A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers (6 page)

charm
 
 
n.
1.
attractive quality;
2.
trinket worn on a bracelet;
3.
magic spell–
v.
1.
attract, delight;
2.
influence by personal charm;
3.
protect or influence as if by magic.

charm

From first day we being together, until next two and three days, our skins being non stop together, not separating even a hour. You talk to me about everything. But I not understand completely. You say:

“I used to try to love men. For most of the last twenty years I have been out with men.”

I think is good try love men. World better place. But go out where?

“When I was a squatter, I made a lot of sculptures. They’d fill the houses.”

What
squat?
I take out dictionary. Says “to sit with the knees bent and the heels close to the bottom or thighs.” Very difficult position, I imagine.

What kind houses you squatted there? Don’t lonely sit with the knees bent without chair on the floor?

“I used to plant potatoes and beans on a farm, and I looked after my goats. I loved doing that, more than anything else.”

So you a peasant? How come you also such a city man?

“I love old things. I love second-hand things. I hate new things. I don’t want to buy new things any more.”

But old things rotten, dying. How you feel alively and active with daily life if only live with old things?

Every sentence you said, I put into my own dictionary. Next day I look at and think every single word. I am entering into your brain. Although my world so far away from your, I think I be able understand you. I think you absolutely
charming
. Thing around you fascinating.

I feel a concentrate of love for you, farmer, sculptor, lover of men, stranger. Noble man.

In China we say hundreds of reincarnations bring two peoples to same boat. Maybe you are that people for me to be same boat. I never met mans like you before. I think we perfect: You quite Yin, and I very Yang. You earthy, and I metal. You bit damp, and I a little dry. You cool, and I hot. You windy, and I firey. We join. There is mutualism. And we can benefit each other. And all these makes us efficient lover.

vegetarian
 
 
n.
a person who eats no meat or fish for moral, religious, or health reasons–
adj.
suitable for a vegetarian.

vegetarian

One problem between us and that is food.

Chop Chop
, local Chinese restaurant in Hackney. I make you go there even though you say you never go Chinese restaurants.

Restaurant has very plain looking. White plastic table and plastic chairs and white fluorescent lamp. Just like normal government work unit in China. Waiter unhappy when cleans table, not looking anybody. Woman with pony tails behind counter she even more mean. A plastic panda-savings-tin sitting on top of counter. None of them can speak Mandarin.

“No. Sit there. No, no, not this table. Sit at that table.”

Waiter commands like we is his soldiers.

“What you want?…We don’t have tap water, you have to order something from the menu…We don’t do pots of green tea, only cups.”

I hate them. I swear I never been so rude Chinese restaurant in my entirely life. Why Chinese people becoming so mean in the West? I feel bit guilty for horrible service. Because I bring you, and you maybe thinking my culture just like this. Maybe that why some English look down of our Chinese. I am shameful for being a Chinese here.

But we still have to eat. Especially me, starving like the Ghost of Hunger. I always hungry. Even after big meal, later by one or two hours I feel hungry again. My family always very poor until several years ago. We used eat very small, barely had meat. After my parents started shoes factory, and left the poor peasants background behind, changed. But still I think foods all the time.

You not know nothing about Chinese food so I quickly order: duck, pork, fried tofu with beefs.

Meal comes to table, and I digging fastly my chopsticks into dishes like having a snowstorm. But you don’t have any action at all. You just look me, like looking a Beijing opera.

“Why you not eat?” I ask, busy chewing my pork in my mouth.

“I am not very hungry,” you say.

“You use chopsticks?” I think maybe that’s the reason.

“Yes. Don’t worry.” You raise your chopsticks and perform to me.

“But you waste the food. Not like Chinese food?”

“I am a
vegetarian
,” you say picking up little bit rice. “This menu is a zoo.”

I am surprised. I try find my dictionary. Damn, is not with me this time. I remember film
English Patient
I watch on pirate DVD in China to education me about British people. “What that word? Word describe a people fall asleep for long long time, like living dying?”

“You mean coma?” You are confused.

“Yes, that is the word! You are not like that, do you?”

You put chopsticks down. Maybe you angry now.

