Winter 2007
 
 

CONTENTS

 
  THE HSING-LUNG GROCERY STORE 興隆雜貨店
   By Syaman RAPONGAN 夏曼‧藍波安
   Translated by May Li-ming TANG 湯麗明
 
  THE STORY OF BEGGAR’S COTTAGE 乞食寮舊事
   By Ah Sheng 阿盛
   Translated by Karen Steffen CHUNG 史嘉琳
 
  PRINCESS UP ALL NIGHT 公主徹夜未眠
   By CHENG Ying-shu 成英姝
   Translated by David van der Peet 范德培
 
  MEMORIES OF MY FATHER想念父親
STANDING WITH THE TREE AGAINST THE WIND
跟樹站在一起抵抗風

HIS MAJESTY MY FATHER 父王

WHEN THE NORTH WIND CAME 北風來的時候
   By Hsiao Hsiao 蕭蕭
   Translated by Patty Pei-Jung LEE 李佩蓉
 
  JOURNEY 旅程
   BY CHEN I-chih 陳義芝
   Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  RETURN TO ANGKOR 回到吳哥
   By Hsu Hui-chih 許悔之
   Translated by Karen Steffen CHUNG 史嘉琳
 
  NEON LIGHTS 霓虹燈
   By CHEN Yu-hong 陳育虹
   Translated by Karen Steffen CHUNG 史嘉琳
 
  THE GRAND TUTOR’S ARMCHAIR 太師椅
   By Hsiang Ming 向明
   Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  INTERIOR DRAWING 室內繪
   By Hsiang Ming 向明
   Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  CHEN CHIN’S ARTWORK IN THE 1930s: Beginning with Leisurely from the TFAM Collection 1930 年代的陳進-從北美館所藏1935 年 〈悠閒〉談起
By Yu-chun LIN 林育淳
   Translated by Mark I. HAMMONS 何邁
 
  NEWS & EVENTS 文化活動
   Compiled by Sarah Jen-hui HSIANG 項人慧
 
  NOTES ON AUTHORS AND TRANSLATORS
作者與譯者簡介
 
  APPENDIX : CHINESE ORIGINALS 附錄 :中文原著
 
  CATTLEYA 洋蘭,
gouache on silk,72 × 90 cm, 1985 ...............COVER
 
  MATERNAL LOVE 母愛,
gouache on silk,72 × 53 cm, 1984.....BACK COVER
   By CHEN Chin 陳進

 

Ah Sheng 阿盛

THE STORY OF BEGGAR’S COTTAGE
乞食寮舊事*

Translated by Karen Steffen CHUNG 史嘉琳


     I’d like to share a story with you. Maybe you have at some time or other heard a story similar to this one. But then maybe you’ve forgotten it or remember only part of it, because the people in the story were the plainest, most ordinary kinds of men and women you could imagine, the kind whose faces you can hardly call up in your memory because they are so unremarkable. My story is about just this kind of ordinary, unassuming character, but then again, in this mundane world, there are no real miracles. Have you ever seen the thousand-eyed Kuanyin Bodhisattva? What I want to say is, even if the Buddha had a thousand eyes, what he would see with them would be only us ordinary, everyday folks. Also, my story is true. In this world of hype and flashy but false words, it’s not all that easy to hear the truth. Do you have a minute? Then let me tell you a story about my hometown of Hsinying.
     Twenty-five years ago, you could finish a grand tour of Hsinying on bicycle in half an hour. The suburban area to the south was circled by a swift-flowing stream. From Huanhsi Road in the south suburbs you could ride into town and up and down the very short market street, then take a turn onto the little road near the Chiayi-Tainan Stream, on either side of which you would see expansive rice paddies and a fruit orchard. In the fruit orchard was an enormous old-style residence that once belonged to a wealthy family. Next to it was a series of mud-brick homes that rose only as high as the wall surrounding the large residence. No one knew what residential district or neighborhood this compound belonged to; on the other hand, it did have a name that did not appear in any official records, but that everybody knew. And what would that name be? None other than “Beggar’s Cottage.”
     Before Taiwan was handed over on a platter by the Qing dynasty government to the Japanese, a number of beggars did in fact live in Beggar’s Cottage. The Japanese were a bit highhanded in their occupation of Taiwan, high-handed in the way described in the Taiwanese idiom, “they behaved like beggars who drove the caretaker out of the temple.” Not that they paid Beggar’s Cottage much mind. Beyond dragging its occupants in for a caning now and then and locking them up for a few days as hoodlums, they left Beggar’s Cottage well enough alone, meaning that they also never did things like trying to improve the residents’ lives or living environment. So up until the time of Taiwan’s retrocession to China, there were always a number of beggars living in Beggar’s Cottage.
     It is unknown just how many people called Beggar’s Cottage home, but there was one family whose members I could count and who were related to us. The head of this family was surnamed Huang; his given name was Teng. Huang Teng’s great-grandfather and mine both passed the imperial civil service examinations for our county at the same time, and they married a pair of sisters. This was now a hundred years later. Huang Teng was thirty years older than me but belonged to the same generation as I did. I called him “Old Brother Teng.” Both of our grandfathers had been covertly encouraged by the Japanese to take up opium smoking. My grandfather died young; he had not yet smoked away all of his fields, and this ended up benefiting us, his descendants. Old Brother Teng’s grandfather lived to such an old age that he eventually had to move into Beggar’s Cottage, where he lived a few more years before finally passing away. From this point on, up through two generations later, none of the residents ever had to go out begging on the streets any more, but hardship did continue to cast a pallor over the dwelling.
     And here is where the story actually begins. Twenty-five years ago, I had just entered the first grade, and Old Brother Teng’s three sons attended the same school. They were, after all, descendants of a scholar, and they garnered top grades. Their grades were so good they elicited both praise and displeasure from my own father. He praised the three boys for how well they performed in their studies, in spite of barely having enough to eat or wear. He was upset that I did not study harder, and was not living up to the title of honor engraved on the plaque affixed to our lintel, namely, “Distinguished Scholar.” I wasn’t, however, envious of them. Back then, Old Brother Teng earned his living by buying up broken pots, discarded metal, and used writing tablets. He also did odd jobs for people in the township. Often after school, I would go over and help him organize his haul, or go play with his little daughter. This little girl was blessed with both felicity and beauty, the latter of which would have been clearly evident had it not been for her ragged clothes. If someone had dressed her up properly and taken her out, anybody would have assumed that she came from a very well-to-do family.
     Old Brother Teng lived by the sweat of his brow. Every day he pushed a two-wheeled wooden cart to market, always calling out the same peddler’s cry, “Old copper, tin, paper to sell? Old copper, tin, paper to sell?” Now and then he also bought up old coins. In those days people thought old coins were worthless,...


From Ah Sheng’s 阿盛 Ah Sheng ching-hsuan-chi《阿盛精選集》[The best short stories by Ah Sheng], Taipei; Chiuko Publishing, 2004, pp. 242-249.


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