Chapter 9 9

76 The assembly in front of the temple is going on.It has been raining since the morning, and the day is almost over. Brighter than all crowd joy is the radiant smile of a little girl who bought a palm-leaf whistle for a penny. The shrill and joyful sound of the whistle floats above all the laughter and tumult. The endless stream of people is crowded together, the road is muddy, the river is swollen, the rain is falling, and the fields are not in the water. Deeper than all the crowd's troubles, was the trouble of a little boy--he didn't have a penny to buy the colored stick. His miserable eyes looked at the little shop, making the whole assembly of humanity pitiable.

77 The worker from Xixiang and his wife were busy digging soil for the brick cellar. Their little daughter went to the ferry by the river; she scrubbed the pots and pans without rest. Her little brother, with his bald head and his swarthy, mud-stained body, followed her, obeyed her, and waited patiently for her on the high bank. With a bottle full of water on her back, she walked home steadily, holding the shiny copper jug ​​in her left hand, and holding the child in her right hand—she was mother's little girl, and the heavy housework made her serious. One day I saw the naked child sitting with his legs outstretched, and his sister sitting in the water, swabbing a jug with a handful of dirt around.

A fluffy lamb grazing on the river bank. It walked past the child and suddenly yelled, and the child cried out in fright. His sister put down the kettle and ran ashore. She took her brother in one arm and the lamb in the other, dividing her caress in two, and the offspring of man and animal were united in loving bond. 78 On a May day, the sweltering noon seemed endlessly long.The dry land gaped with thirst in the heat. When I heard a voice from the river say, "Come, my darling!" I closed the book and opened the window to look out. I saw a big buffalo with its fur covered in mud, its eyes calm, standing by the river; a young man stood in knee-high water, telling it to take a bath.

I smiled with joy, and felt a sweet touch in my heart. 79 I often think that there is no language between humans and animals, and where is the boundary of mutual understanding in their hearts. In the early morning of creation, through which simple path of Paradise in the beginning their hearts visited each other. Their kinship was long forgotten, and the symbols of their unchanging footprints were not extinguished. But suddenly in some wordless music, the vague memory wakes up, the animal looks at the human with gentle trust face, and one looks into its eyes with a playful emotion. It was as if two friends had met under a mask, vaguely recognizing each other under the disguise.

80 With one glance you can wrest from a poet's strings all the wealth of poetry, fair woman! But you would not hear their praise, so I praise you. You can make the proudest head in the world bow at your feet. But it is the unknown people you love that you would worship, so I worship you. The touch of your perfect arms adds glory to regal glory. But you sweep the dust with your arms and keep your humble home tidy, and my heart is filled with admiration. 81 Why do you whisper to me so softly, oh, "death", my "death"? When the flowers wither late and the cows return to the shed, you sneak up to me and speak words that I don't understand.

Must you woo me with drowsy whispers and icy kisses to win my heart, O Death, my Death? Won't our wedding be extravagant? Won't you tie flowers on your brown curls? Is there no flag-bearer ahead of you?Have you no red torch to make the night as bright as fire, O Death, my Death? Come with your conch, come in sleepless nights. Put me in red, hold my hand tightly and marry me away. Let your chariot, with its impatient neighing horses, be ready to wait at my door. Lift my veil and look proudly at my face, O Death, my Death. 82 We're going to play a game of "death" tonight, my bride and I.

The night is dark, the clouds and haze in the sky are churning, and the waves are roaring in the sea. We leave the bed of dreams, open the door, my bride and I. We sat on a swing with the wind pushing us violently from behind. My bride, terrified and delighted, pressed herself tremblingly against my breast. Many days I served her tenderly. I made a flower bed for her, and I closed the door to keep the strong light from her eyes. I kissed her lips softly and whispered softly in her ear until she was half asleep from sleepiness. She disappeared in the vague, boundless sweet cloud. I stroke her, but she doesn't respond; my singing doesn't wake her up.

Tonight, the call of the storm comes from the wilderness. My bride stood up trembling, and she came out holding my hand. Her hair blows in the wind, her veil flutters, her garlands rustle on her bosom. The push of death shook her alive. We see each other, our hearts are bound, my bride and I. 83 She lived on the hillside beside the cornfield, near the spring that laughed and ran through the majestic shadows of the old trees.Women carry cans here to fill water, and passers-by talk and rest here.She works and fantasizes with the gurgling spring rhyme every day. One day a stranger came down from a mountain in the clouds; her hair was disheveled like a drunken snake.We asked in amazement: "Who are you?" He didn't answer, but sat by the noisy water, silently looking at her hut.Our hearts beat with horror.

At night, we all went home. The next morning, when the women went to fetch water from the spring under the cedar tree, they found the door of her hut open, but her voice was gone, and where was her smiling face? Empty pots stood on the ground, and the lamp in the corner of her room ran out of oil and went out.No one knew where she had gone before dawn—the stranger was gone, too. In May, when the sun was growing and the snow had melted, we sat by the spring and wept.We thought to ourselves: "Is there a spring where she goes? Where can she get water in this hot and thirsty weather?" We asked fearfully, "Is there any place outside the mountain where we live?"

On summer nights, when the breeze blows from the south; I sit in her empty room, where the unlighted lamp still stands. Suddenly that mountain peak disappeared from my eyes like a curtain being drawn. "Oh, that's her coming. How are you, my child? Are you happy? Have you any shade under the open sky? Pity our spring is not here to quench your thirst." "There is still the same sky over there," she said, "but it's not blocked by Pingshan Mountain,—it's still the same spring that grows into rivers—and it's the same land that stretches out into plains." "Everything is there." I am gone," I sighed, "only we are not here." She smiled sadly and said, "You are in my heart." I woke up to the murmur of the spring, and the rustling of fir tree leaves in the night.

84 The shadow of autumn clouds flitted across the yellow-green rice fields, and behind it was the chasing sun. Intoxicated by the light, the bees forgot to suck the honey, and just flew and sang dumbly. The duck flocks on the island in the river were jolly and noisy for no reason. Let's not go home, brothers, let's not go to work this morning. Let us occupy the blue sky with the force of the storm, let us gallop to grab the space. Laughter floats on the air like foam on a flood. Brethren, let us waste the mornings on useless songs. 85 Who are you, reader, reading my poems a hundred years from now? I cannot send you a single flower from the wealth of spring, nor a golden shadow from the clouds in the sky. Open the door and look around. From your garden in full bloom, take the fragrant memory of flowers that died a hundred years ago. In the joy of your heart, may I feel the living joy of a spring morning singing, and carry its joyful voice through a hundred years.