Sunday, December 25, 2016

黄色的初恋



  一年后,我开始领零用钱──我还记得是一个月一百日圆。

  隔着花布双珠扣零钱包,我紧紧握着里面的人生第一笔可以自由花费的钱,去买了波萝面包。跑下前往商店街的斜坡时,我还感觉自己的脚就像浮在离地五公分的空中似地。

  不可思议的是,我完全不记得那天买的波萝面包是在哪里、跟谁一起吃掉的。

  我记得的,只有自己一边颤抖著手,一边拿出白色纸袋里的波萝面包,以及尽情一口咬下去的瞬间散发出的令人晕眩的香料味。

  然而,在花椰菜形状的突起像土墙一般,开始「啪啦啪啦」地剥落时,我却感到一阵冲击,就像某种东西忽然如「假发」般剥落时产生「咦?」的反应。

  柠檬黄的突起剥落后,出现在下方的是白面包,味道平淡的普通面包……

  让我如此热衷、烦恼的颜色和漂亮的突起,原来只是覆盖在面包表面,厚一、二公厘的「结痂」。我多希望它的内在和外表一样!

  (原来是这样啊。)

  我感受到梦想的幻灭……

  那么,我对波萝面包的憧憬,是不是就这么结束了呢?

  ……不。

  即便如此,我还是无法不买波萝面包。

  我知道波萝面包只是在面包表面涂上做饼干的面糊烤成的、我知道一咬之后它就会像「结痂」一样剥落、我也知道波萝面包不可能如梦似幻地好吃,但不知道为什么,我就是会想吃它。

  直到现在,看见那个突起的柠檬黄,我还是会感到一阵阳光洒进胸口似地幸福,回想起那个没有吃过,却只靠所有想像力去幻想味道的孩提时代憧憬。

  吃菠萝面包的时候,我一定会把孩提时代在心中描绘的那个味道,从记忆里抽出来品尝,而非实际用舌尖感受到的味道。

  长大成人后,我可以自由地吃所有想吃的东西。然而我却发觉,再也没有什么想吃的食物,能让我像当年一样,倾尽一切的想像力了。

≪记忆的味道≫[黄色的初恋]113-115页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0




Saturday, December 24, 2016

深夜的兵卫碗面



  学生时代,我总会在考试之前熬夜念书,至今还无法脱离这个习惯;世人一陷入沉睡,我的写作就会进入佳境。结果过了午夜时分,我情绪高昂,就好像花朵在脑中绽放一样,同时也出现一阵猛烈的饥饿感。

  莫名其妙地想吃泡面……我要吃“兵卫豆皮乌冬面”,我非吃“兵卫碗面”不可。

  我也不晓得为什么,但这种情况大约都发生在午夜一点。即便知道在这种时间吃东西对身体不好,而且我想吃的偏偏又是泡面。吸满面汤的“豆皮”和白色扁面的幻影出现在眼前,催促着我。

  “啊,不行了!”

  我还曾经忍不住在丑时三刻(凌晨两点左右)披上大衣,跑去附近的便利店买过。

  于是,我烧开水,“啪里啪里”地撕去密封兵卫碗面容器的塑料膜。泡沫塑料面碗非常轻,摇一摇还会像模型玩具纸盒一样发出“咔嗒咔嗒”的声音。这个轻盈的感觉,总让我不由自主地想到仿冒品。

  我将碗面的纸盖掀开一半。首先映入眼帘的,就是颜色类似炸番薯的四方形大“豆皮”,拿起这块“豆皮”后,下方就是干燥面了。有如烫了超级卷发的白色扁面被挤成圆形,完全配合面碗的形状,每每令我想到沙丁鱼苗饼。

  我撕开调味粉的小袋子,“唰唰”地将它一干二净地撒进面碗里,再将热水加到面碗边缘的止水线。盖上纸盖挡住水蒸气之后,纸盖的边缘就像烤鱿鱼一样翘了起来,于是我便在纸盖上放重物,等泡面泡五分钟。

  这五分钟长得令人意外。所以才过三分半、四分钟,我就迫不及待地掀开纸盖了。将纸盖完全撕掉后,我用筷子压了压膨胀的“豆皮”两三次。“豆皮”吸满面汤,就好像湿棉被一样沉甸甸的,然而令人不可思议的是,无论我怎么压,它都像救生衣似的浮起来,不会沉下去。

  我决定最后再来慢慢享用它,于是翻开豆皮,把下面的面拉出来吃。

  仿佛卷发一般的扁面好夹好吃,弯曲的地方还会沾满柴鱼酱油口味的面汤。面的表面滑溜溜的,膨胀而有些透明、Q 弹,也会吸一点面汤。

  “啊——”

  太幸福了。深夜在办公桌前吃的“兵卫碗面”,怎么会这么好吃!

