by Tam King-fai
began to sell his shoes at three copper coins (each worth 100 cash) a
pair to sedan-chair carriers, artisans, and servants who came in and out
PZW]OPPMNWZQÅML^QTTIOM
I seem to see him now, sitting on that wooden structure. Work has
made him more mellow and kindly. Another old man in turn appears in
my imagination. He lives in a thatched hut by a major road, and spends
the whole day weaving straw sandals and selling them to people of all
walks of life who happen to pass by. He himself has never gone beyond
a distance of ten li,2 but the straw sandals made by his hands have
traveled to many places and encountered many strange experiences.
?PMV_QTT1JMOQVW_ZQM¹
* * * * * * *
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in front of the village gate. The distant hills were slowly vanishing from
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around the foot of the village wall. We had walked through a forest with
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P][ WN [M^MZIT XMI[IV NIUQTQM[ XI[[ML Ja _PMI ÅMTL[ IVL JTWWUQVO
patches of garden peas, and made a full circle around the small hill on
which the village wall was built. Finally, exhausted, we had climbed up
several sets of meandering steps and sat down to rest in front of the gate.
There were three of us: My grandfather, an old man who used to
come every now and then to spend a few days with us, and me.
In his booming voice and gesturing with his hands, the old man was
describing a horse to us. It seemed as if a tall brown horse were standing
2
Li, a measurement of length, about one-third of a mile.
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252
A Garden of One’s Own
right in front of us, neighing and stretching its neck, which was draped
in a long mane. He was very knowledgeable about horses, and was good
at riding and appraising them and curing them of sickness.
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the martial arts examination: how to wield a halberd, push weights, and
mount a horse, then set it galloping, and turn around suddenly to shoot
three arrows at a target. Whenever he came to the part about shooting
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holding a bow in one hand and pulling the string with the other.
I also heard legends from him about martial artists. In an ancient
temple somewhere, he said, there lived an old monk who was well
known for his skill with the staff. He had many students. One day,
he carried a clay pot on his back, stood against a wall, and asked his
students to attack him. If any of them could tap the clay pot with his
staff, he would admit defeat. And the result? Well, it goes without saying
that the old monk was never defeated.
He was very old himself, but he had the kind of resounding voice
one does not expect from an old man. He enjoyed talking about
anything that had to do with martial arts. I was a small child then, and
knew nothing of the many misfortunes and instances of injustice in the
world. I took as mere idle stories the many things he told me, and never
envisioned becoming a wandering knight myself to roam the world. On
the contrary, I was more interested in hearing about the world beyond
the hills. The old man had traveled to faraway places to sell horses.
Beyond the hills where the white clouds meet and swallow up the setting
sun, what kind of a place is it? What kind of people and adventures can
WVM ÅVL PMZM' ?PMVM^MZ 1 [I W][QLM PM JTWKSPW][M OIM IVL OIbML
into the distance, I would be occupied with solitary thoughts such as
these. The old man’s stories could not satisfy my curiosity or give me a
clear idea of what the answers might be. Gradually, his visits became
less frequent, and after a few years, I heard that he had entered another
world. Life is brief.
* * * * * * *
Finally, I see that I myself have become an old man, alone and calm,
like a tree quietly tucked in the countryside in the winter. I study plants.
I live among humble vegetables, tall-standing fruit trees, blooming
shrubs. Like them, I follow the cycle of nature’s seasons. A hoe is always
in my hand, and through it, I get close to the earth. Perhaps I will raise
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He Qifang
253
bees under the eaves where there is some sun. Life is too bitter: Let us
put a little sugar in our tea. On long nights when sleep is ever shorter,
1 _QTT [Q Ja PM ÆQKSMZQVO WQT TIUX IVL [TW_Ta UMQK]TW][Ta ZMKITT IVL
write down the stories of my life.
But suddenly I awake from deep thought. What a preposterous
dream this is! Between my mature years and my old age, there is still a
TWVO _Ia W OW ?PI [PW]TL 1 ÅTT Q _QP' 1 [PW]TL VW JM LZMIU[ J]
serious work.
