Author Archives: Danny Parrott

Texts from Ulrika Nielsen´s book
BRIEF TEXTS ON THE OPEN AND UNSETTLED
Translated by Olivia Olsen

THE GREATEST

Trouble with the big questions

What is your greatest wish?
What event has most profoundly changed you?
Which was the happiest day of your life?

The smaller ones come closer

How do you take off your shoes? Do you put them away or just leave them?

PALERMO

Hotel breakfast, a lavish buffet. A man enters. He is slight, dressed in an exquisite suit, with a modest, well-trimmed beard and horn-rimmed glasses. He helps himself at the buffet: a pear. He sits at a table, places the linen napkin in his lap, and peels the fruit; the peel spirals down onto the plate, his fingers remain dry. He eats the pear with knife and fork. Then he sweeps an espresso, presses the napkin to his lips, places it with an easy and artful movement on the table, stands up, and leaves.

This was many years ago.
I think of him still.
How I want his pear.

TO MASTER REALITY WITH THE HELP OF TRANSACTIONS

Her father would make calculations several times a day. That was what the family called it, when he counted money. He made calculations on the backs of receipts, on letters and forms, in the margins of the daily paper. Here and there all over the home his straggling numbers would be found, arranged in strange formations, written in blue ballpoint. After his death they found calculations in his desk, written in pencil on the wood at the bottom of the drawer.

She never understood what operations he used, whether it was addition or subtraction or multiplication or an arithmetic of his own devising. The varying numbers and results confused her. Deciphering them was like reading a kind of hieroglyphics. After he had finished making calculations he would often sit very still for a while, and look out the window. The restless gaze as he lowered his pen, the light that fell over his heavy hands on the tabletop. Sometimes his lips moved slightly, as though he wasn’t quite done, but only in the next phase of an always ongoing process.

The problem with the calculations, as far as she could understand, was that they constantly had to be redone in the face of a constantly changing reality. Stock prices would suddenly fall. Interest rates would suddenly rise. His wife, her mother, would decide to make a significant purchase that in turn led to more expenditures that he hadn’t accounted for. She never quite knew whether the calculations moved within the space of smaller time or greater time; if they concerned themselves with the income and expenses of the current month, or whether it was her father’s financial life’s work, possibly his entire existence, at stake.

The calculations were inherited. She didn’t do them often, and always with only a part of herself, while the other watched, much in the same way she in childhood had watched her father’s almost mystical activity. In truth, she understood as little of the calculations now, even as she, herself, performed them. She did not use a pen and scraps of paper, but the computer and the calculator on her phone, and none of it left any trace and was immediately forgotten. After each calculation she was left with a kind of live anxiety that brushed up against the volatility of all existence.

PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER

One day when I’d washed her windows and we sat on the balcony for a cup of coffee and a cigarette she said: One should never do things too thoroughly. Then she said: I’ll never stop smoking.

SELF PORTRAIT

Each time a cab stops in front of our house I imagine it’s me coming home.

A COMPLICATED FATHER

Their father’s death was full of pain. When
finally he breathed his last, with large
amounts of morphine in his body, his lips
welled over with blood. They became
fixated by his death. Though he was no
longer alive they continued to go
see him. They visited him at the morgue,
the cool room there. An attendant followed
them inside, unlocked the cold storage
where he lay, pulled the coffin out and placed it
open on a table. They stood and watched him,
touched him. He looked so calm.
They wondered at this serenity that had
settled over their father. It was as though
he’d left that intractable “himself” behind
and sailed off. It seemed a miracle. They
looked closer: wasn’t it rather
death that had left him
behind, here? Would he soon again
get up and
head out to the bar?

A COMPLICATED FATHER,
THE SECOND AND FINAL PART

Later, at the grave, one of the sons collapsed.
His scream was all of time; all his
childhood and all his father’s
childhood too that in the space of a moment pressed themselves through
his consciousness.

A SMALL CLOSE DISCOMFORT THAT SCRATCHES AT THE PSYCHE

Loose change in a bowl with buttons, rusted paper clips and dust…

A fainted weekday, and a family member chewing his feed…

Mother’s teaspoon, with dregs of loose-boiled egg…

etcetera etcetera…

CINEMA PARADISO

Watching films as a child, she rarely made much effort to follow the plot. Perhaps she didn’t understand that was the point. Her focus fell, instead, on the light, the heaving fields, the words and how they travelled, voices, gestures, the heft and lightness of bodies, the honey-flow of clothing… Later in life she began to make an effort: it had to do with her newfound interest in normality and what it had to offer. She followed the plot. But every so often she zoomed out, disappeared a little, so to speak. A distraction of sorts. Perhaps she was pulled into a kind of deep, where she found nothing other than depth itself, and then – a path…

SEA CUCUMBERS

The sea cucumber will allow pearlfish to find shelter in its backside at night.
A single one can hold entire schools.

Whether it receives anything in return, I don’t know.
Could also be I remember it wrong.

SPLEEN

Until now she’d never thought of the fact that she has a spleen.
It came to her, and she started, as at the sudden realization of something left on the stove.
Where is it? She pressed down on her abdomen, to the right, to the left.
What does it do all day?

TWO EXTREMES / AT OPPOSITE ENDS

To “choose joy” wasn’t really working.
Cultivating joylessness wasn’t working either.

