刘宇昆:折纸(2012雨果奖最佳短篇)

小卡

来自: 小卡(有所热爱,有所坚持。) 2012-09-05 14:32:06

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  • 为你喝彩

    为你喝彩 (呵呵,呵你m个头) 2012-09-05 15:19:31

    哎呀,真是... ...

  • 小艾

    小艾 2012-09-05 15:29:14

    感动。。。

  • Samuel_de_S.H.

    Samuel_de_S.H. (Be the Champion of Light.) 2012-09-05 15:30:26

    Best Short Story

    “The Paper Menagerie”, Ken Liu (The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction)

  • 小白现在是费材

    小白现在是费材 (如果当初坚持理想...) 2012-09-05 21:43:08

    当想要孝顺父母的时候,父母已经不在了---看到这里差一点哭了

  • 近却无🐰

    近却无🐰 (如是知,如是见。) 2012-09-05 22:45:35

    这不是科幻小说,是奇幻小说。

    折纸能变成活物,这有什么科学依据吗?或者是以后科学发展的方向?

    不过是哈利波特式的魔法幻想罢了。

    对移民家庭的亲情叙事也十分平庸,不脱谭恩美《喜福会》的调调。

  • 语冰

    语冰 (拔剑欲高歌,有几根侠骨禁得揉搓) 2012-09-05 23:45:33

    当想要孝顺父母的时候,父母已经不在了---看到这里差一点哭了 当想要孝顺父母的时候,父母已经不在了---看到这里差一点哭了 小白现在是费材

    我也是,看到这里就已经哽咽了。

  • la vie en rose

    la vie en rose (地狱,天堂,皆在人间。) 2012-09-05 23:53:53

    我也是,看到这里就已经哽咽了。 我也是,看到这里就已经哽咽了。 语冰

    +1

  • 等待戈登

    等待戈登 (果断的节操碎了一地) 2012-09-06 00:08:07

    尼馬,看哭了。

  • 苹果树上的时光

    苹果树上的时光 (永远年轻,永远热泪盈眶。) 2012-09-06 00:33:54

    爱,唉…

  • Untitled

    Untitled 2012-09-06 01:27:03

    正中红心。

  • 一期一会

    一期一会 2012-09-06 01:35:32

    看哭了

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-06 01:36:08

    这不是科幻小说,是奇幻小说。 折纸能变成活物,这有什么科学依据吗?或者是以后科学发展的方 这不是科幻小说,是奇幻小说。 折纸能变成活物,这有什么科学依据吗?或者是以后科学发展的方向? 不过是哈利波特式的魔法幻想罢了。 对移民家庭的亲情叙事也十分平庸,不脱谭恩美《喜福会》的调调。 ... 近却无🐰

    不怎么喜欢。。。并不是说写的不好神马的,但是华人就一定要写这种苦逼兮兮的调调么,华人就不能来点儿正经的科幻或者NB的奇幻么
    如果本文把折纸会动改成不会动的话,估计只能发给读者了。。。。

  • Cyberpunk

    Cyberpunk (豆瓣需要一个搜索我的广播的功能) 2012-09-06 01:54:45

    马克

  • 乌龙茶

    乌龙茶 (有钱自有小狼狗) 2012-09-06 02:39:53

    写得好差!

  • 等待戈登

    等待戈登 (果断的节操碎了一地) 2012-09-06 10:35:23

    写出了东方人特有的那种对感情含蓄的表达方法,入木三分

  • 木头

    木头 2012-09-06 10:53:12

    扯淡的吧。能拿奖?写得很不好啊!

  • 牧羊少女小红线

    牧羊少女小红线 (学好西语,收复南美) 2012-09-06 11:07:21

    不觉得怎样啊,全篇完全没让我动容的地方

  • 【已注销】

    【已注销】 2012-09-06 12:17:18

    是翻译的问题么?

  • bluebell

    bluebell (休息是为了更好的工作) 2012-09-06 12:57:56

    很感人的小故事,可和雨果奖有什么关系,一点儿也不科幻

  • 天生煞气克红尘

    天生煞气克红尘 (夏半阴气始, 因下人间遂北游) 2012-09-06 13:12:08

    喜福会的感觉...╮(╯▽╰)╭ 拍成短片应该会不错

  • 夜礼服假面

    夜礼服假面 2012-09-06 13:35:18

    写出了东方人特有的那种对感情含蓄的表达方法,入木三分 写出了东方人特有的那种对感情含蓄的表达方法,入木三分 等待戈登

    +1

  • 御风飞行

    御风飞行 (痛饮狂歌空度日,飞扬跋扈为谁雄) 2012-09-06 13:51:46

    先马克一下。

  • Sa-amus

    Sa-amus 2012-09-06 14:25:18

    扯淡,写的好差啊,就是科幻世界里面高中生作品的水平啊~

  • 童子

    童子 (有这闲暇,守住匆匆) 2012-09-06 14:40:13

    感人,但不是科幻。

  • 小恶魔0115

    小恶魔0115 (感恩拥有) 2012-09-06 14:50:38

    很感动啊

  • Batida

    Batida (带着天真去流浪吧) 2012-09-06 14:52:39

    额。。

  • R

    R 2012-09-06 15:03:17

    想把它当成一个好故事来看,开头那点还不错,后面怎么写的那么生硬
    情节转的那个刻意,明明能催泪都无感了

  • 夜猫神

    夜猫神 (三杯两盏淡酒) 2012-09-06 15:05:33

    这不是科幻小说,是奇幻小说。 折纸能变成活物,这有什么科学依据吗?或者是以后科学发展的方 这不是科幻小说,是奇幻小说。 折纸能变成活物,这有什么科学依据吗?或者是以后科学发展的方向? 不过是哈利波特式的魔法幻想罢了。 对移民家庭的亲情叙事也十分平庸,不脱谭恩美《喜福会》的调调。 ... 近却无🐰

    你比雨果奖的评委还牛逼,你真是人才!期待你写出震撼世界的“科幻小说”

  • 琥珀

    琥珀 (一切都会过去) 2012-09-06 15:21:16

    尼玛,姐又哭了

  • 亂室佳人

    亂室佳人 (夢中說夢,更是荒唐) 2012-09-06 15:22:07

    整个故事都俗到不能再俗, 文笔也没有很惊艳. 但是看到最后还是一直哽咽, 不是因为有多感人, 却是在感叹中国的女人就是这么傻, 拿了美国公民身份学好英文你什么不能做?偏偏守这个不认你的儿子, 天天在厨房和洗衣机边上徘徊...这就是为什么我们需要女权运动!!!

