巴后面砍。+3的天堂怒火还是很好用的，连续几轮命中，估计砍了龙1/3的血。不过这时火元素阵亡，龙第三次拍，又把主角拍走了。Minsc的定身还没解除，龙身边已经没有了靶子。还好Aerie及时的一个目盲术成功，龙立刻看不见了。接下来就很简单了，看不见东西的龙只能被我们活活砍死，没有一点反击的余地……

接下来还用五彩球石化了龙一次，然后纯用闪电法杖电死龙一次，基本思路也都还是降抗魔然后降豁免，把原来基本不会中的法术变成必中，加上召唤生物转移注意，为法师争取时间。这印证了游戏随机提示里的一句话：“改变战术有时可以将一场不可能的战斗变成仅仅是具有挑战性”。

暑假来了……根本没有一点概念，没有一点感觉。每天还是那个时候起来，那个时候睡觉，那个时候去图书馆。唯一的区别是两人房变成了三人房。

这几天重装了电脑，用上了Gentoo，感觉相当不错。虽然总共用了十多个小时编译各种软件，但是（心理作用吧）感觉真的比原来Arch快好多阿~ Gnome都和FVWM差不多快了，又懒得去设置FVWM，干脆就用Gnome了。

前天在阿Dell的帮助下搞定了从高中就没有解决的悬链线问题。悬链线就是将一条绳子两端固定，使其自然下垂而成的曲线。标准形式应该是双曲余弦函数cosh(x)，但一直想自己推导一下。原来想用微元法通过受力分析来解，但是总是会导出一个二阶的非线性方程，没法解。后来想到用势能最小来做，利用变分原理，y方向稍稍移动少许势能一阶变化为0。这样最后又导出一个二阶微分方程。前天是阿Dell用旋转面积最小（同样是变分原理）弄出来的。我一看发现方程形式和我的一样，不同的只是x和y换了一下。嗯嗯，原来如此。把原来对x积分变成对y积分，然后直接做就可以得到一个很简单的方程，解出来x和y是arccosh的关系。嗯，大功告成。顺便还证明了势能最小和旋转面积最小的等价性。

这段时间的主要任务还是线性代数和电动力学吧。那个PhD的论文看来近期是看不懂了，先把简化的Ring Closed Form弄清楚吧，然后放到Mathematica里面捣鼓一下。那个Mathematica程序过于简单了，利用的是圆的特殊几何性质来做的，换一个Geometry就完全不一样了，得自己弄才行。。。郁闷。。。线性代数也郁闷。。。看Serge Lang的书看了2/5了，突然被recall，弄得换一本Hoffman的，结果发现讲法很不一样……从头开始看……

不行……暑假还是暑假，不能太逼自己的。下个学期还有的忙呢，怎么能暑假就把自己累死呢？所以……玩NWN去也~~

很好~~现在本本终于可以挂起和睡眠了！！原来是那么简单的~~用arch的朋友，不需要beyond的内核，只需用powersave这个小程序就可以了。它可以和gnome-power-manager很好的合作，而且可以实现cpu scaling。这个省电效果是毋庸置疑的，最后15%电，显示15分钟剩余，被我用了半个多小时~~idle时cpu才75MHz。不错不错，善待本本呀~~

You are on a lonely island in the midst of the vast ocean of despair.

You turn your face to the world only to find the world turning its back on you. You shout, nobody hears; you weep, nobody cares.

You need help. They say mind their own business. You need guidance. They say who need guidance more.

You want to participate, yet you are not welcome to join. You want to escape, yet you are not allowed to quit. You want to close your eyes to the dark reality, yet the eyelids are too thin to shield your eyes from this deep darkness.

The only comfort you bear is that tomorrow is another day. What if there is no tomorrow?

What shalt thou do?

最近看物理看得很勤，脑子里好多古怪的想法，拿出来冷一下。

1.一切皆为线性组合
P.W. Leung 在234课上问一个波函数是否stationary state。半天没有人反应，他不爽，说“Only yes or no! Give me an answer!” 于是有人说“linear combination of yes and no” P.W. 怒了，回应“then your final grade shall be a combination of pass and fail!”

