by Tam King-fai
3
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There is also the belief that a bandit, like those found in Outlaws of the Marsh, has a star to his name in the sky.
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228
A Garden of One’s Own
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¹
Such a moment of uneasiness is often followed by a feeling of peace.
They watch as the lantern goes farther and farther away, and the stories
begin anew. Every now and then, someone sings a few Shanxi folk tunes.
4Q[MV"¹
Conversations like this often last until the third watch or until the dew
gets to be too much. Very often, someone will fall asleep and begin to
snore while the conversation continues. Others, too, may begin to yawn
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WJMLº
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The compliant good husband is also unwilling to go, but he too stands
up to leave. And thus, one by one, the crowd gets thinner, and the words
grow fewer. By the time everybody has dispersed, the dog growls and
stretches its back, and only the screeching bats and buzzing mosquitoes
are left, as if suspended in animated conversation.
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roaming across hills and rivers. Thinking of home, you drag your tired
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your feet to shake off the dirt, wash your face and blow your nose. Once
inside the room, you drink some tea. You are rather thirsty, and drink
quite a few cups. You have no appetite, but still order a few random
things. But just when it is time to wrap up the day and go to bed, you
ÅVL aW] KIVVW [TMMX 4WWSQVO I PM TIUX NMMTQVO TWVMTa QZML JWZML
and sad, you just want to cry. Suddenly, the doorway for carts opens,
and in comes another customer. Is he a vendor? Is he a cart pusher? Or
is he a wine seller with a mule? It doesn’t matter what he is, as long as
he is here to spend the night at the inn. Look at him: He comes in and,
as is the custom, stomps his feet to shake off the dirt, washes his face,
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you are not in the mood to greet him; you are so sad you just want to
cry. But later, you begin to talk to him:
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You ask his name, and he yours. Is it any surprise that you gradually
begin to feel comfortable with each other, and begin to talk? You are
JWPZI^MTMZ[WVPMZWILJWPINÆQKML_QPPM[IUMPWUM[QKSVM[[#Q
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Wu Boxiao
229
is only natural that you should share the same feelings. As you talk, you
seem to feel a certain intimacy, a certain consolation. In this way, you
forget your loneliness and are not as sad as before. Thus, quietly, you
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when you awaken. At least this is better than listening to the wood-claps
of the watchman, tossing in bed like an eel the whole night while sleep
eludes you.
What if you were to run into an old friend in a distant land? That
would give you even more reason to drink a few cups to celebrate. There
would not be enough time in one night to say all you wanted to say, but
couldn’t you stay up till dawn? If you were happy, you could hold on to
each other’s hand tightly. If you were sad, you could allow your tears to
fall, or pat each other on the back with an understanding smile on your
face. Who knows what you would talk about? Nighttime is lonely, but
you would have forgotten that. The night is long, but you would have
forgotten that, as well. You would feel the excitement, the inexplicable
ÆW_WN PIXXQVM[[IVL_I^M[WN [ILVM[[PIKWUMWaW]ZPMIZ
Here is another kind of night conversation.
In another place, as rumors grow ever more rampant by the minute
and encirclement by spies everywhere becomes so impenetrable that
even water could not flow through, a group of revolutionaries still
gathers in a small attic or a stuffy basement, deep in discussion or
argument. A small candle is burning, its light so dim that a breath could
easily blow it out. The droning of their words can only be understood
with the full attention of their eyes. But they do not panic; on the
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happily with light in their eyes, and seem to be waiting for someone or
for an important command. A long time passes, and they wonder:
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Suddenly, they cannot believe their ears when they hear three
gentle raps on the door. They look at the door, and see a young man
in a tattered blue gown slip in through the narrow gap of the open
door. That’s him! They see a slender build, piercing eyes, and tightly
closed lips, as if clenched between them were a will as strong as iron.
Unconsciously, they stand up solemnly to welcome him, and then
unconsciously sit down again to listen.
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I LW[M WN [MLIQ^M W M^MZa MLOa [W]T 0Q[ TW_ J] KTMIZ IVL ÆW_QVO
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230
A Garden of One’s Own
voice rings like the tinkling of spring water emerging fresh from the
hills. When he speaks of traps and snares, it is as if he were speaking
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as if he were talking about an ancient book. When he speaks of life,
he says it should be like thunder and lightning on a rainy day. There
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as it should be. He speaks of death as the beginning of another dream,
where there is nothing either to hope for nor to fear, because it does not
have anything to do with living. He speaks of the stupidity of the spies,
the grandeur of uprising, and also the joyful days ahead for the masses.
You see? Before you notice it, a happy smile emerges unimpeded from
the hearts of all the people gathered there. Their faces glow, as though
in bashfulness, and they are both exhilarated and inspired. Like bullets,
MIKPQ[ÅTTML_QPIVQZZMXZM[[QJTMNWZKM
This is yet another kind of night conversation. Certainly, no one
could doze off in a conversation like this!
Night conversations are fascinating. On lunar New Year’s Eve,
the entire family—old and young alike—drink yellow rice wine while
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they talk about forgotten anecdotes of their ancestors. Amid the riotous
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that only family members can share. Somewhere else, two old watchmen
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dog walking beside them. In the bleakness of the night, they smoke,
talk and listen to the rasping sound of seedlings growing. This kind of
night conversation has a rustic feel to it. In another place, several young
people gather around an amiable old scholar with questions, talking
about the Zheng airs of the Book of Poetry and Greek mythology. Such
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what is sanctioned by the authorities might bring one the fate of public
execution,4 a meaningful look can say more than what the mouth can
utter. When the country is under the threat of foreign invasion, one’s
tears bespeak the repressed anger inside.5 Or, in better times, one might
4
Under the strict control imposed during the reign of Qin Shi Huang (259–210
BC), the First Emperor of China, people found discussing state affairs in public places could be executed.
