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T'IEN HSIAThe Cloak of Invisibility 隱身衣Yang Jiang 楊絳 Translated by Geremie R. Barmé
 As we noted in the June 2011 issue of China Heritage Quarterly, the writer and literary figure Yang Jiang celebrated her centenary on 17 July 2011. Christopher Rea, a scholar of Republican-era literature, translator and specialist in Chinese humour, wrote an essay to mark Yang's centenary for that issue of the journal entitled 'Yang Jiang's 楊絳 Conspicuous Inconspicuousness: A Centenary Writer in China's "Prosperous Age"'. An issue of the translation journal Renditions, guest edited by Chris Rea and devoted to Yang Jiang's work appeared in the northern autumn of 2011 (Issue 76). The following essay was used as the Afterword to Lost in the Crowd: A Cultural Revolution Memoir (the Chinese title of which is 陸沉), a translation of Yang Jiang's cadre school memoir (乾校六記) made by the editor of this journal and published in Melbourne by McPhee Gribble in 1989. Mocun and I have jokingly discussed what type of magical powers we'd like to have if we had a choice. We both decided on the cloak of invisibility. With it we could go travelling together and do as we wished, free from all restrictions. Not that we'd want to do any evil or harm. But quite possibly we'd get carried away and upset some innocent person with our mischievousness. And finally our presence would be detected and we'd have to flee in panic. 'Heavens, in that case we'd also need the power to travel long distances instantaneously.' 'And talismans for self-protection.' The more we thought about it the more we knew we'd need. In the end we decided to forget about the cloak of invisibility altogether. But you don't need supernatural powers to do things that are not allowed in this world of ours. You can find the cloak of invisibility wherever you are. It is a cloak made from a humble, insignificant weave. If you occupy a lowly station in life, you're sure to be 'seen through', to be treated as if you were invisible. People don't think of this cloak as something precious: indeed they are terrified that once they've put it on it will stick to them like a wet shirt and they'll never get it off.  Fig.2 Cover of Lost in the Crowd with the calligraphy of Qian Zhongshu 錢鐘書 An old Chinese story tells of the spirit of a dead man who returns home to find his family in mourning. They cannot see him. He speaks, but no one hears his voice. They are seated around a table eating and he eagerly tries to join in, only to find that there is no place set for him. People of lowly status are like that disembodied spirit. If you are nothing in other people's eyes, then naturally they will not see you; if they don't acknowledge your existence in their hearts, then they will look straight through you. No matter how mortified you feel, or how much you grieve at being slighted or insulted, no one will take the slightest notice of you. You exist, but you feel totally insubstantial, as if you had never been born. Is not a life so spent no life at all? To don the cloak of invisibility, to proclaim its virtue and to revel in its power, is (so some might say) to play the Ah Q; in other words sour grapes. Chinese is full of expressions about trying to be 'a man among men', or seeking to put yourself 'above the common herd', 'enjoying