Li Ang - The Lost Garden

The stereo equipment volume could be turned up all the way in Lotus Garden with no concern for neighbors. Father taught Yinghong how to listen to music played on 78 and 33 1/3 speeds, to understand the simple installation step of putting a vacuum tube on the outside for ventilation, and to know all about the advanced setup of assembling the arms and turntable. She also learned to appreciate various composers, from Bach to Dvorak; Father’s favorite was “Pathétique” by Tchaikovsky.

Father’s interpretation of classical music was heavily influenced by articles in the current music magazines; for instance, this is how he explained “Twilight of the Gods,” the last movement of Wagner’s The Ring of the Nibelung , to Yinghong:

“As with the arrival of twilight, ripples of light flicker on the surface of the water. The strings, like a bleak winter scene, descend in gloomy darkness, symbolizing the frustration one experiences and the desolation of life.”

Accompanied by classical music, particularly the soft, subtle movements of lingering, unending sorrow, or the echoes of regret after a resounding performance of strings and winds, the four seasons in Lotus Garden changed dramatically and affectively with the unspeakable anguish conveyed by Father’s interpretation.

Cape lilacs were overtaken by a blanket of misty white flowers in the spring, like a lost cloud pausing at the green leaves; it was the kind of mysterious illusion that could only be embodied by a string of lithe, tinkling notes plucked by the nimble fingers of a harpist.

In the summer, flowers on the flame trees were best represented by the powerful pounding of brass and string instruments, roaring and exploding with trees filled with red phoenixes ready to take wing. Amid the cacophony of the brass and strings, the fiery clouds vanished, leaving only the sadness of unfulfilled dreams. That was followed by tiny star fruit flowers in the fall; with the weeping and supplicating violin and the twisting and winding flute, the dots of red, like tears, flowed across the water in the garden, crossing the artificial hills and covered paths, and passing by the pavilions, terraces, and towers, year in and year out.

The tiger claw trees did not shed all their leaves in the winter; some withered branches seemed to hold on to their last life force, with a suppressed gloom, as if they held no hope nor any future, like the moment before the thunderous musical movement comes to an end.

With the sound of classical music flowing throughout Lotus Garden, Father continued to buy equipment for his stereo system. He soon had turntable sets from two different companies, three sets of speakers, and three amplifiers, which he considered to be the standard setup to mix and match for appreciating different types of music.

By the time Yinghong graduated from high school and left for college in Japan, Japanese cameras had made successful inroads into the international market. Nikon was now as good as the best European camera, and Father began to collect a large number of Japanese models.

He no longer studied and examined cameras before selecting one; instead, he would look at the row of Japanese cameras on display and, pointing at those that struck his fancy, buy them all. His record purchase was six in one day.

And he kept at his passion for cars as well. His second car was another Mercedes, which was then a new design with aerodynamic lines, though he was still partial to his 1953 model. When he went to Taichung on trips to purchase camera and stereo equipment, he always drove the old car, which was in pretty good shape.

Then she graduated from college in Japan and Father insisted that she go directly to the United States for postgraduate work.

If you were to return, I’m afraid I could not bear to let you leave again. I would prefer Ayako to be like me; with a Japanese and American education, you can maintain the foundation of Eastern cultural traditions while absorbing the modern spirit of Western civilization. This is the kind of basic education I would like you to have.

When Ayako is studying overseas, you will naturally witness all sorts of novel and unusual sights and objects. Your letters often remind me of my ambitious plans when I left Taiwan as a youngster, seeing many wondrous and interesting things in these countries and feeling free and unfettered. I was brought to tears by these recollections; it is indeed true when people say it is hard to look back at the past.

The ambition of my younger days died many years ago; what remains are depression and a meaningless life. Since you left, days seem to go by even more slowly in Lotus Garden. The abyss of despair truly feels like an endless descent into a bottomless pit, a feeling that has followed me like a shadow for decades. There is no end; no matter how far or how deep I fall, there is still no end to the descent.

Ayako, you are still young, so you will not and should not understand the feelings of a useless man like me, confronted by the senselessness of a wasted life filled with despair. But Ayako, don’t worry too much; I am just …

This letter did not reach Yinghong until years later, when she rushed home from New York after receiving the news of Father’s death. She found it in his personal correspondence when going through his things.

Tears blurred her eyes again and again, no matter how hard she tried to stop them from falling.

For months, Yinghong was in a state of ecstasy. Once she was back together with Lin Xigeng, she ignored all the designs and plans she had made, for she realized that he was the one she wanted, and that she actually loathed all other men.

She made a sudden, clean break with Teddy, refusing to continue their secret rendezvous, and began to avoid him. He was so upset he threatened to make their relationship public, though in the end he did not, out of concern for his wife. Still, during their last phone call, he declared:

“You’ll come back to me one day. I know all about women like you, sex-craved and needy, and I’m the only man who can truly satisfy you. You’ll beg me to come back.”

Yinghong angrily slammed down the phone, but then she laughed softly.

When she and Lin first got back together, she was able to tease him and let him have his way only within limits; she would not allow him what he really wanted. But along with the growing emotional ties from all the time they spent together, she knew she would not able to put him off for long, though she was aware that she must not let him have the one thing she had been depending on too quickly.

She finally gave in when he insisted. Like any woman in love who had held out for a long time, she happily and willingly let him have his way, and often reminisced about the first night with fondness.

It took not years but months before his love for her begin to fade. She soon realized that their sex life was not as wonderful as she had thought it would be. Lin lacked Teddy’s stamina and was not as considerate; it would take her a long while to understand Lin’s way with women, and she learned that there was practically nothing she could do to change that.

At first Lin tried hard to please her, employing all his passion to work on her, the way he worked on his real estate business. Even during the deliriously happy moments of lovemaking, Yinghong could still tell that he was most sexually needy when he was confronted with an important decision or when work piled up.

He wanted to know where she was every minute. In the same way he came up with sudden, innovative ideas, he wanted her at all sorts of unusual times and places. After a long, boring meeting or during a free moment at work, he would send his driver for her or tell her to take a taxi to have sex with him in different parts of Taipei, where he seemed to have a multitude of residences.