by Ang Li
The pandan and tasselgrass were not tall vegetation. The latter caught fire quickly; shortly after Father threw in the torch, flames shot up and began to spread. The tongues of fire licked up, presenting a sad but captivating sight, but the pandan and the tasselgrass, about the same height as other shrubs, failed to create the expected terrifying sea of fire. Instead, the fire stayed low to the ground, rolling atop the wide open hill, and, with the boundless ocean and sky as a distant backdrop, lent a tragic beauty to its burning scene.
The large columns of churning smoke grew thicker as the fire spread. The pandan and tasselgrass had taken in so much water from the rain that they burned slowly, and, in the meantime, thick, dark smoke lingered above the bright red tongues of flame.
Yinghong waited, unsure when to press the button, her palm getting wet and slippery from perspiration, while beads of sweat seemed about to drip down onto the camera any moment. She could not tell if the sweat was caused by her anxiety or the rising temperature; all she could think of was the opportunity presented by the twelve shots. She shouldn’t use them too soon or she might miss precious scenes later; nor should she be too slow and leave some negatives unused.
The wind took a sudden turn, aiding the crackling fire, which had stopped spreading on the low ground and had jumped toward Lotus Garden. Through the Linhof’s lens, which reversed the images, she saw the fire continue to burn on her right, so she was sure it had spared Lotus Garden even though it was spreading fast and fiercely in the strong wind. To her, it was a sure thing that, no matter what happened, even if she were to lose consciousness, she would remember unerringly the direction of Lotus Garden—to her left from where she was standing.
The wind fanned the fire, sending flames higher and higher into the air, until a shocking red blanket of fire spread over the top of the hill and swallowed up most of its greenery. As the fire grew stronger, the thick smoke thinned out, increasing visibility. Through the lens, Yinghong witnessed the splendid sight of a hill burning, prompting her to change the negatives one after the other as she took a quick succession of pictures; she paid little attention to what might follow.
It was her mother who first threw down her camera and ran toward Lotus Garden, shouting for the workers to douse the fire by the fire wall. She was followed by Father, who, with his camera, lenses, and negatives slung over his shoulder, had been taking shots all over the place. Amid the shouts and screams, Mudan ran out of Lotus Garden banging an aluminum washbasin, claiming that it would scare away the fire god. Everyone was thrown into a frenzied panic as they tried to put out the fire, but the tongues of flame continued to follow the wind and licked at Lotus Garden. Bits of dry grass caught fire and sparks flew everywhere. It seemed that in a matter of seconds the flames would sail over the fire wall and land on Lotus Garden’s terraces, towers, and pavilions.
Then as suddenly as it had first changed direction, the wind shifted again and weakened considerably, taking flames along as it raced down the hill, as if trying to catch up on extra work. Isolated small fires burned here and there for days before finally dying out. Father told Luohan and the workers to stand watch day and night; they were not allowed to leave until they’d emptied many buckets of water and were certain there were no more burning cinders.
From the moment the fire was set until the hill was covered in ashes, Father never stopped taking pictures, capturing everything through his lens. Since Mother rushed to help fight the fire, she left many of the thirty-six negative in her Leica unused. Yinghong, however, used up all twelve of her Linhof negatives.
When the negatives were developed, they saw that she was the only one who had captured the moment when the fire was at its most ferocious. Even with black-and-white photos, the leaping flames and flurries of sparks presented a terrifying and striking sight.
Before weeds began to sprout on the barren hill after the fire, Father had the workers plant cassia trees in neat rows, adding small canopies of green to the charred slopes.
“Your father was truly a man capable of squandering the family fortune. He spent all his days in the garden thinking up crazy ideas, so no wonder the family lost everything,” Lin Xigeng commented in his usual willful way. “Whoever heard of someone nearly burning down an entire estate by setting fire to a hill just so he could take pictures?”
Her face darkened at his words.
