Floundering
Our "Chih-ching Dou" days were numbered. The landlord had already notified us twice, and Yu-cheng and Chao had plans to open another dou. But I had decided to go and live with Tseng who had recently rented a large room which he was anxious to share.
I gave Chao a firm handshake. "It's been so good to get to know you," I told him. In my opinion he was the best "Chih-ching" I had met in Hong Kong.
Chao looked excited as we bade farewell. "Make sure you come to see us," he said. "I know you are a busy man, but don't forget we are friends. Why not give us a call sometime?"
It was with heavy hearts that we said goodbye. Hong Kong is so small it has been described as "bullet-sized," yet in spite of this, it is a very modern and commercialized city. Thus one could easily disappear into the multitude of its five million inhabitants. Little did I know that I was to have a chance encounter with Chao once again within a few weeks.
As soon as I moved in with Tseng, I lost no time in setting up my easel and fluorescent lamp and begin painting, trying to catch up with all my orders.
As I painted, Tseng came over and told of how Chen had been complaining about us; someone had apparently written to some of his classmates on the mainland about his gambling. The word has been passed on to Chen's father who became violently angry when he heard about it.
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In fact, it was I who had written the letter, intending it to be for his good, were he to receive a warning from his family.
Two weeks later, about midnight, the phone rang. As I lifted the receiver I heard the sound of sobbing. It was Chen. "I've just gotten a letter from home; my father has passed away . . . "
I was completely at a loss for words.
"He died a couple of weeks ago, but I've only just heard." He burst into tears.
"It is something that we all have to face . . . sometime," I comforted him. But while it was easy to say, I knew that my own position was not much better, for it could happen to me, too, any day. It grieved me to think that a dear one could be groaning in pain and breathing his last, while, at the same time, we were enjoying good times here. Only many days after he had passed from this world would one know to lament his passing. No, I was not at all qualified to comfort him.
"Have you tried making a long distance call back to your family?" I suggested. In Hong Kong it was possible to call the mainland though impossible for mainland people to call out.
"Yes, I called this afternoon as soon as a I got the letter. I talked with my mother and sister, and they told me all about it." He was making a great effort to control his grief, but I could still hear his voice trembling.
I dared not question him further, but, instead, gave the phone to Tseng who was standing beside me. We arranged to see Chen the following day.
That night I could not sleep well. While the death of Chen's father troubled me, I also felt that what I had done to Chen was unfair.
I imagined the old man dying, troubled all the time by his unfilial, degenerate son. "Could this have hastened his death?" I thought to myself. Even now he might well be turning in his grave.
I was beginning to castigate myself. "Have I become a moralizer already? Is that psychologically satisfying? Surely I am a wretched person — a true hypocrite!"
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The following night Tseng, Liu, Liang and I all went to visit Chen. He looked calm, but his ashen face revealed the deep wounds of his heart.
As we were about to leave we offered to help him by sending money to his family, but he refused.
Months later Chen was still frequently gambling, but now he seemed to have a tacit understanding that we should not discuss the topic again. However, I couldn't help but think about him. "Perhaps he believes the world is so cruel that, no matter what he does, it will treat him the same," I surmised.
I continued to receive orders for my paintings as I strove to break HK$1500 per month in extra income from this source.
Naturally the pressure of work increased, so much so that I wasn't even taking a rest on Sundays. But as I increased my output, the standard of my work dropped.
One day when I delivered my paintings to the export company I received many complaints about the quality, and twenty or so of my paintings were given back to me. This made me depressed and ashamed, for I had not only lost income but also my good business reputation.
As I walked out of the exporter's office I was feeling deeply dejected, so I wandered over to a roadside market in the hopes of buying something to eat that would cheer me up. As usual, it was crowded with people and brightly lit. But the atmosphere seemed claustrophobic, and the combination of the sellers' shouts and the rowdy music irritated me.
I sat down by the seafood booth and ordered boiled shrimps, but they didn't seem fresh.
"Huh! I'm really out of luck tonight!" I grumbled to myself. The waiter, sensing my discontent, offered to change some things, but I told him not to bother and got up to leave.
I walked along a back street, heading for the bus to go home, but worse luck was waiting for me. A man suddenly jumped out of the dark shadows right into my path!
