by Gao Xingjian
"I want to catch five of them!" the boy said.
"All right, we'll catch five."
The man watched as the boy ran off with the wire cage in his hand. There were deep creases at the corners of his eyes.
"He isn't my son," he said, looking down and taking out a cigarette. He struck a match and dragged hard. Then, sensing our surprise, he added, "He's the child of my paternal cousin. I want to adopt him, but it depends on whether he's willing to come and stay with me."
Suddenly we understood that this stern man's heart was churning with emotion.
"What about your wife?" Fangfang couldn't help asking. There was no reply. He puffed hard on his cigarette, got up, and left.
We felt the chill of the mountain air. On the brilliant yellow tiles, the fresh grass that had sprouted in the spring was as tall as the old, withered stalks, and both swayed in the breeze. In the blue sky, a floating cloud that seemed to hang on the corner of a flying eave created the impression that the temple itself was tilting. A broken tile at the edge of the eave looked as if it were about to fall. Probably it had sat that way for years without falling.
The man was standing on a mound that had once been a wall, and for a long time he just stared out at the mountains and valleys. In the distance the ridges were higher and steeper than the hill we were on, but on the mountain slopes there were no terraced fields and no houses to be seen.
"You shouldn't have asked him," I said.
"Oh stop." Fangfang looked upset.
"There's a grasshopper here!" came the boy's voice from the other side of the hill. It seemed far away but was quite clear.
The man strode off in that direction, swinging the bag of rock melons as he disappeared from sight. I put a hand on Fangfang's shoulder and pulled her toward me.
"Don't." She turned away.
"There's a bit of grass in your hair," I explained, removing a pine needle that had stuck to her hair.
"That tile is about to fall," Fangfang said. She, too, had noticed the broken tile hanging there precariously. "It would be good if it fell. Otherwise it might injure someone," she mumbled.
"It might be a while before it does fall," I said.
We walked to the mound where the man had been standing. In the valley there was a stretch of farmland, dense crops of luxuriant green barley and broomcorn millet, waiting for the autumn harvest. Below us, on a level part of the slope, stood a few mud huts, their bottom halves newly coated in brilliant white lime. The man was holding the boy's hand as they made their way down a small winding track, past the huts and through the crops. Suddenly, like a colt that had broken free of its reins, the boy bolted off, dashing ahead, then turning and running back. He seemed to be waving the cage at the man.
"Do you think the man caught grasshoppers for him?" Fangfang, do you remember asking me that?
"Of course," I said. "Of course."
"He caught five of them!" you said cheekily.
Well, that's the Temple of Perfect Benevolence that we visited on our honeymoon, and which I wanted to describe for all of you.
IN THE PARK
"I haven't strolled in a park for a long time. I never have the time to spare, or the inclination anymore."
"It's the same with everyone. After work, people just hurry home. Life's always a rush."
"I remember when I was a child, I really liked coming to this park to roll around on the grass."
"I used to come with my father and mother."
"I really liked it when there were other children."
"Yes."
"Especially when you were there as well."
"I remember."
"At the time, you had two little plaits."
"At the time, you always wore dungarees, and you were very cocky."
"You were unfriendly, always haughty."
"Really?"
"Yes, nobody would dare antagonize you."
"I don't remember, but I liked playing with you and I even used to kick a rubber ball with you."
"Nonsense, you didn't ever kick a rubber ball! You used to wear little white shoes and were always afraid of getting them dirty."
"That's right, when I was little I was really fond of wearing white sneakers."
"You were like a princess."
"Sure – a princess wearing sneakers."
"Then your family moved."
"That's right."
"At first you often came to visit on Sundays, but later on not as much."
"I had grown up."
"My mother really liked you."
"I know."
"There were no daughters in our family."
"Everyone said we looked alike, like an older sister and a younger brother."
"Don't forget we're the same age, that I'm two months older."
"But I seemed older than you; I was always taller by a hand, as if I were your older sister."
"At the time, girls got tall earlier. Enough of that, let's talk about something else."
"What will we talk about, then?"
The path under the trees has clipped Japan cypresses growing on both sides. On the slope behind the cypresses, a young woman wearing a dress and carrying a red handbag sits down on a stone bench.
"Let's sit down awhile, too."
"All right."
"The sun's about to set."
"Yes, it's beautiful."
"I don't like this artificial sort of beauty."
"Didn't you say you liked going to parks?"
"That was when I was little. I've lived in the mountain regions. I was a woodcutter for seven years in primitive forests."
"You managed to survive."
"Forests are really awesome."
