The behavior of a clever crow eating walnuts surprised Japanese scholars. According to the “Yomiuri Shimbun” report, at an intersection in Ogaki Kanaya Town, Daisen City, Akita Prefecture, Japan, a crow threw a dangling walnut on the road for three consecutive years from 2014 to 2016, waiting for the car to drive over and crush it. Later, sit and enjoy the fruit to eat walnuts. Recently, this crow appeared again.
On February 15th, bird watcher Saburo Suzuki found a crow, so he took out the walnuts that he had in the car to the crow, and the crow took the walnuts to the crossroads and waited for the car to be crushed before eating walnuts. Suzuki said that he first observed this clever crow in February 2014, and has been able to see this crow put the walnuts in the same position every year until 2016. Since the crow has never been seen since 2017, Suzuki thought it might be dead at one time. Such a clever crow also attracted the attention of Japanese netizens. On the Japanese social network, some netizens left a message saying, “I will also take a few walnuts with me in the future to see if I can meet such a clever crow.”
Teófilo Pajares, “the prince of the Spanish poets, in whose path a tapestry of roses had to be spread on the ground”, according to some newspapers with little circulation, the author of Danza macabra and Muecas spectrales , descended little by little and as if immersed in musings down Cervantes street, facing the Botanico. It was an autumn morning; the sky, naked, and the light, sour. Uncertain mist, the color of wine dregs, saturated shadows and gloom.
The first thing that could be seen in the person of the poet Pajares was the advantage of his stature, the unusualness of his thinness and the untidiness of his clothing: untidy due to economic hardship and also because ofp. 6the work of a certain disdain for the cosmetic arts. The boots and trousers, in particular, betrayed Theophilus’ innocence and untidiness with vicious insolence. Undoubtedly, he missed him, because, as he walked with his hands behind his back and his head dropped to his chest, he stared obstinately at pants and boots, and his aquiline face, sallow and lean, languished with a grimace of consternation – a grimace ghastly, he would have said, “as if facing those garments so despicable and ill-fitted to the limbs, he marked them with a lack of tenacity in the face of misfortune and adherence to his master.
Teofilo stopped in front of a door and looked at the number painted on the lintel: 26. He retraced his steps and entered the portal of 24. He was starting to climb the stairs, when the goalkeeper, raising a broom, rushed to block his path :
“Hey, cool dude, where are you going?” The woman roared, with an anger that Teofilo found incongruous in such a case. She continued, almost frantic: “Beggars aren’t allowed here, did you hear it, you scoundrel, consumptive?”
Teofilo felt his soul freeze. His eyes lost their vision for a second. Teofilo, who had sighed infinitely many times in verse for death, and had described with cynical delight and nauseating details the orgy that the worms had to celebrate with their putrid flesh, and also the ghostly bundle of his bones, already raw, in the light of the moon; he, the singer of cadaverous decomposition, so when he heard the word consumption spoken, he fainted with fear. His constant anxiety was whether he would be consumptive.
The goalkeeper had gained the lead over Teofilo. She was two steps higher than the poet, with the broom wielded on the offensive and very sprawled, so that, given the terrible volume of her belly and hips, she could obstruct the passage just by tiltingp. 7Be a little left or right, depending on where the attack came from.
“Madam …” Teofilo stammered.
As if the adjective had received the most barbarous insult, the concierge resumed her voices with a fury close to paroxysm. He wielded the broom with both hands as a greatsword; he threatened, but he did not rush.
Teofilo was hesitant at first. Recovered from fainting, by reaction the blood invaded his pulses accelerated. He trembled, feeling a force unbearable to will rise within him.
“But don’t you have ears, you consumptive?” The concierge screamed in exasperation.
“Woman, whether you are crazy or not, this is over, because my patience has run out,” Teofilo muttered, trampling the syllables. He bowed his head, stepped forward with his right foot and landed dryly on the goalkeeper’s belly, and in her central and most emphatic area, a straight blow with his fist. As if the belly were the bellows of a gigantic bagpipe, and because of the collision of the fist it had suddenly been emptied, the areas of the stairwell trembled: such was the scream of the porter. The woman fell seated, and Teófilo jumped on her, with the intention of fleeing upstairs; but the concierge managed to grasp his foot, and he seized it. Teófilo was pulling with all his might, and the woman held on without yielding, asking for help. Pressing footsteps could be heard inside the houses. Desperately, Theophilus jerked his foot free; but when he put it to firm he received a strange impression of cold and tactlessness, as if the foot did not belong to him. He glanced at her and saw that his boot was missing and there were holes in his sock, the color of red cardinal. Shame and anger lit her cheeks. Temptation struck himp. 8 to kick, with the boot that remained, the head of the goalkeeper, who waved the other boot in her hand like a trophy, and shouted:
“This thief … this thief … Emeteriooo …!” But where are you getting, panties? Emeteriooo! And putting a rest in his clamoring, he made Teofilo’s nose and threw the boot at him with as much violence as he could. The boot passed over the poet’s head, bounced off the wall and, sliding between two bars of the railing, fell at the foot of the stairs. To retrieve it, Teofilo had to step over the goalkeeper again.
