Our Towns

Acknowledgment

2004-06-29T10:35:00.000-07:00

“Our Towns” project is sponsored by Iowa Sister States and International Programs at The University of Iowa

Special thanks go to:

Mr. Bai Xiaoming
Ms. Karen Downing
Ms. Vicky Rossander
Ms. Anne Peterson
Ms. Brooke Suchomel
Ms. Diana Davies
Ms. Buffy Quintero

And

All the students who participated in this project

And

Those who provided encouragement, both in words and deeds, during entire process

Additional information about the schools involved in this project

Jizhou High School, Jizhou City, Hebei, China: http://www.jzzx.com/
City of Jizhou: http://www.zgjz.gov.cn/hsjz/index.jsp (in Chinese)
Province of Hebei: http://www.hebei.cn/index.jsp (in Chinese)

Valley High School, West Des Moines, Iowa, U. S. A.: http://www.wdm.k12.ia.us/valley/
State of Iowa: http://www.state.ia.us/

This collection is published on a weblog site at: www.ourtowns.blogspot.com

Portions of this collection are being published on both school websites

If you need additional information about this project, please write to Mr. Cong Wang at:
cwang830@hotmail.com

or

Call (319)-354-9186

鸣谢

2004-06-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

＂故土乡情＂交流活动由爱荷华＂姐妹州省＂

以及

爱荷华大学国际部赞助

特此鸣谢

白晓明先生
凯伦·黛琳女士
维姬·罗姗德女士
安妮·彼德生女士
布洛克·苏考密尔女士
黛安娜·戴维丝女士
伯菲·匡太勒女士

以及

参加这项交流活动的全体同学

以及

自始至终言行一致地为该活动鼓劲加油的人们

参与该交流活动的有关学校背景

中国河北省冀州市冀州中学网站： http://www.jzzx.com/
冀州市网站：http://www.zgjz.gov.cn/hsjz/index.jsp （中文）
河北省网站：http://www.hebei.cn/index.jsp （中文）

美国爱荷华州德漠因西郊秀谷高中http://www.wdm.k12.ia.us/valley/
爱荷华州网站: http://www.state.ia.us/

这本作品集巳被收录在: www.ourtowns.blogspot.com

中美双方学校的网站正在陆续刊登部分交流作品

如想了解该交流活动详情，请电邮王聪先生:
cwang830@hotmail.com

或打电话
(319)-354-9186

Thoughts

2003-11-30T21:12:00.000-08:00

[English version 英文稿]

As I clicked that “publish” button, and watched this weblog page appeared in front of my eyes for the first time, my heart skipped a beat—in front of me lies the record of an amazing journey.

It is a journey of many young men and women who divulged their most intimate feelings for their countries, homesteads, families, and the people they cherish and love, as well as their confusion, disappointment and frustration in life. They have told stories that otherwise would never have been heard by their counterparts. It is a journey of Mr. Bai, Xiaoming, a young administrator at Jizhou High School in Hebei Province who had the foresight to answer a proposition from a distant stranger who contacted him through today’s junk-laden Internet. This collection is also a journey of Ms. Karen Downing and other Iowa teachers who led their students to answer the call from half way around the world away. It is a journey of Ms. Anne Peterson and Ms. Brooke Suchomel, two graduate students at the University of Iowa who graciously offered precious hours from their busy schedules in order to proofread the translated drafts; I am forever grateful for their contributions to this collection. It is a journey of Ms. Diana Davies and Ms. Buffy Quintero of International Programs at the University of Iowa. Without these individuals, this project would not have been possible. It is also a journey of myself—a new immigrant who considers initiating and facilitating this grassroots connection to be a true measure of his love for the land of his birth and the land he now calls home. Ultimately, this is a journey of the human hearts that are yearning to reach out and touch others. For this, I wish to express my deepest gratitude for the trust, encouragement, and kindness I have received from everyone who has participated in and contributed to this project. This collection belongs to all of you.

In many ways, this collection is a small miracle—its difficult inception, its far reach, and most of all, its humanness and intimacy in spite of the fact that the two participating partners don’t know each other and have never met face-to-face. Somehow, millions of lifeless 0’s and 1’s roaming through the ether of cyber space have touched the hearts of real flesh and blood human beings. As a result, once strangers are no longer just blurred images on two-dimensional photos, strange sounding names and outdated labels, but narrators who convey stories, feelings, and reflections on life that may not be too different from the reader’s own. This kind of miracle of human connection is what is desperately needed in this world.

This is not intended as a be-all-and-end-all magical balm that could put all the pieces together, and this is not a collection of literary masterpieces. Nor should we expect it to be—the world is neither simple nor perfect. But the complexity and imperfections in reality should never prevent us from seeking these sparks in our souls. This is not intended to be an one-time fad, only good to be framed and archived away, nor is it a cultural spectacle like a circus that runs through the Main Streets of our towns and cities once a year and leaves no trace behind. Real human connections can last only when they are tended with persistence, care and good faith.

This is just the first step of a long journey ahead, however small and insignificant it may be at this moment. My sincere hope is that we will not be too timid and reluctant to take the next steps in this journey.

— Cong Wang

[Chinese version 中文稿]

随想

在我点击＂发表＂键，这个网页第一次出现在我眼前的那一瞬间，我的心头不禁为之一震－－在我面前展现的是一段不寻常的行程的记录。

这是一段许多中美两国少男少女走过的一段行程。他们在这里抒发了他们对自己的祖国、家乡、家庭以及亲友的最亲密的情感，也有他们生活中的迷茫，失望和烦恼。他们讲述了一个又一个原本不可能被对方听到的感人故事。这是河北省冀州中学的年轻行政人员白晓明走过的一段行程。他独具慧眼，在充满＂垃圾＂的网络联系中发现了一个来自远方的陌生人的倡议，并作出了积极的响应。这是象Karen Downing这样的来自爱荷华州的教师们走过的一段行程。他们带领自己的学生们响应来自半个地球之外的呼唤。这是 Anne Peterson和Brooke Suchomel这两个爱荷华大学的研究生走过的一段行程。她们从自己繁忙的作息时间表中抽出宝贵的时间，为这个作品集的译稿审稿。对她们所作的贡献，我表示衷心的感谢。这是爱荷华大学国际部的Diana Davies女士和Buffy Quintero女士走过的一段行程。没有她们的鼎力相助，这个交流活动将只能是一个空想。这是我这个认为倡导、协助这项民间交流是我对生我养我的祖国以及我现在定居的第二祖国的热爱最真实的体现的新移民走过的一段行程。说到底，这是那些渴望和外界作心灵沟通的人们走过的一段心路。为此，我对在这一行程中参与和帮助这项活动的人们给我的信任、鼓励和善意支持表示最衷心的感激。这个作品集属于你们每一个人。

从许多角度上讲，这个作品集的产生是一个小小的奇迹：它艰难的起步和巨大的空间跨度，尤其是这些素昧平生、从未谋面的人们的作品中洋溢的人情味。那些亿万个没有生命的在网络中漫游的＂0＂和＂1¨不知如何触动了那些有血有肉的人们的心弦。结果，原来那些陌生人不再是些在两维平面的相片上模糊的影像、发音古怪的姓名和挂着过时标签的漫画人物，而是一些讲述故事、抒发情感和感叹人生的人们，他们的生活和对方的读者的人生在本质上并无天壤之别。象这样触及心灵的交流正是当今世界急需的东西。

这项活动不是一个包医百病的灵丹妙药，这个作品集也不出自名家高手。这些并不是这个活动的本意，这个世界既不简单也不完美。但是，现实中的复杂性和缺陷不应该妨碍我们在自己的心灵中发掘美好的闪光点。这个活动不是一个时兴的热潮，风头一过，便揠旗息鼓，扔进故纸堆。它也不是象一年一度从大街上走过的马戏团那样的西洋镜，表演过后便作鸟兽散。真正的人际关系需要持久的培育、呵护和真情才能维持。

尽管现在看来并不显眼，这毕竟是万里之行迈出的一小步。我真诚地希望我们能毫不踌躇地继续向前迈进。

－－王聪

Preface

2003-11-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

[English version 英文稿]

The genesis of this project is September 11, 2001.

Someone said that September 11, 2001 was the "Pearl Harbor" of the twenty-first century. Someone said it was the first shot of the war between the civilizations of the new millennium. Someone said it shattered our sense of security and invincibility forever. Someone simply said it was the day that changed America.

All of the above might be true. But one fact often escapes the attention of TV commentators or pundits and is rarely meaningfully discussed: September 11, 2001 was also the day when many Americans suddenly realized that they had known nothing about the world beyond our borders.

It is often said that the rest of the world knows about America better than America knows about the rest of the world. On the surface, this assertion holds some truth, particularly as American pop culture sweeps across the world with the help of modern communications and the wide spread of commercialization after the Cold War. However, we would be mistaken to equate "knowing" with "understanding". In fact, sometimes knowing without understanding is no better, if not worse, than not knowing at all, because it provides such a narrow angle of observation which could potentially lead to a distorted, generalized conclusion. I've often wondered if the average Americans' understanding of China does not go much beyond the tip of their chopsticks and the Kung Fu stunts of Jackie Chan; similarly, I've wondered how far the average Chinese understanding of America reaches beyond Hollywood movies, Coca-Cola and Disney World. In other words, is the familiarity of Britney Spears and Michael Jordan equivalent to the understanding of America?

However, arguing about who is at fault in this lack of understanding seems to completely miss the point, if we believe that all human endeavors in the history of mankind, noble or otherwise, are the manifestation of the human nature we all share. The more we understand each other, the more we will understand our own potential as agents of great good, as well as possibly great evil, in our time on earth.

Yet one thing is almost certain: at no time in human history has the need for mutual understanding between ordinary people from different cultural environments been greater as unprecedented globalization hits every far-reaching corner of the world. The disheartening reality is the world seems to be dangerously unprepared for such contact with regard to the kind of mutual understanding which is a crucial foundation for cross-cultural communication.

As Globalization progresses, the ever-increasing complexity of political, financial and national interests, along with pervasive cultural and religious influences could become the seeds of tension, distrust and resentment in the absence of such mutual understanding. As a result, human conflicts, be they actual or potential, real or imagined, could be intensified. If we want to save ourselves from the onslaught of upcoming conflicts and an endless cycle of violence, we all need to learn more about one another. We all need to connect with each other as flesh and blood human beings rather than subscribe to the old, divisive prejudices and stereotypes. This is because extremism, whether in the form of nationalism, ideology, or religion, can only exist and thrive through the isolation and distortion of the human experience, and through the denial of others' humanity.

This collection is just a small step in this long process to get two peoples acquainted on a grassroots level by allowing their young people to share their own stories, their own feelings, and their own perceptions of the world around them.

It is time for all of us to connect before fear and distrust separate us further. It is time for all of us to build true peace and harmony based on our common humanity rather than precarious co-existence based on temporary, illusive "mutual interests." It is time for our next generation-our future leaders-to broaden their vision and perception of the world by getting to know their peers through their hearts.

And the time is now.

--Cong Wang

[Chinese version 中文稿]

前言

这个交流活动的起因是发生在二ＯＯ一年的＂九一一＂事件。

有人说＂九一一＂事件是二十一世纪的＂珍珠港＂事件。也有人说那是新纪元不同文明之间打响的第一枪。也有人说它将永远打破我们的安全感和天下无敌的观念。有些人干脆说这是美国举国改变的一天。

上面的这些说法也许都没有错。但是，一个经常被电视上的评论家和耍嘴皮的政论家们忽视的，从而从未得到深入探讨的事实是＂九一一＂同样也是许多美国人突然意识到他们对海外的情形一无所知的一天。

我经常听到这样一种说法：世界了解美国远较美国对世界的了解为深。从表面上讲，这种说法的确有些道理。尤其在冷战结束之后，美国大众文化借助于现代传媒和商业化在世界上广泛的蔓延，大有横扫全球之势。然而，如果我们将＂知晓＂和＂理解＂混为一谈，那就大错特错了。事实上，有时缺之理解的知晓并不比不知晓好多少，也许还会更糟。因为那会使观察角度变得狭窄和片面，从而得到一些扭曲而又笼统的结论。我经常纳闷，如果说普通美国百姓对中国的理解超越不了中国菜和成龙的精采武打套路的话，那么普通的中国百姓对美国的理解又能比好莱坞电影、可口可乐和迪斯尼乐园这些东西好多少呢？换句话说，对Britney Spears和Michael Jordan这些名人的熟悉程度难道真能代表对美国普通民众的理解吗？

然而，对这种双方之间缺乏深刻理解的现象追根寻源，急于找出为此负责的一方的做法则没有点到问题的要害。因为我们相信人类历史上记载的所有功过是非，不论是崇高伟大，还是卑鄙渺小，都是我们所具有的共同人性的外在体现。我们互相之间的理解越深，我们越会懂得我们人生一世，既具有成就一番伟业的潜能，也具有犯下一些罪恶行径的可能性的道理。

然而，有一个事实几乎是显而易见的：当史无前例的环球化波及每一个偏远角落的国际局势下，各民族、文化之间的互相理解比历史上的任何时代都要来得重要。而令人担忧的是在当今的世界上，这种作为跨文化交流基础的互相理解远远不够。

随着环球化进程的逐渐深化，国际间的政治、经济和国家利益会变得愈加错综复杂，加上异域宗教、文化的渗入，都将会为紧张关系、互不信任和互相反感播下种子。于是，人类的互相冲突，不管是公开的还是潜在的、真实的还是想象的冲突都会愈演愈烈。如果我们想避免这些悲剧，不被卷入无休止的暴力冲突的话，我们就必须更多、更深地理解对方。我们都必须象有血有肉的人们那样建立内心的联系，而不能继续沿用那些具有对立性质的偏见和固有观念来评判对方。这是由于任何极端主义，不管是以民族主义、意识形态或政治信仰还是宗教门派的形式作为外在表现，其内在核心都是以局限人们的视野以及无视他人人性作为基础的。

这个交流活动让双方的年轻一代分享他们自己的故事、抒发自己的情怀以及反映他们对自身周围的世界的感受。这个作品集只是在促进中美民间的互相了解的漫长的行程中边出的一小步。

让我们在惧怕和猜疑将我们分开之前互相联系起来。让我们用我们共有的人性而不是用权宜妥协的＂共存＂和临时性的＂互利＂来建立和平、和谐的国际关系。让我们的下一代－－我们未来的领袖人物通过心灵的沟通以拓展自己对世界的视野。

任重道远，时不我待。

--王聪

The Picture Frame

2003-11-30T21:07:00.000-08:00

[English original]

By Kendra Richards
Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

One by one, I fold jackets, jeans, sweatshirts, anything I can find that is warm. It’s starting to get cold outside. The dew on the grass is freezing over, and icicles are forming on the gutters. I’ll have to pack gloves, hats, and the warmest coat I can find. It will be tremendously cold, and there will be no one to keep me warm. I’m in this alone.

Sometimes I run away just to see who will follow. Sometimes if I’m lucky my mom will realize I’m gone, or maybe my dad. But this time, that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking to get away. I’m looking for an escape from this hectic life. I’m looking for the peaceful beach where the only sound is the crashing waves or the singing birds. I’m looking for the quiet house with no one else living in it to yell or cause problems. No one to pick up a nearby coffee cup and slam it to the floor with such force it could literally shake the world. A life where I can keep to myself. A life without conflict. Is there such a thing? I don’t know, but I’m on my way to find out.

As I take one last look around the house, I notice that it’s empty. Empty chairs, empty bedrooms. My heartbeat echoes throughout the room, bouncing off every wall. My mind focuses on a picture frame that holds nothing but glass. That frame should be holding something, something precious, a family picture with the mountains standing tall in the background, or a waterfall. Something. It should have a special meaning, yet there’s no meaning at all. My eyes wander around the house one more time, the house that I have lived in since I was three. I make a mental picture of how lonely it looks, and vow that mine will never look the same.

As I load a single suitcase into the back of my “love bug,” I feel a splurge of emotions. A feeling of sadness but yet at the same time excitement rushes from head to toe. I’m leaving the life I have been living all these years, to move on to something better. Something new. I am moving on, by myself. In a way I want a companion to help me through this tough time, but then again I wouldn’t want anyone I know now. The stuffed teddy bear with his arms wrapped tightly around a heart, sitting in the passenger’s seat will have to do. We can make it through, just the two of us.

I back out of the driveway with tears trickling down my face. Not so much tears of pain but I’m letting go of all the hurt. As these tears wash away streaks of make up, I’m letting go of emotional and physical abuse. I’m letting go of broken hearts and shattered dreams. People telling me to give up now, that I’ll never make it. I’m letting it all go. Soon I will live a life where my heart will be mended and every dream I dream will come true. I will soon be living a life of happiness.

I continue driving. Yet today, driving seems so difficult. It takes so much strength to turn the wheel. It takes so much to turn it left or to turn it right. Why is this happening? All of my energy is forced out through the tip of my toes when I push so hard against the gas. No matter how much strength or how much energy it takes, I’m going to get to that station.

I finally reach my destination. The train station. I’m about an hour early. I go sit down on the nearby bench. The paint is peeling off and the metal is rusty. But I don’t mind. As I look around the room, it is filled with many people. Yet it is silent. Like I am the only one there. I am in a crowded room, yet it still feels empty. I can see the people mouthing words, but the sound will not come out. I am emotionally and physically drained. My life has been a marathon sprint, and yet I still can’t manage to stop running. But this time I’m running away, away from this life. Will this life ever end? I’m away from home. Why can’t I be happy?

I still have about forty-five minutes to spare so I wander around the station. I spot a gift shop in the corner. I wander around in the gift store, not finding a lot of things that peak my interest. I pass baseball hats, reminding me of the baseball bat my father used to smash in all my car windows. I pass clothing items. The thick black belt hung there so innocently. Not like the one my dad used to beat me with until black and blue bumps emerged from my now back. All of sudden, on the far back shelf, I see a single picture frame lying by itself. My fingers slowly run over every inch of this picture fame that resembles the one at my old house. The empty one that holds nothing.

I hear a couple of deep horns. As my train arrives, I slowly pick up my single suitcase with all of the strength I have left. This train is my escape. This train is my happiness. It will swoop me away and take me to a better place. This one picture frame that I hold in my hand, will soon be filled with the most precious picture anyone could ever imagine. Maybe a picture of the tides rushing over the edge of the beach, or birds playing in the sand. Soon this picture will hold meaning, just like my life will. I step inside and take a seat, with tears of pain and hurt, still streaming down my face. I’m away from home, why can’t I be happy?

[Chinese translation]

镜框

By Kendra Richards
Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

我将一件又一件的夹克、牛仔裤、绒衣，凡是能保暧的衣物全折叠了起来。天巳转泠。草叶上的露珠巳经结冰，房檐上巳经挂下了冰柱。我得带上手套、帽子和我能找到的最暧和的衣服。我要去的那个地方冷得出奇，到了那里没人会和我相依取暧。我是孑然一身。

有时我出走的目的只是想看看谁会出来找我。有时我走运，我妈妈或者我爸爸会意识到我巳经离家出走。但这一次，我出走的目的不是这个。这次我是真的想远走高飞。我想摆脱我现在这个纷乱繁杂的生活。我想找一片平静的海滩，在那里唯一的声响是海浪拍岸的涛声和喃喃的鸟语。我想找一个没有人大吼大叫、寻衅肇事的清静住处。没有谁会顺手抓过一只咖啡杯扔到地上，弄出惊天动地的效果。我向往的是独身自好的生活。一种没有冲突的生活。世上难道真有这样的去处？我心中没底，但我这次出走就是为了将此事探个究竟。

我最后一次环顾室内，心中顿时生出一股空荡之感。空椅子，空卧室。我的心跳声在屋子里的空空四壁回荡着。我的心被一面空白的镜框吸引住了。那面镜框本来是应该有内容的，应该有值得珍藏的记忆，比如一张以高山或者大瀑布为背景的全家福。总得有点计么内容才是。那是一种具有特殊意义，同时又无深文大义的内容。我最后环顾了一下这个我从三岁一直住到现在的房子。将眼前这个人去屋空的冷清场面铭刻在心中，心中暗暗起誓决不让我将来自己的家落到这般境地。

当我将一只衣箱装进我那辆＂小甲壳虫＂大众车的后舱里时，心中不禁百感交集。悲情中交织着贯穿全身的兴奋。我正在脱离一个我有生之年里一直延续的生活，去寻找一个更好、更新的生活。我独自一人出门远行。从某种意义上讲，我需要有个伴帮助我度过这段艰难的时日，但转念一想，我不想与我现在认识的人中的任何一个作伴远行。那个坐在司机座边上的双臂紧抱著一颗心的布熊就算凑合着作个伴吧。我们俩，就我们俩一定能挺过来的。

我从车道上倒车出来，一时泪如泉涌。那算不上是痛苦的眼泪，但是我将过去所受的所有伤痛尽数释放。当泪水将脸上化的妆洗成一张花脸时，我正在将过去在心理上和肉体上受过的虐待一古脑地倾泻而出。我在将所有的痛心之事和破碎之梦留给了过去。人们也许会劝我赶紧悬崖勒马，说我无法在外独自生存下去。我觉得我是豁出去了。用不了多久，我心灵的创伤将会愈合，我的所有梦想都会实现。不久，我将过上幸福的日子。

我继续开车。但今天的车似乎好难开。转方向盘得使大劲。左右转向是那般费劲。这究竟是为什么呢？在我踩油门时，我将全身的力气集中在脚尖。不管这车开得有多么艰难，我巳经下定了决心，一定要赶到车站。

我终于到达了我的目的地－－火车站。离发车时刻还有一小时。于是，我挑了个附近的一条长板凳坐了下来。板凳上的漆正在剥落，金属部分锈迹斑斑。但我并不在乎。我环顾候车室，里面有不少人，但却是静悄悄的，就好象只有我孤身一人的感觉。这个挤满人的地方仍然让人有一种空荡荡的感觉。我能看到人们的嘴在动，但却没有声音发出来。我无论是从情感和体力上讲都巳经精疲力竭了。我的人生旅程就象是一段马拉松，但我还不知道该怎样停下来。但这一次，我是离家外走，远离我现在的生活。我现在过的日子还有没有尽头呀？我正在离家出走。为什么我高兴不起来呢？

离我的发车时间还有四十五分钟，于是我便在车站里转了转。我在拐角处发现了一家礼品商店。我在店里转了转，没有发现什么引起我注意力的东西。我经过的棒球帽架令我想起我爸爸用来砸烂我车子上的所有玻璃窗的那根棒球棒。我经过成衣货架。那里随意地挂着一根根粗粗的黑色皮带。不象那根我爸爸曾用来打我的皮带那般狰狞可怕，那根皮带曾把我的后腰打得青一块、紫一块。突然间，在后面的一个僻角的货架上，我看到一面孤零零的镜框躺在那里。我的手指仔仔细细地抚摸着那面很象我家那面空无一物的镜框的镜框。

我听到外面传来几声火车的低鸣－－我的车进站了。我使出全力慢慢提起我那只衣箱。这辆火车是我的救星，是我幸福的化身。它将把我带出这个地方，将我带进一个更好的地方。我手中的这面镜框将装上任何人从未想象的珍贵画面。也许是大潮冲刷着海滩，或是鸟儿在沙中嬉戏的场面。不久，这面空镜框将会就象我今后的生活那样变得更有意义。我走进车厢找了个座位坐了下来，痛苦和伤感的眼泪仍在尽情流淌。我正在离家出走，为什么我高兴不起来呢？

The Dacning Class

2003-11-19T00:33:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

Jessica Berger

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

Girls on tip-tops
stand tall
Looking down on the one
who will show them what
they need to know

They primp in their leotards
Some giggling, some frowning
Laughing at, dreading
The positions to come

Ornate little statues smile
to the dolls that are
dancing
on the hard, dense wood floor

They hear The Man shrieking
Pull up taller, be thinner
Be perfect angels
For all to see

Repeating routines
Stretching and flexing
Preparing for something
So close, yet unreachable

Serious, dedicated
Focused are the girls
As they take on their dance
As they take on their lives

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

舞道人生

Jessica Berger

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

足尖站处
亭亭少女玉立
众目齐视
严师演练示范

芭蕾舞服齐整
嬉笑愁眉各异
试问缘何啼笑
难为舞步行将练

地硬如铁处
粉黛起舞
雕像注目含笑

忽闻严师嘶吼
尔等挺拔应加，体重需减
佳丽本自苦寒来
方为众人赏悦

套路演练千百度
伸拉紧收无限
最恼千锤百炼后
咫尺天涯功难成

今日钻研习舞道
明朝入世品人生
严谨勤奋常自勉
不使杂念误前程

Setting of the Seasons

2003-11-17T21:07:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

Jonathan Ash
Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

In quiet repose,
the dwindling sun sets and splashes a final farewell
of fiery brilliance upon foliaged leaves once inflamed—
now fading in the fall of Autumn’s epoch

And the evening is brittle and fragile
as Winter, cloaked, encroaches.
The air is crisp and sharp and biting
and makes each step heavy and cold and burdened.

Long since have the days of summer past,
of engulfing warmth and sweet respite
And fallen has the leafed fury of explosion and eruption—
now brown and deadened, crippled and crinkled upon the hardened ground.

And Winter has come in slow and measured paces,
melancholy and gray-aged.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

