old bus song
An ordinary day, an ordinary story.
In the far west of the United States, the yellow sand and gravel covered countless blood, bullets, money, corpses and legends. An ordinary western town welcomed an ordinary guest.
He's a cowboy, most Western men can call him a "cowboy". The guest's attire was out of tune with the locals, obviously a foreigner, and the very wide-brimmed white hat was clearly telling everyone that. Not only the hat, he was all white, and the white trousers covered his ankles and protruded outward. Needless to say, a professional cowboy must have two pocket pistols by his feet. Not only that, but the pistols on his waist were exposed. The silver light is shining, and the sight of it makes the back cold, but he holds a black guitar, and sings while playing, singing the songs he wrote. "Dan" heard it, and he was still singing, singing alone, and obviously he didn't feel alone because he had a smile on his face. He passed a dirt wall full of bullet holes, and was plastered with wanted notices. Not surprisingly, half of the men in the west were wanted criminals. The wanted ones were different from those with hideous faces and strong waists. The man was thin and not vicious, with a smile on his face and even forehead lines all over his forehead. The prisoner's name was "Buster Scruggs". He played the guitar again and sang happily away. In the sunlight, his face seemed to be exactly the same as the face on the wanted list.
Buster likes to be called "Old Bus", simple and kind, just like his face, he really looks like the kind of cowboy who is kind, humorous, easy to get along with, and sings well.
Laoba was walking in front of a pub. He walked in the sun for a long time and sang for a long time, and his mouth was naturally dry. Laoba dismounted, tied "Dan" to the tree, and wanted to go to the tavern to get two bottles of wine. I pushed open the small wooden door of the tavern. Like most western taverns, it was dim, the air was full of the smell of wine and cigars. What happened, but Laoba can always smell some blood sensitively, I don't know if it has been there long ago or will be there.
Laoba went to the boss. "Two bottles of whisky, take them directly," Laoba said with a smile.
The boss and the other four guests present were all typical Western big men, with gloomy faces full of messy beards, a few horrific scars hidden on their dark faces, and hats covering their heads indiscriminately, making their Faces darker, sturdy arms covered with fine hair that look almost black from a distance, their pistols clumsily and sloppily shoved into their pants, there's a real fear that the guns could go off at any moment and shoot them in the crotch One shot.
"I want two bottles of whisky to clear my throat" repeated the old man.
The boss's face is like an iceberg "I don't sell whisky, whisky is illegal in this county."
"Then what did they drink?" Laoba pointed at the four guests.
"Whiskey" spoke with a dead face. "They are outlaws."
"Perhaps you were deceived by my white clothes, polite demeanor, and friendly face." Lao Ba's smile did not change. "Actually, I am not a law-abiding person, and I often violate the laws of the gods."
"We never drink with bluffs," said a whisky-drinking guest. His voice was low and cold, like his clump of filthy beard.
Obviously this not too violent words angered the old man, he turned to face the bearded, "I don't think you are much better, sir, you should not slander people for no reason, so I think your head and your beard should be Washed."
That's how wars happen, and irritable western men can't stand such insults the most.
The bearded man stood up from the chair, the old floor made a "squeak" sound, he pulled his coat back, put his hands on his back, and deliberately showed Laoba the pistol on his waist. This is the habit of Western men. Showing that you are not a weak lamb, you can shoot at any time, or use it to intimidate people who don't play with guns.
"Does your gun work? White-faced cowboy," the bearded man mocked.
A shot went off. There was a bullet hole on the bearded forehead, and the wall behind him was full of blood splattered, and some soft things stuck to the wall, probably the part of the brain that flew out after the bullet was pierced through the back of the head. Bearded fell.
Laoba's index finger pierced the trigger guard, the pistol circled around his index finger several times, and then quickly inserted into his waist, the sound of the gun spinning and cutting through the air was as beautiful as the brisk stream next to the tavern, and his series of actions, such as The artist went to the creation of flowing water, and his skillful living shuddered. At this time, the stunned people had no time to think about how this "white-faced cowboy" just drew his gun in the blink of an eye.
After a brief moment of amazement, the three bearded friends realize they must do something to avenge their friends like "Outlaws"! Yes! They quickly go to the guns in their pockets!
