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Can Xue: The Embroidered Shoes

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Can Xue The Embroidered Shoes

The Embroidered Shoes: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Can Xue (pronounced "tsan shway") is considered by many to be the most spirited, fearless, radical fiction writer to come out of contemporary China. Even her name is marked by tenacity (it's a pen name referring to dirty, leftover snow that refuses to melt). Her most important work to date, The Embroidered Shoes is a collection of lyrical, irreverent, sassy, wise, maddening, celebratory tales in which she explores the themes central to our contemporary lives: mortality, memory, imagination, and alienation. At times constructed like a set of graduated Chinese boxes, these New Gothic ghost stories build into philosophical and psychological conundrums that we ponder long after reading the final page. A doctor-detective-warrior who sleeps like a hippo in a cistern! A homicidal maniac housewife whose husband winds up in the hospital with a stomach full of very fine needles! These and many more strange, yet strangely recognizable, characters populate Can Xue's dream-ridden, transcendental territories. Written between 1986 and 1994, ten years after the death of Chairman Mao and during and following the 1989 Tiananmen massacre, The Embroidered Shoes is a life-affirming testament to the creative spirit.

Can Xue: другие книги автора


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“Out of nowhere that day there came a swarm of wild cats. No matter where I went they followed me, meowing incessantly. I was heartbroken and cried endlessly. Some passersby stopped, feeling sorry to see such great sorrow in such an innocent little girl. And our swindler had become a respectable character! Who could see through such a vicious fraud? Much less would they know there existed such a pitiful little victim. The embroidered shoes that she had made with hardship and sweat had become the tool by which vicious people might deceive others.

“You have to understand that the buyer for the salvage station has remained in the dark even up to this day. Several times when he saw me he was stunned and then went into a trance as if lost deep in a vague and distant memory. This meant that at that time he had totally confused the two of us, and he mistook the woman swindler for me. He had fallen into a love that was not returned. He was simply too honest. Like me he never understood the sophistication of the world and human beings. He knew only generosity. She had enchanted him completely. And the main factor was, of course, my embroidered shoes. Once she put on that pair of shoes, she became unrecognizable.

“My heart was shattered. For several days, I was so low that I could neither eat nor sleep. Intentionally, I made myself ugly. In my rags I would clutch my willow basket and wait outside the door of the buyer. As soon as they appeared, I would scream at the woman, ‘Deception will eventually be seen through!’ That vicious whore pretended not to recognize me at all. With one arm she held that mummy and ran off like a dog. That buyer had been turned into a mummy. She had destroyed him completely. I was so pained and regretful that I beat my chest and stamped my feet in the rain. Stretching my neck, I howled like a female wolf.

“Other times I chased them down the street, throwing banana peels and broken bottles at them. Every time the buyer would flee, towed along by that whore. He sobbed and his head drooped like a dead bird’s. Sometimes while chasing them I slipped and fell in the mud. The rags and papers in my basket spilled out over my body. I struggled up and continued my chase until I caught them. Then I stopped them and glared at the whore, asking pointedly: ‘How are your shoes?’

“Time flew by, one year after another. Wrinkles spread across my face one after another. I was told that the swindler had been promoted to accountant. When I heard the news I felt so disheartened that I passed out. While collecting garbage in the wilderness I would bump into that buyer once in a while, that old man with senile dementia. Every time he would look startled as if he were about to awaken. I wondered if there was some kind of conditioned reflex in that brain of his, which resembled a mess of porridge. Maybe he felt a puff of warm steam? Maybe he thought he saw a light shining through the dim passages in his idiotic brain? The brief glance in front of the window … Oh, oh! He had lost his mind completely, pitiful guy!

“The year I turned fifty I was determined to take revenge. I wanted to make this historical scandal public. I wanted to find my shoes and use them as solid evidence, to administer a humiliation that the whore could never wash off.

