by Tam King-fai
When the bus got onto the White Sand Causeway on our way
back, we found before and behind us all kinds of vehicles and horses
ZI^MTQVO WV PM [IUM ZWIL TQSM _IMZ ÆW_QVO QV I ZQ^MZ -^MVQVO PIL
fallen by then. Ah, the area around the Lake Towers had become a
small marketplace! Dazzling gaslights were hung high on Lou Wai Lou
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:35 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
Yu Pingbo
167
restaurant, and diners had already gathered like ants. Up and down
the small restaurant and on the roadside in front of it, the area was
bustling with noise and excitement. Vendors lined both sides of the
road under the trees, and the air whirred with the sound of buying and
[MTTQVO 1 _I[ TQSM PI ITT PM _Ia W PM XIZS _QP I KWVQV]W][ ÆW_
of pedestrians strolling here and there. We looked out to the west, and
the hubbub of people in the lit-up area around Yue Fei’s Grave was no
different from here, forming a striking contrast to the quiet lake, with its
lonely green willows. Involuntarily, I became as excited as a child.
We rushed through dinner, not caring how it tasted, and wanted to
get on our boat right away. As luck would have it, a group of women
UMZZaUISMZ[ IZZQ^ML ?M VI]ZITTa TM PMU ISM PM JWI ÅZ[ IVL _M
stayed behind. H. is a quiet soul, and he suggested we sit down by the
Xiling Bridge to rest and wait for the moon to come out before getting
on the boat. We had to agree—in any case, we did not have the boat
just then—but we were all slightly disappointed.
It was still quiet and deserted by the Xiling Bridge. We sat for a
_PQTM IVL TQ[MVML W Æ]M[ IVL LZ]U[ NZWU INIZ
ITSQVOIVLTI]OPQVO[MMUML[WU]NÆMLIVLLQ[IVIVLITTWN I[]LLMV
a wave of loneliness washed over us, so different from what we had been
expecting. Every now and then, two or three lotus lamps on the water
ÆWIML W_IZL ][ IVL PM KPQTLZMV ITT [IQL PI PM TIUX[ _MZM PMZM 1
looked at the lamps bobbing up and down in the water and found them
ZIPMZ XIPMQK 4IMZ ÆMM INMZ ÆMM WN JWI[ IL^MZQ[QVO PM 2IXIVM[M
medicine Jintan came by, bringing with them rows of red lanterns and
PMI^aLZ]U[4QSMIÅZMLZIOWVPMa_W^MPMQZ_IaPZW]OPPMQVVMZ
and outer lake, and seemed to shatter quite a bit of our loneliness. But
soon, the red hue shining in the water grew dimmer and moved further
away. Because we did not have the boat and could not follow them, their
brief visit only made us feel all the more listless. The light yellow moon
had already risen in the east, slightly brightening the sky and water, but
our boat was still nowhere in sight.
QLQNÅK]TR][\W[Q\PMZM7VMJaWVM[WUMWN ][JMOIVW[TQXJIKSW
the Yu Towers. H. was displeased, and also walked home. Close to home
there was still plenty of activity. I saw many lanterns and people, and
felt as if I had come home after a long absence. Was it my pedestrian
soul that prevented me from enjoying this religious festival? I took a bite
of the ham that I had just bought myself and found it very salty. How
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:35 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
168
A Garden of One’s Own
tiresome! Fortunately, the customers before us left soon afterward, and
the boat was once again tied under the willow tree. Although it was
getting late, we could go to the lake, after all. I tried to drum up interest
IUWVOPMKPQTLZMV[IaQVO¹4M¼[OW4M¼[P]ZZaº
*ZQOP ZML TW][ TIVMZV[ _MZM ÆWIQVO WV PM [QT^MZa VQOP _I^M[
and our boat followed after them. They had begun to grow sparser by
that time, no longer as plentiful as before. Quite a number of lanterns
had been set out on the lake, but there were more people there gathering
them up. They gathered up the lanterns from the waves, and put them
in a conspicuous place on their boats for display, and then proudly
moved on. Yet, when the candles had burned down and the lanterns
dimmed, their boats returned to their original state, battered and ugly.