四季终曲

Jonathan Ash
Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

夕阳悄然西下
离别尽在不言，
绚烂霜叶红似火
渐入秋境无痕。

冬潜入
每晚露寒霜冷。
料峭西风紧
蹒跚步重，清冷不胜愁。

最忆盛夏时节，
热浪相迫，甜梦如醉。
葱郁绿叶，竞相怒发
无奈一片枯败凋零覆寒尘。

冬至也，迟缓滞重
郁愁满腹华发生。

（译者注：这首吟秋小赋，写得苍凉，颇有中国古诗中＂古道西风＂之意境。译者取其大意而译。）

The Difference a Smile Makes

2003-11-14T21:33:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

Devin Egger

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

“Smile and nod.” A simple saying that Nick had heard a long time ago and now has become his philosophy for life. He always thought to himself: people didn’t have to know what I really thought of them, or what they look like, or what I think about anything. As long as they see me smiling, it makes them smile and everyone was happy. He didn’t do it to not have to talk to anyone or be unsociable. In fact, it was quite the opposite; he loved to talk to everyone about anything. He just did it to keep everyone happy. Of course that didn’t mean that he didn’t think bad things, dirty things, demeaning things, hurtful things, and hateful things. He did. He thought about things like that a lot. Most of the time he just sat there and thought about things, not really one thing in particular, just things. But no one would ever know: he never told anyone about such things. That was the plan anyway.
His theory worked great. There were very few people who really didn’t like Nick. Everyone he met thought he was the nicest guy ever. Who wouldn’t? He never had anything bad to say about them. People could always tell that he was in a room where they walked into. There was a friendly smile that greeted them that always made them feel comfortable. His deep warm brown eyes had their way of soothing a person’s heart like nothing else. He was an attractive guy, although he never thought so. His girl friend, Amber, was in his words, “the most beautiful girl in the world”, and even though most guys say that about their girlfriends, she was a truly beautiful girl. She had long, flowing, silky, blonde hair, stunning, sapphire blue eyes, and one of the most perfect bodies anyone had ever seen. Nick thought of himself as the luckiest guy in the world, even with all the thoughts running through his head he never thought that he would ever have such an amazing girl as Amber. Every guy who he showed her picture to was envious of him; every girl that knew he was taken was jealous of her. They had the perfect relationship. They loved each other and everyone knew it. As long as he had her, he was as happy as can be.
Nick seemingly had everything. He was a starter on the high school football team, he played in the school band and his own band, he had a wonderful girlfriend, he had more friends that he could keep track of, and he always had a smile on his face. Nobody ever teased him about being in the band. Being a football star made the fact that he was in the band seem more honorable. What everyone didn’t know was that if he weren’t on the team, he would still play in the band. He enjoyed the feeling it gave him, the thrill of performing. But no one ever knew that. What he planned to do with his life nobody knew either. He wanted to play his saxophone around the world. He didn’t care about being famous; he just wanted to play his instrument. He knew there wouldn’t be much of a future in football, and even if there were, he wouldn’t be able to play past 40, and then what would he do with his life? No, that wasn’t an option. Sure he’d play through college; he already knew he would get a partial scholarship. He knew he needed it too. He came from an un-wealthy family. They weren’t poor. But he knew that they didn’t have the money to put him through college. And he needed that education to go play his instrument around the world. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get a scholarship for his grades. While he wasn’t a poor student at all, he didn’t have the kind of grades it took to get a scholarship.
The only thing he loved more than playing his instrument was being with Amber. “The things you love always seem to kill you.” That was another one of Nick’s favorite sayings. If he only knew how right he was. Just holding her in his arms relaxed him to a point in which he hadn’t felt before he had her. He called her on the phone everyday. He loved talking to her too. It wasn’t quite as good as actually being with her, but it was comforting none the less. The calls always started the same way: “Hey baby.” He would say:
“Hi!”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yeah.” She was always just fine, no matter how she felt when he called. It bothered him at first, but he had come to get used to it, and like many things that used to bother him about her, it now seemed cute.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” Another ritual answer that he didn’t seem to notice anymore. And then he would say something to the effect of, “Guess what happened today?” and so the conversation would continue, usually for an hour or so. Sometimes they talked for over two hours. He always wondered how they could talk for so long everyday and still keep talking. After he would get off the phone, he could never quite place what all the talked about, but then the next night they would find more to talk about. While they were talking, their conversation always turned to: “I miss you so much”
“I miss you too.” He always missed her, even if he had seen her two hours ago. He missed her every time that he wasn’t with her.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” He loved it when she would say that. It was music to his ears.
“Promise me that you’ll never leave me?”
“Yes. I promise. You know I couldn’t leave you.”
“I know. I just like to hear it.” It made him rest easy when he heard that. He couldn’t live without her, and he knew it. But no one else knew that.
He hated it when he had to leave her house, or when she had to leave his. They hated it. He could never think straight after just being with her. His mind would wander and think about her. Once or twice he caught himself drifting off driving home, thinking about her. He knew that it wasn’t a good thing to do. He told himself that he would not let himself do it anymore, and he would have. But it was too late. He had drifted too long. He snapped out of it just it time to swerve to miss the car coming at him but slammed into the car next to him and began to lose control. If it were on a normal street in the daytime, he would have been okay, but he couldn’t regain control going 60 on the freeway at night. The tail of his car swung into the oncoming lane, and another driver clipped it, spinning him back into the far right lane like an uncontrollable pinball. He looked to his right and saw the car coming at him, hoping that it would stop knowing that he could do nothing but sit there and wait. The driver slammed on his brakes, but not in time, and slammed into Nick’s passenger door. Maybe the other driver was drifting off too; but whatever the case was, he hit Nick’s car fast enough to send him into unconsciousness. This was good in some respects he thought later on, the unconsciousness dulled the pain, temporarily at least. He didn’t dare tell anyone that thought either.
When he woke up was in some sort of a hospital room; he had been in a regular hospital room before, but nothing like this. There were all sorts of machines hissing and beeping and pumping, like some sort of weird hospital room blues. There were tubes stuck in his body from various places, and there were several doctors around him. He wondered if the machines that were serenading him were also keeping him alive. He didn’t exactly know exactly how bad he was hurt. He could feel his legs, which meant he wasn’t paralyzed. That was a good thing. The bad part about that was they felt like an elephant had played jump rope on top of them. He couldn’t look down to see if there was a cast on them because of the neck brace, but he didn’t need to. He could feel the heavy, dead weight of the cast on his painful legs anyway. Above his legs he pain subsided slightly. He was pretty sure that nothing much was hurt in his midsection, except for a few broken ribs. His neck didn’t hurt that much despite the brace that they had on it. He would ask about that later. The pain started back up again past his chin. His face hurt almost as bad as his legs, but it was a different kind of pain. Not so much the pain of broken bones, all though that was there too. But the pain was more of a stinging feeling, like his face was cut up and bruised. He knew that he was in pretty bad condition, but he really didn’t want to think about it. His mind started thinking about his legs, as much as he didn’t want to, and he wondered what would come next. Then the drugs took over and he fell asleep.
When he woke up, he was sitting in a real hospital room in a real hospital bed. This room seemed somewhat more cheery. Although he didn’t see how any hospital room could ever be cheery, with their sickly white walls and over-cleanliness of everything. He always thought about the fact that there have been dying and or dead people laying in this very bed, and their sobbing family where his family now was. But he never told anyone about that. His parents were sitting in a chair beside his bed. His mom was crying; he had expected as much, but his dad was crying too, and that made him hurt even more. A pain that he couldn’t place-- it was something deeper, not an injury, but the sickening pain of despair. He looked down at his legs and suddenly knew that he would never play football again. They were horrifying. His right leg had more bends than a winding country road, and his left leg had no real form to it, which probably meant that it was shattered in many pieces.
What he learned about his condition, and came to realize about the rest of his life in the next hour would have been enough to send a normal man to a severe state of depression. The doctors told him exactly what he had feared; he would never play football again. Not only that but he would be condemned to a wheelchair until his legs were healed. He didn’t believe that part though; he knew he would be imprisoned in that wheelchair for the rest of his life. He had guessed right; his legs were in fact shattered, the right worse than the left, but shattered none the less. He had two broken ribs, and his neck wasn’t broken, as he had suspected. The neck brace was just a “precaution”. What he didn’t suspect, though, was how mangled his face was. His lip was split where his tooth had cut through it. Three of his teeth were chipped, and two missing, and if that wasn’t enough, they told him that his jaw was “dislocated”, whatever that meant. What it meant to him was that he would probably never play his saxophone again. His dream of a music career was ruined.
Just when he almost thought to himself, I have nothing to live for, something miraculous happened. Amber walked through the hospital room doors. Even through all of the pain and misery, when he saw her face he couldn’t help but smile, just a little. It wasn’t one of those fake smiles that he had always worn before. She had a way of making those go away and let the real happiness come out in him. Right then he knew that things would be ok. He was so glad that she was there to hold his hand and take care of him. He saw her eyes well up with tears as he took her hand. As she began to cry, so did he. He was crying because he was happy and so incredibly sad at the same time. They all sat there and cried for at least an hour. When the doctor came back in and told him that he would need to get some rest, they had gone through two boxes of Kleenex. The soggy wet pile of used tissues laid on the incredibly clean floor. The doctor gave him some more medication, and the pain faded. He began to drift away on his big fluffy white cloud once more.
The next week was in the same fashion. He would be awake for a few hours and then drift back to sleep. The pain faded less and less each time until there was a constant dull pain that seemed to hover over him like a thick black fog. After a week they let him out of the hospital. Thankfully Amber had taken the week off of school that he was in the hospital to be with him. He would have gone crazy if she hadn’t. But after that week, she had to go back. This saddened him, but he knew that she couldn’t miss anymore school. The good thing about it was he got plenty of time to think about things. He never noticed how many stairs were in his house until he found that he couldn’t climb them in a wheel- chair. The next two weeks at home were nothing short of a living hell. Amber came over to see him when she could, but she had homework and other school things to do. He understood. He always understood about such things.
After his two weeks at home, they let him go back to school, but for a week only half a day each day. School was much more tiring to him than it used to be, even with Amber helping him to each class. At first everyone was really nice and apologetic for what happened. But it was that fake nice. The same one he used to use. He wondered if everyone saw through his mask as easily as he saw through theirs. He knew one thing though. He hated it, absolutely hated it. This was okay because that fake niceness slowly wore off, and he became just another face in the crowd. He occasionally heard the word gimp or cripple thrown out at him, but he pretended not to care. After all, not everyone liked him. It came as a shock to him, though, when he looked to see where the remark came from once and saw that it came from one of the people he thought to be his good friend. After that, he noticed more and more that the remarks were coming from people he knew, people he trusted, people he cared about, and people he thought cared about him. In the week following his discovery his disgust for the world slowly grew, and his attitude showed it, his attitude towards his “friends”, toward his parents, and even toward his girlfriend. He barely noticed though. He was too busy watching as his life, which he thought was almost perfect, go down the drain. He realized that his girlfriend was the only thing he had left. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he lost her, but he did. He thought about it a lot. He didn’t tell anyone, but soon they would know.
The Thursday two months after his accident, he rolled to Amber’s locker to meet her before his first class. But she wasn’t there like she usually was. He didn’t think too much of it. She probably went to the bathroom, he thought to himself and left to go find her. On his way to go find her, one of her friends hollered to him:
“She was already here. I think she went to the cafeteria.”
“Right, sure.” He sneered. Why would she go to the cafeteria? She never goes there. Never the less, he thought he would give it a try. Later he wished that he hadn’t. Sometimes not knowing about something was better than getting your heart broken, but now he knew. There she was. Arms around another guy, his “friend”, lip locked. Her eye caught his, and he turned and rolled away. He couldn’t believe that such a thing could happen. He was hoping that he would hear the sound of her footsteps running up behind him, of her voice calling for him to wait. But there was none of that. He didn’t go to anymore of his classes that day. As it turned out, he wouldn’t go to any class again. He just went home and sat there. Sat and thought. This time his thought had a specific direction though. He thought about what his life would be like without her. Not only without her, but without her and everything else. Several pictures ran through his head, and he didn’t like any of them. He tried to put it aside and go to sleep, but as he slept, he dreamed about her, kissing his “friend”. He jolted awake. It was almost six. He called Amber. It was almost out of instinct to call her. But this would be the last time he would call her. He was sure of that. There were no “how are you?” or “what are you up to?”
She wasn’t “fine” as she always had been. There was “hi” and then silence. Finally he spoke up. “So, what’s going on Amber?”
“Look, I don’t know, okay?” She paused for a while “You’re not the same person you used to be. You’re not nice and sweet anymore.”
“It wasn’t the first time was it?”
“What?”
“The kiss.”
“No, you’re right, it wasn’t.”
“How long has this been going on Amber?”
“A week, maybe two.”
“Jesus, Amber. I suppose this is good bye then.”
“I still love you, I never stopped. I’m just not in love with you anymore.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” With that, he slammed down the phone. He got out a notebook and began to write. He just kept writing. After a while, he didn’t even notice the phone ringing. A couple of times he had subconsciously cursed at it, knowing it was Amber, but he just kept on writing. He wrote until he didn’t know he was writing anymore, he just let it all flow out. Everything that he had ever thought for the past few years, he scribbled out in a pained fury. Every dark, cruel, evil thing that had ever crossed his mind went out on those pages. When he was done there was 12 pages worth, 13 not counting the page he devoted to Amber. The 12 pages seemed more like some sort of occult bible now that he read through it. He wasn’t even aware of some of the harsh things that went through his head until now. The 13th page, however, was nothing short of a love letter. It expressed all of the love that he had felt toward Amber. It had said the things that he had never been able to say in person. He hoped that it would get to her. He assumed it would. He hoped that she didn’t do anything as crazy as what he was going to do, but it seemed pointless to think about such things now. He had put all of that behind him.
He had nothing in this world left. He had had everything, and then everything went all wrong. His shell had finally been cracked open, and now the world could have what was inside. His dark little secret had finally been let out. He felt a strange sort of happiness well over him, a feeling of relief like he had never felt before. He laid his writing on his bed and then went to the kitchen. He pulled out the biggest knife he could find. The relief that he felt couldn’t change the fact that he still had nothing left in this miserable bitch of a world. He couldn’t face the world if they knew how he had been feeling about them all along. He knew what he had to do. He gripped the knife in his hand and rammed it into his temple. His arm went limp as he lay lifelessly in his wheel- chair, but the smile never left his face. They would find him soon, and after they found him, they would find the treasure that he had left in his room, and soon the world would know what he had left unsaid.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

相逢一笑

Devin Egger

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

＂逢人必须微笑颌首。＂这句尼克很久以前就听过的训示现在巳经成了他的处世之道。他总是暗自思忖：别人用不着知道我对他们本人、对他们的长相打扮的看法，或者我对任何事情的看法。只要他们看到我冲他们微笑，他们便会以微笑回礼，大家皆大欢喜。他这样做并不是为了避免和别人交谈或者弥补自己不合群的形象。其实，他的秉性正相反；他是个健谈的人，话题范围很广。他那样与人相处是为了让大家都开开心心的。当然，这并不意味着他从不去动不良、肮脏、下流、伤害人和仇恨的念头。他动过这些念头。他动过不少这样的念头。大多数的时候，他只是坐在那里寻思，脑子里转的不是某件特别的事，而是一大堆事。但是那些是永远不会有人知道的事：他从来不把这些隐私透露给任何人。至少这是他的打算。

他的这一套处世哲学挺成功的。在外面极少有人不喜欢尼克。所有和他接触过的人都认为尼克是个天大的好人。谁会怀疑他的品行呢？他从来不说别人的坏话。每个走进一个他所在的房间的人都能感觉出他的存在。因为那里总会有一个友善的微笑让所有人觉得轻松自在。他那双深褐色的眼睛有一种独特的安抚心灵的魔力。他是一个英俊的小伙子，尽管他自己从不这样认为。用他自己的话说，他的女朋友安帕儿是＂世上绝顶佳人＂，虽说大多数的小伙子都这样形容自己的女朋友，但安帕儿的确美若天仙。她有一头长长的、飘动的、绸缎一般的金发，夺人魂魄的蓝眼珠，身材姣美、天下无双。尼克认为自己是这个世界上最走运的人，尽管他的脑海中对自己的女朋友作过种种想象，他从未梦想过他能交上一个象安帕儿这样的绝世佳人。所有见过她照片的小伙子都羡慕他；所有知道他巳有意中人的女孩都嫉妒她。他们是天成地就的一对情侣。所有的人都知道他俩相亲相爱。只要他有她在身边，他就是天下最快乐的人。

从表面上看，尼克想要的都有了。他是学校足球队里的主力阵容的一员，又是学校乐队和他自己搞的乐队里的演奏成员，他有一个漂亮的女朋友，他的朋友多得数不过来，他的脸上总是挂着一点微笑。从未有人因为他在乐队演奏而嘲笑他。足球明星的身份使得他在乐队演出显得更加官冕堂皇。大家所不知道的是他如果不参加校队，他也会在乐队里干。他喜欢那种感觉，那种演奏带来的兴奋和欣快。但是，没有谁知道他的这种感受。也没有谁知道他对自己这一生的打算。他想带着自己的萨克斯管走遍世界。他不想成名成家；他只是想演奏他的乐器。他知道自己在足球上的出息有限，即使真有什么机会，过了四十岁就不可能再打下去了，那以后的有生之年干些什么呢？不，不能走那条路。当然，他会在高校打球；他巳经知道他将取得一份部分奖学金。他还知道他得靠那份奖学金。他家不富。也不算穷。但他知道家里没有供他上大学的钱。他得有个学历才能带着乐器周游世界。他知道要靠他的学习成绩拿奖学金绝对没门儿。虽然他学习不差，但离拿奖学金的程度还是相差太大。

唯一比演奏乐器更让他着迷的事情是和安帕儿在一起。＂你的钟情之物似乎总是要你的命。＂这是尼克喜欢的另一句名言。他如果早知道这句至理明言是多么千真万确就好了。每次只要将她搂在自己的怀里就能让他感到一种在他们相爱之前从未有过的轻松感。他每天都给她打电话。他也喜欢和她聊。在电话上聊虽然不如俩人在一起，但总还是很让人舒心。在打电话时，他总是先说一句＂嘿，宝贝儿。＂
＂嘿！＂
＂你好吗？＂
＂不错。＂
＂只是不错？＂
＂是的。＂不管当时她的真实感觉，她总是说不错。一开始，他对此有些不自在，但是慢慢也就习惯了，就象过去她身上的许多让他不自在的东西，现在似乎都变得可爱、淘气。
＂你在干什么？＂
＂没干什么。＂又是一句他似乎不再计较的例行回答。然后他会说些＂猜猜今天发生了什么事情？＂之类的话，接着他们便聊开了，他们一般能聊上一小时左右。有时能超过两小时。他总在纳闷他们每天怎么会有那么多的话说，一聊就聊个没完。等到他放下话筒，他就会发现自己连刚才聊了些什么都不记得，但到了第二天晚上，他们又会找出什么新话题聊个没完。聊着聊着，他们总会转到：＂我好想你。＂
＂我也好想你。＂他总在想她，哪怕俩人分手才两小时。只要她一不在他身边他就会想她。
＂我爱你。＂
＂我也爱你。＂他喜欢听她说这句话。听上去悦耳动听。
＂答应我永远不离开我，好吗？＂
＂好的，我保证。你知道我离不开你。＂
＂我知道。我只是想听你说。＂听了这话让他睡得安稳。离了她他就活不下去，这一点他心里很明白。但是没有人知道他的心思。

每次离开她家，或者她离开他家，他都好难过。和她呆上一会，他就会神魂颠倒。想她想得总让他走神。那天晚上在开车回家的路上有那一、两次因为想她想得注意力不集中，把车都开偏了。他知道不好，告诫自己别再走神。但为时已晚。他巳偏离得太远了。他猛转车头刚好躲过迎面而来的车，但撞上他边上的车，接着他的车开始失去了控制。假如是在白天，又是在一般的马路上，他也许不会出事，但那是在晚上，又是六十英里的时速，他无法重新控制自己的车。他的车尾扫向对面来车的车道，对面的来车蹭了一下，他的车就象一个失去控制的砣镙那样，一边打着转一边滑到最右边的车道上。他向右边看去，一辆车正冲他驶来，他希望那个司机知道他巳经处在坐以待毙的境地，赶紧把车刹住。结果，那个司机猛踩刹车，但为时已晚，那车一头撞进尼克的车的乘客一侧的车门。也许那辆车的司机也在走神，不管究竟是怎么回事，反正那辆车的车速之快把尼克撞得昏迷过去。事后他认为从某种角度上讲这也许是好事，人昏过去便不觉疼痛，至少是暂时不觉疼痛。他没敢把这个念头告诉任何人。

他醒来时发现自己躺在一个象医院的病房似的房间里；他过去见过一般的医院病房，这里和那些病房不一样。周围全是仪器、设备和泵发出的嘶嘶、哔哔声响，听上去就象某种怪涎的医院病房的布鲁斯曲子。他身体的不同部位接了许多管子，周围站着好几位医生。他心中纳闷那些正在为他唱小夜曲的机器是否也是为了帮他吊一条小命。他对自己伤得究竟有多重不是很清楚。他的腿有感觉，说明他没有瘫痪。那算是万幸。糟糕的是，腿上的感觉就象一头大象在上面跳绳似的让他动弹不得。他脖子上戴着固定圈，所以无法看到自己的腿上是否上了石膏，但他不看就能猜个八九不离十。他能感到绑在自己疼痛的腿上的死沉死沉的石膏。腿以上的部分疼得稍微好些。他能确切地感觉身体的中段除了断了几根肋骨以外没什么大伤。尽管他们给他戴上护脖，他的脖子也无大碍。他可以过一会再问一下。在下巴以上的地方很疼，他的脸部的疼痛与腿的疼痛不相上下，但两种疼痛的形式不同。脸部的疼痛不象是那种伤筋动骨的疼痛，尽管那也是其中的一部分。但那痛更象是一种剌痛，就象他脸上被划开的伤口和青紫。他心里明白自己伤得不轻，但他并不真想去琢磨。尽管他努力克制自己，但仍然禁不住去想自己的腿，心里盘算着各种可能性。过了一会儿，药性发作，他便沉沉睡去。

当他醒来，他发现自己坐在一间他想象中的医院的病房中的一张象样的病床上。尽管他有些纳闷，平时总是把四墙漆成一片苍白和讲究过分清洁的医院怎么会将这间房子漆成樱桃色呢。他心中总在想他现在躺的这张床，过去还不知躺过多少濒死的或者巳死的病人呢，那些失去亲人的家属们都曾站在他一家人现在站的地方哭嚎。他的父母坐在他床边的椅子上。他的妈妈在哭；这是他预料之中的事，但他的爹爹也在哭，此举出乎他的意料，让他更加难过。那是一种说不出道不出的痛苦－－是内心深处的痛，苦不是皮肉之苦，而是一种绝望的令人难忍的痛苦。他看了一眼自己的腿，一下子就明白了他再也不可能打足球了。他的双腿的惨象令人毛骨棘然。他的右腿比蜿蜒曲折的乡村道路还要曲折，他的左腿则完全脱了形，也许也意味着整条腿的骨头全碎了。

在那以后的一个小时里他所听到的关于他的伤势及其对他这一辈子的影响足以让一个活蹦乱跳的大活人情绪一落千丈。医生的话印证了他最担心的事；他再也不可能打足球。不仅如此，在腿伤养好之前，他得被困在轮椅中；对这一点他有点不相信；他原来认定自己将在轮椅上度过余生。他原来的猜测没错；他的腿的确全都碎了，右腿伤得更重些，但两条腿基本上全散了架。正象他怀疑的那样，他断了两根肋骨，颈椎没断。那个脖圈只不过是个＂预防措施＂。他没有想到的是他的脸伤得那么厉害。他的嘴唇被牙齿磕开了一个大豁口。撞碎了三颗牙，撞掉了两颗牙，好象伤成这样还不够，他们还告诉他他的颌骨＂错了位＂，也不知那究竟是什么意思。对他来说，这也许意味着他再也无法吹他的萨克斯管了。他的音乐美梦破灭了。

就在他几乎在心里自己揣摩还有什么活下去的意义时，一件神奇的事情发生了。医院的门口开处，安帕儿走了过来。尽管他伤痛难忍，看到她的脸让他情不自禁地浅浅地笑了一笑。那不是他平时挂在脸上的那种假笑。她身上有一种魅力能够将那种假笑抹去，代之以真诚的喜悦。他见到她心里便有了底。她在那里照顾他和握住他的手让他非常高兴。但他握住她的手时，他看到她眼泪汪汪的样子。她哭了，他也哭了。他流的是悲喜交加的泪。他们就在那里哭了至少一个小时。但医生进来说他需要休息的时候，他们巳经用去两盒纸巾，那些湿纸巾在干净得出奇的地板上堆了一大堆。医生给他加大了剂量，疼痛便消失了。他又一次开始进入了那种云里雾里的梦乡之中。

接下来的那个星期都是在醒上几个小时，然后又沉沉睡去这样一种周而复始的循环中度过的。止痛药的功效越来越短，直到最后疼痛成为一种持续的钝痛，就象他头顶上总是笼罩着一片阴云那样。又过了一个星期，他们让他出院了。总算谢天谢地，在那一星期里，安帕儿在学校请了假来到医院陪他，否则非把他弄疯了不成。但那个星期过后，她必须返校。他好伤心，但他心里明白，她的功课不能再拖了。这样的安排的好处是让他有足够的时间想心事。他从来没有关心过他家房子里的楼梯有多少级，直到他意识到他坐在轮椅上无法上楼梯。那之后的两个星期可以说是在人间地狱里度过的。安帕儿一有空就过来看他，但她有回家作业和学校布置的其它的事情要做。他理解她的处境。他对这一类事情一向能理解。

在家呆了两个星期之后，他们让他返校，在头一个星期里一天只上半天的课。尽管每堂课安帕儿都在帮助他，这时上学与他伤前上学的感觉相比要累得多。返校伊始，大家都待他很好，对他的遭遇表现出同情心。但那只是表面上的客套。正是他过去在待人接物时做的那种表面文章。他暗自琢磨众人是否能象他一眼看透他们戴的那张假面具那样看穿自己的庐山真面目。有一点他是确信无疑的，那就是他讨厌那一套虚伪，讨厌到深恶痛绝的程度。时间一长，那种客套慢慢消失了，他渐渐成了众人中的一员，这使他自在些。偶而他也会听到几句关于他成了瘸子和残废之类的风言风语，但他假装没听见。说到底，不是所有的人都喜欢他。但这仍然令他暗自吃惊，有一次他循声望去，发现说怪话的居然是他曾认为是他的好友中的一个。打那以后，他发现越来越多的怪话来自于那些他曾经自以为了解、信任的人，那些他过去关心，同时也认定关心他的人。在他恍然大悟后的那个星期里，他对这个世界的愤懑之情高涨，这种情绪体现在他的言谈举止中，体现在他对＂朋友＂、父母、甚至对他的女朋友的态度上。他对自己身上发生的变化没有注意。他过去认为自己的人生几乎尽善尽美，现在他正忙于眼睁睁地看着自己的青春消亡殆尽。他意识到他的女朋友是他剩下的所有的一切。他不愿去想如果他把她也给丢了，将会发生什么情况，但是他还是盘算过。他对此事反反复复地想象过。他没将此事告诉过任何人，但用不了多久，人们都会知道的。

他出事两个月后的一个星期四，在上第一节课前，他照例坐着轮椅来到安帕儿的贮物柜前。但是这次她没有象以往那样在那里等他。他对此没去多想。她也许在上厕所，他暗自思忖，然后驾着轮椅去找她。就在那当口，她的一个朋友冲他喊了一声：

＂她巳经来了。我想她到食堂去了。＂
＂瞎扯。＂他轻轻哼了一声。她到食堂去干嘛？她从来不去那儿。不过，他还是决定去那里一试。后来他为这个决定后悔。有时候，被蒙在鼓里要比痛心疾首要好些，可现在真相大白了。她就在那里。和另一个男生（他的＂朋友＂）勾肩搭背，亲着嘴。她在眼角中看到了他，他将轮椅一转向，愤然离去。他无法相信刚才亲眼目睹的事会真的发生。他暗地里希望他能听到她的脚步声从他身后传来，听到她劝他停下来的叫喊。但这些事全没有发生。那一天，他无法上课。结果，他再也没有去上课。他径自回到家中闭门独坐。静坐冥思。这一次与以往不同，他的思路有一条明确的方向。他在想象没有她的生活将会是个什么样。不光是没有她，而且没有任何其它东西的生活。他的脑海中闪过几种可能性，但没一样是他喜欢的。他试着把这些念头搁置一旁，然后倒头睡去。但是在他进入梦乡后，他梦见了她，她在和他的＂朋友＂亲嘴。他猛醒过来。一看钟巳近六点钟。他给安帕儿打了电话。那几乎是出于本能的举动。但他心里明白，这是他最后一次给她打电话。这次没有例行的＂你好吗？＂或者＂你在干什么？＂她也不象以往那样＂不错＂。在道了一声＂嘿＂之后便是一阵沉默。最后他打破沉寂。＂安帕儿，究竟是怎么回事？＂
＂听着，我不知道，好不好？＂她停了片刻＂你象是变了一个人。你不象过去那样有礼和亲热。＂
＂那不是第一次，是不是？＂
＂什么第一次？＂
＂亲嘴。＂
＂不是第一次，没错，那不是第一次。＂
＂你们这个样子有多久了，安帕儿？＂
＂一个星期了，也许两个星期。＂
＂老天爷，安帕儿。我猜想这是正式告别了。＂
＂我仍然喜欢你，我从来没有停止过。我只是不能再和你山盟海誓而巳。＂
＂你知道那是屁话。＂说完，他愤然将电话砸到座机上。他拿出一本笔记本开始写。他不停地写着。过了一会，他甚至注意到电话铃在响。他知道那是安帕儿，在下意识里咒骂了几句，继续不停地写下去。他一直写到一种忘情的境界，他只是让自己的情感倾泻而出。他将在过去的几年中有过的所有的念头用一种激愤的笔触全写了下来。当他放下笔，他写了十三页，不算写给安帕儿的话也有十二页之多。（译者注：作者将数目颠倒了）所有掠过他脑海中的阴险、残酷和丑恶的念头全都流出笔端。那十二页的自白书现在读上去更象是某种秘传的圣书。直到现在，他才意识到他曾动过一些坏念头。然而，第十三页是一封地地道道的情书。那封情书倾述了他对安帕儿所有的爱恋。他写下了当面羞于启齿的话。他希望这封情书能最终落到她的手中。他想会的。他希望她不会去做他正要去做的傻事，但是现在去想这种事似乎毫无意义。他巳经把这些抛到脑后。

在这个人世间巳经没有什么值得他留恋了。他曾拥有一切，然后丧失了一切。他用来伪装的外壳终于破裂了，现在，他的内心世界可以全部公诸于世了。他深藏的污点终于大白于天下。他有一种古怪的快感，那是一种他从未有过的轻松感。他将写好的稿纸放在床上，然后来到厨房。他取出一把他能找到的最大的刀。刚才的那种轻松感并没有改变在这个肮脏丑恶的世界上没有任何什么东西值得他留恋的事实。如果人们知道了他对他们的一贯看法的话，他会无地自容。他知道自己应该做的事。他举刀对准自己的太阳穴捅了进去。他的身体无力地倒在轮椅上，胳膊耷拉着，但是他脸上的微笑一直没有消失。他们很快就会发现他的，在他们发现他之后，他们会发现他留在自已房间的遗言，用不了多久，这个世界会知道他那些没有说的话。

Blessing in Disguise

2003-11-10T19:30:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By Alyssa J. Frederick

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

“Moving? We’re moving?!”

If I had to pick one life changing day in my sixteen years on earth, that would be it. Moving.

After living in the same house on the same corner of Holbrook and Bluestem the entire fourteen years of existence, I was informed that my family and I were picking up and leaving. Everything I had ever known in my hometown of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, would be ripped away. Gone.

I wasn’t the one who was supposed to move! Other people did that, not me! I had plans. I was going to grow up on that same corner across the street from my childhood playground and my little, hidden spot of refuge. I was to be in every play possible in high school, and graduate from Roosevelt! I had my four years of high school planned out down to the very last class of my senior year. I was going to graduate with the same people I had started elementary school with.

Or, so I’d thought.

Life doesn’t go the way we plan though I guess, because I moved. I picked up everything and moved it 260 miles Southeast into the capital of Iowa, Des Moines. More specifically to West Des Moines, a suburb of Des Moines. To please my parents I tried to keep an upbeat attitude about it, but really I was wondering how well I would ever adjust, leaving all my friends, and everything that was familiar behind.

That first summer I spent in Iowa was enough to make me abandon my good attitude, and the “This wont be so bad” outlook. I was confined to a 2-bedroom apartment all summer sharing it with my eight-year-old sister, who I don’t get along with so well under normal circumstances.

But the biggest challenge of the whole moving experience was soon to come, and I knew it, and was dreading it. I would be starting high school that year, as a freshman. My new school was huge, as was the size of the class, so many changes from middle school and I had to be the new kid. It sucked. Though I suppose once the new school year finally rolled around I was so desperate for kids my own age, having spent three months with an eight-year-old, that it made making new friends easier.

That year was gone before I knew it, and soon it was the one year anniversary of my time spent in Iowa. It shocked me, I was actually surviving in a new school with 600 new faces my age, and the scariest part was, I was enjoying it. I rarely gave a thought to the people I’d left behind in my old school. That frightened me and at the same time made me think. I think it made me realize that what I really needed was a fresh start. To go someplace where no one knew me and start over, to make new friends who hadn’t known me for ten years, people who didn’t already have pre-conceived notions of who I was. It was something I hadn’t known I needed.

Two and a half years have passed since then, and I couldn’t imagine life not in West Des Moines. I have greater friends then I ever had in Sioux Falls. People who really like me for me, people who I’m not afraid to be myself around and let them really know me. Friends. True friends. So many people have asked me that if given the opportunity, would I ever go back to Sioux Falls? My answer was, is and will always be a resounding no. I realize now that I really did need that move. I would not be happy living out the plans I had for myself in Sioux Falls. I guess I can call my moving experience, a blessing in disguise.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

塞翁失马，焉知非福

By Alyssa J. Frederick

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

＂搬家？我们要搬家？＂

假如让我在我来到人世间的十六年中挑选一个重要转折点，那个搬家的日子将是我的首选。

我在Holbrook和Bluestem交叉路口的那同一座房子里度过了我一生中前十四年的生活之后，有一天，家里的人对我说我们将举家搬迁。于是，我所知道的关于我在南达科达州的Sioux Falls的老家的一切都将被连根拔走。无影无踪。

我不是那种应该搬迁的人！其他的人东搬西迁，但我可不是那种人！我有我的打算。我打算在那个我儿时玩乐的场地马路对面的那座小小的、不起眼的安乐窝里长大成人。我打算在高中剧团演出的每一出戏里扮演角色，然后从罗斯福高中毕业！我巳经将我在中学四年里的一切从头到尾直到我高中的最后一堂课全都安排得井井有条。我将和那些和我一起上小学的同龄人一起从高中毕业。

嗨，我的如意算盘打得太早了。

因为我最终搬了家，我琢磨出人生不会按照我的意志而转移的道理。我打点行装向东南方向迁移了二百六十英里来到了爱荷华州的首府德漠因。更确切地说，德漠因的西郊。为了让我父母高兴，我试图在表面上对这一切表现出积极乐观的态度，但是在心里则暗自嘀咕：离开了我所有的朋友和我熟悉的一切，我能否适应新环境。

在爱荷华度过的第一个夏天足以让我抛弃表面上的积极态度，以及＂没什么大不了＂的估价。整个夏天，我和八岁的妹妹被困在有两间卧室的公寓里，我和她在通常情况下处不好。

但是，我心里明白，整个搬迁过程中最大的挑战很快就要到来，我心里总象压了一块大石头，忐忑不安。那年秋天我将进中学上初一。我的新学校好大好大，班级也很大。与高小相比有那么多的变化，加上我一定是个众目所视的转校生。每每想起，真令人颓丧。但转念一想，在和一个八岁的孩子厮混了三个月之久，等到新学年终于到来时，我会非常渴望和我的同龄人在一起，这能使得交新朋友变得容易些。

那一年不知不觉就过去了，很快，我在爱荷华住了整整一年。当时我很惊讶，我居然在这个有六百张陌生脸孔的新学校里挺过来了，最令人震惊的是我很喜欢这一段经历。我很难得会想起我离开的原来上学的学校里的故人。想起此事既令我害怕，同时又令我深思。我想这段经历让我意识到我真正需要的是一个新的开端。到一个没人认识我的地方去重起炉灶，去结识那些在过去十年里与我不相识的，那些对我没有先入之见的新朋友。那是我过去没有意识到的我所需要的东西。

从那以后，两年半又过去了，我现在无法想象不在德漠因西郊的生活。我在这里交的朋友比我在老家Sioux Falls交的朋友还棒。大家都喜欢我的为人，我在他们面前不怕显露自己的本色，让他们真正地了解我。结成真正的朋友。许多人问我假如有可能的话，我想回在Sioux Falls的老家吗？我的回答过去是，现在是并且永远是一个义无反顾的＂不＂字。我现在意识到我那时的确需要那一次搬家。如果我真的留在原地，按照我在Sioux Falls制订的计划行事是不会让我心满意足的。我揣摸着我可以将这次搬家的经历概括为：塞翁失马、焉知非福？

Ode to my Bed

2003-11-09T21:53:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By Zane Scott-Tunkin

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

You sit there in my room.
Not knowing how grateful I am.

Clothed in plaid and deep naval blues,
you take care of me through me hues.

I fall in love with you each night, but yet you divorce me every morning.
In the car, I think of you, as I hold my coffee
it will kill me I know, but you and I haven’t seen each other in a while.

You have been my shelter from the cold and the cold uncaring world.
I wrap that cover tight and we’re one, nothing could pry me from your warmth.
When I’m with you, I want to linger, I want to hold up the covers as a white flag, and say,
“Stop. Don’t come any closer. Not quite ready to face the world.”

What is destroying our relationship is that little gray box that you always seem to be with.
It stares at me knowingly, knowing that when it’s time comes, it will split us up.

