And Then I Spoil It All By Saying Something Stupid…

Rice Padi by Nefarious Kitty.

The time is right
Your perfume fills my head
The stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you
I love you...

- Robbie Williams (Something Stupid).

The atmosphere at the dinner table was giddy if not tipsy from too many drinks. And drinks did flow liberally. Everyone drank. Even MingYu and mother Chen. A pall has been lifted from the Chen household. MingYu is back. Disaster has been averted.


The fisherman was dumbfounded how he could be the catalyst for such a change when he was just one of those swept away by the tide. Events have moved so fast that he was not sure he liked it even when the outcome was favorable. He did not like having so little control and felt like a pawn of the Gods. He wished for quiet moments to digest it all.

It was hardly 6 p.m. when dinner was done. They ate early in this part of the country. Mother Chen spoke to MingYu “You best be going.” Though old man Chen would have liked to retain the fisherman for a chat, he also waved them on “Go, go.” Everyone one seemed to know except him.

But he dutifully followed MingYu though a little reluctantly. He ought to speak to her about letting him know what is going on. But that thought melted they walked along the path separating the sprouting padi plants, “I’m sorry for not letting you on before hand what is going on. I hope you’ll continue to be patient with me a little longer. It is unfair to you, I know. But it is still difficult for me to explain things. So I just dump it on you without warning.” How could he be angry when she begged for compassion and understanding with those sorry eyes? “Soon, everything will be clear to you. I will answer every question before we leave this place.”


He pondered over that last sentence. Does it mean he has to ask? Will she not volunteer to tell? Once again, the fisherman wondered if he is being led by the nose like that huge black water buffalo being led by that barefooted boy through the muddy field. Doubts and a little resentment built up but at the same time, he knew he could not walk away so was upset when she said softly “You can walk away any time.” How can he walk away now without guilt? Was she saying it to make herself feel better or has she taken him for granted. But he chose not to be angry. He chose to ignore what was said and instead focus the faltering insecurity and appealing note in her voice. He reminded to keep his ego in check. Where did he get this instinct to handle woman?


After half an hour, they came to a lone house at the edge of the village. The roof was sagging and in need of repair and the perimeter fence would not have kept out any intruder whether man or beast. In parts, the wall has crumpled and exposed the interior of the kitchen blackened with smoke through which they were emitting. He was wondering why she took him to this place when a young girl with pouncing pigtails rushed out the main door. She saw MingYu and gave a squeal. She was about to turn and shout when MingYu silenced her by lifting her finger to her mouth. She called “Ta jie” affectionately. MingYu grasped both her hand.


“Is Po po in?” MingYu asked.


The girl nodded her head and in a broken voice said “Grandma misses you. Her health is not good. She worries too much for you.”


That broke MingYu’s composure. She pulled the girl to her. Tears streamed down her face and the young girl was sobbed loudly. “I’m so sorry. It must have been difficult for you. So very sorry.” That only brought more violent sobbing.


“Ta jie, I miss you too. It hurts me so much to imagine your pain.”


When the crying stopped as all crying must, she introduced XiaoTing (little grace) to the fisherman. She eyed him suspiciously and her expression was critical. “Xiao Ting!” MingYu protested “He saved my life!” Little Grace looked down at the earth. Apparently that was not enough to earn him her favor. MingYu whispered into her ears “you will get to like him” but XiaoTing stubbornly shook her head.


Leaving her to sulk, MingYu led the fisherman into the bedroom at the back of the house. She lifted the door curtain to reveal a pitch dark room without a window. It took them a while for their eyes to get accustomed to see a small room with a bed that occupied half the space. She took the stool and sat near the head of the bed. On it was an old woman with untidy silver hairs running down the side of her face. She was all bone and skin and her cheekbone protruded prominently due to her sunken cheeks. She was asleep with an open mouth and there was a faint trail of saliva on one side. MingYu took out her handkerchief that still wrapped the hairpin and gently wiped her mouth with it. The old woman woke up with a start and stared blankly at her. As her consciousness adjusted to the reality, she smiled broadly and said “I thought I was still dreaming.” All of a sudden and quick for a sickly old woman, she slapped MingYu’s hand where she could reach.


“Ouch! That hurts” MingYu complained. “You deserve that and more, for making an old woman worry!”


