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莫言的三篇新作最后跟贴：一个人，风尘仆仆地活在这个世界上，要为喜欢自己的人而活着。最后发表：aladdin_lamp	jafe 2014-5-3 07:51	41201	aladdin_lamp 2014-5-8 17:57
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (30) 天堂之影最后跟贴：楼主太有才了最后发表：雄鹰展翅	洋八路 2014-5-1 21:22	21366	雄鹰展翅 2014-5-7 00:44
陈谦的何以言爱最后跟贴：牵黄擎苍发表于 2014-5-6 08:57 和写“覆水”的是同一个人吗是的，挺好看的。最后发表：月光绵绵	月光绵绵 2014-4-21 14:08	21396	月光绵绵 2014-5-6 22:22
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(34)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 34 The next morning, among the faint noises of little sparrows, he awoke from a sleep or a death, looking at the grey hollowness of the Shanghai sky. If he still had some illusion about her yesterday, now he knew he had certainly lost her complete. He was a hand bag she had once carried, and perhaps cared and wanted for a while, and then, without mercy, discarded. Feeling too weak to attend the class, he wandered about the park, staring at some old, spine-bent people doing their life-lasting Qigong exercise, as if it was a pleasant thing living in such a senile condition. Human beings, a special class of animal created by some odd and illogic nature, desired so much to live, to perpetuate their meagre breath, yet like all the creatures on the earth they still have sooner or later to die. Oh, what a piteous, helpless life! In the mid-morning, he reached his room. He climbed onto his bed, closed the tent tight, lay himself down, pulled the quilt over him, over his head, and thus safely wrapped up, he continued to consume his sorrow with little air and temperature circulating his half-wasted body. He heard Kang calling his name; the voice was unreal, more like in a dream. Turning over, he found Kang’s face so close to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you sick?’ Bing smiled a smile with the shadow of a cry. ‘No, I am all right.’ ‘Where did you stay last night?’ Kang pursued, ‘you were still not in the bed when I got up this morning.’ ‘I stayed in my country-fellow’s,’ he lied hastily, finding it hard to bear Kang’s look of so much concern. ‘Then why didn’t you attend the class?’ Bing didn’t reply to him; he couldn’t, for at this moment a sudden rush of tears made him incapable of words. Kang was startled. Bing turned away, as if he had to hide his emotions in the presence of his friend. He felt Kang pat once on his shoulder, and heard him sitting down on his own bed. The following silence was then broken by the rustles of other roommates who had also come back from the afternoon class. Restoring his composure and knowing Kang was still in the room, Bing turned and said to him, ‘Kang, I am all right, you go to your basketball training.’ ‘No, I am not going today.’ ‘Why? I am fine,’ he smiled, still with an effort, ‘I am okay.’ ‘No, not because of you,’ Kang said, ‘I feel my leg muscle aching.’ ‘Do you? You must have strained yourself.’ ‘Yes, I believe so. Well, not a big deal, we all feel sore from time to time, depending on the intensity of training.’ By this time, Bing had already sat up. ‘Then we can go for a drink this evening?’ Kang smiled, like a morning sun, ‘Yes, you deserve it, don’t you?’ A sort of sudden joy, strange and incredible under the circumstances, affected Bing’s mood, as quickly as those tears had set upon him a while earlier. He nearly jumped out of his bed, for the first time in the day feeling the rattle in his stomach, realizing he had not taken any food or water since the day broke. After doing his washing, they went out to the restaurant they used to go in Sichuan Bei Road, where Bing was able to allay much of the malicious energy incited by the incident the evening before. Bing simply reported that Vivian was seen walking with another guy, and talked in a light-hearted, careless air, supported and disguised by three bottles of beer. And from that day onwards, Vivian seemed to have become a stranger, a new composition associated with certain dirt and disgust in his mind. Every time he saw her hopping about in the classroom or in the playground, and when his old love threatened to revisit and touch him, the horrific image of her doing it with the man would emerge in time to suppress it. Largely he had been successful, and as time went on, she had withered dead in his heart, or, if not dead completely, was buried deep in the ashes of his perished love. She was neither a friend nor a fiend, no longer a person to whom he should spare his attention or shed his emotion. She was nobody but one who happened to sit in the same class, listening to the same set of droning teachers. No matter how ostentatiously she flourished her hair and gestures, was no longer his concern. When the new students’ welcoming party was held again in September 1990, she asked him to perform his guitar. He performed for the sake of performance, nothing to do with her, no emotion was expended for her like before; he would have done it all the same should the request have been raised by any other classmates. Besides his guitar playing and book reading, he was now also able to spend more time with Kang, who had to cancel his training more often because of his sore muscles, even if, twice or more a week, Kang would go out with his girlfriend. Lat one afternoon, finding Kang in the room, Bing asked, ‘You’re not going to training again?’ ‘Not today, I may need a long period of rest, to recover the normal functioning of my legs.’ ‘What does your trainer say?’ ‘He thinks the same; I may have worked too hard.’ So for a couple of weeks, Kang had stopped his training, but the pain persisted, so he went to the medical centre of the university, and he was advised to see a specialist in a hospital. Becoming a bit serious, on the next Saturday, Bing accompanied him to Shanghai First People’s Hospital. A number of checks were done, including the X-rays and other things they had never even thought of before. After he was finished, the doctor asked Kang to come back for the results the following weekend. But they didn’t wait until the weekend. Kang got a call from the hospital only the next day, the Sunday, asked him go to hospital immediately. They went. Bing was waiting worryingly outside on the bench. When Kang finally came out from the door, he sprang up towards him. ‘How is it?’ Kang didn’t reply not even look at him; he merely laid his hand on Bing’s shoulder as if he couldn’t stand by himself. Alarmed by the Kang’s paper-like face, by his scary silence and obliviousness, Bing shook him, lightly lest he could just fall over, ‘Kang, Kang, why, what is the matter!’ But Kang’s dull, unseeing eyes still looking ahead, afforded him no relief of urgency. It was not until they went out of the crowded corridor, leaning against the wall, that Kang, who had now come back to a quarter of himself, told him he had got cancer. It was bone cancer, in late stage, even the amputation of his leg wouldn’t save him, he said. The world seemed to Bing suddenly different, no sound, no sense, mechanical and darkening. As soon as they came back to school, Kang asked Bing to call Xiaodan, telling her that he wanted to talk to her. Bing went to find her, and on their way back to their room didn’t tell her of the real cause of the urgent visit. She went in, while the other roommates who by this time already knew of the shocking news came out of the room. Some time later, she came out, in tears. Bing entered the room, and Kang said, ‘I told her that was the last time she should see me.’ So it was not muscle pain, it was the bone around his knee of his left leg, about where Kang had started feeling pain half a year before. The doctor asked him to spend his time in hospital, to be better treated with various measures, to relieve his pain that was supposed to get worse and worse as days passed. The shock of the calamity was passed on to the teachers, other classmates, and his parents. A donation was initiated on the campus. Bing called his father for one thousand, explaining the purpose, ‘Borrow the money wherever from...’ Two days later, Kang moved into the hospital, and the day after, his father arrived in Shanghai to stay with him. When his father, kneeling at the bedstead, held Kang and cried as a broken man, Bing went and hold them both. One day, Bing said to him, ‘Kang, where do you want to see the most? I will try to make it, and accompany you.’ Kang smiled softly, ‘Thank you, Bing, but I just want to go home.’ ‘Then, I will accompany you home.’ Within six weeks, Kang had lost much of his hair and weight, supported by the ghastly-looking oxygen hose. According to the doctor’s estimate, he had two or three months more to live. He expressed his wish to go home, to save the trips of his mother and brothers and sister. So it was decided to transfer him to the hospital of his county in Heilongjiang province, sooner rather than later. A farewell date was set for his classmates and his teachers and his basketball team members and his other friends and fellows to see him for the last time. The classmates all arrived in the morning, waiting outside the hospital, and went into the ward in three smaller groups, one after another. Bing went in the second group, half numbed after seeing the tears and sobbing, especially of the girls in the first group. Kang, on the bed, was propped up by a pile of pillows. He wore a cap on his head, his face still had a square structure, but his brows and cheekbones were so much more prominent. Smiling, and, with his thin long fingers, he shook each hand reached over to him, calling the name of its owner, who, in their emotion, could mumble no words but his name, and now and again Kang had to pause to inhale the oxygen from the hose dangling beside him. At Bing’s turn, Kang lost his smile, and, looking at Bing for a long second, his large eyes started brimming with tears, and his breath grew heavier, panting, and wheezing. Kang’s hand was thin and bony, like a twig. ‘Kang…’ Bing’s voice was broken, he stooped and bent over, embracing Kang’s head on his chest… At last, with a kiss on Kang’s forehead, and a pressure in his shaky hand, and a steady look into his large eyes, he released him to the next in the queue. Later that day, when the others had left, he told Kang and his father that he would accompany them to their home. At first they didn’t agree, saying he should attend his classes, but later they were persuaded to accept his offer. However, the next day, the doctor suggested they take an airplane, instead of the lengthy train trip they had planned. So, due to the much higher cost – more than 300 Yuan one way, Bing didn’t insist on his entreaty. In his wheelchair, in the airport, during his last hours in Shanghai, Kang didn’t appear as sad as he had been in the hospital. Instead, he smiled more often. Bing knew he was thinking of his home, where his mother and brothers and sister, whom he had not seen during the ast three years, were waiting for him. The last look, the last turn of Kang’s head towards him, while standing at the gate seeing them off, was eternal. Bing stayed in the toilet and cried silently. -- End of Chapter 34 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20	01226	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20
魏忠贤：一个开得过分的玩笑(ZT) 最后跟贴： axtle 发表于 2014-5-4 22:11 这篇文章写得比较片面。。。木匠皇帝没那么笨，魏忠贤对于明朝的贡献比东林党那些空谈误国的大多了 ... 他的贡献是？最后发表：深蓝泡泡	jeru 2005-11-7 19:13	102235	深蓝泡泡 2014-5-4 23:26