“I presume you are thinking of the
persistent vegetative state
,” you say. “
Vegetarian
means you don’t eat meat.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” I say, swallowing big mouthful tofus and beefs.

Now I understand why never buy piece of meat. I thought it is because you poor.

“Why don’t eat meat? Meat very nutritious.”

“…” You have no comments.

“Also you be depression if you don’t eating meat.”

“…” You still have no comments.

“My parents beaten me if I don’t eating meat or any food on table in a meal. My parents curse me being picky and spoiled. Because others dying without any food to eat.”

“…” Still don’t say anything.

“How come man is vegetarian? Unless he is monk,” I say.

Still no words from you, but laughing.

You watch me eating all of meal. I try finish the duck, and the tofu and the beefs. My stomach painful. There are still porks left, and I order to take them away.

While I eating, you write top ten favorite food on a napkin:

avocado

asparagus

lentils

spinach

lettuce

pumpkin

radish

broccoli

aubergine

carrot

But, is this list will be the menu in our kitchen for rest of life? Is terrible! What about my meatball, my mutton, my beefs in black bean sauce? Who will be in charge of kitchen?

noble
 
 
adj.
showing or having high moral qualities; of the nobility; impressive and magnificent.

noble

Sunday. I want do shopping. I say we need buy some toilet paper, some candle, some garlic, some ginger, some greens. (I not say meat, but actually that what I want buy after eating vegetables with you every day.)

“I want go to Sainsbury.” After saying that, I realising I need practise my English manner, so I ask you again: “Shall we go to Sainsbury?”

You not look happy.

“Hmm, right. Let’s worship in Sainsbury’s every Sunday.”

“What worship?”

“Worship? It’s how the Chinese feel about Mao.”

I don’t know what say. Don’t you know now we worship America?

“I don’t like Sainsbury’s,” you say. “I like the rubbish market. They have much more interesting things there.”

“Which rubbish market?”

You take me to the Brick Lane market. Is really a rubbish market. All kind of second-hand or third-hand radios, old CDs, used furniture, broken television set (who want buy a broken TV set?), old bicycles, tyres, nails, drilling machines, dusty shoes, pirate DVDs, cheap biscakes…I wonder if all these things made in China.

You walk in the rubbish market with your old brown leather jacket and your dirty old leather shoes. The jacket is so old that the sleeves are wore out and the bottom is pieces. But you look great with these rubbish costumes in the rubbish market.

I think you are a
noble
man with
noble
words. I am not noble. I am humble. And I speak humble English. I from poor town in south China. We never see noble.

surprise
 
 
n.
1.
an unexpected event;
2.
amazement and wonder–
v.
1.
to cause to feel amazement or wonder;
2.
to come upon, attack, or catch suddenly and unexpectedly.

surprise

Suddenly another thing else new and unexpected:

“I need to leave London for a few days.” You pack clothes.

“For what? For where?” It is too out in blue for me.

“To see my friend Jack, in Devon.”

“Who is Jack? I never heard you talk about him.”

“Well, I have lots of friends.”

“I come with you.” I starting open wardrobe to take some clothes out.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“No, I’m going on my own.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t think it’s the right time for you to come.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I have my own life…”

I don’t understand you mean: “But we go together. We lovers!”

I upset. Your decision destroying image of perfectness.

“Come next time,” you say.

I stop. Don’t know what do.

“How many days away? I will feel lonely.”

“Just three or four.”

I can’t say anything. But what I am do without you here in house? I even don’t knowing where electricity box, and how answer telephone in proper way.

“You know, you’ve got to go out and make some friends,” you say, “so you’re not always dependent on me. What about those girls from your language school?”

“Don’t need another friends. I don’t want. I only want be with you.”

You pack some your stuffs. You walk to the back room. Five seconds, you pushing blue bicycle out.

“This is for you. I bought it in Brick Lane. Look, you can wear a skirt—there’s no bar in between.”

“Try it,” you say.

I don’t care the bicycle. I walk and hug you tightly. I put my head into your old leather jacket.

Finally, you leave. White van stays outside. You take bus and then you will take train. England is small country compare China, but still, I feel you leaving me somewhere far away, somewhere unknown, somewhere I don’t involve at all.