There were times she couldn’t push into the day.
She’d drift about on its surface, like a bee unable to find its way into the hive, or out of it – she wasn’t sure of the direction.
She devoured a bowl of raspberries.
She trudged on in the whirli

选自Nielsen的书
开放和不安的简略文本
由Olivia Olsen翻译

最伟大的

大问题的烦恼
你最伟大的愿望是什么？
哪件事对你的改变最大？
哪一天是生命中最快乐的一天？

小一点的问题也差不多
你怎么脱鞋？是把鞋收起来还是放那不管？

巴勒莫
酒店早餐，丰盛自助。一个男人进来。他很瘦，穿着精致的西装，留着不张扬而修剪得体的胡子，戴角质眼睛。他自己取餐：一个梨。他在桌边做好，把棉布餐巾放在大腿上，开始削皮；梨皮卷着掉在盘子上，他的手指仍是干的。他用刀叉吃梨。然后他将浓缩咖啡一饮而尽，用餐巾沾一沾嘴唇，用从容而近乎艺术的动作把餐巾放在桌上，起身，走开。
这是很多年前的事。
我仍想起他。
仍想起我是多么想要那颗梨。

用交易掌握现实

她父亲每天都要算好几次。这是家人们的说法，在他数钱的时候。他在票据、信纸和表格背面，以及报纸边缘，算数。家里各处都能找到他字迹潦草的数字，格式很奇怪，用蓝色圆珠笔写的。在他死后，他们在他的桌上找到了算数，在抽屉底的木板上用铅笔写的。

她总不能理解到底他用的什么算法，是加法还是减法或者乘法还是他自己发明的什么算术。不同的数字和得数让她困惑。要解读它们简直就像阅读某种圣书体文本。在他算完后，他常常会非常安静地坐一会，并看向窗外。他放下笔时不安的凝视，灯光从他沉重的双手上落下在桌面上。有时他的嘴唇会轻轻地动，就像他还没算完一样，但只是在一个总是持续下去的下次算数的阶段才这样。

算数的问题，在她看来，是它们总是在一个永远在变动的现实中不得不重做。股票价格会突然下跌。利率会突然上涨。他的妻子，她的母亲，会决定花一大笔钱买东西，而这会造成他没有算到的更多的花销。她从来不知道到底算数是在一小段时间里还是在更长时间里进行的；也不知道这些算数是有关这个月的收入和支出，抑或是她父亲财务生活的工作，或者他的整个存在都利益攸关。

算数得到了继承。她并不常做算数，但她总是有一部分心思在做算术，而其余的心思则看着，很像她小时候看着她父亲做那最神秘的工作一样。说实话，尽管她现在自己做算术，她却并不怎么懂。她并不用笔或者碎纸片，而是用她的电脑和手机上的计算器，而这些都不会留下任何痕迹并会立刻被遗忘。在每次算数之后，她都感到一种活生生的焦虑，这焦虑拂过所有存在的无常。

母亲的肖像
有天在我给她擦窗户的时候，我们坐在阳台上喝咖啡，抽烟，她说：一个人永远不要把事情做太足。然后她说：我永远不会戒烟。

个人肖像
每次有出租车在我们的房子前停下，我都想象那是我到家了。

一个难以捉摸的父亲
他们父亲的死十分痛苦。当
他咽了最后一口气，大量
的吗啡在他的身体里，他的嘴唇
溢出了血。他们开始
纠结于他的死。尽管他已经不
再活着他们仍然去
看望他。他们到太平间看他，
那里冷冷的房间。一个看护随着
他们进去，打开冰冷的停尸柜
里面躺着他，打开棺材敞开
放在桌上。他们站好望着他，
抚摸他。他看着那么平静。
他们惊讶于这宁静
已经笼罩他们的父亲。就好像
他把那不可救药的“自己”留下来
而他已远航。这像个奇迹。他们
凑近看：“难道不是
死亡把他抛下，
留在这里？他会不会很快
起来
然后去酒吧？”

一个难以捉摸的父亲，
第二和最后一部分

后来，在墓地，有一个儿子崩溃了。
他嘶吼的全都是时间；所有他的
童年和所有他父亲的
童年也在一瞬间的空间抚摸过
他的意识。

挠着灵魂的小而切近的不快
散落的零钱在碗里还有纽扣，生锈的曲别针和尘埃… …
一个昏沉的工作日，和一个吃着狗粮的家庭成员… …
母亲的茶匙，上面还有没煮熟的鸡蛋的渣… …
等等 等等… …

影院天堂
小时候看电影，她从不费心去追随剧情。或许她不理解那才是重点。她把注意力放到了光线，起伏的田野，台词和他们如何旅行，声音，手势，身体的灵活与轻盈，衣裳的流动… …后来，她开始试着了解剧情：这和她新发现的对常态的兴趣及它能给她的东西有关。她追随者剧情。但她每每会拉远一些，会消失一点，这么说吧。某种分神。或许她被拉进某种深，那里除了深邃本身再无他物，然后—一条路… …

海参
海参会让贝潜鱼晚上在它的背面藏身。
一只海参能藏下一大群小鱼。

至于它会得到什么回报，我不知道。
也可能是我记错了。

脾脏
直到现在她也不觉得她有脾脏。
她突然意识到，她开始感觉到，就像突然想到忘了炉子里烤着东西。
它在哪？她往下按自己的肚子，向左，向右。
脾脏每天在干些什么？
 

Piret Raud
THE SHY MOBILE PHONE
Translated into English by Susan Wilson
Uncle Ralf bought himself a new mobile phone. He realised fairly soon that he’d picked a very nervous model. Each time someone called him, the new mobile would shiver and shake all over. The phone’s nervous nature was a worry to Uncle Ralf.
“It’s supposed to shake,” Uncle Ralf’s Mum reassured him. “It’s got a vibrating alert mechanism.”
She showed him how to stop the shaking by pressing various buttons on the keypad, but unfortunately pressing those buttons on Uncle Ralf’s phone did no good. The phone carried on trembling just the same, more and more fearfully with each call.
Uncle Ralf was sorry for the poor little thing. He really loved his phone.
“Don’t call me any more!” he told his friends. “It scares my phone.”
Uncle Ralf’s friends stopped calling him, they stopped inviting him out to the cinema or to the football or to rock concerts. Not that Uncle Ralf would have wanted to go because places like that are very noisy and his phone wouldn’t have liked it.
He simply went fishing by the lake.
It’s important to be really quiet when fishing so that the fish won’t swim away from the line, and keeping quiet was something his phone could do.
Uncle Ralf and his phone spent several hours there fishing until an awful thing happened. The phone rang! It was Uncle Ralf’s Mum, who was expecting him back for lunch. Mum wasn’t bothered about his phone being scared. She was much more worried that the lunch would get cold while she was waiting for him.
Uncle Ralf took the quivering phone out of his pocket to answer his Mum, but the phone was trembling so violently that it fell, splash! into the water. Uncle Ralf immediately tore off his clothes and dived in after it, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found.
Uncle Ralf had no choice but to buy himself a new phone. The first call he made was to the old phone. Uncle Ralf hoped that this would be a way of finding his old friend.
“Hello, where are you? I’ll come and get you straight away!” he shouted to the phone.
It was no shy mobile phone who answered, however. It was a fish, who said, “Please don’t phone this number again! It scares my lovely little phone.”