Three shots were fired. The three fell to the ground, their guns still pinned to their waists, as if they had not had time to pull them out. Laoba turned the right hand holding the gun around the back of the muzzle and turned to the left. His head followed the muzzle to the left. It was the boss who was about to take the shotgun hanging on the wall. Laoba opened his mouth into an "O" shape and made a face at the boss.
A shot went off. The second hand of the wall clock has swept across the four divisions since Beard stood up.
Laoba enjoyed a moment of silence, but some noises from the ground interrupted him. It was a guest who had just been hit by him. He was still alive, struggling and crawling on the floor, as if someone had stepped on it. A short-footed centipede, he crawled towards the door, leaving a trail of blood.
"Looks like a lucky gentleman was not hit by me." The old man walked briskly towards the door, and the guest also climbed to the door, groaning in pain, struggling to dig the bottom of the door with his hands, but only tore off some small pieces. Wood.
"Okay, I'll help you." Laoba opened the door, the guest climbed out, and continued his survival performance in the yellow sand. Laoba also walked out of the tavern, walked to his horse "Dan", and took out a large bag He came out and held a vanity mirror in his hand, like something only a "high society" lady would use. Lao Ba began to look in the mirror carefully to check whether his hair was messed up due to the brief battle just now or he was stained with it. Blood or brain plasma or something.
"I'm leaving, sir, leave your life to those poisonous scorpions and monitor lizards!" Laoba got on the horse, untied the rope, picked up the guitar, kicked his feet inward lightly, and "Dan" stepped on the same Laoba ran forward with brisk steps, kicking up a cloud of dust and leaving behind a few paragraphs of singing.
"♪A town filled with yellow sand, a dilapidated tavern, and a hot-tempered drinker.♪"
"♪There's a thirsty cowboy who just wants to buy some whisky, cool and delicious.♪"
"♪...♪"
Laoba walked all the way, sang all the way, and came to the market town. The streets here are no different from the streets of all western towns. The wide and straight streets lead to the distance. At a glance, you can see a place hundreds of meters away, but it is not the end. There are messy shops on both sides, the streets are covered with a thin layer of yellow sand, and there are some bloodstains left on the ground. Overall, this is the perfect place for a "cowboy duel".
Laoba was attracted by the sound of the piano by the roadside. It was a jazz dance song. It was a pub. Laoba smiled with satisfaction. This is obviously a civilized and high-end style. In the pub, you can dance, drink, play cards, chat, etc. The stables specially prepared for passengers outside the store make Lao Bus more satisfied, and "Dan" can rest comfortably inside for a while.
As soon as he entered the door, a bartender with white hair stopped him, "Sir, please deposit your gun, this is our policy." The bartender's voice was thick, he was a sturdy man of about 60 years old with a handsome face, and he showed it at the bar. When it comes to fancy bartending, it can always attract the attention of many wives.
"Okay, listen to you." Laoba readily agreed, and took out the silver pistol, "I think these little guys should also be stored." He also took out the pocket pistols on the inside of his feet.
The bartender smiled, he liked the kind and humorous guest like Laoba.
When Laoba entered the tavern, the aroma of tobacco and alcohol came out to his nostrils. The tavern was divided into two floors. The upper floor was a place for big money players to play. Laoba preferred the downstairs. Some laughs, a fat pianist smoking a cigar and playing jazz, a half-drinked glass of whiskey on the piano, a couple of men and women dancing to the sound of the piano, and a few large round tables around which a couple of people sat. Crowd of gamblers.
A gambler just left, Laoba also wanted to play cards for entertainment, so he took his place, Laoba turned over the three cards in front of him, diamond 3, club 5, diamond 8, there is nothing in the world more than this. Smelly cards, Laoba doesn't want to lose money if he doesn't want to come up, "Hey, friends," Laoba greeted politely, "Let's play again, after all that gentleman is gone, his bad luck should not be transferred to On me." Laoba made a reasonable request.
"No!" A black bear-like low and hoarse voice came from the opposite side, "You must play the cards he left behind, this is the rule!" The black bear growled again.
"I think it's fairer for us to start over again," Laoba said. The word "fairness" has always been absent in the West.
The "Black Bear" on the opposite side stood up, his hands on his hips and a cold face, "When you see the cards, you have to play."
"Did you hear that? Fancy bastard," he added, and pointed his pistol at the old bus.
