Many pursuits are nestled in our lives, with accidental beginning, like a voyage, and unconsciously we get closer in this voyage, then passing an accidental crossroad, we may depart because of some life matters, sauntering individually and solitarily on the map of lives. We probably will never be overlapped on the map of lives, until one day, memories of the seashore of Yeliu come into our minds, rising in a foggy winter, and we seem to hear someone is singing a German song, the wild roses, wild roses. I suddenly realize that the pursuit of live journeys has begun from the depth of my heart, like the waves on the seashore of Yeliu, lapping our hearts, receding, entering, subsiding, and reoccurring, reminding of the lights flickering on the sea, and the faces are flickering, but they cannot be stopped.
I drive the car along the coast. Vendors selling rice buns in the Wanli township await us. Outside, trees stand on the right side of the hill, and the left side is the sea, with its blue and rippling tides. I ask Grandpa, “Is it too hot?” Grandpa does not answer. I seem to see the ruts we went through on the mud of the country path when I was a child. I instinctively turned the wheels onto a small path.
The bamboos are dense along the path. Mountain springs rustle inside the pipes wrapped by shredded by haggard plastic bags. In front of us stands a café, with its white curtain cascading in the air. It is a white house that imitates Greek architecture, with a view overlooking the sea of the Yeliu. The canvas is made of the stripes of blue and white, to create a dream of the Mediterranean. Two women and a man are chatting in the open air café. Time does not stain the whiteness of the café; it is still the same as before when Grandpa took me here to the shore. The café survives, being maintained by thoughtful plans, combed and accompanied by the sounds of the tides.
Grandpa says, Is it night time now?
I say, Let’s take a break here, and have a cup of ice tea.
Grandpa says, I can hear the tides. I would like to walk down to the beach.
I chose a table where we could watch both the sea and the mountain valleys. The Southern Asia banana trees thrive and their hefty leaves hide the sun. A brown cat walks slowly passing us, climbing onto the fence netted by wild grape vines. On the forehead of the cat, there is a mark which looks like the Chinese character of “king.” The cat looks at us, as if saying, don’t you recognize me?
And these, are all the second generations or the third generations.
Grandpa sits under the shadow of the South Asian banana. He looks at the chat, which is now hiding behind the leaves.
I take out Grandpa’s pencil case and put a sheet of white paper on the table. Grandpa is attracted by the paper and pencil and he grabs the pencil to draw on the paper. He exerts too much power in his shaking hand, and the tip of the pencil is cracked.
I say, Grandpa, do not use too much energy for fear that the paper would be pierced by the pencil.
I peel the tip of the pencil and Grandpa looks at me, as if confused. He takes the pencil again, drawing stipes of sunlight on the paper, as if wanting to enter the panting.
& & ＆ & &
We walk into the sunlight through the tunnel of time.
Someone says, are you writing about a pursuit?
I say, I just follow my Grandpa.
Someone says, the sea has not changed. The mountains are not changed. If you are determined, you can find the past.
At that time, I just passed college entrance exam. I lived with Grandpa in an ancient house in Danshui. There was a yard, and inside the yard was the camera shop of Grandpa. On the wall hung many photography works done by Grandpa: figures, landscapes, fishermen on the north coast shore, a moon rising up from the Shimen Cave, and mother’s high school ceremonial portrait.
That day, Grandpa drove me along the north coast shore and we arrived at Yeliu.
He drove onto a path, and at the end of the path, there stood a Hotel.
We entered the hotel and entered a room with a view of the sea.
A table stood by the window and there were two chairs by the beds.
I sat across to Grandpa. His moustache was thick and his teeth were fine and tiny. He was a gentleman.
Far away on the sea, fishing boats drifted slowly on the surface. The sunlight fell on the valleys and then shifted to the top of the hills, creating layers of shades and lights, layers of wandering in combination of revisiting and separation. After all, the sea was sparkling with tranquility.
The maid of the hotel brought us a cup of hot coffee and a glass of iced orange juice. Grandpa said, Please put the hot coffee on my side, thank you.
The sunlight fell on our faces. Grandpa said, “Is it hot?” I said, No.
Grandpa said, Let me draw a painting of you.
I said, Okay. But I would like to hold my German book.
He said, fine. Just read and you will look more at ease while I paint.
After dinner, Grandpa was tired. He fell asleep on the tatami. The sea was dark, and a few lamps flickered in the dark valley.
I could not help but take out a book that my teacher gave me: Heidenröslein, which talks about a youth who sees a wild rose in the morning.
Am I a stone or a rose?
I was light then, and my heart grew many roses. When I reached out my hand to pick up the roses, I became a stone.
I walked to the sea. The sky was filled with blinking stars and a few boats were moored in the small fishing harbor, pounding against the deck with the wind, and the chains that tied the boats emitted the sound of cracking, creaking, and up on the hill the hotel was dark, except the room with a solitary yellow lamp, producing a soft landscape inside of which Grandpa was snoring.
The second day, we came to the café with a painted white wall in Greek style. A few women were having coffee and eating peaches. A group of students were watching the sea and a man was playing guitar. Grandpa held a Tabaco pipe and he wore a white straw hat. He was a gentleman. The sun shone on his face.
A brown cat walked by us and his forehead had a mark that looked like the Chinese character of “king.” The cat spawned on the fence which was netted with wild grape vines.
& & ＆ & &
It is a painting full of light. The light comes from all directions. I can not tell which painting is drawn now and which was drawn in the past. In the painting, Granpa says, are you all ready?
He is going to take a photo.
I stood by my mother and Aunt held my hand on the other side. I was only three or four years old, with an orange held in my right hand.
It was a spring.
We stood by the seashore of Yeliu.
Grandpa said, I am going to take the photo.
The camera flashed.
Smile.
Grandpa held my in his hand, and camera flashed again.
It was a spring and we stood on the seashore of the north coast.
I think of the song of the “Youth sees the wild rose.” Am I a stone or a rose? The more I see the rose, I like to reach it. I want to pick a rose for Grandpa. The red rose looks good on his bald head on his haggard face.
Inside the tatami house, two empty chairs overlooking the sea. The coffee cups are full of coffee, and the sea is fast, and the mountain hills are filled with clouds and the sunlight pierces through the mist. It is a splendid moment, with Grandpa and I in this landscape.
It is spring, and we stand on the sea shore of Yeliu.
He used to run a photo shop on the coast, and today I am writing and he is panting like the old old days on the seashore of Yeliu.