My grandfather was very fond of listening to opera. Every day after dinner, he would go out on time to listen to the opera, and he knew exactly where he should go on which days: to the Triangle Square on Sundays, to the head of the Raccoon Bridge on Saturdays, and to the front of the Book City on the other days. If we wanted to know whether the opera was good or bad, all we had to do was to look at Grandpa's return from the opera and we would know exactly. If he came back before eight o'clock and was downcast when he came back, the play must have been badly sung; if he came back after nine o'clock and came back with a bright smile on his face, the play must have been well sung.
On one occasion, my grandfather took me to Triangle Square to listen to an opera. I wasn't interested in listening to the opera, so I just sat on the statue in the middle of the square and played with myself. Grandpa crowded in the crowd listening to the opera, two eyes glowing, concentrate on listening, hear the wonderful place also from time to time clapping, applauding ...... I see him listening to such a happy, also tried to listen to a while, but I think the opera is too hard to hear, simply worse than the noise in the city... ...I went to talk to my grandfather, but he said, "How can you say it's hard to listen to such a good opera?"