On the landing of the first floor a very well cut little body appeared; an appalled female head on top of him.
“But what is it, Sená Donisia?” Is a car downed?
Teofilo raised his head and breathed:
“Conchita!” Said Teofilo, “with what opportunity do you go out … This harpy,” and he pointed to the recumbent porter, “would not let me go up; He threatened me, wanted to attack me with the broom, and directed the grossest insults at me.
The concierge was beginning to get up. Senor Emeterio, porter consort, emerged at this point, rolling a cigarette and in shirt sleeves. He came with a stubborn air and a scrutinizing frown, like a man who does not allow himself to be hallucinated, but who thoroughly examines the facts before passing judgment. Go ahead, with that comic prosopopeia of the Madrid low town. The frown on his face seemed to say, “Let’s see what happened here.”
“But don’t you know, Sená Donisia,” Conchita asked from on high, “that Mr. Pajares is a house visitor, friend of the young lady?”
“How was I going to be sure that this beggar? …” began the concierge, advancing, when she reachedp. 9 beggar , the lower lip, as a sign of contempt. Mr. Emeterio mutilated the incipient phrase of his wife with a look through.
“Come up, Don Teófilo,” Conchita spoke.
Sená Donisia could not suppress a sarcastic exclamation.
“Oh, Don Teófilo!” How cute!
Mr. Emeterio bent his right arm in the shape of a swan neck and put his hand as if to press a bell; the index finger very erect, pointing to the lips of his wife. He abruptly ordered:
“You, shut up!” And straightening his gaze at Teófilo: “Let’s see, did you miss my mistress?”
The concierge was ready to protest, but Mr. Emeterio, with an authoritarian movement of his left arm, reduced her to silence and submission.
Teofilo was stunned and nervous. He understood that Mr. Emeterio was in doubt whether or not to beat up Sená Donisia, and that the future hung on his answer.
-Wow! Conchita intervened, getting impatient, “it’s getting late and I can’t be at the door all morning.” Climb up, Don Teófilo. Go if you guys are bullshit! …
“A hemistich, Conchita!” Asked Mr. Emeterio.
“A hemis … what?” And Conchita laughed cheerfully.
“You want to say just a moment,” Mr. Emeterio raised his eyebrows and clicked his tongue; He implied that he was tolerant of Conchita’s ignorance. Turning to Teofilo, he repeated, “Let’s see, did my lady miss it?”
“Oh … you see! … No; no way. ‘Theophilus didn’t know what to say.
“I thought …” Mr. Emeterio suggested.
-Bah! Teofilo concluded, forcing himself to smile. Anyone has a mistake.
p. 10″But very well said,” commented Mr. Emeterio. It means then that you know how to hide whether my lady has had a lasus or quiprocuo.
“Of course, of course,” Teofilo assured, not daring to win back the boot and supporting himself on one foot.
“Well, good morning and cover up.” You, come on! —And Mr. Emeterio, acting as a conjugal empire, accompanied this order by making finger castanets.
Sená Donisia began to retreat with a lazy step and a reluctant gesture. From time to time he turned to glance sideways, both at Conchita and Teófilo, and his gazes were, respectively, one of servitude and bitterness. From the beginning of the scene, Sená Donisia’s behavior had been exemplary canine. He remembered those big house dogs that bark with enormous rage at the humble visitor; then, if by any chance they have exceeded their zeal, the visitor is admitted to the owner’s mansion and they are beaten by a servant, pouting and rabigachos, with restless eyes, as soon suspicious of punishment as angry towards the intruder.
Just as Sená Donisia descended the four steps, Teófilo recovered and put on his boot, which was made of elastic bands, even though he had already given up its specific qualities of elasticity; and as if it had been adjusted to the ankle, not a boot, but the wings of Mercury, it flew, rather than climbed, to the first floor.
When the two doormen were alone, their faces calmed down: Sená Donisia’s was no longer angry and servile, and Senor Emeterio’s lost its prosopopoeia and all kinds of figurative dressing. They looked at each other plainly, like a well-matched couple, and it was evident that they understood each other without speaking.
“But my dear, Miss Rosa! …” the woman chattered, involuntarily leading her handp. elevento the spot where Teofilo had struck. If they are sluts … You see if Mr. Sicilia, and more so now that they have made him menistrum, will give him what the body asks for …
“What has to give, Donisia!” At his age …
“Don’t be spicy, Emeterio.” I say that if it will give you so many pelas, what pelas !, as many papyrus as it weighs. Well, na, you have to put the antlers. And it entailed, if it were that of speaking with a decent gentleman. But, you have to see the pimp who has selected! … With a consumptive face … Well, what about the tomatoes in the sock? Have you noticed?
“Wasn’t I supposed to fix it, Donisia?” There are for all tastes. But you, too, have you been very pleased! And you have to have a pupila …
“But,” remembering Teofilo’s straight blow, “if he has let me down, perhaps here …” He pointed to the most advanced part of the belly.
“Yeah, yeah.” And na, you have to shut up, because Miss Rosa’s own …
“She is the princess of the Caramánchimai, Emeterio.”
“And say it, Donisia.”
And they engulfed themselves in the darkness of the hovel.