  我之所以吃“兵卫豆皮乌冬面”,不是因为它乃真正的豆皮乌冬面的替代品,而是因为我就是喜欢“兵卫豆皮乌冬面”的味道。

  无论“豆皮”、面还是面汤,它都和正统的豆皮乌冬面很像,却还是带有那种泡面的味道。就像他说的:“不过是仿造品罢了。”可是这个仿造品的味道,却让我在深夜时分,爱不释手。

  “吁——”

  调整好呼吸,终于要吃“豆皮”了。“兵卫碗面”的“豆皮”是一经典名作。我一口咬住豆皮的边角,撕开。这不算“吃”,而是用嘴巴撕扯。

  让宛如湿棉被似的“豆皮”沾满甘甜的面汤,再慢慢撕开……这种感觉真是让人受不了。

  不过,要是先吃掉“豆皮”,豆皮乌冬面就会变成单纯的乌冬汤面了,所以我会在吃面的时候,一点一点地吃“豆皮”,最后留一口,然后把这一口用心留下来的“豆皮”再次泡进面汤里。我硬是用筷子将不会下沉的“豆皮”压下去,让它吸满面汤之后,再依依不舍地品尝。

  喝干剩下的面汤后,留下的只有面碗和一次性筷子。丢掉吧!我想。拿在手上的兵卫面碗,异常地轻……

≪记忆的味道≫[深夜的兵卫碗面]098-101页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0





Sunday, December 18, 2016

父亲和舟和的地瓜羊羹



  在父亲罕见地提早回家的日子,伴手礼就不是寿司了。父亲并没有立刻将伴手礼拿出来,而且莫名其妙地抿著嘴巴,一脸不悅地脱下大衣,掛上衣架,搞得茶室的气氛很不安,接着才装模作样地将一个蓝色浪花图案的纸包放在矮桌正中央。

  “有舟和的地瓜羊羹喔……”

  父亲一定会加上店名“舟和”。

  “舟和的地瓜羊羹”是父亲的最爱。

  可是,家人们的反应却和父亲的期待有所差池。

  “怎么又是舟和的羊羹啊?”

  母亲不爱吃地瓜类食品,我和弟弟也不怎么兴奋。

  和泡芙或海绵蛋糕等闪着漂亮的蛋黄色光辉的西洋甜点比起来,舟和地瓜羊羹的黄色显得有点儿成熟、朴素且黯淡,看起来就是很老气。

  父亲孤孤单单地兴奋著。他换上睡衣,性急地搓著双手,并催促著在厨房的母亲说:

  “妈妈,泡杯浓茶来喝。”

  父亲面前放着他爱用的备前烧大茶杯,我们面前则放着各自的茶杯。

  舟和的地瓜羊羹口感黏黏的,但是却又有干干粉粉的感觉。这些粉末就慢慢地在喉咙的某部分堆积。

  父亲喝了一口浓茶,将地瓜羊羹放进口中,然后发出仿佛深深咀嚼幸福的声音。

  “啊……果然还是舟和的地瓜羊羹好吃啊!”

  接着,他频频征求眼前的我和弟弟的回应:

  “怎么样?你们也喜欢舟和的地瓜羊羹吧?对吧,喜欢吧?”

  父亲是在距今十六年前过世的,当时我三十三岁。过了几年后的某一天,朋友来我一个人住的公寓玩。

  “这是礼物。”

  我看着朋友递出的纸袋,反射性地说:

  “啊,舟和的地瓜羊羹……”

  “妳知道喔?”

  “当然。”

  早在三十年前,父亲常常买回来,不过现在,蓝色浪花的包装纸设计已经改成雷门的大灯笼绘图了。

  这天晚上,我一个人打开纸盒。

  (啊,这个颜色!)

  盒子里满满的黄色突然出现在我眼前。地瓜的暗黄色……一看见这个成熟的黄色,上野、浅草的街头风景,立刻在我脑海中甦醒。

  盒子里的地瓜羊羹被切成六块,每块地瓜羊羹的形状,都是类似数来宝竹片的柱形,边角的垂直角度则像用尺量过一般。

  我将这个黄色的数来宝竹片放在卷草纹图样的盘子里,然后泡杯茶放在桌上。

  一面看着电视,我一面用甜点用的牙签,斜斜切下数来宝竹片的角角,随意放进嘴里,忽地感到耳下一阵剧痛,不由得用手压住。口中的直角随即崩解,散发出的地瓜温暖口感和怀旧甜味,让我的心不由自主地放松了。

  “是地瓜!”

  这是地瓜羊羹,当然是地瓜。但是,这比地瓜还像地瓜。

  我认真地凝视著地瓜羊羹,切成直角的角角部分有些雾雾的。孩提时代觉得老气的暗黄色,竟然有这么丰富的味道。这个金黄色的数来宝竹片当中,塞满了自然的坚持。

  看完盒子里小小的说明书后,发现地瓜羊羹是只用一颗颗亲手剥皮的蒸地瓜和砂糖制成的。原来如此,怪不得处处掺杂著红褐色的皮。虽然表面光滑,地瓜短短的纤维还是像毛毡一般,处处竖立。

  我连续吃了三块。不知道是地瓜的纤维还是粉粗糙地卡在喉咙,不停堆积。我喝了一口煎茶,卡在喉咙的东西和茶的苦味就全被冲下肚了。舒畅的感觉袭来,让我又开始吃起地瓜羊羹。

  从此,我经常买“舟和的地瓜羊羹”。一想到吃完饭,有“舟和的地瓜羊羹”等着我,就觉得晚餐看起来好豪华。将餐桌整理干净后,我先泡好较浓的茶,再把像数来宝竹片的地瓜羊羹直接放进盘子里,直到心满意足地欣赏完这深深的金黄色后,方才切下边角,放进口中,然后卸下心防,细细地品味这股幸福。

  “啊……果然还是舟和的地瓜羊羹好吃啊!”

  回过神来,我才发现自己说出的话和父亲一模一样。

≪记忆的味道≫[父亲和舟和的地瓜羊羹]070-075页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0





爱神水羊羹



  水羊羹滑进雾面玻璃盘,在周围积了一小滩水。表面包含水分,散发着溼润的光泽,边角处的形状也很完整。至于颜色,中心部分是深邃幽暗的紫色,靠近边角的地方则呈透明的淡淡的雾状。

  好美,而且不知道为什么有点色情……

  “开动吧!”

