Chapter 57 12. I love birds but hate dogs①

①The original title was "Buying Birds". I love birds and hate dogs.It's not my quirk, it's because I'm Chinese.I have this temper naturally, just like all Chinese people.Because the Chinese love birds, but if you talk to them about loving dogs, they will ask you, "What are you talking about?" I never understand why a person wants to befriend a beast and hug it, caress it.The only time when I suddenly understood this sympathy for dogs was when I was reading "Story of San Michele" by Axel Munthe, by Axel Munthe. The part in the book where he fights a Frenchman for kicking a dog really touched me.It seemed like I didn't really understand it until then, and I almost wished for a hound to curl up beside me.But these are just the magic power of his words for a while. It has been nearly two years since I read Mentai's book, and the little elegance and pride for dog friends have long since faded away.The most annoying time in my life is when I am in the living room of an American friend, and a big St. Bernard dog (St. Bernard, according to this magnificent and sharp dog was originally bred in the St. , hence the name) wanted to lick my fingers and arms to show affection, and what was more embarrassing was that the hostess babbled about the dog's family tree.I thought I must have looked like a cultist at that time, staring at her with dumbfounded eyes, unable to find a suitable answer to her.

"A Swiss friend of mine brought it straight from Chalik (Zurich," said my hostess. "Well, Mrs. Pias." "His maternal grandfather rescued a child from an avalanche in the Alps, and his great-uncle won the 1856 International Greyhound Championship." "good!" I didn't mean to be rude, but I'm afraid I was really rude then.I understand that the British love dogs.But speaking of it, the British love everything. They even love big tomcats. I once debated this issue with an English friend. "All this talk about being friends with dogs is nonsense," I said, "you pretend to love animals. You can really lie, because you make these animals go after poor foxes. Why don't you pet the fox and call him me Where's your sweetheart?"

"I think I can explain it to you," replied my friend, "a dog is a very kind animal. He understands you, he is loyal to you, . . . " "Wait!" I interrupted. "The reason I hate dogs is because they are so kind. I have a natural love for animals, as evidenced by the fact that I can't bear to kill a fly on purpose. But I hate people who pretend to be you." My friend's beast, come close and scratch your whole body. I like the kind of sensible beast, the peaceful beast. I'd rather love a donkey...Do you want to love the dog? Yes. But why caress it, hug it What about it?"

"Oh, come on," said my English friend, "I don't want to make you believe me." So we moved on to other subjects.Later, I got a dog because my family situation required it.I had him well fed, bathed him, and put him to sleep in a good dog house.But I forbid it to scratch all over my body to show its intimacy and loyalty.I'd rather die than lead it down the street like so many fashionable girls do.Once I saw a Jiangbei old mother who had her feet loose, wearing a pair of high heels. She was obviously a maid in a foreigner's house. She held a foreign stick in one hand and pulled a little hound in the other.What a spectacle it was!I don't want to put myself in such a weird state.Let the British pull the dogs.That is fate with them, but not with me.When I go for a walk, I have to walk in style.

But I originally wanted to talk about birds, especially my experience of buying birds the day before yesterday.I have a big cage of little birds, I don't know their names, but they are a little smaller than sparrows.There are white spots on the male's red breast.A few died last winter for various reasons.I often want to buy a few more for company.That was the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival.The whole family went to the tea party.It was just me and my little daughter at home.So I suggested to her that we better go into town and buy some birds.She approves. The situation of the bird market in Chenghuangmiao is well known to all Shanghai residents, so I don't need to say more about it.With my girl in my arms, I walked through the crowded street.It is a paradise for true animal lovers, because there are not only birds, but also frogs, white mice, squirrels, crickets, turtles with a kind of aquatic grass on their backs, goldfish, small sparrows, centipedes, geckos, and other strange-looking things .You should first look at those cricket sellers on the road and the group of children surrounding them, and then decide whether or not Chinese people love animals.I went into a bird shop run by people from Shandong, and since I had bought this kind of bird before and knew the price, I bought three pairs without any difficulty.The purchase price is two yuan and one dime.

