Epitaph

Epitaph

Lu Xun, 6/17/1925

Tr. Huiwen Zhang, 2011

I dream of myself standing opposite a gravestone, reading the engraving. The gravestone appears to be made of sand and gravel, many layers flaking, overgrown with patches of moss, retaining only line fragments—

“…in the heated frenzy of a grandiose choir, froze; in heaven saw the abyss.  In all eyes saw nothingness; in hopelessness found salvation…

“…There was a wandering spirit that turned into a serpent with poisonous fangs.  Instead of biting into others, it bit into its own body until it finally fell dead…

“... Leave! ...”

I circle around to the back of the gravestone, and then I see an orphan tomb, with no greenery over it, and already decrepit.  Through a large opening I suddenly glimpse a corpse, chest and gut cut open, heart and liver gone.  But the face bearing no sign of joy or grief, was merely as hazy as smoke. 

I have hardly turned away in fear and apprehension, when I catch sight of maimed lines on the stone's far side—

“… dug out my heart to eat, yearning to know its true taste.  The torment so ruthlessly intense, how else to know the true taste? ...

“… once the torment dulled, ate my heart tranquilly.  Yet already stale, how else then to know the true taste? …

“… Answer me.  Otherwise, leave!...”

I am about to leave.  Yet the corpse in the grave has already sat up, mouth and lips still, yet saying–

“Wait until I turn to dust, and then you shall see my smile!”

I hurry away, not daring to glance back, terrified of seeing him follow.