  我用汤匙轻轻切下边角,滑入口中……

  在舌头碰到这个冰凉物体的下一瞬间,水羊羹这么说:

  “不用咬没关系哦,我会主动进去的。”

  不一会儿,就在我觉得水羊羹融化的那一刻,舌头的味蕾被甜味侵占了。

  “……”

  我禁不住闭上了眼睛。多么有气质而温柔的甘甜啊!红豆的风味缓缓地渗入大脑的皱褶之中。

  我第一次吃到这种水羊羹。

  我不断、不断地体验者冰凉的表面在口中融化的滋味。

  不知为何,我忆起了≪雪国≫。

  这是驹子……

  水嫩、清新而凛然,然而一旦放松下来又立即散发出狂放不羁的魅力,主动出击,让人困惑。

  这究竟是固体还是液体呢?既非固体,也非液体——这种难以触摸的感觉,就是驹子。

  我不咬、不动下巴咀嚼,只是品尝着主动融化的水羊羹……

≪记忆的味道≫[爱神水羊羹]057-059页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0




Saturday, December 17, 2016

长崎蜂蜜蛋糕的诅咒



  最近,一位在工作上很照顾我的人,送了我长崎老店的蜂蜜蛋糕。

  那一瞬间我僵住了。

  “啊,你讨厌长崎蜂蜜蛋糕吗?”

  被对方这么一问,我赶紧摇头说:“不是、不是。”

  描绘出岛地图的包装纸,散发着洋风的新潮气息。

  (这不是“长崎蜂蜜蛋糕”,而是西洋进口的“蜂蜜蛋糕”。)

  我在脑中这么说服自己,并起了许久不曾有过的念头,打算尝尝看。


  我用菜刀将长崎蜂蜜蛋糕切成香烟盒大小,剥开薄纸,像小时候一样,用门牙刮了黏在薄纸上的咖啡色皮,小心翼翼地品味它。

  味噌般的浓郁,以及温和的甘甜。

  绵密细致的海绵洞穴散发着蛋黄色的光芒。我使劲用叉子切下去,蛋糕就像手风琴一般压缩,截面也像那天一样,毛毛的。

  我静静地将一块蛋糕放进口中。蛋黄的味道搔弄著我的鼻腔,味道浓厚、纯朴而爽口,用门牙轻轻咬碎底部咖啡色的焦皮中有著没完全溶化的糖粒,这样的口感也很好。

  此时,我已从“长崎蜂蜜蛋糕的诅咒”中解脱了。屈指算来,从国小一年级的那天开始,刚好已过四十年。

≪记忆的味道≫[沉溺在长崎蜂蜜蛋糕中]035-036页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0





沉溺在长崎蜂蜜蛋糕中



  一面偷偷听着母亲和客人的谈话,我一面发出“咚、咚”的声音走上二楼,仔细端详著手中的长崎蜂蜜蛋糕。挤满了绵密细致小洞的蛋黄色海绵、上下夹着长崎蜂蜜蛋糕的咖啡色──我好喜欢这个黄色和咖啡色的“双色系”。

  我一用叉子尖端紧紧压下去,长崎蜂蜜蛋糕就像手风琴一般大幅压缩,然后又缓缓地恢复原状。切口处的海绵小洞被破坏了,截面也变得毛毛的,然而这个蛋黄色的“毛毛”,却让我兴奋不已。

  我将蛋糕塞进嘴里,感受到湿湿黏黏的甘甜,蛋的风味也穿过鼻腔,让我心神荡漾。我默默地动嘴咀嚼,吞了下去,并感到花儿在我的脑袋里绽放开来。

  我下楼把空盘子拿到厨房,对母亲说:

  “妈妈,我还可以再吃一点吗?”

  “妈妈在说话,你自己切吧。”

  母亲从茶室微微回过头,然后又转头继续说话了。

  我拿椅子垫脚,自己打开木盒的盖子。盒子里全是长崎蜂蜜蛋糕,散发着浓浓的甜味……我瞬间变成了掉进蜜罐子里的蜜蜂,立刻用菜刀切一片比刚才大一点蛋糕,兴高采烈地爬上二楼。

  第二盘也在眨眼间消失了。我一看见截面的毛边,就更觉得非吃不可,於是静悄悄地下楼来到厨房,爬上垫脚用的椅子。因为切很多次很麻烦,我干脆直接切了一块家庭号火柴盒(约11×9×5公分)大小的蛋糕。

  我开始思索吃法。截面的毛边是不错,但不用破坏海绵小洞的叉子,直接用手撕来吃时,裂口处软绵绵的,也让我食欲大增。

  我又下楼去厨房,这次切了一块豆腐的大小。在我来回於厨房和二楼之际,蛋糕的份量也越切越大。

  掉进蜜罐子里的蜜蜂沉溺在其甜美之中,以为如梦似幻的时间会永恒不断。不过,一阵恶寒窜过背脊,令人不安的冷汗也冒了出来。我开始发,害怕得不断打颤。

  我想起了母亲的话,“这样就够了。”惨了,我后悔莫及地心想。

  我头痛欲裂,觉得脑浆就像糖渍水果干似地粗糙;心脏扑通扑通地跳,晕眩得天昏地暗,仿佛大楼工地现场“空、空”地敲着钢筋一般的头痛也开始了。

  母亲是在傍晚送客之后,打开长崎蜂蜜蛋糕的盖子才发现的。她打开盖子一看,桐木盒里的长崎蜂蜜蛋糕有三分之二不见了。

  “典子、典子。”

