中英對照讀台灣小說

由台灣大學外文系名譽教授齊邦媛老師所主編，精選出十篇台灣作家的精彩小說，廣邀台大彭鏡禧教授等人譯介成英文，讓讀者中英對照，分享中文寫作及英文改譯之美。

小說人人愛讀，透過故事，我們看到作者眼中的世界，或溫暖，或滄桑，或綺麗，或悲涼，或鮮活，或朦朧……俱是人間圖像的反映。
在本書中，十位台灣作家，以十篇不同題材、不同風格的書寫，展現了平凡世間的種種面貌……
有的溫柔敦厚，像一方陽光，溫暖人的心窩，像一場春雨，濕意中透著淡淡的感傷。有的精闢率直，如雕刻刀般，劈劃眾生百態，如解剖針般，細究紅塵圖像。也有的上天下地，像一縷縷絲線，串起種種奇思異想，編織成如真似幻的故事。
中英對照的閱讀方式，則為文字的呈現，帶來更多的可能。當我們在兩種文字間穿梭迂迴時，或許能察覺到文字底層洶湧的暗潮，甚至激發出更鮮活的生命力。
十篇作品如下：
王鼎均的《一方陽光》，鄭清文《春雨》，張曉風《一千二百三十點》，阿盛《白玉雕牛》，舒國治《人在台北》，平路《紅塵五注》，張大春《將軍碑》，李啟源《解嚴年代的愛情》，林燿德《銅夢》，鍾怡雯《給時間的戰帖》。

齊邦媛／主編
一九二四年生，遼寧鐵嶺人。國立武漢大學外文系畢業，一九四七年來台灣。
一九六八年美國印第安那大學研究，一九六九年出任中興大學新成立之外文系系主任，一九八八年從台灣大學外文系教授任內退休，受聘為台大榮譽教授。
曾任美國聖瑪麗學院、舊金山加州州立大學訪問教授，德國柏林自由大學客座教授。教學、著作，論述嚴謹；編選、翻譯、出版文學評論多種，對引介西方文學到台灣，將台灣代表性文學作品英譯推介至西方世界。

