Tian Shuangling
Translated by Zhang Shuhan
Grain Rain3 had already passed, but the small garden in front of her house was still barren and sallow, like a woman in a bad mood pulling a sickly straight face.
She happened to be in a bad mood. How could she be in a good one? Ever since she wandered into exile from that marriage, she’d been sick, stricken with drowsiness, headaches, nausea, irritation, and insomnia. Bowl after bowl of dark and bitter traditional Chinese medicine hadn’t helped her feel much better.
Her neighbor’s garden, the same size as hers, was already teeming with thriving greens at this time. The spring chives had been harvested several times already. The canola was becoming denser between the ridges, day by day. Ever since the Awakening of Insects,4 the young mint leaves had been inching out in all directions, one sprout and shrub at a time. When she looked at them, she shuddered. Once they crossed the border, she’d pull them out without a second thought.
She was standing in her garden with a cup of black tea in her hand, basking under the 10 a.m. sun, and watching the stout woman next door squatting in her garden, harvesting chives. She eyed the regrettable fold in her neighbor’s waist, then thought what a shame it was for such a beautiful garden. How could she use it to grow such lowly vegetables? There should have been roses or wisterias planted there to climb up the window bars, clusters of florets hanging down from their vines. How pleasant it would be, she thought, to read books and drink tea in the fragrance of flowers! But she had just moved there last winter. She hadn’t learned how to grow a flower garden yet, so naturally spring had yet to visit her barren garden.
The woman next door lumbered to her feet, saw her, and offered some chives over the low garden fence, “The chives shot up after it rained the day before yesterday. Please have a fresh taste of the season.”
A smile hid her disdain, “Thanks, but the odor doesn’t agree with me.”
The neighbor responded merrily, “My husband loves dumplings with chives in the filling. He stuffs himself every time I make them.”
The woman listened, and then with an effort, lowered her eyelids, shook her head, and said, “I have a headache.” She turned to go back inside.
Her neighbor, seeing her painful look as she shook her head with her eyes closed, asked her to wait. She then bent down, nipped a few mint leaves, crumbled them into pieces with her fingers, and extended her hand in invitation, “Come over.”
The woman leaned over diffidently, her head obediently lowered, and let her neighbor rub the gobbet of green onto her temples. A refreshing feeling instantly spread over her scalp, gradually awakening her from her disordered state of mind.
It was really amazing! She thanked her neighbor. The woman pointed cheerfully to the mint on the ground and said, “Feel free to take them if it helps. They’ll grow back.”
…It was another nice day. The woman discreetly looked across the fence at her neighbor’s garden. The clothing line in the west corner was hung full of colorful clothes: small items for children, wrinkled clothes for men and women, a woman’s floral top, a faded cheap bedsheet and a duvet cover. From one look, you could tell they were made of blended fabric with low cotton content, prone to pill formation.
The neighbor was in her loose sleepwear, watering vegetables with a red plastic basin in her hand. A baby’s cry came from the house. She called for her husband to go comfort the baby while wondering out loud why there were insects on the vegetable leaves.
The two houses had only a wooden fence between them; but it seemed as if a screen separated her from a living world of smoke and fire. Her neighbor’s mundane life, now shimmering in front of her eyes, had become marvelous!
Pointing at that green mint shrub on the ground, the neighbor beckoned her, “Come pick some!”
She walked into the neighbor’s garden many times after that, plucking a couple of mint leaves each time, crushing them and rubbing them to get that refreshing feeling—and surprisingly, just like that, her headaches were eventually cured.
Every noon, a noisy, clattering rhythm would come from her neighbor’s kitchen, followed by the popping sound of chopped green onion in heated oil, and its delicious smell. She sniffed greedily, felt like a spying elf inhaling the essence of the human world next door.
She was alone in her house, and it was very quiet. More and more, she grew afraid of this silence. Like an apparition without sound or form, it hid by her side, furtively draining her vitality, bit by bit.
She put away the cold coffeemaker, bread maker, and food processor in the cupboard. Then she went to the supermarket and bought an apron with a flowery pattern. She got chives, ground pork, and flour from the food market, and all the seasonings she needed. For once, she wanted to make dumplings and be a busy housewife.
