Are you Miss Su? You want to speak to Fang Hung-chien. Hung chien's not in. I'll have him call you when he gets back. Miss Su, you must come visit sometime when you're free. Hung-chien often says how pretty and talented you are,' and she went on and on in the same breath. I meant to explain, but I couldn't get in a word. I thought all that rice gruel was being. poured down the wrong ear,so I very rudely hung up on her. Who was that?""That's my relative, Mrs. Chou, the wife of the general manager of the bank where I work. Your cousin
had called just before I left the house, so Mrs. Chou thought the call was from her again."
"Oh, no! What a mess. Mrs. Chou surely blames my cousin for being so rude. I hadn't hung up for more than five minutes when my cousin called again to ask whether I'd talked to you. I said you weren't home, and then she gave me your office number. I thought you were probably on the way there, so I might as well wait a while before calling. Then of all things, my cousin called me fifteen minutes later for the third time. I was getting a little mad. When she found out I hadn't yet got in touch with you, she told me to hurry and call you before you'd reserved a table. I said if he's reserved a table then I will go. What difference would it make? She said that wouldn't be good and invited me to her house for dinner. I replied that I wasn't feeling well either and wasn't going anywhere. Later I thought my cousin was just too silly. I decided to accept your invitation and not make any call."Hung-chien said, "Miss T'ang, today you haven't just honored me with your presence, you've been a real savior. As host I am more than grateful. I'll have to invite you out many more times. If none of the invited guests shows up, it means the death sentence for the host as far as his social life is con cerned. Today was a close call!"
Hung-chien ordered food enough for five or six people. Miss T'ang asked if there would be any other guests,for how could two people eat so much. He said it really wasn't that much, prompting her to remark, "You noticed I didn't have any refreshments yesterday, so now you're testing to see if I'll eat anything, aren't you?"He knew she wasn't one of those dainty women who will screw their mouth up to the size of the tip of an eyedropper at a dinner party, so he re plied, "This is the first time I've been to this restaurant and I am not sure which dishes I like best. If I order a few extra, then I'll have a wider choice. If this one isn't any good, then there's that one. I won't starve you this way.""That's not eating, that's more like the Divine Farmeri6 testing a hundred varieties of herbs. Isn't that a little extravagant? Maybe all men like to be extravagant in front of women they don't know.""Maybe. But not in front of all women they don't know."
"Just in front of stupid women, right?""What do you mean?""If women weren't fools, they'd never be impressed by a man just be cause he is extravagant. But don't worry, all women are foolish, just as foolish as men expect them to be. No more and no less."He wondered whether these remarks came from naive candor or from what her cousin had called her social experience. When the food was served and they were eating, he asked her for her address, suggesting she write it on the blank page at the back of the book he had brought along to read, as he never liked the idea of carrying little address books around. When he saw she had written down her phone number, he said, "I won't be calling you up. I hate talking to friends over the phone. I'd much rather write a letter.""Yes, I feel the same way. Friends should enjoy seeing each other face to face. Talking over the phone is considered having contact, but you haven't seen each other, and what you say over the phone can't be kept like a letter to be taken out and read over several times. A phone call is a lazy man's visit or a miser's lettet, not what you would expect from a friend.Besides, did you notice that a person's voice over the phone often sounds unrecognizable or unpleasant?" she said.
"You are right, Miss T'ang. At the Chous where I live,there's a phone right outside my room. The noise gives me a headache every day. Often at the most unreasonable hours, such as in the middle of the night or in early morning, someone will call. It's such a nuisance. Luckily televiewing isn't in wide use;otherwise it'd be even worse. There'd be people spying you when you're in the bathtub or in bed. As education becomes increasingly widespread, the number of people writing letters decreases. Unless it's an important business matter, people are afraid to write letters, and they'd rather call on the phone. I think that's because it's easy to make a fool of yourself in writing a letter. People in high positions can often speak quite well but can't handle a pen effectively.But with a phone call a person can dispense with a visit from someone repulsive or hide his poor writing ability. So the telephone has been considered a great gift to mankind."Fang Hung-chien babbled on happily, urging Miss T'ang to eat from time to time. He, on the other hand, ate very little. By the time they had their fruit for dessert, it was nine o'clock. She wanted to leave, and he didn't dare keep her. After paying the bill, he asked the waiter to call a taxi to take her home. He told her he had promised to go see Miss Su the next day and asked if she was going. She replied she might but doubted Miss Su was really sick. He then asked,"Should we tell her about our dinner tonight?"
