Adolescence - A Reading of Zhang Xianliang

Author: Zhang Xianliang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: By the early 1980s, I had lived for over fifty years and only then learned about the term "adolescence." In the past, I only knew the word "youth," and the first time I read it, I was just six years old and didn’t understand its meaning. My teacher who first introduced me to this concept was a scholar from the rural areas of Nan’an, Chongqing, but he wasn’t originally from Chongqing. My mother said that he, like us, had "fled" from Jiangsu and Zhejiang to the "Capital" during difficult times and was locally referred to as a "lower river person." Now, whenever I think of him, I can’t help but admire the ability of comic book artists and film makeup artists to recreate historical appearances. In modern depictions, whenever a past private tutor appears, he looks very much like my teacher, including his classic melon-seed hat, which makes me always remember his appearance. He only taught a few members of my family, and classes began with reading "Three Hundred Poems of Tang Dynasty." Unlike most private tutors who used "A Thousand Characters for Children," "Hundred Family Surnames," and "Essentials for the Young" as teaching materials, he seemed to particularly like Du Fu’s poems. The first poem I learned was "Gazing at Mount Tai": "How majestic is Mount Tai, / Its greenery stretches beyond Qi and Lu." The obscure character "Dai" in the poem made me search for it everywhere for a long time. Once, when he read, "Suddenly, the news of the recapture of northern Ji arrived beyond the sword region, / Upon hearing it, tears filled my clothes. / Turning to see my wife and children, I wondered where their worries had gone, / Rolling up my books, I rejoiced as if in youth. / Singing in the daytime, I must drink freely, / With youth as my companion, I long to return home. / Immediately, I passed through the Bajia and Wu gorges, / Then headed south toward Xiangyang and Luoyang," he suddenly covered his face with the book and cried uncontrollably, truly "tears soaking my clothes." His nose blew with loud snorts, and anyone hearing such a sound would be amazed at how large his nostrils must be. He cried so hard that his entire body trembled, especially the white beard on his chin, which shook violently. Tears and snot dripped onto the desk. Seeing an adult, the teacher we always feared, actually crying like us, the group of six or seven-year-old children burst into laughter, screaming wildly. From then on, we no longer feared him. However, because of his teaching, I was exposed to poetry from a young age, and later, unfortunately, I became a poet and was imprisoned for over twenty years.
In addition to this, I still remember him for another reason: he was a true reader who could immerse himself in poetry, a real "poet’s poet." Regardless of how others viewed him, he paid no heed to the impression his behavior might leave on others. He threw himself completely into the resonant and melodious tones, swaying his head as he let his emotions run wild, daring to cry, laugh, and express himself freely. Although he, like countless "lower river people," was driven from his homeland by the Japanese and lived in poverty in a corner, the more I learned about him, the more I admired his spiritual independence. Just from the example of him crying in front of children, I could tell he belonged to the last generation of Chinese literati with true integrity. Later, as I traveled across China and the world, I never met anyone who expressed their emotions so sincerely through art, nor anyone who was moved so profoundly by an artwork. The world has changed, and hearts have grown hard. All the pretensions of those who call themselves artists, art lovers, or "people of character" no longer move me. Yet, I still don’t understand what "youth" means. Private tutors never explained such terms. Words like "Jibei," "Bajia," "Wujia," "Xiangyang," and "Luoyang" appear to be place names, but I don’t understand the others well. However, I gained a vivid and intuitive understanding of the phrase "tears soaking my clothes." Over the next few decades, I encountered countless situations that made me cry, even forcing me to weep uncontrollably. But as soon as tears overflowed, I would picture him crying with snot and tears, and in moments when I had to cry, I would end up laughing through my tears. His crying remained a hilarious memory in my childhood. Even now, as an adult nearing old age, the thought of him makes me instantly childish, which has benefited me greatly in life. His single act of crying has kept me forever young, even as if I were returning to childhood. No matter how deeply I later understood his noble spirit or how he became one with Du Fu, how he was the embodiment of Du Fu, his crying still seemed like a joke in life, always making me laugh. Unintentionally, his teaching planted in my heart a sense of humor to resist and alleviate pain, allowing me to live to this day.