World Micro-fiction Classics: Europe Edition

Author: Liu Yiding Compiler/Nationality:
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2004-03-01
Features: I blushed crimson and quickly shoved my hands into my pockets. The girl who opened the door had light yellow hair and looked about eight or nine years old. "Nugzar, is Amanadjye staying here?" "He's my dad." "Hello, little girl, I'm Shota Uncle, an old classmate of your dad's." "Oh, please come in, Mamuka! Shota Uncle, your dad's old classmate, is here." The girl called out toward the inside, and led me into the house. A little boy of about six years old rushed out, covered in ink stains. "Are your parents home?" "Not home. They'll be back soon." "What are you two doing?" I asked. "We're playing 'Dad and Mom Game.' I'm the dad, and Mzhyia's the mom," Mamuka told me. "Go ahead and play. I won't bother you." As I lit a cigarette and sat on the sofa, I thought, "I wonder how Nugzar is doing. Is his life arranged well? Is he happy?" The children's sharp shouts pulled me back from my thoughts. "Hey, Mom! What tasty food did you make today?" Mamuka asked, clearly imitating someone's voice. "Shit! I should ask you, what do I have to cook? There's nothing in the house!" "Your mouth is really sharp! When you curse, you sound like a haggler!" "What are you afraid of! If you sit in a restaurant, you can eat and drink to your heart's content. What about me?" I broke out in a cold sweat. "Where did you run off to last night? Answer me!" Mzhyia stood with her fists clenched at her sides. "It's none of your business!" "What, it's none of your business? Fine, I'll call you and your bunch of whores!" "Are you crazy?!" "I've had it! Enough! Today, I'm going back to my parents' house! I'm taking all the kids with me!" "Don't touch the children! Go wherever you want!" "It's not that simple!" "Leave the son with me!" "No, I already said so!" Mzhyia shouted loudly. "Listen: Leave the son with me! Or else—" Mamuka picked up a pillow and threw it at Mzhyia. "Fine! You dare hit me?! You animal!" Mzhyia swung a doll and struck her brother hard on the head. She hit so hard that Mamuka's eyes immediately welled up with tears. I jumped up and pulled them apart. "Children, really, you don't know shame. What kind of game is this?" "Let me go, Nina!" Mzhyia suddenly shouted at me. "You neighbors don't know what kind of scumbag he is! I've been his abuse all day, I can't stand living with him, my blood is all drained out by him, this wretched thing! Look, I'm so thin!" Mzhyia poked her rosy cheek with her slender fingers. "Don't believe this witch's nonsense!" Mamuka said to me. "Stop fighting!" I couldn't hold it in anymore and yelled at them. The children stared at me fearfully. Taking a breath, I demanded the two children swear to me that they would no longer play "Dad and Mom" anymore, and then I staggered away from that house. "It seems my friend is living quite happily!" I thought as I walked, remembering Mzhyia and Mamuka, who had performed a grotesque play of future family life in front of me. Jiang translated 【USSR】Klavchenko once had an incident where, after he no longer thought about her, he dreamed of her. Upon waking, his heart was filled with an unprecedented tenderness that tightened and ached, leaving him restless. Every night when he went to bed, he would tell himself it wasn't worth getting upset over, that dreams were just dreams and would soon fade. But in the morning, he would feel a sorrowful tenderness and longing for her—the woman he had once disregarded. Annoyed, he drove away a colleague who came to call him to work, turned over, faced the wall, and endlessly replayed the small logging town and her in his mind. Overwhelmed with emotion, his memories, like a child full of fresh impressions, eagerly recounted her past stories, shifting from one detail to another. He recalled the quiet nights without the hustle and bustle of the city and her attire at the ball. He also guiltily remembered his arrogant attitude when inviting her to dance, his constant yawning as he walked her home through the sleeping town streets, and his attempts to kiss her. Every date, she always arrived first, and being with her was always so pleasant. That morning, he left the town without saying goodbye to anyone. He left there only because there were few young people in the town, and they used a record player to play music when dancing. As for the higher wages, forget it—he didn't care about that at all. He stood on the dew-soaked wooden platform of the small train station, anxiously waiting for the train to arrive, dreaming of life in the city. Suddenly, she appeared, wearing her most beautiful dress and the shiny patent leather shoes she only wore when dancing. He didn't feel happy about her arrival; instead, he thought, "She's back to bother me." He remembered what she had said, "You know, I'll wait for you." In the early days of arriving in the city, he knew few people, and he would write back to her when she sent him warm, sincere letters. But later, he grew ashamed and stopped writing. One night, he couldn't help but smile bitterly and thought, "What am I doing? Am I in love with her? For God's sake." He realized he was smiling bitterly. Yes, he was indeed in love with her. He decided to go to her place and confess his feelings. He searched desperately for the right words but didn't know what to say. The simple phrases he thought of seemed meaningless because he had said them to other girls countless times. He took a day off. It was winter, and there were few passengers on the train. For the first time, he experienced the joy of being alone. He lay on the upper bunk, listening to the rhythmic sound of the wheels, imagining their upcoming meeting, and planning how to explain why he hadn't written to her for so long. He would be changing trains in Svietlovsk. He arrived early in the morning, but the train didn't leave until one a.m. He wandered the town for a long time, trying to buy a gift for her. The weather was very cold, and the snow-covered streets were bustling with people. He remembered that she wore a cheap green jade ring on her finger, which he had given her on International Women's Day. She had been utterly enchanted by it at the time. Thinking of this, he went to buy a diamond gold ring. He got on the train. In his compartment, a tall, thin young man sat by the window. He greeted the young man, sat down, and looked out the window. The station was brightly lit, and the big clock announced that it was time to depart. People stood on the platform, saying goodbye. "Going far?" the young man asked him as the train started moving. "Not far," he replied listlessly. "I'm not far either, just two hours," the young man said with a smile. "I'm here to buy a wedding ring. I've been to all the stores. I told the salesperson I was married, but they asked for a marriage certificate. I forgot to bring it, so they said it wasn't possible without one. Later, they suggested I go to the suburbs. Thank God, I finally got it." The young man took two small boxes from his jacket pocket and lifted the lids. Two rings were neatly placed on the bases of the boxes. "May I take a look?" he asked the young man with an inquiring gaze. "Of course." The rings still held the warmth of the body and had no scratches. "These are high-quality rings!" the young man said proudly as he carefully put the boxes back in his pockets. "How long have you been married?" "Not long, just a month." "How is it?" "What do you mean, how is it?" the young man didn't understand. "To your wife." "It's great!" the young man smiled happily. "She doesn't talk much and can be a bit melancholic sometimes. Are you married?"