‘Writing a Letter’ by Ling Shuhua

Source: The Shanghai Literary Review (July 30, 2024)
“Writing a Letter”
By Ling Shuhua, introduced and translated by Nicky Harman

Introduction and translation by Nicky Harman

Ling Shuhua (1900-1990) was a talented Chinese woman modernist writer, much admired by Chinese luminaries such as the poet Xu Zhimo and the writer and activist Lu Xun. She was also a well-regarded painter. Most of her writing was produced during the 1920s and 1930s, with almost nothing being published thereafter, with the exception of her (English-language) autobiography Ancient Melodies (Hogarth Press, 1953). After the war, she left China and lived in Singapore and the UK and, possibly for that reason, her reputation faded in her home country. Recently, however, her work has been republished there.

Ling Shuhua’s Importance as a Writer

Ling Shuhua grew up in two very different worlds: she was the daughter of the third concubine of a high-ranking Qing (Manchu) official and was taught by one of the imperial court painters; in many ways, the kind of life she lived as a child had not changed for centuries. But Ling had a modern as well as a classical education, studying in Japan and in Yenching University in Beijing. As a writer in the 1920s and 1930s, she was active in contemporary literary and artistic circles. As was the case with others of her contemporaries, she had a cosmopolitan outlook and was influenced by Western writers, in her case Katherine Mansfield and Anton Chekhov. She understood and wrote about the old society, while at the same time she had modern sensibilities. Among Chinese women writers of her time, she was unique in having close connections with the Bloomsbury Group; she was a friend of Virginia Woolf, Vanessa Bell and Vita Sackville-West.

Ling Shuhua is a consummate short story writer (she never wrote anything longer, even her autobiography, Ancient Melodies, reads as a series of short story-style episodes). Her descriptions, especially of nature, can be intensely lyrical, reminding us that she was also an important painter. But at the heart of each story there is a woman, or a girl, whose dilemmas and feelings we understand and empathise with. Her protagonists come in all shapes and sizes: some are poor and illiterate, although the majority are educated and middle class, and they are depicted not just at home but also around town, in a temple, even in Japan. A few stories have a man, or boys, as the main protagonists.

(One Sunday morning, Miss Wu has a visit from her next-door neighbour. Mrs Zhang comes into Miss Wu’s study, wreathed in smiles and carrying her young son in her arms.)

…Good morning, Miss Wu! Here you are, still reading and writing on a Sunday! Are you trying for the imperial examinations or something? I don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to see you. This morning, I woke up and heard the church bells, and said to myself: “Buddha preserve us! It’s Sunday already!” I’ve been wanting to ask you to write a letter me for the last ten days but you’re always at college or if you’re here, you’re reading or writing articles, and I don’t like to disturb you, so I thought I’d take my time answering him, it’s not that important, but now he’s written two more letters.

…Who? This one’s daddy, that’s who. Miss Wu, you have no idea how hard it is not being able to read and write.

…You’re such a lucky lady. Whatever you want to say, you just write it down. It was all my mother’s fault, you know. My father really wanted me to get a proper education but my mother was afraid it would turn me into an independent woman and a bad man would lead me stray, so she refused to let me go to school. Just the day before yesterday, I was complaining to her, “It’s all your fault for not letting me go to school, and now look at me, I’m completely word-blind! Look at Miss Wu,” I said, “Merrily scribbling her ideas down, and she’s still the perfect lady, not a bit independent!” My mother’s sorry now, so she makes sure her granddaughters go to school every day.

…What do I want you to write? So many things! I often think how lucky you are to remember all those thousands of characters, and find exactly the ones you want. For someone who can’t read like me, even when I’ve got things I really want to say, it’s hard to find the words. I love being with bright young ladies like you, but I’m always struck dumb, I don’t know why. Once, I was having words with this one’s dad, and I said to him, “Don’t go thinking I have to put up your family for ever. I could go out tomorrow and get myself a job, I don’t care how humble it is. I could move in with Miss Wu and do stitching and mending, it would be a hundred times better than having to live in this dog kennel of yours. They don’t shout at their servants. Not like you people who don’t know how to behave and fly off the handle at the slightest thing. I’m not your servant!” You haven’t met my husband, have you? He’s as bad-tempered as a bull. If he didn’t rub people up the wrong way all the time, he would have been a battalion commander by now. Old Mrs Zhou’s eldest went into the army the same time as he did, and now he’s a colonel! I heard just the other day that he’s taken a rich young lady as a second wife.