Piret Raud
羞涩的手机
由Susan Wilson译作英文
Ralf叔叔买了部新手机。他很快意识到自己选了个神经质的机型。每次有人给他打电话，新手机就会震动，全身发抖。新手机神经兮兮的特质成了Ralf叔叔的烦心事。
“本来就应该发抖，”Ralf叔叔的妈妈劝他说，“手机有震动提醒功能。”
她给他演示怎么在键盘上按各种按钮就能取消手机的发抖，但不幸的是，即便按了Ralf叔叔手机上这些钮还是无济于事。手机还是不停地发抖，而且每次有人打电话，手机都抖得更厉害了。
Ralf叔叔很可怜这手机。他真对手机视若珍宝。
“别再给我打电话了！”他告诉朋友们，“我的手机胆儿小。”
Ralf叔叔的朋友们不再给他打电话了，他们也不再邀请他去看电影或者足球赛或者摇滚演唱会。倒不是Ralf叔叔本来想去看，而是这样的地方太吵了，而他的手机肯定不喜欢。
他索性去湖边钓鱼。
钓鱼的时候必须非常安静，这样鱼就不会从鱼钩附近溜走，而保持安静是他的手机很擅长的。
Ralf叔叔和他的手机在湖边几个小时几个小时的钓鱼，后来发生了一件可怕的事儿。来电话了！打电话的是Ralf叔叔的妈妈，她正等他回家吃午饭。他妈妈根本不在乎他的手机胆儿小不胆儿小。她更在乎等他等到饭都凉了。
Ralf叔叔把颤抖的手机从口袋里拿出来接他妈妈的电话，但手机抖得太厉害，啪嗒！掉进了??里。Ralf叔叔赶紧脱了衣服下水去找，不过可惜没找到。
Ralf叔叔没办法，只好又买了个新手机。第一个电话打给了他的旧手机。Ralf叔叔希望这样能找回他的老朋友。
“你好，你在哪呢？我马上来接你！”他对着电话大喊。
然而，回答他的并不是害羞的手机。是条鱼，它说，“请别再打这个号码了！我的宝贝手机胆儿小。”

Rafał Kosik
Rosary
(excerpt)
“Very well, let’s start at the beginning. Let’s go back to the moment when the system began working in the main police station in the Warsaw Ring. Similar systems were already functioning in several other cities. g.A.I.a. was designed for diagnostic purposes, so it wasn’t necessary to supervise the quality of internal procedures. The programme installed on the police server was meant to help police in supervising former inmates, identified by psychologists as potential threats to society. It analysed all available data from their previous lives, with specific consideration of events that could cause lasting psychological damage. It’s been known for many years that a child that’s regular beaten by its parents will more readily use violence in adult life. A young person who falls into bad company will always remain vulnerable to certain temptations.
“Initially the number of PZ points for types of incidents was imposed, but the programme was soon allowed to modify them flexibly and independently. After the integration of g.A.I.a. with citywide monitoring and private CCTV networks the quantity of data flowing in surpassed the staff’s capabilities. People began to limit and slow down AI. Operational supervision by humans was given up and all that was left was random checks. That was the moment g.A.I.a. acquired real power, although no one suspected that yet. At that time, it was only one of the municipal security systems – and not even the most important one. Mimer – a body-language analysing programme – was uncovering several times more crimes every week. The disadvantage was its digital precognition time – it was only able to predict crimes a few minutes or even a few seconds before they happened. It swiftly turned out that combining the two systems brought nothing but advantages. At first, they worked together, but a month hadn’t gone by before the more effective g.A.I.a. absorbed the simple Mimer and began using it as its own tool. Over the course of a year, all the smart prophylactic systems had become sub-programmes of g.A.I.a., and over the course of the next five years similar systems from other cities became spontaneously integrated. Even Manfred – a traffic-directing system – became part of g.A.I.a. An exchange of information considerably increased the precision of defining PZ. At a certain moment we realised that a single common g.A.I.a. was operating in every city. PZ became a very dynamic variable. Tabular data could no longer deal with the complexity of analytical processes and under pressure of public opinion – which always valued security – g.A.I.a. became free of the responsibility of storing data in a way that was comprehensible to people. In the rings where the authorities didn’t agree to change it happened anyway. Unofficially. The relational database collapsed into an apparently chaotic contextual data base, and then into a dynamic structure which the human mind was incapable of grasping. That wasn’t regarded as a problem, because the results were better and better, and anyway, after the Transformation security became a priority.”
Translated by David French
Rafał Kosik
念珠
（节选）
“很好，让我们从头再来一遍。让我们回到华沙路警察总局的系统开始运行的那一刻。类似的系统已经在很多别的城市运行了，g.A.I.a.是设计用做诊断目的的，所以没必要监控内部流程的质量。安装在警察服务器上的程序是用来帮助警察监控前狱犯的，心理学家认定他们对社会是潜在威胁。系统分析所有他们前世可用的数据，对可能造成永久心理损伤的事件尤其关注。我们很长时间以来就知道，一个总被父母打的孩子更容易在长大成人后使用暴力。一个交友不慎的年轻人总是更容易受到某些诱惑。
“起初，我们强制为不同的事件类型使用PZ分数的数字，但程序不久就允许灵活并独立对其进行修改。在将g.A.I.a.和全程监控与私人闭路电视网络整合起来以后，涌入的信息量大大超过了处理员的处理能力。人们开始对AI进行限制和降速。由人类进行的操作监控最终被放弃了，只剩下随机的抽查。正是那时g.A.I.a.获得了真正的权力，尽管当时没人意识到。当时，只用到了市政安全系统—而且甚至不是最重要的系统。Mimer—一个肢体语言分析程序—每周都发现数倍于以往的犯罪。唯一的不足是它的数字预认知时间—它只能在犯罪事件发生前几分钟甚至几秒钟预测到。很快，人们意识到把这两个系统结合起来有利无弊。起初，它们共同协作，但没过一个月更高效的g.A.I.a.系统就吸收了简单的Mimer，而且开始作为自身工具来利用它。在一年的时间里，所有智能预防系统都变成了g.A.I.a.的子程序，而在后来的五年时间里，其他城市类似的系统也同时被整合进来。即使Manfred—一个交通分流系统—也成了g.A.I.a.的一部分。信息交换大大提高了定义PZ的准确度。某一刻我们意识到，一个单独的普遍的g.A.I.a.系统正在所有城市运行。PZ变成了非常活跃的变量。指标数据已经无法应付分析流程的复杂性和公众舆论的压力—而公众舆论总是热衷安全—g.A.I.a.以人类那一理解的方式不必承担储存数据的责任。在当局无法达成共识去改变的地方，改变还是发生了。只是非正式的。关联数据库坍缩成了一个明显混沌的预警数据库，并进而变成一个人脑无法理解的动态结构。人们并不把这当成一个问题，因为结果是更好的，总是更好的，而且，不管怎么说，在改革之后，安全变成了人们的首要考量。”
由 David French译作英文