"No one can force others to participate in entertainment that he doesn't want to participate in, it's boring and rotten!" Laoba said and stood up. "As for names, don't call me that, I have a first name and a last name. My name is Buster Scruggs, and my horse is called 'Dan'."
"You Buster Scruggs? That West Texas dick?" Black Bear smiled.
Laoba looked helpless: "I am indeed from West Texas, where the scenery is beautiful and the folk customs are simple. But I think you remembered wrongly. You should call me 'West Texas Tit' because that bird's song is very beautiful."
"And according to the rules of the shop," Laoba pointed to the sign at the entrance of the hotel with his thumb upside down.
The conversation between the two gradually attracted the people next to them. Even the pianist stopped. Everyone kept silent and watched the two gamblers in the quarrel. The sun broke into the tavern forcefully. Under the beam of light, only the smoke of the cigar was in the air. Leisurely fluttering, the tavern is extremely quiet.
Finally, the black bear said, "What if I don't?" and pulled the firing pin back with his thumb.
At that time, even the cigar smoke did not float.
Blood splattered and bullets shot from the roof.
The two playing cards at the same table were splattered with blood.
Everyone didn't seem to see it clearly, so Laoba had to do it again.
He raised his leg and stomped on one end of the round table. The middle board (here the gaming table is made of boards) was like a seesaw, and the other end was lifted quickly, hitting the black bear's gun with precision, and his hand was hit Under his chin, and pull the trigger, the bullet passes through the chin, tongue, nose, brain, and shoots out of the head.
The old bus stepped on it again, this time as if it came out of the face.
A total of three shots, Laoba blasted the black bear's head with his foot.
Black Bear's face was bloody, blood and brains splattered to the ground, and then he collapsed, kicking up the long-standing dust on the floor, flying with the smoke of the cigar in the beam of light.
The guests in the tavern didn't say a word, Laoba didn't like such an awkward atmosphere.
"I'm not a sinister villain, but he insists on breaking the rules and forcing me to play cards. I just want to say that when you don't have a weapon, you must be quick and precise." Laoba said.
Trying to ease the embarrassment, he began to sing a cappella:
"♪ Hot Joe fell to the ground and he'll never gamble again.
It was April last year, and he walked into this tavern♪"
As he sang, he came to the pianist. The pianist understood, turned around to accompany Laoba, and the tune suddenly became lively.
"♪ But he never liked a man, Hot Joe, Hot Joe,
Where is he gambling now? I have no idea! ♪"
"♪ We don't know either! ♪" The guests were driven by the cheerful rhythm and sang along, and the two bloodied gamblers danced together.
The old bus walked to the counter, and accompanied by the music, the two guests helped him jump to the counter, and everyone danced more happily.
"♪ He's seasoned, but I'm more seasoned, he's quick to draw but I'm faster,
He died at the table, Hot Joe ♪"
"Huh!" Everyone shouted cheerfully, and Laoba was dancing on the counter.
"♪ Hot Joe, Hot Joe! (Everyone agrees)
No one will miss grumpy old Joe, he always frowns, but now there is no face,
Looks like your gloomy days are over, Hot Joe! Hot Joe! (people and)
Crumpled Hot Joe! He turned out to be mean, but people still clean up the mess for him♪"
The crowd happily threw their hats into the air.
"♪ He was originally boring, and now that turbulent life is over, his face is smashed and he goes to the underworld,
Go there to gamble, Hot Joe! ♪"
"Huh" accompanied by the cheers of the crowd, Laoba jumped off the stage and completed a wonderful performance. People are still singing the song just now, and the melody is so beautiful.
"Joe!" A man pushed in the door and fell down beside the black bear. "Despicable villain! You attacked my brother!"
"Joe!" The person who rushed in cried out, holding Joe's head. It seemed that he was really called "Joe", but no one knew how Laoba knew his name when he sang.
The man stood up, with a short stature, a round face and thick eyebrows, like a clown from a circus,
Laoba just finished singing the last stanza, the pianist continued to play Laoba's tune, and the guests continued to dance the dance just now, but Laoba stopped because he saw a person who was not dancing, Laoba looked at him Ridiculous, clenching his teeth, but not clenching—one of his front teeth is missing.
Knowing that Lao Ba was looking at him, Huo Ya scolded, "Despicable villain, you attacked my brother!"
