学习啦 淑贤 2016-10-17 14:15:29
The Rosy Moon
When he won a prize in the Province's calligraphy contest, Mr. Luo feltelated as if a gold ingothad fallen on him from the sky. The world instantlybecame ecstatically rosy in the eyes of the23-year-old winner. At the moment,he was smoking a cigarette while judging Miss B'sphotograph in a glassframe with a calligrapher's eye. He found that she was by no means prettyand she was the one who almost became his wife! Look at her lips, he thought. How thick theyare! Ugly beyond words! People would ask, then, how come a young calligrapher should chooseto marry a cold drink peddler? It isn't a good match! Well, fortunately, the prue camein time, orit would be too late if we had gotten married.
I must shake her off me! But some other people would certainly gossip about it, those who liketo poke their noses into everything! I won't be scared. Times have changed. To hell with allthose solemn vows I've made to her! I am now a calligrapher engaged in art. What does acold drink peddler know about art? After all, I am like a coarse china plate that used to be puttogether with those commonplates for daily use until one day an archeologist discovered that itwas anantique. Well, then, when it's placed with other precious antiques in the museum, all thecommon plates will have to bow low to it. Jealousy, naturally, will come with admiration. Forthat's the way things are. Thus Mr. Luo took the picture of Miss B from the frame and threw itaway, feeling well justified. In its place he put in a color stage photo of Miss A, and went ondreaming. See? With her charm and grace this woman must be the one that makes a matchfor me now. To Mr. Luo, the woman used to be a fairy queen whom he could only look up toand admire at a distance. But now that he felt himself to be the prince of art....A fairy queenand a prince, what a perfectmatch!
He took up a writing brush and began to write.
"I am now a calligrapher...." It was a letter of fire to pretty Miss A.
The second letter was to Miss B the thick-lipped: "I am now a calligrapher...." It was a letter ofice.
He then dropped both the fire and the ice into the mailbox.
In a shed by the river, Miss B wept bitterly. She crumpled the letter, threw it into the river, andthen went on with her work.
In a small house on the river bank, Miss A let out a contemptuous laughafter reading theletter, crumpled it and threw it into the river. She thentumed to her study. of a script.
The two crumpled letters floated slowly down the river and disappeared.
When evenulg came, Mr. Luo sat by the river smoking a cigarette, and gaz-ing at the water withthe eyes of an artist. There reflected a rosy moon in thewater. In the moon there was a goldenpalace, and out of the palace flew thecharming and elegant Chang Er, the moon goddess....
A Night at Mallard-Nest Village
Towards dusk it started snowing, but soon the snow stopped. It was bitterly cold. In thatglacial atmosphere everything seemed turned to ice, the air itself as if on the point of freezing.The small boat I had hired moored after the first flurries of snow fell. This was the fifth night ofmy trip upstream from Taoyuan. Because it looked as if we were in for a blizzard, the boatmenhad searched for a good anchorage. But apart from a suitable beach, the bank was a mass ofblack boulders the size of houses. Since they were so big and our boat was so small, we wantedto find some shelter from the wind in a place where we could easily go ashore. However, all thebest moorings wore occupicd by local fishing-boats. The crew punted our little craft up anddown, the steel tips of the punting-poles clinking melodiously on the rocks; but in the end wehad to draw alongside the other vessels large and small in the regular anchorage, dropping therock which served us as an anchor on to the sand and leaving our little craft exposed to thecoming blizzard.
This place, at a bend in a long lake, was flanked by high cliffs on the peaks of which grew smallbamboos, an enchanting emerald the whole year round. Now that darkness was falling, onlytheir silhouettes were outlined against the faintly glimmering sky. What we could make out inthe dusk, though, was amazing—about three hundred feet up the cliff, high above the water,was a cluster of houses on stilts. There they hung majestically in mid air, and in the fading lightwe could still see the outline of these extraordinary buildings. In common with all the housesalong the river, their construction was characterized by a wasteful use of timber. Why was somuch timber needed for houses halfway up a hill? Yet they were built on stilts, quiteneedlessly. Well, timber was the main product shipped out from this river, costing less thanstone; and so, though there was no danger at all of flooding, it was really not astonishing thatthese houses were still built on stilts. And because they were there, the boatmen who grappledyear in year out with the current, their passengers nearly bored to death, and other travellerstoo had somewhere to rest. They could shake off their weariness and loneliness in thesehouses. So the place, besides being attractive, provided distractions.