I thought we together, we will spend time together and our lifes will never separated. I thought I don’t needing go these double-bill screenings to kill raining nights. I thought I will not scared to live in this country alone, because now I having you, and you my family, my home. But I wrong. You doesn’t promise anything solid.

So now I go out into the world on my alone…with that blue bicycle. And remind me to ride on left side at all times.

pub
 
 
n.
a building with a bar licensed to sell alcoholic drinks.

pub

Park my bicycle outside from Dirty Dick’s, nearby Liverpool Street Station. Dirty Dick? That normal name for English pub? Anyway, it is first time I came into
building with a bar licensed to sell alcoholic drinks
. I hope you will take me into pub, but you went away somewhere unknown instead.

I sit in pub alone, trying feel involving in the conversation. It seem place of middle-aged-mans culture. I smell a kind of dying, although it still struggling. While I sitting here, many singles, desperately mans coming up saying, “Hello darling.” But I not your darling. Where your darling? 7 o’clock in the evening, your darling must be cooking baked bean in orange sauce for you at home…Why not just go home spending time with your darling?

But mans here just keep buying pint of beer one after another. Some is drinking huge pint Lager, is like pee. Others buying glass of very dark liquid, looks like Chinese medicine. They watching football and shout together, without having food. In corner some tables with foods. Make me feel very hungry. See the food is biggest reason I am deciding go to pub. But everyone pretending food not there. Like is invisible or just for the good show. I take out my
Concise Chinese–English Dictionary
, start to study. I trying not thinking of the food too much.

In front of my table, five big mans all smoking cigarettes; this is the
fog
of London. After some times, mans come to my lonely table and ask something.

The way I am talking in English make everybody laugh. They must like me.

A young man buy me beer. He is the only good looking one.

I say: “I feel so delightful drinking with you. Your face and words are very
noble
.”

The man surprised and happy. He stops his drinking.

“Noble, eh?”

“Yes,” I say, “because when you start talk then you look very proud. I like the confidence. I don’t have.”

The man holding his big pint listens careful but not sure about what I mean.

A while, he says: “Love, you only think my words are noble because I can speak English properly”—oh
properly
, that word again!—“but it
is
my mother tongue, you know. It’s not that hard. But anyway, thank you for the compliment.”

“You deserving it,” I answer seriously.

But the man calls me “Love”! Love is cheap object in London.

My eyes looking towards delicious feast on side table. Everything ready waiting but no action.

I think the man gets hint from me, so he introduces me to English food system in pub calling
Buffet
, is meaning same word for “self service.”

“Why two words for same food system?” I ask him.

He laughs: “Because one is the English word and one is the French word. The French word is more
noble
.”

All old mans laughing.

Buffet.
Now I remember this noble word.

There are some white sticky stuffs on the plate. It looks like Tofu, but smells bad.

“What is this?” I ask bar man.

“That is goat’s cheese, darling. Would you like to try some?”

In China we not have cheese. We not like drinking milk, until last ten years maybe. I feel very surprise. I thought goat is too skinny make cheese.

“No. Thanks. What that? That Blue stuff?”

“It’s another cheese. Stilton.”

“Another stinking cheese with different names?” So many different cheeses! Like our Tofu system!

“Is this made by cow?” I ask.

“That’s right, love,” the barman laughs loudly. “Handmade by Communist cows.”

“What?” I am confused.

“Sorry to tease you, sweetheart. What you’re trying to ask is ‘Is it made
from
cow’s milk?’ English is a bloody nightmare, isn’t it?”

Back home I write list my new learnings for Mrs. Margaret:
made by, made from
.

drifter
 
 
n.
1.
a person who moves aimlessly from place to place or job to job;
2.
a fishing boat equipped with drift nets.

drifter

Third day you are away. Feels like you are gone for a month. Before, I never be alone living in this house. Now, I realise this
your
house. Everything yours, and everything in this place
made by
you. Very little to do with me. But this place completely take over my life. I am a little alone teacup belonging to your cupboard.

I wandering in your house, silently, lonely, like cat without master.

On your dusty books shelf, I take out photo album.

There is picture of you, arms around big tree, like lover. You naked in the picture. Very young and with a brown skin. You smiling at the person with camera. Must be your lover.