The shop is on the corner of the street.There were about forty of those little birds in the cage, and we agreed on a price, and the man began to sort out three pairs for me.The commotion in the cage kicked up a cloud of dust, and I stepped back.By the time he was halfway through picking birds, a large group of people had already gathered in front of the shop, which is not surprising for people wandering in the street.By the time I paid the money and took the little cage away, I became the center of attention and the object of envy.There was a joyous commotion in the air. "What kind of bird is that?" A middle-aged man asked me. "Ask someone in the store," I said. "Can they sing?" asked another. "How much did you pay for it?" asked the third again.I answered casually and walked away like a nobleman.Because among the Chinese people, I am a proud person with birds.At that time, there was something that united the masses, a pure and natural instinctive common joy, which released the sympathy of our family and broke the barriers of silence among strangers.Of course, they had the right to ask me about the birds, just as they had the same right to ask me if I had won the first prize in the airline lottery in front of them.

So I walked over with my little daughter in one hand and the birdcage in the other.People on the road turned to look.If I had been the mother of the baby, I should have believed they were all praising my baby, but since I am a man, I know they were praising the bird in the cage.Is this bird really so rare?I think so myself.No, they're just ordinary bird lovers.I ran to a dim sum shop.It was not long after noon, it was still early, and the upstairs was empty. "Have a bowl of wontons," I said. "What kind of birds are these?" asked a chap with a handkerchief slung over his shoulder. "Have a bowl of wontons and a plate of boiled chicken," I said.

"Yes, yes. Can you sing? Can't sing?" "Can't sing. But hurry up, I'm hungry." "Yes, yes, a bowl of ravioli!—a plate of white-cut chicken!" he shouted, or rather sang, to the kitchen downstairs. "These are foreign birds." "Really?" I was just perfunctory. "This bird lives on a mountain, on a mountain, you know, on a big mountain. Hey, shopkeeper, what kind of bird is this?" The shopkeeper is a kind of account manager. He wears a pair of glasses. Like all bookkeepers, he is a man who can read and write. Except for copper coins and foreign money, don't think about him talking about children's toys or anything else. There will be interest.But when he heard the bird, he not only agreed, but, to my great surprise, he moved his feet to find his slippers, left the counter, and walked slowly towards my table.As he approached the cage, his grim face melted, and he became innocent and talkative, not befitting his appearance at all.Then he threw his head to the ceiling, his big belly protruding from under his jacket, and delivered his judgment.

"This bird can't sing," he remarked with air. "It's just small and fun, it's nothing for children to play with." So he went back to his high counter, and I finished the bowl of wontons before long. Same on my way home.People in the street stooped down to see what was in the cage.I went into a used bookstore. "Do you have Ming edition book?" "What kind of birds are those in your cage?" asked the middle-aged shopkeeper.This question caused three or four customers to notice that the birdcage in my hand was coming.There was quite a commotion now—outside the cage, I mean.

"Show me?" said a little apprentice, and snatched the cage from me. "Let's have a look at it," I said, "do you have the Ming version of the book?" But I was no longer the target of attention, so I went to the bookshelf to browse by myself.I couldn't find any, so I took the birdcage and walked out of the shop, and suddenly became the center of attention again.Some people on the street smiled at the birds, and some smiled at me, because I have those birds. Later, I called a Yunfei car at Eryangjing Bridge and took it back.I remember very clearly that the last time I brought a cage of birds back from the Chenghuang Temple, the clerk at the station came out to look at my birds.This time he didn't see it, and I didn't want to draw his attention on purpose.But when I stepped into the car, the driver's eyes saw the small cage I was carrying, and as expected, his face suddenly relaxed, and he really became like a child, just like the last time he bought it. Like the coachman when I was a bird, he was very friendly to me. He opened the conversation box and we talked far away. All the secrets of the car company were revealed, the number of vehicles they owned, the amount of liquor they got, the history of his whole childhood, and the reasons why he could marry.

Now I know what I should do if one day I have to appear in front of a raging public and want to dispel the anger of a group of Chinese people who hate me to the bone and want to have me.I just have to bring out a cage and show them a beautiful swallow, or a lark that sings well.Lo and behold!It's quicker than a fire hose or a teardrop, bigger than a speech by DeBmosthenes, and we can all be sworn brothers as a result.