:: Yen-Hwa Huang

three stories

No to Hell


I never want to go to Hell or be in a totally dark place. I was told when I was a little girl that there were ghosts from the underground that would come in the dark to take me to Hell if I did something wrong on earth. I had nightmares night after night for a whole year when I was seven about those ghosts. They would rise in the dark with a draft of chilling wind, always long hair and eyes glowing with red and green light. Wearing only a short, they exposed their rugged chest and feet, some had two sharp white teeth sticking out, and others had horns on their heads. They glared and sneered at me as they approached, jumping all over the place, tossing and looping a glittery metal chain that had a handcuff at the end. Every night, I woke up screaming still attempting to escape. Place me in darkness and I will see them, and feel as if I´m drowning. I lose my strength to stand, my ears buzzing, my chest tightening, and my legs begin wobbling until I find the light.

In Taiwan, most families believe in Buddhism or practice the traditional folklore. As a child, I heard more than enough about the Hell place. They told me that if I did something wrong on earth, I would be taken to the first court of hell as soon as I was dead. There, I would be forced to stand in front of a huge mirror to see all the things I had done wrong flashing back at me. Then I would be taken to the second court of hell for sentencing. The list of misconducts and methods of torture would be endless. The list of transgressions, to name a few, included killing innocent people, setting fire to public buildings, committing adultery, abusing animals or taking advantage of others, even including spreading rumors or gossiping about other people and disobeying parents. I can still hear my mother saying, "They will cut your tongue off!"

When I was a teenagers, I heard a lot about the importance of the forty-ninth day ritual counting from the day one died. They said on this 49th day, the soul would separate from the body and the ghost judge would decide whether the dead should go to heaven, be reborn, or to go to Hell. My mother warned me out loud, "If you don´t behave, those ghosts will take you to the torture chamber!" My uncle told me that after one dies, one would have to go through seven cycles of examination, each in a seven-day time frame, which would calculate on the 49th day. He said to me eerily, I would lie still in the darkness going over my whole life seven times; each time through one part of my body. Then he counted them for me. He said they were the eyes, nose, ears, tongue, hands, body and the consciousness. Peeking life through what I had done with each of these senses, I would realize what I had done wrong in my entire life. However, all I could think of was those hideous ghosts marching toward me in the dark.

As a grown-up, I have heard people say that the Hell place is right here on earth. I agree with that. Nevertheless, as soon as I hear the word "ghost," mentioned in a pitch-dark place, except fear, all my senses would shut down instantly.

I have raised two grown up children and learned how to surf information from the Great Internet. Still, when I am alone in my apartment, I let my lights burn all night long.



Round Windows


Around and around and around, the shape of a round window shaped my childhood dreams in Taiwan. Round windows in the hallway. Round windows in the bedroom. Round windows from the kitchen. These endless cycles fired my imagination. I could venture anywhere, but I would eventually come home.

The softly bending line formed a circle that associated the warm memory and the unity of my family. We sat, always at a round table, to see, to talk, to eat, to laugh. There was a radius of love within the circle.

Looking out, I saw my neighbors going about their daily business. Pigs and chickens roamed sluggishly about the front yard. Flowered dresses hung next to cotton shirt. White underwear beside the yellowish diapers swung on bamboo sticks--a view framed by the smooth curvature of the round windows.

The tiny round windows lined high above the garden wall are a dear memory... Standing up on a bamboo stool I peeked through them onto an outside world. A devilish pleasure came with peeping!

Tracing my little finger around them, the curved shape and the views from a round window enchanted me. They hinted to me early, of the pleasure, the beauty, and the importance of looking...into our world.



Innocence


These gigantic mountains were gray and black, like a Chinese brush painting, contoured by layers of inks against a black sky. The evening, quiet and dark, deep in the mountain, made the world disappear, except for the majesty of these mountains. Engulfed in the great darkness, we stood still, hand in hand on top of a cliff, admiring them in awe.

I remember. We had climbed all day to get there. We did not know why we wanted to go there. One day he said, “Let us climb the mountain and stay there for a night! His eyes flashed with excitement: two teenagers--a boy and girl -- almost nineteen, forbidden to spend a night together. Our parents and neighbors would be in shock and ashamed of us if they knew. The temptation possessed me.

There were mountain people sitting outdoors around a rock table in the far distance, enjoying their dinner. Four of them waved at us to join them. We gave them some money to use their little spare room for the night. They didn’t question us. They even offered us their fresh vegetables and some salted little dry fishes.

After dinner, they left. It was quiet again. The silhouettes of these mountains were pictures of giant elephants resting firmly in solitude. He wanted to paint the mountains. I went to get the flashlight while he set up his easel. He moved his brush in the fading light quickly with undivided concentration. I held the light for him and stared at his face with fascination. For years and years, I saw that image, like from a dream.

In our tiny room built of bamboos, we felt uneasy. We had no experience of being together alone in a room. We just wanted one night of our own. We were young, with neither knowledge, nor experience of life´s complications. There was a mixture of nervousness and wanting hanging in the damp air. Finally, he pulled me to him gently, his hand advanced slowly inside my blouse, hesitating. He looked at me as if to ask for permission. He grinned, he kissed my lips, his hand proceeded upward, he fondled my small breasts . . . I startled a little, I felt the tingling and the pleasure . . . he was electrified, he breathed rapidly . . . I felt blushed and shy . . . then he hesitated again, his hand shifted to my warm belly . . . I felt wanting . . . his face flushed with blazing desire, he panted, then he could not help himself; his hand rushed downward and I felt timid, I felt heightened, I felt his scurrying hand, I felt reddish and growing, and I felt an unfamiliar sensation--as if I was in bloom.




© Yen-Hwa Huang 2003

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