Another picture, you on boat. Is old black and white photo, so sea looks totally brown. You only wear shorts, and your muscles are strong. You smile to camera, holding the boat’s paddle.

Who with you on that boat? Which sea it is?

Another old picture, you are with a man, a young man. You both are naked, standing on rock by the sea. The waves coming up on your legs. Man beside you is handsome. Who is person taking this photo? Man or woman? You must be three very intimate, very close friend, if you both naked in front the camera.

Putting back photo album, I am jealous, and I feel the pain from my jealousy.

I open one of your old boxes on top the books shelf. Some letters inside. I think they are love letters. Letters you wrote and being returned from somebody in a one big package. You said in one letter:

Of course I am committed to you, and I always will be. But I can never see myself in a couple. Yes, you are my lover, but you are also my friend, and we will always feel special together. Friendship always endures longer than romance.

Romance
not to be found in my
Concise Chinese–English Dictionary
.

Some your old diaries in box too, from 1970s and 1980s. A long time ago. When I was really little. This is the man really older than me twenty years. Twenty years of extra life. You from such a different world.

Something is very important about this word
drifter
. I meet it in your letters, or the letters somebody wrote to you, or in diary with broken pages; I meet it everywhere in your long-ago past, but I never understand what it mean.

I have to learning this word first, then to learning something about you.

Open your old
Roget’s Thesaurus
on your shelf (
Thesaurus
! More strange word! In Chinese, we not having a second word to replace “dictionary”!) On the cover:
first published 1852
. 1852! That an old dictionary. In China there is very old Character Dictionary from 1700s Kang Xi era but I only know not half of the characters.

Thesaurus
only make me more confusing. Drifter like fishing boat? Drifter goes fishing on a fishing boat? Or situation of a fishing boat swing in the sea is like situation of drifter?

I think of that picture you are on the boat wearing the shorts, holding the paddle, smiling the camera. Behind you is brown colour sea. You a drifter, I believe.

In your diary, you describing your father a drifter. He is bus driver, and he doesn’t like stay at home. Don’t know why. One day he leave you and mother and sisters and never came back. You say you learned your father travels anywhere hot and anywhere can have sex. I can’t believe what I read. Your mother decide buy piece of farm in Cornwall. Farm has a name called Lower End Farm. She live with sheep and goats and cows. Without any mans around.

You grow up, feeling cold from your family. You feel womans so dull and womans not interesting. You wanting something exciting and something desirable. So you decide leave find a place far away from that cold farm, a place cannot reach your mother and your tough sisters. You love the sea and you want see the world.

When nineteen you go to long voyage with man from your hometown. From your diary, I think he called John. Boat belonging to John’s. You young and you write diary because you think that is your historic time in life.

The first page of your sailing diary:

February 6th, 1978

We are all looking forward to sailing but at the moment we’re blinded by the work and preparation needed before we can set out. I think it’s going to be a really exciting trip during which much will be learnt by everyone.

At the end of that day, underneath the page, you wrote a line in capital:

“
ROMANTIC IRELAND’S DEAD AND GONE”—W. B. YEATS

Another page, words is soaked by water. Difficult read:

Sunday 11th February

We have eventually left amidst cheers from our friends on the quayside…

We were all pleased to get away from what was beginning to become a stale atmosphere where no one could do anything without consulting someone else. At first I felt pure excitement, but later when the open sea was below us, I started feeling sick. Our watch began

The writing start becoming very messy and un-readable.

I open last page on diary and find out you spend nine months on boat all together. From February 1978 to 4 November 1978. How a person can do for so long without his feet stand on soil? I imagine you must be suffered from storms. Sometimes you must be burning by sun. Were you ill on boat in all nine months? Did you wish you be anywhere but not on boat?

You saying in your journey sometimes you feel life exciting because you are on enormous sea, sailing and sailing for ever, but sometime you really bored in every single minute because you are always on boundless sea, sailing and sailing for ever. I try imagine to watch sea every single minute but can’t. I never even been close sea. Only watched from plane.