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(33)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 33 Which bench? Was it the one he used to sit on together with Kang, or Fang, or Vivian? It must have been one of them, but which one for such a dreadful night, he can’t remember. Now a cool breeze from the sea moves about his face, but instead solacing him, it makes him shudder. On the beach, he rises and sits up again, cross-legged like the Buddha of Guanyin. The shadow, in his front, has now a shape of an acute cone. Looking far into the dusky sky, he notices a star, considerably brighter than the rest, is glowing, not far above the level of sea. ‘How is this star so different?’ Intrigued with the little miracle for a long while, he then notices it is actually growing. ‘Why, it is a plane!’ he exclaims, as the flashing light, faint as it is, is revealing its identity. He looks at the plane, in the manner of a cat looking at a bird moving about a tree, thinking of the passengers in the craft, who may have shut the little windows and fallen asleep, or go through video channels to pass their life in the hollowness of the universe. But the idea of being fastened in the seat doesn’t appeal to him. If he allows his imagination go wild, he wishes to become an insect, drifting through the infinite space, eyeing the whole universe, dark and ugly, bright and pretty. Then suddenly, still like a cat, his attention is attracted to some flying objects emerging from his right and coming in his direction. There, a flock of birds, the little bodies of which are illuminated by the light of the street lamp, are rising and falling, zigzagging along the coastline, quietly plotting white curves like a Chinese calligrapher making strokes on a canvas. ‘Where are they heading to?’ he asks himself, as the birds thread their way past him, and to his left, and at last vanishing. ‘Are they rushing to a party in crevices among rocks, or a snow field at the North Pole?’ Wherever they go, they seem firmly set towards a destination, may it be a dream, a destiny or a tragedy. Humans, him one of them, are loaded with thoughts and ideals, fantasies and delusions, desires and regrets, always hesitating, forever comparing good and bad, judging from low to high, forever wanting more than they already have, fearing a loss even before it comes, unable to lead a simple, instinctive life like birds, who just fly as they live, and die quickly as they turn sick. Presently a couple of human joggers come on the scene. Bigger than those birds, slower but no less sure and bright and quiet, they pace swiftly close to the water line. To his dreamy eyes, they are of a superior class to some human fellows, the barbarians who at this time may drink to death, eat to obese, smoke to cancer, drug to phantoms, game to lunatics, work to addicts; who may at this time dread mortgages, quarrel with partners, grapple with the half-grown, monstrous young adults; and who may at this time, shriek in streets, rape the bikes, murder for power, or 不雅 like idiots… The wavelets, the only source of sound on the entire beach, are glistening. Each of them is conducting its brief life-journey. It is initiated from a little white speckle, then grows steadily broader and higher, until abruptly, it dies off. At its peak, the foam is rolling like a butterfly swimmer pulling and pushing with two gigantic arms. Collectively, they are like dancing on the dark stage, with a costume of only pale sleeves. On and off they switch one after another, as if being accorded by the piano keys pressed and released intermittently, and they are immortal, showing no symptoms of fatigue. Very much awed and lured by its eternity, he stands up, and without rolling up his pants, steps into the water. His shadow now, on the surface, is meshed, and shattered, and formless. Water reaches his knees, and his mind plays a scene of a movie he had watched a long time before, where a man, the hero, walked deep into the sea, slowly, mysteriously fading out in the darkness. This tide, this water intimacy, this torrential nature, and this black sky, and this sand between his toes, and this crazy foam, and this absolute solitariness, are all like the figments and sensations in a dream; no more is he a spectator, he is now an actor, a hero on the stage. The circumstance he may consider suitable for suicide is when he is too old, too weak to lead a healthy mobile life, and when his living is a burden to others, becoming a type of near meaningless rubbish to the earth, and at which time he would choose a place, to end it peacefully and respectfully. He doesn’t like the idea of being drowned, it would be an unthinkable notion of salty and bitter water choking his lungs. Ideally he would jump off a cliff, when the scenes in his dying eyes must be beautiful, the flying freedom in the sky must be delicious, and the deformation of his body into either a clutch of dust or a little pool of blood or a bundle of food for the sharks, must be painless. He remains in the water for a timeless time, until the chill reaches his heart, hushing his breathing symptoms, before venturing back to the beach, where he takes off his drenched pants, wrings as hard as his strength permits to dry them, and then puts them back on. Then he continues to trace along the fringe of the waterline. He raises his head, looks into the sky, and is amazed to find the moon, crescent and weak and cold, looking at him like all the little stars do. Yes, the moon is a female, as fancied at least by the Chinese; she is cool and cruelly beautiful; she is a woman whom millions of people on Earth decide to love, desperately and ridiculously. He wants to talk to her, in his most tender whisper, to send her his finest kiss, to love her dearly and melancholily, with his spirit and his precious sperm. He sits down again on the dry sand, because looking up too long strains his neck, tired and sore. A sudden trace of whiteness flashes in his eyes, shocking for a moment his threads of mooning. Some metres away from where he sits, two seagulls are landing quietly. They are eyeing him, curiously, hesitating, tilting their dainty heads sideways. One of them advances to him three steps or so, then backs off about two. The other appears rather timid, staying cautiously behind, as if awaiting for a safety report from the pioneer before daring to make a move. He had MacDonald’s as his supper, but doesn’t have any chips now at hand; otherwise he would feed them, and befriend them