  母亲慌慌张张地爬上二楼来。我见状立刻猛地拉起棉被盖住头,脸色铁青,浑身发抖。剧烈的头痛和恶寒让我怀疑自己会这么死掉。

  结果,我请假两天没去学校。当然不用说,我被父母骂惨了。

  后来,我连看到长崎蜂蜜蛋糕都觉得讨厌,只要一听到长崎蜂蜜蛋糕就会头疼。对于贪吃现世报的恐惧,让我在十年、甚至二十年之后,还是会在回想起那黏黏的甜味时,感到阵阵头痛。

≪记忆的味道≫[沉溺在长崎蜂蜜蛋糕中]032-035页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0




Sunday, December 11, 2016

我人生中的札幌一番味噌拉面



  到了高二、高三,我忙着准备联考时,母亲则会煮拉面给我当消夜。

  此时,母亲会将大量的蒜头磨成泥,加进拉面汤里,并说:“这样才有精力。”

  蒜头加味噌拉面,真是“命运的邂逅”,味道香得只要吃过一次,就没办法接受没加蒜头的味噌拉面了。

  只不过,隔天会留下强烈的口臭……

  “蒜头少加一点。”

  我这么拜托母亲。然而到了接近消夜的时间,我还是听到厨房传来“嘎里嘎里嘎里”奋力使用磨泥板的声音。结果,蒜头的量还是没有减少。

  上大学后的第一个春假,我经历了初次失恋。那天,我什么都没吃,一整天躲在被窝里啜泣。到了半夜,一阵近乎凶暴的饥饿感向我袭来。我猛然起床,蹑手蹑脚地下楼走到厨房。因为全家人都睡熟了,我肿得跟泥娃娃一样的眼睛才没被人看见。

  我从冰箱里找出发芽的洋葱、卷心菜等剩菜当材料,做了味噌拉面,并打了一个生蛋进去。接着,我端着烫手的面碗,让全身沉浸在味噌的香味之中,一边吹着热气一边吃着拉面。卷心菜心很甜,半熟的蛋破了,流出来的浓稠蛋黄也好甜。味噌拉面一如既往的温柔,似乎安慰了我。

  大学毕业后,我开始了周刊杂志的记者工作,不过在赶稿熬夜的早晨,或被要求重写的低潮夜晚,我还是会煮“札幌一番味噌拉面”来吃。

  有些日子,我会在拉面里奢侈地加入干贝和猪肉块;也有些日子,我什么都不加。有时冰箱里只有一颗生菜,我就会把生菜切丝,然后在拉面上堆起一座小山。生菜很脆,出乎意料地好吃。从此我就常吃生菜加味噌拉面。

  到了三十二岁,我偏晚的独立离巢之日,在连窗帘都还没装的空荡公寓里,我做的第一道料理就是“札幌一番味噌拉面”。

  在我倾斜面锅,要把煮好的拉面盛进碗里的那一瞬间,单柄面锅的把手突然松脱,整个面锅就这样砸在地板上。

  “啊——”

  自己的声音在纯白的墙壁上回响之后,便归于平静。

  (对了,今后我什么都得靠自己来了。独立原来就是这么一回事……)

≪记忆的味道≫[我人生中的札幌一番味噌拉面]026-028页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0





没有停留在鼻子里的味道……



  第一次吃“札幌一番味噌拉面”那天的记忆,是和当时我家被太阳晒得泛黄的唐纸隔扇门上的条纹、拉面碗边缘朱红色的雷纹连在一起的。

  材料是菠菜、胡萝卜和荷兰豆,最后撒上葱。

  那是我念小学五年级的时候。父亲还没下班回家,我和母亲、弟弟三个人一边看着九重佑三子主演的《彗星公主》,一边“呼——呼——”地吹着从面碗中袅袅升起的蒸汽……

  当时,泡面新品接二连三地登场,电视广告也纷纷出炉。不过每每在我满怀期待地尝新试吃后,就觉得不管哪家的泡面,都有一个很奇怪的地方——味道会一直停留在鼻子里。

  有过几次这样的经验后,我童稚的心灵便认定泡面和拉面店的拉面,是不一样的东西。

  然而,那天吃的泡面却和以往吃过的泡面不一样。

  没有停留在鼻子里的味道……

  这是正统的味噌香味……

  用筷子夹起的面条很细,卷度也恰到好处,而且还带着拉面汤汁。

  我用白色瓷汤匙盛起茶色的汤,喝了一口。

  “咦?”

  我不假思索地发出声音。汤头带有味噌的浓郁,却又非常爽口,味道深厚。做法是在面煮好之后关火,然后将干燥的味噌粉溶解后加进去,所以我想秘密一定藏在这个粉末中。最后撒上红色小袋内装着的七味粉,和味噌的味道琴瑟和鸣……

  “这比拉面店的拉面还好吃呢!”

  母亲拿着撕开的橘色袋子,从厨房走了出来。

  “这叫‘札幌一番味噌拉面’……”

  一边感受着泡面走进了新时代,一边喝干拉面碗底的汤,擦掉额头上的汗水。

  就这样,“札幌一番味噌拉面”变成了我家的招牌拉面。

≪记忆的味道≫[我人生中的札幌一番味噌拉面]022-024页
森下典子 著  羊恩媺 译
ISBN 978-986-6319-73-0





Saturday, December 10, 2016

There was Room Enough to be Anyone



  So Colin drove past the Hardee's and out onto the interstate headed north. As the staggered lines rushed past him, he thought about the space between what we remember and what happened, the space between what we predict and what will happen. And in that space, Colin thought, there was room enough to reinvent himself — room enough to make himself into something other than a prodigy, to remake his story better and different — room enough to be reborn again and again. A snake killer, an Archduke, a slayer of TOCs — a genius, even. There was room enough to be anyone — anyone except whom he'd already been, for if Colin had learned one thing from Gutshot, it's that you can't stop the future from coming. And for the first time in his life, he smiled thinking about the always-coming infinite future stretching out before him.