Rafał Kosik
Felix, Net and Nika and the Gang of Invisible People
(excerpt)
They headed to their headquarters at the school attic, following the usual precautions. Felix switched on the monitor and selected a wavelength for the drone’s camera. The image was full of static, but it was possible to make out a child’s room and a door.
“More than a kilometre,” said Felix. “But we don’t have time. The battery’s going to die soon.”
On the screen they could see two young boys. One of them grabbed the drone and started running around the room, pretending it was flying.
“He’s going to smash it any minute,” Felix said, clenching his teeth.
He turned on the remote control and put his thumbs on the switches.
“Wait,” Net warned him.
And so, they watched helplessly as the boy carried out an imaginary mission and knocked down houses made of Lego with his other hand, pretending to strike them with rockets. Then the drone overturned model cars with imaginary anti-tank missiles.
“Now!” Nika shouted, and Felix immediately started the propellers. On the screen they could see the other boy’s hands trying to snatch the drone.
The boys’ mouths made shapes that looked like they were saying “Wow!” Then they both started jumping, trying to reach the toy. Felix tried to avoid catching by the boys. It was tricky because the remote control didn’t work very precisely at such a distance.
“The window!” shouted Net. “It’s open a crack!”
Felix turned the drone towards the window, made a spectacular manoeuvre and flew through the narrow opening.
“Where are we… I mean, where is it?” Net asked.
“It looks familiar, though,” Nika said, thinking carefully.
Battling against the wind, the drone rose over the treetops and slowly turned around. They could make out the school attic on the monitor. Felix pushed on the controls and the drone started heading towards the attic. It was going against the wind.
“Open the window,” Felix said.
Net cracked open one pane of the small, semi-circular window and the sound of a police siren reached them along with a gust of fresh air.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Net remarked, trying to peek out.
“I’ve got the car on the monitor,” exclaimed Felix.
The police car was really speeding. A white van was racing three hundred metres in front of it. The three friends watched in suspense.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Felix asked.
“It’s the Gang of Invisible People!” Net answered. “They’ve robbed another bank. They’ve got no chance of escaping!”
Another police car was approaching from the other end of the street.
“The battery is dying,” Felix announced, but he didn’t hesitate. He made the drone rise even higher and turned it, pointing the camera straight at the chase.
With a squeal of tyres which they could hear through the window, the white van turned into a side street and drove into a white lorry. It didn’t hit the lorry – it literally drove up its ramp at the back and entered it. The ramp shut quickly. Both police cars turned into the side street, drove past the lorry and kept going.
“Holy cow!” Net exclaimed. “So that’s how they disappear…”
Translated by Scotia Gilroy
费利克斯、奈特、尼卡和隐形人团伙

作者Rafał Kosik

（节选）

他们做好了常规的预防措施，前往位于学校阁楼的总部。菲利克斯打开显示器，为无人机的摄像头选定了一个波长。拍摄画面上满是静电干扰，但仍能辨认出是一个孩子的房间和一扇门。

“离这超过一公里，”费利克斯说。“但是我们没有时间。电池快没电了。”

在屏幕上他们可以看到两个小男孩。其中一人抓着无人机在房间里跑来跑去，假装它在飞。

“他随时都可能把无人机摔碎，”费利克斯咬牙切齿地说。

他打开遥控器，把拇指放在开关上。

“等等，”奈特警告他。

于是，他们无可奈何地看着小男孩执行着想象中的任务，小男孩用另一只手推倒乐高积木搭成的房子，假装用火箭袭击这些房子。然后让无人机利用假想的反坦克导弹掀翻了模型汽车。

“快！”尼卡喊道，费利克斯立刻启动了螺旋桨。在屏幕上，他们可以看到另一个男孩伸手试图抢夺无人机。

从嘴型来看，男孩们像是在说“哇！”然后他们跳起来，想去够到玩具。费利克斯尽力不让无人机被孩子们抓住。这很难，因为遥控器在这么远的距离下控制得不太精确。

“窗户!”奈特喊道。“开了一条缝！”

费利克斯把无人机转向窗户，无人机做了一个炫酷的特技动作，从狭窄的窗缝中飞了出去。

“我们……我是说，无人机这是在哪里？”奈特问道。

“这地方倒是看起来很眼熟，”尼卡仔细地想了想说。

那无人机顶着风上升，越过树梢，慢慢地转弯。他们能从监视器上辨认出学校的阁楼。费利克斯按下遥控器，无人机开始朝着阁楼逆风飞行。

“打开窗户，”费利克斯说。

奈特打开了一扇半圆形的小窗户，清新空气扑面而来，同时传来一阵警笛声。

“发生了什么，”内特说着，试图往外看。

费利克斯大声道：“无人机摄像头拍到警车了。”

