Just so happens to write a story that takes place over the course of a year.The four seasons of the farm are like the four stages of life, full of joys and sorrows; thick ink and light colors, changing with the opening and closing of the plot; finally, the prosperity and noise finally come to an end, and the tragedy and drama are over, leaving only the plain, endless My Life--The Story of Xiao Mao To love and be loved, to remember and to forget, to be false and to be true, to be friends and to be alone, to be miserable and to be happy, to be mean and to be sublime. And life. And death. And the attitude and meaning of life.

Yesterday, I might have been late for work when I got up in the morning, but I wasn't in a rush. Being late is late, and it doesn't turn into some other scary animal.Some things, if seen too much, are equal to missing.It's equal to "less than nothing", it's equal to my accounting career, my account book that is so boring that it can burn, and the weird people and things around me.It is also equal to this spring that is no different from the past, equal to these empty, life-like colorful plastic garbage bags flying on the road. However, when I went downstairs, (have you eaten breakfast, I don't remember. Who knows?) and walked towards the station, I was stunned.

The trees all over the ground--the poplars that have not had time to open their buds will sing in the wind and rain in the summer night; soon they will be covered with purple-red, fluffy and tasseled small fruits. The red maple tree on the side of the road; the willow tree that can no longer be broken by pedestrians at this time; the elm tree that is always casual and faint; the lilac tree that will reveal its bitter heart fragrance to summer in two months; Emerald, triangular pagoda-like pine trees... the trees everywhere. They were lying all over the place with expressionless faces and no blood on their bodies.

The tree has no expression, and the tree has no blood.So a tree is just a tree, so a tree that has been cut down is no longer a tree. They have become corpses.Those corpses that have just sprouted green leaves lie in the stale air.And those stumps.Not a sound, except the wind.Except for the little girl named Fern who was hallucinating: "But it's not fair!" I also have no sound.Silence is already my habit, and my habit is also silence. I know why, very quickly.Bridges are built because bridges are built; bridges are built because people have nowhere to go. I naturally thought of the Queensborough Bridge, and the conversation between Charlotte and Wilbur:

"...they just thought it was better up there than other places, so they kept galloping up and down it. If they'd just hung upside down on the bridge and waited, maybe something good would come. But They don't - people are always running, running, running, on the bridge, every minute." Yes, all are running wild.On the way of running wildly, everything becomes blurred and small - because everything is forgotten, or abandoned, let alone ordinary trees? A tree is also life.Trees have the right to grow freely, have the right to be planted, and should also have the right to survive.

So, looking at the corpses all over the ground, I clearly smelled the blood of murder. If the "big tree" that is "unsuitable" in the garden grows here, it will not "live forever", because there is no other reason for building bridges.On the bus, I was still silent and suffering from it. Those trees seemed to be cut down by me too, and there was green blood on my hands. These trees, the oldest are several decades old, and how many years old are the youngest? Who knows?Because no one will set up a monument for them and write the dates of birth and death on it.But I know how much comfort they have given me over the years, from this chaotic world.I also know that overnight, they were all slaughtered.Not a single one remained.

Life comes so hard, but goes so easily. At this moment, sitting under the night light, thinking of those trees that have left this world, I can’t help but think of the fairy tale written by the American writer E.B. White that I just proofread and revised today. The so-called fairy tales are mostly fantasies, and the creatures in them can talk.It's the same, but it's different -- because what this book emphasizes is that life, whether it's human or animal life, is the same life.Each has its own right to life.So Wilbur, a relatively huge pig, and a tiny spider can be friends, so Fern, who is one of the human beings, can exchange feelings with Wilbur.

All lives are equally precious, and emotions are all interlinked, no matter what kind of life they are in; life is equally sad and happy, and its meaning is different, no matter how you spend it. So, in my eyes.This book is not just a fairy tale, but a most serious masterpiece about life and death. To love and be loved, to remember and to forget, to be false and to be true, to be friends and to be alone, to be miserable and to be happy, to be mean and to be sublime.And life.And death.There is also the attitude and meaning of life... All the good things in the world and all the true meanings of life seem to be covered by this little book, which is less than 60,000 words after I translated it into Chinese. How can I not call it For a masterpiece?