“Father set fire to the hill because the pandan and the tasselgrass were too dense. We cut the plants down but they grew back, again and again. Besides, isn’t it better now with the cassia trees?”
They were standing outside the garden under the cassia groves that had grown to a height of more than three meters. Their slender, pointed leaves were not dense enough to block out the sun, leaving spaces for the late-afternoon sunlight to slant in. Instead of the famous, blood-red forget-me-not peas, the cassia trees, also called forget-me-not in Taiwan, produced only tiny yellow flowers that sprinkled the area with colorful petals when each breeze swept past.
“I won’t argue with you. I can’t say anything negative when it comes to your father,” he complained softly, then, in an abrupt change of attitude, said enthusiastically:
“Your father meant for you to be born and grow up in this garden, and I, I’m going to help you renovate it so you can move back to live here.”
Caught off guard by his unexpected plan, she looked at him with worried eyes.
“And I want you to marry me,” he declared in a hurried but customary decisive tone.
Under cassia trees laden with yellow flowers, tears welled up in Yinghong’s eyes, only days after the planned abortion of his child.
Father continued his shopping spree for cameras. In the 1960s, before Japanese cameras made it into the international market, Father bought only cameras from Europe, even though he had studied in Japan. His favorite was naturally the Leica, and he could not wait to own each new model as soon as it came on the market.
Besides the latest models, he also began to collect old cameras, and ended up with a few old models of Linhof, Rolleiflex, and Contax. At first he frequented a photography equipment store that catered to professionals in Taichung. After several visits, he became friends with the owner, who, whenever a new shipment arrived, sent a man called Kozo to Lotus Garden with the cameras for Father to have the first pick. During the five or six years that Kozo made his visits, Father collected more than fifty cameras of various makes and models.
The man known by his Japanese name, Kozo, was in his forties and taller than most Taiwanese of the time. He was always dressed in Taiwanese-style shirt and pants that he apparently never changed out of, for the one-time blue fabric looked forever gray, as if it had never been washed clean. Mudan liked to gossip with Yinghong that Kozo was single and had no woman to take care of his needs.
What interested Yinghong most about Kozo was that he rarely wore shoes. He had big feet that were usually covered in dark mud. Yet the shoeless big feet never seemed steady on the ground; when he walked, his rear end swayed from side to side, as if he were walking on tiptoes. She had just learned the expression, “swaying gracefully back and forth,” which reminded her of the way Kozo walked, yet that seemed somehow not to fit a full-grown man.
“Kozo has a sissy way of walking, swaying his hips this way and that,” Mudan often commented.
Yinghong saw quite a bit of Kozo, since he often came to show Father the photography equipment. For years, he was the only visitor to Lotus Garden, and everyone liked him, everyone but Mudan.
Mudan began to ignore Kozo only after she learned that some of his cameras cost the price of one or two jia of land.
“What kind of camera costs that much? What trickery is that? Trading two jia of land for a metal box.” Mudan spread one of her big bony hands. “Something not even as big as this requires one or two jia of the best paddy field. What a trick. If he keeps on like this, pretty soon everything will be tricked out of the family until it’s all gone.”
Mudan naturally refused to be p
hotographed, even years later, when photos taken by Father were hung all over Lotus Garden, including pictures of Luohan.
“I’d be put in there if I had my picture taken.”
By “there,” she meant the camera, of course.
She did have a picture taken in order to get an identity card, but took pains to keep it and the negative, with careful instructions to Luohan and Yinghong that, when she died, the picture and the negative must be placed in her coffin so she could leave this world with every part of herself intact.
“I’ll not have part of my soul missing, even if I go to hell,” she said.
But what galled Mudan most at the time was the price—one or two jia of land. She’d even complained in front of Father that Kozo would one day trick him out of everything in the family. Father just smiled, never trying to offer her an explanation.