in his absolute solitude. He raises a hand, they instantly jerk up. Their bird-instinct is divided between anticipation for food and apprehension of danger, the reaction to both of which is executed simultaneously and perfectly. He raises his hand again, and they do the act again; he does it once again, and they react once again. Seeing no food, nor any real danger, the two seagulls linger. Then, he says to them: ‘There are tons of pollutants we humans make, they spoil you, ruin your digestion, disable your system. The chips you beg from our hands will fatten you, weigh you heavy, perish you ugly. ‘We don’t have the beauty of your feathers, nor have we your flying wings, because we have absorbed too much junk. Junk food and junk mail are our tradition, nowadays, we have new junks, junk email, junk phone calls, junk websites, junk mobiles, junk blogs, junk noses, junk breasts, junk pills, junk movies, junk games, junk music, junk… ‘The junks are what we need, to pamper our body, to tease our mind, to seduce quicker, to die faster, or, in order to produce more junks, to live longer…’ The one, braver, and closer to him, is understandingly nodding its head, and replies: ‘Yes, yes, you are right, absolutely right, but I still want to eat, and you, a man or a ghost, please stop your words, and show me your hands.’ Coolly, Bing is regarding him, who must be the husband as he estimates. ‘You have a bold heart. Are you the husband?’ ‘Of course, I am. We male gulls are all husbands.’ ‘And females are all wives?’ ‘None of your human business, just show me your hands!’ He ruffles his feather and jerks his neck. This is a rude species, he thinks, so he decides to despise his request. The husband flits a few steps towards him as if it wants to attack his hand, but Bing exercises a great calmness, with a human’s pride. Then, the timid wife, who hides behind her husband, probing her neck, speaks first time: ‘Who are you? Are you a human or just a heartless thing brought ashore by the sea?’ Still calm and motionless like a statue, he refuses to look at her and answer her. The wife is upset and despondent by the lack of food and communication and, becoming impatient, she mutters, ‘He is a ghost. He is a subclass, a thing without mercy and empathy. He is hungry and starving too. Oh, my dear, let’s go, leave the hopeless to die alone on the beach.’ She complains and nags her ‘man’ in their bird language. ‘Stop whinging! Woman! Can’t you just shut up?!’ The husband, exasperated, turns to her, screwing up his neck, blowing his feathers, ‘You must have more patience, I know humans, they are generally good folks, don’t you know they love Nature and us birds?’ Intimidated by the sudden temper of her husband, she lowers her body, as well as her head, as if she is expecting the angry husband to come aboard her back to mate her, to help alleviate his anger. However, he doesn’t; at this point of time, he desires junk food more than junk sex. So she has to stand up, meekly relieved, looking disappointedly at the looming darkness; whilst her husband, her master, is using his bird-patience to deal with the man, who seems to have turned dead for the while. The couple, jogging, flitting about, continue to study and evaluate the dead thing, or precisely, a junk person. But time passes by, they have induced no symptoms of life from the sitting object. At last, the husband loses his hope and patience, and says to his wife, ‘Woman, sometimes you do have greater wisdom than we husbands. Let’s go, and leave alone the miserable.’ Happily praised by her ‘man’, the wife stretches and flutters her wings; she fires up into the air, and draws beautifully in a half circle, waiting in the air to be joined by her husband. In a white flash, they are gone, silently as if the darkness has paralysed their uttering device. A sudden loss of society strikes his heart; he feels alone and forlorn, and begins to miss them, yearning for their company. And they miss him too; there, in the near sky, the two gulls appear again. They circle three circles, and land onto same place as before, repeating their gesture to demand food from him. Bing, with respect, as well as gratitude for their coming back, looks at them without moving his head, and sighs: ‘Ah, how quickly they forget their failure and their contempt! They do have an ingenuous mind and a pure heart.’ But the idea that they have come back merely for food, instead for the sake of companionship, spoils his temper, and suddenly, a wicked thought dawns on his head. Slowly, and imperceptibly, he manages to withdraw his legs, readying his body in a manner like a predator preparing a striking on a prey. Then abruptly, he stands up, with a force and speed like a hard-compressed spring suddenly released. A monster of a man’s height turns alive. One second or two, the couple is transfixed with utmost fear. Then, as if recovering their consciousness of imminent death, they flap frantically, shooting to the sky in two opposite directions. The husband, alone to the left, lets out a plaintive and brief cry ‘Ah!’; the wife, alone to the right, shrieks a series, ‘Ah! Ghost! Ah! Ghost! Ah!...’ Their cry and shrieks, like swords plunging into the heart of the darkness, shock the beach, quake the paradise, shake the very shadow and scare its master. Shivering, he trudges back to the beach entrance. There he ascends the stairs, and arrives at Cavil Ave. The gleaming yellowish M of MacDonald warmed his eyes; instantly, he has an earnest desire for the fried chips, the very junk food the gulls had been begging. Only at this moment, he thinks he fully understands the gulls. He goes into the shop, asks earnestly for two large chips and one large coke. Patiently he waits. The shop girl, a rich-built, high-bodied, high-browed, well-bosomed, long-nosed girl, a descendant of Anglo-Saxons, or whatever name representing the species originally from Europe, gives him the things he wants, and smiles prettily to him as if she admires him, and will make love to him if he dare ask so. He takes the bag from her and immediately starts to chew the French chips. And with his eating, the fried temperature cultivates his empathy towards the two gulls he has so recently bullied, so he goes back to the same spot, with the hot chips, waiting for them. But they never come. He is alone. And then his thoughts go back twenty years ago, continuing to tell himself a story that is long and tedious, and that is almost as junky as the chips. --- End of Chapter 33--- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-3 22:41	01149	洋八路 2014-5-3 22:41
