Date Stones
Xiao Qian

Before I set out for the US, a former schoolmate of mine wrote me byairmail, asking me in all earnest to bring him some raw date stones. They werenot heavy in weight, yet I was curious about their use.

At Philadelphia, shortly before staring out for my friend’s place, Icalled him up. So when I got off the train at the destination, I found himalready waiting for me at the station. It was about half a century since welast met, and we were now both in our declining years.

After hugging each other, he asked me eagerly, “have you broughtthem with you?” I immediately fished out the date stones from my handbag. Hefondled them in his palm as if they were something more valuable than pearls oragates.

Obviously he was just as childlike as before, when I asked about theuse of the date stones, he put them into his pocket and replied by way offooling me deliberately, “You’ll understand soon.”

It was really a beautiful mountain city. As we drove on, an expanseof rich crimson up and down the slope came into sight. In China a place likethis would have been described as a maple city. After passing through severalcols, my friend said pointing to a three- storied house amidst the maple trees,“here we are.” The car turned into a lawn and when it was three or four metersaway form the garage, its door automatically opened as if it recognized its ownmaster.

My friend looked somewhat ill at ease when he told me this: At thetime he bought this big house, his children had all been at school. Now theyhad their own homes and jobs. His wife, a biochemist, was a dietician at aresearch institute.

After assigning me a room on the second floor facing a lake, heshowed me around his back garden, which, though not too big, was exquisite andnicely arranged. The moment we sat down on a white bench close to a hedge, heasked me, “Don’t you find something here smacking of our native place inChina?” at this, I noticed a weeping willow, planted by himself, on either sideof a flight of steps as well as a water-lily pond in the middle of the garden.He said with deep feeling, “When I planted the willows, my son was only five.Now he serves as head of chief mechanics in a nuclear submarine. My daughterteaches at Harvard University. I’m happy with my family and my career. I ownall modern household facilities I need. But I still feel something lacking.Maybe I’m a bit too foolish. How come the older I become, the more I thinkof my homeland. Now I fully understand the frame of mind of one residing in aplace far away from home. I always think of Changdian and Longfusi. Every timeChristmas is celebrated here in America, I think of lunar New year back inChina. I can never forget the date tree in the courtyard of the house on ZongbuHutong. That’s why I’ve asked you to bring me some date stones. I’ll try toplant them here.

Then he said pointing to a jumble of rockery standing in a corner ofthe garden, “Believe it or not, the rocks, hand-picked by me, were bought bythe kilogram. I drove dozens of kilometers away to haul them back in my car.Look, that’s Beihai in our home.”

Thereupon, we rose to our feet simultaneously and walked along acobbled footpath beside the lawn towards the miniature Beihai. What a carefulman my friend was! He had had the artificial hill inlaid with a clay pavilionand a red temple, with a white pagoda on top. He said he had bought thedecorative objects from China Town in San Francisco.

He also told me that on a moonlit night he and his wife would sitside by side on the bench recalling how they had used to go boating on theBeihai Lake. Meanwhile, as I smelled the faint scent of the water-liliescarried to us by the breeze, I felt as if the beautiful scene of a Chineselotus pond were flashing past my eyes.

The change of nationality doesn’t mean the change of nationalfeeling. No other nation has such a strong attachment for the native land as weChinese.