LIN HAI-YIN

(1919–    )

Though a native of Taiwan, Lin Hai-yin was raised and educated in Peking, returning to her birthplace only when the Communists were about to take over mainland China. For this reason, as she notes in the biographical sketch for her Self Selections (Lin Hai-yin tzu-hsüan-chi, Taipei, 1975), she is considered “more Pekingnese than the Pekingnese,” both for her speech and for her manners. And perhaps it is for the same reason that her stories, when compared with her contemporary, Chung Li-ho, are less concerned with the vicissitudes of an island beset by social changes, if only because Taiwan in the early fifties was to her no less familiar a place than it was to the mainland refugees.

However, the ironic perspective through which her “Lunar New Year’s Feast” (included in this volume) is told can only be maintained by a native Taiwanese. Almost to a man, the emigré writers from the mainland were sincerely convinced that they would one day be able to end their exile in Taiwan and return to China. They were too involved to tell the difference between fond hopes and pipe dreams, which are the stuff Lin’s present story is made of. An accomplished writer, Lin is also a noted editor, responsible for discovering such talents as Chung Li-ho, Huang Ch’unming, and other young writers to appear in the latter portions of this anthology. She has seven volumes of stories to her credit. Remembering South of the City (Ch’eng-nan chiu-shih, Taipei, 1960) has just been made into a movie in mainland China.

Lunar New Year’s Feast

Translated by Hsin-sheng C. Kao

Going to Third Uncle Hsü’s home to offer my New Year’s greetings was a spiritual burden. But a rewarding duty of this sort indeed could not be passed on to anyone else. As my father-in-law on the Mainland constantly reminded us: we should pay frequent visits to Third Uncle Hsü’s house, for after all, our two families have known each other for generations.

Arriving at the front gate and staring at the newly painted vermilion doorway, I could not help but feel a certain uneasiness: coming once a year like this to offer my businesslike New Year’s greetings—what obvious hypocrisy! Worst of all, however, was my stubborn husband, putting on airs of importance greater than those of an ex-governmental department head such as Hsü Yü-ju, whom we fondly called Third Uncle Hsü. So, for the past two years I had had to go all by myself, and each time I had no choice but to tell lies. Last year my excuse was this:

“Lao-liu¹ has had to go to the south on a business trip for a few days. When he gets back, he’ll call on you to offer his belated New Year’s greetings.”

“No need for such a bother—you’re too polite. Making a few more business trips means making a few more extra dollars. Nowadays public servants are really having a hard time. How are things? Everyone well? Any letter from your father-in-law?”

Just listen to him, how solicitous he is about our family! Did he ever treat us shabbily? Why was my husband always so unappreciative? In an instant another year had gone by, and once again the same task fell upon me. What kind of excuse could I possibly make up to make my story sound convincing?

While I stood there, still hesitating, the vermilion door slowly opened and a boisterous noise came from within, made by a group of New Year’s visitors taking their leave. From some distance I saw Third Uncle and Aunt Hsü standing at the entryway, nodding and waving to the guests outside. Then, just at that moment, a new group of visitors swarmed in from behind me, and I merged in among them as they moved inside, took off their shoes, proceeded to the living room, and made bows. I had managed to squeeze myself in beside Third Aunt Hsü when she recognized me.

“Oh, it’s you! Just you alone?” Having said so, she looked for my husband among the guests, and I was forced to tell a lie again. Knitting my brows, I said: “Two of our three children ate themselves sick, and Laoliu stayed home to take care of them, so I alone. . . .” I regretted the words as soon as I said them. I could curse heaven and earth, but I should never have told a lie at the expense of my three darling children! They are as robust as cows.

“Really? Did you call a doctor? Why don’t you take them to the Central Clinic for an examination? The public hospitals aren’t reliable. The few extra dollars you’d spend would be worth it.”

