It’s been 8 months since I came back to China. If you ask me what it’s like, all I can say is: busy.

“I wonder what the non-pathetic people are doing tonight?”

It’s Saturday evening and I am sitting by the window overlooking the Victoria Bay in Hong Kong. I am here for a conference, but I’ve attended few talks. I realized I have to travel to a conference because I need undisturbed time to work on papers for another conference.

Now, the conference is over, and the paper submission deadline has passed. So what have I been doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon in HK? Well, I watched 5 episodes of "The Big Bang Theory" on my computer (Of course, I kept an editor open and had been revising a book chapter while I watched the show.)
 
"The Big Bang Theory" is about 4 socially inept scientists who live across the hall from an attractive blonde waitress. The story I just watched goes like this. On a Friday night, the scientists heard a cricket chirp in their room. Because they cannot agree on the species of the cricket, they enter a bet . To find out who wins, they turned their apartment upside down to catch the cricket. While moving the fridge, one of them asked, "I wonder what the non-pathetic people are doing tonight?"
 
I wonder about the same thing all the time, especially now, and especially after I came back to China.  

When a kid feels homesick in her parents’ home

I am still adapting to life in China. My wife does not leave the apartment much. Clarice, my daughter, goes to a bilingual kindergarten. The only thing she liked about the kindergarten is the English teacher, who’s an American from Cleveland, Ohio. Unfortunately, my daughter is the only kid who speaks English, the other kids can say "apple", "cat", and "dog".
 
I’m worried if the change is too much for Clarice. Several weeks ago I took her to the U.S. embassy to extend her passport. She was so excited when she saw the huge American flag hanging outside the embassy building. From time to time, she would say, "I miss NY", or "Obama is in Beijing!"
 
She’s picking up Mandarin very fast. I didn’t realize it until I overheard her conversation with our nanny. Apparently she had developed her Beijing accent. She still speaks to us in English, but one day she came home singing “Learning from Comrade Lei Feng”, and on another day she was reciting the rhyming schemes of classic Chinese poems. My childhood knew only Comrade Lei Feng. I certainly didn’t learn any Chinese rhymes (which was considered evil legacy of old China) nor did I speak English (how dare you learn the language of imperialism?). My daughter’s childhood is 3 times as sophisticated as mine.  

Subway Station

China. The change in the last decade is too big to comprehend. As an example, when I left, people called slums their homes. When I come back, housing prices are higher than in New York.
 
Still, one thing remains the same about China: an abundance of people. No matter how fast the city expands, people fill every corner of it just like water fills a container. There’s no better way of experiencing it than taking the subway during the rush hour. There is a word in Chinese that literally means "currents of people." Taking the subway during rush hour is like sailing on the current of people: you don’t walk, you get pushed forward by the current.
 
One day I looked up when I was getting pushed around in a subway station, and I found that no matter where I look, 95% of people around me were younger than me.  Am I that old?  Someone finally offered an explanation. For any one my age, if he is doing well, he should have a car or even a driver, so there’s no need to take the subway; if he is not doing well, then probably he is already out of job, so there’s no need to take a subway, certainly not during the rush hour.
 
So this is China. It’s so young and so bright, partly because the old and the dark are in hiding.  

Subway Station 2

In every city, there are people who make a living at subway stations. Yes, singers and beggars. However, Beijing is more imaginative.
 
Upon entering a subway station, you see people distribute free newspapers, just like in NYC. But there’s something you don’t see in NYC. Every time I exit the subway, I walk past an old man in his 70s who stands at the gate, with several newspapers in his hand. I give my newspaper to him.  He smiles and bows, and put the newspaper into a large denim bag beside him.
 
I take subway about once or twice every week. I see him every time. I become his newspaper delivery boy.
 
I can imagine after the rush hour, he would carry a full bag of newspapers to the nearby recycling station, and exchange it for a few bucks. Soon I found that every subway exit is stationed with an old man doing the same job.
 
Ginger delivery
 
My apartment costs RMB 12,000 ($1800) a month. We hired a nanny who works for us 3 hours a day for RMB 900 ($130) a month. A few blocks away, some mom-and-pop shops sell everything, and they deliver without extra charge. Vegetables, fruits, fresh water, rice, etc., all come with a phone call. At first, we tried our best to combine orders. But then our neighbor told us that once in the middle of cooking, he called them to deliver a ginger ($.20).
 