The deserted kitchen bustled with life. Clumsily, she made the filling, the dough, and the dumpling skins. In a short while, the tip of her nose and her arms were covered with flour. She looked at herself in the mirror and couldn’t help giggling. When the dumplings were cooked, she scooped one up and tasted it, only to burn her tongue and lips, and draw tears to her eyes. As she was wiping her tears, it suddenly dawned on her—what her marriage lacked was exactly this kind of smoke and fire! The food she made for her man, flower salad and seafood sushi and so on, did not appeal to his stomach nor did it agree with his kidneys. Even the dumplings and the glutinous rice balls he liked, he only got flash-frozen, not freshly cooked. No wonder he said with a wry smile that the food made him cold from the inside out and was turning him into a frozen man.
That was how their marriage had cooled off. It turned out that her wish to keep the romance of their courtship during marriage was as unpractical as trying to bottle the clouds and fogs of Mount Huangshan.
She boiled some dumplings, cooled them, then carefully put them into a thermal box and went out. She rode the bus all the way across the city. She did this to bring the dumplings to him.
When she brought the thermal box to him and opened the lid, she saw his dark eyes light up, then quickly grow wet.
Her life regained its color. Every morning at dusk, she would go to the market with a basket in her hand and a spring in her step. When she came back, her basket would be full of fresh vegetables, fish, tofu, and so on. Food came to life and blossomed in her hands. When the meal was cooked and packed, she’d take the bus across many streets to bring it to her man. Who’d have thought that the simple acts of washing hands and making soup could also bring her so much happiness! She finally understood what a friend once said, “However fine a porcelain utensil, it can’t be as dependable as a coarse, sturdy bowl!”
Five or six days after the Start of Summer,5 he came back home to her. She led her man by the hand to the neighbor’s garden. As she was happily showing him the garden, she found to her surprise that her neighbor’s mints had taken the liberty of crossing over. They had taken root in her garden and were spreading generously over a large area.
She had once thought she would pull them out without hesitation. Well, this mint with green, spreading leaves, who had the power to resist it?
“Let’s pick some mint to make tea and invite our neighbor over,” she suggested.
“Sure,” the man said.
The refreshing fragrance of mint spread from her garden into the early summer air.
(2012)
VOCABULARY AND USAGE
| 时令 |
shílìng |
seasons |
羊肉热量很高，夏天吃不合时令。 |
| 板脸 |
bănliăn |
have a taut face |
你不高兴也不能在顾客面前板着脸。 |
| 蜡黄 |
làhuáng |
sallow |
她病得不轻，脸色蜡黄。 |
| 素脸 |
sùliăn |
face without makeup |
你是大明星，哪能素脸出门？ |
| 流落 |
liúluò |
drift out |
你怎么会一个人流落到这里？家人都哪儿去了？ |
| 减轻 |
jiănqīng |
ease; alleviate |
这药治不好你的病，但能减轻你的痛苦。 |
| 汤汁 |
tāngzhī |
soup; broth |
这样煲汤，肉没什么味道了，汤汁却格外鲜美。 |
| 热闹喧腾 |
rènào xuānténg |
lively and noisy |