Thanks to them, however, the lake had been robbed of its beautiful
TQOP[
][W»
The painted pleasure boats on West Lake are usually not as
beautiful as those on the Qinhuai River. Only tonight did they come
out complete with warm, soothing lights and the resonant sounds of
singing. But they had their own kind of splendor as they wove their way
about the serene lake, embraced by mountains and the lone moon high
up in the sky which imbued everything above and below with a feeling
of transparency. These boats are in no way inferior to their sisters
MT[M_PMZM
QVPM_WWL[ºIVLPIQVPM9QVP]IQ:Q^MZQ[TQSM¹PMJMI]aWN PM
JW]LWQZº *M[QLM[ PMZM Q[ N]V IVL UMZZQUMV WV PM 9QVP]IQ :Q^MZ
night after night, whereas at West Lake, this happy time comes only
once a year. In times of rain or storms, you might even miss it.
Around the pier in the park, boats of all sizes were crowded
together. The light of the lanterns and the moon dimmed in the white
OTW_ WN PM OI[ TIUX[ WV PM [PWZM IVL _M ÅO]ZML _M UQOP I[ _MTT
UW^MWVWIVWPMZXTIKM?PMV_MPILÅZ[OWWVPMJWI_MKW]TL
PMIZXMWXTMWVPMJWI[WVPMWPMZ[QLM[QVOQVOPMTIVO]QL]VM¹
WN 8IQVQVO -aMJZW_[º QV PM nanlu mode. By the time we rowed over, their song had ended and all was quiet. We found this disappointing,
too, and decided to go to a different place. The boat slowly made its
_IaW¹
1 Q[ LQNÅK]T W M`XZM[[ QV _WZL[ PM JZQTTQIVKM WN PM UWWV I
midnight that night. In the middle of the lake, it was quiet and chilly,
but the sound of singing and talking and the frail gleam of the lanterns
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:35 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
Yu Pingbo
169
from the shore formed a shimmering, glowing circle of light that
surrounded the lake. Our hearts were thus not altogether subdued, as
on other nights when we took a boat out, but we trembled gently inside
with a combination of perhaps some excitement and more forlornness.
The chimera of the lights, the rippling of the waves, the swift movement
of the clouds, the rocking of the boat... all seemed to merge with the
images inside our hearts. Feelings of softness and smoothness tended to
be the only signs that we had entered into the world of dreams; at that
very instant, the outing had become no more and no less a dream.
*aPMQUM_MIZZQ^MLI¹
were again many songs and lanterns, but we were tired. We stopped
there for a while, and proceeded to navigate around the little isle.
Gradually, the scene around us turned desolate. Tree roots leaned at an
angle on the shore, and old grass was all tangled beside t
hem. The three
miniature, cone-shaped stone pagodas and the Lei Feng Pagoda, upright
like a bald writing brush, were standing together in the moonlight.
There were not too many lights on the south shore, which made the
waves seem more chilling and the moon brighter. Our eyes smarted
more and more from fatigue until we could hardly keep them open, so
we rowed back. We could hear the most popular piece three-six3 playing
from a boat nearby; its soft harmony coming in waves, as if it were
unwilling to see us turn back. I remembered that H. had once come up
_QP I TQVM ¹4QOP NZWU LQ[IV TIUX[ KWUM[ W] NZWU JMPQVL PM ZMM
I[JZQOPI[XMZ[QUUWV[ºIVL1PILKWUXTMMLPMKW]XTM_QP¹
WIZ[ LQX QVW PM _I^M[ IZLQTa I[ QN LQXXQVO QVW [aZ]Xº )TPW]OP WV
that occasion we did not have in mind what was before our eyes tonight,
the two lines could well describe the present scene. We turned around,
and rowed to where the lights were.
We went ashore, walking as if in a dream. H. and his wife went
back to the Lake Towers, but we lingered on the White Sand Causeway,
unwilling to go. The Lou Wai Lou Restaurant was still bright with lamps
up and down, and the diners had not yet dispersed. On the road was
I KWVQV]W][ ÆW_ WN [QOP[MMZ[ _ITSQVO QV _W[ IVL PZMM[ ?M ]ZVML
around and once again walked toward the park. Fewer lantern boats
_MZM IVKPWZML PMZM J] PMZM _MZM [QTT Å^M WZ [Q` WN PMU 7VM JWI
had a welcome banner, and its lights were particularly bright. It sold cold
3
Three-six, also known as sanluoZMNMZ[ WPMXWX]TIZXQMKM¹5MQP]I[IVVWVOº
(Three Renditions of the Peach Blossom).