After the boats large and small had moored, all lit tiny oil lamps and fixed up mat canopies. Ricewas boiled in iron cauldrons over fires in the stem, and once this was cooked the vegetableswere fried in another pan of sizzling oil. When the meal was ready, everyone aboard could wolfdown three or five bowls. By then it was dark. When the bowls had been cleared away, theboatmen who felt cold or tired out spread their bedding on the deck and burrowed into theirstiff, clammy quilts which they had laid out like tubing. Those who wanted to drank or smokedby the lamp, and when the fire on the boat had burned to ashes or there was nothing to do, iflonely or eager for a bit of fun they would go ashore to sit by a fire and chat, taking the lanternfrom the mast or lighting a strip of old hawser with which they jumped unsteadily ashore totake the path through rocks to the stilt-houses halfway up the cliff, in search of an old friendor familiar house. Strangers naturally travelled along the river too, but once inside these stilt-houses, sitting on low stools by the fire, in no time they would feel not strangers but friends.
A Bouquet of Flowers for You
Flowers should be presented to winners who have returned home with flying colors aftercompetitions. Why should they be given to this disgraced loser?
Since she fell on the mattress from the horizontal bar four days before while doing asomersault, she had kept her beautiful and once proud head bent. Now she was back at theCapital Airport from abroad. Upon entering the lobby, she wished she could hide her head underher collar. She was ashamed to face the people who had come to welcome her right at theairport, to be interviewed by the reporters, or to meet her sister and brother-in-law. She waseven afraid to see the warm-hearted stewardess—one of her admirers. Each time she wentabroad from the airport, this stewardess would rush up to help her with her luggage. What ashame that she had absolutely failed!
Before she set off for the International Gymnastics Championships, she was fully confident ofwinning the World Titles for horizontal bar and uneven bars, and gym experts both at homeand abroad had so expected. But her poor performance had shamefully shattered all of theirexpectations.
Two years before, she had gone abroad to take part in an international competition for thefirst time. Among so many girls who had already won fame abroad, she attracted little attention.Yet because her mind was kept free of her anxiety about failure, she unexpectedly won twoWorld Titles. When she returned home that year, she was given an enthusiastic welcome in thesame lobby. Many hands stretched out to her, many camera lenses focused on her. A reporterin glasses kept pestering her with the question: “What do you like best?” She was wonderinghow to respond when she caught sight of a bouquet of flowers. Then she said, “Flowers!”Following her remarks, bunches of flowers were at once presented out to her, too many for herto hold. During the past two years, she had participated in many international competitions andbrought back one shining medal after another. What she got in return was all smiles, flowersand camera flashes. Was it because of this that she became preoccupied with winning? Themore she won, the more obsessed she was with the fear of losing. So her mind was in factmore burdened with success than with failure. The mind could control physical pains but couldnot free itself from mental strain easily. This time when she was a little off balance on thehorizontal bar, she became so worried that she lost self-control and fell off. This failure wasfollowed by several more in other events.
Afterwards in order to avoid people at the airport, she trailed along behind the team. When shefound that very few people greeted her and reporters seemed to shun her, she felt hurt anddeserted and became more humiliated and shamed of herself. However hard she tried, shecouldn’t turn the tide; she was a complete failure. Indeed, who would side with a failure?
All of a sudden, she saw a pair of shoes in front of her. Who could it be? She raised her benthead slowly and saw a navy blue suit, long legs, brass buttons and then a clear fair face under abrimless cap. Before her stood the stewardess with her hands behind her back, speaking with asmile, “I watched your performance on the television. I knew you would come home today. SoI am here especially to welcome you.”
“I did very poorly.” She lowered her head again.
“No. You did your best.”
“But I failed.”
“Nobody can avoid failure. I believe failure is as important to you as success. Failure belongs tothe past, and victory is the future.” The stewardess’s voice came gentle but firm.
Hearing these words, the girl raised her head. The stewardess held out her hands from behindher back with a big bouquet of colorful flowers, and presented it to the girl. The strongfragrance seemed to turn into a magic, powerful current that went through her body. Shewas moved to tears.
Flowers are usually given to victorious heroes. Why to this disgraced loser?