除夕的家乡，到处都是一片热闹喧腾的景象。 |
| 一片 |
yīpiàn |
a scene of… |
|
| 好 |
hăo |
an adverb to emphasize |
这首歌我今天又听了好几遍。 |
| 茬 |
chá |
a measure word (for a crop); batch |
这里气候温暖，一年至少可以种两茬庄稼。 |
| 渐 |
jiàn |
gradually; by degrees |
天气渐冷，出门要多穿点儿衣服。 |
| 拱 |
gŏng |
sprout up through the earth |
小苗已经拱出土了，春天真的是来到了。 |
| 晒 |
shài |
bask in (sunshine) |
他的皮肤一晒就黑。 |
| 赘肉 |
zhuìròu |
unwanted fat; bulge |
真想把腰上的赘肉减掉！ |
| 攀 |
pān |
climb; clamber |
常春藤顺着墙一直攀到了房顶。 |
| 簇 |
cù |
a measure word; pile; bunch |
窗边开着一簇小紫花。 |
| 春风不度 |
chūnfēngbú dù |
no sign of spring |
为什么邻家园子春意盎然，我家的却春风不度？ |
| 蹿 |
cuān |
shoot up; leap up |
雨后竹节上蹿的可快了。 |
| 尝鲜 |
cháng xiān |
have a taste of seasonal delicacy |
这是今年的第一茬韭菜，你尝尝鲜吧。 |
| 掐 |
qiā |
pinch; nip |
她掐了一下他的胳膊，把他弄醒了。 |
| 丝 |
sī |
a measure word |
从门缝透进来一丝凉气。 |
| 清凉 |
qīngliáng |
cool and refreshing |
夏天大家都爱喝茶和酸梅汁等清凉饮料。 |
| 沁入 |
qìn rù |
soak into; permeate |
这花香从鼻孔沁入肺腑。 |
| 鬓角 |
bìnjiăo |
temple |
爸爸的头发已从鬓角处开始变白。 |
| 道谢 |
dàoxiè |
express one’s thanks |
他拿到大奖时首先向他小学的语文老师道谢。 |
| 管用 |
guănyòng |
effective |
这药真管用，药到病除 。 |
| 晾 |
liàng |
air; dry in the sun |
在这两棵树之间扯根绳子可以晾衣服。 |
| 斑斓 |
bānlán |
bright/multicolored |
新英格兰的十月，红枫争妍，秋色斑斓。 |
| 皱巴巴 |
zhòubābā |
wrinkled; crumpled |
衣着简朴不丢人，但皱巴巴的不整洁很丢人。 |
| 含 |
hán |
contain |
这些饮料都放了很多糖，也就是说含糖量都很高。 |
| 爱 |
ài |
tend to; be apt to |
她就是爱计较小事的那种人，别跟她一般见识。 |
| 起球 |
qĭ qiú |
piling; balling up |
材质好的衣服是不会起球的。 |
| 吆喝 |
yāohe |
cry out; shout; yell |
有人敲门，妈妈吆喝我去开门。 |
| 叨叨 |
dāodao |
chatter away |
这点儿小事她叨叨了好几天了。 |
| 长 |
zhăng |
there exist; have |
菜叶上长虫子是正常的。 |
| 继而 |
jì’ér |
then; afterward |
他说出了问题所在，继而又提出一系列解决办法。 |
| 爆锅 |
bàoguō |
quick stir-fry in hot oil |
中国人做很多菜的第一步都是用葱花儿爆锅。 |
| 刺啦 |
cīlā |
an onomatopoeia |
油锅热了，下菜时就会发出刺啦的声响。 |
| 调(馅儿) |
tiáo (xiàn’er) |
make, season, and mix (filling) |
很多在北方长大的女孩子都会调馅儿、擀皮、包饺子。 |
| 擀 |
găn |
roll (out a dumpling wrapper) |
|
| 瞬间 |
shùnjiān |
(a) moment; (in an) instant |
看到妈妈躺在病榻上的那一瞬间，我泪流满面。 |
| 怆然 |
chuàngrán |
sad; mournfully |
她意识到了问题的严重性，怆然失神。 |
| 失神 |
shīshén |
out of sorts |
|
| 亲和力 |
qīnhélì |
affable; friendly; approachable |
他这个人很有亲和力，身边总是围着很多朋友。 |
| 坛子 |
tánzi |
jar; earthen jar |
这个坛子可以用来做泡菜。 |
| 拎 |
līn |
lift; carry |
他从地上拎起箱子走了。 |
| 眸 |
móu |
pupil of eye; eye |
他双眸明亮，神气十足。 |
| 闪 |
shăn |
spark; flash |
一个念头闪过我的脑海。 |
| 顷刻 |
qĭngkè |
instantly; in no time |
他的一句 “对不起” 使多年的恩怨顷刻消解。 |
| 活色生香 |
huósèshēng xiāng |
lively and colorful |
日子要过的活色生香就得在柴米油盐上下功夫。 |
| 步履轻盈 |
bùlǚqīngyíng |
light-footed; breeze along |
心情愉快就会步履轻盈。 |
| 羹汤 |
gēngtāng |
broth |
在外她是女主管，回家她洗手做羹汤。 |
| 瓷器 |
cíqì |
porcelain; chinaware |
轻薄精美的瓷器往往中看不中用。 |
| 恣意 |
zìyì |
willful; recklessly |
六月的野草恣意丛生，怎么拔都拔不尽。 |
| 丛生 |
cóngshēng |
overgrown |
|
| 串 |
chuàn |
string together; cluster together |
我用一根线串起十颗珠子。 |
| 舒展 |
shūzhăn |
stretching; unfolding; extending |
经济舱的座位太挤，没有舒展手脚的空间。 |
| 采 |
căi |
pluck; gather |
她从花园里采回些鲜花。 |
| 品尝 |
pĭncháng |
taste; sample |
在中国，每到一地，我都会去品尝特色的美食。 |
| 弥漫 |
mímàn |
pervade; diffuse |
屋里弥漫着咖啡的浓香。 |
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Can you describe the main character? Can you guess her background? Age? Values? Economic status?