I’m wiser now though.
I notice you’re inviting me in earlier and earlier
as my eyes droop lower and lower.
My head says no, but my heart says yes
my body screams at me with all it’s might.

It’s time you became a fixture again.
Something more than a place for late night study sessions
me stealing naps, when the lines blur.

Maybe we’ll start a tradition...
we’ll set a time, a place, and everyday I’ll meet you there.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

床颂

By Zane Scott-Tunkin

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

君自屋中坐
岂知我恩谢

君着蓝格呢
本色慰我心

每夜相伴依
晨起自东西
乘车啜茶倍思君
最苦是别离

沧凉冷漠尘世
惟君为我遮护
棉衾紧裹相依
温情最难分舍
君之怀，苦留连
独扶衾，长相叹
＂且止步，勿相迫
世外清静最难离。＂

最恨离间小闹钟
冷眼相视待时辰
但等无情铃声起
无奈总作断肠别

夜至睡意渐重
君邀入怀渐早
悬梁刺股苦勤业
人困力乏难熬

何日君怀再度开
不作小憩流连处
扶卷苦读诚可嘉
每夜温情实难忘

但愿你我立盟誓…
时间地点两相约
天长地久永不忘
夜夜我必入君怀

（译者注：这首咏物诗，写得别致、动情。译者未作直译）

The Saxophone

2003-11-09T12:37:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

BY Ashley Disburg

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

The gold bell shines,
singing,
buttons pressed
unpressed
open and closed.
It’s pearly white keys
worn
by the fingers
of my tired hands.
The bright lights glare,
blaring their insults
down at our faces, a band of musicians,
blinding those unfortunate
to look their way.
The saxophone’s mirroring
glass like surface
reflects the audience,
the faces of people,
crying and smiling
all the same,
at the poetry
that floats their way.
The keys and buttons,
shimmer and twinkle,
winking at the people,
all listening and waiting.
Tears fall down
soft, crinkled cheeks,
eyes glimmer with the beat
the beat that drums,
drums through everyone’s heart.
To them
it is a symbol
of hope,
a mere note of life
sung in this silent void of space.

To me
a reflection
of who I am
who I want to be
what I want to say.
It was the late night blues,
sassy licks of New Orleans,
a vent of emotions I
needed to say.
A comfort,
a friend when time is rough
always silent and listening
singing loudly when told.
It was there
when the air smelled of cinnamon,
pine trees, and candy,
when lights danced on houses,
snow drifted through air,
when the cold filled your bones like steel,
enhancing the warmth of mother’s touch and
homemade cocoa.
It was there when sun tan lotion
greased and oiled their backs,
the sun beating down upon their heads,
the heat pressing into their lungs,
while I stayed in my cool,
dimly lit room and sang
through it’s bell.
It was there,
like a companion most loved,
shining, gold and silver,
producing dark, rich tones of chocolate,
like the deepness of an evergreen forest,
speaking all I need to say.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

萨克斯管

By Ashley Disburg

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

金管闪亮，
乐声起，
按住的按钮
和没按住的按钮
开放和关闭的。
雪白的管键
套在
我疲乏的手指上。
一道眩目强光射来，
象是冲着我们
这个乐队的音乐家的脸
发出的漫骂，
让那些倒霉的人们
眼花缭乱。
萨克斯管那象镜面似的管身
映照着观众席，
人们的脸，
不论在痛哭还是在嬉笑
在他们中洋溢的
诗意中
全都一样。
那些管键和按钮，
幽光闪动，
冲着正在听着等着的观众
眨眼
柔软的、皱起的双颊
淌下两行热泪，
眼中闪动着节拍
那个震荡
震荡在每个人心中的节拍。
对于他们
这是一个希望的象征
仅仅是在这个沉寂的空间
响起的一个生命的音符

对于我
那反映的是
我的为人
我想做的人
我想说的话。
那是夜深人静时的一曲布鲁斯，
新奥尔良的浪漫小曲
那是我欲倾叙的
一腔衷肠。
那是一种温馨，
一个遇难时的知己
默默无言，侧耳倾听。
相求之下会为你引吭高歌。
每当空中弥漫着肉桂
松树和糖果的芬芳，
每当彩灯在房屋上起舞，
雪花满天飞扬，
每当严寒刺骨
母亲的爱抚和家制的可可
令人倍感亲切时－－那种温情曾在那里
每当毒日当头、五内俱焚的盛夏，
他们的脊背上
涂满了防晒乳时，
当我在清凉、幽暗的屋里
那管中流出一阵低吟时－－那片冰心也曾在那里
那种柔情曾在那里，
就象一个最钟情的伴侣
光华闪动，金光银彩
发出有如深色巧克力般的雄浑之声，
就象一片常青树林
幽深致远
道尽了我的心声。

An Observation

2003-11-09T12:31:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By J. B.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

“Equality”
declared that stark white sign
as blank as each stare
sans that idealistic line
(She painfully seemed to care)

Proclaiming from that elevated box,
“Within this discrimination lies hope!”
Etched into the wood was that fading logo
reminding me of peace and bubbly soap

“Everyone is the same inside
regardless of religion, culture, or one’s skin
for we are all human and are able to love,”
she sweetly said with a plastic grin

Her cheeks reddened while she realized
the futility of her well-rehearsed case
She peered into her forced audience
and saw a sea of the same white face.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

观察

By J. B.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

＂平等＂
那个醒目的白色标题向世界宣告
那个虚幻的理想主义的口号
就象投向那个标题的每一个注视那样空洞
（令人不忍看到的是她似乎还真的在乎）

那个高挂的标语中宣告，
＂在这个歧视中蕴藏着希望！＂
镌刻在木头上的是那句被消磨殆尽的口号
令我想起宁静和满是泡沫的肥皂

＂人心都是肉长的
无论是什么宗教、文化或肤色
因为我们都是血肉之躯，具有爱心，＂
她的脸上挂着僵硬的傲笑，教诲谆谆

当她意识到她精心演练的说教的无力
她的脸颊飞红
她扫了一眼勉强听她说教的听众
那是一片清一色的白色的脸庞。

A Galaxy Far, Far Away

2003-11-08T15:51:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By Joni Newman

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

There is a reason hindsight is 20/20. Looking back at my short life and seeing what I have experienced, I’ve realized a few things. First: That I am the epitome of a book worm. Second: That I am a different person when I am alone, and third: That I am the most stubborn person on the face of the planet.

I guess I wasn’t always that way. As a child I was trusting, assuming my parents knew best and that they wouldn’t lead me down the path to the dark side.

I was wrong.

It began when I went to a fair with my parents when I was six. My dad wanted to take me on the teacups, so I went. Then the ride started. Dad grabbed the circle in the middle and started spinning it, and all I could think of was how wrong it was. We were spinning faster than a faulty R2 unit, and it had to stop or something would blow.
We left early that day. I sat in the car, whining about how my stomach hurt, and how I would never go on the teacups again.

As a result of unfortunate circumstances like this one, it was years before I could enjoy Burger King, ride roller coasters, eat fish, watch a scary movie, not to mention riding the teacups and being terrified of the stomach flu. In fact, I downright refused to have a burger at Burger King, always remembering the time I saw a kid lose his lunch in the playroom while I was drinking root beer. I stopped liking fish when I saw a hook get stuck in the stomach of the fish, and didn’t like being made fun of for being terrified by the very thought of watching a scary movie like…Indiana Jones.

Now I know that my parents are obviously clouded by the darker forces. They have pushed me into awful things like long family road trips, haircuts, braces, babysitting, clothes shopping and the horrible event all children dread: the talk.

Stubbornness is a strange thing. It’s like money in the sense that sometimes, it’s a necessary evil. Webster’s calls it bullheaded. On the other hand, Webster also claims it to be full of perseverance. It is therefore connected with that horrible thing most people possess: pride. Perhaps that’s why I avoided Tatooine, Naboo, and the general education of a full-fledged Jedi for so long.

My brother and I tend to get along fairly well. Now anyway, we share common interests, and can get to the point of a decent conversation, and two-inch voices. When we were younger, we would fight like cats and dogs over stupid things. Which Disney movie was the best? Who would have to take a bath first? Who had the last yogurt? Why should I watch Star Wars? Minimal things like that which make absolutely no difference in this world, or any other place in the galaxy.

So when Andy discovered the world of Vader, Leia, and Han, I was in firm protest. Science Fiction? That meant…outer space! Who in their right mind would watch a ship like the Millennium Falcon race through a nonexistent universe while you could read Anne of Green Gables? That’s a solid, real life story that actually happened. See, Prince Edward Island is on the map. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never find Hoth in the Arctic on the globe. Even for a sixth grader with a large imagination, I couldn’t bring myself to sit down to a movie my third grade brother was interested in. I was too cool, too smart, and altogether too mature to believe in Chewbacca. Kids’ stuff. I was in chapter books and had been for quite some time. Star Wars was exactly what it claimed to be: a war flick. Nothing different than an old John Wayne movie, other than the fact that it took place in outer space.

Every once in a while, I would catch my brother watching it. Polluting himself with mind numbing blasts of laser guns, crashes of choreographed lightsaber battles zimming as they cut off arms, and saved the galaxy, one dark lord at a time. He would watch in awe and boyish delight while I ran for the barricade on my planet known as “Joni’s Room”.

For years this happened. Mom, telling me that it was more than a war movie, Andy telling me that Leia was cute, Dad telling me that I should try them out, and every time I said no. It was science fiction, remember? Anne of Green Gables, Star Wars, Father of the Bride, Star Wars, Anything, Star Wars. No competition.

Then one day: the bomb dropped.

The house was empty, and altogether too quiet. Little noises began to annoy me, and silence filled the air with an uncomfortable spirit. I browsed through the movie selection running my fingers along the covers, finding no interest in the usual repertoire of chick flicks I used to amuse myself when I was alone. Then my finger stopped. Star Wars. First I grimaced. Then I shivered. Something in the force was drawing me to it…I blindly picked it up and half-heartedly looked over the cover. I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was as if Yoda himself was beside me: “Play this movie, you will!”

I found myself guided by some outside being, probably around three feet tall, forcing me to push the video into the machine. It wasn’t me- it couldn’t be me! Science fiction…wars…the very idea!

I pushed play, sat down, and watched. All the while I prepared for a good nap, and an excuse for my family’s obvious mental problem that must have skipped me.

I was amazed.

Nothing had given me two hours of electronic enjoyment like the buzz of the lightsaber, the whir of the Millennium Falcon, the giddy delight as Han and Leia argued, knowing all the while that the were going to get married.

My entire science-fiction protest had ended. It was confusing, I had spent all the previous years refusing to hear anything with the word “saber” in it, and now, suddenly, I was a walking Star Wars sponge. Tatooine? Two suns. Hot, dry, and boring. Luke lived there. They have blue milk. I’d rather like to try blue milk. Hoth? That’s the second movie. It’s a cold version of Tatooine, minus the Tuskin Raiders of course.

Oddly enough, the small event that is Star Wars in the miniscule importance of my life, led me to try new things. I still cringe at Burger King burgers, but I can stomach the chicken fingers and sometimes get root beer. I don’t enjoy most roller coasters, but I’ve tried a few, and manage to admit I like them every once in a while.

Just as pride came before the fall of the dark side, I fell just as quickly to the horrible reality that trying everything and living life in the best possible way usually yields pleasant results. While trying a fast food restaurant and watching a movie may not seem to be the best representations of this, they became the first two dominos in an intricate trail that has changed my daring, nerve and risk taking abilities, and will continue to do so until I become one with the force.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

一个遥远的外星系

By Joni Newman

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

＂回首往事，万事皆明＂的说法是有一定的道理的。回首我短短的人生道路，回味我所经历过的一切。我意识到几件事。首先，我是一个典型的书蛀虫。其次，我在独自一人时和在人群中时是一个完全不同的人。第三，我是世界上最固执的人。

我猜想我并不总是这个样子。我小时候是个容易被哄骗的孩子，我相信在这世界上没有我父母不懂的事，我相信他们不会将我引上一条通向＂黑暗面＂的道路。（译者注：电影＂星球大战＂里的是非之地）

我错了。

那是我六岁那年，我和父母一起去一个集市。我爹爹要我去玩转盘，我便去了。然后，转盘转了起来。爹爹抓住中央的一个圆盘，开始拧转，我当时的唯一念头是大事不妙。我们象一台失控的R2Unit那样越转越快（译者注：＂星球大战＂中的有三只脚的机器人），我的感觉就好象我们得马上停下来，否则那玩意会发生爆炸。

我们那天早早地离开了集市。我坐在车里，抱怨我的胃多么难受，起誓永远不再上那个转盘。

由于象这样一些＂不幸＂遭遇，过了好多年我才从Burger King、大转车、吃鱼、看恐怖电影这一类事情中找到乐趣，更不用说长大后重返转盘和怕染上肠道流感重温儿时反胃之痛。事实上，我曾坚决不在Burger King里吃汉堡，因为一到那里我总要想起有一次我在那里喝Root Beer（译者注：一种用麦芽糖配制的饮料，不含酒精）时，看到一个小孩在游艺室里把刚吃的午饭全呕出来的情形。我有一次看到鱼钩扎在鱼肚子上，从此对鱼的胃口大减，另外，我不愿因为一想起看Indiana Jones这类恐怖电影就害怕而被别人取笑。

现在，我才知道我的父母显然被＂黑势力＂（＂星球大战＂里的术语）所蒙蔽。他们力促我做一些令人讨厌的事情，诸如一家人出门长途旅行、理发、戴矫齿环、看护幼儿、购买衣服，还有普天下孩子们最怕的一件事：坐下来一本正经的谈话。

固执是一种怪脾气。从某种意义上讲那是一种有点象金钱那样的生活中不可缺少的坏东西。Webster字典上称其为＂犟头倔脑＂。以另一个角度，Webster字典又有＂坚韧不拔＂的注解。因此，它和大多数人都有的坏性情－－骄傲自满有关联。也许这是我长久以来一直在回避Tatooine、Naboo和一个最高等级的Jedi教士的说教的原因。（译者注：Tatooine、Naboo是＂星球大战＂里的两个外围的不具影响力的弱小星球。Jedi是宇宙中正义力量和美德的捍卫者，有不同等级）

我和我弟弟总的来说处得不错。至少在现在，我们有共同的爱好，谈话也算投机，也会说些悄悄话。我们小时候会为一点小事争个没完。诸如哪部迪斯尼的电影最捧？谁先洗澡？谁吃最后一份酸奶？为什么我应该看＂星球大战＂这一类鸡毛蒜皮的、对这个星球以及银河系里任何其它地方有任何影响的小事。

于是，当Andy（作者的弟弟）热衷于Vader、Leia和Han的世界时，我则对其持断然拒绝的态度。科学幻想？那就意味着太空以外的空间！哪个神经正常的人会去看＂千年鹰号＂宇宙飞船在一个并不存在的宇宙中航行，而不去读＂清秀佳人＂（译者注：Anne of Green Gables，系北美少女必读的淑女模范书）？那可是一个完整的、记实的故事。你看，爱德华太子岛就在地图上，不管你费多大的劲，你在地球仪的北极圈里也找不到Hoth这个地方。作为一个想象力丰富的六年级学生，我很难放下架子去看一部我那三年级的弟弟喜欢的电影。我太潇洒、太聪明、各方面太成熟，无法去相信Chewbacca那种荒涎不经的东西。都是些哄小孩的把戏。我当时正在读章回书，巳经读了好一阵了。＂星球大战＂算得上是名符其实：一部战争片。除了发生在外太空这一点之外，和一部旧的John Wayne的西部片没有什么不同（译者注：美国五、六十年代著名西部片影星，出生于爱荷华州）。每过一段时间，我就会看到我弟弟在看那部电影。那部电影里激光枪引起的惊心动魄的爆炸、编排的用光剑作武器的武打，截足断臂，斩杀一个接一个暴君，拯救整个银河系的情节感染了他。他看起那部电影总是惊叹不巳，男孩的那种开心劲暴露无遗，一到那种时候，我便躲进我自己的那个叫＂Joni的世界＂的星球的屏障后面拒绝参与。

就这样，数年过去了。在此期间，妈妈曾告诉我那不是一部简单的战争片，Andy曾告诉我Leia长得清秀可爱，爹爹曾告诉我我应该试着看上几部看我会不会喜欢。每一次我都拒绝了。那是部科幻片，你还记得吧？＂你想一想：清秀佳人＂和＂星球大战＂相比，＂新娘之父＂和＂星球大战＂相比，任何一部电影和＂星球大战＂相比。它们怎么能同日而喻。

然后突然有一天：惊天动地的事情发生了。

那天，房子里空无一人，寂静无声。一点点小声响开始让我害怕，宁静的气氛给人以一种不祥之感。我将家里的电影拿了出来，用手指一个一个点过来，我发现平时一个人在家用来消遣的那些骗女孩子眼泪的电影对我来说没有兴趣。突然，我的手指停了下来。＂星球大战＂。一开始，我皱了皱眉头。然后，我浑身一颤。那股神力中的什么东西正在将我吸引过去…我盲目地拿起那部电影，半心半意地看了看它的封面。我无法摆脱那种感觉。那种感觉就象Yoda（＂星球大战＂中的人物）本人就在我边上念咒语：＂放这部电影吧，你会放的！＂

我发现我当时在某种外界的、可能大约三尺高的生灵的驱使下将录相带推进录相机。那不会是我自己－－那肯定不会是我自己！科幻…战争…这些词本身就不中听！

我按了＂放映＂键，坐下看了起来。我原本是打算打个瞌睡的，同时脑子里还在盘算为我这个唯一没染上我一家人得的精神怪毛病的人在看这部片找个借口。

结果，我被完全吸引住了。

没有任何一部电影曾给我两个小时的享受胜过那些光剑的呼啸声，＂千年鹰号＂的盘旋，以及明知Han和Leia会终成眷属，仍在那里打情骂俏的情节。

我对科幻片的抗拒全面崩溃了。令人难解的是，这些多年来，我一听有人提到＂马刀＂一词就避而不闻，而现在，突然间，我一下成了一个＂星球大战＂的百事通。你问关于Tatooine的事？告诉你吧，它有两个太阳。是个炎热、干燥、单调无聊的地方。Luke住在那里。那里的牛奶是蓝色的。我很想尝尝蓝牛奶的滋味。你问Hoth？那是第二部电影里的星球。它其实是Tatooine的翻板，它们之间的差别是那里不是炎热而是寒冷，而且没有Tuskin的强盗而巳。

奇怪的是，看一部象＂星球大战＂这样在我生命无足轻重的电影这样的小事居然会让我敢于尝试新事物。现在，虽然我对Burger King的汉堡仍然不敢碰，但是我能咽下那里的小鸡条，偶而也能喝些Root Beer。我对大多数的大环滑车敬而远之，但我还是试了几回，而且偶而也能勉强承认我喜欢坐滑车的感觉。

正如骄傲自满使人落后、失败一样，大胆尝试人生百味和尽兴地体验生活的方方面面往往能给人带来欢愉这个活生生的事实很快就把我征服了。当然象尝试一家快餐店和看一部电影这些事看起来也许不是最好的范例，但它们成为了我培养自己大胆、坚强的性格和冒险能力的复杂＂多米诺骨牌阵＂中的头两块骨牌，这个修炼过程将继续下去，直到我大彻大悟为止。

The Place I Call Home

2003-11-07T10:41:00.000-08:00

[English original]

By: Cheyenne Jo Thannikkotu

Age: 15

Valley High School, West Des Moines, IA

10th Grade

As I step along the wooden floorboards of our porch outside the dining room, I gaze onto the land before me. It is full of lush green grass growing in all different directions and sizes. Our horses are our only source of "lawn mowing" for the pasture. The long white board fence lines the front part of the open field. About three-quarters of the way back lies our small but perfect pond with just a hint of fog rising off the top of it. As I walk across our lawn towards the shining fence, the damp green grass wedges between my toes and cushions the balls of my feet. The slight breeze glides across my face like a silk scarf of the highest quality. The hazy sun clouded behind a slightly clouded sky brings warmth to my heart and seems to give it an extra beat. All of the land helps give me life, full of peace, hope, and love. It is alive and full of colors. As I quietly creep up to the fence, I look all around to be sure no one is following me for I want to be alone to enjoy the peacefulness of it all. When I don't see the daring feet of my sister or parents sneaking up behind me, I hoist myself up and over the fence and make my way down the many twisting paths to the pond. A mix of fresh grass, wild flowers, and horse manure coil together and fill my nose with a new and refreshing scent. When I experience this sensation, it makes me never want to suffer the stale air of the indoors again. As I silently walk past the gopher holes and ant hills, I finally draw nearer to the small pond. It is completely quiet and still except for the occasional leap of a frog into the water, breaking the surface and causing a brilliant ripple to form. I simply stare at the pond thinking, thinking. I think of anything that passes through my mind like fish passing by in a river. I think of my past, present, and future. I remember memories of yesterday, like the joke my sister told me, and memories created long before, when I was young. Finally, I try to imagine the memories that will be created later today, tomorrow, or many days after that such as my wedding day. I continue to think until a steady noise suddenly breaks into my thoughts. I abruptly turn around to see thirty-two legs, some short, some tall, all drawing nearer to me. Eight horses toss their heads as they begin to trot over to me. Once they get close they begin to nudge and sniff me for they hope that I will give them a treat of some kind. "Sorry," I tell them, "I forgot them in the barn." After staying down by the relaxing pond with all of my inhuman friends for a few more minutes, I slowly and drearily make my way up to the house. The grass blows in the wind, and rustles the bottom of my pants, begging me to come again soon.

[Chinese translation]

我的家园

By Chyenne Jo Thannikkotu

Age: 15

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

我站在我家餐室外面的门廊的木制地板上放眼望去。远近四野的那些大小不一的郁郁葱葱的绿草地尽收眼底。我家的马匹是我们用来在远处草地上＂割草＂的唯一工具。我家前方的空地上被长长的白木板造的围栏圈了起来。大约在房子和草坪边界的距离四分之三的地方，静静地躺着我家那个小巧玲珑的池塘，水面上升起一股若有若无的水汽。我穿过草坪，走向那耀眼的围栏，湿漉漉的绿草钻进我的脚趾之间，为我的脚窝提供了缓冲。一阵微风掠过我的脸颊，就好象上等的丝绸纱巾给人的那种温馨之感。被薄云遮蔽的太阳温暧着我的心，也似乎为它增添了几分活力。这片土地给我以生命、平和的生话、希望和爱。这是一片充满生机和色彩的土地。当我蹑手蹑脚地走向围栏时，向四下扫了一眼，确信后面无人跟随，因为我想独自感受这里宁静平和的一切。当我确信我妹妹或我父母没有跟随在后时，我爬上围栏，翻越了过去，沿着那些通向池塘的蜿蜒小径向前走去。一股青草、野花和马粪混合气味扑鼻而来。这种感受让我再也不想蹩在室内凝滞的空气里受罪。我走过地鼠打的地洞和蚂蚁窝边的小土丘，走近小池塘。那里万籁俱静，除了偶而听到青蛙跃入水中，打破水面的宁静，激起一圈圈赏心悦目的波澜。我定定地看着池塘，思绪万千。不断的思绪在脑海中掠过就象鱼儿在水中畅游。我在想我的过去、我的现在和我的未来。我回忆起往事，象我妹妹给我讲的笑话这一类事，还有更久远的往事，那时我还很小。最后，我试着去想象今天晚些时候、明天或者此后很长时间里产生的值得追忆的事情，比如说我出嫁的日子。我陷入沉思，直到一阵持续的嘈杂声打断了我的思绪。我急急转身，看到三十二条腿，有长有短，向我跑了过来。八匹马一边甩动头颅一边向我这边小跑过来。待到它们来到近前，它们开始蹭我和用鼻子嗅我，希望我会给它们些零嘴。＂对不起，＂我对它们说，＂我把它们拉在马厩里了。＂在和我那些动物朋友们在那个令人轻松的池塘边呆了一小会之后，我慢慢地、好不情愿地往家走去。青青芳草借着清风，掀动着我的裤脚，恳求我早日重访。

The Swing

2003-11-06T00:18:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

R. F.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

The long braided pigtails
When bowl haircuts and rat-tails were in style
Short pink dresses and teen age mutant ninja turtles

I loved to swing
Back,
And Forth

Before alarm clocks and due dates
Zits. Worries. Problems
And fights

I loved to swing
Back,
And Forth

When boys chased girls for kisses
Daddy bought the many barbies and GI Joes
And Mommy gave the hugs

I loved to swing
Back,
And Forth

Before jobs and calories
Boys. Teachers. Makeup
And essay tests.

I loved to swing
Back,
And Forth

The good old days of having the fruitiest lip gloss
When kick ball ruled
Bamey. Sesame Street. And Wishbone.
When girls giggled and boys farted.

I loved to swing
Back,
And Forth

When one day I jumped…

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

秋千

R. F.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

长长的两条＂猪尾辩＂
当＂碗盖头＂和＂鼠尾辩＂
粉红短裙和＂仁者神龟＂正时兴

那时我爱荡秋千
来来
回回

在催命的闹钟和作业的限期
青春痘。担心。难题。
还有打架之前

那时我爱荡秋千
来来
回回

当男孩追逐女孩亲嘴
爹爹买回许多＂芭比＂和＂小兵约瑟＂
妈妈紧紧搂抱时

那时我爱荡秋千
来来
回回

在为打工和节食
男孩们。老师们。化妆品
还有作文考试操心之前

那时我爱荡秋千
来来
回回

旧日有水果味很浓的护唇膏
踢球游戏最走红
巴尼紫龙。芝麻街。少儿文学库。
女孩们咯咯傻笑男孩随意放屁的好时光

那时我爱荡秋千
来来
回回

一天我跳出了那一切…

（译者注：芭比是女孩的模特玩具；＂小兵约瑟＂是男孩模特玩具）

A Journey of the Heart

2003-11-05T18:14:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“How about now?”

“No.”

“Will we ever get there?”

“...”

For the 67th time, Nori was bored. She let out a disgruntled sigh and peered out the window. The rapidly passing scenery was a blur of dead grass and occasional sluggish livestock. Nori wiped away the tiny sweat bead making its curved path down the right side of her face. It was 11:34, but the clock on the dashboard declared in incandescent green that it was 11:39. Jo liked to be on time for everything. She was one of those people who liked to watch previews about the poignant tale of two star-crossed lovers before watching a poignant movie about star-crossed lovers. Of course, this theory of cheating time never worked because Jo always let herself be five minutes late. Nori didn’t understand why Jo insisted on leaving the clock set on 11:39.

The humidity started to become considerably unbearable. Nori’s eyelids were fluttering in a daze of heat and fatigue. She was about to reach over to turn on the air conditioning when Jo woke her from the trance.

“It’s broken.”

“Since when?”

Silence.

Nori rested her elbow on the car door. She looked at Jo, then turned her head to stare out the window again. Jo was always uptight when driving because she hated it. She seemed to think that if she blinked, she might suddenly find herself driving off the road and into her most tragic and untimely death. That was why Nori volunteered to drive. But Jo knew that they were driving north for most of the morning. She just didn’t want to sit in the side of the car being slowly cooked to death by cancer causing ultraviolet rays. Then again, Jo made Nori unpleasantly snap into consciousness at 10 o’clock. This assumption could be the result of hallucination and lack of sleep.

Nori’s forehead started to glisten with the faint suggestion of perspiration. The muggy air in the car hung still. Moving was a losing struggle against gravity. She tried to sit still, but she was getting restless. Why the hell did Jo want to go on this trip anyway?

“Can I open the window, Jo? It’s burning in here.”

No answer.

Nori suddenly lost the will to argue and rolled down the window anyway. She bent over and jerkily rotated the handle. She watched the sticky handprints she left gradually fade away as she attempted to enjoy a cool, refreshing breeze. All Nori received was a mouth full of thick air trying to suffocate her with despicably humid, stubby fingers. With a mumble of defeat, she reluctantly reached for the handle and began turning it the opposite direction.

“I told you so.”

Nori didn’t even bother to answer.

11:43.
11:43.
11:43.

How long had it been 11:43? It had to have been 11:43 for at least four minutes. Maybe the clock was broken.

11:44.

Nori’s head, by the undefeatable force known as fatigue, was slowly inching toward the window. She softly rested her temple against the smudged glass, its searing temperature no longer a burden in comparison to the hefty weight that was plaguing her eyelids. Not quite understanding her internal struggle to keep awake, Nori gradually dozed off.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive.”

Nori let out a loud snort and jerked her head up. In an instant of confusion, her eyes came into focus on the clock. 11:53.

Jo was subconsciously tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the Beatles. This had to mean she was in a better mood, therefore ready to explain why she forced Nori to miss her Saturday morning cartoons.

“Hey, Jo?”

“I told you, when we get there.”

And these were the last words Jo said for the rest of the morning.

So Nori decided to speak for her.

“REST STOP!!!!!!!!” screamed Nori while frantically pointing to the sign that declared “Rest Stop 1 mile.” This sudden destruction of the stationary three-hour silence startled Jo, causing her to lose control of her calm composure and the steering wheel. The car veered into the farthest right lane with a piercing screech of rubber against road.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” gasped Jo, her hair tousled from the abrupt maneuver.

“Gotta pee, gotta pee!”

Jo sighed and reached down to turn off cruise control. She turned into the exit and slowed the speed of the car. As she pulled into the lot, Jo gave a quick glance over to Nori. Nori was serenely twiddling her thumbs with a distant look out the window.

Five minutes passed. Nori was in a daze, still staring out the window with a vacant look. The air in the car stood still again, when Jo let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well?”

“Oh, God, I forgot we were here.”

Nori gave Jo a smile that stretched from ear to ear, opened the car door and pranced out towards the horribly painted brown building. The musky air hanging over the area smelled a little like overripe fruit and cigarette butts. Jo stepped out of the car after she watched Nori disappear through dirty glass doors. For a split second, Jo lost her balance, but quickly regained stability in her legs. She hadn’t gotten up for the last two hours since they stopped for gas. The air was still as humid as ever, but the gray clouds looming over Jo’s head taunted her with false impression of cool weather. She was getting a dull pain behind her eyes. She needed a cigarette.

Nori came back out of the building munching on stale Pringles that she pried out of a broken vending machine. Her bladder was empty, her stomach filling and her lungs... lined with formaldehyde? Jo had gotten her cigarettes out. Nori was extremely annoyed by when Jo’s foul habit because she hated seeing the empty boxes scattered everywhere. Every one she saw would get her thinking about exactly how many cancer sticks were literally consumed by her sister, and she hated math.

Nori swallowed her ninth chip and reached in the can for another as she approached Jo. Jo was sitting on the hood of the car. Nori was about to offer a Pringle to the cloud of smoke when she saw the tears descending from Jo’s excessively red eyes. Jo was a silent crier. She never sniffled or even raised her hands to wipe away the tears. This had always bothered Nori for some odd, inexplicable reason. It had been like this ever since she was... Jo. All Nori could manage was,

“Not this again...”

Jo seemed unfazed by Nori’s blunt comment and continued to cry and inhale the cigarette as if her lungs would collapse if she didn’t.

“You’re not thinking about that again, are you?” Nori regretted asking this question when it was obvious what the answer was. Jo blew out a last puff of smoke, discarded of the lifeless cigarette and took out another.

“Stop it.”

Jo looked up at Nori. Nori’s face contorted with a mixed look of helplessness and frustration. This was an entirely different expression in comparison to the usual confusion painted on her face. Jo just stared at her. She lit her cigarette and was about to put it to her mouth when a sudden slap of the hand caused the cigarette to fly onto the sidewalk.

“I said, stop it.” The look on Nori’s face was now one of anger. Jo returned the look with a pitiful smile. The bright orange light of the cigarette end died away on the pavement. Now Jo looked helpless. And Nori knew.