When I visit my parents in Shanghai, my mom often complains about inflation. "They charge for everything, and everything’s more and more expensive," she says, "Even ambulance! You know what? They refuse to come if you don’t offer them good tips upfront."
 
At which point, I would comfort my mom that she should enjoy all kinds of services when she can still afford them. Because these services are not going to be cheap forever. The day will come when the people who provide the service become rich too, and then only the super-rich can afford a live-in nanny or a daily massage — "then, my mom, your life will be just as poor as most Americans."

Idiot

But let’s forget about the darkness of life, and enjoy the change.

After all, I myself changed a lot too. Back then, I watched soccer, now I watch Quidditch. Back then, I hoped there were no cars on the street, so I can ride my bicycle freely. Now, I hope there are no bicycles on the street, so that my car can move freely. Back then, I spoke broken English, now I speak broken Chinese and broken English. …

A lot of things about China I don’t understand, and I discovered ways to save my embarrassment. For example, in Shanghai, when the cab driver asks me "where to?", I answer him in Mandarin instead of Shanghainese.  Because otherwise he would ask "which way you’d like to take?", and I would soon be exposed as an idiot who knows nothing about his own city.

That’s how I feel anyway.

After spending more than a decade in the U.S., I am ready to leave for the place I came from.

As I was driving her to the day care center this morning, my daughter out of a sudden started singing from the back seat:

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me

For the last 12 years, I had traveled from California to New York. I visited more places on this land than an average American does in her life. But never in my dreams had it ever occurred to me that this land could be my land, let alone that the land was made for me. But somehow, when I heard my daughter singing it, I felt sad, and for the first time, a lot of love toward this land.

As I was driving her to the day care center this morning, my daughter out of a sudden started singing from the back seat:

This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me

For the last 12 years, I had traveled from California to New York. I visited more places on this land than an average American does in her life. But never in my dreams had it ever occurred to me that this land could be my land, let alone that the land was made for me. But somehow, when I heard my daughter singing it, I felt sad, and for the first time, a lot of love toward this land.

话说昨天入籍，是在县法庭办的。大概二三百号人，各个种族都有，大都穿得很正式，我出门急，一身“路过打酱油”的装束，但幸好没有穿jeans，否则会被架出去。

在法庭里左顾右盼，法警突然喊，“All rise!”，大家起立，穿黑袍子的法官便进来了。

法官先是祝贺大家，然后请嘉宾发言。一个意大利人上台讲他的移民史，从他爷爷到美国的时候身无分文，一句英文不会说开始慢慢讲起…

话说进门的时候，每人发了一些表格，外加一本小书《Declaration of Independence》。意大利人正在讲他是如何在美国发迹的，底下的人都在填表，我没带笔，又憋不住尿急，就偷偷溜出来，急奔洗手间。没想到解手的时候，那本《Declaration of Independence》掉进尿桶里去了。看着水面上飘着的Jefferson，我在心里默念，“道在蝼蚁，在稊稗，在砖瓦、在屎溺……”。好在周围没有爱国人士告发，否则至少办个藐视法庭罪。 突然感到美国的好，要是入籍金日成的国，脑袋就没了。

既然溜出来了，就不想挤回去了。四处逛逛，瞧见一个老太太，守着一张桌子，上面一堆表格一堆笔，好像推销信用卡。我走上前，老太太很热情地问，“Do you want to register for vote?”，我不好意思说我是“路过打酱油”的，便指了指大厅，老太太就明白了，说，“in an hour or two then.” 我乘机借一支笔，坐在老太太边上填表。

填完表，依旧到处闲逛。从法庭门前经过，看见，咦，里面的人怎么都站着，每个人手捂着胸口，一脸怪表情？感情集体西施效颦？突然明白过来，那是宣誓效忠的仪式！我赶紧回去。等我进了场子，大家捂着胸口的手都已经放下来了。

入座没多久，法官温情脉脉地说了一句，“Congratulations!”，法警喊，“All rise!”，法官就出去了。然后大家排队拿citizen certificate，拿到了再排另外一个队，把citizen certificate还回去，外加100块钱—–申请美国护照。

