Ashes of the Yellow River
Ashes of the Yellow River I Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday. I don't know. I wrote this in a notebook above a bakery in Chongqing in the autumn of 1944, during the air raids, while the walls shook and the ceiling dust fell into my rice bowl and I translated Camus into characters that felt heavier than the paper they were written on. I am Lin Wanqiu. I am twenty years old. I am an orphan....
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