His Very First Fountain Pen

Translated…

It was, four o’clock in the afternoon, the light of the dusk imprinted itself onto his window, and the elderly man recalled the very first fountain pen.

Everything started, back in his elementary school years.  He said, he’d kept the silkworms, as a hobby then, that his mother had, spoiled him so, every night, she’d gone out in the evenings for him, to find the mulberry leaves, in the woods, in the vegetable gardens all around. Feeding it to his silkworms, they’d, squirmed like snows in the darkness, and were very picky about their diets, like they’re not even turning back, just, kept eating and moving on.  Can we, never return?  It’s not like so either.  The adult worms were, fattened up, and the silkworms would start, making a cocoon, and as the moths exited the cocoons, they’ll reproduce even more eggs, those tiny eggs looked like they were wrapped up with a sort of a light yellow syrup, the eggs would rise up and down, and, in just a few days, they’d turned into, those, black larvae, then, turned, back into the adult, white silkworms.

Not long afterwards, the population of the silkworms he’d kept started increasing, a student convinced him, and they’d started selling the silkworms among the fellow classmates, and split up the profits.  And several semesters later, he’d earned some money, that, was how he was able to afford that fountain pen.

things from our pasts, not my painting…

After elementary school, his classmate went to Taichung to a military school, he’d studied in the teacher’s college.  His classmate was a big spender, lived carelessly, and would go to him to ask for a loan or to stay at his place for free.  And once, his classmate took him to sneak into a tea house where it was actually a whorehouse.

He said, that the tea room was nothing MORE than a half-closed box, like a wax-melting room, the air had, stopped moving, and started cooking slowly, close to the floors, there was not enough furnishing in the small place, only a couch that’s sat in one time too many, a wooden short table.  He was, uncomfortable and very shy, and only dared to take a small teacup in his hand, and allowing the warmth to flow between his fingers, but not exactly.  The small five-volt lightbulb hung down from the ceilings, and the lighting made people drowsy, and, there was, a darker room, but, it wasn’t, as dark, as the nights, like that sort of darkness that draped over the early morning skies before sunrise.

He’d told, of the rules of the tearooms, that it wasn’t so brash, so straight forward.  The johns would lit up a match, and from the moment the match was lit up, until it’d burned up, the women would show you her privates.

The shadows on the thighs, the tempos of the breaths, the senses became extremely aware, and there was, that scent of sulfur in the air, and, there was, the vanishing light black smoke from the burnt matches, and the sound of rough burning ringing inside the ears, and everything felt so real, and yet, very, surreal, it’d almost made him pass out.

a kid getting his very FIRST fountain pen…not my photo.

Then what happened next?

His friend got into the police academy, and after graduation, he was sent to work I the northeast corner, then, they’d bid farewell to one another.

Many years ago, he’d read on the papers, that his classmate had, died in a car crash.

A small black-and-white photo, the stains from the coals made it look like the remains, the car was already, burned to scrap metal.  Back then, he’d just felt, that he was also, burning up, on the other end of his own heated up youth, it was, as if, he’d seen those matches from back when, slowly, gaining the heat, slowly, dying out, in the end, bent out of shape, leaving behind, just, the burned up blackness.

So, this, is on the memories of one’s own youth, and, this just shows, how fragile life is, and you NEVER know when you’ll have your last day on earth, which is why you should, take advantage of every single moment of every day, oh, and this was about doing something you’re not supposed to, because the boys were young, and they went into a brothel, and that, would be, AGAINST the laws today!

Advertisements

Talk to Me...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s