Chi Li, predsednica je Opštinske federacije književnog i umjetničkog kruga Vuhan, članica predsjedništva Кineskog udruženja pisaca. Njana glavna djela, poput kratkih priča i novela kombinovana su u devet zbirki pod nazivom “Classics of Chi Li”. Pored toga, objavila je nekoliko proznih zbirki “Čekajući kapi koje se pretvaraju u bisere”; „Hajde djeco”; “Stojeći”; “Кnjiga kamenja” i zbirku pjesama “Pjesme”. Njan najnoviji roman je “Veliko drvo i mali crvi”. Dobitnica je prve nagrade za književnost Lu Кsun i mnogih drugih nagrada. Neka djela su adaptirana u filmove i predstave, a neka su prevedena na druge jezike.

U TRENUTKU:

DVADESET OSMI DAN KARANTINA

Trenutno nebo postaje tamnije; prilazi sumrak. Stojim pored prozora, gledam prema susjednoj zgradi i smiješim se. Stalno se smiješim, jer se plašim da se nešto loše ne dogodi. Starac otvara prozor u zgradi i ispušta drhtav vapaj: Кada će se ovo završiti? Кada će se ovo završiti? Čujem. Žurim da otvorim svoj prozor i, mašući, pokušavam da uhvatim starčev pogled. Zdravo, gospodine! Održavam ton najnežnije što mogu. Zbog ugla ne znam da li može da me vidi ili ne. Stalno zovem, i dalje, dok se konačno ne okrene i pogleda preko. Prestaje da zavija, zatvara prozor i vraća se unutra. Ali i dalje sam zabrinuta, pa nazovem održavanje i kažem im da hitno odu tamo i pokucaju mu na vrata, pokušaju da saznaju šta se događa. Da li starac tamo živi bez ikakve podrške? Da li je u nevolji? Ako mu nešto zatreba, mi ćemo pomoći, kažem. Održavanje je savjesno i odmah kreće. Pala je noć. Trenutno je dvadeset osmi dan karantina u Vuhanu. Ljudi su sve uznemireniji i razdražljiviji. Postoji još toliko neprijatelja sa kojima se suočavamo, uključujući rastuću sjenku koja se baca na naša srca.

Trenutno se novi koronavirus širi poput požara, a Vuhan je uspostavio najstrože mjere kontrole karantina od početka epidemije. Svi kadrovi i radnici se šalju u zajednicu, broj bolničkih kreveta spremnih za prihvat pacijenata svakodnevno se povećava, a medicinsko osoblje na frontu rizikuje svoje živote da bi liječilo bolesne. Vodimo usijanu bitku sa virusom, endocitoza i egzocitoza su u ćorsokaku, tako da trenutno ne možemo da priuštimo da odbacimo stražu. Ali ljudi su već dvadeset i osam dana bili u kući, u karantinu. Neki su uznemireni. Neki planiraju bjekstvo. Neki više ne mogu da trpe. Sanjaju svježu ribu, meso i posude na pari sa vruće suvim rezancima. Neki su čak počeli da vode svoju djecu u šetnju, govoreći: Nema razloga za brigu, biće u redu ako budemo pažljivi, u suprotnom, postaćemo usporeni ako smo dugo pod ključem.

Od svega mi je muka. Hvata me bijes i briga. Činjenice su kristalno jasne: posljedice neuspjeha da u potpunosti blokiraju prenos bolesti između ljudi su suviše strašne da bi se o njima moglo razmišljati. U nedavnom intervjuu sa izvještačem kojeg dobro poznajem, rekao sam u šali: Ljudima koji se ponašaju bezobzirno, volio bih da ugasim svijetlo, odvučem ih do kuće, ponudim im hranu na nedelju dana i blokiram vrata. Šalio sam se, ali bio sam i smrtno ozbiljan. Ako trenutno postoje ljudi koji ne cijene život, koji rizikuju da druge zaraze - pa, morate ih natjerati da vrednuju svoj život. To je bilo razgovor i očigledno nijesam nikoga nokautirao. Ja radim suprotno. Nasmiješim se starcu kojeg ne poznajem, mahnem mu, nadajući se da mogu da ga utješim. Trenutno svakodnevni život nije onakav kakav mi znamo. Naša glavna briga je očuvanje života. Trenutno gledamo kako majku djevojčice zauzima virus, i svjedoci smo plača djevojčice. Ovo nije uobičajeni rastanak: zahtijeva se da požurimo i zamotamo djevojčicu u zagrljaj, stavimo masku na nju i smirimo plač - kako virus ne bi imao priliku da pređe u usta i dolje u pluća. Trenutno smo svi majka djevojčice, a ne samo posmatrači koji snimaju video. Trenutno je najvažnija stvar očuvanje života. Ako možemo nešto da učinimo, moramo. Ako možemo nekome da pomognemo, moramo. Ali takođe moramo prvo da pazimo na sebe. U ovom trenutku - vremenu koje je, sada više nego ikad, definisano principom svi za jednog, jedan za sve - moramo se nadati da svi mogu udružiti snage i boriti se za naše živote. Da povratimo čast čovječanstva. Spas bi nam bio mentalno blagostanje. Smirenost i racionalnost će nam dati snagu. Trebaće nam nesalomljiva hrabrost; naša je dužnost da stisnemo zube i nastavimo dalje.