…This one’s dad has been in the army nearly ten years, and the wretched man’s still only a captain. He never knows when his pay check’s coming each month, and when it does turn up, it’s peanuts. No perks or anything like that. We have to wait for the housekeeping every month, and we never know when he’ll send it. Otherwise, I could have bought this little one a proper suit ages ago. The tunic he’s got on now is a hand-me-down, his big sister had it for New Year last year. I’ve always been careful with money but every time his dad comes home, he always complains that we spend it like water.

…I always say that it doesn’t matter how shabby and down-at-heel a grownup dresses, but a child is like a pretty flower and should look like one, not like a little beggar, unless he’s got no dad of course, don’t you think, Miss Wu?

…This one’s the apple of his dad’s eye. Whenever he comes home, he always brings something for the boy, only him, nothing for his big sisters. Number Four is fine about it, but Number Three gets so upset and runs off and cries.

…I say to them, “Some fingers are short and some are long, there’s no point in comparing them. That’s just the way it is.”

…I gave birth to seven children, you know, but only three lived. Three boys and one girl are gone. Every time one died, my mother-in-law wept and wailed, and my husband shouted at me. So ridiculous, he moaned on so much, I couldn’t bear it, so I said, “Everything’s down to fate. If a kid’s name’s not down in the King of Hell’s roster, then they’ll be fine.” He said, “You just pop them out, easy, but I have to bring them up, I’m the one who suffers!” I paid no attention to him. I went off by myself and had a little cry. Does he think people don’t hurt when their own flesh and blood die? I’ve never had a decent night’s sleep since my first was born. As soon as I close my eyes, one wants to pee, or another has a tummy ache, or another one’s hungry. I don’t know how many times I have to get up to see to their highnesses. The two girls are just as bad as the boy. Look at all my grey hairs, and I’m only just over thirty.

…Oh no, baby! Don’t touch the things on the table. Put that down. Miss Wu’s got a big stick to beat you with!

…You’ll tell your granny? Huh, she doesn’t believe you anymore. She loves your sisters more than you. Put it down, don’t break it, you really are a spoiled baby. There’s a good boy, put it down and give Miss Wu a salute. That’s right, once more! Now put your hands together and show her how you count your fingers.

…There’s a good boy! No wonder he’s his dad’s favourite, he learnt all these party tricks by himself. He really knows how to please. The last time my husband came home, this one was so affectionate, it was “Daddy, daddy!” all the time. Not the girls. They went red in the face and ran away from him. He was very annoyed and didn’t even look at them after that.

…Girls are shy, you know. Mine hadn’t seen their father for a year or two. Not that they’re more stupid than their brother, mind. It’s all very well saying “a dog greets anyone with a wag of its tail”, but it stops trying to make nice when it sees they’re not interested. That’s natural. My oldest girl made all this one’s shoes and she isn’t even eleven years old. And the younger one did so well in her exams, she won an ink box and four brushes. In this day and age, men and women are the same. Look at that Miss Wang. She’s way better than her brother. She earns a hundred yuan a month, and she doesn’t keep a single cent. She gives it all to her mother for housekeeping. Old Mrs Wang is dressing smarter by the day, she’s in silk and satin all year round. Last time I went round there for a drink, she was in another new outfit. It’s too bad you can see the wrinkles through that face powder she plasters on her face. My mother-in-law is five years older than her, but she looks much younger when she wears nice clothes. Last time my husband sent us a length of satin fabric, he never said who it was for. I said it must be for the old lady. The first person a son thinks of is his mother, and besides, she went through a lot to bring him up, so she should wear it. She kept saying no but I got a tailor to make it up for her. The day before yesterday, she wore it when she went out for a drink, and everyone said she was getting more beautiful the older she got. When she looked in the mirror, she said she almost didn’t recognise herself. What we eat and how we dress, it’s all written in the stars, don’t you think? I mean, everything looks baggy on Miss Wang even if she’s wearing something nice. And you always look neat and tidy, Miss Wu, whatever you’re in. You know the saying, “For her dad and her hubby a girl dresses cute, but dressed for herself, she looks like nowt!”

…You are funny, Miss Wu! He doesn’t care how I look. I’m going grey already!

