Diary of a Cricket
» Tác giả: Tô Hoài » Thể lọai: English
1. 1 I An independent life since childhood - a prank that costs dearly I have lived an independent life since early childhood. Such is the rule among us crickets. My mother used to tell her children, "It’s good for you to learn to fly with your own wings. Children who are a burden to their parents develop parasitic habits and will grow up into never-do-wells." Following her principles, she would arrange for her children to live on their own. My two brothers and myself, for instance, lived with her for only two days. The third evening, my mother took each of us to a hole she had dug in the corner of a rice field. As the youngest of the brood, I was provided with a small supply of food. But that was all: my mother didn’t turn back once. Far from bewailing the situation, I rather enjoyed it. After thoroughly exploring my new premises, I stood at the door, looking at the stars twinkling among the top blades of tall grass. Feeling elated, I rubbed my wings and uttered a few enthusiastic loud cries. From that day on, I started a life on my own. My personal happiness would depend on whether I would be wise or stupid. But I didn’t think of that at the time. I merely enjoyed my independence. All day long, I worked in my hole, enlarging an embellishing it into a nice bedroom. Then I dug two new galleries leading to back doors for emergencies. When dusk fell, I would stop for a rest. Together with the whole neighbourhood, I would start a joyful concert in honour of the setting sun. During the whole night, we would hold riotous dancing and singing parties, stopping from time to time to drink dew drops or nibble at juicy blades of young grass. Only when the austere-looking sun appeared again in the East, did we part to go back home. Such was the joyful routine of my life. A quite pleasant one, wasn’t it? As I lived soberly and worked moderately, I grew up rapidly and in no time became a healthy and strong adolescent. My wings shone with a dark lustre. The spikes on my legs were spear-pointed. To try their effectiveness, I would sometimes raise my legs and give powerful kicks at the grass whose blades would then fall down as at the blow of a cutting blade. My wings extended to the tip of my tail. When flapped, they gave out a powerful noise. My head grew bigger and bigger and pugnacious-looking bumps started bulging out on my forehead. My two white mandibles were always moving crosswise, like the blades of some mowing machine. I was particularly proud of my two long and martial-looking antennae which I kept caressing with my forelegs. My whole body was of a glossy brown. I adopted a stately gait. When I walked, I solemnly swayed on my legs, my two antennae shaking in a bellicose manner. I took on daring airs and would pick a quarrel with every one of my neighbours. When I started shouting, they would remain silent, probably not so much because they were afraid to answer back but merely because of a peaceable disposition. But that made me feel too big for my breeches. Young people often are like that: bragging is for them a sign of talent! When I had played the bully with some timid grasshoppers or a waterspider who had stayed from his native pond, I believed myself a real hero. Alas, I didn’t know that one is likely to pay dearly for foolish bluster. Unconsciously I was doing myself a bad disservice. Later, I would many times narrowly escape death. My heart would then be filled with remorse. But remorse was not of much help in setting things right again. This was how the first mishap came about: Near my place lived a mole-cricket, about my age. He belonged to the weaker kind of cricket, so I rather looked down on him. And he was truly afraid of me! Thin and pale like an opium-addict, he had ridiculously short wings which made him look as though a waistcoat was his only clothing. His hindlegs were thick and utterly inelegant. In addition to all that, he had ludicrous stumps in place of antennae, and the dazed look of a hopeless country bumpkin! And he was not the kind of fellow to do things seriously: his hole was shallow and had no galleries like mine. One day I paid him a visit. After having a look at his shabby home, I reproachfully told him, " What a careless and slovenly way of living! What a home to live in! Suppose an enemy comes: you will have no way to escape! Look, every time you move in your hole, your back will show up through the ceiling. Any hawk could easily get you. My poor chap, you are no longer a child, yet you haven’t the