"It's not what you think. You can ask the people around you. Buster Scruggs never hurt anyone with an arrow. To some extent, your brother committed suicide."
"Buster? That West Texas idiot?" Huo Ya said exactly the same as his brother had ever said.
"I think you're talking about the West Texas tit, that kind of bird sings very nicely." Laoba's words were exactly the same as what his brother said when he was alive.
"Shut up" Huo Ya's face changed greatly, his face full of fat trembled, "Come out and fight like a man!" There was sadness in his eyes, and his voice trembled with his face.
Obviously, there will be a cowboy duel next, in the west, this is the way men solve problems, two cowboys will be about 20-30 meters apart, standing on the narrow street, after the countdown, complete the action of drawing and shooting, Deciding between life and death sounds easy. In fact, it is difficult to even draw a gun in a highly tense situation. Compared with speed, drawing a gun should be smooth, and then shooting should be stable and accurate. 20-30 meters is not a short time. Distance, maybe fouling is easy, you can draw the gun in advance, or secretly hold the gun to skip the draw time, and take the opponent's life steadily - don't think about it, the cowboys participating in the duel will not foul.
Huoya was standing on the other side of the long and narrow street. From Laoba, it looked almost like a ball. When the sun pierced, Laoba had to close his eyes slightly and slowly loaded the gun with bullets. Huoya was swaying nervously from side to side. His hands were stiffly clasped together—his face was still shaking.
Laoba is ready and shouts to the other side: "Do you need to count down, sir?"
Huo Ya hesitated. He had never heard a cowboy ask such a question. If he replied "yes", he would lose his dignity and initiative. If he said "no", the duel would start immediately.
"No!" Huo Ya shouted loudly, as if to strengthen himself. The duel begins.
Huo Ya immediately went to his waist to take out his gun. He wanted to use his right index finger to skillfully open the buckle, but he couldn't do this simple action, because his index finger was beautifully shot down from the joint.
Huo Ya raised his right hand to his face, blood was gushing out from the severed finger, and before he started to shout, with four rapid gunshots, the little finger, ring finger, middle finger, and thumb were shot down in sequence. Enough time to start screaming.
Huo Ya was still a tough guy. He held his bald right palm and used his left hand to draw a gun with trembling, but his left hand was entangled by something.
Lao Ba looked at the short figure competing with him in the distance, took out a mirror, the silver on the back of the mirror was more dazzling than the reflected sunlight on the mirror surface, he turned around and raised the mirror, so that the ridiculous figure and his face appeared at the same time In the mirror, "Only the last shot left, don't miss it." He said to himself in the mirror.
The right hand holding the gun was placed behind his back over his right shoulder, "Bang!" The figure in the mirror fell to the ground.
No one watched the 1 minute and 30 seconds of the duel, and people felt it was more important to drink half a glass of wine or be in a daze during this time.
Lao Ba stood beside the corpse, "Oh, I want to sing." Lao Ba took a deep breath and was about to spit out the first word, but he stopped, and a voice from the heaven fascinated him. .
He had never heard such a beautiful harmonica.
There was his favorite in that voice, bullets, pistols, blood, notes. Not far away, yellow sand fluttered, churning and convection, and a black figure on a horse gradually appeared.
The melodious and rich sound of the harmonica is approaching, a black shadow walks out of the yellow sand, but it is still black, the cowboy on the horse is holding the harmonica in both hands instead of the reins, but he walks so steadily, the horse is a young man with a mustache, in black , black hat, black horse, the old man in white clothes and white hat glanced at his white horse "Dan", the black horse's mane fluttering in the wind, very elegant, the young man is not handsome, but very handsome.
The dark horse stopped in front of Laoba, Laoba looked up at the young man, and the sound of the harmonica stopped.
"It's really nice of you to play the harmonica, sir, can you collaborate with me on a song?" Laoba asked.
The young man didn't seem to see the corpse under the horse, nor did he pay attention to Laoba's request. The sun was dazzling, so he had to close his eyes slightly and said, "Are you Buster? That 'West Texas tit'?"
"It's me" isn't a West Texas dick this time.
"I want to challenge you." The young man said, flying off his horse. "My horse is called 'Lan'"
Laoba smiled helplessly. He wore a mustache like this and was full of energy. He was definitely not the first cowboy who came to challenge him. Laoba never refused to challenge.