the limelight', becoming 'a tall poppy', or 'pushing yourself to the fore'. This is itself proof that most people aren't happy to be ignored. They resent obscurity, they chafe at it; they do their utmost to cast off the cloak of invisibility and to make themselves the centre of attention. In Anglo-American culture, society is compared to a snake pit. Snakes lie in a tangled heap at the bottom of a pit, each struggling to poke forth its head and thrust upwards, squeezing through the mass to get on top. Heads rise to the surface and sink down to the depths again; bodies arch upwards and subside; tails become entangled in an inextricable knot: you're on the top, I'm on the bottom, it's a life-and-death contest, a ceaseless struggle. Unless you can get your head up and out of the heap, you will spend your whole life buried. Even if you do succeed, you'll be no better than a dancing bubble of foam on a boundless ocean, sparkling for a single moment in the sunlight. An outstanding person may realize certain ambitions, but the time spent on the crest of that wave is still only an instant. Certainly, that instant may well mark the highpoint of a lifetime, something to be proud of. But are you 'a good-for-nothing' if you do not excel? On the other hand, will you be satisfied to spend your days subservient to others? Heaven gives birth to all creatures, beautiful and ugly, talented and worthless. The fame of one outstanding general is built on the corpses of thousands; how else could a mere soldier become a grand hero? Some of us are born to sit in palanquins, others to carry them; there are the hosts and guests who occupy places of honour, and servants who bring them tea and food. At the banquet table there is a guest of honour, and less-important guests. In the kitchens a cook tends the stove while the menials add fuel. The talents with which nature has endowed man are all so different; how can there be such a thing as equality? People's ambitions differ vastly as well. In Chapter XXVI of The Scholars! Madame Wang enthusiastically describes the magnificent feast and entertainments she has enjoyed in the Sun mansion. She was given the seat of honour and as she was wearing a veil of giant pearls, the maids on either side of her had to part the pearls so she could sip her honeyed tea. Sancho Panza, on the other hand, declares in Chapter XI of Don Quixote that he prefers to eat a simple meal of bread and onions in a corner, free from the constraints of table manners and etiquette. Some people yearn to fly high; others are content 'to drag their tails in the mud'.[2] Each to his own. Some people know just what they want out of life and it is useless to try to persuade them otherwise. If, for instance, they want nothing more than to drag their tail in the mud, it's best to let them be. Then there are those who never realize their ambitions, who are forever at odds with fate. There is the mediocre fellow, and his futile determination to become 'a man among men'. Ambition is the root of all frustration; and the higher a monkey climbs, the more clearly its shiny red behind can be seen. Blissfully unaware that he is dressed only in the emperor's new clothes such a fellow strains to throw off the cloak of invisibility; all he does is reveal his own ugliness and perversity. Many people of moderate