by Tam King-fai
summer were of coarse fabric. All manner of tasks fell to her to do—
drawing water, pushing the grindstone, and making cakes. In fact, she
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most strenuous to the most painstaking. Even more heartlessly, she was
often asked to guard the water mill by herself on winter nights. The
pestle, like a giant spirit, thus assailed her frail soul. The terror of the
night surrounded her, and the fatigue from endless restless nights slowly
wore her down. I heard that one winter night toward the end of the
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236
A Garden of One’s Own
year she was dragged by the pestle into the mortar, where, mixed with
PMÆW]ZPMZM[PM_I[ZML]KMLWX]TX1_I[M^MV[IQLPI\PMÆW]Z
was then made into cakes, and sold with extra red sugar mixed in.
On hearing this, I cursed the reverberating sound of the mill at
midnight, and those who have partaken of the cakes made of human
ÆM[P IVL JTWWL 1 PWXM PI WVM LIa I PZMIL NZWU PM [XQLMZ_MJ UIa
fall on that flickering lamp, spreading fire to the straw canopy and
destroying this death-dealing mortar and pestle. Or a summer torrent
from the mountains may come, sand and earth and all, and wash away
the mill so that no one will ever hear of this bloody story again, and the
owl that is now eating its own mother in the forest will not ridicule us
for preying on our own kind. But for now, I can only close the window
that opens out to the river and cover my head with the comforter to stop
the sound of the water mill on the other bank from reaching my ears.
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Lu Li
237
Greenery Imprisoned (1940)
Here is something that happened last summer.
I was then living in an apartment building in Beiping, occupying
a room no higher or wider than one zhang. 2
of bricks, and the walls and ceiling were papered. There was a wooden
window frame with a pair of glass panes, and hanging in front of the
_QVLW__I[I[MWN LMTQKIMTaLM[QOVMLXIXMZJTQVL[7VM[MTLWUÅVL[
rooms like this in the south.
The window faced east. In the north, it gets light early in the
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]VQT MTM^MV W¼KTWKS _PMV PM []V ÅVITTa _QPLZM_
other vacant rooms in the building, one of which I could have taken.
But I ended up picking this eastward-facing room, and came to occupy
it to my delight and satisfaction.
I had a little reason for my decision. On the south wall of the
room was a small round window about one foot in diameter. Despite its
round shape, the window was covered with a hexagonal pane of glass,
the lower left corner of which was broken, leaving a hole big enough
for a hand to go through easily. Outside the round window was an ivy
plant. When the sun shone into my room through the dense tendrils and
leaves, it cast a green shadow. It was because I liked its green shadow
that I had picked this room. When the caretaker of the building, with
my little suitcase in hand, showed me the room, I caught sight of the
green shadow and a sense of delight overtook me. Without further
thought, I decided right then to take the room. The caretaker was
astounded by the promptness of my decision.
How precious the color green is! It is life, hope, consolation,
and happiness. My yearning for green had my heart burning with
impatience. I like the whiteness of water and the greenness of grass, and
was weary of the grayness of the city sky, the aloof yellow of the plains.
1 aMIZVML NWZ OZMMV I[ I Å[P ZIXXML QV I _PMMT ZIKS _PMZM WVKM PIL
been a puddle, longed for rain. My need had become so urgent that I
became indiscriminate, and came to value a green branch as the most
precious treasure in the world. As I settled down in the small room, I
moved the little table under the round window so I could face the wall
2
Zhang, a measurement of length, slightly longer than ten feet.
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238
A Garden of One’s Own
and the little window when I sat down. The door was open all the time,
but no one came to disturb me because I was a lone stranger in this
ancient city. I did not feel lonely, however. I forgot the fatigue of the
journey and the many unpleasant memories of the past. I looked at the
little round hole, and the green leaves conversed with me. I understood
the wordless language of nature, just as it understood mine.
Contentedly, I sat in front of the window. A month passed, and then
two months. I was mesmerized by this patch of green, and began to
understand the joy of those who lay eyes on an oasis after crossing the
desert. I also understood the delight of seaward explorers when ocean
_I^M[KIZZa[ITS[WN ÆW_MZ[IVLJTILM[WN OZI[[WPMQZJWI[0]UIV
beings grow in nature, and green is nature’s color.
