WHEN THERE’S NO NEED TO TAKE BETRAYAL SERIOUSLY 當背叛無須沉重以對的時候

CONTENTS

	MOUNTAIN SPIRIT AND HUMAN SPIRIT 山鬼與山人─山居週年記事 By LIAO Chih-yun 廖之韻 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	SIGNIFICANT OTHER 貴人 By Ching Hsiang-hai 鯨向海 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	SOLEMN ATMOSPHERE 莊嚴氣氛 By Ching Hsiang-hai 鯨向海 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	DIALOGUE 對話 By SEN Kim Soon 辛金順 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	ON DEATH ROW 死囚獄中─死刑者 By WANG Chi-chiang 汪啟疆 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	I BELIEVE 相信 By Hsiang Ming 向明 Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機

	LOST 迷路 By Jiao Tong 焦桐 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	COMPLICATIONS D’AMOUR: LOVE LETTER 愛情併發症─情書 By HSU Shui-fu 許水富 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	TAMSHUI SKETCHES: FISHERMAN’S WHARF 淡水采風─漁人碼頭 By Lo Ti 落蒂 Translated by David van der Peet 范德培

	A BACKWARD GLANCE AT THE DUSKY STREETS 街影回眸 By LAI Yu-ting 賴鈺婷 Translated by Adela JENG 鄭秀瑕

	TO COMPREHEND 領悟 By Yin Dih 隱地 Translated by Jonathan YING 殷立仁

	MIRROR 鏡子 By Yin Dih 隱地 Translated by Jonathan YING 殷立仁

	WHEN THERE’S NO NEED TO TAKE BETRAYAL SERIOUSLY 當背叛無須沉重以對的時候 By YEN Na 顏訥 Translated by Darryl STERK 石岱崙

	AFFAIR: WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW 外遇你所不知道的事 By YUAN Chiung-chiung 袁瓊瓊 Translated by Patrick CARR 柯英華

	MY ROAD TO CERAMICS 我的陶瓷之路 By SUN Chao 孫超 Translated by SUN Yilin 孫逸齡

	NEWS & EVENTS 文化活動 Compiled by Sarah Jen-hui HSIANG 項人慧

	PUBLICATIONS BY TAIPEI CHINESE PEN MEMBERS 會員新書

	NOTES ON AUTHORS AND TRANSLATORS 作者與譯者簡介

	APPENDIX : CHINESE ORIGINALS 附錄：中文原著

	2009 INDEX

	FACING MOUNTAINS IN THE DISTANCE, NO. 3 千里碧山對之三, ceramic slab, 138 × 66 cm, 1994........................................................................Cover

	RETURN FROM PARIS, NO. 6 巴黎歸來系列之六, ceramic slab, 52 × 72 cm, 1990..............Back Cover By SUN Chao 孫超

YEN Na 顏訥

WHEN THERE’S NO NEED TO TAKE BETRAYAL
SERIOUSLY
當背叛無須沉重以對的時候*

Translated by Darryl STERK 石岱崙

    Waiting is a river, an endlessly rolling river. I crouch on
the other shore of the river, watching and waiting: watching the
breakers tear at the shore and roll themselves into heaps of
snow, and waiting for your face to appear as the seething spray
disperses.
    It is noon. From the zenith, the sun sprays down a brutal light. I am curled up in a small lane in a café. The name of the café is Spring Field–the dark green sign hanging outside the window sparkles in the sun. It is quiet in here; the café crouches at the end of the lane like a cat, opening its maw lazily and enclosing the people inside as they chat, or wait.
    Here, time is the sand from a broken hourglass. Spilt all over the floor, it slowly rolls away, impossible to keep track of. It’s like a vacuum in here, but it isn’t that the air has been sucked out but rather that the tracks of time’s passing have been removed. As a result, the restlessness I feel while waiting abates. I calm down, like the slowly cooling cup of caramel latte on the table.
    On the table before me is a still steaming cup of caramel latte, Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which I’m halfway through, a Muji “no name brand name” notebook with a black cover, and a freshly sharpened, pale yellow pencil. In the time I spend waiting, I want to write a story about betrayal, a story in which I record all the doubts about love you have inspired in me over nearly a year of dawns and dusks. I also intend to betray my past self: this is the pose I am adopting as I wait. My freshly permed tresses are still poofed up in this windless air-conditioned room. My formerly pale face is now highlighted, marked with Lancôme eyeliner and globbed with Anna Sui mascara. Mary Quant has polished each of my nails to a unique hue. I’ve been almost running on empty trying to powder myself into a statue, an appearance that is no longer me. And now, through a pane of glass, I’m watching for you to appear in the lane and walk my way.

