Zhang Ailing's prose "Late Night" [Famous Prose]

Zhang Xiaofeng, a female writer in Taiwan Province, whose pen names are Xiaofeng, Sang Ke and Ke Er, is a famous third-generation essayist. The following is the lyric prose of Zhang Xiaofeng, a famous writer, which I brought for your appreciation.

Zhang Xiaofeng's Lyric Prose: Large Family Wine

I also want to make a fake old-fashioned stove under the gas stove, read Liu Dabai's poems when I was a child, and write touching scenes of village women's faces being red by the stove fire. I couldn't resist the temptation of the old stove and competed in Taipei to find a stove door made of pig iron.

It seems that things started in that corridor.

The corridor is fairly wide, almost six feet wide and eighteen feet long. In Taipei, where land is scarce, it seems that it has long been qualified to be transformed into a house.

However, I like empty corridors.

However, "emptiness" is also a luxury. The front porch was finally reduced to a pile of big pieces that I couldn't bear to lose after those performances. For example, in the opening scene of Wu Lingren, a big fishing net made of hemp rope with a thick thumb once symbolized a struggling and depressed life. Two twisted wooden piers and several pieces of iron appreciated by the director were used to create the effect of distortion and spasm during the production of Bian He's wife in The Wall of Harmony. Of course, those things are moving on the stage, but they are piled on the front porch of an apartment on the fourth floor, which makes people feel short of breath as soon as they enter the door.

Another reason for the incident is the disaster at home, which is what Mr. Yu Guangzhong called the "book disaster." Both of them love books, but they learn different things, so everyone buys their own. The original bookcase won't fit, and it's pitted and difficult to walk. What is hateful is that the next time I go to the street, I am excited and forgetful, and I buy them in piles.

Of course, books also have great advantages. At that time, we just got married and rented an old tatami house with a dwarf banyan tree in the front yard and a coral vine behind the house. In the space between trees and vines, we don't feel small. We wouldn't be desperate to buy a house if we weren't forced by that pile of stumbling books. Unexpectedly, after buying a house, I found myself hanging out with a "millionaire" for several years. Qiu Yonghan said that "the poor get rich because of books", but this is true in my family, but it should be correctly said that "the poor get rich because they want to buy a house as a bookcase".

A few years later, we gradually added some bookshelves.

A few years later, I moved the book to the research room of the school and told everyone that I had arranged a "small mansion with books". Books have been quiet for some time after this great immigration. But after several years, the book is still "swollen". I've thought about it, and I'm going to make a wall nine feet high and twenty feet long into a book wall.

It was just the summer vacation at that time, and I planned to have a good time. I have never studied indoor performance in my life, but I just vaguely think I will like it. The original plan was just to tidy up the front porch and make a bookcase, but I didn't expect the plan to get bigger and bigger. "If one room can't be cured, why can't the world"? Finally decided to renovate the whole house.

It was terribly hot, and I sat in the middle of the night thinking about the whole house like an old monk. Suddenly, the past lives of the house came into my eyes in the afterlife, so I thought about the steps myself. First of all, I have to go to Taipei to find materials myself. Over the years, I have been advocating "pure thought" more and more. If there is no certain material in the market, the idea of designing drawings will not be established.

I'll look for tiles first. It is best to use the color of the floor to determine the tone of the room. Tiles are really beautiful things-although some of them are disgusting. I chose a brick red kiln brick to lay the front porch. The kiln brick looks like a cake baked with special concentration and fragrance. Every striped road looks like a fire pattern. The kitchen is covered with khaki, and the bathroom is covered with dark blue Roman tiles. In order to save money, I only bought 27 yuan.

I've been looking at the tiles in Taipei for two weeks, and I've met some unfamiliar friends who sell tiles. I feel extremely proud.

The estimate of the kitchen counter came out, and the stainless steel kitchenware alone cost 70 thousand to 80 thousand. I was shocked. I didn't buy that thing. I have my own solution.

Go to the old materials store on Jianguo South Road. I used to go there every day. I don't buy anything, just to see those old trees, cypresses, Chinese fir and Chinese fir lying quietly in the sun and among weeds. That afternoon, I skillfully bought an eight-foot old Chinese fir, which only cost 30 yuan. I wanted to take a taxi home, but the wood was too long to hold, so I carried it to Xinyi Road at sunset and took a bus, posing as a soldier with a gun. When I got home, I painted the wood with transparent paint, and the texture spots all showed the appearance of sculpture. It's really beautiful. I asked the workers to nail the wood to the wall and some thick nails to the wood. (nails are as thick as fingers and have a 90-degree hook. I bought it on Chongqing North Road. It is said that they were originally used to nail railway tracks. ) There are kettles, pots and pans hanging on it, which is quite a bit of American colonial flavor.

