Category Archives: récits

残灯守旧梦，冷月葬诗魂 Author’s note: The original, written in Chinese, was a novella—too long for this platform, and paced too slowly for the age of TikTok. What follows is a much abridged version, consisting only of the final two sections of an eight-part story. 7 After the lights went out, he lay down fully clothed. In theContinueContinue reading “The Return (abr.)”

近郊绿线列车驶出栗树山站时，车厢已空了将近一半。你就知道，再过一会，等列车到达半山站时，列车厢里就再没几个乘客了。有些日子，甚至还没到半山，列车就已是人去车空了；那种时候，要是伸头往过道望下去，一直可以看到相邻车厢里一排排空着的座位，随着列车的晃动不断左右摇晃，仿佛冬日里被遗弃的海滩上，无休止的潮汐 ……
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1 Nearly half of the passengers were gone when the suburban train pulled out of Chestnut Hill Station, and she knew that by the time it reached Hillside the cars would be mostly empty. There were days when it did not even take that long before the train was vacated; on those occasions, one couldContinueContinue reading “Hillside Station”

灯灭了以后, 和衣躺下。冰冷的黑暗里, 魂灵不绝若缕, 身心犹如分了家似的。想到白天经过的异方山水, 想到自己现在躺着的这个地方, 又不知将来会是什么样子；一切都是陌生的，心里有种很异样的感觉, 好象到了世界的尽头似的……点击文章标题👆阅读全文 →

Author’s note: Written in Mt. Pleasant, Michigan circa 2003 1 Returning to his hotel suite after seeing out the night’s last visitor—an editor from a medical journal—Dr. Kai leaned back against the door as he shut it with his back. He was exhausted. Due perhaps largely to his reputation in the region’s cardiological circles, andContinueContinue reading “The Trip”

Berthe Morisot, Reading, 1873 Author’s Note I was twenty-five when I wrote this piece, handwritten at the time on sheets of seven-leaf white paper. I happened upon it yesterday and was overcome with emotion. I no longer remember what prompted me to write it. There is no time, no place, no event—strange indeed. I transcribeContinueContinue reading “Summer”

作者小識：我写此文时25 岁。当时手写在七葉白纸上。昨日偶然发现，无限感慨。如今也不记得当时是什么缘由写这篇文字。无任何时间、地点、事件，诡异之甚。今手录于此，未作任何修改。手稿反映出我年轻时的文字习惯，例如将“好像”写成“好象”。抄录版一概保留，未作更改……点击文章标题👆阅读全文 →

Author’s note: I wrote this piece by hand, on seven sheets of white paper, when I was about twenty-five. Coming across it again today gave me immense pleasure ……
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Axia Etcetera One day, Etcetera came up to me and put her sweet face down on my lap. “Dad, tell me about Mommy.” I said, “Honey, I wish I could, but since you were never born, and thus do not exist, I wouldn’t know how.” Then, seeing the tenacity in her eyes — so muchContinueContinue reading “Lil Miss Etcetera”

The other day, Manuel Huamán, lying there quiet in the dark of his grave, saw brown little children dancing, moviéndose bonito, and a scruffy yellow dog running around trying to bite at the girls’ skirts. Looked like they were from his pueblo… or maybe from up in those Peruvian or Bolivian mountains, could be MexicoContinueContinue reading “Y si un día”