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Islands and Continents
- Hong Kong University Press, HKU
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67 Islands and Continents Translated by Caroline Mason Islands and Continents 1. There was really no way I could do any more reading, so I thought I’d go down to the beach again. Normally I never go downstairs without checking the mailbox. But this time, to avoid my landlady and her unstoppable banter, I decided to go out by the door on the other side. I walked on a little way, but it was no good, I couldn’t put it out of my mind. I turned back and went to open the mailbox. It was only then that I really gave up all hope. My behaviour was a bit neurotic. It certainly must have looked pretty odd to anyone watching. To be honest, just at that moment I don’t think I was capable of coping with anyone in real life. I’d reached the sea, when a woman dressed in black came up to me and asked if I had a car. I was surprised by the question. She told me she was in a hurry to get somewhere, and I said no, I didn’t have a car, but she just kept walking beside me. She looked so delicate, so thin and pale. She walked beside me for a while in silence, and then went on her way. Something about her fragile appearance had me worried, but there was not much I could do about it. I walked straight on to the entrance of the Museum of Contemporary 68 Short Stories by Leung Ping-kwan Art and stood there, looking at Zuniga’s bronzes. His women either squat or sit, or else they stand there proudly, cradling a child in their arms, weatherbeaten earth mothers, their bronze mottled and fading, their feet planted firmly in the soil. They keep their babies warm with the heat of their bodies, and carry their heavy woven baskets high on their shoulders. Never weak or helpless, never mutable or fragile. Their broad, green shoulders, corroded, laden with fallen pine needles, utterly immobile. I stood there, leaning against the railings, just gazing at them. Many a time I’ve wanted to try and tell you what it is I see in these women of Zuniga’s, their special quality, but I’ve never been able to find the words. After that, I went down to the beach, descending the stone steps just in time to see the sun slip into the ocean. Sunsets here are a beautiful sight, on this huge American continent where I now reside, with its unbroken coastline stretching endlessly into the distance. But it is a beauty I am rarely in the mood to appreciate. In front of me lay the vast, boundless ocean, and further out, lost in a haze of mist and cloud, the faint outlines of islands came into view. Seabirds wheeled before my eyes as I stood there in the breeze, my mind ebbing and flowing with thoughts of people and events on another dim, distant shore. I spoke to the ocean’s vast expanse but heard nothing in reply. Again and again, all I heard was the sound of the waves curling their tongues in on themselves in self-absorption, and the muffled mutterings of the shingle. The sea was too deeply engrossed in the expression of its own thoughts to have ears for the babbling of some other creature’s imagination. The noise of the tide grew louder and louder, drowning my voice, rendering my incessant chattering utterly redundant. The young man put down his pen and gazed blankly out of the window. The ship was sailing slowly out across the vast body of water. The sun was creating little flashes of white light on the surface of the sea. Warm sunshine, gentle waves. A young woman was sitting out on deck near the rails, her head tilted slightly to one side. A gust of wind sent her hair blowing all over the place, and she quickly raised her hands high above her head to tie it back, her sleeves slipping down to reveal the white skin of her slender arms. [18.224.58.77] Project MUSE (2024-04-17 19:02 GMT) 69 Islands and Continents She rose to her feet and went towards the front of the ship, standing there with her hands on her hips, gently swinging her right leg backwards and forwards. Her supple limbs seemed to move with a rhythm of their own, and for a...