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"Don't shout or move. Get your money!" His tone was cool and calculating. I caught the glimmer of a knife in his hand.
My heart seemed to stop, and I could feel my knees growing weak. When I was a Red Guard I had once been attacked by two bullies from a rival organization. They also carried sharp knives, but that was different because in those days I was always ready for a fight.
Now I shivered with fright but still tried to remain calm. I glanced back down the street and noticed another man lurking in the shadows a few feet away. There was no retreat, so I had to go through with it.
"You want to die? Come on, empty your pockets, now!"
I reached into my pocket, but as I did so I suddenly found I was no longer afraid. So when he shouted again I threw myself into a rage.
"For a 'big circle' boy, life yes! But money, no way!" I roared defiantly. In fact, it sounded so strange and hysterical that I even startled myself.
My two assailants were floored. A full five seconds of silence elapsed as they stood still as statues.
" 'Big circle' boy?" the one in front murmured, perplexed. "Did you say 'big circle' boy? You're a 'big circle' boy, are you?"
I nodded hard. The one standing behind me closed in.
"Are you from the mainland? You escaped?" Suddenly to my great surprise, I found I recognized that voice.
"Chao!"
"Yi-lin!" We both cried out instantaneously. It was as if a bomb were exploding in my mind.
"Is it really him? If so, why has he taken to robbery?" I asked myself.
His smile betrayed embarrassment. "Unbelievable! What a chance! All I wanted was some money for a midnight snack."
His companion ran his fingers through his hair and grinned at me.
"Oh? So you two know each other . . . ?"
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I found myself gazing at Chao in bewilderment, looking for something in his features, some small clue that I had never noticed before, but he still looked gentle and handsome; nothing had changed. I had lived with him for almost six months, yet I still had to rate my understanding of him as "zero." Without doubt, each one of us was on the decline.
"Where are you going?" Chao interrupted my thoughts.
"I've just been to the roadside market, and now I'm on my way home."
"You want to have some fun with us?" Chao's partner asked, flashing his white teeth.
"No thanks, I'm so tired, I want to get home for some rest." So, saying goodbye, I turned and walked out to the main street where I caught a taxi and went straight home.
As we rode through the streets I recalled some of my uncle's words: "There's no one you can trust in this world."
When I got home I discussed these things with Tseng. We decided to move again since we had no way of knowing whether Chao belonged to the so-called "Mainland gang" or not. All of us had been Red Guards so we knew those men could be quite inhumane and brutal. Hong Kong had always witnessed many robberies and murders, but after importing this "new blood," these former Red Guards and Chih-chings, a new revolution of robbery and violence was sweeping the colony. Without hesitation they would slash your body with a knife if you tried to oppose them, or even if your money was not enough to satisfy their greed.
"They've gotten so used to killing people and seeing blood," people used to say. I did not like their criticism but had to admit that it was absolutely true.
Our great Leader had told us that we should be armed; thus it was no surprise to see what resulted. Rudeness, brutality and a defiance of death were some characteristics the revolutionary youth were encouraged to display.
One day, during the Cultural Revolution, two Red Guards were killed in a fight, and their dead bodies were left lying beside a tree. As they lay there crowds of school
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children gathered around to have a look, pushing, laughing and playing at the same time. My seven-year-old brother and I were among them. Why? Because we wanted to train ourselves to have hard hearts and demonstrate to others that we had strong soldiers' spirits.
After many years of this kind of exposure their whole lives had been transformed and their hearts filled with hatred towards the world. It was quite understandable, therefore, that so many of Hong Kong's people did not welcome this kind of mainland youth who had come to this colony with hearts full of hate. But they neglected to realize who was really responsible for these youth. They were no more than innocent babes in the wood who had been programmed into this awful system.
In spite of this "programming" there were still many mainland boys who sincerely tried to adjust to their new circumstances. They were law-abiding, hard working, and, in my instances, most successful in business.
Yet there were still some black sheep who put us all in a bad light. . . .
Tseng and I moved into another apartment. Three days later I encountered Yu-cheng on the street, and he told me that Chao had suddenly moved away, leaving no forwarding address.
"To tell you the truth, if he hadn't moved out, I would have!" Yu-cheng shrugged his shoulders.
