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Selected short stories by Burr

Submitted by Barron on Wed, 09/21/2022 - 18:01

The cat was crouching in the aisle licking a tray of milk with relish, and when I passed by it, it raised its head and nodded, as if to greet me and comfort me, with a little humanity in its blurred green eyes, a little indescribable humanity.. But I was told to be patient, and I thought I ought to try again. First, in order to avoid the oppressively bright sky, I ran to an unknown place, under the grotesque apple trees, over the puddles and the pecking chickens, to a larger farmyard not far away, shaded by ancient Linden trees. The bitter taste in my throat must have blurred my eyes, and I did not see until the last minute that a stout country boy was sitting on the bench in front of the house,outdoor whirlpool tub, talking affectionately to two horses who were eating. When he saw me, he smiled and called into the room through an open window, "Mother, here comes number eighteen." Then he patted his thigh with great joy and filled his pipe with tobacco. His laughter was answered by a loud coo in the room. A red-faced, energetic woman flashed in the window frame for a second. Her face was like a shiny pancake. I turned at once and ran back past the puddles, the chickens and the squawking geese. I ran like crazy,China spa factory, with my handbag tucked tightly under my arm. When I reached the village road again, I slowed down and went down the hill I had climbed half an hour ago. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the friendly gray serpentine road with lovely trees on both sides at my feet again. My pulse beat more steadily, and the bitterness lessened as I sat at the fork of the stony, barren, musty village road that led to Yangguan Avenue. I'm sweating profusely. Suddenly, I smiled, lit my pipe, tore off my dirty, old, sweat-soaked shirt, jacuzzi bathtub manufacturers ,american hot tub, and quickly put on my cool, soft silk clothes. A feeling of comfort came over me, and all the bitterness disappeared from me. I walked back to the railway station on the highway, with a longing in my heart to see the ugly face of urban poverty, because behind this ugly face, I often saw the humanity in difficulties. Translated by Gao Niansheng Collated by Xiao Mao, Ladies and All Living Beings, Lijiang Publishing House, 1991 A place on that north coast of France. Translator's note A city in the North Caucasus of the Soviet Union. Translator's note By the bridge xiaoshuotxt They sewed up my legs and gave me a job to sit on: I was asked to count the people who had crossed a new bridge. They take pleasure in showing their shrewdness and ability by figures, and they are intoxicated by some meaningless and empty figures. All day, all day, my silent mouth moved like a timer, accumulating number after number, in order to give them a number of good news in the evening, when I reported the results of my work to them, their faces lit up, the larger the number, the more radiant they were. They had reason to go to bed contentedly, because thousands of people crossed their new bridge every day. But their statistics are inaccurate. I'm sorry, but it's not accurate. I'm an unreliable person, although I know how to impress people with my honesty. I secretly rejoiced in this, and sometimes deliberately left a few people; and when I felt pity, I gave them a few. Their happiness is in my hands. When I am angry, when I don't have a cigarette, I give an average; when I am in a good mood and in good spirits, I give five figures to indicate my generosity. How happy they are! Every time they solemnly took the results in my hands, their eyes were shining and they patted me on the shoulder. They didn't expect anything! Then they began to multiply and divide and calculate percentages and other things that I did not know. They figure out how many people cross the bridge every minute today and how many people will cross the bridge in ten years.
They like the future perfect, and the future perfect is their specialty-but, sorry, it's all inaccurate.. My heart literally stops beating when my darling girl crosses the bridge-she does it twice a day. My indefatigable heartbeat simply stopped chugging until she turned into the mall and disappeared. I didn't count all the people who passed by in this time. These two minutes belong to me, completely belong to me, and I will not let them occupy them. When she walked back again in the evening from the soda shop — during which I found out that she worked in a soda shop — and when she passed by my silent but obligatory mouth on the other side of the sidewalk, my heart stopped beating again, and when I no longer saw her,best whirlpool tub, I began to count again. All those who are fortunate enough to pass in front of my dim eyes in these few minutes will not enter the statistics and become immortal. They are all ghosts of men and women. Things that do not exist will not cross the bridge together in the future completion of the statistics. It's clear. I love her. But she doesn't know anything, and I don't want her to know. She should not know what terrible way she had overturned all calculations. She should have walked into the soda fountain with her long brown hair and gentle footsteps, carefree and innocent. She should have received a lot of tips. I'm loving her. It is clear that I am in love with her.