title Voice Is Warm. The Warmth Delivered by Voice The Temperature of the Sound The Temperature of Sound
Version 1: It was a year when misfortune sneaked into my family. First, my mother was hospitalized with an illness. Shortly thereafter, anxiety for her overtook my father, whose health was already fragile, so both had to stay in the hospital. Version 2: Misfortune sneaked into my family when I was thirteen. First, my mother fell ill and was hospitalized; then my father, in poor health himself, was afflicted with anxiety and worry. Both had to stay on the hospital, leaving my younger sister and me alone at home.
Version 1:As the sun set in the west, fear welled up in my heart. I was only 13. In the shrouding darkness of the village, the faraway mountains seemed gruesome, like dark paper-cut silhouettes pasted on the windows of my home. Only my sister and I were left alone in our big room. We were often startled from our dreams by the thrill howls of wolves in the mountains. Version 2:As the sun set in the west, fear rose in my heart. In the dim of night the hills beyond the village loomed in a ghostly silhouette on the windows of our spacious room; the thrill howls of wolves often startled us out of our sleep.
Version 1:Because we lived in a village school, cries for help were very unlikely to be heard by the villagers in the distant houses. Then I thought of the whistle---the one used by my Mom for her PE class. Breathing deeply, I mustered all my strength to blow it as loud as possible. Soon I heard noisy footsteps and loud voices from afar approaching the door of our home. I could see criss-crossing beams from flashlights outside the window. I heard my name being called by the villagers. When I opened the door, I saw standing there were a group of familiar villagers, all with hoes on their shoulders. The very sight of their swarthy faces glowing with kindness, and their earnest eyes filled with a sincere, deep concern, drove the fear away from my heart.
Version 2: Our cries for help were unlikely to reach the villagers, for our home was located in the school some distance away from the village. Suddenly I thought of the whistle my mother used for PE classes. I took out the whistle and, drawing a deep breath, I blew it as loudly as possible. Before long, a bustle of footsteps and voices came nearer and mearer, and flashlight beams crisscrossed outside our windows. Hearing my name called, I went to open the door, and there stood a group of familiar villagers, each with a hoe on the shoulder. The very sight of their kind, swarthy faces and deeply concerned eyes drove the fear away from my heart.
Version 1: “My son, you can go to sleep! We are not leaving tonight. ” said one old man. Resting their hoes against the foot of the outside wall, they sat and squatted there, smoking their long-stemmed Chinese pipes and chatting loudly… I gradually fell asleep. Only at the daybreak did they leave with their hoes. Dusk brought them back to my home again. By banging their hoes forcefully and rhythmicaly on the flagstones, they seemed to be saying: “don’t be afraid, my child. We are right here! No one can hurt you!”
Version 2: “Now go to sleep, kid. We are staying out here tonight.” said one old man. Resting their hoes against the wall, they sat or squatted nearby, smoking Chinese pipes or chatting in loud voices…gradually I fell asleep. They didn’t leave until daybreak; and at dusk they came again, banging their hoes on the flagstones as if to tell me:Don’t be afraid, kid, we are here with you. No one dares to hurt you!
Version 1: Every night after, the footsteps back and forth and the clatter of the hoes could be heard around my home, as if on schedule. The intermittent footsteps would last the whole night. While walking outside the house, they chatted in loud voices. I knew that out in the dark night, they were in no hurry to go somewhere else or take care of their crops. Rather they meant to rid me of my fear with their voices and assure me by their sounds: We are right here outside the window! Version 2: Afterwards, the bustle of footsteps and the clatter of hoes could be heard every night around my home as if on schedule. The intermittent footsteps together with the loud chatting would last the whole night. I knew that, in such darkness, they were neither hurrying on a trip nor tending to their crops. What they actually meant by making the “noises” was to rid me of my fear and reassure me: they were right outside our windows!
Version 1: Since then, I have come to believe that temperature also exists in sound, and can bring deep warmth to the lonely and fear-stricken people. Version 2: Ever since then, I have been convinced that sound has “temperature” and that it can warm the hearts of lonely, fear-stricken people.