Kozo began his frequent visits when she was in the sixth grade. Once he came with a big black umbrella on a bright sunny day, and would not let go of it, even during lunch. After the meal, Kozo asked Father and Yinghong to take him to Flowing Pillow Pavilion, where he shut all the doors and windows before turning on the lights. Then he began to mutter after casting her a glance:
“I respectfully ask for the assistance of the Heavenly King, Grandma Mazu, Guanyin Bodhisattva, Prince Neza, and all other deities. By the throne of the Heavenly Palace I bring precious stones of seven colors … precious, precious, precious, truly rare treasures from the Heavenly Palace, with the help of Jesus and God, passing through Japan, Germany, England, America, to arrive in Taiwan.”
Kozo was muttering in a soft voice, so she did not understand every word he said, but she recalled how Mudan loved to mock him about his swaying head and ears, and the sight nearly made her laugh out loud. Naturally she wouldn’t dare, so she smiled secretly, covering her mouth with her slender, fair hands.
But Father was so pleased he burst out laughing.
Seemingly oblivious, Kozo continued his incantation by reaching out with his dark, coarse hands and making a dainty pose, gesticulating and gesturing as he shouted:
“Come. Come. Come. Change. Change. Change.”
Then he raised the black umbrella and swung it around before blowing on it three times.
“Pu. Pu. Pu. Change. Change. Change.”
Then he slapped the metal ribs of the umbrella and, lo and behold, the tip twisted and fell off to rain down two dozen colorful gemstones. He caught the stones in his palms to show Father and Yinghong, then balled his fist and blew three more times before laying the gemstones on the carved purple sandalwood tabletop.
There were red and green gems, as well as blue stones and a diamond encircled by several small ones, which amounted to two or three carats. Kozo’s fingers, still in a dainty gesture, zeroed in on the diamond and picked it up.
“Only this one is good enough for Mr. Zhu.”
He spoke in Japanese, thinking that Yinghong didn’t understand the language.
“It was hidden in the umbrella ribs as it traveled across the ocean.”
Father coughed and gave Kozo a look, effectively silencing him. Then he walked into the inner room, where he rummaged around and came out with a big diamond that looked to be over ten carats.
“What do you think of this?” Father said with a smile.
Kozo tapped his forehead.
“Fine. Fine. Fine.”
He said while gathering all the gemstones on the table into the hollow umbrella ribs. He capped the umbrella, with an expression of nonchalance. Father, on the other hand, looked awkward and said:
“When I went abroad, Grandma wanted me to take this along for emergencies.”
Later he continued in an intentional light tone, obviously regretting the showy display of the big diamond and unwilling to make Kozo feel that his trip was in vain.
“But, it’s time to start getting Ayako’s dowry ready.”
He had Kozo bring out the gemstones again and picked out a few before thanking the man in a slightly abashed manner.
Besides the gemstones, Kozo also brought other items with him each time, including Mother’s cosmetics from Japan, the latest fashions from Hong Kong, and perfume from Paris. Father made frequent purchases, until one day he realized that Mother rarely wore or used any of the items. Then he began buying trinkets for Yinghong.
By the time she started junior high and Father stopped buying her dolls, she already owned over thirty imported dolls in all shapes and sizes, from well-decked-out Japanese dolls in kimonos to princess dolls from Paris in full skirts to soft, huggable rag dolls. She was also given several music boxes that opened to reveal pretty girls in gauzy skirts dancing to soft music, as well as different kinds of candy and Japanese stationery. Even her hair clips were made in Japan.
Most of what Kozo brought was in the area of the latest camera and photography equipment Father required. Expensive items that cost a few jia of paddy land Kozo casually carried in a nondescript cotton cloth sack like those farmers used for rice.
Every time he came, Father had him stay for drinks and dinner. They would discuss the latest models and collections owned by professionals from all over.
