Free Katherine by Anchee Min Page B

know other things, but cannot make himself an object of his own knowledge, in the same way that fire can burn other things, but cannot burn itself.”
    I had trouble understanding Lion Head. One minute he was a driven man in pursuit of his goals; the next, he was an aimless wanderer. While he flooded me with his philosophy, he made complete sense. But when I went home and thought about it, his words contradicted his actions. On the one hand, he presented himself as a helpless puppet of circumstance; on the other, he proclaimed he was in an ideal stage of his life, where he was free of all boundaries, like the Zen image of the moon in the water, a phenomenon likened to human experience. The water was the subject, the moon was the object. Without water, there was no moon in the water, likewise when there was no moon. When the moon rose, the water did not wait to receive its image, and when even the tiniest drop of waterwas poured out, the moon did not wait to cast its reflection, for the moon did not intend to cast its reflection, and the water did not intentionally receive its image.
    Lion Head spoke so freely about concepts like the moon in the water. He said he was a man who “begins with ease, was never not at ease, was unconscious of the ease of ease.”
    *   *   *
    L ion Head would bring Jasmine flowers during the day and invite me to his place at night. He’d take me to the park and we would walk around in the dark for hours. He’d speak about Jasmine and her vicious father. He’d calmly talk about survival and his ambition of becoming a hero of his time. He said that Jasmine used her pitifulness to get what she wanted. The truth was that she never gave in. She always won. She made the others feel guilty and eventually they surrendered to her. She had gotten her way ever since she was a little girl. There was poison in her tears.
    “But she will never have me to keep,” Lion Head said firmly. “I am nobody’s concubine.”
    I admired him. In his unswerving spirit I discovered a desire to share his risk and offered him my protection.
    One evening Lion Head had liquor in his room. He put the antiques in the corner and sat on his bamboo bed. He lay down and had me sit on a wooden chair next to him. There was a square table alongside the chair with a dim lamp on it. Books filled the shelves and were piled on the floor; his clothes hung on the back of the door.
    We faced each other, two feet apart. I could smell soap-tree fruit. His eyes were shining. He asked me if I knew what today was. I suddenly remembered that it was the day of the mid-moon. He poured me a cup of liquor. I said I didn’t drink. He said just a sip. We toasted.
    The antique clock was noisy. It sounded like a dying windup toy. The liquor felt good. My cheeks burned. Nothing mattered. Lion Head said he had made sweet-and-sour vegetables and pickles. It took him three days to prepare. “On the first day, you salt the chopped vegetables,” he said. “Second day, you wash off the salt and dump the vegetables into a jar filled with vinegar and sugar, and close the lid tightly. Third day, you add more vinegar, stir the vegetables, press them tightly against each other, and let it sit. When it’s ready, it should taste sour-sweet and crispy.”
    I chewed the vegetables. I heard the crispy sound. I sipped more liquor. My head felt light, my blood running fast. He reached out and his finger touched my cheek. “You are an ancient goddess tonight,” he said. He asked if I cared to hear him recite an ancient poem by Li Ching-chao. I told him that I knew all about Li Ching-chao. “I love her poems.”
    “That’s very good,” he said. “Let’s recite one together.”
    The fragrance of the red lotus fades
,
    And the bamboo mat is touched by autumn chill.
    I loosen my thin robe
    And board the orchid boat alone.
    Who sends this elegant letter through the clouds?
    As the wild geese return in formation
,
    Moonlight fills the western chamber.
    Petals