ability waste their lives trying to outdo others and still achieve nothing. It is all so futile. The ancients said, 'they are but human, like myself'. Westerners have a similar notion. Such sayings encourage people to do their best without becoming self-destructive. In Spanish it is said that 'you are what you do'—a person's worth is determined by their own efforts, not by birth or social position. Perhaps we should add, however, that 'what you are determines what you can do'. If you're a turnip then you should hope to be a juicy and crisp one; if a cabbage then the ideal is to be a solid full-hearted vegetable. Both of these vegetables are used in daily cooking and make no pretence at being fit to join the lavish offerings in a temple. A children's rhyme from my native place goes 'On the third day of the third month, the shepherd's purse vies with the peony'. One would think there was no competition. Once I saw a delicate little blue flower in a patch of wild grass, and because it was so small as to be almost invisible I have often wondered if it was what Westerners call a 'forget-me-not'. But flowers and vegetables growing in the wild have no concept of being (or not being) 'forgotten': they just blossom at the behest of the sunlight, the dew and the rain. 'Grasses and trees all possess a nature of their own, they wait not for a fair maiden's hand to pluck them.' I love the line by the Song dynasty poet Su Dongpo, 'One can hide in the sea of humanity'; and I admire the philosopher Zhuang Zi who spoke of the sage who 'drowned on dry land'. Well may we compare society to a snake pit, yet in the skies above that pit birds fly free; in the ponds beside it fish swim at will. There are people who have always chosen to avoid the snake pit altogether, concealing themselves in the crowd or drowning on dry land. Their aim is to disappear like a drop of water in the sea, to be a wildflower camouflaged in thick grass, free of any aspiration to be a 'forget-me-not' or to 'vie with the peonies', at peace in their own niche. If people have no desire to climb to the heights, then there is no need to jostle with others, no need to fear a fall. They can retain their innocence, fulfil their original nature, and concentrate on goals that are within their power. Dressed in this cloak of invisibility, you can achieve things nobody can ever take away. Su Dongpo said, 'The bright moon that floats between hills and the clear breeze on the water are all part of the inexhaustible bounty of nature.' Certainly these things are to be enjoyed, and so too are man's own creations: the ways of the world and the complexity of human relations are even more delightful and intriguing than the bright moon and the clear breeze. They can be read like a book, or enjoyed like a play. No matter how lifelike the descriptions in books or performances on stage may be, they are, after all, only make-believe. The real world is often stranger than fiction, so strange that it leaves us shocked and astounded. It possesses a more vital worth, a more wondrous ability to delight. Only the humble person has the opportunity of observing the reality behind the ways of the world, as opposed to the spectacle of art performed for an audience. But I'm probably wasting my breath. Those anxious to abandon the cloak of invisibility will hardly be