Hearing this, I felt uncomfortable, yet had to say yes. Today Third Aunt Hsü was all done up quite prettily. The expression “yesterday better than today, this year older than last” cannot be applied to her. For all appearances Third Aunt Hsü actually looked younger than last year—the nails on her dainty fingers polished scarlet, holding a tall glass of tea under the tip of her nose, her white face aglow from the piping hot steam—the very picture of a lady of leisure sipping tea, as one would see in a traditional Chinese painting! Who would be more fortunate than Third Aunt Hsü? Yet she complained all the time.

“Aiya! To tell you the truth, nothing here can compare to the Mainland! This atrocious weather, this Japanese house that makes you take off and put on your shoes time after time, and I come near to a fit every time the kids jump around on the tatami.² Say, why hasn’t Miss Chang come to give me my injection today?”

“There, there, we still have hope of recovering the Mainland. I know you’ve suffered all these years here in Taiwan.” Third Uncle Hsü came over to comfort his wife, and I hurriedly stood up, preparing to deal with the questions he was certain to ask. I really had no reason to feel annoyed by these people; everyone in the Hsü household treated us with such politeness and concern, even though there seemed to be a touch of pity in their politeness, a tinge of charity in their concern!

Third Aunt Hsü dragged me into her bedroom to join a group of women guests. At the same time, out in the living room there came another large group of visitors expressing salutations with folded hands. I heard a guest declaring:

“Congratulations, Chief! Congratulations!”

This caught me off guard. Was Third Uncle Hsü made some sort of a departmental head? He should have known that as a housewife I was very uninformed about almost everything. Why didn’t he tell me about it beforehand? Now I had lost my opportunity to offer him my timely congratulations, and it made me feel so stupid. However, in that same instant of puzzlement, Third Uncle Hsü announced:

“Congratulations one and all! Now that Taiwan is no longer bound by neutrality,³ a counterattack against the Mainland can be expected any day now!”

It was only then that I felt relieved. All they were offering their congratulations for was Taiwan’s de-neutralization. And Third Uncle Hsü’s former title as “Department Head” might be restored at any moment following the imminent counterattack against the Mainland. Although today Third Uncle Hsü still appeared to be living in comfortable retirement without an official position, the situation this year was certain to be totally different from before.

As evening lights went on, the Hsü household was packed with visitors. I wanted to get up and take my leave, but could not find the hostess. Coming and going should be done openly, I should not just sneak out. So I positioned myself among the guests quietly, and waited for Third Aunt Hsü to reappear. Yet somehow, without knowing it, I had followed the other guests and soon found myself seated at the banquet table. I sat there like a complete idiot, because I could not figure out why this New Year’s at the Hsü household should be different from past years.

“A toast, Chief! Next year we won’t be offering you our New Year’s greetings in Taipei!”

“San-yeh,⁴ our fellow countrymen on the Mainland are all depending on your comeback to free them from their misery! Here’s to you!”

“Yü-lao,⁵ on behalf of all the hometown boys now in Taiwan, here is a toast to you!”

And so, offering and receiving toasts, playing the finger-guessing game,⁶ and urging his guests to have more food—such rounds of activities finally had Third Uncle Hsü reeling in drunkenness. Third Aunt Hsü’s cheeks, too, became flushed. During the course of conversation, it became clear that Third Uncle Hsü was really readying himself to rise to the challenge of recovering the Mainland. One of the measures taken seemed to be the setting up of an organization of fellow citizens of his hometown. Even some kind of provincial government had been formed, and its “governor” appointed.⁷ It was also mentioned that this time it would not be like what had happened in Chungking, when, not moving fast enough, they were a step behind and every piece of fat was snatched away by their light-footed colleagues.⁸

I overheard the lady sitting next to me saying:

“These years in Taiwan, I have had enough of housemaids’ tantrums. After returning to Peking, the very first thing I’ll do is to look for our old Mammy Chang from San-ho County!”

“When I return to Shanghai, I’ll most certainly bring along our family tutor, Miss Liu, as well. How could our children manage without her?” So cut in a lady from Shanghai.

She then went on to say how she could leave six children at home while staying out all night to play mahjong without any worry, all because of Miss Liu, who acted as baby-sitter, housekeeper, and tutor, and recently even did the hepatine injections.