MingYu said softly “You know I’ll be back.”


“Yes, I know. I only worry I’ll not live to see it. And I worry how you are coping even as I know you are a strong one and will find a way.”


This encounter was very different from the previous ones. There were no tears. Though even more poignant, they were like old friends paying a visit after a brief separation. MingYu was stroking the old woman’s hand after helping her to sit up against the headboard.


“And who have we here?” asked the old woman. When told, she smiled “You worked fast, coming home with such a big fish.” MingYu laughed, “And who taught me to fish?” He saw the old woman searching MingYu’s expression and once again, he saw relief. The fisherman thought – had he really done so well or had the expectations of everyone being lowered so much? No, not everyone. Little Grace thought her elder sister deserved better. Being young and idealistic, she did not waver in her expectation.


“Come here so I can see you better.” The fisherman stepped forward and brought her face close to her. She ran her gnarly hand over his face and suddenly pinched his cheek hard. “Ouch!” MingYu protested, “Grandma!” She chuckled “Good! Good thin skin. Good catch, good catch. You are one lucky fish; you know that, don’t you?”


“No, she is luckier.” The fisherman replied in the same vein which earned a “Hey!” from MingYu and a slap on his back. The grandma now caught hold of the fisherman’s hand “I think I’ll keep this pretty boy myself.” Now, I know where MingYu got her mischievous nature.


MingYu said “Po po. Pretty boy got a gift for you.” And she handed her the hairpin and the bundle of cash. “How thoughtful of you to think of an old woman. MingYu, he is right. You’re the lucky one” she said with a twinkle in her grey cloudy eyes. “But I can’t take your money. The hairpin I’ll treasure.”


The fisherman took the initiative and said “Po po, the money I can earn back. But if you won’t accept it, MingYu will always worry about you. And you won’t want her to worry, would you?” (The fisherman was glad that he now knew why MingYu needed the money). The old woman did not reply, just looked at MingYu with tear stained eyes “I worry so much. But now I’m so happy for you.”


Then she coughed. Not the clear cough of the young but the guggling cough of a flooded lung. MingYu reached forward but the fisherman was nearer so he patted her back till the cough subsided. The old woman then dismissed him and he left the two of them in the room while he went outside to wait for them.


The green fields were separated in untidy blocks by the earthen banks. They stretched out far into a sea of green. He felt a figure came and squatted beside him. He knew without looking that it was XiaoTing. He did not turn to look or say anything. After a few moments of silence, XiaoTing hesitantly asked “Do you love Ta Jie?” He heard the accusation in her voice.


“Do you know what I see?” His fingers swept across the field. “I saw the sea. Where I came from, the sea was everything. It can be as calm as a field of padi swaying in the wind, but empty. For a lonely person, the sea best represent his feelings. That is why he loves the sea so much because he thinks it understands him. So he consoles himself that if he has the sea, it will be enough. But deep down, he also wishes for someone to share his love of the sea. Sometimes when I returned from the sea, I looked at the rocks. Do you know what I hope to see? I hope to see a pretty mermaid. If one day, I should be so lucky and actually see that mermaid, do you think I will love her?”


Under the shade of the outstretched branch of the solitary tree in front of the house, the two figures looked into the distance in silence. XiaoTing appealed naively in a voice full of emotions “I beg you. Please take good care of Ta Jie.” The fisherman unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled his necklace over his head. It was a black string through which was strung several small smooth shells. He untied and slipped one shell out and placed it in XiaoTing’s hand. “My promise.”


On the way back, MingYu told the fisherman that the old woman was her wet nurse and nanny. When she was too old to work, she refused to stay in the Chen household though they treated her as one of the family. She wanted to die in her own home, she said and that is one request they could not denied her. But they all knew that the real reason is that she not wants to be a burden to anyone. XiaoTing was hired by the Chen to look after her. MingYu visited her often until she had to run away.


“Come. Let me take you to a special place.” It was a small hill with rather steep side that stood out in the plain. She was agile and climbed like a mountain goat. He was more cautious but followed her footing till they came to a clearing near the top. Spread out before them was a field of matted green. He told her about his own little hill and she expressed a desire to see it. He liked the image of the two of them sitting there watching the sun descending into the sea.


