In Time, Out of Place Read online

  Copyright © 2015 by Tham Yew Chin

  Translation copyright © 2015 by Shelly Bryant

  All rights reserved. Published in Singapore by Epigram Books.

  www.epigrambooks.sg

  Essays selected from Cun Cun Tu Di Jie Gu Shi and Deng Dai Guo Qi De Ren

  (both originally published in 2010 by Singapore Youth Books)

  Published with the support of

  National Library Board, Singapore

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  You, Jin, 1950–

  In time, out of place / You Jin ; translated by Shelly Bryant. –

  Singapore : Epigram Books, 2014

  pages cm. – (Cultural medallion)

  ISBN: 978-981-4615-04-4 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-981-4615-05-1 (ebook)

  1. You, Jin, 1950- – Travel – Translations into English.

  I. Title.

  II. Bryant, Shelly, translator.

  III. Series: – Cultural medallion.

  PL2098.N35893

  895.14 -- dc23 OCN883615565

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: April 2015

  Contents

  Translator’s Note

  Europe

  Czech Music, a Silent Composition

  Poland, the Lute with a Broken String

  Pearl of the Black Sea

  Two Hungarian Sisters

  The Merry Cemetery

  Fragments of Notes on the Ground

  Serendipitous Encounter

  Lament of a Nomadic Tribe

  The Music Lives in the Cave

  Her World is Like Crystal

  The Faces of Rome, Dark and Light

  The Evergreen Alps

  My Home and My Heart are in Greece

  Shut Out in Hamburg

  Village in the Vineyard’s Shade

  The Woman in the Clock Shop

  A Beautiful Sunflower

  Oceania

  The Man Who Lived with Sheep

  A Day and a Night of Farm Life

  South America

  Waiting for His Flag

  Only a Lifetime

  Touring the Amazon Rainforest

  Africa

  A Happy Meeting over a Pot of Tea

  Mediterranean Carriage Driver

  A Treacherous Saviour

  All the Stories in the Land

  The Law of the Jungle

  Asia

  Aishoujin

  Tale of a Hijab

  Inan

  Love in the Shadow of a Gun

  The Smiling Mountain

  A Good Friend

  The Poppy Flower, Soul of the Miao Village

  Black Rice

  Passing Between Beauty and Death

  His White Soles

  The Strange Encounter on Burni Sibolangit

  The Golden Dream on Longji Mountain

  A Departed Glory

  About the Author

  About the Translator

  Translator’s Note

  IN THE YEARS depicted in the early essays of this collection, Singapore was still a relatively young nation, though a nation that was already seeing a high level of stability and the early signs of creature comforts that we enjoy here today. Whilst many Singaporeans at the time were able to venture to countries farther afield than just our immediate neighbours, few were blessed enough to travel as extensively as You Jin. It is no wonder, then, that she has become Singapore’s best known and best loved travel writer, both at home and in the Chinese-speaking world outside of our own borders.

  This volume offers a small glimpse of the range of locales You Jin has visited and captured in her writing. Taken from the two volumes Cun Cun Tu Di Jie Gu Shi () and Deng Dai Guo Qi De Ren (), this collection includes a little under half the work contained therein—a testament to just how well-travelled this beloved writer is.

  You Jin’s travelogues offer a glimpse into a specific place by telling of her encounters with an individual, or sometimes a few individuals, during her travels. The essays are highly personal, not only in that they express her own perspective of the places visited, but also because she tends to single out specific people, relating their unique, personal circumstances and the insights they have chosen to share with her in the time she spent with them. She is attentive and curious, with a bit of a naughty streak underlying her observations of the world around her. Thanks to her adept, expressive writing, these traits are recorded on the page in a light-hearted, good-spirited, wryly-humorous series of essays about some very intriguing locales.

  But it is not only the places that come alive in You Jin’s writings. The times in which she visited these places are likewise captured. The stories she tells of her time in Eastern Europe in the late 1980s and early 1990s, for instance, are set in a time of dramatic change in the region, a trait also foregrounded in her narratives of her expeditions around Asia. Travellers to the same countries today will not see quite the same things You Jin saw in her sojourns. The Eastern Europe of that era is gone, never to be seen again—except in the works of the astute observers and gifted writers who visited those lands in those times. We who read You Jin’s essays today are fortunate, for they allow us to enter those bygone times, just as they take us to places we might not have the opportunity to visit in person.

  You Jin is one of Singapore’s most prolific writers, and her work is widely read both at home and overseas. She is a deserving recipient of Singapore’s Cultural Medallion award, which was conferred on her in 2009. Epigram Books is bringing out this volume and another of You Jin’s books, Death by Perfume (translated by Jeremy Tiang), in translation this year, making three collections of her work released in English by this publisher to date (including Teaching Cats to Jump Hoops in 2012, translated by Sylvia Li-Chun Lin). These efforts at making You Jin’s work available to a wider audience through translation are commendable. Even more exciting is the fact that, if things go as planned, much more of You Jin’s writings will be made available in English in the upcoming years, thanks to the tireless work of publisher Edmund Wee, editor Jason Erik Lundberg, and the rest of the energetic, dedicated staff at Epigram Books. For readers who are not able to access the work in Chinese, these efforts are a great boon. It would be a pity for this insightful, witty writer to be overlooked as times change and Singaporeans become increasingly distanced from writings in Chinese. It is my great pleasure to see You Jin’s stories brought to another generation of Singaporeans, and my hope that the essays included here will prove entertaining and engaging to an even broader audience than the already considerable readership familiar with the writings of the inimitable You Jin.