In this book, no life can be wiped out for no reason, so we hear the story of Wilbur and his friends.The kind of tragedy I witnessed this morning would never happen in this book, because "this is too unfair"-maybe this is why this book is defined as a fairy tale? Life is serious, and so is death.Charlotte's death is not a tragedy, because her life has reached perfection, just like the apples on the apple tree described in the book, when they are too red, they are about to ripen, just like being tasted, Charlotte's spirit will surely be tasted. We "taste" again and again, so Charlotte's soul is immortal.immortal.long in.Everlasting.bright.Undying... Still, I couldn't help crying quietly when the chapter where Charlotte died was translated.

How did I become so fragile that I cried over a puny spider?But I'm glad I still have this vulnerability.It proves that I'm alive, that I'm still breathing. Compared with Charlotte, Wilbur's fate makes us much more gratified.He was saved twice - by Fern and by Charlotte; by innocence and by friendship. Of course love is important.But I think innocence and friendship are just as important, or more important.Maybe White thought so too, otherwise how could he write? Arabelle wouldn't save Wilbur, Zuckerman wouldn't save Wilbur, and the fair judges wouldn't save Wilbur.In the eyes of these adults, Wilbur is just a pig.But in Fern's eyes, Wilbur is a life with the right to live first, and a pig second, so Wilbur will live.