"Why?" I was very curious, suspecting that perhaps Yu-cheng knew something about Chao that I didn't.
"Oh, a lot of things," he said, then after a moment's pause, added, "I know you lived with him for half a year and you might be good friends, but I was on the same farm with him on the mainland for four years, and now I am getting more suspicious about his conduct."
"What kind of conduct?" I probed.
"Well, for example, he has gone off with Hsiao-lin's girlfriend."
My eyes opened wide.
"You see," Yu-cheng explained, "passion builds up
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between two people; love is not on one side only. She is free to love whomever she chooses, so nobody ought to interfere. But in Hsiao-lin's case it's quite a different story. They have been classmates for many years and good friends, too. Now Hsiao-lin is in such a bad way that he needs someone to comfort him, and Chao goes and plays a dirty trick on him. That's too much!" Yu-cheng became indignant as he spoke.
"Does Hsiao-lin know?"
"Yes, he knows. Several days ago I went to visit him in prison. He was so sad and dejected."
I sighed and said, "He's too selfish; he has no conscience whatsoever!"
Yu-cheng laughed. "Everyone is selfish; as for conscience, please tell how much a pound of that costs!"
I then told Yu-cheng about my adventures that night. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
"I've heard of him doing things like that before, but I can hardly believe him stepping on your toes! That is really something; it would make a great story for my newspaper!"
Suddenly he stopped shaking his head. "Got it! I know why he moved out — he was afraid you might go to the police about him!"
I went on to tell him how I had moved out, too, because I didn't want to have any trouble over the matter. He agreed with me.
"To know people and their faces is one thing; but to know their hearts is something else. It's always best to be cautious."
I went back home and pondered the events of the past few days. It was not the fact that people would change so much that puzzled me, but rather my own limited understanding of human nature. The term "mankind" — so commonplace, yet so hard to fully understand! And then there are the terms "selfishness" and "conscience." What do they really mean?
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Is man born a selfish creature? Is he good or is he evil at birth? Suppose that there were only one man alive on the earth — would he be selfish?
All at once, a ray of light seemed to flash into my mind as I saw the real issue. It was this: for man's existence, which way of life is the more important — his individuality or his collectivity?
His individuality, I decided. For, although man is a gregarious creature and may live collectively with others, he still remains an individual in the form of his existence. This individual existence not only concerns his present state but also his ongoing way of life and the perpetuation of future generations. It might be suggested that his desires reflect an inner selfishness since they revolved entirely around the individual himself. They may sometimes become suppressed or disguised by philosophies or moral teachings, but in spite of this, these selfish desires still exist.
Only by entirely losing his "self-consciousness: can the individual rid himself totally of those instinctive desires or selfishness.
Let's take the ant, for example.
An ant is so limited in its awareness of itself that it does not worry about its relationship to others. Thus, we find that ants work industriously in cooperation with each other without causing problems.
Not so human beings, for man readily becomes conscious of his own individual position in human society and interest in it.
Once man begins to recognize his own position, he then strives for the highest for the sake of his own personal advancement. Taken to its extreme, this realization, egged on by his own pride, leads man to count himself to hold the highest position in the universe. In the political field, Hitler stands as the supreme example of this, for, recognizing his own ability as a leader, he set out to rule the world.
Since man possesses such ability to realize his own individuality, but also must live in a society together with thousands of others just like himself, the problem then
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develops. Conflicts between one and another must inevitably occur because, consciously or unconsciously, everyone thinks of his own self first.
Man's gregarious nature forces him into endless conflicts, and the relationships between men constantly reflect this. How sad it is to live in a world of conflict!
Yet, at the root of all these conflicts, lies selfishness. This selfishness can be considered a direct product of the form of individual existence. To keep it in check, man is equipped with a "conscience" and varying degrees of "self-control" which work together to provide opposition to his selfishness. When the individual pays heed to these he begins to show concern towards the interests of others and to find compromise in order to peacefully co-exist with his fellow human beings.
Consider a child. It does not take long for him to develop an awareness of his own individuality and selfish interests. Indeed, these take on first importance and demonstrate quite clearly the selfishness latent within him from birth. As he grows up to assume responsibility and, perhaps, power, he chooses to ignore the prompting of "conscience" and the restraints of "self-control for the sake of his wrong actions. Both "conscience" and "self-control" are powerless to defeat the giant of "selfishness."