  SHELLY BRYANT

  Europe

  Czech Music, a Silent Composition

  A Czech Encounter—Like Old Friends

  AT EXACTLY FIVE in the evening, just as we had planned, the doorbell rang.

  Outside the door was a Czech man wearing grey trousers and a T-shirt printed with the words “The Great Wall of China”, making his sturdy physique all the more remarkable. His eyes were crystal clear and bright as he reached out to shake my hand, his grip firm.

  In a very clearly enunciated Beijing dialect, he introduced himself: “I am Ruzicka, Tang Yun Ling’s husband. I’m happy to meet you.” He paused, then said, “Yun Ling is waiting for you downstairs.”

  I looked down and saw a small red car with a Chinese woman standing beside it. At that moment, she turned her round face upward, her delicately curved eyes blending perfectly with her smiling expression. The mild warmth of the spring sunlight
sat luxuriously on her face, making her features bright and adding depth and brilliance to her smile.

  Yun Ling. I knew a lot about her, but this was the first time I had seen “Ms Tang, the teacher” in person.

  My husband Risheng and I sat in the back seat of the car whilst Yun Ling drove, speeding us along to her residence in the suburbs.

  Outside the car window, the setting sun bravely burned itself out, lighting the sky with fiery colours and turning the Vitava River into a dazzling strip flowing through the centre of the city. Buildings of many different styles towered along both banks of the river—Roman, Gothic, Baroque, Renaissance—each with its extraordinary workmanship and unique charm, revealing the soul of the people with a silent vitality. Everywhere we looked, there were countless ancient structures, their spires stretching gracefully toward the brilliant sky.

  So here we were, in Prague. The capital of the Czech Republic had been untouched by the blazing flames of battle during the Second World War, so most of the buildings in the city retained their original styles. At first glance, one feels its subtle grace; a second look reveals its layers of dignity.

  Sitting in the front seat, Ruzicka faced the window and pointed out the sights, a fitting sense of pride in his tone, enumerating the historical value of each location. “Oh, that building took a very long time to build, going through several different eras and designed by different architects. So the evidence of both the Roman and Gothic styles it bears is quite singular.”

  It was as if we had entered an architecture museum. Risheng and I clicked our tongues in admiration.

  The car raced along for another half-hour, and we saw fewer people and cars as we travelled. When we finally stopped and parked the car, we were surrounded only by tall buildings.

  “Here we are.” Yun Ling turned off the engine and bustled out of the car. Pointing to a building dozens of storeys high, she said, “My apartment. We’re on the sixth floor.”

  Curious, I asked, “Do you rent, or did you buy it?”

  “When the flat was first planned, we paid half of the money to the government, then when it was completed and we moved in, we continued to pay the other half in monthly instalments. When it is paid off, we will be the owners, but we still cannot buy or sell freely. We can only leave it to our children when we die.” Yun Ling offered this general explanation in a regretful tone as we walked. “In Prague, housing is a big issue. My youngest daughter has been married for six years and has two children, but she still cannot manage to buy an apartment. Recently, she was finally allotted a flat, but the location was not ideal.”

  The lift was cramped, not large enough to take more than three passengers at a time. Ruzicka climbed the stairs whilst the three of us squeezed into the lift. Yun Ling and I were practically cheek-to-cheek. There was a faint odour of perspiration. We had come from opposite ends of the earth and had only the vaguest ideas about each other’s lives, but though we were just meeting for the first time, it was as if we had known each other forever.

  The tale of how we came to know the Ruzicka couple is perhaps even more dramatic than a fabricated story.

  Several days earlier, I had been touring in Hungary. Whilst travelling in the southern city of Szeged, I came across a restaurant opened by Mainland Chinese owners. (Even though Hungary is a large country, there are just a few Chinese restaurants.) After we finished our dinner, we asked the headwaiter if we could meet the only Chinese assistant chef in the kitchen, and we talked with him about the situation of Hungary’s working Chinese population. His words ran in a rapid, uninterrupted flow. After we had chatted at length about the difficulties of the local situation, he suddenly added, “When I first came to Eastern Europe, the Czech Republic was the first place I set foot in, and things were really tough. But one time, when I came across many problems that weren’t easy to settle, I was fortunate enough to meet a warm-hearted, compassionate couple who helped me sort through the mess and get a handle on things. They really put a lot of effort into helping me get a job in Hungary. This couple lives in Prague—the wife is originally from Beijing and the husband is Czech. Both of them love to make new friends, and they love culture. They do translation in the Czech Republic, and they also teach Chinese to Czech students.”