    When we met, I was by myself in a wilderness expanse. You were passing through. With buoyant self-assurance, you walked my way.

    Before you tromped so tempestuously into my life, I had lost my bearings, after M had stabbed me pitilessly with the blade of betrayal. In those dark days, I seemed to be standing alone in the middle of a limitless waste. All my faith in human nature and love had been dashed and scattered. But just as God made the world in seven days, so you, shining like a sun of “hope” and “eternity,” needed only seven days to make my chilly waste of faith blossom once more.
    “You seemed a child to me, a child someone had put in a bulrush basket daubed with pitch and sent downstream for me to fetch at the riverbank of my bed.”
    You tapped me playfully on my forehead and borrowed a metaphor from Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, one Tomáš uses on Tereza.
    Tereza, soft and naked, curled up in a bamboo basket, floated along the shoreless river of Tomáš’s life. Tossing on the waves, Tereza looked so fragile that Tomáš could not resist picking her up. Out of a powerful “sympathy,” the inveterate drifter Tomáš was only ever able to enjoy a woman’s “sexual companionship.” At the same time, he was impetuous, so much so that he could never tell whether the feeling surging inside him was love or madness! All he wanted to do was take Tereza in his arms and fantasize about holding her hand and rowing her across the ocean of human existence. Cheek to cheek, they would at last arrive at their final haven, their ultimate anchorage.
    From that time on, I fell totally under the sway of your metaphor. I felt that Tereza had leaped off the page, that I was her earthly incarnation. Curled up in a bamboo basket, I drifted along the boat lane that led into your harbor. Sitting on the shore of your bed, you couldn’t resist scooping me up and telling me all my worries were over: you would piece together my shattered faith, shard by shard, and make it whole again.
    Then you said, irresistibly, that it was karma. Having observed my fragility and helplessness, the only permits I needed for anchorage in your harbour, you were more than willing to overcome any obstacle to reach the wasteland where I was standing forlorn.
    But today you still haven’t appeared in the lane, walking my way.

    Someone appears, easing through a fissure in the sunlight and gliding towards me. It isn’t you but a girl with short hair, a thick book under her arm and a backpack on one shoulder. I know we’ve never met, but I see her standing outside the glass partition, her hair tousled by the wind, her lips slightly parted, and feel an indescribable, almost visceral sense of déjà vu.
    She pushes her way in, chooses without hesitation the seat across from me, and plonks her book down on the table: Ah! Anna Karenina. Her tender fingers grasp the edge of it neurotically– the way I used to need to hold my blanket to get to sleep at night as a child. She looks up, her black pupils tremulous, as if the slightest sound would startle her: her appearance is strangely stifling. I seem to see this strange girl as an infant curled up in a bulrush basket, drifting along on the waves. I look down at The Unbearable Lightness of Being, its pages flipping in a draft, and the sense of familiarity wells suddenly up again. I almost feel we must know each other very well.
    Yes, with Anna Karenina tucked under her arm and a backpack on one shoulder, she is just like Tereza searching for Tomáš in Prague.
    “Tereza, is that you?” I can’t help saying, surprising even myself with my rash revelation.

    She doesn’t respond. She simply opens her gleaming eyes and, in a non sequitur, says: “On the surface, an intelligible lie; underneath, the unintelligible truth showing through.” That’s
    what Tomáš’s mistress Sabina says to Tereza in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. But what does that have to do with this girl? And why has she so enigmatically waltzed with Anna Karenina into my solitary vigil? Perhaps this world has become like a network without borders. Or have people always had encounters as surreal as this one? Who can ever really tell whether every moment of awareness is the real thing or just a fantasy?...

*	From Lien-ho wen-hsueh 《聯合文學》(UNITAS—A Literary Monthly), No. 286, August 2008: 160-168.