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-06 15:31:47

    整个故事都俗到不能再俗, 文笔也没有很惊艳. 但是看到最后还是一直哽咽, 不是因为有多感人, 却是 整个故事都俗到不能再俗, 文笔也没有很惊艳. 但是看到最后还是一直哽咽, 不是因为有多感人, 却是在感叹中国的女人就是这么傻, 拿了美国公民身份学好英文你什么不能做?偏偏守这个不认你的儿子, 天天在厨房和洗衣机边上徘徊...这就是为什么我们需要女权运动!!! ... 亂室佳人

    哈哈,每个人都看到的是自己关注的东西。
    我看到点是,华人只有把自己写的苦逼兮兮才能拿奖。虽然雨果奖是颁给奇幻和科幻的,但是这篇真心连奇幻都不怎么算在,知音体丫

  • 懵查查

    懵查查 (克己) 2012-09-06 15:36:03

    看哭了啦

  • 亂室佳人

    亂室佳人 (夢中說夢,更是荒唐) 2012-09-06 15:38:43

    哈哈,每个人都看到的是自己关注的东西。 我看到点是,华人只有把自己写的苦逼兮兮才能拿奖。虽 哈哈,每个人都看到的是自己关注的东西。 我看到点是,华人只有把自己写的苦逼兮兮才能拿奖。虽然雨果奖是颁给奇幻和科幻的,但是这篇真心连奇幻都不怎么算在,知音体丫 ... 第六天大萌王

    哈哈哈哈! 知音啊! 华人把自己写的苦逼才可以得奖这种老掉牙的把戏我都懒得说了, 而且根本不是奇幻类的小说啊, 完全搞不懂怎么得奖的..

  • cherry

    cherry ((:3x∠)_) 2012-09-06 15:45:09

    欣赏不能。。。不知道是不是翻译问题。。。真心高中生水平。。。。

  • 吹个大泡沫

    吹个大泡沫 (太乙天尊赐我一只布偶吧!) 2012-09-06 16:04:17

    感觉很一般

  • 立花来梦☃

    立花来梦☃ (Do What You Gotta Do) 2012-09-06 16:14:02

    雨果奖本来就是颁给幻想作品,没有规定一定是科幻啊。

    写的很感动。支持~

  • missdior

    missdior 2012-09-06 16:58:43

    看到最后流泪。对于一些连标点符号都用不好的中国人,评论此文的文字真让人觉得讽刺。

  • 无常兔

    无常兔 (享受拥有) 2012-09-06 17:02:56

    m 下班了 回去看

  • ivan

    ivan 2012-09-06 17:15:45

    文章很美,很喜欢

  • 怪我咯

    怪我咯 (在你之前,我连像样的痛苦都没有) 2012-09-06 17:18:18

    哎,上班时看哭了

  • 存在先生

    存在先生 (我帅气的将你们甩开) 2012-09-06 17:32:29

    写得好差! 写得好差! 乌龙茶

    比较差

  • 月熊

    月熊 (就算甜的牙都掉了,我也愿意) 2012-09-06 20:33:36

    文章很美,很喜欢,谢谢楼主。

  • 雨林

    雨林 2012-09-07 00:44:05

    很多人说反感总是把中国人说的这么悲情。我也反感,但却真心的为这个故事感动。故事里母子的矛盾来自两种文化环境下成长的差异。而这种矛盾抛去形式,其内核是那么让人心疼。好像突然让人想起了自己,也曾为了什么而伤害过母亲,最悲哀的是造成伤害而不自知,或者根本不想自知。

  • 胡列那

    胡列那 (天垂六幕千山外,何处清风不旧家) 2012-09-07 00:54:27

    因为敏感的政治问题,这篇文章被政治阉割了
    完整的还得看英文

  • fionalean

    fionalean 2012-09-07 01:00:22

    我很早就觉得,这样的家庭,小孩学说话了岂不是很悲剧。。。可是我还是没想到,原来是这样的结局。

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-07 01:19:12

    因为敏感的政治问题,这篇文章被政治阉割了 完整的还得看英文 因为敏感的政治问题,这篇文章被政治阉割了 完整的还得看英文 胡列那

    我无耻的认为被阉割的那一小段才是真正投洋人所好才是得奖的原因。。。希望我错了

  • 巴尔坦杏仁

    巴尔坦杏仁 (why so Serious) 2012-09-07 08:21:10

    原来这片是他写的

  • 基本原理先生

    基本原理先生 (理想,闲走,习作) 2012-09-07 09:05:48

    “我出生在越南……再也没能回来”一段与英文原文有出入。

  • 另一边

    另一边 (爱 智慧) 2012-09-07 09:49:57

    文章很好,可是还没好到得雨果奖的地步。

  • SUE∮

    SUE∮ (Do U Hear The People Sing) 2012-09-07 10:02:05

    因为敏感的政治问题,这篇文章被政治阉割了 完整的还得看英文 因为敏感的政治问题,这篇文章被政治阉割了 完整的还得看英文 胡列那

    有英文版本吗?

  • 蘿柚

    蘿柚 (silly crazy) 2012-09-07 10:34:28

    英文版里说到wenge。所以审核过不了。

  • 流浪的傻猪

    流浪的傻猪 2012-09-07 12:28:45

    看哭了。。

  • brief_candle

    brief_candle 2012-09-07 12:58:34

    你们没看过英文版的。。。很感动人。。。泪点特别多。。

    比如这段:儿子,我知道你不喜欢自己长着中国人的眼睛,但它们透着我对你的期望;我知道你不喜欢自己长着一头中国人的黑发,但它饱含着我对你的祈愿。

    原文是:Son, I know that you do not like your Chinese eyes, which are my
    eyes. I know that you do not like your Chinese hair, which is my hair.

    草,中文翻的是什么啊!!!做作!!!还期望,祈愿呢???

