新竹 New Bamboo
唱歌唱戏, 打球比武, 都沾点边, 只是一事无成. 多年在美国, 早已笔涩.
Making Rice Wine
Mama gave me some yeast
for making rice wine,
the best remedy for the homesick.
The yeast traveled with me
across the Pacific
and each day passed with the idea
of making good rice wine.
When I finally got ready,
I forgot how.
The recipe had to be resurrected
from my childhood memories
of good wine making
the way Waipo and Mama
always did it.
In Waipo's village of the camphor trees
making rice wine was a grand occasion.
A lucky day was picked
by a Fengshui Master.
Strong shoulders carried fresh well water
Rough hands rubbed the new sweet sticky rice.
There was the burning of sound timber
to make a good fire.
A giant rice steamer
sat in a giant wok
with boiling water
puffing out steam
filling the kitchen
with the fragrance of rice
making children's mouths water.
Sleeves were rolled and hands washed.
When the steaming rice was mixed with yeast,
we watched the kitchen turning into heaven
with gods riding on clouds.
We hung around to beg for some rice
but heard voices roaring like thunder,
"Hands off the rice!
There is no place for you
short-lived ghosts."
As the old folks used to say,
"In the making
it's clean wine and dirty tofu."
In the back hall of Waipo's house
the fermenting rice
was making bubbling noise
in a big wooden barrel
covered by a big bamboo tray.
Standing side by side with it
were two big coffins
painted in black lacquer
covered by a white drop cloth.
For longevity sake
grown-ups had their coffins custom-made
when they reached middle age.
The most expensive timber,
the intricate carving and painting
guaranteed their
living poor and dying rich.
In the back hall
we played hungry ghosts
stealing the fermenting rice.
The bamboo tray was thrown open
dirty hands grabbed the chopsticks
to stuff drooling mouths
with the intoxicating rice.
The alcohol made us bold enough
to unveil a corner of the coffin
and peep at "Longevity" carved in gold.
We would disappear in thin air,
when we heard the heavy footsteps
of Waipo's bound feet.
If the wine had turned to vinegar,
Waipo would know we'd done it
and we would be cursed to grow up
to become jealous wives or husbands.
But, the rice wine in Waipo's house
always turned out mellow and sweet
and we all grew up unmarried.
So, I started to make my own rice wine
in an electric rice cooker
doing this and that
as if by instinct.
It is now sitting in a salad bowl
as if waiting for something to happen.