The young woman wearing a dress gets up from the stone bench and looks to the end of the shady path beyond the neatly clipped cypresses. Several people are coming from that direction, among them a tall youth with hair over his temples. Beyond the treetops and the wall, the sky is infused with brilliant red and purple-red colors of the sunset, and rippling clouds begin to spread overhead.
"I haven't seen a beautiful sunset like this for a long time. The sky seems to be on fire."
"It's like a wildfire."
"Like what?"
"It's like a forest wildfire…"
"Well, keep talking."
"When there's a forest wildfire, the sky is just like this. The fire spreads swiftly and with a vengeance, and there's not time to cut down the forest. It's really terrifying. All the felled trees fly into the air, and from a distance they look like bits of straw drifting up in a fire, and crazed leop ards come out of the forests to throw themselves into the rivers, swimming right at you – "
"Don't the leopards attack people?"
"They're past thinking about that."
"Can't you use your rifles on them?"
"People are also traumatized; from riverbanks they just stare vacantly at the fire."
"Isn't there anything that can be done?"
"Mountain streams can't stop it. The trees on the other side get scorched, start crackling, and suddenly they're alight. For a distance of more than several li around it's so smoky and hot, you can't breathe. All you can do is wait for the wind to change or for the fire to get to the river, exhaust itself, and burn out."
The young woman in the dress sits down again on the stone bench; her red handbag is beside her.
"Tell me some more about your experiences during those years."
"There's nothing much to tell."
"How can there be nothing much to tell? All that was very interesting."
"But there's not much point in talking about all that now. Talk about what you've been doing all these years."
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"I've got a daughter."
"How old?"
"Six."
"Is she just like you?"
"Everyone says she's just like me."
"Is she like you when you were little? Does she wear white sneakers?"
&n
bsp; "No, she likes to wear leather shoes. Her father buys her one pair after another."
"You're lucky. He sounds like a nice person."
"He's quite good to me, but I don't know if I'm lucky or not."
"And isn't your work also quite good?"
"Yes, compared with what many other people my age do, my work's all right. I sit in an office, answer the phone, and take documents to my superiors."
"Are you a secretary?"
"I'm looking after documents."
"That sort of work is confidential, it shows that they trust you."
"It's much better than being a laborer. Didn't you also manage to get through a hard time? Since you went to university, I suppose you're doing some kind of professional work now?"
"Yes, but it was all through my own efforts."
The colors of the sunset vanish. The sky is now a dark red, but on the horizon, above the treetops, there is an orange-yellow glow on the edge of a dark cloud. On the slope it is becoming dark in the grove and the young woman on the bench is sitting with her head bowed. She seems to look at her watch and then stands up. She is holding her handbag but decides to put it down again on the bench, as she looks at the path beyond the cypresses. Apparently noticing the moon by the clouds, she turns away and starts to pace, her eyes looking at the ground.
"She's waiting for someone."
"Waiting for someone is awful. Nowadays it's the young men who don't show up for dates."
"Are there too many young women in the city?"
"There's no shortage of young men, it's just that there are too few decent young men."
"But this young woman is very good looking."
"If the woman falls in love first, it's always unlucky."
"Will he turn up?"
"Who knows? Having to wait really makes a person go crazy."
"Luckily we're past that age. Have you ever waited for someone?"
"It was he who first sought me. Have you ever made someone wait?"
"I've never failed to show up for a date."
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"I seem to."
"Then why don't you get married?"
"I probably will."
"It seems you don't really like her."
"I feel sorry for her."
"Feeling sorry is not love. If you don't love her, don't go on deceiving her!"
"I've only ever deceived myself."
"That's also deceiving the other person."
"Let's talk about something else."
"All right."
The young woman sits down. Then she immediately stands up again, looking toward the path. The last smudge of faint red on the horizon is barely visible. She sits down again but, as if sensing people are watching, she puts down her head and appears to be fiddling with her skirt at the knees.
"Will he turn up?"
"I don't know."
"This shouldn't happen."
"There are too many things that shouldn't happen."
"Is this girlfriend of yours pretty?"
"She is a sad case."
"Don't talk like that! If you don't love her, don't deceive her. Just find yourself a young woman you truly love, someone good-looking."
"Someone good-looking wouldn't necessarily like me."
"Why?"
"Because I don't have a good father."
"Don't talk like that, I don't want to listen."
"Then it's best not to listen. I think we should leave."
"Will you come to my home?"
"I should bring your daughter a present. It will also count as my best wishes to you."
"Don't talk like that."
"What's wrong with that?"
"You're always hurting me."
"That's never been my intention."
"I wish you happiness."
"I don't want to hear that word."
"Then aren't you happy?"
"I don't want to talk about it. It's been hard just to meet this once after all these years, so let's not talk about depressing things like that."