"You young people are always so impulsive, and now I'm thinking about whether I should open a funeral home." Laoba walked to the position where he stood when he just beat Huoya to death.
In the yellow sand, Laoba could only see the black figure of the young cowboy, perhaps because he was wearing all black clothes. Knowing that this young man is not easy, the right hand is the hand used to draw the gun, it is naturally drooping instead of ready to go, it is respect for the rules of the duel, it is respect for the opponent, most young cowboys have a strong determination to win and draw their guns. His hands will always be bent, and such a person will easily die under the old gun. The black-clothed cowboy in front of him was driven into the street like iron nails, as if he would not fall down even if he was hit by the old bus.
Laoba stood still, "Do you need to count down?" The words just appeared in the duel between Laoba and Huoya.
But this sentence came from the mouth of the cowboy in black.
Laoba felt strange and puzzled, and this sentence was his mantra.
"Don't" Lao Ba frowned, thinking if there was a better answer.
Laoba loves music, singing and playing the piano. In addition to the seven notes on the staff, there is also a note that Laoba uses the most. It is the one he uses most skillfully and fancyly, the one that has always accompanied him and made him want to stop. The sound of gunshots.
Laoba heard the familiar note again, and the movement of the shadow in front of him changed, but it was still nailed to the ground, the center of gravity fell on the right side, his right hand seemed to be holding something upright, his left foot was stretched forward, and his toes were raised.
Laoba was even more puzzled. He didn't go to draw the gun, but took off his white cowboy hat. The hat didn't change, but there were two more holes. The hole was facing him, with the same charred black marks all around—and blood splattered.
Holding the silver-white mirror in front of him, Lao Ba found that there was a bleeding hole on his forehead.
"This is not very good!" The mirror fell from his hand and broke into seven pieces, reflecting the dazzling sunlight.
Laoba fell straight on the street like a heavy wooden board, setting off a piece of yellow sand.
The cowboy in black changed his posture after seeing this moment. He turned the revolver on his index finger a few times and then smoothly retracted it. As he walked towards Laoba, he sang:
"Let me tell you, my brother, there is a faster gun in the world.
Where the yellow sand is flying, it comes from the sky.
Let me tell you, my brother, it won't be long before you find out,
The last cowboy song, sung by yourself. "
The black-clothed cowboy came to Laoba's body, scratched the yellow sand on the ground with his feet, Laoba's soul rose from the sand, holding the guitar in his arms, the black-clothed cowboy turned and walked towards his dark horse, no longer looking back , Laoba's soul is flying higher and higher, slowly rising to the sky, but he has not stopped singing, as if singing the same song as the cowboy in black,
Ba: "That's great, my feet don't suffer anymore" The black-clothed cowboy smiled.
Black: "That's awesome, I'll keep on going" BA: "The campfire is fading" Black: "Sunset West Mountain"
Ba: "No more showing off gun skills" Hei: "No more being chased and intercepted."
Together: "When a cowboy takes off his spurs in exchange for angel wings."
The black-clothed cowboy walked up to the horse and jumped up: "Escape into the yellow sand with my dark horse."
Ba: "Drop my six-ring revolver and pick up the guitar" He: "He must be singing too"
He: "I'm on my way to heaven" Ba "He will wrap my body" Hei: "He will be redeemed"
Together: "When a cowboy takes off his spurs in exchange for angel wings."
The black-clothed cowboy riding a horse gradually disappeared into the flying yellow sand, leaving only a melodious harmonica, just like when he came.
Two people came out of the tavern and dragged Laoba's corpse from the street with expressionless faces. Just as they had just dragged their teeth, the corpse would hinder the tavern's business, that's for sure.
Laoba's Ba "Dan" glanced at Laoba's corpse and continued to bow his head to eat the ingredients.
Laoba's soul flew higher and higher, and he was about to enter heaven. He stretched his limbs and closed his eyes, as if enjoying this moment, he said to himself:
"I think people in heaven can always play cards happily."
postscript
It's a pointless story, and it's not being ironic. We desperately need to do something pointless, which is good for others and for ourselves.
I just finished the college entrance examination and wrote the fun = = to express my love for this movie, you big guys tap it
(This article is adapted from the first story in the Coen Brothers film The Ballad of Buster Scruggs)
View more about The Ballad of Buster Scruggs reviews