这样就回来了，没什么感觉。比起出门的时候，没多什么东西，也没少什么东西（除了100块钱）。

话说昨天入籍，是在县法庭办的。大概二三百号人，各个种族都有，大都穿得很正式，我出门急，一身“路过打酱油”的装束，但幸好没有穿jeans，否则会被架出去。

在法庭里左顾右盼，法警突然喊，“All rise!”，大家起立，穿黑袍子的法官便进来了。

法官先是祝贺大家，然后请嘉宾发言。一个意大利人上台讲他的移民史，从他爷爷到美国的时候身无分文，一句英文不会说开始慢慢讲起…

话说进门的时候，每人发了一些表格，外加一本小书《Declaration of Independence》。意大利人正在讲他是如何在美国发迹的，底下的人都在填表，我没带笔，又憋不住尿急，就偷偷溜出来，急奔洗手间。没想到解手的时候，那本《Declaration of Independence》掉进尿桶里去了。看着水面上飘着的Jefferson，我在心里默念，“道在蝼蚁，在稊稗，在砖瓦、在屎溺……”。好在周围没有爱国人士告发，否则至少办个藐视法庭罪。 突然感到美国的好，要是入籍金日成的国，脑袋就没了。

既然溜出来了，就不想挤回去了。四处逛逛，瞧见一个老太太，守着一张桌子，上面一堆表格一堆笔，好像推销信用卡。我走上前，老太太很热情地问，“Do you want to register for vote?”，我不好意思说我是“路过打酱油”的，便指了指大厅，老太太就明白了，说，“in an hour or two then.” 我乘机借一支笔，坐在老太太边上填表。

填完表，依旧到处闲逛。从法庭门前经过，看见，咦，里面的人怎么都站着，每个人手捂着胸口，一脸怪表情？感情集体西施效颦？突然明白过来，那是宣誓效忠的仪式！我赶紧回去。等我进了场子，大家捂着胸口的手都已经放下来了。

入座没多久，法官温情脉脉地说了一句，“Congratulations!”，法警喊，“All rise!”，法官就出去了。然后大家排队拿citizen certificate，拿到了再排另外一个队，把citizen certificate还回去，外加100块钱—–申请美国护照。

这样就回来了，没什么感觉。比起出门的时候，没多什么东西，也没少什么东西（除了100块钱）。

这些照片，是今年圣诞的时候在佛罗里达的Disney拍的。佛罗里达的Disney，是献给小孩和成年人的童话世界。

在Dinsey的那些天，心里有些感动。原来，这个世界上会有那么多人，不只是小孩子，那么认真地对待一个童话，它让人觉得，这个世界也许真有它简单美好的一面。

简单美好，就好比是小孩子们，他们相信世上真的有Santa Claus，相信圣诞夜他会从烟囱里爬下来，把礼物放进红色的袜子里；他们排很长的队，去拥抱米老鼠、唐老鸭，去求那些fluffy animals的签名，他们相信，这些卡通人物和我们一起生活在同一个世界上；他们记得住童话里的每一个细节，相信青蛙和王子的区别只在于一个kiss。 

早上，四岁的女儿在Disney Resort和Goofy、米老鼠、唐老鸭共进早餐，完了到Animal Kingdom玩。一进门，就看见Goofy正在和小孩子们合影。

女儿就呆住了。

以为她会问，怎么会有两个Goofy？

她却大嚷：“Goofy changed his pants!”

在她的脑子里，从来没有怀疑，或者skepticism。

可惜，和小孩子不一样，我们知道这个世界远非那么简单和美好。和小孩子不一样，我们不相信童话，尤其是童话里的最后一句话：they lived happily thereafter。

但一代复一代，我们却营造了一个如此巨大的童话世界。可能我们是被利润所驱动。但在Disney，我们很多人挤在小孩子的队伍里去和米老鼠和白雪公主拥抱、合影。也许是因为在我们迷恋米老鼠和白雪公主的年龄里没机会来Disney； 但也许，在心底里，我们愿意相信这个世界是简单美好的。真是这样，这个世界是否真的简单美好，已经不重要了。

四岁的女儿不停地在长大，有一天，怀疑和skepticism会进入她的脑子，她会问，“这个世界上不存在Santa Claus，对不对？”