呵呵，grade也可以是linear combination，那什么可以不是呢？

2.钱？能量？
前些天ECG讲到钱，突然发现钱和能量是那么相似。能量定义为做功的能力大小，钱则是购买的能力大小。能量从一个地方转换到另一个地方，过程中是守恒的；而钱从一个地方流通到另一个地方，局部来讲也是守恒的（不考虑印钞厂）。还有最关键的一点：能量在物理中有特殊的地位，能量的本征态是静止态，不随时间演变，而其他变量的本征态都要随时间推移而改变。这代表这什么呢？如果一个人有钱，那么他的生活就稳定，不会有大风大浪……

嗯，我们只要建立一个薛定谔方程，就能够分析我们怎样获得更多的钱了~

3.婚姻与爱情
LANG堂关于Marriage的辩论弄得我们头都大了，个个都像婚姻专家一般。突然觉得，恋爱过程就像一个粒子的波函数，不确定性相当大，只能近似地取期望值。结婚就像一次观测，波函数坍塌到一点。可惜好景不长，这个确定的态如果不是能量（金钱？）的本征态，那么它还会随时间演化，越来越不确定，越来越难以捉摸，甚至可能成为完全的混沌。然后婚姻就破裂了。

让我们来建立模型，预测婚姻吧~我们要当婚姻物理学家~

梦想被残酷的现实击碎，选择的权利被无情地剥离，恍惚，无助，自己的一切努力似乎都付诸流水，Everything seems unsure, unstable, unpredictable. 活着，是那么不由自主，那么的荒谬。

这就是生活，生活的日常状态。生活就是荒谬的，生命是毫无意义的。没有人知道生命的意义，就算它有，也超出了我们能理解的范围，which makes no difference. 活着，就是这种不由自主的荒谬状态的延续，nothing is certain in life.

或者应该说有。至少有一件事情是确定的，那就是死亡。随着死亡，一切都结束了，所有的挣扎，痛苦，无助，都随着肉体的死亡而被埋葬。死亡是解脱吗？

还有另一种解脱，那就是希望。在今天合眼入睡时，希望明天一切都会好的，希望煎熬总会结束，希望神会助我一臂之力，希望主会带来救赎。神是解脱吗？

真的有解脱吗？

西西弗斯，永远地将那块巨石推上山顶，又无奈地看着它滚下来，永远地重复这无意义的工作。或者说，他真的是无奈吗？

如果生命是没有意义的，那么我们不就像西西弗斯一样，在无尽地做着自己的工作，承受着生活带来的荒谬？但这就是生活。选择死亡，是接受现实，是向现实投降；选择希望，则是接受，但是闭上眼睛，pretend not to see。但是我们反抗。

反抗。我们接受现实，但是保持清醒。我们继续我们的生活，但是我们不是无奈，而是主动做出了选择。反抗，我们挑起现实的重担，拒绝将它转移到别人的身上，因为只有在这反抗中，我们才展现出自己的力量，活出了生命的价值。西西弗斯没有选择，或者他宁愿没有选择。他推起巨石，是在向自己，向裁判他的神们展现出自己的力量，自己的不屈。甚至可以说，他是快乐的，because he is the master of the stone, the mountain, and himself。

The most beautiful sight in the world is human intelligence gripping the reality which by far transcends himself. 当我们接受现实，我们接受了黑暗，无尽的黑暗，但这不是我们刻意闭上眼睛所带来的蒙蔽自己的黑暗。在这黑暗中，总有可能在东方的地平线上看到那启明星，用智慧的微弱光芒照亮现实的些许轮廓。为了它，我们要活着。We can live a life without appeal, neither to others nor to God. We are the absurd heroes.


沉迷HUMA215，胡扯一通，仅增笑尔。

另：不得不回想起在我们高三时候为我们呕心沥血的老师们，想起积劳成疾还努力工作的华附的老师们。他们每年送走辛勤培育的学生，又迎来新的一批。他们如西西弗斯般重复这繁重却神圣的工作。他们是今天的西西弗斯。他们是我心中的英雄。

不行不行~一个多月没有回到space，怎么突然感性了那么多。这不符合我的风格嘛！要转型也不能那么快~

好，明天是复活节假期第一天，我要去买高达！！！买了的话就是本人在科大的第三台机了，呵呵，有点奢侈。但是Zeta Gundam实在是太强太有诱惑力了，本身的魅力加上出色的设计。另一个选择是Zeta Plus A1阿姆罗专用机，那个颜色和形态更加帅气和成熟，设计也不差，而且不上色的效果巨好。嗯嗯，还要犹豫犹豫。另外当然是要准备买手机啦。我那台手机，据某人的话，不能算手机，只能算“移动电话”。真的该换了~

复活节这几天也别去什么地方了，看点书，拼高达，玩游戏，回趟家……再没有更好的假期了~

CHEM100，成绩比mean低4分。

彷徨。恍惚。昨晚才在想理想与现实的落差，今天这落差又一次印到我的身上。

于是想出了很多理由欺骗自己：人的精力有限，而我从来就不肯投入过多的时间到物理数学以外的课；不断地告诉自己化学是无聊的学科，学来没有意义；提醒自己在大学里面有成就就得要有牺牲……但每一个理由都永远遮掩不了自己考得不好学得不好的事实。