Bliži se još jedna zora: razmaknite zavjese, sunce izlazi kao i obično i na istoku je već svijetlo. Moramo podnijeti ovu tugu, pobijediti strah i očekivati nadu na našim prozorima.

 

Chi Li

Chi Li, president of Wuhan Municipal Federation of Literary and Art Circle, presidium member of China Writers Association. Her main works such as short stories and novellas are combined into 9 collections named Classics of Chi Li. Besides, she has published several prose collections Waiting for Drops Turning into Pearls, Come on Kids, Standing, Book of Stones and poem collection Poems of Chi Li. 69. Her latest novel is Big Tree and Little Worms. She has been awarded the first Lu Xun Literature Prize and many other prizes. Some works have been adapted into films and plays and some are translated into other languages.

 

At the moment:

The twenty-eighth day of quarantine

 At the moment, the sky is growing darker; dusk approaches. I stand by the window, looking across to the building next door, and smile. I keep smiling because I’m afraid something bad will happen. An old man opens a window in the building and lets out a trembling wail, “When will this end? When will this end?” I hear it. Immediately, I rush over to open my window and, waving, try to catch the old man’s eye. “Hello there, Sir!” I keep my tone as gentle as I can. Because of the angle, I can’t tell if he can see me or not. I keep calling, on and on, until finally he turns and looks across. He stops wailing, closes the window and goes back inside. But I’m still worried, so I call maintenance and tell them to go over there urgently and knock on his door, try to find out what’s happening. Is the old man living there without any support? Is he in trouble? If he needs anything, then we’ll help, I say. Maintenance are very conscientious and agree to go straightaway. During all this activity, night has fallen. At the moment, it is the twenty-eighth day of quarantine in Wuhan. People are feeling increasingly anxious and irritable. There are so many more enemies to face, including the growing shadow cast over our own hearts.

At the moment, the novel coronavirus is spreading like wildfire, and Wuhan has put in place the strictest quarantine control measures since the start of the epidemic. All cadres and workers are being sent into the community, the number of hospital beds ready to accept patients is increasing daily, and frontline medical staff are risking their lives to treat the sick. We are waging a white-hot battle with the virus, endocytosis and exocytosis are locked in stalemate so, at the moment, we can’t afford to drop our guard. But people have already been at home in quarantine for twenty-eight days. Some are restless. Some are plotting any possible escape. Some can’t stomach any more of the same, simple vegetables delivered to their door and dream of fresh fish, meat and steaming bowls of hot-dry noodles. Some have even started taking their children outside for a walk, saying, “There’s nothing to worry about, it’ll be fine if we’re carefulor otherwise, we’ll become slow-witted if in lockdown for long..” All this makes me sick with worry and anger. The facts are crystal clear: the consequences of failing to completely block the transmission of the disease between people are too dreadful to contemplate. In a recent interview with a reporter I know well, I said in jest, “Those people who are behaving so recklessly at the moment? I’d like to punch their lights out, drag them to their home, offer them food for a week and block up the door.” I was joking, but I was also deadly serious. If, at the moment, there are people who don’t value life, who put others at risk of death – well you have to force them to value their own lives. It was just talk though, I obviously didn’t knock anyone out. I do the opposite. I smile at an old man I don’t know, wave at him, hoping that I can comfort him.

At the moment, daily life is not as we know it. Our main concern is the preservation of life. At the moment, we watch as a young girl’s mother is taken by the virus, and we witness the girl’s crying. This is no ordinary parting: it demands that we rush over and wrap the girl up in a hug, put a mask on her and calm her crying – to give the virus no opportunity to pass into her mouth and down into her lungs. At the moment, we are all the girl’s mother, not just onlookers taking a video.

At the moment, the single most important thing is the preservation of life. If we can do something, we must. If we can help someone, we must. But we must also first look after ourselves. At the moment – a time which, now more than ever, is defined by the principle of ‘all for one and one for all’ – we must hope that everyone can pool every last bit of strength to come together and fight hard to win back our lives. To reclaim the honour of humanity. To ensure that our dead did not die in vain.

At the moment, our salvation will be our mental wellbeing. Calm and rationality will give us strength. We will need indomitable bravery; it is our duty to grit our teeth and carry on. Another dawn approaches: open the curtains, the sun is rising as usual and it is already light in the east. We must endure this sadness, conquer our fears, and hope for the hope outside our windows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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