An Abundance of Katherines, P214-215
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Sunday, December 4, 2016

A Natural Born Storyteller



  "Did I tell you I dumped one of the Katherines?"

  "You what? No."

  "I did, apparently. Katherine the Third. I just completely misremembered it. I mean, I always assumed that all the things I did remember were true."

  "Huh."

  "What?"

  "Well, but it's not as good a story if you dumped her. That's how I remember things, anyway. I remember stories. I connect the dots and then out of that comes a story. And the dots that don't fit into the story just slide away, maybe. Like when you spot a constellation. You look up and you don't see all the stars. All the stars just look like the big fugging random mess that they are. But you want to see shapes; you want to see stories, so you pick them out of the sky. Hassan told me once you think like that, too —that you see connections everywhere — so you're a natural born storyteller, it turns out.'

  'I never thought about it like that. I—huh. It makes sense.'

  "So tell me the story."

  "What? The whole thing?"

  "Yeah. Romance, adventure, morals, everything."

An Abundance of Katherines, P202
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Saturday, December 3, 2016

I'm Full of Shit



  "Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? I mean, I've always felt like the Katherines dump me right when they start to see what I look like from the inside — well, except K-19. But I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself — if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?"

  "Well, he doesn't love me now. We've been dating for two years and he's never once said it. But he would really not love me if he could see inside. Because he's so real about everything. I mean, you can say a lot of shit about Colin, but he is completely himself. He's going to work in that factory his whole life, and he's going to have the same friends, and he's really happy with that, and he thinks it matters. But if he knew . . ."

  "What? Finish that sentence."

  "I'm full of shit. I'm never myself. I've got a Southern accent around the oldsters; I'm a nerd for graphs and deep thoughts around you; I'm Miss Bubbly Pretty Princess with Colin. I'm nothing. The thing about chameleoning your way through life is that it gets to where nothing is real. Your problem is — how did you say it — that you're not significant?"

  "Don't matter. I don't matter."

  "Right, matter. Well, but at least you can get to the part where you don't matter. Things about you, and things about Colin, and things about Hassan and Katrina, are either true or they aren't true. Katrina is bubbly. Hassan is hilarious. But I'm not like that. I'm what I need to be at any moment to stay above the ground but below the radar. The only sentence that begins with 'I' that's true of me is I'm full of shit."

An Abundance of Katherines, P149-150
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Sunday, November 27, 2016

But You Can Never Love People As Much As You Can Miss Them



  He could hear her eyes rolling as she said, "You are probably the only person I've ever known who wants to be a Siamese twin."

  "Conjoined twin," Colin corrected. "Did you know that there is a word for a person who is not a conjoined twin?" he asked her.

  "No. What is it? Normal person?"

  "Singleton," he said. "The word is Singleton." And she said, “That's funny, Col. Listen, I really have to go. I've got to pack for camp. Maybe we shouldn't talk till I get back. Just some time away from it would be good for you, I think." And even though he wanted to say, We're supposed to be FRIENDS, remember? And What is it? New boyfriend? And I love you entirely, he just mumbled, "Just please listen to the message," and then she said, "Okay. Bye," and he didn't say anything because he wasn't going to be the person who ended the conversation or hung up, and then he heard the deadness in his ear and it was over. Colin lay down on the dry, orange dirt and let the tall grass swallow him up, making him invisible. The sweat pouring down his face was indistinguishable from his tears. He was finally—finally—crying. He remembered their arms entangled, their stupid little inside jokes, the way he felt when he would come over to her house after school and see her reading through the window. He missed it all. He thought of being with her in college, having the freedom to sleep over whenever they wanted, both of them at Northwestern together. He missed that, too, and it hadn’t even happened. He missed his imagined future.

  You can love someone so much, he thought. But you can never love people as much as you can miss them.

An Abundance of Katherines, P104-105
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Like Strawwwwwberry Wine



  They left after interviewing Katherine Layne. They drove around in Satan‘s Hearse for a while, getting good and lost with the windows rolled down, driving down a two-lane highway toward absolutely nothing. They listened to a country radio station turned up so loud that the twangs of steel guitars were distorted in the Hearse’s old speakers. When they could catch on to the chorus, they sang loud and off-key and didn‘t give a shit. And it felt so good to sing with those trumped-up, hound-dog country accents. Colin felt sad, but it was an exhilarating and infinite sadness, like it connected him to Hassan and to the ridiculous songs and mostly to her, and Colin was shouting, "Like Strawwwwwberry Wine," when all of a sudden he turned to Hassan and said, "Wait, stop here." Hassan pulled over on the gravel shoulder of the road and Colin hopped out and pulled out his telephone.

  ……

An Abundance of Katherines, P102-103
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Saturday, November 26, 2016

It Tasted A Little Like Lemonade, Except Somehow More Grown-up



  "Y'all want some tea?" Starnes asked. Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and walked into the kitchen.

  At once sweet and bitter, it tasted a little like lemonade, except somehow more grown-up. Colin loved it — it was everything he'd hoped coffee would be — and helped himself to several glasses while Starnes talked, pausing only to take his medication (once) and go to the bathroom (four times; old people do that — they seem to love bathrooms).