“How can you sit there so- so oblivious to everything else but your own damn situation?! Can’t you see beyond what you want to see? How do you expect to get by life?! It sure as hell isn’t going to resolve itself if all you do is isolate yourself with your fucking pity!”

Jo didn’t even flinch.

“You’re pathetic! No one is going to hold your hand and wait for you while you slink your head and sulk about something that happened years ago! Life is NOT like that! It will never be like that!”

A curly-haired woman nearby was quickly ushering her two toddlers into a minivan, but not before she gave Nori a glare to show she highly disapproved.

Nori was feeling the blood rise to her head. She was unbelievably frustrated. The pathetic sight of a grown woman breaking down at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere was something she wanted to be spared of. It was something Jo should have been spared of.

Nori sat down on the hood of the car beside Jo. Her nervous fingers were rhythmically tapping on its dusty surface. Moisture. And again. A droplet of water made a small puddle near Nori’s thumb. All she could think about was the last and perhaps only time Jo had cried. She had locked Nori out of the house when she was fourteen, the day after Charlie disappeared. Two days before he was found in the river in Jo’s car. A month before she disappeared, according to the newspapers.

“I think... I think you were right to leave.”

Nori couldn’t see Jo’s face, but she heard the flick of her lighter.

Nori ignored it.

“It wasn’t my choice. You know that.”

“No, it was. And I’m glad you did.”

The ominous clouds had finally started what they had been threatening to do. The rain was beginning to pour, madly pounding on the ground below.

Nori and Jo remained seated on the hood.

They sat in silence as they watched the steam rise from the road after the cool raindrops kissed its scorching surface.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

心路

＂到了吗？＂

＂没有。＂

＂现在到了吗？＂

＂没。¨

＂我们什么时候才能到呀？＂

＂…＂

巳经问了六十七遍了，娜莉变得好厌烦。她没好气地打了一个哈欠，然后向窗外望去。窗外飞快掠过的是一片模糊的枯草以及偶而出现的死气沉沉的牲畜。娜莉擦了擦顺着右脸颊淌下的小泪珠。现在是十一点三十四分，但是驾驶台上那只闪着绿光的表却显示十一点三十九分。秀干什么事都讲究准时。她是喜欢在看一部震撼人心的爱情影片之前看用那部影片的片段制作的电影广告的那种人。当然，靠把钟往前拨的骗术从来都不管用，因为秀总是晚到五分钟。娜莉真搞不懂为什么秀坚持要把表往前拨五分钟。

空气越来越潮，令人好生难受。娜莉的眼皮在一阵又热又乏的迷糊中颤动了几下。她正打算伸手去打开空调，秀将她从那股迷糊劲中带了出来。

＂空调坏了。＂

＂什么时候坏的？＂

沉默无语。

娜莉将肘子支在车门上。看了秀一眼，又转头向窗外望去。秀不喜欢开车，所以开起车来总没好气，紧绷绷的。她似乎以为只要她眨一下眼皮，就有可能一下子把车开歪到路外，大祸临头，不幸早夭。所以娜莉主动要求开车。但是秀知道她们早上一大半时间都向北开。她不愿意坐在冲太阳的那一侧，被紫外线造成的皮肤癌慢慢地折磨死。但是，在十点钟时，秀却把没好气的娜莉吵醒。原先那个得癌的假想可能是幻觉和缺乏睡眠的缘故。

娜莉的前额开始隐约显现出冒汗的光泽。潮湿的空气在车中凝滞不动。移动是和地心引力所作的徒劳的努力。她试着坐稳些，但她巳变得很烦燥。秀到底是中了哪门子的邪，要跑这一趟？

＂我能把窗打开吗，秀？这里烤得慌。＂

没有回答。

娜莉一下子没心思争论，径自去摇车窗。她弯下身子，磕磕巴巴地摇着把手。她看着她留在窗上的粘乎乎的手印不见了，正准备享受一下清爽的空气。结果，娜莉吸进去的一大口凝重的空气，那象一只肥大的、带着潮气的手，差点让她背过气去。她败兴地嘟哝了一声，很不情愿地伸向把手将窗向相反的方向上摇。

＂说了你都不信。＂

娜莉无心作答。

十一点四十三分。
十一点四十三分。
十一点四十三分。

那表在十一点四十三分上呆了多久了？那表在十一点四十三分上呆了至少有四分钟。也许那表巳经坏了。

十一点四十四分。

娜莉的脑袋在一股不可抵挡的困倦驱使下正在慢慢地倒向窗子。她的太阳穴顶在脏希希的玻璃上，那滚烫的玻璃和她眼皮上吊着的沉重的秤砣相比巳算不上什么额外负担了。娜莉心里保持清醒的念头慢慢消失，她昏昏睡去。

＂黑鸟深夜啼，残翅欲学飞，平生一腔冲天志，拼博在此时。＂（音乐声）

娜莉喉头发出一声响亮的呼噜，将头仰起。一阵迷糊之中，她的眼睛聚焦在那只表上。十一点五十三分。

秀的手指正在下意识地随着＂披头士＂的音乐节拍轻轻敲打着方向盘。这一定说明她的心情不错，所以现在可以请她解释为什么她要逼着娜莉放弃星期六早上的卡通片，和她走上这些一趟。

＂喂，秀？＂

＂给你说过了，到了那里你就知道了。＂

这是秀那天早上说的最后几句话。

于是娜莉决定替她开口。

＂休息站！！！！！＂娜莉一边兴奋地指着那块标着＂休息站，一哩之外＂的标志牌，一边大声尖叫。这一声打破了三个小时沉寂的突如其来的尖叫把秀吓了一跳，她一下子失去了控制方向盘的冷静和沉着。汽车一下子歪到最右边的车道，传来一声刺耳的橡胶和地面摩擦的声音。

＂见鬼了不成？！＂秀叹了一口大气，她的头发由于刚才那阵剧烈的折腾而有些凌乱。

＂我得上厕所，我得上厕所，＂

秀叹了口气，伸手关掉自动定速器。她将车开出出口，减下车速。当她最终停下来，秀冲娜莉迅速地扫了一眼。娜莉正在安安静静地晃动着大拇指，冲着窗外远远望去。

五分钟过去了。娜莉还在那里发楞，冲着窗外呆呆地望着。车里的空气又凝滞起来，秀长叹一口大气。

＂怎么啦？＂

＂哦，老天，我都忘了我们在这儿。＂

娜莉咧开嘴冲着秀笑了一笑，打开车门，乐颠颠地走向那座被漆成难看的褐色的房子。一股霉烘烘的气味在空中弥漫，闻上去象是熟过头的水果和香烟头。秀目送娜莉消失在那扇脏希希的玻璃门后面，自己走出车来。她的身子晃了一晃，但很快站稳了。自从两小时前停下来加油，她就没站直过。空气还是非常潮湿，只不过在她头顶上聚集的乌云给她以一种凉爽的错觉。她的眼睛后面有一种持续的疼痛。她需要抽烟。

娜莉从那座房子里出来，嘴里吃着她从坏掉的自动售货机里挖出来的过期的Pringles炸土豆片。她上完厕所一身轻，填饱了肚子，肺里吸满了富尔马林？（译者注：可能是指厕所里的消毒液的气味）秀取出烟来。娜莉对秀的坏习惯深恶痛绝，因为她看到那些空烟盒心里就来气。那些烟盒会让她联想起她姐姐吸进去多少根＂致癌魔棍＂，她碰到数字就头疼。

娜莉一边走向秀，一边咽下第九块薯片，伸手向圆筒里探取另一块。秀坐在车前盖上。娜莉正要给那喷出一团烟雾的人递去薯片，她看到从秀那双红红的眼里流出的眼泪。秀哭起来不爱出声。她从不抽泣或者甚至抬手去擦眼泪。她这种哭法不知为什么总让娜莉不知所措。自打她成为秀那会儿她就是这个样子。娜莉所能挤出的一句话是，

＂别再这个样…＂

秀似乎没有被娜莉唐突的话所动，她在继续哭，大口地抽着烟，就好象不抽烟的话她的肺就要瘪掉似的。

＂你不会又在想那件事吧，是吗？＂娜莉意识到答案显然是这么回事，她后悔问了这个问题。秀吐出最后一团烟雾，扔掉烟头，又取出一枝。

＂别抽了。＂

秀抬眼看了一眼娜莉。娜莉的脸由于无能为力和恼恨抽扭着。那是一种和她脸上通常有的困惑表情是截然不同的表情。秀只是紧盯着她。她点上烟，刚要把烟送到嘴边，有一只手重重地拍打了一下她的手，香烟飞落到人行道上。

＂我说了，别抽了。＂娜莉脸上的表情转为愤怒。秀还了她一今楚楚可怜的微笑。那枝烟上桔黄色的火在地上熄灭。现在秀显得孤身无助。娜莉心里明白。

＂你怎么能就这样－就这样坐在那里，对你自己倒霉的问题之外的事不闻不问呢？！你能看到比你想看的更远的地方吗？你到底指望些什么东西？！就你这个样子，把自己与外界隔绝开来自己可怜自己，事情当然不可能有个了结！＂

秀坐在那里纹丝不动。

＂你真窝囊！象你这样为多少年前发生的事颠来倒去地折腾个没完没了，有谁会拉住你的手，等着你！人生不是这样的！人生永远不会是这样的！＂

边上一个一头卷发的女子急急地将她的两个刚学会走路的幼儿送进小面包车，在那之前，她冲娜莉狠狠地瞪了一眼表示对她的不满。

娜莉觉得血往上冲到头顶。她巳恼羞成怒。一个成年女子在前不巴村、后不着店的高速公路上的休息站里精神崩溃的尴尬局面是她想要避免的事。这是秀应该避免的事。

娜莉在秀边上的车前盖上坐下来。她紧张的手指有节奏地轻轻敲打着那布满尘土的表面。一滴水。又一滴水。在娜莉大拇指边上一滴水形成了一汪水。她脑子里想的全是上一次、也许是秀唯一一次哭泣时的情形。那是秀十四岁那年，那天她将娜莉锁在门外，那是在查理失踪后的第二天。两天过去以后，人们在河里找到他在秀的那辆车里的尸体。报纸上讲，她是在那之前一个月从他那里逃出来的。

＂我认为…我认为你走得对。＂

娜莉无法看到秀的脸，但她能听到打开打火机的声音。

娜莉没有追究秀抽烟的事。

＂那不是我的选择，你知道的。＂

＂不，那是你的选择。我很高兴你作了那个选择。＂

天上的黑云终于在威胁了半天之后开始下雨了。一时大雨倾盆，暴雨倾注在车下的地上。

娜莉和秀仍然坐在车前盖上。

她们静静地坐在那里看着凉爽的雨点接触到滚烫的地面时升腾起来的水蒸汽。

My Life as a Sitcom

2003-11-04T11:21:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

M.D.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

When my mom caught my dad cheating and our lives fell apart, it was almost like living in a television sitcom. We had our share of family conflicts, with a little comedic relief thrown in here and there. In our situation, however, the conflict itself was laughable because of its obvious absurdity.

My dad had apparently gone in search of a new love via an online dating service. He met someone, and all was well in his scheme for awhile. However, as it is with all good sitcoms, the plan must have a glitch in it somewhere that, when triggered, causes the entire plan to collapse. Generally, this glitch is triggered by the schemer, who is portrayed as an insensible idiot who never thinks through his plans well enough (my dad played this role quite well.) The glitch in my dad’s plan came with the fact that not only did he lie to his family, but he also lied to his mistress and told her he was not married. He gave her our address and our telephone number (classic sitcom screw-up.) Of course, she decides to send my dad a present with a love letter, which is picked up by my mom, and also call our house. As one can predict, my mother answered the phone.

So begins the unraveling of life as I knew it. At this point, I am completely unaware of what is happening around me. My biggest worry is my huge Geometry exam the next day. It is not until the following morning that I learn that my mom has kicked my dad out of the house and the thread that was unraveling at a steady rate is completely cut off from the spool.

Now usually, this dramatic cliffhanger would signify the end of the season finale, but since my life is not actually a sitcom, I cannot simply discontinue my life when I hit rock bottom and play reruns until next fall. The show must go on. I must go on. I will not be going on without new knowledge, though. Like all good sitcoms, each episode leaves the viewer with some sort of life lesson.

What is this episode’s life lesson?

Those who love you the most will hurt you the most.

Thanks to my dad for teaching me that one.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

生活悲喜剧

M.D.

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

当我的妈妈发现我爸爸在外偷情时，我们的生活立刻分崩离析，整个过程几乎就象在电视上演的爆笑剧一般。我们家里曾发生过很多家庭都有的冲突，其间偶而也会发生一些令人啼笑皆非的怪事。然而我们现在的情形是由于这场冲突本身的荒唐可笑，读来令人捧腹喷饭。

我爸爸是通过网上的择友介绍所寻找新欢的。他在网上和某人会了面，在一段时间里，他的阴谋伎俩还算成功。然而，就象所有成功的爆笑剧那样，在整个策划中总得有一个引线，一旦引线被触发，整个计划就会全部泡汤。通常，是策划者自己触发引线，这个角色往往被描写成一个不通人情、不动脑筋琢磨的大傻瓜（我爸爸扮演这样的角色堪称得心应手。）在我爸爸的计划中的引线是他不仅蒙骗一家老小，他还蒙骗了他在外找的那个情妇，声称他是未婚男子。他还将我家的地址和电话都给了她（爆笑剧里典型的失误。）自然，那个情妇决定给我爸爸寄一个附有情书的礼物，结果被我妈妈截获，她还给我家打了电话。不出所料，是我母亲接的电话。

就这样，我家原来平静的生活开始动荡不安。在那件事发生之前，我对发生在我周围的事一无所知。我心里最担心的事是第二天的几何学的大考。直到第二天早上我才得知我妈妈巳将他赶出家门，原来平和运行的家庭一下子全变了。

通常，象这样一个扣人心弦的结果总是预示着一个爆笑剧演季结束时最后一集的到来，但是由于我的生活不是一场爆笑剧，我无法将我的生活在最低谷时截然中断，然后将旧戏来回重演，直到来年秋天新的演季开始。这出戏得演下去。我必须挺下来。然而，这件事为我今后的人生增添了新的内容。就象所有成功的爆笑剧那样，每一集都能给观众上一堂人生哲理的课。

这一集的人生哲理课教的是什么呢？

爱之弥深，伤之弥重。

感谢我的爸爸给我上的这堂课。

America’s Time

2003-11-04T00:26:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

Hanna Peterson

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

My parents have told me stories of where they were and what they were doing when President Kennedy was assassinated, when the Challenger exploded, or when man landed on the moon for the first time. I always wondered what it would be that I could tell my kids about in the future. I now know.

* * *

“BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” I slapped the enormous snooze button on the top of my alarm clock, hoping to catch ten more crucial minutes of sleep. “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” My wake-up call forced me to reluctantly get up to another Tuesday consisting of extra long classes, homework, disgusting school lunch, and lack of privileges as a sophomore. My incentive to get through a day at school was a full night of dance classes after it all. A smile snuck up on my face as I remembered it was Homecoming Week, which made this Tuesday not seem so horrible after all. However, today was “Farmer’s Day,” and it was our duty as students to dress up and show our Valley spirit. Too bad, I wasn’t about to dress up as a farmer.

As it turned out, no one else dressed in farmer’s attire either. The constant hum of chatter and footsteps filled the halls. I was just getting the hang of the hustle and bustle of the hallways at “The Big Valley”, but it was still a challenge to survive. I took a short trip to my locker before my fun-filled first hour class. Keyboarding 1. Mrs. Jones. Room 212.

The hard plastic chair I sat in would soon become a pain to me after 85 minutes of endless typing. My fingers flew across the keyboard and my mind traveled to a land of speedy typing and buzzing computer screens. I became enveloped by the typing exercises:

A; a; al al; cal cal; alo or flo di and sol left.
Ali lost to Ron; Cal lost to Elsa; Di lost to Del.
Tina has left for Tucson; Dori can find her there.

I snapped out of my zone as the door connecting our classroom and the one next door exposed the face of an unfamiliar teacher with a worried expression. I could hear her speak to Mrs. Jones in a soft, soothing tone, even though I couldn’t make out what she was saying. My teacher’s eyebrows began to wrinkle, showing a look of disbelief. She placed her right hand over her mouth before she turned to the class. Removing her hand from her face she said, “I need everyone’s attention please. I have just received news that an airplane has hit the World Trade Center in New York City. I am going to turn on the TV to CNN if you’d like to stop what you are doing to watch.”

My eyes didn’t leave the screen as I stumbled closer to the TV to get a better view. I watched the horrific scene of smoke billowing from the World Trade Center. I watched the scared, crying, terrified people of New York City run through the streets. I watched the employees of the World Trade Center jump from the building along with the debris. I had no idea what was happening. Nothing made sense to me, especially when a second plane hit moments later, a third plane hit The Pentagon in Washington D.C., and another crashed into a field in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. I peeled my eyes away from the screen and shuffled my way to my third hour class—Speech Composition with Mrs. Engelmann. The conversations in the hallways were different this time and consisted of the airplanes, terrorism, the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and America, instead of Homecoming, dresses, flowers, dates, dinner, and the usual talk of high school students.

Later on that day I went back to my normal routine, it was at a slower pace, but I didn’t change my path at all. I came home from school and went to dance class as always. September 11th, 2001 wasn’t a normal day at all, but it didn’t cause all of us to completely change who we are and what we do. It changed us all in a different way; it caused us to stand united.

I heard a year later that Rudy Giuliani, Mayor of New York City, considered September 11th, 2001 to be his best and worst day in office. It’s obvious why it was he worst day in office, but what he said about it being his best day really got my attention. He said that it was amazing how everyone came together to support each other.

September 11th was America’s wake-up call, our alarm clock. We woke up in sadness to lost loved ones and security, but we gained unity. Sometimes we have to look ahead in the future and leave the past behind. In this case, I’ll look forward, but I’ll never forget Tuesday, September 11th, 2001.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

美国的时代

Hanna Peterson

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

我的父母给我讲过肯尼迪总统遇刺、＂挑战者号＂航天飞机升空爆炸和人类第一次在月球上登陆的时候，他们在什么地方在干什么。我总在琢磨将来我对我的后代能说些什么。现在我巳经知道了。

* * *

＂哔！哔！哔！＂我伸手拍了一下床头闹钟上的那个硕大的按钮，打算再睡上十分钟的懒觉。＂哔！哔！哔！＂我的催床闹钟硬将很不情愿的我从床上拉了起来，又是一个星期二，这一天的课总是特别长，作业特别多，还有难以下咽的学校食堂的午餐，让人感觉不到一点升到中学二年级有什么好处。我熬过在学校的这一天的动力是这一天过后一整晚上的跳舞班，一想起这个星期是＂返校节＂周，我脸上不禁绽出笑意，仔细一想，这个星期二也并不那么可怕。然而，这一天是＂农民节＂，我们都有得穿上好看的衣服以展现我们Valley高中的校风。美中不足的是我没打算把自己打扮成一个农家女。

结果到学校一看，没有一个人穿着农家的衣饰。学校的走廊里充满着持续的低声说话的嗡嗡声和脚步声。我刚刚开始适应＂大Valley＂的走廊里人来人往、熙熙攘攘的环境，但对我来说，在那个环境里坚持下来仍是不是一件易事。在去上有趣的第一堂课之前，我径自抄了条捷径来到我的储物箱跟前。那堂课是＂打字键盘入门＂。老师是琼斯太太。在212室。

在接连不断地打了八十五分钟的字之后，我坐的那张硬塑料椅子很快让周身不舒服。我的手指在键盘上飞快地击打，我的注意力进入了一个充斥着快速打字和的闪动的计算机屏幕的境界。我在全神贯注地练习打字：

A; a; al al; cal cal; alo or flo di and sol left.
Ali lost to Ron; Cal lost to Elsa; Di lost to Del.
Tina has left for Tucson; Dori can find her there.

在我们的教室和隔壁教室之间的那扇门口出现了一张我不认识的老师的脸，她脸上的焦虑神情将我的注意力从我专注的练习中转移了出来。我能听到她用细柔的声音和琼斯太太说着话，但我无法听出她正说些什么。我的老师的眉头渐渐锁了起来，显出一种难以置信的神色。她的右手掩在嘴上。然后她转向全班同学，将手挪开她吃惊的嘴对大家说：＂请大家注意了。我刚才接到消息，一架飞机撞入纽约市世界贸易中心的大楼。你们可以停下来看CNN的实况转播，我这就打开电视机。＂

我在跌跌撞撞挤到电视跟前看个仔细的过程中，眼睛一直盯着电视屏幕。我看到浓烟从世贸中心大楼上滚滚涌出的可怕的场面。我看到那惊恐万状、哭喊着的纽约人在街上跑过。我看到世贸中心的雇员跳楼，和大楼的碎片一起坠地的惨景。我对眼前发生的一切没有任何概念。尤其是当第二架飞机在不久后撞入另一座大楼，第三架飞机撞入华盛顿哥伦比亚特区的五角大楼，另一架在宾夕法尼亚州的Somerset郡坠毁之后，我对这些事变更是百思不得其解。我将视线从屏幕上挪开，拖着沉重的脚步来到第三节课－－安格曼太太教的＂演讲稿创作＂。这时走廊里谈论的话题与以往不同，谈的都是飞机、恐怖主义、世贸中心、五角大楼和美国，而不是＂返校节＂、连衣裙、鲜花、相好、晚宴和高中学生中常见的话题。

那天晚些时候，我恢复了我原来的日程安排，节奏虽然放慢了些，但我丝毫没有改变原定计划。我从学校回家后象以往一样去了跳舞班。二ＯＯ一年九月十一日根本不是一个寻常的日子，但它没有让我们中的所有的人彻底变个样和改变我们的计划。它以不同的形式改变了我们所有的人；它让我们团结了起来。

一年过后，我听说纽约市长鲁地·朱利亚尼认为二ＯＯ一年九月十一日是他任期中最成功同时也是最痛苦的一天。最痛苦的原因是显而易见的，而他提到的最成功的原因时将我的注意力给吸引住了。他说看到所有的人都抱成团互相扶持的情景实为奇观。

九一一事件是催美国起床的闹钟，是为我们敲响的警钟。我们在为丧失的亲人们和安全感的悲痛中醒来，但是我们团结了起来。有些时候，我们必须摆脱往日的困扰，放眼未来。就此而言，我将展望未来，但我永远不会忘记二ＯＯ一年九月十一日这一天。

Facing Myself

2003-10-28T19:27:00.001-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

C. C.

Standing alone on the bank of infinite blue,
the reflection of my
Mother, Father, Sister and Brother,
my home, windows, the big white front door,
the screened-in porch with forest green carpeting,
so ancient and familiar,
my third grade teacher, smiling bright with white teeth,
Mrs. Day, who told me I would write a book for children;

They are staring back at me.

All past images and present pieces
morph into a picture of myself.
A completed puzzle of influences,
a reflection above an ocean of ambiguity.

Beyond the earth, my feet planted like roots,
the unfamiliar draws closer.
Water beckons me in,
where I stand, where I am afraid to move from,
where I cannot wait to leave.
The only recognizable image in anonymous deep,
laying indefinitely before me,
is that of my own face.
In that face, everything I am,
and everything I will become.

The eyes of my body
grasp those of the reflected face;
the depth is uncertain--

Can I swim?
Is it cold?
Will I sink?
I will…
live.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

面对自己

Valley High School
West Des Moines
Iowa

C. C.

我独自伫立在岸边
面对无边无沿的蓝色，
我母亲、父亲、兄弟姐妹的倒影，
我的家、窗户、那扇大大的白色前门，
那装上纱网的前门廊，铺着翠绿的地毯，
这些记忆是那样久远而又那般熟悉，
我上三年级时的老师 Day太太，灿然一笑，露出一嘴洁白的牙齿，
她告诉我将来会写一本儿童读物，

所有这一切都在凝神注视着我。

往昔的图像和眼前的情景
渐渐地化作我自己的像片。
那是一张拼完的带有各种影响痕迹的拼画板，
一个在朦胧之海上的倒影。

在远方的土地上，我的双脚就象生了根，
那种陌生感袭来。
水在呼唤我，
让我离开我站的地方，那个我既害怕出走
又巴不得离开的地方。
在那不知深浅的水域里，
躺在我面前的
似乎是我自己的脸。
那张脸是我现在的一切，
也是我未来的一切。

我的全部身心紧紧抓着那个脸的倒影；
而那水孰深孰浅，无从得知－－

我能游水吗？
那里可冷？
我会沉溺吗？
我会···
生存下去。

The Starving Artist (A fictional story)

2003-10-27T20:25:00.000-08:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By H.Q.
Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

She had grown up in an environment unlike most. On Sunday mornings, her mother would come in and wake her to watch cartoons. They would sit there, silently, as they watched Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble bicker. She always liked Bam-Bam the most. He was strong, confident, and he always got what he wanted, though he never demanded anything extraordinary. Inch by inch, she craned her neck to see her mother’s silent expression. Through the corners of her eyes she watched as her mother left the room, eyes faraway and lonely. She wanted to lean over and put her head on her mother’s lap, to let her know that she was still indeed in the room and was certainly not alone. But inch by inch her head crept back and returned its focus to the water buffalo meeting. Fred was the Grand Pooh-Bah, you know.

Monday came tagging along, as it always does, ruining a perfectly good weekend but secretly welcomed by all. Monday meant freedom—the freedom to go to work, to go to school, to return to the characters they rehearsed so often and played so well. She sat in her classroom, staring out the window, watching as the trees played hide and seek with shadows their own ages. The wind came whistling along, inviting itself to play although it had been there before the game had started. She sat, silently, eyes radiating a listlessness that could be matched by none. She peeled the paper off a blue crayon, looking at it wondering if it would taste better than the rottenness that reeked from her. Feet shuffled to the plastic bin, limp arm bent at the shoulder and elbow to deposit the blurb of color.

The leaves turned from green to yellow. Teachers, skirts down to their ankles and cinched up to their waists, crisp shirts tucked in, triceps dodging aging bodies. Chalk used for all it was worth, only to be vacuumed off the floor and disposed of. The wheel in the gerbil cage screeched along with the hours. She sat and watched it go round and round, never slowing nor fading, always rocking back and around. Limp hair twisted around her neck, curving down her spine. Long, bony fingers twirled a pencil. Pearl white teeth chewed the eraser. She had nothing to be enraged about, no reason feel empty. She always got what she wanted, though her demands were never extraordinary. The deep scratching of the carbon on the fibers proved to be a most delightful noise. Pressing harder, stepping back, a little shadow here, a playful tree there; if only she could draw the wind. Then picture would be complete, and the drawing would come out the way that she had always wanted it to. But the wind cannot be captured by carbon, nor can it remain on the fibers. It moves around too much, never getting too close and never staying in one place for long.

She got up and walked around, then sat down once more. Her hazel eyes bore down on the floor, scanning all seventy-four square feet. Bits and pieces of eraser and pebbles from the playground scattered themselves across the floor. In the corner, the pencil sharpener ground against the will of a blue pencil, spraying the remnants around, but not in, the black plastic trashcan. Little sparkles of carbon dust caught her eye, and for a moment she thought she saw a glimmer of hope. It quickly vanished, and her eyes lead her feet out of the room. The hall loomed ahead, dark and ominous.

Her classmates arrived before her and bustled around the room. The same girls sat in front, as always, with the same perfect yellow spirals intact. They always sat next to each other, laughing; but pushing back the curtains hanging on the windows of their souls revealed black holes, longing to be fulfilled in some way or another. The boys in the back of the room began tossing a lump of clay back and forth, and a clumsier member of the group knocked over a bottle of green tempera paint. It twisted and turned, rolling over itself until it landed on the smooth, golden brown planks on the floor. It cascaded out the top, then raced up and down the cracks in the floor.

“Enough!”

Twenty-four heads whipped around, face to face with a new face.

“I swear, I thought all I needed to know I learned in kindergarten. I must’ve missed this part.”

The girls in the front scooted to the fronts of their chairs, perched somewhere between success and a bitter fall.

The statement was followed by a vocal spasm that resembled that of a hyena. After composing herself, she said, “I know it’s the first day, but y’all are gonna have to lighten up in my class, ya hear?”

A blob of yellow spirals began to convulse and make a similar noise to the one from the woman standing. Her body had moved to the back of her chair. Success. The teacher looked at her, smiled, and continued. “I see we have a bit of a situation in the back of the room. Now, would one of you fine gentlemen like to help me get that under control?” She paused. “No? Well, all right then, all y’all get off your uncivilized hiny-binders and act like the gentlemen your mammy wants you to be. For the rest of y’all, I’d like to see what you can do. Does everyone have a sketchbook? All right, now, I’m gonna come around in a few minutes here, and I want y’all to draw me your prettiest picture. Can y’all do that for me?”

Little feet pitter-pattered to the middle of the room where a box of colored waxes wrapped in matching paper had been laid out. Like piranhas they grabbed the colors. By the time she got to the box, all that was left was brown and green. She went back to her seat, wondering what these colors would say from the platform of her paper. At first the storm was calm; a drip here, a drop there. Then suddenly, splashing onto her paper, they were flooding the blank white with growing emotion. Long, painted nails wrapped around her thin shoulder. Hot, humid air came down in sheets on her neck. “Why darlin’, that’s right perty. Good work.”

She stared at the pebbles again, only this time they were in their natural environment. Yellow spirals swirled around here, clumsy feet chasing not far behind. It always seemed to her that they were unaware of how things were and what they should’ve been. The pebbles ground themselves into the dirt as she approached the teeter-totter. She plunked down on the middle of the smooth wooden plank. Rough bark twirled up and around the base and green sheets lounged with the wind. She smiled. Her feet dangled precariously above the ground, not sure if they should find a base or if they should remain unsure of where they stood, not supporting or objecting to a thing.