尽管我们自己从来没有想清楚这个问题，但那一天来临的时候，我们就不得不把自己的信念，用言语表达出来了。

我们可以说，“你长大了，Santa Claus是用来哄小孩子的，他不存在。”

或者，“从前是有Santa Claus的，后来人们的爱心少了，变得太现实，他就渐渐不来了。以后来不来倒不晓得，不过无论他来不来，每年圣诞节大家还是假设他会来的。”

还是，我们理直气壮地说，“Santa Claus当然存在！”

Santa Claus当然存在。

我很小的时候就听大人说，天空里的北斗七星，样子好象一把勺子；后来读书，书上也这么说。但我从来没有亲眼见过夜空里象勺子一样的七颗星星。当然，我从不怀疑北斗七星的存在，我只是认为那个把它们比喻为勺子的人信口开河。

直到有一次在大海上航行，心情变得像海和天一样辽阔。那一天晚上，我看到夜空里北斗七星悬得那么低，低得触手可及，它们确确实实、确确实实象一把勺子。

Santa Claus是否存在，就好象北斗七星是否像勺子一样，只要你知道怎么看，它绝对是的。

这些照片，是今年圣诞的时候在佛罗里达的Disney拍的。佛罗里达的Disney，是献给小孩和成年人的童话世界。

在Dinsey的那些天，心里有些感动。原来，这个世界上会有那么多人，不只是小孩子，那么认真地对待一个童话，它让人觉得，这个世界也许真有它简单美好的一面。

简单美好，就好比是小孩子们，他们相信世上真的有Santa Claus，相信圣诞夜他会从烟囱里爬下来，把礼物放进红色的袜子里；他们排很长的队，去拥抱米老鼠、唐老鸭，去求那些fluffy animals的签名，他们相信，这些卡通人物和我们一起生活在同一个世界上；他们记得住童话里的每一个细节，相信青蛙和王子的区别只在于一个kiss。 

早上，四岁的女儿在Disney Resort和Goofy、米老鼠、唐老鸭共进早餐，完了到Animal Kingdom玩。一进门，就看见Goofy正在和小孩子们合影。

女儿就呆住了。

以为她会问，怎么会有两个Goofy？

她却大嚷：“Goofy changed his pants!”

在她的脑子里，从来没有怀疑，或者skepticism。

可惜，和小孩子不一样，我们知道这个世界远非那么简单和美好。和小孩子不一样，我们不相信童话，尤其是童话里的最后一句话：they lived happily thereafter。

但一代复一代，我们却营造了一个如此巨大的童话世界。可能我们是被利润所驱动。但在Disney，我们很多人挤在小孩子的队伍里去和米老鼠和白雪公主拥抱、合影。也许是因为在我们迷恋米老鼠和白雪公主的年龄里没机会来Disney； 但也许，在心底里，我们愿意相信这个世界是简单美好的。真是这样，这个世界是否真的简单美好，已经不重要了。

四岁的女儿不停地在长大，有一天，怀疑和skepticism会进入她的脑子，她会问，“这个世界上不存在Santa Claus，对不对？”

尽管我们自己从来没有想清楚这个问题，但那一天来临的时候，我们就不得不把自己的信念，用言语表达出来了。

我们可以说，“你长大了，Santa Claus是用来哄小孩子的，他不存在。”

或者，“从前是有Santa Claus的，后来人们的爱心少了，变得太现实，他就渐渐不来了。以后来不来倒不晓得，不过无论他来不来，每年圣诞节大家还是假设他会来的。”

还是，我们理直气壮地说，“Santa Claus当然存在！”

Santa Claus当然存在。

我很小的时候就听大人说，天空里的北斗七星，样子好象一把勺子；后来读书，书上也这么说。但我从来没有亲眼见过夜空里象勺子一样的七颗星星。当然，我从不怀疑北斗七星的存在，我只是认为那个把它们比喻为勺子的人信口开河。

