The Month the Almonds Bloom
Over the shadowy wall of the Chinese garden the
moon rose like a golden lantern, bringing into sharp
silhouette the fronds of the trees against the velvet
sky. Like fireflies the stars flitted about in the blue
glory. A soft breeze sighed lazily through the willows
laden with perfumes of pungent fragrance.
Upon the high wall, little Lee Cheng perched and
crooned to the moon. He sang tiny verses of his own
inventing, odd little fragments that gave him pleasure
and pleasure was all that he desired.
Lee Cheng was very small and very young. Nobody
knew his age nor anything about him. He lingered
in the gorgeous garden of Woo Fung, the renowned
philosopher who had discovered him wandering listlessly
in the narrow alleys of Canton and taken him
to his lovely garden near the Pearl River.
Woo Fung was a Jade Master whose fame had
spread throughout the Empire. Rich merchants came
from far and near to consult him about Jades or
Nephrites which they imagined were different to all
known specimens. He was an expert in this most delightful
of gems, the only one that is pleasurable to
the touch as well as to the sight. Only a poet can truly appreciate the splendor of Jade, purple, green, gorgeous
orange and yellow, black, white and mist-like
gray. And Woo Fung was a poet. For each bit of
Jade he carved he wrote a bit of verse and always as he
worked, he sang; songs of willows, of shadowy hills
and of spring. Once he made a gong of jade that
tinkled when it was struck like music of Chinese
Fairies or of the Sky People that roam about the Blue
Highways among the wondrous clouds. The verse he
fashioned for it was of extreme simplicity.
“Whence comes the tinkle
Of a Bell of Jade?
From coral seas,
From purple skies,
From fluttering echoes
Of laughing baby eyes?
Whence goes the tinkle
Of a Bell of Jade?
To silver clouds,
To gorgeous flowers,
To slant-eyed Manchu girls
Or to summer showers?”
Woo Fung was a great artist. He received inspiration
from sky and sea and gardens and from the eyes
of the beautiful Lady Shun Kao who was as slim as a
woodland fairy. Her hair was black with the slightest suggestion of blue in its texture, blue as the sky on a
night in summer when the moon is sleeping. Her lips
were sweet and soft, flower-like in texture, a pungent
lovely red. Her eyes were green, glorious jade-green
eyes that caressed with their glance. Her cheeks were
white with just a suggestion of pink like the loveliest
porcelain of Kingtehchen. Her garments were always
of green or yellow, sometimes a blend of both. She was
a wistful, charming dreamer and most of her dreams
were about the Jade Master, Woo Fung.
Her father, Mu Kao, was a collector of precious
stones and objects of art. Hour after hour he mulled
over his wondrous collections of emeralds and jade,
amber and lapis lazuli.
Among his splendid jades were several specimens
of that rarest jade of all, ivory-white, of a mutton-fat
appearance, besides several that resembled rare emeralds
to such a degree only an expert could differentiate
between them. Mu Kao thought much of his
gems but little of his graceful daughter who was by
far the most perfect jewel in his household.
Women had no place in his life. Men were foolish
who wasted thought over them. Long Mei, his
wife, was dead. He had merely married her to watch
over his house, to take charge of the cooking and other
domestic trifles. Such a marriage of convenience had
given him plenty of time to meditate. He was an authority
on Jade and it is therefore not remarkable that
his path should have crossed that of the great Woo Fung who was the greatest Jade Master throughout
China despite his comparative youth and extremely
boyish appearance.
Countless were the hours the two spent together
absorbed in the brilliance and glory of strange gems
and also on the part of Woo Fung, in the loveliness
of flower-like Shun Kao. Throughout China the position
of woman is subjective. She never intrudes on her
lord and master, on her father or her husband. But
the house of Mu Kao was carelessly run. Shun Kao
was permitted to roam about at will. He scarcely ever
noticed her, nor did she intrude upon his meditations.
Small wonder, then, that as Woo Fung sat in the
Lacquer Room of the house of Mu Kao his mind
should have drifted off to the purple Hills of Dream.
A fragrant perfume permeated the air. Pungent lanterns
gleamed and glimmered. Shun Kao glided about
like a gorgeous wonder-flower. Her lips were red like
cherries. Her eyes shone in star-splendor. Her whole
appearance spelled enticement, girl of witchery and
wistfulness, girl of poetry and rich love.
