Chapter 3 "The Changing Plane" Excerpt 1 Islak Polenta (2)

Then he talked about what he had seen in my plane: he had been to San Francisco and liked it very much.The conversation also changed from teddy bears to earthquakes.He experienced a 5.6-magnitude earthquake, which he said was "a very wonderful experience, very enjoyable".He himself, his wife, and I all laughed.Not only are they beautiful, but they are also very kind. They are really a very good couple. Back in my room, I pushed my suitcase next to the book press, plugging the hole in the wall.Then I lay in bed and secretly wished those teddy bears hadn't had a back door for their hole.

This night, nothing sneaked under my covers.I woke up early and was jet lagged from London to Chicago, but it was the westbound flight delay that allowed me to come here for the holiday.The sun was just rising and it was a warm and lovely morning.I got up from the bed, went outside to breathe the fresh air, and by the way enjoyed the beautiful view of the city of Slas on the plane of Islak. If this city were on my plane, it might be considered a large city, and it doesn't look exotic to me, except that the buildings are more mixed in style and size.We usually place the magnificent high-rises in the center of the city, surrounded by the prettiest streets, and the humble buildings in the suburbs or slums.But in the residential district of Slas, high-rise buildings are crowded with small huts, the smallest of which is no bigger than a rabbit cage.I walked to the business district on the other side of the city, where I found that the various office buildings also had very large differences in size.A four-story granite building is much taller than a nearby ten-story building, which is only five or six feet high on each floor—a pocket-sized skyscraper.However, the peculiarity of the architecture is nothing compared to the Islaks, who surprised me so much.

Each of them varies enormously in size, color and shape.Walking past me was a woman at least eight feet tall, a janitor who was busily and gracefully dusting the sidewalk.At the back of her belt was a thing with a large cluster of feathers that looked like an ostrich's tail, and I guessed it was a spare broom or duster.At this moment another businessman strode in, connected to the computer network through some kind of plug-in device in the ear, lip, and left lens of his glasses, and talked while studying market reports.He's only about my waist height.Four lads walked across the sidewalk on the other side of the street; there was nothing odd about them other than they looked exactly the same.At this time, I saw another child carrying a small schoolbag to school.He walks on all fours, and in fact wears leather gloves or boots on his hands to keep them from scratching the pavement.He was pale, with small eyes, and a pig's snout, but he was very cute.

A cafe near a park caught my attention.Even though I don't know anything about Islaq-style breakfasts, I'm hungry as long as it's available.The waitress in the cafe was about forty years old and looked good, but nothing special except for her thick yellow hair which was braided. "Please tell me what foreigners usually eat for breakfast," I said. She laughed, then gave me a friendly smile, and said to me through the translator, "Oh, you should tell me what foreigners eat. We eat Cladiff, or Cladiff with fruit." "Cladiff with fruit then," I said.Soon she brought me a plate of delicious-looking fruit, and a large bowl of light yellow porridge, smooth as heavy cream, and served at the right temperature.It sounds horrible, but it's delicious - it's light but subtle, easy to drink, not pungent, much like cappuccino.The waitress watched my reaction, trying to deduce whether I liked it or not. "Sorry, I didn't think to ask you if you eat meat," she said. "Meat lovers usually have Clydiff with minced meat for breakfast."

"This is nice," I said.