Becoming Madame Mao - Anchee Min [27]
He is a good lover, not always in a hurry to possess her. He takes her out and tries to relax her. He takes her to galleries, antique shops, bookstores, concerts and poetry readings. They look at their reflections when passing the street windows. They are a handsome couple. Both tall and slim.
She appreciates it that he never makes fun of her mistakes. She knows that sometimes she overplays her cleverness. She appreciates it when he goes out of his way to ignore it when she lies out of embarrassment. Tang Nah is critical of others but never of Lan Ping. He never says, How terrible you don't even know who Su Dong-po is. He explains patiently that Su is a famous ancient poet and then reads her the work. Then he buys tickets to visit Su Dong-po's birthplace and gives her a lecture on the way.
The white-colored cliffs shoot out of the horizon while the Yangzi River rushes toward the east at its bottom. Around the cliffs there is a narrow path for climbing. The view steals my breath away. At the bottom, there is a little wooden boat and a fisherman for hiring. As we sit in the boat looking up, the cliffs seem to be pressing air back into my lungs. The sky is magnificently clear and blue. At noon we are on top of the cliff. As we look down from a bird's perspective, the boat is smaller than an ant. The comparison between greatness and smallness gives me a sense of life's range and depth.
This is how I fall in love with Tang Nah. I begin to see everything through his eyes. A new world that begins with the story of Su Dong-po. Tang Nah is comparing Su's encounter with the ancient court with our current government. The way A Doll's House was forced to shut down. The way my role was taken away from me.
A group of court officials made their dislike of the poet known to the emperor, Tang Nah explains. They reported that they had discovered in Su's verses disrespect and provocation. Playing on the emperor's doubts, Su was sentenced to a lifetime in exile. The poet must take leave of his family forever. He is dragged through his hometown to enter upon a long bitter journey toward the western desert. Imagine facing the endless interrogation and torture by local executioners. Imagine all his friends turning away from him in fear of the government.
No pain could ever be greater than the isolation and loneliness of the heart, Tang Nah continues. Yet, alone the poet was alive with his own spirit. It was then that the idea of the great verse Writing on the Red Wall was conceived. It was born in despair. It burst out in the middle of suicidal thoughts.
The girl looks up at Tang Nah in awe as he explains maturity.
It is like the radiance of the sun but not as bright and hurtful to the eyes. It is a sound that is pleasant and resonant but not sugar-filled. It is a kind of ease. It doesn't demand attention. There is no longer a need to please. It is the point at which one no longer begs for another's understanding. It is a smile that forgives all. It is one's peacefulness, one's remoteness toward the world of materials. It is a height that one doesn't have to climb to achieve. It is when the passion-dough is ready for steam, when the shrill sound of a mountain wind gives way to a gentle moan and the streams gather into a lake.
One evening we are strolling after dinner at a local restaurant. Suddenly there is noise. A block away, on the side street, someone is calling for help. As we get near we see a big-shouldered Russian hitting a thin rickshawman. The Russian complains that the man has asked for too much fare. There is a crowd but no one speaks for the rickshawman.
We watch for a while. Tang Nah becomes upset. Why don't you two talk and come up with a reasonable price? Tang Nah goes up to the Russian. He demands that he stop hitting the