    我看到这句话,眼睛湿了。。。。。

  • brunocheng

    brunocheng 2012-09-07 13:30:36

    我也看哭了。。。。

  • brunocheng

    brunocheng 2012-09-07 13:33:33

    翻译的不如原文好,英文版的真的很好

  • brunocheng

    brunocheng 2012-09-07 13:36:58

    By Ken Liu
    The Paper Menagerie
    ONE OF MY EARLIEST MEMORIES
    starts with me sobbing. I refused to be soothed no matter what Mom and Dad
    tried.
    Dad gave up and left the bedroom, but Mom took me into the kitchen
    and sat me down at the breakfast table.
    “Kan, kan,” she said, as she pulled a sheet of wrapping paper from on
    top of the fridge. For years, Mom carefully sliced open the wrappings
    around Christmas gifts and saved them on top of the fridge in a thick stack.
    She set the paper down, plain side facing up, and began to fold it. I
    stopped crying and watched her, curious.
    She turned the paper over and folded it again. She pleated, packed,
    tucked, rolled, and twisted until the paper disappeared between her
    cupped hands. Then she lifted the folded-up paper packet to her mouth and
    blew into it, like a balloon.
    “Kan,” she said. “Laohu.” She put her hands down on the table and
    let go.
    A little paper tiger stood on the table, the size of two fists placed
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 65
    together. The skin of the tiger was the pattern on the wrapping paper,
    white background with red candy canes and green Christmas trees.
    I reached out to Mom’s creation. Its tail twitched, and it pounced
    playfully at my finger. “Rawrr-sa,” it growled, the sound somewhere
    between a cat and rustling newspapers.
    I laughed, startled, and stroked its back with an index finger. The
    paper tiger vibrated under my finger, purring.
    “Zhe jiao zhèzhi,” Mom said. This is called origami.
    I didn’t know this at the time, but Mom’s kind was special. She
    breathed into them so that they shared her breath, and thus moved with
    her life. This was her magic.
    Dad had picked Mom out of a catalog.
    One time, when I was in high school, I asked Dad about the details.
    He was trying to get me to speak to Mom again.
    He had signed up for the introduction service back in the spring of
    1973. Flipping through the pages steadily, he had spent no more than a few
    seconds on each page until he saw the picture of Mom.
    I’ve never seen this picture. Dad described it: Mom was sitting in a
    chair, her side to the camera, wearing a tight green silk cheongsam. Her
    head was turned to the camera so that her long black hair was draped
    artfully over her chest and shoulder. She looked out at him with the eyes
    of a calm child.
    “That was the last page of the catalog I saw,” he said.
    The catalog said she was eighteen, loved to dance, and spoke good
    English because she was from Hong Kong. None of these facts turned out
    to be true.
    He wrote to her, and the company passed their messages back and
    forth. Finally, he flew to Hong Kong to meet her.
    “The people at the company had been writing her responses. She
    didn’t know any English other than ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye.’”
    What kind of woman puts herself into a catalog so that she can be
    bought? The high school me thought I knew so much about everything.
    Contempt felt good, like wine.
    Instead of storming into the office to demand his money back, he paid
    a waitress at the hotel restaurant to translate for them.
    66 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    “She would look at me, her eyes halfway between scared and hopeful,
    while I spoke. And when the girl began translating what I said, she’d start
    to smile slowly.”
    He flew back to Connecticut and began to apply for the papers for her
    to come to him. I was born a year later, in the Year of the Tiger.
    At my request, Mom also made a goat, a deer, and a water buffalo out
    of wrapping paper. They would run around the living room while Laohu
    chased after them, growling. When he caught them he would press down
    until the air went out of them and they became just flat, folded-up pieces
    of paper. I would then have to blow into them to re-inflate them so they
    could run around some more.
    Sometimes, the animals got into trouble. Once, the water buffalo
    jumped into a dish of soy sauce on the table at dinner. (He wanted to
    wallow, like a real water buffalo.) I picked him out quickly but the
    capillary action had already pulled the dark liquid high up into his legs.
    The sauce-softened legs would not hold him up, and he collapsed onto the
    table. I dried him out in the sun, but his legs became crooked after that,
    and he ran around with a limp. Mom eventually wrapped his legs in saran
    wrap so that he could wallow to his heart’s content (just not in soy sauce).
    Also, Laohu liked to pounce at sparrows when he and I played in the
    backyard. But one time, a cornered bird struck back in desperation and
    tore his ear. He whimpered and winced as I held him and Mom patched his
    ear together with tape. He avoided birds after that.
    And then one day, I saw a TV documentary about sharks and asked
    Mom for one of my own. She made the shark, but he flapped about on the
    table unhappily. I filled the sink with water, and put him in. He swam
    around and around happily. However, after a while he became soggy and
    translucent, and slowly sank to the bottom, the folds coming undone. I
    reached in to rescue him, and all I ended up with was a wet piece of paper.
    Laohu put his front paws together at the edge of the sink and rested
    his head on them. Ears drooping, he made a low growl in his throat that
    made me feel guilty.
    Mom made a new shark for me, this time out of tinfoil. The shark
    lived happily in a large goldfish bowl. Laohu and I liked to sit next to the
    bowl to watch the tinfoil shark chasing the goldfish, Laohu sticking his
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 67
    face up against the bowl on the other side so that I saw his eyes, magnified
    to the size of coffee cups, staring at me from across the bowl.
    When I was ten, we moved to a new house across town. Two of the
    women neighbors came by to welcome us. Dad served them drinks and
    then apologized for having to run off to the utility company to straighten
    out the prior owner’s bills. “Make yourselves at home. My wife doesn’t
    speak much English, so don’t think she’s being rude for not talking to
    you.”
    While I read in the dining room, Mom unpacked in the kitchen. The
    neighbors conversed in the living room, not trying to be particularly quiet.
    “He seems like a normal enough man. Why did he do that?”
    “Something about the mixing never seems right. The child looks
    unfinished. Slanty eyes, white face. A little monster.”
    “Do you think he can speak English?”
    The women hushed. After a while they came into the dining room.
    “Hello there! What’s your name?”
    “Jack,” I said.