While Woo Fung and Shun Kao seldom if ever
spoke to one another, he wooed her with his eyes and it
seemed to him as though there were an echoing response
in hers. Although they did not speak, their
souls were in communion. The fragrance of love spread
about them like a mist of azure, binding them together
in intangible nets of loveliness. It made a genius of the
Jade-carver poet, Woo Fung. From that moment onward his verses held a finer lilt, a greater breadth of
fancy for they were imbued with the sweet dreams of
the Lady Shim Kao. After all love alone is the supreme
emotion. No greater thing exists in all the world,
greater than gold, more gorgeous than diamonds,
more subtle than poppy fragrance and lighter than
webs of gossamer.
Woo Fung always carved his Jades before a window
that opened into his garden through which essence
of pine and sandalwood drifted and the breath of
rich pungent spices. He was aware of the lure of
exotic, subtle perfumes and with this in mind he had
made his garden. All the sweet-breathed flowers grew
there beneath grim gingko trees and tranquil willows.
A tiny stream tinkled merrily through the center of
the garden, laughing and gurgling over the stones
that lay in its path. And above the stream, a charming
bridge loomed up like a crescent moon. The moon
was a favorite subject in the carvings of the Jade of
Woo Fung for the moon reminded him of Shun Kao.
Her thin eyebrows were like the new moon’s crescent,
rising in the east when the month is young. Her pale
face was like the color of the moon on a frosty night in
mid-winter.
So the poet Woo Fung worked at his carvings and
as he worked, a strange and beautiful dream grew in
his heart. He dreamed of the day when he could build
a cherry-roofed house for his lady, surrounded by
orange-blossoms and pond-lotuses. They would be married the month the almonds bloomed and the soft
pink almond-blossoms would fall like snow about
them. Each blossom would bring happiness. At night
they would linger in the wondrous garden or glide
about in a small boat on the Pearl River, a river bathed
in moonlight, a river of enchantment and romance.
Songs to her he would sing, songs of love and the
moon, of love and adoration.
So he carved his Jade and the dream grew and
flourished until it was as much at home in that garden
as he himself. It assumed a personality, a companion
that urged him on to greater and greater effort.
Then one day when he visited Mu Kao he found
the old philosopher bending over a bit of white Jade,
a tiny fragment of white Jade through which ran a
streak of amethyst. It was unlike any specimen he had
ever seen. Mu Kao was so absorbed in it that he
scarcely noticed Woo Fung’s approach. When he looked
up his face was colorless and his hand shook, so great
was his emotion.
“In a few days,” he said hoarsely, “this rare jewel
will be mine. I am even now negotiating with Kung
Chia for its possession. I am having difficulty because
Kung Chia is very rich. His ships cover the Seven
Seas. Gold would not be a lure to him but I believe in
time the Jade will be mine. For I have offered him
Shun Kao in exchange for it. After all what is the
value of a girl compared to the loveliness of white
Jade? The deal is almost made though Kung Chia is a hard bargainer. He insists that my offer lacks sufficiency.
He wishes me to throw in a vase of salmon
Jade to even the balance. This I will not do. The vase
is worth a fortune. It, too, is rare. Shun Kao he shall
have but not the salmon vase. He loves women. He
already has many concubines in his palace. I know ere
long he will bow down to my wishes.”
As Mu Kao spoke he turned again to the bit of
snowy Jade before him. Without a word Woo Fung
crept out of the house. As in a daze he wandered
through the countless alleys of Canton. And somewhere
in the crooked lanes his little dream was lost.
At last he returned to his garden. He was crushed.
His beautiful lady was vanishing. She was to be sacrificed
to a horrible old man in exchange for a bauble
of Jade. Mu Kao was a gem-expert, yet he could not
see that the finest jewel of all was being stolen from
his house. For days Woo Fung did not eat, nor did
he fashion any poems of gorgeous trinkets. The sheen
of the wondrous moonlight had vanished from his
garden. Only sadness and shadows remained, sadness
and shadows and desolation. How long he remained in
the abject depths of despondency he did not know nor
did he care. The future was shrouded in gloom; the
past was a well of sadness. The present was pain. He
roamed about like a shadow, like the shell of a man
with the soul burned out. How could he live without
his lady? How could he live without his dream, the dream which he had lost and which was more precious
than life itself.
Then one day a strange decision came to him. It
was a semi-mad delusion but he yielded to it. He
would journey once more into the winding crooked
alleys, into the criss-cross snake-like alleys that wind
interminably throughout the Chinese quarter of Canton.
