Madwoman On The Bridge And Other Stories
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Set during the fall-out of the Cultural Revolution, these bizarre and delicate stories capture the collision of the old China of vanished dynasties, with communism and today's tiger economy.
The mad woman on the bridge wears a historical gown which she refuses to take off. In the height of summer she stands madly on the bridge. Until a young female doctor, bewitched by the beauty of the mad woman's dress, plots to take it from her, with tragic consequences.
ice. It was then that he scented the acrid smell of melting tin in the air, a curdled odour streaming from the urn, tainting his face and luggage. He lifted his head and looked around him. The old man who had recently mended the urn was already quite far away. The pottery-mender was walking along the road ahead. Flame flickered from his kit bag, floating above the road like a firefly. The reappearance of the old man made the folklorist aware of a mysterious circle of events. All of a sudden he
an overcoat? I want to get into my room.’ Shouting was not enough to cool his anger, though, so he delivered a flying kick to the door. ‘They should close down hostels like this, and the sooner the better!’ It was very quiet in the hostel. Except for the sound of the wind outside, Meng could hear only the fragmentary, hectic sounds coming from the duty room. He lifted up his eyes and heaved a sigh heavy with resentment. Before long, a flustered Diesel was hurrying up the stairs carrying a
and mourned in the May sun for their vanished ways of life, and now the tranquillity of their mourning had been disturbed by their last visitor. Perhaps every brick and tile in the ruin remembered Yongshan, remembered that girl of many years ago, scampering back and forth between Cabbage Market and the cultural centre with an accordion on her back. Perhaps they were saying, ‘Yongshan! Hello. How’s that accordion practice going?’ But Yongshan couldn’t hear them. All Yongshan heard was the rumble
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made. ‘The silk scarf. Your black scarf with the golden flowers, you promised to give it to me. You’re a welcher if you don’t.’ Wenqin rolled her eyes and said, ‘Your memory’s better than mine. Are you sure there’s anything wrong with you? It’s just a silk scarf; I’ll give it to you like I promised. Wait here, I’ll go in and get it.’ ‘Oh no,’ the madwoman said. ‘What if you go in and don’t come back? I’m coming with you.’ Wenqin was growing angry. ‘What are you talking about? Just because