Hypothesis
She posed a hypothesis to me: if we could measure the fine structure of a rainstorm.
I said that even if we measured it, it would be useless. We lived in a city full of sensors, there are permissions for all kinds of data, and a bureaucratic organization with an umbrella-like structure controls those rights, and we can’t get them.
She was obsessed with the hypothesis, to the point of being wasted, and I took her for an afternoon stroll through the park, past two ball fields with brownish-red pine needles floating in eye-clear standing water in the drainage ditches on either side of them. I could see how much she wanted my answer, even if it was pure nonsense and she got nothing from it, a lighthouse obsession, so new even the sculpture smelled in this post-storm city.
Okay, I said, then let’s start at the beginning. Intuitively, the rain occupies a vast space. The shape of its lower boundary is the roof of the buildings in our city, a precise and constantly shifting geometric curve. With its constant droplets of water, Rain acts like a myriad of spaced-out barriers with a sponge-like effect, allowing sound waves to attenuate very quickly. But at the same time, the rain has powerful energy, which constantly strikes the physical surface that catches it so that the rain echoes like white noise from something distant. Most light is also refracted away by the drops of water in the shower and replaced by a dull white that forces its way into our vision like a viral program. Also, the wind takes the shape of the rain, and they weave in and out of it, forming falling waves and caves that give the shower a sense of rhythm. Specifically, each droplet is shaped like it’s in a weightless space, and you see their smooth armpits and want to tickle them with your fingers. And they all have a very reluctant birth; the air can no longer hold so much water, they used to be promised never again as an entity, and now they have to cling to bacteria or dust. This water comes from the Pacific or the Indian Ocean, and the warm air carries it up so violently that a storm can form in a day. The happy fisherman knows its temper, the inhabitant of the patio knows its music, the foggy policeman knows its touch, but if we stop in the middle of the storm, we will lose everything, as if we were in a universe of thermal silence.
“That’s all there is?” she had a look of intent. Obviously, my answer did not make her satisfied. When I got home, I had to clean up the mess of this illegal invasion of the sensor database. In organizing the data, I realized my indiscipline: it was a random, chaotic structure, and how could I describe something indescribable. So I wrote a scientific report on my study of rainstorms, concluding that “I love you.” I dream of you and me, and the report’s conclusion, together with the earth revolving around the sun and on its axis in a rainstorm.
Sept 2020
假设
她向我提出了一个假设：如果我们能够测量一场暴雨的精细结构。
我说，即使测量了也没有用，在这座装满传感器的城市，什么数据都是有权限的，一个伞状的官僚组织掌控着这些权力，我们拿不到。
她对这件事耿耿于怀，甚至到了废寝忘食的地步，下午我带她逛公园，路过两座球场，球场两边的排水沟里，棕红色的松针漂在眼眸般清澈的积水中。我能看出来她有多么希望获得我的回答，哪怕我的回答是纯粹胡诌，她从中一无所获，这是一种灯塔般的执着，在这暴雨后的城市里，连雕塑嗅起来也那么新。
我说，好吧，那我们从头说起。从直观上，雨占据了一个巨大的空间，它的下界的形状就是我们城市的屋顶，是清晰且不断变动的几何曲线。雨，它不断的水滴，就像无数间隔开的障碍物，起到了海绵般的效果，让声波很快地衰减。但同时，雨有强大的能量，它不断击打接住它的物理表面，于是雨里回荡着像遥远的事物发出的白噪音。大部分光线也被雨中的水滴折射掉，取而代之的是一种无聊的白，像病毒程序强制进入我们的视觉。还有，风在拿捏雨的形状，它们在雨中穿梭，形成坠落的波浪和洞穴，让雨拥有了节奏感。具体说，每个水滴的形状，都像处在失重的太空中，你看到他们光滑的腋窝，想用手指挠它们痒痒。而它们都有一个极不情愿的诞生，空气里再也容纳不了那么多水，它们过去被允诺再也不作为一个实体，现在不得不依附于细菌或是灰尘。这些水来自太平洋或是印度洋，暖空气带着它们剧烈地上升，一天就能形成一个风暴。快乐的渔民熟悉它的脾气，天井里的居民知晓它的音乐，雾中的交警清楚它的触感，但假如我们停在暴雨的半空中，我们将失去所有，宛如处于一个热寂的宇宙。
“这就是所有了？”，她一脸意犹未尽的模样，显然我并没有让她满意。回家后，我还要收拾这非法入侵传感器数据库的烂摊子。在整理数据的过程中，我才发现了我的不严谨：这是一种随机的、混沌的结构，我怎么能描述一种无法描述的东西呢。所以我把我对暴雨的研究写成了一份科学报告，结论是“我爱你”，我梦见我和你，还有结论，在一场暴雨中，和地球一起自转，公转。
2020.9
Yisheng's blog 