…You won’t believe me but I’ve been in his family for twelve years, and he’s never given me a present, not even a handkerchief. That used to upset me but not anymore. That’s just the way he is, thoughtless. I can’t blame him. This time, he only remembered to send something after I nagged him about it. It’s like they say, the whole world is a man’s home, so of course they don’t remember their family when they leave, do they?

…Have you been to Henan province, Miss Wu? Such goings-on I’ve heard about there. My brother’s friend says almost all the officers have girlfriends. Most of the girls there call themselves students. Students, huh! They know a few fancy Chinese characters, and throw in one or two scary foreign words and our military gents are so wet behind the ears that they fall for it. They sniff around after those girls all day long. If a man isn’t walking out with one on his arm, he gets called a loser. But my brother says, “They’re not students, just a bunch of sluts who can talk nicely. The officers buy them with bags of clothes and big bottles of perfume, and the girls stick to them like glue.” My brother told me to keep my husband away from them.

…The trouble is that Henan is millions of li from here. He could be on stage singing operas at the top of his voice and I wouldn’t hear a word! The day before yesterday, I confided to old Mrs Wang how worried I was. She said, “A man’s heart is like a needle on the seabed, hard to get and hard to keep. Best not to rely on it too much. Your husband’s only your husband while you’ve got him tied to your apron strings.”

…To be fair, that man of mine’s a simple soul. But as old Mrs Wang said, “The simpler a man is, the easier he’s led astray.” She told me I should write to him to remind him of his family. She said she hopes he hasn’t got something going on, but if he has, a letter will bring him back to his senses. What do you think, Miss Wu, do you think I can get that into a letter? Last time I tried, I asked an old man in my family to write it for me, but he said, “Writing a letter’s not like talking. A lot of things you can say, you can’t write down.”

…Honestly, I can’t think what to write. The old lady told me I should say that some of the family are going to Henan and I want to go with them, and then wait and see what he says when he writes back. Will he understand what I mean, I wonder? I can’t say, “I was told to say this.” And I’m worried he might think that. And if he writes and asks me why I want to go and visit him, I can’t say it’s because I don’t trust him, can I?

…It’s so difficult to know what to write. Maybe I shouldn’t write at all. Oh my, there goes the twelve o’clock gun! Time flies and I’ve hardly said anything! Isn’t it your lunchtime?

…You’re too kind, Miss Wu. Well, if you insist, let’s do it. I’ll say a sentence and you write it down for me.

…Tell him everybody’s fine at home and ask if he could send us another length of dress fabric.

…Have you written that down? Maybe you’d better not write that last bit. The other men might think I’m ridiculous for asking for clothes.

…He asked me to take an 8×8 inch photo of our son and send it to him. But when I took the boy to the photo studio, they were going to charge me three yuan for two pictures. I could make him a new holiday outfit for that much money. But I can’t say that in case the other men see the letter and think I’m being ridiculous.

…The thing is, Miss Wu, our family doesn’t have two cents to rub together but he won’t let me talk to him about money. He can’t bear couples talking about money. He says that’s why he hates being with his elder brother’s wife, because she never stops talking, and it’s always about money. Once he went to see her, and mentioned that he hadn’t been paid his salary yet, and she came out with stuff about how badly off they were – the rents hadn’t come in and they had to pay taxes on top of everything. He didn’t know what was going on. He told his mother and she said her daughter-in-law was rabbiting on because she was worried he was asking to borrow money. After that, he never went to see her again.

…Tell him not to worry about the family, his mother’s fine, and the kids are being good.

…I’ve already said that, haven’t I? I don’t know what else to say.

…Oh dear, your father is calling you to lunch, you’d better go and eat. And my mother-in-law will be getting worried too. If you would just write the envelope for me, I’ll send it.

…A couple of sentences are enough. As long as he gets a letter from me, it’ll be fine. Thank you, Miss Wu! Come along now, there’s a good boy, give Miss Wu another salute.

Nicky Harman lives in the UK. She has won several awards for Chinese literary translation, including the 2020 Special Book Award, China, the 2015 Mao Tai Cup People’s Literature Chinese-English translation prize, and the 2013 China International Translation Contest, Chinese-to-English section. When not translating, she promotes contemporary Chinese fiction through teaching, blogs, talks and her work on the non-profit Paper-Republic.org.