    “That doesn’t sound very Chinesey.”
    Mom came into the dining room then. She smiled at the women. The
    three of them stood in a triangle around me, smiling and nodding at each
    other, with nothing to say, until Dad came back.
    ARK, ONE OF THE neighborhood boys, came
    over with his Star Wars action figures. Obi-Wan Kenobi’s
    lightsaber lit up and he could swing his arms and say, in
    a tinny voice, “Use the Force!” I didn’t think the figure
    looked much like the real Obi-Wan at all.
    Together, we watched him repeat this performance five times on the
    coffee table. “Can he do anything else?” I asked.
    Mark was annoyed by my question. “Look at all the details,” he said.
    I looked at the details. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say.
    Mark was disappointed by my response. “Show me your toys.”
    I didn’t have any toys except my paper menagerie. I brought Laohu out
    from my bedroom. By then he was very worn, patched all over with tape
    and glue, evidence of the years of repairs Mom and I had done on him. He
    M
    68 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    was no longer as nimble and sure-footed as before. I sat him down on the
    coffee table. I could hear the skittering steps of the other animals behind
    in the hallway, timidly peeking into the living room.
    “Xiao laohu,” I said, and stopped. I switched to English. “This is
    Tiger.” Cautiously, Laohu strode up and purred at Mark, sniffing his
    hands.
    Mark examined the Christmas-wrap pattern of Laohu’s skin. “That
    doesn’t look like a tiger at all. Your Mom makes toys for you from trash?”
    I had never thought of Laohu as trash. But looking at him now, he was
    really just a piece of wrapping paper.
    Mark pushed Obi-Wan’s head again. The lightsaber flashed; he moved
    his arms up and down. “Use the Force!”
    Laohu turned and pounced, knocking the plastic figure off the table.
    It hit the floor and broke, and Obi-Wan’s head rolled under the couch.
    “Rawwww,” Laohu laughed. I joined him.
    Mark punched me, hard. “This was very expensive! You can’t even
    find it in the stores now. It probably cost more than what your Dad paid
    for your Mom!”
    I stumbled and fell to the floor. Laohu growled and leapt at Mark’s
    face.
    Mark screamed, more out of fear and surprise than pain. Laohu was
    only made of paper, after all.
    Mark grabbed Laohu and his snarl was choked off as Mark crumpled
    him in his hand and tore him in half. He balled up the two pieces of paper
    and threw them at me. “Here’s your stupid cheap Chinese garbage.”
    After Mark left, I spent a long time trying, without success, to tape
    together the pieces, smooth out the paper, and follow the creases to refold
    Laohu. Slowly, the other animals came into the living room and gathered
    around us, me and the torn wrapping paper that used to be Laohu.
    My fight with Mark didn’t end there. Mark was popular at school. I
    never want to think again about the two weeks that followed.
    I came home that Friday at the end of the two weeks. “Xuexiao hao
    ma?” Mom asked. I said nothing and went to the bathroom. I looked into
    the mirror. I look nothing like her, nothing.
    At dinner I asked Dad, “Do I have a chink face?”
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 69
    Dad put down his chopsticks. Even though I had never told him what
    happened in school, he seemed to understand. He closed his eyes and
    rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, you don’t.”
    Mom looked at Dad, not understanding. She looked back at me. “Sha
    jiao chink?”
    “English,” I said. “Speak English.”
    She tried. “What happen?”
    I pushed the chopsticks and the bowl before me away: stir-fried green
    peppers with five-spice beef. “We should eat American food.”
    Dad tried to reason. “A lot of families cook Chinese sometimes.”
    “We are not other families.” I looked at him. Other families don’t
    have Moms who don’t belong.
    He looked away. And then he put a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I’ll get
    you a cookbook.”
    Mom turned to me. “Bu haochi?”
    “English,” I said, raising my voice. “Speak English.”
    Mom reached out to touch my forehead, feeling for my temperature.
    “Fashao la?”
    I brushed her hand away. “I’m fine. Speak English!” I was shouting.
    “Speak English to him,” Dad said to Mom. “You knew this was going
    to happen someday. What did you expect?”
    Mom dropped her hands to her sides. She sat, looking from Dad to me,
    and back to Dad again. She tried to speak, stopped, and tried again, and
    stopped again.
    “You have to,” Dad said. “I’ve been too easy on you. Jack needs to fit
    in.”
    Mom looked at him. “If I say ‘love,’ I feel here.” She pointed to her lips.
    “If I say ‘ai,’ I feel here.” She put her hand over her heart.
    Dad shook his head. “You are in America.”
    Mom hunched down in her seat, looking like the water buffalo when
    Laohu used to pounce on him and squeeze the air of life out of him.
    “And I want some real toys.”
    Dad bought me a full set of Star Wars action figures. I gave the Obi-
    Wan Kenobi to Mark.
    I packed the paper menagerie in a large shoebox and put it under the bed.
    70 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    The next morning, the animals had escaped and taken over their old
    favorite spots in my room. I caught them all and put them back into the
    shoebox, taping the lid shut. But the animals made so much noise in the
    box that I finally shoved it into the corner of the attic as far away from my
    room as possible.
    If Mom spoke to me in Chinese, I refused to answer her. After a while,
    she tried to use more English. But her accent and broken sentences
    embarrassed me. I tried to correct her. Eventually, she stopped speaking
    altogether if I was around.
    Mom began to mime things if she needed to let me know something.
    She tried to hug me the way she saw American mothers do on TV. I
    thought her movements exaggerated, uncertain, ridiculous, graceless. She
    saw that I was annoyed, and stopped.
    “You shouldn’t treat your mother that way,” Dad said. But he
    couldn’t look me in the eyes as he said it. Deep in his heart, he must have
    realized that it was a mistake to have tried to take a Chinese peasant girl
    and expect her to fit in the suburbs of Connecticut.
    Mom learned to cook American style. I played video games and
    studied French.
    Every once in a while, I would see her at the kitchen table studying
    the plain side of a sheet of wrapping paper. Later a new paper animal would
    appear on my nightstand and try to cuddle up to me. I caught them,
    squeezed them until the air went out of them, and then stuffed them away
    in the box in the attic.
    Mom finally stopped making the animals when I was in high school.
    By then her English was much better, but I was already at that age when
