爱华网短篇小说《商汤的后代》英文版在《东方文学》发表后，在该杂志阅读榜上名列第二：
http://www.eastlit.com/popular-asian-writing-eastlit/
底下就是该小说开头的章节。中文版以后分享。
ADescendant of Emperor Shang Tang （商汤的后代）
Eastlit December2014
1
Shang Jing went over again toturn on the tap — this was his tenth try within thirty minutes—,and this time, there wasn’t even the gurgling sound in the pipe.“Damn it, damn it!” his voice sounded husky when squeezed out frombetween his quivering parched lips. For several weeks, the cityonly gave water on every third day, and the amount was cut less andless with constantly shortened supply time.
Shang Jing felt that itch again that had developed on his back andrefused to go away due to the droughty weather; it was a spot thathis own hands were unable to reach. He held his breath when hepassed the bathroom, because the toilet, which got flushed onlyonce or twice a day, was giving off a terribly sickeningodor.
At this moment, what did he miss the most? Did he miss Shasha, hishigh school sweet heart? No, he was not in themood. Or did he think of the first pay check he had received? Thatwas irrelevant. He did not even miss his favorite pie, which hismother would sometimes prepare with air-dried mean curd chips andgreen onions cooked in veggie oil. At this moment, all he missed,or desired, was a day of rain. He normally disliked rainy weather,particularly when he was dri ving on the freeway. On the freeway,even a sprinkle of shower would spread a blanket of mist over thelandscape. “How come it always rains while I am driving on thehighway?” he would ask, not knowing whom he was asking. “Why can’tit hold the rain till I am home?”
He would keep grumbling like that.
It had been five years up to that day; for five years, not a singledrop of rain had befallen this city with a name of ‘Rainbow’. Thecity government had once coordinated efforts with the adjacentmunicipal districts to find water supplies from there. But thoseefforts had not gone far, as the other districts soon encountereddroughts in their own areas and had to look after their own needsin the first place. Since the end of the second year after the lastrainfall on Rainbow, Shang Jing had turned to miss the dear olddays when there had been rain. Whenever a rain came, it would startwith a strong wind gust; gradually the wind would die away, leavingbehind a fuzzy mosaic of trees and roads, buildings and landmarks,the surrounding plains and hills; when the rain finally came to afull stop, one could still see and hear the rainwater dripping anddwindling from the roofs and eaves . . . .
As if one woe was not enough, there came another.While the city of Rainbow was literally waiting for a raindrop in adrought, what did begin to drop was the supply of gas. As a result,the gas prices soared, even higher than those of the most expensivecosmetic creams that only the movie stars could afford touse.
Shang Jing went into the garage and took a bucket of gas out of it.He had stored several buckets of gas before the gas panic on thestreets. That was one of the goods he had stored for which he wasrather pleased with himself. He was pleasedbecause that showed not only his prophetic vision but also hisability to actually store gas. In fact, he had made those ironbuckets himself, which were not available on the market.
Shang Jing coughed when he barely came out of the garage door.According to the doctor, he was born with some minor problems inhis lungs, and that was why he would habitually cough in dryweather. He inclined to accept the doctor’s explanations ratherthan his mother’s. Not long before, his mother who lived in Chinahad e-mailed him a letter, trying to impose on him her own ideathat Shang Jing should get married sooner. “So to balance your yinand yang in your system,” reasoned the mother. “Your yang hasoverdeveloped and tipped off the balance, how can you avoid thosehealth problems?” Shang Jing came from China, but he had nevertrusted the rationale and practice of yin yang and feng shui.
He passed several households: Tony’s, Mr. Chen’s, Jack’s, all ofwhom he had talked to the day before and asked whether he couldtrade a bucket of gas for a bucket of water. “Istill have some gas,” replied Tony in a muffled guttural voice. Hehad lost his job as his company temporarily closed down, becausethe drought had added to its accumulating costs.
Mr. Chen lived next to Tony. He was a shortlittle man and immigrated to the states from Hong Kong severaldecades before. When Shang Jing walked up to him, Mr. Chen wasputting up a wire fence around his small yard. The yard was on ahigher terrace where a kumquat tree grew. Despite the rainlessperiod, the tree still managed to bear a few tinykumquats. At that point, Mr. Chen was swinging ahammer on the top of a post, trying to drive it into the ground.The new wire fence was forming a defensive circle around thekumquat tree.
“Hi, Mr. Chen,” Shang Jing started to engage Chen’s attention. Helooked up at the kumquats and continued in a slightly envious tone,“You’re lucky to have those fruit to quench your thirst.” But Mr.Chen merely responded with a stiff nod.
Shang Jing tottered up the steps of the terrace. With some effort,he lifted the bucket of gas in front of Mr. Chen. “See, if you haveanother bucketful of gas, you can afford to drive back to HomeDepot to buy more stuff for your fence. Can I trade this for somewater, please? I need water for dermatologically requiredmoistening, and I am suffering from such a burning sore in thethroat.”
“If you talked less, you would save some of your saliva,” said Mr.Chen stolidly, waving him away.
At Jack’s, Shang Jing was simply ignored. “Jack, I have an acutesore in the throat, please spare me half a bucket of water. You canhave this whole bucket of gas,” he repeated the words to make surethat they had been heard.
“Bang!” Jack simply slammed the door on him.
On the other side of Jack’s house lived a widow, whose name wasMaria. Shang Jing had skipped her place the day before. Now hehesitated for a moment and then went on to press the doorbell. Thedoor opened. “Maria, I wonder . . .” he faltered and swallowed therest of his words — he noticed Maria’s tightly knitted brows andsensed the sniffs from her nostrils. He began to blush, realizinghe had not taken a shower for four days in a row. He must be stinkyenough to knock someone off!
Shang Jing dragged his feet on with the bucket of gas in his hand.As he was passing the empty house that had been on sale for awhile, he wondered who the occupants were of that house further upthe street. He decided to try his luck. When he reached thedoorway, he laid down the bucket on the ground. It was then he feltthe ache in his wrist and hand, which had been carrying that bucketfor so far and so long. He knocked on the door and waited. After afew seconds, the door creaked ajar and a stalwart man was standingbehind it. The man had bristly cheeks and chin, and a mess ofdarkish brown hairs, giving the stereotypical impression of anadult male from the Middle East. The man did not say a word but hiseyes unmistakably stared the question at Shang Jing: “What do youwant?”
“I live in that yellow house down there,” Shang Jing pointed hisstill shaky forefinger
to his house sitting about 30 yards down the street and asked, “Iwould like to . . . could
I trade this bucket of gas to you, for half this much water?”
The stalwart man poked his arm from behind the door at the lawn infront of the house and retorted, “Can’t you see all the flowers andplants are gone? You don’tdrink gas, do you?” （遥天翻译）
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