The sidewalk churned beneath here feet, her stomach groaning and moaning and mumbling above here diaphragm. Turning the corner, she began to take in the scene. White cars with Christmas lights, the kind that blink and flash, men dressed in official suits, and a redhead walking in front of them, head down and hands behind her back—her mother. Neighbors stared, some whispering. Others told their children to go out back and play. A lady turned, and upon seeing that her feet had melted to the sidewalk, gathered some papers and plastered here face into an expression of happiness. She began to run, the rubber leaving long strands in her wake. Blonde hair yanked and tangled by the wind, patent leather shoes squeaking. North, south, east or west, she wasn’t sure. But she ran. Clouds began to line up single file, and slowly they dispersed a warm shower onto her. She could hear the woman yelling her name, pleading her to stop, but she kept running. Gasping for breath, head spinning wildly. Her heart was pounding her muscles were screaming for something to sustain them. The sidewalk jumped and the sprawled out in the prickly, yellow grass. The grass was soon stained red. The woman fell onto her knees, picked her up, and cradled her gently, her left hand unknowingly supporting a maelstrom of thoughts. As she carried her across the street, rubber squealed on cement that would soon match the grass.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

穷途潦倒的艺术家 (一个虚构的故事）

By H.Q.
Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

她在一个和大多数人不同的环境中长大。星期天早上，她母亲会到她的卧室将她叫醒去看卡通片。她们坐在那里，一声不响地看Fred Flinstone和Barney Rubble bicker。她最喜欢的角色一直是Bam Bam。Bam Bam很坚强、自信，而且他总能得到他想要的东西，尽管他从未提出什么过份的要求。她会一点一点地伸过头去看她母亲沉默的表情。从她的眼角里她看到母亲目光中带着呆滞、孤独的神情走出房间。她想靠过去将头枕在母亲的大腿上，借此提醒母亲她仍然在房间里，她不是一个人独守空房。但是她的头会一点一点地挪开，将注意力集中到＂水牛聚会＂的情节中。你得知道，Fred可是个Pooh Bah中的大人物。

接下来就是星期一了，象以往一样，表面上看，星期一总是把一个完美无缺的周末调起的好兴致给败了，但私下里所有的人都在暗自庆幸。星期一意味着自由：那种去上班的自由、去上学的自由，回到他们演练多时、表演出色的角色中去的自由。她坐在教室里，冲着窗外望去，看着树在和自己年龄的影子玩捉迷藏的游戏。起风了，风自告奋勇地加入了游戏，尽管在游戏开始时，它巳经在那里。她坐在那里，一声不吭，目光中射出一种无人企及的无精打采的神情。她将一枝蓝色蜡笔外面的包装纸剥下，端详着蜡笔，心里琢磨那玩意是否会比她心中的那股窝囊劲更有滋味。她用双脚将塑料桶前拽了过来，然后用肩部和肘部都松松垮垮的手臂将那团带色的包装纸扔了进去。

枝头的树叶巳由绿变黄。老师们个个穿过长及脚踝的束腰长裙，整洁的衬衫束进裙腰，健壮的三头肌为她们正在老化的躯体作了一些掩饰。粉笔被用到不能再用为止，最终全被吸尘器吸进去扔掉。沙鼠笼中吱吱呀呀的转盘和挂钟一起转动。她坐在那里看着那转盘一圈又一圈地转着，从不见此物慢下来或有倦怠之态，一个劲地来回折腾。她那一头直直的头发从她的颈边绕过，顺着脊柱垂挂在身后。她修长、瘦削的手指缠绕着铅笔。白玉般的牙齿啃咬着橡皮头。她没有理由愤愤不平，也没有理由感到空虚。她这一辈子想要的都有了，尽管她从未提出过什么过份的要求。炭条画笔在粗糙的画纸上重重划过的声音对她来说是最悦耳的声音。用力重重地按下去，然后往回收笔，在这里添些阴影，在那里画棵顽皮的树；她真想将风画出来。画完了，完成的作品和她心里盘算的别无二致。但是炭笔无法捕捉风的神韵，画纸上的线条也留不久。风好动，从来不会到你面前让你看个仔细，也不会在原处久留。

她站起身来走了一圈，然后又坐了下来。她的淡褐色的眼睛紧盯着地板，将整个七十四平方尺的地面仔细地观察了一遍。地板上散落着橡皮头和从外面操场上带进来的小石粒。在教室的一个角落里，卷笔刀正在卷一枝很不情愿的蓝铅笔，卷出的碎片四处飞溅，而不是落在那只黑色塑料废物桶。炭笔粉的幽光在她眼前一闪，在那一瞬间，她觉得她看到了一线希望。那闪光很快就消失了，她的眼睛紧盯着自己的脚走出教室。在她面前是那条走道，黑洞洞的让人有一种不祥的预感。

她的同学比她早到，巳经在教室里闹翻了天。还是坐在最前面的那帮女孩，象以往一样，头上的金发都梳着一式的完美无缺的螺旋发型。她们总是坐在一起，有说有笑；但她们总是将遮盖她们灵魂深处污点的遮羞布捂得严严实实的，总是指望着投机取巧。教室后排的一群男孩开始互相扔投一团橡皮泥，结果，其中一个动作笨拙的男孩将一桶绿色水粉颜料撞翻了。那只桶在地上翻滚了几回，一直滚到一块平滑的、用黄褐色木板铺成的地板处才停了下来。颜料从桶口处泻了出来，在地板上见缝就钻。

＂行了！＂

二十四个脑袋闻声侧首，面面相觑，一下全换了一张脸。

＂老天爷，我总以为我该知道的事早就在幼儿园里学到了。那时我一定是误了几堂课，所以从来没有学过象你们这样的胡闹。＂

前排的女孩们将屁股蹭到她们坐椅的前沿，眼看就要摔到地上。

一通训斥过后，老师喉头发出一声鬣狗般的怪声。她镇定了一下，接着说，＂我知道今天是开学的第一天，不过你们大家都得放规矩点，听到了没有？＂（译者注：浓重的南方口音）

前排的一个黄毛丫头发出一声模仿那个站着的女人作呕的声音。她的身体向后靠去。她没有摔到地上。老师冲她看了一眼，笑了笑，接着说：＂我看教室后面出了点问题。你们男生中的哪一位能出来帮我一下？＂她稍停了停。＂没人自告奋勇？好吧，算了，你们不许撒野，要做一个你们妈妈要你们做的规矩孩子。其余的人，我想看一看你们的本事。每个人都有一本图画本，是吧？行，这样吧，我给你们几分钟时间，你们给我画一幅最好的画。好不好？＂

孩子们抢着跑到屋子中间的一只放着用各种颜色包着的蜡笔的纸箱跟前。象饿虎扑食一般争抢自己喜欢的颜色。等到她来到箱子跟前，里面只剩下褐色和绿色。她拿上颜料回到自己的座位上，心里在琢磨能用这些颜色在她的画纸上表现些什么。一开始，画面上的风暴还算平和；一星半点的雨点稀稀拉拉的。突然间，画面上大雨倾盆，那张白纸上顿时洋溢着她高涨的激情。此时，一双有着修长手指的、涂有指甲油的手抱住她瘦削的肩头。一股又热又潮的气息扑向她的脖根。＂哎哟，宝贝，真好看。画得真好。＂

她又看着地上的小石粒出神，只不过这一次是在室外它们本来该呆的地方。黄毛丫头们在她周围转圈，笨拙的男孩在不远处随后追赶。在她看来，这些孩子似乎对世间万物的状况以及它们应有的状况一无所知。在她走近跷跷板时，碎石路面变成了泥地。她一屁股坐在平滑的木板的中央。跷跷板下面，粗糙的树皮在风中飞旋，片片绿草被风吹得弯下腰。她笑了。她的双脚不自在地悬吊在空中，她不知该脚踏实地，还是继续这样悬空，不知将无依无靠的脚放在何处。

人行道在她的脚下旋转起来，她的肚子咕咕地叫着。转过街的拐角，她开始留神观察。一辆白色汽车，上面装有那种忽闪忽现的圣诞彩灯，她看到几个穿着警察制服的人，在他们前面走着一个红头发的女人，她低着头，手被铐在背后一一她的母亲。邻居们在边上看着，有些人在小声嘀咕。其他的人告诉他们的孩子们到外面去玩。一个女人转过身来，看到她呆呆地站在人行道上，那个女人的手里抓着一些公文，脸上浮现出一种虚假的欣快表情。她扯开腿跑开了，橡胶鞋底在路上留下两条长长的脚印。她的金发被风撕扯着，皮鞋在地上发出摩擦的尖啸。究竟往哪里跑她自己也心中无数。但是她还是一个劲地跑。天上的云一字排开，然后为她洒下一场温暧的阵雨。她能听到那女人在喊她的名字，求她停下来，但是她还是继续猛跑。她喘着粗气，头拼命地甩着。她的心在狂跳，浑身就象要散了架。突然间，她觉得脚下的人行道一震，她四肢摊开，倒在一片扎人的黄草地上。那片草地很快就被血染红了。那个女人跪在地上，将她抱起来，将她轻轻揽在怀中，她的左手无意间托起了她心中的千头万绪。当那个女人抱着她走过马路时，一辆路过的车的轮胎在水泥路面上发出一声刺耳的尖啸，那片水泥地不久就会象那片草地一样被血染红。

（译者注：经与作者联系后得知那个在后追赶的女人是政府派出照顾罪犯未成年子女的＂社会工作者＂，她手里拿的是政府接管那个女孩的公文。那女孩不愿跟随她，故而逃跑，最后两人在过马路时被车撞倒。）

Uncle, Daddy, Cousins, and Me

2003-10-20T19:18:00.000-07:00

By S. L. B.

Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

Light of the downtown
On a warm summer night
Cruisin’ through the streets
In the van of the good times

Turn on some tunes and jam
All of us cheer at full blast
Singin’ na na na na na
’Cause the words, they don’t make the man

’Nother time round that corner
We’ve seen it three times tonight
Turn the other way now
Go by the capitol in lights

Drivin’ past tattoo parlors
Bail bonds and restaurants
Nobody ’round to hear us
So we yell and honk the horn

Let’s get out on the interstate
And pick up the speed old man
Minneapolis or Kansas City
Somebody choose, pick a hand

Only happens once a year
Let’s make this a good trip now
No matter where we end up tomorrow
Well’ll be together, a family, travelin’ ’round

“Window”

2003-10-20T19:16:00.000-07:00

[English original 英文原稿]

By S. B.
Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

The coat hung heavily from my shoulders,
The thick material took my lungs hostage,
Only allowing me to breathe in quiet gasps.

My eyes scattered over the closed casket,
Looking for an imperfection,
A window to prove this was only a dream.

I stood for the song with the crisp blue hymnal grasped in my palm,
I saw my staggering hands loose grip,
And the book splatter to the ground.

Incense curled into the air like a snake.
It clouded my memories with a forgetful shadow,
And snapped its fangs at my hands when I tried to snatch them back.

A window beyond the stage faced the mountainous terrain.
Only a crystal sky could be seen through it,
Faded clouds disappeared like the life story hidden within the casket.

When the casket was lifted, the sunlight reached out.
Thick rays painted the coffin gold.
Each beam carried the casket from the hands of its bearers.

As the sun reached out, it touched the countryside,
Bringing new life to every corner of the land.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

窗

By S.B.
Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

肩头的大衣重如铁，
厚实的衣料把我压得，
喘不过气来

我的目光扫过关着的灵柩，
试图找出一丝瑕疵，
以证明这只不过是场梦。

我手中紧攥那本鲜蓝色的赞美诗集站着吟唱，
我眼看我颤抖的双手一松，
赞美诗坠入尘土。

香烟袅袅，形似游蛇。
给我的记忆蒙上一层遗忘的阴影，
我欲擒蛇，蛇口冲着我的手张牙示威。

舞台后面的一扇窗正对着连绵的群山。
从那里我只能看到一片湛蓝的天空，
薄云散去，好似被锁在灵柩中的那段人生。

灵柩被抬起，阳光从窗口泻入。
给灵柩镀上一层金黄。
每一丝阳光将灵柩从扶棺者的手中接过。

阳光重现，普照原野，
为天下每寸土地带来新生。

The Road Less Taken

2003-10-20T19:14:00.000-07:00

[English original 英文原稿]

R. L.

Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

The sunroof is open allowing the thick beams of the sun to heat up my flowing hair. The music of Reliant K tingles my ears and twirls around my car upon escaping out the open window. Passersby glance, hearing the beats and smile.

The shiny, sleek new exterior is gleaming, beckoning others to come and follow. I am ready to lead the way.

On my own at last, able to get away; ride the road escaping from the world’s temptations. Surrounded by comforting thoughts, smiles of my friends and me on the dash and a bible verse that commands, “Be joyful always”, I am safe. Not confined to anything but my own mind.

There’s power in my hands, and the breeze runs its fingers through my hair, letting me know it’s there, watching over me. I will go where I want to go and do what I want to do, no restrictions. Well, one, my safety belt, it lets me know how far I can go, it’s there, at my every move, to catch me if I fall.

Through the windshield, there is a bright world out there ready to be shaken. No smudges or spots are visible; it’s all clean and new. I see the cross hanging from my review mirror, there, once again, reminding me of the wonderful future I have.

I roll the windows down even more and tap the side of my car with my long fingertips. I turn up the music on Wakeup Call, I switch lanes glancing behind me, seeing the world I have left so far behind. The extra baggage in my trunk, long been forgotten.

In the passenger seat are my new Nikes, ready to be worn, ready to be put on, ready to travel the road less taken.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

僻径

By R. L.
Valley High School, West Des Moines
Iowa

从打开的汽车天窗投下的阳光将我随风飞扬的头发晒得滚烫。Reliant K乐队的音乐声在我的耳边震响，乐声在车里迥荡，然后冲出敞开的车窗。路过的人们闻声侧首相望，听着音乐的节奏，脸上露出会意的微笑。

我那辆汽车的崭新外壳光采出众，它正在召唤其它汽车紧随其后。我可以在前头做个领路人。

我获得独立、远走高飞的这一天终于到来了；我正开着车远离尘世的诱惑。我的心中怀着舒坦的念头，想起那些微笑的朋友们，坐在汽车的仪表盘前开着车，又想起圣经上的那句＂人生需常乐＂的座右铭，所有这一切都给我以一种安全感。我觉得无拘无束，随心所欲。

在我的手中有一股劲，微风轻拂着我的头发，告诉我有一种无形的力量正在呵护我。我将去我想去的地方，干我想干的事业，不受任何限制。等一等，还是有一个限制的，我现在得系上保险带，这个限制让我知道我到底有多大的自由度，我的一举一动全在那个力量掌握之中，如果我摔倒了，它会将我接住的。

挡风玻璃外面是一个正在等待我去作一番拼博的、明朗的世界。我的视野中没有任何瑕疵；那是一片洁净、崭新的天地。我看到挂在后视镜上的那只十字架，又一次令我想到我的美好前程。

我将车窗又摇下一截，用我的长手指尖轻轻敲打车身。我将Wakeup Call的音乐音量又拨大了些；然后将车转到旁边的车道上，向后面被我远远抛在后面的那个世界瞥了一眼。心中早巳将后车舱里的那些多余行囊忘得一干二净。

在车前座上放着我的新Nike跑鞋，它正期待着磨炼，正争待着我将它穿上，等待着踏上一条鲜为人知的僻径。

Sights and Sounds of Iowa City

2003-10-19T01:22:00.000-07:00

[English original 英文原稿]

M. S.
West High School
Iowa City, Iowa

Walking around downtown Iowa City with a notebook and a pen in your hand is like opening your eyes and ears and noticing and seeing things you wouldn’t see otherwise. It’s like your body is suddenly aware of everything.

Downtown, in the pedmall, isn’t like any other place in Iowa City. Here, people are content and quiet, some of them smile blankly and others don’t do anything. It seems you never see these people speak, somehow. You just see them. And you could just sit and watch these people and never get bored.

Two boys, dressed in black, sit on benches outside a Whitey’s restaurant while another boy stands and eats a piled high cone. They all seem to know each other and they aren’t speaking.

A boy rolls by on his skateboard while a man opens a trashcan with a sharp screech and pulls out a can, holds it upside down and empties it. This happens outside Iowa Book. It looks gross and everyone probably averts their eyes. You wouldn’t make fun of someone getting cans out of public trashcans.

A couple stands waiting for a Cambus. The girl looks dreamy while holding onto the boy standing next to her. He looks annoyed, uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want her holding onto him and looking so dopey and stupid or like his arm is asleep. It’s probably a mixture of both. Not everybody’s happy in the pedmall, apparently.

A boy and girl lean against the wall next to a bench while the boy smokes a cigarette. The girl has light brown hair up in a ponytail and her clothes are dark and baggy. She looks bored. The boy is dressed similarly and looks as bored as she does. They aren’t speaking. The boy smashes his cigarette against the wall after a few minutes and pulls the glass door of a restaurant open for her and she enters. He goes in after her.

Two guys pass by. One is tall and bald and the other is thin and tall with a goatee and tinted sunglasses.

The one with the goatee is saying something like, “…I mean there are fifteen-year-olds running around here and half of them don’t even know what a condom is…”

A weird smell lingers, coming from somewhere. It smells like the inside of a heavy smoker’s car. Not a nice smell.

Outside the Atlas restaurant, there’s the smell of food, but it can’t be said exactly where this smell comes from. There are big, dark windows in the Atlas and you can see the people eating and talking behind it. Across the street at the DeadWood restaurant a man shouts and grins across his table at someone.

A man with floral print shorts, a shirt with an uneven design on it and a beard stands at the stoplight and never crosses the street.

The novel reading comes next. There are about 100 to 150 people in the auditorium, listening quietly as Elizabeth Berg reads excerpts from her newest novel, “Say When.”

You could hear a pin drop. Berg reads like she finds herself in the characters and she probably does. Everyone sinks in without meaning to…they all lean forward their eyes are all on her…it’s her voice that’s pulling everyone in. Laughter rings out at the funny parts and you can feel sadness and warmth whenever you hear it in Elizabeth’s voice.

The notebook snaps shut. That’s downtown Iowa City. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Everybody fit into all this.

[Chinese translation 中文译稿]

爱荷华城写真

M. S.
West High School
Iowa City, Iowa

手里拿着一本笔记本和笔在爱荷华城的市中心转上一回就好象顿时耳聪目明，平时不会注意到的人和事一下全看在眼里，就好象你的感官一下子变得敏感起来。

市中心的购物中心可不象爱荷华城的其它地方。这里的人们显得心满意足，安安静静的，有些人的脸上挂着呆板的微笑，另一些人则显得无所事事。不知为什么，这些人给人以一种从不张口说话的感觉。他们只是些出现在你的眼前的那些人。你往那儿一坐去观察他们的举止，永远也不会觉得单调和枯燥。

两个穿着黑衣服的男孩子坐在Whitey’s餐馆外的长凳上，边上站着一个正在大吃蛋卷冰淇淋的男孩。他们好象都互相认识，但他们之间没有说话。

在＂爱荷华书店＂门外，一个男孩蹬着滑板滑过，在一旁，一个男人用铁钳打开垃圾筒，从里面夹出一只饮料罐，将口冲下将里面的液体倒干净。这一切看上去挺让人犯恶心，边上的人大概都在避免与那个人的眼光相遇。你不该嘲笑一个从公共垃故筒里掏饮料罐的人。

一对情侣在车站上等爱荷华大学的校车，那姑娘含情脉脉地依偎在她身边的小伙子的身上。他则显得心烦意乱，好不自在，他象是不喜欢那女孩那样偎着他，一付无精打采、呆傻迟钝的样子，要不就是他的胳膊被姑娘拉得发麻。也许两者皆有。显然，在购物中心，不是每个人都心情愉快。

在一张长凳边上，一个小伙和一个姑娘靠墙而站，小伙抽着烟。那姑娘将一头浅褐色的头发扎成一根马尾辫，上下一身松垮宽大的深色衣裤。一付无精打采的样子。那小伙也穿着一身与她类似的衣着，和她一样显得无精打采。他们谁都没吱声。过了一会儿，小伙将手中的烟头扔到墙脚踩灭了，为姑娘拉开一家餐馆的玻璃门，她走了进去，他随后跟了进去。

两个男子走了过去。一个是高个子的秃顶，另一个是个戴着深色眼镜，上唇留着胡须的瘦高个。

那个留胡子的人嘟哝着，＂…我是说在这里转悠的那些十五岁的毛孩子，其中半数不知避孕套为何物…＂

一股怪味传来，不知从哪儿冒出来的。闻上去象是一帮烟鬼开的车里的气味。好难闻。

Atlas餐馆外面弥漫着食品的气味，但是说不准那气味是从哪儿冒出来的。透过Atlas大大的深色玻璃，你能看到里面正在吃饭谈话的食客。街对面的DeadWood餐馆里，一个男人对坐在他对面的人一边笑一边大声说着什么。

一个身穿两边不对称的花卉图案衬衫、留着大胡子的人一直站在红绿灯前，但却不见他们过马路。

接下来是读书会的小说朗读。礼堂里聚集了大约一百到一百五十人，静静地听ElizabethBerg朗读她的新作＂够了就请告诉我一声＂。

礼堂里安静得能听到一根针落地的声音。Berg朗读时的样子很进入角色，也许她真是故事中的某个角色。听众们也不由自主地被带进了故事的情节之中…他们身体前倾，全神贯注地看着她…她绘声绘色的朗读将他们吸引住的。当念到滑稽之处，全场听众会哄然大笑。每当Elizabeth的声音里流露出悲哀和温情，你都能从现物的气氛中感受到。

笔记本合上了。那就是爱荷华城的写照。我可不想移居他处。不管什么样的人都能在这个环境中找到自己的一席之地。

致美国朋友的一封信

2003-10-18T22:18:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

高二7班张聪
指导教师刘建华

美国的朋友：

你们好。很高兴有这次和你们互相交流的机会。作为一个成长经历有限的我，何尝不想拓展视野，看看外面的新鲜世界，也许，正是这种情愫将我们联系在一起。

也许你也和我一样，对这世界充满了惊奇，充满求知欲；也许你也和我一样，对中国这地大物博的东方圣土充满了浓厚的兴趣；也许陶冶在“爱”的氛围中，更能激发我们好好学习、工作、生活。

我非常喜欢读《上下五千年》，从天地混沌的远古时代开始，有驰骋战场的霍去病、岳飞；运筹帷幄的张良、诸葛亮；叱咤风云的唐太宗、康熙帝；……伸展到中华民族的灾难顶端-----鸦片战争，一位位“各领风骚的英雄豪杰”，开创出伟大的事业。中华民族的历史是本上下而求索的大书。

曾几何时，我们沉浸在这五千年中。五千年足以让“夜”的部落产生出他们的“布鲁斯”，足以让“日”的种族越过他们的“好望角”。五千年，足以让智者发现自己的星座和造纸印刷指南针火药，也足以让阿房宫和圆明园毁于一旦。五千年，每一种感觉都已有过，每一种举动都被重复。五千年，足以开始所有的开始，足以结果所有的结果。珠穆朗玛是等待了五千年的沉船，英雄纪念碑树立了五千年的桅杆。石头是停止跳动的心脏，那鸽子却是他们放出来的呐喊啊！

此刻，皓月当空，我寄愁心与明月，伤感了五千年。五千年岁月古老了东方，神秘了东方；五千年魂牵梦绕、梦绕魂牵多情了东方。五千年的历史，涂满了中国画，填满了诗词，却画不尽离离凄草，填不尽东方的忧伤。静谧的山林是幽咽的鸣泉，中国的梦想总环抱一弯残月。五千年的期待如一梦，五千年的目光刻成泰山昆仑，五千年的泪水汇成长江黄河。

烟波江上数不尽游子乡愁，夕照山前吟不尽人间的晚晴。为什么会有战国七雄五代十国鸦片战争联军侵华？会有《南京条约》《天津条约》《辛丑条约》？数遍折柳落花斜风雨，尽是战火摧毁五千年之文明。为什么会有蒙古琉球群岛之悲曲，台湾割据之悲哀？踏遍驿路长亭，断桥古道，道不尽东方的残月啊！

我们注定是炎黄子孙，接过这古老的月光，接过这古老的神韵；我们唱长江、唱黄河，颂这五千年的泪。我们五千年的情结在一根线上，共盼再度强大的中华。

伴着这种情愫，我慢慢地变成熟了。我们明白历史赋予我们的使命，这是每个中国人的责任。我们热情、开朗、善良，我们渴望着世界的和平。

五千年的泱泱大国发展到今天，沿袭了许多，也改变了许多。但我相信保留的是精华。人类，我们，万物灵长，能世代在地球上生存，是因为我们共同的智慧。我们会用双手去创造，用心去聆听，去体味。

我们不仅有爱国情，在我们的周围还流淌着浓浓亲情。我出生在一个普通城市，我的出生似乎注定了某种不幸，爸爸得了病，妈妈没有抛弃我们，独自一个人挑起了家庭的重担，没有人可以倾听她的苦诉，没有人为她遮掩那无尽的黑暗，她把所有的泪往肚里咽。她做这一切，都是为了我，她把所有的爱放在我身上。这就是伟大的母爱。

也许在你们无法理解，在美国，你们是很独立的，自食其力，不向家里要一分钱。你们小小年纪就已体验了社会的丰富多彩。甚至到各国去。对你们的很多都佩服。

我相信在彼此美好的畅想中，我们会有共鸣，那就是对人类对社会的爱。这种爱永恒，无论天荒地老。

虽然你我并未谋面，但我相信，通过我们的沟通，我们会成为好朋友。

此致

敬礼

一来自中国的学生

个人简历：
姓名：张聪
性别：女
出生日期：1985、10、12
籍贯：河北省冀州市
爱好：喜欢看书、运动。
性格：内向但不失活泼，脆弱但不失刚毅
理想：当一位作家。
座右铭：只有奋斗，才能开拓新天地。

[English translation 英文译稿]

To My American Friends

Senior, second year
Class 7
Zhang, Cong
nstructing teacher: Liu, Jianhua

My American friends,

How do you do? I am very glad to have this opportunity to connect with you. Being a young adult with limited life experience, I am eager to broaden my horizons and I have set my sights upon the brave new world. Perhaps it is exactly this curiosity that has connected us.

Perhaps you are like me, one who is fascinated by this world, eager to learn new things. Perhaps you are like me, full of curiosity about China-the vast, plentiful Oriental heartland. Perhaps you are like me, constantly molding and smelting the meaning of "love," which has turned into a driving force for me to study harder, work harder, and love life more.

One of my favorite books is Five Thousand Years, Then and Now. It begins with primordial time, chronicling historical figures and events all the way through one of the greatest disasters in Chinese national history----The Opium War (1839-42). It includes the legendary military heroes Huo, Qubin and Yue, Fei, the great statesmen Zhang, Liang and Zhu, Geliang, and the great emperors Tang Tai Zhong and Kong Xi Di----a long list of "legends and heroes in their own right." These people broke new ground and took their nation to new heights. The history of China is a grand collection of humanity's eternal search for its place in the universe.

Not too long ago, we were still reminiscing and savoring the grandeur of these five thousand years. Five thousand years! It was enough time for Americans to create the blues, and for the Europeans to pass the Cape of Good Hope. Five thousand years! It was enough time for geniuses to develop astronomy, and enough time for the invention of paper making, press printing, the compass and gun powder, yet also enough time for the devastation of E Fang Palace and Yuanming Royal Garden. Five thousand years! Every feeling has been felt, every gesture has been repeated. Five thousand years! It was enough time to start all the beginnings, and finish all the endings. Mt. Everest is a sunken ship that waited for five thousand years, and the People's Heroes Monument is just its mast. The rocks are the hearts that stopped beating, and the doves are the outcries from the passing heroes!

Right now, as the moon hangs in the mid-sky, I send my sadness to the moon: five thousand years of melancholy, five thousand years of time has aged and mystified this Oriental heartland, five thousand years of continuation and connections have mesmerized this ancient Oriental soul. Five thousand years of history, full of Chinese paintings and ancient poetry, but those were dreary landscapes and words of desolation. Secluded within the forests in the paintings were silent streams that whispered in despair, and the dream of an ancient nation was always outlined with a saddened moon. Five thousand years of waiting was like a dream, five thousand years of stares carved the Tai and Kunleng Mountains, and five thousand years of tears have flown into the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers.

Misty rivers whisper the tales of wandering sons, and mountains soaking in the setting sun reflect the generations, past and present. Why have we kept killing for thousands of years? Why were so many humiliating treaties imposed upon us after the invasion of the Western powers? Five thousand years of ancient civilization were ruined in the wars, like strewn flowers lost in the gust. Why did we have to concede Mongolia and the Ryukyu Islands, and endure the pain and sorrow of giving Taiwan away to Japan? We've traveled on the ancient roads across the land for the answers, but the saddened Oriental moon remains silent!

We are meant to be the descendants of our fore bearers. We inherited that ancient moon and have learned the songs that echo ancient magic. We praise the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers-the tears of five thousand years. Our hearts are connected by a five-thousand-year-old common heritage which has been handed down through the generations. We all look forward to the revitalization of our ancient glories.

Taking on that common heritage, I am gradually becoming mature. I understand what history has put on my shoulders. This is the responsibility of every Chinese person. We are warm, open and kind. We yearn for world peace.

In a vast, five-thousand-year-old ancient nation, much has been preserved, and much has been changed. But I believe that what has been preserved is the best of what this country can offer. We human beings, the species that sits on the top of the evolutionary chart, could continue on for generations over millions of years, thanks only to our common wisdom. We can create our world using our own hands, but more importantly, we can listen through our hearts, reflect, and contemplate.

It is not only that we love our country, but our lives are also full of intimacy and love within the family. I was born in an ordinary city. My birth seemed destined to cause some misfortune in my family. Shortly after my birth, my dad got sick. My mom stayed with us, shouldering all of the heavy burdens of life by herself. No one was by her side everyday to listen to her pour her heart out, and no one was there everyday to fend off the mounting hardships. She did all of this for me. She gave all her love to me, the love that can only come from a mother.

Perhaps it is difficult for you to understand, because in America, you are very independent. You learn to earn your rewards through your own work, and never take a penny from your family without doing something for them in return. You experience the real world from a very young age. Some of you even went abroad and have experienced even more. I admire these traditions.

I believe that through this exchange, we can discover something that we have in common. That is our love for the community-the love that has never diminished through the ages, since the beginning of the time.

Even though we have never met, I believe that through this exchange, we can become good friends.

With regards,

A high school student from China

A brief profile of me:

Name: Zhang, Cong
Gender: Female
Born on Oct. 12, 1985
Birthplace: City of Jizhou, Hebei Province
Hobbies: Reading, participating in sports
Personality: Introverted, yet light-hearted; fragile at times but fundamentally strong-minded.
Dream: To become a writer
Favorite quote: New ground can be broken only through struggle

亲情永存

2003-10-18T22:17:00.001-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

高二（10）马燕
指导教师贺兰随

有一种默契叫心照不宣，有一种感觉叫妙不可言，有一种幸福叫有人相伴，有一种想念叫望眼欲穿。
——题记

一盏小油灯在初夏的夜中欢快地跳跃，灯下小矮凳上坐着童年的我和瘦小的外婆。外婆一边把剥好的瓜子仁放到我的唇边，一边轻轻地饶有兴趣的说着什么。我则仰起满载幸福的小脸看着外婆同样幸福的脸。其实，外婆不会讲故事，她如数家珍般述说的是妈妈、小姨、舅舅他们的童年。无论外婆讲什么，对于幼小的我来说都充满未知的神秘。那间因狭小而显得拥挤的小屋便氤氲着亲情，飘荡着温馨。甚至在多年之后的今天，我对那种感觉都有一种说不出的怀恋。

外婆出生在二十世纪二十年代，没有受过教育。然而为了我的启蒙教育，年迈的她费力的学会了十几个简单的汉字。她带着老花镜，用满是青筋得手颤抖地写着，刚刚懂事的我便认真地模仿，一笔一划仔细地写，直到外婆露出满意的笑。

从无知的孩童走到多思的年华，我才悟出，外婆的爱如淡淡的茉莉花香，没有激情飞扬，却是真情永远，许是经历了太多的磨难，许是走过了太多的沧桑，外婆已经没有了那样细腻的感情，她不会亲昵地拥我入怀。而是用淡淡的欣喜的微笑来迎接我的到来。现在想来，外婆对我的要求近乎苛刻，她总是这样教育我：待人要有礼貌，见到长辈要主动问好，不准和小朋友吵架，同龄人之间要互谦互让，总之，同别人在一起就要让人感到快乐，尽管有那么多的“条令”，我还是喜欢跟外婆在一起，所以，那时的我常怀疑外婆身上有魔力。而外婆这些严格的规矩，在我以后的社会交往中让我受益非浅。细想一下，每一条都是弥足珍贵的，它让我身边的每一个人都乐意接受我。

外婆是孤单的，然而正是这样的孤单让外婆对我们的爱愈加深沉。一年四季，外婆都在赶制棉衣、被褥，为这个庞大家庭的每一个成员。没有太多的语言，外婆把她老人家对每一个子女的爱、每一个儿孙的情都缝在厚厚地棉絮中。拿密密的针脚便是外婆积淀的爱韵。

而今外婆走了，只留下那一床床的被褥，一件件的棉衣，温暖着子孙们的心房。在外婆谢世不久的那段日子里，我时常感慨生命的脆弱、易碎，犹如摔落在地的瓷器碎片，犹如风中纷飞无依的花瓣。时常感觉自己是一叶孤舟，飘飘荡荡靠不了岸，亲爱的外婆，您几时才能回来？在那花香飘荡、古乐飞扬的极乐世界，您总算可以歇一歇了。

外婆，您走了，但您的关怀和无声的爱会永远永远保存在我内心深处，所有您的故事会在我的心中一遍遍演绎，那份情也会因您的远去而更加香醇。

当岁月的熏风拂过灵魂的秋水，不必叮咛，生命中已经有了心的感知和交流。想到这儿，泪眼已模糊，飘渺中，又看到了那盏如豆的灯火，那在灯下谈笑的子孙二人。

附姓名：马燕：
性别：女，1985年出生
性格：活泼开朗坚强自信
爱好：读书写作
理想：业余作家
座右铭：做真实的自我

[English translation 英文译稿]

Tenderness Forever

Senior second year
Class 10
Ma, Yan
Instructing teacher: He, Lanshui

There is a harmony where hearts were crossed without a word; there is a magic which is beyond any description; there is a kind of happiness called companionship; and there is a longing like the thirst for water in the desert.