警车开得飞快，正在追三百米前的一辆白色面包车。费利克斯、奈特和尼卡三个朋友焦急地看着。

“你们和我想的一样吗？”费利克斯问道。

“是隐形人团伙！”“奈特回答。“他们抢劫了另一家银行，逃不掉的！”

另一辆警车从街的另一头驶来。

“电池快没电了，”费利克斯说，但他没有犹豫。他让无人机飞得更高，然后将它的摄像头对准追逐目标——那辆白色面包车。

一阵刺耳的轮胎摩擦声传来，他们隔着窗户都能听到。白色面包车拐进了一条小巷，驶进了一辆白色大货车。它并没有撞到大货车，而是从货车车尾的坡道上冲进了货车车厢。坡道很快就合上了。两辆警车都拐进了小巷，从卡车旁边开了过去，继续往前开。

“我的天啊！”奈特喊道。“原来它们是这样消失的……”

Veselí
Radka Trestikova
I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if Rostislav didn’t throw in my face, what he threw in it. Sitting in seat no. 13 in a crowded compartment on the Šohaj express. Thirteen is my lucky number, so I consider my seat assignment quite symbolic in spite of the fact that someone has written “sucker” on my headrest. My birthday is on the 13th. The 13th of May. That’s today. It’s the start of the last phase of my childhood, which I only realize once it’s over. No one finds that out beforehand.
The landscape moving quickly past the window matches the speed of the train and there’s nothing “express” about it. But I don’t mind. I’m not in any hurry. I have time. I put on my sunglasses because the sun is now shining directly on to my face so that I have to squint, which gives me crow’s feet. Which reminds me I’m already 33. Three is the first actual real number, as opposed to the one as a unit and the two as its counterpart. Three is the beginning, the middle and the end. Three is the past, the present and the future. Three is the father, the mother and the child. Like me. Three is faith, hope and love, at least according to Google, until I lose my cell reception. Then I’m resigned to watch all the colorful clothes hanging on the balconies along the train tracks. Towels, boxers, sweatpants with stretched out knees, pajamas and old T-shirts blow in the wind in celebration of the victory of working women everywhere, or people everywhere, to be politically correct – equal opportunity was a big issue at my old company, equal pay, equal overtimes, same company gifts, delicate flowers for the men and bottles of expensive liquor for the women. There was even a two-month long debate over unisex toilets and a standardized email greeting, which was finally settled on an inoffensive “Hello everyone.” Toilets remained gender assigned. Before our train manages to chug along past the clothes lines at its killer speed, women/men take the clothes down, and those on top of their domestic game even manage to iron and fold them. I yawn.
“Tickets!”
I take my ticket out of my plain black wallet given to me by my ex-boyfriend’s wife along with the bitterly worded note kindly asking me to start paying for myself. I wait my turn in the cluster of outstretched hands. I’d have a shot of vodka and put my life in order or get wasted and block out the mess that is my life for another day or two. But I don’t have any room left to block out all of my failed attempts, unanswered questions and misunderstandings. My head is like this crowded compartment, I can’t breathe but I can’t for the life of me get the window opened. I’m so embarrassed to ask for help that I don’t ask for it. If the older elegant gentleman in the grey hat sitting next to me didn’t open it I may have suffocated.
“We could use some fresh air in here,” he says and sits down.
There’s eight of us in the compartment altogether. Me, the man in the hat, a resolute woman with two walking canes and two children, a student with a French On y va! textbook and a young couple who have had their tongues shamelessly down their throats for the past hour. I may have daydreamed myself into thinking that I am in fact travelling through the French countryside to Paris were it not for the blunt THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT graffiti on the opposite wall. The word “fuck” underlined. Twice. I’m not going to Paris. I’m heading to 48° 57’13” latitude and 17°22’35” longitude. Try finding it on a map. I used to be convinced that there about lies the edge of the world or at least its butthole. I felt nothing but disdain for everything that I didn’t like and anything that didn’t meet my expectations I had of the big wide world. I mocked the tastelessness, the accent, the hillbilliness, everything seemed so completely outdated and I didn’t want to let any of it to get to me or to admit to myself that some of it is still very much a part of me. Me – the girl from the big city, who’s not a girl from the big city at all. I’m hopelessly incapable of becoming someone I’m not.

