by Tam King-fai
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128
A Garden of One’s Own
few simple but inspiring pieces of huqin music, making them as popular I[¹
profound and widely spread than the music education in our schools.
When we left the village, the young people there, unwilling to see
us go, saw us off to the rickshaws. I myself also found it hard to leave.
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I am afraid chances are we will never go there again to drink tea or
play huqin QV Ua TQNMQUM ?M UM Ja KPIVKM TQSM ÆWIQVO _MML[ QV PM
water; if not for the huqin, what feeling would these young people have had for a passerby like me? And for my part, why would I have had any
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PIZUWVaº 1 VM^MZ ZMITQbML PM _Q[LWU WN PQ[ ILIOM QV Ua [M^MV WZ
eight years as a music teacher. Little did I expect that I would come to
appreciate its meaning in that desolate village that day!
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Lu Yin
Lu Yin (1898–1934), born Huang Shuyi, had a short but productive life.
In her writing career of fourteen years, she left behind an impressive
repertoire of novels, stories, essays, and dramatic works.
All accounts of her life, including her autobiography, seem to highlight
her unhappy childhood and her two marriages. Lu Yin’s superstitious
mother believed her to be an ill omen, and sent her away from home to
be raised by a wet nurse at an early age. Her experiences at a Protestant
missionary school afterwards were unpleasant, and led her to question
the motive of the spread of Western religion. It was not until 1919 when
she attended the Beijing Women’s Normal College before she came
into her own. There she befriended Su Xuelin, Feng Yuanjun, and Shi
Pingmei, who would become women writers in their own right.
Her two happy but short marriages were sensational news in literary
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already wedded to another woman by a previous arrangement when he
and Lu Yin got married, while her second husband was nine years her
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second with her own death during childbirth.
These autobiographical facts inevitably affect the reception of Lu Yin’s
works, which together project a woman narrator that is despondent and
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however, came from a relatively peaceful period of Lu Yin’s life after her
second marriage. Even she seemed surprised at her newfound serenity.
Yet, the rumblings of restlessness are never too far away as she hankers
for a change of scene. Beautiful as it is, life is not without its prickly
moments.
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130
A Garden of One’s Own
Thorns on the Rosebush (1933)
For people who see the world as a stage, the natural tendency is to do
one’s utmost to embellish the stage and change its scenery. For such
a person to settle on one thing or in one place would go against his
nature. It may well be an inborn characteristic of mine that makes me
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moment when I do not want to assert this trait in different spheres of
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No matter where I am, I always get tired of a place after living there
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was only in my teens when I graduated from high school, yet I had
already left behind the warmth and comfort of my home to lead a life
of wandering. I remember that whenever I took leave of my mother and
the other people at home, carrying my simple luggage and setting out
all by myself on the endless road before me, they were always saddened
by my departure, while I was full of excitement, ready to take in new
stimulation. With only my bag on my shoulder and a breeze blowing
about me, I felt totally unfettered. This is why I always want a change of
scene at least once or twice a year, except when circumstances prevent
me from doing so.
It is a rare occurrence in life when things turn out as one wishes,
though. Much as I always long for change, I was recently forced to
spend three or four years in the ancient city. The pressures of life had
reduced me to living like a beaten dog with my head bowed and my
ears folded back. Those three or four years were just too sad to speak
of. There was nothing to break the dull routine of breathing in chalk
dust, grading students’ papers, and going over the same lectures like a
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got to the point where I simply could not take the extreme boredom
anymore, and I decided to break out of this prison and shake off my
chains, becoming again the unbridled horse that I had once been. The
petty human world is no longer worthy of my attention, and I am no
longer servant to its authority. Thus did I come to wander about the
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the streets of prosperous and congested Tokyo, and lingering around
the green waves of West Lake. Of these places, West Lake suits me best,
which is why, without the least coercion, I have been staying there for
seven months.
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Lu Yin
131
But even so, I was not content just to stay in one place, and in
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The house there was in the Shanghai style—like a cage for pigeons,
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[aTM PW][Mº ?PMV _M ÅZ[ UW^ML PMZM 1 _W]TL [IVL QV NZWV WN PM
window that overlooked the lake and watch the misty waves hover on
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by the wonderful changing scenes before my eyes, but by the time I had
been there for three months, I suddenly felt that the color of the lake
and the hills had grown dim, and the misty waves had become quite
ordinary. Everything was so plain, so mundane. I immediately thought
of escaping. Later, I spent two whole days combing through all of the
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a rather quiet one, in an alleyway off a major street. I have been very
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around several acres of land overgrown with wheat. What a surprise to
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this house, I can hear roosters crowing in the morning and dogs barking
at night, suggesting to my mind thoughts of a lost paradise.1
As soon as you enter the front gate of the compound, a grove of
bamboo meets your eyes, green and shadowy, waving and striking poses
in the breeze. Colorful garden balsams, cannas, day lilies, morning
glories, and hibiscus grow in different parts of the yard. In the midst of
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either side. At the end of the road is the clean, spacious veranda. There
are eight such foreign-style houses there. I feel refreshed just looking at
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is indeed the place for me to rest my soul after the monotonous and
cluttered life I have led for the last few years. I am particularly pleased
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door. I do not presume to be the genteel type, but now that I have found
a place compatible with my temperament, who cares whether it is your
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take it as my¹5a+W\IOMº1[V¼QI[QOVWN OWWLT]KSPI1PI^MKWUM
to lead the life of a recluse here, if only for a short time?
1
The crowing of roosters and barking of dogs have long been used to create a
scene of peacefulness.
