I’m not being modest when I say that my recently-acquired Chinese violin is little more than a shoebox with strings. The sound is unnaturally tinny, and there isn’t even the name of the maker inscribed on the inside. The point is: I can love it to death without worrying about collateral damage, which is exactly the truth: I love this Chinese violin.
So much, in fact, that I decided to take it with me to a park for a play-date. There’s a park across the street from my university in Xiasha. A great place to admire blossoms peaking out of buds, with the added bonus of being fireman-themed.
I didn’t want to play in the middle of picnics or couples watching clouds, so I found a somewhat secluded forest of bamboo trees. I sat amid green shadows, and cool green bamboo stalks lined like a ruler. The path was out of the way enough to catch the random stragglers, but not to make me end up on the evening news. I took out the violin, tuned, and played.
Not long into playing, I saw some workers go by. They climbed right into the bamboo trees and, from the corner of my eye, I watched their flat shoes pad softly over fallen leaves. What were they doing? I wondered. This time, I didn’t ask (though I usually do) because I wanted to be a part of the background. If I stopped what I was doing, then it would be like breaking the spell.
I wanted to play for the sake of ambiance.
That’s when I noticed the machetes.
I’ll skip ahead and tell you that they were not members of a local gang, or dangerous. Actually, they were very good workers. Because even though there was a strange foreigner sitting in the bamboo forest playing violin, they were not to be deterred from their task, which was to lop down bamboo trees.
Of course, I didn’t know this, and continued playing random fiddle tunes despite my creeping suspicions. It wasn’t until they stood about 5 feet (that’s about 1.5-2 meters for the non-Americans out there) from me that I figured I was getting the final curtain. I watched as they examined the bamboo trees, and then HACK! went the machete and CRASH! went the tree. I went on playing, like those musicians on the sinking Titanic, and tried to muster the romance of a few moments ago. It was no use. My stage was disappearing and there was nothing for it. I was just about to count it as a loss, when one of the workers turned toward me.
“HALLOOO!” He said. Then, he paused. “That’s how foreigners say it, right? Halllooo?”
“Yes,” I said. “But you can also just say “你好, right?”
He nodded.
“Where are you from?” his friend asked.
“Where do you think I’m from?” I asked. (Guessing games are always much more fun).
“America,” he said without hesitation.
I had to wonder how he knew so quickly. Was it a random guess? Were Americans more likely than other Westerns to perform even when the stage was being torn apart?
It’s like that question: If a tree falls in a forest when no one’s around, will it make a sound?
No one will know.
Except, now I have an answer: it will sound like violin music.
Through the Dragon Gate 