直到有一次在大海上航行，心情变得像海和天一样辽阔。那一天晚上，我看到夜空里北斗七星悬得那么低，低得触手可及，它们确确实实、确确实实象一把勺子。

Santa Claus是否存在，就好象北斗七星是否像勺子一样，只要你知道怎么看，它绝对是的。

从前不喜欢契可夫，原因是《变色龙》。这篇名著收入在初中的语文课本里，我的同龄人都读过。

不喜欢《变色龙》，是因为它太假。后来我读到Kate Chopin的《The Story of an Hour》，觉得这两篇很有一拼。在Chopin的故事里，一个女人听说她先生死了，心里顿时生出枯树逢春般的喜悦。但没高兴多久，先生突然活着回来了，她对新生活的期盼顿时灰飞烟灭，心脏病发作一命呜呼。不知情的人们说她是喜极猝死。

小说虽然都是假的，但情节如果太戏剧性，就失去了让人感同身受的力量。《变色龙》的毛病就是匠心太重。

以后很久没读契可夫。多年后的一天，我在圣莫妮卡的步行街上漫无目的地闲逛，走进一家很小、很古怪的书店。店的名字叫“午夜专辑（Midnight Special）”，室内光线很暗，高高的书架顶着天花板。一本黑封面的《契可夫小说集》藏身在最高的架子上。我爬上梯子，发现了契可夫，心里有重回中学课堂的喜悦。

一下子读了好几篇，其中有最著名的《牡蛎》和《The Lady with the Dog》。《牡蛎》用的是绝望的幽默笔调：一对饥肠辘辘的父子在莫斯科一家餐馆门口乞食，父亲从没乞讨过，瞻前顾后羞于启齿；儿子从没见过牡蛎，在饥饿中幻想着那是带贝壳的青蛙。

《牡蛎》全无《变色龙》的矫揉造作，是很成功的现实主义的作品。它用一个小孩子的眼睛来审视饥饿，给人相片一样的真实感。但是，现代小说已经超越了19世纪的现实主义，我们不再追求相片一样的真实感，我固执地认为文学应该表达人类永恒的苦难，远比饥饿难以抵御的苦难。

《契可夫小说集》被我束之高阁了好几年，直到最近读了里面的《Rothschild’s Fiddle》，终于让我喜欢上了契可夫。

在一个穷村子里，有一个年迈的棺材匠，名叫Yakov。他无儿无女，和太太Martha住在一间破屋子里。Yakov脾气暴躁，一辈子从没善待过他太太。他毫无缘由地厌恶犹太人，尤其是犹太乐团里吹长笛的Rothschild，时常威胁要揍他。但Yakov是个极好的提琴手，以至于乐团在缺人的时候，不得不邀他演出。

Yakov活得很不快乐。对他来说，活着的每一天都是损失：休息日不能工作是损失；乐团没演出是损失；好不容易村里死了个有钱人，却死在了外地，是损失。只有人死了，他归结到，损失才会停止。晚上，他把小提琴搁在床边，被无尽的损失折磨得不能入睡的时候，他就拨弄一下琴弦，只有琴声能让他稍稍平静。

有一天，Martha要死了。一辈子郁郁寡欢的Martha，脸色在回光返照下红润起来：终于，她可以不再受Yakov的虐待，摆脱Yakov的棺材生意了。正当Yakov计算着Martha的死给他带来的棺材损失时，Martha突然说，50年前他们有过一个小孩，他们带着小孩在河边的柳树下玩，后来小孩死了。Yakov却想不起来他们有过小孩。

埋葬了Martha，Yakov发现自己也染了病不久人世。Rothschild来找他演出，心情不好的Yakov把他一顿羞辱痛骂。之后，Yakov独自来到河边，他看到柳树，想起了他和Martha有过的小孩。五十年他竟无暇到河边走一走，他可以捕鱼卖钱，或者划着船拉着小提琴到邻村去做他的棺材生意，他浪费了多少机会，造成多少损失！他后悔虐待Martha，羞辱Rothschild，这样做除了带来损失一无好处。临终的时候，Yakov委托牧师把他的小提琴送给Rothschild。从此，Rothschild再也不吹长笛了，他一遍又一遍地在小提琴上演奏Yakov的曲调，悲哀的琴声让所有人如痴如醉。

我读《Rothschild’s Fiddle》，有几年前读《乞力马扎罗的雪》的感觉。Yakov死前的悔悟，仍然是围绕着他的损失，但慢慢地，他的损失已经不全是金钱的损失了。他意识到his life has gone by without profit or pleasure。