    I wasn’t interested in what she had to say whatever language she used.
    Sometimes, when I came home and saw her tiny body busily moving
    about in the kitchen, singing a song in Chinese to herself, it was hard for
    me to believe that she gave birth to me. We had nothing in common. She
    might as well be from the Moon. I would hurry on to my room, where I
    could continue my all-American pursuit of happiness.
    Dad and I stood, one on each side of Mom, lying on the hospital bed.
    She was not yet even forty, but she looked much older.
    For years she had refused to go to the doctor for the pain inside her that
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 71
    she said was no big deal. By the time an ambulance finally carried her in,
    the cancer had spread far beyond the limits of surgery.
    My mind was not in the room. It was the middle of the on-campus
    recruiting season, and I was focused on resumes, transcripts, and strategically
    constructed interview schedules. I schemed about how to lie to the
    corporate recruiters most effectively so that they’d offer to buy me. I
    understood intellectually that it was terrible to think about this while
    your mother lay dying. But that understanding didn’t mean I could change
    how I felt.
    She was conscious. Dad held her left hand with both of his own. He
    leaned down to kiss her forehead. He seemed weak and old in a way that
    startled me. I realized that I knew almost as little about Dad as I did about
    Mom.
    Mom smiled at him. “I’m fine.”
    She turned to me, still smiling. “I know you have to go back to
    school.” Her voice was very weak and it was difficult to hear her over the
    hum of the machines hooked up to her. “Go. Don’t worry about me. This
    is not a big deal. Just do well in school.”
    I reached out to touch her hand, because I thought that was what I was
    supposed to do. I was relieved. I was already thinking about the flight back,
    and the bright California sunshine.
    She whispered something to Dad. He nodded and left the room.
    “Jack, if — ” she was caught up in a fit of coughing, and could not
    speak for some time. “If I…don’t make it, don’t be too sad and hurt your
    health. Focus on your life. Just keep that box you have in the attic with
    you, and every year, at Qingming, just take it out and think about me. I’ll
    be with you always.”
    Qingming was the Chinese Festival for the Dead. When I was very
    young, Mom used to write a letter on Qingming to her dead parents back
    in China, telling them the good news about the past year of her life in
    America. She would read the letter out loud to me, and if I made a
    comment about something, she would write it down in the letter too.
    Then she would fold the letter into a paper crane, and release it, facing
    west. We would then watch, as the crane flapped its crisp wings on its long
    journey west, toward the Pacific, toward China, toward the graves of
    Mom’s family.
    72 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    It had been many years since I last did that with her.
    “I don’t know anything about the Chinese calendar,” I said. “Just rest,
    Mom. “
    “Just keep the box with you and open it once in a while. Just open — ”
    She began to cough again.
    “It’s okay, Mom.” I stroked her arm awkwardly.
    “Haizi, mama ai ni — ” Her cough took over again. An image from
    years ago flashed into my memory: Mom saying ai and then putting her
    hand over her heart.
    “All right, Mom. Stop talking.”
    Dad came back, and I said that I needed to get to the airport early
    because I didn’t want to miss my flight.
    She died when my plane was somewhere over Nevada.
    AD AGED RAPIDLY after Mom died. The house
    was too big for him and had to be sold. My girlfriend
    Susan and I went to help him pack and clean the place.
    Susan found the shoebox in the attic. The paper
    menagerie, hidden in the uninsulated darkness of the attic for so long, had
    become brittle, and the bright wrapping paper patterns had faded.
    “I’ve never seen origami like this,” Susan said. “Your Mom was an
    amazing artist.”
    The paper animals did not move. Perhaps whatever magic had
    animated them stopped when Mom died. Or perhaps I had only imagined
    that these paper constructions were once alive. The memory of children
    could not be trusted.
    It was the first weekend in April, two years after Mom’s death. Susan
    was out of town on one of her endless trips as a management consultant
    and I was home, lazily flipping through the TV channels.
    I paused at a documentary about sharks. Suddenly I saw, in my mind,
    Mom’s hands as they folded and refolded tinfoil to make a shark for me,
    while Laohu and I watched.
    A rustle. I looked up and saw that a ball of wrapping paper and torn
    tape was on the floor next to the bookshelf. I walked over to pick it up for
    the trash.
    D
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 73
    The ball of paper shifted, unfurled itself, and I saw that it was Laohu,
    who I hadn’t thought about in a very long time. “Rawrr-sa.” Mom must
    have put him back together after I had given up.
    He was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just that back
    then my fists were smaller.
    Susan had put the paper animals around our apartment as decoration.
    She probably left Laohu in a pretty hidden corner because he looked so shabby.
    I sat down on the floor, and reached out a finger. Laohu’s tail twitched,
    and he pounced playfully. I laughed, stroking his back. Laohu purred
    under my hand.
    “How’ve you been, old buddy?”
    Laohu stopped playing. He got up, jumped with feline grace into my
    lap, and proceeded to unfold himself.
    In my lap was a square of creased wrapping paper, the plain side up.
    It was filled with dense Chinese characters. I had never learned to read
    Chinese, but I knew the characters for son, and they were at the top, where
    you’d expect them in a letter addressed to you, written in Mom’s awkward,
    childish handwriting.
    I went to the computer to check the Internet. Today was Qingming.
    I took the letter with me downtown, where I knew the Chinese tour
    buses stopped. I stopped every tourist, asking, “Nin hui du zhongwen
    ma?” Can you read Chinese? I hadn’t spoken Chinese in so long that I
    wasn’t sure if they understood.
    A young woman agreed to help. We sat down on a bench together, and
    she read the letter to me aloud. The language that I had tried to forget for
    years came back, and I felt the words sinking into me, through my skin,
    through my bones, until they squeezed tight around my heart.
    Son,
    We haven’t talked in a long time. You are so angry when I try to
    touch you that I’m afraid. And I think maybe this pain I feel all the
    time now is something serious.
    So I decided to write to you. I’m going to write in the paper
    animals I made for you that you used to like so much.
