Pagoda-Tree Blossom Rain, Tomato Meals, and the Return of Quiet Days
In July, streetsides across Beijing are full of pagoda-tree (Huaihua) blossoms. When the wind blows, the blossoms fall like rain. Pedestrians walking along avenues lined with Chinese scholar trees end up with blossoms on their hair and clothing.
Pagoda-tree blossoms carry a faint, delicate fragrance; when you steep a cup of pagoda-tree honey, you can taste that characteristic aroma. At Beijing's Jinxiuda Wholesale Market, some vegetable vendors even sell pagoda-tree blossoms as a vegetable. My wife bought some once and used them as filling for dumplings; they were fragrant, fresh, and delicious.
The season when the pagoda trees bloom is also the season when tomatoes ripen heavily. This year my tomatoes did exceptionally well—wonderful flavor and high yield. I planted 12 tomato plants, and every day I could pick more than a dozen. I had not eaten tomatoes this good for decades; these tasted exactly like the tomatoes of my childhood—when I bought the seedlings at the Beijing Vegetable Research Institute, I specifically chose the flavor-oriented varieties.
I have grown vegetables in Beijing for five years, and in the previous four I never once produced tomatoes this tasty. High-yield, delicious tomatoes gave my palate a real treat this year. Eating three or five fine tomatoes a day beats being an immortal. Anything unpleasant seemed to be washed away by the tomatoes' sweetness. One bite of a flavorful tomato fills the heart with joy; even if you were frowning a moment before, after eating it all displeasure vanishes. Born human, to enjoy such exquisite flavor—what more could one ask for?
I love a quiet life with small pleasures, but my whole June had been a succession of ordeals, and by the end I had had enough. Today was my third trip to the court to file my lawsuit materials. Before leaving I told myself: things happen at most three times; if the court filing center refuses my papers this time, I will stop fighting—I will forgo the medical expenses and disability compensation and drop the case.
But when I arrived today, everything went unexpectedly smoothly. The clerk at the intake window wasted barely a word, checked the papers I had prepared, exchanged a few brief remarks, issued me a receipt, and told me to go home and wait for notice. I felt a great weight lift; for me, this was the end. The subsequent procedure and outcome no longer mattered much, because the general result was foreseeable, and the process could be kept simple enough that it would scarcely affect my normal work and life.
The Haidian Court's litigation-mediation center is right next to my vegetable garden. After filing, I found a shared bike at the courthouse entrance and casually rode about ten minutes to my plot. From now on, whenever I have business here, I can just drop by while tending the garden. I watered the plot, picked a bag of tomatoes along with some cowpeas, cucumbers, and greens, and then rode my bike back home.
When I got home I opened a package waiting at the door: the psychiatry monographs I had winced at ordering, spending over 1,500 yuan. These were classic medical works I had long coveted but had hesitated to buy; this time I finally bought the complete set. I also bought an English-language textbook on biochemical principles, hoping to consolidate my biochemistry while recovering the English I had lost.
The gaokao (college entrance exam) reminded me how the years have dulled my mind, and I have no intention of returning the knowledge I once learned to my teachers. So over this period I plan to spend some time brushing up on math, chemistry, biology, and English; when I return to university, I will need to catch up on these subjects.
My son and his mother were both away, and I could not even be bothered to cook dinner for one. Two tomatoes, a cucumber, and a slice of bread sufficed. Afterward I took a hot shower to wash off the sweat, sat refreshed at my desk, and opened a newly bought book. The fresh book had a faint ink-and-paper fragrance that, in an instant, drew me back into the tranquility I had missed for over a month.
Half a day of work, half a day of study—this has been my habit for twenty or thirty years. When this life is disrupted, I feel out of sorts. When the disruption lasts long enough, weariness sets in. In this life I have loved only this one way of living; I would rather make sacrifices than give it up, because it fits my character perfectly.
I have finally returned to this way of life. As of today, the various ordeals are over. Starting tomorrow, my life will revert to normal. Day after day I will repeat the simple, almost elementary farmer-scholar life, immersed in the inner world, studying the mysteries of life, joyful and forgetful of sorrow, not knowing that old age is approaching. Is this not a delight?
After all, compared with life, everything else is worth less than a feather.