Every day, I watched the ivy grow on the window. I saw how it
stretched its supple tendrils and gripped a dead branch or a string
placed there to guide its growth. I saw its folded young leaves slowly
unfurl, then gradually turn dark green and old. I observed closely its
delicate veins and fresh sprouts. Like the farmer who impatiently yanked
up the young seedlings to help them grow,3 I wanted so much for the
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rustling sound of the ivy and watching its tendrils dance.
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the broken glass and pulled in two soft, plump tendrils. Stretching them
out on my desk, I became all the closer and more intimate with the
greenness of the plant. I would use its color to decorate my shabby
room and my frustrated mind, and take it as a metaphor of thriving
love, happiness, and luxuriant youth. I imprisoned it in the same way
one would imprison a songbird. I would have it sing its wordless songs
for me.
The green tendrils hung down over my desk, and stretched out
as before, climbing and unfurling their leaves. They grew even faster
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WN TQ^QVOº_PQKP[]ZXI[[MLIVaWPMZSQVLWN RWa
1 WVKM TQ^ML QV I PIKPML P] QV I ^QTTIOM
with fresh earth, and grass roots that had not been removed sprouted
new shoots under my bed, while mushrooms started to grow in the
corner of the room. I could not bring myself to get rid of them. One
day, a friend pulled them out nonchalantly as we were chatting. I found
3
See Mengzi¹/WVO[]VKPW]1ºJWWS111
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Lu Li
239
it a pity that my friend removed them, and blamed him for not minding
his own business.
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tips were always pointing toward the window. Even the smallest leaf and
the tiniest curling tendril were turned in that direction. How stubborn
plants can be! The ivy plant understood neither my love for it nor my
good intentions. My feelings were injured and I became displeased with
this plant that kept its face to the sun. Nevertheless, I continued to keep
it imprisoned, insisting on having its branches hang over my desk.
Gradually, the plant lost its luscious color, and began to turn light
green, and then light yellow. The branches got thinner and became frail
like a sick child. More and more, I came to regret my mistake of locking
up in a dark room a plant that should have been growing under the sun.
My pity for its ailing branches and leaves grew, though I was still angry
at its stubbornness and lack of feeling. Still, I would not let it go. An evil obsession had taken hold of my mind.
I had originally planned to return to the south at the end of July.
I made a note of the date of my departure, the day when I would
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restored.
Later, the Lugou Bridge Incident4 broke out, and friends who were
worried about me telegraphed to urge me to hurry up and return to
the south. I had no choice but to change my plans. By mid-July, I could
no longer linger around the ancient city, which was now threatened on
all sides by warfare. The trains had stopped running for several days,
and every day I had to pay attention to when they might start again.
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reverently set free the prisoner that would not bend to darkness. I placed
the frail yellow branches back in their original place and gave them my
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I have been gone from Beiping for a year now. I miss my round
window and my green friend. If one day I were to see them again,
would they recognize me?
4
Better known as the Marco Polo Bridge Incident in the West. On July 7, 1937,
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Wanping were denied. The incident signaled the beginning of all-out aggression against China by Japan during World War II.
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qr
Qian Zhongshu
Qian Zhongshu (1910–1998) is one of the intellectual giants in
twentieth-century China. His fame as a writer is built upon a volume
of essays, a book of short stories, and a full-length novel. Yet, his scant
literary output does not in any way reduce his stature, as his writings are
generally held up to be the work of a genius, which one can only admire
but cannot emulate. After 1949, he concentrated his energy on classical
literary research, for which he is equally famous.
Qian is the son of the scholar Qian Jibo, who gave him an excellent
education in classical studies. In 1929, he entered Tsinghua University
to study foreign literature; there, his talent for languages was widely
recognized. Later, he went to Oxford University and the University of
Paris.
In both his creative and critical writing, Qian is known for his erudition
and ready wit. He is decidedly apolitical in his writing but shows keen
perceptiveness in human affairs, which he often depicts with irony
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references, both Chinese and non-Chinese, to shed light on his topic.
