Exotic bird

  There is a Hiro Road in the northwest district of London, which runs east to west and is very long. Most of the road sections are not close to residential areas, and there is a section of relatively prosperous streets, with shops and houses on both sides, and many people of Indian and Pakistani origin. Of course, there are also some immigrants from other regions. For example, there is a Baghdad bar across the street from where I live. Every night, especially on weekends, some Iraqis in the vicinity like to gather here. It is often full, and there are people standing at the door of the bar, holding beer. Unpredictable circumstances, that spring, the United States and Britain decided to get rid of Saddam Hussein, suddenly hit Iraq, missiles flew like locusts all over the sky, people were worried, staring at the TV all day, and the police watched Muslims closely, I remember that at that time, this Iraqi bar, like a fresh nameless flower, was suddenly hit by autumn frost, and it was suddenly defeated for many days. Yes, people are in a bad mood. There is a tall and big cherry tree in our yard, which blooms in April and May, very beautiful. However, that spring, I didn’t even have the mind to take a look.
  One evening in late autumn, the cold wind was blowing, like a naughty child whistling, and the scattered leaves on the ground were driven out, sometimes whirling. I went to a small supermarket for shopping along the few-passenger Hailuo Road. In the twilight, suddenly there was a sound of music blowing in the wind, ah, it’s the accordion! It’s hard to hear someone playing the accordion in London, and it’s Russian music, too familiar! I have always liked the music of the former Soviet Union and Russia, of course There are other arts. As the accordion moves neatly and unrestrainedly, the elegant notes flow naturally like water into an endless euphemistic melody, which makes my heart tremble. However, the tone and melody were clearly filled with unspeakable melancholy and desolation, as if eloquently uttering some kind of longing for a distant place. I walked forward in three steps and two steps, only to see that the accordion player was an old man in sixties, sitting against the wall, full of beard, immersed in his music world without raising his head. I couldn’t move away, or I couldn’t bear it, the endless sadness and sorrow made my heart hurt. I couldn’t help but wonder, where is this old Russian man staying tonight? Why is he living in such a foreign land?
  The old Westminster Bridge, it is used to listening to the rushing noise of the Thames under the bridge, and seeing all the living beings on the bridge going from south to north. It was a summer day, and I met another not-so-young man, sitting here by the bridge rail, with a faded brown-red rucksack at his feet, and a sea-blue canvas umbrella held up to block the scorching sun. He wears a peaked cap, but he can’t hide the tangle of gray and gray hair at the back of his head. He wears a pair of deep glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he has a kind and pleasant smile on his face. He holds a drawing board and specializes in drawing cartoon portraits of people. He narrowed his eyes, looked at you carefully, and then moved like a pen, 10 seconds, yes, only 10 seconds, the small advertisement beside him said so, a humorous, exaggerated, but not lost. The real portrait is complete. two pounds. It’s also advertised. The business was not bad. I stopped for half an hour, and two girls took a photo here, took the portrait, paid the money, and left with a wild smile. I chatted with the man, he said he was from Greece, he was an art teacher in a middle school, his young wife ran away with another man, and was hit by an earthquake soon after, so he carried a drawing board on his back and embarked on a wandering road.
  That day, I ran into this middle-aged Chinese not far from the exit of St. Paul’s Cathedral. He is actually playing the sheng by himself, do you think it is rare? He is very focused in the crowd, and the elk is so excited that he does not blink. He was dressed in a bright and straight suit, and his black and shiny hair was neatly combed. There were no piano boxes or broken hats that wandering artists used to let passers-by drop coins. Obviously not a normal showman. He played all the bright and cheerful songs of our ethnic minorities. However, this uncompromising, incomparably sunny and wonderful sound of nature made my heart burn. It led me to the southwestern border of the motherland. It was a group of young men and women, dressed in festive costumes, playing elephant and foot drums, dancing like a fairy under the silver moonlight. I should really be excited with the joy of this music, but on the contrary, there is an unspeakable feeling in my heart, and my eyelashes are even wet with tears. Unbelievably, this wonderful performance did not attract much attention from the foreigners who came in droves. Maybe they are too commonplace and insensitive to street performers? What a pity. The man didn’t care, his eyes were as tranquil as the sea. He stands alone. I am proud: I am his bosom friend. But I don’t know his background, and I don’t want to ask him. Being a bosom friend is enough.
  One wall of the bathroom suddenly seeped water, I guess there is a problem with the plumbing. Immediately find Mr. Niles, who is in charge of the property. In less than 20 minutes, the doorbell rang crisply, and a young offspring with a clear face and a bit of cleverness between his eyebrows appeared in front of me with a toolbox. He moved extremely swiftly, unloading two tiles, exposing the pipes, listening to the tinkling for a while, and then reattaching the tiles, dividing three by five and two, and quickly solved the trouble for me. I chatted with the lad, and as soon as I heard the accent, it was obvious that he was not British. The local British people don’t do this kind of business, they think it’s too “low price”, just like our local people in Beijing, who would rather be idle and walk around with bird cages, rather than selling vegetables and milk, or working as cleaners or construction workers. , porters, etc. Let the outsiders do it all! When I asked about it, it turned out that he was from Romania, and I said that I was from Beijing. In this way, the two became close because China-Romania relations have always been very friendly. He said he had been working in the UK for two and a half years. The Christmas holidays were approaching, and I asked him if he was planning to go home for vacation? He might be Orthodox, but after all, there is a long Christmas holiday here. With a gloomy face, the young man shook his head with a wry smile: 2,500 pounds! A round-trip ticket! How can I afford it?
  Night fell slowly. In the Soho area in central London, all kinds of dance halls and nightclubs are flashing with neon lights, like countless ambiguous eyes. On the streets, there are sometimes graceful and scantily clad orioles in twos and threes, whispering and laughing, scrutinizing passers-by and waiting for visitors. Even in winter, when the cold wind blows, they are like this, just wearing a gorgeous fur cloak over a thin skirt. The public telephone room here is always densely covered with the phone numbers of the girls who are recruited. The police remove these small advertisements from time to time, because after all, it does not match the image of the British Empire, which seems to be so beautiful and serious. However, the wildfire will not burn. , In a blink of an eye, it was filled again. The police probably have nothing to do. Some strip clubs have bars attached, and the dancers take a short break from changing venues to go to the bar next door to accompany the guests to drink. Painted red or rust-colored bar, dim rotating lights. Night London is ecstatic here. Most of the dancers are from Eastern Europe, and they are not proficient in English. Some of them even hold English dictionaries generously, chatting while checking new words. The night was darker, and her face was slightly drunk, and it was inevitable that she also revealed a bit of tiredness. Among them, there are many college students who study in local colleges and universities during the day and come here to make a living at night. Is it the sinking of youth, or the helplessness of reality? Can you tell?
  Yes, there are too many exotic birds in London. In the neighborhood where I used to live, if you take a bus, you can often see those foreigners talking loudly and silently on the bus. The native British people who are very gentlemen disdain this! At this time, I can’t hear them A word of English! Can not help but make people trance and wonder: where is this? Is it the United Kingdom?
  How far is it? The bird of the heart will finally return to its old nest and relive the long-lost sweetness and tranquility. Walking on the streets of London, the faces of various skin colors overlapped in front of my eyes, and Tagore’s musing in my ears: the day’s work is over. Hide my face in your arms, mother. make me dream.