impressed with what I am saying; while those who were unaware of the cloak's existence will gain nothing from the knowledge of it. In all honesty donning the cloak of invisibility, be it magical or mundane, has drawbacks and considerable inconveniences. In The Invisible Man H. G. Wells describes a man who achieved invisibility by scientific means. Yet his invisibility brought him only pain. When it was cold, for example, he would have to stay indoors unless he wanted to go out without any clothes on. When he did get dressed—with shoes, hat and gloves—he would appear to others as a faceless man; and if he went into the street he would cause a fearful panic. Thus he was forced to conceal his face by pulling a hat over his brow, wrapping a scarf around his mouth and wearing a pair of dark glasses. He covered his nose and cheeks with gauze and sticking plaster. What lengths he had to go to, to conceal his invisibility! Such are the results of a blind and mechanistic science; they cannot compare with the magical cloak of invisibility. The cloak conceals normal clothing and may be cast aside at will. But the body it disguises is one made of flesh and blood, one that feels both heat and cold, and which can be hurt all too easily. A brick, or a club, or a clumsy foot can be painful enough, but what of the agony one must endure if attacked by knife or gun, if scalded by water or burnt by fire? If one has not the magical ability to make a timely escape, the only way to ensure safety is to acquire an adamantine body. The cloak of invisibility has other drawbacks. The human heart which it conceals is all too vulnerable, it is sensitive to heat and cold, it cannot withstand rough handling. It is an arduous process, to steel oneself to this, to train oneself to be impervious to all manner of attack and insult; and-to watch what happens in the world without such training may make the heart burst with indignation, it may break it. In such conditions it is inconceivable to view things like a carefree playgoer. Perhaps one should simply choose not to watch at all. After all, the world is not a variety show. If Le Sage's 'Devil upon Two Sticks'[3] were to invite me to go abroad with him one night, accompanying him as he lifted up the roofs of houses to peek inside, I would certainly decline. Is it necessary to see and experience everything in order to achieve wisdom? And by seeing and experiencing everything, will you necessarily obtain wisdom? How many lives does one have? The belief that on the basis of the experience of one lifetime you can achieve a unique vision and understand all of human life, may deservedly win no more than a furtive smile from others. The cloak of invisibility can be found everywhere. It is no rare or magical treasure. Many people wear it. Are they all blind? And no matter how you think of it, the cloak of invisibility is better than the emperor's new clothes. 杨绛《隐身衣》我们夫妇有时候说废话玩儿。‘给你一件仙家法宝，你要什么?’ 我们都要隐身衣；各披一件，同出遨游。我们只求摆脱羁束，到处阅历，并不想为非作歹。可是玩得高兴，不免放肆淘气，于是惊动了人，隐身不住，得赶紧逃跑。 ‘阿呀!还得有遁地法！’ ‘还要护身法!’ 想得越周到，要求也越多，干脆连隐身衣也不要了。 其实，如果不想干人世间所不容许的事，无需仙家法宝，凡间也有隐身衣；只是世人非但不以为宝，还惟恐穿在身上，像湿布衫一样脱不下。因为这种隐身衣的料子是卑微。身处卑微，人家就视而不见，见而无睹。 我记得我国笔记小说里讲一人梦魂回家，见到了思念的家人，家里人却看不见他。他开口说话，也没人听见。家人团坐吃饭，他欣然也想入座，却没有他的位子。身居卑微的人也仿佛这个未具人身的幽灵，会有同样的感受。人家眼里没有你，当然视而不见；心上不理会你，就会瞠目无睹。你的‘自我’觉得受了轻忽或怠慢或侮辱，人家却未知有你；你虽然生存在人世间，却好像还未具人形，还未曾出生。