7th June, 1978

Breakfast: tuna. Supper: tuna, I try to eat as much green veg as I can, but the fridge is well guarded (a tomato went missing yesterday)

Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Guatemala. These are the central American countries which we have passed, although some we have not seen because the boat has been too far out to sea.

Next page, you arrive San Diego and San Francisco.

You not really write about love. Was love not in your nineteen-year-old life? Is really only blue sea in your brown eyes at that time? What about your dreams?

After that long voyage, you longing for something you can do with your hands. Twenty years old, you go art school. You studying sculptures there by making your hands dirty. A photo between the pages. I guess was that the sculpture you made. Enormous naked man, lying down and taking over whole floor of big studio. A giant, but naked giant. That the main subject of your sculptures. Then you writing you have sex with several boys in that art school.

First I think I reading wrong and you mean girls not boys, but then I look again. Matt, Dan, Peter. These are boys names.

“I don’t feel any real love in my heart,”
you write.

When you move London, you go
squat
in old houses and meet mans in street every night. You talk to the strangers in the park and you go to home together. You say you feel warm by touching other’s body, by having sex with mans. You think you a homosexual, you call it
Gay
. But you even can’t remember faces and names the second day.

Then there is another diary. Is some years later. You feel empty that kind of hunting-boy-life, so you become campaigner, a demon-strator. You for campaign against the capitalism, against the McDonald developing, and you go India stopping mining companies doing developmenting there. You go with young demon-strater group to everywhere, Delhi, Calcutta, Mexico, Los Angeles…Always drifting around. But I thinking maybe you not know what want to do in your life. Or why you travel so much? In those
squatter
’s days, the sculpture you made are all destroyed. Nothing left. You don’t have a woman lover being with you (or maybe you never want to?), and you don’t have a man lover being with you either. Only thing you had, you wrote, is “
sex and seduction.
”

You wrote about days you work as youth worker. I didn’t understand what this job about. You wrote about holiday trips with children. There photos between pages: you with teenagers laughing in front of camera. You love those teenage boys. You work that for ten years. But how come you stop a job which you really like? I don’t understand. Maybe because your
gay
life? Maybe kind of scandal as homosexual teacher. I never know…Anyway you left your job, and what happening next?

My eyes becoming sore. I am tired of reading, all these words, my brain is just too full by your past. Everywhere is you, and you are everywhere, every sentence, every page.

I put back all these old diaries, old letters. My hand covered by dust. I wash my hand, under cold tap water. I thinking probably you never read these things for long time. Maybe I am first person opening these boxes in last twenty years.

Night is long. Quiet outside. Cars passing sometimes. I sit on your chair. I feel bit heavy. I feel bit difficult to breathe.

I sleep on your bed alone, which we slept every night together since I move in. Actually is single bed supposed be for one person. I realise this again. I am awake. I trying draw map of you, map of your past. But is difficult. I see the morning lights outside through the garden, through fruit tree without flowers. Is fourth day you away and is the day you will be return. You said you be here in the morning, about half past ten.

Nine o’clock now. I get up, and I brush my teeth, and I make some tea. I put my cold hand on teapot to get warm. I wait for you to return. But now I scared about you to return. You will drift with your Chinese woman, in boat on the ocean. No seashore in distance. She floating away and passing in your life like piece of wood on the sea.

One hour going by, and waiting is painful. I try study
singular
and
plural
from textbook which Mrs. Margaret give to us.

child—children

mouse—mice

tooth—teeth

goose—geese

wolf—wolves

ox—oxen

fairy—fairies

thief—thieves

foot—feet

larva—larvae

I don’t like plural, because they not stable. I don’t like nouns too, as they change all the time like verbs. I like only adjectives, and adverbs. They don’t change. If I can, I will only speak adjectives and adverbs.

A quarter past eleven, you come back with a cold wind through door. You put down dusty bag on floor then you kiss me, you hug me. You are pleased to see me. I ask how is your friend, you say everything is fine. You smile and you are excited and you want make love. Like nothing happened. You say you miss me. But how I can miss someone easy coming easy going?

“Did you have a nice time?” you ask.

“No.”

“Why not? Did you go out to see people and make friends?”

“No. I don’t want make friends.”

“So what did you do?”

What to say? I feel the sea inside me too big, too never-ending to speak.