THE FOUNTAIN PEN
The spring of 1946 came to our devastated town . The
birds returned and sang as in the past, not noticing what had
happened. The tender green leaves sprouted from the old willows
along the stream. Since the Japanese troops had retreated and sur–
rendered one year ago, everything seemed to have recovered its
original shape. Even the corpses of cats were put up on high twigs
because people still believed that to bury a dead cat would violate
the moral of a legend:
Once upon a time, a tiger chased a cat up a tree, at the
top of which the cat felt relieved and cursed all tigers to die
disgracefully leaning against a rock. Envious of cats' climb–
ing skills, the tiger retorted that all cats would die hung up
in a tree . Such internal strife in a big family disturbed
God. The mutual blasphemy was not propitious at all and
this nasty scene became a warning to all species.
The war had ended; no more gunfire, no more door-knock–
ing at midnight. The triumphal parade, the beating drum and
blowing trumpet of the county orphan band and the sound of
fireworks helped people to forget their loss of livelihood and that
their family members had been lost, raped, or humiliated. As the
excitement faded, people talked more and more about food,
clothes, and local herbs to treat the ones lying at home.
Some shops were open, selling oil, salt, sliced melon , hand–
rolled cigarettes, bamboo baskets, etc. But there were not many
buyers. Instead, bystanders gossiped and exchanged false infor–
mation. "Hitler was hiding" and "A U.S. tank was trapped by a
boa in Burma." Occasionally, the younger of the two tailors in
town passed by. He was the only one who had a pair of leather
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