Someone asked about Miss Liu’s monthly salary, and she held up two fingers, waving them: “This much.”

“A good bargain indeed!” A matron stuck her tongue out: “Even our Ahchiao asks for two hundred and forty!”

“That’s why I’m certain to bring her back with us when we return to the Mainland. Really, she doesn’t even have a temper.”

Ah, everyone was waiting for the fight back to the Mainland. But who was going to fight? And they had all sorts of plans—such plans, indeed! I felt I was in a dream, as if I too was affected by this euphoria, my spirit drifting across the Taiwan Strait . . . to my younger sister left behind on the Mainland, my aged mother- and father-in-law, countless relatives, . . . I didn’t even know whether it was joy or sorrow. Suddenly, in my dreamy state, those delicate ruby-ringed fingers that held a glass of amber-colored wine were claiming my attention again:

“You should drink up, too, young lady. After our successful counterattack against the Mainland, we’ll all have lots of clout. Your husband, Laoliu, will at least get a position as the head of the tax office! You won’t be as hard up as now. The few people here in Taiwan won’t even be enough to fill all the fat positions on the Mainland!”

I raised my glass and suddenly found myself thinking of what had passed through my ears a while ago: governorship by volitive Mammy Chang from San-ho County . . . the family tutor brought straight home. And now, Third Aunt Hsü was talking of an assignment for my husband as tax office head! Anyway, I was grateful for Third Aunt Hsü’s good intentions. I lifted my head and gulped down the wine at once. I felt suffocated inside.

Taking my leave, I walked down dark deserted lanes, my rainshoes splish-splashing on the soft mud. The sound was not pleasing, yet it was quite rhythmic. I was in a hurry to get home, but I had lost the way. My mind was given over now to Mammy Chang, now to the tax office head appointment, now to the Hsü household. Heaven and earth seemed topsy-turvy. I couldn’t tell east from west.

It was drizzling. I touched my hair and found it was wet. I sneezed. My chest felt all stopped up, as if all sorts of grievances wanted to burst out from my throat.

I hurried on, until I was beneath a dark yellowish street light to the end of the short lane. I leaned on the lamp pole and used all my strength to press down upon my stomach. Unable to hold it any longer, I bent over toward the stinking gutter and started throwing up. The filth in my chest was finally washed away with the water of the stinking gutter. My thanks to Taipei’s open sewers that function so marvelously! It was when I straightened my back up and breathed in some cool air that I understood the true meaning of “the pleasure of getting something off one’s chest.”

Then, completely sobered, I was able to see my way home. Third Uncle Hsü’s Lunar New Year’s feast had almost put me in a state of total confusion.

NOTES

1. “Lao-liu” is literally “Old Sixth.” It is an informal way of referring to either the sixth son or daughter in the family. Here it is used as a proper name in reference to the narrator’s husband, who is apparently number six of the siblings.

2. Straw matting used as a floor covering in a Japanese-style house.

3. Immediately after the outbreak of the Korean War, President Truman neutralized the Taiwan Strait (June 27, 1950) in order to prevent a takeover by Communist China while at the same time restraining the Nationalist Government on Taiwan from taking military action against the Mainland.

4. Literally, “Third Master.” Here it is used as a respectful form of address.

5. Literally, “Venerable Yü.” Here it is used as a proper name.

6. A popular game among drinkers at a dinner table. Penalty for the loser: yet another cup of wine.

7. It was not uncommon for refugees from the Mainland during the fifties to set up their regional political organizations in anticipation of the “eventual recovery of the Mainland.” Thus, if a group of “hometown boys” from Kwangtung Province got together, they would select their “governor” and other positions from among their cronies as if the whole Kwangtung Province would fall under their control as soon as the counterattack was launched.

8. Chungking was the provisional capital of China during the Second World War (1937-1945). It was reported that as soon as the war was over, there had been rapacious Kuomintang high-ranking officials who raced each other to former Japanese-occupied areas and appropriated for themselves whatever properties and valuables they could lay their hands on.