An Abundance of Katherines, P81
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Caffeinated Stomach Bile



  He called the future Katherine XIX that Friday after school and asked her out for coffee the next day, and she said yes. It was the same coffee shop where they'd had their first two meetings — perfectly pleasant events filled with so much sexual tension that he couldn't help but get a little bit turned on just from her casually touching his hand. He would put his hands up on the table, in fact, because he wanted them within her reach.

  The coffee shop was a few miles from Katherine's house and four buildings down from Colin’s. Called Café Sel Marie, it served some of the best coffee in Chicago, which didn't matter at all to Colin, because Colin didn't like coffee. He liked the idea of coffee quite a lot — a warm drink that gave you energy and had been for centuries associated with sophisticates and intellectuals. But coffee itself tasted to him like caffeinated stomach bile. So he did an end-around on the unfortunate taste by drowning his java in cream, for which Katherine gently teased him that afternoon. It rather goes without saying that Katherine drank her coffee black. Katherines do, generally. They like their coffee like they like their ex-boyfriends: bitter.

An Abundance of Katherines, P77
John Green
ISBN 978-0-14-241070-7




Sunday, November 20, 2016

Not Without Her Heart




  ... ...

  It might never have occurred to the girl what to do had she not met someone smaller and still curious about the world.

  There was a time when the girl would have know how to answer her.

  But not now. Not without her heart.

  ... ...

The Heart and the Bottle
Oliver Jeffers
ISBN 978-0-00-718234-3




Saturday, November 19, 2016

Humphrey's Family




  Here is Baby Jack, Humphrey's little brother.

  Baby Jack's favourite toy is Dog.

  Dog used to bark but the string broke.



  Baby Jack always talks baby talk.

  He dribbles quite a lot too ...

  Baby Jack likes joining in ... but he can't really play properly (because he is too young to understand).

Humphrey's Family
Sally Hunter
ISBN 978-0-140-56930-8




Sunday, November 13, 2016

One Fine Day




  ... ...

  So the fox found a peddler and said, "There is a pretty maiden down the road and if you give me one blue bead for her she'll be pleased with you and pleased with me. Then she'll give me her jug so I can fetch some water to give the field to get some grass to feed the cow to get some milk to give the old woman to sew my tail in place."

  But the peddler was not taken in by the promise of a pretty smile or the cleverness of the fox and he replied, "Pay me an egg and I'll give you a bead."

  ... ...

One Fine Day
by Nonny Hogrogian
ISBN 978-0-02-043620-1




Saturday, November 12, 2016

Me Too




  I started to cry.

  'Pingu sad,' said my little brother.

  And I explained that Pingu was sad because his mother and father had been run over by a terrible red truck which came slidding over the ice. The Pingu and his little sister couldn't get inside the igloo. They sat outside, freezing.

  Pingu cried louder and louder.

  'Other one,' said my little brother.

  He wanted something different on TV. Me too.

When we were alone in the World
Ulf Nilsson, Eva Eriksson
ISBN 978-1-877467-34-9




Sunday, November 6, 2016

Nothing More Than an Ordinary Part of Life




  The Valium helped, but it still seemed to be an eternity before they arrived in Goa and the bus ride came to an end. Lor realized that the fact that she was in such psychological distress from a simple nine hours of discomfort —— not even pain, just discomfort —— was a sign of how different she was from the Indians around her, who accepted this trial as nothing more than an ordinary part of life. All of the Indians were laughing and excited as they exited the bus, stretching their limbs joyfully, ready for a day of touring in sunny Goa. Arman, even, had taken it a bit better than she had, and it made her understand more fully how much one is changed by war. Lor, of course, had never fought in a war. She had never even run an obstacle course. The most that she had done, really, was birth a child —— even that she had done with an epidural and, in the end, while unconscious.

  It made her think that all of Arman’s talk about fat-fuck Americans being somehow unworthy of their status as world megapower was more justified than she had first thought.

The Girls from Corona del Mar, P147
Rufi Thorpe
ISBN 978-0-385-35196-6




Saturday, October 29, 2016

Right Thing to Do




  “I hate this fucking sentiment that you’re expressing. It’s a common one. The sacred child who must be cared for no matter what, no matter what the cost. You know, if this were a hundred years ago, Zach would have been left out in the woods. Because they knew —— they knew no baby deserved to suffer like that, and no mother deserved to suffer that way either. But we’ve lost that. We’ve completely lost our fucking minds, so now the ‘right thing to do’ is to make him suffer pain we wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy. That’s the civilized thing to do. To torture him to death inside his own body by refusing to let him die. He can’t even eat! What animal is kept alive past the point where it can't eat? It’s disgusting. It’s foul. I couldn’t watch it anymore. I couldn’t be part of it.”

The Girls from Corona del Mar, P134~135
Rufi Thrope
ISBN 978-0-385-35196-6



Sunday, October 23, 2016

Nomadic Thing




  “Is a tree a nomad?” she asked, almost breathless with the beauty of this concept.

  “I think so. Yeah, I think everything that exists would be a nomad, kind of. I don’t know. I haven’t read Leibniz in years.”

  Lorrie just stared at him. She wanted to pick him up and shake him up and down until all of the amazing things inside of him came out, so that she could paw through all the ideas like a kid going through the fallen candy from a piñata.