In fact, the bright white kettles and pot-bellied kettles sold in Kaohsiung are beautiful things. It's a pity to spend 70 thousand to 80 thousand to buy stainless steel kitchen utensils and hide them. I even think the pot is as bright as the flowerpot, so there is no need to hide others.

I decided to make a fake old torch under the gas stove. I can't resist the temptation of the old stove. When I was a child, I read Liu Dabai's poem, which wrote a touching scene of a woman's face being burned by a stove in the village. I don't know if it's that poem. In fact, I ran all over Taipei just to find the kitchen door made of pig iron. Some people say that there is one in an iron works, some people say that there is one in Ying Ge, some people say that there is one in the back station, and some people say that there is one in Wanhua. I don't care whether the source is reliable or not, I ask one by one seriously. I walked to Shuanglian, where I lived as a child, and walked. Twenty or thirty years of Taipei surged like waves under my feet. I used to love to eat sesame seed cakes with a small hole in the middle (hey! I might as well buy another one to eat now. ) I was surprised to see how the clam shell essence in the wild stage play floated and sank in the billowing waves. It turned out to be a big quagmire beside the railway. Those large green leaves can't remember whether they are taro leaves or lotus leaves. I only remember picking leaves once, and I almost sank. The more anxious I was, the more I couldn't pull my feet out.

Thirty years later, a little girl has turned into a woman, and Shuanglian is still a bustling Shuanglian. Now walking is like magic, turning a woman back into a little girl.

It was so hot that I walked all the way and forgot that I had come out to buy the oven door. I was suddenly surprised and hurried away. I must buy an oven door, otherwise I can't make the oven.

"What is the kitchen door?" A young man listened to my words and asked his old man loudly.

I walked on. This guy may be too young.

"Come with me to the back warehouse." Finally, an old man promised me to go through the second-hand stock.

"Well," he asked, "who uses the kitchen door in Taipei? How did you come up with this idea? " Oh, my God, he really did! He couldn't remember the price and rummaged through an old account book in the dust.

I excitedly handed over the oven door to the bricklayer for installation. They never believed that this thing had not disappeared.

Zhang Xiaofeng's Lyric Prose: Loneliness and Affection

My understanding outline with Mr. Yu is quite dramatic. I went to listen to his speech eight years ago. This activity was organized by Mr. Ji Mangui in China Drama Appreciation Committee. This place is very small, and few people attend the meeting. After listening to it, everyone dispersed.

But for me, it was a completely different night. No matter how late it was, I went to the stage to find him. I didn't even introduce myself. I stayed in Mr. Li's shabby chair and continued to ask him for advice.

Teacher Yu is a person who has no concept of time when speaking. We talked more and more late, and then he suddenly asked:

"Which school are you in?"

"Dongwu-"

"Wu Dong has a person," he said enthusiastically. "Go and talk to her. Her name is Zhang Xiaofeng. "

I froze. It turns out that Teacher Yu knows me and values me. People of this age will also pay attention to contemporary literature. I'm so excited that I'm about to burn. Unfortunately, I'm not the kind of person who hides. I can't help telling him at once that I'm Zhang Xiaofeng.

Then he told me that he liked my collection of essays, The End of the Carpet, which won the feminine beauty in China literature. In fact, I am ashamed of my early works. Because I am young and superficial, I wrote a lot of good things, but I was inadvertently praised by Teacher Yu in this case, which still made me secretly happy. Then talk about some words, he suddenly said:

"Do you know Bai Xianyong?"

"yes." At that time, he just asked me to publish a book in his morning bell publishing house.

"There is a mistake in his Dream in the Garden," he said seriously. "Blowing a tune doesn't mean Kunqu Opera. Tell him to change it next time. "

I'm really surprised at his delicacy.

Later, like other young people, I walked confidently through the sales department of Yitai Travel Agency and went straight to his office to chat.

The "office" is located on the street in front of the exhibition hall. God knows when Mr. Yu will do "official business". In a word, the office of Yitai Travel Agency is the classroom of the drama research institute, sometimes it seems to be the rabbit fee conference hall for revitalizing the national drama Committee, and sometimes it is the consulting room of a magazine. In short, it gives the impression that the room is full of people. Some people are late, so they move a chair outside and squeeze in by themselves. Some people just leave first if they have something to do.

Maybe it's because of my own experience. Although I have benefited a lot from this many face-to-face and telephone chats, I don't agree with the teacher's all-day invitation. I stubbornly believe that nothing else can be trusted without leaving words. Even a direct disciple will inevitably have inaccuracies when retelling his remarks. This is not easy to say directly, but only indirectly urge the teacher.

"Teacher, you should spend some time sorting out and publishing your Pingju script."