【自序】
序文
齊邦媛
1972年林語堂先生已回台灣定居，且當選為中華民國筆會會長，在創辦筆會英文季刊的發刊辭中，他說：「多年來我們一直想出版這樣一本刊物，向國際上介紹我們在台灣的文學創作，因為西方世界對台灣的過去和現在所知太少。他們幾乎完全不知道台灣不斷產生新的文學作家，他們的作品可能為我們開啟了解和交流之門。在今日世界，東方與西方必須相逢。希望這份季刊是一座引向相逢的橋。」（原文為英文）並聘請母語為英文的殷張蘭熙女士為總編輯，秋季出版了第一期。
一直到1992年退休，蘭熙付出了二十年的心血，堅定地維持季刊的文學翻譯高水準，且從未脫期或中斷。我自接棒以來，深以這個理想和傳統為榮，二十七年來這座橋上行人不斷，在世界文壇為台灣文學保有穩定的一席之地，也建立了許多持久的友誼。台灣雖然有令人尊重的經濟政治成就，在台灣海峽微妙飄搖的情勢中，這兩千多萬人用怎樣的心靈感應，去經驗人人有份的生、老、病、死和喜怒哀樂呢？只有文學可以解答。
我們長年堅守的中譯英工作，用輸出的心聲叩開了世界國際筆會一百二十多會員國的大門，也經由外交部新聞局設館地的學校和文化機構，得到許多反應和鼓勵。總會的刊物每期都轉載我們的作品，最近尚以蘇偉貞的散文《以光腳的旨意為名》刊作首篇，開卷之時，感到一股暖流升湧，好似穿越了漫長多難的一個世紀，回應了梁啟超譯書救國的百年呼喚。然而在台灣本土，這本鍥而不捨的英文季刊，卻仍只是一個「默默的耕耘者」。
雖然從幼稚園到安老院都在學英語，文學的英文仍在另一些國度。誠品書店很慷慨地給了我們一角地，放十本、二十本The Chinese PEN (Taiwan)試售，都賣不完，他們的廖經理有一次建議，也許中英對照會引起讀者興趣。
研磨了兩年之後，我們終於選定了這十篇作品，要以中英對照的方式出第一本書了。這十篇不僅是好的文學作品，還有不同的題材和文字風格，在藝術與文化交流時代表的層面廣，變化多，對譯者的要求也高。這些原已精磨細選的作品，到了中英對照的階段卻又需更進一步的推敲了。
這時我才認真地思考起陶侃搬磚的後果。晉書記載這位平南將軍，不安於封侯食邑的舒服日子，卻「朝運百甓於齋外，暮運於齋內，人問甚故，答曰『吾方致力中原，過爾優逸，恐不堪事。』」後世之人認為如此「勵志勤力」的人，早晚會砸了自己的腳。台大鄭騫老師當年詩句有「搬磚砸腳糊塗事」，大約也包含了中國古典文學的白話文對照本，雖然造福了無數學院外的讀者，卻也受了許多精準度的挑戰。
不知我們這中英對照的努力是不是也會成為糊塗事？我們這編輯小組的五個人，在本業忙碌之外，每聚必七、八小時，頭常暈，眼常花，站起來繞室疾走，坐下來揪髮抓臂，終得找出可以攀越兩種文化的路來，切磋琢磨，爭議又妥協……只有過來人才知道它的艱辛――與喜悅。只有對這兩種語言深感迷戀的人才懂這種心情。
當然，仍然有太多不能翻越的山路，勉強迂迴繞道而行，定了稿仍然耿耿於懷。許多句子表面上風平浪靜，底下卻是暗潮洶湧，原譯者已是經驗豐富的老手，有時仍會失足，或是根本找不到立足點。
譬如說英文動詞的時態（tenses），文學中太多的夢境和今昔之感，如《一方陽光》中母親的夢境、《將軍碑》中將軍的幻覺，He sees? saw? has seen? had seen? 怎樣決定都不能完全放心。
另一個困境是諸神的名字。在各地鄉土文學中都有太多的神，但是我們若敢用西方神話中遊戲人間的神名作任何聯想，必會引來災禍，所以像《春雨》中的「上帝公廟」，我們只能譯作“Shang-di-gung Temple”，這樣的例子太多，大家搖頭，歎息，沒有什麼更好的辦法。《紅塵五注》大談算命，「天機」應該是“Eternal Will”還是“Hidden Providence”？譯者Daniel J. Bauer是位天主教神父，他也沒有精準的答案。
專業的術語也是最大的挑戰。《一千二百三十點》的譯者彭鏡禧教授曾為刺青和「打」掉的雷射療法問過兩位醫師，《銅夢》作者林燿德逝世之前曾親自正楷為我們寫了許多注釋，如《雲笈七籤》、「始祖鳥」、銅器上雕刻的各種紋，但是這一篇之難譯，難於定稿，可以說是令人難忘。
文化習慣的差異也是個不易跨過的溝。在台灣稱店家為老闆，在西方絕不能面稱他是Boss或Owner。中國人喜歡稱人職銜，如主任、科長、處長等，在西方除總統、州長、參議員或皇家之名銜外，多僅以先生、女士稱之足夠。
在為中英對照本定稿時，我們不敢採取不甚忠實卻比較瀟灑的策略，譬如《解嚴年代的愛情》譯者是著名的John Minford先生，他將篇名譯為“Love in a Time of Change”實在很有包容性，但是對照本的讀者一定會問，「解嚴」怎麼不譯？所以我們誠惶誠恐地把標題改為“Love After The Lifting of Martial Law”，它應該是比較忠實的，但是實在有點笨拙，不夠靈活。這樣的斟酌，討論，妥協的過程，三天三夜也說不完。
書名是《中英對照讀台灣小說》，但是在全稿送請Mr. Ronald Brown審閱修潤的時候，感謝他指出原選十篇小說偏重死亡、哀傷主題，令人讀來頗感沉重，所以我們換上了《人在台北》和《給時間的戰帖》，但它們是散文而非小說。現在翻開書看到從陽光到戰帖，好一番蓬勃氣象，這兩篇散文（《銅夢》亦可作小說讀）就當作美好的bonus吧。
這是一本充滿了快樂友情的書，作者、譯者和我們研磨定稿的五個編者，已在書中激盪交流而成了真正的文友。許多看不到月亮的晚上，這幾個雙語文人，坐在都市高樓的書桌前，反覆思量，那古代的僧人，飲過春酒，熬過炎炎夏日，穿過楓林，踏過雪尋過梅回到月下門前，該是推呢，還是敲呢？
翻譯是真正的再創作，我們相信這是一本「好看」的書，你無論看左頁或是看右頁，或是左右對照看，都會感到文字微妙，卻布滿陷阱的魅力。也許你會和我們一樣漸漸陷入字蠱之中，推敲成癮，難以自拔。這本對照本，只是許多出路之一，當然應該有更多再創造的可能。
此書之成最該感謝的是筆會的項人慧小姐和萬淑宜小姐為此書長期付出的時間和關懷，以及天下文化出版公司的許耀雲小姐與她能幹的編輯徐以瑜小姐，和企劃部陳美萍小姐。
Our thanks to Prof. Nicholas Koss（康士林）,Mr. Ronald Brown, Ms. Kathleen Ahrens（安可思）for their reading of the manuscripts and their constructive suggestions.
June, 1999

