The Cat Lady
Outside the back wall of my small attic, high up on the ground is a long and deep alley, which I call the cat alley. At midnight every day, this is a world of cats. They play, court, chase, fight, and scream like children crying at the top of their voices. When it was too noisy for people to sleep, someone would often push open the window and yell "Go..." or throw a stone or tile to drive them away. I have done this in anger when I could not stand it, and every time they were chased away, not much quiet, they continued to make trouble somewhere else, all night long. In order to escape from these annoying guys, I really want to change my house and move. Strange, where are there so many cats, why do they all come to this alley to party and make trouble?
The fugitives on the train
Miss Fish took the train to Edinburgh, Scotland to visit her parents. At night, most of the passengers went to sleep, the carriage gradually quiet, Fei Xi also closed her eyes, intended to take a nap. Suddenly, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and opened her eyes to find two young men standing in front of her.
The Deep-fried Live Fish
A news report: Singapore banned restaurants from making and selling a Chinese delicacy "fried live fish". According to the cloud: "This delicacy, cooked with the 'secret recipe of Northern China', was introduced to Singapore by a visiting chef from mainland China. That is, a live carp, after removing the scales, put the part below the two gills into the frying pan to fry. When the fried fish is served on the plate, the fish still gasps for air."
The orange lamp
It was more than ten years ago. One afternoon before the Chinese New Year, I went to the outskirts of Chongqing to see a friend. She lived upstairs in the village office in the countryside. I walked up a flight of dark, reversed stairs to a room with a square table and a few bamboo stools and a telephone on the wall, and then into my friend's room, which was separated from the outer room by a curtain. She was not at home, and a note was left on the table in front of the window, saying that she had to go out temporarily and asked me to wait for her.
The first great painter in the county was Ji Taomin, and the first connoisseur was Ye San. Ye San was a fruit seller. He is a fruit seller and other fruit sellers are not the same. Not a store, not a stall, and not carrying a stretcher down the street. He specializes in delivering fruit to the big houses. That is, to 20 or 30 families. These people he knows very well, the gatekeeper and the dog know him. At a certain date, he came. Inside, when you hear him knocking on the door, you know: it's Ye San. Carrying a gold gabion basket, a small scale in the basket, he walked into the hall, raising his voice to address the master. Sometimes the owner came out to meet him, sometimes he spoke through the door. "Weighing for you--?" -- "Five pounds." What fruit, is not even need to see, because to what season to send what fruit are certain. Ye San never said the price of selling fruit. The people who buy the fruit will never treat him badly. Some people pay at the time, most of them are to the next festival (Dragon Boat Festival, Mid-Autumn Festival, New Year). Ye San weighed the fruit, placed on the eight fairy table, said "excuse me", and left. His fruits do not need to pick, each is good. The advantage of his fruit, the first is to get the first of the four seasons. The market has not seen this kind of fruit, he already has in the basket. Secondly, they are big, uniform, very fragrant, very sweet and very beautiful. His fruits are all passed through his hands, with scars, insect eyes, crowded baskets, broken skin, discolored, too small all picked off and sold to other fruit vendors at low prices. His fruit are original, some are directly to the production area to pick up, are "tree ripe", - not in the rice bran smothered ripe. He went out a lot and spent more time buying fruit than he did selling it. He also likes to run around a lot. Four villages and eight towns, which garden, what family, what a famous good fruit tree, he knows, and and the owner of the garden for many years to deal with, as familiar as in-laws. --Other fruit sellers can't make such an effort and don't know these ways. Walking around, you can see a lot of good scenery, know the local customs, can be useful to talk about, and good for health. He rarely gets sick, because he walks a lot.
The Maugham's Collection
Before I got on the plane to England, I thought I should put a novel in my luggage, and when I looked through my bookshelf, I saw a collection of Maugham's short stories and thought, "This is him. I was going to England, and it was the right time to read the work of a British novelist. And it was a collection of short stories, ready to be picked up and put down, just right for a traveler.
The Lady Thief in Pink
She is a female thief who steals from department stores. For two years, she had been working in the "street mall", but had never been suspected. Her eyes are blue and full of innocence, her hands are nimble and agile, and she often carries a purse on her left shoulder, not too big, and she doesn't have to learn how to steal, as if she were doing magic with a quick trick, doing a blindfold with her right hand and stealing with her left. She grabbed what she saw, the little finger to open the bag, a bend in the hand, the thing thrown in, and then again when the natural pressure, the bag buckle buckle, will not attract the attention of others. She practiced this technique for a long time. Finally she did it as perfectly as a swan plucking water. She could slide the bag up and down her left arm with ease, as if she had given it life.
The Joy of Thinking
Twenty-five years ago, when I went to the countryside to join the army, I brought a few books with me, one of which was Ovid's Metamorphoses, and the men on our team turned it over and over and over, so that it looked like a roll of seaweed. Then someone from another team borrowed it, and I saw it again in several different places later, and it got worse and worse. I believe the book was eventually lost to view. I still can't forget the miserable state of the book. The life in the camp was hard, not enough to eat, not enough to get used to the soil, many people got sick, but the biggest pain was the lack of books to read, if there were many books to read, "The Metamorphosis" would not have disappeared so tragically. On top of that, there is no pleasure in thought. I'm sure I'm not alone in this experience: sitting under the eaves in the evening, watching the sky slowly darken, feeling lonely and desolate, feeling deprived of your life. I was a young man at the time, but I was afraid to live on and age like this. In my opinion, this was something more terrible than death.