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Flight (extract 1)
wrote poetry last year six months ago dabbled in stocks and shares last week directed a dance drama
now it’s off to the Mediterranean to take a supplementary course in some first-year foreign language Shall I, at least, set my lands in order? napping the whole way all movement difficult apart from trips to the toilet from the flight information sheet it seems that he really is one of a set of well-behaved passengers but sleep and the flesh are always AT ODDS DESPITE APPEARANCES flesh can never tag along on any flight you FLY FAR AND HIGH while it stays behind on the ordinary nineteenth level here all flight is downwards the pong of dirty socks accompanying the close of eyelids an apartment pre-ordained for the happy family built to such precise standards “We are really very lucky; our children are so healthy We eat well We are a happy family” as if a scene in a play captured authentic human life a double bed a white toilet bowl a kitchen smelling of gas abnormal bedding filthy slippers a small alarm clock that demands human lives radio always tuned to shortwave band 2 an album of painted nudes after finishing his business he hastily crumples a wad of toilet paper old magazines empty bottles of medicine rumpled pillowcases a volume of prose-pieces by a certain lady what she writes about is that heart of hers on sad summer days and then there are those underpants that are always getting in the way tossed onto the carpet in full view of the public him: squatting on the toilet reading printed matter below: Planet Earth, face averted it takes him the read of a full page-article every time “The Secrets of a Happy Marriage” all it says is that you shouldn’t eat too much salt You shouldn’t eat too much salt and here again: You shouldn’t eat too much salt dreaming of warm soapy water from the bath in the flat above his a pornographic gurgle his left hand feels the cast-iron drain pipe thinking to himself: What was it that’s been wasted? his right hand feels his belly to see whether there might be any suspicious lumps next, when he’s finished his business and before he realizes what’s happening the screw-loose toilet lid comes crashing down and whacks him across the rump he’s angry for a full two minutes what does lunch look like? make a phone call make inquiries at the milk depot her: dreaming of a Western-style mattress her arms a red hoe resting in a black vineyard in her dreams there’s a goat a clay pot a bunch of white feathers a mushroom that turns into an old monster the full stop of happiness not far away at all JUST AROUND THE CORNER when she thinks of airline tickets her hair in disarray the lights can be turned on at any time the cups have been sterilized and then there’s the credit card and so the balcony has not been converted into an extra room ordinary flights all identical like adding a coat of paint putting down a floor gargling and making love it’s all done with carbon paper no, it’s not hell but surely hell shares the same foundation always less trouble than one’s own originality DOING THE UNORTHODOX what’s offended is a large swathe of sugarcane what’s offended is the ordinary flat the ordinary broken-down elevator the ordinary wife the ordinary husband (he always wakes at 11.30 a fat man cold-shouldered by the beach the ordinary lack of interest in sex the ordinary migraines the ordinary respiratory problems ordinary diabetes “It’d be great if it were free” |
© 2000, Yu Jian From: Yu Jian de shi Publisher: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, Beijing, ISBN: 7 02 003328 8 |
© Translation: 2003, Simon Patton |