序文　齊邦媛

一方陽光　作／王鼎鈞
A Patch of Sunlight　譯／ Nicholas Koss

春雨　作／鄭清文
Spring Rain　譯／Karen Steffen Chung

一千二百三十點　作／曉風
1230 Spots　譯／彭鏡禧

白玉雕牛　作／ 阿盛
The White Jade Ox　譯／湯麗明

人在台北　作／舒國治
Life in Taipei　譯／吳敏嘉

紅塵五注　作／平路
Five Paths through the Dusty World　譯／Daniel J. Bauer

給時間的戰帖　作／鍾怡雯
A Declaration of War against Time　譯／杜南馨

【內文試閱】
一方陽光
作者／王鼎鈞（Ting-chun Wang）
譯者／Nicholas Koss（康士林）

作者簡介
王鼎鈞，生於1925年。一個鄉下紳士的兒子，一個大兵，一個基督徒，一個經歷中國對日抗戰和中國內戰的塊肉餘生，一個由集體主義到個人主義的思索者。寫過許多受雇於人的作品，散文、詩歌、小說、劇本。五十歲放棄大部分收入，專寫散文，正在為他親歷的時代寫下個人見證。曾出版包括《左心房漩渦》《碎琉璃》及《心靈分享》等三十多本書。
譯者簡介
Nicholas Koss，美國印第安納大學比較文學博士。自1981年起任教於輔仁大學英國語文學系，從1994年開始，亦於輔大比較文學研究所擔任教職。自1992年起，已為中華民國筆會英文季刊英譯小說、散文近二十篇。