Man is two-faced, only saying and doing those things which best serve his own interests at any given time. This dilemma exists not only at the individual but also the national level.
The relationship between Russia and China bears this out. Yesterday we were told: "The solidarity between China and Russia is indestructible," or "China and Russia are dear brothers," but today, "China and Russia are implacable enemies."
Remember the relationship between Mao Tse-tung and Lin Piao. Lin Piao had always said, "Be loyal and faithful to Chairman Mao." The words "Be selfless" were constantly on his lips. He had even said, "My parents are not so dear to me as Chairman Mao." Moreover, he followed Mao at all
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times, flattering him and pandering to his every whim. In return, Mao referred to Lin as his "dearest comrade-in-arms."
Finally, Lin Piao tried to assassinate Mao, but the plot was foiled, and shortly after, he came to an ignominious end in a fiery plane crash.
What do these things demonstrate? They demonstrate again both how unreliable and hypothetical human morality is.
Through human wisdom and understanding people come to realize the fact that they are individuals; hence, "selfishness" will always be the dominant idea in human nature. Because of this, men will always give themselves to deceit, oppression and the killing of others. This is determined by the form of man's existence and is, therefore, inevitable. It is an incurable disease. Furthermore, both moral and civil powers can do little more than mollify the evils in men's relationships; they can do nothing to eliminate them, and are totally powerless to achieve an effective solution.
The urgent need of mankind today is not to study the planet Jupiter, nor to land on the moon, nor even to find cures for cancer, or the solutions for earthquakes or the energy crisis. The urgent need is to study mankind's evil nature and find a solution for that. Bad relationships between both individuals and nations have for centuries caused untold pain, hatred, oppression and wars. And they still do today.
In my despair I could only conclude that the whole world was in darkness. Human Society in itself is a tragedy, apparently a great mistake. There seems to be no hope, no remedy.
If only there were a love far in excess of any earthly love that could fill the human heart — every heart — so that human beings might overcome their selfishness and evil nature!
But if someone had the power to give this love, where could it be found?
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How could this world have nothing but darkness, cruelty and despair, and no remedies to offer?
I couldn't understand.
I began to work extra hard at my painting in order to restore my good standing with the export company. I knew only too well that if I did not improve I would not get any more orders. Besides, the market was getting increasingly competitive.
Happily, after a month I reaped the reward of my hard labor, for the exporter seemed quite satisfied with my improvement.
However, I did not know how to cope with the turmoil within. It bothered me constantly, like a dark shadow in my life. And it was having an effect on my work.
In the past I would be bursting with excitement at the very sight of the colors on my palette; just the smell of those paints would inspire my hands to move. I couldn't wait to get started. But now, this wonderful feeling had departed. Whenever I walked up to my easel it was as if I were going to jail. My paintings reflected my feelings. The tones became drab and harsh. I remembered my supervisor commenting one day, "You've lost the clear tones; your painting looks muddy."
One time he came over to me and scrutinized me closely.
"Yi-lin, what's wrong with you? Lost your girlfriend?"
I shook my head, my face gloomy.
"I can raise your salary next month," he offered.
He was worried that I was growing tired of working for him especially since one of the painters had just resigned and gone to set up his own studio with two apprentices working for him. But I didn't think that pay was my problem, rather that I was finding it increasingly hard to understand myself.
"How painful it is to live in this hopeless world!" the thought came to my mind again and again. Everything was so insipid. Even my mother's letters seemed so stupid now.
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She was always urging me to write more often, but she didn't know how busy I was! Last time she wrote making a big fuss about my looking so thin in a photo I had sent her. If I really looked that bad, wasn't she to blame? She had failed to help me have a good future on the mainland, so let her worry about these things; why should I care?
Day in, day out, life had become a meaningless routine.
One day the boy who kept the key didn't arrive on time, so we couldn't get into the studio but all sat down outside the door. Some were still eating breakfast, some chatted and others read the morning newspaper. I found a place and sat down, too.
Soon the door opened, but as I went to stand up I blacked out and keeled over. Everything went black. My whole world had utterly disappeared — no thinking, no feeling, no me.