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132
A Garden of One’s Own
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time, there have been quite a few memorable episodes in my life. These
episodes are like thorns that grow on a beautiful and fragrant rosebush,
and those who come into contact with them will, of course, feel a
certain slight pain.
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qr
Zheng Zhenduo
Zheng Zhenduo (1898–1958) was born in Zhejiang and was educated
in Beijing. He led an active career as a writer, journalist, archaeologist,
and literary scholar. In the wake of the May Fourth period, he played
an active role in the literary scene as the editor of a number of literary
magazines. After 1949, he became the head of the Archaeological
Research Institute of the Chinese Academy of Science. He died in a
plane crash in 1958 on his way to Cairo as a representative of a Chinese
cultural envoy.
Essay writing is but a small part of his literary activities. He studied and
published on Greek and Roman mythology and translated Russian and
Indian literature.
Like many writers at the time, Zheng views literature as a mirror of life.
1V¹
scenes of Shanghai during that period. Most of them take the form of
endless dreary social gatherings, where one attends out of a sense of
obligation. The essay then turns to other types of drinking and eating,
either by oneself or in the company of one’s loved ones and friends,
_PMZMY]QMZMÆMKQWVIVLNZIVSM`KPIVOM[_QPWVM¼[I[[WKQIM[KIVISM
place.
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134
A Garden of One’s Own
The Pleasures of Food and Wine (1932)
Although it was winter, the weather was not too cold. The rain dripped
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had died out, but on a day so much like autumn, it was too warm to
relight it. There was not a single soul at home—they had all gone out
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enough interest to read a book. I picked up the morning newspaper
from time to time to look at the advertisements. Suddenly, it occurred
W UM PI 1 KW]TL OW W [MM ¹5MZZa ?QLW_º1 so I got on a tram and
alighted at Park Road.
Inside the dark theater, the band played melodiously as the shadows
on the white screen sat, stood, hurried, cried, laughed, grieved, raged,
loved, despaired, and dueled. It was the same thing all over again, the
same story that they had written and rewritten, performed and re-
performed time and again.
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knows how many times I have walked away from the dinner table with
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This is an extremely witty observation, one that can be used to
describe accurately this society of ours, where not a single day passes
without a dinner party.
Every businessman, every bureaucrat, and everyone who has a
somewhat extended social circle can be seen every evening frittering
away their time in a restaurant or a hotel. Sometimes, one has to go
to three or four parties in one night. In truth, people who have such a
busy social schedule live like prostitutes. They arrive at one place, sit for
a while, and then leave in a hurry to go to a different place. There they
again sit down for a while, before moving on to the next. Their stomachs
are never full, I think. There are quite a few of these socialites, who, at
the end of their socializing, when the last drop of wine is drunk and the
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have their servants prepare for them.
Compared to large, prosperous Shanghai, we pretty much amount
to provincial country bumpkins. As we live in the country, it is no easy
undertaking for us to go to Shanghai. We lead the lives of country
people, and it is indeed rare to find us spending more than a few
1
Appears in English in the original.
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Zheng Zhenduo
135
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UQVLMLº J] PI Q[ WW TWNa I _WZL NWZ ][# QVLMML _M IZM VW TQSM
that at all. We are simply not used to a life of wining and dining, and
therefore maintain our uncouth rustic ways.
Thanks to the good intentions of our friends, we are invited to
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faces, and the rest are all strangers. We either wait for the host to
introduce us, or ask each other’s names and exchange namecards on
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meeting, we fall silent, not knowing what else to say. What we manage
to come up with sounds vacuous; and not a single word comes straight
from the heart. Feeble noises, having slipped through our throats, come
out of our mouths, and when we think afterward of the perfunctory way
in which we carried on these conversations, we cannot help but laugh.
An evening thus can go by among the dazzling lights and senseless
exchanges of a party. But what a lifeless evening!
Quite a few times, there have been simply too many
strangers at
these parties, and I have not known anyone but the host. I have even
forgotten the names of people I talked with right after I asked. After
a few words with the host, there was nothing I could talk to anyone
about. I had no idea what work they did, or what kind of people they
were. Even if I had things to say, I would not have dared express my
opinions without reserve. During some parties, I have sat on needles
throughout the entire evening. Course after course of sumptuous food
has been brought to the table, but I could hardly taste them. At last, I
have not been able to stand it any longer, and, lying to my host, have
said that I was not feeling well, or still had to go to another party, or
some such thing. During the last few days, rumors have run amok, and
I have had a better excuse: I’ve been able to say that there might be an
early curfew, and that I might not be able to get back to the Chinese
settlement.2 Although this is rude and improper, and although my hosts,
as expected, have sincerely tried to make me stay, I have pushed aside all
other considerations and insisted on leaving. It is no easy task to survive
an evening like this! After I get home, I get myself a bowl of rice gruel,
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it relaxing and much to my taste to eat like that.
2
At the time, Shanghai was divided into international and Chinese settlements.
Movement across the settlements was sometimes strictly regulated.
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136
A Garden of One’s Own
For weddings and birthdays, our friends may decide to host an
extravagant feast in a certain garden or in the great hall of a certain
hotel. We may be unfortunate enough to be invited, and more
unfortunately still, they may be such close friends that we cannot
decline. It would not do simply to show up, offer our congratulations
and good wishes, and, muttering some excuse, make ourselves scarce.
Hence, another intolerable evening! Very often, we keep our eyes wide
open to search for friends, and when our hard work pays off, we stick
closely by them and don’t dare lose sight of each other. When the time
comes to sit down, the few of us can at least have each other to talk