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(32)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 32 ‘Vivian, do you really love me?’ he asked, in the park, looking steadfastly at her. She held his eyes, in a sort of wonder. Then she kissed him, and said, ‘Yes, I love you.’ In the thick winter clothes, she looked a bit clumsy. It was in the period of Spring Festival holiday. Bing insisted on her coming out for one day with him. ‘But why don’t you look at me like now when we are in the classroom, or in the public,’ he said, fondling her hair, ‘you were like a stranger to me then.’ ‘Oh, silly, do you really want to let others know about us?’ Bing thought a while, before he answered, ‘Why not? I know quite a number of couples don’t mind that.’ ‘It will have bad marks in our political profiles, affecting our graduate assignments, don’t you know that? The school never approves of courting on campus.’ Bing kissed her nose, feeling the shallow archness in the middle of the bridge, ‘Vivian, would you follow me to Sichuan after graduation?’ She mused a moment or two, groping for words, ‘You want me to follow you?’ With his hands he turned her head to face him square, so that he can look deep into her eyes, ‘Yes.’ Her large eyes were blinking, ‘If you really want me, I …’ He kissed her eyes so that she didn’t have to finish her sentence, for, he knew he had asked a question to which the answer was already obvious to him. Then he was sad. He held her for a long minute looking ahead, silent, gloomy, dejected. ‘Bing, what is the matter?’ she asked, conscious of his capricious mood, which was not at all unfamiliar to her. ‘Vivian, apparently I love you more than you me.’ He let out what had a long time lurked at the back of his mind. ‘How could you say so?’ she replied, sombrely, ‘you are a heartless person; you know how I suffered in the hospital.’ Instantly, Bing detected the tears in her voice. He turned to her, and kissed her, ‘Oh, Vivian, I know, don’t cry.’ But she wept on; and he couldn’t but love her and brush dry her tears. Oh, Vivian, how can I, or anyone else in the world, imagine you can be a person so weak and soft, so susceptible to tears! At length their youthful emotion was harboured in their mutual warmth and consolation. But he was resolute to pursue further the new intelligence he had developed from his conversation with Kang the other night. ‘Vivian, you know, I am very unhappy when you are not with me, and I am very jealous of other boys talking to you.’ ‘Bing, you are sometimes too sensitive. How many times have I told you that, though I talk to them, I don’t love them, why are you so stubborn?!’ Then Bing said abruptly, beyond his schemed purpose, ‘Have you loved others before?’ She looked at him, in indignity and disbelief and resolution. ‘Yes,’ she answered curtly, straightening up, looking away from him. He pulled her over, intending to restore their previous intimacy. But she shunned his efforts. ‘Vivian,’ he called her, in a humble and regretful tone. With her eyes looking straight ahead, into far beyond the lake, she didn’t answer his call. A dead silence fell onto them. Then, his eyes full of sorrow, he suddenly blurted out in the same unintended manner: ‘Vivian, maybe we should say good bye to each other.’ She started at his words, swiftly turned to him, held and shook his arm, ‘Why?! ...’ ‘Vivian,’ he felt himself suddenly sobbing, ‘Vivian…’ He was inarticulate. Her tears came fast and bigger; she laid her head on his lap. He gently stroked her hair, which was shaking and spreading, which for the moment reminded him, on the registration day, of his contemplating moments upon her back. Then three sparrows, probably the same three he had seen last time, were jumping about their feet. The tiny creatures were the only birds he had ever seen in the park, and had accompanied him almost every time he had come here. He knew they had come to beg some food from him, but today they could beg for nothing, not even peanuts, but tears of hers, and his. So, in the chirping of three hungry birds, she cried, without once lifting her head to him, for a considerable time, before he thought she was ready for him to gather her up and go back to their residence. In his bed that night, Bing was wondering if this was the actual end of them. He didn’t deliberate to say those words at all; they just broke out of him in one ridiculous moment. ‘Is this the end, or not, who knows,’ he sighed. A couple of months wore on, both of them didn’t try for any more meetings. He was still sitting in the classroom corner; Vivian was still active and swinging about all the time. Even their occasional clashes of eyes were, it seemed to Bing, anything but meaningful or historic. How weird and incomprehensible was it for him to imagine anything had ever happened between them? It was as if their courting, for a period of six months since their trip in Beijing, had not taken place at all. However, it might be only her who had developed a callous insensitive scale, protecting herself from any adversarial love history, not him. All the time, she was hurting him; the discontinuance of their physical contact didn’t end his jealousy and agony; she was from time to time still shattering his frame of mind. One early evening, as if putting salt onto the gash of a wound, he saw