四合房是一種閉鎖式的建築，四面房屋圍成天井，房屋的門窗都朝著天井。從外面看，這樣的家宅是關防嚴密的碉堡，厚牆高簷密不通風，擋住了寒冷和偷盜，不過，住在裡面的人也因此犧牲了新鮮空氣和充足的陽光。
我是在「碉堡」裡出生的。依照當時的風氣，那座碉堡用青磚砌成，黑瓦蓋頂，灰色方磚鋪地，牆壁、窗櫺、桌椅、門板、花瓶、書本，沒有一點兒鮮艷的顏色。即使天氣晴朗，室內的角落裡也黯淡陰沉，帶著嚴肅，以致自古以來不斷有人相信祖先的靈魂住在那一角陰影裡。嬰兒大都在靠近陰影的地方呱呱墜地，進一步證明了嬰兒跟他的祖先確有密切難分的關係。
室外，天井，確乎是一口「井」。夏夜納涼，躺在天井裡看天，四面高聳的屋脊圍著一方星空，正是「坐井」的滋味。冬天，院子裡總有一半積雪遲遲難以融化，總有一排屋簷掛著冰柱，總要動用人工把簷溜敲斷，把殘雪運走。而院子裡總有地方結了冰，害得愛玩好動的孩子們四腳朝天。
北面的一棟房屋，是四合房的主房。主房的門窗朝著南方，有機會承受比較多的陽光。中午的陽光像裝在簸箕裡，越過南房，傾瀉下來，潑在主房的牆上。開在這面牆上的窗子，早用一層棉紙、一層九九消寒圖糊得嚴絲合縫，陽光只能從房門伸進來，照門框的形狀，在方磚上畫出一片長方形。這是一片光明溫暖的租界，是每一個家庭的勝地。
現在，將來，我永遠能夠清清楚楚看見，那一方陽光鋪在我家門口，像一塊發亮的地毯。然後，我看見一只用麥稈編成、四周裹著棉布的坐墩，擺在陽光裡。然後，一雙謹慎而矜持的小腳，走進陽光，停在墩旁，腳邊同時出現了她的針線筐。一隻生著褐色虎紋的狸貓，咪嗚一聲，跳上她的膝蓋，然後，一個男孩蹲在膝前，用心翻弄針線筐裡面的東西，玩弄古銅頂針和粉紅色的剪紙。那就是我，和我的母親。
如果當年有人問母親：你最喜歡什麼？她的答覆，八成是喜歡冬季晴天這門內一方陽光。她坐在裡面做針線，由她的貓和她的兒子陪著。我清楚記得一股暖流緩緩充進我的棉衣，棉絮膨脹起來，輕軟無比。我清楚記得毛孔張開，承受熱絮的輕燙，無須再為了抵抗寒冷而收縮戒備，一切煩惱似乎一掃而空。血液把這種快樂傳遍內臟，最後在臉頰上留下心滿意足的紅潤。我還能清清楚楚聽見那隻貓的鼾聲，牠躺在母親懷裡，或者伏在我的腳面上，虔誠的唸誦由西天帶來的神祕經文。
在那一方陽光裡，我的工作是持一本三國演義，或精忠說岳，唸給母親聽。如果我唸了別字，她會糾正，如果出現生字，――母親說，一個生字是一隻攔路虎，她會停下針線，幫我把老虎打死。漸漸地，我發現，母親的興趣並不在乎重溫那些早已熟知的故事情節，而是使我多陪伴她。每逢故事告一段落，我替母親把繡線穿進若有若無的針孔，讓她的眼睛休息一下。有時候，大概是暖流作怪，母親嚷著：「我的頭皮好癢！」我就攀著她的肩膀，向她的髮根裡找蝨子，找白頭髮。
我在曬太陽曬得最舒服的時候，醺然如醉，岳飛大破牛頭山在我喉嚨裡打轉兒，發不出聲音來。貓恰恰相反，牠愈舒服，愈呼嚕得厲害。有一次，母親停下針線，看她膝上的貓，膝下的我。
「你聽，貓在說什麼？」
「貓沒有說話，牠在打鼾。」
「不，牠是在說話。這裡面有一個故事，一個很久很久以前的故事……」
母親說，在遠古時代，宇宙洪荒，人跟野獸爭地。人類聯合起來把老虎逼上山，把烏鴉逼上樹，只是對滿地橫行的老鼠束手無策。老鼠住在你的家裡，住在你的臥室裡，在你最隱密最安全的地方出入無礙，肆意破壞。老鼠是那樣機警、詭詐、敏捷、惡毒，人們用盡方法，居然不能安枕。
有一次，一個母親輕輕的拍著她的孩子，等孩子睡熟了，關好房門，下廚做飯。她做好了飯，回到臥室，孩子在哪兒？床上有一群啾啾作聲的老鼠，爭著吮吸一具血肉斑斕的白骨。老鼠把她的孩子吃掉了。
――聽到這裡，我打了一個寒顫。
這個摧心裂肝的母親向孫悟空哭訴。悟空說：「我也制不了那些老鼠。」
但是，總該有一種力量可以消滅醜惡骯髒而又殘忍的東西。天上地下，總該有個公理！
悟空想了一想，乘觔斗雲進天宮，到玉皇大帝座前去找那一對御貓。貓問他從哪裡來，他說，下界。貓問下界是什麼樣子，悟空說，下界熱鬧，好玩。天上的神仙哪個不想下凡？貓心動，擔憂在下界迷路，不能再回天宮。悟空拍拍胸脯說：「有我呢，我一定送你們回來。」
就這樣，一個觔斗雲，悟空把御貓帶到地上。
御貓大發神威，殺死無數老鼠。從此所有的老鼠都躲進洞中苟延歲月。
可是，貓也從此失去天國。悟空把牠們交給人類，自己遠走高飛，再也不管牠們。悟空知道，貓若離開下界，老鼠又要吃人，就硬著心腸，負義背信。從此，貓留在地上，成了人類最寵愛的家畜。可是，牠們也藏著滿懷的愁和怨，常常想念天宮，盼望悟空，反覆不斷的說：
「許送，不送……許送，不送。……」
「許送，不送。」就是貓們鼾聲的內容。
原來人人寵愛的貓，心裡也有委屈。原來安逸滿足的鼾聲裡包含著失望的蒼涼。如果母親不告訴我這個故事，我永遠想不到，也聽不出來。
我以無限的愛心和歉意抱起那隻狸貓，親牠。
牠伸了一個懶腰，身軀拉得好長，好細，一環一環肋骨露出來，抵擋我的捉弄。冷不防，從我的臂彎裡竄出去，遠了。
母親不以為然，她輕輕的糾正我：「不好好的纏毛線，逗貓做什麼？」
在我的記憶中，每到冬天，母親總要抱怨她的腳痛。
她的腳是凍傷的。當年做媳婦的時候，住在陰暗的南房裡，整年不見陽光。寒凜凜的水氣，從地下冒上來，從室外滲進室內，首先侵害她的腳，兩隻腳永遠冰冷。
在嚴寒中凍壞了的肌肉，據說無藥可醫。年復一年，冬天的訊息乍到，她的腳面和腳跟立即有了反應，那裡的肌肉變色、浮腫，失去彈性，用手指按一下，你會看見一個坑兒。看不見的，是隱隱刺骨的疼痛。
分了家，有自己的主房，情況改善了很多，可是年年腳痛依然，它已成為終身的痼疾。儘管在那一方陽光裡，暖流洋溢，母親仍然不時皺起眉頭，咬一咬牙。
當刺繡刺破手指的時候，她有這樣的表情。
母親常常刺破手指。正在繡製的枕頭上面，星星點點有些血痕。繡好了，第一件事是把這些多餘的顏色洗掉。
據說，刺繡的時候心煩慮亂，容易把繡花針扎進指尖的軟肉裡。母親的心常常很亂嗎？
不刺繡的時候，母親也會暗中咬牙，因為凍傷的地方會突然一陣刺骨難禁。
在那一方陽光裡，母親是側坐的，她為了讓一半陽光給我，才把自己的半個身子放在陰影裡。
常常是，在門旁端坐的母親，只有左足感到溫暖舒適，相形之下，右足特別難過。這樣，左足受到的傷害並沒有復元，右足受到的摧殘反而加重了。
母親咬牙的時候，沒有聲音，只是身體輕輕震動一下。不論我在做什麼，不論那貓睡得多甜，我們都能感覺出來。
這時，我和貓都仰起臉來看她，端詳她平靜的面容幾條不平靜的皺紋。
我忽然得到一個靈感：「媽，我把你的座位搬到另一邊來好不好？換個方向，讓右腳也多曬一點太陽。」
母親搖搖頭。
我站起來，推她的肩，媽低頭含笑，一直說不要。貓受了驚，蹄縫間露出白色爪尖。
座位終於搬到對面去了，狸貓跳到院子裡去，母親連聲喚牠，牠裝做沒有聽見；我去捉牠，連我自己也沒有回到母親身邊。
以後，母親一旦坐定，就再也不肯移動。很顯然，她希望在那令人留戀的幾尺乾淨土裡，她的孩子，她的貓，都不要分離，任發酵的陽光，釀造濃厚的情感。她享受那情感，甚於需要陽光，即使是嚴冬難得的煦陽。
蘆溝橋的砲聲使我們眩暈了一陣子。這年冬天，大家心情興奮，比往年好說好動，母親的世界也測到一些震波。
母親在那一方陽光裡，說過許多夢、許多故事。
那年冬天，我們最後擁有那片陽光。
她講了一個夢，對我而言，那是她最後的夢。
母親說，她在夢中抱著我，站在一片昏天黑地裡，不能行動，因為她的雙足埋在幾寸厚的碎琉璃碴兒裡面，無法舉步。四野空空曠曠，一望無邊都是碎琉璃，好像一個琉璃做成的世界完全毀壞了，堆在那裡，閃著燐一般的火焰。碎片最薄最鋒利的地方有一層青光，純鋼打造的刀尖才有那種鋒芒，對不設防的人，發生無情的威嚇。而母親是赤足的，幾十把琉璃刀插在腳邊。
我躺在母親懷裡，睡得很熟，完全不知道母親的難題。母親獨立蒼茫，汗流滿面，覺得我的身體愈來愈重，不知道自己能支持多久。母親想，萬一她累昏了，孩子掉下去，怎麼得了？想到這裡，她又發覺我根本光著身體，沒有穿一寸布。她的心立即先被琉璃碎片刺穿了。某種疼痛由小腿向上蔓延，直到兩肩、兩臂。她咬牙支撐，對上帝禱告。
就在完全絕望的時候，母親身旁突然出現一小塊明亮乾淨的土地，像一方陽光這麼大，平平坦坦，正好可以安置一個嬰兒。謝天謝地，母親用盡最後的力氣，把我輕輕放下。
我依然睡得很熟。誰知道我著地以後，地面忽然傾斜，我安身的地方是一個斜坡，像是又陡又長的滑梯，長得可怕，沒有盡頭。我快速的滑下去，比飛還快，轉眼間變成一個小黑點。
在難以測度的危急中，母親大叫。醒來之後，略覺安慰的倒不是我好好的睡在房子裡，而是事後記起我在滑行中突然長大，還遙遙向她揮手。
母親知道她的兒子絕不能和她永遠一同圍在一個小方框裡，兒子是要長大的，長大了的兒子會失散無蹤的。
時代像篩子，篩得每一個人流離失所，篩得少數人出類拔萃。
於是，她有了混和著驕傲的哀愁。
她放下針線，把我摟在懷裡問：
「如果你長大了，如果你到很遠的地方去，不能回家，你會不會想念我？」
當時，我唯一的遠行經驗是到外婆家。外婆家很好玩，每一次都在父母逼迫下勉強離開。我沒有思念過母親，不能回答這樣的問題。同時，母親夢中滑行的景象引人入勝，我立即想到滑冰，急於換一雙鞋去找那個冰封了的池塘。
躍躍欲試的兒子，正設法掙脫傷感留戀的母親。
母親放開手凝視我：
「只要你爭氣，成器，即使在外面忘了我，我也不怪你。」
――原載於王鼎鈞著《碎琉璃》，爾雅出版社，民國六十七年。