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:35 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
170
A Garden of One’s Own
drinks and snacks, so we got on board to have a soft drink. A woman
sat in the middle cabin, heavily made up though not at all beautiful. At
ÅZ[ OTIVKM _M PW]OP [PM _I[ WVM WN PM K][WUMZ[ 4IMZ _PMV _M
[WUMPW_ÅO]ZMLW]\PI[PM_I[ITQ^M[QOVJWIZLWI\ZIKK][WUMZ[
we laughed at this realization and left.
No matter how tired and bored we might have been, we still wanted
to persist until daybreak before returning to the tall tower to look for
our dreams—that was what we were all expecting. But things did not
turn out the way we wanted. Not at all easy with the thought that their
children were out roaming on the lake in the deep of the night, H. and
his wife came out again to bring them home. L., the youngest, grumbled
R][ JMNWZM PM TMN ¹1 _I[V¼ U]KP N]V I ITT WVQOPº ?QP PQ[ PMIL
bent and feet dragging, he nonetheless went home, leaving only us.
What could we do with just the few of us? Huan, moreover, could not
[IVLPMKPQTTWN PMVQOP¹4M¼[ITTOWJIKSPMVº
Upstairs, they had all turned in. My wife and I stood by the cement
banister with the simple, widely spaced lattice. The whole corridor was
bathed in moonlight. We saw that the boat that had been selling cold
drinks a while ago was moving toward the middle of the lake. That live
signboard of a woman must still be sitting there, trying hard to keep
her sleepy eyes open. Both of us came to this same thought at the same
time. Under the moon that was beginning to set in the west, the sound
ding—ding—dang, ding—ding—dong came to us from the boat. The boat
moved farther off, and gradually we could not hear the sound anymore.
A night breeze blew by, and once again, ding—dang, ding—dong.
Everything got farther away from us. Even my own shadow under
the moon looked blurrier than the mist. I turned around to go to bed,
and for some reason, skipped a step. The broken dream going by like
IVIZZW_[WXXMLNWZI[MKWVLPMVKWVQV]MLQ[ÆQOPI[QN [PWNZWU
IJW_;]KPI[ZIVOM¹5QL[]UUMZ6QOP¼[,ZMIUº-^MVVW_1LWV¼
know what to make of it. After all, it turned around to give me a glance
before going away. How could I hold a grudge against it? Did I like it?
No, not at all.
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:35 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
Yu Pingbo
171
Going to the City (1933)
The old Summer Palace is nothing but mounds of dirt. Beyond,
the West Hills are dim and purplish, and above them, the winter sun is
enveloped in a thin layer of orange clouds. Winter has just arrived and
the days are short in this northern land. The setting sun moves as fast as
an arrow, but as soon as the bus turns the corner, leaving the sun behind
it, all one can see ahead is dusk.
Hai Dian is so desolate, and so small. There are only two streets
ITWOMPMZ IVL PM J][ XI[[M[ PZW]OP PMU QV I ÆI[P 1 PMV XI[[M[
Huang Zhuang, and picks up speed until it is going some thirty li an
PW]Z 7XMV ÅMTL[ LI[P Ja ZMM[ IZM P]ZTML JMPQVL ][ ^QTTIOM PW][M[
come in and out of view.... Who cares? Haven’t I traveled this road
enough times and had enough of these sights? Who takes the trouble to
look out the window? These scattered patches of withering yellow and
sickly green are gradually dissolving into a continuous thin stretch of
gray fog.
?PMV_MÅZ[OWWVPMJ][M^MZaJWLa_I[ITSQVOIVL[UQTQVO)[
the bus travels farther, the sounds of the motor and the wheels rolling
on the ground rattle on relentlessly, and it requires an effort just to talk.
