On the Sea
Bing Xin

On the afternoon of August 17th, multicolor paper streamers flew out of the many scuttles of the ocean liner Yorkson and landed on the retreating shore, nonchalantly leaving those who came to see their relatives or friends off to catch hold of their ends. At the moment, how full I felt of both delight and sorrow!

Those sentimental individuals, standing in large numbers on the increasingly distant shore, could only hold on to the paper streamers until they would eventually break, reluctantly letting the iron mammoth sail westward, loaded down as it was with the heavy grief of parting!

Daily life on the ship was refreshing and active. Outside of the three meals, all my time was spent playing games and taking walks on the decks as I pleased. For the first three days, I seemed to have totally reverted to my childhood. I tossed rings and small beanbags, never tiring of playing these games. Then three days later, I cut all connection with such pastimes. As I recalled it all later, I felt very strange though there was nothing more to it than this: The sea had unmoored my childhood memories, and midst the sound of the surging waves, a sense of childlike innocence and my young playmates flooded my mind. My only regret was that there were only a few children on board, so that my three days of returned childhood did not hold really wonderful children’s games.

I have lived near the sea ever since I was a child, but never once had I seen such a sea, as smooth and composed as a mirror. On the voyage’s first day, once we were out of the Wusong estuary, a boundless sea of limpid wavelets stretched out before us. The breeze was cool; the ship slid forward as if on ice. As we sailed past Korean waters, the sea unexpectedly imparted the ambience of a lake, with its incredibly intense blue and green waters. The golden glowing rays of the setting sun, like long snakes, radiated directly from the horizon on the people standing behind the railings. From the firmament to the waters in front of our ship, a panoply of hues from light pinks to deep greens each rippled, layer upon layer, patch by patch. ...My little friends, I hated myself then for being unable to paint. The language of words at such a moment is the most useless thing in this world, unable to present to you such ethereal beauty!

August 18th was the night for the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid to enjoy their once-a-year rendezvous. After supper, I leaned alone over the railings as the cool wind blew over and caressed my clothes. The Milky Way was an expanse of bright stars, illuminating the deep dark seas. From the distant passages down below floated up the laughter and chatter of other passengers. It suddenly dawned on me that my hometown was getting farther and farther away! The galaxies of stars shone brilliant, the waves soughed, and I stood there quiet, awash in melancholy.

At dusk on the 19th, we neared Kobe. Green hills were seen on the shores, and from time to time fishing boats sailed to and fro. Hills in Japan are mostly oblate, and they invoked laughter and comment from the passengers, who nicknamed them “Bun Mountains.” These bun-shaped hills dotted the scenery along our voyage through the night until we saw in the distance a brightly-lit Kobe. Slowly the ship moored, and people began to disembark. Deep in the night as it was, I went up alone to the topmost deck of the ship again. For the first time in my life I saw a world of such resplendence, of moon, stars and the lights from shore setting each other off in serene relief. Every now and again a chain of illumination flew across the hills. I imagined it to be the train going round. Silence prevailed throughout the ship. Tonight there was no soughing of waves. In this immense silence, I was struck by the idea, “If only Mother were here with me now...”. Beijing leapt clearly into my mind.