For the most part, however, the topic is but a starting point. His main
business, in this and other essays, is to comment on the different facets
of human life.
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242
A Garden of One’s Own
Windows (1941)
It is spring again, and the windows can often be left open now. Spring
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still, go out through the door. But outdoors, spring comes way too
cheaply. Sunlight is everywhere, but nowhere is it as bright as the light
that shatters the darkness inside the house. The wind, too, is everywhere,
lazy and warm under the sun, and not as energizing as the breeze that
stirs up the still air indoors. Even the chirping of the birds seems broken
and frail out in the open, needing the contrast of the stillness indoors
to set it off. We thus come to understand that, as with a painting in a
frame, spring should be set within a window to be viewed.
We also come to realize at the same time that doors and windows
serve quite different functions. A door, of course, is designed for people
to enter and leave a house, but a window is sometimes made to serve the
same purpose. Thieves and secret lovers in novels, for example, like to
go through windows. The basic difference between a window and a door
does not lie therefore in whether they allow people to come in and out.
When it comes to admiring the beauty of spring, we might put it this
way: A door makes it possible for us to go out, while a window makes it
unnecessary for us to do so. A window helps to bridge the gap between
nature and the human world: It entices the wind and sun to come in so
that the house can capture a part of spring, and allows us to enjoy the
season indoors without needing to go out looking for it.
Tao Yuanming, the ancient poet, had an intimate understanding of
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Leaning against the south window I look upon the world with disdain.
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Is this not the same as saying that, as long as there is a window for him
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the leisurely summer months, I lie down beneath the north window
where the cooling wind blows in. My joy is so great that I compare
Ua[MTN W PM TMOMVLIZa [IOM[ JMNWZM .] @Qº1 This means that, as long
as the wind can come through the window, even a small house can
become the Western Paradise. Although he lived in Chaisang, with
1
Fu Xi, a legendary hero whose many contributions to the progress of human
civilization were said to include domesticating wild animals.
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Qian Zhongshu
243
Mount Lu right nearby, Tao Yuanming felt no need to go there to escape
the heat. Hence, a door makes it possible for us to pursue, symbolizing
desire, whereas a
window allows us to possess, symbolizing enjoyment.
Such a distinction between windows and doors applies not only to
those who already live in a house, but at times also to others who come
in from the outside. A visitor who knocks on the door for admission
comes with a request or a question; at most, he will be a guest who must
submit himself to the wishes of his host. On the other hand, someone
who pokes in through the window, be he a thief of wealth or of the
heart, has all along made up his mind to take over temporarily the
place of the host, and could not care less whether he is welcome or not.
Musset, in his poetic drama What Do Young Maidens Dream of ? ( À quoi rêvent TM[RM]VM[ÅTTM[' ), put it wonderfully when he said that the father may open the door to invite in the matériel époux, but the idéal lover always climbs in through the window. In other words, he who comes through the front
door is the son-in-law in form only, one who might have already gained
the father’s approval but still must win the daughter’s heart. Only the
person who comes in through the back window is one to whom the
daughter entrusts her full body and soul.
When one walks through the front door, one must go through
the doorman, wait for one’s host to appear, and mumble words of
greeting before coming to the purpose of one’s visit. This all takes a
lot of thought and time. How, then, could a visit like this be as simple
and direct as coming through the back window? The same is true of
scholarship: The shortcut lies in going directly to the index at the back
of a book, while starting with the main text in the front is simply too
pedantic. Needless to say, all of these distinctions only apply under
normal social circumstances: In times of war or other abnormal periods,
even the house itself may not remain standing, let alone doors and
windows.
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are not equipped with windows, showing that windows represent a
higher stage of human evolution. A door is a necessity for people living
in a house, but a window is a kind of luxury. The whole purpose of a
house is like that of a nest for birds or a cave for animals: It is there
for one to return to at night, and by closing the door, one can enjoy a
certain degree of protection. Now, by creating a window in the wall, one
lets in light and air, and eliminates the need to go out even during the