"Why not? No, no. I got mad a while ago and told her I wasn't going anywhere today. All right, whatever you decide. In any case you can't go to her place until after work tomorrow, and I will go a little later.""I was thinking of visiting you the day after tomorrow. Would you mind?""I'd be glad to have you. It's just that our house is very cramped, noth ing like Miss Su's Western-style house with a big garden. If you don't mind visiting a modest home, come by all means.""May I meet your father?" he asked."Not unless you have some legal questions to ask him.He usually stays in his law office and doesn't get home until late in the evening. My parents have absolute trust in my sisters and me. They've never interfered with or checked up on our friends," she replied.The taxi arrived as Miss T'ang was speaking, and Hung-chien helped her into it. On his way home in the rickshaw, he thought the day had turned out to be unexpectedly perfect. But Miss T'ang's parting remark about "our friends" made him jealous as he conjured up visions of a huge throng of young men secretly surrounding her.When Miss T'ang arrived home, her parents teased her,"Well, our social butterfly is home." She went to her room and was changing her clothes, when the maid said Miss Su was on the phone. She went downstairs to answer the phone, but halfway down the stairs she changed her mind, stopped, and in structed her maid to say, "Young Lady'7 isn't feeling well and has gone to bed." Indignantly, she thought, That must be my cousin checking up to see whether I'm home or not. She is such a bully. Fang Hun g-chien isn't hers, and he doesn't need her to look after him like that! The more she interferes, the closer 1 will let him get to me. I can never love Fang Hun g-chien; love is a grand and
complicated emotion, and it's never so simple and easy. If I could fall in love with someone that easily, then I can't either believe in or submit to love.
The following afternoon Hung-chien bought some flowers and fruit and went to the Sus. The moment he saw Miss Su, he burst out without giving her a chance to speak, "What happened yesterday? You got sick, she got sick.Was it anything contagious? Or were you afraid I'd poison the food? Was I ever mad! I just went to eatby myself. I could have cared less that you weren't coming. All right, all right, now at least I know what a couple of stuck-up girls you are. Next time I won't risk a refusal."Miss Su apologized, "I really was sick. I felt better by afternoon but didn't call you up for fear you'd scold me for playing jokes on you, changing my mind from one moment to the next. When I told Hsiao-fu I was sick yes terday, I didn't tell her not to go. Let me call her up and ask her over. It's all my fault.
Next time I will be the host."She then called up Miss T'ang to ask if Miss T'ang felt better and invited her over, saying that Hung-chien was at her house. After she hung up, she took the flowers Hung-chien had given her and smelled them, instructing the servant to arrange them in the vase in her bedroom. Turning to Hung-chien, she asked,"When you were in England, did you know a Ts'ao Yuan-lang?"Hung-chien shook his head.
"He studied literature at Cambridge. He's a new-style poet who's just returned from abroad. His family and mine have been friends for generations. Yesterday he came to see me, and he's coming again today.""Oh, so that's it," said Hung-chien. "No wonder you didn't show up yesterday. All that time you were discussing poetry with someone. We're uncouth, just not worthy of your acquaintance. This Mr. Ts'ao hails from the illustrious Cambridge University, while we are nominal students from newly established colleges.How could we ever qualify to make friends with him?Tell me, since your Eighteen Poets of the Colloquial Style doesn't seem to mention him, are you planning to include him in the next edition?"
Miss Su was half angry and half amused. Waving her finger at him, she said, "You like being jealous, and it's over nothing." Her expression and im plication frightened Fang Hung-chien so much that he became wordless, and he blamed himself for having done too well at feigning anger.Presently Miss T'ang came in. Miss Su said to her,"Such airs you put on! I called up yesterday to ask about you, and today you didn't even return the call.Now you wouldn't come until I invited you. Mr. Fang was asking about you.""Am I good enough to put on airs?" said Miss T'ang. "I keep getting bossed around; is it so strange that I don't come until summoned? If I refuse to come after being invited, then you can call me self-important."
Afraid that Miss T'ang might say something about her three telephone calls the day before, Miss Su quickly put her arm around Miss T'ang's waist and said placatingly, "Look at you. I was joking and you take it so seriously." She then peeled an orange Hung-chien had brought and shared it with him. The doorman showed in a perfectly round-faced man,announcing, "Mr. Ts'ao." Hung-chien gave a start. How did his last year's shipmate, Mrs. Sun's child, grow so big already, he wondered, and nearly called Mr.Ts'ao "Broth er Sun." Mrs. Sun's child and the guest did resemble each other a great deal,and somehow Fang felt that it was inappropriate for a poet to have such a plump face and big ears, as if those features would mean that his poetry couldn't be any good. Then he suddenly remembered that the T'ang poet Chia Tao'noted for his poetic leanness, was also round-faced and squat in stature, and he shouldn't judge Ts'ao Yuan-lang by his appearance.When the introductions and pleasantries were over,Ts'ao Yuan-lang took a redwood bound copybook from his briefcase and solemnly presented it to Miss Su,saying, "I brought this today especially to ask for your opinion."