Not knowing when, consciousness returned and I could make out lights and voices. Several faces seemed to be looking down at me through the mist.
"He's come to! He's come to!" one of the painters was shouting.
I was aware of someone rubbing my head with some kind of ointment. When I had revived I knew immediately what had happened to me. I was also aware of great pain in both my elbow and ankle when I tried to move them; there was also a burning sensation down one side of my face, and my lips wouldn't close — all because of the way I had fallen.
My supervisor was worried. "Are you all right?" he asked as he came over to see me.
I moved my lips with difficulty. "I'm okay now," I tried to reassure him. He told me to go home and rest.
"Have you been working too hard?" someone else asked. "Take good care of yourself."
I forced a smile and shook my head.
The excitement over, all the painters returned to their work while I went to the bathroom to clean the blood from my elbow.
As I looked into the mirror, I saw a reflection of my face, as white as a sheet, beneath a mop of tousled hair. My lower
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lip was torn and bloody, imprinted with a line of tooth marks. What a picture of me! An ugly, lifeless puppet!
An absurd "I" in an absurd world!
For a second I lost control of my emotions and almost broke into tears.
I had thought that I'd arrived in a kind of heaven in coming to Hong Kong, but what kind of heaven was this?
Heaven was not to be found on the other side of the water either, although we had been led to believe that communist society was "the bridge to heaven." But it was impossible to return since no freedom was to be found there.
On the other hand, was there freedom here just because I had material possessions I could call my own? Was I enjoying freedom? The answer had to be "no," for I was still a slave — a slave to money, a slave to life in this "Vanity Fair," a slave to emptiness and despair . . . and finally a slave to myself! I hadn't found real freedom. Then where could I find it?
Perhaps it didn't exist at all. Confusion, darkness, cruelty and hopelessness are all part and parcel of this world scene.
It was as if the world were mocking me. "You have no way of escaping from me, for it is everywhere the same . . . unless you live in this world no longer."
It was true. I had nowhere to go. I was alive and breathing. Period. So I thought about death, but a voice objected. "If you have to die, why didn't you do so in your own country? Or in the sea? Why did you come to Hong Kong to die? Besides that, you don't live only unto yourself. What about others?
If I couldn't die, then what should I do?
I went home feeling weak-kneed. My heart seemed to have died within me; I was in the depths of despair. In the eyes of this miserable world I was a complete and utter failure.
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That evening a distant relative called me. What he told me I found hard to believe, but as he continued I began to put the picture together. My uncle, I learned, had not been swindled and lost as much money as he had led me to believe. The entire story was fabricated. He had told me that story for one purpose, and that was to drive me out of his house. The only reason he had invited me to stay in the first place was so as not to lose face with my other relatives.
"He needn't have bothered to play that game. He should have just told me the truth; that would have been enough," I sneered. But it still struck me like a knife in the back.
As I gazed up at the blank ceiling, the events of the past year paraded before me one at a time.
The morning I had left my parents' home in China now seemed distant both in time and space. My father had gotten up early to make my breakfast, completely oblivious to what I was about to do. All he knew was that I had to return to the farm that morning. Out of his deep love for me he was doing what he could, and it was more than I could do to tell him of my intentions. Instead of saying, "Father, I am leaving you; this is the last time you will ever see my face," all I could say was, "See you," though I knew it could never be so.
As I rode away he turned to go back to his room and didn't watch me go as usual. I knew how he felt because I knew how I was feeling. I tried to convince myself that I was strong and brave, and as I rode away, fighting back tears, I didn't look back once. How much I loved my family, my people and my land!
But the tears I fought back also symbolized the hardships I was yet to face. I was on the train . . . then in the wide sea. I almost died . . . then suddenly the words rang in my ears, "You are in Hong Kong!"
Now I could hear those very same words ringing again in my ears. Could this be that same power speaking to me, the power that opposed the darkness, despair, and death? Could it represent the truth and the justice I sought in this vast universe? Now, once again, those words of assurance were coming to me as I floundered in the world's dark sea of
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bitterness and confusion.
I jumped up and went leaping around the room with great excitement. "This world isn't as dark and despairing as I thought; there is still the power of light to be found! But I must search for it and not stop searching until it is mine!
"I cannot give up that glimmer of hope!"
Just then, something came to my mind . . .!
