Explore Chapter 13 of '呐喊' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
"Loneliness, oh loneliness, the loneliness of the desert!"
This should be true, but I had not felt it; having lived here long, I had grown accustomed to it, much like one who stays in a room full of orchids grows used to the scent and no longer notices its fragrance. I merely thought it was rather bustling. However, what I call bustling might be what he calls loneliness.
Yet I feel as if there is no spring or autumn in Beijing. Old Beijingers say the climatic disposition of the land has shifted northward, and it was not so warm here before. But I always think there is no spring or autumn; the end of winter and the beginning of summer join seamlessly, and as soon as summer departs, winter begins again.
One day, during this time between winter's end and summer's beginning, and in the evening, I happened to have some leisure and went to visit Eroshenko. He had been staying at Zhongmi's home; by then, everyone in the household was asleep, and the world was very quiet. He was leaning alone on his couch, his prominent brow slightly furrowed beneath his golden hair, thinking of his old haunts in Myanmar, the summer nights of Myanmar.
"On such nights," he said, "in Myanmar, music is everywhere. In rooms, in the grass, on trees, insects chirp, all kinds of sounds blending into a symphony, truly marvelous. From time to time, snake hisses are mixed in: 'Hiss! Hiss!' Yet they harmonize with the insect sounds..." He fell into thought, as if trying to recall that scene.
I could not utter a word. Such wonderful music, I had indeed never heard in Beijing, so even with all my patriotism, I could not defend it, for though he could not see, his ears were not deaf.
A few days later, my words were unexpectedly confirmed, for Eroshenko had bought over a dozen tadpoles. He bought them and placed them in the small pond in the center of the yard outside his window. The pond was three feet long and two feet wide, dug by Zhongmi for planting lotus flowers. From this lotus pond, though never a single lotus flower was seen to grow, it was indeed a most suitable place for raising frogs.
However, cultivating pond musicians was only one of Eroshenko's endeavors. He had always advocated self-reliance, often saying women should raise livestock, and men should farm. So when meeting close friends, he would urge them to plant cabbages right in their yards; he also repeatedly advised Zhongmi's wife to keep bees, chickens, pigs, cows, and camels. Later, Zhongmi's household indeed had many chicks running all over the yard, pecking away the tender leaves of the carpet grass, probably as a result of this advice.
From then on, country folk selling chicks often came, buying a few each time, for chicks are prone to indigestion, heatstroke, and seldom live long; moreover, one of them became the protagonist of the only novel Eroshenko wrote in Beijing, "The Tragedy of the Little Chick". One morning, the countryman unexpectedly brought little ducks, chirping away; but Zhongmi's wife said she didn't want them. Eroshenko also ran out, and they placed one in his hands, and the little duck chirped in his hands. He thought it was quite adorable, so he had to buy them, four in total, each for eighty copper coins.
The little ducks were indeed adorable, all over yellow like pine flowers, placed on the ground, they waddled about, calling to each other, always staying together. Everyone said they were good, and tomorrow they would buy loaches to feed them. Eroshenko said the money could be on him.
He then went off to teach; everyone dispersed. Not long after, when Zhongmi's wife brought cold rice to feed them, from a distance came the sound of splashing water; running over to look, she found the four little ducks bathing in the lotus pond, and even somersaulting and eating. By the time they were herded ashore, the whole pond was muddy water; after half a day, it cleared, and only a few slender lotus roots were visible in the mud; and not a single tadpole with legs could be found anymore.
"Mr. Eroshenko, they're gone, the toad's children," in the evening, as soon as he returned, the youngest child quickly said.
By the time frog croaks were heard everywhere, the little ducks had grown up, two white and two speckled, and no longer chirped but quacked "quack, quack". The lotus pond could no longer accommodate their lingering, but fortunately, Zhongmi's home was in a low-lying area; as soon as summer rain fell, the yard filled with water, and they happily swam, dived, flapped their wings, and quacked "quack, quack".