Hung-chien then realized it was not a copybook but a notebook of fine Hsuan calligraphy paper in a deluxe mounting put out by the Jung-pao Print ing House.'Miss Su took the notebook and leafed through it, saying, "Mr. Ts'ao,let me keep it so I can study it. I will return it next week. OK? Hung chien, you haven't read Mr.Ts'ao's work, have you?"
Hung-chien was just thinking what wonderful poetry this must be to be recorded in such a fancy notebook.Reverently he took it from Miss Su; he found standard-type-face characters written very evenly with a brush. The first poem of fourteen lines was entitled "Adulterous Smorgasbord," with the small number "1" beneath it. After studying the poem carefully, he discov ered that the poet's annotations were on the second page. This "1," "2," "3," "4," and so on indicated the sequence of the annotations. Note "1" was "Mlange adult're."
The poem read as follows:
The stars of last night tonight stir ripples on the wind swirling into tomorrow night.The full, plump white belly of the pregnant woman's pasted tremblingly to the heavens.When did this fleeing woman who had maintained a chaste widowhood find a husband?
Jug! Jug! In the mud-En ange e ii mondo![sic]a nightingale sings, Hung-chien skipped to the last couplet:
The summer evening after the rain is saturated and washed; the earth is fertile and fresh.
The smallest blade of grass joins in the soundless outcry. "Hirsind!" At the end of the poem the sources of the words and phrases were care fully noted, including excerpts from the poetry of Li I-shan,T. S. Eliot, Tristan Corbiere, Leopardi, and Franz Werfel. Hung-chien surmised that the "belly of a pregnant woman" referred to the moon; the "fleeing woman," to Ch'ang ; and the "nightiogale in the mud," to a frog. He did not have the stomach to read any further and put the book down on the tea table, saying, "There's not one word without a source. It's almost like what traditional poets call 'scholar's poetry.' Isn't that style neoclassicism?"Ts'ao Yuan-lang nodded and repeated "neoclassic" in English. Miss Su asked which poem it was and then she read through "Adulterous Smorgas bord." When she
finished reading it, she exclaimed, "Such a marvelous title. There's one phrase that's especially good: 'the soundless outcry.' Those words truly capture summer's bursting, squirming vitality. How wonderful that Mr.Ts'ao was able to express everything so xvell!"
Upon hearing this, the poet was so delighted that his plump face, as round as the T'ai-chi diagram,was flooded with butter.
Hung-chien suddenly had the alarming suspicion that Miss Su was either a big idiot or a superb liar.Miss T'ang also went over the poem and said, "Mr.Ts'ao, you're too cruel to us unlearned readers. I can't read any of the foreign words in the poem.The poet said, "The style of this poem is such that those who can't read the foreign words can appreciate it all the more. The title is an assortment, a mixture of different ideas. You just have to note how each person's poetic phrase is used. Naturally the mixture of foreign words with the Chinese gives it a random,disorganized impression. Miss T'ang, didn't you get this haphazard, mixed-up feeling?"Miss T'ang nodded her head in agreement. Like the surface of a pond at the drop of a pebble, Ts'ao Yuan-lang's face was wreathed in smiles. He said,"Then you've grasped the essence of the poem. There's no need to look for its meaning. If the poem has any meaning, so much the worse for it."Miss Su said, "Excuse me, all of you wait here a minute. I will show you something."When Miss Su had gone, Hung-chien said, "Mr. Ts'ao,when Miss Su's second edition of the Eighteen Poets of the Colloquial Style comes out, it'll certainly include you as the nineteenth."Ts'ao Yuan-lang said, "Not a chance. I'm much too different from the other poets; we don't go together.Miss Su told me yesterday that she wrote that book to get her degree. Actually she doesn't think much of their poetry.""Oh, really?""Mr. Fang, have you read her book?""I did, but I don't remember much." When Miss Su gave him a copy, he had merely flipped through it to see who the eighteen poets were."In the preface she quotes a parable by Jules Tellier about a man whose hair was falling out. The man went to get a haircut, but the barber told him he needn't bother because his hair would all fall out by itself in a few days. For the same reason, most of modern literature is not worth criticizing. That parable is quite apt."