    The animals will stop moving when I stop breathing. But if I write
    74 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    to you with all my heart, I’ll leave a little of myself behind on this
    paper, in these words. Then, if you think of me on Qingming, when the
    spirits of the departed are allowed to visit their families, you’ll make
    the parts of myself I leave behind come alive too. The creatures I made
    for you will again leap and run and pounce, and maybe you’ll get to
    see these words then.
    Because I have to write with all my heart, I need to write to you
    in Chinese.
    All this time I still haven’t told you the story of my life. When you
    were little, I always thought I’d tell you the story when you were older,
    so you could understand. But somehow that chance never came up.
    I was born in 1957, in Sigulu Village, Hebei Province. Your
    grandparents were both from very poor peasant families with few
    relatives. Only a few years after I was born, the Great Famines struck
    China, during which thirty million people died. The first memory I
    have was waking up to see my mother eating dirt so that she could fill
    her belly and leave the last bit of flour for me.
    Things got better after that. Sigulu is famous for its zhezhi
    papercraft, and my mother taught me how to make paper animals and
    give them life. This was practical magic in the life of the village. We
    made paper birds to chase grasshoppers away from the fields, and
    paper tigers to keep away the mice. For Chinese New Year my friends
    and I made red paper dragons. I’ll never forget the sight of all those
    little dragons zooming across the sky overhead, holding up strings of
    exploding firecrackers to scare away all the bad memories of the past
    year. You would have loved it.
    Then came the Cultural Revolution in 1966. Neighbor turned on
    neighbor, and brother against brother. Someone remembered that my
    mother’s brother, my uncle, had left for Hong Kong back in 1946, and
    became a merchant there. Having a relative in Hong Kong meant we
    were spies and enemies of the people, and we had to be struggled
    against in every way. Your poor grandmother — she couldn’t take the
    abuse and threw herself down a well. Then some boys with hunting
    muskets dragged your grandfather away one day into the woods, and
    he never came back.
    There I was, a ten-year-old orphan. The only relative I had in the
    THE PAPER MENAGERIE 75
    world was my uncle in Hong Kong. I snuck away one night and
    climbed onto a freight train going south.
    Down in Guangdong Province a few days later, some men caught
    me stealing food from a field. When they heard that I was trying to get
    to Hong Kong, they laughed. “It’s your lucky day. Our trade is to bring
    girls to Hong Kong.”
    They hid me in the bottom of a truck along with other girls, and
    smuggled us across the border.
    We were taken to a basement and told to stand up and look
    healthy and intelligent for the buyers. Families paid the warehouse a
    fee and came by to look us over and select one of us to “adopt.”
    The Chin family picked me to take care of their two boys. I got up
    every morning at four to prepare breakfast. I fed and bathed the boys.
    I shopped for food. I did the laundry and swept the floors. I followed
    the boys around and did their bidding. At night I was locked into a
    cupboard in the kitchen to sleep. If I was slow or did anything wrong
    I was beaten. If the boys did anything wrong I was beaten. If I was
    caught trying to learn English I was beaten.
    “Why do you want to learn English?” Mr. Chin asked. “You want
    to go to the police? We’ll tell the police that you are a mainlander
    illegally in Hong Kong. They’d love to have you in their prison.”
    Six years I lived like this. One day, an old woman who sold fish
    to me in the morning market pulled me aside.
    “I know girls like you. How old are you now, sixteen? One day,
    the man who owns you will get drunk, and he’ll look at you and pull
    you to him and you can’t stop him. The wife will find out, and then
    you will think you really have gone to hell. You have to get out of this
    life. I know someone who can help.”
    She told me about American men who wanted Asian wives. If I
    can cook, clean, and take care of my American husband, he’ll give me
    a good life. It was the only hope I had. And that was how I got into the
    catalog with all those lies and met your father. It is not a very
    romantic story, but it is my story.
    In the suburbs of Connecticut, I was lonely. Your father was kind
    and gentle with me, and I was very grateful to him. But no one
    understood me, and I understood nothing.
    76 FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION
    But then you were born! I was so happy when I looked into your
    face and saw shades of my mother, my father, and myself. I had lost
    my entire family, all of Sigulu, everything I ever knew and loved. But
    there you were, and your face was proof that they were real. I hadn’t
    made them up.
    Now I had someone to talk to. I would teach you my language,
    and we could together remake a small piece of everything that I loved
    and lost. When you said your first words to me, in Chinese that had
    the same accent as my mother and me, I cried for hours. When I made
    the first zhezhi animals for you, and you laughed, I felt there were no
    worries in the world.
    You grew up a little, and now you could even help your father and
    me talk to each other. I was really at home now. I finally found a good
    life. I wished my parents could be here, so that I could cook for them,
    and give them a good life too. But my parents were no longer around.
    You know what the Chinese think is the saddest feeling in the world?
    It’s for a child to finally grow the desire to take care of his parents, only
    to realize that they were long gone.
    Son, I know that you do not like your Chinese eyes, which are my
    eyes. I know that you do not like your Chinese hair, which is my hair.
    But can you understand how much joy your very existence brought to
    me? And can you understand how it felt when you stopped talking to
    me and won’t let me talk to you in Chinese? I felt I was losing
    everything all over again.
    Why won’t you talk to me, son? The pain makes it hard to write.
    The young woman handed the paper back to me. I could not bear to
    look into her face.
    Without looking up, I asked for her help in tracing out the character
    for ai on the paper below Mom’s letter. I wrote the character again and
    again on the paper, intertwining my pen strokes with her words.
    The young woman reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. Then
    she got up and left, leaving me alone with my mother.
    Following the creases, I refolded the paper back into Laohu. I
    cradled him in the crook of my arm, and as he purred, we began the walk
    home.