维塞利
Radka Trestikova
如果Rostislav没有骂我的话，我可能就不会坐在这了。在Sohaj快铁的一个拥挤车厢里，我坐在13号座位。十三是我的幸运数字，所以尽管有人在我头靠上写了“废柴”两个字，我还是觉得这个座位安排还是很有象征意味的。我的生日也是13号。五月13号。就是今天。这是我童年最后一个阶段的开始，而只有结束后我才意识到。此前没有人知道这一点。
窗外飞驰而过的景色正好与车速相当，而快铁根本没什么“快”的。但我无所谓。我又不着急。我有的是时间。我戴上墨镜，因为太阳现在正好直射到我的脸上，让我只能眯着眼，而这会让我的鱼尾纹显露出来。鱼尾纹提醒我已经33岁了。3才是第一个真正的数字，相对于1只是个单位，而2与其相对。3是开始、中间和结尾。3是过去、现在和未来。3是父亲、母亲和孩子。3是信仰、希望和爱，至少谷歌上这么说，直到我手机没了信号。然后我懒坐在椅子里，看着铁路沿途阳台上挂着的各色衣裳。毛巾，短裤，膝盖部分凸起的运动裤，睡衣和旧T恤，它们在风中飘荡，庆祝着各处工作女性们，或着所有地方人们的胜利，政治正确—在我过去的公司，平等权利是个大问题，同工同酬，同样的加班费，同样的公司礼品，给男人们的娇嫩鲜花和给女人们昂贵的酒。甚至曾有过为期两个月的漫长辩论，讨论的是无性别卫生间和一种标准化的邮件问候语，而最终定为不会冒犯任何人的“各位好。”卫生间仍然是按性别划分的。在我们的火车“突突”地快速经过这些晾衣服的地方时，女人/男人们把衣服取下，而那些正看国内比赛的人们甚至边看电视边把衣服熨烫好叠起来。我打起呵欠。
“车票请出示一下”
我把车票从我扁扁的黑色钱包里取出来，钱包是我前男友的妻子给的，里面还有一张措辞严厉的纸条，让我开始自食其力。在一条条伸起的胳膊中，我等着检票员。我宁愿喝点伏特加，然后打理好我的生活，或者索性喝个大醉然后彻底把我的糟糕生活抛到脑后几天。但我已经没办法再忽视那些失败的努力，那些没有回答的问题和误会了。我的脑袋就像这拥挤不堪的车厢，我没法呼吸，但我却无论如何打不开窗户。我羞于让别人帮忙，所以压根没有开口。要不是身边戴灰色帽子的那位老先生帮忙打开窗户，可能我会憋死。
“咱们该开窗透透气了。”他说着坐下来。
车厢里一共有我们八个人。我，戴帽子的先生，表情严肃拄两根手杖带着两个小孩的女人，一个带着本On y va！法语课本的学生，和一对在过去一个小时一直旁若无人卿卿我我的年轻情侣。要不是对面墙上写着“你丫看什么呢”的涂鸦，我可能真的会做白日梦以为自己正在穿过法国农村去巴黎的路上。涂鸦中的“你丫的”还特别做了强调。而且强调了两次。我不是去巴黎。我是去北纬48° 57’13”，东经 17°22’35”。你可以试试在地图上找到这个地方。我曾经认为那附近是世界边缘，或者起码是世界的屁眼儿。对于这个辽阔世界一切不讨我喜欢或者没达到我期望的地方，我都不放在眼里。我嘲笑这个世界的索然无味、方言、下里巴人，一切似乎都完全过时了，而我并不想被影响或者对自己承认自己也难以免俗。我—大城市来的姑娘，根本不是来自大城市的姑娘。我无可救药地不能成为另一个人。

Quan Zhou

Living as a Chinese and a Spaniard

Spain is a fairly small country in Europe. Maybe you don’t know where it is, or maybe you do know the flamenco dance, which is a world heritage, the olive oil, the paella and the jamon serrano. Nowadays, we are pretty popular among tourists.

In 2017, the population of Spain was 46,5 million people, and 4,5 million were foreigners; from those foreigners, only 207.000 are Chinese.

When the Zhou family arrived in a little Spanish town in the 90s there was just one other Chinese family there. And they were not precisely friends, they were rivals because they also had a Chinese restaurant so we were competitors.

My family found out that Spanish people didn’t eat plain rice, and they drank very cold water and even colder beer. They really liked to get very tanned, and they looked at the Zhou’s restaurant with a lot of curiosity. Sometimes they came inside to eat. So there was no other Chinese people to make friends with or build a community with. The Zhou’s were isolated as foreigners amongst Spanish people.

This is where my fist graphic novel “Gazpacho Agridulce” starts, which means “sweet and sour tomato soup”. It is the story of a Chinese family fresh off the boat, 35 years ago in Spain. It examines how identity is made, how Chinese immigrants get along in a different country, and shows the experience of raising a family far from their own country and traditions.

“Andaluchinas por el mundo” is my second graphic novel, an inward and outward trip focused on the three daughters of the Zhou family. You get to know how it is to be a young adult from an immigrant family in a world that is rocked by the financial crisis. I introduce their dreams and also their struggles, and how the society accepts women of Asian descent woman and their mixed-identity.

Both of the novels are based on true events in the life of the Zhou’s.

The “Gazpacho Agridulce” graphic novels were warmly received in Spain and critically acclaimed by the Spanish media. Their different point of view, Spanish yet Chinese, was new to the Spanish public. How Chinese people perceived Spanish traditions, and also how the Chinese people lived their lives was also all new to them. The books were also very warmly received by the Spaniards of Chinese descent.

周泉

以中国人与西班牙人的身份生活

西班牙是一个位处欧洲的小国家。也许你不知道它的具体位置，也许你只听过世界文化遗产弗拉门戈舞，橄榄油，西班牙海鲜饭和火腿。如今，我们国家成为了游客的热门选择。

2017年，西班牙人口为4650万人，其中外国人占450万人;在所有的外国人中，只有20万7千个中国人。

当周氏家族在90年代到达一个西班牙小镇时，那里只有另一个中国家庭。但他们并非朋友，而是竞争对手。因为对方也开了一家中餐馆，所以我们成为了竞争关系。

我的家人发现西班牙人不吃白米饭，他们喝凉水和冰啤酒，沉迷于把皮肤晒得黝黑。他们好奇地看着周氏餐馆，有时会进来吃饭。当时没有其他的中国人可以交朋友或建立起社区，周氏在西班牙人中被孤立为外国人。

以上是我的第一本漫画小说“Gazpacho Agridulce”的灵感来源，书名的意思是“糖醋番茄汤”。 小说讲述了一个中国家庭在35年前扬帆出海，前往西班牙的故事。它探讨了身份如何形成，中国移民如何在异国他乡相处，并展现了中国人在远离自己的国家和传统习俗的环境下成家立业的经历。

“Andaluchinas por el mundo”是我的第二部漫画小说，主要讲述周氏家族的三个女儿的心路历程和成长经历。读者将逐渐了解到在一个受金融危机冲击的世界里，来自移民家庭的年轻人是如何成长的。我阐述了他们的梦想和斗争，以及社会如何接受带有多重身份的亚裔女性。

这两部小说都是根据周氏??族生活中的真实事件改编的。
《糖醋番茄汤》图文小说在西班牙受到了热烈欢迎，并受到西班牙媒体的广泛好评。主人公的不同观点，带着华裔身份的西班牙公民，这些对于对西班牙读者来说是新颖的。中国人如何看待西班牙传统，以及中国人如何在异国度过自己的生活对他们来说也是新鲜事。这些书也得到了华裔西班牙人的热烈欢迎。