Perhaps somewhere in the noise and clamor of
the alleys he would find his little lost dream again.
It was almost as wild an idea as the search for a vanished
sunset or for the fragrance of a dead rose. Still
it was better than remaining forever grieving in his
garden.
So he wandered out into the alleys and it so happened
that in the course of his quest he found little
Lee Cheng who, too, was lost. Impulsively he took the
little boy’s hand. He was a merry little fellow who
laughed and chatted incessantly as he capered along
beside him. He could give no reason for his presence
in those alleys. He was just a little lost China-boy
who had been wandering about for days sleeping in
dark doorways or under deserted carts. From that
moment on Woo Fung commenced to awaken from
his despair. Life was sad but it was not yet done.
Lee Cheng took up his residence in the house of
Woo Fung as though he had dwelt there always.
At night he loved to sit on the wall of the garden,
crooning to the moon. The garden seemed to brighten now that he had come. The gloom vanished. It floated
away like the rose-tipped mists of morning.
“Dreams are real, like sleep or quiet,
Or like love or flower-perfume.
Dreams ne’er die; they live forever.
Forever live the dreams of summer.
Winter comes but also summer.
Winter dreams still live in summer.
Summer dreams last all through winter.
Dreams ne’er die; they live forever.”
As Lee Cheng sang, Woo Fung stood by the window
and listened. Never before had he known such
peace as at that moment. And as he listened to the
voice of the little singer, he realized that his dream
had come back once more to his garden. Hope rose
within his breast. He sat down at his bench and commenced
to carve a trinket of Jade and as he carved
it seemed as though strange lights commenced to
flicker throughout the bit of yellow Jade before him.
It glowed and shone like a yellow diamond. It was the
first time he had ever beheld Jade that glowed in the
sunlight. In the garden, Lee Cheng still sang dreamily.
What was the strange thing that was reflected in that
bit of inanimate stone before him? It seemed to have
life. Was it the song of Lee Cheng that had forced
its way into the stone? Or was it love, the love which
Woo Fung had for the Lady Shun Kao?
Feverishly he worked. Even until late into the night
he carved by the lantern-glow. And all through the
night as Woo Fung worked, Lee Cheng sat beneath
the willows and sang.
At the first suggestion of dawn the pendant was
done. Nothing like it had ever been seen before in
China, nor in all the world. Here was Jade that had
light, that glistened and glowed. Here was Jade that
had been carved of poetry, Jade that held song. Here
was Jade that had been wrought of love.
Without pausing even for a rice-cake or a pot of
tea, Woo Fung set out for the home of Mu Kao. Early
as was the hour the gem-merchant was up. He sat in
the Lacquer Room of his house, studying his Jades
and ambers. Woo Fung said not a word. He placed the
newly carved Jade on the table before Mu Kao. Mu
Kao gazed at the glowing glory of it and gasped. He
sprang to his feet. He crooned to it. So great was his
agitation he drooled at the lips. At that moment he
was a pitiful thing to gaze upon, a strong man who
was subservient to a bit of stone. For the moment
everything in life was forgotten, even the white Jade
of old Kung Chia. Everything was shadowed by his
glowing stone which he clutched to him.
“It must be mine!” he cried hoarsely. “What is your
price?”
Woo Fung shrugged his shoulders. “Am I not as
great as Kung Chia?” he asked. “Is not my stone even
grander and rarer than his?”
“You mean you want Shun Kao?” suggested the
other craftily.
Woo Fung plucked a red chrysanthemum from a
vase and pressed it to his lips. “I might consider it,”
he said slowly.
“Take her, she is yours,” cried Mu Kao, “only let me
keep this stone.”
Even while they were speaking, Shim Kao entered
the room. The room glowed more brightly at her appearance.
She was like a wondrous flower. Woo Fung
looked at her and smiled. She lowered her eyes. He
held out his arms.
“Come,” he said simply.
Without hesitation she came to him. After all dreams
were as true as sleep or life. Little Lee Cheng was
right.
That very day Woo Fung took the lovely Lady to
his garden. As they entered the Moon Gate, Lee Cheng
was crouched on the wall softly singing:
“I had a dream in azure
A gorgeous purple dream.
There was soft moonlight,
The almond trees were blossoming,
A faint breeze stirred the fragrant air.
It was the Month of Almonds,
Of young love,
Of youth and happiness—
For it was Spring.”
Nguồn: Wikisource English — The Wind That Tramps the World (collection)/The Month the Almonds Bloom. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.