Summer was still young. The little flame in the oil lamp danced in the darkness, my small-framed granny and I were sitting on the little stools by the lamp. She cracked open watermelon seeds and put them on my lips, and in her tender voice, she was telling tales to me. I looked up at her face and sensed happiness there, and I was feeling happy myself. Actually, Granny was not good at telling tales. She was telling me about the childhood of my mom, my aunts and uncles, as if she was showing off the family heirloom. To me-a little thing, that distant past was full of wonder and mystery. That small, cramped room was filled with a strong sense of family and tenderness.

Even after so many years, I still long for that tenderness.

Granny was born in the '20s. She never went to school, yet she struggled to learn a dozen or so simple characters in her twilight years in order to teach me how to write. She would put on her bifocals to write with her unsteady, veiny hand, and I, a little one who just started to learn a thing or two, dutifully followed her every move, one stroke at a time, until a smile broke out on her face.

After growing out of my innocence into an age of a young adult at which millions of thoughts keep racing through my mind, I have now begun to realize that the love from granny was like faint fragrance of jasmine blossoms-subtle but true in essence. Perhaps since she had been through too much hardship and too much coming and going in life, granny had lost that kind of warm, fuzzy feelings. She wouldn't hug me in her arms, instead, she always greeted me with a faint, happy smile. Looking back, granny had disciplined me rather harshly. She always wanted me to be courteous to everyone, greet to the elderly, and not to fight with my friends. She also taught me the rule of give and take among my peers. All in all, according to granny, I should be delightful and make everyone happy wherever I go. Despite bound by these "principles", somehow, I still liked to be with granny, which made I often wonder if granny had some kind of magic aura. Ultimately, I benefited from these principles tremendously in my social interactions in the ensuing years. Comes to think of it, every one of them is precious. They allow everyone in my life to accept me warmly.

Granny was lonely, and yet, it was precisely that loneliness made her love for us all the more profound. Year in and year out, granny was always refitting winter clothing and quilts for everyone in this big household. She never said much; rather, granny stitched all of her love for her children and her grandchildren into those fluffy quilts. Those tiny stitches were the songs of love in her heart.

Now, granny has gone, those quilts and winter clothes she left behind still warm everyone's heart. In the days after her passed away, I often pondered the fragility of life, which seems to me just like smashed china on the ground and flower petals in the wind. I felt like a lonely boat, drifting with the currents, couldn't find the shore of life. Dear granny, when will you be back again? Finally, you can take a break in the heaven above after laboring through your entire life.

Granny, you left us, but your tenderness and silent love will stay with me forever. All your stories will be played again and again in my heart, your memories will be like aged wine, ripened with flavor as you travel farther away from us.

When the wind of age touches upon the souls, there is no need for words, because the hearts have already crossed in their own language. My tears well up as I reflect on this. In my mind's eyes, I could still see a grandma and her granddaughter, telling tales by that flickering oil lamp.

Author: Ma, Yan
Second year Senior High
Instructing teacher: He, Lanshui

Profile:

Female, born in 1985

Personality: Open, fun-loving, firm and self-confident
Hobbies: Reading, Writing
Goal: Amateur Writer
Principle: Be true to yourself

那水那船那人

2003-10-18T22:17:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学李金凤
指导教师张秋印

曾几何时，我喜欢上了用萨克斯演奏的《回家》这首曲子，每次听到它，心中都有说不出的感觉。没办法，我已经好几年没回家了，但岁月的流逝，抹不去我对它的思念。也许为了寄托这份感情，我一直在寻找着某种方式来介绍我的故乡，那个美丽的地方。

我的家乡在湖北省黄梅县的一个普通小镇上，不用说那水便是长江水了，在我的记忆里，长江是朦胧的，就像小人书中的蓬莱仙境（水气大，上空总有雾）,长江是神秘的,小时侯,每次我要到江边去玩时,总会被妈妈牢牢抓住,怎么哭也不让.长大了,我明白长江是两岸人民的母亲河,住在岸边的故乡人都是拿大水桶用扁担从里面担水的.我也去过,水很清澈,担回家,不用特别的处理,只要烧开便可饮用.我曾问过爸爸“江里的水不脏吗?”他说“长江是上天赐给两岸人民的生命之源,他们会像珍惜生命一样,去珍惜这条江,水,怎么会脏呢?”我听后很感动,为人们对这条江的厚爱.时间随着滚滚的长江水流逝着,而两岸人民对长江的情怀,依旧执着.

有水便有船,就像有树林就有小鸟一样.这里的船有大小之分,高大的货船没有靠过我家这边的岸,人们只能用声音来判断它的远与近.也许你会说这呜呜的声音有什么可听的?但对岸边的人们来说却是夜晚这个静寂小镇上最美妙的音乐,岸上的人们已熟悉了这首曲子,倾心谛听,体味着自己平凡而又幸福的生活.与货船相比,岸边的小木船便有些渺小了,船中放着桨,鱼网,还有捞虾用的小笼.它们大多已很久没驶入长江了,人们说要保持生态环境,不能过度捕鱼.因此,小船也只能在自己主人家的鱼塘活动了.不过,人们还是喜欢把它们停在江边,像是怀念过去那捕鱼的生活.小船依旧随着水波上下起伏,默默地记录着水乡人们的情愫.

南方人勤劳、热情,这是我听别人说的,同样,我家乡的人们也具有这样的特点.我在老家住着的那段日子里,每天都能看到天还没有亮便出发,一直干到晌午才回家的人们,或田地,或菜园,或鱼塘,反正是一切能劳动的地方,都能看到人们的身影,他们用自己的辛勤和汗水建设着自己的家园.如果你到我家的小镇上作客,主人一定会很高兴,首先是一顿丰盛的午餐,米饭,鱼自然不会少,菜很多.都是用小瓷盆来盛的,尤其是汤里,你会发现里面有红枣,这表示对客人的欢迎.同时也代表喜庆.然后便是带你去参观游玩了.好去处首选坝上,坝在江边,很高,能看到远处和眼底的一切.当你赞叹眼前的美丽风景时,他们的脸上便会露出灿烂的笑容,因为这一切都是他们劳动的结果.即使无客,他们也很喜欢站在坝上眺望,望着那漫漫的长江水,计划着未来美好的生活.

故乡的歌是一支清远的笛,总在有月亮的晚上响起;故乡的面貌是一棵没有年轮的树,永不老去;故乡的人是一只雄鹰,在属于自己的天空中展翅高飞.

个人简历：
李金凤性别：女
出生：1985年9月 11日
星座：处女座
爱好：看书游泳
理想：战地记者
座右铭：天空不会留下飞鸟的痕迹，但鸟已飞过。

[English translation 英文译稿]

The Water, the Boats, and the People

I do not remember when I started to like a saxophone piece entitled "Coming Home." Every time I heard it, an indescribable feeling would rush over me. I could not help it because I have not been home for several years. But the passing of time cannot erase my longing for it. Perhaps to pay a tribute to the place where I grew up, I have been, for some time, trying to find a way to describe her-a place of beauty in every way.

My hometown is an ordinary small town located in Huangmei County, Hubei Province. It is right next to the Yangtze River. In my memories, the Yangtze always wore a veil of haze, like the fairyland described in children's book-the air is full of moisture, a light fog always hangs above it. The Yangtze is mysterious. When I was little, everytime I wanted to wander off to the river to play, Mom always held me back. No matter how loud I screamed, she never let me go. As I grew up, I gradually realized that the Yangtze is a mother river to those of us who live along her banks. The folks of my hometown all hauled water from the river with big buckets. I used to go there to haul water, too. The water was very clear. In order to drink it, there was no need for any special treatment other than boiling. I once asked Daddy wasn't it too dirty. He replied, "The Yangtze is the well-spring for the river folks. Everyone knows it and treasures it like life. How could it turn dirty?" I was moved by the people's love for this river. Time has passed, like the river rushing towards the east, but the people's ageless love for it has never changed since the beginning of time.

Wherever there is water, there must be boats, just like birds stay with the forest. There were many boats on the river, big and small. The big freight boats never docked on our side of the shore; the boat people usually judged their distance only by the foghorns they sounded. I loved that sound. You probably wouldn't think much of the foghorn, but to people who live along the river, the foghorn is the most beautiful sound echoed around the tranquil little town after nightfall. The sound carried such an intimate familiarity, reassuring everyone in his or her ordinary, yet happy, lives. Compared to the big freighters, the wooden boats on our side of the bank were much smaller. In the boats were oars, fishing nets, and little shrimp trappers. These boats had not been out fishing for quite some time. It was said that the river's ecological system needed to be protected, and excessive fishing was banned. So, fishing boats were taken to the inland fishponds. But, somehow, people still liked to dock their boats in the river as if they missed the good old days when they could take their boats out to the river. Those little boats rose and fell with the gentle waves of the Yangtze, witnessed the lives of the river folk in silence.

Someone told me that Southerners are diligent and warm-hearted, and the folks in my hometown fit that profile. During my stays at home, I had seen people went to work before daybreak and return at noon for lunch every day. They worked in the fields, or vegetable plots, or fishponds. In every possible place where labor was needed, they built their home with diligence and sweat. If you were to come to our little town as a guest, your host would be thrilled. First, they would fix you a big banquet for lunch, steamed rice and fish are staple items and many other dishes, all are brought up in big clay pots. You will find red dates that symbolize hospitality in your soup, they are also a sign of celebration. After lunch, they would take you out for a tour of local attractions. Their favorite place would probably be the big dam. That dam is so tall that everything near and far would be in sight when you stand at the top of it. If they saw that you were taken by the awesome view, smiles would break out on their faces, because everything that you'd see is the result of their labor, and they take great pride in it. Sometimes, they come here by themselves and look out to that endless Yangtze, contemplating and planning.

The song of my hometown is a refreshing flute, it rings upon my ears whenever a bright moon is in the sky. The countenance of my hometown is a tree without tree-ring; it never gets old in my mind. The folks in my hometown are the eagles that open their wings under their sky.

Translator's Note: The author's hometown is in southern China. It is very far away from the school that she is attending, which is located in northern China.

Personal Profile:

Name: Li, Jingfeng
Gender: Female
Born on September 11, 1985
Astrological sign: Virgo
Hobbies: Reading, swimming
Dream job: War correspondent
Favorite quote: There is no trace in the sky but those birds have already flown over.

今夜无眠

2003-10-18T22:16:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学
高一（9）班宋范娥
指导教师宋杏钗

夜，寂静而清冷，
风儿，轻轻的，推开了窗。
吹来的，是清幽的芬芳，
香甜，如您的吻。
吹过了我的脸颊，
温柔，像是您的抚摩，
在整理我散乱的头发。
吹开的，更是那含苞的花，
是我的心，
满满的是牵挂。

夜，静谧而美丽，
月儿，柔柔地挂在天边，
弯弯的是您的腰吗？
轻轻地，
她把一片银光洒下，
女儿身上罩着的轻纱，
是您给披的吗？
星儿，零落也凄寒，
那是您爱我的双眸，
在望吗？

哦，风，你不要再吹了吧！
你整理的，
是我的丝发，
可飘飞的，
却是我的思绪呀！
星儿，你可看见，
她的眼角已有了沟壑，
她的双鬓已染上了霜花，
她的那双凝重的眸子，
已不再清澈了呀！

星儿，风儿，
你听见了吗？
把我的平安送去，
给我的妈妈，
好吗？

后记：

天上是月明星稀的寂静，手中是炽热如火的深情。情至深处，却无处
倾诉，只能将整颗心寄予这静静的夜，只因今夜无眠。

千古情，最深是母爱。

离家时，是她在灯下穿针引线，为我拉出一个黎明；归来时，
是她在巷口无语等待，温暖的眼神为你洗去的一路风尘。

我又何尝不知，这单薄的纸怎能承载得动这份浓厚的牵挂，这
浅薄的文字又怎么能倾诉得尽母爱的伟大，但除此之外，我又该怎样
将这一份深情表达？

作者简历：
宋范娥，女，生于1986年10月。写作和朗诵多次获奖。现担任文学小组报刊编辑。

[English translation 英文译稿]

Sleepless Night

Tonight, calm and cool,
a breeze comes, pushing the window open.
The faint scent of flowers follows,
sweet and intimate, like your kiss,
caressing my cheeks;
tender and gentle, like your strokes,
straightening my hair.
It opens the budding flowers, and my heart,
heavy with longing for you.

Tonight, serene and enchanting,
a delicate crescent moon hangs above the horizon.
Is its contour the curves of your waist?
The moon gently coats the world with a silvery glow.
Is this the translucent satin of a daughter's dress?
Stars, scattered, melancholy and lonesome-
are they your loving gazes at me
from beyond the horizon?

Oh, breeze, please stop blowing!
What you grazed
is my hair,
but what you left behind in your wake
are my yearnings and thoughts, broken and strewn!
Oh, stars, can you see
the crevasses gathering around the corners of her eyes,
the gray creeping up her locks,
and her weighty gazes, no longer lucid!

Oh, stars and breeze,
can you hear the yearnings in my heart?
Can you send my best wishes
to my mother,
please?

Epilogue:

There is a silence accentuated by the bright moon and scattered stars in the sky, and there is a longing ablaze in my heart. There is nowhere for me to pour my heart out except to this silent night sky, making me sleepless tonight.

Among all feelings, the deepest one is the love of a mother.

The night before I left home, she sewed deep into the early morning, and dragged out a brilliant new day for me; the day I returned home, she waited at the entrance of the alley and greeted me without a word, her tender loving gaze washing away the fatigue of my long journey.

Of course I know that this piece of thin paper cannot bear this desperate yearning in my heart, and these words pale in comparison to the magnanimity of a mother's love. But I don't know how else I could express this feeling.

Personal profile:

Song, Faner, female, born October 1986. I have been given many awards for writing and recitation. I am the newsletter editor for my school's literature enthusiast group.

共举一轮明月----寄联谊同学书

2003-10-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学李素省
指导教师卢爱梅

“天的一方是你，
另一方是我。
空中没有划过翅膀的痕迹，
心却飞向了你。”

不经意间，我又想起了这首脍炙人口的歌谣。又是不经意间，我忆起了“春江潮水连海平，海上明月共潮升”这一至真至纯的意境。一切都源自你的一封鸿雁传书，大洋两岸的联谊索被我们紧紧地拉起。

信上说，你在翘盼，翘盼着龙的国度的回音。我也在努力表达，以这番尚不成熟的描述。我的家乡是伟大祖国版图上一个微不足道的地方，但是我自豪，因为它靠近祖国的心脏。我听着祖国母亲强有力的心跳声长大。长江是她滚烫的血液，江水东流，淘去了污秽和杂质。黄河是她甘甜的乳汁，河水浑朴，款款风情孕育了文明和辉煌。我生长在这样的古韵情怀中，吸吮着她的乳汁，涌动着她赋予我的激情。我和小城一同长大。十七年来，我倾心聆听着小城随母亲的心脏一起搏动的声音。它们起始微弱既而强劲，坚定的跳动紧奏着时代的强音。我欣赏着小城同母亲的容颜一起明朗的变化。它令我欣喜而又骄傲。那“酒旗风”的街市已成为文明的长廊，泛着浓厚的时代气息的小城人每天都微笑着迎来送往；那“车马如龙”的巷子已成为康庄大道，崛起之后的小城人随着时代飞奔疾驰。

我没有去过的地方很多，但是我时刻都为母亲的朗山润水所魂牵梦绕。我没有去过西湖，但我知道“楚若西子，浓妆淡抹总相宜”是她的身影，她是母亲最娇美的女儿；我没有去过泰山，但是我明白“会当凌绝顶，一览众山小”是他的肌肉，他是母亲最雄健的儿子；我甚至没有去过长城，它蜿蜒如同巨龙，它是母亲最忠实的卫士。这是我读到的，也是我感受到的。我的衡水湖虽不似西湖，但比西子胜三分，冀州人民用智慧与耐力修建起来的意志长城会扛起和母亲一样重的枪，它是与时俱进的缩影。绿林阴翳，莺花辉映，不只是过去现在，也是将来；古道热肠，求实创新，不仅是冀州人，更是几亿中国人。锐意进取的今天，我们接受了西方的钢琴曲，但也没有淡忘古筝韵，我们接受了个性解放，但也没有否定忠伦之道。我们感谢你们:西方的朋友，是你们让我们学会了借鉴。同时，我猜想，也许正是由于那浓重古朴的中国气息，那一张铜木五弦琴演奏的《高山流水》才引来了你翘盼的目光吧！

中国人善以明月寄祝福，请允许我用最纯正的中国话说一句：长城内外共举一轮圆明月，大洋两岸共叙一腔联谊情。真诚的祝福，明月寄我心，与你四海升平。

我的云中锦书已托出，真诚的你是否收到了信息？

个人简介：
我叫李素省，是高一十班的靓女孩，诞生于1986年1月26日。我具有双重性格，活泼开朗，而有时又矜持忧郁。爱好多元化，闲来听听收音机，有风时骑自行车兜兜风，歇假时做两道小菜，不过，我最喜好的莫过于读文学作品，不仅是中国的，还有外国的，也算是小有学问吧。我的座右铭：读尽天下文学书，爱拼敢搏才会赢。很希望和你牵手，永久做朋友。

[English translation 英文译稿]

Send My Wishes through the Moon
-An open letter to my American friends

Hebei Jizhou High School, Li, Shuxin
Instructing teacher: Lu, Aimei

"Beyond the horizon, I found you,
Beyond your horizon, here I am,
The wings have left no trace in the sky,
But my heart has already flown out to you."

In oblivion, a popular song suddenly rang in my ears. Then, a dream-like rendition of "The Spring Tide Came Upon the Calm Water, A Bright Moon Rose above a Rising Sea" came to mind. All this was triggered by your message. I know that we are now connected by an invisible tie stretching across the Pacific Ocean.

You said in your message that you were waiting, waiting for an answer from the land of the Dragon. I have been searching for words to describe my home, and here is a just a rough outline. My hometown is an insignificant dot on the map of a vast country, but I am proud of it, because it is near the heart of Mother China. I grew up listening to her heartbeat. The Yangtze River is her warm blood, heading east, rinsing out dirt and impurities along the way. The Yellow River is her sweet milk, without a trace of pretentiousness; she gave birth to a civilization and nurtured its glorious past. I grew up in a place that is blessed by her past, nurtured by her milk, thrilled by all of the excitement embedded in her. In the past seventeen years, this small town and I grew up together. I have been listening to the heartbeat of a small town along with the heartbeat of the nation, and it has grown stronger with the change of time. I was thrilled by the facelift of the small town together with the changes happening everywhere in the motherland. It made me happy and proud. Once run-down streets have become a tidy business district, where fashionable residents doing business with smiles on their faces. Once-crowded narrow alleyways have been broadened into major thoroughfares. The upsurging small town is catching up with the times.

I have not been to many places, but I have always been mesmerized by the beauty of the motherland that I read about in books. I have not been to West Lake, whose beauty was immortalized in an ancient poem-"Graceful like Xishi,* as beauteous with or without cosmetics"-she is the most beautiful daughter of Mother China. I have not been to Tai Mountain, whose awesome heights were inscribed in "Looking out from the peak of Tai, the rest of the mountains seem to be ant hills"-he is the strongest son of Mother China. I have not even been to the Great Wall, which twists and turns like a giant dragon-it is the most loyal guardian of Mother China. These were what I have read from the books, and the impression that I have got. Admittedly, Henghu Lake, in my hometown, may not match the beauty of West Lake in the eyes of general population, but her beauty in my mind is no less than that of Xishi. And a great wall built in the hearts and minds of the people of Jizhou would also be a loyal guardian of Mother China. My hometown is a microcosm of time: trees are green and flowers are red, not only in the past and present, but in the future; people are holding on to the old traditions while breaking new ground, not only the people of Jizhou, but also a collective effort of the whole nation. In these transforming times, we would accept the piano music of the West, but we would never forget the rhythm and tunes of our traditional instruments. We would accept the concept of personal freedom, but we would never give up on the teaching of "loyalty, filial piety, kindness, and honor." We are grateful to you-our friends from the West for opening our eyes and minds to learn. In the meantime, perhaps it was the heavy and ancient Chinese atmosphere in "Stalwart Mountain and Flowing Stream,"** played by the ancient five-string instrument, that triggered your curiosity?

Traditionally, Chinese like to convey their sentiments, wishes, and blessings through the bright moon. So, please allow me to follow that tradition and pray that a bright full moon will be shared by all the people across an ancient nation and a friendship will be shared by all young students across the Pacific. My sincerest wishes are sent out to you through the bright moon, and I hope that we can live in peace and harmony forever.

My message was sent. Have you heard me calling?

* Xishi was one of the four legendary beauties in Chinese folklore.

** "Stalwart Mountain and Flowing Stream" is a classical masterpiece played by an ancient string instrument called a zheng.

Personal Profile:

My name is Li, Shuxin, a pretty girl in Senior first year, Class 10. I was born on January 26, 1986. There are two sides to my personality: sometimes, I am playful and happy, sometimes, uptight and blue. I love many things in life: listening to the radio, biking, and, occasionally, making a dish or two. However, the thing that I like the most is reading works of literature, not only Chinese literature, but also foreign works. Truth be told, I have read quite a few books. My guiding principle is to read all the literary works in the world that I can get my hands on, because success can only come from working hard. I sincerely hope that we can hold hands and be lifelong friends.

成长的代价

2003-10-18T22:09:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学刘琳
指导教师耿会青

每次回家都是一样来去匆匆，临行前妈妈又在一旁不停的帮我收拾东西，尽管我总是说“还是让我自己来吧，这些东西学校里用不着”。可妈妈还是不停地忙活，在妈妈看来，女儿一个月就回来一次，妈妈做这些是远远不够的，这就是母爱，平凡而又伟大。

每次返校的心情都是同样的复杂，真不想回学校，三点一线的生活枯燥无味，青春的心灵被囚禁在狭窄的空间内，远离了喧嚣，远离了快乐。可是不回去，我的梦想任何实现？无奈，还得背起行囊踏上求学之路。人生路，莫回头。其实我们一出生，来到这个世界上就踏上了不归之路，只有往前走，是没有退路的。想得到一件你想要的东西，放弃的过程是很痛苦的，一个人过分恋家是无法独闯天下的。我的肩上担负着太多的希望和期待，我不希望三年之后梦依然是梦，我要真实的快乐，我的心中有梦，梦就是一种向上的信念，美丽的梦想和生命一样长，站在岁月的滩头，看到的依然是寻梦者坚定的背影和无尽的足迹在延伸。

离家是成长的代价，父母双鬓的白发，系牵着那只空中飞翔的风筝，我们累了，倦了，无处可逃，家是岸，家是唯一的归宿,家是可以依靠的肩膀，家是永远也看不厌的风景，家是永远也断不了的过去，家又仅仅是父母望你的双眼和墙壁上的老画。

为了家,我要离开，尽管这很痛苦，因为我忘不了临行前奶奶送我时的蹒跚脚步；忘不了爷爷花白胡须里的殷殷叮嘱；忘不了爸爸那饱含爱意而又深沉的目光；忘不了妈妈送儿又盼儿归的慈母心。这其中有太多的依依不舍与无尽的期待。离家是成长的代价，人只有经过痛苦的磨砺才会一步步成长起来。当你在人生的深秋黄叶中漫步遐想，你所能深驻心底的往往不是稍纵即逝的甜蜜和幸福，而是那些刻骨铭心的痛苦。或许你会发现，凡是昔日品味过的具有审美价值的痛苦如今都已变成久酿的陈酒，于苦涩之中充溢着人生的甜蜜和醇厚，你会觉得倘若未体验过那些痛苦，你的人生将何其苍白，何其平淡。

不知何时，眼泪已悄悄地溢了出来，我才发现往事清凉如水，每一分熟悉，每一点细节，都是温馨与暖意。我们曾经相互告诫和叮咛，苦于书海行舟，今日朝花夕拾，才知道记忆里飘落的叶子永远不会发黄，才知道携手走过的日子永远都不会褪色。虽然，我们离开了那个爱的港湾，在求学路上苦苦前行，但离家是成长的代价，前面的路我已明白用怎样的态度走下去，去获得一个无怨无悔的结局。

家，——我心底永远的牵挂。
离家——是成长的代价。

姓名：刘琳
出生日期：1985.10.12
家庭情况：三口之家
个人爱好：读书、写作、幻想
信奉格言：心动不如行动
最大的愿望：和爸爸妈妈一起环游世界

[English translation 英文译稿]

The Price of Growing Up

Liu, Lin
Instructing teacher: Geng, Hiqing

As always, this homecoming was too short. As always, before I left again, Mom was busy packing up for me. Despite the fact that I kept telling her "let me do it myself," or "there is no need for that at school," she kept going. She knew her daughter comes home only once a month, whatever she does wouldn't be enough. This is love from a mother, ordinary, and yet, extraordinary.

The mood on the way back to school was complicated as usual. Life is so dull traveling back and forth between two dots on the map. At school, young minds are confined in a narrow space, far away from the real world, far away from excitement. But if I did not go back, how could I fulfill my dreams? So, reluctantly, I picked up the bundle and was on my way back to school again. Once you commit to a path in life, you can not turn back. Actually, since the moment I was born, I had already been on a path of no return, where there is no alternative but going forward. Once you set your goals, giving up would be very painful. Being too homebound will not lead you anywhere. There are too many hopes and expectations on my shoulders, and I do not want my dreams to still be dreams three years from now; I want something real. I have dreams. Dreams are the driving force for something better, and dreams grow as age grows. Standing at the beach of the ages, all I can see are the firm backs of the dream seekers before me, and the footprints they left behind, which extended all the way to the infinite horizon.

The price of grow up is leaving home, the white hair on my parents' head, tied down that wandering kite in the air. We are all tired, so tired, and there is nowhere to escape but home. Home is the shore, the one and only destiny. Home is the shoulder you can cry on. Home is the scenery that will never bore you. Home is the past you can never sever. Home is simply the eyes of your parents looking out to you, beyond the horizon, and the old paintings on the wall.

Even though it is painful, for my family's sake, I have to leave, because I can not forget granny's wobbling when she saw me off, the send-off words from behind the gray beard of grandpa, the loving gaze from pa and conflicting mood of ma who was sending me to a better school while wanting me to remain home. There is too much connection to home for me to sever it, and too many weighty expectations. The price of growing up is leaving home. Without painful grinding, jade will never be shaped. As you look back in life, often times, the things that stay in your mind are not the moments of fleeting happiness but the pain that cuts into your bones. Maybe you will also find out that the pain that you have gone through has turned out to be like aged fine wine, full of the flavor and texture of living. And if there would not be the pain, how pale, how tasteless life might have been?

I do not know when the tears started running down. Only then did I realize that the past is like a cool spring-every familiarity, and every detail, carries soothing tenderness. We have exchanged our blessings, letting the boat sail off to the sea of books. Now, only as I picked up the fallen flowers that blossomed just in the morning did I realize that the leaves in the memory will never turn yellow, that the days of holding hands will never fade in color. Even though I left the safety of the harbor, facing the unseen storms on the high sea, I realize THE PRICE OF GROWING UP IS LEAVING HOME. I understand what it takes to reach my destiny without doubts and regrets.

Home-The anchor of my heart, forever.
Leaving home-The price of growing up.

Author: Liu, Lin
Birthdate: 10/12/1985
Family: Mom, Dad and me
Hobbies: Reading, Writing, Dreaming
Favorite Quote: Action is better than the action of the mind
Biggest wish: Traveling around the world with Mom and Dad.

我的家乡

2003-10-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学
高一（10）班白玉凤
指导教师郭艳丽

我的家乡，一个小得不起眼的村庄，一个我祖祖辈辈生活的“世外桃源”。这里没有秀美的山川，没有宛如星辰的湖泽----只有一条清澈见底的小溪蜿蜒而过，它哺育着世世代代的家乡人。

在我的家乡，乡亲们朴实憨厚，平凡的如池中之水。披星而出，载月而归，陪伴他们的是那块浸透深情的土地，因而家乡人对土地有一种特殊的情感，家乡的土地承载着他们的喜怒哀乐。

春天来了，小溪上的冰融化了。淙淙的流水伴着叮咚的歌又开始了新的旅程，家乡的一切因她而鲜活了起来。家乡的春天，浓浓绿意沁人心脾。小时候，我总是在想：世界的春天应该是从我的家乡发迹的吧？！从村边柳梢新的嫩芽到家家庭院内枣枝上新发的黄花，从燕子低低的呢喃到小麻雀唧唧喳喳的啁啾，时时处处都透着春特有的气息。最妙的是下点小雨呀！不错的，春雨贵如油。若正赶上农忙的时节，从庄稼地里望去，人们披着蓑带着笠，在雨里默默地耕作着，伴着这淅淅沥沥的雨声，模糊在一片宁静与和谐之中。

夏季，热闹而又寂静。黎明时分，天还没有大亮，人们就扛着锄头下地了，露湿的地头便留下了他们匆忙的脚步。趁着凉爽的天气，他们干得可起劲儿了！到了中午，再见不到热闹的影子：大街上已很少有人走动，正应了家乡人的口头禅儿：“太阳当空照，咱们睡大觉”，他们此刻不正在酣睡么？晚上，那是最有乡村味儿的夜了：大树下，墙角下，随处可见乘凉的人们。小溪里蛙声正紧，伴着此起彼伏的欢笑声……，这一切和着浓浓可餐的乡村夜，演奏出一曲空灵美妙的乡村音乐。若是赶上骤雨初歇，孩子们便拿者竹竿，三五成群，跳着闹着，到村边的柳树下寻知了去了。

秋，是收获的季节。从田埂上放眼望去，一片金黄的海洋，在飒爽的秋风中起起落落，化作家乡人嘴边甜甜的笑。人们此刻最想做的，就是掬一株谷穗，揉碎，躬腰嗅一口收获的味道，那是大地母亲幽幽馨香，是家乡的味道。然后，尽情地享受丰收带来的快意。这时节，落叶也开始飘零，家乡多杨柳而无松柏，怎耐得住秋的脾性----凋敝！一场萧瑟的秋雨过后，就只剩下了光秃秃的树干，令人好不伤感。

冬，挥舞着严寒的锋镝利刃，所到之处，万物廖廖。家乡田野里往日的劲草在冬的威严下渐渐枯萎了。而雪----上帝的天使被派来医治大地母亲的伤痛。先是稀稀落落的几朵雪花，纷纷扬扬，扬扬纷纷，匆匆匆，簌簌簌，天地变成一片精灵的海洋。好一种不可抑制的灵动！那高洁纯雅的白，那空灵翩跹的舞，怎不醉人心神？雪后，屋檐上，树干上，地面上，都盖上了厚厚的一层“纯白棉被”，全不见了先前那伤痛的踪影。孩子们究竟是坐不住了，跑出屋子，与雪编织一个接一个的美妙童话。家乡的小溪这时也悄悄地收藏了往日的欢笑，将静谧融于这白色的童话世界，静静地等待着来年春天的欢腾。

家乡，是心上那一角最美的天堂。家乡的四季，是画般的景致，诗般的意境，更是返朴归真，勤劳朴实的情韵。

我爱我的家乡，更爱我家乡独有的种种风情。

作者简介:
白玉凤男
爱好: 读书看报打乒乓球
座右铭: 没有一个伟大的人格，就不可能有伟大的思想家、活动家。

[English translation 英文译稿]

My Home Village

My home village is a small paradise where generations of my ancestors lived. It cannot claim a picturesque green mountain or rushing river nearby, nor does it have beautiful wetlands; there is only a clear stream winding through it, but this has nurtured generations of villagers.