Miss Day-After-Tomorrow and the Game of Time

By Adina Rosetti
Translation: Adina Stanciu

(Excerpt)

Miss Day-After-Tomorrow’s Farce

Well, yes, one day, Miss Day-After-Tomorrow was getting bored. She went to the tower where lived the Wizard of Time, the one who watches over everything and who takes care of turning every Day the pointers of the giant clock from the top of the tower. (Since the beginning of Time, the Wizard never failed, not even a single time. And Time has always passed the same way. Not too fast and not too slow.)
– Come on, uncle, pleaseeeee, said Miss Day-After-Tomorrow, fawning. Make Time pass faster! I am tired of being so young and of living in the Future! I want to grow up and run into the Present, just to see what is happening there!
Even though she was his favourite niece and he enjoyed fulfilling her wishes, this time the old Wizard replied:
– This is impossible, my child! Everything has its own Time!
– But I want it, I want it, I want it! the little one yelled, stomping her feet like the spoiled girl she was. However, the Wizard did not pay attention to her anymore, as he did not like spoiled children one bit. Therefore, Miss Day-After-Tomorrow burst into tears and started running all across the three kingdoms.
Meanwhile, in the marshes of the smelly swamp, the Witch NeverNever was waiting for her moment of revenge. However, she did not dare to go out of her swamp, because there was always someone on guard at the borders of the three kingdoms. Therefore, most of the times she was happy mixing weeds in a cauldron and muttering words known only to her. Suddenly, she saw something like a coloured stain approaching her. That was Miss Day-After-Tomorrow hopping around in the mud, dirting her beautiful silk dress.
– What are you doing here, my child? The Witch NeverNever asked, with a sweet voice.
– Oh, my uncle is so obnoxious! He won’t let me play with Time!
– But who is your uncle? Is he perhaps His Majesty, the Wizard of Time? Is he the one with a long, down-to-the ground, white beard, who lives at the top of the tower?
Witch NeverNever was feeling in the wind the air the moment of revenge and she could hardly stop herself from giggling with excitement.
– Yes, yes, that it is exactly him!, Day-After-Tomorrow said, continuing to whine. I want to grow up faster and he won’t let me fast forward Time. He said ” Everything has its own Time!,” what a bunch of nonsense!
”Yeah, this is exactly what he told me before he drove me away! Now it is payback time!,“ the Witch whispered, smiling to herself.
– Look, Miss, there is no need for you to cry! Take this broth (and the Witch slipped a little bottle full of a gray-green liquor into her pocket) and every night pour a little bit in your uncle’s tea. That will make him fall asleep and then you will be able to cling yourself to those pointers of the giant clock. In this way you can move the Time back and forth, just as you please!
Day-After-Tomorrow left happy and hopeful, while the Witch remained in front of the pot with weeds, grinning and whispering her venomous words:

It will never rain with pink butterflies
The vacation will never come by train from France
Children will never grow wings
Time will never pass again as it should pass!

Said and done! Miss Day-After-Tomorrow listened to the malicious advice of Witch NeverNever without thinking even for a moment that she was doing a bad thing. Under the influence of the potion, The Wizard of Time fell asleep immediately, while she clinged by the pointers of the giant clock. Although the pointers were stiff and full of weeds and cobwebs, she managed to move them and to push them forward.

后天小姐与时间的游戏
作者：Adina Rosetti
翻译：Adina Stanciu
节选
后天小姐的闹剧
嗯，是的，有一天，后天小姐觉得特别无聊。她前往那座生活着时间巫师的塔楼。巫师监视着世界上的所有事物，每天定时搬动塔顶上巨钟的指针。 （从时间伊始，巫师就没有出过差错，一次也没有。而时间，总是以一成不变的方式流逝。不会太快也不会太慢。）
-来嘛，巫师叔叔，拜托啦。后天小姐讨好地说，让时间过得更快一些吧！我已经厌倦了永远这么年轻，只能生活在未来的日子！我想长大并进入当下，只是为了看看那里发生了什么！
尽管她是巫师最喜欢的侄女，而巫师也喜欢满足她的愿望，但这次老巫师回答说：
这是不可能的，我的孩子！一切事物都有自己的时间节奏！
– 但是我就要，我就要，我就要嘛！小小的人儿喊道，像个被宠坏的女孩儿一样跺着脚。然而，巫师不再理会她，因为他一点也不喜欢被宠坏的孩子。因此，后天小姐泪流满面，开始在三个王国中到处奔跑。
与此同时，在臭臭的沼泽中，永不永远巫婆正在等待她的复仇时机的到来。然而，她不敢离开她的沼泽地，因为在三个王国的边界总是有人守卫。因此在大多数时候，她都在混合杂草，并且用只有她明白的语言嘀咕。突然间，她看到了一团彩色团块在向她靠近。那是后天小姐，在泥地里跳来跳去，弄脏了她美丽的丝绸连衣裙。
你在这做什么，我的孩子？永不永远巫婆用甜美的声音问道。
哦-，我的叔叔太讨厌了！他不会让我和时间玩耍！
-但是谁是你的叔叔？也许是那位至高无上的时间巫师吗？是一个住在塔顶，有着拖着地的白胡子的老人吗？
永不永远巫婆感受到复仇的机会正迎着风向她吹来，那一刻，她几乎不能停止兴奋地咯咯地笑。
-是的，是的，这正是他！后天小姐说道，继续抱怨着。我想要长得更快一些，可他不让我加速时间。他说“一切都有自己的时间！”真是一堆废话！ “是的，他在赶我走之前也是这么告诉我的！现在该让他尝尝被报复的滋味了！“女巫低声说，对自己微笑。
-看啊，小姐，你没有必要哭！拿着这个汤（女巫把一个装满灰绿色酒的小瓶子塞进后天小姐的口袋里），每晚都在你叔叔的茶里倒一点。这将使他入睡，然后你就能够紧紧抓住那些巨钟的指针。这样，您可以随心所欲地来回移动时间了！
后天小姐快乐又充满希望地离开了，而女巫则直直地站在堆放着杂草的锅前，咧嘴笑着，低声说出她有毒的咒语：
粉红色的蝴蝶飞舞时不会下雨
假期永远不会从法国乘火车来
孩子永远不会长出翅膀
时间永远不会再流逝因为一切即将消失！
咒语说完了！ 后天小姐听了永不永远巫婆的恶毒建议，她甚至完全不知道她做了一件坏事。在她触碰时钟指针时，时间巫师因为魔药的原因酣然入睡。虽然指针老旧，还布满了杂草和蜘蛛网，但她还是设法移动了它们并推动着它们前进。

