Five Spice Street полностью

The widow’s opinion was representative of the attitudes of the elite group in the Five Spice Street community. For a long time after the meeting held in the dark, there was no activity anywhere on Five Spice Street: even if Madam X hung a demonic mirror high up in front of the window, others led their disciplined lives as usual. Similar meetings were held several times, but this didn’t mean that there would ‘‘be any action,’’ because the gentlemen attending these meetings were ‘‘old sparrows who had weathered many storms.’’ They wouldn’t do anything premature. When there was a meeting, they went: they loved taking part. The elitist style intoxicated them. The mysterious dark atmosphere intrigued them. So they all got to the meetings on time. They all wore dark overcoats and sat up solemnly in the dark room. Their calm and steady manner taught the writer a lesson, causing him to move from admiring them to imitating them. After a while, he was like a duck taking to the water. In order to squeeze into the elite circle and get his artistic talent recognized, the writer purchased a dark overcoat and earnestly prinked from head to toe. He mingled with the crowd at the meeting and then, without saying a word, took a seat in a corner. That’s when the writer began learning how to be quiet like a smart person and began to understand that silence is golden. In the dark, who could tell who was talking? And even if they could, what did that mean? Because of our silence and composure, even if we were talking about major issues such as everyone’s safety on the street, we wouldn’t be jittery. Otherwise, wouldn’t we be acting prematurely? Wouldn’t that show we were capable of nothing but biting our nails over this kind of issue, so that people would say that a certain insignificant person’s supernatural power was making the Five

Spice Street elite eager to prepare for combat? Wouldn’t that sound ridiculous? No matter what others supposed, we instinctively took no action. We achieved victory through our special tactic-by living our daily lives as usual and not changing at all. No one paid any attention to a certain person’s supernatural power, but instead we held regular meetings. This was our mighty offensive. No matter how strong they were, all the forts would be breached. When we wore dark clothing and quietly slipped into the meeting room, any cunning enemies were scared out of their wits. How did the countermeasures of the Five Spice Street elite affect Madam X? Perhaps not everyone can be sufficiently aware of these high-level spiritual actions. Was it possible that Madam X was also unaware of the countermeasures they took in the dark? Ms. B painstakingly investigated this. She reported that the countermeasures had been notably effective: Madam X’s supernatural power was rapidly declining, she looked ‘‘more sallow by the day,’’ the frequency of her going out had ‘‘atrophied a lot,’’ and ‘‘the symptom of attempting suicide’’ was revealed in her words. At this point, Ms. B sprang to her feet and drew her finger across her neck to illustrate ‘‘attempting suicide.’’ ‘‘What other way out does she have? None. When the people have formed a mighty force, confronting it with her little trick was no different from ‘throwing straws against the wind.’ Committing adultery was bad enough, and now she’s also been deploying her evil supernatural stuff. She’s asking for trouble!’’ She also told everyone a piece of astonishing hot news: a black curtain was hanging at Madam X’s window, and it had been twenty-seven hours since she had closed her door and not emerged.

To satisfy his burning curiosity, the writer impulsively charged into Madam X’s bedroom. It was as dark as a vault, and he was assailed by strong puffs of a floral scent-enough to choke a person.

‘‘Have a seat. There’s no problem with that chair,’’ a voice said from a corner of the room. ‘‘There used to be some things in this room that were problematic, but I’ve solved them all one by one. I don’t like sloppiness. Can you see now?’’ She propped herself up on the recliner.

One by one, the thick curtains, table, chairs, and bed appeared before the writer’s eyes. Large and small mirrors were flickering continuously with white light, making everything in the room seem phony and affected. There were quite a few pots of flowers in the corner where Madam X sat, and that’s where the fragrance was coming from, bringing with it a certain exaggeration. In this artificial environment, Madam X became strangely talkative.