  “So with women, it seems like this nomadic thing, like the universe is actually going to change in response to the way they are changing themselves, and they are actually changing themselves by changing the way they looked at the universe. They are so much more in tune with their intuition than men, and their sense of destiny is more holistic and that demands this kind of integration, not only within society, but within themselves. They are looking to be right sized. So that they work right with all the other nomads and they are in harmony like they should be. So I guess when I said they were Luthers with vaginas, what I really means is tat they are going to take the holy book and translate it, so it isn’t in Latin anymore, but in their own tongue, and that’s going to change the nature of the book itself. Shazam!”

The Girls from Corona del Mar, P95
Rufi Thrope
ISBN 978-0-385-35196-6



Sunday, October 16, 2016

Pea-Proof Mattresses!




  Pea-Proof Mattresses!

  Princess Mattresses are truly fit for royalty! Don't lose another second of sleep to pesky peas placed precisely under your posterior!

Hildie Bitterpickles Needs Her Sleep
by Robin Newman, illustrated by Chris Ewald
ISBN 978-1-939547-23-1




Hildie and Clawdia




  There's a little - known secret about Hildie Bitterpickles. She needs her sleep.

  Every night brushes her teeth, puts away her spell book, and goes to bed with her cat, Clawdia.

  Until the night when Hildie's quiet neighborhood changed.

  Someone moved in next door. A very big someone. A very loud someone.

  ... ...

Hildie Bitterpickles Needs Her Sleep
by Robin Newman, illustrated by Chris Ewald
ISBN 978-1-939547-23-1




Sunday, October 9, 2016

你是天上最明亮的那颗星星





妈妈送我一只小布狗,要我别再伤心。


我知道,你是风,你是云,你是天上最明亮的那颗星星。

≪我的世界都是你≫
几米 作品
ISBN 978-986-213-677-5




你知道天堂在哪里吗?



你是不是很想去找他?
当然。你知道天堂在哪里吗?

天堂?应该就是在天上吧!
那里很好玩吗?为什么去了就不回来呢?

≪我的世界都是你≫
几米 作品
ISBN 978-986-213-677-5






嗨,请问你是鬼吗?





嗨,
请问你是鬼吗?

我不是鬼,我是园丁。
以前住过这个房间,在附近的森林里研究各种奇妙的植物。


嗨,你不是鬼吧!
鬼会弹钢琴吗?

我不是鬼,我是搬运工。
在我最落魄的那段日子,住过这个房间。

≪我的世界都是你≫
几米 作品
ISBN 978-986-213-677-5




Sunday, October 2, 2016

Shadows of Ourselves




  "D'you think people leave impressions of themselves in a place?" I asked.

  "After they've died, you mean?"

  I scored a cross in a square. "No, after they've been somewhere." I told him about the flashback images of my childhood. "It happened a few times while we've been on Bryher. Like the island is covered with traces of me from the past."

  "Maybe it is." Uman made a nought, won the game.

  "Wouldn't it be weird if we left millions of shadows of ourselves wherever we went?"

  He seemed to give it some thought. "Or what if there are millions of shadows of us in all the places in the world we haven't been to yet," he said, "just waiting for us to make them real?"

  I frowned. "How would that work?"

  "Oh, and your idea does work?"

  "Yeah, I mean, if you walk along this beach," I gesture at the wet sand, "you're going to leave a trail of footprints behind you —— but you can't leave footprints ahead of you."

  "Not literally, no." He'd scuffed out the game and was marking the grid for a new one. "But in here," he tapped his head, "you can leave footprints wherever you like."

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p263
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Saturday, October 1, 2016

It's Saturday



  "On Saturday, breakfast is much better."

  "Slurp!"

  "Glug! Glug!"

  "See - it's the same but it tastes so much better."

  "And that's because it's SATURDAY!"

The Big Wet Balloon, P8
by Liniers
ISBN 978-1-935179-32-0




Sunday, September 25, 2016

Indonesian Archipelago




  "Taking the piss out of him wasn't such a good idea, was it?" I said.

  "He would've done it anyway. Guys like that, they're looking for a fight —— and I just happened to be there, wearing the wrong skin colour and a silly hat."

  "Yeah, but ——"

  "Gloria, it's what I do. He has his fists and feet, I have my words —— my devastating wit and, frankly, genius-level intelligence. And you know what? In those few seconds before he hit me, I really, really enjoyed showing him how stupid he was."

  "Can I say 'yeah, but' again?"

  "No, you can't. And my final point is, my injuries will heal —— but he's going to remain a stupid, violent, racist bastard for the rest of his life." One or two passers-by glanced at him. Uman pressed the tissue against his nose, which had sprung a fresh leak. He held the tissue for me to see. "Look, the bloodstains have formed the exact pattern of the Indonesian archipelago."

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p235
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Saturday, September 24, 2016

Stowaway Time




  "You don't like escapism?" I said, trying not to laugh.

  "No. I don't."

  "So what we have been doing for the last ten days?"

  "This isn't an escape from reality," Uman said. "This is our reality."

  Was it? I guessed it was, if we choose it to be. But who gets to choose their own reality, really? An for how long, even if they do? It occurred to me, just then, that we were like small children covering our eyes with our hands and imagining that the other people couldn't see us. Or that the rest of the world would leave us alone.

  "The real reality is still out there," I said to Uman. "It doesn't go away."

  "I never said it did," he replied.

  We returned to an alleyway where we'd stashed our rucksacks behind an industrial-size rubbish bin. They were still there, protected from the rain by their waterproof covers.

  "Stowaway time?" Uman Said.

  "Stowaway time."

  Butterflies in the tummy time. ... ...

