The Smiling Angel
Her name was Shasha, denoting the sound of fresh leaves stirred by the breeze in spring, yet her smile was not that soothing. She was a girl with so few words that the ever-present smile on her face was rendered faint and elusive.
The three teachers of my class, though confused, determined to go all out to make her speak. In class we asked questions, shared jokes, designed games and held debates. She watched and listened attentively, leaning a little forward with that gentle smile on her face, showing respect but not the least intention to communicate.
The reason why Shasha kept smiling quietly seemed unfathomable. Even hard work was not able to erase the smile from her face. As I recalled, on the first day of the summer camp, all the members participated in cleaning classrooms. After the toilsome task, when by chance I caught a glimpse of Shasha, whose
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We put forth great efforts to find a driver willing to take us, the reason of which was unveiled as soon as we set out: the primitive country road was so steep and bumpy that we almost felt like tumbling down in the car. When the Odyssey ended, I found Shasha smiling by the road, against the cypress trees, swaying grasses and unknown flowers that lined the road. “I am sorry, sisters. ” she said sincerely, “This path is very muddy. Please lift your dresses slightly and follow me.” When we finally arrived at her house, words failed us as we found how harsh her living conditions were. The building was a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom all rolled into one; it appeared not so much a broken bungalow as a smelly stable. (I held no contempt.) The only family member that companied Shasha was her grandmother, for(as the loving old lady gently told us) her father became paralyzed five years ago and her mother had to attend to him and meanwhile fed the family. They were in a remote coastal city with Shasha left