"I think so too!" He sighed helplessly. "Every time I think about publishing, I feel that there are shortcomings everywhere, and I almost want to rewrite them all-but I can't help but think, alas, since I have spent so much effort, I might as well write another one."

"Ok, then write a new one!"

"But, considering that the old one hasn't been repaired, why get a new one?"

Alas, this is a terrible cycle. I often think that the first-class talents in the world often write nothing because they are eager for perfection. Probably, most of them are people below the second rate.

After the teacher died, I couldn't help getting a little angry. Some people in the world who publish indiscriminately are "sinful", but it is almost "cruel" for the younger generation not to write. There are ways to make history for "sinful" people. Soon, their ink pollution will be a thing of the past, but those who don't work hard to write even history can't help them. On the contrary, a drama talk was written in the mood of writing essays under the semi-compulsion and semi-urging of the editor, which is fortunate in misfortune.

One day, when I was indifferent to Mr. Wei Suqiu, she shared my views. She said, "Well, every day when I read the obituary, some friends die with their stomachs full of knowledge-what a pity."

When the teacher was alive, although we had a deep understanding, there were many times when the teacher insisted on his opinion and I insisted on mine. If the teacher comes back from the dead today, the first thing I am eager to argue with him is to insist that he write at least two books, one about drama theory and the other including at least ten Ju Ping plays. He should not only be the teacher of our generation, but also the teacher of many generations of young people in the future.

But the teacher is gone. Who should I quarrel with when I call in the middle of the night?

My teacher has many opinions about my drama performance, regardless of lighting, performance, stage design and dance. In fact, Mr. Yu is a person who even has his own opinions, and his cuteness lies in his opinions. I agree with some of his views, but I don't agree with others. Anyway, I am very touched by his concern. He will come to see every performance, and I also ask Yitai Travel Agency to sponsor special advertisements for our performances.

The teacher's concept of right and wrong is very strong. When he thinks it is right, he will say, "Right-right-right-right-right-"

Each pair of words is clear, slow and long, almost waiting for the beat. When he thinks it is incorrect, he will smile and shake his head and say, "It's completely wrong, completely wrong."

To my surprise, the teacher totally disapproves of comparative literature. I remember the first time I tried to talk to him about a scholar's tragic view of Yuan Zaju. He immediately refused and said:

"Xiaofeng, you have to know that China and the West are completely different, completely different, and have nothing in common!"

"Well," I was unconvinced, "even if the result is' incomparable', it is a comparative study!"

But the teacher was unmoved. He still insists that China's play is China's play, and there is no necessity or possibility of comparison.

For example, "I won't give up after many times. "In the most serious and serious tragedies of Shakespeare and China, there is often an ambiguity-and it is often yellow. Isn't this very similar? "

"That's because the audience are emerging ordinary citizens."

Strangely, the teacher is willing to admit that they are similar, but still opposes comparative literature. Later, I found that teacher Yu and other young people have different views in all aspects. In the end, everyone kept their own views, teachers and students are still teachers and students.

Zhang Xiaofeng's Lyric Prose: She once taught me.

Written in memory of Professor Ji Mangui, a drama tutor in China.

Autumn is deep.

The chanting of the back mountain is rendered in the rain. Looking at flowers in the fog in Taipei, she is no longer in this city.

It seems that the memory began on a rainy night. She started a scriptwriting class and I attended the class. It was winter at that time, and it rained for a cold day, and the students gradually stopped coming. Roosevelt road, noisy with the sound of rain and cars, often looks strangely desolate. I suddenly found that I couldn't skip class, and I couldn't leave her alone in the empty classroom. I must go to class on time.

I often remember her struggling to climb to the third floor with a bag full of treasures. She often coughs when she sits down. The cold weather is very bad for her trachea. She has a bad cough and often chokes, but before the next cough, she still tries to buy time to say more books.

I don't know why, when I think of her, I always think of the way she walks with her purse in her hand and her back hunched-as if she had walked for thousands of years, walked out of the old-fashioned teacher's way, walked out of the ancient theater, and walked through several places in Wan Li, waded through the most desolate desert, and taught a most ignorant student.

Perhaps coincidentally, I once asked the students in the drama department of the School of Culture what their impressions were of her, and they also said that they often remembered standing in the classroom upstairs and watching her slowly walk up the mountain road with her purse on her back. She doesn't like taking pictures all her life, but her image in our hearts is vivid.

That year, in memory of her parents, she set up a "Mrs. Li Shengzhi Screenplay Award". She awarded the first prize to my first screenplay "Painting", and she encouraged us to perform. Before I met her, I never believed that I would work in a stage play-I didn't believe that I would be so stupid, but I was stupid after all. Only when a person is shocked by the spirit of another fool can he become a new fool.