After a while, they fell into silence; each lost in their own thoughts. They must have come here many times and sit in this very spot, he thought. They have history and he has none. This thought depressed him and he was jealous. “Are you thinking of him?” he could not resist asking. She did not reply him. And his suspicion was confirmed. This hill, this beautiful scenery did not belong to him. He will need to give her a new hill, a new scene, a new experience, a new memory. He stood and wanted to suggest leaving this place which will be forever haunted with their past.


“Please stay with me a little longer” she said in a small voice that was hardly audible. “I’m sorry to bring you here. But I need to see this place for one last time.” He told himself not to be too harsh. She was just trying to wrestle with her feelings. So he sat down besides her again. She leaned against him. Then she buried her face in his chest. He was afraid she will hear the pounding of his heart.


Through muffled voice, she said “I was so confident when I led you here. I thought I had conquered my feelings. I did not expect the hurt to resurface. Now I know it will take more time to heal. Please give me more time. Please be patient with me. I know it is unfair. Too much to ask…” And he felt the warm spreading wetness in his chest. They burned like acid, burned through his skin and into his heart. But he placed his hand over her head and gently stroked it. At that moment of shared feelings and raw emotions, he wanted to tell her he loved her. But he chocked back those words. This should be the happiest moment in his life. But the woman he loved and was holding was crying for another man. When they climbed down that hill, the fisherman was a little bitter but in his unhappiness he did not realize that he had seeded the hill with his memory.


That night was the first time they shared the same bed. They slept stiffly apart. She reached out for his hand and said “Thank you.” And then after several moments of silence, added “Tomorrow please accompany me to see him.” When he was sure she had fallen asleep, he whispered those words he was afraid to say.

“I love you.”

To be continued...

The Painting of Endless Sorrow.

They sat shoulder to shoulder as the rickshaw made its way nosily down the cobbled street. While her face was composed and she occasionally let out a nervous smile, he could feel the stiffness in her shoulder. She had fallen silent as if she needed to focus all her attention to curb an erupting heart. Or is she afraid to betray her vulnerable emotional state by talking? He understood. Some feelings are just too private to share even when you wanted and feel you ought to.

It must be difficult for her to come back, he thought. And he admired her guts to go back and tied all loose ends. To close this chapter in her life so she can begin a new one. At least, this is what he thought.

Her whole body suddenly stiffened and she braced herself. He looked at her and saw her eyes misting over staring straight ahead. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw two figures standing in front of the main door in one of the houses in the distance. A tall old man in his grey Chinese suit and a shorter, more rounded woman were waiting anxiously. She clenched her fist crushing the life out of her silk handkerchief. He found his own heart accelerating its beat, beating as if in tandem with hers.

Before the rickshaw even came to a complete stop, she jumped out and rushed forward. There was a heartbreaking cry of excitement, joy and anguish all combined into a shattering note of broken string from the older woman. They rushed into each others arms and the cries of many subdued nights all bursts forth in copious volumes. Their bodies shook even as they grasped each other tightly. The tall thin man remained rooted where he stood, his face screwed up tightly forcing back the tide. He looked stern, disapproving, but the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

The old man lifted his eyes and saw the fisherman. He could not bring a smile to his frozen face so he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. The fisherman had by now arranged his face into one of neutrality and he lowered his head in a polite gesture. They both stood behind and a respectable distance apart from the two women still convulsing in deep embrace. Gradually, on what seemed liked a very long time to the two uncomfortable gentlemen; the cries subsided to be followed by a long line of questionings and protestations in-between. MinYu (yes, that is her real name he learned that day), through her quiet sobs just replied to every questions with “I’m alright, I’m alright”. At this juncture, the man broke in by saying “we are making ourselves a spectacle, let us go inside before we continue”. Everyone suddenly realized that is a wise thing to do and they all went in depriving the neighbors of further dramas.

(Min means nimble, sharp, quick, and sensitive. Yu means rain. So should he consider her nimble rain, the image of a gentle rain running with the wind pleases him or should he thought of her as sharp and sensitive rain. In the end, he thought both are appropriate and the name suited her well).

Inside the courtyard before they stepped into the guest hall, MinYu introduced them. “These are my parents” she said to the fisherman. And to her parents she said “This is Chong, my husband.”