Gradually, the conversation dies down. (If a foreign woman were on the
bus, it would be different.) We are almost there. Sit tight.
Electric lights shine into our eyes. A slight movement, and we are in
the neighborhood of the city gate. Gaoliang Bridge, which is something
of a historical site, takes one’s breath away. On the street, people are
wearing thick cotton jackets. The city gate opens its round mouth,
waiting to swallow up the bus. The watchtowers of the city wall, though
close to collapsing, still stand solidly enough in the shadow just ahead
and are rather imposing.
By the time the bus enters the city, night has fallen. It’s a pity that I
have forgotten its name, its past, and even a fraction of the sentiment it
once induced in me. Now it is merely a rectangle made up of city walls
with houses and streets inside.
The door of the bus opens and closes with a bang, and the
XI[[MVOMZ[ OZW_ NM_MZ ?PMV Q ZMIKPM[ PM ÅVIT [WX ][]ITTa WVTa _W
or three of us, not necessarily friends, are left on the bus; sometimes
it’s only the driver, the conductor and me. I get off mechanically
and look around me, my hands hugging and pulling at my baggage.
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:37 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
172
A Garden of One’s Own
;WUMQUM[PMaKITTW]VWVKPITIVTa¹
PMILº
passenger and goes away safely.
¹AW] SVW_ aW] ZMITTa PI^M VWPQVO U]KP W MTT IJW] aW]Z ZQX
to t
he city, and yet you’re trying to pass this off as an essay? You must
JM X]TTQVO Ua TMOº AW] VM^MZ SVW_ PW]OP LW aW]' AW] _QP aW]Z
_Q[LWU [PW]TL JM PM R]LOM" 1N QVLMML PMZM _MZM [WUMPQVO W ¹MTTº
it would most likely be about a blown-out tire, a break-down by the side
of the road, or, worse, a crash into an electric pole, sending the bus and
its passengers spilling onto their backs. Even worse still, it could be a
shout in the style of the bandits in Outlaws of the Marsh that makes even the one in the yellow cotton jacket tremble in fear.4 That would be very
UM[[a_W]TLV¼Q';W]PMZVMZ[KITTQVKQLMV[TQSMPM[M¹]V[WUIKPIJTMº
IVL VWZPMZVMZ[ LMKTIZM PMU ¹QVWTMZIJTMº 1N QVLMML IVa WN PM[M
events had happened, would you really expect me to have the time and
peace of mind to toy with my brush and paper and come up with a
piece of idle scribbling such as this?
*M[QLM[ ¹VWPQVO W MTTº ZMITTa UMIV[ ¹Q[ aM W JM WTLº 1[V¼ Q
PMKI[MPIQVVW^MT[WVMWNMVÅVL[XPZI[M[[]KPI[¹PMVQOPXI[[ML
_QPVWPQVOWMTT'º
4
Outlaws of the Marsh ( Shuihu Zhuan), a fourteenth-century Chinese novel about
PM IL^MV]ZM[ WN I OZW]X WN JIVLQ[
probably refers to the Emperor Huizhong, who must have felt threatened by the
growing group of bandits.
This content downloaded from 129.174.21.5 on Tue, 30 Apr 2019 16:24:37 UTC
All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
qr
Fang Lingru
Fang Lingru (1897–1976) grew up in the oppressive atmosphere of a
scholar’s family. Against the gender bias of the time, she fought to be
allowed to be educated. Her uncle forced her into marriage with the
son of a local gentry family. While the marriage was far from happy, she
was given the chance to further her education when her husband went
to the US for study. After returning to China, she divorced her husband
and made a living from translating and teaching. During this time, she
formed a close association with other writers such as Ba Jin, Liang
Shiqiu, and Ding Ling, and maintained a long-lasting friendship with
them.
.IVO¼[ÅZ[TQMZIZaI\MUX_I[QV!!_PMV[PMJMOIV_ZQQVOXWMZa
She has since been regarded as one of the few women poets of the
Crescent Moon Society. Her prose, with its plain and straightforward
TIVO]IOM VM^MZPMTM[[ ZMIL[ TQSM XWMZa ¹0WUMº NWZ MÌUXTM Q[ J]QT