"I guess I didn't notice that," Hung-chien could only say, thinking to himself: Good thing I don't want to marry Miss Su; otherwise, I'd have to read her book just as carefully. Too bad Chao Hsin-mei's French is not good enough to read books; otherwise, he could certainly make Miss Su happy the way Ts'ao does now. Miss T'ang said, "The poets my cousin discusses in her book are like eighteen strands of fallen-out hair; in the future Mr. Ts'ao will be like the single strand of hair that the miser refuses to part with."They all laughed. Miss Su returned to the room carrying a purple san dalwood fan case. Winking at Miss T'ang who smiled and nodded, Miss Su removed the case's lid, took out a woman's carved garu-wood folded fan, handed it to Ts'ao and said,"There's a poem on it. Please read it."Yuan-lang opened the fan and read it aloud in the tone of a monk beg ging alms or an actor reciting the spoken part of opera. Hung-chien couldn't make out a word, for the chanting of a poem, like a dying man talking in his sleep, was in the native dialect. After reading it aloud, Yuan-lang then read it once more to himself, his lips puttering up and down in the manner of a cat chanting the sutra. Then he exclaimed, "Very good! It's simple and sincere and has the flavor of an ancient folk song."
Seemingly bashful, Miss Su said, "How sharp you are,Mr. Ts'ao! Tell the truth. Is the poem any good?"Fang Hung-chien took the fan from Ts'ao Yuan-lang. As soon as he saw it, he was filled with disgust. On the perfectly good gilt-flecked fan was the following poem
written askew with a fountain pen in purple ink:
Surely I've not imprisoned you? Or have you taken possession of me? You burst into my heart, Shut the door and turned the key.The key to the lock was lost by me, or maybe by you yourself.Now there's no way to open the door.Forever you are locked in my heart.Below in small characters were: "Autumn, twenty-sixth year of the Republic (1937), an old work copied for Wen-wan. Wang Er-k'ai."This Wang Er-k'ai was a well-known young politician, a middle-level official in Chungking. Miss Su and Miss T'ang meanwhile both looked at Fang Hung-chien,anxiously waiting for his reaction to the poem. He put down the fan and with a wry face said, "The palm of whoever wrote those characters should be spanked. I've never seen fountain pen writing on a fan; well, at least, he didn't write anything in English."
Hastily Miss Su said, "Never mind the calligraphy. What do you think of the poem?"Hung-chien said, "Could someone as ambitious as Wang Er-k'ai for high political office write good poetry?I'm not asking him for a job, and there's no obligation for me to flatter him," totally unaware that Miss T'ang was frowning and shaking her head at him."You are so obnoxious!" fumed Miss Su. "You're completely prejudiced. You shouldn't be discussing poetry." With that she took the fan from him.Hung-chien said, "All right, all right, let me read it again calmly and objectively."Miss Su pouted and said, "I don't want you to," but she let him have the fan again.Suddenly pointing at the poem on the fan, Hung-chien exclaimed, "Oh, terrific! This poem was cribbed"Miss Su's face livid, she said, "Don't be ridiculous!How could it have been cribbed?"
Miss T'ang opened her eyes wide in amazement."At the very least it was borrowed-a foreign loan. Mr.Ts'ao was quite right when he said it had the flavor of an ancient folk song. Remember, Miss Su? We heard the professor talk about this poem in the history of European literature class. It's a German folk song of the fifteenth or sixteenth century. When I studied German with a tutor before I went to Germany, I came across it again in a beginning reader. It started out,'I am yours, you are mine,' and the rest of the poem went something like, 'You've been shut in my heart. The key is lost, and you can never get out.' I can't remember the exact words but I couldn't be mistaken about the general outline. There could never be such a coincidence."Miss Su said, "I don't remember this poem ever being discussed in the history of European literature class."Hung-chien said, "How could you not have? Maybe you didn't pay close attention in class. You didn't have to jot down everything the way I did. You can't be blamed for that. You were attending classes in your own major and your not taking notes just showed how knowledgeable you were. You knew everything the professor said, but I was an auditor from the Chinese literature department; if I didn't keep my pen busy in the classroom, I'd have been laughed at by you for being so ill prepared for the course that I couldn't understand the lecture well enough to take notes."
Miss Su became wordless; Miss T'ang just lowered her head. Ts'ao Yuan lang guessed that Fang Hung-chien's knowledge of German was about as good or as bad as his own. Besides, Fang was a Chinese major, so he couldn't be too brilliant. For in a university, science majors look down on humanities majors, foreign language majors on Chinese majors, Chinese majors on philosophy majors, philosophy majors on sociology majors,and sociology majors in turn on education majors.Since education majors have no one to look down on, they can only despise the professors in their own department.
Immediately Ts'ao Yuan-lang blurted out, "I knew the poem had a model. Didn't I say it had the flavor of an ancient folk song? But Mr. Fang's attitude is contrary to the spirit of literary appreciation. You Chinese majors all have the nasty habit or even obsession of
textual authentication. If a poem has allusions, it means more to someone who can recognize them; reading it will bring to mind countless others which can set it off in Mr. Fang, if you read T. S. Eliot's poetry, you'd realize that every phrase in modern Western poetry has its source, but we never accuse those poets of plagia r,sm. Do we, Miss Su?"
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