Even though he knew they would have suspected such a possibility, they still could not hide their shock and dismay. After a few stunned seconds, it was elder Chen who recovered first. “What manners! Welcome In, come on into our humble abode.” He admired the way he recovered from the shock thus saving all of them from further embarrassment.

The hall was not lavishly decorated but it had a large picture of high cliffs pushing through dense suspended clouds. A poem in classical calligraphy read:

I long to live among the clouds
Hidden from friendly eyes
But the source of my sorrow
Return me to its muddy water.

He had asked MingYu to read it to him when they were shown to their room. He thought it was beautiful and complemented the painting well but it was so sad. Why would anyone want to hang such a depressing piece in their hall? MingYu was surprised by his innocent remark and a thoughtful expression crossed her face. He thought he had offended her and started to apologize when she said “No, you did not”. It was then he realized that this is the first time she had connected her misfortune with the poem and cursed himself for being so stupid not to see it coming. He was about to make a second apology but knew the damage was already done. Instead she said “you continue to surprise me” and he knew she meant it as a compliment.

He asked who the poet is but she told him it was actually written by a relatively unknown poetess. Poetess is not held in high regards but his father is a man of rare taste and not governed by fashion. It made sense, he said, “women grieved more than man” which brought another smile to MingYu.

After a brief time together, MingYu went to have a private conversation with her mother in her room while old man Ng received the fisherman in the hall. “I heard that you’re a fish merchant”

He looked at the old man’s hopeful eyes and decided to come clean with him out of respect “No, I’m a fisherman.” Then as a second thought, he added more for the old man’s benefit than his own. “I have my own boat and a crew working for me.”

“I see.”

In spite of himself, he could not help thinking. What do you see, Chen XianSheng Did I disappoint you? I’m sorry I’m not more deserving of her. And for once, he wished he was rich so he could assure him that he could give a life of comfort to MingYu.

“A fisherman’s life must be tough.”

“It is okay once you get used to it.” Looking at the bookcase full of books, he said “To me, the life of a man of letter is tougher.” He immediately regretted saying it, worried that the old man may think him a country bumpkin.

Instead, the old man laughed. “I guess you are right. Every profession has its own difficulties but most of the time, it is only difficult because we are not familiar. I’m just worried whether MingYu can get used to such a life.”

The fisherman shared the same thought so he said “I’ve the same worry. I’ve asked her to reconsider. She is free to leave anytime she wishes.”

This time the old man looked at him with genuine surprise. He stared at the fisherman for a prolonged time not sure what to think. He must have approved for he gently patted the fisherman’s hand and said “Thank you. Please take good care of MingYu for us. It is her luck to find you.”

“No, I’m the lucky one.”

After this they stopped talking about such personal matter which though is necessary is difficult and a little painful for the men. But with mutual respect, they found it easy to talk to each other about other things. They were both genuinely curious about the other’s way of life. The tension evaporated and they felt comfortable enough to give their personal observation and opinion on the topics they discussed.

The old man noticing the fisherman’s interest in his favorite painting was happy to take him for a closer look and explained its beauty. The fisherman asked, “The painting of the hills is so serene but the emotion of the poem is so troubled. I hope you don’t think it rude of me, but can I ask why you would hang a painting with such a sad poem in the hall?”

The old man smiled broadly at the question “It is sad but it is not depressing, or it is depressing only if one yields to it like one would to opium, allowing it to sap all your energy. Let me see how I can explain it better.” He thought about it a while and then thought the only way was to use a personal example. “When I bought this painting, I had the same feeling. I found it very beautiful but thought it would be more appropriate in my study room which was where it spent most of its time in this house. Then one day, while looking at it; I thought. The source of my sorrow is sad and a little painful, even today; but it did not destroy me and is not continuing to. Rather, it taught me valuable lessons, made me the man I am and taught me how to treasure, not only love but also life itself. So while I can hide myself away in the hills, I will never be free of the swirling, agitated waters of the river I swam in. So why deny it? From that day, I moved it from my study to my hall. It is not a grim reminder of my lost. It is a reminder of what I have become from my lost. I treasured both, not separately but as a single entity. For me and what I had lost has merged into one. And I don’t find myself depressing! Ha-ha.” The old man let out a loud laugh.