孔子说，君子坦荡荡，小人常戚戚。Yakov是一个常戚戚的小人。我喜欢余华早期的小说，他的《活着》和《许三官卖血记》让我哭泣。富贵和许三官，他们不是常戚戚的小人，不管生活怎样对待他们，他们总是坦荡荡地活着，坦荡荡地对待。

从《Rothschild’s Fiddle》里，也可窥视那个时代犹太人的地位和形象。有意思的是，契可夫用了Rothschild这个名字。三百多年来，Rothschild家族建立了人类历史上最庞大的金融帝国，Rothschild这个名字代表了彻头彻尾的冷酷理智，永无止境的金权欲望，然而在契可夫的笔下，Rothschild竟然是这样一个猥琐懦弱的角色。

从前不喜欢契可夫，原因是《变色龙》。这篇名著收入在初中的语文课本里，我的同龄人都读过。

不喜欢《变色龙》，是因为它太假。后来我读到Kate Chopin的《The Story of an Hour》，觉得这两篇很有一拼。在Chopin的故事里，一个女人听说她先生死了，心里顿时生出枯树逢春般的喜悦。但没高兴多久，先生突然活着回来了，她对新生活的期盼顿时灰飞烟灭，心脏病发作一命呜呼。不知情的人们说她是喜极猝死。

小说虽然都是假的，但情节如果太戏剧性，就失去了让人感同身受的力量。《变色龙》的毛病就是匠心太重。

以后很久没读契可夫。多年后的一天，我在圣莫妮卡的步行街上漫无目的地闲逛，走进一家很小、很古怪的书店。店的名字叫“午夜专辑（Midnight Special）”，室内光线很暗，高高的书架顶着天花板。一本黑封面的《契可夫小说集》藏身在最高的架子上。我爬上梯子，发现了契可夫，心里有重回中学课堂的喜悦。

一下子读了好几篇，其中有最著名的《牡蛎》和《The Lady with the Dog》。《牡蛎》用的是绝望的幽默笔调：一对饥肠辘辘的父子在莫斯科一家餐馆门口乞食，父亲从没乞讨过，瞻前顾后羞于启齿；儿子从没见过牡蛎，在饥饿中幻想着那是带贝壳的青蛙。

《牡蛎》全无《变色龙》的矫揉造作，是很成功的现实主义的作品。它用一个小孩子的眼睛来审视饥饿，给人相片一样的真实感。但是，现代小说已经超越了19世纪的现实主义，我们不再追求相片一样的真实感，我固执地认为文学应该表达人类永恒的苦难，远比饥饿难以抵御的苦难。

《契可夫小说集》被我束之高阁了好几年，直到最近读了里面的《Rothschild’s Fiddle》，终于让我喜欢上了契可夫。

在一个穷村子里，有一个年迈的棺材匠，名叫Yakov。他无儿无女，和太太Martha住在一间破屋子里。Yakov脾气暴躁，一辈子从没善待过他太太。他毫无缘由地厌恶犹太人，尤其是犹太乐团里吹长笛的Rothschild，时常威胁要揍他。但Yakov是个极好的提琴手，以至于乐团在缺人的时候，不得不邀他演出。

Yakov活得很不快乐。对他来说，活着的每一天都是损失：休息日不能工作是损失；乐团没演出是损失；好不容易村里死了个有钱人，却死在了外地，是损失。只有人死了，他归结到，损失才会停止。晚上，他把小提琴搁在床边，被无尽的损失折磨得不能入睡的时候，他就拨弄一下琴弦，只有琴声能让他稍稍平静。

有一天，Martha要死了。一辈子郁郁寡欢的Martha，脸色在回光返照下红润起来：终于，她可以不再受Yakov的虐待，摆脱Yakov的棺材生意了。正当Yakov计算着Martha的死给他带来的棺材损失时，Martha突然说，50年前他们有过一个小孩，他们带着小孩在河边的柳树下玩，后来小孩死了。Yakov却想不起来他们有过小孩。

