Pearl recited Hsu Chih-mo’s poem titled “Cancer in Literature.”
The language smells of a dying room
Rotten, filthy and stinky
Anxiety and struggle
No means of escape
Youthful enthusiasm
Hope and ideal
Grass grows through concrete
To reach sunlight and air
“You are falling in love with Hsu Chih-mo,” Pearl teased.
I wished that I could deny it. I took an assignment in Shanghai so that I could attend Hsu Chih-mo’s poetry reading. I was excited to find that he was everything I had imagined. He was a six-foot-tall, handsome northern Chinese. He had silky, curly black hair. His leaf-shaped eyes were gentle, although his gaze was intense. Under his Mongolian high-bridged nose was a sensuous mouth. He read passionately. The world around me disappeared.
I entrust
The poplar catkins have all fallen
I entrust
The cuckoos confuse nights with days
And cry “It’s better to return!”
To the bright moon
I entrust an anxious heart
Who says you are a thousand miles away
I entrust
Moonlight will shine on you
I entrust
The frost kisses the marshland’s tender reeds
I followed Hsu Chih-mo and bought tickets to his lectures. I dressed for him and hoped that our paths would cross. He didn’t appear to notice me, but I felt rewarded just to be able to see him.
In Shanghai I learned that I was among thousands of women who dreamed of Hsu Chih-mo. We threw ourselves at him like night bugs at a light.
Pearl told me that Hsu Chih-mo was a constant subject of gossip columns. His affairs with three different women had made headlines in the Shanghai Evening News and the Celebrity Magazine. The first was his wife by an arranged marriage. She was the daughter of a wealthy family in Shanghai and followed Hsu to England. The couple committed the unthinkable: They issued a public letter claiming that their relationship was loveless and wrong. Chinese society was stunned by the word divorce. Cynics believed that Hsu had abandoned his wife to pursue other women. The wife returned home to give birth to their son and continued to live with and serve Hsu Chih-mo’s parents.
It was said that the beautiful Miss Lin was Hsu Chih-mo’s second lady. She was an American-educated architect and the daughter of Hsu’s mentor, a professor of Chinese literature in England. Miss Lin was said to be torn between Hsu Chih-mo and her fiancé, a famous scholar of Chinese architecture. After much publicized drama, Miss Lin chose her fiancé over Hsu Chih-mo. Hsu Chih-mo’s third lady was a courtesan from Peking. He married her in an effort to save her from opium addiction and alcohol. Their marriage was troubled from the start. It had been a staple on the front pages of newspapers and magazines.
Pearl sent me a telegram while I was still in Shanghai. My heart took flight withevery word: “Hsu Chih-mo is scheduled to visit Nanking University. He is accompanying Tagore, a poet from India. You’d better hurry because I have sent Hsu Chih-mo an invitation to give a talk in my class and HE HAS ACCEPTED!”
CHAPTER 16
The roles of host and guest were reversed from the beginning. Hsu Chih-mo was getting more attention than his distinguished guest, Tagore. The two stood shoulder to shoulder onstage in front of a podium. Tagore read his poem Gitanjali as Hsu Chih-mo translated. Listeners packed the hall. Students applauded at each of Hsu Chih-mo’s sentences.
Looking like a brass temple bell, Tagore was wrapped in a brown blanket. Although he was only in his fifties, the Chinese thought him older because of his chest-length gray beard. In contrast, Hsu Chih-mo was slender, youthful, and stylish. One could easily tell that he was what the crowd had been waiting for. He was the reigning prince of Chinese literature.
Tagore grew increasingly uneasy as the students cheered Hsu Chih-mo. Turning to Hsu Chih-mo, Tagore said, “I thought the crowd was here to see me.”
“Yes, sir,” Hsu Chih-mo assured him. “The people have come to celebrate your work.”
Pearl and I sat in the front row. I wore my silver Shanghai-style coat with a crimson silk scarf. Pearl had arrived late. She wore her wrinkled brown jacket and black cotton skirt and was in a pair of Chinese peasant shoes. Her socks were so worn they hung loose at her ankles. From the disarray of her hair, I knew she’d just had a problem with Carol.
“I can’t believe it. You didn’t bother to dress up,” I whispered in her ear.
She cut me off. “Just be glad that I am here.”
I wouldn’t let her off easily. “It’s Hsu Chih-mo, for God’s sake. How often do we get to meet with a celebrity?”
She gave me a tired look.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t.”
“Say it.” I held her elbow.
“Fine.” She turned and whispered in my ear, “I wouldn’t have minded missing Hsu Chih-mo. Tagore is the one I came for.”
“How about I take the young one and you take the old?” I teased.
“Shush!”
The duet on the stage continued. Hsu Chih-mo translated Tagore’s last poem:
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions
They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast
But I evade them ever
For I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
People blame me and call me heedless
I doubt not they are right in their blame
“Tagore is lucky,” I whispered to Pearl.
Nodding, she agreed. “Hsu Chih-mo is particularly good at reconstructing Tagore’s sentences into Chinese.”
“Tagore doesn’t seem to fully appreciate it.”
Hsu Chih-mo continued,
The market day is over and work is all done for the busy
Those who came to call me in vain have gone back in anger
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands
Pearl and Hsu Chih-mo stood together in front of her class. She had invited the poet to speak to her students the day after his appearance with Tagore. This was before they knew what was going to happen-long before historians wrote about this moment.
I could tell that Hsu Chih-mo was surprised by the excellence of Pearl ’s Chinese. Except for her Western features and the color of her hair, Pearl was Chinese in every way.
“My apologies for the humble reception, but our hearts are sincere.” Pearl smiled and gestured to one of her students to come pour tea for Hsu Chih-mo.
“Long Jing from Hangchow,” Pearl said, taking the tea to Hsu Chih-mo. She bowed lightly after placing the cup in front of him.
In retrospect, it was I who didn’t see that Hsu Chih-mo was attracted to Pearl the moment he laid eyes on her. Her ease and confidence caught him.
“Where are you from?” Hsu Chih-mo asked Pearl, ignoring the class.
In a perfect Chin-kiang dialect, Pearl replied, “The pig is from River North.”
He understood her joke and laughed.
Many southern Chinese called coolies, drifters, beggars, and bandits River North Pigs, because they came from the northern, unfertile part of the Yangtze River and were poor and a lower class. With this joke, Pearl revealed two facts about herself. First, she was a native. Second, she identified with the people. If she had wanted, she could have spoken perfect Mandarin with an Imperial accent.
During the class Hsu Chih-mo discussed his effort in translating Tagore.
Pearl was charming, although her questions were daring. She challenged Hsu Chih-mo on the Indian rhythm compared to the Chinese. She also asked him to explain the art of his translation, especially the difference between being “faithful in appearance” and “faithful in essence.”