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The traditional, Chinese courtyard house is an enclosed, confining type of architecture. The single-story rooms on the four sides of the building wall in the courtyard, and all the doors and windows of the rooms face the courtyard. Looking at the house from the outside, one has the impression that this type of residence is a fortress built with great precaution and safeguard. The thick walls and high eaves prevent any breezes as well as block out both the cold and thieves. Because of this, however, the residents living inside have sacrificed both fresh air and sufficient sunlight.
I was born in such a "fortress". As was common then, our fortress was built of dark bricks. Black tiles covered the roof and gray tiles the floors. The walls, the window shutters, the tables and chairs, the doors, the flower vases, and the books had no bright colors. Even though it might be bright and sunny outside, the space inside was dark and dreary, creating an atmosphere of severity. From ancient times, it had been believed that the souls of one's ancestors dwelt in the dark, shadowy corners. Crying babies would often be born near these shadowy places, which further showed that these babies had a close, inseparable relationship with their ancestors.
The courtyard outside was indeed a "well.'1 One had the feeling of being in a "well" when trying to stay cool during a summer evening by lying in the courtyard. Looking up at the sky, one saw the lofty roofs on the four sides of the courtyard enclosing a square in the starry sky.2 In winter, half of the courtyard was filled with slow-melting snow, and icicles were always hanging from the eaves of the roof. Workmen inevitably had to be called in to knock down the icicles and remove the remaining snow. The courtyard, too, always had icy places which left playful and active children lying flat on their back, with all fours pointing skyward.
The main rooms in a courtyard house were to the north, with the doors and windows facing south, thus allowing for a little more sun. The noon sun was like a bushel basket of sunlight being poured out from the south on the walls of the main rooms. The windows on these walls were already glued with a layer of cotton paper and pictures of 81 days of cold winter wonders.3 Therefore, the sunlight could only enter through the door, making a long rectangular shape based on the design of the door frame on the square tiles. What a warm and bright "concession" this space was, making it the prized place in the home.
Now, in the future, and forever, I will always vividly see that patch of sunlight busting through our family door to make a shining carpet. Next, I see a stool made of wheat husks and covered with a cotton cloth that is placed in the sunlight. And next, I see a pair of bound feet carefully and hesitantly step into the sunlight and stop at the stool. Near to these feet appears her sewing basket. A brownish, stripped cat meows and jumps in her lap. Finally, a little boy kneels before her knees, intently sorting through the things in the sewing basket and playing with the old, bronze thimble and the pink cutting paper. I am the little boy and I am with my mother.
If at that time someone would have asked my mother what she liked best, she would most likely have replied that it was that patch of sunlight inside our door during a sunny winter day. She would sit there doing her needlework in the company of her cat and her son. How clearly I remember a flash of warmth entering my cotton clothing making it so incomparably soft and fluffy. How clearly I remember my pores to open to receive the light and gentle warmth. It was no longer necessary to shrink up to fortify oneself against the cold. It was as if at the moment every care and concern disappeared. My blood would carry this happiness to my heart and then my cheeks would blossom a ruddy contentment. The purring of that cat still resounds clearly in my ears. It would either be on my mother's lap or stretched out over my feet, chanting the mystical sutras brought so long ago from India.
