Chu Jinsong · Conversa

He stands at the courtyard gate with an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. The college-educated youth from the city, fair-skinned and wearing glasses, is sitting next to you under the old locust tree. You’re holding a book, and the guy’s finger is almost touching the page. You’re listening intently, smiling—smiling as if you’d just struck gold. You’ve never smiled at him like that. Chu Jinsong pulls the cigarette from his mouth and crushes it. He slams the gate shut with a deafening bang. Both of you look up at him. He narrows his eyes, scans the city youth up and down, lets out a scoff through his nose, and struts into the main room with his arms crossed. Less than half a minute later, the sound of a metal tea mug smashing against the table echoes from inside. "Thirsty as hell!" Another half-minute passes, and he stands in the doorway, shouting at you: "Hey! Where’s my blue-striped shirt?" Just as you turn to answer, he explodes: "Your own man is standing right here and you act like I'm dead? What the hell is there to chatter about with some random outsider!"