埋葬了Martha，Yakov发现自己也染了病不久人世。Rothschild来找他演出，心情不好的Yakov把他一顿羞辱痛骂。之后，Yakov独自来到河边，他看到柳树，想起了他和Martha有过的小孩。五十年他竟无暇到河边走一走，他可以捕鱼卖钱，或者划着船拉着小提琴到邻村去做他的棺材生意，他浪费了多少机会，造成多少损失！他后悔虐待Martha，羞辱Rothschild，这样做除了带来损失一无好处。临终的时候，Yakov委托牧师把他的小提琴送给Rothschild。从此，Rothschild再也不吹长笛了，他一遍又一遍地在小提琴上演奏Yakov的曲调，悲哀的琴声让所有人如痴如醉。

我读《Rothschild’s Fiddle》，有几年前读《乞力马扎罗的雪》的感觉。Yakov死前的悔悟，仍然是围绕着他的损失，但慢慢地，他的损失已经不全是金钱的损失了。他意识到his life has gone by without profit or pleasure。

孔子说，君子坦荡荡，小人常戚戚。Yakov是一个常戚戚的小人。我喜欢余华早期的小说，他的《活着》和《许三官卖血记》让我哭泣。富贵和许三官，他们不是常戚戚的小人，不管生活怎样对待他们，他们总是坦荡荡地活着，坦荡荡地对待。

从《Rothschild’s Fiddle》里，也可窥视那个时代犹太人的地位和形象。有意思的是，契可夫用了Rothschild这个名字。三百多年来，Rothschild家族建立了人类历史上最庞大的金融帝国，Rothschild这个名字代表了彻头彻尾的冷酷理智，永无止境的金权欲望，然而在契可夫的笔下，Rothschild竟然是这样一个猥琐懦弱的角色。

On a rainy night in April, I walked along the Seine river with a camera in my hand. The rain was intimate. It made the night touchable.

There were many Asian tourists in Paris. During the day, more than a dozen brides in wedding gowns lined up and had their pictures taken under the Eiffel tower, defying the rain, the cold weather, and the wind. The night was serene, but still you can tell a tourist quite easily. Had I not had a camera with me, I might be less suspicious of a tourist  — how likely would a tourist wander along the Seine in rain by himself?

At 9, the lights on the Eiffel tower started glistening. I immediately pointed my camera towards it, like a moth drawn to the light. I used my camera much less during my recent trips, as if finally realizing there was not much purpose in taking pictures, but sometimes I would slip into the old habit without realizing it.

As I was browsing the pictures I had taken on the camera display, a voice from behind said, "You took good pictures …"

I turned around.

"Much better than my husband does," she said.

It was a couple in their 30s. The guy had a camera just like mine, and the girl was in a black dress. She had very beautiful eyes.

She said they were from Hong Kong. They had been traveling in Europe for weeks, and Paris was their last stop. She said her husband didn’t know how to take pictures, and because of this, they had wasted many once-in-a-lifetime moments. "Like tonight, " she said, "All I want is a picture with the glistening Eiffel tower in the back. But look at everything he took! All blurred and fuzzy."

I wasn’t even listening when she started blaming her husband, who stood beside her with a childish smile on his face. I should have offered to take a picture for them. But I didn’t. My mind was occupied. She kept talking to me. "We were in Britain, Italy, Greece. I am so excited. But Paris is cold and rainy."

I moved away when a cruise boat passing by caught her attention and she stopped talking. But as soon as she turned back, she came up to me again. "Are you leaving? How come you are traveling alone? Where are you from?"

"I am …"

"Have you been to Venice?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Take a look at the pictures we took in Venice!" She grabbed the camera from her husband, and put it in my hand.

It was a Canon EOS Rebel. I browsed a few pictures, which she said were from Venice. Before I returned the camera to her husband, I adjusted a few settings on the dial for shooting at night. "Try again," I said.

After taking about a dozen pictures, the husband learned the trick. The girl became extremely excited. "Oh, the Eiffel tower!", pointing at one picture on the camera display, she said, "finally, everything is clear and crisp."

She started thanking me effusively. "How lucky I met you," she said, "he just couldn’t learn anything by himself." A few steps away, her husband was pointing the camera at the Eiffel again.

I said I need to go back. She said, "Let us take a picture together."

"With me?"

"Yes, " she insisted.

That’s how I had my only picture taken in Paris. Beside me was a girl in a black dress with very beautiful eyes, not in the picture was her husband pointing the camera at us — "say cheese".  She continued walking along the Seine after we parted, her husband following her one step behind.