Refracted
Hanwen Hu
He hurried across a busy street. Every inch of space was filled by people, walking, riding, or driving. Condensed houses squatted beside, stretching in different angles like monsters and casting shadows on the street. It was impossible to get across quickly without hitting people; they passed him, with distinctive faces—old, young, some were tired and some were not— but all seemed so unreal.
It is interesting, he thought as the faces became vague in his mind. I might meet many people every day in this street, but we do not know anything about each other. They don’t know my name, identity or personality. A rich and successful investment banker? A desperate jobless man? Or a student with thoughts popping out of his mind? It does not make any difference in this street. There is just random commotion. Everybody is like particles floating in the universe, randomly colliding with each other, and never understands where they are in the infinite space.
A real collision suddenly cleared away his thoughts. The next moment he was apologizing to an elderly lady. He slowly recollected himself but still felt lost in the crowd. His shoulder hurts after that hit.
He noticed a new store by the street. It was small, and without a name. Little stores are like pedestrians—they come and go, occupy a place in the street and mysteriously disappear. Where does the owner go? Nobody knows. He did not pay attention to these stores normally, but today was different. There was a slight agitation in his heart.
It was an elegant bookstore, with a wooden floor and wooden shelves. Metal tags were put on every shelf: Literature, History, etc. Warm orange light was shining in the bookstore, where only a girl was working beside a huge stack of books on the floor. He felt the sore on his shoulder once again and began to look for books.
He pushed a book out of the shelf and glanced at the store.
“Are you sorting out books?”
“Yes, this is my job. Every book has its place in this store. Jane Eyre stays with Pride and Prejudice, Agatha Christie’s books always take up full rows, and Sherlock Holmes series is put beside them. Of the philosophy books that you just picked—of course, there is a place for Kant, Wittgenstein and John Locke to meet each other. I need to put all the books into order, so that when people walk into the bookstore, they will feel that this place is organized.”
“Uh, I bet, this must be a complex job.”
She smiled. “Not at all. I think philosophy is much more complex—they talk about all the theories and frameworks. Could you tell me why you picked that book? Want to find the ultimate order in the world?”
“That will never happen to me,” he put the book back on the shelf and said bitterly, “I could not even find my own place. Sure, I have certain identities—son, student, a good citizen, but what do they mean when I am walking on a busy street that nobody knows me? And why is the world in such a huge disorder?”
The book was not properly put back, and now fell from the book shelf, hitting the floor with a bang.
“Oh, I am sorry—”
“Never mind—the whole world can never be organized, as we could never put every book in the same place, listing in distinctive categories. Most bookstores are small, like this. Yet, there is still a clear arrangement of books—category by category, author by author. By the way, do you know that famous saying about philosophy? I think Socrates said it.”
“The unexamined life is not worth living,” he answered almost unconsciously.
“I think there is another half of it—the overly-examined life cannot be lived. Meet your friends, play an afternoon of Frisbee, and reread some old books that you like. You can find your own place, holding on to such consolations amid the stormy roads.”
The orange light was still shining in the room, lighting up the dust in the air. There was a little noise; the book was put back on the shelf.
“Excuse me. Do you have pain-killers here? My shoulder hurts.”
October 2015
from Hangzhou, P.R. China