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254
A Garden of One’s Own
Hunger (1941)
I
I once went with a friend to the Shao Cheng Park to practice riding a
bicycle. It was one of those summer mornings when the sun had not yet
come out and the street was quiet. The stores on both sides of the street
still had their boards up, as if they were taking a morning nap. When
we entered the park and came to the big playground, there were already
some people there circling the field on their bicycles. However, the
person who rented bicycles to us every morning, with the guarantee that
we would learn how to ride them, was nowhere to be found. We were
still a bit early.
We went to a teahouse nearby and ordered two cups of plain boiled
water. Chengdu is a strange place—at such an early hour, there were
already people sitting in the teahouse. There was an archery ground
nearby, and usually when I walked by that part of the park, I would see
men in traditional Chinese clothes and women dressed like concubines
standing around, pulling their bows, and sending long arrows to the red
wooden targets. I always instinctively loathed that kind of place and that
kind of people. But it was better this morning: The archery ground was
quiet. We sat on opposite sides of the tiny low tea table. We opened the
lids, which were ordinarily used to hold back the tea leaves, and drank
the water.
A vendor selling sweet steamed cakes walked by our table, and I
called out to him, remembering that it was time for breakfast. His was
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the cake had cracked a little while steaming. The vendors in the county
KQa KITTML PMU ¹_PQM []OIZ K]XKISM[º ?PMV 1 _I[ I KPQTL _PI I
temptation it was for me when I heard the vendors call out its name
in a sweet, clear vo
ice as they walked from street to street! But now I
watched the vendor as he picked up the cakes with a pair of chopsticks
from the tin pail and put them one by one on the overturned cup-lids on
our table and felt none of the excitement I used to feel.
As he was doing this, a crumb fell from a cupcake and rolled down
to the ground. A little girl walked by just at that instant, and, to my
surprise, she bent down, picked up the crumb from the ground, and put
it in her mouth. Then she walked quickly away.
She was thin, no more than ten or so years old. She had on a light
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He Qifang
255
blue cloth jacket, faded from washing but otherwise quite clean. Her left
hand held an old, empty bamboo basket, which had turned black from
use. She walked away quickly, and did not once turn back to look at us,
as if embarrassed by what she had done. That crumb of cupcake was
very, very small, not much bigger than a grain of rice.
1 [MMUML W JM [MMQVO P]VOMZ NWZ PM ÅZ[ QUM
appear to me in the form of such a lovely girl made it all the more
shocking to me. But at the same time, it seemed as if I had just
witnessed a solemn spectacle. I remained silent—I was not thinking
about anything in particular, nor did I say anything to my friend,
although ordinarily we enjoyed debating every sort of issue, be it large
or small.
Oh, peaceful city, with your peaceful residents! While you were
sleeping soundly in the quiet white light of the morning, you would
never have guessed that I had glimpsed a terrible secret of yours.
II
Again, it was in the vicinity of Shao Cheng Park. I was sitting in the
X]JTQK LQVQVO PITT WV PM OZW]VL ÆWWZ WN I ZM[I]ZIV 1V +PMVOL]
during the summer, if you eat in a small restaurant such as this one,
there are always little homeless children in tattered clothes around
who suddenly walk into the restaurant, stand behind you, and fan you
_QP PMQZ WZV Z][PTMIN NIV[ 1 _I[ ^MZa MUJIZZI[[ML PM ÅZ[ QUM
this happened to me. I turned down the children’s offer, but was very
uncomfortable throughout the meal. I could feel their eyes staring at
my back, as if, by eating my meal, I had done something unforgivable.
However, I soon got used to it, and would habitually turn them down
with a word or two, or give them some money and ask them to go
away. My feeling of embarrassment also passed away, and I was able to
appreciate the taste of food and have a satisfying meal. Human beings
are like that sometimes.
This time, we again started our meal by sending those homeless
children away. When, at the end of the meal, we stood up from the
table and were preparing to pay, three little children suddenly came
over, hurling themselves onto our table. I thought they were about to
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any interference from us, they immediately became quiet. An older child
among them scooped out rice from the metal container and put it on the
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256
A Garden of One’s Own
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he divided it into three equal portions, and the children started to eat.