  • Sa-amus

    Sa-amus 2012-09-07 15:24:25

    看到原文,我收回原来的看法~尼玛翻译坑爹啊~

  • 楚鹿

    楚鹿 2012-09-07 15:50:37

    译者真心任重道远啊…
    翻译的不好就不要给第二个人看了好么?明显翻译的不好就不要贴出来坑爹好么?

  • 胡列那

    胡列那 (天垂六幕千山外,何处清风不旧家) 2012-09-07 16:12:53

    译者真心任重道远啊… 翻译的不好就不要给第二个人看了好么?明显翻译的不好就不要贴出来坑爹好 译者真心任重道远啊… 翻译的不好就不要给第二个人看了好么?明显翻译的不好就不要贴出来坑爹好么? ... 楚鹿

    这明显不是单纯的翻译问题

  • 胡列那

    胡列那 (天垂六幕千山外,何处清风不旧家) 2012-09-07 16:14:32

    我无耻的认为被阉割的那一小段才是真正投洋人所好才是得奖的原因。。。希望我错了 我无耻的认为被阉割的那一小段才是真正投洋人所好才是得奖的原因。。。希望我错了 第六天大萌王

    那排华怎么算,是不是写排华的文章投我们zf的所好?

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-07 16:28:08

    那排华怎么算,是不是写排华的文章投我们zf的所好? 那排华怎么算,是不是写排华的文章投我们zf的所好? 胡列那

    这篇文章是写来投天朝zf所好的?

  • 蘿柚

    蘿柚 (silly crazy) 2012-09-07 16:28:26

    让我想起《叶问》里林家栋的那句:我只不过是个翻译,叼。

  • 猪猪晓琳

    猪猪晓琳 2012-09-07 16:46:43

    看哭了,,,,

  • 糖

    (LivE FaSt, DiE YouNG) 2012-09-07 17:01:05

    刚把中英文都看了。中文翻译是经过原作者同意了的,为了出版嘛,大家懂的。而且这不是重点好吧,总体没有曲解啊。

  • [已注销]

    [已注销] 2012-09-07 17:34:20

    眼前幽幽浮现几个字:新概念作文

  • 楚鹿

    楚鹿 2012-09-07 22:07:37

    这明显不是单纯的翻译问题 这明显不是单纯的翻译问题 胡列那

    那您指教指教,根本是什么问题

  • brief_candle

    brief_candle 2012-09-07 22:22:10

    翻译的不如原文好,英文版的真的很好 翻译的不如原文好,英文版的真的很好 brunocheng

    英文的文字好简洁,泪点好多。。。

    是不是只有留学生,或是第二代移民才会感动的。。反正我就是想到妈妈了。。。

  • brief_candle

    brief_candle 2012-09-07 22:38:23

    我也是科幻迷。。。

    但是这种把折纸这样的魔法运用在现实生活中,母亲吹出气把自己生命的一点儿放入折纸中,好魔幻!!母亲死后,小动物们都不动了。。。但是清明节的时候,母亲对儿子的爱回来了,让折纸重新活动起来,好有爱阿!!!

    我会告诉你我在回想情节的时候,眼睛都湿了吗,混蛋!!!

  • Gloria

    Gloria (喵呜。) 2012-09-07 23:21:26

    好吧,我也先马克。

  • 大眼狗

    大眼狗 (豺狼当道,亦问狐狸。) 2012-09-08 01:29:00

    有什么好的?

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-08 02:20:14

    英文的文字好简洁,泪点好多。。。 是不是只有留学生,或是第二代移民才会感动的。。反正我就 英文的文字好简洁,泪点好多。。。 是不是只有留学生,或是第二代移民才会感动的。。反正我就是想到妈妈了。。。 ... brief_candle

    留学生表示完全不感动。。。并不是觉得写得不好,只是抱着很高的期望去看一篇传说中的得奖奇幻小说,然后看到了一篇知音体文章,落差好大的感觉

  • brief_candle

    brief_candle 2012-09-08 02:29:39

    留学生表示完全不感动。。。并不是觉得写得不好,只是抱着很高的期望去看一篇传说中的得奖奇幻小 留学生表示完全不感动。。。并不是觉得写得不好,只是抱着很高的期望去看一篇传说中的得奖奇幻小说,然后看到了一篇知音体文章,落差好大的感觉 ... 第六天大萌王

    你没有看英文的吧。。。

  • 粽人府

    粽人府 (一个并不酷的人。) 2012-09-08 02:44:57

    有些人真无耻,看完中文就说自己感动哭了,然后有人说是因为翻译问题不够出色,就改口果然翻译的不好,原文真是好棒啊太精彩了……尼玛做人别这么装逼好吧,有几个人把原文原原本本看完了呀。就算翻译再有问题,故事情节是一样的吧?这个故事放到国内可能也就在《奇幻世界》刊登下就完了,而且原文翻译还是很流畅的,读起来没有脱节地方,只是会觉得有些平淡。我不否认其中有感人之处,但没有惊世骇俗的地步。

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-08 02:48:45

    你没有看英文的吧。。。 你没有看英文的吧。。。 brief_candle

    只看了被阉割的那一小段

  • 第六天大萌王

    第六天大萌王 (fanatic) 2012-09-08 03:01:58

    有些人真无耻,看完中文就说自己感动哭了,然后有人说是因为翻译问题不够出色,就改口果然翻译的 有些人真无耻,看完中文就说自己感动哭了,然后有人说是因为翻译问题不够出色,就改口果然翻译的不好,原文真是好棒啊太精彩了……尼玛做人别这么装逼好吧,有几个人把原文原原本本看完了呀。就算翻译再有问题,故事情节是一样的吧?这个故事放到国内可能也就在《奇幻世界》刊登下就完了,而且原文翻译还是很流畅的,读起来没有脱节地方,只是会觉得有些平淡。我不否认其中有感人之处,但没有惊世骇俗的地步。 ... 粽人府

    主要是不够奇幻,又有些晒伤痛的嫌疑,觉得和翻译没关系

  • brief_candle

    brief_candle 2012-09-08 03:51:12

    有些人真无耻,看完中文就说自己感动哭了,然后有人说是因为翻译问题不够出色,就改口果然翻译的 有些人真无耻,看完中文就说自己感动哭了,然后有人说是因为翻译问题不够出色,就改口果然翻译的不好,原文真是好棒啊太精彩了……尼玛做人别这么装逼好吧,有几个人把原文原原本本看完了呀。就算翻译再有问题,故事情节是一样的吧?这个故事放到国内可能也就在《奇幻世界》刊登下就完了,而且原文翻译还是很流畅的,读起来没有脱节地方,只是会觉得有些平淡。我不否认其中有感人之处,但没有惊世骇俗的地步。 ... 粽人府

    "就算翻译再有问题,故事情节是一样的吧?"emm,语言上更有感触,我也可以说一样的故事,但是肯定没有他说的动听。

    还有就是不同语言上的,同样一个意思,但是却不是同一个味道。。。应该是语境的关系,中国人说的一个词有我们自己的意思,美国人有美国人的意思。。

    还有原文很简朴,几乎没有刻意的抒情,就像我之前说的那点,再比如“我终于有了自己的幸福生活”,原文是“i finally found a good life”。

  • 假行僧

    假行僧 (你来的时候便来!) 2012-09-08 06:27:49

    哽咽!

