Early Summer, Half Moon, Cool Night
Author: Zhu Anfeng. Originally published on QQ Zone on May 12, 2008.
May has always been my favorite month, perhaps because I was born in May.
In truth, May in Nanjing is not especially beautiful. The floating fibers from the plane trees by the roadside make you feel that even celebrities would need giant sunglasses when they go out, and for someone like me with a slightly allergic nose, it is even worse. And although the cool mornings and evenings with warm midday sunshine can feel pleasant, that comfort never lasts long. Within a few days, the sun is blazing overhead and the city slips into the muggy heat of summer.
On my way to work this morning, I stopped as usual at the wonton stall: one bowl of wontons and one steamed bun, a breakfast with a faint taste of loneliness. The owners were an elderly couple. I remember that once they told me they came from Tianchang in Anhui. The deep wrinkles on their faces and their skin color carried the unmistakable marks of hard-working farmers. What had brought them to Nanjing to make a living? Perhaps a child at home attending university? Thoughts like that inevitably made me feel a little sad.
Even though the city-management officers kept things strict and they usually had to close by about 8:30, their business was still good. In Nanjing, when you eat wontons, often all it takes is one glance at the chili oil on the table to know whether the place is first-rate. I still remember the heavy snow earlier that year. On a freezing morning, a bowl of their wontons felt like the only irresistible temptation in the cold.
After that rather unclear earthquake, the thing I regretted most was calling my parents immediately. What I really wanted was to make sure nothing had happened at home, but in the end I only caused them even greater worry. As the saying goes, if you say nothing they worry, and if you say something they worry even more. According to a certain expert, if you live on the 22nd floor like I did and a truly destructive earthquake happens, running is basically impossible. If it is not destructive, then the building can probably take it. So, brothers and sisters, next time there is an earthquake, just sit there and wait for fate. Expert opinion, for reference only.
That evening, as usual, I went swimming at the nearby stadium on my one-three-five-six-day schedule. Maybe the earthquake had somehow cleared my head, but that night I managed to swim 400 meters freestyle in one go without swallowing any water. Someone also said it was Amitabha's birthday that day, so perhaps learning freestyle was the Buddha's will. I was impressed with myself. Good heavens.
On the way home, the air was a little cold. The moonlight was bright, no less lovely than that of my hometown. When I passed Pingjiang Bridge, I stopped for a moment to enjoy the quiet, and in the night I listened silently to the sound of the wind.
Below the bridge, the waves of the Qinhuai River tapped against the lonely bank. People on the boats were chatting softly, or resting at ease. Silhouettes drifted away under the moonlight, farther and farther. And on the bridge stretched a string of my drifting footprints.
What tomorrow will be like, does it really matter?
Postscript: they also said it was Amitabha's birthday that day, so perhaps my learning freestyle really was the Buddha's will. Fine, I believe in myself too.