My assignment while sitting in that patch of light was to take a book such as The Romance of the Three Kingdoms or The Stories of Yueh Fei and read aloud for my mother. My mother would correct me each time I mispronounced a character. And if I came upon a character I did not know Mother said that a new character is a tiger blocking the way she would put down her needlework and kill the tiger for me. Eventually I came to realize that Mother's interest was not in enjoying once again those old stories and events with which she had long been familiar, rather it was to have me as much as possible by her side. At the conclusion of each episode, I would give Mother's eyes a rest by threading the nearly indiscernible eye of a needle for her. Sometimes and it was probably the warmth playing tricks on her Mother would complain, "My head is so itchy!" and I would lean on her shoulders and look for lice and gray hairs.
When I was most comfortable enjoying the sunlight, it was almost as if, while the adventures of Yueh Fei at Bull Head Mountain were about to roll out of my throat, I became so intoxicated by pleasure that I could not continue creating the sound of my reading. For our cat, however, it was just the opposite. The more comfortable it was, the louder it purred. One time, Mother stopped her needlework and, looking at the cat asleep and purring in her lap, said, "Listen to that. Do you know what our cat is saying?"
"It's not saying anything," I responded. "It's purring."
"No, our cat is speaking. And there is a story from long, long ago about what cats say . . . ."
Mother then told the story, "In the earliest of times, when the world was still most primitive, men and beasts fought over land. Men joined together and drove the tigers to the mountains and forced the crows to the trees. It was only the rats scattered across the earth that they were helpless to control. There were rats in every house and bedroom. Even in places most secret and secure, they could come and go at will wrecking havoc. So smart, so crafty, so quick, so malicious were the rats that even after trying every tactic, men still found no escape from them.
"One day, a mother was gently patting her child to help it fall asleep. She then locked the room and went to prepare supper. After she had finished, she returned to the bedroom, but her child was not to be seen. On her bed, she saw a pack of rats noisily sucking the flesh from a heap of bones. The rats had eaten her child.
By this time, I was shivering in fright.
"Broken-hearted, the mother prayed to Sun Wu-kung, the Monkey. 'I have no way to bring those rats under control, either. he replied.
"Still, there must be a force to destroy those cruel, evil, dirty, little monsters. There has to be justice in Heaven and on Earth!
"Sun Wu-kung thought it over, and then traveled to Heaven on his Somersault Cloud. He went to the Throne of the Jade Emperor to find the pair of Divine Imperial Cats. The cats asked where he had come from, to which he responded that he was from the Earth. The cats next asked what the Earth was like, and he responded it was a wonderful, exciting place. Now what Divine Creature does not think about visiting the Earth? The cats, however, were afraid of getting lost on Earth and not being able to return to Heaven. Sun Wu-kung confidently patted his breast and said, 'With me as your guide, you will indeed return.
"And so, with his Somersault Cloud, Wu-kung whisked them down to Earth.
"The Imperial Cats triumphantly used their divine might and killed rats beyond number. Thereafter, the surviving rats scampered into holes to continue their miserable lives.
"But, thereafter, the Imperial Cats also lost their home in Heaven. Wu-kung presented them to the human race, while he himself flew off never to be again concerned about them. He knew that if the cats were ever to leave the Earth, rats would again eat humans, so he hardened his heart and broke his promise. Thereafter, the cats remained on Earth, becoming the favorite pets of humans. But, hidden in the breasts of the cats were worry and regret, and a longing to return to Heaven. They hoped to see Wu-kung again, so continually on their lips were the words: 'Y'promised, y'promised, y'prom ..., pro, purr, purr, .... And this sound was even heard as they purred.