Listening to the old man, the fisherman seemed to have fallen into his own thoughts. Surveying the painting and as if speaking to himself he said, “How relevant to MingYu too.”

That remark shocked the old man into silence. His face turned somber and sad. The two men stared at the painting both wishing that MingYu’s outcome would be as positive as the owner of this painting.

MingYu and his mother came into the hall, sorrow were erased from their faces and replaced by a new gaiety. They can almost be described as happy. “You two seemed to be getting along fine, what is the laughter about?”

The old man said “Your husband. He is amazing.”


MingYu looked at the fisherman with pride, “He is, isn’t he?”

To be coninued...

Story Of A Small Town.

A small town has many tales
Full of joy and sorrow,
If you come to a small town
You can reap a bountiful harvest.

- Teresa Teng’s “Story of a Small Town”

I think she was recognized in the station of that small town. Heads turned, hushed whispers followed our passage. She just walked through like one would through a mist, conscious of, but treating it no more than a mild annoyance on the road to her destination.


The minute she stepped down the train, she transformed back into that serious, intense, rebellious woman he first met. Holding her head high, she projected an air of invulnerability and even a tinge of haughtiness. He now knew this was not her true nature but even then, he had to recall her tenderness to convince himself that it was all an act. But it was more than acting. It was as if she had stepped into the skin of another woman. Everything about her changed, the way she carried herself, the way she walked, talked and her general facial expression. If it was acting, it was flawless. I observed the transformation with amazement and not a little admiration.


And she didn’t just cut through the crowd. She nodded to some and exchanged greetings with others in a steady confident voice. At her request, I’ve worn my best set of clothing. The only silk I owned that was passed down from my dear departed father. It was hardly worn (never saw my father in it) sew in the timeless fashion of a conservative gentlemen. All I need to do is to live up to the apparel. I took the cue from her and assumed a leisurely bored air. It was amusing to note the response and respect people paid to the clothing. I had initial misgivings but as I walked along I began to feel a sort of secret enjoyment that I did not know I possessed. Maybe I am also an actor at heart. She was opening doors in me that I did not even know was there. And as an actor, I found I could put guilt and embarrassment aside as I had become a different person. There was a strange sense of freedom that a poor fisherman from down South can never possessed. It changed me that day. And though I was and always will be a fisherman at heart, I was no longer the same fisherman. And though I will always be with the sea, my world has reached beyond that sea.


I picked up strange dialects with different intonation, heavy, guttural and to my unfamiliar ears spoken fiercely as if in a quarrel. The ladies’ speeches were flighty, lighter but faster like an excited sparrow skipping on freshly hoed earth. But when she spoke the dialect, it sounded different. It was like the flight a gliding sparrow over a field of grain, musical. She did only casual bargaining as if it was beneath her station to involve in deep haggling. But she was firm with her prices and walked away if they were not met only to have the hawker running after her to accept her offer. She bought several pounds of choice cuts reddish pork, two fat chickens all tussled up, several rolls of succulent Chinese sausages, a large bundle of fresh “Emperor’s Green”, a few flasks of aromatic rice wine – enough to prepare a feast for a king. She then beckoned a street urchin without shoe to send them to an address written on a piece of paper and a note announcing her return. The grinning boy with the unbuttoned shirts happily clutched the few coins she paid and hurried away with the load.


She bent over the table looking over the displays of hair pins. The stall owner was just about to fawn over her when she silenced him, just with the lifting and holding up of her hand. She looked over them until her eyes came to rest on one that had a phoenix craved on a turtle shell. I thought it was too old for her but she held it tenderly, brushing it like one would stroke a cat. The intuitive stall keeper volunteered “only 50 Yuan for a sharp lady who appreciates quality”. She immediately put it down and walked away. “20 Yuan!” but she continued walking. I took a 10 Yuan note and pressed it into the protesting keeper’s hand and hurried after her with the hairpin.


We took a corner table in the balcony of a restaurant overlooking the busy street. She ordered the food and we sipped Oolong tea waiting for it. A player somewhere was playing a sentimental canto-pop, “We met in the middle of an empty street…” Away from the crowd, she seemed relaxed, even happy. Though now and then, a shadow will fleet across those fathomless eyes, which raised her eyebrows without her realizing it. She quickly dismissed it like one intended on having a good time despite an approaching storm. And she told me stories. Stories about the town and the people in it. I waited anxiously to see it if the stories will lead her into it. Though as interesting as the stories were, what I was dying to know was her role in it. She told the stories with so much details and feelings that she must have lived them but there was no mention of her though I was sure the observations was made by her personally. The tales told me she was happy in it. Why did she leave?


