Renditions
No. 43 (Spring 1995)
By Liang Yuchun
Translated by Cathy Poon
I really hate to admit it, but I'm not only afraid of dogs, but also of cats. In fact, I'm afraid of all animals under the sun.
The fear of dogs is a feeling which many share and sympathize with. I have been a dog-fearer virtually from birth. I remember many a time when, on my way to school, I had to turn back at the sight of a vicious-looking canine blocking my way, and take a roundabout route through quiet back alleys which I would normally have avoided, arriving at school late and still trembling. After tramping this desolate world in solitude for more than a decade, most of my childish ideas have disappeared, yet my fear of dogs remains. I do not know whether or not I should congratulate myself on this.
This fear of dogs is, of course, a fear of being bitten, especially by a mad dog. Yet any dog that bites for no apparent reason must be mad. Fierce dogs are to be feared, but I have been told that mad dogs often give the appearance of being rather tame and gentle, with their tails tucked between their legs. What's more, dogs can become demented at any time. Thus all dogs are to be feared. It is said that if a person is bitten by a mad dog, a funny noise will come out of his belly after a few days, as if a mad puppy is yapping inside. This is really alarming—at least, it is spooky enough for a faint-hearted person like myself.
While I'm afraid of dogs, I also greatly despise and detest the creatures. There is no need to mention those pekes that trail behind rich men's concubines, even the hounds that race through the woods and watch-dogs that keep guard at night and scare away burglars are obnoxious. They bark madly at the sight of strangers, but docilely prostrate themselves to gain favour the moment they see their masters, and will even sit up and beg. No other animals are so servile. They will never be able to shed their "running-dog" image. Westerners are wrong enough to love dogs, but going as far as to say "Love me, love my dog" is really over the top. No one has the right to ask his friend to love so indiscriminately. However, even among Westerners, there are a few smart ones. In Faust Goethe had Mephistopheles assume the form of a dog when he enters Faust's study for the first time. I love the epic drama twice as much for this reason.
However, when compared with cats, dogs appear to be far less evil creatures. Dogs only bite your body, but cats will nibble away at your soul. Of course this is a superstition, but it is not without rhyme or reason. I first became fearful of cats after reading Edgar Allan Poe's The Black Cat. It is about a person who encountered one misfortune after another after killing a black cat, and each time misfortune befell him, he saw the apparition of the black cat grinning hideously at him. After that I took to reading foreign ghost stories and came to know that witches can turn into cats. When a witch is to attend a Satanic Bacchanal, she rubs some oil on her body, mutters some incantations and turns herself into a cat. Then, leaping from a roof, she flies away. What we Chinese refer to as fox-cats are also unpredictable and beguiling animals. Cats walk noiselessly, their eyes ever so knowing. They are always creeping around surreptitiously, creeping up next to you, creeping into your mind. In Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, we read about this grinning cat in the air, and how its face slowly vanishes until all that remains is the grin. This really captures the spirit of cats — always so mysterious and clandestine, leaving in one's mind a shadow that cannot be caught. Europeans believe that cats have ten lives and, if I remember correctly, we Chinese have a similar saying. This is real proof of the powerful presence of cats. Every time I see a cat, I become worried that it will exert its magic power and stain my heart with some indelible dye. When we come across dogs, we only need to dodge them and nothing untoward will happen to us; but cats are not so easy to avoid. They will not harm you physically, but they will take over your soul, rob you of your human nature and turn you into something indescribable. Such fears are really too horrible to contemplate, and they make me tremble every time I think of them.
Shanghai is a dog. When you stand on the Bund and close your eyes, you may well visualize a vicious dog stretched out before you. Dogs represent the seamy side of reality. The darkness of reality in Shanghai makes you jumpy, as if there really is a mad dog at your heels. Peking, however, is a cat. It represents the fallen soul. Peking has a mustiness about it which makes people lax, not wanting to think or do anything, just content to stay put and muddle through life. It is as if a big cat has stamped a black mark on every soul, condemning them for eternity.
If we open our eyes, we can see that the world is equally divided between the cats and the dogs. The darkness of reality and the decadence of the soul have conquered all. I wish that this vast earth of ours were a wilderness with no trace of human habitation, and that I had never set foot on it. This, of course, is but a pipe-dream.
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Research Centre for Translation, The Chinese University of Hong Kong.