“At the beginning I used the strategy of direct attack. Repeatedly I dashed into their house to search around in the dark of night. But that whore was very cautious. Every time I came back empty-handed. In addition there was that damned mad dog. That dog never barked but jumped out and bit people from unexpected dark corners. Even today, there’s a scar on my calf. That was part of the evil trickery of that swindler. She pretended to be sound asleep and she never dared to turn on the light for fear of showing her shameless face. At those moments I did not ransack the place when I dashed in. Instead I made an especially disturbing sound hoping I would give her a nervous breakdown.

“For several years I continued with this strategy. Then one rainy night, the thunder rolled so loudly that one question leaped into my mind: Could it be possible that she had transferred the shoes to someone else’s house? Could there be a secret partner here? I started my attack and search in different households, never letting one night go by — I have long cultivated the habit of not sleeping at night. There was no sign of progress in my work and I couldn’t see any hope. Heavy dark clouds enveloped me. During those melancholy days I wavered, and I even thought of committing suicide. I became so pessimistic and world-weary that I would hide myself indoors, crying and stamping my feet. I even broke windows without any reason and shot passersby with my air gun.

“In the final critical moment I adopted the strategy of indirection as my single venture. I stopped going out and collecting garbage and I stopped my hunting at night. When I met others I declared that I was suffering from some serious illness and I put on an air of being in pain. I even sent a little child to the drugstore to buy medicine. Day after day I observed the outside world attentively through a crack in the curtain. Blood throbbed in my veins, and my heart pounded madly in my chest. Oh, day after day, day after day, I encouraged myself continuously: ‘What should happen is going to happen, it’s going to happen!’

“When the blue glow brightened outside the window, when I was moved to tears by the heroic struggle in my life, the truth all of a sudden was exposed in the light of the day! This is truly a miracle of mother nature, an unthinkable miracle!

“Tonight I feel a little bit tired and I’m going to sleep at your place. Wait until tomorrow evening — I’m going to tell you the shocking details. I’m going to tell you in great detail.”

And then she started to snore loudly.

TWO UNIDENTIFIABLE PERSONS

It was Lao Jiu (Old Vulture) who led him to see that man. Passing through a dense willow forest, they found him amidst a pile of dried-up weeds on the riverbank. His face covered with a ragged straw hat, he lay on his back sound asleep, the toes on his bare feet spread wide. Lao Jiu pulled him down and thus the three lay together. Soon afterward, they saw the waterfall plunging overhead.

“There’s a landslide quite near here,” Lao Jiu harrumphed. “That guy, he understands everything. All doubt will come to an end here.”

He started to make up a self-deceiving story. Recently such stories came to him automatically and turned in his mind like a revolving lamp.

The sound of bubbles breaking is a delicate one. You can only hear it by touching your ear to the earth. Is the sound of silkworms pulling silk for cocoons more delicate than that?

They had finally reached this place. For a long time, he’d had the feeling that Lao Jiu would lead him to see this man, but he had not guessed that the day would come so quickly. Now the thing had happened before he’d had time to pull the snarled threads of his confused mind out straight.

* * *

The day before, he had argued repeatedly with Ru Shu until they reached a kind of compromise. Clinging together, they stood in the chill wind probing for the image in each other’s mind.

“Don’t go,” she said, laughing softly, a little to his surprise. “Of course, I’m going to write that kind of letter. You’re going to receive a lot of them, piles of them, heaps. There’s virtually no possibility for retreat.”

Instantly, she vanished without sound or shape, as if she were a gust of cold, black wind.

He could not connect the feeling that she gave others now with the bright, sunny days of May. Before the coming of those days every year, he would be sleeping soundly. The naughty children in the neighborhood would take that chance to break his window in broad daylight. When the broken glass hit the floor, he would tighten the quilt around his body, pretending to be a silkworm swinging his head. He was the sort of person who is mentally a little bit slow. He did not count the disappearance of Ru Shu as starting at that time. Instead, he insisted stubbornly on reckoning it from a day five years later. The very concept of time was distorted in his mind. This was unexpected even to Lao Jiu.

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