2. Can you describe the woman next door? Why did the main character look down upon her in the beginning?
3. Who would want to “bottle the clouds and fogs of Mount Huangshan”? Why is the story critical of such a view of life?
4. What does mint represent in this story? How does this story connect this plant’s life with human life?
5. Discuss the use of some of the twenty-four solar terms, especially why it is important to use them in this story.
6. Do you believe the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach? What is cooking to the woman when food blossoms in her hands as she cooks?
7. Is this story antifeminist? Or is it that it has a different view of gender equality and of what constitutes positions of power?
1. 你能描述一下女主人公吗？能猜一下她的背景，包括年龄、三观、经济状况等吗？
2. 你能描述一下邻家女人吗？故事一开始，女主人公为什么瞧不起她？
3. 什么样的人想 “把黄山的云雾装入坛子”？故事为什么对这样的生活观持批评态度？
4. 薄荷在故事中意指什么？这个故事怎样把薄荷的属性和生活的道理联系起来？
5. 请讨论一下故事对时令节气的运用, 尤其是这样的运用为什么在故事中很重要。
6. 你相信让男人吃好他才会爱你吗？如果 “粮米菜蔬” 在做饭女人的手中 “花落花开，” 那做饭对她来说是一种什么样的经历？
7. 这是一个反女性主义的故事吗？还是故事对什么是性别平等、权利地位由什么组成等有着不同的见解？
AUTHOR BIO
If there is such a thing as a representative image of Chinese women, Tian Shuangling (1976–) might be it. She is traditional and modern, belongs to the small town and the big city at the same time, loves everyday life and enjoys the metaphysical. Born into a family of educators in Xinxiang County, Henan Province, Shuangling graduated from the Chinese Department of Henan University. She worked as a teacher, a news reporter, and an editor before she joined the staff of Selected Short-Shorts (小小说选刊), arguably the best journal of the short-short genre in China, in 2006.
Thanks to her mother, she was exposed to fairy tales, poetry, and traditional Chinese culture from childhood. She began to publish poetry and prose essays in newspapers when touched by people and things around her in high school. Her experience as a news reporter and her involvement in psychological counseling later on brought her into contact with women of different social classes. When she learned about the vicissitudes of their fates and their complex states of mind, her writing focused on the contemplation of their issues—the value of their existence and the nature of their emotional problems. Since she made the transition in 2004 from prose to short-short stories, she has become increasingly concerned with female psychology and sentiments. Taking material from real life, often a snapshot of the everyday, Tian Shuangling approaches her female subjects with maturity, understanding, and empathy, and she articulates their unique feelings and views of life, love, and marriage from their perspectives. Among her recent works are “The Mint’s Invitation” (“薄荷的邀请”), “No Spring Here” (“春天别来”), “Colorado Moonlight” (“科罗拉多的月光”), and “Scissors’ Matchmaking for the Needle” (“剪刀替针做媒人”).
Tian Shuangling’s works have appeared in many publications; her stories have also been selected for publication in many anthologies and annual collections. When writing, she takes advantage of the ideas/moods/beauty of traditional Chinese poetry in depicting the subtle psychology of her female characters, which, she believes, can be felt but not fully spoken. She does not write to register experiences or emotions; she aspires for the poetic beauty of language, which makes reading a pleasurable experience. For Tian Shuangling, her female characters—their experiences, attitudes, understanding of love, empathy, and self-reflective behavior—are sources of wisdom and expressions of beauty.