In my home village, folks are sincere and virtuous; they are simple and ordinary, just like that clear water in the stream. They go to work with the stars over their heads, and return home with the bright moon shining on their backs. Because the land accompanies them on their journeys, they have developed a unique relationship with it-the land has witnessed their happiness, rage, sadness and joy.

Spring comes, and the ice that covers the stream melts away. The bubbly stream once again begins its journey. The renewed stream awakens everything in the village. In the springtime, my home village is cloaked in a refreshing new green. When I was little, I often wondered, "Does spring start at our village?" From the budding willows at the edge of the village to the little yellow blossoms breaking out on date trees in every courtyard, from the whisper of the swallows to the chirping of the sparrows, you can feel the refreshing breath of spring everywhere. Most pleasing is the drizzle that often follows! The old saying is true: "spring rain is invaluable." When the planting season arrives, you can see the people with grass rain-capes and bamboo hats working the fields in the rain. The whole world is quiet, except for the sound of the raindrops.

Summer alternates between lively scenes and quiet moments. Right around daybreak, when the sky is still dark, people go to the fields, their footsteps echoing on the dew-soaked dirt path. They work hard while the day is still cool. As midday approaches, it all quiets down, with hardly anybody out on the streets. Folks always say, "Sun hits the midday, men hit the pillow"-now, it is time for an afternoon nap. After nightfall is a time full of country flavor: under the old trees and against the walls, you see people everywhere coming out in droves to cool off. A chorus of the frogs around the stream mixes into the rise and fall of laughter-a typical charming night of a farming community. Sometimes, after a storm has passed, flocks of kids will rush to the willows on the edge of the village with bamboo sticks to catch cicadas.

Autumn is the season of harvest. Standing at the edge of the fields and looking out, you see an ocean of golden waves in the cool, autumn breeze-a scene that will make anyone smile. Folks like to grab an ear of grain, grind it between the palms, and sniff the flavor of harvest: the aroma of Mother Earth and the flavor of home. Later, the folks will harvest the crops. Meanwhile, the leaves start to fall. There are not many evergreens around the village, so when autumn hits with full force, all leaves start to wither away. One cold autumn rain later, all leaves are gone. How depressing!

Winter waves its sharp-edged sword; wherever it reaches, everything shrivels and wilts. The weeds in the field dry up, and snow, nature's healing ambassador, arrives. Initially, it is just a few flakes, and then it grows and grows. Suddenly, the whole world is full of little dancing white fairies-a scene that touches your heartstrings! That noble pure white; that free-spirited dance; how can you not be dazzled? After the snow stops, everything is covered by a "white comforter," and all of the winter melancholy suddenly disappears. Kids rush out of their houses and create their own fairy tales in the snow. That little stream has quietly fused into that magic silvery world, waiting for the jubilation of the coming spring.

My home village is a paradise in my heart. The rotating seasons are the spirit of paintings and the essence of poetry-a song of returning to simplicity, virtue, diligence and honesty.

I love my home village, and I love its charm and grace even more.

Personal Profile

Bai, Yufeng, male

Hobbies: Reading books, newspapers, playing ping-pong.

Favorite quote: Without great character, one cannot become a great thinker and activist.

故乡行

2003-10-18T22:05:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学高二七班李莉
指导教师孙庆娥

近了,近了,汽车一声欢快的长鸣,载着我那颗长了翅膀的心,渐近了我那美丽的故乡.我睁大眼睛,仔细的寻觅着故乡的春.怎样的清秀明丽啊,那是一幅幅荡漾着绿,酝酿着情的水灵灵的淡彩画.

故乡的碧玉带----滏阳河

滏阳河,犹如一位伟大的母亲,哺育了一代又一代勤劳质朴的中华女儿.它像一条晶亮透明的碧玉带,镶嵌在故乡的怀抱里.也许,它比起威尼斯水巷还更有特色,更有风致.每当我在河边逗留,便会感到它那种独特岁月的魅力.它开通于清朝,经历了一百多年的风风雨雨.

河里的水清清的,一阵微风吹来,泛出粼粼的波纹,小河中间架起了一座雕刻精制的小桥,河对面的农家院里,开满了迷人的鲜花.这些临水而筑的小平房屋顶上,低低的烟囱里升腾着袅袅的浓烟……真像古人所描写的那样充满了小桥,流水,人家的诗情画意,给人以幽静,素雅的感觉.

小河是那样的宁静,偶有小木船划过,江水在微微蕴皱那每一弯涟漪中，都荡漾着母亲的柔情不知何时飘起了纷飞的细雨，在江面上笼起一层透明的纱网。放眼望，一片烟雨空蒙，水天相连。远看不见尽头，那天边只有云头，远看不见树那水上只有小舟。望着着迷离广阔的天光水色，我心灵的门窗都豁然向它敞开。

故乡的绿宝石----田野

蒙蒙细雨中，我被载到广阔的田野间，坐在飞驰的汽车里，满眼的鲜绿，或浓或淡。两边的麦田里，滴翠的秧苗在大地铺开一片绿色得锦绣，绿的亮油油，绿的水灵灵，难画难述。细雨飘飘，像淡淡的清雾，像飘忽的薄烟，把一片鲜绿的景色染的朦朦胧胧，显出少有的柔和恬静。细雨融化了那片鲜亮的绿，把雨幕也染上了淡淡的绿纱，这绿纱在扩展着，蔓延着

眼前全是蒙上一层清亮绿纱的空灵世界。

汽车在飞驰着，眼前时而瞥见一个明净的池塘，雨丝溅在上面，激起一朵朵银白色的水花，时而又映出一片片树林。清秀的杨树修长挺拔，与婆娑的垂柳相依，勾勒出一片腾空的新绿。雨打树叶发出悦耳的沙沙声，奏出一个欢快的旋律。目之所及，一片水灵灵的翠绿，我的心也感到一阵透彻的清凉。

故乡的安乐所----小镇

到了，到了，汽车一声如释重负的欢叫，把我带到了这个清清净净的小镇。

街上的行人寥寥无几，我沐浴着飘飞的细雨，慢满走在路上。石子铺的街道被冲洗的清清亮亮，踏上去发出悦耳的声响，一座座小院静静的在街两旁耸立，任凭雨滴玩耍，一座座小巧的院落中，会偶尔闪出一从繁茂的石榴枝，绿叶间，红色的花点缀其间，千种风情竟相绽放。我要把故乡的一草一木尽收眼底。

眼前的小镇，宁静而又玲珑。望着它，越发感到它的亲切，它的秀丽。

真是世上风光千般秀，天下最美是故乡。

作者简介：我叫李莉，1986年3月29日生于中国河北冀州市一个小城镇里，现在冀州中学就读。我喜爱读书，写作，爱好运动，交友。我热爱自然，喜欢家乡的一草一木，一山一水，希望借此良机，能同真诚的你交朋友，让友谊跨越国度，跨越种族，用我们的手挽起友好的桥梁，共同拥有太阳的温暖。

[English translation 英文译稿]

Hometown impression

Senior second year
Class 7
Li, Li
Instructing teacher: Sun, Qinge

It was getting closer now. The bus was taking my eager heart towards my beautiful hometown. My eyes widened, drinking the Spring that spilled out from that familiar landscape. It was so surrealistic and elegant, just like a collection of romantic watercolor floating with a haze of green hue.

Jade belt-Fuyang River

Fuyang River is like a tireless mother, nurturing generations of diligent and modest people living along her banks. She is like a lucid, clear jade belt tucked in the arms of my hometown, distinct and charming. She reminds one the water channels threading through Venice. Every time I wandered by her, I could always sense a unique attraction that can only develop over time. She was constructed in Qing Dynasty more than one hundred years ago.

Water was perfectly clear and still. The passing breeze rippled it up and disturbed its tranquillity. In the middle of the river was a small bridge with intricate stone carvings. Across the bridge, I could see some of the blooming flowers that decorated the courtyards. Light cooking smoke rose from the chimneys on the roofs of the little farmhouses along the riverbank-a perfect poetic rendition of "that little bridge, that flowing water, and that little farmhouse" written by an ancient poet, peaceful and simplistic.

It was quiet on the river. Occasionally, a small wooden boat or two passed by, and there was a kind of tenderness in the ripples left behind. Suddenly, light drizzle started falling; it instantly covered the river with a hazy veil. I looked up. The drizzle danced in the air and the distant horizon along with the trees that lined the riverbanks disappeared into an infinite gray fog, and only a little boat was still visible. My heart opened to this infinite openness.

Emerald-The fields

In the midst of the drizzle, I found myself surrounded by the wide-open fields. The bus sped up again, the green of different shades rushed into my view. The sprouting wheat giving off a bright, dripping green that was difficult to paint and describe. The drizzle came down hard again, it danced like a fog, rendering a light haze to the world of green. It softened the contrast of things. Now, even the drizzle itself seemed to be carrying a permeating greenish hue. In no time, a green veil covered the whole world.

The bus continued to dash forward. The raindrops started getting bigger. I could see the splashes they made in a small pond on the roadside. Next came a small forest. The tall, straight and slender Aspens next to charming, seductive Willows outlined a sky in a fresh green-a green that can cleanse you from inside out.

Cozy nest-The small town

It's here! The bus let out a sigh of relief, brought me into this quiet small town.

There were only a few people out on the street. I walked slowly in light mist. Pebble stone streets were completely washed clean, and there was a crisp sound in every step I made. On both sides of the street there stood quietly two lines of small, intricate courtyard. Once in a while, I was startled by an outreaching pomegranate branch that had fought its way out of the walls. Its bright crimson blossoms flashing amongst the green leaves. I remind myself to take it all in for every twig could carry a thousand unspoken words about your hometown.

In my eyes, this peaceful and delicate small town seems even more beautiful and intimate.

Every place has its claim of fame, but no where in the world is closer to my heart than is my little hometown.

Author: Li, Li. Female. Born March 29, 1986 in a small town near the City of Jizhou, Hebei Province, China. I am a student at Jizhou High School. I like to read, write, and I love sports. I like to make friends. I love nature, and I love every hill, every stream and every tree in my hometown. I would like to take this opportunity to make friends with you and let the goodwill cross the national borders, cross race. Let us hold hands and build bridges. Let us all share the warmth of the sun.

心中的净土——衡水湖

2003-10-18T22:02:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学高二 2 李松
指导教师李存青

序：一种情结是永存的，一种精神是永恒的。没有无忧无虑的童年，没有勤劳朴实的人民，没有美丽幸福的生活，便没有衡湖诱人的美丽。岁月花絮般飘走，可以飘去我的青春，却不可以带走衡湖在我心中的位置——一片净土，一片永恒的净土。

一

打开地图，衡湖地处冀州市衡水市交界，象蛋黄嵌在衡水地区南边。外地的人乘上106国道的公共汽车，即可粗略的领略到它的风姿：轻柔的芦苇，稀疏的倩柳，古朴的长堤，游动的藻荇，苍绿班驳的水草，簇拥典雅的蒲塘，碧青开阔的水面，纷飞群舞的水鸟……若想进一步感悟衡湖，则要在湖边下车，安排好一切，但对于我——生活在湖畔的人，只要走几步便如愿以偿了。

踏着未消的暑气，穿过狭长的巷，崎岖的路，来到湖的一条分支——一条未名的河道，领略衡水湖就像倾听一个古老的故事，我选择一条老旧的木船，日已西偏的傍晚。舟缓缓冲开水面，篙点起水花，留下片片涟漪。水面散着余热，腾起阵阵水气；水草吐着水泡，夹着淡淡草，平添几分诗意。衡水湖！靠近你，如徐志摩先生的诗：“轻轻的我走了，正如我轻轻的来。

二

船慢慢加快，岸仍缓缓后退，岸上低矮的鸭舍象蠕动的蜗牛向后爬去。村落渐渐模糊。再转过一座石桥，村落终于不见了。水道却见宽。这里，水草密集，水并不深，岸上是宽广的草甸子。因水草多，水浅，水草便微露着头，头上会偶尔立一二只蜻蜓。静景乱人情，不仅勾起我童年的往事。

孩童时，几个小伙伴常来放牛。牛很温顺，常常几个聚在一起亦吃草亦闲叫。大牛还会给小牛舔平乱毛。几个男孩常下水游玩。

“快来看呀！我捉住了一只蜻蜓。”一个已下水的男孩扬手大叫。他是我的好友二牛。今天他第一个抢到水边，但不小心，滑了一跤，却偏偏有一只更不小心的蜻蜓，翅膀浸着水，飞不高，被捉住。其他几个人凑过来瞧，就都夸他神勇。他得意够了，就把蜻蜓慷慨的放在地上，并拍着说：“小蜻蜓，回家吧。”蜻蜓拖着湿翅膀爬走了，我们也找寻新的乐趣去了。

三

再前行，到了河口。入口上是一座106国道穿过的桥。原来。近村人就有在桥旁公路侧卖虾的卖鱼的。现在这里被旅店，饭馆，企业取代。我们自不会再买到东西，可人们的生活却好得多了。

四

过了桥口，衡水湖宽广的湖面便真个呈现在眼前了。夕阳的余辉洒下来，粼粼的水面被银光劈成两款，半湖瑟瑟半湖红；彩云挂在红霞满天的天幕上，颇似一幅油画。湖边可觅到水草的影子，又多了一种叫“香蒲”的植物，据说其叶可以编席，一片片散生在湖边，形成蒲塘。这时节里，香蒲便从绿蕾中抽出蒲棒，鹅毛般的绒棒，挺立在水上，四溢清香。我便常采来，一捧捧的。

如果说整个衡水湖是一个聚珍汇宝的河蚌，长堤是蚌边暗条纹，夕阳是蚌中红珍珠，那么绿藻便是点缀其中的绿玉，荧火闪动。绿藻是浮萍，初夏韵味未浓时，她们便在河边聚集，层层叠叠，农家人常用它们做鸡呀鸭呀的饲料。

五彩的翠鸟立于苇干，成群的水鸭掠过湖，使我想起王勃的“落霞与孤鹜齐飞”一诗。绿藻又飘满了湖边。堂姐常常撑船打捞它们作为鸭的美食，我也常跟去，只不过跟去玩。这时，二牛也去，因为他的叔叔捕鱼。他的叔叔叫海林。一个手很巧的人，会编各种东西换些零用钱，撒鱼的网便是他自己编的。

五

海林叔来了，粗壮的臂膀展现青春的魄力，微笑的脸洋溢着青年特有的朝气。二牛怎么没来？“海林叔，二牛呢？”话没说完，突觉船摇的厉害，一会，不远处，钻出一个光溜溜的身子，不是二牛是谁？堂姐假装用细竹篙打他，他一猛子扎下去，不知去向，只剩了嬉笑声回荡。我大喊：“二牛，我们比赛捉鱼”同时“扑通”跳入水中。他的小脑袋又露出水面，笑着说：“好！我来喊开始”随着一个“好”字没说完，我们都没入水。一会，不知是我运气好，还是鱼霉气十足，我竟先抓住一条，我喜出望外，大喊：“二牛，我捉住一条”他不信，：“拿来看看。”我高兴的扬起手，不小心鱼竟跑了。二牛哈哈大笑，并缓缓从背后掏出一只河蚌

要和我定胜负，二人又泼水，打闹成一团。日已偏西，衡湖的小船消消散去，农人的暗灰的身影在暮青天色里竟高大之极。

　　“鸟倦飞而知还“。鸟儿返巢了，人也该回家了，拨转竹篙，又荡轻波。

六

　堤上垂柳被风挑逗着，与童年影绰嬉戏，扰人心绪。我想衡湖虽无洞庭的开阔，无日月潭的清秀，也无白洋淀的优美，但它滋养了我的童年，养育了湖畔的人们，它教人用智慧和双手去建设美好的生活，这是一种精神，它流淌在衡湖人们的血脉中，并将继承发扬下去。衡湖的人们一定会用双手托起衡湖崭新的朝阳。

　　怀着这样美好的回忆和情怀，我告别了衡湖—心中永恒的净土。

个人简介：
李松，男，1986年生人。16岁。
喜欢听音乐、读书、画画，也喜欢足球、篮球、乒乓球等体育运动。
喜欢交朋友，帮助他人。懂得热爱生活、珍惜青春、珍惜时光。热爱家人、班级、学校及身边的人。更热爱自己的家乡和祖国。崇尚爱因斯坦的智慧、贡献和人格。认同他的那句话：“我之所以活着，是因为不停的思考。”

[English translation 英文译稿]

Hen Shui Lake-A land of innocence

Senior second year
Class 2
Li, Song
Instructing teacher: Li, Chunqing

There is a connection that will last forever, there is a spirit that will never die. Without that worry-free childhood, without hard-working and simple folks, without beautiful, happy lives, there will be no beauty in Hen Hu Lake. The years come and go, taking away the flowers of yesteryears; they could take my youth, too. But they can never take away the Hen Hu Lake in my heart-a land of innocence, a land of innocence forever.

I

If you open an atlas of Hebei, you will find Hen Shui Lake which borders the city of Ji Zhou and the city of Hen Shui, like an egg yolk nestled in the south of Hen Shui District. People from outside could get a glance of her beauty by simply taking a bus on 106 National Highway-tender reeds bend in the breeze, willow scattered along the bank, a long dike, an ancient waterworks, floating algae, green pondweed, "fragrant reeds" fields next to one another, wide open water, and flocks of waterfowls-but if you want to sense the pulse of the place, you have to get off the bus and make an arrangement with the tour guide. But to me-the one who grew up by the lake, the reality is just a few steps away.

The heat of the summer had yet retreated, I threaded through a long, narrow unpaved alley, and came to an unnamed waterway connected to the Lake. Understanding Hen Hu Lake is like listening to an ancient story. One evening when the sun was setting, I decided to get to know her one more time by getting on an old wooden boat for a joy ride. The boat slowly broke out the water, the driving stick rippled up the water just a little. The Lake gave off the heat it absorbed during the day, puffs of steam rose from it; and pondweeds was bubbling as they shedding off a few branches, adding a sense of tranquillity to the scene. Hen Shui Lake! I am closing in on you, like the way Mr. Xu, Zhimo described in his poem: "Gently I go, just like gently I came."

II

The boat sped up a little, and the shore retreated, along with the little duck houses that lined the bank. The view of the village gradually blurred. Passed under a stone bridge and the village disappeared from behind. The channel broadened. Here pondweed was thriving in the shallow water, prairie land along the banks. Because water was shallow here, pondweeds stood above the water where a few dragonflies hovered-a scene that stirred me, calling a few things from my childhood to mind.

When I was little, my friends and I often took the water buffalo herds here. The buffalo were rather docile. Often they gathered up to grazed on the prairie, sometimes grunting out of boredom. Big ones would comb the little ones with their tongues. The boys often went swimming there.

"Look! I caught a dragonfly." A boy shouted, showing his catch. He was my good friend Er Niu. That day, he was the first one rushing towards water, he was not careful and he slipped and fell. Somehow, he met an even more careless dragonfly that had accidentally dipped its wing in water, could not fly high, and he caught it with bare hands. Other boys run towards him and took a close look, everyone gave him a thumbs up. After Er Niu soaked up enough glory, he put the fly on the ground, and tapped on the ground: "Little dragonfly, go home." The fly dragged its wet wings, crawled away. Then we too, left to look for some new excitement.

III

Going forward, we reached the mouth of the river. Above our heads was a bridge on 106 National Highway. In the past, people from nearby villages set little stands beside the Highway near the bridge, selling shrimp and fish. Now, this place was completely taken over by hotels, restaurants, and companies. There was nothing we can buy here now, but life was getting much better.

IV

As the boat passed the bridge, the broad Hen Shui Lake would suddenly opened up in front of you. The setting sun split the water in half, half dark and half red; flaming clouds lit up the western sky, just like an oil painting. Near the shoreline, there was still more pondweed, and one more variety called "fragrant reed". Someone said its leaves could be used to make straw mats. They scattered around near the shore and formed reed fields. This time of year, fragrant reeds started flowering. Its crown, a rod with fluffy hair, which stands above the water, gives off a faint fragrance. I picked a few, and made a bundle.

If you imagine Hen Shui Lake as a fresh water pearl clam in which treasures were hidden, that ancient dike must be the mouth of the clam, that fiery globe sinking on the western horizon must be the red pearl, and green pondweed the shining emerald. The pondweed clogged the waterways in the early summer. Villagers often use the weed to feed chickens and ducks.

Egrets stood among the reeds while flocks of wild ducks flew over the lake, a scene that reminded me of "clouds fly with an egret into the sunset" by Wang, Bo, an ancient poet. My cousin often took her boat out to harvest pondweed for the ducks; I always tag along, but for fun. Er Niu also went because his uncle Hailin is a fisherman. Uncle Hailin had hands of a true craftsman, he could make a lot of little thing out of bamboo and straw, selling them to the tourists for pocket change. He made his own fishing nets.

V

Uncle Hailin came, the muscles on his arms flexing with his youthful, inexhaustible energy, and he flashed a smile at us. But why didn't I see Er Niu? "Uncle Hailin, where is Er Niu?" I had not finished my sentence, when, suddenly, we felt a big rattle-someone was under our boat! A while later, a shirt-less body came out of the water, not too far away. Sure enough, it was Er Niu! Cousin pretended to beat him with a bamboo stick. He dove into the water again, and nowhere to be found, only his laughter echoed. I jumped into the water and his head reappeared. "Er Niu, let's see who can get fish first!" I shouted. "OK!" I said: "Let's go!" Before I said "go", we both dove away. I don't know if it was my lucky day, or it was a bad day for fish, but a short while later, I caught one which surprised even me. I shouted. "Er Niu, I caught one!" He did not believe me. "Show me." He said. I wave the fish with exuberance, but let the fish slip out of my fingers. He laughed out loud and showed me a clam he got.

We fought in the water by splashing water at each other, we got to have a winner somehow. It was getting late, little boats on the lake started heading home. Against the backdrop of darkening sky, the villagers figures loomed huge.

"A bird knows return when it is exhausted." Birds were returning their nests, we should also go home. My cousin turned the boat, riding the gentle wave of the Hen Shui Lake.

VI

The willows on the dike danced in the wind, and teasing the memories of childhood, stirred something in my heart. Hen Shui Lake is not as big as Dong Ting Lake, not as pretty as Sun-Moon Lake, and not as elegant as White Lake, but she nurtured my youth, and continues to nurture the people who live by her. She teaches people to build their lives with their own hands. That spirit is flowing in the blood of the lake folks. It will be passed on and on, and they will make a brand new world on this ancient, sacred ground.

It was with these beautiful memories and reflections, I said goodbye to Hen Shui Lake-a land of innocence, a land of innocence forever in my heart.

Author: Li, Song; Born in 1986

I like listening to music, readings, sketching, also love to play soccer, basketball, and table tennis. I like to make friends, helping others. I love life, and treasure youth and time. I love my family, class, school and everyone around me. I love my hometown and love my country even more. I admire Albert Einstein for his intelligence, contribution to the mankind, and his noble character. I agree with what he once said, "I live because I never stop thinking."

下辈子还做父女

2003-10-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

河北冀州中学陈方平
辅导教师张宝玉

我在这个世界活着，最让我感到幸福的原因，就是在远方的一个角落，有个人无时无刻在惦记着我。这个人就是我的父亲。
我真的不敢说父亲是一个伟大的人，因为，他实在是太平凡了，没有太高的文化，充其量只是高中水平，没有精明的头脑，因为它有时傻得令人无可奈何。更何况他是一个穷得叮当响的农民，有谁会看得起一个天天灰头土面的庄稼汉呢？

然而，我敢对天喊一声：“我的父亲是天底下最好的父亲！”
中国人的想象力真是丰富，他说一个人要经几世轮回才能做成人。如果这一轮回结成父女，生活幸福，下一轮回还可以继续做父女。我一向不相信这些无稽之谈，然而对这个说法，我情愿相信这是真的，因为我还想再与父亲续上一段情缘，走完一段段人生路，直到一万年。

小时候，我感到最亲切的是父亲那宽阔的背，下雨天是我最幸福的时刻。思绪回到了我小学时那间破旧的校舍，我正坐在二年级教室读着那首古老的唐诗：“春眠不觉晓，……”，不知不觉，窗外哗哗下起了雨。突然，我从窗口望见了父亲，他一动不动地站在风雨中，如同一株与风雨搏击的白杨。他在做什么呢？也许他在从那朗朗的读书声中寻找一丝女儿的声音。看到父亲，我便更大声地读了起来，希望他真能听到女儿的声音。终于放学了，我冲进雨幕，奔向父亲，父亲迅速蹲下，让我钻进他那肥大的雨衣中，我依偎在父亲的背上，感受着他那令人温暖的气息，听着他脚下蹚泥水的哗哗声，伴着他均匀的呼吸，我陶醉了。不管雨衣外面的世界多么可怕，我都不会有丝毫的畏惧，父亲那宽阔的背让我感受到了极大的安全。父亲的脊背，不知伴我走过了多少雨天，真的，好喜欢好怀念在父亲背上的感觉。

春去秋来，年复一年，我从一个幼稚的孩童慢慢的长大，而岁月在父亲额头不停的勾勒着生活的痕迹，越来越深。那年，我离开了家，去了几十公里以外的县城读书。伴着知识的增加，我与父亲的言语却越来越少了，没有在他怀里亲昵的撒娇，不再渴求父亲让我在他肩上依偎的片刻，不再与他共同商讨学习，更不愿坐下来与他促膝交谈，甚至和他单独在一起都感到很别扭，总是想方设法逃避。我不知道为什么，但我知道我和父亲之间有了代沟。然而这一切，敏感的父亲并未介意，依然无微不至的关怀着我。

然而，那一次，我的心颤栗了。那天，夜很静，墨蓝的天空中没有一颗星，黑暗笼罩着整个世界。我们一家四口难得坐在一起看会儿电视节目，电视里有趣的画面挑动着每个人的兴奋腺，每个人都是那样快乐。过了一会儿，父亲悄悄的离开了椅子，溜进了我的房间，我好奇怪，便从窗外头看他在屋里到底干什么。天哪！我真不敢相信自己的眼睛:父亲在翻我的书包，他已经掏出了我的日记本，我再也看不下去了，生气的踹门而入，叫嚷道：“你干吗？你怎么能这样！”。我狠狠的夺下过他手中的日记本，使劲的摔在衣柜的玻璃门上。玻璃碎了，四分五裂的镜面照着我愤怒发疯的脸，映着父亲痛苦尴尬的颜，我捡起了本子拼命的撕扯着，直到成为一地碎片。我瘫坐在床上抽泣着：“你凭什么私自看别人的日记？”父亲站起身来，用颤抖的声音说：“我还什么都没看到，妮，你怎么还和爸隔心呢？”父亲叹了口气，向外走去。“咣啷”，有一块玻璃掉了下来，父亲猛地停下来，然而没有回头，步履蹒跚地走了出去。我泪眼婆娑的望着那位我辛劳而佝偻的身影，越来越模糊，我的心碎了，好痛。

第二天早晨，我便回校了，走时，没有和父亲说一句话。

又到回家的时候了，犹豫再三，我决定不再回家，往家打电话时是父亲接的。我告诉他下周学校要考试，，自己要留在学校复习。我那冷冷的声音让父亲沉默了好久，半晌，他才说：“复习重要，我让同学给你捎生活费去。”我茫然若失地挂断了电话。

夜里，我独自一人趴在宿舍里难以入睡。望着窗外的星星，忽然想起了小时候父亲在星星下面给我讲的故事，他还告诉我，那颗最小的星星就是我。他想我的时候就看看那颗小星星。

“父亲”，我不由得在心里喊了一声。

我的泪又来了，泪光中我又看见了那块破碎的玻璃，渐渐的，它变成了父亲那颗被我摔碎的心，“我是不是太过分了？父亲!”我冲着天空深情地呼唤了一声。第二天便满怀着自责与悔恨，登上了回家的客车，我要跪在父亲的脚下，乞求他的原谅。

然而，到了家，却寻不到父亲，看到的是门框上白色的挽联，看到的是母亲那无助哀愁的眼神。父亲进医院了。昨夜，瘫痪的爷爷的卧室突然着了火，红红的火光照亮了半边天，父亲冲进了火海中，亦倒在了浓烟中。爷爷！父亲！

在父亲的病床前，看着父亲那缠满纱布的脸，我乞求他的原谅。

父亲告诉我，他在火海中，和爷爷相约：下辈子还做父子。我依偎在父亲的肩上，父亲搂着我，紧紧地，我也和他约定;下辈子还做父女。

简介:

姓名陈方平
性别女
年龄 17
性格活泼、开朗
爱好读书、交友
座右铭自助者天助

[English translation 英文译稿]

A father and a daughter

Chen, Fangping
Instructing teacher: Zhang, Baoyu

One thing that makes me feel most happy living in this world is that I know I am constantly on someone's mind far away. That is my father.

I can not claim that my father is a man of any great importance because he is indeed an ordinary person. He did not have much education, he was a plain high school graduate and not a particularly smart one-sometimes he would make you throw up your hands and quit. Not to mention the fact that he is a poor farmer, and who would give a damn about a farmer with dirt on his face these days?

But, I dare to declare: "My father is the best father on the face of the earth!"

Chinese culture is rich in imagination. It was said that a person needs to go through several life cycles in order to be a real person. And if a father and a daughter get alone in this life, then they will be father and daughter in next life cycle. I had never believed in that nonsense. But now, I wish it to be true, because I want to re-connect with my father in my next life, and the life thereafter, and to live out all my cycles for the next ten thousand years.

When I was little, what made me feel close to him the most was his broad back, particularly on the rainy days. I remember one day when I was a second grader, I was sitting in that shabby schoolhouse and reading an ancient poem of Tang Dynasty "It Is Hard to Wake Up to Spring Mornings…" I did not know when it had started to rain. Through the window, I suddenly saw my father. He stood there like an aspen in the storm. What is he doing? I thought. Maybe he is trying to find his daughter's voice in the chorus of reading schoolchildren? I read even louder, hoping he could hear me. When the class was finally over, I rushed out into the rain toward him, and he squatted down and let me climb onto his back under his huge raincoat. My face was against his back and I could felt the warmth of his body. Listening to the splashes he made under his feet as he wading through the muddy water, and his even, rhythmic breath, I was mesmerized. No matter how threatening the storm was outside, I had no fear. My father's broad back made me feel safe. I can not remember how many rainy days when he took me on his back and walked home. Honestly, I love and miss the feeling riding on his back.

As years went by, I gradually grew out of my innocence. Meanwhile, time had left its marks on my father's forehead, and those lines got deeper and deeper. One year, I left home for a boarding school in the county seat a few dozen miles away. The more I learned in the school, the less father and I talked. I no longer threw myself in his arms and climbed onto his shoulders, we did not talk about my studies, I did not want to have one-on-one conversation with him, even felt awkward being alone with him, and I always tried to find excuses to leave. I did not know why, but I knew that a "generation gap" had developed between us. Yet my sensitive father did not take that into his heart, and still cared about me down to the smallest details.

