The Crazed Read Online Free PDF

small cup.”
    He said, “You slipped ratsbane into it, didn’t you? I know your dark fat heart.”
    “No, you’re wrong. Please have some!”
    “I won’t.”
    Hesitantly I used the spoon to pry his mouth open, but his teeth were clenched, and the steel scraped them noisily. I was afraid this might hurt his gums, so I stopped, wondering what to do. He jabbed his elbow at the cup in my hand, and a splash of the drink fell on the sheet and left a yellow stain. His mouth was sealed up like a startled clam.
    I wouldn’t give up and raised half a spoonful of the orangeade to his lips again, begging him, “Please try this. It will do you good. I just want to feed you and won’t hurt you.”
    “No, I won’t. You cannot cajole me anymore.”
    “Please, just a sip.”
    “No, that will be lethal.”
    Out of patience, I shouted, “Look at me! You don’t recognize me? Do I look like a murderer? I’m Jian, your future son-in-law.” I said the last word diffidently, but thrust my face in front him. His eyes opened a crack, then fully.
    “Oh,” he muttered, “I didn’t know I had a son.”
    “This is Jian Wan, remember me?”
    “I didn’t know it was you. What is it that you want?”
    “I’d like to feed you. Here’s a small cup of orangeade, please open your mouth.”
    Miraculously, he obeyed me like a well-behaved child. I carefully put the spoon into his mouth and turned it over. Slowly he swallowed the juice, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
    “I like the tangy flavor. It tastes excellent,” he said.
    “Sure it does,” I agreed.
    “What did you put in it?”
    “Nothing.”
    With less than ten spoonfuls I emptied the cup. I told him, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you and won’t let anyone hurt you. Now you should have some sleep.”
    Shamefacedly he watched me as I tried to move his half-paralyzed body; he even tried to shift his hips a little to facilitate my effort. Still, I had to exert myself hard. When I had finally put him back into bed, I was huffing and puffing.
    A few minutes later he went to sleep.

3
    I didn’t expect that Banping and his wife, Anling, would make flounder dumplings. This was the first time I had eaten this dish, which my host told me was a delicacy in some coastal areas for celebrating spring. The stuffing was juicy and toothsome, tasting like prawn. It made me miss the fat catfish, long pike, and stout carp from the lower reaches of the Songhua River in the Northeast, where my parents lived.
    While we were eating, Banping bragged about his cookery. He had prepared the filling, seasoned with leeks and crushed sesame seeds. He even described to us how to debone the large flounder, how to peel its skin, and how to get rid of its blood so as to reduce the fishy taste, but Anling accused him of “cooking only with his mouth.”
    “Come on, don’t be so mean,” Banping said to her. “Didn’t I work the whole afternoon?”
    “You help only when we have good stuff to cook.”
    “That’s because I’m like a chef.”
    “So I’m just a kitchen maid who only chops vegetables and does dishes in this home?”
    “Uh-oh,” I stepped in, “you’re both chefs, of the first rank, all right?”
    We all laughed.
    “Don’t you have other music? This is too loud,” Weiya said to Banping, referring to the Beethoven that his cassette recorder was playing. I too felt uncomfortable; the symphony was so overpowering it seemed to be urging us to compete in wolfing down the food. Banping worshiped Beethoven and regarded Romain Roland’s
Jean-Christophe
as his bible. Inspired by the biographical novel, he often talked about the joy of life. To my thinking he was too optimistic.
    He got up and put a tape of popular songs into the player. Things eased up immediately.
    I noticed that under the washstand, welded of iron bars, sat a new electric stove, at least 1,500 watts strong, which was strictly prohibited in the dorms because of the drain on the electricity. In fact, a top school