This is a childhood story that I would like to share with everyone. For as long as I can remember, I have been told this story for countless times by my grandmother and parents in Cantonese. Seizing this opportunity of story-telling, I would like to try to reiterate this story in English.
That was probably one of the worst stormy night that I had experienced in my life. It was raining dogs and cats, with thunders and lightning rolling and stumbling across the sky. Little Christy looked into the shades of the red burning clouds, wondering when would this rainstorm going to stop.
It was late at night, probably around midnight, when I received a phone call from my mom. She was struggling her way to home as the whole public transit system was out of commission. She tried to sound jolly, but I knew that she was exhausted, and desperately wanted a cab to take her home. I can still remember the last remark of her call, “Baby Christy, it’s bedtime now. You should sleep now. Mama will be safe.” Then she suddenly hung up her phone.
Grandma just finished bathing when I finished my chat with my mother. She dried her hair while I was sitting on the windowsill, staring at nowhere in the sky. She hugged me in her arms and carried me into her bedroom. I hugged her back and left a good night kiss on her cheek. While tucking me in bed, she switched off the lights and began with my daily bedtime story.
“Christy, do you know why there would be curfews? Do you know why I told your mom to get home before midnight everyday?” Grandma murmured in a soothing tone, as if she was falling asleep. “Grandma, I have absolutely no idea.” Grandma then sat up and looked into my eyes as if they were diamonds in the dark, and said, “Christy, I am going to tell you a true story tonight…”
It was too a blustery midnight when a girl was alone on the walkway, heading back home. She was talking on her phone when she met a man coming out from a dark alley. She was too focused on her call, not realizing that the man was following her. It is her usual habit to walk through a park nearby her home as a shortcut during the night, though there is not even a lamp.
At the moment she stepped in the park, the man behind her patted her shoulder. Only realizing the presence of the man by then, she was terrified and rooted on the spot. She then heard his whisper, “Give me all your valuables!” The girl was so frightened that she did as he commanded, like a robot.
After a short while, when she finally retained her ability to talk, she put on a brave face, “Can I leave now…,” but before she finished her last phrase, the silent man silted her throat with a knife hidden in his sleeve. The wounded girl tried to scream for help, but ended up bleeding to death.
“The story stops here, Christy. You need to sleep now,” grandma commanded as she pulled up my little blanket. “But grandma, would this story happened to mommy?” Tears started to run down my face as I imagine her walking miserably under the umbrella, without any protection. “Grandma, I don’t like this story! Can you make me forgetting this story?”
Probably realizing this story might be too cruel for a 4-year-old kid like me, grandma paused for a while before she talked, “I’m sorry, Christy. Mommy will definitely be fine. However, for once a story, it cannot be called back. Once told, it is loose in the world.”
I could never forget this story in my life for this is the story that first presented the evil of the world to me, which could never be called back. This is how evil comes into the innocent world of mine.
Commentary:
- The idea of retelling this childhood story sparks off when I knew that we would be working on the topic of “How evil comes into the world”. Though I have struggled on the definition of “world”, I believe that there would be a world within each person, which, therefore, contributed to different stories.
- I found it extremely difficult to translate idioms and allegories from Cantonese to English, for the meaning might be same, but the frame of mind could differ a lot. I may regard this as a hindrance in bringing the minorities’ stories under the spotlight of mainstream culture for the stories of theirs might not be able to convey or portray thoroughly. (This may be a sign of Eurocentric dominance over other cultures, as English is now the dominating language on earth.)
Works Cited
Poon, Stanley. A Lightning Moment in Hong Kong. 4 May 2012. National Geographic Traveler Photo Contest2012. National Geographic, Washington, D.C.
I find your take on this assignment really interesting. Using a personal story rather than something made up or following the lines of King’s witch story not only grabs me more, but it probably helps you be better at telling it.
I too struggle with the definition of “world.” You’re right that different worlds or realities are perceived by each person, and that this contributes to the way that stories are told and received and how those stories pass on. However, there also has to be a single objective world that we share. This is not to say that any single person can objectively see that collective world (short of Googling images of Earth), but there does exist a single reality that we are all part of at once. I believe that Chamberlin’s goal was to point us to the window through which we can see that world when we intersect in our telling of stories and usage of ceremonies of belief. He gives us the key to the door into that world.
If evil comes into the world subjectively – if each individual is born without evil and has evil brought into their world – then evil would have had to come from somewhere for the first self-aware being. Where do you think evil may have come from in an objective reality, accessible through Chamberlin’s theories about stories and storytelling?
Hi Christy,
I find your thought that evil comes into the world differently for all of us new as well as curious!
I think that everyone experiences evil in a different way and everyone has their own definition of what evil is – hence why King decided not to describe what evil was, but to leave it open to the audiences interpretation.
Who did you tell this story to? I am interested if this story was presented to your grandparents in English or Cantonese? Do you think presenting this story in one language versus another would have changed their understanding or changed your understanding since it was originally told in Cantonese?
Hi Samantha,
I told this story to my husband and our housemate, first in English and then in Mandarin, which is their mother tongue. We had a little conversation over the expression of stories in various languages, and agreed that the use of different languages would have an effect over story-telling. When the story is told in English, we tend to put the focus on the protagonist, which is the girl; while the story is told in Mandarin, we tend to put the focus on the cruel actions of the man. I found this experience very interesting!
In fact, this story is made up by my grandmother. I only found out the truth when I was 10 years old. I would say she is a talented storyteller. 😀
Taking this story into consideration, I would say the use of language would inevitably alter the story as there are some Cantonese slangs which I couldn’t directly translate into English. I think this somehow hindered me in creating the desired atmosphere and directing the audiences to the targeted focus of my story when reiterating in English. When the focus point on the story is altered, audiences’ understandings towards the story would definitely be shifted.
Cheers!
I agree with you @NickBabey