But one incident hurt me deeply. It was a quiet, starless night, the whole world was covered by the darkness. My whole family, all four of us, sat together in the courtyard and watched an interesting program on TV. Everyone was hooked and we had a good time. After a while, father left his seat and snuck into my room. I was intrigued, and looked into the room through the window. My God! I could not believe my eyes-he was going through my backpack, and he had already taken out my diary. I could not stand this anymore, and I rushed into the door and yelled at him: "What are you doing? How could you do this?!" I took my diary from his hands and threw it away. It hit the mirror on a chest and broke it. The broken mirror reflected both my angry face and the painful and awkward face of my father, I picked up the diary, and ripped it into pieces. I then collapsed onto the bed and sobbed: "How could you read other people's diary?" Father stood up, his voice shaken: "I haven't read anything yet, girl, how could you not share anything with your daddy?" He let out a heavy sigh, and walked to the door. Bang-another piece of broken mirror fell behind him, he paused, but he did not turn his head, and hobbled his way out of the room. Through tears, I watched as that hunched over body walking into the darkness. He had worked hard all his life for me, my heart was broken, and it hurt.

The next morning, I went back to school, I did not talk with him.

It was time to go home again. I thought about it over and over, and decided to stay at the school. I called home and my father answered the phone. I told him that a big exam was coming up next week, I wanted to stay at school and prepare for it. My cold voice must have startled him. After a brief silence, he said: "preparation is important, I'll let your classmate bring your allowance." I hung up the phone with an empty feeling.

I was the only one in the dorm that night, and I tossed and turned, and could not fall asleep. Looking out the starry sky, I was suddenly reminded of the stories he told me under those same stars when I was little. He told me that the tiniest star was me, and everytime he missed me he would look up the sky at that little star.

"Dad", my heart cried out.

Tears welled up my eyes again, I saw the broken mirror, which slowly morphed into my father's broken heart I had ripped apart. "Was I overreacting, Dad?" I asked towards the sky. The next day, filled with self-condemnation and regret, I stepped on the bus to go home. I wanted to kneel down in front of him, and beg for his forgiveness.

But when I got home, father was nowhere to be found. I was facing two white mourning doublets* on the door frame and the helpless, sad eyes of my mother-father went to hospital. Last night, the bedroom of my paralyzed grandpa had caught fire, flames had shot up high into the sky, father rushed into the smoke-filled room and collapsed. Grandpa! Dad!

Beside the hospital bed where father lay, looking at his all bound up face, I begged for his forgiveness.

Father told me, in the midst of the fire, he made a promise to grandpa: he will be his son in next life. I reached out to him and he hugged me, firmly. I too, made him a promise, I will be his daughter in my next life.

* In Chinese tradition, households with recent death are decorated with white and black. Doublets (distiches) are two matching verses decorating on both sides of the door, white indicates mourning, and red indicates happiness and celebration.

Author: Chen, Fangping
Gender: Female
Personality: Open and active
Hobbies: Reading, making friends,
Belief: God helps the one who helps himself

2003-10-18T21:57:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

榆钱春绪

河北冀州中学
高一（12）殷军宁
指导教师孔晓英

故乡的春天是在不知不觉中来到的，记的儿时，是我唯一感觉到春天已经到来的便是村郊的十几株榆树，以至我现在还有这种意识：榆钱是报春树！榆树一开始长榆钱儿，春天就要来了。每年春天这个时候，我都要和外婆去村郊摘取新鲜的榆钱叶来充当菜肴，借以调剂生活。

太阳刚丛薄明的晨曦中醒来的时候，通往村郊的土路上已有了早起耕作的农人，因为是自己的乡邻，外婆便和他们一一打着招呼，简短却又淳朴的乡音，回荡在宁静安逸的田野里，显得格外温馨。

来到榆树林里，外婆指挥着我爬上了树，接着就半蹲在地上，拾捡我扔下的榆钱。金色的晨光老实的趴在外婆瘦小的背上，又钻进她的花白头发里。放眼望去，田间的麦苗出息的一片翠绿可爱，远望曲曲的河也纵情流窜着，为大地点缀出了一条闪光的玉带。

很快篮子中就积满了绿外婆熟练的择好最后一把榆钱，扔进篮子里又使劲压了压，生怕他从篮子里掉出来似的，然后起身将篮子交给我，整个过程，她脸上一直带着一种虔诚而又喜悦的神色。

在接篮子的那一刹那，我看到外婆那双干瘪而松弛的手那双至今仍不停息瘦小有力的手，心里猛然有了些感想。
漂洗干净的榆钱掺上棒子面加面粉煮熟后很快就被端上了餐桌，外婆一如往常的看着我的吃相，谈笑着过去的岁月。她说着，我也努力想象着，包括外婆在内，几乎村中每个上了年纪的老人都有过一段辛酸的往事，几十年前那个饱受饥饿与灾荒煎熬的日子里是他们谁也忘却不了的，寅吃卯粮，三餐不济，尤其在这贮粮已吃净，新粮又未长成的春天，是要连老鼠也要饿死的。于是大家便将全部希望都寄托在那十几株榆树上每逢榆树生芽长出榆钱，撸上一大把榆钱，如获至宝的捧回家做成榆钱饭，借此来度过每一个前胸贴后背的日子即使这样岁月的无情并没有削减掉什么，相反，外婆和她的乡邻们始终有着坦然如常的心态，有时别人家中几天接不开锅，被请到自己家中喝上一碗绿油油的榆钱稀饭是常有的事，大家都靠着这平平凡凡的榆钱自我扬信，生活在不忧不怨当中。在那本应当颓唐，失望甚至于自弃的时候，却有了积极生活的心态和乐于存活的快乐。

当然，生活的酸楚也是时常让人落泪的。在辛酸的日子里苦苦挣扎，也曾令人苦不堪言，但由于有榆钱这样大自然的慷慨馈赠，保鲜了先辈们的生命活性，刚性和悟性。他们不断向上眺望，逆流而上，争取了人生金红色的夕阳！

如今阴郁的日子已经过去，阳光又重新赋予了它门生命。在丰衣足食的现在，大家仍没忘记这救过命的榆钱，因为他们从这里获取了财富。这可能就是苦难的社会，没有留给他们苦难感，留给他们的只有坚强和笑声的缘故罢。

周克琴先生曾在他的文章中写到：“早油菜花一片嫩黄，千朵万朵朴素娇小的花儿，借助阵阵凛冽的寒风，向世界散发着一股股沁人肺腑的清香。”此时我相信自己对这句话有了更深切的体会，因为有这榆钱儿，还有他勇敢的往事。

个人简介
姓名：殷军宁
性别：男
年龄：18岁
出生日期：1986年5月14日
出生地点：河北省冀州市冀州镇
业余爱好：太极拳，集邮，读书，旅游
个人信言：人生能有几回搏，此时不搏待何时

[English translation 英文译稿]

Elm Seeds and Springtime

Hebei Jizhou High School
Senior first year
Class 12
Yin, Junning
Instructing teacher: Kong, Xiaoying

Back home, spring always arrives with little fanfare. I remember that when I was little, the signal of spring came from the dozen or so giant elms right outside of the village. Even to this day, I still view elms as the messengers of spring. Spring is near when elms start to bear their winged seeds.

Every year around this time in spring, Granny and I would go collect the tender elm seeds and use them as a vegetable-a good way to spice life up a bit. We decided to go again this year.

Right after the sun came up, some early risers were on their way to the fields outside the village. Walking on the dirt road, Granny greeted them one by one. Those brief and sincere greetings in that familiar hometown dialect sounded like music to my ears.

After we got to the woods, I climbed the tree and started tossing those winged seeds down to the ground. Granny would squat down and gather them into the basket. I could see that golden sunlight had climbed onto Granny's narrow back and squeezed into her gray hair. I looked out from the tree-fields were covered with a lovely tender green from the sprouting wheat, and farther away, a winding river flowed under the morning sun like a shining jade belt on the mother earth.

Quickly, the basket was full of green. Granny pressed down on the top, as if she was afraid that they would escape on our way back. She then handed the basket to me. Her face was full of earnest joy throughout the process.

The moment I took the basket from Granny, I noticed her wrinkly, flabby hands-skinny and firm hands that never stopped working-and something stirred in my mind.

After the elm seeds were washed clean, they were mixed with corn meal and flour, then cooked and brought to the table. As always, Granny sat and watched me eat, chatting about the old days. I tried to visualize the stories that she was telling. Almost every elderly person in the village, including Granny, had heart-wrenching tales to tell about the past. The days of famine and natural disasters many decades earlier had burned into their memories. In the old days, there were frequent severe food shortages, especially in the springtime when the last reserves were almost exhausted while the crops were still in the fields-even the rats could die of hunger. Everyone pinned their hopes on those good old elms. When the elms started bearing their seeds, the villagers grabbed a handful like they were lifesavers, and took them home to cook a meal; in this way, they pulled through one hungry day after another. Yet those ordeals did not weaken the goodwill of the villagers. Everybody was in the same boat and all helped one another. It was common that when one household was out of food for a couple of days, they would be invited to share some green elm seed porridge with their neighbors. Everyone was relying on ordinary elm seeds to boost spirit and they hardly ever complained. In what was supposed to be a dispirited, disappointed, even self-loathing time, they found a way to boost their spirits and enjoy whatever was left to eat.

Of course, the hard times were heart wrenching. Struggling through those ordeals took its toll, but with the elm seeds-nature's generous gift-the liveliness, endurance, and ingenuity of their forefathers were never lost. The people aimed higher, they fought against the current, and ultimately, they won the battle of life!

Now, those cloudy days have retreated into history, and the sun has given these elm seeds new meanings. Even with an abundance of food, the old villagers did not forget these ordinary gifts of nature that once saved their lives, because they have inherited the spirit embedded in those elm seeds. That is probably why they are not bitter or angry for what they have been through; instead, they look into the eye of life with steadfastness and laughter.

Mr. Zhou, Keqin once wrote: "The rapeseed fields were covered in bright yellow flowers, millions of tiny, modest flowers, enduring the cold in early spring and letting the bitterly cold wind send the scent that could touch your soul." Somehow, I believe that I have a deeper understanding of this passage now that I have learned the brave tales of those ordinary elm seeds.

Personal profile

Name: Yin, Junning
Gender: Male
Born May 14, 1986
Birthplace: Jizhou township, Jizhou City, Hebei Province
Hobbies: Tai-ji, stamp collecting, reading, traveling.
Guiding principle: How many opportunities can one get in his life to put himself to the test? If it is not now, then when?

2003-10-18T21:53:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

中国母亲

河北冀州中学高二（4）班刘路通
指导教师张艳丽

1、牌坊

冷月，孤灯，白幡，灵堂。
冲儿娘怀里抱着熟睡的冲儿，对着冲儿爹的灵柩，轻声哭泣。
她回忆着与丈夫刻骨铭心的爱，回忆着一家三口快乐的日子；她想着以后母子俩生活的孤苦无依，想着一个女人独自支撑的艰难种种……冲儿娘泪如泉涌，喉堵气噎。
守丧期满，便有人来提亲，冲儿娘把人骂了出去，后来，又在门口养了只恶狗。
几十年后，冲儿娘去了。村人为她立了贞洁牌坊。
已有高官厚禄的冲儿回来拜祭牌坊。族长说：“冲儿啊，你娘为了这块牌坊，可吃了不少苦啊……”
冲儿摇摇头，“不，我娘不是为这牌坊。”
冲儿记得娘走时口里叫着爹的名字，冲儿娘苦守几十年，是为了冲儿爹，为了她深爱的那个男人……

2、白发亲娘

天还很黑，杰要去赶火车。
娘很早起来忙活，为杰做了荷包蛋。
“娘，你别送了，天这么冷，路又黑。”杰说。
“好，娘不送了。”娘答应了。
可娘还是送了，直送到很远的村口。
“我不往前走了，我给你照着点亮。”娘拿着手电，照着前面的小路。
杰又走了很远，他下意识地回望了一下村口，那里的手电还隐约的亮着，杰的鼻子一酸，泪流了出来。
他仿佛看到小脚的娘亲，在寒风中举着手电，为儿子照亮行程，她的白发在风中抖动，娘的眼神中满是期盼……
杰心潮澎湃，他深情地向村口呼唤：“娘，回去吧！”“娘，回去吧！”这呼唤响彻山野，久久回荡……

3、不息

王老太满头大汗的在垃圾堆里捣腾。二婶看着好奇，问：“您这是干吗呢，大热的天。”
“干吗？捡破烂呗！”王老太头也顾不得抬。
“呀，您儿子遗弃您啦，不给钱花？”二婶心直口快。
“瞧你乌鸦嘴，我儿子孝顺着呢。可儿子的钱是儿子的，我捐我自己的钱，安心。”
“捐啥钱？”二婶更奇怪了。
“给个什么工程，那些孩子们，苦着哪！”
王老太说完，拿着口袋走出垃圾堆，坐到柳树下的大石头上。“嗬，真热！”
夕阳西沉，虽已尽生命的尽头，但还是用最后的能量，把天空和大地点燃，在紫罗兰色的天幕下，王老太和身边依依的垂柳，在地上投下了长长的影子，化为祥和的永恒……
后记：这就是中国母亲的爱，中国母亲的情，而中国母亲亘古的魅力，又远不止这些……

作者简介：刘路通，男，1984年生，现就读于河北省冀州市中学，热爱生活，
热爱学习，多次被评为“三好学生”。爱好电影和文学，梦想成为一名文学星秀，自拟《红楼梦》姊妹篇。

[English translation 英文译稿]

Chinese Mothers

I

Stone Monument

A cold moon, a lone lamp, a white mourning drape, and a harrowing mourning hall.

With baby Chong sound asleep in her arms, Chong's mom faced the casket of her husband, sobbing quietly.

She was reliving the love that had been carved into her heart and bones, the good days of three of them together. She was thinking about the years to come in which she and her son would live without her husband's support, thinking about all the difficulties that she would have to bear alone…Chong's mom sobbed out of her breath, and tears pouring down her face.

Matchmaker knocked on the door as soon as the mourning period* was over-she chased her away. Afterwards, she had a mean dog guard the door.

Many decades later, Chong's mom passed away. The villagers erected a stone monument in commemoration of her loyalty and endurance.

Chong, now a high ranking official, returned to the village one day to pay tribute to his mother in front of the stone monument. The elder of the clan said, "Chong, your mother suffer a great deal for this monument…"

Chong shook his head, "No, Mother never went through what she did for the sake of this monument."

She was calling his Daddy's name in her dying breath-he remembered it well. The many decades of loneliness that she endured was all for Chong's Daddy, for the man she deeply and dearly loved…

II

White headed mother

It was still dark outside, Jie is getting ready to catch the train.

Mom was up early, making "lotus eggs" for Jie.

"Mom, you don't have go out and see me off, it's so cold and dark outside." Said Jie.

"OK, I won't go out." Mom answered.

But she still went, all the way to the edge of the village.

"I won't go any further, let me give you some light." Mom was holding a flashlight, which shone on the little path ahead.

Jie walked a distance, then subconsciously glanced back in the direction of the village. The flashlight was still there. He choked up, a tear running down his cheeks.

He could see his mother, feet bound**, raising a flashlight in the cold wind to shine the path for her son. Her silver hair flew in the wind, with high hopes and expectations in her eyes…

Mixed feeling rushing through him, he called back to the village with a great affection, "Mom, please go home!"-"Mom, please go home!" The valley echoed the call…

III

Diligence

Granny Wang was going through the trash piles with sweat beading up on her forehead. Second aunt*** was curious,

"What are you doing, such a hot day?" She asked.

Granny Wang did not even lift her head. "What am I doing? Going through the trash, that's what I am doing!"

"Why? Did your son abandon you? Did he send money home?" Second aunt could not hide her curiosity.

"Watch you mouth. My son couldn't treat me any better, but his money is his money, I will donate with my own money, then I will have peace of mind."

"Donate to what?" Second aunt was even more curious.

"Some 'project'…, those poor kids, God have mercy on them!"

Then Granny walked out of the trash pile, carrying a bag, sat down on a big rock under the willow. "Lord, it's hot!"

The sun was sinking in the west, nearing the end of its journey, and lighting up the sky with its waning brilliance. Against a violet sky, Granny Wang and the weeping willow behind her cast a long, long shadow, all the way to the infinity…

This is the love of Chinese mothers, this is the caring of Chinese mothers, these are the mothers of China walking towards us from the dawn of the civilization…

* According to custom, the mourning period for the passing of the family member is forty-nine days, during which minimal social interaction, a ceasing of business activities, and the wearing of special mourning clothes and head dresses are common.

** A common practice in the pre-Communist era which involved in binding feet of young girls to stop normal development, mainly for aesthetic purpose. It was extremely painful and debilitating. Ironically, a few women from lower social, economical classes, where heavy labor among women was common, escaped such an ordeal

*** A common general reference to a woman married to the second son of any household in the village, often a family name was attached to specify the family, but sometime, this is omitted as here, in the case of a non-critical character.

Author: Liu Lutong

Instructing teacher: Zhang, Yanli

Personal profile:

Male, born 1984, student at Hebei Jizhou High School. I love life and study, I was voted "excellence in morality, physique, and intellect" several times. I love movies and literature, and dream about becoming an upcoming star in the literary field. My personal ambition is to write a sequel for The Dream of A Great Red Mansion.

2003-10-18T21:52:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

梦成长的地方

河北冀州中学
高一（14）班张沙沙
指导教师李爱英

不知不觉中，自己已悄悄长大。不知不觉中，自己已经成为了一名高中生，但我也因此离开了梦成长的地方——我的家乡。

大概是在我很小的时候，我家屋后有一条清澈见底的、流淌着的小溪，我的童年时光也几乎都是在那儿度过的。清澈的溪水从很小的石头缝隙里缓缓地钻出来，像一条纱带，轻飘飘的；又像天上漂浮的白云，纯净的可爱。

幼小时的我常去那儿玩耍，看到溪水从那小小的缝隙里钻出来，心里就有一种难以言喻的高兴劲儿。溪水被郁郁葱葱的翠绿的树木环绕着，溪边还有一簇簇不知名的花花草草散布着。水中的石头也可以看得一清二楚，是那么透亮。此时的心情也会跟着爽朗起来。

到了春天，鸟儿们在枝头上、花丛中、岩石上叽叽喳喳，伴着柔和的风儿在尽情的歌唱大自然的美好。在我的心目中，那是一座天堂，一座最美丽的天堂，也是我的梦孕育、成长的地方，是我儿时的游乐园。

记得有一次，我捡起一块小石头投入小溪中，可小溪中的水马上就变浑浊了。这时，我害怕起来，溪水“生气”了，怎么办呢？于是我便奔跑着回到家，并把这一切一五一十地告诉了妈妈。

妈妈微笑着说：“傻孩子，小溪是不会生气的。”妈妈拉着我来到了小溪边，用手指着前方说：“看，小溪还是那么清澈，那么可爱。”我也高兴地跳了起来“噢，原来小溪没生气，它还愿和我做朋友！”尽管那时很天真、很幼稚，但我想：如果那时我失去了小溪，那么我的世界里也就失去了世间最美的东西。

十几岁了，我已渐渐地长大，似乎小溪也跟着长大了。小溪变宽了，变大了，也变得漂亮了，还穿上了一件新衣裳？经过人们的加工，溪水中央建了一个喷泉，溪水永不停息的从喷泉中涌出，好看极了。四周的花草树木，都那样郁郁葱葱，愈加地茁壮。那时，我在心中暗暗发誓：我永远不会离开它，等我长大了，我要把它变得更美丽。

现在，我真的长大了，可小溪却“老”了。我常问自己，它那最富有生机的青春哪去了？你看；现在的小溪中已没有了溪水，取而代之的是深蓝色的污水。翠绿的树木只盛下了光秃秃的树冠，花儿、草儿，都消失了，取而代之的是一堆堆的垃圾。四周建起了许多的高楼，浓浓的黑烟在上空飘散着，一切，一切都变了。

我的游乐园没有了，我的梦也突然飘走了。我爱我的家乡，尤其是那条小溪，那是我幼小时梦开始的地方。它伴我慢慢长大，它教我慢慢成熟。可她，为什么那么容易就变“老”了，也把我的梦敲碎了呢？

我不希望它们变老，我希望人们把可爱的小溪还给我，我希望不要再有更多的小溪变老，我希望祖国的每寸土地上都有青山绿水环绕，“溪水”永流不竭

作者简介：
我叫张沙沙，女，1986年10月2日生人。
性格：内向而又不乏热情。
爱好：唱歌、听音乐、看书。
最爱做的事是：跟妈妈讲自己有趣的事；晚上，躺在床上看书。
最喜欢听的歌：《生命如歌》。
座右铭：勤奋+心态+方法=成功
最喜欢的运动：跑步、羽毛球
最大的理想：走进北大
联系地址：河北省冀州市中学邮编： 053200

[English translation 英文译稿]

A place where dreams grow

Senior first year
Class 14
Zhang, Shasha
Instructing teacher: Li, Aiying

Without knowing how it happened, I grew up. Suddenly, I became a senior high school student, and I had left a place where dreams grow-my home.

When I was little, there was a little creek, which ran through the woods behind my home. Almost my entire childhood was spent there. Bubbling water seeped through the tiny pebbles, light and subtle; like white clouds floating in the sky, pure and innocent.

I often played around the creek, I would experience an indescribable, lively feeling watching the creek running through the rocks. The creek threaded through a wood where big trees stood, and its banks were lined with nameless flowers. Water was so clear that pebbles in the water were clearly visible. Just the sigh of that bubbling creek would make one feel fresh and happy.

In springtime, along with the breeze that blew from the woods, I could hear birds chirping everywhere-in the trees, among the flowers, and on the rocks-a beautiful scene of nature. I thought it was a paradise, a most beautiful paradise where my dreams were conceived and grew-my childhood playground.

Once, I toss a rock into the creek, the water turned muddy instantly. I was scared and thought the creek was mad at me. I ran home and told Mom about it.

"Silly girl, a creek won't get mad at you." Mom smiled. She took me back to the creek, and pointed it to me, "See, it's still clear." I was relieved. Wow, creek was not mad at me. It is still my playground! Although thinking back, I was so silly and naïve to feel that way, but if I had lost that creek of mine, then I would have lost a most beautiful thing in my childhood.

As I grew into teenage years, the creek seemed to grow with me. People widened the creek bed, and built a pond with a fountain in the middle of it. It was a thing of beauty indeed watching the water danced in the air. The surrounding trees and flowers were thriving. I secretly made a promise to myself: I will never leave here, when I grow up, I will make this place even more beautiful.

Now, I am on the verge of adulthood, and I have discovered that that little creek is dying. I often ask myself where have her energy and youth gone? The water has gone dry-a puddle of filthy, dark blue water stood in the place where the pond used to be. Trees that once stood tall and green are dying out, and the flowers are gone without a trace. Now, it has become a landfill where trash piles up. High-rise apartment buildings appeared nearby and black smoke fills the sky. Everything, everything is gone.

My playground is gone; my dreams are gone. I love my home, especially that little creek of mine. It was where my dreams began and grew. She witnessed my innocence and maturity and everything in between. But, why does she have to die like this, and crush my dreams along the way?

I do not want her to die, I hope people could return that lovely creek back to me, I hope no more creeks have to die on this wonderful planet, I hope that trees are green, water is clear everywhere you go. That "creek of life and dream" would never run dry.

Author:
Zhang, shasha, female, born Oct. 2, 1986

Personality:
Introvert but no lacking of enthusiasm.

Hobby:
Sing, listen to music, read.

Favorite things to do:
Tell Mom interesting things I saw; reading book in bed at night.

Favorite song:
Life is like a song

Guiding principle:
Deligence+attitude+methodology=success

Favorite exercise:
Jogging, badminton

Biggest wish:
Accepted by Beijing University

2003-10-18T21:50:00.000-07:00

[Chinese original 中文原稿]

家乡的胡同

河北冀州中学张敬才
（指导教师：朱振海）

时时浮现在眼前的是那秀丽的故乡景，处处缠绕着自己的是那浓浓的故乡情。

故乡——生我养我的地方。

我爱你，爱你的景色怡人、风光典雅，虽然你没有山清水秀，但黄土道的两旁却是绿树成荫。

我爱你，爱你的宁静幽雅、朴实无华，虽没有灯红酒绿的都市繁华，但却有质朴憨厚、勤劳朴实的邻里街坊。

在我们的胡同里，共住着五户人家，对门是“黑爷爷”家，右边依次是大牛叔家、三伯家和醉鬼家。

其实，“黑爷爷”并没有老到让我们喊他爷爷的份上，只是因为他的脸不是一般的黑，一次我们开玩笑地喊他“黑爷爷”，他却感到很亲切，以后便传开了。

大牛叔力气很大，在田间干活，他顶得上一头牛，人们都很羡慕他，便亲昵地称呼他“大牛”。

酒鬼叔是我们村出了名的“夜猫子”，喝了酒以后，晚上便在大街上大吵大闹。人们都习惯了他的这一怪癖，也不去理会他，只要没人理他，他就不知会在谁家的门口一直睡到天亮。

按理说，人多了必定有吵架、有打闹，但是我们有一颗宽容的心，因此大家能够和睦相处，坦诚相待。

我们的胡同就是一个大菜园，黑爷爷家种着黄瓜、豆角，我们家种着豌豆和丝瓜，大伯家种着茄子。一到夏天，绿藤上便挂满了细长的丝瓜、鲜嫩的黄瓜……我们根本不需要到集市上去买菜，东家摘个黄瓜，西家摘个茄子，在炉火上一加工，香喷喷的打卤面便呈现在眼前，保证你馋得直流口水。

我们胡同亦是一个大乐园。夏天的中午我们通常都在过道里吃饭，边吃边聊，在一番畅谈后，夏日的炎热便烟消云散。有时爸爸妈妈端着饭碗到大伯家的过道吃饭，时时会传出爽朗的笑声，这笑声穿过街道、穿过时空，凝结在我们美丽的记忆中。

夏日的中午，是我们这帮“傻小子”最快乐的时侯。我们的村后有一条小河，每至中午，我便约上“黑爷爷”家的小鹿及三伯家的明哥，一起去打扑腾，我们游泳，我们嬉戏，你撩我一下，我撩你一下，当点点凉水洒落在身上，浸入我们心底的时候，我们感到无限的快乐。

我们的胡同，就仿佛一个大家庭。

我和姐姐都在外求学，家里只剩下爸爸妈妈，加上他们年龄的增加，体力大不如以前，田里的活有时忙不过来，每逢此时，“黑爷爷”和三伯便常来帮忙。“黑爷爷”家的小鹿考上了重点中学，可是巨额学费却成了令他们家头疼的事，大家二话没说，一家掏出一千块钱，我们小伙伴儿们也忙活起来了，中午我们去卖冰棍儿，我们宁愿失去那快乐的时光，冒着炎炎烈日，为朋友贡献自己的一份力量。

到了晚上，忙了一天的人们陆续地从家里都出来了。谈一谈一天的心得与收获，将高兴烦恼的事一股脑儿说出来与一家分享。有的还扇着扇子，哼着小调，一幅悠闲自得的形象。有时，三伯来了劲儿的，还会拉上电线，掂个录音机来放京剧，大人们听得津津有味，听着那铿锵有力、抑扬顿挫的调子，仿佛天地霎时凝固了，我们小孩子便只有逃跑的份了。

每到过年的时候，我们在一起摆上几桌，桌子上虽然只是一些民间小菜，但却表达着我们无限的亲情。

故乡，如同一条小溪，在我内心深处潺潺地流动着。

胡同，一如那饱经沧桑的相册，在我内心深处永存着。

是故乡赋予我生命，是胡同教会我怎样做人。

我爱我的故乡，我爱我的胡同。

作者简介：张敬才
性别：男
星座：牧羊座
爱好：打篮球、读书
性格：外向
理想：做一名成功的男人
最喜爱的格言：付出总有回报

[English translation 英文译稿]

A Little Alley

Hebei Jizhou High School
Zhang, Jingchai
Instructing teacher: Zhu, Zhenghai

Time after time, the memories would come back to me, wrapping me with an intimacy like no other: my home village-the place where I was born and nurtured.

I love my village. I love its pleasant scenery and elegant touch. There are no picturesque mountains or beautiful waters, but it has plenty of trees lining the dirt roads with their lovely green canopies.

I love my hometown. I love its quietness, modesty, and unpretentiousness. There is none of the chaos of a bustling city with flashy neon lights, but it has plenty of modest, simple, and hard-working people in its neighborhoods.

The little alley where we lived had five families in it: across the alley, lived "Dark Granddaddy," and to the right were "Big Ox Uncle," "Third Uncle," and "Drunken Uncle."

In fact, "Dark Granddaddy" was not old enough to be called Grandpa. Because his face was exceptionally dark, once we teased him by calling him "Dark Granddaddy." He liked the nickname, which stuck and quickly spread.

"Big Ox Uncle" was a very strong peasant. Working in the fields, he could match an ox-hence the nickname. Everyone envied his extraordinary strength.

"Drunken Uncle" was an infamous "night owl" in our village. Every time he got drunk, he would make a big fuss on the street. Everyone knew about his weird behavior, so no one would try to stop him. Without any interference, he would soon quiet down and lie upon someone's doorstep until daybreak.

One might assume that with so many people living together in a small alley, quarrels and conflicts would be hard to avoid. But everyone in the alley was big-hearted, so we all treated each other with respect and honesty and lived harmoniously.

Our alley had a big vegetable garden. "Dark Granddaddy" planted cucumbers and string beans, we grew peas and squash, and "Third Uncle" had eggplants. Every summer, plenty of slender squash and tender cucumbers hung from the green vines; we never needed to go to the vegetable market. All you had to do was to pick a cucumber here, grab an eggplant there, chop them up, toss them on the fire, and an aromatic "DaRu Needle" would be ready in no time, sure to make your mouth water.

Our alley was also a big picnic area. In the summertime, we usually had lunch in the shade of the passageway. We chatted while we ate, which seemed to provide some relief from the intense summer heat. Sometimes my parents would take their lunch to the passageway of "Third Uncle's" house and have a chat with him. Oftentimes, laughter would ring out from there. That laughter filled the little alley and reached beyond time and space, burning into our collective memories.

During the summertime, midday was the favorite time for us "silly boys." There was a little river behind our village. XiaoLu (Little Deer), the son of "Dark Granddaddy," and MingGe, the son of "Third Uncle," and I would go there and take a dip in the afternoon. We swam, played, and splashed water at each other. There was a sense of endless joy as the water cleansed and refreshed us from the inside out.

Our alley was like a big family.

Now, my elder sister and I have left home to attend school, leaving our aging parents behind. As they got older, laboring in the fields became more of a burden for them. Every time they lagged behind in the fields, "Dark Granddaddy" and "Third Uncle" would come to help. After XiaoLu was accepted by the best school in the district, the sky-high tuition caused "Dark Granddaddy" some headaches. Without hesitation, every family in the alley pitched in a thousand Yuans. We, his playmates, did not sit idle either. During the summer, we sold popsicles to collect change. We were willing to sacrifice our leisure time and be grilled by the scorching sun to help out a friend.

As evening approached, after working all day, everyone would come into the courtyard to talk about the day's events, good and bad-everything was poured out and shared by all. Someone would swing a fan while humming local folk tunes, and a typical care-free atmosphere was all around. Sometimes when "Third Uncle" was in the mood, he would drag out an extension cord, hook it up with a stereo, and play Peking Opera. Grown-ups loved that stuff and they savored it. Listening to those loud and dramatic tunes made us feel that the whole world could come to a sudden stop. We boys could only run away from it, as soon as we had a chance.

Every New Year, the families in the alley would have a potluck party to which every family brought some typical homemade dishes. Even though they were common-folk fare, they represented a down-home intimacy that restaurant foods could never bring.

My home village is like a small stream deep inside of my heart, murmuring a familiar whisper.

That little alley is like an age-old photo album, well-preserved in my heart.

My homestead gave me my life; the alley taught me how to be a real person.

I love my home village. I love that little alley.

Author: Zhang, Jinchai
Gender: Male
Astrological sign: Aries
Hobbies: Basketball, reading
Personality: Outgoing
Personal goal: To be a successful man