One warm spring day during her second year in junior high, Kozo brought a big stack of white paper, and, in a secretive tone, asked Father to store it for him. Then the two of them were engaged in a whispered conversation. In the end, Kozo decided to hide the paper under the carved sandalwood curtained bed in Flowing Pillow Pavilion, to which Father raised no objection.
Yinghong was infatuated with painting that year, which all started when Father showed her some lovely albums from Japan. Father gave her a detailed explanation of the symmetry and beauty of classical painting, which emphasized the arrangement and use of space, as well as the Impressionists’ focus on light and shadow, freedom and life.
Having made up her mind to be a painter, she spent much of her spare time out painting in Lotus Garden. She was partial to the bright, vibrant color scheme of the Impressionists, for Father had told her that Monet had made several paintings of the same lily pond, all with varying results because of the different times and lighting. So with the Japanese Moth-brand watercolor paint that Kozo brought over, she began to apply bright colors to scenes of Lotus Garden at different times.
Once, while painting the scene at “New Moon by the Small Bridge,” with lotus leaves as a backdrop, she ran out of paper. Afraid she could not recreate the scene once sunlight shifted, she recalled the stack of white paper Kozo had placed under the carved bed in Flowing Pillow Pavilion. She went and selected a few sheets, with the idea that she’d ask Father to buy some to replace those she had taken.
The paper, not too thick but obviously of very high quality, was so dense that water barely seeped through it. Since she was using watercolors, the nonabsorbent paper presented a problem at first, but after a few tries she learned to add less water to the paint before applying it to the paper, creating an effect like an oil painting.
The innovative result piqued her interest so much that she got more of the same white paper and spent a whole day painting just about everything in Lotus Garden. Then she went to see Father for his assessment.
Kozo, who was drinking and chatting with Father in the main hall at Lotus Tower, came over to take a look and gave his approval before letting out a startled cry. He did not, however, forget to form the dainty gesture with his fingers before slapping the back of his head, as he yelled:
“Oh, no! I’m done for. All done for. That paper, it’s for printing money.”
Stunned, Yinghong asked without thinking:
“What do you mean, printing money?”
“Printing ten-dollar and hundred-dollar bills. The New Taiwan dollars. These, every single sheet is money, pretty, nice-smelling New Taiwan dollars. This is terrible! Every single one of the bills has grown wings and flown away from me. Half of my property is gone, all gone.”
Despite continued signals from Father, this time Kozo could not hold back.
<
br /> “The denomination hasn’t been printed yet, but this is authentic paper used to print the new NT. Do you know how much trouble I had to go through to get this much paper? I didn’t dare leave the stack at my house, and that’s why I asked your Otosan to store it for me. Oh, this is awful, just awful. Such misery.”
He continued yelling and screaming till he saw the frightened look on her face; then he slowly calmed down and adopted a lighthearted tone:
“The Young Miss is a fine representative of a wealthy, established family, with her uncommon style and flair. A painting by you is worth one, even two thousand NT. These paintings here are enough to buy a whole row of Lucheng houses and their storefronts. Young Miss is a fine artist.”
Knowing that nothing could be changed, Kozo tried to make the best of a bad situation.
“Oh well,” he said with a slight laugh, “what’s done is done, so it’s all right. But I wonder which family will be wealthy enough to gain you as daughter-in-law. See how you used up enough money to build Lotus Garden just by painting it.”
After the initial outburst, Kozo let it pass, though he did take the remaining paper with him. Yinghong, of course, received a bit of scolding and punishment, but Father focused on not taking other people’s property when you know it does not belong to you, and did not believe that she’d ruined Kozo’s dream of becoming rich overnight.
“Kozo is crazy. He thinks about getting rich every day, and now he’s going to print money. It’s not that simple.”
Later she overheard Father talking to Mother:
“All this government knows what to do is arrest and kill people; they are more ruthless than the Japanese. There are government spies everywhere. Do you think they would let anyone print fake money? If Kozo keeps this up, sooner or later something bad will happen to him.”