Mr.Hundred

The Story of a Normal life

I have an uncle named Mr. Hundred. He, like my father, was born in one of the millions of villages in the dragon’s land. And the dragon provided him, like anyone else, with a little sugar and a load of pain. Mr. Hundred, who was not much past his twenties, seldom carried the fresh taste of a teenager.

I don’t remember seeing him smile randomly or often. Yes, he does smile—half a cup of circumstance and half a cup of numbness. And since he reminds me of a Chinese wise, I call him Mr. Hundred.

Mr. Hundred works alongside my dad. My dad always talks about him as someone rational and dedicated. Everything seemed to pull him away from his roots as a village boy, and everything seemed to define him as successful.

But his roots never left him. It was yesterday that Mr. Hundred was reminded of his youth.

That day, I was eating dinner with my dad when he suddenly received a call. It was a wobbly sound, as if the man on the phone had swallowed an ice cube. How strange and surprising—it was Mr. Hundred on the phone, gasping heavily.

On the phone, I heard a few words: “father,” “debt,” and “office.” And sadly, my father can’t keep any secret.

Mr. Hundred has a father and a mother. He always wanted to escape his status as a village boy. The village mother and village father seemed like overwhelming stains on his childhood. They seemed brutal and cold. The village couple had nothing to offer him other than half a cup of wine and half a cup of labor. The little village boy had nowhere else to go and nothing to aim for. All he had was his soul.

And so Mr. Twenty worked hard, and harder, until he became Mr. Hundred.

It was yesterday that Mr. Hundred was once again reminded of his village parents. They rushed in front of his office, laying on the ground, crying with their mouths wide open, eyes widened as if a dracula had sucked all the life from their souls. I saw them on the ground, and I saw the eerie, twisted bodies of two snail-like slugs. And through the direction of their dripping saliva and bulging eyes, I saw Mr. Twenty. He stood behind the glass door, frowning, his rough hands gripping his cuffs tightly.

“Give me some money,” cried the two.

“Why? I have sent you money every month. It should be more than decent,” replied Mr. Hundred.

“Our family has a million in debt. It should be our—and your—responsibility to help us,” cried the father.

“But what about me? I have a wife who is about to give birth. I have myself to take care of,” replied Mr. Hundred.

“You goddamned son. You forget how hard it was to raise you into a young man. Ha! Look at him—look at my son. He got some money and threw away his parents. Listen, young man, if you don’t pay us a million by the end of today, we are going to cry until everyone knows. Until everyone knows,” shouted the mother.

After some ice and honey, jelly and sugar, the two twisted bodies disappeared from sight.

Mr. Hundred stared at where they had been, and saw a hundred pairs of eyes staring back at him.

平凡人生的故事

我有个叔叔叫百先生。他和我父亲一样，出生在龙之国度里一个人口稀少的村庄。龙之国度也像对待其他人一样，给予他一些甜蜜，却也带来大量的痛苦。百先生看起来也就二十出头，很少流露出少年的青春活力。

我不记得他经常会莫名其妙地笑。是的，他的确会笑，但那笑容一半是感性的，一半是麻木的。因为他让我想起一句中国谚语，所以我叫他百先生。

百先生和我父亲一起工作。我父亲总是说他理性又敬业。他的一切似乎都与他出身的乡村男孩的身份背道而驰，一切似乎都在定义着他的成功。

但他从未真正离开过他的根。就在昨天，百先生突然想起了他的青春岁月。

那天我和父亲一起吃晚饭，他突然接到一个电话。那声音颤抖不已，仿佛电话那头的人吞下了一块冰块。多么奇怪，多么令人惊讶，电话那头竟然是百先生，他正喘着粗气。

电话里传来几个词：“父亲”、“债务”、“办公室”。可悲的是，我父亲藏不住任何秘密。百先生有父母，他一直渴望摆脱村子的身份。村里的父母在他童年时期就像难以磨灭的污点，残酷无情，除了半杯酒和半份苦差事，他们什么也给不了他。这个小村子无处可去，也无所追求，他唯一拥有的只有自己的灵魂。二十先生也是如此，他努力工作，越来越努力，直到成为百先生。

直到昨天，百先生才再次想起他的父母。他们冲到他办公室前，躺在地上，张着嘴嚎啕大哭，眼睛瞪得老大，仿佛吸血鬼德古拉正要吸干他们所有的灵魂。我看到他们倒在地上，也看到两个自鸣得意、面目狰狞的家伙扭曲的身躯。透过他们吐出的唾沫和瞪大的双眼，我看到了二十先生。他站在玻璃门后，眉头紧锁，粗糙的手却紧紧地抓着袖口。

“给我点钱！”两人喊道。

“我每个月都给你们寄钱，这已经足够了。”百先生回答。

“我们家欠了一百万债，帮帮我是我们和你们的责任。”父亲喊道。

“可是，那我怎么办？我老婆要生了，我还要养活自己呢。”百先生回答。

“你这该死的儿子！你忘了把你养大有多难吗？哈！看看他，看看我的儿子，有了点钱就把父母抛弃了。听着，小子，如果你今天结束前不给我们一百万，我们就哭到人尽皆知为止！直到人尽皆知为止！”母亲喊道。

几片冰块、蜂蜜、果冻和糖之后，那两个扭曲的身影消失在了视线中。

百先生盯着他们，感觉自己仿佛看到了上百双眼睛正注视着他。