| Subject: XIN MO*`I THUO*?NG THU*'C |
Author:
TTH
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Date Posted: 18:03:31 05/24/01 Thu
Cha`o tat ca?,
Tui moi luo*.m duoc mot truyen ngan ma tui nghi~ cha('c la` cac ban cu`ng thi'ch. Nhung tui muon ai do di.ch ra tie^'ng Vie^.t de^? tui doc, thuong thuc hay hon...
Tui mong cho nhung ba?n di.ch nhi`u la('m !
TTH
SOLITUDE
(Ian Duncan)
Sunday morning in a new city. After another night of searching, I stand alone. The concrete walls of the Metro surround me as I wait for the train. I'm lost, in this new city and in my experiences within it. I'm frustrated. The train arrives and I get on. I don't know where it will take me and I don't care, I just want to leave this place.
The train flies through the black passages beneath the city, carrying me away from my place of abdication . . . alone. I appreciate the isolation of the Metro. After a night of intense connection and closeness I need to withdraw from the world, and the Metro is where I find that isolation I need. I sit alone on the train, staring through a window as the black wall of the tunnel speeds past me.
The train pulls to a stop and I get off, thinking I've found my destination. I follow a small crowd to the streets above, lured by the confidence of their movement, only to realize I'm still lost. It doesn't matter so much to me now though: I'm just glad to be alone.
Outside on a secluded urban street a light rain falls from a flat grey sky. The small drops land on my face as I stand on the sidewalk beside the Metro. Usually I run from the rain taking shelter inside, but today, the rain is my shelter. I stand there waiting for the water to cover me. I don't know where I am but I want to stay here, even if only for a few minutes.
Across the street a boy stands outside a flower shop staring at the sidewalk display. He must be picking something out for his mother: it's Mother's Day, and most of the women on the street are already holding flowers from their loved ones. I wait to see what he picks but he doesn't pick anything at all, he merely stands there staring at the flowers, absorbed by them. He doesn't move during the entire time I'm there. I want to ask him who he's thinking of. I want so much to talk to him, to hear his voice, to tell him about my night with a stranger. But I just watch him instead, thinking about my experience last night.
I carry my thoughts back down into the Metro with me, hoping still to find something familiar in this foreign place. Beneath the city again, the isolation of the Metro overtakes me. I walk through the halls alone and find something unexpected.
A man stands with his back to a wall . . . singing. His hands are clasped together at his waist. In front of him on the floor lies an upside down hat, probably holding some coins.
Passing the man, I feel his voice rushing past me from behind, into the corridor ahead, and soaring all throughout the subterranean labyrinth of the Metro. In this place, a mere voice from a solitary figure becomes a being in itself, bringing life to the cold, dark stones which surround me. The enveloping power of this voice takes hold of me, leading me through the darkness, through the isolation.
I reach the platform, a different one this time, and wait again for the train to arrive. From the sign on the wall I can see this train will take me where I want to go. Sadness builds inside me as I sense an end to my isolation.
An older boy approaches me. My first thoughts are of his face and of how beautiful it is. He speaks a language I scarcely understand. At first I wonder what he wants from me but after looking down at the group of pencils in his outstretched hand I realize he wants me to buy one. He keeps talking to me, showing me his pencils. I don't need his pencils, but I buy one anyway with what little money I have left, thinking this pencil is the only part of him I can take with me.
The way he talks to me is so relaxed, so seductive, and he stands so close to me that there is almost no space between us. I want to tell him how much I like him . . . maybe in another language, so he wouldn't understand and wouldn't be offended. I think about that and smile to him, but without saying a word. He takes my money and I take his pencil and he walks away.
The train arrives and I get on. The voice of the singer follows me into the train until the doors slowly shut, ending his voice and leaving me in silence. Again, the train speeds deep into the black tunnels beneath the city, carrying me away from my solitude.
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