I have felt quiteupset recently, Tonight, when I was sitting in the yard enjoying the cool, itoccurred to me that the Lotus Pond, which I pass by every day, must assumequite a different look in such moonlit night. A full moon was rising highin the sky; the laughter of children playing outside had died away; in theroom, my wife was patting the son, Run-er, sleepily humming a cradle song.Shrugging on an overcoat, quietly, I made my way out, closing the door behindme.
Alongside the Lotus Pond runs a smallcinder footpath. It is peaceful and secluded here, a place not frequented bypedestrians even in the daytime; now at night, it looks more solitary, in alush, shady ambience of trees all around the pond. On the side where the pathis, there are willows, interlaced with some others whose names I do not know.The foliage, which, in a moon-less night, would loom somewhat frighteninglydark, looks very nice tonight, although the moonlight is not more than a thin,greyish veil.
Iam on my own, strolling, hands behind my back. This bit of the universe seemsin my possession now; and I myself seem to have been uplifted from my ordinaryself into another world, I like a serene and peaceful life, as much as a busyand active one; I like being in solitude, as much as in company. As it istonight, basking in a misty moonshine all by myself. I feel I am a free man,free to think of anything, or of nothing. All that one is obliged to do, or tosay, in the daytime, can be very well cast a side now. That is the beauty ofbeing alone. For the moment, just let me indulge in this profusion of moonlightand lotus fragrance.
All over this winding stretch of water,what meets the eye is a silken field of leaves, reaching rather high above thesurface, like the skirts of dancing girls in all their grace. Here and there,layers of leaves are dotted with white lotus blossoms, some in demure bloom,others in shy bud, like scattering pearls, or twinkling stars, our beautiesjust out of the bath. A breeze stirs, sending over breaths of fragrance, likefaint singing drifting from a distant building. At this moment, a tiny thrillshoots through the leaves and flowers, like a streak of lightning, straightacross the forest of lotuses. The leaves, which have been standing shoulder toshoulder, are caught trembling in an emerald heave of the pond. Underneath, theexquisite water is covered from view, and none can tell its colour; yet theleaves on top project themselves all the more attractively.
The moon sheds her liquid light silentlyover the leaves and flowers, which, in the floating transparency of a bluishhaze from the pond, look as if they had just been bathed in milk, or like adream wrapped in a gauzy hood. Although it is a full moon, shining through afilm of clouds, the light is not at its brightest; it is, however, just rightfor me —aprofound sleep is indispensable, yet a snatched doze also has a savour of itsown. The moonlight is streaming down through the foliage, casting bushy shadowson the ground from high above, dark and checkered, like an army of ghosts;whereas the benign figures of the drooping willows, here and there, look likepaintings on the lotus leaves. The moonlight is not spread evenly over thepond, but rather in a harmonious rhythm of light and shade, like a famousmelody played on a violin.
Around the pond, far and near, high and low,are trees. Most of them are willows. Only on the path side can two or threegaps be seen through the heavy fringe, as if specially reserved for the moon.The shadowy shapes of the leafage at first sight seem diffused into a mass ofmist, against which, however, the charm of those willow trees is stilldiscernible. Over the trees appear some distant mountains, but merely insketchy silhouette. Through the branches are also a couple of lamps, aslistless as sleepy eyes. The most lively creatures here, for the moment, mustbe the cicadas in the trees and the frogs in the pond. But the liveliness istheirs, I have nothing.
Suddenly, something like lotus-gatheringcrosses my mind. It used to be celebrated as a folk festival in the South,probably dating very far back in history, most popular in the period of SixDynasties. We can pick up some outlines of this activity in the poetry, It wasyoung girls who went gathering lotuses, in sampans and singing love songs.Needless to say, there were a great number of them doing the gathering, apartfrom those who were watching. It was a lively season, brimming with vitality,and romance. A brilliant description can be found in Lotus Ga-thering writtenby the Yuan Emperor of the Liang Dynasty:
So those charming youngsters row their sampans, heart buoyant with tacit love, pass to each othercups of winewhile their bird-shaped prows drift around. From time to time their oars arecaught in dangling algae, and duckweed float apart the moment their boats areabout to move on. Their slender figures, girdled with plain silk, treadwatchfully on board. This is the time when spring is growing intosummer, the leaves a tender green and the flowers blooming, — among which the girls are giggling whenevading an outreaching stem, their shirts tucked in for fear that the sampanmight tilt.
That is a glimpseof those merrymaking scenes. It must have been fascinating; but unfortunatelywe have long been denied such a delight.
Then I recall those lines in Ballad of Xizhou Island:
Gathering the lotus, I am in the South Pond,/The lilies, in autumn,, reach over my head; /Lowering my head I toy with thelotus seed, /look, they are as fresh as the water underneath.
If there weresomebody gathering lotuses tonight, she could tell that the lilies here arehigh enough to reach over her head; but, one would certainly miss the sight of thewater. So my memories drift back to the South after all.
Deep in my thoughts, I looked up, just tofind myself at the door of my own house. Gently I pushed the door open andwalked in. Not a sound inside, my wife had been asleep for quite a while.