  As soon as I heard this, I felt my heart quicken in my chest and I asked, “We’ll be going to the Czech Republic in a few days. Do you think we could meet them?”

  When I said this, his enthusiasm matched ours, and he wasted no time in giving us the address and phone numbers of Ruzicka and his wife. At the same time, in a very respectful tone, he continued to ply us with stories about this wonderfully helpful couple.

  But that was not all. Later, we were on the train when we met a Chinese man from Munich who also knew this couple. He told us that their hospitality and generosity were of the rarest kind.

  Once we had travelled from Germany to Prague and got settled into our room, I called Yun Ling. I did not expect that, without even giving it a second thought, the pair would come and meet us and take us to their house.

  It was a two-bedroom apartment with a living area. The decor was all East Asian, with Chinese paintings covering the walls—the bird, landscape, and flower-and-plant genres were all well represented. Inside a glass cabinet, neatly arranged, were all sorts of exquisite handcrafted art pieces. The living room was small, and nearly every inch was well utilised. It was a little cramped, but very clean, and very cosy.

  As soon as we sat down, Yun Ling began preparing tea.

  She took a bottle of transparent spirits from the cupboard and said, “Plum wine. It’s homemade.”

  It was very fragrant, but when I took the first sip, it burned from the tip of my tongue all the way down to my belly.

  After three glasses, the conversation grew even more animated and congenial.

  Interracial Marriage—The Love of a Devoted Couple

  When Yun Ling and Ruzicka met by chance in Beijing, he was nineteen and she was seventeen.

  Ruzicka had flown thousands of kilometres from the Czech Republic to China to pursue advanced studies. When he first arrived in Beijing, he did not understand any Chinese at all.

  “I spent two years immersed in learning Chinese. My teacher required us to learn fifty vocabulary words a day. In class, she would reinforce each word by a variety of means—reading, listening, writing, and using it. Every morning at eight, we would begin our lessons, and end each afternoon at four. After going home, I continued revising until all of the words were firmly rooted in my mind.”

  After two years of such gruelling studies, he finally had a good grasp of the nuances and beauty of the language. From there, he entered the university and majored in Studies for Foreign Trade, with Chinese as the language of instruction.

  It was during this time that he happened to meet a piano player with a culture and music ensemble: Yun Ling. It took just one dance for the two of them to fall in love. They were married the year Ruzicka graduated.

  “The wedding was paid for and planned by the other exchange students, who all chipped in. It was very lively. They brought a lot of wine and got my father so drunk he couldn’t stop telling stories about my childhood. Everyone had a grand time. Ah, it really was a happy occasion. Even after so many years, I can still picture it all so clearly.”

  After they were married, Ruzicka brought his new wife back to Kralove, his hometown in the northern part of the Czech Republic, and that was when Yun Ling’s “nightmare” began.

  She explained her trying experience quickly, in a clear, pure Beijing dialect. “My mother-in-law was very conservative, and she couldn’t accept a daughter-in-law of a different race. She couldn’t stand it, so she often took her frustrations and anger out on me. I clearly remember the day we returned home. That night, Ruzicka quarrelled with his mother. His whole face was scarlet, as if he was really angry. At the time, I didn’t understand a word of Czech, so I didn’t know what they were arguing about. Later, when we were back in our room, I asked Ruzi
cka quietly and he told me that his mother kept insisting I get up as soon as it was light the next morning and cook a traditional Czech soup for the whole family.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Of course not. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but that I didn’t know how to cook it. As you can imagine, the days that followed were explosive and tearful. The worst part was that Ruzicka had to leave his hometown and stay hundreds of kilometres away for work, only occasionally coming home for short periods. My clashes with my mother-in-law grew sharper by the day until finally the time came when I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I packed my suitcase, ready to leave home. Unfortunately, she found out, and she snatched my wallet from me and locked me in the room. I was still full of youthful vigour at the time, and could not bear to stay a minute more in the house. I took a thick rope I found in the room, tied it to a nail on the windowsill, climbed down from the second floor window to the ground, and went to Ruzicka’s aunt’s house. My Czech was still not very good, nor was my mood, so all I could say, over and over, was “Auntie, please give me a few hundred koruna.” After she gave me the money, I went straight to the train station and bought a ticket to Prague and went in search of Ruzicka.”

  After this “domestic revolution”, the abominable relations between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law took a favourable turn.

  “Two years after I left home, I went back with Ruzicka for Christmas. I bought a gift she would like, kissed her cheek, and put all unpleasantness behind me. Gradually, she too had come to realise that she would only be a happy mother if she accepted her daughter-in-law. After that, the two of us got along very well. She often comes to stay with us in Prague. I know she likes to eat sweet and sour pork, so I cook it for her when she is here. And she knows I like fresh mushrooms, so she frequently goes to the forest and plucks some to bring to me.”

  Although she spoke of these long past events with an easy air, the fear and pain they had caused her was still evident. I felt compelled to let her know that her story had moved me. “You really are very strong.”