若是在高中，一定会想：连物理数学这种牛课都可以学好，怎么拿不下弱智的化学呢？但现在是大学。也许真的应该要转型了。当完美主义注定只能是幻想，当自己的方向要自己去探寻，必须释然，必须接受这样的现实：时间稍纵即逝，永远要分清什么是主要什么是次要，勇敢地去做自己认为重要的事，勇敢地放弃不得不放弃的。自己应该给自己提出高的要求，但不应追求不切实际的完美，不应攀比。每个人都是不一样的，我们追求不同的东西。有些东西，无法可比。

我又在欺骗自己吗？如果是的话为什么这些听起来那么正确，那么有理？ 我不是在欺骗自己吗？如果不是的话为什么我却仍沉湎于化学给我的打击中，无法释然？

何去何从？

复活节来了。

我们的杂志赶在复活节之前印刷出版。这是第三期，也是本学期最后一期。过了本学期，Adair他们就要漂洋过海，追梦。

梦，曾几何时，那么的扑朔迷离。

当初加入杂志社，不过是好玩，做点电脑工作，想打打杂罢了。而今不知不觉成了杂志社未来仅有的几名骨干之一。中乐团，原来不过是想跟着玩玩，有演出去凑个热闹，而今却不得不准备接任乐团桩员的工作。背上的担子，有点重。

而Adair，过了这剩下的半学期，可能要一年之后才能重逢。世事变迁，沧海桑田。若是那时正逢交换，或许却再也无法见面。

伤离别，离别虽然在眼前；
说再见，再见不会太遥远；
若有缘，有缘就能期待明天……

回溯。当年科大的申请表上，不过也就信手填上了自己的名字，当时又有谁能料到，这里却是归宿？世事如棋，懵懂的我们，怎么能知道下一步将去向何方?

世事在变，往往却不是往我们期望的方向。梦在现实面前是那么的脆弱。在若干年后的某一天，回首，看到的是一个完全两样的自己，一定会惊叹于曾经的幼稚和轻浮……

科大，我们的结局又会是怎样的呢？

今天费了好大劲，终于把amsn弄好了，中文字体可以显示的和X里面一样，输入中文也没有问题了。完全不用额外的补丁包。下面把过程简要介绍一下吧（主要是按照amsn的wiki上面做的）。

首先到tcl/tk在sourceforge的官网上下新的tcl/tk8.5alpha版。这个版本终于支持AA字体了（现在才意识到这个的重要性，真是不知道这班开发的人干什么了）。下来的源码，要自己编译，关键是要在编译tk中./configure的时候加上一个参数 --enable-xft 这样就可以加入对xft的支持了。然后就是经典的make和make install。完了后会在/usr/local/bin下面生成tclsh8.5 和 wish8.5两个文件。这时要编译amsn了。这时也是在./configure的时候加参数 --with-tcl=/usr/local/lib 和 --with-tk=/usr/local/lib 然后make就行了。 最后如果直接运行amsn的话会发生错误，要在/usr/bin里面修改一下符号链接，将tclsh和wish链接到/usr/local/bin下的两个8.5文件。然后就可以完美运行了。这样amsn可以支持雅黑、bitstream vera等AA字体了，显示效果大有改善。再加上amsn传输文件的独有设置（可以直接传输而不用到msn服务器绕一圈，和windows的msn messenger对等），可以说amsn是linux下最好的msn客户端了。

后天human课要讲短篇小说了。提前看了这篇"War"，相当感动。特此贴出，一同分享。

The passengers who had left Rome by the night express had had to stop until dawn at the small station of Fabriano in order to continue their journey by the small old-fashioned local joining the main line with Sulmona.

At dawn, in a stuffy and smoky second-class carriage in which five people had already spent the night, a bulky woman in deep mourning was hosted in—almost like a shapeless bundle. Behind her—puffing and moaning, followed her husband—a tiny man; thin and weakly, his face death-white, his eyes small and bright and looking shy and uneasy.

Having at last taken a seat he politely thanked the passengers who had helped his wife and who had made room for her; then he turned round to the woman trying to pull down the collar of her coat and politely inquired:

"Are you all right, dear?"

The wife, instead of answering, pulled up her collar again to her eyes, so as to hide her face.

"Nasty world," muttered the husband with a sad smile.

And he felt it his duty to explain to his traveling companions that the poor woman was to be pitied for the war was taking away from her her only son, a boy of twenty to whom both had devoted their entire life, even breaking up their home at Sulmona to follow him to Rome, where he had to go as a student, then allowing him to volunteer for war with an assurance, however, that at least six months he would not be sent to the front and now, all of a sudden, receiving a wire saying that he was due to leave in three days' time and asking them to go and see him off.

The woman under the big coat was twisting and wriggling, at times growling like a wild animal, feeling certain that all those explanations would not have aroused even a shadow of sympathy from those people who—most likely—were in the same plight as herself. One of them, who had been listening with particular attention, said:

"You should thank God that your son is only leaving now for the front. Mine has been sent there the first day of the war. He has already come back twice wounded and been sent back again to the front."