Vivian walking along a lane on the campus, and she was not alone; she was clasping another’s hand, a hand of a man. He knew him; he was a post graduate student in the English department, who was also an assistant teacher for the under-graduate class. He had never walked with Vivian like that within the boundary of campus, a place she had always averted while dating with him, fearing familiar eyes upon them. But she was doing it now, with another guy. Oh… Before her eyes had a chance to see him, he detoured, out of instinct, to avoid a horrible encounter, like a highly vigilant spy sliding into the shade at the slightest sound. If he had ever known what jealousy was about, then he had known nothing, compared to what he was feeling. Not about upset, not about anger or revenge, not even about love or hatred. At the moment his eyesight was smeared with an abhorrent reflection. He saw through his distraught mind the man was jerking his swollen penis at Vivian’s buttocks, and they were going to mate like the cattle in his childhood memory. And, this woman, whom he had loved and still loved hopelessly, was in her submissive way arching her back… Leaning against a tree, he felt he had been castrated and then grilled in an oven. He was dizzy, his stomach churning, a rush of nausea surged from his middle. Long after the two culprits had disappeared from his sight, he was still too weak to leave the tree. As soon as he was recovered enough to make a move, he felt desperate for a secluded place for his watery heart and bones. He dragged his legs out of the campus, and like an aged cat with little calcium left in his skeleton, he moved along. He was not quite conscious of arriving at the park, until he was stopped by the ticket inspector at the gate. He paid for the ticket and dived in. On that night, like a shadow, in the blessed Lu Xun Park, which had once been a paradise for him, he clutched at a bench and slept the night... -- End of Chaper 32 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:29	01165	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:29
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(31)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 31 In August 1989, Bing’s dad and his sister Ming, together called to inform him that Ming had been admitted into the Sichuan Police College in Luzhou, a neighbouring regional centre in Sichuan Province. It was a three-year vocational school; her major would be Management of Public Security. Although Bing had wished his sister to undertake university study like him, it was still a great news to the family, to the whole village. It meant that both of them had eventually secured a better future as a salary-earner, rather than as a soiled farmer who had to toil for the rest of their lives. They told him that, based on Ming’s performance, her teacher had advised her to take the college exam. Over the phone, Ming’s excitement was overwhelming, speaking the equivalent happiness matching his own two years back. Bing’s life in the university, with his love affair with Vivian, had never been so remarkable. It was only towards the end of the year when Shanghai’s cold and wet weather began to manifest itself, that Bing and Vivian went out less than in previous months. Vivian stayed at home more at weekends, and his roommates stayed in bed more for the warmth under the quilt, preventing the couple from using his only private space. Their meeting was thus reduced into a short time occurrence around the campus and dormitory buildings. Bing had more and more idle time for his books and his guitar although he preferred her company. He had to keep himself peacefully occupied when he was not with her. Admittedly, Bing was a very jealous person. Vivian, in the classroom or on other occasions, was known to be a sparkling figure, an easy source of attraction to others. Bing understood she had always been like that, and wouldn’t possibly change to one only attractive to himself but other fellows. Sensibly he knew all about that, he knew Vivian loved him, particularly so when they were alone, when he could kiss her and take her, when she was willingly possessed by his dictatorial passion. But still, he couldn’t transform himself to a better man in terms of jealousy. He was invariably agitated and afflicted whenever she was smiling her charm to other greedy eyes around her, although such fretfulness and resentment could usually be settled by a more aggressive love making that would naturally follow. Now due to the bad weather the chance of doing so occurred less and less, and his resentment was little by little bottled up, and he found it harder and harder to get it off his chest. Such a struggle happened one night on campus, around the corner of the English Building. On the morning of same day, during the lesson break, he had noticed Mark, the handsome Shanghai boy whom he had always hated secretly, was talking endlessly in Shanghai dialect with her, and, during their entire conversation, Vivian had not thrown a single glance to him, who sat there in the corner pretending indifference. So under the dim light, Bing crudely if not cruelly kissed her, his mind replaying the scene of her vigorous chattering with Mark in the morning. ‘Vivian, can we go to my room.’ ‘Now? No, I am having my period,’ she kissed him, consolingly, ‘wait, in a few days… ’ But a desire, savage and aggressive, that he seemed unable to suppress, drove him to advance recklessly to her body. The uncontrollable, bad side of his nature was propelling a sort of evil energy. However, this time, Vivian was resolute, forcibly resisting him with her utmost feminine exertion; at one point, her hand was half way to slapping his face. Frustrated and desperate, he pushed her away abruptly, leaving her alone, paying no heed to her calls after him. He had pride and self-dignity, no less than hers; but his self was so easily injured, all because of her, because of her relentless demonstration of her beauty, of her big seductive eyes, in front of so many other men, who, in his eyes, were all handsomer, all better built, all better attired, all better suited to her… Why did she have to publish herself so conspicuously to all other people? Considering that he had been always dedicated to her, even if quite a number of girls had expressed their interest in him? He, always, since day one, had set her as his idol, onto whom he would bestow all he had, all his emotions and manly resources. But no, she was not that way; all the time she was so happy if not happier with other boys around, never relinquishing a slight chance to make herself the centre of male attention. The notion that she was his, she loved him no less than he her, had now proved to be a mere illusion. She, a Shanghai girl, didn’t seem capable of devoting the wholeness of her love, her charm, her womanhood to one person, to him only, even if she had once upon a time lost herself to him, had accorded a temporary vibration with him. She was still far, remote, aloof, distant, looking over him with her mocking eyes, looking over him as a poor country lad with her haughty eyes, assuming a sort of self-appointed status that nobody but Shanghainese themselves could have so much appreciated. But why, why had he to do with her, if he loathed the Shanghainese so much? Why did he have to love her? There were quite a few pretty girls in other provinces, who had also shown a certain admiration for him. Wouldn’t he feel better, more comfortable, and more equal courting them? For a number of nights, lying on his bed, he was entangled with his own thoughts, failing to find a way out. He was cornered by a paradox. Did she really love him, or not? If so, why did she seem so afraid of the public knowledge of their relationship? If not, why did she present herself as such a submissive girl before him whenever they were alone, in their own little world? She could even cry with tears when he occasionally lost his temper, and insulted her either with his rude words or with his crude sexual intrusion. He was even thinking of making her pregnant again in his hopeless desire to lock her in, to take the whole possession of her body and her mind. But then, Vivian, as smart as she was, had, during this struggle of their relationship, been more conscious and alert about his whims and recklessness in his evil tendency which had grown rampant of late. One day he might determine not to see her again, but the next he could suddenly ridicule his decision and seek reconciliation with her. Their courtship was more and more ruled by his caprice. When he thought he was sober and sensible, he might understand fully his ill behaviour, but the irritation and disturbance to his nerves on a daily basis had never ceased to crack his now weaker form of self-control. Of all the world, there was only Kang he could talk with and help him analyse his disquieted state of mind. ‘Cheer up, Bing, you have been recently very blue,’ Kang said, clanging his bottle with Bing’s, after tossing a peanut into his mouth. ‘Have you broken up with Vivian?’ Bing, tilting the bottle in his mouth, drank three mouthfuls in one go. Then still holding the beer, looking at Kang with his red eyes, he said, ‘I am very much wretched, you know, I am a fool.’ Patting his shoulder, Kang said, ‘Take it easy, it is not the end of world.’ ‘I just couldn’t get rid of her from my mind.’ ‘But she loves you, does she not?’ ‘Who knows, the Shanghai women,’ he cursed, in a livid wrath not less influenced by alcohol, ‘they seem to love every man in the world.’ ‘Hahaha, no, no, you are exaggerating, at least she doesn’t love me,’ Kang was laughing, hilariously, a little offensively. Bing had to smile a little, ‘But you have Xiaodan dedicated to you, she doesn’t show off herself in every direction like Vivian.’ ‘But, remember Fang? She was quite dedicated to you as well, I believe. Then you wanted Vivian, who was all different, far more glamorous than anyone else.’ ‘So you mean I am too greedy?’ ‘Of course, you are greedy. To think you have already taken her, what else do you want? Her soul? Her spirit?’ Kang eyed his friend, never so critically as this round of conversation, ‘or, do you want to marry her?’ ‘Marry? Not yet thought that far.’ ‘In my view, marriage is impossible.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Common sense, you will most likely go back to Sichuan after graduation, do you think Vivian would follow you there?’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Well, can you honestly imagine that Vivian would give up all that she has in Shanghai, and go to a place deemed so much under-developed and poor? And there is virtually no chance for you to stay in Shanghai, you won’t get a residence certificate here.’ Musing, looking at the ground, Bing drank his beer. Kang continued, ‘And even if she wants to go with you, how about her parents? Is she the only child?’ ‘Yes, she told me so.’ ‘See, it is the hardest case, how will her parents let their only child go so far away?’ ‘So, what can I do?’ Bing asked gravely, ‘end with her?’ ‘I don’t know. I am thinking you are just taking it too serious. You have made yourself so unhappy.’ ‘But, are you serious with Xiaodan?’ ‘Yes, because we are both from Northern parts, and even if not, I am sure she would follow me anywhere I go.’ ‘How can you be so sure?’ ‘Well, I can’t explain it, I am sure of her, but I could never be sure of someone like Vivian. I don’t think Vivian is the type of girl who would give up much for something like love, so called love.’ ‘So it seems to me Xiaodan loves you, and Vivian doesn’t love me, or not enough for her to follow me anywhere,’ his thought seemed to clarify a little in the course of the conversation, ‘and is she only temporarily interested in me? When she said she loved me, I couldn’t think otherwise but believe her. It sounded so true.’ ‘Well, that is something I never quite understand,’ Kang said, ‘but, Bing, are you really in love with her?’ ‘Yes, I am very, very sure that I love her. And put another way, I would follow her anywhere, if she let me do so. But the fact she that couldn’t do the same for me, makes me wonder if her love is different from mine, either in intensity or in dedication, not what I have for a long time understood. But there was a period of time during her pregnancy I truly believed in the strength of her affection, no less than mine.’ ‘But people may change as the time goes on.’ ‘You mean she has changed,’ he looked at Kang, ‘or she has always been the same, unchangeable?’ Kang chuckled, squaring his mouth, ‘You are confusing me, too much of a topic for me. Unlike you, I haven’t yet made any love to any girls.’ Suddenly intrigued, Bing asked, ‘Didn’t you try to make love with her?’ ‘No, but we’ve kissed now.’ ‘Tell me about that?’ ‘Haha…’ Kang laughed aloud, never so happy in Bing’s memory. …. They talked late as usual on the night. The friendship, to the contrast of his bizarre love relationship, had never failed to console him, to hold him up in the water of his trouble. Without Kang, how could he spend all those lonely days in the school? He wondered why he couldn’t make more friends like him? Such as other roommates or classmates? But, did he really need one more if he had already Kang? Why did love, so-called, give him so much trouble, while the friendship seemed to be all so pleasant and stable like a rock? Next time, he needed to talk with Vivian about the matters of love they had touched upon tonight, he decided, while drifting slowly into sleep. --End of Chaper 31 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:19	01102	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:19
收到闺蜜快递过来的包裹（新增推荐的书目）最后跟贴：lz说的书我一本都不知道，汗啊！！都是新书吗？我out了。最后发表：chenlitao ...2	Alicefowley 2014-4-4 22:23	394246	chenlitao 2014-5-2 17:07
在澳洲买的kindle能够阅读中国亚马逊上购买的中文图书么？最后跟贴：you should be able to log in to your kindle using the China user id and password. 最后发表：binbenban	hedgehog 2014-4-18 10:46	76578	binbenban 2014-5-2 14:47
岳飞被杀真实原因揭密（ZT）最后跟贴：最后发表：amyvovo ...2	jeru 2005-11-6 09:16	565168	amyvovo 2014-4-29 19:25
我的每周一书——普罗旺斯的一年最后跟贴：银狐发表于 2014-4-26 14:53 纠正一下，是电视剧。you tube 上有各种版本，挑个你自己喜欢的 youtube了，好老的片子啊，，不过挺搞笑的。感情我小时候就都排成电视了~~ 最后发表：erax	erax 2014-4-23 17:23	232001	erax 2014-4-29 17:09
诗•五古两首＂我心久已老＂最后跟贴：好小的时候我就开始爱回忆或许我从未年轻过最后发表：心然	飞雪满楼 2012-11-24 11:13	81737	心然 2014-4-27 01:53
上周末和几个在澳的中国老一辈文人聚了聚，收获不少最后跟贴：另外就是谈起了一些关于简化字的往事。几位都痛心疾首-----被当年苏联给坑了最后发表：Hillwang ...2	Hillwang 2014-4-11 16:20	314839	Hillwang 2014-4-26 23:24
【参加活动】丘吉尔、戴高乐、朱可夫等二战回忆录最后跟贴：一段时间以来，因为要照顾孙女，上网少了。原来开口说的大话，也没能兑现。原本想着时间久了，就会把这件事忘掉，今天上网才发现，还有网友惦记着----这是让我惭愧，无地自容啊！看来指望遗忘这个办法不灵----今后还真得抽点时间，努力把承诺兑现。最后发表：lao3	lao3 2013-9-16 12:24	294929	lao3 2014-4-23 18:40
淘宝电子读书最后跟贴：澳马奔腾发表于 2014-4-22 23:26 没明白什么意思 google 一下淘宝电子书就会出来了淘宝阅读 http://ebook.taobao.com/ 最后发表：yekai819	yekai819 2014-4-23 00:24	21337	yekai819 2014-4-23 00:28
推荐＜＜我们住在一起＞＞,搞笑的轻松文啦最后跟贴：最近在追这个，看看有木有人也喜欢这样搞笑的小言最后发表：cinziacyc	cinziacyc 2014-4-21 23:06	01098	cinziacyc 2014-4-21 23:06
馬奎斯與世長辭最后跟贴：今天讀書版第五貼紀念一下這位才華洋溢熱情的作者最后发表：rlfamily	shenjeff 2014-4-18 17:24	61450	rlfamily 2014-4-21 21:16
强烈推荐我正在看的一部重生小说最后跟贴：完本了吗？最后发表：harleyz	orangejue726 2014-4-3 11:29	122098	harleyz 2014-4-19 02:28
正在读的一本小说大秦帝国最后跟贴：小鸟两只脚发表于 2014-4-17 18:02 历史就是人的故事，发生在每个人身上的真实的过往。其实想想现在，那些不卑不亢，不受威胁不受利诱，有 ... h很赞同。相比来说还是商鞅更幸运，碰到了一个知他信他的君王。最后发表：romanticlady ...2	小鸟两只脚 2014-3-30 12:23	373122	romanticlady 2014-4-18 15:32
玛拿西连载最后跟贴：这样的文字，这样的桥段，这样的篇章，这样的人生感悟。有朝一日，结集出版，将是澳洲华文界一大事。最后发表：革命接班人	小信 2014-4-3 21:38	161613	革命接班人 2014-4-17 19:25
想问下大家都在哪里找Kindle的书源啊？最后跟贴：买吧最后发表：widelink	我要穿花裙子 2014-3-20 11:38	131965	widelink 2014-4-15 16:05
(转载)2010年诺贝尔文学奖得主略萨的小说：《胡利娅姨妈和作家》你就别八卦了 - [阅读权限 110]	双鱼妈妈 2014-4-15 00:23	2361	双鱼妈妈 2014-4-15 00:26
毛笔哪里有卖最后跟贴：上周五我去Boxhill的新华书店，看到有毛笔和临字帖卖。价格没有关注。最后发表：Zoe2013	anthony3368 2014-2-27 11:03	193089	Zoe2013 2014-4-14 14:51
《古董局中局》马亲王有诚意的商业作品（轻微剧透）最后跟贴： usb 发表于 2014-4-9 14:14 已经出2了正在看2 最后发表：上书房行走	上书房行走 2013-11-13 12:13	162303	上书房行走 2014-4-14 11:27
澳洲历史（中英文版都有）——不断添加，学习中。。。。。。最后跟贴：资料收藏，谢谢最后发表：annc	purpleme 2007-1-13 00:01	203524	annc 2014-4-11 23:12
~ 你就别八卦了 - [阅读权限 160]	rosysyy2006 2014-4-7 02:54	4253	blackswan 2014-4-9 10:44
19 楼和新浪上不了，大家也这样吗最后跟贴：现在都可以上去了。最后发表：Zoe2013	西陆风声 2014-3-7 22:00	71517	Zoe2013 2014-4-6 16:16
【柒摄影--观点】读书的地位最后跟贴： blurfun 发表于 2014-4-3 19:18 “知音体” 知音后来变成软色情了，是吗？是吗？很久没看了，改版了？改成软色情了？那我去看看最后发表：1969	天涯海角2 2014-3-20 17:54	41214	1969 2014-4-4 09:51
上班空闲想读一本好书，有没有好推荐？最后跟贴：楼主什么工作啊，这么好，还能看书最后发表：hairbei	fiona_visa 2014-2-14 11:41	182254	hairbei 2014-4-3 22:49
推荐一本正在读的小说《繁花》最后跟贴：书评费了老大事也写的不咋滴，希望书本身不会叫人失望。先去亚马逊，当当找找，实在没有就回国时候顺便买了。最后发表：摆渡人	小信 2014-3-5 21:32	252816	摆渡人 2014-4-1 23:51
持分找书－ chasing daylight 最后跟贴：i can download now, save it for future reading, thanks 最后发表：dumbo	sydneydodo 2014-3-31 20:31	101362	dumbo 2014-3-31 22:20
请教谁有＜爱的五种语言＞英文版中文版都可以关键是别错字太多刚才看在线版的读不下去了最后跟贴：本帖最后由 gifox 于 2014-3-31 20:23 编辑买吧，这本书我有英文版实体。很值得买。其实我想过写书评。就是一直没空。 BTW ,真想要，又不要付钱，google play store有。 play store有个好处，你赶紧买了。几天内看完。然后申请退款，是可以全额退的。 https://play.google.com/store/ap ... heFiveLoveLanguages 最后发表：gifox	ALICE_YU 2014-3-31 21:16	21292	gifox 2014-3-31 21:21
Semper Eadem - 小记Anne Boleyn 最后跟贴：又翻出这个老贴，因为刚刚又趁上厕时间重温了一下Another Boylen Girl这本书。在wiki里，说Anne这个人的智慧太过sharp，作为一名情妇这是优点，但作为妻子就变成缺点了。最后发表：david72s ...2	mlstring 2011-4-30 18:37	487385	david72s 2014-3-30 23:41
王朔《致终将逝去的2013》最后跟贴：好久不看他的书了最后发表：cutebaby ...2	sky20000 2013-12-30 19:09	474602	cutebaby 2014-3-30 20:13
参加活动：我读圣经诗篇最后跟贴：严肃点最后发表：2l8 ...2	Wangmingtaoau 2011-8-10 23:32	504175	2l8 2014-3-30 01:24
《慢慢仙途》——绝世小白最后跟贴：谢谢分享最后发表：impress ...2 3	节约的饭团 2013-11-10 15:42	764676	impress 2014-3-29 22:16
日本胜利大迁移最后跟贴：涂鸦之作,只为记下一个梦. 最可能给世界带来核大战的是日本鬼子! 中国警惕! 最后发表：samdong ...2	samdong 2014-2-28 10:06	373177	samdong 2014-3-17 09:40
参加活动– 读书琐记 –在澳洲这些年读的书最后跟贴：我现在读英文书主要为孩子，还没升华到自己读最后发表：jessie102	juliez 2012-2-13 14:09	41549	jessie102 2014-3-16 22:00
有人看漫画的吗？最后跟贴：包括很古老的“铁臂阿童木” 最后发表：daniello	狗头君 2014-3-15 14:44	81512	daniello 2014-3-15 23:13