  • 嘉文

    嘉文 (冷暖自知) 2012-09-08 06:46:04

    母爱的深沉伟大,不论是用什么语言写出来,都能有震撼心灵的力量

    中文版是给那些读不下英文版的人看的,各有各出彩的地方,但是要传达的故事都很完整地传达了,那就足够了

  • _念nian_

    _念nian_ (可惜我是水瓶座❤) 2012-09-08 08:58:33

    虽说不够科幻是硬伤。但是折纸会动那个写的还是蛮不错的,不知道是不是因为新鲜老外才给这个奖的。
    感情蛮真挚感人的,但作为科幻类大奖觉得文章小儿科了

  • 象游

    象游 (苦乐自当 无有代者) 2012-09-08 11:39:10

    折纸会动在文中到底是想象还是现实啊!不是想象吗!~~
    童年期人是纯粹的幻想的,不太受世俗影响所以折纸会动,随着主人公长大逐渐接受现实,向社会上的普遍价值观寻找认同,妈妈的折纸代表了唯心的自己和被社会歧视的自己,于是他逃离了妈妈和折纸。不过当他继续成长,最后他的世界观又一次更新明白什么才是人生中有价值的东西。于是他重新认同了他的童年世界,在幻想中折纸又动了。
    我觉得重点不在cultural revolution,而在于人的心理发展(世界观),文中通过多种歧视(种族城乡文化婚姻方式等)显得这一过程非常曲折,在这过程中主人公为了捡芝麻而丢了西瓜(背离母子亲情)更显得悲情。
    文章突出了幻想的价值——挣脱世俗刻板印象,所以得了科幻的奖?(不清楚背景随便说的…)
    最后我想说一点都不读者啊,读者是体现社会刻板印象的,母子亲情自我成长经常被”读者”不表示它们是独属于读者的内容。
    因为看哭了一写写了这么多………

  • 不丢大象

    不丢大象 2012-09-09 00:29:56

    一点都不科幻的感觉。。故事刚开始那俩邻居好坏跑到人家家里吃吃喝喝 还说三道四

  • 小闪电

    小闪电 2012-09-09 09:22:41

    看英文版我的感觉是,一个母亲拥有了整个世界然后又失去了 爱和love 是不同的。中文版,看哭了,在那封信之前我不知道原因,有一种隔阂感,但还是挺感动的。子欲养,而亲不待。我觉得这种翻译更有味道吧,翻译者可以让文章更精致点,毕竟原文不错。(中国对西方的文化渗透,一个时代的缩影)

  • 班比

    班比 2012-09-09 09:38:39

    哭的不成样~~我泪点低哇

  • [已注销]

    [已注销] 2012-09-09 09:55:27

    原文没看 中文版的已经很感动

  • Fiala.

    Fiala. (Stýská se mi po tobě.) 2012-09-10 14:31:31

    写得好差! 写得好差! 乌龙茶

    哪儿写得差,洗耳恭听。

  • lina

    lina 2012-09-10 21:17:22

    我也觉得一般。

  • 胡列那

    胡列那 (天垂六幕千山外,何处清风不旧家) 2012-09-11 00:07:56

    那您指教指教,根本是什么问题 那您指教指教,根本是什么问题 楚鹿

    翻译篡改的就是讲三年自然灾害,讲文革的地方,其他的原意都没丢,您觉得呢

  • 如生

    如生 (耽于酒色。) 2012-09-11 10:58:36

    渣翻译

  • Si Seulement

    Si Seulement (曾打动你的,有多销魂就有多伤人) 2012-09-11 11:22:50

    好神奇,虽然故事情节未免俗套了一点,但我还是被这种叙事的手法打动了

  • 飞鸟凌

    飞鸟凌 2012-09-11 17:28:25

    感人,但确定是雨过奖得主?

  • 楚鹿

    楚鹿 2012-09-11 20:09:34

    翻译篡改的就是讲三年自然灾害,讲文革的地方,其他的原意都没丢,您觉得呢 翻译篡改的就是讲三年自然灾害,讲文革的地方,其他的原意都没丢,您觉得呢 胡列那

    我还是觉得翻译很差劲。

  • 娜蒂雅

    娜蒂雅 (活着是为庆祝生命) 2012-09-11 22:55:02

    觉得一般了。

  • Tao Cheng

    Tao Cheng (阅读公众号:zhaimen_magazine) 2012-09-11 22:57:55

    之前看译文觉得得奖理解不能,看到英文才发现真心不错

  • 陈汤圆

    陈汤圆 (身体和心灵必须有一个在路上) 2012-09-12 16:19:38

    为何我一点感动都没有?难道就只有我一个人感觉很平凡吗?

  • 囗

    2012-09-12 18:05:17

    看来大家的评价是一致的……

  • canvas

    canvas (被窝是青春的坟墓) 2012-09-13 00:50:05

    我觉得不错啊~虽然不知道有没有好到能获奖的地步,但觉得挺感人~
    话说大家评判标准很高啊,我觉得高中生应该写不出这种感觉。那种妈妈的形象,想着都很辛酸。我还是很喜欢这种平淡中的温情。
    雨果奖的话,可能是因为折纸活过来有点科幻?

  • canvas

    canvas (被窝是青春的坟墓) 2012-09-13 00:50:06

    我觉得不错啊~虽然不知道有没有好到能获奖的地步,但觉得挺感人~
    话说大家评判标准很高啊,我觉得高中生应该写不出这种感觉。那种妈妈的形象,想着都很辛酸。我还是很喜欢这种平淡中的温情。
    雨果奖的话,可能是因为折纸活过来有点科幻?

  • Harry

    Harry (A QUANT GUY) 2012-09-13 04:20:08

    我并不喜欢这篇文章。我没看英文,但是我不认为翻译是问题。
    这篇文章用很短的篇幅,写了一个横跨几十年的故事,无法避免的节奏仓促。就像是一部两小时的电影,用8X的快进在播放,播到电影快结尾了,再来一封母亲的遗书,一封信的长度,浓缩了母亲悲惨的一生。像是一壶好酒的酒味全浓缩到一口里,那还不苦得人眼泪流啊。

  • crusader

    crusader (all that is holy is profaned) 2012-09-13 05:11:08

    amy tan的风格,海外华裔是一个独立的群体,和今天的中国人已经不是一个概念。

  • 老碧

    老碧 2012-09-13 12:02:04

    子欲养而亲不在。

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