5
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Wu Boxiao
231
¹[Q I I JIVY]M [M IUWVO PM ÆW_MZ[ IVL XTIa LZQVSQVO OIUM[ _PQTM
_IKPQVOPMUWWVº6 But who cares whether it is an elegant pastime or
not? Night conversation is always enjoyable.
You don’t believe me? Come, let me prepare for you a big pot of
boiled water, a small urn of good wine, a can of cigarettes, several
tabloids from Shanghai, roasted sweet potatoes, turnips as sweet as
pears, and a few volumes of proscribed books, and let’s invite a few close
friends in. It doesn’t matter what the occasion is: A spring evening when
PM NZIOZIVKM WN ÆW_MZ[ ÅTT[ PM IQZ I [WZUa []UUMZ VQOP _PMV PM
sky is charged with thunder and lightning, a night in autumn when the
wind whistles and insects chirp, a deep winter evening when everything
is covered with snow.... It makes no difference if it’s a time when the
moonlight is as clear as water, when a single night brings several alarms,
or when you meet up with friends whom you have not seen for a long
time—it is all up to you. We invite you to a whole night of conversation,
and when we line up our beds next to each other by the candles under
the west window, shouldn’t that be a night when sleep will elude you?
Hey, friends, would you like to come over tonight to have a
conversation with us?
to cry over their lost territories north of the Yangtze River at a celebration in spring.
6
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Cousins at the Peach Blossom Garden at a Spring Night).
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qr
Lu Li
Lu Li (1908–1942) received an education in mechanical engineering
and made a living as a science teacher, while his interest in literature led
him to pursue a creative life of writing and translation, in addition to
managing a publishing house in Shanghai during the years of Japanese
occupation. His editorial policies, however, brought him the displeasure
of the puppet government, which ordered his execution in 1942.
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especially those surrounding the dispossessed and the underprivileged.
With descriptions that can best be described as earthy, Lu Li is
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employs nature imagery to highlight the unnatural act of human beings
preying on one another.
On the other hand, the world of nature is pitted against human
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perversity of mind would lead the character to deny the sunlight for
which the ivy plant naturally yearns, but the mention of the Marco Polo
Bridge Incident in the essay suggests a possible political reading. At any
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KWV[WTIQWV IVL PIXXQVM[[º _PQKP Q[ ÅVITTa [M NZMM I PM MVL WN PM
essay.
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234
A Garden of One’s Own
The Water Pestle (1933)
How many of us have heard the monotonous sound of a pestle on the
bank of a rushing river at midnight?
You can often hear it on a bank far away from any human
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edge of a pine forest where a lone owl is meditating like a philosopher;
next to a cluster of short young willows where an egret is spending the
night, its long legs curled up and its neck and stomach tucked in. Every
now and then, an armadillo scurries out to the river to have a drink of
water, or a beaver looks around in fear, twitching its ridiculous eyebrows
and whiskers. Wolves out hunting howl intermittently from mountain
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one of the rapid but steady splattering a startled wild duck makes as its
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You can often hear the sound of a pestle in the winter when rain
intermingles with snow. Heaven and earth are frozen together, and the
water mill appears all the more solitary. The wind rises suddenly in the
deep of the night, making this exposed water mill as cold as the pit of
hell.1 Underneath the thatched eaves are hidden some sparrows, who
remain there even when human beings and lamplight approach. They
rely completely on human compassion for their safety, although they
must be trembling with fear inside. It is colder than ice all around, but
there is, after all, still a scant trace of warmth by the water mill.
You can often hear the pestle at the end of the year when every
household is preparing cakes and buns to please and tempt the impartial
Old Man of Time so he will bestow upon them a lucky year ahead.
They do not begrudge the precious lamp oil, making use of the water
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ingredients. And thus, this water mill, which at ordinary times serves
only as a place for shepherds to take naps and urchins out collecting
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away day and night.
What a sorry water mill it is! Having endured the cold and heat,
drought and humidity, the straw mat that drapes over the door has now
> 1
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Chinese hell can be bitterly cold at times.
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Lu Li
235
faded into a light gray and hangs down in shreds. Every now and then,
the northerly wind comes wailing inside, cutting a wide opening through
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dampness of the water. The cold is unbearable for the watchman, who
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WXMV1VWVMKWZVMZWN PMZWWN[XMKS[WN ÆW]ZKTQVOWPM[XQLMZ_MJ[
reminding one of dewdrops hanging like so many strings of pearls
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LMV[MZ IVL TIKS[ PM LM_¼[ T]UQVW][ ZIV[XIZMVKa 7V PM ÆWWZ QV PM
corner, an oil lamp stands on a tin box. Because the room is drafty, its
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enormous pestles thunders steadily.
The watchman of the mill sits on his curled knees and can feel
them going numb. Hypnotized by the rhythmic pounding of a pair of
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on, the year that has almost come to an end, the cold that is hardly
distinguishable from numbness, and the stern orders from his master.
Instead, he dreams of his shabby, warm bedding by the corner of the
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never seems to get enough sleep. His eyes grow bleary.
When I hear the heavy midnight thuds of the pestle, I cannot help
but think of the child-bride who used to live on a street nearby. She
came from a poor family, which lacked the means to bring her up and
sold her off as a child-bride to a family that owned a cake shop. She was
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all child-brides are expected to bear: hunger, whipping, having her
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ÅZM0MZKTWPM[QV_QVMZ_MZMUILMWN PQVNWZMQOVKTWPIVLPW[MQV