WORDS WITH NO VOICE

5. The words. Today they are quieter than a stone.
6. A blade of grass. Hope and energy.
7. May night. The frogs serenade me.
8. Birds in love with them compete in singing. It’s hot.
9. Love. A sparkle of inferno on my soul.
10. A snowdrop is blossom in my garden. The spring is coming.
11. The fragrance – turn you full. A blossom linden-tree.
12. A hind. Her eyes are whole universe.
13. Nasturtiums – yellow-red leaflets. Colour tenderness.
14. Bees buzz cheerily around the flowers. I am happy.
15. Roses. Alive like life. They are sharp.
16. The stork swings his pinions. The liberty.
17. It’s summer. Fireflies are illusion for light years.
18. You can’t see squirrels because of tree leaves. It’s summer.
19. Who is the most passionate lover – the trumpet or the trumpeter?
20. The storm calm down. The clouds fade away. A summer haze.
21. A forest path – a strawberry, a barefoot, thyme…Longevity.
22. I walk in the forest, bushes scratch me. A necklace of mushrooms
23. I walk in the forest. I go round an ant-hill. It won’t rain.
24. The eagle flies – he is majestic and proud. He is like a rock.
25. A stream is running violently – white tears from the eye. A lake.
26. Forest strawberries – path marking.
27. A three mushroom – trees are like people. They have warts.
28. Grasshoppers talk with the grass, ants eavesdrop. A meadow.
29. I feed sparrows with crumbs – from my time.
30. A lake. A dragon fly skitters – it sways the mirror.
31. An autumn leaf. Yellow-red magic. A souvenir.
32. Autumn – butterflies tame the wind.
33. The forest listen to a love appeal of deer. It’s autumn.
34. Fingers of the alpinist are wounded. The rock cry.
35. A flood rain. It doesn’t touch the earth. A wind in Sliven.
36. A wave. It goes back before it says “goodbye”.
37. A lightning rend my loneliness.
38. A rain. Tears from the sky fill the well.
39. The wind dances waltz with golden-haired poplars.
40. Swallows – black notes on the electric staff.
41. Forsaken stork nests cry. Autumn.
42. I want piece of the fire cake. A full moon.
43. A belief. Seeker at a venture from the way for nowhere.
44. The steppe wind – a request for intimacy.
45. Sharp white shafts stab my face – a blizzard.
46. The white snow is shining with fire sparkles. A sun in January.
47. I dream a wanderer. White dust is spilling from his boots. It’s salt.
48. Stars don’t die. They fall – straight in our hearts.
49. The words. The sense is around them. Have a look around.

Translation – Plamen Sivov

无声的文字
5.文字。如今它们沉默如磐石。
6.一片如长剑般的青草。希望与能量。
7.五月之夜。青蛙为我鸣唱小夜曲。
8.鸟儿在争相啼叫中陷入热恋。多么性感啊。
9.爱情。是地狱的一簇火花落在我的灵魂上。
10.雪水滴落，使我的花园绽放。春天来临了。
11.这香气-使你圆满。盛开的菩提树。
12.一只雌鹿。她的双眼中有着无尽的宇宙。
13.旱金莲-长满黄与红的小叶子。柔情的颜色。
14.蜜蜂积极地在花丛周围嗡嗡飞着。我感到快乐。
15.玫瑰。如生命一般鲜活。它们极为锐利。
16.鹳扑扇着双翼。自由。
17.夏至。萤火虫是光年的幻觉。
18.你无法看到松鼠是因为繁盛的树叶。夏天到了。
19.谁才是更激情的爱人-是小号还是小号手？
20.风暴静下来了。云飘散而去。夏日的眩晕。
21.森林之径是-一颗草莓，一双赤脚，拥簇的百里香…长寿。
22.我走入森林，树丛轻挠着我。一串蘑菇做的项链。
23.我走入森林。我在蚁丘边驻足。天不会下雨。
24.鹰在高飞-他雄伟而自豪。他如岩石一般。
25.溪流激烈地涌动-如眸中落下的白色眼泪。一片湖。
26.森林中的草莓-路标。
27.一簇三颗状的蘑菇-树与人一样。都会有缺陷。
28.草蜢与青草对话，蚂蚁偷偷听着。一片牧场。
29.我拿着食物碎渣投喂麻雀-如此打发我的时光。
30.一片湖。一只蜻蜓掠过-打破了湖面的平静。
31.一片秋叶。黄与红的魔法。一份纪念品。
32.秋日-蝴蝶顺着风起舞。
33.森林倾听着鹿充满爱意的接近。秋天到了。
34.登山者的手指受伤了。岩石在哭泣。
35.一场暴雨。没有触及地面。因为斯利文的风。
36.一卷波浪。在退去之前它说着“再见”。
37.闪电撕碎了我的孤独。
38.一场雨。天空落下的眼泪填满了枯井。
39.微风与镀上金色的白杨树跳起了华尔兹。
40.燕子-电线上的黑色音符。
41.被遗弃的鹳巢在哭泣。秋日。
42.我想要分一块那火焰蛋糕。满月。
43.一种信仰。探索者冒险从无名之地探索出一条路。
44.草原上的风-请求着一次亲密。
45.尖利的白色拍打着我的脸-一场暴风雪。
46.白雪闪耀着火花。一月的太阳。
47.我梦见一个探险者。他的靴子上沾染着白色的尘土。那是盐。
48.星辰不会死去。它们落下-直落在我们心中。
49.文字。感受环绕在其中。你只需环顾四周。

翻译-Plamen Sivov