She looked across the table at him listening intensely to her tales. A little smile escaped her lips to be followed by a frown. He too loved her tales and she told them to him by the lake under the weeping willows, on the branch of that large oak where they dangled their feet, in the empty classroom of the school on a weekend, even in that old cemetery at night when eerie winds blew and where the tales were shared by more than the two of them. She loved to pour out her heart. She did her thinking in her words. And she always came to have feelings for those who appreciated her tales. “What is a story-teller without listeners?” she once said. “You gave meanings to my tales, so you gave meanings to me, to my existence.”


Now a fisherman was listening to her tales. He wished he was him. But it could not be. It will never be. She felt that tug at her heart and tasted the bitterness in her tongue. Her eyes threatened to betray her. But she forced them all back. She will not cry again. She had cried enough. She swore she will never shed another tear for him and she will keep that promise. She will defeat her sorrow. That old sorrow that she refused to indulge in. If she has to take on new sorrow to replace it, that is okay. The new sorrow will not have him in it. Slowly, the new sorrow will drown the old and him along with it. Only then will she be free. So she will embrace new pain to drown old one. It made strange sense to her.


Even to herself, she did not want to admit that she also needed to drown her shame. She was convinced she can only love one man in her life. So she held her love until she was sure she found the right one to give her heart to. Her suitors were many but she bid her time until her soul-mate came along.


When she was ten, reading a book under a tree at the back of the school; she heard a quiet voice softly enquired “what is that you’re reading?” She looked up at his shy face with hair neatly combed and parted in the middle. His hands behind his back and he was gently swaying like a reed in the wind. His eyes were on her spotless shoe and there was a gathering glow on his cheek. That day, she told him his first story until it was interrupted by the recess bell. But the next day, he came back to hear the rest of the tale. When she ran out of tales from the books, she made up her own. She could spin a tale from anything, a blade of glass swaying in the wind, a bent old lady struggling down the street, a smile on a young girl’s lips, a flash of lighting, a striking of a bell or the twinkling of wind chimes. He would challenge her by calling up an object, a scene, a person, anything and she would effortlessly continue her tales from there. It became a sort of game between them.


Everyone in town knew they were destined for each other. People would smile and pointed them out as the town’s pair of Mandarin duck. Everyone assumed they would marry once they came of age including their parents who had no objections to their relationship. She never has another boyfriend, there were no need to. She found her soul-mate early and the other suitors just melted away into the background. She grew up pretty, vivacious and witty. Many boys were interested but all they could do were to envy him and they did not try to be more than friends. It would not have matter anyway. She would simply be not interested. She had found her “one-love” early and she had no need for any other.


The fisherman looked at her falling into her reflections. He frowned at her growing silence but did not say anything. Let her get it out of her system. I wished she would share it with me but he knew he was not and could be no part of it. And he could not help. The only good he could do was just to be there for her.


She suddenly realized she had slipped into silence. She looked up embarrassed and saw the frown on his face which he immediately tried to hide.


“I’m sorry.”


“Is there any way I could help?” he asked even though he knew what the answer will be.


She shook her head. I must break free of this malaise, she thought. That is my past. It has no relevance to my present and my future. I must break free. I will. I must.


“Sorry. It will not happen again” she said not too convincingly. She knew that she can keep it at bay guarded but when her guard was down, it can silently creep behind and overwhelm her. But I will beat it. It will take some time and much effort but I will beat it into submission. It is alright to suffer but it is not alright to be defeated. And I will not be defeated. My pride is all I had left. But that thought almost broke her and she had to gallantly struggle to regain control. I don’t know why I’m still so vulnerable, she thought. I hate it and I hate him for making me feel this way.


She regained her composure, smiled at him, held his hand and said “let us go. It is time to go home.”


“Wait,” he took out the hairpin and gave it to her. He liked the look in her eyes. She carefully wrapped it in her embroidered handkerchief. They sat in the same rickshaw as it went rattling down the dirt road.

To be continued...