"Very well, then let's talk about something else."
The young woman suddenly stands up. Someone is coming along the path, walking very quickly.
"Well, at least he's turned up."
It's a youth carrying a canvas satchel. He doesn't slow down and keeps walking. The young woman looks away.
"It's not the person she's waiting for. Life's often that way, oddly enough."
"She's crying."
"Who?"
The young woman sits down with her hands over her face, her hands are raised and seem to be covering her face, but it can't be seen clearly. Birds are twittering.
"So there are still birds here."
"Not only forests have birds."
"Well, there are still sparrows here."
"You've become quite arrogant."
"That's how I managed to survive. If I hadn't kept that bit of arrogance, I wouldn't be here today."
"Don't be so cynical; you're not the only person who has suffered. Everyone was sent to work in the country. You should realize that it was much worse for the young women sent to the country where they had neither relatives or friends. The reason I married him was because I had no better option. His parents arranged for my transfer back to the city."
"I wasn't blaming you."
"No one has the right to blame anyone."
The streetlights have turned on and produce a wan yellow light among the green leaves of the trees. The night sky is gray and indistinct; even the stars can't be seen clearly in the city sky, making the light from the streetlights among the trees appear too bright.
"I think we should leave."
"Yes, we shouldn't have come here."
"People might think we are lovers. If your husband finds out, he won't misunderstand, will he?"
"He's not that kind of person."
"Then, he's a pretty good person."
"You can come and stay at our place."
"Only if he invites me."
"Won't it be the same if I invite you?"
"Too bad I didn't know your address. That was why I went to look you up at your workplace. Otherwise, I would have gone directly to visit you at home."
"You don't have to go into all that nonsense."
"There's no need for us to snipe at each other like that."
"You're the one who is saying one thing and meaning something else."
"Let's talk about something else."
"All right."
It has become dark in the grove and the young woman can no longer be seen. However, with the light shining on them, the lustrous green leaves of a white poplar seem to glow. There's a hint of a breeze, and the trembling leaves of the white poplar shimmer like satin.
"She hasn't left yet, has she?"
"No, she's leaning against a tree."
A big tree stands a few paces from the empty stone bench, and someone is leaning against it.
"What's she doing?"
"Crying."
"It's not worth it!"
"Why not?"
"It's not worth crying over him. She won't have a problem finding a good man who loves her, a person worthy of her love. She should just leave."
"But she's still hoping."
"Life's road is wide and she will find her own way."
"Don't think you know everything; you don't understand how a woman feels. It's just so easy for a man to hurt a woman. The woman is always weaker."
"If she knows she is weaker, why doesn't she try to learn to be stronger?"
"Fine-sounding words."
"There's no need to look for things to worry about. There are enough worries in life. One should be able to accept things."
"There are so many things that should be."
"I'm saying that people should only do the things that they should do."
"That's the same as saying nothing."
"Quite right. I shouldn't have come to see you."
"That's also sayin
g nothing."
"All right, we should go. I'll buy you dinner."
"I don't want to eat. Can't we talk about something else?"
"What about?"
"Talk about yourself."
"Let's talk about the next generation. What's your daughter's name?"
"I wanted to have a son."
"Having a daughter is the same."
"No. When a boy grows up he won't have to suffer as much."
"People of the future won't have as much suffering, because we've already suffered for them."
"She's crying."
The sound of rustling leaves is in the breeze overhead, but the sound of weeping is clearly in it, and coming from the direction of the stone bench and the tree.
"We should go and console her."
"It wouldn't help."
"But we should still try."
"Then you go."
"In such a situation it would only be appropriate for a woman to go."
"She doesn't need that sort of consolation."
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand anything."
"Best not to. Once you do, it becomes a burden."
"Then why do you want to console others? Why don't you just console yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't understand how other people feel. If feelings are a burden, it's best for you not to understand."
"Let's leave."
"Will you come to my home?"
"There's no need."
"Are we going to say good-bye just like that? I've already invited you to come for dinner tomorrow. He'll be there, too."
"I think it would be best if I didn't come. What do you think?"
"That's entirely up to you."
In the darkness, the sound of weeping becomes more distinct. Intermittently, stifled sobs mingle with the sound of leaves trembling in the evening breeze.
"When I get married I'll write you a letter."
"It's best that you don't write anything."
"If I pass through for work later on, I might come to visit you again."
"It's best that you don't."
"Yes, it was a mistake."
"What mistake are you talking about?"
"I shouldn't have come to see you again."
"No, it wasn't a mistake for you to have come!"
"Neither of us is to blame. The mistakes of that era are to blame. But all that's in the past and we have to learn to forget."
"But it's hard to forget everything."
