A Chinese Tale....

A Chinese Tale…..

Once as a child, I recall hearing a very mysterious legend.  Here is how it went:  There was a man in London who lived alone in his barren flat.  The walls were particularly bare.  One day he went to a second-hand shop and saw a Chinese oil painting.  In the painting was a river surrounded by tall verdant mountains, and in the crystal clear river a boat with paddle.  Inside the boat stood a Chinese man in traditional garb with a conical hat made from straw.  The frame was damaged with nicks and bangs, and the painting itself was quite dusty.

Thinking how nice it would be to have SOMETHING to look at on the wall instead of a blank wall, the gent asked “How much for this painting?”  The shop owner thought a while and said “Oh, that old thing has been sitting here collecting dust for years.  I’ll let you have it for two shillings!”  Counting his coins, he just happened to have the right amount and purchased the painting.

Once home, he knew exactly which wall to place it (although all walls were bare).  He hung it directly across from his easy chair so that he could look at the painting whenever he was sitting down.  After careful measuring as to where to put the nail, he began to dust the painting….ever so gently.  At first he used only a dry, clean rag, but then he moistened the rag with a bit of water and noticed it cleaned everything much better.  The once dull painting with muted colours came to life with bright green mountains.  The river was so clean one could imagine fish jumping in them and the ripples sparkling when touched by sunlight.  “A wise choice!” he thought.

The boat (which contained a Chinese man) was quite far in the distance of the river.  One could barely make out the figure and his conical straw hat.  Every evening after work the gent came home.  After cooking himself a small dinner, he retreated to the comfort of the easy chair, where he read his favourite classics.  But now he had something else to look at in-between reading….the pleasant scene of the river in China. 

Some evenings the gent tried to imagine the beauty of such a place.  He’d never been to China and could only glean from the painting what China must be like.  Some evenings the painting seemed ever so realistic.  He closed his eyes and could even imagine the sound made by fish jumping in the window and the gentle breezes carried down by the mountains. 

After a few months, the gent stared at the painting with intenseness.  Was his imagination playing tricks on him?  The Chinese man in the small boat SEEMED to be closer to the foreground than the previous day.  Surely, he thought, this was just his imagination and served him right for not having paid more attention to the placement of the boat the previous day. 

Many more months passed and the Chinese man in the small boat moved closer.  Now it was not a case of an overactive imagination.  He could even make out the colour of the Chinese man’s gown, which was emerald green.  Why was this happening?  It defied all logic.  Figures in paintings do not move!

As the months passed, the Chinese man in the painting came closer and closer.  Now the gent could even see the gold threads in a dragon design on the emerald gown of the man, and he could see his long queue.  Suddenly, the Chinese man turned to look directly at the gent in the easy chair, and with one hand motioned for him to come in to the boat.  Startled and afraid, (mostly the fear of going insane) the gent covered the painting with a tablecloth so he did not have to look at it. 

Still, his curiosity was peaked, so a few days later he removed the tablecloth.  Indeed, there was the Chinese man still close to the front – beckoning him to come.  This time he extended out a hand as if to help the gent hop on board.  The Chinese man began to speak, in Chinese, naturally, but what was so mysterious is that the gent, who knew not a word of Chinese, could understand everything the man was saying.  He was saying “Come with me on my boat.  We will sail to the house of the Emperor, who is my father.  He will be so happy to see me that he will give you gold, jewels and fulfill any desire you have.  But I am trapped within this painting, so only you can rescue me by jumping into the painting and taking us to my father”.

It wasn’t the lure of wealth so much as the desire to help a trapped young man see his father again, but the gent reached into the painting and took hold of the Chinese man’s hand.  Instantly, the gent was no longer in a cold, dreary London flat.  He was elegantly garbed in Chinese robe along side the young man.  He was in China!  Quite a few times the gent pinched himself to see if he was dreaming; it was not a dream; it was really happening. 

Many years had passed.  The gent was in the company of the Emperor and his son.  He had everything he could possibly ever want: gold, jewels, banquets where he could dine, beautiful silk gowns.  He no longer thought about his old life in London.  He was ALIVE and doing well in China.

Many years later a young man came to rent that same flat in London.  Others had come and gone but this gent mentioned to the landlady how barren the walls were.  “Ah, I have just the thing for you to put up on the wall.  Mind you, it’s very dusty as I put it away in the attic when a former tenant never showed up years ago.  But if you’d like to clean it up, it’s yours!”

The young man began to dust the painting….ever so gently.  At first he used only a dry, clean rag, but then he moistened the rag with a bit of water and noticed it cleaned everything much better, so he hung it on the wall opposite his easy chair.  The once dull painting with muted colours came to life with bright green mountains in China.  The river was so clean one could imagine fish jumping in them and the ripples sparkling when touched by sunlight. “What a pleasant scene” he thought.

The boat (which contained the figures of what appeared to be two men) was quite far in the distance of the river.                  

Some evenings the young man tried to imagine the beauty of such a place.  He’d never been to China and could only glean from the painting what China must be like.  Some evenings the painting seemed ever so realistic.  He closed his eyes and could even imagine the sound made by fish jumping in the window and the gentle breezes carried down by the mountains.

After a few months, the young man stared at the painting with great intenseness.  Was his imagination playing tricks on him?  The two men in the small boat SEEMED to be closer to the foreground than the previous day.  Surely, he thought, this was just his imagination and served him right for not having paid more attention to the placement of the boat the previous day…….