"What about me? I have two sons and three nephews at the front," said another passenger.

"Maybe, but in our case it is our only son," ventured the husband.

"What difference can it make? You may spoil your only son by excessive attentions, but you cannot love him more than you would all your other children if you had any. Parental love is not like bread that can be broken to pieces and split amongst the children in equal shares. A father gives all his love to each one of his children without discrimination, whether it be one or ten, and if I am suffering now for my two sons, I am not suffering half for each of them but double..."

"True...true..." sighed the embarrassed husband, "but suppose (of course we all hope it will never be your case) a father has two sons at the front and he loses one of them, there is still one left to console him...while..."

"Yes," answered the other, getting cross, "a son left to console him but also a son left for whom he must survive, while in the case of the father of an only son if the son dies the father can die too and put an end to his distress. Which of the two positions is worse? Don't you see how my case would be worse than yours?"

"Nonsense," interrupted another traveler, a fat, red-faced man with bloodshot eyes of the palest gray.

He was panting. From his bulging eyes seemed to spurt inner violence of an uncontrolled vitality which his weakened body could hardly contain.

"Nonsense, "he repeated, trying to cover his mouth with his hand so as to hide the two missing front teeth. "Nonsense. Do we give life to our own children for our own benefit?"

The other travelers stared at him in distress. The one who had had his son at the front since the first day of the war sighed: "You are right. Our children do not belong to us, they belong to the country..."

"Bosh," retorted the fat traveler. "Do we think of the country when we give life to our children? Our sons are born because...well, because they must be born and when they come to life they take our own life with them. This is the truth. We belong to them but they never belong to us. And when they reach twenty they are exactly what we were at their age. We too had a father and mother, but there were so many other things as well...girls, cigarettes, illusions, new ties...and the Country, of course, whose call we would have answered—when we were twenty—even if father and mother had said no. Now, at our age, the love of our Country is still great, of course, but stronger than it is the love of our children. Is there any one of us here who wouldn't gladly take his son's place at the front if he could?"

There was a silence all round, everybody nodding as to approve.

"Why then," continued the fat man, "should we consider the feelings of our children when they are twenty? Isn't it natural that at their age they should consider the love for their Country (I am speaking of decent boys, of course) even greater than the love for us? Isn't it natural that it should be so, as after all they must look upon us as upon old boys who cannot move any more and must sit at home? If Country is a natural necessity like bread of which each of us must eat in order not to die of hunger, somebody must go to defend it. And our sons go, when they are twenty, and they don't want tears, because if they die, they die inflamed and happy (I am speaking, of course, of decent boys). Now, if one dies young and happy, without having the ugly sides of life, the boredom of it, the pettiness, the bitterness of disillusion...what more can we ask for him? Everyone should stop crying; everyone should laugh, as I do...or at least thank God—as I do—because my son, before dying, sent me a message saying that he was dying satisfied at having ended his life in the best way he could have wished. That is why, as you see, I do not even wear mourning..."

He shook his light fawn coat as to show it; his livid lip over his missing teeth was trembling, his eyes were watery and motionless, and soon after he ended with a shrill laugh which might well have been a sob.

"Quite so...quite so..." agreed the others.

The woman who, bundled in a corner under her coat, had been sitting and listening had—for the last three months—tried to find in the words of her husband and her friends something to console her in her deep sorrow, something that might show her how a mother should resign herself to send her son not even to death but to a probable danger of life. Yet not a word had she found amongst the many that had been said...and her grief had been greater in seeing that nobody—as she thought—could share her feelings.

But now the words of the traveler amazed and almost stunned her. She suddenly realized that it wasn't the others who were wrong and could not understand her but herself who could not rise up to the same height of those fathers and mothers willing to resign themselves, without crying, not only to the departure of their sons but even to their death.

She lifted her head, she bent over from her corner trying to listen with great attention to the details which the fat man was giving to his companions about the way his son had fallen as a hero, for his King and his Country, happy and without regrets. It seemed to her that she had stumbled into a world she had never dreamt of, a world so far unknown to her, and she was so pleased to hear everyone joining in congratulating that brave father who could so stoically speak of his child's death.

Then suddenly, just as if she had heard nothing of what had been said and almost as if waking up from a dream, she turned to the old man, asking him:

"Then...is your son really dead?"

Everyone stared at her. The old man, too, turned to look at her, fixing his great, bulging, horribly watery light gray eyes, deep in her face. For some time he tried to answer, but words failed him. He looked and looked at her, almost as if only then—at that silly, incongruous question—he had suddenly realized at last that his son was really dead—gone for ever—for ever. His face contracted, became horribly distorted, then he snatched in haste a handkerchief from his pocket and, to the amazement of everyone, broke into harrowing, heart-breaking, uncontrollable sobs.