And so came about man's beloved cats, who still felt they had been misused. Their seemingly purrs of contentment contained as well the forlornness of loss. If Mother had not told this story to me, I could never have imagined such things, or understand just what a cat's purring meant.
Full of love and indebtedness, I held our cat tightly and kissed it.
It lazily gave a long stretch, revealing its round, thin ribs and resisting my teasing. To my surprise, it escaped from my arms, and ran away.
Mother looked askance, and gently corrected me, saying, "Why don't you just sort out the yarn? What's the use of teasing the cat?
As I remember it, each winter Mother would complain about the pain in her feet.
Her feet had suffered from cold weather. When she had first married into our family and was living in the rooms on the dark south side of the house, there would be no sunlight all year long. The piercing cold dampness would come up through the ground as well as enter inside the rooms from the outside. It badly affected her feet so that they had ever since suffered from being cold.
Subsequently I heard that there's no medicine to heal muscles that have been injured by severe cold. So, year after year, at the first signs of winter, the soles and heels of her feet would have an immediate reaction, with the muscles in her feet swelling, changing color, and becoming stiff. If you pressed there with your finger, you could see a small indentation. What you could not see was the pain that penetrated to her bones.
After moving away from the extended family, she had the master rooms facing south and her situation improved immensely. But the pain in her feet was still there, having become a chronic complaint. Even though Mother would be sitting in that patch of sunlight permeated with a gentle warmth, she would still sometimes knit her brow and try to endure the pain.
It was the same reaction she had when she was embroidering and would accidentally stick her finger with the needle.
Mother often stuck her finger. When she would be embroidering a pillowcase, there would be many, many little spots of blood. After she had finished, the first thing she did was to wash out all this excess coloring.
I've heard it said that if one is very upset while embroidering, it is easy to slip and have the needle go into the soft flesh of your finger. Was Mother upset so often?
When Mother would also show signs of pain even when she was not embroidering, it was because of the sudden pain in her feet from the cold.
In that patch of sunlight, Mother would always sit sidewise, so as to give half the sunlight to me, but that would mean half her body was left in the shadows.
So, often only Mother's left foot could enjoy the comforting warmth of the sun as she was sitting upright by the door. Her right foot would be in pain. In this way, her left foot did not become better, and her right foot would feel even greater pain.
When Mother was trying to hide her pain, there was no sound to it; her body would only shake a little bit. But no matter what I was doing and no matter how sweetly the cat was sleeping, we could feel it.
At this time, the cat and I would look up at her and examine the quivering wrinkles on her nonetheless peaceful face.
Then suddenly I had an idea. "Mother, what about if I turn your chair around? If I change it, then your right foot would get some sunlight, too.
Mother shook her head no.
I stood up and started pushing her from the shoulders. She lowered her head and laughed, saying not to do it. The cat became frightened and its white claws appeared from the cracks in its paws.
By the time the chair had been turned around, the cat had made off for the courtyard. Mother called it back again and again, but it pretended not to hear. I went to get it, but that left Mother without even me by her side.
Afterwards, when Mother has settled down in her chair, she was never again willing to be moved. Obviously, she was reluctant to have her child and her cat leave her alone in that clean, sunlight place. They must be together for the sunlight to bring them all into the warmth of togetherness. Mother enjoyed that togetherness. She needed that experience so much, even more than the precious sunlight from the depths of winter.