For adults, Fern's ideas are "naive", even "ridiculous", so Fern is almost taken to the bearded doctor later.In fact, Fern's idea is not "innocence", it should be "innocence"-everyone of us had innocence, but we lost it when we grew up.Therefore, we now disdain to call this kind of thinking "naive", using a sour tone.Later, Fen also gradually lost this innocence, but fortunately she still had "kindness" left.And many of us don't even have the most basic kindness, only the greed like the mouse Templeman. As for how friendship saved Wilbur, it's all written in the book, so I won't say much.What I just want to say is that if love is the sun, then the sun will fall one day; but friendship is light, it will exist forever, longer than the creator, it not only makes life more meaningful, but also gives you survival The courage to inspire your creativity. Therefore, without Wilbur, Charlotte's web would not be so unique and perfect; without Charlotte, Wilbur would never shine.This is where the meaning and value of friendship lie.The conversation between Charlotte and Wilbur before his death illustrates this point.But I hesitate to quote it here, even though it is the most important and moving passage in the book.One is because my translation is too poor, and the other is that I am afraid that when I reread it, I will fall into the inextricable sadness again. In contrast to Charlotte and Wilbur, it goes without saying, is Templeton the Mouse.People hated him even though he helped in a lot of crucial moments.He doesn't understand why, but I do.That's because the purpose of his giving is to ask for more returns.Also because of his selfish attitude towards life.There's no point in a life like that - so no matter how fat he grows, he's a nasty rat.However, someone is worse than him. Compared with animals, it is human beings.This book does not focus much on people, but it portrays the characters very vividly, which can also give us a lot of inspiration. In this book, there are four biggest successes: apart from Fern and Charlotte saving Wilbur and Wilbur making friends, there is another one, which is Zuckerman's success.That is, human success.When he stood in the grandstand, surrounded by applause and cheers, he felt that his life had achieved the greatest success, and he was satisfied all his life. But it was a vain success, a worthless success, a deceitful success.It is just like what the lamb said: "It is nothing more than nothing".It's not just Zukerman. Human beings pursue this kind of success, the kind of success standing on the grandstand of the exhibition.But when the exhibition is over, all this will be mercilessly forgotten.So I think, just I think, the meaning of life is definitely not in this so-called success. In the process of translating this book, a friend Mu Zi, who I met through this, once told me that a friend of his overseas who knows Chinese heard that I was going to translate it into Chinese, and thought it was difficult. One of the reasons is that The thinking in it is different from the traditional Chinese thinking, and we may not be able to understand it.I think he's right. Here, I would like to briefly say a few words about this. According to our traditional habits, Charlotte's propaganda is the propaganda of a liar, so it is not worth advocating.Because we used to dislike publicity (only like education and admonishment), and thought that "the smell of wine is not afraid of deep alleys", so why bother to say anything else? (Now it's the opposite. The very fragrant alleys contain only fake wine, wine mixed with water.) And Charlotte's way of doing things is also rare in our tradition.Those sages in history usually had their cats at home (only poking their heads out from under the curtains secretly to see if someone came to invite them), and they would not come out to do things unless they were dragged to death.And people like Charlotte and her way of doing things, in the traditional eyes of our country, are just showing off and engaging in personal heroism. In addition, Wilbur's attitude towards life is not easy to be accepted by the traditional Chinese thinking - how can we value someone who goes to sleep when he is full, only wants to be happy for himself, and only dedicates himself to his friends?We only respect martyrs because he is willing to sacrifice for us; we also respect leaders because he will shout slogans for us.Therefore, we often do not take an individual like Wilbur or a life like this seriously. But in this book, everything is the opposite of what we are used to: Wilbur won the award after repeated publicity, and there is no shortage of false elements in these publicity.Charlotte is considered a capable sage, but she "takes the initiative" and doesn't need others to drag her.Because she felt that she should do this, she didn't show any pretense, and she took the initiative to "come out of the mountain" regardless of her status as an "outsider expert". And I agree with all these "abnormalities".In my opinion, as long as it is for a good purpose, then on the premise of not harming others, you might as well "do whatever it takes" to do things for others, because for the people being helped, the result is the most important.And when doing things, when you think it's time to act, you might as well act "without scruples". You don't need to talk about big reasons or do cover-up preparations in advance.As for Wilbur's attitude towards life, I think it is also very good.There is a saying in China, "Sweep the snow in front of your door." I think, if everyone can clean up their own snow like Wilbur, then the world will be clean.This is not a new truth. Many people have said it, and I repeat it here, but I just want to say that I like Wilbur's way of life that White told us here. As for the noble and beautiful feelings reflected in the book, I think they are interlinked by human beings, and the Chinese who are willing to understand them can naturally understand them.Of course we can understand this wonderful world, these precious days... Charlotte is dead, but in my heart she is alive; a tree may be felled, but in my heart there is still a tree in full bloom. If those beautiful and precious things are killed by an irresistible force, I can bury them in my heart, and my practice is also irresistible, which can at least purify myself--I can only do so , what else? Needless to say, please let me recommend this book (not my translation. If you can get the original, don't even read my translation, because they are so poor, and a total disgrace to White.) to Come on, my friends. In addition, I would like to say thank you to my friends from Xinyusi who helped me in translation (as well as Hong Li from Suoyi and others).Please see my postscript for specific thanks. Finally, in keeping with fashion, I'm going to give my poor translation to three people. The first one is dedicated to my overseas netizen Qiqi.It was because of me that I knew him, and it was he who gave me two original copies of White's fairy tales including this one from the United States.This moved me very much.So I just thank him for his friendship with this translation.Thank you! The second one dedicated to me is a netizen with a lot of water in his name.Because she is as smart as Charlotte and as kind as Wilbur, my translation is the most suitable for her.Therefore, I am going to forcefully send out my translation without her consent. The third one is dedicated to a netizen named Blue Bird.There are only two reasons, one is because Wilbur is her "zodiac sign", and the other is that she also asked to read my translation. For others, I am embarrassed to contribute (Maybe I should also add Haer, she has always cared about my translation, I should thank her.) Because my translation is very poor, I am afraid that they will scold me after reading it--but I am very sure about these friends: they will never scold me. Written at 9:23 p.m. on March 14, 2000; recorded at 16:41 on March 1, 2000