这样活一辈子，不是虽生犹如未生吗?谁假如说，披了这种隐身衣如何受用，如何逍遥自在，听的人只会觉得这是发扬阿Q精神，或闸述‘酸葡萄论’吧? 且看咱们的常言俗语，要做个‘人上人’呀、‘出类拔萃’呀、‘出人头地’呀、‘脱颖而出’呀、‘出风头’或‘拔尖’、‘冒尖’呀等等，可以想见一般人都不甘心受轻忽。他们或悒悒而怨，或愤愤而怒，只求有朝一日挣脱身上这件隐身衣，显身而露面。英美人把社会比作蛇阱(snakepit)。阱里压压挤挤的蛇，一条条都拚命钻出脑袋，探出身子，把别的蛇排挤开，压下去；一个个冒出又没入的蛇头，一条条拱起又压下的蛇身，扭结成团、难分难解的蛇尾，你上我下，你死我活，不断地挣扎斗争。钻不出头，一辈子埋没在下；钻出头，就好比大海里坐在浪尖儿上的跳珠飞沫，迎日月之光而生辉，可说是大丈夫得志了。人生短促，浪尖儿上的一刹那，也可作一生成就的标志，足以自豪。你是‘窝囊废’吗? 你就甘心郁郁久居人下? 但天生万物，有关有不美，有才有不才。万具枯骨，才造得一员名将；小兵小卒，岂能都成为有名的英雄。世上有坐轿的，有抬轿的；有坐席的主人和宾客，有端茶上莱的侍仆。席面上，有人坐首位，有人陪末座。厨房里，有掌勺的上灶，有烧火的灶下婢；天之生材也不齐，怎能一律均等。 人的志趣也各不相同。《儒林外史》二十六回里的王太太，津津乐道她在孙乡绅家’吃一、看二、眼观三”的席上，坐在首位，一边一个丫头为她掠开满脸黄豆大的珍珠拖挂，让她露出嘴来吃蜜饯茶。而《堂·吉诃德》十一章里的桑丘，却不爱坐酒席，宁愿在自己的角落里，不装斯丈，不讲礼数，吃些面包葱头。有人企求飞上高枝，有人宁愿‘曳尾涂中’。人各有志，不能相强。 有人是别有怀抱，旁人强不过他。譬如他宁愿‘曳尾涂中’，也只好由他。有人是有志不伸，自己强不过命运。譬如庸庸碌碌之辈，偏要做‘人上人’，这可怎么办呢?常言道：‘烦恼皆因强出头’。猴子爬得愈高，尾部又秃又红的丑相就愈加显露；自己不知道身上只穿着‘皇帝的新衣’，却忙不迭地挣脱‘隐身衣’，出乖露丑。好些略具才能的人，一辈子挣扎着求在人上，虚耗了毕生精力，一事无成，真是何苦来呢。 我国古人说：‘彼人也，予亦人也。’西方人也有类似的话，这不过是勉人努力向上，勿自暴自弃。西班牙谚云：‘干什么事，成什么人。’人的尊卑，不靠地位，不由出身，只看你自己的成就。我们不妨再加上一句：‘是什么料，充什么用。’假如是一个萝卜，就力求做个水多肉脆的好萝卜；假如是棵白菜，就力求做一棵糍糍实实的包心好白菜。萝卜白菜是家常食用的菜蔬，不求做庙堂上供设的珍果。我乡童谣有’三月三，荠莱开花赛牡丹”的话。荠菜花怎赛得牡丹花呢!我曾见草丛里一种细小的青花，常猜测那是否西方称为‘勿忘我’的草花，因为它太渺小，人家不容易看见。不过我想，野苹野菜开一朵小花报答阳光雨露之恩，并不求人‘勿忘我’，所谓‘草木有本心，何求美人折’。 我爱读东坡‘方人如海一身藏’之句，也企慕庄子所谓‘陆沉’。社会可以比作‘蛇阱‘，但‘蛇阱’之上，天空还有飞鸟‘陷阱”之旁，池沼里也有游鱼。古往今来，自有人避开’蛇阱’而’藏身”或‘陆沉’。消失于众人之中，如水珠包孕于海水之内，如细小的野花隐藏在草丛里，不求‘勿忘我’，不求‘赛牡丹’，安闲舒适，得其所哉。一个人不想攀高就不怕下跌，也不用倾轧排挤，可以保其天真，成其自然，潜心一志完成自己能做的事。 而且在隐身衣的掩盖下，还会别有所得，不怕旁人争夺。苏东坡说：‘山间之明月，水上之清风’是‘造物者之无尽藏’，可以随意享用。但造物所藏之外，还有世人所创的东西呢。世态人情，比明月清风更饶有滋味；可作书读，可当戏看。书上的描摹，戏里的扮演，即使栩栩如生，究竟只是丈艺作品；人情世态，都是天真自然的流露，往往超出情理之外，新奇得令人震惊，令人骇怪，给人以更深刻的教益，更奇妙的娱乐。惟有身处卑微的人，最有机缘看到世态人情的真相，而不是面对观众的艺术表演。 不过这一派胡言纯是废话罢了。急要挣脱隐身衣的人，听了未必入耳；那些不知世间也有隐身衣的人，知道了也还是不会开眼的。平心而论，隐身衣不管是仙家的或凡间的，穿上都有不便——还不止小小的不便。 英国威尔斯 (H.G. Wells) 的科学幻想小说《隐形人》(Invisible Man) 里，写一个人使用科学方法，得以隐形。可是隐形之后，大吃苦头，例如天冷了不能穿衣服，穿了衣服只好躲在家里，出门只好光着身子，因为穿戴着衣服鞋帽手套而没有脸的人，跑上街去，不是兴妖作怪吗?他得把必需外露的面部封闭得严严密密：上部用帽檐遮盖，下部用围巾包裹，中部架上黑眼镜，鼻子和两颊包上纱布，贴满橡皮膏。要掩饰自己的无形，还需这样煞费苦心! 当然，这是死心眼儿的科学制造，比不上仙家的隐身衣。仙家的隐身衣随时可脱，而且能把凡人的衣服一并隐掉。不过，隐身衣下的血肉之躯，终究是凡胎俗骨，耐不得严寒酷热，也经不起任何损伤。别说刀枪的袭击，或水烫火灼，就连砖头木块的磕碰，或笨重地踩上一脚，都受不了。如果没有及时逃避的法术，就需炼成金刚不坏之躯，才保得无事。 穿了凡间的隐身衣有同样不便。肉体包裹的心灵，也是经不起炎凉、受不得磕碰的。要炼成刀枪不入、水火不伤的功夫，谈何容易!如果没有这份功夫，偏偏有缘看到世态人情的真相，就难保不气破了肺，刺伤了心，哪还有闲情逸致把它当好戏看呢。况且，不是演来娱乐观众的戏，不看也罢。假如法国小说家勒萨日笔下的瘸腿魔鬼请我夜游，揭起一个个屋顶让我观看屋里的情景，我一定辞谢不去。获得人间智慧必须身经目击吗?身经目击必定获得智慧吗?人生几何!凭一己的经历，沾沾自以为独具冷眼，阅尽人间，安知不招人暗笑。因为凡间的隐身衣不比仙家法宝，到处都有，披着这种隐身衣的人多得很呢，他们都是瞎了眼的吗? 但无论如何，隐身衣总比国王的新衣好。 Related material from China Heritage Quarterly:
Notes:[1] The Scholars, also known as the Unofficial History of the Literati, is a satirical novel by the Qing-dynasty writer Wu Jingzi (eighteenth century). [2] This is a reference to a story about the Taoist philosopher Zhuang Zi who rejected a plea by the King of Chu to manage his state. Zhuang Zi, who received the king's messengers while fishing one day, said, 'I believe the King of Chu prizes a three-thousand-year-old supernatural tortoise shell which he keeps in a basket covered with a cloth in his ancestral temple. Now tell me, what you think the tortoise would prefer: to have its shell thus honoured, or to be alive and dragging its tail in the mud?' The messengers replied that the tortoise would rather be alive. 'Quite so,' retorted Zhuang Zi. 'Now leave me to drag my tail in the mud.' [3] This is a reference to Alain René Le Sage's 18th-century satirical fantasy Le Diable Boiteux. |