The bombing at the Marco Polo Bridge dizzily disrupted our family life for a while4. That winter, everyone was excited and talked more and did more than previously. Mother's world seemed to be racked with cataclysmic shocks.
In her patch of sunlight, she told of many dreams and recounted numerous stories.
And that winter was the last time we had our own rays of sunlight.
She told me a dream, and for me, it was the last dream I heard from her.
In her dream, holding me in her arms, she stood on a dim space of dark ground and could not move, because her feet were buried in several inches of broken glazed tiles and could not move. As far as the eye could see, there was desolation. The broken glazed tiles extended in every direction as if a world created of tiles had been destroyed and all the remnants were stacked there, emitting a sulfur-flame light. Where the tile pieces were the sharpest and the thinnest, there was a layer of blue light. A knife blade of pure steel would have that kind of sharpness and it would be a ruthless threat to any one unprepared. Mother was barefoot and dozens of tile knives were stuck in the floor around her feet.
I was resting in Mother's arms, sound asleep and completely unaware of her difficulty. She was infinitely alone and sweat poured down her face. She felt my body become heavier and heavier, not knowing how much longer she could hold me. Mother's only thought was how terrible it would be if she fainted and her child would be dropped. At this moment, she realized that I was naked, without a stitch of clothing. Her heart was then immediately pierced by broken tiles. A pain slowly rose up from her feet, rising to her shoulders and arms. She gritted her teeth and endured it, praying to God for help.
The moment Mother reached the point of complete despair, a spot of bright, clean land suddenly appeared at her side. It was just the size of our beloved patch of sunlight. The space was completely flat and just the right size to accommodate a baby. Full of thanks and gratitude, she used the last of her strength to place me gently down. I remained sound asleep. Who could have imagined that as soon as I reached the ground, the earth suddenly tilted. My place of rest was then on a slope which was like a long, steep sliding board. Its length was terrifying. There was no end to it. I started to slide down so very quickly. It was faster than flying. In a flash, I was no larger than a speck of dust.
Mother cried out in inestimable desperation. Awaking from her dream, her consolation was not that I was sound asleep in the room, but that she recalled from the dream that as I was sliding down, I suddenly grew up and was, from a distance, waving good-bye to her.
Mother knew that her son could not be together with her forever in that little square. A son must grow up, and once grown, he would disappear without a trace.
Time is the Great Winnower. It tosses everybody and leaves them destitute and homeless. Only a minority of us survive and emerge victorious.
Therefore, she felt a sadness mixed with pride.
She put down her needle and held me in her arms, asking, "If you grow up and go to a faraway place and cannot come home, will you think of me?
At that time, the farthest I had been was to Grandmother's house, which was a very delightful place to me. Each time I went there my parents had to force me to leave. I had no thoughts of Mother then, so I could not answer her question. At the same time I was enchanted by the brilliant image of the sliding board. It made me want to go ice-skating and I rushed to change my shoes to go to the frozen pond.
Thus, a son eager to make his way in the world made every effort to get away from his grieving mother, who only wanted her son to be with her.
Mother released me from her hold, took a long look at me and said, "You only have to go and give it your very best, and grow up to be a man. Even if you go away and forget me, I won't blame you.
――From Ting-chun Wang,s Broken Glazed Tiles, Taipei: Elite Publishing Co., 1978.