People often ask me why I write a stage play. I may have many reasons, but the initial reason is "I met a teacher". I'm not a man with a plan. The only reason I do things is: "If I like that person, I will do it with him". Apart from teaching, housework and taking care of children, it is an overwhelming job to finish a play every year, but I still do it, and I can't let her down.

After painting, we have released incomparable love, the fifth wall, Wu Lingren, self-cooking (only performed in Hongkong), the wall of harmony and the third party to be staged this year. Collaborators, such as director Huang and stage designer Nie, are also her students.

I still remember last August, after I finished writing The Wall of Harmony, I called a car to knock on her door at the new store in the middle of the night. I didn't have time to copy it, so I showed it to her. The next morning, her phone came. She encouraged me, praised me and told me to prepare for the performance. I was deeply moved when I heard her phone call. She must have stayed up to watch it. Looking back now, I can't help feeling guilty. It was her gentle love that spoiled me. Why didn't I consider her age and figure when I knocked at the door in the middle of the night? She is already ill, isn't she? Or is she so optimistic and positive that we all forget her age and figure?

At the invitation of Literature and Art, I wrote a brief introduction and chronology for the little lion. For a long time, I have been carefully observing her life. She eats very little (there are always snacks at home), dresses casually, and the house and furniture at home are only simple and practical, even without taking a taxi. I remember I showed her the written manuscript, and she just said, "Great-how can I be so good?" Then she added, "After reading your article, others will misunderstand that I am lonely. In fact, I love excitement, and I only like it when my relatives and friends are here! "

That's true. Her single life is quiet, lively and warm. She likes everything pleasant. She is like a child. It is rare to see a single woman love her children like that. Of course, the children also love her. She only plays with children and gives them chocolates. When she is with children, she is just a child, not a scholar, not a professor, not a member.

One night, I met two female students she taught outside the ward. It is said that they are female students, but in fact they are Fahua's mother and her children are in college. It's a year since she graduated from college and entered the graduate school, and she has taught students in Peidao Middle School in Guangdong Province for nearly half a century. In her early years, Miss Li tried to write a play "Half a Century" in English, which was about a missionary's lifelong dedication. In fact, now, she is a missionary who has devoted herself for half a century. When we were sitting on the porch chatting together, the lady took out a letter from her son in Taichung, in which Miss Li was remembered. The big boy said, "I miss her most besides my parents." She is such a person who is missed and loved by others.

As her student, sometimes I can't help wondering about her love. For a person who loves beauty and life, it is hard to imagine that she has never been in love. Of course, no one is embarrassed to ask her directly. I explored it a little, because I wrote a chronology. I asked her, "Have you ever had the greatest influence on you in your life?"

"Yes, my father, his refusal to retreat for the truth greatly influenced me. My pen name Yuchu (Mr. Li's real name, the word Yuchu, sacred, ranked in the genealogy) is to commemorate him. " Besides elders, I also mean peers. Are there any friends of your peers who you admire and have a lifelong influence on you? "She thought for a moment and said," Yes, I have a male classmate who is good at his homework. Before I met him, I only liked to play and didn't pay much attention to hard work. I only thought that writing could rely on talent alone, but he persuaded me and made me understand the importance of hard work. Talent alone is not enough-I'm still working hard, which can be said to be influenced by him. "

As a girl, it is hard for me to believe that a girl has an impression on a boy and doesn't love him, but I don't know where the boy with excellent books is now, and have they ever been in love? I didn't even ask his name. Maybe they haven't started yet, and nothing has happened-of course, I prefer to believe that there is a beautiful story left by years.

According to her two female students studying Taoism, "I am not particularly single, but I have never met such a nice person." I think this statement is credible. It's too difficult to find someone as educated, tolerant, principled and enthusiastic as her. Most people are always learned people who refuse to do things, and those who are willing to do things are uneducated people. Miss Li's loneliness is not only at the end of her marriage, but also advocating drama.

On one occasion, Mr. Jiang Wei, who directed a stage play in Hongkong, visited her in Taiwan Province Province. I took him to see her, and she was very happy and gave him a set of famous signatures. When Mr. Jiang came to Taiwan Province for the second time, she also treated him to a meal. Perhaps because she is from Taishan and is familiar with overseas Chinese society, she is very happy and excited as long as she hears overseas acting. She has an extraordinary ability, that is, when there is nothing to do, she is still cheerful and still believes in tomorrow.

I still remember that dinner, and she asked me which restaurant I wanted to go to. Because I know that she has always been frugal (because she is used to frugality, she never thinks she is frugal, so you never think she is a bitter person), so I suggest that she go to Renhe Garden in Yunnan to eat "crossing the bridge". She has a good appetite and repeatedly encourages us to order something. She said a very kind word: "Don't worry, scream." Now that a year has passed, the words are still in my ears, but the teacher will never eat a fireworks again. As soon as the banquet is over, it is over.

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