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I did not go away, but stood there with them. I wanted to know
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I instantly recalled one time when I was riding a rickshaw. When the
rickshaw passed by a certain store, the puller stopped and disappeared
inside. After a while, he came out and picked up the rickshaw again. I
asked him what he had bought from the store, and he told me that his
addiction to opium was acting up again, and he had gone in to swallow
a few opium pellets. I saw the face of that honest middle-aged man
again, and imagined him to be the child’s father.
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not be harassed by the waiters. When I walked out of the restaurant, I
felt as if something heavy was resting on my heart. I did not know what
to say, though. If what I felt inside was a kind of weeping that had yet
to turn into tears, then I cried not only out of grief that the human
world was like hell, but, more importantly, out of a certain consolation
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hunger could unite people together like brothers.
III
We were chatting in the faculty dormitory at a university. Someone who
had been to England was talking about the theaters in London and
the man-made storm on stage in the scene when King Lear appears in
Shakespeare’s play. Another person, wearing clothes made of some kind
of shiny material, had just arrived in Chengdu, and suddenly asked us
whether we had been to a certain street. I said I had not, and didn’t
know what was so special about that street. He seemed very surprised
that I had lived in Chengdu for half a year and still did not even know
about that street. He then told me that prostitutes of the lowest class
inhabited that street. He had been there, and said, as if offering advice,
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XMZ[WV_PWTWWS[ITQNMQVPMI^MVI[_MTTI[QVPMTTº
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He Qifang
257
I suddenly recalled the two incidents that I just wrote about. I
seemed to be thinking, isn’t it easy enough, as things are now, to indict
the injustices of human society? Need we look around for further
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things, whatever they might be.
I did not put these thoughts into words, except that, from then on,
I didn’t like the kind of person who wears silk that gleams and rustles.
I also didn’t like professors who, with complete ease of mind, lectured
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who insisted on the value of style and wit in literature, and picked at
their food when they ate out at restaurants, complaining about this
dish or that. I know they should not be blamed, but I was too radical
then, like someone who had discovered his own weakness and become
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than someone like them, for a laundry man can wash dirty clothes until
they are clean, while these people only know how to sully what was once
KTMIVº
IV
Another time, another place, and another group of people.
Before crossing the Beiping-Hankou line that had been blocked by
t
he enemy, I stopped at a small village where a detachment of troops
was camped. I was staying with someone who was a friend in literature
and a comrade in revolution. That afternoon, we were returning from a
small town nearby, and instead of going by the main road for carts, he
insisted that we take a detour through the aspen forest next to the road.
He said he wanted very much to take a walk in the forest.
But as we were walking slowly on the hard frozen ground, bare
of either grass or paths, weaving our way through the aspen trees
whose smooth naked bodies stretched toward the clear winter sky, he
said sarcastically (and I do not know whether it was directed to me or
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At times, I was a little displeased with this comrade. Whenever he
showed any reluctance to eat food made from old millet (which might
at times even be blended with sand) and bitter, sour, dried vegetables
cooked in water, preferring to go without food, I made it a rule for
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258
A Garden of One’s Own
At that time, I was fonder of another young comrade, who in 1935
had endured whipping by policemen dispatched to his school to arrest
students during the December 9 Movement in Beiping,3 and who,
together with other demonstrators, had forced open the city gate. He
WVKM [IQL W UM _QP I [QOP ¹
person is really just too low! What we are getting is only our fair share
WN NWWLº
I am someone who has never experienced hunger that tortures the
body and soul in the most fundamental way. That is why I sometimes
regard the hardship of poverty with the aloof arrogance of a non-
proletarian, unlike my comrade, who exposed his own weakness in
such an undisguised manner. In fact, his wish at the time, the wish to
substitute a meal of millet with baked buns , wasn’t it one worthy of
sympathy and by no means extravagant?
Although life was somewhat harder on the front line, I’m afraid I
cannot say that I fully appreciated the meaning of hunger. Sometimes
when we tried to cross the blockade, we went without food for a day