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p220-221
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Saturday, September 17, 2016

Lives as the River Does




  "Lives as the river does, never standing still or turning back but forever flowing onwards. If you should reach a dessert, transform yourself into cloud and float across it, then fall as rain on the other side to become a river once more." He shrugged. "It's an old Arabic proverb."

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p167
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Sunday, September 11, 2016

Magical




  I woke early. Phoneless, I had no idea what time it was, but when I unzipped the flap carefully, so as not to wake Uman, and poked my head out, a smoky just-after-dawn light seeped through the woods, turning the trees into charcoal sketches. All was quiet, except for the songs of unseen birds. Tired and just-woken grump as I was, the effect was calming.

  A movement caught my eye. A few metres away, a family of rabbits loped about the clearing: two adults, browsing, and four young, play-fighting. I held my breath, kept dead still. For a moment, they carried on, oblivious to my presence, then one of the adults spotted me and all six scampered into the bracken, vanishing so quickly and so totally that I might've imagined them. Thirty seconds, a minute? But those rabbit were the most magical thing I'd ever seen.

  I waited in the opening of the tent in the hope they'd come back. They didn't.

  Never mind. I was still smiling inside at the sight of them. At how beautiful the woods looked, now that the darkness had been erased by the breaking of a new day.

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p139-140
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Saturday, September 10, 2016

Strength of Character




  "You don't like me very much, do you?"

  Mum chips in. "Can you blame her, the way you're acting? You might think you're all grown up now, but——" Uman asked.

  "Look, we're all getting a bit tired and tetchy," R.I. Ryan says. "Shall we call a time-out?"

  I tell her that sounds like a brilliant idea.

  "And, Gloria. It's not a matter of liking or disliking. I'm just trying to establish the facts and sometimes that means asking you to talk about things you'd rather not." She pauses. "As it happens, though, I do like you. I wish I'd your strength of character when I was fifteen."

  I try to imagine what she was like when she was my age.

  I can't, though. Any more than I could look at a picture of myself when I was a baby and find signs of the girl I have become.

  Strength of character. Is that what I have? Uman thought so, and so does D.I. Ryan. But they've only seen what happens on the surface —— the things I do, the things I say —— and that's not where your character is. Uman knew me —— knows me —— better than anyone ever has, but even he never set foot inside my head or heart. Never thought my thoughts or felt what i felt.

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p114-115
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Sunday, September 4, 2016

Rules




  We talked about rules; how you decided which ones to obey and which to break. It was like a class discussion in Citizenship ... only, it was nothing like a class discussion in Citizenship.

  "Are you a rule breaker?" Uman asked.

  "In my head I am, yeah."

  "But not in practice."

  "No. Not often, anyway. And nothing on your scale."

  "Why is that, d'you think?"

  "Don't know. Fear, probably. Fear of getting in trouble."

  "And fear of standing out?" Uman suggested. "Fear of not fitting in?"

  "Yeah, that too. As I've got older, I've become less daring. I guess."

  He coughed. Just the once. "My father used to have a poster on the wall of his study —— a cartoon showing rows and rows of identical grey houses with identical grey roofs, with just one house in the middle with a roof painted in pink-and-purple stripes. Outside, the owner —— he's holding a paint pot and brush —— is being frogmarched down the street by the police." Another cough. It took Uman a moment to catch his breath. "As soon as I was old enough to understand that cartoon," he said. "I swore I would grow up to be a guy with a pink-and-purple roof."

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p70-71
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Saturday, September 3, 2016

Started with an Appearance




Where is he? It's all I can think about. Every minute since it ended.


D.I. Ryan wants to hear it from the beginning. The first of the fifteen days, I presume she means; the day I went missing. It started a couple of weeks before then, though.

  It started with an appearance, not a disappearance.

Twenty Questions for Gloria, p16
Martin Bedford
ISBN 978-1-4063-6353-1




Sunday, August 28, 2016

The Offering for A Good Year of Great Harvest




  The sun rose, and the king stood by the altar. He wore fine clothing and a golden crown. He really did look like the king of all the Incas. The king gave the offering for a good year of great harvest. "Inca forever!" he said. His voice was loud, like a real king's.

  Once the offering was burnt and the smoke rose towards the sun, the sacrifice was finished. The king blessed all the people there.

  In the Festival of Sun, the person playing the king offers the heart of llama, which is an animal like an alpaca but larger.

Land of the Sun
Written by Jong-soon Jo
Illustrated by Sinae Jo
Edited by Joy Cowley
ISBN 978-1-921790-62-1




Mum's Awana




  Mum was siting at her awana. Next to it were dyed alpaca threads. Soon the threads would be changed into cloth for warm clothing.

  Yana asked. "Mum, can I help? I want to learn how to weave."

  "You'll learn when you are older," said Mum. "Now, go and play."

  Yana felt very grumpy. She stamped out of the house.

  An awana is a wooden loom used for making cloth. Long threads are tied to a wooden frame. This is the wrap. Then threads are woven through them sideways. This is the weft. The cloth is woven to the size of the garment needed.

Land of the Sun
Written by Jong-soon Jo
Illustrated by Sinae Jo
Edited by Joy Cowley
ISBN 978-1-921790-62-1




She Felt Grumpy and Grumbled to Herself




  With his poncho thrown on the floor, Yana's brother Usco was shearing a young alpaca.

  "Usco, I have some corn for you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "You can help by staying still," said Usco to his sister.

  Yana felt grumpy. She grumbled to herself and ate some of the corn.

Land of the Sun
Written by Jong-soon Jo
Illustrated by Sinae Jo
Edited by Joy Cowley
ISBN 978-1-921790-62-1